#sometimes all you need is an external prod

[ivystoryweaver]

Still With You

A With You standalone sequel - can be read on its own

"Salvaging discarded things knocked the edge off wanting to drink."

"...but where Marc's hands restored and your hands healed and Steven's hands inspired and instructed, Jake had brutal hands."

based on this nonnie and this @purple-amaranthe request

Pairing: Marc, Steven, Jake x gn!reader || Word Count: 3.2k

Content: they're all trying hard ok, domestic life, self worth probs, mentions of alcoholism/drinking, angst-ish, domestic fluff, moon dads-to-be, romance, sensual content, but nothing explicit

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MARC

10:58 A.M.

Florescent lights flickered out an annoying buzz in the otherwise silent waiting room.

Thumbing through an outdated parenting magazine, you intermittently pointed out cute toys or outfits to your husband, who would grant you a curt nod each time.

Realizing you likely weren't helping the situation, you set the magazine aside and covered his hand with your own, if only to stop his fidgeting. "Almost time."

Marc squeezed your hand, grateful for your grounding touch. "You're sure we're not late?"

"We're right on time. It's still not even 11:00."

"Okay," he huffed out, his knee bouncing of its own accord. The cheap vinyl of his chair squeaked as he shifted, attempting to externally calm and internal storm.

You smiled at him sympathetically, remembering how far he'd come to even get to this point.

Just yesterday, he paced the floor half the evening, pushing his hands tormentedly through his curls over and over.

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"They'll never approve me," he lamented. "I'm not...they'll think I'm not ready."

"Baby, we've taken all the classes. We've passed the home inspection." You nodded around at your new bedroom, eyes landing on the salvaged and restored night table he presented to you a while back.

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Marc had taken on several projects since then, turning one bedroom of your new place into a workshop and the other into a nursery.

"Do you think she'll like girl colors?" He asked, flipping through paint swatches at the local hardware store.

"Uhh, what are 'girl colors'?" You smirked.

He swatted your nose with his finger. "I'm trying to pick out what color to paint that vintage toy chest I restored for Akeyla."

Your heart melted at the sound of your future daughter's name, not to mention the fact that Marc had put together nearly every piece in her nursery himself.

When he wasn't on a mission for Khonshu, he liked to keep his hands busy. Sometimes that meant his hands were all over you for "stress relief." Otherwise, he would drive around town in the old truck he bought, looking for unwanted and discarded furniture to fix up, repurpose for the house, or sell.

He still labeled himself unemployed, but he sold a few refurbished pieces a month, which more than paid for the hobby, his truck insurance and even left some spending money.

Salvaging discarded things knocked the edge off wanting to drink.

"Maybe like...turquoise?" He prodded, tracing his fingers over a row of various blues and greens. When you neglected to answer what you assumed was a rhetorical question, he assumed it was a no.

"Or purple? Sweetheart?" The full intensity of the Marc Spector stare fell on you as he waited for the verdict.

"Sorry." You smiled at him, nodding toward the turquoise swatches. "Trust your instincts. You're always right." Leaning closer, you kissed him adoringly on the cheek.

"That's not what you said about the yellow bench," he chuckled, selecting a swatch labeled "Ebbtide".

"That's pretty, I like it."

Marc needed to hear your words. After a couple years of marriage, you knew this now more than ever. Whether telling him what you needed in bed, or giving your seal of approval for his newest restoration project, he valued your opinion more than anything and it meant so much to him to hear you voice it.

Akeyla's nursery had been ready for weeks. The vintage toy chest was the final touch. Marc found a rocking chair, a book case that Steven requested, and chest of drawers to restore. You drew the line at a creaky old toddler bed. Steven went with you to pick that out, brand new.

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It was finally here. Today was the day you would meet your little girl.

You weren't ready to take her home yet - that was longer process - but you would meet her and start visits. Very soon, she would enter your home through the foster system, and after a while, she would be yours forever, by adoption.

"What if they change their minds?" Marc urgently whispered, there in the waiting room, gripping your hand so tightly it hurt. "They'll want to put her somewhere without someone - "

"Marc," you reminded him, "they know all about us. It's okay."

"I know, but - what if they find out about Khon- "

"Hi, are you the Spectors?" a kindly voice interrupted Marc's fussing.

A smartly dressed young woman holding a tablet adjusted her glasses and smiled.

"Yes," you quickly answered, standing up and pulling Marc with you. "That's us. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She shook each of your hands. "Ready to meet her?"

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"What if I..." Marc whispered against your temple, holding you against him in bed the night before. "I want to be there to meet her, but if I'm not, it isn't because I..." He shifted restlessly, trying to explain.

"You know what I always say," you gently reminded him, raking one hand through the curls resting above his ear.

"It's our body," he repeated your words back to you. "Whoever's there is there. It's not a problem."

"Exactly," you remind him. "I know you want to meet Akeyla as much as Steven, Jake and I do. I know that."

"I do," he breathlessly repeated, and you realized it might be a long night, when he added, "I just don't want to scare her. What if she doesn't understand, you know, how we are?"

"Baby, come here," You pulled his head down to your chest, wrapping him up tightly, pressing soothing kisses along his hairline. He wasn't voicing any fears he hadn't already talked through a dozen times with you, his sponsor and his therapist, not to mention his alters.

"Sorry," he murmured against the smooth column of your neck. Shifting pleading eyes up to yours, he relaxed, as your soft smile soothed him. "I'm so nervous."

"I am too," you sympathized. "Believe me, Marc. I mean, we're meeting our daughter. I'm just as nervous as you are."

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Marc tangled his fingers with yours as you shuffled down the hallway toward the room that would change your lives forever.

The woman in front of you, who had identified herself as Elsie, paused before opening the door. "Ready?"

You glanced at your husband.

Sometimes he was so adorably terrified you were certain he forgot it was actually his idea to adopt.

Granting you a nod, he swallowed thickly. "Ready."

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STEVEN

9:22 P.M.

"So tense, mon cœur," your husband breathed against your neck, trailing tempting kisses over your damp skin. Strong forearms flexed against your abdomen, pulling your back closer to the slick heat of his bare chest.

Thick thighs surrounded you as you rested in your garden tub together, soaking in a bubble bath. Your head dropped to his shoulder as he whispered sensual French words on your ear. Long fingers traced down the shape of your abdomen, naughtily slipping between your legs.

"Steven, this is supposed to be a relaxing bath. Oh shit - " You moaned as touched you right where you craved. His other hand gripped your jaw, turning your face to his for a wet, hungry kiss. You went boneless in his embrace, completely at his mercy.

You should have known sweet Steven would seduce you during your "relaxing bath."

Later that evening, he sat beside you on the sofa, each of you working on a puzzle book from the "couch basket", enjoying a quiet evening in your new home.

“Got those pictures you wanted, love,” he commented. “The garden ones. Found another book too.”

You smiled adoringly at him, so excited to see them framed and hanging in Akeyla’s room. You had asked him to track down pictures of gardens from all over the world. Since Marc was in charge of furniture, Steven helped you pick out some unique decor.

He acquired a couple of first edition classic Children’s books as well. But you reminded him they would have to be stored way up high, away from the grabby hands of a toddler.

So he curated a brilliant little collection of toddler friendly board books for the lower shelves, as well as children’s books for her to grow into.

Steven had finished his bachelor's degree and was now working on a Masters of Anthropology. Already fluent in French, he was also studying Egyptian Arabic in an unofficial capacity, and toying with the idea of studying archaeology or linguistics as well. He just loved to learn and could never get enough.

After all was said and done, he'd probably end up teaching, which was a perfect idea because, in front of the right crowd, he was absolutely enthralling when he was passionate about something.

He still worked at the university library and thanked you almost daily for making most of the money for this little family, while he studied, and he, Jake and Marc worked part-time jobs.

You reminded Steven that their three part time jobs kind of added up to one job - plus as a student, you would give him a pass.

"Besides, you're going to be a sexy professor in another year or two, so I really see no downside," you'd tease him.

“Can’t wait to read to her every night,” Steven mused, pulling your mind back to the present.

Setting your puzzle book down, you snuggled up close to his side, wrapping your arms around his. “She’s always going to remember us reading to her. You’re going to be such a good dad, Steven.”

His throat bobbed. “You really think so?”

“I do. I know it.”

Gripping your hand almost as tightly as Marc had earlier in the afternoon, his head rested against yours. "Can't wait to meet her. Tell me again how she looked."

You warmly chuckled, nuzzling into his sleeve. "You've seen her picture a hundred times."

"I know, but...tell me again. What does her voice sound like?"

So you told Steven all about meeting your daughter for the first time, that afternoon, with Marc.

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JAKE

4:07 A.M.

The jangling of keys in the deadbolt dragged you from a foggy half slumber you'd managed in Steven's chair by the front door.

Jake had finally made it home after another night driving people around, and serving as Khonshu's fist of vengeance.

When he spotted you there, looking so adorably uncomfortable, he pulled his cap off his head and tossed it onto the entry way table with his keys.

Kneeling down in front of you, he smiled warmly. "What are you doing up, mi vida?"

"Mmm," you mumbled, relief surging through you at the sight of him. Leaning forward in the chair, you wrapped your arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. "Missed you."

"Missed you too." He held you for an indulgent moment before gently placing you back into the chair and standing to remove his jacket and gloves. Before you could whine out a protest, he helped you up just long enough to sit in the chair and pull you back down onto his lap.

Tucking you against his body, he reached for his jacket and draped it over you like a blanket. Jake knew you well enough. If he told you to go to bed, you would bristle and defy him, but if he held you like this, you would fall asleep in sixty seconds flat. Win win.

Your body settled against his and your breathing slowed, but you blinked up at him pleadingly. “Where have you been?”

Frowning in confusion, he rubbed his hands up and down your back soothingly, underneath the jacket. “You know where, cariño.”

Looping your fingers around his tie, you coaxed his temping lips to yours for a lingering kiss. Jake shifted underneath you, sighing against your mouth as you held him there for an indulgent moment.

“I haven’t seen you all week. I miss you.”

“I see you almost every night,” he volleyed back.

“You know what I mean.” Realizing you were tired and there was an edge in your tone, you touched your forehead to his. “I know you guys don’t exactly have a schedule. I just wanted to tell you about Akeyla.”

His eyes flickered away as his jaw clenched. You and Marc met your daughter yesterday. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

For a while, Jake had to be asked or reminded to participate in regular, daily things. Sometimes, you would go a week, only seeing him in your room at night, so you would ask him to eat dinner with you or take you out somewhere.

You started late night dates with Jake, just to build memories with him, in his world. It was never really your scene before, but you'd been to bars, out dancing, to late movies and your favorite - midnight bowling.

In fact, you all adjusted your schedules to fit the boys' night owl tendencies. You moved to second shift and Steven didn't take any more morning classes. You all slept in as late as possible, ate brunch or lunch and then got started on your day.

So it was not unheard of for you to wait up for Jake, but sleeping in Steven's chair until 4 A.M. was a bit unusual.

"I was busy tonight," he cryptically remarked, which tended to indicate he was probably doing Khonshu's bidding. "I wasn't trying to stay away."

"I'm not mad," you sleepily assured him, laying your head down on his shoulder. "I can't wait for you to meet her. And with her coming home soon, everything could change.”

"Change how?"

"Well for starters, I doubt a toddler will let us sleep in as late as we do. She'll probably climb all over our heads at like 5:30."

Jake was uncharacteristically quiet and you were half asleep.

"I'm not mad," you drowsily repeated, curling into him, murmuring "missed you" as you drifted off.

He rocked you gently, his heart burning with how he'd possibly disappointed you. Now that you were finally asleep, he didn't dare wake you, so he laid his head on the back of the chair, hoping to join you in slumber.

Jake had seen the horrors of this world, and of worlds adjacent. Terrifying, supernatural threats had met the crunch of his fist, and his vengeance.

But the thought of caring for a little girl shook him to his core, and in a different way than it did Marc.

Marc was always worried about his alcoholism, his past, the fact that they were a system, but he wanted Akeyla so badly. The whole thing was his idea in the first place. Steven was ready to show this kid the world, both metaphorically and literally.

Jake loved you, and he would love his child. Beyond that, he had no idea what to do, or how to contribute. The urge to not take time away from Marc or Steven was so strong it almost felt like instinct.

You, Steven and Marc had lovingly and rather expertly crafted her a dream-worthy nursery, but where Marc's hands restored and your hands healed and Steven's hands inspired and instructed, Jake had brutal hands.

Unwilling to disturb you, he pondered how he could prove to you he was still in this with you.

Reaching into his the pocket of his jacket, which still covered the top half of your body, he pulled out his phone. Opening up a picture of Akeyla, he smiled, studying her cute, chubby cheeks, dark, round eyes and her tightly wound curls.

Tracing the shape of her face with his thumb, he wondered what he could possibly give his sweet angel, besides protection.

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Sleep came for a short while, but as the sun rose, so did you. Jake was asleep but his phone was playing a long playlist of videos. Hoping to not disturb him, you carefully removed the phone from his hand.

The video showed a young girl getting her hair styled. In fact the whole playlist was of dads styling their daughter's textured hair, including what products to try, and cute and useful clips, combs and the right brushes to help.

Chewing on you lip for a moment, you tapped on the search bar and saw that he had typed in, 'how to care for textured hair'.

Just the notion of Jake pulling off his gloves and styling your little girl's hair made your heart explode with love.

"Are these for Akeyla?" You whispered mainly to yourself, shifting your weight from one of his thighs to the other.

Jake groaned as circulation returned to that leg, making it tingle as he awakened from a very short nap.

"Sorry," you softly laughed. "I should let you get up, shouldn't I?"

The corner of Jake's mouth curled, but he nodded.

You helped him climb out of the chair and the two of you washed up. Jake slid into Steven's pajama pants and the two of you went to bed.

Already drifting back to sleep, Jake presented his small offering to you. Something to let you know he was all in.

"I think I could learn how to fix Akeyla's hair," he drowsily murmured, eyes already closed. "Watched a bunch of videos about it."

He couldn't build things and he wasn't book smart and he wasn't you. He wasn't even supposed to have a family. But you loved him so hard that he couldn't resist you and now he was about to gain everything he never knew he wanted.

Maybe the brutality of his hands could be used to do this tender thing for his daughter.

"I love you so much," you whispered, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes.

"Te amo," he whispered.

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ONE WEEK LATER…

“What’s your favorite color, Akeyla?” Marc asked on your next visit to with your soon-to-be-daughter. He sat beside her, adorably hunched with her at a child-sized table, coloring and drawing.

“Do you like red?” He asked, holding up a few choices of crayon.

“Fav-wit color wed!” She agreed, reaching for a yellow.

“Ohhh, you like yellow.” He winked at you, thinking of the yellow bench at home. “I like it too.”

“Yeh-yow,” Akeyla repeated, scribbling determinedly. Swinging her legs back and forth she repeated, “Yeh-yow, yeh-yow.”

“That’s right. We have a big yellow bench at home that I painted. We can sit on it together, just you and me. Is that okay?”

Akeyla seemed to ignore him, reaching over his arm to scribble yellow on his coloring sheet. Once she had saturated the paper to her satisfaction, she laughed out, amused with herself. “Yeh-yow bench. Okay, Dad-eee.”

Her nose scrunched as she showed him a silly toddler grin. Your heart completely melted as you watched them together.

“This is a good drawing,” Marc complimented, pointing to his paper she drew on. “Can I have it?”

Reaching out with chubby fingers, Akeyla scrunched the paper in her tiny grip, presenting it to Marc. “Here go. You hab it.”

“I can keep it?” He nodded hopefully. “Can I have a hug?”

She threw her arms around his neck. Lifting her up from the table, Marc offered one arm out to you and invited you into to this little family embrace.

Akeyla touched her forehead to yours, already a signature move for the two of you. Then she scrunched her nose and showed off that silly grin again.

"Want me to take your picture?" You offered. Grabbing your phone, you snapped a few selfies of you and Marc with Akeyla.

As soon as you were finished, she reached for your phone. "I watch Bluey."

And so it began.

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Ivy's 1st Ficiversary Celebration || Moon Knight Masterlist || Main Masterlist

updates blog - @ivystoryupdates

[auspicioustidings]

EEE

The pound being a correction facility, their goal to correct the behavior of the pets as quickly as possible. I can imagine their not very interested in doing it themselves most of the time.

Probably machine based punishments, sensory deprivation, bound in place to a machine or vibe or something, leaving the pet there for extended periods of time till the pound gets the results they want ><

Anon, you are a genius! Also FYI things are very bad and no good below the cut.

When you are taken nobody talks to you and in your state you don't really care. Graves gives you a thorough physical exam, it's all sterilised and clinical how he slides gloves fingers into you and presses everywhere to see where gets a reaction. He uses a speculum to hold you open and prod about your cervix, he flushes out your system with an enema, his fingers spend ten minutes examining you mouth, feeling all around your soft palat, caressing each tooth and testing your gag reflex thoroughly.

It's a new kind of violation because it's so impersonal. This isn't being a pet, it's the cold examining of some wild animal.

It's always Graves at the end of the week performing his exams. They range from just a thorough cleaning to him piercing a metal tag through your clit that lists his clinical notes on your vagina. Sometimes he gives you injections and you don't know what they are, you only know that at least one made you feel like you were so tight his finger may as well have been a battering ram. But you would take him and his shadow "nurses" over Konig and his kortac "trainers".

Konig is a scary man just by sheer size. He does speak to you, yells at you, barks orders. They are all in Austrian and you don't understand, but then given how he delights in punishing you for it you think that's the idea. He's the one who uses machines.

It's what gets him off really. He loves watching you immobile, folded in half and held in a perspex box with only your head and your holes sticking out. There's a scoreboard on the wall. Each of his people gets an hour with you a week and whoever has wrung the most orgasms from you gets bought a beer. They get creative. Anytime you think you get used to one contraption, they produce another.

Some of them come in and see the board before deciding that they're not going to win that week, so they don't need to make any of this hour pleasurable for you (not that the orgasms feel pleasurable anymore, the overstimulation is painful). Those weeks are the worst because it usually starts a train reaction. When someone comes in and sees your pussy covered in marks from being paddled they forget all about the initial competition and see who can make you scream the loudest instead.

The only reason you have any concept of time is because they theme it sometimes. On Halloween week they all dressed up. Horangi was the worst because he dressed as a baseball fury and spent the hour seeing just how much of that bat you could take.

But between their visits you are left alone. The room is bright, no decoration. There is nothing to distract your mind from the constant vibration on your clit and the machines fucking your pussy or ass or both. Sometimes there are clamps on your nipples, sometimes not. If Konig is in a bad mood you have a machine fucking your throat as well. If he's in a good mood he might take you out for a bit to strap you to his torso so he can go about his day with his cock being warmed inside you. At least then there is some distraction because it's starting to be worse when you're alone than when they are there. That's why the training works, it makes you so needy for any external interaction that you are willing to be whatever slut they want if they'll just spend some time with you.

The man responsible for turning you into an attack dog is called Nikto. He is violent and you never see his face. You did not know there were men that existed as cruel and cold as him. When he gets you, you have to be sent to recovery for a week. If it wasn't so horrific what he does to you then you could almost see the bright side because recovery is with Mace and Roze. You don't see them outside of recovery, but they don't ever hurt you during. The small kindness they give you is so foreign in this place that everytime you just sob for hours while they comfort you. It's all part of the process of course, all part of breaking you down and then getting you attached.

Within a few months they have their perfect dog. Takes whatever you give her because she's so desperate for anything at all. Attacks on command because anything Mace tells her to do must be for her own good. Is kept the perfect specimen through the "medical" team.

They think they have you right where they want you. But there is always a final test. And they did not anticipate how you would react. After all, so many people who work at the pound were animals once themselves, broken and moulded to break and mould the next generation. It was hubris really, to capture good boy. It was arrogance to think they had you so well trained as theirs that you would follow orders to treat him how they treated you. It's what ultimately leads to you busting both of you the hell out of there.

