#i like to think after sage came back and was more integrated she was really happy at first

[dreaminginmysoup]

Sins of the Father

based on a Sage redesign by @starspices shared in a mutual discord.

[phoenixyfriend]

Madara and Obito... In SPACE

So the preface to this mess: I don’t know jackshit about Star Wars, so a lot of this went through friends who do know Star Wars (the primary of which does not have a tumblr).

(I have watched Episodes 7&8, and Rogue One. Of the first six movies, I remember watching maybe an hour total. I have not seen more than snatches of Clone Wars. Beyond that, nothing but fic.)

Anyway! Let’s go:

As y’all probably know by now, my favorite form of crossover is what I call “intrusive,” so... I'm enjoying the mental concept of "dump Madara on Coruscant and watch him go." (Prequels, probably.)

Does Madara know what's going on? No. Can he understand a word that's being said? No! Is he going to fight the first person to aim a weapon at him, and every person after that? Yes.

Is Madara fighting fit?

Nnnnnnnnnnnnnno, not really, he’s old as balls. This is "I was on cave life support but I'm getting back up to kick ass out of pure spite" Madara.

[Image description: A screenshot of a panel of the Naruto Manga. Uchiha Madara is old and visibly ‘decrepit,’ with spiky white hair and an amorphous black robe. He is sitting on a pale throne, and there is a scythe visible to the side. He has a speech bubble saying “I am... a ghost of the Uchiha.” End Description]

Two wrinkly old guys, staring each other down: There ain't enough room in this universe for the two of us. [Palpatine and Madara start fighting to the death]

Congrats, Palpatine! Your ass is getting kicked by a geriatric malcontent who doesn't speak any language you've ever heard or feel like literally anything in the Force. You may have Sith lightning, but do you have decades of frontline experiences and over half a century of cave-dwelling bitterness?

Both of them, simultaneously, in completely different languages: Get off my lawn, whipper-snapper.

Palpatine: Behold my mastery of the Dark Side, Foolish old man! Palpatine: [shoots lightning] Madara: Oh hey, you're like the seventeenth most dangerous person who can shoot lightning I've fought. Telekinesis? Fought that. Combat precognition? Fought that, have that, and let me tell you hwat, it doesn't help if you're opponent is just that much faster than you.

Now, I’ll take a step back and acknowledge that several people advised me that Palpatine would stand a chance against Madara, likely even win, if Madara just got hacked off of his life support and is down to one eye.

But. I want a shitpost, and also to clown on Palpatine, so Madara wins easily.

Madara also deserves to be clowned on, but the entire situation is clowning on him because he’s not in his cave anymore, and he really wants to go back to his Gedou Mazou statue.

Maybe Madara and Palpatine go Old Man Fight and then Obito just pulls a Ninja Move and kills Palpatine that way. Madara was ranting and Obito just. Ninjas behind Palpatine and slits his throat like “okay, you’re obviously evil so like... bye.��

(I just love causing "Wait what" reactions in characters that are used to having total control. Like. Have you read "Unexpected Guests"? The Bleach fic? Everything that happens in Hueco Mundo and after. That energy. I want that energy.)

Madara waves his scythe around like a cane. Obito just trails after like “Gramps, no” because it’s still pre-Sanbi, so he’s Mostly Innocent (you know, on the scale of how fucked up Obito is as a person), and just wants Madara to like. Stop.

Palpatine dies but nobody's sure what to charge Madara with since he did kind of expose a Sith? And Palpatine attacked first for [handwave] reasons?

Jedi: Well sir, in lieu of charging you with assassination of the emperor, we have decided to ask you politely to return to the elderly person's retirement home from whence you came. Please leave immediately. You are frightening the senate. Madara: [incomprehensible raving] Jedi: Yes yes, very interesting. Jedi, whispering: Does anyone know his caretaker???

Obito looks increasingly put-upon as events progress. You need Obito there to... well, not translate. Nobody can translate. But to at least poke Madara into being Slightly Less Homicidal.

Anakin seems sad about his friend dying and being evil so Obito challenges him to a spar. Madara and Obito get pulled into the Jedi Temple to help train Padawans? My first thought was "they wouldn't trust someone so obviously Weird, Crazy, and Incomprehensible around the younglings" and my second thought was "well they let Yoda do it and he's all those things so I mean? YEAH."

What if they put Madara in the bacta tank and he just freshened up like a daisy because of hand-wave Hashirama cell reasons (Blame Sir Tiddyface).

From “Decrepit and Reliant on Cave Tube Life Support” to “Will Call Down Meteors With Ease”

How many eyes does he have? Whatever’s funniest. Let’s say one Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan and one Rinnegan, for maximum chaos.

Would "half my body is missing" Obito freak out if Bacta regrew his eye? Can bacta regrow something like that? When characters lose limbs they usually just get cybernetic replacements, but  the person I spoke with said that apparently they saw somewhere that that kind of thing can grow back it just takes a really long time.

I want to imagine bacta would help Obito with the Zetsu integration.

Anyway! Yes. Have Madara help train people despite being... Madara about it. You know... kind of a dick.

(I’d put example gifs but I don’t feel up to it. Y’all know what Madara’s “weakness disgusts me” ass is like.)

Obito had to get his "these fools could never make me sweat" sass from somewhere, after all.

Do you think Obito could fight the baby Jedi that are around his age while recovering? I have no idea what their skill level is at fourteen, but I want to imagine Obito sparring the Padawans.

Obito + Zetsu + Bacta = he still needs physical therapy but he can spar again!

Madara is delighted to have a baby ninja to bully. He's too old to not bully baby ninjas, and Obito is the only baby ninja. TBH Madara just makes Obito his assistant teacher.

Obito: What are we even doing here and how do we get home? Madara: I'm still working on that. Obito: But I want to go home and see Rin and Kakashi! Madara, who was like two days away from triggering the Sanbi plan: I'm working on it.

Something sticking in my mind rn is Ahsoka&Obito, since Obito is still Baby.

I think Obito would be excited to have someone his age that thought he was Cool and Talented for being able to do Chakra Things instead of writing him off as "the dead-last." Like, Rin is friends with him, but she doesn't look up to him as someone more/differently talented.  He'd be excited to get to be "The Mysterious Cool Big Bro" for once.

I feel I also just like the idea of Anakin not knowing what to do with someone Several Years Younger that is also. Ninja Skill.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

Madara is a grouchy old man even AFTER he gets effectively de-aged via bacta dunk, for the record. He's back in his prime and the Jedi have no idea how. They're all concerned about tiddyface*. (When are people not concerned about Sir Tiddyface, really.) The mokuton is a problem.

*Sir Tiddyface is that random Hashirama face that Madara had growing out of his pecs for like... convoluted bullshit reasons.

(Madara doesn't have mokuton, but he has enough Hashirama cells that it interacted very, VERY weirdly with the bacta.)

Obito spends the intervening weeks trying to learn the local language. He's very eager. Not particularly fast. Still doing it though!

I want Obito juggling kunai as physical therapy while he's waiting for Mads to get out of the bacta tank and just gains himself the adoration of a gaggle of small baby Jedi children.

Madara comes out of the bacta tank looking like he did in his prime (which I mentioned earlier but whatever), and it absolutely incites a yelling match of an argument that draws way too much attention.

Someone tries to teach Obito how to access the Force, just to see what happens. He almost turns into a statue because the philosophy behind Force meditation is only a few steps away from Sage Mode Meditation.

Anyway, Madara smacks him with a stick like Fukasaku to make sure Obito doesn't turn into stone.

Madara grumps about the lack of paper and brushes and ink. Bitches about it until someone hits up an antique store or something to get them for him. The day before he and Obito are dispatched on a mission with someone, probably Anakin for plot reasons, Madara very publicly seals things into a scroll and then tells them that no, they can't learn it, because the Force isn't chakra so fuuinjutsu won't work for them, so There.

Obito practices some Teen Rebellion (tm) and like, tries to teach the Padawan friends he's made how to do Chakra Things... but he's so bad at explaining things that nobody can get it to work even if it were possible.

In Obito's defense, language barriers. Not in Obito's defense, he's just really bad at words sometimes.

[ushiwakaa]

𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’re a mangaka who draws from your own experiences to write your stories. your new editor disapproves this method.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: akaashi keiji x reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, hanahaki au

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: suicidal thoughts/ideation, blood, vomit, major character death

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2 k

𝐚/𝐧: this was written for the cheese cult’s hanahaki fic event !! djnfjdngjnjfnjnjngjn this took me so , so , so long to write because every version i wrote ended up hitting the same brick wall of unimaginable angst and believe it or not, this is probably the happiest version. i was supposed to post this two whole as days ago but hey , at least it happened

From over the cover of the fairytale he reads, the young boy boy peers at you with soft sage eyes — checking to see if you’re still awake. You are, but you’re careful to keep your eyes closed, face buried into the blanket. 

“The end,” the young boy finishes softly, closing his book.

He gingerly places the book to the side before sliding in next to you under the covers. You can feel his eyes on you for another moment before he takes a deep breath — there’s a secret, a confession, something on the tip of his tongue. 

You never hear it.

You wake up with a start, a cough half-way up your throat. You cough and cough and cough until the first bud breaks air, tickling the back of your throat. You reach your fingers into your mouth and pull. 

Bitterly, you stare at the withering bouquet in your hands. 

The flowers are wet with your saliva — only a hint of blood coating the white of the petals. 

When you went to the doctor about it, she said you were lucky. She said that your flowers were so small, you could go your entire life with an unrequited love and they would leave your respiratory system alone. She also added, no doctor in their right mind would perform a removal surgery on a person who was more likely to die on the table, then by their illness. 

While cultivating roses would be painful, at least it would be a quick death.

Like every other day, you toss out the pathetic string of baby’s breath in the garbage bin as you head into the washroom to wash out your mouth. 

You get off of the train at a quarter to ten — thankfully on time for your meeting. 

Kaori gives a friendly smile when you enter her office. Even behind her desk, you can see her burgeoning belly. Despite pushing eight months into her pregnancy, she beams. In her smile, she wears the name brand brightness that they all share — the people with a requited love, that is. The lucky ones whose flowers weren’t fed with misery and tears.

You try your best not to resent her but your jealousy bleeds when you sit in the glossy, apple green chair.

“How are you?” Kaori asks, her gentle eyes watching you.

You give a vague shrug, a small smile. “Sad that this is it.”

She’s pleased by this answer, giving a laugh. It reminds you of blue bells rustling in the wind. “I’ll be back and ready to work on your next series before you know it.”

You give an empty chuckle.

There’s a knock at the door and you both look. A man stands in the doorway — staring at Kaori dryly. His plain neutrals are out of place in her bright office but her brightness doesn’t flicker as she waves him in. You play with the sleeve of your severely drab cotton blouse as you wonder if that’s how you look here. 

“Akaashi! Glad you could make it.” 

He gives a slight bow to Kaori first, then you. You stop fiddling with your sleeve and return the bow while seated. He takes a seat in the chair opposite to you (Kaori dubbed it the pineapple throne after its piss yellow hue). He’s too tall for it. It’s almost comical. You might write that in for one of your characters.

“(Y/N), this is Akaashi Keiji. Akaashi, this is (L/N) (Y/N).” She turns to you. “He will be taking over as your editor for the last volume while I’m on maternity leave.” 

You look over at him — “Akaashi… Keiji?” 

At an arm's length, you can see the gentle slope of his nose and the delicate curl of the eyelashes that frame the muted green of his eyes. There’s something that’s strangely familiar about him but you can’t put your finger on it. You know him. You don’t know how, but you do.

“I look forward to working with you.”

You smile, but at the back of your throat, you can feel a familiar itch beginning to grow.

Despite the connection your body draws to him, Akaashi doesn’t show any recognition in return. 

He taps his pen lightly on the paper. “What’s going on here? What’s your plan for this girl?”

You peer over the desk to look at the character on trial — the panel shows the short haired girl spewing forget-me-nots into the trash bin. Immediately, you frown. It’s annoying that he doesn’t know her name. She is literally one of three main characters.

“Konoka?” You settle back into your seat. “She’s going to die.”

He looks up at you. “I gathered that much, but why?”

If the robot says it, it really must not make sense but then again, you doubt he even understood the nuances of the series if he couldn’t even remember Konoka’s name. “Because she has Hanahaki Disease.”

“Okay, but —” if you hadn’t been growing annoyed by his flat tone, you might’ve swooned at the softness, “forget-me-nots are small. She couldn’t possibly die of Hanahaki.”

“That’s why she kills herself.”

He’s silent for a moment, calculating his next words. “...You realize that she’s one of your most beloved characters, right? Your readers don’t want to see her die like that.”

“This is the trajectory the story has been on since she and Tanaka met again.” Your tone is more charged than you intend, but you can’t help but defend Konoka’s decision fiercely. “She has to commit suicide. It’s the only way she can move on.”

“Yes, but Kanoka—”

Pointedly, you cut him off, “Thank you for your opinion but I refuse to compromise on that.” 

He purses his lips. “I sincerely ask you to reconsider.”

“I will not compromise my artistic integrity for your comfort.”

“Killing characters off isn’t profound. It isn’t always necessary.”

“In this case, it is.” Your cheeks burn red as you stand up for yourself — this fight is on a personal level. “I’m not killing her for shock value. I’m killing her because every night, Konoka dreams about Tanaka, and everyday, she wakes up and throws up flowers because she knows he doesn’t love her back. I’m killing her because there’s no one else for her. I’m killing her because the flowers won’t and that — that’s more painful.”

The silence in the aftermath of your rant is deafening. He says nothing to you for another moment, staring into the smoulder of your eyes with a calculating stare. It might be a mistake to appeal to the emotional aspect of it — after all, you sort of doubt he has any at this point — but, at the root of it, that’s what it is: an emotional problem.

“Fine,” he says. “You still have to redo this panel, though.”

Your mouth burns with a minty tang as you walk back into your room — drawn over by the buzzing sound of your ringer. Looking at the caller I.D., you have half a mind to throw it across the room and get back under the covers. 

But, with all the professionalism you can muster at nine in the morning, you say, “Hello?”

“Are you finished with the second draft?” Akaashi’s flat drawl reverbs through the speaker.

You resist the urge to sigh. “Yes.”

“Can you come by the office to drop it off?”

“Today?” You scratch absently at your collarbone. “Uh… I can swing by tomorrow, but if you really need it today — you can pick it up from my apartment?” 

There’s silence on the other line — likely weighing the pros and cons. In the weeks you’ve worked under him, you’ve noticed that he does nothing without proper evaluation. 

“Is three o’clock alright?”

You’re in the middle of vacuuming when a knock at the door interrupts you. While you’re expecting it, you’re not any less annoyed. You open the door with a tight smile, manuscript already in hand. Akaashi gives a monotone greeting in his monotone clothes with his monotone face. 

“Hello. May I use your washroom?” 

You give a sigh as you open the door wider. “The door on the left.”

He enters your apartment, neatly putting his shoes by the door. You toss the manuscript back on the counter. You meant to send him on his way, but, because he’s already here, you put on a kettle to boil. 

“I sincerely hope you reconsider your plans.”

You turn around at the comment, looking at your editor with a raised brow. “I’m still killing Konoka.”

He’s a different person when you look at him. For once, there’s something behind his eyes — a sharpness to his gaze. That feeling returns — the one that sees flowers tickling at your trachea.

Gravely, he repeats. “I sincerely hope you reconsider your plans.” 

He must’ve seen your garbage bin. You feel ready to throw something else up now.

“Tell me about them,” Akaashi says.

“About who?”

“Whoever it is you’re willing to die for.”

“I…” You feel faint as you rub at your clavicle. “I don’t think you want to hear this.”

“That’s why I asked, isn’t it?” 

So you do. 

You swallow your pride as you tell him about the little boy you once knew. You tell him about the summer you didn’t leave each other’s side and how one day, while you were camping, you woke up next to him and he was coughing petals and buds and thorns. When his parents took him to the hospital, he never came back and you didn’t get to ask any questions before they moved away. 

You tell him that you started dying that day. That the doctors told your parents that the surgery was too risky for your age. That when you came back a few years later, they told you that it was still too risky when the chances of your death were slim. Some days are better than most, you tell him, but because you never stop thinking about him, you’ll never get better. 

It’s the same story that you are writing. 

Akaashi looks at you for a solemn moment, watching you with incredible disbelief. He’s going to call you an over-dramatic idiot for wanting to die over a childhood crush. If it wasn’t your reality, you’d agree with him too. What a stupid reason to die.

But then, he coughs. When he moves his hands from his mouth, both your stomachs drop while you stare in horror at the soft petal, sopping wet with his blood. 

His eyes widen the same time yours do. Immediately, the phone is in your hand, calling an ambulance.

He thinks he’s dying.

This feeling now, and the feeling from back then... They’re one in the same.

That night, you fell asleep facing him. Your button nose and dark lashes were illuminated by the glow created by his flashlight. It wasn’t until he peered over the cover of the book, he realized that you were knocked out cold.

“You’re so pretty,” he wanted to say.

Instead, a coughing fit seized him, which woke you in turn. He’d been complaining about a dry throat recently, so you disappeared to get him a water from the coolers outside of the tent. 

When you came back, the sleeping bag was littered with bloodied petals. The chilled bottle hit the floor as you gave a blood-curdling scream.

This time, when Akaashi wakes up in the hospital, he’s already coughing. In rapid succession, four blood-soaked petals of varying sizes, the round bud they were plucked from, and two thorns spew from his mouth. He looks at you, startled, more emotion than you’ve ever seen him exhibit. 

Your eyes are red rimmed and swollen.

Gently, you pick up the debris littering his lap and toss it into the garbage beside you. The thorns fall through the maze of baby’s breath you had also coughed up and hit the bottom of the bin with a dull thud. 

"Keiji?” you sniffle, your voice soft. “How do you feel?”

“Not good,” he answers. Akaashi chuckles but you can see the blood dribble from his mouth. You wipe at his chapped lips with a tissue.

“The doctor said to call him when you woke up. Let me just —” You feel dizzy as you stand, maybe a touch overwhelmed. “I’m going to go get him.”

There’s a minuscule tug at your hand. When you look down at Akaashi, he’s watching you. His eyes are still a faint shade of green, but there’s a new shine behind them.

“Can I tell you something first?” You hesitate for a second. Then, you nod. “I hope you reconsider your decision.” In the chaos of the past few hours, you had forgotten the matter that brought you here. “I want Konoka to choose herself over Tanaka. Even if she coughs up flowers everyday... I want her to live.”

You take Akaashi’s hand — large, smooth, and cold — in yours. “I can do that.”

“I know that it hurts, but she needs to know that means she’s alive.” You squeeze lightly as his words resonate within you. “I haven’t felt pain in a decade. But, that means I haven’t felt anything. Right now?” He gives you a small smile. “I’m more alive than I’ve ever been.”

Gently letting go of him, you say, “I’ll get you the doctor.” 

You wince when he coughs again — loud and wet. A confession in this final hour won’t do anything. The withered flowers have to come out somehow. 

Still, “I love you,” you try. 

He smiles weakly back at you. “I love you too.”

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @mlkytobio @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @from-left-to-write @akaashit-baeji  @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma  @kawanisshi @milk-n-writings @thiccbokuto @shinsukestan @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @kawaiikraykray @bubbleteaa @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei @pineapplekween @estherwritess @keiji-n @achoohq​ @badlywritten-hq​ @mochibeaa​ @oinkanna​ @chxrry-wxne​ @spudicide​ @airybby​ @asranomical​ @karmasuna​

[spockina]

Kiss Your Best Friend

100% came to after i watched a bunch of ‘kiss your best friend’ tik tok challenges. no i’m not great with titles

the biggest thank you ever to @hearteyesforbuck​ for being the kindest, nicest person, welcoming me into this community, and reading this and giving me valuable feedback. thank you. <3 

4.1k words / fluff

this is my first 9-1-1 fic. pls be kind to me

ps.: this was also posted on ao3!

~

Buck will be the first one to tell you that he isn’t the greatest person with pop culture – and that extends to technology. He’s not even embarrassed about it; it just never piqued his interest, and that’s about it for explanations. So, no, he doesn’t know that the Jonas Brothers are back together – in fact, he only has a vague recollection of who they are –, and the only reason he keeps getting new iPhones is because they keep calling him to offer a trade (and everyone knows shiny new things are always fun, okay?).

Chimney, on the other hand, is a pop culture pro. 

“There’s no such thing as too old for apps, Buck,” he says, waving his phone around as if to prove a point, “because if I still have a phone in my hands, then I can still enjoy the damn apps that go in them, right?”

Buck nods, unsure of what else to say. He hates feeling unsure, more so if the subject is as dumb as popular-things-he-doesn’t-know-and-or-care-about.

“What I’m tryna show you,” Chim continues, as if Buck isn’t about two seconds from tuning out of this conversation entirely, “is a funny series of videos on Tik Tok. I promise you’re gonna laugh at ‘em.”

“What’s… Tik-Tok…?” Buck asks instead.

Chim sighs, but then laughs a little. “Ok, Buck, it doesn’t matter, come watch the videos!”

It starts with a soft, mellow song, and on screen he can see some pictures, all accompanied with text explaining them, that'sthats my best friend, we been best friends for 3 years now, he doesn'tdoesnt know i like him, and then it cuts to a cute moment of a blonde teen leaning in and placing a tentative kiss on said best friend’s lips. They laugh and then hug, and then the video ends. After that one come a few more in succession; some go horribly wrong, and some are funny. Most of them work out as planned, though.

Then Bobby calls Chimney from downstairs, and Chim pockets his phone to leave.

“That’s the ‘kiss your best friend challenge’, Buckaroo.” He says with a grin, all teeth. “Thought you’d enjoy it.” He winks at Buck, and then goes, yelling coming! and leaving behind a very confused and only somewhat amused Buck.

That’s how it starts.

