#of apparently having hyperfixations on the wrong characters birthdays

[sunnfish]

[ID: A digital illustration of Monkey King/Sun Wukong from Lego Monkie Kid. He sits crouched, balancing on his staff, with a confident smile on his face. His phoenix feather cap and red cape flare out behind him, and his tail curls beneath him. The background is a light blue with a slight cloud motif and a big yellow sunburst shape centered around his head. The artist’s signature “sunnfish 2023” is written on the flap of his cape. /End ID]

Woe, lego monkie kid be upon ye

Alternate versions under the cut ^_^

[ID: Two versions of the same image as above; in each, the color main color layer is turned to a different blending mode, changing the colors and allowing the background colors to bleed through. The first changes it to brighter colors, while the second changes it to darker colors. /End ID]

[t0nixium]

It’s so funny to me how my special interest in clowns has grown to be such an iconic trait of mine that my friends started jokingly calling me a clown, and I just kinda went with it at first, but now I’m at the point that I genuinely enjoy identifying as such—like that’s just me now, I’m a clown. I like to clown around and make people laugh. Honk honk, bish

And what makes it even funnier is that I used to not even like clowns. In fact, I used to hate them.

It all started with a show called Jojo’s Circus: a cute, cuddly little cartoon about a family of clowns. I was only a toddler at the time, but apparently I loved it so much that for my fourth birthday I had a Jojo’s Circus themed birthday party at some mini golf place. We all wore those cheap foam noses for laughs, ate cake, played mini golf, it was great. Or at least the pictures make it seem that way—I was only four, after all.

A few years later I was… about 7 or so I’d say, and I mysteriously began hate clowns. I don’t even know why, I was just freaked out by them and hated them for seemingly no reason. Maybe something scary happened to me and I can’t remember? I dunno. Anyway, fast forward to age 13 and we arrive at the beginning of my Homestuck phase. Oh boy. What a turning point in my life. Meet Gamzee Makara, the motherfricker that ultimately cured my fear of clowns, possibly using the sheer force of miracles, despite being so terrifying that he makes Pennywise look like a puppy.

I fell in love with him. “What a cute lil goofball,” I thought. Oh, but I was so blissfully unaware of what was yet to come. Yet… somehow when it did come, even though I was genuinely horrified, my fascination only grew. Enter ages 14-15. This was the peak of my cringy teen phase. I cosplayed as this motherfricker, drank Faygo, listened to his music, read reader inserts, wrote stuff like “hOnK :o)” on my sCHOOL PAPERS, saved tons of fanart of him… I hyperfixated on the Makaras hard. And purplebloods in general, honestly. It didn’t help that my favorite color was already purple, so anything associated with the color tends to draw me in hadndjdj

When Hiveswap came out, who were the characters I was drawn to most? You guessed it—the purplebloods. But I hadn’t quite reached the point of no return. No, I was just fixated on Gamzee and subjuggulator culture, not specifically clowns yet. So how did we get to where we are now? Well, as the years went by, I moved on to other fandoms and every now and then a clown character would catch my interest. I didn’t fully fixate on these characters, though; I merely thought they were neat. Krusty from The Simpsons, Hisoka from Hunter X Hunter, Lola Pop from ARMS, and Jevil from Deltarune were some I remember liking quite a bit. I think what really kicked it off was when I happened to come across clown OCs and cosplays, though. I can’t recall the exact age this happened (probably 17-18), but through those, I discovered clowncore. I had no idea you could be so creative with a clown design. The aesthetic was so different than what I was used to; I couldn’t help but be intrigued. The unique designs, the themes of fun and silliness, the absurd colorfulness… I was hooked. A being whose sole purpose is to make others laugh? I’m surprised I didn’t get into clowns sooner because that’s just… so me??

Eventually I ended up doing all kinds of reading on clowns and fell even deeper in love when I found out how much passion and hard work goes into being one professionally. Like, you gotta figure out what kind of character you wanna be, figure out your look, be good at makeup, be a good actor, have at least one or two different skills to show off, figure out your act, know how to handle it when things go wrong, etc. etc. and I’m just?? Clowning is a beautiful art form that deserves to be appreciated. Heck, performers in general deserve loads of respect. I know I could never do all that stuff, especially not in front of a bunch of people with how anxious I get. Instead, I’d rather just enjoy clowning through art and dressing up.

