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ashes-in-a-jar · 3 years

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And I Owe it All to You

Hello! This is a fic I wrote based on @speakerunfolding 's wonderful Jonmartin scottish cabin comic which I couldn't stop looking at.

I wrote this while watching Dirty Dancing for the first time in many years. Quite an experience xD

Summary: It's a night in for Jon and Martin in the cabin and they decide to pop out the wine.

Rated: T

Word count: 2.2K

Tw: alcohol, drinking and being slightly drunk, minor injuries

Maybe it was the fact that neither of them had gone out much in the past few months. Maybe the Fears prefer their avatars lightweight. Maybe Scottish alcohol tended to be stronger than English alcohol. But the sparkling wine they bought on a whim at the village store shouldn't have had the effect on them that it did.

Having emptied two cups each (Jon was actually drinking out of a mug, since they found only one wine glass, and he conceded the honor of feeling classy to Martin) they have already become giggling messes over some dumb joke regarding one Peter Lukas and a computer that refused to boot.

It wasn't even that funny. But there they were, acting like complete fools leaning against each other on the couch, legs propped up in a completely uncomfortable position on the small living room table (dangerously close to the now nearly empty bottle), holding their cups precariously in one hand and holding hands with the other.

And enjoying every moment of it.

The giggling subsided. They took a moment of comfortable silence to regain their breath and enjoy another sip.

"Can't believe he didn't know he could just u-unplug and replug the whole thing. Even I know that." Jon's speech was ever so slightly slurred, his leftover wine sloshing in his cup.

Martin hummed and then snorted.

"Jon, you barely know how to do that either. I had to teach you how to open new tabs in the same internet window for christ's sake."

"It was a new laptop! All of the buttons were in the wrong p-place." Jon protested weakly, starting to hiccup.

"Sure."

"Prick." Jon nudged him fondly. "You underestimate my vast knowledge of 'modern' things."

Martin snorted again. "Modern, you say?"

"Yes Martin, what do you take me for?"

"An old geezer." Martin tousled his hair gently. Jon leaned into the touch. Then, the words sunk in.

"Hey! Why do you and Georgie keep thinking that? I can know pop culture!"

"Oh yeah? Tell me, what do you know?"

"Uh..." Jon struggled to straighten himself, which resulted in actually sliding further off the couch. "Um...I know S-Star Wars! And uh, Matrix? I think. I've seen it once. Oh! That, that dinosaur movie! And... Titanic?" He finished unconvincingly.

Martin looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Really, Jon? You're just naming movies now. And not even new ones. Did you actually watch any of those?"

Jon avoided his gaze "I... I may have fallen asleep during uh, during some of these?"

Martin gave him a long look.

"Yes alright, I fell asleep in all of them."

Martin huffed "Thought so".

Jon gave up trying to salvage his dignity, taking a final long gulp from his mug, a small drop trickling down his chin. Martin swiped it away, absent-mindedly licking his finger, not noticing as Jon hiccuped, his face heating up considerably.

"I-I did like the Princess Bride though— that was a nice film, if a bit sensational."

"Hang on. You watched the Princess Bride? And liked it?" Martin asked, incredulous.

"I'm allowed to like things, Martin. B-besides, Georgie made me watch it. Said it was a- a core staple of cinema history o-or something."

"Oh yeah? Did she make you watch those other movies as well?" Martin asked casually, swirling the liquid in his cup.

"Unfortunately yes. She would cruelly shake me awake when I finally managed to get some shut-eye for once in my life. I-it's not my fault the only times I could sleep normally were during those, those damn films! She woke me up for that ridiculous scene with the, uh, the bullets in the Matrix. And that lifting scene in that unseemly dancing movie."

"What lifting scene?"

"That movie with all of the dancing? Th-the one where he lifts her at the end in the middle of the crowd with that song? At least, uh, at least I think there was a lot of dancing, I wasn't actually, hmmm... Focused at the time."

"Oh my god Jon, do you mean Dirty Dancing? You fell asleep during Dirty Dancing?" Martin's delighted incredulity was plain on his face.

Jon scrunched up his nose. "That's the name of the film? Good thing I fell asleep then."

"Jesus Jon. That's incredible, good on Georgie! Heh, at least you woke up for that scene. It's iconic, you know."

"Yes, yes." Jon waved at him dismissively, reaching unsteadily for the wine bottle. Martin gently took it away from Jon and with a much steadier hand, poured the remaining bit of wine into his mug.

"Thank you Martin," Jon mumbled into the cup.

Another warm silence fell on them, lulling Jon into a half drunken stupor. He nearly threw his cup in the air when Martin's words startled him back into awareness.

"I can do that scene you know, that lifting part." He was looking intently at his glass.

"R-really?" Jon hiccuped. "How?"

"I… I had a boyfriend who wanted to try it. So we did. Turns out that I'm good at balancing large things that aren't stacks of paper."

Jon hummed. He suddenly imagined very vividly Martin lifting someone else in that way and felt a pang in his chest. What was that?

Another beat of silence.

"Do. Do you want to try?"

"W-what?"

"Do you want to do that lifting scene with me? I'm sure I could lift you." Martin suddenly sat up, his tone excited and anticipating. He looked at Jon.

Jon shifted. "Uh, I-I guess it's fine? Sure."

"Okay! Let's do it then!" Martin got up on his feet, swaying ever so slightly.

Jon looked up at him surprised. "W-wait, now? Shouldn't we wait? You know, to be less uh, inebriated? Don't you need to see the scene again for a reminder?"

"Mmm. We don't have reception so I can't exactly watch the scene again. But, but I'm pretty sure I can do it now, definitely sure! Come on." He held out his hand expectantly.

Jon took it, stumbling only a bit as he got up. Martin took out his phone .

"I might even have the song saved. Let me check."

A moment later he gave a whoop of success and the song began to play, filling the main space of the cabin with its soft, if slightly tinny sound.

Jon stretched, releasing the tension in his muscles. "All right Martin, where do you want me?"

"You need a bit of a running start, and then you need to jump high right as you reach my arms, so stand over there." He indicated towards the door of the bedroom.

"Right." Jon stumbled only once as he made his way towards the designated spot. Martin moved across the room stopping right near the kitchen door.

The song kept playing calmly in the background, slowly building up towards the upbeat chorus.

Jon looked at him again "I dunno Martin. A-are you sure?" He suddenly felt a bit more fuzzy than he did sitting down. He hiccuped again.

"Please Jon, you're thin as a rake. Have a little faith." His face wore that determined look that Jon couldn't help but love.

"Alright, as you wish." He grinned, proud of his clever reference as he took his stance.

Martin rolled his eyes as well as his sleeves. "Steady on Westley, this is the part."

Jon felt a rush of excitement as he caught Martin's enthusiasm. "Ready?" He asked, bouncing a little on his feet in preparation.

"Ready." Martin crouched a little, holding out his arms.

As the chorus neared Jon, with a wild drunken energy, took his running start, jumping up as he reached Martin, grabbing on to his shoulders for support. Martin firmly gripped Jon's hips, bent his legs and with a strained grunt lifted Jon in the air as the song reached a crescendo.

Jon was flying.

He laughed giddily, stretching out his arms in elation.

As Martin continued holding him in his strong grip he looked down at his beautiful boyfriend. Despite the exertion, Martin looked up with the softest expression as the song kept playing for them in the background.

For a moment everything was perfect.

And then Martin leaned backwards a bit too far.

In hindsight, they should have known this would happen. While Martin was better at hiding it, he was as drunk as Jon. And Jon's already impeded balance certainly didn't help.

As they went down, Jon idly wondered if they could also recreate the rest of the dance if they practiced. And then he hit his nose on the floor.

After a moment of stunned silence the pain rushed in and Jon grunted.

Turns out that while most of him was protected from the fall by Martin's soft and sturdy body, his knee also missed the mark and crashed into the floor as well.

Muffled by Jon's body above him, Martin squirmed. "Ugh, Jon, are you okay?"

When Jon didn't respond, Martin groaned and picked himself off the floor, lifting Jon in the process.

"Oh my god, Jon! You're bleeding!"

Jon's face throbbed. And so did his knee. His hazy drunken state began fading away as the pain sharpened.

"I-I think I hit something."

"I'm so sorry Jon! God, where are the tissues?" Seemingly having sobered up considerably, Martin picked Jon up and carried him bodily into the bathroom. Jon allowed all of this to happen as the shock of the fall dissipated. He let Martin easily lift him onto the sink counter as he shoved a towel into his hands.

"Hold it against your nose while I... Jesus, your knee too?" He stepped back now hurriedly lifting the stained pant leg to reveal the damage.

"God, Jon I'm so sorry. Hold still, I'm going to find the first aid kit. We shouldn't have done this. This was a complete disaster."

He kept muttering irritably as he walked away. Jon sighed and pressed the towel to his throbbing nose. His foggy mind still felt as though it was trying to catch up to the recent chain of events. He spoke slowly, attempting to convey himself with clarity.

"Martin, it's fine. Honestly, I think we both know I've had worse-"

"You nearly broke your bloody neck! God, where's that goddamn kit." He shouted from across the cabin as Jon heard the rattling of drawers being forcefully pulled open.

"Martin, please I-I'm okay. It's just a little bit of bruising. It honestly already feels better."

And it actually did. In the chaos after the fall, they both forgot Jon's... situation. Jon watched as the cut on his knee slowly closed up, leaving only the drying stain of blood behind. The pain in his nose was slowly vanishing as well.

By the time Martin came back holding the bag, Jon already put down the towel and was tentatively poking at the previously bruised spot.

Martin stopped in front of him, looking at him with a mixture of emotions Jon couldn't parse out. He smiled at Martin hesitantly.

"See? Good as new. No harm no foul, I say."

Martin let out a long suffering sigh and took the towel out of Jon's hands. He quietly dampened it in the sink and stepped closer to gently pat at his face.

Jon looked at him. This close he could practically count his faded freckles, follow every line and trace every mark that was so beautifully Martin. He let himself smile.

"I must say, I'm quite impressed by your strength, if we weren't so inebriated, I'm sure you could have kept me up there for quite a while," he said quietly, enjoying the fluttering touches.

"It wasn't because I was drunk." Martin muttered.

"Pardon?"

"I said it wasn't because I was drunk that I dropped you," he said a little louder, oddly flustered. "I was looking at... At you. You just looked... I dunno, happy, I guess? I just never seen that expression on you before and it..." He trailed off, concentrating intently on Jon's knee, finishing up cleaning up the blood.

"M-Martin, look at me. Please look up here." Jon gently tugged at his shoulders to pull him up. At this height, sitting on the counter, he actually came face to face with Martin, seeing his blush and ruffled expression right in front of him as opposed to slightly above him like he normally did

He lifted his palms to bracket Martin's warm cheeks.

"There you are," he whispered and leaned in for a quick kiss. He then leaned back slightly. "You know that I'm perfectly happy. Here with you. Y-you know that, right?"

Martin looked at him for a few moments, then smiled. "Yeah, I do."

"Good. Now, help me down so we can clean up the wine stain, which I'm sure is growing on the carpet right now."

"Wha- oh," Martin said as he turned to see the fallen glass that apparently toppled during the mayhem.

"Yeah. Let me down?" Jon said again, holding out his arms.

Martin turned back to him, a teasing expression on his face. "As you wish."

Jon groaned and allowed himself once again to be pulled, secretly enjoying Martin's burst of giggles as they both walked back into the crime scene that was their drunken night in.

All things considered, it was a pretty good night.

#Ahhhh i had so much fun writing this #While watching the movie itself xD #I hope you like it!#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #fabric rustles #tma fic #My tma fic #Tma art #I guess #Because its based on it so

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myersesque · 2 years

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→ catgender GARFIELD LOGAN (aka BEAST BOY) icons.

[ID: 6 circular icons of Garfield Logan (aka Beast Boy), with the catgender flag in the background. Each icon shows a different version of the character. The catgender flag used consists of a medium pink stripe, a light pink stripe, a purple stripe, a light blue stripe, and a medium blue stripe.

The first icon shows Beast Boy from the cartoon show “Teen Titans”; he has green skin and short green hair, but from the neck down he’s covered by his hero costume, which is black and pink with silver accents. He’s smiling widely, his eyes closed, and pumping one fist into the air.

The second icon shows Beast Boy from Gabriel Picolo’s comics. He has tan skin, brown hair with a green streak, and is wearing a black hoodie and carrying a grey backpack. His arms are held awkwardly above his head, holding a phone in his right hand, and a large green snake is coiled around his arms, hissing at him. He’s smiling nervously, one eyebrow raised.

The third icon shows Beast Boy from the cartoon show “Young Justice”. He has green skin and green hair, including shaggy sideburns. His arms are covered in green fur. He’s wearing a short-sleeved outfit which is red with white accents. He’s pointing at someone off-screen, hunching over slightly, and speaking with an annoyed look on his face.

The fourth icon shows Beast Boy from the DC Rebirth comics. He has green skin and hair, sideburns, and claws. He’s wearing a similar red and white costume, though this time it lacks sleeves entirely. He’s grinning at the camera and pouncing, one hand drawn back as if he’s about to strike.

The fifth icon shows Beast Boy from the live action show “Titans”. He’s Asian, with pale skin and green hair, wearing a red and white leather jacket. He’s got a serious expression on his face, and his head is tilted down slightly. He’s looking at something off-screen to his right.

The sixth icon shows Beast Boy from the video game “Fortnite”. He has green skin and hair, and is wearing a purple T-shirt and an unzipped dark grey and white hoodie. The T-shirt says “BEAST” on the front in white text, and his hoodie has a white “T” printed on the left side of his chest. He’s smiling, winking, and doing fingerguns. /End ID]

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chibi-devil10 · 3 years

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Cute EreMin headcanons because my heart hurts looking at their season 4 relationship😭

- When they were learning to use maneuver gear, Armin would often fall because his body was weaker than the others. Eren would always keep a close eye on him and then catch him when he falls.

- When they were younger and Armin got scared, he would grab onto Eren’s sleeve and once Eren caught on, he would immediately eliminate the threat

- They casually touch all the time and Eren always makes sure to sit or stand next to Armin. They’ll even hold hands sometimes while learning about a new mission

- When Eren was getting put through experiments, he always preferred if Armin was present

- During the winters when they were younger they would have sleepovers and cuddle together. They never really grew out of it so when winter rolled around when they were trainee’s and scouts, Armin would crawl into Eren’s bed. They wouldn’t cuddle, but they would sleep in the same bed together.

