#and once when i had the honor of their presence in my frequent life we were laying in my bed and this song came on

[streets-in-paradise]

Mercifull - Maximus Decimus Meridius x (Fem)Reader

Gladiator (2000) Oneshot

Warnings: Confession of suicidal thoughts ( reader makes it and he talks her out of it), some age gap ( reader is young lady fan in age of looking for marriage).

Summary: The company of your favorite gladiator is the only bliss your father has been able to obtain for you since the rule of Commodus got you fearing for your lives.

Bought in clandestinity through the aborrecent mechanisms of roman corruption, your one moment to show Maximus thankfullness for the positive impact he had in you becomes your time to present him with a small part of the comfort fate has denied him through his endless sufferings.

Notes: First piece of Gladiator fic I ever written, inspired by the lovely @wildsaltair and an idea that wandered my mind post rewatch. Despite the grim topics in the warnings, I need to clarify it is mostly a comfort fluff

Maximus wasn't counting with more visits at night and the reminder of Lucilla's warnings regarding the depraved customs of wealthy ladies in Rome haunted him when he got the news. He would have yet to receive someone else, fault of his increasing popularity. It was matter of time untill fame would bring that sort of attention to him and he despised it. Forced to be in the presence of the buyer of instants from the misserable life he had yet to live, he would deny them of the one thing they really paid for. Frightening disdain could be enough to make a corrupt rich matron think twice before venturing.

Once he had you face to face, you confused him to no end debunking all previous assumptions. In his eyes you appeared like a portrait of innocence. A polite young lady that smiled for him with shy blush, not the attitude expected for a lascivous woman seeking satisfaction for her wicked desires from a gladiator. Nerves kept you awakardly silent as you advanced towards him and Maximus followed your every move with disconcerted curiosity.

Only after the guard allowed you some privacy, he finally got to hear your voice.

" It's a great honor, … to be in the presence of the most honorable champion … "

You suddenly interrupted yourself, giving him the impression of a previously practiced introductory speech falling due to excitement.

" … I brought you a humble present, just a honey cake. Self made, none of my slaves were involved. Unfortunately, the guards said we can't have it … What is a shame, because I thought something sweet would be comforting for your spirit. "

Adoration of the purest was all you were showing him. If he could have any doubts about what kind of woman you were, it was all confirmed for him.

For the first time since his life was ruined, something amused him enough to throw a few chuckles.

" You shouldn't be here. What would happen with your suitors if the rumour spreads that you frequent champions at night? "

The inmediate, correct implication showing he knew you couldn't be a married woman had slightly shamed you.

" Do you think that troubles me now? A lot has changed since Commodus crowned himself emperor. What used to concern me feels meaningless. Great damage has he inflicted in such brief time! Giving him a lifespan to rule, he will be the downfall of Rome. If the world our people have built may end, I can at least spend a small portion of my family's fortune for a meet with my favorite gladiator. "

Despite presented as sensical reasoning, your comment made him wary for motives that you couldn't possibly predict.

" Did Lucilla send you as last resort to soften my heart? "

You didn't feel called out in any way and replied with increasing honesty.

" I have no business with her, here I am on my own. My desperate father paid hoping our meeting could reanimate the walking corpse his beloved daughter has become. Your performance in the arena awakened her from the letharge and for once she resembled herself again. "

Unsure of what you meant, he tried to disuade you the best he could.

" He wasted it, I have nothing for you. Not even legendary words of comfort you may treasure for the rest of your life. If an infatuation with the shade of myself you saw brought you here, I'll have to warn you there is no life left in me to share. "

The dark warning had a contradictory effect. Probably because of the frustration caused by such terrible start of the encounter with your idol, some of your initial shyness was slowly dissipating.

" My two brothers gave their lives for Rome, only so Commodus would claim mine! " You admitted right away, controlling yourself to not indulge in reckless yelling. " I know, I saw it in his eyes when I had to swear loyalty to him out of fear. My father ... I am all he has left after sickness claimed my mother and war deprived us of my brothers. Commodus will come for me first. Sooner or later, he will. His wicked smile haunts my dreams turned into nightmares. Your company is the last wish of an innocent who fears herself already sentenced. Can't you not grant such small mercy? "

Maximus no longer could show himself detached from your pleads and your strange fascination became more understandable to him. Far from a superficial admiration, you were moved by his claims. Was that the sort of power Lucilla attributed him? Inspiring terrified people and awakening the conciences of those who remained numb of distractions? He was once a general, but it was not his place to be a revolutionary leader.

And yet, he couldn't help to feel intrigued about your story. He was not in the place to reach you any comfort, but could grant the mercy of listening to you. After all, yours was a moving image for him. Youthfull enough to make him suspect you could as well be a beloved daughter and someone else's fiancee. Innocent and kind, sweet and respectfull of a mere slave.

He relaxed his closed fists, then gave only a few steps closer to you to test if you weren't going to retrocede out of any possible fear of pyshical closeness.

" I am not a good companion, a balsam for desperation, but would like to know what made you expect to find that in me. "

You remained in your position, glance turning softer again before you looked at the ceiling as if you would be confessing yourself to both, him and the gods.

When your eyes were back on him you shrugged, making him smile from amusement.

" Everyday I see the masses supporting him I experience the powerlessness of Cassandra as the trojans cheer arround the wooden horse, because she knows the terrible secret it hides. All what's left for her being the repugnant hands of the lesser Ajax, Agamemnon and the axe of his wife. "

Revisiting the first impression he got of you, Maximus found the comparison fitting. Not because of the terrible fate it augured, but because the image of the beautifull princess cursed with awareness suited with your ways.

" Who am I in this? The priest of Neptune doomed to die for sharing your truth? "

He made you chuckle, but you resumed seriousness to insist with your point.

" You exposed the truth nobody wants to hear loud enough for them to stop ignoring it, and in that I found hope. Your ragefull bright could have burned the cursed artifact of Ulysses. Inspired by it I dreamt of outliving this curse falling upon us."

Your will to share was reaching dangerous territory, but you felt so comfortable with him that you didn't mind to make him the keeper of a secret not even your most trusted slaves knew.

" Before I found you, I was inclined to believe my only way to win would be following the path of the egyptian queen. Take my own life on noble, painless terms before he would command for me the most horrible and humilliating of deaths. My only hope, Maximus, was dying celibate. It was your vengefull hunger for survival what inspired me to think otherwise, ... to crave life. And I am here to show my grattitude, because for a brief instant you made me live again."

It baffled him, incapable of conceibing he could have such strong amount of influence from his position as a doomed entertainer. Aside from the scandall he caused revealing himself, his actions had palpable concencuencies in the most unexpected ways. His cursed existence had a meaning for some, a very real and touching effect on them. Thinking it from the perspective of political manipulation, the sister of the emperor forgot to mention it could reach beyond that.

" My life is brief, girl. I may die tomorrow and what would be left for you to look up to? Survive for your father, your loss would weight too heavy in his heart. Become the wife of a fortunate roman and make him proud. A family to look after will give you the purpose you lack. "

His advice induced you into a very obvious, but delicate conclussion.

" They are your purpose, the reason why you haven't given yourself death yet. Only in your memories they remain, and in the day you will perish, the last glimpse of their existence goes with you. "

Tears began to fall down your face and the sight contained his anger to a mention done by a stranger about his massacrated family. For as incredible as it was, you were the very first person willing to join his mourning.

"You are clever to interpret feelings in the way an augur follows divine signs. "

He managed to bring out one more smile in your still tearfull countenance.

" I suppose that saying I am sorry for your loss would come out as a very empty gesture, but if you indulge me, I will do better to reach you a humble expression of the comfort that was cruelly denied to you. "

The distance between you was shortened at every instant by action of your own approach. Before he would dare to object, your arms were trapping him in an intempestive hug. His chained wrists remained still in their position at the sides, restricted his movement by the ties and his suprise. Your sweet embrace was squeezing thight his firm form, head resting on his chest as if you intended to hear his heart beating.

He stayed there, numb to the comfort that the heat of your body and the scent of jasmines in your skin produced him. From the most ironical of places had someone succeded on the impossible task of caughting him out of guard. Not the fighters on the arena, or the emperor of Rome, but a sweet girl and her infinite kindness.

Unable to respond by receiving you in his arms, he placed a chaste kiss on top of your forehead as soon as you tilted your head up searching for his face.

There were no more tears left in you, only the sweetest delight.

" There are certain moments that can worth for a lifetime and I will treasure this as such. "

He smiled against your skin and pressed another peck.

" You will live again, even if I will not be there to see it. You are strong, way stronger than you think. The kindest roman that my new life has put on my way. "

The praise embarassed you and confused you simultaneously.

" What difference can that make against a monster like Commodus? He has no mercy."

" That doesn't mean he is not fond of finding it on others displaying it for him. " He clarified before completing another advice. " Adoration keeps him pleased. Show him just a brief glimpse of what you have done for me and you may disarm him, like you had disarmed me tonight."

Authentical disbelief to the implied confession made you overlook the rest.

" Have I done that? "

" Your arms are still rounding me. " Maximus reminded you with sweet amusement. " Do you think I would have allowed that if you wouldn't had awakened some sort of weakness? "

You released him a inmediately, raising up your hands with an innocent expression.

" I only meant to comfort you, to share the flame of hope you awakened in me. "

" And you did, … but now it's time for you to leave." He thankfully disencouraged you. " The more time you spend, more dangerous it becomes. If his spies haven't followed you, rumours could lead to a similar end. I want you to never show fright in front of him again, but you will if he finds a reason."

The reminder was sensical and you didn't protest against it.

" Thank you for your mercy, Maximus. "

In that he intepreted your acknowledgedment for the emotional closeness you both had reached through the encounter.

" I could only respond to your mercifull ways, good lady. "

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

I'd love to see a snippet from guarding alliances

Of course Anon! So of course we have in this chapter Bilbo and Thranduil stuck out in the forest together trying to find their way back to the others. Leaves a lot of room for important talks...

The silence enveloping them was not unwelcome as they were still on edge, expecting another attack at any moment. When they came to another crossroads, Thranduil chose a direction with confidence. Making his mark for the others to find them before continuing down the path. Bilbo never once questioned whether the elf king knew where they were going until the tunnel grew darker, and the choking sickly magic hung in the air. Thranduil paused, clearly feeling it as well. “I had no idea it had gotten this bad.” He mused quietly, almost to himself. “We told you when we arrived in your halls.” Bilbo grumbled. “I thought the dwarves were lying.”

“As they are prone to do.” Bilbo snorted. “What do you mean?” Thranduil drawled. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but dwarves as a whole are honest. Almost brutally so. They hold their honor closely which I have had to learn the hard way admittedly.” “Unless that interferes with their ability to hold tight to their treasures.” Bilbo tried not to react emotionally. He understood the feud between the dwarves and the elves was long and arduous, but he struggled with understanding how they couldn’t let bygones be bygones. Thorin called it his westward ideals which Bilbo resented a bit, but grudgingly admitted he might have a point. “Yes, you lot here in the east do place quite an emphasis on material treasure.” Bilbo felt Thranduil’s glare boring into him, but refused to acknowledge it.  “I commissioned the gems for my wife. She died before they could be returned to her.” Bilbo’s nose gave a twitch as he finally looked over at the elf. His head was still raised high, but his eyes drooped to the ground. Not so much a flower, but a lonely willow tree. Bilbo averted his gaze almost as if he were intruding on a tender moment.  “What was she like? Queen Galadess?”  Thranduil gave a minuet flinch at hearing her name, and Bilbo feared he had pressed him too much. He huffed a small sigh before beginning. His usual rich and silky voice turned gruff and dry with grief. “She was…a giver of life. Whether that was to her beloved forest plants or in the people she met. She just would light up a room. Her laughter like bells soft and twinkling, but you couldn’t help but take notice. There wasn’t a being alive not charmed by her presence. In fact, she frequently visited Erebor, Dale, Rivendell, Lothlorien, even Khazad-dum had been graced with her presence at one point.” “An adventuring spirit.” Bilbo hummed. “You remind me a lot of her in that regard.”  Bilbo stopped and looked up at Thranduil in surprise. However, the elf’s eyes were forward, even if they were softer. When he finally met Bilbo’s gaze, decades of pain and grief washed over him. “I think you would have gotten along well. She would have thought the way you stole the dwarves from my dungeons was funny.”

Ask me about my WIP list.

[randomfoggytiger]

"What Must a Mother Go Through?"

(Fictober, Day 27)

*****

Mulder had hidden it from her-- one more thing he'd refused to share-- when they'd returned home.

San Diego was put silently behind them after landing and exiting the last pit stop in their trail of tears. Second chances and her daughter's coffin were buried six feet under with sandbags and another impossible cure; and Scully guessed-- knew-- that her partner was trying to spare her from further, jagged grief.

"PEACOCK FAMILY APPREHENDED"

Mother and son, etc. The police caught them in the act of car hopping, etc. Mrs. Peacock was pregnant, but the fetus was miraculously expected to survive despite multiple--

The baby was a girl.

Scully heard Mulder's steps mute-- an abrupt hush in the walk from the elevator, down the hall, to the threshold of their office. Since Christmas, he'd softened, become restrained in her presence: no Hey, Scully!, only Scully. He'd even frequently called after hours, disguising his compassion as concern about tardy case notes. "I need to work" she'd whispered once; and he'd remembered.

"Scully?" Not 'Hey, Scully'.

She stared, stared, stared at "expected to survive."

"Scully." Mulder was there, was taking the paper away from her.

"I let her die, Mulder." Scully squared her shoulders, looked into his anguished eyes. The daughter of a military captain was trained to confess her sins honorably. "I saw she was diseased, and I let her die. When we were in Home, I projected my own emotions onto that poor child's mother, but..." She hesitated, overwhelmed. "I didn't even cry at Emily's funeral."

She was expecting his eyes to shift with denial; but Mulder's anger-- vehemence and rebuttal radiating from his stiffened spine and hunched shoulders-- shocked her.

"If you choose to lay the blame for her death at anyone's feet, then lay it at mine. I had a cure, Scully, in my hands, but I never gave it to you. Because you knew what was best for her-- that she'd been born for an agenda, not a life; and that there was nothing that could be done to save her," he emphasized, drawing her chin back towards his reassurance, "You didn't leave her in the dirt to choke as she cried for help. You saved her."

Scully watched him collect her dripping tears-- evidence-- on his thumb. "You love her. You, Dana Scully, were a better mother than Mrs. Peacock could ever conceptualize or be."

Swallowing down her more suffocating emotions, she reached out, caught, and squeezed Mulder's hand. "And you were the best--" remembering his awkward shift away from an incorrect assumption in the hospital, she amended, "--advocate for Emily. The best partner to me."

Scully watched passion and fear slowly drop from Mulder's shoulders, watched his second-best smile slip into place with relief. "That's what partners are for."

Wondered if there were other secrets he'd hidden from her as well.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

[veiledfox]

Echoes of the past~

"Echoes of the past" for one of my muses memories

"Have I told you about how I once met another Kitsune, Kyuushi?" The soft, warm, lively face of her Mother framed by long, soft, bright scarlet red hair. Beaming with a wide, loving smile as periwinkle eyes settle on her. Feeling her own lips curl in a bright smile just from the presence of the older Kitsune's expression alone, it was impossible not to smile whenever her Mother did.

A shake of the head, causing rosewood hair to swing in front of her eyes. The sight of which seems to prompt a small chuckle from the Woman, reaching over across the small table between them to move the hair aside behind an ear. Her touch warm, delicate, as if she were her greatest treasure, as it briefly cups her cheek after.

"Well, when I was much younger, a little shy of my first century, my Father and I came across another Kitsune while we were at the market one day. We were all in our Human forms, mind you, but similar to how you can notice another Mythos, there's just a unique... buzz of sorts you feel when you meet an unknown Kitsune."

Her hand, after brushing over her cheekbone with her thumb, finally pulls back. Lowering to the table top, alongside the bright eyes turning down, they return to work at writing up a letter. Brush being dragged gracefully across parchment, marking it with pitch black oil as the various characters are put down to piece together words.

"When my Father and I neared them, I was the first to react, in almost a childish way too. I immediately turned to look at them, a man of similar height to myself, deep brown hair with a hint of it's natural orange to it's color, soft green eyes. I felt a big ol' smile cross my face, and grabbed my Father's sleeve to tug on it to get his attention, and was practically bouncing on my heels even. The stranger was the next to notice, before finally my Father did, and invited the Man to join us for lunch.

Thankfully he agreed, and we found a small little tavern we'd been frequenting that was friendly to Mythos. We sat down, began talking, and quickly things were rather friendly. We learned his name was Chikao, he told us the tale of how his parents had chosen the name because of how aware of things he had been so soon after being born. Told of how he'd been spending his life living up to the meaning of his name, to honor his parents.

Chikao had been Traveling across all of Japan to meet all the different individual Mythos communities in the far reaches and most hidden nooks. He told stories of all kinds of Yokai he met across the land, of Draconic beings, of hidden cities of Elves and Dwarves. A small circle of Minotaurs and Fawns that lived on the northern coast, a village hidden away in a forest of Lycanthropes, and even of a couple that consisted of a Devil and Angel. I was utterly enthralled, and I could tell my Father was interested as well, even if he was better at hiding it."

The elder Kitsune finished writing the letter as she spoke, taking a pause once it was complete to set the brush aside and close the bottle of oil she had been using. Taking a breath, her hand comes to settle a few inches above the parchment as gentle wind begins to whistle from her palm. Utilizing a bit of magic to aid in the drying process to ensure she can send off the letter sooner.

"We were at the tavern with Chikao for hours, and by the time my Father decided it was time to get home, it was already an hour past sunset. Being the wise man he was, he made sure to ask if he was comfortable with sharing where he called home. Imagine our surprise when he told us he had a home within a cave on the other side of the mountain from us!"

Having leaned forward to emphasize the glee from such a revelation, her Mother leans back as she takes another breath. In the process gently testing the writing with her finger, giving a satisfied nod finding it dry. Hands gently beginning to roll up the letter and bind it as she starts to speak again.

"For a few months, we would meet up with Chikao rather frequently. Here, in his home, in town or at the tavern. He became a close friend to our family quite quickly, and being just a decade or two older than I was, we became fairly close ourselves. We would spend time exploring some cave systems together, he took me to visit the Lycanthrope village, he even introduced me to the Devil and Angel pair. It was one of the happiest times of my earlier life, getting to find, meet, and know so many other Mythos like us."

Another brief pause, this time gently moving the letter aside to begin drawing a small magic-circle with her finger atop the table. A line of softly glowing magic being left behind wherever her fingertip was moved across. It was a familiar circle, having seen it already a few times in the past decade and a half, meant to send a letter to a recipient elsewhere in the world.

"As we spent more and more time together..." her voice softening to a whisper as she leans closer "we even dated for a few weeks." The soft gasp the information earned was mimicked by the Mother, who giggled briefly while easing back to continue. "Though while things were certainly pleasant, we sadly found that we felt better merely as friends. Something we were still plenty satisfied with, of course, and it was a strong friendship for a few years."

With the circle complete, the soft glow brightens as the magic within it readies to send the provided letter. Watching as the Woman picks it up and holds it over the circle, eyes briefly meet with a small smirk in anticipation. Something that had become a regular occurance whenever she sent such messages, as the sending itself would always be a rather briliant display.

Being dropped into the circle, the very lines that made up the circuitry that dictated the purpose shoots up from the table top to catch it. Wrapping rappidly around the letter and spinning with it before, suddenly, the shape changes into the form of a Humming Bird. The hum of it's wings as it circles the room and weaves between the two Kitsune a few times before it suddenly dives at the table top, practically phasing into the wood itself to vanish off to the recipient.

"Though a time came where Chikao informed my Father and I that he was to set out across the ocean. To wander the rest of the world, both to meet all the other vast and wonderful Mythos species of our beautiful world, and for his safety. Apparently a small mercenary group had been hired by a Lord of a land nearby had been hired to watch him for a while, on suspicion that he was something Inhuman."

Her periwinkle eyes are focused on the table, where the magic Humming Bird had flown into it a moment earlier. Smile still present, though it was clear it was softened. A little sad, a little nostalgic, but still rather happy with the recollection of such past events. Taking a breath as her gaze lifts to meet her Daughter's again.

"We were sad to see him off, of course, but we thankfully kept in contact for a good century or so. Letters sent back and forth, via magic circle, updates here and there of how things were going on both sides. I even told Chikao of how I met your Father in one such letter, and the one I received in return was rather packed with joy and well wishes for our future together. Even received a letter a few months later that told of how he had met a Lycanthrope of an Avian nature, an Owl if I recall correctly.

Sadly the letters began to slow, becoming rarer and rarer, through the next decade afterward. None of them bore any ill tidings, thankfully, so I have confidence he's still alive somwhere in the world. Things simply just became busier and busier. An... unfortunate situation, losing contact. But as I said, I believe he's happy and healthy somewhere. Maybe one day you can even meet your uncle Chikao~"

Smile brightening again, hand reaching over to settle atop the head and ruffle hair a bit which earns laughter. Watching as her eyes close and she begins to laugh heartily as well herself.

[pensight]

Woo another dream! This time about vampires!

Dream starts in a large cavernous doctors lab where there is a man dying in front of Mr. Doctor and Ms. Assistant. They can't figure out what is wrong with him, and eventually doc shocks ast and reveals fangs. He buries them into the dying's neck because when a vampire drinks someone's blood they share their memories? So he is able to see through Adrien's eyes. Adrien was a vampire's human goon where it was kinda like the mob. His master Oztolpho is an elderly vampire who is very rich. He preys upon specific people, manipulating them into voluntarily giving their blood, because the game of slowly breaking someone down was the only thing that entertained Oz anymore.

Ephram was a father to a young woman Desirée who was very sickly. Oz offered to pay for her care if Ephram came to dinner once a month. Oz would send Adrien to get enough of Desiree's blood that she continues feeling ill all the time, with a vampire minion to wipe her memory of it.

At the dinners, Oz explained his own "predicament" of how he was a creature that fed on the blood of others and he didn't want to go out and hunt and kill anymore, hasn't for years, and you would be saving lives if you offered your wrist. No problem if not, of course, I will still sponsor your daughter's treatment and we will have this discussion monthly, if you change your mind. And of course if you speak of this with anyone you won't be believed, haha.

Ephram, believing in the good of others, gives his wrist hesitantly. The bite makes his whole arm ache for the entire month. He denies the bite the next month, but that just makes the ache turn... needing? Oz tells him the ache would be satisfied if he bit him again, and when Ephram does offer his wrist again the pain is gone while Oz is drinking. The pain is back when he leaves Oz's presence. So he eventually asks Oz for more frequent visits. Soon Oz can just ask Ephram to visit whenever, and he can rearrange what he is doing (to his own detriment) to meet with Oz and get some relief.

Ephram's job, social life, and health all suffer for this. Even his home is a lot messier because he can't clean while his arm aches like this. Oz visits him one time and says he'll pay for a cleaning company to come by as well. These are just more of his goons that do more gaslighting business like moving his furniture or his photos on the wall or leave disturbing things around to pick up when he turns his back again.

(The ache was that I fell asleep on my arm in a weird way lmao)

Through Adrien's memories, Doc sees one of Oz's goons, and remembers he is not Adrien, pulls his teeth out, screams in the horror of having forgotten his own personhood. One of Oz's goons looked way too familiar. Doc was suddenly able to remember he was reincarnated, and in a past life he was this goon. The memories start to wash over him.

He didn't have a name, in this life. Oz had fingers in a lot of pies. One of them was human cloning. This life had been made to be a bloodbag. He was raised knowing he was made for a special purpose; to feed the vampires and do their bidding. He was a teenager. He had a younger "brother" that had a lot more questions to ask than the older ever thought he could get away with.

The older was given the "privilege" of telling the younger of their "honorable" positions. Teaching him the propaganda he'd been fed. With every question the younger is asking him, his rock solid surety is starting to erode. Slowly. Slowly he begins to notice he'd been justifying when the vampires weren't perfect. He'd been chastising himself when they were not all knowing and wise. The pain of the bite was not a symbol of his noble duty. It was just a brand that was not allowed to heal.

Doc came back to himself again, shaken by the memories of a past life, and he was seeing things. A double of himself, giving little bits of advice to him with his past life's knowledge. He didn't notice this as strange at all, and could see four more doubles from other past lives all chiming in like his own personal peanut gallery.

Then I woke up because my arm was really aching like hell and I was able to adjust it finally hahaha

[samwisethewitch]

The Little Gods: Spirits of Place in Modern Paganism

In a previous post, we talked about gods, goddesses, and the many ways they can be worshiped in a modern pagan practice. However, the gods are not the only group of spiritual beings honored by modern pagans. While building relationships with deities makes up the bulk of practice for many people, a lot of pagans work with other groups of spirits as well, or may even work more closely with these “smaller” spirits than with the gods. One of these groups is the ancestors, the spirits of deceased humans who are part of our lineage — we’ll talk about them in a future post.

The other group of minor spirits commonly honored by modern pagans, and the topic of today’s post, are what I like to call the Spirits of Place. This is a broad category that includes land spirits, spirits of natural objects like trees and rivers, and spirits of man-made locations like a house or office building. Depending on your personal beliefs, it may also include animal guides, spirits of inanimate objects, and/or spirits honored in specific cultures like the fairies or the elves.

The idea that the world around us is spiritually alive and aware is present in some form in almost every culture and religion, and the worship of these Spirits of Place is well-documented in most historic pagan religions. For example, much of Irish folk spirituality revolves around appeasing the fairies, which we can understand as a special type of land spirit — this continued long after the conversion period, even after the worship of the Irish gods had faded into obscurity. Many Norse pagans honor the landvaettir (land spirits) and husvaettir (house spirits), which have survived in more recent Nordic folklore in the form of spirits like the Danish nisse or Swedish tomte, who are still honored at Christmas in some parts of Scandinavia. In Roman paganism, the lares, who are both land spirits and the guardians of man-made homes and are closely connected to the ancestors, are given a place of honor. Eclectic pagans may pull from one or more of these practices, or may honor their local spirits in their own unique way.

