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seyaryminamoto · 3 years

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Matching Heartbeats: Sokkla Saturdays 2020

Day 7: Loyalty

On FF.net//On AO3

A/N: So very sorry for the late entry. I've been having some really serious computer problems lately, I was lucky I finished writing the chapter BEFORE tragedy struck, but it still took me a while to go over the whole thing so it'd be ready to be posted. It's been quite the ordeal of a weekend, ngl.

I'll leave more notes at the end. This is definitely the darkest of my entries so far, so even if there's concepts you dislike... try to bear with me :'D

He knew it. He knew from the start that frozen kid was going to be trouble, but who listens to Sokka? No one ever listens to Sokka. Even the tribe's children never listen to Sokka.

He couldn't stop scowling as he fit his warrior's outfit into place. He didn't have any armor, he was meant to craft his own with his father once he returned from the war… if he returned from the war. The very thought of never seeing him again, just as he'd never see his mother again, made him wish the likely, upcoming fight, would take him away just as well.

But no. He wasn't that weak, he wasn't that stupid: he was here to defend his people. That was what his father had tasked him with, and the women and children from the tribe would be safe with him. He hoped. As long as that damn flare hadn't been glimpsed by anyone Fire Nation, then perhaps they would be. Yet with the damn light beam that burst from the iceberg, just before that airbender tumbled out of it, right into his sister's arms, he couldn't take for granted that the Fire Nation wouldn't have noticed anything. In all likelihood, they'd come… and they might try to wipe out the village altogether. And he had no choice but to fight, even if he failed to stand against them.

He had practiced the traditional warriors' face-paint countless times in the past, with his father's supervision. He had continued doing so even after his father was gone, wondering if he'd ever wear it for a battle… he no longer wondered today. Without even glancing at his reflection in the basin of the hut he was preparing at, Sokka stepped out into the open as Katara and Kanna helped lead the women and children to safety.

It happened after he climbed his watch tower: a loud, machinery sound in the distance. He felt chills rushing down the nape of his neck and scowled: this couldn't be good. They were here. That shape he could see, hidden within the mist, had to belong to a Fire Nation ship.

And he was right, naturally: a massive, metal ship slowly traversed the icy waters, and Sokka clutched his weapons nervously as he watched it looming closer…

And then it stopped, right upon reaching the shore, cracking the ice lightly, as Sokka could see from where he stood at his watch tower. He swallowed hard and raised his gaze at the monumental ship… and then the ramp at its front was lowered with a loud, mechanical hiss. Sokka's whole body trembled as he waited, knowing the enemy would rush them in no time…

Footsteps upon the metal. Loud ones, multiple ones. Sokka frowned as a group of soldiers appeared at the top of the ramp, and he scanned them carefully: it wasn't his first time seeing Fire Nation soldiers in the flesh, but it had been a long time since he had last crossed paths with any of them. And while his anxiety was ramping up because of it, he still could pay enough attention to notice that they were flanking two people who weren't sporting a full soldiers' uniform.

"What is…?" he whispered, narrowing his eyes at the sight of them…

An old man, and a young woman. Both were shorter than the uniformed soldiers, and they were studying their surroundings carefully, it seemed. They walked side by side until they reached the end of the ramp… and then the soldiers lingered back, close to the ship, while the two people who wore lighter armor approached the Tribe's enclosure.

"Ah, but this is quite the freezing environment, isn't it?" the old man said, smiling carelessly at his companion. She scoffed.

"What else could you have expected in the South Pole, Uncle, really?" she said.

The area was silent enough for Sokka to understand their words perfectly. He frowned as he gazed at them, wondering if he should speak up… and just then, the young woman's eyes took to studying his watch tower… to studying him.

He felt the air leaving his lungs, and wondered if perhaps that girl was an airbender like Aang, to make him effectively breathless that way. Or maybe he was just too nervous, too anxious, and terrified of the possible consequences that would come from this encounter with likely firebenders…?

"You, up there," the young woman called to him. Sokka froze. "We come in peace. Find your leader, so we may speak with whoever they are."

"Peace?" Sokka repeated quietly, before raising his voice. "You've just barged into enemy territory on a ship like that, and you expect me to believe you're here to make friends?"

"Well, what else could I be here for?" she replied, with a sarcastic grin. Sokka's stomach sank. "Do tell. Are you hiding anything in your funny huts that I might make use of?"

"Like hell we are! Go back to your rotten nation and leave us be!" Sokka rebuffed, raising his boomerang in an intimidating gesture that he knew would fail.

"We can't quite do that," she said, simply. "Find your leader, I said. We don't have much time."

"Find our leader?" Sokka repeated. "Well, as things stand right now? You're speaking to him! I'm the Tribe's leader!"

"You… no way," she snorted, smiling as she placed her hands on her hips. "The Southern Water Tribe has only one teenager manning their defenses, and he's the tribe leader, too?"

"Maybe we're in the wrong place," the old man suggested, stroking his beard.

"It's possible," his niece replied, still staring at Sokka pointedly. "But it's the closest settlement to the flare, isn't it? And we did see the Avatar skipping about in the ice earlier…"

"I can only hope I'm that flexible and nimble when I'm that age," the man laughed. His niece scoffed.

"You can't even finish climbing the tower's stairs without your knees aching, Uncle…"

"I can work out and regain my good shape, Princess Azula, no need to shame me for not exercising often these days…"

Sokka's eyes widened upon overhearing those words: Princess Azula, he'd said? And they were talking about… the Avatar? Did they believe Aang was the Avatar? If so… then he definitely needed protecting, rather than banishing. Curses, why did everything have to be so complicated…?

"Y-you… you're the Fire Nation Princess?" Sokka asked. She frowned but glared at him, no longer distracted by her uncle.

"Something like that," she said. "Feel more willing to help us track down your Avatar now? Or will this pointless back and forth continue until we freeze to death standing out here?"

Sokka snarled, uneasy. If Aang was the Avatar, he couldn't hand him over to the Fire Nation, not even if they allegedly had come in peace. How could he ever trust a claim like that? Fire Nation people were ambitious, and surely deeply treacherous… these two couldn't be any different. Even from up here, Sokka could tell they were intelligent… they were likely strategists, hoping to trick them somehow. And whatever game they thought they'd play at the expenses of his people, he refused to go along with it.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, so get out and find your Avatar someplace else. We don't have any Avatars here," Sokka declared. The Princess below scoffed.

"Really, now? So that skipping airbender we saw wasn't the Avatar? You're harboring other air nomads here, then? Fine, they'll be useful at tracking down the real thing anyway…"

"There's no one here! No airbender!" Sokka shouted. "There's only women and children inside these walls, and you won't find any Avatars or airbenders or…!"

A sudden, whooshing sound caused the Princess and the uncle to turn sharply to their right: something was rushing their way through the snow. The Princess took up a defensive firebending form immediately, but her uncle spread an arm before her as the shape came closer…

"A child?" the Princess said so softly Sokka nearly failed to hear her: he turned towards the noise as well only to feel his heart sinking to the bottom of his stomach.

Aang was back, surely hoping to help the tribe. Oh, curse that boy and his good heart, why would he choose to return just now?!

"Aang! Go back! Get out!" Sokka shouted, but the young airbender's penguin simply continued to rush towards the two Fire Nation Royals.

Both Azula and her uncle had to leap out of the way so the penguin could continue onwards: the airbender, however, leapt off the creature's back and stood between them and the tribe, holding his staff while gazing at them steadily.

"You're the airbender? The Avatar? A… child?" Azula said, blinking blankly.

"Well, you're just a teenager," Aang said, simply, though he wasn't sure his response warranted as loud a bout of laughter from the old man beside the Princess. "Uh… what's so funny?"

"Ah, it's such a relief! He is a child! See, Princess, no amount of exercise will ever be enough for me to jump around the way he did, ahaha…!"

"Stop giving excuses not to stay fit, Uncle!" Azula hissed. "We're in no position to afford laziness, or sloppiness, and you're indulging in both by neglecting your health and training!"

"Uh… what's going on?" Aang said, blinking blankly before glancing up at Sokka on his tower.

"I know just about as much as you do, buddy," Sokka said, grimacing. "Though… sorry for kicking you out. And thanks for coming back."

"My banishment is lifted?" Aang asked, smiling weakly. Sokka shrugged and hung his head.

"Guess so. Though this isn't over," Sokka said, frowning as he picked up his spear. "You two… last chance. Go back to your ship, and the airbender there won't hurt you."

"Ah, nonsense. Airbenders won't hurt anyone unless it's self-defense," the old man declared proudly. The Princess breathed out and glanced at the young boy before her.

"We're not here to hand you over to Fire Nation authorities, Avatar," she said. Both Aang and Sokka frowned. "If you truly are who we believe you are… then we'll be the very best allies you'll find if you have any hopes to bring back balance to the world."

"You… what?" Aang said.

Sokka frowned heavily and jumped, slipping down his tower and landing right next to Aang – by the tribe's front gates, Katara lurked, gazing out at the debate between the two Fire Nation visitors, her brother and her friend: where both Sokka and Aang were reluctant, dubious, the old man couldn't seem to stop smiling in a disarming manner… while his niece offered them a steeled glare, sharper than a blade, more unyielding than the sturdiest of metals:

"We need you to help us defeat the Fire Lady."

Where the villagers no doubt had expected a confrontation, they had found, instead, a diplomatic visit, of sorts. The soldiers had stayed aboard the ship, leaving the two royals to deal with the discussions and to convince the skeptical teenagers and the young Avatar to join their cause: it wouldn't be easy, but Azula was certain it could be done.

"I'm pretty confused as it is, but I guess I'll hear you out," the Avatar decided, smiling as they sat at the central fireplace of the village: Azula and Iroh sat with them, while the rest of the villagers – just as the warrior had claimed, women and children – watched from a safe distance. Acceptable, understandable caution, all things considered.

"What's this about a Fire Lady?" the warrior asked, frowning as he stared at Azula. "Last I knew, it was a Fire Lord who was throwing the world out of balance. When did that change?"

"To be precise? Five years ago," Azula said, simply. The warrior appeared perplexed, but curious enough to continue listening anyway.

"Our dad left about four years ago…" the teenage girl said, glancing at him with unease. "I guess we haven't heard from anything in the outside world since then… and even before that, news didn't spread much either."

"Naturally. You're in the South Pole, and with the war's politics being what they are…" Iroh said, shaking his head "Everyone has taken to isolating, instead of thinking clearly: a coalition between Earth Kingdom, Water Tribe and Fire Nation rebel forces would more than suffice to topple my sister-in-law's regime."

"Your sister-in-law?" the warrior repeated.

"My mother," Azula said, curtly. The words seemed to send a powerful ripple of confused understanding through all her three new acquaintances.

"Y-your mom…?" said the Avatar.

"She is the Fire Lady. Has been, since Fire Lord Azulon died mysteriously on the night he demanded for my brother to be killed to punish my father's transgressions," Azula explained, gritting her teeth. Sharing such memories with strangers wasn't easy, despite she had grown used to discussing them in recent times. "My father was crowned on the next day. He was dead too, within the week."

"Wait… your mom killed them?" asked the warrior, aghast. "Y-you're saying…"

"I'm saying she's leading the Fire Nation as we speak. Has been, for the past six years," Azula said, staring at the young man intently. "She has avoided every political reprieve sent her way, hell knows how, and ensured to stay on the throne under the guise of being my brother's regent: he will come of age within a few months, and once he does, he'll be Fire Lord in her stead. One step out of line, however, and…"

"You keep saying that, Azula, but I doubt Ursa would kill Zuko…" said Iroh. Azula scoffed.

"I'm her daughter. She banished me. I know she prefers him over me, but that hardly makes her an innocent person, let alone is she incapable of protecting her own interests to the point of sacrificing her own family," Azula snarled.

"Why did your mother banish you?" the warrior's sister asked. "That's awful!"

"She found a petty excuse, started an argument I didn't back down from. Demanded that I should be taught respect and tasked me with tracking down the Avatar and handing him over to her to prove my loyalty and worth to my nation," Azula explained, rolling her eyes. "I have no intentions of doing such a thing, if you expected otherwise: I don't trust that woman. Even calling her my mother revolts me. That she killed my father is…"

"Now, now, Azula…" Iroh said, patting his niece's back. She flinched away from his touch, but attempted to focus again.

"She sent my uncle Iroh with me, because he's yet another threat to her ill-gotten throne," Azula declared. "The two of us were investigating, looking into both my father and grandfather's deaths, if independently… and she knew it was only a matter of time before we unearthed solid evidence of foul play. Granted, the situation is as fishy as can be, as things stand, but…"

"But she has managed to play everything off as a coincidence so far," said Iroh, grimacing. "I wasn't in the Fire Nation when she took the throne… by the time I arrived, she was much too comfortable on her seat. I couldn't do anything but offer my assistance to Azula, and hope to guide Zuko away from her, but…"

"But you'd never succeed at that," Azula said, bitterly. "My brother is the only one who's better off with this arrangement. I don't think I ever saw him quite so happy."

"I guess he's the favorite kid?" Sokka asked. Azula scoffed.

"Hers? Yes. Iroh's, too. He's stuck with me because he has no choice."

"Oi! I do appreciate you, Azula! We've been scheming together for three years now!"

"That's no evidence to contradict my claim," Azula said, dismissively. Iroh's outrage amused the Avatar and his female friend slightly, though the warrior only continued to watch the Princess pointedly. "My father did favor me, and he wasn't kind to my brother. Neither was my grandfather, who outright asked for him to be executed, so…"

"What a messed-up family," sighed the warrior, shaking his head. "So you two don't like each other but are stuck together, your mom is in the Fire Nation grooming your brother into being her perfect brainwashed tool, and your dad is dead, and your grandpa is dead too because he wanted to have your brother killed? Is that how it is?"

"Uh… yeah. More or less," Azula said. He sighed.

"And what exactly do you expect to accomplish next?" he asked. "You want Aang to help you take down your mom? You're on some quest for revenge or something?"

"You could say that, yes," Azula said. He scoffed.

"And how do I know you're not simply going to hand him over to Fire Nation authorities, so your banishment gets revoked and you're free to live your life as you wish?"

"You'd know it if you'd known me for longer than you have," Azula replied, with a dry grin. "I'm no fool: I don't long for my mother's approval, I want her held accountable for her crimes. Even if I went home, and she pretended to love me and accept me because I brought her the Avatar, it would amount to nothing more than a pretense. Within another two years she'd find another excuse to get rid of me, and where would I find anyone else to help me depose her then?"

"But the problem is your mom, right? Not your brother," said the Avatar, tapping his chin. "So if he becomes Fire Lord… wouldn't we have to fight him instead?"

"You don't truly believe that my mother, after all her scheming, would set down her crown and throne and leave my brother to rule without her 'guidance', do you?" Azula asked, skeptical. "She'll control him, without his awareness. A puppeteer, you could say, ensuring the Fire Lord doesn't go astray, meaning, she intends to retain his loyal to her at all costs. My brother isn't the problem, it's her."

"And how do you plan on defeating her, without causing him any trouble?" the warrior asked. "I feel like if we help you guys, and you're not tricking us at all, we'll end up going from one problem to the next: take out the Fire Lady, and her son will follow on her footsteps and set the whole world on fire. Right?"

"That's exactly why our intent isn't as violent as you may think," Iroh said, with a weak grin. "I assumed the Avatar would be old… perhaps too old to be of use. But he's young! And, I'm sure, inexperienced with all four elements. Right?"

"Uh… I'm afraid so," the Avatar admitted, with a lukewarm grin.

"Then the course is clear! He must learn all the elements before becoming the protector of harmony in our world," Iroh grinned. "Though… I don't know if you can learn waterbending here. Last I knew, Fire Lord Azulon had…"

"Attacked our tribes, countless times?" asked the warrior, scowling.

"I'm the last waterbender left in the South Pole," the sister announced, sadly. Azula grimaced.

"Then… ugh. It means he'd have to learn up north instead," said Azula, glancing at Iroh… to find him grinning madly, of course. "Well, then. Out with it. You have an idea, don't you?"

"A lot of them, actually," he giggled. "Pakku is in the North! And Bumi in the Earth Kingdom. I can be the firebending teacher, and…"

"Bumi?!" exclaimed the Avatar, his eyes wide. "Y-you know Bumi? Wait, how do you know Bumi? Is Bumi still alive?! I thought I'd been frozen for a hundred years!"

"Uh… huh. That explains your youth, at least," said Iroh. Azula grimaced, resolving to explain more about that particular matter later. "And… yes. I believe King Bumi is well past his hundred years. If you know him… then all the better! I can see to it that you train and develop your skills as the Avatar little by little, young man. What do you say?"

"Well, I say we have to think about it," the warrior declared, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not to look a gift ostrich horse in the beak, but…"

"Can I come too?!"

"K-Katara?!"

Despite the Avatar appeared nervous, it seemed he would agree to their proposal, and the waterbender was absolutely stoked about joining them, too: the warrior was the only one with obvious doubts, and while Azula held his accusatory, distrustful gaze with relentless defiance, Iroh only laughed and clapped cheerfully.

"It seems we have quite the journey ahead of us!" he declared, deliberately ignoring the warrior's obvious displeasure, focusing only on the far more cheerful and agreeable response of the waterbender.

Azula guessed the warrior boy might be trouble, and yet she couldn't blame him for it in the least: the readiness of the other two to trust them was surprisingly agreeable and yet proof of how innocent and gullible they were. They were rather fortunate that they had no ill-intentions indeed, Azula reasoned, after she returned to her ship that day: the soldiers welcomed her, ever ready to obey her every command. The highly questionable Fire Lady, in whose veins did not flow any royal blood, had failed to charm every soldier to her favor. Where she had hoped, no doubt, to get rid of her most dangerous opponents by tossing them in the sea with the least reliable soldiers in her army, her decision had been double-edged: Azula and Iroh had joined forces, and within less than a few months, the entire ship answered to them, and only to them. It was one starting point of rebellion, one Azula hoped they'd be able to expand further… but only after they gained enough political relevance and power to challenge her mother's rule, and her brother's, if it came to that. The Avatar was the key to achieving that goal.

Noise by the ramp surprised Azula as she paced on deck. She stepped close to the ship's railing to find the warrior boy, naturally, had approached the ship. What did he want? Shouldn't he be packing, or resting, before setting out on their long voyage?

Despite her better sense told her otherwise, Azula made her way down to the ramp indeed, finding the soldiers had been reluctant to let him through. The warrior pouted rather childishly, and she sighed as she stepped between the soldiers and himself, startling him when he failed to notice her presence.

"Do you need something?" she asked, directly. His childish expression faded quickly.

"Just… wanted to talk," he said, raising his hands defensively. "I won't do anything bad, I promise."

"Hmm. You promise, then," Azula said, releasing a breath before ordering the soldiers to let him through.

The two made their way to the deck, a small walk Azula found no wonders in, considering she'd traversed the full extent of her ship countless times in the past. To the warrior beside her, however, it was likely the first Fire Nation battleship he had ever entered. His amazement was apparent… and yet he voiced no compliments, containing his amazement as best he could. And while he studied his future means of transportation, Azula studied him: he was perhaps slightly older than her, and yet burdened with a much more dangerous duty than he himself had likely ever realized. Where Azula would have been forced to stay in her brother's mediocre shadow, if her mother had her way, this young warrior was expected to protect his people at all costs…

"So… what do you need to talk about?" she asked him, as they came to a halt on the deck. He grimaced.

"Well… I'm just worried," he said, earnestly. "Look, I'm sorry for what your mom's done, and I really don't know how I'd react if anything like that had ever happened to me, but… are you against the Fire Nation? Or just against her?"

"You're wondering if I'll want to continue the war after she's defeated and replaced?" Azula asked. He swallowed hard and nodded.

"I just… don't know where your loyalties really lie. And I think I should, before we join you in this trip. I don't know if I can trust you."

"I never did ask you to trust me, did I?" she said, plainly, but he scoffed.

"Just by asking us to join forces with you, or rather, asking Aang… you're silently asking me to entrust the best hope this world has to you. Maybe you didn't say the words directly, but you're asking for trust anyway. And…"

"And you'd be a fool to give it to me blindly when we've only just met," Azula concluded. The warrior released a breath… perhaps relieved she understood his plight. "My father trusted my mother, no doubt: she took advantage of that trust to kill him. Do you really think I'd be so stupid as to ask for trust… or to give it?"

He froze in place, their eyes holding each other's gaze firmly. Both of them had been through their own set of struggles, she realized that… but if he had come here looking for a heartfelt speech about how good a person she was, he was out of luck. Azula had no intentions to…

He smiled.

She blinked twice, and then he sighed, hanging his head while setting his hands on his hips.

"You know what? I can live with that," he said. Azula raised her eyebrows, puzzled.

"With… not being trusted?" she asked. He nodded.

"The Avatar's dead-sure his bison thing can fly, you know?" he said. "If you or your creepy uncle do anything on this trip that we can't accept… well, I'll be grabbing my two dorks, climbing on that saddle and getting as far from you guys as possible. And as you're not going to ask for trust, or give it, that should be fine by you, right?"

"It is, actually," Azula said, simply. "While I'd rather have the Avatar on my side… it's not a necessity either, despite Iroh is certain of the opposite. We're loyal to our own causes and purposes, and there's no reason why it should be any different. This is an alliance of convenience, nothing more."

"Sounds right to me," he said, extending his hand towards her. "By the way… my name is Sokka. I heard your uncle calling your name before, so… figured it was a good idea to tell you mine."

"Sokka, then?" she repeated, before raising a hand to clasp his. "Very well. Let's… not trust each other."

"Perfect," Sokka grinned.

It was an odd arrangement… yet one that brought a smile to Azula's face just as well. She had the strange feeling she could grow used to the warrior's presence, despite everything…

Their long journey began on the next day, after the three new passengers climbed aboard the ship, once they said their farewells to their fellow tribespeople. The journey to the North Pole would be long, and Azula wondered if those three would be able to endure the trappings of the steel ship without complaint… strangely, the Avatar was the most restless of the group, often taking off on gliding trips unless they neared any Fire Nation watchtowers. The waterbender had been quite eager to manipulate the seawater they were coursing through… but just as expected, she wasn't skilled enough to bend anything impressive yet.

The warrior was the least restless one, Azula had thought… until he happened upon her training with Iroh on the ship's deck one day. The old man often told her to take her drills calmly, to focus on her basics… but she didn't have time to take it easy. Her blue fire needed to be strengthened further, that was all there was to it…

"The source of firebending… isn't aggression," Iroh had said to her, on one afternoon. Azula scoffed and glared.

"Really? And that's why the way to conjure fire is by hugging people, right?"

"You misunderstand," Iroh sighed. "But hopefully you'll see in time. Firebending is an art… it isn't merely a means to an end. You can channel your rage through it… but that won't make you any stronger than you would be if you fought calmly, in direct contact with your inner fire."

"That's too bad," Azula hissed back. Iroh shook his head and made to leave… only stopping on his tracks upon finding someone stood by the threshold of the tower, watching them.

Sokka flinched and stepped out of the way, offering Iroh a guilty grin before glancing at Azula. The exiled Princess scowled at first, but surely he didn't bear any nefarious intent in mind, going by that goofy smile across his face.

"That… that was pretty impressive," he said, biting his lip. "Your fire… it's pretty cool, you know? That it's blue… it's not like everyone else's, right?"

"Indeed," Azula replied, bluntly.

"It's a sign of strength, I figure? Or something?" Sokka continued. "Well, whatever it may be a sign of… you're pretty good with your fire. Which, well, isn't something I ever thought I'd say to a firebender, but times change…"

"I guess they do," Azula said, raising her eyebrows. "I suppose you're quite bored if you're watching my attempts to train…"

"Well… bored and a little curious," Sokka admitted, grinning awkwardly. "I thought I was ready to fight you before, but I guess I wasn't. I just… wanted to ask if it's okay if I train with you once in a while? You know, polish my skills…"

"Polish your skills?" Azula repeated, a hint of amusement crossing her face. "Why… I suppose that'd be fine, yes."

Sokka grinned brightly and rushed inside to collect his weapons when she told him to. By the time he returned, he was stretching and smirking proudly.

"Well, I sure hope you're ready, Princess. You haven't seen what I can do so far, so I think I have an advantage," he said, raising his club in her direction. Azula smirked too.

"Oh, the horror," she said, sarcastically. He flinched as she took up a stance. "Give me your best shot. You'll regret it if you don't."

And he did regret it, of course: as much as he tried, he couldn't seem to avoid the power of those blue flames. He dodged clumsily, attacked even more clumsily, but to Azula's amusement, he never asked for respite. He didn't beg for her to stop attacking. He was stubborn… and that was a good thing.

She defeated him on every round that day. He seemed discouraged for it, lying against the ship's railing while breathing heavily, his body overheated despite it was still rather cold. She approached him with a slightly more sympathetic smile than intended, taking her seat beside him.

"You're not very experienced in combat. That's all there is to it," she said. "Train with me some more, and you'll be able to withstand the strongest of firebenders without breaking a sweat."

"You sure?" Sokka asked, grimacing. "I thought I'd made a fool of myself…"

"Oh, you did, but it was a lot of fun. I can stand for a few more reasons to be amused," she said, grinning at him. He snorted and laughed, shaking his head.

"Great. I'm a laughingstock for the Princess. Just what I hoped for," he said, dropping his head against the railing.

"And what else were you hoping for?" she asked.

"Uh… respect of equals?" he said. She snorted and laughed outright, surprising him. "What? You don't have to laugh that hard…"

"You and I aren't equals, Sokka. On any level," she said, smiling at him. "Not yet, anyway. More training is required, without a doubt, if that's what you're looking for."

"Then I'll oblige," he said, smirking too. "You think I'll back away from a challenge just because you're pretty… uh, pretty intimidating?"

"Ah. I'm pretty?" she said. He grimaced and blushed.

"That's not what I said! I was just… looking for the right word!"

"Sure you were: pretty. That was it," Azula smiled. He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

"Is this a thing girls do?" he asked, flustered. "Turning a guy's words against him mercilessly just because they feel like it?"

"I have no idea. Bu it's certainly something I do," she said, grinning at him.

She hadn't had much of a chance to try her luck with boys so far – she had been banished three years ago, and too busy trying to harvest evidence to prove her mother was up to no good on the years before that to look for any suitable matches. But if she wasn't misreading the situation… this warrior might actually harbor more than a wish for mutual respect for her. She wouldn't mind it much, if he did. He was easy on the eyes himself, there was no denying that…

"Guess I'll have to get used to it, then?" he said, smiling back at her. "Or… maybe I could, uh, try my luck at it too? You know, if you ever say I'm handsome…!"

"I'd never say that," Azula declared, proudly. Sokka scoffed.

"You could say 'hand', and right after, 'some', and then I could misinterpret it just as you did right now…" he said. Azula laughed.

"How so?" she smiled. "'Get your hand some ice, because I burned it so badly'?"

"See? There you go. You think I'm handsome too," Sokka declared. Azula laughed again, dropping her head against the railing as he smiled at her. "Alright, jokes aside… you have a nice smile, you know?"

"I'm not taking any of it as a joke, mind you," Azula declared. "But, truthfully I… haven't had much of a reason to smile for the past six years."

"Yeah… I can tell," Sokka whispered. "And I don't blame you. Though… at first I figured you got along better with Iroh than you do. You two seemed to be on the same page when you were at the tribe's doorstep… guess I just jumped to conclusions, huh?"

"I did say Zuko was his favorite, didn't I?" Azula said, her smile waning. "Truthfully… my mother assumed we would never be able to work together. That's why she exiled us this way, and she would have been correct in her assessment… if only Iroh and I weren't slightly sharper than she hoped we'd be. Even if we can't stand each other's guts, the bigger picture is the priority. Whatever happens after we've dealt with my mother, Iroh and I will work together until she's defeated. That's simply how it is."

"Your family really feels… awful," said Sokka, grimacing. "Not just that your mother's the worst person in the planet right now, apparently… but you can't even rely on your uncle even if you've been traveling with him for three years? I… can't imagine how difficult it must be to live this way."

"Your people have a rather different culture from mine," Azula said, simply. "Family… matters more to you. Far more than it matters to us, apparently."

"You're trying to do right by yours, though. In your own way," Sokka said.

"Am I?" Azula said. "You weren't wrong to say this is a quest of revenge. I don't even know how far it will take me, and even if it's my father I hope to avenge, I'll…"

"You'll fight and maybe even kill your own family?" Sokka asked, frowning. Azula shrugged.

"Is there any other choice?" she asked. "My mother isn't a firebender, but she will have all the strongest soldiers of our nation defending her. She will gain all the advantages she can obtain, anything to stay on the throne, or close enough to it, once my brother takes office. How can I pretend I'll defeat her through anything less than that?"

"She's still your mother," said Sokka, eyeing her with uncertainty.

"He was her husband. I am her daughter. Didn't stop her," Azula said, closing her eyes.

Sokka swallowed hard but conceded once he fell silent. Perhaps he knew there were some things in life you couldn't fix just by talking them out… perhaps he knew there were some people no one could fix with just a heartfelt conversation. If so, she certainly had been rather lucky to have it with him, rather than anyone who might have been more forceful about making her abide by their ideals…

"Will you… train with me again tomorrow?" Azula asked, softly. He blinked blankly but glanced at her with a weak grin.

"If you'll have me, sure thing," he said, grinning. Azula smiled and nodded.

They continued to train hard across the next weeks of their long journey: the weather changed as they progressed north, prompting Sokka to occasionally train with sleeveless shirts and, on one fatefully hot day, outright shirtless. It was outrageous… and yet she had been so distracted he had nearly beaten her for the first time on the day he had first done so. Utterly embarrassing.

She spent more time with him than she ever meant to, than she did with most everyone else. Iroh had taken to spending more time with the Avatar, and he offered the waterbender frequent advice, but the warrior… he seemed to be drawn to her. To find more common ground with her, to feel safer with her than with the soldiers, or her uncle… and it was strange. It felt right, even if her mind said it was wrong. For she was growing used to him… and she didn't think that was wise. She was supposed to stand strong, to need nothing, no one… and she certainly didn't need this boy. But… did he need her? Sometimes, when he gazed at her with those clear blue eyes after their sparring was done, she wondered if he did. And she also wondered what that would mean for her, if that was the case.

The Northern Water Tribe was magnificent, yet a dreadful mirror that reflected how miserable and downtrodden his own tribe was, back home. Sokka had been amazed by it until that reality had dawned on him… he gazed at Azula, finding she seemed utterly unconcerned with the regal glory of the location, focusing instead on preserving her body heat as best she could. She was used to this opulence… if anything, she probably felt at home with it. It suited her, Sokka thought, to a fault… what if she dressed up in a Water Tribe parka? Then it could match her blue fire, why not…?

He shook his head quickly as they were ferried into the depths of the tribe on a canoe that Iroh had somehow arranged for them. He'd been having strange thoughts about Azula for a while now, thoughts he was sure he shouldn't have. She was so driven, so determined, so set on her goals… becoming her sparring partner had been a good idea, both for her and himself, as even though he had never defeated her, his combat abilities had increased greatly with her as his opponent, or at least, he thought they had. He had more stamina and he had learned many things regarding how to read a bender's next movements. Seeing as she was a firebender, he expected that what he'd learned would come in handy in the future.

But that was it, wasn't it? He'd said it himself: he didn't trust her, and neither did she trust him. As far as he could tell, she didn't trust anyone, not even her uncle… and considering what she'd been through, he didn't blame her for that. Yet the more he sympathized with her, the less he distrusted her… was that healthy? Was it a good idea to like her better than he should have…? With every glance he stole in her direction, he knew in his mind it wasn't, but in his heart…

They were welcomed with pomp and splendor, and Sokka felt more and more out of place with each passing moment. He wasn't sure why he felt so inadequate, or why he felt the need to stand beside Azula throughout the whole matter… perhaps he feared this was some sort of trap, too. That the northerners would consider them traitors, and would capture Aang, Azula and Iroh and send them giftwrapped to the Fire Lady… even the welcoming smiles of the local Princess, who seemed to get along fairly well with Katara as they sat together during the welcoming feast, didn't reassure him at all. And the balding, bitter man Iroh had proposed as Aang's new waterbending teacher didn't help matters much either.

Maybe he was simply used to expecting the worst from people, at this point: on the next day, Master Pakku accepted Aang as his student gladly, and rejected Katara, outright, for he refused to teach women how to fight. Sokka had spent most that day waiting for Azula to finish her meetings with Iroh and the tribe's leaders when Katara stormed in, revealing her outrageous struggle to him.

"He's a jerk! Why wouldn't I be allowed to fight just because I'm a girl?" Katara exclaimed. "He wants me to learn healing? I've never healed anyone with bending! I know other techniques to do that, but not with bending! What if I can't heal someone, and I waste all my valuable time here learning something I can't even do?!"

"Uh… I don't know?" said Sokka, grimacing: the door swung open then, and Katara glanced at Azula and Aang, who had arrived at the same time.

"You okay, Katara…?" Aang asked. Katara huffed.

"Of course I'm not! That Master Pakku is the worst!" she exclaimed.

"Why's that?" Azula asked, raising her eyebrows. "I suppose I shouldn't take for granted that any of my uncle's associates are worthwhile, but… I had hoped he wasn't completely worthless."

"Well, he thinks I can't learn waterbending combat because I'm a girl," said Katara. Sokka grimaced, glancing at Azula with uncertainty, wondering what her reaction would be…

"Wow. And here I assumed these people were civilized," Azula said, with a sarcastic grin. Katara grinned brightly at the obvious, expected support from a successful, powerful female warrior. "So much opulence and fancy halls, and yet they're the most backwards nation I've seen, if this is how it is."

"Well, it's not like we were much better off down south…" Katara admitted, shooting a glare at Sokka. "Someone had a thing for telling me I should stay back and let him handle all the fighting, or, how was it? 'Leave it to a girl to mess everything up'?"

