#INSPIRED BY ME HAVING A MENTAL BREAKDOWN OVER A DRAWING

[h0wdyydee]

POORLY DRAWN GROGU EVERYDAY UNTIL 2022 ENDS: DAY 239

anguish

[sealrock]

decembhyur, day 14: water

I have a recurring dream of hector, and paris is not in it. I dream of him frozen in a moment in time that forces me to relive the heartache and terror I put him through. he's separated from me by water; at times it appears to be a lake, and other times an ocean. I hear the roar of waves and the wind chill against my face, but hector does not move from his spot. I cannot discern if he says anything to me during these moments. he just stands there, away from me, just like before. he looks so small and fragile marooned out there, and yet I cannot save him. as I stand firmly rooted in place, as I've done so many times before, a heavy fog begins to roll over the tide. it engulfs everything in its path, including hector. my voice seizes, a lump forms in my throat as I watch him vanish before my eyes. I feel hot tears mixed with kohl race down and stain my cheeks, and still, I cannot speak. I cannot cry. I cannot scream. all I can do is stand there, just like I've always done before, suddenly so helpless and useless in the face of a horror of my own making. I failed him. I pushed him aside so callously when he needed me the most. he will always be here, trapped by ever-flowing water. I cannot reach him… not anymore. — ♫

[yufynn]

timkon clone child au inspired by this fic over here by @jpeg-dot-jpeg (sorry about the tag)!!!

i had a random boost of strength from a vision, the doodle is not very good but the idea of tim stealing the clone baby from a slightly more insane tim that loses it from the fic just gives me a mental breakdown (positive).

also some additional notes: timkon clone baby has kon’s eyes, actually looks a lot like kon (i envisioned them more lighter blue) more than tim only bc i tried to make him have tim’s eyes n it just looked depressed. no i didn’t use a ref for anything bc it was 12am and im running on purely vision rn.

also also tim is boy mum coded so they have a son rn like in the fic as well!! i might make more works but i also don’t know how to draw babies OTL i suffer …

notes on the doodle if people need it:

- clone baby is wearing batman/bat girl (cass adjacent) onesie (why not supes? bc uhh can’t draw rn)

- kon spits his drink reaction (will draw him next time)

- as explained tim stole this clone baby like in the fic !! not made in house universe

- baby is ??? months old bc idk babies but the age where they can open their eyes n gurgle but not like walk or do anything rlly

i had fun but im gonna crash n regret this later

[saellefanwork]

𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐬

Kamado Tanjiro x DemonSlayer!F!Reader x (Past) Rengoku Kyojuro

Reminder: This Demon Slayer fic is rated Explicit (adults only) for canon-typical violence and, disturbing and explicit sexual content

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Chapter 1: The Shadow of the Fiancé

After the devastating loss of your fiancé, Rengoku Kyojuro, your world shattered irreparably. In your darkest hours, it was your cherished and devoted friend, Tanjiro, who became your anchor, vowing to care for you just as he had promised his late master. His love for you burned bright, carrying the hope that someday you might return his affections.

However, as you embarked on an intimate relationship with Tanjiro, your depression intensified, and the shadow of your past fiancé continued to haunt you every night.

Author Note: This work draws inspiration from "Whoever You Want Me to Be" by myprettydarlings on AO3. I highly recommend giving it a look. However, right from the beginning, this fic will take a different direction. Also, if you haven't noticed, this is rated explicit, so please proceed carefully.

Rest assured, despite all the heavy themes, this story will ultimately have a happy ending.

Warning Tags: Post Mugen Arc, Grief, Sad, Angst, Depression, Mental Breakdown, Toxic relationship, Dubious consent, Oral sex, Vaginal sex, Bottom Kamado, Top Reader, Orgasm denial/delay (someone doesn't finish), did I say sad already?

How long had it been since the death of Rengoku Kyojuro, the Flame Pillar? Too long, considering everything that had transpired since that tragic event. Yet, Tanjiro remembered it as vividly as if it had occurred yesterday – the fateful night when blood and tears had flowed like a river. The abyssal despair he had felt that moment could be summoned with just a thought. A sorrow that had found its equal only in your wails and cries, as if you were the one agonizing... and not your fiancé.

"Watch over her for me, Kamado my boy. She loves you as much as she loves me. And I already know that you adore her as much as I do," his master had whispered from his bloodied lips, not long before taking his final breath. His ruby and gold embers were dimly glowing in the light of the last sunrise he would ever see.

Every time Tanjiro contemplated this last wish, still freshly etched in his memory despite the passage of time, tears welled up in his eyes. Oh, how much he missed his Aniki. How mistaken this kind, brave, and strong man had been when he uttered those final words...

"Kyojuro!" you called out in despair, clutching the burgundy-haired Slayer’s sleepshirt, trying to rouse a reaction from him. You had just experienced a nightmare – the same haunting dream that replayed every night. A dream where your beloved would die, killed by an Upper Moon near a train crash.

You sought reassurance, but the person lying next to you seemed lost in thought, deaf to your pleas.

"Kyojuro!" you insisted, shaking him so forcefully that his hanafuda earrings jingled against the mattress.

Tanjiro snapped back to reality and gazed at you with a sorrowful expression. He finally pulled you into his arms, his hands gripping your back tightly, almost to the point of discomfort. How many nights had this painful charade repeated itself? He needed to summon the courage to confront you about this matter, and he had to remain resolute despite your resistance and distress. This could no longer continue.

"No, love...," he whispered to you gently but firmly. "It's not Kyojuro... it's Tanjiro. Rengoku-san is..."

Your eyes widened in shock, and you shook your head violently, pushing him away and covering your ears with your hands. "No! Don't say anything! Why are you doing this to me, Kyojuro? Reassure me like you usually do, please! I'm scared."

Seeing you in this state always shattered his heart. That's why he had been playing this role night after night. But recently, even during the day, you had started to mix his name with that of your deceased fiancé, despite you being the one who had asked him to go out with you after the funerals. Tanjiro had reached his limit. He felt that if he didn't stop now, a part of him would cease to exist for good.

"My love, please... I can't pretend to be him any longer... I can't take it anymore. I've done everything to replace him, but in the end, no matter what I do, I'm just Kamado Tanjiro."

He knew you could hear him, but you remained huddled within yourself, eyes closed, brows furrowed, and fists clenched above your ears. Despite his legendary patience, Tanjiro felt at his wit's end. He couldn't count how many times this scene had replayed itself. Desperation gnawed at him as he grasped your wrists firmly, attempting to coax you to face him.

"Please, just listen..."

"No!!"

"I don't want to hurt you either. I love you, and I wish to be with you, but I've tried everything, and your condition is only deteriorating. I don't know what else to do, so maybe we should sto–..."

To his awe, you broke free from his grip and forcefully pushed him down onto the futon, holding his hands above his head. Your raw strength took him aback. Despite the fact that you were a Slayer too, you had always appeared delicate, often relying on poison like your master, the Insect Pillar, did. Your eyes, locked with his, seemed haunted by an unspeakable fear.

The fear of him leaving you, just as Kyojuro had.

His heart skipped a beat when you pressed your mouth against his, in a kiss as passionate as it was desperate. This was unlike any kiss you'd shared before. While he knew he should have resisted, he couldn't deny the bittersweet, almost painful pleasure this deep and long-awaited kiss brought him. Instead of pulling away from your grasp, his fingers cautiously interlocked with yours.

You only briefly parted your lips from his, letting him catch his breath like a drowning man emerging for air in a turbulent sea.

"No, Tanjiro... There's one thing you haven't done yet," you whispered to him.

The Slayer's eyes widened, his heart pounding, thinking he might have misheard. You had just called him by his real name for the first time in nearly a week, and it was during the night, no less... although the circumstances were unsettling. Hearing his name on your glistening lips and seeing you look at him as if he were the center of your universe, he knew he was a goner. He loved you too much to leave you now.

Sensing that you could persuade him to stay, you resumed your urgent kisses that clouded his mind, while guiding one of his hands to your waist and the other to your chest. He gasped in surprise at your forwardness, his eyes wide open. He had never dared touching you like this before, and you had never invited him. At least, not while saying his name.

"Make me yours, Kyo – no, Tanjiro... don't hold back," you commanded him, a strange gleam in your eyes, as if you were oscillating between the realms of dreams and reality.

Tanjiro appeared hesitant, his voice murmuring your name with a bewildered expression. You seemed utterly desperate, mixing the name of the man you loved so dearly with his own, which he had longed to hear you whisper with the same affection... It was hard for him to deny you, considering he had desired you for as long as he had known you, though he'd always concealed his feelings.

As he stood there, frozen and indecisive, you took charge, deftly unbuttoning his nightshirt. His breath quickened, yet he offered no resistance. Soon, his muscular chest was bared in the soft moonlight. He was as well built as Kyojuro... although the man before you was shorter, and the scars adorned his frame in different places. Your hands roamed his torso, your current vision overlapping with memories of another body, one you could never touch again. To mask your confusion, you proceeded to undo your top. Still immobilized, Tanjiro's gaze followed your every move as you unbuttoned your shirt, revealing the binding encasing your breasts, which you hadn't removed before sleeping. He seemed to snap back to reality when you started to loosen them, his grip stopping your hands for a moment.

"Baby, I'm not sure if this is a good idea," he protested.

In response, you freed yourself from his hold and let the binding fall, uncovering your bust in one fluid motion. The coolness of the night air and the anticipation had already caused the pink tips of your bosom to harden. Jaws slightly agape, Tanjiro's gaze was immediately drawn to them, although he quickly forced himself to close his eyes to break the spell. He felt your lips on him once more, feverishly exploring his mouth and neck, as you guided both his hands onto your exposed skin. Instinctively, he gripped your breasts, pinching your prominent nipples between his fingers, and you moaned while sucking his tongue, sending shivers along his spine.

"Ha... K..."

You almost uttered "Kyojuro" again but stopped just in time. Tanjiro must have noticed because you sensed him tense under you. To divert his attention, you pressed your groin against the painfully hard bulge in his pajama bottoms. He groaned uncontrollably beneath you, and you felt the fever of desire taking over you even more intensely. He was more expressive than Kyojuro, which was a blessing. It helped to anchor your mind to reality and resist your delirium as best as you could.

Your hands descended to his abdomen, deftly untying the knot of his bottoms then your own. Tanjiro seemed to struggle to keep up with the pace of events. He wanted to slow it down, make sure you were fully aware of what was happening, while you did everything in your power to prevent him from stopping you, with the complicity of his desire-filled body. In a few swift movements, you rid both of you of your clothing. You were now fully naked, Tanjiro panting helplessly below you.

You once again pressed your groin against his, the warm and moist contact of your lower lips sliding sensually along his length, your core eagerly yearning to welcome him. Stars danced in his field of vision, and a dizzying sensation struck him, his blood flow entirely directed toward his rigid member, so stiff it bordered on painful.

While you reveled in his expression, almost tortured by pleasure, you decided you wanted more. You shifted from your seated position on him to settle between his legs, your torso descending along his body, your breasts briefly gliding around his manhood. The sight of his erection emerging from the soft curves of your chest nearly made him lose consciousness, yet nothing compared to what followed. You ran your tongue across his tip, gingerly lapping at the pre-cum oozing from it. He couldn't contain the powerful gasp that escaped him, swiftly replaced by a torrent of uncontrollable moans. The emotions and sensations he experienced were so overwhelming that tears started to well up in his eyes.

As he felt your warm lips enveloping him completely, your wet muscle tracing the veins of his member in a delicate exploration, a part of his mind wondered if you had ever done the same thing for Kyojuro. Did you ever position yourself between his likely longer and sturdier thighs to please him with your mouth after a gruelling mission? Despite his best efforts, a pang of futile jealousy squeezed his heart at the vision. He wanted to make you forget the taste of your former lover, be the last one you served in this way. He desired you to think of no one but him from now on.

His hand, without him realizing it, gripped your hair, pushing the tip of his manhood deeper into your throat. You clawed his legs in surprise, almost choking. Your inner walls clenched in need, growing wetter as your arousal peaked your juices trickling down your thighs. Kyojuro had never constrained you like this, yet you found yourself drawn to it, for the forced motions left no room for lingering thoughts. You allowed Tanjiro to use your mouth as he wanted, surrendering to the rhythm and depth of his thrusts. The tension in your shoulders relaxed as you surrendered completely to the sensation of his hard length pounding your throat, drunk on his pleasure-filled moans.

When you sensed that he was on the brink of climax, you broke free from his grip and shifted to a seated position above him. He let you settle on his lap, his eyes clouded with passionate longing and his cheeks flushed. Your gaze descended to his swollen testicles. You lightly caressed them, savoring Tanjiro's sharp intake of breath at the touch of your cold fingers. You craved for him to release his pent-up desire deep inside you, to feel the ecstasy of his peak as he spilled his essence within you.

With this idea in mind, you straddled him once more, capturing his lips fervently, and he surrendered without resistance. Aligning your two bodies, you slowly allowed yourself to glide along his shaft. As the sensation of your tight walls enveloping his manhood washed over him, Tanjiro moaned beneath your passionate kiss. Giving him no respite, you hungrily absorbed his sighs, sucking his tongue and biting his lips lightly. His strong hands gripped your waist almost painfully, following your descent until you were fully impaled upon him.

Locked in an intense gaze, both of you remained breathless from the novel and overwhelming pressure of your bodies merging. After a few moments of stillness, you tentatively began to move your hips. Tanjiro closed his eyes, releasing a guttural moan, his expression etched with exquisite torment. You felt the throbbing of his desire within you and instinctively clenched your muscles around him, eliciting shivers of pleasure from him. Gradually, you started rocking yourself rhythmically against him.

With each deep thrust, Tanjiro's hands roamed your back, tracing your curves and contours, as if committing every inch of your skin to memory. The room soon resonated with wanton sighs, sensual whines and soft gasps.

As the eagerness of your lovemaking continued to mount, Tanjiro's motions grew more urgent and fervent. He held onto your thighs with a tenacious grip, as though fearful of letting go, as if he dreaded that this moment might dissolve like a fleeting dream. Suddenly, he rose to his knees, altering your position slightly, drawing you closer as he took control of your movements. He lifted and pressed you onto his lap, intensifying the rhythm and depth of your union.

In this new arrangement, the soft tuft on his lower abdomen teased against your clit, and the friction immediately built an orgasm within you. Tanjiro whispered declarations of love into your ear as he fervently kissed your neck. His hair, which he had let grown at your request, cascaded in wild disarray, the tie that had restrained it almost completely undone. You tore the ribbon away entirely, allowing his crimson mane to flow freely over his shoulders, burying your face in their fragrant, woody essence. With each deep lunge, you felt yourself drawing closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

"Ah... Kyojuro!" you finally moaned, your muscles convulsing with pleasure, a shiver coursing you from head to toes. Although your voice was muffled, your partner heard you very well and let out a hurt gasp. He considerably slowed his movements, but you compensated by grinding against him even more, your instincts taking over as you milked your orgasm for all it was worth.

