#source of the last two lines: my aunt and uncle

[contentloadingandstuff]

Discovering Your Past - Eula & Keqing x Male!Reader

In which they find out you were abused by your ex.

CW: Mentions of past trauma - physical abuse and SA. Modern AU. A/N: My fics are getting longer recently. I wonder if you guys mind?

Injuries are a natural part of life. 

A scraped knee, a concussion, a sprained or broken limb - all creatures will have to endure these hardships one way or another. And, as the saying goes, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Each wound leaves a scar, each fight or accident is a lesson for the future on what to do or avoid. 

What about those on the other end? Most feel regret about hurting others, are forced to do it or are convinced of their actions' justified nature. Yet among those are some starkly different cases. People who enjoy causing pain, be it physical or mental. And, undoubtedly, she was one of them. 

Fate had it that your heart longed for her. She was a beauty, benign and friendly, whose charms worked on you without fail. She pushed, she pulled, slowly dragging you into her web. Your mind was too clouded with feelings to notice just how badly she trapped you. Like a spider she wrapped you in silky touches and words of affection like in a cocoon, and you were completely oblivious to your situation. And that she was - an apex predator, an effortless liar and natural manipulator. She stoked the flames of family conflicts, estranging you from your loved ones. Friends? She gave you a simple choice - it's me or them. You were coaxed into signing off your house under her name, as she encouraged you to do with many of your belongings, until you had nothing. Time and time again she pulled your strings through your heart, backing you into a corner. Alone. Unable to escape. Without anyone to turn to, anywhere to get away. 

When your eyes opened at last, nobody was there to hear you scream. 

Years. It took you two whole years to escape her clutches, two years of cruelty hidden behind a veil of love. With only the clothes on your back and some Mora in your pocket, you set off to another nation. There, you found a new home, and a new love. Sweet, caring and warm. 

But wounds of the past cannot be hidden forever. 

You push the door behind you, closing it with an accidently loud thud. Eula kicks off her high heels and enters the hall, placing down her bag and taking her jacket off. You put yours on the hanger and move to take hers, but she sends you a sharp look and walks past you, doing it herself. 

The silence is tense. You know what you did. 

“Honey, listen. I know I shouldn't have started that discussion-” You try to speak, but she turns around and cuts you off. 

“Yes, you shouldn't have.” 

Her eyes send daggers towards you. Your heart aches at the sight of your lover so full of anger, all because of you. Her family wasn't easy to interact with. Her choice of career made her the pariah of the line, but after she married you, the relations seemingly normalized enough to make them liveable. Seemingly. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have. I mustn't do that ever again. I promise I won't.” You raise your open hands, as if showing you're unarmed. What was supposed to calm her down just irritates her. 

She scoffs and approaches you. “I say you are an intelligent man, but times like these are when I doubt it. What's so hard to understand in ‘my family isn't normal and the less you interact with them the better’?”

She's right. Eula has told you time and time again that the opinions her father, mother, grandparents, uncles and aunts hold are final. Nothing will change them, they won't ever back down. They are egomaniacal with a tendency to bring those around them down to elevate themselves. And yet, there's something drawing you to them, something natural that tells you that they can be a source of warmth. 

Because that's how things are supposed to be. A family should love each other, be united and supportive instead of polarized and hateful. Something in your soul doesn't seem to understand that you can't find any support in her side of the family. 

“I know, Eula. I try to-”

“Then your ‘trying’ is not enough!” Her voice elevates further. There is something building in your chest. The pressure crawls from your heart up through your throat, rotting itself inside your neck. A choking feeling. 

“Y/N, you shouldn't talk to them! Never, ever. You know how it ends, don't you? They bring you down, they hurt and belittle you. And you know that, don't you?” 

Her eyes are narrowed. She speaks louder now, her words coming from a place of compassion and love rather than hostility. Your mind, however, is focused on something else. 

Something familiar. 

Her tone picks up, and so does your heartbeat. She's almost screaming now. 

“Sorry, dear, but are you masochistic? Or just stupid?! I will have vengeance!”

Your hyper focused eyes spot movement. Her hand goes upwards, your chest sinking. Body stiffening, you turn your head down and sideways, exposing your cheek. 

Just as she taught you. 

Fighting back was pointless. 

You deserve it. 

You hold your breath. 

Silence. 

The blow doesn't connect. You hear the sounds of a barefoot step. You crack your eyes open. You see Eula has taken a step back, her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. She blinks a few times and pulls her hand back towards her body. 

“Not t-that kind of vengeance.” Eula barely mumbles the words out in pure confusion. She shakes her head in disbelief, her gaze leaving you and dropping to the floor. “Never. I w-would never-”

You spring back to life, as if a grave threat or danger just vanished. 

“No no no, it's alright, honey. I just got a little scared of you, haha. It's fine, really!” You smile sheepishly, shame crawling under your skin. On reflex or out of habit, you rub your cheek. “Maybe I really am stupid, for being scared and all, you know?”

She takes a slow step closer. Her voice is far quieter than mere seconds ago, now down from a scream to a whisper.

 “No. Don't call yourself that. My… My emotions got the better of me, honey. I’m sorry.” Eula’s voice composes, worry furrowing her brow as she stretches out her arm towards you, this time taking care to do it slowly. “May I…?”

You smile and nod, letting the palm of her hand connect to your cheek. Her touch is gentle, fingers tracing your skin with utmost care. 

Your skin is so soft, so smooth, familiar. Her heart clenches, her mind holding no doubt about your reaction. You are not someone easily scared, nor are you particularly fearful of harm. Something, somebody…

“Who was it?” Her hand trails down smoothly, coming to rest on your shoulder. “Who hurt you?”

You shake your head. “What? What do you mean? Nobody, I’m fine-”

“I said…” She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “... who hurt you?” 

At an instant, the thoughts in your mind already form into a rebuttal, a measly attempt to cover the truth. But you know better than that. Eula isn't that stupid. 

You sigh, trying to figure out what to say. Seeing your hesitation, she places both of her arms on your shoulders, her eyes focusing on yours. Within her beautiful irises fading from deep purple to light yellow you find a steadiness worthy of a captain, but also a lover. 

“You don't have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable, honey.” She speaks softly, stroking your skin in calming circles. “I just need to know if justice has been served, or some additional, very particular and very severe vengeance needs to be added to my to-do list.”

“My ex-girlfriend is… She’s no longer a threat, alright?” You close the distance between you and Eula and embrace her. Your lover secures her arms around you right away, providing you with just the comfort you seek. “I just don’t want to go back to those days. They’re over and I just want to focus on you… On somebody that actually loves me. Somebody that doesn’t scream at me for no reason, belittles and insults me, and…”

Your voice trails off. Images and sensations rush through your memory. Every insult, every impact weighs on your voice, trapping it beneath the torrent of nightmarish memories. Eua squeezes you tighter. 

“Shh. Don’t think about it now, sweetie. You're here, safe in my arms. I promise to be your shield. However…”

Eula's characteristic pout forms on her face. 

“For not telling me about this, I will have vengeance.”

“That was a little shameful for me-” She cuts you off. 

“Silence. My retribution is nigh. For your transgression, I shall cuddle you and feed you ice cream while subjecting you to the terror of your favorite movie.” She narrows her eyes theatrically before gently, but firmly grabbing a hold of your wrist. “You cannot escape now.”

You smile in horror. 

The screen flashes with a jump scare as a curtain is moved aside. A disfigured monstrosity covered in black goo and rags opens its jaw to reveal a set of sharp, but surprisingly pristine teeth.

“Brains!” Its voice is clearly augmented in some way, deep and a little echoing. 

The punk screams at this sight but before he can do anything, the zombie grabs his head with its skeletal hands and bites down. The rest of the group squeals. The man's head is cracked open like an egg, filling the undead's mouth with fake blood and flesh-like props. 

“Oh my…” Keqing can't help but gasp a little, her arms tightening around your chest slightly. “That's a lot of jaw force…”

As the zombie digs into the man's brain, a joke comes to your mind. 

“He's not going to extract a lot of brain from him, is he?” 

In response, Keqing chuckles a little. “Yeah. But at least he is also quite brave. If not for him, that girl would have been the meal instead.”

“True, true.”

The movie continues. The female lead escapes the locker she was trapped in moments ago as her friend is being devoured. Another character throws an empty bucket of paint at the creature, making it fall back, before raising up and exclaiming joyously: 

“More brains!”

The kids scream and run away. Keqing, as much as she finds the movie interesting, can't help but recall one scene in particular. 

A smirk settles on her delicate features. “So… How's the movie? Do you like it?”

You nod vigorously. “Of course! It's a classic that I wanted to watch for a long time now, but never got around to that. And I can confidently say that I regret not watching it earlier. It's a lot of fun.”

Keqing hums in understanding. Her fingers, one of them brandishing a beautiful and intricate golden ring, slowly move up onto your leg. 

“Did you enjoy any scene in particular, honey?” Your eyes follow her hand as it moves up, each finger making a slow, deliberate step. 

Just a glance at her slight blush and sly smirk is enough to make you catch on, making your cheeks heat up as well. You gulp. 

“Well…” You start, but Keqing places a finger on your lips, silencing you. 

“Aw, sweetie~ I know full well how you were eyeing that girl. Your thoughts were betrayed by much more than just your stare.”

Her hands move up, sliding underneath your shirt and caressing your exposed chest. You feel her desire through her movements, careful, seductive, yet impatient at the same time. A little shiver of excitement crawls through your body. 

“Honestly, Y/N, I can't blame you. That redhead was quite a beauty, after all. ”

Her hands clench over your body as she rolls to sit on your lap, her eyes, twinkling with desire, pointed right at you. Keqing sends you a wink. Your hands settle on her buttocks. 

“But you see, my dear, you got me just a little too jealous to resist showing this handsome guy which girl his attention should be on~” Her hands shift to meet yours, fingers wrapping around your wrists. “So relax and let me have the spotlight~”

Your eyes widen as she hoists your arms off her and pins them to the wall above your head. You try to struggle away, but her grip is iron thanks to the additional strength provided by her Vision. An attempt to release your body from underneath hers fails as well. You're nervous - this never happened before. 

“Keqing, you're-” You start to say, but are interrupted by her right hand locking onto your throat. 

Your hands clench, eyes growing wide. You choke, any words of protest dying in your restricted windpipe. You look at Keqing, who smiles mischievously, completely oblivious to your discomfort. 

“What did I say? Bad boy!” She uses her other hand to pry yours off her choking arm. You relent, shocked and increasingly scared at her sudden roughness. “Now stay still, or you'll regret it~”

Tears form in your eyes as she leans and begins kissing and licking your cheek, adding small bites here and there. You close your eyes, not wanting to see what happens next. The feeling of her genuine affection recalls different images in your mind. The past and the present melt into one in your mind. 

As you lay helpless, Keqing continues loving you until her tongue hits an unusual note of salt on your skin. She pulls back and, upon seeing you crying, lets go of you right away. Her hands go to cover her mouth in an expression of pure horror. 

“I’m sorry! I’m… Oh Gods, I didn't mean to-!” 

You squirm away and, in response, Keqing jumps off of you. She reaches towards you, but ultimately stops herself. Shame, guilt and sadness light up her face, hidden behind her small hands. 

You wipe your eyes with your sleeve. By now your senses have returned. Her reaction brought you back at an instant. You get up and approach her. 

“Keqing, I'm sorry, nothing-” 

You're interrupted as she dashes past you. You can only call out to her as she runs to the bathroom and slams the door behind her. The sound of a lock turning halts your movements. 

You sigh and drop back down on the couch. The movie is still playing. Your ears pick up the sounds of soft sobbing from behind the bathroom doors. The heart tells you to get up, to talk to her, to knock down the door if need be, but the brain speaks with reason. She needs time, and you know it. It's better to let her calm down on her own. If you were to approach her now, she likely wouldn't speak to you, let alone open the door. 

Tears return to the corners of your eyes. Your heart aches at the sound of her pain. You can tell what she's thinking. That she's awful, dangerous, creepy, abusive. That it's all her fault. 

But the truth? She's not the problem. You are. 

The TV's noise irritates you. You turn it off and throw the remote across the room. Your head falls into your hands. 

How could you have done this to her? 

Why can't you just let go? 

Why are you so weak? 

A shaky sentence manages to make its way out of your lips. 

“It's all my fault.”

—

Deafening silence was all that filled the following hour when her crying died down. You went through every possibility of what would happen when the bathroom door would open. You planned what to tell her and how, you anticipated all of her possible reactions. You knew you couldn't fail again. You couldn't leave her in the dark and risk another incident like this. 

She shouldn't suffer because of me, you thought. It was your obligation to be transparent with your wife. Not like you weren't dying to apologize, to comfort her, to let her know it isn't her fault. But you were patient. 

When the door finally opened, Keqing looked abysmal. Her make-up was completely gone, first made running with tears, then washed away along with them. Her hair was a mess, not a trace of her usual prim and proper style left. Her eyes were red and barely open. 

You spoke gently. You hugged her, asking for a chance to explain yourself. She nodded wordlessly and you sat with her by the table. There, you told her everything. You told Keqing about your previous partner and about exactly what you suffered at her hands. Your wife was very quiet, but still nodded every now and then. From the shakiness of her voice when she spoke the few words in your conversation, you could tell she was stopping herself from bursting into tears again. Nonetheless, you continued until the story was told. 

“As such, Keqing, my wife, my love, the sun to my moon, none of what happened is your fault.” You continue, following the script you prepared in your mind. “It was my weakness and my inability to move on that caused all of this in the first place. For that, I’m… sorry. I truly am.”

She nods. Her eyes are focused on her hands, fingers fiddling with each other. Keqing slowly lifts her eyes to meet yours. You spot tears gathering on her features. 

“Why… I don't understand…” She starts, but upon realizing her instability, she sniffles and swallows the sadness weighing on her chest. “Why would you ever say that you're weak?” 

You sigh. “I should have moved on by now, but instead, I kept it with myself and now it hurt you as well. It is my pain and thus my responsibility to handle it.”

“No, n-no that's… How… How could someone such as you be weak?” She shakes her head. “You survived so much. So much pain, so much fear, so much hurt… And yet here you are, Y/N. Not only trusting another woman, a woman whom you not only married, but also allowed into your bed. I can't imagine myself doing something like that so quickly. You've moved on, honey. You regained the strength to trust and to love again. How can this be called anything but strong?”

You open your mouth to challenge her on this, but she acts first. 

Keqing breaches the gap between you and falls into your arms. Her body wraps around yours, holding onto you tightly. One of her hands travels to your cheek. 

“Y/N, you're strong. For having endured it, for having moved on, trusted again.” 

You drop your gaze. Perhaps she is right. Keqing gently lifts your cheek to direct your attention back at her. She smiles, her tearful eyes shining with boundless affection. 

“You're the strongest man I've ever known.”

Thanks for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #angst #genshin hurt/comfort #genshin impact hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #genshin impact eula #genshin impact eula lawrence #eula lawrence #eula #genshin eula #eula x reader #eula x male reader #eula x you #eula x y/n #eula angst #eula hurt/comfort #genshin impact keqing #genshin keqing #keqing #keqing x reader #keqing x male reader #keqing x you #keqing x y/n

[thechanelmuse]

How genealogy is used to track Black family histories

Our names are important to us. They tell us who we are and often, who we come from. So imagine suddenly discovering the last name you’ve always carried… might not actually be the name you should have. 

Alex Neason began looking into her family’s history after discovering her great grandfather’s name was different from what she believed for her whole life. In her search to discover the story of that last name, she enlisted genealogist Nicka Sewell-Smith.

For Black Americans, genealogy can fill in the blanks left by the legacy of slavery and racism in the U.S. Services like the Freedmen’s Bureau and Slave Voyages provide free access to records and documents to help with that search. We talk about the power of genealogy in fostering knowledge and connection for Black Americans.

Source

If you click on the word “source,” it’ll take you to the article where you’ll see a LISTEN button. It’s a 30-minute audio that discusses the info provided in the article even further. Y’all know I’m big on getting people to trace their lineage. All that “we don’t know where we come from.” Who told you that? Everything in the US is in plain sight. Everything.

Discover your fam. 

I assist others when they reach a roadblock, like getting past the “1870 wall.” But you can’t beat the feeling of you discovering them on your own. Unearthing your history, seeing photos, reading stories that were stored, and saying their names that haven’t been said for centuries. I’ve been tracing mine (scanning, logging) since my family reunion in 2005 through oral family history and obituaries (those are records), and since 2011 through databases of US archived records like ancestry.com (purchased by BlackStone) and familysearch.org (free database owned by the Latter-day Saints Church). There are others, but those are the main two I use for comparative results.  

Archiving Centers, Census Records & Other Records

There are archiving centers in every state and DC that also keep records for those particular states and the federal capital. There’s a footnote on all records that tells you where they are housed. And please...Don’t just do a simple pedigree chart of your family tree. Get to know your great-aunts, great-uncles and cousins. It’s also helpful for seeing who lived around who (fam often lived next door to each other) and puts more of the pieces together of your complete family story. You can see the land and acres they owned or your fam today still owns, as well as if that land was stolen from them.

US census records go back to year 1790. Depending on when or if your ancestors were enslaved or free: you’ll find them attached to slave logs that have been made available online or kept in archiving centers (you go there), or or they’ll be listed on census records as free persons (1790-1710), free colored male/female (1820-1840), Black (1850-1920), Mulatto (1850-1890, 1910-1920) or Negro (1900, 1930-1950). “New” census documents are put on sites, like ancestry.com, every 10 years. As of 2023, you can only trace from 1950 to 1790. The 1960 census will be out in 2030. How to trace from 1950 to today, birth, death and residential records. So again, depending on the census year, you’ll notice your ancestors racial classification change throughout documents for obvious reasons. 

Keep in mind that the the largest slave trade for the United States was the domestic slave trade. In house human trafficking and selling (in addition to property insurance of enslaved people and the selling of enslaved people as the building block of Wall Street’s stock exchange) is how US capitalism was built. So just because you know a lot of your people are from Tennessee, for example, it doesn't mean that’s where that line stayed. I’ve found my ancestors throughout 7 states (so far). Another example, people with Louisiana roots damn near always have ancestors who were trafficked from early Virginia. Going beyond year 1790, records were kept in Christian and Catholic churches and old family history books so most of those documents are scanned online and/or still kept in the churches. I’m talking books books. 

If your ancestors walked the Trail of Tears, or were caught as prisoners of war or trafficked to Indian Nations to be enslaved, you’ll find an Oklahoma Indian Territory and Oklahoma Freedmen Rolls section on ancestry.com. You can discover more info on sites, like the Oklahoma Historical Society. (Every state has its own historical society for archived genealogical records.) 

Here’s the National Archives.

Also for Oklahoma, you may also find your ancestors in Indian Census Rolls (1855-1940) as [insert tribe] Freedmen, depending if they weren’t rejected through the “blood quantum” Dawes Rolls for not being the new light to white status. You’ll see their application and the listed questions & answers with or without a big void stamp. And on the census, you’ll even see the letter I (pronounced like eye) changed to the letter B. This is also for those in Louisiana.

Freedmen’s Bureau & Bank Records 

There were Freedmen’s Bureau records and Freedman’s Savings Bank records in other states. To see if your ancestors had their records in those systems, you can search by their name. The state and age will pop up with people having that name. It’ll give you a wealth of other info, like all of the kids and other fam if they were present or mentioned to the person who logged that info in. With the Freedmen Bank records, you can see how much money your ancestors put in there (that was later stolen from them by way of the United States government), which is still there today. It’s the biggest bank heist in US history (that they try to keep hush hush) with the equivalence of more than $80 million in today’s value stored in there today. Back then, it was valued almost close to $4 million. Stolen wealth met with bootstrap lectures. 

Here’s a short video on that heist:

Today the bank is called the Freedman's Bank Building, located right on Pennsylvania Ave. Plain sight. 

Trace your lineage. 

There’s a lot more that I can list. But this is just the basics. Like I said before, it’s a more rewarding feeling when you discover your ancestors by yourself. You may reach roadblocks. Take a break. Try going the “Card Catalog” route on ancestry.com’s search engine. Don’t skip the small details. 

SN: Slave Voyages isn’t a genealogical site, but rather a database for slave ship logs and the estimates of purchased Africans who became human cargo to be enslaved by country like USA, or by colonizers like Spain, Great Britain, etc.

#black americans #genealogy #lineage #ancestry #census records #freedmen's bureau #freedman's bureau #freedmen's bank #freedman's bank #american heist

[wosomarvel]

communication - 05

a/n: just some short and fluffy filler. i think we could all use a little bit of fluff right now. everything just feels so heavy at the moment. it's hard to go about my day to day when i know that there are so many people that don't have access to food and water and medication. surgeries happening without anesthesia. and the western world watches. anyway, i hope this gives someone a little reprieve and i hope you guys are staying safe <3.

-----

sim had never considered herself to be an outgoing person. she didn't like noisy environments, flashy lights, or crowded spaces. they made her skin crawl.

which is why she was currently sat down on an uncomfortable plastic chair, wondering why she had ever let ella, alessia, and lotte convince her that she would have a grand time going out to a club with them.

but sim had never been good at saying no, so when the three begged her to come out and make the most of manchester united's road trip to north london, when she saw the pleading look on alessia's face, she had caved. a decision she was now deeply regretting.

sim could feel the thumping bass in her heart. she tried closing her eyes to at least block out one source of stimulation but she could see the lights through the skin of her eyelids.

"sim, come dance, you've been sitting here looking sad all night!"

sim's eyes shot open, falling on ella's poor attempt at puppy dog eyes. sim pressed her lips together in a tight line, her knuckles turning white were they gripped her cane. she could feel a headache creeping in behind her eyes.

"no, thanks, ella. i don't dance." sim was really getting restless now. the feeling of the tags on the shirt she had thrown on almost hurt in a way she couldn't explain.

"oh, come on, don't be a bore. i bet if alessia asked you would join us," lotte snorted from ella's side.

"no, i really don't-"

"just drop it, girls," a familiar soft voice spoke up.

sim turned to see alessia join the group, two glasses of water in hand. she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. she always felt more relaxed around alessia. alessia made sim feel safe.

"come on, less," ella whined. "she won't drink and now she won't dance? we've got to get the kid to live a little!"

sim stiffened. it was true that she refused to drink alcohol. growing up, she'd witnessed the havoc that alcoholism could wreak. she was grateful that her father hadn't been a violent drunk, or even an angry drunk, but she'd seen enough from her cousins, aunts, and uncles to know what that could look like. knowing that alcoholism ran in both sides of her family, she was not willing to take any chances.

of course, sim hadn't mentioned any of this to ella. tooney just thought she was stiff and no fun. sim was completely fine with that.

"alright, tooney, it's time to let it go. you're gonna scare the poor girl away!" lotte chimed in, sensing that maybe this was a bit deeper than she initially thought.

sim relaxed a little, thankful for the relief in the tension she was starting to feel.

"oh, fine, lotte, let's go dance. less, you coming?" ella relented.

"nah," the taller blonde replied. "just gonna chill out for a bit. i'll join you later," she added, placing a hand gently on sim's back.

sim relaxed further, leaning into the warm touch, letting the weight ground her.

"you want to get out of here?"

"no, i'm alright. i might call myself an uber later, but really, i'm okay." the last thing sim wanted to do was make alessia go home when she knew how much alessia had missed ella.

alessia turned sim towards the door, her hand staying in its place on the girl's back, a gentle guide as she walked sim out.

"it's alright, love. you seem off, and i'm starting to get a headache. let's go."

sim's cheeks warmed at the pet name. she and alessia had been dancing around the unspoken feelings between them for months, both of them waiting for the other to broach the topic.

sim had endured endless teasing from millie and rachel during national team camps, and beth made sure to fill the time in between.

unbeknownst to sim, alessia had received the same treatment from ella. at first, the rest of the lionesses had found it amusing how obvious their feelings were to everyone but themselves. as time moved on, it had almost become annoying. they'd hoped the teasing would force one of you into making a move.

so far, no luck.

