why isn’t anyone ever just whelmed?

🪐

[alittlewhelmed]

feeling the aster ⋆˚꩜.ᐟ

masterlist

abby ˚⟡˖ ࣪ 20, sweet treat enthusiast, hufflepuff, rambler, ghibli movies devotee, orange soda fanatic

please note that I only occasionally write because my brain moves on faster than my writing.

[azaablue]

the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be a part of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.

[tunetales]

Az and reader have been in love with each other for a while but they both are too scared to admit it in fear of the other person not reciprocating, one day reader has had enough of it and out of nowhere goes "hey az I've been meaning to do this" or something like that and kisses him panics and leaves the room immediately.

Az looks asks mor and cass if reader just kissed him (he is completely spiraling doesn't know if he dreamed or not) and to mess with him they're like like what?? Dude no that didn't happen you weirdo, fast forward a few days and reader is venting to mor on how she finally made the first step (as mor encouraged her before) and az didn't acknowledge nor comment on the kiss, infact he's acting the same as before, mor is like oh shit he believed us when we messed with him reader is like WHAT,WHY DID YOU DO THAT, and has to confess all over again

(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)

Authors Note: I'm slightly nervous about this one, I hope you guys enjoy! Slight angst and miscommunication below, but there is a happy ending don't you worry.

Rita's was loud, warm, and just dim enough to make bad decisions feel like excellent ones.

You were currently on your third drink.

Which was already becoming a problem.

"Stop staring," Mor said beside you, not even looking up as she leaned against the bar.

"I'm not staring," you muttered, taking a sip of your drink.

"You are," she says flatly. "It's bordering on tragic at this point."

Your eyes flickered - again - across the room.

And there he was.

Azriel sat with Rhysand and Cassian at their usual booth, his shadows almost invisible in the lowlight where they curled lazily around his shoulders, a half-empty glass in his hand. He was dressed effortlessly immaculate in a dark long sleeved shirt, the top few buttons undone so his tattooed chest was starting to peek through, and dark jeans. His curls were messily styled, a few strands lay on his forehead that you ached to brush away.

He wasn't even doing anything particularly interesting - just listening, occasionally speaking - but somehow that made it worse.

Because you knew him.

Knew the quiet, the restraint, the way he observed everything before speaking. Knew the softness he hid so carefully.

Knew how he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention in a way that made your chest tighten - like maybe there was a possibility...

You dragged your gaze away when Mor snorted.

"I hate you," you told Mor.

She laughed. "You love him."

You didn't respond. You didn't need to.

You watched as Azriel lifted his glass to his lips, downing the rest of the amber liquid inside, his thumb slowly tracing his bottom lip to catch any excess his mouth didn't swallow.

You bit your lip as your face suddenly heated.

Mor finally turned, studying you properly now, her expression softening slightly. "You know he feels it too, right?"

That got your attention.

Your stomach flipped. "No, he doesn't."

"He does."

"He doesn't," you insisted, a little too quickly. "If he did, something would've happened by now."

Mor hummed, unconvinced. Then - casually, like she was suggesting you try a different wine - "So do something, prove me wrong."

You choked on your drink. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on-"

"No," you said, firmly. "Nope. Not happening. I am not risking that. I like...what we have."

Mor arched a brow. "You mean the longing looks and emotional torture?"

"Yes," you snapped. "I mean no-"

She snorted. "Coward."

Your next round finally arrived, bringing an end to the conversation. You grabbed yours like it might anchor you to sanity.

It did not.

Because a few minutes later-

Another drink.

Then another.

And suddenly the warmth in your chest wasn't just nerves anymore.

It was something else. Something bold and reckless.

Mor's suggestion suddenly didn't seem like such a bad idea.

You looked at him again.

Azriel.

He was laughing at something Cassian said.

It had been several months now you had been harbouring feelings for the Shadowsinger and it was becoming harder and harder to keep yourself together in front of him.

You couldn't keep living like this anymore.

A sudden realisation snaps into you.

"Oh gods," you breathed.

Mor glanced at you. "What-"

"Fuck it," you said, more to yourself than her.

You picked up the shot that was waiting for you and tipped your head back as you downed it, slamming it onto the bar as the familiar taste burned the back of your throat.

Her eyes lit up immediately. "Wait, where are you going-"

You were already moving. Across the room. Straight to him.

Every step felt unreal, like you were watching yourself from a distance. You couldn't believe you were doing this - but you didn't stop.

Couldn't.

Azriel noticed you - of course he did.

His attention sharpened instantly, gaze locking onto yours as you approached. He excused himself from the booth, coming to meet you halfway across the dance floor.

"Hey," he said, a small smile forming - soft, just for you. "Everything alri-"

You didn't let him finish.

"Hey, Az," you said, breath a little unsteady. "I've been meaning to do this, for a while now..."

And then-

You grabbed the front of his shirt, hauling him down to your height and raising yourself onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

This close, you could smell his cologne. His lips were unbelievably soft and tasted of mint, the remnants of whiskey on his breath.

It wasn't graceful.

It was messy, hot - your lips melded against his as you poured everything you could into it. Everything you were too scared to tell him with words.

It only lasted a few seconds.

But it was enough for the world to tilt. For Azriel to go completely, utterly still.

Enough for that spark - that thing between you - to flare into something undeniable.

His lips begin to press back-

And then your brain catches up.

"Oh gods-"

You pulled back.

You stared up at him - wide-eyed, horrified.

He looked just as stunned.

Hazel eyes blown wide. Lips slightly parted. Shadows frozen mid-curl like they'd forgotten how to exist.

He didn't say anything. He didn't move.

You panicked.

"Okay-bye-"

And then you left.

Actually left.

Turned on your heel and disappeared out of Rita's before anyone could stop you.

What had you done?

Azriel continued to stand there in the throngs of dancers as you fled the dance floor.

You had just kissed him.

And walked away before he could do or say anything.

"Hey," Cassian said over the music, suddenly appearing at his side. "Are you okay?"

"...Did she just kiss me?" He asked slowly.

"Who?"

"(Y/N)."

Cassian's grin spread, wide and immediate. "Are you drunk? Not a chance."

Azriel looked between Cassian and the space you just vacated, confusion already creeping in. "She just-"

Cassian clapped a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the bar. "Okay, lover boy. Time for another drink."

Mor - still at the bar - waved them over.

"What's wrong with him?" Mor asked, taking immediate note of the shell-shocked look on the Shadowsinger's face.

He stared at her. "She just kissed me."

Cassian laughed and boisterously clapped Azriel on the back as he gestured to the barman. "Az here thinks (Y/N) just put the moves on him."

Mor blinked. "Pfft, no way."

"I'm telling you, she did," Azriel protested.

Then - very gently - "No, she didn't. Does that sound like something she would do?"

Silence.

Azriel looked at Cassian.

Cassian shook his head slowly. "Buddy...I think you've had a bit too much to drink."

Azriel's stomach dropped.

"...Right," he said faintly.

Maybe he had imagined it.

Gods.

What was wrong with him?

Was he that helplessly in love with you that he had actually imagined his wildest fantasy coming to life?

According to Cassian and Mor, clearly he had.

Azriel rubbed a hand down his face.

He needed to get a hold of himself.

You woke up the next day feeling sick.

One, from all the alcohol you had consumed.

Secondly, because you had kissed Azriel.

Your mind flashed back to the moment - how soft his lips had been against yours, the taste of him, how hard his chest had felt under your hands.

You couldn't believe you had done that.

You had ruined everything.

And to make matters worse, you had fled before you could explain yourself.

"Cauldron, save me," you practically screamed into your pillow.

There was only so long you could stay holed up, avoiding everything. You had to eventually leave the safety of your room.

Your nerves were strung tight.

The dining room was already full.

Cassian is halfway through a story, hands moving animatedly. Rhysand is laughing into his coffee. Mor is slumped against the table clearly hungover.

And, there he is-

Azriel.

Seated. Calm. Drinking his tea like nothing in the world has changed.

Your stomach flips.

Okay. This is fine.

Maybe he's waiting. Maybe he'll catch your eye. Say something quietly. Subtly. Azriel-style.

You take your seat.

Nothing.

He doesn't even look up.

You wait, eyes nervously flittering to where he sits as you attempt to eat something to settle your stomach.

Cassian finishes his story and glances over you, smirking.

Oh no.

"Morning," he says, far too casually.

"Morning," you reply, equally carefully.

Azriel nods once in your direction.

Just-

A nod.

