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frstcorinthians · 1 year

Text

; rest your head one more time (ii)

summary: the next morning in the med wing saw a couple new recruits coming in with stuffy noses. you gave them some cold medicine and sent them on their way, mind elsewhere. rooster’s warning was still spinning in your head, and as your thoughts spiraled, you managed to boil your worries down to two reasons. the first was more obvious: rattler was unpleasant to be around. any sense of camaraderie you could form with your teammates would be ruined by his presence. he was always watching and waiting for someone to slip up slightly, trying to find chinks in their armor that he could run and report to higher-ups. he was, to put it mildly, a professional pain in the ass. the second reason was more personal. warnings: 18+ and i MEAN IT, little enemies-to-lovers quarrel, unprotected sex, and the evergreen mentions of medical procedures wc: 4k not too shabby notes: welcome 2 my twisted mind. the smut is probably not that great since i haven’t written any before but um. enjoy. please.

The next morning in the med wing saw a couple new recruits coming in with stuffy noses. You gave them some cold medicine and sent them on their way, mind elsewhere. Rooster’s warning was still spinning in your head, and as your thoughts spiraled, you managed to boil your worries down to two reasons. The first was more obvious: Rattler was unpleasant to be around. Any sense of camaraderie you could form with your teammates would be ruined by his presence. He was always watching and waiting for someone to slip up slightly, trying to find chinks in their armor that he could run and report to higher-ups. He was, to put it mildly, a professional pain in the ass.

The second reason was more personal. Rattler was the one who gave you your call sign, the one who branded your time here with a reminder of the worst moment of your life. Embarrassing call signs weren’t unusual - in fact, most of them were just that - but yours felt uniquely cruel. You didn’t get it as the result of a drunken bender or mishap in Basic, you got it because at a critical moment in your career, you fucked up. It needled you every day, made you insanely methodical in your work. You had dodged many a question from Coyote or joke from Hangman asking about how you got it until you finally cracked and made up a story about owning several Ragdoll cats. They had laughed and occasionally poked fun at you, but never pushed beyond that. You worried that, if Rattler showed up and started running his mouth, the carefully crafted story you’d put up would shatter. Your tentative friends would be appalled at what you’d done, you’d be too embarrassed to show your face to them again, and your entire world here at Top Gun would be dead in the water.

Your catastrophizing was interrupted by Hangman banging through the door, dragging another man with him. “Ragdoll! Nice to see you. I’ve got one for you here.” Hangman dropped the other pilot off into a chair unceremoniously.

You went into autopilot, coming over to assess your new patient. “What happened?” You pulled his helmet off and found yourself face-to-face with Rattler.

Your hands stilled. Rattler’s head rolled over to meet your eyes, and a lazy smile spread across his face. “Long time no see, Ragdoll.” You felt paralyzed. All you could do was stare and stare, taking in the flecks of blood and bruises that were starting to form on his face.

“This idiot got himself right in Rooster’s line of fire,” Hangman clapped his hand on Rattler’s shoulder. You were glad to see him flinch. “Got himself knocked around in the cockpit, slammed his face into the controls.”

“Alright.” You went over to grab some supplies. You were as gentle with Rattler as you were with anyone, but you still saw him wince under your fingertips. Your eyebrows furrowed and you felt around, looking for signs of what might be wrong. “I think your nose is broken.”

As you went over to grab some numbing gel so you could set his nose, Hangman’s words finally hit you. “You said Rooster had something to do with it?” You tried not to sound too interested, but you felt your temper start to rise at the thought that Rooster might have done something stupid. You told him not to take any risks. Crossing Rattler always ended poorly, regardless of who was actually in the wrong.

“Yeah, his flying was totally off today,” Hangman was chatty as usual as he watched you sort your supplies with interest. “He was all turned around already, and by the time this guy got up there he wasn’t aiming straight.”

You didn’t want to pique Rattler’s interest, so you simply hmmed in response to Hangman’s story. Rattler knew you and Rooster had history even before Basic, but he didn’t know the extent of it - both of you were wise enough to shut up whenever he tried to come ferret out details. Maybe we could use this to our advantage, make him think the real secret is that we’re dating. The thought came to you unbidden, and you almost laughed out loud at how ridiculous it was. It was a known fact around base that you and Rooster didn’t get along, and the idea of you two in a relationship was about as plausible as the Hard Deck running out of beer.

“Glad to see you’re still one of our top doctors,” Rattler’s voice was pleasant, but it made your face heat up in embarrassment. You shrugged, pretending you weren’t shaken.

“Ragdoll’s great. She keeps us all in tip-top shape.” Hangman’s voice was genuinely fond as he watched you wash your hands before bandaging Rattler’s nose. “Even helped me a while back when I sprained my wrist while on leave.”

“Sounds like you’ve really learned to go above and beyond.” You thought Rattler’s voice sounded a little smug, but you tried to convince yourself you were imagining it. “Who would’ve thought you’d be the one playing doctor even when off-duty.”

You hit your limit with Rattler’s antics; you wanted him gone. You quickly bandaged up his face, and if you pressed a little harder on the bridge of his nose than you should have, well, who would know?

“Keep the bandaging on for a couple weeks. I’ll call you when it’s time for me to take another look.” You gave a quick, terse smile and started to put things away, hoping Rattler would take the hint. He did, mercifully, and went on his merry way to terrorize someone else. Hangman hung back as you finished closing all your drawers. You only realized he was still there when you thunked the back of your head against the wall and let out a deep breath.

“What’s that guy’s deal?” Hangman’s face was uncharacteristically sober as he looked at you.

“He’s a grade-A asshole, and not in the fun way, like you.” Your voice was flat - Rattler really knew how to take it out of you.

“Thanks,” Hangman snorted. “But seriously, do you two know each other? Rooster was weird around him too, even before we got up in the air today.”

“We met in Basic.” You tried your best not to slide down the wall. “Some advice: don’t talk too much in front of him and stay out of his way. He’s the biggest fucking narc I’ve ever met, and I know how much you love flaunting behavioral codes.”

“’Preciate it.” Hangman’s expression was still troubled. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, right? Any of us. You’re part of our team.”

At another time, his words would have made you smile, feel giddy. Now, they only made you feel vaguely sick. “Yeah. Anytime, Hangman.”

Once the base had retired for the night, you made it your mission to hunt down Rooster. You wanted to know what exactly had happened during training today. If the two of you were going to handle Rattler, you needed to be on the same page. You checked his usual haunts, but didn’t find him in the mess hall, the lounge, or the hangar. After making a couple rounds, you decided to search for reinforcements.

You found Fanboy sitting with Payback at one of the tables in the mess hall. “Hey, doc!” Fanboy’s voice was cheery as he waved you over to their table. “Come to check on your favorite patient?”

He made you smile, despite yourself. “As much as I’d love to chat, I’m actually looking for Rooster. Either of you seen him?”

The two pilots exchanged a dubious look. “Yeah, he got stuck doing push-ups after training,” Payback answered. “He’s probably still out there, Maverick was the one watching him.”

Shit. “Alright, thanks guys.” You were in such a rush to leave you missed spotting Rattler sitting a chair a few tables down, carefully watching your interaction.

You hurried down to the tarmac, absolutely no plan in mind for how you were going to distract Maverick enough to let you talk to Rooster. Maybe you’d get lucky and he’d switch spots with you, let you watch Rooster’s suffering. The idea should have made you laugh, even a little, but instead you felt guilty. Where the hell did that come from? In what world did you care that Rooster was facing the consequences of his actions? This was the same guy who made you justify every single action you took, the same guy you kept the corner of your eye on everywhere you went. You were hyper-aware of where he was, orbiting him like a cat skittering around a dog. He deserved a little pain for all the shit he had given you, even if, in this particular incident, you two were on the same side.

You felt a spark go up your spine as you spotted two men down by the planes, golden in the setting sun. You zeroed in on Rooster’s form. As you approached them, Maverick looked your way, raising a hand in greeting.

“Ragdoll, good to see you. You wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on this one, would you?”

“No problem, sir.” You tried to match his very toothy smile, forcing a grin on your face and trying to keep your eyes off Rooster.

“Thanks,” Maverick clapped you on the back and headed away, probably to annoy one of the higher-ups again. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your churning stomach down.

“Heard you got into it with Rattler today,” you started. Rooster kept at it, not even sparing a glance your way. You tried again. “Not to be all ‘I told you so,’ but I warned you going after him like that was a bad id–”

Finally, Rooster stood up. “I wasn’t ‘going after him,’” he cut you off, voice even. “He got in the way of my flying, and I should’ve been watching.”

You stared. No way the same guy who had made you triple-check your first aid kits every time you went out - seriously, you forget gauze one time and you never hear the end of it - was the one who was innocently screwing over someone else in training. No way the guy who has an indexed list of every mistake Hangman’s made in the last two years accidentally misfires. No way the only person who can hold a grudge longer than you doesn’t take a golden opportunity to let it out. “Rooster, this was the worst possible way to take out your issues with Rattler.”

“You think I did something this stupid because of something he did to me?” His voice was starting to heat up, and not in the usual annoyed way - there was real fire in his eyes.

“Why else would you go after the guy?” It seemed obvious to you.

“Maybe because right before I shot at him, he was running his mouth about how bad a doctor you are?” Rooster was almost yelling, and the very small part of your brain not occupied with how close to your face he was was extremely grateful no one else was nearby. Your brain processed his words quickly, spitting out something entirely illogical: how sweet, Rooster risked disciplinary action to defend your skills. The thought left you reeling, grasping at anything else to avoid feeling thankful towards someone you hated.

“You think I can’t fight my battles for me?” You spat out, voice shrill. In the back of your mind, you knew you didn’t believe what you were saying. But the urge to argue with Rooster, even when you knew it wasn’t worth the energy, was a deep-seated one. It was second nature at this point, to swing back at him with something to the contrary, just to keep his attention on you.

And it was, his eyes wide, staring directly at you. “What? That’s not–” he pushed his hands through his hair, frustrated. “You know what? Forget it.” He picked up his gear and made for the far side of the tarmac. You watched as he left, still floundering, feelings of guilt now compounding. You tried to push them down as you trailed out after him, watching as he made his way to the garage.

Rooster’s apartment wasn’t far from base, set in a complex that housed a number of other pilots and staff. You felt a little apprehensive as you drove up. You knew his address from the medical file you got from the higher-ups; it wasn’t like you’d gone snooping around to find it. But still, the two of you weren’t really friends. What would you say if he answered the door? Hey, it’s me, just wanted to keep talking about what happened between you and the one person we both hate more than each other. Also maybe to apologize, who knows? You swallowed your feelings down and got out of your car, heading over to his unit.

The door opened before you could knock. Rooster stood in the entryway, hair disheveled and expression suspicious. “What are you doing here, Ragdoll?”

No reason to beat around the bush. “I wasn’t done talking to you.”

“What’s there to talk about? I fucked up and he got in the middle of it.” Rooster still didn’t move out of the doorway. Your temper, still on edge from your argument earlier, came to the surface once more.

“You can’t ‘fuck up’ like that around him, Rooster!” Your voice was rising. “You know how he is, he’ll tell everything to Maverick, or Cyclone, or–”

Your voice was cut off by Rooster grabbing your arm and pulling you inside, slamming the door behind you. “You think I don’t know what Rattler’s like?” His voice was angry. “I know just as well as you what an asshole he is, and I know how badly I messed up today. I don’t need you to come running to my apartment trying to clean up my mess.”

“I’m not cleaning up your shit, you idiot!” You were still shouting, voice ringing through the apartment. “I have my own problems to handle, and if you start stirring Rattler up, he’ll bring them all out in the open again.” Rooster opened his mouth to say something, but you plowed ahead. “And, it’ll only get worse if you defend me in front of him. I can’t have this squad thinking I’m an idiot, I can’t do that again.”

“God, what’s the worst thing he could bring up?” Rooster threw his hands up in exasperation. “That you missed two points in a final exam years ago?”

“You don’t remember? What happened to Bobcat three years ago, at Lemoore?” Now that you had started, you couldn’t stop. The words were spilling out of you like a flood. “You were there the whole time. The biggest fuck-up of my life, and you and Rattler saw the whole damn thing. For all I know, you came up with my call sign together. Now I’ve got a squad of people counting on me and I cannot let them start to think I’m as big an idiot as you know I am.”

Rooster’s expression changed. “Ragdoll, what are you talking about?”

You laughed, nearly hysterical. “Don’t act like you don’t remember. All those classes at UVA? You constantly talking down to me, acting like you’re such a genius because you know all about every stupid little detail of the U.S. military? You treated me like an idiot the entire time we were there, and it only got worse in Basic.”

“Wait a damn minute, you’re the one who was picking fights with me.” Rooster’s temper was back up. The issue of Rattler was almost forgotten, the two of you more interested in trading old hurts.

“Bullshit!” You stopped thinking; your body moved on its own. It was a decade of embarrassment and pain and an inescapable gravitational pull you felt towards Rooster that made you take a swing at him. You saw it happen in slow-motion, saw his eyes widen as he took in what was happening. You watched as he neatly dodged and moved to grab your other hand before you even knew you had it raised.

“Ragdoll, knock it off.” Rooster wrestled you down, even as you fought like hell to get out of his grasp. You were a scrappy thing for sure, but Rooster had several inches on you. He ended up pinning you down to the floor, arms above your head. Both of you were breathing heavily, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. Neither of you moved for a moment, then another. Then, something in the tension snapped, and his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t soft. Rooster kept your arms pinned down, and as much as you twisted against him, his grip was iron-strong. “Quit squirming,” Rooster’s voice was husky as he moved down to kiss your neck.

“Shut the fuck up–” your words ended in a moan as Rooster found a particularly sensitive spot. Anything else you could’ve said died in your throat as he bit down. It had been a while since you’d had sex with anyone. Between the grueling schedule at Top Gun and the hang-ups surrounding Rooster you were beginning to suspect you had, there weren’t many opportunities to fuck around. You swore your skin was sparking as Rooster rucked up your shirt with one hand, continuing to press kisses against the skin of your stomach.

“If I let go of your hands, will you try to punch me again?” He looked up at you, pupils already blown wide.

“No.” Your voice was quiet, punched-out.

“Good.” He did just that. Your hands immediately flew to his hair, pulling him up to kiss you again. He groaned at the feeling. You felt something hard against the inside of your thigh, and suspected Rooster had been suffering from the same schedule as you. You pressed your hips against his, insistent. The heat from the argument before was still in your veins, you wanted him now, now, now.

“Bedroom,” Rooster pulled you up off the floor, your arms draped around him, holding on like a damn limpet. He pushed you down onto the bed and you pulled him right back on top of you, unable and unwilling to let him go for long. You kept kissing him, feeling almost like you were going to devour him whole. Now that you’d let yourself have him all to yourself, you weren’t ready to give him up.

You made quick work of his shirt before pawing at his belt buckle, trying desperately to undo it. Your movements were stalled by his gentle kisses at your chest, sending your nerves alight. You stifled your moan, trying still to keep any hint of vulnerability hidden away. “C’mon,” Rooster chuckled. “You’re usually so ready to snap at me, let me hear your pretty little voice.”

“Give me something worth yelling about, maybe I will.” Your voice wavered, hands slipping on Rooster’s zipper at the feeling of his laughter vibrating against your skin.

“Deal.” Rooster helped your hands pull down his jeans and boxers. You felt the heat between your legs pulse as his cock bobbed out. You couldn’t help yourself but let out a little whimper - you wanted him bad. He grinned at the sound, and your instinct to one-up him kicked in. You spat into your hand and wrapped it around him, starting to pump his cock. Now he was the one whimpering, panting into your neck as you ran your thumb along the head of his cock. You could feel him start to drip into your hand, pre-cum adding a delicious slide to the heat of your hand.

“Fuck, wait,” Rooster stuttered out, cock jumping in your hand.

“What, done already? Man, how long has it been since you got laid?” You asked as you gave him one more teasing stroke.

“Shut up,” he moaned, pressing another long kiss to your lips.

“Make me,” you answered, positively glowing at how worked up you’d gotten him. You were so focused on feeling pleased with yourself you almost missed his hand traveling down to reach between your legs. Electricity shot up your spine as he flicked over your clit, a high-pitched, involuntary whimper coming out of your mouth.

“Big talk coming from someone who’s already dripping into my hand.” And you were. Rooster dragged his fingers through your folds, covering them in your wetness before he slid two into you. You moaned long and loud at the feeling. “Listen to that,” he said, voice low. He pumped his fingers in and out of you with precision, thumb rolling circles around your clit. “All it takes for you to finally quit arguing with me is to shove my hand down your pants.”

“I c-can’t,” you started, thoughts falling out of your head. All you could focus on was the feeling of his fingers delicately stretching you out, scissoring you open. They pressed in and slid along a spot on the inside of your walls that made your hips buck involuntarily, scream caught in your throat. If he kept doing this, you were going to cum into his hand, desperate as a teenager.

He gave you a couple more swipes along your clit, laughing out loud at the desperation of your whines, before sliding his fingers out. You watched, brain out-of-focus, as he shifted his position, pushing your knees further apart. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing your hips higher up, chasing the feeling of being full again. If he didn’t get inside you right now, you were going to scream, or cry, or god forbid, beg.

Rooster was impatient too. He pressed into you, both of you groaning at the feeling. The stretch was delicious, even with how slowly he was moving. “F-fuck,” you stuttered out. Rooster gave a couple deep thrusts, teasing, before setting a harder pace. With every thrust, he hit directly at the same spot from earlier, punching staccato moans from your throat.

“I like you more like this,” he panted out, eyes roaming around your face, taking in your disheveled hair and glassy eyes. “Can’t run your mouth with me this deep in you, huh?”

Tragically, he was right. You couldn’t string together coherent thoughts, nevermind words, with him burying himself in you over and over. Your mind was running a loop of his name, all other thoughts pushed aside. All you could do was cling on, working a hand between your bodies to rub over your clit. You felt yourself winding tighter and tighter, all the stresses you hadn’t realized you were carrying pulling taut in your body. You pulled Rooster’s mouth down to yours in a sloppy kiss and ended up panting into his mouth, breath pushed out of you by his measured thrusts.

A few more deep strokes and you were done for. You felt your body suspend in one brutal, blinding moment, teeth clamping down on to Rooster’s shoulder to stifle the scream coming out of your mouth. Rooster moaned at the feeling of you pulsing around him, thrusts starting to fall out of rhythm. He chased your hips with his own, as if he couldn’t help the need to be inside you. A few more desperate thrusts later and he pushed himself fully inside you one final time, muffling his own long moan in the crook of your neck.

The two of you laid there for a moment, catching your breath, before Rooster gently pulled out of you. He swung himself out of bed and walked over to the bathroom, presumably to clean himself up. You started to push yourself up onto your elbows, making to get up and leave. You weren’t sure he wanted you to stick around, and you’d rather leave before any awkward conversations came up. Right as you were about to drop your feet onto the floor, Rooster came back into the room, crawling back into bed.

“Where are you going?” He asked, voice bleary, soft.

“Thought you’d want me to leave,” you mumbled out.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

You didn’t, not really. You were tired from arguing and your limbs felt like jelly. All you wanted to do was curl up right next to Rooster and fall asleep. Whatever conversations the two of you would have to have, you could do it tomorrow. For now, you pulled the sheets back over the two of you, slotting your body in next to his. You felt an arm drape over your waist, pulling you close, before you feel into a deep, dreamless sleep.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #top gun fic #top gun maverick #aleks.docx #weehooo

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bloodycassian · 3 years

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FIRE AND ICE PART THREE - THE END OF IT ALL

Cassian wasn't at the house when you flew back the next morning. Feyre met you in the dining room though, giving you an easy smile and offering you a cup of tea. You took it, hoping she didn't say anything about your puffy eyes. She kept it light, casual. You asked about her painting and summoning wings which she laughed and said "Both could use some work."