- Eren always makes a fuss if he isn’t on the same chore rotation with Armin

- Before missions, Eren would always find Armin and just talk about random things because he knows Armin is nervous and he wanted to make him feel better

- When Eren passes out after experiments, Armin sits by his side and refuses to leave until he wakes up

- Making eye contact with each other or just being in one another’s presence is always enough to calm them down

- When Eren gets angry and starts lashing out, Armin is always the one to calm him down and follow him out of the room to help him feel better. They usually end up gossiping about other soldiers and talking about the outside world

- They always casually disappear together when the group meets up. Like the group can be meeting up for anything and the two of them will eventually leave together without anyone noticing for a while

- Armin always smiles really brightly when he sees Eren

- During the summers, they’ll take their horses and ride up a nearby mountain to watch the sunrise or just go up there before breakfast

- They get each other’s food for one another. Whenever they arrive in the mess hall together, only one will get up and get the food for both of them. They switch everyday

- Armin is able to distinguish how Eren is feeling inside his Titan form through his roars. He can tell if he’s feeling frustrated/angry, sad, or cheerful, etc. No one really understands, but they trust Armin’s judgement

- They make pinkie promises

- Armin has a lot of nightmares of the time Eren died in front of him and since Eren knows this, he’s always able to tell when Armin is thrashing around in bed and he’ll hold his hand until he wakes up

- Eren never listened in school when they were younger so Armin was the one to teach him to read and write outside of school

- Eren’s heart breaks whenever he sees Armin scared to tears and he’ll do ANYTHING to make the tears stop

- The one time Armin got so mad he screamed and yelled was at Hange because he thought/knew she went too far on an experiment. He was very angry for days and didn’t talk to anyone except for Eren and Mikasa (Eren thought the pout he always had on his face was adorable)

- Eren will walk by Armin when he’s doing chores and snap the straps around his thighs and then smirk at him when Armin whips around

- If Armin is giving someone else attention, Eren, like the brat he is, will walk up behind him and pull Armin into his chest by his hips

- One time during the night Eren begged Armin to do the iconic Spider-Man kiss with him and Armin can never say no to Eren so they went outside and Eren used his maneuver gear to hang upside down from a tree and Armin gave him a few kisses. (Levi caught them and Eren fell on his head)

#eremin #eren x armin

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nmikaelsonimagines · 3 years

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Movie Moments: A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Request from Anon: So all I did was read the title of your latest fic & now I’m needing a fic where the reader makes Klaus watch Titanic bc it’s one of her fave films (bc Kate & Leo!) and he’s never seen it (bc ‘why would I want to watch a film about an event I was present for y/n? 🙄’). A couple of days later Klaus is painting & she comes up behind him & whispers in his ear ‘I want you to paint me like one of those French girls’ and he spends the day drawing & painting her in all ways that he can think of 😝

Okay, so the “latest fic” was Those French Girls, which was ages ago! Whoops! Also, fun fact, my great-great-grandmother was a Titanic survivor. This one gets a bit suggestive so if you’re not down for that, keep scrolling. Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x

“Why would I want to watch a film about an event I was present for, Y/N?”

“Because it’s my favourite film, and you love me.”

Klaus wasn’t rolling his eyes by the end of the film, and you were pretty sure you had heard him sniffing, trying to hold back the tears. It was moments like these that made you smile, moments when you introduced him to new things and he would go along willingly because it was you, and he was head over heels for you.

This time, it had been Titanic. He had argued profusely about not seeing the point in watching a movie about something he had been present for, but had admitted defeat in the end, after hours of you pestering him. It was a romance, after all, and if you couldn’t watch one of those with your boyfriend, who could you watch one with?

It was a few days later when you walked into his studio and found Klaus painting. It was a common occurrence, the hybrid always having had a passion for art, not to mention an extraordinary talent, and normally you would have stood in the doorway admiring him. The slope of his back, the movements of his wrist, the way he was so immersed in whatever inspiration had struck him.

But Titanic was still swimming around in your head, as was an iconic line. With a devilish smile on your lips, you walked over to Klaus. You wrapped your arms around his waist, stretching up on your toes to kiss his cheek.

“Hello, love,” there was an affectionate lilt in Klaus’s voice.

“Hello.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to paint me like one of those French girls.”

Klaus put down his paintbrush and turned to face you, your arms still around his waist. The smile on his face was one reserved for late night activities, one that sent chills down your entire body, your blood still managing to boil, your heart beating ten to the dozen.

“Well then perhaps you had better take a seat.”

Resisting the urge to giggle, you moved over to where Klaus gestured. It wasn’t the first time Klaus had painted you, insisting on capturing your likeness many times before, but you were sure this time would be different. You sat, with your hands clasped on your lap.

“Now, last I checked, those French girls of yours weren’t fully clothed.”

“Well maybe you’d like to show me what you mean by that.”

Your breath caught in your throat as Klaus walked over to you. He had undressed you plenty of times before, but he never failed to have the same effect on you. His hand lingered on your shoulder as he pushed down the sleeve of your shirt, before his lips met your skin, kissing ever so gently.

He crouched down, unbuttoning your jeans, before pulling them down your legs. You were conscious of his fingers on your skin, of each callous, of those artist hands that would only ever touch you in this way.

“That’s more like it.”

When Klaus had moved back to the easel, you caught sight of him. Of his cheeky smile as he looked at you, of the glint in his eyes that you had fallen in love with all that time ago.

“I’m thinking multiple positions for this one, Y/N. A collection of sorts,” he peered around the easel, “Maybe we’ll lose some more clothes as the day progresses.”

“And may I ask how you’re intending on paying your model?”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways that we’ll both agree on.” You shivered as Klaus winked at you, the promise of an eventful evening hanging in the air.

You had never felt more like Rose in your life as Klaus began painting you. You were living out one of your favourite movie moments and it was better than you could ever have imagined. You were also pretty sure that should Rose have ever modelled in the positions Klaus requested of you, the age rating of the movie would have gone up considerably.

The paintings that Klaus produced, the images of you in every way he could possibly think of, were not for the faint-hearted, and would certainly only ever be seen by you two.

Not that you minded. You had been the one to initiate it.

After this, you were sure that Klaus would never complain about anything you wanted to watch again. Especially as you were sure to thank him for the impressive portraits later in the evening.

You were also sure that you would never be able to watch Titanic in the same way again. You were bound to think of this moment every single time you saw Rose and Jack interact, every time you heard that line.

But then again, was that such a bad thing?

Klaus certainly didn’t think so, as he showed you when you went to bed.

Masterlist

#the vampire diaries #TVD #tvd imagine #tvd imagines #the originals #the originals imagines #the originals imagine #to #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagines #klaus mikaelson x reader #niklaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson imagines #niklaus mikaelson imagine #niklaus mikaelson x reader #Joseph Morgan

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loveroflokiforpoeticjustice · 3 years

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ScreenRant Misinterpreting and Not Understanding Loki as a Character.

Disclaimer: I really do not like ScreenRant. This just happened to catch my eye. If you like ScreenRant skip this.

10/10

"Unrealistic Survival"

During the final moments of Thor: The Dark World, Loki became impaled and passed away in the strong arms of loving brother Thor. Dead? Not really. He was back in Thor: Ragnarok. Apparently, that was just one of Loki's holograms and the villain himself was very much okay. However, recent history in the MCU proves that he holograms cannot be touched. In Thor: Ragnarok, Thor even failed in his attempt to throw a rock at Loki’s hologram. But in the death scene, Thor just happens to be holding him comfortably. And given that rocks go right through a hologram, then any other hologram shouldn't have been stabbed either.

"Loki became impaled and passed away in the strong arms of loving brother Thor." I threw up in my mouth. I am going to repeat myself. Thor is not loving. Please stop calling him this. (Post regarding this)

They are not "holograms" they're illusions. A hologram is technology; Loki is not using technology he is using magic.

Why do they only reference Thor: Ragnarok? Loki has used illusions in Thor 1, Avengers 1 and this movie!

"Comfortably"? That's how they describe the scene? They're on the ground, and Loki is bleeding from his chest! How is that comfortable?

On another note, this is correct. How Loki survived does not make sense. I am not suggesting he faked it. This is just an example of Marvel skipping over important information.

9/10

"Poor Attempt At Trying To Kill Thanos"

Before he was made to look incompetent by Thanos, Loki was a very intelligent villain. Catching and defeating him wasn't easy, and this was all thanks (ScreenRant Typo: takes) to his ability to create illusions at will. He used this trick very many times and it always worked. But when Loki is trying to kill Thanos in Infinity War, the only trick up his sleeve is pretending to pledge loyalty to the Mad Titan with secret intentions of stabbing him with a blade. Of course, Thanos stopped him and killed him. Why didn't Loki use a smarter trick? More importantly, why didn't he use his tried and tested illusion trick?

Now they call them illusions.

Please do not completely villain code Loki. He is more than that.

"Before he was made to look incompetent by Thanos" Yes, this scene made Loki look incompetent.

This is a great point. Why did Loki do that? Loki has tons of abilities even outside casting illusions. His IQ is 265, and he pulls this move?! Why?! This not redemption and this not a honorable death. What happened?

8/10

"His Evolution Into A God"

According to the MCU, Loki's parents are the Frost Giants Farbauti and Laufey. Despite his parents not being gods, Loki evolves into the “God of Mischief.” How is this possible, given that he was only adopted by Asgardian parents who were gods, but he himself had no god lineage?

I had to look into this because Frigga is a terrible mother. This is actually something the MCU got wrong. Laufey in Norse Mythology is actually Loki's mother, and Farbauti is Loki's father. Laufey (mother) also goes by the name Nál. Nál was actually considered as goddess of youth and playfulness who also really enjoyed nature. It also says that she was a frost giant, so she could have possibly been a shapeshifter. Her bio is kind of all over the place, and though I have read Norse Mythology, I am no expert. BUT this is something that the MCU should work to clear up. Not me a fan.

7/10

"Blue Hue"

As the son of a Frost Giant, Loki was born with a blue skin tone. When Odin adopted him, he cast a spell that changed his tone from blue to white. However, Loki never seems to have an idea about his true skin color. Given his history of mischief, he has never attempted to change back either. After, Odin’s spell to keep Hela far from Asgard ended in Thor: Ragnarok, his spell on Loki ought to have ended too. Or perhaps Loki has always been aware that he is blue. If so, then the confusion ought to be cleared up.

"Given his history of mischief" What history? Someone explain. If they are talking about the snake story I'm suing. And that doesn't even count since it technically did not happen.

"Or perhaps Loki has always been aware that he is blue." Clearly who ever wrote this did not watch Thor 1. If they did I hope they have a good explanation for this comment.

This also goes along with 8/10 that Loki could possibly be at least 50% Æsir (Asgardian).

6/10

"Mind-Controlling Hawkeye Instead Of Fury"

Loki found himself in the S.H.I.E.L.D. base after using the Tesseract’s portal to transport himself. One of his first tasks involves mind-controlling Hawkeye so that he can use him as security. He also mind-controls Dr. Selvig to make him create the Chitauri portal. But it's strange that he doesn't mind-control the boss ,Nick Fury. If he had done that, everything he wanted would have been achieved more easily. Fury would have been his puppet and he could have used him to make the Avengers make regrettable decisions.

Although minor this is a good point. My only explanation is that Loki may not have been thinking clearly. Especially since judging by the way he looks in the scene, he's evidently sick.

5/10

Thanos Was Too Lenient Towards Him

Long before they became enemies. Loki and Thanos were associated. One of the instructions that Thanos gave Loki was to get the Tesseract as soon as possible, or else. Yes, there were stipulations from Thanos outlined to Loki by The Other. Loki was promised a kind of pain he'd never known before. However, Loki wasn't able to deliver the Tesseract for more than six years, and nothing really happened to him. Given how ruthless the Mad Titan is, it's a mystery why he was so lenient towards Loki.

"Long before they became enemies. Loki and Thanos were associated." When was this? If by "associated" you mean tortured for a year than...sure. I am also confused for why they say "associated", and then talk about him being tortured later in the same paragraph.

Just going by the MCU, Thanos was also looking for the other infinity stones, so he probably figured he would get Loki later.

4/10

Stopping Agent Coulson

During Loki's invasion of Earth in Avengers, he trapped Thor in a cage, and while he was talking to his brother, Agent Coulson tried to stage a surprise attack. Not so fast Coulson. It appears the God Of Mischief is also the God Of Anticipating. Coulson ended up shooting a hologram instead of the real Loki. But how exactly was Loki able to anticipate Coulson's arrival? Can he see the near future? If such is the case, why didn't he see the attack from Hulk coming? Why didn't he use a hologram during the beatdown that left him in a pretty bad state either?

Again with the "holograms"? Seriously!

This is also minor, but all I have to say is that it is difficult so sneak up on, or scare Loki. In the scene prior Natasha did it, and he didn't really react. He may have used a clone as a protection method, since he probably suspected that someone would come once everyone was alerted he had escaped.

3/10

"Hatred For Thor"

Thor has always cared about Loki, but Loki has always wanted to end his brother. During the events of Thor: Ragnarok, a flashback scene showed Thor and Loki during their childhood days. Apparently, Loki did plenty of bad things to Thor. He once transformed Thor into a frog, while he also transformed himself into a snake to fool Thor into picking him up. Thor loved snakes, so when he tried to pick the reptile, Loki transformed back to himself and stabbed Thor. Why was there so much hatred? According to the first movie, Loki used to love Thor. He only started hating his brother when he found out that Thor was going to be the Asgardian king.

This argument is so poor I shed tears. I have a whole essay of why this all of this wrong here. But I'll give you a summary.

"Thor has always cared about Loki" This is not true. The only time Thor has expressed care for Loki is when he is gaslighting him and for 5 minutes after he "dies". "During the events of Thor: Ragnarok, a flashback scene showed Thor and Loki during their childhood days. Apparently, Loki did plenty of bad things to Thor. He once transformed Thor into a frog, while he also transformed himself into a snake to fool Thor into picking him up. Thor loved snakes, so when he tried to pick the reptile, Loki transformed back to himself and stabbed Thor." Plenty? This is two. Like I said prior, and at the beginning if the post I linked, the snake story logically did not happen. This scene is also improvised.

"According to the first movie, Loki used to love Thor. He only started hating his brother when he found out that Thor was going to be the Asgardian king." Loki has never hated Thor. (I really do not understand why though.) When Loki found out Thor was going to be king, he was the only person (even though everyone knew it was a bad idea, and I mean everyone) willing to stop Thor. Thor was not ready. This was not an act hatred but of love, acknowledgement, and honest will. Again, whomever wrote this evidently did not watch Thor 1.

2/10

Takeover Plan

Still, in the first film, Loki began scheming after finding out that he was adopted and he'd never become king. The God of Mischief assisted the Frost Giants in gaining entry to Asgard so that he could destroy the Frost Giant King Laufey before he could kill Odin. Sounds good, but then Thor tried to feud with the Frost Giants too, and this didn't turn out so well for him. In fact, Thor was banished and dispatched to Earth because of this. It is thus strange that Loki thought Odin would like him for doing what Thor had done. Loki also waited for Odin to sleep first before trying to destroy Laufey. Wouldn't it have been better for him to try and do this while Odin was awake?

Wow. This person did not watch the movie. They couldn't have.

