#things I can hear her saying to riot in my smooth little brain

[asofterhyranor]

[nagia-pronounced-neijia]

w(h)ip wednesday

It's a surprisingly quaint little farm, the kind of thing some traveller from the far-away west might paint into his little journal and tell all the Belgians and Austrians and French about.  Green hills rise up in a gentle roll, with occasional stones that must have tumbled down from God-knows-where, looking pushed up through the grass and the barley like crooked teeth.  Sheep meander among the gray rocks, bleating occasionally to each other and munching on the plants.

As they step past the low wooden fence, Trevor spots a goat chewing cud in a pen.  It stares disinterestedly at them, eyes gleaming with that peculiar mix of cunning and stupidity native to goats.  If it was ever a person, their mind seems long gone, he thinks, replaced by a goat's determination to be the biggest pain in the arse it possibly can.

They keep going and find a yard full of chickens.  Here chickens, there chickens, everywhere fucking chickens.  Mostly roosters, judging by the wattles, which he finds odd, and when Sypha steps too close to a hen, one of the stupid cockerels jumps at her.  His wings flutter, feathers flying further than he can, and he seems determined to murder her with talon, beak, or both.  He makes the most insane noises as he does it, like metal screaming.

It's instinct to try and put himself between her and something trying to hurt her.  Even something as small and stupid and surprisingly vicious as a pissed-off chicken.  He raises his arms to block the pecks and scratches, glad of the fur-and-leather vambraces, thick enough that he feels nothing.

"Calm the hell down," Trevor says, and puts a boot to the bird, which doesn't improve his disposition, exactly, but does manage to make him reconsider attacking.  "I'll do it again," Trevor warns him, and immediately feels like an idiot.

But the rooster subsides, sulky, glaring at them both with beady eyes.

And the cabin door swings open.  The woman who steps outside isn't quite pretty, but she's striking.  He thinks her nose might have been broken, once, and her hair falls loose around her shoulders in a riot of deep red that catches in the sun.

But it's her hands he's most interested in, and, just like every family book always said, they tell the real story to him immediately.

Her face may look youngish -- certainly only of middle years -- but her hands, too pale, have wrinkles and liver spots, a sure sign of a witch.  The deep, nearly black bruising that extends from the nail to the second knuckle of her littlest fingers, however, is the mark of a witch who has embraced questionable magic, if not outright reveled in the foulest and blackest of workings.

Beside him, Sypha moves to wave one arm.  "You must be Sârșe," she says, and he can hear that she's smiling.

The woman inclines her head.  "I am.  And who might you be?"

"I"m Sypha, and this is Trevor."  She jabs at him with an elbow.  He doesn't jab back, but mostly because he's trying to figure Sârșe out.

"Hello," he says, about a second after Sypha's pointy elbow makes contact a second time.

Sârșe watches them both.  Absolutely no emotion colors her face.  Even her eyes look flat and lifeless, no more interested in them as people than the goat had been.  "What have you come to find?"

He sighs.  "Oh, we found it already."

"Trevor," Sypha hisses.

But Trevor ignores her.  "Look, we know you're a witch.  Well, Sypha suspects.  But I know.  And I don't care about the whole," here, he makes a sort of quotation mark with the fingers of both hands, "'demons into chickens' thing.  Not sure anybody should be eating those, but it's not my business."

The very furthest corner of Sârșe's mouth curls up for about a second before smoothing back down.  Her gaze remains flat.  "And what is your business?"

"I'm not saying I expect you to turn them all back, mind, because I know that's not how it works.  But how many of your sheep used to be people?"

He's a little relieved when, rather than hotly deny it, Sârșe licks her lips.  "All of them," she says, calmly, like she doesn't care at all.

Well, that explains at least one of her fingers.  Hell, he's a little surprised it hasn't spread further.

Sypha's the one to step forward and ask, "Do you have any plans to stop?"

Sârșe stares between them for what feels like several minutes.  It's probably not even a whole minute of its own, but it sinks its teeth into him and drags.  Her eyes look like empty wells, endless and awful.

"No," she says, still very calm.

"Told you," he mutters to Sypha.  "When they're this far gone, they don't really listen to reason."

That draws Sârșe's attention.  She snaps her head to look at him.  Something even darker stirs in her dark eyes, moving and shifting, and they bite into him.  He doesn't look away, but he wants to, because eyes like those see, and the brain behind them judges, and men are always found wanting in a gaze like that.

Found wanting and then turned into farm animals.  And then potentially sold at fucking market day, to be slaughtered and eaten. Christ.

"Do you think yourself such a hero, Trevor Belmont?"`

He lets out a short bark of a laugh.  "I helped kill fucking Dracula, sure.  But what I was really doing was helping a man kill his own father.  What kind of hero is that?"

She repeats the question back at him, emphasizing it.  "What kind of hero is that, Trevor Belmont?"

"No kind at all," he replies.

And, for the first time, she smiles.  It's terrible and pitying.  "Will you kill fucking Sârșe?  And if you do, what will you really have done?"

Sypha fields this one.  "We'll have stopped animals that used to be people being sold and eaten by those who once knew them.  You have to admit that's grotesque."

"I admit no such thing.  They know who I am.  They know the consequence of crossing me.  They know what I bring to market day.  They choose to buy from me regardless.  Their business is no business of mine."

God, witch logic.  It's all perfectly factual, but frustratingly circular in a way he can't put words to.  A sort of pure, unfeeling truth that leaves no room for honesty or humanity.  Infuriating.

"Yeah, done with you, now," Trevor says, and draws the Vampire Killer.  Consecration is little good against witches except in their hands, but the Morningstar would be worse than useless.

Where's a rowan branch when you need one?  Not that there would be a single rowan tree on this property; they would have all died the first time she took a piss here.  Hell, if he were half the Belmont that Sypha thinks he is, he'd have a fucking pouch of salt on him, and he doesn't.  Their salt is in the wagon with their goddamned cooking supplies.

Sypha conjures a ring of fire, driving away all the chickens and other animals from the farm, and Sârșe's eyes widen for a moment.  She looks between them again, gaze darting from Sypha to Trevor, trying to determine if the Belmont or the fellow magician is the bigger threat.

She apparently decides on him, because she flings an arm out and tries to drag him toward her.

Trevor, more used to this sort of thing by now than he likes, drops forward.  He lets himself fall, and feels the grip of the spell break as his weight pulls him away from it.  His hands hit the ground first, and he pulls himself into a roll, coming up on one knee.

He lashes out with the whip, half-turning to improve its force as he lets his arm flow then jerks his wrist.  The line sings out, tip whistling, and the metal end bites into her hand.

Her finger flies away, landing with a sort of wet, useless noise in the dirt.

Sârșe doesn't even scream.  She just looks between her now maimed hand and the finger on the ground.

"That was very stupid," she says, somehow wholly unbothered by the fact that he just tore off part of her hand, a part she probably uses pretty often.  She raises the same hand, even as it bleeds, and makes a curling gesture with her remaining fingers.

Once again something grips him, trying to pull him closer.

When she raises her other hand, Sypha slides sideways, colliding with one of the wooden fences.  It cracks with the force she hits it at, splintering.

He's not thinking when he sends the whip out again.  It's anger that drives him to it, and this time, he gets her in one of those tainted, blackened littlest fingers, and Sârșe screams.  At first it's just a gurgling sound of pain, thin and high, like any woman might make when a man reached out and hurt her because he could.

But then it turns to something else.  Something thick and strange sounding, that scratches at his ears and the air around him.

"I name you worm, that crawls in the dust," Sârșe says.  "I name you dog, that licks his master's hand.  I name you cock, that lords himself over nothing.  I name you buck-goat, that ruts and farts, and I name you pig, that wallows in shit."

Absolutely no imagination on the woman.  He supposes whatever demon she serves, or made a deal with, or whatever, has probably long eaten it.  "People have really got to find worse things to call me."

Sârșe laughs.  "What a strange worry," she says casually.  "But needless.  You'll call yourself all those things, in the end, and worse."  And she raises both hands, and this time, she really does manage to pull him in, mostly because he lets her.

Once he's close, she smears her blood on his cheek and smiles that terrible, pitying, dark-eyed smile, and the empty wells of her eyes stare at him, judgmental, even as he sinks one of his knives into her throat.

He pays no attention to the witch's body after that.  Instead, he runs for Sypha.  She'd fallen among the splinters, and he doesn't even think about kneeling, about passing his hands over her to feel for blood, for anything sticking out or misplaced.

"Are you alright?  That was some hit."  And fuck him, his job is to be the one taking the hits.  He still hasn't forgiven himself for the scars on her upper arm from their fight with Dracula.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she grumbles.  "Help me up."

He does, splaying one hand under her back and supporting her under the elbow with his other hand.  He hefts her up, taking most of her weight, and she stumbles a little as she rises.  She leans heavily against him, and he lets her, wrapping one arm loosely around her shoulders.  "You're sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," she snaps, predictably irritated, and waves a hand at him.  "Leave it be."

"Alright, alright, if you say so.  And, well, she's dead.  If we're lucky, some of these people might start turning back.  Do we want to be here for that?"  They probably should.  He thinks his uncle would have.  His father certainly would have.

[artificialqueens]

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter Eight [FINAL] (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: Rosé and Denali deal with the aftermath of the Games, and finally go home.

A/N: Writing this fic has been a wild ride honestly. I'm so glad I stuck with it because it's become one of my favorite multichaps I've done. Thank you so much to everyone who read along and stuck with me and this fic, your comments and support really do mean a lot to me. I really hope you enjoy this ending, and please leave feedback if you'd like!

Rosé throws the berries aside, wiping her mouth clean. “Are you okay?” she asks Denali, immediately going to her side.

“Yeah.” Denali is pale and shaky, probably from stress, but she lost a lot of blood from the wolf bite, and her leg can’t hold her weight. She needs a doctor.

The hovercraft roars overhead, rustling the trees as two ladders drop down. Denali takes one step and whimpers in pain.

“I got you,” Rosé soothes. She scoops Denali up and carries her to the ladder, holding on tight as they’re pulled up. They’re out of the arena. They’re out and they should never have to go back. Rosé just hopes the bad things will stay there, that they won’t follow her into her dreams.

The inside of the hovercraft is like a miniature hospital, with doctors and nurses and medical equipment waiting. They rush over, hands reaching out to take Denali away from her, but Rosé flinches back and holds her tighter, shielding her from the doctors. She doesn’t trust them, she doesn’t trust anyone but Denali, she can’t let them take her. She fought tributes and wolves, and she’ll fight them too. But Denali’s eyes are fluttering closed, body going limp in Rosé’s arms, and she has no choice but to let them take Denali behind a metal door, hoping they can fix her.

Rosé tries to follow them, but someone helps her into a chair, a pristine white one that looks so wrong beside the blood and dirt staining her hands and shredded clothes. She didn’t sit out here last time--her shoulder bled so much they had taken her behind the same metal door as Denali. Someone hands her water in a glass so clear she can see the reflection of her own terrified eyes, and she sets it down with shaking hands, not wanting to see, not trusting who gave it to her.

“Is Denali gonna be okay?” Her voice is a scratchy whisper, and she tries again, louder, but no one answers.

It’s so cold in the hovercraft that her teeth are chattering, and the stitches in her leg itch so bad it burns. Denali told her not to scratch at them and she doesn’t want to let her down, not when she’s behind that door and might not be okay. It’s like a bargain with herself, that if she doesn’t scratch them, if she listens to Denali, Denali will be okay.

The adrenaline has faded, and all she feels the heavy ache of her body. All she can think about is how defeated she was after the announcement, so much that she almost gave up. How she’s grateful she’s still here. How Denali loves her, loves her and means it, how it might be for nothing if Denali isn’t okay. Rosé needs her to be okay. She can’t have gone through the whole arena, all her feelings, and dreamt of a future with Denali for it to be ripped away now. She’s shaking, and her eyes sting but her body doesn’t have any tears left. Her body doesn’t have much of anything left, and she’s so tired, but she can’t fall asleep and leave Denali. The Capitol hospital is below them, and she’s asking about Denali again when there’s a needle in her arm, and everything goes dark.

---

Denali blinks through the fog and sees nothing but pure white--the ceiling, the walls, the bed sheets, all so bright it burns her eyes. There are tubes in her arm and wires across her chest, and antiseptic stings in her nose. How long has she been here? Where is here?

“Denali? It’s okay, you’re okay, I promise. You’re in the hospital in the Capitol. It’s been four days since the Games.”

Denali follows the familiar voice and finds that she’s not alone. Rosé is in a chair beside the bed, clothes rumpled and bags under her eyes, and just the sight of her, of someone from home, calms Denali immediately, lets her take a breath.

She’s in the hospital. It’s been four days. Four days since she staggered to the hovercraft and collapsed on the floor, her knee a bloody mess--

“My knee,” she croaks.

“Your knee is fine. They fixed it,” Rosé says calmly.

Denali nods, trying to hide her yawn. She’s been sleeping for days, and Rosé is here, has probably been here a while from the sight of her. She’s here just for Denali, and Denali doesn’t want to let her down by sleeping.

“Denali, go to sleep,” Rosé says, because of course she noticed. “I’ll be here. It took an hour to convince them to let me in, I’m not going anywhere.”

Denali doesn’t even nod before she’s asleep again.

Denali wakes up in a white room.

But this time, she’s completely alone.

---

It’s three times before Denali can stay awake longer than a minute. The third time, when she finally breaks past the cloud of sleep and whatever drugs they’re giving her, she sees that nothing has changed. She’s still stuck in this bed in a locked white room. She has no idea how long it’s been, and there’s no one to tell her. She thinks of last time, how Rosé had told her the information quickly, instinctively. Because Rosé had lived through that fear herself, Denali understands now. Because Rosé didn’t have a mentor, and woke up scared and alone with no one to help her, and didn’t want the same thing to happen to Denali.

Where is Rosé now? Is she in another room, stuck in bed like Denali? What if the Capitol really will only allow one victor and they’ve taken her somewhere, to hurt her and then kill her?

The worst part of waking up fully means she can think fully, and her brain runs through a hundred ways the Capitol could be hurting Rosé. She forces herself to think of something else, but the only alternative is the last few minutes in the arena—her feelings for Rosé crashing into her all at once, Rosé baring her soul, her heart, to Denali, willing to give herself up so Denali could live. But they both made it out, they both have to live. Denali can’t lose her, not when she loves her so much.

The creaking door cuts through her thoughts, and Denali sees a nurse. She hasn’t been awake to see anyone yet, and maybe she can get information. The nurse looks--kind. Denali isn’t used to seeing that in the Capitol.

“Ro--” Denali’s voice cracks, and the nurse gently holds water to her lips. “Rosé. The woman who came with me. Is she…”

The nurse hesitates, then leans down, pretending to adjust a wire stuck to Denali’s chest. “She’s okay.”

It’s enough.

---

Rosé sighs, leaning back against the pillow. The bed is as soft as the one in the Training Center, but she’d rather sleep on the ground than be stuck in it. She asks about Denali to every nurse she sees, but none answer her. Is the glimpse of Denali being carried away the last image Rosé will have of her? She has to be okay, she has to be. Denali is probably the toughest person she knows, and the doctors should have been able to fix her leg. They fixed Rosé’s perfectly--no cut, no scar, just clear skin. All Denali’s work, the paste she laid on it everyday, the bandages she wrapped it with, the lines of the stitches to hold it together, all gone. All her other injuries--cuts and scratches and bruises--are gone too, erased by the Capitol's advanced medical treatments. No physical proof that the Games even happened. Rosé carries all the proof inside her instead.

The door opens, and Rosé sits up, prepared to ask about Denali again. But she doesn’t need to ask.

Because Denali is here.

She’s in a wheelchair, pushed by a nurse Rosé’s never seen before. Denali’s pale, eyes tired and dull, but her dimples flash as she’s wheeled next to Rosé, immediately reaching her hand out.

“Rosie,” Denali breathes. “You’re okay. I--I wasn’t sure.”

“I’m okay,” Rosé says, giddy with relief.

Rosé squeezes her hand tight, tracing her soft skin, the smooth lines of her fingers, so clean and polished after the doctors’s work, but Denali’s hand nonetheless. A hand that fires a bow better than anyone and had held Rosé’s when she needed it.

“Thank you,” Rosé tells the nurse.

She just nods. “I can get you ten minutes.”

Rosé takes it, takes every second to just be with Denali, holding her hand and breathing her in. After this, they’ll have their whole lives.

---

Before they can go home, there’s the interview. And of course, the small matter of what to wear.

“Symone, don’t you think this is a little...excessive?” Denali asks. She can’t even sit on the couch in the dressing room because it’s entirely draped in fabric. She and Rosé are backed into a corner, surrendering to rows of clothing racks.

“This is the first time anyone’s dressed two tributes for the post-Games interview,” Symone says, looking up from her sketchbook. “You have to look perfect, especially because everyone loves you even more now.”

Symone is right. All eyes will be on them for this interview, to watch the tributes who made history. She and Rosé didn’t hear anything from the outside when they were in the hospital, but according to Symone, people love their relationship so much, love how they both fought to come home, that even the Capitol is going along with it. They’ve spoken of their ‘ingenuity’ and ‘determination’, because admitting two tributes outsmarted them makes them look like idiots. Symone’s heard whispers that Denali and Rosé have given hope to the districts, shown that the Games can be outsmarted, maybe even defeated. The fear of retaliation still lingers in Denali’s mind, but the Capitol can’t do anything to them--not without starting a riot or admitting that they were defeated by two women from District 12, the lowest of the low. They’re safe, and it’s something Denali hasn’t felt since she was a kid.

Rosé smiles. “And here I thought all this was an excuse to have us try on ugly clothes.”

Symone raises an eyebrow. “Well, maybe that was part of it.”

True to her word, Symone sends them behind the screen loaded with feathers and glitter, with sweeping boas and oversized hats. Denali gives into it, lets the joy fill her. She teases Rosé after she stumbles out in a pair of heels she put on backward, and all three of them laugh until they cry when Denali gets stuck in a pair of thigh-high boots.

When Symone finally shows them her sketches, eyes shining with the excitement of what she’s going to create, Denali just hugs her.

---

Rosé paces her dressing room while she waits for Denali. Symone insisted on them getting dressed in separate rooms, so they can be surprised when they see each other, but Rosé just wishes she were here. The thought of all the lights and noises and people, after such quiet and emptiness in the arena, is making Rosé nervous. But at least she won’t be alone.

She fiddles with the buttons of her jacket. Symone made her a suit, coal-black with tiny gold sparkles woven into it, picking up the color of her lion pin. It’s buttery against her skin, her armor for the night, probably her favorite thing she’s ever worn.

The door opens, and Rosé’s jaw drops.

Denali is in a soft dress that hugs all her muscles and curves. It’s the same coal-black as Rosé’s, with gold sparkles, and Symone made Denali a pin--a fox affixed to a circle bordered in forget-me-nots. They never got her mom’s necklace, and Rosé is grateful Denali at least has this.

“You look amazing,” Rosé says, her heart fluttering.

“You clean up pretty nice yourself.” Denali smirks, tracing her hands up Rosé’s arms.

Rosé turns to Symone, who looks like a goddess in white and gold. “Thank you, Symone.”

“For everything,” Denali adds.

Symone wipes her tears and pulls them into a hug, waving goodbye as they walk to the stage.

“Rosé?” Denali holds out her arm, and Rosé takes it. The wolf tore through Denali’s muscles and tendons, and though everything is fixed, she’s still a little unsteady on her feet. Rosé doesn’t let her fall as they cross the stage, and she’s grateful for the touch herself. It’s grounding against the roar of the crowd and the blinding lights.

There’s a couch on stage instead of a single chair, and Nina bounces in her seat as they sit down, speeding through small talk and jokes.

“I think I speak for everyone when I say that was quite a Games you two had! Was there a moment you really felt you could win it?”

Rosé gives Denali a nod, signaling that she’ll answer. “Well, I think we knew we had a good shot from the start. Our skills balance each other out, and we worked so well together in training. When they announced a team could win, we knew we had an even better chance, because of how strong we are together.”

Nina nods. “And I’m sure your relationship helped.”

“It sure did,” Denali says. “It helped us trust each other and it was just so nice to have a partner in the arena. It really helped.”

“There’s never been a finale like that in history,” Nina says. “What was going through your mind in that moment?”

And Rosé falters, her cheerful answers coming to a grinding halt. She and Denali haven't seen reason to talk about it, to dig at a fresh wound. They were both there, they know what they felt. Rosé didn’t think she’d have to discuss it with the world watching. She doesn’t want to talk about it. About how she broke down and cried in the arena, one thing she never wanted to do. About how she wanted to go home, but wouldn’t have been able to live with killing Denali. About how helpless it made her feel, how scared, how angry.

Denali squeezes her hand. “We were both pretty shocked. We weren’t expecting a rule change like that,” Denali says, and Nina nods sympathetically. “But I also knew how much I loved Rosé. I didn’t want to lose her, and I just couldn’t kill her. Not when I cared about her so much, you know? The berries were all I could think of to get us both home. And when we do get home, we’re gonna get an earful from Rosé’s sisters, let me tell you.”

Denali’s answer is perfect, Rosé knows. She just touched on the surprise of the rule change without directly blaming the Capitol, drawing real sympathy, then turned the focus to her love, not a hint of gloating for her brilliant idea. It’s perfect, and it’s enough for Nina, who moves on. By the time they walk off stage to thunderous applause, Rosé feels like she went another round in the arena.

They follow the same pattern for their Victory Tour: taking turns answering questions, joking and smiling, pretending everything is fine, that they don’t still think about the people they killed in the arena. People look at them with hope, with belief in a brighter future, and though it’s nice, Rosé is glad when they finish, when they’re free to go home and not act okay all the time.

“I’m glad that’s over.” Denali sighs beside her.

Rosé nods. “Let’s go home.”

---

It’s a quiet train ride. But it’s a peaceful, content quiet, not the tense silence they sat in on the way here. They sit next to each other, hands brushing on the seat, eating donuts and watching the world outside the window.

Rosé senses District 12 growing closer, sees the landscape change to rocky terrain, feels the coal dust in the air. Her leg bounces with excitement, but also something else. Something like fear.

It’s hard to go home after the arena. It’s so isolated, practically another planet, and the only rule is not to die. For weeks after she got back, Rosé was afraid to close her eyes, fearing someone would kill her in her sleep. She flinched when someone got close to her, hand automatically reaching for the sword that was no longer at her hip. There were smaller things too, like feeling out of place around people, out of place in her own life, dropped back into things after months away. She was lucky her family was there, that they didn’t give up on her. Even with their support, she still struggled. What if things are worse this time, and they give up? What if they’re so disgusted by what she did in the arena that they don’t want her around? What if the arena changed her in ways she didn’t want it to and her sisters won’t recognize her?

“Are you nervous to go home?” Denali asks quietly, like she read her mind.

Normally Rosé would keep it inside, push it down and pretend it’s not there, because she doesn’t want anyone to worry about her. But she’s with the only other person who knows that fear, and Rosé trusts her.

“It’s just...you know how it is. How weird it is to be home after everything. What if it doesn’t feel like home anymore?”

What if the arena has made such a home inside her that District 12 will be a stranger?

“I get it,” Denali says, pausing in thought. “You know, last time I kept getting lost in the woods after I got back. I went in those woods every day for ten years, and suddenly I kept taking wrong turns. I got used to it again, but I found new paths too. And I always found my way back.” She takes a breath. “So maybe it'll be weird at first. Maybe you’ll get lost. But I think you’ll find your way back.”

The words wash over her, smoothing out the knot in her stomach. “Thank you,” Rosé whispers. She manages a smile. “That was quite a speech.”

Denali shrugs, but she’s grinning. “I learned from the best.”

Denali holds her hand as they get off the train, but when they step on the platform, she lets go and gives Rosé a gentle push towards the two people waiting for her. Jan and Lagoona’s arms open up, and Rosé falls into them. She can’t think, can’t speak--there are no words. She just lets them hold her.

“We would've been on time, but Little Miss Donut got so excited she started peeing all over the place.”

Rosé lifts her head off Lagoona’s chest and sees Kahmora and Kandy, who’s struggling with a dog, walk to Denali. The dog jumps out of Kandy’s arms and into Denali’s, and Rosé just laughs. She’s glad they came to see Denali, glad she has someone to hug too.

Jan pulls away, mischievous gleam in her eyes the same as when she was five and tried to hide a stray cat in her bedroom. “So…” she begins.