Feyre was a constant that you appreciated. She was safe, and tolerable. Like how Mor was, but you felt like you could trust her more. Mor usually lost herself once a week at Ritas. You didn't want any secrets spilling out there by accident.

"If you need me, you know I'm here." She said, tone more hushed and serious now. You could only manage a small shake of your head. You didn't have the heart to say you preferred to suffer in silence. The thought of her reaction made you smile. It put on a good enough show, she smiled back and you felt less guilty without saying anything. You made for your room, trying your best to lull the dull aching in your body from sobbing through the night.

Azriel hadn't left your side the whole time. He didn't say anything besides shushing you when you began blaming yourself for everything falling apart. He had only given you a small wave when you took off together. He flew the opposite way, towards Illyria. You felt colder once he'd left. You didn't know why. You hoped you hadn't scared him off.

You fell into bed with no grace, and were asleep quickly among the fluffy pillows and soft blankets. Cassian's scent lingered on the pillowed side he claimed when he slept there. You turned away from them, curling in on yourself on the opposite side.

Dinner with the entire inner circle the next night wasn’t going to be fun.

You didnt talk to Cassian the entire day. You waited for your moment to strike at the dinner. And it made it all worth it just to see his face as you said what you’d been planning all night. “I’m leaving for Illyria in the morning.”

Azriel choked on his wine. Mor’s fork clattered to her plate loudly. Az's eyes were wide, and stared at you with worry. Rhys was calm, maybe a bit too much. You checked your mental shields to make sure he was kept out. They held strong.

“Seeing as I lack the proper training, I will be seeking it out at the war camps.” You then met Cassian’s wide eyes. His shocked stare made you smirk at him bitterly.

“They will clip you.” Az’s voice was little more than a whisper. The thought of it had scared you, yes. But you figured if you were a good enough fighter for the three most powerful Illyrians in history, then you were good enough to take on the likes of Devlon.

You said nothing to Azriel’s grim words. The tension in the room came to a head when Cassian shot out of his chair, knocking it backwards. “You will not.” He growled. Az’s shadows curled like thick smoke around him, and Rhys tensed.

“Why shouldn’t she?” Feyre asked, eyes narrowing at Cassian.

“She dosent know-” Cassian began dismissing.

“I know perfectly well what could happen.” You said with deadly calm. There was a long strained silence after your words. You could practically hear Cas’ teeth grind together.

“Leave us.” Cassian’s tone was an order. The room was deathly silent. He didn't break eye contact with you, just waited for the others to leave.

Mor glanced to Rhys. Feyre’s slight glare did not leave Cassian’s tensed shoulders. Rhys stood slowly, giving the group a gesture. They rose, Azriel last. Then Rhys winnowed them away.

"If it makes you see me as strong I'll train with them."

"You'll be clipped the second you land." His words sent a thrill of terror through you.

"What do you propose instead? I will not stand by for your protecting."

"Just make this easy... please." He leaned against the table, exhausted with the fighting. "Dont go there. Even if it means.."

"If it means I can't be with you?" You interjected. The entire world seemed to still. You stopped breathing. They seemed to echo through the dining space. The wind did not make the curtains bellow in the welcoming way they usually did. Your heart slammed in your chest, waiting for his reply.

It was a long wait. But finally - “So you’re leaving me?” He asked, voice rough.

“It seems you give me no other choice. You cant keep treating me like I’m your paper doll, Cassian.”

The words stung more when they actually came out, instead of the reherals you’d done in your head. They made your throat go tight and your hands shake. You loved him. You knew that. He knew that. But you loved your independence from him more.

“I just-” He held his head in his hands, his face going red. “I need you.” He sighed.

“Then be with me!” You were reaching the end of your rope. Your ability to keep going through this with him was wearing thin. This dance of ‘I love you ‘ and ‘prove it’ was ending. You could feel it, as sure as winter was in the air.

His shoulders shook. Then, you realized he was sobbing. You clamped down on the urge to comfort him. “If leaving you is going to keep you from going to that camp…” He regained his composure. When he finally looked at you again, his eyes were red. His voice shook, “Then at least give me a kiss goodbye.” His lips trembled as he said the words.

The truth of the situation snapped into place. This was it. This was the only conclusion that would have been made, in the end. Your stomach twisted and flipped in all sorts of new ways. Seeing him so weak, so defeated like you’d never seen before made your mind spin. One of the strongest Illyrians ever was crying… over you. One of the best males you’d ever met was there crying… because you both knew the ending to your story together.

You couldn’t handle it anymore. The floodgates broke and you were sobbing, in his arms in an instant.

=====================

The next week went by incredibly slowly. You remained nearly catatonic the first two days. Only getting out of bed to use the bathroom. Feyre visited, tried to talk to you. But without you answering back, she went to reading at the couch next to the side of the bed. You turned away, trying not to stare at the pillows scattered on the opposite wall. All the ones Cassian had ever touched - anything that smelled remotely of him.

==========================

Mor finally forced you from bed. Getting up was much much harder than it sounded. She prodded you into getting dressed, and eventually got you down to the city streets for some ‘quality time with the real world’.

“Cassian will-”

“Cassian isn’t here. It’s about you right now.” She flicked hair from her face. Your mind ran wild. Wasn’t here?

“What do you mean?”

“Rhys took him to the continent for some boy time. Az went too. My guess is so that Cassian can’t destroy any buildings in Velaris while he’s on his bender.”

Guilt was the last nail in the coffin. You stood in the middle of the busy sidewalk, not caring that other Fae bumped into you or gave you dirty looks. “I need to apologize..” You managed through the tightness in your throat.

“No- no no no, hey.” She took your hand and started pulling you along again. You fought away the tears that stung your eyes. They were cool when you blinked them away, the cold nip in the air numbing your face enough so you didnt feel the corners of your eyes beading with the tears.

“We are going to have fun. You’re coming to Rita’s with me.” She shimmied her hips as you followed her down the familiar alleyway. “Is this really a good idea?” You sighed, offering the door keeper a silver coin. The male nodded and gave you a wolfish grin as you passed him by.

Mor paused in the doorway and eyed up the lights, the dancers on stage. “This is a perfect idea. Trust me.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You lost yourself in dancing and drinking. It felt so good to let go. Mor kept a watchful eye on you the entire night, but still had fun. She brought you drinks when you were nearly empty, keeping you fueled.

You stumbled out close to dawn. Mor winnowed you to a nearby rooftop. You spun, your head swimming in alcohol. "Easy..." She steadied you, holding your arm tightly. You didnt know when your thoughts became your speaking voice, but she was replying to you. You blinked at her slowly, the buzz of the alcohol making you slow and sleepy.

"This is all a mess. I love him, but Azriel just..." You ran your hands through your greasy hair. You couldnt remember the last time you'd bathed. Mor gave you a grim smile. "I know... I've had to make similar choices." She put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed slightly.

You didn't particularly want to think of her with the same male as you. Or the fact that Azriel had pined after her for so long. Or that she and Cassian definitely had a similar history. You hoped you didn't utter the words to her though. Mor was your friend.

"They are both special males. You need to make the right choice for you though." She pulled you down to the cold rooftop. You knocked your head a bit too hard on the ground, making her choke back a laugh. "It is your life that you decide. Not theirs, they will make their choices." Her hand squeezed yours reassuringly. The stars above shimmered and lulled you

You couldn't bear to speak with her pulling you apart with her words. With all the truth in the world hiding behind her eyes- buried in her soul. All the answers you knew you didn't want to know right now.

So you let yourself fall into the darkness that bordered the stars, drifting to sleep easily.

You avoided the Illyrian males as best you could when they returned. You spent most of your time either asleep in your room after drinking, sparring with Feyre or at Ritas. It was a cycle you grew very accustom to. It worked. It kept your mind off him. Off of the heartbreak.

Mor couldn't drink with you the next week. She had 'important business' in the Hewn city or something similar. So you walked to Rita's alone, sat at your usual table and watched the dancers. By your fourth drink you had joined them. You threw yourself into the delight of drink and merriment with strangers. Various hands caressed your body, the group writhed with you. A living being on the dancefloor, all moving together.

It made you feel whole again. You didn't have to think about Cassian's words, or how he thought you weak. Didnt have to think about the pain you caused him. The worries slipped away with each drink.

You were escorted to the street by a bouncer, along with a few other fae that had been a bit too rowdy. You couldn't hear what was said but it sounded something like 'go home'. You sat on the sidewalk, taking a moment for yourself. The stars above were shrouded by a cover of fog. It would be a cold morning. You could feel it in your wings, the soft leather was raised with goosebumps.

"I've been waiting for you." The voice was familiar, but it took you a moment to put your finger on it. Azriel. You grinned at him, wobbling when you took your eyes off the stars. His eyes seemed darker than usual, those shadows of his sluggishly crept around him. Around both of you, you realized when you felt them creep up your legs.

"Why didn't you join me?" You slurred, shooing his tendrils of darkness off of you. They skittered back to his shoulders, wrapping over him like a coat. His face went a bit flushed at whatever they returned to him.

He held a hand out to you, offering to help you up. "Rita's isn't exactly my style." He grinned, hauling you to your feet with his scarred hands. They were remarkably soft, and warm. You hadn't expected the welcome heat from them against your chilled fingertips.

"Then what is, shadowsinger?"

His gaze was long and full of questions. "I can show you another time. Let's get you back." He walked you to the middle of the street and took off with you gently, getting you used to flying again. He supported you the entire way, you knew you were drifting. He didn't say anything about it, just corrected and pointed to the landing when you were nearing. He landed first, and caught you when you nearly fell on your face from your rough landing. He couldn't hide the amusement. "Shut up." You shoved him slightly.

"Do you want me to put you to bed?" He asked, not condescendingly like the words suggested. But genuinely. It made your heart stutter. You stammered - "Ah, no.. No I know where it is." You began walking that way.

"I hope so." He watched you go down the hall. Then, once he heard your door click shut (A bit too loud for normal) He took off again, into the night sky.

#CASSIAN X READER #AZRIEL X READER #ACOTAR FIC #READER X CASSIAN #READER X AZRIEL #FIRE AND ICE FIC

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enmy-writes · 3 years

Text

Just Let Me Help You

Summary: Zuko, trying to keep is girlfriend safe, unintentionally gains the trust of the Gaang after a showdown with Combustion Man.

Word Count: 2728

Fandom: ATLA (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Pairing: Zuko x Fem!Reader

Genre: Mostly fluff, is fluff-angst a thing? Idk guys I’m soft, you tell me.

Rated: 18+

Content Warnings: Profanity, some gore graphics (brief mentions of blood, killing, murder), uhhhh that’s it I think I’m sorry if I forget anything else.

****Huge shout-out to my friends Kenz and Jenna for editing this and hyping me up. Hopefully, since this semester from Hell will be over soon, I’ll be able to write more. Please request things! Thank-you all for supporting this and let me know more of what you want to see in the future :) Also, feedback is always welcome. Enjoy!****

_____________________________________________________________________

They had landed the war balloon days ago, stalking the tired and defeated Team Avatar and trying to figure out how the complicated Fire Prince would convince the people he chased for months that he wants to help them now.

(Y/N) was stoking the hot flame provided by the fire bender, making sure the coals were burning a cherry red before she added leaves and herbs into a pot to make a stew for the two to enjoy. Her eyes followed Zuko as he paced back and forth, practicing what he was going to say when he finally decided to confront the rebel group, lips turned upward in an amused smirk.

“Hey, Zuko here…” she heard him say before he started rambling a bunch of nonsense about his past; from his discovery, to Azula, to his father-- all the tragic topics. It took him about three minutes, but he finished with a hopeful look in his direction.

“Well?!” He clenched his fists at his side in a nervous gesture, only wanting to get this right.

The girl on the log cleared her throat before speaking, obviously hiding her laughter from the sensitive boy. “Well… it’s perfect. I especially liked the ‘Hey, Zuko here’ part. I’m sure that Aang and his friends with be very pleased to finally learn your name instead of thinking you’re called ‘Angry Ponytail Hotman’.’’

He groaned loudly, rubbing his eyes with clenched fists. The melodic laughter from his companion tempted him to give up his quest and just run away with her and live a happy life free of his father and his destiny… whatever that may be.

Still laughing, (Y/N) stood from her log by the fire and made her way to Zuko, coming up behind him. Her arms slid right around his slim body, holding on tight as she tried to pull his mind from the depths of his insecurities.

“Zuko, love.” Her voice is soft, but intense. “Just go down there. I won’t lie, they might not take you right away. You have done a lot of damage to them and their goals.”

His warm hands slide down the tops of her forearms and slide between her chilled fingers, entwining them together as Zuko grips her like she’s holding him down on the land they’re on.

“I… I just…” He struggles to get his feelings out, finding it hard to convey how he feels even to the girl wrapped around him.

She shushes him. “I know.” Is all she says, as they stand there in a momentary comfortable silence before she detaches from him to continue dinner.

____________________________

Zuko had told her to stay behind, that he’d be back to either get her or because he failed to convince the group that he came to support them, instead of harm them.

“Zuko! I could easily be an alibi for you. A reason for them to trust you!”

“No. End of story. They could attack me and you’re in Fire Nation clothes. You’re staying here.”

A staring match between the two only lasted a few seconds, but (Y/N) let it go; remembering Iroh’s advice that sometimes the boy has to do what eases his mind to grow.

The empty pot gleamed an orange glow from the flames, a light in the dark woods that surrounded the two as they lounged by the fire.

(Y/N) was carding her fingers through the upset prince’s hair while he stared at the sky; confused. His emotions spilling onto (Y/N). He didn’t talk much about the encounter, only enough to tell her that they wouldn’t be helping the Avatar defeat his father anytime soon. Rather than pressure him, she offered her solace with calming actions rather than words.

The two had met in their early childhood, (Y/N)’s father being the leader of the Yuyan Archers and of course the Fire Lord wanted the talented girl to meet his… troubled son. In hope that she could help bend his son into the ruthless leader the nations needed to proceed him. Though they didn’t see each other as much as they should have due to (Y/N)’s schooling, the two quickly became close friends and were often found with Lady Ursa quietly running around the palace grounds.

His banishment led to (Y/N) perfecting her skills, and becoming the master she was destined to be, given there was no more distraction. No one could understand her in the way that Zuko did— they fit together like they were made for one another. Where he was hotheaded, she was cool; Where he was nimble and direct, she was resourceful and hidden. The two were the perfect set of opposites who ultimately balanced each other. And one without the other was a heartbreak everyone could see.

When she heard the news of his return, she rushed to the palace; radiant as ever. In an instant, the two fell back into where they left off; barely any words needed between the two. Her fingers and lips had trailed over his scar often in those few days, brushing away the tears and insecurities that came with it.

Leaving the Fire Nation with Zuko wasn’t even a debate in her mind. She was tired of the life of lies and torment that her nation inflicted upon the world. She had spent the last two years relocating and rebranding people who were targets to the Fire Nation. In total, about one hundred innocent lives were saved from her dangerous missions. Her skill level was better than even her father’s, and she prided herself in her abilities. (Y/N) was truly a professional in her art with the eye of an eagle.

When she caught Zuko writing a letter to her with packed bags on his bed, she instantly went into the shadows and caught up with the boy easily, hiding in the balloon behind the engine for a while until it was too late for him to turn back. It was hot and the most uncomfortable thing she has ever done, but she regrets none of it. She joked with the boy; how did he not question a pile of fabric behind the piece of equipment that holds fire? She let it go after he hugged her close and cried for a while.

“Don’t do that shit again, Zuko.” Her voice was stern, though her voice stern, she held him close. She ghosted her fingers over his tense shoulders; the shoulder that carried such burdens. She pressed her fingers into his shoulders; trying her best to rub the tension from his body.

“I won’t. Never again. Don’t leave me, I need you.”

A rustle of leaves and broken trees in the forest near the edge of their little camp put the two into defense, instantly gripping her perfectly crafted bow and quiver. Her ears pricked at a slight movement and she aimed her bows in the direction of the noise without even looking. Suddenly, green clothes fill the area as a younger girl makes her way into the clearing. Startled, Zuko sends a wave of fire towards the intruder, burning the girl.

Everything happened fast.

(Y/N)’s left foot—her plant foot—sunk into the ground and twisted inward, releasing a loud crack into the air. The Earth girl was long gone now; Zuko had been screaming at himself when he heard the cry of pain and the sickening noise that left the lips of his girlfriend.

The earth has released its hold on her, but the damage was done. She kneeled, trying to hold back tears but failing as they kept streaming down her face in a pain response. Zuko’s own eyes filled with tears as he ran over to her, helping her sit down and take the tension off of it.

The joint was already beginning to swell, black and blue and purple and yellow starting to show up in swirls around the area. Zuko carefully tried to feel the injury, barely touching the girl in fear of hurting her more. (Y/N) sighed, pushing his fingers away and ignoring his protest. She rotated her foot outward, cringing at the pain, but crying out when she turned it the other way. Zuko cupped his hands around her ankle, hands heated slightly to hopefully alleviate the pain.

“Baby… it’s okay—”

“No, you’re hurt! I knew this would happen!” He cuts her off with a panicked yell. (Y/N) places her hands on the sides of his face, forcing his eyes upon hers with a slight wince of discomfort.

“It’s most definitely, at worst, a fracture. I can still move it outwards without a lot of pain. It’s, like, a week off my foot at most and then another week with a splint and a crutch. I am okay, Zuko.” They stared at each other for a solid minute, saying nothing.

"Promise?" Zuko whispered.

"You think I would lie to you, Zuko?" She says as she wraps her pinky his for good measure

They turn in not too long after, (Y/N)’s ankle wrapped up in some extra clothes for stability. Zuko’s arms hold her to his chest as they slip off into the world of dreams.

_________________________

Oh shit. She thought from her perch on top of the cliff edge. The assassin that they have also been trying to find has been blowing up the place, really testing the stability of the edge of the cliff in shakes after shakes like an earthquake. Zuko had told her to stay at camp, but unfortunately for Zuko; (Y/N) was never that good at listening to commands.

She was sitting down, watching the Avatar, his friends, and her boyfriend try to figure out how to win this fight against the combustion bender, feet dangling over the edge. She didn’t want any pressure on her foot from standing on it; settling for the dull throbs of pain coming from the force of gravity alone.

Some third eye. (Y/N) thought to herself as she watched her boyfriend get too close to being blown off the edge of the cliff, wincing. She quickly strung her bow, aiming it at the man. She smirked, a devious smirk, and aimed it in a precise location.

Zuko was still trying to talk the man out of it when suddenly, his eyes went blank and the grossest sound he has ever heard reached his ears. Everyone watched the man, confused as to why he just stopped. It’s not until red trails down his forehead and around his nose in a slow trickle that they look at his eye.

In the middle of the red eye, that at one point seemed indestructible; an arrow sat; a perfect shot — his perfect shot. "Bullseye!" (Y/N) howled, her voice resonating in his ears.

In the midst of Zuko's panic, he failed to recognize the cliff he was standing on becoming increasingly unsturdy; turning he locked eyes with the archer. A ghost of a smile graced her lips, pride radiating off of her. Though he was angry, he couldn't help but share her pride. He locked eyes with his girlfriend who was sitting nonchalantly on the cliff edge above them all, waving nonetheless, when he told her to stay back. It’s then that the earth beneath him rumbles and falls, taking him with it.

