#this is just 1700 words of pain tbh

[ngayawneluoer]

we seek revenge

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ neteyam x reader (past), neytiri x reader (platonic), tbh mostly just a spider hate fic, if you like spider you’re prolly not gonna like this lol

Time doesn't seem to heal the wound of losing you mate, and when the sky people return and you learn the truth, no one can stop you from seeking revenge. Set a year after the events of ATWOW.

word count: 1700

a/n: pov you and neytiri form a spider hate club and beat his ass (sort of)

Even a year later, every breath you took without Neteyam felt like eternal punishment. Every moment you felt the loss of your mate and every step you took without him was only a reminder that you would never feel whole again. Every day, you suffered and mourned the pair you could have been and the life you could have lived, and every night you prayed that Eywa would bring him back or take you with him. But it was never that simple.

And so, you busied yourself with the daily tasks of the Metkayina, your head held high and your face unwavering. At least you had Neytiri, who never seemed to leave your side since her son's death. You mourned, suffered, and cried together, and as time passed, you helped each other get back on your feet and brave the world. To her, you were one final living piece of her son, his other half and the one he loved most, and she couldn't help but love you in turn. She had become like a mother to you, and whilst you knew you would never be able to replace Neteyam, your shared memories of him brought you closer together. And obviously, you bore the whole Sully family in your heart, but you and Neytiri had developed a special bond through the pain you shared and the rage you held for the sky demons that had so mercilessly killed the one you loved.

Another thing you shared with Neytiri was the wariness you felt towards Spider, who Jake had wholly accepted into the family following Neteyam's death. You had grown up around him, but being nothing more than a regular Omatikaya with almost no interaction with humans, you never were the most comfortable with him. The emotion had only doubled after his 'father' brought about the war that killed your beloved. Those around you started accepting him, but you kept your distance, as did Neytiri. You couldn't find it in your hearts to forgive him.

“(Y/N)! Come swim with us!"

The voice broke your train of thought, and you looked up from the bracelet you were weaving. From where you sat next to Neytiri, your eyes found Kiri waving at you from amongst the group of Na'vi youths splashing about in the water. You noticed Spider was there too, practically clinging to her side like a pathetic dog. You tried not to roll your eyes.

"No thank you, Kiri," You answered loud enough for her to hear, trying your hardest to mask the venom in your voice, "Later."

A sad pout graced her face for a mere second, and you knew what was coming. You usually rejected her offers, and she would rarely take no for an answer, opting instead to drag you into the group and make it so that you had no choice but to participate. Sometimes she would even send Tuk to guilt trip you into joining with those adorable eyes of hers, knowing you could never say no to Tuk.

You knew Kiri meant well; she simply saw you pull away and didn't want you to feel left out. Lucky for you, this time she was distracted by Rotxo pulling her tail, and she forgot all about her usual routine of demanding you to join. Better this way. You wouldn't have enjoyed yourself anyway.

Neytiri looked up from the arrow she was crafting, a somewhat curious look on her face. She spoke quietly, deliberately to keep the conversation private from possible overhearers, "I don't see you with those your age lately," her fingers continued crafting, but her focus was still on you, awaiting an answer. Finally, when your gaze didn't shift from where it was fixed onto your hands, she continued, "I cannot be your only friend."

You sighed softly, eyes brimming with tears that you were afraid would spill if you met her gaze, "I do not... want to see him," you knew she knew who you meant from the way you spat out the word as if it was poison on your tongue, "it hurts too much."

You finally bit the bullet and looked up at her, only to find her gaze looking off into the distance, following the human boy you were referring to. Her features twisted into anger as if in the process of a hiss, "He shouldn't be here. He should be with his kind."

"I agree," you started, but didn't know what else to say. There was nothing you could do.

Neytiri hesitated for a second but eventually uttered the words you had a feeling swirled through her mind every day, "I... cannot help but blame him. He is not just a child. He is a demon's child. He will bring nothing but trouble... But I cannot bring it up with anyone but you."

You could tell from how she spoke that she had had this conversation before. You wondered if this was a frequent argument she had with Jake, who was so adamant about accepting Spider into their family.

"I don't understand how they can so easily accept him. I know he is not responsible for his father's actions, but…." you trailed off at a loss for words. But what? You weren't sure where you were going with this. And with Spider so close by, you were hesitant to confess the hatred you held for him simply due to his heritage out loud.

Neytiri understood though. She always did.

She dropped the arrow she was crafting from her hand and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into her side to comfort you, "You are not alone. I see you."

You leaned into her motherly touch, revelling in the comfort she provided, "I see you."

-

But comfort never seemed to last for your kind. The sky people returned, led by the man that didn't seem to die. Your people fought his soldiers bravely, some winning, some losing, but you could safely say you had done more damage to them than they had to you.

"How many times do we have to kill you!" You heard Jake hiss from somewhere, but you were too preoccupied with fighting off the armed soldier in front of you. With a final swift move, you drove your dagger into the avatar soldier's neck, your fangs bared in a hiss as blood sprayed across your face. Briskly, you sheathed your blade into its scabbard and let the body drop, turning back to the dying battle. The sky people were retreating. They were cowards and had finally realised they were severely underprepared. They would be back, they always were, but you revelled in the fact that you didn't die at their hand today.

