#flawless victory ficlet

[ellorypurebloodculture]

For Five Sentence Ficlets:

High Lord Salazar Slytherin and his bonded Lord-Husband or Lady-Wife?

High Lord Salazar Slytherin, Prince of the Void, finishes drawing the final rune for the ritual with his own blood and then heals the cut on his fingertip. If Fate is being obstinate, refusing to bring his soulmate to him, then Salazar will just summon his soulmate himself.

He activates the ritual with a spark of emerald green magic and a wisp of darkness from the Void.

A witch with fair skin, piercing green eyes, and black as the Void hair appears in the middle of the runic circle, her gaze examining the floor intently before she turns her attention to him and sinks into a flawless curtsy, stating, "Your Divine Highness."

Victory swelling in his veins, Salazar offers his hand to her and says, "Welcome to our home, wife."

#ellory writes #five sentence ficlet #salazar slytherin/female harry potter

[lostwithoutyouherewriter]

Golden Beauty: A Street Fighter Ficlet

Inspired by "Karin," artwork by Edwin Huang, from the Street Fighter Swimsuit Special 2016, ©Udon Entertainment

The beautiful heiress basked in the adoration of her servants, a horde of doting pool boys with good looks and choice, hard bods. She leaned back, enjoying the shade of her pool umbrella and the tribute offered by the working class.

“Right away, Miss Kanzuki! Another piña colada, Miss Kanzuki? My, don’t you look lovely today, Miss Kanzuki!”

Karin Kanzuki laughed with delight as they lavished her with gifts and praise. So many gorgeous men at her disposal, brandishing drinks and fresh towels with such tan, muscular arms! Of course, she accepted it all from her place of power, a lounge chair placed at the head of the pool, where she could survey all within her domain.

She idly wondered what they loved most about her. Surely, they were attracted to her wealth. Now that she had taken control of her father’s shares, she controlled most of the global market. Why, this very hotel chain was part of the Zaibatsu’s expansion along the Golden Coast, and now it would host many of the world's most renowned warriors! Or perhaps it was the power of her family name, sewn into the fabric of these premium cotton towels and sprawled along the marquee of the towering resort.

Then again, her natural beauty was simply impossible to ignore. Even now, she caught one particularly handsome pool boy staring at her as he changed the towels. He was absolutely smitten with the heiress—her golden curls, glittering jewelry, and her gorgeous, flawless skin. She could only imagine what he was thinking as he eyed her itsy-bitsy red bikini, a designer piece that likely cost more than his annual salary.

Hm, she might as well enjoy this not-so-secret admirer. Karin tipped her sunglasses down and winked at the boy. While he was still blushing, she slipped a finger under her bikini cup and flashed one nipple ever so briefly. A fit of giggles overtook her as the boy ducked into the nearest cabana, trying yet failing to hide his ever growing interest in her.

Oh, who was she kidding? They loved her because she was all of these things and more—because she was Karin Kanzuki, victorious and perfect in all things.

And now that she had finally come of age, she wanted more. She wanted the whole world to bow at her feet. She wanted to experience the sweet taste of victory in all facets of life. And yes, she wanted that handsome boy eating out of the palm of her hand. Maybe she would invite him up to her room later tonight, so he could lather her up in the finest of oils. Then she would unlace his trunks and take a good, hard look at his enormous...

“Airborne Shunpukyaku!!!”

An explosion of chi energy rocked the scene, blowing past the furniture on deck and sending a tidal wave gushing down upon anyone unfortunate enough to be sitting poolside. Of course, Karin was among these unfortunate souls, her fancy umbrella bent in half, her glorious throne toppled from its place of power.

Karin fumed and spat her curses as she clambered out of this mess. She gripped the aluminum bars of her lounge chair, only to collapse on her tuchus as the chair wobbled away from her. For crying out loud, where were her servants? Why was no one helping her?

When she brushed aside the disheveled locks of blonde hair, she found her answer at the far end of the pool.

A cute brunette in a blue and white bikini was swimming through the water, laughing as the pool boys praised her agility and helped her fish out her white headband. Karin seethed as this popular girl won them over with a style all her own—a spirit of fun and optimism that could not be bought or sold.

The heiress gritted her teeth and shook her fists in rage. “SAKURAAAA!!!”