“Zuko!” She screams, jumping to her feet; a loud crack coming from her ankle, buckling under the pressure and bringing her to her knees.

With a hobble in her step, (Y/N) climbed down the cliffside. The tears ran down her face at a ferocious pace, making her way over to the cliffside, a loud sob relented from her mouth as she saw Aang helping Zuko up over the edge of the cliff.

"Spirits, Zuko!" She breathed, limping her way over to him and hugging him tight. "I should kill you, you fucking idiot!" She sobbed, pulling him into her chest.

Zuko huffed out a laugh, wrapping his arms around her. He took deep breaths, calming his nerves from his near death experience; he focused on the feeling of her hand carding through his hair to grip it tight, and the hold on his shoulders. As he calms down, he remembers that he told her to stay put; and he sharply pulls away.

"I told you to stay at camp!" He huffed, "I told you I was coming back for you!”

She scoffs pushing on his forehead with two fingers. “In case you have forgotten, Zuko, I have authority issues. If I weren’t here, who would be saving your stupid royal ass? No one! You’re welcome, by the way. He wasn’t going to negotiate, Prince Pouty, and you and everyone else here is no good to the world dead.”

“You—You---You could’ve been hurt! (Y/N)! Or worse!” His protest was a whisper, trying to make the scene more private as he’s aware of the crowd around them.

“Zuko, love, I can handle myself. I’m a master at my craft--.”

"—your craft of carelessness, you could've been killed—"

"—but I wasn't Zuko!"

"That's not the point." His voice stern, making it clear that the conversation was done for now. (Y/N) simply nodded, pulling away from him and fixing her clothes.

Aang, Toph, Katara and Sokka watched the two as they argued; watching as they continuously tried to out-care the other. They watched as the two eventually stopped arguing, instead remained staring, as if daring each other to speak

“That was a ... nice shot? I guess?" Aang spoke, clearing his throat and drawing the couples attention to him. "He's definitely you know, dead."

(Y/N) smiles at the boy. “Thank you, Avatar, for helping save this dumb ass from falling off a cliff.” She gets up and bows to him. Zuko suddenly picks her up, the world turning sideways as he put her bridal style in his arms.

“Stop putting weight on your ankle!”

“I’m literally showing respect to the person who just helped you, is that a crime?”

��What if you break your ankle so much that you have to cut it off.”

“Oh, now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Okay well you were first when deciding to sit on the edge of a cliff with a broken ankle.”

“You’re right! Sitting is dangerous. Next time, I’ll make sure to stand so at least I’ll have a better chance of reacting if the cliff side starts falling from under me. Oh wait, you were standing, and you still fell.”

Zuko sets her down on a broken rock that’s suitable enough for her to sit on. “Will you just shut up already and let me help you.” He reaches for her ankle, but she moves it from his grasp. Their eyes meet again and narrow in competition.

A mess of limbs as the (Y/N) evades the grip of Zuko, occasionally slapping his hands away if they get too close.

Sokka tilts his head in confusion and opens his mouth. “Is he—is he actually caring for someone?”

Aang nods. “I think? I don’t know, they’re kind of fighting a lot.”

Toph cringes, “Guys, I think it was me who hurt her in the first place. Last night at their camp. Zuko instantly stopped trying to help me when I heard her scream.”

“Guys… I think I’m supposed to let him be my master. I mean, he did just risk everything to save us.” Aang says, eyes locked on the one member who he cares more about than anyone.

Katara, still holding off on agreeing, looks to the two Fire Nation kids again.

“Ow! You bit me! Are you crazy?!” Zuko yells, shaking his left hand out.

The stranger girl laughs cheerfully. “Only crazy for you, stupid.”

And a phenomenon occurs. Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation blushes and looks down at the ground, a huge smile on his face.

“I hate you.” Is all he says.

“Yeah, I love you too.”

Katara, seeing the humane side of the prince, finally lets her guard down and walks over to them. Zuko’s eyes widen at her proximity, but the water tribe girl holds his gaze.

“I’ll heal the girl if it gets you two to shut up. And you have to find dinner for tonight.”

Katara’s eyes widen again at the sight of the crying prince who suddenly bows to her feet, thanking her with his whole heart. He then turns to his smiling girl beside him and pulls her into a hug.

“Thank you, (Y/N). For everything.”

“I’ll always help you… stupid.”

#zuko #zuko imagine #zuko x reader #avatar zuko #atla x reader #atla #fanfic #Avatar The Last Airbender #atla fanfic #atla x you #zuko x you #zuko x y/n #x reader #enmy-writes atla

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spnwatch · 3 years

Text

Season 1: The Rankings

WOW it’s been ages since I’ve posted here. But before moving on to s2, I wanted to talk about my TOP TEN FAVE EPISODES.

Something that surprised me about spn now i’ve finally watched some of it is how variable the episodes are in terms of quality. They’re not afraid to experiment either, and that flexibility is probably one reason this show lasted so long. Some things worked for me, some things didn’t. ANYWAY these are my opinions etc. just from a first time watcher!! 1.) Episode 6: SKIN. This episode, man. Where to even begin: I could be here all night. Suffice to say that the sequence where the shapeshifter sheds his Dean skin to “Hey Man Nice Shot” is just. Chef’s kiss. For the first time, the true depth of Dean’s self loathing truly came to the fore. How socially outcast he knows himself to be, all that hidden shame, that resentment he harbours towards Sam for having (potentially) a way out of the hunter life, coupled with his desperation not to lose him to the “normal world”: somewhere that Dean knows he can’t follow him. After so much posturing and bravado, that inner parodox was SO interesting to witness - he SHOOTS HIMSELF at the end -- and, for me, really steered the character into more *~ thematically complex territory ~* All the songs were good tbh. In-a-Gadda-da-Vida? Yes. 11/10

2.) Episode 11: SCARECROW. There was just so much going on in this episode, but the thing I liked most was the setting. It looked so good!! Autumnal and pastoral. After a couple of (in my opinion) not very good-looking episodes, it was a real breath of fresh air. I also loved Sam in this episode: he looked so small standing by the side of that road. I fully understood the argument, but I also loved how dean just... called him intermittently to update him on the case?This episode really drove home to me how alone they are, how they really have no-one but each other. It also really highlighted how far Sam has drifted from episode 1: he’s on the fringes now, too. All too quickly backsliding into the role of rootless grifter, an identiy he’d tried so hard to claw his way out of. Also, there’s a tome. 10/10

3.) Episode 12: FAITH. This. Episode. Slaps. To be honest, this is probably technically the masterpiece of the season in terms of plot, visuals, antagonist, music etc. but w/e it’s my list. Right off the bat Dean is dying and he’s like it’s fine Sammy, I’m not even mad about it, which is fucked up but then what is more fucked up is that his dad doesn’t even come when Sam leaves him a message? Dean seems to view dying as like. A thing grownups just have to do sometimes. Like jury duty. It’s extremely,extremely sad. Anyway I love the drama of Sam smashing apart the altar, I love the big tent, I love the “don’t fear the reaper” montage. It’s all, quite simply, a *~cut above~* 10/10

4.) Episode 7: HOOK MAN. I don’t know if I was meant to love this episode so much?? I just really, really liked it. I loved the central mystery, and I thought Sam in particular really shone when it came to dealing with the townsfolk and the afflicted girl. It was one of the most thematically coherent episodes when it came to tying the monster to sublimated fear, in this instance, sex and sexuality! Damn do Americans have a weird relationship with sex. And not just with women; this episode really shone a spotlight on Sam’s sexuality wrt his guilt over Jess, his desire for normality, his coltish nervousness in Lori’s presence. There was SO. MUCH. Bonus points for ugly mid-2000s fashions. 10/10

5.) Episode 3: DEAD IN THE WATER. This was the first episode which really made me sit up and go, oh, okay. I can see why people lose their minds over this show. When it’s good, Supernatural just. Shoots a volt of pure catharsis straight into your chest. This was also the first time I really sat up and took note of Jensen Ackles’ acting chops. There’s just so much going on with him every time he’s onscreen, and each little paradoxical turn he gives to Dean’s character is a joy to witness. It was a visually beautiful episode, with a strong supporting cast. The moment I saw her in her silky lavender nightgown, twisting up her unrealistically perfect chingoin, I wished to marry Amy Acker’s character. I know she doesn’t come back to spn but she should’ve!! She should’ve!! 10/10

6.) Episode 5: BLOODY MARY. I’ve heard tell of this episode being a bit of a fandom classic, and I support it. The last few minutes at the end? When Sam sees Jess at the side of the road in that slow panning shot, to the Rolling Stones song Laugh I Nearly Died? It was just... I think it changed me as a person, honestly. This show. It’s lower down on the list for me because how how freaking dark the lighting was at the end, but that might have just been the poor quality stream I found. But yeah, I really liked the plucky teen girl who helped them; I was pleasantly surprised to see a glamourous queen bee-type portrayed as smart and competent, and remain alive by the end. Gold star for you, spn. I know it’s all downhill from here. 9/10

7.) Episode 15. THE BENDERS. First off, I have to give it points for the production design on that house. My brother was of the opinon it would’ve made a good video game enviroment (according to him a lot of spn is akin to a video game which... yeah). This episode also made me really acutely feel for Dean. Could it be because I’m an older sister and this was a literal nightmare scenario? Perhaps. But again what really came to the fore was the single-mindedness with which Dean acted. Sam being dead was literally not an option for him. On a lesser show that might have been left as a given, but the time was really taken to give an almost sinister intensity to Dean’s thoughts and behavior. Some really pretty car shots too. 9/10

8.) Episode 17: HELL HOUSE. What can I say about this? It’s just fun. I love the two conspiracy guys, I love the sibling prank war, I love the concept of a monster created by shared belief. The set design was cool, as was the montage at the beginning where they’re interviewing all the witnesses. It’s a briskly paced and lighthearted episode, which was a breath of fresh air and welcome break after last episode left the Winchester boys abandoned by their father. Yet. Again. Ugh. Throw the whole dad away. 9/10

9.) Episode 19: PROVENANCE. Haunted painting! Haunted! Painting!! This is a simple lil episode but it receives points for Sam and Dean’s best and least convincing disguises thus far -- art dealers -- and a fun, sweet love interest for Sam. He’s so bashful! I thought she was smartly written and I especially liked that she took a more active role and actually helped them solve the case than other side characters we’ve seen so far. I also liked when they were standing over the grave and she was like wow, your lives are really fucked up... it’s true wtf these poor guys?? Anyway 8/10

10.) Episode 14: NIGHTMARE. This spot was a real toss-up between this and SOMETHING WICKED, but NIGHTMARE just edged it out because of the strong supporting character Max, as well as the sheer conceptual power of psychic Sam. Something about the way Dean treats his brothers latent psychic powers as... kind of a concern, but ultimately about on a par with him developing, like, a shellfish allergy, is hilarious to me. They have so many problems, it’s just low priority! Sorry Sammy. But what really clinched this episode for me was the three second-ish sequence where Sam shoves the dresser free with his mind, Dean gets shot in his vision, and Sam bursts into the room. Brilliance. Someone call the x-men. My heart was in my mouth. BIG minus points however for the extensive heart-to-hearts. It was just too much for me. It went on for so long. 7/10

This certainly is a show. I see that now. Anyway. Onto season 2!

#supernatural #long post #supernatural s1 #some dishonorable mentions: ep 4's frankly insulting attempt to convince me a flight attendant would allow the winchesters to drag a man off #and perform an exorcism on him #ep 8 for its Many Crimes #ep 22 when dean said that can't be dad #he told me he was proud of me!#JAIL #JAIL FOR SUPERNATUAL

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is-that-another-soulmate-au · 4 years

Text

Zukka Soulmate AU part 8

@mypureessence

@chaoticidiott

@ari-shipping-stuff

@knightedbot

@idkhowbutimgayer

@swampy-beans

@angrylittleintrovert

Zuko stepped outside just as the sun finally peaked over the horizon. His blue ribbon not tied half proudly around his right wrist. He stretched his arms above his head with a yawn only to be startled by someone running out of a small alley with a green spirit mask on and a bow in hand with a quiver of arrows on their hip.

The person only gave them a side glance before darting to the roof and an disappearing. Leaving Zuko to deal with the angry earthkingdom noble who came out of the alley with a scowl. "Young man! Did you see a green masked man?"

Zuko just stared at him sleepily "no?"

"You sound unsure"

"I only just stepped out si-" Zuko jumped when he felt a hand on his waist. Turning he found Sokka with his hair down standing beside him. He froze, oh.

"Whats going on Zuko?" Sokka yawned

"Oh! I'm sorry to disturb you and your soulmate, have a wonderful morning" the nobel then scurried off back down the alley.

The duo blinked and Zuko moved over away from Sokka's hand and cleared his throat "I was just stepping out for some fresh air and someone ran out then this noble guy started questioning me"

Sokka nodded "okay, but why are you up so early?"

"Im a firebender Sokka, I rise with the sun"

"Hey! Shh! You may not care that people know your a firebender but if you let people from this village know we could all be in danger" Sokka whisper yelled

"Okay, okay, I get it, by the way I saw a library on the way to the Inn that had a tea shop inside, I think it opens in a couple hours might be a good plan to check out some books, might even have some maps of smaller areas"

"Hm, I do like maps" Sokka said with a grin

"You do? I though Aang was the one reading the maps"

"Aang? He can't read a map to save his life, my dad taught me how to read a map before he left with his fleet so I can figure out any map atlas I need to" Sokka said with his hands on his hips.

Zuko smiled "oh? Is that so? Well then how about we go after breakfast?"

"Sounds good to me... by the way... I like the ribbon, but it'd look nicer on your neck, would you mind if I tied it there?"

Zuko flushed bright red "I uh! I actually avoided tying it around my neck because I know it is a similar style to water tribe betrothal necklaces so uh.. yeah, Ive been uh, avoiding that.. uh.. I mean I know its not an actual one but its a similar make and so I was trying to uh... avoid wearing it like one" he looked down and avoided all eye contact

Sokka took a moment and then laughed "I think thats the most I've heard you say, oh gods you are a treat.. but for real, a betrothal necklace has to be carved so this isnt like one in any way, plus the band is normally leather and this is silk so"

Zuko held his hand out to Sokka for him to untie it, which he did and then moved behind him and brought the band in front of him with gentle hands "you know, I used to tie Katara's necklace for her"

Zuko gave a small sigh when he felt the silk touch the skin of his neck "oh? You two seem close" he said with a small voice

With a laugh Sokka tied the silk ribbon in small bow "well of course we are, we're siblings during a war, that kinda thing will make family close you know" after finishing the bow Sokka leaned his chin on Zuko's shoulder

"Not all families" Zuko sighed out

"Hey, it made you and your Uncle close right? That counts for something"

"And Jee" Zuko mumbled

"Jee? The guy with you and your uncle?"

"Yeah, hes like a brother I guess" Zuko shrugged

They were both started by Aang bolting out the door looking for them and when his eye landed on them, seeing Sokka with his hands on Zuko's hips and his chin on his shoulder he grinned mischievously "hi there love birds"

Zuko let out a groan and pushed off Sokka's hands before storming inside mumbling "shut up Aang" with a bright red face.

"Youve been waiting to say that for ages haven't you?" Sokka glared and Aang nodded "well, too bad, I was just helping him with his necklace and we're both tired so I was resting"

Later on they all went to the library that Zuko mentioned, Aang and Katara wandering off to find the tea corner with Iroh and Toph, Jee spotting the owner and chatting him up. So that left Sokka and Zuko to search for maps, catching a boy their age organizing the shelves.

"Uh, excuse us, do you work here?" Zuko asked quietly.

The boy turned a bit too fast and one of his braids hit his nose before he swung it behind his shoulder. "Yes, sorry, Im Tarren, how can I help you?" The boy smiled and looked at the two scars "oh! You two are soulmates aren't you! You look so lovely together" he clasped his hands, Lily would absolutely gush over a fire and water pair"

"Woah woah, what do you mean fire?" Sokka said with a raised brow

"Did you... not notice your mate's golden eyes? Only powerful firebenders have golden eyes like his" he smiled "its nothing bad, firebenders are more than welcome here, one of our favorite customers is a firebender, he usually comes in around..." Tarren turned to look at a small sundial reflection "oh, around now... one moment"

The boy flicked his own wrist "Lily! Put on Kurt's ginger tea!"

"I already have! We have a customer here that requested it!" A young woman's voice could be heard from the far corner of the library

"Good, good, anyways, what were you looking for?"

"Maps"

"Oh, right over here, what area or areas were you looking to have maps of"

"Well, the firenation for one, and a few towns and cities in the earth kingdom" Sokka said with a pep in his step

"You seem to like maps" Tarren said with a grin

"I do! Its one of the few things I'm good at!" He said in a fairly chipper tone which caught both Tarren and Zuko off guard

"Hoooold on boomerang" Zuko grabbed the back of his tunic "you do so much more than just read maps, from what I've seen youre the only one capable of keeping this group sane, you a pretty good hand to hand fighter and whats more you're the only one capable of diffusing situations without any violence"

"Yeah, but I'm also the only one without any fancy bending" Sokka shrugged

"Who cares about that? You're a better fighter than any of them, and besides give me some time to train you with swords and you'll be even better"

"Hey now! Lily is a nonbender and can kick my ass and probably all of your bender asses with just a small blade and a few fancy steps" he jabbed a finger towards them

The duo stopped and looked at him "the girl you called out to earlier?"

Tarren blinked and awkwardly put his hand down and brushed the front of his uniform with a clear of his throat "right, yes, right, uh... sorry about that" he turned towards the direction of Lily "this scar his hers" he brushed a large burn on his right arm

"Im sure theres a big story there" Sokka said

"Yeah, there is, uh! But those maps!" Tarren then turned and skimmed his hand along several scrolls tapping three of them before lifting his hand and twisting it to bend the stone behind them, catching them in his other hand "here you go! You should probably join your friends over at Lily's tea corner, seems she's gotten into her story with them."

"How do you?" Zuko didnt get to finish before Tarren lifted his finger to show a small cut on his finger

"She normally breaks a cup when she talks about it... she has a deadly grip, works great with her training but terribly with serving tea" he smiled but then jumped when he heard the door open with a little bell "Kurt's here" he whispered before rushing off to greet Kurt only to freeze when he rounded the corner.

The duo rounded the same corner to find a short boy with firenation clothes and a torn right sleeve which revealed a matching scar to Tarren and apparently Lily. He had an awkward grin on his face and waved "heeeyyy Tarren, uh, I need to hide for a bit, and maybe a bit of a fix up?"

Zuko and Sokka looked at eachother and watched as Tarren slapped the back of his hand multiple times while calling out to Lily and shouting for Fin who was two aisles over. But by the time they got there Kurt fell and Tarren just barely caught him. He was out cold.

#avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #prince zuko #zuko #atla zuko #zuko cosplay #atla oc #atla sokka #sokka #zukka #i will die on my endless soulmate au hill #soulmate alternate universe #soulmates #soulmate #RayMakesSoulmates

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sadlittlenerdking · 5 years

Text

These Goodbyes (Dance Like Fire)

The Magicians

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: Eliot visits a grave.

Eliot walks down the path, careful to avoid stepping on the grass, with a clear destination in mind. The ground beneath his feet is wet, and gives way with each step, but it doesn’t deter him. Only urges him forward, even as mud cakes the sides of his shoes.

When he arrives, he stands there for a few long moments, gazing down at the one thing he’s been too scared to come face to face with. He’d missed the funeral, in his grief. Missed the wake, when the stone replaced the little plaque--too guilt ridden to even get out of bed. Margo came back after both, shedding her little black dresses, and climbed into his bed. She didn’t say anything, but when she curled up around him, he felt her silent sobs shaking her.