One of them remained, however. To everyone's shock, Quaritch in the flesh had shown up. He stood proudly with a gun pointed at Jake - Jake pointing one back - knowing that the mere fact that he was alive was rubbing salt in the wound. His return brought back memories of your previous battle with him, and you snarled; eyes focused on the conniving man that stood before you. A thick metal cable fell from the sky behind him, undoubtedly how he would make his escape into the helicopter above. You wouldn't allow it.

As you advanced, you heard Jake hiss again, "How are you alive?"

Quaritch only smirked, attaching himself to the cable, "The answer is simple, Jake. I am, and always will be, better than you," His gaze left Jake and switched to someone far behind you all, and he winked. "Thanks for the save, kid."

…What?

Your blood froze and your muscles tensed, barely registering the sound of the Colonel escaping. It felt like the world had stilled; everyone around you was frozen and unable to breathe as they processed the words that had been spoken mere seconds ago.

You could barely process the faces that surrounded you as you slowly turned, following the direction of where the Colonel had been looking. You should have known.

The world around you disappeared, voices echoing as you could barely hear them over the sound of your own heartbeat. All you knew was the pure anger rushing through your veins and the pathetic human boy standing a few meters away in your line of sight. His eyes met yours. You had never seen such pure, primal terror in anyone's eyes before.

"What did he mean?" You seethed, voice muted as your features twisted in anger. You began taking steps towards Spider, which seemed to trigger Kiri into holding you back.

"(Y/N), wait," She grabbed your arm to try to hold you back, muttering something about how you should relax and how it could have been a misunderstanding, but you snatched your arm back. You knew what you heard.

"Speak!" You screamed, making Spider flinch. He remained quiet, seemingly unable to defend himself, "You saved that man?"

"I.." Spider began taking a step back but came to a sudden halt as he heard the subtle sound of the pull of a bow. Your gaze flickered behind him for just a second, and you saw Neytiri with an arrow pointed straight at his head, a snarl as equally vicious as yours on her face.

"Neytiri, no!" "Mother, please don't hurt him!"

You and Neytiri barely registered the voices.

You took another step forward, your figure towering over Spider.

"That man is responsible for Neteyam's death," Your voice shook and your tail flicked behind you with anger as you spoke - everyone seemed to fall quiet, "And you saved him?"

Spider had the intelligence to keep quiet, at least. Unfortunately, what he didn't have was the courage to look you in the eye.

"Look at me when I speak to you!" You screamed, startling Spider. His head tilted up, and his fearful eyes met yours. His face was scrunched with pain and guilt, but it meant nothing to you. "He went back for you! He wanted to save you! He died because of you!"

You unsheathed your dagger, the dry blood on its sharp blade a symbol of the fate the boy in front of you would face.

"And you will die because of me."

-

a/n: If we don’t get a scene of Neytiri killing Spider’s ass in Avatar 3 I will sue

p.s I made an ask box request things pls and ty

#neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #avatar x reader #neytiri x reader #avatar the way of water #my fics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

[mightbewriting]

Hello! I loved Almost Nothing At All and really enjoyed the way you structured it! Can you tell us about your writing process with it? What was the first part you thought of? How did you end up structuring it the way you did? Hope you’re doing well, and thank you for all the wonderful stories you’ve shared with us! Happy holidays! 💖🎄

omg hi anon! thank you so much! that really means so much. like a stupid amount. because the writing process looked a lil something like this:

to be totally honest, i had a lot of trouble writing for advent this year. i struggled with a lot of internalized pressure to ~get it right~ and not disappoint anyone who nominated me, and i didn't have any immediate bursts of inspiration with my prompts.

so since you asked, i'll walk you through the horror show that was my process this year lol.

the 2022 dhr advent doc has all my brainstorming rando thoughts in it. it's got 1700 words of concepts that didn't grow legs, outlines i didn't ultimately like the direction of, and a lot of me trying to talk myself into liking at least one idea, any idea. most projects i work on have a doc like this, it's just a brain dump. normally it's more productive and less chaotic though lol.

draft one has a thousand words of a time loop concept that ultimately didn't work out.

draft two is 4700 words of my actual first draft of almost nothing at all. it's in third person (which is relevant in a minute lol) and includes the back and forth structure that's hinged on those bits of dialogue slingshotting draco between his present and his past. the initial inspo for the fic came from the yearning feeling i got listening to conan gray's people watching, and so my brainstorm doc has a section i added to it after my first attempted story idea bombed about capturing that feeling. i ran with that idea, began writing this draft, and then went back to my brainstorming doc and wrote this (which is that ultimately gave this story its structure):

so there was some back and forth for me too figuring out not just my premise, but also my structure. (which are the two essential components to my writing process: what is my story and how am i telling it).