You can continue reading "Summer of the Warrior" ficlets on AO3 throughout July!

#street fighter #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #karin kanzuki #sakura #sakura street fighter #sakura kasugano #summer vacation #feeling flirty #rivalry #poolboy #swimming #rich girl #sexy

[coconutnunnicorn]

Monday

Monday-

These are short little ficlets of sorts you could say, some of them are longer than others but I hope they can all be found enjoyable. 

-

Izuku sifted through an array of colorful T-shirts, chewing absently at his lip as he thought about which one would go best with the tournament colors. Shoto had asked to see all of his favorite spots, it hadn’t been how he had intended to spend his free day, but he didn’t quite mind. “I really don’t recall you being so outgoing Shoto, what happened?” Shifting his gaze from the shirts to the man, Izuku couldn’t help but give a faint smile at the way he startled. 

Chuckling to himself, Shoto moved to stand closer, peering around the other to view the items Izuku was considering, “You can’t become a professional by being distant, sometimes it’s nice though to just relax in the quiet.” Reaching around him, Shoto pulled a shirt from the rack to hold it up against Izuku. “I think you should get this one, it matches my board colors.”

Red spread quickly across his face, climbing along his ears, as embarrassment surged through his veins. Freezing nervously, Izuku held his breath as he felt the slightly taller man invade his personal bubble. “I-” Attempting to stammer out words only left the other man laughing softly. “Don’t worry,” Izuku felt Shoto withdraw carefully, taking the shirt with him, “I’ll get it for you, for all the birthdays I missed.” 

#tododeku #todoroki shoto #midoriya izuku #ficlet #bnha ficlet #shopping #flawless victory ficlet

[happycupcakesss]

Welcome to the world of Teyv- I mean, tumblr!

I'm not good at making request but I have a nice idea for a good start (maybe):

How about Thoma, Itto, Kazuha and maybe, just if you want, Gorou (If not, then Albedo) loosing some random but important item, reader found it and brings it back and the boys seeing them/her for the first time and are like "oh my dear lord you are the one" you know like, love at first sight.

Sound a bit stupid but I think this would be cute😂 hope you're fine with this😅🌸

Hello hello!! AAA thank you thank YOU this is such the cute request I LOVE it so much!! I did gorou and Albedo too I hope that’s okay!! This is my first time writing for the cute doggy general 🥺 so I hope nothing too ooc! Thank you again!!<3

Lost and Found (Genshin Men x Reader)

Pairings: Thoma, Itto, Kazuha, Gorou, Albedo x gn!reader

Genre/format: fluff; ficlets

Warnings: food mentions in Thoma’s

Thoma

The man had looked everywhere for it. A white, full bag of flour he left on the kitchen counter.

“And done!”

“Ahh! What happened here?” Thoma asked, horrified at the scene - a ripped up paper bag and towels littered with white stains. You soaked them in the bucket of water and wrung out the fabric, smiling over the droplets of water.

“Oh, hello! Ah… you see… Ayaka’s cats got to the new flour shipments - so I hide the kitchen’s bags in the cabinets just over there.” You sighed softly, tone still lifted despite flour dusting your hair and clothes like snow did in Mondstadt’s, Dragonspine. “I hope that’s…”

Your words trailed off slowly as Thoma took the bucket and handed you some clean towels. “You’re two kind! Please allow me… those gosh-darn cats you can’t train them like dogs,” he chuckled softly, “May I get you anything? A tea for your troubles?”

You only laughed, claiming you were one of the new maids for the estate and you were just doing your job. Thoma remembered your name being brought up… and wow, you looked stunning even with flour all over you.

He had learned from the other mades your favourite dish, and whether it needed flour or not; Thoma would definitely whip up a delicious suprise for you.

more utc!

Itto

Itto, the Arataki Gang, and the kids of Inazuma were pumped for today’s rounds of bettle-wrestling! The sun was bright and ready to shine over the numero uno’s flawless victory as crystal, clear as the rays of light reflecting off the waves.

Which was weird… because usually he wouldn’t pay much attention to the waves. Light rolling of the glossy, purple finishes of Onikabuto was all he paid much attention to - today, it was much duller. It had the Oni strutting up the coastlines, searching for some missing bugs in the sand the kids or his gang must had dropped. (bc the great Oni couldn’t make such a silly mistake 😤)

He found you, taking good care of his bugs. When you looked up at him, you wore a smile that would had shone in the dark.