Honoring the Spirits of Place is not exclusive to pagan faiths. Practitioners of New Orleans Voodoo honor the ashe, the sacred energy, of the Mississipi River, one of their most prominent local landmarks. In Shinto, places and objects are said to have their own kami, which can be understood as gods or as spirits. Even in Christianity’s strictly monotheist system, God is often understood to be physically present in the world around us, a philosophy known as panentheism. I offer these non-pagan examples not because I think pagans should copy these other religions, but because I want to make a point about how pervasive the belief in Spirits of Place really is.

Connecting with the Spirits of Place can help us to engage more mindfully and in more meaningful ways with the world around us. When we accept that every plant, animal, rock, and building has its own spirit or soul, we interact with those objects in a more intentional way. We learn to think about our home not just as a place where we live, but as a spiritual entity that we have an active relationship with. We learn to think of our gardens not as a plot of dirt filled with plants, but as a community of land spirits and plant spirits all working together to provide us with nourishment. We learn to think of our cities not as concrete jungles, but as huge collections of spirits as diverse and fascinating as their human inhabitants. When we open our eyes to the spiritual world that exists alongside our own, we begin to see how the spiritual permeates every aspect of human life.

Connecting with Spirits of Place also offers a way for us to personalize and localize our practice. The Spirits of Place in Los Angeles will be very different from those of Brooklyn, Berlin, or Mexico City. Your local Spirits of Place are closely related to your local biome, as well as to the cultural groups that have influenced your community.

Because of this, the best way to connect with your own Spirits of Place is to learn about where you live. Research your local flora, fauna, and weather patterns — how is your ecosystem unique? Learn about local history and about the cultures who have influenced your area. All of these influences will give you some ideas for how to honor the spirits in your practice.

For example, I live in a temperate climate with four true seasons, clay-based soil, and lots of rain and humidity. Some of the local plant spirits that I feel closest to are the black locust tree, the magnolia tree, poke weed, and the birch tree. Some of the local animal spirits I feel closest to are the crow, the red-tailed hawk, the coyote, and the white-tailed deer. My local land spirits are as steadfast and strong as the nearby Appalachian mountains.

I live in the South, so our local spirits are also shaped by a history of racial oppression and persecution. They have witnessed the displacement of the Cherokee people, whose stolen land I live on today. They have witnessed the transatlantic slave trade and the continued oppression of Black people with Jim Crow and the rise of the Ku Klux Klan. They have witnessed devastating poverty in rural communities, including those of my ancestors. These scars run deep, creating a reverberations that I and other Southern folks still feel today. However, with the trauma of the South comes a rich diversity of influences, creating a unique culture unlike any other in the world. My Irish and Scottish ancestors brought their culture with them when they came to these mountains, where it mingled with the cultural influences of our Black and Latino neighbors, the Cherokee influences of our land, a deeply held Protestant Christian faith, and a special brand of magic that is unique to the South. All of this influences my local Spirits of Place, and I try to keep all of it in mind when interacting with them.

I honor my Spirits of Place by learning to identify local plants, respectfully and ethically foraging from those plants, and using them in my spiritual practice. I honor them by feeding the crows, and by greeting the deer when I encounter them on walks. I honor them by remembering the original inhabitants of this land, by supporting Native rights activists, and by donating to nonprofits that support the Eastern Band of the Cherokee, who originally lived in my area. I honor them by actively working to address the issue of racism in the South, up to and including attending Black Lives Matter protests and campaigning for an end to racialized police violence. I honor them by listening to my Cherokee, Black, and Latino neighbors and following their lead on Cherokee, Black, and Latino issues. I also honor them by practicing sustainable gardening techniques, working to lower my environmental impact, and by giving back to the land whenever I can.

If you don’t live in the same geographic area as me, the way you honor your Spirits of Place may look totally different. Don’t be afraid to make this practice your own — once you connect with your local spirits, they will be your guides.

Types of Spirits of Place

There are many, many types of spirits that fall into this category, and the list in this post is not meant to be exhaustive. My goal here is to give you an idea of some of the forms these spirits can take, so that you can begin to recognize the Spirits of Place that surround you in your own life.

Land spirits: These are spirits of specific geographical locations or features of the land. They may be as big as the Mississippi River or as small as the rosebush in your backyard. As you might imagine, these spirits don’t move around much, as they usually don’t venture far from the location they are tied to. In my experience, land spirits have a very stable, steady, and earthy presence.

Our relationship with the land spirits is a direct reflection of our relationship with the land itself. If we live our lives in a way that hurts the land by polluting it or stripping it of resources, it will be much harder to build a healthy relationship with the spirits of that land. The best way to live in right relationship with the land spirits is to treat the land you are living on with honor and respect.

In my personal practice, I call on the land spirits for help in my garden. I make offerings of food that is safe for local wildlife if they decide to help themselves, such as unsalted peanuts, birdseed, bread, or fresh fruit. When I make offerings, I make sure to thank the land spirits for sharing their home with me and for providing me with abundance. You might honor your local land spirits in a similar way, or you may find that another approach works better for you.

House spirits: It is not only natural places that have spirits — man-made buildings also have a spirit of their own. If you’ve ever stayed in a very old house, you probably felt its unique character while you were there. Every building has its own soul of sorts, which embodies the place, the way it is used, and the different people who have lived there. In my experience, these spirits tend to take on the energy of the people who live in or frequently use their building — the spirits of a happy home may have a kind, friendly presence, while the spirits of a dysfunctional business where employees are mistreated may have a mean streak.

Many of us overlook the spiritual importance of our homes. Our home is where we can be most vulnerable, and in most cases it’s probably where most of our daily spiritual practices take place. Our home is the base of operations we come back to at the end of each day. A home that feels safe, comfortable, and welcoming is important to our mental, emotional, and spiritual health. To maintain a healthy home, we need to maintain good relationships with the other people living there — but we can take this even further by striving to have a good relationship with our home itself.

Spirits of objects: Objects also have their on spirits. This applies not only to naturally occurring objects, but to man-made things as well.

Most people with even a passing interest in witchcraft or New Age spirituality are aware that crystals have unique energies and personalities and can act as spiritual allies. What many people don’t realize is that this is not something that is unique to crystals — all objects have a unique spiritual presence, and all of them can be powerful spiritual allies if you take the time to connect with them. A rock from your backyard can be just a powerful as an expensive crystal. So can a favorite sweater, your grandmother’s antique dishes, and even your cell phone.

The best way to connect with the spirits of objects is to talk to them. Tell them that you appreciate the role they serve in your life, and verbally thank them for their help. I find that these spirits don’t typically require offerings in the traditional sense — instead, you can practice reciprocity by keeping their homes in good condition. For example, if you want to connect with the spirit of a favorite stuffed animal, make sure the toy itself stays clean and in good repair.

Plant and animal spirits: Plant and animal spirits are different from spirits of objects because they are physically alive. Plants and animals live and breathe just as we do, which can make them a little easier to befriend and understand than the spirits of inanimate objects. If you’re not quite ready to start talking to your hairbrush, plant and animal spirits can be a good place to start.

Animal spirits are the easiest by far to connect with. Any pet owner will tell you that animals have souls that often seem just as complex as those of humans. Dogs and cats, for example, clearly feel love, joy, sadness, and pain just as humans do. Pets are an excellent way to begin connecting with animal spirits, because you already have a relationship with them in the physical world.

Next time you have a few minutes alone with your pet, try meditating on their spiritual presence. Can you feel their energy? Can you sense the wisdom they carry in their soul?

If you had a pet that died, you might try reaching out to them to see if they want to be involved in your spiritual practice. Dogs especially are very loyal to their owners, and can be called on for protection even after death. If you have ashes or bones from your pet, or if you have items like a collar or a favorite toy, you can include them on an altar or some other special place and make regular offerings of treats or pet food in exchange for their protection.

Some pagans, especially Wiccans and other neopagans, choose to work with familiars, which are a special kind of animal ally. There is a common misconception that a familiar is any animal you feel especially close to, but that isn’t quite how it works. A familiar is an animal that serves as a spiritual ally — traditionally, by helping witches with their magic. The familiar can be a living animal, but it is more often a purely spiritual being.

These animal spirit allies exist in other forms in other pagan religions. In Norse paganism, the fylgja is a spiritual guide that often appears in the form of an animal. The animal form the fylgja takes is closely related to the personality of the person it is attached to, and they are often tied to that person’s fate. In Irish folklore, the fetch is a spiritual double of a human that often appears as an animal. In Kemetic polytheism, one of the parts of the soul is the ba, which often appears as a bird with a human head and which represents a person’s personality. In all of these cases, the animal guide can be understood as an extension of the practitioner, rather than as a separate being like the familiar.

Plant spirits are a little bit different. In my experience, these spirits are quieter and more reserved than most animal spirits, and they tend to work in more subtle ways. Plant spirits are still, steadfast allies that tend to work behind the scenes, so you may not have as many face-to-face interactions with them as you do with animals or land spirits.

The best way to begin connecting with plant spirits is to start keeping a houseplant. As you care for your plant, talk to it! Tell it how much you appreciate it, and thank it for its contribution to keeping your space beautiful and safe. Appropriate offerings for plant spirits are exactly what you would expect: water, fertilizer, and plant food.

Cryptids and folkloric creatures: In the modern era, folklore has given way to urban legends and created a new kind of mythology. Like traditional folklore, urban legends are spread by word of mouth and change organically as they are told and retold. Many urban legends are tied to specific locations, and many of them feature strange and mysterious creatures who can be understood as modern land spirits.

For example, the Loch Ness Monster can be seen as the spirit of Loch Ness. The Jersey Devil is tied to the Pine Barrens in New Jersey. Mothman is tied to Point Pleasant, West Virginia. Although these are some of the most famous modern cryptids, most towns have their own urban legends — if you ask around, you’ll likely find stories of some kind of spectral guardian tied to your area. My college campus has a handful of its own urban legends, including one of a female spirit who appears to warn students of coming disasters. Find out who your local cryptids are, and look for ways to incorporate them into your practice.

These different types of spirits are sometimes filtered through different cultural lenses, which changes the way they interact with humans. For example, an Irish fairy is very different from a Japanese kami, even though both technically fall into the larger category of land spirits. If you feel drawn to a specific tradition’s approach to working with the Spirits of Place, I advise you to do your own research into that tradition — including making sure that it isn’t part of a closed cultural practice which you are not party to. Look for sources written by members of the living culture of that tradition, rather than books written by outsiders.

Connecting with the Spirits of Place

Here are some activities you can do to strengthen your connection with the Spirits of Place:

Make offerings. As I mentioned above, you can honor the spirits with offerings. Just make sure that, if you leave offerings outside, you only offer things that are biodegradable and are safe for local wildlife. If you don’t want to leave physical offerings, you can offer acts of service like picking up litter, watering plants, or volunteering at an animal shelter.

Create an altar. Altars are an excellent way to create space in your life for the spirits. My herb garden doubles as an altar to the land spirits, with a small Green Man statue to represent the spirits and a place where I can leave offerings. I also have a table indoors where I keep most of my houseplants, which is also a sacred space of sorts. The type of altar you create and its location will depend on the spirits you want to connect with — the possibilities are limitless.

Start a compost pile. Compost piles make excellent offerings to land spirits and plant spirits. While compost isn’t quite as simple as “just throw all your leftover food in a pile,” it’s not difficult if you know what you are doing. When composting, it’s important to maintain a balance between carbon-rich “brown” material (leaves, undyed paper, cardboard, etc.) and nitrogen-rich “greens” (fruit and veggie scraps, coffee grounds, egg shells, etc.) — you want about four times as much brown as green in your compost. There are some things you shouldn’t add to your compost, like meat, dairy products, and greasy foods. Start your compost with a layer of brown material — preferably twigs or straw to allow good airflow. Alternate layers of green and brown materials as you add to the pile. Every time you add to your compost, verbally express your gratitude to the land spirits. Your compost should be moist, but not soggy — you’ll know it’s ready when it’s dark and crumbly and smells like soil. Use it on your garden and in your houseplant pots, or donate it to a local community garden.

Hold a territory acknowledgement. A territory acknowledgement is a way to insert awareness of indigenous people whose lands were stolen from them. You can acknowledge indigenous territory at the beginning of public religious events, or at the beginning of your private rituals. This practice will help you develop a deeper understanding of the history of your land, which can help deepen your connection to it as well as honoring its original inhabitants. A territory acknowledgement can be as simple as: “I acknowledge and honor this land, which is called [indigenous name of your area] and is home to the people of [indigenous nation].” Make sure you take the time to learn the correct pronunciation for these indigenous words. You can find out who originally lived in your area and what they called it by visiting native-land.ca.

Donate to conservation efforts. Instead of making physical offerings, make a donation to an environmentalist cause and dedicate it to your Spirits of Place. Look for groups that work in your local area, such as nonprofits dedicated to fighting deforestation and climate change, groups that protect rare and endangered native plants, or wildlife rehabilitation centers. Even volunteering at an animal shelter can be an appropriate offering to animal spirits.

Start a garden with native plants. Do some research into your local ecosystem — what plants are native to your area? Which of them are edible? Which of them have spiritual uses? Buy or forage seeds from these plants and start a 100% native garden. Growing and eating food that is native to your area can help deepen your connection to the land, the local plant spirits, and the cycle of the seasons.

Replace mainstream cleansing herbs with native plants. White sage, palo santo, frankincense, and sandalwood, some of the most popular cleansing herbs among modern pagans, are all endangered due to over-harvesting. Instead of buying endangered plants from far off lands, try to find a native plant you can use instead. If you’re lucky enough to live somewhere where rosemary or lavender is native, you’re in luck! If not, try researching some of the plants in your backyard — you might be surprised what you find. Most plants in the Salvia (sage) family can be burned as incense to cleanse and consecrate a space. This family includes over 1,000 species spread out over Europe, Asia, and the Americas. Many trees also have cleansing properties, especially coniferous trees like pine, cedar, and juniper. Find out what is abundant in your area and find ways to incorporate it into your rituals.

Go for a hike. While bringing the Spirits of Place into our homes can be deeply meaningful, it’s also important to get out there and meet them on their own terms. Try to make time to get out in nature, and be open to connecting with the spirits you find on these trips. You don’t have to go far — even hanging out in a backyard or city park can allow you to connect with the land.

Feed the birds. And the squirrels, and the deer, or whatever other critters you have. Now, I am not recommending approaching wild animals and trying to befriend them. I am also not recommending feeding animals people food. Nature often rests in a delicate balance, and directly feeding wild animals can make them dependent on humans, which could be dangerous for them. While feeding local animals can be an excellent offering, it’s important to do it in a way that is safe and non-instrusive. It’s best to leave food in a place you know is frequented by animals, then let them find it after you’ve gone. Bird feeders and squirrel feeders are a great way to do this.

Clean your house. One of the best ways to honor house spirits? Keep their living space clean! Try to keep your house tidy and be a good roommate to its spirits. Try not to let clutter pile up, and take time to sweep, mop, and dust every once in a while. You can even ask your house spirits to help you keep the house clean — just make sure you’re also doing your fair share of housework, or they may get upset about the unfair arrangement.

These “little gods” of places and objects are often forgotten, but they are an important part of daily pagan practice. While the gods rule over grand concepts and forces of nature, and the ancestors are tied to our family and community, the Spirits of Place make up the ground we stand on, the air we breathe, and the places we call home. Perhaps more than any other group of spirits, they are truly the gods of the everyday.

Resources:

Water Magic by Lilith Dorsey

Southern Cunning by Aaron Oberon

Simply Living Well by Julia Watkins

The Way of Fire and Ice by Ryan Smith

A Practical Heathen’s Guide to Asatru by Patricia M. Lafayllve

Where the Hawthorn Grows by Morgan Daimler

Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner by Scott Cunningham

Temple of the Cosmos by Jeremy Naydler

[bigskydreaming]

I am looking (disrespectfully) at the trope of Bruce and other family members only seeming to respect Dick’s wishes when doing so aligns with what they already wanted to do.

Let’s go to the examples!

1) Bruce not broaching adoption with Dick because he wants to respect Dick’s first parents and feels like he would be taking their place or overstepping or putting himself in between Dick and his memories of his parents. Sometimes its cited that Dick himself expressed this wish early on after his parents died, sometimes its not and this is still just upheld as Bruce’s reasoning for not adopting Dick before he was already well into adulthood.

THE FATAL FLAW (in mine own personal opinion, natch. Personal mileage may vary, check your speedometer to be safe):

This particular plot point or tangle is in my experience ALWAYS paired with Bruce’s own insecurities about his role in Dick’s life, or not wanting to push that or receive an answer he doesn’t want to or is afraid to hear. Sometimes its about his fears of unworthiness to be Dick’s actual parent, etc, etc. But the bottom line is, there is always the presence of SOME element (and not a small one) in which Bruce’s own self-interest or feelings are protected by him NOT broaching the adoption conversation with Dick and having to confront these fears head on.

This is additionally juxtaposed with the problem that although there’s a lot of variance in regards to stories where Bruce fired Dick versus stories where Dick gave up being Robin and moved on to Nightwing voluntarily....there’s NOT a lot of stories where Dick makes Jason Robin himself or is asked by Bruce first. The part where Bruce takes this initiative on his own, without thinking through its repercussions on Dick emotionally.....this is practically always present.

Now, the problem here is that......Dick became or began becoming Robin well into his time with Bruce. Its frequently cited as the thing that began allowing them to truly connect, their time training and acting as Batman and Robin.

Meaning no matter WHAT interpretation you go with as to why specifically Dick chose the name Robin, whether it was a family nickname or an homage to Robin Hood.....the fact remains, NOTHING of Robin, THEMATICALLY, nothing that spoke to Dick in regards to what he wanted Robin to be - specifically in honor of his parents because avenging his parents and making sure what happened to them didn’t happen to others like, this was literally a key part of what bonded Dick and Bruce, the fact that Bruce was TRYING to help Dick specifically BECAUSE they shared this particular overlap of purpose - like the bottom line is, nothing about Robin CAME from Bruce. Or Dick’s feelings about Bruce. That....didn’t really even exist yet, at the time he created Robin. Everything about Robin, other than the physical costume itself, not even the design just the actual creation of it....all of that came from BEFORE he met Bruce. None of it was thoughts or feelings derived from BRUCE. Its the whole reason Dick was never Batkid or Batlad, or any derivative of Batman.

It all, ALL came from what Dick came to the manor WITH. Remnants of his life with his first family.

So the fatal flaw of Bruce’s reasoning that by not broaching the subject of adoption with Dick before well into adulthood, he was actually just respecting Dick’s relationship with his first parents and not trying to come between them and Dick’s memories and feelings about them....

All of this is inherently undermined by Bruce’s own actions.....when by repurposing Robin to ANY degree, even just to give the mantle to Jason.....this meant that he was inherently viewing Robin as being more about being Batman’s partner, HIS partner....then it was about being Dick’s heritage, his last intangible keepsake of his first family and life BEFORE Bruce.

In effect....Bruce making Jason Robin or firing Dick as Robin, either way....both betray Bruce’s OWN alleged intentions for only wanting to respect Dick’s relationship with his parents, and that being why he didn’t want to overstep by trying to impose or even ask for his own official parent/child relationship with Dick. Because that’s exactly what appropriating the Robin mantle was. It was Bruce ignoring the relationship Dick had with his parents and their memory and the fact that Robin was directly born of that....and making Robin entirely about Bruce’s OWN relationship with Dick, heedless of any other factors.

And the second Bruce did that.....his entire justification for not raising the adoption issue....disappears. It goes away. Because you can’t claim inaction being just a result of not wanting to disrespect something you’ve already voided respect for. No matter whether Bruce INTENDED it or not.....by crossing this boundary, Bruce already acted against Dick’s feelings in this regard and well, disregarded them....which makes claims of Bruce not raising the adoption issue pretty much JUST self-serving at that point. Its an alleged viewpoint of Dick’s that Bruce largely just ASSUMES....and only ultimately respects - in direct contrast to how he didn’t respect the associations Dick had with Robin - because it aligns with something Bruce ALREADY wanted to do, rather than what Dick actually wanted. It provided justification for Bruce to just....not have a conversation he was afraid to have. And that’s about Bruce at that point. Its not about Dick. Its just like...not.

2) Another example of this that is not unique to just Bruce, but recurs frequently in both canon and fanfics in Dick’s dynamics with other characters he’s close with.....is characters not apologizing for things they’ve done to Dick or raising the issue of things they did a long time ago but never apologized for....while claiming to do so because they thought DICK didn’t want to talk about it.

THE FATAL FLAW (in my own personal opinion. Nuances and variations may not be identical at all store locations, please see your local branch for details):

The particular problem I have here is that....Dick never ever ever in the history of ever and also the before ever time.....has EVER expressed a desire to avoid confrontation.

Like. That’s what he DOES. That’s his JAM. That’s literally CITED time and time again as one of the reasons he’s viewed as more of a people person and natural team leader than Bruce and other Batfam members....because he’s not afraid to cut straight (or bi) to the heart of the matter and air out a dispute.

In fact, this very character trait is one of the ones most commonly utilized AGAINST Dick in various depictions of him, as he’s often cited as TOO confrontational, TOO eager for a fight or conflict especially when his temper is engaged, such as when he’s well....personally hurt or offended.

So how does it follow, then, that avoiding tough conversations ONLY when its on the OTHER person to INITIATE, because they were the ones who DID the wrong-doing and Dick the subject of that rather than the instigator....how does it work, exactly, that these are the only times in which we DON’T tend to see a direct conversation about the harms done and the fallout that resulted? With it being claimed that this is solely for Dick’s benefit, out of a desire to avoid pulling him into an allegedly unnecessary (but really just unpleasant) confrontation?

When the concurrent reality is that whether stated or acknowledged or not.....avoiding these specific conversations and ONLY these conversations (as there never seems to be a problem finding canon or fanfic stories in which Dick apologizes for harm HE’S caused to others or is clearly expected to).....this avoidance also carries the side benefit of allowing the character who DID something wrong to Dick to....not ever have to have that super uncomfortable conversation in which they actually verbally acknowledge the thing they did to him and the effects it had on him, and apologize for that.....and then render themselves vulnerable to actually hearing whether or not he accepts their apology or is still upset with them regardless.

While - as long as they DON’T ever have this conversation, for whatever reason - they can look to the clear and consistent precedent of Dick continuing to work with people who have done things like oh, I don’t know....punched him in the face cuz they’re mad at him (and this isn’t a Bruce critical point, this is a whole damn family critical point as the only one who HASN’T actually done this is Duke. Well, Cass technically just threw him out a window, but I mean, tomato toh-mah-to). Writers and characters both can lean on the fact that actually Dick has a pretty clear track record of ultimately giving up a grudge or at least showing a willingness to look past those grudges enough that it doesn’t prevent him from still maintaining or resuming some kind of relationship with the person who hurt him.

And thus, like Example Numero Uno......this ultimately just lets other characters off the hook while claiming to do Dick a favor, but actually Dick receives no real benefit from it and instead now just has another instance of characters saying “see we respect your wishes” when ultimately their inaction is MORE in service to their own wishes and self-interests.

2b) See also the variation of this in which characters such as Bruce, Jason, Tim and assorted others like....are written specifically determining that they’re not going to apologize to Dick or beg his forgiveness because they feel they don’t DESERVE to be forgiven, and once again....its in HIS best interests that they not even give him the opportunity to say he forgives them....because they know Dick Grayson of course, and they know he’s too forgiving for his own good, so its better to like....not make it ever a possibility in this particular instance.

With the problem here being like.....Dick can’t and shouldn’t be expected to KNOW that’s their logic? So....all he’s going to actually SEE is loved ones just....not expressing remorse for hurting him or acknowledgment it even happened? Which....hurts?

So......hurting your loved one MORE after already hurting them....because you don’t feel you deserve to be forgiven for hurting them in the first place and are actually PROTECTING them from being hurt more when mistakenly forgiving you.....by.....hurting and continuing to hurt them with your silence and lack of evident remorse....

Mmmm.....

Its not the best approach, y’know?

Flaws are detected.

3) Dick’s friends and family manipulating situations in order to get the end result THEY desire, while claiming to do so for his benefit only. Dick being willing to manipulate people to achieve his own ends comes up a LOT actually....but there’s relatively little examination of how often people do this to him, claiming his best interests but really just circumventing his clearly stated desires for independence and the right to make his own choices about what HE needs....or when this is brought up, its usually limited to JUST Bruce doing it, but uh....no that ain’t it.

Specific examples of this are like when Wally joins the 1999 version of the Titans specifically to get Dick to join up, because in his estimation Dick needs more of a social life and is drowning himself with his responsibilities....and then quits not long after Dick is finally officially invested in staying with the team. Another example is when Roy gets Dick to join the Outsiders based entirely on his pitch of NOT treating the team like a family, like they did with the Titans, so that Dick could keep emotional distance and not be as worried about losing them like he suffered from losses like Donna....with his claim again being that he worried about Dick in the aftermath of that loss, etc.

And to be clear! Its not that I think Wally and Roy and others who do similar things have NEGATIVE intentions in mind for Dick. That’s the whole point of this post.....like the other examples, I fully believe THEY believe (or writers believe when writing them this way) that they have Dick’s best interests in mind and not their own. I just....disagree.

THE FATAL FLAW (at least as I see it here):

Is that I view this and Batfam members who do similar stuff as like.....falling into the trap of the savior friend complex. Its that thing when you see a friend hurting, and over time get FRUSTRATED by seeing this when a solution seems obvious to you but think they won’t take it because they’re too stubborn or don’t know what’s best for them....with this specifically recurring a LOT with Dick in particular, due to his core characterization of wanting to be the one to make his own choices. The problem here, same as the problem with the savior friend complex....is that it treats the subject of these views as like....incapable of determining what they need. Its a tacit condemnation that they actually don’t know how to cope with things and are doing it wrong - even though the ones making this assessment will never be the ones actually having to LIVE with the outcome of their meddling. Its the conviction that someone like Dick needs to be HANDLED, for his own good....because he can’t be trusted to KNOW what he needs, not as well as them at least.....and so they jump to manipulation rather than just....ASK him what he needs, or HOW they can best support him, or even just WHY he’s making the choices he is.