[kaurwreck]

regardless of people understanding if it was a joke or not (which it definitely was!) I think the point was no one needed the run down of why it’s a flare gun. but I appreciate your knowledge and understanding of the differences and the commitment to pointing it out 👍 it’s always impressive how much you know

God, this is such an annoying follow-up to what was already an uncharmingly ironic ask and I'm so fucking exhausted that I'm going to shed boundaries and good faith for a moment to express that I'd rather y'all just call me a cunt.

I don't know quite how to explain to you that the issue you have with me isn't because I don't know that it's a joke. I know people are joking. I just don't assume everyone is making the same joke premised on the same assumptions. I spoke to one subset of assumptions (that I had clearly explored myself) without precluding any other.

I didn't reblog the post because of an arbitrary commitment to pointing out differences nor because I thought everyone was mistaken in their handgun taxonomy and needed me to enlighten them. I do think some people were conflating the flare guns with firearms, given (i) I mistook them for a moment and I was under the impression that I counted as a people, and (ii) the alternative requires assuming that over a thousand people in an online, international animanga fandom community share the exact same, arbitrary understanding regarding the mechanics and classification of flare guns.

In idly considering the likelihood that other people were conflating flare guns with firearms, I realized I didn't actually know whether flareguns weren't firearms: I don't know their legal or technical classification, or if they could even be used as firearms in close enough range, or if they could be modified into functional firearms. I don't know anything about flare guns other than what I've picked up in passing from fiction. So I looked it up because I thought it was a compelling question and could make for a really fun speculative fight sequence between Kunikida and Fyodor.

I enjoyed the kernels I found, and while I've been told others may not care for the granular detail, it felt likely that someone else might find the gist interesting or clarifying, or might enjoy extrapolating the implications for Kunikida's position the way I have been given he is uniquely capable of and the most likely to abruptly modify a flare gun into a grenade. I'm also so, so sure that there was sincere ambiguity amid the joking, and I don't know why there wouldn't be, we are not born with a primordial understanding of flare guns' limited capacity for carnage. So, I shared a bite-sized version of my takeaways from what I read, which itself was not a lot.

The details I "run through" are how I keep my thoughts organized, and I sometimes post them to externalize them because I have ADHD and that's a memory tool that works for me. Also, otherwise, I would just be barking conclusions without contextualizing the facts I flagged as relevant and the implicit assumptions therein, which wouldn't leave much room for anyone to chat or disagree or brainstorm with me if they're interested.

All of this to say: I had fun learning about flare guns midmorning on a Thursday, and I liked the dialogue I had with the post's ambiguity. I've had an immensely stressful week, I'm not sleeping well and had then been feeling especially sluggish and anxious. But the process of prodding at the plausible literal and nonliteral implications of the joke brought me a spark of enjoyment and so for closure and out of fondness for the polyphonic, indirect conversation I had with myself and potentially others on the post or who might later see the post, I left something tangible as a happy little loose thread.

So, sure, no one needed the run down of flare guns. But I did! So, politely block me if it's agitating to you.

[bookwyrminspiration]

ok sorry for sending another ask but can you do some analysis of marella? just like whatever you want. I need to know how to characterize her.

you have nothing to apologize for. i'm going to answer your asks a little out of order for sake of thought progression, but I will try my best to help! (no short story spoilers, only reference to one minor line not about its plot)

For Marella, I think it's crucial to keep in mind how alone she is--or at least has been in the past. She was never fully part of her world because of her mom's condition, and she had no one to turn to. So she had to be the one standing up for herself, the one to figure things out.

So she keeps secrets even now she has closer friends. She's careful about the information she shares and when, and excellent at deflecting. She's a master of social spheres--not just the gossip, but of controlling what people see. And even with friends, that part of her is still there, unwilling to let them see everything; she's private.

Something I try to keep in mind with her as well is that she explicitly said she didn't think she was cut out for the kotlcrew's activities (Lodestar). She felt left out at first, but changed her mind. The only reason she's part of things now is because being a pyrokinetic turned her very identity into a rebellion. This wasn't a choice for her in the way it was for people like Fitz and Biana. We see this manifest in how she says she doesn't mind being bossed around. I'd describe her as almost exhausted, just wanting everything to be over. She has never had the chance at a normal, easy life. And while she loves her family, she's tired sometimes. So she follows orders, keeps to herself, contributes when she can, and is just waiting for it to end

That's more of her internally. Externally, she covers it up. She's peppy, and stubborn, and hits back. She plays at confidence and strength. Like how she makes a show of embracing her pyrokinesis and joking around when she has conflicted feelings.

Something else I've noticed is that she prods. So much. Take the lunch scene in Unlocked. She just kept talking about Sophitz and drama. Even when they got uncomfortable. Possibly to keep the conversation away from herself, possible because she's just like that. Either way, she doesn't let things rest, she keeps pushing--including past boundaries.

To sum all of this up: she is an incredibly self-reliant person because she had no one to turn to, making her private. It also makes her mask her true feelings and keep secrets a lot of the time, putting on a show of confidence and feisty strength that hides how tired and uncertain she is at times. She's talented and powerful, but has never belonged or opened herself up fully. So when writing her, when she talks she's never saying everything, and you'll have to really work through her layers or get her to say it another way.

Of course we can analyze her beyond this, but hopefully this is a helpful start!

[silvernyxchariot]

This bastard right here is going through some ✨️sad bitch✨️ energy and luckily I felt like dusting off my writing brain after all these years. So, y'all are unfortunately getting...

Pillar Men w/ a S/O That Has Suicidal Ideation

⚠️ TW: Self harm mentions, scars, unaliving attempts, deteriorating mental health ⚠️

🚫DNI: Proshippers (incest and pedo shippers), anti-OC/Self shippers, harassers, ableist 🚫

Preface: These waves hit differently each and every time. Sometimes you felt like you were invincible, like nothing could stop you. That could last for about a week or maybe 2 hours. Other days, it's hard to even get out of bed, try to eat, brush your teeth. . . Your room became a mess in the mean time and the only thing helping you get up was either your bladder or just your beloved pets begging for food, but then you would just return to your little cocoon. There were some days where you believed no one would miss you when you were gone. Maybe just ending it was better? And that was that. Your pets and bodily functions were the only things keeping you alive. If there were only something, anything... anyone... whatever else to help you hold on. And that's why you were so grateful when he chose you. . .

It wasn't his fault... that these chemicals flowing throughout your body hurt you more than any external force could. "A cut? Whatever. A broken leg? Ok. A little cold? It doesn't matter. An upset stomach? Oh well." He could have chosen anyone else. Someone who you thought was less of a burden. They were ultimate lifeforms afterall, who were fully capable of living for centuries and even creating life from their palms. They deserved better. When he picked you, you were riding on top of that wave, on top of the world. He hasn't seen how far you could fall. So in the back of your mind, underneath all these intrusive thoughts, you were grateful to him for chosing you out of anyone else.

Santana

Ever so stoic this one. It looked like Santana couldn't care less about your human weaknesses. They would be erased eventually after the Pillarmen used the stone mask on you. He wasn't slow or less competent than his peers. He could immediately sense when something was wrong with you. But you didn't look physically harmed. Was it something he did? Or one of his superiors? Not that he could do anything against them. When Santana noticed you weren't taking care of yourself, he tried to poke and prod at you by bringing you your favorite foods, clothing he thought you might like, or making a cute animal spring to life from his arm. He tried training in front of you to elicit praise from you, the way Wamuu would in front of his life partner. He even tried mimicking that insufferable Joseph Joestar to get you to laugh. Humans liked jokes, right? But nothing seemed to work.

And then, he tried cuddling you. Maybe some pressure would release your stress? "Please stay with me," was all he heard escape your lips in that moment. When Santana nuzzled his nose into the back of your neck, not going to lie, it tickled a little bit but not enough to get you to fully functioning potential. After that, Santana understood. Your scent and your hormones were different. It was then that you had to explain to him what you were going through, that it wasn't his fault, but that something was wrong with you.

Santana is a man of few words. Phrases like, "You're amazing," "I won't give up on us," or "You're strong for making it this far," were some of the short things he would tell you every few hours while he layed there with you. It was his small efforts that meant the most, knowing that he would be there for you. Because of him, you didn't need those bottles of pills in your bedside drawer.

Wamuu

You were a perfectly respectable warrior, a fighter through and through. Whether you protested something you disagreed with or defended people on the streets, Wamuu could see your fighting drive. You may or may not have wielded hamon, but just from watching your fighting spirit, he became invested in you. You wouldn't yield to him unless he earned it. It amused him to no end. So, why did something feel off about you this time?

Wamuu wanted to train with you. Of course, nothing that would rip your tissue and tendons. Just something to build muscle. If you were proud of your arms but lacking in abdominal muscles, he would help you. If you were agile with firm calves, he would help you with your arms. But you weren't having it today. No, you didn't want to spend time together. No, you wouldn't at least go out for a stroll. You wanted to be alone. You were being far more irritable that usual, even picking a fight with the ghouls that surrounded the mansion.

When Joseph and company returned to face the pillar men for the twentieth time again, you were alone. At first, they beckoned for you to leave with them. You belonged with other humans after all. But why? Why should you leave Wamuu and the other pillar men when they have been so good to you; he was your life long partner and you wanted to be together. Maybe even having more comradory than with other humans that were once your friends and family. You were already irritated, so why not? Why not try to get rid of these humans that threatened your new home? And that's exactly what you did.

It was essentially one versus one because they couldn't bring themselves to attack you all at once. You weren't their enemy, but Joseph was your biggest problem. Every swing of a clacker ball or purposefully placed hamon-infused jab hit you without missing a beat, if not immediately then he'd somehow swing the battle in his favor. He wasn't breaking a sweat trying to beat you, but to disable you. If you weren't coming with them willingly, then he would at least make you unconscious. Leaving you to where you are now.

You were kneeling, heaving heavy breathes, and somewhat bloody at the mouth from internal damage. Every time you lunged at any of the hamon users, a little more damage was applied to your internal organs. It wasn't much to hurt a pillarman, but on a human? . . .They were trying to be more careful each time. And then, something clicked in the back of your mind. "Why am I fighting so hard again? And for a battle that was never really mine?" This final lunge was sloppy. You were intent on hurting these people, but fighting so hard started to feel... meaningless. You weren't a true warrior. You felt like a burden to Wamuu who had been trying to help you strengthen yourself. This wasn't your home. This wasn't your battle; it was the pillar men's.

This time you didn't bother to dodge their attacks. Your irritability subsided and all that was left was acquiescence. If you were going to die, you mught as well make it look like you tried. But their attacks never landed. Joseph had come faced to face with Kars, Lisa Lisa had come face to face with Esidisi, and Caesar had come face to face with Santana. Wamuu had you close to him. The four of them had arrived to see what the commotion at their perimeter was about.

While Wamuu would normally take to the field himself, he wanted to tend to you. "You purposefully dropped your guard," he said in a disappointed manner, "They would have stopped your heart." When he looked into your eyes, that fire that he loved so much was absent. It was hollow. You seemed hollow, not even wanting to fight him like you had earlier. Wamuu carried you away back to the mansion. The other pillar men could handle this battle themselves. He would fight Joseph Joestar again another day. Right now, he wanted to tend to you and your needs.

Esidisi

Everything seemed fine. The two of you were laughing as per usual and enjoying the day. You would admire him when he trained with the other Pillar Men and he would give you some display of his love for you by wrestling Wamuu to the ground and claiming the victory was all thanks to your positive energy. When he would cry out of excitement, at first it was quite off-putting and a surprise to say the least. You thought you had done something to upset him, but he assured you that he wasn't sad or angry with you. He just needed to let out some emotions.

But your cries... these ones were strange to him. They weren't the type from laughing to hard or tears of joy when he brought you something that you would adore. Your new cries actually hurt him too. Your erratic breathing, these sniffles, and uncontrolable sobs were cries of pain. At first, Esidisi examined your physical form. Did you eat something you shouldn't have? Were the ghouls terrifying you? Did he get too excited and hug you too tightly, crushing your rib cage? None of the above. He asked you about your change in attitude and you told him that you would get extreme cases of sadness that felt like worthlessness. And that just wouldn't do for his partner.

Esidisi would do anything to see you smile. Esidisi is at your every beck and call. He's praising you from the moon and back, telling you how special you are for a godly creature like him to choose you as his partner. You were under the care of four superior beings; don't feel so worthless. Whenever you would get up just to use the restroom, he would sigh in relief. At least, you got out of bed. Sometimes he'd take you out shopping, quite literally carrying you if he had to.

Was that enough for you though? Not today. When he came in to check on you that day, you weren't there. He was fast as he raced around every nook and cranny of the base to find you. When he heard your footsteps outside, he left to go follow you. What a relief it was to see you out and about. Feeling better? Not at all. He thought you were admiring the view. The mountains of San Moritz were quite beautiful afterall. But you were venturing too close to the edge in his eyes and kept staring down into the dark ravine. Your breathing was steady today, so maybe it was nothing to worry about. When Esidisi decided to walk faster to catch up and walk with you, you had leaned forward over the ledge. By no means was it an accident. Your body language was too fluid, too comfortable with the aspect of falling.

Esidisi didn't spare a second thought and jumped down after you. It wasn't difficult for him to catch up to your descending form and then you felt warm tendrils surround you. His warm body enveloped your much smaller frame. From there it was all a blur and some twists and flips before he layed you on the ground. It was a little dizzying, but when you could finally see properly, Esidisi looked down at you with with concern. Not rage or condescending contempt or judgement, "If you were truly feeling this miserable, you can talk to me any time." His usually explosive temperament and tears were absent. Esidisi held you to his sculptured chest as your pain threatened to burst in the form of sobbing wails. He started rubbing your back, "Let it all out."

Kars

How could you be so incompetent? So, selfish? You were the one who caught his eye. You were chosen by god himself, the ultimate lifeform, to be his life-long partner. Kars wouldn't choose anyone but you. Of course you were perfect. Not as much as him, but more so than the rest of the worthless humans that littered this planet. Why would you think less of yourself? It was as if you were insulting his tastes. After spending just a few hours with you, he could deduce all your quirks and habits. He knew how to get your spirits up or the things that would bring you down. That is... in the less severe cases of your dismay anyway.

One time he found you in your shared (over-sized) tub, luke warm water was stained a light red from your blood. Luckily for you, he was never truly far. Kars knew it was you as soon as the metallic smell reached his nose. He dragged your body out of the tub, called Esidisi in to help keep you warm, and gave you new cells to entice your body to heal the slits you opened down your forearms. The blade that you used was melted away by Esidisi on command from Kars. They had gotten to you just in time. He didn't scream or yell or chastise you openly. But past your blurry vision, you could see the look of horror and wary deep within those crimson eyes. He seemed furious in a cold and stern manner, but he was undoubtedly worried about you. Was it his fault that you tried to take your own life? Because he plucked you away from your old one?

When your mind spiralled downwards, it was new to him since Pillar Men never went through these types of imbalances. When he tried to talk to you about it, he wanted to learn more. Kars decided to seek out mental health professionals and books if the human doctors weren't being compliant. He understood what mental health was and how it could be treated, but he didn't like the idea of dousing you with medications. So, he tried helping you with more natural remedies, little walks during a sunny day, making you eat healthier, making you drink more water than anything else you would prefer, or indulging you in your favorite hobbies.

Today though, your back was pressed against his statuesque abdominals. Your eyes were weary and puffy from tears. Your throat was dry from the lost water from crying. Kars caressed the scars of your wrists and down your arm. He didn't want to fully get rid of them. By human means, he thought they should be something to be proud of because they were a reminder that you survived.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

A/N: . . . Whatever that literary mistake is, I'll fix it later.

ANYWAY...

Personally, I despised both plain therapy and cognative behavioral therapy. My depression isn't an extreme case but even so, I implore anyone having suicidal thoughts and self harm tendencies to seek professional help. A hotline. A trusted individual in your life. Even dark humor with the squad can help. If you take medication, take the ones you know work best for you.

[dukeaubergine]

Thinking about how I’ve repeatedly written fics that tackle the Dick-taking-Robin-from-Tim debacle, and what I keep chewing on there, and how a lot of other fanfics that tackle it so often fall short for me (many of them very good fics).

DC was blatantly trying to shoehorn several characters into specific roles and plot paths at that time, and did not do so gracefully. They left a lot of things unsaid, skipped over, probably because a lot of this was contradictory to earlier established characterizations, and detail might’ve invited nitpicking (nevermind that fans prodded at the OOC’ness anyway).

One of the nonexistent scenes is Dick talking to Tim about his decision to take the Robin mantle from Tim and give it to Damian. We aren’t shown Dick’s reasoning (at least beforehand, for all I know there could be some internal monologue or external dialogue in Dick’s Batman run), we aren’t shown him even telling Tim. Instead we get a cold open on Tim saying he isn’t doing okay, Dick dismissing what he’s saying, and Damian showing up in the Robin suit.

Now, fans could insert a scene before that where Dick tells Tim what he’s decided, so that it isn’t just sprung on him like this. Or even Dick asking for Tim’s input with Damian, but ultimately pulling the Batman card to make a unilateral decision Tim disagrees with. That cold open could’ve actually been the tail end of a longer discussion.

That’s not canon, but it doesn’t contradict canon either.

We mostly don’t, though. We mostly take the scene at face value and interpret it as Damian’s appearance being the first Tim learns of Dick’s decision. Many fics have Tim & Dick have a conversation (or sometimes just Dick having an internal monologue, or a talk with someone else) about Dick’s actions several months or years later, in which Dick reveals what his reasons for taking the mantle away were, in addition to “Damian needs it” (because that’s already his stated reason in canon).

And every single time, no matter how emotional the scene, how compelling his explanation, how cathartic the ensuing tearful hug may be, every single time I’m thinking, “Then why didn’t you just fucking say so when you did it? Why didn’t you just talk to Tim?”

There’s a lot that bothers me about what Dick did, but apparently that’s the big thing for me. He didn’t involve Tim in the decision. He didn’t talk to him. Dick didn’t ask Tim for help and he shut him out of a decision regarding Tim’s own mantle.

Especially combined with Dick telling Tim that he sees them as equals. Because either Dick is being a complete idiot who doesn’t see the contradiction of viewing someone as an equal yet acting as though he has the authority to take that person’s mantle away without so much as a by-your-leave, or he’s lying out his ass, or he’s so used to Bruce calling the Justice League, other adult heroes, etc ‘equals’ but not genuinely treating them as such that Dick has a completely warped idea of what equals means and doesn’t realize it. That in his head there’s equals as applies to everyone else, and ‘equals’ as applies to Batman.

~

There are so many fan theories and fic scenarios that try to explain Dick’s decision and I have essentially the same reaction to all of them.

Dick thought Tim outgrew Robin: why didn’t he say so? And who the hell is he to decide that for Tim?

Dick was going to offer Tim the Nightwing mantle: why didn’t he say so?

Dick thought the Robin role was holding Tim back: why didn’t he say so? Why didn’t he express that view, and ask Tim how he sees the role and his own progress as a vigilante?

Dick thought being Robin was unhealthy for Tim: why didn’t he say so? And if he’s so concerned about Tim’s wellbeing, why is he outright dismissive when Tim says he’s not doing okay?

Dick thought Tim was suicidal and shouldn’t be in the field: you get that this is worse, right? You get that if Dick genuinely thinks Tim is suicidal, taking away something important to Tim, something that gives Tim a sense of purpose and control, without even a warning, let alone a discussion, let alone asking permission, and then not talking to Tim about his concerns for Tim, is horrifically dangerous and irresponsible?

