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psychreviews2 · 6 months

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Thought and meditation - Rob Burbea

A lot of the following material comes from one of my favourite masters Rob Burbea, so I would like to let the audience know, if they don't know already, that he's fighting pancreatic cancer. Yet despite that he's still has the fortitude to teach, for example his new retreat teachings have been uploaded about Imaginal practice, and there are links below. Rob like the rest of us is impermanent and the gifts he provides and are not guaranteed. If you are in the position to do so you can donate via this link to help with his expenses: See: https://rumble.com/v1grcgx-mindfulness-nirvana.html

Harassed by thinking

Instructions for dealing with thought and meditation can be confusing. Are we supposed to stop thinking? It's an important question. Thinking in a painful way, for some people, can lead to suicide. With misunderstandings and poor instruction, the practitioner of meditation has some hurdles to overcome. When the practitioner tries to stop thinking, they will find that the results are only temporary, and they've suffered a lot of strain in the attempt. At other times the practitioner gives up development and surfs on interesting thoughts and concepts. If thinking is allowed in meditation, what kind of thinking is good thinking?

Working with thought and meditation

For the meditator the first obstacle to get through is to think that enlightenment is about getting rid of thought. Any prior instructions, mistranslations in books that demonize thought, have to abandoned to develop further. Rob's argument for this is that the 2nd jhana is a concentration state where thoughts begin to drop away, yet there is so much more to Buddhism than two concentration states. Stopping thought permanently for Rob is like "amputating our humanity."

His goals for his students are that we should be able:

"To be free with thought."

"To discern and let go of unhelpful types of thinking."

"To develop the ability to think well, and be bold thinkers."

Experimentation

This problem can be approached with an experimental attitude of the practitioner. If the meditator notices, certain types of thinking are actually harmless and others are extremely draining. One method to do this is to develop types of thinking that lead to calmness, love, and wisdom, and abandoning thoughts that relate to greed, ill will, and harmfulness. Purposeful, fair thinking and actions lead to less worry and strain, than those other types of thinking and actions.

Rob's test to see if we are thinking properly is to see if we are embroiled in thinking and have trouble stopping, versus thinking that allows us to stop at any time. Another method of thinking is to develop calm first. Our thoughts are different in a calm mind than in an agitated mind. For Rob these skills are just as important as mindfulness skills. At lot of why we are afraid of death is really the emotional death. The physical pain will always be scary but the emotional pain is something we can work with, and emotional pain is connected with thinking. By developing habits to keep coming back to the breath, it becomes easier to interrupt our thoughts when they are embroiled. When those thoughts subside we can then choose to use skillful thinking instead.

Ouroboros

Buddhism is taught via concepts, because no one can abide in another person's reality and show us. How it works is like the ouroboros, or the snake eating its tail. When the practitioner sees their own mental movements and is able to find the label that it corresponds to and understand how it works, then the concept is finally internalized. This is true of all knowledge that requires us to learn by doing. The concepts are just pointers to the non-conceptual. Then the concept can be put to the side to let the real experience inform. This is how the practitioner who reads too much can prioritize their first hand experience so the benefits they read about can be enjoyed.

Papañca

Rob's talks have a plethora of pointers that can help us get back to the non-conceptual knowledge. One way is sweeping the body and noticing how obsessive thinking narrows attention, and sometimes tightens and contracts areas of the body. By sweeping and relaxing the tension in the body, the attention is freed up. The practitioner can then "relax, and allow the turmoil" of obsessive thoughts. Seeing how the damage can happen quickly lets the meditator know that certain types of thoughts are unhelpful. These unhelpful types of thoughts have certain patterns and characteristics that most people are aware of. They are called Papañca in Pali, which complicates thinking into emotionally charged guesses and exaggerations of the situation thought about. It torments the subject when they want to change something and cannot, or they want to control their uncertain future. It's a type of belief where people skip any need for evidence and jump to the catastrophic conclusions. An example Rob uses is of how people can take personal how a person looks at them. Internally the subject can think, "why did they look at me like that? Maybe it means this about me? That reminds me of my mother, and what she used to say about me." A single detail in the experience is taken out of context and then generalized. The subject can then take what the mother said about them and use the person who looked at him or her as a confirmation of how bad they are.

Complication

Rob list's the sequence of Papañca, but the steps must be thought of as non-linear, because each step can feed each other. Usually there is a thought of what we don't like, at the same time there is a feeling in the body that goes with the thought. Afterwards there is an aversion to those thoughts that leads to more thoughts of planning and worrying to try and get rid of something. This is non-linear in that planning and worrying thoughts have feelings in the background that tend to build as the thoughts get more complicated when the thoughts run up to obstacles with no solution. The thoughts get more complicated from early thoughts of negative preferences, and build towards plans and worries about what to do about the situation.

Cutting thought

Here Rob points out his favourite target to cut off or let go of those thoughts. Because of the emotional investment, the farther out one waits to cut the thought the more resistance there will be. At the level of feeling in the body (a felt like or dislike) it's easiest to let go of the early thoughts, that a situation is not likeable, than to let go in the planning and worrying stages. Of course we can ruminate about meditation and start to attack ourselves when we fail to catch the right moment to let go, so Rob assures the practitioner that they can let go at any time because it's non-linear. The feelings in the body are still there when there's planning and worrying. It may be harder to let go, but you can check into the body with the feeling and start to let go of the thoughts related to the feelings. Because thoughts condition with repetition, it's important to not make excuses for not letting go of unhelpful obsessive thoughts.

Allowing

There is often a lot of resistance with obsessive thought, and cutting it isn't always successful. Another way of being with the thoughts is to again go back into the body, and keep allowing those unpleasant sensations that are there. Fighting too much with the thoughts can make you go back into mental complication again. Just feel the push and pull in the body and allow it and relax it. With practice, the muscle builds and then it can be easier to cut thoughts. The art of meditation is to see how much effort is needed. Sometimes you need more effort and sometimes not. Rob assures us that effort never gets settled in one's practice, it only gets more subtle. For a lot of meditators this can be seen in their concentration practice. Often practitioners are at a certain level of absorption, then the mind wanders from the breath and with a sense of surrendering effort, the attention goes back to the object and gets absorbed at a deeper level, like the surrendering of effort was what was needed. Again this is all adjusting effort based on what is needed to develop calm.

Rewards

The consequence of being down on thinking in meditation is the papañca caused by guilt for being lost in thoughts. Simple instructions from Thanissaro Bhikkhu involve rewarding oneself with a delicious breath to incline the thinking habits to naturally return to the breath. Andrea Fella also likes to remind meditators that when you know that you are lost in thoughts, you are already back. Being lost in thoughts means you are not aware this is happening. When you are aware then take pleasure that you are back and continue practicing.

Thinking with calm

When there is calm in the meditation, the practitioner can explore the papañca to see how it works by letting it back in again with this calm mind. Seeing how it works helps to make it less alluring to fall into. One method is assessing the helpfulness of the thoughts. When caught in obsessive thinking one can compare the calm mind to the agitated ruminating mind. "Is this helpful, or not helpful? Let go of what's not helpful." One can also ask "will I be happy if I keep thinking these thoughts?"

Sometimes there can be an important choice in one's life, and the mind goes back and forth and can't decide. In some situations it really matters what is decided, but with a calm mind it's possible to bring in a consideration that either choice will make no difference, and if that's the case, it's easier to give up those obsessive thoughts. An example would be having difficulty choosing a menu item at a restaurant. In the end you'll be fed with either choice.

Labeling

When there is ruminating some practitioners like to label some of the complex thoughts, with labels like "planning", "remembering." This can create emotional distance that is helpful, but the danger with labeling is it can also make those thoughts have more concreteness and reality, which may add to the papañca. Rob says, "nothing is without effect."

With enough calmness the meditator can see some of the fuel for these types of thoughts and why labeling can work in some situations and in others it's better to explore underlying motivations. Because meditation teachers witness so many examples with their students that are similar, certain patterns start to appear.

"I" as the source of papañca

For Rob, papañca in students involves certain beliefs and assumptions about "what is needed for my happiness." A lot of these assumptions underneath, "what I need to be happy", can be challenged by bringing them into consciousness and assessing them with normal logic. An even deeper motivation still for papañca is self-labels. A lot of students have devastating stress that involves narratives such as "I believe it means this about 'me' if this or that happens." Rob turns it around in a droll way by saying, "if it is true, is it really so bad?" This isn't to diminish the shame that people feel when they have hurt others or committed crimes, or if they have been victimized again and again. Serious negative self-labels that involve real world rejection, post-traumatic stress, and stigma will be harder to shake off, and require a lot of letting go and time to heal.

After any healing or atonement, the suffering student can bring to their actions, for example, a criteria of helpfulness to understand that they can't change the past, but they can focus on what they do now in terms of skillful thoughts and actions. If a person is capable of good actions, then all they can do is to repeat them for the rest of their lives. Rob suggests what I think is a very skillful use of learning orientation to help dis-embed from the shaming, judging, painful "I." He says that the practitioner can instead, "be more interested in the process of thinking instead of the content of thinking." With the spacious awareness in the prior body scanning practice described above, a mode of witnessing thoughts can be imitated from the skills we are used to using with mindfulness of the senses.

Only impressions in awareness

For example, sound. Listening to ambient sounds and letting them arise and pass can be applied to thinking, and this has more reality than practitioners think. Thoughts are just like sounds in how they arise and pass. They are ephemeral and insubstantial. They are also unpredictable, because they are unwilled. They just appear in awareness without permission to later pass away, if we don't cling to them. It's not you. It's not yours, because you cannot will them to stop. Habits keep coming back. At best we can let them go and cultivate skillful thoughts to change the habits of what comes up in thinking. What is let go of weakens and what is cultivated strengthens. This helps to reduce the emotional significance of habitual thoughts. They are just old habits, and by letting them go the practitioner can take solace that these thoughts, that are let go of, can get weaker. They don't have to command any action on the meditator's part. The space of awareness, which is the 'knowing' faculty of the mind, that just witnesses what is there, is undisturbed and provides no authority to the thoughts. Just by witnessing them without blame or judgment and letting them drop helps to reduce the emotional significance those thoughts have, and reduce our identification with them. Rob says, "we choose to give power to thought." By choosing to obsess extremely about what we think we need to be happy, and by desiring to change the labels others have for us, we stay stuck in rumination. Again we can't change what people think of us, and what we think we need to be happy, beyond our necessities, is open to debate.

Anger

Rob says, "sometimes the emotion [we feel] just needs to be recognized and held, and sometimes there needs to be an action." Anger is often a difficult emotion, but we can hold anger in the body until it naturally dissolves. Sometimes we need to act on the anger, but as you can read in the link below, this anger has to be devoid of hatred. Anger is not hostility, or aggression. It's an engagement that includes care for others, and acceptance with how the world is. It is also a way to analyze the self that is in anger and to train responsibility to prevent endless papañca caused by passive submission, or to prevent aggressive outbursts that will cause regret and more reasons for papañca.

Time and the emptiness of time

A lot of our thinking involves time. Shame involves the past. In the present we sometimes want tiring things to end, or we feel we don't have enough time for something. The future may hold for us things we don't want. We may want to preserve things in time. A lot of suffering involves time. Rob likes the Mahayana tradition that uses Nagarjuna's work on inherent existence. Nothing is inherent, meaning, nothing is permanently solid. Rob uses the term reification, or to make real, but I feel solidity is a better term, so we do not get into mind-only attitudes about reality, which are not practical. Things are real but our mind filters reality, simplifies it, and gets caught up emotionally to control what is ultimately not completely solid. Some things are more solid than others, but our concerns for past, present and future, view them as separate solid periods of time that are disembodied from our lives, when in fact time is a conceptual construct, and heavily involves human memory. The way in is to see the papañca, or the stressful over-complication of thinking, as something that makes time more solid than it is. By meditating and letting go of stressful thinking, and the need to control what is uncontrollable, the time solidity starts to weaken. Essentially what we are experiencing has already happened micro-seconds ago, and we are reacting to our short-term and long-term memories. The past is gone and cannot be changed regardless of how many times we rehearse what we should have done.

Deeper than thinking

As we gain facility with meditation and thinking, Rob cautions us into thinking that we've gotten enlightenment with consistent mindfulness in daily life, or what people call bare attention. Our entire ability to be conscious, and even the witness that observes experience is built up on unconscious thinking that can include "interpretations, beliefs, assumptions, views, and conceptions. They can shape, colour, and build our experience of awareness." In a way, the unconscious thinking affects what details we focus on and habitual perceptions will make our focus different from others who have different perceiving habits.

Deeper than all of that is what Rob translates as measurement. All of our experiences includes measurement, and comparison, even when there is no overt thinking. It's the ability to compare that allows us to have perceptions or the ability to recognize what is in the environment. Rob says, "when we recognize something we can only do this with a comparison of something different." Insightfully, those measurements are either appealing or unappealing.

For example, we can measure ourselves to others by noticing differences and have feelings of dissatisfaction arise if we come up short. Even more buried, we can have a sense of subject and object as a distance measurement in our meditation or daily life. Yet what we are experiencing is a reconstruction of reality. These measurements we make feed the clinging to people and objects, based on their appeal, and in turn the clinging can feed more detailed measurements of appeal, leading to papañca about how to control the environment and engage with what is appealing or to repel was is not appealing. The term Clinging here is connected with the effort of targeting an object to control for the purpose of satisfying cravings. There is a push to get rid of what is unpleasant and a pull to bring in what is pleasant, which can be felt in the body.

Three characteristics

Rob now explains how the three characteristics can help us see through the inherent existence, or solidity of objects, and become disenchanted. By seeing experiences and their impermanence, stress, and non-willed aspects, the practitioner finds "another quality that shines through experience that is not so dependent on whether [they] like it or not." With less emotional investment, or an equanimity, the stress starts to bleed out of experience. By having good concentration, and an alive presence, the practitioner can relax the push and pull caused by the measurement of experience. The brain is trained to see that the suffering connected with excessive control is not worth it and it lets go. When suffering decreases, the practitioner knows they are on the right track. As the senses fade, the awareness also fades, and the entire reconstruction of reality by the brain is revealed.

Rob Burbea

Working with thought in meditation: http://www.dharmaseed.org/talks/audio_player/210/10835.html

Thoughts and Images in Meditation: http://www.dharmaseed.org/teacher/210/talk/17963/

Approaching the Dharma: Part One - Unbinding the World: http://www.dharmaseed.org/teacher/210/talk/17960/

Approaching the Dharma: Part Two - Liberating ways of looking: http://www.dharmaseed.org/teacher/210/talk/17961/

Only impressions in awareness: http://www.dharmaseed.org/teacher/210/talk/9820/

Time and the emptiness of time: http://www.dharmaseed.org/teacher/210/talk/11929/

Maya and Nirvana (Beyond the Measure of Mind): http://www.dharmaseed.org/teacher/210/talk/10832/

Seeing that Frees: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780992848910/

Rob's recent retreat talks:

The Mirrored Gates: http://www.dharmaseed.org/retreats/3918/

Tending the Holy Fire: http://www.dharmaseed.org/retreats/3920/

Andrea Fella

Working with thoughts and thinking: https://www.audiodharma.org/talks/audio_player/2407.html

Thanissaro Bhikkhu

You can't clone awakening: https://www.dhammatalks.org/Archive/y2009/090904%20You%20Can't%20Clone%20Awakening.mp3

Your Landing Strip: https://www.dhammatalks.org/Archive/shorttalks/y2015/150402(short)_Your_Landing_Strip.mp3

Going in light: https://www.dhammatalks.org/Archive/shorttalks/y2016/160408(short)_Going_in_Light.mp3

Depend on Yourself: https://www.dhammatalks.org/Archive/shorttalks/y2018/180627(short)_Depend_on_Yourself.mp3

Other resources:

Compassionate Wrath - Robert Augustus Masters: https://www.atpweb.org/pdf/masters.pdf

Dependent Co-arising - Various Authors: http://psychreviews.org/dependent-co-arising-various-authors/

Contemplative practice: http://psychreviews.org/category/contemplativepractice/

#meditation #buddhism

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kitchenalia · 2 years

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do u do any feminist activism irl? i want to but don't know where to start. also did you go to college bc you're really smart and i have this fear that i'm destined to be dumb bc i deferred higher education

pt 1: some but certainly a lot less than i'd like, and i'm working on remedying this. what you're able to do very much depends on where you live, how far you're able to easily travel, and how much time/money/expertise/resources you have to offer. look up outreach programs in your county (or equivalent administrative region if you live outside of the united states); most will have a page explaining how you can help. i just searched for domestic violence and homeless shelters near me and the ways to donate/contribute. donating money or useful items may seem small, but they help keep these programs afloat and helping women. volunteer and work opportunities are also often available! i would love to work with a DV shelter or coalition, but they are travel-prohibitive for me at the moment. i'm also contacting a local feminist chapter and will be going to some meetups because that's much closer and easier for me to work out while on public transportation. so right now my scope is basically nearby protests (limited but there have been a few), donations, volunteer work, and whatever immediate impact i can have, but i'm hoping to eventually do more permanent work. (also, i may have found a shelter to apply to work at, but i have some personal logistics to work out first.)

try finding out what women in your area are doing, talk to them, and figure out what the areas of the greatest need are as well as what you're interested in doing. my main interests lie in domestic violence advocacy, abortion rights, and lesbian rights so that's what i plan to mostly try to do things in.

pt 2: yes! i'm actually still in college/university (which impacts the time that i'm able to travel), but i started "late" because i didn't have the time or money to go when i was 18, and there were other extenuating circumstances that are pretty boring to hear about. i don't think that anyone who does not get higher education is stupid, and many of the most intelligent women i've known did not get a university education or didn't get one until much later than i did. however, i strongly encourage the pursuit of higher education if you have an interest in it and the ability to go. if you don't have the time or money for university, or have just decided that it's not for you, i still suggest honing certain skills and areas of knowledge in the meantime. using your public library (which often includes access to audiobooks and e-books), free courses from universities (like stanford, MIT, and yale), and online resources like untools (just a fun website to learn some ways of solving problems) are ways to keep learning while not going to university. i'm sorry if that isn't the most helpful, but they're what i mostly used while i wasn't going to university. just keep reading and keep your curiosity; in a lot of ways there are big benefits to learning in a non-traditional way.

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omniscientwreck · 3 years

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With Every Single Thing I Have

Beginning note: ***MAJOR SPOILERS FOR C2 E141***

CW: Character Death, Talk of Death

This is my interpretation of the canon description of Essek and Caleb’s days with some good angst thrown right in there. I have no knowledge of what is or isn’t cannon about the afterlife in Critical Role so this may be canon divergent but I needed it to cope. I hope you enjoy! Title Is Taken From The Song Two by Sleeping At Last

Caleb Widogast is dying.

He’s old, nearly 90 years of age. His body aches with every rain, stairs become more difficult, but his casting never fades. His mind is sharp and he reads, learns, and teaches until the end comes for him. Up in his tower, exhausted and bed-ridden he hears shuffling outside the door before it opens without so much as a touch and a tray of food is brought in. Essek Thelyss glides gently into the room, “Oh good, you’re awake. I prepared a light lunch for you, would you eat?”

Nodding back at the drow, the bittersweet smile that’s become a companion to him in Essek’s presence settling again into his wrinkled features. Essek sits on the bed beside him, book in hand as he often does and the memories written all over Caleb’s face come flooding back.

They had gone back to Aeor after the business in Rexxentrum concluded. Jester had helped Caleb locate Essek and when he found out he wasn’t too late, he was still at the outpost, he’d gone almost immediately. The winter clothes they’d bought all those months ago to chase their lost friend still fit and they carried many memories in them with the promise of more to come.

Their time together in Aeor was long. They took many months scouring the ruins for every book they could find. Between his Vault of Amber and Essek’s Wristpocket as well as a borrowed bag of holding they were able to collect the knowledge of Aeor. They found every device, every tiny dunamantic stone. They went back to the machine, the one that promised Caleb his dreams, closure, a chance to atone. The one that could change Essek’s past, that would give him his freedom.

Essek gazed upon the machine and he decided to remain in hiding. He looked directly at Caleb, made the decision to live forever with the consequences of his actions, because without them they wouldn’t have this. This moment, this trip, these memories.

It is Caleb’s turn now to gaze upon his destiny. He looks into the lavender eyes boring into him with the question Will you do it? His plan is perfect, the only thing that changes is that his parents are not dead and one day maybe he can reunite with them. He can see them grown old, he can tell them everything he’s done. They can be proud of him.

His mind shifts to the Nein, to Veth, Jester. To Astrid and Eodwulf. Back to Essek. It’s impossible to know what would happen if he did this. If he’d be able to come back. Is it really worth giving up everything he knows? Potentially giving up the Mighty Nein not only for himself but for them too?

He reaches into his components bag, smears dust across his forearm and with a green ray he carves away the experiment. He destroys, permanently, any hope of ever going back, in favour of hope for the future. Essek helps him burn everything and when they’re done he can only stare at the drow. The man who’s come so far, allowed himself to be so changed by the love of friends (Caleb’s love) that he went from enemy to beloved companion. He stares and divergent futures flash before his eyes as if he’s staring deep into the Luxon. They all end the same, he dies and Essek lives on without him for many years. The change is in the times in between now and then.

He knows which one he want and if the last two months were any indication Essek had his own hopes.

A week or so later, they ate in the tower. When the Nein first separated the tower had felt empty, he usually elected to sleep in a hotel room or in the dome under the stars. With Essek it’s easier to be there. They’ve fallen into a comfortable routine while researching that involves them spending the day immersed in ancient secrets forgotten to time. They would spend hours in complete silence, reading in tandem or copying runes and arcane patterns and then one of them would find something truly tantalizing and the silence would be broken as they began theorizing. When Essek gets excited his lavender eyes brighten and his whole face lifts and it’s no secret to Caleb that his heart races and his face melts into a soft, tender expression that Essek catches and matches.

After, they’ll go into the tower and eat, served warm soups and breads by little fey cats and then they read in the study in companionable silence until they retire to separate rooms. This night, a week before their time was up, Caleb’s keen mind caught up with him. Suddenly he became very aware of the passage of time, the potential futures slipping away and he rests his spoon on the table, overwhelmed by the shrinking timeline ahead.

They talk that night, instead of reading. They sit in two armchairs in a quiet carpeted room lit by purple globules of light, gently bobbing around their heads and they talk. They talk for hours. Essek tells Caleb his sins and Caleb elaborates on his own. They talk plainly and it’s hard to do, but at some point the chairs moved closer, and then their hands touched, eventually Essek’s hands were folded into Caleb’s.

He felt closer to Essek after that. For the rest of the week it was easier to reach out and grasp his hand, to pull him into a hug. Two weeks later, they talked again and after that they kissed. Their kisses weren’t frequent but they were familiar, a warm comfort over those last weeks in Aeor.

Theirs was not a whirlwind romance. It was something more precious and much more difficult to describe. It burned slow and and steadily rose until something had to be done. They kept in close contact after Aeor, it is those letters that begin the new collection that fills Caleb’s left holster.

They visit occasionally until the burn of the eyes of the Dynasty on Essek’s back became too hot. Caleb has taken to staying in Nicodranas when he and Beauregard are taking a break from dismantling centuries old systems to weed out the rot so he asks Essek to come stay with him. Quietly, out of the eyes of the empire and most of their friends, they begin to build a life. They construct with care, laying a sturdy foundation because though they both know this arrangement is temporary they promise to always be together in one way or another; because though gravity can be altered, it always rights itself and the pull Caleb feels towards Essek, has felt for some time, is a law of his nature.

They allow themselves as long as the other will have them and they spend years together. The kisses become more frequent as they gradually abandon inhibitions. Caleb’s life is a blink compared to Essek and he becomes more aware each year of the limited time he has. He and Essek stay together in varying locations for as long as he can bear it, he realizes now that they have earned this happiness, however fleeting. It will always be a larger portion of his life than it will be of Essek’s so he holds out as long as he can. He begins to teach in this time and though Essek cannot really be free he still has his work studying their findings and occasionally he travels.

Caleb watches him advance so much in their decade together and he gets bleary eyed imagining all Essek will do when he’s gone. They learn together, share every meal, he learns Undercommon and teaches Zemnian, and they spend every possible night together in every possible way. They share a sweet and intense passion and Caleb’s love sinks deeper and deeper into his heart.

When his forehead wrinkles and his hair is greying he realizes his time is up. He has goals, he needs to teach, he needs to fully commit to being in the Empire and his short life must be spent doing as he promised all those years ago, making each place better than he found it. That is the hardest conversation he’s ever had. “I wish it were not this way. That it didn’t have to be, but I do not have as much time as you so I must burn brightly to make my impact. I will always love you Essek Thelyss.”

“And I you Caleb Widogast. When you stumbled into my life all those years ago, Empire infiltrator holding my greatest crime in your hand I had no idea what would happen. You were a variable I did not account for, could never have foreseen. Of all the possible futures in store for me this one, where I am here with you, where I have been here with you for ten years and where I will continue to be by your side thought it is not the same is the best one I could have never predicted.”

They give themselves one last year. They don’t travel, Caleb takes the year off and they spend 328 days exactly together, in bliss. They do their best not to allow the apprehension of good-bye to creep in. Caleb knows it’s not good-bye, not truly and not forever. But when the day comes though he tries to hold it back he cries bitter tears and holds Essek tight and the smaller man shakes with his own sobs. But they loved each other for eleven years, and they manage to continue loving each other for another fourty or so.

Essek leaves and travels for a while to do his own work. This is frequent in the latter half of Caleb’s life but every time he comes back and his friend brings him stories and listens to all of his own. They help each other research, Caleb still tells him everything and relishes every moment they spend together. They no longer kiss but they are still partners.