-

So, no, Buck doesn’t really know the first thing about apps in general, what’s trending and what’s not, but he does know how to work the App Store. Knows how to find apps. Knows how to download Tik Tok.

It’s innocent enough at first. The videos are funny, for the most part, and it’s a mindless distraction, even if only slightly better than the games he’s used to, and only better because of the amount of variety he gets.

He can’t help but come back to the stupid videos (and why even call them challenges anyway? What’s challenging about them?) about kissing your best friend.

They’re mostly adorable, but some are heartbreaking. He’s soft, okay? No shame in his game. He’s a soft guy, who’s (mostly) in touch with his feelings. Some of the rejection ones are upsetting; God knows Buck has faced a couple of rejections in his prime, and they hurt.

He keeps watching them anyway.

-

This week has been a rough one. Eddie picked up an extra shift, which made Buck decide to pick one up, too, because why the hell not? Christopher wasn’t even going to need anything Buck could help with, as he already had plans with Abuela. That extra shift, it turned out, was a horrible mistake.

(Not really. Buck really, really does love his job. Loves doing what he does, loves knowing he’s helping people. Sometimes it gets exhausting, though. Sometimes he’s made to face  what losing his friends, his family, Eddie would feel like, and those hurt days like a motherfucker.)

A huge house fire reached the two neighboring houses. They needed backup, the whole thing was insane. Half of the roof collapsed not even two inches from where Eddie was standing, twin girls in his arms, Buck watching from the ladder where he was ready to take the girls. It doesn’t matter how many times they go near death; every single time it happens in slow-motion. Everyone came out alive, but the bitter taste followed Buck’s mouth into the truck, where he places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, and leaves it there until they reach the station.

“Plans for the evening?” He asks softly. They feel extra raw tonight.

“Not really.” Eddie replies, and the silence stretches. Buck thinks that’s all Eddie’s saying, until he clears his throat, continues. “Christopher’s staying with Abuela, and then Carla’s picking him up and taking him to school in the morning.” Another pause. “I’m just tired, Buck. I need to crash.”

Buck nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just. I won’t be able to,” he says, complete honesty without even thinking, and that’s probably his favorite thing about his friendship with Eddie. No filter, just truth. Mostly.

Eddie nods, but it’s more of a jerky motion. Buck doesn’t inquire further.

“You wanna grab a couple pizzas and some beer? We can pretend to watch a movie until we collapse.”

The suggestion sounds heavenly. Buck grins, nods, already picking up his phone.

“Domino’s fine? The usual?”

Eddie nods. “Your place or mine?”

-

In the end they only get the pizzas because Buck has more than enough beers for the two of them at his place. 

They have three mostly empty pizza boxes on the coffee table, beer in hand, a half a dozen other bottles around the boxes, a movie they’re pretending to watch – but even as it plays on screen, Buck can’t pretend to know what’s going on. He’s sitting on the far end of the couch, with Eddie right beside him, head on his shoulder.

Buck’s a naturally tactile person. Craves physical touches, and the warmth of another person’s skin. Eddie wasn’t always like that; it took him some time to open up, and Buck doesn’t know if this is for him only, or if he’s as open with any of his other friends, but that doesn’t matter to Buck.

Buck moves his arm behind Eddie, so that they can both be more comfortable, and Eddie looks up a little startled, soft around the edges and glassy-eyed, which means he was probably on his way to falling asleep when Buck moved. He smiles at Buck, a small smile that’s open and honest and free. And Buck… Wow. Buck realizes, then and there, that he wants to kiss Eddie. 

It’s only a second, and then Eddie’s looking back at the screen, burrowing just the tiniest bit more into the space Buck has made for him, taking a sip of his beer, sighing very softly.

And, oh. Oh. Buck understands now. Buck knows, deeply and suddenly, why they’re called challenges, and what the challenging part is about the whole kiss your best friend thing.

It’s a bet he’s not sure if he’s willing to take.

-

Buck can’t stop thinking about it.

He doesn’t remember when he knew he was in love with Abby. That’s always where their relationship was going to go, there wasn’t another option. They weren’t ever in it for anything other than being together. Sure, Buck tried, for the first time, to be a better man, and that was what moved them along, but Buck always knew how they were supposed to end up. Together. Which is why he doesn’t know when he realized he was in love with Abby. If the goal was to get the girl, then being in love with her was an integral part of the plan. He just doesn’t fucking know, which is making everything worse.

Because he’s pretty sure he’s in love with Eddie.

Because he didn’t know, and then he did.

Because it was easy to figure out.

Eddie looked at him, open and carefree, even if for just a minute, and Buck thought yes. And that was it. Buck thought yes, Buck thought he would do anything to just keep Eddie looking like that, soft, and safe, and tranquil. In his arms. Buck thought all those things in a millisecond, and he knew what they meant. He knows what they mean, because he hasn’t stopped thinking about them ever since they materialized in his mind.

I’m in love with Eddie.

Buck wanted to be a better man for Abby, and he was, but Eddie makes him a better man.

He hates knowing this. He doesn’t know what to do with it, because, while he would never do anything to jeopardize what he has with Eddie (this friendship, this trust, this love – that is above the romance part of things, and involves everything else – namely, Christopher, and the feeling of belonging he gets when he’s with them), he also knows himself. He knows this isn’t going to last very long before he bursts and makes a mess of things. He needs to think, but he has, has been doing nothing but think about this.

He needs to do something.

He just hasn’t figured out what just yet.

-

The idea comes, funnily enough, when they’re at a call.

The universe sure loves a good dose of irony.

Some (dumb) teenager stuck in the air vent, was what the 9-1-1 operator said. There’s a really big, sour looking man yelling at a teenage girl – who’s yelling right back at him – outside when they get there, a lady watching them, clear from her face that she’s both the girl’s mom and the man’s wife and that she’s given up on whatever’s going on. He half hears as Bobby tries to placate things enough to understand what’s going. The girl outside starts sobbing, but now he’s concentrating on the girl inside, upstairs in a bedroom, stuck in the air vent.

“Hey, can you hear me?” He says loudly, and gets some noise back that he’ll take as an answer. She’s already all the way in the vent, save for one foot hanging out from where she got stuck trying to move, a knee up and one leg straight. Stupid, stupid idea. “What’s your name?” He asks, and then they start to work.

“Sage,” she answers, loud. He’s not sure if she’s yelling or if the sound’s carrying, but he keeps being loud just to be sure.

“Ok, Sage, we’re gonna get you out, don’t worry! Wanna tell me whatcha doing in there?”

“Looking for a rat,” she replies, and Eddie huffs a laugh beside him, shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, I just panicked!”

“Hey, don’t worry about my feelings, Sage, we’re fine. You wanna tell me what happened for you to hop up there?”

“What’s your name?” She says, and that takes him by surprise. His eyebrows go up, and he looks at everyone around before answering.

“Uh, it’s Buck. My name’s Buck.”

“Look, Buck,” she starts, and she sounds so, so angry, but also so very sad, “Baileya’s dad hates me, ok? I haven’t seen her in a month! She’s my best friend!”

“Ok, Sage, I’m gonna need you to take a few calming breaths before we continue, ok? Do you want me to breathe with you?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she says, and then she’s quiet, and they can all hear her breathing deeply. “Okay, sorry. Look. Baileya’s dad he, uh, he thinks I’m a bad influence. He was supposed to be somewhere, fuck if I know, but he was only supposed to come back tomorrow. I haven’t seen B in a month –” that last part sounds so sad it breaks Buck’s heart a bit, “– and I just. I missed her.” She’s silent for a little bit, and no one presses for more, but then she speaks up again. “We saw his car outta the window and I just panicked. This air vent hasn’t had a pane for the longest time and I’m a fucking gymnast, so I thought I could just jump up here and hang out for a minute. I know it was stupid, but he would kick me out if he found me, and I mean that very literally.”

Buck looks at his team. They all know what this means.

Finally, Bobby says, “Well, Sage, you’re gonna be out of there in a minute, and you’re gonna get to see your best friend, and no one’s touching you under the protection of the LAFD, okay? Don’t worry.”

She sounds shaky when she says thank you.

When they get her out, she asks them to stay at the door so she can get all her things in her backpack, and Buck notices her phone was propped up against some books in a table in front of the bed. Everyone trails out and he lingers behind to protect her, but also to say, in an almost-whisper:

“Hey, Sage, why was your phone propped up like that?”

She turns tomato red in a second, flat-out. “I was, uh. I was. Um. Filming a thing.”

And of course Buck knows. He knows that angle. “A challenge?”

She looks surprised. “Yeah. For, um, for Tik-Tok.”

“Did you get to do it?”

“Yeah, Buck,” she says, and he wouldn’t ask, normally, but her voice says it all.

“Did Baileya like it?”

She smiles at him, almost as if she can’t keep it in. “Yes.”

He decides then and there that he’s not going to look them up, but he can’t stop thinking about the smile on Sage’s face when she said yes.

The whole way back to the station he keeps watching Chimney, who has noticed, but hasn’t asked what he’s looking at him for. He wonders if he was always obvious to everyone else, and only oblivious to himself. He wonders whether he’s obvious to Eddie or if Eddie is oblivious to him.

More than anything, though, he’s pretty sure he found a way to do something. He feels silly. It was staring at him this whole time. Or, well, he was staring at it, really, for quite some time, in fact.

-

It’s another Saturday, and he’s been psyching himself up for a week. 

Sure, he’s figured out what to do, and he doesn’t wanna risk anything. That doesn’t mean he’s not jittery about it. So much, in fact, that Eddie notices as soon as he walks through the door.

Christopher jumps up as soon as he sees him, saying a long and excited Buck! and all but flinging himself at Buck, who has just enough time to drop the bags he has on the floor carefully and pick up Christopher in the same motion.

“How’s my Superman doing?”

“Good, Bucky. How are you?”

“Ready for a fun day with my favorite boys,” he replies, easy as anything.

He drops Christopher, and Eddie gives him a quick hug before picking up the bags he brought.

“What are these?”

“Well, it’s a nice day, thought we could, you know, make a day of it? You said you didn’t have plans and I have everything for a nice picnic.” He shrugs.

“I don’t see a basket,” Eddie teases.

“It’s in the car, you jerk.”

Eddie laughs. “Hey, Christopher, what do we think about a picnic?”

“Picnic!” is all the reply he gets from a very excited Christopher. “I’m going to change,” he says, already shuffling to his bedroom, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I also got us some beer, but that’s more for later in the evening. Thought we could order a pizza after Chris goes to bed, maybe?”

Eddie looks fake-shocked. “You want a whole entire day of eating not really health stuff? Who are you and what did you do to my Buck?”

And Buck knows, okay? Buck knows he’s just joking, but it still tugs at his heart, makes him feel like those butterflies people talk about are real: his head feels light, there’s a tingling on the tips of his fingers. Instead of any of the stupid things he wants to do, he just shakes his head, smiles.

“Nah, man, just wanted a nice day with the two of you, that’s all.”

Eddie’s smile is blinding. “Sounds good to me.”

-

“I’ll tuck him in and you order the pizza?”

“Yup.”

“‘K. Chris, go say good night to Buck.”

Christopher moves slowly. They’ve had a fun, long day.

“Good night, Bucky. I love you.”

“Good night, Chris. I love you, too.”

Buck listens to the sounds of the two of them as he orders the pizza. He thinks about how familiar it is, how at home he feels.

How he is, maybe, about to mess the whole thing up.

He sure has his excuses in place in case things don’t go the way he wants them to – “it’s just a joke, look, I can show you the other videos. It’s a challenge for Tik Tok. I just wanted to be down with the kids, Eddie! I thought you’d be game! It’s just for show!” – but it’s not going to stop things from being awkward for a little bit until they get back to normal. 

When Eddie comes back, the pizza is there already, and Buck is nursing a beer that’s already halfway down, but has one out for Eddie, cold and fresh. Eddie collapses on the couch with a grunt.

“That boy’s getting big, por Díos, where did the time go,” he says, sitting up nicely, taking a swig of his beer.

They’re having a good time. But they’re never not having a good time. This is it, Buck realizes. He can’t imagine ever again feeling so at home in the presence of someone else. He can’t imagine loving a child so deeply; can’t imagine loving a man more for the way he loves his own son. This is it.

Eddie goes to the bathroom, and it’s Buck’s chance.

He puts the phone up against a vase Eddie has on the coffee table; knows Eddie enough to know he won’t notice, especially after two beers.

“Alright, what did I miss,” Eddie says as he walks in the living room, more conversationally than interested, and Buck knows it’s now or never.

“Hey, Eddie,” he says, slowly, which makes Eddie look at him immediately, confusion and worry written in the lines around his eyes.

“You ok, Buck?” He asks, placing his beer bottle on the coffee table in front of them, worry making him move more into Buck’s personal space.

Ok, Buck. Now or never. Do it.

“Yeah, yeah, I just. I. Look, Eddie, I just need to –” Buck cuts himself off in favor of moving entirely into Eddie’s personal space, meeting him in the middle where Eddie already was. The air between them mingles, Buck can feel the warmth they’re creating back on his lips.

“What are you doing?” Eddie whispers, sharp, and for a second Buck feels as if he has lost; this exact moment is suspended in infinity for Buck to commit it to memory, to remember his loss, forevermore. But then. Then, Eddie looks down at Buck’s lips, and licks his own. Buck needs nothing else. He goes in.

Eddie is very still when their lips touch, but Buck can absolutely not help but notice how soft they are. Eddie is all hard angles and big muscles, but his lips are so soft, how’s that even possible? And then Buck notices he isn’t moving. He isn’t even breathing, actually, holding himself taut. Buck’s thankful for his foresight of not touching Eddie anywhere besides the lips.

Buck backs away slowly, hoping that Eddie won’t look at him too close, hoping Eddie will take pity and just let him run away for the night. But Eddie is watching him intently, looking into the blue eyes that already feel wet, so obviously they look wet. But hey! Buck tried, didn’t he? 

All the apologies and speech he had ready die in his throat. He’s not going to lie to Eddie; he doesn’t want to lie to Eddie. He should know. He should know that Buck is in love with him, heart-achingly so. He needs to know. So Buck doesn’t say anything. He looks around; for a second he had forgotten the phone was even there. He starts to get up, his mind a mess. 

Eddie holds his wrist. Buck looks at where they’re touching as if it’s burning. Eddie tugs, hard, making him sit down. 

“Did you mean that?" He asks, voice only above a whisper, but still crystal clear.

“What?” Buck says, confused. 

“Buck. Did you mean to do that?” He asks again, eyes on Buck’s. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “Yeah, Eddie. I’ve been meaning to. For a while now.” 

Buck closes his eyes, then. Eddie's eyes are too bright, too beautiful for Buck to keep looking at. And then, Eddie’s hand is up against his neck, his jaw, against his cheek, resting there, thumb awfully close to the corner of Buck’s mouth. And then, Buck’s being kissed. For real. 

Eddie kisses exactly like he does all other things: quietly, not showing off, but assured of himself and of what he’s doing; he’s a pro and he knows it. 

Buck is about to shift into ‘two can play at this game mode’ when he remembers the phone recording. 

He pulls away slowly, softly, regrettably, but covers Eddie’s hand on his cheek with one of his hands, moves it to his mouth to kiss Eddie’s palm. Free. Able and allowed to do this. 

They smile at each other. Buck could stare at Eddie’s smile forever. 

He reaches for his phone on the coffee table and says a fuck so heartfelt Eddie moves away from him on the couch. 

“Buck?”

“It. Wasn’t. Recording.”

“What?”

Buck is, admittedly, a little late on the uptake of how bad that sounded. It takes him a while to explain the whole thing to Eddie, which of course includes showing him a few challenge videos. 

"So you had a speech ready in case I flipped out on you,” Eddie concludes. 

“Yup, correct." 

A beat, and then: "You didn’t say anything, though." 

Buck looks up at him, confused. "What do you mean?" 

"You pulled back, and you didn’t say anything. You were just going to leave." 

And, wow. Buck forgets, sometimes, just how perceptive Eddie is. He looks away for a second, but decides Eddie deserves honesty, even if it’s at the cost of baring his soul. He already did a lot of that tonight, might as well keep going. 

"I realized I wanted you to know. Our friendship is the most important thing I have, and so I knew that, whatever happened here, you needed to know that I’m in love with you. I was sure we could get over it and back into our friendship eventually, but I just needed you to know." 

Eddie nods, understanding, taking one of Buck’s large hands between both of his. 

"Thank you, Buck. Not just for your honesty, but also for taking a chance on us." 

They kiss. 

A lot. 

-

Eddie, bless him, not only is a good sport and has fun with the whole thing, but also helps Buck find pictures of the two of them.

- 

"Hey, Chim! Come up here!” Buck yells as soon as he sees Chimney coming in through the station gates. 

He’s happy. He feels like he might burst with happiness. 

The past week has been everything he dreamed of, and more. Christopher was so happy he cried, which made Buck cry, which made Eddie sniff, which the two other boys in the room knew meant Eddie was trying not to cry. Buck was finally happy. 

Sure it had only been a week, but he was ready to share that with the world. And he was going to start with Chimney. 

“What’s up, Buckaroo? You look awfully chirpy for this early in the morning.” He then noticed: “Oh, hey Eddie. You’re up early." 

"Someone had to contain Mr. Buckley over here. He’s excited." 

”…Okay. Buck? Anytime now.“ 

"I just gotta show you this video on Tik Tok." 

"Wait, what? You got Tik Tok? Look at you, Buck!" 

Buck can’t help the blush. "Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He places his phone in Chimney’s hands. “Watch." 

Chim presses play, and his mouth does some weird things, but he looks positively pleased. 

"I knew it!” He yells when he’s done, excitement he can’t contain. 

They hug, and Chim promises not to tell anyone until they do, offering them well wishes and relationship help, which they both wrinkle their noses at, but say thank you all the same. 

Eddie moves into the kitchen, and Chimney takes the opportunity to say, so that only Buck can hear: “I knew you’d enjoy the challenge, Buck." 

Buck knows he’s a sap, but he can’t help the smile. "Yeah, Chim. I’ll owe you one forever." 

Chimney shakes his head at him, his smile so fond even Buck can see. 

"Nah, Buckaroo. Just be happy. That’s all I want." 

[goron-king-darunia]

Annon-Guy: How different would the original Symphonia's story go if Emil/Ratatosk, Marta and Richter were part of the group back than, helping them against the Desians and Mithos?

Honestly, this is a really hard thing to answer. They existed during the Symphonia timeline, they just didn't participate in the main story. So we honestly have every reason to believe not much if anything would have changed except with the possibility of Ratatosk since, well, no one knew where to look for him at that time and I don't imagine Aster speed running that discovery since the only reason they started looking was because the climate was weird when the planet came back together all jumbled. If they had somehow stumbled upon Ratatosk their own way, either we would have gotten a redemption speedrun because Lloyd and Colette have plot armor and would have been able to keep him under control or we would have gotten some, like, devastating calamity way earlier because someone "important" would have died. Or they would have had to invent another underappreciated redshirt like Aster to take the bullet. I think if we saw DotNW's cast in Symphonia, we likely would have gotten mostly side-character reference and not much else because I think trying to involve them would not only have made the DotNW we got impossible (i.e. Marta couldn't have a reason to hate Colette if she was there with Colette when the tree went rampant. She would know how and why it happened. Emil would have to be the Real Emil Castagnier and it would remove some of the suspense and mystery from DotNW because if the changed appearance didn't give it away the unjustified hatred for Lloyd would because in non-game material I think we got to see the real Emil's journal and he made one last entry when the Blood Purge began and he seemed really confused that Lloyd, a guy he knew as a hero, would be terrorizing town. If DotNW had followed Real Emil, I think he would have been more confused and sad than angry after the blood purge. It would be more "Why would Lloyd attack Palmacosta and kill my parents? That doesn't make sense for such a hero. What made him change, and why did he attack MY parents?" Since Ratatosk/Emil didn't know Lloyd the way the Real Emil did, he had no framework for what a hero Lloyd was before. He has no attachment to the heroic image of Lloyd. That's part of why DotNW's Emil is so easily able to just hate Lloyd. He's not conflicted. He only knows Lloyd as "The person who killed my parents but everyone treats as a hero." and not "Lloyd, the former hero, who for some reason went out of his way to kill my parents." Richter I can't see as having a role in Symphonia 1 given how the half-elves are still either running human ranches and making everyone terrified or subjugated and exploited basement scientists under the thumb of Sybak Research Academy. If Richter had any role at all, it would probably be something akin to Kate's role. Helping the party but ultimately being a side character of little note. Which honestly would rob from his presence in DotNW or at least not add to it. Most people's favorite character from Symphonia isn't Kate or Chocolat or even Marble, even though they all have roles to play. Most people barely remember Virginia Sage is alive because she's so easy to miss and forget about. So anyone who did remember Richter, would probably be like "This guy is the villain now? Why? Why does this dude get the spotlight, he didn't do anything in the last game." Aster would probably end up being the same way. I doubt Aster would leave Richter all alone to go galavanting around Sylvarant with the heroes. And if he did, honestly he'd probably just end up being another Colette since they have similar sunny personalities and I doubt Symphonia would be able to do much with him since he doesn't have any special battle skills that would look cool and doesn't fill a role that Sheena, Zelos, or Regal aren't already fulfilling. Marta could theoretically fit but like I said it would get in the way of her character motivation in DotNW. But I'm not sure what she has that's unique that she could contribute since Raine is already a healer and the Vanguard isn't a thing yet, so a lot of her insight that was helpful in DotNW doesn't exist

yet. As a whole, I think putting the DotNW cast in Symphonia wouldn't work all that well because, well, it's not their story. Similar to how the Symphonia cast doesn't add much to the DotNW story because, again, it's mostly not their story. Now that doesn't mean it wouldn't have been AWESOME to see them interract. Richter as a broody young man getting carted around with his best bud Aster because he and Aster somehow have some special knowlege of, like, the history of Kharlan or something? That could be fun, but that requires a whole new thing added to the main story. Marta getting to join up because she knows a lot about the ancient history of the Sylvarant Dynasty? That could be neat. Emil being brought into the fold because as a native of a fishing village he's just, like, ridiculously good at fishing? That would be awesome. But these are all things that wouldn't necessarily be integral to the main game. Lloyd is the hero. He's just always right by virtue of optimism and plot armor. He has to be there. His dad is a smith and his other dad is an angel, so both those connections also help. Colette is necessary because she's Lloyd's motivation. She's sympathetic and gives the player someone to want to save. Her luck and power as the chosen and an angel and a pure maiden are all benefits to the party. Raine is a healer, is smart, and has extensive knowledge of ruins and can work most of the tech in the game. Her memory of the otherworldly gate is useful and contextualizes a gameplay element for the player. Genis is a best friend support type, a magic user, a half-elf, and sympathetic to Marble and later to Mithos. He not only affirms Lloyd's belief that everyone is worth saving and keeps Lloyd grounded and motivated but he's also useful for understanding the motivations of the bad guys. Sheena is a summoner, and the summon spirits are very important to the story and saving the world, but she also represents the anxieties of Tethe'alla, worried about the end of their prosperity. Zelos has power he never asked for, a testament to the broken system of Chosens and their purpose. He has connections as a political and spiritual leader as he has connections to the King and to the Pope. Regal has monetary connections, knows what it means to sacrifice, is unbelievably strong, but honestly, he's probably the least special person in the group. Presea knows her way around charms, sneaks the party into places they have to get to even before she regains her senses, and is basically living proof of why Mithos's misguided attempt to create a race of lifeless beings is stupid. Kratos has connections to basically everything, even if he's a betrayer, and is ultimately the reason Lloyd is even able to pact with Origin which is one of the final keys in the game. I feel like you could work fishing master Emil, historian Richter, scientist Aster, and distant heir to a dead dynasty Marta in to Symphonia, but a lot of Symphonia was written around the specific characters it needed for the story. So not only do I think it robs them of their rightful places as centerpieces of their own stories in DotNW, but it's also just trying to cram too much extra into Symphonia. Aster, Richter, and Colette being friends would be great though. (And Rilena too, honestly.) I think their personalities would play off Richter nicely and just... 3 blonds all dragging a grumpy redhead around and he'll never admit he likes it even though he absolutely does is, like, very wholesome. Marta, Colette, and Presea just being animal nerd geeks would be great too. Emil I'm not sure on because DotNW Emil isn't real Emil and IDK enough about what real Emil likes to know who he'd be friends with. But Ratatosk getting a defaut support system and getting to actually confront Mithos? Holy hell. That would be a game, man. But I don't think it could happen since the only reason Aster went looking for Ratatosk was because of the messed up climate and I'm not sure if Ratatosk could even be awake with the planet separated. But boy howdy that would be interesting. So while I

don't think there is any one answer and while I don't think it's entirely possible to put the DotNW cast we know and love into Symphonia without changing a lot, it IS fun to think about. But I honestly think it would not only make the first game too crowded and messy but would take away some of how special it was to meet Richter, Emil, Ratatosk, Marta and the rest of the DotNW cast in DotNW. Besides, it sucked enough to see Genis have to struggle with fighting against a fellow half-elf. Imagine teen angst Richter having to do it too.