"Hey! Not like I was wrong, was I? You kept soaking my clothes!" Sokka pouted.

"Not the point! Me being a girl has nothing to do with whatever I can do with my bending!" Katara declared. "And that stupid, uptight, stick-in-the-mud Master Pakku…"

"You… seriously said that kind of stuff?"

Sokka froze in place: it felt like his heart had stopped upon hearing Azula speak with such stark disapproval to him. He grimaced under her skeptical stare: just what he needed, the girl he liked would think he was a…

The girl he liked? That thought alone jumpstarted his heart again immediately.

"It's not… it's not really like that?" Sokka smiled awkwardly. "I mean, big brothers always mess with their sisters, right?"

"Right," said Azula, dryly. Sokka grimaced: she didn't believe him. Oh, hell, she didn't believe him. She turned towards Katara again, though, with a proud grin. "Well, then… I guess you need a solution for your dilemma. And I think I need a new sparring partner too, so…"

"W-what?! Hey! That's not…!"

"What do you say we give that Master Pakku a rather alarming surprise?" Azula suggested, smirking at Katara. Sokka could swear he had never seen his sister's eyes glisten so brightly.

"I have no idea what you have in mind… but the answer is yes. Absolutely, yes," Katara said, beaming.

Master Pakku would obviously expect that the stubborn waterbender would rebel against him. Thus, Azula recruited even Aang for her plan: the Avatar was perplexed over his role, but apparently, walking at night across several ice streets, on his way to a supposed hiding place, was as good a plan as any.

Sokka, of course, was barred from joining the plan. Azula wasn't sure why she was so outraged, she wasn't completely surprised that women would be dismissed as irrelevant in combat by certain cultures… but perhaps it had something to do with the suspicion that he wouldn't have held back against her, not even on their first encounter. He had sparred with her constantly, failing to defeat her… and not once had he voiced any dismissing words or thoughts like those Katara had credited to him. Maybe it was true, and he was merely an annoying older brother… or maybe it wasn't true, and he simply didn't see Azula as a woman.

And why, oh, why did that thought bother her so damn much?

She was being an idiot, she knew, but she had no time to think about that. Instead, she encouraged Katara to step closer to the nearest stream, and the waterbender did as much, most willingly.

"Now, then… follow my lead. Only, bring water with you, and perform the movements with me," Azula decided. Katara nodded.

"Then… I'll learn fire-waterbending?" she smiled. Azula shrugged.

"Seems like it. Now, then, pay attention to the sequence of my movements… every last one of them."

Azula shifted from kata to kata, conjuring firebending with her renowned expertise. Katara swallowed hard as the short sequence was finished, and she sought to repeat it, carrying water with her: the result wasn't particularly impressive, and yet the water had obeyed her more than when they had been on the ship. Katara grinned brightly at her, and Azula smirked.

"Let's keep going, then," she said. "I have the feeling you'll learn a lot of fire-waterbending for sure."

"Thank you for this, really," Katara laughed. "I know it's not the traditional way, but… who cares, right? If the traditional waterbending styles are meant to be for men, I'd rather find my own way to bend instead."

"Sounds about right," Azula smirked. "Alright, next sequence…"

"Oh, hey, guys!" Aang's voice came from the ceiling of a building: he airbent himself down to the river and smiled peacefully, despite he was, quite apparently, nervous. "Want some help? I can give you a few tips, Katara…"

"No need for that, Avatar," Azula said, raising her voice unnecessarily. "Outdated bending will never defeat the Fire Nation. I'll teach her a far better combat method, so much better you'll be begging her to teach you, rather than the other way around, once I'm through with her…"

"What do you think you're doing?!"

Azula turned, staring at the elderly waterbending master with nonchalance as he stood at a bridge, overlooking their alleged hideout. Katara tensed up, and Aang fell off his air scooter, grimacing at Pakku's obvious loss of temper.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Azula said, simply. "I'll teach her combat waterbending. Why? You'd rather to do it yourself?"

"What a childish claim… your culture is different from ours, Princess Azula!" Pakku declared. "Don't expect to impose your values here!"

"Oh, but I want her to teach me. I asked you, you said no, she offered, and I'm taking her up on that offer," Katara said, simply. "And hey! You have no power to stop her!"

"Unless you have anything else to add, feel free to walk away," Azula said, waving a hand dismissively at Pakku. "Katara has to learn to defend herself as best she can, after all. We may eventually be caught in a path of violence, and she refuses to be dead weight for the rest of us. Who knows? She might even end up saving the Avatar's life…"

"Don't ridicule me! That sort of notion could never…!"

"You know? Maybe this is why they're still winning."

Sokka's voice startled everyone, breaking across the near-scripted encounter with complete naturality: he had sneaked up on Pakku, and he stood beside him, glancing between his friends and the waterbending master, who turned towards him in confused outrage.

"You saw her, didn't you? She's a powerhouse," Sokka said, smiling at Azula. "A girl that strong… she might be the greatest firebender in the world, don't you think? She can even bend blue fire! When had you ever heard of something like that? And you know what? Maybe some of the girls you've refused to teach could have been as strong as Princess Azula was. Then… maybe the Fire Nation could've been stopped before the war escalated this much. Meanwhile, the Fire Nation is perfectly willing to train their girls, and Azula is an example: if she weren't a rebel, she'd be fighting against us, and I can tell you, that would suck big time. She's the strongest girl I've ever met… and I have no doubts she'd kick my ass, and yours, and everyone else's, if given a chance. Maybe… maybe you should give my sister a chance, too. If a girl's power can be the driving force to end this war… why not support her? Why not teach her? Why not break old traditions that don't make any sense?"

Pakku scowled, but confusion crossed his eyes. For a long moment, Sokka stood there, holding the man's gaze… only for Pakku to storm off without another word. Sokka grimaced and sighed, glancing at Katara apologetically after Pakku's footsteps were undoubtedly gone.

"Sorry, I… hoped I could help," he said. "Guess I messed it up."

"You didn't…!" Katara gasped, smiling brightly at Sokka. "You… you really think all that, Sokka? Or are you just trying to impress Azula, now…?"

"W-wha…?! Hey! Of course I think so! All I just said is true!" Sokka exclaimed, blushing as both Katara and Aang laughed.

"Well… even if he won't teach you, you can learn with me and Azula!" Aang said, beaming at Katara as the two of them started on their way back to their given rooms, across the bridge Sokka stood at. "Teaching waterbending with firebending… it sounds fun, right?"

"It was! I don't know how effective it'll be, but it was!" Katara grinned, and she continued to chat animatedly with Aang as they walked back to their quarters.

Sokka stayed behind, waiting for Azula to reach the bridge too. She released a breath as she stepped towards him, stopping at arm's length.

"All you said was true, for sure," she said. "Whether you truly believe it or not, it is. That the driving force in the war right now is a female non-bender ought to speak lengths about how no one should be underestimating women. It's the entire reason my mother got away with everything she did until now…"

"True… and I won't lie to you, okay? I think you've had people lying a lot to you throughout your life. I don't want to be like them," Sokka whispered. "I did think, back before I knew you, that women had some very specific duties… and men had other duties, too. That's how I was raised, and I did say a lot of stupid things to Katara because of it. I mean… it doesn't mean I'm a monster, I hope, but… I know now it was wrong. After all I've trained with you, and all the time I've spent with you, now I'm… I'm able to look back and know I messed up. I shouldn't have said the things I did to Katara, not even if I was just trying to be an annoying older brother…"

"If you truly know that… then I guess it means you should come up with more creative ways to annoy your sister, from this day forward," Azula said. And Sokka grinned brightly once he saw she was smiling, too. "I'll choose to believe you truly have changed… because if you somehow don't think I'm a girl, and that's why you trained with me for all this time…"

"W-what?! Heck, that's what you thought?! Hell, no, absolutely not, Azula…!"

"I mean, I'd hope you wouldn't think that, you did say I was pretty, so…"

They both talked over each other, and only stopped when the other did. A light laugh left both their lips, and Sokka smiled fondly at her.

"I do think you are pretty, you know?" he said. "Though… I guess that's not too relevant to the conversation, is it?"

"Isn't it?" Azula whispered, softly. "You think I'm pretty… and the most powerful firebender in the world, too?"

"Uh… yeah. I think that sums it up," Sokka grinned. Azula laughed again, shaking her head.

"I guess I should thank you, if anything. For what you did just now, and… for everything else," Azula whispered, gazing at him intensely. Sokka's chest tightened: everything else? What did that even mean…?

The question vanished in his head once she stepped closer, leaning forward… and he followed suit, catching her lips with his own clumsily. He didn't really know how to do this, he'd never done it before… and neither had she. But they stood where they did, under the dark skies in the North Pole, sharing a strange, sincere, peaceful moment where no wars weighed on their minds, no conflicts, no pursuits of revenge…

He held her in place, feeling closer to Azula than ever before, and not only because they were kissing: despite their starting point had suggested otherwise, by now he found himself trusting her, wholeheartedly, even if he shouldn't have. For even if the Fire Nation would never reassure him, he thought he understood her loyalty better after today. It wasn't a matter of nations, not for her… it was a matter of standing by those you treasured, come what may. And while she shouldn't have grown fond of them, for a myriad of reasons, she wouldn't have helped Katara so readily if she hadn't felt a powerful kinship with all three of them by now. Perhaps he could see through Azula better now, if just a little…

Surprisingly, Pakku relented on the next day: he took to training Katara personally, freeing Azula to spar with her and Aang on evenings, so the waterbenders could test their skills against firebenders like herself. Mornings, however – if they could be called that, it was always damn dark in this pole, as far as Azula could tell – were much more exciting: she'd spend the whole time with Sokka, training with him just as well… and occasionally doing something other than training, too. They were still young, and they had much left to learn… and as it was, they were quite busy learning how to kiss properly. And with every joyful grin their secretive exchanges elicited in Sokka, Azula's heart soared too. Suddenly it was all too easy to forget she wasn't merely taking a trip with friends, seeing the world, and that she had a rather important task in mind…

She guessed everyone had figured out what was brewing between her and Sokka by the time Iroh decided they'd do best to leave already, once all alliances were settled, and the two waterbenders had learned plenty by Pakku's standards. They didn't walk hand-in-hand, nor did they make any sorts of affectionate gestures in public… but Sokka never stopped smiling goofily at her. It wasn't unpleasant, of course. She could withstand it, no doubt. Though she did fear that, if this kept up, her uncle would congratulate her, and even offer unwanted love advice… ugh, just the idea was embarrassing and sickening.

Yet their new journey was different, now that they were together, in some strange way. She shared her meals with Sokka, visited him in his cabin, and he visited her in hers. They spent occasional afternoons napping together, or talking, or simply cuddling… and all of it had been smooth, perfectly agreeable, filling her chest with a joyful warmth she was sure she had never experienced before. She shouldn't lower her guard so much, she knew that… but Sokka felt safe. He was a good person… he couldn't lie, it wasn't in his system. And he valued people… he treasured them. That was why he could hold her so closely, why his strong heartbeats could soothe her, why his voice sent blissful shivers down her spine…

It was slowly becoming the best period of her life. She didn't need anything but his sweet good night kisses, and his stubbornness as they trained together, and his clumsy flirty remarks that charmed her even if her common sense told her she shouldn't find them all that amusing. She wanted more of this, more of him…

Until they reached Omashu, and reality slammed into her with the force of an avalanche once they glimpsed the red-and-black banner of the Fire Nation dangling at those gates.

"She made another move. She's… she's going to take more and more Earth Kingdom bastions until everything is under her control!" Azula had exclaimed, fists tightened as she glared at the city.

"Calm yourself, Azula," Iroh said, breathing deeply. "We… we may yet find a way in."

"Bumi…" Aang grimaced, lowering his gaze. "We're too late to help…"

"I doubt it. I'm sure we can get in somehow," Sokka said, stubbornly. "The Fire Nation can't be that infallible. And hey! They probably didn't kill your friend Bumi either, Aang, because if he's king, like Iroh says, he's too valuable to kill anyway! So that means we have a chance to save him, alright?"

"You're right… you're right!" Aang said, frowning with determination. "I'll find Bumi. I mean, I hope I can recognize him even now, but I'll do it! And I know just the way to get inside the city!"

The way inside, as it happens, included a trip through sewers that Iroh, naturally, refrained from taking part of. He claimed he'd stay outside, with their soldiers, ensuring to stay hidden while he left the difficult job to the youngsters since they'd, allegedly, blend in easier. No, Azula didn't believe for a second that he was doing it for any other reason besides being appalled by the notion of waddling through literal rivers of shit.

But the more shocking moment of the experience came afterwards: as much as they tried to sneak through the city unnoticed, they failed to be stealthy enough to avoid hostilities by Fire Nation soldiers. And while Aang and Katara managed to keep most at bay with their bending, a sudden flurry of projectiles cast towards Sokka when he was busy parrying a soldier's flames with his club, caused Azula to leap forward and banish them away from him with a blast of blue flames… and a familiar voice suddenly spoke, in the darkness of Omashu's night streets:

"Azula?"

Those projectiles. That voice. Azula froze in place as she raised her gaze to find a silhouette so familiar, and yet so much more grown than she had last seen it. It couldn't be anyone else but her, though…

"Mai," she spoke, swallowing hard. No, she wasn't ready to confront her former friend, she truly wasn't, but if it came to it…

Mai seemed to snarl and rush towards them: that was Azula's first sign that something was different. Aang and Katara geared up to defend themselves, but Azula stretched her arm before them, stopping her new friends from attacking the old, who merely raced through streets, silently asking her to follow. And so Azula did, leading her three companions while ignoring and disregarding the soldiers shouting after them – as well as Mai's mother, who appeared to be aghast that her daughter had rushed off somewhere, straight towards the action.

After much running through maze-like streets, they reached a small, empty hut that stank of stale fish, a smell Azula found most distressing, but it seemed that very stench would serve to ward off the soldiers, as per Mai's logic. She ushered them inside and then they waited: the troops rushed past, searching further down the streets, assuming no one would be hiding within the old market's fishing storage room.

"My parents shut this place down about a week ago," Mai explained. "I knew it'd be empty. I try not to pay attention to their boring business, but…"

"Why would they even shut anything down?" Azula asked, aghast. "Mai, what are you doing here?"

"So… she really is your friend?" Sokka asked, with an awkward smile. "Not that I doubted you, Azula, but maybe a little heads-up would've been nice."

"I didn't think we'd have time to introduce you all when escaping from rabid soldiers, mind you," Azula sighed, shaking her head. Mai raised her eyebrows.

"Huh. You found yourself a boyfriend, then?" she asked. Both Sokka and Azula flinched and blushed, grateful that the darkness of the room wouldn't allow anyone to pick up on their reactions all that easily.

"He's…! W-well…" Azula mumbled. Sokka pouted.

"Not really like we've discussed what terms we want to use, so, uh, I mean…"

"Yes. He is her boyfriend," Katara said, with a blunt smile. "And I'm his sister. And this is…"

"Their friend," Azula cut off, once Aang's introduction came next. "Just as she is Mai, my old friend from school."

"I'm surprised you've made so many new friends, actually. You were never much good at that," Mai said, bluntly. "But it's a good thing, I guess, so… congratulations. Invite me to the wedding."

"We're a little too young to get married, right?" Sokka said, with a small voice. "But, well, if you wait for a few years, surely…"

"Surely?" Azula asked, startled.

"W-well, I mean, once I convince you I'm worth marrying, right?"

To Azula's surprise, Mai snorted. She couldn't remember when was the last time she ever heard her friend laugh – maybe she never had, actually. She turned a confused stare towards Mai, who shook her head sadly.

"Must be fun, huh? Not having everyone choosing your life for you," she said. "Not that I complain too much about my lot, I could be worse off, but… I'm not in Omashu because I want to be, for starters. The armies took the city a few months ago. My father was offered the position of governor, and he accepted it without a second thought. We've been here for a week and I already want to die if it means release from this drab place…"

"My mother…" Azula said. Mai tensed up immediately. "This was all her doing, obviously. Do you know anything else about her plans? Anything…?"

"What are you trying to do?" Mai asked, eyeing Azula with unexpected compassion. "You're not… trying to rebel against her, are you? It hasn't gone well for those who've tried…"

"I'm not stupid enough to be scared just because of that," Azula hissed. "Surely there's still enough dissenters…"

"Less and less every day," Mai said. Azula's heart sank. "She… gets rid of them. One by one, without leaving a trace. The Fire Nation… it's terrorized by its leader, I guess."

"And Zuko is fine with that? He doesn't do anything to…?" Azula said. Mai's eyes dropped to the ground at those questions.

"Zuko… has changed. Not to the point where he isn't himself anymore, but…" Mai said, grimacing. "He's not the boy who'd save me from burning apples anymore. Without you, without your father, he's different. Your mother's doing, I guess…"

"So… what, you don't care about him anymore?" Azula asked. If Zuko had changed so much that even Mai, who had loved him since childhood, couldn't endure it anymore… just what kind of madness was taking place in the Fire Nation?

"I didn't say that. I know his true self, his better sides, are still somewhere deep inside him," Mai said, closing her eyes. "But all this power, all your mother's teachings… they've done him a lot of harm. He's become… arrogant. He gets away with anything he wants to do. He can even hurt servants in fits of rage, if he feels like it, and… and no one cares. The servants vanish after. I… I've been with him, for all these years since you were banished. Technically, this assignment of my father's is meant to cement my eventual marriage to him, but… I can't be as excited about it as I was when I didn't know what I was signing up for."

"Then… it's my mother's influence. That's all there is to it," said Azula, looking at Mai pleadingly. "Join us. Help us release the king, and come with us. You can help us fight my mother, get Zuko back to who he…"

Mai shook her head slowly, and Azula's heart sank.

"If you want the king, I'll give him to you. But I… I can't fight against him, Azula. I may not be happy with who he is anymore, but… I love your brother. I think I always will."

"What…? No! You can't…! Mai, if you love him, that's all the more reason to fight!" Azula exclaimed, exasperated. "You should want to bring him back to who he was when you fell in love with him, you should…!"

"I'm not gullible enough to believe that's possible," Mai said, startling Azula. "It would be grand, if he chose to turn back into who he was before, but… I won't hold my breath. Innocence can't be regained when lost. I fear as much, at least."

Azula gritted her teeth, tightening her fists so much her nails dug into her palms painfully. So that was it? That was her choice? It was outrageous… unbelievable. It made no sense to Azula, and yet the reality of the situation dawned on her further: her mother had damaged the Fire Nation on every possible level she could have. She had corrupted her brother's once-pure soul, and turned him into someone even Mai couldn't love as wholeheartedly as she once had. She had done away with every smidge of resistance until there was nothing left… and now she was taking over every remaining city in the Earth Kingdom, no doubt intending to conquer every city left in the large continent, perhaps to gift the whole world to her puppet son once he reached his seventeenth birthday.

Those thoughts were tormenting her when Mai led them all the way to the statue being erected at the top of Omashu's tallest pyramid: Azula scowled upon recognizing it was made in her mother's image. How she wished to be an earthbender and tear the damn thing to pieces…

But where the king, suspended in a strange coffin, should have rejoiced over the opportunity to leave the city without a hassle, he instead refused to do so, surprising the previously thrilled Aang, who stared at him in chagrin at those words. The king made up some strange excuses about neutral jing, doing nothing, as an option in fighting, and claimed his moment to reclaim his city would arrive in due time. In the end, their venture into the second largest city of the continent was but a waste of time, and a rather depressing one at that. Mai led them to the sewers again, and Azula glanced at her as she walked away, knowing her friend meant her no harm with her decision… but knowing, too, that there was no way she'd change her mind. Zuko was Mai's priority… no matter what kind of man he might have become.

"We should simply teach him firebending! What's the point of sticking to the damn cycle of elements anyway? The idea is for the Avatar to learn it all! He's had two perfectly capable firebenders to teach him for months and we haven't taught him a single thing because you won't allow it!"

"The cycle is what it is for good reason, Azula. An airbending Avatar needs to learn how to ground himself before he can firebend, lest he will lose control of his fire in virtue of how volatile the element and his bending in general will be. The same is true for everything else! A firebending Avatar learns waterbending to temper his flames before the air stokes them out of control…!"

"And it's always the fire that's the problem. Funny philosophies you have, Uncle."

"My philosophies are the product of study and tradition. This is done this way for good reason, Azula: the Avatar is a delicate entity, and any mistakes in his upbringing could result in a catastrophe!"

"Then what the hell are we going to do, huh? Please, enlighten me!" Azula exclaimed, rising to her feet as she glared at her Uncle. Sokka grimaced, sitting beside her by the fire as they'd been. "Are we going to stay put because we can't convince one damn earthbender out of thousands to teach the Avatar? Do we let my mother get away with everything she's done so far? I thought we had an agreement…!"

"And we still do," Iroh said, sternly. "But we both agreed to be lenient with each other, flexible, until everything was resolved. And you aren't being that right now…"

"Neither are you, Mr. Tradition and Study," Azula scowled, shaking her head and storming off without another word.

Aang and Katara shrank awkwardly by the fire as Iroh sighed. Sokka, of course, grimaced and stood up.

"I'll go after her," he said. "Though… I do think I agree with her. Not just about the bending, but… what are we going to do if we can't release the king? You were betting on these alliances to be strong enough to defeat the Fire Lady… but is anything that powerful?"

"I… don't know," Iroh admitted, quietly.

Sokka sighed and walked away, following the trail Azula had left through. She sat by the edge of the mountain they were camping at, glaring at Omashu in the distance, when he took his seat beside her again.

"Want to make out?" Azula blurted out, suddenly. Sokka nearly fell off the mountain altogether at the sudden question. "Can't say I'm in the mood… but it might help me feel better."

"Well… maybe after we talk?" Sokka said, with an awkward smile. Azula sighed and buried her face in her knees. Sokka reached out, caressing her head. "Azula…"

"I get it now. I… I understand how you must feel about me," she said. Sokka froze, unsure of what she would mean by that. Was she trying to end things between them, somehow…? Oh, he sure hoped she wasn't… "I've kept rambling on and on about my revenge quest… but I've never said I'm against anything the Fire Nation did in the war, have I?"

"Uh… yeah. I guess you haven't," Sokka admitted.

"It's because I wasn't," Azula said. Sokka frowned, his fingers slipping down from the top of her head to the nape of her neck. "I saw nothing wrong… with everything that we'd done. Because I wasn't raised to see it, so I didn't care to. Even when we met… I just wanted to end the war at all costs because I thought it'd be the worst blow against my mother. But now… if I'm feeling so lost, so angry over Omashu being hers, the people there must feel a thousand times worse. As must have everyone else, all across the Earth Kingdom, and the old Air Nomad bastions… though those aren't even alive to resent the Fire Lords for it. And yet it took this much for me to see it."

"At least you see it now," Sokka said, biting his lip.

"But I also see why you couldn't trust me. It's why I never encouraged you to trust me, too," Azula mumbled. "I'm like Mai, aren't I? It doesn't matter if I know the Fire Nation is wrong, or breaking balance, I… I just want to fight for it. I want to do what's right by it. Even… if it doesn't deserve that."

"Heh… I don't know if the whole nation deserves your hard work or not," Sokka said, lowering his hand to clasp hers. "But you're not like her. You're taking action, right? You want to fight back. She's given up, but you never did."

"I'm not fighting the right battle, though, am I?" Azula said, glancing at him. "It doesn't end just with dethroning her. Not if she's corrupting Zuko as Mai says she did. Whatever my uncle may say or think about him, my brother… he has an awful temper. He's hot-headed and impulsive, and there's no way mother's death or forceful removal would ever sit well with him. He needs to understand what's wrong with the Fire Nation, just as I have, but… he won't. He just… won't."

"Then maybe the Fire Nation needs another Fire Lord," Sokka said, gazing at her meaningfully. Azula frowned before shooting him a wary glance. "Or… is it Fire Lady in this case too? I'm sorry, I don't really know…"

"I… take the throne? Instead of Zuko?" Azula asked. Sokka shrugged.

"If you want to, make it a temporary thing," he said. "Until he's seen enough of the world, if you can trust him to do what's right by his people if he learns better. Or you can just depose him for good, and take the throne yourself to guide the Fire Nation to a better future… I mean, you could, right? You've been friends with us… you've helped us, protected us, given us a chance to fight back, even if for your own reasons. I… I know I shouldn't trust you, right? But… I think I do now. Even if I didn't mean to… I do."

"So, if I let you down, I'll hurt you," Azula concluded, with a grimace. "That's fun…"

"I'm sorry if it's a lot of pressure," Sokka smiled sadly. "But… come on, I wouldn't make out with someone I can't trust."

"Why not? Could be fun," Azula huffed.

"Wait, it 'could' be? Here I thought you'd say you're doing that with me," Sokka smirked.

To his relief, Azula smiled before leaning in to kiss him softly. Sokka returned the gesture, finishing off by pressing another kiss to the tip of her nose.

"Guess I've ended up trusting you too. Curses, we're a mess," Azula sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face to his shoulder. "I just… feel at ease with you. I trust that you won't betray me… I trust that I understand you, no matter how different we are. And yet I… I can't trust the Fire Nation. I can't trust anyone there, not my friends, not my family, I… I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. And I can't say any of this to anyone but you… which is already a miracle. Because I… couldn't tell anyone, before I met you. I spent three years letting my thoughts fester…"

"And now you can share them with me" Sokka said, smiling warmly at her "Look… I don't know if I'll help at all by saying this, but before we met, I hated the Fire Nation. Now, because of you… I can't hate it, not really. What I'm thinking is… you're a product of that mess of a culture, just as everyone else you know is. But you're also proof that not everything in the Fire Nation is doomed, Azula. You're proof great things can come from it… and you're proof they can change their ways, too. If you've learned from all this… if you can't help but empathize with those who've lost their homes, their hope, their very nation… then it means you're the one better suited for breaking the Fire Nation's cycle, the best hope this world has. I know the path ahead wouldn't be easy, but… I'll be here. Even if your mom goes down, and your brother leaves you be, and you get to rule the Fire Nation and bring it back into proper harmony, I'll be right there with you, every step of the way."

"You… you took the marriage thing that seriously, huh?" Azula sakd, with a weak grin. Sokka chuckled and shrugged.

"I like you more and more every day, as it is," he whispered. "I… I guess maybe at this point I even…"

"You even…?" Azula said, her heart racing as she waited for him to finish his sentence. He smiled and bit his lip, almost shyly.

"I even might love you. But, you know, I've never felt like this with a girl, so… it's all new for me and I don't know if it's love yet," he laughed. "I… kind of want it to be, though."

"You… want to love me?" Azula asked. Sokka grinned and nodded. "That's… a strange concept. But… it's somewhat cute, I guess."

"Glad you think so," Sokka chuckled.

Azula smiled as she leaned in to kiss him again. She hadn't said the words back, but this was the second-best follow-up, as far as he could tell. She wasn't quite so forthright with feelings, he had noticed… she had been far more honest tonight than in most their long conversations before he left for his cabin at night on the ship. He felt a little closer to her now, and that was a blissful sensation indeed. She had been troubled before, but now… she seemed hopeful. She had heard him out… and she understood him. Maybe she didn't agree with everything… maybe she didn't want to take the throne for herself in the end. But she smiled anyways after their kiss broke off, and his heart soared because of it.

Iroh seemed relieved when Azula returned in better spirits… and he didn't ignore the bold handholding between the pair of teenagers. He held back a smile, though he remained silent until Azula's voice reached him.

"Our next goal should be gathering support throughout the Earth Kingdom," Azula declared, firmly, as though she hadn't been upset mere moments ago. "I propose we go to the largest cities, especially if you have any contacts in them. We'll find a proper earthbending master for Aang eventually, I'd assume."

"That… yes, sounds reasonable," Iroh said, nodding. "Then… we'll leave Omashu be?"

"We don't have much of a choice, do we?" Azula sighed. "And we still have a war and a Fire Lady to stop. At all costs. If King Bumi is sure he can fix this himself somehow, it's his business, but we can move forward regardless. There's no reason to think the war effort should be over only because Omashu has fallen."

Her renewed determination, after her previous bout of frustration, had soothed Iroh deeply. He smiled again as they made arrangements to continue their journey, and while they wouldn't have it as easy to travel as before, for they'd need to leave their soldiers on the ship if they didn't want to garner unwanted attention in Earth Kingdom settlements, their reinvigorated direction aided the group's mood greatly.

The city of Gaoling was their next goal, and while Iroh took his time to arrange matters to gain the local nobles' favor, the younger members of the group busied themselves with finding an earthbending master for Aang. After a fruitless attempt to have him train in Master Yu's school, they found out about an underground earthbending battling ring… and while Azula enjoyed watching her boyfriend – the word still felt foreign, but she was growing used to it gradually – screaming excitedly to his heart's content over each combat, she enjoyed nothing quite as much as his horror when the champion of these duels stepped into the fray at last, and defeated Sokka's favorite fighter with nothing but a few well-calculated blows.

Aang had been convinced immediately that the small girl was his fated master, but his intervention in the fights, and attempt to challenge her only to request her help, hadn't gone so well. In the end, they wound up returning to the earthbending school in hopes to track down any information about the Blind Bandit, but their best attempts amounted to nothing. In the end, they merely followed Iroh into yet another one of his meetings with local nobles… and curiously, a small girl in the Beifong family looked enough like the Blind Bandit – and even acted like her, whenever her parents weren't watching, by lashing out at Aang when he dared tell her the dress suited her too – that it seemed they had happened to discover her identity all the same: the blind daughter of the richest family in Gaoling, Toph Beifong.

What followed that discovery was a spree of wild madness: Aang and Toph were taken prisoners by Sokka's admired earthbending fighter, and as much as Azula, Katara, Sokka and Iroh rushed to their rescue, Toph ended up defeating all the enemies herself. Even then, her parents seemed unwilling to allow her to leave with them… and it seemed she truly did wish to, despite she had rejected the notion of teaching Aang any earthbending so far, even after he told her he was the Avatar.

Yet, just as they were ready to give up…

"I… think I shall have a chat with the Beifongs, before we go," Iroh told Azula, with a bright grin. Azula blinked blankly.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked. "I thought you'd already said they weren't going to be much help in the war effort…"

"That's still true. But I may be able to resolve another problem, if I play my tiles right," Iroh grinned, patting her shoulder before reentering the Beifong mansion.

"What do you think he'll do?" Sokka asked, clasping Azula's hand in his own. Azula grimaced.

"Knowing him? Charm the Beifongs into letting Toph come with us," she said. Sokka scoffed, and Aang groaned.

"It'll never work…" Aang pouted. "They won't let her."

"It's not very likely," Sokka agreed. Katara sighed in defeat as well.

"We'll have to find someone else to…"

"Hey, guys! I'm coming with you!"

Toph voice broke through the conversation: they all turned around in utter disbelief to find the earthbender's parents were crying, hugging Iroh, talking about entrusting their daughter's safety to him. Toph was still wearing her fancy regal clothes, but she had put together a quick bag anyway, and she rushed towards them and Appa with the brightest grin on her face.

"Told you," Azula smiled dryly, as Sokka laughed and shook his head.

"He'd charm a starving man out of his last breadcrumbs, looks lik,e" Sokka said. "That's one less problem, right? We have our earthbender! And now…"

"Now… Ba Sing Se," Azula said, glancing at him with determination: that next goal would be pivotal, crucial, in ending the war to their favor.

They traveled by bison at first, intending to catch up with their ship again halfway through the ocean. Whenever they stopped for a short break, Aang and Toph would work on their earthbending training, or Aang and Katara would work on their waterbending instead. In the meantime, Iroh continued to craft his plans for the next stages of their rebellion… and Azula and Sokka either helped him or hid away for a while for further privacy, returning to the group half an hour later, holding hands and smiling rather carelessly. And while Azula had no intentions of chatting with her uncle about her growing relationship with the Water Tribesman, she certainly had noticed he seemed more likely to smile at her these days, watching over her as, perhaps, a doting father might… not that she thought her own father would ever have approved of this relationship, though. It was, perhaps, an advantage that it was Iroh with her right now, while she explored this rather new walk of life with Sokka.

Toph wasn't particularly thrilled to be stuck on a metal ship once they reached their favored means of transportation, and often demanded she and Aang took off on Appa so they could get some training done in the outskirts of the eastern Earth Kingdom. The pair had only returned from one such journey when one of the soldiers informed Iroh that Ba Sing Se's wall was within view.

"Very well… very well," Iroh nibbled on the tip of his thumb, as his niece stood beside him, arms crossed.

"How will we get in?" she asked. "I doubt we'll find a sewer to sneak through this time… and I also doubt I'll bump into any of my friends here to give us a hand. Do you have any contacts in the city?"

"Regrettably… none I've been able to reach," said Iroh. "But it makes no matter! We shall find a way through, Azula. I have a few ideas on how to do it: we can go incognito! Pretend to be travelers, innocent ones, completely harmless…"

"And how will innocent travelers ever earn an audience with the Earth King?" Sokka asked, blinking blankly: as ever, he stood beside Azula, a hand on her waist.

"Oh, you needn't worry, young man!" Iroh declared, proudly, rubbing his hands together. "I'll see to it myself. You'll be surprised just how far a careful set of words can bring you, if you speak them to the right person!"

"Huh…?" said Sokka, though he smiled at Azula. "Guess he might pull off the same thing he did in Gaoling, right?"

"Maybe. Is that what you intend?" Azula asked Iroh. He chuckled and shrugged.

"Just wait patiently, Princess Azula," he said, determined and enthusiastic. "I shall not lead any of you astray!"

"Well… that sure didn't go as planned, eh?" Iroh smiled awkwardly, at the four sets of glaring eyes that bore into him… and the scowling, sightless eyes that weren't aimed in his direction, but might as well have been.