-----

"so, you want to tell me what had you so shaken up?"

sim and alessia were settled on the coach in alessia's living room, an episode of brooklyn nine-nine playing softly on the television.

"it's stupid," sim muttered under her breath.

"well, how about you tell me and i'll decide if it's stupid," the blonde replied, offering sim her hand when she noticed sim picking at her skin.

sim sighed, starting to play with alessia's fingers. "it's just-" sim stuttered, hesitant.

"go on," alessia prodded gently.

"i have... issues? with sensory overload. and the loud music with all the voices and the flashing lights is a lot. and it was just so crowded and everyone was bumping into me. there was someone beside me with the scratchiest crop top and people were stepping on my feet and- now i'm rambling. just- sometimes there's just so much of everything that it hurts. god, that doesn't even make sense. i know it's stupid and i can't just expect for the world to cater to my needs-"

"hey," alessia interrupted. "stop calling yourself stupid."

sim withdrew her hand from alessia's, looking everywhere but alessia's face.

alessia reached out to pull sim into a hug but hesitated, letting her hand hover just over sim's shoulder. she didn't want to add to whatever sim was feeling.

"can i hold you?" alessia asked, trying to keep her voice as low as possible.

"please," sim whispered.

sim relaxed into alessia's body, letting the warmth and pressure of alessia's arms ground her.

"it's not stupid, love. i'm glad you told me, but i'm sorry if we made you feel like you had to come out with us," alessia murmured into sim's hair.

"it's not your fault that i'm too scared to say no," sim grumbled bitterly. really, sim would prefer to shift the topic away from her inadequacies, but she had a feeling alessia wasn't going to let this one go.

"sim, i'm going to ask you to be a bit nicer to yourself. maybe your boundaries haven't been respected in the past, but i want you to know that that won't happen here. i want you to feel safe in saying no. we can practice setting boundaries, yeah? we're all wired a bit differently. it's okay if you experience sensory overload more than others. if you want to stay in next time, then i'll stay in with you."

sim turned slightly, tucking her face into alessia's chest, the older girl's fingers coming up to rub gentle shapes on the back of her neck.

sim knew she was screwed. alessia was just too perfect. she made her feel okay.

actually, alessia made sim feel more than okay. she made sim feel content, more than she'd ever felt before. she made sim feel like more than just the sum of her past.

for years, sim had felt like she was just wandering aimlessly through the world. frankly, sim found it pathetic how alessia showing her even the most basic level of respect had her feeling like maybe she could belong somewhere.

sim lifted her head from where it was resting on alessia's chest, her brown eyes meeting alessia's blue.

"i always feel safe with you, less," she whispered.

warmth flooded alessia's cheeks as she smiled softly down at sim.

sim found herself frozen, unable to utter a single word.

"can i kiss you?" alessia breathed, trying and failing to keep her voice from wavering and betraying her nerves.

sim didn't trust her own voice so she nodded, not quite believing that smart, intelligent alessia wanted to kiss her.

alessia's free hand came to rest tenderly on sim's cheek, thumb making sweeping motions across the soft skin as she examined sim's face for any sign of hesitation. not finding any, she tilted sim's face up before leaning in to place a gentle kiss to her lips.

it was short and sweet, but conveyed so much emotion and sim tried her best to match what alessia was making her feel.

alessia pulled away after a few seconds, watching in awe as sim's eyes fluttered back open, a smile taking over the younger girl's face.

sim's face flushed at the look of pure adoration on alessia's face. she tucked her face back into alessia's sweater.

"are you getting shy on me?" alessia giggled, placing a soft kiss on the top of sim's head.

sim nodded.

"was that okay?" alessia's voice revealed a hint of insecurity, causing sim to remove her head from its resting place to look up at her.

"it was perfect."

alessia's face broke into a wide grin, arms squeezing sim closer.

"be my girlfriend? i mean, i know usually i'm supposed to ask you on a date first, and of course i want to do that, but i just think because we already know each other so-"

"you want me to be your girlfriend?" sim lifted herself out of alessia's embrace, an incredulous look taking over her face.

"unless you don't want to!" alessia scrambled, eyes wide with sudden panic.

"no, i do, of course i want to be your girlfriend but..." sim trailed off, hand coming up to scratch behind her ear before alessia took it between her own, pressing a kiss to sim's knuckles.

"hey, i told you i want you to feel safe with me. we can take this as slow as you want. can i ask why you're hesitating?"

sim sighed. how had she lucked out like this? alessia was so perfect. but that's where her hesitance stemmed from.

"less, you could do so much better. i- i have a lot of baggage, y'know? and i've never done anything like this before." sim gestured between the two of them as if to emphasize what this was. "i've never been in a relationship before. hell, i've never even kissed anyone before this."

sim was starting to work herself up. the feelings of contentment she had experienced just moments before had disappeared, giving way to exasperation.

who was she kidding? alessia was way out of sim's league.

"can you look at me, sim?"

startled by the unusual use of her name in place of a pet name, sim's eyes shot back to meet alessia's.

"i want you. i am choosing you as you are. baggage or not, inexperienced or not, doesn't matter to me. i want you, exactly the way you are. i wouldn't change a thing."

alessia topped off her statement with a gentle kiss to sim's hairline.

"so, be my girlfriend?"

a dopey smile took over sim's expression.

"of course."

-----

a/n: anyone catch the high school musical and camp rock references?

#alessia russo #engwnt #leah williamson #lionesses #woso #ella toone #arsenal wfc

[dsumpsbluey]

Unofficial Bluey Timeline: Part II

Welcome to another post of my Unofficial Bluey Timeline. This part will be focusing on "The Weekend" through "Hotels". I will also be highlighting the recently found 2017 pilot of the show, since it pretty much is plot-for-plot a remake of one of these episodes (P.S. if you haven't done so, always read the alt text).

**But first, an update regarding my last post. While making the videos for this week, I stumbled upon a program called HandBrake, an open-source video transcoder. This was because the episode backups I mentioned were MKV files and couldn't properly work on my editing app. There, I found that it could do way more than simply convert file types, but also change resolution, apply video filters, and much more; so I found myself experimenting with how to enhance my copies, especially for the season 1 episodes. To keep it short, the program made the episodes better presentable (no distracting interlacing!), and I'll likely use them for any future video uses.**

So, without further ado, lets get in.

The Weekend - Episode 6 (and the pilot)

Bluey scams Bandit into buying magical statues.

Debuts and Details:

The walking leaf (which as of last week's recent ep "Slide", is apparently named "Leaficus") makes its grand debut.

Being as this was built off the pilot of the same name, the animation moves similar despite changes in the characters' models. This is why the episode feels janky and off-model compared to the rest of the season, b/c it is.

In the pilot, Bingo sleeps on a separate room opposite to Bluey's. While this would switch to both sharing the room in the final show, that exact room wouldn't show up in another episode until "Bedrooms" 3 years later. It's there where we learn that both girls used to occupy the room as babies before moving into their current room, which somehow lines up with the pilot (Bingo, the youngest one, occupying the leftmost room).

It would take ages dissecting every single change here, so I made a quick comparison vid of some key moments.

(Pilot video came from original Streamable upload [Just learned it was taken down :(]; Final video came from Internet Archive, as I hadn't set up HandBrake to clean my copy atm)

Differences in Character pilot design: Bluey: minimal differences aside from different orientation of back spots (They're not Disney-shaped, as I call it) Bingo: Snout shape and size bigger; Dark orange top is now two round spots on each side; back has many spots instead of just one. Bandit: Only left side of head is dark (reminiscent of a spot); no tan belly. Has the more drastic design differences of all. Chilli: Her dark brown spot is often not present, or swapping around sides. In the final episode, her brown spot overlaps her snout, other than the other way around.

What a weird way to make an episode about the weekend. This episode doesn't really rely on plot, and just shows us a glimpse of the Heeler family, which is still neat. As for the placement of this episode on the timeline, by rule the final version of the episode is considered canon as opposed to the pilot. Despite both version's plots being very similar, and the separate room pointed out earlier, it doesn't seem fair that an older version of an episode would be in the timeline, as it doesn't fit with the rest of the series.

Favorite part: The walking leaf scene, I quote it everyday w/ an exaggerated accent.

BBQ - Episode 7

Bingo prepares a pepper capsicum salad.

Debuts and Details:

This serves as the introduction of Uncle Stripe (Bandit's brother), and his side of the family, featuring Aunt Trixie, and cousins Muffin and Socks.

There is a mention of a "Auntie Mary" and her salad dressing recipe, but she is never mentioned in another episode again.

This is the first of many episodes that have been altered in international releases. For this, every mention of 'capsicum' is replaced with 'pepper'; no significant cut of scenes occurs, as mouth flaps were the only aspect changed between versions.

Streamable link, cuz I just learned there's a one video limit

The intro scene with Bluey and Bandit prepping the grill serves as the first of a recurring element of the two copying each other, either through movement or verbal.

5 cans and a water bottle were destroyed during the episode.

Bingo learns how to turn on the hose

Chill episode, you get to feel the struggles of Bingo wanting to relax, while also tasked with creating the best pepper capsicum salad imaginable.

Favorite part: When Bingo is getting the salad dressing. The scream, in particular, gets me everytime.

Fruitbat - Episode 8

Bluey learns to dream in order to become a fruit bat.

Debuts and Details:

This marks the debut of Mackenzie, his dad, as well as Rocko

This is the first episode to span multiple days, going from night to next morning (2 days)

The stairway wall has no changes from its last appearance, however the fridge is reoriented to how it was in "Keepy Uppy"

Bluey is revealed to like fruit salad.

Fun episode. However, the main plot doesn't exactly start until 4 minutes in. Wish there was more to the dream than just flying and eating fruit, though; perhaps something more imaginative.

Favorite part: Bingo's iconic shot of her sleeping.

Horsey Ride - Episode 9

Bluey and the gang ride their dad's as horses.

Debuts and Details:

Polly Puppy, Bluey's special toy makes its debut

Bandit and Stripe play as Gallahop, and Sparkles, and they are technically married at the end.

There's what seems to be a porch in the backyard, that I swear never shows up ever again (unless it does, in which I've haven't seen it)

Universal Rule #1 of imaginary play - Animals can't talk; there is a clear violation by both horses during the wedding scene

Fun episode, nothing to say other than flirty Bandit is my favorite screencap.

Hotel - Episode 10

Bandit books a room at the Heeler Hotel.

Debuts and Details:

Bingo is Slobber-Dobber, I guess? Aside from that, there's really nothing else to bring up

The episode, while being fun, doesn't really have much to talk about, timeline wise and in general. It's not bad per se, but it's very minimalistic.

Favorite part: Bluey smacking Bingo's head on the bed.

With that, part II is complete. While there were some interesting details with this batch of eps, they haven't caused too much of a dent in terms of the timeline. Surely, next week, we get some nifty details for our timeline. As always, leave any comments about details I may have missed, and I'll see you next week.

#bluey #bluey_utime #the weekend #bbq #fruitbat #horsey ride #hotel #like seriously who goes to the restroom w/ their children #if i have to hear bbq again i swear imma #it has been a long week getting things set up #its honestly a blessing its being released in time #SPIDER🕷 #watermelon #crazy pillow #crazy blanket

[watchtowerindistress]

we are not our demons (16/24) - bruce wayne x batmom

Gif source: fear-o-phobia

Author’s note: I was a bit distracted while writing this, had a lot of personal things on my mind, so this didn't flow as fluidly as I would have liked. If this breaks your heart, just know, that I broke my heart first, so get in line. *ugly crying*.

For some reason, I have this great respect for Harley Quinn. One of the reasons why I always call her by her full name, for those of you who were wondering. [Read more at the end.]

Beta-read by Heidi.

Words: 4.4k

Warning: language, angst

Please reblog/leave a comment.

Series Masterlist | Want to be tagged? | Read on AO3

I was good on my own, that’s the way it was, that’s the way it was

You was good on the low for a faded fuck, on some faded love

Shit, what the fuck you complaining for?

Feeling jaded, huh?

- Needed Me by Rihanna -

The utter excess of last night’s events still rang through her head the next morning. Her fingers felt weary with every movement when she put her phone away. That conversation wasn’t something that filled her with something akin to relief.

Her stomach was still tied into knots as she pulled a gray hoodie over her head and some black seamless athletic leggings. To ward off the chill, Ellie donned two pairs of thick socks. Autumn in Gotham brought the pre-Winter conditions with it. A long sigh left her after a pill was gulped down her throat with some water, throwing her head back.

She pulled at the hem of her sleeves while she descended the staircase. Her stiffening limbs drew a prolonged yawn from her lips like muscle memory.

“Morning,” Bruce’s voice called playfully from underneath.

Furrowing her eyebrows in astonishment at hearing his voice, Ellie stretched her body to take a peek at the first floor, but from her perspective nobody was seen. Her steps quickened until she was in eyesight of the kitchen.

With a drained expression, Ellie rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand and found herself staring at Bruce’s back. “Morning, ba—Bruce.” Ellie’s eyes widened. She cleared her throat when a pet name almost forced itself from her lips.

Jesus, the morning routine must’ve been getting to her.

Ellie shook her head and ignored the perplexed glance Bruce sent her. He was sporting his cozy weekend wear, with a dark navy sweater and an unzipped collar, and his thin black sweats.

“Did you hear what happened in Blüdhaven?” she asked sullenly.

Bruce turned his head once he heard Ellie’s fatigued words. “No, I didn’t have the chance to watch the news yet. Why? What’s going on?”

Ellie tried to rub the weariness from her eyes. “I just finished a call with my aunt and uncle who are living there. The city just issued a terror warning. It’s in a city-wide lockdown. No one gets in or out.”

Bruce seemed to share the same sentiment. His body tensed once he discovered the exhaustion setting on her face. “You expect all kinds of things to happen in Blüdhaven, but never something like this. How are your aunt and uncle faring with that turn of events?”

“Mallory is feeling anxious, but Nolan is trying to keep it together for her. Nothing can rattle him though. Let’s see how long this containment is going to last.”

“It’ll be alright.”

Ellie nodded, like she was trying to tell herself the same truth.

Bruce’s body was standing by the coffee machine, the scent of the stimulant was hanging in the air. A mouth-salivating breakfast buffet was spread in the middle of the kitchen island.

“You made coffee?”

“Alfred did.”

Ellie nodded. That made a lot more sense to her.

“I do know how to make coffee, you know,” Bruce reminded her.

Ellie pressed her lips together, taking a seat behind the kitchen island. “I didn’t say anything.”

Humming quietly, Bruce lifted a mug. “You want your morning tea?”

Her hands brushed against the flat surface, needing some tactile distraction. “I think I could use some coffee today.”

“Great.”

Ellie eagerly licked her lips once the strong aroma reached her nostrils. Right before she noticed him choosing her preferred mug, the pitch-black one with ample capacity to start off her day. The delicious pouring sound let tingles fall down her back before Bruce slid a cup of joe in front of her. “Here you go.”

Ellie sent him another long glance when Bruce sat down next to her. It shouldn’t surprise her that he had observed her so very studiously, but he did.

After the customary mixing of sugary sweetness and milk, until she got it just right, Ellie’s gaze roamed towards her seatmate. “Damian’s not awake yet?”

“Just give him a few more minutes.” Bruce chuckled to himself and didn’t even flinch when he took a hearty gulp from his cup of black coffee.

Ellie helped herself to a pair of croissants on her plate, feeling curious about the assortment of food around them.

“I wonder how early Alfred wakes up to prepare something like this. I keep seeing breakfast food conjured out of thin air every morning,” she wondered with dubious eyes before having a taste of her coffee.

Bruce shook his head, as his lips drew into an ironic smirk. “Professional secret of his,” he offered enigmatically. “I’m afraid that he might have to kill you, if you uncovered it.”

Humming lowly and taking his words of wisdom into account, Ellie tore up a piece of her pastry to carelessly chuck it into her mouth.

“I sincerely hope you didn’t talk about me just now.”

Ellie slowly turned her head to find the younger boys, Damian and Tim, saunter towards them.

She smiled indulgently. “We would never and no.”

Tim deemed the spot next to her his own when he sat down.

“Good morning, boys,” Ellie sang melodiously, feeling far more awake now in their company, without even the influence of coffee. Before she realized what she was doing, her hand was mildly stroking the back of Tim’s head.

Tim’s timid gaze slid downwards, but she could still discover a soft smile on his face. Frankly, his small moment of contentment made her resist the urge to cuddle him to her chest.

Ellie smiled with relief, having feared for his reaction and not wanting to ever make him feel uncomfortable in her presence.

Murmurs of “G’morning,” and “Morning,” swept through the air before the new arrivals indulged in their own food. Damian prepared himself a parfait in a glass bowl—with yogurt, granola and a mix of fruit—while Tim called forth a few blueberry muffins on a plate.

Ellie leaned forward to glance at Damian, past Bruce’s broad chest. “You know, it continues to amaze me how you always eat abnormally healthy for a kid your age and us grown-ups struggle to eat anything at all.”

She could feel Bruce send her an inconspicuous glimpse from the corner of his eye while he smeared butter on his browned toast.

A strained grunt escaped from his closed mouth, giving her the impression that he resisted from muttering something rash in response. Instead, his back straightened, and he tasted the mixed yogurt. “Perhaps my father has rubbed off on me over the years.”

Mutely, Bruce turned his head as an expression of soft fascination painted on his features. Acting on pure impulse, Ellie’s fingers gently stroked Bruce’s lower back in silent support.

His body tensed under her fingertips, but before she could pull her hand away, his left palm covered her knuckles on the kitchen island and caressed her fingers in an intimate touch. Her belly got warmer with every stroke.

Her eyes blinked nervously, and her gaze met his, wondering what this gesture meant.

Tim’s timid voice spoke up next to her, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Unless you count Bruce’s manner of eating burgers.”

“Certainly not.”

Bruce’s hand lingering on hers was entirely forgotten when her head turned sideways. Did Tim just make a joke?

“Why?” Her curious eyes roved from Tim to Bruce and back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat a burger, Bruce.” Ellie’s stare met Tim’s side profile again. “Any secrets to share, young Padawan?”

“It’s definitely an experience,” he revealed with a mysterious air. A trait she would have expected from his younger brother, Damian.

Ellie narrowed her eyes, turning back to Bruce. “It looks like you’ve been holding back on me.”

Bruce tilted his head, rising to the challenge. “Oh, have I now?”

“I do believe so, yes. Maybe we need to get some meat on your bones, Bruce. You know, keep you healthy, and all.”

His warmth still stayed with her, even after Bruce stood up, an empty mug in his hand, and walked towards the coffee machine on the counter by the window. Her chuckles met his back while he focused on placing the container on the flat surface. Ellie’s skin felt like a conduit that left tingles behind, coursing through every inch of her body.

Tim was silently observing his father pour the black liquid into his awaiting cup before he spoke up. “When do I get to have coffee, Bruce?”

The man’s head whipped around, his wide eyes appraising him with a cross between astonishment and contemplation. “When you’re able to sleep at least 8 hours during the night.” To prove his point, Bruce tipped his mug back to savor his rush for the day and lifted his eyebrows.

Surprise bloomed in Ellie’s chest at Tim’s knack for an unsatisfied pout before he pressed his lips together. Deciding to jump to the young one’s defense, Ellie interjected, “Says you?”

Bruce’s stormy eyes let heat rise in her stomach. “I’m a grown-up, Rhodes,” he retorted with a low and husky timbre, rising to the challenge.

Jesus, Bruce. Not in front of the kids.

Bruce cleared his throat when Ellie averted her gaze. His dark eyes met Tim’s again, pointing his finger as a reminder. “8 hours minimum, then we’ll talk.”

Tim nodded meekly in understanding. Ellie took his father’s consent as a win when she sent him a victorious smirk before nudging his shoulder with hers. The memory of giving him bubble tea was still clear on her mind.

The corners of Tim’s lips tipped upwards, and he followed that gesture with imparting all of his meticulous concentration on eating his muffin.

“Master Bruce?”

The tone in Alfred’s voice induced nervous energy through her body when she turned in her seat, feeling curious about the reason for his unsettled reaction. He wasn’t known to be fazed by anything.

Bruce walked around the kitchen island, the coffee was already forgotten, and he placed his hands against his waist. “What’s wrong?”

Alfred’s eyes wandered over to the people present. “I see everyone’s awake already. Master Dick, the late riser, not included.” At the mention of the oldest son, Alfred’s lips twisted into a sorrowful expression.

Bruce crossed his arms, this change in attitude was starting to worry him. “Alfred,” he said expectantly, no longer phrasing it as a question. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m here to inform you of a new development.”

“Of what kind?”

A vague and distinct sound stopped him from continuing. Ellie furrowed her eyebrows when it seemed to come closer until the soft and familiar rolling of wheels slid against the floor. The wheelchair approaching was the first thing she noticed before the person sitting in it.

“That’d probably be me,” Barbara stated impassively and tilted her head, letting her straight hair flow over her shoulder.

Ellie didn’t like this ominous feeling at all, especially since that tired look in her friend’s eyes didn’t sit right with her.

“Babs?”

At the mention of her name, Barbara’s eyes met her lap where her hands were cradled.

Ellie didn’t like this distance, how far away the red-haired woman lingered in her spot.

Her resolve was set in her lavender eyes. “I had to make a choice. Don’t think that was easy for me.”

A lump formed in Ellie’s throat, making it hard for her to breathe normally again. She really didn’t want to believe what Barbara was about to say. Her feet dropped on the wooden floor as she slipped from her seat. Her body felt strangely out of sorts, kind of unbalanced. Bruce’s appearance on her left was something she subconsciously needed.

“I asked my uncle to take me home.”

Everything inside Ellie dropped in utter anguish. It felt like she was losing her friend.

“I’m going to stay at his place. Uncle Jim told me he can take care of me.”

Ellie exhaled breathily, wondering if she could’ve done something—spent more time with her or motivated her more—to make her want to stay. And she realized how selfish she sounded in her thoughts.

“Are you going to stay for breakfast?” Tim’s quiet voice was barely audible as his wide eyes could render anyone to tears.

Barbara sighed and finally moved closer towards him. “I’m sorry, Timmy. I wish I could, but Uncle Jim is coming to pick me up.”

Tim’s dejected nod broke her heart.

“But soon. I promise.”

Damian’s humming sound reminded her that he was still present. Ellie was still thankful that he resisted from making a vicious remark.

“Did you tell Dick yet?” Bruce asked, with his crossed arms clenching against his chest.

Barbara nervously licked her lips. “Not yet. Things are complicated. I thought it’d be too hard to—”

“Don’t fret, Miss Barbara. I’ll let him know once he awakens.”

A grateful smile played on the corners of her lips once the butler’s words soothed her frayed nerves. “Thanks, Alfred.” Her arms widened at her side.

“I guess this is it,” Barbara reluctantly muttered, eyeing the clock close to the ceiling near the sink. “My uncle is waiting outside. I wish there was another way, but I just don’t see it.”

“I’m not going to ask you to stay. I doubt I could change your mind anyway,” Bruce mumbled thoughtfully.

Smart man, Ellie considered to herself.

The brown-haired woman nodded in acceptance and put a strained smile on her face. “Okay.” Her fingers waved to the foyer. “Let me walk you?”

Barbara nodded slowly before she slid ahead. Ellie remained quiet until they stopped in the corridor. “I wish you would have told me,” she whispered before pressing her lips together, leaning back against the wall to hold her upright.

“So you could’ve talked me out of it?”

Ellie felt lost for words since Barbara hit so close to home. “To know … if we could’ve done something differently.”

A crease formed between her eyes. “Nothing. There’s nothing you could’ve done. It’s not … you, it’s me,” Barbara assured with her lips twisting cynically. “I need time to think,” she said wearily.

Ellie exhaled, throwing her a ragged glance. “You’re always welcome here, you know that, right?” She felt the déjà vu closing in of Barbara inviting her to Wayne Manor for movie nights and maybe more. Way before everything turned to shit.

