TwitchyWitchy

hello! AO3

[loreandletters]

In which Sokka was the one taken instead of his mother. This changes things.

or: Sokka grows up in the Fire Nation and hunts the Avatar right alongside Zuko, and unfortunately for Aang, is just as enthusiastic

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I wrote this ages ago when I was like 12. Was forced to delete (account was found out :/) and I re-discovered it in a google doc dive. Decided it deserved to be reposted as a tribute to my younger self and their obsession with ATLA lol  

[loreandletters]

WarTropy!Sokka New Chapters...?

Fic&Snippits in question: fic | snippit 1 | snippit 2

So, I bumped up the chapter count from two to four for the fic He Who Stands, Stands Alone. First, I want to thank everyone who left comments, kudos, bookmarks, and/or wrote lovely Tumblr tags for the snippits/thoughts!! There are no words to express how grateful I am for it. I love them so much!! You guys are the main reason why I decided to write 2 more chapters. I look at all of them regularly, lol

Now, the good news is that I have both of them written up and ready to post (after a few more edits). The bad news is that I am essentially getting cold feet. -_- I love the first two chapters, but the writing is a bit different from how I write now, simply because there's such a big time gap. I did write it when I was just a tween, and for context, I am not a tween anymore (but it wasn't that long ago, so pls don't imagine me as some sort of ancient fossil lol)

Inevitably, the difference in style may be a bit jarring. I did my best to study and imitate chap 1&2, but I don't know how well that worked. I also don't know if the plot I wrote for these new chapters is smth people would like. (spoilers: there's slight (slight!) political intrigue) I tried to use the old fragments of my tween-writing, but there were so few of them left that I just re-wrote it from the ground up. Not only that, but I am not so sure I captured the characters as well as I did all those years ago. I even re-watched the show to try and capture the magic again! ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡ Hopefully that helped out.

TLDR: What I'm saying is that the expectations are high, and I don't want to disappoint. Now, this isn't me strutting around thinking my writing is the shit, but there are 70 or so subscriptions, and that's a lot of pressure for someone who hasn't written Sokka in a while lol

Should I post parts of the chapters here? Or should I just post it all on AO3? Or should I release a rough summary of the chaps and review feedback? Feel free to let me know what you think! I think I'll sit on this for a few days, really think it out. This fic is my favorite, a time capsule to when life was easier, and it holds a special place in my heart. I don't want it to become something I'll cringe about later on down the road...

[loreandletters]

WarTrophy!Sokka Snippit

i survived finals. it only cost me my healthy, sanity, and a few years of my life. as celebration, here'sanother semi-polished drabble from my old drafts!

fic in question | snippit 1 | snippit 2

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Agni, Sokka cursed, I think that made me feel worse.

He hadn’t thought about that night in a long, long time. Was this what brooding did to a person? No wonder Zuko was so grumpy all the time. Sokka sighed. Moping was doing him any good - best leave that to melodramatic prince’s with bruised egos.

Sokka propped himself up with a groan, his chest aching terribly and begging for him to lie back down. Shit. He felt horrible. Almost as bad as he did after his trials.

‘How could you let them get away? We had them!’ 

Sokka snorted, even though it wasn't funny at all. Honestly, what was Zuko expecting? It was the avatar, master of all four elements, versus Sokka, master of nothing. Was he supposed to pull a bomb out of his ass or something? 

Sokka pinched his nose bridge, resisting the urge to bury his face in a pillow and scream. Zuko was understandably upset. He had done the impossible, something everyone had laughed at him for and told him he’d fail at, only for the avatar to simply fly away. On a giant flying spirit-beast thing. 

Could Sokka really blame him for getting mad? 

‘How could you?! You’re - You’re no different than them. I - I should have known. You’re just a savage playing dress up.’

Sokka’s hand dropped onto his lap, cushioned by white sheets. It’s scarred and calloused skin stared back up at him. That…that was a little harder to reason away.

The people they fought, those were savages. Agni’s sake, they had bone spears! Bones! They lived in huts; they traveled on wooden boats - what about Sokka was savage other than his eyes? He may not be a Fire National, but everything he'd done over the past eight years should have made up for it!

Sokka served the royal family even when it went against his personal feelings, which wasn’t even something everyone on their crew could claim. Hell, he’d threatened to kill a kid in front of their mother for Zuko. Who in their right mind would see that and then say he was a traitor? A savage?

His gut grew hot - and he rubbed at his face to try and banish the growing flush, ignoring how it made his ribs twinge in protest. 

In the strictest terms, Sokka didn’t really have any grounds to get mad at Zuko. Zuko was a prince, banishment or not, and Sokka was decidedly…not. If Zuko wanted to call him a savage until the day he died, he didn’t have the right to say no. It’s just that...Sokka knew deep, deep, deep, deep down, Zuko couldn't have meant it. His prince was a kind one, gentle and so conscious of everyone around him. 