"It is thus strange that Loki thought Odin would like him for doing what Thor had done." Loki did not do what Thor did. This is what Thor did. His coronation was interrupted, so he went to Jotunheim to "learn why" the Jotuns had attacked. They reach Jotunheim after everyone around Thor tells him it is a bad idea (note, this after Odin his father told him no), effectively committing treason. Laufey calls Thor princess, and Thor loses it. This breaks the "peace treaty" and starts a war. Asgard nor Odin are in a good state for war. By doing this, Thor has put all of Asgard in danger. Now what Loki did. Loki let Laufey into Asgard as a trick to kill him. Why this is different. The war had already started. Thor's "banishment" (and Frigga's terrible parenting) left Loki to stop the war. Loki kills Laufey and as a result the Jotuns no longer have a leader. The rest of the plan is to wipe out Jotunheim to ensure the Jotuns didn't invade, take over, and possibly destroy Asgard.

"Wouldn't it have been better for him to try and do this while Odin was awake?" No it would not. We see later in the franchise that if you are Loki, you can follow the Asgardian way and get severely punished for it. (*cough* Thor: Dark World *cough*) Odin does wake up at the end of the movie, and he just ends up being Loki's tipping point, causing Loki to attempt to kill himself.

1/10

Not Teaming Up With Hela

Loki and Odin’s abandoned daughter Hela had the same goals, but strangely enough, they didn't team up to make everything go smoothly. Given the kind of unity Loki had seen from the Avengers, he'd have been smarter enough to value teamwork more. When Hela arrived to take the throne and get revenge, Loki ought to have been the first person on her side. Her plan was basically a newer, small-scale version of his own plan in Avengers. Given his nature, it could have been more logical for him to team up with her then destroy her.

If you...do not...know anything...about Loki...DO NOT MAKE POSTS ABOUT HIM, PLEASE. What the heck is this?! I see why who ever wrote this has a job under ScreenRant. I really do. This is irrelevant.

"Loki and Odin’s abandoned daughter Hela had the same goals" What "goals" were those. Loki's goal was to impress Odin. Hela was trying to basically return Asgard back to "normal". "Normal" is explained later as being a consistent state of war and conquering .

"When Hela arrived to take the throne and get revenge, Loki ought to have been the first person on her side." Why?

"Her plan was basically a newer, small-scale version of his own plan in Avengers." Loki was being mind controlled, had been previously tortured, and was fresh out of a cult he had been in for a year! That doesn't count! Hela, who also has valid reasoning, is upset that her biological father cast her out (like Thor) for being too much like him.

"Given his nature, it could have been more logical for him to team up with her then destroy her." This person doesn't know Loki's nature evidently, since they are skipping over the fact that Loki kept Asgard safe from war for 4 years. So, no he would not team up with her since their views for Asgard are completely different.

Gosh, I hate ScreenRant.

#I hate ScreenRant #People do not know Loki's character #thor ragnarok #thor the dark world #thor 1 #avengers #frigga's b+ parenting #odin's a+ parenting #Thor's a terrible sibling #Loki #MCU

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fst-critique · 2 years

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Ann Demeulemeester Fall Winter 2022

Since the fashion house “Relaunch Revolution” began just a few years ago, perhaps no such label brought back to life by corporate titans has been met with such unbridled scrutiny as has been the revival of the legendary Belgian house Ann Demeulemeester. As the former revered Parisian house's Alaïa, Courrèges, and Mugler all underwent a forced injection of contemporary flair, critics and the fashion-involved popular culture stood amazed at the seamless transition of aesthetic and house codes each sleeping giant’s creative director enforced in the rejuvenation of their respective brand’s. For Demeulemeester, not so much. Before the recently involved investment by the Italian retailer Claudio Antonioli, the house had remained in a type of limbo after the much appreciated Sébastien Meunier’s 10-year stint came to an abrupt end in May of 2020. It took nearly a year and a half between Meunier’s exit and Antonioli’s arrival for Ann’s namesake line to reveal its newly minted proposal. Speaking with WWD on the brand’s revitalization, Claudio states, “My mission is to preserve the DNA — and make sure that Ann is happy in the future.” Selfless indeed, the co-founder of the New Guards Group appears destined to remain faithful to the now iconic Ann D. staples- black leather combat boots, straps of fabric accompanying nearly any and all garments, oversized waistcoats, and the deep romanticism that accompanied the spirit of the independent line for nearly three-and-a-half decades. The mood for the upcoming fall season echoes the new owner’s sentiment. Given its more energetic approach to styling and cutting, Fall 2022’s inclusion of a sporty-edge is a fit equation for balancing the traditional and the now with emphasis placed on movement.

Perhaps no such design team in fashion at this very moment is under more pressure than that of the newly plucked individuals tasked with re-imagining Ann Demeulemeester for the present. Given just how influential this name has been in contemporary fashion since the 1980s, realizing an approach to carry a seemingly untouchable designer’s legacy whilst she remains alive is a path much rockier than it may appear. The comparisons are automatic. Attempt too much, the result seem overly aggressive. Opt to change very little and remain focused on key items and silhouettes, concerns of copy-catting arise given the subconscious conclusions onlookers arrive at when viewing the collection with a biased perspective. Unfortunately for this team, the ladder has surfaced as the common reaction to the two prior collections settles on too many similarities, not enough spirited drive. What those charged with such pointed takes perhaps fail to realize is that the subversive, intellectual form configured by Ann over 30 years ago in 1985 vanished the day she stepped down from her role in November 2013. Nine years later, the show continues with a cast of artisans all but hidden from the public. This assembled crew has constructed the label built on the founder's principles of inclusive tailoring, poetic forms, and a tone of endearment for their creator's original thesis that fashion should be personable to one's self.

The concept of movement has never escaped the identity of Demeulemeester the label. Though more involved and apparent during Sébastien Meunier’s efforts where his eveningwear struck a chord with motion enthusiasts, the energy of the house was often overshadowed by the more obvious drama that arrived in Paris each season. From the more obvious pieces ranging from Ann's signature tank tops and sturdy leather combat boots to the more nuanced features of design including proportional excellence shown in sleeve length and a focus on the unbalanced natural shoulder, Ann ensured she dressed a clientele whose mode of operation was an involved process of engaging with life. Continuing in the founder’s methodology this season, look one of the latest collections hones in on this idea of freedom, yet is presented in a manner that is slightly less philosophical. A full-length, full sleeve collared dress with a plunging neckline and slit near the back center seam was styled with a crisp, white sneaker allowing for a differing translation from that of Ann's more sculpted forms. Resembling that of a bias cut, the bottom portion of the piece bounced along with each step of the model whereas the top took a more stoic form, caressing the body to perfection. This theme- long and languid on the bottom with a novelty slit down the back, and supportive and firm on the top, remained a constant throughout the 10-minute presentation. Overcoats that exemplify the brand’s heritage tailoring, blazers that draped to a near a-line silhouette, and trousers that remained steady until pooling near the ankle checked off each box of the well-known and expected Ann aesthetic. As did the collection’s color story- all looks were finished in either a moody black or granite-like charcoal. Yes, such a simple reference is indeed ok. Resolving to uplift and magnify the importance of Ann’s legacy ought to be celebrated, not scoffed at for lack of originality, even if the addition of unnecessary collars seemingly placed at random felt a tad out of place.

As has been the recent trend since Balenciaga’s Demna Gvaslia re-introduced fashion to the militaristic, broad-shouldered, slightly oversized near-duster length leather coat, designers including the likes of Prada have been quick to jump on consumer's re-infatuation with this 1950s silhouette. Not this team. In the standout piece of the season, the Demeulemeester version of this bourgeois outerwear staple came complete with a slimmer shape that when seen in a double-breasted version, enticed anyone watching the collection to check to their savings account in hopes of claiming one of these prized designs. Wide collars and wide lapels only added to the attraction of the garment, while the proportions matched a vintage look without baring too much resemblance to any outdated style.

This collection was a win for both Claudio Antonioli and Demeulemeester’s in-house design team. What was accomplished matured as a result of their combined allowance to not rely on the label’s archive as seen in season’s past, but to rather explore the reasoning behind what originally drew outsiders to this once little Belgian label in the first place. Just three collections in, Ann Demeulemeester’s revival is making the case that it too can experience a successful relaunch. From the looks of it, Antonioli’s formula for preservation is working.

#fultonstcritique #Ann Demeulemeester #Fall 2022 #Paris Fashion Week

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not-so-mundane-after-all · 3 years

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Fandom: DC Titans

Title: It’s Good To Be Home

Pairings/Relationships: Core Four, Dickkory, Dick Grayson & Rachel Roth

Summary: The Wayne Manor was truly breathtaking. Rachel heard a few stories about the place from Dick and from Donna, she even got to sneak a glance at it through their memories but actually seeing it with her own eyes was a whole different experience.

The car slowed down rounding the fountain and her heartbeat sped up in her chest. They were here.

Hugs | 13. Group hugs, Core Four - for Vanessa N Isaacs

Check out the prompt list | REQUESTS OPEN

____________________________________________

The Wayne Manor was truly breathtaking.

Rachel kept staring at it with her nose glued to the windshield of the black SUV that was taking her there. After a twelve-hour flight from Themyscira and landing in New York the Amazons really surprised her saying that they are going to escort her to Gotham and not San Francisco. Since then she was wondering what might be the reason the team relocated there (and she was hoping it was temporary) but she didn't mind as long as she'd be reunited with her family.

Right now though she wasn't thinking about that, because her mind was occupied with this enormous castle-like mansion with giant windows and high towers and open taraces and a fountain in the center of the driveway. Rachel heard a few stories about the place from Dick and from Donna, she even got to sneak a glance at it through their memories but actually seeing it with her own eyes was a whole different experience.

The car slowed down rounding the fountain and Rachel's heartbeat sped up in her chest.

They were here.

And then there was Dick - standing next to Kory with his hands in his pockets and head held high. He looked more nervous than excited and Rachel had to resist the urge to roll her eyes thinking about how frantic and worried he must have been this whole time. But when he noticed her and their eyes met, his face instantly lit up, lips turning up in a brightest smile and Rachel was getting out of the car even before the engine stopped working.

Standing in line in front of the main entrance were Dick, Kory and Gar. She had no idea they'd be notified of her arrival but apparently they knew she was coming and now there's a whole welcoming committee waiting for her. Gar was bouncing on his feet, his excitement threatening to explode like a bomb. Rachel couldn't decide what was brighter - his smile or his green hair.

Kory, gorgeous as always, was standing in the middle with her arms crossed over her chest and lips stretched in a wide happy grin. She was dressed from head to toe in various shades of her beloved purple, from high heel boots and leather pants to the shiny glittery shirt. Her long hair was darker than Rachel remembered but she smiled when she noticed that the iconic thick curls were back.

At first she just stood there, happy to stretch her legs after a long drive and looked at them, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. They didn't move either, as if paralyzed by some invisible force, watching her from a distance.

She's not sure who took the first step.

Maybe it was her, too eager to finally reunite with them after so long. Or maybe it was them, heading towards her together as one because they couldn't stand being apart for even one second longer.

She's not sure who took the first step but Dick got to her first.

All Rachel knew was that she was running and suddenly she found herself engulfed in his strong embrace, the sensation pushing all air out from her lungs. She linked her arms around his neck when he picked her up and started twirling around in circles with her, laughing into her ear. Her feet were dangling in the air and Rachel started giggling and squealing in delight as well, feeling like a little kid.

"Finally!" he sighed breathlessly when they stopped and he put her back on the ground. "Welcome back, sweetheart."

She stepped away from his hold to look at him but that's when she was captured again in two different sets of arms. She didn't even notice when Gar and Kory threw themselves at her, hugging her as tight as they could.

"It's been way too long." Kory told her, pressing a kiss to her temple. Rachel leaned her head to her and the two of them pressed their cheeks together, smiling.

"Don't leave us like that again!" Gar whined with his head on her other shoulder, squeezing her even tighter. Rachel started giggling again but this time it quickly turned into a choked up sob. She promised herself she wouldn't cry, but she couldn't hold it back now that she was with her family again.

Dick's expression softened, his eyes gazing at her affectionately.

"Oh, honey."

"I've missed you so much, guys." Rachel chuckled through tears, looking each one of them in the eyes. Dick walked up to the group and wrapped his arms around them all, pulling them into a group hug with Rachel in the middle.

"We've missed you, too, Rach." he murmured and kissed the top of her head.

"Mhmm." Kory nodded and cuddled closer.

"Like hell." Gar added and buried his face in her shoulder.

The three of them held her so tight she was starting to run out of air.

"Guys-" she gasped, trying not to laugh too much. "I can't- breathe-"

Mumbling their apologies they loosened their hold a bit, but none of them were planning on completely letting go of her. They surrounded her, arms still linked together and looking at their smiling faces, Rachel couldn't be happier. It's good to be home, even if it wasn't the Tower. Dick, Kory and Gar were here and her home was with them.

Dick's face caught her attention, his eyes to be specific and she raised an eyebrow at him, smirking.

"Are you- crying?"

"No!" he said instantly, but wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand.

"He totally is." Gar teased him, joining in on the fun. "He was one giant bubble of emotion since the moment we found out you're coming back."

"That's not true." the older man huffed.

"Oh please, that was nothing!" Kory's laugh rang in the air and Rachel turned to her with sparkling eyes. "You should have seen him in the first few weeks after you left. He was a mess!"

Gar burst out laughing, earning himself a deadly glare from Dick. Rachel couldn't stop grinning like an idiot at this entire exchange.

"Oh, yeah! He took moping around to a whole new level."

"I wasn't moping around."

"Sure, Jan."

Dick froze.

"Oh, God." Kory sighed, turning her eyes at the sky. "Here we go again." Rachel glanced between her and the boys with curiosity.

"Gar, what did I tell you about quoting memes?"

"Oh, c'mon man! It was a perfect opportunity!"

"Anyway!" Kory interrupted them with that I'm-gonna-beat-the-shit-out-of-you-if-you-don't-stop-right-now smile of hers, putting an end to their little bickering, then turned to Rachel and took her hands in hers. "After Dick finally stops denying he's overly emotional-"

"I'm not!"

"-like right now,"

"I'm not." Dick denied stubbornly, then smiled at Rachel. "I'm just happy you're back."

"-maybe you'll get to tell us how was it, hmm?" Kory finished her sentence and suddenly Rachel felt all eyes on her again. Their excitement was all over the place. She chuckled and squeezed the woman's hands back.

"Of course! I have so much to tell you!"

"Then you better start now." Gar pointed a finger at her face before walking up to her and taking her by the elbow to basically drag her in the direction of the house. "I wanna know everything! Especially if you have any new tricks up your sleeve."

Rachel shrugged innocently, but sent him a mischievous grin.

"Maybe one or two."

"Yesss!!! And wait until I'll show you around the house! This place is so dope!"

"Hey, shouldn't I be doing that?" Dick called out to them, picking up Rachel's bag from the ground where she left it.

"Exactly!" She turned to her green-haired friend. "Shouldn't he be doing that?"