Caleb’s life has been better, more fulfilling than he could ever have hoped stumbling out of that wretched prison at the beginning of his second life. He learned peace through the Nein and later through Essek and now that he’s at the end of his time he knows he could not have lived a better life.

Caleb Widogast is old, older than he ever thought he’d be and while his bones and muscles give out and he goes to the Blooming Grove where Caduceus has always said he will end up, to spend his final months, Essek follows.

He cooks the soups the cats used to, they remember everything together, Caleb’s mind keen but Essek has kept up well. At just the right time, Caleb knows. Essek is sat beside him in the bed, the wizards reading in tandem as they’ve done before and fallen into again in this late stage. They have been kissing again, Caleb allowing this last indulgence, one last selfish act. Essek needs it too.

“Essek Thelyss, thank you for everything you’ve done for me. My constant companion, the center of my gravity. You who bent time and space for me and taught me so many things from magic to forgiveness. I have loved you all my life from the moment I could and I would never dream to change a single thing.”

“Caleb Widogast. I have treasured every moment we have spent together, you changed my life, saved a man who knew not that he was dying. I have been happy because I know you and I will continue to be happy because you will never be far from my heart.”

“Please promise to me that you will take care of the others. Allow them to care for you. Find new people and care for them and allow yourself to be cared for in return, live your life as fully as you are able, and when you are done I will see you again just as I am about to see my family.”

“I will. You have loved me all of your life and I will love you for all of mine. I will never know someone like you again. Thank you for allowing me the privilege of your companionship. It is an honor to love you and it always will be.”

The quiet conversation fades and they share one final kiss and Essek sits as Caleb drifts to sleep, gently running his fingers through his hair. Then he goes to get Caduceus. Caleb Widogast is dead.

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Essek Thelyss is dying.

He is nearly 740 years old and he is in decline. He, like his friends before him, retires to the Blooming Grove to live out his remaining days, however many they might be. Caduceus’ kin are caring and when he shows up on their doorstep they expect him. “He told us you would arrive one day. Welcome home and thank you for being here.”

Essek’s life has been a thing of remarkable chance, nearly improbable. He has learned to manipulate as much as he can but even he could not have foreseen the path he ended up taking. He has lived so long, and his life has been full but he is tired.

Fjord had been the first of the Nein to pass. After him Caleb. After Caleb the group coalesced around him. They had never shared many details, but they seemed to know. Keeping his promise to Caleb he allowed them to care for him. To bring him food, to message him to make sure he was okay. They invited him on adventures when they needed and he never turned them down.

They continued asking him to teleport them and every single time he did. Kingsley goes next and then Beauregard. Those years are full of so much loss condensed into such a tiny portion of his existence. He isn’t used to things happening so quickly and he begins to reach out. New connections. He finds people to care for, to mentor and to bolster. He dedicates his life to using aliases to research and study and publish materials to help the mages after him and Caleb. He finds himself beseeched by parties of assholes for assistance and while he never fights alongside another group he makes himself useful in any other way in his ability.

He always imparts the lesson to leave the world better than they found it, and if they listen, if they are the same as his friends, the best people he’s ever known, the world will survive yet. There is a pause between good-byes for a number of years. Then he loses Yasha and Jester. Jester is one of the hardest, the friendly little blue tiefling with a heart for adventure who hugged him when touch had still burned. After her goes Veth and after Veth, finally Caduceus goes back to the earth.

He promised Caleb to live a full life, but every year, the anniversary of the day they met several lifetimes ago, he visits the Blooming Grove. He walks the grounds, he sits with Caleb and he tells him of his research, he reminisces and he whispers love to the flowers that grow. They are fiery orange and yellow with some deep purple and blue spattered among them. Caduceus says on his first visit that the blue ones are called forget-me-nots. Essek picks one every year and presses it into a book, like Yasha showed him once upon a time.

Caduceus and Essek drink the tea from the flowers Caleb gave them. For centuries they sat together, telling stories, having extended conversation year after year. Some years Caduceus travelled so Essek made his vigil alone, but he never forgot Caleb and he never forgot the Mighty Nein. They lived as long as he did for they were in his heart always.

The last time he visits Caleb they talk for hours. “Every good thing I have done, every positive emotion and happiness I have known in these centuries has been because of you. You allowed me to feel again and the best decision I could have ever made was letting my plan go to allow myself to grow close to you.”

He is lying beside the grave twirling a delicate blue flower between wrinkled, aching fingers. “Caleb Widowgast you have lived with me for a long while and I thank you again for the gifts you gave me while you were here. I hope you are proud of me. I love you to the end of my days my friend.”

He falls asleep then, in the night of the Blooming Grove, fireflies and an infinite expanse of stars casting gentle light across his stilling form.

As Essek Thelyss fades he finds himself again in a garden. It is brightly coloured and lush, well cared for. There is a small cottage there and as he glides to the door, drawn to it as if by gravity, it opens and he sees copper hair, vibrant blue eyes, and the widest smile he’s missed the most, “I told you my friend, we would meet again.”

“I never doubted you Caleb Widogast.”

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #the mighty nein #fan fiction #my writing #wreckwrites #critfic #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 3 years

Text

It Takes Me All the Way

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This is my fic for my @starkerfestivals summer BINGO “flower shop au” square. The following idea hit me in the head a couple of days ago & I couldn’t let it go until the whole thing was written. Here’s my bingo card - if you see something on there you might want written, shoot me a message!!! Word Count: 11.5K Warnings: There’s a tiny bit of smut in here, but it’s me writing, so when is that not the case?

Summary:

'For the next half an hour, Peter learned about flower language and the subtle way to artfully layer flowers so the colors blended meaningfully together. Peter didn’t retain too much about the flowers themselves – they were beautiful and coordinated perfectly, but Tony out shone them all. He was obviously in his element; the simple way the information fell from his mouth spoke of years of study and tons of hands-on knowledge. Not only was the man smart, he had an eye for style and created little living masterpieces without much thought.

By the time Peter worked up the courage to make any sort of move, they were at the register, seconds away from a complete transaction. He was in too deep to let the spark between them go another time. Steeling himself for whatever might come, Peter took a deep breath and leapt. “Hey, before I go – would you like to go out with me sometime?"'

Or: the one where Tony's a florist and Peter kind of digs that.

Read on AO3 here.

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After taking home the third, consecutive NCA Championship title, Peter craved a tame summer. Unlike the rest of his teammates, he had no dreams of furthering his cheerleading career by becoming a coach; while everyone else flocked to the NCA cheer champ coaching positions, Peter tried his hardest to create some distance between himself and the sport.

Of course, that was easier said than done when his very best friend was also a teammate. Since the day MJ pulled him off the gymnastics mat and thrust him not so gently into the world of cheer in seventh grade, Peter never looked back – not to gymnastics or the people he left behind. He didn’t naturally fit in with anyone, but with MJ by his side and an incredible amount of athleticism, high school passed by in a whirlwind of football games, competitions, and a rich education Peter clung to. Being smart was a way out of the conservative little town that would never accept the truth of who Peter truly was.

When Purdue became an option for the both of them, Peter immediately understood moving to Indiana was the next step in life’s adventure. It wasn’t the big city that he always imagined he’d escape to, but Peter couldn’t argue with a full ride academic scholarship and a spot earned on the cheer team. As a male with tumbling experience and a shocking amount of strength for his size, Peter didn’t have to wonder about his spot on the team – he’d been leading teams to competition wins for years. Stepping out of the narrow-minded world of Springfield, Missouri was the only thing that mattered; the ability to do what he wanted without worrying about where the money came from to do it – that was just a delightful bonus.

Despite the challenges of college athletics and a philosophy major, Peter managed to keep his close friendship with MJ. They’d been a stunting pair for ages and their similarities made it easy to not only be around each other but stay tight knit in their connection. Going through so many of the trials of growing up together, Peter didn’t know what life would be like without her. After coming out and receiving nothing but a hug and a shy “me too”, their bond was cemented – made permanent in a way that something shared tied one person to another.

Their undying friendship and ridiculous commitment to each other was how he found himself balls deep in wedding planning, instead of relaxing in the peace and quiet of his one-bedroom apartment, playing video games and reading all the books he didn’t get to crunch out during the busy school year. MJ didn’t even bother asking him to be her ‘man’ of honor – after popping the question to Darcy, she simply sent him a list of things to do and dove right in.

Between bachelorette parties, bridal showers, and the seemingly impossible hunt for the best bridesmaid’s dresses, Peter hadn’t spent more than a couple days of the break on his own. Though he loved the fuck out of MJ and her soon-to-be wife, he couldn’t wait for the wedding to come and go. A little peace and alone time was exactly what he needed.

Finally, after a week of long nights and last-minute errands, the big day was upon them. The beautiful ranch venue radiated with a rich sunshine, basking the place in a lucky sort of golden glow. Since he didn’t have to spend his entire morning trapped in a makeup chair, Peter got to enjoy the beautiful weather firsthand as he contributed to the set up and decorating. Aside from helping MJ get into the admittedly cool pant suit she planned to wear, Peter’s time was his own until an hour before the ceremony.

Grinning at the thought, Peter pulled out one of the reception hall chairs and sat down heavily. He relaxed into the comfortable wood, reaching up to run a hand through his formidable curls. They were sans gel at the moment; his fingers sailed through the silky strands with ease.

Peter wasn’t aware he closed his eyes until a loud clatter had them blinking open in surprise. Swiftly turning towards the noise, Peter stopped in his tracks at the sight in front of him.

A big gray vase was the source of the noise, there was no doubt about that the second Peter spotted it. What completely took his breath away, or maybe who, was the man holding said vase. Peter saw tanned arms that were toned to perfection right off the bat. It was obvious at first glance that the owner of those limbs worked outside with his hands frequently. The lithe muscles and glorious golden skin tone spoke more of manual work than physical exercise. With his eyes travelling up firm forearms and the swell of a built bicep, Peter noticed the man’s hair next. Tamed by a plain white dad hat, an abundance of unruly curls flipped under the edges of the brim and sides. Peter imagined a flowing head of dark brunette hair he could easily slip his fingers into the depths of.

As if the man knew Peter was staring, he turned towards Peter’s table, an intrigued look on his face. A face that, after taking in the rest of the stranger’s glorious beauty, didn’t seem fair. Well-kept facial hair outlined perfect lips pulled into a knowing smirk. Rich, honey-golden eyes were just visible under the brim of the man’s sweat-stained hat. They seemed to pierce Peter right in the chest, like their unblinking nature dug under his skin and saw everything he tried so desperately to hide. The feeling was unnerving yet so exhilarating all the same. Though he felt so very exposed, Peter wanted nothing more than to narrow the space and get to know the handsome stranger.

Luckily, his chance came a couple hours later.

To stop himself from shamelessly flirting, Peter hightailed it out of the reception hall the second he could, using a check up on MJ as a guise for his obvious escape. Most of his friends were exactly where he left them at the start of the morning – it was a marvel that anything got done when they all got together. After braving the makeup talk and putting out a few emotional fires, Peter’s reprieve came in the form of a man of honor errand.

With MJ’s credit card in hand, Peter made his way to the front of the building where the florist was waiting. He’d been so glad to get out of the bridal suite that he didn’t stop to think about the stranger and the beautiful floral arrangement that’d been in his hand or to make the connection between the two. For the second time that day, Peter tripped over himself when the man came into view. Now that an actual need to speak to him was in sight, Peter didn’t know if he could make his mouth work to take the chance.

Recognition was clear on the florist’s face – though they didn’t know one another, it was hard to forget the very long, very obvious stare Peter was caught in. Those utterly kissable lips were upturned, the pinch around the man’s eyes from the grin making him all the more attractive. Rolling his eyes at the thought (like he needed to be any more attractive), Peter tried to school his features and return the smile with one of his own.

“Hi! I’m Peter, MJ’s man of honor. She sent me to square up the bill for the flowers,” Peter said in greeting. As the space between them narrowed down, Peter nervously reached out, his free hand suddenly taking up the space between them.

A surprisingly soft hand slipped into his a moment later – the touch was firm and efficient, only lingering a second longer than usually appropriate. “Nice to meet you, Peter. Please let MJ know that I really enjoyed the challenge of the flower choices. Geraniums are hard to come by this late in the season.”

Pulling away, despite the desperate want to have the man’s hands all over him, Peter nodded in understanding – most of both MJ and Darcy’s choices were high maintenance and unique. The planning of every step along the way had been an absolute bear. “That’s MJ for you,” Peter agreed with a light chuckle. “We’ve been scrambling around the last week or so trying to get all the details right.”

There was a shared moment of silence where the two simply smiled at each other. The florist seemed just as lost as Peter, the joint look of discomfort and wonder more telling than any words ever could be. For Peter, each second that passed was a small gift he gluttonously got to unwrap until the magic was broken.

“It’s her big day, she should have what she wants,” Tony finally replied, the words and a red blush breaking the silence. “I like the unique stuff, anyway – keeps the job interesting.”

Without missing a beat, a paper invoice was thrust in his direction. “I took out the delivery fee from the total since I was in the area already.”

After that, it didn’t take more than a couple of minutes to complete the transaction – the florist worked swiftly, his fingers nimble and knowledgeable in every movement he made as he swiped MJ’s card and handed it quickly back to Peter. The brush of their fingers in the exchange seemed purposeful, though – especially with the smirk and red blush that followed.

Caught up in how brilliant the look was, Peter didn’t realize there was nothing keeping him there until the shuffling of feet brought the reality of the situation back with a vengeance. As much as he wanted to stay and chat, or ask for a number, or even a name, Peter knew the time wasn’t right. He already felt so caught up – actually having access to his preoccupation wouldn’t be good for his focus. It was MJ’s day; he owed it to her to keep his shit together and make every second of it the very best.

Looking up, Peter shot the other man a large grin before lifting a hand, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “I better get back,” Peter started awkwardly, “but thank you – for helping make MJ’s day so beautiful.”

With a nod, the florist pocketed his phone and took off towards the parking lot. Peter watched him walk away just long enough to catch the glance over work-firm shoulders. Hazel and brown met for a moment before Peter forced himself to walk away – a large part of him wanted to sprint across the black top to stop the gorgeous man from leaving. Something in the pit of his chest was pulsing with life; the feeling was so foreign that Peter pushed it down and quickly ran in the opposite direction, instead.

Peter got back to the bridal suite in a wonky haze – so much so that he didn’t even realize he walked through the door until MJ’s voice broke through his rampaging thoughts. “Did you get everything squared away with Tony?”

Turning towards her, Peter tilted his head, a crease in his brow appearing in his confusion. “Tony?” Peter questioned as he made his way over to the big table in the center of the room to deposit both the invoice and MJ’s credit card.

“Tony – the florist. I sent you to pay the bill. Please tell me you didn’t get lost along the way.” MJ shot him a knowing look, her hazel eyes blazing with affection. “He was a great help these last couple of months – matching all the colors would’ve been impossible without him.”

His brain halted for a second, the organ doing nothing but processing the fact that his handsome stranger now had a name. Recalling the beautiful face, Peter figured the name Tony fit the man pretty perfectly. With that knowledge, it was quickly becoming obvious that his focus was already shot – Tony with toned arms and a delectably deep voice already took up space there, just waiting to distract Peter at the worst possible time.

Like that moment, where MJ was staring at him with growing concern, waiting for a simple yes or no to her easily answerable question. Peter shot her an embarrassed grin when he got himself back under control. Sheepishly, he reached up to run a hand through his hair. “All is well. He told me to tell you he enjoyed the challenge. Oh, and he nixed the delivery fee – said he was already in the area.” He tried to sound cool as he spoke, to not give his interest away. Yet he knew almost immediately he wasn’t successful – Peter heard his own excitement as the words bounced around in his ears.

“So it’s like that,” MJ said, looking at him much more critically now.

“Like what?” Peter shot back, refusing to look her directly in the eye. She already caught the scent – the second he gave her the satisfaction of seeing the truth in his eyes, Peter would never hear the end of it. Regardless of the very important fact that Peter, despite wanting to more than ever, didn’t even pursue the obvious and very mutual interest.

Instead of pushing, MJ surprisingly let a knowing smile overtake her face.

“I see you Peter Parker.”

Luckily, the hustle and bustle of pre-wedding preparations and nerves that were inescapable, swept the subject right off the table a moment later. Peter happily helped MJ make her finishing touches in preparation for finally meeting her wife at the end of the aisle. Getting so swept up in it all, Peter allowed himself to forget the hazel eyed man for the rest of the evening. MJ and Darcy looked so happy – it was hard to see passed anything other than their beaming smiles and the bright future waiting for them.

----

The next few weeks passed by in a flash. Peter finally got some time to himself and reveled in it, taking advantage of every second of solitary freedom he could purge himself on before his final season began. Movies, books, and his favorite video games were the only thing Peter allowed himself to think about (and Tony, so many of his thoughts were about the gorgeous florist). He even went as far as to bar MJ and Darcy from the apartment when they got back from their honeymoon – it was the least they could do after running him ragged with errands and things over the previous few months. The last thing he wanted to deal with was the bombardment of newly wed grossness; it’d been some time since Peter felt the luscious caress of love against his heart and soul – and jealousy just didn’t look good on him.

When his self-imposed isolation came to an end, Peter begrudgingly got back into a suitable routine. Though cheer practice was different without MJ there, Peter easily sunk back into the drills and full body workouts that came after an entire summer off on their own. Hayley, their coach extraordinaire, pushed them hard in the beginning – it was the best way to filter out those who wouldn’t make it when the season really got started and competition prep took over all of their lives.

Once his muscles got used to the severe beating he took on a daily basis, Peter was more than ready for the year to start. Football games and the atmosphere that came with being a Boiler were a lot of fun; and with his decreased workload as a fifth-year senior, Peter planned to enjoy the easy-going nature of spirit and poms and comradery before the teeth came out and everyone’s battle armor settled into place. When competition season started, the team’s overall atmosphere and driving motivations changed.

Of course, just when Peter thought things were going just the way they should, karma came around to prove him wrong. After a long practice the week before the semester started, one of their flyers fell from a stunt, completely unaware of her contact with the ground’s effect until someone on the other side of the mat screamed. The sight, when Peter allowed himself to look, turned his stomach – he’d never seen a dislocated hip in person before and hoped to never do so again.

After the trauma of having the paramedics all over their turf, the team was given a couple of days off to recuperate. Peter and the rest of the squad planned to take advantage of the freedom by visiting Macy, who ended up having to have emergency surgery to save both her leg and her life. Though he knew a bouquet of flowers wouldn’t change the fact that she would never be able to cheer ever again, Peter figured it was a nice touch and planned to have one made before heading to the hospital.

Googling the closest florist, Peter was surprised to find a shop so near to campus. Many of the businesses surrounding Purdue were food joints or bars that were guaranteed to get a lot of steady business during the semester and over the summer. He wondered, just for a moment, how such a random store managed to survive the college population.

It took one look at the place to understand why the shop fit exactly where it was. Instead of the old lady feel he assumed he’d find, Peter stepped in front of a large windowed building with intricate flower arrangements filling the visible shelves. On the far side of the door was a mural of the Purdue P surrounded by all types of flora. The word Stark’s was camouflaged within the swarm of vines and greenery throughout the painting. It was well done and in the perfect, eye-catching spot.

A small bell over the door rang as Peter walked through it – at least one of the cliches in his mind was accurate. Grinning at the thought, Peter let his legs carry him further into the store, his head on a swivel to look at all the beautiful foliage placed strategically from one wall to the other. Though he knew nothing of plants, Peter understood the art of drawing attention – he participated in a sport that perfected it. From the placement to the intrigue, whoever owned the shop knew exactly what to do to draw a person in.

Peter stopped his exploration when a recognizable voice echoed throughout the space – “I’ll be right with you.” Upon hearing the timber and depth that haunted Peter every night since MJ’s wedding, he almost turned around and walked right back out of the store. He wasn’t equipped for the gorgeous man and his distracting smile and eyes and shapely ass.

Before he could make his feet move or even think, Tony and his inarguable gorgeousness walked in through the back door. His hands were covered in dirty gloves, a newly potted plant in the crook of his elbow. A denim apron covered a plain white t-shirt and black jeans that peaked out the bottom. At the sight of him, Peter had to force himself to keep his mouth closed and the pace of his heart under control – much like the last time he enjoyed the view, Peter wanted to bound across the distance and intimately get to know the other man.

Met with a smile when their eyes locked, Peter reminded himself to remain calm and smile back, to actually act like a human person with thoughts and the ability to actually articulate them. He came in here for a reason, walking out of the store with anything but the arrangement he wanted to bring to the hospital was unacceptable.

Tony, upon recognizing him, took the first step towards intelligible conversation.

“Peter, right? It’s nice to see you in here! How’d the wedding go?”

Blushing at the familiarity, Peter dipped his head and took a deep breath, hoping to collect himself enough to actually reply back. “Hi, yes. Peter. It’s nice to see you, too. I was surprised to see a flower shop in the middle of college central, but your place seems to fit in really nicely. No wonder MJ was pulled in,” Peter said in reply, getting the words out all at once to make sure they all saw the light of day. “The wedding was beautiful. Both brides are blissfully happy, and your floral arrangements were the topic of several conversations I had that night. You do good work, Tony.”

Peter’s heart stopped when Tony tilted his head back into a laugh a moment later. How did someone look so sexy doing something so base? No matter what happened, Peter knew he’d never understand such a thing. To cover up his reaction, Peter added his own laugh to the mix – the sounds harmonious in the empty shop.

“Yeah, I’m sure my flowers were a hot topic of conversation, especially with those beautiful women in the room. Thanks for the kind words, though,” Tony mumbled through a laugh. As he spoke, Tony reached up to brush an errant curl from his forehead – without the hat, the hair on Tony’s head looked unruly and all over the place, untamed and absolutely beautiful. The move left the smallest remnant of dirt on his skin, the black flecks of soil like little calling cards with Peter’s name on them. His fingers itched to reach up and brush them away. Tony’s next words shook him of the thought – “What brings you in today?”

“One of my teammates fell and injured herself pretty severely. We, as a team, decided to rub in the fact that she’ll never join us on the mat again by visiting her now that she’s out of the ICU. I figured some pretty flowers might soften the blow,” Peter explained, coloring at the blunt honesty that trickled from his mouth.

Tony looked intrigued, the other man completely unfazed by Peter’s word choice and candid nature. “Must be a dangerous sport if you guys are nursing career ending injuries.” He signaled for Peter to follow him with a swift flick of his hand.

“I’ve seen some pretty intense injuries in my long cheerleading career, for sure. People flying through the air, and all that. I wouldn’t call the sport in general dangerous, per say – I’d say the expectations we have to meet are what’s dangerous. The look, the difficulty of the stunts we make our bodies do – it’s demanding,” Peter remarked, following a couple steps behind Tony as they walked.

“Sounds misogynistic as hell.”

Laughing at the truth of Tony’s statement, Peter nodded enthusiastically. His heart felt warm from the idea of the random stranger in front of him understanding his struggles better than May and Ben ever could. Tony didn’t know him, and yet Peter couldn’t remember ever feeling so seen. “Oh, it is. The beauty standards are unbelievable and if you’re a male in the cheer world, forget it – you’re fodder for mockery and intense judgement. I fit the stereotype and even I can’t catch a break.”

“What’s the stereotype?” Tony asked with a soft tilt of his head and curiousness in his eyes.

They stopped suddenly then – the space between them was narrowed down to a couple of feet with an abundance of plants surrounding them on both sides. If he took a step or two forward, Peter wouldn’t have too much trouble reaching out and touching Tony’s beautifully tanned skin like he so desperately wanted to. It took too much effort to stop himself from doing exactly that. How exhausting.

Without waiting another beat or giving himself another moment to eye kissable lips, Peter uttered the answer with subtle breathlessness – “Gay. Flaming homosexual is usually what people attribute to the men of the cheer world.”

Color travelled up Tony’s cheeks, his lips quirking ever so slightly. He took his time answering, the man obviously thinking through his reply before blurting whatever he had to say into the universe. “Huh. That’s interesting, considering football players don’t go a play without touching each other on the ass.” Tony stopped for a second, making sure to catch Peter’s eye. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Peter answered immediately, the words coming out of his mouth without thought. “Its been my life since 7th grade.”

“I guess that’s all that matters, then,” Tony replied softly, a small, familiar smile on his lips. “Now back to your friend – what’s her favorite color?”

For the next half an hour, Peter learned about flower language and the subtle way to artfully layer flowers so the colors blended meaningfully together. Peter didn’t retain too much about the flowers themselves – they were beautiful and coordinated perfectly, but Tony out shone them all. He was obviously in his element; the simple way the information fell from his mouth spoke of years of study and tons of hands-on knowledge. Not only was the man smart, he had an eye for style and created little living masterpieces without much thought.

For what it was worth, the look of surprise that crossed over Tony’s face was brief. It made Peter’s breath catch in anticipation – for the first time in their short acquaintance, Peter felt uncertain. The feeling quickly passed, however; Tony’s face split into a beaming smile, the earlier surprise so easily replaced with seemingly genuine happiness.

“Yeah, I’d love to. I close up shop around 6 – are you free tonight?” Tony’s cheeks were stained with a rapidly darkening, gorgeous blush, hazel eyes shining.

Peter couldn’t remember what the next ten minutes entailed, let alone that evening – yet, whatever it was, he’d happily reschedule. There wasn’t a single thing that would stop him from saying yes to whatever Tony suggested. “I am. How about I meet you out front at 6:30? I’ll call Tasha and grab us a table for 7.”

Tony nodded, reaching across the counter towards Peter’s phone. “That sounds good. I’ll give you my number in case something changes. I’ve got a greenhouse out back and tend to forget myself. I sometimes lose track of time.”

Completely taken by every new thing he learned about Tony, Peter opened the phone and pushed it in Tony’s direction without hesitation. He didn’t expect the older man to be so forward – then again, Peter wasn’t all that surprised, either; Tony owned, operated, and supplied a successful business – he had to know what he was doing to some extent.