Fire spit, Zuko used to make him help sneak turtleducks into his room, wanting to raise them in secret only to give up because the idea of them being separated from their mother was too sad. Sokka sighed.

He forced himself to let go of any bitterness, letting the resentment in his stomach cool. His anger was misdirected (it was). Zuko wasn't the problem here - Ozai was. They wouldn't even be out here in the first place if it wasn't for him! Ursa, Lu Ten, Azulon - everything was Ozai's fault, and as if that wasn't enough, he was trying to ruin Zuko.

Zuko would still be that kind boy Sokka remembered from their childhood and Azula (probably ) wouldn't have turned out so crazy. Even now, oceans away and two years of silence, Ozai had still managed to hurt Zuko more.

That was the root of Sokka's anger. That once again, Zuko let his anger get the best of him, forcing him to embrace Ozai’s poison just a little bit more.

Sokka had held out hope that maybe the years at sea would dampen that connection, the openness maturing him in a way the palace could not, but it seemed he was wrong. Ozai's talons still cut in deep.

Sokka sighed, the sharp twist in his heart throbbing. It hurt him to see Zuko chase senselessly after Ozai’s approval, not when he knew the Fire Lord would never give it. Everything that would make Zuko a great man was everything Ozai hated. Zuko would have to either die or become like his father, before even a sliver of approval floated his way, and Sokka didn’t know which was worse.

Making up his mind, he began to get up. So what if Zuko blamed him? It was nothing, just a bump in the road. There was a lot on the line, and Sokka didn’t have time to get all twisted about some playground insults. Zuko needed Sokka now more than ever, and if he continued to doubt him, well that just meant Sokka needed to work harder to show his dedication.

Sokka rolled out of bed with a groan. He needed to see Zuko and…well, he’d probably have to apologize for that punch. Also, Sokka just wanted to see him. He was Sokka’s prince, but they were friends. And anyways, Zuko still cared about him (duh the guy had moved him to his room) and that was enough proof for him that this was all just water under the bridge.

With great effort, he got to his feet. Sucking in a couple breaths, he steeled himself. Agni, it hurt. By the time he made it to the door, he’d pull himself together. He wouldn’t be of any use to Zuko broken. Letting out a hiss, he limped out into the hallway. When he crossed the threshold, he straightened up and pushed the agony to the corner of his mind that he ignored. There, totally normal. 

(he could make it about a day, tops, before needing like ten hours of beauty rest)

Sokka traversed through at least three hallways before he finally ran into someone.

“Sokka.” The voice was deep, heavy with the scratch that came from breathing out fire, proof of Agni’s blessing. 

“Jogan.” Sokka said back just as enthusiastically, which was to say, not at all.

Jogan looked him up and down with an unkind, critical eye. “You shouldn’t be up.” 

“Probably.” Sokka shrugged, then raised his eyebrow in half-feigned amusement. “Odd to hear it coming from you though. Didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.” The bigger man huffed, “but the prince has been hovering for days. It’d be disrespectful for you to waste his effort.”

Out of everyone on the crew, Sokka respected Jogan the most, despite the fact it was so obviously not returned. Jogan didn’t like him, but he was a loyalist so he obeyed Zuko. He was nothing like Ryuji, who ignored the prince in favor of his own disgust. 

It was nice to see that there were still people out there who respected the weight of Zuko's status. As the banishment went on and on, Sokka had started to fear the Fire Lords’ propaganda would fully erase support for Zuko’s claim to the throne by the time they returned. At this rate though, they had at least ten years before Sokka really had to start worrying. No great, but it could be worse.

“I would never.” Sokka promised, and tapped his chest confidently, “In fact, thanks to the Prince’s attention, I’m at full health. Could fight off a giant flying buffalo.” 

“Hmph.” Jogan grunted, but that criticizing gleam had dimmed. Sokka couldn’t help the exasperation. It felt odd knowing that a racist crewhand had more trust in his word than Zuko did. 

Sokka looked around then, confusion brushing away his apprehension. “Where is everyone?” 

It wasn’t that late in the day yet; there should still be some people milling about. Were they getting their asses kicked in some all out brawl on deck? Shit, he hoped he hadn’t missed Ryuji getting his ass handed to him.

Jogan thankfully decided to have mercy on Sokka and humor him, instead of ignoring him (outside of orders) as he tended to do. “We’ve docked. They’ve ordered everyone off board.”

“Already?”

Jogan rolled his shoulders. “It’s been a week since the poles.”

Spirits. He was out for a while. “Where are we then?”

“In Sen Dor port for repairs.” 

Sen Dor? Why did that sound familiar? Seeen Doooo – Sokka’s back sent sharp sparks of pain up his spine with how fast it shot up. This was Zhao’s port. Sokka closed his eyes in frustration. Zuko must have been too impatient to go further north. That, or he didn’t want to lose the avatar's scent. Shit! What a horrible time to be out. Couldn’t have happened in the three years they were just wandering out on sea with nothing to do, could it?