"He's not gonna take you to the really cool places."

She raised an eyebrow at him, suspicious. "Such as?"

Gar glanced in both ways as if checking if no one else was listening in on their conversation, then leaned closer to Rachel and whispered. "The Batcave."

This time she couldn't hold it in anymore - she burst out laughing.

"No way!"

"Yes way!"

As Gar continued his excited rambling, Rachel looked over her shoulder at the two adults that were left behind. Dick's eyes were on her this whole time, he was smiling fondly and winked at her when their eyes met. Kory stood by his side with her hand resting on his shoulder and was sending her a look that said good luck with him now. Rachel smiled back and rolled her eyes, then followed Gar through the main entrance.

***

Dick watched his kids disappear behind the giant wooden door feeling light for the first time in months. Having Rachel back took a giant weight off his chest and he finally could breathe again. He didn't want to ask about Donna, not yet at least, he knew Rachel is gonna share the news with him sooner or later, no matter if they are good or bad. Right now all that mattered to him was that she was back with them and she was safe.

"You were crying." Kory pointed out in a teasing tone, smirking at him.

"I wasn't."

"I know what I saw, Grayson."

They stared at each other for a long moment but eventually he gave up. And no, it had nothing to do with the fact that he was starting to get lost in her eyes. Or with her smile that made his heart racing.

"Okay," he sighed. "Maybe a little. I'm just glad she's back with us, you know?"

Kory smiled at him and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

"I know, me too. Our girl is finally back home."

#dc titans #dick grayson #rachel roth #kory anders #garfield logan #titans #titans season 3 #dcu titans #graysonfam #tumblr prompt

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waywardfacegarden · 4 years

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burning embers

Modern Au: Zuko centric + The Gaang + Zukka + Friendship/Family feels + Angst and Fluff.

Summary: Zuko learns the meaning of love.

Read on Ao3 here.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

But Zuko wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love with someone is, he doesn’t know what it feels like. Love is a concept so alien to him; he can’t even grasp the root of it. He just knows a broken home, the remaining ashes of a devastating, blazing fire that was supposed to be his father’s love.

He doesn’t know what love is. And yet, he understands: the underlying and heart-wrenching agony that comes with loving. The sorrow that comes with it; it is just there, intrinsically linked. It’s something that the small kid—full of unknown love and golden warmth, but also deep, bitter pain—comprehends at the tender age of 11.

It’s just common knowledge for him, the same way he knows the sky is blue and the sun hides at night.

Family. Love. Father.

Those words don’t have meaning, Zuko thinks, lying on his bed one night, still hearing the disappointment in his father’s voice echoing in his ears in the quiet darkness of his room. They’re there, of course. And he knows them. He can say them. But they feel far away, slipping through the space between his fingers, becoming dust that blows away with the chilly wind of an autumn midnight, escaping him before he can place what was there in the first place.

They don’t hold weight. They don’t mean anything. They’re shallow; they just exist, like a couple of letters strewn together, like when you say your name so many times in a row it doesn’t even feel right anymore; but, he supposes only a few people are blessed with their significance, with tasting them in their mouth with something not akin to hate or bitterness or emptiness.

Loneliness. Despair. Dishonor.

Those have meaning. Those have weight, despite being such empty words.

(But they very much taste like something akin to hate, too—and that’s the thing.

Maybe Zuko just doesn’t know anything aside from [self-]hate.)

Family, love, father. They are concepts that come alive to him the same way a phoenix is born.

They rise, awakening from the ashes that the fire within themselves has burned to death; so beautiful, so mystical, so mesmeric and so incredibly fragile and precious and wondrous, like a mythological creature coming back to life after having known its own death.

He learns the words and their meaning the same way his brain starts learning new things and concepts by reading a book; but he doesn’t learn with his mind—even though a part of him knows that this is where knowledge is stored—Zuko learns with his heart (he has always learned things best with his heart; after all, Zuko wears it on his sleeve; he’s emotional, visceral, volatile—his feelings are way too intense, too much that they burn his chest open; he’s always aflame), with his eyes, with his hands. He learns it in every little gesture that’s given to him, in every little crack (that keeps filling and filling and filling) of the time that goes on, in every little drop of ink that is spilled on the parchment where his life is being written.

He learns the words in the way he begins learning his uncle's tea recipes, in the satisfaction and pride he feels when his uncle congratulates him for a job well-done on a warm, quiet Saturday afternoon as he finishes helping cleaning and serving the tables around the teashop, in the way his favorite cup sits next to his uncle's on the kitchen counter in the mornings, full of Zuko’s favorite bubble tea; he learns them in the ugly, endearing, oversized sweater hanging at the back of his closet, the one his uncle gave him in his last birthday; he learns about love in the gentle smiles of weekends, in the singing of the birds outside his room’s window, in the blanket that rests around his shoulders when he is sitting on the comfy couch on a calm Thursday night, dozing off while trying to study for an English test, in the way the nightmares that used to haunt him are tormenting him less and less every time; he learns the meaning of father in his uncle's ridiculous pajamas, full of tiny drawings of cherry blossoms and tea leaves, in his uncle’s obsession with Pai Sho, and in the wise phrases he keeps throwing at Zuko even when he cannot fully understand them.

He learns, little by little, step by step, like a slow fire burning inside his guts.

And it's a weird, strange thing. Zuko learned that fire hurts you, the same way he learned that love does, but somehow, after years of building his new life, it doesn't feel that way anymore.

His uncle is patient with him. Patient as someone who would teach someone else origami or as someone who’s slowly writing a book. He teaches him, sees him fall, stumble and trip over his feet (both, metaphorically and literally speaking) and he’s there when Zuko gets up again.

It’s a nice feeling. Knowing that someone is going to be there, even if you fall. Even when you fail.

His uncle teaches him, the same way he creates a new tea receipt for the menu; carefully, gently, ever so softly. He takes Zuko, the broken child who looks at him through his pain and hatred, and makes him open his eyes. He points out, over and over and over again, that failing is not a bad thing, that love exists and that it doesn't have to hurt, and that if it does, you can heal from it; he teaches him that Zuko is full of it, full of love, he says that he’s always been.

Somehow, it feels a bit like healing. Of course, Zuko is still broken. Probably, a part of him always will be; but, somehow, he doesn't think that being a bit broken is so wrong now.

Friendship was a foreign concept to him, too. Or maybe not, but Zuko never wanted to get involved with it.

Too much trouble.

(Or maybe fear—fear of what it carries, what it holds in its nature; fear of failing, of not being enough, of being left out, of getting too attached.)

But just as Zuko was wrong about so many things in his life, this is not the exception.

He comes to learn that, too.

It’s a different process than with his uncle. Maybe because it’s slower, or maybe because it’s, rather, faster. Maybe because he wasn’t aware he was learning at all.

Zuko doesn’t know exactly when it starts. Can’t pinpoint the exact moment he started getting involved. Not that he cares much about that at this point, but he would like to know.

They kind of adopt him in their group (or, er, gang, as they call it), without Zuko noticing. But to be fair, Zuko doesn’t notice a lot of things.

Toph is a friend of his Uncle, and she lives near the teashop, so she’s around more time than she’s not; she’s loud and kinda rude, and always calls Zuko a dork or a nerd or an idiot, but Zuko realizes he likes when she’s there. Aang comes along sometimes, with his scarily bright smile. There’s also Katara and her big brother, Sokka.

He likes all of them, to his extreme surprise. They’re all good people. Aang is way too kind, Katara may be scary but she’s pretty cool, and Sokka is just a combination of a very, weirdly endearing, smart dumbass, which is, uh, new.

He honestly doesn’t know how it happened, or when it happened, but suddenly he’s tucked under a soft fuzzy blanket in winter, sandwiched in the middle of the three-spot sofa, with Aang almost laying over his lap. He’s almost sitting on Sokka’s right leg, pressing him against the arm sofa, his side overlapping with Sokka’s. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He’s sitting there, cross-legged, with his right arm fully extended on the back of the sofa, almost like he’s hugging Zuko’s shoulders; he’s practically leaning on Zuko.

His arm and his side are really warm, though. Not as much as Zuko generally is, but it’s… kind of nice.

“Katara, Titanic is a classic, dude. What the hell.”

Zuko takes a sip from his hot chocolate, blowing off the clouds of steam gathering over the cup—the warmth of it is pretty welcomed in his throat, to be honest, while Katara rolls her eyes at her brother.

“I’m not watching that for the fifth time in a month and seeing you and Aang both cry for an hour later after the already three long hours of the movie.”

Sokka looks pretty indignant about Katara’s attitude towards his (probably) favorite movie, which is pretty amusing.

“You’re just a monster,” Sokka says, dramatically, “that’s why you don’t cry.”

Katara rolls her eyes again.

“I don’t know,” Toph says, from the couch closer to the TV, sprawled all comfortably over it. “It’s actually a really funny movie,” she points out, and then draws out her voice. “‘Jack, draw me like one of your French girls’.”

Aang laughs pretty loud, and Zuko smiles at the bad impersonation despite himself.

“Well, My Heart Will Go On is my anthem.” Sokka says, puffing out his chest.

Zuko actually snorts into his cup and Sokka shoots him a look. He remembers the time Aang and Sokka recreated that iconic scene, with Toph singing at the top of her lungs in a ridiculously obnoxious voice. He actually laughed at that.

Sokka seems to read his mind, because after a few moments of staring at Zuko’s face, his entire expression lights up. He grins, eyes sparkling, and starts singing really loud and purposely out of tune. Aang starts laughing and Toph doesn’t waste time on joining Sokka in singing. Even Katara smiles.

A few minutes later of terrible singing, they’re all laughing. Toph is cackling so hard she’s on the floor, and Sokka keeps leaning over him, laughing in his ear. He believes it should be annoying, but instead of that, it’s actually infectious and Zuko laughs a bit harder.

After they calm down, Toph is clutching at her sides and Sokka is wiping tears out of his eyes.

Aang smiles, then, softly and content, and raises a hand in the air, like asking for permission to talk.

“I have an idea.” He says, and turns around to look at him. “Why don’t we just let Zuko decide? He hasn’t chosen anything yet for our Friday movie nights.”

All eyes turn to look at him at that. He stops his movements, mouth hanging open, hot cup halfway to his lips.

“Uh,” he frowns. “Thank you, but, um. Why would I choose? It’s your thing.”

Everyone stares at him like he has two heads, which, okay fair but why.

“What?”

Aang gives him a soft smile, all kind eyes and gentle features, like he’s about to talk to a baby, but before he can say anything, Sokka is putting an arm around his shoulders and leaning all his weight on him, as if they weren’t already close enough.

“This is your thing as much as it is ours, dude.” He says, grinning, “You’re one of us.” He vaunts, proudly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair.

Katara nods, at the same time Toph goes:

“Yup, you’re already in, loser.”

Aang chuckles. “Yes, you’re our friend, Zuko.”

Zuko blinks, stunned.

That’s…

There’s…

That’s… the F-word.

Friend.

Huh? What? How? When did that happen? Huh? Did he miss something in the past few months?

Sokka, completely oblivious to his emotional turmoil, insistently points to the TV while squeezing him. "So, buddy? Don't you think we should watch Titanic to cry and share a couple of very male tears?"

"You only want to watch it because you have a crush on both Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio." Katara accuses.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes, you do! You even still keep that poster of them behind your…"

"Katara!!!!"

Friend.

It’s a nice word.

It tastes like hot chocolate in his mouth on a cold night, it sounds like Sokka’s laugh and Toph’s jokes, and it looks like Aang’s kind eyes and Katara’s nice smile.

It feels like something. It holds meaning. It’s not an empty word. At all.

Sokka’s hand ruffling his hair or over his shoulders, Toph’s nicknames for him, Aang’s offer of help in times he feels like Zuko needs it, Katara’s help with homework and advice on his recipes doesn’t let him forget that. ‘Friend’ is never going to be an empty word.

Friend tastes like hope, like warm food and bear-hugs.

Friend is such a nice word.

The thing with Zuko being generally—and strangely—warm all the time is that summer is a complete nightmare for him.

He's sitting directly in front of the fan at full power, barefoot in just jeans and a light T-shirt, and yet he still feels like he's going to explode. The weather forecast in the morning heralded a heat wave in midsummer, and it's exactly the worst thing in the world that could happen to Zuko's already overheated body. Toph groans beside him, lying with her arms and legs spread like a starfish on the cold ground. It is no comfort to her, however, and Zuko can understand that well.

Katara is looking at something on her phone, fanning herself with a magazine, and Aang remains practically unaffected, just as energetic as ever as he eats the remaining watermelon slices from the bowl they recently filled.

Zuko is wondering if he should go, or if he should fall asleep on the freezing ground that doesn't seem to be freezing at all, when Sokka walks into the living room in his baseball uniform. He has just returned from his morning summer practice; sweat is running down the side of his face, and his shirt is partly sticking to his body from the moisture. He smiles at everyone in greeting before gulping down all that's left of the water on the bottle of his hand. Zuko stares at his Adam's apple bob while he's drinking, and then his eyes trail the trickle of water that slides down his jaw over his desperation to drink all the water so fast. The drop goes down, down, down, dripping over his collarbone and sinking into his neck until it eventually gets lost somewhere inside his shirt. Sokka throws the bottle over the trash can and uses his shirt collar to wipe the water and some of his sweat off his face. Zuko's eyes unconsciously move downward; he can see a line of skin on Sokka's abdomen and stomach.

He swallows. Uh. His mouth is suddenly very dry. He's probably dehydrated. Is he dehydrated? He's starting to feel a little dizzy.

"So? Beloved friends, beloved little sister? Did you miss me? Obviously, you did."

Katara rolls her eyes, but still asks, "How was practice, dumbass?"

"It was cool! I hit twelve curve-balls in a row and sixteen of that weird fastball Suki pitches. Oh! And I'm finally getting the thing about that forkball. Also... woah, Zuko, are you okay?!"

Zuko blinks from where he was staring at Sokka's hair. It's kind of wet. Is that sweat? Shouldn't that be gross? Why is Zuko staring? Does he find it gross? He doesn't think so, but he also can't quite explain why...

"Woah, bud," Sokka says, kneeling in front of him and getting dangerously close to his face. "You're so red, are you having heatstroke or something? Do you feel dizzy?" He leans on his knees and presses a hand to his forehead, pulling up the bangs hanging over it. It feels nice, actually. Sokka's soft hand on his boiling skin feels like fresh water. He kind of wants to lean into it.

He probably does, because Sokka frowns. "Maybe you have a fever..." His mouth presses into a thin line. "Don't you want to take a shower to cool off? I can lend you some clothes, we're about the same height, they'll fit."

Zuko blinks. Huh?

"Here, let me help you." Sokka says, helping him up.

Around an hour later, Zuko feels a lot better, laying with his back on the floor in Sokka's baggy shorts and blue T-shirt with a cartoonish drawing of The Pink Panther. Zuko smiles involuntarily when he looks at it. It smells a bit like Sokka, or at least the detergent he uses. That makes his stomach do weird flips. He's not feeling that hot anymore, but maybe he is getting sick...