Being stuck in a narrow space with Sokka's arms around her body wouldn't have displeased Azula under any other circumstances… but a prison cell could easily kill any romantic mood she might have felt, and she certainly had felt none from the moment they had been captured and dragged into Ba Sing Se as prisoners rather than honored guests, regardless of Iroh's many promises.

Their attempt to enter the city through the passports Iroh had procured for them – with the help of some mysterious associate he had met while they traveled with Appa near the Misty Palms Oasis – had been an absolute failure. While he had certainly charmed the woman at the counter, he had failed catastrophically at talking them out of a Dai Li inspection right afterwards. Even though all of them were clad in Earth Kingdom clothes, and Aang's every arrow was perfectly covered with a large hat and a tall collar, something about them had pissed off the earthbenders so much that they found themselves imprisoned in the Earth King's underground prisons now, and with very few hopes of escape, as far as they could tell.

"Ugh, just be quiet. I can try to get us out of here if I just… make a good key," Toph grumbled, using some of the earth of the ground to craft a useful method to either open or outright break the lock.

"We shouldn't even be here in the first place," Azula hissed, regardless of Sokka's soothing caresses to her hair. "What did you say to those bastards? It felt like they just decided to lock us up because they were annoyed by your rambling."

"Maybe. I am good at charming with words… not so good without them," Iroh admitted, stroking his beard.

"But it is excessive, isn't it?" Sokka reasoned. "I mean… unless they figured out who we are? Or at least, who you guys are? I'd think no one knows about Aang yet, right? Even in Omashu he didn't do anything too damning, did he?"

"No, and I deliberately held off from telling Mai who he was," Azula said. "While she's not a bad person, as far as I know, any information she gained on us could be used to destroy us. So… no, I didn't tell her. And in that darkness, I'm not sure if anyone could've noticed it if he was airbending."

"Then maybe they know who you and Iroh are," Katara mused, biting her lip. "Do you think that's possible?"

"Well… yes," Azula conceded.

"We're not very popular at the moment," Iroh admitted, closing his eyes.

"But would the Earth Kingdom know that?" Katara asked.

"They certainly know me as the man who tried to overtake their city, so… I can't say it's too surprising if they want me dead," Iroh admitted. "They may have simply seized us all just because they recognized me, despite the passports."

"And I guess maybe they could've captured Iroh to use him as a hostage to negotiate with the Fire Nation?" Sokka asked. "Just a thought…"

"Might just be the truth, actually," Azula mumbled, frowning.

That gloomy, discouraging possibility was followed up by a surprising sound: metal, screeching in a rather unexpected, unnatural manner.

"Toph?" Sokka called the youngest member of the group. She stood by the door and turned with a rather devious smirk.

"I, uh… think I discovered something," she said.

"Did you… y-you just broke through the metal door?!" Aang gasped, upon glimpsing that Toph's hand was past the door, through a small hole she had dug into it somehow. She couldn't have looked prouder.

"Guess… I'm a metalbender," she announced, grinning.

They were racing down the Palace basement's corridors moments afterwards, speeding up as fast as they could, hoping to find a hiding place, anywhere safe where they might be able to cheat the Dai Li, and either get out of the city or contact the king directly, and inform him of their situation. Aang spotted a staircase that led to the upper floors, and they all rushed towards it in a hurry…

"Wait. I sense people!" Toph exclaimed, grimacing before pulling out a chunk of the wall to use as a weapon against whoever stood outside the prison block's doors.

The others merely stepped out of the way while the earthbender heaved the massive projectile and tossed it, busting the door off its hinges, startling the soldiers in red and in green right outside the…

Red?

Azula's eyes widened when she identified those helmets, those dark uniforms, highlighted in crimson. But most of all, everyone gasped when an onslaught of fire scorched Toph's projectile and blasted it out of the way…

Azula's heart sank. It sank deeper and deeper as soon as she saw those crimson robes fully: Imperial Firebenders. That could only mean…

"Oh, dear. I suppose you've made rather uncivilized friends who cannot seem to greet others in an acceptable manner, haven't you? I expected something classier from you, Azula."

Her heart couldn't seem to settle between racing or stopping when her golden eyes found the honeyed-poison ones of the woman who had just spoken her name with derision. The woman who stood behind the Imperial Firebenders who had just stepped out of the way… revealing her, as well as a young man who stood beside her, proud and strong in his gold-lined armor, his chin held high despite his eyes betrayed a joviality and innocence that didn't befit a Crown Prince.

A joviality and innocence completely absent in the eyes of the woman he followed most obediently.

Azula felt Sokka tensing up beside her. She could tell Aang was nervous, that even Toph was doubting, that Katara was frantically looking for a way out, despite they were surrounded by hostile soldiers of two nations that should have only been enemies… that Iroh was as furious as she was, and for once, failing to conceal it properly.

This was why they had been imprisoned. This was why their plans were failing: she had made her move. And whatever her plans were now, she intended to take Ba Sing Se for herself. Perhaps she already had.

"Well?" said the elegant woman, raising her eyebrows skeptically. "Did they infect you with that uncivilized behavior, by any chance? Glaring at me in such a manner is most unbefitting, Azula…"

"How… how dare you…?" Azula hissed, her furious eyes gleaming. "Why are you…?! How are you even here?!"

The woman smiled, and Azula's tightened fists seemed poised to shatter with all her charged fury. Once she had pretended to be gentle, kind, a perfect mother with no ill intentions… she had long put aside such pretenses, and now stood before her with no masks, whatsoever.

"Answer me…" Azula snarled, glaring so fiercely it seemed she intended to set the woman on fire through willpower alone: "What are you doing here, Mother?!"

The soldiers had dragged most the group back to the prison cells. They had been locked in another one, this time with guards poised watching them, ensuring that even if they managed another miraculous escape that defied sense and reality, they wouldn't be able to make it very far without alerting the whole Palace that they were running. It seemed, to Azula's utter chagrin, that their first escape attempt had been a failure by mere chance: had Toph released them merely ten minutes earlier, they might have been able to get away.

"It was rather amusing, I must say. I had intended to visit you and your uncle, of course," Ursa was reciting, as she paced inside a Palace sitting room, a cup of steaming tea in her hand. She had poured another one, but Azula, the only other occupant in the room, by Ursa's express request, refused to touch it, no matter how parched she was. "But you two merely rushed me and my procession just when we were handling the security details regarding how to head down into that dark prison block as safely as possible! Amusing, truly…"

"You still haven't answered me," the exiled Princess said, her head hung, her arms chained behind her back, shackled just as her feet were, held down on the heavy table. She had managed to sit down… but that was as far as her movements would get her, apparently. "Why… why are you here? How? The Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation have been at war for…"

"For a hundred years, even longer if you're to take into account how poorly the Earth Kingdom responded to Fire Lord Sozin's first colonies, yes," Ursa said, carelessly, taking her seat at the other side of the table. She was the picture of regal luxury, clad in beautiful robes, sporting as many jewels and royal artifacts as she dared wear… whereas Azula was in an incognito outfit, filthy from her time in jail, her hair in disarray. And where Azula sat on the floor, without even a cushion, her mother relaxed in a smooth lounge, reclining sideways into perfect comfort. "Isn't it a rather drab business, the war? I've had to continue it, of course, the nation would've stood for nothing else, but… oh, there just had to be more effective ways to resolve all this, don't you believe?"

"Effective?" Azula repeated, breathing heavily. "Like what? Are you… y-you're trying to enter an alliance with the Earth King?"

"Trying? Do you really think I'd be here if I hadn't succeeded?" Ursa smirked. Azula's aghast expression only amused her mother further. "It wasn't quite so difficult, mind you: just a little persuasion goes a long way with unseasoned kings who don't know any better. King Kuei isn't even aware there's a war… his fool of an advisor never told him as much. Once I arrived for a diplomatic visit, how could they have refused me?"

"He didn't tell him…? The Earth King didn't know there was a war?" Azula asked. "That's absurd! How could they shelter him to a point where…?"

"Isn't it utterly embarrassing, really?" Ursa said, smiling and shaking her head. "I almost felt sorry for the poor thing. He's infatuated with me too, you see… perfectly useful for my purposes, of course. If I give him enough reason to believe he'll ever be able to craft a permanent alliance between our nations, he'll wind up signing his whole continent to me without his awareness…"

"And that's when you'll strike," Azula hissed, resisting the urge to spit at her mother right then and there. "Guess that's what you stoop to nowadays, huh? Seducing men to get your way?"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. It's hardly my fault men are quite so foolish and gullible," Ursa said, raising her eyebrows dismissively as she took to checking her makeup. Azula snarled.

"That's surely what you thought of my father too, isn't it? Foolish and gullible… and then you killed him. You killed him, just as you killed my grandfather, all for Zuko's sake…!"

"Honestly, child," Ursa said, rolling her eyes before glancing at her skeptically. "Do you truly believe your incompetent father could've run this nation and finished this war with anything short of Sozin's Comet's second coming? Even then, he surely would have failed. He filled his mind with absolute delusions about how that throne belonged to him… as though he'd ever be capable of ruling without sending the whole nation into chaos and disaster. Am I questioned over my rise into power? No doubt: is the Fire Nation thriving, more than it ever did before? Of course it is. And neither your father nor your thrice-accursed grandfather could've achieved that. The Fire Nation's better than it ever was, and it's all because of me."

"I have a hard time believing that," Azula hissed. Ursa let out a soft chuckle and she shook her head.

"No doubt. You were your father's beloved golden daughter, weren't you?" Ursa said. "I suppose you would feel rather differently if he had been Fire Lord for longer than a week. And what a tragedy that was…"

"Tragedy? Tragedy?!" Azula snarled. "You and I both know you were behind that! You were! Quit playing pretense and admit it, if not to the world, to me! You've lied to my face for years, and then got rid of me because you knew I'd discover the truth! Now you've trapped me because you know I'm a threat! If you'll just lock me away somewhere, the least you can do for your daughter is admit your blasted crimes!"

"Lock you away? Oh, dear, again with the histrionics…" Ursa sighed, standing up and making her way to a nearby armoire. Azula glared at her mother fierce, wrestling with her chains, wishing she could move beyond being chained to the damn table. "What makes you think I'd want to keep you imprisoned, Azula, really?"

Azula huffed, breathing heavily as the reality and weight of those words sank inside her very soul. No, her mother didn't traditionally take prisoners. What she did was…

Her eyes widened just as Ursa turned around, a small vial of translucent liquid in her hands.

"Calm down, Sokka… you won't help her just by fretting in here," Katara told her brother, but Sokka refused to listen to reason.

"We have to get out. We have to. Toph, please…"

"There's a lot of soldiers out there," Toph said, biting her lip. "If we wait for a change of shift…"

"That could be too late!" Sokka exclaimed. "Azula is alone with her murderous mother! There's no way she'll be fine there, damn it! We have to…!"

"Shh," Toph said, suddenly. "Someone's coming."

Sokka fell silent begrudgingly, his heart racing and aching on equal amounts. No, no, no, he couldn't lose Azula, he simply couldn't lose her… he felt as though he were falling off Appa, with an unbearable vertigo, as though the whole world would shatter if he couldn't reach her on time…

The footsteps Toph had heard were audible eventually, and they stopped at their cell. The voice that accompanied them was only familiar for one member of their group, once they heard it:

"Leave me. I'll speak to my Uncle alone."

Wait… soldiers, dismissed? Sokka's eyes gleamed. It was their chance…!

Iroh shot him a warning glare, and Sokka's soaring heart sank all over again. Iroh turned towards the door, waiting for the young man outside to stop breathing heavily and to speak, outright.

"I… I'm sorry you're imprisoned, Uncle," said none other than Azula's brother, of course: Zuko. "I didn't want you to be, but Mother… she thinks you're dangerous. I've told her you're not, that you'd never hurt me, but she's sure you can't be trusted. I'm sorry she sent you away with Azula, you two never got along… it must have sucked. But hey, I'll try to convince Mother to let you stay with us! I'll be Fire Lord this year, so if you're patient I can revoke your exile sooner than you thought! You'll be able to come back home, Uncle… and I know things between you and Mother are messy, but I'll help you fix it. I will. I just… I miss you."

Sokka's harsh glare warned Iroh not to do anything foolish either. Iroh held his gaze for a moment, nodding weakly before speaking through the door.

"I missed you too, my nephew," he said, smiling heartily, offering his words yet another coating of warmth and kindness. "It wasn't easy, no… but while I didn't expect to reunite with you while I'm imprisoned, I sure rejoiced in it all the same. You've grown into a very handsome young man! Surely all the ladies in the city want to marry you…"

"Oh, haha, well, yeah…" Zuko laughed outside. Iroh grinned.

"I trust you, my nephew. I know your heart is in the right place. I'll wait until you can help me, but… is it okay if I make one request right now?"

"Sure! Anything you want, Uncle!"

"I would very much like to see your face properly… and give you a big hug."

Sokka blinked blankly. Katara and Aang stared at Iroh in confused chagrin while Toph's jaw dropped. No way. That was so obvious, it was even worse than ANYTHING he'd said to the Dai Li earlier…

"Oh… I'd need the keys for that. Give me a second! Guards!"

Iroh smirked, and Toph had to cover her mouth to avoid chortling. Sokka bit his lip, his heart racing at haste yet again…

The lock slid open. The door swung outwards. The regal Fire Prince, soon to be Fire Lord, stood right outside, smiling warmly at his uncle…

Iroh sighed and spread his arms, and Zuko knelt before hugging him. Iroh rocked him gently in his arms, and Zuko chuckled, no doubt elated that his perfect life would only improve from now on…

And then his whole body seemed to go numb right after Iroh's hand pinched him right at the nape of his neck.

"W-wha…?" he said, his voice trembling: even speaking seemed near impossible to him now. What on earth…?

"I'm sorry, Zuko. But I won't abandon your sister."

Sokka didn't wait for another moment before rushing the guards right outside: Toph helped him by slamming some into a wall while he attacked two with powerful bare fists, and Aang joined in by using his own earthbending to fight back. Katara smiled wildly as she leapt over Iroh and Zuko: the old general was pulling his nephew inside the prison cell, and he laid him there just after all the nearby guards were defeated: the betrayal in Zuko's eyes was heartbreaking.

"I'm sorry, truly," Iroh said, nodding in his direction before closing the door, locking it firmly.

"For a second there I thought…" Sokka told Iroh, breathing heavily. Iroh scoffed.

"You think I'd ever join my sister-in-law? After everything she's done?" Iroh said. "No matter how honeyed Zuko's words may be… I won't abandon Azula. You're not the only one who's loyal to her, you hear me?"

Sokka smiled and nodded, just as Katara returned to him, strapping her waterbending pouches to her body while handing Sokka his weapons.

"We need to find Azula," Sokka said, firmly. "Toph! Help us track her down!"

"Aye-aye, captain!"

They didn't waste time rushing to the stairs: Toph and Aang tore open the ceiling and they raised their group to the next floor with earthbending. There was no point in stealth anymore, not when they knew this was an enemy best fought through unpredictability… Sokka breathed deeply, leaping off the earthbending pillar once they reached solid ground – albeit now torn with a huge hole –, while Toph and Aang slammed their bare feet into the ground, searching the Palace's upper floors with seismic sense until they located Azula…

"You'll get your answer, I said… once you drink this. Simple, right?" Ursa smirked, stepping towards her daughter: Azula pulled away violently, keeping her lips tightly shut as her mother knelt beside her. "And here I thought you wanted to know the truth. Don't you want to anymore, Azula? That's just so confusing and contradictory…"

Azula would've snarled, would've protested, if she had thought her mother wouldn't empty the vial's contents in her mouth as soon as she dared separate her lips. Curse everything… curse it all. That was how she'd done it, then. Poison… a suitable weapon for one who didn't dirty her hands willingly. She was ever the picture of perfection… and now she intended to destroy her, just as she had destroyed her father. How many people had she killed this way? How many had suspected her, known she was up to no good, and she had simply offed them right then and there? Azula couldn't even venture a guess. Her whole body screamed rejection, and she tugged at her chains in a hopeless attempt to release herself from the shackles…

But Ursa only smirked where she knelt, cockily raising her eyebrows defiantly, waiting for Azula to make a mistake. Hoping to goad her into making them, even.

"It's supposed to be tasteless. You surely won't feel a thing," she said. "Your father was quite calm when he drank it mixed with a cup of rice wine that night, if I recall right. Oh, no… it was lychee wine, wasn't it?"

Azula gasped: Ursa made her move: Azula screamed as her mother held her jaw forcefully, preventing Azula from slamming her mouth shut as she had intended to… and pouring the contents of the vial right into her mouth.

"That being said… I could've mixed it with your tea, if you preferred that. Would it have been better, perhaps? You might have enjoyed it better, right, Azula?" Ursa smirked: now she held the exiled Princess's jaw closed, doing her very best to prevent her from spitting out the liquid.

Azula's face was contorted with outrage, disgust and fear. She was going to die, she was actually going to die… and her mother had admitted the truth. She had admitted this was how she'd killed so many people, so many times…

"How I've longed for this moment…" Ursa said, holding her daughter down still, in a more violent display of strength than any Azula had seen from her until that day. "How I've wanted to get rid of your meddling, you spoiled brat. You won't take your brother's throne for yourself the way your damn father did with your uncle. Oh, yes, your uncle deserved it, but Zuko… he's the one true Fire Lord. And you… you were never meant to be born. You were an unwanted accident, one I'll put an end to, right now…!"

The floor underneath the table collapsed suddenly, loudly: Ursa gasped, her control on the situation shattering for long enough to release Azula… and for Azula to spit the entire content of the vial in her mother's face, to Ursa's horror.

She'd still need to rinse off, she had to do it as soon as possible, that damn thing had to be potent if Ursa believed such a small amount would suffice for murder… one quick glance nearly made her cry of joy rather than despair: tears did burn in her eyes after Ursa had damn near killed her, but they gained a new meaning now as Sokka jumped out of the hole in the ground towards her, concern clear in his face.

"Azula! Azula, I'm here, we're here…!"

"What have you done to her?!" Iroh bellowed, rushing towards Ursa and clasping her by the neck of her long dress. "Answer me!"

"P-poison…" Azula coughed, trying to spit out the remnants of the thing: Katara knelt before her, offering her some of her bending water to rinse her mouth fully, perhaps too invasively, but Azula didn't care. Not if it meant she'd survive… and she truly expected she would be, with Katara's help, while Sokka held her closely.

"To think I complained about my family being boring," Toph growled, holding a boulder at the ready to attack the Fire Lady.

"How could you do this to your own daughter?!" Aang asked, aghast. "You… you're not worthy of leading the Fire Nation! What you've done here today will be known…!"

"Ha! What's a child like you going to do anyways? I have soldiers, an army…!" Ursa shouted.

"And I'm the Avatar!" Aang shouted: yet it wasn't his voice alone: a sudden flash of light startled all of them, for his eyes had gained an unexpected white gleam, as well as the arrows in his body. Ursa's jaw dropped, and she trembled in Iroh's grip, even once the brightness faded, and the young boy no longer channeled a strange energy through his body. "I won't allow you to continue destroying this world's balance, or your own family, as you have! This war is over, and you're…!"

He fell silent when Azula rose to her feet, near stumbling as her blood rushed vertiginously through her veins. Iroh gazed at her with concern, as did Sokka, who held her gently…

"Toph. Can you… get rid of these chains?"

Toph did as she was told immediately, setting down her boulder to do so. It was a strange suspense that spread across the room, as Azula waited until each shackle was off… but she held the chains all the same. And she glared at her mother with mad fury across her bloodshot eyes.

"You killed my father," Azula said, firmly. "You poisoned his drink. You poisoned my grandfather just the same. You've killed countless in this manner, and admitted to planning on taking advantage of the Earth King for your schemes…"

"You… have no evidence…!" Ursa said, though her poised elegance was gone now: it was her turn to fear, for all tides had been turned against her: where were her soldiers? The Dai Li she had stolen out of Long Feng's control, after ensuring one of the kitchen cooks poisoned his meal? No one was coming to the rescue, but someone had to, someone would… "W-where's Zuko? What have you done to my son?!"

"He's safe and sound. Trust me, he'll never get the same treatment you will," Iroh said, scowling at Ursa.

"Yes. Zuko will live," Azula said, ominously. "She won't."

Her words floored everyone within the room, even the young man who held Azula closely. He gasped, tugging her towards him, but Azula clasped the chains with her now free hands, glaring at Ursa furiously.

"Azula, no!" Sokka exclaimed. "You can't just…!"

"She damn near killed me! She meant to, and she would've killed each of us, one by one, until no one stood against her!" Azula shouted back, trembling violently as she leveled her glare at Ursa. "I won't… I won't let you hurt anyone I love ever again… never again. I will kill you. I will kill you!"

"Azula, stop!" Sokka said, pulling her into an embrace she tried to shake off. Azula snarled, feeling the tears running down her face as she built her resolve: one murder, one more death, and the world would be set right. That was all it took, that was all… "You can break the damn cycle. We talked about this! You can put an end to the misery, to the hatred in the Fire Nation… but not if you continue what your mother already started. Not if you kill her now, just as she killed your father! Your people won't think you're any better than her! They'll assume you don't belong on a throne any more than she does…"

"I don't need a damn throne!" Azula shouted. "I just need…! I just need…!"

"You don't need to kill her. You think you do… but you're a better person than she could ever be," Sokka said, burying his face in her neck.

"Violence and death… that's what the Hundred Year War has been about," Aang said, gazing at Azula sadly. "Maybe… maybe it's not what you want to hear now. But… I think Sokka is right."

"I won't tell you she deserves better than death," Sokka said, gritting his teeth. "What she's done… what she nearly did to you, I want to kill her for that, too! But Azula… if she's dead, the world…"

"The cycle… won't ever break…" Azula whispered, gritting her teeth. "If I kill her…"

"You… you shouldn't kill me, no!" Ursa said, clinging to the sudden possibility of survival that had reared its head when she expected otherwise. "Azula, truly, I only did everything for Zuko! Your grandfather would've killed him, and your father would've done worse…!"

"Shut the hell up!" Azula shouted, glaring at her again. Ursa gritted her teeth, as Iroh scowled at her too.

"No past crimes by your victims will justify what you've done," Iroh said. "You killed my father… and my brother. You nearly killed my niece, too. You've corrupted my nephew's mind while he was none the wiser. And while you won't die today… you shall spend every last day of your life paying for those crimes."

"N-no… no, Iroh, you can't do this to me… I'm the Fire Lady… I'm the Fire Lady!" Ursa shouted. Iroh smirked.

"Not anymore, you're not," he said, curtly.

The meaning of his words wasn't clear, not beyond the obvious: Ursa would be deposed officially, starting today. The bulk of the soldiers who meant to protect her had been defeated effectively by their surprise attacks while they rushed to find Azula: next, they'd visit the Earth King, and explain everything to him thoroughly. And once they were ready, they'd return to the Fire Nation… and Ursa wouldn't see the light of day for the rest of her life.

But who would take her position instead? No one could tell just yet. There was one candidate, locked in a prison, stealthily chi-blocked by his uncle. There was another, cradled in her boyfriend's arms, crying in despair as she relented, accepting that her revenge wasn't what was best for the world, no matter how deserved it might be. And the final candidate, born and raised under the belief that he'd become Fire Lord one day, seemed to believe a new, fresher generation was better than himself for the role.

And as they lingered inside that room, calming down, waiting for the remaining, loyal soldiers to the Earth King to arrive upon being summoned by Toph's shouts out the window, none of them knew what the future would bring… but with Ursa defeated at last, it seemed fitting to believe the war was finally over. It hadn't been the epic bending brawl many expected… but when it came to ending wars, especially the long ones, what mattered most to anyone was that it was finally over, regardless of the manner in which they ended.

A world in peace was a concept that had eluded most their generations. That the Fire Nation would have suddenly withdrawn its troops from the Earth Kingdom, that they had signed treaties of peace with all remaining nations, would have sounded as an impossible, absurd delusion for most people… and yet it was their new reality. A reality that many people cherished deeply, though few cherished it quite as much as the heroes who, in a rather unexpected manner, had defeated the woman who had led the Fire Nation for the last six years.

Zuko, despite all hopes, had taken Iroh's actions as an unbearable betrayal. He would have been granted leniency, but he wanted none of it: he sought to attack his uncle and his sister as soon as he had a chance, demanding for reparations, for justice to be served, for his mother's freedom to be restored… and as much as it had pained Iroh, he had no choice but to restrain Zuko as well. His loyalty to Ursa was unquestioned… but misplaced, just as well. He would be likely to receive second chances in the future… but not until he was ready to listen to the truth. And for now, he certainly was anything but ready for that conversation.

The widespread fear Ursa had subjected her people to became apparent once Azula and Iroh returned home as the new leaders of the Fire Nation: they never expected a hero's welcome, and yet that was what they had received nonetheless. After many debates and thorough conversations with the nobles, the unanimous decision was made: Iroh would take the position of regent for a few years, to guide the transition between Ursa's rule and Azula's future one. The reinstated Princess wouldn't be crowned right away, but the Fire Nation had readily accepted her as their next ruler just the same. Surely occasional opposition would rise, as Ursa's loyalists would still linger somewhere… but fortunately, Azula had more than enough loyalists of her own to back her up.

The most important of them, of course, were currently in the Palace's garden, three of them engrossed in an all-out triple bending battle: Aang laughed as his airbending skills helped him avoid Katara and Toph's attacks, which too often resulted in the two girls striking each other instead. Azula was amused as well as she watched their fight, leisurely relaxing in Sokka's arms as he cuddled her gently.

"Odd… we were supposed to teach him all the elements, but the war ended without him learning any fire," Azula said. Sokka chuckled, kissing her brow.

"The war is over, though. He has plenty of time to learn now," he said. "And he'll have a great teacher, right? Whether you, or Iroh…"

"Eh, I'd be a dreadful teacher…"

"Heh! I'm only a decent warrior now thanks to you, you hear me? I learned a lot from you!"

Azula laughed, nuzzling his neck as she released a deep breath. Sokka smiled, rubbing her back reassuringly: these days, his tense Princess had been much more relaxed than usual. Coming home had done her good, he had no doubts about it… but perhaps it was also the knowledge that she'd helped set the world onto a better course that allowed her to breathe more easily. Her fingers clung to his shirt, clasping it gently, ensuring they'd stay close together for as long as possible… stabilized by the young man who had become her most loyal supporter, and the kindest boyfriend she could have ever hoped to find.

"I know it'll still be a while… and you should make sure to rest and recover from your years on the road while you can," Sokka said, rocking her gently in his arms. "But… I can't wait to see the wonders you'll weave, Fire Lord Azula."

"Wonders?" Azula repeated, smiling weakly. "I doubt that…"

"I don't," Sokka grinned enthusiastically.

"Who'd have thought the most loyal of my subjects wouldn't even be from my nation, huh?" Azula smiled, raising her head towards. him "Somehow… it feels fitting, too."

"We're breaking the cycle," Sokka said. "Marrying a Water Tribe guy? Sounds like just the way to break it for good, as far as I can tell. No old, outdated traditions will ever be followed: time to bring about harmony and peace in the best way possible, right, Azula?"

"By marrying each other? In a few years, that is," Azula said, smiling warmly. "I wouldn't trust anyone else to be my husband anyway."

"And I wouldn't trust anyone else to be my wife," Sokka said, stroking her hair. "It is kind of funny how life turns out, huh? We've come full circle, completely…"

"We have. And I'm definitely proud of it," Azula smiled, raising her head to kiss his lips. "Though… there's one thing left to do, to finish that notion."

"Oh yeah?" Sokka asked, amused.

"I… think I might love you too," Azula said, teasingly. "And even if I don't, I want to."

"Ah… hah," Sokka laughed, pressing his brow to hers. Azula grinned, kissing him again. "You're always so clever… always so clever."

Azula laughed as they exchanged more kisses, deliberately ignoring the loud, rowdy bending battle in the gardens. And from the corner of the nearest corridor, Iroh smiled fondly too, watching his niece from a distance. Theirs had been a strained relationship for a long time… but it certainly wasn't that anymore. Azula had been deeply grateful upon hearing of what he'd done to help save her… how he had set aside Zuko, and privileged her safety instead. By now, their relationship was better than ever… and it would continue to be, Iroh knew, as long as he didn't interfere in her private moments with her beloved Water Tribe warrior.

"I, too, can barely wait to see the wonders you shall weave," Iroh spoke quietly, closing his eyes and turning his back on the Princess.

She would make an excellent Fire Lord, he was sure of that… but for now, he would let her enjoy her time with her closest friends, in a peaceful environment, with no heavy pressures weighing on her shoulders. After all the hardships she had endured, and the pain she had suffered through, he had no doubts she had earned these miraculous moments of peace. Yes, peace, no doubt, was the best word to describe the beautiful scene he had just witnessed at a distance in the palace's garden, and in his earnest opinion, no one deserved such blissful harmony quite as much as Azula did.

A/N:

While I have no doubts I've cemented myself a terrible reputation for all my Ursa portrayals, I do want to set clear that I didn't write this particular entry to villify her, despite that's what it'll look like to some... the truth is, the whole basis of this idea came from the very frequently debated AUs where Azula is the banished one, rather than Zuko. I pondered under which circumstances could Azula EVER wind up banished at a young age, as well as how the blazes she'd ever be banished with Iroh, who'd most likely not join her of his own volition, if his characterization is kept true to his canon self. Then the idea of turning someone else into the bigger bad came to mind, someone both Azula and Iroh would develop personal grudges against, to the point of setting aside their differences to work together.

This is, therefore, just a matter of exploring storytelling possibilities for me - as can be obvious by the fact that this is, by FAR, my most favorable portrayal of Iroh up to date. I usually don't write him this way, just as I usually don't see Ursa as a character remotely as dark as she was in this entry: all was done for the sake of exploring storytelling posibilities and nothing else. One day I might surprise by offering you all a favorable Ursa portrayal, for a change! :'D All this being said, it's fine if you don't enjoy Ursa as I portrayed her here, but I want to set the record straight, it wasn't done for the sake of making her appear a fundamentally worse person than Ozai or anyone else. Basically, this is an Ursa who decided to stop at nothing to keep her son safe. And while that sounds pretty in paper, it can also have a very dark meaning, and that's why things turned out this way.

Hope you enjoyed this story anyway!

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whitewolfandthefox · 4 years

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Call of the Wild Part 9

Summary: The pack will stop at nothing to get you back.

Series Masterlist

Words: 4.9k

Warnings: death, torture, killing, injuries, swearing

Add yourself to my taglist!

A/N. Just so y’all know, Ciri is like 17/18 in my story, she’s a competent fighter at this point. You can thank @riviawitch3r for convincing me to post this as a surprise midweek update! I had it finished early and was really excited about this one, so here you go!

The Battle

As your screams echo in his ears, Geralt sees red. The sound of your distress ignites a feral rage in his core that swiftly overcomes anything that dares to come between him and the entrance, anything that keeps him from getting to you. He could feel your pain and despair leaking through your bond and it only fueled him more. Your soul called out to him to save you, to help you. You may have given up, but there was a small part that still desperately fought to live, to wait for him.

Geralt roared as he smashed into the guards; he could hear the sounds of his pack following behind him. The men in front of him rallied after his first attack. Four men stood fast in front of the gate as a fifth ran to raise the alarm, the sixth guard crumpled on the ground after meeting Geralt’s blade. He raised his sword, a feral grin on his face as the soldiers paled, shifting nervously as he stalked towards them.

The first two men charge out to meet him, swords raised high. The Witcher slashes the first across the chest, the man dropping to the ground with a cry of pain. Bringing his blade around, Geralt met the second man’s strike, holding fast as a low growl emitted from his chest. He could see the guard swallow nervously before disengaging, striking hard and fast, sword singing through the air as it bit from shoulder to hip, disabling the man. Geralt pushed him to the side as he continued towards the last four guards.

Ciri appeared at his side, a grimace on her face as her sword leapt to catch the blade of the rightmost guard, Yennefer meeting the leftmost with her dagger. One of the guards broke rank and ran as Geralt engaged the last man, reversing his sword to slam the hilt into the man’s stomach, knocking his breath out of him. The guard slid down the wall as Geralt snatched a dagger from his hip, striking so the blade went through the man’s leg into the ground, pinning him as he howled in pain.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ciri dispatch her opponent as she separated his head from his body. She slowed, wiping her blade on the man’s tunic before returning her sword to its sheath. Yennefer did the same, finishing her strike with her dagger buried in the man’s heart, a feral grin on her face. Satisfied his companions were in no immediate danger, he lowered his body so that he was level with the remaining guard’s head. He stared at him, golden eyes almost glowing in the darkness as the guard cursed at him, trying to free himself of the dagger’s bite.

“The shapeshifter. Where is she?” Geralt’s voice was low and ominous, grating through the air as he held himself in check, aware that they needed a plan of attack to take the fortress.

The man cursed at him, fidgeting before Geralt reached out and pushed the dagger further into the ground, stilling the man’s actions as he howled in pain. He settled for glaring at the trio, chest heaving as he gasped for air.

“I’ll give you one more chance: answer my question, or I’m done asking nicely. And you really won’t like what happens then,” he promised with a feral grin. The sound of his voice was like nails grating on a chalkboard, sending unpleasant shivers down the man’s spine. The man stared at him, eyes wide in horror. Yennefer knelt down beside Geralt, the sweetest smile on her face. Her violet eyes met the man’s blue gaze and he paled further. Distantly, Geralt noted that he hadn’t thought the man could lose any more colour but had apparently been proven wrong. His lips pulled back from his teeth as he felt you cry out, soul nuzzling against his. He tried to soothe you, pushing hope at you, but was again rebuffed, pain overwhelming every aspect of your consciousness.