Sokka bowed, and bid the man a quick goodbye. He definitely didn’t miss the disapproving stare it earned him. Sokka ignored it, focusing on getting to his room and armouring up as fast as he could.  Zhao was a fucking bastard, an ambitous prick that wouldn’t think twice about hyjacking Zuko’s mission for his own gains. If Lu Ten hadn’t died, he never would have made it up the rank as far as he had.  

Unfortunately for literally everyone, that was just the kind of soldier Ozai liked.

Sokka swore under his breath. 

Zuko just couldn’t give him a break, could he?

[loreandletters]

Thinking on a Gravity Falls because my old docs had some notes/short stories. Discovered an Au I made back in the day that was basically “what if Ford was a little more bitter, and Stan a little less prideful?” 

In it, Stan sucks it up and asks Ford for help (either bc of homelessness or whatnot) and he says yes. This is during his ‘bill is my muse and i worship him’ phase (lmao what a dweeb), and Bill, bored and cruel, basically eggs Ford into experimenting on Stan in exchange for being able to stay. The experiments aren't even useful either, Ford just wants an excuse to hurt him bc he feels like Stan ruined his life.

Stan takes it bc a) he doesn’t want to be homeless, b) has little to no self esteem, and c) feels super guilty. So he’s kinda like a sheep being led to the slaughter house. Fiddleford def doesn’t agree once he finds out, but hes a little different here too (no wife, less of a backbone) and Ford is very convincing. Stan doesn’t help either bc he never resists or says no, and that sells whatever shit Fords peddling. 

Part of the reason Stan never fights back is bc he has convinced himself that he’s helping Ford, plus his brothers so happy and nice whenever Stan lets him do what he wants. (maybe one day he’ll even forgive him?) Bill takes over from time to time, fucks around with Stan. He even reinforces that line of thought by sending some nightmares his way. Isn't he so nice? (sixer isn’t like him, the boring dud doesn’t like playing with his food like Bill does) 

Ford, being a fucking bastard, enjoys the power he gets whenever he makes Stan do something or hurts him. He tells himself it’s retribution, but obviously we(the readers) know he’s doing it to be an asshole and is currently power tripping to hell and back. What he does to Stan is basically torture atp (nothing lethal due to sciency-magic ig). It’s humiliating, sadistic, and he doesn’t feel guilty at all (lol not totally true) - instead, it only inflates his ego. 

Then all the shit with Bill happens, the portal opens, and Stan is left alone. Good man that he is (adding the fact that Ford basically convinced him everything was done out of love) he tries to get his brother back. Over the years, he never really manages to admit what Ford did was bad. 

The kids come eventually, and they make him feel like he’s actually worth something and not just a screw up. It’s great. When Ford comes back, he finds that for their sake, he can stand up for himself. I guess in a twisted kind of way he sees it as protecting them from Ford, even if he can’t ever admit why he feels the need to do it (rationalizing at its finest folks). Dimension travel seems to have softened Ford up though, and he never brings up the ‘experiment’ shit, so of course neither does Stan. Yada, yada, canon occurs and all without ever confronting what happened btw :P too busy saving the world ig lol

They’re on the boat, traveling the world, when Stan’s faulty memory begins to reveal things. Ford (now way less of an asshole and far more humble) is forced to confront what he did to Stan all those years ago. Of course, in true Stan-Fashion, it’s masked under a veil of humor - but he sees it for what it is. 

When Stan goes ‘lol Ford this table looks just like the one you used to strap me to and cut me up in lol isn’t that nostalgic?’ or  ‘i can sleep on this shitty hammock no problem! I made myself knock out in that old dog cage you gave me just fine lmao You remember that, right Ford? right?’ it’s a lot less funny, and way more mind-fuckey then Stan intends it to be. To him, Ford doesn't regret and why should he? What he asked of Stan was completely reasonable (it wasn't).

Meanwhile, Ford is spiraling in the background. Those scars come from what? What do mean I did that? And you just let me?! - that kind of schtick, though a lot less accusatory and far more horrified.

Ford btw def DID NOT remember it like that, and what he did remember was muddled by the whole ‘bill tricked me how could he’ thing he was going through.  

All the little habits that Stan buried over the years starts to come back thanks to close proximity to Ford + memory gun problems: he starts to stutter when he thinks Ford is about to blow up at him, he freaks when he breaks things around Ford, he calls him by his full name or Doctor when he thinks he’s upset Ford (bc Ford was an egotistical asshole and made him do that), etc. 

And now Fords the one getting tortured (emotionally). He’s gotta sit there and just see how much of his brother's self-esteem he’s destroyed, the severe lack of self-worth, not to mention all the scars and the serious amount of coping being done. It’s Fords fault, all of it, that he got this great man(this hero) thinking that no matter what he does, he’ll always be the worse twin. It hurts because Ford knows it isn’t true, and wishes he could take back everything he did. But he can’t, he’s gotta sit in the bed he made, watching Stan swinging back and forth between being his brother to being his test subject.