Coming to a stillness against him, you both remained wrapped in each other's embrace, chests heaving with each labored breath. Tanjiro didn't push you away, but his hold felt distant. Your nose was nestled in the hollow of his neck, preventing you from seeing his expression, yet you could perceive that something was amiss. Gradually regaining your senses, you loosened your grip on him, your gaze searching for his.

"Tanjiro…? Are you alright?"

Upon hearing his name, he turned his face toward you, a reflexive reassuring smile playing on his lips – an ingrained habit from his days as the eldest son of his family. However, the warmth that usually filled his gentle eyes was conspicuously absent.

"...Not really. Be careful, I'm going to withdraw," he cautioned softly.

With painstaking care, he helped you off his lap. You felt a peculiar hollowness without him inside you, but that wasn't your primary concern. Tanjiro's demeanor deeply troubled you. It was as though he wasn't even in the room anymore. Silently, the former charcoal burner draped a blanket over your shoulders. Instead of holding you close and savoring the tenderness that typically followed such intimacy, something you'd expect from someone as gentle as him, you watched in bewilderment as he began to put his Demon Slayer uniform back on. He even secured his sword to his belt.

You felt that if you didn't stop him right away, he would leave and vanish from your existence forever.

You seized his hand with all the strength you had.

"Don't go, please. You promised me, remember? You made that promise to him too, didn't you?"

"...I'm sorry," he whispered, gently yet firmly pulling his hand away. "I need some time alone. I told you, I tried to replace Aniki in your life already, to fill the void he left behind, but I can't be him... and tonight... you weren't with me."

Your complexion turned pallid, and you trembled. Witnessing you in such distress wrenched him; he was torn between abandoning you in this fragile state and acknowledging that he couldn't continue like this. He waited for several moments, hoping for a denial, an apology, any words from you, but you remained frozen. Because he was right; you hadn't been fully present with him.

Summoning heroic effort, even if it might have seemed pitiable or insignificant to an outsider's perspective, you compelled yourself to let him go. He was all you had left, but you knew you couldn't imprison him any longer.

Regret etched on his face, Tanjiro tenderly caressed your cheek and withdrew from the room without a word, gently closing the door behind him.

You were curled up in bed like a wounded animal, crying your heart out, when Shinobu came to find you a few minutes later…

I'm probably going to hell for torturing these characters so much lmao.

Don't forget to like / comment / repost, it always makes my day, and let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter's updates.

Next chapter: "The shadow of the mentor" (to be released in two days)

[hon3yra1nbowz]

This is prolly all im gonna make for the whiteboard (plus a surprise!)

I don't know why, but this little drawing inspired me to make my first ficlet! Its def not the best, but i think its a tiny bit decent for my first one.

"It just occurred to me that i probably should have poured that for you…"

Ike stared down at the medicine-soaked bed and its habitant, who was now crying and feverishly sputtering apologies, shakily holding the now empty bottle and reeking of its contents. The smell of medicine overlaid with nauseating artificial strawberry made him turn his head with a quiet "bleh".

He had only looked away for a few seconds to find a stuffed animal for her, but Stuffy being… Stuffy, bad luck was bound to strike at some point, he was well aware of that, all of the Toppat doctors were.

And speaking of Stuffy, she had at some point stopped apologizing and laid back down, curling up into a shivering, still sobbing ball. Why was he just standing around when he should be… uh… scheiße, what was he supposed to do in this situation!? He was not good at emotions…

Pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh, he walked over to the counter and grabbed his phone, dialing his best friends number and waiting for him to pick up. It only took a few seconds before Galen picked up.

"Hello?"

"Galen, Stuffy is sick and having a mental breakdown because she spilled the cough syrup, i am not good at emotions, please come here."

[lauren-no-why]

Redmayne Brothers breakdown?

Phew, okay, here we go! Three characters to answer for, I love you for asking this, haha.

Johnnie

How I feel about this character: My precious baby boy, I adore him. Reckless perfect terrible child. Pat him on the head, he brings so much joy.

Ship romantically: None in canon. Johnnie/his ego, Johnnie/hedonism, Johnnie/so many girls he doesn't remember the names of and maybe a few he does but not in a serious way. He's a ladies boy, or certainly thinks of himself that way, and none of it is romance but it is very definitely lust and pleasure.

Also thanks to some very long-running eternally-ongoing shenanigans I ship him with Chrissy Cunningham from Stranger Things. @spectromagic knows.

Non-romantic OTP: Man it's not an OTP it's just these three brothers and their dynamic. I love them all even if it's mostly headcanon (BEN!!! PLEASE GIVE US MORE). I think they've all leaned on each other a lot over the years and Johnnie looks up to Dale and Alex so much. I can only imagine how absolutely devastated they are by his death (BEN!! GIVE) and that tragedy feeds me.

Unpopular opinion: I don't care at all for the Buck/Johnnie ship. Doesn't work for me. Buck is very clearly obsessed with Lee to the point of absolute ruin. I think the cigarette scene was mostly meant as a way to show that Buck can interact with the ghosts and also that he's super freaked out by this (at first) but then later just like, accepting of it. Does not read as shippy to me.

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon: Oh I desperately hope we run into him again, causing trouble out there in ghost form, because clearly we know he's still around. Also I absolutely MUST know more about his whole backstory and also whatever he saw in his visions and also whatever he experienced while black-brained because I live and die for cosmic horror and you know that's some really horrific shit.

Dale

How I feel about him: Without dumping paragraphs of headcanon here, good lord I adore Dale. We know he's brilliantly creative when it comes to music, and must have quite the force of personality also to be a co-leader of the gang. There's so much there to draw from, and then we also know (or it's implied, I guess) that a lot of the music that survives to the modern era via Lord Huron covers was massively inspired by Johnnie's death, maybe as a way to cope. I feel for him so much. Poor Dale.

Ship romantically: Look we have nothing to go off of, but if I had to name names I'd just go with the lovely Ms. Penny Clicks there at his side in the Fool for Love MV. In my head they had a thing once and are now buddies that absolutely lean on each other a lot, where he trusts her to get shit done that needs to get done. Big fan of the lady gang members as a whole.

Part of me also wants to ship him with Rigo but that isn't fair because it's purely invented and Rigo is like, dead or vanished anyway and so the only purpose that serves is to dump more trauma on his head.

Non-romantic OTP: See this answer in Johnnie's section.

Unpopular opinion: I don't... think there are enough popular opinions here to even go off of lmao

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon: Hey Ben can you give us more, thanks. I would like more. At least mention him eventually again since his name hasn't come up since Strange Trails and it's killing me.

Alex

How I feel about this character: The absolute pillar of these three, my third best boy, Alex I adore you so much. When there is no dad you must become the dad. Strength both physically and mentally. His crew has so much respect for him, Johnnie adores him, you know that he's always doing his absolute best to make sure everyone has what they need and are causing the most havoc in the right ways at all times. Champion. In my head he's almost religiously dedicated to the World Ender and has taken this leadership role very seriously. He's like a paladin but of a violent street gang that's part cult to some unearthly being. So good. So good.

Ship romantically: I accidentally started shipping him with Moonbeam in like a nonromantic but FWB way and I'm obsessed with this dynamic now. He doesn't trust many people but he does trust her, and she's more than earned it.

Non-romantic OTP: See this answer in Johnnie's section.

Unpopular opinion: Buddy who else even has opinions about Alex, we barely have anything on him, I'm glad that my head is a lively place full of extrapolation and daydreams.

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon: What the FUCK he didn't even get a single speaking line??? Peter Mendoza is such a sweetheart and a talented actor and he didn't even get a line??? Wasted opportunity. Bring him back. Let's see the violence he will unleash on Z'Oiseau following Johnnie's death. The man is an absolute force of nature leading LA's most feared gang. I need to see this desperately.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Family portrait

Warnings: very heavy angst, major character death, explicit descriptions of injuries, mental breakdowns

This has to be one of the most terrible - if not the most terrible - thing I've ever written, so heed the warnings.

Special thanks to @yuzanrath for inspiring this terrible ficlet and feeding into my masochistic enjoyment of angst <3

Enjoy <3!

It’s sobering - when Wei Wuxian feels it, the haze of wrath, resentful energy and pain clears away, like fog lifted off the surface of a warming lake. 

A-Yuan’s little hand, grasping tightly at Wei Wuxian’s tattered lapels, lets go. 

The tension in the fiber disappears, all at once, and the little hand falls limply at the side of the boy’s little body.

The world goes quiet. 

Resentment stops howling as it floats around Wei Wuxian’s kneeling form, unmoving, a sheer curtain of smoke. Corpses no longer moan, their hunger for flesh paused as they stare, empty-eyed, motionless, at the scene of a man holding the small, emaciated body of a child whose life is bleeding out of him in winding, red rivulets. The gaping wound in his stomach weeps still, no matter how hard Wei Wuxian tries - has tried - to stop it, the boy’s robes and his own, stained, his long, deft fingertips bloody, lukewarm. 

The horde of cultivators has quieted down too. They stand, like statues, swords drawn, eyes wide with fury and bloodlust, spectators to a tragedy that they’ve created. It feels almost as if they’re both basking in it and disbelieving of it, a whirlwind of contradictions. 

Tears slide over Wei Wuxian’s cheeks, clear, glistening, cutting a straight, clean path through the blood stains and dirt on his face. The droplets fall over the little boy’s face, his complexion pale, eyes halfway open. If sunlight were to hit just right - if sunlight existed in the Burial Mounds like it does on the outside - it would make his irises shine as if he were still…

Wei Wuxian brings a gentle hand over the boy’s face, ignores the way his fingertips leave bloody marks their way, and leans down to leave a trembling, tearful kiss over A-Yuan’s forehead.

He whispers something into it, something that only he knows, and then, with features contorted in pain, slides a hand over his eyes, eyelids covering the lifelessness behind them. 

Carefully, he lifts the boy to his chest, cradles him as much as he is able, his own injuries limiting, and begins humming a song. 

There is a gasp in the crowd, a gasp that ends in a wounded sound - but it goes unheard. 

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes. He feels the body in his arms slowly losing more and more heat, muscles and joints soon to become rigid. He misses the warmth of the little breath against his chest, the hold of little fingers on the ends of his hair, the seams of his clothes…

“Xian-gege, I wanna be just like you when I grow up!” He declares, a steely expression on his face as he lifts a discarded Chenqing over his head with determination - and both of his tiny arms. 

They’re both hanging out in Wei Wuxian’s cave, one working on inventions, the other drawing on paper as if to imitate him. A-Yuan usually sleeps in his granny’s shack, but his nightmares have become worse, resentful energy having taken a twisted liking to him - and Wei Wuxian is the only one that can help him through it. 

Wei Wuxian can’t help a laugh, taking the flute from the boy’s hand before he drops it.

“You shouldn’t be like me, A-Yuan.”

“But I want to!”

Wei Wuxian tries to suppress the flurry of emotions ready to spill from his eyes. He puts his brush and talisman paper away, and opens his arms for the little boy to crawl there.

His eyes light up, and he jumps into his favorite spot, nuzzling into Wei Wuxian’s robes like a kitten. 

Wei Wuxian ignores the way his badly healed fractures ache with protest at the sudden impact, and instead holds A-Yuan close, carding a hand through his hair. 

“A-Yuan, you shouldn’t be like me. You should just be like you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” And he kisses the top of the boy’s head. “But you have a whole lifetime to figure it out.”

“Will you help me too?”

“As long as I’m able, little radish…” 

He had imagined he would die before A-Yuan did - just like all parents do. They all imagine their children will outlive them, as it is natural for them to. They’ll grow up while their parents grow old… 

But Wei Wuxian isn’t like everybody else. A-Yuan isn’t either.

That’s what the rest of the world has decided, that’s why the order of things has been reversed. That’s why Wei Wuxian is holding the dead body of a child, that’s why he’s had to helplessly watch life drain out of his innocent eyes. 

What good is he, if he couldn’t even protect a child? 

The Yiling Patriarch? Who’s that? Who could be so afraid of somebody so useless? What’s the point - the point of everything - if none of it could save the one untainted thing living in these cursed, wretched lands?

“Such is the fate the wretched Wens deserve!” a voice in the crowd declares, disgust and satisfaction dripping into every syllable,  “Their young must be slaughtered like cattle-”

The voice dies into a gargle, a spike of resentful energy having torn through its inhabiting body, materialized from deep within the ground. The body flails, in the air, before resentful energy rushes to rip at it until nothing is left - everybody watching in fascinated terror as it happens.

Silence befalls the cultivators again. The static smoke of resentful energy has begun moving again, slowly, circling the crowd, then increasingly faster, tearing through the groups with unbridled rage. 

But it is silent. 

Only the screams of its victims echo through the Burial Mounds now. 

Wei Wuxian doesn’t hear them. 

He’s rocking the body of his child, singing to it, apologizing to it as if it would ever respond, as if it would ever matter. 

“Wei Ying…” 

A step, unstable, unsure. 

“Wei Ying…!”

Another step, even heavier than the last.

When he’s about to take the third step, red, tearful eyes fixate him from under long, dark strands of hair. He doubts they’re seeing him. 

“Wei Ying, I…”

Resentful energy howls, deafeningly, in his ears, as it circles him. 

Go away! Go die! What have you done?! Look what you’ve done! Monsters! Monsters! You will die! You deserve to die! 

“Wei Ying!”

He doesn’t know whether he’s screaming in pain, resentful energy tearing at his already marred skin, or to snap Wei Wuxian out of his trance, but it escapes him before he thinks about it, loud and desperate - and resentment leaves him, whispering threats and protests. 

Wei Wuxian stares, afraid, confused, shocked, at the man in front of him. 

“Lan… Zhan…”

Lan Wangji feels relief hearing his name out of the others’ mouth, but it’s short lived. His eyes fall onto the little body in Wei Wuxian’s arms, and anguish crosses his features as his vision blurs with tears. 

“Wei Ying…”

It’s only a short distance away, but Lan Wangji can’t stand up anymore, his body weak and hurting, so he crawls towards the two, ignoring the protests of his back against the effort. 

He sees, from up close, how hard Wei Wuxian is shaking, his veins swollen dark with resentful energy, crying soundlessly as he holds A-Yuan. 

Lan Wangji looks at the boy, a peaceful expression on his face, as if he was sleeping. The boy he gifted toys to, the boy that, lost in the markets, called him father. The boy that bore sins that were not his own and that paid dues he had not even be alive for. 

“They killed him, Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian whispers, tightening his hold on the cold body. “He was on his own...crying… I didn’t know…” 

“It’s not your fault, Wei Ying…” and he reaches to touch A-Yuan’s cold cheek, wet with Wei Wuxian’s tears. “It’s not your fault…” 

“I watched him die, Lan Zhan… That’s all I could do…”

Lan Wangji tentatively reaches to wrap an arm around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, worries it might scare him away - but Wei Wuxian leans into the touch, into him, his eyes never leaving A-Yuan. He's shaking even more now, resentment crawling up his body, but never touching A-Yuan's corpse.

