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cupcakemolotov · 3 years

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When Blood Calls for Blood

Hmm. This was supposed to be a mafia story for the AU Season that @klaroline-event is putting on, and instead descended into the depths of blood magic and werewolves, and some horror. Your guess is as good as mine as how that happened. Anyway. Hopefully this still works for Crime week. People ARE murdered.

Here you go. You can read it on A03 if you prefer.

Warnings: Blood Magic, Werewolves, Necromancy, death, some gore but not a lot, discussion about sex but no actual smut in this.

The brandy in her glass was excellent, but she hadn’t expected anything else. Klaus had come a long way from the boy next door with skinned knees and paint smeared fingers. That it’d been nearly a decade since she’d seen him hadn’t changed nearly as much as she’d have liked. Same tumbled curls, same dimples, same charm that lingered like a second skin over the sharper, harder parts of his smile. But now, his thinness had filled out into lean strength and he’d grown into the shape of his nose, the curve of his jaw.

Caroline hadn’t expected to like the look of him as much as she did after all this time. Had hoped some distance would dull the want that had once lingered between them. She also hadn’t anticipated the way his gaze could still trace against her skin with the same intensity of a touch, but now with a new, markedly adult male appreciation that hinted at all sorts of fun things. Dangerous things, thoughts she’d pushed away much easier with the naivete of a teenager than she was finding herself able to do as a grown woman.

Klaus had never been easy to ignore.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?” She asked once he’d leaned a hip against the desk next to him when she’d chosen not to sit. She didn’t know this man as well as she once had and she wasn’t prepared to be that vulnerable. Not yet. “We both know what you sent Elijah to tell me you wanted. I want to know why you think I should go along with it.”

A hint of a smile curved his lips. There was a strange sort of affection in his gaze which surprised her, in this childhood home of his, this house of horrors that had birthed monsters. She wished Enzo was there, to tell them if there were ghosts. If the rotting bones of Mikael beneath their feet still suffered.

“I’ve missed your directness, love. Most people are too afraid of me to try it.” His lashes lowered for a heartbeat, and his voice deepened. “And far too terrified to offer such blatant disapproval.”

Caroline gave him an unconcerned look. “I agreed to this meeting because we were once friends. Not because I bought into the spiel that Elijah was selling. I walked away from this kind of life, and I had very good reasons to do so. You know that.”

A flash of something wolf-yellow glimmered faintly at the edges of his gaze, but she didn’t flinch. Klaus was dangerous. So very, very dangerous. Here, in Mystic Falls where they’d both spent their childhoods, it was almost possible to forget the lessons Chicago and New York had already learned. But Caroline had learned to deal with Klaus and his caustic mix of power and temper years earlier. A little of the wolf wasn’t enough to warn her off.

Though it did intrigue her. Before, his control had been something held together by tenterhooks, his rage palpable. She had wondered if he’d buried it deep in his bones, left it to fester in muscle and marrow, but that glimmer told her he’d made a different choice.

She was glad.

“Blood calls to blood, love.” There was something in his voice, a note that was sharp and apologetic both. “And you are Bill Forbes daughter.”

Caroline wrinkled her nose at the reminder. “I’m going to need more brandy if that's the angle you're taking. Thankfully, he only provided half my genetics, and none of my looks.”

The hard line of his shoulders eased, her words answering some unspoken question. “I know.”

Her expression sharpened. She did not like that he was able to read her so well. “If you’re not going to get to the point, I will leave.”

His laugh was soft, and unexpected. And it did nothing to lessen her mad. Reaching up, he briefly rubbed his neck and when his gaze returned to hers. The blue was gone, awash with gold and wolf. Inexplicably, her own tension gave, if just a little. She might no longer know the man, but she understood the wolf.

“Elijah says you are well informed of my ongoings.”

She rolled her eyes. “As if that’s hard. A werewolf with the bad taste to be born to a witch, and who the poor manners of eating other witches is not, exactly, an unknown creature in the local gossip. Mystic Falls does so love it’s little horrors. It’s not like it’s hard to figure out where you’re going or where you’ve been.”

His dimples creased his cheeks. “That’s true. And yet, here you are.”

The implied threat was said teasingly. Caroline deliberately took a sip of her brandy. “If your wolf had wanted me dead, it would have made the attempt that when I was thirteen and tossed you three pine trees to save Enzo. If the man had wanted me dead, Elijah would never have sworn a binding saying this meeting was done in truce.” Her smile was sharp. “At least not knowingly. My magic is not kind when it comes to broken vows, and he hates me.”

His gaze narrowed at the blunt reminder, but his voice held no hint of anger. Just a hunting triumph. “I found Rebekah.”

And everything snapped into place. Setting her glass down, she stared at him. “And Elijah couldn't have led with that?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t…” Caroline stared at him for a long moment before tossing back her drink and moving towards one of the chairs. Ten years. It’d been ten years, and she understood everything those words meant. “Fine. I’ll bite. What is going on?”

To her surprise, he chose the chair next to her. His gaze holding hers, he deliberately tipped his knee lightly against her own. “Rebekah is in New Orleans.”

Her brows furrowed and her words were honest as she tried to ignore the feel of him against her. That sparking challenge in his eyes. “But you looked there years ago.”

That slow, thoughtful smile curled on his face again and she wished she hadn’t finished the brandy. “You have been tracking me.”

Caroline sighed and for the first time, looked away. She did not want to speak of the need to know he was still alive, to trust that he’d find some kind of reason after the death of his step-father. The wolf could have easily poisoned the man with its hate as the man could have destroyed the wolf with its rage.

“My father… the things he did.” Her words died and she shrugged. “I miss her too.”

They were survivors, her and Klaus. Enzo and Rebekah, though they were missing. Witchborn and powerful, they were the last remnants of bloodlines and blood feuds that should have never existed. Klaus, with his wolf and his rage. Enzo, with his affinity for the dead and his wicked sense of humor. Rebekah, the living embodiment of her mother’s hopes and wishes, but without the same darkness. And she? She was her father’s daughter, for all the Liz Forbes had done her best to temper it.

“Then you’ll help me.”

And that blatant satisfaction, the roughness of his wolf in his voice warned her that he thought he had won. She let her gaze return Klaus’ face, and the force of temper clashed against his. She did not like being boxed in. He needed to remember that. “Will I? What I owed you was a blood debt and that was paid in full. What my family did to yours was terrible, but what Esther did to my mother was also terrible. There are no debts between us, not anymore.”

Enzo might argue that point, but her wiley best friend had been missing nearly as long as Rebekah.

“You’ll help me,” Klaus repeated, unbothered by her irritation. Her temper, the surge of power that came with it, had always bothered him as little as his wolf had unnerved her. “And in turn, I will help you.”

“And what,” Caroline drawled, “do I need your help with? I’m perfectly capable of burying bodies on my own these days.” She wiggled her manicured fingers. “I don’t even have to break a nail to do it.”

That flicker of affection again, tempered by determination. He reached for an envelope that sat on the edge of his desk and handed it to her. “I’d have helped you regardless, but this might make things more comfortable between us.”

She snorted even as she opened the envelope to pull out a single sheet. “Things have never been particularly comfortable between us at all.”

Caroline ignored the deeply satisfied noise he made and looked at the picture. Enzo’s face, battered, bruised, stared up at her and she went motionless at the tangle of anger and fear that swept through her. “How…”

She’d looked.

“It took finding Rebekah.” A bitterness in his voice she understood. “And once I did, I knew where to look. The scattered pieces of our past are not easy things, love.”

Mute with rage, she glanced back at him.

“When the Witch Council attempted to end the feud between our families, they were not prepared for the realities of what that would mean.” His teeth gleamed behind his lips. “They were ill prepared for our families' hate, I imagine our cooperation never occurred to them.”

Caroline snorted. They should have been prepared for all of it. Feuding witches were no small thing. Though in her more charitable moments, she allowed that some things just could not have been foreseen. Not the fallout from Ester’s affair, not Bill’s jealousy, not Mikael’s malice.

Rebekah should have been safe. They should have all been safe. None of them had been.

“They should have done better.”

His smile held teeth. “Yes.”

It had been her and Enzo, who had held Mikael with their magic while Klaus had shifted to wolf to rip his step-father apart. Enzo, who had commanded the dead man to dig his own grave in the study Mikael had been so fond of. Later, Klaus had opened a bottle of expensive bourbon and they had gotten drunk listening to the sound of a shovel moving dirt.

It had taken hours to repair the foundation with magic.

Mystic Fall was full of so many nightmares.

Her gaze returned to the picture in her hands. And something turned cold and brittle in her chest. “That is the symbol of St. Augustine.”

“Yes.”

She stood then and paced toward the window. When she spoke, her words trembled with magic. Behind her, the desk shuddered. She hadn’t been this close to losing her temper since the day she walked into her home to find it smelling of blood and her mother’s death. Had found what she had been meant to see.

“The Augustine Society belongs to the Witch Council.” Her fists clenched. “And have Enzo.”

She knew the Augustine Society. The horrors the Witch Council offered them. She knew, because her father had also belonged to that society before blood madness had taken him. And they had possibly the greatest necromancer of her generation, trapped.

Fingertips brushed lightly down the bare nap of her neck. The touch was possessive, careful. An old trick, to anchor her. It made it no less personal. “So it is.”

Caroline closed her eyes. She hadn’t heard him move. “What did my father do, that you cannot claim your sister?”

“It’s a blood bind. I cannot break it.”

“No,” she murmured, letting the soft touches of his fingertips focus her. “You wouldn’t be able too.”

“But you can.” His words were lethal in their softness, coaxing in their delivery. “You're more powerful.”

“Flattery,” she said. Then she sighed. “But you’re not wrong. Still, the witches of New Orleans will never allow me into their city.”

They’d never allow Liz Forbes' daughter in their heart of power. The thought brought a faint smile to her lips. So strange, for a city to fear her mother’s blood.

Strange, but not unwise.

“I didn’t plan on asking permission.”

She turned to face him then, letting the window at her spine hold her weight and studied his face. Such arrogance, but not unwarranted. A full coven might face the nightmare he gave shape too with his bones, but perhaps not. Klaus had cut quite a swath through the witch families in the US.

His mother’s perfect monster.

“A blood bind will not be easy to break, not after so many years since it was cast.” She considered what it meant, how far gone her father had been in his madness. “I will likely need a sacrifice, and that is a magic I have sworn not to use lightly.”

“You won’t fall to the same madness.” The assurance in his voice was so, so arrogant. “I will not allow it.”

Caroline gave a bark of laughter. “You cannot know that, cannot expect to dictate such a thing.”

“But I can,” he disagreed. “I’ve seen your magic, Caroline. I’ve witnessed the price of it, the horror of it, and justice of it. Esther’s death was not easy. I know what you are.”

“Ester deserved more,” she said. “But we work with what we have. And I am no longer, sixteen, Klaus. What anchored me as a teenager will not work for the adult.”

Then it’d had been enough to cling to his wolf. To bury her face and hands in the thick pelt of his fur while she rode out the drowning horror, the unrelenting ecstasy of her magic, to let the sensation of fur on skin be the distraction from the siren call of endless power. The blood she wore on her skin.

She’d always liked his wolf.

Blood magic was dangerous. And witches who practiced it always, always lost themselves. Caroline’s father had been no exception. She would likely not be either. Thankfully, she wasn’t just her father’s daughter.

“And what,” Klaus asked lightly, eyes deepening to the blue of the man, something as dark as the working of her magic coloring his voice. “Do you need?”

Her nails dug into her palms and she lifted her chin. “What are you offering?”

Klaus’ head lowered until his nose nearly brushed hers, his mouth tantalizing close to hers. “Anything you want.”

Her teeth sank briefly into her lip and she sighed. “We both know how my father chose to feed his need and how well that worked for him.”

Satisfaction and a want so blatant and greedy on his face, she struggled to suck in her next breath. “Steven knew what he was doing when he agreed to join your father’s bed. He was aware of the risks. So am I.”

Her voice shook only a little when she spoke. “Rebekah’s temper is no small thing, Klaus. If she wakes up to me fucking her brother, I don’t think she’s going to be pleased.”

His hand lifted to curve along her jaw, thumb brushing tantalizing across her lips. “Elijah can secure Bekah, once she is free.”

And Elijah would just love that. “So you are planning on telling him you found her.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “Both he and Kol will be needed for this. Even if only a mirage, we must show the world where our loyalties lie.”

Caroline winced. “They still haven’t forgiven you for not kiling me, then.”

When Elijah had appeared at her home to request her presence for this meeting, she’d almost hoped.

“As they are not strong enough to oppose me, their opinions of your magic do not matter.” His jaw tightened. “From either side of your family.”

“Klaus…” She caught his hand. “They are not wrong. Blood magic is an abomination, not counting what my mother left me with her death. Killing me would likely make the world a better place.”

His eyes flared with his wolf, and his words were near violent with intensity. “I disagree. Am I too, not an abomination? You protested quite viciously when my mother attempted to do just that.”

His voice sounded the same as it always had, when he spoke of her murdering his mother. Delighted satisfaction with a hint of growl.

Caroline rolled her lip tightly between her teeth. This was what her mother had never understood. What Esther had miscalculated. This tugging in her chest, as she thought about a world without Klaus. The way he dared her with his eyes and his worlds to repeat herself, to suggest he would allow the world to exist without her. The thing that had left her walking away from him, uncertain what lengths she could allow herself to go to preserve it.

The boy who had painted her flowers and the man who understood the depth of what she could become, what she feared.

But he’d found Rebekah. Enzo.

“You understand that if I agree to this, it won’t end with rescuing Rebekah and Enzo,” she said slowly. Likely wouldn’t end with her willing to walk away from him a second time, and the bloody future that promised. “I’m not that forgiving. If the Augustine Society was part of this, if they supported my father? Enzo will want them dead and so will I.”

“Oh, sweetheart, as if I’d object.” His mouth curved. “But why stop there? Not when we both know the Witch Council had to be involved.”

So much destruction. So much blood. Carefully, she reached up with her free hand and traced the shape of his mouth while he went carefully motionless. “It would be helpful, if the sacrifice had a tie to Bekah.”

His lips pursed against her fingers for a moment before he moved just enough to respond. “The Salvatore’s are in New Orleans.”

And that terrible anger, that thirst she’d managed to choke into behaving for ten years unfurled in her chest. “What a coincidence.”

And Klaus, whose monster knew her own, just smiled. “Isn’t it just?”

“How are you planning on explaining my presence in New Orleans?”

Mischief, sudden and startling, crossed his face. “The witches can hardly object to my bringing a date to Mardi Grais. The same as I have done for the past four years, in fact.”

Caroline blinked, and tried not to think about the twist of jealousy in her gut. “I am not pretending to be in a relationship with you.”

“Who said anything about pretending?” His eyes laughed at her but his words were serious. “Shouldn’t you take a man to dinner before post ritual sex?”

She glowered at him, just to be contrary. “No.”

He shrugged, unperturbed.“We’re still sharing a room.”

She choked on a sudden laugh, at how easy and playful he made this. As they weren’t courting madness and the wrath of the council as they freed their family. As if everything was just a matter of them going out and conquering their enemies with his teeth and their magic.

Simple, really.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Caroline questioned. “This… this will change everything.”

Klaus lowered his head, pressing his forehead to hers and smiled, dimples bracketing a smile made of sin and blood lust that struck her in her chest. The smile of a predator well satisfied.

“Yes, I think it will.”

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction

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yelena-bellova · 4 years

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Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Seven: Stolen Moments

Series Masterlist

Plot: Good, bad, lighthearted, heavy. Laughter, tears, passion and fear. Battles are only a part of the war, but the lives of the people who fight are where the true stories lie.

Warnings: language, night terrors, anxiety, fluff, angst, suggestive activity, we do it all in this chapter...

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Here lies a collection of oneshots of our favorite pieces of rebel scum. Savor it because this is the last piece of lighthearted content you’ll be getting for a while...We’ve got one last chapter before we head into TROS...Enjoy! (Apologies to scrollers, I posted this from my mobile!)

————

“Black Leader to base.” “Base to Black Leader,” I said into my headset, “This is Commander Solo.” “Commander Solo? What are you doing on comms?” “Hello to you too,” I laughed softly, “I’m filling in.” It was the middle of the night, the only time where the base was fairly quiet. There were always people on duty but for the most part, there was rare silence in our corner of the jungle. The comms officer assigned to Poe for his mission had fallen ill so I immediately volunteered to take over. It wasn’t a difficult task, I never slept well when Poe was away anyways so at least I was being productive.

“Are we alone, Commander?”

“Yes, so stop calling me Commander,” I ordered, shifting in my uncomfortable seat, “You’re the one that likes that.” Poe chortled slightly, “I’ve never heard you complaining about it or anything that follows…” I was glad no one was around to see just how quickly my boyfriend could make me blush. The only reason I wasn’t indulging him was purely because of how tired I was. “It’s far too late for that kind of talk, Black Leader.” “Why’d you volunteer to take over? You sound exhausted.” I shrugged as I leaned back further in my chair, “I don’t sleep well when you’re gone.” “Still…” Poe trailed off, a loud yawn crackled through the headset, “Go to bed now, I’m gonna be landing in the next few minutes. Highly doubtful I’ll run into any trouble.” “I’m not ending this comm until I see your X-Wing on the ground,” I stated in a tone that left no room for argument, “If I left, it would end up being the time that Hugs and his armada of star destroyers would be waiting for you to come out of hyperspace and blow you out of the system.” “...Have you like thought this through or something? You came up with that scenario a little too fast…” I snickered to myself, “Just fly faster so I can stop missing you.” “You want me to fly faster than lightspeed?” “If anyone can do it, it’s you…”I smiled, fiddling with the cord of the headset that ran to the computer. “That sounds like an admission that I’m a better pilot than you are…”

“Where did you hear those words, Dameron? Cause I sure as hell didn’t saying them.” “Oh, you said enough,” Poe chuckled, “And you’re right on both counts.” I smiled lazily, “That’s right…” I hadn’t registered that my eyelids were beginning to shut, shaking myself awake I returned to the conversation, “Wait, what was my other count?” “I would break every principle of flying just to get home to you quicker.” A second blush heated my face as I let the sentiment seep into my veins. “You’re a charmer, Black Leader. Whoever your girlfriend is, she’s a lucky lady.”

“Trust me, I’m the one who’s lucky. She puts up with way too much shit from me.” “Something tells me that you’re worth it,” I said softly, unable to keep the lovestruck grin from my face.

I heard the distant sound of a ship and caught the long-awaited sight of Poe’s X-Wing coming onto the scanner. My body relaxed as I could finally sense Poe’s presence again. He was home.

“Permission to land, Solo?”

“Granted,” I lazily smiled, “Welcome home, Dameron.”

————

It was a stupid fight that we shouldn’t have been having.

Date nights were hard to come by, especially for people like us who were working constantly. But by some miracle, Poe and I had found a block of time one evening to have dinner together for longer than ten minutes. I’d set it up in our room, dimming the lights and arranging the table till it met my approval. I’d even changed out of my work clothes to the one pair of fatigues I owned. Everything was going to be perfect.

Till Poe didn’t show up.

I sat at the table with tears of anger pooling in my eyes, my gaze flicking between the door and the ever-changing clock. Just as my anger couldn’t possibly grow any further, the door slid open and in came Poe. Sweaty, stained with oil and curls completely out of place. Some of the new recruits had asked Poe to give them a few tips on their flying techniques and he’d gotten caught up in it. What started as discussion had climbed to practice dogfights above base.

Soft spoken anger quickly turned to raised voices until we were yelling at one another.

I accused him of caring more about the Resistance than about me.

He accused me of not placing enough importance on the war.

He could’ve reached me over the comms to tell me.

I could’ve not overreacted over missing one dinner.

I stormed out of the room.

He didn’t follow.

That was how I’d ended up on the Falcon. I didn’t want to shed tears in front of Poe, so I’d saved them for the privacy of my ship. I was all cried out as I sat silently in the captain’s chair, absentmindedly flipping a switch on the control board on and off. Poe and I didn’t fight often, not like this at least. So on the occasions it did happen, it wrecked both of us until someone conceded because they simply couldn’t take the separation any longer. I knew I’d been a little dramatic in my accusations, but I’d looked forward to the night for days. But that was only a piece of what was bothering me about the whole thing. I had operated purely from anger, the thing I’d been striving so hard to purge from me. It was reopening every fear I had about myself and my powers. I felt the resentment towards Poe swirling inside of me and there was a part of me that wanted to let it fester. It was eating me alive that despite all the training I was going through, I still didn’t have a handle on my emotions.

“Hey…” I turned around at the voice to see a sleep deprived Poe standing a cautious distance away from me. His hair was in further disarray, his eyes wearing dark bags from lack of rest and his gaze focused on the ground. I didn’t want to speak first, I was too afraid of what might fly out of my mouth. He hesitantly looked up at me and met my eyes, even after a fight he still looked at me with a softness in his stare. Unable to stay on the receiving end any longer without feeling worse, I turned back around in my seat. His footsteps moved closer until he came to sit next to me in the co-pilot’s chair. We sat in silence for a moment, readjusting to one another’s presence before voicing our thoughts.

Poe was the first one to speak, “I’m sorry, I was an asshole.” “No more so than me,” I said, still unable to look at him without feeling a thrum of anxiety run through my body.

“You were justified in your anger-“ Poe leaned forward and reached his hand out toward my knee.

“No,” I jerked my body away from his loving touch, “Poe, I’m not. I mean, yes, I’m mad at you but I didn’t even hear you out. The only reason you got your explanation in is because I ran out of breath berating you. Yes, I’m right to be upset but not to this extent…” Poe sighed and hung his head down, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He didn’t see me like this often, but the times he did hurt him almost as much as they hurt me.

“Y/n,” he said softly, “That was a pretty standard fight. I missed a date, you yelled and now we’re talking it through. Your reaction’s no different than anyone else’s.” “That’s the point,” I leaned on my knees and pinched the bridge of my nose, “I’m not supposed to be like everyone else. I’m a Jedi, I’m supposed to have a better grip on my emotions and not fly off the handle every time we have a fight.” “Y/n, Jedis are human too,” Poe challenged with a hint of a smile, “You don’t have to be as perfect as you think you need to be.” I rubbed my hands over my face nervously and scooted forward in my chair. Poe’s hands were already waiting to take hold of mine, the rough calloused tips of his fingers from years of flying stroking over my palms gently.

“I know you know you messed up, and I’m sorry for trying to make you feel worse about it,” I said quietly, sliding one of my hands up to hold the back of his neck, “I don’t think my expectations were realistic for what a relationship looks like in the middle of a war.” “I think we both are finding that out,” Poe agreed, stroking my knee with his free hand, “Sometimes I catch myself acting like I’m still single. I schedule my day without leaving any room for time with you and like tonight, I majorly screwed up.” Our lives were changing along with the war and we needed to find our middle ground. It required constant adjustment and work, but it was worth it. And we’d been through too much to let our relationship suffer at the hands of our own carelessness.

“So we try harder,” I suggested, running my fingers through a few runaway curls, “And we try to have a little more understanding towards one another. Our priority is each other but this fight,” I turned my gaze to the cockpit window, “It’s going to have to come before what we want sometimes.” I turned back to Poe who was watching me with a soft intensity that only he could possess. The hand I had on his neck pulled him down to lean our foreheads against one another. His warm palms slid up my legs to my sides, holding them loosly. We leaned into one another’s lips at the same time, moving together slowly and softly to make up for the harsh words spoken earlier in the evening. Even after we pulled away, Poe pressed several featherlight kisses to the corners of my lips. “I love you more than anything else,” Poe whispered, his hot breath hovering over my lips, “You know that right?” “I do,” I replied quietly, in no need to disturb the tender quiet we’d found, “And I don’t think I could love you any more than I already do.”

————

There was an unofficial day in the Resistance that had been going for quite a few years.

Prank Day.

One day where we played harmless practical jokes on one another. As long as it didn’t endanger anyone’s safety or get in the way of doing our jobs, anything was fair game. The higher ranking officers, including Mom, knew about it and had never made any effort to put a stop to it. Privately, Mom actually enjoyed seeing what people pulled off.

“Finn, I’m his girlfriend, I don’t know if I can go along with this,” I told my friend as we carried recently delivered cargo through base.

“Y/n, c’mon, you’re the only one who has access to the room,” Finn urged, “You don’t even have to do it, just conveniently leave your door open and if I happen to wander in…” My friend was trying his hardest to get me involved in whatever prank he had planned for Poe. He hadn’t even told me what it was, only that it was too good to not be a part of.

“If I say I’ll consider it, will you leave it alone?” I asked.

“Yes,” Finn adjusted the crate to carry it with one hand, pointing his finger at me, “But only if you actually consider it. I swear, you’ll love it…”

I didn’t actually consider it, Prank Day was the furthest thing from my mind. Between training and my duties as a commander, I had enough on my plate.

Until I woke up on said day unable to find my lightsaber.

Poe had left our room before I’d started my day so my only option was to comm him. It wasn’t until my fifth attempt at reaching him on the comms that he answered…

“Maybe you left it hanging around outside…” His cryptic answer resulted in me standing underneath Tantive IV craning my neck to stare at my lightsaber taped to the underside of the ship. How he had gotten it up there, I didn’t know and didn’t care. All I knew was payback was well and truly deserved.

“I’m in,” I plopped down next to Finn as he sat eating lunch in Rey’s corner of base, “What do you need from me?” Finn pumped his fist before filling me in on the details of the prank.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Rey asked, she’d had her head buried in one of the Jedi texts and had only heard a few words of Finn’s plan. Once he had explained it to both of us, she was practically snorting with laughter. “Oh, please let me witness this.” “I’ve got a little something extra to add to it, but I’m gonna need your help, Finn...” I said with a sly grin.

Later that day, I was sitting in my and Poe’s quarters awaiting his return. He waltzed through the door casually, a hint of smugness in his smile.