Anyway, as you could probably tell already, I had become a full-fledged clown lover at this point. My favorite characters in media became uh… more predictable than ever, to say the least. *looks at Wes from DST and Sun from FNAF, both of which my friends predicted I would love because they know me too well*

Also at some point I took the plunge and decided to make a whole clown species because I can. Thanks, Big Top Burger. /gen

[miahasahardname]

I AM HAROLD HUTCHINS, FUCK YOU, I’M GOING TO MAKE A MASSIVE COMPARISON, READ NOW!

MY HYPERFIXATION MADE ME DO IT

Ok, ok, ok, ok, ok, lemme calm down a bit. I tend to get like, REALLY hyper when it comes to talking about my hyperfixation (Captain Underpants!!), so this may or may not seem like a rant, but please, I am literally IDENTICAL to Harold Hutchins, the amazing, wonderful, gorgeous, marvelous, beautiful, splendid, spectacular little child. So, uh, here are some amazing similarities!!!

Harold Hutchins is an ADHD icon. Before reading book 12, I had no idea what ADHD was. (Yes, I know book 4 mentions ADHD first, but I had that copy in Polish first and what in the everloving fuck is ZDUN?!) Yeah, my best friend has it, and I new that, but he called it hyperformia and we had no idea what it was actually called (we were in Primary 5, the legal still-allowed-to-be-a-dumbass age) so yeah, didn’t see the connection. So I looked it up and found SO MANY SYMPTOMS, most of which I could relate to on multiple levels. Being an idiot nine year old, I instantly decided “Yeah, I have this.” and then learned that self diagnosis is wrong! BUT it turns out I was RIGHT, after a lovely trip to the phsycologist when I was… twelve? Eleven? So yes, I too have ADHD just like the amazing Harold! (When I was younger I was an idiot, because I liked the characters and my friend a lot and their lives seemed fun, I thought the disorder was also fun, I was wrong, it really sucks, especially when you’re not on medicine.) By the way, I am PISSED that Cap. U is like the ONLY ADHD representation I can find. WHY?!

We can both be used as a mop. Crazy haired blondies, rise up! Headcanon, someone has DEFINETLY flipped Harold upside down and ACTUALLY used him as a mop. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to get all that dirt out his hair that evening.

You’re attracted to the opposite gender? I dunno, that’s kinda gay. I got book 12 on my ninth birthday, actually, and started reading it in the car when we were driving to Edinburgh with the intent of partying. I got to the page where the future families were revealed and I was STUNNED. This book which had JUST released… maybe a year ago had a GAY CHARACTER. I was amazed! I repeated 3 times, “Harold is gay!!” (or gae, if you wanna know how I used to spell it.) I was mind blown. Little did I know, some girl in my class that VERY SAME YEAR would cause my gay awakening. Another funny coincidence, both me and Harold are in love with a very caring amazing person, if we assume that’s what Billy’s like. I love the very subtle way it was just mentioned that Harold has a husband that just made me stop and then go, “woah”, as if it almost flew over my head. Did that make sense? I’m rambling lmao

Drawing is my passion. I like writing, but I’ve been getting worse and worse at it because for WHATEVER REASON, my brain is mixing my two main languages together to confuse me and make me forget how to spell words like peice, or write w’s instead of v’s because apparently the letter v is illegal in our ‘alfabet’. Instead, I’ve been drawing random things constantly, JuSt LiKe HaRoLd!¡!¡!¡! Do I need to add random information to each point? No. Will I add information anyways? Yes. Are you interested? Are you hooked? GOOD, BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT EACH POINT IS GONNA LOOK LIKE!