“I want to kill them all, Lan Zhan…”

Lan Wangji holds him, tightly, lips against his temple, “Kill them, Wei Ying." The weight of Bichen on his hip feels unbearable, and he discards of it, resentful energy wrapping around it curiously, as if taken aback by the lack of resistance. "All of them.”

Wei Wuxian wishes he still had it in him to question this - Lan Wangji, of all people… he would never agree to this, he would never encourage it…

Has he rescinded Bichen? Or is the sword spirit... does it accept this? Does it want to be used for such a purpose...?

But none of this matters anymore. Neither Wei Wuxian, nor Lan Wangji are the same people now. No parents are the same after their child dies. Empty, meaningless.

Resentful energy dances into the air as if rejoicing. 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes glow red, and he lifts one of his hands in the air, holding the stygian tiger amulet like bait. 

Wisps of resentment gather to it quickly, knocking into each other, weaving around it, around themselves. Expectant.

“Feast.”

The Burial Mounds rattle, a formidable earthquake splitting the earth open, ancient corpses rising to the order. 

In the cacophony of anguished screams and moaning corpses, storming resentment and blood rivers, a family stays, united, broken, untouched by it all as they hold one another. 

Hold one another and sing. 

–

Nobody comes out alive out of the Burial Mounds. 

The siege is never spoken of again.

The boundary has never been crossed since.

[mrspockify]

Oh I love these Q&As! 😁📝

I'll go with 4, 20 and 55 please! ^-^

Ask Game

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

I mean I think I draw a lot of inspiration from other creators, whether it’s a concept that strikes my fancy and gets me thinking about a similar idea in my own version, or even just an emotion that another work evokes that makes me want to explore. There’s so much talent and creativity in this fandom and it lends itself to a lot of inspiration! 💕

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Oh definitely a lot, I write similar scenarios over and over again 😂 Anyone who’s read Coming Down (and a number of other fics) knows I can’t stop myself from writing characters comforting each other to sleep, characters having complete mental breakdowns with ugly sobbing, and characters protecting others at their own expense.

I also feel like I overuse the words tender, gentle, soft, breathing (always with the sharp breaths and ragged breaths and can’t breaths etc etc), throat and chest. But also I like to write the physicality of emotions and the chest and throat are where I think a lot of that is felt so deal with it 😂

55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

Definitely Mario! I think it’s always been him for this fandom, but peoples’ reactions to the way I write him have also gone a long way for helping me develop a version of him I really like to write.

I also really like to write Peach, but I think the way I write her sometimes gets mixed reactions. I am aware that I really try to give her depth and complicated motivations, and that means she doesn’t always come across as good, but I really like her that way. But also having reactions like “oh she’s the real villain of this” does make me more hesitant to write her that way, even if it’s my favorite 😅

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers West Coast #62: the Witching Hour!

September, 1990

In final battle against IMMORTUS

Oh, comics, you silly. Always labeling things final when you know that they're just going to happen again.

Wonder Man isn't looking well. I think he forgot to eat his Wheaties.

Anyway. Immortus. What gives?

Last times on Avengers West Coast: a lot of things have happened. But apparently it was all Immortus' fault, manipulating Scarlet Witch from early in her career to make her fall for Vision so she would later have fake kids with him an have a mental breakdown over losing them. All so Immortus could use her powers, which he jacked up, to take control of time. For reasons. He's also been winnowing down the infinite divergent timelines to just one. Also for reasons.

Honestly, who cares? Let's just get this over with so we can hopefully move onto stories that aren't about torturing Wanda Maximoff.

The Avengers West Coast and Quicksilver are hesitant to attack Immortus as long as he has a catatonic Scarlet Witch as a hostage but he scoffs. He's not going to hurt her! She's so very essential to his plan!

Through her power, he'll safeguard whatever future he decided is the only correct future! You could say, that as a hero, this is what Wanda should be doing to serve the entire multiverse!

The Avengers and Quicksilver tell Immortus that he's dumb and these answers in no way satisfy them.

I'd also like to add that the team recovering between issues from their hard fought victories or near-defeats makes most of the last issue completely pointless.

I love a good Legion of the Unliving, I do, but it was all time wasting.

Anyway, hearing that Immortus needs Wanda for his plans, the Avengers and Quicksilver all charge in to kick Immortus' head in.

He tells them to knock it off because they might rouse Wanda from her trance.

Protip: Telling a hero team that the thing they're doing will thwart you will make them want to do it more.

So Immortus summons more assistance. Which he wouldn't have needed to do if he hadn't gotten rid of the Legion of the Unliving, for some reason.

Although in this case, the assistance is a big white dude named Tempus, the guardian of Castle Limbo. Which explains why he's never showed up any other time the Avengers have been here.

He can age anyone he touches, I guess. Which is a cool power to have in a world that is explicitly timeless.

Back at the Avengers West Coast Compound on Earth, Agatha Harkness yells at the afterimage of Immortus for his evil plans.

Agatha Harkness: "I know what you're planning, Immortus -- and you're a fiend! But -- why am I wasting my time shouting at a transparent doppleganger like you?" Afterimage Immortus: "I am sure I have no idea, Agatha Harkness."

What a weird series of writing decisions led us to this point.

Agatha realizes that she needs to get to Limbo to help Wanda but the only way to get there is for her to astral project her ethereal self out of her body and dive into Afterimage Immortus. Because of reasons, this sends her to Limbo.

Where the Avengers are getting their various asses kicked by Tempus, guardian of Limbo Castle.

Tempus smacks Old Man Wonder Man with his big club, knocking the aged hero at US Agent who catches him. And then passes the fuck out from the impact.

Hawkeye is surprised US Agent would be a team player - although he also calls him John Walters instead of John Walker.

Quicksilver watches Tempus no-sell attacks from Hank Pym, Hawkeye, and Iron Man and wonders whether even his superspeed will be able to help.

But seeing Trance Wanda inspires Quicksilver.

Quicksilver: "Wanda -- can you hear me behind that shield? We have been through so much, together and apart. For you to become, now, nothing but a human storage battery for Immortus to draw on -- no matter how noble or vital he claims his purpose is -- ! NO! In the name of Heaven itself -- no good was ever born -- out of something so clearly evil!"

Then he runs really fast and bonks Tempus with a club-shaped piece of rock.

Which doesn't knock Tempus down but at least gets him to react like he's been hit.

Iron Man and Hawkeye speculate whether it was because Quicksilver hit Tempus with a piece of the castle he's the guardian of. Hawkeye wondering whether he could make arrows out of it.

Tempus gets right pissed and decides to hit the Avengers and Quicksilver with... TIMESTORM!

Everyone of them is forced to relive their own "most fearful, most deeply buried memories!"

Which. I dunno.

That's not what I'd call a timestorm. Trip during memory lane. But not a timestorm.

And I dunno.

Quicksilver sees himself and Wanda fleeing one of the angry mobs that are ever-present in Eastern Europe and America in comics. I think, specifically, the ones that led to them being discovered by Magneto.

Hawkeye sees the moment of broken pedestal when he discovered his idol mentor Swordsman was stealing from the circus.

Wonder Man re-experiences that time he died. Again.

Hank Pym re-lives when he had to identify his first wife's dead body.

Iron Man gets that shrapnel to the heart moment. Oddly, not anything related to his alcoholism or Armor Wars.

Wasp sees when her dad was killed by an alien, all the way back in her first appearance.

And US Agent sees when his mom and dad were killed in front of his eyes by the far-right Watchdogs group.

All very emotionally devastating to have to go through again but I don't know if all of these would qualify as most fearful or most emotionally devastating. And the point is to confront the heroes with "the foe which, above all others, you can not hope to defeat."

But.

Everyone here has lived through these memories already. They've continued on. Coming to terms with what happened or not but still able to keep going.

Like, Wonder Man has coped with dying. So. MANY. TIMES.

This is called a timestorm so you'd think it'd be horrible, character-specific What-Ifs! Although, that wouldn't work with Immortus hating branching timelines. But still! Seems like a more interesting idea.

Whatever. Either way, these bad memories are enough to floor the Avengers and Quicksilver and leave them quivering helpless.

Agatha Harkness has basically just watched all this happen, sure she could do nothing to influence events.

But then she thinks 'what if yes can influence?'

And since Immortus is really distracted by watching the Avengers quiver, Agatha uses her mystic rapport with Wanda to try to contact her mind.

Agatha begs Wanda to give up the extra power that Immortus has been jamming into her. That if she gives up the ability to "alter the probabilities of cosmic timelines", then Immortus won't have a use for her.

But Wanda doesn't react.

Meanwhile, Immortus is wondering whether he needs to kill the Avengers or not. He should would hate to fit into the villain niche they're trying to jam him into but on the other hand he also hates that they might keep getting in the way so, yeah, sure, go ahead and kill them Tempus.

Agatha is able to get the faintest of brief reactions from Wanda when she begs her to fight against Immortus' control for the sake of her robot husband and for the sake of her imaginary kids who aren't real.

Okay, Agatha doesn't put it that way but the reality of Vision being an emotionless machine now and the kids being totally fake not real causes the ploy to not work.

So Agatha instead tries pleading for the Avengers' lives. Surely the Avengers hold a place in her heart? Her brother? Her friends?

Agatha runs out of time because Immortus can "feel their presence -- within my brain!"

While he blasts Agatha with PSYCHIC ENERGY, he orders Tempus to finish off the Avengers.

As Agatha fades she pleads for Wanda to "Reject those extra powers you never wanted -- for the sake of those who love you -- reject them also for the sake of those you love -- Reject the powers, Wanda! Reject themmmmm"

Wanda does awake. And she does reject the powers. And she basically declares "No more this arc."

And expelling the energy apparently somehow creates new timelines diverging from the most fearful, most deeply buried memories that were tormenting the Avengers.

Wanda and Pietro get burned at the stake instead of being rescued by Magneto. Grim.

Hawkeye scolds Swordsman into not doing crime.

Tony Stark dies of the shrapnel.

Wonder Man's death triggers a burst of radiation which kills all the Avengers except Thor.

Janet van Dyne is killed by the alien that killed her dad.

Maria Pym just... stops being dead on the morgue slab. Didn't even try to come up with a reasonable divergence on that one.

And the spray of bullets that would have killed Mr and Mrs Walker instead miraculously miss them.

These changes jar the Avengers from their bad memories floor quivering and also alarm Immortus who shouts that AGATHA HARKNESS HAS DOOMED THE VERY MULTIVERSE.

So dramatic.

Not Evil Anymore Wanda wonders if her blasting out all that energy is what will doom existence and thinks maybe she can just slurp it back up.

But then the Time Keepers show up and tell her not to bother.

Immortus is again alarmed. These are his boss mentors and them showing up is like they don't think he can do his job without intervention.

Time Keepers: "Immortus... be still. Long ago, we appointed you custodian of the segment of time between 3000 B.C. and 4000 A.D. Your duties required little more than the eventual transmutation of a particular nexus being into a source of power. You were to use that power over probabilities to safeguard key events which must occur in various timelines, in order to assure a certain future in which we have a vested interest... but even that simple assignment seems to have proven too difficult for you to fulfill."

Okay, so these are the dicks that told Immortus to go after Wanda?

Wellll, no. They gave him a list and he chose Wanda off of it. But choosing Wanda and then letting the Avengers and Agatha Harkness meddle caused such temporal chaos that it puts all futures in jeopardy and risks the Time Keepers never existing.

And what a big loss that would be.

Look. Immortus is a sometimes food. Too much of any Kang or Kang derivative is too much. But the Time Keepers kind of take away the only kinda cool thing Immortus had going for him. He's just middle management now.

Also, the Time Keepers are introducing so many words words words to this ending.

Wanda doesn't really care about all the words words words. She just points a finger at Immortus for fucking up her life. Immortus can only weakly claim he was just doing his job.

And then the Time Keepers jump in to remind him that he was shit at his job. And apparently, Immortus was trying to get control over all of time instead of the seven millennia they promised him?

I really can't care at this point.

The Avengers are all standing around commenting on this but it's just prolonging things.

US Agent yells at the Time Keepers that he wants to arrest Immortus and take him to trial by the US Government. The Time Keepers blah blah blah our actions are ineffable our deeds for the greater good. Also, we're cosmically powerful and you're a guy with a metal disc.

Hawkeye and US Agent can't take the Time Keepers' cockiness and both try to attack them. The Keepers just crank the velocity on the arrow and the shield way down and then commentate on which one would reach them first, ie which Avenger launched a faster attack.

Apparently Hawkeye wins but by so little it's hardly worth doing this sequence.

US Agent concedes that messing with Galactus-tier dudes is annoying and asks Hawkeye what they do now.

Hawkeye: "Not much... unless you've got a deck of cards up your sleeve."

Hah. I think he's suggesting they just play poker until all the exposition finishes.

Despite having fumbled the ball, Immortus demands his prize anyway. Because dammit, he worked really hard! And just as a reminder, that prize was rule over the stretch of time from when he was Pharaoh Rama-Tut to the time he spent as Kang conquering the year 4000.

Not that Immortus was ever that cool but he seems so much less cool when he's whining about 7000 years versus when he surveyed all time and had grown out of a desire to rule.

You suck, this new Immortus.

And apparently the Time Keepers agree.

They gather all the energy Wanda expelled and shove it into Immortus.

He at first crows at how much more powerful he's growing and then, like Wanda, he becomes catatonic.

Now, he will remain unmoving in Limbo, the power of probabilities residing in him to ensure that the correct future happens, or whatever.

This story is suck.

Despite everything, Wanda just feels sorry for Immortus. Sure, he was going to do the same thing to her but it is a truly horrible fate and she is not a jerk anymore because I guess she expelled the racism goo traces.

(Something that Hank mentions too, although more in the general sense that if she's feeling pity for Immortus, she must be on the road to recovery)

Actually, Wanda tries to claim that Immortus was "noble, in his own way."

Oh, Wanda, no. You don't have to big him up. He sucks.

Then, the Time Keepers decide they're tired of looking at the Avengers' dumb faces and just instantly scene transition them back to the compound.

Convenient.

Agatha Harkness claims that Actually, she didn't carry the team. Truly, this was an Avengers victory because they did a really good distracting Immortus by getting their asses soundly beaten by Tempus.

She phrased it nicer than I did but that is the gist.

Hawkeye just instantly passes out as soon as the plot is over. But Hank is left to worry about the dangling subplots of Tigra being tiny and feral and the Human Torch being broken.

Also, hey hey, Living Lightning's first appearance! I remember him fondly from the two things I've ever seen him in! The Great Lakes Avengers Misassembled mini and Avengers No Surrender!

Of course, next week next time, we're back over to the Avengers and the Crossing Line arc. Eh.

Follow @essential-avengers. Like, reblog, or comment. I'm hangry for feedback.

[system-of-a-feather]

how did you do the wooma art study? whats ur sketch process? im trying to learn how to do art studies next year and urs was rlly rlly rlly good so i wanna know ur process...

*slams through* DID SOMEONE SAY WOOMA ART?!