“How’s your day been?” he asked innocently.

“Nothing new to report,” I shrugged, “Still haven’t found my lightsaber though.” “I’m sure it’ll turn up,” he responded plainly, leaning down to kiss the top of my head, “I’m gonna shower then we can grab dinner. Finn and I were working on something earlier and he got some oil in my hair.” “Well, we all know how protective you are of your hair…” I sighed, earning myself a chuckle before he headed into the refresher.

As soon as I heard the sound of water, I bolted for the door. As I ran down the hall, I raised the comlink I’d been hiding in my hand. “He just got in,” I reported. “Copy that,” Finn replied, “On our way.”

I hurried toward the exit of the ship just as Finn and Rey sped in the opposite direction.

“Hurry,” Rey urged as we passed one another. “On it.” I bounded for the spot where Poe had taped my lightsaber, standing directly under it. It didn’t take much effort as I extended my hand and broke the “foolproof” seal, the weapon flying into my palm. As I sprinted back into the ship, I peeled off the tape until it was restored to its proper state. I made it back to the room with Finn and Rey already standing outside. I punched in the code quickly and the door flew open.

“He should be almost done,” I breathed, listening to the sounds of the sanisteamer still going.

After a moment, the noise stopped and was replaced with Poe humming some song to himself. The three of us waited with bated breath for the explosive reaction that was surely to come.

“What the hell?!”

We tried to stifle our giggles to no avail knowing what Poe was seeing right now. He flew out the door calling my name with a towel wrapped around his waist, only to be met by Finn, Rey and I laughing hysterically.

Poe’s hair was bright blue.

“Did you three do this?” he cried, still clutching the shampoo bottle in a hand and pointing to his head with the other. Our shrieks of laughter and nods were the only answer he received.

“I have a late meeting tonight and I have to go looking like this?” Poe asked, pulling on his damp curls to amplify his point. “I’ve always thought you looked good in blue,” I said as I tried to catch my breath, still clutching my stomach.

“You’ve always had the best hair in the Resistance, Poe,” Finn replied, gesturing to the blue mop in question, “Now you can wear that title with extra pride.” “I’m serious, guys,” Poe said frustratedly, “This comes out, right?” “Yes, it comes out,” I answered with another small laugh, “I’d help you wash it out but,” I held up my lightsaber casually, “I really need to get some practice time in.” Poe gave a sigh of defeat and took a step towards us, “Okay, that’s fair. It’s pretty good actually. How’d you pull it off?”

Finn took the reins, “I snuck Y/n the dye and she-“

We were interrupted by Poe squirting the remains of the blue shampoo on our heads. Finn, Rey and I shot down the hall and out of his range as he chased the three of us down the thankfully empty hall.

————

Supply closets, as I quickly found out, were not built for two people.

Poe had been away on a weeklong mission and had just returned. Making it back to our room to welcome him home properly wasn’t going to happen so he’d pulled me into the nearest room. Our lips were currently battling for dominance as our hands found purchase in the others clothing.

“I missed you,” Poe mumbled against my mouth.

“I missed you too,” I whispered in between kisses, “I hate when you’re gone this long.” “Yeah, but you gotta admit,” Poe breathed as he trailed his kisses across my face till he hit my jaw, “It makes our reunions all that sweeter.” My breathy laugh turned to a soft groan as his lips travelled down to my neck. My hands moved frantically against his flight suit, internally cursing whoever had made them so damn complicated to get off. All actions ceased as Poe began to suck a mark onto the delicate patch of skin, I threw one arm around his shoulders and reached a hand up to grip his hair. With each ministration of his mouth, a gentle moan escaped my lips that would encourage him to keep going.

“I’m gonna be wearing high collared shirts in a jungle for days thanks to you,” I breathed, still holding his head to the juncture between my neck and shoulder. “You want me to stop?” Poe teased against my skin, his voice low and husky. His hands had found their way under my shirt and were rubbing circles against my hips.

My hum of pleasure was all the invitation he needed to dive back in, pressing me back into the wall and aggressively attacking the skin again. I wrapped a leg around his back to push him further against me, needing to feel him as close as possible. I reached down blindly and found the zipper to his flight suit, tugging it down forcefully and slipping it off his shoulders.

Suddenly, the dark room flooded with light. Poe and I broke from each other to see a maintenance worker standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Uh, sorry, Commanders…” he sputtered, “I-I just came to get something but, uh, I’ll come back later.” Before I could protest and come up with an excuse for our suggestive position, he’d quickly shut the door in embarrassment. I threw my head back against the wall and groaned while Poe snickered to himself.

“You do realize the entire base is going to hear about this right?” I asked, unable to see him clearly in the darkness but picturing his smug smile.

“So?” Poe said, I felt him shrug his shoulders, “Every couple’s snuck off like this, trust me.”

Just as I began to push him off me, he tightened his grip on my waist and eased me back against the wall. One of his hands left my body and I heard a click of the door’s lock before the pressure returned. I felt his hot breath against my collarbone, pulling me back down into his orbit and surrendering to the sensation. “Gotta finish what we started, sweetheart…”

————

Mine and Poe’s schedules exhausted us enough that sleep almost always came easy to us. But sound slumber was a gift neither of us typically received.

I woke up to the sound of distressed moans and the absence of Poe’s arms wrapped around me. Sitting up and blinking my eyes in the darkness, I caught the silhouette of Poe from the soft light we kept turned on. He was rolled over onto his side, clutching the blankets in his fists and whimpering.

“Poe,” I whispered, shifting to kneel beside him and gently gripping his shoulder, “Baby, wake up.” “Mmphf,” he moaned, “No, no, get out.” “Poe, wake up,” I raised my voice slightly, “You’re having a nightmare, wake up.”

“No, get-get out of my head,” he breathed, his voice saturated with desperation, “Don’t hurt her.” I knew exactly what nightmare he was having.

“Baby, I’m okay,” I urged, shaking his shoulder with both hands, “Wake up.” His eyes flew open and he shot up in bed with a cry, I could make out the single tear trail down his cheek. Unfortunately, this was nothing new to me. Much like myself, Poe suffered from the same horrible dream night after night.

“Poe, you’re okay,” I said soothingly, running my hands down his arm, “It was a nightmare.” His chest rose and fell as he fought to catch his breath, he ran a hand over his face and sniffled. He turned to me and gripped both my wrists gently, looking me over to make sure I was real. “I’m okay,” I assured, turning my hand over to lace my fingers with his.

He breathlessly nodded, his eyes frantically searching my face for reassurance. “He was in my head, Y/n, he went in and the first thing he saw was you.” “I know, I know,” I hummed, pushing myself into his lap where he usually needed me on the bad nights, “But he didn’t get me. I’m here, he can’t hurt either of us.” As Poe’s racing thoughts slowed down and he processed what I was saying, he surged forward and collected me in his arms. His grip was tighter on nights like this, in his nightmare he faced the reality of some horrible fate befalling me. He needed more than my verbal reassurance, he needed to feel me to quell the lingering panic. Whether he needed to be held, to be kissed or to lose himself in me, I gave him whatever would return him to me fully. This particular night, all he needed was to be close. We fell asleep with Poe’s head resting on my chest as I soothingly ran my fingers through his curls.

The next night wasn’t any easier.

The thickness of the smoke had decreased since the last time I’d visited the familiar nightmare. Things were becoming clearer, metaphorically and literally.

I stood amidst the flames, finally able to make out where I was. After so many years, I should have been able to recognize the location. Perhaps I’d been in denial…

It was my uncle’s former training temple.

The wound I continuously tried so hard to close threatened to open up again. For once in the years of being plagued by the dream, I kept calm. Even at the sight of the location where through the cruelest circumstances, I’d been set on my path to become a Jedi, I held firm to my peace.

“Y/n,” a familiar voice called, I turned around to see a face I’d never seen before. Not in this form at least…

Obi-Wan.

He’d been the figure clothed in brown all these years.

He was so much younger, his white head of hair and beard a sandy shade of brown. His tan robes shorter than that ones I’d seen him in, but his dark brown cloak the exact same. Just like the soft expression on his face as our eyes met.

He’d been calling out to me this whole time.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, “You’re stronger than you know.” “Of what?” I asked as I walked with urgency towards him, “You’ve been saying that to me for years now and I still don’t know what it’s meant.” My grandfather’s gaze was no longer on me, but something behind me. I didn’t need to look to know exactly who stood firmly planted in my subconscious state, just as he did in my conscious.

“Don’t be afraid,” Ren said, his voice cool and balanced, so unlike him in reality. He spoke with a knowledgable authority that send a chill down my spine. “There’s more darkness in you than you know, just think of what you can do with it.” I was prepared to verbally strike him down and wield my Jedi status over him. I was ready to tell him he’d lost, till I turned to see bodies strewn across the ground. Soldiers. Resistance soldiers. Pilots. Maintenance workers. Strategists. Seemingly everyone that made up our band of rebels was strewn on the ground motionless. Worse…Taking one look at their wounds told me they had not died by blaster, but by lightsaber.

My hands trembled as they flew to cover my mouth, tears trailing down my cheeks as if they’d been waiting to fall. I was overcome. “Y/n,” my grandfather came to stand next to me, “Don’t listen to him. You know who you are.” Any other time I’d have listened to him. But at the sight of my comrades dead, I couldn’t be reasoned with. I fell to my knees with a shriek of horror, ignoring as Obi-Wan dropped alongside me and placed his hands on my shoulders. It didn’t matter how far I ran or how hard I tried, the fear I’d fought my entire life would always find me…

“Y/n, wake up. Sweetheart, you’re dreaming!” I startled awake with the same wet cheeks and thin layer of sweat across my brow that I’d gained in the nightmare. My chest heaved as I struggled to regain a normal breathing pattern. I turned onto my back and fell against Poe’s arm, he was caging me in and staring down at me. “You’re okay, it was just a dream,” he whispered, one of his hands coming to stroke a strand of hair out of my face.

I scrunched my eyes shut and nodded, trying to erase the image of so many good people dead at my hand. It wasn’t reality, I knew that, but it didn’t change the simple fact that my fear was. There was no escaping my mind.

“What do you need?” Poe asked softly.

“You.”

I gripped his biceps and pulled him down on top of me, our lips melting together blissfully. As hard as Poe would try if I asked, he couldn’t fix me. He couldn’t erase my anxieties, couldn’t go back in time and change my journey to where I’d ended up. But just him being there, willing to try and see me through the bad nights was enough. It was so much more than enough.

————

Cantina trips had always been something to look forward to. Shots and cocktails would flow freely and bring an immense amount of regret the next day, but we’d still repeat the cycle the next time around.

We never went in with the fear of possible death or capture.

Rey, Finn, Poe and I had been dispatched to Coruscant to a high end bar. We were supposed to meet an informant who had information on the First Order’s most recent weapon dealings. It was too good a chance to pass up, assuming he was even telling the truth.

“I feel ridiculous in this get-up,” Rey’s voice whispered in my ear through the hidden comms device.

“Be thankful you have pants at least,” I chuckled softly as I sipped my drink, sneaking a peek across the room at her table. She was dressed in the tightest leather pants I’d ever seen and a long sleeved top with a plunging neckline. A stark contrast from her usual beige and white Jedi robes. I had been sewn into a strapless dress that only covered what it absolutely had to, including my lightsaber. “But we’re all in agreement that I look great, right?” Poe chimed in, he was seated at the opposite end of the bar. He’d exchanged his worn leather jacket for a sleek new neon colored one, a sheer shirt and pants just as tight as Rey’s. We weren’t supposed to be acknowledging each other’s presence but I’d snuck a few quick glances at his ass.

“How’d you fit that ego through the door, Dameron?” Finn asked, he was nursing an ale near the entrance to the bar. His stylish jumpsuit, even with a few buttons undone, was the least revealing outfit out of the four of us.

“Just fine, thanks for the concern, buddy,” Poe replied dryly before clearing his throat, “We know what this guy looks like?” “Nope,” I said with my lips to my glass, “All we know is that he’ll be carrying a cane. Not a very common feature so he shouldn’t be hard to spot.”

“Excuse me?” a voice from behind me spoke up, I turned to see a groomed gentleman gesturing to the stool next to me, “Is this seat taken?” I scanned him quickly, no cane. “I’m sorry, but I’m waiting for someone.”

“A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be kept waiting,” the man said as he defiantly took the seat, “I pity whoever decided they had better things to do than have a drink with you.” I had to stop from laughing at the lines he was using, coming from the right guy would’ve made them sound smooth. But this one just came off sounding like a cocky asshole and not the kind that I had a penchant for. “Do I need to come over and kick that guy’s ass?” Poe’s voice rang in my earpiece.

“Trust me,” I smiled politely at the man, “Your pity would be better spent elsewhere.” He nodded and smirked, his eyes drinking in my exposed body so intensely that I started to squirm. My senses were telling me that he was bad news. “I haven’t seen you around here, what brings you to Coruscant?” “Business,” I replied evenly, trying to figure out how to get him to leave.

“Let me guess,” the guy rubbed his chin before snapping his fingers, “You’re a model.” “Something like that,” I said with a small smile that he wouldn’t understand, “My face is all over the galaxy.” “What a lucky galaxy,” he responded, I had to physically stop my face from scrunching into a cringe.

“What a charmer,” I chuckled before taking a final sip of my drink, “It’s been lovely chatting with you but I really am waiting on a friend.” The man held his hands up in surrender, “Hey, I understand. But you can’t blame a guy for taking a shot. Hope you have a fun night.” He stuck his hand out as he rose to his feet, I foolishly took it and shook it. As soon as we touched, he whipped out a blaster and pressed the barrel of it to my neck.

“Lovely to make your acquaintance, Miss Solo,” he smirked.

Other patrons were shrieking at the scene that had been started. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to get any better where we were concerned…

“Let her go!” Poe ordered, he’d made his way from across the bar in a flash and had his blaster aimed in record time.

“Guys, we’ve got stormtroopers headed our way,” Finn announced in our earpieces, “This is about to get ugly.” “Y/n has been made,” Rey reported, “It’s about to get uglier than you think.” “This is your lucky day, Miss Solo,” my wannabe assassin said cooly, “The Supreme Leader has been looking for you. He’ll be so happy to hear that we’ve found you.”

“Do me a favor and give him a message,” I smiled, my eyes flicking to Finn and Rey whose hands were ghosting over their hidden weapons. Poe gave me a nod to signal they were ready. “He’s going to have to try harder than this.” Poe used the butt of his blaster to hit the guy’s head, instantly knocking him out as he dropped to the ground. I unholstered my lightsaber from under my dress just as stormtroopers flooded through the bar’s doors. Rey launched herself off of her table and activated her saber while Finn was already shooting troopers down. Screams erupted from all around us and the innocent bystanders were taking cover underneath tables and behind the bar. Poe and Finn joined them in seeking cover but never stopped firing shots. Rey and I deflected the trooper’s attempts to take us down, some of their shots bouncing off our lightsabers and hitting them.

“Ready?” I raised my voice so she could hear me over the gunfire.

“Ready,” she replied, making her way to stand at my side.

We extended our hands at the same time and used our combined power to send the group of troops tumbling through the doorway and crashing through the glass windows.

“Everybody out,” Poe shouted, sliding back out from behind the bar with Finn. The customers listened and began flooding out both the back door of the building. The remaining stormtroopers were scrambling back to their feet to search for us, but we blended into the crowd easily. We pushed our way out into the chilly night air with the fearful people who were regretting their decision to go for a drink.

“That went well,” Rey breathed as we ran through the alleyway behind the bar. “Either the contact was lying the whole time or they got word of the meeting and killed him,” Poe theorized as we navigated our path with only the neon lighting of the building fronts as our guide.

“Chewie, get the ship ready to go,” I said into the comlink, receiving an agreeable roar in response. Luckily the bar was located on the edge of the main part of the city. The Falcon was too easily recognized to land in a hanger so Chewie had it parked on the outskirts of the city, anxiously awaiting our return.

As the Falcon came into sight, blaster fire flew past us. I spared a glance behind us to see a few stray stormtroopers chasing after us. Finn, who was an exceptional shot, took care of as many as he could and succeeded in protecting our group as we hurried aboard the ship.

“Finn and Rey on guns,” I directed as we sprinted down the hallway, “Chewie, I need you to keep an eye on the hyperdrive. It gave us trouble getting here. Poe, with me.” Poe and I dashed to the cockpit and settled into our seats, I gave him credit for not taking the pilot’s seat. He knew it was my ship thus, I was calling the shots. “How you feeling about this?” he asked as I lifted the ship off the ground and flew us above the city. He already knew what trouble we were going to be flying into.

“Considering the hyperdrive is on the fritz meaning lightspeed is a question mark and we’re almost definitely going to have First Order ships waiting for us,” I said, giving him a quick smile, “Never better.” I didn’t have time to see the smirk I know I’d earned as I maneuvered us out of the atmosphere where surprise surprise, there was a small fleet of TIE Fighter’s awaiting us.

“We’ve got company,” I reported into my headset, “I’m going in.” Poe adjusted the necessary controls as I flew headfirst into the center of the group of ships. They started firing, shaking the ship every few seconds when they actually managed to make a hit. There were six TIE’s that I now had following me in a neat line.

“If you swing around,” Rey said over the headset, “Finn and I can handle it from there.” “You read my mind,” I replied, hanging a sharp left so us and the line of ships were parallel. I watched as Finn and Rey perfectly executed the idea and took out four of the six.

“Chewie, how we looking?” Poe shouted to the back of the ship, a barrage of muffled wookie roars coming in reply, “I have no idea what he just said. “Not my fault you haven’t learned Wookie yet,” I said as I dodged what would’ve been a critical shot if I’d been a second late, “He said he thinks he’s almost done.” “Think?” The remaining two TIE’s had managed to get in front of us and were flying straight towards us. Instinct, and a bit of the signature Solo recklessness, took over my body and I flew faster toward them before turning the ship on its side.

“Guys, I’m gonna set you guys up,” I called to Finn and Rey first, “Chewie, you better hope that hyperdrive works. Poe, get ready to take us to lightspeed.” “When do you want me to do that?”

“You’ll know when,” I said before slipping between the two ships. Quick as I could, I turned the Falcon upside down and dove straight down. As the fighters turned and made the mistake of flying parallel to one another, I timed it perfectly and pulled back up while underneath them. Like we were functioning as one body, Finn and Rey took their shots and blew up the ships simultaneously seconds before Poe took his cue to successfully send us to lightspeed.

As soon as I’d set our course for Ajan Kloss, Poe and I sunk back into our seats. “Will you do something for me?” “Anything,” Poe replied, brushing his fingers against my hand.

“Will you admit that I could give you a run for your money at the title of ‘Best Pilot?”

Poe retracted his hand immediately and stood up, “Except that.”

I laughed out loud as he retreated from the cockpit, “I just saved your ass, Dameron.” “Thank you,” he called from the hallways, I snickered as I got up to follow him.

————

Days after the failed mission, I was settled in mine and Poe’s room buried in my data pad. It had been raining all day so Rey and I were excused from training which gave me a chance to catch up on my clerical work. Everything was as normal as normal could be.

I crossed the room to retrieve something.

I stopped in my tracks.

Someone was there, but not in the room.

In my mind.

Y/n.

The data pad fell from my hands, the glass screen shattering around my feet.

Ren.

————

A/N: Did you honestly think I was going to let this end on a happy note? 😂 We got angst for days coming up... Hope you enjoyed, let me know if you’d like to be tagged! ✨

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sailorgreywolf-legacy · 4 years

Text

The Morality of Conquest

This is for the fourth day of @historical-hetalia-week

Plot: The Netherlands finally reaches his limit listening to Spain’s accounts of the New World. He decides to confront him no matter the consequences.

Characters: Spain, the Netherlands, Mexico

Year: 1550s-ish

Content Warning: Mentions of death and violence.

Word Count: 1.9K

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

The Netherlands was aware that he was about to do something regrettable which would definitely get him consequences. He had been thinking about it for days.

If his sister was at court, she would tell him to never act on the thoughts that were plaguing him. She had to act as his restraint at times that he found Spain absolutely repugnant.

But she was in Brussels and he was in Madrid alone. As he sat in court listening to Spain boast about his new found wealth to any foreign delegate he could find.

He boasted like a poor man who had suddenly come into money. It seemed like he thought that his plunder made him a rich man with dignity, even though it did nothing more than make him seem like a brigand. A pious man should know the way that wealth corrupted the soul.

Even so, the Netherlands had held his tongue. He found the whole thing to be deeply distasteful, but picking a fight with Spain was a serious discussion. He had done nothing but sit there seething the night before when he had heard Spain offering to show an Austrian noble “the treasures of Montezuma.”

There were still marks on his palm from where he had clenched his fists hard enough to drive his nails into his own skin. He looked at them as he laid awake, and tried to make sense of his own rage.

It was infuriating to hear a man boast and brag about the gold he had gained by spilling rivers of blood. Spain had left a little boy an orphan, and he was talking as though it had been a marvelous adventure.

The Netherlands could clearly see little Mexica’s face in his mind’s eye, and it made him angrier. That boy was an innocent, and Spain had ripped his family from him cruelly. The only real kindness was that he was in Madrid far away from the continuing excesses and cruelties of the men that Spain let run rampant. That would be too much for a child as young and sweet for him to endure.

The Netherlands stared at the carved woodwork on the ceiling and tried to decide what to do. What he wanted most was to give Spain a piece of his mind. He wanted to tell him that no godly man should revel in such violence or greed. It was clear that Spain had fallen for the lure of gold and power, and was willing to bend every commandment to have it. He didn’t even seem bothered by the life he had taken.

The Netherlands tried to summon to mind his sister’s voice to mind to tell him to be cautious. She would remind him that no matter how much he disliked Spain, he was still their lord. It was a short step from criticism to rebellion, especially in Spain’s eyes.

But, as he watched the marks on his palms heal, he tried to decide if he would compromise his own soul by staying silent and complicit. It felt like he had to voice this anger for the sake of himself and his own morality.

He let out a sigh, and turned over onto his side. It was easy to say that he shouldn’t be rash and should think of the consequences, but it didn’t square with his own conscious. He decided that he would sleep on it and decide in the morning.

By the time he sat down for breakfast the Netherlands was no closer to a decision, but he had thought about the question through the whole restless night. Confronting Spain about his boasting was no easy thing, but it felt so wrong to bite his tongue and let it fester.

He sat at the table and stared moodily at the food. He was not the least bit hungry, though he had not eaten since the night before.

As he sat thinking, he heard a sweet voice say in slightly clumsy Spanish, “Good morning, Mr. Holland.”

He looked up to see that Mexica, rechristened New Spain, was sitting at the table next to him. He gave the Netherlands a broad smile, like he was truly happy to see him.

The Netherlands noticed that there was a gap in his teeth where one had fallen out. He looked like any other little boy, and a joyful one at that. If he did not know the bloody circumstances that brought Mexica to Spain, the Netherlands would think that he was a carefree little boy like any other. But he had read the report from de las Casas, and the images of carnage would not leave his mind.

If the child remembered anything of the horrors that Spain had unleashed on his people, then he hid it well. For his sake, the Netherlands hoped that Mexica had forgotten.

He replied, “Good morning, Alejandro.”

The little boy was struggling to peel an orange with his small hands, and as the Netherlands watched he bit his lip and looked very determined. He extended his hand to the boy and said, “Do you want me to help you with that?”

Mexica nodded and eagerly handed over the orange. The Netherlands was able to make short work of the peel with the help of a small knife. As he was working, he said, “What are you going to do today?”

For the briefest moment he felt like he might actually like children as Mexica smiled at him like he was doing something miraculous by peeling an orange. Mexica started to respond, “I was thinking-“

Spain's voice cut in harshly, “He will be busy with bible study and reviewing his Spanish. He has much to learn to learn about civilization, and I will not have him distracted by frivolity.”

Spain sat at the head of the table. The Netherlands watched as the smile disappeared from the boy’s face. The happiness was extinguished as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. He took the peeled orange back in silence.

The anger that the Netherlands was repressing flared to the surface again. Spain had left this child an orphan and all but kidnapped him from his home, and still felt like he had any ground to lecture anyone on what it meant to be a civilized man.

He curled both of his hands into fists, and grit his teeth. His decision was made, though he could not do it in front of little Mexica. He said, his jaw still tense, “Alejandro, please leave. I have something I have to say to Spain.”

The little boy looked confused, but did as he was told. He first looked at Spain and then left.

Then Spain turned to the Netherlands with a look that would have been a warning to a cautious man. He said, “What could you possibly want to say to me?”

His tone also should have been a warning, but the Netherlands was past caring. He had already weighed all the consequences and come to this conclusion anyway.

He said, as calmly as he could muster, “You should have some shame when you talk about the murder you committed.”

Spain’s green eyes flashed a dangerous rage, but he sounded carefully calm as he said, “And what murder is that?”

The Netherlands knew he had committed and there was no way to back out. He met Spain's eyes unflinchingly and said, “Alejandro’s mother. The Aztec empire. You killed her in cold blood, and you have the gall to boast about it.” Spain scoffed, but there was no mirth in his face, “You’re faulting me for killing an enemy in battle. You’ll have to condemn the whole continent.”

The Netherlands shook his head. He had heard Spain’s version, but it made no sense with everything else he had read about the wretched state of the natives. He countered, “A woman who was deathly ill and trying to protect her son. You killed her to have her gold.”

He could see from the way a vein started pounding in Spain’s forehead that he had touched a sensitive nerve. He surreptitiously took the knife that he had used to peel the orange and tucked it under the napkin in his lap. He didn’t think that Spain would attack him, but he couldn’t reckon with a brute.

Spain said, looking like it was taking every inch of his self control not to yell, “I gave her the chance to accept the true faith, and she refused. I did what I had to.”

The Netherlands stood and said, his own voice rising, “Are you God? Do you decide who is worthy of salvation?” He surreptitiously tucked the knife up his sleeve to have a little bit of insurance if Spain lost control of his temper.