The snarl that appeared on Geralt’s face was the last straw for the man as he broke, information streaming out of him as he babbled at them, desperate to get away from the frightening pair in front of him. Letting Yennefer decipher the stream of words spilling from the man on the ground, Geralt turned to Ciri as he released a piercing whistle, signalling that it was safe for Jaskier to join them. His eyes searched the younger girl, looking for any sign of injuries. She stood still for the examination before bouncing over to Jaskier as he joined the trio, snarl a permanent fixture on her face.

Yennefer joined the group as well, Geralt sparing a glance to see the man slumped against the walls, glassy eyes signalling an end to his life. All eyes turned to the sorceress as she spoke. “Y/N is in the dungeons on the lower floor; the keep is built into the hill so part of it is exposed. There’s another entrance on the other side of the keep. The sorcerer’s study is on the second floor, where he’s done all his research. Hopefully that will be where we find him.”

Low snarls echoed in the space around them, all shapeshifters displeased at the mention of the man who had been hunting their kind. Geralt stepped up to lay out the roles each person had.

“Yennefer, you and I will go find this sorcerer and deal with his ‘research’, as he calls it. Ciri, Jaskier, you two find Y/N and guard her, make sure no one can get to her or get her out of this keep. Once Yen and I are done we will come find you and get the fuck out of here. Any questions?”

The other three shook their heads before Ciri and Jaskier shifted, a lion and honey badger standing in their places. Jaskier lifted his head, searching for the distinctive scent of their kind. The pair took off, racing around the dark structure as they followed the scent that would lead them to the lone shapeshifter they came to rescue. Geralt watched them go, conflict clear in his eyes.

Yennefer placed a hand on his arm, drawing his attention back to her. “They’ll be fine. They’ll find her easily and will lay low until we can get there. The sooner we deal with this sorcerer, the sooner we can get back to them.”

Geralt swallowed harshly before nodding, the knot in his chest only tightening as he turned away from the direction his heart was telling him to follow. The pair entered the gates, blades held tightly in their hands as they waited for the next wave of guards to crash upon them. They found a dark hallway, moving slowly with senses on high alert for any indication of an attack as they searched for a staircase. Geralt strained his ears, hearing the sound of metal clanging on metal as a group of five guards rounded the corner to run straight into Geralt’s blade. Two men were soon lying on the floor, meeting their ends at the hand of the Witcher and the sorceress before the rest of the small group was aware of their presence. The three remaining men backed up quickly, forming into an arrow formation, swords held high against the shapeshifters. Yennefer darted forward, long dagger flicking out to bite into the leftmost guard’s shoulder, drawing a cry from him as she leapt back, avoiding the answering slash. The front man thrust towards them, Geralt whirling to the side to avoid the blade as he fell forward, a white wolf leaping at the men as he shifts.

He bowls into the small group, knocking the two in front of him to the ground as the third steps out of the way, engaging Yennefer behind him. He can hear the ringing of metal on metal as she defends herself against the guard. He refocuses on the men around him, one trying to regain his feet as the other is struggling beneath his paws. He snaps at the man, tearing his throat out before rolling to the side, ignoring the sparks that leap from the sword striking stone, missing him by inches. The man in front of him pales as Geralt allows a low growl to rumble out of his throat, filling the air as he hears a body collapse to the ground behind him. Yennefer’s heartbeat still thrums in his ears, so he keeps his attention on the man in front of him. He takes one step towards the guard before the man breaks, dropping his sword as he turns to run back down the hallway.

Geralt pauses, sending a glance back over his shoulder to find Yennefer staring at him with one eyebrow arched. She gestures at the retreating man and the wolf takes off, following him down the hallway. The guard is pounding on a door, yelling to be let in as Geralt approaches. He pauses as he bunches his powerful muscles before he leaps, hitting the man in the chest as he turns to meet him, wide eyes filled with horror. The man slumps beneath him, the taste of hot copper filling Geralt’s mouth as he tore into him. He rolls off the body, turning to examine the door.

Sauntering up behind him, Yennefer spoke a word and pointed at the locked door. Under her hands, the wood splintered before exploding backwards, killing anyone behind it. Geralt leapt through the aftermath, tearing up the stairs that the door had hidden. He used his massive body to knock the soldiers off the structures, sending them plummeting to the ground below. Yennefer was forming intricate symbols with her hands, forcing men to crumple to their knees, slitting their throats as she walked past.

Geralt raced to the next floor, snarling the entire way. He leapt at the last man, his weight bringing them both to the floor, the guard’s head slamming against the ground; blood oozed from the back of his skull, forming a puddle under his head. Geralt rolled to his feet as the man remained motionless. He dropped down to his haunches, waiting for Yennefer to join him at the top of the stairs and ignoring the blood soaking into his paws.

The wolf inclined his head to the sorceress, indicating that she should lead the way through the door. Yennefer rolled her eyes at him as she passed the Witcher, laying a hand on the handle to unlock it. Geralt followed her into the hallway, finding it empty. As he passed over the threshold, the smell of blood hit him. He visibly balked before glancing at Yennefer, seeing her nose wrinkled as well. Closing his eyes, Geralt reached deep within himself, pulling the magic over himself like a blanket as he shifted back to his human form.

“You smell it too.” His deep voice rumbled through the silence, echoing off the stone. Yennefer nodded at his words, too wary to respond. The pair followed the scent down the hall, dread growing as it got stronger, seeming to come from under the last door. As they got closer, other scents started to mix in; the most prevalent ones were fear and pain. They paused before the door, hearing low murmurs coming from behind the wood.

They looked at each other, silently communicating with their eyes before Geralt dropped his shoulder, slamming it into the door and forcing it open. They burst through into the room, Geralt drawing his sword and stabbing into the first guard that rushed them as Yennefer ducked under a blow from the second, slashing at his legs before following up with a strike to his chest as he fell. Silence fell on the room, broken by a slow clap.

They looked to the end of the room, finding a man lounging across a chair wearing dark maroon robes. The room was full of various little trinkets and other things Geralt didn’t care to identify. A long table sat in front of the chair, covered in papers filled with notes and drawings. Shelves lined the walls, vials and books covering every inch of available space. The scent that they had followed permeated the room, the smell of death and suffering overwhelming their senses as they observed the space. Their focus was returned to the man at the end of the room as he laughed, a sharp sound that echoed around the small space.

He grinned up at them, a cruel smile adorning his face. Standing, he spread his arms wide. “Welcome to my study. My name is Master Astarion. Have you come to pledge yourself to my cause?”

A growl ripped its way out of Geralt’s throat, Yennefer stiffening beside him. “I see no cause,” the Witcher spat, “I see only pain and suffering, death, misery. There is nothing good happening here. You are destroying my kind with what you do, and I will not let it stand!”

Geralt’s tone rose in volume, until he was roaring at the sorcerer who was responsible for so much death. The grin slid off his face, a scowl taking its place. “Destroy? Like you destroyed my family? It was your kind who murdered my father, your kind who took away our only chance of survival, who killed the rest of my family! It was you! You who made me leave, you who made sure I wasn’t there to heal him, you who didn’t save my sister from the sickness that took her life!”

He spat to the side. “No, it is not me who is destroying anything, it is you and your lowly kind. Once I’ve found my cure, I’ll eradicate you and the other shapeshifters. No one will have to feel the pain of losing their entire family to you. No one will feel the pain I have ever again.”

The low growl that had been emanating from Geralt’s throat slowly grew louder. He took a step towards the sorcerer, his presence seeming to grow larger as Yennefer stalked to the other side of the table. Leaning forward, Astarion gripped the hilt of a sword, his other hand pulling the sheath off before throwing it back on the wood. Geralt’s hand darted to his shoulder in response, unsheathing the iron blade that lived there.

The sorcerer sneered. “If you won’t willingly join me, I guess I’ll just have to kill you in order to study you. At least your measly existence will be somewhat useful.”

Geralt sneered back, “I’d like to see you try.”

The sorcerer lifted his sword above his head, rushing towards Yennefer, assuming she was the weaker prey. A feral grin appeared on Geralt’s face at this as the sorceress merely swayed out of the way of the blade, brushing a hand against him as he went. The man spun around, face frozen in an expression of shock as his sword hung loose in his grip.

“What did you do?” he demanded, tone harsh.

Yennefer laughed cruelly. “Only what needed to be done. Seven days I curse you, a mere man you shall be.”

His eyes narrowed as he drew a complicated symbol in the air. Geralt shifted his weight, expecting a burst of power, glancing over to see Yennefer watching the sorcerer with a vicious look of glee on her face. As his face betrayed his frustration and shock at his failure to cast a spell, a harsh laugh again burst from the sorceress’ lips.

“You bitch! You’ve stolen my magic!” His eyes narrowed at her. “Give it back,” he growled. Enraged, Astarion frantically swiped at Yennefer, her own blade darting up to meet his with a ringing clash. Geralt rushed forwards, dropping his shoulder into the man’s back as Yennefer stepped sideways, opening a cut down the man’s arm as he passed her. The Witcher continued his rush, Astarion twisting to get away from the larger man. As the Witcher turned to face him, he brought his sword low towards the sorcerer, hoping to open a wound on his leg. The other man met his blow, grimacing as he struggled against Geralt’s overwhelming strength. He slowly lost ground, heels digging into the stone to push back against the shape shifter.

The sorcerer glanced desperately at the window, shoving back against Geralt, surprising the Witcher with his desperate bid as he raced for the opening. Geralt was quickly after him, a blow to the back of his head sending the man staggering as he crashed through the glass onto the balcony behind it. Geralt followed him out, sword biting into his robes as Astarion rolled out of the way. He was up and on his feet, grabbing a stone statuette from the railing before he launched it at the Witcher. He was up and over the railing, taking the advantage of Geralt’s hesitation as he dodged the projectile. The Witcher grinned as he approached, the stupid man had put himself into an impossible position. He raised his sword, preparing for the final blow, muscles tensing in anticipation of his downswing.

A burst of panic overwhelmed Geralt’s mind, sending him staggering as he missed his final strike. His sword bit into Astarion’s shoulder, drawing a cry from the man’s lips as his hands slipped, sending the sorcerer tumbling to the ground below. He rolled to a stop just outside of the treeline, laying there briefly before pushing himself to his feet and disappearing into the woods.

Yennefer was at Geralt’s side in an instant, concern in her face. “She’s panicking, Yen. Something’s happened, I can feel it.”

“I know, we’ll go find her in a moment. But for now, we need to search his study, find out if he has any other holdouts. We can’t lose him, Geralt, he’ll keep hurting our kind until he’s dealt with. Jask and Ciri will be with her, trust them.”

He hesitated briefly before nodding. Yennefer went straight to the table, looking through the various papers that were spread out across its surface. Geralt examined the shelves, picking up and looking into various vials to see what they contained. His stomach turned in revulsion as disgust rose into his throat. The bottles were full of samples; pieces of fur, various kinds of teeth, blood. Any tissue that could be harvested was there, the scent of fear and pain clinging to them even after they had been dried and preserved.

Geralt turned away from them, breathing hard through his nose as he clenched a fist at his side, trying to control his anger. He heard Yennefer call him from the table, worry only increasing at her apprehensive tone. Joining the sorceress, his breath caught in his throat as he realized just what was outlined on the table.

It was you.

There were sketches of your dimensions, showing your figure, your measurements, detailing your bone structure. His stomach threatened to rebel at the last drawing as he thought of what they had to have done to be able to draw that. There were notes outlining what injuries you had sustained and how long they took to heal. Records of samples taken and when. A small bundle of fur caught his attention. His hand darted out to snatch it, motions stilling as your scent emanated from the disrupted paper. It was so distinctively you, but tinged with the scent of your fear; the scent of your pain almost overwhelming anything else in the room. The contents on the paper was a sketch of your human form with small notes made around it. He scanned it briefly, it detailed the injuries that you had sustained that had triggered your shift. Geralt felt sick, revulsion rising in his gut as he realized what you had gone through. With a snarl, Geralt dropped the paper and snatched up another, scanning the contents before he did the same with a third.

As he continued reading, the rage that had been simmering in his chest was quickly stoked to an inferno, consuming any rational thought in his head. With a roar, he gripped the edge of the table and flipped it, arm lashing out to knock the vials off of the shelves. The sound of shattering glass ignited a fierce sense of pleasure in him, spurring his actions on as he continued to ravage the room. He left nothing on the walls, emptied every table, every set of drawers until any information was a tattered mess on the floor.

Yennefer was watching him with wary eyes as he turned to her, chest heaving with the exertion of his outburst. He narrowed his eyes at her, yellow irises turned golden with rage. When he spoke, his voice was low, an avalanche waiting for the one push that would set it tumbling down the slope, destroying everything in its path. “Burn it to the ground.”

A feral grin sprouted on her face. “With pleasure.”

Not waiting to see her actions, Geralt spun on his heel and headed for the door. In the hallway he paused, listening for any sounds that might indicate guards still lying in wait for him. Hearing nothing, he stalked down the hallway, the scent of burning paper beginning to fill his nose as Yennefer set to her task with glee. Geralt quickly made his way down the stairs, meeting no resistance along the way. Anyone who had been in the keep had either fled or been killed.

As he exited the staircase into the dungeons, his steps stuttered, your scent overwhelming his senses. He closed his eyes as he inhaled, letting you wash over him, soothing the rough edges that had formed since he had left you. He quickly turned to the left, following the sound of Jaskier’s voice. As he approached, Ciri appeared in a doorway; seeing him, she strode quickly towards him with a frown.

“Papa, please, you need to listen to me before you go in, she’s not-” Geralt spared her a tense smile, cupping her cheek before gently moving her to the side as he cut her off. He froze as he came into view of the cell. Jaskier was on his knees in the middle of the room, crooning gently to a fox cowering in the corner. He quickly took in the state of the cell; the blood stains on the floor, the tools against the stone, the repaired wall to the back, the way the fox shook. He could see your ribs, could see half healed wounds underneath your fur, the way you held your front leg off the ground and his heart stopped.

As he approached Jaskier, the man glanced at him but kept the steady stream of gentle words that fell from his lips going. Geralt could see thin lines of red running down his forearms. You had clawed him. The Witcher gently touched them as he looked at the bard; he received a slight head shake and a wan smile in return as the crooning continued. Geralt returned his attention to you, focusing on your tail between your legs as you kept your ears tucked against your skull, lips pulled back from your teeth as a low growl rumbled out of your chest.

Lowering himself to his knees, he crept towards you, keeping his body language open and his posture small. You shrunk back against the wall as he approached, causing Geralt to freeze at your actions. He spoke in a gentle voice, hoping to soothe you. “Y/N, it's okay now. It's me, I came to find you. Lets go now.”

As his voice reached you your growl grew in strength, lips pulling back from your teeth even more. You snapped your teeth at him as he tried to reach for you, Geralt snatching his hand back in horror. Something was wrong. He reached out with his mind to you, trying to get a sense of your emotions. Now that you were closer, he was able to get a better feeling from you, but in your state all that he was able to understand was a jumble of thoughts and feelings that whirled around your head.

Notrealnothim - this is a trick - HELP ME - ithurtsithurtsithurts- let me go, please - i just want to die - it isn’t him, it couldn’t be him - wakeupwakeup - won't change back, he’ll kill me - he won’t come for you - PAIN - Geralt, please - ijustwanttodie ijustwanttodie ijustwanttodie

Geralt recoiled into himself, not realizing there were tears running down his face as he spun to look at Yennefer, having arrived in time to see you snap at him. Ciri, who was now sitting with Jaskier, halted her movements as she reached for the Witcher, the bard drawing her closer to him. The colour drained from the older woman’s skin as she saw Geralt’s face, saw the desperation and fear that was on it.

“She thinks this isn’t real, Yen. You need to do something. Get rid of the damn spell.” Geralt's voice broke as he pleaded with her, needing to fix this.

Yennefer closed her eyes briefly, brow furrowing as she searched the room for telltale signs of magic. She could feel old traces of it in the air, flinching away from the pain that accompanied it, but she couldn’t find anything active. She slowly opened them and watched as Geralt’s face fell at the expression on hers. She spoke in a whisper. “There is no spell.”

Geralt closed his eyes in despair at her words. “No, no, that’s not true. She can’t think this isn’t real, she, she has to know it’s me. She has to know I came back for her. I can’t lose her, Yen. You have to do something.”

He was begging at this point, desperate for anything that would fix you, that would make you be alright. The guilt of leaving you sat on his chest, eating away at his heart as he turned his attention back to you. You had backed yourself further into the corner during their conversation, unnerved by the harsh words. You had curled into yourself, presenting a smaller target as you tucked your tail around your side and in front of your chest in an attempt to make yourself seem less threatening.

Geralt crumbled as he stared at you, unable to think, unable to come up with a solution that would fix this problem. He sighed, turning back to his pack. Jaskier and Ciri were sat together, leaning into each other as they drew strength from their counterpart, waiting anxiously for their leader’s decision. Yennefer lingered by the doorway, guilt on her face at the thought that she couldn’t fix this either.

Geralt spoke in a low voice, unable to meet any of their eyes. “Set it alight, Yen. Burn this fucking hell hole to the ground.”

“What about-” Yennefer cut herself off as the Witcher turned back to you, heartbreak clear on his face.

“I’ll carry her, make sure she gets out.” The thought of betraying your trust like that, of possibly hurting you sent knives through him, but he had to do it. As Yennefer muttered incantations under her breath behind him, Geralt closed his eyes and reached for that mantle of power, covering himself in it. He felt the world shift and opened his eyes to see sharper colours with his enhanced senses. In this form he could see your injuries with greater detail, and the guilt eating away at him grew. It was his fault you were in this situation in the first place. He couldn’t protect you and now you were hurt because of it.

As Yennefer announced she was ready, he approached you, heart breaking at the sight of you shrinking away from him. You screamed at him as he bent towards you, teeth snapping at his muzzle. Trying to be gentle, he batted you away, wincing as the scent of fear that had already been in the air grew stronger at his actions. He pressed you into the ground, closing his muzzle around the scruff at your neck as he gently lifted you into the air. You struggled for a little while longer before going limp, body becoming a dead weight hanging from his mouth.

Panicked, he set you down, a whimper escaping him as he nudged you with his nose. He could see your chest rising and falling as a distant part of him pointed out the fact that he could see all of your ribs through your fur. He pushed that, and the guilt, to the back of his mind, focusing on your heartbeat, faint as it was, consoling himself with the fact that it was still regular. Gathering you again, he lifted you by your scruff as he turned to look at the rest of his pack. A lion, a honey badger, and a raven waited for him.

As he moved towards the door, the raven flew over to a crack in the wall and placed the ball of light hanging from her beak there. As she did, a vivid blue flame sprung from it, racing up the stones to the ceiling as the shape shifters left the room, racing for the stairs. Geralt was careful not to swing you, but still moved with urgency. He could smell the acrid smoke filling the air as the stone burned from the unnatural flame. The pack burst out of the keep and raced for the forest, leaving the burning stone behind them, the flames highlighted as the structure was framed against the dark night sky.

**~*~*~*~**

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

Note

Hey, I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader convinces Geralt to go on a quest to help her retrieve a notebook that a dragon stole from her. And along the way, Geralt catches feeling for the reader and can't figure out why he has such a compulsion to protect her. And then it dawns on him that she's half witcher, and maybe that's where maybe some angst kicks in?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Geralt x ReaderWord Count: 1,925Rating: TTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract@your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan a/n: This was an interesting premise! I hope I did it justice! Thanks!

Geralt was at a point in his career where he could pick and choose jobs as he wished and yours wasn’t the kind he’d usually pick. Retrieving a notebook from a dragon seemed ridiculous. At first he’d gruffly rebuffed you, telling you to buy a new notebook and getting up to walk away. But when you’d called after him that you’d just go on your own if you had to, a strange feeling overcame him. He’d immediately turned around and accepted the job, barking that you’d leave tomorrow at first light, and turned back around before he could see the relieved smile light up your face. Something about you compelled him to keep you safe. He hadn’t felt that kind of pull since Ciri had entered his life but you were no child and the way he felt as he looked at you was far from paternal. He was a professional, though, and he would escort you there and back and that would be it.

That was his plan, at least. A well laid and ultimately useless one. For all that he tried to wedge distance between the two of you, you found your way in. You were funny and charming and the way the fire illuminated your face made you lovelier than all the stars in the skies above you. More than once he felt the urge to pull you close but he fought against it. Partially out of professionalism but more out of fear. He didn’t know what caused this intense attraction but he didn’t trust it.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said one day, hoping that he may learn something that would help him like you less. You walked alongside of Roach and glanced up at the witcher who loomed large above you.

“Why?” you asked bluntly.

“If we are to travel together we may as well learn more about each other,” he replied.

“Alright,” you said, “You go first.”

“I asked first,” he countered.

“What do you want to know?” you asked, pretend he hadn’t just given the most childish rebuttal imaginable.

“Tell me about your family,” he offered. You were quiet for a long moment and he began to regret the question. He had a soft spot in his heart for people with unfortunate families.

“I don’t know much about them,” you admitted.

“Orphaned?”

“Yes, you?”

“Don’t remember them so yes,” he replied.

“Any family at all then?” you asked, seamlessly taking up the mantle of interrogator. Geralt thought of Ciri and Jaskier and everyone at Kaer Morhen.

“Some,” he answered, “Yourself?”

“Some,” you replied with a little smile playing about your lips as you thought of the people you’d come to know and trust in your life.

“So tell me something,” Geralt said, trying another tactic, “Why a witcher to retrieve a notebook? Do you want me to slay the dragon because I can tell you right now that unless the beast is going around eating people I will leave it as it lives.”

“Of course I don’t want you to kill it,” you answered, tone severe and face contorted into a scowl, “I happen to have a tenderness towards monsters. If it were just a matter of killing it I’d be fine. It is specifically because I don’t wish to hurt it that I asked a professional monster wrangler to aid me.”

Geralt’s face crumpled into a very disgruntled expression. You’d answered perfectly and what’s worse his heart had skipped an already slow beat at your mention of feeling tenderness towards monsters.

“Stupid,” he bit out, “It’s stupid to feel tender towards monsters. Good way to get eaten.”

You stopped walking and he paused Roach’s steps, looking back at you. You gave him a cool, withering expression that cut through the layers of thick leather armor on his body, chilling him to the bone.

“Do not underestimate me, Witcher,” you said, “I know of what I speak when it comes to monsters.”

You began to walk again, striding ahead with your head held high as Geralt grumpily trotted after you, falling into a silence that was far less enjoyable than the one before. This, Geralt thought to himself bitterly, is what comes of small talk.

That evening Geralt scouted the area around the campsite twice, senses heightened with the need to ensure your safety. The anxiety for your wellbeing buzzed in his mind like a particularly persistent gnat. You were oblivious it seemed. You made the fire while he was gone and even fed Roach and, to Geralt’s horror, was brushing her coat when he returned. The horse seemed as enchanted with you as Geralt was and his stomach pitched at the thought of how well you seemed to fit into their little life together. He went to his bedroll without a word and went to sleep while you stayed up a bit longer tending the fire and petting Roach.

Somehow Geralt fell asleep but when he woke it was to a sharp spike of panic running through him. He stood up, already reaching for his sword, and a hand clamped around his mouth. He tore at it but he soon recognized it and stilled as you leaned to whisper in his ear.

“I think we found our dragon.”

A brilliant flash of golden scales, illuminated by the fire which was a pile of glowing embers now, rustled through the trees and you kept your hand on Geralt’s mouth, face pressed by his as you watched carefully to see if the dragon would come towards you or move on unimpeded. Geralt’s mind was torn between focusing on the threat and trying to figure out how you had perceived it before he did and how you were strong enough to keep your hand clamped tight around him. The only person who had ever been able to sneak up on him in the past was a fellow witcher and you were not-

Geralt glanced, your face closer than it had ever been and even in the darkness he began to notice little things. Your eyes, though Y/E/C and not the usual witcher’s yellow hue, glowed slightly even in the dark. Your skin wasn’t pale per se but there was a wan quality to it that some may mistake as sickly, but there was nothing weak about your grasp on him. And then Geralt realize your heart wasn’t beating. He listened carefully, your body pressed close enough that he should have felt its rhythm, but there was nothing for 1… 2…. 3…. Thump. You relaxed your grip and stepped back.

“It’s left for now but we should probably get moving,” you said, moving to stir water into the campfire.

“You’re a witcher,” Geralt said, not a question but a confused revelation. You paused and sighed heavily.

“I’m not,” you said.

“Bullshit,” Geralt replied, “I don’t know how it took me this long but you are one, I know that much.”

“I’m not,” you insisted, turning to face him, “I’m… well I suppose at best I’m half.”

Geralt blinked a few times in confusion, trying to process what you’d said.

“No such thing,” he argued, “Witcher’s are sterile and cannot procreate. And those who fail the trial of grasses die.”

“Yes,” you agreed, “They do. But not all stay dead.”

Geralt didn’t have a response for that, just a relentless stare that you met head on. You knew this was a battle of wills that you would try to win but you also knew there was no walking this back, you may as well tell him.

“Girl witchers are rare,” you said, continuing to round up items around the campfire and keeping your voice low, “But not unheard of. I was taken in much as I’m sure you were, offered up by family shortly after birth or maybe being found, I’ve heard different things from different people. I trained and I was submitted to the trial of the grasses but something went wrong. There was an attack that was unanticipated and I was left for dead. Until a mage found me, compelled by something, they say destiny and who am I to disagree with them though I feel it does a disservice to their work. They say there was just enough life left in me to bring back and so here I am. Not a witcher, but not a human either. Something different. Something that doesn’t quite belong anywhere. So yes, Geralt of Rivia, I know monsters. I am a new breed of one. But I dare to think that like that dragon, I deserve to live. Not all would agree. Not all of your own order would agree. But there it is.”

By the time you were done talking you had packed everything up and even saddled Roach while Geralt watched in stunned silence, listening but hardly believing what you told him. He could tell you were being honest, though.

“That’s why I’ve felt so….” He began and then stopped himself. You turned swiftly and looked at him.

“That’s why you’ve felt what?” you asked.

“I’ve felt a sort of… connection with you,” he said, “I thought maybe I was just… but this is why. You’re… well, you’re almost…”

“I know,” you said with a rueful smile, “What to call me? You understand why I don’t really lead with it.”

“But surely somebody knows,” he argued, moving closer and taking the reins from your hands, “Someone in the council knows. Vesemir at the very least must.”

“Don’t,” you said suddenly, face tense and terrified, “You cannot tell anyone. You’re right, some know of me, and none want me around. At best I’m a curiosity to be investigated and dissected. At worst I’m collateral damage and an unnatural thing to be taken back out of the world. If you tell anyone, you write my death sentence.”

“I am a witcher first and foremost,” Geralt said, “I know my people. I would not put your life at risk-”

“The only way you keep me safe is to stay silent,” you protested, “If you cannot, then at least let me get a head start. I’ll stay out of your life, hell I’ll find a mage to try and clear your memory for you if I have to, but know that you tell someone, I am dead.”

Geralt considered your words. He felt certain that he could, and absolutely should, tell his old mentor that you existed, perhaps even have you join them since you clearly possessed some of their abilities. But your words also rang true and the idea of putting you at risk felt as possible as rending his own limbs off. You stared at him in breathless anticipation of what he would say and when he finally looked up at you, you knew he had his answer.

“Go.”

You ran into the night, not looking back or giving him half a chance to think twice about his decision. Geralt watched you go as a deep sense of grief washed over him. If destiny had spared your life it felt that destiny must had brought your lives together for some reason. Though his heart ached as he climbed atop Roach’s back and stared at the spot you’d long since disappeared from view in, he felt a strange sense of certainty as well.

He would see you again and next time, whatever the cost, even if he had to eliminate every threat with his bare hands, he would ensure your safety and if he was lucky he may even get to keep you close.

#miyakokurono #Geralt x Reader #geralt imagines #geralt drabble #geralt angst #reader request

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dreamingofscully · 4 years

Text

MOMENTUM - CHAPTER 1

(READ CHAPTER 2)

Rating: Mature (ch 1), Explicit (ch 2) Length: ~12k words Classification: M/S RST, Angst, Post-Ep for En Ami and spoilers through Chimera and all things Summary: Scully’s choices lead to some unintended consequences for herself and her relationship with Mulder.

Thank you to my betas! @sarie-fairy @scullyeffect and @o6666666 for the machete betas and @suitablyaggrieved @starbuckthirteen and @unhappybrthday for the feedback. Definitely could not have done it without you.

Tagging @today-in-fic and @kega-umi.

(Read on AO3)

*** FRIDAY SPENDER’S FORMER OFFICE

“He knows what that science is worth, how powerful it is....He'd let nothing stand in his way.” - Mulder

“You may be right... but for a moment, I saw something else in him. A longing for something more than power. Maybe for something he could never have.” - Scully

Scully wishes she could claim possession, body-snatching or any sort of ridiculous idea besides the one that she simply did something stupid. Mulder stands in front of her, arms braced on the doorway, waiting for a reasonable explanation. Why did she believe Spender? Why is she trying to paint him in a more sympathetic light? She thought she was doing the right thing at the time, but looking back she can’t believe she was so foolish. The silence stretches between them, his eyes filling with disappointment as he turns and walks away, leaving her standing in the empty room.

Looking for some tangible proof of Spender’s presence, she scans the room one last time. Wonders why she’s even bothering since proof won’t give her the answers she needs. All of their experiences with him showed that he was nothing more than a liar, manipulating people for his own personal gain and twisted pleasure. Scully’s smart but she’s never been good at deception. Why did she think she could out-wit the man whose entire life was built on lies? Finding nothing in the room to ease her conscience, she reluctantly follows Mulder to his car.

The last time she could remember this amount of tension between them was when Scully had voiced her suspicions to Mulder about Diana. They never talked about the hurt they’d caused one another back then, but that was their usual M.O. - never speaking about what mattered. Getting back to the X-Files, the foundation of their partnership, repaired the damage they'd inflicted upon one another. Shortly afterwards, they took the next monumental step in their relationship, finally admitting the feelings they had for one another and becoming lovers. It made the issues they argued about seem unimportant, at the time.

Mulder drives her home without even sparing her a glance. His inattention is glaringly unfamiliar. A few times, Scully opens her mouth to say something but changes her mind, each justification sounding inadequate. She’s utterly disappointed in herself.

Finally, he pulls up outside her door, leaving the motor running. Needing to say something before leaving she undoes her seatbelt and turns to face him.

“Mulder--”

“Not now, Scully. Just get out.” He doesn't meet her gaze. There’s tension in his shoulders, barely concealed rage simmering just under the surface.

Not moving, she steels herself for his anger. She still has some hope of reasoning with him but before she can say anything else, Mulder turns to look at her. Instead of fury, she sees pain and vulnerability and her heart clenches in her chest. He thinks she betrayed him and from the outside that’s exactly what it looks like, exactly what Spender intended. Was that another motive - to put a wedge between them?

Suddenly he’s left the car and is walking around to her side. He wrenches open her door and waits impatiently for her to get out. As she exits the car and reaches for him, he avoids her touch and goes back to the driver's side like he’d drive away whether she shut the door or not.

“Mulder, I was wrong to go with Spender but I think that might be what he intended all along, to make you doubt me. Call me when you’re ready to talk. Just know I’m sorry, and I love you.”

Scully waits, hoping he'll turn towards her and acknowledge her words.

“Shut the door.” He doesn’t spare her a glance.

When she closes the door between them, his car peels out of the parking lot, leaving Scully at the curb to watch Mulder drive out of sight. She doesn’t remember the walk to her apartment, her head filled with fury and regret.

*** MONDAY FBI HEADQUARTERS

Scully walks down the hallway to their office, her heels clicking in an urgent, staccato rhythm, mimicking her fluttering heartbeat. He hadn’t called over the weekend, and despite not knowing his state of mind, she’s eager to see him. While they don’t spend every day together, it was rare a day went by that they didn’t at least speak on the phone, talking about anything and nothing. She misses their connection in a way that makes her feel weak and unsure, a foreign and unwelcome sensation. Taking a deep breath, she brushes her sweaty hands on her skirt and prepares a hopefully normal-looking smile on her face as she opens the door.

Instead of a brooding, grumpy partner, she finds an empty office.

There’s no note on either of their desks. She double checks the door for a message - nothing. Concerned, she boots up her computer and scans her email. Nothing. Her cell phone is charged and there were no messages on her answering machine, she triple-checked before she left that morning.

Even though her instincts scream at her that he might have gone and done something impulsive and stupid, Scully takes a few deep breaths and forces herself to trust him. Calling him will only piss him off even more if, as she suspects, he’s only trying to avoid her a little while longer. He’ll be here. She’ll give him thirty minutes.

The time seems to pass interminably. She’s constantly checking the clock and reopening her email. Wondering if the computer system is down, she’s about to call tech support when the new email icon pops up on her desktop. Her heart leaps in her chest and she’s irrationally angry when it’s not him. She tries to work away at the long list of things she means to do but never has the time for but her eyes keep wandering to the clock. The reports on her desk remain unopened.

Twenty-five minutes. That’s close enough. She calls his home, but he must have turned off his answering machine. And he doesn’t answer his cell.

Panic sets in.

Not knowing what else to do, Scully dials the number for Skinner’s office, chewing on her lip while she waits to be connected.

“What is it, Agent Scully?” His irritation makes her more nervous than usual, reminding her of the many, many times Mulder did something to annoy him.

“Sir? I, um, wondered if you had any idea of Mulder’s whereabouts?”

Silence for a few beats.

“He’s in St. Louis, helping with a profile. Left yesterday night. You’re unaware of this, Agent Scully? I thought you went with him.”

Scully massages her forehead, suppressing a sigh. “No, I... um... had stuff to do here. He must have forgotten to let me know. Sorry for bothering you, sir.”

Scully tries Mulder’s cell again but it disconnects after one ring. So, that’s how it's going to be. Annoyance begins to creep up at his avoidance, but she tamps it down. She’s more worried about the toll that profiling will take on him. Since she’s not his favorite person right now, she fears her presence would only distract him, making the process take longer rather than providing any help. If they needed a pathologist, Mulder knew where she was.