[loreandletters]

WarTrophy!Sokka Snippet 2

introducing: a vague attempt at politics by my child self ya'll. polished it up, but I couldn't save it from the on-the-nose palace intrigue. D:

this is a flash back, and from what I can grasp, Sokka's POV from when he was 'bought.' Also, Sokka also doesn't realize who he's with.

fic | snippet 1

-

“So this is the kid, huh?” When the man looked at him, Sokka felt his resolve wilt and he began to tremble. Desperate to stop it, he hugged his knees tighter, hoping it hid his pathetic shaking.

“News travels fast.” The lady (the man had called her Ursa, right?) sounded stern again, that softness gone as quick as snow on hot coals.

“It does when you decide to buy a savage in the middle of a Victor party,” the man snorted, crossing his arms. He sat comfortably, his powerful frame taking up what felt like half the carriage. He could beat Sokka dead if he wanted. Sokka hadn’t ever seen someone die before he left home, but that had changed, and he knew now what it looked like if someone was hit too much.

He didn’t want to end up like that.

“Is that why you're here?” Ursa’s tone dropped to a hiss, “this can wait.” 

“It can’t actually,” the man, Lu Ten, shook his head and turned to her. “And if you're worried about eavesdroppers, don't be. The driver is one of mine. You can be free with your words.”

Her eyes darted to Sokka, and Lu Ten snorted again, dismissive of him as all Fire Nation Soldier were. Sokka held back a sneer, and decided right then to hate him the most. (No surprise there, he hated everyone in the Fire Nation). 

“It deserves to hear this.”

“He’s just a child.” 

“It’s a savage child,” the man corrected, leveraging a hard look on Sokka. His golden eyes seemed to glow in the lamplight and Sokka gulped thickly. “A freshly beaten one at that. And is, if you've forgotten, your newest scandal.”

“Stop it.” Ursa snapped. “Why are you here? If it’s just to tell me what I already know, then get out.”

“I should,” Lu Ten said, his voice harsh, and Sokka, if possible, compressed himself tighter. Maybe if he stayed quiet enough, they would forget he was here. Lu Ten continued, saying, “fortunately for it, I just can’t stand back and watch you get it killed.”

Sokka took in a deep breath, lip wobbling. He buried his head into his arms, giving up on trying to look at this man and his new owner. He was too scared, too weak. His body ached, his head spun - this was too much. Sokka wanted his mom to come and save him. If she was here, she’d wave her hand and wash all them away. Then they could go home, and everything would be alright.

“Don’t call him that, Lu Ten,” her voice trembled, but not in fear like he was used too. It shook with suppressed anger - coiled tightly, a fish-snake ready to strike. “He’s a person, not a thing.”

“Is he?” Lu Ten’s head cocked to the side, a flat expression on his face. “Because that’s not what you just showed. You don’t buy people, Ursa, it’s against the law. You still did it though, which means this kid over here just went from being a prisoner to being a pet.”

Ursa remained silent, the air in the small carriage thick tension. Pet. Pet. Sokka buried his face deeper, comforted by the cage of his arms. He already knew this, but hearing it said out loud felt worse then being beat. He was the son of a chief. Shame swelled up under his ribs, displacing the anger and Sokka bit into his arm, trying to stifle his urge to scream. Was he going to have to sleep in a cage? Forced to eat food on the floor? Wear a collar?

“I didn’t…that’s not what I intended.” She eventually said, now quiet and soft again

The soldier sighed. “I know, Ursa. That much was obvious.” He went quiet for a moment.“What exactly were you thinking of accomplishing?”

“Zuko has been having trouble making friends, and Azula might benefit from having another boy around. Someone else to focus on other than her brother. What good is my status if I can’t even do this?” Sokka hated the hesitation in her voice. What did this mean for him? He didn’t understand. There was a rustle of clothing and he felt more tears leak out. Who was Zuko? Another water tribe boy, captured in an earlier raid? Sokka didn’t know anyone else in their tribe with that name. 

“Ursa….you couldn’t possibly have thought Oazi was just going to let a savage run amok around his children, did you?” Lu Ten’s voice had softened, in a way that sounded chastising and suddenly he understood. She had bought him without permission - this wasn't just a meeting, it was a dressing down.

[loreandletters]

WarTrophy!Sokka snippet...

tysm! 12yr lore would have loved to read this lmao and yeah, Zuko def deserved that hit, what was he thinking saying all that? (also apologies if i didn't reblog this right? haven't been on tumblr that long)

Speaking of snippets, I have been finding all these little scenes littered through out my old docs. (i feel like an archaeologist rn) I didn't think about posting it until I read ur tags lol thanks for the idea!