He shook his head as he watched Spain’s face go pale with rage, and said, “No, you’re just a man like any of us.” Spain said shortly, “You will not speak blasphemy in my presence.”

The Netherlands could not care less about the warning. This was not the moment to air his grievances with the church, though he certainly did not accept their definition of heresy either.

Spain did not give him enough time to respond, because he also stood up and said, “I was given that land by the Pope, and I have his blessing to convert the people. He speaks for God.”

The other man laughed, but it was a scornful laugh, “Rodrigo Borgia gave you the right to do as you pleased. A less holy man never sat on Saint Peter’s throne. I’m sure you paid him well for the privilege.”

He had thought it for years, but finally saying the words to Spain’s face felt more cathartic than he had imagined. Spain looked momentarily speechless, though the rage would undoubtedly return.

The Netherlands stepped closer, perfectly aware that he had nearly a foot of height on the Spaniard. If this was going to be a fight, he wanted to be intimidating. He said, “I do not care that a corrupt Spanish Pope granted you the right to be a brigand. You should not boast about your blood soaked gold.”

Spain recovered from his initial shock and snarled back, “Everything that I have done I have done for the church. You will not insult my faith.”

The Netherlands was tired of Spain pretending to be a pious man. He was happy enough to sin and confess later. He loved the church as long as the church allowed his excesses. The Netherlands said, “And how much of your newfound wealth have you given to the church?”

He knew the answer already. Once Spain had secured his wealth he was not going to be parted with it. Like any poor man, he was clinging to money.

Spain stepped forward, clearly trying to assert his position as an empire. He said, “I do not have to justify my patronage of the church to you. If I hear another word of heresy from your lips, then the Inquisition will hear about it.”

That threat was enough to stop the Netherlands from saying anything else. There were consequences that he was willing to say, but the horrors of the Inquisition were a step too far.

He held his tongue, and he was certain that Spain saw it on his face. Spain said, capitalizing on the silence, “There are consequences for your words. You will leave court today, and you will not repeat anything that you just said.”

Spain looked far too smug in his victory and the Netherlands was not going to allow it. He replied, “Very well. I do not want to be here to see you parading your spoils anyway.”

As he turned to walk away, Spain said, “Watch your back, Johann. One more misstep and I will bring my entire army down on you.”

#historicalhetaliaweek #hhw day 4 #hws spain #cw death #cw violence #hws netherlands #hws mexico

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

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Somehow!adopted by a true mandalorian before Galidraan/korda six Obiwan.. so like raised mandalorian Obiwan with Jango/Jaster leading Mandalore

(mmmmf okay I love this sort of au and i tried my best to make it as different as possible from stories that already exist (specifically @atelier-dayz's WiP Ben'bajur) and I've thrown in some good women Mandos because they deserve to be written more. some stuff in timeline has been moved around and you get trans Obi just for funsies *kissu* i make several references to this post’s discussion of mental and physical illness in Mando culture. i um. spent a lot of time thinking about what colour Obi’s beskar’gam would be. i have a lot of feelings about it. **Ruusaan Kryze’s name and fancast/design belong to @amillionstarsandyouchoosethisone from this, thank you so much for letting me use them!)

Jango had not mentally prepared himself to see Obi-Wan again, though to be fair, he hadn’t known he needed to.

The last time he’d seen Ruusaan’s foundling, Obi-Wan had been sixteen and wiry and spitfire in all the wrong ways, with half-complete beskar’gam and a chip on his shoulder a planet-wide. If he remembers correctly, Obi-Wan had called him an arrogant laserbrain with a junk blaster, and Jango had almost challenged him to an honor duel. But when Jango finally makes his way back to Mandalore after seven— Wait, no, eight years?— abroad as a supercommando, both Ruusaan and Obi-Wan are at Jaster's war table, bent over a holomap of the system and talking calmly as you please.

And Obi-Wan is in full beskar'gam, plating painted entirely silver except the yellow clan crest on his left pectoral, and the yellow Mando'a 'ures haal', breathless, lettered on his ghet'bur above his collarbone. He looks up as Jango enters and blinks in surprise, straightening to reveal his helmet under his arm, also silver except the rises of the cheeks.

Ruusaan breaks into a smile, and for all the trouble Obi-Wan had caused when younger, Jango can’t imagine his childhood without the former Kryze and all she had done for the Haat Mando’ade at the Battle of Galidraan. She’s been following Jaster since she was old enough to denounce her clan, an honorary Mereel even if she thinks herself unworthy of such a connection to her Mand’alor; Jango wonders if she had finally decided on a clan name, if both her and Obi-Wan are painted with a new crest.

For all the loving buir Jaster is, he doesn’t drag things out, and after a quick hug, he pulls Jango into their discussion of relief aid to Concordia after the latest Death Watch insurgence as if Jango had never left. Ruusaan quickly picks up their easy friendship, closer to siblings than superior and subordinate, but Jango absolutely does not know what to do with Obi-Wan’s new calm cadence, the confidence and knowledge that he’s picked up in Jango’s absence.

He’s surprisingly been running relief missions for Jaster for the last five years, when he isn’t busy taking commando missions with Ruusaan. Obi-Wan gets flustered when his buir mentions this, and Jango wonders what in Sith Hells had happened while he was gone to make Obi-Wan settle down so much from his youth.

His newly-flat chest probably has something to do with it.

Perhaps it isn’t surprising, then, that Obi-Wan somehow wrangles Jango onto the squad of commandos headed for Concordia, Ruusaan smirking in delight as Jango resigns himself to suffering for the next tenday at least. Obi-Wan just claps him on the shoulder before disappearing into the halls of Jaster’s estate, and something in Jango aches at just how much of his armour is silver, at the sort of intention that went into an almost monochrome set of beskar’gam. Perhaps not much had actually changed, then.

He should have known any mission to Concordia would go to kriffing hell, especially with Duke Kryze ramping up his antagonism of Death Watch like it won’t be the Haat Mando’ade that pay the price.

What should have been a simple drop-off of medical supplies to a few refugee groups turns into a firefight with Kyr’tsad, Ruusaan missing her thigh guards and Jango down a blaster, and all three of them ducking into the first empty ship in the guest hangar in hopes of losing their tail.

Ruusaan slams the button for the door, Jango aiming his remaining blaster at the catwalk until they’re safely ensconced in the dark of some other Mando’s ship, straining their ears for the sound of anyone still following them. Pulling off her helmet, Ruusaan checks the lifesign reader she keeps in her gauntlet, and then grumbles something about interference that doesn’t fill Jango with confidence. He pulls up his comm to try and contact the nearest Haat Mando’ad, but doesn’t get the chance before a wet wheeze rattles the silence of the cargo bay and Ruusaan whips around with a horrified,

“Obi-Wan.”

She rushes to Obi-Wan’s side, where he leans one hand onto the nearest wall in an effort to keep upright, and oh, Jango had forgotten just how harrowing this was.

Ruusaan removes Obi-Wan’s helmet with practiced ease, setting it aside to pull a rag from one of his belt pouches, holding it to his bleeding nose as she tilts his head forward. Kriff, but Jango hasn’t seen Ruusaan need to use the Force on her foundling since Obi-Wan was a kid, though he knows it must have happened more often behind closed doors. The years since he’s had to stand by and watch Ruusaan restart Obi-Wan’s lungs has only made it that much harder to stomach.

Only Jaster knows the whole story of how Obi-Wan had ended up with Ruusaan, just what infection had festered in his lungs before she found him that had ruined him for the rest of his life. Jango has heard rumours that he had been on Melida/Daan during the civil war, that Ruusaan had taken a job from the Young and left with a sick foundling, that his system had been so damaged that he can’t handle a transplant. And Jango’s seen it before, Obi-Wan’s lungs suddenly failing and scaring the osik out of every Mando present, even if they had made note of the marker on his collar.

By some sort of Force miracle, Obi-Wan had been found by one of the only Force-sensitive Mando’ade that Jango has ever heard of, with just enough power to force her ad’s respiratory system back to rights, almost as if she had been meant to find him.

Obi-Wan coughs as Ruusaan presses one hand to the front of his chest, the other between his shoulder blades; Jango feels almost dizzy with something that feels too close to worry, the hair on his neck standing up at the swell of the Force in the tiny cargo bay.

“K’atini,” Ruusaan whispers, pressing her forehead to Obi-Wan’s temple with a touch of desperation. “K’atini, ad’ika, breathe.” A beat of tense quiet, but then—

“K’atini,” Obi-Wan wheezes back, and Jango lets out the breath he’d been holding. Ruusan laughs wetly, pulling back just enough to finish wiping under his nose, and brushes his hair back with her free hand; Jango feels a ping of jealousy, but forces it to the background, at least until they can get back to Mandalore.

“We need to get back to the ship,” Ruusaan says to Jango, all while Obi-Wan won’t meet his eye. “He’ll be fine for a while, but I can’t give him what oxygen he’s lost.”

Now this, this Jango can do. He can step up and lead, protect those that are his aliit in everything but name, because this is action, and not just standing there watching someone’s body give up on them. “You good to run?” Jango asks on external comm, Obi-Wan looking to his buir before giving a short nod. Ruusaan purses her lips, but nods as well and stoops to pick up her helmet.

“Not for long,” she warns, giving Obi-Wan his own before setting her hand back between his shoulderblades. “But the Force is telling me there’s no one outside; we move now.”

Jango trusts Obi-Wan to Ruusaan and swiftly leads the way back into the hangar, taking them through two halls and across a catwalk to get to their own ship’s berth; Obi-Wan punches in the key for the door, and lets Jango pull him up into the ship without complaint. Ruusaan is the best pilot out of the three of them, but Jango climbs into the cockpit to start the pre-flight sequence so she can get Obi-Wan set up in the single-bed medbay, because kriff if Jango would know where to start.

Ruusaan joins him in the cockpit just before take off, some of Duke Kryze leaking through in her stony expression as she drops into the open seat. “Jango,” she says, surprisingly calm for the situation, “please go make sure my utreekov of an ad doesn’t leave the medbay.”

Technically Ruusaan has been Haat Mando’ade longer than Jango, but she isn’t that much older than him, and he’s the son of the Mand’alor, so she shouldn’t be able to order him around like one of her foundlings. But Jango is also a warrior, and he knows when to pick his battles, so he simply nods and lets her get them out of the hangar.

The medbay is little bigger than a closet, and like most, there's just enough equipment for emergencies, but Ruusaan and Obi-Wan had retrofitted theirs to include a proper ventilator and oxygen tank, as well as a bacta vaporizer Jango has never seen outside of high end Kaledevan hospitals. Luckily Obi-Wan seems resigned to his fate, propped up in the little alcove bed and holding an oxygen mask over his face. He glances up, but only gives Jango a nod and an apologetic smile.

“How often does that happen?” Jango musters the courage to ask, leaning on the doorjamb. Obi-Wan laughs tiredly, his mask fogging as he thumps his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.

“Not as much as before,” he says vaguely, his voice still a rasp. “The surgery helped.”

If he’s still dealing with kriffing dying on a monthly basis, Jango is thoroughly impressed he’s been able to serve so close to Jaster for so long, and kriff knows Jaster isn’t soft, so Jango knows whatever space Obi-Wan occupies with the Mand'alor is earned, no matter who his buir is. It seems Jango’s missed quite a lot, off exploring the stars.

Obi-Wan gets a little smile, then, dropping his hand but not opening his eyes. “If I recall... the last time we spoke alone like this—”

“You called me a laserbrain and told me my blaster was sub-par.”

He barks out a laugh that’s more like a cough, trying to work off his chest- and backplate; Jango watches him struggle for all of a moment before sighing and pushing the rest of the way into the room to help. Obi-Wan smiles all young and stupid up at him, and from this close, it lodges something in Jango’s throat.

Breathless, indeed.

Mando’a: beskar’gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy ures haal — breathless, lit. "without breath" ghet'bur — the collar piece of the chest plate on some beskar'gam, sitting over the shoulders and below the throat. a form of gorget. Haat Mando’ade — lit. “true children of Mandalore”, True Mandalorians buir — “parent”, gender neutral Kyr’tsad — Death Watch osik — impolite form of “dung”, shit ad — “child”, gender neutral ’ika — diminutive suffix, similar to the suffix “ita/o” in Spanish. generally used only by close family and friends utreekov — idiot, fool, lit. "empty head" K'atini — “it is only pain”, used in the context of “get up. Keep going. You can and you will survive this.” aliit — family, clan

(beskar’gam colour meanings here; Obi’s silver means seeking redemption, and yellow is for remembrance)

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wiseabsol · 4 years

Text

WA Reviews “Dominion” by Aurelia le, Chapter 15: Lost

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6383825/15/Dominion

Summary: For the Fire Nation royal siblings, love has always warred with hate. But neither the outward accomplishment of peace nor Azula’s defeat have brought the respite Zuko expected. Will his sister’s plans answer this, or only destroy them both?

Content Warnings: This story contains discussions and depictions of child abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and incest. This story also explores the idea that Zuko’s redemption arc (and his unlearning of abuse) is not as complete as the show suggested, and that Azula is not a sociopath (with the story having a lot of sympathy for her). If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, I would strongly recommend steering clear of this story and my reviews of it.

Note: Because these were originally posted as chapter reviews/commentaries, I will often be talking to the author in them (though sometimes I will also snarkily address the characters). While I’ve also tried not to spoil later events in the story in these reviews, I would strongly recommend reading through chapter 28 before reading these, just to be safe.

Now on to chapter 15!

CHAPTER 15: LOST

Alright, I’m a little late on this one, so let’s just dive into the ugly sadness of “Chapter 15: Lost,” shall we?

The A/N mentions that Toph, Suki, and Sokka will be back in five or six chapters, and a part of me can’t help but think, “Good, you three are distracting us from the Surround Sound Stereo Angst for the Royal Fire Family.” Joking aside, I am looking forward to Toph’s character development later on, because even though I know some of what is going to happen in future chapters of “Dominion,” I legitimately don’t think that Aurelia and I have discussed Toph’s arc yet. It’s a blind spot for me, but I’m okay with that, since I want to have some surprises in the wings, rather than just enjoying how X and Y parts are executed. Both ways of reading this story are fun, but the former is more enjoyable for reader in me, rather than the editor.

If the outline mentioned in chapter fifteen is still accurate, then that means that we have seven chapters left of “Dominion” at present, before we move on to “Thrones.” That number might be off, though, because Aurelia tends to be more verbose than she expects and has to split the chapters into multiple parts.

On to the chapter itself. Ty Lee and Mai are meeting in a sitting room. Ty Lee is nervous and Mai wonders if Ty Lee thinks that she’s mad at her, but Ty Lee hastens to reassure her. Mai’s aura indicates that she’s anxious and struggling to maintain control during this conversation. Mai is upset about “Zuko’s mistake,” but she doesn’t blame Ty Lee for it—she knows who to blame (Azula, probably, but maybe both her and Zuko). Mai doesn’t think that it was a bad idea for Zuko to team up with June, because the bounty hunter will track Azula down in short order and have her back in custody.

Ty Lee is not enthused about this idea. Despite knowing that Mai isn’t going to like it, she tells Mai that Azula shouldn’t be put back into the asylum. As trash of a human being as J. K. Rowling is, I can’t help but think of the quote, “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends.” Ty Lee, you are the overlooked and unsung hero of this story. There should be shrines in your honor.

Mai never likes it when Ty Lee brings up Azula, and usually deflects the conversation. Ty Lee also sees Mai less than she sees Azula, so they don’t get much of a chance to talk anyway. “Ty Lee still felt a little guilty about that, but Mai was always so busy, and Mai and Zuko would never even talk about Azula when she was the one who brought them all together in the first place….”

A few things here. Ty Lee and Mai are maybe a little like Ty Lee and Zuko, in that they call each other friends, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is putting in the effort to be friends. Mai could be making more time for Ty Lee. Mai could be trying to empathize with Ty Lee over the Azula issue. At the same time, I think Mai has been trying to set a boundary with Ty Lee about Azula, but either Mai hasn’t made it clear enough to Ty Lee that this is a boundary, or Ty Lee isn’t able to respect it because Azula is so important to her. It seems like there are competing needs at work here, and the feelings on both sides are valid.

At the same time, this situation has been festering for years. It’s clear that Mai has never been at peace with her feelings towards Azula, and that this is hurting her as much as it’s going to hurt Azula. I think Mai’s hatred for Azula is founded on the love she once had for her. While a large part of her might think that Azula deserved her fate, and even found it satisfying to see Azula brought low, there might also be a small part of her that wonders if that fall was partially her fault (it was, since Mai accidentally slammed down on Azula’s triggers), and feels guilty for it and for feeling that satisfaction. Also, from the way she’s been behaving, Mai might very well have been just as toxic and false a friend to Azula as she accuses Azula of being to her. She didn’t communicate her needs or desires to Azula, but instead let herself boil alive with resentment. She might blame Azula for how things went down, but she’s ignoring the role she played in it.

As the conversation continues, Ty Lee dances around why it would be bad to send Azula back to the asylum (because Azula is pregnant), and Mai says, “‘She tell you they abused her? And here I thought it was her dad.’”

Which brings another layer into this. I’m going to discuss this in more detail later, but Mai has now been confronted with the idea that Azula was an abused child—just as abused as Zuko was. And besides this recontextualizing Azula’s behavior, now Mai is left to wonder, “How did I never notice?” I think there’s a tiny part of her, one that she denies, that is appalled over what happened to Azula.

Ty Lee, who loves Azula whole-heartedly, is HORRIFIED by this revelation. She feels like the ground is “rushing up to hit her” and remembers how Ozai treated her, the last night she spent in the castle as a kid. And then she…well: “But Azula was so strong, she wouldn’t let anyone do that to her, would she? At least she would have told Ty Lee, they were best friends!” Oh Ty Lee, honey. That’s not how abuse works. Azula wouldn’t have told anyone, both because she was ordered not to by her abuser, but also because that would have meant being vulnerable around someone else. Does that sound like something Azula would do?

Mai says that Azula must have been lying about the abuse, but the thing is, Azula didn’t tell Mai about it. Zuko did. And even Mai doesn’t really believe it is a lie, if Ty Lee’s aura-reading is accurate. Mai’s just trying really hard to believe in her own lie. Mai argues that Ty Lee only ever sees the good in people—which isn’t true, since Ty Lee can see the flaws in people, but is more forgiving of them than the other characters are (except for Aang). Mai wonders if Ty Lee has convinced herself that there’s goodness in Azula where there is none.

And that’s…a lot. Because there’s a mix of good and bad in everyone. Some people lean more towards one end of the spectrum than the other, but if you look hard enough, you’ll always find something that humanizes even the most saintly or heinous of people. My stepmother, who was emotionally and psychologically abusive, wasn’t pure evil. She made my father happy. She was fiercely protective of those she loved. She made the best oatmeal cookies in the world and shared my passion for sappy romances. I’ve progressed enough in my healing that I can see these things, and see her as a troubled person who made mistakes and never got the help she needed. But Mai…she hasn’t healed the way I have. She hasn’t forgiven Azula. She might never be able to do that, either, given recent events (and she doesn’t have to—that’s her choice to make). And as long as that’s the case, it’s so much easier for her to demonize Azula, because if Azula is a demon, then Mai doesn’t have to grapple with the messy reality of Azula as a person, or grapple with how Ozai’s, Zuko’s, and Mai’s own choices damaged her.

Then we get this passage, which I’m going to quote in full, because it’s a slap in the face to absolutist thinking where Azula is concerned:

“‘I know she did some bad things, some awful things even, but that was four years ago and she was just a kid! We all were!’ [Ty Lee] argued [ . . . ] ‘And most of that stuff she did on her dad’s orders, and who knows what he would’ve done if she refused—’

‘Oh yes, poor helpless little victim,’ Mai interrupted coldly, rising to her feet with more grace than Ty Lee. ‘It’s not like she ever had a choice.’

‘She had a choice, but this stuff makes a difference, Mai!’ Ty Lee insisted, desperate to make her see it. ‘It makes a difference how we judge what she did! And we know now she was crazy!’ Ty Lee seized on the horrible truth with more enthusiasm than she would ever have guessed, spreading her hands to offer explanation. ‘Doesn’t that make a difference to you?’”

Context. Matters. It matters so much when you’re judging someone’s behavior. If someone is under duress, or isn’t fully in their right mind, or if they have no good choices, can we really blame them from making bad ones? And in Azula’s case, she was a child. Should she really have been written off by anyone, let alone our heroes?

Mai doesn’t believe that Azula was mentally ill, though. That was just a part of Azula’s scheme, you see. Ty Lee is rightly appalled by this. “‘Even if—you thought she just made it up—to avoid prison or something,’ she grasped at the logic only loosely, because it was disgusting, ‘you can’t deny what it did to her! She starved herself almost to death, she almost died!’” I really appreciate that Ty Lee is disgusted by Mai’s reasoning here. You go, Ty Lee! Four for you, Ty Lee! You’re the only reasonable person from the Fire Nation in this cast, I swear.

Ty Lee reminds Mai that there were witnesses to Azula’s deteriorating mental state, but realizes that Mai is in denial about this: “Realization leaked through cold and creeping as the egg Ty Lin broke over her head that one time. ‘Or maybe you can deny it,’ she whispered, horrified, and took a swift step back with hands raised before her when Mai lifted her head.” Yeah, I’m fully in agreement with Ty Lee’s horror. She’s looking at a friend who is so twisted up by resentment that she has lost sight of reality, in favor of believing a comfortable lie—namely, that Azula is irredeemable and so Mai doesn’t need to care about what happens to her. Even though Mai does need to care about this, because Zuko and Ty Lee will be gutted if Azula dies, and the Fire Nation will probably go to war over it.

“‘I didn’t see her because she treated me like shit,’ Mai spoke deliberately.” Mai is right that she doesn’t have to have Azula in her life if she doesn’t want Azula there. You don’t have to have anyone in your life who has hurt you. But that isn’t all that’s going on here. Mai is still smoldering with anger four years later, and her inability to let that anger go has been eating her alive. It’s making her lash out at Zuko and Ty Lee when they try to broach the subject of Azula. This isn’t healthy for her or anyone else. This is just a continuation of the behavior that plagued her as a teenager—suppressing all of her negative emotions until they explode outwards, rather than allowing herself to feel them, accept them, learn from them, and move on.

When Mai points out that she doesn’t owe Azula anything, Ty Lee replies that she wouldn’t have met or fallen in love with Zuko if she hadn’t been Azula’s friend. This stings for Mai, given that the siblings have had sex: “‘She gives, and she takes away….’”

Ty Lee, being more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for, figures out that something must have happened. She’s very sympathetic, asking if Mai wants to talk about it. Mai panics and has another angry outburst, thinking that Azula must have told Ty Lee about what Zuko did. “[Ty Lee] was reminded uncannily of how Azula reacted to Mai’s rejection at the Boiling Rock, and found it hard to fathom how Mai hadn’t run for the hills on receiving such a look.” This is interesting, because it suggests that part of the reason why Mai loathes Azula so much is because of the similarities between them. There is nothing more unsettling than seeing a dark mirror of yourself in someone else.

Ty Lee doesn’t know what Mai is talking about, and then kicks herself for revealing that to Mai: “Azula would have known enough to pretend she already knew, so Mai would tell her.” Mai shuts down at this point and tells Captain Tadao to take Ty Lee to her rooms, because they’ve “embarrassed each other enough for one day” and that they’ll talk later.

Ty Lee knows that’s bullshit. “They wouldn’t because Mai never wanted to talk about Azula, and was extra unlikely to want to talk about Azula when she had problems of her own with Zuko.” I’m sure that Mai was reluctant to talk about Azula with Ty Lee because she didn’t think that Ty Lee would let her vent about her anger towards Azula, or understand it and not make excuses for Azula. Which is fair, but Mai should have found someone else to vent to to get the poison out, and then circled back to seeing Azula as a human being who fucked up.

Actually, you know what Mai probably needs? She needs to confront Azula about what happened between them, because she hasn’t seen Azula since the Boiling Rock. Yeah, Mai had a cool line about loving Zuko more than fearing Azula, but that didn’t get into her specific grievances, or allow Azula to address or apologize for them to give Mai closure. And we know that Azula feels bad about what she did, because it was what haunted her the most when she was having her breakdown. If Azula really was a monster, then she wouldn’t feel that remorse.

“Ty Lee felt bad about that, and she wanted to help Mai, she really did”—Ty Lee is too good for this sinful Earth—“but Mai wouldn’t tell her anything, and even though her problems seemed bad, Azula’s could get her killed—” Yeah, the most reasonable one of the bunch, our Ty Lee.

Ty Lee begs Mai to do something to help Azula, because she’ll die if the Earth Kingdom catches her. Ty Lee has this heart-wrenching speech: “‘I know you guys had problems, and—maybe you think she was never your friend [ . . . ] But she thought of you as a friend, Mai, she told me so! She fought so hard to get better, she’s a better person now, and she deserves a second chance! But she’ll never get that chance unless we help her.’” Carve my heart out and eat it, why don’t you?

And Mai…is unmoved by this. And condescending about it. “‘I hoped your actions might prove you were ready to cut ties with her too. But clearly you can’t be trusted to know what’s best for you” She’s referring here to Ty Lee seemingly choosing the Kyoshi Warriors over Azula. But also, it’s gross that Mai assumes that she knows what is best for Ty Lee. Fuck off with that, Mai.

Mai doubles down on the whole, “Azula’s awful, I don’t owe her anything, and don’t come crying to me when she hurts you” schtick. If she’d met the adult version of Azula and seen that version of her hurt someone, such as Ty Lee, then this reaction would make sense. What this is instead is Mai holding onto a grudge that is years old and using it as a weapon. She’s clinging to the idea that Azula can never change…even though that’s not how people work. Especially not people in the formative years of their lives, which they all still qualify as.