“Oh, hey! I heard of you! I’ve been training these bugs, they’re good fighters… but I doubt they’re as good as mine!” You grinned, eyes challenging.

Itto grinned - his spirits lit up like Yomiya’s fireworks in the night sky.

“You’re on!”

Kazuha

Kazuha, ever the poet, would always spend delicate care in crafting the most, perfect prose.

Today, the words were slipping by him in the wind - and not staying like the sea breeze. Sitting on the beams of the ship, he pondered over the words until his ink dried on the top of his quill.

He couldn’t believe he had lost the words to his poem. You, who had stroke up a conversation until the unswept deck was quickly lost to memory - until you both were put back to your chores on opposite sides of the boat.

Kazuha smiled softly at your parting figure, coming and going like the wind. You had found his inspiration, and he would soon move his ink as fast as his sweeps over paper instead of planks.

Gorou

It was pouring recently on Watasumi Island, and the general had just sought shelter at the Nakrumi Shrine right when it stopped. He had shook off the water from his fur before he came in, but the sticky, soggy wet fur had was worse than the wet petals stuck to the pavement outside.

The only issue, he couldn’t find his brush which was usually on his person for such occasions.

“I’ll give it back, only if you let me brush that fluffy tail of yours!” Yae Miko’s chuckle could be heard in the background - and Gorou should had picked up on the familiar cheekiness sooner.

“Sure thing! Wait—“ the general’s ears shot up like the hot, blush to his ears. “Pardon?!”

With some encouragement from the other women, Gorou had let you—crimson cheeked—brush his fur. He would be lying if he said he didn’t like it, running his fingers through the soft, dry tuffs - and thanking you vigorously.

He would have to return the favour, but unless you were like Miss Yae Miko - he hoped it wouldn’t be with a brush.

Albedo

The alchemist frowned at his beakers, giving the concoction a light stir. With his other hand, he swung open a cabinet - reaching for the familiar, bottle of glass holding a special, chemical activator. His frown deepened finding it empty.

“As much as I love the expressions you make when you’re hard at work…” your voice cut in, as softly as the snow on the mountains of Dragonspine.

“I beleive a drop of this,” you said, leaning in with a dropper. “Is what you’re looking for, chief alchemist.”

His concoction lightened traimpuhantly, much like the tug of your lips. Albedo’s frown turned upside down, finding you far more intriguing than the contents of his beakers.

#genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin imagines #albedo x reader #thoma x reader #gorou x reader #itto x reader #genshin fluff

[qqueenofhades]

i love how easily enabled you are because it ups my happiness level like +100 everytime. Like now there’s 2 more fivan aus to think about?? and like ok the russian revolution one is angst and pain, but now i also get to imagine rich!Fedyor trying to force his new rival-turned-bf to “just fucking smile and take a selfie” for the gram which is the modern day equivalent of the cookie scene and i love that for me.

also the speed you can churn out such quality words and small ficlets is amazing. you a flawless queen, have a lovely weekend!

"Vanya. Come here."

"No."

"Vanya, come here."

"NO."

"Oh my god." Fedyor rolls his eyes at the ceiling. "It is just a selfie. Not the end of the world. Now come here and cuddle up with me and let me post this so my followers can gush about how adorable we are."

"Are you sure about that?" Ivan glares at him from where he is sitting determinedly on the far side of the bed and reading a deeply boring book about Soviet economics. "They could hate it."

"Ray of sunshine, my love, that's you. As always." Fedyor wriggles closer. They may have just recently progressed from rivals-who-hate-makeout-in-closets to kinda-dating-but-shh to definitely-dating-but-shh, but Ivan has been a monumental crabby-pants the entire way, because apparently anything else would cause him to drop dead or something. "Trust me. We're cute, we are gay, and we are mildly famous. Plus, we are Russian. The internet will go crazy."

Ivan stares at him with a face of doom. He glances around shiftily, as if Fedyor's bedroom at his family's ultra-plush mansion in Holland Park might contain secret spy cameras or other instruments of scurrilous blackmail. Then he sighs deeply, with a face like a man walking up the gallows to be executed, putting his book aside and scooting up grimly next to Fedyor. Yes, Fedyor thinks wryly. That is him. My new boyfriend. Light of my life. Great fun at parties.