Straightening her back, Scully forces herself to concentrate and get back to work. It’ll be a long few days alone in their basement office, but perhaps she can take advantage of his absence and catch up on reports and paperwork. Calmed by the practicality of her thoughts, she dives into the neatly stacked piles of work on her desk, determined to put her emotions aside until she’s able to talk to Mulder about it.

*** FRIDAY

The rest of the week passes incredibly slowly without Mulder there to keep her company. When Scully tries to find out any information on his profiling case, thinking she could help from a distance or find an excuse to join him out there, she’s rebuffed. She almost takes the rejection personally but dismisses the irrational thoughts - not everything is about her.

The anger she feels towards Spender grows with each day of Mulder’s absence, each day he refuses her call. She knows that this entire charade was intended to not only help Spender acquire something dangerous but to create doubt in her partner’s head about her. Once he gets back, she’s sure things will be fine, but the work doesn’t hold her interest without him there to distract her from it.

Speaking of distractions... Scully reaches for the office phone and hits redial, reaches Mulder’s voicemail.

“Mulder, it’s me. I’m not going to apologize again, you’ve already heard all that. I still can’t give you a good explanation. Just… I guess I just saw an opportunity for something and decided to take a leap. I know it wasn’t the best time to do that but, there you have it. Call me. Please. I’m worried about you out there.”

Scully hangs up the phone, taps on the receiver. She hates not knowing, hates not being about to do something. Needing to do something, she picks up the phone and dials Skinner’s extension.

A few perfunctory minutes of updates to him on her progress in the office over the past week and Scully gets to the real reason for her call.

“Sir, I was hoping for an update on Mulder’s case in St. Louis?” She tries to sound casual and unconcerned.

In the momentary silence on the other end of the receiver, she imagines Skinner’s brows knitting together. She swears under her breath, sure he would find it unusual that she was asking him, rather than speaking to Mulder directly.

“Uh... I just spoke to Agent Mulder. He’s due back tomorrow.” A pause. “Is everything okay, Agent Scully? Is there a reason you haven’t spoken with him yourself?”

“No, not at all. I-- um...that’s all I needed from you. Goodbye, sir.”

Tomorrow, then. Scully smiles softly, nodding to herself. He’ll be home and she can help him with whatever consequences arose from the case in St. Louis, relieved she can finally take action.

*** SATURDAY MULDER’S APARTMENT

The rumbling of thunder and flashes of lightning accompany Scully as she strides down the hallway to Mulder’s apartment, shaking droplets of water from her raincoat. The fading light bulbs and sparse indigo light from the window at the end of the hall paint everything in shadowy illumination reminiscent of evening, though it's midafternoon. She knocks on his door, biting her lower lip. Strangely nervous about seeing him after so long.

She hears the lock opening and suddenly he’s in front of her. He hasn’t opened the door completely but the few inches of Mulder that she sees causes her to smile foolishly.

Oh, how I missed him.

“Hey,” she says. Her delight spills out before she notices his appearance. He looks like he’s been to hell and back - he hasn’t shaved in at least a week and there's dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.

“Oh, Mulder…”

Scully reaches for him, but before she can get close he flinches and pulls away from her, still holding the door partially closed and blocking her entrance. She’s dismayed at his reaction but tells herself it’s not about her.

“Now isn’t a good time.” His voice is strained. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s been a week… I thought we could get dinner and… talk?” At his blank stare, she continues. “Are you ok?” She places a hand on the doorframe and checks him over more closely.

“I don’t think you being here is a good idea,” he says, his gaze hardening under her inspection.

Confused at his rejection, Scully takes a deep breath, trying to think of something to say to bridge the gap between them.

“Is this about Spender?”

Mulder’s eyes suddenly flare with unbridled fury. His jaw clenches and his grip on the door tightens. Scully’s not sure what’s worse, the intense anger or the emotionlessness. He stares past her into the hallway.

“Why on earth would you bring him up, Scully?” He asks this quietly, but she feels the force of his anger with every syllable.

“Mulder, I didn’t mean--”

"What didn't you mean?" Mulder interrupts, yanking the door open and leaning closer but further blocking her entrance. His entire body rigid. "To take off with a man who's lied and worked against us for years? Who gave you your disease, who took so many things from the both of us?”

"I told you why I went, what he told me." The reason sounds feeble as soon as she voices it, unprepared to defend herself. She’d come to support him in the aftermath of profiling a horrific case, only he seems more upset over her actions from a week ago. .

Mulder’s eyes flash at her again. "And look what it got you. Nothing. Less than nothing. I was so worried about you.”

The care she tried to take when she left with Spender ended up being completely worthless. Of course Mulder worried about her. What he must have thought?

He continues, hands gripping the doorframe. “He could have done anything he wanted and you played right into his hands. And I still don't understand. You've always been the one telling me not to trust others, then you take off with the worst sonofabitch--"

Sheets of rain pound against the window, and dangerous crashes of thunder punctuate Mulder’s furious words, cutting off the last part of his sentence. Scully tries to hold his gaze, to tell him with her eyes what she can’t seem to express with her words. She can’t stand how he’s looking at her any longer and glances out the window at the storm.

Flashes of light illuminate the hallway as she turns back. Long shadows drape Mulder in half-light. His face is both dark and light at once and while she desperately tries to focus her thoughts into coherence, he’s sinking back into his darkened apartment.

"Mulder, I tried..." The rest of her words shrivel under the weight of her mistake. She didn’t need to repeat herself and he didn’t seem to want to accept, let alone believe, her motivations the first time. A week apart didn’t lessen his anger. Her chest tightens. "I don't know what else to say."

"I don't think I really know you." Mulder’s voice breaks, sharpness replaced by vulnerability.

The statement breaks her heart. She knows how much trust means to him, that for years now she’s been the only one he can count on, who never tried to manipulate him. She's always been his exception. He trusted her implicitly because she’s never had an agenda. Have her actions forced him to doubt her?

He has no one else. Of course he would react this way.

She composes herself before speaking again, feeling like she’s traveled back in time, needing to convince him that he could trust her again.

"You do know me. It was a mistake. A terrible mistake, but that's all it was. It's me." She longs to reach out and grab his hand to emphasize her point, but his earlier reaction makes her hesitant.

Mulder’s eyes close and his shoulders slump, weariness and defeat written on every inch of his frame. He inches the door shut, withdrawing from her completely.

"Mulder, please…" She’s desperate but has no idea how to reach him, convince him her intentions were pure. It’s like the idea of her betrayal has buried itself so deeply within him there’s nothing she can do to convince him otherwise.

“No. I can’t do this right now.” He pulls away, shutting the door firmly between them.

She hadn’t expected this. Needing some sort of connection no matter how tenuous, she reaches out and lays her hand on the door, the smooth wood-grain surface under her palm an ineffectual replacement. She stands there for longer than she should, her breath shallow, emotions swirling within her.

A boom of thunder shocks her out of her bleak thoughts, forcing her hand from his door and her steps towards the elevator. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him this mad at her for so long. She manages to get to her car and drive home, heedless of the rain soaking her to the skin.

*** MONDAY, THE FOLLOWING WEEK FBI HEADQUARTERS

Worried when Mulder’s late for work on Monday, Scully wonders if she’ll have a repeat of last week. When he shows up she’s relieved, despite his rumpled suit and tired eyes. Mulder is distant but at least they’re speaking to one another, giving Scully hope that they can fix whatever happened between them.

They work separately on old case reports and Scully tries to take comfort in the routine. However, Mulder’s dark mood is a thick fog between them, making their progress feel sluggish and their attempts at communication heavy and awkward. She wishes she could give him some measure of solace, comb her fingers through his hair, hold him at night until he falls into an easy slumber. Guilt cuts through her concern, presses heavily on her chest. It was her own actions that placed her here, preventing her from being able to give him comfort.

Regardless, he's talking to her, which she takes as a step in the right direction.

The week passes and Scully’s optimism dwindles. She almost forgets about their estrangement until he shies away from her touch, doesn’t meet her gaze, and refuses to banter or joke and she's struck by the remoteness of his presence. It’s like she's been reduced to a tolerable acquaintance rather than his closest friend and lover.

They’ve never been good at talking about personal things. Scully could probably recount on one hand the rare times they spoke openly about their relationship or feelings with one another. How can she start a conversation with him about when it’s just not something that they do?

Thoughts of her sister emerge more frequently. Scully misses her acutely, the pain of her death like a fresh wound. Was it this hard all those years ago? Missy was so good at knowing what to do when it came to people. Instead of speculating about what her sister would say, Scully embraces her strengths and gets back to work, what brought her and Mulder together in the first place. She takes some comfort in simply having him nearby, witnessing the brilliance of his mind. If they’ve taken a step back in their relationship, she can’t deny that she wouldn’t trade her partner for any other.

*** FRIDAY FBI HEADQUARTERS

“There’s been some tension between my partner and I this past week and I can’t figure out how to get past it. Or if we even can.” Scully chews on her bottom lip, finding it difficult to voice her concerns aloud.

Karen Kosseff, the FBI counselor she’s talked to off and on over the years, sits across from her in her small office. She’s silent, calmly waiting for her to continue.

Scully clears her throat. “I made a mistake, a pretty serious one, that might have made him question my loyalty.”

“Were you disloyal to him?”

“No, never." Scully answers immediately. “I did something reckless, something that made him worry about me. But now he’s just upset, won’t talk.”

“You’ve been partnered with Agent Mulder for…” Karen consults the file in front of her. “Seven years now? That’s quite a long time to be paired with someone. But you feel this is different than the usual ups and downs one would expect in such a long-term relationship?”

“Before--” She interrupts herself before accidentally revealing too much. “We’ve had arguments before, but never anything that prevented us from continuing our work normally. Even if we don’t talk about it, we generally push on like nothing’s happened.”

“And do you think that’s an effective way to communicate?”

“Probably not.” Her mouth turns up in a self-deprecating smile. She’s always been comfortable with not talking, not revealing her innermost thoughts. It was always easier to keep things hidden, but she knows deep down that it’s always led to trouble. “But anything would be better than what’s going on now.”

“From our past meetings and from reading your file I can see you two have weathered a lot in the years you’ve been together. That can take a serious toll on anyone.” Karen’s compassionate voice always seems to seep through her walls. She forgets each time how easy it is to open up when she’s here.

“I know this. And I think maybe what we’re going through now might be a continuation of things we’ve been through. I just wish I knew what to do.” Scully’s voice cracks, she feels tears threatening. Bowing her head as she closes her eyes, she tries to remain in control for long enough to say everything she needs to.

“Is there something else bothering you?”

Scully whips her head up to look at Karen. How does she do that? “I, um… I can’t talk to him about this--”

Karen tilts her head, waits.

“Something happened to me, when I… made my mistake. I don’t really know what. I’m scared to find out. But if I told him--” Scully breaks off to press a hand to her mouth, feeling hot tears spill out over her cheeks, but she forces herself to continue. “It would make what I did so much worse.”

Scully has tried not to think about what Spender did to her while she was unconscious. It was easier to be angry with Spender about the disc and his lies, to be concerned with Mulder’s feelings and how she could help him.

Karen doesn’t speak for several minutes, offering Scully a box of tissues. Her voice is concerned when she breaks their silence. “What are you scared of, Dana?”

“Of the possibilities. Of the consequences of them. Maybe I’ve made more than one mistake. This is just the last one in a series, and I can’t go back to how it was before--”

Karen raises her eyebrows at her pause.

It was so difficult to separate herself from their new relationship, maybe that was one of the problems. Taking a deep breath, and changing the direction she’d been heading. “I think I always prided myself on acting as Mulder’s ballast, the person who grounds him. I feel like I’ve failed in that regard, and I think he sees it that way too. Maybe that’s what is most upsetting, not what I did but how outside of myself the mistake was.”

“Do you feel like he holds you to unreasonable standards?”

“I don’t think so.” Crumpling the tissue in her hands, breaking it off into little pieces, Scully sighs before continuing. “I think if I give him time, things will work out. Sometimes we take a while to get moving, so to speak.”

***

It’s not usually until much later that Scully feels better after a session with Karen. Uncomfortable truths come to the surface, harmful things she realizes she’s been doing and needs to change. Knowing and doing, though, are two entirely different things. Even if she knew how to get him to speak with her, she doesn’t know if she has the strength to open up to him, to tell him everything.

Instead of worrying about what to do with Mulder, Scully dives into work with an obsessive meticulousness. Not only does she work on finishing case reports, she consults with other agents outside the X-Files on their cases and starts research on a new paper about a case from a few months back. Outside of work, she starts a new training regimen, hoping she’ll be marathon-ready if the opportunity ever arises. The addition of all of these activities leaves her exhausted at the end of each day, falling into a restless sleep late at night and waking just in time to start the next morning.

Sometimes the flurry of her day isn’t enough to keep her mind from wandering before unconsciousness takes her. These nights are the hardest. Despite spending most of the day with Mulder, and even though they didn’t spend every night with each other before their falling-out, she’s lonely. When she misses the warmth and solidity of his body around hers, she’ll find momentary release from her recently retired vibrator. Pretending he's here, that he's touching her, that things are back to normal. After her orgasm she feels the emptiness of her bed even more acutely - it’s not his body or her pleasure that she misses most, but the intimacy of his presence.

Scully’s mood shifts after a few weeks of her busier schedule. She’s easily angered and it’s increasingly difficult to hide her emotions. The incessant cracking of Mulder’s sunflower seeds grates on her nerves and she finds herself leaving the office more frequently as well, refusing to take out her anger at its intended target. Skinner and the rest of the agents in the building avoid her whenever they hear the tell-tale sound of her strident heels in the halls.

***

It’s been just over three weeks since Mulder’s return from St. Louis and four weeks since they’ve had a friendly conversation. Scully finds herself in the office alone, reviewing a forensics report for a fellow agent, a favor she’s been meaning to return. Mulder’s jacket sits on the back of his chair, empty seed shells littering the desk and the floor around it. He’s off doing God knows what and she doesn’t bother asking where he’s going anymore, since he only responds to her questions with single-syllable grunts. She’s irritated at Mulder’s presumption of her availability, and his continued neglect of their relationship. What relationship?

When the phone rings, she considers not answering. She’s uncomfortable with negligence of duty, no matter how small, compelling her to pick up after a respectable three rings.

“What?”

“Er, Agent Scully, I was hoping to discuss the case reports you and Agent Mulder just turned in.”

Scully bites the inside of her cheek and closes her eyes, attempting to keep her annoyance at bay. With the extra time she and Mulder seem to have nowadays, the reports are some of the most comprehensive ones they’ve ever turned in. She feels like this conversation is a giant waste of time, but Skinner’s her boss, so she suffers through his questions.

Scully hangs up the phone as Mulder enters their office reading a file, not acknowledging her presence. She studiously ignores his silence and goes back to her report.

Almost an hour later, Scully looks up from her reading, surprised to find that so much time has passed. When she looks over at Mulder, she meets his gaze and blinks in surprise.

“Do you need something, Mulder?” Scully raises her eyebrows and feels her mouth start to twitch upwards in a smile. Warmth floods her chest at his unexpected attention.

Mulder shakes his head and reaches for a report, opening it and ignoring her.

Her anger spills out, and she doesn’t hold it back this time. “When are you going to stop punishing me?”

“Once I feel you can be trusted to not run off with the next guy who promises you something.”

Scully’s eyebrows knit together and her mouth drops open in shock. Before she can respond, Mulder grabs his jacket and leaves without another word. Her hand rises to her mouth and she closes her eyes, feeling the force of his words like a punch to the gut.

He won’t even speak to me about what’s bothering him, yet feels the need to make condescending remarks?

She stares at the office door, wishing he’d return so she could tell him where he could shove his idiotic petulance.

When he doesn’t come back, Scully finds it difficult to concentrate. She leaves early and heads to the gym for a punishing training session before heading home. Rewarding herself with a few glasses of wine and a decidedly non-romantic movie, she manages to sink into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Scully’s running late, dreading another confrontation but knowing she should say something. Mulder’s sitting at his desk with coffee for the both of them.

“I’m sorry for what I said yesterday, Scully.”

She’s surprised at first, stares at him. He’s avoiding her gaze, buried in a report. As she waits for him to continue, he turns his chair around and sorts through some files behind his desk.

That’s it?

After he left the office yesterday, she was determined to finally speak frankly but after his weak apology she’s reluctant to cause another argument.

A night of stewing in her anger left her emotionally drained and pessimistic about being able to work things out with him. Every time she tries to talk, her mouth goes dry and a weight presses heavily on her chest.

Why is it so difficult to know what to say?

Frustrated at her inability to express herself, she resumes work without another word. They exist in the same office, worlds apart.

*** WEDNESDAY, THE FOLLOWING WEEK ABANDONED WAREHOUSE SOUTHEAST WASHINGTON, DC

“Well, good work, Scully. I'll call you back later.” - Mulder

Scully rolls her shoulders and stands, irritated at his abrupt goodbye. The conclusion of the case re-energized her but now she feels exhaustion creeping back. Despite her tiredness, she can’t help thinking about Mulder and this damn surveillance. She feels abandoned. While she’s left to pursue something not even worth their time, he scampers off to investigate a real X-File on his own. Maybe he realizes he doesn’t actually need her after all.

They’d become automatons. Mulder doesn’t talk to her about any new cases, they just work on tying loose ends and finishing reports. She wonders if he disappears on weekends to investigate things on his own instead of calling and pestering her to join him. She regrets her feigned annoyance back then, that she never really told him how much their time together meant to her.

Her shoulder twinges, sore from sitting too long. A tumultuous combination of anger and dread builds within her. Aside from the time she went to his apartment, or the time he told her off, he won’t talk about what happened and as the days pass it gets harder for her to confront him about it. She doesn’t know how to fix their relationship if he won’t even acknowledge its presence. It’s bewildering that he can give up on them so easily - all the things they’ve done for each other over the years and he can just cast her off? Maybe she had everything wrong from the beginning, that the intensity of her feelings for him have always been one-sided.

At home, Scully peels off her clothes and stands under the lash of a hot shower until her skin is pink and raw. Unbidden, the tears start to flow, merging with the sluice of water flowing over her body. She was so preoccupied with her rage that this new emotion takes her by surprise. She only notices it once the sobs cause her to double over as she struggles to contain them.

The combination of steam and grief starts to make her feel dizzy. Stumbling out of the stall, she sits heavily on the floor, grabbing her towel and wrapping it around herself.

She doesn’t notice the cold air causing her to shiver violently. She’s oblivious to her wet hair plastered to her head and neck, thick droplets cascading to the floor and pooling underneath her, making a wet mess on the cold tiles.

Her awareness consists only of the overwhelming grief and painful pressure of her hands pressing against her eyes in a futile attempt to stop the emotions overtaking her.

All this time… the idea that their relationship had meant nothing to him, even after everything he’s said and done. The hold he’s had over her for years, thinking that it was only a matter of time. Never that it would come to an end almost before it even began. All her fears and vulnerabilities she’s bottled up these past few weeks spill over, shaking her to her core. She recalls the nagging but easily-ignored feelings that their happiness couldn’t last. Those minor twinges and paranoid notions suddenly seem so undeniably monstrous and real.

She’s not sure how long she sits crumpled there on the floor. Her ass is numb and she’s shaking uncontrollably with the cold by the time she comes back to herself. She’s stiff from the awkward position she’s been sitting in and the tension of her emotional outburst. Drying herself off and slipping into warm flannel pajamas, she heads to her darkened bedroom. Her head hits the pillow and she envelopes herself underneath her quilt, her grief waning into bruising emptiness as she falls into an exhausted slumber.

***

Hours later, Mulder comes to her apartment and lets himself in, pausing at the doorway before heading to her bedroom. He stands at the end of the bed and stares at her sleeping form for several minutes, a bleak expression on his face. He moves closer, carefully tucking the blanket around her, brushing a trembling hand over her curling hair, gently kissing the patch of skin peeking out from the collar of her pajamas. Leaning towards her, he studies her sleeping form for a few more minutes before leaving, regret and an awakened determination in his eyes.

END CHAPTER 1 ------- (READ CHAPTER 2)

#xf fanfic #msr #my fic #mulder and scully #msr fanfic #xfiles #x-files #momentum

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swanqueeneverafter · 3 years

Text

The Once & Future Queen Pt.30

Camelot. (Guinevere, Lancelot, Merlin and the Knights ride out of Camelot toward an unspecified destination. Over hill, through valley and beyond, they come upon a cliff overlooking the Impenetrable Forest.) Lancelot: “Where now?” Merlin: “Through the Impenetrable Forest.” Gwaine: “But it’s. . .” Elyan: “Impenetrable.” Gwaine: “We can’t possibly get through there?” Merlin: “We must.” The Impenetrable Forest. (The group make their way slowly through the forest, cutting away at the branches in their path. Gwaine manages to rip his cloak on the thorns, leaving a piece of it behind. Everyone stares at him while he frantically thrashes around in an attempt to free himself.) Gwaine: (Composing himself:) “Keep going.” (Everyone smiles and continues on through the forest.) Meanwhile, In Another Forest. (While Morgana rides, she drags a bound Anastasia by the hands behind her horse. Breathing heavily, Anastasia collapses onto the forest floor. Dismounting, Morgana walks over and offers Anastasia a drink from a canteen.) Morgana: “Here.” (Anastasia glances at the canteen but does not accept it.) Anastasia: “I don’t want anything from you.” Morgana: “Drink it. You may need it.” Anastasia: “Why?” Morgana: “I would not be in such a hurry to know.” (Morgana lifts her arm and pours all the water out of the canteen onto the ground. Remounting her horse, Morgana continues to drag Anastasia along on their journey.)

Arendelle. Forest. (After a quick trip across the sea, Regina and Emma have journeyed to Arendelle to seek advice from their friends.) Emma: "Are you sure Kristoff will be all right watching Maria by himself?" Anna: "Oh sure, he's very capable. Plus it'll help him get used to the idea of having a baby around." Emma: "Ohh, so you're feeling a little broody huh?" Anna: "Maybe... and besides, Maria will need some friends to play with someday." (As the foursome continue walking through the woods, the conversation turns to Elsa and Anna's childhood.) Regina: "So you were forced to hide your magic from others and made to keep away from your sister?" Elsa: "Yes and no. My parents knew of my powers from an early age and, while they may not have openly encouraged it, they were supportive. It was only after the accident with Anna that they became concerned." Anna: "An accident I still don't remember by the way." Elsa: "Well I do and my parents were right. I could've killed you, Anna. That's why I chose to lock myself away, for fear of hurting the people I love again." Emma: "I’ve been there. I know when my magic was out of control and accidentally struck Henry, all I wanted to do was keep as far away from people as possible." Regina: "Yes, but as you now know, that wasn't the answer. Your parents told you to conceal your magic because they didn't understand it, Elsa. That won't be the case for Maria. Whatever problems or accidents that occur, we'll be ready for." Elsa: "I hope you're right. I still shudder to think what would've happened if not for Grand Pabbie." Anna: "Speaking of which, we're almost there, come on." Valley of the Living Rock. (Eventually, they reach the valley and Anna calls out.) Anna: "Grand Pabbie, it's us." (Nothing happens for a moment as the four women stand around waiting and then a large boulder rolls towards them, revealing itself to be the leader of the trolls.) Grand Pabbie: "Oh, Anna, how wonderful to see you again. And I notice you've brought some new faces with you." Anna: (Smiles:) "Grand Pabbie, these are our friends Emma and Regina." Grand Pabbie: "Ah yes, the ones who united the realms and will one day do so again." (Regina and Emma look to each other confused by this statement.) Anna: "Grand Pabbie, they seek your help." Grand Pabbie: "Well I would be honoured to help you ladies." (Taking Emma's hand, Regina steps forward and gives a polite bow.) Regina: "We are the ones who are honoured, Grand Pabbie." Grand Pabbie: (Chuckles:) "It is remarkable how far you've come, Queen Regina. I can feel the lightness of your energy pouring out of you, matched only by that of your wife, Queen Emma." Emma: (Smiles:) "Well flattery will get you everywhere, but I'm no queen." Grand Pabbie: "Of course not, at least not yet. But enough of my musings, you came to me with questions?" Regina: "Yes. (Glances at Emma then back to him:) We wanted to ask for guidance in regards to our daughter." Grand Pabbie: "Oh yes, the miraculous child known as Maria. What is it you wish to know?" Emma: "Well, the thing is, we've only recently discovered that Maria possesses magic and we wondered what the future holds for her?" Grand Pabbie: "I see. Why is it so important for you to know?" Regina: "We realise she holds great power and we wanted to know if it was light or dark magic that she possesses." Grand Pabbie: (Chuckles:) "Well that is easy. There can be no doubt that Maria was born of both light and dark magic, just like the connection between you both feeds the strength of your combined powers. A power so great that it is unrivaled by everything that has come before it. However, if you wish for me to see into the child's future, I would have to be in her presence, but I urge you to let the future remain unwritten. I fear you humans put too much stock in prophesy and I do not desire to be responsible for another child's fate." Regina: (Sighs:) "Thank you, Grand Pabbie. I believe you're right. Knowing too much about the future can lead to terrible things." Grand Pabbie: "Wise words, Your Majesty. Is there anything else you wish to ask me?" Emma: "Actually... I was wondering if you could tell me more about what happened in Ingrid's past?" Regina: "Ingrid?" Emma: (Nods:) "Since she gave me back my memories and after everything we went through, I've always been curious to know just what happened to cause the Snow Queen so much pain." (Anna and Elsa step forward.) Elsa: "I think we'd both be curious to know too." Anna: "She was our aunt after all." Grand Pabbie: "Very well, that I can show you, but I give fair warning, it is not a happy tale. If you would all take each other's hand, we can begin." (Anna, Elsa, Emma and Regina all hold hands and at the moment Emma and Elsa take Grand Pabbie's, the vision of Ingrid's past plays out before their eyes.)

Arendelle. Past. (In the castle's garden, Ingrid sits clutching the urn and her new blue gloves.) The Duke: (Approaches:) “Ah, the Golden Crocus. A mysterious flower that blooms only for those who are willing to wait. I don't believe we've had the pleasure.” Ingrid: “Ingrid. (She curtseys:) You must be here for Helga. I'll go and fetch her for you.” The Duke: (Blocks her path and Ingrid drops her gloves:) “Yeah, I-I'd heard rumors of this mysterious third sister, but I had to see her for myself.” Ingrid: “Oh.” (Attempts to retrieve her gloves but the Duke advances on her.) The Duke: “The stories did not lie. You are more beautiful and intriguing than I could have ever imagined. Did I say that out loud? (Chuckles:) Of course I did. Oh, you are enchanting.” (He tries to kiss her.) Ingrid: “Oh, no. Don't do this.” The Duke: “Helga will never know.” Ingrid: “She loves you.” The Duke: “But it's you that I want, you mysterious flower... The Queen to be.” (He holds her.) Ingrid: “No, no, no, no, no, no! Get back!” (She pushes him away with her magic, sending him flying across the ground.) The Duke: “What dark sorcery is this? Stay away from me!” Ingrid: “Please, don't tell anyone. Please. This has to be our secret.” Helga: (Arriving:) “Ingrid. Ingrid, what's going on here?” The Duke: “Your sister started kissing me. She told me she loved me. And when I rebuffed her, she tried to kill me with... With her magic.” Ingrid: “No! Helga, no.” Helga: “Thank you, Duke.” Ingrid: “That is not...” Helga: “Thank you for showing me what a... Liar and a scoundrel you are, and for saving me the trouble of considering taking your worthless hand in marriage.” The Duke: “How dare you?” Helga: “We shall see to it that your diplomatic mission here is over. And we shall send you straight back to Weaselton.” The Duke: “It's pronounced ‘Wesel-ton.’ And I am its Duke, and I do not take orders from you. Believe me, when Arendelle learns the truth about her, they shall side with me.” Helga: “Ingrid is my sister, and I love her for who she is. And so shall everyone else.” The Duke: “Really? Is this why you hide her away from balls and royal dinners? Why no one has ever laid eyes on this freak?” Helga: “You are out of line, ‘Weasel-ton.’” The Duke: “Mock me all you want, but the people deserve to know what their future Queen is. Before I'm through, all of Arendelle will know your secret. And when they find out how dangerous your sister really is, you won't have to hide her any longer because they'll lock her up and throw away the key.” Helga: “Enough!” The Duke: “Because that is the only fate befitting a monster.” Ingrid: “Stop!” (Ingrid uses her power to hurt the Duke but Helga protects him and she is hit by her sisters magic.) Helga: “No!” Ingrid: “N-no! No! Helga! Helga, no. Helga.” Helga: “Ohh.” Ingrid: “Helga. Helga, hey. I'm so sorry. H-Helga... No. I... No! No! No! No! (Helga freezes to death:) What have I done?” (While the Duke runs for his life, Gerda arrives.) Gerda: “Ingrid? Ingrid, what happened? Where's Hel...” Ingrid: “I didn't mean to.” Gerda: “What did you do? What did you do?!” Ingrid: “I was trying to stop the Duke. It was an accident. You have to believe me.” Gerda: “You stay away from me. Stay!” Ingrid: “No! No. Please... Please, don't be afraid. We said that we would always be there for each other. We made a promise. I love you. Gerda, please, you have to help me. Take my hand. Please take my hand. You're all I have left.” Gerda: “Ingrid... You killed our sister. You're... You're a monster.” Ingrid: “No, G-Gerda, no. (Gerda takes the urn and traps Ingrid:) No! No!” The Dark Tower. Present. (Anastasia begins walking up a long flight of stairs with Morgana following her, holding a torch.) Morgana: “Keep moving.” Anastasia: “Where are you taking me?” Morgana: “You’ll find out.” (They climb the stairs all the way to the top of the tower. Morgana opens a door and Anastasia steps inside.) Anastasia: “What is this place?” Morgana: “Sleep well.” Anastasia: “Morgana. . .?” (Anastasia runs towards the door just as Morgana slams it shut, locking her inside. Anastasia turns and walks further into the room.) Forest. Recent Past. Night. (Guinevere walks alone in the forest, she passes by a tree and moments later Morgana steps out from it.) Morgana: “Guinevere.” Guinevere: (Stops, then slowly turns around:) “Thank you for meeting with me.” Morgana: “Your message was unexpected. After all these years, you still do intrigue me so, Guin.”

Guinevere: “After all we’ve shared, I’m glad I can still surprise you.” Morgana: “Indeed. And is that why you called me here, to lure me into a surprise attack?” Guinevere: “Would you still be here if you sensed any danger?” Morgana: “Then why am I here?” Guinevere: “I wanted to thank you.” Morgana: (Scoffs:) “For what?” Guinevere: “For sparing my life. You could have easily killed me back in those woods and yet you didn’t.” Morgana: “A rare oversight on my part.” Guinevere: “No, you knew what you were doing. In your own distinct way you chose to protect me. It was in that moment I knew the real Morgana was still in there somewhere.” Morgana: “You can’t possibly be this naive.” Guinevere: “You can protest all you like, but I know there’s good inside you, Morgana. That’s why I won’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself even further.” Morgana: “Merlin is the one destined to destroy me and yet you house him in the castle.” Guinevere: “I’m aware of the prophesy and I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening.” Morgana: “Really. So is that why you wanted that sword from the Lady in the Lake?” Guinevere: “The sword is not meant for you.” Morgana: (Laughs:) “Oh no, of course not.” Guinevere: “I would never see harm come to you, Morgana, I swear it. I’ll prove it to you.” Morgana: “And how do you intend to do that?” Guinevere: “Lancelot rallies his men to find you, even as we speak. There is no place near that is safe for you right now.” Morgana: “I am aware of it. I have plans to travel far beyond Camelot’s reach.” Guinevere: “Regardless, it is only a matter of time before Lancelot and his men find you. And when the time comes, I shall send warning, giving you ample time to escape.” Morgana: “You would defy your beloved Lancelot to save my life?” Guinevere: “I owe you that much.” Morgana: (Chuckles:) “Oh Guin, such noble words. You’ll forgive me if I find them hard to believe.” (Guinevere gives her a look. A horses whinnies in the distance as a patrol approaches.) Guinevere: “Go!” (Guinevere pulls her hood up and runs off back towards the castle. Morgana calmly walks the other way. Gwaine arrives in the clearing, and spots the hooded figure running. Turning his horse, Gwaine heads the direction Guinevere went. As he passes, Morgana magically pulls Gwaine off his horse, sending him crashing the the forest floor and knocking him unconscious. Meanwhile, Guinevere makes it out of the woods and straightens her cloak and walks back to the castle.) The Sacred Cave. Present. (Having navigated through the Impenetrable Forest, Lancelot and Guinevere enter a cave. Walking cautiously through the darkness, they turn as one at the sound of an aged woman’s voice.) Dochraid: “Who dares enter the sacred cave?” Guinevere: “We come to petition the Dochraid.” Dochraid: “Give me your hand. (Guinevere takes a step forward but is stopped by Lancelot who offers his own hand. The Dochraid takes it, sniffs it and pushes his hand away in disgust:) I smell the stench of enmity.” Guinevere: “We come in peace. In friendship.” Dochraid: “You are no friend of the Old Religion.”