Aaaand Ty Lee, panicking now, reveals that Azula is pregnant as a last-ditch effort to get Mai to get her head out of her black-clad butt and see reason. Mai goes into despairing shock at this news and accidentally cuts herself with her own knife, much to Ty Lee’s and Captain Tadao’s alarm. One of the guards tries to grab Ty Lee, but Ty Lee chi-blocks him and he collapses. The next one manages to grab her. Mai orders them to remove Ty Lee from the room, and instead of putting Ty Lee in her guest bedroom, they stick her in a study.

We learn that Ty Lee actually likes Tadao, because he works hard and doesn’t dismiss Ty Lee’s suggestions on how to improve palace security. He’s the one who comes to see Ty Lee instead of Mai. He tells her that Mai is going to be fine. She might have a scar on her hand, but she’ll still be able to use it. When Ty Lee wonders why she got so upset, Tadao points out that since Mai and Azula are sisters-in-law, Azula’s condition will have an impact on Mai. This is also “the latest in a recent line of insults.” To put it another way, Mai is bitter at Azula for having sex with Zuko and throwing that wrench into her marriage (namely, by revealing that Zuko is not the person she thought he was). Then there are the political considerations, given that Azula’s kid could have a place in the line of succession, if the kid gets legitimized someday. Which then puts little Lu Ten’s claim at risk.

This also reveals that Captain Tadao knows what happened between Azula and Zuko. For a second, I thought that he was Mai’s uncle, and so the ugly secret was just between them and the Fire siblings. But no, more people know about it, and that is NOT GOOD. But Captain Tadao seems like a good guy (sidebar, but was he the guy who escorted baby Ty Lee out of the palace during the abortion episode? It would be a sweet connection if so), and when Ty Lee asks why Mai won’t confide in her about what is going on between her and Zuko, Tadao is gentle when he tells her, “‘I think you know the answer to that question.’” Ty Lee’s love for Azula and Mai’s hatred of her is something they cannot reconcile, and given how important Azula is in their lives, it’s a potential dealbreaker for them, at least as far as having a close emotional, trusting relationship goes. A casual friendship is still possible, but probably not if Mai or Ty Lee keep pushing each other.

Mai has decided to pack Ty Lee off to Kyoshi Island, and has gotten her a ticket and an escort to the harbor. Ty Lee has written Mai a letter to continue their conversation. I’m struck by how fast Mai is pushing Ty Lee out of the Fire Nation. What if Ty Lee wanted to visit her family? What if she wanted to enjoy some spicy homecooked Fire Nation food? What if she, god forbid, decided to visit Ozai for a nice shouting match (well, shouting at his comatose body, more like)? Alas, the plot beckons us forward!

We find ourselves back with Zuko and June. Hooray? I put a question mark there because Zuko doesn’t appearing to be having a good time with the bounty hunter. He is, in fact, puking his guts out. Traveling with June has the feeling of a boot camp to Zuko, because she keeps trying to “toughen him up”: “It reminded Zuko uncomfortably of his father’s early tutelage, before Ozai gave up shaping him into an unfeeling weapon of war, and turned his sights to Azula instead.” Oh Zuko, if you knew what Ozai was trying to shape YOU into, then why blame Azula for—at least in your eyes—becoming it?

June puts all of the gross chores of their journey onto him, and tries to steal his food to see if he’s cunning enough to get it back. I’m sure she finds this amusing, but I remember how hard Zuko’s journey apart from Iroh was, and I think she might have an overly inflated opinion of her teaching skills.

In any case, they find the Dai Li agent hiding in a cave and June forces Zuko to interrogate him. It sounds like June is doing the heavy-lifting where torturing the man is concerned, though. June keeps telling Zuko to burn the man, and reminds him that Azula will be tortured if she’s captured. Eventually, the man begs Zuko to kill him, and Zuko has a flashback to when he was burned by Ozai: “he could only think of a hand wreathed in flame, reaching for him.” It’s at this point that Zuko throws up. He tries to argue that the man deserves this: “He would have blackmailed me, hunted my sister down like an animal. He wouldn’t flinch from torturing her, even killing her if he was ordered.” This line of reasoning doesn’t give him any comfort, though.

I do want to point out that torture, despite what fiction would like us to believe, is an ineffective tool for getting reliable information out of someone. Oftentimes it’s bribery that works better, such as, “You know we can’t let you go, but if you tell us what we want to know, we can make sure that no harm comes to your loved ones.” People in pain will say anything to make it stop, so gentler methods are more effective. However, it’s become ingrained in our cultural consciousness that torture works, despite what studies have shown. And since hurting the villain can be cathartic to an audience, and a hero hurting the villain can tell us something about them as a person, it comes up a LOT in action stories. And while I am exhausted by it being used in this way (torture as a tool of the villains tracks better, since there is no shortage of people who find satisfaction in making other people feel pain), I do see why it is used here. It’s only recently that the ineffectiveness of torture has become more generally known, whereas Zuko lives in a time period analogous to…probably the late 1800s?

I do wish that the torture here hadn’t yielded the information that it had, or that this information turned out to be bunk upon investigating it. As if it, the Dai Li agent is mostly filling in non-vital information: that he worked as an orderly at the asylum and had a partner there, hence how he got to the beach house on Ember Island so fast. So the partner needs to be taken care of at some point soon. Zuko better remember to send that letter!

Then we get this chilling thought from Zuko: “Zuko considered for the first time what might have happened, if she had not run from the asylum. If the Earth Kingdom grew impatient [ . . . ] it would have been appallingly easy to make her death look like a suicide, an accident overdose, a bad reaction to her medication….” Yeah, she was definitely a sitting duck there.

“He wondered if Azula knew, or suspected, that she was in the care of her enemies when she decided to run [ . . . ] She had an instinct for these things. The only time she hadn’t seen it coming was when her friend betrayed her. And when Zuko left to join Aang in ending the war, if her converse [sic] with absent fathers was to be believed—" I don’t know if Azula ever knew that there were Dai Li agents lurking about, but even Zuko is starting to see why Azula has such bad trust issues.

It looks like June continued with the torture and got the location of her dad out of her victim. I really wish she’d gotten a fake location, but I understand that the plot necessitates a swift end to this subplot. June hopes that Zuko is less squeamish about violence when someone is out to kill him, but I’m sure he would be fine in that situation, because that would be a fair fight, rather than causing someone who is helpless and incapacitated a useless amount of pain. June killed the agent in the end, and when Zuko argues that torturing him wasn’t right, and she replies with, “‘It was necessary. You head one of the most powerful nations in the world, don’t you know what that is?’”

And…(sigh)…yes, leaders need to make tough calls sometimes. But if they choose to do something this ugly, they really shouldn’t be fine with it afterwards. They should acknowledge that it was evil, but that they couldn’t see another way to accomplish their goal. That route accepts more responsibility than hiding behind the idea that it was for “the greater good” and that no one else could have thought of a better path forward. When June says that the torture was necessary, that doesn’t make it not evil. It just means that she didn’t see another way to get what she needed.

June then points out that Ozai was a helpless prisoner when Zuko burned him, which stings Zuko. I would argue that Zuko is right about it being different—his crime was one of passion, whereas June’s was coldly calculated. But both ultimately led to human suffering, so both of them were wrong to do it.

Zuko takes a deep breath to keep from lashing out at June, which tells us that he CAN manage his anger when he wants to. He’s struggling, though, because he’s tempted to tell June what Ozai did to Azula to justify burning his dad. He decides not to: “It didn’t feel right somehow, telling anyone else about the abuse. He wondered if this was how Uncle felt when he found out, and why he didn’t say anything. He still should have said something….” Zuko is right—Azula’s trauma isn’t his to share. He also goes from having empathy for Iroh to being angry with him in a split second, which makes sense. He’s conflicted about how his uncle handled the discovery. At the very least, Iroh should have told her doctors, so she could get the care she needed.

“How many more of [June’s] cruelties would he have to witness or take part in, before this was over?” This is rough and why I am not a fan of characters like June. Azula’s actions in this fic are calculated to minimize harm; June has no such scruples. She’s too much in “the ends justify the means” frame of mind.

Zuko has two thoughts that suggest that Azula is the devil on his shoulder, as far as his brain is concerned. “You would [burn Ozai] again” and “You could kill [June . . . ] Remove the threat.” He describes the latter thought as being “so alien and disturbing Azula might have suggested it herself.” No, my dude. Just like hallucination!Ursa is a reflection of Azula’s doubts, whispering!Azula is a reflection of Zuko’s darker thoughts and impulses, which he deflects onto her because that is easier for him to do than face the darkness within himself.

He then has some off-color thoughts about June, besides the idea of murdering her. “Sometimes Zuko thought she was more animal than woman”—Gross!—“and didn’t know whether to be turned on or disgusted by her antics. He had even wondered once in the long hours he spent riding behind her how Mai would look dressed all in black leather like that.” This would be a much lighter story if Zuko and Mai had just embraced his leather kink, rather than him embracing his toxic desire to possess Azula.

As June taunts him about how he wouldn’t win if he tried to kill her, he figures out that she knows that he slept with Azula. She confirms it: “‘Your secret’s out. I might have forgot to mention our mutual friend let that slip, before the end. He got a message to the others. Looks like we should’ve moved faster.’” This means that Zuko, Azula, Mai, Mai’s uncle, Tadao, June, and now some unnamed Dai Li agents—who will probably pass this information along to their superiors—are in the know. That is very bad! Zuko had better hope that they’ll be able to spin this information as slander against him and his family, because if people believe it, his family is going to have a tough time holding onto the throne.

June throws in that now she knows why he has problems with women, which Zuko denies. I feel like he’s better about women than Iroh and Ozai, but his treatment of Azula is definitely skeevy. June, in any case, isn’t bothered by this information, because she doesn’t have siblings as far as she knows. She also doesn’t have the same cultural teachings as Zuko, so she doesn’t have the same taboos that he does.

We switch over to Mai, who is sulking in Zuko’s study. She’s read Ty Lee’s letter a few times by now and is not impressed. She thinks that she’s entitled to be upset, given the situation, and I can’t fault her for that. “That a man so endearingly awkward and painfully sincere would betray her with anyone, let alone his manipulative bitch of a sister, was a permissible source of surprise.” While I don’t like how she describes Azula, I agree with the rest of her sentiment.

“That Azula would take fullest advantage of his lapse was not.” This is ridiculous, though. What, did Azula plan to escape while she was ovulating so that she would become pregnant when she seduced her brother? Is that how the story is going in your brain, Mai? Why would Azula do something like that? She’d be disgraced if anyone found out, just as much as Zuko (unless she spun it as rape, which IT WAS. But Mai seems to be thinking that Azula would make a false accusation). Azula certainly will be disgraced if she has a bastard. Also, her being pregnant is going to slow her down and make her more vulnerable. That’s such a stupid plan, and when have Azula’s plans ever been stupid?

“Mai bent her head and gripped her bandaged hand, to draw a deep breath against the grief that welled inside her like an aching void. A void that demanded how he could do this, how he could still defend her, how he could think she didn’t plan this, why—” Mai is struggling because she knows that she was mostly betrayed by Zuko (she no longer trusted Azula, so how could Azula betray her?), but she can’t help but think that Azula had an evil plan. Probably because if Azula did have an evil plan, then maybe Mai could someday forgive Zuko for falling for it.

Her uncle arrives and she tells him the news. “And Mai felt a rush of ruthless satisfaction, upon seeing the warden back into the desk adjacent to her, revulsion etched in every line of his aging face. It wasn’t just her. Zuko tried to act like this was a terrible but legitimate mistake, like it was at all comparable to anything he’d done wrong before. But her uncle knew. He knew it was an abomination.” Yeah, Zuko and Azula committed a big cultural taboo. It’s unsurprising that other people are reacting this way. Also, I’m sure some of Mai’s satisfaction is that finally, someone is on her side, rather than on Zuko’s or Azula’s.

Her uncle voices the idea that maybe the child isn’t Zuko’s at all—that Azula is trying to trap him with a lie—but Mai responds that whether it is or isn’t, Zuko will think it is, and that’s what will matter. She then reflects on her own sexual history with Zuko. They were sleeping together before he defected, and they continued to carry on without protection when he returned. It took two years before she became pregnant with Lu Ten, long enough that she’d wondered if Zuko was waiting to marry her until he was sure she could get pregnant. Which even she knows is a silly idea. He probably just didn’t think to make their union official until she got pregnant and he realized that he should do the “honorable” thing and wed her.

Mai is salty about Azula getting pregnant from one night with him, when it took so much longer for her. When her uncle asks her what she plans to do, she comments that Azula’s medical records have gone missing. Zuko might have them?

“‘Supposedly she almost died in the asylum,’ Mai explained, her words ringing strangely hollow to her own ears. ‘Her doctors said she would never fully recover. I wanted to know if I could reasonably expect this to kill her.’ She tried to imagine the princess bleeding out, that she might die screaming in the same agony Mai endured when Lu Ten was born—and couldn’t. But there would be time enough to consider why later.” Mai can’t imagine her ex-friend dying. As much as she hates Azula, I don’t think she genuinely wants Azula dead, as convenient as that would be for her.

She then subtly suggests to her uncle that they could make it look like Azula just bled out like that—a tragic turn of events, but not anyone’s fault. Mai then accuses Zuko of being irrationally protective of Azula and that he’ll set Mai aside if she moves against Azula openly. I’m not sure Zuko would really do that, since he loves Mai deeply, but I don’t think their marriage would ever recover if Mai killed Azula.

Her uncle notices her hand, and we get this sweet moment: “Mai put her hand in his offered palm without hesitation. A reflex born of the first months she spent training with knives under his tutelage, when he had often [sic] to tend nicks and cuts gained in her practice. When Mai showed no signs of firebending by her fifth birthday, it was her Uncle Tom who first put a blade in her hand, and offered his home for the summer, so she might learn to use it.” When Mai mentioned that her current injury was an accident, her uncle adds, “‘A man like that isn’t worth hurting yourself over.’”

This is a genuinely sweet relationship, and it makes me wish that he had been the one who raised Mai, instead of her parents. She probably would have learned how to express her emotions in a healthy way, rather than bottling them up. He also doesn’t seem to care that she was a girl and had gender roles to conform to. Really, I’m glad that he’s in her corner. She needs someone to be, because this situation is legitimately awful for her.

Mai gets a hug from her uncle, which I think she’s needed for a while. She thanks him for being there for her and not saying, “I told you so,” because her uncle never approved of Zuko. They even make a joke about the situation, about how neither of them thought Zuko would cheat on her with his sister, which is some very dark humor.

Things take a turn when her uncle comments that the Royal family has been corrupt since Sozin, to which Mai replies that he should be careful, because her son is one of them. Tsutomu then suggests that he doesn’t have to be—that if something happened to Zuko, Lu Ten could be raised away from the toxicity of the paternal side of his family. Mai doesn’t like this idea, but her uncle keeps pushing, suggesting that if Zuko has cheated once, maybe he’s done so before and will do so again. Mai shoots this line of reasoning down, because she’s questioned their household about it and knows better, and doesn’t think that Zuko will stray again. Tsutomu keeps suggesting that they could have Zuko killed, and Mai tells him to stop thinking about it. He insists that he would never do anything without her consent. I want to trust him on this, but given later events, I worry that he might have some involvement there. If he does, it will be a case of him thinking that he knows what’s best for her, rather than respecting her wishes.

We then shift back to Azula, who was being pursued by Fong’s men, but managed to shake them when she entered the swamp. Unfortunately, her mount broke its leg when they were running down the mountain, so Azula had to put it down. What a waste! It would have been cruel to let it suffer, though. Azula wanted to trade her ostrich horse for a different mount, but the sandbenders never showed up. She travelled in the desert for a while, keeping the mountains in sight to avoid getting lost, but she needed more water before long. That was when she was discovered by Fong’s men, and she has a couple of sardonic thoughts about how her “famous luck” hadn’t helped her out.

She then starts trekking through the standing water in the marsh, and I’m already shuddering at the thought of all of the mosquitos there. Though they’re probably crossed with something like a wasp to make them extra horrible. Azula climbs up a tree to see if she can spot her pursuers, and thinks about how stupid they were to advertise their intentions in a fight. Fair! We also get the interesting tidbit that benders and nonbenders in the Earth Kingdom tend to work together in squads, whereas this team was specifically all earthbenders and was patrolling during peace time. Azula takes this to mean that they were searching for her. We also learn that Azula is heading to an avatar shrine.

Azula’s pack is waterlogged at this point, and she sighs in a way that reminds her of Mai. This thought leads her to reflect on her ex-friend, much like Mai was doing earlier in the chapter. There is a humous moment where Azula thinks that Mai would have given herself up to avoid stepping into the swamp, and then a bitter one as she thinks, “You never minded getting your hands dirty except in the most literal sense. Yet it was you and not Ty Lee who finally suffered a crisis of conscience—” Meaning that Mai’s betrayal really did come out of nowhere for Azula.

At this, Azula starts hallucinating Mai. She nearly falls out of the tree in surprise, with her pack opening up and her supplies tumbling into the water. Hallucination!Mai is offended by Azula’s thoughts, reminding Azula that she loved Zuko and didn’t want his blood on her hands. Azula, after a moment, reminds herself that she’s not in the asylum anymore, so what she’s seeing could just be a trick of the light or her imagination…except the Gaang ran into visions in this swamp, so it might be magic at work.

Azula tries to get herself back onto the branch properly, but can’t manage a full crunch. Oh buddy, I feel you. She then does the way more impressive thing by swinging backwards, releasing the branch, and grabbing the vines to stop her fall on the way down. She notices that her pursuers are spreading out around the edge of the swamp, probably to intercept her when she emerges. She figures they’ll wait for reinforcements and might try to flush her out when they have better numbers.

Azula considers that there might be dangers in the swamp that she’ll have to deal with, such as “deadly beasts or hostile primitives.” (Sigh.) Sometimes, her being from an imperialist society rears its ugly head. She figures that she needs to make her way to the far end of the swamp before her pursuers do. She takes some time to regather her supplies and then starts the wet trek, while being swarmed by mosquitos. She decides to heat the air around her to try to drive them off. I wish I could do that on summer evenings!

We shift over to Zuko, who is fighting with a team of Dai Li. Looks like he and June have arrived at the hideout! June has coated her whip in shirsu weapon, which works well and makes her match with Nyla. Zuko notes that the Dai Li are trying to use lethal force on him and June, since they aren’t there on official Fire Lord business, so no one will know who killed them. June at one point does a handspring that would have impressed Ty Lee, which is a fun detail, and then Zuko pulls a leaf out of June’s book and makes some fire whips. Once they’ve taken care of the team, they go through the cave and pass by the crystal cells, which June doesn’t bother to check because there are no guards around. Zuko has a sinking feeling that some of the guards must have smuggled June’s dad out and they’ll have to start the search all over again, which means that one of the unconscious men they left behind might get a spot of torture. BUT Nyla knocked out the guards before they could flee on ostrich-horseback, so June’s dad is fine and trying to get his cuffs off.

June’s father is a balding man with a squarish face and glasses. He teases June for taking so long, and then notices Zuko. There’s an argument about the logistics of the fight, the point of it being that June wasn’t sure if Zuko was going to hold his own, and that if he got caught, she was worried that he would have told them which way June and her father ran. Zuko is insulted at the idea that he would have ratted them out, and asks if they would have left him behind. June says that they wouldn’t have, mostly because it would have come back to bite them if they had. Zuko reminds her that now that her father is free, it’s time for her to fulfill her part of the deal and track down Azula. June asks him if he has a scent sample from Azula on him, because the last one they had is ashes now, and led Nyla to him anyway.

He thinks there are still things in the house on Ember Island that they could use, and remembers some of what happened that night: “Her lips moved silently, forming the same word over and over again. He knew what word she spoke now, two months too late…. I used her no more kindly than him.” Yikes! That word is father and just…ugh. This twisted family. I was trying to explain the appeal of this fic to a friend last night, and I kept saying, “It’s really dark and heavy, but it’s fascinating from a psychological standpoint!”

The trio decide to head to Ember Island. If nothing there works as a sample, they’ll go to the palace. I don’t think there would be fresh enough scents there, so the beach house will have to work. Zuko thinks that after they find Azula, he’ll “make amends, the only way he had left.” Presumably he means to Azula, but he could also be talking about Mai, since Mai also wants Azula caught, though his sister’s fate afterwards would probably be darker than what Zuko wants.

We switch back to Azula, who is being badgered by Hallucination!Mai. I am a little amused about the joke she makes about Azula never lacking direction, though the direction was sometimes the wrong one. If this is Azula’s self-doubt talking, then that’s an acknowledgement that she’s made mistakes and hasn’t always gone down the right path, which flies in the face of her usual self-confidence. There is a suggestion that this hallucination is actually a swamp vision, rather than a symptom of Azula’s mental illness. Unlike her normal hallucinations, this image of Mai vanishes as soon as she looks too closely at it. “Strange that the hallucinations at the asylum never did that.”

This Mai talks more than the hallucinated version of her did. “‘You ever think maybe I didn’t say much, ‘cause I knew you didn’t care what I had to say?’” this Mai says. Azula, tired and bitter, snaps back sarcastically, pointing out that she asked for Mai’s council many times and trusted her as much as she allowed herself to trust anyone. I suspect part of what’s going on here is that Azula is grappling with her fear about how other people—specifically the people she loved—view her. She fears that they see her as a monster and that they’re right to do so, because of the choices she’s made. It’s one thing to have your family by blood betray you, but another thing to have your chosen family do so.

Azula admits that she used Mai’s “infatuation” with Zuko for her own self-gain (clearly not realizing the depth of Mai’s love for Zuko), but that she “still expected Mai to be smart enough to act in her own self-interest.” She was secure in that belief, otherwise she wouldn’t have brought Mai to the Boiling Rock or let Mai have the “first crack at Zuko.” From the sound of it, Azula thought that she was giving Mai a chance for revenge over being left behind by Zuko. Except that Mai couldn’t stand by as he was killed….

Which Azula doesn’t understand. “‘He was a traitor!’ Azula screeched in disbelief, her fist clenched so hard she could feel every bone in her hand. ‘He betrayed you just as much as me! And you still chose him!’ Her voice broke. I was your friend first. He wasn’t anything to you anymore. He ended it in a letter, too much of a coward to tell you to your face. He hadn’t even left her a letter, or any warning of what to expect, the next time she was called before their father….”

While it was a good thing for the world that Zuko chose to help Aang, these are all solid points. Zuko did betray his Fire Lord and nation, so from their perspective, he is a traitor (who, in addition to defecting, then took the throne from Ozai’s appointed heir). He didn’t break up with Mai in person. He didn’t think about what Ozai might do to Azula afterwards. Zuko could certainly have handled the latter situations better.

Vision!Mai devalues Azula’s friendship next, saying that it didn’t compare to his love, and that Zuko was the love of Mai’s life, whereas Azula was a monster. It’s playing right into Azula’s deeply held belief that the reason no one loves and chooses her is because there’s something inherently wrong with her—something that isn’t wrong with Zuko (even though Zuko has fucked up in this story real bad).

Azula punches a tree in anger and thinks that the hallucinations have said worse to her than this, which is super sad. What’s even sadder is that Azula thinks the same things about herself, even without them around: “didn’t Azula think that about herself every day?” She needs some real therapy, not whatever she was getting in the asylum.

Azula is lost by this point, and decides that she needs to find a dry place to sleep and recover, rather than continuing to drain herself by wandering around. Once she gets into the hollow of an old tree trunk, she takes off her socks and boots to avoid trench foot. Good plan! Though couldn’t she also dry out both with her bending? Probably for the best to let her feet air out, though. She then tries to eat, but her food has bog-water in it, and the rice apparently looks like maggots. Gross! She gets sicks, which could be from her morning sickness, from a blood-borne disease from the mosquitos, from the contaminated food, or from a combination of the above. After throwing up a second time—the Fire siblings both have delicate stomachs this chapter!—she decides to stick to drinking water instead.

Azula is getting chills now, which suggests that she’s genuinely sick. She then sees Vision!Mai again, who gives her a nasty Reason You Suck Speech. She accuses Azula of not knowing what love or trust is—excuse me, Ty Lee is proof that that’s not true!—and then adds, “‘You never respected me, or my boundaries, or anything that was mine.’” I’m trying to remember if there was evidence for this in the show, or if this is Azula trying to come up with reasons for why Mai turned on her, and wondering if it was these things? That Azula feels guilty about this, though, shows that she is capable of seeing what she did wrong and learning from it. She can grow as a person…though she needs to be allowed to do so by the people around her. Ty Lee gave her that chance and now their relationship is much healthier. But it’s hard to grow when the people around you keep punishing you for what you did, and never believe that the growth you’ve made is genuine.

Mai then asks, “‘Why else would you seduce [Zuko]?’” which Azula denies, saying she didn’t mean for it to go that far. Apparently, Azula hoped that the kiss would distract him, and then she’d be able to chi-block him so he couldn’t move. Unfortunately, he reacted by throwing her into a nightstand, and after she twisted her ankle, there was no running away.

Mai accuses her of lying—that she did it because she saw Zuko’s weakness and was exploiting it. She asks, “‘How did it feel when he did that to you?’” and Azula doesn’t respond. I think this is where, if she’d felt any pleasure or satisfaction from the sex, it would sneak in and provide an extra layer of shame. That it doesn’t suggests that all Azula felt was violation and pain in the act.

Mai says that this must be why Azula hates her—not because of the betrayal of their friendship, but because she “played the game better than [Azula]. And [Azula] lost.” If I’m parsing this right, Azula thinks that Mai believes that Azula wanted Zuko, and that because Mai won Zuko, Mai got more political power than Azula, beating Azula at the political game. It’s an ugly take, and while I don’t think Mai’s accusations are fair—because we’ve seen from Azula’s perspective what her motives were—this does show that Azula knows Mai quite well, because the real Mai’s thoughts run along similar lines as the vision’s. Real Mai believes that Azula seduced Zuko to blackmail him and continue playing the political game, when in reality, it was a terrible mistake. Azula might have “started it,” thanks to Ozai’s training, but she never would have considered kissing Zuko if Ozai hadn’t done what he did.