Watching with a delirious sort of haze, Peter followed as Tony’s fingers enter his number, then hit the green button to call himself. A phone on the back counter buzzed a couple of times before Tony ended the call and slid Peter’s phone back to him. “See you later, Peter. Tell your friend I wish her a speedy recovery.”

Numb hands grabbed the arrangement off the counter – Peter raised it towards Tony in a mock solute. “Until tonight, then.” Peter muttered the words excitedly. “Bye, Tony.”

He forced himself to keep his head down in hopes of actually making it out of the store. Peter wanted to turn around and look goofily at Tony – now that he knew his feelings were reciprocated, there was nothing stopping his desire from slipping out. Since the wedding, Peter forced the thought of strong arms and bright eyes from his head, just to be haunted by Tony’s beauty when he closed his eyes and let sleep take hold. His subconscious wasn’t on board with suppressing his urges – the fact that karma played a role made the rightness he felt even more valid.

Tony wanted him too.

His visit with Macy and the team was an immediate drag to his mood – the mix of emotions of the people surrounding their friend attempting to express sympathy was exhausting. Every person in the room feared Macy’s position in the bed. Some handled the anxiety better than others. The one bright spot of the visit, of course, was Tony’s arrangement. MJ immediately recognized the man’s work and winked at him knowingly. Peter didn’t stop a grin from slipping across his face; in their silent means of communication, the look was answer enough.

MJ corned him in the parking lot everyone dispersed to an appropriate amount of time later. When the room started to get too cloying, Peter made his excuses, prompting everyone to follow suit. There was only so much sad he could take – especially when a potential light in his dark tunnel shone so bright, waiting for him just hours away. They stopped at the trunk of Peter’s car, MJ leaning against the bumper like always. “Peter, spill. I haven’t seen that goofy look on your face since high school. Did something happen with Tony?”

Snorting at MJ’s impeccable awareness, Peter shifted until he could wrap his arm around her. He leaned his head against the side of MJ’s, closing his eyes. “Your florist is the best-looking man I’ve ever laid eyes on. I maturely held myself back at the wedding to be there with you in the moment and those karma points I banked were good to me today. I walked into Stark’s for some flowers for Macy and couldn’t bear to walk out without a chance to see him again.” Peter turned his head until he could press a kiss to her forehead. “We’re going out tonight.”

“I’m happy for you,” MJ said, her thin arms wrapping around him. “When I first met him, I thought you two might like each other. He’s older, a little weird, smart as hell – just your type.”

“I guess there’s a reason why you’re my best friend,” Peter quipped. “Seriously, though. Thank you – you always point me in the right direction. I really like him.”

MJ pulled back just enough to tap her forefinger against Peter’s nose – the move their sign of affection for years now. “Go get your man, Pete.”

----

To stop himself from pacing up and down the hall of his apartment, Peter went to the fitness center on campus – a hard workout with the weights was exactly what his body needed. Sweating and listening to a couple of playlists took Peter away from his thoughts of dinner later and into a mindset that let him just exist. It didn’t hurt that the pump in his arms looked amazing by the time he packed up and called it a day.

Timing it perfectly, Peter left himself an hour to get back to his apartment, shower, and decide on an outfit that didn’t shout desperate, but expressed his implicit interest, too. Not living too far from campus made it easy to fret about his clothes after a lengthy shower that took every ounce of Peter’s willpower to not masturbate anxiously. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to face the star of his fantasies head on after beating off to the thought of Tony’s tanned skin and gorgeous smile.

After a few restless passes through every piece in his closet, Peter took a large step back, attempting to clear his head. From what he already learned of the older man, Peter knew Tony looked flawless in anything – his style was basic, but the casual nature in which it was worn made the look stylish, anyway. Tasha’s restaurant wasn’t the fanciest place in the world and the pressing feeling of being comfortable in Tony’s presence made an outfit pop into Peter’s head after a couple of long breaths that helped to calm him down.

Peter slipped into his favorite dark wash jeans, smiling all the while – it seemed silly, the anxiety he danced with less than five minutes ago. He’d felt nothing but ease and excitement around Tony, getting himself prepared for a date with the man wasn’t as life and death as he let himself believe. Stressing over something that felt simple in every other way was a new feeling – Peter carried an abundance of confidence with him everywhere. The change made Peter believe whatever might happen with Tony was different and so much better than any other romantic dalliance he’d ever taken part in.

The outfit was finished with a couple small sprays of his favorite cologne – Peter only broke out the fancy stuff for special occasions. With a tug to his rolled shirt sleeve and the slightest adjustment of his collar, Peter took a deep breath and wandered across the room to stop in front of his mirror. His straight legged jeans were clasped at the waist with a black leather belt that cut Peter’s figure dramatically. Both muscular and trim, Peter went out of his way to make sure each attribute was highlighted appropriately. A white and blue stripped short sleeve button up wrapped around Peter’s firm biceps and tucked neatly into his waistband to highlight the narrowness of his hips.

Aside from the rogue curls Peter couldn’t tame, he felt good about the way he looked – the outfit and the confidence it made him feel would be a hit. Tony seemed to like the upfront and honest way he presented himself, there wasn’t any reason to change that now. Allowing himself one last look, Peter turned away from the mirror and made his last-minute preparations – he pocketed his wallet and keys and grabbed a jacket off the coat hook on his way out of the door.

It took less than five minutes to get to Tony’s shop – without the daily traffic on the road, the drive was easy. Pocketing that fact for another time, Peter climbed out of the car excitedly; for the first time in a while, Peter felt ready to date. Tony presented intrigue and want and a curiosity that Peter hoped to cling to for as long as possible. The simple fact that Peter already felt that way spoke volumes.

A door shutting brought Peter’s attention to the sidewalk in front of him. He expected to find Tony turned around to lock the front door of the shop, yet the older man was closing a door on the side of the building instead. Even more interested now, Peter started to head in that direction.

“I live in a huge loft above the shop,” Tony said with a knowing tone, answering Peter’s unspoken question without any sort of hesitation. “When I first bought the building, a storefront wasn’t what I initially had in mind. After I opened up the shop, it made the most sense.” Tony continued to speak as he closed the distance between them.

A soft pair of lips were pressed lightly against Peter’s cheek before he could think, let alone reply. Peter felt his cheeks and neck light up with a heated flush, his body temperature skyrocketing. Tony’s next words only added to the feeling – “You look amazing, Peter.”

Swallowing his awkwardness, Peter smiled in Tony’s direction, finally taking the man in front of him fully. Tony’s legs were encased in charcoal grey jeans that were rolled twice at the cuff. The edges sat nicely against a pair of black and white vans. The tanned arms Peter hadn’t been able to stop thinking about were on display – Tony’s short sleeve button up was perfectly tight against a trim chest and firm shoulders. Other than the stubble Peter figured Tony always had, the man’s cheeks were smooth – highlighting how gorgeous the florist truly was. It didn’t hurt that their fashion senses were similar, either; Peter wondered for a moment where Tony got the floral shirt currently driving him crazy.

“You’re stunning,” Peter eventually managed to say, his breathy words finally breaking his minutes long silence. “You’ve looked great in every way I’ve seen you – covered in dirt, sweaty and working, dressed to impress – it’s kind of not fair, Tony.” Peter let the truth of what he just said sit transparently on his face. They were passed the point of coyness and subtlety; Peter wanted Tony to know he was wanted, even though they hadn’t known each other long.

His bluntness seemed to do the trick – Tony grinned widely in his direction, avoiding direct eye contact with Peter in obvious hope of getting himself back under control. “Charmer,” Tony muttered, stepping a little closer to Peter to emphasis his point.

After opening the passenger side door like the gentleman he was, Peter settled behind the wheel and onto the main road. Tasha was a former teammate, a senior his freshman year, that escaped to Paris – only to make her way back to Indiana and use the knowledge she gained in one of the cooking capitals of the world. Over the years, Silver became a regular place for Peter and the team to spend their classier nights. The food was amazing, and Tasha’s unique style made the minimalism the restaurant was known for interesting and thought provoking. When he called to make the reservation, Tasha cooed in Peter’s ear while saving his favorite table for 7.

They made easy small talk during the drive over – Peter described the pre-season workouts he’d been trucking through while Tony regaled him with a story of his last customer of the day who tried to steal roses by stuffing them down her shirt. As he listened and absorbed, Peter realized Tony was funny and full to the brim of wit – he laughed freely, the sound so joyful, Peter couldn’t help but join in. They were still chatting as the hostess led them to their table and set large menus before them.

Their drink orders were taken almost immediately – the serving staff was familiar with Peter and must’ve been tipped off before they got there. A bottle of red wine was set on the table before either of them could delve back into their previous conversation. Peter poured them each a glass, then pointed at the menu – “Did anything catch your eye?”

“I thought I’d go with the steak frites. Out of all the dishes on this extensive menu, that one immediately came to your mind. Seems like as good a reason as any to give them a try,” Tony reasoned, lifting the wine to his lips as he spoke. “What about you?”

Peter’s cheeks were already starting to hurt from the giddy smile he couldn’t help – talking and joking and simply being with Tony felt so natural. He didn’t have to think to reply casually to whatever they were talking about. “I get them every time I’m here. When Tasha first opened this place, she’d just lay dishes on the table when we sat down. I stopped being her menu taster when she introduced me to the steak frites. I haven’t had anything else here since,” Peter admitted, his cheeks flaming once again.

“You’re one of those people, huh?” Tony shot back, grinning all the while.

“One of those people?”

Tony grinned a little wider, his eyes shining with affectionate enjoyment. Before he replied, the older man slipped his hand across the table, taking Peter’s fingers lightly. “Yeah, one of those people. Someone that gets the same dish at every Chinese or Italian place they go to, no matter the options.” His thumb trailed over the back of Peter’s hand. “You like what you like.”

Feeling a little called out, Peter ducked his head to stop anymore redness from overtaking his skin – he probably resembled a tomato already. It was crazy – to feel so happy being teased. “Okay, yeah – I’m one of those people. I’ll try that one dish anywhere, though.”

They traded a few barbs back and forth until they ordered, and their dishes were sat down in front of them. Without the threat of interruptions in the near future, Peter felt ready to broach some of the more personal topics – for the first time on a date, Peter genuinely wanted to listen and find out more about the person across from him.

“So, tell me more about yourself – who is Tony Stark when not covered in dirt or up to his elbows in beautiful flowers?” Peter cut into his steak as he spoke, hoping the relaxed way he asked the question would take a little tension off Tony’s obligation to answer. The last thing he wanted to do was make their time together feel like an interrogation.

Tony didn’t seem to mind, though – he looked up with a tilt of his head. “What do you want to know? I’m shockingly not covered in dirt a lot of my time throughout the day.”

“How did your love for flowers start? Did you study horticulture in college?” Peter decided to ask.

Smiling lightly, Tony shifted in his seat, preparing himself for story time. “I studied Botany and Plant Pathology, actually. I have a doctorate in Plant Genetics and Soil and Water Sciences. During my plant genetics studies, I did some time abroad that took me to every continent – seeing the wide range of flora that exists in this world was the first time I ever thought about making plants and flowers a daily part of my life to the extent they are now.” Tony stopped to meaningfully catch Peter’s eyes.

“I used to be a professor at Purdue – when the restrictions of the lab became too much, I ditched the academic world and opened up the shop. I’ve been elbows deep in beautiful flowers ever since.” Tony winked in his direction, repeating his words jokingly back to him. “What about you? You cheer and charm unsuspecting old men, I know that. What else do you get up to?”

“You’re the only unsuspecting older guy I want to be charming, don’t you worry,” Peter reassured Tony with a soft chuckle. “When I’m not sweeping you off your feet, I study Philosophy and play a stupid amount of video games. Cheer and all that comes with it takes up a lot of my time, though. Most of my college life has revolved around football games and competitions.”

“Sweeping me off my feet – jeez, Pete,” Tony mumbled. His cheeks were red and the smile he wore spoke of happiness and enjoyment. “I took a couple of Philosophy classes during my undergrad days. What do you plan to do with an entire degree with it?”

A laugh slipped from Peter’s mouth at Tony’s question – though many people asked him that very same thing, no one presented it quite like Tony did. “You’d be surprised by what you can do with a Philosophy degree,” Peter retorted. “I want to be a bioethicist. My minor is Public Health – when I put my cheer shoes away for good, I hope to get a master’s in Bioethics and finally get into the realm I want to be in.”

Tony tilted his head then, his eyes roaming over Peter curiously. “What made you want to get into that? I’m sure there aren’t a lot of young bucks walking into higher education with their sights set on changing the medical world like that.”

Sucking in a long breath, Peter let the question sit on the air for a moment. He swirled the last of his wine in the glass before drinking it. “My parents were in a car accident a couple of days before my 10th birthday. My dad passed away immediately, but my mom – she hung on for an extra couple of days. There was a lot of internal bleeding that they were worried about. In all that worry, they didn’t wait for scan results or blood work to come back before they attempted a new, exploratory surgery. She didn’t make it back out of the operating room.”

Peter paused for a moment, catching his breath. “I was old enough to know someone fucked up and when I looked into it later, I decided I never wanted to let someone feel like I did in a crisis like that. There’s got to be someone who reviews the evidence and makes the ethically just decision to save someone’s life. Why shouldn’t it be me?”

For a second, Peter thought he went a little bit too far – there was a tense moment of silence that felt heavy after revealing something so personal. Peter bit into his bottom lip, not letting himself look up to see whatever reaction existed on Tony’s face. Then, a soft touch brushed across the back of Peter’s hand, Tony’s calloused fingers wrapping around his own. A brief squeeze had Peter looking up, his breath catching at the awe that met him. “I’m sorry to hear about your parents, Pete. Mine aren’t around anymore, either. It’s kind of cliché to say that you saw the deeper meaning of something so tragic, but it’s true. You’re using your pain to make the world better. That’s good shit,” Tony said, his voice hinting at a note of finality – like nothing would change his mind of the thought.

His certainty made Peter feel light, the weight of his emotional burden finally lifting from him after so many years. What a difference it made, to be so easily understood.

That light and airy feeling followed Peter throughout the rest of the evening – he smiled widely as Tony talked about his greenhouse while they shared a small chocolate tart between them. For all that his physical attraction was worth, Peter was genuinely surprised to realize that he felt a personal connection to the florist, too. They led different lives but shared enough similarities to make the time spent together more than worth it. Peter liked Tony and from the looks and subtle touches Tony bestowed upon him all evening, Peter figured Tony might like him, too.

Tony proved that thought to be true when they pulled up in front of his place – “Do you want to come up? I had a really nice time tonight and don’t want it to end.” Tony’s words were said through a saucy smile, his intention more than clear in the look in his eyes.

Peter didn’t hesitate to give his answer – leaning forward, he gripped the side of Tony’s cheeks, using his hold as leverage to pull Tony a little closer. They met in the middle, their lips pressing together softly.

----

Things progressed pretty quickly from there. Tony led Peter up a small flight of stairs into an open room. As expected, plants and flowers were scattered around the place, covering all of the flat surfaces with adequate enough sunlight. A comfortable looking couch and kitchen table took up one corner of the room while a large, king-sized bed took up the rest of the free space of the room. There wasn’t much clutter and all of the things that Tony had, he more than likely used. It was simple and perfect, much like the person who resided there.

Tony didn’t let Peter take in the room for too long – before he could walk around and snoop, Tony’s arms were around Peter’s hips, pulling him close. Peter eagerly met Tony in the middle, their lips sealing together in the delicious slide of tongue and teeth and wet, panted breath. As the kisses deepened and their bodies moved closer to each other, Peter started to impatiently thumb at Tony’s buttons, his palms and fingers running over every inch of bare skin he revealed to the cold air. Tony followed suit; his movements much more impatient than Peter’s were. By the time they made it over to the bed, Tony was pulling down Peter’s pants and boxer briefs. He gladly joined Tony in nakedness before climbing onto the inviting mattress.

“Holy shit, this is comfortable,” Peter babbled absentmindedly, his limbs stretching as far as they could go.

“It’s the one thing I refuse to compromise on. I want to be comfortable when I partake in all the activities a bed is good for,” Tony replied as he climbed onto the bed and fit himself between Peter’s legs. “You’ll be even more impressed in the morning,”

For a while after that, there weren’t any words exchanged. Peter kept his mouth busy by pressing kisses into Tony’s neck and upper chest – Tony’s cologne was prominent, pulling Peter in the more he breathed the delicious smell in. Tony let Peter riddle his skin with marks and spit while he ran his hands all over Peter’s skin. Their hips were lined up and with every thrust Peter made up, Tony rolled his hips down until their cocks brushed delightfully. They were both so caught up in each other that nothing but touching and experiencing actually mattered.

It’d been so long for Peter that he found himself coming to a breathless crescendo fast. After a few minutes of passively letting Peter kiss him, Tony took control of things – his hips set the tempo and his hands and lips laid down the distraction. So overwhelmed from it all, Peter wasn’t aware of how close he was until his orgasm slammed into him out of nowhere. “Oh fuck, Tony! I’m – I’m going to come,” Peter panted out, his body thrumming with life and want and a desire he couldn’t hold back.

“Oh, Tony!” Peter practically screamed a moment later – Tony dirtily rolled his hips to toss him deliciously over the edge.

Panted breath filled the room as Peter rode the high of his orgasm. Tony placed tiny, teasing kisses against any part of Peter’s skin he could reach. Reaching down, Peter gripped the sides of Tony’s face until they were looking at each other – Tony met his eyes with a self-satisfied smirk. “How good is your turnaround time?”

Laughing, Peter leaned forward to give Tony a kiss. His cock was already starting to fill out again – having Tony so close set his body on fire. “Ten minutes at the max,” Peter mumbled after a moment of cataloging his heavy limbs and the desire that was rampaging through them.

“Good. Then you’ll have plenty of time to prep me before you fuck me.”

Lost in the words for a moment, Peter was immobile until Tony tapped his side with a cold lube bottle to get his attention. “You want me to fuck you?” Peter dumbly asked, his mind still trying to catch up.

“Yeah, Pete. I want to feel you inside of me. Your body is trim and fit – I can only imagine how good you’re going to fuck me,” Tony admitted without shame. He moved out of the splay of Peter’s thighs, climbing to his hands and knees, instead.

Not wanting to lose his chance, Peter launched himself into action. He ran his hands over the planes of Tony’s sides and back, tracing the small scars and tiny moles scattered across pale skin. His fingers were eager to categorize and map, but his impatience was too great. Tony pressed back into him, as if he too was starting to feel anxious for what was coming next.

Uncapping the lube, Peter drizzled a good amount onto two of his fingers, pausing just long enough to warm the slick to body temperature. When he felt ready, Peter pressed the tips of both his fingers to Tony’s eagerly waiting hole, tracing and circling the muscle to spread the lube and relax the man he was touching. Little by little, his first finger slipped in without much resistance. Tony bared down against him and let the digit slip all the way in until the webbing of Peter’s finger stopped him.

Now that the warm heat was wrapped around him, Peter wanted to take his time, letting Tony get used to the feeling while he explored and reached. Tony’s entire body jolted forward when Peter finally found that delicate nub.

“Shit – do that again!” Tony shouted; his voice laced with a breathy moan.

Unable to do anything but give into what they both wanted, Peter continued his ministrations, teasing Tony with one, two, and then three fingers. He scissored and pressed against the edge of Tony’s rim, loosening the muscle as he went. When he pressed inside, Peter caressed Tony’s insides, just barely pressing against his prostate until Tony was humping back with exaggerated impatience.

“I’m good, Pete. I’m good. Please, I want you,” Tony pleaded as he reached back and felt around for whatever lenght of Peter’s skin he could reach.

Completely hard once again, Peter was more than ready to feel Tony wrapped around him – after an easy orgasm already, Peter knew he’d be able to make their coupling worth it. Opening the tube of lube again, Peter drizzled more of it directly onto the length of his cock, and then a bit more around Tony’s rim. He stroked himself a couple of times, then shifted until the head of his cock could drag through the lube coating Tony’s skin.

He teased them both for a moment, tracing Tony’s rim with the wet head of his cock to ramp up that initial moment of anticipation. Peter kept up his antics until his own body couldn’t take it any longer – every part of him craved the warm embrace of Tony’s hole. With that thought in mind, Peter used one of his hands to grip Tony’s hip, using his hold to pull the other man back against him as he thrust forward. Breaching the muscle felt like coming home – he threw his head back with a rough groan; maybe he wouldn’t last as long as he initially thought.

“Tony, Tony, Tony – you feel fucking amazing,” Peter panted through clenched teeth, his body fighting hard against the need to thrust forward and take, take, take.

Tony reached back to grab at Peter’s hand on his hip to tangle their fingers together, instead. They shared a few breaths while Tony got used to the stretch of Peter within him, the mere connection between them radiating a different sort of heat while they waited.

Finally, Peter felt Tony relax around him enough for his hips to draw back and press forward without much effort. He kept his thrusts slow to start; his cock was throbbing from the realization that it was Tony below him – picking up the pace was a sure-fire way to end things a lot quicker than either of them wanted. When Tony started to thrust back against him, however, Peter lost more and more of his control. His hips snapped forward, their skin slapping together to make a loud sound that echoed around the room. With every thrust in, Tony moved with him – the tip of Peter’s cock was poised to press perfectly against Tony’s prostate every time.

Between the sounds dripping from Tony’s mouth and the delightful squeeze around his length, Peter was a few thrusts away from slipping over the edge once more. He tried to shift so he could wrap his fingers around Tony’s cock to get him there too, but he was met with a long stare over Tony’s shoulder – dark hazel eyes were on fire, pushing him to thrust harder and forget everything else. Tony’s body was taut, obviously strung out and seconds away from breaking apart. Finally understanding, Peter straightened out his chest, gripped Tony’s hips in both hands, and let himself go.

In the end, it was hard to decide who tumbled over the edge first. Tony shouted Peter’s name and tightened impossibly tight around him. The extra stimulus was the perfect thing to bring the heat in Peter’s belly to an overflowing boiling point. He tucked his head into the sweaty length of Tony’s neck and groaned, Tony’s name and fuck and unintelligible noises added to the symphony their joining created around the room.

Managing to just barely turn Tony as his body collapsed, Peter hit the mattress hard – his cock slipped out of the blissful heat, dragging a long groan from the depth of Peter’s chest. Being inside of Tony already felt like home; both his body and his heart were convinced. Wrapping his arm around Tony’s hip to compensate, Peter snuggled into the man’s sweaty back, keeping their bodies close.

“I – Tony. That was…” Peter started to mutter, his brain still not back online like the rest of him. Tony looked over his shoulder, affection and appreciation alive in the hazel of his eyes. They shared a heated stare as Tony pulled Peter’s hand more firmly across his chest – they didn’t need words in that moment, merely touching and existing in the same orbit was more than enough.

----

After that first passionate night, Peter spent almost all of his free time with Tony. With the shop being so close to campus, it was easy to lean on Tony’s close proximity and the joyful happiness Peter felt whenever they were together. The natural way their lives just sort of combined with each other proved how right they were for each other. Where others were wrapped up in the time Peter spent away from them, Tony enjoyed the fact that they led separate lives. Peter got to keep cheerleading and Tony at the same time without the two battling against each other. He didn’t know it before Tony came into his life, but that level of acceptance was everything Peter needed from another person to both excel and feel happiness.

Before Peter knew it, four months were behind them – though it hadn’t been that long, most of Peter’s things took up space in Tony’s apartment and every thought Peter had revolved around the life he was trying to create with the older man. He even took the time to learn more about Tony’s body of work – they spent many of their afternoons together in the backyard with Tony working the greenhouse while Peter practiced tumbling or simply watched his boyfriend in his element. Peter couldn’t recall another person making him feel so dumbfounded playing in the dirt the way Tony did – it wouldn’t matter what the man did, either; Peter would find something to be amazed about.

It was Tony that drew him in; his personality, thoughts, and the eager way he gave back to Peter spoke to a part of himself that he never knew existed.

Which was how he found himself nervously awaiting Tony’s arrival at the Purdue football stadium – aside from MJ and Darcy, Tony’s appearance at the football game would be the first time any of his friends met the older man. The fall, much like Peter, was a busy time of the year for Tony. Between weddings, showers, and parties, Tony’s weekends were filled to the brim. The homecoming game was the first game that the home schedule actually lined up with Tony’s off day. He couldn’t wait for Tony to watch him do the thing he loved in the uniform he felt proud to wear. Selfishly, he wanted to see that same sort of pride radiating from the person he’d fallen in love with.

The forty minutes they were trapped in the locker room before the game started felt like torture – his phone vibrated against his thigh a couple of minutes after they headed in from warm-ups. Tony was navigating the stadium’s security to get to the sideline spot Peter secured for him. When they walked back onto the field, Tony would be there eagerly waiting for him.

Finally, the performance lights flickered, and they were ushered to their usual entrance. The large black and gold flag he carried in his hands was lighter than usual – his excitement pumped through him, the dopamine of happiness causing a rush of energy. As the announcer pumped up the crowd, Peter caught the eyes of his teammates around him, sharing the hype he felt.

Running across the thick white lines never felt better – by the time he crossed center field, Peter caught sight of Tony in the corner. His boyfriend was clapping loudly, the honey-hazel of his eyes glued to Peter’s every move. The familiar feeling that Tony’s love created in him spread through Peter’s chest, showing itself off as a giant, beaming smile.

They didn’t get much of a chance to talk throughout the first half of the game – Peter’s stunt group was responsible for the spirit stuff for the first and second quarter. Instead, Peter sent Tony messages with his eyes, showing off his skills and tumbling talents whenever he could. It was almost better that way – Tony got to experience Peter in his element without any pressure to respond. The crowd going wild around them only added to the experience. For once, Peter got to put on the show.