“So?” Rosé asks, straight-faced, making her work for it.

“Give us the story! When did you realize you liked her? What did you say to her on the train? What did she say back? When did she realize she liked you? And what was in those damn donuts that made your stubborn ass talk about your feelings with her?” Jan demands, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“And we want to hear about that kiss. It was so hot I would’ve covered my kid’s eyes if I had a kid,” Lagoona adds.

“Oooh, Lagoona wants to have a kid by the way, her boyfriend was really supportive during the Games stuff and she thinks he’d be a good dad--”

“Why are you telling my stories?” Lagoona asks. “I didn’t tell that you’re in love with that woman you talked to for five minutes--”

“I’m not in love with Jackie! It’s just a crush!”

“Rosé and Denali had crushes too, and we know how that ended.”

All Rosé can do is laugh. It makes her head spin, makes her a little sad to know she’s missed two months of her sisters’ lives, but it also makes her feel safe. Her sisters clearly don’t think any less of her, don’t plan to treat her any differently or love her any less, and she’ll answer every question they have, because she loves them.

---

Denali wakes up in her bed for the first time in two months. The bow is still at her feet, but her grip on the knife loosened in the night. The bed’s not as soft as the ones in the Capitol, but miles away from the ground in the arena. She’ll get used to it eventually.

She heads to the kitchen to get things ready for breakfast with Rosé. After the stress and intensity of the arena, they decided to take things slow at home, and breakfast this morning is their first official date. Denali bought new coffee mugs with her prize money, including a pink one just for Rosé, and she fills it with a spoon of cream and two spoons of sugar.

The doorbell rings, and Donut’s paws pound on the floor. Denali opens the door, keeping Donut behind her leg, and she can’t help but smile when she sees Rosé. She doesn’t look like she slept much, but some color is back in her cheeks, and it’s almost like seeing her for the first time.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” Rosé says cheerfully.

Donut yips inquisitively and peeks her head out from behind Denali, creeping over to Rosé, who leans down and lets Donut sniff her cautiously.

“Her name is Donut. No one’s ever here besides me, so she’s not great with—“

Rosé grunts as Donut leaps on her chest, wagging her tail and licking at Rosé’s face.

“—People,” Denali finishes, smiling as Rosé gently pets Donut’s back, unsure at first, but growing more confident. “She really likes you. I’ve never seen her do that with anyone.”

“Maybe I just smell good,” Rosé says, but Denali can tell how excited she is that Donut approves of her.

“You do smell good,” Denali mumbles. Like a gentle hint of lavender.

Rosé smirks, following Denali to the kitchen table and sighing in joy when she sips her coffee. Denali brings over pancakes--on new plates--and they dig in. It's awkward at first, the silence a little too long to feel comfortable, and Denali worries that maybe they can’t do this outside the arena. Can their relationship live when the arena partly created it? But Rosé talks about what her sisters did last night, about how she almost tripped in her shower this morning, and things fall back into place. Pretty soon, they’re laughing like they did when they were kids, and Denali knows this can work.

---

“Now, Denali, are you ready to learn from a master?”

“I think I’d take you more seriously if you weren’t wearing a polka dot apron.”

Rosé crosses her arms and glares, but Denali can’t help it. There’s something about her red hair pulled back in a ponytail, about the pink-and-white polka dot apron covering her black T-shirt, that makes Denali want to laugh and kiss her at the same time.

“That would look intimidating without the apron,” Denali says, watching Rosé’s glare melt into a smile as she laughs.

“We’ll see who’s laughing when you have flour and butter all over you and I’m nice and clean,” Rosé teases.

They’re in the back of the bakery, and Rosé is showing Denali how to make a cake. Denali was always mesmerized by the cakes in the window as a kid--hell, she still is now. Denali has steady hands, can do just about anything with her bow, but she can’t imagine making such beautiful cakes with nothing but frosting.

Rosé shows her how to beat the butter and sugar, marveling at the pale yellow. She pouts and calls Rosé a showoff after she cracks eggs one-handed, only to gasp when Rosé’s hand carefully curls around hers and shows her how to do it. They measure the dry ingredients, and Denali, true to Rosé’s word, gets flour all over her shirt. Denali loses herself in the steady motions of the mixer, watching it smooth everything into cake batter. They wash up while it bakes, wordlessly passing measuring cups and spoons back and forth, their hips and shoulders gently bumping into each other.

When it’s time to decorate, Denali just sits back and watches. Rosé’s grip around the piping bag is light, squeezing out little blobs of blue icing. Denali pictures those same hands gripping a sword so strongly, so fiercely. She pictures Rosé swinging it, the spray of blood that follows--

She takes a breath and blinks, forcing it away. She’s safe and in the bakery, not in the arena. There’s no blood. They both hate all the killing they’ve had to do, the blood they’ve shed. But those things aren’t the only things they’ve done. Their hands can pick flowers and decorate cakes as well as kill, and maybe it’s what they want to do that matters. What they choose to do.

Rosé is self-conscious at first, eyes flashing to Denali over and over. She’s probably never had anyone besides family watch her, but she quickly relaxes, loses herself in the movements. Denali’s heart melts at the focus in her eyes, the way her tongue sticks out a little, the way her nose scrunches, loving all the new parts of Rosé she gets to see. Once the top is covered in flowers--blue and purple and pink and yellow--they cut it up, laughing when they go back for seconds at the same time.

---

“I really hope this view is worth me being up this early,” Rosé mutters, trudging through the woods behind Denali.

“It is, trust me.”

Rosé just nods. She’s had a rough few days. She did so well right after she got back, distracted by days catching up with her sisters, meeting with Denali. But it’s been a few months now, and that peace wouldn’t hold forever. She’s been tired and jumpy and irritable this week, even if she didn’t want to be. Part of her was afraid that the bad days would scare Denali off, but they haven’t. Because Denali understands.

They both knew a relationship wouldn’t be an instant cure, wouldn’t magically heal them. But it helps. It helps that when Rosé can’t leave the house, Denali comes over to check on her and makes sure she eats. It helps that when Denali’s leg hurts and she's gasping in fear, convinced her leg is damaged, Rosé tells her it’s not and massages out the aches. It helps that on days when they're haunted by nightmares and memories, they have someone to talk to, someone to prove they're not alone in what they feel.

Rosé felt better today, and agreed to go walk with Denali, to see the autumn leaves in early sunlight. Denali moves with the same effortless skill she did in the arena, knowing just which way to turn, which path to take. Rosé will always be in awe of how she does it, casually pointing out the flowers and leaves they pass and teling Rosé all about them.

“--and this is the milkweed plant, butterflies like to eat it--what?” Denali asks, and Rosé realizes she’s staring at her with a huge smile on her face.

“I just--I love you,” Rosé says. She loved Denali in the arena--loved her before that, if she really admits it--but she loves the Denali she’s come to know at home. The Denali who rolls around on the floor when she plays with Donut. Who burrows into oversized sweaters and tucks her hands inside the sleeves. Who laughs more and more, her eyes crinkling when she does.

“I love you too,” Denali says. It’s the first time they’ve said it outside the arena, on their own, and it fills Rosé with warmth. Denali offers her hand. “Come on, we’re here.”

Rosé takes her hand and lets Denali lead her down into a valley of gold. The trees around them glimmer with reds and oranges and yellows, the bright morning sun making everything shine. It’s a brilliant reminder that she’s alive, that she’s still here to see things like this. The arena feels like a distant memory, and her home is right here, with Denali.

“Told you it’d be worth it.”

“It is.” Rosé watches the sun dance at the edges of Denali’s hair. “Denali, can I kiss you?”

“Of course.”

It’s the first kiss on their own, with no cameras. A first kiss without the danger of the arena, or the pressure of needing it to survive. A kiss that’s entirely theirs.

---

Snow flutters to the ground as December begins, but Rosé doesn’t mind the cold. It’s warm enough in her house. Jan, Lagoona, Kandy, and Kahmora--they’d become friendly and supported each other watching the Games--came up with the idea for a weekly dinner, as long as Rosé and Denali are feeling up to it. They both were today, and it’s extra special because Jan brought Jackie, who she’s officially dating, and Lagoona and her boyfriend have news. Rosé’s pretty sure she knows what it is, but she’ll let them tell it.

Rosé spent the day making a chocolate sweet bread for dessert. It’s been years since she lost herself in baking like that. Denali helped, but she really just watched and ate chocolate. Everyone devours it and praises her, and it it feels good, to be loved.

Lagoona looks up from her coffee and Rosé sees that look in her eyes and she knows, she knows, and she’s already out of her seat to hug her when Lagoona announces that she’s pregnant.

Rosé’s eyes are damp, but the tears really fall when Lagoona grabs her hands and says that if it’s a girl, they’re naming her Rosie.

---

Denali sticks around to help with the dishes, enjoying the easy silence with Rosé. They finish much too quickly, and Denali suddenly realizes she doesn’t want to make the thirty-second walk back to her house. After all the laughs and love at dinner, she doesn’t want to be alone tonight.

“Everything okay?” Rosé asks.

Denali hesitates. “Um, can--can I stay here tonight? I...home seems too quiet, you know?”

“Of course,” Rosé says, and Denali knows she understands. “I have a guest room, if you--”

Denali blushes, but she trusts Rosé enough for what she wants to ask. “Can I stay in your bed? If that’s okay?”

Rosé blushes too. “It’s okay.”

Rosé cackles when her pajamas are a little big on Denali, and Denali just whacks her with a too-long sleeve. Denali slips beneath the sheets, and realizes that not only is she sleeping with someone next to her, but she doesn’t have her bow. She has a knife--always has at least one--but no bow. What if she needs it? What if something bad happens, and she’s defenseless? But Rosé is warm and comforting next to her, and Denali feels...safe. She felt safe with Rosé in the arena, and she feels safe with her now. She sets the knife on the nightstand, still within reach, and falls asleep.

---

Denali wakes with the sun like she always does. Rosé is still asleep, curled up on her side just inches from Denali, and her heart warms at Rosé looking so peaceful. Neither of them had a nightmare, and Denali is grateful. Maybe they can heal eventually. Maybe the heaviness in their chests, the weights on their minds, will eventually lighten so much it won’t hurt.

By this time, Denali normally would have memorized the footage of the latest Games, and thought of strategies for the new tributes she’d have to mentor. But she hasn’t watched a second of any Games since she got home. Maybe she doesn’t have to fight the Games--fight the whole world--tooth and nail, doesn’t have to keep running to stay ahead of them. Maybe she can beat them, can be okay, without that. She takes another peek at Rosé, at the smooth lines of her face, the soft red waves framing her cheeks. At least she won’t have to do it alone.

Denali snuggles back down, wincing when her movement wakes Rosé, who gives her a sleepy smile.

"Sorry," Denali whispers. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay." Rosé motions for Denali to come closer, and Denali does, turning her back on her knife and resting her head on Rosé's chest.

"You're pretty comfy," she teases.

Rosé just grins. "I think today is gonna be a good day," she says, and Denali nods, melting into Rosé's arms. She's hopeful today, more than she's been in a while. There were the whispers Jackie shared last night, of hope through the districts. There was Lagoona’s news, the excitement of knowing the future can be brighter. Denali wants that future, wants it with Rosé. She wants to be there for good days and bad days, the happy parts of Rosé and the sad parts of her too. They're alive, still here through it, and Denali wants to live, wants to watch the sun and eat cake and play in the snow, take every good second she gets.

Maybe there will come a day when the Games are gone, when kids won’t live in fear of getting chosen. When what happened to them won’t happen to anyone else. The odds are pretty low, Denali knows.

But she’s beaten worse odds before.

[djarinsidebitch]

Scruffy Looking

A/N: Hello everyone! this was already posted before but on my now terminated account and this is old so my writing is better now.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: none, language maybe?

Poe Dameron, commander of the resistance and leader of the elite Black squadron, was screwed. Leia had tasked him with a simple mission to gain information from an informant on Nevarro, a known hang out of bounty hunters and stops in popular spice routes. Poe landed right outside the main city walking through the main passage to the cantina.  He ignores the looks from locals noticing that he is not a normal face they see come in and out of the streets of Nevarro.  

Entering the cantina it didn't get any better, the moment the blast door to the cantina opened all eyes were on him for a few seconds most went back to their drinks  but some kept their eyes trained on the pilot. Most were recognizing him as the best pilot in the resistance but one figure in a corner booth watched as he walked to a table with one other person and started talking in hushed voices, the figure wore a dark leather jacket and a wrap covering their face except where a pair of goggles covered their eyes. Blasters and vibroblades strapped to their legs in holsters and the blade sheathed in their boot.

Poe was able to get a drive from his informant that was full of new first order out posts in the outer rim, it was going smooth until a large shadow was cast onto the sable from a bounty hunter standing over the two of them. “Your the Resistance pilot” the hunter said more of a statement than a question, Poe opens his mouth to respond when two more bounty hunters start walking towards them and his informant bolts run out of the cantina like he was set on fire. “Look I am not here to start trouble-” Poe tries to reason  but is met with a blaster in his face. He had a blaster with him but kept it in his X-Wing since the informant didn't do weapons, the moment the blaster was trained on him he held his hands up in surrender  “You are worth a lot of money” “i would hope so” He couldn't help the snarky statement leaving his lips. The bounty hunter growls the moment he is about to squeeze the trigger a blaster goes off and they fall with a burning hole in their chest against the table dead. Behind him is the figure from before now standing it is clear it is smaller than the now dead body laying across the table and the other bounty hunters around them but still as menacing.

As soon as the fact that they had killed the bounty hunter it was an all out brawl and shoot out. Multiple times the mystery person had saved his skin as he tried to get out of the cantina as soon as possible. Poe was fighting his way through people twice his size and strength. He got pushed up against a wall with a knife to his neck and enough pressure to nick the skin before the attacker fell limp smoke coming from the back of his head. Once he was able to get out of the cantina and away from the fight with the masked figure saving him a few more times, he makes a mental note not to mention how many times he got saved feeling like a damsel in distress.

Poe looks around after running into a alley to catch his breath he turns back around then jumps when the same stranger appeared out of nowhere “Shit” he steadies himself “that was quite the show in there, You gotta name?” he looks at the silent figure “(Y/N)” a muffled response comes from you almost eligible “What? I didn't quite hear you, do you think you can take off those wrapping or is it a meaningful thing?” Poe asks, wanting to know who was so interested in him.

You freeze for a second before starting to unravel the scarves that cover your face. Your hair flops out fluffier than normal due to the static created by the stactic between movement, after letting the scarves fall over your shoulders you pull the goggles off letting them rest down on your neck “(Y/N), (Y/N) (L/N) Your Poe Dameron right? If you don't, I just wasted a lot of my time and credits' ' Poe was frozen. You were beautiful, Soft but rugged at the same time. You looked like you could be royalty but also the blasters and outfit say otherwise. It takes an awkwardly long time for poe to stop staring at you, the patterns of scars and beauty marks on your face and the stars that appear in your eyes. “Huh? What uh yeah, yeah i am Doe Pamer- Uh Poe, Poe Dameron. Why did you help me back there?” he asks, turning to lean against the wall to seem cool and chill. “I May be a hunter but I know who the good guys are and who are the bad guys. And you seemed to be having trouble so why not swoop in to save the resistances star pilot” (Y/N) retorts smiling placing a hand on her hip “i had it totally under control” he tries to wave it off but she just responds with cocking an eyebrow in a silent ‘really’

“I did” he tries to convince her. She just shakes her head and starts walking away the scarves swishing through the movement.

Poe stares loving watching her walk away but once his upstairs brain starts working again he chases after her “ Hey Wait!” he calls out jogging up next to her  “if you know the difference between the good guys and the bad guys why don't you help the good guys in more than just saving them from he-” “getting their ass kicked?” (Y/N) cuts him off with an amused grim knowing how this is going to go “sure if that makes you feel better, the resistance is always looking for new fighters, and if anything that you did today was a showcase of your fighting i think you would fit right in ‘you are also prettier than Naboo at Sun set’ Poe thought catching himself staring at you for longer than socially acceptable. “You're asking me to join the resistance because I saved you?” (Y/N) seems slightly perplexed but thinking about it ``''well that and i would definitely like seeing your face more often” poe says coyly attempting to make up for all the staring. “I Don't know about flyboys. I don't really follow the first good looking guy I meet to joining their little riot squad.” “It is not a riot squad- wait you think im good looking” he stops midway through what he was originally going to say. (Y/N) just laughs “a little slow fly boy but i'll take it. So where is this riot squad” she smirks and poe smiles “call me good looking again and i'll show you” how retorts feeling more confident crossing his arms over his chest. (Y/N) steps closer and looks him up and down then jokingly says “I don't know now that i'm closer you seem kinda scruffy looking fly boy” “I'll show you scruffy looking” poe smirks backing her up towards the alley wall and stares at her for a second making sure he is making the right choice “you take to long” she responds grabbing the back of his neck pulling him in for a kiss. He wasn't slow this time instantly returning the kiss putting one hand on her hip and the other resting on her cheek. Since air is a needed thing they broke apart “is that enough to convince you” Poe says out of breath “ i don't know i might need a second opinion” she says pulling him back in.  

[gremlin-writes-angst]

The Three Kingdoms

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

TW: Homophobia, internalized homophobia, implied transphobia(very brief), religious trauma

If I missed a trigger or if you spot a spelling mistake, please let me know. Feedback is encouraged.

Click here if you want to see more of my work and follow me for even more!

There was so much going on and yet it wasn't overwhelming, it was almost perfect. There were sounds of people happily chatting, wedding bells, and songs slightly louder played in the distance. The colorful glass from the church window shined on the people in the church. The church was packed for a royal wedding and at the altar, there was prince Kaminari but instead of a beautiful bride opposite him, there was a handsome knight from the enemy kingdom. The priest started the ceremony, the two grooms said their vows and kissed. It was anything less than magical. The priest began to announce the kingdoms’ new rulers.

"Lady's and Gent’s I introduce to you, your new Kings. King Denki Kaminari and King Eijiro Kiris--"

Before the priest finished his announcement the large church doors were opened and the...priest who was previously standing next to the kings, had teleported to the church’s entrance.

" I will not follow the rule of sinners like you" 

Suddenly all the happy wedding goers disappeared and reappeared behind the angry priest, joining him in ridiculing of the two kings

"We will not follow the devil"

"Our prince has been tainted by the devil"

The priest raises his hand and the crowd quiets down, Denki questions the priest

"What are you doing? You were just announcing us as the new kings and know you're over there protesting our marriage? YOU’RE THE MARRIAGE OFFICIANT?"

The priest ignored his King’s questions.

" Denki listen to me, the thing you married is the devil, he used his powers to make you believe you love him, but I know that you could never fall for another man. I can help you, just come to my side and I can exorcise that demon." 

The priest offers his hand out, then the rest of the people behind him do the same.

" Denki, they're lying, you know that they are trying to get in your head. I do love and you love me." 

Kirishima stood closer to Denki, also offering his hand to Denki. Denki looked between the two choices, he looks at the priest’s group, he sees his friends and family inside the crowd, telling him that the love of his life is the devil and he knows that they'll leave him if he stays with Kirishima. Could they be right? Did he love Kirishima, or was it just a trick? He meant every word of what he said in his vows, he spent days on his vows, he wanted to make sure Kirishima knew how much he loved him.  So they were wrong, he did love Kirishima, their love for each other was no trick. But if he chooses Kirishima he’ll lose all his friends, family, and his whole kingdom. Denki stressed over who to choose, the mob became louder and more aggressive while he thought but before he could make a choice, Denki woke up.

A dream? A nightmare? Why was I getting married, to a man, to a knight from the enemy kingdom? Why was I married to Eijiro Kirishima? It was a stupid dream, I would never marry a man, the kingdom was right, Eijiro Kirishima was the devil, the dream must be a warning to avoid the knight in the cellar. It can't be that hard, he’s just in the cellar that's in the basement dungeon, the key to said dungeon door was on the wall and the guard was always asleep. Ok, this was going to be hard, it's just too easy not to visit the Red Riot.

The day goes by quickly, but then night falls and I remember how easy it is to get to the cellar, how my dream is just a dream. How handsome the knight is. How sweet his voice is. How he waits up for me. How he stopped me from hitting my head. Before I knew it I was in front of the dungeon door with the keys in hand, but the thought of losing everything I know stopped me from going down. I silently returned the keys and went back to my room and slept, the dream repeated that night, and yet the pressure to choose felt even more stressful.

It was dusk again, I don’t remember the hours before now, but I was back at the door with the keys. I stand there for a while until eventually, I think

“It was just a dream.” 

So I unlock the door and descend down the stairs. Every step I take makes me more anxious, I repeat to myself that it was just a dream, my friends won’t leave me, I won’t be banished. I mean it doesn’t even make sense, I would never marry a guy, especially that brute in our dungeon, I barely even know him, and it's sinful.

“Then why are you going to see him?”

It’s a question in the back of my mind, and I don’t have an answer. It’s definitely not because he has a smooth husky voice or his muscular body, and it has nothing to do with his caring words that match his action. I am broken from my thoughts when said husky voice speaks

“If you keep walking you’ll end up hitting the wall”

I must have been so caught in thought because he was right, I walked right past him and was about to walk into the wall. I stay facing this wall, I wasn’t ready to face him, I mean I married him twice in my dreams, it is disgusting.

“Thanks, I guess”

“ No problem but are you going to turn around, I mean it’s kind of weird talking to the back of your head, especially when the front is so beautiful.”

I forget about the dream and why I was reluctant to turn around and l whip my body around and march towards his cell while accusing him of my dream.

“It’s your fault, you’re the reason, I’m not the evil one, it’s because you’re the devil. You sit there and you spew compliments at me, another man, from a rivaling kingdom, such words should be said to a woman!”

“ Sorry if I offended you, I was just telling the truth and if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop but I thought it was mutual” “What in the hell gave you that idea”

“uh the lustful gaze you keep giving me”

“Lus-lustful gaze, I do no such thing, and especially not to you”

“So then what was that look on your face when you heard my voice, why did you constantly look at my arms like they were turkey legs”

“ it -it - it was ugggg”

“Because that’s the same look the women give me…which is unfortunate for them because I’ve only ever looked at men with such a gaze.”

“ But that’s sinful, you are tainted, I should leave and never return.”

I walk to the stairwell with the full intent of doing what I just said.

“That won’t stop the feelings you are having”

I turn back around, full of frustration, I reach through the bars and pull the hunk closer to me.

“Then take your stupid spell off, I can-cant be . . . I can’t be like you, I just can’t, you understand right. Even as the devil you have to understand what this will do to me, I don’t deserve that, I don’t want god to hate me or my family or friends. I deserve to love who I want without feeling like the worst human in existence!”

I pause and quickly whip the tears off my face. I look up at the knight, his face is full of sorrow, he looks sad . . . for me. I let go and fall to my knees, replay what I said, I try to find justification for it, I think of the dream. I was happy, I was loved and I was loving someone else. What if I am like the knight? The knight leans down

“ I can’t say I understand the mental fight that’s happening in your brain because I came from a palace where this wasn’t something I need to worry about but listen.”

The knight’s hand slowly reaches for my chin, his hands are calloused like most knights, yet his hands are still comfortable and somehow soft. I let him lift my chin up so I’m looking into his eyes, there like rubies, or sapphires

“Or like the pits of hell”

I ignore the thought and continue to stare into the knight’s eyes as he tries to comfort me.

“ The person you love isn’t a choice, it’s fate, and if God hates you for what you can’t control, then he isn’t manly nor does he deserve such a title. Hate is a choice, love isn’t.”

I get lost in his eyes for a little bit, but when I realize it I turn away, a little more aggressively than I wanted to. I move away and take a seat on the bench that is meant for the guards, I don’t want to leave but I can’t find it in me to talk, even though I hate the silence. I sit there staring at the ground feeling awkward, the knight must have felt the same way about silence because he started talking.

“ um back at my kingdom, the Toyomitsu kingdom, there real accepting of such things, like I’m our queen was born a prince”

I’ve heard of a man loving a man or woman loving a woman but this wasn’t something I had heard of. With my eyes still planted to the ground, I asked.

“ What does that mean?”

I could hear shifting from the cell but I refused to lookup 

“Oh uh sorry, I forget that our kingdom is more progressive and more diverse. So basically our queen was born like us, she had our body parts, but she wasn’t.”

“I still don’t understand”

“Ugg this is hard, so she felt like her brain and body weren’t the same, like her brain said, ‘Your a girl’ but her body parts were male parts.”

