#Why am I going through the stages of grief before anything has happened

[nightoftheweek]

I unknowingly started making a back story for two characters I was creating for inktober. It wasn't suppose to go like this. The goal was to work on things I never have done or done much of.

[ruins-of-babylon]

𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐲 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

♡︎♡︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♡︎

Mattheo Riddle x reader smut

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎：After Mattheo successfully woos his enemy’s girlfriend, he has to deal with the aftermath of Theo’s anger

Part 1 here

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈：toxic!theo, Theo calls reader bitch and whore, Theo almost hits reader, oral (m receiving), edging, unprotected p in v (use protection!), kinda public sex, creampie, kinda breeding kink, let me know if I missed anything!

𝒩ℴ𝓉ℯ：I’m sorry this took kinda long to write, I’ve been pretty busy lately

🔞🔞MDNI!!!!🔞🔞

On Sunday morning, you woke up surrounded by someone’s arms, covering as much of you as they could. It took you a moment to remember what happened last night, and who was currently holding you. You smiled as you recalled the events of the previous night, how you promised Mattheo you would be his, how he had claimed you as his own. As you took in more reality, your smile faded. You realized you were sleeping in Theo’s bed, and he still thought you were together. He would probably be back soon. Shit! You thought as you sprung up from your comfortable position and turned to shake Mattheo awake.

“Matt, wake up! Theo could get here any minute!” You shouted at him. He only slightly stirred, before groggily opening his eyes half way and grabbing you to lay down with him again.

“Shhh, just go to sleep, princess.” He whispered in his sleepy voice, his grip on you tight and unrelenting as you tried to squirm away. You sighed at his sleep-intoxicated state, turning in his arms to face him. You kissed him deeply, pulling his hair sharply but gently, trying to wake him up further. He groaned into your mouth as you kissed him, kissing back sleepily. He chuckled softly at your actions. “You need to get up.” You whispered to him as you pulled away from him.

“Let’s just sleep for a little longer. Okay?” He said, nestling his head into the crook of your neck. You groaned.

“No, Mattheo. Theos going to see you in his bed and kill you if you don’t get up. Okay?” You replied. His body tensed as he took in what you said. He finally sat up and turned to you.

“You said you were mine now.” Was all he could manage, a sad tone in his voice. You felt bad for him, seeing him so vulnerable.

“I am, baby. I just need to break up with Theo so we can be together.” You replied, rubbing comforting circles on his back. He turned to you and smiled, understanding your thinking.

“Okay, baby. I’ll go.” He said, getting up and getting dressed. You watched him, nearly drooling. He was a sight for sore eyes, you could say. He had just finished putting his clothes on before he kissed you goodbye, heading for the door. Halfway there, he heard the door knob shaking. He looked around and immediately ran for the open closet. Your heart pounded fast in your chest as Theo revealed himself, walking towards you on his bed. You were only wearing your underwear, hiding under his covers. He peered at you as you smiled at him. He returned the smile, and crawled into bed with you, pulling the covers away from your body.

“Damn, I forget how gorgeous you are.” He said, smirking, kissing your lips. You felt awkward, knowing Theo wasn’t going to be happy when you broke up with him. But you had Mattheo, and he’d protect you. You pulled away from the one-sided kiss slowly.

“Theo, can we talk?” You whispered. He pulled away from you as well, a concerned look on his face.

“About what?” He questioned, looking nervous. You gulped down your fear before speaking up.

“I want to break up.” You quickly said, waiting for his reaction. You studied his face, watching as he seemed to go through all the stages of grief.

“What?! Why?” He shouted. You shakily looked up at him, trying to search for the words.

“I-I just…” you stumbled over your words, trying to piece together an excuse. It was hard when you could feel his gaze down on you, seemingly trying to intimidate you. “You don’t treat me well. You’re controlling and I don’t feel like this relationship is healthy or loving.” You finally told him, finding sudden confidence. You stood up, getting your clothes from the side of his bed, putting them on while keeping your eyes on him.

Mattheo watched the situation unfold, peering through a gap in the closet door. He saw you and Theo exchange words and almost laughed when he saw Theos expression. That quickly turned to something else - anger, sadness, fear, he didn’t know - when Theo lunged at you, grabbing your wrist tightly and pulling you to him.

“You can’t fucking leave me. Don’t you know what I’ve done for you? All this time, money, effort I spent for you. For us. I’m all you have.” He spit out, a sadistic smirk on his face as he saw you tear up.

“You can’t stop me. I’m breaking up with you whether you like it or not.” You whispered. You wanted your life back, your freedom back, and he wouldn’t get in the way of that. Your teary eyes glared at him.

“You ugly fucking bitch. No ones going to want you. I’m the best you’re ever going to get, you fucking whore.” He shouted. Mattheo cringed. He really hoped this wouldn’t wear down on you. He hated Theo more than ever. How could he treat his girlfriend like this? Especially since his girlfriend was you. Emphasis on ‘was.’

You pulled yourself away from Theo, taking a deep breath. His words stung, you had to admit. But you had to carry on, you knew he wasn’t right for you. You maintained your silence and simply walked towards the door, brushing your shoulder against him as you did. This action seemed to anger him, and as he turned and raised his hand, Mattheo took action, jumping out of the closet and stopping his hand. He delivered a strong punch to Theo’s gut before grabbing your hand and rushing both of you out of the room. As you ran, you laughed. It was over, you were free from your toxic ex. A feeling of glory filled your chest. Your lungs burned, sputtering for breath. The cold tile of the dungeon creating a heavy slapping sound as your shoes met the floor. Mattheo was intoxicating, and as he looked at you with a bright smile, you knew you would do anything he did, if he only asked. As you ran farther, still holding hands, you suddenly stopped in some random hallway, not sure of where you were anymore.

“Where are we?” You asked him. He looked around, trying to find something that could help identify your location. When he saw a small broom closet a few feet in front of you, his search for a way back to a familiar place was interrupted. He pulled your hand farther, opening the door and pulling you in. Confused, you stared at him as he casted a silencing spell on the room. When he turned to you, you knew what he had in mind. When he kissed you, you let out a moan into his mouth, kissing him back with the same energy. The kiss was filled with passion and need, tongues moving together in a messy haze. He gripped the back of your head, holding it in place as he nearly stuck his tongue down your throat. He pushed you down to your knees, and you felt the cold pavement under you, your knees crying in pain. He stroked your hair and face with one hand while he unzipped his pants with the other. When he had finally released himself from his pants, you almost immediately brought your tongue to the underside of his dick, licking a stripe over a prominent vein. He groaned, which only gave you motivation to keep going. You swirled your tongue around his head, licking up all the precum leaking from him. It tasted slightly bitter and salty. As you slowly moved your lips down his cock, he used his hand to guide your head, his fingers gripping your hair with a firm grasp. He suddenly shoved your head all the way down, his head bumping the back of your throat. You gagged, tears forming in your eyes.

“Good girl.” Was all he said. It turned you on even more, making the discomfort worth it. You brought your hands up to his balls, lightly massaging them to bring him even more pleasure. He threw his head back so hard you could hear a loud thump against the wall. He moaned and groaned repeatedly, and you smiled at his reaction. Eventually he started to twitch in your mouth.

“I’m gonnna cum, baby. Keep going.” He said. You smiled knowingly before pulling him out of your mouth, leaving him on the edge. He yelled loudly at the loss of stimulation, his head moving to look down on you. He grabbed your head, trying to bring you back to him, but you batted his hand away, standing up and kissing him.

“What is it? Why’d you stop?” He all but screamed at you, clearly frustrated. He seemed like he was about to cry. You almost felt bad.

“Wouldn’t you rather cum inside me?” You seductively asked, looking at him through your lashes. He groaned, because of frustration or because he liked the idea, you didn’t know. He eagerly ripped your skirt off you before picking you up and sitting you on his hips. He maneuvered your panties to the side and pushed himself into you, your wetness making it easy. You cried out, trying to adjust to his size. He held still as he knew you were stretching for him, busying himself by kissing your neck.

“Move, please.” You moaned out to him. He didn’t even take a second before he set a pace, quickly moving himself in and out of you. Filthy sounds could be heard coming from the place where you both met as well as from both of your mouthes. It sounded like heaven. His thumb reached between you two, quickly finding your clit and rubbing slow circles, making you moan out even louder. A tight coil was forming in your tummy, a feeling you knew thanks to Mattheo.

“I’m gonna cum soon.” You warned, and suddenly he stopped all movement, just like you had done before. You regretted your previous mistake, now empathizing with Mattheo.

“Why should you get to cum? You didn’t let me finish earlier.” He smirked teasingly. You were on the brink of tears, previously so close to your orgasm just for it to be snatched from your gasp.

“Please! I’ll be good, I’ll do anything! I’m so sorry, baby.” You cried, grasping at his chest and trying to plead with your eyes. He laughed.

“Yeah? You’re sorry? Hmm. I don’t know yet.” He seemed like he was pretending to think about it, coaxing you to continue.

“Yes, yes, please. Please, Matt, fuck me better than Theo could.” You pleaded, kissing his neck. You knew that would get him. Unsurprisingly, that fueled him, and he finally started moving again, this time faster and more aggressively. His dick slammed into you, deeper and faster than ever. You moaned repeatedly into his ear, but he was only grunting.

“Better than Theo, baby?” He asked, clearly jealous.

“Yes, ahh, yes Matt.” You said between moans. You noted that he fucked rough when he was jealous. His thumb on your clit quickened its pace, bringing you closer and closer.

“I’m going to cum, baby.” You told him, clenching around his dick again and again.

“Cum, then. Cum for me, princess. Show me how good I make you feel.” He breathed out. You could feel he was close too. His cock kept twitching inside you, his thrusts getting sloppier. With that, you came, scratching his back and shoulders with your nails as you rode out your orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum in this tight little pussy, gonna show you who you belong to.” He said before fulfilling his promise.

He stilled inside you, both of you panting to catch your breath. “Gotta keep my cum inside, don’t want it leaking out.” He explained. You moaned at the thought.

“Can we stay like this forever?” You asked. It felt so nice to have him so close to you, still filling you up. He laughed, enjoying the thought.

————————

For @claud012 who asked for a part 2 <3

[cameronspecial]

I was recently rewatching OBX S3 and realized we never saw Rafe’s reaction to Ward dying. So my request for you is to write a Rafe x reader where the reader was there when Ward died and had to tell him. They already had a sort of close relationship. Childhood friends/friend’s brother type idk. Anyway, thanks <3

Dead Dad Club

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Dead Dads

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

Y/N couldn’t believe it happened. She never thought that when her best friend, the Pogues and she went to South America, she would watch her best friend and ex-boyfriend’s father die to protect them. However, that’s how she finds herself in front of Tannyhill, which now, belongs to Rafe because of the un-fake version of Ward’s death. She should be the one to tell him; she has to be the one to tell him. Because after everything he has done, she is the only one (other than Wheezie, who even though she loves him, favours Sarah) who holds any love for him. She knows he beat up Shrieff Peterkin and hurt Sarah, but she can still see the Rafe she used to love and she knows he still loves her. He made it clear when he did everything to protect her during her and the Pogues' escape from the cargo ship. 