When Peter got to wander off after the half-time performance, he was wrapped up in a bear-hug the second Tony could get his arms around him. Peter was covered in sweat and glitter and the annoying little turf beads that always stuck to his skin, but Tony didn’t seem to care. The older man picked him up, spinning him around excitedly. “Pete, you’re so talented. I about shit my pants when you back flipped for so long down the field, but damn – the skill you possess,” Tony gushed, tucking his face into Peter’s neck to calm himself down.

Not wanting to lose the upbeat energy, Peter cupped Tony’s cheeks in both of his hands. Tony leaned into the touch, tilting his head back to look at him. “I’m so happy you’re here,” Peter started, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss. “I’ve been on point all day because of you. I can feel you watching me – I want to be good for you.” The last words were whispered in his ear, the impact of them hitting Peter hard across his lower back as Tony wrapped him up and pulled him close.

“You’re the only thing I see,” Tony mumbled back, his tone all the sudden low and gravelly.

After leaning in to give Tony a heated kiss, Peter forced himself to pull back – he stepped out of Tony’s embrace completely. If he stayed there any longer, he wouldn’t make it back to the locker room at all. Smirking in Tony’s direction, Peter thrust his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got to go, or I’ll never leave. See you after?”

“I’ll meet you out front,” Tony said with a nod, his anxious hands reaching out to squeeze Peter’s hand once more. “Keep kicking ass, Pete.”

His role during the third and fourth quarter was a lot more passive than the first half of the game. Since the Boilers were up more than two touchdowns, a lot of the crowd left after the first few minutes of the third quarter – that meant the younger stunters and less experienced tumblers got to have some time on the field. To stop himself from straying over towards Tony, Peter put all of his effort into helping his littles. It didn’t work nearly as well as he figured it might, but he got through the rest of the game with minimal distraction.

Hayley’s speech was inspirational and moving like usual – they were done with football home games for the season and their success was obvious and highlighted in her moving words. The next couple of months of the season were the calm before the storm and they were all looking forward to the small break basketball games posed for them. Competition season started after the holidays and no rest would be spared. Though he always appreciated her words, Peter wished for them to quickly come to an end.

Before he even finished the thought, Hayley was circling them up, calling out the cheer that they all echoed back. As he shifted to move out of the circle, a firm grip stopped him. “I believe this is for you,” Hayley said, handing over a classic red rose.

“Hayley, who’s this from?” Peter asked, trying his best to tamper down the hope that maybe Tony was the stupidly romantic culprit.

With a knowing smile, Hayley shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, “He said you’d know.”

Pulling the rose to his chest, Peter ducked his nose to sniff at the crisp petals. It was de-thorned and freshly cut – Tony’s markers were all over the beautiful gesture. His cheeks were already sore from all the beaming he’d been doing all night, the face splitting smile only made it worse. Despite that, Peter wore it throughout his post-game routine and out the door where he ran directly into MJ.

“MJ! What are you doing here?” Peter threw his arms around her then, careful not to crush the flower still in his hand.

Thin arms returned the hug – MJ brought him tightly to her chest with a hard squeeze. It’d been a few weeks since they’d seen each other. Seeing her standing there, Peter realized it’d been too long.

“I couldn’t miss homecoming. I am an alumna after all,” MJ replied, her wide eyes never leaving him. Watching her closely, Peter felt a gasp leave his lips when she brought another classic red rose up, running the flower under her nose. “This needed delivering, too.”

Peter gripped the rose lightly, tucking it against the other one in his hand. Each of the petals were perfect and from the small lessons he got from Tony whenever they handled the clipped flowers, Peter knew what the giving of classic red roses meant. It only seemed right that Tony clued him in that way.

“Don’t fuck this up, Peter. I really like him, too,” MJ remarked as she moved in to press a soft kiss on his cheek. He kept her close for a moment, simply soaking in her presence. “He’s waiting for you out front. Go get your man, Pete.”

A soft laugh left his lips, MJ said that to him when she first learned about his date with Tony. It wasn’t lost on him how full circle everything felt. The rightness of being with Tony existed in every aspect of his life – each little sign made the delirious heat in his chest burn that much brighter.

Giving MJ one more squeeze, Peter broke away to quickly make his way towards the front of the stadium where Tony was waiting for him. He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve such a sweet display of affection – Tony knew Peter appreciated the simple day to day life they were slowly creating with each other. At the same time, Peter’s heart was hammering in his chest at the thought that Tony deemed him worthy of such a gesture.

Peter found Tony leaning up against one of the large pillars just outside the exit doors. In the darkness, the honey color of his eye shone like melted pools of gold. Narrowing the distance between them became the only thing on Peter’s mind, he picked up his pace and practically threw himself in Tony’s arms.

The sigh along the length his neck made Peter tuck in a little tighter against Tony, his heart pounding with affection. He pulled back before the roses in his hand could get squished in the intensity of their embrace. Peter brought the flowers to his nose, keeping Tony’s eye as he did. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Peter sing-songed, grinning at the flush that spread over Tony’s cheeks with every word.

Tony nodded at him, tilting his head with a mischievous look of his own. “It looks like you’re missing one, though,” Tony remarked. The long stem in his hand was darker than the others, symbolizing love yet to be realized. Their fingers brushed as Peter took it, his brow quirked in intrigue.

“I love you, Pete. I’ve known since you walked through the door of my shop that you were special. Every second with you has made my life just a little bit better. I know it hasn’t been that long, but I’m mad about you. Over the fucking moon.” Tony walked into his space then, his hands cupping Peter’s cheeks.

Surging forward, Peter caught Tony’s lips in a passionate kiss, their noses bumping in the process. They sipped from each other’s mouths until the need to breath became pressing. Instead of pulling away, Peter leaned his forehead against Tony’s, closing his eyes to revel in the contentment that wrapped around them both. After a couple of shared breaths, Peter blinked to catch Tony’s eye. “I love you too, Tony,” Peter whispered back.

With a wide grin, Tony leaned in again, mumbling “I know” against Peter’s lips.

#starker #Peter Parker/Tony Stark #sfsummerbingo21 #bobbie writes #it takes me all the way #starker fic

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umbralstars · 3 years

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Basically an "All you need to know" about how I personally write Byleth/All of my Byleth headcanons. This is probably not everything but it's still long enough I have to put it under the cut.

* His birthday is 26 day of Blue Sea Star Moon 1159

- I know that 20 of Horsebow is probably the canon date but I've always used this one since my first playthrough and keep it cause I find it funny

* Byleth has all kinds of memory issues

* Demi-panromantic & demisexual

*Trans masc (He/Him & They/Them)

- He remembers and has dreams of things that are from when Sothis was alive

- He sometimes has trouble recalling facts about the world he lives in (such as who is currently ruling, his teaching plans or things that he has taught before, sometimes can't recall where he is). He keeps a journal of important things that he saw, learned, needs to know etc

+ Caused by being misaligned with Sothis' soul and her consciousness trying to overtake his own

+ He doesn't lose memories outright and can recall things if given the right direction. Once a memory is solidified as more long term it's much harder for him to forget it

- Sothis' memories can cause bad flashbacks that can take him minutes to get out of

+ Jeralt and the other mercenaries look out for him when episodes happen. They often have him talk about them afterwards if he wants too (ie like Jeralt and Byleth's conversation at the beginning of the game after the dream about Seiros/meeting with Sothis)

+ He can't speak during them and gets very spacey

- Fighting and strategy is instinctual for him so memory issues in those areas are non-existent

- When his soul fuses with Sothis' his memory problems mostly cease. All the memories about his own life are permanently solidified and he can somewhat tell the difference between his memories and Sothis'. He still can be paralyzed by her memories but has a much easier time getting out of dazes

* Has a love for learning about the history and culture of Fodlan and everywhere else

- When he was little Jeralt would often tell him stories and folktales about Fodlan while they were riding across the country side. The pre-month cutscenes during White Clouds are Byleth recalling those stories

- Loves learning about the places outside of Fodlan just as much as learning about Fodlan itself

- His favorite books are about history or folklore

* At a crossroad between trusting people implicitly and keeping others at arm's length

- His life as a mercenary certainly wasn't easy, even though he doesn't resent it, so he tends towards giving others the benefit of the doubt even when he may doubt their intentions. Cautiously trusting if you will. Some people may view him as naive because he's willing to trust off the bat and he's fine with that.

- Does fall in line with mercs not really trusting nobles but he points that more towards the parents currently in power and not the kids he knows

- Goddess help you if you break his trust. Once you break his trust it's very hard to actually get it back unless you give him cause for why it was broken in the first place

* Very protective of the people he cares about

- Death or injury of people he care for has always been his biggest fear. His family has always tried to tell him it's just a fact of life, their life especially, but he would rather fight tooth and nail to keep someone alive then to just let them die

* Really good with children actually

* Takes his job as a teacher very seriously. He knows how rough Fodlan and fighting can be, so wants to impart good lessons in the hopes of making his students' lives easier. He knows that some of them have already seen horrors or have been on battlefields, so he treats each person accordingly

* Has a really bad resting bitch face so people think he's really intense/scary when first meeting him

- He has complicated feelings towards being perceived as "intense" or "terrifying" since on one hand it's very useful when he needs to be perceived that way, but on the other hand he feels like that first impression makes it hard to connect with people afterward

- He doesn't ever go out of his way to make people perceive him differently mostly because it would be a hassle and he's thinks people who really know him would understand he's not like that

* Byleth is actually very introverted and somewhat has social anxiety

- He spent almost his entire life around the same people moving from place to place so introversion aside he's not the most experienced about talking to new people

- He never stops people when they want to talk and doesn't really hate talking to people it's just that he doesn't go out of his way to do it unless he likes talking to someone or it's important

* Jeralt's mercenary company is his family and the people he's closest to until Garreg Mach. The Mercenaries are an elite group of about 13 people of various backgrounds

- All of them are basically his aunts and uncles cause they practically raised him alongside Jeralt. He does call a lot of them Aunt and Uncle as well

- One or two are also like siblings to him cause they joined with their parent or when they were younger (like 15)

- They were the only people able to get close to Byleth or get him to talk for the first week or so after Jeralt's death

- I need to expand on them more cause they're very important to me and him

* Byleth has trouble outwardly expressing emotions and understanding his own. He actually feels very deeply but just has trouble really expressing it. Very monotone and straight to the point when he speaks and only slight shifts in tone tells how he's really feeling. Actually has hyper empathy

- Grew up like this despite Jeralt and the Mercenaries' best efforts. Jeralt was always best as reading him because he acted so much like Sitri

- Caused once again by a misalignment with Sothis' soul

- After his awakening, Byleth has a better ability to express himself, and even took on some of Sothis' characteristics, but he still has trouble explaining or talking about what he's feeling

* Generally very calming to be around for most people. Won't ever force anyone to talk but will talk if you start conversation

* Has done some very questionable work as a mercenary

- He has taken on a few assassinations in the past despite Jeralt's insistence he never get his hands dirty like that. The Remire Medicine Incident is one not spoken of much within the company

- He's dealt with brigands, putting down rebellions, guarding caravans, guarding nobles, helping train the standing armies, etc everything under the sun. Will practically do anything if the pay is right

- He does have standards and expects a full rundown of the job beforehand like his father and the rest of the company though

* Loves cats and dogs

* Actually pretty religious and devout by the time of his awakening

- He wasn't completely raised without knowledge of the Church as some of the mercenaries are religious, but he was agnostic for a good portion of his life

- As he lived at Garreg Mach and learned more about the Church's teachings he grew to appreciate it more and more

- Rhea taught him a lot during his many conversations with her

- As Archbishop he does his best to learn every aspect of the Church and exemplify them best he can. Really emphasizes giving aid to those in need, leans heavily into the "Goddess" aspect of his soul, reforms many aspects whilst keeping the core of the faith

- Personally speaks to Sothis on more of an equal and friend level then true God and devotee

- Does become known as the Holy Saint and Avatar of the Goddess within the Church years after he steps down as Archbishop. Doesn't really know how to feel about it but can't say his inclusion is wrong

* Byleth doesn't have the highest opinion of Edelgard

- As I write AM/VW Byleth he was never close to Edelgard at all during his time at Garreg Mach

- He really only sees her as the person who started the whole continental war (which he despises as he very much dislikes war in its entirety) and the person he believes to at least be complicit in his father's death (do not debate with me how much Edelgard knew Kronya's plan. This is entirely how Byleth views what happened)

- He never wished for her death, but does view her as someone very misguided and only wishes she never went as far as she did

* Very terrified of sleep after waking up post-Time Skip

- Fears falling asleep and loose more parts of his life an leaving everyone behind again

- Prefers to have someone close by who can wake him or being woken up in the morning

- Got into the unhealthy habit of just working himself into exhaustion and having a very irregular sleep schedule until his friends had an intervention to talk about what was going on

#fe3h #fire emblem #byleth eisner #m!byleth #fe3h headcanons #there's probably more things I forgot about #may add to this if I remember them #angst #cause some of these tend toward it

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painted-crow · 3 years

Note

What does a rapid fire Bird Secondary look like ?

Me!

I've talked about this a bit before, but I don’t like detailed plans, like step by step "here's what I'm gonna do." There are circumstances when I'll plan, but rather limited ones:

For fun. Maybe I'm interested in something but can't do the actual activity, so I plan it out instead. This plan might serve as a reference later, but I'm just as likely to discard it because I don't feel like using it or I have a better idea.

As a crutch. If I'm really inertia-struck with anxiety or executive dysfunction, making a plan or even just a list can be a hack to get out of it, but again, I'm likely to abandon it halfway through if I start feeling better.

"Formal" experimentation. I don't do this a whole lot, and usually I do this kind of thing in my head... but sometimes you gotta actually think the details through and write them down in advance.

But it's not how I like to work. To me, plans feel brittle and restrictive and usually boring. I lean towards other tactics:

Clever repurposing of something I learned/collected, or of resources that happen to be around me

Use of a tool I picked up thinking "this'll be handy at some point"

Bringing up weird knowledge I acquired At Some Point, possibly by accident, for fun, or while working on something else

Bringing up general skills I learned on purpose

Learning skills on the fly because the situation needs them; I prefer to know what I'm doing better than this, but reasonably speedy autodidacticism is one of my most prized skills and it's not a bad fallback.

(El Goonish Shive)

"Moooom! Paint is identifying with a mad scientist character again!"

Basically, I pull from my collection of existing skills, tools, knowledge, and current available resources to craft a solution on the fly, after getting close enough to the situation to get a good look at the problem.

This makes me feel very clever, it works really well, and I love doing it. Favorite way to do stuff, hands down.

Trouble can be, if people don't recognize how much prep work goes into these "instant" solutions, they're inclined not to believe they're real and will actually work. And I don't like pulling the "actually I studied this for six months" card because it feels like bragging :/ plus, for all the different things I can say that about, it stops sounding believable.

Truth is, I have almost no attention span for television (I'm aware this is weird but don't have an explanation for it), I hyperfocus easily, and I choose hobbies with lots of moving parts.

Like aquascaping. Do you know how many different bottles of chemicals you need to get the water chemistry right so the aquatic plants will grow? For me it was five, but a lot of people I knew online had waaay more (and fancy CO2 systems) because they kept demanding plants. If you kept the right balance of fish and plants, you ended up with this little ecosystem in a box. Like a tiny slice of a river! I was pretty good at it.

I still don't know how I got from "let's try making California rolls" to "afraid to run out of good mirin," but somehow I ended up really into cooking Japanese food and it's a permanent influence on my pantry and basically anything I cook now.

I do know how I ended up with so many oil painting mediums and solvents and so many paint colors that I have to have a list on my phone now to keep track of which ones I have in stock, though. Also did you know that acrylic paints also have mediums you can add and they make using acrylics SO MUCH EASIER? because I do and it seems like nobody else does and that's sad.

I also binge read nonfiction, especially when I'm depressed. It gives me something to focus on and feels vaguely productive even when I don't have the energy to do more.

Does this all sound like a lot of work? It's really just some of the stuff I do for kicks. We haven't touched on the novels I've written, the coding languages I know, the gardens I've kept, the professional design software on my computer (which I built myself from parts), the knitting and the baking and the graphic design and the candle making and the martial arts and the French language stuff from back in high school that I still kinda remember.

OH and then you have the weird stuff I carry around. *empties purse* here we have a multitool, lockpicks, a can of WD-40, some yarn or string, bandaids, a styptic pen, hand sanitizer, hairbands, screws I don't want to lose bc they belong to my couch, glasses cleaning wipes, a metal pen with a point that can break a car window, a bunch of fast food napkins, mini bottles of ibuprofen and acetaminophen, earbuds, comb, random lanyard, and four mini rubber ducks; all of these make sense to me don't ask why my purse is heavy

Plus all the ebooks loaded onto my phone, which I carry everywhere! And I have even more in my Humble Bundle library.

I list all these off to make a point: Birds' resource libraries can be HUGE. I don't know where mine exists on the hugeness spectrum, but I'm only 23, and older Birds' libraries are probably even bigger.

So yeah, as odd and niche as my interests can be, I have a LOT of them, and I can just go into situations without a plan because between all the skills I've learned and the books I've read and reread and the resources I carry everywhere and the hoard of supplies at home and the Bird masks and the Badger mirroring and THEN the ability to learn what I need on the fly if all else fails--

I don't need a plan.

I don't want a plan.

I'm more powerful without it.

I can react and pull from anything I've ever done or used or read. I can build things on the fly. Doesn't matter if I need to help cater an event or build a website or just prop open a heavy door--I'll have something relevant, or I'll figure it out.

There are situations where I won't be as capable, of course. For example, I know very little about cars, or writing music, or roller skating, or amino acid protein chains. But that's okay, because there are other people who specialize in those things, and I'll almost certainly come out of the situation having learned something and added to my library.

(Except the roller skating thing. I'm kind of phobic about skating of any kind. Cool when other people do it, but I get *eurgh* sliding in socks on linoleum.)

How do I end this... oh!

The fancy word for the act of making up a solution to a problem on the spot, using whatever materials and resources you have on hand, is bricolage, and one who practices it is a bricoleur. I learned that from a LiveJournal blog about writing that I used to read when I was 12, and I still remember it for some reason, which is very on brand of me.

#sortinghatchats #ravenclaw secondary #rapid fire ravenclaw secondary #paint speaks #asks #q

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taurusart07 · 3 years

Text

The Savior of Fire

Hi guys, this is my first time posting a fic I did for the @grishaversebigbang. I had so much fun making this adventure with mu OCs and I was really happy of working with talented artists who showed the same passion for my characters as I did.

Summary: After many reports of Grisha caravans with newly foundling (children) recruits are being raided by mercenaries or even undercover Druskelle. Grisha soldier Dimitri Alexand rov (OC), gets assigned with the mission of finding these missing children and the ones responsible for their kidnapping.

Materialki: @awtetsuya27 (https://awtetsuya27.tumblr.com/post/661317187569614848/story-the-savior-of-fire-by-taurusart07-link)

@yourpancakefulness (https://yourpancakefulness.tumblr.com/post/661319128844500992/dimitri-wanted-to-leave-something-to-commemorate)

Soon to be on AO3.

For now here’s a link to the finished docs if you want to read now.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NQDnS1Ul9Y-p6RdNKpEk7G6MMsLMv1p_LBEPwpVPtlM/edit?usp=sharing

Chapter 1:

Even at his worst, being around fire was always a comfort for Dimitri. Knowing he could take control of the situation surrounded by his element calmed his nerves. And even before he discovered he was a Grisha Inferni, he found comfort looking at the flame of a candle or getting lost in the dancing blazes of a fireplace.

When the Grisha examiners arrived at his small farm near Ryevost to find out about his nature, Dimitri was both excited and sad about going to live at the Little palace. For once he was ready to embrace his abilities and serve his country. But also, he felt bad for leaving his mother alone. After the loss of his father she was all he had left. However the Grisha assured him she would be safe if he left. He knew the risks, many enemy spies roamed the lands and could be on the hunt for Grisha at any time.

Time passed, and the Ravkan Civil war had ended with The Drakling’s death. Afterwards the second army was reformed and the Etherealki order was now led by General Soya Nasyalensy. Now there was more activity of Grisha helping through the war, getting along with the Otkazat’sya and the first army made the war effort much easier. But the enemy kept resisting. More missions began to be assigned to small grisha groups, and no one was more enthusiastic about it than Dimitri.

“Why are you so eager to leave the Little Palace to the front lines?” Asked a young Grisha Squaller.

“Because,” Began Dimitri shoving his messy dark curly hair aside. “It’s been too long since I’ve been here. I want to see some action. Something I can prove myself” The squaller looked at him doubtfully, but of course, no one really understood Dimitri.

He walked down the halls of the Little palace, towards the training grounds, where his instructor was waiting for him. For the greater part of his last year, Dimitri hadn’t really done full extense sessions of training, since his incident in the mountains of Petrazoi near Ryevost. On a recon mission. Dimitri had fallen deep into a cave where he was sure there was no way he was gonna get out of there alive, for he heard a fierce snarl come from the darkness of the cave. A wolf happened to land there as well, and at that moment that quiet cave became a battlefield for survival. Dimitri spent quite some time fighting off the wolf. his fire was not strong since his strength was quickly taken away by the constant struggle of keeping the predator’s fangs away from him.

After intense hours fighting off the animal, Dimitri came out triumphant, seriously injured but he had managed to kill the Wolf. And once he did, he found out that this animal was an amplifier. Not like the sacred amplifiers Morozova created, but a natural one. At first, Dimitri wasn’t sure if he should take on its bones to merge with them, but when he wanted to check on it. He had a vision, It was almost as other Grisha with amplifiers described them. Right in front of the dead wolf, Dimitri saw a luminescent copy of the animal, bowing to him, out of respect.

Hours after that, the rescue team arrived, and Dimitri’s injuries had to be taken care of at the little palace, so he requested them to take the dead wolf with him, and told them about its nature. The healers tended his wounds and suggested him rest since the bites of the wolf had been quite deep, some scratches in his torso and back would also take some time to heal properly.

It had been nearly a year since that day, and during that year he felt incompetent by having these bambraces made out of the bones of the wolf, and not be able to push himself once more. But all that has changed now.

“Are you ready to try this Dimitri?” Asked Oleg, an experienced Inferni trainer who began mentoring Dimitri from his first day at the little palace. Dimitri gave a silent nod and thus his teacher began an easy attack on him, something he could fend off. But to Dimitri, this felt too easy. With just a single hand gesture and his fists he managed to effortlessly push the incoming fire away from him. Another burst of flames were thrown at him, and without struggle he managed to dodge and even redirect some of the fire into Oleg. Now it was his turn to attack. His dark, almost coal colored gloves with red embroidery ready, and his mind focusing on trying to use the enhancement of his amplifier. He launched forward and threw a massive explosion of iridescent red and yellow sparks right to Oleg. His teacher managed to evade the attack with an impressive jump and still maintained a regal posture, as he dismissed the fire around him, clearing up the arena.

“It seems you haven't lost any condition. And your technique has improved” Regarded Oleg “I’m quite impressed, your amplifier has indeed enhanced the heat on your fire as well, though you still need to work on precision”

Dimitri Couldn’t expect more. Even though the healers had told him that he needed rest, and very moderate training, the truth was that inside his room there was none of it. He continued on with his training in complete silence and without anyone's knowledge of it. His fires had to be very low in size if he didn’t want to light up the entire little palace. Once again he began to send flames towards his mentor. As he kept on, the enhancement of the amplifier began to settle in with Dimitri’s will.

Oleg started to give him more demanding shots of fire, seeing that Dimitri wasn’t so rusty at all. He sent out a gigantic wave of flames, only to distract him, and get closer to engage in hand in hand combat. Dimitri managed to block some of the attacks as they began to get more and more constant, not giving him time to pack a punch at Oleg, or even stunt him or get him out of his way. His feet almost reached the edge of the arena, when he decided to pull out a trick he invented on his secret sessions. It required minimal movement, but a great deal of concentration. As he kept Blocking Oleg from taking him off the limits of the arena. “You ready to give it a rest boy?” Teased Oleg.

Dimitri began to feel the heat accumulating in his forearms and hands, however he did not feel any pain, unlike Oleg, who was rapidly disengaged once the heat hurt him enough.

“Looks like you learned some tricks on your own” Said Oleg, surprised.

“It wasn’t so hard, and as you can see it doesn’t require much mobility” Explained Dimitri, worried he would get in trouble for not following strict instructions from the Healers.

“Regardless,” Added Oleg, taking off his gloves, and shoving away the sweat on his slightly wrinkles forehead, “You should've at least told someone, in case anything happened” He dismissed Dimitri, and let him join his fellow comrades, who were impressed by the skill he showed at the arena, and was asked to show them how to do that trick.

“It’s not gonna be that useful, don’t you think?” Said one of the older Inferni. “We barely get into hand to hand fighting. Most Druskelle I’ve encountered had been reduced to ashes before getting near me” He bragged. Dimitri did not take his opinion at all, since he was always told by Oleg to always expect the worst of a situation and no to rely always on his power. Dimitri left the Training grounds on his own. He mostly didn’t hang out with many of his own, just with Pyotr, another inferni who he grew close to after they both were taken under the mentroy of Oleg. As he reached the halls of the palace. He was first planning on going to his room and getting some rest, cause even though he had not lost his edge, he definitely lost some resistance, however that would not stop him. Going past the library he saw some young durasts studying on some books, furthermore he was about to get to his room, when he got caught by an old familiar voice.

“Dimitri!'' It was his old life time friend Pyotr, he was sporting his typical blue kefta with spiky red embroidery on it. His hair was much larger than he remembered. And his light fair skin was covered with some minor scars obtained at the battlefield. He ran towards his friend and partner in crime, and embraced him with a hug. They hadn't seen each other for almost a year, since most inferni were sent to the front lines along with the Heartrenders and the first army. When Pyotr and the rest got orders to leave, Dimitri was barely tended by the healers after the encounter at the cave.