Fedyor grabs his phone, turns on a filter, snuggles up to Ivan, and snaps the perfect couple-y selfie. "There," he says, showing it to him. "I look adorable and you look like they gave away your favorite table at Chiltern Firehouse. It's so us."

"I don't understand why you're so obsessed with Instagram," Ivan gripes. "Or rather, your own face."

"Oh?" Fedyor raises an eyebrow at him. "I seem to recall you're a little obsessed with my face, Vanya. And my Instagram."

"I only look at it to laugh at you."

"Sure you do." Fedyor taps to post the picture of the two of them, tags Ivan's grossly depressing account, captions it #pridemonth, and sits back in smug anticipation. "That's why you went through all my selfies and liked every single one of them, wasn't it?"

Ivan opens his mouth, entirely fails to come up with a satisfactory retort, and shuts it, looking furious. While his phone starts to ping with "omgs!!" and "IM DYING" and whatever else (there will of course be the requisite stupid comments, but he's pretty good at filtering those out), Fedyor crooks a finger. "Come here and kiss me for all that epic nonsense you just put me through. You owe me."

Ivan grumbles.

"Now."

Ivan wilts. Clambers closer. Scoops Fedyor into his lap, mumbles something under his breath that it's definitely for the best he can't hear, and cuddles him. Kisses the back of his neck, as Fedyor hums in deeply self-satisfied victory, leans against him, and pulls Ivan's arm around his waist. The idiot still drives him crazy on a regular basis, but you know. He absolutely does prefer it this way.

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #fivan #fivan ff #here to make up for the angst i dumped on y'all with the russian revolution one XD #anonymous #ask

[one-of-us-must-be-crazy]

Happy Christmas, this two paragraph ficlet turned into an actual one shot. Have some fluff.

“It’s enough for me that it’s a nice day out, and we can go for a walk when I get home from work.”

That was what she had said. But this was her birthday. Technically, given how many deep-space missions she’s carried out, she was closer to thirtieth than she was to her phsyical twenty-fifth. Time, space...of all the things that have ceased to make any kind of logical sense in their little pocket universe, age is the least of concern. She’s lived so many years longer than he has, and yet he’s the one that looks older than her; enough so that they sometimes get strange looks even in places where no one would ever guess he was a synthetic.

Perhaps he could have taken her to dinner again. True, once a week or so he’d insist on taking her out, sometimes to a dive bar that she’d been familiar with when she had been living on her own, sometimes someplace nicer and she’d grumble about having to dress up. There had to be something better than just taking a walk with her. She goes for a run every morning, and for as advanced as he is, anything more than a light jog is...clumsy at best, and he stays home. So it’d be nice, to see her trail with her, come home to a pot of tea, maybe a nice hot bath...

Still, he already spent two hours making a cake for her, and was rather proud of just how machine-made-perfect it looked. There were some nice perks to being a soulless, mobile computer.

Yet it wasn’t enough. She deserves the world and a half, and she’s so practical she never buys herself anything that isn’t a necessity. Or broken; she buys antique electronics and mechanical toys to repair or remake as a hobby, but it doesn’t cost much. And was he supposed to pick out for a person that had very little in common with him, and showed very little interest in anything gift-worthy?

 She liked to read, he’d seen her with old paperbacks, and even a couple newer titles, but it was only at the end of the day or early in the morning.

Ripley sits at the kitchen bar, back from her run, hair damp despite the cool morning, and she sips at the tea he had made for her while she was out...convincing her to ease up on the coffee wasn’t easy, but pu’erh had enough caffeine to sustain her, and she didn’t put sugar in it so...small victories.... Her book is open and leaning against the potted cactus she brought home for him after he killed their violets. She’s at peace, finally, and if he’s honest with himself, and if he listens to her and believes her, he has a lot to do with that fact.

Maybe he could go out and get champagne. Put it on ice, light some candles around their bath and get her roses, maybe he could...It isn’t as if it’s something we don’t do normally, he thought. Ripley’s interest in him lessened some in the last couple of months, but he had a strong suspicion that their high-frequency rendezvous was more of a coping mechanism for her than about affection. An hour, give or take, of getting to forget who they were, or to only think of them and not of anything that has happened before or after that moment. He couldn’t blame her for it, but it did make romance less...novel of a thing to do on her birthday. 