Like you didn't kiss him last night. Like you didn't run away like an idiot. Like nothing happened at all.

Heat crawls up your neck as his eyes continue to assess you, but he says nothing.

"Where did you go last night?" Mor enquires, her voice muffled from where she still sits slumped on the table.

You almost choke on your juice.

"I, uh...wasn't feeling well," you explain, trying to keep your tone casual.

"Even after all these years, you still can't handle your drink (Y/N)," Cassian teases.

Azriel, meanwhile, reaches for more tea.

Unbothered.

"Azriel had quite a bit to drink last night too, didn't you?" Cassian continues.

Mor snorts.

Your eyes flicker between the pair of them, questioning, before they settle back on Azriel.

You stare at him.

He doesn't even react.

Something in your chest tightens.

Did you imagine it?

No.

No, you didn't.

You felt it. The way he kissed you back-

Your fingers tighten around your fork.

Breakfast continues.

Laughter. Conversation.

You barely hear it.

Every few seconds your gaze drifts back to him.

And every time, there's nothing.

He speaks quietly to Rhys. Responds to Cassian. Listens to Mor.

But to you?

Polite. Neutral. Friendly.

Like always. Just like before.

You try to swallow the lump that continues to grow bigger and bigger in your throat the longer you sit there.

Eventually, one by one, they leave.

Cassian first, with a suspicious grin, dragging Mor with him. She throws a look to Azriel you can't quite decipher. Rhys disappears in a cloud of darkness.

And suddenly, it's just you and Azriel.

Your heart picks up.

Okay. This is it.

Now he'll say something. Now he'll acknowledge it, without the prying eyes of everyone else.

He sets his cup down.

He looks at you.

And says-

"Did you still want to train today?"

You blink.

"...What?"

"Yesterday, you said you wanted me to help you with that new manoeuvre," he explains. "Do you still want to?"

That's it.

You stare at him.

"You don't have anything else to say?"

He frowns slightly, like he's genuinely confused.

"...About?"

Your stomach drops.

About.

About?

You laugh once - short, disbelieving - unable to keep it at bay.

Azriel's brows draw together. "What?"

You push your chair back, standing abruptly.

"It's okay, I think I just need to go back to bed."

"(Y/N), what's wrong-"

"Nothing's wrong," you cut in, a little sharper than you intended. "Clearly I misunderstood something."

You needed to get away. You couldn't even look at him. Embarrassment and hurt threatening to spill over in tears that you couldn't let him see.

Azriel stands with you, confused by your sudden desperation to get away from him.

"Misunderstood what?"

You shake your head, already moving toward the door.

He clearly wanted to pretend it never happened.

You'd made a terrible mistake.

"Don't worry about it."

"(Y/N), please, wait."

You can't help but pause for a half a second, unable to ignore the plea in his voice.

You look back at him. He's stood, partially around the table as if he had made to follow you. His face was neutrally masked, but you could see the flicker of confusion and - anguish? - in his eyes.

"Did I do something?" He asks.

The sincerity in it almost makes it worse.

You swallow.

"...No."

You shoot him a small smile to try and put him at ease. "I drank too much last night, is all."

And then you leave.

Azriel stands there for a long moment after you're gone.

Frowning. Thinking.

His shadows stir uneasily.

Something is wrong.

He just doesn't know what.

He'd spent the remainder of the night before trying to forget what his mind had conjured up.

Your kiss.

Your lips pressed against his, how sweet you tasted, how soft and plump your lips felt.

He decided if it did happen, you would act differently. You would say something to him surely. Look at him differently. Acknowledge it.

He watches you carefully through breakfast, even when you think he isn't looking.

You look completely normal, maybe a little tense.

But not like someone who kissed him. Not like someone who had felt what he'd felt.

Something twists uncomfortably in his chest.

Clearly he had just imagined it then.

His shadows whisper uneasily at his shoulders.

Something is off.

You're too controlled. Too careful. You're not speaking much.

And every time your gaze flickers towards him, it disappears just as quickly. Like you're checking something. Like you're hurt.

That makes his grip tighten slightly on his cup.

Why would you be hurt?

Nothing stands out.

Nothing, except-

No.

If the kiss had been real, you wouldn't be acting like this.

Would you?

Doubt creeps in again.

Cassian glances between you both and smirks into his drink. "Azriel drank quite a bit last night, didn't you?"

Azriel narrows his eyes slightly, but doesn't respond, ignoring the hint towards his supposed drunken imagination.

You look between them, brows furrowed, but thankfully you don't enquire what Cassian meant.

Breakfast continues, but he can't shake the feeling that he's missing something.

His focus is entirely on you as everyone leaves.

You're still seated. Still tense. As if you're waiting for something.

He sets his cup down. And tries to bridge the gap the only way he knows how.

"Do you still want to train today?"

The moment the words leave his mouth, he knows it's wrong.

Your reaction is immediate.

Sharp. Confused. Hurt.

His chest tightens.

"You don't have anything else to say?" You ask.

Azriel frowns.

Because he doesn't know what you want him to say.

"...About?"

The word lands wrong. He sees it happen, sees the shift in your expression. And he doesn't understand why.

You stand abruptly.

Alarm flickers through him.

"It's okay, I think I just need to go back to bed."

It's not okay, that much is obvious.

He gets to his feet, unable to help himself from attempting to follow you.

"(Y/N), what's wrong-"

"Nothing's wrong. Clearly I misunderstood something."

Now he was really confused.

"Misunderstood what?"

But you shake your head and continue to move away.

Panic claws up his throat.

"(Y/N), please, wait," he calls, desperate to keep you in front of him.

You pause.

Hope flickers in his chest.

"Did I do something?" He asks.

Because he needs to know. Because he hates this distance. Because he can't stand that you look devastated right now, despite how much you're trying to hide it.

Your answer is quiet.

"...No."

But it's not true. He knows it isn't. He knows you too well.

But you shoot him a small smile to try and put him at ease anyway. "I drank too much last night, is all."

And then you leave.

Something is wrong. Something important.

A few days has passed since that night in Rita's.

You tell yourself it's nothing. That you can move past this.

People misread things all the time. Moments get bigger in your head than they were in reality. Maybe you'd imagined the way he'd kissed you back. Maybe it had been surprise, instinct.

He was clearly trying to spare your feelings by not bringing it up again.

That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

You'd kissed him because the drunken part of your brain was convinced that it would be the perfect way to finally confess your feelings for him. He would kiss you back, admit that he was in love with you too and you would live happily ever after.

How idiotic could you be.

You've only seen Azriel a handful of times since breakfast the morning after.

You weren't trying to make it obvious that you were avoiding him.

You walk down the hallway, your steps faltering when you see Azriel coming the other way. His shadows curl lazily around his shoulders. He slows when he spots you.

"There you are," he says, like he's been looking.

Your chest tightens.

"Hi."

You don't stop walking, but he falls into step beside you anway.

"I was hoping to speak to you."

Your pulse jumps.

"Busy," you say quickly, gesturing vaguely ahead. "Rhys needed-something."

You don't even give him time to question it.

"Later," you add over your shoulder, already turning a corner.

You don't look back.

You try to ignore his gaze lingering on your back.

It becomes a pattern.

You're always just leaving. Just busy. Just not available right now.

Azriel is trying, you can see that.

The way he lingers in doorways a second longer. The way he adjusts his path to cross yours. The way his shadows find you before he does.

But you just need some time.

You find sanctuary in Mor's room one afternoon, bursting in unannounced, trying to avoid Azriel once again.

"What is with you lately?" She enquires.

"I kissed him," you said, pacing Mor's room like your life depended on it. "I actually kissed him."

"Kissed who?"

"Azriel. I kissed Azriel."

"You what?!" Mor shrieked. "How? When!?"

You stopped. "You know I did."

"When? That night at Rita's?"

"You saw me!"

"No I didn't! It was crowded and you left me so quick I wasn't sure-"

You could scream. This was her idea after all - you'd potentially ruined your friendship with Azriel all because she'd thought it was a good idea.

"Oh no."

You stopped. "What do you mean oh no?"

Mor winces as she responds. "Cassian and I may have convinced Az that...you didn't actually kiss him."

Your eyes narrowed. "Mor."

Silence.

You stared at her.

"...You what?"

Mor grimaced. "He asked, and we said no, and he believed us, and-"

"Why would you do that?!" You shrieked.

"I didn't think you would actually do it!" She protested. "I can't believe you actually kissed him, I'm so proud of you!"