Dick thought Tim would chafe being his subordinate: why didn’t he say so, beside the single “you’re my equal” line? Tim regularly acted independently as Robin ever since donning the mantle, and Dick was around enough to know that. Dick also knows that Tim became Robin to drag Bruce out of his destructive spiral; that wouldn’t have worked if Tim’s Robin was too subordinate to Batman.

Dick wanted a Robin that wasn’t an independent operator & that he could more actively mentor: why didn’t he say so? And why does that role need to be filled by Robin, instead of letting Tim continue as an independent Robin while Damian is the one to come up with or be given a new mantle?

~

None of these are things Dick actually said. The only canon explanation we get is “[Damian] is my responsibility now. You’re not my protege, Tim… you’re my equal. You’ll be okay. Left on his own, he’s going to kill someone. Again.”

None of the fan explanations are in there. The fans want Dick to care about Tim (like he had for years), while canon gave us Dick ignoring Tim’s (vocalized for once!) needs, to focus on Damian.

Tim flat out says “You said we’d be okay. My whole life has burnt down! Again! I don’t call this ‘okay’, Dick.”

Which gets Dick’s above response. None of what Dick says indicates he’s concerned for Tim. It’s in fact pretty easy to interpret this as Dick willfully pretending Tim isn’t doing as badly as Tim says, convincing himself that Tim will be fine without any help, because Dick’s overwhelmed with new responsibilites, his own grief, massive amounts of stress, and he’s spread too fucking thin.

Also it fucking kills me that during this conversation Dick has his back to Tim, reading something on the computer. Tim rarely lets anyone know when he’s having serious problems, and now that he is, his big brother won’t even look at him. Yeah, Dick is metaphorically sticking his fingers in his ears and humming because he cannot handle Tim being yet another person in his life who has needs.

“But there wasn’t any time to talk about it! Tim ran away from the manor after the Robin reveal, and then left town!”

Bzzzt WRONG.

Red Robin starts a nebulous amount of time after Battle for the Cowl. In BftC, Damian is shot and Tim is stabbed, both of them in the torso. By the start of RR, they’re ready for field work. Even with comic book humans healing faster than real people, this is several weeks later at MINIMUM.

It’s long enough for Damian to have a custom Robin suit made, because it’s blatantly a different one than what he went out in to search for Tim underground in BftC.

So why didn’t Dick use that time, in which it’s implied they’re all living in the manor together, to talk to Tim?

If Dick sees them as equals, sees Tim as his “closest ally”, why didn’t he ask Tim for help brainstorming ways to help Damian?

If Dick is actually concerned for Tim, if that’s why he took Robin away, like so many fics write, why didn’t he discuss those concerns with Tim during those weeks of recovery? Why is their fight on the outskirts of town the first time Dick tells Tim there’s a therapist in Metropolis he wants Tim to see? It makes more sense with the canon we get that Tim destroying a room and going off the grid is the moment Dick can’t keep pretending Tim is okay, hence only bringing up therapy now.

~

Dick calls Tim an equal but doesn’t treat him like one. He takes advantage of his Batman authority to take away Tim’s mantle and use it as a tool for the issues with Damian.

Dick previously cared about Tim and looked out for him. Now he ignores/dismisses when Tim vocalizes how badly he’s doing, not taking action until Tim runs away from home.

It sucks! The whole situation sucks! It feels incongruent with previous canon, it’s emotionally painful, and we really wanna fix it but no matter what non-canon reason we can come up with to make the Robin decision just as much about Dick’s perceptions of Tim’s needs as Damian’s, none of those reasons explain in any way why he didn’t talk to Tim about it first.

We could write fic where he did. We could say he asked Tim for help, they had a long discussion, ending with Dick making this choice that Tim disagrees with. That would still be pretty painful, but it would fit with what little canon gave us.

What we can’t do is write fic where Dick has a good reason not to talk to Tim about the decision. Because there is no good reason.

There are things Dick can tell himself are why he didn’t (doesn’t want to burden Tim with heavy decisions, doesn’t want to involve Tim in Damian issues because of past history, etc) but they aren’t actually good reasons.

So I continue reading fic & fan theories, writing my own fic, grumbling that none of these help with healing unless Dick flat out says, “I’m sorry. I should have talked to you.”

[painfullymeta]

More Gaming Nerding: A Tale of Two Fairy-Obsessed Trans Boys

Because my brain is still obsessed with game neepery I'm going to talk about my two currently-in-play characters, who have rather a lot in common despite being extremely different and clearly I am working through some shit right now.

Which means I sort of want to compare them and compare the things that can be done with their game systems, which will include both character commentary and more systems neepery.

(Note to people who are in these games with me: there are things in this post that haven't explicitly come out at the table. I don't care if you know them, but if you don't wanna know this is your warning spot.)

This is, for the record, a lengthy ramble about trans characters, the specific bits of trans experience I am prodding at with each of them, and the ways the systems in which I am playing them constrain what I can do with them and how I choose to do it.

Character #1 (in play since 2020), the catboy bard: Daniel Thomas Josephs. Danny is in an urban fantasy game run on the Deliria system; his universe is The Modern Real World with a secret parallel world full of magicians and fairies. Danny was a trial lawyer once upon a time; now he's a deliberately unhoused street musician (in theory; in practice he is between jobs because reasons, more on that later). His game very deliberately engages (on occasion, not all plotlines) with real world issues, because it is set in a variant of the real world; our current plotline involves trying to get justice for a police brutality/"resisting arrest" case and resolving questions of possible police retaliation. (Former public defender has ALL THE OPINIONS.)

Character #2, the fey-touched lunatic (in play since 2023): Celyn Bettws. Celyn is in a D&D game, homebrew modified, set in a lovingly detailed fantasy world created by the GM and his brother. Celyn is a farmboy who expected to spend his life being a diplomatic liaison between the humans of his village and the local fairies but who due to a sequence of circumstances left his hometown and eventually found the Plot; he is a rogue (variant arcane trickster with fey-based magic) with a dip into cleric (his god is the patron of hope, luck, the theatre, chaos, trans people, and the protector of the reckless and madmen, to hit the high points of things most relevant to Celyn specifically). This game deliberately does not engage with real world bigotries directly as a matter of "we are focusing on heroics not arguing about whether a girl/Black person/queer person/etc. can be a hero".

Both of these characters are trans men. Danny is a trans man in the real world, with a history of navigating the complexities of identity there; his pre-transition self is literally a Missing Person report. (This is on his character sheet.) Celyn is trans in a world where that's a normal, if uncommon, thing to be, where the trans man who originally mentored him couldn't relate to him not because of differences in trans-related trauma but because he was an Establishment Guy Devoted To Order and Celyn is ... not.

Both of these characters needed external help to crack their eggs; neither has the 'I've always known' narrative that is often assumed for trans people. Danny got blessed (or cursed, depending on how one looks at it) by a fairy with a gift of truth sometime in his early thirties, which unraveled the life he had built (on top of his burnout from public defense work, known to chew people up and spit them out). On the other hand, Celyn's experience of puberty was so traumatic it took a literal miracle from his god for him to survive his teen years; these days he's prone to telling people that the god of chaos brought him peace, and sometimes those people have the sense to worry about that. :>

Both of them have interactions with questions of sanity. Danny is, in fact, perfectly sane (though increasingly weird as time goes on), but his egg cracking directly led to people concluding that he had lost his mind. (His mental hospital trauma is directly related to why he hates sleeping under a roof.) On some level, he is engaging narratively, at least in passing, with the real-world trauma that comes from people assuming that to be trans is in some way to be mentally broken. Celyn, who has no experience of transphobia, is in fact actually mad; as he said in play once, he's familiar with pain so overwhelming it induces madness. "Mine is different than his," he said; the miracle that saved his life gave him the tools to accept and live with his dysphoria, both physical and social. It doesn't make him sane; he is in fact batshit loopy enough to come all around the sanity wheel and come out Differently Sane, perfectly functional but definitely not operating under the same narrative model as other people.

Both of these characters are musicians, now I think of it. Danny's life is built around it, not only in his choice in employment but also in how he understands and works magic. He is a skilled and charismatic performer on the violin, a quite competent vocalist, and is learning several other instruments. Celyn plays a frame drum, which is half "for ritual purposes" and half "oh gods I need something to fidget with"; this is important to him but not core. Rather than a performer he is 'competent session musician'.

Celyn's story is "what if the skills I have had to learn to manage my dysphoria were essential to being a hero". He is built around two traits: "fairies like me", and "my dysphoria is so bad it nearly destroyed me". While I have plans to develop him in ways that will let him turn off the dysphoria for a while (all trans people should get to have a little shapeshifting, as a treat) I actually can't give him the sort of genuine cure that Danny got because it would break him; his entire life since the age of twelve or so has been shaped around dealing with this particular thing that literally drove him insane and everything he is is built around that core like a pearl is built around shit and tapeworms.

Danny's story is "what if coming out and being myself destroyed my life". He was a full adult, with a life, a job, and all those things going on when he realized that he needed to transition. His backstory is about the things that he lost as he became authentic, and his arc in game has been very much about how this magical world he has discovered enables him to be even more authentic as himself: not only enabling a physical transition, but letting him learn the things that he was unable to learn from his upbringing, finding a love that he would never have imagined (partly because his sexual orientation is "monsterfucker", apparently, and there is a shortage of people with interesting teeth and tails in the world that contains only humans; yes, he has been to a furry convention now), eventually his transitioning a second time, this time into a nekomimi (catboy).

Dysphoria is not a substantial part of his narrative. The most overtly we have engaged with dysphoria for him was a) he traded a recording of himself singing (as a mezzo) to a fairy in exchange for something that he needed for his magical physical transition, and the party had never heard him sing before despite him having those skills, and b) after one of the times he blew up his life and had to be reborn (this time coming out not merely as a trans man but as trans fae) he spent a while complaining that two-leg balance was bullshit and why did he not have a tail. (He has a tail now.) He got a magical transition (with side effect of occasionally turning him into a cat - but at least it was a tomcat!) in our first adventure, and has been since exploring new and exciting ways of blowing up his life and rebuilding it and fully expressing who he actually is with fewer and fewer limits imposed by other people's expectations.

And of course part of that decision - of Danny getting a fully effective treatment for his dysphoria and Celyn not - is mediated by the game systems they're in. In Deliria, it's possible to get the shapeshifting power that Danny has; meanwhile, in D&D the options for deliberate character development are strictly channeled, only available at level breaks (of which there are a limited number), and at least somewhat focused around applicability to combat. So now I'm going to dig into some systems and talk about how that works for character development and the different ways that it's possible to explore fairy-obsessed trans boys within those game mechanics.

First the D&D, as it's more familiar to a broader readership: within a strict class-level system character development comes in a sequence of punctuated equilibria. Powerups happen under player guidance when there is an opportunity to take a new level; those levels have set contents such that how the powerset develops is fairly consistent over time. Levels that contain feats have the opportunity to do more character development and customization, but since a given character only gets so many feat choices, and many of those feats are geared towards increasing combat effectiveness, there is a structural bias against taking too many feats that are Interesting To The Character when there are Hits Things Better/Harder/Faster/More options available.

I did not build Celyn optimally for combat purposes. For example, his constitution score (determining hit points) is human-average, while your "normal" adventurer puts points into con. But not only is Celyn a little twink of a guy, he binds more than he should for his health, and that absolutely fucks up the endurance. (Reminded of a tale Oldest!kid told of a trans guy in the band who forgot his binder one day and was asking the other people in his section, "Wait! Is that why you all have SO MUCH AIR?") His low-for-an-adventurer constitution isn't just about tweaking for other stats, it's about dysphoria. Likewise, I am not going to be taking his feats optimally for combat purposes (he is a different sort of menace as well as being a little stabby guy); my plan includes specifically that at fifteenth level he will take a feat that will let him get the power to cast the Alter Self spell at will. (Which has combat effects, and other roleplay and plot-affecting effects, and is fun; it's not just about the dysphoria management. The dysphoria management is why it's required for the character, though.)

(I am not taking 'alter self' as a spell because, among other things, he would want to blow all his spell slots on keeping it cast as constantly as possible. Because he's not actually sane, and he's genuinely in a lot of pain. I took my own experiences of "perception-based dysphoria so bad I couldn't leave the house without meltdowns because people are Seeing Me Incorrectly" from when I was pregnant with Oldest!Kid and cranked them to eleven, yes I did.) Alter Self is a low-grade shapeshift, and when he can do it at will, yes, he can turn the dysphoria off for as long as he's holding the spell. Which will make him very happy. And it's another step in "here is a skill that helps with being a hero" as an arc.

What is possible within the system to address Celyn's issues as character development: taking Alter Self as a spell at a rogue level break that gives me second-list spells (not the plan); this fifteenth level Alter Self at will feat trick (the plan). Other options include magic items that do body modification or some sort of plot event to do things, which theoretically exist in-world but I am not aiming for because I am not looking to remove his internal action engine, just give him more tools to manage having it.

Now for Danny.

Danny is built in Deliria, a system in which there are core stats (either 3 or 12 depending on whether the game is running high-detail; we run high-detail), skills (broken out by category, each category has a variety of subskills in the detailed version), and various forms of powers (magical skills, innate magical abilities, etc.). Basic competence is stat+skill; stats range 1-10 and skills 0-7, so anything a normal human character does ranges between competence of 1 to 17.

I wish to note that when we started game, Danny was the most combat-capable player character. He had an agility of 5 (human average) and a knife fighting skill of 1 (so 6 to stab things). AND the manipulation/street smarts/force of personality skillset to have "use the fact that he knows how to hold a knife menacingly to convince people that nobody in their right mind wants to get into a knife fight" at an effective base skill of 11 (11 is right around where a starting character's strong skills probably land unless someone built a much more extreme core stat array than I did). (He had a 9 in doing flashy knife spins to back up the "you don't want to get into a knife fight here, nobody wants to get into a knife fight" thing.)

Danny is still the most combat-capable player character, mind, because he's actually pursuing those skills. (When he was a girl in a conservative Christian family one of his brothers got into trouble for trying to teach him how to throw a punch and he has never forgiven his mother for this.) Not only is he learning Western swordsmanship from his boyfriend (who has been studying the blade for several hundred years), he's studying Leopard-style kung fu (because those strikes work really well with claws), learning to fight in animal shapes, and will be doing Japanese swordsmanship training with a sakura dryad when he solves his "can't leave the house" problem better.

Oh yes Danny also has problems leaving the house right now. Unlike me (and Celyn) these have nothing to do with dysphoria and a whole lot to do with the fact that his shapeshifting power has glitched in such a way that he can no longer turn into a male human and when he goes out with his fangs, claws, pointy fluffy ears, and GIANT FLUFFY TAIL, that can cause a certain amount of social difficulty in Seattle in 2021. (And while he can turn into a female human he would really rather not without a specific reason, because why would he want to do that? He spent forty years there and it was not fun for him.) Practical issues! He has practical issues here! Being a trans fairy isn't all fun and games! ... just mostly.

Now, because Deliria is an experience-buy system, character development works like this: as experience accumulates, it becomes a pool of resources that one can spend to buy and improve skills and abilities. So improving Danny's fighty skills, for example, has been a matter of having the xp to buy the skill and having enough in-game time pass to raise it. (So he has gone from knife and evasion 1 to knife 1, sword 2, evasion 2, kung fu 1, fighting in animal shapes 1, and both his agility and strength have each gone up by a point, to 6 and 5 respectively. He is still not actually good at fighting but he is working on it!)

So. Shapeshifting. Shapeshifting is a magical power that comes at four levels. When we did the plot that let me buy it, I had saved up enough experience to get it at the second level, because getting at level 1 (either two forms - which would in his case be "male human" and "female human", or "the sort of basic body mod that would fix the dysphoria but not provide amusing plot hooks") did not provide plot hooks; level 2 gave me three shapes I could control (male human, female human, cat). We set up the plot that let me buy this power, I saved up my xp to purchase it, and when we had run the plot, I spent my points, and there it was, the power. And since this was the first plot we ran, I did not have a long time playing him as "I would stab a guy to get a shapeshifting ability", but I have absolutely continued with this exploration of identity via his shapeshifting prowess as it has improved. He will describe his shifting as "I can turn into anything that is true of me, and I was an English major, I have a keen grasp of metaphor."

The "I would stab a guy to get a shapeshifting power" was something that was on his character sheet from day 1, for the record; Deliria character generation includes a section for "obstacles", "passions", and "secrets", for basically generating plot hooks. This doesn't provide mechanical rewards for dealing with them, they're basically tools for the gamemaster to produce story with. (My understanding is that games running on the Powered by the Apocalypse systems or similar things often have in-game narrative reward for this sort of roleplay/personality setup, but I haven't played them. We've got a copy of Avatar: Legends, which I believe is a PbtA variant, that I got Older!Kid and I should read through it and figure out how that goes.)

The obstacles/passions/secrets is, I'd say, a step up from current edition D&D's bonds/ideals/flaws in terms of its relevance to the character in play but not actually something that can land at the table unless it's actually brought out, unlike, again, systems where using one's particular personality gimmicks gains more strength than using things that don't vibe with personality gimmicks.

But anyway.

Two trans characters, some substantial core similarities, and very different development patterns. Partly because telling the same sort of story twice is boring, even if I'm working on some similar core stuff. And partly because I could look at Deliria's system and say "shapeshifting is possible, I will make it a character goal to get there" and spend the points to get that as soon as we did the work to get through a relevant bit of story, where Celyn has a harder road to follow because the ability that will give him a near-equivalent power is not "when the plot and your banked experience let you take it" but "when you achieve a very high power level".

I had expected getting Danny the shapeshifting power would take longer, and I'd have had more time exploring him living in a wish-fulfilment-possible universe without actually getting his wish. (Then we had the option to pursue a literal wish for our first plotline and he went right at it.) It's possible that that's part of why I built Celyn, the later character, so heavily around his dysphoria; while dysphoria itself was not a major part of Danny's background as a factor, he didn't actually have to live with it for all that long after his conception.

Danny was also built as a character about my age, which means that he can explore the "what happens when my life catches fire because I was authentic" storyline in a way that Celyn, at age ~23, cannot. Danny's experience of adolescence was tangled up in his conservative upbringing in ways that heavily masked his transness from himself and from others; he dissociated into being a Good Girl for at least some values of Good Girl. (Very academically gifted, that kid, her family is so proud. Her mama thinks she'll be an amazing elementary school teacher someday.)

Celyn doesn't have the repression of a transphobic upbringing to push his realization of himself into adulthood; what he didn't have, before his god gave him peace, was the perspective to translate "I feel wrong and it makes me furious and self-destructive" into anything useful. He got his miracle in his teens, he stopped trying to rage into oblivion, and he got on with his life, keeping a list in his head of the things that set him off into the bad kind of crazy so he can not do that again. (Hair too long. Being seen as a girl. Having his miracles attributed to the wrong god. Being seen at all when he doesn't feel like himself. Person he has a crush on getting knocked out in a fight. Etc.) He's done the work to make himself into someone who is, generally speaking, kind, amiable, accepting, and calm, enough so that the fact that that is a fairly constant process of navigation for him is gloriously invisible. (And if asked about that he will just pull his holy symbol out on its chain - the one with the paired theatre masks, one laughing, one crying - because it does, in fact, from his perspective, explain everything.) He will be good, even though there is in him that which wants to lash out at the world.

(He has a whole lot of complicated thoughts about the part where the world going all to hell around him means that the part of him that is built of rage and pain gets to go for walkies a whole lot more than it used to.)

... I think that's enough personality analysis of TTRPG characters for now and I am done at midnight, not three in the morning, this time!

[amaraqwolf]

Are you trapped on tumblr right now?

Is there something you planned to do before you got trapped in the endless tumblr scroll?

Are you yelling at yourself to get up and do the thing, but you can’t, because you’re trapped in the endless tumblr scroll?

Consider this your save point.