Her knock sounds hollow as her heartbeat blasts in her ear. She sees his figure through the glass door. She’ll never get used to his shaved head. His mouth puckers at the sight of her and he shifts to the side to see behind her. “When did you get back? Is my dad with you?” She grimaces, “That’s what I came here to talk to you about. Let’s  go to the living room.” He nods, holding her by the fingertips as he leads her to the couch. They sit and turn to face each other. Their knees graze. She bites her lower lip to keep her tears in. He needs her to be strong right now. “Pumpkin, where is my dad?” She lets out a breath and the words spill out of her. “Your dad died in Venezuela. He ran towards a man trying to shoot Sarah and fell off a cliff.” Rafe freezes and his face whitens. The room grows quiet. “No,” he whispers. “No. No. No.” His voice begins to rise and he stands up to pass around the room. He whips toward her with a finger pointed at her and tears streaming down his face. “YOU ARE LYING. HE ISN’T DEAD. WHY ARE YOU LYING?” The sight of him breaks the dam holding back her own tears.

She cries, “I’m not, Baby, I’m not. I’m so sorry, but I saw his body with my own eyes. He goes through the first two stages of grief and goes right into bargaining. “If I had been there, I could’ve saved him. I should’ve taken him. I should’ve been there. God, please, I’ll do anything for this to be a lie.” He breaks down right before her and she rushes as he collapses into her arms. She drops to the floor with him, resting his head on her chest. “I know. I’m sorry, Baby. I wish I could say that I am lying,” she whispers to him, kissing his temple. His breathing begins to even out as he starts to remember the last time they talked before he dropped his dad off at the private jet. He wouldn’t leave the cross for her and he pointed a gun at her friends. 

“Why are you here? Why are you the one telling me this?” he questions. He looks up at her and she smooths down the hair at his nape. She kisses his forehead, “You were there for me when my dad died, so it’s my turn to be there for you. Plus, you deserve to have someone who loves you around right now.” He shows his gratitude by dropping his head into her chest and kissing the spot between her collarbones. For the rest of the afternoon, they helped each other grieve.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[himimosa]

when they are sick

taking care of bsd men when they are sick...

fyodor, kunikida, dazai

Fyodor Dostoevsky

He is the person who walks around sick for almost half of a year, with a lot of sniffs and sneezes. Somehow he can manage to catch a cold even in summer. You say it is because he has an awful immune system

He already has anemia that makes his body weak. And if a bad cold is added too, he becomes almost pathetic...

If you ask him, he says he is used to being sick most of the time, but that is not true. He tried to take pills a few times for his anemia but they were useless (no, i am not self-projecting here, nope)

Most of the time, he can pull to do his work even if that means carrying tissues with him everywhere.

He hates the times when he got extra bad cold, it causes delays in his work. He is not someone who will accept to see a doctor even though his fever runs high. So if you're going to accompany him, you have to use more conventional ways...

You know hot soup, warm shower, herbal teas... He will act like you are being too "histrionic" and he is doing fine, but he will appreciate it secretly...

You put a mix of mint and linden leaves into the french press, added a tiny piece of ginger, and then poured hot water. After you waited for a while you poured out the liquid through a strainer. You had chosen your fav “I like mugs because they’re very comfortable in your hand” mug for it.

You entered the room where Fyodor was laying, he was trying to read a book but he was coughing constantly. You pulled the book from his hands: "Please drink this and rest a little. I am sure your book can wait for you." you scolded him lightly. He didn't argue with you, which was a sign that he was really feeling bad.

He took the mug, and looked at the writing on it "I don't understand why this is written on a mug" You chuckled "Because either you don't have a sense of humor or you have never heard Demi Lovato before dear.."

"Is it really an inadequacy of me that I don't get the references from the pop culture that was brought to people by no one but-"

"Darling darling..." you interrupted him "You can talk for hours about fatuity of popularism later, but I am begging you, drink this tea. now..."

He was annoyed by your interruption but he complied with your request. He sniffed before taking a sip. Then his face turned into a disgusted expression.

"Did you put ginger in this tea?.."

Kunikida Doppo

This poor man will go through the 5 stages of grief in order...

Denial: "I am not sick, I just got shivers for a second! This doesn't mean anything!" "No, I don't look awful or tired, I am fine!"

Anger: "This is because of that Dazai asshole! That nasty bastard sneezed right into my face and contaminated me with his viruses!"

Bargaining: "...Okay some inconveniences might happen but it's not that bad", "I will drink this tea and get better in an instant. No, I don't need a break, I will be fine"

Depression: "... What will happen to the agency if I use two days off?" "...my program... I will be left behind on it.."

Acceptance: "..President, may I use two days off to recover?"

He knew it is natural to get sick for people... But it wasn't written in his ideals book... He must add some notes about this too...

All he wants is quickly recover and get back to his responsibilities. So he will see a doctor, he will take his medicines, will drink all the herbal tea he needs to drink...You don't have to do much indeed, he is someone who takes care of himself well. But this doesn't mean he won't appreciate it if you do some thoughtful things for him...

"I'm home" you called to him when you entered the house with your keys. You dropped the bags that you got from the grocery store to the kitchen. You could organize them later, you went right ahead to the room where Kunikida was resting. He tried to get up to greet you but you acted quicker and hugged him while he was still sitting. He froze for only one second, then slowly wrapped his arms around you

"Y/N... You shouldn't be this close to me, you will get sick too..." He murmured but didn't push you away too. You shrugged your shoulders while still hugging him "Then I will use a day off with my sick boyfriend, that doesn't seem so bad to me" Kunikida chuckled lightly "If we both use a day off at the same time, I can't imagine what sort of chaos would the agency have..." Then he slowly pulled himself back to see you eye-to-eye and started to ask you questions... How is the agency going? Were budget calculations accurate? Have you taken new cases? What kind of ruckus did Dazai cause when he wasn't around to lecture him? How many calls did you get for his suicide attempts this time?

You told him about how you took care of everything on his behalf with everyone's help (well mostly with the help of Atsushi, Kyoka, Kenji, and Tanizaki siblings... basically with minors of Ada...) But even Dazai wasn't acting so "wild". He was whining about how the agency became too quiet and no-fun without Kunikida and all the joy he got from work vanished without Kunikida...

"Everyone can't wait to get you better love they are planning to visit you tomorrow night," you told with a smile. Kunikida coughed and covered his mouth, then mumbled: "I see..." You knew he did it to hide the light blush and embarrassed smile on his face, but you didn't tease him for it. After all, he was deserving it all...

Dazai Osamu

Here comes the drama king...

First, let's be honest here... He is treating his own body like shit... We saw him in his flat, this man doesn't even cook for himself. He literally feeds with sake and canned crabs only... Despite that, he doesn't get sick easily. He has the durability of a cockroach (i swear i love him, these insults are with affection)

He is the kind of person who doesn't get sick even there is a cold season and everyone around him got ill. He catches the sickness not more once than a year, but when he gets ill, it is always the most unexpected time.

Once, while he was still in the port mafia he got a very bad cold right before an important mission. When Mori saw his situation, he had to cancel the mission.

Because this man acts like he is on the deathbed when he is sick...

"So I made some research on the internet... With all these symptoms on me; either I have some kind of chronic illness, or brain tumor.. which leads us to the conclusion that I have only 2 weeks to live..." "Or, you have a cold, you shithead.." "Do not act like you are a doctor now Chuuya, or I will throw up to your precious hat..."

He didn't change much... The only difference is now he is being your boyfriend, you have to take care of this man like you are taking care of a child. He will act like he is much worse than he is to get all your affection and care... You will need a lot of patience, to be honest...

"Ew, there is no way I would drink that crap!" You thought for a millisecond to throw the bowl of soup to his face but you didn't have the heart for it. Even though he was acting like a spoiled brat, he was miserable right now. You knew he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning, you had to convince him to put something in his stomach no matter what...

"Why don't you want to drink this babe?" you asked with your sweetest tone. Dazai shrugged his shoulders "It smells bad, makes me want to puke..." You tried again "What if you push yourself? Just a little? I know it doesn't look appetizing but this soup is too good for cold, you will feel better after your drink I promise..."

Dazai looked at you with defeated eyes, he couldn't resist any longer "..fine then"

With excitement, you took one spoon from the bowl and carefully held it towards his mouth, you were cupping the other hand under the spoon to keep it from spilling. Dazai slowly opened his mouth, only to make a sour face "It is too hot!"

"Sorry baby, my bad" you apologized and started to cool it down by stirring it with the spoon. You took another spoon from the bowl, this time you blew a little air before giving it to Dazai. When he started to make some teasing comments on you would be a great nanny, you decided he was already getting better. You tried to get up after he finished his soup, but Dazai held you weakly by his wrist. "You won't leave me alone on my deathbed, right?" You rolled your eyes: "You're an idiot, you know that right?" He smirked lightly "But I am your idiot, and you still love me..." You couldn't control your smile this time. You gently removed the hair on his forehead and gave him a little peck "Yeap... Only mine to love..."

well, i couldn't still get over from this week's episode and couldnt't write anything new. this was on the drafts and not proof readed, but i will still share it. fyodor stans can use it as a denial of ep 11 :')

[angelpink610]

Shadow Work is NOT meant to be easy or comforting;

Guess it’s about time that we talk about this!

This is a reminder to myself and to anyone that might need it—the ones who feel like it’s only bringing them down, that it’s making them feel miserable or bad. Let’s clear up some things.

Feeling down in the moment is the best sign you can receive that IT IS WORKING! Shadow Work is the courage to look at the parts of yourself you despise the most, you fear the most, you are embarrassed of the most. It’s not simply acknowledging that bad things happened to you, it’s experiencing them all over again but now straightening up your back and looking right to its face.

I, myself, also am someone that's still learning about it and have been experiencing hard times throughout it. Sometimes I feel unmotivated and down, also lately I had noticed my sleep was a bit more inconsistent and I have big dark circles. Well, I know that saying this is probably going to scare some people even more away—and I understand the unsettling feelings! But the way that I see it, it’s like anything great in life: takes time, heavy work and some sacrifices.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not sacrificing my entire life because of it. I workout every single day, keep my mind active, go to university, all normal. But some minor sacrifices are the price we pay for lifelong healing. My personal experience’s greatest example of sacrifice is how much emotional energy it actually takes from you. I swear on my word that sometimes when I look at the notebook I use as my Shadow Work journal, I instantly feel kind of “off vibes”, like the energy that it has is unsettling—but, here’s the thing: it is!

The energy that it requires to heal your deepest traumas, pains, griefs, obviously wouldn’t be super light and nice. Your words carry the pain you felt, some that you still feel, the heaviness of its result on your life (maybe years, decades of constant suffering, even); it’s pretty obvious that the notebook that carries them wasn’t gonna be all warm and fuzzy.

It’s not easy, guys. And I know that, at this point, you might’ve already realized that, but I want to remember us all of something: it’s in adversity that we are able to grow. You are capable of living through this healing process, you are capable of surviving the dark before the light, you are capable of facing your monsters and returning with their heads on a stick. But you HAVE TO BELIEVE IT.

Live through the suffering stage of the process like the champion you already know you are. Don’t give up when you suddenly burst into tears during a meditation session where you talked to your younger self. Persist when you have to stop and take deep breaths at every few sentences you write when you are journaling about a traumatic event because it feels like it’s too much. Hold onto it tighter when you live all over again the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.