For instance, the problem with what Wally did was never that Dick wasn’t struggling. He was. He was drowning in his responsibilities, he had very little to no life outside of them.....Wally is not remotely in the wrong for WANTING to do something to change this situation. The problem is Wally basically defaulted to just...HANDLING his friend by restarting the Titans just to give Dick a social life again, which is pretty much a line straight out of the comics...and basically railroaded right over Dick’s initial ‘no’ when he first heard the proposal. And kept pushing things until Dick eventually joined up in order to get Wally to commit to the team too, because Wally spun it as though Dick was helping Wally by getting Wally to commit to the team for the very same reasons Wally wanted Dick to. And then....right after that, Wally quit to go back to just focusing on the Justice League, which was part of what Dick predicted would happen all along.

The thing was.....at no point along the way did Wally actually ask WHY Dick initially said no....he jumped straight to assuming his own view of the problem, that Dick just COULDN’T be made to ever see the reason to take a break occasionally and put his mental and emotional health as a priority. If he’d done this, Wally could have had dozens of other options to achieve his desired end result....he could’ve like....set up regular hangouts with Dick. 

But Wally jumped to assuming he knew the answer, he knew what was best for Dick, and that Dick’s logic was inherently self-destructive and self-flagellating.....and he felt the solution was to bring back the Titans, as he recalled their earlier times as Titans together as a time when Dick was better able to balance his social life and responsibilities.

But by not ever stopping to LISTEN to why Dick felt the way he did and was initially opposed to rejoining the Titans....Wally overlooked one crucial fact: He isn’t Dick.

And more important, his view of the past wasn’t Dick’s view of the past.

Wally was a lot more capable of viewing the Titans as not just a family, but an inherent social life, a hangout, a kind of club....because that’s what it had always been to him.

But he’d never been the leader.

Throughout all their childhoods, the whole time the Titans WERE all of the above, and relatively light-hearted in comparison to their older selves....Dick STILL had the weight of responsibilities that none of the others had by virtue of just...not being the leader. Ultimately, all of their lives were in HIS hands. He was the one calling the shots. The buck stopped with him.

And this is precisely WHY Dick had gotten to the point he had in adulthood. It wasn’t because he’d changed. It wasn’t because he’d stopped figuring out what he needed and how to take care of himself. Its because the position he’d ALWAYS been in as leader....has WEIGHT. That eventually added up more and more and weighed him down. A huge part of the reason Dick had ended up leaving the Titans in the first place, before they disbanded prior to the 1999 revival....is because of the sheer WEIGHT of all the deaths and misfortunes that had befallen the Titans....and how much he and he alone struggled with it in ways the others didn’t....because they didn’t have to. It hadn’t been their plans, their calls, their RESPONSIBILITY to find a way the others could have all made it out alive or at least less traumatized.

So.....of COURSE Dick said no when Wally first proposed restarting the Titans, before Wally defaulted to using his own membership as a lure to get Dick to agree.....because......nothing about the above paragraph had changed, via Wally’s ‘plan.’ It wasn’t because Dick just didn’t KNOW how to be a fully rounded person....it was because nobody was helping him find actual OPTIONS for doing that....that didn’t just double as MORE responsibilities! Because that’s exactly what ended up happening! Dick wound up the leader of the Titans again, just as responsible and just as invested as always.....just like he always knew he would....and also as he knew would happen...Wally ended up quitting not long into it and persuading Jessie Quick to step in as his replacement....aka just one more person for Dick to worry about when it wasn’t like he was going to be worrying any less about Wally, just now he wasn’t going to have Wally there to even POTENTIALLY be able to support him when tragedy inevitably struck because they’re freaking superheroes....and instead he’d just have another person looking to him for the answers but with no reason or chance of being the support Dick could ACTUALLY use at times like that!

Wally’s manipulations circumvented Dick’s opinion that no, actually he knew what was best for him and it wasn’t what Wally was suggesting....without actually accounting for the fact that hey, Dick might actually know that. And in the end, Wally got the result he was after, he got to feel that he’d HELPED his friend....which again, this isn’t WRONG to WANT to....but Dick didn’t...exactly....benefit from this. It wasn’t actually in his best interests ultimately.

I mean...see Donna’s death for details.

And in the aftermath of THAT....Roy essentially did exactly what Wally did....just in REVERSE! Roy got Dick to agree to lead the Outsiders, to shoulder responsibility once again....by promising that Dick WOULDN’T have to view them as family. And did Dick go too far and end up TOO uncaring about their welfare? Yup! No disagreements there! Problem is though....he only ended UP in that situation because yet again a friend thought they KNEW the solution to what Dick needed.....only for Dick to end up essentially punished and further self-blaming....just for doing exactly what Roy had told him TO do, with this particular team. Again - Roy hadn’t EXPECTED Dick to take it this far. But that’s the whole point! Roy had expectations about what Dick would ACTUALLY end up doing, that didn’t match up to the pitch Roy actually gave Dick to GET his agreement.....because Roy all along was of the assumption that by virtue of being Dick Grayson, he wouldn’t be ABLE to avoid connecting with these new teammates and viewing them as family, and thus he’d end up ‘snapping out of it’ with it being the funk he’d been in since Donna’s death.

Roy’s intentions might have been noble, once again.....but his methods stuck to the same pattern of people around Dick believing they knew what he needed or knew who he was or knew what it meant to BE Dick Grayson....better than Dick actually did...particularly when Dick said no, this isn’t what I need or this isn’t a good idea or just...I don’t want to do this.

And in the end....its Dick who ended up paying the price for it, as well as the people who got hurt because of his INTENTIONAL emotional distance.....because the ‘view all surrounding people as new surrogate family’ aspect of the Dick Grayson Experience hadn’t kicked in as Roy thought inevitably would....but the ‘view all this as directly my fault and suffer guilt for it forevermore’ aspect of the Dick Grayson Experience most certainly did! Not at all actually helped along by the fact that like....Roy also expressed frustration with Dick that like.....Dick hadn’t actually responded to Roy’s intended manipulation of his emotions the way Roy had expected him to when he EXPRESSLY TOLD DICK TO BEHAVE THE WAY THAT DICK ULTIMATELY BEHAVED. (Just, he didn’t tell Dick to dial that all the way up to Extra, but given that’s the only setting Dick does ANYTHING at, I feel its a possible outcome Roy should have at least considered. I mean, wasn’t the whole point that you know Dick Grayson better than he knows himself?)

But lo, I am salty.

LMAO, but I mean, you get it right? Obviously, I LIKE Wally and Roy. I LIKE Jason, etc. I’m not saying all of this to be like ugh how dare these characters do all this to Dick....I’m saying it because like.....they all keep falling into the same patterns of making a big fuss and acknowledgment of how much Dick prioritizes being able and free to make his own choices and decide what’s best for him and what HE wants.....

But without ever like....actively asking him AT THE RELEVANT TIME....what he thinks and feels about all this. What he thinks and feels he needs. What he ACTUALLY wants from them, or why he’s ACTUALLY saying no to something and maybe it being for reasons that aren’t just him inherently being stubborn and self-destructive.

And instead just defaulting to falling back on whatever he might have said or expressed in an entirely different context at an entirely different time.....and saying okay, by doing so, we are abiding by his wishes and thus doing what he wants and respecting his right to make his own choices.....

But ONLY when doing all of the above just so happens to align with these other characters then getting to do the thing or take the approach they’re already predisposed towards wanting to take because of their OWN self-interests at the same time.

With this never actually coming into play when respecting Dick’s wishes aligns with them taking actions they DON’T personally want to undertake, because it makes them uncomfy or they think its a bad call, even if it is something that should be his call to make.

Like....the pattern. It very much exists. And abounds. Like I could cite examples allllllllllll the way up to Ric Grayson, where Bruce respected RIC’S wishes to be left alone and not interfere in his life no matter what.....in ways Bruce almost never respects Dick’s actual expressed wish for Bruce to butt out of matters when Bruce is actually quite keen on meddling and would very much like to....

But notice how the other thing about the Ric Grayson storyline is that Ric’s expressed desire to stay the fuck out of vigilantism and superhero work, like.....just so happens to align with Bruce’s longstanding desire for Dick to like...get out of the vigilantism and superhero work? With butting out of Ric’s life and respecting his privacy in ways Dick has to FIGHT him for, like......absolutely the optimal action to take in order to allow this expressed desire of Ric’s to flourish in the ways Bruce always wished would kick in for Dick?

.....just saying. 

The pattern. It abounds.

And the key to breaking any pattern, of course, is to first recognize....and acknowledge....that it exists.

Otherwise you tend to fall into the trap of repeating and perpetuating it over and over without even realizing it, simply because its what’s familiar.

This has been A Post by Me. Thank you and have a nice day. Or don’t. Idk. I’m not the boss of you. Whatever.

[a-d-curtis]

Incense

“Are you really that excited about this?” Katara asked, laughing at her husband, ‘the mighty Avatar’, and the giddy way he trotted next to her.

The two walked together hand in hand through the red-tapestried halls of the Firelord’s palace, Katara leading the way to this oft-visited location, navigating which corridors to take, effortlessly winding her way through the mammoth palace like it was a well worn path.  

As Aang turned his grey eyes upon her, Katara noted the way his eyes still shone with excitement as they did back when they were kids, even though the smile-lines beside his eyes stayed in more permanent creases now. “Well, I should say so!” he teased, “After you’ve withheld this little pleasure from me all of these years. Yes! Yes, I’m excited to finally be invited to join you!”

Katara stifled a laugh, the sound coming out more as a snort. “Really, Aang? Really?! I just never knew you wanted to come.”

“What?! Why would you think that I wouldn’t want to come?!”

“Well…” Katara began as they rounded the final corner and a woman in a red and gold robe opened the door to the room for them. “I guess I just never thought you would have any… interest in this particular thing.”

Aang looked affronted. “But you’ve come here with everyone else over the years, Katara! Mai, Sokka, even Zuko when he can relax long enough to take a break. You brought Kya even when she was just a little kid, and Bumi can’t seem to get enough!”

Katara turned toward her husband teasingly. “Well, they all, you know…” she rose up on her tiptoes and ran a hand over the smooth arch of her husband’s bald head as she finished, “have hair.” Her eyes laughed even when her mouth held it back.

Aang looked insulted. “Who says you need to have hair!?”

Katara couldn’t hold back her laugh anymore. “Well, it is a hair wash, Aang!”

Aang smirked at her, stroking his beard. “I have hair.”

Katara slapped him playfully across the chest. “You need it on your head, you doofus!”

Aang’s forehead creased as his puppy-dog eyes looked at her dolefully. “Well you took everyone else… I just felt left out.”

Katara laughed again shaking her head in baffled amusement. “All you had to do was tell me you wanted to come."

Aang smiled a flirtatious, one-sided grin. “I figured this was an exclusive ‘by invitation only’ activity.”

Katara laughed and linked her arm through the crook of Aang’s elbow, leading him further into the palace spa. With her other hand she gestured magnanimously “Well then, here you are! The very ‘exclusive’ Palace Hair Wash!”

Before them was a reception room with dimmed lights and a strong aroma of orchids.  The calming sound of trickling water could be traced to a fountain that fell from high on the back wall, running over a slanted stone slab carved in the shape of two flying dragons. At the bottom the water ran into a trench that split and continued down two small creeks lined with smoothed stones on either side of the room, creating a cheery trickling sound as it passed. Around the perimeter of the spa heavy red curtains hung covering the entrances to several smaller rooms. A few of the curtains were tied back with thick gold ropes revealing massage tables or big tubs of water within the lowly-lit rooms. In the center of the room stood an elaborately carved golden colored desk, with an elegant, overly made-up elderly woman sitting behind it.

As Katara and Aang approached the center desk, the woman stood with prim stiffness. The elderly woman bowed slightly in Fire Nation custom, the large, ornate black hairpiece on her head tipping forward, causing the beaded strings that hung from either side of her hairpiece to clink softly. “Master Katara, you come again,” she greets with formal curtness. Then turning towards Aang, “And you, Avatar,” her sharp golden eyes darting to his tattoos, her voice laced with cool decorum, “We are honored to have your presence among us.”

Aang bowed to her, replying with jovial warmth, “I’m happy to be here!”

Katara tipped her head to the woman, her voice a bit cooler than usual, “Thank you Madam Uriko. My husband and I have come for a hair wash.”

“Of course,” the woman responded with a smile restricted to just her red painted lips, her eyes still sharp. She waved her large sleeve once and a young woman in red robes rushed forward from where she had stood quietly at the back of the room. “As always,” Madam Uriko’s barbed voice spoke, her piercing eyes not leaving them, “we are at your service.”

As the young woman led Aang and Katara away, Aang glanced back over his shoulder toward Madam Uriko, and shivered. “Is it just me, or does she feel predatory somehow?” Aang asked Katara in a hushed whisper.

Katara leaned in towards Aang whispering, “Madam Uriko has been in charge of this place for decades. One of the old relics of an older time. She’s harmless, just still seeped in beliefs of Fire Nation supremacy. I think it hackles her that Zuko allows non-Fire Nation royalty to use the spa…”

Aang’s brow furrowed for a moment, and Katara guessed at what he was thinking. The two had lamented frequently together of how difficult it was to change the perceptions of those who had been raised on war propaganda. Their little band of child warriors had been able to stop the fighting almost overnight, but the perpetuation of racism, animosity and false-ideologies were much harder to eliminate.

Katara knew that Aang sorrowed, not only for his lost people and culture, but also for the way that even the memory of them had been defiled. Despite Zuko’s efforts to reform education in the Fire Nation to teach the Air Nomad genocide accurately, it was still common to encounter people who still believed the lies taught during the war. It churned Katara’s stomach to know that in 100 years of Fire Nation propaganda, the people had been taught that the Air Nomads were the aggressors, that they had been war-mongers and child-stealers, who swooped in on their flying creatures to slaughter parents and carry away the children of helpless villagers.

Katara still remembers the first time Aang had been called a baby-eater from a terrified old granny. They were in one of the more remote Fire Nation islands, when the old woman had run and swooped up her toddling grandson who had been watching Aang juggle leaves in an airball for a bunch of the local kids. They had still been kids back then, and Katara had confronted the woman, yelling passionately in defense of her boyfriend and the Air Nomads. But Aang had just turned and walked away. When Katara caught up to him, she had listened as Aang quietly recounted a seemingly unrelated story of trying to comfort his crying friend, Samten, when he’d accidentally stepped on a scorpi-beetle while playing airball. Aang told how the two of them had carefully scooped what was left of the tiny squished bug onto a pipa leaf, and performed their best approximation of the “Soaring of the Dead” ritual to send the soul of the scorpi-beetle on gentle breezes into his next life, praying for it to be a good life, full of freedom and enlightenment. Katara and Aang hadn’t talked about what the woman had called him, and he didn’t bring it up again. But Katara knew that the Air Nomads, the memory of whom Sozin and his children slandered, were real people to Aang. They were his culture and heritage, yes; but they were also individuals he had known.

The contrast of what the peaceful Air Nomads had been, and how they were remembered was devastatingly unfair.

In an effort to distract Aang from whatever thoughts he might be slipping into, and pull him back into the present, Katara decided to share a piece of juicy gossip. Pulling on their linked arms to bring Aang’s ear down closer to her, she spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, “Rumor has it Madam Uriko was, um, very close, with Fire Lord Azulon.” The implication of her words caused Aang to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Katara continued, “She’s been working in this spa since she was a young woman, and has bragged to me more than once about how Lord Azulon used to come to her for ‘solace’ from his heavy duties as Fire Lord.”

Aang grimaced comically. And Katara laughed at his expression as she continued, “Madam Uriko is just one of those unchangeable parts of Fire Nation imperialism. I asked Zuko why he keeps her around, and he told me that she technically hasn’t done anything wrong (apart from being super creepy), so he can’t really get rid of her. Aaaand,” Katara dragged the word out with a smirk, “frankly I suspect Zuko is intimidated by her.”

Aang chuckled and chanced a glance back towards the woman again as their host untied the golden rope holding the curtain to their room open. The Madam’s narrowed golden gaze was still on them as the heavy red curtain fell across the doorway, obscuring her from view. “I can see why…” Aang said with a commiserating shudder.

Aang stood still a moment longer, before brightening excitedly, rubbing his hands together eagerly as he said enthusiastically, “Well! Lets bring on this famous hair wash!”

……………….

“So that’s when Zuko gave me that fancy hairbrush set. It was in retribution for the pocket lighters Sokka and I both got him for his birthday.”

Aang spoke from his place lying on the hair wash bed next to hers. Katara smiled as she opened one eye to glance his way, appreciating the large bubbly lather his spa worker had managed to lather on his baldhead. Katara had stifled a laugh at the woman’s expression when Aang had initially lain down, her hands hovering unsurely over his baldhead. But he had smiled affably up at her saying, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out” with a wink. Apparently she had figured it out, because Aang had spent the last twenty minutes sighing in pleasure at the experience.

“Well I really appreciated that gift from Zuko,” Katara said smugly as she closed her eyes again, enjoying the feeling of the spa worker’s hands in her hair as she massaged her scalp and combed out her long tresses in the warm flowing water. “I still use that brush to this day. You’ve got to admit, even with a gag gift, Zuko gives quality.”

Aang chuckled from his place on the hair wash bed next to hers. “Oh absolutely. I kept one of the combs from that set for years, remember?”

Katara laughed again, “Oh yes, I remember. You kept it in your pocket for the sole purpose of pulling it out and combing your beard whenever Zuko was giving a serious speech.”

“I remember fondly the special way he’d glare whenever that comb came out!” Aang laughed jovially.

Katara turned her head to look at her husband again, who now had a warm folded washcloth over his eyes. Even so his hands still gestured animatedly while he talked, his spa worker needing to dodge an especially enthusiastic hand here or there.

Katara smiled as she settled back into her hair wash, sighing in relaxation. She really did love a good palace hair wash – the calm of the dimmed lights, the smell of the flower water and the oils they used in her hair, the sound of the warm water running over her scalp as the woman massaged the base of her neck – it was a little piece of heaven! It was fun to share it with Aang this time.

“Was that before or after Sokka gave Toph those dark glasses?” Katara asked lazily.

“Before, I think,” Aang replied as he sighed again, clearly relishing his ‘sans-hair-head-wash’.

Katara smiled. “Sokka had thought that would be so funny, giving our favorite Blind Bandit sunglasses. Little did he know that she would wear them proudly. Before long, nearly every police officer in Republic City owned a pair.”

Aang chucked. “But that wasn’t nearly as big a backfire as the time I gave a single chopstick to Zuko.”

“Remind me again how a single chopstick is a useless gift for a firebender?”

“Oh it wasn’t because he’s a firebender, Katara! It’s because a single chopstick is useless to anyone! … Or so I thought…” Aang said with chagrin, “But that was before Zuko handed the chopstick to Mai, who with a flick of her arm managed to skewer it securely in the cushion I was sitting on, squarely between my thighs!” Katara could hear the shudder in his voice. “That was before we’d had Tenzin, Katara! Do you know what that could have meant?! For an instant I’d thought that was the end of the Air Nomads for good!”

Katara snorted, knowing full well that Mai would have had that little threat in mind when she threw the chopstick. Although it had taken some time for Katara to warm up to Mai, she now fully appreciated the understated, off-kilter wit of the dark-humored Fire Lady.

“But I thought I had her the next time when I gave her a bag of bison-fur yarn-balls.” Katara could hear the irritation in Aang’s voice when he continued, “Who knew she could make even those hurt…?”

A small snicker had Katara glancing up at the woman washing her hair. Apparently their talking was amusing to those washing their hair; these women undoubtedly would have encountered Mai here as well, and perhaps could appreciate the image of their Fire Lady harassing the Avatar.

But the woman’s mirthful expression hurriedly returned to a professional neutral when the curtain opened and Madam Uriko entered.

The old woman moved gracefully as she stopped in front of the shrine at the front of the small room. Removing a small pressed incense cone from a pouch at her waist, Madam Uriko lit the cone with a small snap of her fingers. Katara was mildly surprised; she hadn’t known that Madam Uriko was a firebender.

“Well Sokka’s birthday is coming up soon, and I’ve got to get him something really useless.” Aang continued talking, probably unaware that Madam Uriko had entered the room.

Madam Uriko lifted the elaborately carved lid of a brass incense burner standing on three spindly legs on the shrine and placed the lit incense pellet inside. After replacing the lid and folding her hands delicately in front of her, Madam Uriko breathed deeply, firebending to coax the fragranced smoke out through the intricate pattern of holes in the lid.

Katara looked toward her husband, washcloth still over his eyes, still moving his hands dramatically as he continued to talk, maybe a bit too loudly. Madam Uriko sent a disdainful look his direction.

“And not useless like that art kit we gave him a few years back,” Aang continued. “I mean, he loved that gift! Sokka completely failed to see any of the irony we all saw when we got it for him…”

Katara decided to ignore the Madam and closed her eyes again, breathing deeply to take in the relaxing aroma of the incense. Katara loved this smell. “You could try finding one of those cloud reading books Aunt Wu used to tell the future…” Katara suggested.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea, Katara! I’m sure he would— Wait!” Katara heard Aang’s hair washer gasp in surprise. Katara’s eyes sprung open to see Aang sitting up abruptly on the side of the bed, water running down his back from his wet head, the washcloth falling to the floor.

“What is that smell…?” Aang asked, an unexplained apprehension in his voice. Then pointing at the incense burner, he addressed the Madam. “What’s in that burner?”

“It’s incense, Master Avatar,” Madam Uriko said condescendingly. “Surely you’ve smelled incense before.”

Aang ignored her rudeness, and closed his eyes breathing in the scent deeply. His forehead furrowed slightly above his closed eyelids. Katara watched his expression carefully, troubled by her husband’s sudden intensity. Katara noticed Aang swallow thickly, this brows arching in… longing? Sadness? Why was Aang reacting this way?

“Sweetie?” Katara asked softly. But he ignored her, turning instead towards Madam Uriko with a sudden fire in his eyes.

“Where did you get that incense?!” Aang demanded of the woman.

“Get it?” the woman replied coolly, uncowed by Aang’s aggressive tone. “Why it comes from the spa’s private stores. We’ve been burning this incense here in the palace spa for generations. It was a favorite of Firelord Sozin. And of his son, Firelord Azulon.” Madam Uriko said the name like a caress.

Aang took another halted inhale before quickly standing and pushing past the woman, unceremoniously ripping the lid off the burner and tipping the burning cone into his hand. Katara watched his back stiffen visually.

Katara sat up, concerned, her hair washer reaching forward to wring her hair as best she could as water streamed down Katara’s back from her heavy wet hair. But Katara ignored it. “Aang?” she asked anxiously. “What’s wrong?”

Aang turned towards Madam Uriko, holding the cone up in his fingers. “How did this get here?!” He shook it once angrily at her. “This doesn’t belong here!”

Katara was unaccustomed to seeing Aang this heated. He was notoriously even-tempered, and almost never lost his cool. To see Aang this upset alarmed Katara. “Aang?!”

Aang finally turned his eyes toward his wife, anger burning behind them. “This belongs to the Air Nomads!” Aang declared furiously. “See!” Aang turned the cone over, revealing one air spiral symbol pressed into the bottom of the cone. Turning back towards Madam Uriko Aang’s voice nearly yelled, “You have no business having this!”

Madam Uriko stepped back, her expression now clearly daunted by Aang’s intensity. “I assure you, this comes from the palace stores…” she stammered, trying to keep her composure. “It’s been here from before I began working here… as a young woman… I assure you, we--”

Aang’s nose wrinkled in a snarl as he cut her off, “This belongs to the Air Nomads! This is… was… sacred to us!”

And with that Aang fisted the incense in his hand and stormed from the room, knocking the brass burner over with his arm and leaving everyone’s clothes rippling in a stiff wind left in his wake.

…………..

It was late when Katara finally heard the snap of Aang’s glider on the balcony of their guest room in the Fire Palace. The sun had set hours ago, and it was now late enough that the moon had nearly completed her arch across the sky and now hung low over the crest of the volcanic rim of the Caldera, sending her ghostly silver light sideways into their room.

Katara was lying in bed. But she hadn’t slept.

After Aang had stormed out of the Palace spa earlier this evening, Katara had run after him. But even as she had searched for Aang, Katara knew that trying to catch up with a fleeing airbender was futile. The best she could hope for would be to find him wherever he stopped.

Katara had checked with Appa first, but the bison was snoring lazily in his favorite place in the courtyard of the stables, undisturbed. Katara checked their room, the garden, and even the rooftop. No Aang. But Aang’s glider was gone, so Katara knew that the best she could do was wait for him to return.

Knowing this didn’t keep her from being irritated with her husband. And concerned, of course. Mostly concerned. Katara hadn’t seen Aang this upset in years, not since they were very young. She wondered what it was about the incense that had upset him enough to run like he was a child again?

She now lay quietly in their bed and waited as her husband crept noiselessly into their room, his footsteps silent. She watched his profile as he propped his staff carefully against the wall, and removed a satchel from his chest, setting it noiselessly on the ground. The moon’s iridescent glow was on his back, his face in shadow.

“Aang…?”

His shadow stilled.

“I’m sorry, Katara. I’d hoped you were asleep.”

Katara let out a breath from the darkness inside their room. Did he really think she could sleep without knowing where he was and that he was okay? Had twenty years of marriage taught him nothing?

Aang spoke softly from just inside the doorway, his face still in shadowy profile. “I’m sorry I left so rudely this evening. And I’m sorry it is so late…”

Katara wasn’t angry anymore, well not very angry anyway, mostly just concerned. His apologies were secondary to his wellbeing to her at the moment. But she didn’t say anything, sensing that he wasn’t finished.

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. It wasn’t fair to you, and it wasn’t fair to those women doing their jobs at the spa either. I’ll return tomorrow and apologize.”