Even now, he’s cheating. He’s here, but not really.

He licks his lips. “Hi,” he says to the plot in front of the stone.

“I, uh. I’m sorry I’m not very emotional.” Eliot reaches up, absentmindedly tugging at the pink bottle on the chain around his neck. It’s warm against his chest, against his fingertips. “I didn’t think I’d be able to handle coming here without my bottling them.” He looks down at the flowers at the base of the grave stone. “I woke up a few weeks ago. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I was . . . I did not take the news well.”

His back is sore, pressed up against cold stone. No—wood. Cold wood. Barely blinking into consciousness when he hears Margo’s desperate inhale, and feels her hands sliding up against his shoulder, squeezing like she can’t believe he’s real. He opens his eyes, blinks blearily up at her, “Margo?” He asks, “What—“

She shakes her head, chin trembling, before she leans down and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, burying her face in his aching chest. Slowly, with lead heavy arms, he reaches around to hug her back. One of his hands comes up to wrap around the back of her neck, as something warm seeps through his shirt. He looks behind her—see’s Penny, Kady and Josh all staring at him with wide eyes and slack jaws. He furrows his brow.

“What happened?” He asks, voice hoarse and scratchy.

Margo hiccups, before pulling away to look down at him. The others all look away, like they don’t know what to say—or how to tell him something. Margo stares down at him with a pinched brow and a clenched jaw, as she brings one hand up to stroke his cheek. “So much,” She says. “But you’re back.”

He lets go of the bottle, feels the pressure of it back against his sternum, and moves to set down the bundle of roses beside the lilacs and daisies on the gravestone. One of his knees hits the ground as he kneels there, and his free hand goes out to trace the looping Q on the face of the stone.

“I spent the first week trying to find a way to get you back.” His hand slides down the face of the stone, until his fingers dig gently into the wet grass at the base of it. “But you weren’t in the underworld. You moved on.”

He sits up, Margo carefully holding onto his arm to keep him stable. His whole body aches, like he’s been beaten within an inch of his life. He blinks heavily, one hand coming up to press against his temple. His head is sore--like he’s hungover from a three week long bender.

He looks around the room, vision only slightly blurry, and takes in his surroundings. He doesn’t recognize the room--or, the apartment? But, it’s a mess--broken wood and glass litter the floors. There’s a door between two rooms, hanging off the hinges, swinging slightly. A soft squeaking that echoes in the virtually silent room. Kady moves forward then, kneeling on broken glass and pressing a hand to his other temple.

His headache fades after a moment, and she lets go, sitting back on his haunches as his vision clears. “You had us worried for a minute there,” Penny says, as he clears the distance between them in three short strides. “Welcome back.”

Eliot blinks. “Back?” He asks, looking at each of them individually. “From where?”

“Not so much as from where,” Josh says, moving to stand next to Penny. “Actually, I don’t even know how to explain it.”

Eliot’s gaze darts back to Margo, but she’s looking down at the space between them. Her grip tightens on his arm, almost worryingly so. He opens his mouth to ask her what’s wrong, but Kady shifts, moving to sit on the remnants of a chair.

“You were possessed by the monster,” She mutters. His gaze snaps up to her as she runs a hand through her hair shakily. “For about eight months.”

His heart stops for a fraction of a second. “The--”

“Yeah. That monster.”

“But--how--” He stops, shaking his head, “That doesn’t make sense. We were just--”

“At least he doesn’t remember,” Penny says. “That makes it easier, doesn't it? He can’t blame himself if he can’t remember.”

Margo scoffs. “Yeah--if you’d killed Kady while possessed by the monster would you feel any less guilty just because you can’t remember it?”

Something about her tone--choked off and violent--has Eliot’s gaze slowly sliding back over to her. There’s an implication he’s not getting. Something cold behind her words that he’s too tired to understand.

“What did I do?” He asks, quiet, furrowing his brow. Margo refuses to look at him, gaze deadlocked on Kady, so he carefully turns to look at the others. Kady looks away, clenching her jaw. Penny looks down at the ground and licks his lips.

Josh takes a deep breath as Eliot’s gaze settles on him. “Oh come on,” He says, “I am not going to be the one to tell him!”

“Tell me what?” He frowns, twists his neck. Where are the others? Blinking, he shifts back around and looks at Josh again. “Where’s everyone else?” Josh shifts awkwardly, opening and closing his mouth. “Julia? Alice? . . . Quentin?”

Somehow it’s saying his name that starts to put things into perspective, and his gaze slams back over to Penny. “Where’s Quentin?” He asks, harder. He tries to move, but his ribs ache, and his stomach screams where all the muscles stretch and pull in agonizingly separate directions.

“Julia reached out to her god friends--none of them could find your soul. Nobody knew where you went. For a few days I thought that you . . . just moved on. That you didn’t want to wait for me, because of what I did to you. But then Iris told us what she thought happened.” He shifts as the knees of his pants grow damp, and opts to just sit on the plot of grass.

He moves until he’s sitting with his legs crossed, tilting his head down at the stone. His hands fall to his lap. “It bleeped you out of existence, Q. You didn’t move on. You died. In every way imaginable.”

Nodding to himself, he leans forward and plucks at the grass in front of him. “That’s when I finally broke. I was--operating on a body falling apart because of everything the monster did to it. I was exhausted, and dehydrated. Just--completely gone. But not like you were. I guess I fainted in the living room, and Margo found me. She put me on bed rest.”

He yanks a blade of grass out of the ground, and stares down at it for a beat, before continuing. “And then . . . I just refused to get out of bed entirely.”

“Margo?”

She heaves in a breath, but shakes her head. “I can’t.” She breathes, glancing up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “I can’t, El.”

Eliot stares down at her, confused, until her hears a defeated sigh. He looks up in the direction it came from, and finds Penny staring at him. “I’ll do it,” He says, moving to kneel in front of him. Eliot can’t even tell if this is their Penny or the Penny from the other timeline. “Before I do, though, man. You--you need to realize that what happened wasn’t your fault. You weren’t even here.”

Eliot shifts so he can give him his full attention. “What happened?”

He drops the grass and brings his hand back up to the bottle, closing his eyes as the heat of it fills him up. “I almost tried to kill myself,” He says without opening his eyes. “About a week ago. Everybody else was gone, except for Todd. He was babysitting me. He saved me.”

He laughs, humorlessly, to himself. “Up until an hour ago i hated him for it. For him ripping the knife out of my hands, and spelling me to the chair until the others came back. I wanted to kill him for it. But he sat there with me. Talked to me. Talked me down.” He opens his eyes then, nail scraping against the side of the bottle. “Did you know that Todd also has a really shitty upbringing?

“Yeah, me neither. But he told me about it. Some kind of Dumbledore level of trauma. He’s the reason his sister died. He understood, on some level, what I was going through. He was the only one who did.” Dropping the bottle, Eliot lets his gaze level on the lilacs. “Convinced me that coming here was the only way it’d get easier. That I wouldn’t be able to move on until I said goodbye to you.”

A breath eases out of him. “Problem is, Q.” His gaze follows along the side of the stone until it can focus on the Q again. “I don’t think I can say goodbye to you.”

“Quentin’s dead.”

Eliot stares at him for a few long moments. The words don’t register right away--like it’s a sentence that shouldn’t even exist. Like these words in this order don’t make sense to Eliot’s mind. Like he’s speaking an entirely different language.

But then they settle in the pit of Eliot’s stomach.

And he jerks out of Margo’s grasp, shakily moving backwards, scrambling against the slippery, bloody wooden floors away from them, as something heavy and cold and aching works its way through his body.

“No,” He says, shaking his head in three quick jerks, as his hands slip, and he falls backwards onto the wood. His back screams in pain as every nerve feels like it’s been lit on fire, and he struggles against the slippery-sticky mess, tries to get away from this world--this lie. This--whatever this fantasy is. It’s just a nightmare, it has to be. He’s dreamt this dream a million times.

Nightmares of killing the people he loves.

That’s all this is.

“I realized that night, that I can say goodbye to anyone else. That I would trade anyone else in that room for you. In a heartbeat. Without hesitation.”

He pauses.

“So I went to Fillory in the hopes of doing exactly that.”

“Eliot, Eliot--you need to breathe.”

“Thing is. Not even the winters doe, or the great cock, or any of the other useless magical creatures could bring you back. Not even some monstrous, deformed, psychopathic zombie version of you.” His gaze strays back over to the lilacs on the side of the grave. “You were as gone as gone could be.”

He opens his eyes, gasping, trying to find air, but it’s evading him, coming and going too quickly. Long hair cascades over him as pain shoots down his spine. But a cool hand presses against his temple, “Shh, it’s going to be okay. You need to sleep, now.” Her voice is so familiar, so soothing, and his eyes close of their own accord, determined to obey her.

When he drifts, he’s back home. Watching Quentin and their son on the mosaic.

Eliot wraps his hand around the bottle again. “I was tempted. To not take the bottle off. To let all my feelings slip away into nothingness so I never have to feel that grief again.” He shakes his head, places his free hand flat against the grass beneath him and gazes down at it. “But that’d mean never feeling the good parts either.”

He sits there for a few long moments, before inhaling and yanking the bottle and the chain off his neck. It snaps, and the chain falls limply in his hand, clanking against the sides of the bottle.

“The good parts in the memories are all I have of you anymore, Q,” He sighs, bringing his free hand up to grab at the lid of the bottle. “And the grief. But . . . that’s life, I guess.”

It’s not long before he opens his eyes. A small smile flits along his lips, the vestiges of his dreams, dancing along his consciousness. Dreams of Quentin and their son. Of the three of them, living their lives. Of the grandchildren.

“You’re awake.”

He turns his head, and the image of Margo sitting by his bed, tear tracks on her cheeks, shatters the memories. It starts to come back to him; reality.

Reality.

Quentin’s dead.

“Maybe that’s why Todd’s stronger than me.” He yanks the top off the bottle, inhales angrily as all the emotions come back to him, bearing down and enveloping his every nerve.

His heartbeat stutters for a moment, as it waits to sync up with something that’s not there anymore.

“Quentin,” He says. His voice comes out as barely more than a whisper, but Margo must hear it because her eyes fill with tears, and her chin trembles as she nods at him shakily.

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Yeah, El,” She finally breathes, nodding. “Quentin’s dead.”

His neck stretches backward, as a long broken groan works its way out of him. It all comes back like a flash flood, grief and mourning showering him like bloody water crashing into shore. He drops the bottle into the grass, and grabs fistfuls of grass in its place in an attempt to anchor himself.

“How long?”

She sucks her bottom lip in and looks down at the bed between them. “Two days.”

“How?”

His nails dig into the mud beneath the grass, as he tries to level himself out. But he opens his eyes, lets them track over the words on the gravestone.

QUENTIN COLDWATER

July 1992 - October 2018.

Beloved friend and hero.

It’s not fair. His body wracks with a sob that shakes him to the core, and he closes his eyes again. He deserved a better epitaph.

He deserved a longer life.

“El . . .”

“Tell me how he died, Bambi.”

She clicks her jaw and looks away. “He figured out how to kill the monster, but keep you alive,” She murmurs, wringing her hands together on the side of the bed. “But the monster found out. It--it called him a traitor. And killed him.”

“How did it--” He breaks off, furrowing his brow. “I don’t understand. I--I killed the monster.”

She looks up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “El . . .”

“Didn’t I?”

Sniffling, she reaches out and grabs his hand. Squeezes it so tight her knuckles go white. “Eliot, you need to know that none of this is your fault.”

“What?”

He curls up on the ground, one hand laying flat, like he’s reaching out to touch Quentin’s. He sinks a little, and his clothes are sopping wet, clinging to his skin.

It starts raining again, and his tears disappear.

He’s fading with them.

“It--it could possess people,” She says, locking her eyes on him. “It--”

Something clicks, and he jerks away, eyes going wide as his heart stops again. She holds tight to his hand, even as he tries to move away. “No--” He says, reaching up with his free hand to try and pry himself free. “I--” A low whine works its way out of his throat, and he stops moving abruptly. He stares down at their hands for a moment, before slowly, so slowly, turning his gaze up to her.

“Me?”

“Don’t worry, Q,” His words slur together, barely audible beneath the pouring rain as it pounds down on him.

Margo shakes her head. “No--the monster--”

“I’ve got you.”

Fading fast.

“There’s a spell,” He murmurs, letting his eyes fall closed, “You can poison--poison your own heart.” He digs his fingers into the mud again, pretends he’s lacing his fingers through Quentin’s. “Using an emotion bottle.” He laughs, the sound more like a sob, and barely a sound at all. “Told them--I’d stop trying to hurt myself. And that I’d come here--if they gave me an emotion bottle.

“I told them I just needed to say goodbye.”

“I killed Quentin?”

“They just didn’t realize, Q. I’m surprised they didn’t realize.”

“The monster killed him.”

He shakes his head. “I killed Quentin.”

“I could live without you,” He says, softer, as his face nuzzles into the cool grass. “But why should I?” He throat scratches angrily, forcing a hacking cough up and out. “I’ve been miserable for so long, Q.” His hands slides across the grass, gathering dew on his fingertips, where it clings to the mud beneath his nails. “Only time I was happy . . . was with you. Our son. Just . . . just us.”

“Eliot, you didn’t--”

He rips his hands out of her grasp, and moves to get out of the bed.

Her eyes go wide, and she looks to the door. “Julia! We need you in here!”

He heaves in a breath, struggles to open his eyes and look across the sea of grass back up at the concrete stone. He stretches his arm out, but it’s sluggish; takes a moment for his limbs to follow the command. He laughs, the sound hollow and hacking. “They thought--I--I could just say goodbye. It’s--It’s not like with Mike.”

“Eliot,” Margo says, sitting beside him on the bed. “You haven’t moved in days. I need you to at least eat something.”

“You,” He pauses, forces in a shallow gust of air, “You didn’t deserve to die.”

He can already feel himself slipping. Fading away. Drifting into the cool morning dew. His hands go lax in the grass, the tips of the blades of green tickling his palm. But it’s all distant. So far away, even as the water seeps in through his clothes.

He wonders who’ll find him.

“It’s okay,” He murmurs. It’s barely a sound. Drifts from his lips, and disappears with wind.

“I talked to Todd.”

“Okay.”

“Eliot--you can’t--”

“I’m tired, Bambi. Can we do this later?”

She’s quiet for a long moment, before she nods, the movement shaky and unconvincing. She clears her throat, before nodding again with a shake of her head. “Okay,” She mutters. It almost sounds like she’s holding something back.

He wonders if it’s anything like what he’s holding back.

“I’m gonna make it right, Q,” He’s not even sure he’s speaking anymore. Can’t even feel his lips or his body. It’s all just drifting into nothingness all around him. Is this how it felt for Quentin? The slow drift into death. Or was it abrupt? Did it hurt?

“I killed you.” He tries to open his eyes, but the blackness doesn’t give way to the cemetery, and he wonders if that means he’s gone. If he’s become a part of the wind, and is drifting away--towards the underworld. Towards Quentin. Towards hell, maybe. “But neither of us needs to be alone.”

He doesn’t even feel it when his heart stops.

One moment he’s shrouded in the dark, empty nothingness.

The next, there’s a hand squeezing his, and he looks down. When had his eyes opened?

“I’m worried about him.”

Soft brown eyes stare up at him, as a familiar, large hand laces their fingers together. He brings his free hand up, amazed as it follows the command, to cup the familiar shape of Quentin’s jawline. He can see the disappointment dancing in Quentin’s eyes as clear as his own reflection.

Quentin’s jaw clenches, as a small, sad smile ticks the edges of his mouth upwards.

“I can’t lose them both.”

“Look. This is going to sound cruel, but . . .”

“El,” Quentin breathes, his own free hand coming up to rest on Eliot’s hip. “What did you do ?”

“What?”

Eliot’s chin trembles, as he leans down to press the crown of his head to Quentin’s forehead and closes his eyes. “What I had to.”

“I think you’re gonna have to get used to the idea that he won’t survive this.”

"How are you here?"

Quentin makes a face, pulling away and reaching up to graze his hand along Eliot's jaw. "I'm not." His thumb strokes across his cheek bone. "You're dying, El."

Eliot nods, trembling as he leans into the touch. "I know," He says. The words are barely a breath, as he tries to hold onto the moment. Tries to hold onto Quentin for as long as he can.

"Where's Eliot?"

He feels the moment his heart stops, when the hands slip from him, and fade into the wind. When it all fades, and he finally falls, falls, falls . . .

And then there's nothing but another body finding it's home in a cemetery, eclipsed in grief, and drowning in the morning dew. A single hand lays limp at the base of the headstone, reaching out for someone it'll never find.

When Margo discovers his body, her scream cracks and breaks the wind.

#the magicians #queliot #angst #NUMBER 99 BABY

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eerythingisshaka · 6 years

Text

The Coffee Prince Pt. 3

(T’Challa x Reader)

*Part 1* *Part 2*

Word Count: 4.8k

Plot: Stuck in your ways of living, one day at the coffee shop, you run into a tall dark roast that threatens to wake you up from your romantic hibernation.

*Previously*

Hi, I hope this is the right number. (Y/N), I’m just calling to see if you would come with me to the music festival this weekend. I don’t know if you heard about it or if it is your thing, but it sounds like a nice time. We could just walk around, enjoy the sounds. Uhh, just let me know when you get the chance, or I may see you at our favorite place. (laughs then clears his throat) Umm, but yeah, sorry for the long message. This is T’Challa by the way. Hope to hear from you soon.

Your phone prompts you to save or delete the message and you carefully save it before you listen a couple more times. Putting your phone away you turn on your side, squeezing your legs together to bring yourself back down again. You remind yourself that this is still just nothing more than two people meeting up at a public place with a bunch of other people. No one has claimed nobody yet. But like Tavia said, gotta milk it for what it’s worth, and how you feel right now is pretty damn priceless.

You had today on your mind every minute up until now. When you woke up for work, you felt fully rested and eager to get through the day. Not even the worst attitudes from customers could dampen your high from getting that call from T’Challa. What a name, a melody of possibility in your head whenever you thought about him. You purposely avoided the coffee shop just to make sure to keep anticipation at its peak. You felt so silly thinking about it. Tavia told you not to get too excited because it could still not count as a date yet. The music festival was a 3 day bender, with hundreds of people attending. She thought something so large and public wasn’t something a dude would choose if he is trying to choose you, in her nicest opinion. You took her advice with a grain of salt, but one thing that couldn’t be denied is that he wanted to spend some time with you and that’s that on that!

The day of your date, you put yourself through nothing but self-love and self-care to get yourself in the right mindset. Your playlist of bops hype up your spirit as your Aztec healing clay mask dry whilst you diy’d a mani-pedi for yourself. Rinsing your face of the dried clay, you feel reborn, giving yourself kissy faces and posing to the beat of your jams. For your hair, you had to go back and forth with yourself on what to do. Your hair was currently in two-strand twists, so should you let them down, showing off all you defined curl beauty? But it’s hot, so maybe a top bun or a faux hawk type of style could fit the festival vibe. Or maybe save some time and step up the glam with one of your colorful headwraps. Would he be offended, like you’re trying to be too into his culture or…

You decide to go for a half up, half down do. Taking down your twists you pony your hair right on top of your head, spreading your curls out, leaving the other half to flow freely down the nape of your neck. You put in some hoops, and some shorts to show off your most prized possessions. You thank God and your mother for your gams. A cool patterned tank and your gold gladiator sandals, you feel about ready, taking a glance in the mirror. Your curves looked more ready than you felt as you checked the denim hugging your hips, the glint of your epidermis taking up all the attention. You were a little self-conscious about having your thighs rubbing together or the shorts riding up, but those thighs were getting some attention today, so to hell with that! Your tank was loose with large holes for the arms so your bra showed in places, which you loved cuz it was a cute one and them titties were sitting proper. Your phone notifies you of your Lyft outside. You get your crossbody bag and head out.