Warning, some of the writing had a few months in between (I think this was around the time I got super sick) so there'll be difference in quality. lol I'm really enjoying all this tbh, very nostalgic for me :)

(fic in question)(this comes right off the 2nd chapter lol)

-

Sokka woke up in pain and decided that it was a good enough excuse to start brooding up a storm.

A traitor. Him? Was their defeat so inconceivable that Zuko had gotten amnesia? (totally possible by the way, Zuko was dramatic enough for it) It’s not like Sokka hadn’t spent, oh, nearly ten years trying to prove otherwise. Honestly, aside from the color of his eyes, what about him screamed Water Tribe? 

Sokka couldn’t stand the cold. He loved the smell of a fresh fire, and yeah he complained, but sometimes he was more faithful to Agni’s rites than Zuko was. When the chill came at night, he made sure to wear double layers, and when they re-entered warmer waters, he breathed a sigh of relief. He can’t remember a time when he didn’t like spicy food, he embraced their festivals (even the one that celebrated the fall of the Airbenders), and wearing anything other than red felt wrong. To put it simply: everything about Sokka was Fire Nation, down to the lingo, down to the bone. Just not the eyes.

And his family? His parents were a faded memory. Yes, he hadn’t wanted to leave (what did they expect, raids and children didn’t exactly mix well!), but obviously that wasn’t still true. He had plenty of chances to run back ‘home,’ but he never did. 

The more he thought about it the angrier he got.

He’d followed his prince in his banishment, sworn fealty to the royal family, and accepted all the burdens that came with it. If he were born with golden eyes, people would be envious of him. No one would even think to call him a dog or a savage - he would just be Sokka. Not even that! His name would be different, less strange and so obviously foreign.

Damn you, Lady Ursa. Lu Ten. Sokka thought viciously, hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. If only you had just let me die back then.

That had to be easier, right? His heart was burning with the anger, but underneath it bubbled a sickening kind of grief. His chest hurt, like a knife twisting round and round and round. Almost ten years of loyalty, and what did he get but Zuko screaming all of his insecurities to his face?

Azula was right. Sokka was way too stubborn for his own good. Even now, he didn’t know if he was more upset with the prince or the fact Zuko might just kick him off the crew all together. Where would he even go? Sokka didn’t want to leave - he wanted another chance. He wanted to see Zuko home like he swore. (he wanted to go home too. The Fire Nation may have taken from him, but it had given him so much more in return)

Sokka scrubbed at his face, drawing deep, steading breaths so as to try and kill the sob building in his chest. Zuko was so lucky, he was so fuckin’ lucky that Sokka loved him this much. He was lucky that his mom had saved Sokka, ripped his chest open and tricked him into caring for her kids. And that Lu Ten had instilled such a deep love for the Fire Nation, that Sokka never even thought twice about returning ‘home.’ war

If they hadn’t, then Sokka would have left Caldera the night Ursa died and never looked back.

[loreandletters]

In which Sokka was the one taken instead of his mother. This changes things.

or: Sokka grows up in the Fire Nation and hunts the Avatar right alongside Zuko, and unfortunately for Aang, is just as enthusiastic.

-

Finally finished polishing the last chap!

Chapter 1

[loreandletters]

WarTrophy!Sokka thoughts...

Been thinking alot about WarTrophy!Sokka after going through an old fic, and I gotta say my younger self was cooking with the concept lol I really like the close-but-not-close vibe I gave it bc I remember wanting to give him a strong sense of class difference between him and the siblings. I was like a preteen at the time so i don’t think it came across that great lmao

Honestly all I remember is that I was really hell bent on making it super tragic on Sokka’s end. It made sense to me bc he had just been plucked from home, shoved into a viper pit of a capital, and told to survive. He was point-blank informed that he was only kept alive to be friends with a sociopathic-kid and her socially awkward bother, and that can really fuck with a persons head.

It made him super hypervigilant that his survival depended on Zuko and Azula’s approval, which in turn made him extremely conscious of societal rules (titles, seating arrangement, etc.) and extremely dedicated to his studies.

In his eyes, he’s always gotta be invaluable to the siblings (training against benders to prove his strength, being blatantly patriotic to show his loyalty, staying smart so he didn’t annoy them (azula), trying to be funny so he’s always interesting, etc.). In a way the siblings get it bc Ozai is breathing down their necks, but Sokka’s def in the worse position. He’s not a bender, he’s got blue eyes, and he was literally bought by a woman Ozai didn’t love. Plus, Zuko and Azula were attached to him, and Ozai din’t like that either bc a) he obvi hated Zuko ergo hating sokka, and b) Azula only ever should be loyal to him. 