draft three is almost 5k of this fic written in first person. i wasn't feeling like i fully nailed the ~feeling~ i wanted in my first draft, so i tried for an even closer pov. tbh, i did really like this story in first person, but ultimately had to decide if it was doing enough for the narrative to counteract the very real preference against first person story telling in this fandom (once again, not wanting to disappoint the folks who nominated me played a part)

draft four is a the final product you see on ao3 after i got some feedback from all the people who helped convince me it wasn't as bad as my writer neuroses kept telling me it was. with those few changes, i also switched it back into third person. which was a pain.

so then what's draft five? it's 2.5k of Panic Other Fic i wrote the day before advent was due because i still couldn't shake feeling like i didn't land the story how i wanted to (still don't, but i've accepted it lol). i liked it enough that i will post it eventually too, but i didn't end up scrapping my original advent fic bc sounder minds told me to buck up and get over myself (in much nicer words).

all of which is to say, this is probably way more than you asked for, but maybe there's some reassurance to be had for anyone out there struggling with their work. sometimes the process is stupid messy, sometimes it's riddled with self doubt and false starts, and sometimes it never fully comes together the way you want it to in your head. all those things are okay, and none of them negate the value of the thing you actually made. i'm so thrilled folks have enjoyed this fic, perhaps even more so because of the struggle to write it. and even if it's still not exactly what i was imagining, i'm at least trying to appreciate it for what it became and the enjoyment its giving other people!

#almost nothing at all #anonymous asks

[lycanthroptea]

a revolution

or, the beginning.

                          “By the side of Enjolras, who represented the logic of the Revolution,                Combeferre represented its philosophy. Between the logic of the Revolution                and its philosophy there exists this difference—that its logic may end in war,                whereas its philosophy can end only in peace...    Combeferre preferred the                whiteness of the beautiful to the blaze of the sublime.”

                                     --Les Misérables, Book IV, Chapter I

    It had started with an invitation. It had started with four friends. It had started with hope, which sparked a flame, which burned rich and brilliant and strong. It flared, scorched, and blackened, leaving a graveyard in its wake.

     Decembers in Paris were rather unpleasant affairs. Iron winds rushed through narrow city streets, accompanied by bitter cold and the sting of snow, the sort of ice that numbed and burned fingers until they blistered from frost. It was no surprise, then, that the majority of the city’s inhabitants had sought refuge indoors, save for the unlucky few.

     One particularly miserable boy winced as a viciously icy gust threatened to greedily steal away his thin scarf, which he pulled even more tightly around his reddened nose. He had just spent the last ten minutes rushing through quiet alleyways, not because he was late, but because his threadbare coat provided little protection from the elements. Winter really was an unforgiving mistress.

     As the boy rounded a shadowy corner, his pinched features visibly relaxed at the sight of an unassuming cafe half a block down the snow-covered street. It was unadorned with the exception of a weather-worn sign, which creaked precariously like a pendulum in the capricious wind. Though its colors had dulled over the years, one could still make out a beautiful golden bird flying towards the sun in the peeling paint, the inscription Le Café Phénix penned gracefully underneath.

     “Remus!”

     He halted, glancing over his shoulder at the echoing voice. It belonged to a raven-haired boy around the same age as him, dressed in a warm tailored coat and a thick, red scarf, hair pulled back by an elegant ribbon. He swung his arm around Remus’s shoulder in a friendly manner, lips splitting into a winning, roguish smile.

     “Nasty weather, isn’t it?” he asked cheerily, pulling open the cafe door for the both of them. They crossed the room with a brief hello to the owner before jogging up the rickety back staircase. “And to think James still wants us to show up despite the fact that half of us’ll be frozen before we even get here.”

     Remus pushed open the door at the top of the steps, the warm thrum of friendly chatter immediately spilling on to their ears. “That’s not a problem for you, Sirius. You’ve got enough layers on to clothe five people.”

     “Now, mon ami,” Sirius admonished, smirking, “let’s not get bogged down on the details.”

     Sometimes, when he was alone in his flat, Remus would think of his family.

     His mother, a prostitute. His father, an ex-convict. He himself, the product of one of the worst crimes of humanity.

     James and Sirius and Peter didn’t seem to mind, but he wondered what the others would say if they knew. He wondered, and contemplated, and pondered. At times, quiet reflection was the only way to deal with the burden of guilt resting on his shoulders. If he hadn’t been born, perhaps his mother would have been in a better place. He was nothing but an extra mouth to feed, a burden on society who had barely survived.

          ( His mother had not. )

     They were dreamers, eyes looking towards the sky and waiting for the pale light of dawn. They were hope personified: James, the Chief, on the cusp of manhood, righteous ichor blazing in his veins and authority imprinted on his brow; Sirius, the Center, radiant and warm, the ability to inspire in his fingertips; Peter, the Support, a solid rock on which to stand, always present to lend the solidarity of a friend; Remus, the Guide, a mind lost in the stars, words painting an image vivid enough to taste, philosophy made sweet as honey and sustenance enough for a week without food.

     They were the revolution, and they would rise to free the people. The shackles of injustice would be thrown off and France would become a shining democracy. They would be at the forefront of it all, not for the sake of credit or fame, but for their duty to the motherland, to Patria, to humanity itself. It was for this that they assembled their Order, where minds would gather to architect the future, where thirty people wished for a better tomorrow, where they worked together to alleviate the burden of the suffering.