Guinevere: “Great Dochraid, I am a friend of Morgana Pendragon.” Dochraid: “Silence! I know you, Guinevere. I will have no part in your plans.” Guinevere: “How do you know why I’ve come here?” Dochraid: “I am the Dochraid. The Earth speaks to me. You are not welcome here. Depart!” Guinevere: “Oh, I cannot do that. Not until I have what I came for.” Dochraid: “You dare challenge me, the ancient Dochraid? You? A puny Queen?” Lancelot: (Steps forward once more:) “And yet we will have what we came for.” Dochraid: “I am a creature of the Earth. You cannot kill me.” (Lancelot draws his sword and shows it to the Dochraid, who recoils in fear.) Lancelot: “This sword was forged in a dragon’s breath and it will do my bidding.” Dochraid: “You do not have the power to wield such a weapon.” (Lancelot swings the sword and slices the Dochraid’s arm. She cries out in pain and covers the wound with her hand.) Guinevere: “Please, we wish you no further harm, Dochraid. Tell me what I need to know.” Dochraid: “Your friend is doomed, Guinevere. Her spirit has been consumed by the Teine Diaga. Bound by the silver wheel for all eternity. Her body is nothing but an empty vessel filled by the will of another.” Guinevere: “By another? Do you mean Morgause?” Dochraid: “Regardless, Morgana has been set on a path to claim the throne of Camelot and will stop at nothing to achieve her goal.” Guinevere: “How do I break this spell?” Dochraid: “Only the greatest of sorcerers can attempt such a thing.” (Lancelot points the sword at the Dochraid again and she recoils in fear.) Lancelot: “Merlin, the greatest sorcerer who ever lived travels with us, he can break any spell. All we need to know is how?” Dochraid: “You must travel to the Cauldron of Arianrhod. There you will need all of your powers, for you must summon the White Goddess herself.” (Lancelot brings the sword closer to the Dochraid.) Lancelot: “And that is all?” Dochraid: “No. Morgana must enter the Cauldron. Its waters hold the Goddess’ power. Only their touch can heal her. Remember, Morgana must enter the water willingly. If she is tricked, forced or beguiled, she will fall into the abyss and be lost forever.” (Lancelot lowers his sword.) Guinevere: “Thank you, Great Dochraid. Thank you.” (Guinevere and Lancelot turn to leave the cave but the Dochraid uses her magic to throw a dagger at Lancelot’s back. Lancelot turns and uses his sword to block the blow, then using the blade to strike the Dochraid once more. She cries out in agony and crumples to the floor. Guinevere looks down at her for a moment before Lancelot takes her arm and leads them out of the cave.) The Dark Tower. (Anastasia is laying on the floor when liquid from a mandrake root above her drips onto her face. Anastasia sits up and sees mandrake roots all around her. A cacophony of shrieks and screams fills her ears. She crawls on the floor trying to distance herself somehow from the screaming when the door opens and Morgana walks in.) Morgana: “Come. . .let us have something to eat.” (Morgana leads Anastasia out of the room and she quickly follows.) Arendelle. Dining Room. (Returning to the palace, the foursome reunite with Kristoff and Maria. Taking a seat at the table, Emma speaks with Elsa while Regina allows Anna to spend some time with Maria.) Regina: "I hope she didn't give you any trouble?" Kristoff: "Nothing I couldn't handle. (When Anna looks to him eagerly:) Uh... but then you were only really gone for about an hour." Regina: (Smiles:) “Relax, Emma and I won't be leaving Maria here overnight anytime soon." Anna: "Oh but you will stay tonight, won't you?" Regina: "Well, we didn't want to impose..." Anna: "Nonsense. We have rooms for days, we'd love for you to stay over." (Regina looks over to Emma who nods.) Regina: "Then we'd be honoured." Lily: (Entering:) "That'll make a nice change." Elsa: (Rising from the table to welcome her:) "Lily!"

Lily: (To Regina:) "I mean it'll save you and Emma from having to find some random room where you can fu-" Elsa: (Wrapping her arms around Lily:) "What took you so long, I thought you were coming straight from work?" Lily: "I was, then as I was leaving I got a call about some disturbance." Regina: "A disturbance, in Storybrooke?" Lily: "I know, shocking right? It was at your vault in fact." Emma: (Joining them:) "The vault?" Lily: "Yeah, turns out it was nothing, just some false alarm." Regina: "Well that's a relief." Lily: "Yeah, but I'll tell ya, your sister has quite the attitude problem." Emma: "Zelena? What was she doing there?" Lily: "I don't know, but she accused me of trespassing before kicking me out." Emma: (Closes her eyes:) "As tactful as ever." Regina: "Thanks for checking it out, Sheriff." Lily: "Hey, not so loud, we don't want to jinx it." Emma: "Oh I have a feeling the job's as good as yours." Elsa: (Clasping her hands together, smiling:) "Well I'm starving, let's eat." (With a general murmur of approval, everyone takes their seats at the table.) The Dark Tower. (Sitting amongst the cobwebs, Morgana serves Anastasia some food at the large dining table.) Morgana: “Eat. Here. Food always makes me feel better. Would you prefer some chicken?. . .You must eat. You are fading away.” Anastasia: “I don’t know what cruel trick you are playing but I will not be broken by you.” Morgana: “I thought this would be nice. I know how lonely you must be. All by yourself in that room. At least you’re not shackled, there’s daylight, you can move, you can see. That’s a lot more than your sister was afforded in my hovel.” Anastasia: “You expect me to be grateful?” Morgana: “I too have suffered Anastasia. I spent years living in darkness. I would have sold my soul for someone to show me kindness such as this. Do you want me to take you back up there?” (Anastasia shakes her head and reaches out for a small bread roll. Watching her take a bite, Morgana smiles and pours the wine.)

The Impenetrable Forest. Night. (Guinevere, Lancelot and the knights are all sleeping in the forest while Merlin watches over them. Being immortal and with no need for sleep, Merlin continues his meditation. Opening his eyes, Merlin’s attention is drawn to something in the bushes. Glancing back at his sleeping companions, Merlin follows the fluttering sound through the woods. Only when he is out of sight from camp does the winged creature reveal herself to him.) Queen Mab: “Welcome to my realm, Merlin.” Merlin: “Who are you?” Queen Mab: “Why, I’m Queen Mab. I am the spirit of this place. And all the places that bring despair to men’s hearts. Few have ever seen me, Merlin, you should count yourself fortunate.” Merlin: “You... everything in this forest, it’s bewildering.” Queen Mab: “The forest is but one step on the journey.” Merlin: (Crouches down so that he is eye to eye with the forest spirit:) “How do we find a way out?” Queen Mab: “Oh powerful one... you should not have to ask. Left is right and right is left. And the way behind is the way ahead. It is simple.” Merlin: (Scoffs:) “Oh...simple.” Queen Mab: “You have a minds eye, Merlin. You must learn to trust in it. For far greater challenges lie ahead.” Merlin: “When we reach the Dark Tower?” Queen Mab: “If...” Merlin: “What do you mean?” Queen Mab: “You must beware Merlin, the tower is not a real place. It is the heart’s rest. The mind’s deepest fear. The stillness in a humming bird’s eye...” Merlin: “Stop, talking in riddles.” Queen Mab: “Then I shall speak in rhyme. Heed my words which you concern, for one of you will not return.” Merlin: “What do you mean? (Queen Mab chuckles gleefully. Merlin looks back towards camp:) Which one? (When he turns back, Queen Mab has disappeared. Hearing more rustling coming from his left, Merlin stands ready:) Show yourself.” (Much to his surprise, Merlin sees not a forest spirit but instead, with her bow in hand, Merida steps out of the darkness.) Arendelle. (Regretting her decision to stay in the dining room to talk with Lily while Regina put Maria to bed, Emma now finds herself lost and wandering the halls of the palace.) Emma: (Muttering to herself:) "This is god-damn ridiculous. (Knocks on a door and peers inside. Finding no one, she closes it and continues on:) Who needs a palace this big? (She tries another door with much the same result:) You would think one ball room would be sufficient for anyone's needs, but oh no, not here in Arendelle, they're just ball crazy apparently. Gotta have at least three ball rooms or the people might not take their Queen seriously. (Opens a door and closes it:) Balls. (Another door:) Balls. (Yet another door:) Balls. (No luck:) All right, deep breath Emma, you can do this. (She breathes deeply and slowly exhales before continuing her journey down the long hallway, passing several doors and pointing to each one as she goes:) Eeny, meeny, miny moe, Catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers, let him go, Eeny, meeny, miny moe. Pig snout you're... (Coming to the last door on the left:) out! (Sighs:) Well, here goes nothing." (Emma approaches the door and knocks.) Regina: (From inside:) "Come in." Emma: (Greatly relieved, turns the handle and enters the room:) "You would have to choose the furthest room from..." (Emma stops in her tracks when she sees what awaits her. Wearing heels, stockings, suspenders and a bra, Regina stands leaning over the bed, casually reading a book.) Regina: (Looking up:) "Finally." Emma: "Regina, what-" Regina: (Stands up, stretching her back and giving Emma a luscious view of her curves:) "Well, as this is our first official evening spent in the palace, I thought I'd make it special. (Walking towards her:) Had I known you'd take this long talking shop with Lily, I may not have bothered." Emma: (Smiling at the vision before her:) "I'm sorry. This place is humongous and I just got lost. (While Regina walks around her to remove her jacket:) Can you ever forgive me?" Regina: "Hm. I don't know, you did keep me waiting an awfully long time. (Walks around to step before Emma, her arms folded and one foot tapping the floor as she playfully considers accepting Emma's apology:) Perhaps if you were naked I'd be more likely to forgive you?" Emma: (Counters:) "I think if we were both naked we'd each feel better about the whole situation." Regina: "I agree wholeheartedly." Emma: "And, seeing as you've got a head start, I think it only fair if you helped me out of my clothes?" Regina: (Smirks, her hands already unbuckling Emma's jeans:) "Sounds more than fair to me."

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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ofgoodmenarchive · 3 years

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The second in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Spring Thaw

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.

No- he was definitely getting ahead of himself.

At the very least, Dorian shouldn't have discarded the Venatori's equipment so impulsively. It was possible- even likely- the Herald would be immune to his charms. If no attraction existed between them to start with, then he'd forsaken his current, sole employment for nothing.

Introducing himself was also a complex matter. His subject of fixation was more often than not swarmed by Chantry puppets- Inquisition puppets, whatever.

Either way, they'd be wary of something like him.

Which would be perfectly sensible, if we're being honest...

For days he stalked them through the Hinterlands, camping out of sight- preferably at high vantage points. On this occasion he'd discovered a homely cave dug into a cliff, with an ideal view of the Inquisition camp. They'd organised around a half-crumbled tower, wrangling full command of the King's Road at this end.

It took time to accomplish- Dorian had spectated most of the work. The Templar-Mage conflict was their main concern- by now almost completely eliminated. Still there was plenty of trouble to be had, Dorian knew.

Are they even aware of the Venatori yet?

Indeed for now they mostly focused on the resident lyrium-smugglers. To be fair, they were a nuisance- and had not enough sense to leave the Inquisition unmolested.

In his shadowing he concluded a few things, at least.

For one, the Herald was a mage with an affinity for ice. Admittedly Dorian felt stupid for not realising on their first encounter. That sword of light channelled the man's will, swaying him towards close combat. Odd for a mage- so Dorian didn't berate himself much for failing to notice.

Secondly, the man was Spirit-bound. To what sort of spirit and for what purpose, Dorian couldn't guess. He'd only concluded this due to a chance look at his weapon- a summoning circle was inscribed into the hilt. An insanely reckless thing to attempt- unless your will and the spirit's could work in perfect unison.

We have something in common, at least!

Though Dorian was positive none regarded him as an Abomination.

Lastly, the Herald was unaccustomed to such close work with humans. Dorian rarely overheard conversation but frequently witnessed him seeming lost, needing elaboration on what appeared self-evident.

Overall he was somewhat peculiar, even for an elf.

“You know...” Dorian mused while building a small fire for the night. “I'm already feeling chipper. It's probably a trick of the mind, since there's potential for a meal...but wouldn't it be funny if my desire was feeding into itself?”

An unamused grumble responded and he frowned at his shadow- slumped morosely against the cave entrance, like a wrung out towel.

“Yes, yes, I know that's not how it works.” Dorian rebuffed, scowling. “I'm just saying I don't mind all this creeping around! Or I don't mind it yet...give it a while, I suppose...”

The Herald of Andraste...

…probably also does not speak to himself.

“Well I'm not speaking to myself, am I?!” He countered, huffing. “I'm speaking to you!- And you're being especially bratty today!”

Desire slouched down the cliff-wall until it was almost flat.

Dorian spluttered with laughter.

“You're like a cat, you know!? An ominous, perverted cat.”

The creature bubbled sadly, giving no answer.

Rolling his eyes, Dorian would have returned to working on the fire- except Desire's head emerged from it's puddle, leering down the slope.

“Hrm...?” He followed it's gaze, squinting. “Something happening down there...?”

A tall figure wandering from camp, accompanied by a much shorter one- the Herald and his dwarf ally.

“Where are they wandering off to on their own...?” He frowned at his shadow. “Should they really be doing that?”

Desire shrugged, shoulders casting ripples along it's spooled form.

“For some reason...” Dorian swiped his staff from nearby. “I don't like it. Let's make sure nothing bothers them, yes?”

Maker forbid the elf get himself killed- it would be a waste of his whole week!

The pair strode upon the King's Road, moonlight leading their path and their path leading Dorian- always close behind but not too close. Eventually they paused at a road-marker, muttered between themselves and appeared to wait.

Are they missing one of their people, or something..?

Regardless of the situation, whatever was meant to occur, didn't. Exchanging anxious stares, the duo walked further along, ignorant to Dorian's presence as he slunk from shadow to shadow.

Within minutes all heard the same thuggish shouting- accented in Ferelden, somewhere amidst an outcrop of limestone. Sprinting forward, the Herald and his companion hunched behind cover, in frantic discussion.

Wanting a full perspective, Dorian climbed ledges as stealthily as possible. Once he had an ideal view, he sat and assessed.

Lyrium-smugglers again, of course. Carta, perhaps? No one Dorian had ties with, whoever they were. More than a dozen- with enough heavies in their ranks to pose serious threat to a miniscule party.

A party of two, for example, would likely be obliterated.

Dorian could see why there was discourse between the Herald and his friend. An Inquisition scout knelt among the group, bleeding and mid-interrogation.

So they did lose someone...

Now the Herald wished to attempt rescue and his companion reasonably disagreed. Even out of earshot, Dorian could tell who was winning- through pure stubbornness alone.

Glancing behind, he spotted that looming, bratty shadow of his.

“I hope you're ready to actually work for your meal.”

Not a second passed after his speech before all erupted into chaos. The Herald careened through the group, carried along paves of ice. Flailing and visibly irritated, the dwarf scrambled onto a high-point, where he could launch arrows from some elaborate crossbow.

Skidding from his perch, Dorian leapt into the fray.

Blood had already touched ground- that didn't bode well for anything near him. The grinning skull of his staff raised high, he willed every drop of lost life into himself. It swirled around him in crimson ribbons- he hadn't even channelled a form before people screamed.

“MALEFICAR!”

Earning a wild, blood-crazed laugh from him as he barrelled forth, slicing enemies with their own pain- weaponised. Anyone struck deep enough and lacking proper resistance became crazed, attacking all in their proximity.

It had been a while since he'd stretched his abilities for combat- quite invigorating, really! Not to mention all the blood- a fair snack, though not his usual preference. Licking some from his fingers, Dorian launched into another attack and found himself brushing passed blizzard.

Swivelling to face it, he bore his teeth in a personable manner.

Winter-touched eyes regarded him quizzically, then vanished into battle.

Moments later and it was done- together with the scout, their enemy was reduced to a pile of corpses.

Inhaling, Dorian glimpsed the dwarf and recruit in breathless conversation. Elsewhere stood the Herald- sheathing his weapon, sighing with relief.

Talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk.

Maker, stop it! Yes, I see.

This was the closest opportunity he was chance to get.

Awkwardly, uncharacteristically- Dorian hesitated.

TALK-TALK-TALK-T

I SAID STOP THAT! I'M GOING!

Mustering composure, he sauntered that direction, beaming.

“Greetings, friend!”

The Herald blinked from wiping stained hands, eyes widening a second later.

“...Who are you?” He mumbled, automatically hunching to Dorian's level- as he'd witnessed many times.

“Me?” He laughed airily- had to restrain more when the elf flinched. “My name is Dorian Pavus...and you would be the Herald of Andraste, no?”

Much hesitation from this so-called Herald- the poor man's eyes darted as if seeking attendance, white complexion reddening. Effortless traits for human eyes to see- and then there were aspects only Dorian would see. A quickened pulse, hitched breath, heightened temperature...

Well, that answers that question...

But...I really didn't intend to give the poor fool a heart-attack.

He hadn't even exercised his will in any fashion- just introduced himself! The Herald's clan must have been terribly isolationist, if that's all it took to fluster him.

“That...is what they say...” He managed after a long pause, brow furrowing. “...Have you been following me, Dorian Pavus?”

Oh, I like that.

So formal.

“Only for your own protection, my darling Herald!” He chuckled warmly, gestured to their fallen opponents. “As you can so clearly see.”

Another drawn out silence, pale features struggling to stay that way and failing- pink had spread to his neck.

“You are from Tevinter.” He observed clumsily.

Dorian's head tilted.

“Nothing gets passed you, does it?”

The Herald didn't seem to know how to respond, grasping air dumbly and again searching around for aid. Deciding to provide such aid, Dorian inquired;

“Since I gave you my name- may I have yours?”

Though fidgeting, he offered;

“Lavellan.”

“That would be a last name, no?”

“I do not tend to give my first.”

“You don't 'tend to'...” He smiled, shamelessly familiar. “So you might make an exception?”

Something about this caught the elf off guard- absolutely flushed. He merely stared as though Dorian proposed he strip to his undergarments.

“Uhh...hey, there.” The dwarf ambled to them before Lavellan could recover.

“Ah, hello!” Determined to make a good impression, Dorian stuck out his hand. “Dorian Pavus! Pleased to make your acquaintance!”

The Dwarf relented to a light shake, inspecting him doubtfully.

“Varric Tethras- pleased to make yours..” He knit his brow, glanced between the two men. “...I guess.”

All the while Lavellan was statuesque, face crimson and attention flying everywhere.

“...You okay, Lord Heraldness?”

“I...am fine- I am fine.” He practically squeaked. “I think...Cassandra will wish us back at camp...right now...im...immediately.”

Incapable of restraining himself, Dorian roared with mirth and hoped it didn't sound unkind.

“We'll talk soon, my dear Herald.” He bid farewell with more obvious warmth. Lavellan swiftly fled- half-marching, half-scurrying, Varric at his heels.

-–

Dirt and blood raced beneath his feet. Evallan Lavellan fought to correct the hue of his face.

“...Are you okay?” Varric- barely audible above the sound of his heartbeat.

“I am fine!” He snapped, shrill. “I just...was not prepared for...for that.”

Varric's expression scrunched inwards, perplexed.

“Prepared for what?”

Speech died on Evallan's tongue, frowning helplessly at his companion. He barely had the words in his own language, how could he explain with the vocabulary they both shared?

All the human mages he'd encountered- they were so reserved, tame.

He couldn't imagine any human to carry themselves so shamelessly- draped in blood and bone, cackling and grinning through danger. Formidable yet exercising flawless control- so at ease in his nature.

And Mythal have mercy- Those eyes- deadly flares of red and gold.

Absolutely wild.

He must be mad.

“...Oh, Maker's breath, Herald...” Evallan became aware he'd been glaring into space. “Don't worry- I won't tell anyone you took one look at the weirdo-'Vint-blood-mage and turned into a tomato.”

He flushed every shade of red imaginable, snapping-

“I said I was not prepared!”

“I wasn't prepared either!” Varric chortled. “And I do not look like you do right now!”

Groaning, Evallan sped his pace, wishing for nothing more than to hide in his tent and scream until humiliation subsided.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #inquisition #dai #dorian pavus #blood mage dorian #blood mage #maleficar #pavellan #lavellan #m!lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #dorian pavus x inquisitor lavellan #dorian pavus x inquisitor #trying not to spam tags when all the content I make is dragon age rip #my writing #my aus

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: Rumours

Rated: E

Rumours

Uninvited guests were one thing.

Uninvited guests who invited themselves in and then proceeded to stay for half an hour and show no signs of leaving despite all the subtle and not-so-subtle hints being dropped at them were quite another.

Belle sat on the top step of the staircase, peering through the banisters. In her unseen vantage point, she had the perfect view of the living room, and she could see Zelena West, local busybody and bane of her employer’s existence, sitting calmly on the sofa, chattering away as if she owned the place. Mr Gold was stalking up and down the room like a caged tiger, and Zelena was steadfastly refusing to leave.

Belle sighed. Zelena had been obsessed with Mr Gold for as long as anyone could remember, and his constant rebuffing of her advances had not deterred her from dropping in on him every five minutes, ostensibly to check up on the poor, helpless bachelor living alone. The fact that he had a live-in housekeeper in the form of Belle never seemed to cross Zelena’s mind. Belle wished she had a way to make Zelena go away – and go away for good this time. What could she do to hammer home the point that Gold was not interested in her?

A thought struck her. It was a potentially dangerous thought that might well get her fired if she followed through on it, but it would certainly deliver the short, sharp shock that Zelena needed, and hopefully Gold would be so glad to get rid of his unwanted visitor that she would be able to keep her job after all.

Quietly, she got up from her spot and padded down the landing to Gold’s bedroom, opening his closet. She selected her favourite of his shirts, soft dark blue silk freshly laundered and pressed the previous day, and she quickly stripped to her knickers, pulling the shirt on and buttoning it crooked to show off one bare shoulder. Finally, she pulled her hair out of its sensible braid and tousled it suggestively. She glanced in the mirror, decided that she looked suitably post-coital, and smiled to herself. Even if she did get fired, it would be worth it just to see the expression on Zelena’s face.

“Cameron!” she called as she made her way downstairs. “Where have you got to? You’ve been ages. I’m getting lonely by myself up here. Might have to start without you.”

She leaned nonchalantly in the living room doorway, watching Gold and Zelena’s reactions. Zelena looked shocked, then offended, then incandescently furious as she sprang up off the sofa. Gold’s face ran the full gamut of emotions from confusion to dumbstruck awe and back again, finally settling on impressed and slightly aroused as his eyes roamed over her chest, where the points of her nipples were showing clearly through the fabric, then snapped back up to her face.

“I’m sorry, Cameron.” Zelena sounded anything but. “I didn’t realise you had company. I’ll leave you in peace.”

“I’ve been asking you to do that for the last half an hour, dearie,” Gold snapped. “Goodbye.”

Zelena flounced out of the room towards the front door. Belle gave her a condescending wave as she looked back over her shoulder.

“Really, Cameron? The maid? I thought you had more class than that.”

The front door slammed behind her before Belle could say ‘housekeeper, not maid’.

“Thank you.” Gold sounded almost worshipfully grateful as he sank down into his chair. “I think you’ve managed to get rid of her for good, with any luck. I appreciate the terrible sacrifice you’ve made.”

Belle looked down at herself. “I used to sunbathe on the nude beaches back home in Australia. I’ve worn a lot less in front of a lot more people.”

“I don’t mean… sorry what?” Gold looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and Belle had to smile at seeing him so discombobulated.

“I sunbathed naked in public, Gold,” she enunciated clearly. “Wearing one of your shirts is hardly the most exposed I’ve ever been.”

“Right. Yes. Right.” He shook his head. “I, erm, I wasn’t talking about that. I was meaning that within about an hour, it will be all over the town that you’re sleeping with me. Which is of course untrue, but you know how the Storybrooke rumour mill is when Zelena West is the one cranking it. And I appreciate your sacrifice in inextricably tying your name to mine like that.”

Belle shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“You… don’t?”

“No. Let people think what they want.”

“Surely you can’t want to be associated with me in that way. Not given my reputation.”

“Mr Gold, with all due respect, I’ve been working for you and living in your house long enough to know that your reputation is a finely honed and meticulously maintained load of bullshit.” Belle crossed the room, sitting down on the coffee table in front of him. “Since you seem to be having trouble understanding plain English at the moment, I’ll spell it out for you in words of one syllable: I like you. I like you a lot, and I think you like me too, although you try to act like you don’t. I don’t care if people think we’re together. I’d quite like for us to be together, actually. In real life.”

Gold stared at her for a long time before he finally spoke.

“Five of those words had more than one syllable.”

Belle rolled her eyes before placing her hands gently on his knees and leaning in to kiss his lips softly. “Does this convince you?”

Gold’s tongue darted out to run over his lips. “I, erm, I’m not sure. Can you do it again, just in case?”

Belle laughed and kissed him again, a little harder this time. Gold gave a little moan against her mouth, and then he was kissing her back, his hands coming up to cup her face as she scrabbled off the coffee table and into his lap. Gold welcomed her, holding her close, his arms coming down around her waist, hands splaying over her back as if he could not get her near enough. For a long time, they just kissed, exploring every inch of each other’s mouths and pressing soft pecks to cheeks, noses, ears. Belle pulled away when Belle felt Gold’s cock start to stir and respond to her ministrations, giving him a cheeky smile.

“So, what do you think about giving some truth to the rumours that Zelena is concocting?” she purred, running one hand down his chest towards his belt.

Gold nodded. “I like that idea a lot.”

Belle slipped off his lap and held out a hand to him, leading him through the house to the master bedroom. It seemed strange to be taking the lead in his own home, in his own room, but then again, this was Belle’s home too, and Gold seemed to appreciate her confidence and guidance. She sat down on the bed, patting the space beside her, and Gold leaned his cane against the wall.

“Belle,” he began, before she cut him off with another kiss, pushing his suit jacket down off his shoulders and beginning to unfasten his waistcoat. “Belle, it’s been a very long time since I was last with a woman. I don’t want to disappoint you.” His eyes were downcast, embarrassed.

“As long as I’m with you, I’m sure it won’t be disappointing,” Belle said softly, stroking his hair out of his face. “I don’t think it would be possible for you to disappoint me.”

His waistcoat joined his jacket, tie following close behind, and Belle continued to kiss him as she got to work on his shirt buttons. Gold scrambled to pull his shoes and socks off so that he could get up on the bed with her, and Belle lay back against the pillows, running her hands over his bare chest as he settled between her legs.

“May I?” He indicated her shirt buttons and Belle spread her arms wide.

“Go ahead.”

He fumbled a little in his eagerness, but then he was opening the two halves and gazing at her naked breasts with reverence. Belle took his hands and placed them on her breasts, squeezing lightly, and he followed her lead, rubbing his thumbs over her pebbled nipples. Belle flicked at his own, relishing his sharp hiss of pleasure, and then her hands dropped to his belt. It was her turn to fumble, and Gold sat back, shoving his trousers down and off. His cock was tenting his boxers proudly, and Belle reached down to cup him through the silk, rolling his balls in her palm.

“Belle, I have no protection,” he gasped, eyes fluttering closed as she continued to rub him.

“I’m on the Pill, and I haven’t been with anyone since my last clean bill of health. I’m happy to go without a condom if you are.”

Gold nodded, and Belle hooked her fingers under the waistband of his boxers. “May I?”

“Please.”

She pulled her own panties off after his shorts hit the floor, and Gold looked at her stunned for a few moments, taking her in fully.

“The nude beaches must be livid that you left Australia,” he murmured. Belle just laughed, reaching for his cock and stroking the silky tip.

“I think they’d be rather appreciative of you, too. Come on inside, Cameron,” she crooned softly. “I want you inside me.”

“Are you ready?”

Belle took his hand, placing it between her legs and rubbing up against his palm, so that he could feel the ready wetness at her entrance. “I’ve been ready since I put your shirt on.”

“Oh Belle, don’t say things like that or I’ll have you wearing my shirts and nothing else all the time.”

Belle giggled. “I’m not averse to that. I love the feeling of silk on my skin.”

“Belle!”

She laughed again, guiding him inside her and rocking her hips up to meet him as he began to thrust, flickering her fingers over her clit to get there with him. It only took a couple of minutes before he came with a shout, and Belle pinched her clit, following him over. He flopped down against her chest as he pulled out, and Belle stroked his hair.

“That was…” he mumbled.

“Yeah, it was,” Belle agreed softly. They stayed cuddled closed on the bed for a long time, neither of them willing to break the embrace, and Belle smiled. Let the town think what they wanted. She and Gold knew the wonderful truth.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #SFSS 2020 #Fic: Rumours

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bustedbernie · 4 years

Link

Oh hai. Lately there have been a slew of think pieces about Bernie Sanders being the front-runner, discussing how his movement has threatened to withhold their votes from Democrats if Bernie isn’t the nominee. Hidden between the lines is the idea that Democrats, in general, owe their votes to Sanders if he is the nominee, regardless of the fact that his voters do NOT owe Dems their votes if he is not. So, rather than call them out for using the same tactics that lost the 2016 election, there is a faction in the media that is growing more and more permissive to the idea that Bernie and his Revolution are somehow the victims in all this, and that mainstream Dems have done them wrong time and time again when picking a candidate that appeals to the Dems masses.

Let me let you in on a little secret.

I don’t owe Bernie Sanders or his fucked off revolution of stanerific emo-marxist cyber-terrorists a goddamn bit of shit the fuck all. When these utter fucking geniuses in the media reflect on how energized and dedicated his enthusiastic fans are when engaging in their harassment of the average Dem, they seem to think the people who have been abused don’t fucking matter. These Dems are people who have never done anything whatsoever to deserve the constant bullying, cyber-stalking, targeting, threats, or in my case, being falsely reported to the FBI by fans of Bernie who seek to silence dissent. What these media personalities don’t understand is that the abuse by Bernie fans, in his name, actually causes the gap between MAGA and Berners to shrink to the point where it is non-existent. There is no real difference between the abuse from either side, and since Sanders isn’t the warm and fuzzy type that reaches out to the people who have been abused, often there appears to be no real difference between Sanders and Trump.

Slate:

Still, the Bernie-or-Busters, small as they may be, have spun their position into an argument for why others should vote for Bernie Sanders too, regardless of the platform they prefer. As efforts in political persuasion go, this contingent puts forward an openly hostile argument. Sanders is the only electable candidate, they suggest, not just because of his policies, but because of the single-mindedness of his followers. The reason you should vote for Sanders is that we won’t vote for anyone else. You don’t want Trump to win again, do you?

No. But I also don’t want Bernie Sanders to win. In a case of one not liking either candidate, people look to see which movement they feel most comfortable with, Bernie’s or Trump’s. If it turns out that both movements engage in racist behavior, sexism, and homophobia, it really doesn’t matter what they profess to be in favor of as far as policy is concerned, what matters is how they treat their fellow citizens by and large. We all know that unless we take back the Senate with a large majority that can defeat Republican attempts to stop legislation from hitting Sanders’ desk, nothing will pass anyway. So, if you’re not in favor of Bernie’s policies in the first place, and do not like him or his movement, why would you be enthusiastic about showing up for the guy who leads the movement that engages in attacks on you?

Yes, it sounds like ugly hostage taking—not a brilliant persuasive strategy but a crude ego-boosting exercise for a group of leftists who can’t resist the impulse to lord some power over an electorate that doesn’t normally consider them relevant. But that’s exactly what makes it so normal, even understandable, in a depressing “we’re all human” sort of way. [NO.] Because the truth is this: Every threat these Sanders stans are explicitly making is one the venerated Centrist Swing Voter makes implicitly—and isn’t judged for. The centrist never even has to articulate his threat.

Excuse me, it IS ugly hostage taking, it is NOT normal, and no, it doesn’t make me see them as more human.

Another thing is this: not everyone opposed to Bernie Sanders is a Centrist, Moderate, or a Swing voter. Many of us are as far left or to the left of Sanders, I for one am definately to his left, and had supported him in 2015. That was until his racist abusive Bern Mafia targeted me for expressing concern about his lack of outreach to black voters. I noticed his lack of history in hiring black people (D.C. is Chocolate City, we could not find one black staffer in 2015; I am open to correction on this point; if he had black staffers prior to 2015, please send me receipts because I have been looking for them.), lamented and mocked his poor showing at Netroots, fumed over his constant MLK appropriation, jeered at his white ass crowds, and felt humiliated by his inability to discuss black people in ways that were not centered on Poverty or Prisons. It is HIS FAULT that his voters have no clue how to engage Black people without resorting to stereotypes and outright bigotry, because he does the same thing.

Buzzfeed:

Sanders, seated across the table, a yellow legal pad at hand, responded with a question of his own, according to two people present: “Aren’t most of the people who sell the drugs African American?” The candidate, whose aides froze in the moment, was quickly rebuffed: The answer, the activists told him, was no. Even confronted with figures and data to the contrary, Sanders appeared to have still struggled to grasp that he had made an error, the two people present said.

No. He did not apologize for spreading this stereotype, and yes, it shows how he views black people in general.

Slate:

One of many disorienting factors in this election cycle is the fact that the left is more popular and more viable than it has been in a long, long time. They have not one but two exciting candidates, and both are offering policies closer to what leftists actually want than most presidential contenders in U.S. history have.

I wanted the party to move to the Left towards the direction of where I stood too. I can’t really name my ideology because it’s so far left I am almost hitting the wall. Additionally, I am more Libertarian than Sanders, who trends more authoritarian. Yet, I instinctively know that playing a game of “my way or the highway” won’t lead to a place where poverty programs are expanded up and out, ensuring all necessities of life are provided. It will lead to gridlock and we will make zero progress.

Because folks at the center tend to be wooed by multiple candidates, they’re used to having options, and they’re used to the experience of their vote determining who ends up with the nomination. This means that they usually like the candidate they vote for, in the primary and in the general. Not so for leftists, who get to merely tolerate the candidates they end up having to vote for in order to mitigate the damage from a worse result.

Here’s the rub… I’m Black. None of this shit applies to me, because as a Black person, I rarely even LIKE or TRUST any of the candidates I have been voting for over the years. I also usually, especially in State and Locally, don’t have any say so in determining the nominee of any race. I am always stuck voting for whoever White People choose as the candidate, and as such, am merely tolerating whoever is chosen to prevent a worse outcome, which usually means preventing a racist shitmonger from winning a race.