[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt46

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

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Once they met up with the girls after the attack, Damain kept as much space as possible between him and Luka. He didn’t know what was going on but he didn’t like it. Marinette sent Chloe and Luka off to get food while she and Damian went to find a place to sit for an impromptu picnic.

“Are you okay?” He glared at her but couldn’t keep the expression long in light of the real concern on her face. She had more than enough to deal with, she shouldn’t be worrying about him.

“I’m fine. Are you going to have time tonight to come over to the apartment? Oracle has some things she’d like to go over with us.” She frowned at him but seemed to let it drop. It was one of the things he liked about her, she didn’t push, not unless it was vital information.

“Sure, I’ll let Discorde patrol alone and see how she does. There’s not likely to be another Akuma so quickly anyway.” They’d both picked up the same pattern with Akumas. If it was a really powerful or destructive Akuma they tended to get two or three more right away, as if he was trying to wear the heroes down. If it was a weaker one they tended to be more spaced out. He had no idea why. It was almost like he was afraid to have too large of a gap between Akumas but didn’t want to be bothered to really try.

“Good. It sounded important, hopefully we’re getting close.” She cocked her head at him and frowned. It had to be his tone. He didn’t hear a difference but she always seemed to. The question was what would she assume it meant.

“Even though you aren’t fighting the Akumas you’re still integral to taking down Hawkmoth. I know you’re not used to being in the background but I really appreciate what you and your team are doing for Paris.” He just scowled down at the table. He hated the fact that she seemed to be able to verbalize his feelings before he had a handle on them. Yes, he absolutely hated not being in the action. He wanted to go back home just so he could feel useful again. His father was providing the hideout, Gordon and Drake were analyzing data, and he was just acting as a liaison. It was humiliating and frustrating.

“I’m not doing anything except distract Luka when the four of us are together. It’s not much of a contribution.” It was boring. Ever since the League had decided to respect Ladybug’s wishes he hadn’t been able to do anything. Marinette hummed in thought.

“Well, if you want I could see about making you a semi permanent holder. Not sure who you’d work best with though. It would offer you a bit more protection against being Akumatized as well. It’s not full proof but having a Miraculous gives you more of an immunity to the effects of the others.” He didn’t like the idea of magic being used on him. At the same time he really hated being useless. “But you’d have to agree to follow my lead, at least until you have a better idea of how to adapt to each Akuma.”

People had been telling him what to do his entire life but could he follow directions from someone with so much less experienced than him? Yes she was more knowledgeable about this particular enemy, but other than that she’d only been fighting for a couple years. Then again she had managed to pin him to a wall and despite little proper training she was impressive. He had a feeling she also wouldn’t be averse to his input and she was one of the few people who didn’t take offence to the way he phrased things.

“Maybe. We’ll see what Oracle has to say tonight. If things are coming to a close, there's really no point.” She nodded, but kept shooting worried looks at him. He really wished she didn’t pick up on his moods so well. “What are Luka’s powers?” He’d wanted to respect the other boys privacy but he needed to know what he was up against. Marinette just looked at him in confusion.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean. Luka reads people well even if he doesn’t know how to verbalize it.” Damian frowned at her. That didn’t explain anything.

“He can affect people’s emotions. I’ve seen him do it to you as well.” She blinked at him and he could tell she was trying to figure out a way to say something without making him mad. He just rolled his eyes and waited.

“Everyone has the potential to affect other people’s emotions. Luka doesn’t have that potential anymore than others. He affects me more because he’s my friend and he knows what to do to help me. But he doesn’t have powers as far as I know.”  Damian frowned at her. There was no way Luka didn’t have powers. No one had ever been able to do something like this to him. Marinette hesitated but he could tell she wanted to say something else. “Have you ever stopped to think that he affects you for a different reason?”

“What possible reason could there be? He’s been doing this since I met him.” He saw an eye twitch as she debated what to say. Before she could make up her mind the others came back. They didn’t get a chance to speak again and he spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what she could have possibly meant. He didn’t even like Luka. Sure he wasn’t as annoying as most of Damian’s family but they had nothing in common other than being friends with Marinette, and most of the boys ideology was naive at best. His pacifism was down right dangerous. Whatever Marinette was thinking had to be wrong and he’d tell her so if the conversation ever came back up.

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[bisexualsforprompto]