Something in his voice told Katara that as sincere as his words were, there was a much heavier burden behind them. But he didn’t say anything more. Just stood there facing the darkness, the light of the moon highlighting the blue line on the back of his head, making it look almost silver.

“I just needed some time to… uh, to work through some things.” Aang finally turned towards her, the light now illuminating half of his face. Katara caught her breath at the sadness in expression. Despite the shimmering moonlight, no light danced in Aang’s eye as it usually did. Instead his eyes looked at her with a dark forlorn blackness.

“Oh Aang,” Katara murmured as she pushed the blankets off of her and swept over to him in the darkness, her bare feet cold on the polished floor. “I’ve just been worried. Where were you?”

“I, uh, flew north for a while. Found a small island. Really small. Almost all rocks. I just needed some space to, um… to…”

“Meditate?”

“… well… I did some of that too...” Aang looked down and to the side, a little sheepishly. “But I might have spent most of the time breaking things. Throwing around fire and rocks to cool off a bit.”

Aang looked at her penitently. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run off. I shouldn’t have worried you.”

“Oh Aang, I don’t need anymore apologies.” Katara reached up with her warm hand to touch his face in concern. “But please, let me know how I can help you. Why were you so upset? Why do you look so…  so sad?”

Aang brought his hand up between them, opening to reveal the small incense cone from earlier lying benignly on his palm.

“This,” Aang spoke softly, his shoulders slumping, as though the burden of a nation weighed on him.

Katara swallowed a lump in her own throat, remembering that it did.

Katara reached forward, picking up the small pressed cone with her fingers. She ran the pad of her forefinger over the small air swirl stamped into the bottom of it before looking back up at him. “What is it Aang? You said it belonged to the Air Nomads?”

“Yes.” Aang’s brow creased and he took a steadying breath before he continued, trying to explain. “This incense is something I haven’t smelled in… well since before. But it’s a scent I will never forget. One I thought I would never smell again.”

Aang took the incense from Katara, and with a snap of his fingers a flare of yellow heat illuminated their faces for a moment as he lit the end of it. They both watched as a tiny stream of smoke began to trail upward in lazy loops, filling the space with the rich aroma of cedar resin and cardamom, and with a fragrance unnamed but potent, both light and substantial, like the air and the mountains themselves.

“This smell is unmistakable for me.” Aang said as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his brow softening in memory. “The monks lit this incense during the Ceremony of Mastership. I was wrapped in this scent for ten days while Master Dun and his assistants bestowed my tattoos. Breathing this incense helped fortify me through the, uh, difficult parts of the ceremony; it deepened my meditation.”

Aang swirled a hand lightly above the incense, airbending the smoke into an upward spiral, his eyes unfocused, drifting into the past. “Of course I knew the smell before I ever got my own tattoos. It was part of the ceremony we all participated in to unveil a newly tattooed Master Airbender. Wisps of it were often in the air of my childhood.” A small smile appeared on Aang’s cheek. “But that day… when I got my own tattoos… this smell meant belonging. It was completion. It was a connection to the spirit of Air itself, a bond I shared with all the other Masters.”

Katara watched her husband carefully, her heart throbbing with the pain of knowing that even Aang’s happiest memories were so often undercut with grief.

Aang let out a long breath, relaxing just a bit. “The tattooing ceremony was one of the most spiritual events in my life – back in a time when I knew nothing about being the Avatar; when my greatest aspiration in life was to be a monk, simple and at peace. I tasted that future that day, that peace.”

Katara ached as his shoulders sagged once more and he said quietly, “Of course it didn’t last…”

Aang sighed, looking down at the incense. “I thought this was lost, just like so many parts of my culture. I’m trying to be grateful to have this at all…”

He hesitated. So Katara prompted him, “But?”

“But sometimes I just miss them so much…”

Aang looked sadly into Katara’s eyes. “I would never want you to think that I’m not happy with our life together – I am! Our family, the kids, you in my life, is better than I could ever have asked for.”

Katara took his hand, “But that doesn’t change what you’ve lost, Sweetie. It doesn’t make it all better.”

Aang swallowed, and nodded. “Sometimes I forget. I don’t think about them for a while. Just live in the moment. It’s easier that way. Then it doesn’t hurt so much. I can just move on with my life. Sometimes I believe that I really have moved past it.” He smiled again, despite the wetness in his eyes. “Sometimes it feels like it was all a dream anyway, like my childhood was someone else’s… like maybe it wasn’t even real.”

Aang stood silently for a moment, before looking back down at the incense in his hand. “But when I smelled this today, it all came back to me in an instant. Like I was there again! And they were there, and we were worshipping and celebrating together.” Aang’s face crumpled in grief, his voice a whisper. “For a split second they were all alive again.”

Katara’s heart lurched for Aang, but before she could touch him Aang’s anguish suddenly turned to anger, his face scowling as his words cut out fiercely. “But who knew that all this time our ceremonial incense has been used as ambiance for our, our murderer’s bathhouse!?”

Katara took a surprised step back as Aang’s hand fisted tightly around the incense, his hand turning hotly to flame and crushing the little cone.

“That they used it as perfume for when they bedded their concubines!?”

The flame danced angrily in his eyes as he seethed.

But Aang extinguished the flame, letting it die as quickly as it had flared, the anger in his face dissipating with it, replaced by that same dark sadness.

“What does this,” Aang looked sadly down at the smoking ash in his hand, “teach us about about Sozin’s destruction of the Air Nomads?” A large tear rolled down Aang’s cheek as he closed his eyes tightly. “That apparently Sozin liked how we smelled when we burned.”

A sob caught in Katara’s throat as she scrubbed at the tears she hadn’t realized were falling down her own face. Katara pushed down her own temper that was threatening to flare. One thing she had learned over the course of their marriage, was that when one of them was struggling, the other needed to be strong. And she needed to be calm and strong if she was to help Aang today. Otherwise, she knew him, and he would feel the need to focus on her. But this was all about him right now.

She reached for Aang, wrapping her arms around him. After a moment, Aang grasped her tightly back, bowing his head to lay his chin over her shoulder.

He shook; and so did she. Crying together for the disgrace and tragedy and uselessness of it all.

“Oh Aang,” Katara whispered into his neck, compassion welling within her. She pulled him closer to her, even as a sob shuddering through his body as he gripped her, holding onto Katara as if to remind himself that not _everyone_was gone, he hadn’t lost it all.

“I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to hate them.”

Katara nodded against him. “I know, Aang.”

It’s easy to do nothing. It’s hard to forgive. Words that Aang had spoken to her long ago. And Aang didn’t just spout these words — he lived them. Katara had seen how Aang had chosen forgiveness, over and over again, even-- no especially-- when it was hard.

What many people mistakenly thought -- even herself, before the end of the war -- was that forgiveness came naturally for Aang, or that somehow it was easier for him. But after years of living with this good man, what she had come to learn is that forgiveness was only easier for him because he practiced it all the time. He believed it in, and worked at it everyday.

But sometimes it was still hard.

Katara held him tighter, telling him through her embrace that he is not alone, and that she is here. That she bears this burden with him.

Forgiveness was hard, but he didn’t have to do it alone.

……………

Katara inhaled deeply. She didn’t need to look around at the many smoking burners lining the back of the ceremonial hall to know that the incense was there. The smell was incredible! Enveloping the entire room in its fragrance like the embrace of a supportive friend.

It had been ten years since Aang had disconcertedly discovered that for generations the Fire Nation royalty had been using the Air Nomad’s sacred incense in their palace spa. Although Zuko, Aang and Katara had all tired their best to uncover how the royal family had gotten a hold of the incense in the first place, they were never able to find anything conclusive. Procurement of a conquered people’s incense was apparently not significant enough to merit any documentation.

However, with the help of a surprisingly accommodating Madam Uriko, they were able to study the remaining cones and records in the spa stores. Apparently the royal chandler during the early period of Azulon’s rule, had studied the incense himself, and written out his own recipe. It was likely that the modern cones in the spa had not been made by Air Nomads at all, but had been replicates made by chandler himself. Katara and Aang had wondered in length together about why the royal chandler would continue to include the air nomad symbol on the bottom of each incense cone he made – perhaps he had done it as his own small rebellion against the Fire Nation’s campaigns? Or perhaps he had wanted to keep record of the incense cultural roots? Or perhaps he had just done it to more authentically mimic the original? – there was no way to know. But Aang liked to think that perhaps the chandler had known an Air Nomad personally, perhaps had lost a friend, and maybe he included the symbol in memory of what was lost.  

The discovery of the chandler’s recipe had been an incredible find for Aang. He and the acolytes had worked hard to replicate the recipe, and now were fully capable of making their own incense. A scent Aang had thought was lost to time and tragedy, was now a viable part of the new Air Nation’s culture once again!

And now it was time to finally use it for its original purpose. Tenzin was being unveiled a Master Airbender today!

The anointment was a big day for Tenzin; big enough that Kya had delayed leaving on an extended trip she had planned, and Bumi had even taken leave from his service in the United Republic of Nations so he could be present.

However, important event or not, Katara had had to roll her eyes at her grown children’s antics. It seemed that the act of simply stepping foot back on Air Temple Island caused Bumi to reverted from ‘distinguished soldier’ to ‘annoying older brother’ instantly. Even though no one except Aang and his tattooing assistants had been allowed to see Tenzin since his Ceremony of Mastership had begun ten days previous, this hadn’t stopped Bumi from teasing Tenzin from through the closed door. He would gleefully call in suggestions to his dad about how to modify Tenzin’s tats to be a little more interesting. It didn’t help that Aang would flippantly play along, before seeming to remember that this was a sacred ceremony, and finally tell Bumi to get lost.

In addition to bothering his younger brother, Bumi had also taken to flirting with Kya’s girlfriend. While this was mildly amusing to Katara, it was seriously beginning to irritate Kya. Katara tried to remind Kya that Bumi flirted with everyone, while also sternly admonishing Bumi to cool it.

As much as Katara loved having everyone together again, she had to admit that keeping harmony in her small family of strong personalities was harder than it looked. Where was the docile, peacemaking child they so desperately needed? Whenever she would ask, Aang would only stifle a smile and raise his hands in surrender, jokingly claiming that he was not the one to blame for their children’s temperaments! And as exasperated as she might feel, Katara had to laugh at herself, knowing that he wasn’t wrong.

In preparation for the tattooing ceremony, Aang had called in two different tattoo artists – one from the earth kingdom and one from the fire nation, both reportedly the best tattooist in their perspective nations – to help teach Aang how to give Tenzin his tattoos. As Tenzin had neared the end of his training, Aang had admitted to Katara that just being ‘the Last Airbender’ didn’t automatically make him an expert on all Airbender skills. “Giving someone their tattoos is very different than being on the other side of the needle, Katara!” he had worried out loud. The closer Tenzin had gotten to mastership, the more nervous Aang got about how to bestow his tattoos. It was Katara who had suggested he ask for help.

After consulting with the tattoo experts, Aang had told Katara later that although their methods were different than what the Air Nomads had done over a hundred years ago, they seemed to understand enough of the process to take the details and tools he remembered and turn them into a working process. One of them even offered to give Tenzin his tattoos herself. Aang had declined, but expressed how grateful he was for to them for teaching him how.

The night before the commencement of Tenzin’s Ceremony of Mastership, Katara didn’t know who was more anxious: Tenzin or Aang? They were both bundles of nerves, but expressed their apprehension in characteristically different ways: Tenzin tried to hide his concern behind stoic meditation, while Aang couldn’t hold still, needing to “take a little run around the island” about ten times before bedtime.

When Aang had come in to bed the first night after beginning Tenzin’s tattoos, the smell of incense strong on his clothes and body, Katara had asked how it had gone. “I got better at it as the day went on.” Aang had replied. Then with a self-depreciating chuckle he added, “Hopefully nobody will look too closely at the back of Tenzin’s thigh…”

But the process had gone better from there, and ten days later, Katara now sat with Bumi and Kya on cushions near the front of the ceremonial room on Air Temple Island awaiting Tenzin’s anointing.

Katara was immensely proud of Tenzin, and all of his studious hard work. She knew he was aware of the burden he was born with, and in some ways she was sorry to have her son shouldering such a responsibility, but she was proud of the way he took it seriously. She knew Aang worried that Tenzin was ‘too serious’, but Katara, as a serious student of her own bending art, could not be more proud of his diligence and discipline.

Katara had often reflected on the irony that, of her three children, the one that was the least silly and carefree, the one who was a homebody with the seeming least amount of nomadic drive, was the one born with airbending. She’d wondered if perhaps it was meant to be; that airbending could be a way for Tenzin and his father to bond, when their personalities were so singularly opposite.

But as her mind wandered over these thoughts a hush fell over the audience, and she turned to see Aang and Tenzin, wearing a long hooded cloak, walk into the room and down the center aisle to the raised dais. Tears pricked at Katara’s eyes as the tall hooded form of her youngest son knelt reverently at the center of the stage. She looked at her husband, dressed in a formal yellow robe not unlike the one he had worn to Zuko’s coronation, and, catching his eye, noted that Aang’s eyes were also moist with emotion.

Katara cried for most of the ceremony. The image of Tenzin removing his hood to reveal a new blue arrow on his forehead brought a loud sob from her. Kya reached an arm over her shoulders, while Bumi refrained from being irreverent (which was more than Katara would have expected from him). From then on the rest of the ceremony was one big tear-clouded blur.

But the smell of the burning incense was potent and clear, and got even stronger as she felt it swirl around her, ruffling her clothes and inciting the song of the many wind chimes hung throughout the room.

Katara drank in the aroma carried on the wind. Despite the way the incense had found its way back to Aang, Katara couldn’t help but be grateful for this piece of Aang’s culture, of her family’s culture, that had been restored. Aang had admitted to Katara that although for a long time it had bothered him that his people’s sacred incense had been dishonored, he was grateful it had been. At least this way it had been preserved.

Katara breathed in deeply, taking in this scent that was both ancient and new. And something powerful stirred with in her.

Perhaps it was the power of the scent in the air, coupled with the way the wind chimes sang, but as Katara closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, she felt a spiritual tingling across her body, as though they were not alone. Like perhaps the energy of the Air Nomads, the ancestors of her children, were there and rejoicing with them as the first airbender in well over a hundred years, was anointed a Master.

��………….

A/N: I don’t know about you, but sometimes the smell of something can bring back very vivid memories/emotion for me. That was the genesis for this story.

(P.S. Also, I really do have a bald friend who loves getting hair washes. ;)

..................

Other works in this series:

Chant

Artifacts

[azucanela]

[HOME] IS WHERE THE AVATAR IS [PT.3]

HOME MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Iroh has been kidnapped, and by the time they get him back, they’re chasing after the Avatar before Y/N has time to unload all her problems to the old man over a nice cup of tea. Which is a shame since the list of problems is getting longer by the minute. 

WORD COUNT: 5k

WARNINGS: violence, mentions of death, threats

A/N: woo!! its 1AM lads life is good and i hope this is also good <3

Iroh was missing. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, the old man, no matter how questionable he was at times, was punctual. Y/N had yet to see him late to anything and she sincerely doubted he was going to start now, especially since Zuko had reminded him, rather rudely, that they had to leave soon if they were to catch the Avatar. Following Zuko through the forest, Y/N quickly realized that Zuko was not a genius.

Of course, if Zuko was a genius, Y/N wouldn’t be around. Her whole purpose since she’d been in the Fire Nation was to serve as his right hand, to be the things he couldn’t. If Zuko couldn’t do something, then she would, thats why they complimented each other so well. When he’s incapable of fighting, she beats enemies with ease. Where he lacked a strategic mind, she could develop revolutionary strategies, similar to the ones Zhao had referred to during their last encounter.

The man had clearly gotten under Zuko’s skin, and it seemed something about this was still bugging Zuko. Y/N had noticed his... odd behavior. He’d seemed far more withdrawn than normal, their late night talks had been far less frequent than normal. Of course, they were also no longer in the privacy of the ship, instead camping out in war torn territory of the Earth Kingdom. This left a weird atmosphere between them, and it was mostly Zuko’s fault, though Y/N probably should’ve confronted him when she first noticed. She was beginning to miss their conversations, and the more relaxed Zuko that only she saw. Now, it seemed that each time they interacted he was becoming far more awkward than normal.

Sighing as she trailed behind him, and calmly walking throw the brush of leaves in stark opposition to Zuko’s rather aggressive walk, Y/N simply sighed. “Zuko, perhaps you would get there faster if you didn’t spend all your time fighting the trees.” She gives him a sarcastic smile, eyes narrowing at him as he turns back to look at her, as though he’d finally been reminded she was nearby.

Zuko frowns, coming to an abrupt stop, “come here.” They were nearby the ‘hot spring’ Iroh had discovered, or more accurately, made. In the event that Y/N was wrong, a ‘rare’ event in her words, Zuko needed to take precautions, he would not allow Y/N to see his Uncle like that.

“Why?” Y/N asked incredulously, moving to enter the area, but Zuko yanks her back by the wrist.

She turns to look at him, just to have her eyes covered by his hand, “just in case.” He explains, taking her hand in his free one and guiding her to the hot spring. Zuko is suddenly glad that he has a hand over her eyes, because if Y/N could see him, she definitely would’ve started teasing him by now, especially since he can feel his cheeks burning as he pulls her along.

“I think you just wanted and excuse to hold my hand.” Y/N teases, a grin spreading across her face. Zuko had always been like this, protective, even when they were children and as far as he knew, she was anything but his equal. Y/N had always found it funny, seeing as she could easily handle herself in a fight, not that this fact ever stopped him.

Though she can’t seen Zuko, Y/N has a feeling he’s blushing as he grumbles out, “shut up.” He’s pushing through the final bushes, and when he freezes Y/N knows her theory was right. Zuko’s hand releases hers and Y/N dislikes the way she feels disappointed when it does, his other hand falling from her eyes to reveal the once prosperous hot spring was now sullied by raised earth.

Iroh is missing. And Y/N can’t help but feel worried as she stares at the scene, if the apparent Earthbenders caught him by surprise it’s no wonder he didn’t escape. Iroh, no matter how docile he may act, was a force to be reckoned with. Now it didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was Earthbenders, which probably explains why Zuko points it out so quickly.

Or maybe he just doesn’t need Y/N anymore. The thought brings about an odd feeling, one that Y/N can’t describe. She’d been by his side for as long as she could remember, and the thought had never crossed her mind, that one day she might not be by his side, one day he might not need her anymore. The possibility was bringing about several emotions, and now she was missing the one person she’d go to for counsel.

Counsel she definitely needed at the moment, seeing as she’d intertwined their destinies, as Zuko put it, permanently. There would be no getting rid of her. 

Her list of problems was growing by the minute, and Y/N finds herself wishing that it was her list of excuses instead, seeing as she was going to need several excuses if he found out anytime soon. Iroh was missing, taken by Earth Kingdom soldiers, likely to be executed in the very city he’d once tried to overthrow. And Y/N had yet to even get any idea of how to handle Airbending, much less tell Zuko about it. Not that she could if she wanted to, seeing as he’d been avoiding any prolonged conversations with her.

And yet Y/N find herself grabbing Zuko’s hand, bringing his attention back to her and away from the thought of his missing Uncle, the man who had practically raised him. Though Zuko didn’t act like it, he cared for Iroh, and Y/N could see it in the way his body stiffened as he cursed his Uncle for his foolishness. “Everything is fine.”

This was a mess. Nothing was fine. Everything was pretty chaotic, actually. 

That’s how Y/N ended up riding a Komodo Rhino in search of the old man, Zuko seated behind her as they made their way down the path. He was honestly way more stressed about the situation than he should’ve been, his Uncle was once a war general, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Except, Zuko found the fact that he’d been captured in the first place rather concerning, especially since the man seemed to be more and more passive each day.

Zuko blamed the tea.

Though he found himself wishing for tea to calm his nerves as they the Komodo Rhino stumbles slightly, causing Zuko to fall off the animal entirely. This was mostly because he was far too awkward to place his hands anywhere near Y/N’s body, despite her warnings that something like this would happen. 

Y/N brings the beast to a stop, dust rising as she maneuvered the animal towards Zuko, followed by guards that she was sure were struggling to stifle their laughs as Zuko grumbled, “go ahead and say I told you so.” He’s practically glaring at Y/N, who dons an amused look on her face as she stares down at him.

“Told you so.”

Zuko groans, allowing his head to hit the ground momentarily, wincing at the feeling before moving to stand, only to notice a shoe on the ground. One that he recognizes as his Uncle’s. Moving to pick it up, Zuko grins despite the putrid smell as he extends his hand outward to try and escape it. “I fell on purpose to retrieve this.” He couldn’t help but feel relieved, hopefully this was a sign from his Uncle, and he’d dropped the shoe on purpose.

Y/N is laughing now, “sure you did. But this is good, Iroh is probably nearby.” Her eyes scan the area, hoping to find some other indication of Iroh’s presence, Y/N notices the fading trail of Ostrich Horse tracks. “We should head in this direction,” she turns to Zuko, who is dusting himself off and climbing back onto the Komodo Rhino, “hold on this time.” Y/N says, giving him a tight lipped smile as she brings his hand to her waist, trying to ignore the way her cheeks warmed.

She whistles, signaling for the Komodo Rhino to begin to move again, while Zuko begins to panic internally. His hands were on Y/N’s waist, and he was trying to keep his touch as light as possible so as not to disturb her, but the way she glared at him suggested he should stop freaking out. Alas, the blush that painted his cheeks persisted as he wrapped his arms around her waist to keep from falling, that was the only reason he wrapped his arms around her. It wasn’t because he missed being around her— of course the lack of her presence was mostly his fault since he was avoiding her.  

Regardless, Y/N almost falters at this action, almost, at the feeling of his hands resting on her. It’s been a while since they were this close to each other, and Zuko had no choice to endure it. But, it’s the sight of a dragon along with the Avatar in the sky that causes her mouth to gape open, distracting her from steering the Komodo Rhino away from the upcoming cliff.

Zuko throws his hands forward, snatching the reins from her as he swerves the animal away from the cliff, his body enveloping Y/N’s as he breathes heavily from the sudden event. “What the hell was that?” He exclaimed, hands remaining on the reins as he continued to maneuver the animal. Though the look on Y/N’s face worries him as she nods absently.

“Nothing, it was nothing.”

Nothing didn’t cause you to nearly go off a cliff. But he’d discuss that with her later, he decided, noticing the Avatar’s Sky Bison flying through the sky. “The Avatar!” Zuko called out, bringing the Komodo Rhino to a stop entirely as he watched the Sky Bison fly across the sky.

His words brought Y/N’s attention back to the present, her eyes snapping over to the Sky Bison. Zuko may not have known it, but Aang definitely wasn’t on that Sky Bison, or maybe his body was. Y/N didn’t know how the whole spirit thing worked, and if she was honest, she wasn’t really to eager too find out. Regardless, it would be a pointless chase.

Yet she suddenly felt worry fill her, because Y/N truly didn’t know if Zuko was willing to abandon his Uncle if it meant capturing the Avatar and restoring his honor. Would he do that to her? Abandon her entirely if it meant going back to the Fire Nation? Sure, he’d left behind the possibility of returning when they’d discovered her Waterbending, but with his renewed determination Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if she would get left in the dust as he chased the Avatar across the globe.

The thought left her mouth dry as she looked to Zuko, who had paused, eyes following the Sky Bison. Then he scowled, hands still on the reins of the Komodo Rhino as he whistled, steering the animal in the direction of the fading Ostrich Horse prints. 

Y/N couldn’t help but feel flooded relieved, but that didn’t quell the anxieties within her. She’d seen... an intangible Avatar and dragon, as though they were ghosts, spirits even. This was a brutal reminder of the Avatar’s duty to bridge the worlds of spirit and human, Y/N had only read stories of the Avatar’s ability to enter the realm and interact with them. It was an ability she thought she lacked, until now.

This was a problem. A very big problem.

Letting out a shaky breath, Y/N shut her eyes momentarily, “what’s wrong?” Zuko asked, her behavior was abnormal, she was distracted and Zuko didn’t have time to worry about her, his Uncle and the Avatar.

Hesitantly, Y/N relaxed against him, her back resting against his chest as she frowned, “later.”

“Right.” Comes his response, and Zuko’s face was burning as he cleared his throat before continuing to guide the Komodo Rhino in the direction of the tracks.

They don’t discuss it later, mostly because ‘later’ is when Zuko finds himself saving his Uncle, and then threatening villagers for the Avatar’s location while Y/N threatens him for his violence. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, much to Y/N and Iroh’s dismay.

If Y/N was honest, she wasn’t shocked that they didn’t have time to discuss it. Seeing as they didn’t discuss the fact that she was capable of bending multiple elements, confrontation was certainly not their strong suit, and the fact that everything seemed to revolve around the Avatar wasn’t helping. At this point, home was wherever Aang went. 

What Y/N would give for a conversation with Aang right about now, not that she knew what to say. He had no idea what she was capable of, and yet Aang seemed to be the only person who would likely understand even a fraction of what she was going through.

Barreling through the Fire Nation barricade, filled with ships that Y/N recognized from General Zhao’s fleet, it appeared Y/N would be giving her life just to see Aang again. She was beginning to think that this was the worst idea Zuko had ever had, and she’d been there for a lot of foolish ideas. Especially since there was no reason for Zhao to let Zuko pass, unless he needed something, that something was likely the Avatar. Y/N was pretty sure she needed him too, now that her Airbending at shown itself, accidents were becoming more... frequent, and hiding it from Zuko and more importantly, the crew, was far more difficult.

Aside from control, Y/N couldn’t deny that Aang’s abilities were impressive, watching him block a ball of fire surging towards his Sky Bison had been a sight to behold. And she couldn’t help but consider how insane it was, that she was seeing the only Airbender left, the only demonstration of Airbending in over one hundred years.

Poor kid. He’d come back to a mess of a world.

Y/N finds herself frowning at the thought, and at the possibility of Zuko departing on another ship to go after Aang, who appeared to be heading for the Fire Sage’s temple, “are you serious?”