One last time: I’m not saying it’s easy or simple (in reality, those may be some of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do through your entire life, perhaps). But I do mean it when I say you’ll understand why you had to go through all that once you reach the light on the other side, and your scars will be the forever reminder THAT YOU ARE A SURVIVOR.

The same way a lot of kids are not scared of/don’t see evil in certain horror imageries until they are told that it is scary and choose to follow that thought—we should learn from them as adults and finally understand: monsters are only monsters when we give them the power to haunt us.

[sleeptokeninterpretations]

Sleep Token’s “Take Me Back To Eden” and the five stages of grief

So I have had an idea for a possible interpretation for the album Take Me Back To Eden and as far as I have seen an interpretation with this idea has only been provided for Sundowning so far so I figured I’d give it a try.

Essentially what I’m seeing as a possible interpretation is Take Me Back To Eden expressing the five stages of grief after a suicide of a loved one, in particular a romantic partner. How I came to this idea? Let’s have a look.

TW: we will deal with the topics death, suicide and grief here.

Denial

Why would a song about death and grieving begin with two songs that sound more like an offering (see what I did there) to a lover rather than a sad song?

I think there are two reasons why the album starts with these songs. One of them is the stage of denial. When grieving, many people either feel numb or ever carry on like nothing ever happened in an attempt to ignore the issue. Both Chokehold and The Summoning can be seen as attempts to write about a passed loved one like nothing ever happened.

However I believe there is another reason. Throughout the album we watch the speaker go through a variety of emotions caused by the loss of a loved one. By starting the album with Chokehold and The Summoning, we are to understand how intense the relationship between the speaker and their lover was so we can empathise better with the emotions displayed in the course of the album.

Anger

Moving on to the second stage, anger, which is dealt with in Granite.

Now if you’ve wondered why I think the album might be about grieving after a suicide specifically, the explanation for this is mainly found in songs expressing anger. We will get back to this when talking about anger within the stage of depression but we can find some references in Granite already. It appears that the speaker is mad at their lover for not expressing their feelings before their death. Specifically “we’d rather be six feet under than be lonely” suggests that the loved one has not expressed their negative feelings out of fear the speaker might leave them. A similar theme is dealt with in the line “You say you want me but you know I’m not what you need”.

Bargaining

See, with Aqua Regia and Vore it gets a little bit tough and I definitely find it hard to find lines actually referring to this state but we’ll work with it.

I think Aqua Regia could be understood as the speaker offering to go through the same pain as their loved one in an attempt to get them back, kind of like “come back, I’ll be in pain with you”.

Vore goes in a similar direction, the speaker is trying to make themselves relatable (“Are you in pain like I am”), hoping that this might bring their loved one back.

Again this is very brief (and analysing Aqua Regia has always given me a headache) so I will keep it at this.

Depression

We enter the fourth stage, depression. This is by far the longest stage with five whole songs, which quite naturally shows how grief isn’t linear.

Ascensionism is a whole emotional ride on it’s own and can almost be seen as a trip through different stages within the grieving process.

I would still consider this to be part of the depressive stage. “Anything’s better than the way I feel right now” definitely suggest this.

Lines like “you make me wish I could disappear” might feel a little out of place here as they seem to be directed at a person who has hurt the speaker, however I believe the line is to be understood as “by disappearing out of my life, you make me wish I could disappear”.

Though as mentioned before, Ascensionism is a whole ride on its own and I will definitely write an interpretation on this song alone at some point.

Next we have Are You Really Okay?, definitely one of the main reasons that led me to this interpretation in the first place.

Here we have the speaker clearly expressing desperation and helplessness (“I want to help you but I don’t know how”) and we are confronted with the speaker being well aware of their lover’s mental struggles way before their death. The lyrics of this song are also the main reason I believe the album is dealing with grief after a suicide specifically since here we have a bunch of references to mental health struggles.

Now for The Apparition and DYWTYLM we can see an interesting shift in the feelings. If we stick to the 5 stages of grief we would still be in the stage of depression, however we can see the speaker circling back to anger.

It’s important to know that the stages of grief are to be understood as a “guideline” to what grief can look like when we observe people dealing with illness or loss, yet they do not necessarily have to appear in this exact order, grief is rarely linear.

Additionally we need to understand that a less commonly known symptom of depression is anger, so the anger expressed by the speaker can be understood as a symptom of the depressive state rather than a separate stage.

The Apparition seems to deal with the speaker (day-)dreaming about their loved one, however they keep circling back to reality and realise that those dreams are only based on memories and events that no longer can happen in the present.

Examples for this would be lines like “Why are you never real”, “But I know you will disappear just as I awake” or “Loaded dreams still leave me empty”.

What we can see here quite well is a combination of depression and anger. The speaker is angry with their passed loved one, they basically yell at them to finally leave their thoughts and stop haunting their dreams. At the same time they express the depression and feeling of emptiness that those dreams leave them with.

Now DYWTYLM continues the theme of depression in combination with anger while switching the topic. The speaker now asks for answers on questions that potentially deal with the suicide of their loved one. Simultaneously the speaker understands the death as an offense against themselves, they assume that their loved one has expressed a lack of love for the speaker by ending their own life.

Two things are important here. One, this does not mean that the speaker is self centred, it does not even mean they genuinely hold this belief. Looking for the “bad guy” is a very natural process in grieving, essentially the brain is trying to provide answers to questions that cannot actually be answered. Two, while the song is titled DYWTYLM and therefore the focus is easily on the emotion of anger, I don’t believe this is the actual focus here. Rather than that we can look at all the questions in the verses like “Do you pull at the chains? Or do you push into constant aching?” or “Is there something you give? That you will never receive in return?” While the anger in lines like “maybe not that you conceal your feelings, they just don’t exist” cannot and should not be ignored, I believe the main theme here is the speaker making an attempt at understanding the emotions that eventually caused the death. Furthermore the speaker briefly expresses their own sadness specifically in the line “my reflection just won’t smile back at me like I know it should”.

Lastly for the fourth stage we have Rain.

I put this under the stage of depression but I do think there is a good reason this is the last song in this stage.

The speaker is looking back on their love “the vicious cycle was over the moment you smiled at me” but we are still slowly fading into the stage of acceptance.

The last line in the bridge “When I open my eyes to the future I can hear you say my name” could be seen as an expression for the very common phrase “they would want you to move on”.

When the speaker thinks about the future, he imagines his lover guiding them a way into said future.

Acceptance

We now enter the stage of acceptance with the last two songs and I believe acceptance refers to two different things in this case, accepting one’s own feelings and finally the actual death.

In Take Me Back To Eden, the speaker mostly attempts at validating their own feelings. In the first verse, they let themselves indulge in memories of the past, in the second verse they express how they have been experiencing the journey of grieving.

One line I want to talk about in particular can be found in the third verse.

“That we’ve no idea what we’ve got until we lose it and no amount of love will keep it around if we don’t choose it.”

I think this is such a powerful way to express both the fear of not having appreciated the significant other while they were alive and the realisation that the speaker themselves can’t be blamed, the death of their loved one was not to be prevented by the speaker just loving their partner more.

Last but not least, let’s move over to Euclid.

We have to understand the death of a loved one does not mean one has moved on entirely. One can simultaneously accept while still being desperate, sad or helpless.

“Give me five whole minutes” may refer to the feeling of wanting to relive the time experienced with the person just a little bit longer. Generally the first verse refers to this exact feeling, getting lost in one’s memories and wanting back the old times just a little longer. If we think about lines like “Give me one last ride on a sunset sky lane”, we can see the speaker almost begging their lost love to come back for just a little bit. This could also be connected to a very common feeling in the process of grief, where one wants to go back to times with the loved one to experience the moments together more consciously.

“Call me when you get the chance, I can feel the walls around me closing in” appears to be the speaker wanting to talk to the loved person they lost while already being aware they won’t actually receive in an answer.

The second verse continues the theme of wanting back the loved one, however the speaker expresses the awareness that they are gone.

“I play along with the life signs anyway” seems to describe the process of slowly getting back into one’s daily life while slowly moving on from actively grieving.

Now as I already mentioned, moving back into your daily life and moving on, does not mean you entirely forget about the person.

“Yet in reverse, you are all my symmetry, a parallel I would lay my life on” can be understood as an attempt to express that the speaker does not want to forget about the person they lost, maybe they have learned a lot of valuable life lessons from that person and want to remember those things in their future life.

“Call me when you have the time, I just need to leave this part of me behind” basically concludes this feeling that has been building up over the second verse, the speaker clearly expresses that they feel the need to move on with their life.

Now for the sake of interpretation we are not going to look into the last verse being a reference to TNDNBTG and just look at lyrics on their own.

The first part of the lyrics once more shows the speaker reminiscing as in the line “We tangle endlessly, like lovers entwined”.

Now let’s have a look the last few lines.

“I know for the last time, you will not be mine, so give me the night.”

The speaker seems to reflect on their own process of grieving while also coming to terms with the fact that their loved one has passed away. They know they cannot be together like they used to be and are ready to go on with their life. “Give me the night” can be understood as an expression that the speaker is ready for new challenges, memories and experiences.

I obviously don’t know if this is the meaning intended by Vessel (if you ask my literature professor the meaning intended by the author doesn’t have to concern me either way).

However I think that it deepens the understand of songs like Are You Really Okay or Euclid and provides a rather new perspective on songs like DYWTYLM.

[philtstone]

for Spotify wrapped prompts: lotr characters of your choice + #11?? (trying my luck to see if I somehow don’t land on a Bollywood song but will be thrilled no matter what!)

#11 -- main hoon na (I'm here now) so funny story my spotify wrapped playlist does NOT include numbering. no numbers. god knows why. and i am not counting my way thru that list. which means i will simply be selecting an inspiration song from the list for each of these prompts, but that still is not saving u from the bollywood of it all. so, to really hard launch things, im splicing the goofiest most spy kids ass incredibly sweet movie of all time with -- of course -- the hippie camp counsellor au

Aragorn's headache has been building since well before lunch, but the relative absence of any sort of real amenities at this truck stop has only made it worse.

First: because outside of a measly bag of chips, which he insisted be shared by Arwen (prone to blood-sugar-related headaches), Eowyn (technically still growing her frontal lobe), Frodo (looking too solemn for a thirteen year old, also still growing), and Sam (who immediately offered his share to Frodo), Aragorn has not eaten anything since their stop at the forlorn Wendy's last night.

Second: because, in pursuit of something more sustaining than said measly bag of chips, Merry and Pippin went investigating. Alone. And now they've been misplaced.

“Under construction! To be replaced by what? A corporate behemoth without any soul?! Without a whit of warmth? Grand oak tables! The ambiance of a fine dining experience! My cousin Balin’s restaurant was no ordinary truck stop facility! The spaghetti bolognese alone made it worth the detour! How many a road trip did I take as a boy –”

Gimli is only twenty one, so this is not so significant as all that. 

“Do you think we wouldn’t have misplaced them if we tried to find another Wendy’s?” Legolas asks philosophically, as if Gimli is not standing beside him on the verge of tears.