Speaking of race… Progressives refuse to address race as a factor in anything; they like to ignore race in everything they do and allow Prison Policy to stand in for Racial Policy, so it’s impossible to get them to see my reality. They get this shit from Bernie.

From Buzzfeed:

“The real issue is not whether you’re black or white, whether you’re a woman or a man,” he said in a 1988 interview. “The real issue is whose side are you on? Are you on the side of workers and poor people or are you on the side of big money and the corporations?”

Not much has changed with Bernie, as you know, Bernie never changes, because he was born as a 72 year old yelly man, just like Benjamin Button, but louder and not as cute.

“It’s not good enough for someone to say, ‘I’m a woman! Vote for me!’” No, that’s not good enough. What we need is a woman who has the guts to stand up to Wall Street, to the insurance companies, to the drug companies, to the fossil fuel industry,” the Vermont independent senator and former Democratic presidential candidate said in a not-so-subtle rebuke to Hillary Clinton”

Bernie’s attacks on Identity Politics filtered down to his base, causing them to feel confident in their attacks on Blacks, LGBTQ, and Women who brought up issues of race, sexuality, and gender over the past few years. They love to say shit to black people online that they would never say to an actual Black person IN PERSON, because they are scared as fuck of Black people. Kinda like Bernie. The refrain of “that’s identity politics, not real policy’ rang out constantly on social media the past few years to the point where pointing out racism, homophobia, and sexism was met with swarms of white men attacking Black people, All Women Who Dared To Be THAT Bitch, LGBTQ, and really, anyone worried about social justice issues that focused on identity. The attacks were and ARE bigoted in the extreme.

This is racist as fuck and is one of the ways the Bernie Titty-Babies managed to marginalize Kamala Harris and drive a wedge between her and Black Voters. Somehow they thought keeping it going would make us like dusty ass Bernie more, but they’re stupid, because we don’t even like that geriatric Bernadook now.

This is homophobic.

Bernie’s supporters are engaging in a hate campaign against Mayor Pete and are trying to convince the world that they are not being homophobic, they are just saying Pete is suppressing his dangerous serial killer nature by being so straight laced. This is fucked up because they are attacking a gay man for being “straight appearing” in spite of the fact that his seeming straightness is how he interacts with a world that hates gay people, and has at times (and Still Does) MURDERED men and women who are gay for not assimilating or conforming to hetero-normative stereotypes. Bernie ignores this behavior from his fans like he ignores all of their nasty hate campaigns. I blame him.

This is misogynistic. No explanation needed.

Racist and fat shaming. Black hair is not your fucking business, bitch. Back the fuck up.

This is just blatantly false and caused people to harass Kamala Harris supporters until they stopped using the Yellow Circles she asked supporters to wear, it stems from the misogynoir his fans engaged in towards Kamala. Bernie has never said shit, so I blame him.

Bigotry. Also erasure of Biden’s Black support in a effort to make it seem as if Bernie is the candidate of diversity. Bernie is at fault, he also erases minorities.

Sexist. Also, damn near all of his fans seem to hate Obama on the same level and with as much heat as MAGA. Why the fuck would we want to join in unity with this man when his fans HATE the first black President. Oh, you think Bernie has nothing to do with setting the tone?

“The business model, if you like, of the Democratic Party for the last 15 years or so has been a failure,” Sanders started, responding to a question about the young voters who supported his campaign. “People sometimes don’t see that because there was a charismatic individual named Barack Obama, who won the presidency in 2008 and 2012.

“He was obviously an extraordinary candidate, brilliant guy. But behind that reality, over the last 10 years, Democrats have lost about 1,000 seats in state legislatures all across this country.”

Bernie doesn’t fucking like Obama either.

Sexism. Racism. Bernie does the worst with Black Women, and is often dismissive when asked a question by one of us. So, his fans see nothing to lose by targeting us in particular, and we in turn are likely the largest group of people willing to sit this one out if Bernie manages to come out on top. The media is no help whatsoever to marginalized people, because they ultimately weave a narrative where Bernie comes out the victim.

We can already see it happening amongst the Children of the Bern, where they have taken to labeling K-Hive, a movement started by a Black Woman (Me) for a Black Woman (Kamala Harris), “Liberal ISIS” for our resistance to Bernie and willingness to defend the other candidates from the attacks levied by the Berner Swarm.

Oh, cry me a fucking river! We don’t dox, cyberstalk, harass, abuse, try to get people fired, engage in bigotry, we learn from our mistakes, and we never make it our mission to ruin someone’s life.

We simply turn the tables on the bros and ask tough questions, like Kamala Harris. If that breaks you down, you were already broken before you found us. Oh, yeah. That’s another thing. We don’t go looking for Berners to abuse; we wait until they come to abuse US and refuse to play along.

Regardless of what poor Peter Daou says, there is no “Unadulterated Hatred” in asking if someone has checked on him.

So, yes, I can blame Bernie for the nastiness of his movement and choose not to ever join it no matter what. Progressives love to play forever victims, even while they engage in their vile abuse, but I do not have to empower their movement or help them elect Bernie. Maybe if enough people sound the alarm and let him know we will not be helping him in November while suffering constantly at the hands of his Branch Bernidians, then he will have no choice but to be a leader and fucking lead these assholes into being decent people. I don’t expect the abuse to magically end if Bernie becomes President or loses to Trump, and I also don’t expect him to do shit about it, so I guess I’m just Never Bernie. What I am now stuck with is the same as always; White States get to vote first and create the narrative that Dem voters are in favor of whoever these powerful white voters choose, and I am sick of it and sick of Sanders. I didn’t become a Democrat to not only be marginalized by the White Moderate, but to also suffer abuse from the punk ass White leftist bitchmade humdinger of a Revolution. I’m not here to empower shitfucks that search me out no matter where I am just to heap abuse on me, threaten me, or report me to the FBI as a possible MASS SHOOTER, all because I think Bernie is an old bigot who minimizes Black oppression to appease the white voters he thinks he’ll need to win the General.

I’m just Never Bernie, deal with it or die mad about it. I don’t care which.

#neverbernie #bernie #berniesanders #bernie sanders #berniebros #bernie bros #notmeus #feelthebern #long post #longpost #faq

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yourfaveisyanderematic · 5 years

Text

Safety In Numbers

So, uh, took some liberties with this one, because that’s the world we live in, and that’s just how things are.

WARNING: Animal death.

You’re not one to be easily frightened, but you couldn’t help but rest your hand on the stock of your rifle as you glared into the darkness at the edge of your camp. “I think that’s close enough, don’t you?”

Bear Ghost, your Andalusian white enough to glow in the dark, tossed its head, ears swiveled in the direction of the intruder. Your unwelcome guest raised his hands, letting the gold accents on his shirt and hat flash in the spluttering firelight of your camp. “Easy there, easy…didn’t mean to frighten you. Heh, heh…”

Your grip tightened as the posh English accent registered. You knew who this was, not that it meant you’re any safer out here in the Midwestern wilderness. Diego-Fucking-Brando was unlikely to qualify for sainthood, to put it mildly, and tonight was the worst possible night for whatever underhanded tactics he might try.

The other riders you’ve banded with have noticed the newcomer by now, and moved to flank you. Nobody’s pointing their guns yet, but the situation was certainly tense; you saw Wesson’s hand tense over his revolver, and Thompson’s rifle was slung over his shoulder in that too-casual way he adopted when he was preparing to shoot. You watched Diego’s eyes rove over each of you, clearly calculating the situation and working out what his approach should be, as his horse pawed the ground. Bear Ghost mimicked the action, though his was from definite nervousness.

Diego’s eyes were so blue, even in the near-blackness of the moonless night. The color was intense, almost unnaturally so, and the way the shadows played over his face made it easy to imagine more monstrous features. He took another step forward, properly illuminating himself in the campfire’s light, and you kicked yourself for being so paranoid; his features were handsome and arrogant, but all too human. It was bad enough that you were being stalked by a monster; did you have to start imagining them on horseback, too?

“Are you sure I can’t give you the pleasure of my company?” he wheedled. “It’s dark out here, and bitterly cold. Safety’s in numbers, they always say…”

Safety in numbers. The words sent a flash of memory through your head, of white teeth and unnatural shadow, and your next words—to tell him off, to leave before you opened fire—died in your throat.

Smith, ever the voice of mercy in your little group, noticed your hesitation. “C’mon, Colt. I’ve got no love for him same as you, but it’ll be murder to leave a man by his lonesome out there, what with the—“

“Oh, don’t scare the man.” his brother cut him off and stepped to the side, gesturing to the campfire. “You can spend the night with us, but we’ll have to ask you to keep your distance from our horses, and we won’t be riding together come morning.”

Diego obligingly slid off his horse’s back in that arrogantly elegant little flip he does when trying to show off. You were very pointedly not looking, suddenly busying yourself with the coffee you’d been making before you were interrupted by his arrival.

Honestly, that was for the best. You were still shaken up by the events of the past few days, still easily spooked, and seeing the strangely cracked skin on the side of his face before he adjusted his bandage would have only made things worse.

—

“So…you’re going by Colt, now?” the words drifted a little on the evening breeze, making you groan.

Diego, to his credit (and your relief), had felt no need to get buddy-buddy just because he was sharing your fire; once he’d collected his coffee and some dinner, he’d retreated to the far side of the camp to tend to his horse, rebuffing Smith’s perfunctory attempts at conversation. You wished he would, though; if his attention was on something else, it wouldn’t be on you.

He was watching, when Thompson’s hands brushed against yours as he took a seat next to you, and he was watching when Smith started with his stargazing and you shepherded him back to the safety of the group. He was watching when you checked on Bear Ghost and the other horses.

Hell, you didn’t think he’d stopped watching you since he’d shown up tonight. Thompson and the brothers had all headed to bed already, trusting you with the first watch, though the former whispered in passing that he’d stay up just in case Diego tried anything when you were apparently alone.

For the first hour or so, he hadn’t said anything, just sat by his horse and watched you pretend to not be watching him, as the night wind toyed with some dried leaves and something made scratching noises in the distance that made you shiver.

Now that he was apparently certain only the two of you were left awake, though, he’d approached. Not close enough that you felt justified pointing the gun at him, but when he carefully lowered himself into the spot Thompson had occupied only a couple hours before, you found yourself holding your breath.

“I needed a fresh start, I guess. Had to get away from my history in the racing circuit, under that…other name.”

“Your real name, you mean? The name praised in every paper on the East Coast for your unerring skill and peerless talent? That name?” he leered, the firelight doing something strange to the edges of his mouth. You averted your gaze.

“If I wanted to talk about it, Diego, I would have. It’s just Colt, now. For as long as Thompson and the brothers’ll have me, anyway.”

I hope it’s forever, you wanted to say, but that felt embarrassingly personal to declare somehow, and Diego wasn’t really the kind of person you wanted to have this conversation with, anyway. You didn’t have to look at his face to know he was frowning.

“Hrmm,” he replied, in a way that could have been interpreted as ‘I respect your boundaries, Colt, and I’ve decided not to press for more information despite my burning curiosity’, but what you suspected to be ‘wow! I just realized I didn’t care about this at all, actually, and I’m relieved you stopped before I had to get up and walk away from the conversation’.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but shut it again with an irritated snap as one of the tent flaps popped open and Wesson came into view, suppressing a yawn.

“Diego seduce you into racing with him instead yet, Colt?” he called as he wandered into the brush to take a piss.

The blond curled his lip, but you grinned and called back. “I’m giving it some pretty serious thought…he’s promised me a fortune back in England, and also to marry me. I’m still holding out, though, I’m hoping for his horse.”

Wesson gave a bark of laughter (answered by a muffled “Chrissakes, shut up!” from Smith’s tent) as he finished up and came back.

“Is that all it would take to buy your talent?” Diego asked, eyebrow raised. “This may be easier than I thought.”

The way he said it was easy to play off as a joke, but the idea—that Diego Brando, genius jockey, even considered you worthwhile competition—made you pause, even if you’d just promised you’d left that life behind. Wesson caught the look and chuckled.

“Don’t let Thompson hear you talk like that. He’s gotten pretty fond of you, y’know…keeps dithering about how to ask you to stay with us once this whole race thing’s over.” Wesson gave you a knowing smile and threw another couple logs onto the campfire.

“Has he, now.” Diego hissed, almost inaudible over the crackling of the flames. His handsome features, already distorted by the uneven shadows of the firelight, now looked downright monstrous. He glared at the tent the other man was resting in, then back at you.

You decided to go to bed.

—

The first thing you registered upon waking up was that it was still impossibly dark.

The second thing you registered was the hand over your mouth.

You shouted, a sound strangled by your assailant as they held you down, and it took several desperate seconds of struggling for your gun before you realized it was Wesson, trying to get you to stop with frantic, hushed whispers.

He had to repeat himself a fourth time before the words finally registered, finally taking his hand off your face.

“Smith’s dead and Thompson and Diego are gone. We need to get out of here.”

“What?” you repeated, dumbly. Smith—excellent with a knife and unbeatable as a navigator, who had seen so much and somehow maintained an attitude of ‘let’s be nice to other racers even though the Run has been nothing short of cutthroat’—dead? How?

The stench of blood registered in your nostrils as you wrapped your head around the words. How hadn’t you noticed it before?

“Smith is dead,” Wesson repeated, a definite wobble in his voice, “Thompson and Diego are gone. I think…I think it took them. We need to go.”

It had finally come. Fear, numb and overwhelming, threatened to paralyze you, but Wesson was already moving, grounding you in the moment. Cold metal forced itself into your hands. Your rifle. It was all you were carrying with you—Wesson barely gave you time to put on your boots before he grabbed your hand and lead you through the hole he’d cut in the side of your tent, slipping in the mud left behind by a recent rain. You could barely keep up as he dragged you toward your horses, still tied to their tree but only barely; Bear Ghost had all but torn himself free in a frenzy of terror, and the other three were…

It hadn’t rained.

In the moment you realized this, Wesson lost his footing entirely, plummeting to the ground and sending a wave of gore splashing over your boots as he landed squarely in the eviscerated remains of his own horse. One glassy eye stared up at you as you frantically pulled him back to his feet, deaf to his disgusted spluttering as he tried to get the blood out of his mouth. You heard a crunch underfoot as your heel crushed the remains of Bonnie Tyler’s jaw, torn off and left half-buried in the mud a few feet away, but more importantly you heard the rattling hiss of something that was very definitely not a deer, coming from the direction of the campfire.

“Fuck. Shit! Get on, Wesson!” you whispered, forcing yourself onto Bear Ghost’s back, holding a hand out for him. Instead of taking it, however, Wesson pulled a knife and cut the rope tethering your horse to its tree, letting it give into instinct and flee into the darkness in a mad dash. You were too surprised by the move to react; all you could do was hang on.

“Wesson!” You screamed, whipping your head around, and the last thing you saw as he disappeared from view was the flash from his rifle—your rifle, he must have taken it from you in the confusion—as he took aim and fired, still desperately trying to buy you the seconds you needed to escape, abandoning his own hope for survival in the same breath.

Tears blurred your vision, making it impossible to navigate even if you could somehow see in the dark, and you found yourself letting Bear Ghost dictate where to go. Was this a nightmare? It had to be. It was too close to what you’d been dreading but didn’t dare voice—the loss of your precious friends to a nameless horror that stalked the night and finally made its move, something that could dodge a bullet and gouge stone with its claws, something that wouldn’t stop until it had finally eaten you alive.

Help. You had to get help. But where could you go that could protect you from a living, breathing monster? As if recalling the words of another lifetime, you remembered that the nearest town was a day and a half’s ride away.

It might as well have been on the moon, for all the good it would do you now. Hell, you could say that for a town an hour’s ride away, ten minutes away, because there was something else in the hills with you now, and your horse didn’t have a hope in hell of outrunning it.

You’d almost missed it. Its gait matched Bear Ghost’s almost perfectly, and it hadn’t been directly behind you, so you wouldn’t have seen it looking back. Even now that you knew where to look, though, you didn’t have a clear idea of what exactly you were looking at.

That was Diego’s horse. You knew it well enough, had stared at its ass for more than long enough on those perilous stretches where you were so close to passing him, but the thing riding it was unlike any living being you’d ever seen before.

It had a tail, one that lashed the air as it egged Silver Bullet closer and closer to you.

It had claws, talons thicker than your fist that somehow managed to grip the reins without gouging the horse.

It had eyes, electric blue and full of a malevolent intelligence no animal could possess, eyes that had been fixed on you since…

No. It couldn’t be.

Belatedly, you realized you’d let the other rider—this Not-Diego, whose muzzle gleamed in the starlight with a dark liquid you knew to be blood—get far, far too close. Bear Ghost was foaming at the mouth in its mad dash to get away, but for every few strides it took, Silver Bullet somehow managed to take one more, until the two of you were neck and neck, separated only by a few meters. You yanked the reins in one hand as you made one last, desperate gamble, reaching down your boot for the concealed pistol and pulling it up, aiming and firing in a wild shot that was more like a prayer than anything—

In that moment, faster than your eye could follow, the thing jumped, slamming into Bear Ghost’s side, tearing into its flesh with the massive talons on its feet. Its jaws opened, surely about to rip into your own flesh and tear your head clean off—

The world became a blur as Bear Ghost screamed again with a desperate finality, losing its balance under the weight of the Not-Diego and plummeting to the side. You hit the ground with a graceless thud and rolled a meter or two, barely able to register the wind knocked out of you as you stared up at your horse, transfixed. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as its full weight hovered overhead, its body contorted in a grotesque dance, and you found yourself hoping that the fall would kill you before the monster could, that you would be crushed before you had to endure the agony of being eaten alive.

Sorry, Wesson. Looks like you did all that for nothing.

Teeth sank into your shoulder and pulled just as twelve hundred pounds of horse slammed into the earth, obliterating the spot you occupied a fraction of a second previously. Your breath came in shaky, hysterical gasps as you watched Bear Ghost writhe in place, unable to get up or escape. You found yourself struggling to your elbows to get up and help it, but a massive reptilian foot suddenly put its weight on your chest, keeping you in place, the points of the talons puncturing your jacket and grazing your skin.

The Not-Diego’s face came into view, teeth bared in a hideous grin as it breathed in the smell of your blood with quick, hungry snorts. You shut your eyes. If you wished hard enough, prayed hard enough to a god you stopped believing in years ago, maybe this would all turn out to be a dream.

“I’m really sorry about your horse,” the surprisingly human voice startled you into opening your eyes, to see the monster sitting on your chest had turned back into a man…mostly a man. The feral, too-large grin you thought had been a trick of the firelight loomed at you now, as horrifically real as the rest of the night had been.

“What a shame…looks like you won’t be racing with your little pack anymore. You’ll have to ride with me, instead…safety in numbers, and all that.”

#yandere jjba #yandere x reader #diego brando #by me #Two works in a 24-hour period?! Is this the work of an enemy stand?!?!?#yes and that Stand's name is 'God won't let me die'.#Finally stopped being a Coward™ and cleared some of the requests and now I'm back under 20 to-do!#maybe I'll reward myself and reblog one of those prompt lists and immediately get overwhelemd again.#listen I just like collecting prompt requests sometimes I fold them together bc I get new idea...#yandere diego

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obsessedwithbbandsuju · 4 years

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Han Yuna Masterlist

*This is my default information on Yuna; however, most of it can change based on the scenario (AUs)

*Faceclaim is Kim Hyuna (quite obviously for anyone who’s into kpop)

*Last Updated: 5/27/20

Stage Name: Yuna (유나)

Birth Name: Han Yuna (한유나 )

English Name: Krista

Group: Pandora // Solo

Other Members: Son Taeyeon, Park Soojin, Lee Sunbin, Park Minhee

Position: Lead Dancer, Vocalist, Sub-rapper, Maknae

Agency: YG Entertainment

Birthdate: May 15th, 1994

Debut Date: October 17th, 2006

Zodiac Sign: Taurus

Height: 163 cm (5’4″)

Weight: 45 kg (99 lbs)

Blood Type:

Nationality: South Korean

Father: Han Kyungsoon

Mother: Lee Eunbi (deceased)

Brother: Han Jaehee [older by three years]

Stepmother: Jang Miyeon

Facts:

She was born in Mokpo and moved to Ilsan when she was three

Her mother, who was a freelance writer, passed away when she was seven years old from cardiac arrest

Since she’s the only girl in the family, her father, a university professor, was very fond of her, sometimes to the point of favoritism, which caused a rift between her older brother and herself

Since age ten she took part in a children’s performance team in her neighborhood, which is where she came to love dance

Soojin wanted to be an idol since she was young

When Yuna was twelve, her father remarried to her stepmother, Jang Miyeon

Because she was young then, Yuna didn’t like Miyeon and rebuffed her stepmother every time she tried to be friendly, but Miyeon was continuously kind to her

Due to her aloofness toward Miyeon, Yuna and her father grew apart, resulting in them arguing more and more frequently

Her older brother, Jaehee, didn’t like their stepmother either and also argued with their father over the matter, which resulted in them becoming closer to each other until they were almost inseparable

Yuna says that once she and Jaehee began to get along, he looked after her very well - walking her to school, making sure she slept and ate enough, helping her with her homework, etc.

In 2005, Yuna auditioned at YGE by dancing to S.E.S’s I’m Your Girl and singing to Uhm Jung Hwa’s Poison, and passed

Her father, whom she still had a strained relationship with, was lukewarm towards her career, wanting her to study instead, but her stepmother and her older brother supported her

Yuna met the other members – Minhee, Taeyeon, Soojin, and Sunbin – in early 2006

After Pandora’s debut on October 17th, 2006, Yuna began to realize that she had been unfair to her stepmother, but never brought it up for pride’s sake; she did, however, become less cold to Miyeon, although still maintaining a large distance

Due to the awkwardness between her and her father and stepmother, she spent the majority of her years as a trainee and many years after debuting in the dorms with the other members

When she did visit her family at home, there was considerable tension between herself and her family, with the exception of with Jaehee, who always welcomed her warmly

For years, she continued to debate on apologizing to Miyeon for being so unaccepting of her at first, but she could never quite make herself do it

When Yuna was eighteen, the university that her father worked at closed; Jaehee had already moved out, too, and her father and her stepmother were going bankrupt, but they kept it from both her and Jaehee

Yuna found out, though, and used her money to open them a barbecue restaurant in Ilsan; the restaurant was successful

After the restaurant’s success, Yuna finally managed to tell Miyeon that she was sorry for the way she treated her at first; Miyeon accepted her apology and helped her mend her relationship with her father, too

The other members of Pandora are like sisters to her, because she’s known and worked with them for so long

The Bigbang members are all like older brother to her, though she’s especially close with Daesung

She’s the acknowledged best at aegyo in Pandora, having some naturally cute mannerisms

Yuna is close with Sojin and Yura of Girl’s Day, Sohee (formerly) of Wonder Girls, and Choa (formerly) of AOA

She’s acquainted with all of Super Junior and friends with Heechul, Kangin, Yesung, and Siwon

Yuna is also friends with all of SHINee

She’s close to 2NE1 and Blackpink, especially with Minzy in the former and Jisoo in the latter

In college, Yuna majored in political science

Yuna is the type of person who has very focused parameters; she doesn’t really pay attention to anything that doesn’t affect her or those close to her

The things that Yuna is interested in usually have to do with astronomy, biology, economics, or philosophy

Yuna is a good driver

Some of Yuna’s favorite books are The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Lord of the Flies by William Golding, The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien, For the Most Beautiful by Emily Hauser, 1984 by George Orwell, Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan, The Moon Over the Mountain by Nakajima Atsushi, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, and Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

Yuna has an IQ of 171

Since childhood, Yuna has played the piano

Yuna is bad at putting on makeup, being the second worst at it in Pandora after Taeyeon

Yuna is introverted and likes spending time alone, she finds a good balance between time to herself and time with other people; Taeyeon once said that she envies Yuna for being able to walk on that thin line

Yuna’s favorite variety shows are Knowing Bros, Happy Together, Running Man, and I Can See Your Voice

By her own admittance, Yuna can be rather impatient and she doesn’t have the self-control of people like Soojin or Taeyeon; according to her, it can make her annoying to deal with sometimes

She thinks it’s a little scary how Taeyeon and Soojin can keep their composure so well

Yuna is someone who often wears her feelings on her sleeve; she doesn’t like hiding things, so she lets people know when she’s upset, sad, or anything of the like

She often lets her feelings get a rise out of her and regrets it later

Yuna is agonistic

She believes in aliens but she doesn’t think that human beings on Earth will ever be able to have contact with them because of the sheer vastness of the universe

Her MBTI type is

Yuna is bisexual and an LGBTQ+ supporter

She’s popular in variety shows because of how laid-back she is; almost nothing that the hosts say to get a rise out of her succeed in fazing her

Generally she talks enthusiastically on variety shows, but she’s hard to fluster

She also likes to fire teasing and smart comments on a rare blue moon, but they’re very well-done and hilarious, which is exacerbated because she doesn’t do so often

Yuna’s favorite foods are tteokbokki, jjajangmyeon, and tteokguk

She’s not very good at holding her alcohol; in fact, a cup is usually enough to get her tipsy

Yuna is a morning person; she usually likes to go to bed early and wake up early, which sometimes leads to her struggling during irregular schedules

Her favorite animal is the dolphin

She’s not very competitive and especially hates putting physical exertion into anything

According to the other members, Yuna is the type to get really emotionally involved while dating, and can get somewhat fixated on her partner; because of that, she sometimes gets her feelings hurt

Yuna has a bad tendency to just push away things that are stressing her out, which leads to bad procrastination habits

Still, she strikes a fairly good balance between her work and her leisure time, which is why she often worries about Taeyeon, the resident workaholic and perfectionist of the group

She loves to read, and she’s fairly sure it’s because her mother read to her very often when she was a child

Because of Taeyeon’s tendency to be experimental and change the concepts and genres of their discography frequently, Yuna and the rest of Pandora have been noted for being “concept chameleons” by some

Yuna can speak Korean (from growing up in Korea) and and Mandarin (from school and working abroad) fluently, and she’s good at English, Japanese, and Indonesian

Yuna is a somewhat controversial figure in South Korea because she (and the rest of the Pandora members) is more outspoken about her concerns regarding the double standards against women in the industry as opposed to men, as well as South Korea’s sexism in general; she has also delved into topics such as LGBTQ rights and the stigma against idols dating

Yuna’s ideal type: “I think anyone who’s there for me would satisfy me in a relationship. If I had to pick a quality I would say that I prefer people who are dedicated. I really find it admirable when someone commits wholeheartedly to something.”

Cho Kyuhyun/Han Yuna

Love Disease, part i // Angst

#masterlist #original female character #han yuna #super junior scenarios #super junior imagines #super junior reactions #super junior #kyuhyun scenarios #kyuhyun imagines #kyuhyun reactions #super junior smut #kyuhyun smut #cho kyuhyun #kyuhyun #my writing

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miraculousmumma · 5 years

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The Real Me - A Miraculous Oneshot

So, I finished it quicker than I thought! Here’s the entire thing in all its glory, if you can call it that!

The Real Me

The entire class looked on in silence. Lessons for the week were done, everyone was packing up and talking about their plans, which was when Adrien got out of his seat, turned to Marinette, and said the words that had them all now staring at the interaction.

‘So, would you go out with me?’

It was like a match on the smallest tennis court, eyes darting between the two of them as they waited for her reply. This was the culmination of all these years of Marinette crushing and Adrien being oblivious to both that and his own feelings. This was the big moment.

Marinette continued packing her bag without even glancing up at him. It was only when Alya yelped; ‘Girl!’; at her that she took a breath, looked up at Adrien without a single emotion on her face, and simply stated; ‘No thanks. I’m good.’ And, without saying another word, she sidestepped around him, shouldering her bag as she went, leaving the entire class even more speechless than they had been.

Adrien was well aware of all eyes on him and, once the shock passed, he gave a laugh of pure embarrassment. ‘I actually should have expected that.’ And with no other explanation, he headed out of the door at the closest he could get to a run without actually doing so.

‘Marinette!’

Marinette ignored the call from behind her as she walked rapidly towards the crosswalk to her home. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to his excuses or his apologies. She wasn’t in the mood for him to beg her to hear him out. She just wasn’t in the mood for Adrien Agreste whatsoever.

‘Marinette, come on!’

She could tell he was closer, definitely going at a faster pace than her, but that was fine. If he caught up with her she would give him what for, even though she had hoped to avoid him for just a couple of days.

‘Bugaboo, please.’ He caught up with her, sensibly keeping his hands to himself, but she spun on him just the same, giving him a blue-eyed glare that he was far more used to seeing surrounded by red and black spots.

‘Please nothing!’ She snapped. ‘I have been pining over you for the last three years and suddenly, when you find out the truth, now you want to know me as more than just a friend? No. This is not going to happen. At least, not the way you want it to!’

Adrien could only watch wide-eyed and open-mouthed as she rebuffed him yet again. She was mad at him, he knew she was, but he honestly thought asking her out in front of their class would work. That it would prove to her how serious about he was both in and out of their suits. Boy, was he wrong.

While he struggled for an answer, Marinette was finished, and she turned her back on him, taking the final few steps into the patisserie behind her before slamming the door and leaning on it heavily.

‘Rough day at school, sweetie?’ Sabine asked from where she was serving a customer.

Marinette sighed as she pushed away from the door and dragged herself past the counter, towards the door through to their apartment. ‘No, school was fine.’

‘Do you want a snack?’

‘Sure.’ She grabbed two cookies off a tray and disappeared through the door.

‘Sounds like a boy problem.’ The customer said knowingly.

‘I don’t know.’ Sabine frowned. ‘That kind of look is normally a Bourgeois problem.’

Marinette dropped her bag on the floor of her room and flopped face down on her chaise, flipping off her shoes in the process. Pulling the cushions into her face she screamed, angry at herself for having let this get to her.

When they discovered one another’s identities they were both shocked, closely followed by Adrien being delighted and Marinette being, well, pretty insulted actually. It hit her harder than she could ever have imagined, finding out that Adrien was Chat Noir, that he had flirted with her so heavily when in costume, but out of it? Out of it, she had been placed so firmly in the friendzone that it quickly warped into the ‘just-a-friend-zone’, which was somehow worse. And now they knew he suddenly wanted to date her? That hurt, plain and simple. He wanted Ladybug, not Marinette, never mind that they were the same person. He wanted just a small part of her and had always rejected the rest of her. She didn’t want to be his no matter what. She wanted to be his because he loved every facet of her. To accept his request would lead to a lie, and she didn’t want that.

‘You know, Tikki,’ came her muffled voice, ‘if he had fallen for me as me and then this had been revealed then we wouldn’t have had any of these problems. The fact I’m Ladybug would just have been one hell of a bonus! The same for him! I genuinely like Chat Noir, not just hero worship like most of Paris do, but because I trust him with my life, and vice versa. The flirting bothered me a bit at first, but it soon just became a part of who he was. I would have been over the moon to learn Adrien was Chat Noir, it feels right that it’s him, but his sudden change in his affection towards me doesn’t! It feels forced, as though now I’m finally worthy of crawling out of the pit of just a friend and into his arms. Well, no. It’ll take more than that to win me over. I don’t know what, but something.’

‘I understand your point.’ Tikki assured her from where she floated by her head. ‘But you have to consider that asking you in both of your civilian guises is his way of showing you that he likes you both.’

‘It doesn’t feel like it.’ She grumbled before sitting up and positioning herself crosslegged, passing a cookie to Tikki. ‘It feels like to make things official he’s trying to prove a point, that he’ll put up with me being Marinette if it means he gets to be with me as Ladybug.’ She folded her arms frustratedly.

‘That’s not what I did it for.’

Marinette squealed in surprise at the third voice in the room, her arms flailing so hard she fell off the chaise and onto the floor behind it. Looking towards her skylight to the roof she saw the unmistakable face of Chat Noir, upside down and peering at her apologetically.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He smiled slightly.

‘No, out, bad kitty!’ She yelled as she stumbled to her feet. ‘I will spray you with water, hit you with a broom, whatever it takes to get you out of here!!!’

‘The only thing that will get me out of here is you listening to me.’ He said as firmly as he could with his throat tight with nerves and his voice trembling.

‘Then I guess you’re going to be here a long time. Make yourself at home!’ She waved her arm at him and his smile widened, dropping down onto her bed and heading towards the ladder, in time to see her pulling at the hatch to leave her room.

‘Wait, wait, wait!’ He flipped over the side of the bed and landed on the door surprisingly lightly for how suddenly he did so. ‘Please, hear me out, Marinette. Please. Then if you’re not satisfied you can throw me out yourself.’

She folded her arms and glared at him. ‘There’s nothing you can say that will convince me, so prepare yourself for the definitive proof about cats landing on their feet.’

‘Okay.’ He huffed out a breath as he steeled his nerves. ‘I don’t just want you because you’re Ladybug, and I’m sorry if that’s how it came across.’

‘How did you think that would ever be a good idea?’ She stared at him in disbelief. ‘You ask me out as soon as you find out I’m actually the person you have been flirting with for all these years? It makes me feel about an inch tall. There’s so much misplaced affection when you’re a hero that I thought you might understand! I want someone who sees me for me!’

‘I do see you for you!’

‘No! You know who I am, both sides of me, but one side was never good enough for you, the side you should have seen.’

‘That works both ways, you know?’ He said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She shifted her feet uncomfortably and unfolded her arms. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re allowed to be yourself, you know who you are at home. You’re you. But I can’t do that. I can’t be me outside of the mask. I have to be perfect.’ Marinette’s gut clenched as she saw the pain in his eyes but she couldn’t think of anything to say, so he continued ‘The perfect model, the perfect student, the perfect son. I put this mask on and all bets are off. I’m free. I can run, I can laugh, no one cares what Chat Noir does, because he’s funny, and dashing, and carefree. All the things I’m not. So before you start accusing me of only loving one part of you…’

Chat fell silent when Marinette’s hands pressed against his cheeks the second before she kissed him. Her lips were a soft and gentle touch but they may as well have been on fire, the way they affected him. As well as being an efficient silencer they made his body roar with excitement, his head buzzing even as she broke the kiss and lowered her hands to his chest.