Azula asserts that she hasn’t lost until she’s dead. I don’t think she means “winning Zuko” when she says this. She then puts out the fire and goes to sleep, dreaming about her father. After Zuko was banished, her training went into high gear, with more lessons on statecraft and the like. She was so busy that she didn’t have time to miss Zuko—which is definitely a lie—and he would have spoiled her happiness anyway by sulking and trying to get their dad’s attention. “It had been a source of amusement one, but they were not children anymore.” Oh honey, you both were children during canon. Maybe Zuko and the water siblings came of age during the show, but that age was still below what we would currently consider the age of majority.

Azula wondered what Zuko would have thought about the sexual training Ozai inflicted on her. Not that she would ever have told Zuko. We then get a series of thoughts that were almost certainly things Ozai told her: “[Azula and Ozai were] willing to do whatever it took to succeed, to survive. [Zuko] would never realize that people will use anything against you, unless they are too afraid of your doing the same.” This is a paranoid way of looking at the world and the people around you, and also self-defeating. If people are afraid of you, they will turn on you the moment they think they can get away with it (and sometimes even before then—Mai knew that she was throwing her life away when she saved Zuko, but she did it regardless). Love and trust, on the other hand, are what makes people will stick by you, even if you’re a walking disaster.

“[Zuko] never saw his own peril, until it was too late. Sometimes Azula thought he still didn’t see it.”—Foreshadowing!

Azula then thinks about the training itself. “Her father said it would hurt the first time”—that’s a myth. If you have a vagina and are aroused and lubricated enough, even the first time shouldn’t hurt. “—but it didn’t only hurt the first time. Sometimes it was hard to know what he wanted, and he was as intolerant of failure in this as in her firebending.” This is awful, but also, Ozai sounds like a terrible sexual partner. You’re supposed to communicate what you want and don’t want during sex. You can’t expect your partner to intuitively know that. They’re not psychic!

“As he should. It made her strong.” Azula, that training didn’t make you strong. It destroyed your boundaries and your ability to approach sex in a healthy way.

“It wasn’t always—Sometimes he would stay with her after, and just talk. She liked those times. It made her feel important. It made her feel loved.” She’s shying away from thinking of it as awful, even though she clearly felt that it was. The implication is also that she didn’t feel important or loved during their other interactions. Ozai, you are a TERRIBLE parent!

Which I think some part of Azula knows, because when she starts to feel the vines from the swamp wrapping around her, she imagines her dad molesting her. Still half-asleep, she lashes out with fire knives to free herself from the vines and runs out of her shelter. It’s daytime—Azula missed rising with the sun—and Azula is sicker now than she was the night before: “Her head pounded, her heart hammered, her joints ached like she took a beating. Her skin burned so hot that steam rose from her body when she hit the water.” This could suggest that she was beaten by Ozai at some point, but then again, all of these characters have been in combat, so that might be what this comparison is referring to.

The plants keep trying to grab her, which I think indicates that the waterbenders in the swamp are trying to catch her. I seem to remember them being the ones in control of the vines, rather than the vines themselves being predatory. Azula manages to escape, but is winded from it, which means that she won’t be able to bend. She’s also dizzy, nauseous, and shivering uncontrollably. Plus, it’s actually evening now, so she slept through most of the day. Azula realizes that she has no idea where her old shelter is, so her supplies are lost to her. She’s experienced abdominal cramps, too, and wonders if she’s miscarrying.

“This was what you wanted, she reminded herself pointlessly, though she knew very well what her mother would say. That she deserved this, for wishing her baby dead. Her tears fell on the water when Azula bent forward to hug herself, head bowed as if she could hold the pain inside anymore—” This might be the first time that Azula thinks of the fetus as her baby, which indicates that she might not want to lose it as much as she thinks she does.

She then hallucinates child!Zuko, which is heartbreaking. He tells her not to cry, “his round face scrunched in the look of unstudied concern their mother loved so well, and which Azula could never recall him directing at her.” Ouch! The dysfunction in their relationship went back really far, didn’t it?

“Didn’t he know the world would beat him down over and over again so long as he kept that way? That not just Father and Azula, but every person with an ounce of cunning would take advantage of him when he wore his heart on his sleeve like that? She told him so many times, but he never listened until it was too late.” So she acknowledges that she and Ozai took advantage of his naivety. She certainly did when she tried to trick Zuko into coming home early in season two. But also, Azula has a point. There are people in the world who take advantage of emotionally open and giving people. I don’t think that the solution to this is to harden your heart, though. Instead, you need to surround yourself with people who genuinely care about you. Zuko did that with the Gaang, which is part of why he succeeded and Azula failed. I’ll also note that Zuko would have done better with Azula as his ally, since she would have been more discerning about who was allowed in his court, and could have told Zuko about their ulterior motives and told him the unpleasant truths he wouldn’t want to hear. As it is, Mai has taken on that role.

“Yet in the end, he prevailed. The world bent to him. He got to be himself without condition, but not her. Never her. She didn’t understand….” Zuko allied himself with what wound up being the winning side, due to Aang defeating Ozai. If Aang had fallen, Zuko’s fate would have been much grimmer.

Zuko made a better choice than Azula did, but it’s important to note that he knew he had a choice. I don’t think Azula realized that leaving was an option for her. Why would she, when she believed that her nation was the best in the world, that their cause was right, and that if she stayed loyal, she would be the ruler of it all in the end? She would have lost everything if she’d left, and gained…what? The Gaang, Iroh, and Zuko hated her, so she couldn’t go to them. Mai and Ty Lee hadn’t defected yet, so she would have been abandoning them. And while she would have escaped Ozai’s abuse, she also saw Ozai as the only person who valued her and loved her for who she was. Even if being around him hurt, it was better than being alone.

No one except Ozai, at any point, held out their hand to Azula and asked her to join them. So while she is responsible for her own choices, how much can we blame her for what she chose, when none of her alternatives seemed viable?

Child!Zuko says that they are playing a game of hide-and-seek, which is true in the grand scheme of this story. He claims that he’ll always find her, which Azula says she no longer wants. He’s disappointed, but insists that it’s getting dark out, so he’ll help her find her way. He then lights the tiniest flame in his hand. “Azula’s stomach clenched painfully at the sight, plucked out from her earliest memories and brought freshly to life. How desperately she wanted to bend when Zuko made his first flame, and she saw how their parents explained over him….” This suggests that neither of Azula’s parents paid much attention to her before she first firebent. No wonder she came to believe that their love was conditional, and that she had to excel at what she did to earn it.

Child!Zuko, seeing her sadness, assures her that she’ll learn how to firebend when she gets older. I think it was mentioned already that she learned when she was three, which is mind-boggling to think about, since she would have been a toddler. He adds that she’ll pick it up in no time, since she’s “smart for a girl.” Ah, that sexism. He could have left it at “you’re smart,” but he had to add that qualifier. While the Fire Nation is less overtly sexist than the EK and the NWT, it’s clear that sexism is still a problem there. That baby Zuko is saying things like this is symptomatic of that.

“Half of what he said might be condescending bullshit, but this was still more supportive than Azula could ever remember him being.” This is very sad, since it means that Zuko started treating her as an adversary very early on in their childhood, once she proved better at something than him. He was jealous of her for earning their father’s interest, for all the good that did her. He was “resentful” when she survived her fall at the Western Air Temple, which is so ugly. He should have been relieved. She thinks of other moments where his hatred for her was apparent, like during the Agni Kai, at the asylum, aaaaand….

“The night he raped her.” And there it is. She can’t bring herself to see what Ozai did to her as rape, but she views what Zuko did as such.

“And she couldn’t reconcile it. How the little boy who stood before her could do—” This is a fascinating parallel to Mai’s thoughts about Zuko earlier in the chapter. Neither of them can understand how he did this. I’m reminded of how shocking it is to find out that someone that you know and care about sexually assaulted someone. What do you do afterwards? The safest option is to cut ties with them, but that doesn’t address the difficulty in doing so when they’re your family, or the grief of doing so when you’ve loved them for so long, only to find out that they weren’t who you thought they were.

Azula starts to ask him why he did what he did, but I think she knows the answer to that—because Zuko hated her and wanted to punish her that night. So instead, Azula asks where this good, caring version of her brother was when she wanted him—which, in the context of this fic, was from the time she was a toddler until now.

“‘Dad killed me,’ the hallucination said forlornly. ‘And you laughed.’” Ozai destroyed Zuko’s innocence just as much as he destroyed Azula’s.

I thought this was a reference to Zuko and Ozai’s Agni Kai, but this seems to actually be referring to when Azulon told Ozai to kill Zuko, and Azula’s teasing about it: “Her chest clutched painfully when she remembered that night, the night her mother left. And Azula thought it was cruelly appropriate that it was not Ursa here with her, at the end.” Ouch!

“She whispered, ‘I didn’t mean it.’”—I believe her, but unfortunately, the real Zuko never realized that.

The vision version of him does, though. “Azula felt his presence as clearly as if he sat on the edge of her bed, when she pulled the covers over her head.” At some point, Azula was just a little girl who hid under the covers. “‘I know,’ she dimly heard him speak. And the last thing she felt was him hugging her shoulders, his head laid against hers.” This is heartbreaking. It’s an exchange they should have had in reality years ago, but one that they might never be able to have, now they’ve hurt each other so badly. This is one of the scenes that sticks with me the most, because of how tragic it is and how poignant the imagery is: of the tiny, kind version of Zuko hugging the adult version of his sister, who is being eaten away by sickness, grief, and remorse.

And on that tearjerking note, we have reached the end of chapter fifteen. As always, thank you for the read, Aurelia. Thank you also to the folks on FFN and Tumblr who have been encouraging me to work on these reviews. Your support has been keeping me going!

Until next time,

WiseAbsol

#Dominion by Aurelia le #Azula #avatar: the last airbender #fanfiction review #WiseAbsol

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the-old-dip-and-stir · 4 years

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Had a very random realization that’s now a bit of headcanon. So in honor of me and Satan sharing a birth month, it’s time to be a little angsty.

Satan’s Looks and Identity

It’s pretty well known that Satan has identity issues, specifically related to how he came to be and Lucifer, but I had another thought that was equally as concerning and upsetting as those things.

A lot of people have wondered who Satan might look like, be it Michael or what Lucifer may have looked like in heaven (perhaps even God Himself), but let’s consider this:

What if Satan is almost a perfect mirror image of what Lilith looked like?

Now you may be thinking “where the fuck did that come from?” Well dear reader, it’s called my brain likes to think too much and I analyze even when I’m not trying to, but it came to me during a little discussion with a friend and I thought about the relationship between Lucifer and Satan.

To me, it’s very obvious how much Lucifer loves his siblings. Honestly if it weren’t for his damn pride, I don’t doubt that he’d dote on them all. The fucker already indulges them all to such a stupid extent. This is true for Satan as well, as little as we see it, but Lucifer doesn’t hold any ill will towards Satan. The worst he feels is some irritation due to pranks and maybe exasperation at the lengths Satan is willing to go to just to rile him up.

Pretty much all antagonistic behavior (that I’ve seen at least) is one sided, Lucifer doesn’t really go out of his way to make Satan angry. It’s always Satan.

So where does this all this come from? Is it because Lucifer is Pride and Satan is Wrath, so even the little things just set him off? Is it because all that anger that Lucifer felt was not only directed at God and the Celestial Realm but also at himself and when Satan manifested Lucifer’s self anger just bled in with it? Or could it be because of the treatment Satan received upon arrival in the Devildom?

I’ve seen some people think that Lucifer might’ve despised Satan at one point because the demon is made up of all the ugliness that was inside the fallen angel. That Satan probably used to love Lucifer a lot but was ultimately ignored and raised by the other brothers. Now that very well could be part of it, but I was thinking that it may have to do with not one, but TWO identity crises.

So we know some about the one with Lucifer and how Satan feels like he’s barely a person sometimes because he was made from someone else’s intense emotion, but if we think about Satan looking exactly like Lilith then we can see how more hatred could have festered.

To be your own person and be treated like you’re someone else can really fuck with you. Like yes people can compare Lucifer and Satan because of the circumstances, but to look like a dead sibling? And then be treated like they are said dead sibling? Hoo boy. That can majorly fuck someone up.

So imagine with me, if you will, a young Satan being doted on and he enjoys it, but sometimes his brothers give him weird looks. He doesn’t exactly understand why they look at him like that and at first, he doesn’t care, but it keeps happening. It pisses him off, so he asks, but they don’t really elaborate. They’re just sad about things and Satan doesn’t quite understand sadness yet, but he leaves it be.

They continue to look at him in that same way and eventually he blows up. They’re all used to his random bursts of anger but somehow this feels so much different. They try to calm him down and someone let’s a mention of Lilith slip up— maybe how she wouldn’t react this way or accidentally calling him by her name— and that’s when Satan realizes something. He recalls how Lilith looked. Blonde hair, cyan eyes, and an impish- ah, it all makes now. The looks he was given, the mentions of sadness.

He looks like the fallen angel he never truly met. The sister all his “brothers” loved dearly. The dead one, the seventh sibling, that was now replaced by him. Well, isn’t that just a doozy.

Now let’s get out of that little moment and think some things.

It can only be assumed that Satan probably didn’t understand a lot of emotions and other things when he first came to be, which makes a lot sense because he is, once again, the physical manifestation of someone’s anger.

It can even be assumed that while he knows anger, he doesn’t understand it. Merely feels it because it’s his entire being, it’s the reason he exists. But I could bet my money that even though Satan didn’t quite understand why being seen as Lilith is something he doesn’t want, he can’t help but be angry about it.

We could also consider that maybe Satan was starting to come to understand himself and was finding his identity. Then realizing his identity— at least in his brothers’ eyes— was based upon some sad, cheap imitation of a dead person. I’m pretty sure that he would be mad at everyone at that point.

It would be probably really hard to crawl his way out of the shadow that was Lilith. But he somehow manages and starts building his relationships back up from scratch. Only to be placed in the shadow of the eldest brother because outside his looks, Satan acts so much like Lucifer. Then we are back at square one and with a seething hate for the one he’s being compared to, whom finds it rather adorable to have a mini-him.

#lmao this was long winded #sorry for the long post but I’m on mobile rn and can’t do a read more #anyways hello sadness #I probably sound dumb and don’t make sense #cuz as you can see I rambled #but anyways here’s a late Satan b-day present for everyone #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me lilith #obey me satan headcanons

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katsukiboom · 4 years

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Emerald Green and Darkness

hey guys! this is a commission for my dear @xpegasusuniverse, who requested a retired Eraserhead with an equally old cat, I hope you guys enjoy this! <3

Ko-Fi || Commissions

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The smell of vanilla and the warmth of the place quickly engulfed 53 year-old Shōta’s presence as soon as he entered the little house at the end of the street – Hizashi had found it by chance online and presented it to him, and while it didn’t look sketchy at all it still felt weird to just drop by someone’s house with the excuse of adopting a new pet. The ad his loud best friend had seen only spoke about a middle-aged woman who rescued kittens and nursed them back to health with the help of her quirk, much like Recovery Girl used to do all those years back then.

With grey replacing most of the black in his hair and beard, he sighed as he eyed the place with a certain glee growing inside. It wasn’t long until the petite woman came rushing from behind one of the few doors that were on sight, and quickly introduced herself as the owner of the place. She went on to talk about how she had loved Eraser Head before he retired from the hero world, something that he didn’t feel too comfortable discussing but didn’t do anything to stop either. He thanked her with a small smile. She remarked one last time that she had been beyond thankful for everything he had done, then saw all the strays that were still looking for the one person who’d give them all the love they deserved.

In all honesty, Shōta wanted to take them all home, but as they passed through a small bedroom a dark lump on top of the single bed caught his attention, causing him to stop walking and stare questionably at the breathing figure.

“Oh, that’s one we got a few weeks back,” the old lady told him gently as she noticed he wasn’t following her anymore, walking back to his side. Both their gazes on the animal, they watched as it began to stretch and he noticed there was something funny about him – he only had three legs.

“I can only guess he had an accident,” the woman continued. “We found him when his injuries were still healing. At least, I’d like to think it was an accident. He’s also missing an eye, and the doctor told us we had been lucky to find him before it could fester. Due to him being about 13 years old, they only gave him six months.”

“Can I?” asked a curious Shōta, and the lady only nodded.

“He doesn’t really get along with people… it took him so long to even trust us enough to eat what we gave him.”

Despite her words, something pulled him closer, and his hunch hadn’t been wrong.

He ended up taking the green-eyed cat with him that same day, after a bit of struggling to get him in the cage. When they got to his apartment the blob scuttled away from him as soon as the small metal door opened. Shōta then spent all the remainder of the afternoon trying to get him out from under his bed, only to sit right beside it to eat dinner, putting a plate with food next to him in hopes the cat would come out.

It took him a few days, just like the lady had told him, to get it to trust him enough to eat freely when he was around. Soon he found its company to be rather… peaceful. Even during his long walks out all he could think about was if the cat was alright or if it was hungry, if he should buy him more toys or even new kinds of food. Hizashi found his friend’s new facet quite adorable, yet was turned down whenever he requested to meet his pet, partly because Shōta knew how the cat acted around strangers and partly because he feared he’d make it deaf by accident.

As he soon came to know, taking care of a cat also meant having to take extra care of your furniture. He didn’t get mad as the old cat learned how to use his litterbox but rather at how he seemed to do his business everywhere else for a while as well, testing Shōta’s patience. For some reason, the man believed the pet knew he was pissed off at this attitude and eventually stopped doing it, instead turning to scratching whatever he could lay his paws on. Shōta soon bought him the thickest scratching post he could find online, hoping that would end the rebellion that had left parts of his couch and coffee table completely ruined. Despite the ruined furniture, he was happy that the disabilities didn’t stop the cat from doing its own thing.

Surprise filled the old man when, one morning around three weeks after that, he woke up and felt a lump at the end of the bed right above his feet as if to keep them warm. Opening his eyes and sitting up quickly in fear that it was something bad, he saw his companion sleeping lazily over him, only opening his eye to look at him as if he was crazy and then stretching before going back to sleep. A big smile appeared on his lips and the mere sight made his heart warm up. Not really having the will to make the cat move from the bed – he lay back down and opened his phone, quickly sending a photo to the group chat with Hizashi and Nemuri to share the amazing thing he had just witnessed.

It was only when she asked about its name that he realized he hadn’t really given it much thought at all, and then spent most of that afternoon trying to come up with something that suited both the cat and him. The task proved to be harder than he had imagined, and Shōta gave up when the clock reached 7 pm. Instead he took a moment to sit on the floor with it nearby as he turned on the TV to catch up on the events that were going on in the city. It had been quite a peaceful day much to his surprise, with no real bad news to worry about when a familiar face caught his attention right before he started to channel-surf. Green curls and a gentle smile with freckle-covered cheeks were the main features that decorated the familiar face Aizawa was now watching attentively, and Deku’s imposing voice filled the room with ease.

“Oh, look at that,” he talked to the cat as if it could understand every word he said. “I know him very well. Used to be my student and was quite a troublemaker at first… much like someone I know,” he muttered with a smile on his face. A soft meow distracted him from the screen for a moment and he noticed the animal now standing right in front of the screen, looking up at Izuku like he was the only thing to focus on at the moment. “What are you doing?” he asked softly, trying to call out to him but to no avail. “Do you like Deku?” To this, the cat’s ears perked up and it looked at him with its eye open wide. Then it went back at him and meowed again. “Deku,” Aizawa repeated, but the cat didn’t move this time. “De…” he started, carefully watching the animal in front of him look back at him with a curious gaze. “Ku?” To that one syllable, its eye widened once more as it got up on its hind legs and the man had an idea pop into his mind.

After that night he ended up naming the cat Kuro, both because of its colour and because it reminded him a lot of Izuku himself – rough around the edges when he met him yet sweet and diligent on the inside. Both took their time to truly open up and let others see their true self. Just as if he knew, his pet got used to the name faster than he would’ve expected and even seemed happier when called by it. Shōta’s friends also seemed to like the nickname, laughing just a little bit when he told them the backstory but agreeing that the cat had been a troublemaker at first.

Shōta didn’t notice until the seventh month that Kuro had actually managed to surpass his assumed lifespan of only six months left and while he didn’t think much of it his heart stirred a bit in his chest as he snuggled closer to it one night, its warmth and little paws on his chest more than enough for him to be sure that everything would go more than fine. He had never paid much attention to his own way of acting or if having a pet had changed him at all and vice versa, yet all he could think about was coming back home every day to spend time with him and revel in the company as much as he could.

It was almost as if it had been fate bringing them together but Shōta would never admit to believing in such an erratic thing – he did however believe that it had been their love for each other that had managed to make the pet stay by his side almost twelve times the amount of days that had been given to it up to its seventeenth summer, making the old man very happy as they counted birthdays and holidays together and just coursed through life relying on each other for support. Not even once did Shōta remember the cat’s disabilities and in return Kuro didn’t seem to be bothered about his owner’s casual aloofness and low energy, choosing instead to keep his distance until Aizawa called out to him.

But good things always come to an end, and Aizawa Shōta knew this very well.

After almost four years of living together, it became apparent to him that there was something wrong when the cat gradually stopped grooming himself as often as he was used to witness and eventually started keeping its distance as well, choosing to sleep hidden under the coffee table or just lying on the couch, but not with him. When he noticed those symptoms he didn’t hesitate on taking him to the vet in order to prevent something worse happening to him, though the news he was given was less than encouraging. Shōta had to stop himself from crying right then and there at the vet’s office – the cat wasn’t ill but rather naturally dying due to aging and Kuro’s bright green eye was fixed on him, as if he knew what was happening in his owner’s heart.

It wasn’t as if Aizawa chose not to focus on anything else the next few days – he just couldn’t rid his mind of the worst scenarios possible, even if they felt closer than ever before. Having been through so much with his pet, he felt the need to do whatever he could to make him feel better; he tried to help him groom, eat and brought him to bed at night, but it was only when they paid another visit to the vet for a check-up that he was told there was really no use in doing so. With his hopes crushed and his heart still not ready for what would unfold sooner or later, he returned home that evening to a cloudy sky that mirrored his feelings in every way.

It all came down to a bittersweet ending when one morning, he woke up to feel the same familiar lump at the end of the bed; sitting up slowly and stretching his arms, Shōta would’ve thought it was one of those rare days when Kuro decided to sleep with him had it not been because his perception was extremely good. Reaching out, he took the frail, lifeless body on his hands and brought it close to his chest, unable to conceal the tears that came out after making sure his best friend had already gone to a better place. He felt a knot forming in his throat as he tried his best to hide his crying and bottle it up as he always did, but it was all for nothing when he realized he hadn’t had the chance to say a proper goodbye.

“I hope you’re better and happier now, I’ll try not to miss you too much,” he murmured against the cold fur, and for a moment he thought he had heard a soft meow come from somewhere close in the room which made him look up and around. With wet cheeks and a heavy heart he smiled, knowing he wasn’t truly alone still.

Thank you for everything.

#bnha #aizawa shota #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #mha eraserhead #mha aizawa #boku no hero academia #boku no hero scenarios #boku no hero imagines #mha imagines #mha scenarios #eraserhead #mine #anime commissions #ko fi link

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whatelsecanwedonow · 4 years

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What do you feel about the hate TLOU 2 is getting? It's really disgusting the hate that the voice actors are getting. Laura the most. :-/ I've enjoyed it so far and I don't know how people can get so angry.

Well, first, the hate that Laura is taking is fucking disgusting. If you’re on Twitter I’d still encourage you to send some nice words and thoughts her way. Even if she never sees your message specifically, adding to the sheer volume of love and encouragement she’s getting to counterbalance the abuse can only help.

I’m just a dope with an opinion so feel free to disagree, but I think in this case there are multiple problems colliding over one piece of media. Which probably speaks to the greatness of TLOU2. One I see is entitlement in fandom and the inability of some to process storytelling that isn’t in line with their expectations. Two is the inability/unwillingness for certain people to think critically and understand complex storytelling. And three is straight up misogyny. Which is especially... I don’t want to say prevalent in gaming, because it’s prevalent everywhere, but it’s especially loud in gaming culture. Dudes don’t even try to be subtle. Laura voices/moves like a fictional ripped woman who brutally murders another fictional character who is a white guy, that has been anointed as a Hero™ by people who I don’t think are really processing the first game correctly, and then this game “doesn’t let you” kill that woman. That part really follows a well established narrative from the pissbaby brigade. Guys who jerk it three times a day to Ben Shapiro acting like they’ve got a week old diaper strapped to their ass screaming on the world wide web at women. It’s awful and they’re always looking for new targets.

Back to the first problem, the outrage from some people reminds me exactly of the outrage from some over Endgame and TLJ. I’m talking about the people who are like FUCK THE RUSSOS I HOPE THEY DIE b/c Tony shouldn’t have died/Nat shouldn’t have died/Steve would never leave Bucky... and the “Rian Johnson destroyed my entire childhood” people. If you dislike choice(s) made, that’s your opinion and it’s fine, but you have absolutely no ownership over a fictional character/universe/story whatever. You have zero leg to stand on by saying “I love X character and they’d NEVER DO THIS” because... they did literally do that. And not only did the director/writer decide this it’s quite possible the person who plays this fake person was like “yeah let’s go I love this decision.” Troy and Neil said in an interview about Joel specifically, they promise that no matter how much you love that character, they love him more. Because they made that character. You have no right to have a headcanon come true, no matter how much you think it makes sense or how much it works for you. I don’t know how anyone could have ever thought this was going to be Ellie and Joel Ride Again, but their reaction to not getting that game tells me exactly what sort of people they are. Again, if you disagree and can’t accept the story as it unfolds, if it reaches a certain point and you’re out, that’s cool. But you have to realize what’s worth getting heated over and what isn’t. If you’re disappointed, that’s okay I think, but just disengage and watch/read/play something else.