“We haven’t misplaced them,” Aragorn says. They definitely have. “We must simply ask around – they couldn’t have gotten far. At worst, they have squirreled their way into one of these trucks, and we would definitely notice that.”

The obnoxious horn-blowing alone, Aragorn thinks.

“They could have been kidnapped,” says Legolas, all pragmatic cheer. “Or run over. Or they could be trapped in one of the toilet stalls – the locks stuck on Gimli for a good five minutes when we were in there.”

“Gone!” wails Gimli, who gets very theatrical when upset. “Erased! An institution of road-side relaxation! Oooh, how could Balin not have told me? And for it to be replaced by a barren Travel Center with nothing but a few vending machines! I wasn’t prepared for this kind of tragedy to happen in my lifetime …”

“Legolas,” Aragorn grits out, “some optimism, please.” Gimli is going through multiple stages of grief, so Aragorn lets him be. “Let us put our heads together and do something constructive.”

Canvassing the truckers seems as immediate a solution as any, so that is what they do.

“We’re looking for the cousins of my father’s friend’s nephew,” Gimli describes emotionally to a confused old woman in a cowboy hat and her somewhat tree-shaped husband. “If anyone would have appreciated the smoked smash burgers of my own cousin’s menu … but it’s all lost now! Could you’ve seen ‘em?”

“We’re looking for two very small children,” Legolas says solemnly to the biker gang Eomer had serendipitously known from university, but who eye them with suspicion nonetheless. “You know, the kind you look at and immediately think, oh God, small children, if you’re the sort to not like children much.”

“We’re looking for two pre-teen boys,” Aragorn clarifies at every interval, feeling desperate. “Aged twelve and eleven, with fair hair, coming up to no higher than my hip. You couldn’t miss them if you tried; one of them is wearing a Super Mario t-shirt.” 

“Oh, that will be Pippin,” Legolas confirms from behind him. “Terrible taste in video games.”

Gimli dabs tearfully at his eyes with a large checkered handkerchief he pulled from the back of his jeans.

It’s not that he’s truly worried Merry and Pippin have been kidnapped – they do have a rudimentary grasp of stranger danger – only Aragorn is supposed to be exercising leadership on this trip. He is the driver, after all. Even if he still isn't wholly confident in his grad school options.

“Maybe you could do MSF or something,” Legolas wonders aloud, as they look underneath a particularly rusty-looking sixteen-wheeler for their runaway tweens. “Next year I mean, in between things. I’m sure Uncle Elrond would consider that a viable career. You had the pamphlet in your backpack last month and everything.”

“You need a medical degree to do MSF, Legolas,” Aragorn says tiredly; it’s not that he hasn’t thought about it.

“What if you started your own version of MSF, with herbal medicine,” Legolas continues, undeterred. “I’m sure that would be popular amongst middle class white moms. And you’d be an entrepreneur.” 

It would somewhat defeat the whole point, but Aragorn appreciates the brainstorming. 

Back to Merry and Pippin – technically they are Gandalf’s responsibility – but Gandalf is in the bathroom, so they feel like his, and, furthermore, Aragorn’s getting a bit nervous about leaving Frodo and Sam in the van all alone for so long. Two days ago they found a feral possum in the trunk who they kept on because it has an uncanny sense of direction (it will scratch at random points on the map when it’s not screaming and hissing from the back seat), and though it won’t stop chewing on the hem of Frodo’s jeans, Frodo refuses to let them toss it out of the car; he insists he and the possum can communicate. Aragorn would think he was lying if not for Sam also insisting they can communicate – he has absolutely nothing good to say about the Possum’s personality – and, well, Sam’s a stoutly practical kid. So certainly they must be being truthful.

But the poor possum could bite them, left unattended.

Aragorn decides to try the biker gang one last time.

“Please,” Aragorn says, “they’re like our younger brothers; we can’t just leave them to fend for themselves.”

“Hmm,” says the gruffest of the lot, after a prolonged bout of contemplation. “There was a fist fight or something by the portapotties — I saw a kid’s backpack lying around afterward.”

Of course it had to be a fistfight, Aragorn thinks, as Gimli goes pale and Legolas places a delicate mourning hand flat upon his breast. They march over to the portapotties, accordingly. Sure enough, the backpack is there, but Merry and Pippin are nowhere to be found.

Aragorn kicks at the side of the nearest portable. His toe clips it awkwardly, so he has to sit down for a minute, limping, and resist the urge to bury his head in his hands.

“Oh,” he hears Legolas say. “Oh, alright. Yeah. Yeah. Uh huh.”

Aragorn looks up. 

“It's Eowyn,” Legolas says, holding his phone up somewhat unnecessarily. “She says they’re in the van.”

“This whole time?” asks Gimli, slow of voice.

“Well, no. They’ve got deli sandwiches with them. Real ones. Apparently the honey ham is pretty good.”

“Give me the phone,” Aragorn says; Legolas does.

“Hello,” it is not Eowyn, but Arwen’s musical voice on the other end of the line. Aragorn wonders if she perhaps anticipated his mood from the other end of the truck stop and so had the forethought to rescue an unwitting Eowyn from it. Arwen does occasionally demonstrate a telepathic sort of vibe when it comes to him. “We heard your yell from all the way over here – is everything alright?”

Oh. Right.

“Put Merry and Pippin on, please,” Aragorn says, because he couldn’t bear to be rude to his girlfriend and his toe really is throbbing, so he can’t trust himself. “Are they – there, yes. Yes. Well I can hear them in the background. Arwen –”

“Hullo Aragorn,” comes Pippin’s voice, after a staticy smartphone handover.

“I will leave you here next time,” Aragorn says.

“No he won’t,” says Legolas.

“No he won’t,” says Gimli.

“He’s just a little hungry,” chimes in Arwen, a muffled distance from the receiver.

“Well, that’s alright!” says Pippin, before Aragorn can protest. “We got you sandwiches, didn’t we?”

“Oh, yes,” adds Merry, just as close to the phone. “We picked one up just for you. Saved it and everything from that biker gang and Frodo’s possum.”

“Oh, he’s named it now. Calls it Smeagol.”

“I thought he said it introduced itself.”

“Oh, yes, it did do that. Sam disagrees though, says it’s named Gollum.”

“Terrible name for a possum.”

“Don’t you think so? But anyway, your sandwich is safe with us.”

And, despite it all, Aragorn finds that he can do absolutely nothing else but laugh loudly, fondly, and for a long while.

[bodytoflame-ao3]

FIC: i can't hide from you like i hide from myself

Buffy's spent four years trying to forget the revelation that her and Faith are soulmates, whatever that means.

Faith's been tracing a scar that's not hers for months.

(Giles, frankly, is terrified.)

10, 983 words; complete; explicit

Read on Ao3

“Am I being punished, Giles? Am I cursed?”

Giles pushes his glasses up. “No—” He clears his throat, sliding his open book toward her, “quite the opposite, I believe.”

“Giles, please tell me this is a joke.”

“Hardly. The concept of soulmates is long-standing, with myths and accounts dating back thousands of years in plenty of cultures across the world—”

“You know that’s not what I meant!”

He sighs. “There’s many variations on the concept, but one moreso than others: a grave injury dealt to one will leave a mark on the other. It’s, erm, somewhat more well-documented with Slayers, due to the penchant for harm. Still, very rare.”

“Okay, cool, soulmates exist! Big deal! I’m a bit more hung up on the part where you seem to be implying mine is Faith.”

Because there’s no way. Faith is evil, and, well, a girl, more (or less?) importantly.

“Ah, yes… that.”

He’s cleaning his glasses again, and Buffy’s starting to wonder if it’s some weird coping strategy.

“While I’m aware the popular narrative tends to highlight the idea of romantic soulmates, the truth is, it’s often much more complicated than that. A platonic, even spiritual link—”

“Are you just trying to make me feel better?” She asks, crossing her arms.

“No, Buffy. It’s in the book if you’d rather read it for yourself.”

He gestures to the book in front of her — the one she’s been deliberately avoiding looking at.

That would make it too real. Which it definitely isn’t. “I’d rather not.”

“It is quite possible it has something to do with you both being the Slayer. It’s never happened before, so I’m afraid I have no reference.”

“Can we talk about literally anything else now? Like, I don’t know, the rapidly approaching apocalypse?”

“Potential apocalypse,” he clarifies, “hopefully an averted one if all goes well.”

“Hey, look on the bright side. You get to blow stuff up.”

“Perhaps I’d be more excited if it weren’t an institute of learning.”

“Yeah, but this one’s on top of a gateway to hell. I say that makes it even.”

Giles sighs, and shakes his head, hiding his smile and holding back laughter.

The moment passes, and he goes back to his research, while Buffy traces the wood grain of the table, just past the book.

“It’s just, if Faith is my soulmate — and I’m not saying she is — why does she hate me? What, are we like fated enemies?”

“It’s unlikely. The book speaks of a close bond that can reveal deep personal truths. And… are you sure that’s how she feels?”

“Giles,” Buffy says, looking him in the eyes. “If she didn’t before, she does now.”

“And what the future could hold?”

“Probably not a lot. I mean… the way we fought together, yeah, I get it, but… there’s no coming back from almost killing someone.”

“She was trying to harm you. It was self-defense.”

“And you think that’ll make her feel any better about the fact that I stabbed her? If she even wakes up?”

“I can’t claim to understand the mind of a teenage girl, but I do understand these books, Buffy. This is a unique bond, one that can’t be broken by mortal affairs.”

She’s been thinking about what Giles said to her that day since Faith showed up in her living room. Thinking about it, and trying to forget it.

--

“B?” Faith’s voice rings through the empty house from the foyer. Closer; “I know you’re here.”

She’s been thinking it about it since he told her. In a lot of different ways. The whole five stages of grief, really. If the thought of Faith’s lips on her own had ever crossed her mind, she made sure it didn’t show.

Because she so hasn’t spent the last four years thinking about it; pushing the dreams where she kisses Faith into the deepest depths of her mind where no one can find them.

Buffy sighs, calling out: “Go away.”

There’s too many other things to deal with to think about them.

A moment later, she leans against the doorway, arms crossed. “No. We gotta talk.”

She looks as cool and collected as she’s ever been; always an air of ease about her. Like nothing matters. She’s said as much in the past. But that’s just what people say, right?

Buffy has experience with pretending to be fine. “I don’t need any pity, I just want to be alone.”

Maybe she’s just here to laugh in her face. It would be easier for both of them if she was.

“Just wanted to… make sure you were okay. I’d say it’s not safe for a girl to be alone in this town at night, but… abandoned or not, we both know you can hold your own,” She says, smirking. “But… all that… it was fucked up, kicking you out of your own house.”

Buffy sits up, running her fingers through the side of her hair that was on the pillow. “Yeah.”

“And… I’m sorry I didn’t do anything about it. Truth is, I was freaked, y’know, I just got back here, you guys barely trust me, and I didn’t wanna make things worse.”

The tension between them is as strong as ever, and what Faith knows is only half of it. It’s been different for Buffy since that night on the rooftop. Faith might not know it, but Buffy trusts her — while she’s not quite ready to put it in writing… she does. She knows she shouldn’t, but it’s hard not to. There’s been an inexplicable draw between them since they first met.