Worth Chapter Two

(Mostly some introductions, integral exposition. The next chapter will be far more interesting).

~~~~~~~

Marinette walked onto the plane, the day was a much better day. She had a whole breakfast, and was so excited that she never even thought of disappointing anybody. That is until she got onto the bus, Lila started talking about how the city was crime ridden and she couldn’t believe Marinette would let them go. Marinette’s heart sank, she was right. Gotham was dangerous, if something happened she’d never forgive herself. She’d be a failure just like Chat always knew.

Luckily for her, Lila’s story had to be centered around the liar herself so she quickly changed the subject and regaled the bus with her “true stories” of how she and Batman had teamed up, he even wanted to make her a superhero, but of course Lila was too busy. She also told the bus about how her and Damian Somethingorother (marinette couldn’t remember the name because her BS detector was going off too loudly) were in an on again off again relationship. Marinette sat down in a back seat in the bus, she knew that Alya wouldn’t join her, she was too invested in Lila’s story, but to her delight Kay joined her.

Kay Khan was Marinette’s other best friend. Gigantic theatre nerd, couldn’t go a day without talking or singing but Marinette wouldn’t have it any other way. The rest of the class thought she was a little odd, but she was a genius. Like freaky smart, so they all tried to work with her when they could. Unfortunately for Kay, Marinette was really her only friend because she was...overly blunt. Kay didn’t have a filter and Lila took her down pretty quickly.

On Kay’s first day she came into the class and expressed her adoration of theatre when Miss. Bustier asked her what her hobbies were. Kay told the class that her favorite musical was Newsies because Jeremy Jordan was the original Jack Kelley. So of course Lila said that she personally knew him, on that day Marinette was not happy. Chat had been a handful the night before and she expected the new girl to fall for Lila’s lies, instead Kay asked, “Wasn’t he just amazing in Dairy Boys?” Lila nodded and exclaimed, “I saw him in that. A true work of art.” Kay smirked and sat down, but not before saying, “That’s funny because Jeremy Jordan was never in Dairy Boys, oh, and Dairy Boys doesn’t exist.”

Marinette knew Kay and her would be great friends, but that meant Lila had Kay targeted. Not only for humiliating her (which she quickly covered with another idiotic lie), but also because she vowed she’d take Marinette’s friends away. That included the weird new girl. It didn’t help that Adrien also seemed to hate Kay, mostly because she had called out Lila. If it had been a year ago Marinette would’ve never talked to Kay just because Adrien didn’t seem to like her, but after Chat Noir had demeaned her as Ladybug she felt like she didn’t deserve somebody like Adrien. Marinette gradually fell out of love with Adrien until there were no feelings left. She hadn’t felt romantic love in a really long time, she didn’t deserve it.

The class already wasn’t fond of Kay, especially since she missed classes a lot. Her mother was a director who was directing a movie Kay starred in in Paris. Her first television debut. The class was naturally insanely jealous, but it didn’t matter to Kay because she was barely in school to hear the awful things they said.

The only reason she was going on the trip was because she had family in Gotham and her mother decided to give her a little break. Kay accepted when she knew Marinette had planned the trip, she wanted to keep an eye on her best friend. She wasn’t the best with expressing emotions or giving advice but she could tell Mari was spiraling sometimes. Kay knew all about spiraling…

Kay sat down next to Marinette, starting to giggle. Mari smiled, Kay’s laugh was ridiculous and normally she laughed at funny musical memes nobody got but her, it brought Marinette lots of entertainment to hear Kay say every time she looked at a meme and Marinette asked about it, “YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF [INSERT SHOW TITLE HERE]?!?!” Marinette was about to ask what Kay was laughing at before somebody beat her to it, only this somebody wasn’t going about it the way Mari would’ve.

“Spaz, why are you laughing at Lila?!” Ivan asked pointing rudely at Kay. “Yeah! You have no right to laugh at her!” Mylené said coming to her boyfriend’s defense.

“I wasn’t laughing at her, I was laughing at something she said.” Kay stated plainly before slapping her headphones on. Marinette internally facepalmed, Kay was far too blunt. Lila started her crocodile tears but Miss Bustier stood up on the plane for a head count before it escalated too far. While she took role the class still shot daggers with their glares at Kay, but only Marinette seemed to notice, Kay was lost in the world of her headphones.

Alya was still entranced in Lila’s story but she wasn’t too harsh on Kay, her and Nino were pretty indifferent about her. Alya at first wasn’t too fond of her because despite Marinette being friends with her Lila claimed she was a bully, but Alya warmed up to her when she and Kay bonded over superheroes they liked. Kay had watched a lot of superhero movies because her mom had directed them but Alya still knew more. Kay and Alya had a mutual respect for each other, Nino was basically Alya’s extension so he felt the same, so they didn’t really talk and Alya didn’t gang up on her like the others.

Marinette knew Kay didn’t like to be disturbed when she had her headphones on. It was headphones on, world off. Marinette did text her though, so she could talk to her friend before they took off and eventually fell asleep.

Mari!!!☺️🤩🥳😺🤗: Wait so what were you laughing at that Lie-la said?

Kay Khan: lol the guy she was talking about was one of my friends when I lived in Gotham!

Mari!!!☺️🤩🥳😺🤗: cool! Do you’ll think you’ll see him? I’d like to meet any friends of yours!

Kay Khan: It’s possible, anything’s possible (Suessical). Ummm mayb. He’s kinda moody tho so he might be somewhat rude just warnin ya.

Mari!!!☺️🤩🥳😺🤗: Really? I can’t imagine you being friends with somebody like that. You’re literally sunshine.

Kay Khan: Awwww thankies! But Damian is super cool once he warms up to you, he’ll like you I bet. OMG I BET HE’LL LIKE YOU!!! ;)

Kay Khan: OMG YES I CAN SEE IT NOW! CAN I BE THE MAID OF HONOR AT UR WEDDING? AHHH IM TOTES SETTING U UP AS SOON AS WE GET IN GOTHAM!!!

Kay Khan: OMG WHATS UR SHIP NAME? OMG MARIDAMI

Kay Khan: NO DAMAINETTE!!!!

Mari!!!☺️🤩🥳😺🤗: as...exciting as it is you shipping me with another guy I haven’t even met, the airplane dude just said turn off devices headphone girl.

Kay Khan: Dang! (Dang diggity dang a dang) I only got like 5 minutes into Jesus of Suburbia. Oh welllll

Kay took off her headphones and turned off her cell phone. She smiled at Marinette before the plane took off. Marinette took out her sketchbook as Kay quickly fell asleep. Marinette envied her, she could literally fall asleep anywhere anytime. Marinette looked out her window as she sketched for inspiration, and before she knew it she found inspiration within a sparkling city they were landing in.

“Psst, Kay. We’re here.” Marinette said in a hushed whisper as she poked at Kay. Kay sat up straight and rubbed her eyes.

“Dope! Let’s get this par-tay started!” She cheered quietly. Marinette giggled, “It’s 3am in Eastern time, I’m pretty sure even the Gotham people aren’t partying.”

“You never know.” Kay shrugged. Marinette giggled a little softer, trying not to wake the sleeping passengers on the plane until they landed in the airport completely. The French class started buzzing quietly from excitement but everyone was mostly too tired to be too excited so it was a relief to everyone when they were passed out in their rooms in the Wayne Hotel.

Kay and Marinette were elated for the days to come. Kay was going to make sure Marinette enjoyed her trip, no matter what.

Tag list (lemme know if you wanna be added/ I forgot you/ spelled your name wrong):

@northernbluetongue

@poshplumcot

@queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm

@luciferge

@legendaryneckjudgestudent

@interobanginyourmom

@beaversuenightly

@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry

@mochinek0

@shamefullove

@emjrabbitwolf

@actual-disaster-human

@tog84

@thequestionablyhuman

@thyladyanput

@vixen-uchiha

@novicevoice

@2sunchild2

@zebrabaker

@chrismarium

@mycupisbroken

@winter-gardenflower

@dast218

@bluerosette23

@chocolatecatstheron

@anjuschiffer

@fertileleaf

@drarryismylife101

@zerotosiki

@littleredrobinhoodum

@fatimaabbasrizvi

@ladylb

@weird-pale-blonde-person

@st0rmy-w1th1n

@7-sage-7

@eve-is-the-dawn

@mooshoon

@caffinetheory

@fiendsangelical

@bee-wrecker

[dungeons-and-divination]

HORIZON WALKER RANGER  - Wildhunt SHIFTER - Sage (Researcher)

Never built a Shifter before, but I play a weretiger in my main campaign, so I enjoyed this quite a lot. I think it shows. I ended up with a lot more details than I usually cram into these posts. I mainly try to leave enough space for DMs and players alike to build up on the general idea I came up with. This time... Inspiration hit me hard and I couldn’t help myself. Hope you enjoy.

Name: Ichor (likes the nickname Corey better) (18yo)

TAROTS

Mind: Justice (upright) Truth and integrity as the core of an horizon walker’s mind are perfectly okay with me, honestly. It really tells me that Corey is a person that strives to reach a balance into things, that he knows every action has its consequences. I can see them as someone that is perfectly aware of how they can change the world just by existing and making decisions, so they try to weigh their actions because of it. But they also enjoy watching the ripples that every drop in the water causes. So they dislike inaction too. Why stay still when you can do something and be part of the reason for the world to move and change, just to settle and come back to a new balance?

Body: Two of swords (upright) I mean, a tarot about being torn between two people or in general this feeling of disconnection on his body? Of course I could just stop at the obvious issues Ichor could have with being a shifter. But why stop with something as obvious as emotional denial, when there’s an underside of something more? I had to draw a card to try and clear this up. And the Three of swords reversed confirmed there was more. Corey is actually in emotional denial about something deeper, but he’s slowly getting over it. Still, this doesn’t get rid of that “something” that hurt him in the past and Ichor tries to bury it more often than not. So, I would say that this disconnection to his body is more in tune to this denial.

Spirit: the High Priestess (upright) Most of all, I would say this expresses his thirst for knowledge, that’s for sure. But I’m not surprised by that hint of mystery and sensuality that comes from Corey himself. Despite how socially awkward he is, I can picture him being unknowingly charming. Which is probably why he doesn’t trust people that try to be very direct in showing romantic interest. Well, I suppose he can be considered charming at least to people that are into dark, mysterious, dorky nerds with enormous trust issues. I know that the broody types always attract some people's attention.

Past: Strength (reversed) After what that “body” had already given me, this was pretty much a given. Low self-esteem in Corey’s past is a constant. He felt weak and vulnerable, that was the main reason why he stayed stuck in his research for so long (and kinda confirmed my feeling that he wasn’t one of the most thought of predators). He probably had a deep desire to actually get to work in his field, but the biggest obstacle to reach for that dream was his own sense of inadequacy (someone like him in a scholarly role might have been teased just for that after all). Deep down, he knew he could make a difference though, because every decision has a consequence, even a lack of action. And he hated when people couldn’t make a decision SO MUCH!

Present: Page of cups (reversed) And here comes back that heartbreak, that emotional vulnerability… With the horrible twist of sexual abuse earlier in his life still there to haunt him. Definitely, the emotional denial from his body as well as his issues with trust are a lot deeper and serious than what I thought at first. Oh, Ichor for sure had some terrible experiences. But he realized that he was in a bad situation, that he’d been manipulated, used by someone older than him just cause he was young and naive. And he decided to get away from it all. The emotional trauma though? That still lingers and weights him down so much that he’s very closed off. I don’t exclude him actually pretending (very badly) like he’s way more confident than he is, in certain situations. Like a copying mechanism to try and hide his insecurities so people won’t use them against him again.

Future: the Hierophant (reversed) Well, with Corey this can go in both the direction hinted at by the tarot. He could absolutely challenge the traditions of the institution he belongs to and that he’s supposed to still answer to. Or he could cling to their traditions in a hope to change how corrupt and twisted things got from the very inside despite how it could break him to go back and be face to face with his abuser. I can’t necessarily give a suggestion in this case; it really depends on how things develop and which way you feel like he would lean towards (even with the party’s support). Either way, not surprised that a decision is at the core of his future. 

FULL BACKSTORY

Ichor was born in a cave in the Beastlands plane. His mother, Shianead, was on a mission for the institution she worked for to research more information on how were-creatures lived when organized in packs like that. She actually fell in love while she was in the middle of that mission with Ichor’s father, Purrenbor. As soon as Ichor was born, Shianead realized she could no longer stay in the Beastlands plane and decided to leave. Purrenbor tried to leave with her, but his tribe didn’t like them leaving with the child; Purrenbor gave his life so that both Shianead and Ichor could run away. Once they were back, the institution wasn’t necessarily happy that Shianead took more than a year for a mission that was supposed to be just 6 weeks long. They were disappointed in her, but once she promised that her shifter son would stay to be part of the institution as well and convinced them that in some way his nature as a shifter could be helpful in understanding better the potential benefits of the were-curse, they agreed to let her stay. Ichor didn’t necessarily have a happy and loving childhood. His mother was more often than not away for more research missions and he was left in the care of a very strict teacher, Clirji Brawen, a dragonborn that made him study for long hours instead of letting Corey run around with the other students of the institution’s preparatory schools. He still was grateful to be considered so bright to have Clirji’s attention, since he was considered one of the best teachers of the school (the one that usually worked with realy talented people). Corey was even allowed to live in Clirji's very luxurious house when his mother was away, instead of staying alone in the dingy apartment that belonged to her. When Corey was about fifteen, his mother had to go on a longer than usual mission that she was even more tight lipped than usual on the details of. Clirji had recently retired from teaching and was mainly just a consultant for the institution, and Corey could no longer stay at his house since he was no longer Corey’s teacher. It was decided from the institution’s schools’ council that he would stay in Norvhila Erishai’s estate. She was the very charismatic head of the research department of the higher level school, and she was hoping not only to find new branches of research for the main institution to focus on with her students, but to find students with a new, bolder attitude. Norvhila was immediately impressed with Ichor, not only for his knowledge reached under Clirji’s guidance, but also for his willingness to try new things before finding once again the balance at the core of the institution’s beliefs. Still young, very impressionable, awkward and mostly a pariah with students of his age, Ichor never realized that Norvhila fascination with him, and her consequent attentions of sexual nature, were very much inappropriate. Ichor felt flattered, and mostly thought he was bound to allow her to do whatever she wanted with him by duty and gratitude since he was living in her house and she was teaching him so much (or so she manipulated him to believe). It took Ichor having a revealing conversation with Clirji when he was almost 18 to realize that he’d been stuck in an abusive relationship all along. Also, Norvhila had been hiding to him that his mother had been considered missing in action for months, because nobody heard from Shianead since her last report from wherever she was for her mission. Ichor found out, when inquiring about his mother’s mission, that Norvhila wasn’t the only person in the institution that was doing morally twisted things that somehow they still considered “part of the balance of the world”. In a last ditch effort to get free of Norvhila’s manipulations, Corey asked the institution’s schools’ council to go on a mission to find what happened to his mother and to consider that his “graduation mission”, a test that every student had to pass to prove that tey were ready to become a fullfledged member. Unexpectedly (and probably with a big push from Clirji), the council allowed him to leave. Corey somehow still believed the institution could do some good, if he just got rid of the “twisted people”. He just find a way to actually make the right decision that would ripple the waters enough for that change to happen. And he had a feeling that finding his mother was just the first step in a much longer path.

(As a note, extra info. I think this could be more for a DM than a player but still relevant for both, especially the part about Clirji that could be considered a little bit of the conversation that cleared Corey’s mind on how things worked inside the institution. Corey is still convinced that, at the core, the institution was doing good [it’s something he always thought]. But, the what the institution truly does in my mind is gathering knowledge to use it as a merchandise for trade; they don’t really care to whom they give it, if the purpose is to maintain a balance. They think, since they gather the most knowledgeable and smart people in the world, that they have the power to pick and choose who and what will tip the scale so that the universe won’t be destroyed. But mostly, they are the reason why wars start and end by manipulating other people so that they could get richer by selling their information to both sides [too much power corrupts and all that shit, you know...]. Clirji, despite being aware of the problem, stayed in the institution as a teacher to try and help the students, to warn them if he could, help them get out of that life too if possible, or scare them away with his harsh attitude if that was the only way that worked. Because he felt like he had no other way to break that machine that made him too other than trying to take away the best minds from them. In a sense, Clirji also tried as much as possible to keep the schools and the institution proper to be very distinct and separate, but it was very difficult since he was one of the few people that was fighting against the system from the inside [and teachers were mostly members of the institution too, it was rare to have outsiders as such important staff figures that could shape the students minds]. When Clirji tried to become headmaster of the higher level school, for example, everyone looking in as an outsider would have picked Clirji since he was so accomplished as a teacher. But the council knew by that point that he was against what the institution truly had become, so they just made him retire, telling him he was too old even to be a teacher. And they obviously picked someone that would fit them better and would turn a blind eye on behaviors like Norvhila’s.)

SUGGESTION CORNER

Suggested features Ability scores: High Wisdom and Dexterity (try to keep as high as possible Intelligence too), Low Charisma Skill proficiencies: Investigation, Insight, Perception Others: I had to really think which animal would fit for him as his bestial appearance. At the end of the day, I feel any bird of prey would fit him very well: a classic eagle, a nice hawk or even a raven would be wonderful. If you want to go for something more “classic but still different”, a fox could be a nice pick as well considering his backstory.

Suggested Characteristics Trait: I’m willing to listen to every side of an argument before I make my own judgement. Ideal: The world needs to be constantly in balance. But to keep it that way sometimes you need to act, be bold instead of keeping still. Bond: I want to unveil the corruption that’s hiding inside the institution that made me love knowledge so much. Flaw: After a shift, I behave more animalistic than usual for a little time. It unnerves me to no end when people get to see that wild side. (This depends on the animal you pick but it could be mimicking for a crow, pouncing like a fox, little thing like that, easy to roleplay and remember but that can really bring funny moment in a session too. Have fun with it!).

[thegospelaradia]

Crystal Matrix Basics

Hello my witches, baby witches, aspiring spell casters, students of the occult, and seasoned shamans alike! I'm coming at you today with a brand new entry in my special series on intermediate to advanced sorcery. I'll try to keep updating this blog on at least a weekly basis - if not more often. But, I'm only an interdimensional multifaceted galaxian xenine quantum manipulation nexus in a human body, after all!

Crystal matrices are a component of a much larger school of magic, and one that I always enjoy teaching: the art of WARDING!

To ward means to guard or protect. We do this in the most basic sense a lot of different ways. Someone making the sign of the cross, spitting upon seeing a bad omen, casting a circle of salt, amulets, talismans, gris gris bags, a chicken's foot, eleke beads, a pocket full of iron nails - these behaviors all have one thing in common: they're wards.

My Catholic mother rarely makes the sign outside of church, but when she does? It's a whole production. Spitting to her left and right as she crosses herself, raising her eyes to the sky, and muttering what I imagine is the Hail Mary. There's a rarity to it, because of the severity to it. My mom is in the habit of crossing fingers and knocking wood, and there's always a crucifix around her neck. That, combined with her morning and evening prayers, is typically enough to keep her feeling "warded" all day.

All cultures have their own warding rituals, and it's very likely there is a specific tradition (I find "superstition" racist and colonial) from your own family's culture. If there is? Use it. The magic of your ancestral lineage is always going to be more powerful than a spell you find online.

I've gotten a bit off track, but it's important to realize that all people, from all cultures, and from all walks of life perform some manner of warding magic.

Now, the working we'll be learning today is a bit more complex than the sign of the cross, but as a witch I believe we have more complicated needs when it comes to magickal protection.

Whenever we create sacred space in a traditional manner or cast a Wiccan circle, it's important to remember that these practices are fundamentally seperate from warding spells. A magic circle is a space in which to raise and contain energy in a cone of power. They are NOT circles of protection. No matter how deeply you are embraced by the magick, there is very little chance that a circle of salt is going to "protect" you. That's why we have banishing spells after our rituals.

Why is it important to have this in mind? In my practice, demons and spirits are what we make of them. All demonolators know that just as one might work with the Greek and/or Roman gods - for example - demons can also be part of your pantheon. Not even a very accomplished Magus could cast a warding spell to keep out Diana or Bacchus, and the same goes for demons. At best, a magical circle keeps out all the negative "vibes" that we're increasingly bombarded with.

I have a labyrinth of selenite as a permanent part of my altar - they're great at absorbing EMF and negative energy, and I keep them front and center for just that reason. But, back to demo

Demons are the gods that Christianity tried to eliminate. There's really not much to be afraid of where they are concerned. Working with demons is something best attempted by shadow magi (those who have integrated their shadow selves) but again - I'm not teaching wards that stop demons, angels, or gods. Do you really think Belial or Leviathan can be bothered to pay you personally a visit?

A fear of demons is a Christian concept. The word originally (the Greek Daimon) was a sort of guardian spirit everyone is born with. The Devil isn't the source of all evil (that's capitalism) and demons aren't in shadows waiting to ruin your life. Few things are.

Now, let's get to the magick!

With those disclaimers and background out of the way - let's talk crystal matrix warding!

For this enchantment, you will need:

Palo Santo, Agua Florida, Holy Water, Black Salt, Yerba Santa, or any other purification medicine. (Remember: white sage is over farmed and culturally specific.)

A magic broom / a bundle of tree leaves, esp. from the druid sacred trees.

Copal, sandalwood, cedar, francincense, myrrh, or your preferred incense.

4 quartz points*

A small table

Incense holder

Wand

Athame

Optional: an equal number stones of various types.

Optional: an orgone pyramid, a large piece of vanondanite, a meteor, or a large free-standing piece of selenite/himalayan pink salt

*as these are the only requisite stones, and will be doing the brunt of the work in the spell, choose 4 crystals that are at least 1.5 to 2 inches and well shaped for the task (jamming into the corners of your room).

Personally, I'm not a huge fan of spells that come with long lists like wedding registries. Brujería on a budget is my favorite kind of magic. That said, you should always have purification medicine (I can't ever remember NOT having a bottle of Agua Florida), at least one sacred incense (Nag Champa is a great substitute), and some kind of ritual tool (don't have a wand made of elk horn, emerald, and gold? Enchant a kitchen knife or paint brush. Consecrate a Sailor Moon wand replica. Go outside a stick, hold it up, and shout "this is my magic stick!". You really don't need to drop a lot of cash on this.

Oh, and a magic broom.

Seriously.

Your broom needs to be functional but sole-use. Using the same broom to sweep the kitchen and then your sacred space? It almost cancels out. A magic broom must have a single purpose - to sweep away negative energy.

Your magic broom doesn't have to be fancy. You need not buy a hundred dollar bundle of twigs from Etsy (you can though, if you want). In a pinch, buy a hand broom (not that comfortable) or a regulation size broom from a home goods store.

TBH? I just finished my masters degree so I've had to get very creative with my spell ingredients. Rather than go make an Ikea trip to find a nice witch broom, I gathered a few thin branches from a cedar tree. I've also - when they were blooming - used stems of my yerba santa and basil plants. These work best with holy water, but consecrating is a breeze. Find what you have on hand and use that - don't blow all your money on magic.

OK, now down to the actual spell! Let's go through it step by step.

First, cleanse and purify the room you want to ward. Using either a standard broom or a bundle of herbs dipped in holy water, sweep or swish from the center out - widdershins.

Light your incense in the center of the room. Sit in front of the censer and enter into a state of contemplation. Slow your thoughts. Follow your breath.

If you work with deities, divinities, demons, orishas, etc. - invoke their power.

With a clear mind, close your eyes and begin to meditate on safety - set your intention: "harmful forces: be this your bane. Go ye back from whence you came." Your intention is to block negative energy - not spirits. Most supernatural beings are indifferent to you.

Walking clockwise around your room, place into each corner a quartz point. Whisper into the stone your wish - that no negative energy will enter.

Once you've placed all four crystals, take your athame in hand. If you have a compass, locate the NE or E crystal. Check that the crystal is secure (I shoved mine in the wall cracks) and then touch it with the tip of your athame/tool.

Here you'll need to utilize your visualization skills. Using your athame/tool, draw a line of energy (gold, white, or blue are good choices to envision) from the first crystal to the next.

Repeat this process until you return to the first crystal. You will have a line of magical light running along the wall and around the bottom of your entire room.

Starting at the first crystal, raise a line of magick up to the ceiling. Repeat the previous process.

When you are done, (you should be going up, across, down, back up, across) you will be in a cube (or irregular polygon) of magical energy. Focus on the crystals as you move.

Sit for a moment in front of the censer and strengthen the visualization - you are sitting in an irregular polygon of energy.

With your wand, walk around clockwise from the first crystal. This is where your creative energy comes in - draw (like a light drawing) magickal and protective symbols as if on a wall that sits like skin atop the physical wall. Invent your own mantra to chant. "Ommmmmmm" works in a pinch.