“So she is a girl but had a body similar to ours”

“ Yeah exactly, but she’s better at explaining it because, well she lives through it.”

“ So she’s your queen, what about children, whos going to take over the throne”

“ Oh her and the king have a kid, he’s just adopted but he’s still their son and still the rightful prince, he's gonna be a great king. Oh, anyways I was gonna say that our kingdom is really accepting and if you need they’ll probably let you in if you ever wanted to leave here.”

In shock, I lift my head for the first time since I sat on this bench

“Even though I'm the prince of the rival kingdom?”

“ We don’t care that much about this rivalry. So yeah you would be fine”

“ If they don’t care why are you here?”

“ Well because our kingdom is so diverse and recently outside kingdoms have discovered that the queen is trans, which is the term for that situation, by the way, I think I forgot to mention that. Anyway, the King is worried about future attack’s so he sent out multiple knights to different kingdoms.”

“Oh so we’re not your only threat”

“Your not even a threat, your kingdom is crumbling”

“Oh wow thanks, I’ll remember that when I become king.”

“ You mean IF you become king”

“What is that suppose to mean ‘Red Riot’”

For the rest of the night, I joked and listened to Kirishima’s stories. I wish to see his home kingdom one day it sounds pretty cool. Before I knew it I was asleep and having another dream. It was different, there were no choices or stress. It was just Kirishima and me out on a hill having a picnic, eating food together, he fed me strawberries and the dream ended with a kiss, maybe falling for the knight wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Maybe my wedding dream was a warning about my kingdom and not Kirishima. I woke up and realized I was still in the dungeon, and that it was almost time for the guards check up on Kirishima, so I started to sneak back up to my room, I successfully avoided the guards on my way there, I acted as if nothing happened, I’m a pretty good actor if I do say so myself.

In the king’s throne room, a royal knight is kneeling before his king, he comes with important information.

“Lord Kaminari, I found the dungeon door unlocked and the keys on the guard bench this morning”

“ Well don’t leave them there”

“ I didn’t sir, I believe someone is sneaking into the dungeon at night.”

“ How would that be possible, we have Shinsou guarding the keys at night?”

“ I believe that he may have fallen asleep on duty.”

“ Well we can’t afford to get new guards or to switch any of the guard’s jobs, just move the keys to a new location along with Shinsou, Shinsou will continue to guard them. I want you to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

“Yes Sir”

“You are now dismissed Monoma.”

All characters belong to Horikoshi and his series Boku No Hero Academia

[animepreferences]

P R E F E R E N C E # 3 - D R U N K S H E N A N I G A N S

A K U T A G A W A

“If you ever return her to me in less than perfect condition again...Well, Y/N, wouldn’t really appreciate me finishing that statement. Just don’t let it happen again. Understood?” The seriousness that his face illustrated was even more frightening than the inflection in his voice. The two friends nodded in agreement, unable to muster up the words and courage to apologize again. Furthermore, they thought it might be better to not say anything at all at this point. Which is why after a few awkward seconds they began to back away slowly before scurrying down the porch, almost tripping over each other to get back in their car. Aku could hardly hide his chuckle as he turned to enter the house where he could hear you fumbling around in the kitchen. “Now, what am I supposed to do with you?” He muttered to himself, amusement flitting to his face. “I’m so hungry.” You pouted, arms crossed, lip jutted out. “Did your mean friends not even feed you?” Aku inquired, beginning to pull out a pan and fill it with water. “No. They took me straight home. They knew you’d probably be mad and they didn’t want to make matters worse by getting me home later. I think they’re frightened by you.” Akutagawa couldn’t help but to smirk at this, turning the heat on the stove as he began to prepare your very late dinner. “Smart friends. How does ramen sound? The carbs will be good for you, soak up some of that alcohol.” Aku explained, biting his lip to avoid the smile that was fighting it’s way through. You had curled yourself around his backside, your arms wrapping tight around his waist. He could feel your warm cheek pressing to his shoulder blade, your hot breath sending internal shivers down his spine. He was so thankful you couldn’t hear his thoughts, let alone see his face; he was completely smitten by you and it was particularly hard to control when you were acting like this. “Mmmm. Sounds good. Though, Aku, would you mind giving me a kiss first please?” He rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. Sober Y/N was never this forward. “Of course,” Turning around to embrace you in a tight hug, he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours, electricity shooting all over his body in an invigorating frenzy. Your hands found their way to knot in his hair, his hands slipping to your lower back. Unlike most of your kisses that were typically very controlled and romantic, this one was wild and unpredictable. He almost let out a moan when you bit down on his lip, granting entrance for his tongue, your hand trailing down his chest slowly...“That’s enough for now.” Aku breathed, trying to recover from the whirlwind his head was currently in. “Woah,” you agreed, almost losing your footing as you stumbled backward. Aku was just in time to catch you in his arms, steadying you before leading you to a bar stool, forcing you to sit and rest. As he cooked your food, he couldn’t help but to thank the lucky stars that he could do this; that he could take care of you and be a good partner. It was a great feeling for him, being able to do this, knowing that he could be there for you when you needed. That is until he looked up and noticed you had already passed out there, head slumped in your arms. “You drunk little fox,” were his last words before draping a blanket over your shoulders while he finished cooking.

-

D A Z A I

“Careful, my love.” Dazai chided softly, his arms reaching to steady you after he threw an oversize t-shirt on the bed for you, as you fumbled to get your heels off. “Allow me,” He smiled politely, lifting you gracefully so that you were sitting promptly on the bed now. You both had just gotten home from a celebration party with the agency and you had ingested one too many glasses of champagne. “There you go,” He sighed, chucking your shoes behind him before massaging your swollen ankles. He never really understood why you wore such poor choices in shoes when they hurt you the way they did, but he couldn’t deny how irresistible your legs looked when you wore them. Then again, you looked irresistible all of the time to him. “Dazaiiiiiiiii, help!” you whined, scratching at your back trying to unzip your own dress. It took Dazai a moment to pick up on your endeavors, the soft kisses he was peppering on your ankles halting. “Of course, yes.” Dazai obliged, scurrying from the ground to join you on the bed. Slowly unzipping the back of your dress, Dazai tried his best to be a perfect gentlemen, failing miserably as he took in your nude back, clad in only your matching bra and panty set, lust twinkling in his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat, letting out an exhale as he stared at the ceiling desperately trying to distract himself. ‘She’s drunk, she’s drunk, she’s drunk’, Dazai chanted to himself internally, trying his best not to touch what he so badly wanted to. “Much better.” You stated, standing to your feet, allowing the dress to drop around your ankles, leaving you nude right before his eyes. “Yes, indeed.” He bit his lip, his brain clouded when you walked over to him on the bed and straddled him. Fingers running through his shaggy locks, you leaned in and began to kiss him on the mouth with vehemence and passion. Dazai was shocked at your newfound confident nature, but wasn’t about to argue it as he reciprocated with the same fire and energy. Arms wrapping around your waist, he pulled you even closer deepening the kiss as he slipped his tongue in your mouth while you were attempting to catch your own breath. Untangling your fingers from his hair, your hands reached to unclaspe your bra clumsily. That’s when it all clicked for him. His head had been so full of excitement, that it took him a quick second to remember what was really happening. He could taste the alcohol on your breath, see the disconnect in your eyes; you weren’t all there. This was wrong. “Belladonna, I love you and I typically love when you try to undress yourself, but this isn’t right. You’re not all here at the moment unfortunately and I can’t in good concience do anything with you without your full, sober consent.” He spoke slowly so you would understand, but you only let out a huge puff of unsastisfied air in response. “This is me giving you my consent,” You leaned in for a kiss, but Dazai intercepted kissing your forehead instead, forcing your arms up as he tugged the oversized t-shirt over your head. “Y/N. You know we can’t.” Dazai reasoned, pulling the covers back as he pat the open space beside him. “But I can hold you until you fall asleep? How does that sound?” His words were like melting honey. How could you deny that even if you were drunk? You were never one to turn down Dazai cuddles. Collapsing against his chest, you let out a small ‘hmph’ in a disatisfied pout, trying to ignore how good his arms felt around your body. “I know I’m no fun, but I love you very much.” He said after a moment. You had attempted to say it back, but the drunkness was already taking over and you were already growing very tired. He laughed at your attempt nonetheless and smoothed your hair back lovingly. “You sure are a riot when you drink.” Were his last words before allowing him to fall asleep with you happily in his arms.

-

C H U U Y A

You had gone completely silent. Chuuya thought you had simply fallen asleep because typically car rides did that for you when you were drunk. Furthermore, he didn’t think much of it. That is until he heard the sniffling. And the fidgeting. And the ragged breathing. “Y/F/N.” He would say calmly, sneaking a glance over your way. He could already tell just by looking at you that you were trying to hide your face from him. You were an emotional drunk and you were definitely crying. “Y/N. Look at me,” He would demand, grabbing your hand in his and kissing your knuckles gently. Chuuya had witnessed this on so many occasions that he had grown desensitized to your overdramatic actions while under the influence. In fact, it was one of his favorite things to talk and joke about the next day because he knew it was simply just the alcohol taking its toll. That didn’t mean, however, he still wasn’t going to bust his ass to at least try and cheer you up. Your smile was priceless to him after all. “Baby, why are you crying?” He would sigh as you finally peaked at him through your hair. “Because I just-I just-I just love you so much, Chuuya!” You would gasp in between hysterical sobs, your crying becoming progressively louder as you threw your fists over your eyes. “You don’t even know how hot you are, it’s awful. I just want to kiss your stupid face all of the time.” You wailed miserably. Chuuya was quiet for a moment and then suddenly he broke out into a loud guffaw. Were you seriously crying over how much you loved him? And how hot you thought he was? Oh, how he was going to LOVE to remind you of this in the morning. Mortified wouldn’t even begin to touch on it. “And now you’re-you’re laughing at me! Do you not love me back anymore? That would suck a lot.” This made him laugh even harder, though he was making a genuine effort to calm down to comfort you even if you were being ridiculous. “My sweet, silly, beautiful girl. If only you knew how much I really loved you. Words cannot even begin to make a dent on the love I have for your very drunken self.” The car came to a halt as he pulled up to your shared apartment, turning to look at you with complete sincerity. “Why are you laughing then?” You would ask timidly, your tears now drying against your puffy cheeks. “Because It’s funny to me that you would even have to consider asking me if I still love you. I will always love you till my last breath and so on. Of course, I love you. I’ll scream it and wake up the entire neighbor hood if you want me to,” He offered opening his car door and slamming it before coming to the passenger side to get you. When you didn’t budge, he cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Well, aren’t you going to tell the neighbors?” He rolled his eyes, lifting up your unwiling body as he kicked the door shut with his foot. Oh, how he loved his very stubborn girlfriend. “I really do love you Y/N. More than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.” He soothed you, kissing the space in between your eyes as he walked you through the threshold of your apartment. “I love you Chuuya.”

[catscraftsandcommentary]

thoughts on tiny!Steve/werewolf!Bucky shrunkyclunky AU

Because I’m too fucking lazy to actually type it into a proper fic and edit it and do all the fancy-ness that it would take to, y’know, make it a properly written story.

SO

Vaguely fantasy/colonial setting, somewhere with lots of forests. Steve lives in a small town called - of course - Brooklyn, with best friend Peggy (local beauty and hell on heels.) Also with various non-friends Rumlow (sheriff), Rumlow’s minions, Alexander Pierce (mayor/governor of the area), and various townsfolk. Who often don’t like Steve because he’s constantly poor, constantly sick, constantly fighting and/or preaching about how their normal behavior is terrible.

Peggy thinks he’s great. Rumlow, who wants Peggy, despises him.

So at some point, Steve does something to piss Rumlow off more than usual. For a while, I thought about “stopping Rumlow when he won’t take ‘no’ from a girl at the local tavern and Steve reads him the riot act/starts a fight with him (these are pretty much the same thing, lbr.) BUT, sudden better idea, Rumlow comes up with some new, ridiculous plot to get Peggy to change her mind about him (never gonna happen, bro), but Steve ruins it somehow.

Like Rumlow commissions something for Peggy (clothing? art? jewelry?), but then extorts the artist to get out of paying, and Steve, who is PISSED, tells Peggy, who refuses the gift very publicly AND calls Rumlow a thief, extortionist, etc.

Hell. On. Heels.

So Rumlow immediately blames all his problems on Steve, and sentences him to banishment, permanent, on penalty of death. If he’s not out of town by sunrise, Rumlow will be glad to skip the wait.

Except oh yeah, Rumlow and the bros are going hunting tomorrow, leaving at dawn, so they’ll have to check in that Steve’s gone - and that Peggy isn’t hiding him - before dawn, so, y’know, he might want to get moving. 

Cutscene to Peggy’s house, where she’s trying to talk Steve out of a suicidal second confrontation with Rumlow, or a more political confrontation through Pierce (who did, after all, appoint the bastard), or whatever other dumbass, noble idea he comes up with. She makes him pack a bag (or more likely, packs one for him), and tells him to go straight into the spooky old-growth forest a ways from town. Not the nice, civilized woods where Rumlow et al usually hunt, or along one of the roads to one of the other towns, but 

“You head straight into the heart of that forest, Steve, because so help me, that is the only way you’ll be safe from him. And if you see any wolves - hell, if you hear any wolves - you say that Margaret Elizabeth sent you with a message for Natalia of the White Wolf’s pack. And that message is pay your debt.”

And no, she does not explain any of that to Steve before she bundles him out of her house and on the path to the forest road.

Oh, did I mention that, according to general knowledge in this AU, magic isn’t real, except for maybe small good luck charms and similar. Which plenty of people still scoff at. So telling Steve to talk to wolves is...suspicious.

Second aside, a while back, Peggy saved Natalia from an angry mob, took her family’s home, let her recover in her own bed, and then accidentally fell in love with her. Oops. Before, of course, Natalia had to return to her own pack. Now they have a secret on-again, off-again romance. (I haven’t thought about WHY Peggy didn’t just run away with Natalia immediately, other than it wouldn’t work for my story. Shh.) And of course, Natalia promised to someday do the same for Peggy.

Cutscene to forest, next morning!

Bucky and his wolf buddies are out cruising the forest, as you do, when they sense a Disturbance In the Forest *cough force cough* and decide to check it out. Upon smelling some humans they’ve collectively termed “those fuckers,” they decide to fulfill the threat they issued at their last meeting and be done with the problem.

Namely, they gave Rumlow and his crew the same ultimatum that he’d given Steve, except that Rumlow had a history of terrorizing and killing everything (and everyone) in the forest, whereas Steve just wanted to protect people.

They herd the horses and hunting dogs to the edge of the forest near the town, leave the bodies in a pile, and are ready to continue on, except...there’s still one human somewhere in the forest. And these shitty scumbags had been following their trail. Time to figure out what’s up.

They reach the edge of a clearing, and all the wolves sort of melt out of the undergrowth at the edges, while Bucky, in his big fucking white wolf form walks out to the edge, transforms, and then stalks out in his best Murder Strut (TM).

And yes, this is “built like a brick shithouse” Bucky from Civil War, and yes, he is entirely naked, and still covered in blood, so Steve’s brain goes immediately offline.

Steve backs up until his back hits a large tree, waving a large knife at this seriously threatening (but hot) impossible fucking being, because werewolves do not exist. Right?

Right?!?

Bucky just casually pins Steve’s arms over his head, disarms Steve and tosses the knife away (without even looking where he tosses it, which Steve finds inexplicably really hot), and leans in to smell him.

Now, when Bucky reached the clearing, he recognized from the scent that this was a potential mate for him - and possibly a very strong mate too. Mates, in their world, are more “you are compatible with this person” than “this is the only person you can ever love EVER” and the strength of the potential bond can vary as well. (Just like some relationships are stronger than others.) But basically, Bucky realizes that whoever’s in the clearing, they could be good together. They could be goddamn AMAZING. And yeah, he wants to smell some more of that.

Steve is...more than a little overwhelmed by suddenly having a giant wolf turn into the hottest man he’s ever seen, who’s now pinning him to a tree and huffing him, but he does manage “Natalia.”

At which Bucky choke-grunts. The fuck?

“I have a message for Natalia. In the white wolf’s pack. From Peg-from Margaret Elizabeth.”

Vaguely grumpy at not getting to nose up his mate, but also very curious as to where this is going, (because how does this tiny gorgeous human know his second or her mate? Yes, Natalia is Bucky’s second-in-command), Bucky finally lifts his head. “I am the White Wolf, and I speak for Natalia. What is her message?”

Steve stares up the man towering over him and snarls, “Pay. Your. Debt.”

Bucky grins, slow and wicked. “Gladly. But not here.” He steps back, lowing Steve’s arms, and then...somehow, suddenly, Steve’s arms are around his shoulders, his legs are lifted around his waist, and Bucky is cradling Steve to his chest while telling his pack “bring his things.”

And then everyone is racing through the forest, faster than Steve has ever seen anyone move before and what the fuck did Peggy get him into?

After an hour or two of running (being carried) through the forest, Steve finally puts his head down on White Wolf’s shoulder, tucks his face into his neck, and tries to rest. He didn’t get any sleep, he spent the whole night hiking through dark, unfamiliar forest, he’s pretty sure he can stop worrying about Rumlow hunting him down - in the most literal sense, yikes - he’s tired.

Also, being carried is kind of soothing. There’s a rhythm to it. And wolfman smells nice. Mm...

Bucky is perfectly happy to have his newly-found mate fall asleep in his arms, and he’s very loathe to put him down once the pack reaches their den. (I still can’t decide what I want the den complex to look like. A castle? A big house? A fort? Maybe it’s a cave system that has been smoothed out and built into like hobbit holes. Or the Holds and Weyrs from Pern.)

But he finally decides to lay Steve down, feather-soft, into his own bed and tuck him in warmly. After all, Natalia vowed to repay Margaret in kind for what she’d done to help her, and part of that had been sharing her bed. There are guest rooms, but they’re so far away. This is closer. Warmer. More convenient. Better for his mate. And he’ll explain everything as soon as he wakes.

Steve does wake up and demand all the details EVER, as well as actually meeting Natalia and hearing how she knows Peggy (to make sure that this “white wolf” isn’t making shit up). Bucky gladly complies. Natalia is more salty about it, but she deals.

Then Bucky commences doting on his new mate. While trying not to come on too strong. Mostly failing. He...may have left out the bit about being able to smell that they’re mates. So he’s just trying to keep Steve interested enough in werewolf life/forest life to stay there and not, say, ask to go back to the human world (or back to his town even) since Rumlow and his men are dead.

Steve finds everything fascinating, and since Bucky always responds immediately to his cues - verbal and nonverbal! - he doesn’t have a problem being wooed. He might even, actually, like to be wooed a bit faster. Or more carnally. Not that he knows how to hint that.

Peggy eventually shows up sometime and is cute with Natalia, aka Natasha.

Steve slowly settles into life as the Kept Human Boy of the most badass werewolf alpha ever, who loves his tiny feral little mate and WILL tear your throat out if you even look at him funny.

[trojantoast]

Cold is the Night (Day Two: Counterpart)

Zutara Week 2020// Day One

@zutaraweek

Ao3

Bring me some hope

By wandering into my mind

Something to hold onto

Morning, noon day, or night

You are the light that is blinding me

You're the anchor that I tied to my brain

'Cause when it feels like I'm lost at sea

You're the song I sing again and again”

- The Anchor (Bastille)

____

Zuko didn’t know what to say.

She closed his hand around the smooth stone.

“Katara, I...I can’t take this.”

“Yes, you can.” she pushed it towards his chest,

“No, I won’t let you.”

“Zuko,” she squeezed his hand, and furrowed her brow. His throat closed. “You’re not letting me do anything.”

He opened his palm and looked at the necklace, her necklace, her mother’s necklace.

“But,”

Katara sighed, “Here,” she took it from him. A weight flew off his shoulders, but she just grabbed his bare wrist and slowly wrapped the blue silk around it.

“Zuko, you want to get married, right?” He tried to open his mouth and agree, but no sound came out, he just nodded. His eyes didn’t leave her calloused tan hands, “Well, then I’m giving this to you.” She finished. The stone, and it's all too familiar design, rested on the inside of his wrist, against his pulse.

She moved her hand to cradle his left cheek. They were a cool salve to his scar. Her fingers threaded into his hair. Looking into her eyes, he leaned into her touch. A gentle smile flitted across her lips.

They had only talked in the abstract about getting married, but last night… even the memory of the words they had shared filled his chest with warmth.

“I love you, Zuko.” she rose to her tip toes and kissed him. Immediately he wrapped his arms around her waist, like an anchor. She broke the kiss, but stayed close. He circled his thumbs across the fabric of her tunic, but she reached down and took his wrist.

“This,” Katara brushed her hand along the silk, “is a promise.”

He finally found his words, “It’s your mother’s Kat, I can’t take it away from you.”

She smiled, but the expression on her brow was insistent, “You're not taking it from me, I’m giving it to you.” She ran a thumb along the stone, “I trust you, Zuko, with this, and with my life, and our future together. I was never supposed to keep it forever. My grandmother gave it to my mother, my mother to me, and now I'm giving it to you.”

Her eyes shined, but there was no sadness in them.

“And… maybe one day,” she raised a brow, “We’ll give it to our daughter.”

Zuko balked.

“In many years, of course!” her eyes went wide. His sigh of relief rustled her baby hairs.

There was a knock at the door, they both jumped.

“Ambassador Katara, if you’re in there, the ship to Ba Sing Se is leaving in thirty minutes.”

Katara pouted. Zuko smiled at the expression.

“What will I do without you, while your off building hospitals in the Earth Kingdom?”

Once again she reached up, but this time her fingers ran all the way to behind his ear.

“That’s another thing its good for,” she kissed him again, this time slower, “I’ll always,” she planted another kiss on his jaw, “be close.” her third kiss was the tip of his nose.

He laughed, and pulled her against him. He buried his nose in her soft hair, and she couldn’t hold him tight enough.

“I’ll see you in ten months?” she whispered into his neck.

“In ten months.”

___

A year and eleven months later...

Katara had never seen a more beautiful morning. Though, she would enjoy it more if she had slept the night before.

For hours she laid in the dark until the sky turned gray outside her open balcony doors. Cool, damp wind blew through the sheer white curtains and caressed her face. Spring had stayed for longer than usual in the Fire Nation. The oppressive heat and humidity of summer had been delayed. Katara wondered if it was divine intervention, or dumb luck.

She pulled the duvet, pale blue, up to her cheek, and snuggled closer into the cool white sheets. Once, she was under the impression that everything in the Imperial Palace was red or black, but on her first night as a formal guest of the Fire Lord (a phrase which made her chuckle every time she heard it) she had been lead into a sunny room, with slate gray wood walls, light maple furniture, and a lovely four poster bed with pretty blue bedding. A pile of pillows topped it  in shades of lilac, periwinkle, and the softest green.

Pale, watery light filled the room and softened the edges of her sleepless night. It filtered through the stacks of papers piled on her desk.

For another moment she observed the dawn’s quiet beauty, then slowly sat up and stretched.

It wasn’t like she would be getting any rest anyway.

The waterbender wrapped a red silk robe around her bindings and tied it securely around her waist. Slowly, she crossed the room and stilled at her reflection in the mirror. A young woman stared back at her. Curves, recovered from years of hardship, enhanced hard muscle. Wild, untamed, chestnut curls crowned her head and fell to her waist. Blue eyes turned clear in the coming light of day.

She was no longer the little girl, a wisp of skin and bone, who cradled the head of the last airbender, six years ago in the snow. She was a new creature.

___

Katara found herself curled in the ancient roots of the willow tree, on the banks of the turtle duck pond. She had come to this place many times before, and it always cleared her mind, but the thoughts swirling around her countenance were a different beast this morning.

The sun was minutes away from crowning the gray hills in the distance, and the sky had turned the softest blue. The clouds above were tinged in pink and gold.

The turtle ducks had just begun to wake up, and were quaking quietly to themselves. Chirping birds and the wind in the fresh leaves became the backdrop of her silent thoughts.

Katara watched the mist rise of the mirror-like surface of the pond. She reached out, feeling the gentle pull of the water in her navel, and curled it to her whim.

“I didn’t expect to find you out here so early.”

Katara started at the breaking of her silence, but then she smiled.

“Goodmorning, Uncle.”

Iroh smiled gently then gestured to the grass next to her, “May I sit with you?”

“Of course,” the older man nodded, and settled in a lotus position beside her.

“I usually have my morning tea out here, I would be honored if you joined me.”