"No, no, no," you shake your head. "He didn't kiss me back."

"Have you not spoken about it since?"

"N!" You gestured wildly. "He's been acting completely normal. Like nothing happened! I thought he just-didn't care-"

"Oh, he cares," Mor said quickly. "You should have seen how disappointed he was when he thought it was just his drunken imagination that he hallucinated the love of his life kissing him."

You froze.

"...The what of his life?"

Mor slapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh come on, it's so obvious!"

Your heart was pounding now for an entirely different reason.

"You're telling me," you said slowly, "that he thinks he imagined it?"

"Yes."

"And that he-"

"Yes."

"Well-how am I-what do I do now?"

Mor rolled her eyes. "Go and kiss him again. Preferably without running away this time."

You stared at her.

Then groaned, dragging your hands over your face.

You can't believe this is happening.

You find Azriel later that day after Mor practically kicked you out of her room.

He was alone in the training ring.

You hesitated at the edge for half a second.

What if Mor was tricking you?

Maybe you should have taken a shot of liquid courage beforehand to steel your nerves.

"Az."

He turned instantly at the sound of your voice.

And gods, there it was again - that softening in his expression when he saw you.

Like you were something...important.

Your resolve nearly crumbled, especially without the alcohol running through your system.

Too late now.

You marched up to him before you could overthink it.

He watched you carefully. "Is everything alright?"

"No," you said.

Then, before your courage could abandon you again-

You grabbed the front of his leathers, hauled him down to your height again, raised yourself up onto your toes.

And kissed him.

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it.

And for a split second, he froze again.

Like before.

You almost lost your nerve, beginning to pull away.

But then-

His hand comes up to cup your jaw.

Gentle. Certain.

And suddenly, he's kissing you back.

No hesitation.

Like he's been waiting for it.

For you.

With Azriel's supposed reciprocation, you wind your arms around his neck, sinking into the kiss as he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you flush to him. You almost moan when his tongue swipes along your bottom lip.

Ohmygods, this was really happening.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you don't run this time.

You stay.

"That," you said, trying to sound steadier than you felt, "was not a hallucination."

Azriel stared at you.

You didn't think it would be possible, but his eyes widened even more.

Then - very quietly - "I thought I imagined it."

"I know," you said flatly. "Our wonderful friends told me."

A flicker of understanding - and then mild irritation - crossed his face. "I'm going to kill them."

"Get in line."

A pause.

Then-

"You meant it?" He asked.

There it was.

The fear. The vulnerability he hid from everyone else.

Your chest ached.

"Yes," you said softly. "I meant it."

Something in him shifted and settled.

Like a piece of his had finally clicked into place.

His hand slid from your jaw to your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer.

"I was afraid you didn't," he admitted.

You huffed a small laugh. "I was afraid you didn't'."

He shook his head slightly, like he couldn't quite believe that.

Then, quieter-

"I have for a long time."

Your heart melted on the spot.

"Good," you whispered. "Me too."

And you kissed him again, not intending to let him go anytime soon.

Unless it was to strangle Mor and Cassian.

[forgetful-nerd]

Spelling mistakes? I guarantee neither of us saw those at 3:00 AM Monday Morning.

[ceruleanheaven]

[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over

[baraphalloplastyclinic]

I actually do think we should discourage women from becoming housewives. Do not become financially dependent on a man. That's how a lot of women ended up dead over the years. A man gets violent suddenly and you have to choose between homelessness or potentially dying at his hand because you have an enormous gap in your resume and no degrees or certifications or anything that will help you pursue a career that will allow you to be financially independent. He owns your bank account. His name is probably the one on the car. Try and leave and he can report it stolen. Where will you go then?

Don't become a housewife.

[ladyfoxfire]

And if you do become a housewife, take steps to protect yourself. Make sure you’re legally married, for starters; stay-at-home girlfriends have very little legal recourse to claim their partner’s assets in a breakup. Make sure your name is on the house deed/rental agreement, and have your car in your name, even if your spouse is paying for it. Have your spouse transfer money every month into an account solely in your name, so you can buy yourself things without needing permission, but also so you can save up to leave if needed.

If your spouse fights you on any of this, then don’t quit your job. The tradwife to poverty pipeline is real, and so is financial abuse.

[dressedupliketheking]

also, many women/people experience controlling behaviour and domestic violence from their partner for the first time during pregnancy. don’t risk thinking “he’s just stressed, it’ll get better when the baby comes” because it won’t. neither you and your child will ever be safe with that man. get out as early and safely as you can

[wifegideonnav]

“bits to use in everyday conversations”

[daysleftofsecondterm]

Hey.

Yeah you- the person reading this. Stop scrolling for a second.

You’re going to be okay. You have to believe that. It might take a long time and who knows how much work, but you’re going to be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

[pixynari]

ᯓ asparagus dividers ‎ˎˊ˗

please like and reblog before using!

©pixynari 2026. All dividers posted under my name belong to me. Please do not copy, claim, republish my work anywhere else.

[indecisivemuch]

Translated works without permission (mine and possibly other tumblr authors)

3 of my works have been translated without my permission and it is among the 373 translated tumblr fics on this Wattpad account @ Mel_Potter_Black. Based on my case with them, I have a feeling that they also have not approached and asked for permission from a lot of tumblr authors.

Their translated works include: 186 Theodore Nott fics, 40 Percy Jackson tumblr fics, 50 James Potter fics, 25 Luke Castellan fics, 49 Mattheo Riddle fics, 23 Draco Malfoy fics.

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

First and foremost, I have explicitly stated on my pinned Tumblr post that I do not want my works translated or redistributed elsewhere.

Long story short, there were a lot of red flags that this account has displayed.

They blocked someone who had questioned them if they had my permission to translate my works.

They have never even reached out to me asking for permission.

They translated my works even though I have stated very clearly that I do not want my works translated.

They never replied to me and even deleted my comment politely asking them to remove my work because they never had my permission and that I don’t want my works translated (though, fortunately they did remove the translated works as asked, so at least that’s the plus side). This once again wiped clean evidence of permission issue on their account, very much continuing a “covering up their track” behavior.

They also translated one of the original author’s usernames into Portuguese too, which is strange and improper crediting because that defeats the whole point of crediting overall, as readers won't even be able to trace back to the original author at all (especially if you are not linking to the original work or the original author’s page, which they are not doing).

Given their highly questionable and suspicious behaviors to my case (did not ask for my permission, translated works from an author who does not want their works translated, attempted to hide the fact that they have never gotten permission from me (the original author), blocked those who question it, shows signs of improper crediting), I have reasons to suspect that many tumblr authors of the other 370 translated works on this Wattpad account also do not know that their works have been translated, and that this Wattpad account have translated without their permission and/or improperly credit them.

I did contemplate for a while whether to write and publish about this too. However, I feel like it’s all too suspicious for me to just ignore and 300+ fics is a lot. Also, the fact that they straight up blocked the person who questioned if they had my permission implied that they must feel like what they are doing is not right.

So…if you are a tumblr writer of any of the characters mentioned above (especially Theodore Nott because 186 is INSANE if most of them don't have the original author's permissions and/or authors don’t want their works translated), just be aware that your works may have been translated without permission. And if the issue of translation without permission is personally important to you, maybe check to see if your works are on their account and ask them to take it down if you want to.

PS. Though, please don’t send them death threats or something like that. They could be a child who doesn’t know any better for all we know.

[obsessedwithceleste]

Horrified to find that SEVERAL of my fics have been stolen by this account despite my explicit disclaimer asking for my works not to be translated without consent.

Furthermore this user has incorrectly given credit to other tumblr users for MY WORK.

Please report this account if you can.

[obsessedwithceleste]

excuse the tags but I just went through all their Theo and Mattheo fics and am tagging moots whose works I saw

@puddlesoffrogs @lexamiele @glitterypinkconverse @prythiansprincess @angelfrombeneth @kaciebello @distantdarlings @thatdammchickennugget @sectumsempraaa @jayybugg @illbegottenfaith @thisboyiscorrupt @suugarbabe @viperify @redeemingvillains

[bearcosmic]

Tim and Jason sitting in the manor with Damian, helping him out with his college application

Tim: D why does your resume say that you actively volunteer at an orphanage? The hours you put on here say you work there more than full time.

Jason: I am totally for lying on your resume, but you have to at least make it believable brat. If you’re gonna commit a crime at least do it well.

Damian: Those hours are accurate, they may even be a little on the lower end.