“It’s been so long my friend,” Said Dimitri “How are things on the Fjerdan front line?” He asked. They constantly received reports every other night, however the casualties were hardly named, and the letters he received from his best friend told so little.

“Well… Pretty intense as you can see'' Answered Pyotr, pointing at his scars on his face “Fortunately they’re not gonna get permanent… But yes, things are tough. The Fjerdans are getting more brutal, even with our strengths combined, both armies are barely resisting” he said.

“Then why are you here?” Asked Dimitri.

“To escort you,”His friend answered.

What? Thought Dimitri . “Where?”

“Just come with me. Trust me.” Said Pyotr, taking Dimitri back to the halls, without giving any more details on where they were going. But he had to trust his lifelong friend, just as he always did.

When Dimitri Finally arrived he was completely out of words. Right inside of a rounded dark room illuminated by bright lights, was the Triumvirate in front of him. Genya Saffin leader of the Corporalki and talented tailor, David Kostyk master fabrikator and head of the Materialki, and lastly the fierce and only Zoya Nasyalensky General of the etherealki. Among them were many more Grisha commanders and lieutenants discussing the war effort.

“Is it Him?” asked General Zoya to Pyotr. Dimitri remembered reading some letters of his friend about how sometimes they were saved by Zoya and her powerful winds and storms she summoned. However he did not expect to have direct contact with her, with any of the triumvirate. Pyotr nodded to her and so Dimitri walked forward trying to not show his excitement and fear by being in the presence of his leaders.

“Dimitri Alexandrov, at your service. Grisha inferni, former member of the seventh regiment.” His answer sounded as if he were reading it outloud in front of a class. Some Grisha in the crowd found his answer funny and some looked doubtful at him. “Former member?” Questioned Zoya.

“I had an incident a year ago,” Explained Dimitri. “Ever since that I’ve been on break. But I’m more than ready to be back in the field, I swear” It was true. The least he wanted was to be back in his room training in complete silence. He wanted to hear the roar of his fires.

“I’m not sending you to the battlefield,” She began. Her deep black hair hanging on her sides and her blue kefta shimmered with the lights. “There have been some events across the country that concern us,” What could she possibly be talking about?. Dimitri just kept his mouth silent and let her explain. “As some of the guards have informed. The caravans of examiners that went to the first near cities have not arrived and It’s been long since they left the palace in order to find new grisha among children” Informed Zoya. “Only a wounded squaller managed to arrive at the palace yesterday. He claims their caravan had been raided by unknown enemies, who took the children captive, and killed our Grisha brothers and sisters.”

Thoughts of his past began to run through Dimitri’s head, Of how they prick his arm to reveal his inferni powers, of his arrival at the little palace, and his first training lessons with Oleg, along with Pyotr. If what Zoya said was true, then children just like he once was, were not only taken away from their families but from their future, as a soldier, and as a Grisha. People like Dimitri were still not seen with the best intentions around the world. The Fjerdans burned Grisha at the stake, while the Shu dedicated extensive experiments on them. Ketterdam wasn’t a good place either, for they were mostly sold out as indentures for the wealthiest merchants. But children offered something more to those countries. The Shu might try to dissect their living bodies to further investigations, and the Fjerdans might even want to try out the dangerous drug, Jurda Perm on them, as for the ketterdam businesses, those children without the dominion of their powers, may just as well be slaves or even delight se the carnal desires of sick old men around that treacherous city.

“As for what our records show, the examiner parties we’ve sent out have been to the south, from Sikursk, Caryeva, Keramzim, Kribirsk, and the west to Os Kervo, and their near villages and farms” Said Zoya, showing everything she explained on a three dimensional map, of all ravka and the north and south borders. It was still not big enough to fill the entire table, as the pieces had connections like a puzzle that Dimitri guessed were pieces of the other countries.

“Just yesterday we sent out a crew towards Ryevost, and another to Balakirev” Said Genya, her soft voice filled the entire room, and it was quite hard for Dimitri to not look at her eyepatch, a symbol of what happened to her at the civil war.

“Which means they should be arriving there by now, and the parties heading north still have to report on arrival” she continued. “We need to find out who are these captors, if they’re druskelle or mercenaries after a high price on Grisha children”

“Will you do that, Dimitri?” Asked Zoya out of nowhere. Dimitri has always expected an assignment, he just didn’t expect it to be of such importance.

“You want me to look for these children?” He asked, the question was pretty dumb of his part, but his mind still hung over the task he had ahead”

“I’ve heard that you kept asking for open assignments the whole year, even with your condition in mind” Said Zoya. “Also a fellow comrade of yours spoke fondly of your determination, and aptitude for this job” She glanced subtly at Pyotr. “You must assemble a team with Grisha in which you can put your whole trust on this job, You are expected to leave tomorrow at dawn” She said finally, heading towards distance, to hand him an archive with the details of his first mission after a very long time.

“I will not let you down, General” Said Dimitri, “I'll find those kids and bring them home” He said as he was Dismissed by Zoya. He began wondering how he could carry such a test on himself, he wondered who he would contact to join him. As he left the room, walking through the halls, Pyotr intercepted him, congratulating him for receiving such an important job. “It won’t be easy” said Pyotr, “You'll definitely need one or two Heartrenders, and possibly another etherealki”

“I know just one who can come with me,'' said Dimitri, looking at his friend while they kept walking.

“Who?” wondered Pyotr naively.

“You, idiot,” Replied Dimitri, laughing. Of course he would need his best friend in this, He always reminded Dimitri of what he was capable of and more. “You really thought I would do this without you?”

They kept planning who else to bring, Dimitri didn’t want a whole group as that might draw attention when they needed it less. He definitely agreed with Pyotr, they would need at least a heartrender, And dimitri knew who was fit for this Job.

“You’re insane” Said Pyotr, “Raol Ralevsky is the most hated Grisha among his class”

“And that attitude of his and his incredible skill is what we need” Explained Dimitri. He was his first immediate choice. Besides, Dimitri knew he wasn’t that awful, as Raol once helped Dimitri to control his amplifier, for he also had one within his neck, a massive claw of a Tiger he once hunted.

“I heard he once took about six Druskelle on his own, completely destroyed their bodies, that man shows no mercy”

“Once again proving my point, we don’t know if these captors are Fjerdans or not, or how many are there when they attack the caravans. Just trust me on this, we need to get Raol, I need you to let him know, just tell him Dimitri is asking him for this”

“You're gonna tell me that now you’re friends with him?” Asked Pyotr, appalled “More of an ally at the palace” Replied Dimitri, as he left his friend to be alone in his room.

Inside of the grand place he had for his own, he took off his blue kefta, and hung it on a chair near his wardrobe. The room curtains were completely blocking the last hours of light the sun had left. He took off an ointment from the drawer at his bed. with the small red bottle in hand Dimitri walked to the next room at his dorm, where he mostly trained and where a silver bathtub was waiting for him with warm water. He placed the bottle on a small table near a full body mirror. The ointment was a tonic given to him by the healers to help the deepest wounds heal up, but it didn’t seem to do any effect. However he continued on hoping it would work one day.

He took off his white shirt that was covered by the kefta. revealing his scarred light brown skin, reminiscent of his mother who came from Novyi Zem. His leaned but chiseled torso still hadn’t lost the massive scar that crossed from all over his chest to his belly. Dimitri poured some of the ointment on his right hand and slowly began to rub it across the scar. He then turned around and using the mirror he began to apply more of it across the few scars left on his back. After a couple minutes, the ointment dried off and Dimitri striped of the rest of his clothes to enter the bathtub, and for once, in the heat of the water, the smallest pain that was attached to him the whole day vanished.

He knew that he would not receive any of these glimpses of pain relief for the next days or weeks during his mission, but he preferred being outside, in the heat of the action and in the heat of a royal bath.

#gvbb21 #gvbbfic21 #the savior of fire #grishaverse oc #inferni #grishverse

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

Text

From The Doorstep || Demetri Volturi x Child!OC ||

Part 2: Anything You Can Do

Words: 3978

Warnings: There is talk of abandonment and the care system (fostering/adoption etc.) that is less than complimentary, but it has a very fluffy ending.

Summary: On a starry night in Volterra, Demetri finds an unexpected package on their doorstep, leading to a steep learning curve and some tough decisions that make for an unconventional bedtime story.

It was Demetri who had found it, squirming and making noises that were completely unintelligible as it reached for the tiny ribbon wrapped around the basket handle. He’d glanced up and down the street and across the square but few people who were still there at this time paid the wriggling pink mass any attention. The next thing he did was snatch its tenor and weave his way through its mind to find another one he could follow to return the chubby little mess to its rightful owner. There was a tenor there, but he had had to dig quite a while to find it, and usually the longer he had to search for it the weaker the bond between those people who the tenors belonged to was, their strongest bonds usually at the forefront of their minds making it easier to find the people they thought of and saw most often. Since the gurgling mass of blankets before him had only three tenors in its repertoire, he was going to hazard a guess that the weak connections between them meant none of the three those tenors belonged to actually wanted this baby on their doorstep.

With no other choice, he’d lifted the basket with ease and hauled the little human inside with a resigned sigh. In that moment, he’d been intending to have the secretary help him find the nearest person to pass the babe off to; it smelled something awful and was starting to get grouchy if the noises it was making was any indication, but neither he nor anyone else in the castle was equipped to handle a human baby so it made sense to pass it onto someone who did. It had been a very long time since most of them were human, meaning if any of them had had children they were a faded memory at best, and the knowledge of how to care for them was long gone. His nose had wrinkled against the smell as it began to scream, and he’d moved his hand into the moses basket it had been left in, intending on patting it gently in the hopes it would calm down before any of the guard came running.

He’d not expected it to reach out and wrap tiny fingers around one of his own. His eyes went a little wide as it tugged on his hand, trying to pull it closer. Demetri let it, suddenly utterly fascinated with its chubby little face as it turned red with the effort it put into screaming and bawling at him, glistening tears clinging to dark lashes as it tried to suckle his fingers. He winced a little, slightly disgusted by the wet, slippery saliva now coating them as soft gums closed around his granite skin. It moved his fingers in its mouth until they rested at an angle a little to the right, its cries quieting to sniffles and grumbling sounds. Was it hungry? Is that what this meant? It had no teeth so it wasn’t like he could feed it anything the secretary kept in her desk as snack foods. Mindlessly, he carefully set the basket on her desk and reached for the phone to call the young woman back for the night to sort his odd discovery.

He learned a lot that night to. The moment he had mentioned he had discovered a baby the secretary had come running back with a whole bag of tricks. Demetri had let her use his room, though he was loathe to lower the messy little thing into the shallow water she’d ran into his bathtub after seeing the mess it had made soiling itself, but she’d left his bathroom as spotless as she’d found it after she was done bathing what turned out to be a baby girl. The secretary had changed her nappy next, fed her a bottle of some foul-smelling thing she’d called formula, and made the little girl burp on demand. He had had no idea humans could be encouraged to burp simply by tapping on their back and had quietly resolved to try it on the next unsuspecting human he found to see if it was a trait they carried through to their adult life. Demetri had really thought they’d made the baby girl quite happy, now she was clean and fed and warm, but then she’d started screaming again and just like before she’d immediately turned to suckling his fingers when he’d offered them to her. He’d had to learn about teething then and was somewhat pleased, on some level, to know he had eased the little one’s pain.

All that screaming had attracted attention of course, and suddenly Felix was in his room, as well as Alec and Jane, the latter promptly running off to tell the Masters of their tiny, unexpected guest. The bombshell had been when Caius demanded he get rid of it immediately. He was not happy at all with the secretary’s response.

“Master…I cannot call anybody until tomorrow.”

Demetri hadn’t really been listening if he was perfectly honestly, only catching little bits and pieces of the conversation as they’d spoken about where the baby should go next. He’d been fascinated by the way she played with his fingers, the gummy smile she gave him when he chuckled at her and tickled her stomach with his free hand. Demetri had been thoroughly preoccupied with how the stubborn little thing had tried to fight falling asleep, big green eyes blinking owlishly at him before she simply couldn’t keep them open anymore, tiny lips pressed together in a sweet sort of pout as heavy little breaths escaped her nose. She had a thin tuft of brown hair on her head, and he’d curiously ran his hand over it, surprised by how soft it had been beneath his fingertips. Demetri had agreed the girl could stay with him through the night, since he had watched the secretary feed, wind and settle the child and it would potentially need to be done every few hours if she was as young as her small stature suggested.

He’d googled what he’d missed after they all left him be, Felix grinning smugly at him as if he expected him to break any moment. The more he read, the worse he felt. This sweet little thing would have to go to the police first, then be put into the system? Worse yet, people might not even adopt her! She might never find a permanent home with a family that loved her! She could instead be fostered, live in someone’s home for a little while and then be moved on to a new family. So many children were already in need of homes…would she be lost in their system? Would anyone notice her? Help her? The thought made him horribly anxious, especially when he went on to read all the horrible statistics about children in care. More likely to commit crimes, less likely to go onto higher education, more likely to die earlier in life…

Demetri had slammed his laptop lid closed, marched straight to Aro, and refused to hand her over to the human authorities. He had had to fight for her to, the entirety of the guard pretty much against the idea and thinking he was crazy. Not wanting to lose his tracker however, Aro had given him a week to prove he could step up and parent the little girl. Demetri had immediately used his Amazon Prime privileges to priority order as many parenting books with five star ratings as he could and remodelled an entire corner of his quarters into a nursery, refusing any help offered since he was determined to prove them all wrong. In the space of a week, through copious amounts of reading and hands on experience, Demetri became an expert in all things baby. It wasn’t unusual to find him walking around the gardens with the little girl in his arms, or reading to her before bed as she slammed little hands down onto the pictures in the picture books he’d brought, exposing her to all sorts of new things to keep her mind engaged and stimulated.

Astraea Volturi had received her coven necklace two years ago and been doted on ever since.

“Well done dear ones, you have served us well.” Aro smiled at each of his guard, clearly pleased with their work, and Demetri stood a little taller before his Master. It had been agonising to be away as long as he had been, even though he knew she’d been well taken care of by her family. Felix had come with him as he always did, but Alec and Jane had been left behind, a few spare members of the lower guard all that were needed to take care of the nomads having a territory squabble – he’d been thoroughly amused at having to remind nomads that they had no territory. He had expected to find her with them now, the twins coddling his sweet girl as they often did when they had the chance to play with her. Astraea was nowhere to be seen though. Not a hint of cocoa coloured hair or sparkling green irises anywhere. He almost groaned when Aro turned to talk to the lower guard that had been under his command without dismissing him to go and find her.

His words blended together, Demetri unsure if it was just his impatience or if Aro really was dragging this out with meaningless words and gushing praise. He put his gift to good use, internally reaching for her tenor when he caught it, the pitter patter of little feet he knew so well echoing faintly down the hall. He almost turned his head, but then the footsteps paused and a warm, delightful giggle hit his ears, quickly followed by a hushing. Demetri turned his head back towards Aro, seeing the glint in his eyes. Clearly his Master was in on it to, buying her time to pull off whatever little trick she had up her sleeve. His Astraea had grown into an energetic, bubbly little thing and it wasn’t the first time she’d gotten up to some mischief, mischief he mostly blamed Uncle Felix’s bad influence for.

“Quietly now, you do you want your father knowing you are sneaking up on him now, do you?” Heid’s voice was easily recognisable to his ears and Demetri couldn’t help but smile slightly. Sneaking up on him, was she? He had seen a documentary once where predators in the animal kingdom let their children sneak up on them and pretended to be scared so they could finetune their hunting instincts, perhaps he should do the same? She would hopefully one day become the same kind of predator he was, there was no harm in preparing her early was there? Besides that, he didn’t think he could stand to see the disappointment on her face if it didn’t work. The quiet creak of the door made his lips twitch upwards. She was only human after all, his sweet girl clumsy on her feet at the best of times having only just really learned to use them. It was like having an elephant come stamping across the stone towards him but he pretended to be suitably distracted by Aro’s ramblings, unsurprised the man had indulged her in this.

He heard her before he felt her.

“Rrraaaaaa!”

Dutifully, he flinched and gasped in shock, eyes widening and jaw dropping as he very carefully took a step away. She had heard him growl once before and had been trying to imitate the sound ever since in her own, adorable way, though she could never get close to the low threatening sounds he could produce. If anything, it was like watching a kitten struggle to meow, but she’d leapt forward simultaneously and began tugging at his hand to to complete her terrifying attack. Hand fluttering dramatically to his chest, Demetri slowly broke into a smile, his heart melting at the look of triumph on her chubby little face. Maybe one day she’d look back and realise just how fake his acting really was, but for today it was clear he had made her happy in this small fraction of forever they’d get to spend together.

“You scared me sweet girl!” he chuckled. She had most of her milk teeth through now but there were still a few gaps towards the back of her mouth. It was not enough to ruin the brilliance of her smile. Still giggling manically, she let him go in favour of lifting her arms up, her grabby hands telling him exactly what she wanted. It was no trouble for him to pull her up onto his hip, his lips finding her forehead automatically as his fingertips tickled over her stomach. Peals of laughter rang out, making his smile stretch wider as he tightened his grip so her squirming wouldn’t make her fall.

“No Daddy!” she cried.

“No? You dare say no to the tickle monster?” he challenged, his voice a rough growl. A halo of curls bounced about her face, one quickly turning red. Demetri stopped tickling her, hand coming around to clasp her shoulder gently. Her giggles slowly died away, two short arms wrapping around his neck and soft hair tickling his cheek as she rested her head against his shoulder.

“I missed you Daddy.” She said, snuggling closer as his heart melted. She smelt of that strawberry shampoo she liked, the kind he bought specifically because it wasn’t supposed to sting if it accidentally found it’s way into her eyes, and the fresh, clean scent that came with her bubble bath. Heidi had clearly already bathed her and she was clad in her pyjamas now, the colourful stripes encasing her body very different from the little dress he’d seen her in when he left. She’d cried that day, not understanding why he had to leave her again so soon after he’d gotten back, and he had spent as often as he could while out on this mission calling home to ensure his little Astraea didn’t feel she’d been forgotten about. He’d picked her up a few little presents to, but those could wait until tomorrow when she was well rested.

“I missed you to sweet girl, so very much.” He murmured.

“Are you reading me?” she asked, doe-eyed. Demetri smiled, glancing to his Masters and nodding briefly when he was dismissed with a quiet wave of Aro’s hand before he turned and exited the throne room. Astraea remained cuddled into his side, eyes shining.

“To me, are you reading to me, tonight.” He amended automatically as she curled her fingers into his cloak, then uncurled once more.

“Are you?” she repeated. Her speech had come along a little slowly for his tastes, but she was doing well, picking up words and phrases from them like a sponge now.

“Yes, I will be reading you your story tonight.” He confirmed, turning the corner to head up the stairs to their floor. For a while Demetri had been okay with the crib in his room, Astraea still so young she didn’t always sleep through consistently and seemed to prefer being close to him, but slowly as time marched on and she grew he knew she needed a space of her own. She very clearly wasn’t keen on the idea of leaving his room so the guard had made it an exciting affair, letting her choose everything from the toddler bed she’d sleep in to the colours they’d paint the doors in her room. With Astraea ‘in charge’ they’d quickly set to work decorating her new bedroom and she’d been very excited to see her scribbly designs (a bunch of lines on paper Demetri had pretended he understood as she babbled about them to him) come to life.

Once he’d opened her door, he set her down with a smile, watching her scamper her way towards her bed while he unhooked the cloak from his shoulders, flashing into his room just across from her to place it on the coat rack before he moved back into her room. She had already crawled her way up onto the covers, pulling them back with both hands so she could move onto the mattress beneath. Demetri bent at the waist, flicking on her nightlight by the door and turning off the main light. She reached to turn on her bedside lamp, the stars illuminating bright white as he tucked her in and settled on the edge of her bed.

“Daddy? Tell me it?” she requested, hugging her preferred cuddly toy to her chest as she looked up at him.

“Tell you what?” Demetri tilted his head, fishing for more information as he reached for her storybook. They were currently reading a series of stories Heidi had found on her travels, The Wishing Chair Collection.

“Not that one!” she whined. Demetri frowned, setting the book on the mattress.

“You do not want to read this tonight?” he questioned. She shook her head, looking down at her little lion friend.

“We want name story.” She said matter of factly. His expression softened.

“Again?” he chuckled. Astraea nodded her head, her smile dazzling as she showed off her little teeth once more.

“Please?” she dragged out the ‘ee’ sound and Demetri was quick to put a finger to his lips, silencing her so he could gather his thoughts. It was a story he had told her once, not expecting her to find it interesting, but for whatever reason she’d latched onto it.

“A long time ago, on a dark, breezy night, a knight was patrolling his Masters castle.” He started. Astraea settled into her pillows, green eyes watching him with such reverence it made his heart swell. “Whilst patrolling his route, he heard a strange sound coming from outside the castle doors, so the knight went to investigate and found the most beautiful baby in all the land.” He continued, smiling when she giggled.

“That’s me!” she cheered. Demetri leaned forward to gently tap her nose.

“This beautiful baby had the brightest green eyes, and hair so soft it was like touching angel wings. The knight could not understand why she was all alone. She lay in a basket, her only belongings being her clothes, and her blanket. She was very cold, and very sad, so the knight took her inside to help her.” he carried on as though she hadn’t interrupted, his body now resting alongside her small legs, propped up on his elbow so he could stroke her hair gently. Her eyes were already starting to droop.

“Then what?” she asked.

“Then, the knight had to call for some help. He was not really sure how to look after the beautiful baby so he needed someone to teach him. His Masters tried to tell him she would be better in a different home, that someone who already knew how to look after her could do better than he could, but he knew, from the moment he had seen her, that the beautiful baby was meant to be his. She was a gift from the Gods.” He said, voice quieter now as she blinked owlishly.

“So…kept her.” she mumbled. He nodded.

“He kept her,” he confirmed, “But then the knight realised the beautiful baby had no name. He thought of lots of different names, like Phoebe, Valeria, Carina…none of them fit. They were pretty yes but not right for the beautiful baby. He remembered the night he had found her that the stars had been so bright, almost as though they had turned on solely to guide the knight to his baby.” Her eyes were drooping now, her body turned ever so slightly towards him and sharp little inhales escaping her whenever she woke herself back up from her slumber. Sleep was quickly claiming her and she would be no match for it soon enough he knew, but to see her so desperate trying to stay awake simply to stay with him a little longer…

“Softie.” Felix’s voice reached his ears but when he glanced at the door there was nobody there. Demetri dutifully ignored him to continue his story, his hand never ceasing the rhythmic motions on her hair, relishing in the softness of the strands between his fingers.

“Before he served his Masters, the knight had served the Gods of his village. There were many Gods, all in charge of different things, but one was a star-maiden, a goddess of justice and innocence who was rumoured to have rejoined the stars when Earth became to corrupt for her to live on. He looked back at the beautiful baby. She was innocent and had fallen from the stars right into the arms of a knight who pursued justice…so he named her after the star-maiden, he named her Astraea.” He concluded, his voice as soft as a breath of air. Her eyes had fluttered closed at some point and stayed that way ever since, but Demetri couldn’t bring himself to pull away from his sweet girl just yet.

Her breathing was soft, even, her fingers occasionally tightening around her little lion friend. Demetri kissed his middle and index fingers, pressing them lightly to the cuddly toy’s forehead before he repeated the motion with Astraea. She didn’t stir at all, the innocence radiating from her little body. He wondered briefly exactly what she dreamed about, seeing the way her nose scrunched in her sleep, and he hoped he had made her life nice enough that whatever she dreamt of was pleasant.

“Who would have guessed the key to bringing the Volturi bloodhound to heel lay in the hands of a small human?” Felix’s voice was low, teasing, so quiet Astraea would definitely not stir. Demetri rolled his eyes, pushing to his feet and making sure her duvet was tucked up beneath her chin how she liked it before he turned off her bedside lamp and headed for the door. He left it ajar as he always did and found Felix leaning against the wall just outside.

“You are just as besotted with her as me.” He accused. Felix grinned at his defensive tone and for a moment they lapsed into silence, just listening to the gentle sound ofher breathing. It was calming to Demetri in a way nothing else was, knowing his child was safe in her bed.

“We were going to play some cards in the common room if you wished to join us.” Felix said finally. Demetri nodded once.

“I’ll be down after a shower.” He agreed. No more was said as they parted ways, Demetri entering his quarters and kicking off his shoes. His room was littered with photographs he had never in a thousand years dreamed he would ever have, but her radiant smile beamed out of each frame from all corners of his room. His fingertips trailed the edge of the frame sitting on his bedside table as he passed it on the way to his closet for fresh clothes. Astraea had barely been in his care for three days when this one was taken, but he recalled the moment well. After a stressful few days trying to ensure he had all he needed and knew what he had to, it was the first moment of calm after the storm. Astraea had settled in his arms after a feeding and simply…gone to sleep, finally comfortable with her surroundings and with him. His lips twitched into a smile. She was so much smaller then, even tinier than she was now, the length of his lap at most.

His sweet girl was growing up fast, but Demetri was surrounded by all their most precious memories so as they moved from one to the next, he would never forget what happened after he took her from the doorstep.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #volturi #volturi fanfic #demetri volturi #demetri volturi fanfic #oc #heidi volturi #felix volturi #aro #demetri volturi x oc #demetri is a good father change my mind

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morfinwen · 3 years

Note

1 for Angela, 2 for Christopher, 3 for Reagan, 4 for Neal, 5 for Lanzo, 6 for Ash, 9 for Connie, 10 for Aidan, 11 for Q, 14 for Nate, 15 for Amanda, 19 for Niner, 20 for Elise, 23 for Julie, 25 for Jerome, 28 for Kayla, 29 for Hannah, 31 for Knife, 33 for Elarin, 37 for Meaghan, 38 for Leah, 40 for Avery, 47 for Ian, and 50 for Lauren, please!