Zuko is rolling his eyes at her tone, already boarding the ship as he turns to her, “are you coming, or not?” He’s taking the helm as Y/N’s mouth gapes open, struggling for words, she follows him onto the ship nonetheless. 

“This could go very wrong.” 

He grins at her, and the smaller ship begins to move, hidden by the smoke of the larger one, “that’s why I have you around.” 

Y/N really wanted to wipe the grin off his face as she sat on the bench that was against the railing of the ship. Crossing her arms, she glared at him as she leaned back, eyes on the crashing waves below. It’s rather calming, especially when compared to the harsh environment they’d been living in while moving through the war torn Earth Kingdom territory. She’d gotten used to falling asleep to the rocking of the boat during their years of travel. Maybe that’s why Y/N’s eyes begin to flutter shut as the boat begins to move once more.

There’s a dragon. Why is there a dragon? 

The sight of the beast serves as a reminder of the tattoo she’d seen in her previous ‘dream’ though Y/N can’t help but wonder if they were a little more than that as she stares at the dragon. It looks exactly like the one she’d seen Aang riding not too long ago.

This was a dream, great.

Rolling up her sleeve, the tattoo is there, the black and white dragons snaking up her arm, parallel to each other. Y/N finds herself returning her gaze to the real dragon, which probably should’ve shocked her more, except there was a reason she was a talented Firebender. 

Whenever a Firebender sought out to earn the title of Dragon, they needed a witness, someone who saw the defeat of the Dragon and could serve as proof of the event. The Dragon of the West, otherwise known as Iroh, had selected the young and impressionable, Y/N L/N, viewing it as a learning experience for the young girl. Y/N thought she was going to see the end of the species, not it’s salvation, and perhaps that’s why she was the way she was.

Nothing could compare to what she’d seen in that fire, alongside Iroh. 

The dragon before her looks angry nonetheless, almost annoyed at her presence as though it wasn’t the weird thing about this whole dream, a translucent blue color, like this was completely normal. 

Y/N ends up glaring at the dragon as she asks, “what do you need?” And as though it can sense her own annoyance, the dragon releases a low growl in response, letting out a huff of flames onto Y/N that almost has her screaming in fear as she squeezes her eyes shut in preparation for death. Could you die in a dream? Y/N didn’t really want to know seeing as normal dreams didn’t involve historical events like her last one did. 

She opens her eyes to see the flames dissolving around her, but she’s in an entirely new area. If Y/N is honest, it looks similar to the palace she grew up in. Fancy pillars line the room, along with a few murals on the walls. 

This must’ve been what the dragon had flown Aang to when they were... spirits? Y/N didn’t know, nor did she understand much as she carefully moved around in the room, in the middle of it lied a statue of Avatar Roku, she recognized him from history books. The Fire Nation’s greatest enemy, that had once been its pride and joy. 

The dragon still stood in the room, behind her now, staring almost judgmentally at her, Y/N turns to it nonetheless, “this is what you showed Aang.” A huff in what she hoped was agreement, “I need to be here too.” She deduced, staring the the doors that lied behind the dragon.

It seemed satisfied with this deduction, and Y/N decided to continue, “mind explaining the tattoo?” She gestures to her arm. 

In response, the dragon allowed more fire to escape its mouth, causing Y/N to bring her arms up to shield her face as she yelped in surprise when she became engulfed in flames.

Y/N flinches in her seat, head whipping back and forth as she scans the area, just to realize they made it to the island. “Oh good, you’re awake.” 

Stupid dragon.

Y/N nods slowly, hand gripping her arm, which burns, and she’s unsure if that’s because she literally got burnt in the dream, or because of the tattoo. Y/N can’t help but let out a shaky breath as she blinks a few times, eyes adjusting to the light as she sits up, “yeah.” She mumbles, pulling up the sleeve of her Fire Nation clothing just to find her blank arm. No tattoos, just how she’d left it. She can feel Zuko’s eyes rest on her as she does, likely in confusion.

Regardless, this is good. There’s no tattoo. Sure, Zuko probably thinks she’s insane, but who cared what he thought?

“I don’t understand how you feel asleep.” The boy in question grumbles, “have you not been sleeping?” It’s his own way of showing he cares, an insult followed by a question about her wellbeing, Y/N is used to it at this point, but this time around she can’t help but feel sad, knowing he formed this habit because of his childhood. Things had been different once. He’d been different once.

As Zuko helps her out of the boat, taking her hand to help her step down and off of it, Y/N replies, “not really.”

His brows furrow at this, “why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/N is opening her mouth to respond only for an explosion to sound within the temple, tearing his attention away from her.

What a nice reminder that she wasn’t the priority. Again. 

Maybe it was stupid for her to want to be his priority in the first place, because he was definitely her priority. She’d left the life, the luxury, everything she’d built in the Fire Nation after having her life torn down, just to rebuild everything again at sea, for him. And he didn’t even have to ask her to, he didn’t have to ask her to have that horrid conversation with his father that she hoped he never found out about, and he didn’t have to ask her to just be there. 

Then again, it had been drilled into her mind to protect and serve Zuko since she was a child. Maybe none of this was real, maybe Y/N didn’t actually care about Zuko, maybe it was just another one of the things she’d been brainwashed to believe by the Fire Nation. Maybe the days they’d spent together as children, the nights they’d spent now, the time at sea, maybe it meant nothing. 

No, this was different. This was different and Y/N knew it, she just didn’t want to admit it. This was another thing on her list of problems now. 

Y/N brushed these thoughts away as they mind their way through the temple, she didn’t have time for this, the horrifying dragon had given her a task and she was going to see it through. She needed to get into the room, and if Y/N had learnt anything, it was that wherever Aang was, that was probably where she had to be as well. 

As they enter the room the explosion had come from, Zuko spares her a glance, bringing his hand to his lips as he nods to her. Aang is hidden behind a pillar as the Fire Sages set the door alight, causing it to slowly move upon, the gears within working for what was likely the first time in a century. It’s then that the rest of his friends strike, restraining the Fire Sages, one of them even betraying his colleagues as they call out for the Avatar, “Aang! Now!”

But Zuko’s already captured the boy, ensuring he can’t head into the now open doors and providing the distraction that was vital to the escape of the other Fire Sages, he called out, “shut the doors!”

Y/N has about half a dozen thoughts in her head as she wonders how she’ll get into the room if they close the doors, because as much as she hates the whole Dualbending— Tribending thing, she needs answers. Which is why she’s thankful when Aang manages to escape Zuko’s grasp without her aid, though Y/N’s feet seem to move on their own as she chases after him.

The bright light is almost blinding, but she can hear the doors shut behind her as she lands rather painfully on her side, pushing up on her arm to see Aang staring at her in shock. This quickly morphs into a smile, “hey, Y/N!” His brows furrow as he tilts his head at her, “what are you doing in here?”

Moving to her feet, Y/N grimaces as she dusts off her pants, “I was threatened by a dragon.” Aang’s face becomes one of shock, but before he can respond, something akin to thunder sounds through the room, light shining onto the stone on the statue of Roku.  “What the-”

A fog starts pouring out of the statue’s mouth, swirling around the pair that lock eyes once more before Y/N finds herself atop a mountain, falling onto the ground and groaning in pain. Y/N brings a hand to her face to shield it from the bright light that is the sun? Or maybe its a fake sun seeing as this can’t possibly be real, not that it matters as she places her hand in the grass to push herself upwards, just to meet the eyes of the infamous Avatar Kyoshi. 

Oh god.

“So you’re the mistake.” She mused, scanning Y/N’s figure. She had read about Avatar Kyoshi, and from what she had gathered, she had by far been one of the most powerful Avatars to ever exist. And one of the most violent. 

Pushing away these thoughts to try and calm herself, Y/N simply frowned at the Avatar’s words as she moved to stand, the strikingly tall woman was already intimidating, her tone and history was not helping. “You could’ve been nicer about it... but yeah.” Y/N agreed, recalling her conversation with Iroh. She was just nature’s lovely mistake.

“Interesting.” 

Y/N grimaces, steadying herself as she speaks, “there are probably lots of other... mistakes, so why am I here?” Iroh had spoken of the likelihood that there were others around the world, and Y/N herself had heard the rumors of Dualbenders across the globe in their search for the Avatar. She wasn’t special—well, she was definitely special, but at the end of the day she wasn’t the Avatar.

Kyoshi narrows her eyes at Y/N’s words, scoffing, “don’t tell me you’re dumb.”

“You are just as nice as they said you were.” Y/N grumbles, bringing a hand to the back of her neck, “care to answer my question?”

Raising a brow, the woman’s glance turns to the sky, “you are the mistake.” Kyoshi replies, “the only mistake of this cycle. The others have all be fakes.” Y/N can practically feel the disgust in Kyoshi’s words, and she doesn’t know if its because people lied about being Dualbenders, or if its because they exist in the first place. Not that she wants to know.

But what she implies rings through Y/N’s head as she speaks, “I still don’t matter. There’s a perfectly good Avatar already.” If Y/N theoretically was another Avatar, what purpose could she serve? They had an Avatar, one that was far more moral than she ever was, one that was ‘hero’ material. Iroh had also suggested that if there was only one ‘mistake’ then they were likely powerful, which could explain the possibility of Y/N being another Avatar. 

Inhaling deeply, Kyoshi’s eyes fall back on Y/N as she says, “I have a feeling that when push comes to shove.” Her hand form a fist, “he will fail to do what is necessary. You on the other hand...” She trails off, her hand unclenching as she continues, “your Fire Lord seeks world domination, and it is disrupting the balance. You were made because the boy’s disappearance worsened the unbalance.” 

“He’s not my Fire Lord.” Y/N grumbles, running a hand through her hair, “so what do you want me to do?” She asks, cutting to the chase, there’s no point in hopping around the subject. She’d been summoned for a reason.

Kyoshi offers her a smile, though Y/N can tell its not a friendly one as she speaks, “I chose to speak with you because you have yet to Earthbend and still, you remind me most of myself.” She raises a hand to the sky, and it darkens into a red hue as she explains, “Ozai will use Sozin’s comet to carry out his goal unless he is stopped. And you are progressing far quicker than the newest Avatar.” 

The comet that aided in the destruction of an entire race, Y/N was familiar. Firebenders became unbelievably powerful during its appearance, and it would serve as the perfect opportunity for an invasion. 

Y/N would know, seeing as she suggested it. She recalled the conversation in the War Room vividly, during a discussion on how they could defeat the Earth Kingdom in a quick manner. It was the first time she had outshone General Zhao, but not the last. 

“You’ll have no choice but to work together, you must learn Airbending from someone, and there are no other teachers around.” Y/N can practically feel the woman’s anger, and wonders if it truly belongs to her, if she understood the Avatar Cycle properly then they were all connected somehow. 

Y/N really wished this was a dream. But, this wasn’t a dream, and the fog seemed to swirl around her once more was a reminder of this fact, “Aang is the Avatar. He can handle this alone, I’m not getting involved..”

There’s a knowing look on Kyoshi’s face, and as she fades away Y/N can hear her final words, “you don’t really mean that.” 

And Y/N had a feeling that she was right. A feeling that she absolutely hated.

A/N: anyways i wanna cut like at least six inches of hair and get bangs oh no also KYOSHIIIIIIII THE BADDEST BEST AVATAR writing this made me happy

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[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 52

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 | Chapter 45 | Chapter 46 | Chapter 47 | Chapter 48 & Chapter 49 | Chapter 50 | Chapter 51

“Perhaps I do not actually require a palace,” the Royal Companion says.

XiChen hears the words clearly, each one perfectly audible over the sounds of the guqin. The Rogue Prince had taken his leave only moments ago, but Lady Jiang is still present, having settled at the head of the bed. The Royal Companion had settled at the bottom, with an ease that suggested he had done so frequently in the past.

The words sounds nonsensical to XiChen’s ears, but the atmosphere in the Imperial chambers noticeably shifts, the Emperor stiffening in WangJi’s arms. A silence descends, just as incomprehensible as the words had been. XiChen is not familiar with the Royal Companion’s mannerisms, but the young man is holding himself stiffly as well, his lazy posture doing little to conceal the tension of his muscles.

Perhaps the sentence is a code that only the Emperor and the Royal Companion understand?

Still being held up by WangJi, the Emperor turns his head and whispers softly, words that are clearly meant for his brother’s ears only. He is reclining easily in WangJi’s arms, their heads close together, their cheeks nearly brushing.

XiChen turns his gaze back to the guqin.

It is not uncomfortable, precisely, watching his brother be so easily intimate with a person he cares for, but it is very much out of the ordinary. WangJi’s cool demeanor conceals a heart prone to excess of emotion, a depth of feeling that has always existed beneath the surface, rigorously concealed from the world. To see the Emperor so easily coax that emotion out into the open is miraculous, but it is also unsettling; XiChen does not know if the Emperor comprehends the true extent of WangJi’s affection, or how precious and rare it is, to have it so visibly displayed.

“Young Master Lan,” the Emperor says, startling him out of his thoughts.

Lady Jiang and WangJi are helping him shift into a better position, propped up against pillows and covers, no longer having to rely on WangJi for support. Despite his obvious physical weakness, the Emperor’s tone is clear and forceful. It is a skill, the ability to don a mantle of power and authority all while being maneuvered about one’s bed in such an undignified manner. XiChen both respects and envies this ability.

“Your Majesty?”

“I am grateful for your assistance, but I believe you are long overdue for some much needed rest. Would you be so kind to escort my shijie back to her chambers? Lan Zhan will continue the Cleansing in your place.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Of course, the insistence that he pass his duties to WangJi and rest, is nothing more than a polite method of removing him from the Emperor’s chambers. Any doubts he may have had would have been dispelled by WangJi’s vaguely apologetic look as he replaces XiChen at the guqin.

XiChen does not require an apology. He is tired and restless, his aching wrists welcoming any interruption of the tedious task. The two Imperial guards at the entrance are also ordered to take their duties outside, leaving WangJi and the Emperor alone with the Royal Companion.

In the hall outside the Imperial chambers, Lady Jiang smiles, “I hope you are not offended by such an abrupt dismissal, Young Master Lan. I am sure, once the situation at court has been stabilized, the Emperor will properly express his gratitude. We are in your debt.”

“There is no need,” XiChen says, realizing that he had not expected gratitude, nor does he know what to do with such a sentiment, “I am sure anyone would have done the same.”

“They would not have,” Lady Jiang says easily, her tone unchanging, “but thinking so does you credit. Please do not feel obliged to provide an escort. I am sure the Imperial guards will prove equal to the task, and my chambers are not far.”

Taken aback by the frankness of her words, he only bows in response.

He had not yet considered all the political repercussions of the Lan Sect having saved an Emperor who is so frequently a subject of assassination attempts, but Lady Jiang’s words raise many questions he cannot answer.

What will be the consequences of the Lan Sect aligning themselves so firmly with a Divine Ruler who does not intend to father an heir? Will their actions, committed over the course of the last day and night, be seen as monumentous as the assassination of the Empress had been? Can any succession of honorable deeds ever erase the dishonors of the past?

At this very moment, uncle has many more pressing issues to consider, and will doubtlessly remain occupied by them for days to come. But XiChen wishes he could simply yield to his uncle’s understanding of the matters, as he often had in the past, without having to reason out the answers to these questions on his own.

Chagrin immediately descends, propelling his restless feet to move, as if urging him to run away from such uncomfortable thoughts. XiChen is to be the future Sect leader, to occupy the same seat that uncle now holds. He should never shy away from being guided by those who came before him, but his deference has always been a little too excessive. It is a frequent source of his brother’s frustration, XiChen’s insistence on ceding ground to avoid disharmony and conflict.

It is not for the lack of firm beliefs that XiChen so often gives way. It is simply a habit, one borne of insecurity. In order to hold firm in the face of opposition, one must believe that their own understanding is impeachable, that their opinions have been properly formed, that they are indisputably in the right. XiChen firmly believes that Nie MingJue’s intentions are honorable and genuine, that his own affection is steadfast and unimpeachable, but he has never possessed the necessary self-confidence to insist on this belief in the face of uncle’s disapproval.

Lack of a spine is not a virtue, but XiChen had dressed it up as such, so that others may admire his amicable nature, while he, alone, is left to despise the roots from which it grew. He wonders how long he would have gone on this way, draping his self-doubts in a cloak of respectful deference, had Nie MingJue not entered his life.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Nie MingJue appears at the head of the hall, his stride quick and purposeful. Guards had been sent to inform him that the Emperor is awake, XiChen remembers, and the man doubtlessly expects to be admitted to the Emperor’s chambers without delay. XiChen is certain that Nie MingJue will be disappointed in his expectations. Any conversation that requires the removal of both Lady Jiang and the Imperial guards from the Emperor’s presence must be highly sensitive in nature, and is likely to go on for some time.

The General of the Emperor’s army is no longer wearing his armor, his Nie Sect uniform silver and black, the cut severe, clearly intended to project authority. In the early morning gloom, his face is a collection of shifting shadows, his mood impossible to discern. Faced with such a presence, the few servants finishing up their nightly tasks scurry out of the way with their heads bowed, the guards straighten their shoulders as if expecting to be scolded, even the walls themselves seem to stand at attention.

It strikes XiChen fiercely, how the attributes he admires so fervently in Nie MingJue are those he has always felt a lack of in himself. Even the man’s boldness, so often displayed in mortifying ways, is a trait that XiChen wishes he can possess. It has inspired a boldness of his own, although it appears pitiful when compared to MingJue’s. In the same vein, his own temperance is likely to have suppressed at least some of MingJue’s brashness. They fit, the two of them; one yielding while the other remains unmoved, one sure to hesitate while the other barrels bravely onward.

Do you truly think that there is a single part of you that I will not admire?

MingJue does not have a chance to express his obvious surprise at encountering XiChen during such an early hour, nor is he given an opportunity to ask any questions. XiChen is not certain what his course of action would have been, had MingJue resisted the firm grip on his wrist, had he refused to let himself be steered. To his relief, MingJue obediently allows XiChen to pull him aside, to push him past the unguarded doors of the Emperor’s study.

The room beyond faces south, the early morning light some hours away from reaching the single window hole. XiChen is relieved. He does not want MingJue to see the flush across his cheeks, or to discern the anxiety in his eyes.

Under his hands, MingJue’s braids are impossibly intricate, each one a tiny, delicate wonder. Under his mouth, MingJue is made rigid by surprise.

XiChen had not exactly expected an immediate response. This action, this impulse decision, it is so unlike himself that MingJue may as well think he has been accosted by a stranger. Still, each breath is centuries long, each one riddled with seeds of doubt.

Perhaps XiChen was wrong after all. Perhaps Nie MingJue does not wish to--

He is pulled forward with such force that he stumbles over his own feet. The cold steel of MingJue’s belt scrapes across the tender flesh of his stomach, an earth shattering contact even through two layers of robes. MingJue’s tongue, hot and insistent, licks into his mouth, sliding against his own. The sensation is a shock; XiChen feels it all along his spine, curving around his limbs, pressing into each sensitive stretch of his skin. He does not realize he had tightened his hold on the handful of braids until MingJue makes a sound, a pitiful noise that seems to border on pain. Even as XiChen struggles to release his grip, the arms around his body tighten, a searing hot palm pressed against his shoulder blades locking him in place.

XiChen has never kissed, or been kissed. The few times he had imagined such an act, it had been a rarely reached conclusion of some distinctly chaste fantasies, gone no further than lips pressing together, breathing each other’s air. He does not think that any stretch of fantasies could have prepared him for this.

He is certain that his lack of skill must be obvious. Yet, each hesitant lick of his tongue is followed by a series of shudders he can clearly feel cross MingJue’s shoulders. His own trembling, impossible to suppress, is made less shameful by the knowledge that MingJue is equally as affected. It seems impossible to concentrate on anything but the movement of their lips, the slick slide of their tongues, but XiChen manages to release the handfuls of braids he had gripped. MingJue whines softly, a noise that sounds suspiciously like a complaint.

When their lips part, XiChen finds himself struggling to breathe normally, his chest both too tight for the air he needed, and somehow larger than the space it must occupy.

“XiChen,” MingJue rasps.

His voice is raw and thick, the sound unexpectedly arousing. XiChen is moving to kiss him again before realizing that he has done so, and manages to pull back just in time.

Firmly placing his hands on MingJue’s shoulders, he tries to say what must be said, words he had avoided since his last argument with uncle, “You-- my uncle will only allow your presence at Cloud Recesses if I enter secluded meditation for the duration of your visit. I will not attempt to convince him to change his mind. He does not trust me to behave-- in a virtuous manner, nor do I intend to persuade him otherwise.”

MingJue makes a soft sound, but XiChen does not look up; he is embarrassed enough by the admission as it is, he does not want to know what expression MingJue’s face may hold.

“You had said once that your situation is not nearly as inflexible as my own. If you are still willing-- to offer me a lifetime, I am ready to listen.”

He has hardly finished speaking when MingJue’s mouth finds his own again, infinitely more careful this time, the act very close to the chaste kiss of XiChen’s fantasies. XiChen is the one who presses closer, deepening the kiss, feeling brave and reckless in the wake of his confession.

Perhaps he may never possess MingJue’s boldness, but he has managed to find some of his own in the process; as paltry as such a thing may appear to be, if it serves to ensure him a lifetime of happiness, he will never again view it with scorn.

[auty-ren]

The Offer: Chapter 1

Introductions

Pairing: ClanLeader!Mando x Reader (no y/n)

Rating: Explicit (for future chapters)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Mentions of violence, Blood, Injury, Longing, Pet names

A/N: After the feedback on my preview, I decided to make this into a full-fledge fic. This chapter is a little slow in terms of action but I wanted to establish some things before we dived into filth. I’m honestly so excited and I hope y’all enjoy. Comments and feedback always appreciated. ClanLeader!Au created by @magichandthing 

Chapter 2

P.S. Mira is an OC I created for this story and she will be in future chapters.

P.P.S. I also posted it on AO3 if you prefer that forum.

Summary: You run into a Mandalorian who wants to repay a debt. Little did you know you'd meet the most alluring man along the way. Din Djarin.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

“Yes, I have,” you sighed.

“And?”

“I accept"

—

You can’t recall when the calm began and the fighting ended. For most, the lines between peace and war blurred a long time ago. It certainly affected the locals of the planet you were currently living on. Manual labor was the only thing you could offer to the galaxy, picking up jobs here and there to buy rations of food. Scavenging for metals, digging, harvesting, and menial tasks were all that made up your day. You survived this long, longer than your family, longer than most of the galaxy, but it felt part of you had died long ago.

After the empire, life was truly never the same for anyone. They drained the galaxy of everything it had, leaving destruction and barrenness in its wake. The Imps had caused most of the galaxy to become a shell of what it once was, the only thing that seemed to thrive was lawlessness. You saw it in the faces of people in the market, in the seemingly empty homes that ran alongside the town, an emptiness that was buried deep in wounds trying so desperately to heal.

Everyone tried to live their lives just as they have done before. Children still played in the streets, people walked together laughing, but the happiness was only skin deep, masking the grief of the galaxy. It was something that ate away at you, an emptiness that created a growing void over time. You could feel your mind falling away, going numb to the routine of your life. Your conscious embraced something that seemed to root from deep inside you, it had burrowed into your soul one ago, slowly eating away at the rest of you. It was becoming suffocating, exhausting you past the point any manual labor could. You feared you would never escape its clutch. Living and working and dying on this horrible little planet, where no one would miss you. Your loneliness became your one solace and your worst enemy. Alone, all you could do was immerse yourself in work, trying desperately to hold onto something you never had in the first place. It was a vicious cycle you weren’t sure could ever be broken. That was until the woman happened.

You couldn’t remember exactly what transpired. How any of it happened really. It was a day like any other, just as routine and conventional as they had been since you got here. You do remember being smacked across the face with something hard, falling to the ground. The taste of copper flooding your senses, and wetness pouring down your face. You had reached up to cradle yourself, blood seeping through your fingertips.

Everything surrounding that moment was a blur. The woman had offered her hand, apologizing for the injury. You had seen her before; walking through the market and even arguing with some of the townsfolk. She was truly hard to miss, she walked with a swagger of confidence and carried practically every weapon known to the galaxy on her back. She was always dressed in a maroon color, her armor is the only thing that offsets the monochromatic trend. It was much different than anything she had seen before.

If anyone else stood in her place you would've fled fearing the worst, but your mind was muddled, unable to comprehend the Mandalorian standing above you. Something was different about her, at least from the other mercenaries that came through. You had witnessed her differing moral compass at work before. She once threatened a man who came through town, a common criminal like most who came through. Unlucky for him, he robbed one of the places she frequented, taking the entirety of the merchants’ earnings. Everyone, including yourself, just stood by, too afraid of the confrontation. She, however, intercepted him before he could leave, disarming him quickly and leaving his unconscious body on the ground. She gave the credits back to the merchant.

“There is no honor among thieves,” she had huffed, annoyed with the disturbance of her day.

As she turned to leave you spoke up, asking her why she had even bothered.

“This is the way.”

—

“How long have you lived on this planet?” She inquired, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. Her helmet glinted in the sunlight, causing her presence to practically glow in the shade of the alleyway.

“Long enough,” you huffed, holding a cloth to your nose trying to reduce the bleeding. Why would she ask such a question? Since when did Mandalorians care for small talk?

“You don’t like it?” The woman didn’t sound surprised. Her tone rolled in an almost sarcastic way.

You just huffed in response. You hoped if you seemed uninterested the woman would leave you alone. It felt like an interrogation, intimidated by the domineering presence of a Mandalorian. At this point, you just wanted to return to your day, no matter how draining it would be.

“Would you like to leave?”

Those words rang in your ears, echoing even now as you sat in the belly of the woman’s ship, being carted off to a planet unrecognizable. The dizziness from earlier seemed to subside, especially since the woman gave you a shot of some sort, claiming it would help.

“Where are we going?” you mumbled.

“To my clan,” the woman responded, busying herself with the controls in front of her.

“Your clan?”

“To my home,” she clarified, not bothering to look up. “You will be welcome there and can rest, heal.”