She wonders if Faith feels it too.

“No, no, I get it, it’s… fine.”

“Yeah, I…” She scratches the back of her neck sheepishly, takes a step into the room, and the entire atmosphere changes. “It’s really not, B. Look, I came back here to try and make at least some things right, and that’s like, the opposite of it.”

“You didn’t kick me out.”

“But I said you needed to cool it, and… I mean, I think you were a little hard on ‘em, but I never would’ve said it if I knew they were gonna—”

“But you didn’t.” A beat. “Why did you come here, Faith?”

“I saw the First,” she admits, “and… I knew he wasn’t real, but it still freaked me out.”

“Yeah. It tends to do that.” Buffy wants to ask her what she saw, but she doesn’t — hopes Faith will offer it up on her own, but doesn’t want to push. They know too many dead people, and Buffy doesn’t know her life before Sunnydale. Though, she’s always wanted to.

“It was the Mayor. Like he hadn’t aged a day— I guess he wasn’t really doin’ that before, either, but… y’know what I mean.” She smiles, just a bit. “It was weird. Like he… it knew everything, and knew how it would make me feel. Why’s this shit gotta be all different? I was fine when it was just big baddies to punch, but I’m out of my element here.”

The more human they are… the harder they are to kill. Not just mentally, the act of killing something so similar to yourself, but because of the way they know how humans work, act, think, feel… They can manipulate you. In her dreams, she fears she’s been playing into what the First wants this whole time.

“This isn’t my kind of thing either,” Buffy says, joking (and somewhat serious), “Hey, maybe you’ll be less reckless than me. Show them things’ve really changed.”

Maybe Faith was right. Maybe she is the good Slayer now. Maybe that’s what the Slayer has to be to beat this thing.

Faith scoffs. “B, I don’t wanna be in charge. I can’t, I'm not good. You gotta come back and talk some sense into them.”

“Yeah, in my experience, not wanting stuff doesn’t usually seem to do much to stop it.” And that’s basically everything in her life since she found out she was the Slayer.

Faith glares at her.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. They want you.”

“They don’t know what I am.”

“To them, you’re a Slayer. You’re who they could be someday.” They don’t see her past. Hell, they don’t know it. But she’s cooler than Buffy, and they’re just looking for some sense of normal. And Faith is… somehow, more normal. On the outside. And they like that idea more than the reality of me.

“I can’t… I don’t know the plan. I barely even know what we’re up against here.”

“God, I wish there was a plan.”

“There’s no plan?”

She shrugs, trying not to show her dread at how absolutely fucked they are. “Not past ‘destroy ancient evil’ and ‘get brunch’ — that was Andrew’s idea.”

“That’s it?”

“…I thought the brunch part sounded pretty good,” she offers — it’s easy to say, not full of dread and darkness, and it’s how they’ve always coped.

“Yeah, if we’re not dead.”

Buffy smiles, and nods toward the space next to her. Faith’s presence has always felt natural, especially when she’s close.

Tentatively, Faith crosses the distance between them, and sits down. “Look, we need you. They do, even if they won’t say it, and I know I do.”

Maybe, somewhere, she knows that — that it’s always been her duty, her responsibility, her mission to take care of the people in her life, even the ones she barely knows. She meant what she said to Faith — these girls could be them someday — and she owes it to her younger self to look out for them. But she also knows what she was like at sixteen — what Faith was like at sixteen, and it might be easy to make that argument at twenty-one, but it’s a lot harder to accept it when your entire world’s been thrown into a tailspin, and all you want is an ounce of control. To not follow the rules for once.

Buffy sees worry fall across Faith’s face when she doesn’t respond. She looks into her eyes, and asks, “Are you mad at me? ‘Cause you sound like you’re mad at me.”

Faith’s gaze on her feels way more overwhelming than it should; huge and brown, brows furrowed. They get her flustered, and she stumbles over the accusation when she answers.

“No! I’m not, I… I’m mad at everything.”

“B, come on… it’s like you’re still walking on eggshells around me. What’s it gonna take? I’m here.”

She’s the only one here. Hell, she exists, when she shouldn’t — or maybe, that’s Buffy. “I know. I know, and I can’t thank you enough—”

“Then how come you don’t flinch when Angel’s around? Hell, even Spike seems to get a pass, and don’t give me the soul bullshit.”

Because I’m afraid if you touch me I won’t be able to stop myself. Even admitting that to herself feels terrifying.

“That’s… different.”

“How come?” She chuckles, “Cause you slept with ‘em?”

Buffy blushes bright red at her suggestion, shaking her head in an attempt to get the intrusive thoughts out — the ones that are currently chaining together the words ‘sleeping with Faith’ — “No!”

“So level with me, okay?” Faith asks, entirely serious, all traces of teasing gone from her voice. “What’s different? ‘Cause me and Angel, we’ve done a lot of things we regret. To you in particular. And I would’ve hated to admit it even a year ago, but we’re a lot more alike than I thought. Look, I’ve been trying to do good. I wanna keep doing it, but not alone. I said it before, and it’s still true, we’re the same. I don’t wanna just be the chosen one.”

Faith looks… older. Stronger. It shouldn’t surprise her. Older makes sense, and, well, she had a lot of free time to build up more muscle… In her mind, she was still envisioning her as that scared girl. The one who covered up her insecurity with snark and sultry. Until a second ago. And it’s like seeing her for the first time again, beautiful, and strong, and fiery, and passionate. Wanting — wanting more from what her life was before; wanting someone who understood.

But this time, Buffy gets it.

“Chosen Two,” Buffy says, remembering her words.

She nods.

Buffy takes a breath; lifts the hem of her shirt gently. “It’s different because of this.”

Faith’s hand reaches out, the lightest touch of her fingertips touching the scar. Buffy doesn’t flinch; fights the instinct until it fades.

She doesn’t speak for a few seconds. “B, I don’t… where, uh… where’d you get this?”

“You,” she says, simply. Or— “or, well, me.” She still feels guilty; asks, bluntly, “Do you believe in soulmates?”

She scoffs.

“This showed up the day after…” Buffy trails off, entirely unsure how to phrase it.

Faith shifts uncomfortably. “Gee, no wonder they thought you were losin’ it.”

“Faith…” She can feel her retreating.

“Too soon?” she quips, her body language suddenly stiff.

“I know you know.” It’s a bold claim. Buffy doesn’t, not really. She just has a feeling — the way she hesitated before she asked about the scar, the way she’s withdrawing back into herself now.

The way she’s always been one step ahead of what Faith was willing to give.

“It’s whatever, B. No big deal. Bigger shit to deal with than old fairy tales. Let’s get you back home and figure out—”

Buffy cuts her off. That’s the one thing she isn’t willing to do now. “No. I’m not going back there.”

“Alright. Suit yourself,” she sighs, going to stand up—

She can’t go. Buffy grabs her hand. “Stay. Please.”

Faith shakes her head, offering a hard gaze back at her. “It doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

“Why not?” Buffy challenges, pouting. But she doesn’t even know what she’s asking for, what she wants Faith to stay for.

“I don’t do shit like that,” Faith says, blunt.

And maybe that’s true. Buffy’s never done anything like this (whatever it is) either, and still… there’s some part of her that’s drawn to Faith; needs her here. It wasn’t like this when she was gone — far away where Buffy didn’t have to (but did) think about her. Now that she’s close, it’s like everything’s a million times bigger, more connected.

“So you’re saying… what exactly?” Because she thought she knew what Faith wanted — her. That’s what she’s always wanted, right? Why she did everything she did, why she came back?

She pulls her hand away, standing up and wiping her palms on her thighs. “Yeah, we’re connected. But not like that.”

“So, how is it?”

“The whole Slayer thing. No one else like us?”

“I… Giles told me that, when…” When I came to him crying with a scar that wasn’t mine, thinking I killed you. “And I thought he was right. I mean, he’s Giles. Always full of knowledge with the supernatural stuff, but…”

But that was the easy way to think about it. And nothing between them has ever been easy.

“Yeah, he told me too. I mean… when I was you, so… indirectly.” She sighs. “But I did my research.”

So she does know. “And?”

“And that’s it. Pretty obvious what it ain’t, what with how much you hate me. Maybe that’s what we’re destined for.”

Buffy reaches for her hand a second time; pulls back halfway there. “I never hated you.”

Faith doesn’t say anything.

“I felt like I failed you.”

Maybe she should hate her. It seems like the logical thing to do, with everything they’ve done to each other. But she can’t — she’s never been able to, really. Tried, but saying it doesn’t make it true.

“You’re not responsible for me,” Faith says, blunt, putting more space between them.

“No.” Buffy stands, taking the distance back. “No, I shouldn't've been. But I was. And you were young, and hurt, and scared, and so was I, and there’s not a day where I don’t think about all the better ways things could’ve turned out.”

Faith shakes her head. “I needed it.”

“What you needed was a mentor.”

“And I got one. Eventually.” She purses her lips. “Look, me and authority… I wouldn’t’ve listened. Hell, G tried to be that for me, and I didn’t.”

Buffy lets her speak, because she’s afraid that anything she says will ruin… something. What is this, this thing they have? She’s never been able to define it or explain it.

“I read that stupid soulmate page over and over. Probably three times before I got the courage to look down. It felt like… a punishment. And here I thought I wanted to hurt you, but… not like that.”

It felt like a punishment to Buffy. That she’d have to bear this scar for the rest of her life, reminding her of Faith and what she did. She’d always thought it would feel like a relief for Faith — getting the last word in, making her remember. But she looks like she could cry now, and it’s a foreign expression on her face.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I made you.” Faith’s guilt seeps through the bond. That connection’s always been there, if she listened hard enough. Faith… didn’t mean to hurt her either.

“I— can we… can we talk about something else?”

She shakes her head. “B… there’s some shit I gotta say.”

Maybe it’s been long enough. Maybe she can let her say it now.

“I’m sorry. And I know it doesn’t mean much, but I am. None of it was meant to hurt you. I just… I wanted it to be over. I didn’t… want any of it anymore. When you came to L.A… I went there because I knew the only person that would be able to stop it was Angel.”

It feels like Faith’s crawled into her skin again, because she knows exactly what that feeling means, exactly what she’s saying. She wanted to die, and Buffy didn’t even let her — let Angel — explain. What could she even have said? She wouldn’t have understood, not yet, anyways, but now that she’s crawled out of the dirt with her bare hands, she does, too well.

“I know the feeling.”

“…Buffy.”

But Buffy doesn’t want to talk about that. “But you’re here now.”

She wants to know why.

“Of course I am.”

So she asks. “Why?”

“I told you, Willow said—”

“No,” she says, gentle as ever. Not why you’re in Sunnydale. Why you’re here, now. “Tell me the real reason.”

She takes a second to collect herself; steady her breathing before she responds. “You’ve clearly got somethin’ to say, so just say it, B.”

Maybe she can say it — the thing that’s been there, just past the surface, since they were young, when Faith was sixteen, baby-faced and pouty.

“Faith,” she says, biting her lip, and daring to step closer. “Tell me you haven’t always wanted to kiss me.”

“I… what?”

Buffy knows she’s caught her off guard, and to be honest, she hasn’t quite decided why she’s asking now. But she needs to know.