As Katara nodded, Iroh pulled a teapot out of the small basket at his side, and handed her a cup. With a gentle smile he poured the steaming liquid.

She took a sip and her chest grew warm.

“Mmm… what type of tea is this?”

“Gyokuro, very good for waking up,” he took his own sip, “though… it also does well for those who never went to sleep.” He gave her a pointed look. Sheepishly, Katara stared down at her tea, and then the pond.

“I couldn’t stop my mind from…” she waved a hand around her head, “spinning.”

“Often, the wills of the mind overcast the needs of the body.”

Katara sighed, and slouched a little, “Yeah.”

“Is there anything in particular you are worried about, Lady Katara?” Iroh’s expression was calm, and he topped off her tea cup. She sighed, then scoffed,

“Besides the obvious?”

“I prefer not to assume the apparent obvious, I’m too frequently incorrect in my assumptions.”

The sun had finally dawned over the mountains and the entire palace and gardens were lit up in brilliant gold. The red roof tops of Caldera City burned in the dawn. Katara pulled her knees closer to her chest and took a deep sip of tea. She knew Iroh would not pester her for a speedy response, so she took the time to collect her thoughts. The general just simply waited and drunk his tea, while he watched the surface of the pond sparkle like a jewel.

“It’s the wedding. Don’t get me wrong! I want to marry Zuko, I love him, and can’t imagine being without him, but there's so much… pressure.”

Iroh, just watched her, and waited for her to continue.

“I have to look perfect, and act perfect, and say all the right things. I have to bow to this person, and remember this person's name. There's so many customs and rules. What if I do something wrong? What if something crazy happens? Like assassins attack, or there’s a freak tornado?”

Katara’s voice had risen in volume and pitch as she went on, but now her words were quiet, and the hands gripping her tea cup trembled. “I know that there's people in this country who don’t like me. I hear them in the streets when I go shopping. They whisper behind my back at parties and announcements. ‘Southern Savage’… that’s a favorite… there was one woman I passed in a corridor that called me ‘Zuko’s Whore’”. Tears slipped down her cheeks. Iroh’s expression darkened.

“Does my nephew know of these impertinences?”

Katara sniffled and wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her robe, “No, he has so much to worry about, and he can’t fix it anyway.”

“And I feel so stupid!” the waterbender threw a hand in the air, threatening ripples disturbed the pond, “I’m not some soft maiden. Usually, I would defend myself. One time in Ba Sing Se, some girls made fun of Toph and I sent them down the river! I challenged a waterbending master without any formal training. I started a prison riot. I defeated Azula. Iv’e fought assassins, and soldiers!” Katara hid her face behind her knees, curtains of hair blocking her tears from view, “But, I just freeze. Every time. My brain screams at me to do something, but I can’t, I just stand there like an idiot. Eventually, I remember that fighting wouldn’t have helped anyway, or changed help how people saw me, they'd just think I was even more of a ‘savage’.” She spit the word out like poison, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I should stand up for myself, but..” she trailed off.

“Those things aren't true, Katara.”

“I know,” she turned to Iroh, resting her temple on her knee, “but, it’s hard to handle it. I’ve never been stoic, I’ve never been able to just ‘brush things off’. Like Mai, she gets all kinds of stuff thrown at her because she’s with Ty Lee, but she’s always the perfect noblewoman.”

“Just because your strengths differ from those valued by Fire Nation nobility doesn’t mean they’re less valuable.” A melancholic look over took his features, “my wife was very similar to you. She was raised in the colonies, born out of wedlock on top of it, but she too was never able to brush things off.”

“What did she do?” Katara turned her whole body in interest.

“She worked hard, she served the people, and was kind to everyone. She did so much good for the Fire Nation, before she died, that slowly the people who didn’t like her were the minority.”

Katara nodded.

“And,” Iroh made a point to look her in the eye, “she confided in me, and we were able to get through it together. Tell my nephew, the next time something happens. Even if he can’t do anything about it, which would be a rare occurrence, he receives his own ridicule, as I’m sure you know. You two are stronger together. You and Zuko, both, have grown up having to fight for every scrap of respect” Iroh breathed in deeply, “and you must continue to do so. However, the arena has changed, Lady Katara. You have to rely on each other, and your natural strengths to navigate it.”

The general chuckled to himself, “and don’t worry about messing up at your wedding. Nothing can be worse then when my cousin spilled the entire puch bowl on his pride, then got so drunk he challenged her brother to and Agni Kai.”

Katara’s jaw dropped.

“Of course, the man was a non-bender, so the challenge was null and void. What I’m trying to say, is that the wedding doesn’t matter as much as what you do after. You have a strong heart and, most importantly, empathy. This country doesn’t need a noblewoman, it needs a warrior.”

The young waterbender was now looking back over the pond, her brow furrowed.

“Is there anything else on your mind, Lady Katara?”

She considered it.

“What is it going to be like...being Fire Lady?”

Iroh took another sip of his tea, “I’ve never been one, so I can’t say that I know for sure,” she smiled, “but the most important thing to remember is that you are the most powerful person in the Fire Nation. That fact comes with privileges, but it also comes with responsibilities. You will swear the same oaths as Zuko. You are the mother of the nation.”

Oddly enough, that was the easy part to her. She had always been a caregiver. The memory of a small village on a river came to mind, of a little boy with a fish, and a veiled rice hat. She frowned, softly,

“What do you mean I’m the most powerful person in the Fire Nation? I thought that was Zuko, he’s the Fire Lord.”

Iroh shook his head swiftly, “My father and grandfather spun many lies about our customs and beliefs. They changed thousands of years of history to feed their own egos and suit their agendas, and to have unquestionable power. The Fire Lord and Lady are equal in power and in status, or at least they were before the War.” He turned to Katara, whose eyes had gone wide, “it is my understanding that Zuko will honor those ancient traditions.”

He continued, “You and Zuko have always been equals, even before he found his way. You are two sides to the same coin, moon and sun.You have always been matched in skill and mind. Similarly, The position of Fire Lady is the counterpart to the Fire Lord.”

“Yin and Yang.” Katara whispered. She reached up to the new pendant at her throat (so like her old one in weight and shape) and traced the familiar pattern engraved in luminescent green stone. She thought of a battle, so long ago. Katara had been so angry then, but her and Zuko… they had been equally matched. How many other times had they met on the battlefield and fought till a stand still. Even now, as friends, as more than that… they had always been on level footing. Never before had she hidden in Zuko’s shadow. He always recognized her strengths, and how they complimented his own weaknesses. Katara smiled to herself. Why would that change now?

You rise with the moon, I rise with the sun.

Balanced.

She turned to Iroh, and bowed slightly, “Thank you, Un…” Katara paused to yawn wide, “...cle”

He smiled, and bowed back, “Tomorrow is your wedding day, not today, I believe you may have some time to rest your eyes.”

Katara nodded, yawning again, and stood. Before she left she wrapped Iroh in a tight hug. He responded in kind.

When Katara made it back to her room, she found her mind clear as she settled into bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow, her hand still resting on the engagement necklace around her neck.

___

(Please reblog with thoughts & criticism!!)

Day two!!!

So I added that part at the beginning because i wanted to share my personal headcannon about the necklace (Also, read my Zutara Week submission from a couple years ago on the same subject) and it ended up being my favorite of today’s prompt :) Anyway, Thank you for reading!!! Tomorrow’s will be  ~t h e  w e d d i n g~ and then on day four we diverge a little for my personal favorite piece I wrote. (Because it’s lore and lore is the bomb diggity)

[baxtermatthews]

just thought i’d share some moments from the jonathan/steve/billy fic i’ve been working on 

When they finally reach Steve’s table Jonathan just stands there, shoulders hunched, tense, fidgeting with the tray in his hands and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Steve watches as Nancy nudges him with her shoulder and gives him a look.

“Um, hi.” Jonathan mumbles, making brief eye contact and then looking down at the floor. Steve shakes his head and laughs a little to himself at the thought of Nancy dragging this poor kid to the cafeteria and Jonathan following along like a helpless little puppy—remembering that not too long ago that was him.

“Hey man.”

Jonathan gives him a nervous smile.

Steve doesn’t know how much time passes but it feels like a hundred years go by of them sitting in silence. Until, it occurs to Steve that he’s going to have take control of the conversation if he wants to get Jonathan to talk. “Oh god tell me you didn’t Nance.” Steve says, and Nancy purses her lips.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“God, I can see it written all over his face.” Steve throws a hand up, snorts out a laugh, shakes his head, eyeing Jonathan as he ups his antics, who seems to be enjoying it. “The Nancy talked me to death about how much she loves school and filling out college applications look.”

Nancy punches him in the arm. “Ow!” And Steve bites his cheek to keep from grinning.

“You’re right Nancy. Steve’s quite the gentleman.” Jonathan says, smiling, and it’s a lot less forced. Steve figures it’s a win.  

--

“Billy.” Nancy says, her tone dipping a bit, but she’s not looking at Billy.

Steve follows her gaze to see Jonathan sipping a juice box. Oh, right. He had been so caught up in Billy that he had almost completely forgotten that it wasn’t just the three of them at the table. He wonders what Jonathan thinks of it all.

Billy plops down next to him, knocks his knee into Steve’s.

Steve turns, looks right into Billy’s grinning face. He lets his eyes linger on him before turning his attention back to Nancy, who just shrugs. There’s no noticeable injuries on his face. But that could mean something way more serious. Either Billy’s putting on one hell of an act or they’re just overreacting.

And Steve wants so badly to say something. But maybe Billy really is fine. So, he decides to let it go.

It isn’t too hard. Because when he feels a warm, firm hand on his thigh his brain forgets all previous thoughts.

Sometimes when Billy’s feeling bold

, which has been happening more and more often, he’ll be overly handsy in public. He’ll show up to class without a pen or pencil and when Steve hands him his he’ll let his fingers brush his a few moments longer than the exchange calls for. He’ll bump shoulders, sling an arm around Steve’s neck, whisper something into Steve’s ear whenever they’re in the hallway. Knock him down in practice just so he has an excuse to touch him. Or, like right now, he’ll put his hand on Steve’s thigh while they’re sitting in the cafeteria, talking to Nancy. But this. This is different. Billy’s hand moves further up his leg till it’s mere inches away from Steve’s crotch, his eyes fixed solely on Jonathan. “Alright. Alright. Who’s the kid?”

--

“Great. Because as much as I like hanging out with the princesses, they can be a bit of a snooze fest.”

Steve snorts, flicks Billy in the shoulder. “Are you saying we’re boring?”

“Aww. Did I upset the ex king?” He asks, voice pitched high.

Before Steve can answer, come up with some witty comeback, Billy’s fingers brush over Steve’s crotch and Steve jerks forward in his seat. “F-uck you,” Steve says through gritted teeth, and Billy slaps him on the back and laughs.

--

Steve raises his fist. But when he meets Billy’s eye he freezes. There’s a brightness to them like they’re saying Come on pretty boy. I’m practically begging for it.

He lowers his hand, rolls off Billy. “This is stupid,” Steve says, staring up at the darkness. He feels Billy chuckle and it makes him sick. That’s the only reaction he gets, though. So he continues to stare into the pitch black sky. Lets himself get lost in it. And for a while it works. He starts to forget. About Jonathan. About Billy. Instead, he focuses on everything else around him. The damp dirt beneath his palms. Leaves rustling in the wind. The unpleasant sounds the insects make. The low rumble of his car. The list goes on and on.

There’s a piercing scream. Not humanlike. Something much more frightening.

For a second Steve doesn’t think anything of it. But then he’s reminded of Jonathan. Of how he’s out there alone. Drunk.

He pushes himself off the ground, realizes Billy’s no longer there. Instead, he’s leaning against his own car, lighting up a cigarette. Maybe he’s still waiting for him to make the first move. But Steve’s not about to cave in.

--

Steve realizes he must look like some creepy stalker —that if Jonathan were to turn around and see him standing there, he’d probably freak out—and slowly begins to inch closer.  And whatever stealthily ninja skills he thought he had going on decides to fail him in that moment because the next thing he knows he’s tripping over his own two feet, bumping into Jonathan, knocking some photographs out of his hand. “Shit! Sorry.” Steve says, dropping down to pick up the pictures that are now scattered across the dusty floor. Smooth Steve. Real smooth. Jonathan drops down as well and when Steve fingers reach out, curl around the edges of the last picture, they touch Jonathan’s lightly. Jonathan pulls his hand back so fast, like it’s been burned and Steve tries to not let himself feel a bit hurt.

Steve gets up. Wipes at the dirt on his pant leg. “Sorry man.” He says again. Then, looks at the stack of pictures in his hand. He knows he shouldn’t. Some of these pictures are most likely moments that he’d like to keep private. But curiosity gets the better of him. The firsts one’s of Will in some wizard costume. The costume’s way too big for him, practically swimming in it, but his bright, bright smile is enough for Steve to understand why he decided to capture that moment. The next one is Nancy at her locker. “These are pretty good.”

“Aren’t you- You’re not supposed to be here.” Jonathan says, looking more annoyed than anything as he snatches the pictures from his hand.

“I’m not supposed to be here or you don’t want me here,” Steve says, crosses his arms over his chest, wiggles his brows.

--

Steve’s used to Billy checking in when he’s like this. Knows Steve just needs something warm. Something solid. Something real.

He hears the sound of a lighter, sees the flame flicker as Billy lights his cigarette. Steve looks at him then. The lazy grin on his face, like he knows Steve’s about to give them the riot act for smoking in the house, grin widening even more as a puff of smoke hits Steve in the face and Steve hates it that Billy still looks sexy while blowing smoke in his face. But he does.

“Come on Harrington. Don’t play dumb. I saw the way you looked at him too.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” Steve shrugs.

“Oh, so now you’re all about sticking to the deal.” 

Billy breathes in deep, grabs at his necklace and pulls. He’ll do that a lot. The first time Steve noticed, he didn’t think anything of it. But then he did it again. And again. And again. And Steve finally caught on. Though, he doesn’t know exactly why Billy does it, except that it seems to calm him down so he never questions it.

But there’s so much he just doesn’t know. Like why he’s never seen Billy without the necklace on. Even when they’re in the showers after practice he’ll spot it dangling from his neck. It’s like it’s permanently glued to his skin.

--

“Are you alright? Billy. If you’re really hurt I have to know.”

He inches forward once again, albeit rather slowly, giving Billy time to stop him. Its when his hand is mere inches away from making contact with Billy’s shirt that Billy finally reaches out and grabs his wrist. “Just fuckin drive already Johnny boy.” Billy says through clenched teeth, eyes locked on Jonathan’s. Jonathan feels an uneasiness take over his body at the emptiness of those blue eyes, like hope doesn’t even exist in Billy’s world, but he also sees the pleading behind them. Jonathan starts to move then but Billy’s grip doesn’t loosen. They stay like that for awhile. Billy’s labored breath filling the silence.

Eventually Billy lets go and Jonathan looks him over once more before shutting the door, hurrying over to the driver’s side and peeling out of the parking lot. The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go is on full blast and Jonathan turns the knob down, thinking Billy will make some snarky comment about how he has shitty taste, but when he casts a glance over at Billy, he’s leaning his head against the glass, a bit hunched in on himself.

They’ve been driving for a good fifteen minutes- more than half way to Jonathan’s house- and Billy hasn’t uttered a word since he told Jonathan to just drive. Jonathan’s pretty sure they passed Billy’s house.

And it’s like Billy can read his mind because he hears him shift in his seat and then Billy says, “Not gonna ask wha happen?”

Jonathan figures it’s a good time to pull over.

--

Steve waits until hears a door slam shut to look back at Jonathan. “You have every right to slam the door in my face but hear me out. We can go out there. Find there’s nothing that dangerous. It was just an abnormally large dog.” Jonathan raises his brow at him but Steve ignores him. “And we can celebrate.”

“Cause that went so well last time.” Jonathan huffs out a laugh, and Steve grimaces, but then Steve just shrugs, offering half a smile. “Fine.” Jonathan sighs, rubbing his hand down over his face. “But on one condition.” Steve squints over at him. “I choose the music.”

“Deal.”

“You’re taking the kids to the arcade this weekend?” Jonathan asks, and Steve nods, a smile spreading over his face.

“They’re more like brats than anything. Sometimes Nancy would be running late because she was having problems with Holly or something, so I’d offer to take Mike home. Next thing I know I’m driving all the brats around. Kind of just stuck with it, you know. You can come if you want. Usually just hang around or listen to music in my car. Sometimes I play a few rounds with Dustin but then he’s throwing me out because I totally kick his ass.”

Jonathan snorts out a laugh. “Sure.”

“Oh.” Steve deflates. But then he whips his head around so fast that Jonathan thinks he looks like a cartoon character. “Oh! Great!”

He thinks briefly of Billy and his tired eyes and his labored breath. Of his smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He hadn’t seen much of Billy at school. And with Steve being here, he wasn’t sure if Billy and Steve were back on good terms. “Will Billy be there?” he asks, more curious than anything.

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve says, but something in Steve’s face says otherwise.

--

“My brother took that on our first day of school. Though I realize now he’s not the best photographer.”

“Maybe I can show him.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. And Jonathan really wishes he hadn’t said anything because Nancy’s eyes light up, her whole body practically shaking with excitement.

“You’re a photographer!?”

And Jonathan shrugs It’s my life. Like this isn’t the only thing that’s keeping him sane. That all the pictures he has stored away in a ratty box underneath his bed mean nothing.

“You should come work for us at the school newspaper. The photographer we have now is great and all but he’s been out sick for the past two weeks. And homecoming week is coming up soon. So, we’re kind of in dire need of a new photographer. What’d you say?”

He wants so badly to say yes. But there’s still that doubt. That fear. That the other students won’t be as welcoming as Nancy. They’ll tease. And poke fun until Jonathan has no other choice but to quit.

“I don’t know.”

[thatsnotcanonpodcasts]

The Mask Of Anarchy by Percy Bysshe Shelley read by Zane C Weber

The Mask Of Anarchy by Percy Bysshe Shelley

    1.

    As I lay asleep in Italy

    There came a voice from over the Sea,

    And with great power it forth led me

    To walk in the visions of Poesy.

    2.

    I met Murder on the way -

    He had a mask like Castlereagh -

    Very smooth he looked, yet grim;

    Seven blood-hounds followed him:

    3.

    All were fat; and well they might

    Be in admirable plight,

    For one by one, and two by two,

    He tossed them human hearts to chew

    Which from his wide cloak he drew.

    4.

    Next came Fraud, and he had on,

    Like Eldon, an ermined gown;

    His big tears, for he wept well,

    Turned to mill-stones as they fell.

    5.

    And the little children, who

    Round his feet played to and fro,

    Thinking every tear a gem,

    Had their brains knocked out by them.

    6.

    Clothed with the Bible, as with light,

    And the shadows of the night,

    Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy

    On a crocodile rode by.

    7.

    And many more Destructions played

    In this ghastly masquerade,

    All disguised, even to the eyes,

    Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.

    8.

    Last came Anarchy: he rode

    On a white horse, splashed with blood;

    He was pale even to the lips,

    Like Death in the Apocalypse.

    9.

    And he wore a kingly crown;

    And in his grasp a sceptre shone;

    On his brow this mark I saw -

    'I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW!'

    10.

    With a pace stately and fast,

    Over English land he passed,

    Trampling to a mire of blood

    The adoring multitude.

    11.

    And a mighty troop around,

    With their trampling shook the ground,

    Waving each a bloody sword,

    For the service of their Lord.

    12.

    And with glorious triumph, they

    Rode through England proud and gay,

    Drunk as with intoxication

    Of the wine of desolation.

    13.

    O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea,

    Passed the Pageant swift and free,

    Tearing up, and trampling down;

    Till they came to London town.

    14.

    And each dweller, panic-stricken,

    Felt his heart with terror sicken

    Hearing the tempestuous cry

    Of the triumph of Anarchy.

    15.

    For with pomp to meet him came,

    Clothed in arms like blood and flame,

    The hired murderers, who did sing

    'Thou art God, and Law, and King.

    16.

    'We have waited, weak and lone

    For thy coming, Mighty One!

    Our purses are empty, our swords are cold,

    Give us glory, and blood, and gold.'

    17.

    Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd,

    To the earth their pale brows bowed;

    Like a bad prayer not over loud,

    Whispering - 'Thou art Law and God.' -

    18.

    Then all cried with one accord,

    'Thou art King, and God, and Lord;

    Anarchy, to thee we bow,

    Be thy name made holy now!'

    19.

    And Anarchy, the Skeleton,

    Bowed and grinned to every one,

    As well as if his education

    Had cost ten millions to the nation.

    20.

    For he knew the Palaces

    Of our Kings were rightly his;

    His the sceptre, crown, and globe,

    And the gold-inwoven robe.

    21.

    So he sent his slaves before

    To seize upon the Bank and Tower,

    And was proceeding with intent

    To meet his pensioned Parliament

    22.

    When one fled past, a maniac maid,

    And her name was Hope, she said:

    But she looked more like Despair,

    And she cried out in the air:

    23.

    'My father Time is weak and gray

    With waiting for a better day;

    See how idiot-like he stands,

    Fumbling with his palsied hands!

    24.

    'He has had child after child,

    And the dust of death is piled

    Over every one but me -

    Misery, oh, Misery!'

    25.

    Then she lay down in the street,

    Right before the horses' feet,

    Expecting, with a patient eye,

    Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy.

    26.

    When between her and her foes

    A mist, a light, an image rose,

    Small at first, and weak, and frail

    Like the vapour of a vale:

    27.

    Till as clouds grow on the blast,

    Like tower-crowned giants striding fast,

    And glare with lightnings as they fly,

    And speak in thunder to the sky,

    28.

    It grew - a Shape arrayed in mail

    Brighter than the viper's scale,

    And upborne on wings whose grain

    Was as the light of sunny rain.

    29.

    On its helm, seen far away,

    A planet, like the Morning's, lay;

    And those plumes its light rained through

    Like a shower of crimson dew.

    30.

    With step as soft as wind it passed

    O'er the heads of men - so fast

    That they knew the presence there,

    And looked, - but all was empty air.

    31.

    As flowers beneath May's footstep waken,

    As stars from Night's loose hair are shaken,

    As waves arise when loud winds call,

    Thoughts sprung where'er that step did fall.

    32.

    And the prostrate multitude

    Looked - and ankle-deep in blood,

    Hope, that maiden most serene,

    Was walking with a quiet mien:

    33.

    And Anarchy, the ghastly birth,

    Lay dead earth upon the earth;

    The Horse of Death tameless as wind

    Fled, and with his hoofs did grind

    To dust the murderers thronged behind.

    34.

    A rushing light of clouds and splendour,

    A sense awakening and yet tender

    Was heard and felt - and at its close

    These words of joy and fear arose

    35.

    As if their own indignant Earth

    Which gave the sons of England birth

    Had felt their blood upon her brow,

    And shuddering with a mother's throe

    36.

    Had turned every drop of blood

    By which her face had been bedewed

    To an accent unwithstood, -

    As if her heart had cried aloud:

    37.

    'Men of England, heirs of Glory,

    Heroes of unwritten story,

    Nurslings of one mighty Mother,

    Hopes of her, and one another;

    38.

    'Rise like Lions after slumber

    In unvanquishable number,

    Shake your chains to earth like dew

    Which in sleep had fallen on you -

    Ye are many - they are few.

    39.

    'What is Freedom? - ye can tell

    That which slavery is, too well -

    For its very name has grown

    To an echo of your own.

    40.

    ''Tis to work and have such pay

    As just keeps life from day to day

    In your limbs, as in a cell

    For the tyrants' use to dwell,

    41.

    'So that ye for them are made

    Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade,

    With or without your own will bent

    To their defence and nourishment.

    42.

    ''Tis to see your children weak

    With their mothers pine and peak,

    When the winter winds are bleak, -

    They are dying whilst I speak.

    43.

    ''Tis to hunger for such diet

    As the rich man in his riot

    Casts to the fat dogs that lie

    Surfeiting beneath his eye;

    44.

    ''Tis to let the Ghost of Gold

    Take from Toil a thousandfold

    More than e'er its substance could

    In the tyrannies of old.

    45.

    'Paper coin - that forgery

    Of the title-deeds, which ye

    Hold to something of the worth

    Of the inheritance of Earth.

    46.

    ''Tis to be a slave in soul

    And to hold no strong control

    Over your own wills, but be

    All that others make of ye.

    47.