“You’re taking me to your home because of this?” you gestured to your face, no doubt bruised and blooded. If it looked as bad as it had felt, you were sure it wasn’t pretty.

She paused in her actions, thinking carefully about her next words.

“It is my fault you sustained these injuries, you were innocent and did not deserve my wrath. Therefore, I will make sure you are healed and it will be much more comfortable for both of us if we return to my clan.”

The Mandalorian seemed unbothered by the notion of taking a stranger back to her home as if she does it regularly. But you figured it didn’t concern you. If this Mandalorian and her clan lived up to the stories you heard, they weren’t afraid of anyone.

“What’s your name?” you asked. If you were going to be staying, you couldn’t keep referring to her as “the woman.”

“You can call me Mira.”

—

The rest of the flight was spent in silence. You eventually moved to sit with Mira in the cockpit. Watching as she worked to prepare the ship for landing. You wondered what Mira’s home would be like. The Mandalorians were known to be the fiercest warriors in the galaxy. You had heard the stories before; tales of battle, triumph, and loss. Stories of the most formidable soldiers in the galaxy.

Regret started to cloud the corners of your mind. Fear of what you had gotten yourself into seeped into your chest, tightening your rib cage with each breath you took. Truly, you had no desire to stay and heal with Mira, you mainly wanted to escape her life previously. Opportunities to leave we’re few, especially with no status in the New Republic. When Mira had offered, there was no hesitation to get off that forsaken planet. You weren’t sure if things went sour you would be strong enough to get yourself out of it.

When the ship fell out of hyperspace, Mira’s home finally came into view. It definitely wasn’t what you expected, it was such a beautiful and peaceful looking place, tucked away in the far corners of the galaxy.

The planet was covered in a green lushness, the sky littered with enormous clouds that reflected the sun giving them faint hues of color. As you entered through the atmosphere, you saw the planet was lined with dense areas of forest. Trees reached the heavens, with fat brightly colored leaves adorning them. The forests stretched for most of the planet's surface, with large mountains that loomed far in the distance.

Mira landed in a clearing on the edge of a forest. Some other ships surrounded them, you recognized a few of the models from your time working as an apprentice. You figured these probably belonged to the rest of Mira’s clan. Mira couldn’t have been the only one who left the planet.

You stood staring at the mountains while Mira unloaded your ship. You had never seen a place this mesmerizing in your life. The sun was beginning to set, painting the landscape in red and purple rays. The air was fresh and crisp, filling your lungs with a gentleness you hadn’t felt in years. Everything seemed so bright and livid compared to your previous homes.

Mira called for you, climbing onto the back of a speeder driven by an R2 unit, loaded with supplies. You murmured an apology, settling among the crates and stretching your feet in front of you, Mira did the same mirroring her position.

“It will take some time to get to the village.” Mira’s tone was passive, in a matter of fact sort of way.

You gave a nod to let her know you heard her. As you tried to sleep, cushioned by the bags lining the speeder, you were reminded of the dull ache still permeating your face. The excitement of arrival had clouded the pain, but as you sat consumed by only your thoughts, it returned. Your face was no doubt swollen and puffy. You just hoped your nose wasn’t broken, you hoped it was nothing more than some swelling. Exhaustion was creeping up, and you wanted to succumb to it but the persistent throb of pain kept you from it.

Suddenly the speeder came to an abrupt halt, jolting you to the side.

“We’re here,” Mira started getting up and slinging sacks of supplies over her shoulders. “Follow me.”

You got up to follow as quickly as your legs would let you, holding onto the crates for support, your balance became unsteady as the pain pulsed harder. Whatever Mira originally gave you was wearing off. Before you could step foot off the speeder you were overwhelmed by the presence of what you can only gather is Mira’s clan.

People rushed to the speeder to help unload, brushing past you except for a curious glance. Most of them wore helmets like Mira, some of them didn’t. Either way, it was hard to keep track of the direction Mira moved. You were sure you’d lost her until you saw the glint of her helmet ahead.

That woman moves entirely too fast.

You continued to follow her, securing your own bag across your shoulders. You tried to move quickly, bumping into people on the way. You apologized to everyone you ran into, which was seemingly the entire clan at this point. You could feel the embarrassment rising, you just wanted to find Mira and it was getting frustrating at this point. It was hard to focus on the surroundings with the pain shooting through your skull. You nearly fell and ran into something you were sure was a wall. It was firm whatever it was and caused you to wince, jolting back from the pain that pulsed in her face.

“Easy,” a voice said that was much deeper than Mira’s.

Arms came up to steady you, and a warmth radiated towards you. You looked up and saw a dark visor staring back at you that was certainly not Mira’s

He was a Mandalorian but stood out from the rest in a way that demanded attention. His authoritative demeanor rolled off him in ways. His helmet was shiny and unlike Mira’s, two large tusks jutted out from the bottom, curling around to the front of his mask. His clothes were the same deep maroon Mira donned. He wore a cape with a large fur that sat on his pauldron covered shoulders, draping down his back. His forearms were accented with sleeves made of leather and cloth that bleed into a tattooed pattern tracing along his arms. Yet, his chest was bare except for the necklaces he wore; round beads and animal teeth were woven together to sit in the middle, set off by the toned muscle of his chest and torso. At his waist was a thick belt with a large buckle resting in the middle. It shone with the same luster as his helmet, it was molded into the shape of some creature. It seemed familiar but no matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

His fingers lightly traced your chin, bringing your eyes back up to his visor. You didn’t realize you were just standing there, ogling over him. It was entirely unintentional, you had never seen anything like him before. You felt scolded like a child, almost embarrassed by your staring. Face suddenly growing very hot under his gaze.

“You must watch where you’re going,” his hushed baritone hit her ears, “or you’ll hurt yourself.” That voice quite possibly the most heavenly sound you had heard. You willed herself to speak but nothing came out, your mind was completely blank. It was as if you were stuck, only able to stare back up into this stranger.

“It’s a little too late for that,” Mira appeared to his right, arms crossed over her chest. The man turned to her and offered Mira a greeting in an unfamiliar language. They shook, hands clasped together at the forearms as if they were old friends.

“Who is this sweet girl?” The man asked, turning back towards you. The name he called you did not go unnoticed, and you felt your face getting even hotter. Mira began to explain the details of your meeting.

Mira refers to your injuries, and gently takes your chin and tilts your head so the Mandalorian can examine it better. Your instincts told you to run, to go anywhere else but here, but you remained planted firm to the ground. They were so close to you, examining as if you were just some object. You couldn’t even see their faces and yet they overwhelmed you. You had never wanted to disappear so badly at that moment.

They continued conversing in whatever native tongue they possessed. You stood there feeling much too exposed for your liking. More people seemed to notice your presence, looking in the direction of the three of you. Some murmured, looking between you and the two Mandalorians. There was no malice behind their intentions; you knew this but standing there with all those eyes watching your every move was not where you wanted to be.

Eventually, the man gestured to something behind him, Mira nodded and took a hold of your arm leading you away.

“One of the elders will be with us to help you shortly,”  Mira led you in the direction of what you assumed was her home. You didn't even register you had moved until you were almost inside. You weren’t entirely sure if it was your wounds or the domineering exchange between the Mandalorian that left you light headed. Either way, you wanted nothing more than to lay down in a quiet place and hide away from the events of the past days.

You glanced back at the speeder, the Mandalorian was still in the same spot where he intercepted you, watching you both walk away. You turned back to Mira.

“Who was that man?” You asked much more enthusiastically than you would have liked. You couldn't lie and say he didn't intrigue you. His aura was overpowering but also enticed you in a way you couldn't explain.

“That was our clan leader, Din Djarin.”

[johannstutt413]

(requested by mathmaticalknight)

When Blemishine got the Doctor’s permission to take assignments from Closure (so long as she didn’t use it as an escape method), she’d expected to be assigned to maintenance work - weapons, armor, maybe even something closer to light hazing like ‘clock duty’. What she hadn’t expected was for the Sarkaz in charge of the department to take one look at her, nod approvingly, and assign her to be Lancet-2’s primary maintainer. “I’ll teach you what you need to know, and then she’s all yours.”

“Um, this is an exciting offer, Miss Closure,” the Kuranta had replied, “but are you sure that-”

“You’ll do great! Besides, it’s not as complicated as you might think; sure, there’s a lot of moving parts, but Lancet’s autodiagnostics are basically foolproof. Come on, time is money!” And, with that, it was decided: Maria Nearl was now the primary mechanic for Rhodes Island’s best-known robot Operator.

Which, of course, meant another tech-savvy Operator entered her life. Eunectes - who insisted on being called Zumama when not in the field - practically glued herself to her ‘sister’ any chance she could, and those chances came frequently because the Pythia simply could not be argued with. Frequently, Blemishine tried to make small talk with her, but no matter what topic she started with, the conversation would naturally drift back to Lancet, and as interested in mechanics as she was, her interest was no match for the savant from Sargon.

At least, for the first few weeks, that was the nature of their relationship. One day, however, as Maria finished Lancet’s morning check-up and released her for work, Zumama stayed behind rather than follow the robot out of the workshop. “I’m having a barbecue on the bridge tonight. Will you come to it?”

“Eh? Sure, Zumama!” She’d heard only good things about Acahuallan food, thanks to the Pythia’s persistent presence. “Any special occasion?”

“No. I just feel like cooking for you tonight.”

For...her? “Oh! That’s very kind of you. Who all will be there?”

“The two of us.” Period. End of guest list. “I’ll start the fire during Lancet-2’s power-down procedure.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll be there for sure!” This was exactly the opportunity to get to know Eunectes better, after all, even if it was a bit odd. The last barbecue had most of Engineering there to celebrate a round of promotions in the department, and it’d looked like a lot of work to cook all that food, so for her to go through the trouble just for the Kuranta...nah, she shouldn’t read too much into it. That kind of thing happened in knightly romance novels, not in real life.

Which is what she told herself throughout the day, occasionally out loud, as exactly the opposite thought bounced around her brain like the screensaver on Lancet-2’s diagnostic terminal. Her charge even commented on it as the knight was plugging her in for her nightly power-down. “Blemishine, your heart rate has been steadily rising throughout the day. It is currently resting at 88.7 beats per minute. Is this related to my sister’s invitation?”

“You heard about that?” That 88.7 jumped to 98. “Yeah, I guess that’d be why.”

“Being a medical robot, my understanding of emotions is more clinical than personal, but it seems she’s interested in you.” Closure’s relationship with Nian shared some of the same characteristics.

The Kuranta blushed at the thought. “You think so?”

“Zumama has provided me with substantial data on her reactions to various other Operators, but her reactions with you show a distinctive pattern.” Okay, that was a bit of a stretch, but the Medicbot’s usual pessimism couldn't stop her from indulging in a bit of matchmaking. “Like many other joys of the human experience, I only have a rudimentary understanding, but-”

“Thank you, Lancet!” Blemishine gave her the best hug she could manage, given the robot’s bulk. A job well done on her part; she could power down with an elevated evaluation of her productivity for the day.

Once Lancet-2 was fully powered down for the night, Maria went back to her room, changed as quickly as she could, and half-trotted to the threshold of the bridge. The delicious, smoky smell of Sargon-grilled meat drifted into the hallway as the knight-mechanic took a few steadying breaths. When she’d recollected herself, sure at most a couple of hairs were out of place, she opened the door and walked onto the bridge.

Eunectes’ grill stood in the circle of ashy stones that marked out the fire pit. Meteor had been the one to request it, and she frequently made use of it, but tonight, it was the Pythia’s. She signaled for Blemishine to close the door behind her before beckoning her closer. “Food’s almost ready.”

“Oh, fantastic! I was worried it might be getting cold by the ti-” Now that she could see what was on the grill, Maria found something new to appreciate her host for. “Those are Kazimierza sausages.”

“I heard you liked them. There’s water in the cooler.”

Good to know - the knight could use a drink. “Thanks for taking care of dinner tonight. It smells great!”

“Thank you.” Zumama split the now-done sausages between two plates and brought them over to where the Kuranta had sat. “Here.”

“Thanks! I’m gonna let them cool for a minute.” She set them on the opposite of her from the Pythia before turning to look at her.

The other engineer did the same, albeit mirrored. “Good idea...I want to ask you something, Maria.”

“Go ahead!” Blemishine’s heart rate picked up again. “Ask me anything you want.”

“Why did you want to become an engineer?” Eunectes’ tongue flicked between her teeth absentmindedly.

While it’s hard to say what question Maria expected, that hadn’t been it. “Oh? Well, I found out how much I enjoyed maintenance because of my sister - I’d watch her cleaning her armor or sharpening her sword, and then one day I asked if I could help, so she let me. By the time she left, I had my own weapons and armor to maintain, I knew some folks who had a car they let me tinker with, and I was keeping up with the knight competitions so I could see the different designs I heard about...So, um, I guess my sister is the reason I’m helping out with Engineering now. What about you?”

“I want to build robots.” She grabbed a sausage - still quite warm, but nothing she couldn't handle - and took a bite before continuing. “The first time I saw a city cross the sky, shining in scattering sunlight, I knew I wanted to build one myself. Then, Gavial came home with the Doctor, and they brought Lancet-2 with them, and after meeting her, I knew I wanted to make a robot like her. Someday I’ll make us another sister, and then I’ll make a city that can talk like her, and we can all live there.”

“That’s a cool dream...We?”

The Pythia nodded. “You, and me, and Lancet-2, and Master Closure, and the other robots, and Rhodes Island, too. We’ll fly it back to Acahualla, so my tribe can live there, too.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of people.” The knight took her first bite of dinner, and her eyes lit up. “This is so good! I can’t believe you made these just for me!”

“Of course. I wanted to thank you for taking care of Big Sis.” She swallowed the rest of the sausage in her hand before moving onto the next one.

Blemishine’s jaw would have dropped, but it was busy eating. Eunectes really had outdone herself. “I’m happy to! It was an honor to have Miss Closure have my first job be something so important, even if I was nervous at first. You and Lancet-2 make me feel right at home in that little workshop.”

“That’s good.” They ate in silence for a bit, making short work of their one-course dinner, before Zumama continued. “When I build my city, will you live with me?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely! That sounds...wonderful.” Scattered daydreams from earlier that day, planted by her invitation, played anew in her mind’s eye.

Not even Maria’s imagination could prepare her for the real thing, though, as the Pythia slid close enough to grab her hand. “I have another dream. One I need you to help me with.”

“Oh?” Neither had taken their eyes off the other since they’d sat down. The Kuranta wasn’t sure if she was ready for this. “You want to tell me about it?”

“I want to show it to you.”

The knight smiled, blushing wildly. “Please do.”

“Mm.” Eunectes stood up, taking Blemishine with her, before reaching for her other hand. “Ready?”

“Show me, ‘mama.” She wouldn’t have been able to tell you if omitting the ‘Zu’ had been accidental or intentional.

Maria could tell you, however, that barbecue and Zumama’s lips tasted great together.

[jasperwhitcock]

equinox | chapter 07 –– “a cruel god, a wrathful goddess”

here is chapter six of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy​​ posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag. but it seems 10/10 times my tag does not work, so that is a fun mystery for me to solve.

oof... sometimes u get distracted and then ur sister gets married and then u get unmotivated & d*pressed and forget to update ur fanfic for over three months... my bad y'all... sorry for the wait hehe. i hope it is worth it. again, i'm so thankful for the comments & i read them all. i get too shy to respond, but i WILL. i just need to talk myself up first. i love u. thank u. hehe. ♡♡♡ merry christmas/happy holidays if i fail u again before the 25th. i WANT to update more frequently. my catchphrase these days is "i'm trying my best," so... i'm trying my best.

this is for the sweet anons who slide into my ask box & ask me questions abt my fanfic. and for taryn, who consistently reminds me that there are people wanting to read this seeing as she is one of those people, kim, who i am so desperate to impress that i began working on a new chapter once she started to read my fanfic, and kae, because without her, this fanfic would never have existed in the first place. i love how i'm writing this as though it's the intro to an actual book when it's literally just chapter seven. ok, i will shut up now so u can read. love u. again.

07 A CRUEL GOD, A WRATHFUL GODDESS

In great contrast to the noisy ambience of the other students in the hallway, we were silent on our walk to our shared biology class. I wondered how conscious Edward was of the stares and whispers focused on our proximity to one another, but my guess was that he was very much conscious of it. I intentionally ignored glancing in any direction that I sensed one of my siblings’ presence, although I figured it was mostly paranoia driving me to feel as though we were about to cross paths. Holding my breath to more easily walk beside Edward left my senses impaired to the ability to pinpoint their location. 

I was lucky that for the majority of my immortal life, I’d managed to escape unwanted attention. But now, it seemed that precious luck had finally run out. Maybe embarrassment had been creeping up on me, maliciously building itself up all these years, waiting until just the right moment to rear its ugly head and exact revenge that immorality had stolen its favorite object of humiliation to torment. But here it was, ensuring that I was finally catching up on feeling awkward and out of step, a feeling I experienced for what seemed like the entirety of my human life. I thought once I’d been changed, I’d never feel this way again, but becoming misaligned with my family made me feel bashful to parade my defiance in their faces. I had operated better under no scrutiny as a mortal and was surprised to realize that that still held true as an immortal as well. Because though there was now never a struggle of staying upright or a risk of tripping over my own feet, that didn’t prevent me from feeling self-conscious as I walked beside Edward. Although for different reasons –– it was too mortifying to consider what my family might make of what my actions suggested about my feelings towards Edward.

And yet still, I would put up with the ridicule and disapproval of my siblings if it meant I could listen to Edward speak his silly philosophical theology, his questioning of god and existence, for just a few more hours. If I were going to be teased over Alice’s visions regardless, I might as well find out what I can about this pretentious boy before I leave him alone forever. If only to understand why his moving to this small town threatened to warp my own future so much. In losing night and in losing death, there were so very little anomalies in the endless amount of time I’d been given. So what would it hurt to allow myself to fixate on this minuscule difference in my life for just awhile?

It could hurt Edward, a more selfless part of myself reminded me. If indulging myself was playing with fire, I was being justly punished with the way flames were efflorescing the inside of my dry, burning throat.

If a god did exist, why would it make sense for such a being to craft someone like Edward with his perceptivity, and send him off to this small town, home to a secret such as ours? If a god did exist, why it would be fair for such a being to craft someone like Edward, someone who tempted me both in bloodlust and in curiosity, and send him off to this small town, home to the very vampire who desperately wished to kill him most? If a god did exist, if our kind had fallen short of heaven, I could understand why sending Edward into our path –– and more specifically, my path –– could be some kind of punishment. But what I couldn’t understand is why a god would allow someone as innocent as Edward to be endangered for the sake of bringing a sinful, undead creature to justice. It seemed the only reasonable explanation would be that a god probably did not exist. 

And how could there be? I was on the precipice of falling into temptation with every step further in the hallway and every question he asked and answered. I could never not be very much aware of the fact –– especially now with his body merely inches from my side and his sweet fragrance blooming both deliciously and relentlessly in the air. And even as I impossibly withstood the lure of his blood, how was I meant to ignore the irresistibility of his mind and how inexplicably concerned I was to understand it? It seemed like a very cruel experiment of free will and knowledge –– far too cruel to allow much room for the kind of god Edward hoped for.

I frowned as I realized that this experiment wasn’t that of a cruel god’s but that of a cruel vampire, and I felt very much like a vampire as the sound of his heartbeat was so appealing that it made my mouth water.

“Do the stares bother you?” Edward spoke quietly to me as we weaved throughout the hallway. Easily distracted, his question was able to pull the more civilized parts of myself together, though this was probably also in thanks to my choosing not to utilize my sense of smell. I found it funny that at least one of his thoughts had been in a similar vicinity. But of course, the rest of his thoughts were probably free of all consuming agony and struggle. For all his curiosity about morality, to inflict this existence upon him would probably devour him in misery. At least as a human, despite whatever conclusions he may come to, there was still some hope to be had for an afterlife. This thought should have been dark and depressing, but because it made Alice’s vision seem like a complete hoax, I almost found it funny. How would Edward ever end up like me?

“Oh, no,” I swallowed the venom in my mouth. “I live for attention.” I watched from the corner of my eyes as his gaze flickered over to me, the ever present half smile appearing on his face at my joke. My answer came out so comfortably as though I was used to this, when in reality, the student body for the most part had grown accustomed to ignoring me. And, of course, there was nothing comfortable about the demanding, aching dryness in my mouth or the burning in my nostrils. “How about you?”

“Likewise,” he joked, laughing. “This is interesting –– their fascination. I understood their interest on my first day because I’d guess a new addition to the student body in a town this small is something of a rarity, but today, walking by your side is garnering even more attention. Is it a once in a lifetime opportunity to have Bella Cullen walk you to class?”

“You’re just so observant, aren’t you?” I rolled my eyes, though the corners of my mouths pulled up despite myself. “And I’m not walking you to class. I’m walking to a class I just so happen to share with you, so don’t get the wrong idea. I think they’re just surprised because they’re probably under the impression that I don’t play nice with others.”

“And do you?”

“You tell me,” I replied, pausing to face him beside a wall of lockers next to the entrance of our biology classroom. As he stopped beside me, a gust of air from a passing student walking hastily down the hallway sent his scent reeling into me at an unfortunate moment where I’d chosen to breathe in. My muscles tensed to spring, and I desperately anchored myself to the floor as my mind fell into disarray.

“Nicely enough,” Edward winked naturally as though we’d been the best of friends since his first day. The demanding thirst was intruding on my awareness, and the desperation for something wet and hot and delicious in my desiccated throat was so dizzying that his voice sounded as though it were underwater. With an effort as though I were swimming through drying cement, I resurfaced, just barely proving my dominion over the desire. I focused on his voice so that it’d become clearer, forcing myself to take another excruciating breath in and exhale the fire out. “I will say I am honored to be the exception –– to be plucked from the masses by the renowned, reclusive Bella Cullen.”

With torturous effort, I snorted as though I wasn’t fighting everything within me to keep him alive. I breathed in again heavily, allowing my body to become a pyre so that I could speak. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop saying my name like that. And you’ve lost the privilege. I am never walking you to class again,” I rolled my eyes even though my joke could very much be the truth. The bunching of my muscles, the twitching of my hands, and the fierce pain in my throat reminded me of the fact. Before he could point out the contradiction of what I’d previously clarified, I sighed. “Let’s take this quiz.”

His pretty green eyes were alive with mischief and enlightened with what must be more answers to questions he hadn’t outright asked me as he turned to enter the classroom. I followed behind him towards our shared table.

Air from the vent rushed out, thrusting the scent of his blood wafting into my face again. I paused for an indistinguishable moment as I battled agony, murderousness, monstrosity. Holy fuck. What was I trying to prove! Was it really worth this? Swallowing hard, I sat beside him as though nothing happened. My suffering was so great that Emmett could have brutally ripped my arm off, he could have beat me with it, and I wouldn’t have noticed nor felt a thing. I could have been set on fire, and it’d feel like sinking into a cool pool of water on an even cooler day. I was already burning alive, my body acting as a furnace, and I was imprisoned inside it.

Without intending to, I sighed aloud, exhaling as though it would smother the flames. It was a stupid, attention seeking thing to do. Humans sighed to expel air or express some sadness or relief or exhaustion, so when my family emitted an audible breath, we did so as a means of blending in. But to breath out in a way to clue Edward into the fact something was plaguing me… it was a stupid invitation for more questions. And these were questions I had no intention of sharing the answers to. I felt his eyes on me, but before he could say anything, Mr. Molina began passing out quizzes face down on our lab tables as students continued to pile in from lunch.

“Alright, class. Today we have a pop quiz–– oh, come on, guys, don’t groan. You will have the opportunity to make corrections after these have been graded. This is just an assessment of what you’ve retained from this unit so far. You will have the entire period to complete–– thanks for joining us, Mr. Patterson, glad you could fit my class into your busy schedule. Why don’t you take your seat? –– You will have the entire period to complete your quiz. If you finish early, feel free to get a head start on this weekend’s homework! I’ve written the reading down on the board. Aw, I’m sure you’re all moaning because you’re disappointed at how light of an assignment it is because I just know how very excited you all are to continue your passionate pursuit of studying biology. Alright, now that everyone’s settled–– wait a minute––”  Mr. Molina paused, raising his pointer finger in the air, his eyes squinted in anticipation. Three seconds later, the bell signaled the beginning of class. “Begin!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward reluctantly turn away from me. In an elegant script, he wrote his name at the top of the paper and began his quiz. I turned away from him to look at my own paper, preparing myself to uncomfortably hold my breath for the next hour. The difference this made in my thirst was almost insignificant, but enough so that it gave me a tiny more leverage in my control. I smoothed out the pucker on my forehead with the eraser from my pencil, accidentally snapping the rubber off against my face. 

Absentmindedly, I began to breeze through the assessment, circling the correct answers, but my mind was more absorbed in the warmth of sitting beside Edward. Aside from the affliction of doing so, it was too pleasurable to have sat beside him so often and for so long today. I enjoyed the toastiness like a lizard basking in the sun. It made me recall the muddy human memory of laying out on a blanket in my backyard beneath my beloved blue Arizona sky, hiding beneath the small shade of a book. Not the blistering heat of a summertime Phoenix sun, but the warmth of the first day of spring. But the heat of Edward’s body alone was enough to fill my mouth with venom, so I tried to refocus my attention onto my quiz.

When I turned to the last page of questions, a motion beside me diverted my concentration once again. I peeked over, turning my head slightly in Edward’s direction to see what it was. As he thought over one of the questions, his right hand was moving peculiarly as he lifted and dropped down his long fingers almost as though he were impatiently tapping each digit one by one along the tabletop. Except the movement was more exact and calculatingly random. Engrossed, I watched as his his soft, fragile skin rippled over the muscle, the tendons appearing and disappearing with every bizarre movement. It took me a moment to make the connection between the large grand piano in his home and the motion of his hands. I realized he was miming piano movements while he thought through his answers. There was something both weird, funny, and endearing about this. I smiled to myself, not having the required oxygen to quietly laugh.