"Hey," Sokka tells him, looking at him from above, standing just behind Zuko's head. His toes are barely avoiding touching Zuko's sprawled hair on the floor.

"Hey," Zuko answers back, looking up at Sokka's soft face. His hair is down and still wet from the shower, and a few drops fall on the bridge of Zuko's nose when Sokka hovers over him. Zuko's face scrunches up, more out of involuntary reaction than out of bother, but Sokka chuckles.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. He uses the towel around his neck to messily dry his hair. "You look a lot better, now."

"Yes," Zuko muses, still a bit mesmerized by Sokka's wet hair. And Sokka's face. "Thanks."

Sokka grins brightly at him. "Sure."

He looks like he's about to say something else, but before he can say anything, Toph groans just a few feet away, sitting now on the couch. "Stop flirting and get a room already; it’s gross. We're here, too."

"What? We weren’t—"

Katara agrees, quietly.

"Hey! I was just worried!" Sokka excuses himself. "Weren't you all? His face was as red as a tomato."

Katara looks up from her magazine and gives him a pointed look, with one elegantly arched brow. Apparently, she doesn't even need to say anything else, because it's enough to make Sokka blush.

Oh.

He's cute, Zuko thinks. And then, oh, I think Sokka is cute. And then Sokka stomps over the kitchen muttering unintelligible things, still a faint blush over his cheeks.

Zuko smiles to himself watching his childish behavior. He is, though. He is cute.

It's raining heavily outside, drops pouring loudly against the asphalt of the sidewalk.

Zuko side-glances at Sokka. Maybe it's because after the course of a year, Zuko has learned to recognize many of Sokka's little gestures, or maybe it's the fact that the boy has been so much into his own mind lately, but Zuko recognizes that way he scrunches up his nose, that wrinkle between his eyebrows, that way his eyes twitch.

“Are you okay?”

He’s asking mostly just to be polite, to be honest; he already knows he’s not. He knows something’s up.

Sokka turns to look at him, and then stares at the rain hitting the glass window of the lonely teashop.

“I’m…” He says, and looks at his hand. Then he presses his mouth into a thin line.

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Zuko says, awkwardly, because as much as he cares, he’s still a mess when it comes to social cues. He’s never going to stop being a mess. And terrible at comforting people.

Sokka sees right through him, though, like he always does, and smiles softly at him. His whole face mellows. It kind of makes Zuko’s heart flutter in his chest, like a butterfly flapping its wings.

“I’m…” Sokka tries again, looking at Zuko’s face. At his eyes, at his scar, at his neck. He feels weirdly exposed, but at the same time… He doesn’t. It’s just Sokka. Which means it’s okay. “Scared, I guess.”

Zuko blinks and tilts his head to the side. He’s not sure if he should ask, but…

“Of?”

Sokka gives him a wry smile.

“Of failing? Of disappointing my dad? Of not being enough? I don’t know, I can’t quite pick a single one.”

Sokka’s voice is not quite bitter, but it feels like that, in the air around them. Zuko knows the feeling pretty well.

“You are enough.” Zuko affirms, without a single trace of hesitation in his voice. Because Sokka is enough, in every single aspect, and he shouldn’t feel like any less than that. Zuko’s also aware of what he’s worrying about, and for Zuko, it’s just absurd—Sokka is one the very few people that shouldn’t worry about passing the entrance exam of college at all, he’s crazy smart. He should know that. But, to be fair, Zuko can’t judge him nor scold him for self-doubt when it used to be all that he was, along with his self-hate. So he says it out loud, looking into Sokka’s wide, surprised eyes. “You’re also really smart, Sokka, I’m sure you’re going to ace the entrance exam. You shouldn’t worry.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, but he also adopts that playful-kinda-flirty side of him. It’s painful because Zuko can see the sadness underlying in his voice and body language so clearly. Can see the lack of confidence in every single motion.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I am,” he agrees, “but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I really believe so. You’re the smartest person I know. You’re very capable of doing whatever you want, so have faith in yourself just like I have faith in you.”

Once he says it, and Sokka blinks once, twice, thrice at him, Zuko feels painfully aware (and painfully embarrassed) of what he just said.

Oh Lord, what did he actually…

“Ah,” Sokka says, and makes a face that Zuko can’t name. “You’re blushing.”

Zuko covers his cheeks with both hands. Sokka is probably right, they’re so warm, but still.

“I’m not.” Still.

Sokka laughs, and raises both eyebrows. “You sure?” He asks, staring pointedly at his face, which only makes him blush harder.

Stupid Sokka.

He must know the effect he’s having on him, because he laughs again, lightheartedly. Well, at least he’s not upset anymore…

“I’m not,” he uselessly and pathetically insists, even when it’s tragically obvious he is. But he has some pride, okay.

Sokka grins, but it’s all devilish. It makes Zuko’s hair stand on end. A chill runs down his spine.

“It’s just hot.”

Sokka smirks. “Sure, you’re always hot.”

“Shut up,” Zuko complains and groans, facing away from him so that he can’t see his blatant embarrassment. Sokka’s natural flirty personality wasn’t that much of a problem back then, but it’s only gotten worse, and Zuko just can’t handle it sometimes. It feels like way too much.

“Ah, but you blush when you’re embarrassed. That’s cute.” Sokka points out, a wide grin on his face. “Imagine being both cute and hot, what a crime.”

He sighs theatrically, and Zuko is very tempted to answer, “shut up, look who’s talking,” but he knows he will just get more embarrassed after saying that. He needs to calm down. So he just grumbles while Sokka laughs.

Then, when Sokka has already calmed down and Zuko can feel his face like normal again, they look quietly at the rain, steadily keeping its pace.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, after some time, and Zuko quirks an eyebrow in reply.

Sokka smiles. “Thank you. For believing me. It means a lot.”

Zuko smiles back. “Of course.”

Zuko notices it one night. (Though, looking back, it’s weird he didn’t notice it before.)

Well, more like, Aang notices and points it out, and then Zuko realizes that what he said is pathetically true, lying in bed at night because he still mulls things over sometimes before going to sleep.

“You know,” Aang had casually said, holding a can of orange juice, sitting next to Zuko on the bleachers at one of Sokka’s practice games. “You stare at Sokka a lot.”

Zuko frowned. “It’s his game, after all. We’re here to watch him,” he had retorted, like it was obvious.

“Well, yes, but I don’t mean only now. You stare at him all the time.”

Zuko didn’t feel like he liked where this conversation was going. Something about his expression must had given him away, or maybe Aang was just too good at reading him now, because he said:

“Wait.” He actually had sounded surprised. “You mean you’re not aware you have a crush on him?”

Zuko’s eyes went wide. “What? I don’t have a crush on him.”

Aang quirked up an eyebrow. Sure, he didn’t need to say.

“I don’t,” he had pressed on.

Aang hadn’t looked any more convinced of what he had said. If anything, he looked more convinced on what he himself had said. Aang had looked at him for a very long period of 1 minute before lightly chuckling and nudging him in the arm with his elbow, smiling brightly at him.

It was weird, but Zuko has gotten better at reading them, maybe just as much as Aang has with him. Maybe that’s why he knows what Aang means with all of that. Admit it when you’re ready.

It’s not like he was trying to deny or hide it. It’s not like he was trying to lie. He just didn’t think Aang was actually right.

But he is. Zuko can’t stop looking at Sokka, all the time. Thinking about him. About the way he smiles, with his hair up, with his hair down, with that denim jacket that fits him in all the right angles, with his baseball cap, ecstatic after he scored a run in the 8th inning.

Sokka, practicing on the field. Grinning widely and openly and hugging him tightly when he aced the entrance exam. Leaning in to taste Zuko’s ice-cream into his own mouth. Ruffling his own messy hair. Wearing those silly cartoon t-shirts. Serenading Zuko with Electric Love and the most ridiculous voice ever on his birthday as a joke. Messy eating. Scrunching up his nose while drinking green tea. Reciting 80% of the Star Wars dialogues by heart. Being obsessed with boomerangs and swords (though not as much as Zuko is with that last one). Biting into the end of his pencil when he’s focused on writing an English essay.

Ahhhhh.

Oh, holy honor.

He has a crush. A crush. Feelings.

When did that happen? Why did that happen? He doesn’t know. Was it because of his warm eyes? His pretty smile? His pretty lips? Was it because he opened up to Zuko, let himself be vulnerable around him, bled his heart out so Zuko could piece it back together? Was it because he’s funny? Charming? Cool? Smart? Astonishingly cute? Was it because he made Zuko feel made out of thin air, sometimes, so raw and exposed but yet so safe, so comfortable in his own skin? ...That is, the others don’t necessarily make him feel unsafe, or uncomfortable. He just feels like he can be all open and vulnerable with Sokka better. Maybe because he opened up to him first, about something so personal like his mom (and Zuko knew about losing a mom, too).

Well, whatever the reason, it doesn’t exactly matter, does it? He’s already in deep.

Zuko rolls over his stomach and sighs, groaning loud into his pillow. Why, why, why, why. It’s not like he even has a chance, so why did he have to…

Ugh.

Feelings are stupid. His heart is stupid.

And the way he falls asleep thinking about Sokka’s laugh is even stupider.

The thing is, because Zuko notices all the little details in Sokka’s gestures and behavior, he also notices the way he acts differently towards… Certain people.

“Me and Yue?” Sokka laughs, and Zuko blinks. He didn’t even mean to ask it out loud. Now, he would just hear the confirmation of what he already knew from Sokka’s lips. How is that any better? Good job, Zuko.

“Nah, man, Suki would kill me if she sees me wooing her girlfriend. Or at least kick me pretty damn hard.” Huh? Zuko blinks again. Huh? So they’re… Sokka and Yue… They’re not…

“And believe me, she’s super strong. She kicked me once and I’ve always regretted eating that last cupcake on the fridge.” Sokka makes a face and shudders, like the mere flashback is enough to make him fear. But then he smiles, in that soft way of his that makes Zuko’s knees go really weak. “And I’m pretty sure Yue is immensely happy with her, too.”

Zuko doesn’t know what to say, so he just oh-so-eloquently utters:

“Ah.”

Sokka seems amused.

“Didn’t you know they were a thing? The PDA is so strong when they’re together, you have to have seen it.”

Well, that was… Zuko just thought they were touchy with each other? Sokka is pretty much touchy with him all the time, but that doesn’t mean they’re a thing.

Well.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

Sokka blinks. “Why?”

Zuko frowns. He tilts his head in confusion. “Because you are… Romantically attracted to her? It must be rough.”

Sokka blinks once, twice, three times. Stares. Then, he throws his head back and cackles, clutching his stomach.

“Dude, what the hell.” He wheezes. “Just say the word crush like normal people.”

“Hmm.”

Then, when he calms down, Sokka eyes Zuko.

“Wait, what?” He says, serious all of a sudden. Or at least, surprised. “Do you really think that?” At Zuko’s lack of response, Sokka looks at him, then at his hands, then at the TV, where the video game they were playing is still on pause. Then, back at Zuko’s face. “No, I don’t have a crush on her. Or on Suki, for that matter.”

Zuko frowns. Sokka must know he doesn’t believe him, because he continues.

“I mean, I did.” He admits. “Back when I met her, when I was, like, 14. But I’m over it, now—Not that she’s not great; she’s awesome and I love her, just… Not in that way. It was just a silly teen-crush, anyway. And Suki is my best friend. We had a thing for a few months like two years ago, but we hit it off so much better as friends. She’s my bi icon, though. And bestest friend.”

“Oh.”

“Besides,” Sokka adds, and eyes him pointedly, “I’m interested in someone else right now.”

Zuko stares. Blinks.

What.

So he does have someone he’s interested in anyway. God, Zuko really doesn’t stand a chance. Why even bothering trying? And it’s not like he knows how to try something, anyway…

From the other corner of the room, Aang shoots him a very cryptic look. Zuko can’t describe what he’s thinking, but he guesses he’s taking pity on him. After all, he knows.

Ah. He really doesn’t like having feelings.

His mind is a cruel thing. It’s what keeps him up at night, what reminds him of all his insecurities, what makes him feel undeserving of love, what keeps throwing image after image into his head of his broken childhood on bad days. It’s what, as much as his heart, knows about his deepest desires, his longing, his yearning and thinks it’s amusing to play with Zuko for a bit.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, with a fragile smile on his face, his voice going ridiculously soft, his eyes warming up, and Zuko’s heart pounds on his chest like big waves crashing on the shore of a lonely beach. “Zuko, I love you.”

It’s kind of—very—criminal the way Sokka makes him feel. The way he makes Zuko’s heart seem like it’s going to burst out of his chest with how fast it beats after hearing just those three words, the way he makes Zuko’s entire soul ache and want, the way he makes him feel so grounded, so him, yet so tiny and delicate, like he’s made out of thin sheets of ice.

Is this how love feels?

Is this how it should feel like?

He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love is. He just knows a broken home, the destructive, neon-like, toxic obsession with power his dad had, instead of any tender form of anything else that can be called love that his dad should have had for his mom, but never did.

Falling in love is made to hurt. Falling in love is destined to make you feel sad, and alone, and unsafe.

Falling in love is a cruel thing. It’s not cut out for weak people, and Zuko is weak. He’s destined to break. He has always been made out of fragile, easy-to-destroy things.

That’s why his mind plays with him all the time.

He wakes up in his bed, opens his eyes to the dark quiet of his room, feels the way his heart beats so hard that he can almost feel it on his throat. And he feels lost. And sad.

He doesn’t even scream. He just lies there, feeling the world becoming smaller, feeling himself becoming smaller.

Lord, he’s royally fucked. Screwed. He knows. He’s destined to break.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

He’s sitting with Toph leaning back on his right side, on the fluffy couch in Katara and Sokka’s living room, cutting up squares out of colorful paper.

They are both terrible in the kitchen. Something coming from being rich kids, Sokka playfully teased earlier. And he guesses it’s true. Either way, they are terrible—Zuko even burned his own kitchen once while making scrambled eggs (and that was. Not a very good day). Sure, he has tried to help Uncle Iroh a couple of times, and he knows a bit of the basics, but besides preparing tea, he’s lost. He can’t cook to save his life. So when Zuko almost lights a fire to bake cookies and mixes up the recipe for the second time, Katara kicks them out and bans them from the kitchen for the next 4 hours. Toph protests just to be annoying—she doesn’t like cooking at all, she has told him, but she loves annoying Katara, it’s her favorite idle activity. Zuko would be offended, but it’s the smartest choice if they want to finish baking Aang’s birthday cake without setting the kitchen on fire, so it’s fine.

Besides, this way he can steal a few glances at Sokka, as he hangs up the decorations he and Toph are making. The muscles under his shirt flex when he raises his arms above his head, his messy hair down from its ponytail, falling over his face when he moves a bit to the left, a line of the smooth skin of his back making its way to Zuko's curious, avid eyes.