Barbara nodded, but other than that kept silent.

She shook her head, feeling tears gather in the corners of her eyes. “I really want to hug you right now,” she said, with her voice sounding thick.

Fiery hair trembled with her movements when she shook her head. “I’m not stopping you, Ellie.”

Without thinking further about it, she knelt to the floor and carefully held her to her chest, mindful of the injury she was recovering from. As much as Ellie wanted to squeeze the heck out of her.

The vanilla smell from her hair made her clench her jaw tightly, stubbornly believing that with enough willpower tears wouldn’t flow down her cheeks.

“I’m gonna miss you like crazy, Babs,” Ellie whispered with a shaky voice, feeling a tingling sensation pour from her head to the rest of her body.

Exhaling air blew against her neck. “Miss you more already.”

Putting on a brave face turned out to be harder than Ellie thought. She was watching through the window as Bruce carried Barbara into the passenger seat, not seeming to fault the computer specialist for the choice she had to make.

To ward off the chill, Ellie furiously rubbed her arms and felt her eyes meet the young boys, Alfred included, follow the events outside on the front porch. She pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose, trying to stop that fuzzy sensation taking root in her brain.

It turned out that she was going to need that second cup of coffee, she contemplated when she wandered into the lower levels underneath the foundation of the manor. Ellie was slowly starting to see the appeal of her ex-boyfriend’s workaholic tendencies.

She was mindlessly staring at the screen in front of her while a blanket covered her upper body—more for comfort than warmth.

With one hand holding her cup in the air, the fingers of her left hand pressed against the keyboard’s buttons in a flurry of movements. Feeling far too aimless to use her body more than she absolutely had to.

Despite not being teary-eyed or anything, she sniffed briefly and blinked a few times behind her glasses. Ellie wasn’t doing a lot, merely establishing an intruder alert for Arkham Asylum. Her body was leaning to the right, no longer harboring the motivation to keep her upper body straight. Music was blaring from her earbuds and offered her some distraction while she was working.

A warm hand touching her covered shoulder jolted her out of her thoughts. Ellie turned her head and just as she had expected Bruce was standing next to her. Slowly, she paused her music before wrenching the earphones away.

“Jesus,” she muttered quietly, and just to be on the safe side, placed her mug on the desk surface. Ellie tilted her head back, gazing into Bruce’s concerned eyes. She pulled the blanket higher up her shoulders. “Didn’t even hear you come in.”

Carelessly lifting his hands in the air, Bruce mentioned, “Didn’t mean to frighten you. You must’ve been in your computer trance.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agreed and cleared her dry throat as she turned back to the Batcomputer. After rubbing the side of her face, she pointed to the screen. “Just created an alert.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “It’s 9 in the morning.”

“No time like the present, right?”

The fatigued sigh he emitted echoed through the cavern and hit Ellie like nothing else could. Her closed fist covered her lips while her cautious wide-eyed glance roamed upwards. “What?”

She watched enraptured as Bruce knelt down until he was underneath her eye level, making her feel safe and heard. He placed his arm on the metallic surface. His fingers almost brushed against her palm, giving off mellow heat which was strangely soothing. Concerned and soulful eyes were staring back at her.

“Commissioner Gordon took Barbara home now.”

Ellie breathed out slowly and glimpsed fleetingly towards the computer display. “That’s great,” she pondered with a strained smile before her eyes met his again, feeling far too drained to even make a real effort.

Bruce didn’t seem to be fooled at all by her forced attitude. “As much as I wished things were different…” he whispered under his breath.

Feeling dejected, yet comfortable enough in being vulnerable around him, Ellie leaned her chin on her interlaced arms. She was blinking rapidly, as if she was in a daze. “But they’re not,” she continued with a raspy voice.

Bruce licked his lips. “She doesn’t blame you,” he admitted, and with those words his fingers brushed with hers.

“She doesn’t blame you either.” Ellie lifted her eyebrows, truly believing that despite Barbara’s uneasy mind.

Bruce’s lips trembled which resembled almost a jerky movement. “Are you a mind reader now?”

Ellie’s eyes barely narrowed to illustrate her curiosity when the dark-haired man elaborated, “Barbara told me that too. Last night.”

“It must have been rough for you.”

“What makes you say that?”

She shrugged her shoulders, feeling a bit more like herself. “Because I know you. No one should have to endure to see their family like this.” Unknowingly, the tips of her fingers met his. “I would have gone with you, if you wanted me to.”

Bruce shook his head. “It wouldn’t have changed anything. I can’t condemn her choices. Barbara has always been a stubborn one.”

Ellie hummed thoughtfully. “I wonder where she got that from.” People like Bruce, Dick and even Damian came to mind.

“Probably Jim Gordon,” Bruce replied teasingly.

Ellie rolled her eyes, but still she appreciated his attempt to cheer her up when the corners of her mouth tugged upwards.

With an aching exhale, Bruce stood up painstakingly and leaned against the table. “I’m getting old,” he grumbled, flexing the muscles in his arms.

Don’t you dare get distracted now.

Ellie’s eyes were drawn to those tendons highlighting her not so privy weakness. She glanced upwards again before righting the frames of her glasses, pushing those higher up her nose bridge.

“You’re not old, Bruce.” Ellie shook her head, letting her hair bounce freely.

“Well, I’m certainly getting there,” Bruce confessed and crossed his arms with more sighs leaving him. “If it’s any consolation to you, I wish I could’ve done more for her. Did things differently.”

Ellie felt as tired as Bruce when her eyes softened. “Don’t.” Her voice sounded urging, as a plea to not get caught in his self-constructed web of agony. To get back what was in front of him. “You could’ve done nothing. And I know this must be hard for you to hear. But we need to remember why we’re doing this. We have to get him, now more than ever,” Ellie implored him, leaning forward in her seat and ultimately regaining her momentum.

“And here I thought I was meant to comfort you,” Bruce replied with a smirk, studying her with inquisitive eyes. “And how do you feel about everything?”

Ellie exhaled heavily when this negative burden pushed against her chest. With Barbara gone, their endeavor felt without merit. And she hated that feeling. “Like there’s this dread closing in.” She breathed in much-needed air before releasing it again. “And I don’t know if all of this,” her eyes centered on the alert for Arkham Asylum and the live footage of the inside of Harley Quinn’s cell. “All of this will be worth it.”

Bruce pinched his eyebrows at her voiced doubt. “It is. It will be.” Almost hesitant—like he was giving Ellie the choice to pull back if she desired so—his hand brushed against the side of her head. Softly caressing her hair.

His touch slowed her breathing as she found some comfort in the mess of everything. Ellie slowly released the air she had been holding and closed her eyes, needing something to hold on to. “I just want all of this to be over,” she admitted breathily before she opened her eyes again. She could feel herself getting misty-eyed, with the pressure slowly getting to her.

“We have to stay patient. We will get the Joker; I promise you this.”

Ellie slowly nodded, trusting his judgment. Still, it was hard not to forget what they were fighting for. “Okay, I believe you.” She licked her lips before she focused back on her work. As much as Bruce’s proximity and intimate touch was messing with her head.

After hearing her say that, Bruce let go of her and continued studying her while she observed the stimulating event of Harley having a nap. The former psychiatrist must have received her medication as fast as possible which in turn would make her drowsy.

“Have you had any other … anxiety attacks?”

Ellie was warily glancing at the side of his face. “Is this your eloquent way of addressing my mental health issues?”

Bruce placed his hands in the pockets of his sweats and rocked on the back of his feet. “You never said that—” He breathed soundly through his nose, breaking off what he was about to say. Bruce needed several tries to voice his insights when he gazed meaningfully into her eyes, coming to an undesired realization. “It’s from Strange, isn’t it?”

His brown eyes were stricken with despair as he saw the events of that fateful night through her eyes.

Despite the meaning of her words, Ellie was speaking softly. “No one in the medical field ever did studies on people who had their mind calibrated to hear this unbearable piercing sound, almost like tinnitus, while your body believed it couldn’t breathe. Trust me, nobody had a word for it. They actually wanted to call it the Strange-Crane Effect, but I’d rather die than give them the credit for it. So, they just called it PTSD.”

A wry smile played on her lips, just remembering that conversation of a handful of doctors being at a loss for words. “Those migraines are triggered during stress, making my head feel like it’s going to explode, so at least they got that part right.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bruce asked in a tone of voice which she would describe as hurt. That Ellie didn’t confide in him.

“I barely even told Diana anything. Only my therapist knows … and you, I guess.”

“That’s good that you got someone to talk to.”

Ellie hummed in quiet agreement.

“Wait, so you know Diana? How?”

Chuckling under her breath with a shaking head, Ellie confessed, “Long story actually.”

“So, stress triggers your episodes. What else?”

Feeling perplexed at Bruce’s vehement concern, she needed a few seconds to reply, “Lights.”

Bruce’s eyebrows rose high. “Fluorescent lights?”

Demurely, she nodded her head, not quite sure where he was going with this. Although she could still feel trepidation rise in her belly. “Among other things.”

Bruce clenched his jaw tightly. His voice wasn’t laced with fury, he merely spoke very quietly. “You’ve been in this cave for nearly two weeks, surrounded by blinding lights, and now you’re telling me you’re sensitive to brightness?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to—”

Incited by her confirmation, Bruce hastily moved away towards the stairs leading to the corridor.

Her eyes were wide in disbelief, trying to process what just happened. “Bruce, where are you going?”

“Getting Alfred down here. He’s going to adjust the dimming function of this cave.”

Ellie slid with her chair way back to stare after him. “This cave already has a dimming function,” she called after him.

Damn it. Stubborn guy was stubborn.

Bruce was so determined in his pursuit that he didn’t bother turning around. “Then it looks like my butler will have to make only one available option—no more bright lights. He always told me those weren’t good for my eyes when I’m working this late.”

Well, Ellie certainly didn’t expect that from him when she told him that little tidbit. With a groan, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes with a wince.

This would turn out to be one hell of a morning.

A/N: Wow, that last bit was ... unexpected. Ellie divulging so much that Bruce felt compelled to make only the dimming light available, I didn't expect that from him. Damn it, Bruce.

Tagging: @mellowstatesmanhandsempath​ @ravenmoore14​ @alwayshave-faith​ @ikranfuad​ @daydreaming-gemini​ @bluegalaxyprime​ @liadamerondjarin​ @steph21369 @andrewswifes-blog​  @yanna-banana  @blackmagicwoman​

#steph writes #watchtowerindistress #we are not our demons #batfleck #batfleck x oc #bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne imagines #batman x oc #bruce wayne #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman imagines #batman imagine #damian wayne #tim drake #barbara gordon #alfred pennyworth

[random2908]

My little cousin came to visit last weekend (my parents were showing him the coast, and also taking him to visit a couple colleges he got into) so it’s time for a little cousin update!

He didn’t get into any of his top choice colleges (although he did get waitlisted at two). But he did get into two or three very respectable state schools! Now he’s having nightmares and insomnia trying to make a decision. My parents keep trying to reassure him that there’s no wrong answer, he’ll find his way anywhere. But the most prestigious of the schools he got into is way back on the East Coast and he’s scared to leave LA where he has supportive aunts and uncles (not just my parents, but also my cousin and his wife), and move back East where his parents will expect him home for the various holidays. My parents pointed out that he could spend a weekend with his parents every so often, and then use that to justify spending the holidays in LA; my parents would even pay for the tickets. That made him cry, he’s not used to being wanted as he is.

Living with my parents for the past 9 months, and spending every other shabbat with his shomer shabbos aunt and uncle (my cousin and his wife), has gotten my little cousin very into Judaism, and considering whether he wants to be Reform or Modern Orthodox. In his last year of living with his own parents, he and his friends used to ditch yeshiva to eat at non-kosher Chinese restaurants. He was planning to repudiate Judaism entirely. But now that he’s experienced Reform Judaism and Egalitarian Modern Orthodoxy, he’s ready to embrace it and just say that his parents were mistaken--they were not following some sort of one true way of Judaism like they claimed, there are other ways that are also valid, and that fit him better. He’s even considering going back to keeping kosher on his own, although he’s very, very into trying every new food available to him, so he has mixed feelings. I pointed out the possibility of vegetarianism--like me and my dad--and he thought that was a very interesting potential compromise. (My dad has also told him about my Dati cousin, who studied to be a mashgiach, and who accepts vegan food from any source as inherently kosher.)

But I guess the biggest update about my little cousin is he’s more or less reconciled with his mother! In the end, she decided that if she took a hard line about him leaving their cultish version of Orthodoxy, she was going to lose him, and that was a price she wasn’t willing to pay. He’s still sad that she’s only accepting, not supportive, but he thinks she’ll get there. And she’s already willing to accept pretty much anything if he gives her a half-hour cool-down period after asking her, before expecting a response.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of my cousin, my little cousin’s father. All along we assumed that his mother was the problem--the cultish stuff came from her side, after all, but he’s our family and we know our family. Both of his siblings are egalitarian, pro-queer, etc, and one of his siblings is married to a Reform Jew who doesn’t keep shabbat and doesn’t keep kosher outside the house. His parents--my uncle and aunt, my little cousin’s grandparents--are Orthodox but couldn’t care less what anyone else does, because it’s a personal choice. But no, my cousin has apparently become very hardline over the past couple decades. And he is not ok with his son deviating from it, and is willing to push away his own kid rather than bend. My little cousin basically feels like his father loves rules more than he loves him.

So that’s shaken my view of my cousin quite a bit. I’m really happy for my little cousin about his mother, but pretty dismayed about his father, not just because his father is rejecting him, but because his father is my family and my family shouldn’t be treating someone like that.

[raindrops-and-tubestops]

Random prompts - KyaLin: 14.  “Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming.”

Here you go Nonnie, I hope you enjoy! 💕

“Where is she?” Kya wasn’t wasting time.

The words were out of her mouth as soon as she ducked around the corner of the building. She crouched in front of the younger detective, waiting patiently for his his answer. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

Mako looked up in surprise, trying to find a frequency but getting only static from the radio on his hip. He had been pinned down at this corner for the better part of fifteen minutes.

How in the hell had Kya managed to get through?

As if wanting to answer his question, the Master Healer leant around the wall drawing water from the pouch at her hip. With a flick of her hands, that was probably more complicated than he was able to see, she sent a torrent of water out into the skirmish. He grinned as he heard screams and what sounded like bodies thudding against the stone of the street.

Looking back at him, she winked conspiratorially.

“Mako, honey,” she tried again, her voice softer, “where is she?”

He didn’t have to question who she was talking about. He could see the worry behind the blue eyes, all though anyone else only would have seen the determination. Kya needed to get to the Chief, Mako had a bad feeling about all this.

This whole debacle started twenty minutes before the end of shift. A call came over the emergency radio at the precinct that there was an attack on the new clinic just west of the new spirit portal. The Triads were trying to make a statement to the Chief of Police as well as the rest of the city.

They were able to establish a blockade before the fighting reached the inside of the clinic. The doors, front and back were barricaded. The patients and healers inside were safe, some were out here on the front lines working to heal the fallen officers, Kya included.

Mako swallowed, his throat dry and sticky, “The last I saw her, she was swinging on her cables in that direction.”

Kya followed his finger as it pointed across the street, landing on the roof tops of the alley way directly across from them. He watched her run through some things in her mind, maybe calculating the risks of crossing through the battle raging in the street.

As they peeked around the corner, it was clear there were no signs of either side stopping. There was fire flying through the air only to be intercepted by water from an unknown source, pieces of the street and the buildings rippled as they were manipulated by earthbenders from both sides.

Metal from nearby stalls and storefronts groaned as it was manipulated by officers, quickly shaping into flat sheets, encasing the wounded or protecting those volleying off counter attacks.

If she hadn’t been looking for it, she would have missed the shink of cables being released from their casing and subsequently Lin swinging across the street. She came to rest on the side of the clinic, one hand wrapped around the cables imbedded in the wall and the other gripping the hand hold she created on the brick.

Kya had a momentary flashback of when they were younger and Lin used to grip the walls of the Air Temple Island dormitories in the same manner…it never failed to freak her mother out. She chuckled quietly to herself, feeling the exact moment that Mako spied the Chief as well. The metalbender seemed to be looking for something, she was scanning the foray, clearly thinking she was up high enough to not be noticed.

But someone had noticed her…someone was silently curling a water tendril along the wall, not quite touching the stone. She wouldn’t be able to feel it.

Before Kya could call out, she watched as the tendril wrapped around Lin’s ankle, the look of shock on her face would have been comical in any other circumstance. The Chief was ripped from the side of the wall, disappearing from view behind a large pile of wreckage, her cables hanging lifeless, still attached to the wall.

The next thing Mako knew Kya was running, and then he was too, trying desperately to keep up with her impressive pace. He guessed it was the adrenaline and worry that made her so reckless, but at least he was there. The waterbender was able to doge most of the attacks flung her way as she rushed towards where the Chief was last seen, but Mako did fling the occasional blast of fire, he had to make sure she stayed safe at least.

Kya rounded the side of the wreckage where they had seen Lin disappear, tripping and landing in the water spread across the ground. She managed to keep her footing and pushed off the ground with the palm of her hands. She stopped short and if he hadn’t been paying attention, Mako would have slammed into the back of her.

The Chief was on the ground, lying extremely still..too still, the only thing that kept Kya from dropping to her knees was that she could see her chest rising and falling. Slowly, but it was a win nonetheless. Next to her, with a metal spike sticking out of their chest, was the waterbender Kya assumed had ambushed Lin. They weren’t moving, not even their chest.

Mako gripped her shoulder and brought her back to herself, the surroundings coming back into focus. They sprinted the rest of the way, Kya dropping to her knees next to Lin, barely registering the sting of her battered skin or the sound of Mako dragging the body away from them.

She pulled water from the flask at her hip and began to assess the younger woman’s injuries. A dislocated shoulder, a bruise on her right cheek discoloring the skin around her scars, a possible concussion…not sure how bad that was and two cracked ribs. She would be ok.

“Thank the spirits,” Kya mumbled, hanging her head in relief,

Mako was now crouched beside her, the blue glow of the healing water casting shows on all their faces. He would scan the surrounding area and then return his gaze to Kya and the Chief every so often.

Kya released the catches of Lin’s uniform, knowing just how unamused her wife was going to be when she regained consciousness and found herself in just her uniform pants and under tank. Kya stifled the absurd laugh that bubbled up, practically choking on it.

As the water was concentrated on her left side, the ribs, Kya could feel the awareness returning to her partner, her heartbeat picking up slightly. That was all the warning she got before Lin sat up, her forehead barely missing Kya’s.

“Whoa,” Kya intoned softly, Mako behind Lin instantly, offering her support, “take it easy Chief.”

Lin winced and moved to grab her head, her shoulder and ribs protesting violently.

“What the hell happened,” she groaned.

Kya was now focused on Lin’s head, trying to relive the pressure that was causing her partner to be slightly nauseous. The healer glared at the metalbender, Mako cowered in sympathy.

“Lin, what was Aunt Suki’s main rule in combat?”

The Chief looked at Kya in confusion, whether from the change in topic or from the head injury, Mako wasn’t sure.

The glare deepened, “What was it Lin?”

The anger in Kya’s voice immediately snapped the metalbender out of her daze. They connected eyes, snapping blue to sheepish green, and Lin was reminded of all the times she had seen those eyes. Most notably when they were caught sneaking back onto the island as children and when she did something particularly stupid. Kya may have taken after Uncle Aang in the Air Nomad sense, but her temper was all Aunt Katara.

“Keep track of your surroundings,” Lin sighed as the pressure in her head finally lifted.

“Yes Lin,” Kya continued, voice hard as she moved to the shoulder, “and what didn’t you do?”

Lin followed the movements and relented, “Keep track of my surroundings.”

Mako stifled a chuckled at the clearly admonished Chief…they needed to bring in Master Kya more often he thought.

Kya huffed, “Exactly, now this is going to hurt.”

As soon as she gave the warning Lin grit her teeth, sucking in a breath as Kya quickly reset the joint. The pop making Lin sick to her stomach, the searing pain keeping her from losing it completely. The ache was soon replaced by the cool feel of the healing water, a relief that Lin didn’t know she needed.

“I had the situation under control,” she bit out.

Kya went still, eyebrow raised in a challenge, and Lin had the good sense to back down slightly.

“Before or after that waterbender plucked you off the side of the building like a ripe moon peach?”

The Chief’s cheeks colored slightly, as she looked down at her lap. She started when she realized she was no longer wearing her uniform. The glare directed towards Kya was one for the books, she was not pleased.

Kya huffed indignantly, she could really give a shit right now.

Lin leant forward, taking some of her weight off Mako as the detective went to stand. She nodded towards the boy, a quiet thanks that he returned as he settled into a cautious stance.

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming,” Lin relented.

Kya didn’t respond, just kept to her task, working to heal her wife. She was furious…and scared, Lin could sense the residual adrenaline in Kya’s system.

She inclined her head, trying to catch her wife’s eyes as she worked on the shoulder joint. When Kya finally gave in and looked up, Lin could see the sheen of tears just along the water line of her lashes. She cursed herself.

Lin leant forward and cupped the back of Kya’s head, their foreheads connecting, the air between them charged with emotion. She could feel Kya shaking, everything in the last hour finally catching up with her.

“I’m ok,” she reassured the healer, her voice gentle, “I’m sorry and I’m ok.”

Their lips met tentatively, soft at first but slowly growing desperate. The need to feel, to know that each other was alright, winning out over decorum. Mako turned slightly, giving them as much privacy as their situation could allow.

New Prompt List 💜

PS: the prompts can be original too 😊

#kyalin fanfic #kyalin #kya ll #kya x lin #lin beifong #lin beifong x kya #avatar the legend of korra #the legend of korra #my fanfic #prompts 💜

[raya-rhaenyra-ahsoka]

Why Daenerys Should've Stayed Longer in the North Than Attack Cersei Too Soon (Which is a dick move, really) PART 2

This is a continuation from my other post, as promised. Here’s the link to Part 1 here.

ALLIES FROM THE SOUTH

The Stormlands. With Dany recently legitimizing Robert Baratheon’s last living bastard, Gendry (Yay!), and appointed him as the new Lord of Storm’s End, I think he had pledged his loyalty and full support to her.

Now since the Baratheons are the overlords of the Stormlands, it ultimately makes the Stormlands part of Dany’s new rule in Westeros. And if the Stormmen questioned Gendry’s legitimacy, there are two people who can back him up: Ser Davos Seaworth, a landed knight, and Ser Brienne of Tarth, literally the heiress to Evenfall in Tarth Island. Both of whom are from the Stormlands and have served the late Baratheon lords, Stannis,

and Renly, respectively.

TV show-wise, Gendry had taken over Edric Storm’s plotline. Edric Storm was another one of Robert’s many bastards and it was him who Ser Davos saved from being killed by Mellisandre in the books, not Gendry. Gendry himself was grateful to Davos for saving his life and he sort of stepped up as his own parental figure. I also think Gendry reminded Davos of the son he lost during the Battle of Blackwater Bay.

As for Brienne, she and Gendry never shared a conversation in the show, but in the books, he even saved her life. Brienne came from Tarth, an island in the Stormlands, where her father Selwyn Tarth is lord and one of the many bannermen of the Baratheons of Storm’s End. Brienne came across Gendry in the Inn at the Crossroads while she was searching for the Stark girls. When she saw him, she literally thought he was Renly because of his striking resemblance to his uncle. Their exchange went something like this:

Brienne: Oh my god, Lord Renly?!

Gendry: Uh, what? Lord? Lol no, I’m just a smith.

I wished it happened in the show, it would’ve been funny.