Ok ok tho like I literally haven't been near the front for like a month or so cause our systems been working on other things and me and the trauma parts related to our trauma tend to 'pause' when were not being actively set off or when we don't have mental capacity to deal with our Stuff but I like popped up like an excited little mole rat cause y e s (and this is not a problem or me being mad, very thankful if anything cause this shit is one of my few dopamine topics and i usually only front for negative shit so WIN)

But thank you on the compliment ^^ I'm the Wooma kiddo in the system cause Wooma's art gives me dopamine and comfort and I just really like it so it means a lot that you liked it.

Our system parts that do art actually have very different processes, but the only parts that do proper studies are Riku and I and even in that we have different approaches so they'll probably reblog and add on their process as well BUT AS FOR ME

A lot of art studies (the Wooma one included) starts with a lot of just looking at the art and multiple examples of it to find some tendencies and similarities. You can do this physically by like drawing notes over some of the art that they've done or just mentally take notes as you look through it. A really good thing Riku and I would talk about when they were helping me figure it out when I doubted art as a hobby was that its really important while doing this to make take note on the things you ESPECIALLY like and find really cool about it because those notes should be mentally starred as inspiration for how you might like to modify your own personal art style

But like a good place to start is to google the style you like or look through their media / portfolio and just spend a good time browsing it and interacting with the source art itself and try to pick apart the question of "How do they do this" which we tend to look at line thickness / quality / brush type, proportions, major shapes and how they represent things (eyes, noses, facial expressions and the individual ratios of them), etc.

I usually don't actually draw over / draw notes directly over since I just like to browse and take mental notes and reference as I go but for the point of this ask Ill do a bit of an example pulled from Wooma's Instagram (I got lazy since I don't usually actually physically do much of this type of studying and got bored)

So

Collect a number of references, I just pulled from instagram thumbnails; then pull out thing that seem unique / stand out to the style to look more closely at

2) Lower the opacity and try to draw over the general base structural shapes and take notes on how things work together and the "steps" done to draw the basic structures

3) Doing the above gives you a general idea on the "rules" that are principle to under lying a style. Cool thing is to then make the layer below invisible so all you have are your notes and you have some general good guide lines to reference for later

Then after you did that you can try to do an emulation / try to do and study a specific one you like so like I did a few but one I think I still remember the specific image I studied from was this one [link]

Which became this one

And from here you just kinda plug the art that you are directly trying to emulate and breakdown free hand to the side / corner to regularly look at and reference how the original artist handled doing one thing and decide how you want to apply that to your own

Follow the notes and "rules" you found below and do it as well

Another note I like to add though is that you should never be afraid to go "I like that but I prefer to do it this way / apply my usual style" cause Wooma tends to use a more pencily thin solid / cleaner line but I just like the brush I used, I like the sketchy messiness and I also like coloring in the way i did which is not Wooma style, but just how I like to do things. The eyes are inspired and studied from wooma particular in size and general shape, but I prefered the more fluid and less clearly parallelogram shape and did that as well + my way of handling hair is not studied off of Wooma but rather inspired by the over exaggerated angular style / expressiveness of Wooma's overall art

They actually tend to do hair a lot more in a - for lack of better words - normal anime style but I was like noooo i like the angularness and "dramatized stylized" proportions and shapes so I was like ok im applying that to the hair even if you dont

Like I really like Wooma's art cause of how expressive it is due to how it breaks a lot of typical proportion rules and uses very sharp and dramatic shapes as a foundation sooo

Oh and regarding sketching, I don't sketch I just immediately draw and start with the foundation shapes and just add it directly over. I might erase a few lines that go over but I dont really have a sketching layer. Sketching would be a thing Riku or rather XIV would probably know how to explain better cause I just don't.

But ANYwAyS we have a movie to watch with fam and all soooooooo Ill have to give up the front but THANK you for the prompt to GO OFF cause it was nice to be back after a month or so to do something so fun and just info dump and sdlafkjlda

Love you anon. Riku will probably add their version of this when they get the down time and energy (if they get the downtime and energy, a lot of what I put here was partially advice they gave me)

Hope this was helpful!

-Lin (I am really ad at shifting over from Rin rip)

[localplaguenurse]

I FORGOT TO DROP A SECRET

I think in two ways, pictures and most creepily voices, all my thoughts are an amalgamation of different voices talking over each other. This doesn’t just stop at thinking and formulating ideas (that’s how abyss Wifey and many many of my ideas come from! A discussion of multiple voices!) the voices also comment on what’s happening to myself especially in times when I’m vulnerable (like a mental breakdown, expressing grief etc). I’ve come to realise that hearing voices isn’t actually a “good” thing but I don’t wanna get treated for it! I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if it’s only my voice up there!

As an example, whenever I wax poetry in your asks or comments it’s kinda like having multiple people holding different puzzle pieces and all of them are rushing to complete the puzzle. It doesn’t always turn out right and sometimes the pieces are in the wrong place, but that’s the best part about collaborating, there’s other people who can correct your mistakes or in my case other voices lol

I am in no way a qualified mental health professional but that is definitively not a good sign. Your perspective is very interesting though, so I suppose as long as you're aware of everything around you, and the voices aren't cruel, then so be it, y'know?

I think a lot in pictures, as I tend to day dream a lot. I work a very repetitive job and spend most of my free time at home, usually writing away (or trying). I wanted to be an artist and then eventually comic author when I was younger, which I think is a big part of why I do that. The problem is that I have all these amazing and symbolic scenes and pictures in my head, right, but I am nowhere near skilled enough drawing wise, so I try to find a way to capture the feeling through words instead. I also just get random hard hitting quotes, like when Zhongli and Wifey are professing their love to each other at the end of ginkgo trees ("I will love you after we forget or names and faces."), or others that get really dark in context.

Most of my inspiration comes when I'm in my room listening to music and pacing back and forth to stim. It's where I get all my good ideas from, and is why some of my chapters are named after songs.

If you were to look at me trying to brainstorm, it'd look like me walking back and forth, occasionally grooving, occasionally making a weird gesture, standing sill, sitting on the bed, getting up, sitting down, getting up to pace, repeat.

And then in my brain it's like imagery imagery Pantalone imagery what if pants has frost on him when he uses his delusion oh my god he leaves frosted boot prints when he walks imagery imagery "my darling, look at you..." *crane wives playing in the background*

[clovers-super-cool-ask-blog]

Ahem, so, what is your inspiration for this au? And why'd you choose Clover to star in it? Also, btw, ramble as MUCH as you want. That feeling of holding in all your infodumps over something you really love and are excited about is REAL, and I understand completely. This actually seems like a pretty cool au, so you can deem me as a new follower. Can't wait to hear more :D! ❤️

Was gonna draw a lil comic to go with this one but I’ve been busy with other unimportant and school-related art projects lately, so I had to say no to the comic. :c So that’s why this took so long for me to get to.

Uh, Clover is kind of like a self-insert of sorts. What she experiences/goes through before the events of the AU is not a reflection of how I live and what she feels/acts like isn’t exactly too much like me. Her attitude is meant to be an exaggeration or a play on what I’m actually like.

The inspiration? Uhhh, I don’t really know, actually. I really loved angst and mental breakdowns for fictional characters at the time when I came up with this original concept, and back then I was kind of into the idea of those “Seperated turtles” AU’s. Originally, I wanted a “Creator of the AU goes into the story itself, gets trapped, forces main character to do their bidding” kinda story, where Clover would be the creator getting trapped and Mikey would be the one to do her bidding, per say. It was alright for what it was at the time and others seemed to like the concept but as I got older I decided to scrap the idea. I liked the idea of a hurt and scared little kid becoming something much more. Kinda like those “Am I the Asshole” type of stories where the overlooked kid grows up to become super successful in life and doesn’t help the parents. That kinda thing. Sprinkled in a little ✨Hamato Flavor✨ if you know what I mean 😎

OH MY GOSH THAT WAS A BIG PARAGRAPH UHM

O.O

A NEW FOLLOWER???

YOU THINK MY AU IS COOL??????????????

😍🤩💖

Thank you. Seriously, thank you so so much! I’m so so sorry this took me forever to get to, I really am. Really wanted to make that comic for you just because of how nice you are in this ask, but alas… Fate has chosen for me to not do that. Thank you so much for your support though, it means the world to me! So glad I’ve found another intellectual who understands the importance of rambling to the open air… Such bliss that feeling brings…

Thank you so much for the ask! Hope this answer was sufficient enough given how long it’s been… (Seriously. This has been sitting in my inbox for months. I am so sorry.)

Have a great day/night! ❤️💞💖

[asbestieos]

Kt has been one hohr and durimg this oje hour span ive washed the dishes, taken out trash and recycling, and shoved allllll of our stray clothes laundry shoes etc into the places they should go/areas where i can sort them out later. Its 330 am. I,m. Gonna ride out this momentum and then. I domt know i dont wanna sleep but ive been keeping up a good 8 hr sleep time lately for the sake of my health. Its atrocious out here. I want to relapse so bad but im so depressed im like no it would hurt,,,,,.. and yeah im right it would h7rt andいまぃっtぇsorryabdi am a little wuss wuss anout pain. Btw this cleaning spree was inspired because i saw the biggest fucking roach ivr ever seen crawling around my rotten left over ramen bowl and. I WANT TO CRYYYYYYYYY ARUGGGHHHHH AAHGGHHHHHH IM IN PAINN AAHHHH AHHHHHH AAAAHHHHHHH i cant keep doing this alone anymore but i dont want to cry about itim trying to be strong for myself here. Im trying to do thinges for me now. Ipthats the whole point i moved out wnyway i should fucking care more about myeself i have 5o do that selfcare shit. DO NOT FUCKING THIMK AHOUT YOUR FAMILY OR YOU 2ILL HAVE A MENTAL BREAKDOWN. YOU CAN 5HIMK AH9UT THEM LATER!!!!!! anyway. After my cleaning mania is over Ill probably stay up as late as i possibly can drawing gay sex until i grow too tired to draw

[writeshite]

Part 2 of the Mark Sloan piece was amazing! I had an idea which could techincally count as Part 3, but that’s up to you. It would be something a little darker, so just wanted to let you know before going into detail. I’d be well into Mark and Y/n’s relationship, and Y/n loses his first patient. It’d be someone who’d have no chance of making it, but since it’s the first time it’s happened to him, he doesn’t take it well. Y/n breaks down, and the group try calming him down but it doesn’t work, so they page Mark to see if he can help. The group is surprised to see how Mark is super patient and sweet with Y/n while holding him and just making sure he knows it’s not his fault. Just something angsty with a little fluff. Thanks!

One Step A Time

Summary:

“Don’t get attached.” It’s the first thing Christine tells you when you sit down for lunch; she waves her fork at you and repeats her words firmly; the others nod their heads in agreement as well. “What are you talking about?” “The girl on death row, she’ll be dead before the end of the week,” she elaborates, “and if not the, she’ll die in surgery.”

Pairings:

Mark Sloan x Male!Reader

Tags:

Death and Discussions of It | Hurt/Comfort | Crying | Mental Breakdown

Words: 1864

Author's Note:

Did I spend a bit crying because imagining this was sad? Yes. Did I also kind of use my own panic attack experiences? A little. Hey, might as well draw some inspiration from somewhere. If you happened to skip the tags, just note that there is discussion of death and Reader has a panic attack.

The day starts out really glum, cloudy day, a lot of rain, puddles, and cold weather, and you’re cursing out your beeper, sighing sadly when Dr. Bailey’s voice filters through, you’re both needed at the hospital. You change fast, and Mark grabs the keys to drive, the light of the moment being the off-key singing in the car as you go through traffic. You barely have time to shut the door when ambulances drive in; multiple stretchers pass by as you run in to put on your scrubs. By the time you rush back out, Mark is pulled one way, and you've pulled the other way; it’s all hands on deck as Dr. Bailey sends interns off left and right; you’re sent off to one of the patients in need of major surgery, her chances were one in a million, but you weren’t focusing on that, if there was any chance she could survive, then you were going to take it.

The patient in question is gaunt; her hair is all but gone, as the cancer in her system has spread mercilessly. She smiles when you enter, hand lifting to wave, “Good morning, how are you?”

“I should be asking you that, uh,” you take her folder and search for her name.

“Annabeth,” she tells you, “Sorry about the mess; I’d have cleaned up if I knew I had someone visiting today.”

“Oh, do you not have that many visitors?”

“Not really; no one wants to watch their money bank die after they get cut off from the inheritance,” she quips. Your eyebrows shoot up, “Don’t worry, I’m used to it; at least when I die, my money will go off to the hospital that took care of me in my last moments.”

Your hand goes up to your heart, and she laughs as well as she can through her coughs; you hand her some water; after downing it, she smiles at you again. “We’re not going to talk like that, ok? You’re going to go into surgery, get that tumor out, and before you know it, you’ll be spending that money like there’s no tomorrow,” you tell her, “A big ol’ fuck you to the shithead that left, you here.”

The statement brought out another laugh from her, and as you go over her file, you learn a lot about Annabeth - her family, or what was left of it, was heavily reliant on her inheritance, so much so that they were practically giddy at the thought of her death. Though, as she’d mentioned earlier, she’d changed the contents of her will, “I can just imagine their faces, especially my ex, bloody cunt that one. He tried to take over as my primary caretaker, just so he could leave me in some home while he enjoyed my money.”

“Fuck him, punch him for me when you get out,” you respond. Again she smiles sadly, “I’m serious; punch him, alright?”

“Alright, Doc, enough about me; what about you? Any family or cute guys hanging around you?”

You rub the back of your head, “I mean, I got together with, well, technically, he’s kind of my boss, but not really; he’s like a station above me, I guess….”

She perked up, leaning on her arm, “Ooh, sleeping with the boss then are we?”

“I mean sort of, but it’s not for promotional shit, it’s…I mean…he comes off as a cocky bastard sometimes, but you know….he’s actually pretty nice.”

Annabeth scratched her chin, eyes squinting as she looked at the people passing by, she started pointing at each one of them, asking if they were the one, but you just shook your head. She groans after the seventeenth person turns out to be a no; after your laughter dies down, she pulls out a deck of cards from under her pillow. You raise your eyebrow, “Don’t look at me like that; some of the nurses think I’m too fragile for a game of cards.”

She teaches you a few games, shuffling the cards with a wink, she switched the rules around to add more fun, and when you call her out for it, she plays dumb, and you both burst into laughter. She flings cards at you whenever you call her out, and soon enough, cards are lying everywhere; you pick them up as she sticks her tongue out. The sound of your beeper disrupts the moment as you’re needed elsewhere, bidding Annabeth goodbye.

“Don’t get attached.” It’s the first thing Christine tells you when you sit down for lunch; she waves her fork at you and repeats her words firmly; the others nod their heads in agreement as well.

“What are you talking about?”

“The girl on death row, she’ll be dead before the end of the week,” she elaborates, “and if not the, she’ll die in surgery.”

You shake your head, ���No, she won’t, Annabeth—”

“Oh, so you’re on a first-name basis now?” 

“Christine,” Meredith interjects, “don’t start anything.”

“I’m just saying, getting attached to a patient is a dumb move; they die, you fall apart, then you’re out of commission for a couple of weeks until you’re over it.” She gestures her hands around, “Look, not many people make it out of the surgery.”