Tim: Dami wouldn’t we notice you leaving every single day to go volunteer for 10 hours a day? We would never see you.

Damian: Why would I need to leave the manor to volunteer at an orphanage?

Jason: . .

Tim: . .

Jason: You listed Alfred as your supervisor?

Tim: WE ARE THE ORPHANS?!?

[alittlewhelmed]

this has probably been said, but I love that the atla fandom has been revived by the leak but no one is spoiling the plot

everyone is just obsessed with how hot their childhood crushes got

we have our priorities straight lol

[papayafromtv]

au where Damian’s on ok-enough terms with his mother’s side of the family that they keep in contact, and on a phone call with Ra’s he finds out about Tim having lost his spleen; a fact which Tim did NOT alert the rest of the bats to due to a mixture of him not remembering that it might be relevant and him not wanting to deal with all the questions/shock of it all. luckily for Tim, Damian grew up in the league and has dealt with/seen so much shit in his life that he too does not really think Tim being spleenless is that important, and doesn’t think to bring it up.

unfortunately, Damian is also the youngest brother and is, in essence, a little fucking shit. so a couple months later when Red Robin has to meet up with Batman, Nightwing, and Robin to discuss the ring of illegal organ harvesters that Robin and Nightwing have just infiltrated, Damian hands over a gift bag with a clearly bitten-back grin and falsely-innocent expression.

Tim opens the back and genuinely bluescreens.

“I- I uh,” Damian chokes back a giggle. “I heard you needed one of these.”

Tim’s face is so uncomprehending that Dick snatches the bag away and moves to open it, complaining about how Damian had made them stop at a craft store on the way over to buy the bag and he still doesn’t fucking know why-

he looks in the bag and screams.

“WHY DID YOU TAKE- WHAT EVEN IS THAT?”

Tim stares forward blankly, in pure awe at the levels of comedy his little brother is bringing to the table. “It’s a spleen. He’s given me a spleen.”

Damian collapses into a fit of laughter to the point of crying while Dick, horrified, tries not to throw up over the mangled rotting organ Damian had stolen from the illegal-transplant ring. he doesn’t stop laughing for the better part of an hour and Bruce has to talk to Damian about the dangers of messing with case evidence, especially when that evidence is actual human remains.

obviously the question of why Damian thought it would be funny to gift Tim a spleen of all things brings about the knowledge that Tim does not have his original, which Tim is not happy about. the worst part is Tim can’t even be mad at Damian for it because that’s genuinely the funniest fucking joke he’s ever heard of in his life and he’s only pissed off that Damian of all people thought of it before he did.

[uhmnoidontthinkso]

BETWEEN PLANS AND PROMISES

pairing: ঔঌ firelord! zuko x fem! fiancé! reader જ⁀➴ sypnosis: You forgot that you didn’t just say yes to Zuko—you said yes to the Firelord. Now you’re stuck in wedding planning chaos, palace politics, and expectations you never asked for, all while trying to hold onto the pieces of your old life before they slip away completely. mentions: established relationship, engagement, soft angst but pure fluff at the end

He says it so simply you almost miss it.

For a second, all you can do is stare at him.

Zuko doesn’t look away. He never does when it matters. There’s something steady in his expression—uncertain, maybe, but certain about this.

Your brain doesn’t catch up.

Your body does.

You step forward and throw your arms around him before you can even form a proper answer, gripping him tight like if you let go too soon the moment might disappear.

For half a second, he goes still in surprise.

Then his arms come up around you, slower, careful but firm.

“Was that—” he starts, slightly muffled against your shoulder, “—a yes?”

You let out something between a laugh and a breath.

“Yes!"

If you had known what it really meant to marry the Firelord, you might have taken a second longer before saying it.

“—the ceremonial procession must follow Fire Nation tradition precisely—”

“—and the guest list will require approval from multiple councils—”

“—you will, of course, need to be briefed on appropriate conduct as Fire Lady—”

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

There are too many voices.

Too many people telling you so many things at the same time.

Scrolls are spread across the table in front of you—thick, official, important. Every single one seems to carry expectations you didn’t realize you had agreed to.

You nod at something someone says.

You’re not sure what.

“—the symbolism of the ceremony is deeply tied to Fire Nation history—”

“Right,” you say automatically.

“—and your role will be observed not only domestically but internationally—”

“Of course,” you hear yourself respond.

“—as Firelady, you will represent—”

You stop listening. Not because you want to. Because suddenly, you can’t.

Firelady.

The words don’t sound like you. They something distant. Fixed. Something people look at.

Judge.

Expect things from.

“—and we will begin etiquette training immediately—”

You stare down at the scroll in front of you. At the neat, precise ink. At the life that’s already being written out for you in careful, deliberate strokes. Just a few months ago, it had been simple. Just him and you.

Now—

“—there are also expectations regarding public appearances—”

“—and your presence during council gatherings—”

“—and diplomatic responsibilities—”

You swallow. Smile. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a quiet thought slips in— soft, but impossible to ignore.

You’re not just getting married. You’re becoming something else.

You keep nodding all along with what the advisors are telling you because what else are you supposed to do? Somewhere between saying yes and sitting in this room, the responsibility had… shifted. Not officially. No one had said it outright. But it was there.

Zuko was Firelord.

That meant council meetings, political disputes, rebuilding a nation that had spent a century at war. It meant decisions that couldn’t wait, problems that didn’t pause for something as small as a wedding.

So the wedding—

fell to you.

Not entirely. Not technically.

There were advisors. Planners. Servants. Entire groups of people whose job was to assist.

But every decision still circled back.

Every question still landed in front of you. Every expectation quietly settled on your shoulders like it had always been meant to.

“—the final approval will, of course, be yours.”

Of course it will. You force a small smile. “Right.” Because Zuko trusts you. And that should feel reassuring. It does feel reassuring.

…doesn’t it?

“—additionally, there are several traditions you will need to familiarize yourself with as Firelady—”

Firelady.

Again.

You inhale slowly.

Before you can respond, the doors to the chamber swing open with enough force to make half the room flinch.

“GOOD NEWS—!”

You don’t even have to turn around. Relief hits before you can stop it. “Sokka,” you say.

“—we got your letter!” he continues, striding in like he owns the place, waving a slightly crumpled scroll in the air. “Well—his letter, technically, but I’m counting it as yours because this is clearly a joint life decision—”

Katara is right behind him. “We came as soon as we could,” she says, breath a little rushed but smiling.

Aang follows, already beaming. “You’re getting married!”

Toph walks in last, hands in her pockets. “Took you long enough,” she says.

The tension doesn’t disappear, but it shifts, like someone opened a window and let actual air in.

The advisors look… concerned.

Confused.

One of them clears their throat. “This is a restricted—”

“They’re with me,” you cut in immediately.

And for the first time since this meeting started, that feels like something solid. Something yours.

Sokka makes it two steps into the room before stopping short, staring at the table. “…Why are there so many scrolls?”

You look at him. Then at the table. Then back at him. “Wedding planning,” you say flatly.

He narrows his eyes. Then, slowly, like he’s recognizing a battlefield layout: “…Oh no.”

Toph snorts.

Aang tilts his head. “It looks… organized?”

“It’s not,” you and Sokka say at the same time.

Katara steps closer, scanning the papers, her expression shifting as she takes in the details. “Oh,” she says quietly.

Not overwhelmed. Not confused. Understanding. And somehow that’s worse. Because now it’s real.

All of it.

You glance down at the scroll in front of you again. Then at your friends. And for a brief second, something tight in your chest loosens.

Just a little.

“…So,” Sokka says, rolling up his sleeves with way too much confidence, “where do we start?”

You let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Honestly?” You gesture vaguely at everything. “I have no idea.”

“Alright,” Sokka says, clapping his hands together like he’s about to lead a war council. “New plan. We divide and conquer.”

“No,” you say immediately.

“No?” he repeats.

“No.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate because I already divided things,” he says, gesturing to the table. “Seating arrangements, ceremonial flow, decorative symbolism—”

“Why are you saying it like that,” Toph mutters.

“—and emergency backup scenarios,” Sokka finishes.

You blink. “Why would there be emergency backup scenarios for a wedding?”

Sokka gives you a look. “Have you met people?”

“…Fair.”

Katara steps in before he can escalate further. “Maybe we should start with something simple,” she suggests gently, picking up one of the scrolls. “Like the ceremony layout.”

“Great,” you say. “Simple. I like simple.”