And the second problem, video games never, ever try to tackle narratives like this. At least not ones I’m familiar with. This is a really immature medium to tell a story like this, although I think it’s a medium where they can be powerful in ways they’ve rarely (or never?) been before because of the level of immersion. There’s a lot that they’re saying with these stories and I’m so deeply touched by them. I think they’re making really profound points. And, also, I’m deeply attached to characters, I have my own loves and headcanons for characters, all that, I’m not saying I don’t participate in fandom. Clearly, I’m on Tumblr, I do. And parts of TLOU2 didn’t just make me uncomfortable they make me feel physically ill, lol, and were really upsetting. But the greater narrative was aided by that. You have to love it all selflessly and look for what the creators are trying to get across. It’s insanely grey, complicated storytelling. There’s a high bar set for the maturity required to really digest what’s going on. The Last of Us isn’t here to only fill you with good feelings. It will sometimes, but the good feelings aren’t the whole point. And because of that, because of what video games normally are, people are resistant.

Last thing I’ll say is for the people specifically who can’t accept that Ellie doesn’t murder Abby. It’s astounding that they can’t see the story in TLOU2 is actually, entirely, holding a mirror to them. It’s telling on them. It’s astounding a game has SHOWN YOU TO BE someone who isn’t like Ellie ultimately becomes, who can’t resist the temptation of violence/hate and see the lonely pit of misery it is. You missed how when Ellie goes on a murder spree, it doesn’t help. You missed how when Abby violently murdered the man who killed her father, it doesn’t help. Violence will hollow you out and leave you for dead. Love, embracing empathy, that’s the map that will lead you to salvation/redemption. So when I see the circle jerk discussions of going back to TLOU1 and roasting Abby’s father alive with a flamethrower, and I see the real life threats being thrown at ND people, it just proves to me that certain people need help. Or they’re lost and don’t ever want to be found. Festering in your anger isn’t going to change anything and it isn’t going to help. That’s the whole fucking point.

#tlou spoilers #tlou2 spoilers #sry to rant #Anonymous

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pandawritespoorly · 4 years

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With Time: Chapter 41 - Everyday Heroes

Author’s Note: I spent so long looking into different fundraiser ideas, and then I threw a bunch together. Also, my sappiness shines through at the end. I'm really happy with this chapter though.

The next chapter is just an epilogue, and really short, so I'll be posting it tomorrow, along with the 'deleted scenes'.

Strong language warning! 'Damn'.

Chapter Summary: Chloe's nonprofit hosts its first fundraiser.

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Chloe: do you or your friends have any plans after school?

Marinette: no y?

Chloe: wonderful. I’ll be kidnapping you then

Marinette: what

Marinette shows her screen to Claude, who is sitting beside her at lunch.

“Oooh! I’ve always wanted to be kidnapped in a setting with no ill intentions!”

“Claude. Claude.” Allegra stresses his name, pointing at him with both hands pressed together. “I need you to know that that is one of the most you things you have ever said, but please give us context.”

“Or details at least. When are we being kidnapped, and for how long?”

“Who and why?”

“Chloe, but she’s being vague,” Marinette adds. “She’ll be grabbing us after school.”

“Alright then.”

---

“What’s up, Chlo’?” Adrien asks from the chair in her room where he’s sitting upside down.

“Now that we’ve been safely kidnapped, we’d love to know why!”

“Everyday Heroes will be having its first fundraising event soon, and I’d like help planning it.”

“Yesssss!!!!” Marinette cheers. She throws her hands in the air, knocking her flower crown from her head. Allan hands it back to her. “Thanks.”

“What sort of event were you planning on?” Felix prompts.

“Uhhh…” Chloe throws her arms in the air, falling backwards onto her bed. “I don’t know!”

“Going off of Google, there’s plenty of options,” Allegra consoles.

“Let’s go! 142 million results to go through!!”

---

“Thank you all for coming here to the first fundraiser for Everyday Heroes! We have t-shirts for sale, and a scavenger hunt available both on your phones and on paper for those of you willing to make a donation of any amount. All donations will be matched by my mother’s company, so anything and everything helps!” Chloe announces over the megaphone. “Once it begins to get dark we have paper lanterns for you to launch! Our first speaker will be beginning in half an hour, and we’ll be having regular speakers from that point on! Feel free to grab a flyer if you or someone you know is being bullied, the contacts listed there can and will help! Many thanks to the local businesses who assisted in providing food and supplies for this event! I hope you all have a wonderful evening, thank you!”

The crowd gives the girl polite applause before dispersing, looking around the event. Chloe turns to her friends, who are still applauding enthusiastically.

They all have a flower crown on, courtesy of Marinette, who has been running on a seemingly endless energy supply for a while now.

“Yay!! You did great!!” Marinette hugs her tightly.

“Thank you.”

“Great job.” Allegra grabs Chloe’s hand.

“My shift selling the shirts isn’t until later so what do you guys want to do?”

“If baguettes could move-”

“Claude, after the cereal soup, we know better than to engage in your debates-”

“-then how would they move?”

“Like a snake,” Allan decides.

“That’s assuming it doesn’t have to stay rigid though,” Marinette points out, “Is the baguette alive at this point? How freely can it move?”

Allegra sighs. “Here we go.”

With that, the group’s debate begins. They wander the event, (Chloe and Allegra are holding hands, as are Adrien and Marinette).

Felix shakes his head. “If it is alive, then it would not necessarily automatically gain the ability to bend its body at will. Humans cannot do that. That is why we have joints.”

“What class would it be? Because that would change things. Would it be a vertebrate or invertebrate?” Allan asks.

“It would move like an inchworm,” Adrien argues.

“That’s ridiculous!” Chloe interjects, “If a baguette could move, it would roll on its side.”

“I’m with Chloe,” Marinette resolves. “It makes the most sense.”

“I’m not so sure-” Allegra starts, ignoring the betrayed gasps from the two girls. “I think it would be more of a waddle? Is that the right word? Like one end forward, then the other.”

“Going off past precedent with sentient food,” Sabrina begins, “It would hop. Like VeggieTales.”

“You make a good point,” Allan agrees, “However, counter point, a baguette moving like a snake.”

“True. True.” Adrien nods sagely. “Again though, it would move like an inchworm. It just makes the most sense.”

“Who gave the baguette permission to bend?” Marinette mutters, “If I were to ever run into this hypothetical baguette, I’d put it back in the oven, because clearly, it’s too doughy.”

“Actually, you make a good point. How well cooked is this baguette?” Sabrina ponders.

Felix hums. “I think, for the sake of simplicity, we should assume it is baked properly. Also, unless we plan on changing the physiology of this baguette, it would be classified as an invertebrate, as baguettes lack backbones.”

“A standard baguette then. Nothing wrong with how it’s made or nothing added to the dough.”

“I insist it would roll.”

“Oh, you dear sweet fools,” Claude finally chimes in, “If a baguette were to move, it would do so in the most baguette way it could. It would gallop.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take Sabrina’s stance and just fold it. The baguette would need to get around to its baguette events as fast as baguette-ly possible, and therefore it would gallop.”

“He does make a fair point…”

“Thank you, Adrien.”

“He only agrees because your idea is one step removed from ‘inchworm’.”

“You’re both ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!”

“Claude has brought about another interesting point. This baguette can move, but is it sentient? Is it moving by pure chance, or does it have motivations?” Felix queries.

“That’s a good point. If it is moving on pure chance, then it would most definitely remain rigid, and it would move in the simplest way possible. That would suggest that it just slides across the ground, or rolls, if we’re looking for something more exciting.”

“Dupain-Cheng, if you’re about to support the nonsense that they’ve been spewing-”

“However, if the baguette is moving because it needs to get somewhere-”

“Mari. Please.”

Marinette continues shamelessly, “-then maybe it would move in a more dramatic way.”

“Like galloping!” Claude chirps.

Felix opens his mouth, ready to make a point, then stops himself. “How did I get dragged into this debate in any form of a serious manner? This is a baguette.”

“Thank you!” Chloe cries, gesturing at Felix.

“Okay, but consider,” Adrien interrupts, “The baguette is moving because it needs to get somewhere, but it has to remain inconspicuous. How does it move then?”

Chloe, Allegra, and Felix sigh wearily, though everyone knows they’ll be joining the discussion soon enough.

---

Sabrina, Felix, Adrien, Allegra, Allan, and Claude gather near the platform where the speakers that Chloe arranged for have been addressing their listeners.

It’s beginning to get dark. That time after the sun sets when the dark blanket of night has yet to fully settle over the sky and you can still see fairly easily.

There’s one speaker left.

Chloe comes out.

“I’m privileged to be able to say that our final speaker tonight is my friend. Years ago, I never would have imagined I’d say that, and months ago I never thought I’d have that honor-”

“So that’s where they ran off to.” Allan smiles.

“I’m proud,” Allegra whispers. Everyone nods, having figured out what’s happening.

“-but she will forever surprise me with her infinite kindness. She is, in large part, the reason I decided to create this nonprofit. We were classmates for a long time, and I’m ashamed to say I bullied her relentlessly. Despite this, she never came to resent me, though I still think she should have. Instead, she showed me nothing but kindness. It is because of her that I am happier now than I have ever been before.” Chloe’s eyes shine with tears. “That’s enough from me. Everyone, please welcome Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

Claude whoops. The group cheers, clapping loudly amidst the polite applause of the crowd.

Marinette blushes lightly as she walks onto the stage. She waves shyly, then smiles wide as she spots her friends, waving a little more confidently.

Chloe hugs her, hands her the mic, then walks off.

Marinette looks out at the crowd, still blushing.

“Uhh. Hey. I’m not very good at this whole-” she spins her hand, gesturing as though looking for words. “-’public speaking’ thing. Bear with me please. Um.”

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. When she opens them again, she stands a little straighter, face more confident.

Adrien smiles.

Their everyday Ladybug has arrived.

“In école, I was bullied. Often, and by more than just Chloe, despite what she may tell herself.” Marinette looks at the girl in question softly. “I was left to deal with it alone. My teacher and principal, as many of you may now know - due to the recent news about Dupont - did nothing. I was told that it was my job to be a good example for my peers. It was up to me to reform my tormentors.

“Obviously, that advice is nonsense. The victim of bullying is not responsible for saving themselves. Due to this environment though, I was not particularly confident. My anxiety festered. I was friendly with my classmates, but none of them did anything to help when something happened. I don’t blame them. They’d comfort me afterwards, which in the environment that my teacher created, really was all they knew to do.”

Her smile turns faintly nostalgic. “One year a new girl transferred to our school. She was strong, confident. She loved superheroes. She didn’t hesitate to stand up for me. She said, ‘all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing’. That’s what this charity is all about, at least to me. That girl became my hero, through the simple action of standing up for me, and showing me I could do the same for myself. In this time of Hawkmoth and akumas, heroes seem like a far off magical concept. I want all of you to know that being a hero doesn’t require magical jewelry or anything of the sort. Being a hero is a choice you make. When you see something wrong, do something about it. Simple as that.

“That’s not the end of my story though, because to be a hero, you have to continue to make these choices. You can’t stop fighting the evils of the world once you find something more interesting. That’s how things go wrong.”

Marinette sighs, tears in her eyes. “And go wrong they did. With my new friend, my confidence only grew. I was happy. Then, it all came crashing down. Far quicker than I ever could have guessed, I lost all my friends. Falling so far, I got worse than I ever had been before. Things weren’t looking up. I transferred school, though it was less for myself and more because my parents wanted me too, and, well, I was more focussed on not upsetting people that I still cared about, and I’d figured out that the quickest way to upset them was for them to see me. So, just a few days after everything went wrong, I started at a new school, determined to stay out of everyone’s way and be the least obnoxious ‘waste of space’ I could be. I promptly ran into someone and tripped on them.”

She laughs, clearly happy despite the darkness of this portion of her story. “With that, I had quite literally stumbled upon my new group.” She waves lightly in their direction, and they wave back, Allegra and Allan with tears in their eyes. “Despite how much effort I put into trying not to ‘waste their time with my presence’, they refused to leave me. They’re the embodiment of what being an everyday hero is. For some time, the evil they were trying to triumph were the walls I had put up around myself. I didn’t want to let anyone in, because having lost so many people all at once, I was convinced that was the only way relationships of any kind could go.

“Well, they most certainly didn’t ‘do nothing’. Far from it. They’d put effort into being with me everyday. They sat with me in the classes we shared, and they invited me to hang out with them constantly. Not in a pushy way, just letting me know the invitation was there and open for me to accept.

“It took a month before I finally accepted. To say they were excited is an understatement. The poor librarian had to put up with some happy screeching that day.” She laughs.

“No regrets.” Claude whispers smugly.

Allegra smacks his arm. “The poor librarian regrets ever letting you in.”

“She loves me.”

“Begrudgingly, but our point still stands.”

“From there, we began hanging out regularly. I was happy, though the fact that I hadn’t yet told them why I transferred stressed me to no end. Once, an akuma attack caused them to unknowingly meet my former friend. I was terrified, but even being completely in the dark they stuck with me, calming me down when they found me having a panic attack, and simply inviting me over to do something calmer.

“I did eventually have to tell them what had happened. I was,” her voice cracks, “so scared. I was certain that for one reason or another they would leave me after that. It had only been a few months, and I was - understandably - still not fully recovered. I thought they’d hate me. I’d be alone again.”

She takes a deep shuddering breath, smiling wide despite the tears trailing down her face. “They didn’t. I wasn’t. They stayed, and they've continued to stay. Since then, they, along with the friends I had remaining from before my transfer, have been absolute angels. I’m not the same person I was before this whole mess, but I am a better, stronger person. My friends are a stellar example of how everyone can be a hero. They didn’t need superpowers to be there for me and continue to be there for me. For that, they’re all my heroes. They’re amazing.” She looks at them in the crowd. “I love you guys so much. Thank you.”

With that, she hands off the microphone and hurries off the stage. There’s more applause, mostly from her friends.

It doesn’t take them long to spot her coming, and she tackles all of them in a fervid, tight embrace.

“You did great, ‘Nette.” Allan squeezes her.

Claude does the same. “How are you so precious?”

Tears stream down Allegra’s face. “That was really touching, Mari. Thank you.”

Marinette shakes her head as much as she can in the group hug. “No, thank you guys. I wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“I am certain you would have managed. You are truly an extraordinary individual,” Felix assures.

“I’m with Felix, Marinette. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Sabrina chimes in.

“We all know where I stand.” Adrien grins.

“Right by her side, like the sappy little beans you are.”

Eventually they break apart, Allegra and Marinette both with tear tracks on their faces.

They turn their attention back to the stage, where Chloe is speaking again.

“-You’ve probably noticed that the lanterns have little pieces of paper attached. If you have any wish you want to launch with your lantern, then that’s the place for it. Now, before we launch, everyone should probably spread out a little more.”

While the crowd disperses, readying their own lanterns, Chloe takes the chance to scribble something onto her lantern’s note quickly.

The friend group smiles at each other, writing their own wish down and spreading out, waiting for Chloe’s cue.

“Is everyone ready?”

There’s several shouts of ‘yes!’, and Chloe nods. After waiting another moment in case of any soft-spoken stragglers, she confesses, “My wish with this lantern, is that something, somewhere, positive comes of this. I want something to reach someone who needs it, and their life is improved, even slightly by it.”

With that she releases the lantern into the air, she watches it float into the sky for a moment before leaving the stage. Everyone else follows suit.

Adrien and Marinette stare at the sky, hand in hand. She whispers, “Isn’t it beautiful?”

He moves his gaze from the lanterns to Marinette. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

She spots him staring at her and turns pink. “Adrien. Focus on the lanterns right now. What’d you wish for?”

He squeezes her hand. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to say. That's how wishes work, right?”

“I suppose.” She rests her head on his shoulder.

After a moment, he shifts to face her, cupping her face with his hand. She looks at him questioningly.

“Hey, Mari?”

“Yeah?”

He kisses her. She straightens in surprise momentarily, then has to stop herself from smiling. She squeezes his hand where their fingers are still interlaced, and his other hand - still resting on her cheek - drifts slightly to push her flyaway hairs out of her face.

Chloe has finally joined the friend group, and upon seeing Adrien and Marinette just remarks, “It’s about damn time.”

Allegra straightens, grabbing Chloe’s hand. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

Then the blonde whirls around and kisses Chloe as well.

Claude, who has been taking pictures, immediately turns and gets pictures of the two girls. “My ships are sailing, my ships are sailing, my ships are sailing. Somebody make this a national holiday right now. My ships! Are! Sailing!” He whispers excitedly.

Adrien and Marinette break apart, touching foreheads and staring into each other’s eyes for a moment, grinning identical, tender, and affectionate grins.

They finally step away from each other, both gasping in delight at Allegra and Chloe.

Adrien manages to keep his fangirl squeal from being disruptively loud, and Marinette takes a picture of her own.

“Glad you didn’t miss this.” Allan comments softly. “Three cheers for Ally, internally though, otherwise she may kill us.”

Marinette nods, then whispers, “My ship is sailing.”

“Now you sound like Claude.” Allan nods toward the taller boy who has stopped taking pictures, but remains just as exuberant. Felix snaps his fingers in front of their face, and they don’t respond. He turns toward Allan and shrugs.

Allan sighs. “We may need to reboot him.”

“Possibly.” Marinette giggles.

“Promise me you’ll remember how to breathe? That one forgot.” Allan asks as he moves towards Claude.

“I will, though I make no promises for Adrien.”

The blond boy has stopped squealing, but bounces cheerily next to Marinette.

By now, Chloe and Allegra have broken apart, and have taken in the chaos around them.

“You broke Claude.” Marinette jerks her thumb in his direction.

“I believe it was a group effort. Both his ships sailed at once,” Felix corrects, “I suppose each of you can take exactly 25% of the credit.”

“Adrikins isn’t doing much better,” Chloe observes.

“He’s a hopeless romantic, you know this.”

Chloe strides up to Adrien and flicks him in the head. That’s enough to break him from his stupor. He just hugs her happily.

She begrudgingly allows this, though they can all tell that she’s only acting.

She’s just as happy as the rest of them.

Adrien is still hugging her when an excited squeal let’s them know Allan has successfully brought Claude back to life. They rush over and hug Allegra, then Marinette, then Chloe and Adrien.

He turns to Allan enthusiastically. “Mom, all three of your daughters-who-are-interested-in-romantic-relationships at once! They grow up so fast! Look at them!” He gestures at both couples. “So beautiful! So happy! Little lovebirds! They’re darling!”

“Excuse me? When did he become my mother?” Chloe questions.

Allan waves her off. “You’re all my children. The moment I start worrying about your general health and well-being outside of when we’re together, you’re my child.”

“Which honestly doesn’t take long,” Allegra teases.

“I believe Marinette is his record,” Felix remarks. “He was worried about her the second he laid eyes on her.”

“Can you really blame him? I was a mess that first day.” Marinette sits on the grass, staring up at the sky still dotted with little glowing lights.

Adrien follows suit, laying down beside her. Marinette uses his chest as a pillow.

“I think we all were worried about Mari when she showed up.” Allegra sits as well.

“Good. She needed you.” Chloe joins her girlfriend.

“I still do! All of you are amazing, wonderful, priceless gifts to the planet!”

“So are you, Nettie,” Allan reminds her.

Soon enough, they’re all on the grass, staring up at the inky nothingness that they had filled with a glittery sprinkling of glows. Each lantern a brilliant dot representing someone’s hope for something better.

A better future, a better world.

“We made our own stars,” Marinette murmurs, awed.

“We are our own stars,” Adrien counters.

Because the lanterns may represent hope, but they’re a hope built on people.

And people are more than capable of being radiant when they need to be.

Adrien looks at the raven-haired girl on his chest. She’s staring at the sky in wonder, eyes reflecting the twinkling lights.

Some people shine just for the people around them. A dazzling gift to their friends.

He smiles, happy to have the privilege of being so close to the brightest of them all.

---

Author’s Note: Sooooo????!!!! What do you think?! I really like this chapter, and I think it works well for wrapping everything up. I'm not the best some of the aspects of it, but they were important, so I did my best to make them quality. Also, as I said, my sappiness really shines through at the end.

Claude is all of you. I'm aware of this.

What's this?? Another dumb debate??? Here's the survey!! I have another debate that I really want to do, because I truly think it'd be interesting, but I wanted to give it its own one-shot, so you get 'how would baguettes move' instead. The results are here.

Final chapter tomorrow! I can't believe I'm even saying that. Wow.I love you guys so much!!! Thank you so much for reading and staying with me!! You guys are just the sweetest, most amazing people, and you're the reason I made it this far! 💞💞💞

I look forward to seeing you guys's thoughts on this chapter! I'll be in the comment section as always!

💕❤💕❤💕

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 5 years

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Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening"

Devotions for February 12

MORNING

"Avoid foolish questions." - Titus 3:9

Our days are few, and are far better spent in doing good, than in disputing over matters which are, at best, of minor importance. The old schoolmen did a world of mischief by their incessant discussion of subjects of no practical importance; and our Churches suffer much from petty wars over abstruse points and unimportant questions. After everything has been said that can be said, neither party is any the wiser, and therefore the discussion no more promotes knowledge than love, and it is foolish to sow in so barren a field. Questions upon points wherein Scripture is silent; upon mysteries which belong to God alone; upon prophecies of doubtful interpretation; and upon mere modes of observing human ceremonials, are all foolish, and wise men avoid them. Our business is neither to ask nor answer foolish questions, but to avoid them altogether; and if we observe the apostle's precept (Titus 3:8) to be careful to maintain good works, we shall find ourselves far too much occupied with profitable business to take much interest in unworthy, contentious, and needless strivings.

There are, however, some questions which are the reverse of foolish, which we must not avoid, but fairly and honestly meet, such as these: Do I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ? Am I renewed in the spirit of my mind? Am I walking not after the flesh, but after the Spirit? Am I growing in grace? Does my conversation adorn the doctrine of God my Saviour? Am I looking for the coming of the Lord, and watching as a servant should do who expects his master? What more can I do for Jesus? Such enquiries as these urgently demand our attention; and if we have been at all given to cavilling, let us now turn our critical abilities to a service so much more profitable. Let us be peace-makers, and endeavour to lead others both by our precept and example, to "avoid foolish questions."

EVENING

"O that I knew where I might find him!" - Job 23:3

In Job's uttermost extremity he cried after the Lord. The longing desire of an afflicted child of God is once more to see his Father's face. His first prayer is not "O that I might be healed of the disease which now festers in every part of my body!" nor even "O that I might see my children restored from the jaws of the grave, and my property once more brought from the hand of the spoiler!" but the first and uppermost cry is, "O that I knew where I might find HIM, who is my God! that I might come even to his seat!" God's children run home when the storm comes on. It is the heaven-born instinct of a gracious soul to seek shelter from all ills beneath the wings of Jehovah. "He that hath made his refuge God," might serve as the title of a true believer. A hypocrite, when afflicted by God, resents the infliction, and, like a slave, would run from the Master who has scourged him; but not so the true heir of heaven, he kisses the hand which smote him, and seeks shelter from the rod in the bosom of the God who frowned upon him. Job's desire to commune with God was intensified by the failure of all other sources of consolation. The patriarch turned away from his sorry friends, and looked up to the celestial throne, just as a traveller turns from his empty skin bottle, and betakes himself with all speed to the well. He bids farewell to earth-born hopes, and cries, "O that I knew where I might find my God!" Nothing teaches us so much the preciousness of the Creator, as when we learn the emptiness of all besides. Turning away with bitter scorn from earth's hives, where we find no honey, but many sharp stings, we rejoice in him whose faithful word is sweeter than honey or the honeycomb. In every trouble we should first seek to realize God's presence with us. Only let us enjoy his smile, and we can bear our daily cross with a willing heart for his dear sake.

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inforapound · 5 years

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Ease the Dawn Chapter 6

A/N - Thank you, everyone, for your comments, likes and reblogs. Let me know if you would like to be tagged. Chapters 7 and 8 likely up next weekend.

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith

Chapter - 6 of 18

Amusement pulled at the corners of Ivar's mouth as he tore meat from a small greasy rib bone. Slouching casually, he rested on an elbow in his wooden chair under the canopy of the tent used to meet with his men.

"Are you listening?" Hvitserk asked.

Following Ivar's line of sight, Hvitserk saw the Princess standing down on the rocky shore of the stream among a few thralls. Her face was locked in concentration as the women seemed to be showing her how to bait a fishhook.

"Ivar," Hvitserk repeated, running his hand through his hair.

"Yes, I am listening." Ivar's lifted his cheek as if feeling the breeze on his skin, the smile was now gone from his face.

"You had King Alfred's scout turned away. Why? What is the plan?"

"I am waiting."

"For?" Hvitserk raised his hands in question, his expression showed his confusion.

"Tactics take time. Let the king's concern for his sister..." pausing, he searched for the appropriate word, "fester." Picking up another rib, he began tearing off the meat with his teeth.

"Why not tell the King, now, that you want the area on that side of the river. Like we discussed."

"Like we discussed, like we discussed," Ivar mocked, irritated. "I will."

"What are you waiting for?"

Sneering, Ivar threw his rib down onto the platter and glared up at his older brother.

"Are you not listening?" he hissed.

"Maybe, Ivar, you are thinking she will be cozy once the frost comes," he said, lifting his brows, looking back toward the ladies standing at the water's edge. Aethelswith was now giggling with one of the younger slaves, wrinkling her nose in disgust holding a grub in her hand.

"Do not be moronic," Ivar scoffed. "There are plenty of women here if I want to warm my bed," he stared at Hvitserk, impatient for him to be done.

"Yes, Ivar but you never do."