The Bad Dad That Left For Milk After Mum’s Divorce and Random Bully Trauma Club! Yep, here we go. I like to beleive Harold loved his dad even though he got hit because he just didn’t comprehend that what he was going through was abuse, just like me! Like, he could get into trouble at school or something and his dad was going to be told about it and hide under his covers, hoping he won’t find him so he doesn’t get smacked, but still love the guy! I HATE HOW TINY CHILDREN DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT ABUSE IS, GET OUT OF THERE AND CALL CHILDLINE, HAROLD!!! Oh, and the bullies? Jesus, bullies love picking on people like me- (loud, obnoxious, weird, egotistical, (not Harold traits, I’m not an identical copy)). We have Harold’s bully and his 3 goons; Sissy, Prissy, Pissy and Fuckboy, meanwhile I had Mr. Simp. So glad the both of us had epic, amazing friends to save us! Plus, we ourselves had our own special plans to destroy the bullies. Oh, and about friends…

BESTIE TO THE RESCUE! I HAVE A FRIEND THAT IS JUST LIKE GEORGE (minus the ties and shit) AND SHE IS AMAZING BUT I FEEL KINDA BAD THAT I DUMP ALL OF MY FEELINGS ON HER AND TREAT HER LIKE SOME THERAPIST. (sorry Millie D:) George is amazing though, we need more characters like him. I mean, what kind of five year old gets offered to go up THREE GRADES just like that?! I’m so jealous! Oh, oh, AND, my friend, like George, is there to comfort me and make me more like a more sane human being? Am I phrasing this right? Ok, just picture that moment of pure bliss in Season 3 Episode 4 where Harold gets very excited about what’s in the mystery box. See how he sits in that amazingly excited position? And how George then calms him down or something? THAT’S my friend, and also me. I get excited like that. I also get corrected (“Old unicorns?” “Old uniforms, Buddy.”), complimented (that one moment in Season 3 Episode 3 where George gives amazing compliment to Harold and hugs him whilst Harold looks mildly uncomfortable), forgiven and put up with (lmao Harold breaks the fantaseers 2000 because he’s caught up in the moment is a massive mood), etc. etc. I did have another example or point but I forgot (of course).

Cowards! When it comes to situations, Harold is the more cautious one. Ditto, ditto, ditto, DITTO. I am a pussy, and I am NOT afraid to admit that. Poor Harold is scared of a vampire camp. Not really as stupid as a fear of dogs, though. (DON’T WORRY, I’M GETTING REHABILITATED, I’M NOT AS SCARED OF GOING TO MY FRIENDS’S HOUSES ANYMORE)

Clingy, please, I need my best friend, PLEASE! I don’t know how our illusgaytor would do without George, how depressed he gets when they’re going to be placed in separate classes in the movie, when he finds out he’s gonna be put in a different grade than George in book 11, just such a fucking mood. I HATE waiting for my friends in the playground, I feel so lonely, empty, and most importantly I HATE IT when people walk past me with THEIR friends, judging me. It makes me feel like a loner! And I get uncomfortable seeing one of my friends alone, I just REALLY need to go over there and see if they’re okay, even though maybe my shouting scares my friends away. But, am I the only one who realised that George and Harold are each other’s ONLY friends? Like, in the books and the movie, they’re only seen with eachother. No one else, they have no connections with the other kids. WHY, THEY’RE SO LIKEABLE!!!

Is that it? Man, it felt like more. Do you get my point? I hope you do. Uh, so, yes, Harold is best boi, I like characters with lots of development and lots of things to relate to, um… ŚIEMA!

[ddwcaph-game]

aaahhh I absolutely love how you incorporated enneagram into your story! as a typology nerd, I am now obligated to ask you if you know about the enneagram subtypes (naranjo/chestnut)? I mean, ik it seems really inconvenient to add to the story but I was just curious if the author of my favourite IF demo knows that it exists <3. and also I've been spending the last few 30 minutes admiring how much the MBTI types fit with the characterization. sorry if this is a weird question, I'm hyperfixating !

hello it's Mx. Hyperfixation again and I had this one idea of assigning enneagram subtypes to the crush options. Lily is a social 5, B is a sexual 6, Wayne is a sexual 7, Roselyna is a selfpres 2, JM seems more like a 1 tbh (social or selfpres, not sure) if he's still a 3 he's selfpres. really sorry if this is intrusive to what you have in mind, and ig you can always google it to find excerpts of Beatrice Chestnut's book if you dk about it. feel free to ignore. if not lmk how accurate it is! ^^

Hiii! Thank you so much for the message and the recommendation! ❤️

And let me indulge you: I'm also glad someone else is interested about the enneagram (and typing my characters)! I especially like the enneagram for character development since it's motivation-focused and comes with built-in "character arcs".