One of the advisors immediately leans forward. “The layout must follow traditional Fire Nation alignment, of course—”

“Of course,” you echo weakly.

“—with the Fire Lord positioned at the eastern axis to symbolize renewal and—”

“Or,” Sokka cuts in, grabbing a brush, “we make a better system.”

He starts sketching something aggressively onto a blank sheet.

Toph tilts her head. “That looks stupid.”

“You can’t even see it!”

“Exactly,” she shoots back. “And I still know it’s stupid.”

Sokka gasps. “This is tactical brilliance!”

“Pretty sure you just invented a traffic problem,” Toph says.

Aang leans over the table, trying to follow along. “Maybe we can combine both ideas? Keep the tradition, but also make it… flow better?”

“That’s what I’m doing!” Sokka insists.

“That’s not what you’re doing,” Katara says, not even looking up.

Meanwhile, you’re staring at two different scrolls that both say completely different things about where you’re supposed to stand during the ceremony.

“Why are there three versions of this,” you ask no one in particular.

“Because the Fire Sage council hasn’t finalized their recommendation yet,” one advisor replies.

“Of course they haven’t,” you mumble.

Sokka suddenly grabs two fabric samples from the side of the table and holds them up.

“Okay, important question. Red or darker red?”

You stare at him. “Those are the same color.”

“They are not the same color,” he says, offended.

He turns to Toph. “Which one looks better?”

Toph doesn’t even hesitate. “I don’t know, Sokka. I’m blind.”

A beat.

Then—

“…Right,” Sokka says.

Toph smirks. “Glad we cleared that up.”

Aang lets out a small laugh before catching himself. “Okay—okay, let’s stay focused. This is supposed to be a happy thing.”

“IT IS A HAPPY THING,” Sokka says, still holding the fabrics. “It’s just also a complicated thing.”

Katara finally sets down the scroll she’s been reading and looks at you.

“Hey,” she says softly. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time, okay?”

You nod.

Because that’s the right response. Because she means it. Because you want to believe it.

Across the table, two advisors start quietly arguing about ceremonial timing.

Sokka is now somehow negotiating with them like this is a war council.

Toph has abandoned her spot and is leaning back in her chair, clearly entertained.

Aang is trying—really trying—to keep everyone calm.

Katara is reorganizing the scrolls into something that almost resembles order.

And you—

you’re still standing in the middle of it all.

Watching. Listening. Trying to keep up as the voices start overlapping again. “—the Fire Lord’s entrance must precede—”

“—no, the sequence requires—”

“—if we adjust the timing here—”

“—that disrupts the symbolism—”

“—what if we just move the chairs—”

“THE CHAIRS ARE SYMBOLIC—”

Something tight pulls in your chest.

You inhale. Then exhale.

Slowly.

It’s fine. It’s just planning. It’s just one day. Just a wedding.

…right?

Your gaze drifts down to the scroll in front of you again.

Firelady.

The words sit there, unmoving. Heavy. Permanent. And for the first time since everyone burst into the room, the noise doesn’t feel funny anymore.

You find Zuko in a corridor that definitely wasn’t meant for stopping and talking.

He’s mid-step when you call his name. He turns immediately anyway.

That alone does something to your chest that you don’t have time to examine.

“You’re busy,” you say, already knowing.

“I can be unbusy,” he replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

It makes you smile before you can stop it. You fall into step beside him. “No, you can’t.”

He glances at you. “I can.”

“You literally have three council meetings and whatever that thing is with the northern delegates.”

He pauses. “It’s not a thing.”

“It’s a thing,” you say.

“…It’s a thing,” he admits.

You both walk for a few seconds in comfortable silence. Then you clear your throat.

“So,” you begin carefully, “about the ceremony—”

Zuko slows slightly. “What about it?”

You hesitate. Suddenly it feels stupid. Small. Like you’re interrupting something important—which, technically, you are.

But he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the hallway that matters, so you continue anyway.

“I was thinking… do you care about the seating order? Because Sokka is trying to redesign it like it’s a battle strategy and I don’t think the Fire Nation is ready for whatever he’s doing.”

A faint flicker of something like amusement crosses his face. “I trust you,” Zuko says simply. “Do what you think is best.”

That should feel like pressure. Instead, it feels like warmth. You exhale a little laugh. “That’s not helpful.”

“It’s honest.”

“I know,” you say softer.

He slows to a stop, just briefly, and looks at you more directly now. “If it’s too much,” he adds, voice quieter, “you don’t have to handle everything alone.”

For a second, the noise of the palace fades.

Just him. Just that steady tone like he’s trying to hold the world still for you, even for a moment.

“I know,” you repeat, but it comes out softer this time. And you almost lean into him properly.

Then—

“Your Majesty!”

Of course. A messenger appears at the end of the corridor like a curse given form.

Zuko straightens immediately. “Yes?”

“Council emergency meeting has been moved forward. They require your presence immediately.”

Zuko closes his eyes for half a second. Then he looks back at you. Something apologetic flickers there, but it doesn’t change the fact that he has to go. “I’ll come back,” he says.

“You always say that,” you mutter, but there’s no real bite in it.

“I always do,” he replies.

That earns you a small, helpless smile.

He reaches out briefly taking your hand just long enough to squeeze it once.

Then he lets go. And is gone. Just like that.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the empty space he left behind.

Somewhere far down the hallway, you hear another door open, another problem being born.

You inhale slowly.

“…I am going to hit someone,” you say quietly to no one.

Behind you, a voice calls out. “Who are we hitting?” Sokka asks eagerly.

You turn your head slightly. “…Everyone,” you answer.

Toph snorts somewhere off to the side.

Katara sighs. “Don’t encourage her.”

Aang, gently: “Maybe we should take a break?”

You close your eyes. Yeah.

A break sounds nice. Unfortunately, a royal wedding planning does not believe in breaks.

The room is quieter than it was earlier.

That’s the problem.

The chaos didn’t end—it just split into smaller conversations, softer voices, scribbling pens instead of shouting arguments.

And somehow that makes it worse. Because now there’s space to think. You sit at the edge of the table, staring at a stack of scrolls you didn’t ask to exist in your life.

Fire Nation etiquette. Royal protocols. Ceremony sequences. Diplomatic expectations.

You try to focus on Katara’s voice as she gently organizes something beside you.

“Okay,” she says carefully, “this part isn’t mandatory. It’s more traditional than required.”

“More traditional than required,” you repeat faintly.

“Yeah,” she nods. “So if it feels like too much, we can—”

“It’s all too much,” you say before you can stop yourself.

The room pauses. Not dramatically. Just… subtly. Like everyone heard you, even if they’re pretending they didn’t fully register it.

You force a breath in. Then out.

“It’s fine,” you add quickly. “I just—yeah. It’s fine.”

Katara watches you for a second longer than necessary, but she doesn’t push. That’s the thing about her. She understands without making it louder.

Sokka is arguing with an advisor about banner placement again. Toph has moved chairs around “for fun” and refuses to elaborate. Aang is trying to mediate a disagreement about ceremonial timing like it’s a philosophical debate about peace.

And you—

you’re suddenly not really there.

Because your eyes land on one of the scrolls again.

Firelady.

Not your name. Not really you. Just a role. A position.

Something you step into and never really step out of. You swallow. Hard. It hits you slowly at first, like a thought you almost don’t let finish forming.

This isn’t just a wedding. This is the point where everything changes and doesn’t go back.

No more just being part of Team Avatar. No more disappearing into the world without consequence. No more being just… you. You stand up so abruptly your chair scrapes back.

“Hey—” Katara starts.

But you’re already shaking your head. “I need—” Your voice catches. You clear your throat. “I need air.”

No one stops you. You don’t think they even realize how serious it is until you’re already halfway out the door.

You don’t go far.

Just far enough that the noise disappears. A balcony. Stone cold under your hands as you grip the railing, staring out at the palace gardens like they belong to someone else.

Because soon, they kind of will. Your reflection in the glass panel is faint, warped by lantern light. You look… the same. And not at all. “I’m not…” you start quietly. Then stop. Try again.

“I’m not ready for this.” The words feel ridiculous the moment they leave your mouth. Like you’re admitting something you’re supposed to have already accepted.

You don’t hear the door at first.

Or maybe you do—you just don’t react.

Because your hands are still on the railing, and your thoughts are still somewhere far too loud to compete with anything else.

Footsteps follow after a moment. Not rushed. Not loud. Careful in a way that already tells you who it is. Zuko doesn’t speak immediately.