     And yet they were barely twenty. James and Sirius studied at the university, aspiring lawyers whose quick wit was both admired and admonished by their peers. Peter kept up his family business, and Remus continued his work assisting the Franciscan order with ministry to the poor. They explored, they had adventures in the streets of Paris and ran into mischief. They teased and gawked when James fell in love, and snickered when the object of his affections firmly spurned him. They laughed and loved and lived, the morning light threading through their hair and pure starlight shining in their eyes. They were boys.

     “We fight,” Remus said quietly, “for the dawn. There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.”

     Lungs burned, hearts aflame with passion, a hundred footsteps flew down the streets in an echo of hope. Lamarque was gone, and the people had rioted. The people were ready. The general’s coffin was borne through a throng of Parisians screaming for justice as their last voice in Parliament had died, and grief had borne outrage, which burgeoned into action. Now was the time to seize the day and take back what rightfully belonged to the people, and they had risen up in the streets of Paris. The members of the Order flooded Le Phénix, pulling chairs and tables and cabinets on to the cobblestones.

     “Can you believe it?” Remus asked, exhilarated. “I can taste the dawn already.”

     The response by his friend went unheard, drowned out by the clatter of furniture tossed onto the growing barricade. Peter paused, looking towards the rest of his friends. He frowned. “If we can make it that far.”

     They asked for assistance, they called upon the people to rise.

     They were met with silence.

     The blood of the martyrs would water the meadows of France.

     The barricade was hushed, save for the quiet flick of a match as James lit himself a cigar. Smoke spiraled up in a lazy waltz, reaching for the velvet sky on a warm, hazy June night, the sound of a violin playing a mournful love song far in the distance. A light breeze carded her sweet fingers through Remus’s hair.

     His ears still rang with the deafening thunder of gunfire.

     His hands were still red.

     He’d tried desperately to staunch the gun wound, but there was blood, so, so much blood. Marlene gasped, begged, wept, and Remus was confronted with the pain of utter helplessness, the face of a woman reduced to a shell, a woman afraid to die. He’d smiled, bittersweet, eyes brimming with unshed tears. He hadn’t been able to save her.

     ( He hadn’t been able to save his mother either. )

     It was an emptiness that threatened to choke, a nightmare become reality as he realized with a growing horror that she wouldn’t be the last. He leant back against the rough surface of a table, eyes flickering up towards the sky. More so than the decadently paneled ceilings of Versailles, nature held a certain stark brilliance. She was arrayed in a swathe of stars, glittering and proud. The constellations would watch the bloody conflagration, impartial, eyes cold to the strife of men and the winding of time as men lived and loved and died underneath them.

     A wistful smile twisted his lips. Death, he supposed, would be more bearable under such a beautiful canvas.

          My friends, my friends forgive me           That I live and you are gone.           There's a grief that can't be spoken.           There's a pain goes on and on.

          Oh my friends, my friends, don't ask me           What your sacrifice was for.           Empty chairs at empty tables           Where my friends will sing no more.

     Pale sunlight slanted through the broken window, illuminating shards of crystalline glass that glittered like diamonds. It was a moment frozen in time, dust dancing gently as to not disturb the man standing in the middle of the room, leaning heavily on a crutch. He was a man, not because he’d grown in stature and age, but because he had seen far more than any boy should. His brow was lined with grief; his eyes were stained with red, a flood that drowned out any last vestiges of innocence left in his mind. He had seen Death. 

     ( He wished he hadn’t lived to tell the tale. )

     The man blinked, inhaling shakily. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his crutch tighter, seemingly clinging to the only stable thing left in his world. The sunlight continued to shine through the window; the sound of a child laughing fluttered from some distance street, a sweet song of naïveté. The man looked around the room as if it’d divulge answers.

     A sob broke the quiet, and as the man’s shoulders trembled violently the walls refused any response.

     Lily, dead, shot in the side. James, dead, stabbed by a bayonet protecting her. Peter, dead, lost in the rubble of a collapsing barricade. Sirius, a traitor, shipped off to the chain gang at Toulon.

     Remus, alone.

     At times, he wished he could have died with them.

     Fate had other plans.

          For the wretched of the earth           There is a flame that never dies;           Even the darkest night will end           And the sun will rise.

#( drabble. ) #( au. ) #rdrhps #rdrchallenge #this is just 1700 words of pain tbh

[creacherkeeper]

writer ask game- tagged by @loved-the-stars-too-fondly !! thank you!!!

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

horrible question to start out with for me cause i dont think i really have one???? i tend to not be as ship-focused as many people in fandom, and also unfortunately am the type of person to get REALLY into things and then many times my feelings dont stay super strong over time. so some Honorary Mentions are shules from psych cause thats probably my oldest remaining ship, ineffable husbands from good omens cause that was my first gay ship, and clintasha from marvel because thats the oldest ship i still have waves of strong feelings about

How many works do you have on AO3?