Closing your bedroom door Tavia sitting in the living room in a big old t-shirt and bonnet, eating some hot chips, watching the TV.

“Hey girl. You look dope, wow.” Tavia said deadpan, without even looking your way.

You click your tongue, “Why you playin? You didn't even check me out. How I look?” you say with a twirl.

Tavia looks back at you. “Mhm, definitely catching somethin. You shave?”

“Yeah, moisturized, the works.” You say looking your legs over.

Tavia waves her chip at you, “Nah, nah. Did you SHAVE though?” She asks, wide eyed, sucking the hot red dust off of it comically.

“Girl! Ain’t nobody tryna smash tonight! What’re you taking me as?”

“Well damn, why not? Listen, you walk through here with some carnival game prize bigger than the door, imma assume he got some head.” Tavia says.

“Shut your ass up! I’m gone. I’ll text you the danger phrase if this goes awry.”

“That’s mama’s baby! Good Night!” Tavia says throwing up the peace sign as you walk out.

The ride to the festival felt like a cross country journey. You took the time to recheck your make-up, fan yourself from sweating since the driver seemed to not believe in A/C. You went through different scenarios of greetings. Hey! Wassup? Hi, how are you doing? Funny seeing you here! You fan yourself again trying to calm down, feeling idiotic with every minute. Maybe it wasn’t the lack of air that was the issue.

Your phone beeps, probably Tavia hyping you or humbling you one last time.

I’m here, outside the entrance when you get here :9

The symbol at the end of the text message was not something you were familiar with, so hopefully it's not a blatant sign for something. But you hopped in your seat a little. ecstatic at the message. T’Challa was early, AKA on time and waiting for you! God, what better way to have a man: ready and waiting. And the only acceptable occasion for them to come early.

The car pulls up in the parking lot a few yards from the hoopla and you thank them as you get out. Rows of cars lined the lot and the makeshift grass-converted parking area. The cacophony of noise you here from the distance welcomed you as you walked down the sidewalk toward the welcoming banner until you saw him. T’Challa paced slowly to and fro, looking up towards the sky, hands behind his back. He dressed very comfortably, in a dark green buttoned down short sleeve shirt with some embroidery design on the front, accentuating his ample shoulder span. T’Challa’s forearms were reporting for that duty, with biceps on deck. Your pace feels slows as your feet become weights pounding the pavement. Your nerves get to you as your mouth dries out. Mixed with the summer heat, and you were officially the epitome of thirsty. You try to have a proper strut down before he notices you: confident, bouncy, baddie.

T’Challa glances and finally sees you and a smile appears instantaneously on his face as he freezes in place to observe you coming up. You try to hold your smile down as much as possible. You don’t want to give him the upperhand of seeming too eager but damn, he looked fresh. Within talking distance, you exchange greetings.

“How are you, (Y/N)?” T’Challa asks pleasantly.

You nod humbly, “I am great, thanks. How about you?”

“Much better now. You look amazing this evening.” T’Challa says with a quick glance over you. Not even in a sleazy way, just like he truly appreciated your style, the apples of his cheeks practically popping off his face.

You start fanning yourself, giggling almost uncontrollably. “Aww, I know I look a lot different outside my work clothes. I can’t compare to these arms you decided to let out the house today. Where you been hiding them?” You say, turning up the flirt a little so he knows it's real.

T’Challa chuckles at you boldess, “Ahh, stop it. My sister suggested this shirt. I wondered if she was setting me up for something.”

“Mhm, for a thirst trap definitely. But it’s great.” You’re so starstruck. “Uh, your text had an odd symbol at the end of it. What does it mean?” You pull out your phone and show it.

“Ahh, I meant a smiley face. I;m not the best texter unfortunately, so typos will happen.” He puts his hands in his pockets anxiously. “Are you ready to go in?”

“Yup! Let’s hit it!” You say excitedly. T’Challa gives the ‘after you’ motion with a wave of his hand. Once y’all make it inside, you feel overwhelmed with the crowds of people walking through, dancing, talking. You get caught up in the scene, your mind fades out not sure what to tackle next.

“Do you want to walk around?” He asks over you.

You turn to see him waiting on your answer. Your introversion was coming back strong.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, let’s walk.”

Walking down the way you pass through see a couple acts performing. Nothing really bumping in the section you guys are at. You check T’Challa in your peripheral and he is just looking around, not saying anything. There is so much you could say but you don’t know the precedence to say it in. The worst thing about dating for you was the talking and getting to know each other.

“Do you know any of the acts that were performing today?” T’Challa asks you.

Shit, you thought. You didn’t even research anything about this festival. That would’ve been a great ice breaker.

“Uh...no. I didn’t. This could’ve been a country music hoedown and I’d be none the wiser.” you say pitifully.

T’Challa nods, “So, not a fan of the twang vocals of cowboys and saloon girls? What music do you listen to?”

You shake your head smiling, “Not ‘cowboys and saloon girls’ though! But those kinds of questions are too hard to ask! I listen to so many kinds, I can't devote myself to a genre. Even country sometimes, even though I lowkey trashed it just now. It has to be done right, white people always take it and bastardize it.”

“Blues, jazz, rock n roll…” T’Challa lists.

You say with a clap, “Exactly! We get stuck with the short end of the stick, erased from history.”

“I feel similarly. I am spoiled by my country’s sound. I have other artists that I enjoy but I stick to a certain group of them.”

“Any that I heard of?” you ask.

He thinks a moment. “That's the thing too, I'm not good with names! I enjoy the art and almost entirely ignore the person creating it.” You look at him incredulously. He puts his hands up in surrender. “It’s bad, I know. But I enjoy a lot of old school acts, R&B, soul. And of course local bands from Wakanda.”

“You will have to let me listen to some of your music then.” You say, suddenly shy again. Did that come off too strong? Too eager, as per usual.

T’Challa makes a subtle grunt noise, stopping next to you, “Oh, so you definitely want to see me after this, eh?” l

You smile as your stomach does NOLA bounce routine. Trying not to answer right away, you fake a thinking pose, “Slip of the tongue, but we will see how the night goes.” you say teasingly.

You guys walk past concessions and T’Challa offers to buy.

“What do you desire?” he asks.

Looking over the menu, you really hadn't worked up an appetite yet but you sure as hell was hot in the unforgiving humidity.

“Just a slushie, please.”

“Good choice. What flavor?”

“Red.”

T’Challa looks back at you confused, “And by chance, what flavor is red?”

You roll your eyes, “Are you pushing your respectability politics off on me? Red is red, I said what I said.”

T’Challa laughs at your antics, placing the order with the cashier. He gets one too, in blue. You both walk down the way, enjoying your treats.

“Mm, this is so good. Thanks for buying.” you say as you eat the sugary ice. The coolness radiates through your body against the evening heat.

“You don’t have to thank me. You’re too polite; I’ll have to fine you for your courtesies.”

“Nooo, I’m poor, please!” you look to him with puppy dog eyes for forgiveness

T’Challa sips from his straw as he mulls it over. “I’ll let you off with good behavior, for now.”

“Too kind, my good man.” you say before sticking your red-dyed out at him in jest.

T’Challa laughs at your action, “Your maturity is unmatched.”

A bell dings nearby and a crowd erupts. One of those strong man meters is set up and is obviously a crowd favorite.

“Hey, you think you could do work on that over there?”

T’Challa checks it out shaking his head slightly unsure, “Ahh, I haven’t been to the gym in a while, I don’t know…”

You look over at the worker passing a teddy to the patron, “Well, I want to at least get a consolation prize. I’ll give it a go. Hold this.” You hand your empty cup to T’Challa, strolling over.

“Madam, would you like to take a crack at it?” The candy striped worker said, handing the mallet your way.

“Damn right!” you say confidently.

“You can do it!” you look behind you see T’Challa, beaming, holding up both cups. You square up and take a swing. No bell rung, and it didn’t make it past wimp, but the thrill was nice as you came out of your shell a little more.

“Nice try, young lady, nice try. But no one goes away empty handed. For you!” the candy striped man gives you a mini plushie duck fitting the palm of your hand.

“Thank you! It’s so cute,” You say, walking away smiling at the cute animal in hand.

“Maybe it’d ring if she sat on it.” a nearby voice said.

A white guy red as a beet sneers as you catch his eye, sipping his beer. You feel your good vibes disintegrate as he smiles pridefully at his joke, you. One thing that you haven’t been able to shake yet is how hurtful comments to your face about your weight can be. Remnants from your childhood made for a shaky foundation in your establishment of your worth. You knew these crowds would be an issue eventually.

“You sir, you’d like a shot?” You didn’t even notice until he had the hammer in his hand, but T’Challa was at the game getting ready to swing down. The ball shot up the column, rang the bell like a thunderclap, and knocked the dome clean off of it.

T’Challa looked over to the man in the crowd pointing the hammer his direction, “If you can only find confidence in talking down to others, I would suggest you lay your head right down here next time, so I can drum some sense into your brain, eh?” The white man was wiping his shirt, looking back at T’Challa all shooketh. He must’ve jumped out of his skin when T’Challa brought the hammer down.

The candy striped guy picked up the dome of the bell, “Uh, sir, did you want your prize or…”

T’Challa lays the hammer against the game, “Yes, my good man.”

The worker handed T’Challa a large, plush black cat. T’Challa took it, striding over to you. Your heart swelled with delight as he handed it to you. Not been to the gym in a while, my ass!, you thought. Those arms, back, shoulders, with some thigh assist didn’t lie though. You hugged your prize close.

T’Challa stood in front of you with concern, “Are you ok? I’m sorry if I acted out of turn.”

You looked at him shaking your head, “Don't apologize, or I’ll have to fine you!” you say with a wag of you finger.

“T’Challa smiled with relief, “He had no right to speak to you like that.”

You sigh, “I’ve heard it before, and I’ve heard even worse.” You start to walk on as T’Challa followed. “It was hard for me to fit in growing up at first because of my size, so I was bullied early on. But I started beating people to the punchline and the bullying soon stopped.”

“Do you ever believe the things people say?” T’Challa asked.

“No, not all the time anyway. It’s gotten better since college. I look at a lot of body positive people online and learn some tricks to cope.”

“(Y/N), I won’t tell you how to feel but anyone that talks about you with ill intent is either insane or not completely right up here.” He says pointing to his head.

You gained comfort from the respite T’Challa gave you. “I know, and sometimes it's not even them. I can be my worst critic. But I know not to fall for the smooth talking Negros that like to prey on the vulnerable too.” you say pointedly.

T’Challa looks to you mouth agape, “I don’t consider myself a smooth person, so I won’t take that as a warning to me.”

“Oh please! You waltzing over to threaten the guy in my honor? Smoove. Buying me a water a while back to soothe my scalded tongue? Smoove. The fact that you even got me to talk to you? Smoover than smoove.”

T’Challa laughs, “All right, enough! It’s not on purpose however. Certain traits become exemplified when I’m around certain kinds of people.” He looks at you smiling before looking on. You hug your cat tighter. Which cat you ask? WELL......

T’Challa goes on, “and I'm no stranger to bullying myself.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I have a very smart alek, very calculative jester for a little sister who has no end to calling out my uncool ways.”

You laugh, “Little siblings are the worst. I know, cuz I am one, and we have that right!”

“Bast, when will the tyranny end!” T’Challa calls to the skies.

A stage nearby lights up with low glow blues and purples, yellows and greens. The a crowd erupts as the act is about to start up and you hear something familiar.

“Oh my God.” You freeze in your place.

“What is it?” T’Challa asks worrisome.

“Do you know them?? Oh my God!” You say without anything else, running into the crowd as the act steps up to their mics.

T’Challa trails you until you reach a stopping point.

“Oh my God, The Internet! Syd! Oh my GOD!!” You scream waving around your plushie.

Syd tha Kyd steps to the mic, crooning the crowd with her soft falsetto. You sing along right with her, enamored by the surprise. You look to T’Challa in all the excitement and you catch him smirking at you, nodding along to the music. You take his hand and raise it up to sway side to side on the track, the electricity you felt being a mix from your idols and the foine dime to the side of you. You booty bump him playfully to get him loose, he bumps you back. All worries are cast away as the songs envelope you both, each one drawing you nearer to him, hands clenched the entire time.

Their set wasn’t long, but you guys stayed for the entirety of it as the night sky cast over the park, stars decorating the sky. The temperatures became bearable as the sun finally fell. Torches lit the way for you all to see and walk around. Once The Internet finished their set and the crowd dispersed, you and T’Challa start scoping for some grub.

“Do they have any wings around here or cheese fries, or somethin?” you ask out loud.

T’Challa looks over the vendors signs and points, “Ahh, your wish is granted! I’ll go ahead and order.”

“Wait! I can’t eat wings AND cheesy fries, I was just playing!” You weren’t but you wanted to be a lady.

“It’s ok, I’ll get both and we can split. I’ll be back!” Breaking from you, he walks on.

You hold your plushie close to you as you wait. Looking around the park you think this would be a perfect picture moment for the gram. Pulling out your phone you see you have a text from Tavia.

Ummm, what happened to texting me to make sure things were good though, like….

You text her back. I was supposed to let you know if things are BAD. No news is good news right?

Going to the camera, you shoot some scenery shots. Looking over your options, Tavia texts back. Well my bad! Ok, keep doin you boo!

T’Challa comes back with wings in one hand, cheesy fries in the other. God, you didn’t know what looked better: the food or him. And you were hungry regardless.

“I got some waters too.” He said, handing you the fries so he could get the waters from under his arm.

“Ooh, good thinking. Let’s find a spot to sit.” you say as you take down a fry. Walking into the park you find an unoccupied bench and sit. The faded music in the background was very chill, setting the mood. T’Challa takes a wing, eating the meat off. You absentmindedly watch his mouth chew as he ate. The muscles of his jaw masticating, his concentration to get every bit off the bone.

T’Challa wipes his hands and looks to you, “You were amazing back at the stage.”

You snap out of your trance, thinking over what he said, “Listen, I didn't do anything. Syd and them, were going off and they haven’t made a bad track yet. I’m only a fan.”

“It was pretty cool to see you so free spirited. And I heard you a little. You have some singing in your background, eh?”

You make a so-so motion with your hand, “I mean, a little bit. I’ve never done it for an audience but my shower is a long time fan of mine.”

He laughs, “It’s really captivating to watch. I wasn’t sure how comfortable you were here, but the music brought out another side I really enjoyed seeing.”

“Right! I appreciate you noticing that. I wasn't sure either cuz I’m such a homebody and then that guy. I still can’t wrap my head around you standing up for me that way either. I never had that happen for me.”

“Oh, Bast! I haven’t had someone so endearing to do that for. He doesn't know anything about you, otherwise he would’ve dusted the ground for you to walk.”

You laugh with your hands on your hips mockingly, “Well you haven’t even done that!”

“I can't defend the Queen and clean the quarters!”

You dismiss him with a wave of your hand. “By the way, I heard you say that before. What is ‘Bast’?”

“Where I'm from that is a religious figure that some follow. A panther God.”

You cock your head to the side in curiosity, “Ohh do you have rituals, symbolism, and things around it?”

“Of course! Chants, dances, the works. Every religion just about does. Do you follow a Christian God?”

You nod. “Mhm, Team Jesus right here.”

T’Challa smiles, “Well, we have similar teaching just the practices stray off.”

“I always wondered about what religion I would have, had it not been for, you know.”

“Luckily my family does not know of that life, but I understand. God is all around us, comes in many forms in my opinion. I try to give honor wherever I am that things still grow, the earth still spins, things like that.”

You look up at the sky overwhelmed with the sensations of a successful evening, “God, it’s so beautiful out.”

He looks up. “The city sky does not compare to a Wakandan one, for sure.”

You look at him, his neck stretched back wanting to touch it, “Tell me about it. Your home.”

He leans back, resting his arm across the back of the bench. “Words couldn't do it justice. But just think about the most beautiful scenery you can imagine from nature shows, or pictures in a magazine. Then amplify it by one hundred.”

“You still have family there?”

T’Challa smiles to himself, “Yes. Mother, sister, and a bunch of people I consider family. It’s a close knit community”

“Wow. Do you miss it?” you ask.

“I do, all the time. But I haven’t thought about it once tonight.” Looking up to you, his eyes trained on your face. He says tossing a wing to the side, looking away in the distance again; clenching his jaws, resting his hands on his thighs. He looks nervous.

While studying his face you notice a unique detail to his hairline. “You have the most adorable widow’s peak. Just look at that.” You reach over, stopping midway as he looks at you expectantly, “Do you mind?”

He shakes his head. You lightly feel the curls that bunch to form this hereditary marvel.

“I wish I had one. It adds so much character to one's appearance. Like you need any but it’s like a little treasure.” you say smirking as his curls tickled your fingertips.

While touching it, you look at T’Challa who is focused on you, not saying a word. Mouth slightly agape, his eyes look to your mouth then back at your eyes. If there was ever a chance to kiss him, this was probably it.

“Uhh, did you hear me, or…” you say trailing off and chickening out, moving away a little to ease the building arousal between you.

“I want to compliment you now.” He says reaching for your hand, holding it. “Your eyes have an innocence that makes me feel unworthy to hold your glance. But I can’t help but to not look at you. You remind me of every beautiful trademark that makes a woman special. I could go on, but I don’t want to offend you. But I hope I can get to know more of you, so I can verbalize it properly.”

You look down at his long, knuckley hand holding yours. “T’Challa I don’t want you to talk about me anymore.”

T’Challa looks concerned, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You stomach trembles inside as you try to find the words, “No, I know what you mean. But this is a lot for me to take in. I’ll say it’s been a while since I’ve been paid attention to like this, so it’s kind of overwhelming but…” you move his hand and inch closer. “I’m not a big conversationalist so I just want to...”

Your lips find each other, softly embraced in a kiss made for fairytales. But you felt so much more than what the kiss portrayed: excitement, joy, aroused at the fact that his face meshed with yours so perfect. His hand found the small of your back as your hand caressed his face gently to ensure the reality of it all. Breaking away slowly you both stare into each other, high off on the clouds of infatuation.

“Man, I dig you.” You say trying to break some of the romantic tension.

He smiles, “And I dig you, umhle.”

You smirk, “What that mean?”

“Something you should be very familiar with: ‘beautiful’”

“I could get used to that definitely.” you say, embracing him once more.

As much as you could stay on that bench forever, it was getting late and the mosquitoes were being disrespectful. T’Challa offered to take you home when the time came, but you needed a break or you might invite him up. You car arrives and you hug him goodbye. His hands wound around your back firmly, you securing yourself around his shoulders you take a mental note of his frame, so comfortable and meant for you.

“I had a great time, T’Challa,” you whisper in his ear.

“The pleasure was mine, (Y/N). Let me know when you’ve arrived home safely?”

You nod, giving him a peck on the cheek for good measure. You get in the car and he closes the door behind you, seeing you off. You hug your panther plushie tight to your face as you recap the evening. You were practically buoyant as you rode home, petting your prize tenderly, wishing it was T’Challa in your lap.

Making your way to your apartment, you open the door to see Tavia knocked out on the couch, and even bigger mess of snacks surrounding her and the table as she snores. You slam the door to wake her up.

She startles awake, looking at you squinty, “Well damn, What time is it?”