Zuko swallows.

Toph sighs heavily and throws her head back. “So, are you planning to make a move any time this century or are you a loser?”

Zuko eyes her, coming out of his stupor, confused. “What?”

Toph smirks. “Right, you’re always a loser, my bad.”

Zuko blinks. Not because of Toph calling him a loser, but because, for a second, he really doesn’t get what she means.

Then, when he does, he buries his face into his hands and groans.

“Even you know?”

Toph laughs. "Yes, idiot, it's stupidly obvious.” She pats his arm. “I can see it and I'm blind, you know."

Zuko groans again. He’s in physical pain right now. "How?"

She shrugs. "I don’t know. Maybe the way you say his name. Or talk about him."

Zuko feels a bit of panic.

What? Is he that obvious? How does he say Sokka’s name?

"His name?"

"Yeah,” Toph confirms, nodding exaggeratedly, “stupidly sappy. It's gross."

"Oh my god."

She laughs again, loudly, because his suffering is apparently amusing. "You also talk about him a lot," she chuckles, "and sigh every time you see him. At least that’s what I assume, given that he’s in the room and you keep sighing like a 12-year-old girl in love. Pinning all the way.”

Zuko wants to die. He seriously wants to die. Maybe he should just tell Sokka he likes him, so when he rejects him, Zuko can just die a quick, albeit painful, death.

Toph nudges at his arm, with her typical abnormal strength for someone her age, but she doesn’t mean any harm. “So?” She asks, again. “Are you planning to make a move or not?"

Zuko sighs, "I can't do anything, he likes someone else."

Toph kind of stops where she’s fumbling with a couple of paper sheets. She then turns around and makes this face, where she’s scrunching up her nose and frowning like she just smelled something sour, or like when she’s deeply confused. "Did he say that?"

"Yes."

"Did Sokka seriously tell you that?"

Zuko’s confused at Toph’s relentless insistence. "...Yes?"

Toph’s face goes back to normal, but there’s something about the way she continues to hum that makes it seem like she still thinks Zuko is an alien, or something.

"You must have misunderstood him—which wouldn’t be a surprise, to be honest." She says the last part in a whisper, but he still hears her. That’s probably what she wanted anyway, but it’s not like he gets it. What does that mean? Zuko gets Sokka. That’s one of the few things he’s really proud of. Did he just think that he got Sokka while, all this time, he actually didn’t?

No. He understands Sokka. Sokka himself has told him that.

"No, I didn't. And I don't have a chance if he likes someone else, so I might as well not even try."

Toph looks mad. "You're super pessimistic, dumbass."

"Hmm."

She sighs, looking deeply tired and frustrated, like Zuko has completely worn her out. Then, she raises her fist and punches him. Hard.

Ouch.

Zuko yelps, and rubs at his sore arm. “What was that for?” he grumbles.

She frowns. “To punch some sense into you, big oblivious idiot!" Toph hums a low, guttural sound in the back of her throat, like she’s a feral dog trying to threaten a pedestrian. “Just try, at least. Everyone is kind of getting tired of your pinning, too."

"Ah." Everyone?

"Full offence."

"Ah."

“Even Katara. The only reason she hasn’t intervened yet is because she says it’s not her business to push you, but I don’t think her reasoning is gonna last long.”

Katara too!? Oh, no.

Zuko seriously wants to die.

Eventually, things go on.

Zuko’s “crush” doesn’t go away. If anything, it just grows and grows and grows until it becomes almost unbearable. But he still can’t say anything.

“Zuko.”

“Hmm?”

“You know,” Sokka says, looking at him with feign innocence, sitting with his hands upwards behind him in Zuko’s room, “that looks heavy, want me to hold it for you?”

Zuko frowns. He looks up from his work to give Sokka a confused look. “What is, my pen?”

Sokka gives him that little, playful smile—the one that is so incredibly hot for some reason Zuko can’t understand. His eyes gleam, even more than they do all the time.

“Nope,” he says, and his smile grows an inch, “your hand.”

Zuko blinks. Sokka flirting with him is nothing new, that’s why he manages to hold back his blush a bit and remain calm, even when he’s a bit dying inside.

He is just trapped between telling him, “god, I wish you were flirting with me for real,” and, “please stop doing it, it’s not good for my heart,” and, “If only you knew how much I really want to hold your hand”, but neither of those options are actually. Something viable.

“Are you flirting with me?” He asks instead, knowing the answer already.

Sokka would laugh, brush it off, and say something like, “ah, but you didn’t blush this time,” and let it go.

He doesn’t, though.

What he does, instead, is shrug and look at Zuko’s textbook, like he’s completely uninterested in the conversation.

Huh.

But then he speaks up again.

“Have been for the past year and a half or so, but thanks for noticing.” He answers.

Zuko blinks. He’s tempted to answer, “yeah, I know, which is a cruel, cruel thing to do, by the way, given how my heart just wants to escape out of my chest and go with you every time you do it,” or something equally playful to play it down like they always tend to do, but… for some reason, this time it feels… Real.

Maybe he should just laugh.

He doesn’t, though, and, “What?” is what comes out of his mouth.

Sokka looks up. “I said that I’ve been doing it for a year and a half or so, thank you for finally noticing.”

Zuko doesn’t understand. He’s not following the conversation at all. “Wait.”

“Ahh,” Sokka sighs, “honestly, if you didn’t notice by the end of the month, I would have felt deeply embarrassed. I was starting to think I lost my charm and I didn’t know how to flirt.”

“Well, that was a terrible pick-up line,” Zuko can’t help but retort, and like he wasn’t mildly-insulted, Sokka grins at him.

“But it worked for you, didn’t it?” He teases, leaning on Zuko’s personal space, “it made you feel something.”

Zuko frowns. “How would you know?”

Sokka stares. “Your face.”

“My face?”

“I can see it. In your face.”

Zuko covers his mouth, frowning. He can feel his own heart race.

Sokka is still way too close.

“You can…?”

“Yup.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Zuko says, blinking. “That means—are you—are you flirting with me? For real?”

Sokka quirks both eyebrows. “Yes...?”

“But you—you…”

“Zuko, I don’t know where you got the idea, but I don’t flirt with anyone aside from you—at least, I haven’t done it in a long time. So yes, I am actually flirting with you.”

Zuko feels like he just got hit in the head. “Why?”

Sokka blinks. “Because I want to?”

“But why do you want to?”

Sokka shoots him a look. “Zuko,” he says, slowly, “I like you. I thought that was obvious already.”

Zuko blinks. “You have… romantic feelings for me?”

Sokka laughs, amused. “Yeah, Zuko, I have ‘romantic feelings’ for you.”

Zuko blinks again. He’s blinking too much. “So all this time… it was real… when you said… and that time you also said… and… oh.”

Sokka smiles, softly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair. It makes him blush. His heart might also not even work at this point, if it wasn’t for the fact that he can clearly hear it thundering in his ears.

Why is Sokka so calm? Zuko’s about to pass out.

“Katara is right, I’m dumb.”

Sokka grins. “Toph thinks so, too.”

“Toph thinks everyone is dumb.”

“Fair,” Sokka answers; he’s still grinning so wide. God, Sokka is so pretty. “Though I think she only calls us dumb, not that she means it.”

“Mmm.”

He’s so unfairly distracting, too. Zuko can’t stop looking at him.

“Wait,” He says, suddenly realizing something, “so you knew that I—that I—had feelings for you, too?”

Sokka looks at his lips when he talks, and Zuko has to concentrate hard to not straight up pass out from shock and his heart racing so fast it might give him an attack. Has he done that before? He would have noticed, right? Sure, Zuko looks at Sokka’s lips a lot instead than at his eyes, but he would have noticed if Sokka did it, too.

… Right?

He’s starting to feel dizzy. Is he dreaming? Is any of this real at all?

“Noticed it a while ago, yeah. That’s why I’m not freaking out that you noticed my flirting 100 years later.”

For a moment, Zuko is able to set aside his internal emotional turmoil and state of panic, if only to complain.

“Hey!” He frowns. “Wait—”

“You have said that a lot.”

“Wait,” Zuko repeats, just to be annoying, “if you… liked me, and knew that I liked you back, why didn’t you… make a move?”

“Like asking you out? I tried to, but you’re too oblivious.”

“Huh?” Zuko utters. What does that even mean? He’s not—well, he is, maybe, just a bit, but. “Well, if you knew that, you could have been more straightforward, you know!”

Sokka smiles, then shrugs.

“I guess we’re both dumb.”

Zuko feels his lips curling up, not able to contain all his happiness anymore, his brain catching up with the last 20 minutes of his life.

Holy shit, Sokka likes him. Sokka likes him. Him. Zuko. As in, romantically speaking.

Oh.

“I like you, Zuko.” Sokka says, as if Zuko’s brain didn’t shut down already. He reaches out and slides his hand on the table Zuko was previously working, the tip of his fingers touching Zuko’s. “So can I finally, please hold your hand?”

Zuko might pass out for real, but before that, he finally, finally, finally takes Sokka’s hand into his own.

It feels even better than in his dreams.

He feels like burning up, like all of his body is setting itself on fire.

Sokka’s hand is warm, so warm, and soft, so soft, and makes Zuko’s heart flutter like delicate flower’s petals in the wind.

Sokka’s thumb brushes over his knuckles; Sokka’s lips turn into a bright smile, like he’s been wanting to do that since forever.

It feels like home.

When they tell their friends they’re dating, Yue is the first one to say something.

“You mean you weren’t dating before?”

“Shocking, right,” Katara deadpans, but then she smiles, genuine. “I’m happy for both of you.”

(Although remembering that minutes later doesn’t make her any less scary, when she decides to corner him out of the bathroom and put a steady hand on his shoulder, feign-sweet smile on her face, and say with a weirdly off-calm voice that, if he ever dared to hurt Sokka on purpose, she was going to break all the 206 bones on his body.)

Toph grins brightly and kicks him enthusiastically on the side with a loud “Well-done, loser!” while Aang jumps on Zuko’s back and clings to him like a koala.

“That’s awesome, guys! Be happy!”

Zuko smiles.

“Finally, I won’t have to hear Sokka’s pinning all the time,” Suki quips, like she’s tired and utterly uninterested, but even the happiness is evident in her voice.

Sokka still complains. “Hey! I had to hear you be head-over-heels for Yue for months, too.”

“It wasn’t months for you, though.” Suki deadpans, but then her face goes all soft, “I’m kidding, So, I’m really happy for you two.”

Sokka smiles, and she gets up from where she’s cuddling Yue on the sofa to hug Sokka tightly, grinning wide, and then look at Zuko (stumbling with a happily laughing Aang on his back and Toph annoyingly ruffling his hair like a proud little sister) and whispers something in Sokka’s ear.

Zuko is glad that he’s still looking at Sokka from the corner of his eye, because he catches him blushing after that.

He’s cute.

Suki laughs. Sokka frowns, still blushing, and when he catches Zuko watching, he blushes harder.

He’s really cute.

Zuko smiles softly, and Sokka blinks, once, twice, before smiling back.

The cutest.

“Zuko.”

Zuko hums, but doesn’t look up from his work.

“Zukoooo, darling, love of my life.”

Zuko is used to it by now. To Sokka calling him pet-names like those. Of hearing Sokka say he’s cute, or hot, or smart, or witty, or pretty. It still makes his heart flutter, though. Just as Sokka’s laugh does. It still makes him blush sometimes.

(It’s funny because Sokka is the same way—or mostly the same. Zuko said he looked really hot after a baseball game once and Sokka almost died on the spot. He blushed like mad, but after he calmed down, he couldn’t stop bragging about Zuko calling him ‘hot’.

“Look at you, flirting shamelessly with me! You’re all grown up!” and, “I shouldn’t be near Zuko if I’m wearing my baseball uniform, he’ll get a boner,” and a lot of more phrases.)

“Hm?”

“You are—” Sokka sing-songs, and crosses his arms over Zuko’s textbook. He puts his chin over his forearms and looks up at Zuko’s face, grinning, and Zuko would probably be a bit annoyed that he’s not letting him finish his essay if it weren’t for the fact that he’s Sokka. His, ahem, boyfriend.

“I am…?”

“You are,” he repeats, and his smile grows bigger. Zuko thinks about kissing him; Zuko thinks about kissing him all the time. But, to be fair, he used to dream about that, just as much as he used to dream about them holding hands. And just as if he read Zuko’s mind, Sokka reaches out and holds his right hand; gently, like all of Sokka’s touches. It feels so nice, Zuko never wants to let go. “You are pulchritudinous.”

Eh?

Zuko tries to smile, but Sokka looks at him like he’s looking at a cute baby and throws his head back, still close and still holding his hand.

“You’re adorable.”

“What…?” Zuko is sure he looks as puzzled as he feels; he once caught his reflection in the mirror while playing Scrabble with Sokka and therefore knows how he must look. For some reason, Sokka finds it extremely cute. “What does that mean?”

Sokka laughs again.

Zuko narrows his eyes into slits. Or, maybe Sokka’s just making fun of him. (Not in a bad way, of course, Zuko knows. Sokka never means any harm, but he sure as hell loves teasing Zuko all the time.)

“Are you insulting me?”

Sokka wipes tears from his eyes and looks at Zuko with such a sweet face that it kinda makes Zuko stumble, even when he’s sitting.

His heart flutters alive, his face grows warm. He wants to kiss Sokka.

Sokka does, though, pulling gently at his hand and softly pressing his lips into Zuko’s wrist. He grins up at him.

“You’re adorable.”

(Later, when he’s waiting for a toast on Uncle Iroh’s kitchen, still barefoot, decked out in his pajamas and half-asleep, he finally finds what he thinks is the correct word using the search function of his phone—after 20 lame attempts of trying and failing at remembering—and pronouncing correctly—the right word.

He clicks on the dictionary tab, reads over the meaning, stumbles over, slips and falls flat on his ass.

He almost sets his kitchen on fire for the second time.)

Zuko is bad at flirting. He knows. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try, hard, and sometimes, sometimes, he succeeds (conscious and unconsciously).

Or maybe Sokka is just too easy to fluster (even when Sokka says it’s the other way around; even when that’s actually, probably, just a bit, true.)

Either way, Zuko basks happily in seeing Sokka get all flustered. It makes him even cuter than he already is.

(Whipped, Toph would draw out, mockingly sing-song.

And, well, maybe he is.)

Kissing Sokka is like setting himself on fire. Like burning up alive, but not in the bad sense. Not in the way he was burned as a little kid.

Kissing Sokka is like sitting near a campfire when you’re feeling cold; like standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling your chest contract; like tucking yourself in a warm blanket, with fuzzy socks and drinking your favorite drink, while hearing your favorite song. It’s like waking up on a good day, like basking in the sun at twilight, like taking a warm shower after a long day.

He feels too much, way too overwhelmed, even with just a brush of lips.

Kissing Sokka is a blessed thing.