Put tumblr down, stand up, stretch, and go do the thing you planned to do. Future you will be incredibly grateful.

[rf-times]

I'm curious as how you are anti-psychiatry but autistic. Who diagnosed you? A therapist? When I've been on anti-psychiatry/therapy spaces, they tend to be anti-diagnosis all together, the type "why we need everything pathologized" Everytime someone posted about autism, it was ignored. There is also comptemt to ADHD as a label to get drugs etc. I appreciate therapy critical places but they are extreme sometimes. What's your opinion?

There are definitely flaws, bias and politics in the diagnosis, treatment and classification of intellectual and learning disorders (just look at ASD vs Asperger's for an obvious example) and I am always happy to have that conversation about the limits of what we know, what we can classify as abnormal or normal and how we should approach neurodivergence. I was diagnosed as autistic by a psychologist as a child and my experiences align to the diagnosis, many of my autistic traits I also recognise in other members of my family and closest friends. I refer to myself as autistic to reflect this, not necessarily to say I endorse the system that diagnosed me as such. Neurodivergence is clearly real but the way it is approached by psychiatry and psychology is shit. I believe that my autism and seeing the autism of people around me clearly isn't based on traumatic responses and while I do not know the extent of the genes involved, it has struck me as very different to the depression and anxiety I have also been diagnosed with (but have always been far more circumstantial in my life). ADHD and autism are not byproducts of our culture.

What has made me anti-psychiatry is seeing how the system is designed to institutionalise, sedate and control women and other marginalised groups, and act like the deeply complex, traumatising social and external world do not exist based on very dubious, untested biological models and a system that is essentially impossible to leave. Telling traumatised women they just happen to have chemical imbalances and need to be monitored and prodded their whole lives and have lost their credibility. How psychs act like they can determine what a correct personality is or drug someone into it

[the-last-kenobi]

For BTHB "Halucinations" with Obi-wan on Zigoola?

@coalmine301 you do delight my whump-loving heart. Sorry this took so long!

tw for mental breakdown, ptsd, graphic injury, self harm, and torture.

Zigoola was not a place.

At least, it was not only a place. Not anymore.

The power of the Force, honed and used and washed over a place over time, eventually causes great change.

The Jedi Temple was not merely a building, after all, but a beacon of peace and light for all who could feel it. Its bones ran deep with power, layers upon layers of light.

It was the way of the Light to be fortitude, to be patience, to be serenity, forgiveness, humility.

It was the way of the Dark to be recklessness, to be rage, to be thrill, to be destruction, consumption, emotion.

And Zigoola was Dark.

Dark indeed.

And when Obi-Wan Kenobi left that hellish planet, secure in the worried arms of Bail Organa and Padmé Amidala...

Zigoola followed him home.

: : : : :

Anakin and Ahsoka returned from their most recent campaign flushed with triumph and eager to share the bragging stories all the men did, with bravado and cheer to help cover for the losses met and the sacrifices made.

They returned when most of Obi-Wan’s external injuries had been washed away by bacta.

“Hey, Master,” Anakin greeted him, stretching luxuriously as he swaggered into their quarters. He always called him Master when he was worried about him. “Heard you got roughed up on a mission. What happened?”

His eyes were overly keen. He had seen that Obi-Wan is (is?) fine, and now he wanted to know why secrets were being kept.

How dare they send his Master alone on some secret mission?

How dare they allow him to be harmed because Anakin wasn’t there beside him?

“We met with some turbulence,” Obi-Wan said calmly, carefully turning in his chair in a way that showed Anakin his face while casting the still-pink burn on one side hidden by shadow, in a way that didn’t put pressure on his bad leg. (Worse leg.) “I’m all right. Bacta still smells as unpleasant as I recall.”

Anakin chuckled. He came to sit on a nearby chair, kicking his booted feet in the air.

“Anakin,” sighed Obi-Wan. He shifted again. Just a little. Just to keep his face out of direct light. “Please, sit properly?”

“This is properly,” his former apprentice teased. He flipped around so that his feet were off the back of the chair and his head was on the floor. “A chair is for getting off your feet and being comfy. I’m off my feet. I’m comfy. So this is totally proper.”

Obi-Wan muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “graceless ass.”

Anakin launched a cup coaster at him with the Force.

: : : : :

Obi-Wan woke suddenly in the dead of night.

It was pitch black in his room, but he could sense Anakin leaning over him as clearly as if he could see him.

“‘N’kin?” he mumbled.

Anakin shifted closer to the bed. “Yeah. Obi-Wan... what’s going on?”

“What?”

“You were screaming,” his friend said slowly. “In your sleep.”

Obi-Wan flushed, grateful that the darkness hid his face from view. “Oh. I’m sorry. You know how disturbed the Force is these days, especially here on Coruscant. I must have...”

“No,” Anakin cut across him. “It wasn’t like that. What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s nothing, Anakin.”

“It’s not nothing.”

Obi-Wan sighed and shifted in his bed, tugging the sheets up higher, shielding himself from the chill of the room. “It is, Anakin. I’m sorry I disturbed you, but—”

“It’s not nothing,” said Anakin in a low voice. “If it was nothing you wouldn’t have lived. Why did you live?”

Obi-Wan’s heart stopped. “What?”

“Why did you live?” demanded Anakin’s voice. The dark presence beside him seemed to suddenly swell, filling the entire room, sucking out all the air. “Why didn’t you die, Jedi?”

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan said hoarsely, starting to sit upright.

Two hands caught him forcefully and shoved him back down, pinning him on his back. The bedsheets suddenly felt suffocating; his limbs were tangled in them hopelessly as he began to kick and struggle.

No matter how hard he thrashed, the hands held him firmly.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth - to question, to beg, to scream - something - but more hands came out of the blackness and closed around his throat, cutting off his voice before he could do more than let out choked cry.

The darkness remained, but somehow, Anakin’s snarling face came into view, illuminated in red as if by fire.

“You should have died on Zigoola,” he sneered. “Die, Jedi.”

And he snapped Obi-Wan’s neck.

: : : : :

Anakin meandered up the hallway, chasing a feeling.

It happened sometimes. The Force just prodded and poked with no clarity whatsoever.

He spotted a familiar figure at the end of the hallway, standing next to a large window overlooking the western horizon of Coruscant. Anakin knew long before he got close that it was Obi-Wan.

“Hey.”

The man didn’t move.

“Obi-Wan, Ahsoka wants to grab lunch at Dex’s before she sets out for her solo. You coming?”

He had his robe on, but it was wrapped tightly around him, and the hood was raised.

Anakin frowned and stepped closer. “Hey. Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan pulled his cloak even tighter around him. His head turned slightly. “Go ahead and say what you want to say,” his former Master muttered. “I won’t talk to you.”

Anakin looked as if he’d been slapped; the hand he had raised to touch the older man’s shoulder fell back to his side. “Fine,” he said curtly. “Whatever makes you happy I guess.”

He turned on his heel and stalked off, brimming with hurt and anger.

He was long gone before the Jedi by the window turned his head slowly to look where he had gone, a look of confusion on his face. “...Anakin?”

: : : : :

Night fell again.

Obi-Wan climbed slowly into bed, shaking like a leaf in a tempest. It took five tries - five - just to hoist himself onto his mattress and lay flat, his hands and feet trembling so badly that even his vision was vibrating.

His head began to pound.

Die, Jedi.

Die, Jedi.

Die, Jedi, Die, Jedi, Die, Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die-Jedi-Die-Jedi-Die-Jedi

DIE JEDI DIE—

Bail’s hands covering his. A flash of red. A flash of blue.

Obi-Wan clamped a palm over his mouth to contain the shriek of agony that exploded out of him.

His head - his leg—

Die Jedi

Bail was screaming—

Qui-Gon was reaching for him, then toppling backwards with a beam of red through his chest, his face frozen in a look of shock—

Die Jedi

Obi-Wan slammed his head against the headboard, screaming again into his hand.

“Obi-Wan!”

Anakin was standing over him again, and Obi-Wan curled away from him, clutching his wounded leg with one hand and covering his mouth with the other.

Anakin towered over him, tall, washed in the light streaming from the common area of their quarters—

Wait.

Anakin dropped to his knees, his expression almost frightened. “Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan, snap out of it!”

The older Jedi shuddered where he lay, digging his fingernails into his leg for a purchase on reality.

“Master,” Anakin begged. “Please talk to me!”

Obi-Wan reached further down his leg and shoved his fingertips into the open wound made by his own saber - but - but his fingers dug only into shallow scarring and the dull throbbing of still-healing tissue.

Zigoola.

Bail.

That injury.

It had all been... weeks ago. Weeks and weeks.

His former student knelt next to him, one hand clinging to the bedclothes, clearly wanting to comfort his Master but wary of frightening him further.

“...Anakin?” Obi-Wan whispered around his hand. His voice was small and cracked, a child’s voice after a night terror. “A-Anakin?”

The younger man exhaled shakily, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s me, Master. Listen. Obi-Wan, you have to let go of your leg... and your face... you’re hurting yourself, all right? Just let go.”

Obi-Wan stared at him.

Anakin stared back, half-stern, half-begging.

After a moment, Obi-Wan obeyed.

He released his leg gingerly, and felt only the residual pain of his slow-healing stab wound and the sharp imprints of his own fingernails.

Then he removed his hand from over his mouth.

His howl of anguish when a red blade pierced Anakin from behind tore through the room, and died into terrified dry sobbing when Anakin fell dead to the floor, his young face painted with shock.

: : : : :

“Master Kenobi!”

Obi-Wan ignored it.

Whoever it was would get his attention more forcefully, real or otherwise. He had no choice but to accept it, but delaying, delaying he could do.

“Master Kenobi! Obi-Wan Kenobi, have you lost your hearing?”

A middle-aged Twi’lek with bold blue skin shouldered her way in front of him; her expression was fierce, but her eyes and the hand she pressed against his chest to stop him were exceedingly gentle. “Obi-Wan?” she repeated.

“Master Che,” he answered dully. “Can I help you?”

“I was about to ask you the same,” she returned, eyes narrowing with concern as she took in his wan visage. “Obi-Wan, your health is deteriorating. An apprentice Healer could tell that at a glance. Why didn’t you come to the Halls?”

“There’s no point,” he said. “It’s just lack of sleep. I’ll pull through.”

Her lekku twitched. “Lack of sleep, hm? That doesn’t explain the rapid weight loss, the new damage on your arms, or your eroding mental shielding...”

“I am fine, Vokara,” the youngest Councilor said sharply. “I won’t be forced into the Halls against my will. If something is really wrong, by all means, feel free to scrape me off the pavement.”

He walked away with his hands folded in his sleeves. His head was bowed.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the Healer murmured, and picked up her comm unit. “Skywalker. We need to have a conversation. Your Master’s last mission is classified on a need-to-know basis. And you need to know.”

: : : : :

Anakin entered their shared rooms cautiously this time.

The lights were off, save a few small illuminators scattered around the room, radiating soft warm light like candles. Obi-Wan’s robe was draped over the back of the chair, and his boots were set neatly on a mat against the wall, a contrast to Anakin’s, which could usually be found in odd places like on a chair or next to the refrigerator unit.

His former Master’s door was closed.

Hardly daring to breathe, Anakin gently pushed it open.

He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the deep darkness, and felt his breath hitch.

The bed was empty.

The sheets were tangled and strewn halfway across the floor, as if the occupant had been dragged away or had left in a panic.

Anakin sprang forward, his heart in his throat, as he noticed two things.

A black scorch mark in the floor, where a saber had struck it.

And Obi-Wan’s lightsaber lying discarded in the corner.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin yelled. “No... no—Obi-Wan!”

: : : : :

Obi-Wan ran.

His vision was flickering like an old holo, flashes of different things all layered together - was he running over damp grass with Qui-Gon - or the polished floors of the Jedi Temple - or the cracked stone of a Sith Temple with Bail - or a strange fiery planet with bursts of lava and Anakin just out of reach - or —

He didn’t know.

He kept running, constantly changing direction as he registered obstacles and turns at the last second.

There was a tree in front of him. He veered left and smacked into a stone wall carved with Sith Runes.

The graven words burned red and fire lanced out at him, biting into his clothing and taking hold, setting him aflame.

Obi-Wan gasped. He stumbled backwards, trying desperately to peel the burning clothing off of him, hearing maniacal laughter echoing from the black corridors all around him, hearing the screams of the dying, the dead.

Someone grabbed him by the arm and he wheeled around, the fire vanishing inexplicably as Cody, wearing bloodstained armor but without his helmet, stumbled into his arms, gasping for air.

Before Obi-Wan could speak, Cody spat out a mouthful of blood and fell to his knees. His hands dragged the Jedi down with him. But when they hit the floor, it was only Obi-Wan, on his hands and knees in some corridor of the Temple, shuddering and crying.

Die Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die

Die Jedi

DIE JEDI

Die

Jedi Die Jedi

Die

DIE JEDI DIE

Die

J

E

D

I

die

The voices in his head rose and coalesced.

Now the voices of the Sith and the voices of his past and the voices of the future and the voices of the dead were all in agreement—

DIE, JEDI

Obi-Wan reached out desperately for the Light.

There was only Darkness.

Die, Jedi, Die, Jedi

Qui-Gon, running ahead of him chasing a Sith across catwalks. Obi-Wan, desperately racing after him.

Qui-Gon turning at the last second, his verdant lightsaber running Obi-Wan through. The man smiled. Relieved. Pleased. “Die,” he said.

Anakin, ten years old, tentatively asking to spend the night in the same sleeping mat on a mission. Obi-Wan, gently pulling his apprentice into his arms. Waking up hours later with small hands wrapped around his throat and cutting off his air. The innocent face grinned. “Die.”

Ahsoka, dangling out the side of a crashing Y-wing, crying out in pain as her injured shoulder strained. Obi-Wan, diving to catch her hand before she could fall, lifting her back into the ship. Hugging her. And then she kicked him, hard, sending him flying out the door and to his death. She smiled after him. “Die.”

Where was the light?

Where?

...There.

A faint blur of light. A glow.

The feel of fresh air, defying the horrifying visions.

Obi-Wan fixed his eyes on the light, and jumped.

“...NO!”

Someone stopped him. Caught him violently around the waist and dragged him back, pulling him back into the shadows.

Obi-Wan wept, utterly spent.

“Obi-Wan!” a voice raged at him. “What were you doing? What were you even doing?!”

The Jedi only continued to weep silently, letting the strong arms haul him further away. He felt himself lowered to the ground, felt arms come around him in an embrace that felt restrictive.

“Talk to me! Dammit, Master, I need you to focus. Please! Come on, open your eyes properly. Look at me. Look at me.”

The voice became gentler as it went on. Warm and soothing, like the small fires they pitched in encampments, when it was safe to do things like that.

A gentle Force presence brushed against his mind.

It blew through the claws and thorns of Darkness like a hot wind - painful at first, and then calming.

Comforting.

Bright.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and found himself collapsed in Anakin’s arms, his friend looking down at him with a face twisted with fear and concern. They shifted a little into relief when he met Anakin’s blue eyes.

“...A-Ana...An’kin?” Obi-Wan asked, hardly daring to hope.

Anakin nodded fiercely. “Yeah. It’s me. Listen — we’re going to talk about this later. We’re going to fix this. I’m not going to leave you alone for a second, you hear me? We’ll stick together until this is over. But for now...”

He swallowed hard and looked up at the open balcony mere yards away, glowing innocently in the light of a Coruscant night, the only source of light in the long dark hallway.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Obi-Wan exhaled softly. “...All right.”

And then his eyes fluttered closed again, his head tilting to one side to rest against his Padawan’s shoulder. Anakin jolted slightly in alarm, but when he checked, he realized that his old Master was merely sleeping.

A proper sleep.

For the first time in Force knew how long.

Anakin sighed and stood up, carrying Obi-Wan in his arms. He was heavy, but still too light and too thin for Anakin’s liking.

The report from Master Che... Anakin bit the inside of his cheek hard to contain a curse, remembering the extensive list of injuries and repercussions the Healer had given him with her eyes full of uncharacteristic worry.

But it would be all right.

They’d handle it together.

They always had.

Always would.

Anakin paused at the end of the corridor and looked back. He held Obi-Wan a little tighter— remembering the moment he had come tearing up this same hall not five minutes before, just in time to see him - the man he had followed for twelve years, humorous and serene and kind and steady, his mentor, his best friend, almost his father, even closer to being a brother...

See him sobbing, stumbling blindly, preparing to leap over the edge of the balcony to his death.

Tormented and lured by the Dark Side.

Anakin forced himself to turn away once more and move his feet back home, holding the sleeping Obi-Wan with all his strength.

: : : : : : :

[glitterstarfleet]

Headcanons- various Pedro Pascal characters taking care of a (gender neutral) reader with bad headaches or migraines :(

-

Sorta kinda request from discord lol but !! 

How various characters Pedro Pascal plays would react to a reader with chronic headaches/migraines 

(Also uh sorry for not posting for literally like 3 years um ANYWAY- ((if you have notifs on for me I literally offer you my first born holy shit)))

-

Warnings: nonnneee I think

Rating: PG13

-

Max Lord

-He….you have to straight up tell him that you can barely move

-But once you do, he finds some painkillers as fast as he can and brings you them and some water

-When you thank him and he notices how the light makes you squint, he turns off most of them

-He grabs you a pillow or two, asking a few more times if you need anything and if the answer is yes, hops up and gets it

-He’ll sit next to you while you rest and play with your hair, quietly talking if you feel like it and not if you don’t

- If he has to do something urgently, he does it quietly

-He makes absolutely certain no one else can bother you and keeps checking on you routinely until you feel better

Din Djarin

-He...sometimes forgets how to take care of people other than himself

-So he has to relearn how to do it, though the child has helped him 

-That said, he’s a little oblivious to external signs of an oncoming headache

-It’s not really until he asks you to do something on the ship and you visibly slow, squint and seem overall..weaker, that he gets what's up

-”Oh I-...nevermind, I’ll get it.”

-So he does, and in the process turns down lights and all the sound he can, keeping his movement as quiet as he would when on the tail of a target 

-He rummages through one of the bigger medpacks he has and grabs a blanket from it, quietly offering it to you

-It’s unusually direct for him but after throwing you off just a tad bit, it makes you smile weakly and mutter a little thanks as you take the blanket and wrap up in it

-Even more surprising, he moves some things around as quietly as he can in a dark, quiet corner of the ship for you 

-He’s had his fair share of headaches and migraines and gets it

-Looking through a mostly digital display and having sounds echo around in his helmet got to be a bit much sometimes, even after all his time wearing it

- He gently discourages the kid from poking and prodding you and explaining your situation to him

-So he leaves you alone after glancing over to make sure you were settled and lets you rest as long as you need

Agent Whiskey

-He notices how in pain u seem and kinda :(

-He’s very sweet about it and if it's gotten to the point it makes you dizzy, he’ll carry you to the nearest quiet room he can find with something comfortable to lay on 

-If you’re not dizzy, he does it anyway

-Many kisses, lots

-A lot on the head

-He finds you a blanket...or two..or three if its cold

-It makes both of you smile when you mention how he’s turning you into an immoble burrito

-He’ll turn off the light and cuddle around you, either a big spoon or pulling your head to his chest to hopefully muffle more sound

-He’d gently kiss you wherever he could reach without moving too much and would quietly talk to you and try to make you laugh before you eventually fall asleep

-He stays for as long as he possibly can and if he has to leave before you wake up, makes sure you’re as comfortable as you can possibly be 

Oberyn Martell

-He can tell when your first dull headaches start to come on by how you slow and groan almost too quiet to hear, rubbing your head

-He asks if you’re okay and even if you try and insist you are, he’ll gently stop you from moving around and insist you sit, persuading with some kisses and a hug from behind if necessary

-Doing his best to offer you comfort, he tucks you into his bed in a nest of pillows

-It makes him smile when you chuckle, claiming he’ll spoil you 

-”If anyone deserves it, it’s you.”