    'And at length when ye complain

    With a murmur weak and vain

    'Tis to see the Tyrant's crew

    Ride over your wives and you

    Blood is on the grass like dew.

    48.

    'Then it is to feel revenge

    Fiercely thirsting to exchange

    Blood for blood - and wrong for wrong -

    Do not thus when ye are strong.

    49.

    'Birds find rest, in narrow nest

    When weary of their winged quest;

    Beasts find fare, in woody lair

    When storm and snow are in the air.

    50.

    'Asses, swine, have litter spread

    And with fitting food are fed;

    All things have a home but one -

    Thou, Oh, Englishman, hast none!

    51.

    'This is Slavery - savage men,

    Or wild beasts within a den

    Would endure not as ye do -

    But such ills they never knew.

    52.

    'What art thou Freedom? O! could slaves

    Answer from their living graves

    This demand - tyrants would flee

    Like a dream's dim imagery:

    53.

    'Thou art not, as impostors say,

    A shadow soon to pass away,

    A superstition, and a name

    Echoing from the cave of Fame.

    54.

    'For the labourer thou art bread,

    And a comely table spread

    From his daily labour come

    In a neat and happy home.

    55.

    Thou art clothes, and fire, and food

    For the trampled multitude -

    No - in countries that are free

    Such starvation cannot be

    As in England now we see.

    56.

    'To the rich thou art a check,

    When his foot is on the neck

    Of his victim, thou dost make

    That he treads upon a snake.

    57.

    Thou art Justice - ne'er for gold

    May thy righteous laws be sold

    As laws are in England - thou

    Shield'st alike the high and low.

    58.

    'Thou art Wisdom - Freemen never

    Dream that God will damn for ever

    All who think those things untrue

    Of which Priests make such ado.

    59.

    'Thou art Peace - never by thee

    Would blood and treasure wasted be

    As tyrants wasted them, when all

    Leagued to quench thy flame in Gaul.

    60.

    'What if English toil and blood

    Was poured forth, even as a flood?

    It availed, Oh, Liberty,

    To dim, but not extinguish thee.

    61.

    'Thou art Love - the rich have kissed

    Thy feet, and like him following Christ,

    Give their substance to the free

    And through the rough world follow thee,

    62.

    'Or turn their wealth to arms, and make

    War for thy beloved sake

    On wealth, and war, and fraud - whence they

    Drew the power which is their prey.

    63.

    'Science, Poetry, and Thought

    Are thy lamps; they make the lot

    Of the dwellers in a cot

    So serene, they curse it not.

    64.

    'Spirit, Patience, Gentleness,

    All that can adorn and bless

    Art thou - let deeds, not words, express

    Thine exceeding loveliness.

    65.

    'Let a great Assembly be

    Of the fearless and the free

    On some spot of English ground

    Where the plains stretch wide around.

    66.

    'Let the blue sky overhead,

    The green earth on which ye tread,

    All that must eternal be

    Witness the solemnity.

    67.

    'From the corners uttermost

    Of the bounds of English coast;

    From every hut, village, and town

    Where those who live and suffer moan

    For others' misery or their own,

    68.

    'From the workhouse and the prison

    Where pale as corpses newly risen,

    Women, children, young and old

    Groan for pain, and weep for cold -

    69.

    'From the haunts of daily life

    Where is waged the daily strife

    With common wants and common cares

    Which sows the human heart with tares -

    70.

    'Lastly from the palaces

    Where the murmur of distress

    Echoes, like the distant sound

    Of a wind alive around

    71.

    'Those prison halls of wealth and fashion,

    Where some few feel such compassion

    For those who groan, and toil, and wail

    As must make their brethren pale -

    72.

    'Ye who suffer woes untold,

    Or to feel, or to behold

    Your lost country bought and sold

    With a price of blood and gold -

    73.

    'Let a vast assembly be,

    And with great solemnity

    Declare with measured words that ye

    Are, as God has made ye, free -

    74.

    'Be your strong and simple words

    Keen to wound as sharpened swords,

    And wide as targes let them be,

    With their shade to cover ye.

    75.

    'Let the tyrants pour around

    With a quick and startling sound,

    Like the loosening of a sea,

    Troops of armed emblazonry.

    76.

    'Let the charged artillery drive

    Till the dead air seems alive

    With the clash of clanging wheels,

    And the tramp of horses' heels.

    77.

    'Let the fixed bayonet

    Gleam with sharp desire to wet

    Its bright point in English blood

    Looking keen as one for food.

    78.

    Let the horsemen's scimitars

    Wheel and flash, like sphereless stars

    Thirsting to eclipse their burning

    In a sea of death and mourning.

    79.

    'Stand ye calm and resolute,

    Like a forest close and mute,

    With folded arms and looks which are

    Weapons of unvanquished war,

    80.

    'And let Panic, who outspeeds

    The career of armed steeds

    Pass, a disregarded shade

    Through your phalanx undismayed.

    81.

    'Let the laws of your own land,

    Good or ill, between ye stand

    Hand to hand, and foot to foot,

    Arbiters of the dispute,

    82.

    'The old laws of England - they

    Whose reverend heads with age are gray,

    Children of a wiser day;

    And whose solemn voice must be

    Thine own echo - Liberty!

    83.

    'On those who first should violate

    Such sacred heralds in their state

    Rest the blood that must ensue,

    And it will not rest on you.

    84.

    'And if then the tyrants dare

    Let them ride among you there,

    Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew, -

    What they like, that let them do.

    85.

    'With folded arms and steady eyes,

    And little fear, and less surprise,

    Look upon them as they slay

    Till their rage has died away.

    86.

    Then they will return with shame

    To the place from which they came,

    And the blood thus shed will speak

    In hot blushes on their cheek.

    87.

    'Every woman in the land

    Will point at them as they stand -

    They will hardly dare to greet

    Their acquaintance in the street.

    88.

    'And the bold, true warriors

    Who have hugged Danger in wars

    Will turn to those who would be free,

    Ashamed of such base company.

    89.

    'And that slaughter to the Nation

    Shall steam up like inspiration,

    Eloquent, oracular;

    A volcano heard afar.

    90.

    'And these words shall then become

    Like Oppression's thundered doom

    Ringing through each heart and brain,

    Heard again - again - again -

      91.

    'Rise like Lions after slumber

    In unvanquishable number -

    Shake your chains to earth like dew

    Which in sleep had fallen on you -

    Ye are many - they are few.'

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[lilacjaemin]

daisies

pairing: prince!jeno x gender neutral reader

genre: fluffy angst oh yes (plus lil commentaries hehe)

word count: 4.5k

summary: daisies symbolize true love – each daisy is really two flowers blended together in harmony, the center petals are one flower surrounded by the “rays” of another. they mean purity and innocence, one that swears a loyalty to love and a commitment to a shared secrecy. 

a/n: thank you to jeno for being my biggest muse!! oh also thank you to payton for helping me research flowers for this <3

·     royal prince!jeno can’t wait to rule his people and his beautiful kingdom full of flower fields and forests

·     but he can wait a little longer to get married

·     and one night the royal family throws a dinner party and a ball filled with suitors for their son

·     but jeno can’t take the stuffy atmosphere and the hundreds of girls trying to dance with him

·     so he runs off to his favorite spot in his kingdom

·     these rolling hills covered in daisies

·     it’s this pretty valley that nobody else knows about sometimes he goes there when his royal duties are too much and he needs to get away

·     but when he arrives he stumbles across you laying on the hill stargazing, engulfed in the flowers

·     he had no idea anyone else knew about this place

·     he really doesn’t wanna be around any more people tonight but in the dim moonlight he can make out the features of your face

·     he’s never seen you around the castle, and by what you’re wearing you definitely didn’t just run away from the same ball

·     so he carefully approaches and asks if he can join you

·     you sit up, freaked out that someone found this secret spot of yours

·     the figure is in a white button up and a dark blue suit jacket with gold swirls

·     he looks expensive but his eyes are kind

·     so you say okay

·     when he sits down next to you, he smells of many different expensive perfumes, which you find weird

·     you ask what he’s doing out here because by the looks of his dark suit he probably should be at some ball

·     and he says “yeah i should be.”

·     what?

·     and that’s when you notice the gold coronet resting neatly in his hair

·     ohhhhh he’s the prince

·     you’re sitting on the ground with the prince

·     the future king jeno

·     o k a y

·     suddenly jeno thinks he hears something and he’s paranoid of his parents’ royal guards finding him and this spot so he turns to you like did you hear that??

·     and before you could respond, out of nowhere he grabs you?? and dives into the flowers

·     your hands against his chest preventing you from smacking into him

·     he’s pulled you super close, his breathing rapid and eyes closed

·     you’re a little frozen, still in shock the prince just tackled you

·     he waits, realizing he probably just heard a squirrel or something

·     the ~kdrama~ moment happens where he opens his eyes and finds himself staring into yours

·     time stops for a split second, the wind ruffling the grass and daisies surrounding you two

·     and then he regains his composure and helps you up again

·     “are you okay? im so sorry! oh, that was so weird and creepy i just cant get caught out here.”

·     you blink slowly, the surprise wearing off

·     “yeah im totally fine.”

·     well maybe physically, but your heart?? about to beat out of your chest!!

·     jeno reaches his hand out and brushes a strand out of your face, smoothing out the rest of your disheveled hair

·     you swore fire ignited from his fingertips

·     you have to change the subject before you lose it

·     “so…you said you should be at a ball right now?” you clear your throat and brush yourself off

·     “ah, my family is pressing me to find a suitable partner. lately it’s just been dinner after dinner, dance after dance, i hate it.” he sighs, laying back into the hillside

·     “you hate people trying to get your attention?”

·     “i want to marry once i fall in love, not because they would be a good ruler of the kingdom.”

·     “i see.” you whisper, laying down beside him

·     “ i love my family, i love this kingdom and i can’t wait to rule but i wish that one part of my life could be normal. i tried to have the most normal childhood i could manage. i did everything i could to grow up and feel like everyone else, but nobody else has to have arranged marriages, so why do i?”

·     you stay quiet, soaking his words in, watching the moon as jeno continues to your right

·     “love seems incredible. i just wanna experience it for real. i don’t want someone ive only met a handful of times before our wedding, no matter how extravagant the whole thing is. i’ve tried so many times to explain to my parents that i can rule by myself for the time being and then ill find a partner, but they won’t let me.”

·     you listen to his worries, the whole time not realizing that your hand had made its way to rest on jeno’s arm

·     it’s something you do to comfort others, but he turns his head to look at you and you immediately pull away

·     you start apologizing, saying how it’s just a habit you have, but he stops you

·     “no no it’s okay, it feels nice to have someone really listening to me.” he smiles

·     oh his smile is beautiful, it shines brighter than the moon above

·     “i never get to hang out with other people my age and not have a bunch of royalty stuff looming over my head.”

·     you were just in awe that the prince who has it all is unhappy and you feel so bad and just wanna hug him because honestly he’s so cute

·     you listen while he rants about his duties and how stuck up some of the royal advisors are and how every suitor he meets is in it just for the wealth, they don’t really care about the him as a person

·     he asks what your take on it is and you talk about your views on love

·     you’re saying how you think it’s the most beautiful thing and that you’ve seen it in your parents and you want it so badly, but it always feels like all of the people in town don’t want a serious relationship

·     “i want to meet someone that makes every star look pale in comparison. i come out here to look at the night sky and hope that somewhere, the one i’m meant to be with is looking at it too.”

·     and jeno nods

·     he completely understands

·     “my family says i’m crazy for thinking that way. but i work in a library, im surrounded by incredible stories of romance, how can i not hope for one myself?”

·     he’s fascinated at the fact that you can date normally but don’t because you say there’s no one out there

·     jeno assures you there’s people out there, he has to meet with them constantly, he just never gets along with any of them

·     you talk about royal life into the late hours of the night

·     jeno is just so happy to have someone genuinely interested in his thoughts and feelings

·     he’s giddy, ranting about his plans for the kingdom and his goals for the future

·     you don’t know when you drift off, but you remember hearing his warm voice fade away

·     and you fall asleep on his shoulder

·     jeno doesn’t remember when he drifts off, but he remembers feeling your warmth at his side

·     when he wakes up at sunrise, jeno is like oh i‘m so dead they’re never gonna let me out of the castle ever again !!

·     but he looks at you, sleeping peacefully against him with daisies framing your face

·     he feels his heart do a backflip

·     is this how it’s supposed to feel? there’s not supposed to be a sense of dread pooling in his stomach like there is when a suitor walks in? interesting

·     gently waking you up, he tells you he has to run to get back to the castle

·     but he promises you he’ll do everything he can to come back to this spot to meet you and stargaze again

·     “i’ll be here.” you say sleepily, smiling at his messy hair

·     when he gets home his parents are like oh you are in so much trouble we threw that ball for you and you LEFT?? AND WE SEARCHED ALL OVER AND COULDNT FIND YOU?? WE THOUGHT YOU WERE KIDNAPPED??

·     and jeno is like um. oops? trying to contain his smile when he thinks of you and your soft hand on his arm

·     he gets read the riot act and is told if it happens again there will be serious consequences

·     and jeno never gets in trouble so this is big

·     but he’s willing to take the risk

·     for weeks he sneaks out and runs to the field each and every night

·     finding more reasons to love being in your company than there are stars in the sky

·     one night before dawn broke you stopped playing with the hem of your shirt

·     “i was thinking about what you told me the first night we met.” you say, eyes glued to the ground

·     “i know you’ll find somebody, and not just because you’re a prince. you will find someone who loves you for your heart, not just the riches.”

·     he stares at you, something in his eyes you couldn’t quite pin

·     jeno was glad it was dark, if not you would’ve seen the red dusting on his cheeks

·     “y-you’ll find someone too. i know it.”

·     its quiet for a minute and then very subtly, jeno grabs your hand

·     “is this okay?”

·     “of course it is. now can you tell me about the secret royal garden? i heard its incredible.”

·     you lay on your side and spend the rest of the night finding the stars in his eyes

·     another dinner is scheduled, this time with the family of a neighboring kingdom

·     this family has a daughter the same age as jeno

·     he knows in his gut that his parents want him to be with her

·     but he can’t shake the feeling of your hands in his

·     it’s where they belong

·     nevertheless, he fake smiles through the meal, tensing when she tries to reach for his arm across the table

·     after the disaster of a dinner, jeno sneaks away again

·     you can tell by the look on his face that he needs a hug

·     “i don’t want to be with her.” he breathes into your neck

·     “you’re sure you can’t talk to your parents about this?” you say, running your hand through his dark hair

·     “they don’t listen. i’ve tried, they just won’t listen.”

·     you hold him close, wracking your brain for a solution to this problem

·     but there seems to be none

·     jeno creeps back to the castle after spending the whole night wrapped in your arms

·     but the queen is waiting for him in his chamber when he opens the door

·     he’s banned from leaving the castle without supervision until he gets married

·     he’s never sent out unless it’s with a guard

·     he’s devastated and frustrated because he wants to sneak away to you but someone is always watching

·     he feels like he lost the one person who understood him the most

·     one day he goes into the castle library in an effort to get some peace

·     to his surprise, you are working in the front

·     you hear a gasp and when you look up jeno stands before you

·     “this library? you work in the castle and never told me!?”

·     “no, the town’s library is overstaffed because of the summer, so i took the job opening here. i always waited for you to come in and find out, but i guess you don’t use the library as much as i imagined.” you laugh

·     your heart is beating like crazy seeing him again

·     you bring him to your favorite little poetry corner, out of view of the entrance

·     huddled in amongst the books he takes hold of your hands

·     you can see him visibly relax when he feels your palms against his

·     “im so sorry, i tried so hard to go meet you but they have guards on me at all times. they won’t let me out of their sight.” he looks frantic

·     “jeno, i’ll wait however long it takes to be together. i still go to our spot every night, i still wait for you. i always will.” you reassure him

·     his brows unfurrow and he smiles, pulling you close to his chest

·     his heartbeat is soothing against your cheek and you realize just how much you missed him

·     “oh, i have something for you.” you reach into the last of the shelves, pulling out a thick worn book

·     he watches in confusion as you open to a page in the center

·     “here, i pressed these for you. for the nights when you can’t come visit, just know i’m there.” you show him two dry daisies, careful not to blow them away

·     his face lights up, gently taking the book from you and running a finger over their stems

·     he’s about to thank you when you hear someone call for him from the door

·     he frowns and shuts the book, tucking it under his arm

·     he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before scurrying off, leaving your skin burning and your mind dizzy

·     jeno’s parents are sure the princess from the neighboring kingdom is the one

·     and jeno can feel his stomach drop to his feet when they tell him

·     desperate to get to you, he tricks his guards into getting him something from the other side of the castle

·     he shimmies down his balcony and runs as fast as his legs can take him to the field before they can send search parties out for him

·     he grabs you by your shoulders and frantically tells you that they’re arranging his marriage

·     but it’s not what he wants, he can’t stop thinking about you

·     “jeno.” you whisper, pointing behind him

·     you see lanterns come over the hill and horses trample over the flowers

·     jeno stands in front of you to protect you but guards pull him away

·     he’s yelling at them to stop but they’re angry

·     you feel like you can’t breathe

·     one of the advisors recognizes you from the library and tells you never to come back to the castle

·     you stand and watch with teary eyes as jeno is dragged away and the candles fade into the night

·     a few weeks go by and you get word that the prince is betrothed to marry the princess and you’re absolutely heartbroken

·     you know jeno doesn’t want that

·     and even if it isn’t you that gets to be with him, you still want him to be happy

·     out of a job, you ask a family friend who works as a florist to hire you

·     “of course! we need all the help we can get for this wedding!”

·     oh no

·     your heart breaks even more but your family needs the money

·     you arrive a few days before to set up the decor and pray the the guards from that night don’t recognize you

·     and as much as it hurts, you hope you don’t run into jeno

·     but to your dismay he walks in with the princess and you feel your world collapse

·     you meet his gaze while they check on the ballroom’s set up and you can see the light behind his eyes go dim

·     suddenly he yells “NO! THIS IS ALL WRONG! WE NEED TO HAVE A MEETING TO DISCUSS THE DECOR IMMEDIATELY!”

·     he finds a way to break away from the princess just for a second and whispers to meet him at a different spot tonight

·     he says it’s under the willow tree at the edge of the forest by the stream and you nod

·     “the flower arrangements around the altar are hideous.” he goes back to frowning, trying his hardest not to steal glances at you anymore

·     you are sure there’s no way he could get away again but lo and behold you hear footsteps approaching

·     you run into jeno’s arms, worried this would be the last time you could ever hold him

·     he cups your cheeks, staring into your eyes

·     “we don’t have much time but i promise i’m not marrying her. we’ll figure something out, we’ll run away together, we’ll do something, but i promise i am not marrying her.”

·     he tries to assure you it’ll all be okay and he’s so certain it will be that you begin to believe him

·     but you hear footsteps again

·     lots of them

·     and you and jeno can hardly see because of the tears in both your eyes but you can hear the impending doom

·     there aren’t even words to say to each other, its over

·     it’s all over now

·     he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, letting his lips linger against your skin

·     jeno is ripped from your arms and both of you are taken back to the castle

·     they throw you in the dungeon and tell you that you’re going to have a meeting with the king and queen in the morning

·     you sit on the cold stone floor and cry into your palms, desperately trying to remember how jeno’s lips felt on your face

·     the next day you’re led out in shackles

·     you sit in front of the royals and the queen is furious

·     she’s yelling how dare you try and ruin her kingdom by getting in the way of her son’s relationship, how dare you still try and meet with him after everything that’s happened

·     she’s close to banishing you from the kingdom entirely when jeno runs in, “don’t you understand? im in love with them!” 

·     jeno loves you

·     “would you rather the kingdom be run by a miserable king or a happy one?” he’s crying and you want nothing more than to wipe his tears away but the shackles keep you planted to the ground

·     you’re exhausted and cold and sad and hungry and you have no fight left in you

·     the queen can’t believe what she’s hearing

·     “you would put your future people in danger for this peasant?”

·     “i would rather give up the throne entirely than marry that princess.”

·     “how could you say that? i didn’t raise you this way! i raised you to be a selfless leader!”

·     “how could you expect me to lead these people well if im unhappy?”

·     she pauses momentarily, a softness seeping into her eyes, but it quickly fades when she looks back at you

·     the queen is still fuming

·     “we’re going ahead with the arranged marriage and that’s final, jeno.”

·     she turns to you and tells you after you’re done helping with the wedding you’re never going to see jeno ever again

·     he cries out, running to kneel in front of you and taking your face in his hands

·     “jeno,” you say weakly, “its okay. i hope you can find happiness.” you try to smile for him but everything hurts

·     his mother watches the sad scene unfold in front of her with a tightlipped expression

·     “and i love you too, moonlight.” you whisper

·     he laughs bitterly, tears falling onto your heavy arms

·     he leans forward to kiss you

·     but his guards grab him and take him away before his lips reach yours

·     he yells your name all the way down the hall, kicking and thrashing to try and break free

·     you hang your head in sadness and feel a sob wrack through your body

·     its over

·     the day of the wedding arrives and you solemnly finish the bouquet for the bride

·     you fill it with orange mock flowers (they represent deceit) quickly hiding the daisies they had brought for it instead

·     you try to find someone to deliver it to her but everyone is bustling around trying to add the final touches

·     you trudge to her chamber and knock, hoping to place the flowers down and leave as soon as possible

·     but she invites you inside and you dig your nails in your palms to keep it together

·     she’s pretty, but from what jeno has told you about her the only thing she cares about is power

·     “so i heard you’re the one who tried to break us up.” she says through an unnerving smile

·     you stay silent

·     “its such a shame really. jeno is really torn up over you. he’s too sad to think straight. he sits in bed with this old poetry book, but he never turns the page. i think he’s gone crazy, he doesn’t even speak! but i won’t need him for much longer. once i’m in line for the throne i won’t even need to look at him.” she twirls her finger around the center of the bouquet

·     “and when i’m queen, you’ll be banished. it’s a win win!” she laughs, brushing past you to leave, “oh, and do stay for the wedding. i wanna make sure you see this.” you can hear the venom laced in her words

·     your hands are numb, four dark crescents in each palm

·     jeno stands at the altar in his dark blue suit, the same from the night you met him

·     he’s pale, rings of purple under his eyes, his hands in fists, a daisy in his pocket, you can tell he’s biting his cheek

·     you stand behind the tall vase at the back of the ballroom, peeking through the flowers

·     the music begins and in walks the princess, and jeno has never looked unhappier in his life

·     he’s barely holding her hands, nothing like the way he held yours

·     the priest asks if he takes this woman to be his lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as they both shall live

·     you hold your breath

·     it’s silent

·     the princess is smiling, but if looks could kill jeno would’ve been struck down immediately

·     “jeno?”

·     silence

·     a tear rolls down his face and you can see his body visibly shake

·     “no.” he says as firmly as he can

·     the crowd gasps

·     he drops her hands and begins to walk off when the king comes up next to him

·     “you better get back up there right now and finish this.”

·     “no.”

·     “what did you just say?”

·     “i said no, i’m saying no, i’ve been saying no. ever since i was little i’ve thought about what it would be like when i fell in love for the first time. i’d see the way you looked at mom and i thought i can’t wait for the day where i love someone so much i look at them the same way. and funny enough i did find that love. i fell in love in a field of flowers with someone who is more beautiful inside and out than the moon and all the stars combined. i finally found the prettiest flower of them all and i won’t stop fighting for them.”

·     he pauses and turns to look at his dad

·     “i know im going against your word, but you always told me a good king was one who finds strength in those around him, one who grows and rules to the best of his ability, and i’m the strongest when i’m with them, dad.”

·     he turns to the crowd, desperation dripping off his words

·     “i want to be a ruler you’re all proud of, but what kind of king would i be if i didn’t fight for what i want most?”

·     you didn’t realize you were crying until your tears ran down your neck

·     the queen stands up and you fear the worst for both you and jeno

·     “you really love them? you love them this much?”

·     “mother, i’ve always wanted true love. you know that. and i can’t see myself with anyone else.”

·     the princess is throwing daggers with her eyes behind them

·     the queen pauses for a moment and without turning around she says “come up here.”

·     you hesitantly walk up the aisle in your raggedy work clothes, your heartbeat pounding between your ears at all the eyes on you

·     jeno gasps “you were still here?”