Read more!

1. What is Angela's reaction to a minor inconvenience? Such as getting her sweater caught on a door handle?

If it’s minor enough, she’ll barely react at all. If it’s slightly more disruptive, she’ll still only react insofar as is necessary to handle it -- that is, clean up a spill, change her shirt, restack the fallen papers, etc.

Internally, Angie is rarely as calm as she acts. She puts thought into everything she does and always has an idea of where she’s going and what she’ll do next, so even a small inconvenience can throw her plans into disarray. But she learned from a very young age to control her emotional reactions: outbursts made kind people uncomfortable and gave unkind people knowledge of how to hurt her. So she keeps a very close eye on her emotional state at all times and has a list of tried-and-true methods to calm herself down: breathing exercises, a song to hum to soothe herself, little reminders to herself, an imaginary ‘happy place’ she pictures, etc.

Not that a minor inconvenience usually requires an extensive amount of calming down, of course. But enough little things can add up.

2. For Christopher, tea, coffee, hot chocolate, or other?

In the morning, coffee. Usually straight black, or with an ungodly amount of sugar. He always regrets adding the sugar, but sometimes he needs the rush.

In the evenings, tea. Green if it’s close to bedtime, but he always gets a wide variety and is regularly trying out different versions. He has preferences, but he doesn’t feel strongly enough about it to get boxes of specific types. He’ll usually add cream and honey to tea, unless it clashes with the tea’s flavor.

On winter nights, hot chocolate with marshmallows, and whipped cream on special occasions.

3. What does Reagan's safe space look like?

Her safe space is her bedroom, which is small but not cramped, somewhat messy but in a sort of organized fashion -- there might be a few dirty clothes on the floor and a mostly stable stack of clean ones on top of the dresser, but you can see the floor and aren’t likely to trip over anything. Apart from the bed and dresser, there’s a nightstand by the bed, with a lamp and a stack of graphic novels on it from the last time she couldn’t fall asleep for half the night, and an armchair in the corner with her guitar next to it. There’s a couple windows with curtains -- light, gauzy ones to let in the light, with thicker, darker ones she can pull closed to keep out city lights at night if she feels the need.

Usually after work Reagan watches TV or uses the computer in her living area, but if she’s spent too much time around people lately, she’ll go back to her bedroom and play guitar, or lay on the bed and listen to an audiobook, or read one of her graphic novels while she listens to music through headphones.

4. What does Neal consider to be an unforgivable action? Why?

Neal has a hard time with violence or cruelty towards children. If you do anything to hurt a child, or even just yell at them, he’s not going to be comfortable in your presence for a long time, even if you sincerely apologize.

5. Does Lanzo have any nicknames or pet names or other aliases?

Nicknames: Not at present. Honestly he’s not really a nickname kind of guy, though sometimes his names have been long or odd enough that he just accepted people would use a nickname because it’s easier.

Pet names: His third wife Évelyne called him “mon chéri”. His first two wives weren’t close enough to him to have pet names for him, at least not ones he cared for, and his fourth wife wasn’t a pet names kind of woman. Amanda probably isn’t, either.

Aliases: Lanzo has so many aliases. He’s got a notebook where he’s got them all written down -- vampires have excellent memories, but after a couple hundred years, it can be a bit tricky to hunt down the exact memory you want without some kind of nudge. Most of them are variations on family names, but a couple (like Lanzo, for example) are just ones he liked the sound of.

He’s used a few of them more than once. The only one he’ll never use again is Alexander.

6. What kind of books comfort Ash? What books help him heal after a hard day?

Ash has to be in the right mood for poetry. A bad mood is usually the right mood, at least with the right kind of poem (nature ones, mostly). There’s an old, thick hardcover he keeps in his bedside table that’s got a lot of poems he really likes the cadence of, and he’ll often read them aloud to himself before going to bed, almost like meditation.

9. What is Connie's trigger point? What makes him angry, sad, or makes him go off?

Angry: Bad science practices. Violence against others, especially women and children.

Sad: Poor familial relationships. Ostracization from one’s community.

10. What kind of jokes make Aidan laugh?

Aidan’s sense of humor is not sophisticated -- he’ll laugh at just about anything: slapstick, puns, black humor, dirty jokes, etc. Nothing hurtful, though.

11. Does Q enjoy pranks or hate them? Is he likely to fall for a prank?

Q does not like pranks, but he’s learned to tolerate them -- one of the costs of being close with his cousin. He can fall for the more subtle pranks, or ones that rely on knowledge outside of his wheelhouse, but he’s certainly not an easy mark.

He has found enjoyment occasionally in pranking other people. He’s got a latent mean streak that comes out if someone angers him badly enough or over a long enough period, or if he’s been forced to spend too much time with his aunt and uncle recently. So his pranks have usually been a form of revenge, less fun and jokey and more humiliating or painful (though not debilitating or permanent).

14. Is Nate a simple person to please or difficult?

Deceptively difficult. He doesn’t have a lot of interest in expensive or complicated things, but though he may be satisfied with cheaper and simpler, he still has high, exacting standards for those things.

For example, Nate will be much happier if you order a pizza for dinner than if you offer to take him to a five-star “experimental” restaurant, but he has very particular ideas about what is and is not acceptable on a pizza, and a detailed hierarchy of delivery pizza joints. It might almost be easier to go with the fancier options -- at least in that case, his expectations will be lower.

15. What is the first thing people notice about Amanda?

Her green eyes. She’s always been proud of them, since she’s the only one in her immediate family who ahs them, and likes to wear makeup that highlights them or makes them stand out.

19. What does Niner consider to be her lowest point?

As noted here, Niner and Marrow, another werecat, split off from the group they were with when they started a romantic relationship. They were together for about two years, during which time Marrow became increasingly controlling and abusive. After Niner finally reached her breaking point and got out, she spent several weeks effectively on the run, avoiding other people and civilization in general out of pure fear. She’s never been that desperate or scared in her life, and she never wants to feel that way again.

20. Does Elise have a comfort item?

Not anymore, though as a child she had a tiger plushie that she never went to bed without. Bandit the Tiger is still in her house in a box somewhere -- she set him aside after college, hoping to give him to one of her children someday.

23. What is Julie's favorite food and who cooks it best?

Chicken alfredo. Kayla cooks it the best.

Kayla cooks most things the best, especially in the Allwinter household.

25. What are some things Jerome finds difficult to do? Or say?

Jerome doesn’t find it difficult to trust, per se, but it takes him a while to do it, especially with regards to his family’s -- particularly Hannah’s -- safety. Similarly it can take him a long time to warm up to people he thinks he shouldn’t trust or like, even if they don’t do anything that even hints they shouldn’t be trusted.

28. If Kayla was in today's world, what social media platforms would she avoid? Or be prominent on?

She wouldn’t have much of a presence on any social media platform, really. She’d have a Facebook (or something similar), mostly to keep in touch with friends and family, share photos, and to be a part of groups for moms and local organizations and the like. She’d almost never update her status, though.

29. Is Hannah an organized person? Or more laissez-faire?

Hannah isn’t the neatest person, but she does like organization, after a fashion. She color-codes her schoolwork, practices her music in a particular order, eats her meals one food item at a time, etc.

31. Knife has been invited to a masquerade ball. What mask does she wear?

A fox mask, like this one.

33. How does Elarin act around people she doesn't know? Is she shy around strangers or dismissive of them?

Elarin is very, very careful how much of herself she lets show around people she’s unfamiliar with. That includes how much she’s guarding herself. Unless they’re unusually observant, they probably won’t even notice her treating her friends differently.

She’s not naturally a suspicious person, but she was never the most trusting, either, and she’s learned to be much more guarded. Several years post-war, she loosens up. A little.

37. Meaghan has been kidnapped. Who has kidnapped her and how does she escape?

If Meaghan has been kidnapped, it’s almost a guarantee that she’s allowed it to happen somehow. Either she hopes to talk to the person kidnapping her, or it’s part of a bigger plan.

Jedi have a lot of enemies, particularly in her era, though the list of ones that would kidnap her rather than try to kill her is probably considerably shorter.

She could certainly escape on her own if she wanted to, or she might wait for her friends and allies to come for her, depending on the situation.

38. How does Leah unwind after a long day?

A hot meal, around the campfire at one of ‘her’ settlements or at her house in Diamond City with Mac and their boys, followed by a long, hot bath. Then she’ll sit up for a couple hours listening to the radio, or sharing entertaining stories with friends.

After that, it doesn’t matter if she goes straight to bed or has to stay up and keep watch for a few hours. So long as she doesn’t have to get up and shoot something, she unwinds almost as much from watching the stars as she does from a good night’s sleep.

40. Avery's friend has just been mugged. What's her reaction?

It depends on the friend. Someone tries to mug most of her friends, there’s probably not much left for her to do except laugh at the idiot -- assuming they’re even still alive, of course.

If for some reason her friend couldn’t handle the mugger themselves, then Avery will take it upon herself to hunt the mugger down. Considering that this means the mugger targeted someone who couldn’t properly defend themselves, if Avery tracks them down, the consequences will be worse than if the friend had dealt with them on their own. The consequences of hurting one of Avery’s friends are very, very serious.

47. What is Ian's reaction when someone does something nice for him?

Big grin, attempt to hug the person (unless it’s very clear they won’t appreciate it), “Aw, thanks!”

If it’s a big enough gesture, you can actually make him speechless. It’s happened once or twice.

50. How does Lauren sleep at night? Is she a heavy or light sleeper? Does she dream or have nightmares? Does she find it easy to sleep or is she more a night owl?

Lauren rarely has trouble falling or staying asleep. She’s a fairly heavy sleeper, but sufficiently loud thunder or other disruptive noise can wake her. She dreams occasionally, more often when she’s stressed or sick, and has had a couple nightmares in her life, again when she was really stressed or sick. She’s not a night owl, but she’s not a morning person, either.

Thanks for asking!

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grailfinders · 4 years

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Fate and Phantasms #74: Nursery Rhyme

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making a hero of the children, Nursery Rhyme! You might think being a book would make adventuring difficult, but it actually makes it much easier (for you, not the person carrying you). Just make sure you skip ahead if things get too scary, getting pages torn out hurts.

Check out the build breakdown below the cut, or book it here to see her character sheet!

Race and Background

You might not have noticed, but ‘living book’ isn’t a race in D&D, so this will technically be more of an Alice build (or Lewis Carrol?) than Nursery Rhyme. Don’t worry, the star of the show will pop up soon enough. We’re starting off as a Human though, giving you and Nursery Rhyme +1 to all stats. You’re also a Cloistered Scholar, thanks to literally being a book. This gives you proficiency in History and Nature.

Stats

You might be a kid, but you’re also a book, so your Intelligence should be pretty high. Also, you might be a book but you’re also a kid, so your Charisma should be next. Books aren’t known for being hard to kill, so you’ll want your Dexterity to be high to get out of the way of attacks. After that is Constitution; I know what I just said, but you’re still a servant. Your Wisdom is a bit low-”practical” knowledge isn’t your forte. Finally, dump Strength. You’re a child, book, and caster. None of those things are that strong.

Class Levels

1. If we want to make a living book, we’ll have to be pretty clever at magic, so we’re a Wizard. This gives you proficiency in Intelligence and Wisdom saves, as well as two wizard skills; you’re literally a reflection of other people’s minds, so your Insight is pretty good. You’re also literally made out of magic, so you should know your Arcana.

First level wizards learn Spells that use their Intelligence to cast and prepare. You also get Arcane Recovery, letting you recover half your wizard level, rounded up, in total spell levels on a short rest. You’re made of magic, so running out is a bad idea.

Wizards get a lot of spells, especially at first level, so forgive me for being brief here. You get Minor Illusion (get creative with it), Gust, and Frostbite (Wind and Ice magic are a little bit your thing) for your cantrips. For first level spells, Magic Missile and Mage Armor are classics at this point, Feather Fall is another way to use wind to your advantage, Disguise Self will help you transform, Sleep will help you lull kids to nap, and finally, you get Fog Cloud thanks to your connection to the London Singularity.

2. Second level wizards pick a school of magic, and the Order of Scribes will help you make a sentient spellbook, which is pretty important for this build. When you pick this subclass, you learn how to make a Wizardly Quill as a bonus action. It reduces the time needed to copy spells, and you can use your bonus action to erase anything you’ve written with it that’s within 5′ of you. You can also make an Awakened Spellbook. It’s sentient, can be used as your casting focus, allows you to replace one spell’s damage type with another if they share a spell level, and you can ignore the additional time caused by ritual casting once per long rest. You can only have one at a time, but it can be replaced over a short rest, using your wizardly quill and a blank book or attuned spellbook.

For your spells, Color Spray creates a dazzling display that can blind creatures in its area of effect. You can also cast Comprehend Languages to help translate yourself.

3. Third level wizards get second level spells. Alter Self properly changes your form instead of relying on an illusion, and Gust of Wind gives you a stronger wind attack. Not actually damaging, but stronger.

4. Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Intelligence for stronger spells. Speaking of, you learn to make Friends, and can use Invisibility to be awesome at hide and seek. You also get Enlarge/Reduce, which will make more sense in a bit.

5. Fifth level wizards get third level spells. Fire isn’t really your thing, but thanks to your awakened spellbook, that doesn’t matter and you can get Fireball anyway! Your Nameless Forest also starts to grow at this level, allowing you to Slow down enemies.

6. You can finally ascend to your second stage thanks to Manifest Mind at sixth level. As long as your Awakened Spellbook is on your person, you can use a bonus action to create a tiny glowing construct. The Mind is intangible, so you only have to worry for Alice’s health if an enemy know Dispel Magic. It has 60′ of darkvision, and you can use an action to see through it for as long as you maintain concentration. You can cast spells through it as well, a number of times per long rest equal to your proficiency modifier. It uses your bonus action to move 30′ per round, and can pass through creatures, but not objects. Also, it has to stay within 300′ of you.

You can manifest a mind this way once per long rest, or by burning spell slots.

Remember how we got Enlarge/Reduce earlier? This is why. If you want to be child sized, you’ll have to spend your concentration doing so.

You can now Summon Fey Spirit to bring the Jabberwock down on your enemies, or use a Hypnotic Pattern for a more effective Nameless Forest that stops people entirely. Also, Summon Fey Spirit is complicated, so check the character sheet for all its abilities.

7. Seventh level wizard, meet fourth level spells! Confusion is another mind melting spell, with the added benefit that it doesn’t end on taking damage. Fabricate will help you bring your wonderland a bit more to life, as long as you have raw materials on hand.

8. Use your next ASI to become an Elemental Adept, ignoring resistance to Cold damage and causing every damage die you roll that does cold damage to be at least 2. We’d grab this again for wind magic too, but bludgeoning isn’t an option.

For your spells, Hallucinatory Terrain will help you make an actual forest if you want it, and Ice Storm is a big ol’ storm of ice. Or whatever else you want it to be, right now it could be force, fire, or just pure bludgeoning damage too.

9. Another two levels has passed, so you’ve got fifth level spells! Animate Objects literally brings your wonderland to life to attack enemies, and Creation will help you make whatever you need, so long at it fits in a 5′ cube and isn’t a spell component. Now you can literally make candy out of nothing, awesome!

10. At tenth level you become a Master Scrivener, allowing you to copy a level 1 or 2 spell onto a blank sheet of paper or parchment, creating a spell scroll only you can read at the end of a long rest. It has to take an action to cast, but when you do it casts at one level higher than its base. It can be used once, and lasts until the end of your next long rest. You also only use half the cost and time to make normal spell scrolls.

For spells, Message and Dream are good ways to tell stories or other information without being overheard. You can also Control Winds, slowing down enemies, preventing flying creatures from flying, or making an updraft to prevent falling damage and add to your vertical jump.

11. You know the drill by now. Eleventh level of wizard, sixth level of spells. You can now turn your Nameless Forest into a Mental Prison, locking one creature in place if it fails an intelligence save. Making the intelligence save or being forced out of the prison also causes psychic damage, so that’s fun. We’ll also pick up an upgrade for the Jabberwock while we’re here, turning it into a fiend with Summon Fiendish Spirit. It’s similar to Fey Spirit, but there’s different abilities available, so check that out in the character sheet too.

12. Use this ASI to maximize your Intelligence to make a wonderland that even fewer people will want to leave.

You can also Detect Thoughts because you are someone’s thoughts, or you can make a Sleet Storm for hilarious pratfalls and to ruin someone’s concentration.

13. At this level, you get seventh level spells, like Mirage Arcane which lets you make even more realistic landscapes and Simulacrum to make yourself a slightly more permanent body.

14. Fourteenth level scribes are One with the Word, giving you advantage on all arcana checks while holding your storybook. When you take damage with Alice out and about, you can prevent all that damage by killing her instead and temporarily losing spells from your book with a total level equal to 3d6. If there aren’t enough spells to cover that cost, you instantly drop to 0 hp instead. Until you finish 1d6 long rests, you can’t cast them again. Also, you can only use this reaction once per long rest.

You also grab Whirlwind for your first truly damaging wind spell, and Polymorph for further shapeshifting shenanigans.

15. For your eighth level spells, grab Feeblemind to finish the effects of Nameless Forest, destroying a creature’s intelligence and charisma scores. You also get Telepathy, because frankly wizards have too many spells.

16. Use this ASI to round up your Constitution and Charisma so you can get hit a bit more and so people want to hit you a bit less. You also learn how to Modify Memory to ‘help’ people play in your Nameless Forest forever, and Stinking Cloud because that’s the closest we’ve got to demonic fog.

17. You finally have ninth level spells, giving you Wish for the truly powerful parts of your noble phantasms, and Gate to travel to other stories.

18. Eighteenth level wizards have Spell Mastery, giving you a first and second level spell you can cast for free. I’d pick Fog Cloud for a permanent London mist and Enlarge/Reduce so you can always be child-sized, but you do you- this is a guide, not a mandate.

You also get even more spells; Greater Invisibility and Fly will help you enter your spirit form for when you don’t want to deal with something.

19. Use your last ASI to improve your Dexterity so you get hit less. You also learn Cone of Cold for one last icy blast, and Counterspell to prevent anyone from ending your fun early.

20. Your capstone level of wizard gives you two Signature Spells, third level spells you can cast once per day for free. I picked Hypnotic Pattern and Summon Fey Spirit so you can keep your NPs at the ready.

For your final spells, grab Scrying to help you find new stories and Investiture of Wind for one of the few wind spells that actually does damage.

Pros:

Your Awakened Spellbook means your magical damage is very flexible. You can play to your strengths with cold damage when it’s convenient, but you can always fall back on a Forceball when up against anything that is immune. This also gives you great opportunity to flavor your spells to go the extra mile at the table, which could net you some DM points in the long run. Maybe.

You’re a solid support caster, able to spy on targets and relay information to the rest of the team with spells, slow down enemies, or control the battlefield through wind and ice.

Finally, your life is tied to your spellbook, meaning you can die a lot before it actually takes. That probably isn’t good for you, but living is always better than being dead.

Cons:

If you plan to die a lot, it’s probably going to happen, because both you and Nursery Rhyme have very low health. Yours is just barely above 100, and hers isn’t even past 30 unless you use a simulacrum. I know the construct is flavorful, but you should probably just be yourself.

Summoning and charming both use Concentration, so you’ll have to be careful with your Noble Phantasms. Also, your concentration isn’t that good to begin with, but that’s to be expected of a kid.

Also, while your spell attacks are flexible, it takes a while for you to get them. Until level 5, your only attacks are magic missile and frostbite, so be prepared to lean on the rest of the party if a fight breaks out at low levels.

Next up: Another child! A lot of children, actually...

#fgo #fate grand order #D&D 5e #Nursery Rhyme #Fate and Phantasms

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goddessdoeswitchery · 4 years

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Hellenic Polytheism 101: Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism

What follow is a transcript of all 7 episodes of my podcast Hellenic Polytheism 101, where I discussed the pillars of Hellenic Polytheism. There are more episodes to follow, but I figured it would be nice to have a place where all 7 of the episodes discussing the pillars were together. The series started on August 23rd and ended on Nov 1st, released on a bi-weekly basis at 8 am every Sunday. In total, it’s 12 pages long, so I’m placing it under a Read More because it is very, very long. In each episode, there is a list of resources, and each one is linked for you in the original post (just click the tag transcripts under this post, and it’ll take you to the transcripts for every podcast episode) to do your own follow up research. I hope that people will find this useful.

Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism: Technically, the pillars were never actually a “thing”. Unlike then 10 commandments, the pillars were never taught as a set of rules that everyone knew by the name “Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism”, or any variation thereof. What modern day practitioners of Hellenic Polytheism call “The Pillars” were essentially religious and cultural practices that were taught by family and friends via every day practices. The pillars were an essential part of the culture of Ancient Greece, taught to them the same way customs like tipping, saying “bless you” at sneezing, and the now-common practice of wearing a mask everywhere are taught to us today. In recreating Hellenic Polytheism for the modern age, the Pillars grew out of a need for a set of guidelines to help us recreate a very old religion.

KHARIS

Welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be discussing the Pillar of Hellenic Polytheism, Kharis. Kharis is the reciprocity inherent in Hellenic Polytheism, a devotional act for the Theoi with hope a return favor in kind. It is also so much more than a transactional behavior. Its not bribery, its not a quid pro quo. At the same time, it is not the Christian act of praise worship.

One of the most common actions as a Hellenic polytheist is devotional acts. Whether it be offerings, prayers, hymns, or the increasingly common Devotional Actions (like beauty routines for Aphrodite, studying for Athena, singing for Apollo, housecleaning for Hestia, etc); we worship by engaging in acts of devotion. Oftentimes, that act of devotion is also accompanied by a request. This act of devotion is not a bribe. This is an offering, and a plea. The deity in question can respond or not, it won’t change the fact that we made the offering and it shouldn’t affect how we give in the future. We give without the expectation of getting something in return, as an act of worship and of thanks for everyday blessings. We give to just give, and a lot of the times, the deity or deities in question will respond. We then give in thanks, and then they give to us. We give in thanks, they give to us and so continues the circle of praise and of blessing. This circle of reciprocity is Kharis.

And yeah, I completely understand how confusing that would be, so let’s try using some more relatable examples. I know not everyone will be able to relate to these examples, so there will be a few of them, and hopefully one of them will resonate enough that the concept of Kharis will become less confusing.

The first example I will use is of a couple. Let’s call them Kate and Ashley. They are very much in love. Kate is out grocery shopping and next to the checkout line is a display of flower bouquets. One of them has roses and lilies, Ashley’s two favorite flowers. So Kate grabs that bouquet and places it in a vase on the table for Ashley to see when she gets home. Kate isn’t getting the flowers for a birthday, or anniversary, or holiday. These aren’t apology flowers. These aren’t get well soon flowers. They’re the best kind of flowers. These are “Just Because I Love You” flowers. That night at dinner, Kate asks Ashley to take the trash can to the curb before bed and Ashley does so. The flowers weren’t payment for the favor of taking the trash to the curb. The flowers and the request may have come at the same time, but one wasn’t required for the other. The next morning, Kate makes Ashley breakfast in bed and Ashley starts Kate’s car so it’s warmed up and defrosted before Kate goes to work. Both are acts of love that aren’t reliant on each other. Now, say this cycle continues constantly. They do each other favors, they get each other small tokens, for the rest of their relationship. No one but the most cynical would say that they have a transactional relationship. Their tokens aren’t required for favors, and their favors aren’t required for tokens. Their actions are out of devotion to each other. That’s an example of how Kharis works.

Another example, this time between family members. My sister, my mom, and I have lived together for a lot of our lives. As adults, we have lived together for the last 5 years. My mom has a tendency to not eat, and there have been times when I’ve sent her a pizza while she’s at work, because I know then that she will eat. The food is an act of love, a way to show I care. When she responds in kind by cooking dinner for the house the next day, it is not a payment for the pizza. It’s a continuation of the circle. When I was off work for 3 weeks, I cleaned the whole house, reorganized their closets to be easier to navigate, and cleaned out the cabinets and cupboards. Its another way I show I care. My sister usually watches the kids all summer long, and my mom and I will get her flowers, as a way to say thank you. Every day of our lives as a family, we show love by doing favors for each other and getting things for each other. The favors are not a payment for the things and the things are not a payment for the favors.

Hopefully that explains what Kharis is a little better, so we can go a little deeper into what it means as a worshipper, as someone who calls themselves a Hellenic Polytheist.

Now, remember how I said that the pillars weren’t exactly a thing, and instead were a modern invention to assist those who weren’t raised in Ancient Greece with learning the customs and cultural behaviors that were common knowledge in Ancient Greece? Let’s keep that in mind. On a historical note, Kharis required something real. Having faith and good thoughts was not a part of the reciprocal circle that is Kharis. It required something real, and in Ancient Greece that did not mean devotional acts like making playlists. It meant something solid, offerings, like libations, food, incense, coins, seashells, and other solid, real items. If you have an altar, think about what you leave on it. On mine, I’ve got an incense holder, coins left at the foot of the statue of Hermes, corn from the field next to us, a nature ball with acorns and leaves and flowers in it, devotional drawings, fortunes from fortune cookies also at the foot of Hermes’ statue, dried roses and lilies in an empty wine bottle, seashells, pins, a book of myths, and a plate and cup where bread, oil, seeds, fruit, wine, and other food offerings can be left. Some of these are permanent, some of them get removed as they go bad. When I light incense and pray, when I leave food, when I leave seashells or coins or fortunes, I’m engaging in my part of the reciprocal circle that is Kharis. That means, historically, offering something real that goes above and beyond simple faith.