I know about the subtypes and other enneagram stuff, but I didn't feel the need to go in-depth with them. Now that I'm looking at the subtypes though, they seem very helpful especially since there's lots of variation within each type.

I'm glad you love how I incorporated it though, I was a little worried because I know it's a very simplistic way of viewing it (I'll add percentage bonuses to certain personality stats in the next update).

And yeah, I'm probably just going to stick to the 9 core types in the game. But now that you mention it, I could also add a choice about how you feel about your original "birthday wish" to let you choose your type's wing. It's already complex enough as it is though, so if I do it I'm probably not going to track it.

Fun Fact: When I first started typing Lily and JM, I had no idea how the MBTI types work, and their test results came out very wrong. So I decided to just take the inverse of Wayne and Rosie's types, and it fit them surprisingly well. That's probably why I have more trouble connecting to them because I feel very much in tune with Wayne and Rosie despite being an introvert.

Anyway, I looked at the subtype descriptions:

I know I didn't need to read the descriptions to know that Wayne is an sx 7 😅 Very spot on since he's arguably more idealistic than Rosie.

Ohh this one is a surprise for me since I would've thought she's one of the other two subtypes, but I'm delightfully surprised to be wrong! I mean, I know that she's a people pleaser and that she's afraid of being abandoned, but I guess reading the descriptions helped make those connections more concrete in my mind.

It being the 2's countertype makes a lot of sense, and that explains why she's not an extreme extrovert. Turns out even I am misunderstanding her. 😭 And no wonder she likes being cute so much.

Oh, I'm pretty sure JM is a Type 3. The sp subtype apparently seems like Type 1 sometimes, so maybe that's why. And yeah, the sp description seems about right—he tends to be modest with his achievements and doesn't enjoy being in the spotlight much.

I'm not 100% sure about Lily since she's also pretty secretive, but I think it's safe to say that sx is her blind spot.

She's very conflicted about herself though, so it'll be interesting to see what you think of her after we visit her story world. 😉

B is very much a counter-phobic 6 so yup, the sx description fits them very well.

I'm not totally sure about B being an INTJ though. Both because I don't have a good understanding of the type, and because they're not as developed as the other F6E members. I only really understand the type once I have a character that I can associate with that type, but hopefully I'll figure it out once they start having more screentime.

[startofamoment]

that’s rough, buddy

Jake’s always had a complicated relationship with fire.

(A character study of sorts on firebender!Jake.)

Hi everyone! Welcome to this incredibly self-indulgent thing, in which I mash together my primary obsession of years past with my current reason for living. (Nevermind that they don’t intuitively mesh well. We’re just going to say that Brooklyn is kind of like Korra-era’s Republic City and call it good.)

An anon had asked me ages ago whether I had any headcanons on what type of bender each person in the squad would be. I hadn’t felt inspired to write an actual fic for this AU until the super talented @microfroggo took on my silly pitch to draw our boi Jake as a firebender a couple months ago. Because tumblr is tumblr, I’ll include the relevant links in a separate reblog down below – def check out Mikko’s work if you’re at all interested in getting something done!

PS: I should probably mention that I don’t do very much to explain the Avatar-related side of this AU. If you’re unfamiliar with the animated series, I’d recommend at least skimming through the wiki page so you get a basic understanding on the different forms of bending. (And honestly, if you have time, GO BINGE-WATCH A:TLA! I promise, you won’t regret it.)

PPS: FMA:B fans out there will note that I’ve included a little nod to everyone’s favorite Flame Alchemist… Because, yes, this is definitely just a gratuitous homage to all my hyperfixations. I’m sorry. (Not sorry.)

“That’s it. Use your breath, son.”

Jake inhales deeply then exhales, focusing intently on the small flame between his hands. He’s supposed to be making sure that it doesn’t blaze wildly or just die in the wind.