Christopher didn’t poke through her belongings so much as curiously examine them. Her workroom had every small tool she could ever want or need. In the bathroom vanity none of her items were low, and she did indulge in scented bath salts now that WY was picking up their bills. There was even a small vial of perfume in the dresser drawer, and a single black nightgown she swore she only had because it was soft and cool to wear in the summer, but as he had witnessed, if it was too warm out she’d just go to bed in her underwear and a loose cami....she did like wearing it, he learned quickly, on nights he had to spend hours working on his programming, or on physical circuitry with his skin opened on his core. He didn’t like her seeing him like that, and usually locked himself into the office until whatever needed done was done. He’d walk out to see her, in the black night dress in the dark on their couch, with her hair down and smiling up at him “Want to sit with me?” And yet clothing of that variety didn’t seem to appeal much to her when he asked her about it.

She had graph paper and lined paper, a compass, drawing tools, everything she needed for mechanical design and work. She had a plush animal of some kind that had been either so loved or so abused that it’s repairs didn’t allow for species recognition; and she had a plush bear in a space suit he bought her on one of their earlier ‘dates.’ The hideous art print in the living room; a few old posters and post cards. They had bedding, and a spare set of sheets. Ripley always said that there was nothing else they needed. 

He thinks over the other clothing she has; work clothes, one gaudy red dress she got becuase she thought he’d like to see her in something nicer on a date, and nicer (less oil stained) jeans and shirts. A small makeup kit, though he rarely sees her in more than eyeliner (she wears concealer under her eyes, he can see it, but she denies it and he’s wise enough of human socialization at this point to not call her out on her lie). She even had a cheap pair of stud earrings she would wear once in---

That was the only jewelry she had. 

Maybe...

-----------------------

The jewelry shop in the city center would have been his first choice to find something for her at; but even the cheapest items there were more than she would ever allow him to spend on her. The display of engagement rings in it’s window was also...tempting wasn’t quite the word, ‘taunting’ might have a better connotation of the situation. It hasn’t been four months you’ve been with her... Then again, they were living together, and functioned, for all he was aware of, like a human partnership. If that was even what she considered them. 

There was another place, closer to the tourist traps, that sold....well, it was still nice things but it was the kind of nice that was sold alongside postcards and guidebooks to Luna. Amanda called the shops on that side of the city a ‘kitschy boardwalk.’ And yet, half her antiques and a few posters, and some of her records came from this part of the colony. She’d appreciate it.

An array of charms and earrings and rings shaped like the original moon lander, no. The little vintage space shuttle designs were sweet, and getting closer... But not really her either. The silver plated Weyland-Yutani logo charm was absolutely out of the question. 

Samuels remembers her humming once, he’d woken up her up from a nightmare, she had been shaking. He held her tightly and she quietly hummed the lines of a lullaby, of Lucky Star. That was months ago now and though she didn’t care much for pet names, privately that was what he thought of her: a lucky star, a unique one-in-billions event that everything orbited around.

A gold star in the back of the case of necklace pendants glittered; hardly half an inch tall, and on a plain black cord, it matched her personality--at least to his understanding of it.

---------------------------

“I told you not to do anything,” she said, looking the lowered lights and the cake sitting on their counter bar.

“Hello to you too,” he tried to cross the room to kiss her cheek, but she had already made it to the cake in three long strides.

“I’m sorry--but I meant it you didn’t have to...”

“It’s nothing, really. Normally I try to have dinner ready for you anyway so--”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Didn’t we agree, luv,” he tested just how upset she was by reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear--she didn’t stop him, so she couldn’t be too annoyed, “That if you were going to back to work, I could take care of household duties?”

“I know but... You’re not my housekeeper.”

“All I did was make the cake--” Amanda froze entirely and turned to face him again.

“Whoa, no wait, wait. You made that?”

“Yes?”

“You can do that? Chris how, this is--”

“It wasn’t hard.” 

Amanda inspected the perfect flowers and flawless icing on it, the exact lettering ‘happy birthday Amy’ in curling script. “You’re full of little surprises aren’t you?”

“If you say so. I forgot about dinner I’m afraid,”

“Oh so you aren’t perfect,” she smiled at him, loving the expression on his face that told her if he could blush he would be. You, she thought to herself, are absolutely getting lucky tonight.