There’s something that comes alive in his chest at the same time their lips touch. It blossoms under his ribcage, spreads over his chest, warms up all the way up to his throat. Beating, growing, marveling in every fiber of his being. Maybe that’s what love is—maybe that’s what Zuko has been searching for all this time; this connection, this overwhelming feeling, this deep, raw, unfiltered emotion, coming off him through waves of desperation for more.

He can’t be sure. But even if it wasn’t something he has looked out for, the discovery of it still feels like a sacred thing.

It’s like watching cherry blossoms falling on the street for the first time, like falling asleep on the comfortable side of your bed after a tiring day, it’s coming back home—or to what home should feel like.

It’s something delicate, at first. Zuko doesn’t have any experience, so he just lets himself feel as Sokka presses his lips softly into his own, carding his long fingers into Zuko’s hair.

Zuko feels an electric chill run down his spine, where Sokka’s fingertips—from the hand that’s not on his hair—make a slow path down. He can feel them burning, even through his clothes, even when Sokka’s hand is not that warm.

But it feels like that.

Zuko breathes shakily, moves his lips experimentally, feeling Sokka’s smile against his mouth.

He wants to do something, so he leans in, feeling Sokka’s eyelashes tickling his cheekbones, feeling Sokka’s thumb under his jaw, angling his head in a better position, feeling himself become aflame. He wants to touch Sokka. He really wants to touch Sokka.

So he does.

He uses one hand to gently touch Sokka’s wrist—the one Sokka’s using to keep Zuko’s head up—and, carefully, tentatively, he wraps his fingers around it, caresses the skin like he wants to print a topographic map of it into his mind.

Sokka makes a low, appreciative sound, and Zuko feels so happy it should be embarrassing.

Sokka has his hair down, and Zuko wants to touch it so much because he loves Sokka’s hair. Sokka’s hair is so pretty—Sokka is so pretty—so he goes for it. He brushes his fingers on Sokka’s shoulder, touches the strands of brown hair that lie there, moves his fingers to the nape of his neck. Zuko does this slowly, he wants to feel everything and he’s not going to rush, not after how long he’s wanted this.

He cradles his head with his hand, touches and touches and touches. He pulls at his hair, lightly, and his hand goes down just a bit; the skin of Sokka’s neck under his fingertips is warm, and so soft. He can feel the gentle echo of his heartbeat thundering in the tender curve of his jaw.

Just then, Sokka’s thumb brushes on his bare clavicle, and Zuko hisses, feeling like he’s on fire. Feeling like he’s become burning embers.

It’s just—too much, and at the same time, not enough—he wants more.

He has always been sensitive, but it’s different now. It’s like all his senses are turned on—he’s hyper-aware of everything around him—of Sokka’s hands, of Sokka’s steady, fast heartbeat under his open palm, of Sokka’s smell, of Sokka’s warm mouth, of Sokka’s soft skin, of the way Sokka keeps mumbling his name, softly against his lips or when he breaks apart to breath. He touches Sokka’s face, Sokka’s arms, Sokka’s neck; breathes his name into his own mouth, makes sure Sokka knows how much he wants this, how much he’s dreamed of this: of kissing him, of him kissing him back.

It feels too good to be even real—just as Sokka always makes him feel, even when they’re not kissing.

He might as well die there.

It wouldn’t be a bad way to go, though.

Linked, bare soul to bare soul, with the prettiest, smartest, kindest boy he’s ever met.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say. But as he sees Sokka laughing in front of him because of some ridiculous joke Toph made, holding Zuko’s hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world, he can’t help but think that falling in love is anything but painful.

Sokka turns around, catches him staring and grins, playfully wiggling his eyebrows.

Zuko smiles, thinking just how much he loves Sokka, how much he loves his life, how much he loves his uncle, how much he loves his friends, how much he loves being alive, being there, curled up with Sokka on his couch, watching a stupid rom-com movie on Sokka’s cell-phone screen, sharing earphones with his boyfriend. Being there, in the house that he shares with his uncle—his real dad—in the house that he has come to call home. Being there, feeling safe in Sokka’s arms, with Toph hearing music on the TV, while Aang and Katara and Suki and Yue sleep, sprawled there and there all over his living-room.

“I love you,” Zuko tells Sokka, like he just revealed the biggest secret of the universe.

Love.

He feels the word on his tongue, and it tastes sweet. It tastes like the color of Sokka’s eyes, like the tone of Sokka’s laugh, like all of Sokka’s smiles—the gentle one, the soft one, the playful and flirty one, the wide one—all of them. Love tastes like Sokka holding his hand while they go for a walk, like Sokka’s voice when he talks about what he likes, like Sokka’s proud eyes after scoring a run, after Zuko shows him his grades. It tastes like a lot of things he can’t name, like the way Sokka says his name, like the way Sokka makes him feel, like that little mole under Sokka’s jaw, like the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles with the setting sun of the beach, like the way his fingertips feel against Zuko’s neck. Like the way he looks at Zuko like he’s not broken, like he’s the best thing that ever existed, like his scar is beautiful and all of Zuko’s failures don’t matter to him because he’s him, and that is enough. Like Zuko is more than enough, and how he loves that he’s more than enough to Zuko, too.

“I love you,” Zuko says again, in a low voice, and it feels real. It has meaning. It’s not an empty word at all.

For some reason, he feels like tearing up a bit.

Sokka’s face mellows, softens; he brushes his thumb under Zuko’s left eye, just at the edge of his scar, and his eyes become impossibly warm. Zuko wants to kiss all of his face; he wants to taste all of Sokka’s softness on his own lips.

There, in the quiet of Zuko’s living-room, Sokka smiles, and Zuko thinks he’s the most bewitching, stunning, ineffably beautiful being.

It feels like something ethereal. Sokka smiles and Zuko feels blessed to exist.

“I love you, too,” Sokka answers, like he’s sharing one of the secrets of the universe, too, like he’s never told anyone anything more true, and ever so gentle.

Zuko smiles and kisses him.

Falling in love is a blessed thing.

#zukka #zukka fic #atla #avatar the last airbender #my writing #... this is my contribution to the atla/zukka fandom #please let me know what do you think in the comments/tags/ao3!!!!!!!!#have a lovely day and thanks for reading :')

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saviorpattcrn · 3 years

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@fightstars gets a text-con’t starter

[TXT] Kori: Meaning the bullet is still in there and it wasn't a clean hole.

"How does she ALWAYS know?" He muttered to himself, landing on the roof of Titans Tower with a wince. The wound he'd been trying to refer to was technically just a graze, there was no physical bullet in his arm... but he was bleeding from both his arm and his calf (made that landing real fun, he thought to himself ) and there may or may not but suspectedly still was a bullet in his leg.

If he could get the blood cleaned up before she saw it, he might get away with some of his 'its nothing' claim. But if he went straight to her, his pant leg stained indigo from the red bleeding all over the blue and his arm sleeve ripped open enough to reveal the long gash across his upper arm, he was going to be in trouble.

And yet, despite his efforts to be sly, of course he ran right into her, grinning innocently on instinct. "Honey I'm home?"

[ I’m at work so I have no gif icons but you know the guilty smile he’s giving her lol]

#fightstars #dick grayson. / int. / koriand'r 'kory anders'. / fightstars

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hrodvitnon · 3 years

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The Titan’s reaction to the Icon of Sin?

After the initial shock and confusion from the appearance of a massive goat-headed Titan reeking of brimstone and hellfire whose very presence warps the fabric of reality, Rodan dive bombs the thing, Mothra busts out the god rays, Goji rolls up his metaphorical sleeves to teach another otherworldly upstart a lesson, and Kong’s like “THAT’S IT! I’M GETTIN’ ME AXE!”

#mrbeastie87 #monsterverse #doom

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

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The Yamal Mission

In the first book IV quest of Dragon Raja appears to take place immediately after Luminous is installed as the Student Union President. However, this is not the case in the novels.

In the game, right after you celebrate Luminous’s new job, you are called in for a mission from EVA that will send you on a mission with Johann on the “Luxury Cruise ship.”

However, in the novel, Johann’s mission takes place a full year after these two scenes!!! I’m not sure why they did this, your character in the game should have reflected a whole year’s worth of new dragonslaying experience. At this point, your character is not a freshman, but a student well into their second year.

It also doesn’t make sense that Johann is in charge of the mission when the School Board tends to prioritize Hybrid bloodline over experience. For example, in Book 2, Johann is reporting to Luminous in the Quest to find the King of Earth and Mountains even though Luminous is otherwise inferior in everyway. It makes no sense that on a lesser quest of investigation, he’s your supervisor.

I just wanted to clarify these things to anyone who is going to do these quests in case they become confusing later.

Anyway, below is the translation of the second half of the Story Quest for 118

72 degrees north latitude, Greenland Sea

Under the dark night, the big scarlet boat rushed through the broken ice, leaving a 20 meter wide blue-black waterway behind.

This place is well within the Arctic Circle, and it is in the dead of winter. Although the sea surface is not completely frozen, the floating ice is all over the sea surface. Only this monster-class ice breaker dared to continue to rush towards the North Pole at this time.

The YAMAL, the world’s largest icebreaker, belonged to Russia. Two heavy water nuclear reactors provided it with almost endless power. The thick armored bow can easily smash a 6 meter iceberg. Among the icebreakers in the world, except for a few military monsters who identities cannot be disclosed, only this ship has sailed to the North Pole.

The tragedy of the Titanic will never happen to the YAMAL. What is an iceberg when you can just ram into it? The crew of the YAMAL has always thought about the problem this way, which is why they can’t be hired by other polar cruise companies after they are retired... This group of people might end up driving an ordinary ship into an iceberg just out of habit.

“Hello! Hello! This is the YAMAL. We are sailing on he 72 degree North latitude line. Is there a dear friend nearby who can chat? I hope you’re an American with a sense of humor, ha! I met one German guy before who lived in Munich and he told a really cold joke. I didn’t get it until a week after I went ashore. Everyone thought I was crazy when I suddenly burst out laughing in the middle of a bar.”

A middle-aged Russian captain drank vodka straight from the bottle and yelled into the radio system, as if he were the host of an evening radio show.

The radio remained absolutely silent, without so much as static.

This was par for the course. In this season, there may be ten ships in the world that dared to sailed openly in the Arctic Ocean. At this moment, other ships are either docked at military ports or scattered in other corners of the Arctic Ocean and the most advanced long-wave radio can only call a few hundreds of kilometers out.

In other words, they sail in a dead end space where almost no one can reach. A crew who frequently runs this route can suffer depression if they’re not careful and the best medicine on board for this malady is alcohol.

The captain was just trying his luck after having a drink. If he happened to be able to call other polar ships, usually everyone would change voyage a little and go for a short period of time, staying close enough to each other to talk over the radio for an hour or two.

“Oh! I can’t find anyone to chat with tonight!” The captain sighed, “Then I’ll go to the casino to try my luck, Mr. Chief Officer, this ship will e handed over to you temporarily!”

He staggered out, completely unaware that the first mate entrusted with the task was drunk and had been lying on the steering wheel for half an hour.

The casino on board was magnificent. The warm air was wrapped in the rich smell of whiskey and high-end perfume. The Belarusian girl, standing 5′9″ and wearing high heels acted as the dealer. A waiter who can speak various languages enthusiastically advised the guests to experience the richness of Tibetan wine and hand-rolled cigars from Cuba. A source of enormous wealth has created a small Las Vegas in this lifeless dead-end space.

The YAMAL was originally planned to be used as a scientific research ship, and it assumed the strategic goal of the former Soviet Union to head towards the North Pole. However, after the disintegration of the Soviet Union, this strategic goal also fell into disuse. The hugely-built ship could not be left idle and was put to civilian use, transformed into a luxury gambling ship, cruising on the Arctic Ocean all year round.

The Arctic Ocean is the high seas, you can’t help but gamble. Plus, you can enjoy the polar scenery on the way. So even if the tickets are expensive, the ones for this “Christmas Journey” are sold out.

There are eleven floors on this ship. Six floors have been transformed into luxurious cabins. At the moment, these cabins are full of 1,200 tourists, plus a crew of almost 1,000 people and service personnel. This ship can be said to be a small city floating on the Arctic Ocean.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please look out from the porthole on the left. You will see a medium sized iceberg with a height of more than 25 meters. Anyone who knows ice bergs must know that only 1/10 of the volume of an iceberg will surface. The underwater part occupies 9/10. This means that the height of the entire iceberg is almost 250 meters, of which more than 200 re below the sea surface.”

The navigator’s voice echoed in the hall. “That ice berg is the giant remains of the ice sheet, and feel off the arctic Ice cap 32 years ago and is always floating in the nearby sea. In summer, it will move further north, and it winter, it will be close to the edge of the Arctic Circle. The crew affectionately calls it the “Mary Girl” but as you can see, after 32 years of melting, the once hugeg “mary Girl” has only 250 feet of ice left. This year maybe the last time that Mary Girl will accompany us on our ice sea journey. Goodbye, Mary Girl, we will miss you.”

The wall-like ice cliffs slid past the hull of the cliffs, showing a dazzling blue color The white water fowl stood on top of the Mary Girl, staring blankly at the red behemoth driving by. After that, it floats far away.

Few tourists actually went to see the last side of the Mary Girl. Sexy Belarusian girls, hot gambling games, and mellow wine, kept their eyes on the gaming table.

The captain woke up a bit from the wine, pace to the porthole, looked out and let out a faint puff of smoke.

“Is it like seeing off an old friend?” A very young voice spoke next to him, but it was low with an iceberg-like feel.

The captain raised his head and was surprised to find that there was a young man in a black suit standing beside him, with black hair and an extremely clear face, carrying an elegant suitcase in his hand and a long black bag on his shoulders. He should be Chinese, but his accent is standard American English. The captain had been standing by the porthole for five minutes but didn’t notice when the young man approached him.

“It is, isn’t it? Always sailing in such lonely waters, we give each iconic iceberg a girl’s name in our hearts. Mary is like a bright girl in white, waiting for us in this sea forever. Seeing her, we don’t need to look at the theodolite to know which area of the sea we’re sailing in.” The captain emotionally explained. “So what’s your name?”

“Chu. Chu Zihang.”

“is there anything I can do for you? Mr. Chu.”

“I want to see the captain.”

“Then you are looking for the right person!” The captain smiled and straightened his captain’s hat. “The name’s Sasha Rebarko, Captain of the Yamal. Ready to serve you!”

“No. I don’t want to se you. I want to see the real captain.” Chu Zihang said lightly.

The captain was stunned, a sharp light flashing in his pupils. But it was fleeting.

“How can there be two captains on a ship?” He shrugged. “Only when I am sick and unable to perform the duties of captain will the chief officer take over. As as you can see, I’m as strong as an ox!”