He’s done this particular exercise a bajillion times now. (Or maybe less – Mrs. Stratton did mention that he needed to work on his math.) Still, his dad says it’s very important to practice his control. Jake supposes that’s fair, given that it’s only been a few months since he nearly singed Nana’s eyebrows off while blowing out the candles on his blue birthday cake.

What he really wants to do is skip forward to launching fire missiles with his fists or propelling himself through the sky on flaming jets, exactly like he’s seen it done in the movies. But his dad says he’s got a long way to go before he can attempt anything more than a basic fire stream, so Jake just nods and does what he’s told. He’ll become a firebending master eventually.

Truthfully, though, Jake thinks that maybe if his dad weren’t working or golfing so much, maybe they’d get to train more often, and maybe he’d be able to progress to something other than breathing.

The funny thing is: when his dad officially walks out of his life, despite all of their training, Jake’s not sure he even still knows how to breathe.

--- 

 His mom’s an airbender, and Nana’s an airbender, and Gina and her mom are airbenders. So Jake wants to be an airbender. (If only it worked that way.) 

He’s unfortunately stuck as a firebender, with no one to teach him how to actually firebend, so he has to resort to copying the Ninja Lion-Turtles on TV. Raphael’s naturally his favorite, although he can’t make heads or tails of how to replicate his fire daggers.

He almost never experiments with bending at home, of course. He’s not the brightest, but he at least knows how dangerous it would be for one of his attempts to go wrong without anyone around to help extinguish the fire. On the rare instance that his mom isn’t at her multiple jobs, she lets him practice while she paints ceramics or cooks. She’s only had to run in with a bucket of water once, but, well– once is enough.

And yes, he could technically be enrolled in lessons… but that would cost money, and Jake would really rather have a full belly than a proper fighting stance. His mom is overworked and overwhelmed as it is; he couldn’t possibly ask her to look into registration fees at the local dojo.

 ---

 Occasionally, when he’s alone in the park with Gina, he’ll run through the few basic exercises he remembers then attempt some fire-jabs and kicks. He’s not supposed to, but he’s fairly certain that nothing will catch on fire in an open field and that, on the off chance that anything does, a patrol officer will handle it. Gina doesn’t mind at all and usually just uses the time to meditate. 

It’s on one particular trip to the park that it happens. He’s not even sure how he does it, just knows that he goes from buzzing from the inside out to shooting electricity from his fingertips. He lifts his hand up in wonder, trying to get a closer glimpse at the little iridescent bolts. He’s so enraptured that he doesn’t realize where his other hand is pointing. He doesn’t see the string of lightning hurtling straight toward his best friend.

Everything turns out fine in the end. The blast wasn’t strong enough – he isn’t strong enough –  to fatally wound her, but Gina still gets brought straight to the hospital.

“I’m okay, Jake,” she insists with a huff, waving off his umpteenth apology. “Besides, I swear I met Raava in the two seconds your lightning hit me. Did you know she’d be ethnically ambiguous? The scrolls have not done her justice at all.”

Jake chuckles, accepting the jello cup she offers him.

For the most part, he’s glad that she’s fine and that she apparently met the Avatar Spirit and that she still likes him enough to give him her dessert.

Deep down, he feels terrible. He’s never going to lightningbend again.

 ---

 Jake had assumed that he’d find his path in college and know what to do by the end of it. Instead, he’s a new graduate back in his childhood bedroom, freeloading off of his mom for as long as she’ll let him. He’s really just coasting through life and going through the motions, aimless.

Eventually, his clarity comes – not in a spark, but in a short-circuit fire erupting just a few houses away. 

He’s woken up by loud sirens blaring and screams echoing in the night. He acts on instinct, running out before remembering to put shoes on and running into the blaze without a second thought. The ground should be blistering hot beneath his feet, but he doesn’t notice at all. He keeps going until he’s parting walls of flames, ushering the family of nonbenders to safety.

In the thick smoke rising from the still-burning house, he sees destruction. In his hands, for the first time in a long time, he sees something good.