“I am so tired of people not just being honest with me. So just tell me.”

She knows her voice sounds desperate, and she’s half-expecting payback for that punch she pulled yesterday. But Faith just sounds exhausted as she stares her down, mumbles; “…Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“…‘Okay’?”

“I’m… I didn’t think I’d get this far.” Faith scrunches her brows. “I kinda thought you’d start a fight before you… admitted that.”

“You, uh, made a compelling case. Hard to say no.” Her signature snark sneaks back in, smirking as her eyes glance down.

“Oh,” is all Buffy can say as she watches Faith check her out. And it’s not the first time, but it’s the first time it’s put a… feeling in her gut.

“Are you saying… you wanna kiss me?” She hears innocence, hesitation in Faith’s voice, like they’re kids again.

Buffy’s been thinking about it since high school. Never wanting, just… imagining. “I think so,” she admits.

But her thoughts are clouded: with worry that she’ll ruin the semblance of an alliance they’ve built up these past few weeks; worry that if she kisses her, she might not like it; worry that she will.

She shakes her head. “You gotta be sure, B.”

Buffy’s hand traces the curve of her waist with the lightest touch, settling at the top of her hip. “I’m not, but…”

Faith can’t say no to her; runs a thumb along the edge of her jaw, tilts her chin up to meet her eyes. She has those chunky combat boots on that give her another inch over Buffy. “Your move.”

Buffy can feel her nervousness through the bond. It’s comforting — because Buffy’s terrified. She needs a second to breathe, to think. But Faith’s gaze is locked directly at her, unflinching. She really does want to kiss her — that’s a terrifying idea.

And Faith wants to kiss her. She feels that too, so desperately.

So Faith must know, must feel it too. But she doesn’t move. She waits; drops her hand to Buffy’s shoulder, but keeps looking in her eyes.

She shouldn’t want to kiss her. For plenty of reasons; none of them too convincing. She would’ve back in high school, if Faith had made the first move, despite what she’s said before. Something about her… so strong but so vulnerable… made Buffy want to figure out every part of her. If Faith had done something about it… maybe that would’ve included the part of her that was falling for Buffy.

Even now, she wants to pull her apart and figure out everything unspoken between them.

She starts with a tentative lean in, panic in her gut as she feels Faith’s surprised exhale on her lips.

They catch their breath.

Then Buffy kisses her — soft, feather-light, easy. Hands crawl across her back and pull her closer, legs interlocking, deepening the kiss.

Faith’s lips are soft. Softer than she expected. It feels wrong to imagine her any other way now, because how could she be anything else? Her face isn’t rough with stubble against hers, and the arms around her are strong and muscular, but not sharp, and it feels good.

Overwhelmingly so, so she pulls back, unsure.

“B, I—”

Faith doesn’t get another word out before Buffy realizes how much she misses the feeling and kisses her again. A hand finds the back of her neck, and Faith takes control, threading her fingers through her hair and tugging her ponytail free.

Buffy realizes that Faith’s wanted this for a long time. Not just to kiss her, but to be close to someone. She feels it in her desperate grip; the way she gasps when Buffy tangles her own hand in her curls.

And Buffy’s tired of being alone.

Faith’s hands grab her waist, sudden and sharp, pressing their bodies together, hands trailing down the small of her back and down to the roundness of her thighs. Rough hands grab at her flesh, like Faith is trying to pull her apart.

Maybe she wants her to. She spent so long just wanting to feel, and this woman — woman, she’s still processing that fact — the way she holds onto her, the desire behind it, feels better than anything.

She wants Faith. Wants her in the bodily sense, yes (and that’s another part to unpack), but more importantly, wants the connection between them she’s been trying to ignore and repress for years, the one she’s finally starting to let herself feel.

She wants to know what it’ll feel like when Faith comes.

Buffy lets out a quiet, held back moan against her lips (and tries not to, she swears). It’s like every thought she’s spent years repressing about Faith, all at once.

Faith shivers, asks, “God, what did you just think about?”

“I—” her face flushes, hot and red, “Nothing.”

“Whatever it was, it was fucking hot.”

“You… you can feel that?”

An arm wraps around her back, tracing circles. “I’ve felt it for the last three years. Left me running on fumes for hours tryin’ not to touch myself until lights out every time you got some.”

“Oh.” Her face is beet red, and Faith’s completely flipped this around on her, her confidence back in something she knows all too well — antagonizing her with flirting. She can feel Faith’s touch, so strong through her paper thin shirt.

“But if you just thinkin’ about it now…” she grins, and closes her eyes, and Buffy feels warmth pool low in her gut.

The bond’s lit up between them now, stronger than it’s ever been. She’s desperately trying to not think about Faith. Still — “What did you…?”

Faith looks her in the eyes; “Wondering what you taste like.”

Buffy’s silent. She’s fully aware of Faith pressed against her, feeling the rise and fall of her chest every time she breathes. She’s more than aware of Faith’s thigh between hers.

“I can feel you wanna kiss me, B, but what else do you wanna do?”

“I don’t know.” She really doesn’t. Not what she’s supposed to do, let alone what she wants. She doesn’t want Faith to move, so she holds on to her tighter.

“Are you scared?”

“Yeah.” Not of danger; not that Faith might hurt her. She hasn’t been this nervous since she was seventeen, and terrified she’d do something wrong.

“Tell me what feels good.”

“Your hands,” she manages to answer — Faith’s nails trace a line under her shirt and up her spine; fingers firm into her skin, nails trimmed to the quick.

“What else?”

Her eyes dart down, heaving breaths reigniting the contact between them; feels the heat of Faith’s gaze at her black bra, which she knew was on display, but feels so much more so when it’s her. And Faith’s shirt is tight, and so… low cut… and she can’t help but look — because entirely objectively, it’s hot.

She doesn’t look up. “Us. Like this.”

Faith pushes her hair behind her ear. “Yeah?”

Buffy nods, and meets her gaze, just as Faith shifts with a grin, her thigh pressing between her legs. She tries to follow, but Faith stops her with a hand on her chest, fingers resting at the base of her throat.

“You’re so pent up, B. Tell me what you want.”

It’s true, she is. It’s been months. She pulls at the loose black fabric around Faith’s stomach. “Off.”

“Done,” she says, moving her hands out of the way to pull the shirt over her head, quickly meeting her with another searing kiss, teeth gently pulling at Buffy’s bottom lip.

Faith’s hands inch her shirt up, hard pressure on her stomach, and she can’t take it. Her sleeves are long, and constricting, and the thin fabric does nothing to block the feeling of the heat of Faith’s body brushing up against her. She helps her pull it off, gasping as Faith’s hand brushes past her breast.

Buffy’s grasp settles on her belt, running her fingers along the metal ridges just below the small of her back, focusing on the tactile sensation and not the kisses Faith has started to trail down her neck. Her hands run along the studs, around her hips, thumbs stumbling with the buckle. Her hands are shaking. She wants this, she knows Faith wants this.

Faith cups her cheeks, eyes flitting down at her hands.

It’s been years since she’s been with someone she felt this closely connected to. Angel feels like a lifetime ago. And she cares about Spike — for everything that he’s done for her, for her family. Maybe she even loves him. She’s just not in love with him, not right now. Maybe she could be, some day — he has a soul, and a love for her she can’t quite wrap her head around.

But right now, Faith Lehane is looking at her with concern and adoration, heart pounding in her chest. And the now-ness of it all — that wins out.

Buffy wraps her hands underneath Faith’s thighs, pulling her up just long enough that she can turn them around, and drop her onto the bed, climbing up to straddle her hips. She’s the one on top, but it feels like she’s had the wind knocked out of her.

Faith’s stunned, flushed face below her turns her on more than she ever thought possible. If the way she bites her lip as she looks up at Buffy is any indication, it’s doing the same for her. She pauses, breathing slow and steady, hair splayed across her chest and the sheets; takes Buffy’s hand and pulls her down to kiss her again with a smile.

It hits Buffy that the last time she saw Faith smile like this was when she showed up at her house for Christmas. Was she really that blind, or did she just not want to see it? Some part of her had to know, because they’re here, and Faith’s always looked at her like she trusts her with her life, no matter what she decides to do with it.

Faith rolls them to the side, and pulls away, hand lingering on Buffy’s shoulder. “You want this?”

Buffy just nods.

“God, I—” she laughs, voice breaking, like she doesn’t believe her. “I don’t even know what to say.”

She can’t look her in the eyes, not when Faith’s touch is so tender. So she reaches out, brushing her fingers across the scar on Faith’s stomach as it catches her eye, equally delicately. “I’ve seen this every day wondering what it looks like on you.”

It looks exactly like hers, it’s almost eerie.

“You didn’t…?”

“I couldn’t.” It was already too much being reminded of it on her own body. Still, there was this morbid curiosity. “It really is the same.”

Now, it just feels like they’re the same. Just like she always said. And Faith isn’t bitter at her for it anymore (she’s not sure if she ever was).

“I had a thing for you that first night in the Bronze,” Faith breathes, a weight lifted for both of them.

“I know.” Buffy pulls at her hips by her belt buckle, hands finally confident enough to pull it open. Faith is cautious, still kissing her gently, holding back.

Buffy knows what it’s like to hold back. How it’s this pent up fire inside her gut. She pulls the belt from Faith’s jeans — wants to touch her like no one else can — fumbles with the clasp of her bra and wrenches it from her body. She can’t bring her eyes to look, but her hands are far braver, finding the swell of her breast; feeling the goosebumps prickling her skin under her touch. She kisses the edge of her jaw, the pulse point of her neck; drags her teeth across the soft skin.

“Fuck,” Faith whispers, a rasp in her voice.

A hand palms Buffy’s breast, and despite the layers of fabric, she finds her body jumping at the contact. Her hands are small; fingertips digging into the flesh just above her bra. She senses Faith’s hesitation, but she doesn’t want to lose her touch, covering the hand on her chest with her own, keeping her there.

She murmurs into Faith’s neck, “You’re in your head again. I want you.”

Her words must light up something within Faith, because she brings Buffy’s lips to hers again, digging her nails into her cleavage.

“B, take it off,” she manages, between kisses.

She does, and she doesn’t even feel shy about it — especially not when Faith’s immediate response is to bring her hands to one breast, and her lips to another. Buffy threads her fingers through her hair, unsure what else to do with her hands. Even with the lingering questions of ‘oh god am I doing this right’, she silently wishes she figured… whatever this is… out sooner. (And makes a horribly cursed mental note to ask Willow if she’s always been having foreplay this good).

Her open-mouthed ministrations trail up to her neck, fingers on her collarbone, pulling the skin between her lips, intent on leaving a bruise. It’s the right side of her neck — Faith’s lips just barely overlap two jagged puncture marks.. The scar tugs, but the pain fades into the background with the rest of Faith’s attention. Buffy almost wishes the mark would last longer, but it’ll be gone by morning.

Buffy pulls Faith closer, intertwining their legs; she feels Faith’s chest press up against hers, feels the girl shift in her arms as hard peaks brush together. Faith’s toeing a careful line between her own arousal and taking Buffy through this slow. She’s never wanted slow — they’ve never been slow.