Now, not everyone can do that. Not everyone has the ability to have an altar, and not everyone can afford to burn incense everyday, and not everyone has the time to bake bread everyday. Now, that doesn’t mean that someone who lacks those abilities, or doesn’t have that time can’t engage in the reciprocal relationship that is Kharis. Remember, a huge part of practicing Hellenic Polytheism is bringing ancient worship into the modern world. Devotional acts are something real. You can offer a devotional act to the Theoi as your part of the Kharis. I’ve seen some stunning works of art created in devotion to the Theoi. I’ve heard songs wrote in devotion. I’ve read some deeply moving poetry. And I’ve seen prayers, prayers written with such devotion and love that they could bring you tears. Those actions are fully capable of being classified as part of the circle that is Kharis.

Kharis is not just actions, its a relationship. Much like how Xenia was a way of life ingrained into the culture of Ancient Greece, so too was Kharis. All the rites and rituals, sacrifices, prayers, hymns, offerings, everything that was offered to the Theoi; it came from the understanding that a relationship had to be built and maintained. You couldn’t just say your prayers and call it a day, you lived with the Theoi, and dealt with them every single day. Everyday, you had the opportunity to build the relationship, and the expectation that you would was built into society. Indeed, the concept of Kharis was so built into society that offerings and sacrifices were a part of their stories. Examples can be seen in many myths, plays, and epic poems from them. The reciprocal nature of Kharis is shown in the Illiad, the Odyssey, and the writings of Aristotle.

I’ve learned that Kharis can be hard to understand, especially when you’ve grown up in a society where the love of a deity is just…..constantly there. Kharis is the idea that the love of our deities is not unconditional, and our love for them need not be unconditional as well. We don’t have that relationship with our gods that is bondless. We build a relationship with them, and they build one back. That, to me, is one of the appeals of Hellenic Polytheism. The relationship is a reciprocal one built up over time, using something that is definable, real, an offering that you can hold and see. So, we give, they give, we give, they give, until you’ve built a solid foundation for a solid relationship. That relationship, built out of Kharis, is what makes the worship we engage in so beautiful.

Thanks for listening to today’s discussion of Kharis. For today’s episode, I relied on the Illiad, the Odyssey, Kharis: Hellenic Polytheism Explored by Sarah Kate Istra Winter, The emotions of the Ancient Greeks: Studies in Aristotle and Classical Literature by David Konstan, and the Center for Hellenic Studies. You can always find a transcript of this and other episodes on my tumblr blog at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, as well as a link to the sources I used. Feel free to ask any questions, and don’t forget to tune in on September 6th, when we will be discussing Arete.

ARETE

Welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where I will be discussing the pillar of Hellenic polytheism, Arete. For first time listeners, I want to mention that technically, the pillars were never actually a “thing”. Unlike then 10 commandments, the pillars were never taught as a set of rules that everyone knew by the name “Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism”, or any variation thereof. What modern day practitioners of Hellenic Polytheism call “The Pillars” were essentially religious and cultural practices that were taught by family and friends via every day life. The pillars were an essential part of the culture of Ancient Greece, taught to them the same way customs like tipping, saying “bless you” at sneezing, and the now-common practice of wearing a mask everywhere are taught to us today. In recreating Hellenic Polytheism for the modern age, the Pillars grew out of a need for a set of guidelines to help us recreate a very old religion. Now, on to Arete.

Arete is excellence. It’s living up to your fullest potential. It’s being the best you. Arete means doing your best to become your best and to live your best life. Arete’s end goal is a life fulfilled, and happy. Arete in Homer’s works is usually associated with the person who uses everything at their disposal to do the best work, the person who is most effective at achieving what they set out to achieve. Homer applies arete to Penelope as she fulfills her role as wife. Odysseus has arete when he uses his intelligence. In the Illiad, Achilles has arete by being the best warrior. In the Tenets of Solon, Arete is achieved by being honorable, honest, intelligent, and humble. He advised the following: Consider your honor, as a gentleman, of more weight than an oath; never speak falsely; pay attention to matters of importance; be not hasty in making friends and do not cast off those whom you have made; rule, after you have first learnt to submit to rule; advise not what is most agreeable, but what is best; make reason your guide; do not associate with the wicked; honor the gods; and respect your parents.

Arete is simply being the best version of you. One of the hardest things about Hellenic polytheism is taking those ancient concepts and applying them to the world we have now, one that doesn’t call for heroes like Achilles, and one where we can’t always take the time to better ourselves because work and life can get in the way. It is important to understand that arete doesn’t always mean being number one and winning whatever contest is at hand. One thing that should be understood is that a person can be their best, give it everything they’ve got, and still lose. There will be people who are objectively better at doing what you do than you are. Someone will get a higher grade. Someone else will get the role or solo or part you’re trying out for sometimes. Someone else can have a better idea than you. Someone else will write better, or draw better, or be better than you in whatever you are trying to achieve.

The first step of applying the concept of arete to our everyday lives is to accept that your best and the best of someone else are very different things. You are you and you can only do your own best. Now that does mean that you have to apply yourself. Doing the barest minimum to get by is not a way to achieve arete. Arete means taking control of, and responsibility for, your own life. It means challenging yourself everyday to become better than you are.

Take a moment and think about things you’ve always wanted to do. A language you wanted to learn. A hobby you wanted to pick up. A project that you’ve put to the side. Something you’ve always wanted to learn about. Arete means taking the time to do that. If you have a goal, arete means doing the work to reach it. Then it means creating another goal. Plato said that arete is the ideal form of a thing, something that you are always trying to achieve. You achieve arete by always trying to reach for it, always trying to be better. This means that you won’t always be at the top of your game. You will stumble. You will fail. You will make mistakes. Arete doesn’t mean you will never be wrong, you will never fail, and you will always be perfect. It is not expected of us to be perfect all the time. What is expected is that we will try. When we fail, we learn from that failure and try again.

Now, if you’re anything like me, you’ve probably got a busy life. Between work and taking care of a household, I rarely get time to do anything for me. It is hard to take that time that I want to use to watch Netflix, or pop on a movie, or scroll online doing nothing of any real substance and put it towards something that is actual work. But I try. I read, every day. I do research for this podcast and my own growth. I do the laundry. I clean the house. I spend time with my kids, as a parent, teaching them and guiding them and playing with them. I write. I exercise. I plan and cook meals that are good for us and aren’t the easiest options. I pray. I always strive to be better at work. I’ve given my boss ideas that we’ve implemented nationwide that have made our division look good. I reach for arete every day, by understanding that it is something that I must always strive for. By always striving for it, I hope to achieve it.

One of the things that made this episode a little bit more difficult to write than the previous ones is that arete is subjective. Xenia is a set of rules. Kharis is a reciprocal circle. But arete isn’t something that can simply be memorized and put into practice as we come across situations that could use it, like xenia is. Arete is not something built into our everyday worship, the way Kharis is. Arete is something that has to be strived for every day. It is something that is work. It takes focus. It takes energy. It takes commitment. Only you can know if you’re doing your best and so no one else can come up to you and say “You haven’t achieved arete, you’ve broken the rules, you need to do better next time.” It is up to you and you alone to strive for arete. No one can coach you one it. No one can teach it to you. So, this episode will be a lot shorter than the others, because I can’t teach you arete. I can only explain what it is, explain how it has been seen historically, and let you do he work from there. Now it’s time for you to do the work. Good luck.

Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we discussed Arete, one of the pillars of Hellenic polytheism. Today, I relied on the Odyssey, the Illiad, the Center for Hellenic Studies, Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, Baring the Aegis, wikipedia’s page on Arete, and The Greek Way by Edith Hamilton. A transcript of this episode and all others can be found on my tumblr, goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com under the tag “transcripts”. There you will also find links to the sources used today to more research on your own. You can always ask me any questions there as well. Tune in on September 20th for the next episode, which will be about the next pillar of Hellenic polytheism, Sophia.

SOPHIA

Hello, and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be discussing one of the pillars of Hellenic Polytheism: Sophia. Sophia is wisdom, cleverness, and skill. The concept has changed and has grown over time to be more applied to wisdom and the pursuit of wisdom, especially by Plato. It might be easier to recognize Sophia in the way it was applied to Socrates and Plato and Pythagoras, as part of the term “philosophia” or, philosophy, the love of wisdom. Now, remember how I’ve said in my other podcasts about the Pillars of Hellenic polytheism being more of a way of life than a literal set of rules? Here’s another part where that really comes through. In Greek culture, wisdom and the pursuit of it were incredibly important, so much so that it was the Ancient Greeks that were considered to be the founders of philosophy; and since Greek culture and Greek religion were so intertwined with each other, we are left asking, how can we, as modern day Hellenic polytheists, apply the concept of Sophia to our everyday lives?

One thing we can be sure of is that a person doesn’t need to be a world class philosopher like Plato to be a Hellenic polytheist. What we should be aiming for is the ever-present pursuit of wisdom. We should always be trying to learn, everyday. It doesn’t have to be a huge undertaking. Read a book. Watch a documentary. Read a scholarly article. Listen to a podcast. And if you come across something you don’t quite understand, research it. One of the best ways to pursue wisdom is to fight ignorance. There will be many times in your life when you are faced with something you don’t have any experience with, something you know nothing about. Living with the pillar Sophia means taking the time to learn and battling your own ignorance. In today’s world, I know how hard that can be. You can’t do a google search without their predictive algorithm doing some serious confirmation bias. Living with Sophia means taking the time, in pursuit of wisdom, to do it right.

Now, I love learning. I’m one of those people who, if given an unlimited supply of money and an eternity, I would be a student forever. But Sophia doesn’t necessarily mean learning in a classroom environment. Think about your last week. Did you come across new information? Did you read an online article that broadened your world view? Did you learn something new? Did you gain a deeper understanding of something you thought you already understood? Did you discover something that mostly everyone you knew was aware of, even something as simple as the fact that if you roll up the deodorant, you can take the plastic cover off without having to struggle with it? If so, outstanding! You battled ignorance in some small way this week.

Battling ignorance and pursuing wisdom also means battling the ignorance of others. If you’re hearing and listening to this, or reading the transcript, then it means that you’ve entered the online world in some way. That means you’ve also come across ignorant people, who seemed perfectly gleeful to remain that way. It also means you’ve come across people who were ignorant, simply because they didn’t know any better, and they needed someone to point the way. Anecdotal story break time: I’ve got a cousin who is a senior in high school. She plays a lot of different instruments and she’s very, very good. She has practiced, a lot, and has put some serious work into it. I’ve also got an uncle who is on his 4th or 5th black belt. He has put some serious effort and a couple decades worth of time into varying forms of Martial Arts. My sister’s friend is an artist, and an incredible one. She has more followers on her Instagram and tumblr and devian art pages than I care to count, and she’s graduating college as a graphic designer with job offers from some very big names. All 3 of these people are outstanding in their field. Now, to get to the why I brought them up: All 3 of them have told me, in some way, that once they reached a certain point in their skill level, the best way to get better was to start teaching. As they taught others, their own skill increased. I believe the same applies to everyone. So, one of the ways you can apply Sophia to your life is to teach those who don’t know any better. You will come across people who are resistant to fixing their ignorance but more often than not, people are willing to learn. That means you can take the time to teach them.

Sophia also means cleverness and skill. In fact Homer applies to the term with the meaning “skillful in handicraft and in arts” towards both Athena and Hephaestus. Now, I would never suggest that we, as Hellenic polytheists, can be as skillful the Theoi in any way. We should all know why that’s a bad idea. However, we can become skilled in our own handicrafts and arts. That is another way to practice Sophia. Now, I know not all of us have something we can reasonably point to and say “That’s an art”. There are artists and musicians and weavers and seamstresses and poets among us, to be sure. But we also have writers. We have readers. We have spellcrafters. We have engineers. We have software coders. We have jewelers. We have homemakers. Sophia means cleverness and skill. That means there are many, many ways you can apply it to your daily life. Everyone has something they can do with skill. Sophia means practicing that skill and utilizing it.

To me, Sophia is one of the easiest pillars of Hellenic polytheism to bring into my every day life. Pursuing wisdom, battling ignorance, practicing a skill, these are all things that we are doing every day. And Sophia is as simple as that. Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism, where we discussed the pillar Sophia. Today, I relied on the notes from one of my college courses, Intro to Philosophy, and the Homeric Hymns. As always, you can find links to the, well, one source that is linkable this time around, on my tumblr page at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, where I am also always free for discussions and questions. Coming on October 4th, the next pillar Sophrosune. I look forward to seeing you all then.

SOPHROSUNE

Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be moving onto to the next pillar of Hellenic Polytheism: Sophrosyne, which is, essentially, moderation, prudence, self-control, self-discipline, or temperance based upon thorough self-examination. Since we are coming up on a holiday season in the US, this seems like the perfect time to focus on Sophrosyne, and to remember it’s opposite, hubris, and how to avoid it. It is also important to remember that even in Ancient Greece, it was well understood that Sophrosyne could be taken too far, something we also understand still today.

“Earth shaker, you would not consider me sophrosyne if I were to fight with you for the sake of wretched mortals” Apollo says this to Poseidon in the Illiad, as Homer brings us a look at what Sophrosyne would mean to the same deity who brings us the Delphic Maxims, such as know know thyself, know by learning, exercise prudence, praise virtue, nothing in excess, know who is the judge, keep secret what should be kept secret, take sensible risks, be well behaved, be self disciplined, be sensible. This is not the only example in Homer’s work of Sophrosyne. In fact, there are a really a lot of them. I would definitely suggest you read both of them and look closely for examples of sophrosyne. Homer was very sensitive to the need for Sophrosyne in society and in an individual. On an individual level, sophrosyne prevented people form getting into serious trouble, both with themselves and on a religious level. After all, someone exercising sophrosyne would be very unlikely to become a spider after being cursed by Athena, right? On a modern level, someone exercising sophrosyne is less likely to face personal problems as well. You won’t wind up drinking to excess and getting into a car accident. You won’t find yourself challenging someone better than you to a fight. You won’t find yourself taking on more tasks than you can manage. You won’t find yourself spending more money than you can spare on things you don’t need. By exercising sophrosyne you can avoid a lot of trouble. On a societal level, we should try to exercise that same self control and temperance. After all, there is no reason for any country to spend more than 56 countries combined on defense spending. There is no reason for a city to cut taxes and not invest in repairing roads or assisting those who need it the most. There is no reason for a group of friends to go out in the middle of a pandemic to a bar just to have a good time. We can bring the ideals of sophrosyne to our own lives and encourage others to do the same, through voting and talking to others and being an example.

When we do not practice sophrosyne, we tend to fall victim to hubris. For someone who has spent any sort of time practicing Hellenic polytheism, we should all know exactly how bad hubris is. We’ve all probably seen it or heard it online. Recently, there was a lot of talk of witches online cursing the moon, specifically aimed at making Artemis or Apollo angry. Now, in the end, it was revealed to be some big hoax, a lie they told to make other witches start saying things about how they could tell someone had hexed the moon because their own spells weren’t as effective. Then the original hexers could say “Ha! We told you witch craft and the gods weren’t real, see? These guys said they noticed a change but we didn’t do anything, so clearly they must be faking!” The whole ordeal was a perfect example of what could happen if people fell victim to hubris, and many more sensible folks online pointed out that it was hubris, believing anyone could have an affect on a deity by cursing the moon. We’ve all seen other examples of hubris. Hellenic polytheists who say that Artemis would never let a man worship her, or a straight woman, or a woman who has had sex with a man. People who gatekeep, projecting their personal bigotry onto the Theoi. We’ve all come across. Hopefully, most have us have rolled our eyes and ignored it.

Even in mythology, hubris is painted to be among the worst things a person can be. Niobe lost her sons and daughters to Artemis and Apollo after she bragged to Leto that she was better than Leto for having more children. Arachne, turned into a spider for daring to compare herself to Athena. Antigone’s father, who lost his son and his wife for believing that his life was higher than the law of the gods. Oedipus refuses to accept his own fate and wound up falling victim to it because of his hubris. Ajax, believing he was entitled to the armor of Achilles and being driven mad and eventually killing himself. Icarus, flying to close to the sun, too prideful to listen to his father’s warnings. Orestes taking it upon himself to avenge his father by killing his mother and being driven mad. Greek stories are teeming with examples of people who have fallen victim to hubris. In many of these stories, sophrosyne is pointed to as a virtue to aspire to strictly to avoid it’s opposite, hubris.

And yet, we can also take sophrosyne too far. For example, in the Bacchae, Pentheus holds himself as a champion of sophrosyne, as fails to understand that by being overly self-controlled and self-discplined and holding himself up as the model of sophrosyne, he ignores the moderation and temperance part. He tried to force everyone listen to him, to oppose the Bacchic rites, and, in the end, his obsession with only a part of sophrosyne causes his own death. The Ancient Greeks understood that there was such a thing as being too controlled. There was such a thing as a fatal exaggeration of one side of the many-sided virtue of sophrosyne. Thus one of the biggest keys to sophrosyne is moderation. Nothing in excess says one of the Delphic Maxims, not even self-control and self-discipline.

As we go through this holiday there a lot of ways you can apply sophrosyne to your life. One of the dangers of the holidays is becoming over-extended. For example, I have a large family. Like…..over 100 people kind of large. So large that we could probably fill a high school basketball stadium kind of large. It’s also got a lot of different branches. Mom’s side, which has dad and mom in separate houses. My ex-stepdad, whose family we still see. My dad and his family. My dad’s ex wife and her daughter and her kids, who I’m also close to. My girlfriend. My kids’ dad and his family. I always joke that we’ve got our own little 12 days of Christmas skit between grandpa jones, grandpa long, Uncle Cody, Uncle Andrew, my dad, his ex wife’s house, my girlfriend, the kids’ dad, his family, and we’ve still got to squeeze out time for our own holiday celebration too. Factor in the fact that, like most customer service based companies in the US, my job doesn’t allow us to take more than half of Christmas Eve and all of Christmas day off. Sure, we’ve got the Sunday before and after when I’m off as well, but that’s barely 3 days for 4 states and 10 places to visit. Factor in the budget for all those places and all those gifts, not to mention the drama that comes around when we decide where we’re having Thanksgiving at and you can understand why I bring up being overextended as a danger of the holiday season. Now, maybe that isn’t a problem for you. Maybe you become over extended by volunteering to work too many hours to help your more Christian friends have time off. Maybe you offer to do too much during Thanksgiving and wind up having to wake up at 5 am to get started on a meal that you can’t believe you promised to cook. Maybe during Halloween, you spend too much time focused on parties or trick-or-treating and realize that you would have had a much better time sitting at home, watching Halloweentown with a bowl of candy and some friends. Either way, we all tend to push ourselves too hard, especially once the holidays roll around and we start wanting to do everything so we can get every experience. We need to remember sophrosyne during this time. Exercise self-control and stay home when it’s something you want to do. Exercise self-discipline and avoid getting gifts when you can’t afford it, there is no shame in saying “Look, finances are strapped and I can’t manage more than X”. Exercise moderation and remember that you can’t actually do everything. Be prudent and accept the reality of whatever situation you are facing. Practice sophrosyne.

Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101 where we discussed another one of the Pillars of Hellenic polytheism, Sophrosyne. Today, I relied on the Odyssey, The Illiad, Sophrosyne: Self Knowledge and Self-Restraint in Greek Literature by Helen North, A Period of Opposition to Sophrosyne In Greek Thought also by Helen North, Mythology of the Greeks by George Grote, and the Wikipedia entry for Sophrosyne. Remember, all links to the resources I used can be found on my tumblr at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, along with a transcript of today’s episode under the tag “Transcripts”. I look forward to speaking with you all again on October 18th, where we will be discussing Eusebia.

EUSEBIA

Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be discussing, Eusebia, or reverence and duty towards the gods. Now, keep in mind that Eusebia was so revered, so vital to the worship and religion of the ancient greeks that she became a personified spirit, who was married to Nomos, the Law, and had a child, Dike. This already sets aside this particular pillar from the others. As a being, Eusebia was the personified spirit of piety, loyalty, duty and filial respect. However, we are not yet at the point for deities or personifications, so mostly all of today will be focused on talking about what Eusebia is as a concept and how we can practice it as a modern worshipper. Now, so far we’ve talked a lot about our relationships with the many deities we worship. We’ve talked about offerings and Kharis, we’ve talked about the humility we should approach them with, and we’ve talked about the respect we should bring with us whenever we approach them. All of that goes into Eusebia.

Eusebia is about reverence towards the Theoi. That reverence is where, I’ve noticed, a lot of modern worshippers tend to falter. There is nothing wrong with making a joke about some of the Theoi. I don’t know if all of you have heard the one about Hermes being the only god to pay his worshippers for their worship. It’s fun to joke about that. I always like using Hermes as an example of a deity that a lot of worshippers are fairly causal with. He is, in my experience, one of the most easy going deities. He’s the type of god that puts a train on every track between your home and work on the only morning you’re running late for the last 6 months, just to get a message to you. He’s a prankster, a jokester….and still deserves the same degree of reverence as every other deity. Just because you can laugh with him doesn’t mean he is not revered by you. After all, he is also the shepherd of the dead, the one who guides their souls. He is the god of travel, of languages, of luck, of communication, and like 1000 other things.

It is not reverent to attempt to speak for the Theoi. It is not reverent to make up bullshit facts about a specific goddess to say that she would be on your side of an online discourse. It is not reverent to leave a deity out of your worship because you don’t like how one interpretation of one of the myths portray the deity. It is not reverent to drag the Theoi down to the level of an online personality. They are gods and goddesses and they deserve to revered as such. By virtue of what they are, they deserve the worship, offerings, and the rituals that we engage in. Impiety was frowned upon by the ancient greeks and should continue to be frowned upon today. It has never been acceptable to treat the Theoi like accessories, to be tried on and discarded whenever you don’t have enough time to engage with them. You find time, you make time, in whatever you can. And it doesn’t have to be a big thing. A prayer. A lit candle. Some incense. A quick offering. The Theoi deserve worship.

But, just like with some of the other pillars, the people of ancient Greece knew that there was such a thing as being too pious. There were people who spent too much time praying, too much time fearing the Theoi, and were constantly sure they had something to offend the Theoi and so spent even more time praying and offering and attending to the temples. This excessive fear, or deisidaimonia, was a sign of taking Eusebia too far. It was understood that a person should be mindful of the Theoi, and take an appropriate amount of time and give the appropriate offerings. This also included attending and participating in the appropriate rituals and festivals.

Eusebia also means understanding why we do the things we do. Why do we give these particular offerings? Why are offerings for Chthonic and Ouranic deities different? What are the reasons behind certain rituals? What are the reasons behind traditional offerings? Eusebia means understanding these things, having the answers to these questions and not just blindly following a traditional path. It’s important to understand the reason why. And so, Eusebia means taking the time to research your beliefs. If you have questions, put in the work to answer them. This can also definitely include asking others. We are a community. So, if you have questions, reach out. Ask people, “Why are coins such a common offering to Hermes?” Find a book in the library about the life of people of ancient Greece. Put in the effort to research and create your own calendar with your own rituals and holidays. Take the time to understand why, to research your deities and understand what they might ask of you, and why they would ask it. All too often, I’ve seen popular bloggers and popular authors in the community asked the same question a 100 times because the idea of taking the time to do your own research is apparently distasteful to some people.

It is important to remember, as a part of Eusebia, that the Theoi are not room mates or friends or accessories. They are deities. They are gods and goddesses and titans and by virtue of what they are, they deserve our devotion. I’ve always seen Hellenic polytheism as a simpler path than Christianity. We do not have a single, omniscient, all powerful god that offers a set of rules that must be followed or else we will suffer for all eternity. That’s not how Hellenic polytheism works. We worship our gods in our own way, at our own pace. Hellenic polytheism is a very personable religion. Everything about it, from hymns to holidays to rituals to altars to offerings, everything is unique to each individual practitioner. But, on the flip side, that means that we don’t have a holy book to draw from. That means that we don’t have a set of authority figures we have to listen to. We are responsible for our own piety. We are responsible for our own worship. We are responsible for our own research. We are responsible for our own devoutness. We are responsible for ourselves.

And that’s what Eusebia is, that’s why it is gets set up as a pillar of Hellenic polytheism. It is a vital component of our religious practice, to take the time to not only worship, but to know how and why we worship the way we do. It is necessary to show the Theoi the respect they are due, by virtue of their very being. It is necessary to speak about them with reverence, to be loyal, to not use them as talking points or spell ingredients. It is necessary to take the time, to do the research, to understand the whys, to understand the rituals we take part in when we light incense and offer up a prayer and use an epithet and recite a Homeric hymn. This isn’t a religion where we can just go through the motions. We have to put the proper amount of reverence into our actions. We have to be devout, and loyal, and have a healthy amount of respect and fear towards these beings who we worship and who take the time to guide us on our way. It is necessary to be humble, to understand that what we are doing is worshipping the Theoi. I don’t know about anyone else, but when I pray, when I let incense or a candle or wrap my hands around a set of prayer beads, when I take that time…..I’ve never felt so at peace. That feeling, that love and devotion and serenity…..that’s the feeling of Eusebia. Next time you get to that point, when you feel that, take the time to focus on that feeling and harness it. Meditate on it. That’s what you should draw on when you think of Eusebia and how to interact with the Theoi, those beings that we worship as Hellenic polytheists.

Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we discussed Eusebia. For my sources today, I used the book Greek Religion by Walter Burkett, found on the Internet Archive. I also used The Greek Way by Edith Hamilton. I used Baring the Aegis’ and Elanion’s posting on Eusebia as well. Remember, you can find links to the sources, as well as a transcript of today’s episode, on my tumblr at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com. You can also always reach me there as well with any questions. Don’t forget to tune in to the next episode, on November 1st, which will be the last one discussing the pillars the Hellenic polytheism. I will be discussing the final pillar, hagneia. I look forward to seeing you all then!