Dorne. There isn’t much plot regarding Dorne in the show. (Again, f*ck D&D for ruining a great sub-plot of the story!) But in the books, the Martell heiress, Arianne was the ultimate feminist icon. She supported and fought for Myrcella Baratheon’s claim to the Iron throne over her younger brother, Tommen, and she hoped that the rest of Westeros would follow after Dorne’s right of inheritance regardless of gender and order of birth. But no! They disregarded that seemingly important plot that even George R.R. Martin was disappointed about the changes. (We hear you, George!) Nevertheless, Arianne would’ve supported a queen, yes. But between Daenerys and Cersei, she’d probably go with Dany mainly because of their family ties. In case you forgot, Rhaegar’s late first wife, Elia Martell, was Arianne’s aunt. Also, because of what happened to Elia and Oberyn Martell in King’s Landing, the Martells practically loathed the Lannisters. In the show, Oberyn Martell’s paramour Ellaria Sand, and his bastard daughters, the Sand Snakes, hated the Lannisters, that’s why they sided with Dany. But with all of them dead and House Martell now extinct, I think the new prince of Dorne would’ve allied himself with a tamer ruler, not one who plays with wildfire. (Note: this is when Dany stayed in the North and did not march south yet.)

Spies. In the Art of War, the use of spies implies gaining knowledge of the enemy, knowing their motive and their next move. With Lord Varys the Spider in Winterfell, who’s still serving under Daenerys, has its advantages. Vary’s networks of spies or as what he called them, his “little birds” are literally scattered across the seven kingdoms.

His little birds are actually children, and appearance-wise, cannot be easily identified as spies. With his intel, they could easily formulate a plan to defeat Cersei.

DEFENSE AT SEA

 If Cersei couldn’t do it by land, she’ll go by sea. Which, Daenerys of course, have the appropriate fleets to defend, covering both the Narrow and Sunset Seas. Here's a map:

(Source: pinterest.com)

Enemies to the East. If Cersei will be stupid enough to attack through the Narrow Sea by sea, Daenerys has the fleets to defend. The Northern fleet, a.k.a the Manderly Fleet of White Harbor and the Arryn Fleet in Gulltown in the Vale will join forces.

Enemies to the West. And if they invade through the Sunset Sea, they’d have to pass the Iron Islands, where Yara Greyjoy’s Fleet will intercept them, with the help of the Mallister Fleet in Seagard.

Who would win depends. The only other person that’s probably as good as Euron at sea is his niece, Yara. The rest of Dany’s fleet would have to get lucky or outnumber the number of ships in a fleet.

At this point, you’ll probably be like, oh, what if they steer clear from the fleets and enter the North’s weakly defended areas? Okay, that job falls to the castles nearest to their borders. The northernmost castle is the Last Hearth, the seat of House Umber, which is practically already deserted. On the south is Greywater Watch, which has the strongest defense out of all four cardinal directions. On both east and west hold the seat of two branches of House Flint, with Widow’s Watch on the east, and Flint’s Finger on the west (Again, refer to the map above). Once they see Cersei’s fleet, they’ll inform the people in Winterfell.

People tend to forget that Daenerys has the only air support with her dragons. So when she hears about this, she’ll easily burn the enemy fleet with one dracarys away.

That is, if Qyburn hadn’t installed that big-ass crossbow in one of the ships, then she’ll have to be better at dodging them. It gets better if Jon’s willing to help her with Rhaegal, but we’ll never know.

OUTNUMBERED AND SURROUNDED

The map shows the Crownlands and its neighboring kingdoms of the Vale, the Riverlands, the Reach, and the Stormlands. (Source: pinterest.com)

Territories. With Cersei sacrificing Casterly Rock to tighten her grip on the Iron Throne, she technically had also sacrificed the Westerlands, which meant everything north of King’s Landing is Dany’s territory now. With Dany’s army and territories secured, the Crownlands, where King’s Landing is, is technically surrounded by the Vale, the Riverlands, the Reach, and Stormlands. I included the Reach because, well, she roasted the Tarlys and took the remaining men to her cause with a choice, bend the knee or die in a blaze of glory.

Armies. Dany has the combined armies of North, Vale, Riverlands, Westerlands, Reach, Stormlands, and maybe Dorne, plus, the Unsullied; fleets of the North, Vale, Riverlands, and Yara’s fleet from the Iron Islands; and the only air support, her two remaining dragons. Cersei on the other hand, just had the army of the Crownlands, King’s Landing’s City Watch, the queensguard, plus, the Golden Company without elephants; and Euron Greyjoy’s fleet.

I think it’s obvious that Dany outnumbers Cersei’s army, by a lot. And at this point, Dany has enough allies to lay a siege on King’s Landing.

DAENERYS VS. CERSEI

Let’s discuss the difference in the personalities and motives of Daenerys Targaryen and Cersei Lannister.

They both have blond hair, are the only girl among three siblings, and are queens in their own right. But that’s where their similarities end.

Cersei currently sits on the iron throne, and she is loving the perks that came with it. Endless Power, which meant she can do whatever she wants and not care about what people think, like sleeping with her brother. With the news of Dany coming back to Westeros, she sees her as a threat and wanted nothing more than for Dany to disappear so she could stay in power.

Daenerys, however, claims that being the queen of the seven kingdoms is her birthright, as it was the Targaryens that reunited the whole continent of Westeros. Of course, it’s still power, but at the same time, she sees it as a responsibility as well. (With great power, comes great responsibility. Wow, I’m quoting Spiderman now.) She believes that as a queen, it’s her job to take care and provide for the needs of her subjects and even makes an effort to hold court as she listened to their demands. She also thinks that slavery is a big no-no, so she freed them.

The key to becoming a great leader is finding the balance between being loved and feared by your subjects. Cersei is more likely feared than loved. She also doesn’t care about her people, a fact that she admitted to her brother, Tyrion once. Daenerys most likely had the scale tips on balance, with her being equally loved and feared by her subjects. She’s loved because she actually takes time to listen to the people’s needs, and feared because she could take you out using her dragons with one word.

If Dany did lay siege on King’s Landing (again, we aren’t counting her major mad queen moment), the only thing Cersei can use against Dany is the people living within the city walls. Cersei might have heard that Dany’s been freeing slaves in the cities surrounding Slaver’s Bay, and figured out that she has a soft spot for the common folk.

In conclusion, if Daenerys had simply waited out and took her time planning and gathering allies and supplies against Cersei, she would’ve been successful in her campaign to retake Westeros. But then again, we aren’t the writers for this show. In the end, they had Jon battling through himself while he chooses to reply with either of his two favorite lines, She’s my queen or I don’t want it. Or that Sansa and Arya doesn’t like Dany at all and think that she’s a power-hungry, dragon-riding bitch. Or that Bran doesn’t give a f*ck about anything. So, yeah. What do you guys think?

#game of thrones #asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #cersei lannister #house stark #house targaryen #house lannister #house baratheon #house martell #the north remembers #jon snow #sansa stark #arya stark #bran stark #gendry baratheon #davos seaworth #brienne of tarth #king's landing #casterly rock #tarth island #euron greyjoy #yara greyjoy #drogon #rhaegal #westeros

[shirophantomvox]

Flower Pedals Hisoka x reader Part 2

Part 1

❤️♣️❤️♣️

As the day went on, Hisoka volunteered as a chaperone to your younger cousins. They wanted to play in the water while Hisoka sat under a coconut tree, sipping on a strawberry margarita. It would be pointless for an intoxicated man to be a chaperone but he is quite immune to heavy alcohol. Somehow, the sun’s beautiful reflection made Hisoka look like the man you slowly fell for. His job as a bodyguard for the most dangerous mafia in the country, his ability to speak French like a flipped switch, and of course his bulging muscles. Seeing him interact well with your cousins made him seem father-like. But why did he have to act so egotistical? Why couldn’t he be like the guys you saw on the Hallmark channel? Is being loved that hard to ask for? Then the hurtful incident earlier that day entered your mind once again. You didn’t want to break up with Hisoka but it was the only choice.

A tear ran down your face, something you hadn’t done in a while. A silent weep is something everyone needs to do once in a while but weeping in front of others can feel humiliating. Suddenly, you hear a knock on your door and someone enters without your permission. You quickly wiped your tears away and turned around quickly expecting it to be Hisoka. Instead, it was your beloved uncle smiling with a DVD in one hand and popcorn in the other but once he got a quick glimpse of your sad face, his smile disappeared. This time he didn’t run to your rescue but rather asked what’s wrong from a distance. He already knew it had to do with Hisoka but he was curious to hear more.

“Is it about your boyfriend?”

“Yes…”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Physically, no. Emotionally, yes. He has flirted with many people and disregards that I am there. He used to be all over me and now he acts as if I do not exist!”

“That’s horrible. But I have to break it to you. Some men like it when their significant others are jealous. It’s thrilling to them. If you dislike that, you should tell him.”

“I have! He will not listen to me!”

Your uncle grunted in anger and shook his head. He placed his index finger and thumb under his chin, thinking hard about something. Tears rolled from your eyes and felt like they could not stop.

“Come with me, darling.”

Following behind your uncle like a 5-year-old, he led the way to his newly renovated basement, and in that basement stood something that mimicked a lab. He removed a large blanket that covered a table full of glass test tubes and pink liquid. You were hopelessly confused as to why your uncle was smiling at his little creation.

“Uncle…what is all this?”

“Can you guess?”

“Sorry. I have no idea what it is.”

“It’s a love potion!”

You gasp and step back rather far from him. You frowned, not believing what your uncle has told you. Love potions were depicted and always fictional; they simply don’t exist. Hell, Cupid DOES NOT exist and yet he claims that he has made a love potion?! You have always known your uncle to be a wacky man but NOT THIS wacky! Not only did he have a small test tube of this love potion but he had at least 100 small bottles of it too!

“Uncle….don’t tell me…”

“Maybe Hisoka can take a shot of this…”

“U/N! No! That’s wrong!”

“Huh?”

“If he doesn’t love me anymore, I’ll break up with him. Plain and simple.”

“But y/n!-“

“No buts!”

Gosh, you sound like your aunt!

“Why do you have that anyway? I could have sworn you and auntie madly in love anyway.”

“We are….” He stopped talking for a brief moment as he made his way to the door. He did not want your aunt to overhear him speak or else she’d have his head.

“We’ve had a few tiffs lately and she is being distant. I was thinking of giving her this potion.”

“You can’t just…give her that! What if she’s allergic to any ingredient you put in there?”

“SHHH! It’s not a drug, ok darling? It’s essentially a cupid’s arrow in liquid form.”

“Oh yeah! And Santa Claus is real, right? Come on Unc. I’m going to sleep now.”

“Y/N wait! Wait!” Your uncle ran up the stairs after you to try and have an actual heart-to-heart conversation with you. In reality, The love potion wasn’t anything that would harm Hisoka or your auntie; it was something that everyone had. This “love potion” has many variants in the market already. It has its own juice, pop, and merchandise line. When people gave testimonies about them falling madly in love with their partners, you thought it was an absolute joke!

The day had reached 11 PM. The sun had set for the day and the bright stars shined brightly against the beach. Chrollo and the others had left hours ago probably forgetting that you and Hisoka had tagged along. As you cleared the dinner table, the love potion sat there, in its small slender glass frame. This had been extracted so it could be digested but still, you didn’t go anywhere near it.

“Don’t leave this unattended. If a person drinks too much, they’ll become a fool for you and as romantic as that sounds, it can be VERY overwhelming.”

As you turned the lights off downstairs, the front door barreled open. Your eyes had been adjusted to light for the last few hours; seeing in the dark was nearly impossible. But one thing is for sure, that infamous bubble gum small dashed towards your nostrils.

Hisoka.

The lights turned on once again and this time, they began to flicker a little. Hisoka’s piercing golden eyes were able to grab a hold of yours instantly. It felt like you were paralyzed with sudden fear and anger. So many emotions raged throughout your body; your brain sending many signals to the various parts of your body. Both of your cousins come running in, arms stuck out like airplanes zooming all through the living room. One flew underneath Hisoka’s legs and the other flew many times around you. Their sudden joy made you smile a little; they were so full of joy and hope…that is until they grow up.

“I like your boyfriend, y/n!”

“Yeah! He’s so fun! He taught me how to play Poker!”

“You what?!”

“Hey! She needs to know in case she needs to make some cash.”

“Ok, you two. Up to bed. Mom and Dad are waiting for you.”

Both of your cousins zoom into their rooms making loud airplane noises.

“I must admit, I see potential in those kids. They made their own marshmallows, mingled amongst people their age, and even reminded me when their bedtime was.”

He looked from the staircase to you. “Thank you for—“ he stopped as he looked at your angry face.

“—Are you still mad about earlier?”

“What do you think, jerk?”

“Would you stop playing hard to get? You haven’t given me a kiss today.” He bent down and puckered his lips, expecting you to respond. Instead, you turn the lights off leaving a kiss-less Hisoka in the dark. Hisoka stood in the middle of the dark living room beyond confused at your actions.

Finally! Alone at last. No one to interrupt your thoughts or sleep, just you in your auntie’s guest room. The bed was extra comfy! It was so fluffy that it almost made you get up and inside Hisoka to sleep with you.

“No. He needs to learn his lesson,” you thought to yourself. Besides, a non-married couple sleeping in the same bed together was NOT going to fly in this house. Before you knew it, your eyes were closed for what felt like 20 minutes but were actually 8 hours. The sun beamed through the curtains acting as your silent alarm clock. Stretching your muscles and yawing felt amazing after a good night’s sleep. Checking your phone was a reflex but feeling an odd source of shadows made you freeze. As you slowly turned around, Hisoka was laying in your bed, with his boxers on, smiling, and gawking at you; something he’d never done. You thought rubbing your eyes twice would make him go away, but he was still there in the flesh. Still angry about yesterday's encounter, you stare at him plainly.

“What in the world are you doing here, Hisoka?”

“To be with you, of course, my dear.” His tone was much softer; it felt as if he was barely moving his tongue. His lips slightly puckered as he spoke. Your boyfriend was always mysterious but it can be said that he was never predictable.

“What are you talking about?”

He scoots closer to you; his bare chest rubbing against your right arm. He places his left arm around your neck pulling you closer. So close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He took his index knuckle, placed it under your chin, and lifted.

“Oh, how I missed your face…the sound of your voice…my heart aches for you.”

You blink twice.

Am I dreaming? What is going on here?!

“Hisoka—“

He placed his index finger over your lips; his long nail gently scratches the top part. “Shhh….” Quickly but softly, Hisoka gives you a kiss but not just an ordinary kiss, one that is very breathtaking. His lips were much softer than you remember and a lot moister. He didn’t force anything; he gently moved his lips to make you more comfortable. What felt like a lifetime was truly only 10 seconds and on the 11th, he parted. Gazing into his golden eyes this time made your heart skip a beat. You remained silent, slightly afraid to say a word as he stared into your eyes deeply. This was not his blood-lust look at all but awfully similar. His eyes were half-lidded but they were soft, much softer than you had seen before. Just as you were about to say something, he gently grabs your face and begins to kiss you all around without remorse. This overwhelming amount of affection not only made you bluff but be utterly embarrassed if your aunt and uncle caught you two in this state. It’s more of the family “aww’ ing” than anything else.

“How did Hisoka suddenly do a 360 from last night?”

“Might as well enjoy this while it lasts.”

Hisoka continued to place soft kisses. He began to pepper your lower jaw with them, earning a slightly satisfied grunt from yourself. He then professed his love for you as he kissed you in between phrases. The magician himself was as red as an apple while you were a giggling mess. He moved his lips to another part of your body. His hand kisses felt amazing once more. He moved his way up your arm and to your shoulder.

“You smell terrific, kitten,” he said in a lower huskier voice.

You growl in response; something so embarrassing that you are happy your nosy little cousins did not hear.

“You’re so adorable, kitten. So delicate that I’d be afraid to touch. So beautiful like the colors and aroma omitting from a blossom tree.”

“I love you to the moon and back.”

Before Hisoka said another word, he placed his right hand where the bottom of your head and neck met. He gently caressed it as he pressed his forehead against yours. The soft feeling of his nose moving swiftly against yours felt like ecstasy. Nothing could ruin this moment.

“Hisoka’s a simp!”

Both of you jerked your heads to the door. Through the crack, you could see two curious pairs of eyes, staring into your room. Before Hisoka could leave the bed, you jump over him and march to the door.

“You know, it’s rude to stalk people in their bedrooms.”

“And? It’s rude for you to be staying the night in my beach house and not giving us any money. Hand it over sis.”

You close the door and jump back into bed with your new boyfriend. Hisoka practically had hearts in his eyes. It’s as if he saw no one but you.

Maybe he has changed….

Your uncle’s voice could be heard a distance away and that’s when it hit you.

“Don’t leave this unattended. If a person drinks too much, they’ll become a fool for you and as romantic as that sounds, it can be VERY overwhelming.”

Oh shit! Where is the potion?! No! It was left on the table last night!”

"Really, Unc? I think I can deal with this. After all, he is less insufferable. I’ve always wanted my beau back and I hope he remains this way…falling on his knees before me."

To be continued....

#hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter headcanons #hunter x 1999 #hunter x meme #hunter x reader #hunter x 2011 #hisoka morrow #hisoka x y/n #hisoka x reader #hisoka fluff #hxh #hxh 2011 #hxh 1999 #hxh reader #hunter x hunter imagines #hunter x hunter fanfiction #hisoka hcs #hisoka headcanons #hisoka #hisoka hunter x hunter #fluff

[ironlime]

60 Years After

So somebody in the tumblrverse posted about their headcannon in which Ned Coats was Sam Vimes' kid having traveled through time. I am a fan of this. It explains a lot. So when I read it back in... April? I then sat down and wrote up this little fanfic thing. And assumed that I could not only get it posted today, but also edit it so that it's not filled with so many of my own headcannons. And is closer to the original material. But L-Space is my job, and it really does do crazy things to time (and space.) On top of that I was really hoping I could post this to that original headcannon post but... I can't find it. So, OP, if you come across this... Well, I'm sorry. I'm more sorry to Sir Terry (GNU), though.

Quick note: my friends and I have found it easier to call Vimes' kid "Wee Sam" than "Young Sam" because "Young Sam" is one of the names (along with Vimesy and Lance Constable Vimes) that Vimes calls his younger self and... yeah. We find it confusing when nerding out about a single series with two different characters called 'Young Sam'. So we Feegle it up. Even though I wouldn't be surprised if 'Wee Sam' is actually a bit taller than his dad.

~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

“What happened just then, Sarge? You blurred.” Wee Sam said, while he thought Oh so that’s what that looks like.

“You only get one question, Ned,” The man who would be his father looked a little seasick, and Wee Sam knew exactly how he felt. “Now, let’s show Snapcase where the line’s drawn, shall we? Let’s finish it--”

To the majority of people there that day, Sergeant-At-Arms John Keel stood, turned towards the enemy, and charged. To two people, Commander Sam Vimes ran towards Carcer, ready to drag him kicking and screaming into the past. Or the future. Depending on who you asked.

That was what gave Wee Sam his frame of reference, actually. He remembered hearing stories about Carcer, about how his dad had arrested the bastard the day Wee Sam was born. But was this actually May 25th for his dad? Was this weeks before the arrest? Hours? He couldn’t ask. Not yet.

“Glad to see you’ve joined us and are getting along with the Sarge, Coats.” Fred Colon said, touching him on the shoulder as they ran towards the fight.

“Yeah, Fred.” Oh, Fred. Fred Colon had died a few years ago, happy and surrounded by great-grandchildren. But here and now he was young and actually capable of running. And he was running towards the fray.

Sweeper had told Wee Sam to stay away from the center of the fight, and to try not to actually kill anybody, so he stayed on the edge near the unconscious Lance-Constable Sam Vimes who had been hidden by his older, more cynical self. Three men in a battle with the same name, and two of them were the same person. Good thing Wee Sam was the only one who had to really keep track of which of them was where. He certainly didn’t trust anybody else to.

So he fought, in a very curbed way, knocking his adversaries unconscious when he could and doing his best not to step on Nobby Nobbs, who was doing his best to very slowly inch away from the battle while simultaneously pretending to be a corpse. Over by the Watch House, Reg Shoe was doing a much better impersonation of a corpse, seeing as how he was one, but in a couple of hours he’d discover that it just didn’t work for him.

“You’re nicked, my ol’ chum.” It was probably because he had been listening for it, but his father’s whisper carried. Nobody else seemed to hear it, and nobody but Wee Sam turned in time to see the two men vanish. In the same instant, a single body appeared on the ground near where they had been. So, now that he had seen that through, there was one more…

A dark grey-green shadow passed by his shoulder, and his mind registered Uncle Havelock before adding the word Young.

Havelock Vetinari ran into the fight, cutting down Carcer’s men much more brazenly than the Assassin's Guild would like, a lilac bud between his teeth. Even in Wee Sam’s time, when Vetinari’s wardrobe consisted entirely of black and everything he did was in moderation, the Patrician indulged in a little drama on a regular basis.

He chose to have Commander Sam Vimes in his life, after all.

There was a sound to Wee Sam’s left, which he recognized though his mind didn’t associate any words with it. It was a sound any human would recognize, even those who first approached the Delta where the Ankh River met the Circle sea thousands of years ago. If Wee Sam had to find Morporkain words for it, and as a Vimes he did like to use his vocabulary, they were Confused, followed by Hurt followed by… wait for it… there it was. Anger.

Wee Sam could make that noise, though he rarely did. His father’s upbringing, on the other hand, had been considerably less balanced. The kid who was the source of the sound ran into the center of the fight, and Wee Sam deftly stepped out of his way while pushing an adversary in his way. The boy chopped down the Unmentionable with one graceful movement, and Wee Sam felt that he could safely say that he hadn’t been the one to kill the bastard. And nobody had been so foolish as to tell him to prevent his father from killing anybody.

Vetinari didn’t pause, but he did turn to look at this vengeful newcomer. Vetinari hadn’t been there when young Sam Vimes participated in the first part of the battle, and Wee Sam recognized the young assassin’s look of interest.

Tell me, Uncle Havelock, will you recognize him in 15 years? Or will you need to get him well and truly angry to realize you’ve found him?

Wee Sam knew this wasn’t the first time Havelock Vetinari saw Sam Vimes, but this was probably the first time he saw the potential. That he was more than just That Kid Who Follows Keel Everywhere. I bet you didn’t actually expect him to be so damned smart. His father still didn’t think of himself as intelligent. It was infuriating, especially when he and his father were having a disagreement. A drawn out, decade-long, disagreement.

Young Sam Vimes sent a lot of the Unmentionables running, and Wee Sam cut down any of them which could be seen as ‘coming towards him with a drawn weapon’. Since they were escaping a fight, that was anyone who came within reach not wearing a lilac.

Time travel really can get to a man. He thought, feeling a little cold. There would be no arrests here, just death and fleeing and at the end of the day Sam Vimes, Havelock Vetinari, Fred Colon, Gaskin, and, less literally, Nobby Nobbs and Reg Shoe would all be left standing. That was all that mattered.

He saw Vetinari turn away from young Sam Vimes, who then spun, and for the briefest moment they had their backs to each other, and Wee Sam wished he had his paints. It was a gods awful place to paint, there was a reason battles were always ‘immortalized’ after the fact, but the color and everything was just perfect--

And then the color faded.

“You should have fallen by now.” Sweeper observed from behind him.

“I wanted to see them fight together.” Wee Sam admitted, not turning. He had a notebook on him, and a pencil, but he knew that even with Time paused he didn’t really have it. Not to sit down and do a proper preliminary sketch. He was just going to have to remember.

Vetinari had a stiletto, an assassin’s weapon used to kill up-close. Young Sam Vimes hadn’t learned to dual-wield yet, but he had good instincts for the sword. Wait until you discover the axe.

Sweeper sighed. “Fine, and now you’ve seen it. I’m going to put the time back on and you had better be prepared to drop.”

“Yes yes alright.” Wee Sam shifted slightly, so he could seriously inconvenience the man who he was blocking before he dropped.

“Oh and stop killing people.”

“I’m a Vimes. You knew that when you hired me.”