“Yeah, well, the few that do are proof that it might work, and it will work; Annabeth has a lot to live for; she’s got an asshole ex to punch and a shitty family to take care of.”

Christine shakes her head, “Karev, back me up here.”

“Yang’s got a point; I mean, you’ve seen her, dude,” Alex voices.

You don’t say anything else and leave them at the table; you storm out of the canteen, bumping into Mark on your way. He reaches out to stabilize you before you can fall back, “Woah, sweetheart, what’s all the rush?”

“I’m so sorry, Mark, I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” he quips, “Now, where are you heading off to that fast?”

“I just had a shitty lunchtime, so I thought I’d get back to my patient; she’s in room 413—oh god, not you too,” you change the topic when you note the doubtful and pitying look on his face, the same kind that had been on Meredith’s face when talking about Annabeth. “Why does everyone think she’ll die?”

“Because she will, I mean, have you seen the statistics?” Mark asks.

“Well, Dr. Shepherd thinks she’ll be fine, and he’s the surgeon in charge of her operation,” you defend, but Mark sighs.

“Yeah, but Derek’s a dreamer, you give him a patient with an incurable disease, and he thinks it's curable. He’ll go all the way, even if it crushes him when they die on the table.” Mark places his hands on your shoulders and rubs down your arms, “Look, sweetheart, just don’t put all your hope on her—”

You smack his hands away, leaving him behind. You rush up to Annabeth’s room and find her gazing outside the window, “You know I used to hate the outdoors,” she says when you open the door, “everyone else loved to go camping or hiking, but me, I’d bundle up in the house and lock myself away just so I didn’t have to go. Now I wish I did; at least then I’d have some nice last memories.”

“Come on now, Annabeth, none of that,” you fluff up her pillow, “You’ve got surgery in an hour—”

She grabs your hand, holding onto it with what little strength she has left, “I’m scared, Doc,” she admits; you sit by her, “I don’t….I know you said I’ll be skipping down the halls…but I….” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay to be scared,” you comforted her, but she brushed you off, both her hands gripping yours tight. The nurses came by to take her, but she clung tighter until Dr. Shepherd arrived. You both walked alongside her bed as they wheeled her through; she’d begun sobbing and had gone through her fear by the time the anesthesia was prepped. “Don’t worry, Annabeth, I’ll be here the whole time.” 

“Ok, Doc, just, I’m happy I get to see your face before I go,” she remarks; the anesthesia mask gets fitted on, and as her grip on you weakens, she smiles as best as she can before her eyes close. The surgery starts well, but it doesn’t stay that way; complications start up, and they rise until soon enough, you're doing chest compressions as the heart monitor’s flatline resounds throughout the room. You’re huffing fast and begging for it to pick up again; you move back when you’ve had enough, nearly falling; you move to cover your mouth but stop as you note the splashes of blood on your gloves and scrubs.

Your hands shake, and your breathing picks up; you slide down the wall, huddling into yourself as the panic attack hits you. Dr. Shepherd tries reaching out to you with his voice, but it doesn’t work; he disappears from your view and then returns with Meredith, but when she reaches out, you cringe, drawing closer to yourself and panicking more. The rest of the staff around you slowly thin out, the doors shut closed as you begin to sob out loud; Meredith remains in front of you, hands held up as she attempts to comfort you. Their voices are muffled around you, and they’re joined by two other voices, but you can’t concentrate on anything and throw your gloves aside. Then the over garments, when you’re just in your uniform, you begin to furiously pick at your skin, scratching your arms and then your scalp as you yank at your hair. Someone pulls your hands away from you, and you flinch back, hitting yourself on the wall, causing you to try and scramble even further away. 

“Karev, you shouldn’t have—”

“—well, what should I have done then? I don’t see anyone else—”

“Everyone quiet down; the noise isn’t helping,” you hear Dr. Shepherd say. There’s some arguing, and the doors open and shut; when they do so again, it's followed by rushing footsteps and the loud yell of ‘everyone back away!’ The voices all quiet down.

“Breath, sweetheart, can you do that for me? Just breathe.” Mark’s voice filters through as he sits beside you; you try your best to follow the instructions, “That’s it, breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out.”

“I should’ve listened,” you say.

“What?”

“I should’ve listened…I should’ve known…y–you and, and Christine…I should’ve…” you break out into tears again. Mark drapes his arm around you, and you hide. You hug him tight, face hiding in his neck, as he soothes you.

“No, don’t do that, sweetheart, don’t blame yourself.”

When your tears are gone again, you’re left clinging to Mark, small sniffles coming from you as he rubs your back. “Feelin’ better?” he asks, drawing back to wipe the remnants of your tears. You shake your head, “That’s alright.” He kisses your forehead, “take all the time you need.”

“How is he doing that?” Alex whispers. 

Meredith shrugs, “I have no idea.”

“I didn’t think Mark had a comforting bone in his body,” Derek buts in, and Meredith elbows him for it. 

End Note:

Hope you didn't cry too much. Stay Hydrated.

[gloriousmonsters]

honestly re ‘reading’ tgcf (jamie reading choice parts aloud in sequence as we both make commentary) has just convinced me further of my ‘he xuan’s revenge was kind of thrown together at the last minute’ theory (which i will be taking no criticisms on i’m not tagging this i just had the urge to write out my semiserious thoughts in a post. we good? okay)

because like. taking sqx to his tourist trap hometown to look at a cool spookyday parade that tells his backstory is inspired!

(it got a bit ruined by fucking xie lian who is now always around for some reason (seriously xl is ALWAYS showing up again during the black water arc and i honestly don’t blame hx for bopping him once. hua cheng you shouldn’t have punched him into the ground for that he DESERVED that one) but ANYWAY)

and then we go to the pavilion where sqx ascended. nice, nice. and tell him the truth...... uh........ somehow..... look, I’ll trust it was cool and effective due to how it wound up with sqx screaming in horror and all. sexy, inspired. and shi wudu’s locked him up! I fully believe that he xuan’s plan at this point looked something like

rescue sqx like a total badass, take him to nice quiet honeymoon cottage in the place none of the three tumors will go, maybe leave him there while you go kill shi wudu? like, SURELY he’ll get over it at this point. maybe even

if things seem good reveal yourself and then hold hands with sqx and maybe kill shi wudu TOGETHER?? but let’s not aim too high this is a stretch goal

but like, clearly he hates his brother now! this is fantastic! everything’s gonna go great revenge is awesome

but Then. sqx goes! to help! his shitty brother again! COMPLETELY DERAILING phase 2. you rented that honeymoon cottage for nothing. fuck this

but fine. okay. you can pivot. you can change up the plan you spent like 10 years coming up with. yes it wasn’t a very detailed plan but like, you have a lot going on. spying and sinking ships, etc, and sometimes you forget you actually have to decide on what you want to do for revenge, but WHATEVER. you drag everyone into your turf (surf?). you split up the group. you have a palace with shi qingxuan’s name on it and a prison with shi wudu’s. yes shi qingxuan has to have a brief time out in the jail first but that’s what you get for siding with shi wudu and insulting your shovel. anyway! draw up the distance shortening array, drop shi qingxuan in a nice palace room, now you can go hunt shi wudu for sport.

shi qingxuan leaves the room. you forgot he can do that

well you know, maybe you should figure out something else to do with him! you’re still very pissed that he sided with his horrible no-good brother, after all. of course you’d still rather stab yourself than so much as scratch him but it’s whatever.

shi wudu somehow figured out you’re sketch?

shi qingxuan is standing with his brother again and acting REALLY weird in general

you are having a very bad mental health day at this point

...you know what, fuck this, let’s ALL go to the cave where i’ve currently stashed my family’s urns, it’s as good a showdown place as any!

grab some of those haunted house actors you hired and tell them to babble and scamper and caress shi qingxuan a little bit but nothing below the belt or you Will kill them

(the ~crazy gross people~ hordes are deeply unfortunate and i will mentally rewrite them as i choose ok)

now you can at least force Shi Wudu to bow and apologize but honestly you’re not having that much fun at this point

Listen: the ‘ooh swap your brother’s fate with one of my curated weirdos’ thing makes WAY more sense to me if you assume... it was never something he xuan intended to happen. like, seriously, the process was something shi wudu did from heaven, quite probably with Ling Wen’s assistance. how’s he xuan gonna make him go through with it if he lets him go enough to do it in the first place? (for my sanity i assume that if sw wasn’t having his own mental breakdown he’d also have been like ‘wait’). but the thing is! he xuan does not want that to happen! i fully believe he’s lying through his teeth with both options, because he demonstrably wanted shi qingxuan to side with him (’I gave you chances!’) so like. here’s what the options actually are

shi wudu (bastard; incapable of finer feeling) shows his true evil colors and condemns his brother to have a horrible fate! by agreeing to swap his brother’s fate when his life was threatened, he’s shown that he clearly didn’t do it for sqx’s sake in the first place. sqx is shocked, realizes his brother is Evil, he and hx hold hands??? maybe we can get some use out of that honeymoon cottage after all

yeah we don’t think this one will work but it’d be nice to see sqx kill sw. sigh. obviously we’re not going to leave him alone afterward, though, it’s his first murder, he’ll be vulnerable and in need of comfort!

ALSO ACCEPTABLE: sqx goes ‘pls he-xiong spare my brother and i’ll do anything to pay for his crimes 🥺🥺 ANYTHING’ and then you can break out the villainous but oddly compelling offer of marriage

but instead the shi brothers just start CRYING all over each other and acting like they actually care about each other?? (with sqx specifically saying that only they care for each other and nobody else cares for either of them? OUCH) and despite ample opportunities sqx is barely trying to appeal to your relationship (you’re best friends! you even admitted it as the ~Reverend~ in that restaurant oh wait shit did you curse yourself a little bit) and not coming up with Any tearful but attractive offers of atonement. come the FUCK on

then shi wudu snaps and things kind of go to hell

yes this revenge is not very satisfying at this point but fuck him for pointing that out

and after hx gets mad enough to rip off sw’s head, we have... just a super awkward, not-a-bang-but-a-whimper finish. he takes sqx somewhere offscreen, and eventually dumps him half-heartedly in a big city to be a beggar or whatever

and genuinely I think a lot of the weird gaps and awkward joins and weak finishes of certain plots in this book are, doylistically, just... the product of tgcf being a WAY huger and more ambitious book than even mdzs, there’s bound to be more flaws, but watsonianly. hx’s plan for revenge, at the time he kicked it off, didn’t include sqx, up until the end he’s still giving sqx (confusing, unadvertised) chances to earn his mercy, and i think him dumping sqx and staying at an awkward distance from him afterward has less to do with revenge and vaguely promising he’d leave sqx alone if certain conditions were filled and more to do with him just not knowing what to do at that point.

he doesn’t want to hurt sqx (much) but after losing his temper and ripping off sw’s head in front of him sqx was just going limp, if he xuan kept him was he just going to keep being suicidal on him? can’t kill him can’t keep him prisoner don’t want to directly hurt him but you’re still mad at him ok i guess drop him in a homeless camp and stalk him from afar for a while. write an AITA post on reddit and then delete it. shi wudu died laughing and the cute one you wanted to keep and maybe learn to call you your actual name is severely depressed and terrified of you now. revenge sucks

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

A rogue Druid’s “please join us” speech to Merlin triggers a few things:

Gwaine tries to commit regicide, Leon confronts his (understandable) fear of Dragons, and Merlin has a full on mental breakdown.

The knights are left to pick up the pieces and all of them consider following Gwaine’s lead.

ANGSTY ANGSTY 

TW: Blood, death, nightmares. Physical and verbal abuse. A very brief implication of potential suicide/self harm.

Everyone notices the sudden changes within the group, it would be hard not to notice.

No one has any clue what happened though.

One day, everything is fine. If they think back, they realise Merlin had seemed a little... nervous? Maybe? But other than that, everything was fine, normal.

But the next day? From then until now, a month later? Everything was different.

Arthur seemed much angrier. He flew off the handle over the smallest mistakes, he worked the knights so hard in training that at least three of them had to go to Gaius for treatment everyday, and he didn’t seem like he planned on letting up any time soon. He snapped at everyone, even Gwen and Gaius, which was unheard of.

Merlin seemed... quieter. The knights, Gwen, and Gaius barely saw him, but when they did, he flinched at even the slightest noise; his eyes constantly darted around, looking for a way to escape, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch him.

They were worried, but Arthur was so constantly furious that no one dared bring it up with him, and the one time they tried to ask Merlin, he came up with some ridiculous excuse and ran away. They thought they had barely seen him before, but after that they didn’t see him at all for at least four days.

They also noticed how both of their worrying moods seemed ten times worse when they were with each other. Even just being in the same room, made Arthur angrier, and Merlin... they didn’t want to think it but... more scared.

After three weeks of this, they gathered together, and put into place their emergency plan. Leon would speak directly to Arthur, and Lancelot would speak directly to Merlin.

Of all of them, they were the most trusted by each target, and were the most likely to get answers, and the least likely to get a bad reaction if answers were refused.

They were... pretty wrong. Merlin reacted in the same way as he had to the group two and a half weeks ago. Which is odd, because he normally tells Lancelot everything, and not only did he not tell him, he lied and came up with excuses.

Leon was much worse for wear. He showed up a while after Lancelot, pale and miserable. Arthur had just yelled at him a bunch and assigned him extra patrols.

A few days later, they were all still struggling with what to do when Arthur informed them of a quest that was to be undertaken. They were... nervous, to say the least. Going on any sort of dangerous trip with Arthur in this state was bound to go badly, but they could hardly refuse, and they definitely couldn’t bring up the issue again.

So they resigned themselves to it. Gwen wished them luck, and made sure to give Merlin an extra tight hug before they left, and Gaius slipped a few extra medical supplies in each of the knights packs, just in case.

Apparently, patrols of Camelot Knights kept going missing. Whole groups of soldiers, in one very specific area near the border, were just not coming back.

Arthur could hardly justify sending more patrols out, so despite his foul mood, and his desperation to stay away from everyone, he took himself, his five best knights, and his manservant.

Elyan could’ve sworn he heard Arthur mutter something along the lines of “As if I’d leave you here unsupervised.”, to Merlin, the tone far less jesting that it might’ve been a month ago, but he kept it to himself. They were travelling and camping together, there would hardly be an opportunity to share without Arthur and Merlin there.

And like they were all expecting, the trip was hell.

Awkward silences that not even Gwaine could fill, Merlin looking close to tears the whole time, and Arthur constantly looking like he’s considering extreme violence.

Merlin even rides at the back of the group (unheard of), doesn’t complain even once about anything (even more unheard of), and the few times he does speak, he addresses all of them by their titles (down-right panic inducing).

They, of course, realise it had been a trap far too late, and before they even had time to shout and draw their swords, the camp fades around them.

~

When they wake an indiscernible amount of time later, they have been stripped of armour and weapons, and have been shackled.

They appear to be in a circular, one-room hut, the knights spaced equally and chained to the wall. Their cloaks remain, but any chainmail or armour they had been equipped with was gone, leaving them in the thin clothes they wore underneath, completely unprotected.