“Maybe, midnight by now?”

“Mm, decent hour, must not have given up the draws. Well go on and tell me about it” She wipes her eyes, getting a better look at you, noticing your plushie. “Uh-uh! You got a prize!! What did I tell you!”

“Bitch, I didn’t suck his dick. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” you say feigning tiredness.

“How fucking dare you! I aint get no sleep cuz of you, you aint gettin none cuz of me!”

“Girl, you were just knocked out! Go to bed.”

“But-”

Good night Tavia!”

You close your room door, tossing T’Challa Jr. on your bed. Kicking your shoes off, taking your hair down, you pull out your phone.

Home safe! You send to him. You put your phone down and unclothe to get comfortable. Suddenly a ding sounds and you dive for your device.

Glory to Bast. Sleep well, umhle.

You read it a couple of times before setting your phone back down. Laying down, you clutch your prized possession T’Challa won you to your chest as the day’s event float in your head: euphorically exhausted.

Part 4

Other Works

King Kil’mawalls

T’akia

N’Jadaka’s Helpful Hands

Some Weeks Are Better Than Others

Commencement Day

Song of Stevens

My Ragtag

@sweetpeachjones@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade@hairhattedghooligan@universalbri @therevolution-willbelive@you-like-this-chain @sarcastic-sunshines @airis-paris14 @afraiddreamingandloving @kreolemami

No mans land Tags

afraiddreamingandloving groovybbyy and nyeebey, yall here too! I just can’t tag you for some reason <3</p>

#tchalla #t'challa #black panther fanfiction #black panther fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #t'challa x reader #tchalla x reader #t'challa x you #black panther au #marvrl au #t'challa fanfic #fanfic

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mysterylover123 · 6 years

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My Top 10 Favorite Series of All Time

Mysterylover123, to my followers.

This list, of course, could change. At some point in the future, I could always discover a new series that topples the competition - but for the moment, here they are. My top 10 favorite series of all time - mostly comics or television, but also film, and a few novel series made the honorable mentions list.

Of course, these are all just my personal favorites - that’s the key word. While I did consider objective quality when making the call, I mostly went with my gut and listed series I love for whatever reason - maybe sentimental value, pushing my personal buttons, or just characters I adored. I also made myself list the things I don’t like about the series as well, just to avoid gushing too much and remember that all but one (my #1) series out there are at least, a little, flawed, but nonetheless still lovable. With that in mind, here they are:

#10. CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (2000-2015)

Type: Live-Action TV show

Genre: Crime/Mystery; forensic drama, police procedural

Favorite character: Catherine Willows (Marg Helgenberger)

Favorite episode: “Grave Danger”, Parts 1 & 2 (Season 5 finale)

Favorite Season: 7

Favorite villain: The Miniature Killer/Natalie Davis

Bad points: Weak later seasons, forced romance subplot, copious amounts of filler

Why it’s here: CSI is nostalgic for me. I watched it during my early crime drama loving years, and found out that as much as I liked the premise, what made the show for me was the cast. That was the first time I realized how essential characters are to creating intriguing drama. CSI is still my favorite traditional crime/mystery show, since in seasons 1-8, it maintained a good balance of character drama and mystery-of-the-week. Season 7 is a high point, balancing an ongoing story with lots of fun one-offs and an emotionally explosive payoff. Later seasons, however, wear down the show’s quality for me. Too many beloved characters left and the series becomes too reliant on filler, ending with a thud that is the series finale. But the best of CSI is still enough to land it here for me.

(Just to clarify, I mean Las Vegas)

#9. Futurama (1999-2003; 2008-2013)

Type: Animated TV Show + movies

Genre: Sci Fi Dramedy

Favorite character: Philip J Fry (Billy West)

Favorite episode: “Jurassic Bark”

Favorite season: 4

Favorite villain: Bender

Bad points: Sexism, weak later seasons, bad 2nd movie

Why it’s here: Futurama came to me during a phase of depression in my life, and the show’s combination of humor and cry-your-eyes out tragedy kept me going. I’ve seen it through five times, and it’s always a blast. To me, Futurama is better than The Simpsons. Simpsons is funnier, but only for seven years or so. Following those seven years are 21 of mediocrity, whereas Futurama thankfully cuts it short. While some of the later seasons are weaker than the early Fox years, they still have quality gems and the show’s unique flavor. The series speaks to me so much; it’s a mix of hilarious comedy, serious character drama, and high sci-fi concepts that all mesh together in a unique experience. This is a series that’s not afraid to try new things, to experiment and let the characters age and grow. My personal favorite part of the series is the friendship between the core trio, Fry, Bender and Leela. Any episode starring them is a-ok by me.

Favorite memories: Binge-watching the series during a period of unemployment.

#8. Death Note (2003-2004; 2006-2007)

Type of series: Manga/Anime

Genre: Supernatural Crime Thriller

Favorite Character: L Lawliet (Alessandro Juliani)

Favorite Episode: Episode 2, “Confrontation”

Favorite Arc: The first one

Favorite villain: Light Yagami (Brad Swaile)

Bad points: Weak second half, so-so character development

Why it’s here: Death Note is a dark, twisted, engrossing thriller, which under normal circumstances shouldn’t be re-watchable. But I keep coming back to it, regardless of how many times I’ve seen it before. It’s a digestible 37 episodes and 108 chapters, for one thing. It introduced me to two characters that endlessly fascinate and frustrate my analytical brain. The antagonists, Light and L, are two of the most brilliant characters I’ve come across in fiction, and their dynamic with each other is endlessly engaging. Well, it should have been through the whole series…if not for certain incidents. But no matter; we have what we have. Flawed, yes. Terrifying, certainly. Death Note scares me like no other story. But what frightens me in DN isn’t so much there gruesome deaths, but how effortlessly it portrays the banality of evil.

Favorite memories: Watching the show during the winter holidays while on vacation, and contemplating the series during the drive home.

#7. Spider-Man (1962-)

Type: Comic book; various mediums of adaptation

Genre: Superhero

Favorite character: Mary Jane Watson

Favorite Storyline: The Night Gwen Stacy Died, #121-122

Favorite villain: The Green Goblin

Bad points: Weak later issues, lots of filler, “One More Day”

Why it’s here: Spidey is still my favorite superhero. He was me in high school (I got into Spider-Man in high school, incidentally), the everyman, the representation of my nerdy outcast struggle and need to both escapism and greater responsibility. But what really drew me to the comic, and still does, was the vast and multifaceted supporting cast. In the great eras of Spidey (Ditko, Romita, Conway, and late 1980s), the supporting cast make the series. Whether it’s Peter’s various complex lady loves, the endless cavalcade of memorable villains, supporting dude-friends like Flash and Harry or my personal favorite, mainstay Mary Jane “you just hit the jackpot” Watson, the cast of Spidey was majorly influential with good reason. The series loses it’s skill in the 1990s, thanks to the Clone Saga and general 90s comic badness, and plummets into an irretrievable black hole in 2007, never to return. But fortunately, there’s still thirty years’ worthy of fascinating comics to draw from before that insanity begins. And those stories have in turn fed fantastic adaptations, whether it be the sentimental 90s animated show, a few of the films, or the superlative Spectacular cartoon.

Favorite memories: Reading Spider-Man comics after high school, while waiting to get picked up. Also, watching the 90s show as a little kid, even if those are kinda dim.

#6. Gravity Falls (2012-2016)

Type of series: Animated TV Show

Genre: Supernatural

Favorite character: Mabel Pines (Kirsten Schaal)

Favorite season: 2

Favorite episode: “Not What he Seems”

Favorite Villain: Bill Cipher

Bad points: A few filler episodes, some odd messages, so-so ending

Why it’s here: I love a good spooky story. Gravity Falls caught my attention around Halloween in 2016, 8 months after the series finale; I binged the whole series through in a weekend. The series remains one of the all-time best I’ve ever watched. With one or two exceptions, there are no outright bad episodes. Everything is either entertaining or incredibly entertaining. The characters feel real, the messages really hit home, and the creativity on display is astounding. Gravity Falls has something in every corner - great character development, compelling drama, laugh-out-loud comedy, and a truly engaging mystery that doesn’t disappoint. I wish the franchise ran a little longer, but I’ll give it props that unlike nearly every other show on this list, Gravity Falls doesn’t over-stay its welcome. Two seasons of brilliance, wrapping up with a strong, though not perfect, finale, before the series had a chance to go on too long or burn out the creators. It’s a welcome treat to watch again, and again, and again. It’s mostly low on this list, not because of the few weak points, but because I don’t have as much emotional attachment to the series as I do to my top 5 pics.

Favorite memories: Watching the show with my dad and brother on vacation. Both of them are very surly and nit-picky, so presenting them with a show this good meant no cause to complain.

#5. Frasier (1993-2004)

Type: Live Action TV series

Genre: Sitcom

Favorite character: Niles Crane (David Hyde-Pierce)

Favorite season: 4

Favorite episode: “Something Borrowed, Something Blue”

Bad points: Weaker later/early seasons, sometimes annoying

Why it’s here: Frasier has a record for the most Emmy awards won by a single show. And rightly so, in my opinion. This is one of those series with astonishingly top-notch writing all around. It’s a sitcom that banks it’s humor on taking down pretentious snobs and prejudiced jerks; the jokes stay funny because, like all good humor, they stay relevant. This series feels kind of timeless; despite coming out in the instantly dated 90s, the characters’ fashions, mindsets, and relationships feel like they could be written today or twenty-forty years earlier. My heart belongs to the series’ ongoing love story between uptight, snippy Niles and eccentric, lovable Daphne (Jane Leeves). I have yet to see a better executed TV romance, one that pulls out all the stops like this one does. If I were to compare Frasier to anything, it would be to a Jane Austen novel. It has the same social satire, the same sardonic humor, the same understanding of romance and human psychology. That, to me, is what makes a great comedy.

Favorite memories: Discovering Frasier out of Sideshow Bob on The Simpsons - and coming to realize which of the two is truly the better comedy. (Sorry to take another potshot at Simpsons; I do like the early seasons, I just think the show is overrated).

#4. The Marvel Cinematic Universe (2008-)

Series type: Live Action films and TV

Genre: Superhero

Favorite characters: Tie: Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) and Loki (Tom Hiddleston)

Favorite film: Captain America the Winter Soldier (2014)

Favorite phase: Phase 3 (so far)

Bad points: Occasional weak/so-so film, lack of representation

Why it’s here: I first watched only a handful of MCU films; after Avengers, I gave it up and focused on other things. I loved it the first time, but when I came back and screened every picture in the lineup till the present, that is when I fell in love with the franchise. I was missing out on some of the series’ best characters. And that’s what makes the MCU special to so many people: the characterization. The series is at it’s best when it’s giving it’s multi-layered cast focus and development. Marvel comics have always been a favorite of mine, so naturally their best known adaptation is one of my favorites in general. I’ve found something to enjoy in just about every film in the franchise. The biggest surprise hit for me was the Captain America films - a part of the franchise I never dreamed I’d love, but which won me over with the stellar writing in the 2011 film, the indelible Winter Soldier, and the stunning, heartbreaking Civil War. I’m almost afraid of what will come next, as the franchise is heading towards a finale.

Favorite memories: Watching the films over a long, bitter summer, as my only source of joy while working a thankless job and living in a place with bad internet reception.

#3. The Buffy-verse (1997-2004) Series Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel

Type of series: Live-Action TV shows

Genre: Supernatural

Favorite characters: Buffy, Cordelia, and Spike

Favorite season: Season 5 of Buffy, Season 2 of Angel

Favorite episodes: “Once More with Feeling” Buffy, “You’re Welcome” Angel

Bad points: Weak later seasons, Season 6, some bad filler

Why it’s here: If I was going on sentimental fandom value alone, the Buffy-verse would be number one. I still squee over this franchise years after I first discovered it; the characters have that special Joss Whedon flair that makes them stand out over the crowd, the series’ core relationships are so fascinating I’m tempted to write fanfic about them, and the philosophies and emotional moments in the series have shaped my life. I would never have known what existentialism was, for instance, if not for Whedon’s show. Angel’s line about “ all that matters is what we do” has helped motivate me ever since I heard it. But looking at the series’ quality (and diversity), I will admit that out of my top 3 favorites, it has the most problems. Both shows have one season I can cheerfully proclaim to be outright terrible, (Season 4 for Angel, Season 6 for Buffy), and very shaky first seasons that take a while to find their feet. There are some plot decisions I just can’t forgive, and some truly weak arc villains. But there is also so much that this franchise does so well, whether it be stellar standalones, bold plot moves, and of course, the character arcs.

Favorite memories: Rewatching the show on vacation in France.

#2. Avatar: The Last Airbender (2005-2008)

Type: Animated TV series

Genre: Fantasy Steampunk

Favorite characters: Zuko, Azula and Sokka

Favorite season: 2

Favorite episode: “The Guru”

Bad points: Forced romantic subplots, The Great Divide, odd conclusion

Why it’s here: You may have heard, if you’ve spent any time on the internet, what a fantastic series ATLA is. I try to avoid such phrases when attempting to sell the show to people, because describing a series that way is usually a bad move. But rest assured, it’s warranted. Avatar The Last Airbender is a stellar show in every possible way. Aside from the few bad points I mentioned above, ATLA does everything right. It has the best world building I’ve ever encountered. The animation, storytelling, emotions, messages (sometimes), plot points, philosophies, individual episodes, comedy, drama, action, epic sweep, surprise reveals…(several hours of listing things later) all of these things are pitch perfect. But as always, what makes this show is the cast. My lord, what a cast. These characters are so embedded in my mind, their arcs, personalities, development and entertainment value all stand out a cut above the rest. ATLA is a stunning masterpiece, one that no adaptation could capture, and that even it’s own creators have yet to follow up on, with either the sequel or the comics. But no matter. The original is there, it always will be, and more people discover it every day.

Favorite memories: Nothing quite compares to seeing ATLA for the first time. I saw it in 2014, one of the worst years of my life. Once again, my miserable experience was improved by a fantastic story.

Before #1: The Runners-up.

Game of Thrones: I used to adore GOT, but it started losing me after season 3; I lost respect for the show in season 5. still, those early seasons are still crucial parts of our culture and should be remembered.

Harry Potter: I grew up with these books and I still enjoy parts of them; overall, however, they strike me as being just a little less than they could have been.

Percy Jackson: I binged through the whole first book in a few hours, and loved these novels as a teen. As an adult, they don’t hold up as well, but I still appreciate the things they do right.

The Legend of Korra: The sequel to ATLA is spotty in many ways, but contains enough moments I absolutely love to make it at least a runner up.

South Park: Another series that got me through a bad time in my life and helped me deal with certain aspects of myself (especially episode 1507.) However, the early and late seasons are pretty bad, and the show doesn’t age very well.

Neon Genesis Evangelion: A bizarre little anime that nonetheless really stands out to me for how crazy it gets and how unique the story is.

Hannibal: A guilty pleasure - definitely a show that gets too far up it’s own butt in later episodes, but nonetehless appealing and interesting in the subjects it’s willing to tackle.

Parks and Recreation: My other favorite TV sitcom besides Fraser - it’s a strong runner up for the list but not quite sentimental enough.

Steven Universe: 3 great seasons, followed by a lot of recent mediocrity. Great when it’s great, bad when it’s not.

Code Geass: an immensely ambitious series, that doesn’t quite realize it’s goals but god damn if it isn’t a beautiful try.

Daria: Another show that really spoke to me in high school

Firefly: This was the biggest runner-up for the list. Firefly is 14 amazing episodes of television cut short too soon, giving us amazing characters and great world building in a short amount of time. The series has some bits that haven’t aged well, and those were enough to keep it off my top 10.

And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…

#1. Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood (manga: 2001-2010, anime 2009-2010)

Series type: Anime/Manga

Genre: Sci Fi (I think)

Favorite character: Edward Elric

Favorite episodes: “Flame of Vengeance”; “Backs in the Distance”

Bad points: None

Why it’s here: I’m gonna be brutally honest: FMAB is here because I can’t find anything wrong with it. It is, without question, the single most perfect piece of fiction I’ve ever come across. It almost frightened me when I first finished the series. Surely there must be some major, glaring flaw, some bad installment or weak character, that I could point to and say Look! Here’s the flaw! This was made by human hands after all! But nope. Many, many rereads through, and I still haven’t found one. FMAB stands supreme. This series has everything. The most fleshed out and real-feeling cast of characters I’ve ever come across (even minor background characters have spectacular arcs and feel like real people). The best pacing and plotting of an overall story arc. The best world building, aside from ATLA. The best exploration of social issues, the best feminism, the best use of mature storytelling. Everything comes back around. The themes, the mystery, the overall tone and story structure. I feel like an engineer gushing over the most perfectly calibrated car ever made each time I watch it. But Fullmetal is even more than just expertly made. It’s appealing. It’s popular. It’s the kind of story you can write essays on or write fanfic for. FMAB can be enjoyed in every capacity. I recommend taking the time to read the Manga first (that’s what I did), then watch Brotherhood. There really is nothing quite like FMAB. (oh, BTW, it has the best series finale of anything e ver. Period.)

Best memories: Watching Fullmetal while coping with death for the first time in my life. There is no better series when it comes to dealing with this subject.

#top ten list #CSI: Crime Scene Investigation #tv show #futurama #Death Note #L Lawliet #spiderman #gravity falls #frasier #marvel cinematic universe #Buffyverse #Avatar The Last Airbender #Fullmetal Alchemist

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master-sass-blast · 6 years

Text

Strong as Stone -Part Fourteen

GUESS WHO HAS TWO THUMBS AND HAS VOMITED WITHIN THE PAST TWENTY-FOUR HOURS!!!

*screams into the void* MEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

That was gross. Sorry.

I am sick again. This has been the theme of my summer.

But why lament the loss of our physical health when we can write fanfiction!

I know this update is astonishingly early. I’m attributing that to the fact that my latest meds make me largely nocturnal, thus allowing me to work uninterrupted.

I don’t know how many updates I’ll do this weekend. Y’all might get treated. We’ll see.

Welcome back! Last time, we celebrated Shuri’s birthday! Tears were shed over the lack of T’Chaka’s presence, and Dewani CAME THE FUCK THROUGH with an amazing birthday gift!

This week is a bit of a plot filler. It’s really obviously meant to set up other points, but I got the end and went “This feels good. I’m not going to add on to this bit. This is a good stopping point.”

So, yeah! Enjoy the early update!

Rating: T for language.

Warnings: strong language, mild verbal fighting, and mild sexual themes.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku, background Shuri x OC, and background T’Challa x Nakia.

@the-last-hair-bender

You cannot win every fight you enter.

You will lose matches. You will fail missions. You will be frustrated, and you will loathe the bitter taste of defeat.

Do not loathe yourselves, my dears. You are human. You are not required to be perfect.

It does not matter if you fall down, only if you get back up.

The Gibson Desert, Australia; 3 AM Western Australia Time

Okoye paused to wipe beads of sweat away from her brow as she crept towards a seemingly abandoned warehouse in the middle of the Gibson Desert. And M’Baku thinks Birnin Zana is unbearably hot.

Their latest lead on Klaue’s associate had lead them here --an old hideout of Klaue’s in the middle of fuck nowhere that, according to their intel, he retreated to when the CIA, FBI, Interpol, or other intelligence agencies came too close to capturing him. If they were lucky, Klaue’s associate --and the vibranium cache--would be there.

She signaled to the other Dora Milaje that had accompanied her, and they moved in together.

Okoye stopped outside the back door. She waited until her women were in position, then nodded to Djabi.

Djabi kicked the door in.