Faith rocks into her thigh, grip on her shoulder tightening. Buffy undoes the button of her jeans, reaching for the zipper, but Faith’s hands stop her, pinning her on her back with her arms above her head. “Let me,” she says, panting above her, hair falling down into Buffy’s face. “Please.”

It feels like fighting, and Buffy doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to look at her the same way again, especially not in training.

She nods, meek and silent, watching intently as Faith’s demeanor shifts, trailing a teasing touch down her stomach. “What can I do?”

“Anything,” Buffy answers.

Without missing a beat, she unzips her boots and kicks them to the floor. “Anything, anything?”

“Yeah.”

With the wide opportunity Buffy’s given her… Faith kisses the scar on her stomach. It’s more intimate than any other touch they’ve shared tonight. She doesn’t even give Buffy time to process it: Thumbs play with the button on her striped jeans, and she feels heat settle between her thighs with no immediate explanation.

Faith looks up at her with a soft grin, explains, “I kinda wanna find out, B.”

She remembers Faith’s words, and guides her hands to the zipper, undoing the button herself. “Then get these off.”

Buffy manages to get out of them without too much hassle, breathing rapidly underneath her.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Faith says.

She blushes.

“Do you know how many times I’ve gotten myself off wishing it was you?”

Buffy wants it to be her this time. She wants to touch her even if she’s not quite sure how. She looks so beautiful like this — already knows she looks even better beneath her — wants to see her all strung out in bliss.

But Faith wants her first, she can feel that. And she wants that too. She’s so tense; heat low in her body frustrating to no end — feels it in Faith too, stronger, and wonders how she could want like this, ahead of her own needs. She’s crawling her way down Buffy’s body, kisses on her collarbones, her sternum, her navel.

Thumbs hook under the cotton at her hipbones, hot breaths on her belly as Faith leans in and propositions, “I’ll make you beg, if you can take it.”

She squirms, hips lifting off the bed until she presses up against Faith. “No, please.”

“Close enough.” Faith looks… unbelievably hot, looking up at her with the sweetest and most devilish grin. She pulls the fabric past her knees, leaving Buffy to kick them off.

She looks like she wants to devour her.

“Maybe I do.” Her voice is low and husky, and Buffy can’t even bring herself to be embarrassed that she spoke out loud.

Lips graze the top of her leg, delicate fingertips tracing the curve of her hips. Fingers pull at the inside of her thigh, replaced by soft lips, sucking bruises into thin skin.

If there’s any doubt left in Buffy’s mind, it disappears then. It feels weird, the idea of a woman’s face between her thighs; but it’s never felt like this. She’s been here, before, with men, but now she can feel how turned on Faith is, and it just fuels her even more. Buffy tugs at her hair, not entirely gently, and the laugh that escapes Faith’s lips vibrates through her body.

“Should’ve figured you like it like that,” she says, shifting her attention to her other thigh.

“You do too.”

“No point in hiding it, huh?”

She’s so slow, and so close; winding her up, so calculated and deliberately. Buffy pulls her hair again, insistent. “Please shut up.”

Faith exhales, and pulls her legs apart, one finger a tentative, ghost touch up the seam where her thigh meets her torso.

“Faith,” she says, strained, hips bucking up as Faith lays a hand on her hip bone, pressing her into the mattress.

She’s not quite sure what else she was going to say to her — it all goes out the window when two gentle fingers slide between her lips and feel how absolutely wet she is.

“I can’t believe I did this to you.”

Half of Buffy wants to pull her closer, and the other half wants to find out how long Faith’s willing to let this go on. “I need…”

“You want me inside you, B?”

Buffy’s voice comes out all breathy and high; “Yeah.”

She teases her, silent, fingers dragging their way back down, a lighter touch than before. Buffy watches the smile on Faith’s face as she tries to press harder into her touch. She circles, lips kissing her thighs again; finally, gently presses two fingertips inside her as she pulls Buffy’s thigh between her teeth.

“Faith—”

“I know, Buffy,” she says, breaths slow and heavy, pulling her hand back the most minuscule distance. “I know you want more, ‘cause I feel it in my body.”

Her fingers dip deeper, so slow, and Buffy asks, “Bite me for real?”

Faith doesn’t say a word, but the next stroke of her fingers is accompanied by a sting between Buffy’s thighs. She bites down hard, and god, it’s not about the pain — because Faith can’t hurt her like that — because it feels so good. Buffy always thought it was the danger, or maybe something inherent about a vampire’s bite that made it so pleasurable; but it feels even better now. Faith doesn’t ask questions; doesn’t tease her, just sinks deeper, but Buffy still needs more.

And Faith has to know that — not just from the connection between them — because Buffy’s pulling her, by long dark locks, away from her thighs. She takes the hint.

She pauses, her hand going still, and Buffy can feel her breath, heavy and warm. Before she can speak again — humiliate herself some more and beg — Faith’s tongue is touching her, sweeping up, just shy of where Buffy actually wants her.

She swears under her breath.

Faith’s lips brush her clit, her fingers hooking inside her. She’s soft, and gentle, and all the things Buffy didn't think she could be. “Fuck— Faith, I’m not gonna break.”

“Wanna take care of you,” she mumbles.

She wants Faith to fuck her, but she just whispers back, “Okay.”

Faith pushes deeper, tongue circling and finding a million new ways to drive Buffy to her breaking point. She teases, and kisses, and Buffy can’t take it, but she also doesn’t want her to stop. She wants to know if Faith was always like this in bed, or if she’s taking things so delicately because of their history. If there’s another side to her, she wants to meet that Faith. She wants to touch her like this, make her squirm and beg until she can’t remember her own name. It was almost inevitable; they’ve always been hurtling toward this moment, and Buffy wonders how different things would be if Faith had been confident enough to kiss her before… before everything. She would’ve stolen kisses in the library; danced even closer on the floor of the Bronze; snuck out with her and pinned her to a tombstone. She would’ve stood up for her more.

Her lips capture Buffy’s clit, and Buffy’s fists tighten in her hair, and they both moan. Buffy can’t even find the words to tease her about it — just files it away in the tiny part of her brain not thinking about Faith’s ministrations. No one’s ever gotten her this close this fast — it’s almost embarrassing.

She comes quietly, only letting out a surprised hum when Faith climbs back up her body and kisses her after licking her fingers clean; it feels dirty.

Faith’s as sultry as ever, oozing confidence Buffy didn’t think was possible. Her eyes are full of fire, energy radiating from her stare, soft, but also looking like she wants to go ten more times. Like she worships her. “God, seeing you like this…”

Buffy’s breathing heavily; “I don’t know if I can handle you.”

“No?” she murmurs, caressing the curve of her bare hip.

She shakes her head.

“Me either,” she admits.

Buffy pulls her closer by her belt loops, unzipping her jeans and tugging at the waist. She wants to feel her close.

She knows this body. How it feels, how it moves. And she knows what to expect from a woman’s body… conceptually, but right now, the idea of one beside her own feels so foreign.

They’re both so different now. And still, the same: Faith is the tiniest bit paler, but so is she; less days and more nights. Older; Buffy’s face less round, sharper, and hers softer, eyes wider. Yet Faith’s face still feels as familiar to her as it was back in high school, and she wants to learn the rest of her.

She wrestles with her jeans, skin-tight, pulling them over her hips, learning her curves as she goes. Faith rolls to the side to finish kicking them off, and Buffy’s surprised at how much she misses her presence. When she’s done, she pulls Buffy on top of her, closer than they were before, skin against skin.

Not fully what she expected, her face flushes bright red, and Faith laughs.

God, she’s so fucking frustrating, Buffy thinks, and shuts her up with a kiss. Her lips taste like sex, like her, and it doesn’t feel wrong anymore. There’s no space between them, and Faith’s skin on hers feels like fire. Faith’s hands are wrapped around her back, digging into her, desperately holding on to her.

And Buffy knows what she feels; how desperate she is to keep her there. “Not going anywhere,” she says, lips still brushing hers.

She really wants to touch her now — enough that it pushes past the fear into the forefront of her mind — even if the specifics are still a little hazy. Shifting some weight off her, she kneels beside her without breaking their kiss. Faith's hands follow her, pulling and grabbing, almost frantic; she wants this so badly.

It would be rude not to give it to her, all things considered.

Her hand trails down Faith’s chest, splaying her fingers across her sternum — feeling the heavy rise and fall of her breath, and the stiffness of her muscles, harder than her own. She kisses her neck, reveling in how smooth her skin is, versus how Faith’s fingernails feel as they scrape her back.

Buffy reaches her hip, palm pressing into the bone, and one of Faith’s hands joins her, urging her thumbs under the last piece of fabric on her body. Why does it feel so daunting? Faith’s seen her naked now; touched every inch of her body, left bruises down her thighs that have already started to fade. It should be easy to do the same, and she wants to.

It’s a fight she never expected, purely in her mind, a subject both familiar and unfamiliar. The last time she felt this nervous about sleeping with someone was after Angel. Despite the impossibility, there was that nagging worry it would happen again. It kind of did.

And she knows Faith won’t leave — won’t treat her like a body to be claimed for a night — because she… she’s always felt this way about her. Always wanted Buffy in her bed, even more so, in her arms. Even if she talked a big game, it was different with her. For everything. Buffy knows that now, with the desperate way she kisses her.

So maybe it’s right that they’re connected… however they are. She still isn’t sure if she 100% believes in the whole soulmates deal. What she does know, though, is it’s not just the Slayer line that ties them together.

Faith’s hands are on her neck, her body arcing up into her touch, and Buffy feels her desire as if it’s her own. It’s not — it’s hers, distinctly different — a flush of heat through her whole body. Somehow, she knows, feels exactly how Faith wants to be touched.

She tentatively tugs at the waistband of her underwear, but Faith doesn’t help. She just pulls Buffy from her neck, and tilts her chin up; makes her look at her as she takes them off, nodding her encouragement.

Buffy stares into big brown eyes, watches her focus drop to her lips before darting back up. She’s never seen her this quiet, always full of some sort of snark or innuendo. It’s sweet, and she realizes… that’s what Faith wants this to be. Even if she won’t say it, she wants it to be romantic; soft and slow, no matter how frantic her hands get. And she can work with that. She can give her that.

Her hand slips between Faith’s thighs, pressed together and looking for even the tiniest bit of friction from her own body. She’s been waiting this whole time — patiently, almost.

Buffy can’t look her in the eyes if she’s going to… well, she’s definitely doing this, so she pulls her back into a kiss; bodies closer together — she’s amazed at how well they fit, all soft curves. She’s all pressed up to Faith’s side, knee wedged between her thighs; and her skin is so warm, and her lips are so soft, her kisses so incessant. Faith’s hands are on her face and her back, and they’ve been inside her, and Buffy… she needs to feel it all, for herself.

She starts tentative; Faith’s hips buck into her hand, and she bites Buffy’s lip. The only thing that keeps her on track is the knowledge of how insanely strung up the girl in her arms is. Her breath hitches, gripping Buffy’s shoulder as her fingertips barely touch her.

With even the lightest touch, she still feels how wet she is. It’s exciting, knowing it’s her that’s turned her on this much. She gets braver, dragging a finger through folds of flesh, carefully, slowly. Faith’s response is to kiss her deeper, to let out the softest moan against her lips.

“B,” she says, breathing heavily, “I can’t take much more.”