·     “in no way are you ready to become royalty let alone a ruler, but i’ve never seen jeno stand up to us like this before, and i must admit it hurt my heart to not be able to give him the true love he wished for all these years. it’s not that i didn’t want him to experience it, i just wanted him to have the best partner for ruling over his people. but i think i caused more harm than good in doing so. you seem to really love him, and that’s all a mother could ever want for her child. if you promise to take all of the classes and lessons you need and work extremely hard to learn about this kingdom and what’s best for it, i’ll agree to you dating him. if you meet my husband’s and my approval, then maybe we can discuss marriage.”

·     “what!? absolutely not!” the princess stomps her foot “i’m supposed to be queen!”

·     “you never cared about my son anyway. get in your carriage and go back to your kingdom.” the king hisses

·     she throws her bouquet to the ground and storms out

·     both you and jeno are speechless, silent tears rolling down your faces

·     you thank the queen endlessly, promising to do whatever it takes

·     you cling on to him, trying not to collapse to the floor

·     “i almost lost you.” you say into the fabric of his suit

·     “never.” he mumbles into your hair

·     you walk hand in hand, fingers intertwined, back to your field

·     you lay down in the flowers and never let go of each other

·     tears wiped away with kisses

·     fingertips tracing the shape of your mouth

·     as the stars begin to poke out of the sky jeno connects your lips

·     it isn’t until the sun peeks up over the hill that he pulls away

·     and a year to the day you first met the prince in the valley, you stand in the same place, amongst the same daisies, under the same stars, reciting vows to each other’s teary eyes

[momentsofclarityao3]

JaimexBrienne Fic Preview

About a week ago I saw a post by @ddagent that asked if there was a fic with the premise of Brienne swearing herself to Jaime in repayment for the Harrenhal save or the alternative of Brienne not needing to be rescued from Harrenhal in the first place and Jaime leaving with her on Sansa Quest to repay the debt he owes her. And when I read that, the writers switch in my brain turned on for the first time in six years and I spent the next few hours writing and planning. What came out wasn’t exactly what was suggested, the road it takes is different but the destination of Jaime and Brienne (and Pod, and several surprise guest stars) searching for Sansa together remains. I hope to have the first chapter on ao3 within a few days (probably an overly optimistic estimate on my part) but for now I’m posting the first scene here. 

Fair warning, this starts with the sept scene in 4.03 BUT it diverges immediately after the first lines of dialogue and will not even remotely resemble either TV or book canon. Jaime is, unfortunately, still in love with C, but he’s already beginning to come to his senses.

Enjoy :)

- Moments_of_Clarity

“I don’t want a trail. He’ll squirm himself to freedom given the chance. I want him dead. Please, Jaime, you have to. He was our son, our baby boy.”

Maybe he is the fool his father says he is, to feel any amount of surprise that Cersei has asked him to kill their brother. It’s not as though she made a secret of her hatred of Tyrion. She has railed against his continued existence for as long as he has been alive, and over the years his sweet sister has shared with her twin all the ways she has hoped Tyrion would die. A fever when he was a sickly babe. A fall from his horse when he was older. Contracting a pox from one of his whores. A drunken fall down a long flight of stairs. And most recently, deep in her cups, she had expressed her disappointment that Tyrion had returned from the battle of the Blackwater with nothing more than a scratch. Jaime had pointed out it was much more grievous than a scratch and the Queen Mother had regally told him to fuck off. But the sin of kinslaying left a stain not even a Lannister could make clean, even worse than kingslaying in the eyes of the Gods, and so Cersei kept her poison confined to her words and out of Tyrion’s wine. Until now.

Now, Joffrey was dead. He had been a monster and Cersei’s pride and joy and his firstborn son and now he was lying dead between them. Cersei had held him in her arms and watched the life leave his eyes and Jaime had watched the woman he loves break in ways he doubts she’ll come back from.  

“Jaime.” The former queen keeps her voice low, not so far gone she is willing to shout her murderous intentions for any spies to overhear.  

“Cersei,” Jaime chooses his next words with care, “you must know how suspicious it would appear, were Tyrion to die before his trial. There’s already more than enough speculation about this family, what do you think people will say we’re hiding if Tyrion is executed without a public trial?”  

His twin is looking at him like she finds him unbearably stupid. “What do I care of the opinions of sheep? What can they do to us? No, that grotesque monster killed my son and I will have his head.”

No longer our son, it seems.  

“You should care. Not too long ago those sheep rioted in the streets and ripped the High Septon limb from limb. Our cousin is still missing. All the good will the Lannisters have in this city right now has come from their love of Margaery Tyrell.”    

Even in the muted light of the sept, the malice in Cersei’s eyes clearly shines. “That little whore–”  

“Is the reason the Lannisters still have a throne to sit Tommen on at all. The Tyrells made Joffrey tolerable. They fed a city on the brink of starvation and Lady Margaery herself would tread through the filth of Fleas Bottom to give food and toys to orphans, all with the king’s supposed blessing. She would speak of her great love for their kind and brave king and say he was doing the best he could to bring peace to a realm at war, and the smallfolk would forget that the king whom their beloved Margaery loved was the same one who had, until very recently, been using them for target practice.” He can see Cersei’s control slipping with every word he says but she needs to hear it. “It’s the truth, Cersei, please understand. The Tyrells desperately want a crown for Margaery, and for that they need us, but we need them more.”

He doesn’t recognise the look his sister is giving him now. It’s no longer irritation or anger. It’s something empty, that turns her eyes to emerald ice and chills Jaime more than her fury ever has.

Who are you? He thinks, moments before Cersei asks her own question.  

“What happened to you? You used to say we were the only two in the world who mattered. That you would kill every man, woman and child until you and I were the only two people left in the world.” Jaime flinches, remembering that day. He had said that, meant it with all his heart. But that was before he lost a year of his life as a prisoner, then his sword hand, and now there was a very real chance he will lose the brother he loves. Somehow, when he’d made his grand claim of killing anyone who stood in the way of his love for Cersei, it hadn’t occurred to him that number would include Tyrion.  

“It’s been an eventful few years,” he tries to deflect, “and I am less confident in my ability to put my sword through the heart of anyone who tells me I shouldn’t fuck my sister.”  

As always, when confronted by the loss of the once perfect symmetry shared by the twins, her delicate nose wrinkles in disgust and her eyes narrow. “And so now you won’t even try to defend us? You came back home after all this time; with one hand and that ugly lumbering beast you jokingly call a lady–”

“She is a woman from a noble House, what else am I to call her?” Jaime regrets the words even as they leave his mouth. He shouldn’t have interrupted Cersei, should have ignored the insult to Brienne altogether or tried to change the topic back to Tyrion or the Tyrells or the bloody weather. Instead he’s given his vindictive sister a new focus for her ire. Her knuckles have gone white from gripping the fabric draped over Joffrey’s bier and he hears it rip. So does Cersei, who releases it from her clutch and smooths it out again, taking a moment to give the corpse of her son a fleeting apologetic glance, before her scowl returns and she turns to Jaime.  

“Kingslayer’s whore is a name I’ve heard whispered by some,” she hisses. “You should try that sweet nothing on the beast, the next time you go on one of your long walks through the Godswood. It’s probably the most flattering thing the ugly cunt has ever been called.” Jaime’s lungs seize up and his blood runs cold. It used to amuse him; the contempt Cersei had for the women who tried to flirt with him. He would never return their flirtations but still, Cersei would fly into a jealous rage and at the first opportunity she would remind him with hands and mouth and cunt that he belonged to her alone. And he loved those moments because it meant the same jealousy that burned in Jaime whenever Robert would reach out with his clumsy meaty hands and drunkenly grope at his queen because the serving girls were too far away, also burned in Cersei. They came into the world together, Jaime holding onto his sister’s ankle, and if one left this life the other would follow soon after, anything else was unthinkable.

The stump where his right arm now abruptly ends at his wrist suddenly begins to pulse, not quite painful but certainly uncomfortable. Jaime was feeling as far from amused as possible, now. Not only had his lover turned her jealousy onto a woman who would sooner throw herself back into the bear pit of Harrenhal than bed any Lannister, Jaime himself would do the same to prevent any harm coming to Brienne. It wouldn’t even be the first time. They may have started out as captor and captive but Gods help him, Jaime liked the wench. She was ugly and pighead stubborn and dour and brave and gentle and good. She had kept him alive during their days as fellow captives and asked nothing in return but that he keep his vow to Catelyn Stark. Plus, she was the only other living soul who knew the truth about Aerys. That wasn’t something Jaime could easily dismiss. So, while she remained his guest, Brienne of Tarth was also under his protection, even from his lover.  

“I have only ever loved you,” Jaime assures her, as he has countless times before. “I have only ever been with you and am only whole when we are together. I crossed a thousand leagues to come to you, and lost the best part of me along the way. What more do I need to do to convince you?” From the corner of his eye, Jaime sees Cersei’s hand twitch and braces himself for her slap. To his surprise she instead stays her hand and takes a few steps away from him.            

“Have you not heard a word I’ve said?” she asks. “I told you what you can do and you just talked in circles about the Tyrells and the Imp and your whore.” Cersei has completely turned away from him now, signalling that as far as she is concerned their conversation, such as it was, is over. “Get out. I want to be alone with my son. Leave. Now.”  

And so, Jaime leaves, swallowing the impulse to fling a last acidic quip at his sister in favour of seeking out the Brienne of Tarth as soon as possible.  

[thecat-inthehat]

Death Seraph, Blight Upon This Star

Ashelia Riot: "Well met, old friend." Nivelth Ajuyn nods to her, going to stand slightly back. Her right hand comes to rest on her left shoulder. "Well met. How are you?" Ashelia Riot: "...As well as I can be." Ashelia Riot sighs, a breathy sigh that's very much her own. Ashelia Riot: "Which is why I'm hiding up in the rafters of one of the largest Garlean airships known to man." Nivelth Ajuyn advances slightly, but still a respectful distance away. "Hiding isn't all that bad, Ashe." She murmurs. "Sometimes you need to, just to collect your thoughts." Ashelia Riot: "Twelve know we've had precious little time even for that." Nivelth Ajuyn sighs, bringing her hand up to rub at her temples. "Mm. True. I'm sorry to bother you, but I ..." Nivelth Ajuyn: "I know you probably don't want visitors right now." Ashelia Riot: "No, no - if there's something urgent, I'd rather hear it." Nivelth Ajuyn: "I spoke with Zalera. Well... I had a conversation with him." Ashelia Riot senses something amiss with you. Ashelia Riot: "What did he have to say?" Ashelia Riot: "He's... the other seraph. The Death Seraph. Yes?" Nivelth Ajuyn: "A few things, some of them worrying, others... obvious." She nods again. "Yes. That's his title. From what I was able to glean, he deals with death and poisons, and other such magicks." Ashelia Riot: "I see." Ashelia Riot can't help but feel as though she already knew this somehow. Nivelth Ajuyn: "I ... recorded the entire conversation, if you wish to see it. But ... you're likely going to be mad at me."

Ashelia Riot can't help but sigh again at that. Ashelia Riot: "We've come this far, haven't we? Let's hear it. Nivelth Ajuyn instead pulls out her grimoire, and flips to a section of pages, before handing it over.

I have fallen under possession. It lasted approximately forty seconds, and I spoke with a voice that was not my own, and burned through Ashe’s glove. I was aware of myself the entire time, but it was as if I had taken a step back, out of my body. I felt as though my body was being moved without my say so, and my vocal cords were tightened to create a voice that was not my own. But as quickly as the control had come over me, it was gone. I have spoken to Hinako, to Akhutai, and they both say that trying to speak to the stone would be a bad idea. But I -- he spoke of things, asked Ashelia questions. No, he asked the stone she carries. [the writing takes a different slant, as if from a different angle] I have meditated on this for roughly two bells. I am going to give him a pen, and record a written conversation between the two of us, with him taking control over my left hand to do so. This is not smart, but I want a record. Althyk forgive me, this is not smart. [The rest of the page is blank, and the next page starts with a completely different style of handwriting.] Foolish child. You willingly give me control simply to talk to me? You’re speaking back. And every time I’ve attempted to speak to your stone, I never hear a voice, only a woman’s shriek. A host with a modicum of a brain amuses me. My shamaness agrees. What then, do you wish to speak of, little poison wielder? Why did you choose me? Or was I simply the first to find your stone? Like calls like. You work in poison and deal with gods, therefore you were the perfect candidate for me. Mateus drove you to keep the stone, lest you set me down again. I see. Oh, how angry you are. Such sweet emotion I’ve not supped on in years. Why are you augmenting my spells? Ignorant Child. You infect the host first, and by the time they realize something is wrong, the poison has run too deep to be done anything about it. So you’re giving me power in order to take me over. Yes. Are you going to make me your new shamaness? Don’t flatter yourself, child. You are a host, as Marquis Messam Elmdore de Limberry was before you. [The paper has some illegible writing on it, and skips down several lines. It looks as though the lines were scratched out in anger.] Why did you ask Ashelia if it was enough blood? The sacrificial altar, I mean. Needs must. Our Lady has yet to rise, and requires a glutton of blood. A mere trifle will not awake her, but … You’re hesitating.

It stirred something inside that Lady you hold so dear. And I am ever so eager to see it rise. 

Ashelia’s face undergoes a variety of changes as she reads through the parchment. The moment she reaches the word "shamaness," her eyes go wide; she trembles once or twice, stares in anger, and makes a motion as though she's about to raise a hand to her mouth. Through it all, she can't help but shake a horrid, nauseating familiarity in the deepest pit of her stomach - a memory that is not hers, one that will not fully take shape but nonetheless fills her with dread at this creature and its power. Ashelia Riot stares in fear. Nivelth Ajuyn stares up at her, watching her face. "... You know the story, dont you?' She murmurs. "About the shamaness and Zalera? I've... only been able to learn a little..." Nivelth Ajuyn: "Or, at the least, it's familiar to you." Ashelia Riot: "'He seized one of the gods' servants as a hostage and rebelled against his creators. Even now, in defeat, he clutches the shamaness to him in his right arm, and with the aid of her death-wail does he summon the soul of darkness to do his bidding.'" Ashelia Riot speaks the words as though from memory. Ashelia Riot: "But I... I've never heard such a tale before." Still, the pit in her stomach grows stronger. Ashelia Riot misses her father keenly in that moment, and the sudden emotion is nearly enough to bring her to tears. Nivelth Ajuyn reaches out to touch her, seeing the anguish on her face. "A-Ashe?" She asks, worry showing on her face. Ashelia Riot steps back, remembering instinctively the last time Nivelth Ajuyn touched her.

Nivelth Ajuyn blinks, and shrinks back, unable to meet Ashe's eyes. Her hand goes to rest on her shoulder again. "I ... I'm so sorry." Ashelia Riot: "N-No, I am. I'm fine, I promise you. I shouldn't have..." Ashelia Riot shakes her head. Nivelth Ajuyn: "To be fair, I'm still burning through animal skins if I don't have gloves on," she says bitterly.  Ashelia Riot: "...What does this last line mean? It 'stirred' something?" Ashelia Riot: "Stirred what?" Nivelth Ajuyn looks over the lines again. "I don’t know. I tried to get him to respond again, but he ... he just shut up. I think he's teasing me with knowledge, to try and make me give more of myself to him." Ashelia Riot: "You mustn't give in." You nod to Ashelia Riot. Nivelth Ajuyn: "I know. I -- I'm used to this, Ashe. To a degree. Of greater powers trying to take over my mind, and yet--" She shakes her head. "This is completely different." Ashelia Riot: "I imagine most beings you consort with don't take control of your fine motor skills." Nivelth Ajuyn: "I don't let them." She stresses. "But this--I need information, Ashelia." Ashelia Riot: "As do we all. But if it comes at a price, you come first. Always." Nivelth Ajuyn rubs at her face, knocking her hat askew slightly. "I know that. I just... I know what he's doing to me, I can feel that he's stringing me along with information and power, but I ..." Nivelth Ajuyn trails off helplessly. Ashelia Riot stares at her, not knowing what to say and hating herself for it. Nivelth Ajuyn: "If I throw the stone away, who else will pick it up? If I use it, will I start giving into the death that i see around every corner? If I seal it away, who's to say that someone won't dig it up?" Ashelia Riot: "I mean to see that no one need ever use the stone again." Nivelth Ajuyn: "Can the stones truly be destroyed? At all? You know what they are, my lady." Ashelia Riot lets out a little laugh.

You sense something amiss with Ashelia Riot. Ashelia Riot: "If all goes as planned, there will be no more need for stones or hosts." Nivelth Ajuyn tilts her head just slightly. "No...?" She asks, and, unconsciously, her left hand moves to the stone in her robes. "The stones are fragile creatures, which is why Lucavi take hosts..." Ashelia Riot smiles at Nivelth Ajuyn. Ashelia Riot: "And what of the resurrection?" Ashelia Riot: "From the storm of blood we shall be anointed, given form - unbound." Nivelth Ajuyn tilts her head, and a smile comes over her lips. "Ah, My Lady. I had wondered when I might see your face again. Given form again, how glorious that would be." Ashelia Riot smiles again, wider - far more sinister than ever before. Ashelia Riot: "Zalera." Nivelth Ajuyn bows, a sweeping gesture that brings to mind a cloak flaring out behind her. "Your word is my Will, My Lady." Ashelia Riot beams with delight at Nivelth Ajuyn. Ashelia Riot: "And you have never failed me." Nivelth Ajuyn: "What might I do, to make this glorious dream of yours a reality?" Ashelia Riot: "That which you do best, my old friend: bring death to those who oppose us." Nivelth Ajuyn 's eyes close in sheer delight. "Of course, my Lady, my Queen." She reaches up with her left hand, as if to cup Ashelia's cheek. || As Nivelth Ajuyn's fingers touch her face, there's a golden glow - and for a moment, Nive's skin appears healthy, utterly rejuvenated. Nivelth Ajuyn smiles at her, and murmurs a soft, "My Lady is too kind." In the next moment, Ashe steps back as though she's been slapped as a sudden wave of nausea hits her. Ashelia Riot: "The Undercity...?" Ashelia Riot: "I'm sorry. I need to rest." Nivelth Ajuyn pulls her hand back, and blinks. "Ashe, are you alright? You suddenly went dizzy..."

Ashelia Riot nods. Ashelia Riot: "I'm feeling like I may vomit." Ashelia Riot: "Thank you, Nive. I... I have to lie down." Ashelia Riot departs in a hurry, unable to remember most of what they discussed. Nivelth Ajuyn watches Ashelia go, her left hand tingling slightly. She brings it up to look at it, and can't stifle the gasp. Smooth, unblemished flesh. Nivelth Ajuyn can't shake the feeling that she missed something very important.

[rodger-that-studios]

My Top 20 Albums of All Time

Before The Storm, part 1 of 2

A top 20? (that should be, part one of a top twenty, so a top ten? yeah?)

Wow, how original.

I can practically hear your anguished cries.

Maybe so.

“There certainly haven’t been approximately 417.803 of those published since last Friday”

But sit down and strap in. This one’s a doozy.

Before we start, let me add that you don’t have to love these albums as much as I do, but trust me, arrogant as this sounds, you’re going to want to check them out.

To that you’re obviously crying out “You don’t know me!”

It doesn’t matter. Don’t have to.

These albums changed my life, so without further ado, lets get started. Are you sitting comfortably?

The Final (ish) Countdown (Albums 20-11)

20 – Tapestry – Carole King (1971)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KQXY8zwQgmc

It’s a beauty

Let’s start as we mean to go on.

Presented here is one of the first songs I ever remember ‘freaking out’ to. To clarify, I mean that amazing, goosebumps inducing effect that music can have on you.

The ‘whoa’ moment, if you will.

That song is the immortal Natural Woman from this seminal album. It’s also a family favourite. Maybe we’ll never know if it was written for one James Taylor (who might make an appearance later on) but frankly, who cares. This is a beautiful record.

19 – Curtain Call: The Hits – Eminem (2005)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Yhyp-_hX2s

Eminem is angry about…everything

Blimey. A Rap album as early as this?

Guess I’m full of surprises.

I’m no Eminem ‘fan’, but this one is special. There’s a swagger to this album that never fails to make me feel a thousand feet tall. Slim Shady exploded onto the scene with classic after satirical classic. Lose Yourself is outstanding, as is the insanity and genuine comedy of My Name Is. I think we all know what his name is now. Mic drop.

18 – A/B – Kaleo (2016)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-7IHOXkiV8

People from Iceland frighten me

This one is by far the youngest album on our list. But if I had to describe the debut for Kaleo, an imposing bunch of vikings (er, Icelanders) led by the incredibly talented Jökull Júlíusson (ridiculous name alert) in a few words, ‘ass kicking masterpiece’ comes to mind.

The band have gone from strength to strength since they dropped this monster in June 2016, thanks in large part to the lead single from A/B, Way Down We Go. It’s hauntingly beautiful and stays with you long after its finished. Another highlight is the albums opening track, No Good, which is a rip roaring way for the band to say hello. It’s absolutely filthy, but oh so fantastic.

17 – The Cult – Pure Cult (The Singles) 1984-1985) – 2000

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCOSPtyZAPA

Drum Fill Drum Fill Drum FILLLLLL

An absolute riot of an album.

It’s frankly ludicrous for a band to release a singles anthology that lasts for 77 bloody minutes, but The Cult are that good.

Prick up your ears for Rain and She Sells Sanctuary, which are definite stand outs. Rain batters against your eardrums with screaming guitars, while Sanctuary shifts the focus onto the drums. The song only contains a handful of lyrics, but one listen to the drum fill before the final chorus will make you understand why. Some songs speak for themselves.

16 – Greatest Hits – Simon And Garfunkel – 1972

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L-JQ1q-13Ek

This one has stayed with me because I still remember the first listen to this album.

I was sat in my Grandma’s lounge. Family have always played a part in the albums I’ve carried into adulthood. It didn’t take me long to learn why she loves these two. This album will make you cry, make you cheer and everything in-between.

The best albums tell stories, and ones told by this ’72 collection like The Boxer and Bridge Over Troubled Water will live for a very long time.

Gorgeous stuff.

15 – Where The Light Is, John Mayer Live in LA – 2008

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7K2DQ8XBRbU

Smooooooooth Mr Mayer

The following descriptions accurately describe Mr John Mayer;

Guitar Prodigy

Remarkable Songwriter

Harmonic Whizkid

Arrogant Arsehole

Okay, okay. I’ll explain why.

Mayer’s ego may be bigger than his stacked discography, but sadly it’s for a very good reason. The man is a modern musical artist, and doesn’t he know it.

But this album makes it okay, and here’s why.

Mayer played a one off sold out show in the Nokia Theatre in his home town of LA back in ’08, playing hits straight out of his strange little head to a sea of adoring fans.

It was an elegant affair, with Mayer and his touring band taking centre stage for almost three hours worth of jazz and blues. Indeed the sense of rhythm, melody and especially harmony on hits like Daughters, In Your Atmosphere and Gravity (which Johnny boy performs here with a full gospel choir) is absolutely stunning. A personal highlight is his incredible arrangement of Tom Petty’s Free Fallin’(RIP Tom we love you), which leaves me speechless every single time. Overalll Mayer offers a soaring and beautiful album which is perhaps the most intimate and honest thing he’s ever written.

And remember, all thats coming from the dude that wrote Your Body is a Wonderland. Damn smooth.

14 – Vessel – Twenty One Pilots – 2013

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szp9x1ZlZn4

Kick Some Ass lads

Twenty One Pilots needed something big to break onto the international scene. The rock duo had already amassed a huge following in the good old US of A, but Europe was a different beast. And with Vessel they knocked it out of the park.

Hits from this album introduced Tyler Joseph and Josh Dunn to the world. Joseph flip flops between sonorous masterclasses and rapping like a demon while Dunn channels the greats behind the kit. Copeland, Moon, Rich. The gang’s all here, and its as if they’re controlling Dunn’s arms and telling his brain what to do like the plot from a terrible 80s horror movie.

It is indeed a rip rollicking tour de force of an album. Migrane will make you think, Guns for Hands (bloody ridiculous song title) will make you groove, and my personal favourite here, Trees, will make you grit your teeth and maybe even shed a few tears, an entire spectrum of feelings is contained to 12 songs.

How many other bands can do that?

Put simply, check this one out. It’s remarkable.

13 – Celebrity Skin – Hole – 1998

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0CYB5V9e64

Tears you to pieces

Lets summarise the short lived story of Hole, shall we?

In equal parts the tortured love child of Courtney Love and Courtney Love’s grief over the terrible loss of Kurt Cobain, Hole created a very special album.