‘Maybe we’re both idiots in that respect.’ She said in a hushed tone. ‘Maybe we both need to take the time to learn about both sides of us.’

‘Can we…’ Chat cleared his throat, surprised by how husky his voice sounded, ‘can we do that as a couple?’

‘I don’t see why not.’ She gave him a warm smile, one she had never been able to offer him without it turning goofy and her cheeks red.

‘This is going to take some explaining at school.’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe we just show up tomorrow holding hands and don’t mention it. Let their imaginations have this one.’

‘You always have the best plans, Marinette.’

‘I do try.’ She agreed, closing her eyes as his lips approached hers.

#miraculous one shot #mlb #miraculous #mumma writes #the real me

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yetanotherauthor · 5 years

Link

A gift for @writhingbeneathyou :D

Pairing: HashiramaTobirama Word count: 7628 Rated: E Summary: As an alpha uninterested in finding a mate and even less interested in examining why, Tobirama has long decided he would rather spend a lifetime following his beloved older brother.

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Where I’ve Always Belonged

Sometimes Tobirama felt a little silly applying scent before battle. He was already an alpha, no one would ever know the scent was natural rather than applied if he skipped perfuming himself. But a tradition was a tradition and if his father had ever been right about anything it was that a shinobi could never have enough precautions. If all the omega in their clan had to apply scent to hide themselves then the alphas would do it too; no enemy would ever be able to tell the difference between who was actually an alpha and who was merely hiding their true dynamic.

From an early age he had taken his cues from the older brother he idolized, readying himself for war in his own room, a private time that he allowed no one to intrude upon. Some things are learned without questions and from watching Hashirama he learned that battle preparation was a very personal ritual. Today he stared at himself in the mirror and wondered how the world would change now that he only had one other alpha he needed to bow to. Bending his spine for Butsuma had always been a challenge no matter that the man was his own father and deserved a certain amount of respect for being the leader of their clan, if nothing else. With Hashirama it was different. In all his years Tobirama had never once felt threatened by his older sibling and it made coexisting in the same house much easier between them.

Perhaps he should have been more saddened by his father’s death a few weeks before but Tobirama had lost most of his familial affection for Butsuma the day he attempted to strike one of his own children over the freshly dug grave of another. Without the man around Tobirama found himself only glad not to clash so often with another alpha who may have equaled him in strength but surpassed him in authority only by virtue of having taken power before Tobirama was born.

Now he had only Hashirama to follow and Tobirama would follow his beloved Hashirama anywhere. Even in to battle with the Uchiha where he knew his brother would seek out the one he insisted on calling friend so many years after Madara himself had declared their friendship ended. Checking himself over one last time to make sure he had all the weapons and seals he typically carried with him, Tobirama stepped out of his room and moved down the hallway to rap his knuckles against Hashirama's door. The importance of respecting a person’s private space had been beaten in to him at a young enough age that it didn’t matter how long Butsuma lay in the ground, Tobirama would probably never let himself in to another person’s room without knocking for the rest of his life.

“Are you ready, Anija?”

“Just a moment!” The sound of Hashirama's harried cry made him roll his eyes. If ever there was a time to put his best foot forward it would be now while his position as leader of the Senju clan was still a bit rocky. Inheritance was one thing but there were several alphas who saw an opportunity for themselves in a young untested heir.

“You should be ready before anyone else,” Tobirama called through the door with a shadow of disapproval in his voice.

He listened for the huff he knew was coming and then Hashirama was throwing open the door to stick a tongue in his direction. “I just forgot something okay!”

“Sometimes I swear you would forget your own skin if you weren’t wearing it.” Tobirama shook his head and turned to leave, Hashirama scrambling after him and already wearing a pout.

“Would not! I mean, I’d be bleeding all over the place and there would be so many muscles and bones exposed; even I couldn’t miss something like that.” He grinned in triumph as though making the final point in an argument. Tobirama blinked at him slowly and decided he simply looked too happy to fight with.

Hashirama got out of many arguments by looking happy. It was a weakness Tobirama seemed to suffer only for him and it was, in a word, embarrassing. No hardened shinobi should be so weak to a simple smile.

Together they left the house and made their way towards the front gate of the Senju compound where Hashirama took point at the head of their forces and Tobirama stayed where he had always belonged, a single pace behind to watch his back. Where he had chafed at his position of third in command when their father was head of the clan he was perfectly content to remain second in command so long as it was Hashirama in front of him.

Battle that day was much like any other. Lives were lost, blades were crossed, blood was spilled and sworn over. Hashirama made straight for his lifelong rival to hold his might at bay and spout the benefits of making peace between them for the hundredth time. Despite being rebuffed each of those hundred times he persisted with no sign of having his enthusiasm lessened in any way. Of all the annoying things in life that had to be one of the ones Tobirama hated the most, although he’d never been able to pinpoint exactly why it should bother him if Hashirama wanted to waste his breath yet again. It wasn’t like he didn’t spout the same crap to everyone else he met as well.

In the end the battle culminated as it always did, with no clear victor only because Hashirama still refused to bring the full force of his might to bear against the people he believed to be as tired of war as he was and as ready for peace if only the one leading them would finally agree. Madara stood true against his opponent until the last of his people had quit the field. Then he spat at Hashirama's feet with a sneer and told him to stop dreaming of rocks. Those who understood the epithet only sighed.

Tobirama happened to think his brother was foolish to keep chasing such an impossible dream but that didn’t mean he enjoyed seeing the sadness on Hashirama's face as he led their people away from the same scene that had played out so many times. If he could give no other comfort then he could at least give the man a few moments to himself after yet another rejection, leading their people away and heading the march back home. Hashirama caught up to them when they were halfway there, bumping shoulders with his younger brother and offering a smile as a silent thank you. No other words were needed.

“A victory, I would say,” Tobirama noted.

“Can it ever truly be a victory when there have been lives lost?” Hashirama asked.

“We’re shinobi. It comes with the territory.”

“It shouldn’t have to be this way, though.” When he looked over Hashirama had leveled a devastating pair of puppy eyes at him.

Tobirama was having none of that. “Don’t preach at me, Anija. You know very well that while I am more than willing to go along with whatever direction you lead us in I also have less than zero faith in the idea of making peace with the Uchiha. That is your dream, not mine, so don’t come crying to me unless you want me to say I told you so again.”

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Hashirama pouted.

“And I don’t have to be nice about it either. The benefits of having a forgiving brother.” Lifting both of his eyebrows, Tobirama dared the other to challenge him. He was smugly satisfied to see Hashirama's nose shoot up in to the air. No comeback; not a surprise.

When they returned to the compound it was a relief to let Hashirama deal with the debriefing and reporting to the elders while Tobirama himself was allowed to slip away. Even with only two people left in their now too-big house there was still hot competition for who got to bathe first on any given day. If they were still young boys they might have bathed together and done away with any fights on the matter but Tobirama could vividly remember the exact day when Butsuma decided they were both getting too old for that. Hashirama had been sick through the night and Tobirama wanted only to help soothe the older boy, maybe wash his hair for him since he enjoyed it so much, but he was turned away at the door and cuffed around the ears as he was told that boys their age should respect each other’s privacy in these matters. They had bathed separately ever since.

Slipping in to the hot water was an almost euphoric experience, as it always was for him. Water being his element meant that he was happy to submerge himself in any sizable body of it at a moment’s notice but hot water was always an extra pleasure. As soon as he sat down he could feel the tensions of this never-ending war slipping away to leave him almost entirely free of worries. Today’s clash had left him with no open wounds but several new bruises and relaxing in a bath was just the thing to help loosen his limbs so they wouldn’t cramp when the bruises muscles began to throb.

By the time he emerged from the natural pool their house had been built around he felt ready to face whatever idiocies the rest of the day had to throw at him, cleaning the water as he left after his hour of languishing. If pattern held he would probably make time for another quick soak before bed for no other reason than that he wanted to but for now he decided to have mercy and allow Hashirama a turn to soak away the grime of sweat and blood.

As he suspected, that familiar woody chakra emerged from the room across the hall as soon as he slid his own door shut and headed straight for the bathing pool. Tobirama smiled as he dressed himself in a plain yukata, delving in to the calm of having his precious person close just to keep up his own relaxing good mood. Something must have been bothering Hashirama though because, instead of the usual happy lassitude he always seemed to carry, his chakra was laced with a strange frenetic energy that tasted like worry. That couldn’t mean anything good.

It was just strange enough that Tobirama stayed in his room instead of going out to speak with one of his many cousins about whipping them up a few meat pies for dinner as he had planned to. That could wait until after he’d made sure nothing life-ending had come up during Hashirama's meeting with the elders. Only the gods knew what kind of madness went on in the minds of those old coots.

To allow for some respectful distance in case talking would have to wait awhile, he pulled his senses back in to himself and set about puttering around his room to keep occupied. Mostly he read through some of the correspondence waiting on the desk growing out of his floor, drafted a few replies, poked at a few of the trade requests the Uzumaki had sent them. All things that needed to get done anyway so he could justify waffling around in his room until he was needed. Once or twice he got up to clean some trifling messes that didn’t really need cleaning yet until finally his patience was rewarded by footsteps down the hall and a light rapping at the door. Without getting up he turned in his chair and called for Hashirama to enter but when he did Tobirama frowned.

“Why did you send a clone?”

“I, uh, whatever do you mean?” A beaming smile tried to distract him but he only frowned.

“You’re not the original. I can always tell.”

Hashirama let out a nervous smile and poked the ends of his pointer fingers together. “Ah, haha, how can you tell? I have the same chakra!”

“Because I can’t smell your clones.” Tobirama stood up slowly to approach the clone with a suspicious face. “Which you know already. Are you in your bedroom? I’m coming to see you; you’re being strange and I want to know why.”

“Wait! Hold on! I wanted to talk to you before you go in my room! It’s important!” The clone hurried after him but Tobirama ignored it and continued on his way.

Seeing that it was hopeless trying to stop him the clone puffed out of existence to give his original at least a little warning. A quiet squeak sounded from down the hall only a moment later and Tobirama rolled his eyes. For all the work he had put in to creating a jutsu that would allow him to create his own solid clones he still had no preference for communicating with one. It felt wrong speaking with someone and not being able to smell them, knowing that whatever he was sensing might not be what the person was truly feeling at the moment. It felt duplicitous.

Just before he reached the door he heard a bit of quick scrambling that made him roll his eyes as he knocked, opening it at his brother’s call to find Hashirama standing in the middle of the room with his body language all but dripping with nerves, not something he had seen too many times in his life.

“Anija,” he greeted the man slowly. “Why are you sending clones instead of talking to me yourse-…your…is there someone else in here?” Before he could even get through one sentence Tobirama stopped dead, nearly bowled over with the most incredible scent he’d ever gotten a whiff of in his life. It was undeniably omega and entirely unfamiliar.

“No one is in here but me,” Hashirama said and Tobirama huffed, taking another step in to the room.

“Do you think I can’t smell that? There is definitely an omega in this room. Have you found some kind of seal to conceal them from view or are they under your bed?”

“I promise! There’s really no one here!”

Tobirama took another step forward but the denial that someone must have just left in that case died on his tongue as his attention was redirected. With every step closer to Hashirama the scent grew stronger. Logically that must mean that a strange omega had come in to contact with him. Tobirama was well aware that sniffing another person’s scent off his brother was the absolute height of poor manners but he found he couldn’t quite stop himself, not when the smell was this enticing. Hashirama had never cared about personal space anyway.

Leaning away from him, Hashirama giggled nervously again.

“Um, so, this is what I wanted to talk to you about so before you do anything–”

“It’s you.”

“What?”

“The smell, it’s coming from you. Not like it’s on you but as though it’s coming from your scent glands. Why do you smell like an omega?” Pretending he was only drawn in by the mystery absolved him of a lot of the awkwardness that came from stepping close enough to shove his nose right up against Hashirama's neck, breathing deeply and fluttering his lashes closed.

Something inside of him shifted like an awakening, primal and eager, encouraging him to take another deep inhale and shuffle closer until their bodies were almost pressed flushed against each other. From this close he could hear every shuddering breath rushing passed his ear yet instead of making him leap away with shame as he normally would it only made his blood pound harder. With a light quiver in his voice Hashirama began to babble.

“Please don’t be mad at me! I – I didn’t want to keep it a secret! Father made me keep it a secret from everyone but he’s gone now and…and…Tobi?” Swallowing thickly, unaware of the fact that the motion of it had definitely caught Tobirama’s attention, he went on. “Of course he thought I would present alpha and everyone else did too but when I didn’t he said I would have to pretend to be the son he deserved. He made me wear scent everywhere I went and a different scent for battle to keep up the lie but he said I couldn’t even tell you because the more people who knew the more likely it was for the secret to get out and – Tobi are you listening to me?”

“You smell…so good.”

“Oh. Thank you? I mean it’s – you smell nice too. You always do.”

It was the way his voice came out small and hesitant that cut through the fog in Tobirama’s mind, pulling him back just enough for his hindbrain to recognize that this was his brother before him.

His brother whom he had grown up believing was an alpha and yet never felt threatened by in any way, the brother who now smelled like the most enticing omega he had ever met, the brother who had apparently had the wrong dynamic forced on him since the day puberty hit in what was probably a very confusing and terrifying first heat with no other omega there to help him through it. Their mother, he recalled, had been away on a mission when Hashirama fell sick.

Were he in full control of his faculties this would surely have been a much more overwhelming revelation but at the moment the only thing he could concentrate on was the incredible scent. In all his life he’d never felt more drawn to an omega before. Generally he tended to look upon other alphas with scorn for having so little control over themselves and yet here he was unable to convince himself to step back. The fact that this was his own sibling might have made him jump away if he were a Hyuga or something, one of the clans known for rejecting sibling mate pairs, but the Senju had always believed a true imprinting should be pursued no matter what relation you were to each other.

Of course, if the match were too closely related the omega usually volunteered for sterilization to prevent harm to the next generation but that was a whole other basket of worms. It didn’t happen very often anyway. And that was definitely not what he wanted to be focusing on right now.

“I always smell–?”

“Just because I had to apply scent to cover my own doesn’t mean my nose didn’t work anymore.” Hashirama flushed, obviously trying to say something else with his words.

“Okay.” Tobirama frowned. For once his head was too muddled to read between the lines. All he wanted was to bend his neck and press against the source of that glorious fragrance again. His eyes slid down against his will to linger on the brown expanse of skin before him, so tempting, and now that he was thinking from new angles he noted for the first time that Hashirama's neck had a very pleasing shape.

What the hell that meant he had no idea, only that he suddenly could think of little else but that neck.

“Can I…I promise I’m not trying to be weird or anything but…”

“You can do anything you want to,” Hashirama told him in a breathy voice.

Tobirama took him up on that. In an instant his face was buried in warm skin and his hands had found their way over broad hips before he’d actually given the movement any thought. Surprisingly – or he supposed not too surprisingly considering the pheromones mixing around them – Hashirama moved placidly wherever he was asked to and made no complaints about being held tightly against the alpha so intent on taking in his scent.

“Feel like I should have figured this out on my own at some point,” Tobirama said distantly, mostly thinking about how he could have experienced this euphoria a long time ago if he weren’t so blind.

“Ah. I had to…um…” Hashirama shifted against him and purred a little when the arms around him tightened. “I guess my habit of ignoring social boundaries was kind of helpful. And most people still don’t expect an omega to be stronger than an alpha so…”

“Hiding in plain sight. My clever Anija.”

“Clever. Wow. You don’t usually call me that.”

Tobirama smiled through the fog. “Because usually you’re a dunderhead.”

“Hey!”

“But right now you are a clever little thing and if you don’t push me away I am going to embarrass us both.”

Completely subverting his expectations of a mortified shriek and strong arms pushing him away in panic, expectations that were quite reasonable when one considered who he was standing with, Hashirama fairly melted against him and tilted his head just a bit to one side, exposing a little more of his neck in what was clearly a submissive manner.

“Why should either of us be embarrassed if it’s something we both want?” he questioned.

“That sounds dangerously as though you’re asking for something I truly would not have expected you to be interested in,” Tobirama mused. In retrospect he could guess that the clone had been intended as a way to break the news to him before he had a chance to react in such an animalistic nature, something he’d taken to mean Hashirama didn’t want them to act on these base, instinctual urges.

“Are you interested in…those things?” Hashirama's overly hopeful tone left him with an entirely different impression than sending the clone had.

“I suppose that depends; we should probably make sure we’re on the same page here.” Drawing small circles with his thumbs in an instinctual effort to keep the omega calm, Tobirama bent his head down to slowly draw the tip of his nose up the side of Hashirama's neck. “This is alright?”

He knew his answer by the muted whine that slipped out before his brother could say anything.

“Yes, alpha.”

Tobirama bit his lip to contain the rush that went through his body. He never thought he’d be the type to get turned on by such base and simple words. Apparently he was as much a slave to his own body chemistry as everyone else but it was hard to be upset with himself for such weakness just then. It was much more interesting to graze his lips over the hammering pulse calling out to him like a beacon.

“And this?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. And what about…this?” Tobirama parted his lips and let his tongue dart out for just a little taste, instantly craving more. “Is that alright too?”

Fairly shaking in his arms with the effort to stay still, Hashirama whined again. “Yes, alpha. Yes please.”

“So kind of you to be so polite,” Tobirama purred in approval. Feeling bold with so many positive responses, he scraped his teeth along the jugular vein and down across the man’s shoulder until he heard a desperate mewl and Hashirama clutched at him suddenly.

“Don’t tease, Tobi. Alpha. My alpha? I want – please?”

“Oh, am I teasing?” The lightness of his tone contrasted sharply with how badly he wanted to sink his teeth in and claim the omega before him but he got a laugh when Hashirama let out a small huff of frustration. Knowing how much it usually took for his brother to reach the end of his rope, Tobirama felt a little smug that he could get such a reaction with only a few not-enough touched.

“I am not above begging if that’s what you want,” Hashirama groaned.

Knowing the man was actually serious about that very nearly brought Tobirama to his knees but he stood strong and finally let the restraints fall away to take what he could now say for sure they both wanted. Pheromones flooded his mouth as well as his nose like a mind-bending cocktail the second he dug his teeth in to thick muscles and brown skin. Hashirama arched against him with a shuddering cry and Tobirama had never felt so powerful in all his life.

Not the sort of power one wields on the battlefield or in political circles, something to be brandished as a weapon, no. This was the much more heady power to give pleasure to another and until this moment he had never realized the euphoria therein. Having Hashirama fall to pieces in his arms from a bit of nibbling and a few light draws of his tongue along whatever skin he could reach made him feel as though he could touch the sky and yet it wasn’t long until this wasn’t nearly enough. There was so much more he could do, so many ways he could please the omega in his arms, and he found himself grinning as he tried to imagine what his brother would look like in the throes of ecstasy.

Gorgeous, obviously. How could he have never realized the connection between them?

Slowly leading the both of them step by step over towards to the bed, he thought to himself that it suddenly made a lot of sense why he’d never been all that interested in mating with any of the omegas who presented themselves to him. Even without being able to smell what was hiding underneath the false alpha scent Hashirama had used, it was obvious something inside of him must have recognized the true match that had been right under his nose all this time. With how rare they were many still believed in the misconception that imprinting had no element of choice. Tobirama would be thrilled to tell anyone who asked that both of them still had a choice and Hashirama had obviously chosen him a long time ago; he was only too happy to choose the same in return.

Instead of tumbling them both down on to the mattress when they reached it Tobirama paused and rooted his brother to the floor with one look they both knew from many missions together meant he wanted the man to keep as still as possible. Waiting to make sure Hashirama was going to follow his order, he took a single step back and reached between them to pick at the knots on both of their obis.

After the well-worn cotton of their yukatas slid away to puddle on the floor they were both left bare to each other’s eyes, each man devouring the other with a singular kind of hunger that left Tobirama wondering how he hadn’t figured out his brother’s secret before. Looking was quickly followed by touching of course. Tobirama guided his brother down to the bed and soothed the heat between them with long swipes of his hand over the planes of that glorious chest, tracing every line he could see, then dipped his head to taste them. His omega mewled and arched in to the touch.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped against warm skin, tongue laving at the ridges of sinful abdominal muscles.

“Anything alpha is okay with,” Hashirama whispered back. His eyes were closed and his face tilted up as if praying to the gods above them but he gasped and looked down when Tobirama nipped at his skin.

“Now is not the time to be coy. I asked you to tell me what you want.”

Layering his voice with the authority of an alpha made his partner quiver with want, writhing under him and whining as he tried to ride out a sudden wave of lust while Tobirama watching without shame for enjoying the sight. And what a glorious sight he made. Hashirama was resplendent as he bucked and squirmed through his mental battle against two decades of habit pushing his own needs down until finally he blurted them out with little grace.

“I want alpha to claim to me! Please, please fuck me Otouto!”

“Fuck. Yes. I can do that.”

Tobirama wasted no more time. Having his own desires practically shouted at him might not have been exactly romantic but romance was quite far from his mind at the moment. All he could think about was the way Hashirama's cloying scent thickened and grew more potent with every touch, more enticing by the second.

As large of a man as his brother was his bed was still fairly small, barely able to fit its single occupant. With two of them on the mattress space was rather crowded but Tobirama found this worked to his advantage as it gave him more excuse to stay close while he skimmed a hand down the outside of Hashirama's left leg to grasp at the ankle. He fitted himself in to space made when he folded the man’s leg up, spreading tanned thighs as easily as he might spread the pages of a well-loved book, and reveled in the sensation of all that skin pressing against his own as he leaned forward to bury his nose in the source of the pheromones that were driving him so wild.

It almost felt as though he were viewing the world through a haze as he licked and tasted all the skin he could reach, drunk on the melody of Hashirama's helpless pleas for more. He had only just realized his own disappointing lack of lube when he found a bottle of it being pressed in to his hands as though he needed more proof that the two of them worked perfectly together. Hashirama swelled with pride when he murmured praise for thinking so far ahead.

Pulled himself back enough to squeeze a bit of lubricant in one palm was almost a physical pain, separation when he wanted nothing more than to burrow himself closer, but he managed because easing the way would stop him from causing any pain and to hurt Hashirama would only hurt himself in return. No omega deserved to experience pain when a joining like this was supposed to bring them only pleasure and safety. And Hashirama more than anyone else deserved pleasure and safety. Forced to conceal his true self since the moment he discovered it, it was nothing short of an honor to be the first one trusted with a glimpse of the person he was always meant to be.

Shifting back up the bed, Tobirama nuzzled at his brother’s jaw before taking his lips in a kiss to distract from the fingers reaching down between them. Hashirama bucked at the first touch against his entrance, a soft keening sound escaping as one finger slipped inside. Almost immediately the older man began to buck his hips as he tried desperately to get just a little more friction but Tobirama held strong, refusing to go any faster than he thought his brother’s body could handle. Clearly if he had been hiding his dynamic for this long he was untouched, his inexperience obvious even in the way he kissed, and rushing in to things would only end with pain.

Which, obviously, was an unacceptable outcome. If Tobirama had his way his omega would never experience pain of any kind ever again for the rest of his life.

Hashirama keened loudly to be finally gifted with a second finger and despite the red painted across his cheeks in embarrassment he made no move to silence his own noises, for which Tobirama was grateful. Keeping his own needs in check was made easier knowing that he was making his partner feel good. In that moment – for the rest of their lives – the most important thing in his world was the need to make sure his partner felt safe and happy.

“More,” Hashirama panted below him. “Want- need more!”

“Patience, Anija. You can be patient for me can’t you?”

“I-! Yes. Yes I can be patient. I can be whatever alpha asks me to be.��

Tobirama hummed and ducked his chin so his brother wouldn’t see the flutter of his eyes and how ridiculously affected he was by those words. He busied himself with the distraction of two pert brown nipples just begging for his tongue and his teeth, riding the wave as Hashirama writhed under the dual stimulation. From the startled cries he gathered that the man had never thought to explore this part of himself before and discovering yet another first he was blessed to give sent a thrill right down to his toes.

Adding a third finger only increased the glorious sounds filling the air around them. Really two fingers was probably more than enough considering Hashirama's body would have instinctively prepared him to accept his new mate but Tobirama was nothing if not cautious and he wanted to do this right.

When finally he slipped his fingers out and reached down to coat his own length with the lubricant Hashirama was keening with almost every breath and begging senselessly as he panted, not even seeming to realize he was doing so. Despite having asked the man to be patient Tobirama allowed himself a moment of pride to have pleased his mate so well before reminding himself not to get distracted. Right now was not about him. He could preen later.

“N-now?” Hashirama gasped and Tobirama couldn’t help but to lean down and kiss him.

“I certainly can’t wait any longer,” he murmured. “Be a good omega and turn over for me, yes?”

Hashirama's answer was to execute a perfect flip in the limited space between mattress and mate without even bothering to ask for a bit of room to do so. When Tobirama did move away a few inches Hashirama immediately pushed his face in to the bedding and lifted his hips high, presenting shamelessly. The sight of him was so arousing that for a few moments all Tobirama could do was stare in wonder.

As soon as he recovered he was crawling forward to drape himself over the other man’s back, curling to press every inch of their bodies together that he could. He rutted in to the cleft between his brother’s cheeks and inhaled deeply of the scent that had first called his attention to the potential hiding right under his nose for so many years.

“Mine now,” he whispered, as mindless as the whimper that slipped from the body under him.

When he lifted himself away Hashirama cried out as though in loss but Tobirama soothed him with a few strokes down the length of his spine and at the same time grasped himself with his other hand, lining up with the entrance waiting so eagerly to be filled.

Pressing inside was the sweetest heaven, an exquisite nirvana unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Unlike what he had expected in the base act of copulation, it was not the pressure around his length that made him stop and take a deep breath to control himself, although he would freely admit that did play a factor. It was instead the sensation of utter completeness and rightness as he made himself one with the mate he was always meant to be with, the one he had imprinted on the moment he finally took in Hashirama's natural scent. With their bodies together he was whole in a way he could not describe but it was an instant addiction.

He was hardly surprised to hear the man underneath him give a weak protest as he shifted his hips to pull out slowly. Nor was he surprised when driving his hips forward again in a steady rocking motion dragged echoing groans from both of them as they were made whole once again. If not for how much he cared for his partner Tobirama knew he would have been completely lost the moment he took up a proper rhythm, such was the pleasure that left him so beyond words.

Rather than losing himself he leaned forward and braced his weight on the bed with one hand, the other reaching forward to weave between Hashirama's fingers where he was gripping a handful of cotton as though his very life depended on it. Then Tobirama bent a little further until he could sink his teeth in to the delicious brown neck peeping out between curtains of silky brown hair.

With a lewd sound the likes of which he wouldn’t have thought the man capable of Hashirama thrashed, instinctively trying to shove himself further back on to the cock filling him. Following his most primal drives Tobirama snapped his hips again and closed his eyes to enjoy the symphony playing just for him. Their rhythm was broken and hurried, nothing like he had ever imagined love-making would be, but it could not have been more perfect. Every shift of weight and twitch of limb was accompanied by new and enticing sounds drawn from Hashirama like he couldn’t help himself, every thrust met with a roll of tanned hips at just the right angle to have Tobirama snapping his own just a little harder, and he would not have changed a thing.

As much as Tobirama wanted to say it felt like forever and not enough at the same time, as much as he wanted to fall victim to the romantic clichés his brother loved so openly, he was at his core a creature of habit and he knew exactly how long had passed by the time he felt his knot beginning to swell. Draping himself a little farther around Hashirama's body was an instinctual response he didn’t bother fighting. He may never have indulged in physical pleasures before but he understood his own body well enough that he knew exactly what to expect when his thrusts grew shallow and his omega began to whine.

“Please,” Hashirama pleaded mindlessly. “I want it!”

“You’re sure? There’s no need to rush, we’ll have plenty of time to-”

“Please, alpha! I want- I need- just please! Don’t make me beg!”

Tobirama pressed his forehead against the nape of his brother’s neck and flashed a grin unseen. “You said you were happy to beg,” he felt compelled to point out. “But how could I say no when you ask so prettily?”

Having grown to adulthood as an alpha he was more than aware what a knot was and what it was for. He’d been given the mating talks when he was younger and he understood what it meant to knot an omega, not to mention now. What he hadn’t been told but really should have expected was the way it felt. Tobirama could feel every last reserve of dignity he had left shattering inside him and bursting out as a sharp cry when he felt his knot pressing inside for Hashirama's body to clamp down around him, both of them immediately giving in to the convulsions of a spectacular orgasm, clinging to each other and rutting mindlessly.

Unsurprisingly, Hashirama was the first to settle in to minute shivers and fall as still as possible while his limbs struggled to hold him up. He whimpered yet again when Tobirama rutted in to him once more.

“We’re gonna be stuck like this, aren’t we?” he asked between gasping pants. Eyes still clenched shut as he rode the continuous waves of pleasure that came with being knotted inside an omega, Tobirama grunted and pressed a few kisses to the back of his partner’s neck.

“For a while,” he panted back. “Are you okay? I tried not to hurt you but I – nnnh – I lost control for a bit.”

Hashirama's eyes were dopey and glossed over with exhaustion when he turned to smile happily around one shoulder. Just looking at him made Tobirama’s heart skip several beats, his entire being suffused with the sudden need to protect and pamper this gorgeous, precious creature he was blessed to be mated with.

With that in mind he very gently began maneuvering them both on to their sides as best he could while their bodies were locked together, trying hard not to be too obvious about the aftershocks still running through his system. He’s read in a book once that an alpha could experience several orgasms during the knotting and until now he’d always thought such rumors were utter nonsense. As Hashirama squirmed against him he rethought his stance on what constituted nonsense. Nothing should hace the right to feel that good.

“Otouto…”

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” Tobirama asked worriedly.

“Could you hold me a little tighter? Everything is…so much more perfect than I ever imagined.”

“I can do that.” Touched, he did as he was asked and shuffled his arms to hold more of his brother’s massive frame between them.

The two of them curled in to each other as best they could, weaving their hands together and clutching tighter whenever another wave of shivers ran down Tobirama’s spine. It was hard to believe that only a couple of hours before he hadn’t even known his brother was an omega and now they were mated, a bonded pair for the rest of their lives. Not in his wildest dreams could Tobirama have imagined someone more perfect for him than his own older brother.

He had, in point of fact, long contented himself with the idea of following his brother for the rest of his life without actively seeking a mate of his own, entirely devoted to whatever his Anija asked of him. To have happiness handed to him as a reward for his efforts and to know that he would make his brother even happier in return was more than he could have ever asked for.

“I guess we can’t really keep it a secret that I’m not an alpha now since I’ll smell different, being mated and all.” Hashirama made no effort to contain the joy in his voice to say it out loud and it made Tobirama smile a little wider.

“Are you okay with everyone knowing?”

“Even if I wasn’t there’s really no going back now.”

Humming in agreement, Tobirama nudged that back of his partner’s neck. “You knew didn’t you? You imprinted on me a long time ago.”

“Yes. I hope you’re not mad. Not telling you was…it was really hard.” Turning his head, Hashirama looked over one shoulder again with the echoes of a deep yearning in his eyes. “Sometimes I would be sitting right next to you and I would miss you. I don’t know how else to explain it. But it was lonely because I wasn’t allowed to say anything about being an omega so I definitely wasn’t allowed to tell you I had imprinted on you as soon as I went through puberty.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this alone,” Tobirama murmured softly.

They didn’t speak for a short while after that. When they were finally able to separate Tobirama pressed his brother gently down on his back and insisted on fetching some damp cloths to clean them both up himself. He made sure to keep his touches as careful as he could in the hopes of conveying even a fraction of the love and care he felt for the man he was granted the chance to pamper. If he had his way there would be a lot more pampering in the future. Actions had always been easier than words for him. Only when they were both clean and he had fetched a clean blanket from his own room to pull over them did he finally lay back down.

With their arms around each other, face to face on the single pillow they were sharing, the two of them passed a moment simply taking each other in and letting the reality of everything that just happened settle. In different ways this would both change everything between them and yet also change very little. Tobirama lifted one hand to trace his brother’s face, thinking to himself that he couldn’t wait to discover those changes together.

“Mate,” he whispered, rolling the word around on his tongue just to enjoy the sound of it. “I promise that I will try to be everything you need of me.”

“You always have been,” Hashirama told him.

“Mn, even when I angered you? We’re rather infamous for having different viewpoints.”

“You have always been everything I could ever ask for and more, so much more than I deserve. When we see things differently that just means you’re helping me think from a new angle I wouldn’t have considered on my own!”

Tobirama huffed. “I should have expected you to be so kind. Now shush, let me hold you for a while. Sooner or later someone is going to come along and demand your attention for something, they always do, but right now you belong to me and only me. I intend to make the most of the time that I can.”

“Oh my. I…I like that.”

“Like what?”

Hashirama grinned sheepishly. “Hearing you lay claim to me like that. I liked it. It feels very nice to be wanted.”

“You are always wanted,” Tobirama murmured gently and his partner melted against him with a happy purr.

As promised, he tightened his arms to squeeze them together and then loosened his grip to let them both lay comfortably, eyes closed and bodies sprawled in complete relaxation. Never in his life had Tobirama been more grateful for his own sensing capabilities. If he weren’t a sensor he would not have been able to feel Hashirama’s turmoil earlier, he would not have been able to tell he was speaking with a wood clone, and who knew if he would have ever truly discovered the euphoria waiting for him just down the hall. What a mediocre life it would have been to never have Hashirama by his side in the way he was always meant to be.

Forever.

#yetanotherstory #hashitobi #abo #fanfiction

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