-When the pain starts to set in worse, he mutters his sympathy and gives you more small kisses, planting one between your eyes

-He’ll sit behind you, reading quietly and rubbing your back

-He’ll absolutely read to you if you request it 

-But otherwise the quiet doesn’t bother him

-He sits with you and only slowly gets up to tell his guards to not let anyone in unless it's an absolute emergency and in that case, to call him outside his room

Javier Peña 

-Chances are, he’d be at work when it starts up and you’d have to find the painkillers and make yourself comfy ;(

-But once he comes back and calls your name a little too loud, which he only discovers when he gets a groan in response, he shuts himself up and comes to find you wherever you retired

-He can guess what’s wrong because of previous times this had happened and kneels down next to you

-He quietly and gently checks on you, asking if you need anything and brushes his fingers over your cheek

-He asks what you need but when only receiving a few muffled sounds in response, he kisses your forehead and promises he’ll be back momentarily 

-After he (quickly) gets his boots and other hard things off, changing clothes and cuddling up with you, he’ll make himself the big spoon

-He nuzzles into your hair and a few kisses later, you're asleep 

-He curses his job silently for taking up almost all his time so he’s not able to be there when you need someone 

-But he takes a moment and sighs, thankful that at the very least he is still there to take care of you after his day was over

-He silently promises to you that he’ll make it up to you with a nice bath later

-He stays awake as long as he can, rubbing your side with one hand and wrapping the other under you, cuddled up as close as he can get and thankful the comfort you offer each other is mutual

[ambiguouspuzuma]

"It's my fault," Jen's boss said. "I pushed her too hard. I knew she could earn the promotion, but I shouldn't have put her under so much pressure. Not without adequate support."

Jen's body had been found, broken, at the foot of the tower block where they had worked. The windows on the eighth floor were sealed shut for health and safety purposes, but her body had been crumpled underneath the external fire escape. Sometimes people stepped out there to smoke, and he'd always turned a blind eye, for which he cursed himself. That door had now also been sealed. Together with her coffin.

"No, it's mine," her mother said, gazing forlornly at the box in front of them, where her daughter's remains had been scraped from the pavement. There had been no question of an open casket. "I pushed her too far. We were fighting, you see. I was always prodding her about marriage, children, and she'd finally had enough. I had no idea she was under so much other stress."

The group nodded sadly. They all had a similar story. Her friends claimed their share of the blame, having pushed Jen away of late: they had been frustrated by the way she often cancelled plans to work, thinking her careless, and not realising it was then she needed them more than ever. The man she was dating also apologised for being pushy, wanting to know where they stood, when patience might have saved them all from losing her forever.

Pete, her colleague and promotion rival, said nothing. Compared to their stories, he really had nothing substantial to share. He'd only pushed her the few inches over the edge.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 10

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: Nine

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Ten: Human not Humane

Huckleberry Hall was thriving with life. Lucien had apparated at the bottom of the pathway leading up to the external arches and courtyard placed before the hall – and there were people everywhere.

Elain saw all walks of life, from noblemen to peasants crowded on the lawns and paths. It was like looking directly into a memory. In another life, Elain would walk among these people with her sisters and parents. Nesta would trot directly behind their mother as she sneered down her nose at the farmers and tanners, Feyre would drift a little further behind, looking up at the clouds in the sky. Their father would walk at the back holding little Elain’s hand, pointing out the flowers and the trees and showing her how to make a trumpet from a leaf.

That was another life and what Elain had always assumed was a happier one.

Mother knows what she thought now.

Lucien and Elain were hidden from sight down the pathway, and it looked as though they were the last to arrive. Looking around, Elain saw stableboys managing a small army of horses, farmers sitting next to wagons full of seeds, grain and fruit, there were even Lords and Ladies, perched under umbrellas in fine chairs, tutting to themselves at the display.

It was so…human.

The rowdy chatter, the children playing hopscotch, the delicacy of these little lives and how they were interwoven with one another. Another way in it being so human was that Elain knew she didn’t fit.

Years ago the sight of all these people would have simply washed over Elain, now it threatened to drown her. Looking around all she could see were people, people and more people. People she didn’t know in a situation she couldn’t control. How long had it been since Elain had spoken to anyone outside the Inner Circle or the Band of Exiles? She hadn’t been taken to any of the meetings with other Courts or any trips abroad – her family hadn’t even told her. They’d just left her alone and hoped she’d be fine.

Breathing started to become a little difficult.

“Are you okay?” Lucien’s voice husked in her ear.

Elain just stared blankly up at him; she wasn’t sure. His own eyes were assessing her carefully.

“If you don’t want to do this just say the word and I’ll take us home.”

Home…

“I’m fine,” Elain said, though a little breathily, “It’s just…I haven’t been around a crowd in a long time.”

She flinched then as a carriage thundered through the woods on a path far to their left, the noise scaring the birds who began a loud chorus of squawking. All of the uproar felt as though it were washing over Elain, dragging her down, suffocating her.

“Hey, Elain, breathe,” Lucien’s hands came up to rest on her shoulders as he pulled himself in front of her, blocking her view of the Hall and all the people surrounding it. Now, her attention was on him.

“Breathe,” he commanded once more before he joined her in taking deep, long breaths. In, out. In, out.

Slowly, the roaring noise and itching anxiety began to fade away as she became encased in the sensation of Lucien. The smell of him surrounding her, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes concerned as they roved over her face.

She wondered if this is how he often felt – like his entire universe sometimes shifted so that she was at the centre.

Once Elain’s breathing had returned to a steady pace for several moments, she felt something tugging from within. Without thinking, Elain brushed up against the bond and was surprised to feel a wave of emotions – Lucien’s emotions – washing over her. She was even more surprised at what those emotions were.

“You’re angry,” Elain whispered after a moment. Lucien shook his head but, he was. His eyes were burning, his jaw set, his brows furrowed – he looked as though he were furiously trying to stop himself from talking. “You are,” Elain prodded because, well, it was a good distraction.

Lucien sighed before looking warily down at her, almost as though he were contemplating telling her whatever it was that had set him off.

“I told Feyre a long time ago that she should’ve been taking you out to see the ocean or sunlight. Instead she…” Lucien trailed off. Elain wished he didn’t, she wished he just said what he so clearly itched to get off his chest.

“I like the indoors,” Elain shrugged.

“Do you?” Lucien cocked his head, “I thought you used to spend all your time in gardens and your greatest wish was to see the continent.”

Elain paused. How did he know about the continent…

Her father. When Lucien had come for Vassa he’d met Elain’s father and he must’ve tried to inconspicuously pick up as much information about her as he could. Maybe once Elain would’ve thought the notion strange but, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling shyly.

“Okay…” Elain tilted her head, “But I needed the indoors.”

“You needed both,” Lucien said as his eyes softened, “Fresh air, new places, new people – they remind us that the world is bigger than the rooms we lock ourselves in.”

The hands on her shoulders began to rub soothingly along her upper arms, and once more Elain’s entire focus zoned in on that point of contact.

“Did you used to lock yourself away?” Lucien grinned.

“Elain, I’m a 400-year-old fae, I’ve spent my fair share moping indoors. Tamlin was the one who eventually had enough, he threw me out into the woods of Spring one day and said if I couldn’t catch anything, I wasn’t eating dinner.”

“That sounds mean,” Elain half-laughed.

“Maybe,” Lucien shrugged, “But it got me out. He was a bastard though, I spent all day in a river collecting enough bass to feed a small army only to come back to the Manor and find an entire spread waiting for me: potatoes, honeyed-ham, even Tipiati – it’s a delicacy from Dawn. It’s this little bird and you cut it open and eat the heart raw-”

“Oh, ugh!” Elain giggled as she scrunched her nose.

“What’s wrong petal? Raw bird heart not sounding good? Wait until I tell you what they do with the eyes-”

“Okay, okay! Feeling better! Ready to seize the day just please, stop talking about those poor birds!” Elain laughed, feeling for the first time in forever the weight on her shoulders disappear.

“I’m going to get you to try it one day,” Lucien grinned, looking rather smug with himself at having made her laugh.

“Oh, in your dreams,” Elain looped her arm through his as they made their way up the path and into the view of the humans.

“Just you wait, if we’re ever in Summer I’m making you try Calamari.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Elain smiled, and for a moment, she forgot where she was.

Because her arm was in Lucien’s and he was smiling down at her as though she were a forest nymph bedecked in moon-flowers and in this moment, everything felt alright.

It was only when they were halfway down the path to the Hall, that Elain began to remember where she was, and she felt the eyes of the humans – humans she once knew – boring into her. She simply kept her own stare ahead at the open doors of the Hall in which she could see the fiery glint of Vassa’s hair and golden dress.

But her fae hearing picked up on everything. She heard the whisperings of the peasants, both enchanted and disgusted by her beauty, she heard the Ladies muttering to one another about her dress and how disgustingly uncivilised it was.

She heard the Lords grinning to one another about how they knew Elain when she was a little girl. About how they had first dibs…

If she wasn’t mistaken Lucien had gone somewhat rigid next to her and he was once more pulling himself to his full height, looming over everyone in the courtyard. One glance up at him told her that he was wearing his fiercest scowl, his entire being practically thrumming with magic that she knew was hot under the surface of his skin.

Then, Lucien was leaning low, his lips coming close to her ear as he whispered three little words. And then, his voice was the only one that mattered.

“I’ve got you.”

***

Time started to move quickly after their laboured walk into the Hall. Once they were in and grouped with Vassa and Jurian, Elain found herself being introduced to a plethora of Noblemen and Ladies. They shook her hand with introductions and light discussions of who they were and the role they played in the rebuilding of the mortal world. Elain was glad she had spent so much time looking over the documents and contracts as she found herself maintaining elaborate, detailed questions with everyone she came into contact with – and as each successful conversation passed, so did her anxiety, and she truly began to believe she could do this.

She often found herself using the same techniques her mother had taught her when attending balls. Except now, instead of conversations about dowries and marital prospects, she was speaking of trade routes and contractual obligations.

On more than one occasion she came into contact with someone whom she once knew. Some people, such as older, less wealthy men were kind and joyful, telling Elain how they were glad to see she was at least healthy and alive following the Battle against Hybern. With others, Elain could read the quite plain apprehension and slight disgust in the eyes of those she’d once known – particularly of father’s whose sons she’d once been a contender for marrying.

The Hall was busy with chatter as this was also the first meeting in which Queen Vassa was in attendance, and with the two new, unusual arrivals, there were many mortal civilities that needed to pass before everyone was to take their seats in the main hall at the southern end of the building.

Lucien never left her side, but not in a way that felt claustrophobic or hovering, but merely in a way that told her that he had her back. Whenever she tuned into his conversations she found that most mortals responded somewhat well to Lucien. At least, as well as they could given the circumstances. Many mortal Lords were interested in Lucien’s weaponry and experience in battle, there appeared to be an endless amount of questions regarding his sword of choice.

There was only one time in which Elain overheard her name in his discussions.

“Are you and the Lady Elain married then?” Lord McAdams, an old man who owned the human libraries inquired over a glass of port.

“We’re acquaintances, and while she is here she is under my protection,” Lucien replied smoothly. He was the image of relaxation, an easy smile that lit up the room playing on his features.

“Ah, I see,” McAdams winked at Lucien, who merely tilted his head in response.

“Pardon?”

“I won’t tell anyone, of course, you see, it is highly unusual for an unmarried woman to…well to…though it does happen.” McAdams was old enough that he wheezed as he talked.

“I’m quite lost Lord McAdams, though I’m sure you mean well.”

“Of course, of course, my boy. Of course, I mean well,” McAdams chortled, “Besides, I can’t blame you can I? You know I knew Elain when she was a little girl, her father used to take all three of them round to my house so they could have their pick from my libraries. She was the prettiest of them all, even then, and it’s always interesting to see how they…turn out.”

Elain was nodding along as a young Lord who owned the rice fields out West continued to chat extensively about himself. Though at that moment, she felt a pair of eyes searing into her back, particularly her behind. At that moment she didn’t need to reach for the bond to feel the protective fury that was radiating from her mate.

It was strange, but for some reason, she liked it. Some guilty, deep down part of her shuddered in agreement at the idea of Lucien being protective over her in the face of these men. It was almost a nice idea, belonging to him…

“Elain!” A saccharine voice pulled Elain from her internal tribulations and Lucien and McAdams faded away as a silver blur appeared in front of her. “Oh Elain it’s so good to see you again, you look…well!”

Delilah Darlington exploded into the conversation, nudging into the side of the young Lord who grumbled in response. She was bundled in a rather ridiculous silver gown which was bedecked in frills of lace that hung off the fabric like cobwebs. Delilah was beautiful, though, and a sweet kind girl.

She did not deserve the cruelty of someone such as Graysen.

“Delilah, I’m so glad you’re well! Congratulations on your engagement,” Elain said with as much earnest kindness she could muster as she pulled Delilah into a brief embrace.

They’d been friends, once, along with a small gaggle of girls. Nesta couldn’t stand any of them, she saw them as competition at balls and discouraged Elain from forming any kind of relationship with them. Elain had anyways, of course. It was something to look forward to at those balls, something to distract her from the wandering hands and unwanted touches.

“Oh, well, yes I-I uh, I didn’t know you were coming back.” Delilah looked strangely guilty for a moment, and Elain felt something in her chest squeeze. Graysen wasn’t deserving of this girl, and he wasn’t worth coming between them.

“Well I’m only here until some political goals are accomplished, then I’ll probably be heading back over the border.”

“How exciting, you always wanted to travel.”

“Yes,” Elain grinned shyly, touched that Delilah remembered such a trivial detail. Looking around Elain realised that the young Lord had disappeared, and she felt herself relaxing from the forced courtly act she’d been playing.

“It’s wonderful Delilah it really is. Being turned fae has been difficult, more than difficult it’s been…well, it’s been hard, but it’s almost worth it for the beauty of Prythian.”

Delilah, unlike the other mortals who changed the conversation once anything beyond the wall was mentioned, grinned widely and rubbed her hands together.

“I read a book after you were taken over the wall, it was a forbidden scripture from McAdams library that I managed to steal when I was over there. It detailed all things about Prythian, is it true there are Seasonal Courts?”

“Oh yes,” Elain grinned, allowing her courtier’s exterior to crumble, “Lucien hails from the Autumn Court.”

Elain shifted so that she was now standing next to Delilah against the wall and pointed out to Lucien, though there was no need, he stood head and shoulders above everyone, currently nodding along to something a small gaggle of women were chatting about.

“Oh of course, I can see it now,” Delilah muttered with a smile, but Elain was fixated and the now growing group of women that were trying to gain her mate’s attention. Delilah, seeing Elain’s line of sight, smiled wider. “They do that every week. They’re all eligible brides, see there’s Isobel and Lottie…not that they would ever admit it, but I think some of them want him to propose.”

“Propose?” Elain couldn’t stop herself from spluttering, feeling a protective fiery anger move through her at the thought. The idea that these women had gathered week after week trying to sway Lucien into offering them his hand in marriage for two years, it made her feel feral.

Lucien was hers.

The thought was like a stone to the head and suddenly the protective rage was cleared, leaving behind her internal shock and confusion had having had such an audacious thought. But by the way Lucien was now grinning slyly at the women before him, his confidence having tripled within the minute, Elain was pretty certain she’d accidentally sent that thought down the bond.

“Is he really your mate?” Delilah asked, her eyes twinkling slightly. Elain stayed quiet for a moment, and then.

“Yes. He is. We’re bound together by fate and the Mother herself.”

“That sounds very beautiful,” Delilah said softly, but Elain could not take her eyes away from her Autumn Male. It was like the thought had just truly dawned on Elain, the reality of their situation.

Lucien was her mate. In that way, he was hers.

And she was his.

“It is…”

“The meeting shall begin in ten minutes, please, may you all take your seats!” A loud, brash voice called from the looming doors of the main hall and the crowd began to move in the direction, the babbling only increasing as wives got left behind and Lords could engage in the locker room talk before the politics – Elain didn’t miss the several glances thrown her way as the men’s rowdy chatty began to fill the building.

“I must go but, I’ll see you soon,” Delilah hopped out away from her, giving Elain a quick embrace and a kiss on the cheek before she was waving and disappearing into the crowd. The crowd where her fiancé no doubt was hidden.

She had not yet seen him.

Just as she was about to lose herself in the throng, Lucien was in front of her, pushing through the men as though they were no more than butterflies to swat at. Before she could say anything, he was holding out his arm with a slight bow.

“Lady.”

Unable to help herself, Elain grinned at her mate as she looped her arm through his and was rewarded with an equally bright grin back. Lucien led them through the crowd into the hall, people parting for them as though they were a plague to be avoided. Elain didn’t mind, especially if it meant no one would stand on her train.  

“They can’t take their eyes off you.” Lucien didn’t move as he spoke, he merely muttered the words under his breath and had he been talking to any mortal, they would’ve been lost on the wind. But Elain’s fae-hearing picked them up, and she felt a shiver run the length of her spine at the secret conversation in plain sight.

“Feeling territorial?” Elain surprised herself by husking back.

“It would seem I’m not the only one.” She didn’t need to look at him to know he was smirking coyly.

“I don’t like the way they talk about me,” Elain moved on before her cheeks could start burning, “The men who watched me grow up.”

“It’s repulsive.” All humour left her mate’s tone. “If it soothes your mind know that I won’t let them lay a finger on you.”

“I don’t know if touching is the problem so much as the looking.”

“That dress isn’t doing us favours I’m afraid.”

“Oh, do you wish for me to get rid of -”

“Don’t,” Lucien said too quickly, his arm going rigid from where it was interlinked with hers. Elain smirked. “It’s…it’s a fine dress.” Lucien tried to concede.

“I think so.”

“It reminds me of home.” Elain stole a glance at him then.

“Because of the fabric?”

“Well yes,” Lucien’s brows furrowed as his eyes met hers, “But…that dress was my mothers.” Elain felt her shock roll through her. His mother’s? But this was a gift from Mor – right?

“You didn’t know,” Lucien mused, now seemingly unable to take his eyes off of her. Elain shook her head. “Ah, of course, I gave it to Nuala the other day, she wouldn’t take it until I said it was from Mor.”

“I’ll…have to ask her about it. Why do you have your mother’s dress?”

“Eris delivered it months ago, apparently she’d heard of our bond and wished to gift it to you as a mating present.”

“Oh-”

“I don’t intend to – I’m not giving it to you for that reason I just, I explained to Nuala my thinking about how the fabric and style is perfect for setting intention.” Elain just drifted next to him, turning his words over in her head.

“Is this why you are always dressed so finely, because it is a political motive?” Lucien, to her surprise, grinned wickedly.

“Nothing is coincidental, Elain, from the clothes we wear to the way we talk.”

“Whose we?” Lucien shrugged.

“I would’ve said Autumn Court Males but, I believe it is only Eris whom I share that trait with. Ah, here we are.”

The hall was set up like a Courtroom, with certain families, estates, and job sectors, sectioned off into small groups. Elain and Lucien, being the representatives for The Fae were somewhat isolated from everyone else. They were near enough to Vassa and Jurian who were bickering quietly from where they were seated to their right. The room was still squabbling and rowdy with chatter, and there were only men besides Elain and Vassa. The other mortal queens were not even present.

Elain’s eyes unwittingly began to search for Graysen. For some reason, not having seen him yet was making her nervous, it felt as though the longer she waited, the worse it was going to be. She just didn’t want to have anything sprung upon her.

Perhaps with the bond having been in more use the past few days, it seemed that Lucien was somehow easily able to gleam that Elain’s attention had returned to her ex-fiancé. Elain knew because he’d gone rigid next to her.