“Far from it, dear.” It earned him a light kiss before she went for the phone on the wall, “If you’re going to order in, I already called.”

“That vegetarian place you see fit to call ‘take out’ or--”

“The pizza place that you see fit to refer to as food. That one.”

“Okay, so you are perfect,” she said, only half joking as she reached for the silverware drawer; he knew that she would try to cut a slice of cake before dinner arrived. “Chris?”

“Yes?”

“Why is there a present where the big knife should be?”

“Becuase it’s your birthday?”

“I told you--”

“When’s the last time someone did something for you on this day? The last time you actually...enjoyed it? You said yourself that the last few you either forgot or spent at a bar. And,” she looked increasingly bothered at his words and he considered stopping, but he put thought into this, “If it’s within my power to do something for you that could make you happy then I have to do it.”

“Then we have to find a birthday for you too.”

“That isn’t necessary--”

“Yes it is. If mine is, then so is yours.” he didn’t try to argue anymore. “So you want me to open this?”

“If you want,”

“Really if this is--oh...”

“Do you like it?” he asked as she held it up to examine. She turned the star over in her hand, it was barely the size of a fingernail, and engraved on the back in impossibly tiny script.

“It’s perfect...thank you--I can’t see the letters on the back--Sorry, I need my glasses for...” she liked that he chose a black cord too, instead of a gold one.

“They couldn’t personalize something that small, maybe I should have gone with a larger one but I was able to use one of your laser tools. I didn’t think it was that small, just how bad are your eyes?”

“Not that bad but--What’s it say?”

“‘Lucky Star’“

“...What?”

“I--you were humming it one night until you fell back asleep so I thought--I’m sorry if I got it wrong or if--”

“No it’s...” she was trying hard not to cry at this point, unable to hold back the tears despite avoiding a complete breakdown. “My mom--she used to sing it to me and--When I heard her recording she... That’s the  last thing--she sang it for me and...”

“Amy I’m so sorry--I-I didn’t know.”  

Amanda had changed, through what she’d survived, through half a year of accepting (usually) the help he offered, or perhaps she had only grown a little in that instead of doing what she might have done as recently as three months ago and hiding on her own until she had no trace of tears left and then never mention it again.

Instead, she looked over to Christopher’s open arms and took his silent offer.

“I didn’t know...I can fix it, or fix it and then return the whole thing--it doesn’t matter to me, love. You can pick something out inst--”

“No you got it for me!” she sniffled slightly her tight hold on him easing up a little. “You chose it and made it special and put thought into it and..”

“I did mean the sentiment. Beyond your luck at the obvious you are a lucky star to me... If that isn’t too melodramatic or saccharine for you.”

“It is...But you really are the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” She held up the necklace, “Could you put it on me?”she asked; he obliged happily as she thought he would, glad to perform the cliche romantic gesture. 

#tumblr fricking ate the ending so I had to rewrite it but I'm getting a migraine so I didn't get to do much #also as per usual this hasn't been edited yet

[depression-in-the-fire-nation]

angel/demon Urzai ficlet

I’m not super proud of this, but hey, @sky-kiss​ wrote the amazing Angel/Demon AU , and I, uh. Decided to play in the verse. Because I’m super into it.

I swear I’m gonna work on something a little more canon-compliant in the future ^^

***

He finds her in the garden, barefoot, warm summer rain soaking through her dress. The thin material is nearly transparent, clinging to the curves of her body. Worse is the sight of her wings, spread wide open, magnificent; Ozai’s eyes trace the frame of them, the white feathers getting longer and longer the further they are from her back, ending in sharp tips.

“I did not expect you here today,” Ursa says. She stands with her back to him, stretching. He hears the smile in her voice.

“I couldn’t let you run unchecked,” Ozai says.

The idiot angel doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed of herself.

“The kids will see you,” Ozai grunts.

“The kids are asleep.”

She notices his distress and folds the great wings carefully behind herself. It resonates with an old phantom ache in his back, a scar that is never to heal. It’s infuriating, the way the celestial insists on hiding them out of some misplaced sense of pity.

Ozai rolls back his shoulders, towering over her.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

A faint blush colours her cheeks. “I was. Enjoying the rain. The sensations here are—intense.”