He just stops a few steps behind you, like he’s trying to understand the shape of the silence before interrupting it.

Then, quietly: “They told me you came out here.”

Of course they did. Katara. Or Aang. Or both. You let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh but doesn’t quite make it. “Of course they did,” you repeat flatly.

A pause.

Then Zuko steps closer, just enough that you can feel him there without needing to look.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he says.

It’s not avoidance. That somehow makes your chest tighten more. You shake your head once. “I just… I thought I could do this.”

“You can,” he says immediately.

So simple. So certain. It almost hurts.

You finally turn your head slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. “That’s not what I meant.”

Zuko’s expression shifts—not confusion, exactly. Recognition. He understands more than he’s saying. He always does.

You swallow. “I’m becoming something else,” you say, quieter now. “And I don’t know how to do that without… losing everything I was before.”

That lands between you both. Still. Zuko doesn’t rush to fill it. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower. “You’re not losing it.”

You let out a small, humorless breath. “It feels like it.”

He steps closer again, slowly, like he’s giving you space even while moving in.

“I felt that too,” he says.

That makes you look at him properly now.He meets your gaze without hesitation.

“When I became Fire Lord,” he continues, “I thought I had to become someone completely different. Someone perfect. Someone who made up for everything that came before.” His jaw tightens slightly. “But that doesn’t work.”

You should respond. You should say something. Anything. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you say. Your voice is thinner than you meant it to be.

Zuko doesn’t interrupt. That alone almost undoes you more.

You let out a shaky breath, staring out at the gardens because looking at him feels too hard right now. “It’s not just a wedding,” you continue, words starting to spill now that they’ve finally found a way out. “It’s not just…just us. It’s everything. It’s being watched, and expected, and judged, and—”

Your throat tightens. You swallow hard, trying to push through it anyway. “I keep hearing it,” you say, quieter now. “Firelady. Firelady. Like it’s… like it’s already decided what I’m supposed to be.” Your fingers tighten on the railing. “And I keep thinking…what if I’m not good enough for that?” You laugh once, but it breaks halfway. “What if I’m just… wrong for it?” That’s when your voice finally wavers for real. Not planned. Just… gone.

“I’m trying,” you whisper, frustration creeping in now, sharp and exhausted all at once. “I’m really trying, but there’s so much and everyone just keeps talking like I already am this person and I’m not…I’m not there yet and I don’t know if I ever will be—”

Your breath stutters. You don’t even notice the tears until your vision blurs slightly. You blink. Hard. “…I can’t mess this up,” you say, quieter now, almost like you’re confessing it to yourself more than him. “I can’t. Not for a whole nation. Not for you. Not for—”

Your voice breaks. And you stop. Because suddenly it’s too much to keep talking. Too much to hold together. Your shoulders shake once, small and involuntary, like your body is reacting before your mind can catch up. You don’t even fully realize you’re crying. Not at first. It just feels like pressure finally finding a way out.

Zuko doesn’t say anything immediately.

Your fingers tighten against the railing like you’re trying to hold yourself together by force. “I just need a second—” you start, but your voice betrays you again, cracking right in the middle.

You don’t get to finish.

Zuko moves. No pause. No hesitation. One second there’s space between you— the next, his arms are around you.

Firm and certain. He pulls you in close, one hand coming up to the back of your head, pressing you gently against his shoulder before you can turn away, before you can hide, before you can pretend you’re fine.

“I’m fine,” you mumble into his shoulder, voice muffled, unconvincing even to yourself.

“Sure you are,” Zuko says. Flat. Dry. Blatantly sarcastic.

You let out a weak, offended sound against him. “I am—” Your voice wobbles again halfway through the sentence.

Zuko doesn’t even let you finish. “Mm,” he hums softly, like he’s acknowledging something that is absolutely not true, his tone gentler now despite the sarcasm. “Completely fine.”

You huff, trying to pull back just enough to argue with him, but his hand at the back of your head keeps you right where you are. Not forceful. “Zuko—”

“Stay,” he murmurs quietly. And something in the way he says it, soft, but certain, makes you stop resisting.

His other hand shifts slightly, coming up to your face. Careful. Slow.

Like he’s giving you time to react. His thumb brushes along your temple, just lightly at first, tracing small, absentminded circles against your skin. The motion is so gentle it almost distracts you from everything else.

Almost.

“You’re shaking,” he says under his breath.

You didn’t even notice that either. “I’m not,” you try again, weaker this time.

“Right,” he replies, that same faint, dry edge still there—but softened now, wrapped in something warmer. “That must be my imagination.”

You let out a quiet, frustrated sound, pressing your face further into his shoulder like that might hide the fact that he’s completely right.

Zuko’s thumb keeps moving, slow and steady against your temple. Grounding. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he adds, voice lower now. No sarcasm this time. Just honest.

You swallow, your grip on him tightening again despite yourself. “I’m not pretending,” you mutter.

Another pause.

Then, gently: “You are.” Not accusing though.

Your breath catches again. Because yeah. You are.

Zuko shifts slightly, just enough to tilt his head so his forehead rests lightly against yours when you finally look up, his hand still cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes just beneath your eye now, catching the dampness there. “…You’re crying again,” he says quietly.

You blink, like that’s news to you. “Oh,” you manage, a little dazed. “I—”

You don’t even finish.

Zuko’s expression softens further—if that’s even possible at this point. “There it is,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking you through it. “You don’t have to hold it back.”

“I’m not trying to—” you start, but your voice breaks again immediately, ruining the attempt. His thumb traces another slow line along your temple, then back again, unhurried, patient.

“I know,” he says softly. And he does. That’s the worst part. Or maybe the best. You let out a shaky breath, your forehead dropping forward until it rests against his again.

“I hate this,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I feel like I’m failing at something I haven’t even started yet.”

Zuko’s hand stills for a second. Then resumes, just as gentle as before. “You’re not failing,” he says quietly.

“It feels like it.”

“Yeah,” he admits. “It does.”

You glance at him, a little surprised by that.

He doesn’t look away. “But that doesn’t make it true,” he adds.

Your lip trembles again, and you look away this time.

Zuko doesn’t push. He just leans in slightly, pressing a soft, brief kiss to your temple—right where his thumb had been tracing circles moments before.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin.

Your eyes close without you meaning them to. Your shoulders finally drop, just a little. “…You’re annoyingly calm,” you mumble weakly.

Zuko huffs the faintest breath of a laugh. “I’m trying very hard,” he admits.

That pulls the smallest, broken smile out of you. And without thinking, you lean back into him again.

His arms settle around you like they were meant to be there, steady and warm, one hand still resting at your temple, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles like he’s memorized the motion already.

Then, softer now: “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs.

You don’t respond right away.

“I mean it,” he continues, a little more certain this time. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll… try to be there more. For the planning. Not just the important parts—the annoying parts too.”

A faint pause.

“I don’t want you doing all of this alone.”

That makes something in your chest shift again, less heavy this time.

“And…” he hesitates slightly, like he’s choosing his words more carefully now, “it’s not all bad.”

You huff quietly against him. “That’s a bold claim.”

Zuko’s thumb pauses for half a second, then resumes its slow tracing. “You’re not just gaining responsibilities,” he says. “You’re gaining… influence. A voice people will actually listen to. You can change things. Help people. Make things better.”

You go quiet, because that part, you hadn’t really let yourself think about.

Zuko shifts slightly, just enough to look at you properly again. “And you won’t lose everything you were before,” he adds. “You’re still you. Just… with more reach.”

There’s a small pause. "…At least I get to wear three outfits.” Zuko blinks. Once. "What?”

You pull back just enough to look at him, still sniffling a little, but there’s something lighter in your expression now. “The ceremony. There are, like, three outfit changes. That’s something.

Zuko stares at you. “Ah,” he says slowly. “Yes. Of course.”

You nod, very serious now. “It’s important.”

“Clearly,” he replies. Then, suspiciously calm: “You’ll look gorgeous in—” He stops mid-sentence. His eyes narrow just slightly. “…Wait.”

You blink at him.

Zuko tilts his head a fraction, studying you like he’s trying to solve a very confusing problem. “How is that your number one priority,” he asks slowly, “when I thought the best thing about this was that we’re getting married?”

You stare at him. Deadpan. “Nevermind—"

Zuko doesn’t even let you finish. “Of course,” he says immediately, completely serious.

You blink.

He keeps holding you, thumb still tracing slow circles at your temple like nothing in the world is more normal than this conversation.