Okoye sprinted into the warehouse, bracing herself for an onslaught of resistance.

The air was stiflingly hot and still inside. The space inside was completely dark and smelled like dust.

Okoye scowled and activated the flashlight function on her kimoyo beads. Don’t tell me...

The warehouse was utterly empty, save for a decrepit looking mattress stained with Bast knows what and an unnatural abundance of cobwebs.

Okoye smacked the end of her spear against the concrete floor. “Bast dammit!”

Birnin Zana, Wakanda; 10 AM.

Okoye glared at the report of her mission to Wakanda.

Again, all of the leads and intelligence they’d collected confirmed --not indicated, confirmed--that Klaue’s associate was in the safe house in Australia. Plane tickets, emails, texts, phone calls, satellite tracking of the vibranium that had been stolen --an entire fucking paper trail!

Again, all of their satellite scans --on the best satellite Shuri could build--had indicated that at least sixteen people had been in that warehouse. Vitals, heat signatures, motion sensors, everything!

Again, there hadn’t been so much as a suggestion that the “alleged” occupants were wise to their arrival or had decided to pack up and ship out.

And, again, they’d arrived on the scene to find an abandoned location.

At least it wasn’t booby-trapped this time, Okoye thought, deeply pissed off.

It wasn’t about failing the mission...

It was a little about failing the mission.

But, more importantly, vibranium was deeply dangerous in the wrong hands.

We know Klaue was more than capable of building weapons. Okoye’s stomach lurched. His associate could sell them off to the highest builder.

Or, worse, sell it to an American intelligence agency.

The end of the fucking world as we know it.

The was a knock at the door, and it swung open before she could answer. “I was sent here with a mission.”

Okoye smiled, surprised to see M’Baku standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“The King said it was an emergency. I imagine that is mostly about the difficulties in locating the vibranium stolen by Klaue, but I suspect he wants me to calm you down as well.” He lifted two cups. “Hence, I brought bribes.”

Okoye closed the display of the mission report. “I accept your bribe. Sit.”

M’Baku handed her one of the cups and sat with a chuckle. “I take it the mission didn’t go well.”

“No. We were duped again.”

M’Baku kissed his teeth. “I’m sorry, my love. I know it’s frustrating for you.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Okoye muttered darkly as she sipped at her coffee.

“The King called an emergency council meeting for today. Apparently, the tribal leaders are a little upset over the lack of progress.”

“Well, they’re not the only ones.”

M’Baku was silent for a moment, then reached across the desk and took her hand in his. “You look tired, my love.”

“Oh, because that’s what every woman is just dying to hear.”

“I only mean that you look like you could use a vacation.”

Okoye slumped back in her chair. “For once, I’m with you. I’m exhausted.”

“In that case... may I recommend a trip to the Jabari lands? The cold is quite refreshing.”

Okoye smirked at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get me to come see you.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I have mandatory time off in two weeks.”

“Why the delay?”

“We’re going back to the United States. President Trump is supposed to be issuing a formal apology to me at the American/Wakandan Unity Press Conference event.”

A dark smile twisted M’Baku’s lips. “Honestly? I want to see that.”

“Ask the King. I sure won’t mind having you there.”

“I will. Believe me, I will.”

The atmosphere of the throne room was tense. Everyone’s face was equally puckered with the burdensome knowledge they all bore together:

Klaue’s associate kept evading them. As far as they knew, the associate had enough vibranium at their fingertips to annihilate half of China.

Okoye had just finished briefing the council on the latest failed mission.

The disappointed and judgmental expressions that the elders wore stung. Deeply.

T’Challa steepled his fingers together and let out a heavy sigh. “At this point, I am less and less convinced that Klaue’s associate could’ve pulled all of this off without inside help.”

Nakia frowned and placed a hand on T’Challa’s arm. “You think we have a mole among our ranks?”

“What other explanation is there? There’s no logical explanation as to how they keep evading us.”

“Well,” the Mining tribe leader said with a displeased look at the Border tribe leader. “I think we all know where to start looking.”

“How dare you insult the Border tribe! We have proved our loyalty--”

“By betraying the King even after it was evident that the challenge had not been completed--”

“Enough,” T’Challa barked. “This meeting was not arranged for the purpose of accusing the Border tribe. Anyone could have leaked our information to Klaue’s associate.”

“My King, the Border tribe ought to be suspect because of their willingness to back Killmonger --a willingness that no other tribe demonstrated,” the River tribe leader said.

T’Challa drummed his fingers against the arm of his throne. “My uncle, Prince N’Jobu, betrayed my father because he believed that the world needed vibranium. This isn’t about what wars have been fought; it’s about who believes that selling out to Klaue’s associate is worthwhile. And that belief is something that can be possessed by any person, regardless of the tribe they hail from.”

“Perhaps the process of finding the traitor should be handled by a neutral party,” M’Baku recommended.

“That... is probably our best option,” T’Challa agreed. “General Okoye, do you believe the Dora Milaje are up to the task?”

Okoye nodded. “We’ll partner with our internal intelligence team in the War Dogs program once they’re done with their own internal analysis.”

“How do we know the mole isn’t in the ranks of the Dora Milaje?” the Mining tribe leader asked.

“The longer we sit around, worrying over where the mole will be, the more opportunities the associate has to sell off the last of Klaue’s vibranium to the highest bidder,” Okoye said. “We need to start looking. Bottom line. Once we do, any mole that might be in Wakanda will run out of places to hide.” She swallowed hard as the tribal leaders started discussing the best methods for finding the mole, what timeline was most appropriate for the situation, and what punishment was suitable for betraying Wakanda.

After five failed missions, her confidence in finding the infiltrator --to say nothing of the missing vibranium--was at an all time low.

Bast, please don’t let me be wrong.

“This is nothing but discrimination!”

Okoye fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.

Long story short: M’Baku had taken issue with the idea of interrogating the citizens of the Jabari lands. A very, very large issue.

T’Challa, on the other hand, had no issues with pinching the bridge of his nose. He groaned. “M’Baku, it’s just a formality--”

“Your entire political system seems to be one of formalities. Why interrogate the Jabari when we have no interest in vibranium, no access to it, and no contact with the outside world?”

“If we hadn’t included the Jabari tribe in the planning, the council leaders--”

“The council leaders can shove their formalities up their pompous--”

“Whoa!” Dewani skipped up to her brother. “Save the swearing for me.”

M’Baku frowned down at his younger sister. “What are you doing here?”

“I was summoned. I was told you were throwing a temper tantrum.”

M’Baku stared down at Dewani, then narrowed his eyes at T’Challa. “My sister is not your convenient ticket to getting me to cooperate.”

“I asked her to come, M’Baku,” Okoye said, allowing some her exasperation to leak through. “I figured having her opinion on the situation was valuable --and that you might listen to her.”

M’Baku opened his mouth, closed it, crossed his arms over his chest, and opened his mouth again. “You think I’m being unreasonable.”

“Well, you are,” Dewani said. “These are special circumstances, obviously.”

“There is not a single Jabari that would deign to lower themselves by having anything to do with vibranium. Not. One.”

Okoye shot a glance at Dewani, then steeled herself for the low blow she was about to make. “M’Baku. What are your people’s laws on homosexuality?”

M’Baku frowned. “What?”

“Your people’s laws on homosexuality. Is there any formal ban on it?”

M’Baku’s jaw tensed as he put together where she was going. “No. The laws of Hanuman do not forbid homosexuality.”

“Then... how did your uncle come to the position he’s so adamant on keeping?” Okoye pressed her lips into a thin line as M’Baku looked away from her. “If your uncle can promote hatred and abuse when the law does not support him, then it’s at least possible that someone might have sold us out, even though the Jabari condemn the use of vibranium.”

M’Baku rolled his jaw, and stared pointedly at the wall behind her. “Your logic is impressive, General.”

Okoye pushed down the sting of his cold tone and held up her hands in an appeasing gesture. “I will hand pick the women who will conduct the interrogations. Your people and their property will be treated with the utmost of respect. You have my word.”

M’Baku looked at her, finally. His eyes were dark and hard. “That, I can agree to.” He shot an annoyed glance at T’Challa. “Anything else, my King?”

T’Challa shot M’Baku an equally annoyed glance back. “No, Chief M’Baku.”

“Good.” With that, he spun on his heel and strode out of the throne room.

Okoye grimaced. “That went poorly.”

“Don’t mind him,” Dewani said. “He’s being a brat.”

“Dewani!”

“You are!”

Okoye watched as Dewani chased after her brother, jabbering at him about “not being so much of a fucking asshole.” Well. This day has officially gone from bad to worse.

The door to M’Baku’s suite swung open, revealing a pajama-clad Dewani. “Hi, Okoye!” She nodded in the direction of the private patio. “He’s pouting outside.”

“I do not pout!” M’Baku shouted from where he was seated on the patio.

“Yes, you do!” Dewani leaned towards Okoye and whispered conspiratorially. “I’ve been working on him for you. I think I’ve managed to help him un-wedge his head from his ass.”

Okoye winked at Dewani. “You have my thanks, recruit.”

Dewani saluted, then turned and yelled at M’Baku. “I’m going to go see Shuri. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Behave for the Queen Mother.”

“I will!”

Okoye swallowed hard as the door closed behind Dewani and forced herself to take a deep breath. Relax. He’s not going to scream at you. She walked over to where M’Baku was sitting and smiled down at him. “Am I welcome, or do you hate me now?”

M’Baku smiled tiredly up at her. “Like I could ever hate you.”

Okoye allowed herself to be pulled down into his lap and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about the homosexuality bit earlier. I should’ve done that in private.”

“You’re fine,” M’Baku murmured as he pressed his lips against her temple. “I was being... unreasonably difficult. Besides, T’Challa probably would’ve brought it up. And if he didn’t, Dewani definitely would have.”

“Maybe so, but it’s different with me. I’m your partner; it’s not fair for me to take that kind of shot in front of everyone else.”

“Debatable. Honestly, I was more annoyed about being wrong than your pointing out my logical fallacy.”

Okoye rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “Of course.”

“The Jabari are nothing if not proud of themselves. And don’t think I didn’t notice you use the term ‘partner.’” He grinned down at her. “Are we ‘official’ now?”

“I don’t see why not. We’ve been together for a while now.”

M’Baku nodded. “A whole year just two months after Dewani’s birthday.” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “I talked to the King about coming with you to America. He said he was fine with it.”

“I’m going to say this right now --you cannot punch Trump. No matter how much you may want to.”

“‘Koye--”

“I’m not kidding, M’Baku. He will test your self-control that hard.”

M’Baku put his hand over his heart. “I will not start an international incident. I promise.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him gently, then moved to straddle her lap as an unexpected burst of arousal started coiling inside her.

She was on such a sensitive trigger for M’Baku in a way that she had never been for W’Kabi.

It was wonderful.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?” she murmured against his lips.

“As convenience would have, Dewani is spending the night with the Princess.”

“Do you mind if I stay with you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Okoye laughed as M’Baku picked her up --hands planted firmly on her ass--and carried her to his bed. Bast, I love this man.

#sass writes #black panther fanfiction #okoye x m'baku #shuri x oc #t'challa x nakia #early update!#despite the fact that it's short #i'm really satisfied with it #no warnings #for once #wakanda forever

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cywscross · 7 years

Text

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.6 | Pt.7

Lookee what my brain coughed up~~

Peter stays the night again. The man cooks for the two of them, Stiles finishes his homework, Peter uses his shower and poaches more of Stiles’ clothes, and they end up in the fort again, knees and arms knocking together, blankets piled on top of them.

“Should we be expecting your father tonight?” Peter enquires idly, not sounding like he cares much either way.

“Mm, no, he’s working on a case out of town.” It’s instinct to check his phone, but there’s no text message waiting for him, and that’s to be expected too. He sends one off to Scott though, just to check in, just to ask how he’s doing after everything that went down. He doesn’t get a reply this time either, which doesn’t surprise him one bit.

He tosses the device aside and sighs before pulling his laptop over. “Wanna watch a movie?”

He feels more than sees Peter shrug, so Stiles goes about setting up Tangled. He wants fun and light-hearted, and if Peter doesn’t, the werewolf can deal.

Peter mostly just seems entertained though, and interested because oh yeah, coma equals six years of missed media. Amongst other things.

So they watch Rapunzel venture out into the world and beat people up with her frying pan and defy her mother and finally get her happily ever after, and it’s a nice distraction from the death and destruction here in good old Beacon Hills. After that, he goes further back and puts on Enchanted. Stiles has a soft spot for musicals, so sue him, and he refuses to be embarrassed by it even when Peter slants an amused look at him.

As it turns out, Peter doesn’t mind a bit of singing and dancing either, especially when the movie gives such a unique twist to the classic fairy tale, combining live-action and animation together. Still, he must’ve been more tired than Stiles thought because by the time everyone gets their happily ever after in this one (except the bad guy, obviously), Peter’s dozed off, still sitting but slumped against the wall behind them.

The movie ends, everything goes silent, and Stiles just sits there for a while, watching Peter sleep. Then he sighs, powers down his laptop, and sets about getting ready for bed. It takes two trips out of the fort because he forgets to line all the windows and doors in the house with the bag of mountain ash under his bed, at least for the night. He doesn’t feel like dealing with any werewolves who might swing by and break into his house just because they can. Granted, it isn’t likely. Scott’s (getting) busy with other people, Boyd and Erica have run off to god knows where, if Isaac shows up, Stiles might actually strangle him with his scarf, and he hasn’t even seen Derek since that night with the kanima and Gerard. But just in case, Stiles does it anyway. If any of them do show up, it’ll be because they’ll want him to do something for them, and helpful is about the last thing he feels like being right now.

Peter’s the exception only because the dude’s already inside, and it would be a hassle to shove him back out the window. Besides, it’s pretty clear the werewolf doesn’t want anything from him aside from a place to bunk, and even if he does, Stiles figures Peter’s allowed to at least ask, if only because he’s cooked for Stiles and even taken his pain a few times.

Although admittedly, the former was still on Stiles’ dime. But not even Peter Hale can produce money out of thin air, or he wouldn’t even be in Stiles’ house right now. He came though, to check on Stiles. Which, pathetically enough, is more than anyone else has done.

What exactly does it say about Stiles that the only one who cared enough about him to come at all is the formerly dead former psycho on a former vengeance bender?

Probably nothing good. Best not to think about it then. And the pain-drawing thing is true enough. He’s done that pretty regularly as Stiles’ injuries heal at glacial speeds.

He crawls back into the fort and starts prodding Peter into something more horizontal. Blue eyes flicker open, hazy to sharp in about 0.5 seconds, but they go drowsy again when they recognize Stiles, and Peter doesn’t do anything to stop him from piling a couple blankets on top of him.

It only takes another minute for Stiles to get comfortable himself, and another few minutes for sleep to creep up on him. He doesn’t even open his eyes when he feels the bedding shift and the warm line of a body press against his own.

The rest of the week goes about the same. Peter camps out in Stiles’ bedroom, cooks him meals, and spends the hours between nine and three probably apartment hunting and doing other hopefully not too illegal things. Stiles goes to school, sits through his classes, and doesn’t bother eating in the cafeteria anymore because it makes him feel like he’s trying too hard to get Scott’s attention, and that’s just pathetic. Downside, he hasn’t been this alone at school since junior high when Scott transferred in and Jackson stole his inhaler so Stiles tripped him down the stairs. But on the other hand, every other hour that he isn’t in school means he’s with Peter, and Peter… somehow, Peter makes it very hard to feel lonely, even if they’re not doing anything except sitting side by side and working on their own thing.

By the weekend, Peter’s found a place, a small apartment building on the corner of Wisteria and Clove, near the edge of town. The paint is faded, the floorboards creak, but the place seems sturdy enough, if a bit shabby and actually not at all what Stiles would picture Peter choosing to live in. It isn’t smack in the middle of downtown either so there doesn’t seem to be many tenants. Still, even though Peter’s the one who suggests giving Stiles the grand thirty-second tour of the single bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room and attached kitchenette in the first place, a defiant, defensive slant remains in his shoulders the entire time, and he watches Stiles like he thinks Stiles might laugh at him or something.

The mighty ex-Alpha brought low. Stiles wonders if Derek would taunt him about it. He’d like to think no, ’cause that’s just kicking someone when they’re already down, and… yeah okay, Stiles is exactly the type to do that if the person is high enough on his shit list, but he’d never do it to his dad no matter how… absent the man is from his life or how much he drinks, or even his mom, no matter how many times she hit him, or even Scott, even though Stiles doesn’t know where they stand these days. And he won’t do it to Peter.

Peter’s family to Derek though, no matter how much history there is between them, and yet Peter seems used to expecting the worst from those around him.

Of course, then Stiles remembers Derek ripping Peter’s throat out without a beat of hesitation just a month ago, remembers him leaving his crippled uncle behind all those years ago, remembers each and every one of his own interactions with Derek and how Derek’s go-to methods were always to threaten or insult or use violence to get Stiles to do what he wanted or even just to tear him down for whatever reason. He even remembers the tiny smirk on Derek’s face as he stood by and watched Erica mock Stiles like he thought it was funny.

Right. Never mind. Christ. No wonder Peter killed Laura. Leaving him to rot was enough of a crime.

Stiles’ absolute favourite part of the tour is the collection of furniture Peter’s amassed. There isn’t much, and it’s not overly expensive stuff, but what the werewolf has somehow managed to get his hands on are new and elegant and moveable, and if he turns all of it over and throws a couple sheets over it, the resulting fort would be almost as spacious as the sitting room.

“I love it,” He announces before he can stop himself, already eyeing the furniture greedily.

Peter blinks, follows Stiles’ line of sight, and then his shoulders finally relax, as if Stiles has passed some sort of test. He even huffs a laugh and overall looks pretty happy for someone whose guest is more excited about building furniture forts in their home than complimenting the decor. Then again, Stiles is sort of doing that.

“I thought you might,” Peter smirks. “Feel free to do some… rearranging anytime you want.”

Stiles gapes at him a bit because he didn’t actually think Peter would- “Wait, you’re gonna let me build-”

He cuts himself and flushes a bit. Saying furniture forts out loud makes him sound a lot more childish than he’d like.

But Peter just shrugs. “You’re welcome to it. It isn’t as if I need to sit down to watch the evening news, Stiles. I don’t even have a TV, and I’m not planning on getting one.”

“…Oh.” Stiles pauses, uncertain of what else to say. Thanking the man for something like this just feels plain awkward.

“On one condition of course,” Peter continues, all smug cheer again. “I get free entry and sleeping space in there.”

Stiles sort of just stares, because for an adult, Peter is so weird. Only his mom ever called Stiles creative when he upended the house’s furniture, and she was sort of obligated to, being Mom and all. Dad always called it a mess, exasperatedly amused at first, then just… long-suffering at times, annoyed at others, and forever confused over why his son never seemed to grow out of this phase even as he got older.

“…Well,” Stiles flaps his hand in the vague direction of everywhere. “It is your place. So yeah. But don’t you want to sleep on a bed?”

“I don’t have a bed,” Peter points out, because yeah, Stiles did notice that, but he just thought Peter hadn’t gotten around to buying that yet. But the werewolf only glances thoughtfully at the sitting room. “And I don’t think I’ll buy one. Who needs a bed anyway when I have my own personal professional fort designer?”

Stiles’ ears go pink. Peter grins but it lacks bite despite the teasing. Stiles rolls his eyes at him.

“I’ll bring my spare blankets over then,” He offers. So you won’t have to buy any, he doesn’t say. He thinks about the text he got today from Jenna. “Dad’s case is wrapping up and he’ll be returning sometime late tomorrow anyway so I have to clean the house before he gets back. Actually, we can do it now. I mean I guess it’ll look kinda weird since neither of us has a working vehicle but we can just stuff them in bags and carry them over here. You’re a werewolf anyway so it’s not like it’ll be too heavy for you.”