"Do I need to remind you why, hmm?" Ivar's eyes narrowed at Hvitserk before glancing back towards the riverside. Exhaling slowly, he forced air out through his nose, pushing down on his armrests to straighten in his chair. Squinting, his eyes zeroed in on her petite form, standing on the rocky beach. His mind seemed to settle and he wondered if she had enjoyed the milk he had organized to accompany her breakfast.

——

Nearly a month had crept by since their first meal and game of tafl. Despite the rigid atmosphere in those early days, Ivar had since taken all evening meals in the tent with her. Aethelswith was curious as to why and skeptical that his sudden interest in conversation was to put her at ease. Instead, she had suspicions that his strategy related to withdrawing information about her brother and his kingdom.

She waited for him to ask a question relating to either, but so far, he had not. In the meantime, she rather enjoyed the variation in her isolation, as guarded and awkward as some of their discussions had been. Foolishly, she even looked forward to sunset, each day, which marked the time of his return for the night.

"My Lord, do you ever sleep?"

"Not compared to you," he jabbed. "I have never known a person to require so much rest. Are you practicing for death?" he dropped his chin and eyed her.

"Should I be?" she looked back with a flat expression.

"Princess," he leaned forward, smirking, "I have no current plans to send you to your god."

Pinching a smile, she crunched into her apple, picking up and admiring the parchment paper he had given her. Obviously ripped out of a Saxon book, she assumed the perfectly written calligraphy was biblical verses recorded in Latin. She would have to push the idea out of her mind that using the back side for drawing would be sacrilege. After all, how could she reject a gift from her heathen captor? Being a violent man known for his cruelty was a convenient excuse that she was happy to swallow.

"Tell me, Princess, something you have not told me before." He looked up from polishing his ax. "Surprise me, hmm?"

Closing her eyes, Aethelswith looked to be sorting through images of her life in her mind.

"I have killed before," she said in a flat tone.

Snapping his eyes back to her, Ivar waited for her to continue, his brows lifted expectantly.

"I was ten years old. The leaves were just starting to turn colour and I remember thinking that it would be the last day of the warm season. It happened in the training field behind the chapel with my brothers. They made me, well, Aethelred really..." Aethelswith paused taking her time.

"Continue," Ivar flicked his hand impatiently.

"Well," she leaned forward tilting her head toward him and whispered, "He made me snare a gofer."

"Ridiculous," Ivar scoffed, rolling his eyes

"Murder is murder," she fluttered her eyelashes and leaned back with a twinkle in her eye. "It was horrific," she continued. "I was so chuffed that I caught the little thing, yet within a moment, I was overwhelmed with sadness and regret." Placing her hands over her heart, she looked back at Ivar with a solemn face.

Frowning, he bit his lips to stop his smile and shook his head, pretending not to be amused.

"To make the experience even more traumatizing," she added, "my brother told our mother and she told one of the servants. It was announced in the dining room that night by Mairi our cook that the table had me to thank for our evening meal. She uncovered my plate and said, your catch Princess." Grimacing, her expression broke into a broad smile. "It turned out to be lamb, but the effect was great," she laughed.

Ivar could not help the genuine smile that stretched across his face, enchanted, not only by her tail but the spirit in which she told it. She seemed so bright and alive like she was sharing an antidote with a true friend. He would never verbalize to another, barely admit it to himself, that he cherished these quiet evenings. Even waited impatiently, throughout the day, for the sun to descend and the night to settle over the camp.

"Princess, how many cups have you had?

"I am drinking water."

"Wise," he smiled again.

"My Lord?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"It is inevitable," he sighed dramatically.

"Do you have someone? A wife?"

His hand stilled on his ax and his eyes flitted up to hers but he quickly looked away, resuming the repetitive motion on his blade.

"Someone, you care for?" she pressed, staring at the carved wooden dice she rolled back and forth in her hand.

Shifting his jaw side to side, he answered without looking back, "Woman, I am always here with you. Do you think I have someone?"

"You will have nothing if you keep on like that," she said in a gentle voice.

His eyes shot back up to hers. "What do you know about it?" he snapped. "I am Viking! You are a pointless Princess. Raiding is my way of life. I will not be constrained by a wife or a family while I am conquering new lands and building my legacy." His voice dropped to a low , harsh tone. "You Saxons are so easily satisfied, sitting within your stone walls, lording over peasant farmers, growing fat under self-placed crowns." Straightening on his stool, he jerked his chin higher. "I will be the most famous Viking in the world one day," he glared.

Holding his stare, she opened her mouth to speak but stopped, her eyes softening, glancing down at his ax.

"My apologies," she leaned forward, placing the tips of her fingers on the edge of the table. "I was speaking of your ax. I only meant that you will have no blade left if you sharpen it so, night after night. Please forgive me. I don't know what I am saying. I should not have," her voice drifted off. Pressing her lips together, she was careful not to give away any expression that might have him feel mocked. Ivar's neck stiffened and he swallowed hard, shifting on his stool.

"If you will excuse, my Lord, I will retire." Standing, she made her way to her side of the tent. Opening his mouth to speak, he paused, saying nothing, just watched her move away from the table.

In bed, lying awake, Aethelswith listened to the sound of Ivar shifting and rustling under the furs his blankets. It was not often that he retired at the same time as her, often staying up late, working at his table. She assumed, based on the little she had seen, he studied scrimmage strategies and maps of the river systems and countryside. Materials he likely did not wish for her to see. Regardless of how late he worked, he was always gone before she woke. His attention, without question, needed on various matters in the camp. But she suspected he vanished early also to avoid the awkwardness of their conversations the previous night. Dawn was always the stark reminder, for her at least, of their true dynamic.

Another sigh came from his side of the tent.

"Lord?"

"What?"

"Are you well?"

"Fine."

"Do you need anything?"

"Yes," a long silence ensued. "To stop imagining gofers."

Snorting out a laugh, Aethelswith lay under the covers of her bed, and Ivar lay in his, grinning from ear to ear.

"Gods!" he exclaimed." I am forced to share my tent with a pig. An actual snorting pig!"

Outside the stars continued to shift in the sky and the cool winds whisked the fallen leaves across the ground, dampening the sounds of their giggles from inside the tent.

@fangirl-nonsense @ill-skillsgard @lol-haha-joke @allvikingsfanfic @yanii-the-hippie @jacksonroth @medievalfangirl@dreamwritesimagines @ceridwenofwales @justanothershelby @flowers-in-your-hayr @naaladareia @youbloodymadgenius @whenimaunicorn

#ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar's heathen army #Ivar and Aethelswith #ivar #vikings ivar #ivar ragarson #ivar x princess #kidnapping #slow burn #romantic ivar #eventual smut #princess aethelswith #frennemies

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daemongal · 5 years

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Of sins and Succubi - Chapter 1 (Prologue)

So, this was an idea I had one day while my mind was wandering at work so i decided to write a prologue chapter and see how it turns out. I wanted to give Dante some limelight in more ways that just writing some quick oneshots.

For context, this is set post DMC4 but pre DMC5. Doesn’t really follow any particular story canon but is set in the same universe as DMC. This chapter is SFW and is mostly just setting a scene. Hope you enjoy!

FYI this has been edited as I’ve decided to write this as an OC fic instead of a reader insert because I decided to be self indulgent :3c

Synopsis: "His ears twitched and his nostrils flared as the shop door slowly opened. He reflexively placed his feet on the floor and assumed a more defensive posture, quickly placing ebony and ivory in front of him almost as a threat display. His brow furrowed as he examined the 4 men that slowly strolled through the doors and across the room towards him; all clad in tight black suits, hard heels clipping against the wood floor with each step in perfect synchronicity, tan skin and devilish smirks adorned their faces.

Incubi. He rolled his eyes and huffed, making no attempt to cover up his disdain; Dante hated incubi."

Dante had a job to hunt a dangerous succubus on the run. He had expected this job to go like any other; oh how wrong he was.

Excessive sorrow laughs, excessive joy weeps

Dante stretched his arms behind his head as he leaned back in his chair, feet on the desk, staring at the slowly spinning ceiling fan in contemplation.

“Hmmm, should get a few more days if I’m lucky.” He thought out loud. To be honest, he was shocked the electric hadn’t been cut off yet. It had been a quiet, boring week. The work had all but dried up and he was relying on his loyalty tab from his local pizza place to keep him going. He sighed and reached towards his pile of well-read magazines stacked to his side.

His ears twitched and his nostrils flared as the shop door slowly opened. He reflexively placed his feet on the floor and assumed a more defensive posture, quickly placing ebony and ivory in front of him almost as a threat display. His brow furrowed as he examined the 4 men that slowly strolled through the doors and across the room towards him; all clad in tight black suits, hard heels clipping against the wood floor with each step in perfect synchronicity, tan skin and devilish smirks adorned their faces.

Incubi. He rolled his eyes and huffed, making no attempt to cover up his disdain; Dante hated incubi.

“Son of Sparda.” The tallest of the men spoke in a voice so deep, it reverberated down Dante’s spine. He leaned in a small mock bow, flourishing his hand to the side, eyes locked with the devil hunter as the other three remained still, hands behind their backs with their chests puffed out. His long blonde hair draped around his face, framing his angular features all too perfectly.

“And what do I owe the pleasure?” The reply was dry. Yes, work was short, but he would have happily sat for weeks in the dark festering in his own filth before wishing this upon himself. “Hope this isn’t part of some recruitment drive or some shit? I mean, you’d be lucky to have me but as you can see, business is booming and I have my hands more than full as is.” The blonde’s lips furled upwards, his grin revealing the sharp teeth concealed beneath.

“Oh Dante come now. I’m sure you’ve given me more than enough business over the years with your over indulgence. I’m merely returning the favour.” He turned around to take a suitcase from the hands of one of his subordinates. “It may surprise you to know I have a job offer for you, that is,” he placed the suitcase on the desk, “if you have the time in your oh so, busy schedule.”

Tsk, Dante tutted. He was irritated; irritated that he was that desperate for some cash that he’d consort with incubi. However, his eyes did gleam at the thought of payment upfront.

“Spill the details then.” He was spinning ebony on his finger, carefully gauging for any ill intent.

“We have a… dangerous runaway, a former worker of my establishment. She decided to dispose of one of my more, profitable members of staff before disappearing out of sight. She’s of no use to us anymore and I’ve been informed from a reliable source that she’s been sighted in this very city.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It really is a pity. She had so much potential.”

A confused expression washed across Dante’s face. “Sooo… let me get this straight. You come in here with your cronies, looking all high and mighty with a briefcase full of cash to take out one, lone succubus?”

“Yes, that is precisely the reason we are here. Why, is there a problem? I bring an easy job and more than sufficient compensation for your time. If what I heard about you is true, there is no reason for you to say no.”

Wow, am I really that simple? Dante thought and considered the question. There was one thing bothering him:

“Why not just do it yourself? I mean, you seem more than capable with your little boyband over there. Or is there some information you’re neglecting to tell me?” His face twitched ever so slightly at the question, as he pushed the briefcase in Dante’s direction and unclipped it.

“Let’s just say… it would be problematic for us. She has killed humans as well, and will continue to do so if left unchecked. She has only recently matured and lacks… self-control.”

Sigh. If it had killed already it didn’t really leave Dante much choice, and these guys sure as hell weren’t interested in dealing with their own problem.

“Fine.” He huffed, as he grabbed the briefcase to peek inside while keeping his best poker face. “I get the feeling problematic may be an understatement if this is what you’re paying me.” No reaction. “I’m gonna need more details. What’s the lead?”

The blonde’s face lit up at the hunter’s acceptance.

**********

“Damn incubi, dragging me into their weird sexual politics.” Dante kicked any stones unfortunate enough to cross his path as he muttered away to himself. It was around 11pm and he had been wandering the streets and alleys for a few hours, dropping in and out of various clubs and hot spots. “Some lead this turned out to be. God I could be spending all that cash and getting wasted but nooo, I’m trudging around like a total asshole looking for a horny succubus for all the wrong reasons!” He kicked the next stone harder than he should have. It ricocheted between the walls before smashing through a window.

“Shit.” Feeling like a naughty schoolboy, he ran to avoid any unwanted attention, taking a few turns up some alleyways he didn’t recognise to get some distance. The street they lead out onto was one he had no memory of. “Huh. And here was me thinking I knew my way around this town. Ooh what do we have here?”

He noticed a building on the corner that looked somewhat like a club. There was surprisingly no bouncer on the door but there were a few people stood against the walls, drinks and cigarettes in hand. No booming music though, just some god forsaken karaoke. The sign read “Tyger Tyger” , definitely not a place he was acquainted with. “Well, I’ve been in every other goddamn place, might as well take a look. Christ what a day; incubi AND karaoke. This damn demon better put up a good fight to make it worthwhile.”

He passed by 2 guys sharing a cigarette and overheard their discussion about the “total hottie” inside. Promising. He swung open the doors to be hit smack bang in the face with the smell of stale beer and a horrendous rendition of Careless Whisper… and something else entirely.

It’s here.

His eyes scanned the tables looking for the culprit, as he made his way slowly to the bar to not draw too much attention to himself. He didn’t bother asking the incubus for a physical description, he knew lust demons could change their appearance pretty much at will, but he was starting to regret having nothing to go on. No suspicious activity grabbed his attention, but he could sense their presence. He believed now what he was told about them just hitting maturity; they weren’t making much effort to cover up the pheromones they were giving off, he felt almost surrounded by them. They were weak however, so it was no challenge to Dante to brush them off. He grabbed a stool and seated himself at the bar, deciding to rely on his ears instead of his eyes. Eventually some human would fall prey to their pull, it was only a matter of time.

Dante ordered himself a scotch and swigged it down, savouring the burn and daydreaming about the night he could have been having.

“Hey baby.” His ears pricked up, honing in on the very drunk sounding man. “You here for a good time?” No wonder succubi prefer busy cities, humans are just such easy prey, he thought.

“Yes, I am actually.” That voice cut clean through him, making him visibly shudder. Dante turned to hone in on the location of the voice with only one thought as his eyes met with his target.

Jackpot.

“Now, if you would be so kind as to fuck off I can continue to enjoy my night alone.” Dante was unsure who looked more dumbstruck; himself, or the poor kid that got shot down like a lead balloon. He knew he wasn’t mistaken, he trusted his keen senses and his instincts, and she was definitely his target. The commanding aura around her became slightly thicker as the kid lowered his head, and turned to walk back towards the bar. “Prick.” She muttered before downing the rest of her drink.

Well this was new; a succubus using their ability to manipulate, to push away potential prey. His curiosity was peaked. Pushing all sense to the back of his mind he turned back to the bartender and ordered 2 more scotches. He was always willing to take a risk to gather intel, and he was pretty confident that even with his guard down, this demon would be no match for him if things turned nasty.

He grabbed the two glasses and started towards the table.

**********

[Succubus POV]

“Prick.” She muttered to herself as she downed the rest of her drink. Ahh the glorious burn, it was all she needed tonight, nothing else mattered.

He was the 5th attempt tonight in this place alone. She had given up on the busier clubs in the centre of town, settling for something a bit more derelict and decrepit looking in the hope of getting a bit of peace and quiet. She knew she didn’t have long left, and quite frankly she didn’t care. All she wanted was to get off-your-face drunk as she awaited her fate. She knew they wouldn’t rest until she was good and dead; a thorn in their foot that needed to be removed.

She rested her head in her hand, elbow against the table as she ran her finger around the rim of the empty glass. The room had started to spin, her thoughts lacking some coherence, but she needed more. The emptiness inside needed filling, and this was the only way she thought it would be possible without hurting anyone. Anyone else she corrected. Her eyes prickled with a familiar sensation, as her vision became blurry. Damn, I need more booze.

All of her senses flared at once as heavy footsteps approached. The pressure from the power they were emitting, the scent of their heritage, the creaking of leather. She had heard many tales about the legendary devil hunter, and the way her senses were reeling told her everything she needed to know. Her body was screaming at her to leave, to run; but she knew better; there was no point anymore. She had already accepted her fate, she had just hoped she would have been a little drunker when it came.

“So my angel of death has arrived.” She spoke as he approached from behind. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of the safety being removed from the gun that she knew would be pointed at her head. Her body jolted when instead of gunfire, there was the sound of a glass hitting the table. Her eyes opened to see a glass of liquor in front of her, and a white-haired man sat with a drink in hand, staring intently. Her heart was racing in her chest as she swallowed, his blue eyes were piercing through her as if they were searching for something.

“And he comes baring…unexpected gifts?” She looked at the glass of brown liquid in front of her, as the ice clinked against it as it shifted. She pondered for a moment if the drink was perhaps poisoned, but decided rather quickly that she didn’t care if it was. She lifted it from the table and tipped it towards Dante. “Cheers.” Two big gulps and it was gone, a shiver running through her body from the taste as a sigh left her lips. She watched as Dante did the same, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“What is this?” She asked the devil hunter, motioning back and forth between them with the glass in hand. “Like, what exactly are you doing here?” He crossed his arms over his chest at the question, looking towards her quizzically.

“I’m here on a job actually. Been asked to deal with a troublesome demon and I’ve spent the best part of the night trying to find them. Say...” he put his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand as his gaze deepened, “you wouldn’t happen to have any leads on an apparently dangerous succubus who’s going around killing helpless people would you?”

Her gaze locked with his, trying to guess what answer he expected. The room was spinning rather pleasantly as her senses began to dull. She snorted inelegantly and started to snigger. “How much they pay you for this ‘job’ then? Surely a little lone succubus wouldn’t be worth your time. Hell, I knew someone would be coming eventually but I didn’t think you would actually come yourself, maybe I should be flattered that-”

“10 grand.” Dante interjected. Her mouth dropped open.

“Ho-oly shit!” She couldn’t contain the laughter as her hands slammed on the table. It shouldn’t be funny, but she was buzzing enough right now that it was completely hilarious. “Tell me you’re kidding? You are kidding right.” He shook his head in silent bewilderment at her reaction. She threw her arms back, her fingers lacing together and resting against the back of her head, an inexplicable smile spread across her face.

“Christ, he really wasn’t joking. I can’t believe Demitri himself would fork out his own actual hard cash to see my head roll. It would make me feel somewhat special if this whole situation wasn’t so incredibly... fucked up.” Her arms dropped to her side as the elated emotions inside her chest dropped deep into her stomach, leaving a hollowness behind.

Dangerous, killing helpless people, his words hit home suddenly. Was this the image he had of me, was this the information that had been fed to him by your keepers? She stared blankly at the empty glass in front of her, eyes suddenly feeling like weights in their sockets.

“So you know tall, dark and uncomfortably handsome personally then eh? The way he carried himself, that money seemed like pocket change, didn’t realise it was a big de-”

“Cut the crap, son of Sparda.” She interrupted, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “Why haven’t you done it then, what you’ve been paid to do? Here I am, defenceless and happy to take whatever shit comes my way.” Her hands slammed on the table as she stood up unsteadily, wavering on the spot. “I’m a murderer aren’t I?! I’m a twisted monster, a demon with no morals and no control over my own damn mind!” Tears were escaping her eyes now, tears that shouldn’t be there, tears that she knew she had no right to shed. Devils never cry, Dimitri’s words echoed in her mind.

“You know what, fuck it.” She stumbled, leaning over the table, eyeing the gun in Dante’s holster. “If you won’t do it, then I will.” Her arms reached out in a movement that didn’t even feel like her own. She was practically numb now, her ears ringing as she fell onto the table, fingers grazing his coat. Dante groaned as he stood up, taking her wrist in his hand as he dragged her unstable body towards the door.

“Fine. If you want me to do it that badly I will, but not in here.” She ignored the stares from the other patrons, the muttering of their words as they watched the scene in front of them.

“Fuck he’s so lucky. She wouldn’t even talk to me.”

“What a whore, he only started speaking to her a few minutes ago.”

“Looks like she’s gonna get what she deserves, if ya know what I mean.”

Their words spun in her head as the tears continued to roll from her cheeks, as the door to the bar was slammed open, dragging her into the cool air of the night. Any other day, the sensations it brought may have been enjoyable, but being dragged towards an alley, legs seemingly moving of their own volition, her mind couldn’t focus on anything other than the firm grip on her wrist.

This is it, she thought, as she was thrown to the ground, pulled up onto her knees by a tug on her shirt collar.

“Any last words, demon?” His voice echoed through the alley as he settled his guns barrel against the back of her head. Her body relaxed into the moment, shoulders sagging as if puppet strings once holding her together were cut. She leaned her head back further against the gun to look up into Dante’s eyes a final time.

“Thank you.” With a rustle of leather and a sharp pain at the base of her neck, her vision blacked out.

Thanks for reading and like I said, any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

[Chapter 2]

#of sins and succubi #dante #dmc #dmc 4 #dmc 5 #devil may cry #dante x reader #succubus!OC #OC #edited

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rachelthompsonauthor · 5 years

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We all take things personally because we are all, well, people, aka, persons. We live our lives through our own eyes and experiences, right? This is how people argue with one another, whether that’s in real life or online. “In my experience,” or “In my humble opinion,” is how most of these debates begin.

What if you view things from another’s’ perspective? As the saying goes, “Walk a mile in someone else’s shoes.” In this age of controversy, that’s mighty difficult, particularly from a political or religious perspective. I’m constantly amazed at the responses some men give me about being a childhood sexual abuse and rape survivor – what they would have done in my situation, 🙄when they cannot comprehend what it was like for me (at age eleven) or in college.

It can be quite frustrating to explain my perspective and experiences to people who have absolutely no comprehension of what it’s like to live through these experiences, and to be treated as if I’m to blame for what happened.

One of the most effective ways I’ve learned to not take anything personally is by learning and using The Four Agreements, a small yet effective code of conduct by Don Miguel Ruiz. Don’t Take Anything Personally is the Second Agreement. I’ll break it down for you here with examples and how to apply it to your own life as a survivor.

Let’s deconstruct.

Taking Things Personally Causes Frustration

Take my example above: if a man says to me, “Why didn’t you fight back?” which is a typical, ignorant answer from a non-survivor who understands nothing about how the brain reacts to trauma, I become frustrated because I want to educate him with facts and science. Facts and science do not work on someone whose intent is to denigrate and victim-blame me.

The onus is on me to take a breath and examine the intent of the person who is interacting with me:

What’s in it for him?

Does he want to learn more about sexual abuse survivors and trauma?

How the brain reacts to trauma?

How he can help others who have been raped or abused?

Since the Third Agreement is Don’t Make Assumptions, I have the choice to continue interacting with the person and attempt to have a meaningful, educational discussion to move the narrative forward, or I can shut it down and move on, saving myself the possible frustration of what could potentially upset me further.

In an argument, each side wants to defend their position because we feel we must be right in order to win. Decide what ‘winning’ is going to cost you.

I have the choice, here. I have the agency to own how I take comments from this man (if at all – the Block and Mute buttons are our friends on social media). If I’m having this discussion with someone in real life, I can decide to end the discussion or walk away if it’s not serving me or causing me frustration.

I can draw a boundary because this person’s comments are not about me at all – they come from his lived experiences or viewpoint.

And this is the key to not experiencing frustration when healing from sexual assault – what others say they believe in reaction to our truth is on them, not us.

Taking Things Personally Lowers Self-Esteem

Based on one survivor story:

Let’s say your mother tells you she doesn’t believe another family member sexually abused you as a child, and it crushes you. You find yourself alone and desperate to make her believe you at all costs. You spend years in therapy, yet it doesn’t help. You’re at odds with her over every small thing because this big thing looms large over your entire relationship. Understandable.

You starve yourself. You sleep around. You drink and dabble in drugs. You can’t keep a job. You self-harm. All because your mother, the person who is supposed to be in your corner, of all people, doesn’t believe you. When you look in the mirror, you hate your reflection. You speak so negatively to yourself, even your closest friends would be appalled (all common for survivors, by the way).

Trace that back to the fact that you have taken her disbelief personally. You’ve pinned all your hopes toward healing from this trauma onto one person: her. When in fact, healing depends on someone else entirely: YOU.

If someone isn’t treating you with love and respect, you are allowed to walk away from them.

This is also a boundary, and yes, part of not taking anything personally. What this mother did is terrible, absolutely. What this survivor needs is to stop looking for support from someone who refuses to give it, and realize she’s worthy of self-love and support from a community of survivors and therapists who will help her embrace her in healing.

This isn’t woo-woo shit. This is reality. If the people in your life aren’t bolstering your self-esteem, it’s on you to take action to change those circumstances, not them. If they don’t believe you, you can still seek help and support. Healing isn’t dependent on other people believing you – it’s dependent on you getting the support you need and deserve. Toxic people won’t give you that, so don’t give them anything.

I’ve been in this situation in the past with men. I left them. Cutting ties is the best thing.

Taking Things Personally Creates Conflict

We get defensive when someone calls us out on something they don’t agree with. Our lived experience is different from someone else’s. Intuitively, this makes sense. We fight for what, in our eyes, is right. Remember this:

Nothing other people do is because of you. It is because of themselves. Even when a situation seems so personal, even if others insult you directly, it has nothing to do with you. What they say, what they do, and the opinions they give are according to the agreements they have in their own minds. Their point of view comes from all the programming they received growing up. ~ Don Miguel Ruiz

I see this so much on social media, don’t you? I get caught up in it myself, especially with regard to victim-blaming survivors for being assaulted and abused or raped. I cannot, and will not, ever accept that it’s ever a survivor’s fault for a perpetrator committing a crime. We never blame a woman for being car-jacked or robbed at the ATM, do we? So why do people blame her for being raped? It’s mind-boggling to me. So yea, it feels personal.

And yet…I know in my heart, it’s not. People who victim-blame are conditioned by their own families, peers, news, media, and social media to take a stance that makes sense to them and their point of view, and that has nothing to do with me. Arguing with them, providing facts, sharing my experiences, etc., does nothing to help change their minds.

Example: When an (in)famous YouTuber tweeted: “Anxiety is created by you” (and then subsequently deleted it because wow, so uninformed), many of his bro-dudes supported him by explaining that it’s true – all mental illnesses could simply go away if we just tried harder, worked out more, and stopped being victims.