He thinks that maybe he should join the local fire department, that he should use his bending to help control and extinguish rogue flames. He thinks about it, and then thinks about it some more, and then figures that he probably wouldn’t enjoy the constant reminder of how devastating fire can be.

Months after mulling over it, he finally comes to a decision: “Mom? I think I’m going to sign up for the police academy.”

“That sounds like a great idea, honey,” she replies, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’m so proud of you.”

 ---

 It’s rough because all the other trainees have been honing their bending for years, whereas he’d been spending most of his life trying to restrain the inferno inside him.

Most of them laugh; one of them actually slams him against the lockers and calls him a “sorry excuse for a firebender.”

“Don’t mind him,” a voice says. “He wouldn’t know a good bender if the Avatar kicked him straight into the Spirit World.”

Jake looks up from where he’s slumped on the ground and recognizes her as the fierce metalbender no one’s been able to talk to all week. There’s a distinctive scar through her right eyebrow, and he wonders whether it came from a freak accident. (He also wonders how she got into the men’s locker room, or how she knew he needed somebody, anybody.)  

“I’m Rosa,” she says, reaching out a hand to help him up. “Wanna spar?”

 ---

 He gets better. 

He trains with any firebender that’ll take him on, watches instructional videos, goes on Yahoo! Answers… Soon enough, he’s wielding whirling discs and shooting comets of fire like the best of them.

The only thing he doesn’t even consider attempting is lightningbending. At least not until he’s in his thirties, watching wide-eyed as his new captain generates a cracking stream of electricity out of nothing. It’s just strong enough to stun the escaped convict they’ve been tailing, no real damage done.

“You want me to teach you how to lightningbend,” Holt says without preamble the next day.

Jake opens and closes his mouth dumbly, feeling thoroughly seen and not quite knowing how to respond.

“Before anything, Peralta, I should let you know that not everyone is able to manipulate lightning. It takes a different level of power and a certain kind of–”

“I can do it,” he interrupts quickly. “I’ve done it before, sir, when I was a kid. I just don’t know how to control it.”

Holt regards him for a long moment before nodding. “We start at seven tomorrow.”

 ---

 Jake’s always thought that fire meant power and aggression and pursuit. Instead, it’s weakness when he’s face to face with particularly-skilled waterbenders – those who can render him useless, temporarily buried within thick sheets of ice; or who send downpours of unrelenting, freezing rain over his head.

(He thinks, as Amy smirks and bends a rapid torrent of water toward his sternum, flinging him halfway across the training room, that he’s weak for her in a different way.)

 ---

 It had never occurred to him to measure the intensity of his flame. He’s always figured that the fire he produced was hot enough – hot enough to take down perps, hot enough to never turn the heat on in his apartment, hot enough to discreetly keep Amy’s coffee warm throughout the morning. (If she’s noticed him repeatedly finding excuses to pick up her mug, she hasn’t said anything about it.)

Charles, of all people, makes him check. “Hey Jake, do you know if you can keep a flame constant at say 350 to 425 degrees Fahrenheit?”

Jake turns away from his computer screen to look at him, his brow scrunched together in confusion. “Why?”

“I was thinking of doing an open-fire roast for the precinct’s Turkey Day dinner this year.”

“Boyle, you want me to firebend our main course?”

“It would make me so happy.”

Noting zero sarcasm in his response, Jake shrugs then swivels his chair back to his desk. “Okay, yeah– But ask Gina if we can book the training room for this. I’m not firebending a turkey in my apartment.”

 ---

 It turns out that being a walking furnace really does have its perks. Or at least that’s what Jake realizes as Amy burrows into his side, pressing her nose into the crook of his neck.

“You’re warm,” she mumbles sleepily, exhausted from the day’s departmentally-mandated sparring practice and the just-as-steamy bedroom activities that followed.

(It had to have been well over their thousandth time facing off in the precinct gym, both of them familiar enough with each other that they could anticipate nearly all of their attacks… Except he really could never have foreseen Amy’s final move: completely disarming him, not with a tidal wave but with a kiss.)

“Warm?” he scoffs teasingly. “I think you mean hot.”

She groans loudly but cuddles closer to him still, her smile burning against his bare skin.