Sokka was eventually gonna end up screwed either way without the banishment and for a kid thats a lot to handle

Having Ozai plus a bunch of politicians praying for your downfall is horrible but then the lady who got him (ursa) abandons him, leaving him with 0 protection. Personally, i think Iroh aint the best politicker out there, so he wasn’t much help to Sokka. (The guy literally stepped down and let his psycho brother become king-of-the-world basically (yes ik it was due to grief but still))

Sokka cares for the siblings greatly though, despite the extreme power balance (in his eyes) and it's what makes him put up with all the crap they drag him through, but at the same time is it because he has no one else to love, or is it because he actually cares? Does his loyalty mean anything when he thinks that if he doesn’t have it, he’s dead? Is that even loyalty at that point or just pure self preservation? 

It’s why I added the stockholm syndrom tag bc tbh Sokka never had any choice but to love the siblings and hope it made the lonely kids love him too. The other option was death and Sokka is too stubborn a character to accept that. He’s also prideful enough to keep his self-respect, so he’s not exactly a doormat. Just a very conscious person who doesn’t lie to himself about his status, and uses every arm of power he has to constantly reinforce it, so that he doesn’t end up dead. Even if he isn’t consciously doing it or thinking it, he’s def acting on it. I think in the story, I wanted to make it such a big and giant thing in his life (constantly making himself indispensable), that it’s just become a part of him to deeply and viciously hold onto his status and protect it.

(spoilers ig but not really bc who knows if i'm ever gonna go through with it) It’s why the whole ‘We’re-your-family-stick’ with his dad and sister was always gonna go south. In Sokka’s mind it wasn't just a simple reunion. To him it boiled down to two choices: a) go with them and be hunted by a nation you sunk 8yrs of dedication to and have made morally dubious decisions for, or b) exploit them as a chance to further prove your loyalty.

guess which one he goes with lmao

To me that was always such a cool concept, all that tragedy and angst all wrapped up in a super fucking toxic love. Great storytelling opportunities imo Maybe one day I’ll write on it lol

[loreandletters]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Finished with Chapter 2! Got carried away and popped out a 9k chap lol. Trying to commit myself to a weekly update but I guess I'm destined for bi-weeklys just like my paychecks lol

enjoy!

--

Summary: in which a forty-five-year-old Vader and a twelve-year-old Obi-Wan are thrown into the first months of the Clone Wars.

[loreandletters]

I got this pic commissioned months ago for my fic by someone on twitter! If you can tell, I've had this idea sitting in my brain for quite a while lol

links: fic | artist

[loreandletters]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The idea strikes as quick as a blaster bolt. There is only one way to save the galaxy from Anakin Skywalker, and that is through slavery. But not to just anyone. Vader knows there’s no one more suited to dealing with Anakin then himself, so obviously, the boy should bow to him. All he needs to do is capture and break the Jedi.

This will work out perfectly.

(Oh, and why is Obi-Wan here? That’s easy. Instead of going to Bandomeer after he was rejected as a padawan by Qui-Gon Jinn, Vader pulled him out of his timeline in a tantrum spanning time and space. So, in short, he’s here for no reason at all.

Except, maybe, to watch a mad man grow madder.

How fun.)

Or: a forty-five-year-old Vader and a thirteen-year-old Obi-Wan are thrown into the first months of the Clone Wars.

[writing-prompt-s]

You've been hired to clean a graveyard every night for 80 bucks an hour. Its haunted. And by god you are going to make that 80 bucks an hour

[loreandletters]

The most important fact is that Jake’s is fine. He is a-okay with being left in a haunted cemetery. All alone. In the middle of the night. He’s also pretty poor, and since fear is costly, being fine and being okay is his only option. 

Ghosts? Psha! Try looking at his bills, those are scary. Eyeless ghouls? Good thing it doesn’t cost much to scribble out a talisman or sprinkle some salt. Some wannabe witches trying to summon the devil? Not on his fucking watch! Those candles leave a mess, don’t they know that?

People look down on cleaning, but doesn’t anyone realize that the sanitation department runs the world? Garbage men keep the streets clean, ushers man the stores, and Jake weeds and washes graves. What better honor is there than guarding the deceased from moss and mold? No better money too.

Jake’s lamp flickers as he pulls up another weed. 

“Money, money, money,” Jake sings, forcing himself not to rush, “must be funny, in a rich man’s world.”

The grave is illuminated poorly, the mossed over letters just barely spelling out ‘here lies Jasmine Helma, the sweetest wife a man could ask for.’ It’s also just barely enough to see the half-screaming ghostly face sticking out of the stone. Jake hums patiently, plucking more weeds that are growing at the foot of the grave.

80 bucks an hour, 560 a night, 3,300 a week, 13,00 a month, 160,000 a year. Jake chants, the mantra beating religiously within his cranium. The numbers aren’t exactly accurate, but what rich man counts pennies? (he also heard somewhere that rhymes help ward off misfortune) 80 bucks an hour, 560 a night, 3,300 a week, 13,00 a month, 160,000 a year.