I’ll admit, I got involved in attempting to educate some of these bro-dudes by sharing that mental illness isn’t something that goes away like a bad cold, or is a figment of our imaginations. Sure, it’s all in our heads – our brains, that is. And so on.

Oy, the mansplaining. What could I – a woman of 55 years, who has studied mental illness for over twenty years (longer than most of those kids have been alive LOL), who has anxiety, depression, and cPTSD, who has written two books about it (so far) that have been vetted and reviewed by several psychologists, who hosts a weekly Twitter #SexAbuseChat that deals with mental illness specifically for survivors of sexual abuse – know about mental illness?

Yet, you see, it didn’t matter. I took it personally. They took it personally. It was no longer about mental illness – it became more about who was right. My facts, stats, and science had nothing on their put-downs and misogynistic chuckles.

There could be no conflict resolution because our values would never align.

Once I reeled myself back in, I began writing this post. I reminded myself not to take it personally because what they were saying wasn’t about me. I reminded myself about my own healing boundaries, self-care, and how to put my energies into something more positive – writing.

Taking Things Personally Takes Energy

As I just mentioned, that interaction took enormous energy; energy I could use elsewhere. And that’s really the crux of this post. Where are we spending our energy when we take something personally? Usually, we end up in a negative loop of toxicity. That’s part of the cycle our brains play with us, a pattern we may not be aware of. Becoming aware of this pattern allows us to change it. That’s what these agreements help us do.

It hurts when people say something negative about us, and we take it personally. The wound festers; we poke at it, and peel at that scab. We’re so focused on the one comment, we shut out everything else, even the positive stuff, to the point that we’re missing out on life.

Example: In my BadRedhead Media business, I work with authors. Authors receive book reviews, oftentimes from non-professional reviewers. Sometimes, these reviews are verging on the ridiculous. That’s just the way it is. Amazon and other online retailers allow for these reviews. It is what it is. As an author myself, I, too, receive these reviews.

We tend to focus on these rare and silly one-star reviews, rather than the majority of five-star, terrific reviews. This is knowns as the negativity bias, which means our brains are hard-wired to focus on the negative, most likely due to evolution:

The evolutionary perspective suggests that this tendency to dwell on the negative more than the positive is simply one way the brain tries to keep us safe.

We’re not doomed, however. By not taking things personally, we are reframing these situations, and using our energy differently. Comments that strike us as negative could potentially be a learning experience, even if we feel offended. Always be on the lookout for a learning opportunity, or ways to utilize that energy toward something more useful.

Ask yourself these questions to refocus your energy:

What can I learn from this?

What difference will this make in my life?

How can I change what I’m doing with this reaction (or do I need to)?

What activity can do I do now to take myself out of this situation?

How can I change my thinking pattern to grow from this?

Listen, none of us is perfect. I first read The Four Agreements back in the 90s, and found it useful because it helped me make sense of a difficult situation in a corporate setting. I now find it helpful as both an author and entrepreneur, as well as a mom. Being on social media and online is a crucial part of my business, so I deal with many different types of people constantly. If I took everything they say personally, I’d never get out of bed.

If you aren’t getting what you need from someone or something, remember – it’s okay to withdraw. You aren’t a loser. Maintaining peace in your life and focusing on your healing will always “win.”

Please share your thoughts and comments below.

Do you need help right now? Please contact RAINN at rainn.org or 24/7 at 1.800.656.HOPE

***

Read more about Rachel’s experiences in the award-winning book, Broken Pieces.

She goes into more detail about living with PTSD and realizing the effects of how being a survivor affected her life in

Broken Places, available in print everywhere!

The post 4 Reasons Taking Things Personally Prevents Healing appeared first on Rachel Thompson.

via Rachel Thompson

#IFTTT #Rachel Thompson

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paperbagnotes · 2 years

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I’ve literally been home all Sunday sleeping in and doing dishes.. pulling cards, and reading, almost a whole deck pull today - ah I was high in the rare heat, had the time. Turned out pretty good :]

Archetypes- wild unknown deck

The question - the answer

The prayer-

show me the way, is it surrender or service. Leading us beyond our ego towards illusion, bow to the ground as your heart lifts to the sky. Every song, breathe, movement can be a prayer, no wasted energy with practice. mostly feeling, consider the mantra: ong Namo guru dev namo, I bow to the within.

The unseen-

we can not see it, yet it sees us, challenging our perception of what is real. The sounds may seem far away but they’re coming from your inner most chambers. Eternal eyes show guidance to the truth.

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The animal-

The wild one, remember the warm blood that pumps through our veins and directly from our hearts. It is said that when Buddha became enlightened he roared like a great lion. Vital alive elemental dancing. Listen to the audio of Mary Oliver reading wild geese. Release pent up emotions or clasped savagery. Notice where your resistance to let loose comes from, what is it keeping you from doing? Get comfortable in your skin, once we accept our physical being we tap into our animal energy.

The seed-

The origin. Complex, surprising, multilayered, the entire oak tree resides within the acorn. There is a potent energy all around, it stirs you and usually results in an angsty or antsy, impatient feeling. Pay attention to what is bothering you, what is the gritty sand on your skin, there is where growth is coming. It is from the sand that forms the pearl like James hillman’s acorn theory in “the soul’s code”. Always being the seed growing and the fruit it bears. Avoid festering and work on expressing foundation to build on.

The mirror-

The looking glass brings us into the precedence of the myth narcissus. Seeing his reflection in a pool so compelled by it he couldn’t look away and died there. The mirror is a power and a danger that can drive a force between you and your true self. Practice unadulterated awareness. Comparison is a darkness, yayoi kusama’s infinity mirror rooms bring up the discussion of what is even to be Seen. Feel lighter looking in a mirror, focus on the beauty in your presence when you look at your reflection. If you need further awakening read juan Jimenez “I am not I” or yoko ono’s “mirror piece”.

The kiss-

Touch. Before a first kiss air is electrified with possibility, breath is alive, this archetype is a heightened sensation of merging with another, of changing your idea of what was moments ago separate. Two things becoming one. Moving towards union an acceptance this card suggest true intimacy is around the corner requiring bravery and surrender. When kissing takes a non-human form, it feels as if souls are touching the sacred. Like hearing a whisper or feeling something in the wind. You’ll recognize the presence of this coming by the awakening of your heart. Express sensuality but if you turn to the Darkside you will feel neediness and pressure wanting dominance, nothing to relieve. watch Andy Warhols 1963 film entitled kiss or think of the story of your first kiss, what is it you hoped to hold or not. Intimacy is multi layered and requires our reflection, Revisit what you consider to be sensual or taboo, what annoyed you? why do you think something is acceptable or shameful. For some reason I think of the tension in son ambulance.

The underworld-

An ordeal. This is the shadow realm we try vigorously to avoid or deny at all costs. Through disturbing images in our sleep, unexpected acts-events, illness, war, conflict or misfortune, fear of the underworld without visitation or denying its existence altogether is what gives it dangerous power. Exploring it forces us to bow humbly to the greater forces that are about while summoning the inner strength we previously underestimated. Take solace that the underworld is to create soldiers of light in shadowy times facing darkness and choosing light is the most profound call it has. Face your fears, draw bravery from your depth. do not give into suppression or denial of your immense strength, if you need aid into your unconsciousness read “meeting the shadow” by Connie Zweig & Jeremiah Abrams. search images of Dante’s inferno what does this stir in you? How do you feel about the goddess inanna’s descent?

The bridge-

Connection, link, gate, when we cross a bridge we are magically led into a new reality. We open up to otherness, communication and healing entering a state of curiosity. Leading to wonder and learning, a shaman creates the ethereal bridge between the everyday and the sacred energy. Study the seemingly disconnected parts of your life, know a bridge can be formed with love, acceptance and communication. Avoid unclear boundaries, imagine building a bridge.. then imagine building A wall. Which image is needed for the situation at hand? Which image softened the heart? Look up the image of bifrost the burning rainbow bridge to Asgard of Norse mythology. Or telescope/satellite images of milky ways.

The stone-

The rock, anchor. Representing permanence and reliability. A stone may see thousands of generations come and go, containing and ancient and eternal presence. No matter how far we roam we can always find our way back. Helping ground and connect us to stillness, likely this is a remedy for what ails us, quiet and peace. Easily unnoticed stone balances the man made frenzy. In Jewish reverent stones are lay apon graves to show love everlasting. Try to stay steadfast and loyal to your dreams, balancing presence in the world around you. Don’t hold back. See Caspar friedrich’s “a walk at dusk”

The flame-

Sparked. In sanskrit the word for fire is Agni, yogis see this flame at the center of our abdomen, it’s believed to hold the spirit of our vitality. When aflame we are connected to our purpose. Think of this as a call to cup your hands gently around the things you’ve forgotten. It is most likely the poet, mystic or shaman call to you through the language of your inner flame. The beginning of transformation, purification and manifestation. Practice Trāṭaka, notice how lighting a single flame creates a sense of reverence and brings spirit into the space. Allow mental clarity with ease, seek out richter’s candle paintings or read rumi’s poem “the light you give off”

The one-

Non duality, unus mundus. Bliss. Sensing this intimate Union Unites all beings. A glimpse of ourselves in the vast consciousness, we are neither small nor large, all duality faded away, we are both the giver and receiver for the gift of life. Potent moments that we are left to savor for a lifetime. Its said that OM is the primordial sound of the universe and that all other mantras are born from it, simply imagining this possibility will activate the one. it is that the beginning and end of all things is universally love. Love & resonate. Don’t ignore. Poem “self portrait” by David whyte explains it better. “the color inside” by James turrell sparked his exhibits trying to explain this.

Pull for Me and you get one too

The vision-

The dream, imagining, the revealing. You can tell how connected you are to your vision by how tired you are. Vision feeds us energy, so it affects our life force. Have trust in synchronicity. Steer clear of being aimless or listless. there is a destiny towards which we are aimed, arguably we forget this vision in the moment we are born. appearing in strange dreams or signs & images, seemingly unattainable and preposterous when we are connected to the vision in it’s extravagance. we carry an inspired and enchanted aliveness when we trust the world as we walk through new doors into energy more potent. When we lose connection to the vision life becomes a goal and exhausting, it lacks meaning. bring you back to your dreams.

The storm-

Whirl wind. Rebalance your equilibrium. It is a result of precarious conditions, not the cause of them. The ground becomes the sky, the sky becomes the center, and the center disappears. The storm is an equalizer no matter how far we’ve come on our path, we can’t hide from the wind. You must wait it out, if you try to fight the storm you’ll lose. The better option is to seek temporary shelter in reliable pleasures, when all else fails go within. there for a moment, you can settle into the eye of the storm. another helpful tip from Rilke “the man watching”

The starborn-

Don’t be surprised if you receive a surge of desire for a long lost dream, let this shake you up. Align your vibration, have vibrant aim, don’t lose your longing indulge in your alignment. There is a cosmic spark of light that arrives with each being at birth. In the moment the newborn “crowns” the stars above are said to constellate in a unique shape that maps our path in the world, the idea of destiny is controversial yet the starborn naturally feels a sense of destination and purpose. Aiming your life beyond what is Mundane, rather than seeing your life as a series of logistics try looking from a mythical point of you. Read the story of the three fates and envision yourself born under the stars with a unique destiny, isn’t this your story? Hafez writes “tripping over joy” so we don’t have to.

The ring-

Infinite wheel. The ouroboros. Like the medicine wheel, take note of how you adorn yourself or the gemstones in your home.. watch out for yolks that keep you connected to a different you. The ring challenges us to sense the cyclical infinite nature of our world or experiences. Practice seeing ourselves as part of the cosmic circularity of creation. It is no surprise a ring is worn on the finger to symbolize eternal love that surpasses Space and time. Because it mimics the earths orbit the eternal bonds between two lovers, it is the micro and macro United. Deep in the connection with yourself and others it is in the world at large and your sacred cycles. Don’t deprive yourself of connection that you’ve been starving and stop unconscious repetition. See rilke’s ” I live my life in widening circles“

The forest-

Thicket. Think of your earliest memory of the forest, it requires that you enter it, then getting lost within its magic. Soon enough you are on a pathless path, you’re on an adventure now. So embrace whether literal or imaginary, get lost getting found. Avoid concealment.

The tear-

Release, rain. Droplets of acceptance, often needed to break into the next level of intimacy or vulnerability. Some say that tears are so powerful at softening our egos that they open up a portal to the unseen. We sense our humanity and our humility, allowing ourselves to be held. It seems there is grieving yet to do, once acknowledged will bring a sense of clarity to our eyes. Flowing through melancholy like a melody, don’t drown in drama or pay mind to the murkiness. Listen to it read rain by vachel Lindsay

The creator-

it is the role of an artist to awaken what has fallen asleep. When an image calls to you, create it. Ward off jadedness. Not intimidated by darkness or by lacking, know that from the void creation inevitably emerges. Making the empty room resonate with healing sounds they generate bounty from the seed that others toss their way. Annihilating preconceive notion‘s of what is possible, leaving unexpected openings in the wake. To do this you must first be absolutely present to what is and trusting that a force greater than yourself awaits constant collaboration with the human soul. Whether we call it nature or God, goddess, shakti, the universe or divine self it remains the creators lifelong companion. be open to surprise, and playful curiosity. release burdening feelings. If curious how a creators brain works look at Vincent van Gogh ‘s letters to his brother Theo. or the first part of Wes Anderson‘s French dispatch. Marilyn minters studies. Or watch Robert Rauschenberg’s Retrospective Documentary pop art pioneer. (I could name a few)

The nectar-

Medicine, garden elixir. In Hindi mythology there is a miraculous substance known as Amrit. Its said to contain infinite healing powers, the drink of immortality like it’s sister substance soma, known to activate subtle intelligent forces using your mind body and spirit, though esoteric, relish in places, and practices that generate healing. Medicine comes in subtle forms that you may be overlooking, seek the most fragrant flower in the garden you have forgotten. Don’t underestimate this remedy, It is said when someone activates the nectar within it is reflected in their shimmering eyes. Like Krishna you can turn poison into nectar from truth. Think about truth as sweet honey dripping onto your brain and flowing down covering your every nerve. Relax, glow, practice subtle illumination, remove any aggressive approach. Seek “The wind one brilliant day” Antonio machado

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The desert

Wasteland. When in the desert think water is very near, do not fixate on any desolation you may feel. The desert leaves us disoriented, desperate, grasping from over heating, and longing for solid ground. Endless miles are confronted with the lack of clarity. You’re thirsty, pleading with life to get back to normal. Notice the simple pleasantries in a day. There is no such comfort in the desert. All must pass through it if you can embrace the discomfort knowing you’ll someday reach water again you can tap into the potential energy of the landscape. light blindingly bright, and darkness terrifyingly deep result in unbridled creativity for clairvoyant visions. Truth resides in what otherwise remains hidden. feel light hearted and giddy in what seems surreal or strange, the unexpected visions or pro long silence are powers against the disorienting and isolating.

The vow

Oath or promise. Here is ritual that means Time stands still, anything is possible. Think of the last meaningful promise you made, was it to yourself? Did you uphold it? Do not make unconscious vows or worry about unkept promises, messy karma, bear witness to the shift toward destiny. When you speak a Vow into existence, karmic ties are formed. Our words and initiations have immense power, there is a reason great mythic stories of our past often include the reciting of oath and the mixing of drops of blood as a mark of union. The tricky part about reciting a vow no matter how casual, it’s an activation of the eternal and unseen forces of the world. The laws of nature respond, these promises cannot be unsaid or forgotten. Breaking principles leaves lingering complexities and loose ends. You’re called to acknowledge the vows you are living by consciously or unconsciously. Either we commit to it or create a ritual that signifies closure ending its pursuit of you. you’ve been underestimating the power of what you’ve been suppressing. recite the five vows of the seeker, the yamas.

The threshold

Door, gate, initiation. Growth in individualization. Stop resisting or creating barriers for yourself. Consciously and unconsciously we cross thresholds, doorways, and gates, graced on our path on a daily basis. you have arrived at the threshold of initiation here to show you into a new reality. It requires you to leave behind that what you thought was so well formed, for a new frontier calling. Part of something you held so tightly as truth will be lost in order to make space for what is meant to be next. The ground will seem to fall away as you free fall into your new reality. This is the liminal realm, one step at a time, just breathe and take the ones that are necessary to move forward for the future that calls you. lie on the floor and listen to bob Dylan’s “ standing in the doorway”

The lover

Devoted heart. The lovers awe is unconditional. it is common to seek the lover in another but the true gift is finding the lover within yourself to love. The heart of this card is gratitude, the lover appreciates the experiences of the world through their senses reveling in the beauty, songs, art and senses of their sensuality. energy awakening at the tip of our tongue, tasting sweetness of honey or speaking gentle words to a child. This energy is usually experienced for short periods of time , in order to feel it we must be fully present and alive. With no rules about what should be the lover is in awe of what the world presents. The lover lingers in forplay being aroused not by the “there” but the slow emerging of self and of other. grateful to savor every last drop of life’s offering the lover is invigorated. Room for expansion through devotion do not indulge in unfound attachment. Think of all the ways Aphrodite loves, how does this make you feel about your own capacity to love? or the aspects of love you desire?

The Healer

Gifted. This is our natural inclination to remember, to return to and to reclaim that central and eternal life force from which we so easily drifted away. In Sanskrit the word avidya means forgetting and it is said that this is the source of all suffering and disease. The healers duty is then to move through the veils of ignorance and denial to reveal the radiance that already exists. The healer approaches this in multiple ways knowing the cycle of healing is not linear always leading back to its own origin much like the ouroboros. Gratitude for practice, and not forgetting.

The King

Commander. Once the kings relationship to divinity is broken or challenged he often acts from a place of fear scrambling to uphold what he’s worked for. For the king to die would be an ego death. Through the lens of the king we assess the state of our lives make decisions and then rule accordingly. Checking yourself regularly as to avoid corruption. Either seated in benevolence or strength always guiding towards peace or oppression. There is a need to control, not much middle ground, try to hold nobility and think of service. Avoiding oppressive behaviors towards others and a miss use of power. Seek teachings of the Dalai Lama for prophetic guidance.

The Mentor

Sage. Keep in mind how easy it is to project your power. Cosmic knowledge pours down on the world like a great waterfall but the true teacher is able to hold this flow of wisdom at bay while the student sips from a focused stream. The teacher may appear aloof or affectionate, harsh or tender ultimately the mentor is in service of the greater cosmic good and aids in the elevation of consciousness. When the mentor forgets this humble link and mistakes themselves for the source of enlightenment the archetype mentor falls into shadow. stay clearly focused and brightly remain a student. Do not envy youth or be righteously self-serving or rigid. Seek out riddles of zen masters.

The Hunter

Seeker. The predator honors its prey with a precise and skillful kill the hunter deeply reveres the life it takes. when aligning your energy with the great creatures of the world, the lion, the wolf, the tiger do so with care. To return home empty-handed would be to fail, your journey is far and wide seeking a prize that calls to your heart. what are you hunting? Why are you hunting it? Is the weapon you hold so tightly truly needed for the task? Be respectful, avoid irresponsible actions or poaching. Look apon Freda kahlos the wounded deer.

The Shadow

The unspoken, denied, what’s unspeakable. The closer something is to the light the longer the shadow cast? “ in the shadow of the gods, are the very gods themselves“ reveal your unconscious aspects of self, and the world around you. it is typically the cast from our lofty pursuit of ascension and perfection that is the very source of shadow material itself. by rejecting parts of ourselves and the world around us we begin to separate from the whole. Rather than getting to know the qualities and content of our shadow we busy ourselves with avoiding its presence or nagging feeling. This is complete denial. It is time to take inventory of those things you’ve been denying, when the mind responds with I can’t, you are touching a shadow. Find support for the deep inner work and move towards any unfavorable aspect with patience and compassion. ”owning your own shadow” by r.Johnson may help.

Mercy Q & A

The temple-

Sanctuary, shrine, altar. Every function feature of the body expresses a Divinity building a shrine with found materials spending time on improvement. This is a spiritual journey. We are quick to distance ourselves from the sacred assuming we must expand much effort in order to arrive at this temple. it however is an Omni present energy accessible in your highest and lowest places, visiting might be as simple as stepping into a grassy knoll, or closing your eyes to travel inward. Re-examine what you pay homage to and what you were rejecting. What do you spend your time worshiping? What barriers do you draw between yourself and the sacred? Perhaps there is room on your altar for something new, something to surprise you, offer your self to the truth and it will be revealed. Life is sanctuary, don’t play fool to strict spirituality. ”now is the time” by hafez helps

The sustainer-

Peacemaker. What truly sustains you? Take note of the difference between maintaining and sustaining which do you resonate with more? These are responsible tasks you must do like cultivating a garden, or paying the bills, keeping your meals warm and yourself peaceful in the process of life. consider the viral mental impact, see the role in the divine cycle of life, it is common to become overworked, leading to resentment. Rarely receiving the credit or attention you long to hold, there is resistant to necessary change being unsupported. You have a reliable abundance do not feel resentful or trapped.

The mountain-

there is a mountain, it says “I’m calling to you” should you go to mount kailash and seek wisdom in the sacred caves where yogis dwell? Is it just a metaphor for a courageous feat? Whichever real or metaphorical the mountain is patient. It will wait for your realization and for your chest to crack open or to cry out for the mountain that has been missing you. Within the inner mountain is a cave that contains a fire that holds the ocean. Ground yourself in the eternal, remain uplifted. Avoid ominous feelings daunting with isolation. “The poet dreams of the mountain” stirring up stoic and regal feelings, the mountain can affect us in two ways, it can inspire and then live in us to rise to new heights and peak experiences, yet it can also create isolation competitiveness and an inflated sense of self. It can activate the pursuit and a perfectionist mentality, creating separation from things we deem to be below our nature. No matter how high you ascend remember that it is within the core of the mountain that the gems, minerals and magic reside. If you think it’s all about going up you’re going the wrong path.

The offering-

Gift, sacrifice. Being silent for a day is offering yourself to divine silence. If there’s some thing you’ve been holding back from someone else now is the time to express it. take time in meditation to consider what must be offered, and who is to receive it. It’s likely you’ll feel attachment and hesitancy you’ll make excuses, recognize the link though between the words sacred and sacrifice. One leads to the other when we offer up something to the greater good we lighten ourselves and become more able to serve. Imagine for a moment if you were to offer your whole self unconditionally, how does that feel to reminisce? for now start small. do not give with expectation, or keep track of what is gained and what is given. Like Oden sacrificing his eye.

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Apocalypsis-

Remove the veil of deception. During this time all things will be revealed. you have some real uncovering to do, it indicates a particularly painful time, one that unfolds when two desperate dynamics occur simultaneously. pulling the psyche in seemingly opposing directions, the first is a lifting of the veil, meaning the truth that has been kept in the dark is revealed, an element of despair follows the second dynamic of regeneration that comes from the wreckage of the revealed truth. your old narrative breaks and a new story forms. This energy is similar to a forest fire. Devastation for the sake of re-generalization. The veil lifts and we see who and what has been hiding. have faith in the process holding onto your center. The unknown will become known guiding the way, don’t give in to nihilism or fatalism you do not seek to feel hopelessness. Michael meade’s “why the world doesn’t end” explains more.

The mystic-

Dreamer. mystic light beams back to the world, often misunderstood, depicted as a wanderer or lighthearted daydreamer. playing a critical role remaining fearless dedicated to the path of transformation is key. In order to save the earth from darkness, Shiva swallows the poison of the world and holds it in his throat, slowly transforming the liquid into nectar. This is the work of a mystic. Not fearing darkness but rather sitting in the presence of it harnessing the potential and energy behind it, embedding it within light. Patient imprudent are the changemakers, harnessing growth above all else. Unanswered questions are the mystics lifeblood, Dancing with the forces of light and dark. remove darkness, don’t expect results or seek attention and recognition, move about your life for your own vision. Murakami novels are all mystical.

The bardo-

Potential for us to rise above the concerns, and see relationships through a cosmic or timeless lens, seeing visions of lives not yet lived. Potential too forgive, to say what’s unsaid, to love the unloved, to let go of what causes us pain. Sending us into spaciousness just long enough to open us to a higher wisdom. It’s energy does not belong to earth as we know it anyways but the cosmic network which we are just a thread. Find solace in the truth. Do not torment yourself. Reference dead books. The Tibetan book of the dead.. lament of the dead..

The crone-

Difficulty tolerating superficial, petty, day-to-day musings. Seeking a deeper path even if this means a more solitary life. The master of letting go, they have seen it all, this is the final manifestation in the feminine trifecta of maiden mother to Crone. witnessing cycles of death, sex, failure, rebirth, conflict and regeneration. The ability to rise above the world of duality laugh at notions of good or bad, right or wrong. Watching the world take life and give life, churn and smolder, the energy accepts everything in devouring beauty and suffering with the same mouth. Using this energy to reveal hidden secrets and knowledge residing in all of us. So feared by most for its power and unconventional relationship with death and the macabre, awakening the crone is dangerously rich and unapologetically magical. This is psychic intuitiveness and wisdom at its peak, steer away from feeling bitter or ostracized. Seek guidance from hecate, or baba yaga.

The poet-

Artist, witness, truth teller. Beware of harmful words or having a sharp tongue, squandering your creativity by making snap judgments, and quick decisions. The poets work is to feel immensely and not be afraid. Seeking out the truth in the darkest corners, and carrying it back for all to see poetically. This resides in all of us, regardless of our relationship to creativity. When your poetic energy is present there is a call for deep honesty and reflection. You see the big picture within and out, you ride effortlessly between the personal and the universal. Few may listen or care about the poets work but not getting discouraged, the words ring true for centuries to come within a few. Soothing the wounds of despair and derangement used to captivate our world, with words. Find your voice and trust that it will carry you.

The self

The shapeshifter

The mask

The comic

Gnosis

Eternal child

The gem

The warrior

The thread

Anima Mundi

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