“Your real name is not Sasha Rebarko, but Alexander Rebarko. You were a major of the Alpha Special Forces of the Russian Federal Security Service. After retiring in 2001, you were hired by the real captain. The ship’s technology is actually very rudimentary. This ship is usually managed by the chief mate, but you are a proficient marksman, skilled in unarmed combat, and practiced in using almost all military equipment. So You’re responsible for the security of the ship.”

“You have been married once, now divorced. Your parents live in St. Petersburg. You have a 16-year old sister.” Chu Zihang’s one was steady like this big ship, but the captain’s heartbeat was as steep and tortuous as the icebergs outside.

He subconsciously bent his knees slightly and leaned forward and his hands drew into his sleeves. This was an attempt to grasp the dagger hidden inside, but he felt empty.

This kind of “muscle memory” came from being trained to be very skillful with a knife. Major Alexaner Rebarko, when he was wearing the Alpha Force uniform, he would have had a dagger in his sleeve at all times.

But he hasn’t used the name Alexander in more than ten years. In order to sever his relationship with the past, he took great pains to change. He changed his address, phone number, broke off contacts with old friends and hired hackers to break into Alpha Forces serves to delete all his files. He performed a bit of facial surgery... Since then it was like Alpha Elite Major Alexander Rebarko had never existed in this world and was replaced by senior captain Sasha Rebarko.

Now the past buried by his own hands has been completely restored in the cold and plain narration of this young man, as if he were some sort of guardian angel that had seen his whole like with his own eyes.

Anyone, as long as he has existed in this world, will always leave countless marks, which can not be easily modified.” Chu Zihang finally said. “As long as the Cassell Academy is interested in anyone, they can always be investigated and found out.”

The people around them flowed like water around rocks.

After a long silence, Sasha’s body relaxed from being tight as a bow. He looked at Chu Zihang again. “Cassell Academy?”

Of course, they can’t really use force in such a public space. The offensive posture was just Sasha’s stress response.

Chu Zihang flipped the collar of his suit and showed Sasha the silver coat of arms pinned inside it. On the coat of arms was a huge tree with lush branches on one half and completely withered on the other half.

“I’ve never heard of it, and never seen that emblem.” Sasha shook his head.

“I think the captain may recognize this emblem. I’m referring to the real captain.”

“What do you want?”

“I just want to meet the captain. I know there is a hidden rule on this boat. The person who gambles the most is eligible to go up to see the captain.” Chu Zihang raised the suitcase in his hands. “I prepared funds before I arrived here.”

Sahsa glanced at the sturdy suitcase. The suitcase seemed to be right. High gamblers liked to carry such suitcases, full of two million dollars in cash. Two million dollars is not a lot. Some gamblers have subordinates to help carry a dozen or so cash boxes in and out. But if he just wants to meet the captain, two million should be fine.

“Okay,” Sasha shrugged. “It’s okay to take you to the captain, but I must first wish you good luck.”

“Wish me luck?”

The captain doesn’t like to see outsiders very much. If he sees an outsider and doesn’t like him, that guy will be brainwashed. Brainwashed people end up a little messed up if it doesn’t go right.” Sasha said. “I don’t want you to be so unlucky.”

#Dragon Raja #Novel Translation

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thepurplebutterflythings · 4 years

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Kitty Cat & Tweety Bird (Part 14) - Jason Todd

Gif: Oliverbruce3 on Tenor

Word Count: 2.2K

Paring: Jason Todd (Titans) x (f)Reader

Summary: It’s time for a Gala and with that Y/N Wayne’s first public appearance.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: This is a little series I am doing about Jason Todd in Titans. I don’t know Comic!Jason very well so I’m taking all of this from the show, and at the moment he hasn’t been in very often, so please forgive any mischaracterisations.

Tagging: @bella-0104-123 @ninergirl1d @httpfandxms @rosybrock @attackonnat @reclusive-chicken-nugget @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @young-psychos @thesleepykaijuu @thescottpack @nightlygiggles @rougestorms @sinon36 @acvrosstheuniverse @friedchickening @chillybabe

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Y/N nibbled on her lip as Harley and Ivy ushered Jason out of the house. He was to get ready at Dick’s hotel room. There was no chance that he would be allowed to see Y/N in her dress before the Gala. Lord knows what her mother and Harley and Ivy would be like when Y/N and Jason decided to tie the knot. She could only imagine. Bruce was already in his suit and made to wait in the living room as Selina, Harley and Ivy helped Y/N into her dress, did her makeup and hair, and put her jewellery on. Harley and Ivy had already left the Manor to arrive at the Gala, leaving Y/N with Selina and Bruce.

With shaking fingers, Y/N put the pearl earrings that Jason bought her in and then smoothed the non-existent creases from her dress.

“You look stunning,” Selina said as she squeezed her daughter’s shoulders, “absolutely breath-taking.”

Selina herself wore a sleek fitted dress made of black satin with a gold chain back with simple, elegant gold jewellery. Her hair was loose and framing her face. Selina Kyle had a nearly twenty-year-old daughter and still looked as though she hadn’t aged a day since her daughter was conceived on that rooftop. Y/N and Selina could have been and had been, mistaken for sisters.

“Mum,” Y/N blushed, turning around and hugging her mother.

“Careful,” Selina chuckled, “don’t want to ruin your beautiful gown now, do we?”

“You look… just, wow!” Y/N said to her mother. Selina smiled modestly as she slide her hair behind her ear.

“Thank you, kitten,” Selina pressed a kiss on her daughter’s forehead then wiped the lipstick stain from her skin, “now, come on, let’s go and see your father.”

Selina took Y/N’s hand they led her slowly down the stairs to make sure that neither of them tripped and fell. As they reached the final steps, Bruce stood there waiting. He held his hand out to help Selina and then his daughter.

“Stunning,” Bruce told them, “the pair of you.”

“Bruce, you sweet talker, you!” Selina chuckled, fondly patting his cheek.

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As the car which Y/N and her parents were in pulled up, she looked out of the window to see Jason and Dick waiting at the entrance. The press weren’t outside, like one might expect, but were waiting inside patiently, waiting to see what they had been rounded up into the Gotham Ballroom for. Jason smiled as he recognised the car, pulling up. He quickly came down the steps and opened the door the moment the car stopped.

Jason gasped as Y/N took his hand to help her step out. They stepped to the side as Bruce and Selina stepped out. Jason looked at Y/N’s dress; a black dress with red lace patterned elegantly over it and a v neck with long sleeves. The lace was printed heavily on the upper half, very little black fabric showing, including on the sleeves, while scattered elegantly over the lower half. The lower half was netted, showing her legs from the lower thigh down, her upper thigh hidden by the underskirt of a body-con sewn into her dress. The edge of her net skirt was decorated with the red lace as well. The red lace, Y/N’s favourite part of the dress, was floral; leaves, roses, other unidentified flowers with her Aunty Ivy could recite from memory, but Y/N didn’t know. It was a beautiful gown fitted to her body like a glove.

“Whoa, Kitty Cat,” said Jason, “just… wow, you look… wow!”

“Worth the wait?” Y/N chuckled teasingly as she remembered how he scolded after Ivy and Harley shushed him out of the house.

“Definitely,” he nodded.

“Look at you two,” Selina cooed, “all match-y and cute.”

Jason looked as though he should have been walking the red carpet for the MET Gala, stylishly looking to the left and right with one of those relaxed cool celebrities with those expensive real leather shoes, black and polished so well that they reflected the flashes of the cameras back to them as he effortlessly look good in every photograph taken of him. His suit was custom made to match Y/N’s dress. He wore a black satin suit with a floral pattern illustrated on the jacket and trousers. There was a plain black satin waistcoat underneath the jacket with a plain black button-up shirt. His black satin tie was printed with a red wildflower design and the handkerchief in the jacket pocket was also a black satin with a red embroidered edge. His outfit was, like Y/N, was fitted perfectly for him.

“Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy have good taste in fashion,” Jason chuckled as he kissed Y/N’s temple, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Damn right they do,” Y/N grinned, “they’re style icons!”

“Come on,” Dick chuckled as he stood watching them all, “the press is waiting inside.”

“Are you ready?” Bruce asked Y/N, who took a deep breath, smiled and nodded, holding onto Jason’s hand.

“Ready.”

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The moment they walked into the ballroom; all eyes were on them. Y/N and Jason, arm in arm, and Bruce Wayne with Selina Kyle. Dick Grayson was going stag and everyone watched the group curiously.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Bruce called out with a chuckle, “apologies for our late appearance, but who doesn’t like to make an entrance?”

The stuck-up people all chuckled lowly in a charming fashion with a playful shake of the head before returning to the conversations they were previously having. Y/N exhaled and looked to her father, who gave her a sympathetic smile, a smile which told Y/N ‘sorry but these events never get easier’. Y/N smiled back in understanding with a nod.

“Let’s get a drink,” Dick said to them all.

“Yes, please,” Y/N nodded exasperatedly as she and Jason started following Dick.

“We’ll be doing rounds,” Selina and Bruce said as they walked a separate direction to begin talking with the guests.

“You alright?” Jason asked Y/N, noticing her paled expression.

“God, this is overwhelming!”

“Hey, you’re doing great,” Jason said, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her forehead. “Everything will be fine.”

“Yeah,” Dick nodded, “these things don’t come up often, but you just need to learn how to handle them.”

“How’d you handle them?” Y/N asked as she shakily took a champagne flute off of a passing tray.

“Personally? I hung in the kitchens and ate,” Dick shrugged.

“I don’t think I’m going to have that luxury when people find out who I am,” she said as she faked a smile as the strangers eyed her curiously.

“Well, you’ll have me here to help,” Jason smiled.

“Thank god!” Y/N chuckled as she leaned into him as his arm draped itself around her shoulder. “These will be a lot more bearable with you.”

“Gawd, ya’ll are sickening,” Harley drawled as she suddenly appeared with Ivy. Harley was wearing a golden floor-length gown with a slit in the skirt. It was backless with a halter neckline and a bow on the lower back. Ivy wore a caped chiffon gown of a soft grass green that flowed with every step she took. Harley wrapped an arm around her spouse’s waist, pressing a big red kiss on Ivy’s cheek, causing Ivy to playfully scowl as she pulled a napkin off a table and dab it away so not to ruin her makeup.

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?” Y/N teased as Harley rolled her eyes.

“How’s the elite of Gotham handling Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy making an appearance at a Wayne Gala?” Dick asked them.

“Well, I’d like to point out that the moment the staff saw me.” Ivy said, “They took out the floral centrepieces your father chose.”

“That’s not fair,” Y/N scowled, “let me talk to dad.”

“No, no,” Ivy shook her head, “if it makes them feel safe, let them have it. I don’t need plants to kill people if I wanted.”

“She’s incredible with a gun,” Harley bragged, “it’s so hot.”

“Kickass girlfriends are hot!” Jason lifted his glass slightly. Harley laughed and nodded, as did Ivy.

“I’ll drink to that,” Harley said as she clinked her glass with Jason’s own glass.

“So, sprout,” Ivy cooed, stroking Y/N’s hair fondly, “how are you finding your first Gala?”

“A bit uncomfortable at the moment,” she confessed in a whisper, “I feel everyone staring at me…”

“Hun, not to call you vain or anything, but I think it’s Ives and me they’re gawking at,” Harley gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Well, I think when the board of Wayne Enterprises realise I’m stealing the CEO position from them, I’ll be the one getting the stares…”

“Hey, you are a hard worker, determined and have a head for business,” Ivy assured her.

“Yeah,” Dick nodded, “you’d end up CEO even if you weren’t a Wayne.”

“Thanks,” Y/N smiled as she let out a shaky breath, “nice to know not everyone in this room is going to try and kill me.”

“You could take all these suits down with one hand tied behind your back,” Jason assured Y/N, rubbing her shoulder and chuckling. “Don’t worry.”

“Can’t help but feel nervous,” Y/N confessed.

“I get it,” Dick said, “trust me, I do. I’ve dealt with all these people had to be introduced – the only difference is I weren’t a threat to the CEO position, so I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

“Emotional hell!” Y/N sighed, “God, I’m practically shaking right now. I kinda wanna run out of here right now.”

“Whatever you need,” Jason placed his hands on her shoulders after brushing her hair from her eyes, “I’ll do. I’ll be there for you through all of this. Promise.” He travelled his hands down her arms to her hands, taking them in his own, rubbing his thumbs on the back of her hands. “Breathe, in and out, in and out.”

Y/N nodded as she followed his voice, breathing in and then out and then in and then out. Repeating it a few times, Y/N felt herself slowly starting to calm out. Looking into his eyes, Y/N smiled.

“Thank you, Jason,” she said, leaning in and kissing his cheek, right next to his lips. “What would I do without you?”

“Gawd, you make the notebook look bleak,” Harley rolled her eyes.

“Kitten,” Selina said as she and Bruce approached their daughter, “are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she smiled, holding Jason’s hand, silently asking if Jason could come with her. Bruce and Selina smiled and nodded as Y/N turned to Jason, who kissed the back of her hand. “Let’s go.”

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“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Bruce said into the microphone on the stage. Selina, Y/N and Jason stood at the back of the stage watching as Jason held Y/N’s hand, “thank you all for coming out tonight. Now, I know that everyone except a select few know the reason behind this Gala, and so the rest of you are left wondering why you are here. Rightly so of course – Bruce Wayne is not the type of man to throw a party for the sake of it… well, anymore at least, I’m not in my twenties any longer.” The audience began laughing at Bruce’s joke in a low collective fashion to appease the Billionaire. “Now, as I said, I’m not a young man anymore, not like Mr Todd, or even Mr Grayson, who has been kind enough to come from Detroit for this evening, which I cannot thank him enough for this support. As of late, I have found myself wondering what is to happen to Wayne Enterprises when my time is up. Hopefully, I have a long, long life ahead of me, I plan to stick around for a long time at least – no need to take me off your Christmas card list yet, ladies and gentleman. But all joking aside, this past couple of months have been sobering for me, and I have come to learn so much about myself, and of those, I love and care about. The love of my life, Selina Kyle,” Bruce looked at Selina and smiled at her. Selina smiled and waved at Bruce. Certain members of the crowd seemed to be familiar with who she was, remembering her from Bruce’s youth, and aww’d at them, “and… my, well, mine and Selina’s incredible daughter, Y/N Wayne,” the audience started making a low murmuring noise, wondering if they had heard correctly – daughter? Did Bruce Wayne say daughter? Bruce Wayne has a daughter? A daughter with Selina Kyle?

Bruce nodded for Y/N to come to the front with Selina, gesturing to her to speak into the microphone. Jason squeezed Y/N’s hand in support before letting go and stepping back as Y/N walked with her mother to the front of the stage. Y/N smiled at her father before leaning into the microphone.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” Y/N said, “I am Y/N Wayne, daughter of Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle.”

“Now,” Bruce said as he spoke into the microphone again, “I am sure you all have questions, but before you ask those, I want to make an announcement about the future of Wayne Enterprises – when my time to step down as CEO arrives, the role shall be filled, rather well I would say, by Y/N Wayne.”

The crowd up-roared.

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