As if the Earth was a never-ending source of delight. As if their time here was anything other than business, cold calculation. Ozai knows better. It’s a skirmish in the Great War, and one he intends to win. If Ursa insists on making things easier for him by frolicking in the rain instead of doing her job, then he is happy to let her do so.

“At least make it a challenge for me,” Ozai says.

Lightning flashes in the distance. Soon enough, they hear the crash of thunder, rumbling across the sleepy suburbia.

“Mom? Dad?”

He senses their—distress. After all, they are both very young.

Ursa is moving before he can stop her, stepping lightly onto the wooden porch and then inside the house. With his brows pinched in frustration, Ozai moves after her.

“Foolish creature,” he says. “The wings.”

She casts him a displeased look over her shoulder, amber eyes flaming. The wings dissipate as if they were never there, leaving behind only the smooth, flawless skin of her back.

Zuko is still rubbing sleep from his eyes when Ursa sinks to her knees before him, wrapping her pale arms around the boy’s shoulders. She murmurs something sweet, incoherent, utterly meaningless; it has the desired effect.

Azula’s sharp gaze is on them. Fear and jealousy fester in her soul, tainting her thoughts. The girl shows promise in that regard – Zuko’s potential for evil is grounded in his misguided anger, his self-doubt, the depth of his convictions. Azula is more focused, more calculated, although made fragile by her perfectionism.

He wants to encourage that. Ursa’s brand of comfort would only weaken the child; Ozai can show her true power—

Her small hands get lost in Ozai’s palm. She is looking up at him, stubbornly, while the storm rages outside.

“What were you doing in the garden?” she asks. Then something flashes across her features. “I saw—”

“You saw nothing,” Ozai says. He soothes the command by hoisting the child up in his arms, her eyes glazing over as tiredness catches up to her. “Sleep.”

She settles in his embrace, surrendering her fears at his feet. It’s—not what he was aiming for. He is not here to provide comfort; her trust, a useful tool though it is, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

They put the children back to bed, the angel lingering behind to make sure their dreams end up pleasant.

“Don’t overdo it,” Ozai says.

Ursa glowers at him, threads of an idyllic fairytale weaved between her fingers. He can see the shape of it – a house by the sea; a family of four; the sun setting over the ocean; a campfire on the beach, beneath the starry sky. It’s the children’s memories, perhaps even Ursa’s own fantasies.

She sighs as the dreams slip from her fingers, losing their form and focus, drifting away into nothingness. The light in the room goes off at the snap of her fingers, and Ursa shuts the door after them both, leaving the children in deep, dreamless sleep.

The angel is weak, giving in to sorrow and pity. It would be the easiest thing in the world to break her. To rid himself of even the illusion of competition.

Ozai runs his fingers over her bare shoulder. Her damp, cool skin is an odd sensation, and a deeply human one. But fire is in his very essence; its warmth spreads out, enveloping them both.

His brows knit into a frown. Ursa is watching him with an odd expression, the barest hint of a smile. She will fall into his trap with the same wide-eyed delight she stepped into the rain, hungry for the material world, its sins and imperfections a welcome reprieve from the tedious flawlessness of Heaven and Hell.

She will fall. Ozai can taste the victory already, almost against his lips. Sweet, heady, it sets his head spinning. He can see it in her eyes; he can—

He steps aside at the last minute. Ursa looks at him sadly, her fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. Then she’s gone.

#urzai #shipping nonsense #my fic

[naberiie]

And They Will Learn to Fear Us

in honor of PadMay, I thought I would cross-post this work from my ao3 - PadmexSabe ficlet that I orginally wrote for Femslash February!

By many standards, they never had childhoods. Each and every one of their lives was for the people of Naboo. And training began early.

Padmé knew she was meant for politics, for democracy, for the happiness of her home planet, when she was a toddler. She used to whisper stories to Sabé under the covers at night of how she’d pretend to negotiate trade deals with her dolls, or shape policies in the kitchen while her mother cooked dinner. Her parents had watched her play and knew their daughter would soon paint her face white, split her lip with red.

So they sent her away, and the five followed.

Sabé knew they didn’t look like each other – they all looked like Padmé. She knew which one of them was meant for royalty before the crown was placed on her head. She knew even before Padmé revealed herself as the Princess of Theed. There was a deep current to the girl, something flowing under her pale skin, a fierceness in her eyes that Sabé could warm herself by.