“Indeed.” Sweeper said, and it took Wee Sam a moment to realize it was an attempt at a Vetinari impression. Before Wee Sam could reply, the color came back, and his adversary frowned in confusion.

“Oi, you blurred!” The man cried.

“This just isn’t your day.” Wee Sam gave the man a wound which might heal, if somebody tended to it within the next 10 minutes, and then fell over in a needlessly complicated way, specifically so he wouldn’t hit Nobby Nobbs.

And when he landed, the boy was looking right at him, frowning. Damn, Nobby was always the brains of Colon & Nobbs.

“You ain’t injured.” The boy hissed at him.

“Try to pick my pockets and you’ll regret it.” Wee Sam whispered back. Of course he wouldn’t dream of hurting Nobby, but the kid didn’t know that. Besides, picking the contents of his pockets back would be a relaxing way to end the day.

Nobby was still frowning at him. “You got eyes like the Sarge...”

“Nobby, get out of here before you get stepped on.” Wee Sam growled in his best imitation of his father, the Sergeant, within the past three days. The kid’s eyes went wide, and he took off running. Wee Sam glanced over to where Vimes and Vetinari were taking care of the last of Carcer’s men, and the color faded once more.

“I hope you are pleased with yourself.” Sweeper said, which Wee Sam took to mean he could stand up and dust himself off.

“Young Vimes and Vetinari live to grow up and become two of the most powerful men in Ankh-Morpork history, Carcer went back to his time more or less accompanied by my my dad so the one can be arrested by the other, your rogue ‘Time Vigilantes’ have been sorted out, oh and I don’t cease to exist either. My work here is d--” He stopped, and watched as Q and some other Technical Monks lay down a man about the same age, size and coloring as Wee Sam. “Wait, so there really was a Ned Coats?”

Sweeper had walked off without him, and Wee Sam jogged to catch up. The old monk didn’t turn to look at him when they were side-by-side, but he did start talking. “Of course there was. He was also from Psudopolis and knew the real Keel.”

“How’d he die?”

“The Agony Aunts, on his first day here. He was the real reason the real Keel accepted a job in Ankh-Morpork. The real Ned Coats was not a good man.”

“Keel... left his home to track down a criminal…” Wee Sam slowed. “That’s what my dad did! As Keel! Only, it was Carcer he had to catch.”

“Time likes continuity.” Sweeper nodded, and thanked Wee Sam quietly for holding the door open as they entered the monastery. Once in the building, color returned, with motion and sounds and smells. They were back in the Present.

The walk through the building was in relative silence, the rumbling of the procrastinators keeping it from ever becoming truly quiet here. Wee Sam could sleep almost anywhere, but the rumbling reminded him of the steam engines back home and Susan’s offer to help him find a job in Sto Lat ‘if he really couldn’t stay in Ankh-Morpork’.

Not long after his parents first met his dad had gotten fired for a couple of days, and his mom had offered to get him a job working for Susan’s parents. Susan had been young then, and sometimes he wondered what kind of person she would have grown up to be with his dad as part of her household staff.

Of course, with his parents living in two different cities, he would have never been born.

His mother would have never left Ankh-Morpork.

Then again, his father had chosen not to leave. He had stayed on the case. He… sorted it out, more or less. He kept Vetinari from getting killed. Had he done that during the battle? Young Sam and Vetinari had been facing opposite directions, had Vimesy blocked any blows aimed at the future patrician?

There was the crunch of stones under his feet, and Wee Sam consciously acknowledged they had arrived at the Garden of Inner-City Tranquility. His eyes swept the space, falling on and acknowledging the Cigarette Pack of Air, the Cat Doings of Disharmony, the Sonkie of Organic Harmony, the Cabbage Stalks of Dim Comprehension, the Discarded Fish-And-Chip Wrapper of Infinity, the Beer Bottle of Pissing Off Sweeper, and….

“The Cigar of Capriciousness is still here.” Wee Sam said, stopping between the door and the bench Sweeper always went to. He tilted his head slightly. “Or… Another cigar. Same brand, same style, smoked the same amount, probably by the same man, at the same angle... but it’s wrapped just a little differently.”

“Is it? I’ve stopped noticing.”

“You haven’t noticed the cigar that’s been smouldering here for the past month?” Wee Sam turned to Sweeper in disbelief. “I understand not paying attention to the condoms and cat doings, but time passes in here!”

Sweeper shrugged. “There is always a cigar. Even if we get rid of it, a new one shows up. If the new one lands closer to the wall, the garden always pushes it to the center.”

“Always? Since, what, the dawn of time?”

“Oh no. Since the day you were born. Or thirty years before. It’s hard to say.” Sweeper was looking at him evenly, and Wee Sam suddenly realized his reaction was being gauged.

“My dad. But…” Wee Sam looked at the cigar. “He doesn’t smoke them anymore.”

“He does. On special occasions.”

“Like what?”

“Your birthday. And when he pays certain visits.”

“He talked you into not keeping me on?” His gaze moved swiftly from the old man to the cigar, and with purpose he stalked into the middle of the garden and brought his foot back, prepared to give the thing a swift kick.

“You did that just fine without his help.” Sweeper’s voice was quiet, but it froze Wee Sam where he stood. “Corporal, we both know you don’t want to do this.”

“The mission is over. Coats is dead. I’m not a corporal anymore.” His foot fell heavily, not coming into contact with the cigar but still sending a spray of stones ahead of them. He scowled as they came sliding back towards him, settling where they had been around his foot. “This job is the closest I’ve ever gotten to what I was made to do.”

“I realize that. I’m sorry.”

There was some silence as the last of the stones slid into place. The procrastinators here were small, used only for the bathrooms in the far right corner, even though the city’s sewer pipe system now meant that they were just inconveniencing themselves in exchange for saving very little money. Wee Sam had done the math.

“Did you tell Susan?” Wee Sam didn’t want to be the one to tell her, but he also didn’t want anybody else to explain that he had squandered this opportunity.

“No. That is your problem, my boy.”

“Good.” Wee Sam squatted down, getting a closer look at his father’s cigar. The smell brought him back to his childhood, and it was comforting if not at all healthy. His mother had never allowed them in the house, but his father smoked them all the time outside and in his office, so the scent clung to his uniform like… Well like Wee Sam had back then. “Please don’t hold… me... against her. She was just looking out for me. She does that. Wish I knew why.”

“She is aware of your potential.” Sweeper said, and Wee Sam was so surprised he looked over his shoulder at the old man. “You’re good at investigating and putting the pieces together. And, some day, you will once again make a very good cop.”

“Someplace other than Ankh-Morpork.” Wee Sam grunted, but the old man shrugged, and he asked, hopefully “In Ankh-Morpork but in the future?”

“That is not for me to say.”

“No, it’s for my father to say.” He glared at the cigar, and then pushed himself to a standing position.

“You know, I didn’t just take you on because Susan asked and there happened to be another Vimes-shaped opening.” Sweeper said as Wee Sam turned towards the door.

“No?”

“I wanted to get to know the man the Theives Guild deemed ‘too dangerous’ for membership.” Sweeper sounded amused, and Wee Sam turned to look at him.

“I keep killing people. Assassin's school graduate, and all.” Wee Sam reminded him, but Sweeper waved the comment away.

“We both know neither of those things are relevant to today’s theive’s guild.” Sweeper shook his head. “Your father is afraid of you becoming him; and, well, so is everyone else. Vimeses walk in and take control. Especially under Vetinari’s influence.”

“And how do you know what my father is afraid of?” Wee Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. He was choosing to ignore the comment about Vetinari’s influence because it was true. After 300 years of cops and / or drunks it took Havelock Vetinari telling his father ‘not’ to investigate three deaths to bring his family name back to the list of the city’s gentry.

“You should ask him.” Sweeper did not ignore the narrowed eyes, but he did meet them evenly. “What he’s afraid of.”

Wee Sam turned towards the door, intending to stalk out, then thought better of it and spun so he was completely facing the old man. “You know what? I think I will.”

Then he ran, took a leap to place one foot on the bench beside Sweeper and jumped so his hands easily grasped the top of the wall. His own momentum brought him sideways, and he hurtled over the top. There was an alley on the other side, and he landed lightly. He was exactly where he expected to be, of course, and took off at a run towards the Cemetery of Small Gods.

And slowed to a walk before he reached the gates. It would not do for him to be out of breath when he arrived at the graves.

Twilight was falling, so his dad would be there, but so would Uncle Havelock and maybe Reg Shoe. Wee Sam was less concerned about how Reg saw him, especially now that he had seen Reg alive, but as far as his family was concerned he wanted to take steps towards appearing dignified. Even though they had known him his whole life, and knew better.

Sure enough, he passed Reg first. The Zombie was carrying a long-handled shovel over his left shoulder, and nodded in acknowledgement. Wee Sam managed to nod back before they passed each other.

He had expected Reg to recognize him. Reg had never noticed him behind the barricade, his father never noticed him behind the barricade, but Wee Sam had been playing Ned Coats for a full month before Sam Vimes had shown up as John Keel. Maybe Reg had never noticed that his father was Keel? How did Zombie memories work, anyway? Their brains certainly weren’t making new pathways… Did vampyre brains make new pathways?

This train of thought kept him pretty well occupied, along with the question of how he could politely go about getting some answers, when he noticed Uncle Havelock and his ‘cane’ striding silently towards him. A simple nod wouldn’t do.

“Good evening, Uncle Havelock.” Wee Sam called, since his mother had drummed into his head that you always greeted your superiors first. Admittedly, this sometimes meant that he approached his uncle with a question about what he would call the color of the sunset above a specific building at that exact moment, or if there was a poison which exploded in a particularly satisfactory fashion, but the patrician never complained. Nor did he complain if Wee Sam wandered in his office and started talking about alternative methods for coding clax messages or an unusual bird he had noticed riding the thermals above the University. And, thank gods, Havelock Vetinari knew that a formal greeting from Wee Sam Vimes meant that he didn’t want to talk.

“Happy Birthday, Wee Sam.” His uncle replied, “I trust you’ll be on time for dinner?”

Oh. That was a reminder. And a warning. “Thank you. Yes, we won’t be long.”

“Good. See you then.” The Patrician nodded, and then passed him.

“Yes.” Wee Sam muttered, and then reached for his pocket watch. When he pulled it out, he saw the time was all wrong and swore quietly. Well, from the graves he would be able to see the Tower of Art, and set his watch to the present. The battle of the lilac boys had been in the mid-morning, and it was most definitely not a quarter to noon.

John Keel’s grave marker was wood, and though it had been replaced often it had never been strong enough to support the weight of an average-sized man. Reg’s, on the other hand, was granite, and he apparently didn’t mind that Commander Sam Vimes leaned against it more and more every year.

Wee Sam didn’t make any noise, he never made any noise, but he could never sneak around his father. Commander Sam Vimes turned his head ever so slightly, and Wee Sam tooka good look at him.

Oh gods, he was so old. When had that happened? True, the last time he had seen his father he must have been about 50, but before that Wee Sam had spent three decades watching his father age and yet… It had never struck him so hard. He never could quite reconcile his memories of young Sam Vimes, that kid who had joined The Watch for three square meals a day and a little extra cash for his family. But he hadn’t thought his father had changed so much.

The old man looked him up and down. “How’d the battle go? After I left?”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly, and looked down at his outfit. He had forgotten to change into the clothes he had left at the monastery. This outfit was a uniform the Monks had given him, so he wouldn’t have the problems ‘accidental’ time travelers experienced with their clothes and meals and things staying in the time they came from. He even still had his lilac, somehow, even though that had come from the past.

“Don’t you remember?” You kicked ass.

His father shook his head. “I remember the original timeline, when Keel died at the barricade. I was pretty sure Coats wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he was, either.”

“I guess Vetinari showed up?” His father smirked. “Had a lilac in his teeth and everything?”

“I thought you didn’t remember it.” Wee Sam frowned.

“I don’t, but he tells me about it sometimes. I think he’s waiting for me to remember, or maybe now he’s wondering why I don’t.”

“Because time travel is a mess.” Wee Sam turned away from his father and looked across the city. He could see his family’s house from here.

“So Sweeper explained it to you?” The interest in his voice was practically tactile.

“No, but I had to run around for a month foiling somebody who had been sent to kill Havelock Vetinari. And it gave me time to wonder.”

“Why it was different the first time around?”

Wee Sam shook his head. “Would I have survived being born if you didn’t go back and meet Lawn?”

There was absolute silence between them, until Commander Sam Vimes quietly swore.

“Sweeper told me you have to think of things as one event in front of another, which is fine, except if you hadn’t gone back in time you wouldn’t have known Lawn was competent. You had heard of him, sure, but he would have never crossed your mind.”

“So we owe your existence to the damn time monks?” There was an angry edge to his father’s voice, but Wee Sam already knew his father was protective as hell. That was how he had gotten into this mess. Sort of.

“No. As far as I can tell, we owe it to some modern young idiots who thought they could go back and kill Vetinari. Time tries to fix things, and so you were sent back in time, to meet Lawn and Carcer went with you and killed Keel so there was a place for you to be and when you were done my life got saved and the monks were able to send me back to save Vetinari’s life and… Time is what it should be. Go us.” There was something about owing his life to terrorists that made him feel sarcastic.

“For all we know Vetinari or Rosie Palm might have recommended Lawn.” His father pointed out, which wasn’t a bad alternative. But it wasn’t what had happened, and there wasn’t really anybody they could ask. At least, nobody who they could ask who would give them a meaningful answer. They both knew Vetinari was a capable doctor, but apparently neither of them could imagine Vetinari getting involved in a problematic birth when there were other competent people around to do it.

More silence. Wee Sam noticed the time on the Tower of Art, and pulled his watch back out. If they were going to avoid talking about the massive argument they had that morning, he may as well take the time to re-set his watch.

“There was the sound of dice.” His father said so quietly that it didn’t initially register.

“Hm?” Wee Sam pushed the pin in, and watched with satisfaction as his watch and the tower struck the time at the exact same minute.

“Before the Library got struck by lightning. There was the sound of dice. Were the people who wanted to kill Havelock associated with a specific god?”

“I… Don’t know. They didn’t say anything about one.” He shut the watch, and shoved it in his pocket. ‘Havelock’ meant his dad was worried. “But there was a thunderstorm, right? Was the sound of dice rolling at the exact moment as the thunder?’

“Yes.”

“Io!” They both said it at the same moment, and Wee Sam felt his heart fall to his stomach. The self-proclaimed King of the Gods had been trying to subjugate their family for a long time. The only reason he had eased up lately was because Wee Sam had trained with the witches in Lancre. And so, to a lesser extent, had his father. It made them harder targets. But Io was still The Thunder God because he had murdered all the others. And then there was the question of who he would be forced to answer to. And how. Neither of the Vimes men had an axe sharp enough for that.

“Damn, why didn’t I realize that?” His father asked the night at large.

“The gods are always playing games. And besides, you had no reason to think Io was responsible for… Well he’s probably not responsible for the Dragon Incident, at least. Or the Goblin Incident.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been operating under the assumption that he was involved in that Dam Slam.” He was rubbing his thumb thoughtfully over the inside of his left wrist, where the Mark of the Summoning Dark had been. When Wee Sam was 8 it had changed, to a symbol generally called the Guarding Dark by anyone who cared to reference it. His father never talked about either Mark, but Wee Sam didn’t blame him. The Marks were indicative of 7 year period which did a number on his view of magic, and his identity.

Speaking of.

“I haven’t told Susan yet, but the monks kicked me out.” He tapped his toe against the grass, bringing it down as softly as he could so it wouldn’t damage the grass. Leggy would be so mad if he damaged his precious ‘terf’.

“Do you want to be a Monk?” His father asked quietly.

“No, I want to be a Watchman.” He whispered. Today was his 30th birthday, though technically he was a month older than that. He felt so much older than that. “But you’re apparently so terrified of me getting myself hurt that you’ve been doing Every Damned Thing you can think of to get between me and that and so I went ahead and tried to join almost any guild in the city and quite a few refused me and I’ve been kicked out of Each. And. Every. One. which would take me and now the only thing I can think of is taking Susan up on her offer to put in a good word for me with the Sto Lat Watch unless you’re going to step in and mess that up too and I wish you would knock it the hells off because as much as I love mum and her dragons I cannot spend the rest of my life working at the damn dragon sanctuary so--”

“Corporal.” His father’s voice was conversational, and somebody who had spent less time listening for the Commander’s voice probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“I’m not finished! Will you--” Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “Is that why you made me a Corporal? You couldn’t have recognized me. I hadn’t been born yet!”

“I recognized potential. And I was right, though you didn’t have as much control as I originally thought. Was all that sparring really necessary?”

“You’ve been standing between me and what I’ve been made to do!”

“And how would 50 year old me have known that?”

“It was easier to fight… him… than you.” Wee Sam grumbled, then realized he was starting to dig up the sod with his toe. Feeling bad about the grass, he brought his toe down in the other direction, to flatten it back down.

“Easier? I kicked your ass. I’d probably have a harder time of it now.”

“I never wondered if I should hold back.” Wee Sam admitted.

“Ah.” The 80 year old nodded. “I know that feeling. I’ve often wondered what it would be like if Vetinari and I had a proper fight when we were young.”

“You could sell tickets and solve all the city’s financial problems.” Wee Sam shifted his gaze to his father. “Actually you probably still could--”

“No. Your mother would have a conniption.”

“Oh right. Yeah, she would. Shame.”

“Do I want to know who you think would win?”

“No.”

“Your faith in me is staggering.”

“Well I figure either it would be a draw or he’d kick your--”

“Yes I understood your answer to my question, thank you.” But he was smiling ever so slightly.

And then the city’s clocks started chiming 9 in the evening. His father pushed himself slowly to his feet, and Wee Sam offered his arm. Cheery had offered to get his father an axe to use as a cane, but Commander Vimes would not hear of it. He did touch Wee Sam’s arm briefly, but once he was standing straight he let go, and the pair of them headed towards the exit.

They didn’t bother to try talking until the clocks had stopped, about five minutes after Wee Sam’s watch struck the hour.

“Did those people who tried to kill young Vetinari have any friends who stayed in our time?”

“I believe so.” They were walking slowly, and Wee Sam waited a full block before he added. “You want me to turn all my information over to anyone in particular?”

“I’m not afraid of you getting hurt.” It didn’t seem like a related response, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. “I mean, of course I am, but that’s not why I’ve been saying no.”

“Really?”

“I don't want people treating you like a target for their hate for me. If you could join the way Carrot or Angua or Cheery did, that would be fine. But it’s gotten so big since they joined up.”

“Ah.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t think it would be any better if you joined anywhere else within the Clacks network.”

“Which is pretty much the whole world at this point.”

“And there’s all this scrying now.”

“Which doesn’t need towers.”

His father glared at him, but didn’t tell him to knock it off. “So I suspect your joining a Watch anywhere would ultimately be just as risky.”

“Which is your reasoning for why I shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat.”

“No, my reasoning for why you shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat is that we pay better and have the best medical benefits on the Sto Plains.”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “What.”

“You survived the Watch I started out in. As far as I’m concerned, you can handle today’s watch.” The old man stopped and looked back at him. “You’re going to be the oldest cadet though. Because I’m not going to let you jump straight to Corporal. We’re not at war.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s fine.”

“We’re going to be late if you don’t get moving.”

“Right.” Wee Sam managed to keep himself from skipping, so the pent up energy became a jog to his father’s side. They walked in silence, Wee Sam’s mind racing as he wondered if there was some way for him to accidentally mess this up.

“You should give your mother two week’s notice though. It’s only fair.”

“You didn’t run this by her first?” Wee Sam turned to him, shocked.

“Oh we’ve been talking about this for years.” The unspoken word ‘decades’ hung in the air between them. “Her, Vetinari, Carrot, Angua, Cheery--”

“Cheery?”

“She and Igor think you should be in forensics. I mean, it’s your choice of course-- after you pass the tests.”

“Forensics would be great.” He agreed, and thought about how fun it could be to put his Medical and Alchemical and Assassin training to something useful for once. Which reminded him “You know, there is a smouldering cigar in the center of The Garden of Inner City Tranquility at the Monastery.”

“Yeah, it hit me after you left. I had called you ‘sunshine’ during our fight, and Vetinari basically asked how you were handling turning 30, and seeing him standing there with the lilac pinned to his shirt it hit me.” He paused for a moment. “He wore it in the original timeline too, you know. I wish I had asked, but we didn’t get along as well then.”

Wee Sam felt his mouth tug into a half-smile. For his father and the patrician, ‘getting along as well’ involved an increased number of arguments. Also, he remembered ‘Keel’ using that ironic term of endearment during their spar. “You realized I was Ned Coats.”

“So I… walked as fast as I could… to the Monastery and… knocked on the damned door… And threatened to make one hell of a scene if Sweeper didn’t let me in.”

“So of course he did.”

“Of course.”

“And he took you to the garden. And… you told him what you worked out?”

“Actually I just told him that if anything happened to you I was holding him personally responsible. I knew Ned Coats died. I just didn’t know if he died the way John Keel died. I hadn’t stayed long enough to find out.”

“And what did he say?”

“He asked if my holding him responsible was more or less lethal than Susan Sto Helit holding him responsible.”

Wee Sam laughed. “Sweeper hasn’t met mum.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” His father chuckled quietly. “Anyway, Susan will be at dinner so you can tell her all about how the monks kicked you out with an audience. Your mother will find it interesting, I’m sure.”

“Does mum know about you going back...”

“Oh yes. Vetinari can’t keep a secret from her.” And neither could her husband.

“Will there be anybody at the dinner who doesn’t know?”

“Hm, no. I don’t think so. You were the only one who wasn’t in a position to make conversation then, and while Susan wasn’t involved in my adventure as far as I can tell…”

“But with Susan who knows. In any case, I think I’ll wait until we can get some privacy.”

“Suit yourself, but be warned. Everyone knows I told you I was ok with you joining the Watch. They’ll make a big deal about it. You know how they are.”

Wee Sam looked up at the big, brightly-lit, house as they waited for his dad to fully get his breath back. “I’ll try to be strong.”

Commander Sam Vimes snorted. Wee Sam opened the door, held it while his father entered the house, and followed right behind him.

#the glorious 25th of may #night watch #discworld #sam vimes #gnu terry pratchett #fanfiction #john keel #terry pratchett #writing

[the-firebender-girl]

Thick As Thieves (Zuko x Reader)

-> In which Azula got her redemption arc and gets to be the cool aunt.

Zuko has been equally dreading and anticipating this day for months. The day his sister will finally be released from the asylum on a nearby island. She was continuously monitored and deemed stable now, safe enough to roam free again and insert herself back to society. His last encounter with her a few years back wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience so he doesn’t know what to expect now, will it go awry again? or has she really turned a new leaf? guess he’ll find out sooner than later.

His worries extend far beyond his own discomfort of facing his deranged and misguided sister because he also has others to worry about, he’s got his own family now. A wife, a daughter, and a son. His wife had briefly met Azula when she tagged along with him at one of his visits but he can’t say the same for the younglings. Izumi and Isao, the new beloved princess and prince of the Fire Nation, his pride and joy.

Being a father suprisingly comes natural to him despite his dreadful childhood and having no father figure to look up to. He learnt a lot from watching Hakoda though, he owed that man a lot. Especially now that the closest thing that he has to a father is gone. Uncle Iroh decided that he had done all he could in the material world and chose to ascend to the Spirit World, leaving his mortal body behind and letting his soul make a new home there.

It was a decision that Zuko supports wholeheartedly, but still sometimes he wishes that Iroh is still around to guide him with his wisdom. Now he has this world of ruling and fatherhood that he has to navigate on his own, hoping that he won’t mess it up.

“Love, are you ready?” Y/N’s gentle voice broken his train of thoughts, pulling him back into the real world.

“Yeah... just thinking about... things” He replied lamely, reaching out for her hand which she gives. He always love playing around with her fingers, the contact brings him comfort.

“Don’t get lost in your head too much, okay?” She said, giving him a tender smile.