Your room is now a cube or polygon of energy, covered on all sides with magical graffiti. These symbols will protect you. The crystals have become sentient guardians. Imagine, if you can, a spider web of runes and protective symbols stretching across it.

This is optional, and a bit labour intensive, but the next step would be to create a "generator" to "power" your warding. On a small table, lay out a cloth and place in the center a crystal pyramid, an orgone pyramid, or any other large power stone. Around it, either in an ordered or organic manner, place various small crystals.

Once you are confident with your "core," enter into as deep a meditative state as possible. Channel energy from above and below, push it into your core matrix, and then envision beams of the same magical energy from the central matrix to the other, larger one. In your mind's eye, see the energy swirling clockwise from the generator outwards. Your matrix is now powered by a crystal core.

For the next few days, meditate on your matrix and the core (if you built one) to reinforce the permanence of the ward.

It's easy to find crystal matrix cloths online - especially on Etsy. I use a Cube of Metatron crystal matrix cloth - because it's pretty. You can use anything, honestly. The energy and intent are what's important.

And that's pretty much it! Keep your matrix in mind as often as possible. Maintenance is importance so this spell isn't a one time deal. In addition to reinforcing the wards, it also will give you a good indication as to when the system needs to be recharged - from the core outward.

I know, I know; this is a lot. I just hope you haven't gotten too confused by what should have been "crystals in each corner and some more in the middle of the room."

Complicated and long as it may be, this spell has given me a peace I didn't know I could have. As someone with PTSD, feeling secure and safe anywhere is massive. And it isn't just me: everyone who comes into my space remarks on how safe and warm they feel in the matrix. As I said - forget demons and "evil" spirits. Once you're protected from the rampant negative energy radiating from your surroundings, you'll thank me.

And then there's my favorite protection charm - my Black Magic woman.

But that will have to wait until next time, my witches!

-Magus Aradia

[a-l-ias]

Do You Even Know My Name?

(The Evolution of Peter Parker’s Names) Part I of IX

Alright, y’all, this has been a long time coming. This has been sitting in my drafts for about six months, and I’ve been too scared to post it, mostly because of who I wrote it for:

@yellowdistress, this is for you. All your stories and patience and headcanons and kindness touches everyone that has even just dipped their toes in the water of the Irondad fandom. You give us happiness and angst, comfort and hurt, fluff and love. Everything you do for us is unequaled, and nothing we can do will ever be able to repay you, but this is an attempt. I love you, Denni, and everything you do <3 <3 <3

Hopefully you enjoy it XD

(I am so rusty, I haven’t written to post in, like, two years)

I. Kid

It wasn’t anything personal, it was simply just how Tony operated. Perhaps it was a firm, remaining bulwark from his years as Howard’s verbal punching bag, or maybe a shield formed from an innate fear of emotion and an irrational aversion to intimacy -- whatever the reason, though, he flat-out refused to use people’s real names.

His best friend wasn’t James or Rhodes, he was Rhodey or Platypus or Honeybear.

His fiance wasn’t Virginia, she was Pepper or Honey or Babe.

Happy was Happy, not Harold. Cap was Capscicle, not Steve. Brucie, Point-Break, Legolas, Eye-Patch, Aunt-Hottie -- it was almost as if he never learned their real names in the first place. Tony himself wasn’t even quite sure why he did this, but it was an instinct. It made him feel safer, less vulnerable, with the threat of actually acknowledging his care for a person removed along with their name. Retrospectively, it was a rather ridiculous notion, because somewhere along the line, The Tony Stark giving you a nickname translated into “aww, he cares,” instead of “back off, bitch.” While Pepper certainly realized this, and Rhodey accepted it after Sourpatch had indelibly stuck, Tony himself seemed hopelessly oblivious to his underlying declarations of love.

Which is why, over the course of almost two years, he didn’t realise his utter and complete devotion to one excitable teenaged tornado.

According to Pepper, he’d held onto “kid” entirely too long. “Trust me, kid”... “I did listen, kid”... “where’d you come from, kid”...it all seemed -- to her, anyway -- like such a desperate attempt to distance himself. But, again, it was comforting: knowing that no matter what he did, this little, naive human being, who looked at him like he was the glowing savior of the Earth descending from the sky, would never be broken by the unavoidable Stark ability to ruin childhoods.

His physics Professor sophomore year at MIT called him kid. The butler Howard hired two weeks after Jarvis’ death called him kid. Neither of them particularly cared about him, but they hadn’t hurt him either.

He figured “kid” was a good compromise.

So he used it whenever he needed to remind himself that he didn’t give a shit about this kid, besides whether or not he ended up as spider-juice on the 5th avenue sidewalk. Lately, he’d had to pinch himself more and more.

God, this kid. This kid with his contagious grins and unflappable joy and persistent optimism. This kid with a heart as big as the moon and morals to rival those of Steve Rogers and brown eyes so wide, so wondrous. The more time Tony spent with him, the thinner he felt his emotional walls getting, and the thinner he felt his walls getting, the more stubbornly he pushed the kid away. It wasn’t fair to either of them, if he was being honest. Peter was simply looking for some sort of guidance. May was a wonderful, integral figure in Peter’s life, but even after all she’d been through, she still had her limits. What was she supposed to do when Peter woke up in the middle of the night with blood-curdling screams, convinced that the ceiling was falling down? What was she supposed to do when Peter came home crushed by the self-blame of only being two seconds from saving that jumper? Whereas May could offer the wisest, most sage advice about struggling through life, Tony was there as support when all the nightmares and guilt and trauma finally caught up. May couldn’t raise a superhero alone; it was part of The Deal. And it wasn’t fair to make Peter feel like he couldn’t go to Tony for his problems.

But Tony, as much as he hated to admit it, was scared of becoming attached. It had only been a few months since one of his best friends drove a shield through his chest and left him to freeze to death in Siberia, after all. Tony was a naturally guarded person. So he clung to “kid” like Cliffhanger to his branch and scoffed at Pepper’s insistence that he had a deeper connection to Parker than he let on.

But somewhere along the line, the meaning of the nickname shifted.

Sure, he never called the kid “Peter” or “Parker” or -- god forbid -- “Pete,” but just saying “kid” somehow made his voice soft and his tone affectionate and his eyes crinkle in the way he hated, because it showed all those stress-wrinkles.

Pepper pointed it out first after Karen had interrupted their date night with an extremely concerning vitals update. It had been a really nice night, too — candles and fresh bread and Prosciutto Carbonara that could give his mother’s a run for its money —before she’d flashed him that knowing smirk and rolled her eyes as he mouthed “what” over the receiver, listening to the call ring out.

“Shit-brained kid,” he muttered. He reopened the message from Karen and glanced at the steadily dropping blood-percentage.

Pepper raised her eyebrows over her wine. “Any reason why you aren’t running out of here?” she asked.

Tony heaved a heavy sigh, feeling the slowly-growing-familiar weight of crazed worry clunk on his shoulders.

He stuttered for words, for a second. Sorry, honey, I’ve been blowing you off for 5 years now and it doesn’t look like that’s going to change and you’re the flipping best person that’s ever lived, constantly putting up with my everlasting BS. She saved him with a nod towards the door, and soft smile, and a hand over his.

He loved this woman so freaking much.

With a quick peck on her cheek, he breezed out the door of the restaurant. His suit — compacted now in a wristwatch he was incredibly proud of, if he says so himself — folded around him, comforting, bolstering. FRIDAY blipped into his heads-up, shuffled over to make room for Karen.

Mr. Stark, I suggest calling emergency response, Peter is now at 26% blood-loss.

Before Tony had any time to react, FRIDAY interrupted, Calling Dr. Cho now, prepping medical equipment and OR. Cho would like you to know that her ER team is on its way to Spider-Man’s location. He’d never been more grateful for the utter and complete genius FRIDAY was.

He let himself relax slightly, because doctors meant survival for this idiotic teenager. Vaguely he remembered their argument as the Staten Island ferry sank into the harbour, thought of May’s angry face and demands for safety.

New determination sparked in his mind. His repulsors fired, and he was zipping into the night.

||

He found the Kid lying in a pile of fruit scraps behind the Broncs Women’s Shelter. He didn’t consider the implications, didn’t recognise the group of shy residents peeking at them through the darkened window. He just retracted the suit, stumbled forward desperately, because the rinds and peels were painted red, the sidewalk stained with a growing puddle of blood. It rippled outward from Spider-Man’s prone form. Supine, pallid, and skewered by a large, serrated hunting knife.

Tony blanched. Felt like he was going to hurl. “Oh...good...god…” he mumbled, horrified. He fell quickly to his knees, numb enough to everything but this dying kid that the hard smack of the sidewalk against his shins didn’t faze him.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Most of Iron Man’s injuries involved bruises: broken ribs, sprained joints, concussions, fractured bones. In all his years as a reckless “superhero,” he’d never gotten impaled.

Barton had, during the fight with Strucker. Nat had, by way of a particularly gruelling torture session. Steve, once, with fly-away detritus — but Tony had long since forced himself to forget those memories...all the worry he’d had for friends who’d betrayed him. So he floundered, hands hovering over the leather-wrapped hilt sticking straight up out of the Kid’s abdomen towards the sky like an arrow directing his impendingly separating soul to heaven.

The thought freaked Tony out even more. His breaths quickened, his vision blurred. Too late, he was recognising the tell-tale signs of a panic attack.

Now is not the time for this, Stark. Think, damnit!

Blood. There was blood seeping out from underneath him. That...couldn’t be good. If blood was pooling underneath the Kid, that meant there was a wound in his back. So the knife went the whole way through. There was no removing it — Tony remembered that much from whatever first aid course he’d been forced to take — one should never remove the object of impalement. That would let the blood flow more freely. Obviously, not too desired.

But blood was running anyway — in rivulets down the Kid’s suit, in waves over his hips. It occurred to Tony that this enhanced being probably had an enhanced metabolism, which meant blood rushing to the wound quicker.

Great. Kid probably couldn’t get drunk, but he sure-as-hell could bleed-out faster than a normal person.

He had to stem the flow. Shakily, his hands found his blazer and he yanked it off. Steeling himself, he wrapped the jacket around the hilt and pressed. Hard.

The Kid jerked back to consciousness with a strangled scream, and Tony was hurried to calm him down.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, it’s alright,” he assured, desperately, because the Kid was beginning to thrash. One of his arms knocked weakly against Tony’s — deliberately, Tony’d later assume, to attempt to get the older man to stop pushing on the wound.

“Stop it, Kid, stop it.” There was no force to his words, no thought, either. It was as if Tony was watching, removed by a wall of panic and hysteria, and his instincts had taken over — decided that under no circumstances was the Kid gonna sense Tony’s helplessness, because his voice sounded firm, confident, if tinny and far-away, to his ears.

Tony’s fingers were cold and tingly, his head buzzed and filled with cotton. His eyes focused, unwittingly, on the spreading circle of blood beneath his knees.

Shit, someone inside him thought, the other side isn’t covered.

And so he grabbed one of the Kid’s flailing wrists, gently, between two fingers, and wrapped his palm around the soaked blazer.

“Alright, kid, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna turn you on your side — it’s gonna hurt, it really will — but we’re gonna check out the back, gonna plug that side, too.”

He wasn’t sure if the Kid registered what he’d said, but the responding moan, the slight jerk of limbs in resistance, was enough for Tony. Pressing once more against his frigid fingers, Tony wedged his  s under the Kid’s back and rolled him over.

He cried out — a horrifying, heartaching sob of pain — as Tony ripped off his button-down, leaving him in only the white undershirt. The previously pristine shirt had bright red staining up and down the sleeves. The collar had ripped in Tony’s hurry to get it off, and he tails were scuffed with New York alley dirt. None of it stopped him as he shoved the wadded fabric against the bright bloodstain (stubbornly ignoring the glint of metal torn through the suit). With a shallow breath out, he roughly gripped the Kid’s shoulders and turned him back over, hoping the sidewalk would put enough pressure against the cloth.

“F-F-FRI,” he exhaled stutteringly. “ETA on the emergency crew.”

He almost didn’t hear her response over the Kid’s huge sob when he swapped their hands on the front of the wound. He was pressing again, and the Kid’s hands found his biceps, gripped with surprising strength for someone with — he checked his watch — 37% bloodloss. The Kid’s hands were coated in his own blood. They left handprints, like a brand of failure, against Tony’s skin.

3 minutes. He could do this for 3 more minutes.

Off in the distance, he could hear the subtle roar of the Quinjet’s engines; although, perhaps he was imagining it in panic. Nevertheless, it gave him hope.

Unknowingly, he’d begun talking to the Kid. He tuned in to it like shuffling through radio stations.

“You’re gonna be okay, kid, just hang in there. Just keep breathing — I know! I know it hurts, but if you wanna see May again, or that little friend of yours...what’sit’s...Fred? Greg? Something like that. You just gotta hold on, please, God, hold on kid…”

It was crazy, how in that moment, his brain finally registered what Pepper had been saying. Kneeling over this kid, hearing the Quinjet land and doctors barking orders and feeling hands haul him to his feet by his armpits, he finally listened to the softness, the tenderness, the care and emotion and worry behind his chosen nomer for one Peter Parker.

He watched the tiny, whimpering form of the Kid wheeled into the jet on a gurney. He sat when one of the EMTs pushed him onto a crate. He nodded when the sterile-smelling man asked him if he was alright. He curled into the blanket when it was placed around his shoulders.

Shock, someone said, far off. Get him back home, someone else said.

Home sounded good. It sounded safe. But the Kid...his Kid...his responsibility since he walked into the Parkers’ apartment last spring and basically blackmailed Peter into coming to Berlin with him...his responsibility was on that jet, and he was dying.

In a burst of movement, Tony was up, dropping the blanket and dodging the nurse’s attempt to sit him back down. The gangway was retracting, but Tony jumped the rising gap, jogged into the hull. They’d hooked the Kid up with an IV drip and several monitors. An anesthesiologist was coaxing the Kid to let the sedative take hold. The Kid, bless him, was trying to fight back, eyes wide and watering.

Tony approached him and gripped the hand scrabbling at the mask over his nose and mouth. The Kid’s eyes landed on him, and a funny expression overtook his features. His face relaxed, he stopped fighting. His eyes softened, lids slipping closed. Tony watched as the Kid relented to the pull of sleep, neither of their eyes leaving the other’s.

Peter felt safe, he suddenly realised. The Kid saw him, and felt safe.

Tony’s heart ached for a second, beating rapidly and stutteringly. He allowed himself to breathe for the first time since landing in the alley. Peter was safe, because Tony was there, still gripping his hand, and the doctors were bustling, working on stopping the blood flow and removing the knife, and the Kid had enhanced healing that would take care of what the doctors couldn’t.

An inexplicable, wholly-encompassing feeling of relief washed over Tony. He squeezed Peter’s hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“Sweet dreams, Kid,” he mumbled, letting every ounce of voice softness and tone affection and eye crinkles he had in him flood his being. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Hope you enjoy it Denni!

(tagging others in hopes that they’ll check out @yellowdistress, too, unless they already have, then amazing!: @fan-writer02, @aceofstars16, @mandaloriandragontrainer, @madasthesea, @hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon, @the-fanaddict, and @athingofvikings

[oops-prow-did-it-again]

Pokémon Retold: Hidden Grottos - Whispers in the Dark (1)

Pokémon Retold (series) on AO3

Consider tipping/supporting/commissioning me on Patreon? :3*

*Note that I haven’t updated the tiers yet - I no longer post fanfic work 2 weeks in advance on there, I only post original writing, art, and fanart there 2 weeks in advance! The Patreon is mostly still under construction, but commission info on there is accurate.

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Some conversations between Hil and N.

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Timeline: ~5 years after Black 2

Setting: Unova

Notes: So I had a few ideas that I wanted to write, but none of them really had a plot, it was more just “hey I want these characters to talk about X thing,” so that’s what “Whispers in the Dark” oneshots are gonna be. No real plot, just two characters rambling at each other. This particular one is fluffy again, though there are some mentions of blood/violence (recollections of the past on N’s part). And of course, it’s a little long since I just kinda let myself go and write as much as I wanted lol.

Characters: Hilbert (Hil), N, Noodle and Hil’s other pokémon, N’s Zoroark

Prerequisite Reading: Black, Black 2

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It was only about seven in the evening, and as such, N was finished with all tasks he had piled up for the day. He and Hil were back in Unova for the time being, and would be for quite a while, thanks to turbulent disagreements over some new laws that he and Hil had fought to get into place (regarding the breeding and keeping of shiny pokémon… that entire process had been headache-inducing, and N had gotten angry about it more than his fair share of times, so he didn’t particularly want to think about it anymore that day). All he really could think about was how depressing it was that pokémon rights activism—the kind that simply pushed for better living conditions for pokémon with humans, not to treat pokémon exactly like humans or whatever ideals Team Plasma had shoved down his throat for him to spew back out at the populace—had been so severely damaged by Team Plasma’s name. The public was suspicious of proposals aimed at bettering the lives of pokémon and could be vocally distrustful of their proponents, as if instinctively convinced there had to be more to it than simply wanting to help pokémon.  

He knew he wasn’t innocent in the cause, either; sure, he had never wanted to hurt anyone, and had been raised in a veil of lies to make him see the world in such a light, but he had been the one to raise the castle from the ground around the Pokémon League. There were still entire routes around it that were closed due to rockslides, and the area immediately surrounding the main Pokémon League building was off-limits due to fears over the instability of the ground, despite the country’s efforts to restore its integrity. It hurt to call it what it was, but that had been a terrorist attack on the Pokémon League. The physical and mental scars from his stay in Team Plasma as their ‘King’ were very just that: scars that would always be visible, even if they faded over time.

He jolted upright in the chair he was sinking into when he heard the front door click. Hil had left earlier that day to talk to Gym Leader Drayden, as well as other high-ranking officials in Opelucid City, as it was one of the most vocally displeased with the new laws. He had told N that he had just wanted to see if he could see what exactly the people there had an issue with, or if it was just flat-out paranoia causing the issues. When the door opened, Hil staggered in and then slammed it behind him, leaning back against it and groaning. “Opelucid’s still such a mess,” he whined. “Yeah, Gym Leader Drayden had actual concerns, but I still have no idea what the police chief woman, whatever her name was, was trying to tell me. I had to get her to write it down to see if Church or Nathan or somebody can decipher her language.”

“Mm,” N laughed softly, “it was that bad, was it?” Truthfully, he was elated that Hil was back, and he restrainedly got up out of the chair to go greet him. He really just wanted to dart over and hug him, but he had difficulty allowing himself not to be so mindful and composed of his own movements (even after so much time, proper ‘etiquette for a king’ was still instinctual to him, beaten into his head by the various Sages as he had gotten older. “A King does not run around like a child,” he remembered specifically being chided at one point. At another, after he had excitedly pumped his fist at finally grasping some concept that had been eluding him in a math workbook, “Stop that. People don’t respect someone that so childishly celebrates themselves.”).

At his approach, Hil casually leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him, leaning against his chest, almost. “Yes. I’m ready to be done thinking for the day.” The sight vaguely amused N—Hil was quite a few inches shorter than he was, the top of his head barely coming past his chin—and he stiffly moved his arms to lazily loop around Hil. Before he had a chance to say anything, Hil added resignedly, “Also, Cheren called me about something.”

Frowning, N tilted his head slightly. “About what?”

“Amber’s not doing great,” he sighed, clutching N a little closer. “Apparently, her job in Accumula sent somebody to go knock on her door because she’d missed like four days in a row without calling ahead and wasn’t responding to anything, not even voicemails. Nothing was wrong, really, just she was in her bed and wouldn’t get out of it except to answer the door, and so that person went and told Cheren and…” he trailed off and shook his head against N’s chest. “I don’t like her. At all. I haven’t forgiven her for all she did. But I don’t want anything bad to happen to her… I think I’m gonna head down to Nuvema tomorrow. Cheren said he left one of his Watchog with her, and he said that if anything goes wrong,” Hil laughed halfheartedly, “the whole town’ll know.”

“You will need to head there alone, won’t you?” N asked, though it came out sounding more like a statement. He felt a small pang of guilt for that—it wasn’t like Hil wasn’t allowed to go places without him, after all, and he certainly didn’t wish Hil any heartache over his mother—but he couldn’t help the almost childish desire to want to be by his side no matter what. Not to mention, he hated being stuck at the Pokémon League without him… Rarely did their duties require them to be separated, since the Consul position had been built around the idea of the two leaders operating as a team, but it seemed to N that just meant whenever for some reason they did have to separate, it was that much more difficult.

“Yeah,” Hil answered softly, loosening his grasp on N some and backing up a step. With a goofy smile that he was so good at, he shrugged. “It shouldn’t be too long, though… I’m just gonna try to talk to her and see what’s up and see if I can’t suggest something for her to do.” With that, he gingerly took N by the hand and led him over to the couch in the living room, letting him go only to flop down on the left end. His voice hardening some, Hil remarked, “I’m gonna see what I can do to help her, but if she’s just gonna act the victim and try to guilt me, I’ll leave her there. I’m not her bargaining chip anymore. So, either way, it’s not gonna take long.”

Awkwardly sitting down on the opposite end of the couch, N briefly looked for the remote, only to jump when Zoroark rushed up to him with it in her mouth. At his quizzical raise of an eyebrow, she snorted and dropped it in his hands. You were busy with paperwork and whatever else it is you do most of the day, she reminded him. What did you think I was doing all that time?

Watching TV, apparently, N teased. I don’t know how you watch that thing alone. I hardly understand any of it unless it’s a documentary or I’m watching with Hil. And I’ve tried!

With a shake of the head that was followed by an eye roll, she limped away from him and her attention was drawn to Noodle as Hil released the Serperior from his Poké Ball. Upon spotting Zoroark, Noodle trilled and shook out the leaves over his body, waving the very end of his tail at her tauntingly. She moved like she was going to chase him, and he zipped around the couch and out of sight, far faster than it seemed a ten-foot, legless creature should have been able to move.

Watching them go, Hil snarked, “Y’know, I’d release the others, but I feel like they’d crash the place.”

“Can always ask them not to,” N chuckled. “My other friends are around here somewhere…”

“Around here somewhere, he says,” Hil laughed. “My guess is… Archeops is in the ceiling fan in our room, considering Klinklang hasn’t fought him over it today, Carracosta is outside trying to catch the sun before it goes down, and Vanilluxe has probably abandoned her funny ice enclosure and decided the freezer was more appealing.”

“You say all of that like it’s a bad thing,” N coyly replied, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. Just in case he was incorrect in assuming Hil was joking, though, he not-so-smoothly added, “Also, Vanilluxe’s enclosure might be fine, but it’s only natural she’d want to explore some like the others…”

“I know, I know,” Hil snickered, “I’m just kidding. Though, I am glad you managed to convince her to learn to shut the door after her… That was fun when we had everything melt into the floor that one day… And also am glad that we found out Archeops was doing that before he completely ruined the fan motor by trying to catch it while it was on…” Shaking his head in amusement, Hil tossed the other six free (N had learned a long time ago that the ‘six pokémon at a time’ rule only applied when people were participating in League matches or, in battle, a person was disallowed from using more than six pokémon maximum), including his Musharna, Zebstrika, Liepard, Simipour, Watchog, and Druddigon. Sleepy, Prada, Lucky, Crest, Roadie, and Shay.

N had never given his pokémon nicknames, but through talking to Hil’s, he had found the pokémon didn’t mind, or in some cases, even enjoyed theirs. An interesting discussion with Lucky had revealed that although she hadn’t understood the name at first, she had heard Hil explain multiple times it was because he felt ‘lucky’ to have caught her at all. Over time, she had come to understand most humans didn’t see Purrloin or Liepard as lucky creatures, or even good pokémon at all, and she had come to appreciate the name so much more. Every time he says it, she had purred as she had rubbed against N’s legs, I’m reminded of how glad I am to be with a trainer that appreciates me, even if I am not a powerhouse compared to other pokémon… He’s seen the power of a legendary, and still appreciates me. I think that’s really something special. Following that conversation, N had talked to his pokémon and asked if they had any thoughts about nicknames or wanted any. The consensus from his partners was that while they wouldn’t have minded, they weren’t hurt by the lack of nicknaming. They even appreciated that N had respected them so much that he hadn’t wanted to saddle them with a name that might have meant nothing or even been annoying to them. That all had happened not too long after he and Hil had started staying together at the Pokémon League, and it was one of many eye-opening experiences since then. While he had previously believed nicknames were made by callous trainers that couldn’t have possibly known what their pokémon wanted, he then learned they could be something special, and represent something so much more than a mere label.

“N?” Hil called, in an almost sing-song voice. “You home?”

Jolting out of his thoughts, N blinked at him. “Yes?”

“You’re staring real hard at that remote,” Hil teased. Despite the smirk, his voice dropped to something more tender and he asked, “You okay?”