95, 8 of those being more than 1 chapter/a collection. i also deleted a good handful of fics from older fandoms when i rejoined ao3 in 2015 (i was an early adopter but then left for a while), as well as having a decent amount of fics on ff.net and a fandom specific site from Back In The Day

What’s your total AO3 word count?

just with the fics on there now, 348k. total fics i've written across sites/before deleting was probably closer to 400k. if we're including original fiction / fully rewritten drafts of the same books, i'm definitely over a million

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

hello my old heart (3209 - she ra, touched starved catra 1)

wherever is your heart (1700 - she ra, touched starved catra 2)

you or your memory (1262 - she ra, catradora ptsd exploration)

the memories and scars (1115 - fullmetal alchemist, parental royai and elric brothers fluff)

time take us (773 - she ra, adora chronic pain au)

also shoutout to this untitled good omens ficlet that got 17.5k on tumblr but did not do nearly as well in the ao3 collection lmao

Do you reply to comments, why or why not?

yes, i always do!!! idk it makes me happy to acknowledge the kind things people say ;; and frequently they say stuff in their comments that i want to scream back about or give explanations/behind the scenes for. also i've made friends this way!!!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

im not super a person to leave off with angsty endings, so in recent memory probably this catra cuts her hair fic that takes place after save the cat. or maybe this fic that is almost entirely claudia thedragonprince whump cause i was really Going TF Through It at the time and had to take it out on someone

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

i tend to go hurt/comfort or bittersweet a lot, but probably the like. just absolute Happiest is heartlines on your hand which was the last in the touch starved catra series and was just. the sappiest sap to ever sap

Do you write crossovers?

the only crossover i've ever done was an agents of shield/air bud crack fic that we DONT talk about. i got fucking bullied into doing it okay

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

not that much honestly? i got a few kind of mean comments on the touch starved catra #1 but also like. that fic got so popular there were bound to be a few. nothing else to my memory?? if there were a few on older stuff i probably just dont remember it at this point lmao

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i really dont lmao. besides not writing a ton of shippy stuff in general, i dont tend to write anything too Spicy. probably the closest i ever got was one short scene in this ineffable husbands 5 + 1 kissing fic that did not do as well as i thought it deserved tbh hahahaha

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of????? yall would tell me right lol

Have you ever had a fic translated?

i wrote a little ficlet about elena aos celebrating a colombian holiday with the team and a colombian friend translated it for their family! but i believe that is it. that ficlet isnt even on ao3 i tried to find it but was unable to. i dont believe anything has been translated for public consumption

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i don't think so? but i have gotten fanfic for my aos adoption au series!

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

i pretty much write things in one sitting or not at all lmao. i dont tend to take on a lot of series and stick to one shots as well. unless its over 8k i probably wrote it in one day. even the ones longer than that usually took less than a week from start to publication (for example, paladin!aelwyn fic is 15k and took 4 days of actual writing over less than a week to write, edit, and publish)

What are your writing strengths?

i feel like im best at dialogue and tend to get a lot of compliments on in-character voices. dialogue is my favorite to write lmao. i also think im good at describing spacing and movements, because i tend to think like. almost exclusively verbally and like?? physically?? if that makes sense?? when i write i picture almost nothing but i can "feel" what the character is doing. like i imagine making the gestures and everything but dont necessarily see anything as a picture in my head

(fun fact: for actual play fic i actually uh. picture the players acting it out, not the characters in the world. lmao whoops. like the first draft of it at least is 'what does this look/sound like at the table' and then i make it into a fic)

What are your writing weaknesses?

coming from the last question, definitely description, again because i picture almost nothing when i write. i have a VERY VERY hard time thinking with visuals. even when im coming up with description, i just THINK WORDS that would describe something, not picture it. so a lot of time i have to base my description on something or im just like. pulling descriptive words out of my ass with no basis. and the visual of it doesnt always make sense to other people. the other thing i struggle a lot with is action scenes, rip

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i think there's a time and a place and a right way to do it. i think with anything, it's not a "write what you know" but "know what you write". if youre writing someone multilingual, understand how multilingual people actually talk and use those languages. i think the closest i've gotten is "writing signs" for amaya from dragon prince. obviously thats not exactly the same, but for those fics i went back and forth between translating what she was saying, giving the exact signs without grammar, or just describing the movement of the signs. i dont know that i did it perfectly, but i did my best and learned from it. everything in those fics was knowledge i gained from my ASL classes in college (mostly taught by Deaf teachers)

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

technically digimon when i was like 7 years old lmao but first published fic was for avatar in 2007 on ff

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

it definitely changes depending on what i've written recently, but i'm really proud of paladin!aelwyn fic and am still really happy with the catradora ptsd exploration and this self-indulgent ineffable husbands mutual pining fic, but i also will say that writing humor is not always easy for me so whenever i feel like i pulled it off i am very proud of that hahaha

-

tagging @agentcalliope @floralprintshark @beatricexbenedick @marshmallsy @frenchibi @rizguks @strangetorpedos @labelleofbelfastcity

#ask game #long post

[laelior]

After

Star Wars Rebels Rating: T ~1700 words MAJOR SPOILERS for the finale (and pretty much the whole last season tbh).

After the fight for Lothal is over, Hera has to find a way to go forward.

AO3 Link

When Kanan died, she didn’t know.