He stares back at the love of his life appreciatively and gives her a sure nod.

“I just... I don’t know how to feel, it’s like i’m scared of expecting anything if it’ll just put myself up for a disappointment. You know how much of a wildcard she is” Zuko said timidly, looking small and more vulnerable than he has been for years.

“I know Zuko, this must be soo confusing for you, i’m scared too but we’re in this together right? I’ll be with you every step of the way” Y/N assure him, trying to subdue his worries as much as she could. Rubbing comforting touches at his shoulder.

“Spirits, Y/N. What did I ever do to deserve you?” He leaned his head back a bit so that he can nuzzle it into her stomach.

She hums, “I don’t know, you must be a hero or something with what a great catch I am” She grins teasingly, easing up the tension.

She considers it as a triumph when her husband lets out a scoff of disbelief, “Woman you are unbelieveable” Shaking his head at her.

“Part of the charm, love”

To that he can’t help but burst out laughing.

Oh the married life.

———————————————————————

Azula stood on her own two feet, no longer bounded by straitjacket nor in a wheelchair. She stood as a free woman now. She wouldn’t go as far as to say ‘free and changed woman’ because some things just scarred too deep too remove but the therapies she undergo definitely did some good. So was the time she spent away from the capital and from the expectations she used to bear.

Now she stands face to face with Zuko, all out in his Fire Lord regalia. It suits him, not that she would admit that out loud, her pride is still very much intact after all.

“Should I bow to you now?” Her voice sends a cold chill running through Zuko, despite being locked away it seems that his sister managed to keep the bite in her.

“According to formalities you should, but no” He replied, feigning indifferent.

“Whatever you say, Fire Lord Zuzu”

Zuko’s composure cracks at the sound of his childhood nickname combined with what is now his title, one of his eyes twitching in annoyance. From his peripheral vision, he saw Y/N raising one of her hands in front of her mouth to hide her growing smile and a laugh that threatens to escape.

Even the guards who are standing by and thus being a part of this reunion seems to have trouble doing their part after witnessing this exchange. The sound of giggling little voices reaches his ears, at this he softens and put his hands on Izumi and Isao’s shoulder.

“Now who might these be?” Azula said as she redirects her line of vision to the source of noise, raising both of her eyebrows expectantly.

“This is my children, Izumi my eldest....” Zuko said while patting her head lovingly then he moves to do the same to his son, “And Isao, her younger brother”

Azula’s eyes roamed over them, taking in every features as if sizing them up, then she stops when she reaches their faces. Molten gold meets its exact pair, a courtesy of the royal family (superior) gene pool if she say so herself. That eye color might as well be their trademark after all.

“Well hello there little ones, i’m Aunty Azula” She said as she carefully took a step closer towards them. The guards almost block her away but Zuko raised his hand to signal them to be at ease and let her pass.

Izumi shrinks back, scared but at awe at the same time at her aunt’s cat-like movement. It’s soo smooth she looks like she is gliding across the floor and now she’s in front of them in no time. She may be 7 but she’s old enough to understand things, things that she heard people say in a whispers about her aunt whom she never met before. And that is enough to make her reluctant.

Izumi looked to her right at her little brother but Isao doesn’t show the slightest hint of being unfazed. In fact he looks intrigued.

There was a small awkward silence moment before a huge grin bloomed on Isao’s face, making his puffy cheeks even more prominent.

“Hey there aunty! i’m sooo pumped to meet you” He said innocently, excitement oozing from his very being.

Azula is caught off guard by such a welcoming reaction, this is not something that she expected at all. She never even realized her inadequacy in dealing with children until she’s finally forced to face one. What’s the first thing that she should even do? feed them flaming fire flakes? use them as target practice? Agni, Zuzu better not do anything stupid like leaving her with any of them.

Y/N watched as her sister in law seems to be frozen in place, looking at her son as if he’s an alien being. Who knew that the great Azula will one day be stupefied at a mere interaction with a 4 years old child? well the more you know.

“Sooo... lunch, anyone?” Y/N said, a pathetic attempt to break the ice.

Azula just walked past them without a second glance. Making her way inside the palace that she once called home, with Isao tailing behind. Small feet attempting to catch up to her long strides. Zuko and Y/N shared a glance at each other, to which he just shrugs and they too follow after her.

———————————————————————

A week has passed since she came back and Azula is adjusting pretty nicely, well people still cower at the sight of her and most of them stay as far as they can but not that she mind that.

Well everyone except this little bugger called Isao aka his brother’s second spawn. He loves following her around and looking at her with those annoying big round eyes, think that would work on her too huh? too bad she hates children. He really doesn’t know what’s good for him.

Tonight they’re having a family dinner. To formally celebrate her coming back or whatever. At least the food is good. The mouth-watering scent of smoked sea slug, roast duck, komodo sausages, extra spicy fire noodles, and fruit tart filled the air. It’s starting to look more and more like a feast instead of a nice and quiet family dinner. Trust her brother to always make a spectacle out of everything.

Azula was minding her own business, scooping bits of this and that into her plate when the empty chair beside her got dragged back by a pair of small hands. Isao’s round face greeted her as she watches his sorry attempt at climbing the chair. Grumbling, she picks him up and put him securely on top of it before he hits his head on the side of the table or something.

“Thanks Aunty Azula!” He said, giving her his signature wide grin.

“Ughh whatever kiddo”

Azula turns her attention towards the head of the table where Zuko and Y/N are currently sitting, haven’t yet realized that their son has disappeared from his designated chair.

Azula clears her throat, that successfully got their attention.

“Zuko, Y/N would you mind giving some help over here? it’s trying to bond again” A hint of awkwardness creeps into her voice, face scrunching, she’s even shifting left and right in her seat.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “It’s got a name, Azula and he’s your nephew so play nice”

“B-but....” Before she could voice her protest, the couple has already turned their attention away.

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, Isao’s curious stares burning into her.

Once she opens her eyes again, the boy is already stuffing his mouth full of sausages.

“I guess i’m stuck with you then” She said defeatedly as she watches him happily munching his food down.

———————————————————————

“You know you look exactly like your father when he was little” Azula said to the boy whom she’s babysitting, it pains her to even think about this. What were Zuko and Y/N even thinking when they decided that leaving their son to her care for the day is the best idea. Does she look like she’ll make a good nanny? Spirits, the audacity.

This carbon copy of Zuko is currently sitting beside the pond, with two little feets dangling in the water, creating small ripples here and there. The turtle ducks happily swam around him, waiting for him to throw in another good measure of breadcrumbs.

“Yeah I know that! Grandfather Iroh used to say that a lot” He said to which Azula scoffed and tsked under her breath, “Grandfather Iroh”

“Of course of course....” She said while lazily drawing patterns on the grass, “Good ‘ol Grandfather Iroh”

Isao stops his feeding session and crawled to where Azula is sitting.

“Do you know that my name means ‘honor’ or ‘meritorious’ ? How cool is that huh!? father picked that out himself” He said, wide eyed. Visibly bouncing in his seat while giving her this piece of information.

Azula lets out an incredulous chuckle as she shakes her head, “Of course Zuzu would choose something like that as a name, your father was obsessed with his honor” Drawling out the word obsessed to make her point clear.

“But I think it suits you, little one. So there’s that” She said giving him a shrug. That earned her a smile and Isao makes an exaggerated air fist pump, clearly pleased.

Azula reached out for the picnic basket that Y/N has earlier prepared for them, taking out the wrapped mochi and some tea. She then gives it to Isao, right on time as she hears his stomach rumble.

“Hungry are we? the mochi looks delicious but too bad the tea is already cold”

“Not to worry about that Aunty Azula! I got a little trick I can show you”

Imagine her surprise when fire sparks out of his fingertips, dancing on the bottom of the teapot, warming it quickly to a nice temperature.

“What?!?! how did you do that?” She said still pretty much in shock, watching as the fire slowly dies down.

“I once watched Grandfather Iroh do it, I haven’t figured out how then but now I can do it on command”

This boy really has no idea that he just executed a firebending trick perfectly didn’t he? warming up tea is a complicated form of art, it has to be done perfectly for the leaves and spices to fully release its essence. Such a raw talent in someone so young.

Come to think of it, even if he knows, he wouldn’t have thought about it too much nor dwell on it. If Azula got it right, Zuko’s eldest is a non-bender so Isao most likely or not has no experience in watching a firebending training.

“Kiddo, you can firebend? is there any other tricks that you can do?” Azula asked in an encouraging tone, this attitude is unusual coming from her but even she can’t deny that she has developed a soft spot for her nephew.

“I can create little fire here and there or warm myself up if I needed to but that’s all” Isao replied, looking her straight in the eye.

Azula hums as the gears in her brain is starting to turn, “Would you like me to teach you some things?”

Isao jumps up and down in excitement, this is all soo exciting! he is actually bonding with his aunt.

What an interesting turn of event indeed.

———————————————————————

They are in the middle of a rather pleasant dinner that night when Azula decided to break the news to her brother and sister in law.

“Do any of you know that your son is a firebender?”

The reaction that she earned is priceless, Zuko starts choking on his food whereas Y/N’s jaw dropped open, mouth forming a perfect O-shape.

“He hasn’t shown any sign of firebending abilities, we thought he’s a non-bender like his sister” Y/N answers for her husband because Zuko is still trying to clear up his air pipe.

“Firecracker, why don’t you show the trick that I taught you earlier?” Azula said to Isao, beckoning him with her fingers.

He excitedly nodded and turns to face his parents. He took a deep breath and concentrate, sparks of fire lights up from his fingertips. Slowly he guides the fire into forming a small circle in front of him, the circle then starts to take shape into a dragon, a fire dragon.

Y/N gasps as the shape becomes more and more prominent, flying across the dining hall but never too hot to burn anything. It’s an incredible thing to watch, she is indeed a proud mother. Even Izumi is enjoying the show, her eyes following the dragon’s every movement. Zuko is at loss for words, he can’t believe that his 4 years old son not only can firebend, but he’s damn good at it too. Azula may have discovered his potentials, but of course it’s up to him to mastered it.

Isao can only holds the form for 5 minutes before the fire burns out, after all he’s still young and has a lot more to learn, but that display is enough to make everyone clap their hands.

“Firecracker, you are marvelous! told you they’ll love it” Azula said as she moved one of her hands to tussle his hair teasingly.

Both Zuko and Y/N rushed from their seats to engulf Isao in a hug, Y/N peppering little kisses all over his face, meanwhile Zuko looks as if he’s high on cactus juice.

“Father, mother...stop....I can’t breathe” Little Isao complaints as he attempts to break free.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Y/N said as she bends her knees so that she can be at head level with her son.

“I want to do it right, mother. That’s why I learned some new tricks first before I showed it to you. I don’t want to accidently burn something” Isao replied.

“And you will do it right, son. I’ll make sure of it” Zuko said as he gaze at his son fondly.

“Yeah! you’ll be a great firebender, brother” Izumi joins in and smiles encouragingly.

Azula can’t help the small smile that tugs at her lips. This is a scene that she and the palace walls never got to witness before, a loving and supportive family. Zuko has done it right.

———————————————————————

That night as Azula makes her way down the corridor of the Royal Wing and passes by Isao’s slightly ajar bedroom door, she can’t help but sneak a peek.

The little boy is being tucked to bed by his mother, Y/N who sensed the presence of someone else turns her head around and gives her a small smile.

“Would you like to wish him goodnight, Azula?” Y/N asks her, inviting her in with a nod.

Azula nodded back and let herself in, meanwhile Y/N stands up and gives Isao a kiss to his forehead, “Sleep well my little prince” Azula can hear her whispers the word softly.

After that Y/N walks out of the room. Azula took a few steps closer to the bed and sit at the edge. Hands rubbing comforting circles at his blanket-covered feet.

“You know you’re literally a mini Zuko but I like you much much better than him, firecracker” Azula said in a teasing tone.

“I’m glad you think so Aunty Azula because I like you too! people said you’re scary but I don’t see it, I think you’re a nice person”

Isao’s words got Azula holding back a choked sob, her eyes starting to get watery. No one had ever told her that she’s a nice person. People just see her as this monster, even her own mother.

Coming back here was a hard thing for her to do, she never had a home anyway or anyone to come back to. That does not comes as a surprise to her of course, her family is as dysfunctional as they come anyway. But this little firecracker proved her wrong. Maybe she too deserves to belong somewhere after all she’s been through.

Azula gives him a smile and a kiss to his head, “Sleep well, firecracker” to which she got a “Goodnight Aunty Azula” back as a reply.

As Azula steps out of the room and closes the door slowly, she turns around and came straight in contact with Zuko, nearly tumbling to the floor.

“Why you..” Azula started before Zuko puts a finger in front of his mouth in a shushing motion, reminding her not to wake up Isao.

Zuko made a motion for her to follow him and she did, they walk side by side along the hallway.

“He’s really fond of you, you know” He said, staring straight forward.

“Agni knows why, but despite him being your son he is actually.... tolerable” Azula said curtly.

“You know you should learn to express yourself better, sister. Some emotions won’t hurt you”

“Are you just gonna lecture me or is there a point to this conversation?”

“Fine, fine” Zuko said as he rolls his eyes in a childish manner, “Will you be Isao’s firebending teacher?”

Azula stopped on spot, “Did I just misheard you or do you actually trust me enough to train your son?”

“Hey, you’re a great firebender! no one can deny that. I can’t think of anyone better to be his master, your moral compass might be crooked but that’s what me and Y/N are here for, right” At this he earned an elbow shoved to his chest.

“You don’t have to be so abusive you know” He mutters.

Azula gives him a grin, satisfied that she caused him a slight pain.

“I’ll teach him, not because you asked me to, but because I genuinely wants him to be even greater. He’s got potentials, Zuko” Azula said, more serious than Zuko has ever heard her.

“Yeah I know that, he’s a great kid”

Azula and Zuko look at each other, sharing a silent understanding, and gave each other a nod.

Zuko reaches a hand out for her to shake, “Truce?”

With no hesitation, she reaches out her own hand and take it, “Truce.”

They both then part ways but before Azula turns around the corner, Zuko speak up again.

“Hey, Azula?”

She turns around and raised one of her eyebrow, silently asking him what.

“I’m glad you’re here.... welcome home” Zuko said, giving her a small smile before he turns around and walk to his chamber.

Azula stood in that same spot even after Zuko’s silhouette has disappeared. Contemplating to herself, before letting out a sigh and a smile that is actually meant for her brother despite him not being able to see it.

“I’m glad that i’m here too, brother.”

———————————————————————

A/N : I’m a sucker for Azula’s redemption arc so I can’t resist myself from writing this one. What do you think about it? would like to hear more from all of you darlings ♥️

#atla #avatar the last airbender #aang #atla aang #atla rewatch #avatar the legend of aang #atla zuko #atlaedit #avatar zuko #zuko fanart #zuko x reader #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #prince zuko fanfic #prince zuko imagine #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x you #zuko #zuko drabble #zuko imagine #zuko smut #azula and zuko #zuko x you #princess azula #azula avatar #azula #atla fanfic #atla fandom #atla x you #atla x reader

[besanii]

Hi! Am rereading your shattered mirrors verse and I love it so much. Are we going to get the scene in which WWX explains everything that’s happened to him (with the poison) etc to LWJ after they meet wen yuan?? I’m dying for the angst but also fluff and comfort 🥺🥺🥺

@lurkingscientist asked:

I can’t wait to hear about all the sad things wwx experienced!!! :D my “stabby stabby stab stab stab” is feeling slightly neglected

Shattered Mirrors #61

“I haven’t told you everything.”

In the thirteen years Wei Wuxian had been gone, Lan Wangji searched desperately for every scrap of information he could get his hands on, from every channel he could access, in hopes of finding him. Or finding out what had happened to him. What he could find was piecemeal at best and unreliable at worst, often conflicting depending on the source. The result was him, driven mad by desperation and grief, chasing ghosts in the shadows until he could no longer tell what was real.

Even now, with Wei Wuxian back at his side these last two years, happy and content and safe, he still does not have a clear picture of what had happened during the war. If he’s being honest, he’s afraid to ask, and even more afraid to know. He tells himself it’s enough just to have Wei Wuxian by his side again. He doesn’t need to know, if Wei Wuxian does not want to share.

So Wei Wuxian’s confession punches the air from his lungs and he feels in its wake, his hands trembling where they’re entwined. Wei Wuxian watches him with the same care one would give to a startled animal ready to flee.

“That is,” he amends hesitantly, “if you wish to know.”

Lan Wangji inhales, and exhales again, with a shudder. Squares his shoulders. Looks him in the eye.

“Yes,” he says. “I do.”

It is Wei Wuxian’s turn to take a deep breath, the tentative little smile on his lips giving way to steely resolve. On his other side, Wen Yuan kneels by the bed, wordlessly offering his unwavering support. Despite all this, it takes Wei Wuxian some time to find the right words to convey the enormity of what he is about to disclose.

“I don’t know where to begin,” he admits with a shaky laugh, looking down at their joined hands. “I suppose you already know how Yunmeng fell.”

Lan Wangji nods. He has heard scattered details, enough to know that there had been a traitor in their midst, someone who had fed false information through their intelligence network while Wei Wuxian had been in Gusu. They had managed to secure Yunping, but sustained heavy losses that severely weakened their defences. The traitor had been found, but by then the Qishan Wen army was already at their doorstep, ten thousand strong, and they had no way out.

“We evacuated as many civilians as we could. Jiang Cheng, Jiang-wang and Yu-wanghou stayed behind to defend the city,” he says. His eyes and voice are distant, lost in his memories. “I took Shijie and we escaped via the lakes, with the rest of the civilians. Our priority was to get to Yunping, and then to Lanling. Shijie was engaged to Jin Zixuan, so they would definitely come to our aid—or at the very least, they would keep her safe while I gathered reinforcements.

“They were there,” he continues, still in that far-off voice. “Wen Chao and his men. They had split their forces to ambush us while we were defenceless. Our boats were burned, our people drowned—we in Yunmeng are strong swimmers, but even the strongest swimmers cannot survive when arrows rain down from the sky.”

He shivers with his next breath, but his voice is steady.

“I entrusted Shijie to my lieutenant, instructed them to use one of the overturned boats to cover their escape, while I distracted Wen Chao.” He smiles, but it’s stark and without humour. “We’ve had…altercations in the past, so I knew I would be an adequate distraction. I held him off for as long as I could, kept his attention on me. But I was only one person, and he had an army.”

The reports that had come out of Yunmeng around that time—the ones Lan Xichen had allowed him to read while recovering from his punishment, at least—had painted a picture so bleak, so devastating that he had wept. The lakes of Yunmeng, once teeming with colour and life, stained red with blood over the course of one night; and Lotus Pier, its seat of power, that had once risen from the depths of the lakes like a mirage, burned to ash. He had been back to the ruins of Lotus Pier in the intervening years as it was slowly rebuilt after the war—Gusu had offered aid wherever possible, in both money and manpower, as well as political support for the Yu family of Meishan, the maiden family of Queen Yu Ziyuan, who had been installed as stewards in the absence of the ruling family—but the shadows of war still haunts its streets and darkens its waters even now.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes fall closed and his fingers tighten around Lan Wangji’s.

“There’s a stronghold in Yiling,” he says. “Some call it the Burial Mounds, or the Mass Grave. Beneath the fortress, there’s an extensive network of cells that run beneath the mountains. That’s where they keep their highest security prisoners, the ones who get…special treatment.”

There is no need to ask what ‘special’ means, so Lan Wangji stays silent. His blood, however, runs cold—as cold as Wei Wuxian’s voice as he continues his narrative, detached.

“Wen Chao had a special—” that word again, spoken with such venom that it curdles in Lan Wangji’s stomach and burns his throat, “cell prepared. More a cage, really. Every second shichen, it would be submerged in water up to the neck, and stay there for another shichen until it was raised again. In the interim, the prisoner would be left soaking wet in the cold, damp cell.”

The memory of Wei Wuxian at the water’s edge, the frantic terror on his face as he struggles to breathe despite not having come into contact with it, the frailty, the susceptibility to cold and illness—it is all starting to fall into place, one horrifying piece at a time. But Wei Wuxian is not finished.

“There were beatings, of course.” A sudden, fierce anger wraps around Lan Wangji’s heart at the matter-of-fact way in which he says it. “Wen Chao always did have a sadistic streak. He liked to hang people up by the arms and have them whipped, or burned, or flogged. Sometimes he’d leave them there for more than a day, weighed down at the ankles, blindfolded, while they tortured others around them.”

A hand extricates itself from Lan Wangji’s death grip and peels back the edge of a sleeve to reveal the scars along his arms. Dozens of them, some longer and thicker, others as thin and fine as thread, criss-cross along the pale flesh. As he traces quivering fingers along the skin, Lan Wangji feels each cut, each slice, on his heart. Then Wei Wuxian turns his hand over, revealing a large, pale scar on the inside of his wrist, and a matching on on the other, too precise to be self-inflicted. He inhales sharply in realisation.

“Your hands—” he chokes, eyes wide as he stares at the scars. “He didn’t—”

Wei Wuxian lets the sleeves fall back down to cover the scars.

“If you fight back,” he explains woodenly, “they cut the tendons in your wrists and ankles. They’ll send a doctor to look over your injuries, of course. There is no benefit, no value, in a dead prisoner of war. That’s how I met Wen Qing and her brother, Wen Ning.”

“My aunt and uncle,” Wen Yuan, who has been silent until now, explains. Lan Wangji had almost forgotten his presence. He smiles sadly. “They were taken by my great-uncle as hostages to ensure our branch of the family supported the war effort, and served as doctors on the front lines.”

Wei Wuxian’s lips curl into a smile—not the harsh, bitter ones from before, but softer, tinged with grief.

“They took care of me,” he says. “Wen Qing was the best doctor in all of Qishan. There was no illness she could not cure, no injury she could not fix. And Wen Ning…Wen Ning was the kindest person I have ever met. Too kind, too gentle for war. They did their best to help me—slipped me medicines and food whenever they could, diverted Wen Chao’s attentions away from me when it got too much.”

His voice wavers and breaks.

“They died trying to get me out,” he says hoarsely. “First Wen Ning, then Wen Qing. And I couldn’t—I couldn’t do anything to save them—”

Lan Wangji gathers him into his arms, crushes him against his chest as he cries out in anguish, his body wracked with sobs. His own eyes are hot, and he sees Wen Yuan’s are also bright with unshed tears when their gazes meet over Wei Wuxian’s head. They stay like this until he quietens, curled in Lan Wangji’s embrace, eyes hollow and wrung out. Lan Wangji is about to suggest that they continue this another day when Wei Wuxian rouses himself with a shaky breath, and continues.

“They killed Wen Ning in front of me,” he says. “And then they forced Wen Qing to take the same deadly poison they had been using to experiment with on us—”

“Qianji poison,” Lan Wangji says before he can stop himself. Both Wen Yuan and Wei Wuxian turn to him in shock. He lowers his eyes. “You fell ill after your performance at Caiyun Pavilion,” he tells Wei Wuxian. “I had a physician brought in to see you.”

He is careful to leave out Mo Xuanyu and Madam Zhang’s involvement, but Wei Wuxian is not fooled. But rather than get angry, as they had feared, he only shakes his head and laughs.

“I should have guessed,” he says. “They always liked to make a fuss.”

“They care about you,” Lan Wangji chides him gently. “And I am glad they told me, so I was better prepared to take care of you like I promised.”

This time when Wei Wuxian turns into the cradle of his arms, it is out of exhaustion, as if a great weight has been lifted from his chest, and his eyes drift closed as Lan Wangji strokes his hair with gentle motions. There is still more to the story, Lan Wangji knows—and there are questions burning in his mind. But he feels the sag of Wei Wuxian’s body against his, the heaviness of his breath, and cannot bring himself to press him further. They have time. After a moment of silence, when Lan Wangji thinks him asleep, he stirs.

“I’m tired,” he murmurs. “So tired.”

“You’ve done well, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji reminds him. “Get some rest.”