Setting the TV remote down within Hil’s reach, N nodded. “Oh, yes,” he answered quickly, “sorry…” Pausing, he then shook his head. “I was just thinking about how much I have learned since we started doing… this. Consuls.”

“Yeah?” Hil musingly asked, and although he picked up the remote, he didn’t press any of its buttons and had his eyes squarely trained on N. “What about it?”

“It just amazes me sometimes,” N reluctantly went on. “How much I thought I understood about pokémon and how I spent so much time in that castle learning about them and the world, and yet… I knew practically nothing at all,” he almost laughed, a pained chuckle. “Something as simple as nicknames seemed like such an evil and scary concept back then… I bought so easily into that, where if I had just simply spoken to someone and their pokémon about it sooner, I would have seen how silly that was… Of course, that isn’t the only thing I was led wrong about. It just… is amazing how so many little details I was given to train me against reality.”

Bringing his arms to cross over his chest, N almost hugged himself, even moving so he tucked his legs up on the couch at a slant, his knees pulled partially up to him. Of course, remembering the lies that came with his past was a slippery slope, and the next thought that crossed his mind made him want to cringe and shake. Ghetsis had, at one point, personally brought him a Snivy to his bedroom. The pokémon was wrapped in a white sheet splotched with dark green, and shut the door behind them, signaling to N nobody else would be joining them in that moment. N had immediately dropped the basketball he had been playing with and stiffened his back. Zoroark—a Zorua at the time—had wedged herself between his feet, instinctively cowering in that way she always did whenever Ghetsis was around. N didn’t remember how old he had been exactly, but he was sure he had been somewhere between eight or ten, and Ghetsis had limped over and leaned down, moving the sheet just enough to show N what was wrong with the Snivy in his grasp.

N had recoiled in horror and nearly tripped over Zorua as he backpedaled to his bed, the shock forcing him to take a seat, all of which had made Zorua yelp as she dove under his bed to get away from whatever was going on. Breathing heavily, N had gawked at Ghetsis with round eyes. The Snivy wrapped in the sheet was bleeding profusely and N could only just barely tell that it was alive at all, with the way its eyelids fluttered (though its eyes were rolled into the back of its head). Its tail was in tatters, missing huge chunks, and its lower body had deep, jagged slices cut into it, meaning it had no legs, either, and half of one arm was missing. It had taken a moment for N to finally choke out, “What—what happened to him?” It had never dawned on N until he retroactively looked over the memory that Ghetsis had remained perfectly quiet until N had asked that question. He had kept deliberately quiet because he intended to shock N.

“It was lost by a careless breeder, from one of her prized Serperior’s newest broods, and hit with a lawnmower,” Ghetsis had matter-of-factly explained, then unceremoniously dumped the pokémon in his lap, blood-soaked sheet and all. N was forced to catch it with his shaking hands to keep it from rolling off his lap and into the floor.

“A-and what do I do?” N had asked in a sheer panic. “It’s—it’s going to die, if we can’t get it help!”

“Oh, N,” Ghetsis had almost crooned. “There is no helping a pokémon that injured. You see, that careless breeder didn’t even notice she was missing one of her pokémon, because humans breed pokémon carelessly for profit and for battle. Why bother counting or keeping track when you can always produce more? Moreover, the person that hit this pokémon didn’t even notice, because it could not hear it over the sound of the engine of their lawnmower, and Snivy, as you can see, bleed green. It was the Shadow Triad who brought that poor thing to me. I brought it to you because I want you to see how careless people can be with living creatures, even as defenseless as a two-week-old Snivy.”

“What about the Pokémon Centers?” N had puffed through suddenly very dry lips. His throat had felt coarse and it had been difficult to swallow. Shivering at that point, he had withdrawn his legs and arms to the bed, much like he was currently doing on the couch there with Hil. He had cradled that dying Snivy close, unable to catch his breath, desperate for anything to do to save it or end its suffering, at the very least… The way its eyelid had kept fluttering had made him want to vomit.

“Pokémon Centers are made for healing pokémon after battle,” Ghetsis had nonchalantly informed him. Again, N hadn’t even realized how dissociative Ghetsis had sounded until so many years later… “Pokémon this severely injured are left to die or are euthanized. People see pokémon as easily replaceable. To them, investing time and energy into saving a pokémon this egregiously injured, which may be crippled for the rest of its life even if it did survive, just isn’t a priority, when you could just as easily breed another.”

“N? Hey, you’re scarin’ me a little…”

N blinked and shook his head vigorously, glancing back at Hil. “Hmm…?”

“I tried saying something back to you and you spaced out…” Hil frowned, concern etched all over his face. Brushing a dark, brown curl of hair out of his face, he gently asked, “Did you hear anything I said before I called you just then…?”

N swallowed hard and looked down at his trembling arms, crossed tightly over his chest. “No…”

“You know it isn’t your fault, all those things you didn’t understand or have been relearning…” Hil repeated himself calmly. He didn’t make a move to get any closer or to touch him, and N silently appreciated it. Although Hil loved physical affection whenever his mind spiraled somewhere less than pleasant, N found that he usually didn’t, at least, not when it came to remembering his time in the castle. Usually, once he calmed down some, he would quietly or wordlessly ask for a hug or something, but during, close physical contact had a way of merely stressing him out…

“I know it isn’t… But it still is… unpleasant to think about sometimes,” N mumbled.

“Then, maybe we shouldn’t think about it too much, eh?” Hil looked up thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, “Maybe it’d help to think about when you did start to learn some of that stuff better, huh? I know you still had all of them in your ear while you were traveling Unova and beating the gyms…” As he trailed off, N almost snickered at the way Hil had said ‘them.’ He said it with such animosity, and he seemed intent on never mentioning Ghetsis’ name nowadays if he could help it. Although he didn’t realize it consciously, N did find it cute, how Hil could sound so protective of him when badmouthing Team Plasma and everything they had done. Sure, N had seen firsthand how dangerous Hil could be when he needed to be, but for the most part… Hil was a kind-hearted, anxious, delightful mess, and his threats could come off as childish in idle conversation… Somehow, that just felt even more endearing. “…But when you were fighting the gyms and traveling, you had to have learned some new stuff that made you think… What do you think was the first time anything really seemed to challenge what all they taught you?”

“You should already know that answer,” N laughed, his posture loosening a little at the much more pleasant memory flooding him, instead of that horrific one. He gave Hil an expectant look, still amused when the other’s cheeks dusted red and he nervously smiled.

“Ah… I should?” Hil asked dumbly.

Rolling his eye—N had ultimately decided to get a glass eye to replace his missing one, and the doctors had done such a wonderful job, it was only whenever he did something like this that it was apparent his other eye was false—N mused, “Well… There was this time in a little town named Accumula where I was stocking up on supplies and preparing to go ‘free’ some pokémon from some trainers that had just been given them by a professor in Nuvema. My intention was to set them free and then head to Striaton to challenge one of the triplets. I believe then that I ran into two boys, one with a Snivy and the other with a Tepig, and a girl with an Oshawott.”

Picking up on the game, Hil’s face lit up and he tauntingly pressed, “Are you sure…? I dunno, might’ve been the girl with the Snivy,” he laughed.

N all but groaned. “Anyway,” he pointedly huffed, “that was the first real experience I remember where something… really conflicted with all I had been taught.”

As if on cue, there was the sound of clattering from the kitchen. Hil peaked over the back of the sofa. “They knocked over a chair,” he reported. “No damage, but…” He then tried to articulate in something of a trill, Noodle, careful!

Despite the questionable execution, Noodle hissed back after a brief pause, She did it! She’s using illusions! I didn’t see it there!

And you were using vines, Zoroark chimed in smugly with a chuff. If you use vines, I get to use illusions.

On what planet is that fair? Noodle moodily huffed.

Just… don’t break anything, Hil resignedly called after them in something mixed between a growl and a trill, before shaking his head and slumping back down on the sofa. He rubbed his throat. “Yeah, that still hurts a bit,” he chuckled. “Anyway… as you were saying?”

Seeing Hil try to talk to pokémon like that still was so thrilling for N. Despite years of practice, he could still struggle at times, but that didn’t matter at all. N had been told for so long that his ability was hated by humanity and even Ghetsis had hated it when he said anything about speaking to pokémon around him… It had been beaten into his head to never repeat what a pokémon had said to him, or to even acknowledge his ability unless absolutely necessary (and yet, Ghetsis loved to rub it in the faces of any who would listen that N was King because of his ability to understand pokémon…). Still, smiling like a fool after listening to Hil talk to the pokémon, N continued his story at a faster rate, his words naturally kicking up in speed in his excitement, “You had let Noodle out of his Poké Ball during Team Plasma’s speech, and when you did that, he said something… something about how he really liked you already. And even when I tried talking to him briefly before I approached you, from a distance, um… using my ability, I had told him that I was there to set them free. That I was sure all he, the Oshawott, and the Tepig knew was a room in a lab and the confinement of Poké Balls. And after that, he had said that he liked you, that he was going to see more at your side, and that he was done talking to me… unless I could best him in battle. And that was why I wanted to battle you to—”

“Hear my pokémon’s voice again?” Hil cut him off, grinning practically from ear to ear. “Y’know, I always did wonder why you wanted to battle me that day… For someone that hated pokémon battling and all that, you sure were ready to throw hands that day.”

“Even after beating him, he didn’t talk to me anymore,” N snorted. “Well, he did, but all he said was that he wanted me to go away.” He shook his head. “I had… never in my life, until that point, heard a pokémon claim to like a trainer and resist my company over it… At the time, I told myself that pokémon didn’t know any better, that it was little better than Stockholm syndrome, or that Poké Balls somehow brainwashed some pokémon into believing their captors were good unless the person actively abused them… Then, I kept traveling and kept running into pokémon that claimed to like or even love their trainers… Even if I didn’t change right then, looking back on it does feel good… I always knew there was something wrong, even if I couldn’t place it…”

“See?” Hil cheerfully insisted.

N nodded, then wryly added, “But I also kept running into that boy and his Snivy, or Servine… and oh, how he made me think.” Dramatically making a show of huffing in irritation, he then scanned Hil’s expression to ensure he was understanding his teasing. N thought he was replicating how Hil sometimes sarcastically joked, but he still couldn’t be totally sure, so he was relieved to see Hil cackling at him, flushing darker red as he spoke.

“Oh, thinking!” Hil played along. “The horror!”

“You laugh, but to me at that point? It was,” N chuckled. “Every single time I ran into you, more questions were raised about Ghetsis’ plans and all of that, and I just had to stuff them all down and believe I was correct, because I was the ‘Hero of Ideals.’”

“Now that you mention it,” Hil coyly mused, “I remember running into this green-haired dude all the time that loved to show up and drop bombshells, almost every time. But my favorite thing he ever said to me was, ‘Maybe if the world were simply different, we could have been friends.’”

N blinked. “What, really? That?”

“Well, for one,” Hil snorted, “the main reason I was half-obsessed with you, before I knew how wrapped around his thumb he had you, was because of you saying that. How you decided right away that we couldn’t be friends. I didn’t understand you and, uh, 14-year-old, hormone-riddled brain decided, ‘Oh, we can’t be friends, huh? I’ll show you!’ And now, well…” Hil slyly put his hands behind his head, lazily kicking his feet out to the floor. “Wouldn’t you know it, we are friends, aren’t we?”

Opening and shutting his mouth for a second, N then frowned and cocked his head. “Why yes, we are, aren’t we? I had barely even remembered saying that… You took that that seriously?”

“Maybe,” Hil abruptly pulled his hands from behind him and crossed them tightly. A smirk betrayed his amusement (not to mention the still-raging blush over his cheeks). Teasingly, he raised his chin back at N. “Why, you wishing I hadn’t?”

“What? No, not at all,” N uneasily responded as he had difficulty parsing Hil’s reaction, then scooted closer to him. The discomfort from earlier had waned and he wanted to be closer to the other now. Almost purring as he inched his way nearer, N tried to smoothly comment, “I have no idea why you took that remark so seriously… But I am glad you did…”

“I’m just teasing,” Hil softly whispered as he hooked his right arm around N’s left and gently pulled him a little closer, leaning his head down onto his shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t know why, either.”

“That just seems to be how you are,” N chuckled after he relaxed in Hil’s hold, eventually awkwardly leaning his head over onto Hil’s. “You… are so kind to a fault. I don’t know if anyone else would have been able to fill the role that you have… I’m glad that Reshiram recognized that…” Closing his eyes and sighing contentedly, he then had an evil idea pull his lips into a broad grin. “I certainly can’t imagine sitting here and doing this with Cheren.”

Sputtering, Hil finally incredulously gasped, “Where did that come from?”

“Remember how I was insistent on him being the ‘Hero’ for a while?” N teased, though a small pang of anxiety flared as he wondered if he had gone a little too far with his attempt at humor…

“Oh,” Hil laughed away N’s nerves. He wrapped an arm around N and rubbed his back reassuringly. “Mm, wouldn’t you like that, third wheeling it with him in Nuvema while that wild two-year-old of his tries to eat your hair.”

“What is it with Jessica and my hair?” N complained as he remembered their last few visits to Cheren and Bianca’s. Although their daughter wasn’t old enough to go without supervision that long yet, she could walk, and she had taken a keen interest in N during their visit. Which, despite everyone’s best attempts to keep her away from N, had resulted in her yanking on his lengthy hair more than a few times. Having never interacted with a young child in his entire life, N had already been anxious just by being around her, and that experience certainly hadn’t helped at all. Why did something so cute and small have to be so intimidating…? She seemed fearless, too, for one of the times she yanked on his hair, he hadn’t been expecting it at all and had hissed in surprise, and she had just laughed!

“It’s pretty,” Hil replied simply, stroking some of it for emphasis.

“Well, I’m glad you think so,” N almost purred again as he leaned against Hil’s hand. Having someone he trusted and knew didn’t want to manipulate him in any way showing him such affection just felt so nice…

Thumbing the TV remote at last, Hil flicked his thumb across the button at the top. “You wanna pick something while I figure out something for dinner?” he asked gingerly.

“Like what?” N asked distractedly, still focusing more on the soft strokes of Hil’s hand over his hair. It dawned on him that what Hil had said meant he intended to get up in a moment and he frowned at that thought, but more than that, he genuinely didn’t know what to find to watch… He didn’t really tend to watch much of anything without Hil there, so he didn’t know what he would have ‘found’ for them to watch.

“There’s a new comedy or something that came out the other day. Would you wanna watch that?” Hil suggested, as if sensing his uncertainty.

“That sounds nice,” N agreed blithely. He usually still enjoyed whatever Hil picked, so he was happy with letting him do that.

With a hum that served as all the answer N needed, Hil located whatever the movie was with a few touches to the buttons on the remote, and then left it hovering over the ‘play’ button. “I’ll go make something and make sure Noodle didn’t break the kitchen,” he yawned as he slowly unraveled his arm from around N, eliciting an involuntary whine from him. N immediately scrambled to sit upright and cleared his throat.

“I mean, alright,” he flatly covered up his whine, hoping Hil wouldn’t comment on it. Not that he understood why he felt embarrassed and didn’t want Hil to comment on it…

Hil hopped up and snickered, then rubbed the top of N’s head, messing up his hair some more. “I’ll be right back,” he promised. “I swear.” Loping off into the kitchen, he heard Hil then hiss at Noodle, Will you get off that? That rack is for pots and pans, which you definitely are not!

Giggling to himself, N heard Noodle sulkily growl back, Well, I was playing hide and seek… and now you just gave me away.

And you can play it somewhere that’s not in my kitchen, Hil retorted without skipping a beat.

Don’t mess with him and his kitchen, N thought amusedly to himself. Hil has a thing for his kitchen… (Which, admittedly, was a good thing—N had discovered when Hil had tried to teach him to cook that he not only was gifted with the ability to talk to pokémon, but also with that of somehow burning water, and Hil had subsequently decided that perhaps it was best if he cooked from then on.)

Noodle slithered back out into the living room and Zoroark suddenly materialized with a flash of purple from beside the reclining chair in the corner of the room, lunging at him. They played in the floor for a moment before Noodle complained that he was tired.

For as uncomfortable as it sometimes felt to stay at that house for too long, N had to admit, over time, it became easier and easier to stay there for longer stretches of time as long as Hil was there.

[booklovingturtle]

Kanej and the starry night

I have been binge-watching the last season of Jane the Virgin and one of the episodes inspired this fic. It’s long and fluffy and I loved writing Kanej but I don’t know if its any goo bc its late and I’m exausted so forgive the spur of the moment writing.

Kaz takes Inej back to his village under the guise of a job to complete. One night, he pulls her out of her room to enjoy the night sky and confess his feelings for her.

Inej Ghafa, ship wrecker had only returned to the Barrel for twelve hours before Kaz Brekker had a note delivered to her room. In it, he had laid out vague details about some job that he needed her help in.  It was a two days journey from the city. Ineexhaustedted from her time at sea was both nervous and hopeful to spend some time alone with Kaz. Her nervous were quickly replaced by disappointment.

The whole trip Kaz had been impossibly hard to read. It was like they were strangers in a way Inej had never experienced with him. He kept a cold distance between them until they reached an inn located right outside of Lij. By the time they arrived, she still had no idea what the job was. She didn’t even care anymore. Inej crashed into her bed after bathing the dirt from traveling off and was immediately asleep.

That is, until she heard knocking at her door. The Wraith was up and strapping her knives along her body quickly. She moved to answer the door. To her surprise, Kaz stood in the corridor of the inn, looking rather uncomfortable to have woken her up.

“Were you asleep?”

“Yes,” Inej crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry. I-never mind,” he shook his head. Kaz had a heavy quilt in thrown over his arm and was leaning on his cane. Inej was shocked to see embarrassment behind the twitch of his jaw. She was even more astonished when she realized that Kaz had left his gloves in his room. 

He saw her notice his bare hands. She didn’t want to push him or make him uncomfortable so she ignored it.

“It’s okay. What do you need?” 

Kaz blinked, the only real sign of any level of self consciousness that he would allow. “I want to show you something.”

A flare of confusion filled her but Inej decided it would be better to see where the night would take her before pointing out Kaz’s strange behavior over the last few days.

Dirtyhands carried the neatly folded blanket out of the inn they were staying in. Kaz silently walked away from the small structure and into the forest. Her annoyance was about to overcome her curiosity just as they cleared the expanse of trees to find an empty field laid before her. Her mind cleared and a gasp escaped her.

Stars decorated every inch of her line of sight. Constellations that she had never seen before, even while traveling the continent as a child twinked their hypnotizing dance.

Kaz’s deep chuckle came from beside her as he took a few more steps forward to lay out the blanket.

“This was my home,” He said as a way of explaining. 

Inej knew immediately what he had meant. She was able to read him better than anyone, just as he was able to read her. They never needed to say much to each other in order to be understood. It was one of her favorite things about being around Kaz. Both then and now. 

Just like that, she forgave all the strangeness from before. Kaz was allowing her to see a part of him that he hadn’t shown anyone else. 

She followed his head and sat down on the blanket. Soon their sitting position turned into them laying side by side, backs pressed against the ground and shoulders a breath away from touching. Inej inhaled deeply, loving the feel of fresh dew under her fingertips. 

Inej couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible for the same, tiny stretch of land could be so different. Kerch wasn’t a large island, but somehow it held many, many worlds within it. There was the infamous and dangerous city of Ketterdam whose only god was greed. It was the part of Kerch that Inej Ghafa was most familiar with. For years, it was the only part she had visited. Though she was slowly starting to realize that there was much more this island.

There was an entirely different world that surrounded the lived and breathed just south of the blusterous Fifth Harbor. That world was covered in lush, green fields instead of filthy cobble. Vibrant wildflowers perfumed the air to clean all of the noxious smell of the Barrel out of her lungs. Even the sky that looked over the island seemed to smile at the innocence it found within the small villages that bordered Lij. Wildlife, crackling fires, and far away chatter were carried by a soft breeze.

There was a stillness about the almost-morning that could only be described as true peace. It was even more calming than the gentle rocking of her ship at sea.

“I’ve been to small villages before,” Inej rarely spoke harshly but even the usual reserved measure of her words was stripped away by the night sky. “This is nothing like the those. I’ve never seen the sky look like this.”

“It was my favorite part of growing up here. I wanted to show it to you before the sun rose.”

It felt like they were standing at the edge of a cliff. She couldn’t see the bottom but Inej wanted to leap across to the other side.

“Do you miss it here?”

“Not really. Not the way that you miss home. My family is gone. I have no one left here.”

She couldn’t really argue that point. Inej missed home every day. But home was never a place for her. It was her family. Kaz didn’t have that here. She couldn’t expect him to feel the same way she did about Ravka.

“There’s an old tale that the adults used to tell the children where I’m from.” She was surprised that he had offered her this piece of his past without her even asking. “It isn’t full of sage wisdom that Suli parables have but it's still a common story.”

Inej’s attention shifted from the sky to Kaz. He wasn’t wearing a perfectly pressed suit like she was used to. He’d changed into a light undershirt that allowed her to see the planes of his body. An arm was pillowing his head and his eyes were closed. It was a sign of vulnerability that she knew he didn’t show to everyone. It was rare the Dirtyhands ever felt so at ease with someone that he didn’t need to watch their every move for a threat. 

“Jerven Voorhent was a swordsmith.”

“Jer ven voorhent,” Inej repeated the Kerch words. You are integrity. She had learned the language years ago so their harsh consonants rolled off her tongue easily.

He nodded, eyes still closed. Kaz continued the story, “One of the best. Any blade forged by his fires would strike true. People from all the way from the Wandering Isles to Ahmrat Jen would travel to his doorstep and beg for him to craft them a weapon. Rulers begged him to become their personal weapons maker. Men crawled on their knees to become his apprentice. Jervan heard none of it. He continued to make his swords because he loved it. He didn’t even try to sell them. He just enjoyed the craft.”

“Ghezen must have been furious,” she noted. “All that lost profit.” Inej studied the sharp cut of his jaw while he spoke.

“One day a markswoman came to visit Jerven. She had heard that he was the best swordsmith to ever live and wanted to see if he could make her a bow as fine as any sword he ever made. Jerven, struck by her beauty, agreed. The woman, Almhente, taught him all she knew about the bow and he got to work. Jerven worked day and night.”

The woman’s name was almost identical to the Kerch word for prosperity, almhent, Inej thought to herself. She realized before Kaz could finish the story how it would end.

“Almhente test bow after bow that he made but none of them were right. Jerven, eager to impress her, continued to try. He stopped eating and sleeping to spend more time on her bow. His sword making fires died. The line at his door walked away. Jerven lost everything but didn’t see it because all he wanted to do was make the markswoman her bow.”

“But he never got it right, did he?”

He shook his head. “No. Jerven died working on her weapon. People forgot all of his great swords and only remembered him by his collection of failed bows.”

Inej understood the moral the tale. Jerven stood for integrity. He was a man who worked for himself until the chance of earning prosperity came along. He was blinded by his desires to prosper and eventually lost his life to it.

“That is an odd story to tell children being raised on an island whose patron is Ghezen,” she was struck by the message of the story. It was so unlike both the island of its origin and the storyteller to support a theme against profit.

Kaz shrugged. “Maybe. My parents were farmers. All of the people from my home worked the land so others could make the profit. I think a part of them was always jealous of that.”

 He finally opened his eyes. Suddenly Inej was swimming in the darkness of his gaze. The moonlight painted his pale skin almost silver but it made the darkness of his hair and eyes stand out even more.

He was close enough that she could feel his breath tickle hear cheeks when he spoke. She loved the way his voice sounded so close to her. “Why tell me this now?”

“Kaz Rietveld never understood. Then, I was Dirtyhands, I lived for profits and money and greed.”

Warmth filled her at what he was implying. Still, Inej wanted him without gloves which meant he had to specific about what he was trying to tell her.

“And now?” she prompted.

Kaz cleared his throat, looking away for a moment. She realized he was looking at their hands, laying next to each other. He looked back up at her, a question in his eyes. Inej hooked her pinky around his. He didn’t stop there. Kaz’s fingers wrapped around hers, thumb gently stroking the back of her hand.

Inej’s whole body felt the touch of his skin. Her fingers curled and her heart sword. Every part of her focused on the way he played with her hand, tracing the lines of her skin. Goosebumps danced up her arms. 

“Kaz...” she interrupted his reverent touch. It killed Inej to do it but she needed to know for sure what he wanted. “Why did you bring us here? Is there even a job to complete? What are you saying?”

“I don’t want to be like Jerven. I don’t want to die chasing prosperity.” 

Her breathing stopped. When it started again, Inej noticed that it seemed like no air was filling her lungs because all she breath in was Kaz and the fresh earth surrounding them.

“What do you want?”

“You.” His hand stilled in hers. Kaz was giving her the chance to pull away. To deny him. 

Inej would never say no to him. Not after all they had been through together. Not after the way he touched her hand, as if it was the most delicate thing in the world. Even the way he spoke to her spoke of an emotion she was still too afraid to say out loud.

“I want you, Inej. If you still want me.”

Her heart soared out of her chest. "Yes, Kaz. Yes, I still want you. I always have, I always will.”