He left behind a empty, aching void that was as bad as losing a limb. He’d been there, right there by her side, for so long she could hardly remember what it was like without him. She should have told him how she felt sooner. There was supposed to be more time, there was supposed to be an after to all of this. But there wasn’t. Not anymore.

She added him to her family’s Kalikori as a way to remember him, to feel like he was still with her. But she didn’t know what he’d left behind. Not yet.

When Ezra undertook his plan to liberate Lothal, she suspected. She hadn’t felt quite right for days. She chalked it up to the aftereffects of Pryce’s interrogation droid, or the shock of losing Kanan. But when the feeling didn’t go away, she knew it was something different, something more.

She pushed the feeling aside. Either she would make it through this or she wouldn’t, and she couldn’t do anything about it now.

 When the call went out to help the Rebel fleet in the skies over Scarif, there was no denying it anymore. She flew into battle with one hand on the helm, the other clutching her rounded belly like it would somehow protect the small, fluttering life growing there. Rex told her she was crazy for going at all in her condition, even as he volunteered to be her gunner along with Zeb. But she had to. The Rebellion needed her, and she needed it to keep going.

For Ezra. For Kanan.

What was the point of bringing Kanan’s child into the galaxy if the Empire still ruled it?

 When the Rebels celebrated the defeat of the Death Star over Yavin IV, she held back tears watching a young would-be Jedi accept the highest honors the Rebellion could give him. Ezra should have been there, too, for all he’d sacrificed for the cause. He should have been there .

A swift, sharp kick in her ribs shook her out of her melancholy. It was Kanan’s human blood doing this to her. It had to be.  A Twi’lek baby would never make her cry like this.

 When her time came, Zeb was off pleading with his people to harbor fugitives from the Empire on Lira San. Sabine was with her, though, holding her hand through the pains and handing her the Kalikori when she needed to focus on the task at hand. She’d add another piece to it soon. Sabine had already offered to paint it for her.

And then it was time to push. She squeezed Sabine’s hand so hard she thought it might break, but the Mandalorian didn’t complain. She mopped the sweat from her forehead and told her she could do it, just a little longer, just a little more effort. But she couldn’t do it. Not like this. Not alone.

Not without Kanan.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a voice in her ear, telling her she could, that she wasn’t alone.

“Kanan?”

He wasn’t there, but he was with her.

Shortly after that, she greeted their son. Sabine wrapped him in a blanket and placed him on her chest while the medical droid cleaned up. He was tiny and pink, and his head was covered in a fine layer of dark brown hair over a slightly green tinged scalp. He looked at her with milky green newborn eyes that looked so much like his father’s.

Sabine smiled and wiped tears from her eyes. “He’s beautiful. Did you decide on a name yet?”

The baby gave a sleepy yawn and looked up again. She had the feeling he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking past her, at something, some one who wasn’t there.

“Jacen,” she said. It just felt right for him. She felt the hand on her shoulder again and reached up to touch it, and for a fleeting second she almost felt like she could .

 When Zeb held Jacen for the first time, the baby looked absurdly tiny in his arms. The Lasat held him carefully, like he was make of fine Corellian crystal.

“He smells nice,” he said uncertaintly.

Hera laughed for what felt like the first time in ages. Jacen opened a curious eye at Zeb and wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t think the feeling’s mutual.”

 When she returned home to Ryloth for the first time in years, it was was without her son. The Empire still occupied her home planet. It was no place to bring a baby. He was safely on Lothal with Sabine. But she brought pictures of him to show her father, along with a transport full of relief supplies for the Free Ryloth resistance, smuggled past the blockade with Hondo’s help.

“He looks...human,” Cham told her.

“He looks like his father.”

“Another addition to your mother’s Kalikori, then, no?”

It had to be her imagination that she saw her father dab the corner of his eye with his sleeve. Cham Syndulla did not weep.

 When she took on the task of training new pilot recruits for the Rebellion, Jacen came with her. He had no shortage of people willing to care for him. Chopper was never far from him, especially when she was off flying missions. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was even becoming fond of her son. As much as Chopper was fond of anyone, anyway.

Rex doted on him. Something about never having had a childhood himself. He promised to teach him to shoot a blaster when he was old enough to hold it and told him stories about his brothers, all 1.2 million of them.

 When it came time to leave Hoth, she wasn’t sorry to see the last of that frigid planet. It was too cold for a Twi’lek there, let alone a child. Jacen slept through just about the whole ordeal, snug in his little bunk on the Ghost, clutching his stuffed lothcat with one arm and sucking his thumb with the other.

 When the Rebel Alliance pushed its assault on the Empire over Endor, she flew with Phoenix Squadron once again. She led the defense screen that protected Lando’s main attack wing on their approach to the second Death Star. She’d never forgotten how the idiot scoundrel tried to sell her to Azmorigan all those years ago, even if it had been part of a plan. But when the Imperials sprang their trap, she flew her heart out to keep the attack wing, and him, safe

And then it was over. The Emperor was dead, the Death Star II gone, and the Empire already splintering into factions that fought amongst themselves. It was over and they’d won .