“The outfits are way more important.”

You squint at him. “Excuse me?”

Zuko nods once, very firm. “Yes.”

“…You’re joking.”

His expression doesn’t change. “…I am,” he says.

But the corner of his mouth twitches.

And that’s how you know. You let out a weak, disbelieving laugh that still has a little leftover shakiness in it, and Zuko finally relaxes a fraction more, like hearing that sound did something for him too.

“There it is,” he murmurs quietly.

You lean your forehead against his chest again, this time not collapsing, just… resting. “Idiot,” you mumble.

“Mm,” he agrees softly. “But I’m your idiot.”

That earns him a small, real smile from you this time. His arm tightens slightly around you, just enough to pull you closer without forcing anything.

The palace, the scrolls, the expectations—everything still exists.

But for a moment, it’s all just… far away noise.

And Zuko’s voice, quieter now, settles above you like something steady. “I’ll make sure it’s not too much,” he says. “The planning. The advisors. All of it.”

A pause.

“And if it is,” he adds, “you tell me. Immediately.”

You hum faintly. “Immediately?”

“Yes.”

You tilt your head slightly to look up at him. “Even if you‘re having a Council meeting?”

Zuko pauses. “…Especially then.” That makes you laugh properly this time. And Zuko, still holding you, looks like he’s decided that whatever the world throws at you two next, he’s already where he needs to be.

You’re still tucked against Zuko, the world finally quiet for once. Your breathing has evened out just a little, and for the first time in what feels like hours, your chest doesn’t feel like it’s actively collapsing.

Then—

“AH THERE YOU ARE!!” Sokka’s voice slices through the balcony like a thrown spear.

You freeze.

Zuko… does not. He just closes his eyes for a second. Like a man accepting his fate.

Sokka appears in the doorway with the energy of someone who has been personally wronged by inefficiency.

“Hello!” he continues, marching in like he owns the palace now. “We still have a whole royal wedding to plan?? No time for being lovebirds—”

He stops mid-step.

Finally noticing the situation properly. You, still in Zuko’s arms.

Sokka squints.

Behind him, the rest of the Gaang is visible in the doorway: Katara immediately putting a hand over her face. Aang looking politely fascinated. Toph already smirking like she knew this was going to happen.

“Sokka,” Katara says flatly.

Just his name. Nothing else. Pure warning energy. Sokka ignores it completely. “Right,” he says, pointing between you two like this is a tactical briefing. “Romantic emotional support moment? Very nice. Very important. BUT—we have seating charts, ceremonial banners, three competing traditions, and I have NOT finalized the emergency contingency plan—”

“Sokka,” Katara repeats. Same tone. Now sharper.

You slowly lift your head slightly from Zuko’s shoulder.

Still a little puffy-eyed. Still very done with everything. “…Really?” you say.

Sokka nods vigorously. “Yes! Really! This is a national-level event!”

Zuko finally opens his eyes. Looks at Sokka. “…It’s our wedding,” he says flatly.

Sokka points at him like that proves his point. “EXACTLY!”

Silence.

Toph snorts. Aang tries very hard not to laugh. Katara just sighs, long-suffering. “Sokka.”

He turns. “What?”

“You’re taking this more seriously than the two people getting married.”

Sokka pauses. Considers this. Then: “That’s because someone has to.”

You stare at him. Zuko stares at him. Even the wind feels like it pauses for judgment.

“…I hate that he might be right,” you mumble into Zuko’s shoulder.

Zuko exhales slowly, still holding you. “I also hate that he might be right,” he agrees.

Sokka immediately brightens. “SEE? Thank you. Now—”

Toph interrupts, deadpan: “He’s not right.”

Sokka points at her. “You can’t even see the situation!”

“I don’t need to see it,” she says. “It’s loud and stupid.”

Aang finally laughs. Katara pinches the bridge of her nose. Zuko just tightens his hold on you slightly, like he’s silently choosing peace over violence.

And you bury your face back into his shoulder again. “…I’m never getting married,” you mutter.

Zuko, without missing a beat: “You are.”

Sokka: “YOU ARE AND WE ARE GOING TO PLAN IT PROPERLY—”

“Sokka.” Katara says again in that familiar annoyed tone in her voice with her brother.

Toph: “Sokka is the worst part of this wedding.”

Aang who tries to be peaceful: “I think it’s kind of beautiful how passionate he is?”

Everyone: “No.”

Sokka is still talking when Zuko finally moves. He adjusts his grip around you slightly, like making sure you’re steady, then gently guides you out of the balcony with him.

“Alright,” Katara says immediately, already stepping in like she’s reclaiming control of reality. “We’re going back to the planning room.”

Sokka points forward. “YES. Excellent. Momentum restored.”

“Sure,” Toph mutters. “Tragedy continues.”

Aang floats along beside them like he’s just happy everyone is still breathing.

You let out a tired breath against Zuko’s shoulder as you walk. “I hate all of them,” you mumble.

Zuko doesn’t even hesitate. “No, you don’t.”

“…Okay, I hate one of them.”

“No, you don‘t” Zuko says immediately.

“Alright.”

Then, quieter, almost like it slips out before either of you can overthink it—

“…I do feel a bit better,” you admit.

Zuko glances down at you briefly. “I know,” he says simply. And that should’ve been it.

But then his hand finds yours with no hesitation. Just fingers slipping into yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You look down for a second, then back up at him. He doesn’t look back immediately, just keeps walking like it’s normal, like it’s always been like this.

So you squeeze his hand once. Testing it. He squeezes back immediately. That does something to your chest. Something soft. Something annoyingly warm.

As you reach the corridor, Sokka is already mid-sentence again about “optimal ceremonial efficiency.”

Katara is actively ignoring him. Toph is walking backwards just to make fun of him. Aang is trying to keep peace like it’s his spiritual duty.

And you and Zuko?

You just keep walking.

Hands linked.

Swinging slightly between you as your steps sync without either of you trying.

Forward.

Back.

Forward.

You lean slightly into Zuko’s side as you walk.

Still overwhelmed. Still nervous. Still absolutely not ready for whatever “Firelady” is supposed to mean.

But his hand is warm around yours.

And for now that is enough.

I hope y‘all liked it. I can write a part 2 of their wedding if anyone‘s down for that. Don‘t forget to support the leaked movie when it actually gets released (for Avatar Studios—the animators, and writers obv)💗

[alittlewhelmed]

the characterization of the gaang was so good!

[porcelainandwool]

“Wah wah wah, you can’t like Mattheo Riddle or Lorenzo Birkshire!! They’re not canon! That’s cringe!!” WHO GIVES A FUCK, LET PEOPLE HAVE FUN!!! GOD FORBID THERES JOY AND WHIMSY IN FANDOM!

[erin-bo-berin]

Quiet

ACOTAR Masterlist

During a secret rendezvous with the heir of Autumn, you find yourself needing to remain as quiet as possible—as to not get caught.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, quickie, smut no plot, basically this is incredibly short

A/N: Standing ovulation—uh ovation—for Eris because this was born out of simply being feral for the male. Truly have no idea where this short little thing came from or who I was when I wrote it. Either way hope yall enjoy 😏

Being pinned against a wall by a handsome heir was not something you’d anticipated when you’d awoken that day.

A sudden hand had grabbed your arm and pulled you into an empty room, the door shutting behind you with a decisive click. Then you’d been shoved against the wall before you’d even had a chance to take in your surroundings, lips crashing into your own.

You hadn’t needed to even question who the individual was. Between the warm spicy scent and the hands that were as familiar to you as your own, you knew.

That and the knowing looks that had been given—and reciprocated—between you and Eris Vanserra.

His lips were hot on yours and you moaned lightly, the ache that you’d been carrying all day, intensifying. Your hands speared into his hair, gripping the long strands roughly as your mouth moved with his rapidly, tongues twining. You pulled him closer to you, pressing your body to his, his fingers already working at the button of your pants.

All day, heated glances had been shared between the two of you—intent in his eyes as much as you were sure had been in yours. The entire time you’d both been in the same shared space, you’d craved him—ached for him.

This hadn’t been the first time this had happened. You and Eris had spent quite some time sneaking around behind your friends’ backs. Partially because you knew they wouldn’t necessarily approve of your choice of extracurriculars—at least who it was with.

But what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them either.

It’d been a while since the two of you had done this though—over a month at least since the last time Eris had visited the Night Court.