Merlin stood in the middle of the room, looking very confused. Once he noticed the knights stirring, he tried to take a step towards them, but frowned when he realised he couldn’t get within a arm’s reach of them.

Once the knights came around fully, they realised that whilst Merlin couldn’t move all that much, they couldn’t speak.

Arthur looks to Merlin with fury written all over his face, and pulls violently on his chains. Merlin flinches back and gasps out:

“This has nothing to do with me, I swear!”

Before the rest of the knights have time to change their expressions to one of confusion, a man walks through the door. Everyone’s gazes turn to him quickly, and they take in his appearance.

He looked like a Druid... but not quite right, like he hadn’t actually been to a camp in a while. He wore neutral colours, browns and greens, but despite his calm demeanour and gentle face, he looked a little crazed.

Where Druids stand calmly and walk softly, this man rushed in and fiddled with his hands, eyes darting around the room at everyone’s faces.

When Merlin goes to demand he introduce himself, the Druid holds a hand up, silencing him (no magic, just a gesture), and begins to speak:

“Who I am, does not matter. But I do know who you are, Emrys. I shall explain it your friends first, so they don’t get too lost.-”

The Druid smiles sadly, and turns to the knights, all of whom (apart from Lancelot) stare on in confusion at the melancholy resignation on the Druid’s face, and the dread on Merlin’s. Still unable to speak, and with very limited movement, they reluctantly resign themselves to listening to whatever speech the villain of the week had come up with.

“-Emrys has been being seen in prophetic visions for centuries. Whilst Uther Pendragon was destined to start the purge, Emrys, or as you know him: Merlin, is destined to stop it. He is said to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past present and future. He can bend the very elements of the world, bring down armies, turn cities to ash with a flick of his wrist. But destiny also foretold of The Once and Future King. Most have accepted that Arthur Pendragon, is said king.-”

Merlin was stiff but panicky during the Druid’s explanation, having realised that for whatever reason, he didn’t have access to his magic right now.

He could feel it buzzing under his skin, but every time he tried to pull it forward, it abandoned him, burrowing deep into his soul and hiding.

Merlin was tense and angry, angry that the chance to tell his friends the truth himself had been taken away, but his statue-like stillness is broken as he frowns and flinches slightly at the thinly veiled disgust in the sorcerer’s voice as he says Arthur’s name.

The Knights look confused, and very much shocked, their gazes flickering between the Druid and Merlin, but he refuses to meet their eyes.

“-Together, Emrys and the Forever King are destined to bring harmony and peace to the world, to restore magic’s place alongside the non magic, to inspire compassion, and stop the unjust genocide that Uther started.-”

Arthur and Leon shuffle uncomfortably at the mention of the late King and his sins, but are more focused on the other shocking revelations. The other knights (again, bar Lancelot, who is staring at Merlin apologetically) seem invested in the story, though they’re clearly confused.

Arthur was made aware of Merlin’s magic a few weeks ago, but despite Merlin’s choice to tell him willingly, he had reacted badly, and in his rage, hadn’t allowed Merlin to explain himself. The other knights were, of course, unaware of this, though they quickly put two and two together.

Despite Merlin’s best efforts, Arthur had stayed in the dark about the whole Emrys-prophecy-destiny thing.

The Druid gives each knight a short assessing gaze, seemingly to make sure they were paying attention.

He turns his attention back to Merlin, who is trying very hard to keep his expression blank (and failing) as he listens:

-”And how long have you waited, my friend, for Arthur to play his part in destiny. Ten years, of having the prophecies shoved down your throat by idealists, being told that you have no choice but to serve a man who would see your head on a spike should he know who you truly are. Ten years in the service of a man who has caused you nothing but pain, given you nothing but nightmares.-”

Merlin flinches and looks away. Every magic user in, or even near Camelot shares the same nightmares, all caused by the Pendragon Reign. There’s no need for a discussion about it, no need for a denial. 

“-His father ripped your family apart. He himself stood at the grave of your best friend and told you he was evil, he himself killed the woman you loved-”

Arthur frowns in confusion at this. Merlin had never been in love. But he quickly doubts himself when he hears Merlin gasp quietly, and looks to him to see a tear slip down his cheek. 

Fury flashes quickly across Lancelot’s face, obviously knowing the story, but he covers it quickly, and no one is the wiser to the anger slowly growing in his chest at what this so-called Druid was putting his friend through.

The Druid speaks his next words quietly, though still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as he lifts a soft hand and gently wipes away Merlin’s tear:

“-I know what you see when you close your eyes. I know why you are so exhausted. But do they? Have you told them?-”

The Druid nods his head in the direction of the knights, but doesn’t break eye contact with Merlin, who sniffles slightly before looking to the floor in shame. 

“-Of the smoke and flames that you choke on when you sleep? You dream of pyres built just for you, built by the people you care most about. Even when you are awake, every second you have your eyes closed, every time you blink, you are forced to picture your so-called King with a sword at your throat, as if the scene were painted onto the back of your eyelids.-”

His voice had risen as he spoke and he had begun to pace, anger growing at the pain his Lord had gone through. He practically spits the word “King”, like just saying it disgusts him. 

Merlin remains quiet, but he has a steady stream of tears down his face as he looks back at the Druid with despair. The knights watch on in anguish as they see the way he is suffering. 

Arthur stops feeling angry and confused, and starts to feel a little guilty. Not that he would let it show; he stares on blankly.

Everyone wanted desperately to believe that the Druid was lying, manipulating them, that Merlin would deny it. But he didn’t. And that told them all they needed to know.

The Druid stopped his pacing, coming to a stand still in front of Merlin and cupping one of his cheeks softly with his hand. The knights pretend not to see Merlin lean into it slightly as his tears continue to fall.

The Druid begins again, speaking softly once more:

“-Were those fears unfounded? Were those nightmares irrational? I see the terror in your eyes. I see how petrified of your King you are.-”

Merlin lets out a shaky breath and glances quickly to Arthur, before looking back at the man in front of him.

The King is taken aback, and the knights are furious at the flash of fear on Merlin’s face when his gaze had momentarily met Arthur’s.

“-What did he do, when he found out? When you bared your soul and gave him nothing but honesty, and undeserved apologies. What did he do?-”

Merlin lets out his first audible sob, and the Knights pull at their chains slightly, desperate to comfort their friend. Arthur slumps back, remembering his actions as if they were mere hours ago.

One of Merlin’s hands lifted to cover his mouth as he chokes back a second sob, but the other lifts subconsciously to tug at the scarf around his neck.

The Druid lets a single tear escape his eye as he waves his hand gently, the scarf disappearing with the gentle golden glow of his eyes.

Merlin seems too distraught to notice; and moves both hands to clamp tightly over his mouth as tears stream down his face. His shoulders hunch, but not enough for any of the knights to miss what the Druid had clearly been trying to expose; a thin, barely healed scar along the base of his throat. As if a sword had been pressed there.

The Druid’s eyes lose focus slightly and he frowns as he ghosts a finger over the scar, seemingly asking the next question to himself:

“-Nightmares on the back of your eyelids, or visions of the future, hmm?-”

His eyes refocus, and he cards a hand through Merlin’s hair, trying to calm the man’s heartache as the knights stare on in horror. 

Arthur resists the urge to look towards his knights, not wanting to see the disgusted glares he knows they’re sending his way.

The Druid pauses for a moment in his speech, waiting for Merlin to calm slightly before he quietly continued:

“-And what has he done since then? Has he allowed explanation? Has he seen the error of his ways and tried to understand? Or has he called you a liar, and a traitor. Has he called you a monster, whilst demanding that you continue to serve him?-”

Merlin’s breathing grows deeper as he struggles to control his sobs. He lowers his hands to be clenched at his sides, shaking, as the Druid softly places his hands on his shoulders.

His next words are spoken even quieter, though the knights can still hear him and the deadly anger that’s barely concealed in the man’s tone:

“-Has he laid hands on you, and called you a beast, while you cowered in fear, knowing that if you defended yourself he would see himself proven right?-”

Merlin let’s out loud, gasping sobs once more as the Druid’s hands travel softly down, from his shoulders to his wrists. There, he looks down, sorrow on his face as he carefully lifts Merlin’s sleeves, bunching them around his elbows.

The knights decide then and there they are going to protect Merlin no matter what, no matter from whom, as they each see the handprint shaped bruises littering Merlin’s arms.

“-He has hurt you, over and over and over-”

As he speaks, the Druid hovers his hands over the bruises, his eyes glowing softly golden as they heal.

“-And you despair, believing yourself worthless-”

Merlin flinches, and his sobbing grows more intense as his face is taken in soft hands.

“-waiting on a Golden Age that he refuses to bring. He is cruel, and unjust, how many more times must he hurt you? How many more of our people will the Pendragon line slaughter, out of misguided hatred? How much more sleep must you lose? How many more nightmares must you endure? You have stood loyally by his side for a decade, and had to stand and watch as he continued his father’s legacy, forced to believe it was destiny.-”

The Druid says “destiny” as if he hates the taste of the word in his mouth, the bloodshed of the past almost thirty years clearly having made him lose faith in the prophecies.

Merlin’s breathing has calmed slightly, and the knights aren’t sure whether to be relieved or frightened, as the Druid desperately continues, clutching Merlin’s hands in his own:

“-Too many lives have been lost, too much innocent blood spilt. Haven’t you yourself been forced to kill your own people to protect this False King from the consequences of his own actions?-”

The knights think too soon as Merlin’s breathing and sobs grow erratic once more. The manservant almost falls to the floor, his eyes clenched desperately shut, and only the Druids hands on his shoulders keeping him upright:

“-I was young, and naïve once. I too, believed in Arthur Pendragon, I believed in the prophecies, I believed he would a great king and a good man-”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s as he gently says:

“-but he is not. He has failed you, and failed our people.-”

The Druid steps back, but still holds Merlin’s shoulder tightly as he gives him a pleading look.

The knights know what’s coming before it is said, and with the anguish and desperation and grief on their friend’s face? After they learned what their benevolent King had done? Well... they wouldn’t have blamed Merlin for saying yes.

“-I ask you to join me, Emrys. I know it’s difficult, to give up on a man you gave so much of yourself to, but there is too much Uther in him. It’s time, and you know this, to rewrite destiny. Dig your own path, liberate your own people, bring magic and compassion and harmony back to the world yourself.-”

Merlin, though distraught, still looks doubtful, and the knights hold their breath as the Druid continues, becoming more and more furious at their inability to speak. 

All of them have tears in their eyes, if not falling already, even Arthur, though he has remained still and blank through the tears.

“-I know the flames you fear, the sword’s edge, the gallows’ drop, the axe’s fall. Do not let our kin continue to fear those things, do not stand by, waiting for the Pendragon tyrant to change, and allowing sacrifices to be made in the mean time.-”

Merlin’s sobbing begins again, and the Druid kisses him softly on the forehead before kneeling to the floor, gripping Merlin’s hands and looking up at him desperately:

"-You are Emrys, Lord of the Druids, and Conduit for all magic of this world. Not some servant that an entitled brat can toss around and treat lesser than the dirt he walks on. You are my King, our King. Not him.-”

He stands again and grips Merlin’s arms tightly, most likely leaving more bruises in place of the ones he had healed.

Merlin doesn’t notice the pain, but shakes his head stutteringly, still crying.

“-Do not let your people lose you to Arthur, as Arthur lost himself to Uther. To give up on him is painful, but the screams of your kin, burning for their gifts, echoing in your skull day and night?-”

The Druid’s hands move up to grip the sides of Merlin’s head, and he shakes him ever so slightly, his tone frantic and pleading:

“-That is worse. That is pain he will never understand, and certainly never care for. Join me, please my Lord I beg you, for our people.”

One of the Druid’s hands slides lower, to softly cup Merlin’s cheek again, but the other drops entirely.

The knights have never resented being magically gagged more than in this moment. They could do nothing but watch on in horror as the man summons a dagger behind his back.

The Druid is clearly waiting on his response, and Merlin is too distraught to notice the consequences of a wrong answer, tears flowing quickly down his face and ugly sobs forcing their way out of his throat.

Arthur watches in terror, knowing that this was his fault, that every shitty, selfish decision he had ever made had to led to this point. And the knights knew it too.

All they can do is pray to every deity they know the name of, that Arthur has done enough damage for Merlin to say yes. And oh, what a terrible thing to pray for.

The Druid softly strokes Merlin’s cheekbone with his thumb as the Warlock takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looks up, meeting the gaze of the man opposite him before croaking:

“I... I can’t. Arthur is a good man, I have faith that he will-”

Before he can finish his sentence, the dagger is thrust up into his chest, his words stuttering to a stop and his red-rimmed eyes growing wide at the sudden, agonising pain spreading throughout his body.

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights pulling roughly at their chains, but he pays them no mind as blood gurgles up his throat and he frowns, struggling to hear what the Druid was whispering in his ear:

“Then you have forsaken your people, and so I shall forsake you. Traitor.”

With that, Merlin is dropped roughly to the floor, dagger still imbedded in his chest as he lands on his side. Blood spills from both his mouth and the wound, eyes unfocused but heavy as the tears continue to overflow.

The knights are silently screaming, thrashing against their chains as their friend chokes, but Merlin ignores them in favour of smiling gently at the soft feeling of nothing, growing outwards from his chest.

He frowns once more, as though remembering something, and his eyes go glassy as two words escape from his mouth, barely a whisper:

“I’m... sorry...”

An apology to whom, no one knows, but with those last words his body goes completely still, the pool of blood still expanding beneath him, and his eyes unseeingly staring just to the left of The King.

No one in the room can tear their eyes from Merlin’s pale corpse, face now a mess of tears and blood.

The Druid looks down at him with an odd mix of contempt, and genuine sorrow. He had obviously waited long enough that his resentment of Arthur had bled into his feelings for his so-called saviour, but still grieved for what could have been.

The Knights look at him in horror, all understanding that they had never been lucky, they had just had Merlin. He had never asked for thanks, or recognition, or reward. He had kept them all safe, at great expense to himself, and now he was dead.

Lancelot seems the... calmest, though he still cries like the rest of them. He had, in theory, known of the pain Merlin was in, but had he known it was plaguing him to this extent... well perhaps he wouldn’t have been so loyal to Arthur.

Arthur himself stares at Merlin with nothing but terror and agonising grief. He had done this. If he had just let Merlin explain, if he had just given him five minutes, instead of bruises and nightmares and fear, then he would still be alive. 

If he hadn’t been so selfish and cruel, perhaps hundreds of people, just like Merlin, just as scared and innocent as Merlin, would also be alive. 

Merlin had spent his entire time in Camelot trying to convince Arthur that he wasn’t his father... and Arthur had gone and proven him wrong at every turn. And even then Merlin still had faith, still called him a good man.

The silencing spell still has hold over the knights, so they cry and scream and thrash soundlessly as the Druid finally rips his gaze from the body at his feet.