“We did it, Kanan. I wish you could see it,” she said to no one in particular. And once again she felt that presence, the feeling of someone standing by her shoulder. “We did it,” she repeated.

Jacen was on Lira San, watched over by Chava like a doting grandmother. It was a shame, too. He would have loved the Ewoks.

 When the Emperor was gone, the whole galaxy knew about the Rebel heroes who brought the Empire to its knees. Everyone knew the names Skywalker, Organa, and Solo. But she made sure they knew the other names, too: Wren, Orrelios, Sato, Tano, Azadi, Kallus, and all the others. She told them about Bridger and Jarrus. She told the story of the boy who lit a fire across the galaxy with his message of hope, and then gave everything to save his home planet. She told them of the padawan who survived and grew into a Jedi and the bravest man in the galaxy.

She made sure Jacen knew about his father.

And when he wandered toward Sabine’s mural of the Ghost crew, he unerringly pointed a little grubby finger at Kanan and smiled.

“That’s Papa.”

 When the fighting was over, she was lost. Between her father’s crusade to free Ryloth, and the Rebellion against the Empire, she didn’t know what it was like to not fight. Zeb offered to take her to Lira San along with Kallus, but she decided to take Jacen back to Lothal.

The Imperial structures were all but gone from the planet. A park stood in place of the old TIE fighter factory. Somewhere along the way, someone had put up a statues of Kanan and Ezra in the middle of the park. Sabine swore it wasn’t her, and she believed it. Sabine’s creations were much more colorful than the bronzed, larger-than-life statues.

Kanan would have hated it, once he had finishing laughing himself sick.

 When Sabine left with Ahsoka to find Ezra, she didn’t allow herself to hope too much, even though she wanted to see him again as much as they did. Jacen wanted to go with them and meet his mysterious Uncle Ezra for the first time, and was disappointed when he couldn’t go. In truth, she was, too. But this wasn’t her mission.

“He’s as strong with the Force as his father,” Ahsoka told her before she left. It wasn’t a surprise to her.

“Will you train him? When he’s older?”

Ahsoka didn’t answer, just giving her an inscrutable look. Jedi. It was impossible to get a straight answer out of them.

Jacen waves them goodbye as they boarded their ship, holding back tears as his beloved Auntie ‘Bine left without him. She wiped the corners of his eyes with her knuckles and held him close.

“They’ll be back, love.”

“When?” He wailed, his sorrow overcoming his boyish pride.

“I don’t know, but we’ll see them again,” she said with certainty. Find Ezra wasn’t her task, no matter how much she wished it was.

Her task was different. There were still battles to fight, just of a different kind. She’d traded her blasters for words and laws. She hated it, preferring the more straightforward tactics of war to the backroom dealings of politics.

But if it make the galaxy a better place, a safer place for her son, she would do it.

For Ezra. For Kanan.

For Jacen.

#star wars rebels #spoilers #s4 #swr spoilers #fan fic #so many spoilers #did i mention spoilers? #hera syndulla #kanan jarrus #kanera #i am drowning in kanera feels #cw: character death #my writing

[stellahibernis]

Writing life

I haven’t done regular writing updates in a long while, so here’s a bit more comprehensive one just because. Mostly about writing (it’s been an unusual half a year for me), and something about life in general and the half a year of relatively minor but continuous health challenges, which are a big reason why the writing has been what it has, albeit not all of it.

When it comes to writing, I’ve been much less productive than in previous years. Mostly due to lack of energy (due to the aforementioned health problems), but I’ve also had something of an inspiration problem. Good news for me is that the inspiration problem seems to be dealt with (although possibly less good for my regular readers, since it comes with branching to new fandoms even though I’m not dropping MCU), now I need to rebuild the writing habit that suffered during the spring. I’m on summer vacation now, and will hopefully get a good amount done.

(Rest behind a cut since I got characteristically wordy)

The first weeks of the year were pretty much business as usual, including that I finally wrote the Captain Marvel fic, A New Year, that I’d been mulling over for a while, but never got done until then.

At the beginning of the year my company moved to a new office, and after a while it became obvious there was something there that caused an allergic reaction in me. It wasn’t great, but we managed it best as we could (including working partly from home and at the office I sat at least part time in one of the smaller rooms, which worked better than the open space where our desks are). It was doable, but left me with considerably less energy than usual after the work days, which obviously affected my writing.

The first few months of this year my writing efforts were mostly spent on love’s not controlled by the weather, which was a funny process, because I like the story and was inspired to work on it, but it didn’t quite feel like that because of the general fatigue going on. The whole time there was this weird disconnect between what I thought of it and the general feeling about the process. I’m happy with the end result, and also that I managed to post it when it was still early spring (it being a winter romance, sure would have been ironic to post in June, for example :D).

Anyway, starting from March, I’ve obviously been living in the same limbo as everyone else. Since March 10th, I’ve been at the office exactly once, otherwise working remotely (for reference, I live in Finland where things never got completely out of hand). I’m one of the really lucky ones who can do so relatively easily and our company was very good about it. We had a policy that we can work remotely or come to office (and rules on how to be careful if you do), but since my getting there involves public transport and I have less than great lungs due to late diagnosed celiac disease that manifested mostly as respiratory problems (hence the difficulty in diagnosis, it’s gotten better since my diet was fixed), I’ve stayed at home as much as possible.