Wen Yuan excuses himself as Wei Wuxian hums and nestles deeper into his arms. Lan Wangji nods at him gratefully and watches him leave, keeping his movements quiet so as to not disturb Wei Wuxian’s rest.

“I think I’ll close my eyes for a while,” Wei Wuxian agrees, his words already starting to slur. “I just need…a little break.”

Lan Wangji presses a light kiss on his forehead.

“Take all the time you need,” he says. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

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[twoflipstwotwists]

It’s a late afternoon in April, and Sunisa “Suni” Lee is where most people find themselves a year into the pandemic: Home, in a sweatshirt, talking into a webcam. The 18-year-old gymnast is poised to make history at the summer Olympics, but over Zoom, she’s just like any teenager, reflecting on everything she’s balancing behind the scenes.

While training for a wildly unpredictable Games, Lee has been caring for her recently paralyzed father, mourning the deaths of her aunt and uncle from COVID, and recovering from a broken foot that jeopardized her lifelong dream to win gold. Now Lee, whose parents emigrated from Laos, is also fighting to qualify as the first-ever Hmong American Olympic gymnast—all while her community contends with a national surge in anti-Asian violence. “People hate on us for no reason,” Lee says from her parents’ house in St. Paul, Minnesota. “It would be cool to show that we are more than what they say. I don’t know how to explain that...”

Lee’s father inches his wheelchair closer into the Zoom screen, and answers for her. “It would be the greatest accomplishment of any Hmong person in the U.S. ever,” he says. “It will go down in history.”

Before the Tokyo Olympics were postponed in March 2020, Lee’s family was preparing for the trip of a lifetime. Though she hadn’t actually made the team yet, her parents John Lee and Yeev Thoj had no doubts. They bought plane tickets to watch their daughter compete, and planned to celebrate afterward with a trip to Laos to show Lee and her siblings where they grew up. Both John and Yeev are Hmong, an ethnic group made of people primarily from Southeast Asia and areas in China who fought alongside the U.S. in the Vietnam War. After losing most of their land in the war, many Hmong fled to Thailand as refugees. By the late ‘70s and ‘80s, around 90 percent of the refugee population had resettled in the U.S., where there are now 18 Hmong clans, the largest residing in Minneapolis-St. Paul.

Lee describes her community there as “really close.” More than 300 people come to her family’s annual camping trip, and she can’t go to a local Asian store without someone asking after her dad. She has become something of a local celebrity herself. At Hmong events, Lee gets stopped for photos by people who tell her how proud they are. “It’s nice knowing I have them to fall back on,” she says. “The support is amazing.”

But last May, just two months before the Olympic opening ceremony was originally scheduled to take place, Lee’s family and the rest of the Twin Cities Hmong community found themselves thrust into the national conversation over race and policing. Kellie Chauvin, the now ex-wife of Derek Chauvin, the officer who murdered George Floyd, is Hmong American. So is Tou Thao, another officer on the scene who is set to stand trial in August on charges of aiding and abetting second-degree murder and aiding and abetting second-degree manslaughter in connection to Floyd’s murder. As part of the ensuing protests, several nearby Hmong American businesses were vandalized. John says it got “scary” when several homes on their block were broken into.

“I was trying to make the Hmong community more known,” Lee says. “When that happened, I felt like it was a setback.”

Lee’s journey to the Olympics started with a lumpy mattress and a piece of plywood. Her parents were eager to preoccupy their energetic, gymnastics-obsessed seven-year-old, and a balance beam seemed like the perfect distraction. John built a four-foot-long structure from a spare mattress that, to his credit, still stands in their yard today. He also taught Lee, who’s one of six kids, how to do flips on the bed.

By then, Lee had captured the attention of Jess Graba, a coach at Midwest Gymnastics. “It was super raw and she was just a little kid, but she had some talent,” Graba says, remembering when they met. “Her flips were kind of crazy—she had been practicing in her yard—and she clearly had some ability to go upside down without fear.”

In 2016 when she was 14, Lee was named to the U.S. junior national team, and it became clear Graba could be coaching one of the next great American gymnasts. They traveled around the world together for competitions, and by 2018, Lee had won a gold medal on uneven bars at the National Championships. Five-time Olympic medalist Nastia Liukin, Lee’s longtime hero, took notice of the high-flying athlete. “Her abilities as a gymnast, especially her bar routine, are incredible,” Liukin tells ELLE. “But it’s the unparalleled mental strength that she has shown during the most difficult time of her life that make her the person she is.”

Just two days before the 2019 National Championships, John fell from a ladder while trimming a tree. He was paralyzed from the chest down. At the time, Graba thought Lee shouldn’t compete out of concern for her safety: A distracted athlete is a danger to themselves because they are much more likely to lose focus and get injured. It would have been a devastating end to a decade of training, as nationals are like an unofficial pre-qualifier for the Olympic Games. But John remained confident in his daughter’s ability to compete under pressure. Before Lee stepped onto the mat, they FaceTimed and he advised her to clear her mind—and remember to have fun. “She can stay focused when she puts her mind to it,” he says.

As John watched the competition from his hospital bed, beaming with pride, Lee won the silver in all-around competition, nailing one of the hardest bar routines in the world. One month later, at the U.S. World Championships selection camp, she came within four-tenths of a point of beating Simone Biles in the all-around—the closest anyone has come to Biles in years—and landed one step closer to fulfilling her Olympic dream.

In March 2020, Lee was scrolling through Twitter after practice when she saw the news: The Olympics were postponed, for the first time in modern history, due to COVID. Lee wiped tears away with chalky hands as years of carefully laid plans were thrown into limbo. “To have that taken away from us without having any control is very hard,” she says. “I went through a depressed phase, and it was hard to get out of.”

For weeks Lee could do little more than sleep and cry. Her gym was closed for three months— practically an eternity in the unforgiving timeline of an elite gymnast. When it did reopen in June, Lee broke her foot, meaning three more months of downtime. “If you were 100 percent ready for the 2020 Olympics, then you’re spending the year going, ‘Let’s just not get injured. Let’s just not make any mistakes,’” Graba says.

Lee found an unexpected source of comfort in Biles, who went from being her biggest competition to one of her closest friends after they competed in 2019. “She was there for me,” Lee says. During lockdown, they Snapchatted and texted—two of the only people in the world who truly understood the gut-punch of waiting another year for the Games to begin.

Then, as the country continued to face rising COVID rates in summer 2020, Lee’s own family was devastated by the virus. Her aunt and uncle—close family members who babysat her as a kid—both died of COVID less than two weeks apart. Lee’s uncle, a Hmong shaman, had helped heal her hurt foot with hot ginger and other herbal medicines. Like so many others did during the pandemic, Lee said goodbye over Zoom.

As the nation slowly starts to heal, so has Lee. She can now spot small silver linings from the past year, like spending more time with her siblings and driving her dad to doctor’s appointments, which she calls “good for me mentally, because typically I’m never with them.” It has taken months and months to get back to the peak shape she was in pre-pandemic, but now it’s full steam ahead. The U.S. Championships are the first week of June, and the Olympic trials are later that month. Lee says the extra year has strengthened her performance on the uneven bars and made her more consistent overall. “I just didn’t want to see myself fall back,” she says. “I don’t want to disappoint my coaches or my parents.”

Still, a spot on the team isn’t guaranteed. For the first time in history, U.S. women’s gymnastics has only four open spots (down from five at the 2016 Games), one of which will almost definitely go to Biles. At this point, it might be harder for a U.S. gymnast to make the Olympic team than it is to actually win a medal once they’re there.

Unsurprisingly, none of this seems to phase Lee. She is no stranger to finding the best version of herself under intense circumstances—the version that wins medals, defies gravity, and advocates for her community. Before falling asleep at night, she visualizes herself sticking a perfect landing and coming home as the first Hmong American Olympic gymnastics champion. History made.

#sunisa lee #i want nothing but good things for her

[jaxsteamblog]

Day 19: Hurt/Comfort

I’m re-posting my 2019 fic “Making Space.” It’s post-canon and very heavy. There are mentions of past self-harm, a statement of suicide ideation, miscarriage, blood mention, various forms of depression, and implied child neglect. Thinking about this made me sad, writing it made me sad, do not let it make you sad unless you want it to. Click on the title to read on AO3 or continue under the cut. Be aware of trigger warnings! Includes Kat-ang and Ma-ko.

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“Tenzin is an Airbender, he needs to know these things.”

“You have never cared about that. You have never made others feel lesser like this!”

“They won’t get it.”

“If you leave. If you leave with just Tenzin, we won’t be here when you get back.”

Sokka and Suki arrived on the earliest airship as soon as they heard. Bumi and Kya, knowing something drastic had happened, couldn’t be separated, so Sokka took them both out to go penguin sledding. Suki stayed with Katara, moving around the hut in silence till Katara inevitably dissolved into tears.

“They’ll hate me.”

“It’s better this way. If they hate you, you’ll be around to love them.”

“I’ve lost my baby.”

“He’ll come back.”

They stayed for a whole season, ignoring all of Katara’s anxious questioning about what they had left behind. At night, since Katara couldn’t sleep, she could often hear her brother’s angry whispers as he summoned all the curses he knew from the ocean depths. His anger lasted longer than her tears, and Katara wrapped herself in her brother’s anger like a thick fur.

Bumi did well under his uncle’s attention, though his comments about his father made Katara wince in pain. Sokka deflected each question and comment easily, refocusing Bumi on some project.

The more Katara watched them, the more she realized she should have reached out to Sokka sooner. Standing between his aunt and uncle, Bumi beamed. These were two great heroes, and both were non-Benders. With the other South Pole children - more non-Benders than Waterbenders - Bumi only stood out by the paleness of his skin. But then, there was Suki: just as bundled up and red-cheeked.

Kya was quieter, often trailing behind the others. When Katara was close by, her daughter would come and sit with her. Their mirrored sadness wove them together, a common blanket that bound mothers and daughters everywhere.

“Daddy isn’t coming.” Kya said.

“It has always been his choice to make.” Katara replied and pulled her daughter to her side. None of this made sense; Aang had always stressed the importance of living in harmony, of being friends with all types of people. As they had grown, Aang had even recognized the patronizing way he would speak of the Air Nomads. When he reminisced, it was never to compare his people to others. He never again acted as if the Air Nomads had been some sort of paragon. Letting go of that pride had allowed him to open to the new occupants of the various Air Temples.

The Air Nomads were gone, but they would never be forgotten. Aang held a pained resignation in his chest and Katara would find him staring off in thought when they stopped at the Temples.

She thought that sadness would fade with time. Aang was more present and tempered, rejoicing in everyone’s growth. The sadness returned when Bumi died, and when other pieces of his past started to slip away. But every time, her husband would return and they would go on a trip where he would kiss her till she felt her body rise into the stars.

Katara never expected that sadness to be running like a river through him, slowly eroding away his insides.

When Bumi was born, Aang cried. At first, Katara thought it was from joy. But she heard him late at night, after she had gotten up to feed the baby and found Aang gone. He wept like an animal was trying to escape his chest and Katara was frightened.

She had shut the door, feeling her heart flutter behind her ribs.

When she got pregnant again, she knew she had a Bender. She was excited when she told Aang and he had seemed like his old self. He stole her breath with kisses and everything seemed lighter.

As the midwife handed Katara the swaddled Kya, Katara squeezed her eyes shut.

Three days after the birth, Katara had woken to the pain of milk in her breasts. Going for the baby and seeing Kya missing, Katara almost fainted from the shock. Rushing about the house, she finally heard the faint lines of a song.

Aang sat in a chair on the balcony, rocking back and forth while singing a song too soft for Katara to make out. Holding her breath, she just watched. Her husband’s face was tight but his eyes were sunken. With one thin finger, he was tracing the curve of Kya’s cheek and drawing small swirls. Then he bent down and kissed her forehead before standing up. Silent, Katara walked over and took her, moving back into the house to feed her. Kya, smelling milk, started to cry, but Katara paused to look back.

Aang was still standing, looking out into the midnight air.

Tenzin’s birth was salvation. Aang had been overjoyed and could barely contain his excitement. For weeks, Katara would snap at him when his mania would wake the other children.

She didn’t notice how Aang’s sole source of happiness became Tenzin. Katara was busy, tending to the older children and continuing the work she was already doing. Aang took over most of the infant care, save for when he needed to be fed. But as soon as Tenzin moved on to more solid food, Katara would often not see her youngest for hours.

Katara thought it would pass.

Then Aang would start leaving, taking Tenzin to important Air Nomad places. That Katara could excuse, though she didn’t see why they all couldn’t go. Bumi had started school and Kya could work on her waterbending at home.

When one trip extended unexpectedly, Katara panicked. As soon as Aang returned, her fear came out as anger and they argued. He had just taken a small detour, to show Tenzin a special place. Cliffs that sang in the evening breeze and glinted like fire crystals at sunrise.

Aang had taken her there and told her that he would love her forever as they laid in the thick grass, listening as the ground below serenaded them.

It was a place they could have gone with all the children.

Katara had left to pick up Bumi and shut the door.

All of those doors being closed had ended up shielding her from what had been happening. The sadness had erased everything she loved about Aang and it was too late for her to fix it. The empty space had been filled with air.

When Sokka and Suki finally did leave, Bumi and Kya cried every night for a week. They became belligerent, fighting with her over everything from their clothes to their food. Already stressed, Katara yelled back and they cried even louder.

At night, Katara’s own sadness continued to heave out of her, like a bilge pump on a sinking ship. She would fall asleep out of exhaustion and when she woke up, Bumi and Kya would be curled around her.

They had woven a wide blanket and it covered them all.

Towards the autumn equinox, as the sun was starting to stay lower on the horizon for longer, Katara received a letter. She felt the rush of hope and the familiar lightness, but it left her as she read it. Toph, with children of her own and a job that allowed for few breaks, had written to check in on her.

Much to Katara’s embarrassment, everyone now knew about what had happened. The chain of events that led to the discovery was both mortifying and oddly satisfying.

Having stayed close, Suki had told Toph about their trip to the South Pole. Immediately after being told, Toph had tracked Aang down and dressed him down, loudly, in public. The argument had been explosive and Toph warned him to not set foot in her city. And she would know if he did.

When Toph returned, Zuko was already in Republic City. He had only recently gotten divorced and was attempting to be more like his uncle to achieve some sort of inner peace. Unfortunately, he wasn’t prepared to deal with Toph’s fury.

Zuko tried his best to defuse the situation, but then Sokka came into Republic City. With his anger still not assuaged, he reported the effect Aang’s decision had on Bumi and Kya. They talked more about what should be done; there were legal penalties for abandoning one’s wife and children, but that would involve a traumatic session of Katara testifying. Divorce was also tenuous, as Katara would have to forfeit all of her children if she won her suit.

Then Aang came to Republic City.

It had been daring, of course, as he could have gone directly to Avatar Island. Instead, he came into Republic City and it only took moments before word reached Toph.

Now with Sokka at her side, she renewed her fight. Sokka stepped in, but only to explain how Aang’s leaving had hurt Bumi and Kya.

All of this was written more like a police report, but Katara could tell from where Toph had bashed down on certain keys of the typewriter that certain sentiments had come up during specific points.

Toward the end of the letter, all Toph reported was that Aang had made an offensive comment, Sokka had lunged, but Zuko got there first.

And the Fire Lord knocked the Avatar out cold.

During all of this, Tenzin had been in the care of an Air Acolyte. At this point, the Acolyte stepped in, getting Aang up and making sure they flew to Avatar Island as soon as possible. A day later, Appa flew away again to destinations unknown.

Toph promised to visit soon, but urged Katara to return to the United Republic. There were plenty of cities far enough away from Republic City, but she would be close enough for everyone to visit.

Katara folded the letter and hid it in a small cupboard where she kept her unguents and pill casings.

At the dawn of the first twilight day, the sign that winter was fast approaching, an airship arrived. Regular shipments came into the South Pole to replenish famine rations that they were supposed to have stopped using five years ago. But the reconstruction took longer than expected, and the signs were suggesting that this would be a harder winter.

Katara brought Bumi and Kya to the dock as a reward for having a not-so-terrible day. They went shrieking like wild animals with the other children as the hydraulic ramp slowly lowered with a leviathan groan.

The flash of red the airshipmen wore at first made Katara think of Republic City and she suddenly couldn't breathe. But as the ramp hit the ground and the people began to move, she saw the Fire Nation symbol and relaxed.

Then the guards came and Katara felt lightheaded as she was suddenly pushed back thirty years.

Zuko looked so different, it scared her. Her fingers froze with electrified terror and Katara felt like she was going to cry. As he started to look around, she prayed he wouldn’t see her, but as the thought became wisps in her mind, his eyes met hers.

Then Bumi went barreling up the ramp and directly into Zuko’s stomach.

Once again embarrassed, and still on the verge of tears, Katara rushed forward toward the crowd. Her voice was thin and reedy as she pleaded and pardoned her way past people. And then, she was in front of Zuko.

Bumi was thrown over his one shoulder like a laughing sack of potatoes. Izumi and Kya stood together behind him, whispering and admiring a bracelet Kya had made.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“I know.”

“We’re doing fine.”

“No you’re not.”

Katara’s breath came in a shudder and her chest felt hot. Zuko set Bumi down and handed him a crowbar, telling him that he hid a prize in one of the crates. Kya cupped her hand around Izumi’s ear and then both girls were suddenly giggling before darting away.

“I’m fine Zuko.”

“His sadness changed him and you didn’t get to say goodbye to the man you loved. You’re not fine.”

“And how do you think that could possibly be it?”

“Because I never got to say goodbye to the Mai I married.”

Before she started to cry, Zuko put his arm around her shoulders and turned her away from the gathered people. No one was paying attention to them, as they were either unloading or going through the supplies. Still, Zuko steered her away and back toward her house.

Taking no prompting, Zuko sat her down on the couch and brought over a blanket while she was weeping. Katara curled into it, laying down on the couch and sobbing while the core of her soul ached. When he returned, Katara felt his warm hand on her back, slowly rubbing the tight muscles that seized with every arrhythmic breath.

“This is all my fault.”

“Not all of it. And you can’t be blamed for not fixing something you didn’t know was broken.”

“Why did he do this?”

“Because a sadness that deep can erase the greatest of joys.”

He gave her tea and he told her about Mai. The promises he made and how now, finally, everything would be as they wanted it. She had enjoyed it at first, the power and privilege that came with being married to the Fire Lord.

Then they started to get pregnant.

She usually lost them in the first trimester. Nothing to show of a pregnancy except the amount of blood. One pregnancy had been promising, and the doctor had ordered strict bedrest. Sages, not the Fire Sages but a new group to rise from their ashes, had said that if the spark caught, the baby would be a strong Firebender.

They had lost him during the seventh month.

Something had broken in Mai then, and Zuko insisted they stop trying. Mai needed the rest and to recover, so they traveled to various healing springs. The doctors had told him in very strong words that he must not even so much as sleep in the same bed as her, so that her body could heal. He did. She pulled away from him, receding more into herself. Maids and other noble ladies assured him that this was normal, and Mai would be fine. So Zuko had left her alone.

He had left her all alone.

During a new moon, when it was the darkest Zuko had ever experienced, he had been woken up as someone entered his room.

Mai had come to him and draped over him like a sheet. Zuko could still remember how he had traced his hands over her body and felt her ribs. And the thick scars on her legs.

She said nothing and the only sound was of their breathing.

When it was done, Mai got up and walked out of the room.

When they returned to the palace, she moved out of their shared room. And nine months later, Izumi was born.

Mai took care of all the motherly duties, but quickly handed Izumi to whatever nurse happened to be nearby. As those duties lessened, Zuko tried to reach out to her. Every time, she turned him away.

When Izumi turned five and they found out for certain she wasn’t a Firebender, Mai threw a glass into the dining room wall.

“I failed. The thing nearly killed me and I failed.”

“You didn’t fail. Please, Mai, if I ever made you think that-”

“It’s not you Zuko, it’s them. It’s this place. It’s me.”

“Mai.”

“Zuko, if I stay here one more night, I will die.”

Zuko let her go.

The divorce had been hard. Mai looked dead as she signed the papers, forfeiting her parental rights to Izumi. As her father’s only heir, there couldn’t be a chance that Mai would take her. As per the usual agreement, Mai was not permitted to remarry for one full year and any pregnancy had to be reported immediately to the palace. Just in case the baby was Zuko’s.

There was no ironic laugh. Mai only scratched out the character of her name and looked at the magistrate.

“She wasn’t even the same woman at that point. I hadn’t even been seeing her.”

“Why couldn’t they just tell us?”

“That sadness was theirs. Either they thought we wouldn’t understand or they didn’t want to drown us.”

“I love him so much.”

“Aang’s gone. Mai’s gone. And it is a terrible thing.”

“What do I do with my own sadness now?”

“Let love in.”

Zuko said he was staying until the solstice, claiming that he had never had the opportunity to spend a good one with her. Having him around, Katara tried to work on letting love in. She saw how sometimes Zuko’s sadness would seep in and he would begin to pace. He moved till he found Izumi and then pestered her, throwing handfuls of snow over her and the others while they ran about shrieking. By the time he needed a break, he was smiling and his eyes were brighter.

Katara took a chance. When her sadness lapped up her spine, she sought out her children. She taught them how to scrape furs and when Bumi started to roll over them, instead of yelling at him, she wrapped him up in one. As he struggled and laughed, Katara and Kya continued to roll him, using their bending to ultimately send him bounding down a hill. They would roll after him and end up on their backs, laughing and crying at the same time as their breath became clouds in the air.

Love began to take up too much room and the sadness had no place to linger. Zuko warned her that it wouldn’t always feel like that, and it would be difficult to push back the sadness for good. While he was prone to melancholy, it was still taking him time to recover.

At the solstice festival, she understood what he meant. Zuko had gone to help light the fireworks and the children were gone somewhere doing spirits knew what. A woman came by with a tray of sweets and Katara took two small plates. As the woman left, Katara turned.

Aang wasn’t there to take the other one.

He had been absent all this time, but her muscle memory still expected him to be there. When she washed dishes, the first she usually held out, waiting for Aang to dry. When she tucked in the children, she had to stop herself from saying their father would be in shortly to say goodnight. When she thought about the meals, she first thought about what dish could be made with and without meat.

But now, during a happy festival, she grabbed a dessert for her husband who had left her. Who had been gone for longer than she cared to admit.

“Katara.”

“He’s not coming back.”

“No.”

“I thought he loved me.”

“Katara, he’s not the same inside. There was too much of the pain.”

“It hurts, so m-much.”

Zuko held her while the fireworks boomed overhead. She pressed her face into his chest and crawled as close to him as she could. He took in slow breaths and his body warmed. Zuko wrapped himself around her and she cried.

“You have to let the pain out.”

“How?”

Her breath was hot and wet, and it curled against her flushed face. Her nose was congested but her eyes dripped.

“I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

“Zuko.”

Katara turned her head and Zuko went stiff. His sleeve had been pulled up as he held her awkwardly. There was a mark like a thumbprint burned into his skin. The skin was cracked and dry, with the flesh beneath looking dead. It had been burned repeatedly.

Her sadness and pain left her in a rush. Katara felt weak and wrung out. She sagged in Zuko’s arms and he sighed.

“I have to keep going. Even when I don’t want to, I have to.”

“It can’t be like this forever.”

“But we have to survive the waiting.”

Katara decided that staying in the dark for weeks and weeks wouldn’t help anything. An army of people packed up her house and loaded it onto the airship. Bumi and Kya were excited about the trip, hoping out loud and without subtlety that they would be able to stay at the palace for just a little bit before heading on to the United Republic.

Iroh greeted them when they landed, hugging Katara with such genuine warmth that she suddenly felt like she was drowning. She had resolved to stop crying so much, knowing that it was causing some sort of imbalance in the waters of her soul. Zuko told her it was only her body pushing out some of the pain to let in a little more love. Katara had told him that Iroh had been corny, not sappy so he had missed a lesson somewhere.