 ---

 He gets thrown for a loop when their major serial murder case boils down to a ring of firebenders, all stuck in their old way of thinking.  

“You’re not them,” Amy reminds him, running a gentle but steady hand down his back.

I could be, he thinks. Because even now – especially now – in the calm silence of the evidence lockup, he can feel the sheer power thrumming beneath his skin. All it would take is for him to get too angry or too drunk or too anything, and the worst could happen.

“You’re a good person, Jake,” she says, her tone more firm than before. “You always have been.”

He swallows thickly and nods, letting her pull him into a long embrace.

 ---

 If there’s one thing he’s wished he could do with his firebending, it’s healing. He’s watched Amy do it countless of times, stepping up as the precinct’s unofficial healer whenever necessary. He’s felt the soothing power of it himself – cool water coaxing at his skin, repairing everything from a black eye to a bloody nose to a stiff back.

Right now, watching the love of his life start to bleed out before his eyes… He’s never felt more helpless.

“Damn it!” Jake yells, pushing his jacket into her side, willing the bleeding to stop. With the shooter knocked out and cuffed in the corner, he’s finally free to assess the damage. “When is the ambulance going to get there? You need a healer, now! ”

“J-Jake,” she chokes out, bringing a shaky hand to his clenched fist. “F-f-fire c-can cauter-r-rize.”

He lets out a sharp gasp, his eyes wide with shock. “You want me to burn you?!” He shakes his head vehemently. “No, Amy, no. It’s too dangerous. I could kill you–”

“Y-you won’t,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. The open trust in her eyes makes him want to sob. “Jake.”

“Okay,” he says, wiping hot tears with the back of his hand. “Okay.”

 ---

 “Can you do the twinkling lights again, Uncle Jake? Pleeaaase?”

It’s bedtime at the Jeffords household, and two little girls are decidedly not asleep.

“Please, Uncle Jake? Aunt Amy? One last story and the twinkling lights?”

He meets Amy’s gaze and raises an eyebrow. She shrugs, her lips curling into a smile. “I suppose just one short book wouldn’t hurt. Right, Jake?”

He hums, feigning thought while glancing at the clock. “We might have just enough time before your daddy and mommy get back.”

Cagney and Lacey cheer as he switches off their bedside lamp, and then watch with glee as he fills their room with dozens of tiny, carefully-placed flames. He makes them flicker with a precise movement of his hands, makes them float like fireflies in the night sky.

The twins fall asleep soon enough, lulled by the soft tone of Amy’s voice and the amber glow of the lights.

Sometimes Jake forgets how enchanting fire can be.

 ---

 Yet again, he’s at the mercy of a waterbender.

This time, it’s his daughter, only two-weeks-old and somehow already able to cause ripples and waves as she moves a tiny hand through the warm water in her tub. She lacks any real control, which is perhaps the biggest problem.

“Amy!” he calls out, equal parts awed and panicked. There’s nothing much he can do right now, apart from maybe distracting the baby with a dancing flame. (Not that he’d allow her anywhere near fire, at least not yet.)  

 ---

 “I’m going to be a waterbender like Mommy,” his son declares one day, with all the confidence of a child that’s crossed the jungle gym for the first time. He’s a little older than most kids are when they start bending, but it’s too early to be concerned about it; he could just be a late bloomer. (Granted, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t start bending at all. They’d love him just the same if he were a nonbender.)

“How about firebending?” Jake jests lightly, feeling a bit wounded but also kind of relieved.

“Hmm, maybe,” Max shrugs, before running off again to play.  

Of course, of course, when the boy eventually does start bending, it’s a scorching stream of fire that bursts from his small outstretched fist. He’d been mimicking the probenders they’d seen on TV the day before, copying their fighting stances down to a tee.

Jake meets his eyes and sees the same mixture of fear and amazement he’s come to know so well. He quickly takes control of the wild flame, tamping it down to a low ember before gently passing it back to his son.

Max nurses the glowing warmth between his two palms, staring at it in fierce concentration. It flares too-strong for a moment, then recedes but doesn’t fizzle out.

Jake nods at him and smiles, pride blossoming in his chest.

“That’s it. Use your breath, son.”