HAGNEIA

Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic polytheism 101 where we will be discussing the final pillar, Hangeia. Now, anyone who is able to look at this word might note it bears a striking similarity to the word “hygienic” and then, you would be on to something. Hagneia is more of a ritual purity, an avoidance of miasma and cleansing oneself before you go before the Theoi, before you engage in rituals. Now, does this mean you can’t shoot off a quick prayer before you wash your hands while gardening? No, of course not, thus the “ritual” part of the “ritual purity”. Now, there is actually a lot of disagreement regarding miasma and cleansing in the Hellenic polytheism community. There are those that claim that for the most part, the average person won’t be contaminated with miasma throughout the course of an average life. There are those that believe that we collect miasma throughout the course of our everyday life. There are those that believe that we must fully cleanse ourselves before an offering. There are those that believe that a simple washing of the hands will suffice. There are those that believe the cleansing must be done with khernips, or lustral water. There are those that believe the cleansing can be done with any clean water. And there are those believe any variation of those beliefs combined. Remember one of the best part of Hellenic polytheism is that it is so personable. Therefore, most of this is going to be looking at it from how I work. As always, I urge you to do your own research on the matter.

Now, the first thing to keep in mind is that Hagneia was used to mostly mean ritually pure, spiritually pure, and was understood to mean whether or not someone was fit to approach the gods. There were things you could come into contact with that would create a buildup of miasma and it was best to avoid those things when you could. However, you can’t always do so. Some of those things are death in the family, giving birth, illness (not chronic illness, but like the flu), are all examples of something that can be considered miasmic. The real question we face today is how to cleanse that miasma? Most of the time, the biggest cure for miasma was time. There was a period of time you had to wait to no longer be considered miasmic after having given birth, or after losing a loved one. You were supposed to wait until after an illness has passed. And, you were supposed to cleanse yourself. Mostly that meant washing up, getting physically clean. For today, that means wash your hands, wash your face, take a shower or a bath (especially if you’d been sick, take a shower and change into clean clothes). So that part is really simple.

Now, historically, there was also another thing that rendered you miasmic. It very likely won’t apply to anyone hearing this or reading the transcript, but it is an issue that is covered in pretty much every source I read regarding miasma and Hagneia so I am going to mention it as well. Murdering someone was very much a cause of miasma. There were very special midnight rituals one was supposed to engage in in order to cleanse oneself of the miasma caused by murder. I would say that in today’s society that if you commit murder, you’re likely to get caught and so won’t have much use of said ritual, but that’s statistically unlikely so I’m just gonna say, don’t commit murder and you won’t have to worry about what that midnight ritual is. Mostly I just figured the fact that it’s mentioned so often is an interesting historical side note.

Time to move on the things that are more likely to affect you, such as how to practice Hagneia as a modern worshipper. While I would love it if the average Hellenic polytheist could go to a temple and worship with others on a regular basis, the fact is that most of us worship and prayer and do rituals on our own, or with a very tight knit group in a personal, private space. I myself am mostly a solitary practitioner. Sure, I have my mom and my sister and my kids, and I have a community of people online; but in my daily practice, it’s me, by myself doing the offering and praying and general worshipping. That’s probably true of most of you all as well. So how does a mostly solitary practitioner who isn’t going attending a ritual hosted by or attended by a large amount of people deal with the community based concepts like miasma and Hagneia? Well, in my case it means that I tend to put holiday rituals and offerings on hold when I would be considered miasmic. It means that when a close family member died, I prayed at the funeral for her safe passage and otherwise avoided rituals for a month. It means that when I gave birth to my kids, rituals and offerings were on hold for 10 days, which was about how long it took for me to even be in the mindset to get back to daily worship and prayers. It means that when I am sick, I wait until I am recovered to engage in practice and worship. When I got the flu a few years back, (three times that year, which is what I get for not getting the flu shot, I’m telling you, I’ll never miss it again and if you haven’t yet gotten your flu shot this year, please do) I stayed in bed and rested until I was better. I may have said a few informal prayers, like something along the lines of “please let this stop, I feel like I’m dying here”, but I waited until I was well. I then cleaned my bed and my room and myself and my clothes and changed my toothbrush and brushed my teeth with the clean toothbrush and got clean again before I went back to a regular worship schedule. So, for about 5 weeks that winter, I didn’t do very much in the way or practicing. And that’s okay. That’s what practicing Hagneia and avoiding bringing miasma to the Theoi is.

So, as a modern worshipper, the best way to practice Hagneia is to stay clean. Cleanse yourself of miasma as you come across it, make sure that you are fit to approach the Theoi before you do so. It’s a very simple pillar to follow because for the most, most of us already do. The next time you feel guilty about not being able to worship because you’re sick, or have a death in the family, or a newborn at home, remember that the break you’re taking is required, and important. It’ll be okay. The Theoi will understand.

Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101. This is the last one that will be spent discussing the Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism. Remember, you can always find a transcript of the podcast on my blog at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, as well as a link to the sources I used today, which were: Inner Purity and Pollution by Andrej Petrov; Shame and Purity in Euripides' Hippolytus by Charles Segal; Shame in Ancient Greece by David Konstan, The Pillars of Hellenismos and What is and Is Not Miasmic by BaringTheAegis; and finally, A Beginner’s Guide to Hellenismos by Timothy Jay Alexander. You can also always ask me any questions at any time there as well. Finally, I will also have on there a complete transcript of all 7 episodes about the Pillars in a single post as well. Right now, we’re looking at 12 pages, and 8637 words, so it’ll be a very long post, set under a read more. The post will contain links to all the sources used for these last 7 episodes as well, so please fell free to check it out and continue your own research. For the next episode, I’m going to be discussing the Delphic maxims. There are 147 of them, so don’t worry, I’m not about to go fully in depth with each one the way I did the pillars. It’ll be just a simple discussion on the maxims themselves. I look forward to seeing you all then on Nov 15th!

#transcripts #transcript #hellenic polytheism 101 #pillars of hellenic polytheism #sophia #hagneia #kharis #arete #sophrosyne #eusebia #xenia

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missmentelle · 4 years

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So I’ve seen a bit floating around online about how this pandemic qualifies as a collective trauma and I wondered if you could speak to that. I don’t feel traumatized—I mean I’m self isolating in an apartment and it sucks and I don’t love worrying about food and my fam and friends, but is that the same thing as trauma? How would I tell? I already have depression and anxiety so that isn’t really new to me. Idk I just feel guilty going “oh I’m traumatized” when I have it pretty good, actually

A collective trauma is not just a grouping of individual traumas, and not everyone who lives through a collective trauma will be traumatized by it. When we talk about “collective trauma”, we’re talking about the ways that groups understand, process and remember that trauma as a whole, on a group level, and how that trauma becomes a part of collective identity. What defines a group trauma is not post-traumatic symptoms or individual experience, but the way that we as a group talk about that trauma, create art and traditions to commemorate that trauma, and tell our children about that trauma. You don’t personally need to live through a collective trauma in order to be a part of it; the vast majority of Jewish people alive today did not personally live through the Holocaust, but that event remains in their culture as a collective trauma that continues to play a part in their Jewish identities. Likewise, the vast majority of ethnically German people alive today did not participate in the Holocaust, but they still participate in collective trauma by finding ways to come to terms with their history and move forward with the knowledge that that is a part of their collective identity.

The idea of collective trauma is that, even if your own individual experience was outside of the norm or “easier” than most, you can still dial into the collective experience by being part of the group it happened to. The event as a whole was “yours”, as a group, and it’s meaningful to you. Those of us who aren’t Rwandan can learn about the Rwandan genocide in academic terms, by reading history books or even speaking directly to people who survived it, but it’s not “yours”. You can have sympathy for the victims and think that it’s a terrible thing that should never have happened, but it’s not your trauma. It doesn’t have personal meaning to you - it’s just a thing that happened in history. Rwandans born after 1994 have no lived experience of the genocide, but they do share in the collective trauma; the genocide is a direct part of their family’s personal story, and they have to come to terms with not only the role that their own family might have played in the genocide as victim, perpetrator or both, but they have to come to terms with what it means for Rwanda that such a terrible thing happened there. They walk past physical memorials, they see disfigured survivors with missing limbs, and consume poems and books and songs about what happened. Whether you were someone who personally survived and was injured in the genocide or whether your connection is more indirect doesn’t matter - the collective trauma is the group’s experience as a whole.

A collective trauma does not have to be something that occurred on a national or international scale, like a genocide or world war. Collective trauma can occur on a much smaller, more localized scale. The students who survived the Stoneman Douglas school shooting are part of a collective trauma, as are the community members who lived in Parkland at that time; whether they were students who actually survived taking a bullet or just concerned community members whose view of their hometown was shattered by the event, they were part of a collective trauma that developed around that event. My hometown lost four boys when their hockey team’s bus crashed into a semi-trailer two years ago - that event was a collective trauma for my hometown, and for the people outside our hometown who knew those boys and their teammates. An event does not have to be famous to form a collective trauma, and you don’t need to be right at the center of it to identify with that collective trauma - the trauma exists independently of any one person.

This pandemic certainly qualifies as a collective trauma because it has disrupted the lives of nearly everyone on earth, in a variety of different ways. The vast, vast majority of us won’t actually be traumatized by this pandemic in a clinical sense - most people will find the disruption annoying and kind of scary, but they won’t have nightmares and flashbacks for years after it ends - but they are still a part of the collective trauma. Everyone who survives this pandemic is probably going to be weird about physical contact and cleanliness and crowded spaces for a very long time to come - that’s collective trauma. It’s going to take a very long time for people to start seeing things like movie theatres and concerts and public transit as totally “safe” again, and stop worrying about the possibility that they may get some kind of infection. We might stop shaking hands entirely, and a lot of office jobs might permanently shift to a work-from-home model. Tourism in NYC may suffer for years, and it might take a really long time for the city to shake off the notion that it is a “dirty” and “infected” place. All of that is collective trauma. Even if you aren’t currently on the front lines of an emergency room or facing imminent financial ruin from losing your job, you’re still probably going to feel a little uneasy in crowded places and get upset if your coworker comes to work sick for years to come after all this is over, and that’s still part of the trauma. It’s about the way that our society changes after something catastrophic happens, and it will affect all of us, even if we had a relatively easy few months sitting at home binging Netflix.

Hope this helps!

Miss Mentelle

#petrichoreanskies

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treatian · 3 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 16: Physical Education

Dark Ones were instinctively selfish. They sought to protect themselves, save themselves, above anyone else in the world. For their own purposes, they would lie, cheat, steal, and con. Then they'd do it a thousand times over again just to escape the consequences of their actions.

Yet here he was, burning…and he didn't give a fuck.

His body was on fire. His skin felt like it was aflame. His blood boiling as his mouth and tongue found lips and flesh and sensitive areas that made her gasp for breath. And he reveled in it. Every gasp, every breath, every sound of pleasure that poured out of her mouth left him feeling heady and powerful, weak and strong all at one time. His hands followed the curves of her body, his fingers tangled in her hair. He burned with every rock of their hips. And he didn't care if it never stopped.

She felt incredible. Belle made him feel alive and young and healthy, as though he was thriving. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt any of those things, couldn't remember if he ever had. He couldn't remember ever really wanting to before, not until there was her.

When they were finished, she wrapped herself around him again, just as she had the previous two nights, and he let himself cling to her as well. He didn't care if he'd spend the night using magic to regulate his body temperature in order to assure they stayed like this. If this was what she wanted and what he wanted, then he'd make sure it would be done. So, when she melted into his skin, he let his fingers filter through the tangles of her hair, felt his way up and down her spine, and kissed her forehead. Oh, he hoped she knew how much he loved her, how much he cherished her.

"I could get used to this," she went on quietly. "I could get used to being with you this way every night for the rest of my life."

He couldn't help it. He gave a small snort at her idea of a perfect future. It was his idea of a perfect world, too, in all honesty. This was the third night in a row they'd done this, and he had no regrets, not like before, but he understood the way the world worked, the way human bodies worked. He knew that every single night for the rest of their lives was a wish for the afterlife only, especially with her so young.

But now that he thought of it, they needed to start thinking about this in a safer way. He loved being with her like this just as she did, but if they kept it up, then at this rate, she'd be pregnant before he left to find Baelfire. He'd had a vision once, of her holding a baby in her arms, but the thought of that image coming so soon after her return to him…he'd be grateful for any child they had, but if he had a choice, he wanted to wait. He wanted to enjoy what they had a little while longer without the complexity of children. Especially when he considered the rest of the Seer's Prophecy and the boy that would be his undoing, maybe the small baby he'd seen her with was something he'd leave for her after he was gone. There was a sad thought.

"Not every night," he muttered, forcing himself away from thoughts of leaving her alone in the world with a child.

But instead of nodding in confirmation or understanding, she turned her head to glance up at him. "You don't think we could?"

"No, it's not that we couldn't," he corrected immediately when her voice sounded almost hurt at the suggestion. "I just mean we shouldn't. We can't."

"Why?" she demanded after a quiet moment. She sounded angrier than before as she pushed herself up on her elbow to look down at him. "Why can't we? Why 'shouldn't' we?"

Yes, that was anger. She'd misunderstood him though he couldn't figure out how. She'd put pieces of his life together in that castle, large quantities of it, with only single sentences, sometimes one-word sentences! But this wasn't making sense to her?

It was odd. Something about it didn't feel right.

"Because if we're not careful, you'll be pregnant before we ever have any time to ourselves," he pointed out.

He expected to see recognition, a flash of understanding that would make her laugh at the conclusions she'd jumped to before she lay down next to him again. But that wasn't her reaction. He didn't see understanding, only confusion and…fear?

"So, we have to stop?" she questioned sadly, "permanently?"

"No," he laughed at the sadness in her voice. "We just…"

The sudden look of desperation on her face stopped his words as he realized…maybe she wasn't the one that had misunderstood. Maybe it was him. She was confused and still looking fearful. Maybe it wasn't the concept of not having sex that scared her, but something else.

Birth control, having sex led to babies; did he really have to explain it to her? He'd known about it in their world, and he was the village idiot. If he'd known it even then, she should have also. So why was she looking so confused and worried? Why was she looking like his remarks were brand new to her? She'd been engaged, for heaven's sake! Queens produced heirs. But there wasn't a single trace of recognition on her face. It baffled him. And terrified him in a way he couldn't quite understand.

"You really don't know this?" he half asked, half stated. No answer came. And he felt anger grow inside of him. "Didn't anyone ever tell you? Prepare you for this or tell you about…you?! Your body?"

This was a joke, a misunderstanding. He hoped it was a joke. But as her face began to change and morph at his question, he realized it wasn't, not to her. She shook her head, averted her eyes, looked away.

"I never wanted to know," she admitted quietly, falling back to her side of the bed. No, he didn't buy that for a second. That was a reaction of shame. Shame! There was no joke that could elicit a reaction like that. She was the most intelligent person he'd ever met, man or woman! In the castle, she'd studied languages for the fun of it. But she'd never asked questions? Never wanted to know? What the hell had happened to her in that palace?! What would make such an intelligent and curious individual turn away from knowledge?

She glanced over at him, but when her eyes met his own, she quickly blushed and averted them again as if she were embarrassed.

He was just beginning to consider what to ask her when she sighed and reluctantly began to weave her tale, a sad one indeed. She was a princess, expected to marry, become Queen, and produce an heir. Growing up watching her parents and listening to stories made it all sound so lovely, but no one had ever delivered to her a solid truth, an honest truth about the process of it, not her mother or her father. In fact, it sounded as though her mother had actively monitored the books she read and the conversations she kept to be sure she never discovered anything even the slightest bit suggestive.

During the war she'd been promised to Gaston, she'd been part of a deal, a bride for soldiers to fight off the ogres, a disgusting trade considering he himself had offered a deal to Maurice to handle the ogres, and he'd turned him down. A deal with the devil was too much...offering his daughter up to a pig of a man was fine, apparently. After her mother died, the betrothal had become an engagement, which she hadn't wanted but accepted as she felt it was her duty to. Only then, when Gaston had moved in, and her wedding date loomed closer, had anyone, a maid by the sound of it, told her anything.

It had been done coldly, perhaps not with the intent of being cruel, but it was a cruel way to learn about it all the same. The maid had told her in an effort to help her understand, to make things easier. Instead, she'd been too violated at the news to feel any comfort and instead run away. She'd tried to learn on her own, to read the books she'd never managed to sneak past her mother, but she never managed very well, unable to get the thoughts and images her maid had placed in her head to settle.

She was crying by the time she confessed she'd given up trying to figure it out; convinced herself it was just better not to know. He couldn't blame her. He couldn't take much more after that either.

"Belle…"

His heart ached, his jaw tightened as tears threatened to overwhelm her, and he wished, he wanted, so badly, to tell her something, anything that might make it better in some way. But he didn't have the words. Not for her. Oh, he had words, a few choice words, words he'd like to deliver to her father on the other end of his cane for inflicting something so terrible on her. He'd given his daughter away and given permission for her to be used again and again! And the way her nurse had described it…no wonder she hadn't wanted to know about it or never been curious again. It probably left a bad taste in her mouth; it certainly had his. It had left her scarred. Not physically, no, but it was terrible what they'd groomed her for.

He didn't want to touch her, not in a way that was too intimate, not with a history like that, but he didn't want to leave her alone there to cry either. His touch had eased her nightmares every morning thus far; he wondered if it could ease this one too.

Gingerly, he rolled himself over and placed his hand against her cheek. He leaned down to touch his forehead to her own, hoping to prevent the approaching panic attack he'd brought on. He didn't dare kiss her. Not right now. He didn't want her to think he had any expectations of her. None. Not even to speak.

"You don't have to say anymore," he responded when she opened her mouth to continue. "I understand."

He wished he didn't have to understand. He wished she'd had a different kind of life, a different kind of expectation. It was a terrible, terrible fate her family had left her to. A terrible ordeal to go through. It was a miracle she'd survived. It was a miracle he was still in this room and not hunting down her father for allowing something like that in his only daughter. He hoped he never saw him again, hoped she never had to see him again.

"I just…" she took a deep breath and looked into her again, her panic fading with time. "I just never wanted to know after that. In everything that I'd ever read, the couple had always been in love. I never wanted to know what I'd be missing because I never thought I would be in love, ever, let alone when my time came. I never thought I'd be cared for. It was humiliating enough I didn't want it to be any worse than it was by knowing what I'd be missing.

"But then you came for me, and I was so happy with you, Rumple," she breathed, the smile on her face growing as she swallowed her tears. She was calm again, certain of herself. She was his own, his fighter. "Even in the beginning when I wasn't, some part of me knew I'd been spared that terrible thing. Anything was better than experiencing that. And now we're here, together, like this…but in a way that makes it worse!

"They never wanted me to have this," she muttered to him, closing her eyes and covering one of his hands with her own as if savoring the feeling of his touch. "Never even let me try to have it. They were saving me for something terrible, hoping I'd be ignorant and never know so that on the day I finally did have sex for the first time, I'd never know the difference and think it was perfectly normal.

"But it is different!" she shouted almost angrily. "I might not have anything to compare it to, but I know it's different! I don't feel used with you; I feel loved. And I don't think you've taken anything from me, I feel like I gave you something, and you gave me something of equal value. I don't fear it with you. I want it. I feel like I need it…you! I never thought I'd be in love, but I am! It's so different with you than what they wanted me to experience. I'm so glad you came for me, and I'm so glad that I went with you, and I'm so glad that it was you I was meant for, you with me now. I'm so happy that I'm with someone who loves me!"

He could have cried out in triumph at her proclamation.

"I do, Sweetheart," he muttered, gazing down at her beautiful face. "I do love you, more than you could ever know."

Even if she bore the stains of tears, she was still beautiful to him, maybe even more now than she had been before. His beautiful, intelligent woman…she was right. She might not have had anything to compare this to, but he did. What he had with Milah didn't even come close to what he felt with her. The love they shared-it made a difference.

She began to cry again at his words. There was just as much emotion behind those tears as he felt circling through him. She was happy, but it was also residual leftover from what she'd gone through, tears she'd never been allowed to have before. He loved her bravery and heroics, but he was honored by the fact that she felt she didn't have to be that way around him, thrilled that she felt safe when she was vulnerable. So, he let himself comfort her. He wiped the tears from her cheeks, kissed her forehead, under her tear-stained eyes, being as tender and gentle as he possibly could. And when she didn't pull away, when she held his hand tighter and reached out for him, he gathered her form up in his arms and rolled again so that he held her tight against his chest as she cried.

"You are safe here," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I promise you are safe with me, and you won't ever have to go back to that life. I won't allow it." He wouldn't stand for it. Her father could storm in and demand her; he'd like to see how he fared against him now. He'd never been angrier in his life.

She sniffled and clung tightly to him as her sobs began to subside. "I trust you," she whispered, her voice raw, "I believe you. But Rumple…do we have to stop?" she asked, propping herself up so they could look at each other.

He sighed. "If this is what you want-"

"I do," she insisted. "I want this more than anything. I want you more than anything!"

"No, sweetheart, we don't have to stop..."

He was happy to explain it to her, to tell her the little that he knew, that he understood so that she could feel comfortable. He was happier to lay out options for her and discover that the very same method he and Milah had used to get pregnant could not be relied upon to keep her from getting pregnant.

"We can be old-fashioned, like everyone in our realm is-was. We change nothing about what we're doing and be careful concerning when. From the little I know, a woman cannot get pregnant every day of the month. There is a cycle to it, a rhythm. We can do a bit of reading, some research, find the days we are safe and the days we aren't, and work around it. From what I understand," he added confidently, remembering one happy fact clearly, "there are far more days that we can make love than the days we can't."

She broke into a wide smile suddenly. She liked that option. He did too. And so the next morning, instead of focusing on his desire to find Baelfire, he focused instead on his desire to give her what others in her life never had. Knowledge. He broke into the library across the street and spent the morning finding books. Not for himself but for her. He'd thought about it, of course, about learning himself and telling her what he found out, but he didn't want to talk down to her. He didn't want to have to hear information second-hand or be dependent on him for knowledge that concerned her. After what her family had put her through, she needed a little bit of independence as well as knowledge. So, he'd give it to her.

The books that he found on anatomy, health, and wellness were thick. She wouldn't need to read the entire thing, of course, but he made up his mind that until she had some knowledge and understanding, until she knew more about herself and initiated something on her own, sex would be off the table. Gods, he hoped she was still a fast learner.

He brought the books home with him at lunch and left them when her for the day. When he returned home, he was pleased to find that the house was in the same state as he'd left it. She hadn't cleaned, it appeared, though she had made dinner, all on her own. It was also nice to see her smile brighten when she finally stepped into the hall to greet him. He could see some of the books he'd brought her sitting out in the family room, some marked with little bits of paper, others sitting wide open. She'd spent her afternoon learning. He prayed it was something of value.

"You're happier than normal," he observed as he held her.

She pressed her lips to his neck, and he bit back a shiver as she pulled away. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the shrill beeping of the timer on the oven. She pulled him back to the kitchen with her, and he wondered as he watched her move about, stopping the timer and checking something on the stove. The oven timer…he didn't think he'd taught her to use that. Bright and beautiful, just as she'd always been.

"The books you gave me were helpful, and I read something today, something important," she chatted away as she strained what looked like pasta in the sink. He took a glance down at the table. On one side, she had placemats, silverware, and napkins sitting out that hadn't been set yet, and at the other end, calendars were scattered about. Markings had been made in those calendars that he was positive Mr. Gold had never made, if only because he couldn't make sense of them. He had a suspicion, but he didn't want to assume, so he looked away and found a bottle of wine sitting out.

"What's that?" he questioned amicably, finding the corkscrew to help her set the table for dinner. He didn't quite finish his task, not before he suddenly felt arms, her arms come around his middle, and her head rest gently against his back.

"The Rhythm Method," she whispered.

He nearly sighed in relief. The calendars, the books, her mood…it was exactly what he'd hoped it had been about.

He moved his hands over her own and held her tighter against him. "Tell me about it."

So, she did. She let him go, and they talked as he set the table and she put food on their plates. She talked about everything that she'd learned as they ate. Not just talked. This wasn't chatting. She went on and on about what she'd learned just as animatedly as if she'd taken a day trip to Paris and seen the Eiffel Tower. He'd never known anyone to fall into books the way she did, any book, it appeared.

"I found a calendar upstairs," she went on, reaching for the one at the end of the table that had the strange markings on it. "I charted and counted, I checked and double-checked, remembered everything I could, even through the hazy memories, but I got it right, I'm certain of it!"

"And?"

And suddenly, she broke into a wide grin and laid her hand against his own before tossing away the calendar and leaning over to kiss him. The meaning behind it was clear. They were fine. No risk of pregnancy, at least not tonight. And that meant that if she wanted to, they could-

Her single, happy kiss evolved into something more, something hungry and promising. He'd barely had time to bask in the feeling of it deepening before he heard the scrape of the kitchen chair against the floor, felt her move, and before he knew it, there was a weight in his lap. Her weight. They broke just long enough for him to see that she'd gotten up out of her seat to straddle his waist and could feel her even now winding her arms around his neck and into his hair, and…

Heaven help him, he couldn't have resisted even if he wanted to. She sighed and tipped her head back as he left a trail of kisses down her neck, over the skin at her collar bone and lower, as much as the blouse she was wearing would let him before her fingers called him back to her. She pulled him closer, and he let his hands wander over her as their mouths moved in unison until she pulled away, breaking their kiss but not their embrace, allowing her head to rest upon his own.

They'd been at the dinner table, fully clothed, enjoying a meal, and just like that, he'd forgotten every other need a human body could have...save for one.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, motioning toward the food behind them. She didn't even glance at it as her blush crept up her neck.

"Not anymore."

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #mr. Gold #Belle #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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