“What?” Elain prodded, turning to him. With the hall still full of chatter, she wasn’t worried about anyone overhearing their conversation. She’d thought she and Lucien had been good on the Graysen topic following their conversation in the kitchen doorway. Lucien didn’t look at her, instead, he appeared to be assessing the Darlington’s as they made themselves comfortable. “Lucien,” Elain stressed.

“I um, I felt you the other night, when you found out Graysen was engaged,” he began slowly, still not meeting her eye. Elain tugged on his sleeve forcing him to look down at her, she raised her brows questioningly to show she didn’t understand. Lucien breathed deeply, his eyes closing momentarily before he looked deep ahead, avoiding her pleading look. “I could feel what you were feeling.”

The way Lucien looked ahead, his jaw set and his eyes unfeeling, it was as though that little sentence had explained everything. But she was just more confused.

He’d felt her? Her emotions? What had she been feeling? She’d found out that Graysen was engaged, and she felt…She had felt tired, relieved, pitiful even. It was like some door had finally jammed shut after it had been fluttering between open and closed. It was a final sever in their bond and as she had fallen asleep that night, she’d welcomed the end of her time with Graysen. Her dream that night was a reminder that her relief was earned.

How could any of that upset Lucien?

Then Elain realised that Lucien had felt it. That longing, and by the way Lucien was now glaring at his hands, curled into fists in his lap, she’d realised that he may have misunderstood what, exactly, she was longing for.

She didn’t want Graysen. She wanted what he had. Not in terms of Delilah but, she wanted his ignorance, his ability to simply move on and find a new wife. She wanted his strength to not change, to still be who he was, to still have the world the way he wanted it with him at the centre.

She longed for the bliss Graysen had found, simply because that bliss made her agony so much more tender.

Lucien had misread her. She almost sighed with relief. She could fix this; she could simply explain to him why, and the small waves of hurt currently rocking through her would disappear.

Lucien wasn’t Graysen, he wasn’t going to leave her side in an instant just because of a misunderstanding. But even as Elain repeated this to herself as the room quietened and the meeting began, some part of her refused to believe it – some part of her refused to trust.

***

The meeting was rather boring. After all her research and all her note-taking, the first two hours involved discussions Elain had no interest in. It was about internal disputes, farmers angry with one another over borders, fisherman demanding wage rises, etcetera, etcetera. Elain was forced to watch as the Lords and Noblemen sneered down at the lower class, working men and had to bite her tongue the entire time.

It seemed that Lucien shared her disgust, as he regularly whispered quips in her ear about how mortal and fae weren’t so different after all. That the High Fae and these Noblemen had more terrible things in common, such as their treatment of working families and Lesser Fae.

Elain had tried to watch with an assessing eye, categorising the figures she needed to remember for later discussions. But by the time the lunchtime break came about, she was practically falling asleep on Lucien’s shoulder. It was after lunch that the room seemed to clear slightly, the farmers and peasants going home to their families as the topic of the Fae and Queen Vassa was brought up.

Queen Vassa made her introduction to the room, her voice full and powerful as she stood, Jurian watching with an all-knowing smile at her side. There were some small talks about property and Vassa was able to confirm her signature on several contracts.

Lucien got involved in discussions several times, and Elain was more than happy to sit quietly and watch as he worked the room. He was perfect. The way he eased into conversations, the easy-going smiles, the unconfrontational comments on trade routes and Fae resources.

Elain was surprised to notice that several Noblemen had taken a shining to Lucien and seemed to actively pursue his voice in discussions. She could tell a lot of it was fake, the way Lucien grinned at men whom he’d whispered insults about in Elain’s ear but, his courtier’s mask was perfect.

Elain was beginning to think that she might make it through the meeting without having to stand and utter a single word, until Lucien interjected a conversation about wrapping up for the week.

“We must speak of the matter that is Koschei.”

This seemed to be the first thing Lucien had said which the Noblemen did not instantly grin and nod along to. Instead, Elain saw heavy sighs and the rolling of eyes. It would seem that these Lords did not mind discussing with the Fae so long as it was about mortal matters. But talk of Death-Gods and magical firebirds, seemed to rather put them off.

“We have spoken of it. Weeks ago.” Elain heard Lord Nolan’s tired voice swim into the room. He appeared humoured by Lucien’s statement while Lucien simply remained passive. Stoic. They were sitting far to their left, and Elain had already glimpsed Graysen perched next to his father, leaning back in his chair. It was almost like he was trying, and failing, to impersonate Lucien’s image of confident boredom.

“May I remind you, Lord Nolan, that fae resources are only open to you so long as you stick to your word.”

“My word-”

“-yes,” a shimmer of anger was seen in Lucien’s eye, but beyond that his courtier's mask was flawless. “Your word that you would assist both Queen Vassa and her fae acquaintances in disposing of the Death-Lord, whose residence is not far from this very hall.”

“The agreement was to help you reverse the so-called curse placed on the Queen, and as we can all see, Queen Vassa has joined us today and therefore one might consider that vow fulfilled.”

“I am here on bought time,” Vassa now stood, her voice dripping in authority and power as she asserted herself amongst the men, “I shall not explain the means, as the explanation shall no doubt be lost on a room of mortals, but what you see before you is merely a temporary solution to the problem.”

“It would do you well, Queen Vassa, to remember that you too are mortal,” Lord Darlington now husked, his eyes predatory, “Or at least you were…once.”

“Oh don’t worry, Darlington, she’s just as mortal as I am,” Jurian grinned, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Darlington merely sneered in disgust.

“The point is Koschei is still at large-” Lucien tried again, the picture of relaxation from where he stood, looming over the room.

“And what do you expect us to do?” Elain felt her heart shudder as Graysen’s voice finally joined the others. It was only a matter of time.

Even though he was speaking to someone else - to Lucien - Elain felt her fight or flight instinct kick in. The last time she had heard that gravelly, low voice, had been when it had broken her heart.

“You fae clearly see us humans as inadequate, as proven by your Queen forgoing explaining her sudden appearance. No doubt caused by some dark magic, the same magic that threatens to infiltrate our lands and poison our people.” Graysen rose to his feet, his voice growing louder, and Elain noticed how much he had aged since she’d last seen him.

It had only been two years but the stress of rebuilding the mortal world without a wall had taken its toll: thinning hair, lines around his mouth, he’d also put on quite a bit of weight. He was no longer the young boy Elain had fallen in love with, a dreamer who wished to rid the world of evil beings. He was a man with a heart full of hate.

“Two things,” Lucien’s own voice didn’t waver as he turned to address Elain’s ex-fiancé, and she wondered how much they’d had to see of each other over the past two years. “One, Vassa is not my Queen. Two, it is somewhat hilarious to watch you whine like a pup over Queen Vassa not explaining to you her magic, when you are already so prejudiced to not comprehend the difference between the fae and Koschei. There is no magic seeking to infiltrate your lands apart from the work of the latter.”

“Koschei is fae-”

“-Koschei is a Death-God.” Lucien’s tone turned cold, and at that moment the sun dipped behind the clouds. “A survivor from the time of Old Gods. He is not fae, he is a threat to us as much as he is a threat to you.”

“The threat to humans are all fae and everything that comes with them.”

“The fae of Prythian have no interest in humans-”

“Oh please, one must only look to my ex-fiancé for proof of their machinations.”

The room went cold. The sun having now truly disappeared from sight, leaving behind a world of blue and grey shadows.

“Look at her, look at her unnatural beauty. Many of us knew Elain, the true Elain Archeron, the human one. She was beautiful but plain of the mind but set to live a normal, human life. Now look at her, she’s no better than a siren or a nymph, her beauty is of a freak nature and it’s only purpose is to lure you in, to cover the ugly truth underneath. Her and her two sisters were turned, stolen from their beds in the middle of the night and taken across the wall. I’m surprised to see you here Elain,” Graysen had been talking theatrically to the room, but that last sentence was personal, intimate. And when he caught Elain’s eye, she could only think one thing.

She hated him.

“Surprised but I suppose that’s my own fault, you always had a small fortune of ugly secrets you liked to keep hidden - and to think I almost fell into a marriage with you. You see, this is another reason the fae wish to infiltrate our lands, they wish to take our wives. Elain was stolen and turned only to be given to the male we see before us,” Graysen held his arm out to where Lucien was standing, still as stone at Elain’s side.

“This male was able to lay a claim on Elain the second she was turned. We’ve all heard of the mating bond.” A ripple of disgusted murmurs went around the room. “At that moment Elain, my soon to be wife, belonged to a fae male. Mother knows what atrocities occurred in the time between their mating and the moment Elain finally remembered her fiancé and came back home.”

Outrage and disgust were expressed around the room, and Graysen looked almost gleeful as he assessed the crowd.

“These two, this harlot and her owner-“

Elain shot out a hand and gripped the fabric of Lucien’s trousers if only to stop him from burning the boy to a crisp from where he stood.

“-have come here to mock us! They have come as a warning, to show us what will happen to our people - our women - if we allow this alliance with the fae to continue!” There were shouts of encouragement swelling from the crowd. “If we continue on this path then our women will look like her, horrid in their beauty. And worse, our women will belong to him as Elain belongs to him, as little more than a personal prostitute!”

There was something feral in Lucien’s eye as he glared at Graysen across the room. But while her mate was focused on her ex-fiancé, Elain was drowning in the leering coming from the crowd. People she had just introduced herself to a few hours earlier and had pleasant conversations were now staring at her with revulsion and disgust. She heard shouts of people calling her a ‘witch’, people telling her that she had no shame, that she was to burn in hell.

With her hand fisted in Lucien’s trouser leg, Elain drowned it out, she drowned it all out, and reached for the bond within.

Lucien was a tempest. Brushing up against the bond, Elain herself could feel the fire in his veins, could envision the rings of his powers, burning hotter and hotter all the way down to his golden core. The mating bond was taut in his skin, demanding him to defend Elain, to rip out the throat of anyone who would insult her. But there was another anger there too, a personal one. Lucien was furious on Elain’s behalf; she could read that now. He thought so highly of her and to hear lesser men insult her was turning him livid.

Sharply, Elain tugged on the bond and in an instant, his eyes snapped to hers.  

There was so much emotion in that one look. Concern, fury, bitterness, doubt. It was all there for her to see; he didn’t dilute anything. With as much delicacy and care as she could muster, she slipped her hand from his pant leg into the hand that was dangling by his side.

Slowly, she rose to her feet.

“It is true,” she began, and she felt Lucien’s hand squeeze her own. “I was stolen in the middle of the night by a group of fae. They stole me across land and ocean, all the way to Hybern. It is there where I was thrown into the Cauldron, the maker of all life, and transformed into a High Fae. This is all true.

“But my transformation was an irregularity, an unfortunate yet calculated political move whereby the King of Hybern attempted to get back at my sister for her killing of Aramantha. I expect you to all remember the King of Hybern, given that your own armies joined the fae in the Battle that catalysed these meetings two years ago.

“The King of Hybern was evil. Not the fae of Prythian. The King of Hybern was your enemy and the threat to human life. Not the fae of Prythian. Those such as Lucien here fought for your freedom. Fae died on that battlefield for you to stand here today, and you repay them by villainising them.

“There needs not be any animosity between these mortal lands and the fae realms of Prythian. I grew up like you, believing the fae were evil incarnations that existed to tempt human morality. But unlike you, I have travelled Prythian, I have seen fae from all walks of life, and the reality is the cautionary tales we all heard growing up were nothing more than fiction.

“The fae have homes, wives, children. They have towns and cities, farms, libraries and schools. They wake up each morning and go to work and each evening they have dinner with their families.

“This alliance is not about turning humans into fae, nor turning fae into humans. It’s about recognising life and seeking to protect it from those who might threaten it - and Koschei threatens all of us. We know he seeks to free himself from the confines of his lakeside Manor, we know he wishes to seek vengeance for his imprisonment. But there is much we do not know.

“We do not know how Koschei was bound to the lake, how he steals women of this land and turns them into swans, why he took Vassa, nor what it will take for him to be free. That is why this alliance is paramount.

“Koschei has a fascination with the mortals, he steals mortal women and mortal Queens. His residence is only a few miles south from here, deep in the forest. It is because of this we need mortal alliances.

“You do not need to believe the fae are good, nor must you trust us. But you must understand that all we wish to do is destroy a being who threatens everyone in this room. The alliance need not be a happy one, but it is needed.”

The room had quietened, the shouting had stopped. People were listening to her, and Elain had finally found her voice.

Lucien’s hand squeezed her own and she realised they were both standing before the room of mortals. She could only have an idea of what they must’ve looked like, side by side, glistening with the beauty of the Fae. They must’ve looked united and commanding.

They must’ve looked powerful.

Then, across the room, a man got to his feet. Looking at him for a moment, Elain realised it was the young Lord she had been speaking to with Delilah who owned the rice fields out West. He looked tentative and young as the spotlight fell on him, but when he met Elain’s eye, she saw a fierceness burning there.

“What do you need?”

***

Lucien wanted to get Elain home quickly after the meeting. Today had been unusually tiring, what with Elain’s debut in that dress this morning to the crowds turning on his mate halfway through the meeting. He just wanted to go home.

Correction, he needed to get Elain home and safe and away from these horrible men and their horrible thoughts.

A few noblemen came forth following the meeting expressing their devotion to helping Elain and Lucien in tackling the problem of Koschei. Most of them were young Lords who had come into their father’s wealth unexpectedly after the war, and their hearts had not yet had a chance to become polluted with years of hatred for the fae.

That was a success. No matter how often Lucien had tried to convince the noblemen to even speak of Koschei in the meetings, it seemed that the missing element was both Elain and Queen Vassa.

But before long Lucien had had enough. He wanted Elain home and safe now, and expressing a few half-hearted apologies he looped Elain’s arm through his and guided her out down the pathway before winnowing away without a second notice.

They made their way to the house with some small talk about how well the meeting had gone (Lucien tried his hardest not to spend all his time grovelling about how amazing she was and how fierce and strong she’d looked when addressing the crowds). The maids were there waiting for them with a pot of tea whilst they began on dinner.

It seemed that the meeting had gone on well into overtime and the sun was now distinctly plummeting towards the horizon. But when Vassa and Jurian finally made it back on horseback, there was only Jurian who entered the living room with a glass of whiskey.

“Where’s Vassa?”

“She decided to get her firebird overtime out the way,” Jurian sighed, something bitter in his eye as he flopped carelessly on the couch next to Lucien.

“Does that mean she won’t be turning back tonight?”

“We assume so, we’re not sure how the ring works but if Koschei’s little note is correct then I believe we won’t be seeing Vassa for a few days.”

Lucien cursed under his breath. Jurian just looked tired and…angry.

“There was a note?” Elain asked from where she was perched on her armchair, her legs tucked up underneath her, her dress outlining every curve of her body.

“Yes,” Jurian eyed her for a moment, “You did well out there princess, Lord Cao looked practically ready to sign you his battlements.” The Lord who had spoken at the end of the meeting.

“We talked after,” Elain mused, her finger running around the lip of her glass, “His residency is the closest to Koschei’s manor and he’s invited all of us to come visit, I think if we get close enough we may be able to get a read on the magic that’s bound to the manor.”

“Oh, fun, a day trip,” Jurian sighed bitterly, something clearly having aggravated his mood. He turned his scowl to Lucien. “Are you really going to let your mate within a mile of that place?”

Something dark flickered in Lucien’s eye.

“If Elain deems it a worthy trip then of course we must go. I thought you were interested in seeing Vassa free of the curse?”

“Of course I’m interested in seeing Vassa free, why do you think I’m here?” Jurian hissed.

“To generally give the manor a feeling of unease?”

“To make rude comments about people’s sisters in an attempt to start a fight?” Elain added.

“To make indecent comments about people’s mates in an attempt to-”

“Alright, alright. Mother, you two are no fun.” Jurian rolled his eyes, but some of the tension seemed to leave his body at the teasing. “Have you already eaten?”

Elain and Lucien nodded and Jurian got up with a stretch.

“Yum, leftovers for me then,” was all he said before he headed for the door.

“Jurian,” Elain called, “That note Koschei sent with the ring, could I see it?” Jurian glanced between her and Lucien, seeming to think before he nodded.

“I’ll send it up to your room in the morning," was all he said before he left the room. And once more, Lucien and Elain were left alone with nothing but a crackling fire.

There was a tension there that hadn’t been there before, or maybe it had, maybe they’d both just been too ignorant to see it.

The reality was there would always be that tension between them, that intrigue and possibility. Looking at her now, curled in an armchair, the dress having turned a glittering emerald in the firelight, he felt every inch of his skin respond to her.

Not for the first time, an unplanned fantasy strolled through his mind. An image of himself getting up off this couch and walking over to her, of him placing his knee on her armchair, in between her thighs, capturing her throat in his hand and lowering his lips to hers.

One blink and the image was gone. Perhaps it was the bond showing him these things, taunting him with a possibility that at this moment seemed unachievable.

“I, um, I wanted to talk to you actually,” Elain spoke into the silence, and briefly Lucien fretted if his scent had changed.

“Oh?”

“Yes…about Graysen.” Lucien’s hope dropped like lead in his gut.

“Oh.”

“I just wanted to say that I think you misread my emotions when I found out he was engaged which, I mean that’s not your fault. This whole bond kind of disrupts communication.”

Lucien just nodded. Looking at her, he saw the strands of hair that had come loose around her face, he wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

“I’m not upset about it. I don’t want him anymore,” Elain said plainly. “I just…I guess I want what he has.”

Lucien blinked. That wasn’t what he was expecting.

“What, specifically, do you want?” The words were careful, calculated.

“I’m not sure…his happiness? His ignorance?” Elain seemed to scowl slightly and then she was standing, setting her drink on a nearby table as she turned to the fire to warm her hands. Lucien pondered for a moment, definitely not using that time to worship at the way the dress followed the swell of her behind and, Mother help him, her thighs. Then he was up, moving around the table to join her at the fire.

Elain turned and watched him approach with an enigmatic stare, the fire reflecting in her glassy eyes.

“Graysen’s life is perhaps an easier one,” Lucien eventually breathed, “But whilst yours may prove more difficult, it is certainly more worthwhile.” Elain paused as she pondered his thoughts, and Lucien once more allowed himself to drink from her ever-flowing fountain of beauty.

“I just, I think it’s all so unfair.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Why?”

“Because why does he get to be happy? Why does he get to continue to live his life and just find someone else to marry? Is there no such thing as justice?”

“You are free to seek retribution Elain-”

“And give the humans further reason to hate the fae?”

 Lucien blinked. The timing of Graysen’s death would be unfortunate, but Lucien wanted to see the boy dead, even if that meant tomorrow an army would be at his door.

“The humans should be grateful the fae are ridding them of such vermin,” Lucien couldn’t help himself from spitting as he glared out the window. But not before he caught Elain giving a weary look and for the first time, he realised just how tired she looked. The way her shoulders hung forward and her arms curled limply around herself. Something akin to agony washed through him at the sight of his exhausted mate, followed by the overwhelming need to fix it, to take her into his arms and protect her from all the things that worried her. Lucien had to fold his arms tightly across his chest to stop himself from reaching out.

“I don’t want to have any revenge when it comes to Graysen because it’s not going to make me feel better,” Elain looked at the fire as she spoke, and Lucien hated the wobble in her voice. He hated that he didn’t know who was making her cry – him or the boy.

“It might.”

“No. It wouldn’t,” she said with such ferocity Lucien was temporarily reminded of Nesta. “You know why?” Elain scowled, her eyes tightening and her lips turning down into a cruel frown.