Yeah, he hasn’t been here more than six months, so what? He makes it a year, that’s a six figure salary! All for picking weeds and scrubbing stone (along with the occasional security). He doesn’t need a degree or some nepotism (both of which he doesn’t have), just a spine of steel. Honestly, he doesn’t have that either, but for 160k he does. He’ll fucking sprout wings and fly if they asked him to.

….Jake’s really poor.

Not for long though, he promised himself.

“I’ll kill you!” the ghoulish face shrieked, mouth cranked inhumanly wide, unmoving yet still speaking, “you cheating manwhore! I’ll kill you!”

“I work all night, I work all day, to pay the bills I have to pay,” Jake sings. Ghosts like these forget they’re dead, and only repeat what the last thing they said before they died. It happens the longer they stick around. Their looks fade, their voices lose any recognizable lilt, leaving them with a dragging, wretched voice that is indistinguishable from any other ghost. 

“I’ll kill you! You cheating manwhore! I’ll kill you!”

 “Ain’t that sad?” Jake wasn’t shivering out of fear, he was just cold. Who cared if she was screaming? That wouldn't pay his rent, picking these weeds would. 

“I’ll kill you!”

“And still there never seems to be, a single penny left for me,” Jake fixed his flickering lamp, hand dipping into the bucket of soap and water to fetch the sponge.

“You cheating manwhore!”

“That’s too bad.” Jake began to scrub. He scrubbed around the headstone, around the ghost, and when he was done, everything but that one spot was sparkling clean. The night chilled his drying hands but Jake muscled on. 80 bucks an hour, 560 a night, 3,300 a week, 13,00 a month, 160,000 a year.

“Cleaning again, Jacob dear?”

“If I got me a wealthy man, I wouldn’t have to work at all,” James' voice immediately became louder, singing now ringing across the graveyard, “I’d fool around and have a ball!”

The floating annoyance chuckled, “if that’s a yes to my offer, I’m afraid you’ll have to be more clear.”

It was a month ago now that he’d chased off the amateur witches. They were ambitious kids, and like all kids, stupid. Breaking into a graveyard to play with powers beyond their control, who does that? Without Jake they likely would have died. Unfortunately, they were skilled idiots. Skilled enough to summon something, just not a demon. Jake isn’t a witch so he can’t say what exactly, only that it isn’t one of hells many soldiers. That’s why the thing calls him by a fake name. He may not know much, but he isn’t stupid enough to be giving out his real name to anyone who asks. For some reason It’s stuck in the graveyard, and because Jake’s only job is to clean the graveyard not fix the graveyard, that isn’t his problem. It’s just another thing he needs to ignore.

“Money, money, money, must be funny, in a rich man’s world!” Jake has been singing this song for the past hour, stuck on a couple verses because he doesn’t actually know the whole thing, and he’s too scared right now to think of another. He’s fine though! Don’t lose it now, Jake. Remember, 80 bucks an hour, 160,000 a year - keep your eyes on the prize!

The next grave has a ghoul hiding behind it, the monstrous thing shivering as it tries to take refuge in the shadow of the headstone. They’re relatively harmless so long as you don’t start chasing them. Just to be sure, he has a shitty talisman that he’d haggaled a priest for, though to be honest he probably shouldn’t have bothered. They tend to feed on happier victims. 

It’s their form that unnerves most people; twig like limbs, far too long for the small torso they’re connected to, with muscles all distorted and twisted. Freaks folks out. Luckily, they're more shadow than physical, so he doesn't worry about stepping on them. He begins his process again, picking weeds and trashing rubbish. Must have been the teenagers again. Don’t they have anything better to do with their time?

“Money, money, money,” Jake sings, loud as he can. The not-demon thing trails behind him. 

“Oh Jacob, I could give you money and so much more,” the being takes on a young man's form tonight, chest exposed by an open shirt, the body underneath toned, skin shining in the moonlight as It lays back in the air. Confident in the image It’s made, as if Jake will fall over at the sight alone. “All you have to do is ask.”

Thick manicured hands run across the shapeshifted body in a lustful fashion. Tonight, the face is sharp and beautiful, wet lips and curly hair, with green eyes as sparkling as gems. There’s a pout on his lips. Last shift the thing had taken on a woman, and before that a large wolf, and before that, a cripple - anything to pull his heartstrings. Friendship, romance, companionship - what will it take for Jake to say yes? There’s only one answer, of course.

Money. Money is why he’s here. Best part? This job will get him all his desires without asking him for his soul. He’ll pay off his debts, his rent, his brother's medical bills and he’ll get to be alive to enjoy it. 

So, Jake grits his teeth and bears it. The ghosts, the ghouls, the not-demon; just sings, scrubbing at a leisure pace so that maybe he can get an extra hour on his shift tonight. I mean, c’mon, it’s 80 an hour. Wouldn’t you? 