Turns out, I most likely had the virus in March (it was very, very mild so I never got tested or even saw a doctor for it). At the time it felt like a somewhat weird cold with fatigue and indigestion, but in retrospect it was probably Covid, the biggest giveaway being that once spring came and I got more active, I noticed my lung capacity is dismal these days. It’s in fact worse now than after the bronchitis I had in my early adulthood that lasted a whole winter, and I was nowhere near that sick this year. So that’s what I’m dealing with now, although I’m getting back to my regular energy levels, just need to take it easy when walking up the hill, for example.

Unsurprisingly the general fatigue affected my writing, and I went literally the whole of April without writing a single word. The bright side was that I managed to actually deal with it in a constructive way, and gave myself permission to not even try if I couldn’t which took away much of the mental load, and probably helped me get back to it in May.

The non-writing April was also a big reason why I decided not to take part in a big bang this year. I’ve had a good time (and been extremely happy with the results) over the last couple of years I’ve participated, but at the sign up time I had no idea what I should write or if I even could get back to writing any time soon, so I decided it was better not to force it.

In May I started to feel much more inspired again (also healthier, it’s amazing what a little additional energy does for your creative drive), and at first it manifested in the form of a bunch of new ideas. My idea list is even more terrifyingly long than usual at this point, although I know realistically not all of them will get written, not even all of those for which I have more than a vague idea. I think I have about 30k of one story written that won’t be finished. Some of the themes have and will be translated into other stories (including a current WIP which definitely will get finished), and the rest of it was good practice, so no regrets even though it’ll stay in the unfinished limbo.

Before the writing break I started a Stucky fic, and it was the one I came back to in May when I started writing again, albeit slowly, in fits and starts. Over the last handful of years I’ve developed a pretty good writing habit, but apparently a month long complete break during an otherwise challenging year does a lot of damage to it, and I’m still getting back to it. Slowly but surely, and I’ve adjusted some of my process starting early this year, because focusing for longer periods doesn’t work as well as it used to. Nowadays I write more in short bursts here and there rather than all at once, but the daily word counts are getting to the similar level, which I’m very happy with.

The aforementioned Stucky fic (which still has no title, the constant struggle to come up with those!) is about two thirds done, and it’s mentally in the category “would like to post it in July” even though it has had a couple of big breaks, first the non-writing break and then my very sudden detour to other fandoms. Steve and Bucky are currently hanging at the beach with some unresolved issues, so I should get back to it :D

Generally this year I’ve had several instances where I might have branched toward other fandoms than MCU, which is quite a big indicator that the focus of my interest is definitely on the move (the laser focus of over five years is pretty unusual, tbh). I still have a lot of ideas for it and will keep writing them, but I’ll also write other stuff.

First potential branching out, one that didn’t produce anything concrete and probably won’t in anywhere near future (for the pretty obvious “creator being a despicable human being” related reasons) was to finally write the post canon HP fic I’ve been toying with every now and then ever since Deathly Hallows was released. I considered starting it early this year, but never got there (although I have a rough idea what the story would be like, if I were to write it), and now I’m again soured even at the thought of it.

Second branch, again nothing concrete has materialized yet, mostly because it came to me during April, is a Kingdom Hearts fic set post game three. I used my low energy time in getting to know what happened in KH3 and I have mixed feelings but also there was a hook that would turn into a pretty interesting story. This is in my idea pile, in the very back burner currently, but a lot more likely to get written at some point (probably not in 2020, though).

Third branch, I’ve been meaning to write a fic in the Wicked + the Divine canon, and actually started one in winter, but then I got sick. It should be a short one, so I’ll get to finishing it one of these days (tentatively places it also in the “would like to post it in July” category, but it’s the last one in that pile).

Fourth branch, which actually produced a finished story, and not only that, it was the easiest, most joyful writing process of the year (so far! Hopefully more to come), was that I got reminded of Susan Cooper’s Dark Is Rising books, read all of them over a couple of weeks, and got hit by a major case of feels. Hence Light from the Lost happened.

And the fifth branch started from where I finally watched the Untamed, promptly fell deep in that hole and now the muse is terrifyingly bountiful and demands I write all the things (I have no less than eight fic ideas already!) The one currently at works is just condensed pain when it comes to rewatching scenes for research :D

Also I have a terrible tv show hangover from it, which is very inconvenient since I want to watch the last season of Dark but just can’t invest myself into it right now.

So that’s what’s been going on for me, the current plan in life is to enjoy the vacation, get less stressed, and hopefully healthier. Writing plan for immediate future is:

Finish, edit, and post the Untamed fic on top of that queue, and hope that the muse allows me to work on other stuff after that

Finish, edit, and post the Stucky WIP, preferably in July

Decide what to write for the traditional end of year fic (look at me planning ahead!)

This has been over 1700 words of writing about writing fic, so maybe I should get to that now. On the other hand, writing this definitely helps me in building the regular writing habit, so we’ll count it as a win.

#writing process #life stuff