“Because I would’ve still loved him if he’d been the one to come back changed. I would’ve still married him, and I would’ve told him it’d be alright, and we’d figure it out together – and killing him isn’t going to change the fact that he wouldn’t do the same for me. That he would’ve never done that for me; and that means he never loved me the way I loved him. You don’t get Lucien. Killing him means nothing because there is nothing I can do to him to make him hurt even half as much as he hurt me because he simply, doesn’t, care. He will never even comprehend what he did to me. He will spend the rest of his life, even if that life ends tomorrow, in blissful ignorance of what he did and the damage he caused. Hurting him back would just be so…so pointless, and…I’m tired.” Elain curled in on herself with an exhausted, angry sigh.

“I know you think I came here because I was ready to finally deal with this…with us,” she met his eye and hunched herself into a smaller ball, her arms winding further around herself, “But that’s not it. I came here because I’m tired and there nothing left for me and, and I’m running out of-of-I’m running out of-”

She was starting to hyperventilate. Madja had warned her of this, the panic attacks that had become a side effect of her depression. She needed to breathe, she needed to calm down, she needed-

Lucien crossed the room in three strides. Some part of Elain wanted to recoil at him approaching her with such ferocity in his step and steel in his eye, but she couldn’t be scared of him. She could be afraid of the bond and what it meant to her, what he meant to her, but Lucien would never hurt her. Ever. That she knew.

He’d stilled in front of her, looking down at her enigmatically. She’d run out of words, and she didn’t know if Lucien understood what she was attempting to say. Every part of her was ready to just break down from how exhausted she was.

The silence drew on. The tension turning palpable, and when she was just about ready to fall to her knees and let the agony take over, his arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her firmly against his chest.

Elain let out a small sob as her face was pushed into the fabric of his shirt, her head resting against his upper ribs and lower chest. She’d never been so aware of how different they were in size; he was the tallest of them all and she the shortest. But it felt…good. And maybe she was touch-deprived, or maybe she was just deluded, but she found herself burrowing into him. He was so warm, and with his arms around her she felt like…like he had her. Like it didn’t matter if she let go and just crumpled because he had her and he wasn’t going to let her hit the floor.

At this point, falling was inevitable. Elain had been falling for some time, plummeting down and down after the Cauldron had tipped her out and washed her corpse on jagged stones. But with Lucien holding her she considered, for the first time, having a soft place to land.

She didn’t want him to see her cry, so she burrowed deeper. Her arms were still curled around her torso; Lucien’s curled around her back. Both of them holding onto her and keeping her together. A few seconds, minutes, hours of silence and she realised that after this, she could never forget how he smelt. Apples, warmth, musk, fresh Earth, smoke. Familiar and foreign. A stranger but…hers.

He smelt like an evening, an Autumnal evening, with a brilliant streaking sunset. The kind where it seemed like the sun had never been so alive, where the sun took the sky and turned into its masterpiece.

He was that masterpiece. The Autumnal sky. The Autumnal Sun.

Sighing, Elain waited for him to recoil. For his arms to slacken and for him to move away, for them to nod awkwardly at each and then go to bed and try to pretend that this conversation hadn’t happened. But time ticked by, and Lucien didn’t let go. If anything, his steely grip only tightened. As though with each passing second, where Elain expected him to drift away, he set out to hold on tighter. Their words had run out tonight, but Elain heard the message he was saying as he held her closer and closer. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.

Elain breathed him in, and allowed herself to stay.

***

Right then, she wanted to tell him that she didn’t know how to do this, but she knew she didn’t want to hurt him. She wanted to say that she wasn’t sure if she could love again, that she might be a lost cause because Graysen had so thoroughly ruined her trust, and she wasn’t sure how high she’d built the walls around both her heart and mind. She wanted to say that she was lonely, and that she thought he was too, and what a funny pair they were in this world full of light and dark. Where good came in the form of people who made them both feel so alone.

She wanted to say that she was at a breaking point and had been for some time. That even though the war had ended it still raged within her. That no one else seemed to care because they’d got the happy endings whilst she just…existed.

She wanted to say that she didn’t know what she wanted. That her dream of being a wife and mother had been buried when she first tried to kill herself, three days after the Cauldron. Because how could she care for anyone else, especially a child, when she couldn’t care for herself.

She wanted to say that right now, in this moment, she just wanted to know him.

She just wanted a friend.

She wanted…

She wanted…

She wanted to run away and never look back. She wanted to damn the world that damned her. She wanted a brain that worked. A family she felt connected to. Someone to care.

Someone to fucking care. That was all.

But for now, this was enough. Lucien pulling her into his arms before she finally collapsed was enough. And so, tonight, she’d sleep. And that was enough too.

[alchemabotana]

Horoscopes for the Full Moon in Capricorn June 24th 2021

Antonina “Little Thunder” Whaples

@whaplesantonina

If you enjoy these horoscopes, please consider supporting by voting for me as Ms. Health and Fitness 2021 for Muscle & Fitness Hers Magazine. You can vote once every 24 hours for free. If I win, I am donating the proceeds to herbal medicine school scholarships. To vote: https://mshealthandfitness.com/2021/antonina

Strawberry Moon - Pen & Ink Sketch by Antonina Whaples 

Horoscopes for the Full Moon in Capricorn June 24th 2021

Strawberry Moon

This lunar Opening in Capricorn June 24th 2021 is a cry of righteousness on the hilly planes of our spiritual landscapes. With this meregoat’s lunation, we will experience the inherent benefits of the systematic work we’ve done since 2018, with a special emphasis on decisions made to change personal system errors. The Gods of karma are smiling at our intentions and efforts, and rewards will be reaped by those who invest in self discovery. Our ritual work has been seen and blessed in the Summer Solstice shifts by the spirits of the Land. If you listen closely on this strawberry moon, you may just hear the call of the Cosmic tricksters as they work their mojo on the psychopomp of Earthly frustrations. When you’re feeling the pull of your natal oppositions this moon, tune into the tendons of your actions and see where the motion stems from. You may be relieved to find that the strings that once pulled your puppet are made of finer ancestral threads and your permission to be free was always there. When you check into the Cosmic Chess Board you may find something of a rubix cube has emerged in your new dimensional awarenesses. Instead of throwing yourself into the equations necessary to unlock this next level, revel in the achievements that brought you to this very moment. In a cosmic landscape where the processes of life and death have been hyper focused in our collective consciousness it feels rebellious to change the font and type settings of the ancestral notepads in our minds. Representing the waters that run deeply within the Earth, Capricorn’s fullness in the night sky will illuminate various Spirits whose presence have been well established, but not necessarily recognized. A sign of the power of mental affirmation, your thoughts and words will hold a special magic in this moment. Remember that your Guides, Spirit Animals, Power Totems, Good Medicine Ancestors, and the Spirits of the Land are excellent translators, and with Mercury about to pop out of retrograde (watch out for its shadow til June 30th), its final lesson is one of the personal spiritual variety. When what we seek is Truth & Justice, we allow our souls to attune to protective forces that help us autocorrect, fold into origami, and transcend with temperance.

Aries:

It’s no surprise that an old tune holds the secret code from that earlier recording of the master tape your memory has been searching for in the old filing system. In these moments you realize just how deep and densely tracked the highways and byways of your mental system are. You’re the original wayfinder of your own uncharted territory of the mind. This state of curiosity opens you up to spiritual healing that aligns your personal ideals and values with the actions a person desires to embody. When your actions meet your words, you tend to feel the most at home in the grander machinations of Spaceship Earth.

I’m not sure if I’m feeling funky or groovy, jazzy or bluesy? Does it jive with you? Is it feeling all right? What songs have got you buzzed on this full moon night? I’m enjoying the humour of the human experience, and I find ways to incorporate positive sources of enjoyment into my daily routine. I recognize that I can be sensitive to the frequencies I consume mentally, and I’m manifesting sources of comedic gold into my awareness. I can be my own clown, and enjoy an inside-inside joke anytime my mind decides that laughter is the best medicine. I love to laugh, and allow myself this simple pleasure in life. 

Taurus: 

Saturn in Aquarius square Uranus in Taurus has been creating a nuanced ping-pong table in your mind. This influence has been upon your daily life for sometime, and shall continue on through the rest of the year, with another exact square in December 2021. Accept the exactness of this T-squared engineer level measurement on the corners of your ascension blueprints. It’s ok to look at the world from your own angles, and you may be happily surprised by the moments that unfold joyously when you use your sharpness to hone the hedges of your self doubt. There’s a special magic in this moon for you, as the meregoat lights a part of the puzzle we wanted to get done anyway. This refocused energy gives you the internal resources to wait to make your next move, even though the ones you’ve planned are quite clever already, when mercury rx clears you’ll have fine tuned your intel.

I give in to the epic bonestructure of my cosmic face in the universe. I know that on these edges are where the hedgerows grow. In these sanctuaries of my boundaries, I give spaces for things I truly want to cultivate to be engendered. I find which spaceships are allowed to dock at my intergalactic port of plenty, and make sure that my shields are up when psychic frequencies intend to disrupt my qi. When I breathe, I give space to the energy around myself, and I feel permission to let go. When I let go, I allow myself to accept instructions in the forms of feelings and intuitions. I do not allow the opinions or voices of others to upset my internal compass. I feel centered and grounded and know I will continue to make positive choices and believe in myself. I choose to honor myself, and that makes me feel good. 

Gemini: 

You’ve been carefully funneling resources into a variety of investments. Financial and interpersonal projects and alliances deepen, although it is not a time to throw caution to the wind. Caution and planning is what has allowed you to learn to trust the ebb and flow of the cosmic money winds, and you’re trying to siphon your own renewable sources, not steal from the Gods. When you place yourself in alignment with your internal resources, you can learn to embody compassion to provide yourself when feelings of self worth or insecurities prod you to feel guilty about the ways you regenerate. Let your conscience be your guide, and allow others to do the same. The path of self acceptance is most rich for you at this juncture, and it would be wise to use the Full moon to clear the psychic debris of your aura through ritual bathing, sound healing, and aromatics. 

I can sometimes turn my mirrors askance to the equations I cannot seem to readily solve. But, in doing so I lose reflections that empower me. I accept that it's time to look at some of those patterns again and see if they even deserve a place on the chalkboard of my mind. When I make space to use my memory card to run programs that make me have feelings I actually enjoy, I look into my secret box of fantasies and realize I may have already realized many of those experiences. In these moments of clarity, I hold a space for myself to enjoy what I may not have allowed myself to in the past. In this way, I take back my energy and transform myself in the present. 

Cancer:

In this moon you are finally able to feel that rebound-snap! Ka-bow! sh-zing! of Mars’ exit from your cozy airbnb. You’re reminded that you should be charging premiums for your ability to stay level-headed when the Gods and Goddesses war in the Heavens, and on Earth. You enjoy a good ritual bath, but to stay out of hot waters, this crab needs a cool-down. This Capricorn Moon is just what the doctor ordered, and something about the good medicine flowing through you can’t help but seep into certain streams where the mojo is most needed. This is an excellent time for you to pause in your personal space and take a moment to feel the beauty of your domain.

My soundtrack of life is a high luxury five star bathhouse of the Spirits. I’ve been Spirited Away to lands of emotional remembrance. The roots of my ancestors have spoken to me, and I have heard their instructions. I need not fear the judgments of others, because I am a sacred part of creation. I will not allow negative voices to infiltrate my consciousness, but instead, I will choose to believe that my work has been blessed by the Cosmic Super Computer and shall continue to have its content prioritized. In this space of trust, I allow myself to turn my consciousness to what I’ve relegated as “frivolous artistic pursuits”. I find the time and space to make something just because. When I experience this energy releasing through the act of creation, I realize why it mattered in the first place. 

Leo: 

The grass is pretty green in your patch. Both career aspirations and spiritual wealth appear to be presenting itself to you in all new fashions. You may literally be feeling called to new ways to express yourself externally, and this exploration of your presentation to the world helps you heal. You’ve been feeling called to healing in general, feeling like it may be a good time to start a new way of moving, or to add a healing ritual to your daily experience. If you happen to use stone medicine, Turquoise will be especially healing in nature during the transit of Mars through Leo, and can be just the cooling mechanism you need to keep your Roar without the bite.

Sometimes I’m just feeling high octane. When I find the right stomping grounds to release my charge I am able to do so safely through friendly communication strategies, good topics of conversation, interesting objects within my spacial periphery, and calming colors. It’s ok to turn the volume all the way up, but when the outside world adjusts its tone to match, I can switch to a different groove. I’m in awe of my co-creative power to engage my environment and use my influence therein to bring forth collective healing experiences.

Virgo: 

Something about this moon in Capricorn feels familiar to you, and perhaps it's the quiet watch you’ve held & the prayers of your heart being answered. Your physical being is finding ways to heal through your insights to your movements in daily life. As your mind/body/spirit awareness grows, you find new ways of expressing yourself. This ability to shift and transform might seem like deja vu, but it's your memories finding their way to the surface. When our minds give us abstract feelings and visions, we can move mountainous emotions safely within our systems, without harming ourselves or others. Breathe deeply and find a place to scream loudly if you need that release.

I have crossed some barren deserts, but I have not died of thirst. I am blessed with the life I have co-created in the spiritual planes of my intelligent manifestations. My awareness of the barren corners of life have given me compassionate reflective capacity and a recognition of my gifts by those whose opinions matter to me. I am enjoying the small moments of joy and call them precious to me. I forgive myself for any moments where I’ve expected too much of myself while I was grieving a loss. My heart is tender, and my spirit gentle. I wish to live in harmony with myself and others. 

Libra:

This Capricorn moon you are more annoyed than usual at laundry, other people’s messes, and scapegoating. Your sensitivity to physical objects is heightened under this Full Moon and it may feel overwhelming to be in the midst of the messes others leave for you to clean up. It’s more than frustrating when you acknowledge how your time/energy has been appropriated. Instead of letting loose the fire brigade when the bridge seems to be burning, walk away from the moments today that feel like a temptation. Make sure to find objects that reflect healthy energy back to you, and sit amidst a tiny oasis of your creation, and pay no attention to chaos of the Gods. You deserve a Full Battery, and the spirits are conspiring to recharge your battery banks this lunation.

I gather strength from my service to my community. When I have been unbalanced in the past, I allow my weight to ground in all directions through the sacred communions of my own secret tabernacles of the human experience. I make new covenants with myself and the way I speak and treat myself, so that I no longer need to suffer under the weight of the past. I don’t need to feel any guilt in laying down my load, and don’t need any permission to do so. When I feel safe, I will allow those who I trust to provide the respite necessary for me to heal my visions of my life and expand into an abundant awareness of how truly loved I am for being myself, and how needed my cosmic ray of intellect is to this world. 

Scorpio:

Known for your secrets and depth, you’ve been hiding like the Cosmic Sphinx between the pillars of the temple gates. You’ve been allowed to watch the clashes of the Giants unscathed, and your insight will outlast this passing phase of planetary tensions. You’ve been sending alien text messages to Neptune’s work phone, and the intel has been legit. Your attraction to Art, Color, Shape, Form, Music, and Theatre are encouraging you to make insightful investments in your own dreams. This Full Moon beckons you to create with abandon and let the waves of inspiration quench your desire for pleasure. 

I feel like the whole choir singing in one unison. I weave through the soundwaves, key changes, and rhythm switch-ups as I keep time with the sacred union of celestial sounds. I am aware that the tunes of the planet herself offer me a sacred respite from the cacophony of the cosmic movements. When I ground myself into the soothing waters of my spiritual essence I define for myself how my energy is used for the goodness of my own healing. 

Sagittarius: 

It feels like you’ve been getting along pretty well with the planetary forces, and everyone secretly enjoys the protection that your bow provides for the tribe. You may be feeling a bit cramped in the yellow submarine of the pandemic, dare we say you could have cabin fever? The Trines, Sextiles, and satellite signals of the skies indicate that you can find a special type of relief from the feelings of squished with mandalas, botanical drawings, and spirographs. When you take the time to let your mind journey in these ways, it lets your hunter’s mind relax for the next best chance. And no worries, you’ve got plenty of chances ahead, Sagittarius. 

Life is good. I do my hair toss, check my nails - baby how you doing? Hey, life is good. He’s got his eye on the sparrow and I guess that’s me? I’m playing with the chemistry... cause that’s how I be? When I look into the mirror I see a babe, a real dude of the neighborhood - my sister, mothers, daddy, and the community. I guess when I see you, I see me. And when I’m in that light in me, and you are in that light in you. There is only one of us: namaste my bissssssch 

Capricorn: 

This Full Moon in Capricorn you endeavour to ask outloud: “What Giant’s Bones Have We Built Ourselves Upon?” Your Full Lunation is opposing the Sun in Cancer, shining a shadow on our collective exoskeleton. This Full Moon feels like an archeological discovery when proverbial bones rattle out of the closet to give us a hoodoo prayer’s chance for self liberation. You’ve been waiting for a moment like this, and it's OK if you’re not ready to take that leap of faith. But should you choose, the moon lights up an emotional healing around the concept of “home”. You really want to know if you’re believing the right thing from one moment to the next, but keeping your head out of the secret sauce is key to giving your subconscious the space it needs right now to send out signals to the future. Soon enough you’ll be receiving confirmations of cosmic flavors right into your spiritual inbox.

I called Stephen Hawking and he called me back. My voicemail said: “Hey friend. I know this is a hard time on planet earth. I think people are doing better than they believe they are. It’s hard to be a human. I remember the constraints of the body, and I understand when you want to just fly away somewhere. I believe in you. Capricorns get a bad rap sometimes. I can see your progress, and I hope you take the time to see it too. By the way, we always have the time to say how much we matter to each other. Thanks for being, and enjoy this life, you deserve it”. 

Aquarius: 

There have been a lot of light bulbs going off in your spiritual laboratory. This Full Moon when the light shifts, your awareness of the dimensionality of the objects and purpose of your life is heightened. You may be experiencing some grief and loss around feelings of closeness with others. Recently you’ve been asked to hold a deep stability for the collective’s growth. Your actions haven’t gone unnoticed, and you’ve been receiving opportunities for advancement in your career. However, you are feeling uncomfortable with commitment while under a deep pressure to perform. These archetypal struggles are up for healing on the altar of the Full Moon. Your magic fairy dust works the best when you sprinkle it on yourself. You are learning the ways of Illuminated Prosperity.

My voice is a symphony of grace within a cacophony of sound. I breathe in the knowledge that my very existence is a miracle of my own embracing. I find myself at home in my surroundings and know I belong. Whoever “They” are, I know I can be myself around “Them”. I trust that my instincts are perfected beyond doubt. I’ve taken all the tests and quizzes and my insights are showing precision on whichever experiments have survived my tests of time and spirit. When I tune into my highest self it's because I’m recognizing my ability to be in that place no matter what surrounds me. Even when my circumstances deny me, I do not deny myself. I believe that I am worthy of the life I am living, and anticipate my surroundings shifting to match the unique vibrational fingerprint that I offer planet Earth. 

Pisces: 

You’ve been holding down some major spiritual territory during the recent seasonal shifts. The light of the meregoat acts as a lighthouse beacon for the whales and whistleblowers of your waters. You’re not particularly interested in that island, and prefer to spend this Lunation in Capricorn Gardening, Cleaning Out the Car, Writing about your art, Feeding the fairies, Calling in positivity, Releasing the Past, Testing New Grounds, and let’s just say it: looking pretty guuuuuuud while doing it. So good. You might want to tune into some whale call noises, or turn on a beachy video. The seas are definitely calling your name, and your inner explorer could watch Moana a few times through the eyes of the grandmother, the eyes of Moana, and the eyes of Te Fiti. 

I am a sound rising on the waves of creation. I turn my eyes to the heavens and I’m in the medicine nation. I forgive myself for all my wavering, I know my power lies in my cravings. I can wish upon the starry skies, and watch the birds where e’er they fly. I’m curious to know the names of all the fairies, and their games. I want to know what games I’ll win when I’m laughing with a cheshire grin. I know what gods have sent me here, I know which path I’m meant to clear. And when the waters run to quickly, or the bushes get too prickly - I can lay my spirit down. My minds’a palace, my head a crown. You could call me king or queen, but my magics’still unseen. I’m so much bigger than my titles, or whichever ones I didn’t get. I’ve given all at my recitals, and I’m my own best bet. 