Love and Cobain were of course famously writing countless songs together before he died, and many of them would, in one way or another, make up the famous track list offered here. Heartbreak can often create strangely beautiful things, and Celebrity Skin is the epitome of that.

From the first second you can feel Love’s fury at society. Thats why it works, because its as relevant to hate the world today as it was back in ’98. To that end, honestly the album’s title track is, in a word, aggressive. Listening to it really puts you into her head. It’s as if someone took a confetti cannon, filled it with that typical 90s neon-soaked angst and rage and then fired it point blank into your face.

CAN YOU FEEL IT YET?

Okay calm down.

Don’t know what came over me there.

But then come back to earth and pair track one with the other clear stand out, Malibu. This song is effortlessly haunting and heartbreakingly beautiful. The listener is oblivious to what the lyrics warn them of running away from, but we somehow know we just need to listen to the warning. Perhaps this song was written for Kurt and he will tragically never know, but we’ll know and this song, indeed this album, will tear you apart and stay with you forever.

12 – What’s The Story Morning Glory – Oasis – 1995

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tI-5uv4wryI

Liam Gallagher looks like he’s wearing handcuffs every time he sings. Don’t believe me? Watch and learn

Oasis have been a part of my life for pretty much as long as I can remember.

We had them on perpetually when I was growing up, and I remember the first time my Dad introduced me to the standout song on this album full of standout songs, Champagne Supernova.

“Kid!”

“Yeah?”

“Check out this tune!”

Plays Supernova in our living room

It’s incredible, yes, but there’s only one question I have when the song fades.

“But Dad, what even is a Champagne Supernova?”

“Shut up Will, it’s ironic.”

leaves

One listen was all it took.

While the also classic Heathen Chemistry perhaps hit me more upon first impressions, as I’ve grown up my love for this album has positively skyrocketed. Although I still have a soft spot for Little By Little, one of the first songs I ever learned on guitar.

God these are the useless facts I know you want out of a musical countdown.

What’s The Story is special, though. It’s a special, perfectly Brit-Pop record. For me at least, songs like Some Might Say, She’s Electric and the aforementioned alcoholic death of a star have gotten me through some incredibly tough times. I look fondly back at the album now and remember nights in, up to my neck in GCSE revision with one of those terrible bedside lamps, which made it look like I was doing Algebra in Gollum’s cave. I’d whack on this record and all the stress would go away for a few glorious moments. It was almost fun to work stuff out with Noel Liam and the rest of the lads screaming down my earholes. It somehow made it okay.

Champagne Supernova, though, as you’ve probably guessed, is simply something else. Of course it lasts for seven minutes, but every second is captivating. Its an untouchable song, and an awesome album.

11 – Appetite For Destruction – Guns N Roses – 1987

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gORKiQ0h1ZA

Fuck Yeah

This one is simply the motherfucking king of debut albums.

Guns N Roses redefined sweet rock and roll with this album, and it was the first thing they ever released. Since it was released back in ’87 the album has rocked up (not sorry about the pun) 28 Million album sales. Numbers like that don’t lie. So here’s my take on one of the greatest rock albums of all time.

Standout one is the opening track, Welcome To The Jungle

Literally.

This song, despite being track one, is a dark horse, but I don’t know how much that means when your album is made up of majestic stallions. Guns N Roses collectively smash down your defences and musically kick the shit out of you with outstanding guitar and pounding drums. But don’t worry its all executed so beautifully you’ll probably stand yourself up dust yourself off, say thank you and dive straight back in. Trust me you ain’t seen nothing yet.

We continue with Paradise City. Its safe to say that Axl Rose Slash and company do not pull punches. This is one of the greatest guitar performances of all time. GNR present a sprawling 6 minute journey into madness, and you’re gonna want to be along for the ride. Prick up your ears for the closing solo, which is Slash at his most powerful. Slash is a god among men. Won’t take you long to discover why.

The third, and final (but not final) standout is the immortal Sweet Child O Mine

I’m already playing air guitar just thinking about this one and you are too don’t even lie.

If you were to open a Guns N Roses art museum, in which different songs became famous paintings, then Sweet Child O Mine is the ceiling of the Cistene fucking Chapel. it’s that good. Its many things. What do you want? A story about love? Yep, its there. A Stadium Anthem for the ages? Yeah no worries. A Masterpiece? I damn well think so. In fact thats the perfect description for Appetite for Destruction. Its a flawless album, indeed the spirit of sex drugs rock and roll in a CD case.

*takes breath*

Okay. Pause. Hit pause.

Christ on a bike.

I’ve been rambling for EVER.

Listen hard to these ten, and strap in for part 2

[embyrr922]

we'll fashion ourselves a better fit

because i project harder than an imax, have some nurseydex relationship talks. big thanks to @vicioushyperbolizer​ for suggesting Shane Koyczan when i was searching for a poem to use in this. (also on ao3)

Dex has never really been one for talking about his emotions, certainly not as plainly and bluntly as he and Nursey have been over the last few months, but he can’t really argue with the fact that they haven’t had the big blowout fight that he’d been worried would come when they first started dating. Between the relationship talks and the therapist he started seeing after he had an embarrassingly public meltdown in front of the team, Dex is pretty sure he’s talked about his emotions more in the last five months than in his entire previous life. He can’t argue with the results, and it has gotten a bit easier with time, but— It’s still really fucking awkward. Which is why he’s been pacing his and Nursey’s room for the last twenty minutes, waiting for Nursey to get back from class. Because as his therapist has pointed out, he’s brought the subject up in every session for the last month and a half, and since Nursey’s the only one who can really settle the issue, at some point this conversation needs to actually happen.

Dex is dragged out of his worrying by what sounds like a buffalo charging up the staircase, and he can’t help but laugh a little. The Haus is old and creaky as hell, but he’s pretty sure that Nursey and Holster are the only ones who’ve ever made that much noise going up and down the stairs. Dex tries to smooth his hair down from where he’s been running his fingers through it (and pulling on it, which is a bad habit that he can’t seem to break). He’s still trying to get control of whatever expression his face is making when the door opens. Nursey drops his backpack next to the door and turns to grin at Dex, pulling him into a quick kiss and what would be a quick hug, except that Dex tightens his arms around him and buries his face against the side of Nursey’s neck. Nursey’s hugs feel so safe, and he always smells warm, and the scared animal part of Dex’s brain is screaming that he’s going to lose this. He allows himself to cling, just for a moment. “Hey, babe, everything alright?” One of Nursey’s hands comes up to cup the back of his neck, and Dex takes a deep breath before straightening up and meeting Nursey’s eyes. “I wanted to talk about something, if that’s okay.” It’s what they’ve settled on to start serious conversations, because it doesn’t help anything to try to discuss something important when one or both of them is exhausted or upset. Dex sometimes hates using scripts and key phrases like this, but it works, and he resents the process a lot less than he appreciates the results. “Yeah, of course,” Nursey says, and Dex has to look away. He goes to sit on the edge of the bottom bunk—technically Nursey’s, but they sleep crammed together in it more nights than not these days—as Nursey drags the desk chair over to face him. Words are always hard for Dex, especially when it’s something he’s feeling vulnerable about, but with Nursey looking at him, open and patient and slightly concerned, they feel almost impossible. “I— Y-you— We—” Dex growls in frustration, now is not the time for his stutter to make an appearance, but Nursey just leans over to grab the fidget cube off the edge of the desk and hands it to him. Dex isn’t sure who it originally belonged to, but it’s shared property now, and he always talks better if he has something else to focus on. He flips it around in his hands a couple of times before he settles on rapidly flicking the switch back and forth, waiting for his breathing to calm. “You knew I was ace before we started dating,” Dex says, trying to lateral his way to the point. “We talked about it. We talked about it a lot.” He glances up at Nursey, who nods encouragingly. “I know you’ve said you’re okay with us not having sex, and I know you’re not lying about it, but I keep being afraid that at some point you’re going to… I don’t know, get fed up and decide I’m not worth it.” Nursey makes a concerned sound and hooks a foot behind Dex’s ankle. “Have you talked to Dr. Ramos about it? I know you said you guys were working on intrusive thoughts.” “Yeah,” he glances up again and catches Nursey’s eyes for a moment before looking away, talking to the wastepaper basket next to the desk. “At like our last four sessions, but none of the counter thoughts I’ve come up with have really been working. We pretty much decided that the best plan was for me to talk to you about it directly, so…” Dex makes a vague, expansive gesture. Nursey takes Dex’s hand, the one that isn’t holding the cube, and squeezes it gently before letting go, shifting his weight in the chair, and saying, “Do you know why you’re worried about it? Is there anything I’ve been doing to set it off?” “I don’t know. I don’t think so?” Dex says, running his fingers through his hair, pulling at it a little, trying to focus. “It’s just, people talk about sex like it’s the most important fucking thing in the world, you know? And I should be able to just trust you when you say it’s not—I want to!—but I hear a girl in my stats class say she’s thinking about dumping her boyfriend because the sex is just that bad or I watch people at kegsters who spend the entire night looking for someone to hook up with and I just—” Dex runs a hand through his hair again, flipping the cube around and rapidly clicking one of the buttons, “I guess the problem is that the only context I have is what other people say, and I’ve got you saying you’re fine if we don’t ever have sex against literally every other time I’ve heard someone talk about it.” Nursey’s quiet for a moment, thinking, and Dex wishes he had something more destructive to do with his hands, like shredding a paper cup. “When I asked you out,” Nursey says, after a small eternity of seconds, “you told me that I needed to be absolutely sure, because you didn’t want to start something if a lack of sex was going to end it. "And I thought about it, Will. I thought about us a year from now, looking for jobs and trying to figure out where we’ll live, apartment hunting together. I thought about us five years from now, with jobs and a life and probably like twelve gigantic dogs because you’re some kind of monster,” Dex huffs, grinning. The dog debate is longstanding and constantly mutating into more and more ridiculous permutations of itself. “I thought about ten years from now and maybe adopting a couple of kids, being dads,” Nursey’s voice has gone soft, and he knocks his knee against Dex’s. “I thought about all of that future, and I want that, I want it with you. Part of being with you is not having sex, and I want that too.” “Derek,” Dex’s voice comes out as a croak, and he has to swallow hard, blinking against the tears he can feel gathering. Maybe three months is too short a time for the amount of love that’s rioting in his chest right now, but Nursey’s looking at him with soft eyes and a soft smile, and Dex can’t help but reach out and cup his cheek, gently pull him in for a kiss, press their foreheads together and try to breathe through the storm of emotions. “I want that. I want all of that so much,” he says hoarsely, pulling back slowly and trying to wipe his eyes surreptitiously. He hates how easily he cries, but Nursey’s never made fun of him for it, never even brought it up. “I just don’t know how to get my brain to stop telling me that it’s something I can’t have. I feel like… like you’re giving something up for me, but I haven’t given anything up for you. I feel selfish.” “Babe,” Nursey says, but Dex can’t drag is gaze up from where he’s staring at his own hands, “relationships aren’t built from a template that you add or subtract from. I never gave anything up to be with you. Us, what we have, we built that from scratch.” Dex keeps staring at his fingers like he hopes they’ll somehow provide the answer to why what Nursey’s saying isn’t helping. It feels like chasing a nasty sliver with a pair of tweezers, every time he thinks he’s got it, it slips out of his grasp and burrows deeper. “I know, I know that,” Dex says. “I’m not trying to be stubborn, but it still feels wrong. It feels like… I don’t know.” They sit in silence for a long time. It’s probably minutes, but it feels like years as Dex tries to let his mind calm, as if the right answer will settle out like sediment. “I think,” he says eventually, “it’s… people talk about sex like it’s food. All the words around it like ‘hunger’ and 'appetite’ and 'sated’. And all the metaphors around it too, the imagery and stuff.” Dex takes a deep breath as the words for the feeling that’s been itching under his skin for weeks finally, finally take shape. He looks up and meets Nursey’s eyes. “It makes me worry that I’m starving you.” Nursey looks startled for a moment, then frowns thoughtfully. “You’re not starving me,” he says, “and I’m not starving myself, either, so don’t start.” Dex hadn’t been planning to, but the thought had occurred. They sit in silence for another handful of heartbeats before Nursey speaks up again. “It’s like,” he says slowly, “if it were important to me, and I asked you to, would you stop eating pork?”

Dex feels all the air punch out of his lungs like he just got checked into the boards as that sliver of doubt is finally, finally pulled out from under his skin. “Yeah,” he says, breathless, “yeah, I would. I— Yeah.” Nursey’s grinning at him like the insufferable asshole he is, and Dex’s hands are shaking just a little with the force of his relief because he suddenly, finally feels like he understands, and abruptly Nursey is entirely too far away. Dex drops the cube as he reaches out and hauls Nursey onto the bed with him. It takes a little maneuvering, but soon enough they’re curled together, facing each other. Dex might be crying, just a little, but Nursey has one hand in his hair and the other around his waist and Dex is hugging him so close that there’s no space between them and it’s good. It’s so, so good. They end up making out on the bed for a while, until Dex’s emotional high settles a bit and they slowly transition to cuddling. Eventually, Nursey drags out his laptop and sets it on their laps. They’ve recently started watching Legend of Korra together, and Nursey’s just cued up the next episode when a thought occurs to Dex. “I think I want to do something like that for you, though,” he says, and Nursey shoots him a look that’s equal parts confusion and concern. “Not— Not as a trade or because I think I owe you or anything, I just think it would be helpful to have something really solid to use as a counter for intrusive thoughts.” “I can see that,” Nursey says, looking thoughtful. He closes the laptop and sets it aside, turning to face Dex more fully. “It’s not like I actually want you to change your diet or anything, though.” “No, I know,” Dex says, taking Nursey’s hand and lacing their fingers together, “and it doesn’t need to be particularly big. Just, you know, something I wouldn’t necessarily do for myself, but that I can do for you.” Nursey nods, and they sit quietly for a moment, this silence so much lighter than the ones previous. Slowly, a smile steals over Nursey’s face. It’s Dex’s favorite, quietly happy with nothing affected about it. He’s seen it a lot since they got together. “I think I have an idea,” Nursey says, standing and walking over to their bookshelf, overloaded and sagging because it’s definitely too small to hold everything that’s been crammed onto it. He pulls out a small book and returns to the bed, handing it to Dex. “Visiting Hours,” Dex reads aloud. The cover is a little worn, and as Dex flips through a few pages, he smiles at Nursey’s handwriting in the margins. “I’ve had it since I was in middle school,” Nursey says, “there’s some really good stuff in here.” “Poetry,” Dex says, letting it fall open to a random page and running his fingertips down a column of text, “I suppose I should’ve guessed.” Nursey flicks his ear, but he’s still smiling. “Maybe you could read one or two a week, give us something new to talk about.“ Dex closes the book again, weighing it between his hands. "I think this is perfect,” he says, then thrusts the book back at Nursey and adds, “read one to me.” “Dick,” Nursey snorts, grabbing Dex around the neck and hauling him in for a noogie. He’s grinning, though, and by the time Dex squirms free (with the help of an elbow digging into Nursey’s ribs) they’re both laughing. Nursey leans over and picks up the book from where it got knocked to the floor, and as they settle back in together, Nursey flips through the pages, seemingly searching for a particular poem. “Alright,” he says, wrapping an arm around Dex’s shoulders. Dex snuggles into his side and rests his head against Nursey’s chest. “I think you’ll like this one. ”During visiting hours I had to read to sick people the kind of people who had no one it was my punishment catholic school community service for farting on a nun’s muffin“ Dex laughs, and Nursey grins down at him before continuing to read. They’re good. They’re so, so good.

[clefclefairy]

A Point of Understanding

[Kendra gets a kitten for Valentine’s Day from Carter. Rip loves the cat a lot, and so does she. Sara doesn’t take it so well. For the College AU, written for @jedifinnrey‘s birthday!!]

Carter had thought the present through enough to make sure it was on time for Valentine’s Day, but by the day after, everyone had to acknowledge there was still a kitten living on Floor Three of the Gideon building.

Rip sits down on the floor in the pit and stares at the cardboard box nestled against the heater, a few donated sweaters pillowing the insides. The kitten sleeps, her tiny flank rising and falling, and he stays and watches her instead of going to class.

“Oh, no, Rip,” Kendra says, leaving her room and kneeling on the floor next to him. “Hey, don’t you have class?”

“The kitten,” Rip says.

“Oh, god, are you mad? Am I going to get written up for this? I’m so sorry, I told Carter to take her back to his place but he insists she’d do me a lot of good here—“

“What? No. Jesus,” Rip shakes his head. “Sit with me, Kendra. She’s sleeping.”

“Seriously, Rip—“

“It’s not a problem,” Rip says, waving her off. “She’s an emotional support animal. Hartley’s already filled out the paperwork for Cisco to get one, so I just dashed off a few documents quick. If we really have to smooth this over, I’ll call my father. You need her, I need her. Animals help.”

“Animals help,” Kendra agrees, reaching down to brush a single finger along the kitten’s sleeping body. “She’s so pretty.”

“Mm. Blue eyes, white fur—the picturesque kitten,” Rip remarks. “That’s so very Carter.”

“It is,” Kendra laughs, “but she is cute. And besides, we’re going to take good care of her, so it’s okay he got me a pet as a gift, right?”

“I should hope, because I don’t think God themselves could have stopped Carter from doing something dumb and overdramatic for Valentine’s Day,” Rip says. “You know, this is just—this is incredible, really.”

“It is? What is?”

“I, um,” Rip shakes his head, “I’ll explain later. Can’t you hear those boots? The usual suspects are clomping down the hall after class.”

True to form, Sara bolts into the pit, bag over her shoulder and Docs thudding against the floor, yelling, “Hey, English! Don’t you have class?”

“Oh, that is an absolute riot coming from you,” Rip says, “and would you keep it down? She’s sleeping.”

“Oh, god, this fucking thing,” Sara huffs. “Wasn’t Carter supposed to take her?”

“She’s Kendra’s emotional support animal now,” Rip says. “And I already bought her a litterbox and sixteen toys and a bed, so she’s staying.”

“You what? Is that why you weren’t responding to my texts this morning? Oh my god, you were out buying pet supplies?” Sara grumbles. “Hey, cat. Wake up.”

The kitten sleeps on, unheeding. Kendra gives her a stern look. “Sara, be nice. She’s got to sleep a lot, kittens need their rest.”

“Helps their brains develop,” Mick chimes in, coming after Sara with Len in tow, kneeling in front of the box. “Hey, q-tip. What’s up?”

“That’s not her name,” Rip and Kendra say in unison. Sara makes a face. Mick shrugs, stroking a single finger down her tummy, lifting her paw up and examining her pink toe beans. The kitten opens her eyes and yawns at him. Mick smiles, little and soft, and gently scoops her up into one hand, holding her against his chest, perfectly still.

Len and Sara grumble, exchanging a look of total disgust as the rest of the floor files in—Jax brings Cisco and Wally with him, and Cisco squeals in delight at the sight of the kitten, kneeling next to Mick immediately.

“Kendra, you kept Carter’s kitten? Oh, she’s beautiful,” Cisco gushes. “I love her, she looks so soft—“

“Easy, Cisco, you don’t wanna yell too loud, she looks half-asleep,” Wally remarks, sitting down next to Jax. Cisco bites his lip.

“Sorry. Was I yelling? I didn’t—“

“Nah, you’re fine,” Mick says. “’Sides, she’s probably deaf.”

The entire floor falls quiet. Mick raises an eyebrow. “What, did none of you notice?”

“How can you tell?” Sara asks, leaning forward, brow furrowed. “Do we take her back to whatever pit Carter found her in?”

“What? No, numpty,” Mick says. “She’s got blue eyes and white hair. They’re recessive genetics, and they’re usually synonymous with deafness in cats. At least, it’s more common.”

“Mick’s right,” Cisco says after another pause. “I read all the books on cats I could find when I was little. It’s not just cats, but yeah, odds are high she’s deaf.”

“How do we test for that?” Len asks.

“Uh, duh, we do this,” Sara says, cupping her hands around her mouth. “HEY CAT! WAKE UP!”

The kitten sleeps on. Rip gives her a dirty look. “Must you yell?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, we’re testing your new girlfriend’s fucking ears to see if she’s deaf, my mistake, I’ll whisper next time.”

“My what—“

“So the cat’s deaf,” Cisco cuts in. “Which is fine, you can work around that. You should probably give her treats when you train her, then, because she won’t respond to verbal cues. She’s still a good kitty, and if you bring her to a shelter just because she’s deaf, I swear to god I will burn your stupid floor down.”

There’s another silence. Mick beams. “Good kid.”

“She’s not broken,” Cisco bristles, “she just needs help. You gotta be gentle with her!”

“We’re going to, Cisco, it’s okay,” Kendra soothes him. “Hey, we’re keeping her. Ignore Sara, she’s just in a bad mood today.”

“I am not—“

“We’re going to keep her and we haven’t even named her,” Rip says, frowning. “Mm. Suggestions?”

“Good question,” Cisco hums.

“Lint,” Sara offers, “Hairball?”

“Fuck you,” Mick says. “Q-tip.”

“No,” Rip huffs. “Kendra, it’s your kitten first.”

“Oh, Rip, we’re sharing,” Kendra says, and Sara makes a fist. “But…I remember these cartoons I liked as a kid, you know? They had a kitten in them who was really nice and cute, and that’s never a thing with cartoon cats.”

“Yeah, they’re all horrible bitches,” Sara adds helpfully.

“Anyway,” Kendra sighs, “her name was Pussyfoot—“

“Oh, I know her! Pussyfoot and Marc Antony, they’re a series of Chuck Jones’ shorts he did that led to the—“

Cisco pursed his lips. “Um. Tell you later. For now, I think Pussyfoot’s a great name, Kendra.”

“Seriously?” Sara says. “I eat pussy.”

“I like it,” Kendra agrees. “Pussyfoot okay by you, Rip?”

“Pussyfoot,” Rip mumbles, stroking his thumb under the kitten’s chin. “Mm. I think it’s cute. She’s perfect.”

Kendra beams. Sara fumes. Mick continues to hold her in his palm, until she gets curious and starts to climb down his sleeve. Cisco grabs her gently and puts her on the floor, so Pussyfoot can explore the room, sniffing and waddling around until she comes to Sara and climbs up her leg, onto her lap.

“Ow! Ow, fuck, she’s like little needles, fuck,” Sara whines, trying to pull her off her leg and wincing in pain. Cisco slaps her wrist.

“You’re pulling her! Stop it!”

“You just hit me! Fuck’s sake, it’s a cat,” Sara says as Cisco rescues her from Sara’s arms. Pussyfoot squirms and meows, trying to reach out to Sara.

“It’s not just a cat, you could’ve hurt her!” Cisco insists. “Jesus, please just be more careful!”

Sara scoffs and slumps against the couch as Cisco puts Pussyfoot gently back into her box, the rest of the group clustering around her as she explores her box and sniffs, tucking her head under one of the sweatshirt sleeves and purring.

“Oh,” Kendra sighs, “what a cutie.”

Pussyfoot purrs softly as Kendra rubs behind her ear, wiggling under her touch and approaching Sara, bumping the side of her box and looking up at Sara with big, hopeful eyes.

“God,” Sara sighs, getting up, “actually, I have class. See y’all in a bit.”

“Bye, Sara,” Rip says, looking at the cat. Sara stares at him for a second before she shrugs her jacket over her shoulder and walks away.

…

That night, two beers and an episode of Drag Race later, Sara goes to climb into Rip’s bed, only for him to sit up and shove her aside. She takes a step back, hugging her arms over her chest.

“Hey, ow, fuck you too then,” she snaps. “Did I not get you off good enough last night?”

“God, no, Jesus Sara, but you were about to climb onto Pussyfoot,” Rip says. “She’s sleeping, you would’ve hurt her.”

Sara stares at the little kitten nestled against his tummy, purring a little in her sleep, and her head starts to hurt. Her throat is tight with anger she can’t explain, and her fists are shaking.

“You know what? Okay. You’re right. Enjoy that pussy, because you’re not getting any of mine tonight,” Sara says, putting her slippers back on and storming out of the room, bumping into Kendra.

“Sara? Hey, have you seen Rip?”

“Yeah, he’s in there,” Sara says. “Have fun with him, because I’m gone until he gets his shit together.”

“Actually, I was going there to play with Pussyfoot for a little,” Kendra admits. “Hey, Sara, you’re welcome to hang out with us and play with her? She’s got some teaser toys I think you’d enjoy—“

Sara shoulders past her, down the hall and out the door, hitting the elevator button to leave the building.