Now being outnumbered by Benders, Bumi started to act out. Iroh took every boast and bluster seriously, giving Bumi the attention he needed. When his anxiety waned, Izumi reminded him that she was a non-Bender and was going to become the next Fire Lord. She asserted that just being a Bender didn’t make anyone amazing because just look at her grandfather and great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather, and then Iroh interrupted her to tell them that there were red bean buns in the kitchen.

Then Kya broke Katara’s heart as she took Iroh’s hand and asked if being a Waterbender was special enough. Iroh smiled at her and replied that he knew of one very special Waterbender who was also one of the women he most admired. Kya glanced back at Katara as she and Iroh went after the others, and Katara smiled.

That night, Katara made Zuko show her all of his scars. Working from his right arm, Katara glanced at his abdomen. Zuko put a hand over it.

“Not that one.”

“It’s just another scar you didn’t deserve.”

“It’s one I earned.”

“By throwing your life away.”

“To protect you.”

Katara found all the small burns and smoothed them away. The water around her hands stayed cool and glowed faintly, concentrating in spots as they found the damaged skin. The threadlike scars from very sharp blades were also erased.

“And here?”

“I earned that one too.”

“Don’t say that.”

“What else would you have me say of it?”

“You have earned kinder things.”

He sat up and pulled on his robe but left it open. Katara could hear the rush of blood and her limbs felt heavy. He faced her and took a loose strand of her hair. He watched his hand as she watched his face. Zuko tucked the strand behind her ear.

“I earned your friendship.”

“That hasn’t always been kind.”

Her fingers felt cold, or else it was that his skin was hot. Katara touched the place where Azula’s lightning had hit him and he smiled.

“I would take this type of kindness over your indifference any day.”

“I’m not indifferent.”

“I don’t mean to presume.”

“You have earned kinder things than my attention.”

Zuko’s hand returned to her face and he cupped her cheek. A small affection, but one so intimate that her body shuddered. This was not the touch of a brother or a comforting friend. It was a touch she had not known for a very long time.

“Then let me have your words, because you have my full attention.”

“Take them.”

And he kissed her.

As Zuko shifted to hold her, Katara cried out softly. There was nothing desperate or lustful, but her body still felt charged. Zuko only hugged her, kissing her gently, and cradling the back of her head with his fingers in her hair.

As Katara’s head started to spin, Zuko picked her up and moved her to his bed. He regarded her with a pained look.

“This isn’t how I want us to begin.”

“But I am ready for an ending.”

They spent the night together, and Katara got her first restful sleep in months.

It took two years.

Katara bought a house in Luodai, a promising city that wasn’t too far from Republic City. She met with Aang half a dozen times in various attempts to reconcile, or at least come to some sort of agreement.

Then came the proposal of a new law.

Katara had not been permitted to sit as the South Pole representative on the council as she was married to Aang, who also had a seat. Sokka had taken it instead, and had done a remarkably good job. It was because of how seriously he took his position that the proposal took as long as it did.

Called the Mothers’ Right Law, it outlined the new rules for any divorce occurring outside of any marriage where a legitimate heir was required to maintain the stability of a government. Women were now allowed to initiate a divorce on their own and did not have to forfeit their parental rights. Instead, custody must be shared between the parents in equal measure for all children. If the mother is unemployed or becomes unemployed before remarrying, the former husband must pay her an allowance.

Sokka presented it at a council meeting and as Aang rose from the table, Toph stepped forward. The other representatives all stared at the Avatar and ultimately the law was signed.

Aang signed it again, in another version, one month later.

For the spring and summer, Aang had all three children. Katara had them for the fall and winter.

And during the next winter solstice, Katara and Zuko decided they wanted a new beginning.

#zutara #fanfiction #zutara month #zutara month 2021 #trigger: self harm #trigger: blood mention #trigger: miscarriage #trigger: depression #trigger: child neglect

[harrysweasleys]

Lost

Request: Hii could you do a Draco x reader where she's the super perfect student, really kind and happy girl but one day he finds her drinking and smoking and crying because she's so sad and like, lost?thank youu💗

Warnings: language, underaged drinking

Word Count: 3k

A/N: so this is a little ooc but i tried my best! also, my requests are still open but i’ve got a long line so it might be a while, sorry to those still waiting! xxx (gif is not mine.)

-

“I mean did you see the look on Bell’s face when I knocked the Bludger at her face?” Pansy grinned, flopping down on the couch next to you, her hair still wind-swept from the Quidditch match she had won with Slytherin that afternoon.

“I did see her face, you did a good job,” you replied, grinning, “It’s always nice to get a win.”

“I’m still surprised you didn’t come back to the Quidditch team this year. We miss our Keeper,” she playfully nudged your shoulder, knocking you over to the side slightly.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, Pans,” you sighed, “I’m really trying to focus on my NEWTs so I didn’t want the distraction. But I still love watching!”

“Psh, it’s not the same,” she rolled her eyes, “Besides, I could talk to you about how our stupid captain likes to inflate his ego.” You giggled lightly, remembering all the good gossip sessions the two of you shared while you were on the team.

“Wouldn’t be talking about me, now would you?” Draco asked, sitting on the couch opposite of you, his hair tousled and his nose still pink from the brisk outdoor air.

“Never,” you smiled, lifting your legs to place your toes closer to the fire. Despite the fireplace that raged on every hour of the day, the common room always had a chill in the air — being in the dungeons and under the Black Lake probably had something to do with it. It didn’t help that you got cold easily.

“How’d you like the game?” he nudged his head in your direction, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back, closing his eyes in exhaustion. His jawline stuck out and his eyelashes fluttered shut, brushing against the pale skin of his cheeks.

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts, “Good. You all did really well. Nice job catching the Snitch too.”

He opened his eyes once more and grinned at you, “Always love your positivity. See, Pansy, this is how true friends behave. They don’t hit each other with broomsticks.”

You hid your giggle, watching as Pansy leaned forwards with her eyes wide, “You were being an arse, Malfoy.”

“C’mon, Pans, did you actually hit him with a broom?” you asked, still containing your giggles. The two of them had a bantering friendship, never really seeing eye-to-eye, but they didn’t exactly hate each other either. You were often stuck playing mediator.

“Yes, she did, I have a bruise on my eyebrow,” Draco leaned forwards, pointing to his eyebrow. You couldn’t see much considering the fire was the only light source, but you pretended to see it.

“What did he do to deserve a broomstick whack?” you turned to Pansy, a light smile on your lips as Draco leaned back into the couch cushion with a scowl on his face, directed straight at the girl sitting next to you.

“He let his ego get in the way. When we were celebrating the win, he said we wouldn’t have won if he didn’t catch the Snitch,” she glared at him, arms crossed, “So — like I said, he was an arse.”

You nodded, feeling like you were in the middle of a fight between two children who were arguing about who hit who first.

“Aw, and how did that make you feel?” you placed a hand on her shoulder condescendingly, making her scoff and whack your arm away. You started laughing, ignoring the way she stood up and flipped Malfoy off before going towards the dorm rooms and disappearing behind the door.

“Drama Queen,” Draco mumbled, getting up from his spot on the couch and coming to sit next to you, taking the seat that was previously Pansy’s.

“Says you,” you retaliated, a smirk on your face. You turned to face him, noticing the bruise above his eyebrow now that the fire light was hitting it directly. Despite the little mark, he still looked really good.

Now, you and Draco weren’t exactly dating, but it was clear that there was some sort of connection between you two. From the moment you had met, you picked up on how different he was. Entitled, yes, but he had a certain intriguing air about him that drew you in, and he found the same about you.

He was tough, while you were kind. He was rebellious and hard, while you were focused and passionate. There was a fire in his eyes, ready to burn through whatever stood in his way, while you used the road that didn’t exactly require demolition.

Long story short, you were polar opposites, and that’s exactly what drew you to each other. You had a soft spot for each other and despite the flirting and the touching, you stayed friends and your other friends stayed oblivious.

“I’m not dramatic,” he mumbled, bringing you back to reality, “I’m just — shall we say determined?”

“Keep telling yourself that,” you grinned, pushing your shoulder up against his like Pansy had done to you beforehand.

“I will,” he grinned softly, gazing down at you with tired eyes, “Also, I saw you wore my sweater to the game.”

Your cheeks flushed, “Oh, sorry, I just saw it since you left it on the back of the chair last night and—,”

“No, I liked it,” he cut you off, chuckling, “It was cute.”

You sat back silently, grinning to yourself like a bit of an idiot, but trying your best to keep cool. After a good moment of comfortable silence, you peeled your eyes away from the cozy fireplace and turned to face Draco, who was mid-yawn.

“I’m off to bed then,” he stood up abruptly and smiled down at you, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you smiled back, watching his retreating form take off towards the boys dormitory, only to disappear seconds later with a silent shutting of the door.

You sulked back into the couch, noticing for the first time that you were indeed alone in the common room. The clock on the wall pointed at 12:13am — you had no idea it was this late. Where had the time gone?

A part of you was overwhelmed with sudden loneliness, tiredness, and fatigue, while the other part of you felt incredibly awake and aware of how currently small you felt in the entire world around you.

It didn’t make much sense, but your mind was prone to drifting away while you were tired. You’d think about how your parents hadn’t contacted you since you were told you got accepted to Hogwarts — you were a muggleborn — and they felt as if your ‘abnormality’ was too big to overcome. You’d think about how you had no idea why the magical world had picked you. You’d think about what you even wanted to do in the future.

You had spoken to Snape last year about working in Magical Law Enforcement, but you weren’t so sure anymore. Things had changed now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to face it.

There were so, so many things that you kept bottled up, not watching to spill your deepest darkest emotions to your friends and scare them away. So, you put up the constant facade of a girl who wore a smile and held her head high.

After all, that’s the only side of you people saw anyways.

— —

The corridors are night were almost more magical than they were during the day. The lanterns lit up the walls and cast looming shadows over the intricate stone. The stars were clear from the mountainside and the moon’s light shone down upon the castle like that was its entire purpose.

You thought it was gorgeous.

Which is often why you found yourself wandering the halls in the hours before curfew, finding deserted halls and empty chambers to explore and discover. Luckily, due to the colder weather out, other students would rush back to the warmth of their dorms after dinner time, so you got to lurk around in privacy.

You found an open hallway overlooking the lake and decided to climb through the opening and sit on the ledge, admiring the way the moon’s light shone down on the ripples to look like dancing stars. And the way that the actual stars reflected off as well, as if the night sky had been placed into the lake.

The cool breeze passed through your hair, goosebumps rising in its wake. You could feel the way you entire body was ready to collapse, ready to fall over and stay there, but you held yourself up enough to reach into your thick jacket and pull out a flask.

Yes, you were underaged. No, you hadn’t stolen this.

Well, not technically.

You had stayed with your aunt and uncle over the last summer holidays and they had given you a flask for your birthday gift. A strange gift, if you had to admit, but it came in much handier than you expected.

So, you got rebellious. One day when they were out, you had filled the flask with an old bottle of Whiskey which hadn’t been touched in ages. And now, you carried the full flask around in case you found yourself at a low point.

Like now.

The day had been great up until now. Classes passed by smoothly, Draco and Pansy had kept their bickering to a minimum, and you had even been spoken to by Snape — your head of House — about being promoted to Prefect next term. You were more excited about it than you wanted to let on. Being Prefect meant you’d get to spend more time with Draco, who was of course, already one.

But as supper time came around, it was as if all of your good feelings were too good to be true. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly where your mood started to plummet, but after your cat — Mister Flufferson — got sick, and your period came on strong as well as a migraine headache and an overwhelming feeling of longing to have a break, you found yourself wanting to be alone for a good amount of time.

So that’s how you ended up sitting over the lake, silent tears pouring down your eyes and the flask gripped tightly in your right hand, lifting every so often just enough for you to take another sip.

The fiery liquid burned your throat, leaving it feeling like it was being scorched, but you kept on. The pain felt number by the second, and the fluttery feeling in your belly kept growing.

The tears didn’t stop, but you weren’t sobbing. You weren’t curled up on the floor with your head in your knees. You were just crying. Crying because you didn’t know how to deal with the feeling of being sad. Crying because you felt helpless, like there was nothing you could do to even help yourself. Crying because although you gave your time and energy to comfort your friends, none of them ever checked up on you because you just seemed happy.

So you kept drinking sip by sip until the dancing lights on the lake were more amusing than they had ever been.

“I don’t know, usually she’s out but something about her seemed different tonight,” a voice echoed down the corridor, making you close the flask quickly and widen your eyes.

Shit.

If it was a teacher, you’d be in deep trouble.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” a second voice spoke, “She’s always fine so she’s probably still fine.”

“Can you shut up, Parkinson?” the first voice snapped back. Your mind, although fuzzy, could make out the voices of Pansy and Draco, their heavy footsteps moving closer to you by the second.

You hopped over the ledge, hiding behind the stone wall and placing the flask back in your coat pocket. The sudden jump made your body suddenly nauseous, and you had to place your hand over your mouth to keep your dinner in.

“Did you hear that?” Draco’s voice seemed much closer.

“No. I’m going back to the common room, I’m freezing,” Pansy’s teeth were clattering, “when she comes back safe and sound I’ll be able to say I told you so.”

And with that, her footsteps retreated down the hall around around the corner.

You knew Draco was still standing there, so you continued trying to be quiet. But, to your extreme misfortune, you let out an incredibly loud hiccough.

“Is someone there?” Draco’s voice was louder, he was no longer trying to be quiet.

“No,” you replied back just as loud, smacking your forehead as you realized you gave yourself away.

His head immediately peered over the ledge, seeing you crouched down in the grass.

“Y/N! I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he spoke sternly, his face trying to be strict but his eyes showing clear signs of concern, “Why are you hiding down here in the grass?” He stuck out his hand for you to grab, which you did.

“No reason,” you let him pull you up, but you stumbled as you made your way over the ledge, his hands steadying you by grabbing your waist.

“Wait — were you crying?” his eyes noticed yours, the red puffiness giving you away.

“Of course not,” you sniffed, pulling away from him and using the wall to steady yourself. You had either stood up way too fast or the whiskey was getting to your head, but dizziness was very much present.

“Yes you were, don’t lie to me,” he walked closer to you, “Are you drunk?”

His tone made you wince, “No. I just had some whimsey.”

He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow, “Whimsey? You mean whiskey? Merlin, Y/N, what were you thinking?”

You stood up taller, squaring your shoulders so you didn’t look so weak and pathetic.

“I wasn’t thinking, Draco,” you replied softly, “Just let me be.”

Of course, you didn’t want him to leave you alone. If anything you wanted his company more than anything, but you hated the fact that now he’d seen you at your lowest.

“I’m not leaving you,” he placed a hand on your shoulder. You weren’t sure what caused it, but next thing you know, you let out a sob and leaned against his shoulder, your body shaking and your tears soaking his robes.

“Woah, what’s wrong?” he placed his arms around you, pulling you even closer to him so that he could be your support. He was the last person you wanted to show signs of weakness too, but at the same time, the only person you’d want comforting you.

“I’m just... I don’t know. Sad,” you tried speaking through your sobs, your words muffled against his clothing.

“Hey, talk to me, I’m here,” he coaxed soothingly, hands slowly rubbing circles on your back. You continued to cry, but brought your face away from his shoulder to look at him, nodding slightly.

So you told him everything. Maybe it was the whiskey still in your system that made you braver, but you told him about every dark, hollow feeling that was lurking in your chest. Every worry that you had, every insecurity. Every problem. Everything.

And he sat there and listened to every single word.

After you finished rambling — what felt like two hours later — he pulled you into the tightest hug you had ever felt.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled against your hair, “I had no idea you felt that way. I’m the worst friend. I didn’t even notice you were at your low. I’m so sorry, I was selfish.” He rubbed your back once more, “I’m sorry you felt alone but you’re not. I’m here. I’m always here for you. To listen, to vent, to help, to give advice, to reassure. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“Thanks, Draco,” you muttered, letting out a deep sigh now that a massive weight felt lifted off your shoulders. Your tears had slowed down, but Draco didn’t pull away from the embrace.

“Always here,” he repeated, “Always here.”

Eventually, you pulled away to be able to breathe. His hug was practically bone crushing. Comforting, but your ribs were hurting.

Your confession sobered you up, and you gazed into his eyes to thank him for everything.

“You’re really beautiful, you know?” he asked softly, his hand making its way up and resting against your cheek, “It’s a bad time, I know but you really are.”

All the coldness left your body and was replaced by warmth. Your cheeks turned pink and you felt your insides bubble in joy.

“T-Thanks,” you grinned, trying to hide the creeping redness on your face, “You’re pretty cute too.”

“I know,” he smirked, shrugging. You giggled, whacking his arm softly, “I’m just joking. I appreciate it, Y/N.”

He leaned closer to you once more and pressed a delicate kiss on your forehead. Most people had never known Draco Malfoy to be soft or delicate in any way, but that was the only side of him you really knew. To you, he was a totally different person than everyone else believed.

“Also a bad time, I don’t want to take advantage of you or anything, but do you — uh — wanna go to Hogsmeade with me? Next weekend?” he asked hopefully, his hand pulling away from you.

You couldn’t fight the smile that rose to your mouth. For months you had imagined what it would be like to go on a date with him, and here he was. Finally asking you.

“Of course,” you grinned like an idiot, biting your lip to stop yourself looking crazy.

“Good,” he nodded his head, a smile on his face as well, “Good, good.”

“Should we head back to the common room?” you asked, lacing your fingers with his. He nodded, still smiling at you, and the two of you started walking slowly back down to the dungeons. The cold air no longer really a problem as his hand was still linked with yours, the happy warmth replacing every bad feeling you had felt that night. You felt as if now that Draco was on your side, everything would end up being so much better, so much easier to deal with.

As the two of you walked into the common room, both still smiling with your hands locked, a squeal startled you both.

Pansy, unaware of the situation you had both just been through, looked down at your intertwined hands with a massive grin.

“Finally!”

-

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fics #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy one shots #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy reader insert

[therealabbyham]

Racism in modern media.

A lot of controversy over the depiction of people of color (POC) in modern media has arisen. With both the Black Lives Matter and Stop Asian Hate movements that have happened in the last year, both new and old shows and movies have been brought forward as examples of what is not okay. Now, with some research, I'd like to go through these examples and go through what has made them controversial.

"Stock characters and slapstick tropes have always existed in theatre, from Shakespearean comedies to even something as seemingly benign as the Disney Channel show “The Suite Life of Zack and Cody” (remember Esteban?). But ethnic stock characters have been tricky to write in an increasingly politically correct 21st century, despite their appearances in such Broadway classics as “West Side Story” and “The King and I." (The Muse at Dreyfoos)

”Song of the South (Disney film) - By far one of the most controversial and well-known instances of controversy. So much so that Disney never sold the movie on DVD and will not be putting it on Disney plus. Disney's most recent effort to erase the racism from their history (also see: the crows in Dumbo and the original draft of Fantasia), was to go farther in changing Splash Mountain. Originally they had gotten rid of the characters on the ride (who were all characters from the movie), now, however, they are changing the ride altogether, changing it into a Princess and the Frog-inspired ride. "Song of the South’s African American characters are treated warmly, particularly Uncle Remus, who is Johnny’s best friend and confidant, a charismatic storyteller, and, most importantly, the film’s conduit to the animated world of Br’er Rabbit... The problem isn’t necessarily what Song of the South depicts, but what it chooses not to depict. Although Harris’ Uncle Remus stories were set in Georgia after the Civil War, the film adaptation never makes it clear when the story is taking place... If you’re not a scholar or an Uncle Remus expert, it’s very easy to assume that the film is set before the Civil War, and that Remus and Aunt Tempy (Hattie McDaniel) are slaves — and that they are completely fine with that." (Quotes from Screencrush) "By stripping out any concrete details of time and place, Disney essentially turned the plantation system into a ludicrous utopia where blacks and whites live in harmony — a harmony where the only thing that’s clear is that the blacks are inferior and servile to the whites, but are content to work the fields anyway." "Several of Remus’ stories are about Br’er Rabbit wanting to run away from his problems; the moral, inevitably, is that you can’t avoid trouble and there’s no place like home. These lessons are particularly important to Johnny because he doesn’t like life on the plantation initially and wants to run away to live with his father in Atlanta. But when coupled with the African American characters’ oddly cheerful attitude about their social status, the movie seems to be arguing on behalf of complacency. Don’t leave the plantation, don’t try to better yourself. Just go with the flow."

Thoroughly Modern Millie (Broadway show) - The show is about a young girl named Millie who moved from a small town to NYC, and the show is known for having "the subplot and the peddling of outdated Chinese stereotypes". (A lot of this will be in quotes from the previous link). Although "the play is set in the 1920s... the script was written in 2000, based on source material from the 1967 film of the same name" On Playbill, another study is done, "As much as the 2002 Tony-winning Best Musical is a love story about making it in the big city, the show’s major subplot centers on “white slavery.”" An argument could be made that “To actually have real Chinese guys singing and speaking in their own language and meaning it, and to link their immigrant story to the same story as Millie ... and come to America because of the American Dream, all these people who come to New York to reinvent themselves and be modern—I think is exactly what the Chinese guys are all about." (This is irrelevant if the characters are not played by someone who's Chinese). With accurate casting then it might be "another opportunity to cast shade on racist attitudes and assumptions about us [the Chinese] and what we know and how smart we are and what we’re capable of..." However it still "can be racist if you do it racist. This show can be done racist but it doesn’t have to and actually, it can actually be anti-racist." Personally, I think if the line you walk is so fine and covered in eggshells, it may not be worth it (but of course, it's an opinion, even if it's widely accepted). Even Ashley Park, who wanted to be Millie, thought “It’s one of the characters that I’ve loved, always, but I always figured I’d never play it just because of the race stuff that’s in [the show].” because she's Korean-American.

Emily in Paris (Netflix show) - Speaking of Ashley Parks, let's talk about Emily in Paris, one of Netflix's most controversial and most hated shows. To put it simply, the show (which I have not seen) is about an American girl who moves to Paris. Yep. That simple. In a video by Friendly Space Ninja (who's French), he says "I've been insulted by this show, more than once... Emily in Paris has a huge racism problem... and it also comes up as arrogant." He goes on to say, "When people say Emily in Paris portrays French culture in a very insulting way, they're not exaggerating." "The French in this show think Americans are the greatest and they aspire to be more like them and as a French person myself... Yeah no that's not accurate." "During the entire show, Emily tries to teach the French that doing things the American way is the right way." (I highly recommend watching this video if you don't mind the swear words, it has good points, that's why I'm just using quotes). "Emily in Paris only has two characters of color... these two characters of color are made of degrading cliches..." "All of the racist things [Mindy, a POC character,] says were written by a white writer." "The other non-white character is this guy... He's one of Emily's co-workers and he's gay... and I had to read he was gay online... and his entire point of existence in this show is to be the most stereotypical gay man the writers could come up with... all he does is stand in the background and act sassy... The writers are so dismissive with him I'm pretty sure the only reason they made him black is so they could kill two birds with one stone." "Emily in Paris has two actors of color and both of them feel like an afterthought." My thoughts: Don't watch this show. It has a season two coming out, don't watch it, even if you want to see how bad it is. There will be someone online who will tell you why it's bad and you'll save time reading or watching their review instead of giving Netflix a reason for a season three.

Anyways, those are just a few (obvious) examples of how racism isn't okay, even if it isn't inherently meant to be racist. Song of the South was meant to be a heart-warming movie full of stories about morals, but it's been banned and basically erased from Disney history because it comes off as being pro-slave. Millie was meant to be a commentary on Asain stereotypes while lifting up Asain actors so they were given more opportunities, yet most schools have banned it. And Emily in Paris, despite its connections that got it nominated for awards, was such a dumpster fire, a good review is near impossible to find.

#black lives matter #stop asain hate #song of the south #disney #thoroughly modern millie #broadway #ashley park #emily in paris #netflix