I felt his curious eyes flicker over to me and watched peripherally as he raised his eyebrows. I shook my head, biting down on my lip to unsuccessfully fight the smile, and returned to completing my quiz.

I finished a moment later and impatiently waited another ten minutes or so before I could turn in my work. I tried to ignore Edward for this small period of time at least, mentally reading myself the opening chapter to Wuthering Heights. Even though the words were committed to my memory, it was still never as good as actually reading from the book itself.

Once I’d decided an appropriate enough time had passed, I stood up to walk my quiz to the completed basket on Mr. Molina’s desk. Even having waited, I was still the first to finish the examination.

“Thank you,” the teacher whispered without breaking his focus away from the crossword puzzle he peered through his glasses at. I breathed in now that I’d placed some distance between myself and Edward, gladly facing the cool, fresh air from the vent.

“Neophyte,” I whispered back now that I’d replenished my oxygen supply.

“Excuse me?” He glanced up, his slightly aged face confused.

“Neophyte,” I repeated. “Eight across, two down.”

I took in one last clean breath and walked back to my seat as he tapped his pen across the squares of the space, mouthing his count of the letters to check if the word fit.

As soon as I took my place in my seat again, Edward stood up to walk his own quiz to the basket.

I wanted to watch him, but instead I forced myself to unzip my backpack and retrieve the biology textbook.

Busying myself with the assigned chapters, deciding to actually read them so as to not feed into my invasive Edward obsession, I couldn’t help but listen as Edward too placed his own textbook on the countertop.

I heard the scribble of pen on paper as he began to write what I imagined were notes until his large hand slid the paper over to me beneath the wall of my hair spilling over the desk. Well, I wouldn’t ignore him if he was the one deciding to bother me.

You know I’m pretty certain that cheating is a violation of the student handbook, but I’ll let you get away with it just this once.

I turned to glance at his face to see if he were serious. His eyes were warm and inviting, his mouth in the same crooked smile.

I took the piece of paper and looked around for my writing utensil that had gone missing somehow. My eyes zeroed in on a suspicious, tiny pile of wood dust on my side of the desk. When had I brutalized my pencil? He held his hand out to offer his own pen, and I accepted it, carefully plucking it from his fingers without making contact.

I wasn’t cheating. You were doing something funny. And what do you know about the student handbook? You’re new.

I slid the paper and pen back to him and watched as he combed a hand through his bronze hair, reading my response. The smile grew wider as he construed the biting tone of my note. 

Can I be let in on the joke? Edward wrote, turning to look at me once he was done. Again I was prisoner, though this time not to my own body. I was momentarily held hostage by the beauty and warmth of his light green eyes. I was understanding more and more the attraction the other students had for him. If I had a soul, it was as though he were staring straight into it.

I recovered, placing my hand atop the desk and then wiggling my fingers as though I were weaving my way through a very complicated piano piece.

Oh, Edward mouthed, immediately understanding. He silently laughed and placed his left hand to his forehead briefly as if to hide his face in mock embarrassment. The ink from the pen spilled onto the paper as he began to write again.

In my defense, there’s research that supports classical music puts students in a heightened emotional state, making them more receptive to information and helping them focus.

That’s very nerdy of you. I scribbled back, the corners of my lips pulled upwards.

I know. As I read the words on the notebook paper, we both laughed a little too loudly for the quietness of the room.

“Please remain silent for your classmates still working,” Mr. Molina stage-whispered from his desk, his eyes still fixated on the crossword puzzle.

It’s a bad habit. Edward tacked on to his message. I beamed. I knew a thing or two about bad habits today. I was appreciative of this silent conversation on paper; it made it easier to be beside him without needing to breathe to speak aloud.

What were you playing? I scrawled.

Clair de Lune. Edward wrote back. His thick eyebrows raised as my eyes lit up, and he continued writing. You know Debussy?

My mother used to play a lot of classical music around the house. It was one of my favorites.

It’s one of my favorites, too. Edward’s eyes were a little sad and lost in thought, and he smiled softly.

I was shocked by the change in expression and weirdly desperate to return the brightness back to his eyes. The burn in my throat was almost forgettable in the face of my concern. Almost, but not quite. He turned his head down to write on the paper again.

You said Rosalie played piano. You never learned? He turned to look at me, his expression curious. I shook my head and shrugged, reaching for the pen.

I didn’t think I had the coordination for it. While this was true for the time I was human, it wasn’t true now. Still, even though my days stretched into endless nights, I hadn’t yet devoted time to any instrument as an immortal.

Edward read the paper, his long pointer finger tracing the line beneath the words as he did so. He held his large hand out, and I dropped the pen into it.

I’ll show you sometime. Edward half smiled at me, his eyes sweet and earnest.

Knowing I shouldn’t be allowing him to think making a plans with me was an option, I reached for the pen to tell him that it was alright, but I froze as he suddenly moved to drop the pen and take my hand. Though he should have been the one hesitant and cautious as though approaching a dangerous, wounded animal, I held perfectly still as though he were the danger, and I needed to play dead for protection. You can’t play dead if you are dead, I thought to myself. 

My body tensed as my hand was enveloped in the heat of his much larger palm, uncertain as to what he was doing. My muscles screamed at me as I clenched my free hand into a tight fist, terrified of myself.

A shiver rippled through him as he felt the chill of my frozen fingers, and I twitched the hand in his possession, wanting to yank it away to protect him from the iciness but not wanting to alert him with the swiftness of the motion.

He smiled mysteriously at the spasm as though he somehow expected it. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking but didn’t want to risk breathing. My control could too easily be lost. Besides, I was scared that if I were to open my mouth, I’d end up screaming.

I felt him push slightly and realized he wished for me to curl my fingers, so with great concentration and the acute awareness of his fragility, I moved my stony hand into the shape he directed, my fingers curved slightly beneath his like a relaxed talon. I didn’t like the shape; it was odd and inhuman and made me think of the violence I could cause.

But it wasn’t a claw. Because once my hand was positioned the way he wanted, he began to slowly place pressure on my fingers, and I dipped and rose them accordingly to carefully move with his. I watched as the two of our hands together played what I imagined must be the opening chords to Clair de Lune.

The disconcerting emptiness in my chest soared at the bizarre pleasure of this touch, and a weird sensation tickled my scalp, moving swiftly down my spine to my entire body. 

My muscles tightened violently and then relaxed, sending a shiver to ripple through me. It was too much pleasure and too much pain as my throat ached and I leaned into the warmth.

Embarrassed and not wanting to push my luck, I cautiously pulled my hand slowly away. He lifted his hand to allow me to escape as though I couldn’t just break his hand to do so, a half-smile pulling on his lips. I pretended not to notice the goosebumps on his arms.

See? he mouthed before deciding to whisper. “You could do it.”

I forced myself to smile and then turned away for the rest of the hour, trying to keep from doing anything stupid like looking at him or killing him. I’d completely forgotten where we were.

When the bell finally rung, I collected my things atop the desk hastily. Edward reached for my backpack and held it up for me.

“Thanks,” I murmured as I dumped my books into the bag. Before I could take it from him, he slid it onto his back and nodded his head once for me to go forward.

Feeling awkward, I turned and allowed him to follow me to the door. I was lucky to walk in front of him, taking the opportunity to breath again as the vent blew out in front of my face.

Exiting the classroom, I paused for a second when I saw Emmett waiting for me across the hallway rather than his typical spot beside the wall of lockers next to our shared Spanish classroom. Even though I was well aware of the fact I’d been dangling my irresponsibility in their faces all day, I still felt as though I was being caught in the act.

Emmett’s eyebrows raised as his golden eyes watched Edward follow behind me, carrying my backpack. I crossed the hallway reluctantly towards my big brother.

“Hello,” I greeted him, avoiding his eyes. I felt smaller than ever beside him with my head down, and yet not small enough as I wished to disappear.

“Hey, little sis,” Emmett began uncertainly, though I glanced up to see his full lips were beginning to stretch into a smile that I didn’t like. “Who’s that with you?”

“Uh…”

“I’m Edward Masen,” the lanky human boy introduced himself confidently as he stopped beside me. “And you must be––”

“Emmett,” my brother interrupted, grinning as though he always so comfortably interacted with humans. This was all too weird, but he looked to be enjoying it far too much. His desire to mess with me and his confidence in Alice’s visions seemed to override the abnormality of speaking to a student so amicably. I watched as he breathed in and shot me a meaningful look. I grimaced.

I opened my mouth to put an end to this torturously awkward interaction, but Emmett interrupted again.

“It’s nice to see you made a friend,” he began, an evil glint in his eyes as he watched my face. I was confused as to where he was going with this because our entire family would come across as misanthropic to the rest of the school, so why should it matter to him. He turned his attention to look at Edward who was closer in height to him. “You know, we worry about her––”

“Okay, let’s go to Spanish,” I cut him off quickly. “Edward, can I have my bag, please?”

Without looking at him, I reached for my backpack as he offered it and threw it over my shoulder, heading down the hallway. It was a massive relief to put some distance between myself and Edward. My thoughts were clearer, and I could breathe freely.

Emmett burst into laughter, his guffaws booming in the hallway. Several students paused in fear making me concerned about Edward’s reaction to my giant of a sibling, but I relaxed when I heard Edward chuckling along with him.

“Um, see you,” Emmett said to Edward before his steady, near silent footfall followed after me.

Even moving at a lethargic human pace, he caught up to me quickly.

“That wasn’t funny,” I grumbled.

“What the hell are you doing?” Emmett chuckled, ignoring my question.

“What the hell are you doing? What was that back there?”

“I don’t know. That was weird, but not as weird as you playing with your food.”

I hissed quietly.

“Damn, I’m kidding, Bells. But seriously, what are you doing? What happened to your high and noble speech about doing the right thing and staying away from the kid? I thought Esme was about to produce real tears. It even softened Rose.”

“Ugh, don’t talk to me about Rosalie right now. She’s been giving me dirty looks all day. It makes me feel awful. I already feel bad!”

“Well, I don’t really care what you do either way so––” I looked at him questionably. “I mean, sure, I want you to do the right thing, whatever that means. I don’t want you to feel miserable. But on one end, I didn’t really mind so much what happened to me.”

“Rosalie did,” I countered.

“Yeah, Rose did,” he acquiesced quietly.

“Anyways, I’m not having that conversation. I wasn’t talking to him today to test whether or not he’s worth it. That’s… unethical.”

“So what were you doing?”

“I don’t know,” I groaned in answer.

Emmett laughed.

“You’re weird these days, Bella.”

“You’re weird everyday,” I quipped back before sighing. “I don’t know. He’s weird, too. I guess… I’m not making any decisions, at all, but if Alice told you what she told me… wouldn’t you be curious?”

Emmett thought it over. “Yeah, I think so. But I also don’t think I’d have even made it to this point,” he admitted. I winced.

“It’s kind of unfair for me to care more about satiating my curiosity and dance with the devil this way, right?”

“Well…he may not know it, but isn’t it more so that Edward’s the one dancing with the devil?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, frowning as we walked into our Spanish class. “I guess it is.”

I made the decision to avoid thinking of Edward for the remaining hour of school. I paid very little attention in Spanish, returning to the familiar mind-numbing boredom that classes had been prior to the last few days. Now that it was in stark contrast to the sudden life breathed into my time at Forks High School by my fixation with Edward, the tedium was no longer something dealt with indifferently and sluggishly. Now, it left me feeling restless, and it almost pained me how laborious it was to sit through a life I wasn’t an active participant in. It was nowhere near the pain of dealing with the excruciating thirst I had around my bronze-haired lab partner, but it almost tampered with my thoughts more knowing I’d feel less miserable if I spent this time analyzing every word Edward shared with me, every fluctuation of his tone, every glint in his perceptive eyes, every expression on his pretty face… But I was becoming too obsessive. The same hunger for adventure that made me fall in love with reading must be what was leading me to so treacherously, so impetuously dive into exploring this insignificant and yet cataclysmic difference in my life.

As though it had a personal vendetta against me, time moved even more lethargically than it ever had before, but finally, the bell signaling the end of school rang. Emmett’s eyes shot a concerned look at me as I rose from my seat too quickly, and I immediately felt embarrassed again. The cautious reminder in his expression made me feel childish as Emmett was never one to care much about bending the rules. 

“See you at home, I guess,” he shook his head, giving me one last look that seemed to suggest I’d lost it.

“See you,” I mumbled, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Leaving Emmett behind to wait for Rosalie, I weaved through the crowded hallway and out to the parking lot. Students were bundling together and squealing at the chilling air as tiny, fluffy snowflakes fluttered down from the overcast sky. The floor of the parking lot was almost as glassy as yesterday as the rain from this afternoon had melted into a thin layer of icy mush. Though there was hardly enough snow for a decent snowball fight, some of the rowdier students were bundling up a pitiful pile of snow to form pathetic snowballs in their fists.

I nearly skipped to the pearly white vehicle parked beside Rosalie’s overly conspicuous crimson car which was forming a small crowd of admirers. Leaning against the trunk of the car, I watched the front doors of the school to look for Edward.

The tangle of reddish-brown hair was easy to spot because of its strange metallic tint as he strolled out of the building with Naomi, the student who’d provided him with the information about my family on his first day. He had his coat folded over his arm, revealing how form fitting his light tan turtleneck was. He truly was a very attractive boy. It was odd that I hadn’t really paid much attention initially. With his dazzling face and tall, lean frame, Edward was pretty enough that for the vampires who searched for exquisitely beautiful humans to create into even more stunning immortals, he could probably be a contender for someone to collect.

Thinking of how Emmett questioned my motives today, I quickly banished the idea of Edward as an immortal from my mind, even if it was only a hypothetical inspired by my observation.

Edward paused, asking Naomi if she could hold on to his backpack for a moment. When she grabbed it, he pulled on his long black coat, and fiddled with the collar. Recollecting his backpack, he slid it onto one shoulder, then rubbed his hands together, blowing the warm air from his mouth to heat them up. Thinking of the sweetness of the smell of his breath made me remember to take in swallows of fresh air before he made his way over to me.

As he was distracted momentarily, I watched as a stray snowball flew towards Edward’s head. I was overcome with the urge to intercept it in the event it may hit him too harshly and knock him to the pavement, but flying across the parking lot inhumanly fast twice in one week was probably not the way to go about correcting my mistakes.

The soggy snowball crashed into Edward’s hair, exploding into shards of ice and water that slid down his prominent cheekbone. I laughed aloud at his shocked expression as the curtain bangs framing his face were immediately drenched, darkening his hair into a brown color. Once he’d realized what happened, his face broke into a good-humored smile.

“Holy shit! Sorry, Edward!” The classmate who had thrown the snowball with poor aim called out.

“No worries!” Edward called back. He shook his head, chuckling as he wiped the water from his face. As he laughed, his eyes found the space where I waited and brightened seeing that I, too, was enjoying the moment.

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told Naomi, who was too beside herself in tears of laughter to reply.

Edward sauntered over towards me, and I inhaled deeply as a fortuitous whisper of wind blew from the tree line. I held onto the notes of crisp eucalyptus, fresh snow, and cedar wood, trying to distract my mind from the offensively mouthwatering scents approaching me.

Edward was a coordinated human, but even he lost his footing on the icy pavement. His body slid forward for a moment, but I stepped towards him to close the space between us and caught him by the elbow.

He looked up from his boots against the frozen parking lot into my eyes, startled momentarily at the swiftness in which I had appeared. Then, his full lips lifted into a crooked smile that creased his astonishing green eyes into half moons. I let go immediately and took a big step back to ensure a safer distance between myself and the warmth of his fragile body. It had been a risky movement, but somehow in comparison to yesterday, it didn’t seem to matter as much. I figured our classmates were too involved in their gawking at the details of my sister’s car or their feeble, slushy snowball fight to notice, and oddly, I didn’t care that Edward had seen. It was beginning to feel too late to keep up certain pretenses.

Although, it wasn’t too late, and it shouldn’t feel that way. I reminded myself I still had every intention of leaving Edward alone once I’d figured out what was so compelling about our paths crossing that had Alice’s visions spiraling in a confusing jumble. I took another step back slowly.

“Thank you,” Edward said, his eyes humored with another secret he didn’t seem willing to share. “You keep saving me.”

“Well, let’s not make this damsel in distress thing habitual,” I snorted, turning so that he couldn’t see the smile forming on my face. I felt shy about showcasing any comfort or happiness in his presence now that I was reminded of how fleeting this experimental friendship was, but I wondered if subconsciously I wanted him to catch me in my misery and ask me to explain, though I wasn’t certain why I wanted to sabotage myself like that. I opened my door and turned to look at him again. “You coming?”

Before he could answer, I dipped into the driver’s seat, and breathed in one last time. Well, once this was all over, I could finally stop inhaling dramatically as though they were truly my last, dying breaths. The air was mostly clean of his scent, but I knew that regardless, the heat of his body would be enough to disrupt my comfort and control. As the thought crossed my mind, I painfully swallowed back the venom pooling beneath my tongue.

Edward swerved through the crowd obsessing over Rosalie’s car and opened the passenger door, sliding into his seat. As he placed his backpack on the floor and fiddled with his seatbelt, I made sure to adjust the air conditioning so that the heat could warm Edward from the frigid Forks air. Though for me, just being in his presence made the intimate interior of the car feel as though I were again sitting by his fireplace.

“That’s a beautiful car,” he murmured. “Is it an M8?”

“Uh, it’s a BMW?” I asked uncertainly as though he’d spoken another language.

Edward grinned as though he wanted to laugh but didn’t want to make me angry. Rosalie would have loved to answer all his questions if he too had an interest in cars. Would have loved to, if she wasn’t deeply offended by my actions or if I had any intention of Edward meeting any more of my family members.

“Ready?” I bit my lip as I forced out any inconsiderate plots of murder that threatened to distract me from being a defensive driver.

“Mhm,” Edward answered.

I reversed out of the parking slot slowly, but as I looked in the rearview once I’d straightened out, I saw the fleeting image of Rosalie’s exquisitely beautiful and exceptionally angry face. I quickly readjusted the mirror to remove my sister’s reflection and sped out of the parking lot in a way that could have taken out a few unlucky students if I didn’t have above average years of driving experience.

Peripherally, I watched as Edward’s thick eyebrows raised, but he decided not to question me. Once we’d reached the main road, I slowed my speed so as not to rush through this time, even though I knew for his safety and my sanity, I should. As I drove, his right hand moved in odd shapes again against the arm rest of the passenger side door as though he were playing piano once more.

I decided to bite and use up some of my limited air supply.

“What are you playing?”

“Clair de Lune again,” he replied. Then, he began to hum the melody aloud for me as he moved his hand.

I thought to offer to play the song for him through the speakers, but I decided against it as I listened to Edward’s soft, velvety voice hum beautifully through the song, breaking the silence.

The ugly, slush-like falling of snow transformed into a falling of rainwater, and Edward’s voice was orchestrated by a lovely symphony of raindrops.

Before his voice could weave into the more involved moments of the piece, Edward stopped.

I looked over at him, curious for the reason as to why. His face was turned away from me so that all I could see was his untidy bronze hair as he gazed out the window. I pulled in front of his driveway and parked against the curb.

Miraculously, I’d made it again. Carefully, I inhaled through my nose to experiment with my control. The sweet bouquet of the boy’s blood was potent and even more mouthwatering than usual from the snow turned rain that’d wet his hair. I hadn’t considered the possibility that he could smell better than before, and I kept myself from groaning aloud as I dug my nails into my own palms. The tingling sensation in my nose was as though I’d sniffed some powerful chemical, the burning sensation in my throat as though I’d taken a long drag of a cigarette. But more painful. More demanding. Desire, need flew from my core out towards my extremities, and the beating of his heart pumping the blood through his body drummed loudly in my ears. It seemed to move through me, my frigid body almost twitching with every pulse, ready to lunge forward and crush his neck to my lips.

“What was your mother like?” He asked me suddenly, his voice soft. Edward turned from the window to face me, and I was bewildered by the intensity of his expression. His eyes were light and beautiful against the gloomy grey of the sky, and they squinted slightly as though studying my face like this information was absolutely essential. But this was not what stunned me, as I’d already seen the severity of this expression before in our ephemeral time together. It was the unexpected vulnerability of his stunning face. The more time I spent looking at him, the more I realized how beautiful this human boy really was. And it seemed a great tragedy for this beautiful boy to harbor such devastation in his eyes.

Whereas previously in his presence, my thoughts had become incoherent due to a lapse in control, now my thoughts were incoherent in distress and desperation to understand what had gone wrong and how I could fix it. I was momentarily dumbfounded, but I pulled myself together after the soft sound of a few droplets of rain against the roof reminded me that he was waiting for an answer.

“Well, she looked a lot like me, but prettier,” I began stupidly. He raised his eyebrows. “Or at least, she used to look a lot like me, and I used to look a lot like her. I don’t so much anymore.” It’d been so long since I’d really spoken about my mom, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. I knew I should have made some comment about whether or not she looked like Esme or Emmett since our story made us siblings, but I didn’t want to taint the rarity of sharing who she was with a lie.

“She was more outgoing than I am,” I continued, thinking through the foggy memories I held onto from my human life.

“That’s difficult to believe,” Edward teased quietly, his lips curving into a half smile.

I laughed, listening to the melodic sound of it, thinking of how it symbolized how very much different I was now from the human girl my mother knew.

“I was always very shy,” I smiled, before speaking up again, caught in the echoes of my past. “She was brave and irresponsible and slightly eccentric. And she was a very unpredictable cook!”

I laughed aloud again thinking of some minor explosions in our tiny kitchen and some questionable dishes. Edward laughed too, but when our laughter faded into the falling of the rain, my smile faded.

“She wasn’t perfect,” I admitted. “I think I recognize now that she was very fallible. I worshipped her when I was younger, but when I think back, I do see how in some of the ways she raised me, I was done a disservice… I grew up too fast. When she died––“ I sighed, feeling insincere and guilty about perpetuating this lie when I really should have said when I died, “––Esme became more of a mother to me, and even Rosalie’s been more traditionally nurturing than my mom ever was… But still, she was my best friend.”

“You miss her,” he murmured simply. I met his gentle eyes.

“Yes,” I bit my lip.

“How old are you, Bella?” Edward asked. “And not the formulaic, theorized version where you were born in your thirties. How old are you really?”

I tensed, wondering if he was asking this again because he’d taken note of how I didn’t directly answer this question the last time he asked.

“Seventeen,” I answered automatically.

“You don’t seem seventeen,” he responded, reproachful.

The tension left my body at the tone of his voice. I smiled again easily.

“Sorry?” I asked, biting my lip to hide the smile, unsure of how to respond.

Edward chuckled and the subtle crinkles by his eyes lit up his face. “Well, I wish you’d been given a happier, normal childhood.”

“I’m fine,” I shrugged, brushing it off. “I hardly remember most of it, and what I do remember reminds me that I probably didn’t have much chance at a normal childhood to begin with. I was terribly shy, remember.

“I did do girl scouts, though….Oh, and ballet briefly,” I admitted, unsure as to why I was volunteering so much information about myself. Wasn’t the purpose of me sitting here to uncover information about him?

“Why does that make you… embarrassed?” Edward’s eyebrows pulled up.

For an odd moment, I felt betrayed by the flush of my cheeks before I realized there was no blood rushing to my face. I blinked, bewildered by the peculiarity of this long buried instinct to become frustrated with my easy blushes when I hadn’t blushed for years. I felt self conscious as I wondered what Edward saw reading my expression to so perfectly decipher my feelings.

“I was very uncoordinated,” I dismissed his question as I fought the urge for my hand to flutter to touch my cool cheek.

“Now that truly is difficult to believe,” Edward half-smiled. “I can’t imagine I’ve seen anyone as graceful as you.”

I laughed aloud at his compliment, though I didn’t doubt his sincerity. I knew this was true of myself. It was true of all of our kind to appear fluid and effortless, but still, no one had ever applied the word to me. My vampiric poise was irrelevant and unimpressive to my family, and the very few humans brave enough to overcome their nerves to compliment me typically found their words to fail them.

“You’re very odd,” I beamed.

“What do you mean?” The bronze-haired boy asked, again wanting to be let in on the secret. While I had an insatiable thirst, it seemed he had an insatiable curiosity.

“How old are you really? Your word choice is bizarre for someone your age, you know.”

“Oh,” he laughed easily. “Well, I’m actually not seventeen. I’m eighteen. But I’ll try to strictly adhere to a more teenage vernacular, so I can compliment you in a more acceptable way from now on.”

I looked out at the dim light of the brewing storm, my smile fading as I decided that I should probably allow him to escape me before I did something I’d regret. But I knew I wasn’t resolved enough to completely leave him alone. He made me monopolize too much of the conversation, and I wasn’t satisfied with what I knew about him yet.

I sighed aloud, and Edward, too, looked out at the rain darkened sky.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked hopefully, making the assumption that our conversation was coming to an end.

“Yes,” I promised reluctantly. My eyes flickered back over to his pretty face, studying the lines of his strong jaw, his chiseled cheekbones, his full lips, committing this inconsequential face to memory as I silently resolved that this should be –– and would be –– one of the last times I’d allow myself to be this close to him. Tomorrow may well be the very last.

Likewise, as though his thoughts were in the same vein, his beautiful green eyes studied my face as well, though he did so in that mysterious way of his where he looked at me as though hoping to read my mind.

He sighed, then collected his backpack. Edward opened the door, stepping out into the bitterly cold weather. A shiver ran through his lanky body, making my body tense with perverse excitement. I cringed away from the deadly instinct and swallowed against the dryness of my yearning throat.

Edward’s tall, lean frame leaned down to peek into the car.

“Goodnight, Bella,” he spoke softly.

“Goodnight, Edward,” I almost whispered, gazing into the beauty of his dazzling green eyes.

Edward smiled his half smile, and closed the door, escaping into the building torrent of rain.

I gasped in relief at his absence, then stiffened realizing how the cab of the car was still heavily perfumed with his scent. I took in another deep breath, forcing myself to confront the burning thirst again, willing myself to manage it. I sighed as I hit the gas, making Edward disappear behind me.