Relief filled him and she saw his muscles loosen. “Can I hold you?”

She smiled widely and curled her body into his. Kaz wrapped an arm around her, face digging into her hair. She sighed, thanking all her saints for this small gesture. No nightmares, no anxieties, no terrors from her past could hurt her in that instant. Not as long as it was Kaz’s voice in her ear and his warmth against her.

“I’m so glad you said yes because I’m pretty sure Jesper is tired of hugging me.”

She laughed so hard that she had to pull away from him. “Are you saying that you’ve been practicing how to cuddle with Jesper?”

Kaz’s smile was more beautiful than the whole night sky. “No, but I had to practice touching someone while you were away. I wanted to make sure that I could do this,” he laced their fingers together again, “right this time.”

“Kaz, even if you had pulled away or still had to wear your gloves, it would be right. As long as its with you, it could never be wrong.” 

“I know but I but I wanted to be able to touch you while telling you how I felt without feeling the water.”

I don’t care how long it takes us to be able to touch one another. We will get there in out own time and we will get there together,” she held him close to her again.

“Together,” he repeated to her.

[goodlucktai]

all you gotta do’s knock on my door (2 of 2)

the moomins pairing: the joxter & snufkin word count: 3061 read on ao3

(previous chapter)

x

When he sees Moomin on the bridge, a fluffy white figure already waving frantically, Snufkin crams his harmonica in a pocket, drops his pack, and starts to run. Moomin meets him halfway and catches him in a hug that is well worth traveling hundreds of miles for. They swing around a few times, caught up in giddy momentum, breathless with their own special brand of spring joy, and for a moment Snufkin is as weightless as he is warm.

“You’re back!” Moomintroll says. “You’re here! You must tell me everything I missed over the winter, everything that happened while you were away!”

But of course, the first thing that comes to mind is the awful argument of two days ago, and Snufkin’s happiness trips over the memory of his father’s pained eyes. Moomin, as perceptive as he is kind, notices at once and pulls away, holding Snufkin between his paws at arm’s length.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The Joxter and I had an argument,” Snufkin explains in a low voice.

It’s not really a secret, and mulling it over by himself has gotten him no closer to figuring things out, so he tells Moomin the whole story. They walk back to recover his pack while he talks, and make their way over the bridge and up the hill to the welcoming blue of Moominhouse.

“I had to help the bird,” Snufkin says at the end. “It came to me and asked, how could I tell it no?”

“I think you’re right,” Moomin declares, a firm frown on his face. “It’s not as though you could just let the little babies fall out of the tree. It’s odd he’d be angry about that!”

Some of the tightness in Snufkin’s heart eases, his best friend’s understanding soothing away a little bit of the sharp uncertainty he’d been carrying around. He’s unlike a lot of people he’s encountered throughout his life, taking issue with things they could care less about, and caring less about things they take issue with. It’s hard to say whether he’s in the right or in the wrong sometimes, but it always helps to know that Moomin is on his side.

“I’m not sure if he was angry, really,” Snufkin says. “It seemed very complicated.”

He wishes he understood the look on the Joxter’s face before they parted. Or the own sour pit in his own stomach that lingered for whole days afterwards, that lingers still. He’s very new to the concept of family you don’t go out and find for yourself-- family that can just show up out of the blue and care about you at the drop of a hat, without even knowing you very well-- so perhaps there’s some vital clue he’s missing. Some integral understanding that only someone with long experience at having such a family would know.

The idea comes to him like lightning.

“You have a dad!” Snufkin says, spinning to include Moomin in his epiphany.

Dear Moomin, always understanding him, gasps aloud. “I do! Let’s go!”

So they break into a run, and thunder up the porch steps, and Snufkin barely remembers to leave his pack on the veranda instead of hauling the dirty thing inside. Both the Moominparents are in the drawing room, looking over a book together, and they break into smiles when they see who their son has hauled inside.

Moomin says, “We have a problem to solve!”

“Oh, my,” Moominmamma says, coming around the table. When she reaches for Snufkin, it’s slow and self-evident, and he doesn’t have any reason to lean away from the hand she rests against his cheek in greeting. “And you’ve only just arrived! That’s very quick work.”

Snufkin smiles, pleased despite himself. “I cheated, actually. I brought the problem here with me. It’s been going ‘round in circles in my head nonstop, and I’ve just about exhausted my thoughts on it.”

“Come sit,” Moominpappa says, gesturing them over to the chairs. “Let’s all put our heads together. We’ve fresh tea and fresh minds, haven’t we, Mama?”

“And fresh tarts,” she adds sagely, nudging the serving plate in the boys’ direction.

And so Snufkin settles in, and tells his story for a second time. It’s a little bit easier to navigate the confusion and the pitfalls this time, having told it once before, and he’s able to linger a bit on how high up the nest was, and how the wind tugged and tore at him even before he fell, and his father’s claws poking little holes into his shirt on the climb down, though they didn’t go far enough to scratch him.

“It was a close call, certainly,” he says into the quiet room. His knees are tucked up against his chest, but no one scolds him for sitting that way. “But it seems silly to get so worked up over something that didn’t even happen, don’t you think? Even if he wasn't angry, which I'm not sure that he was, he was very upset."

Moomin nods, perfunctory, but his parents trade swift glances and don’t answer right away.

“I certainly understand where you’re coming from, dear,” Mama says after thinking for a moment. “So let’s work out where your papa was coming from. It isn’t always easy, trying to understand someone you haven’t known very long, but it’s important that we try.”

Snufkin agrees, leaning forward in his chair. He likes meeting people, sharing a meal or a pipe with them, exchanging stories about faraway places and long-ago adventures. He feels richer for every encounter, no matter how strange they might seem at first.

But sometimes, even when they are perfectly civil, people can seem very cold. Sometimes they’re not easy to talk to at all, their words and their intentions escaping his comprehension like a school of silver fish escaping his net.

Since they met, this is the first time his father has felt like one of those people. It’s an incredibly lonely thought, for all that he’s only had a father for two years.

“I’ll certainly be having words with him for raising his voice at you,” Mama goes on, in a tone of voice she usually only brings out for Little My at her most destructive. “But I certainly agree with you that your father wasn't angry. It sounds to me like you scared him very badly."

Snufkin blinks. That isn't what he expected to hear.

Taking pity on him, Mama says, "That bluebird was certainly distressed when you met her, wasn't she?"

"Well, yes," he say slowly. "Understandably so. Because of her nest. Her babies almost fell."

"And so did the Joxter's," Papa says in a gentle way.

Snufkin couldn't have been more startled if someone dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. He sits up in his chair so suddenly that Moomin jumps and declares, "I'm not a baby."

"You're very grown up," Mama agrees. "But you don't ever outgrow being someone's child."

"I'm hardly his child," Snufkin retorts hotly, his heart beating so hard it hurts. "We only just met a handful of seasons ago."

"You haven't known Moomintroll for very much longer." Papa's tone is reasonable and unhurried, even though Snufkin is bristling at his dinner table like a hostile forest creature. "You wouldn't want to see him get hurt, would you?"

"That's different. I love Moomintroll. He’s my best friend, we understand each other." Beside him, Moomin sits a little taller. Snufkin digs his fingers into the knees of his pants, even though they're already due for a mending and the seams begin to give beneath his grip. "I don't understand the Joxter at all sometimes. I don't understand him now. I don't understand how he could love me without knowing me."

"The first time I held my little Moomin in my arms, I knew I would love him like I'd never loved anything before," Mama says. Her eyes are very gentle, and she looks at Snufkin like she's fond of him even now, when he's arguing and being difficult. "He was barely a few moments old, and I knew."

Snufkin shakes his head. His chest feels like a vice, closing around his lungs and heart. "Don't you see? You kept Moomin. No one kept me. We weren't the same manner of creature even then."

A sharp noise in the kitchen draws their attention, a sound like a dish breaking against the floor. After a moment, Moominmamma stands up.

"I'll go and take care of that, shall I?" she says, but her voice is thick and watery. She pauses next to Snufkin's chair and shows him her hands before she reaches for him. When she touches his hair gently, it reminds Snufkin of the way the Joxter touched him after his near-fall.

It's not fair that one parent could remind him of another when they're not anything alike. It's so frustrating and confusing. Maybe that's why his eyes are itchy and hot with tears.

Mama's touch lingers with a warmth and certainty that the Joxter didn't have, and then she moves away toward the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

"Snuf?" Moomin asks in a near-whisper. He takes one of Snufkin's hands, threading their fingers together as easily as he threads together dandelion chains. Snufkin's own paw is scarred and dirty against Moomin's clean white fur, but neither of them care about something like that, and it's nice to have him to hold onto. "Do you want to leave? We could run down to the river and get muddy and catch fireflies. We don't have to talk about this anymore."

Snufkin shakes his head. Moominpappa is watching them with patience and sadness, sitting across the table like he would sit there for hours if that's what it took to help.

"He would have kept you," Papa says. "You may not know him well, but I'm sure that I do. Trust me when I say he would have been proud to keep you."

"Might-haves don't help," Snufkin insists. This is something he is certain of. "They just make you lonely. It's easier to think about what really happened, and what might happen, than what never did."

And what did happen was that Snufkin was abandoned, and found in a basket by a helpfully misguided fellow who delivered him to the orphanage, and forgot-- for a time-- that people could be kind. He escaped as an invisible child, and the birds sang to him and chatted with him for as long as it took to bring his reflection back, and he found his own way in the world.

It wasn't always easy, and it wasn't always nice, but sometimes it was so wonderful Snufkin forgot how to breathe. The first time he saw the sea, the first time he saw a falling star, the first time he heard an instrument and realized people could make their own music. He discovered these things for himself, wandering from place to place to place, and maybe he never would have had the chance if he'd grown up with a mother and a father and a house that never moved.

"Do you blame your dad?" Moomin asks. He looks as though he's working very stubbornly against tears of his own. Dear Moomintroll, with a heart that's too big. "For leaving you, and for-- all the rest of it?"

"Of course I don't," Snufkin says. "It wasn't his fault. He never even knew I was born. I'm sure it wasn't mother's fault, either, not when she has so many children to keep a watch over. One or two was bound to slip through the cracks."

Moomin's expression says he disagrees with at least part of Snufkin's statement but doesn't want to argue. Moominpappa's expression is almost laughably similar. Cut from the same cloth, Snufkin thinks, and it makes his heart hurt a little less.

He's like his father, too. They both wander and they both make music and they both tell stories. They both wage war against park keepers and make disdainful faces at city signs. They can travel in silence for hours, not needing conversation to prop up their time together, and Snufkin is remarkably comfortable around him most of the time. He likes to be around him.

And yet...

"I don't know that I believe in it," Snufkin says slowly. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve. "A love you don't have to build, that can just come up out of nothing. Loving someone without knowing them seems an awful risk. What if they're awful, or mean, or they swear? You've have thrown away your love on someone you don't even like."

Moominpappa lets out a short sound, the ghost of a laugh. "You're a practical little thing. Sometimes I forget, since you and Moomin get into mischief so often."

Snufkin thinks there's nothing wrong with being both practical and mischievous, but he keeps it to himself.

"Love is something magical, though," Moomin interjects. "It doesn't always have to make sense, does it? Just look at all the fairy tales you've told me, Snuf. Half those princes and princesses hardly knew each other, but their love was enough to break curses and defeat evil. It must have been true love if it defeated evil."

Papa looks bemused, starts to say, "Moomin, that's not..." but he glances at Snufkin and stops short. Snufkin hardly pays him any mind, thinking Moomin's perspective over with a furrowed brow.

"I suppose," he allows reluctantly. "But real life is hardly a fairy tale."

"It was real life to them," Moomin points out reasonably. "Just because it's a fairy tale to us doesn't mean they didn't live it. Maybe you ought to give your dad's love a chance, Snufkin. You're so easy to love, you know, it makes sense to me that he'd love you already. It's been two years since you met! I loved you after two days."

That's enough to make Snufkin smile, hiding behind the floppy brim of his hat. It seems to melt the remaining tension, and Moominpappa eases out of his chair with a careful stretch of his back.

"I had better go rescue your papa while there's still something left of him," Papa says, and Snufkin looks up at him in surprise.

"He's here?" That must have been the noise they heard in the kitchen. Right away, Snufkin's stomach starts to squirm, and he darts an uncertain look at the closed door. "Should I-- leave?"

"No, dear, I think he'd like the chance to talk to you. Only if you're comfortable with that," Papa says, looking at Snufkin sternly. "He's an old friend of mine, which means I'm allowed to throw him out on his ear."

"Don't do that," Snufkin says quickly, not sure if the elder moomin is joking. "If he's not angry, then I want to see him."

But for some reason that means Moomin gets shooed out of the room as well, and he goes so reluctantly Papa ends up propelling him by the shoulders into the kitchen. Snufkin is left by himself at the table. From the next room he hears Papa say, "Just talk to him, Joxaren."

And then his father is slinking through the door. His predator's eyes, the striking blue beneath that dirty mop of dark hair, are full and round. There is something very weary about him, for all that his expression gives very little away. Snufkin thinks of baby birds falling and the desperate way the Joxter held him beneath the tree and Mama saying there was one thing Snufkin would never outgrow, and he hurts from it all. His heart is so full and heavy he thinks he's probably trapped beneath its weight, stuck to the chair, unable to move even an inch.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Don't be," the Joxter replies in an instant. His voice is quiet and soothing, the way it should be. "If anyone is sorry, it's me."

Snufkin looks up at him as he comes closer, and the Joxter shows him his hands, the way all the valley people do. When he reaches for him after that, Snufkin doesn't move away. He leans into the arms that come around him, instead, breathing in the familiar wood-smoke smell of the Joxter. It's comfortable, and it feels very safe, and Snufkin hooks his fingers into the back of his father's patched coat and holds on.

"I should have let you climb," he says, muffled against the larger snufkin's shoulder.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you," the Joxter replies. His words are lurching and uncertain, like the first few steps across an unsteady bridge. "I'm still learning, little bird, but I won't make that mistake again."

He says little bird with as much care as Mama says my dear, and it's silly but it makes Snufkin's heart finally settle. He doesn't think he can believe the love just yet, but he believes the care.

"A story for a story," the Joxter says suddenly. "I'll tell you any one you want to hear. And then perhaps you could tell me about-- being invisible."

Snufkin doesn't often think that far back, but he nods. "That sounds fair," he says, leaning back until the Joxter's arms let go. He holds his tail to keep it from moving about in a way that would betray him and how happy he is. Only Moomintroll gets to see his tail wag without Snufkin feeling self-conscious for it.

"Tell me about when you learned to play the fiddle," he decides, drawing his legs up again and hugging them. "It's the trickiest instrument I've ever touched."

The Joxter pulls a chair around next to his, as scruffy and weathered as Snufkin is in this clean, pleasant house, and it's one more thing that makes them two of a kind.

For all his faults and his mistakes, Snufkin has seen many places, and met many people, and he'll get to see and meet even more. He has this place to come back to, and these friends, and this family he chose who chose him right back. And now he also has a parent who looks at him as though he wants to know him, as though there is no person in the world worth knowing more.

There is no one else as lucky as me, Snufkin thinks, and settles in to listen to his papa's tale.

[wolfpawn]

Life is a Game of Risks, Chapter 58

Chapter Summary - Tom thinks over everything that happened the day before and realises there will be a lot of changes for their little family. This Christmas is full of presents.

WARNING - CONTAINS REFERENCES TO PAST POST-NATAL DEPRESSION

TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.

Previous Chapter

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Tom woke earlier than usual, the darkness outside told him that it was not even approaching sun-up yet. He felt Alexianna move slightly in the bed beside him, sighing in her sleep before settling and continuing to breathe deeply. He thought of the day before and the life-changing events of those few hours.

A baby, they had created a child together. Inside Alexianna’s body, a small grouping of cells, the result of their actions as a couple, were developing and dividing to create a completely unique little human being, according to the pages he read online while he waited patiently in the car for her, at least. He thought of the night they were in his home alone while Lily stayed with her uncle in their home; but he also recalled Alexianna’s words regarding Jonathan and how she had never felt good with him, as well as her annoyance that she had conceived Lily without having enjoyed the act with her husband. He knew she had enjoyed creating their baby. The fact that there was no one in the house beside themselves meant they did not have to cautious of the noise they were making meaning he had encouraged her to be vocal with how she felt and he was satisfied that he, as a partner, had made her feel good. The way she curled against him after, her arm on his abdomen, the smile and caring look on her face, the way he had felt for her, the loving words shared, it all told him even at that time how much they truly cared for one another. Now, their words and actions had even greater meaning. They had a baby as a result, they had made a baby.

He always felt they would have a child together, further down the road. Alexianna’s declaration of never having any more had long fizzled to ‘ifs’ and ‘when’. The clothes Lily had grown out of yet she did not discard were in the attic of his house. He wondered would they be used again. Would the little pinks and dresses have another little girl don them, or would they be left there, only to have blues be added to them as a little boy outgrew them? His heart pounded in his chest, a son, a little boy to carry the Hiddleston name after him, to do things with as his father had done with him or a daughter, a beautiful little princess, just like her sister, who would have him at her beck and call, playing her Daddy as Lily did, two girls that would argue like rabid wolves one moment but fight so valiantly for one another the next, just as his sisters did. Either one was something he would yearn for, the gender would never matter as much as its health did. He didn’t care what they had, so long as it was healthy. He did not plan this, and yes, Alexianna had been right in some respects, the timing was not as good as it could be. She would be ill on the run-up to her exams and the job timing was not perfect but they were able for this and knowing that come the end of it all, they would have their baby, it was worth it, he felt.

He knew Alexianna was wary of it all and he would hamper a fairly good guess why. Marie had conditioned her from youth to see pregnancy as a negative thing, nothing, to Marie, was worse than coming home pregnant, that she instilled in her, so of course, Alexianna could not help but think such thoughts on the matter. Then with Jonathan, she clearly did not want to have his child. She stated on many occasions her heartbreak when she realised she was pregnant, the fear she felt daily as a result of waiting to see what would happen, knowing the monster that was her husband behind the happy facade. His dismissal of her whilst and for her pregnancy. Giving out to her for being ill, tired and hormonal, three aspects of pregnancy that were practically non-negotiable side effects. All women suffered such during the ten months of gestation, yet Alexianna was expected not to by a man that did not care for her. Then after it all, when she was still in theatre, having just been through major abdominal surgery, he had managed to outdo his previous cruelty and leave her and the baby he forced into her without so much as a packet of nappies, adding the salt to the wound of calling her names because he didn’t like that fate had decided the sperm to fertilise the egg to be an X Chromosome one, leading to a little girl, the most incredible and amazing little girl he ever had the honour to meet. She was perfect; smart, sweet, funny, playful, loving, caring, kind, her list of good traits was endless. He knew she would be the best big sister, that come what may, she would love her brother or sister and no matter what, he would continue to show her how much he loved her. This baby would never replace her, it would not trump her, be more important than her, it was only adding to their little family and he knew that he needed to show her that when the time came to tell her. He knew it could not be too soon, mostly because forty weeks is a long time and Alexianna had already made it clear she wanted to get as far through it as possible before telling people, outside of the immediate family but even at that, she requested they wait a few more weeks before saying anything, she stated with Lily, she was too ill to deny her condition, so they would simply keep it under wraps until a better suited time. Lily, as is common with children, would not be able to contain her excitement and could easily tell everyone around her the news before they were ready, it was necessary to not tell her anything until the time was right. She asked regularly about it, to him more than her mother, as Alexianna dismissed it outright whilst he said “Not yet”. He also knew he had to show Alexianna that he was not Jonathan and this pregnancy was not a bad thing. He would make her see the joy she had referenced seeing other women have while she was pregnant before was the norm and make her feel as happy for this pregnancy. He would show her how it was meant to be.

He had watched for the rest of the day after they returned to the house to see if Alexianna was as confident with the decision as he hoped. She took her multivitamin and folic acid in the car and brought the vitamins to the room when they arrived back so that his mother would not find them. She ate well and most certainly did seem to be thinking of the baby, switching to decaf tea and ensuring to eat even healthier than she usually did. He could not understand how both forms of protection had failed, they were both so careful, but as he felt his hand gently brush over Alexianna’s currently flat stomach, he was glad they did.

“It’s not going to grow overnight.” Her voice was heavy with sleep. “Go back to sleep, Lily will wake us all early, trust me.”

“Sorry.” Tom pulled her to him. “Did I wake you?”

“No, the need to turn around did...My boobs hurt.” She curled in so she had her nose to his chest, noting his natural scent soothed her and made her want to rest more. “This won’t be fun.”

“I am here for you, all the way through.” He kissed her temple. “No matter what.”

“Nine months is a long time.”

“I am talking far longer than nine months, pregnancy I cannot help as much with but I will do what I can, after that, I will assist even more.” He kissed her head again and got comfortable, knowing that in a few hours time, their day would be more than a little busy.

*

“Daddy! Mommy! wake up!”

Tom smiled as he woke, seeing Lily rush to him and shaking him slightly. “What is it, Princess?”

“Santa came.”

“Lil’s, didn’t I tell you not to go downstairs without us?” Alexianna stretched as she spoke to her daughter.

“But, Mommy, Santa!”

“But Lily, sleep!” her mother jested. “That’s a grown-up’s Christmas present.”

Lily giggled. “That’s a boring Christmas present.” She jumped up onto the bed, right next to her mother.

Immediately, Tom felt himself go into a form of guarding mode he had never experienced before. He watched as Lily got excited and began to jump around. “Lily, relax a little sweetheart, mind Mummy.”

“Daddy, I want to play.” She jumped around again.

Tom rushed forward and caught her just as she came close to accidentally falling on Alexianna. “Lily, careful.” Lily looked at him, hurt at his scolding her. Tom wanted to tell her off more for risking hurting her mother but he stopped himself, reminding himself that Lily was entirely oblivious to the fact there was a reason to not play with her mother in a manner she had done before but he also reminded himself it was Christmas morning, of course, she was excited. “We cannot wind Mummy, alright? We need her to be okay.”

“Otherwise we have no breakfast.” Lily nodded sagely.

Tom and Alexianna stared at her silently for a few seconds before both began to laugh. “I know where I stand in this.” Alexianna scoffed. “Food bringer.”

“An integral role, really. Tom chuckled. “Come on, let’s get up and see what Santa brought.”

Tom and Alexianna got dressed as Lily rushed to the bathroom. “Tom?” He turned to face Alexianna. “Thank you for stopping her falling on me but…”

“I know, she doesn’t know.” He nodded. “If she did, you wouldn’t be allowed do anything.”

“She is small, excited and it is Christmas Day, so of course, she is not paying full attention.”

Tom thought for a moment. “Perhaps if we tell her you’re still feeling a bit off since yesterday, she will be less inclined to jump up at you.” He suggested as Alexianna stretched and groaned. “Are you okay?”

Alexianna realised at that moment that for the remainder of her pregnancy, and she suspected a considerable time after, Tom was going to be fretting. “I am fine, my breast hurt because my body is literally pouring hormones out at the rate of knots.”

Tom gently pulled her to him one-armed, making sure not to pull her into him so to not apply pressure to her breasts. “I wish it did not cause you to suffer so.”

“I know, but it is what it is. Now, come on before a certain nutter of a daughter of ours opens her presents without us.”

Smiling at Alexianna referencing Lily as “our” daughter and not simply hers, even with everything else, Tom pulled her to the door of the bedroom. On opening it, he was startled to see his sister walking down the hallway. “Did Lily wake you?” He asked.

Emma and Jack had planned to spend Christmas with his family, but as his niece was at his parents house and was currently covered in chicken pox, it was decided that he and Emma would not risk carrying the virus back on a plane with them for public health reasons, so the day before, Emma rang her mother who was elated to have them instead. “No, we woke…” Tom gave her a raised brow. “Okay yes, she woke us with talk of Santa, so we want to see what he got her too.” She smiled as she looked at her brother and her friend. “Is everything alright?” she noted the slightly grimacing face of Alexianna.

“Yes, I am still a bit off since yesterday.” Alexianna decided to go with Tom’s suggestion. “I feel a bit sick.”

“I am not really myself at the moment either.” Emma nodded in solidarity. “Come on, before Lily has an aneurysm waiting for us.”

Smiling, the adults descended the stairs to see Lily hopping up and down with excitement, the sitting room doors, the location of the presents so meticulously placed there the night before by her mother and an overexcited Tom, still closed as Diana presided over things, preventing the eager Lily from rushing in without her parents, Jack was to the side, boiling the kettle to make the teas for everyone.