Today, though, he’d been in your home court for the entire day and you couldn’t help the way your body tingled with awareness. The way you felt like your skin prickled under his gaze, desire building the longer you were in close proximity to the heir of the Autumn Court.

He pressed you harder into the wall, lips falling to your throat as one hand curled behind your leg lifting it up to cradle his hip—enough to press his arousal between your thighs. You whimpered at the feel, craving that cock inside you, instantly.

“Been too long, sweetheart,” he mumbled.

Gods, it had been. Your hips pressed further against him, his hardness such a delicious teasing sensation. He dropped your leg instantly, kissing you hard again before returning to tugging your pants down.

His lips scattered kisses along your jaw as he tugged the material down your legs, spinning you towards the table that was just to the left of where he’d pinned you against the wall. With your pants around your ankles, your movements were already limited, thus making it rather easy for his broad hand to splay across your back, pushing you until you were bent over the edge.

Your hands instantly clutched the edges as you heard the rustle of fabric and you knew he was shifting his pants down just enough out of the way. There was no time, no patience for anything else than just a maneuvering of clothes out of the way just so, his impatience clearly matching yours perfectly.

You were already panting before he’d hardly even touched you.

Then his hands were at your hips and with one abrupt movement, he was inside you, knocking the breath from your lungs for a moment. You were already plenty prepared for him, slick and aching—you had been all day.

A moan crawled up your throat and just seconds before it could escape, a hand clasped around your mouth. The way his cock filled you—stretched you—was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, practically indescribable. The feeling of being filled by him again after so long had you moaning again against his hand.

Eris groaned lowly behind you, whether in reaction to the feel of you around his cock or the vibration of your moan against his palm, you weren’t sure. His words barely formed around his own pleasured noise.

“Don’t want to get us caught, do you?”

You whimpered into his palm, the feeling of his cock inside you just too great to even fathom controlling your noises. He answered with a slow drag of it against your walls, a huge contrast from his rougher entry, only meant to tease you.

You were about to voice your—albeit muffled—complaint when he instantly retreated, pulling his cock out nearly to the tip before driving forward so roughly, it instantly had you reacting and gripping the edges of the table.

There was nothing gentle about it, his pace rough and brutal from the very beginning—exactly what you’d been craving. His hips pulled back and slammed into yours again making your fingers curl tighter around the edges of the table you were half bent over.

This was what you’d been desiring all day—had already been half imagining it, the way he’d fuck you into whatever surface he’d take you on.

The two of you had fucked on any and all surfaces—the bed, the wall, tables, chairs, even the floor.

You couldn’t get enough of him.

Your eyes squeezed shut as his relentless thrusts into you made your entire body react, his own grunts from behind you causing your cunt to tighten around him. Your entire body felt like a livewire, wound too tight, in desperate need of release and numerous poundings from the male behind you.

His body was a solid weight, warm at your back, his thighs pressed against the back of yours. Between his rocking motions his hands spread you even further—you already so far gone in the bliss of him you barely registered the awkward shuffle as he repositioned you better for his taking.

You ground your breasts against the top of the table, giving the hardened nipples under your shirt the friction they needed. As his hips rammed repeatedly into yours, cock hitting deep, your eyes nearly rolled, the desire to be filled by him being fulfilled in all the ways you’d been salivating for.

“Gods, I missed this pretty little cunt,” he grunted from behind you.

His hand was still tightly over your mouth, muffling the moans there was no way you could hold back. He pounded harder into you, sending your body rocking against the table with every thrust.

“Eriff,” you moaned into his palm, your words distorted by it.

“Quiet,” he hissed.

His free hand reached forward, clasping over yours as he moved harder, faster, his hair falling in a sheet over your back and neck, red strands mixing with the hue of your own. Each exquisite move had your eyes squeezing shut in pure ecstasy, his hand clamping tighter over your mouth in an attempt to silence you further.

You had no idea how he was managing to control his own volume, his own grunts and groans from behind you seemingly loud enough to draw attention. Each sound that escaped his pretty mouth sent you spiraling higher, tightening on his cock in response.

You felt the press of his strong chest against your back as he bent over you, fucking you with all he was worth. You preferred him—wanted him—naked, his bare body pressed against yours. But right now this would do, would take the edge off—satiate the craving that’d been plaguing you, gnawing at your bones for far too long.

“Mmph— yesh—” came your smothered garble as your bodies rocked.

Your pleasure was rising higher, you could feel that coil within you winding tighter and you knew you weren’t going to last long. His hand left yours, reaching down between your legs until he found his destination, fingers on your clit.

You were panting, moaning, unable to repress your noises—which seemed loud to your own ears, despite his palm flattened over your mouth.

But he just felt that good.

You felt him shift behind you, the new angle even more pleasant than the last. His hand fell from your mouth, quickly hooking his arm around you, the crook of it pressing into your mouth. You moaned loudly into it, teeth sinking into the fabric of his shirt—right over his bicep—as he brought you over the edge into your release.

His fingers worked your clit lightly as his hips pistoned, despite the fact your cunt had clamped around him as your orgasm wracked your body. His head bent—arm shifting firmer against your mouth—and bit down on the side of his hand, muffling his own groan as his climax hit him.

You whimpered into the crook of his arm, lashes fluttering at his pleasure filled groan right by your ear. He kept moving in you, riding out both of your orgasms, wringing every last ounce of pleasure from you that he could.

You were breathless and panting when he finally came to a stand still, his arm falling from your mouth, the hand between your legs sliding up your stomach to rest at your hip. Your legs were trembling as you clung to the table to try and stay upright.

You heard his breath sawing from him, felt his tongue as it dragged a hot path along your jawline before placing a heated kiss at the hinge of your jaw.

You swore you might’ve tightened around his cock again in response to that simple motion. He only gave a deep chuckle, most certainly feeling your reaction—likely smug about it too.

You were too blissed out to care about his arrogance—even if it drove you wild half the time. Your brain was much too foggy after such an intense release you’d quite literally needed to bite his bicep.

Even the thought of that had your arousal rising again at just how good the sex had been—fast, hard, rough, the need to keep quiet making it that much hotter.

A part of you wouldn’t mind biting him again, if you were honest.

You desired to have his cock in your mouth, the weight of it on your tongue as he moaned your name, spilling down your throat as his hands tangled in your hair. You wanted to be rid of the clothes on your body, wanted to strip him of his own and ride him until you were both screaming. You craved the feeling of his skin against your own, slick with perspiration, hot breath exchanged between heated kisses and moans as the two of you made each other fall into euphoria time and time again.

And you and Eris definitely knew how to do that well.

It was as if the more you tried to satiate your craving for him, the more you needed him. It was never enough.

This still wasn’t enough.

You wanted him to take you again, sprawled out on this table if need be. You were already throbbing, still full of him and you still needed more.

You wanted him to fuck you again, fuck you all afternoon, honestly.

But you two were living on borrowed time—someone would definitely be coming looking for you or Eris at any moment—and contrary to your desires, there wasn’t time for more.

He was still buried in you and a part of you really didn’t want him to move. In fact, you’d much rather waste the afternoon away with this sort of activity—with Eris—than the courtly duties you knew awaited you.

He stayed there for a beat longer, likely trying to reorient himself as much as you were—thrown off kilter after the intense sex the two of you had just shared. He was still pressed against you, his labored breathing ghosting over your neck. You peered over your shoulder at him, to get a glimpse of him, the only downside to this position being you’d missed his pretty face.

His gaze instantly dipped to your mouth and before you knew it he was leaning forward—almost impulsively—to capture your lips with his. It was as if he wanted to prolong this moment as long as possible, too, hesitant to let you go.

It was slower than the previous ones, yet still remained heated, his tongue teasing as it flicked over your bottom lip.

He gave a teasing roll of his hips as he kissed you and your lips fell from his, a groan escaping you once more, lashes fluttering at the sensation. Again came one of those deep, sensual chuckles he was infamous for, doing nothing but make you want to keep him preoccupied for a little while longer.

Then he was pulling out of you in one smooth movement, leaving you dripping with him. But he didn’t move away from you entirely just yet, his mouth still right by your ear. His promising words left you trembling almost more than the sex had—desire and anticipation already building within you.

“Next time, I intend to make you scream.”

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[sncrlynwtms]

"i was born in the wrong generation" I wasn't. i love existing at the same time as fan culture. i love knowing I can make a post saying "character a wears big ass pants and is obsessed with character b's thighs" and fifty percent of people are gonna agree with me while the other half call me a dumb bitch because of it. it's great.