Peter arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to say something sarcastic. But he restrains himself and just nods. “We can straighten up your house first.”

Stiles blinks at that, startled, but Peter’s already heading for the door. He hurries after the werewolf, tripping over the doorstep and almost doing a faceplant before Peter catches him by his good shoulder and hauls him back up without missing a beat.

He didn’t actually mean for Peter to help him with the cleaning, but he can’t complain either. It’s always just been his job though, household chores, for almost as long as he can remember. Nobody’s ever given him a hand before, even in the early days when he was messing up the laundry and burning the food and his fingers. It’s weird that Peter’s willing to help. Peter is just… weird. So weird.

He gives himself a hard mental shake and shunts it all aside. Whatever. Four hands make faster work than two anyway.

Peter stays one more night at the Stilinski home, and they end up hauling the blankets over to the man’s new apartment in the morning instead, and then Stiles just goes to town on pushing furniture together with all the glee of a five-year-old on a sugar high. Peter sits at the kitchen counter, half his attention on whatever he’s doing on his laptop, the other half on Stiles, a fond quirk playing at his lips that Stiles pointedly does not look too deeply into.

Noon comes around, and Peter cooks them lunch. Then they both hole up in the fort with part of the blanket-ceiling pulled back to let the sunlight and breeze filter in through the open window.

It’s four in the afternoon before Stiles finally gets up to leave. Peter sees him to the door, expression indecipherable, but he reaches out to cup a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck for a last pain extraction before they say their goodbyes. Stiles wants to ask when (if?) he can come back, and when would be a good time, but in the end, the words get stuck in his throat, and he scarpers without voicing his questions.

He’s back in his bedroom and shucking his sweater before he realizes there’s an extra key on his keyring.

He’s still smiling when his dad walks in through the door.

#IITT'SS ALIIIVVEEE #the fort fic #Teen Wolf #Steter #cywscross #Fanfiction #Stiles Stilinski #Peter Hale

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setaripendragon · 7 years

Text

Like Fire and Water - Part 3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 Sokka is a mad genius, and I love him. This part was just so much fun to write. It was really good to finally write some real bonding between the two halves of this family. It probably says something that I feel Sokka is the most well-adjusted of the gaang (besides Suki, who is so well-adjusted it’s almost unreal), but I try not to think about it too much ^^”

“Are you sure this is the place?” Sokka asked, squinting at the ragged old apartment building. It was sturdier than some of its neighbours, made of stone rather than wood, but it still looked as though it had seen better days.

“If this place is the address I gave you, then yeah.” Toph replied caustically.

Sokka winced. “Right, right, sorry.” He muttered. “It just doesn’t seem like the sort of place Dad would stay. I mean, he has his cabin on the ship. Oh, but I guess it’s more his… wife’s? Place?” Sokka trailed off, bewilderment stealing his voice.

It was just… strange for there to be a member of their family that he didn’t know. The only thing he knew about her was that she was Earth Kingdom, and called Xia, which Toph had told him on the way out to the lower ring. It was uncomfortable, and Sokka really wanted to meet her and get the awkward ‘welcome to the family, stranger’ stage out of the way. At the same time, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to meet her. He’d told Katara it wasn’t fair of her to blame Xia or Dad, and he held to that, but he also felt a bit of discomfort at the idea of some new woman taking Mum’s role in their family.

“If you say so? Usually women don’t own property in the Earth Kingdom.” Toph told him.

Sokka squinted at her. “You mean… Men run the house?” He asked, trying not to be judgemental. After all, if Kyoshi Island could train its women to fight, then it was entirely possible that their men took care of the house.

“Run it? No. That’s the wife’s job. Own it? Absolutely.”

“…There’s… a difference?” Sokka asked.

“Yes. Why’re you stalling?” Toph demanded.

“I’m not-!” Sokka began, and then stopped at the look Toph was giving him. It was unfair that she could do that, given that she couldn’t actually see him at all. “Okay, fine. I’m just… a little weirded out by all of this.”

“Does the Water Tribe not remarry?” Toph asked, scrunching up her face.

“No, we do. It’s just… not without the rest of the Tribe knowing who your new partner is and what they’re like and approving of them?” Sokka tried to explain. He didn’t feel like he was doing a very good job. “Ah, never mind. Come on.” He forced himself to step into the building, and climb the stairs to the right floor. He glanced up and down the corridor, trying to orient himself.

Toph tugged on his sleeve, pointing down the hall. “They’re on the left down that way.” She said. “There’s someone else in there, too, though. He seems familiar, but I can’t remember where from.”

“How…?” Sokka wondered, faintly awed.

Toph rolled her sightless eyes. “Earth-bending, Snoozles.” She told him scornfully. “I could tell you how many people are in this building right now. The next room over isn’t exactly stretching my abilities any.” She huffed, blowing her fringe away from her eyes, then stomped down the corridor to the door on the left, then stopped, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

Grinning to himself, and shaking his head at the melodrama, Sokka followed, and turned to regard the door. From beyond it, he could just vaguely hear the sound of voices. A woman’s voice, he thought. With the sound of Toph’s foot still tapping away behind him, though, Sokka only gave himself two seconds to brace himself and gather his nerve. Then he knocked.

“I’ll get it, love.” His father’s voice said, only discernible because it was so very familiar.

The door opened, and there was Dad. He looked just like Sokka remembered, from that painful day two years ago when he left. A little older, maybe, or just more weather-beaten, and Sokka could count a couple of new scars on his bare arms. His face broke into a delighted smile when he saw Sokka, and Sokka was helpless to do anything but smile back. “Hi, Dad.” Sokka managed.

“Sokka. I wondered if you’d come today, or…” Hakoda said, then pulled Sokka into a hug without finishing his sentence or waiting for a response.

From inside the apartment, someone who was obviously not Dad’s new wife made a strangled sound of… aggravation? Anger? Alarm? Sokka wasn’t entirely sure, but it was enough to make him look past his dad’s shoulder.

The apartment was nice, it had touches of home to it that made Sokka want to smile, and the pretty woman at the low table had to be this Xia person, but his attention was caught, and held, by the angry, scarred jerk-bender on his feet next to the table, not quite in a fire-bending stance, but still balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to attack.

“You!” Sokka yelped, twisting out of his father’s hold to grab for boomerang.

“Sokka, what-?” Hakoda began.

“Zuko…!” Xia called, reaching out with a calming hand.

“Oh, that’s why he seemed familiar!” Toph announced, thumping a fist down onto her palm in realisation. “I didn’t recognise you when you weren’t angry. Hey, is Uncle here with you?” She asked, sounding almost eager.

“I- No, he’s coming later- Never mind! What are you doing here?!” Zuko demanded.

“I came to see my dad! What are you doing here?!” Sokka demanded right back.

Zuko went about three shades paler. “Your-” He began, then looked between Hakoda and Sokka rapidly, eyes slowly widening as the realisation sank in. Then he slapped a hand to his face. “Not peasants,” he muttered to himself, “children of the Chief. I’m so stupid.”

Sokka snorted his agreement, which earned him a poisonous golden-eyed glare. He shrugged it off, because as long as Sparky wasn’t throwing fire, he didn’t actually feel all that threatened by him. “I guess you two know each other, then?” Hakoda asked warily, while gesturing for Sokka and Toph to come in.

Still on edge, Sokka did step inside, although he made sure never to get too close to Zuko, or to take his eyes off him. Zuko was gracing him with the same wary regard, although a lot of the hostility had bled out of him for reasons Sokka couldn’t figure out. “Know each other? You could say that. If getting chased across the entire world by this fire-bending maniac counts as ‘knowing each other’, then sure. We know each other.”

“Chasing them across the world?” Xia asked, raising an eyebrow at Zuko. It was an oddly chiding expression, and Sokka shook off the ridiculous idea that she might be- No, she was Earth Kingdom.

Zuko looked away from Sokka finally, his expression reading as nothing more or less than abashed. “I told you. Father ordered me to capture the Avatar.” He stated defensively. Sokka swallowed hard because that reaction made him think that his first thought had been right, and… Oh, hell. Looking at Xia again, he could see the resemblance. Not so much to Zuko, although it was there in the shape of his eyes and nose, but to Crazy Blue Fire. If you aged her up a bit, and took away the sneer that had been on her face the last time Sokka had seen her, then… yeah.

Xia – if that even was her real name – closed her eyes like she was praying for patience. “And Hakoda’s children are travelling with the Avatar. Oh, dear.” She murmured. She shot a look over at Hakoda; a helpless sort of ‘what do we do now?’ sort of look.

Hakoda slid the door shut behind Toph, and walked around her and Sokka to sit down at the table opposite… his Fire Nation wife. Sokka wished his could pick his jaw up off the floor to ask questions about that, or maybe just shriek incoherently for a while, but he was too busy trying to process to remember how to make his jaw muscles work. “I don’t suppose everyone would be willing to talk this out like reasonable people?” Hakoda wondered dryly, giving Sokka and Zuko a look that was caught somewhere between Dad and Chief. Sokka knew that look all too well, but apparently Zuko didn’t, because he actually leaned back a little, regarding Hakoda with wary nervousness.

“I-” Sokka began, his voice coming out far too high for his own comfort. “Wait, rewind. You married the Fire Lord’s wife?!” Sokka demanded, still too high, but at least it was more coherent. He paused, and thought about that. “Ex-wife?” He corrected, dubiously, casting a look across at… whatever her name really was. “Is your name really Xia?” He added.

“No, my name is Ursa.” She replied. Sokka nodded, then looked back to his dad, waiting for an answer to his first question.

Hakoda shrugged. “Seems so.” He replied, as if it didn’t matter at all.

Sokka gaped at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “Right.” He murmured in disbelief. Then, resigned, he trooped over and sat down between Hakoda and Ursa at the table. Toph, following his lead without much concern, flopped down a little behind him and to his right, sprawling out inelegantly as if she intended to take a nap. “Okay. I’m willing to talk about this, I guess, but Katara is going to flip her shit when she finds out. Just so you know.” He told his dad.

“More than she has already?” Hakoda asked wearily, and for a moment, Sokka could see acute pain and grief on his dad’s face. It was an expression he was too familiar with seeing on his dad, and he grimaced in sympathy.

“Uh, yeah.” He admitted reluctantly, scratching at the back of his head. “You marrying again is bad enough – she’s just not ready to move on yet – but… you marrying a Fire Nation lady? When the Fire Nation killed Mum?”

“Would it help if she knew that I killed the previous Fire Lord?” Ursa asked, with the sort of dry chill Sokka had heard a few times from the people in Chief Arnook’s court, and more often from the nobles here in Ba Sing Se. It was cold, but still perfectly polite, and it could hide any number of unpleasant things. And it made Zuko wince. Or maybe it was the fact that his mum had just admitted to killing his grandfather. That had to be awkward.

“You… did?” Sokka asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” Ursa replied simply.

“Uh… why?” Sokka pressed, because from anyone else, the answer would have been obvious. He was the Fire Lord, the biggest douchebag in the world. But this was the man’s daughter-in-law. Sokka had to wonder if Gran-Gran was in any danger.

To his surprise, it wasn’t Ursa that answered, but Zuko. “To protect me.” He said, finally sitting back down and staring at the table, not meeting anyone’s eyes. When Sokka glanced at Ursa to check if that was true, she nodded once, solemn and completely without remorse. Which was kind of a point in her favour, from Sokka’s perspective, although it still seemed slightly creepy.

“Then, uh… yeah, maybe? If you could get her to listen long enough to tell her.” Sokka mused, going back to Ursa’s original question. Zuko snorted in disbelief. Ursa give him a chiding look, but Sokka, reluctantly, had to agree with the moody bastard. “No, he’s right. It is Katara.” Sokka muttered. Zuko’s head jerked up to stare at him, and there was a moment of highly uncomfortable camaraderie between them. Sokka really wished it would stop.

“We’ll worry about Katara later.” Hakoda decided, leaning his forearms on the table, and glancing between Sokka and Zuko with a faintly pleased expression. “We’ll start by seeing if we can’t sort things out between you two, first. Yeah?” He prompted.

“Yeah.” Sokka agreed.

Zuko shrugged uncomfortably, then sighed. “I only wanted to capture the Avatar so that I could go home.” He stated, oddly fierce. Then he glanced over at his mother, and something conflicted passed over his face. “Now… I don’t-… But…” He clamped his mouth shut and dragged a hand over his face. After a long moment, he tried again. “I still have a duty to my people, whether or not I still want to go back.” He stated firmly, then looked up and met Hakoda’s gaze challengingly.

Hakoda nodded acceptingly, which made Sokka want to gape and protest. But he reeled himself in just in time, remembering that this wasn’t Water Tribe versus Fire Nation. This was… a tribal dispute, being mediated by the Chief. “Will going back help your people?” He asked, doing his best to keep any judgement out of his voice.

Zuko glared at him. “You want Azula as my father’s heir?” He asked darkly.

Sokka blinked, then winced. “Oh. Oh, wow. Okay, bad thought, bad thought.”

“Exactly.” Zuko drawled.

“Only…” Sokka began, mind racing. “Does what your dad wants even matter, if we’re going to kick his ass anyway?” He wondered. “I mean, it’s not like Aang’s going to stop him and then go ‘oh, yes, let’s put his psychopathic lightning-flinging mini-me on the throne, that’s a great idea’, you know?” He paused, and realised who he was talking to. “Er… sorry?”

Ursa looked very sad and very tired. “Is she truly that bad?” She asked

“She tried to kill Uncle.” Zuko said quietly. Ursa winced.

Hakoda reached across the table and caught her hands in his. She looked at him, her expression hard to read. Hakoda seemed to understand though, because his smile was soft and full of compassion. “Not your fault, love.” He said quietly, full of sincerity.

Ursa swallowed. “I left her there, with that monster.” She glanced over at Zuko, and her smile twisted into something that was equal parts proud and sorrowful. “I knew you’d be strong enough to stay yourself, no matter what Ozai did to you, but… Azula’s always been… such a fragile soul. I should have taken you both with me, but…”

“Father wouldn’t have let you.” Zuko said, voice hoarse.

Ursa grimaced and looked down.

Sokka was just trying to put Azula and fragile together in a way that made any sense at all. It wasn’t working all that well. “So, ignoring that horrific little piece of family drama,” he began, and ignored the stink-eye Zuko favoured him with, “what you’re telling me is that you don’t want your dad fucking over the world any more than we do.” He concluded.

“My father-” Zuko began heatedly, and then stopped.

Sokka watched him, wondering at the conflict he could see chasing itself over Zuko’s face. He clearly still wanted to defend his father, which Sokka could kind of understand in an abstract sense, as long as he was thinking of Zuko’s father and not Fire Lord Ozai. But he wasn’t doing, and that was a pretty big change from the persistent and persistently angry Prince Jerk-bender that had chased them across the world.

A thought – a horrible, terrible, kind of awesome thought – occurred to Sokka, and he jolted upright where he sat, staring at Zuko, because Zuko was a fire-bender. Zuko stared back, eyes narrowed and wary, and Sokka almost blurted out his terrible idea right then. He thought better of it at the last moment, and clamped his mouth shut. Zuko might not be instinctively defending his father anymore, but there was a world of difference between that and being willing to admit the crazy asshole needed to be stopped. And an even bigger difference between that and being willing to help stop him.

“Oh, no. I recognise that face.” Ursa murmured. “What crazy scheme did you just come up with, then?” She asked, long-suffering and fond.

Sokka glanced at his dad, who grimaced with playful sheepishness, then at Ursa, who raised an eyebrow with a very mum-like stern patience. It hurt, because she wasn’t his mum, but at the same time, something came loose in his chest, flooding him with a sense of relief and tentative hope. He had a mum again, and that… that was good. He smiled at her, a little rueful and a little hopeful, and cleared his throat. “Not a crazy scheme.” He lied. Ursa seemed a little too taken aback by whatever she’d read off his face a moment ago to call him on it, so he pressed on. “Just… wondering…” He said slowly, turning a wary stare on Zuko.

“What?” Zuko snapped, bristling.

“Well… it sounds to me like you… kind of need to figure a load of stuff out, right?” Sokka checked. Slowly, Zuko nodded. “Okay, so… while you’re doing that, can we agree to a ceasefire? Like, you don’t chase us, we won’t tie you up and hang you upside down from a tree. And if you do decide you really do need to capture Aang for your people or whatever, you’ll tell us first?”

For a long moment, no one said anything. Then, Zuko nodded once, sharp and almost angry. “I can do that.” He confirmed.

“Awesome!” Sokka cheered, pumping his fist in the air. “Welcome to the family, brother!” He announced dramatically, just for the way Zuko recoiled and stared at him as though he’d grown an extra head and started speaking lemur.

Hakoda put a hand on Sokka’s shoulder, the other hand falling on Zuko’s. Sokka only looked over at his dad, grinning, but he could see the way Zuko tensed up, like he was expecting an attack. It made his grin maybe just a little less bright than it could have been, and the look on his dad’s face sobered him up further. Not because Hakoda looked unhappy, but because there was such fierce pride and gratitude in his eyes that it made Sokka feel simultaneously a hundred feet tall, and too small to be worthy.

“Thank you.” Hakoda said, simple and honest, looking between Sokka and Zuko to make sure they knew it was directed at both of them. “I’m proud of you both.”

Sokka smiled, bashful and proud all at once, but Zuko’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What? Why?” He asked.

Hakoda’s brow furrowed a little bit, but he answered Zuko plainly anyway. “Because you both took the time to try and understand each other, to listen, and accept each other’s limits. Because Sokka,” Hakoda glanced at him and smiled his acknowledgement, “had the compassion to know better than to ask for more than you could give. And because you had the honour to agree to give them due warning if it turns out your differences are too great.”

Sokka didn’t think his dad had said anything all that remarkable, even if he was feeling stupidly warm and fuzzy because of it, but Zuko… Sokka had to swallow, because the look on his face made him look ridiculously young. Vulnerable. That was the word. He looked vulnerable. And that made Sokka feel really uncomfortable.

Hakoda sighed softly, and gave Zuko’s shoulder a small squeeze. “I know that I’m… not your father, Zuko, but… I think any man ought to be proud to have a son like you.” Sokka could hear what his dad wasn’t saying, and it made something small and jealous twist in his gut. He clamped down on it at once, knowing that was just as unfair to blame Zuko as it was to blame Dad. And besides, he thought with a glance across the table at Ursa, if he was getting to share Zuko’s mum, then sharing his own dad with Zuko was a pretty good bargain all round, really.

“I-…” Zuko began, and his voice shook faintly. He stopped, blinked rapidly, then tried again. “Thank you.” He said it quietly, but it was still clearly audible. Hakoda gave his shoulder another squeeze, then leaned back.

The emotional moment stretched out, turning sour with awkwardness the longer the silence drew on. Sokka opened his mouth to say something witty and inappropriate, when Toph beat him to the punch. “So… who gets to tell Crazy Blue Fire that she’s been trying to kill her step-siblings?” She asked from where she was still lounging behind Sokka.

Everyone at the table just stared at each other, no one quite willing to move while that question settled in each of their minds. Then Sokka gasped with delight, because he had so many ideas. “Dibs!”

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Ursa #Hakoda #Ursakoda #Sokka #Zuko #Toph #'welcome to the family brother!'#getting to know each other #Hakoda is an awesome dad #peacekeeper #and chief #mediating disputes #talking out problems #this is how you solve shit

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