“So, I think we should have some tea and breakfast first,” Alexianna stated nonchalantly as she walked to the kettle.

Lily’s face fell as she thought of the length of time adults took to drink hot beverages before she saw the smile on her mother’s face. “Mommy!” She giggled as her mother beamed back at her as Tom took her hand and walked towards the door.

“Ready?” She nodded before he opened it and looked at her face as she processed the scene in front of her. Her eyes lit up as she looked at the gifts waiting for her. She immediately rushed in with a high pitched squeak of joy, her focus going to the black stuffed toy which sat on top of the majority of the rest of her presents and cuddling it tightly to her chest. When she turned around again, she walked over to Tom and leant in against him. “Lil’s?” He asked.

“Thank you, Daddy.” Her voice was strained as she wept.

“What do you mean?” He leant down to look at her.

“I forgot to ask Santa for a Toothless teddy and it was too late to send a new letter, and you are the only grown-up I told and you said that if you saw a Toothless you would get him and now he’s here and I have him and I love him so much.” Tears cascaded down her cheeks at the joy of getting the stuffed toy, resulting in Tom pulling her to him and encasing her in his arms, feeling a swelling in his chest as he realised how much he adored the little girl in front of him more and more each day.

He smiled lovingly as she cuddled and kissed the dragon. “I am glad you like him, Princess but I think he would love to see what else you got.”

Nodding, Lily turned and looked at the other toys, cautiously opening the first one as she attempted to hold onto the dragon at the same time, which was considerably sized in her small arms. She tore the paper and smiled excitedly at the horse figurines from the movie she played ad nauseam, the golden horse she spent more time pretending to be than anything. The next item confused her. It was clearly clothing, so she opened it with a furrowed brow and looked at it. “Pants?”

“They’re jodhpurs.” Her mother explained. Lily had no idea what the word her mother just used meant. “They are horse-riding pants.” Lily looked at her mother in shock. “Uncle Dan, Daddy and I think it is time you stopped pretending to ride horses and actually take a few lessons. What do you think?”

“I...I get to ride a horse? A real horse, like Spirit?”

“A more real horse than Spirit. Though it would be more of a pony at your age, but Emma and I were not much older than you when we started and it’s time for you to begin to do a few after school activities and such, so this is the best one to start with, we know you have the interest.” She smiled as she explained it to her daughter.

For a time, Alexianna and Tom discussed Lily and the need for her to have interests outside of schooling. They discussed what classes would suit her as well as what would interest her most. She was lithe by nature but small, dance was an option but Alexianna had seen the negative aspects of it while she was in school, one of the girls she knew well had developed a severe eating disorder as a result of her dance teacher’s attitude. Tom thought drama to be a good fit on a few levels for Lily. She was animated and enthusiastic but it also boosted confidence, something everyone should have in his opinion. They were currently deciding on others to put forward to her as her options, not wanting to force her into anything, but they knew horse riding was a must and had made arrangements accordingly.

The presents continued to be opened, more than Lily had ever received before as Tom insisted in spoiling her. Nothing was overly extravagant but he did insist on getting her a few things of practical use as well as her main toys, such as puzzles, books and other such things, much to Lily’s joy.

Tom and Alexianna smiled as Lily began to play with her toys, making the horse figurines talk as she enacted one of her favourite scenes from the movie. Emma had gone to get her present to her mother, Jack was currently in the bathroom and Diana had gone to get a fresh cup of tea as they watched Lily play.

“Was it what you wanted, seeing her this morning?” Alexianna asked.

Tom smiled. “So much better than I had hoped.”

“Scary to think next year will be different.” Tom looked at her worriedly before Alexianna leant in and whispered to him. “There will be a small, unable to sit unaided baby to add to it.” She bit her lips together after she said it.

Tom’s mind raced forward to the following Christmas and the idea she had just put into his mind. He could not help but smile at the thought. What also caught his attention was how Alexianna spoke about it. It was not the same fear she seemed to have the day before, there was a slight apprehension, a worry in her voice, he could hear that, but the smile she gave, one of hope and dare he think it, of excitement that caused him to think she was embracing the pregnancy. He pulled her close to him and gave her a kiss, hoping to silently portray his joy at that, both worried that anyone would hear their news before they decided to share it.

Only a moment later, Emma reentered the room, a box in her hand and an excited look on her face. “Mum, I have something for you here.” A moment later, Diana entered the room and sat in her favourite chair. “It’s a weird present, but the note inside will explain it.” She passed the box to her mother and waited, Jack by her side. Diana opened the box curiously, noting the light weight of it before pulling apart the light paper within and looking at the small pair of shoes inside. Taking out the folded over piece of paper, Diana read it and felt her eyes fill with tears.

“What’s wrong Nana?” Lily asked worriedly, rushing over to her grandmother, concerned by her tears.

“Well, see this piece of paper?” Lily nodded. “It says, 'Dear Nana, I cannot wait to meet you but I have to wait another few months. I am due on the 13th of July but being half Hiddleston, I will most likely be late'.”

Lily listened to Diana’s words before frowning. “But...what does that mean?”

“It means that auntie Emma has a baby in her belly and that you will get a new cousin this summer,” Tom explained, giving his sister a huge smile. “Congratulations.” He walked over and hugged her before doing the same with Jack.

“I am getting a cousin?” Lily asked.

“Yes,” Emma smiled.

Lily spent another moment processing the words before jumping up and down in excitement. “This is the best Christmas ever, in the whole wide world!" Lily declared loudly. “Can I help with the baby when it gets here? I can get the nappies and the powder, I promise I won’t wake it, I'll be super quiet.”

Emma smiled and hugged Lily tightly. “I would love for you to help when we are all at Nana’s, but it will be very small.”

“Of course it will, it’s a baby.”

The manner in which Lily made her statement implied she thought that Emma should have been more aware of that fact and that she was informing the woman of something very obvious, causing the adults to laugh as Diana embraced her daughter and thanked her for the wonderful gift.

When Emma turned to Alexianna, the other woman smiled at her, knowingly. “You knew?” Emma looked at her in shock.

“I sort of figured it out last night,” Alexianna confessed.

“What gave it away?”

“A few things really, the biggest of which being you giving out to Jack that you had morning sickness for Christmas and him saying how going to his family was definitely a bad idea because of the risk to the baby.” She smiled.

Emma could only nod back. “I suppose that would give it away, yes.”

Alexianna embraced her friend. “I am so happy for you both.” Alexianna had been one of the very few people Emma had informed that she was actively trying to have a baby, for a year, she and Jack had no luck, she had even made an appointment with a fertility specialist regarding it.

“You’ll help me through this, won’t you?” Emma asked, fearful of all the terrifying stories that people seem to be obsessed with telling actively trying-to-be and expectant mothers, knowing her friend would not do the same.

“Every step of the way,” Alexianna swore.

[sophygurl]

Here is my list of unresolved questions/mysteries in The Raven Cycle, in no particular order:

What was produced at Monmouth Manufacturing?

Was Ashley spying in the Gangesy’s quest? If so, does she have a connection to one of the magical artifact hunters? If not, did she know about Declan’s magical dealings? She seemed smarter than she was letting on...

Why did Artemus disappear when Blue was born? Was he with the unmaker that whole time?

What is the joke that Ronan wrote on the rock in Cabeswater to signify to himself that it was him that wrote it? Also what was his joke that he made on the board in Latin class? Same joke??

Do the tree-lights in Cabeswater know that Blue is Artemus’s daughter? They only mention that they recognize her for being the psychic’s daughter, so do they know that she’s half-tree-light? Did any of them live through the unmaker’s slaughter? Does Blue have any other tree-light relatives in the world anywhere?

Blue and Gansey find Noah’s body somewhere that’s not directly on the ley line and nowhere near his Mustang, so did Whelk move the body? 

Why did Gansey’s mom think he wanted the Camaro?

Is the dreamer/greywarren stuff always genetic? Was one of Niall’s parents a dreamer?The Gray Man makes a comment about Niall also asking if he killed his father - what does this mean?? Was his father also a dreamer that was murdered for his power? What about Kavinsky? Were one of his parents dreamers? Another theory: Niall’s stories about when he and Ronan were born involve earthquakes. Do earthquakes happening on a ley line when someone is born cause them to be a dreamer, or does a dreamer being born cause an earthquake on a ley line? Cabeswater says “many thieves, one greywarren” - so only Ronan is a greywarren? Did Niall treat things the same way Kavinsky did, by stealing instead of creating and asking? How many other dream thieves are there out there?? Did Niall also use Cabeswater or did he have his own dream forest or did he not need one? When exactly did Ronan dream Cabeswater and what was it before he gave it shape and where were all the tree-lights when it wasn’t ... what it was?

What exactly is the reason Niall decided not to let his sons on the Barns after he died, until Ronan could figure out how to fudge the will? Why were Ronan’s powers treated as such a freaking mystery? Why wouldn’t he have trained his son in how to control and utilize that power, explain to him how it worked - instead of just telling him to never talk about it and then forcing Declan to run his business and never allow them to talk to one another about what was happening? Why did Aurora never bother to clue her sons in? I have so many questions about this! What about that devil creature he saw his dad with when he was a kid - was that Niall’s nightmare creature? Did Niall know Ronan saw that? It seems like Ronan knew/remembered/suspected some things and not others ... IDK ...

Also, like. How did they keep doctors and insurance people and such from questioning what was going on with Aurora after Niall died? Or all the cattle on the land? Like, someone must have been tasked with tending to that stuff, so WTF? And Declan was for sure sneaking onto the Barns to get dream objects to sell. What a hypocrite. 

Dream creatures are sort of PART of the dreamers, right? This is less creepy when thinking about Chainsaw or cattle. But Aurora was a part of Niall? Matthew was a part of Ronan?! How does that ... work?? 

That fucking Camaro wheel under the lake on the ley line that was hundreds of years old MIRITE?!?! And how is it related to the shield boss? They were both left behind? Calla talks about both Gansey and Glendower as people who reuse time, so ... uh ... the fuck?

Gansey DOES abandon his spare wheel at the airport to make room for Malory’s things - is that somehow connected??

What is with Gansey and sucking on those mint leaves anyway?

When Adam and Gansey are at that party and the lights go out and everyone hears that “Make way for the Raven King” stuff - wtf? Was that Cabeswater? Noah? Glendower? Someone else? Why that and then and there? Is the Gansey family mansion on a ley line??

Why does no one ever notice an entire fucking field of white Mistubishi’s with knives painted on the sides and odd fuck-ups in the design?!

Where was Ronan sleeping that Kavinsky saw him when he had his bad dream where he woke up all bloody? Just like ... in the street??

Why is Ronan paralyzed when he comes out of his dreams but Kavinsky isn’t?

What is the actual deal with Kavinsky’s family, speaking of? Like is his mom an addict or does he just drug her to keep her compliant? Does she know what he is? What happens to her after he dies? What about the whole story with his dad? Did he really kill him? Did he then copy him like he did Prokopenko?

Is Kavinsky’s creature also a night horror to him too? Or was it once? He seems able to control his, even though Ronan can feel the hate coming off it like he can with his own. Ronan’s creatures eventually stop hating him because he stops hating himself. Kavinsky clearly had a death wish, so how is he so comfortable controlling his creature?

Is Henrietta just kinda like Sunnydale and they all know something is a bit off and that’s why no one ever freaks out and calls, like, the FBI when actual fucking dragons start fighting in the sky?? (Also did the Gangsey have to bury Kavinsky’s creature that night to make sure no one found it?? What did the authorities think about Proko’s sleeping body??) Or like when Noah started throwing shit around in the counselor’s office - what did she think ... happened?? Or when there is water dripping off of a picture in the hospital waiting room - does ... does no one else see this stuff? NOT TO MENTION when there’s like a primal scream and an ancient beast appears in the street and then hordes of birds of all kinds start swooping about and flying cross country!??! 

So.... this whole three sleepers thing. The unmaker was the one NOT to wake. Gwen was Maybe the one to wake or Maybe the one in the middle or Maybe not even a sleeper since she was never fully put to sleep. Glendower was ... actually fucking dead so not a fucking sleeper at all? Adam thinks, symbolically, that he was the sleeper to be awoken, which is nifty, but prolly not what the ladies meant. Are there OTHER sleepers still?!? 

Okay. When Maura disappears, who becomes Blue’s legal guardian? I would think maybe Jimi, being her aunt? But it seems like Calla is the most responsible/parental one so perhaps Maura had already designated her as a guardian if something were to happen?? I’d love to know, honestly. I need so much more about this household,really. 

Was it one of the Fox Way psychics who came to sage the Greenmantle’s rental place? I wonder which one...

Is the sleeping that the dreamed creatures do when their dreamer dies somehow connected to the sleepers referenced on the ley line??

WHAT is the story behind the time Blue ran away and they had to call the police?!?! When did this happen?!? I need details!

Calla seems to recognize or sense something about Jesse when she meets him - what’s that about?

It seems like Gwen and Artemus, as tree-lights, can live a really long time and Gwen lived a long time not-really-asleep with no food or water or anything. Does this mean Blue will get to live a super long life? 

Can Persephone’s ghost come and go the way Noah’s does? Is that how she communicates with Adam? Why only him?

WHAT is the story behind when Jimi punched Calla??

Did anyone ever tell Declan that his mom got to be alive again for awhile in Cabeswater and how pissed was he that he never got to go and see her?

How does Gansey’s voice command thing work, and how is it/he connected to Glendower? I’ve got a LOT to work out about this one....

Which Laumonier is Piper’s dad? How did that all work? Did they all raise her as one? Does she even know which one is technically her dad? Why are they ... like that??

Who is the dead person in Calla’s life that Noah reminds her of when he’s doing the creepy 6:21 stuff? I want THAT story, too.

Are all of the Asian kids at Aglionby from Vancouver? Is that... a thing??

Here’s one: is Declan even Aurora’s kid or did Niall have him with a human person? I don’t know why I strongly suspect this so much, but I do.

How much does Matthew know about his weird-ass family? Any of it??

What is the story behind Blue dumping the stuff over the kid’s car at school? Also what’s behind the Not Your Bitch nickname the other kids have for her? Gods, tell me so much more about Blue being a badass trouble maker okay!

Also, omg, going back to the Lynch’s - so we talk about Chainsaw and Opal as being sort of part’s of Ronan’s psyche, right? So ... is that what Aurora is? Was she, like, Niall’s psychopomp??? That is so weird. 

When Blue has her tree-dream ... was she actually integrating into the tree?? Did she really take Gansey in there with her?!

The unmaker is a wasp. Gansey was killed by bees. Coincidence?! 

That woman who comes to the Barns in Opal’s story RIGHT?!?!? 

Also, gods, I have SO MANY QUESTIONS about Glendower and Artemus and Gwenllian and all of those folks. Why did the magic of putting Glendower to sleep not work? Or did it? Did it wear off? Did the kids just find another false grave and he’s still yet to be found? Did they just not do the right things to wake him? Will they come back to that? Did Artemus purposefully not put Gwen to sleep-sleep? If so that is seriously fucked up, dude. Why is Artemus so messed up after they find him again - so much lesser, I think, the narrative says? Is it because of having been down with the unmaker for so long? It feels like there’s more to it than that. Gwen seems simultaneously really ticked at her dad and really wanting for him to be found - what is their story? 

When the Fox Way ladies do their big reading at the start of TRK, they ask “does this mean she’s still alive?” - I’m guessing that’s about Neeve. And then “does this mean she’s leaving?” - probably Blue? And then “does this mean she’s coming back?” - could this be about Persephone? Is she gonna come back in some way PLEASE SAY YES, PLEASE SAY YES.

Also, omg, Persephone’s whole backstory is one giant mystery that I want uncovered. I mean - all of the lady’s stories are, really, but hers, especially. It’s said a few times how she never tells anyone anything about herself and they’re just not sure about anything about her, etc. She is so vague all the time and never answers questions about herself so ... yea, that means I wanna know everything.

I don’t know, folks. I have just so many other questions. Some are mundane things I just wanna know about the characters. Some are deep mysteries that there are probably clues to that I just have yet to piece together after my 20 re-reads thus far. Some are left hanging on purpose so we’ll have different theories and interpretations, probably. SOME ARE HOPEFULLY GONNA GET ANSWERED IN THE DREAMER TRILOGY?!?!? But this is long enough. Feel free to add to this or answer me if you think you’ve got one answered!

[myfandomrambles]

Iroh & Zuko: A study in change and healing.

Uncle Iron and Zuko’s relationship is one I find truly interesting. It shows an interesting look into how people can change, how people can help others, the nature of wisdom and addresses healthy relationships that can survive toxicity. 

So first change, this is obviously Zuko’s main character arch change and redemption, that’s been talked about ad nauseam, but Iroh also changed beforehand. We can infer he had a period of time that changed him the same way Zuko did over the course of the show. 

Iroh isn’t a magically better person, but one of the main reasons he can be a good force in Zuko’s life is his past change. Iroh always had a tendency towards knowledge and mastered the more spiritual part of Firebending. He also seemed to be more comfortable playing Pai Sho and tea than being a leader. I think his quest for knowledge and lack of political ambition allowed for the death of his son to be a moment that pushed him to end his military campaign and not challenges Ozai’s power grab. We also know somewhere around this time he joined the Order of The White Lotus connecting him to a force trying to bring back balance. Had he not dealt with the reckoning of the destruction of his own family and past, as well as work through tragedy he would not have been able to as effectively help Zuko. He understood the pain and trauma but he had learned acceptance. He was of course not perfect but having known the hate and found the peace he wasn’t leading Zuko blind. This means that not only can Ioh mentor him from a place of age, be fatherly after having lost his own child, but more than most people also have an inherent connection to the struggle being had. 

Iroh’s important role within the show is as a sage and mentor to primarily Zuko but others as well.  Iroh is calm, accepting, generally level headed and steadfast in his beliefs allowing him to be a guidepost and foil to Zuko’s own erraticism. He loves Zuko deeply and wants nothing more than for him to be able to heal and choose his own path but does challenge him as time goes on knowing if Zuko just lives in pain he can never move forward.

He gives education about the cultures, people and bending of the people they see. He tries to give Zuko the power to work through his own issues. This act is crucial even though Iroh knows Zuko can be a danger to himself and others he doesn’t try and totally strip his autonomy or leave him unable to defend himself. I think this is evident with Zhao in the first book and then the Zuko alone arc in book two. Allowing Zuko to fight for himself when possible, and fail when he has to allows learning and gives real power. This is reinforced when multiple times he tells Zuko that in the end he has to choose what he wants, chose his own destiny and honour. If he wanted Zuko to make good choices reinforcing the life of little choice they came from would have done more damage.

Iroh doesn’t leave him without backup ever either. He’s always there for Zuko either physically having his back in battle, talking to him or even trying to help their crew understand where Zuko is coming from. No one has really had his back since his mother left, and it’s debatable how much she was even capable of doing. Trying to help him understand he isn’t alone is so powerful. Someone just being there for you is one of the most healing things a person can have. And I think more than any of the actual lessons just giving unconditional love was one of the strongest legacies you can leave.

Iroh also modelled what he wanted Zuko to learn. Rather it is Firebending being able to take it with your head held up, letting down walls, enjoying the small things, or brewing the best tea. Iroh lived his ideas making it do as I say and as I do in almost all circumstances. This irked Zuko of course as it was periodically embarrassing for him but I think it was why everyone who met him respected him or at least liked him. Even when Iroh was a man of layers and did have a few secrets he wasn’t duplicitous. Being a model of what you want increases trust and can help it easier to actually learn new ways of being.

Iroh is an example of Wisdom and not just knowledge. I think this difference does matter. Iroh was, of course, a master Firebender knew much of history and culture and was at least a decent military man from the way others spoke of him, but his understanding of the intangible is what makes him powerful. He always knew to watch and learn, he invented multiple bending techniques because he let down the arrogance and took in other ideas. Being a member of the White Lotus he knew and respected the connection of all four elements. He was often a third party within the first book, during the siege of the north we see him chose not to fight really for or against the Fire Nation. He acts to protect the spirits, to keep the balance. He is not averse to using violence (even against his brother or niece) but has a respect for the life of all peoples. This kind of understanding and wisdom is more powerful than any spewing of facts. Because this plays into the level of acceptance he has, makes him a formidable foe and gives him an ability to convey complex ideas.

Trying to find your centre and accepting who you are is an act of connection to the world and yourself. He can help many people Toph, Aang and a street beggar can all listen and understand where he comes from. He can help Zuko through his metamorphosis moment because he understands the connection of identity, health and spirituality.  When you can bring a whole connection to someone it will always be stronger then listing facts or platitudes.

Zuko and Iroh have a relationship that is a blur of found family and blood ties. He is Zuko's biological uncle but they don’t seem to have been exceedingly close when Zuko was very young but after Iroh returned from war become closer. In the world of ancestors, destiny and bloodlines their relationship matters, but their connection was born from love, time, care, compassion, struggling, loss, fighting, and forgiveness. Neither the story or Iroh force Zuko to forgive Ozai or Azula. Iroh recognizes that his brother was abusive and horrible to his children, and recognizes that Aula can’t be left in power. Zuko chooses how he confronts both of these people, disavowing his father, and facing his sister with Katara. Their relationship comes out of this history of abuse and toxicity but is forged forward because of how much they have grown to care for each other in their own right and how much they grow. Iroh is Zuko’s real father in any important way and Zuko is as much his son as Lu Ten ever was.

Real World Techniques:

Through writing a mentor to someone who is clearly dealing with mental illness (C-PTSD, BPD) real-world psychological and coping strategies end up being employed in a strong connection.

-Radical acceptance. I skill taught in the framework of Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT). Iroh has learned to accept his past, and the loss he has shown. Iroh works hard to drag Zuko out of obsessive behaviour by trying to get him to accept that past happens, you can not fix that. Iroh himself embodies this behaviour. He doesn’t force non-action though, the acceptance makes you better able to manage future stress and build better lives.

-Meditation A common skill suggested across mental health and general health practice. He tries to instruct Zuko in this ability as one that is key to being able to properly Firebend and to reach in and use innate human power. This concept also connects people to the spirit world built into the mythology of the world.

-taking responsibility w/out victim blaming. Iroh knows Zuko’s backstory built him into this damaged person, but Iroh doesn’t allow him to hurt others through this. Iroh works to teach him to respect his crew, let down boundaries of pride and learn a new way of working in life. But there is never a time Iroh blames Zuko for the abuse he faced. Ozai’s treatment was never Zuko’s fault. They create an ability to simultaneously own your shit but not stew in self-hate

-We also see the structure we often see in productive de-radicalization programs. Zuko is exposed to the people he was taught to hate, facing the humanity and real-world effects of hate usually begin to break through narratives. Iroh lets him into his own point of view that connects all life, he learns the practice of living within balance instead of the belief system jammed into his brain, doesn’t let Zuko uses his past as reason for his behaviour, and acts and expects Zuko to let the humanity of The Earth Kingdom colour his view. The dissidence from his childhood beliefs and the new ones he can’t integrate into his life. This is crucial to his being able to learn the history of the fire nation, even describing the earth kingdom people favourably before his complete transformation.

Learning to use empathy across whole peoples is powerful to deprogram people, he is expected to verbally and through actions show contrition. Zuko is eventually able to connect to this over his indoctrination. The ability to come with humility and not expect the other side to forgive you. Often framed as seeking forgiveness from the people he does not deserve it from. This behaviour can work in reality and seeing played on screen is part of why this arc resonates across the media.

-Iroh helps Zuko find and construct meaning. The loss of a belief system Zuko experiences through his trauma leaves him in horrible confusion. Iroh helps him connect to his past giving a new lens to view the world from. He can’t do so from the position he held before having that structure built for him.

-I mentioned previously Iroh providing Zuko with a degree of control. Long term child abuse often creates either extreme self-reliance or sometimes learned helplessness. Offering both the ability to protect and control his life combined with having his back can combat both of these. Along with the deeply obsessive thought patterns around the avatar.

I truly belive their relationship is hugley important. Two characters who fit simple archetypes at the start are allowed to bloom into deeply strong and complex real feeling characters. Iroh is shown to be powerful, respected, incredibly kind and wise. We can all learn from him, and be shown a powerful love. Zuko’s own arch ahs been seen as groundbreaking for years but without Zuko we wouldn’t have had a person to guide and reflect this. Adding layers to the world and understanding ourslves. 

[Requested by nbj on AO3]