[ivorytowerblr]

NaNoWriMo 2021: Nov 14th

So I have now finished Chapter 3, and as is my way, there is a lengthy discussion about politics and efficiency. Also, Khadgar being mad about something silly and inconsequential. You know, the usual.

Title: Warcraft: Invasion (Vol 1 of Reborn AU) Word Count: 21117 (of 50000) Includes: Violence, mature sexual content, strong language. Summary: It was a dark and stormy night when the rift opened. From it spilled warriors of an alien culture bent on finding and destroying the cause of a sickness that plagued their world, all unknowing that the true cause was right under their noses all along.

Five years after the birth of his son, Llane Wrynn, Crown Prince of Stormwind, would learn of a terrible threat to his people, his nation, and his very world. The only natural thing to do is send his son to the protective walls of Northshire Abbey and, all unknowing, to the protection of a great hero, the prodigy-knight Mara Fordragon.

When sickness ravages your very world, you have no choice but to do whatever it takes to cure it, even if it means traveling to another world by means of the foulest of dark sorceries. It means standing at the side of a butcher, a monster, an abuser, a warrior, a chieftain, a hero to your clan. It means putting aside what is right to do what you must.

All these threads and more weave together to bring about a war like any other; two worlds will never be the same again.

Previous: 1st . 2nd . 3rd . 4th . 5th . 6th . 7th . 8th. . 9th . 10th . 11th . 12th . 13th . 

“It does, and it doesn’t,” Adalia said. “Early in the founding, the settlers from the north realized that you need two key, important parts of any society: people who lead, and people who follow. When one must walk in single file along a precarious path, someone needs to go first. Perhaps they are braver than their fellows. Perhaps they are offered up as bait. Perhaps they are scouts leading the way to find safe paths for others. Perhaps they are fleeing something and hope that whatever is behind them sates itself on those between the leader and the predator. Whatever the case, that is where leaders come from, and in Azeroth it was no different.”

Uther closed his eyes briefly and imagined walking a narrow swamp path, the road only barely above water, the planks half-sinking and unsteady. He imagined one who prodded at each with their walking stick and then took a step, wondering if each might leave those the guide led sinking into the morass. He nodded.

“In Azeroth’s case, the first king held that to be a nation, they needed a leader, but that didn’t mean that they were the only one who held any importance or power.” Adalia gestured briefly, drawing shapes in the air. “And so the Houses were created. Those who wanted to lead but agreed to follow. There are a dozen or more of them, sometimes as many as thirty, or as few as ten. Their lands are parcels all across the provinces -- the territorial subdivisions of Azeroth -- and each is autonomous within their own lands with a few exceptions, and those exceptions are vital to how Azeroth functions.”

This all seems complicated, Uther thought, but nodded for her to continue. “It must be, for it to have worked for so long.”

Adalia’s gesture this time was a so-so motion. “It functions. How much it works varies on how much wine Llane decides he needs after meeting with the Council of Nobles for fruitless hours on end. The exceptions are those of roads, of trade, and of the army. All the roads are owned by the ruler of Stormwind. They oversee their construction and maintenance, and have the right to collect taxes from those who benefit from their existence.”

“Wouldn’t that be everyone who lives or travels in Azeroth?” Uther asked, and Adalia raised an eyebrow. Uther ducked his head shyly. “It’s true.”

“It is true, which is why everyone pays their road taxes,” Adalia said. “This leads into why trade is controlled by the ruler of Stormwind. They regulate both trade internally and externally. If one noble had control of the fruit trade in Tel Abim, they might deny others those rights. Or someone might cause deliberate shortages to drive up wool prices, or wood. Someone has to make sure that people are getting what they need and not starving in the streets.”

Uther nodded again, and hesitated. “Do they always do that? I’ve read some histories of the rulers of Stormwind, and they weren’t always good people.”

“No, no they were not,” Adalia said. “But I will get to that. The final exception is the Royal Army. The nobles are only allowed a small number of armed retainers, but the footsoldiers, the marksmen, the a-- artillerymen, and the knights are all members of the army, and we have as many of them as the ruler of Stormwind deems necessary. In some eras, there are many of them, and they make those around us worry, even if it’s only to drive back the trolls. In others, the army is small, and much of the defense is left to the knights while those who would be soldiers instead are farmers, traders, and shipwrights.”

“Please, correct me if I’m mistaken, but... those three things sound like the three most important parts of a nation,” Uther said. “And not too different from what the Tirans think are the most important parts of ruling a nation, though theirs involve more, um, sailing and less roads. I think.”

Adalia smiled, and looked quite proud. “They are the most important parts of just about any nation that exists. Even if you never intend to go to war, a nation still needs to protect itself from threats. They still need to make sure their people can travel freely and can eat bread and drink wine that doesn’t cost them a year’s salary. Some nobles might not care for what happens outside their lands but most do, because of one important thing. Can you guess what it is?”

Uther considered all he’d been told, frowning slightly. “Is it... taxes?”

“It is taxes,” Adalia confirmed. “When you ask people for money in simple trade, they care little for what you do with it. The goods or services have been exchanged for coin, their part in it is done. Some may wish to be a little more credulous, but often it’s nothing more exciting than buying apples or wine or chickens. When you tell people to give you money in the form of taxes, they immediately wish to have a say in how that money is spent.”

“You were just saying that they want to exchange goods or services for coin,” Uther said. “They’ve given the coin, they want the services. Or goods. They want to make sure that their taxes aren’t being spent on things they aren’t supposed to be spent on.”

“Exactly, you have a keen mind for this,” Adalia said, and paused as outside, they heard the children thundering through the corridor again, this time with Bolvar proclaiming himself to be a terrible lion, come to eat tasty boys (and girls). She smiled and shook her head ruefully. “It is hypocrisy, of course. Many nobles will spend the money from those who work their land on luxuries... but not too many, or their farmers will rise up to overthrow them. A trusted retainer might stab them in their sleep and take over. Some of our nobles are shrewd, some of them are cruel, some are as kind as they can be, but all are wary.”

“They would have to be, if they don’t want to get stabbed,” Uther said solemnly. “So... is that what this Council of Nobles is? People asking how their taxes are being spent?”

“Not people, nobles,” Adalia said dryly. “If farmers and villagers want to ask how their tithes are being spent, they ask the nobles. If the nobles want to know, they ask the ruler of Stormwind, which is indeed what the Council is for. Each noble house is represented save for that which the ruler is from - it was deemed unjust for the ruler to have two voices when the other noble houses had only one. This doesn’t stop the ruler from making alliances with the noble houses to influence them, and often their spouse’s family is key to those negotiations. My own family has its allies, as do the Wrynns. They may not speak, but they are nonetheless heard.”

“So, who rules the provinces?” Uther asked curiously. “If the nobles all have their own lands, and the king rules Stormwind, but his house doesn’t speak on the Council?”

“No one,” Adalia said. “There are villages whose mayor is elected by popular vote, though they aren’t usually nobles unless they’re very minor. They don’t deal with local politics. The mayors report to the nobles and make sure that those who elected them keep the peace. Provinces are territorial boundaries rather than distinct entities, and no one rules an entire province. The nobles wouldn’t allow it. That’s why they’re so protective of their lands - and everyone lives on someone else’s land.”

“What if you have a problem that’s affecting an entire province?” Uther asked, aghast. “Who asks for help?”

“A good question with no answer,” Adalia said. “If it falls under the ruler of Stormwind’s purview, they can do their best to help, with the agreement of the majority of nobles. If it doesn’t, an individual noble might petition the ruler for help, or gain agreement and cooperation from the rest of the nobles with lands in that province. Some might just try to fix the problem themselves if they think the ruler or the other nobles won’t help.”

“Why wouldn’t they help their own people?” Uther asked. “The Light teaches us to care for others.”

“Not all follow the Light’s teachings,” Adalia said. “They might say they do and even give money to the churches, but they don’t believe. The Light can be too gentle at times. I have often wondered if it wouldn’t be better if a giant bat or a tiger appeared in the night to stalk those who starve their farmers and sleep on silk sheets, but apparently that is vicious tribalism that smacks of primitive beliefs, and carefully curated murder is considered superior.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” Adalia said, and sighed. “At any rate, there have been many terrible rulers in Stormwind, and any number of terrible nobles. Before King Adamant, Light keep his soul, the previous ruler of Stormwind was nicknamed the Daemon-King. Before that the king was indolent and lazy, letting the nobles do exactly as he pleased until Theoren Virigoth got his head cut off by Warren Baewyn and the Daemon-King’s reign began with the insane Queen Sinthia at his side. There has been peace in Azeroth for twenty-six years, but I fear no longer.”

Uther opened his mouth as Mara’s voice roared through the hallway.

“Prince Varian! Stand firm in the face of danger! You must put up your lance and challenge the great beast,” she proclaimed, causing several of the studying monks to wince. “For I know his great weakness!”

“What is it?” Varian asked, and Marielle echoed him. “How do we fight him?”

“He,” Mara said, her voice a stage-whisper. “Is ticklish!”

“Nooooo!” Bolvar cried, and he fled down the hallway, pursued by the trio. “Help!”

~ * ~

“So, to summarize,” Khadgar said slowly. “There is a war of cosmic proportions taking place above our heads that virtually no one knows about, because thousands of years ago a group of mages empowered one of their own to combat extra-planar beings called demons so that they didn’t rampage through Dalaran killing everyone with a spark of magic and cracking open their spines to drink the fluid--”

“Is that wording necessary?” Sweetberry demanded, glaring at Krasus. “It’s fanciful and not wholly accurate.”

“--and the last one served as this Guardian of Tirisfal for over a thousand years, then refused to give up the power because no one could stop her until she decided to find a nice conjurer to seduce, got pregnant, had a child, and pushed all that power onto him when he hit puberty,” Khadgar concluded. “Do I have that right?”

“It is a summary without subtlety, nuance, and the weight of this position and responsibility,” Antonidas said dryly. “But it will suffice, I think. Yes, you do.”

“This is insanity,” Khadgar muttered. “In fifty years, people will read about this in history books and say, ‘why did no one notice an entire nation of mages have gone utterly mad?’”

“I very much doubt that anyone will be writing books about the Guardians,” Antonidas said. “Given that the Order of Tirisfal and the Guardian are both extremely secret institutions and no one should ever hear about them outside of a select few.”

“There’s a chronicle, I’ll pack it for you,” Krasus said, and smiled as his fellows looked at him, aghast. “Did you truly think that no one has ever recorded the deeds of the Guardians? The volumes are kept in private libraries, but they do exist. Those who forget their history are doomed to repeat it.”

“Madness,” Khadgar repeated, then held out his hand. “Give me those lists, if I’m to do this, I need to get moving.”

“The Kirin Tor and the Order of Tirisfal thank you for your assistance,” Antonidas said, his tone so bland that it made Khadgar angry and exasperated all over again. “We’ll give you everything you’ll need for your journey.”

[shingansoul]

It had been more or less a year since the lord of Four Seasons Manor and his zhi ji had undergone the Combined Six Harmonies method together. It had been two tense weeks waiting for Wen Kexing to awaken afterwards, and since then, Zhou Zishu had taken to noting every little detail of the now snow haired man that he could. Including his more eccentric or erratic behaviors, not just those of frivolity for the sake of shamelessness, but those that had been ingrained into him due to his peculiar and dangerous life led up to this point.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33527692

There were a plethora of such traits to be found if you looked: from his aversions to certain foods or scents (those this one proved less an issue nowadays given circumstances), how he’d relish like a starved man any physical affection he could get and greedily demand even more so, his reluctance to showing weakness or illness yet his longing to be cared for, his soft spot for young children. Not all were so mournful in origin though.

A most peculiar one that had finally caught his attention had first made itself worthy of notice once when Chengling had been out going through form drills in the courtyard sometime soon after their return to the manor. The two elders of the household had been quietly overseeing his practicing from the porch nearby when the child had lost his focus. It was a simple slip, his foot going out from under him and throwing him to the stone patio below. It wasn’t a hard hit or anything, and at first when he was pulling himself up, his shishu had even given a gentle laugh at the student’s klutziness. However, as Chengling picked himself back up, ears tipped red in embarrassment to do something foolish under his shifu’s gaze, Wen Kexing had stopped suddenly and made to quickly make his way over to him.

Chengling had already resumed his previous stance, ready to move into a full circuit of forms once more to move as quickly from the inevitable harsh corrections from his shifu when he felt a firm but gentle hand grip his jaw and turn his face. He awkwardly stumbled into standing upright and still as Wen Kexing suddenly was right next to him and bearing all his attention down on him. He waited, unsure what precisely the other planned to do but nothing could have prepared him for the sensation of hot breath against his face and the sudden chill of something wet on his face as the other pulled away to inspect his “work.”

For Chengling, he at least was certainly free to the many whims of his elders and to his credit, he just blinked owlishly in quiet confusion without complaint. Wen Kexing hummed softly as he turned the child’s face back and forth, his fingers still unmoved from holding his jaw.

“Is that the only place you got yourself scratched, my little idiot?”

Wen Kexing’s voice was genuine but warm and teasing, causing Chengling to relax a bit despite the oddity of all this and he briefly patted himself down before nodding. Satisfied so it seemed, both returned to their places before as if the exchange had not occurred and within a moment a relaxed puddle of robes and white hair had made itself home once more at Zhou Zishu’s side. Said Manor lord could only stare in almost amazement at what he’d seen before quickly turning to watch their young charge practice, forgetting himself to the point of letting the foolish mistake go unspoken of and that had been that.

It wasn’t as if they had been externally injured in ways that brought it out of him often, but to say it wasn’t a noticed behavior by now also wouldn’t be correct either. Zishu certainly had noticed, though had simply been collecting handfuls of these moments to ponder on. Since that day, Zishu had realized the following “rules” with this little ritual of Kexing’s: it was only done for himself, Zishu, and Chengling. It wasn’t for just any external injury, but anything that drew blood would warrant it. If there were tears spilled, this would also be treated like an open wound and warrant the practice.

From various scrapes and injuries training gained by Chengling, to mishaps and resurfaced wounds in Zishu and himself, there had been plenty of passing occurrences but the question that buzzed in Zishu’s mind each time was simply ‘Why?’ Where had this come from, did he do this before and in the mess of everything happening it was simply overlooked?

Zhou Zishu once prided himself on how attentive and insightful he was, he had to be for his line of work once upon-a-time and he could still often be said to be as much now. Yet Wen Kexing had always been an enigma who had not even figured out himself who he was, none alone let others in to see behind his carefully schooled features. So maybe this did go back farther, but how to find out?

An opportunity to pin the man in question down where he couldn’t escape or move around the topic surfaced quite simply some short weeks later.

They were cleaning up the library pavilion once early evening, Chengling had ended up falling asleep while working on some more intricate works from the manuals of the Long Cabinet’s teachings they had collected into the manor once they’d first returned here that time. Upon finding their foolish disciple sprawled across his makeshift worktable, Zishu had prodded him with some gentle nudging to go to his own room to rest and, too tired to think too far ahead, the boy has sleepily nodded and made his slow but sure way to do just that.

This left the two men to clean up behind him, indulging him a bit by collecting his tools and replacing the scrolls and books where they had been taken from. Zishu had not realized all Chengling had brought out to work with, and unthinking grabbed a fairly sharp edged metal scrap piece, slicing a shallow but long cut into his palm. He hissed slightly, more out of surprise than any actual pain but it was enough to quickly call over his partner to inspect what happened.

Upon seeing the blood, Wen Kexing, true to form, had taken and quickly set down everything in Zishu’s hands and with an exhausted huff he grabbed the other by the wrist and the first bend of his fingers and pulled his hand closer to lap gently at the wound. Zishu, waiting a few moments until Wen Kexing had been set into his ‘task’, reached forward a bit with his free hand to ghost his hand against the side of the other’s face, running his thumb over Wen Kexing’s cheek. It was enough to insight a wordless “mm?” which only brought forth a light chuckle of the recipient.

“Lao Wen...have you always done this?”

This got a pause, deep dark eyes darting up to glance up and trying to gauge the emotions and atmosphere behind the question.

“You...you’ll have to be more specific than that A-Xu, I do and say a lot of things.”

A sigh.

“Alright. Have you always licked at the wounds of your family like a mother cat cleans their young? Hm, Lao Wen?”

The words and tone were teasing, but the glance from before had ascertained this wasn’t going to be a conversation he could weasel out of. Slowly but with care, Wen Kexing pulled Zhishu down to kneel where they were; to sit and speak properly about something personal. He placed the other’s still held hand into his lap, palm up, and he slowly but rhythmically began trailing his fingers from knuckle joint to tips over and over.

“Ah….well, it started from something almost laughable when we...when i was still just a teenager. In the valley, it wasn’t as if one could get new and clean supplies at any given moment, often enough what defined cleaning a wound was some spit and torn clothes that didn't have too much blood or dirt on them. I wasn’t always that good at taking care of A-Xiang either..”

he paused, huffing a sad but nostalgic chuckle past his lips.

“Did you know the first time I tried to feed her as a baby, I had burned her mouth? How she didn’t grow to hate me I'll never know.”

Patiently, Zishu moved his uncaptured hand to squeeze his zhi ji’s thigh through his robes. Wen kexing faltered slightly before regaining his composure, smiling timidly in silent appreciation of the reassurance before pressing on.

“I remembered back then, for what reason I have no idea, but I remember being told that if one kisses a wound it will stop hurting. A childish sentiment mothers tell their sons, but what was I but a father to a daughter? It shouldn't be different. So I simply blended a need with comfort. Whenever she would get hurt, as all children do, especially in such a place, I'd clean her wounds as gently as I could just like...what did you call it earlier? A mother cat? That’s not too far off. Also….”

Zishu silently waited, his gaze unwavering for however long it would take. Wen Kexing stopped his ministrations to more firmly hold Zishu’s fingers in his hand, as if bracing himself before moving into his next words.

“I can recall so vividly, A-Xu. When I was kneeling at my father’s side, the ghosts sneering and jeering down at me all those years ago...When I had convinced them of my nature by consuming my own father’s….haha, i had thought to myself ‘was my flesh not made of his blood to begin with?’ So it only made sense…” He shook his head, laughing mirthlessly, “No, it doesn’t make any sense at all. I came to the idea that it only made sense to ingest the blood of my family going forward, even if we weren’t linked by blood then in this way we could be. You all would be with me, and that I could show you what devotion looked like. That is, in doing this, I know what devotion tastes like.”

He looked down at his lap, as if simply embarrassed for being caught like a child and not having admitted to going out of his way to drink the blood of his loved ones. Not that it was a garish as that in practice, at least Zishu thought as much, but could certainly understand how to most, this confession wasn’t something one would expect to be taken well. Luckily for Wen Kexing, his little family was not made like most, nor his zhi ji so easily shaken. And he said as much.

“Lao Wen, you’re absolutely an enigma to me sometimes. But I think I understand you, and at least somewhat, I can understand this too. Although…” He paused, feigning a look of uncertainty as he looked at Wen kexing and then glancing away dramatically.

“Although what? A-Xu, don’t tease me like this. If you don’t want me to-”

He was abruptly cut off by the sensation of somewhat cool and dry lips against his own, the “assailant” so firm and sudden in his “attack” it pushed them both over, leaving Wen Kexing askew on his back on the floor and the other straddling his hips to not break the contact, his forearms on either side of Wen Kexing’s head. They broke for air after a few moments, though it could have been hours for all Wen Kexing cared.

He blinked up owlishly, taken off guard for once by the other’s actions which only brought out a childishly triumphant and confident grin from Zishu.

“Although, I think there’s other tastes devotion can take. Would you like me to teach you?”