He steps carefully around Merlin to stand in front of Arthur. The sorrow clears from his face, leaving only contempt and rage left to be directed at the man in front of him. Arthur does not look up, keeping his tear stained face focused on the floor, even as the Druid begins to speak:

“You see what you have done, Arthur Pendragon? You think magic is the thing that corrupts, but it is not. It is you. Emrys was meant to be a saviour, a God, a guiding light to help our people to safety, but you tainted him, reduced him to nothing more than a sad, scared boy, and then reduced him further, to a corpse. My hands are clean of blood Pendragon, but yours?? Oh, yours are drenched in it.”

Arthur slowly lifts his distraught gaze to the Druid, but quickly widens his eyes at what he sees.

Merlin stands behind the Druid, eyes glowing golden, tears once more streaming down his face as he grips the handle of the dagger, still buried in his chest.

The bloodstains grow even larger as he grimaces slightly and pulls it free, before wordlessly forcing it through the Druid’s back.

The man lets out a sudden gasp, and looks down to see just the tip of the blade poking out where his heart should be. He gargles something, words that no one can make out, before Merlin pulls the dagger out again, and his body crumples to the floor.

The knights and Arthur can feel the silencing spell release them, but none of them make even a noise as they stare in shock at their tormented, but very much alive, friend.

Merlin drops the dagger from his hand and it lands with a splash in the mixing puddles of blood, before he himself falls harshly to his knees.

The others finally break out of their stupor, once again pulling towards their friend. Their cries and shouts of his name can be heard by everyone but him as he leans forward, placing his forehead against that of the lifeless Druid.

His cries grow erratic again as he whispers apology after apology, and every heart breaks even more at the sight before them.

They know why he apologises, they know why he grieves, even over a man who had tried to... had succeeded in killing him. The death of yet another of his own kind who was sick of waiting, who was rightfully angry, was not something to be celebrated.

They had thought, at the beginning of this, that they would get through whatever the Druid threw at them, they always did. But this, the brokenness of one of their dearest friends, was not something that looks fixable.

Merlin finally sits up again and he sobs louder, still deaf and blind to those around him. Lancelot has just enough time to yell at the others to cover their eyes, as a gut-wrenching scream escapes the Warlock.

They’re almost blinded, even with their eyes tightly shut and their arms thrown up. The scream is the loudest, and most anguished they’ve ever heard, and the force in which Merlin releases his magic completely eviscerates the hut they had been chained in.

Each of them is thrown violently backwards, and their chains crumble to the floor with the rest of the building as they try to find purchase on the ground. None of them are hurt too badly, and they’re grateful for the fact that even in this state, Merlin’s magic seems incapable of really causing them any damage.

The scream ends, and the knights look up to see Merlin sat in the middle of the crater he had created, staring blankly into the middle distance. Tears still stream down his face, but he doesn’t move and he makes no sound, just kneels there with his blood soaked hands on his lap, palms towards the sky.

It takes a few moments for the knights to regain their senses, but once they do, all hell breaks loose.

Gwaine immediately gets to his feet and makes a rush towards Arthur, fully intending on throttling him, screaming obscenities as he went, but Percival and Elyan jump forward, grabbing an arm each and dragging him away as he curses the King and the Sky and the Gods.

As much as Percival and Elyan were not impartial to killing Arthur right now, Merlin was the priority, and as much as he may have deserved it, Merlin would never forgive them if they hurt the King.

Arthur seems to be unaware of the attempt on his life made by one of his most trusted knights, and just stares blankly at an equally blank Merlin.

Lancelot and Leon make a bee-line for the Warlock, but stop just short of touching him, not knowing how he would react. 

Leon nods gently at Lancelot, clearly having picked up that this knight had already known at least part of the story. Lancelot returns his nod, before moving forward slowly. The body of the Druid lays untouched at Merlin’s knees, and the knight removes his cloak, laying it over him, before reaching a slow hand towards Merlin’s shoulder.

He finally makes contact after a little hesitation, whispering his name as gently and as comfortingly as he is able with tears still leaking from his eyes.

Merlin doesn’t react at all to Lancelot’s touch, not even when he takes his bloody hand, or shakes his shoulder slightly; just sits and stares and cries.

Leon gulps before reaching forward himself. He grabs the dagger from besides Merlin and tosses it behind him (he didn’t like to think about that action too much. He has no idea what state his friend is in right now, best to not have any sharp instruments within his reach when he came to.) before lifting his hand to wipe away the man’s tears.

Arthur stares upon all of this in horror from his position sprawled on the floor a few metres away.

Elyan and Percival have just about managed to calm Gwaine, and they begin making their way to Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin, but before they get even halfway there, Arthur finally speaks.

His voice breaks, and is barely audible, but everyone hears him nonetheless as he murmurs:

“I did this...”

Gwaine makes another run at him, regaining his anger, and Percival and Elyan just about manage to grab him before he commits regicide.

Lancelot and Leon look up at him sharply, but when Lancelot lowers his gaze and continues to try and rouse Merlin, Leon holds the King’s gaze, and says strongly:

“Yes. Yes you did, My Lord.”

Arthur’s face crumbles even more, and Leon glares at him with venom for a few more seconds, before giving Lancelot a soft pat on the back, and walking towards the other three.

He mumbles a few harsh things that only Gwaine can hear, who responds at first with more anger, but then resignation. The First Knight gives the man a pat on the back and nods knowingly at Elyan and Percival. No one, not even Gwaine, pretends to miss the meaning of “be ready to catch him again” in the gesture.

Arthur stays in his position on the floor as the four of them walk softly towards Merlin and Lancelot, but before they get there, everyone’s gazes are drawn to the shadow in the sky, getting closer and closer.

It moves with an alarming place, and their anger at Arthur is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles up and screams:

“DRAGON!!”

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Arthur rush forward to stand between the beast and the other three. They have no armour or weapons, but like hell were they just going to let it get to them.

Lancelot looks up to see the white, horse sized beast land heavily in front of The King, his eyes widen and he jumps up, rushing forward to push between the others.

Leon moves to hold a still unresponsive Merlin behind his back protectively, but frowns in confusion when Lancelot yells at Arthur (who had been about to run at the beast):

“NO! No don’t hurt her! She’s Merlin’s, don’t hurt her!”

Everyone looks at him in confusion and fear as he slowly approaches the Dragon, she had been growling lowly at first, but seemed to perk up when she saw Lancelot.

Lancelot gives her a small smile, and holds his hand out, allowing her to come to him, before quietly saying:

“I’ve never been more glad to see you, Aithusa. Merlin is over here.”

He turns back towards the others, and calmly, but forcefully says:

“Move. She needs to see him.”

Gwaine nods after a moment, trusting Lancelot, and moves out of the way. Arthur goes to argue, but Elyan and Percival roughly shove him to the side, clearing a path to Merlin and Leon for Lancelot and the new, slightly terrifying, arrival.

Leon looks up fearfully, still in front of Merlin protectively. He stares at the Dragon for a few moments, breathing deeply, before looking up at Lancelot. Lancelot gives him a weak smile, and a nod before saying quietly:

“He’s a Dragon-Lord. She can help him, it’s ok.”

Leon gulps, before nodding, and stepping out of the way. He doesn’t move too far, obviously still affected by his last encounter with a Dragon, and watches with unconcealed suspicion as Aithusa prances around Lancelot at his nod.

The others crowd closer as well, looking on in confusion, awe, suspicion, as Aithusa slowly approaches Merlin.

She lays down at his side, gently pressing her head onto Merlin’s hands, still in his lap. Her mouth opens and Leon gasps as she blows a gentle mist up into his face. Merlin’s back straightens and the knights can see his eyes come back into focus as he blinks.

They all stare with bated breath as he gulps, and begins to notice his surroundings; looking in fear at the crater around him.

Merlin is broken from his growing panic as Aithusa chirps softly from his lap, and his head whips down, only now noticing her.

The knights let out a collective breath as he smiles, very slightly and very briefly, but still; after what they had just seen him go through they would take anything. He leans his head down, and wraps his arms around the creature. She chirps once again, louder this time, as she uses her tail to push away the forgotten Druid’s corpse. 

She curls her body around Merlin protectively, and he collapses even further into the semi-embrace she’s giving him. The knights smile slightly, relieved that Merlin seems responsive, and safe, before they take slow steps towards the two of them.

She whips her head up quickly and growls at them, digging her front claws into the ground. They take in sudden breaths and stop moving, wary, but she stops growling when she looks to Lancelot.

The others stare on in shock and confusion as she tilts her head slightly, and Lancelot nods as he quietly says:

“They’re friends, it’s ok.”

The creature seems to nod, and the others follow behind Lancelot as he begins moving towards Merlin again.

He crouches down, and gives Aithusa a well-received scratch on the chin, before he gently places a hand between Merlin’s shoulder-blades.

Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and finally Leon follow suit, sitting carefully next to the Dragon, but unlike Lancelot, they don’t touch her, or Merlin. She may seem safe and loving and on their side, but she was still a Dragon.

Arthur moves a little slower, not sure if he’s welcome (he’s not) but when he gets within five feet of the group huddled on the floor, Aithusa lifts her head and growls again.

Elyan and Percival are shocked at the sudden movement, but Gwaine smirks, and Leon nods his head approvingly (though he’s still understandably... nervous). Lancelot looks back at a shocked and still tear-stricken Arthur, and speaks. His voice is quiet, but his tone is vicious:

“They have a mental link; she sees what he sees. It might be best, Your Majesty, for you to stay away.”

He doesn’t bother to watch Arthur’s reaction; he turns back and begins carding a soft hand through Merlin’s hair. He flinches only slightly before relaxing under the soft ministrations, and Aithusa gives Lancelot an affectionate lick on the arm.

The other knights do see the way that Arthur flinches, before he gives a shaky nod and takes a few steps back. He goes to say something, but the tears in his eyes overflow, and he turns to walk away.

Gwaine’s smirk grows slightly before he drops it entirely and turns back to the others, no longer caring what Arthur got up to. He is the first of the knights, other than Lancelot, to be brave enough to reach a hand forward and stroke Aithusa gently.

Elyan and Percival hesitatingly follow his lead, and Aithusa chirps happily at the attention. Leon’s gaze follows Arthur as he walks towards the horses.

They were far away, well out of the way of Merlin’s blast, but even with the distance Leon could see they were shaken. Thankfully they had been tied to the trees, otherwise he’s certain they would have bolted.

Leon finds it only slightly surprising that he feels no sympathy for the King. There’s only so much you can forgive a man for. When Arthur finally reaches the horses and begins untacking them, he looks away, back to Aithusa and Merlin.

Everyone can tell that Camelot’s First Knight is still rather shaken at the presence of the Dragon, but when Merlin looks up slightly to see him still sat there, unwilling to leave him, his heart swells a little.

Leon meets his gaze and gulps, but returns Merlin’s shaky smile.

The other knights smile as well, glad that Merlin was feeling at least a little better, and Percival speaks quietly, not wanting to spook him (or the Dragon):

“Hey, there’s our lucky charm.”

The other knights give him questioning looks but Merlin just chuckles slightly, before sitting up properly, and focusing his attention on running his fingers over Aithusa’s scales, picking out grass and mud.

Percival looks indignant before replying, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world:

“What? You honestly thought that tree branches only fell if there was a fight happening, and then only fell on the enemies?? The rock-falls? The fires even when it was pouring with rain?? The miraculous solutions to end-of-the-world type problems?? Come on, guys.”

The others look taken aback at that, but Lancelot just smiles knowingly. They all look to Merlin, who has managed to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve, and he just shrugs slightly.

The rest of them, bar Leon, let out small huffs of laughter, and continue to stroke Aithusa, knowing that Merlin almost certainly isn’t ready for an actual conversation yet.

Merlin looks at Leon’s pale form assessingly, before a look of realisation crosses his face. The knight is tense, and staring at Aithusa’s sharp teeth with worry, but his gaze is quickly drawn to Merlin when he reaches a shaky hand towards him.

Merlin gives him an understanding smile, and crooks his fingers, encouraging the curly-haired knight to take his hand. Leon does so, and his breath hitches as Merlin lowers their intertwined hand to rest on the top of Aithusa’s head.

Leon lets out a slow breath as he feels Elyan’s supportive hand on his back, but relaxes fully when he sees the sparkle in Merlin’s eyes. Anything to make their Warlock happy in this moment. And forever, probably.

Gwaine looks at Leon out of the corner of his eye, and says lowly:

“I’m fairly certain I’m going to try and kill him if I look at him again, so what’s the King up to?”

Merlin tenses slightly, but Leon squeezes his hand and he relaxes again. Lancelot raises and eyebrow and before Leon can reply, he says:

“What, no princess?”

Gwaine narrows his eyes before gruffly saying:

“Princess was an affectionate nickname, and I’m not feeling all that affectionate towards him right now.”

The others nod knowingly, turning their attention back to Merlin and Aithusa. Leon leaves his hand in Merlin’s, but looks at Gwaine before saying lowly:

“He went to deal with the horses. Now we know we no longer need a quick get-away, they need untacking and feeding and watering. They were pretty spooked by... they were pretty spooked.”

Leon looks back at Merlin when his hand gets squeezed, to see him frowning slightly. Leon catches his eye and gives him a small smile, but Merlin just gets teary-eyed again, before sniffing and muttering:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to I just... I’m sorry.”

Only a single tear has time to fall before Lancelot has his hand on Merlin’s shoulder again (comfortingly), and Elyan has his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder (forcefully). Leon shakes his head softly, and responds in a gentle voice:

“You don’t have anything to apologise for Merlin, we are the ones who should be sorry, for not being able to protect you.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and he goes to retort, but Gwaine beats him to it, obviously trying to keep the anger out of his voice:

“From the so-called Druid and from him. We should have done better.”

Leon can feel Merlin’s hand begin to shake, so he squeezes it once more as Merlin shakes his head and speaks, his voice sounding stronger already:

“It’s not his fault. He was just shaken and scared and I should have-”

Gwaine clenches his jaw, struggling to keep control of his rage, but Elyan grips his shoulder tighter in warning, and replies in his stead, interrupting Merlin:

“There’s no excuse Merlin. All of us have been attacked by magic, but equally, all of us have been attacked by swords. I mean look at Leon, giving Dragons a second chance after what happened. I would perhaps understand brief anger, but there is no way to justify laying his hands on you in such a way that leaves bruises, and certainly no justification for putting a blade to your throat.”

Merlin frowns, and looks like he wants to argue, but once again, a knight beats him to it, Lancelot this time:

“No, Merls. We know how much he means to you. But what he did was wrong, there’s no rationalisation. We all know that you’ve already forgiven him, and that’s why we can’t yet. Probably not for a while.”

Merlin sighs, looking pained, and Leon uses his other hand to tilt his chin up:

“Not to say that we won’t ever forgive him. But someone has to be angry at him for what he’s done, and Lord knows you aren’t gonna do it. Consider us your stand-ins.”

Merlin smiles slightly, and Leon considers that a win, returning the smile and nodding slightly to himself, before looking back down at the Dragon, now seemingly asleep, and purring, on Merlin’s lap.

Elyan releases the death grip on Gwaine’s shoulder, when the now much calmer knight, with a smile on his face, says:

“So... you have a Dragon??”