This was their childhood.

Sabé would plait Padmé’s thick dark hair while they argued about whether the Gungans should be sought out or left to their own devices. Padmé painted Sabé’s fingernails white – just like she did, an homage to the simple mountain village that had birthed her – while they discussed Naboo’s place in the galactic economy.

Sometimes, when their bodies ached after a full day of hand-to-hand combat training with Captain Panaka, they would simply lay together on the white cotton sheets until sleep took them. Sometimes Sabé would sit up and stare at her in the moonlight. Sometimes she woke to Padmé’s eyes on her own face.

They were eleven, and they could see their lives stretched out in front of them, five girls who were more alike than most siblings. Five lives intertwined for eternity – for Naboo, and for each other. Padmé hates being called Princess, but she smiles when Sabé sleepily murmurs it each morning.

Two years later, and Sabé knows everything about Padmé. She can mimic the way the Princess sits down, how she shifts one leg and then the other, how her fingers twitch when she’s displeased. When they woke to the news of King Veruna’s abdication, the bright fire roars in Padmé’s eyes. She dances around the room after the others left, gripping Sabé’s hands, “This is it! This is our chance!” Sabé laughs and twirls her around the balcony, their bare feet effortlessly following the steps while their minds race with infinite possibilities.

Their years of training were meant for this moment.

Padmé cares for the others, of course she does, but Sabé is the one to place the heavy red and gold crown on her head. It is heavy with the weight of its legacy, beautiful and terrible in power. When she steps back, it is not Padmé who looks at her from under the white makeup, but a Queen. Queen Amidala. Sabé lets herself stare, her heart fluttering madly in her chest as she whispers the title and the regnant name. “My Queen Amidala.” The sounds are sweet in her mouth. They taste like butterscotch.

And the Queen smiles, and Sabé sees her Padmé in those warm brown eyes. She has trouble rising from her throne – the brocaded dress weighs more than she does – but Sabé’s hands are steady as she helps her to rise.

They are fourteen, and this is what they were meant to do.

They are fourteen, and they do not know they already have enemies.

The Trade Federation watches as a planet elects a young girl to lead them. They sneer, but they do not understand that politics is as much part of Naboo as the rivers and oceans. They do not see that the preservation of democracy is lifeblood to the citizens of Naboo. They see only a young girl, and they mistake her age for inexperience. They assume it is a fluke and that the Queen will break with ease.

They arrive five months into Amidala’s rule and congratulate themselves on a flawless victory.

Sabé stands next to the Queen as their communications are cut, and holds her close that night as fear begins to solidify in their blood. They are wrapped in thick blankets but the chill still worms in through the fabric. Trade Federation ships sparkle like ominous new stars in the familiar night sky.

Hot tears drip onto Sabé’s arms but Padmé’s voice is steady when she declares to the night, “I will remove them from Naboo like the vermin they are.”

“We must go to Coruscant, to the Galactic Senate.”

“Yes.” Padmé rolls over in Sabé’s arms and looks up at her through thick eyelashes. Her mouth is set with determination.

“And I will be your decoy as Queen.”

Padmé closes her eyes and buries her face in Sabé’s shoulder. “It will dangerous, Sabé.” Her breath raises gooseflesh on Sabé’s bare arms.

“You would lie down your life for our people. I will do the same for you. They will come after us when they discover our absence. You are too important to risk so much.”

Padmé sits up and stares at her. She knows it is dangerous, but she knows it is the only way to ensure the people of Naboo get the help they so desperately need.

“You are too valuable,” Sabé repeats. “They need you.” Without thinking, she raises her hand and cups Padmé’s cheek.

She closes her eyes and the façade falls. She is a fourteen-year-old girl with the weight of a world on her shoulders. Sabé would do anything to ease that burden.

“And I need you. My Sabé.” She opens her eyes and this time, Sabé know she is looking at Padmé, the handmaiden, not the Queen. The switch was effortless. “My Queen.”

Though they had not slept, though the sky was the dull blue-gray of dawn, they rose together, hands clasped tightly together. There is work to do.

#naberiie writes fanfic #sabedala #padmé amidala #handmaiden sabé #padme x sabe #padmay2017 #ficlet #lov this lesbean #she and the handmaidens are poly lesbians this is factual