“Sara?” Kendra calls. “Sara? Sara!”

She doesn’t respond, stepping on the elevator and leaving. Kendra sighs and opens the door to Rip’s room, shaking her head, a twinge of concern lighting up her stomach.

…

Twenty minutes later, Laurel lifts her head from her notes to a banging on her door. She huffs through her teeth. “Fel? Can you get that for me, baby?”

“Hold on, taking my medication!” Felicity calls from the bathroom, applying the estrogen cream quickly before taking her nightly anti-anxiety with some water. The banging gets louder.

“Coming!” Felicity trills, padding to the door in Laurel’s big fuzzy robe and her slippers, opening it up. “Did you order takeout?”

“No, s’just me, sorry,” Sara says, ducking under Felicity’s arm. Laurel raises her eyebrows, putting her pen down on the table. Sara’s eyes are red and wet, and her nose is dripping.

“Sara, Jesus, did you walk to my apartment in your pajamas?” Laurel says. “In the rain? You could’ve called, I would’ve taken the car—“

“They replaced me,” Sara sniffles, “with a fucking cat, Laurel.”

Laurel raises her eyebrows. Sara’s still dripping from her eyes and her nose as she tries to sniffle away the thick snot clogging her voice—Felicity shushes her and hands her a tissue, murmuring, “I’ll put on some tea, okay?”

“Who did what now?” Laurel asks. “From the top.”

“I’m not good enough,” Sara says. “I’m not good enough and I don’t understand, you know? I try really hard. I’m so funny and cute, right?”

“The cutest and funniest, babe,” Laurel agrees. “Sara—“

“I fuck ‘em really good and I always get beer and I never complain when Rip’s beard gives me razor burn ‘cause I know he’s real proud of it and I don’t mind when Kendra gets depressed and yells at me and I do all this stuff but it’s not enough, Laurel, I’m still bad! Everyone’s still mad at me and now they’ve got the new cat they don’t want me anymore and—and—“

Sara starts crying, tears running down her face as she rubs at her eyes frantically, trying to push the tears away. Laurel gets up and holds her, hugging her tight.

“Hey,” she says, her voice gentle and soothing, “baby girl. Go put some clean jams on and take a hot shower. You can use my fancy Lush soaps if you want. Fel’s gonna put on tea and we’ll all sit and you can talk to me about this, okay?”

“Okay,” Sara mumbles. “You love me, Laurel? Even though I’m a dumb drunk shithead?”

“I love you so much, and you’re not any of those things,” Laurel promises.

“I don’t wanna go,” Sara says, burying her face into her sister’s neck.

“You’re just going to shower, you’re not going anywhere,” Laurel soothes her. “I don’t want you to leave. Do you want to leave me?”

“No,” Sara mumbles after a moment’s silence. “Tell Felicity to put on a fruity tea?”

“Absolutely,” Laurel says. “Raspberry mint sound good?”

“Great,” Sara promises, shuffling down the hall and into Laurel’s room. Laurel can hear the wet slap of her clothes hitting the floor, and for a second it muffles the sound of her phone buzzing wildly. She snatches it up and answers it without thinking.

“Hello? Laurel Lance speaking, if this isn’t urgent—“

“Laurel, thank god,” Rip says, and she’s almost tempted to hang up, but the terror in his voice is unmistakable and genuine. “Jesus, this is urgent, where is Sara?”

“Hold on a sec,” Laurel says, covering the phone and stepping out into the hallway. “Okay. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know,” Rip says. “Kendra said she left and we thought she went to get dinner but she didn’t, she’s not at the café and she’s not on any of the other floors, I called all the RAs to check, I called Martin to see if she’d gone to pay him a visit, I’m about to call campus police and then my father, I’m sure there’s something Ted can do to—“

“Rip,” Laurel sighs, trying not to smile and failing, just a little, “she’s fine. She’s at my place.”

“Did you come pick her up?” Rip demands. “You could’ve sent us a text, I was worried sick—“

“No, I didn’t. She walked here.”

“It’s—it’s literally pissing buckets,” Rip says. “What the hell?”

Laurel sighs again, a little harder this time. “Well, you know she’s upset, right?”

There’s a pause. Laurel almost thinks he’s hung up until she hears a soft groan of pain.

“No,” he says, “I don’t, actually. I really don’t know what’s happening, and I’m freaking out.”

“Okay,” Laurel sighs, rubbing at her temples. “Okay. One thing at a time.”

She takes a deep breath. Rip pauses to cover the phone and yell something, but she can still hear the gist of it—he’s calling to his friends, Sara’s friends, letting them know she’s okay, and it makes her heart twinge.

“Did you get a cat recently, by any chance?”

“Yes!” Rip says, and he sounds so happy. “Yes, we did! She’s a beautiful little thing, a gift from Carter to Kendra, but Kendra and I are taking care of her, really, she’s white-furred and blue-eyed and deaf and we’re figuring out how to train her to respond to treats and touches instead of our voices, and her name is Pussyfoot, and—“

“That’s the most you’ve ever said in a sitting, I think,” Laurel murmurs.

“Pardon?”

“It’s—I mean, I was just surprised,” Laurel says. “You sound so excited.”

“Oh,” Rip says. There’s another pause, and it’s heavy, making her shift her feet and grip her phone. “Well. I mean. Am I not allowed to be?”

“No, it’s just—“ Laurel runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t want to—I just. Give me a second.”

“If you don’t want to tell me something about Sara because you’re worried about being the one to do it, please,” Rip says, “just tell me, Laurel, please. It won’t make us love her any less.”

“I mean,” Laurel says, “if Kendra’s involved—“

“I can put it on speaker, if you’re all right. Just the two of us will listen. That way we can both understand.”

“I just,” Laurel worries at her lip. “Rip, you have to promise me you won’t tell her I told you. I’m not telling you so you can make a thing out of it, I just—when you do talk to her, I want you to understand how to do it.”

“What? You’re worried I’ll make a thing out of it? Laurel,” Rip says, and she has to laugh, weak and wet.

“Right, English,” she says.

“That—that’s her nickname,” Rip says.

“Do you not want me to—“

“No! No, it’s just,” Rip says, “strange. How it sounds so different in someone else’s mouth.”

Laurel nods. “Okay. It—it’s okay. Listen up, because this is gonna be tough to explain for me, and I don’t wanna do it twice.”

He makes a quiet noise of assent and waits for Laurel to start.

“Look…our parents were absolute fucking garbage,” Laurel says. “Dad’s an alcoholic shitbag who kept pressuring me to drink because he said it was the only way we could bond, and mom’s a selfish narcissist who manipulated both her children for her own amusement.”

“She’s mentioned,” Rip says. “I didn’t pry, it didn’t seem fair.”

“I get it, but like,” Laurel sighs. “Listen. They always treated me like garbage. But at least I knew where I stood. I was the bad kid and the fuckup and the selfish nasty bitch who wouldn’t come home when mom demanded it and wouldn’t drink with dad when he just wanted to have some fun. It gave me something concrete to work with.”

“Laurel,” Rip promises, “you’re not any of that. You’re clever and brave and funny and you’re going to law school, for god’s sake.”

“Oh, I know! I know. I mean. I go to therapy for this, but I know. And I have Felicity to tell me and take care of me, and really, I’m fine,” Laurel says. “The thing is, Sara wasn’t the bad kid. Sara was the one they liked.”

“And that was bad?”

“That was bad,” Laurel agrees. “See? You already kind of get it.”

“I do,” Rip says, and something in his tone gives her pause. She presses on after a second’s hesitation regardless.

“Sara was a good kid, but only if she did what they wanted and played along with whatever they asked her to do, turned her against me for their own amusement, and listen—I never held it against her. Never. They’d make her do it and I would let them, because if—if they didn’t hate her, it was okay. I just didn’t want them to treat her like how they treated me.”

“Laurel,” Rip says.

“I know, I know. It’s just—it got in her head, you know? Everything’s conditional with her. She doesn’t know what being grounded feels like.”

“You love her.”

“It’s not—I mean, yeah, of course. But I’m still part of the family, still part of that…that bad place inside of her. I’m the one they made her hurt so she could be loved.”

“It’s not her fault!”

“I know it’s not! And I’ve never blamed her, but she blames herself, because she cares, and I just—I can’t do anything but love her. I can’t make her not blame herself. That’s not the point, okay?”

“Okay,” Rip says. “I’m sorry. Keep going.”

“It’s okay, it’s just—she’s scared of being abandoned. She doesn’t think anyone’s going to love her without some strings attached, some rules she has to live by, and she tries to impose those rules on her relationship so she can feel safe and stable,” Laurel says. “It’s just what she does. She buys the beer for parties so she can justify being there to herself. She needs to make herself matter so she’s not turned on, you know? Turned into the bad kid.”

“We love her,” Kendra says, finally—Laurel had almost forgotten she’d been listening. “Laurel, I love her so much. Am I not—am I not showing it enough? Am I bad?”

“No, no,” Laurel and Rip soothe her in unision. Laurel shakes her head. “Listen, you’re fine. I just want you to know that she felt like she was being abandoned by you for the cat.”

“Wait,” Rip says. “But…she’s a cat. And Sara’s Sara.”

“It doesn’t matter to her,” Laurel shrugs. “I’m not saying it’s rational or fair, I don’t know what happened so I can’t really defend my sister on that front, but I am saying she got scared because she cares about you both, and suddenly you two were focusing on this cute cat, and she thinks that means you won’t love her anymore.”

“Oh,” Rip says. “Ah. I think I get it. So she got upset and then because she got upset she thought we’d use it as an excuse to…”

He swears quietly, muffled, and there’s a creak of bedsprings—she can hear him pacing a few seconds later as Kendra takes the phone.

“Hi, Laurel,” Kendra says. “Do you mind if I talk about something?”

“No, I’m listening,” Laurel promises.

“Okay,” Kendra says. “Just give me a second, please.”

Laurel waits. It takes longer than a few seconds. She can hear Sara talking to Felicity inside their apartment, and her nerves demand she go inside and take care of her sister, but there’s something about the silence that makes her antsy. So she waits.

“I didn’t have parents,” Kendra says. “I didn’t have a stable home. It’s—it doesn’t bother me, usually. Mostly. I met Carter when I was sixteen and we moved in together and the last foster parents I had took the state checks for another two years, so really, everything worked out, you know? But I didn’t…”

She trails off. Laurel waits.

“I’ve always really wanted a pet,” Kendra admits. “We both have! It—it’s hard to want something of your own when you’re in a big group home like Rip was or when you move all over the place like I did, and it’s just—I wanted to take care of something and prove I could, that I wasn’t bad, and when Carter got me the kitten I was so happy and—“

She starts crying—Laurel can’t hear her sobs, but Rip hushing her and taking the phone is clue enough. She can hear the sound of him stroking her hair over the phone and it makes her heart lurch.

“We didn’t know,” Rip promises, “about Sara. We’ll talk to her about this when she’s ready to talk. I won’t push her. But don’t think poorly of Kendra.”

“I didn’t,” Laurel says. “I get it. And what about you, Rip?”

“I’m fine,” he lies. “Really, it’s just a cat.”

“A cat you’ve always wanted,” Laurel says, and he doesn’t contest the issue. He just sighs.

“I’m going to talk to Kendra,” he says, “and we’ll be here when Sara is ready to come back. Don’t push her, please.”

“I won’t,” Laurel says. “I’ll drop her off tomorrow, probably. Mind if I come in? I’d like to visit the kitten.”

She’s not sure if it’ll do anything, but she can almost feel him smile. “Oh, of course. Her name’s Pussyfoot.”

“Like the cartoon?”

Rip laughs and hangs up. Laurel puts her phone away and stays out in the hallway for just a minute longer, organizing her thoughts.

She goes back inside and sits down on the couch next to her sister, who is drinking tea and talking about Doctor Who with Felicity, and barely looks up when she comes in, her shoulders slumped and her whole body relaxed, sprawling across the couch.

“Gonna give me some room, kiddo?”

“You can sit on me,” Sara challenges her, flashing a grin. “Who called?”

Laurel debates, but only briefly. “Rip. He was about two seconds from calling the National Guard.”

Sara stares. Her hands tighten over her mug for just a second. “Huh.”

“They’d called that poor professor you all harass already, every RA in your building, and he was probably calling me about two seconds before the cops,” Laurel has to laugh. “Listen, from what you told me about his dad, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“I,” Sara has a sip of her tea to keep from speaking. Laurel and Felicity just start talking about Felicity’s new Switch and Felicity gets up to pour Laurel more tea, and they let Sara sit with her mug and stare at the wall in silence for a little while.

“We don’t harass Martin,” she finally says, “he likes us.”

Laurel nods and has a seat, lifting her sister’s legs up and putting them in her lap, tickling the soles of her feet as she squeals in protest.

…

“Want me to take the couch?” Felicity offers at around three in the morning, stretching out and yawning. “You two can share the bed if you wanna have sisterly bonding or something.”

“What? I’m not kicking you out of your bed,” Sara says. “I’ll crash on the couch.”

“We’ll all crash on the couch, you two move, this is a pull out,” Laurel says. Sara gets up and helps her sister with it, Felicity coming back with blankets from the bedroom and tossing them onto the mattress. Sara flops down into the blankets and sighs, cuddling the nearest pillow and looking up at Laurel.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” she says. “Really, I know I came in and fucked up everything—“

“You didn’t do anything,” Felicity promises. “What, do you think I have any other nightly plans that aren’t playing with my new Switch and lecturing Laurel about Hylian history?”

“How did you and Laurel find each other? Do you even know what a Switch is, sis?”

“Whatever it is, it stole my girlfriend,” Laurel grumbles, and Sara laughs.

“I’m not really into Zelda,” she admits, and Felicity gasps softly. “But I’m glad I wasn’t a bother.”

“You’re never a bother, kiddo,” Felicity promises, leaning over and adjusting her blanket. “You’re always welcome to come visit. Maybe I could get you interested in Zelda eventually.”

“Mm, good luck,” Sara yawns, already half asleep. “Thank you, Fel. Love you, Laurel. Night.”

Laurel murmurs goodnight and rubs Sara’s back until she’s snoring softly, turning to kiss Felicity on the mouth, a gentle little peck that makes Felicity smile.

“You’re really a champ, you know,” Laurel says. “I know we’re a lot—“

“Your family sucks, you can’t help that,” Felicity promises. “Listen, my mom loves you both enough for like, a dozen families. I think all she wanted in life was three daughters. You have me, you have my mom, and I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to, Laurel.”

“I don’t want you to,” Laurel agrees, wrapping her in a tight hug. “You’re going to stay here, and no one’s going to take you from me, so get some sleep, okay?”

“What about you?” Felicity mumbles, nuzzling into Laurel’s chest.

“I’ll feel better going to bed once you’re both asleep,” Laurel yawns. “Don’t worry about it.”

Felicity mumbles a protest, but it’s vague and half-formed, and she’s already asleep by the end of her sentence. Laurel smiles and strokes her hair from her face, kissing her forehead. “Night.”

…

The next morning, Laurel pulls up to the Gideon building and parks, turning to Sara. “Hey. You can stay another night at my place if you want, you know that.”

“No, I have to go home,” Sara says, her voice firm. “He was really worried, huh?”

“He really was,” Laurel promises. “He loves you, sis. They all do. I do. You’re a good kid, okay?”

“I try,” Sara says, fiddling with her hands. “Um. Laurel? Thank you. You’re a better sister than I deserve.”

“Well, I feel the same way, so we must be doing something right between us,” Laurel admits with a smile, unbuckling to hug Sara tight. “I love you, Sara. Call me if you need me.”

Sara nods, letting Laurel hold her for a few seconds longer before getting out of the car and heading into the building. She takes the elevator to her floor and steps out into the empty foyer, opening the door and looking out into the hall.

There’s no one there. Either everyone’s asleep or in class, she figures, but it’s still weird. The air is heavy and her skin crawls as she takes her steps carefully and quietly over to the pit. If someone comes out and yells at her—

“Mew!”

Sara jumps, her shoulders almost striking her ears as she stiffens up. It takes her a second of blind panic to place the sound to the source; Pussyfoot, scratching at the cardboard wall of her box, pawing at Sara.

“Hey,” she says, taking another hesitant step. “Uh…don’t know why I’m talking to you. ‘Cause you’re, like, deaf. I mean, not like Hartley deaf, he’s got…what was it? forty percent of his hearing or something. Cisco said. This is dumb. Why am I still talking to you?”

Pussyfoot continues to paw at the box, making chirping noises. Sara snorts. “You’re so noisy. Is it ‘cause you’re deaf? That’s okay. I think I’m kinda noisy too.”

She approaches the box and kneels down. Pussyfoot takes a step back and wriggles her bottom, tensing up to jump. She scrabbles at the edge of the box as she leaps and then falls back down into the sweatshirts in defeat. Sara laughs, shaking her head. “Stupid. It’s a big box so you don’t climb out like that.”

Pussyfoot, meowing, gets up and approaches the wall again, yelling to be acknowledged. Sara huffs. “C’mon, dummy! Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself!”

Pussyfoot scratches at the side of the box. Sara sighs. “God, fine, come here. Don’t claw me.”

She lifts Pussyfoot up, trying to remember how Mick and Cisco did it—one hand holding her back legs, the other supporting her belly. She scoops her into her hands and sits, cross-legged, on the floor. “Better?”

Pussyfoot turns her head to nibble on Sara’s thumb. Sara smiles. “That a yes?”

Pussyfoot meows again before closing her eyes. Sara holds her and watches her doze—she wiggles a little, but doesn’t try to climb out of her hands, and lays her head on Sara’s chest when Sara pulls her in closer.

“You know,” Sara says, “you’re really little and cute. I could see why they loved you, yeah? You’re so soft and pretty and you don’t have any of that stupid baggage people come with. You’re just a cat.”

She chews on her lip. “But, um…I guess that’s kind of nice for me, too. I don’t feel bad about telling you that I was scared and did something stupid, because you’re a cat, and you don’t care, do you? You’re just happy I’m holding you. And—and that’s good. It’s nice to be appreciated for little stuff.”

Pussyfoot purrs, soft and low, her whole body shivering with it. Sara strokes her thumb along Pussyfoot’s cheek. “You’re so tiny. You don’t mind that I’m talking to you so much, right? It’s pretty cool, actually. I can see why Rip and Kendra were so excited to have you around.”

She rubs her fingers slowly along Pussyfoot’s tiny body. “Listen. I think we can make a deal here, kittycat. You make them happy by being little and cute, and I make them happy by being useful. Fair?”

Pussyfoot purrs.

“Oh, Sara. You’re so much more than useful.”

Sara freezes. She knows who’s behind her—what’s the point of turning around?”

“My girl,” Rip sighs. “We’re so glad you’re safe.”

“I,” Sara shakes her head. “Hey. Uh. I’m not. Hurting the cat or anything, I swear.”

“We didn’t think you were,” Kendra promises, coming to sit next to her. “She really likes you. That makes us both happy, you know that?”

“Really?” Sara says, her voice little and strained. “But—but then she won’t like you as much?”

“What? Why not? She’s a cat. All she has to give is love. I think she’s got enough to spare,” Kendra promises, rubbing Sara’s thigh. “Can we talk?”

“About?”

“It’s just,” Rip says, sitting down on Sara’s other side. “You had us worried, Sara. We didn’t realize you thought we would love you any less now that we had a cat. I’m truly, truly sorry.”

“S’okay,” Sara says, her voice shaking. “Hey, listen, it’s my fault for—“

“No, ssh,” Kendra soothes her. “You’ve told us about your parents before. They weren’t good to you, yeah? We just didn’t realize how hard it was for you. You’re so brave, Sara, and stronger than me. I just—I didn’t know. I wasn’t thinking—“

“Hey, hey, stop,” Sara says, “I love you, numpty. Shut up. I don’t think you’re weak, or bad, or—or whatever. It’s okay you didn’t know. I didn’t want you to.”

“Okay,” Kendra nods. “Will you let us in now, though? Could you tell us?”

“S’not much to tell,” Sara mumbles. “Just…it’s rough, y’know. Bad. I don’t—I don’t like feeling like I have to compete. I’m not that special or good, so unless it’s only me, then—then why wouldn’t anybody find someone less fucked up and bad to love?”

“Because we love you,” Rip promises. “There’s no competition. We don’t love you in relationship to anyone but yourself. You don’t have to prove anything, because you’re not being compared to anyone. It’s just you, Sara, and we really love you.”

Sara’s tears are entirely silent as they slide down her face, dripping onto their kitten’s fuzzy white flank. She sniffles and shakes her head. “O-okay. Can you—can one of you take her? I’m getting her all wet—“

“I’ve got her, ssh, you’re okay,” Kendra promises, bundling Pussyfoot into her grip. Pussyfoot stirs and mews, pawing at Kendra’s arm, one paw extending out, reaching for Sara.

“Not until I’m done crying, or you’ll look like a tissue,” Sara says to Pussyfoot. Rip laughs.

“You can’t blow your nose on the cat.”

“I can try,” Sara grins, rubbing at her eyes. “Laurel said you were real worried.”

“I was,” Rip says. “God, we all were. I’m just so happy you’re safe, and—and might we explain ourselves?”

“You don’t have to explain anything, I was the bad one—“

“No, you weren’t. We just misunderstood one another,” Rip cuts her off. “Don’t say that. You explained yourself, and we understood. Would you offer us the same courtesy, my girl?”

“I—yeah,” Sara says. “Okay, English.”

Rip closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, drawing it all in, his chest loosening up. “God, it’s good to hear you call me that again.”

He glances at Kendra; she nods and he worries at his lip before starting his story. “Well, you know my mother was good to me, but given all the children coming in and out of her home, I never really got to have anything of my own. And I just wanted a pet so badly I didn’t think—I didn’t understand how it might hurt you.”

“Why would you? This is weird,” Sara sniffles. “And bad.”

“No, it’s not,” Rip promises. “It’s just part of who you are. And I love you, all of you, so I will understand it with time.”

He sighs. “I don’t want to make a fuss, and I don’t want to upset you. Really, I don’t, but I’ve wanted something to take care of for a long time. Something that’s truly mine.”

There’s a pause.

“But,” Sara ventures, “you have me.”

Rip’s face splits into a grin and he laughs quietly, leaning his forehead against her shoulder and sighing. “Ah, Sara. Yes I do, and I am grateful you feel that way. But you’re your own person as well, and I love you for it. A cat is simpler. And with the way everything went in my home as a child, please understand why I would want something simple to take care of as well?”

Sara waits and considers, taking a few slow, steady breaths.

“I do,” she sighs. “I mean, I get it. I could use some reminders about that whole…being yours thing, though, if that’s cool.”

“That’s fine,” Rip promises. “I’ll give them, gladly. Do we understand each other now?”

“I think we do,” Sara replies. “I just gotta ask—Kendra?”

“Huh?”

She lifts her head, her curls bouncing slightly. Pussyfoot takes a swipe at one and hooks her little claws in it. Sara smiles, for just a second.

“Hey. You’ve told me before about how bad foster care was,” Sara says. “I don’t think I really understood it, but I want to now. I love you too, pretty girl, and I need you. So…y’know.”

She glances aside. Kendra nods and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I know. I love you too. I mean, it’s—it’s really nice you’ve both stayed! It’s so weird, really. Besides Carter, I’ve never known anybody this long. It’s…something else, that’s for sure. And I trust you to stay, I promise, it’s just—sometimes my brain gets bad and I—“

Kendra shakes her head. “Y’know. I get scared. And when I have a little kitten to look after who needs me and won’t leave, I feel less scared about you leaving me too. It really helps.”

She shifts a little and purses her lips. “Does that make sense?”

“Makes perfect sense,” Sara says. “Listen, if the cat makes you feel that much better, you could adopt a dozen cats if it’d help. I get it now, okay? I just—I want you to be happy.”

“And I want you to know you’re loved,” Kendra promises, “so we’ll work something out.”

“We will,” Rip promises, winding his hand in Sara’s. “Thank you for trusting us, Sara. Thank you for coming home.”

“Well, it was that or you called in the army, so,” Sara says, and he grins.

Kendra reaches over with her free hand and squeezes Sara’s other hand. “Hey. I love you. And I don’t mind reminding you, ‘cause I always want you to know that.”

“Okay,” Sara says. “Listen, though, you can’t just hold her with one hand, you’re not supporting her right—I’m done crying, really! So give her to me, okay?”

Kendra meets her gaze for a second before she smiles, nods, and lets Sara hold their kitten.