Merlin chuckles fondly, before looking to him and saying quietly:

“Yeah. Her name is Aithusa. I’m surprised she came alone, Kilgharrah usually doesn’t like it when she runs off.”

Lancelot winces slightly as the other knights look shocked, before Percival says:

“Kil-what-now? There’s another one??”

Merlin grimaces slightly, before looking to Leon worriedly and tightening the grip on his hand:

“Uhh... yeah. Kilgharrah is the name of the Dragon that... attacked Camelot a few years ago.-”

Leon straightens his back and gulps, but doesn’t remove his hand from Merlin’s, nodding at him to continue:

“-I didn’t have control over him until right at the end. I told him to leave and never come back, unless I called him-”

Lancelot makes a noise of realisation as he nods, and interrupts Merlin:

“That’s probably why Aithusa came alone. You didn’t call for her, and technically we’re still within Camelot’s borders. He couldn’t come even if he wanted to. Poor sod is probably clomping around at the edge of the border freaking out.”

Merlin looks to Lancelot and nods, satisfied to feel Leon relax a bit, before looking back to the First Knight apologetically:

“-He does feel really bad at that. He just wanted to get back at Uther for the whole... genocide thing I guess. But that’s no excuse. I just didn’t want to be the one to be responsible for killing the last Dragon, even if Kilgharrah personally might’ve deserved it at the time. That was all before Aithusa came along.”

Everyone nods in understanding, before focussing their attention back on Aithusa. She really was like a giant puppy, even if they had to be wary to avoid her claws as she twitched in her sleep.

Merlin sighs, looking forlorn once again as he realises how exhausted he is, knowing that they’re going to have to get up and make camp at some point. 

He can cope with an awkward, tense silence between him and Arthur easily enough, that’s what the last few weeks had consisted of. But an awkward and tense silence between everyone? Elyan and Percival inwardly fuming? Gwaine outwardly fuming? Leon and Lancelot being all protective? He’s not sure he can deal with that.

At Merlin’s sigh, Lancelot tilts his head to catch his eye. His brow creases as he says softly:

“What is it, Merls?”

Merlin looks up, still squeezing Leon’s hand, before quietly replying:

“Nothing, I’m just tired. We have to re-make camp at some point and I’m not sure if I can deal with everyone being so...”

He waves his free hand around loosely, and Lancelot huffs out a laugh, before kicking Gwaine, getting everyone’s attention:

“We have to go make camp. But Merlin is exhausted, and doesn’t want to deal with any of this shit tonight, so we’re all going to have to play nice for the time being.”

Gwaine growls, and quickly retorts:

“Like hell am I gonna treat him with-”

Lancelot kicks him again, harder this time, and Elyan replaces the harsh hand on his shoulder before forcefully saying:

“Right now, it doesn’t matter what Arthur deserves. Merlin needs peace and quiet, and that’s what we’re going to give him.”

Gwaine grumbles, but begrudgingly nods, and Merlin gives him a grateful smile. 

The knights all stand up, and Merlin shakes Aithusa awake, giving a small chuckle when she stretches like a cat.

Once she takes her weight off of his lap, Merlin follows the knights to stand, almost falling over at the weakness in his legs. Leon and Lancelot catch an arm each, steadying him as he shuts his eyes tightly, willing the dizziness away.

He feels a hand wipe the hair from his forehead, and opens his eyes slowly to see Percival checking him over with an assessing gaze:

“I’m fine, just tired, a little dizzy.”

Lancelot nods in understanding, humming slightly:

“Hmm. I’m not surprised, you haven’t done anything this big in a while, and I doubt you’ve slept well in the last few weeks.”

Merlin gives him a sheepish look as he shakes his head, but it’s Elyan’s questioning gaze that Lancelot responds to:

“I found out by accident when I first met him. Our Warlock isn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

He says it with a small smirk as he looks back down to Merlin, who’s looking indignant:

“Hey! I managed to keep everyone else from finding out.”

Gwaine looks guilty as he raises his arm quietly:

“Actually uh... I knew. I mean not about the whole Emrys, prophecy thing. But the magic stuff, yeah.”

Merlin looks at him, shocked. The other knights share his expression for just a moment before they laugh at the look on Merlin’s face:

“How?!”

Gwaine puts his arm down and laughs again:

“Mate... we met in the middle of a tavern fight, in which shit started literally flying about the moment you joined in.-”

He shrugged, before casually continuing:

“-I figured you would tell me when you wanted to. Until then, it wasn’t my secret to know. You also have me to thank for backing you up every time The Prick asked if I saw you at the tavern.”

Merlin laughed and nodded his thanks, before looking over to where said Prick was setting up camp, a few metres beyond the edge of the crater.

His face fell slightly and the others follow his gaze, tensing slightly in anger when they saw what he was looking at. Merlin takes his arms from Leon and Lancelot, finally feeling steady on his feet, before quietly saying:

“Come on, we might as well get this over with. I’m starving, and tired, and Aithusa will get bored if we don’t start entertaining her.”

Everyone turns around to see Aithusa (now she was sure that her Lord was ok), prancing about in the crater; chasing birds and digging holes.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and everyone else chuckles slightly. Gwaine pushes Lancelot out of the way and takes Merlin’s hand, beginning to walk determinedly towards camp. Everyone catches up quickly, Leon taking Merlin’s other hand when the man had reached out to grab his cape.

Gwaine looks down at Merlin, seeing how nervous he is, and says:

“So. How long until she’s big enough to be ridden? I want you to take me flying, Merlin.”

Merlin chuckles, and looks back to see Aithusa happily trailing them:

“Not for a while. Dragons grow slow, so it’ll be another few years at least. Plus she’s got some issues with bone growth that we’re still trying to fix. She’ll be fine in the long run, but her development is taking a lot longer than normal. She still can’t speak.”

Everyone stops at that, and Merlin’s arms get yanked back when he continued walking. He turns to see Leon giving him an incredulous look:

“Dragons can speak?!”

Merlin tilts his head in confusion, before laughing and tugging them forwards again:

“Yeah. I forget that Uther basically erased all knowledge on Dragons, but they’re just as intelligent as we are. Kilgharrah would like to think that they’re more intelligent, but he’s always been a cryptic, egotistical bastard.-”

The others follow his pace and nod, but the mood darkens as they almost reach the camp. Merlin continues faintly, but quickly:

“I’ll tell you everything I know when... when we get back.”

Leon squeezes his hand, knowing that he was about to say “if”, assuring him that “when” is the right word.

Arthur looks up at the group and gulps from his place next to the fire. He straightens up, the anxiety showing clearly on his face, but before anyone can say anything, Aithusa jumps in between him.

He falls back at the sudden movement and she begins to growl; he widens his eyes as she stalks slowly towards him.

Gwaine smirks again, the others managing to keep their faces blank, but Merlin looks shocked, before he jumps forward and puts a hand on the Dragon’s back:

“Aithusa no. He’s a... friend. It’s ok, he’s-”

Arthur jumps to his feet and interrupts him:

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll... go... sit over there.”

He gestures behind him, and walks quickly away from the fire, sitting just within the fire’s light, the evening dimming around them.

Aithusa tilts her head, snaps her jaws at him once more before completely changing disposition. She begins bouncing around the fire, chirping happily and playfully trying to catch floating embers in her claws.

Merlin smiles slightly and the other knights (bar Gwaine, who is glaring very pointedly at Arthur) chuckle at her antics, before they all sit in a semi circle on the opposite side of the fire to Arthur, Merlin in the middle.

The Warlock is once again wedged protectively between Leon and Gwaine, and he fiddles softly with Leon’s cape in his lap as he stares fondly at Aithusa.

Elyan moves to the packs, unloading food and water and cooking pots. Merlin gets up to help, but Gwaine pulls him back down by the hand and holds on firmly as he says:

“You’ve been through enough. We can put up with Elyan’s shitty cooking for a couple nights.”

Merlin tries to pull away with a “But I can-” but Leon grabs his other hand, holding him down and interrupting:

“Absolutely not. You said yourself that you’re tired. If Elyan needs help, he can ask one of us.”

Merlin huffs sulkily and Leon laughs, stroking the back of his hand protectively.

Leon had known Merlin just as long as Arthur had, and whilst they had virtually nothing to do with each other the first few years, they were still friendly acquaintances, even then. Leon knew full well that it was Merlin who would have a hot meal left in his room after a late patrol, and Merlin always appreciated how Leon kept as many weapons in the armoury in as good nick as possible, so Merlin didn’t have to deal with it.

Besides, even before they knew each other’s names, Leon always found Merlin’s reactions to Arthur’s stupidity funny. He could hardly say it out loud, being the Perfect Knight and all, but he always thought it was a good thing that Arthur had someone at his side keeping him humble, and calling him out in ways no one else would.

Of course they had gotten much closer over the years, as did all of the knights, thanks to Merlin. Currently, Leon was feeling just a tinge of regret at being so grateful for Merlin’s presence at Arthur’s side; he had never really thought about how difficult being that man’s babysitter would be, especially now he knew Merlin had magic. And some sort of destiny.

Time passes fairly quickly whilst Elyan cooks, the others taking to heart what Lancelot had said and trying to keep a quiet, but easy conversation going.

They ask Merlin various questions about Aithusa, Kilgharrah, the Druids, the weird name that he had been called. He answered them all easily enough, but they notice the way he hesitates when they ask about his magic specifically or the prophecies, so they steer clear of those topics.

They’ll definitely want to know the whole story eventually, and they’re practically buzzing with desperation to ask Merlin to show them something magical, but they know that now is not the time.

Dinner is finally served, and despite Gwaine’s statement, it wasn’t actually that bad. Mainly because every time Elyan went to add something to the pot, he would look back desperately at Merlin, and took into account the shakes and nods of his head with a grateful smile.

He did struggle to cover the scowl on his face when he delivered Arthur’s bowl to him, replying to The King’s quiet “thank you, Elyan” with an even quieter “don’t mention it” .

Dinner was eaten quickly and in silence. They hadn’t been unconscious for long, and hour or two at most, but they had all worked up an understandable appetite, Merlin especially. He would never ask for seconds, but knowing that, Elyan gave him an extra big serving without a word.

They entertained themselves after dinner by throwing the last scraps of meat to Aithusa, watching her jump and flip and fly about the camp. Merlin had objected at first, but gave in when he saw the small grin on Leon’s face, and heard the way the others were laughing. The City was only a few days ride away, they could always hunt on the way back.

It didn’t take long for her to tire out and curl up at Merlin’s feet to sleep. Like Merlin had mentioned, Aithusa was developing slowly, and she normally couldn’t fly very far; it must’ve taken a huge amount of energy and effort for her to get all the way here. But like the Knights, she was very protective, and there was no way she could not check on her Lord, after she and Kilgharrah had felt the anguish he was in.

As Kilgharrah once again crosses Merlin’s mind, he sighs, and makes mental note to call him in the morning, when he had more energy.

Merlin is distracted from his thoughts when the camp goes silent all of a sudden, and Gwaine reaches over to squeeze his hand. He looks up in worry, to see that Arthur had stood, and walked a little closer, though he made sure to stay the other side of the fire.

Merlin tenses slightly. He tries not to let it show, but he can knows that he failed when he feels Leon’s hand firmly in the middle of his back. Hidden from the others, but a silent reassurance.

Arthur gulps, obviously nervous, but he meets Merlin’s gaze, flinching at the slight fear in his eyes:

“Merlin, I know nothing I say will-”

He’s interrupted by Gwaine growling and standing suddenly, stepping in front of Merlin protectively, but it’s Lancelot’s harsh words that cut him off fully:

“Not tonight, Arthur. We’re all tired and angry so just... not tonight.”

Arthur clenches his jaw, and blinks away tears before nodding:

“Yes, I... I understand.”

With that, he sniffles slightly before taking a step back. He looks to the floor as he mumbles something about checking the perimeter, before slowly walking away from the camp, into the night.

Merlin lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and relaxes slightly as Leon runs his hand over his back. Gwaine stares after Arthur for a few moments, deliberating on whether or not to follow him (and presumably, kick his ass). Merlin reaching up to take his hand and pull him back down makes his mind up, and he settles back into his seat, Merlin’s small hand clasped between his two larger ones.

Percival speaking up breaks the tense silence:

“It’s late and Lance is right, we’re all tired. If we want to make quick work of the journey home, and have time to hunt, then we should get some sleep.”

Murmurs of agreement float up around the group, and Gwaine, voice still tense and angry, says:

“I’ll take first-”

But he’s quickly interrupted by Elyan, softly laughing:

“Absolutely not, Gwaine. If you’re left alone we’ll all wake to find the King dead in the morning.”

Gwaine raises a challenging eyebrow, not denying anything, and Elyan huffs, Percival muttering:

“Fine. But I’m taking it with you so you don’t get a chance to smother him.”

Gwaine gives a sarcastic looking smile, before ruffling Merlin’s hair fondly and walking towards the fire. He adds another log, grabs his bedroll, and settles down against a tree, Percival sitting at his side.

Everyone else gathers their rolls, and whilst normally they spread out, they all seem rather desperate to stay as close to Merlin as possible.

Normally he would complain, they all snore, and Merlin is definitely expecting nightmares tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to send them away, and to be perfectly honest, he's certain that they would just move back the moment he closed his eyes anyway.

The Warlock finds himself tucked under Lancelot’s arm, with Leon a respectful distance away on his other side, though still within arm’s reach. Elyan settles somewhere below his feet, and for the first time in weeks, Merlin finds himself fully relaxed. 

Aithusa sleepily moves from her spot by Merlin’s feet, to curl up with Gwaine and Percival, and Merlin smiles at the thought that she not only trusts his friends in general, but trusts them enough to leave Merlin in their care. Dragons are protective and possessive creatures, and that trust speaks volumes.

Merlin is still a little miserable, and he almost resents himself for still being scared of Arthur despite his obvious regret, but... with all that happened... well. You can’t really blame him.

He’s got a gaggle of very protective knights around him, one of which he can vaguely hear trying to persuade another to commit regicide when no one was looking.

He has time to huff out a small laugh as Lancelot pulls him closer, before he drifts off; much quicker than he thought he would. He was comforted by the warmth behind him, the presence at his feet, the guardians watching over him, and the hand reaching towards him in the dark, just about close enough to lay fingers over Merlin’s heartbeat.

No nightmares plague him that night, and he doesn’t even wake to the warning growls sent Arthur’s way when he eventually returned to camp.

The next few days, hell, the next few months would probably be difficult, but he finds himself not as anxious now he knows he won’t have to face it alone.

~

THE END

I don’t think I’ll write a part two to this, but if someone wants to extend it, feel free, same as normal: credit and tag me :)

I’ve had the whole speech written out in full in my phone notes for like two months, but only recently got round to actually turning it into anything. I hope ya’ll enjoyed it!! I wanted to write something hella angsty so....

I’m fairly certain whatever I write next will be the dead opposite of this (FLUFF fluff) but honestly who knows.

Let me know if there’s anything specific you want my thoughts on :)