[writing-prompt-s]

the king has a large problem. The hero that was summoned thinks slavery is "a bad thing" and women "should have rights"

[loreandletters]

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Chick-Fil-A

The King, L’landis Plebarin, hadn’t stopped speaking. He stands ramrod straight, a large, obnoxious sword at his hip. The land behind him unfolds like a tapestry, a beautiful window into a world of fantasy. In Peter’s home, birds would dot the sky; here, there are dragons. They’re on the balcony of this prestigious building, so the view is high up and unobstructed. There’s no skyscraper to break up the horizon, or a thick smog to block it. 

The building they’ve climbed the steps of reeks of a strange otherness, enshrouded in a beauty that Peter has only known to be in ancient cathedrals and grand eastern temples. It’s beautiful, really. He’s sure they brought him up here to tempt him with their wealth, their beauty and fantasy. What a real fucking shame this King and his servants only know how to spew filth. 

“- and crush our enemies, who threaten our world.” 

Yeah, Peter had stopped listening after ‘we will gift you with slaves to own and women to conquer.’  

A high collared servant of some sort stood smugly by the Kings side, a polite smile scrawled across his wrinkled face. His too long robe fell into a puddle onto the floor, spreading out like a puddle of piss, except it floated before it could touch the stones beneath their feet. He wore another dress underneath, covering his feet, and Peter thought if magic was used so thoughtlessly, they might not be as stupid as they sound. Damn. There goes his punch-and-run plan.

The King stood confidently, his aged face warm with invitation. What a crime, for such a conventionally attractive man to be this vile. “What do you say, hero?”

Peter smiled, because sadly, he wasn’t the one with a giant sword on his hip or magic at his fingertips. “Your enemies, the Demons, are they the only ones I have to fight?”

“I wish it were so.” A weary look overcame the King. “Our land is surrounded by enemies. To the west, lay the Lipkons, who vie after our riches. Should we defeat them, I’m sure their Queen will make a valuable concubine.”

“Queen Kelamine is a proud woman, unnatural through and through. Worry not though, pride makes for feisty bed warmers,” the servant remarked. Fury burns begins to warm his skin, and Peter thinks how satisfying it will be to smack this fucker.

“They are a Matriarchy, the fools, so naturally they will be the easiest to fell.” The King rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“Right.” Peter agrees in pure habit alone. Strangely, this feels like dealing with an old customer, one who begins spewing the most ridiculous shit completely unprompted. He employes his usual coping method: a flat smile, a nod, and a dash of a desperate hope that he’ll get through it without getting yelled at. Fuck, it’s so annoying. He’d just finished with this shit not an hour ago, getting off a stupidly long shift with a line that just wouldn’t end. Fuck this old man and fuck Chick-Fil-A. 

“And then to the east, the dirty Halflings have made a kingdom of their own.” The King laughs like its a joke.

“A rabble of bandits more like, liege,” the servant says, “they are nothing to worry about. Built out runaway slaves and illiterate bastards.”

“Yes, we have nothing to fear from them,” the King agrees, “the North is ours, thankfully. The Dukes in charge had rebelled some time ago, but we have reasserted our control. Their heir resides here with us, so hence, the Northern loyalty is secure. And of course, the South is rife with the Demon Empire. So, yes Hero, we are in desperate need of your help.”

“I understand.” Peter closes his eyes. He’s cold, only standing on this balcony in his thin, red uniform. He hadn’t even been able to walk through the door of his apartment before all this shit. Couldn’t get iskeaied into a nice place, could he? Or any of the other kingdoms? Couldn’t be the east, or the west, or even the Demons - he had to get the sexist slavers, smack dab in the middle of the continent. No chance to run, no place to go.  What the fuck is his life.  

“So, Hero, will you take this challenge?” The King sounds confident, as if there’s no world in wich Peter will say no.

Fuck you, let me go home bitch, Peter thinks viciously, resentment bubbling up because this never should have been his problem. This man doesn’t even see him as a hero, just pawn in a really fucked up game. Kinda like Kaden, the power tripping bastard that thought being a manager of a round down fast food restaurant was equal to being god. Kaden only bothered to start acting nice when an audit came about. Fuck the King, fuck Kaden, and fuck Chick-fil-A.

“You’re asking a lot of me.” Peter grits out as politely as he can. Damn it all, just let me go home.

“You are right, what we ask of you is tremendous. But, know this, you were not summoned at random,” reverence emboldens the King Plebarin’s words, and Peter has to shove down the urge to scratch his face off, big fancy sword or not. “You were brought here for your strength, inwards and outwards. You may not believe in yourself, but I believe I do. You will be the one to save us, Hero. I know it.”

Oh, I’ll do more than that. Peter nods, more to himself then the king. Resolve slowed his heart,  quieting its rabbiting pace. Save you? Ha! I’ll be a hero, alright, just not yours.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Peter bowed, his righteous fury and determination filling his chest, “it’ll be my pleasure.”