  Both my control and the rain pour strengthened significantly as I turned onto the long drive leading to my house. I grimaced as I wondered how I’d face my family and explain the complete reversal of what I’d promised to do. I didn’t have time to consider for much longer as suddenly, a figure appeared instantaneously in the drive. I slammed my foot on the brake immediately in shock at its appearance, not wanting to total yet another car against one of my siblings.

I peered through the windshield, unable to see through the complete downpour that submerged my vehicle as though it were underwater. It was annoying for my perfect sight to be obstructed by anything, rainwater or even the transparent windshield because of my eyes’ desire to focus on the microscopic scratches.

The car violently screeched against the muddy pavement, and it looked as though we would have to bid this car goodbye until the figure hidden by the storm placed their hands out on the car roughly and forced it to a stop. The tires screamed in protest, and the metal groaned as it warped into the shape of the palms. I listened as it unnaturally bent again in a piercing moan as the figure fixed the indentions they’d created.

My windshield wipers swatted away a flood of water. Finally, I could make out my sister Rosalie, her hair dripping wet down her back like a supermodel who’d just emerged from a pool on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Her exquisite face was absolutely furious.

I gulped, feeling like a child who’d just been discovered sneaking home past curfew.

I felt uncertain as to what to do and why she’d chosen to stop me here. Surely she could wait for us to be under the cover of the garage before she chastised me. Not wanting to be drenched by the rain, I revved the engine to ask her to move aside, but the car didn’t inch forward against her strength. Beginning to feel annoyed, I revved the engine again loudly and for longer, but still, she didn’t move.

“Rose,” I hissed as I hit the brake again so that the car could roar viciously in the storm, only to be cut off by the voice of my adopted mother.

“Girls!” I couldn’t see Esme through the obscured glass behind the downpour, but even with the barrage of the rain, I could hear her lithe steps run furiously to the front porch. “Please!”

Rose’s head snapped up to look in Esme’s direction before turning to glance unhappily back at me. She stepped aside, and I sped into the garage, parking the car hastily.

I exited immediately and went to expect the damage to the front of the hood. It was only a minuscule bend from having been pushed and prodded back and forth, and I was positive Rosalie could make it look like new, though why it had been necessary to punish the car was beyond me. It wasn’t even mine.

I wheeled around once I’d heard the near-silent steps of her run, a wave of anger making me forget my guilt.

“Are you insane?!” I demanded.

“I could ask the same of you, Bella!” Now free from the obscurity of the rain, I could see in perfect detail the stunning fury of her glorious face. Her golden hair had been darkened by the rain, and it was slicked back effortlessly, like a glittering waterfall down to the middle of her back. She looked like a wrathful god, but I couldn’t find it in my stubbornness to care about how valid her anger may be.

“Okay, but did you have to take it out on the car? What did it ever do to you! You couldn’t have waited another twenty seconds to confront me? Well, you have my attention now, Rosalie, so say whatever it is you want to say!”

“You’re just unbelievable, Bella!”

“He’s not going to say anything, Rose! We already talked about this yesterday. You heard Alice! He’s not a threat to you and Emmett, so I don’t understand why you’re taking this so personally.”

“Exactly, Bella. I heard Alice. Which is precisely why I fail to understand as to why you wouldn’t understand why I’d take it so personally. After all these years of sisterhood, how can you not understand how I feel about this?”

I frowned, my forehead puckering, but still, I retained my anger. She huffed, continuing.

“If it was an inevitability, I’d understand. However, it hurts me deeply that you recognize the choice that you have. The choice that Edward has. And still, you’re willing to play with his mortality as though it were a game, when I never had that choice.”

I froze, the realization dawning on me that she was right. No matter the ways in which I tried to justify my actions or spin my intentions, she was right. Another part of my mind acknowledged that while I was aware of right and wrong, I wasn’t certain that what was right would be enough to keep me away anymore.

We stared each other down much like we had yesterday. Only today, rather than anger, her face was contorted in hurt, and mine was contorted in hopelessness.

“But… you found Emmett when he was still human…” I weakly protested, selfishly trying to highlight the irony, though I knew it was pointless as I wasn’t advocating for Edward to be changed either. That was too complicated a thought to wrap my mind around. But whatever may happen –– and I was still very much aware of the worst of possibilities –– I didn’t want my sister to hate me for it.

“He was dying, Bella,” Rosalie whispered. The anger on her face had completely faded, and in its place, pain marked her eyebrows, her full lips, her golden, sad eyes. In her sadness, she looked like a work of art, like one of those paintings of a weeping saint. “It’s not the same.”

I didn’t have a response to that, and I felt as though I was at an impasse, both with myself and with Rosalie. Because I knew the promises I’d made and broken, but I knew the promise I’d made to Edward today, and I had no willpower, no desire, and no intention to break that promise.

“You may not feel anything for him now,” Rosalie began, her eyes intently fierce as they bore into mine to warn me. Only this warning felt significantly more horrible than I’d imagined it may be, because it wasn’t made in anger, but in desperation and love. “But if Alice is right, you will. And it seems to me a horrible way to repay someone you love to steal their life, their future, their soul from them. You should leave him alone now while you still can, because once you love him… it’ll only hurt more one way or another. And you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your existence. I know I have.”

And with that, Rose turned, her face cold and sad, and she left the garage.

[victorscrown]

V I C T O R ‘ S  C R O W N  ⸻

type: excerpt

word count: 2236

warning(s): mentions of suicide

status: second draft, unedited

For as long as Finnick Odair can remember, the ocean has been his home. He learned to swim almost before he could walk; his mother used to joke that he should have been born with fins and gills instead of arms and legs. His earliest memories are drenched in saltwater and smell like brine and fish. They are sand-bottomed, adorned with seashells and kelp and coral, set to the melody of waves crashing against the shore and seagulls crying from the air. They are wrought from long hours spent aboard District 4’s trawlers, netting seafood bound for the hungry mouths of Capitol citizens. His parents’ house might be where he sleeps, but the ocean is where he belongs.

Despite this, the ever-present threat of the Hunger Games sweeps Finnick out of the water and deposits him in the austere world of Career education almost before he’s old enough to understand what he’s preparing for. The only son of eminent fleet captain Lochlan Odair and his shipwright wife, Finnick is selected for District 4’s prestigious training academy two years earlier than the normal recruiting age. Every minute Finnick is not at sea he is training, learning how to survive, how to fight, how to win.

Being a five-year-old in a class of children two years his senior should have left him at a distinct disadvantage, but Finnick is a natural, both at the physical and mental aspects of Career academia. After his first day at the academy, Finnick marches thorough the door of his home, head held high, and announces, “I’m going to win the Hunger Games one day.”

His parents don’t quite know what to think about this. As one of the few families of Panem with some material wealth to call their own, a sense of responsibility falls on the Odairs, a need to provide for and protect the less fortunate of their district. They donate frequently to the Games fund. They satiate the appetites of greedy Capitol officials with bribes and obsequience. But willingly sending their own child to the Games is a sacrifice above and beyond what they are willing to make. In District 4, it’s considered an honor to be chosen to compete in the Games, but it doesn’t make the possibility of their child dying at the hands of another any more palatable. So Finnick’s parents mask their worry behind sunny smiles and words of congratulation.

We are so proud of you! Their voices warble like the tide. You will make such an excellent angler. All of the fish will just hop right into your net!

Meanwhile, Finnick, young, soft, and new, is dazzled and awed by the bright posters hanging from the academy walls. Show pride in your district! the posters urge. Volunteer to compete and show Panem what District 4 is really made of!

In Finnick’s academy days, volunteerism, while not rampant like it was in Districts 1 and 2, was frequent enough to preserve the district amidst a sea of destitution. To the trained, money is a powerful motivator, and the fact that many victors pour their winnings back into the district makes the Games seem much more appealing. But the Games are only appealing when someone from District 4 wins.

Finnick is seven when he hears about Nereus. News of the victor’s death floods the streets as though carried by a riptide, and soon all of District 4 is talking about it. Poor old Nereus, academy personnel would mutter when they thought the students could not hear. Found his body on the beach. Wanted to see the sun set one more time, the poor fool.

Even then, Finnick is old enough to know of Nereus, victor of the Forty-second Hunger Games. While other victors were deeply involved in the functions and activities of the academy—drafting the school’s curricula, hosting seminars, even teaching classes for potential tributes—Nereus did not step foot once in the academy after his victory. He holed himself up in his luxurious house in the Victor’s Village and did not emerge unless coerced. Except on the night on which he died.

Officially, Nereus died of a heart attack—a tragic accident, the mayor of District 4 claims at his district-wide funeral. But there are rumors floating around District 4, eddying in the dorms of the academy and muddying the waters of the mayor’s claims like silt.

They say Nereus died of a heart attack, but he never goes outside. Why would he go to the beach unless he knew something? Unless he planned something?

One night, Finnick is brave enough to ask his father about it.

“Dad, the mayor says Nereus died of a heart attack. But everyone else is saying he planned it himself. Like he wanted to die.”

Finnick’s parents exchange looks. Finnick just waits. His father will answer eventually; he always does.

“I’m not sure I understand your question, Finnick,” Lochlan says at last.

“Why would Nereus want to die?” Finnick asks. “He won the Hunger Games, right? He lived in a big house and had all the food and money he could ever want.”

Lochlan takes a deep breath, as if about to dive underwater, and fixes Finnick with a serious look. “Nereus’ death was unfortunate, yes. But he was selfish, through and through.”

“Lochlan,” Finnick’s mother starts, reproving, but he carries on.

“You were right, Finnick. Nereus was a victor. And as such, he had a duty to his district. A duty to care for his people, to give them help as they needed it.”

“Like you do,” Finnick says.

Lochlan nods solemnly. “Nereus was so caught up in himself he forgot his obligation. But we will never be so. You, son, are an Odair. And when you grow older, when your mother and I are gone, you will carry the responsibility for our district as well.” His eyes, to which Finnick’s are so often compared, are as dark and fierce as a stormy sea. “As captain, I must direct my crew. I must tell them how to steer the ship, exactly where we are to go, or else we will get lost out on the open sea. Or even worse, crash and sink the bottom of the ocean. District 4 is one giant ship. There must be a strong, steady captain, or the ship will not make it safely back to the harbor. Do you understand?”

Finnick is seven and understands very little of what his father’s metaphor implies. But he nods his head obediently and tucks the conversation away in his heart, where he dwells upon it often in the quiet, solitary moments before dawn.

Later, Finnick realizes District 4 didn’t mourn Nereus’ death as much as they mourned the sudden lack of monetary resources his presence sanctioned. He might have been a recluse, but his winnings still aided the people. With one more victor dead, there was one less salary the district could use as a crutch.

Unfortunately, Nereus’ death seems to be the advent of a streak of bad luck for District 4. In the following months, when the seas are normally teeming with life and District 4 flourishes under its bounty, trawlers begin hauling in seafood black and putrid with disease. A parasite, they soon discover, and quicker than a flash flood it spreads from the sea to the air. Infected birds begin to litter District 4’s pristine shores alongside their infected prey. This won’t last, trawler captains assure their Capitol managers. Give it a season, and the parasite will die out and your quotas will be met.

Another season comes and goes. Fishing is poor and the district poorer.

In response, strict rationing is instituted by the Capitol. The inner sectors of the district, already barely keeping themselves afloat, start to get pulled under by the riptide of starvation. Dissent ripples outward, starting in the inner sectors, where the rationing hits hardest, to the outer fringes of the district, where the Odairs live. The Capitol, fearing outright rebellion, tightens its chokehold on District 4 with an unforgiving fist. Anyone suspected of instigating an uprising are punished severely, or just disappear altogether. A district-wide curfew is enacted, with harsh retribution allotted to any who break it. And the academy is shut down, because every child over the age of seven is forced onto a trawler alongside their older siblings and parents, shuttled inland to work in the processing plants, or consigned to long, back-breaking hours combing beaches for clams and any other edible source of food.

The fleet is out to sea for weeks at a time, venturing out to waters previously considered too dangerous to fish. Finnick is lucky enough to have grown up on his family’s trawler, but other children are not so lucky. Every week, it seems there is a new story about some untrained child being washed overboard by colossal waves, or strangled by the heavy nets, or withered away by dysentery caused by eating rotten seafood. These children are mourned the way children sent to the Games are mourned.

Finnick’s mother and other shipwrights are displaced from their jobs in the shipyards to assist in the process of moving delicate, time-sensitive cargo onto trains and hovercrafts bound for the Capitol. With so much of the seafood being rendered inedible, it is imperative that every iota of good food is transported to the Capitol as quickly as possible to minimize the amount of time trawlers spend in port and reduce the spoiling of perishable goods. Finnick and many other children do not see one or both parents for weeks.

The only time everyone has off is to partake in the 60th Hunger Games. The afternoon before Reaping Day, every vessel in District 4’s fleet returns to shore, but there is no relief in the days to come. For the next three weeks, District 4 witnesses firsthand the consequences of minimal to no Career training. This year’s volunteers—a pair of inner district adolescents desperate to fight their way out of poverty or die trying—have not been properly trained in over a year. They don’t stand a chance against their Career counterparts from One and Two. District 4 watches, deluged in shame and horror, as both of their tributes are killed off in the first week of the Games. The chance of securing relief from the Capitol in the form of food or other supplies dies with them.

Finnick doesn’t quite understand what the Games imply, why they occur or why children must be sent to die. But he recognizes his parents’ grief, the pronounced slump of his father’s shoulders, the sheen of tears in his mother’s red-rimmed eyes. He recognizes the bent heads and dull gazes of other adults, and even some children, who even younger than Finnick are impacted by the despotism of the Capitol.

The night of his ninth birthday, Finnick is rocked to sleep by the roll and pitch of his father’s ship, already redeployed after the Games. He misses his mother desperately, but he most likely won’t get to see her for another fortnight, when the trawler will deliver its bounty into her custody onshore. It can’t go on like this forever, he thinks, though it’s hard to think about much other than the hunger gnawing at his belly. At some point, things will go back to normal.

And gradually, things do. In the following months, the parasite infecting District 4’s waters dies out, and more food becomes available to citizens outside of the Capitol. Children are allowed to go back to school. The academy reopens, and vigorous training resumes. By now, though, District 4 is a good two years behind the other districts in terms of Games readiness. And it shows when Four loses yet another Games—to a girl from Three, of all places.

The humiliation wears at District 4’s normally indefatigable spirit. It’s made indubitably clear that the only way District 4 will begin bringing home victors is if they’re trained first. So District 4 unites the best it can, pouring every possible asset into scholarships and Games-related aid organizations. Every extra cent of the Odairs’ income flows directly into fund dedicated to providing for Four’s tributes in the arena. As for Finnick, there is nothing he can do but train. And train he does, with an unprecedented intensity and focus. His dedication garners the attention of academy faculty, who praise his skill and commitment. Even Capitol officials, stationed at the academy to monitor for suspicious activity, remark at the newfound enthusiasm with which he tackles his education.

Your boy shows such promise! they’d tell Finnick’s father. He’s going to be a volunteer for sure.

By the time Finnick’s thirteenth birthday arrives, he has been living at the academy full-time for three years. Once children achieve Games eligibility at age twelve, the most promising are assigned personal trainers, some of whom are former victors. Batten is a perfect match for Finnick’s relentless ambition. He shapes Finnick into just what he intends to be: A reason for District 4 to maintain its pride, a victor through and through.

[doctorlaelia-ffxiv]

never let you go - part 2.

[[ read part one >here!< @benes-diction for mentions of the Beanies! ]]

I allowed Cato Lucretius to start officially courting me come spring in Garlemald... which doesn’t mean much, and does little to make dents in the snow, but it still felt warmer, somehow. His presence was warm. At times, he was like the soft glow of a candle in a dark room, providing a sense of safety and comfort. Other times, he glowed so brightly that I thought that he might be a supernova, too big for this world altogether. 

To say that I was in love with him would be a difficult thing. I was very fond of him, for a while. We got along tremendously well, and he was good at making me laugh. Our honeymoon period was sweet, and friends sighed over what a lovely pair we were, and I agreed with them. Cato Lucretius was a perfectly amiable, enjoyable sort of man to be around, who gave excellent kisses and was an attentive sort of lover, who could provide conversation that stimulated the mind and be a quiet place to rest, too. 

At least, at first. All that glitters is not gold. Sometimes it’s just a very pretty plating put over something rusty. 

In the summer, Cato Lucretius invited me to move into his apartment on the outskirts of the university we both attended. He was a literature major with a schedule that was far less packed than mine, considering I was still taking classes while conducting my residency at the hospital to enter into neurosurgery . But it worked, I suppose. He was something of a “house boyfriend,” you could call it. He made meals and kept our shared space clean, ran hot baths when I had a long day at work, would call me on the nights I couldn’t return. And he made a point of bringing me on dates, where we were able to make time for it, to expensive restaurants and pretty museums and lush greenhouses and towering libraries. 

Being old money from Garlemald came with a bit of status that Cato Lucretius frequently enjoyed. He liked the balls and the parties, and he enjoyed the luxuries of the finest foods and wines, and he liked to talk, very much, about the plights of our countrymen in a senseless war for a government that only wanted dominion rather than peace... and his words were pretty. They were nice to listen to. He could be fantastically passionate about things, he could grab a whole room’s attention with his vivacity and silver tongue, and I enjoyed listening to him on those summer evenings where the world felt like it belonged to us. 

For the first time in a long time, I was happy. I was twenty and finishing the last leg of my residency - the youngest in generations in Garlemald to achieve such a high position so quickly. It was an honor. It was a feat, of countless sleepless nights and many frustrated tears and many, many joyous victories. And Cato Lucretius would stay up with me, during the time we were together, to celebrate or to mourn, respectively. And then things just... started to feel like they were shifting. I remember it starting to feel different in the autumn.

The warmth was starting to fade, like it was chasing the seasons. 

“You’re brilliant,” Cato Lucretius would tell me as he smiled, as he brushed my hair from my forehead as I nursed a glass of something strong on a rare day off. “You’re the smartest person on this star, Laelia.” 

He said it so frequently. At first, I thought it was sweet. I liked being acknowledged for my accomplishments more than my looks. It didn’t feel like he looked at me like a piece of meat. To him, I was his equal - more than his equal. And that, maybe, was the problem. Cato Lucretius was putting me on a pedestal I didn’t try to get onto, and slowly... Slowly, but surely, it started to tarnish the way that he looked at me. 

“You never have time for me.”

That was how it started. It caught me off guard, as we stood in the kitchen and made dinner together. He was leaning against the counter and staring at the floor as he sipped from his whiskey glass, one hand braced behind him with the sleeves of his red sweater pushed up. 

“I always try to make time for you,” I had told him, and I had frowned, because I was confused. I was... I am a person that grew up quickly. There were intricacies in people’s words and meanings that I wasn’t able to pick up on at the age of twenty, when my whole life had been dedicated to how brain functions but not, exactly, the emotions that run through them, too. 

“But it never works out, does it?” Cato Lucretius shot back, looking at me with pained and angry eyes. “When’s the last time we got to go out? You said you would come with me to my colleague’s party the other night. And you forgot, didn’t you?” 

Accusation after accusation as I stood there with a ladle in my hand and my lips parted, because yes. Yes, I had forgotten. But I hadn’t meant to. The day he was referencing was nonstop. I hadn’t even been able to come back to the apartment between surgeries. Older, wiser me would have been able to do something, to put this man in his place. Twenty year old Laelia just wasn’t sure what was happening or what she had done to make him so angry.

“Yes,” she had said, and that’s what it feels like, as I think about this turning point of a night now - like I’m watching in third person. “Yes, I forgot, but... but I told you that I wasn’t able to leave, Cato. I’m very sorry, I didn’t realize that it was so important to you, but--”

“I’m making a big deal out of it, aren’t I?” And just as quickly as he had been angry, he was smiling at me, and I felt... unsettled, in a word. “I’m sorry, Laelia. Forgive me. I suppose I must have had a bad day today.”

Whiplash. That was the day it started - or, at least, the day I began to notice it starting. Cato Lucretius was changing in how he spoke to me, in how he looked at me, and so was the regard he held me in. What was once my ‘brilliance’ was my ‘cockiness,’ and what was my dedication to my work was a force driving us apart, no matter how hard I tried to yield to his requests. 

And all the while, this man was starting to fail his classes. Professors were sending back essays with bundles of criticism. He was slipping up, and the golden boy with the flawless smile that I met at the ball in the winter was now beginning to lose his gentleness and his geniality, unless he was drinking. And when he drank, all the venom he felt for me would come spewing out.

“You think you’re so smart,” he would sneer as he slouched in his chair by the fire. “You made a big splash, and now you think you’re too good for anyone, don’t you? What’s going on that has you out at all hours? Are you having an affair?” 

“That’s enough,” I had snapped, slamming my glass down on the counter. He raised his voice at me, and I raised mine. Our fights became infamous in the apartment building. I had never been the type to shout. That wasn’t the way to get a point across, but no one infuriated - and hurt me - like Cato Lucretius did. He made my ice turn to fire, my quiet and composed way of dealing with things seem unhinged and furious. 

And it was becoming clearer and clearer that any support he had for the Populares was... surface level. Certainly, he was prepared to speak out against the oppressive government, but... I have to wonder if that’s because it was the popular opinion amongst our circle. He clung to his status and the wealth of his parents in a desperate sort of way. I often wonder how much of anything he spoke passionately about that he really meant, and how much of it was manipulation to make him look good. I fear that the answer would be troubling and disheartening both. 

A warm, sunlit garden that we had planted in the spring was starting to die come the fall. Our honeymoon period was over, and I didn’t know what to do.

Many times, Cato Lucretius would coerce me into bed, to have sex that was angry and rough, that screamed that we hated each other in those moments. I never really said ‘yes.’ I just gave in to his nagging, to make him be quiet, to stop accusing me of affairs that didn’t exist.

“If you loved me...”

He loved that one. ‘If you loved me, you’ll sleep with me. If you loved me, you’d make more time. If you loved me, you would stop asking me where I go late at night.’ ‘If I have to trust you, don’t you have to trust me?’

The difference is that I never came home smelling of someone else’s perfume or cologne like he did, or with a wine that he didn’t drink still clinging to my lips. 

Giving up Cato Lucretius was difficult. He was nowhere near as creatively gifted as he wanted to be, and if I’m being honest with myself, I have to wonder if the vague similarities he shared with my Cato are what made me stay. They wrote, and they were both like light - even if Cato Lucretius’ light was rapidly fading - and they both, at one time, made me feel safe. 

I remember curling up on the bathroom floor and simply sobbing into my arms, overcome with a grief that was too unbearable to speak aloud. More often than not, I would say Cato Lucretius’ name and think of Cato Benes - of the soldier boy who had paid the ultimate price, of the one in all of my dreams, who dried my tears when I slept and told me everything would be alright. 

Often, as things got more difficult in my relationship, I dreamt of that farewell ball for Cato rem Benes. I dreamt it over and over again - arriving late and anonymous in a beautiful gown, and making him laugh, all with the knowledge of what was to come that I was forbidden to speak. And the dreams ended the same - me, forcing myself to leave Cato rem Benes alone on a balcony before collapsing in the gardens and being overcome with grief.

Those are the dreams I would wake from in tears, sometimes screaming my anguish, begging to please just bring me back to that night, so that I could tell him not to go, to plead and block him from his departure if I had to--

And it was easy to lie to Cato Lucretius about when I screamed the name ‘Cato,’ because I could tell him I was having nightmares of something terrible happening to him. But maybe part of him knew. Maybe a part of him had always known that my heart was never fully with him. 

I still don’t think, though, that I deserved his cruelty for it. I was young, and inexperienced in so many things, and mourning the loss of someone who had so deeply impacted me as a young girl. Even seeing Cato rem Benes’ parents were difficult. Seeing Lucius in a hospital, or sitting and listening to one of Theodosia’s performances... I always kept up with them - quietly, and in the shadows, but I tried to. My heart broke to hear the stories of what Caius was becoming. I wept bitterly when Solina left, knowing how deeply the family hurt when their children hurt, knowing just how the loss of Cato rem Benes had affected him. 

And there was a part of me that felt like it knew more, too, like... I could sense something in the future. Of course, I was a woman of science. Looking back, yes - in a strange way, and thanks to kami meddling, I did know. I knew the painful endings and the happy endings both, but to not be able to explain those feelings was often agonizing. And the more my relationship with Cato Lucretius began to fraction, the more I felt it. 

The more I felt that something just hadn’t ended right, that a book that was meant to be closed had simply been paused. 

The day I found his love letters from another woman beneath our bed and his collar stained with a coral lipstick that I wouldn’t wear came almost as a relief. Of course, it broke my heart. Spring had come around again, with a surprising melt in the snow. We had spent a year around each other, committed to each other - or, at least, one of us had been committed to the other. When I asked how long, just how long had he been betraying my trust, he was vague. When I asked how many times, he had simply shrugged, staring into the fire. 

“How many hours were you too busy being brilliant to give me?”

“You’re casting yourself as dependent and lonely to get out of being accountable for being a dickhead,” I had told him, tossing the letters that he’d so obviously read over and over directly into the fire. “For being the worst of men.” 

“We could try to fix this, Laelia,” he had said, running his hands over his face before standing up to face me, to try to reach out to me. “I messed up, darling. I messed up so badly, but if you give me another chance--”

“Haven’t you heard, Lucretius?” I asked him, smiling. “Goodness, I thought you would have, but... I simply just don’t have the time to give you that. I have very brilliant and much more important things to be doing than wasting my godsdamned time on this - you manipulative, lying, tiny pricked bastard.” 

When I slammed that apartment door with a box of my things in my arms with that man crying like an infant, it was liberating. I was free of his cruelty and his coercion. I suppose I could thank him, though, for the beginnings of the spine that I became so famous for.

For the spine that Cato rem Benes will always love me for having. And Cato rem Benes is, was, and always will truly be spring - the true herald of new beginnings, of promises that the long winters would end into a blossoming, glowing new world.