Having Faith — anyone — this desperate makes her stomach do flips. Especially when, if she focuses, she can feel it for herself.

“Sorry,” she says, feeling the blush creep up her face. She’s trying to rack up the courage not to just tease her for eternity. She circles, far from where Faith wants her, trying to give her something more.

Faith bites her lip, nodding almost imperceptibly. “Please.”

God, it makes her want to melt, and that’s enough. She presses inside her, and it feels so much better than the times she’s touched herself. She can feel every part of Faith’s reaction — the way her muscles tense, how her fingers dig into Buffy’s arm, and her forehead, damp with sweat, rests on her shoulder. Faith doesn’t want her to slow down. And Buffy, well… she likes touching her like this — likes hearing her sharp breaths at every new touch, and feeling her response — likes this woman she’s with. So she doesn’t. She sinks further, until the heel of her palm is pressing into hot skin, and Faith’s immediate response is to say:

“More.”

She’s not asking, and besides, Buffy isn’t interested in saying no. She gives her another finger, and sets a slow pace. Faith’s labored pants are heavy against her, hot and… well hot, as in massively attractive. Her face lights up in a pleasured smile, and it almost sounds like she laughs as Buffy moves faster. She kisses her neck, intent on leaving a mark for at least the night, and Faith encourages her with the softest yes in her ear.

It might be mean, but in her hesitation, she’s noticed how sexy it is to tease her — the power trip; how much it turns Faith on even more to be wanting with no control. Faith’s silently asking for more, but Buffy stills, curling her fingertips, and waits until she actually asks.

Faith speaks up almost immediately, her voice raspy, “Buffy, don’t stop.”

“Ask nice.”

“Please?”

“Good girl,” she whispers, without a second thought, not even sure where the words came from — but Faith seems to like it, because her whole body reacts, shuddering. It’s like lightning through Buffy.

She pulls Buffy’s lips away from her neck and to her own, hips arching further into her touch. Buffy lifts her thumb to attempt to give her more; all awkward angles and fumbling, and it’s not easy. Faith brings her own hand between them, pushes Buffy away frantically.

Weirdly, she feels almost… jealous, because she wants to be the one that makes her come… but she’s also the one with her fingers inside Faith, so she guesses that counts. Her own mind is getting a little hazy, because the closer she brings Faith to the edge, the more she can feel in her own body; waves of pleasure with no source. So she lets her.

When Faith tips over the edge — god, she was right to wonder — it’s like Buffy’s falling with her, completely separate from her own body. Faith’s pleasure feels like a part of her, but she doesn’t feel it in her body. It’s what she imagines a phantom limb might feel like, but good.

Sweat beads on Faith’s forehead. She taps Buffy’s wrist.

Cool air hits her fingers, and she’s so curious about what Faith tastes like, but her body feels frozen.

“B,” Faith whispers, kissing her softly, inbetween deep breaths, “You’re… god, I…”

Her lips follow along lazily, letting Faith lead. She feels so alive — full of fire, like she was before. There was a time where all Buffy saw in her eyes was emptiness. When she pulls away, she sees trust.

“That was…”

“Fucking incredible?”

She nods.

Faith smirks, leaning up on her elbow, takes a gentle hold on Buffy’s wrist and lifts her hand off her thigh.

“You’re such a priss.”

“Not exactly the expert here.”

She rolls her eyes, and all Buffy can do is watch as she takes her fingers into her mouth.

Like it’s nothing; “You’re missing out.”

Buffy blushes.

“Sorry,” she chuckles, a low rumble that Buffy feels in places she shouldn’t, “Fucking cute when you’re all Saint Buffy.”

She’s never seen Faith this happy. She looks at Buffy with this light in her eyes, and holds on to her so tight. It’s hard to imagine why Faith wants her like this after everything they’ve been through.

“You feel it all too? Everything you did to me?”

“Yeah,” Buffy admits.

Faith’s smile falters, and she brushes a piece of hair out of Buffy’s face. “Felt it when you got hurt too. You die a third time?”

“Technically,” she admits.

Her fingers run across the scar on her chest. “Gotta stop doin’ that.”

“I didn’t…” She didn’t notice — didn’t even look. “You too?”

Faith doesn’t answer, just guides her hand to her chest; a mirror image.

She’s in bed with Faith, in a stranger’s bed, and it should feel weird, wrong — but it just feels comforting. They share scars, and pain; powers, and a destiny.

“Hurt like hell,” she says, and Buffy realizes she’s looking at her for confirmation.

She nods. It did.

“I mean it. You matter, B. No matter what they say or do, they care about you. Don’t make with the recklessness.”

There was a time when Buffy thought she might be okay with, or even want to die. It’s been a while — and she doesn’t want to die.

“Goes for you too.”

Faith nods; an acknowledgment.

Buffy knows she thinks everyone hates her. It’s so much more complicated than that. And the only thing that matters is that Buffy wants her to stay — not just because of the connection they have, but because she cares about her. She likes Faith, she always has, because she’s strong, and bold, and she’s got this wit that Buffy was always jealous of. But she isn’t unafraid. She doesn’t ever want to show it, but that’s the thing — even if she doesn’t know why or how, Buffy always has some sort of sense of how she’s feeling.

And she was just a scared teenager. They both were. Now, here they are, years later and still just as scared. There’s something comforting about that, which Buffy thinks might be just a little fucked up, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s the Slayer connection; maybe they’re soulmates. It’s not like she’ll ever be able to tell the difference. The entire world could end in a few days and all she wants is this moment — now, laying in her arms, feeling wanted and understood.

But it can’t last forever. They have responsibilities, and people counting on them — the fate of thousands of girls on the line.

She catches a glimpse of Faith’s chest out of the corner of her eye. “We should… clothes.”

Faith pulls away without a word, sitting up and stretching her arms and shoulders out.

Buffy looks away before her thoughts have a chance to go anywhere else. She leans over the side of the bed; finds her shirt on the floor, and her underwear behind the pillows. Haphazardly, she dresses herself while Faith’s back is turned — she takes the long way around the bed — and pulls her legs up to her chest when she’s done, trying to hide the transparency of her shirt and her lack of bra.

Faith’s hips sway as she wanders over to collect her things from the floor. Buffy’s eyes don’t stray, purely fixated on her figure as she pulls on her underwear. Faith turns around, sees her watching, and smirks, but Buffy doesn’t look away because she’s not ashamed of admiring her. In fact, she’s kind of transfixed by her body. Not that she hasn’t carefully analyzed her own in the mirror — she’s just never looked at a woman like this with such… intrigue. When she looks close, she notices Faith has abs, but they’re soft and rounded into her stomach, contoured but not chiseled.

Faith dresses herself casually, not making a show of it, but deliberately meeting Buffy’s gaze — bra, then shirt, all black fabric. She doesn’t make a snarky comment about Buffy’s blatant ogling.

Instead, she walks back over, and with a hand on Buffy’s knee, gently spins her to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Will you come back with me?” she asks, taking Buffy’s hand, her jeans draped over her other arm — ready to pull her to her feet.

Faith’s looking in her eyes, not at her body, and Buffy knows she’s sincere — but this kind of vulnerability makes her feel more naked.

“I… I don’t know.”

“They put me in charge. Kinda can’t argue with what I decide to do with that,” she chuckles, before her smile disappears. “And I don’t want you alone here. City’s not fucking safe. And we’re safer with you there.”

She purses her lips. They don’t want her there. Her friends don’t want her there. Her sister doesn’t even want her there. But Faith does, beyond all reason.

What’s stopping them from putting someone else in charge if they don’t like her choices? She'd rather have Faith in charge than… Andrew.

But they are her friends. Hell, they’re her family at this point. She can’t just leave them. So maybe tomorrow.

“I’ll think about it,” she offers, hoping it’s enough.

“Yeah,” she nods, dropping her hand. “Sleep on it. ’S all I’m asking.”

“Um, your… socks are over there.” Buffy points to the corner, where one’s managed to land on the lampshade, the other in the middle of the floor.

Faith laughs, “Damn.”

“So… we should probably…”

Talk about… everything.

Something almost tangible’s changed between them now.

It only hits her then: God, I slept with Faith. And I’m kind of okay with that.

“Probably, but… look, if we die by next Tuesday, we never have to talk about it, so… table it ’til then?” Faith jokes, smiling softly.

She can’t be alone now. Not after this.

For whatever reason — fate, or luck, or the meddling of the Powers-That-Be — there’s something connecting them, something deep and strong and tied into their very being. Maybe it’s the Slayer. But maybe it’s not. Maybe it was inevitable they’d fall into bed together eventually, no matter how far down the line.

Buffy shakes her head. “Save the talk for then, but don’t leave me.”

I just need tonight.

Faith nods; lays the rest of her things on the floor, and her bra joins them as she reaches into her shirt to pull it off. She does it without words — without question of what Buffy wants from her — pulls a folded-up blanket from the foot of the bed, climbs across and drapes it over Buffy’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Faith says, sitting cross-legged behind her, leaning her chin on Buffy’s shoulder. “We got this. Chosen Two, right? So let’s just pretend everything’s fine for tonight. Let’s pretend this is normal, and not as fucked up as it is.”

Reaching back, she touches Faith’s knee. “Okay.”

With Faith behind her, she can imagine a younger girl, and her younger self. Eyes closed, she can picture her bedroom and the few times Faith ended up in her bed. Innocent, by all measures. She distinctly remembers one:

Buffy had basically forced them all into a Scooby movie night, with her executive decision to rent 10 Things I Hate About You. Faith made it clear that she hated rom-coms, and thought they were the lowest, most soulless form of entertainment.

After, when Buffy, Willow, and Cordelia were a crying wreck (and she swears she saw a tear or two out of Oz), Faith, unaffected, promised Buffy that one day, she’d show her a ‘real’ movie. Everyone except Buffy and Faith crashed on the couch or floor somewhere during the first 30 minutes of whatever movie they put on next. It was well past two, and even so, Buffy had to convince her to stay (the final selling point being her mom’s mean pancake breakfast). She remembers blushing when Faith slipped under the sheets of her bed in just her underwear and one of Buffy’s t-shirts.

It was the most normal they’d ever been together. Regular teenage girl stuff, for completely normal teenage girls. A week later it all fell apart.

There was at least one more — that time they fell asleep after patching each other up, wounds gone by morning. Maybe there was a third. Buffy can’t remember — but she can imagine it. And if that Faith kissed her shoulder, maybe it could still feel as good and right as it does now. If only she had let herself feel that way.

Faith shifts, and Buffy realizes that she’s laying down.

Made the bed, might as well lie in it.

She turns toward Faith, pulling her legs up onto the bed. Lays down, and drapes the blanket over both of them.

They’re not close, but not far; arms length. Faith takes her hands and pulls her in. “Warm enough?”

There’s no heat in the house. It’s May in California, and somehow, Faith’s radiating warmth. “All good.”

She chuckles. “That was flirting, by the way. You’re always frickin’ cold.”

“Am not!”

“C’mon, who wears a jacket for 60 and sunny?”

“Most of Southern California?”

It’s so good to talk to her like this again. Everything just seems to fall into place. It’s like nothing’s changed since that night they first met, even though they’re entirely different people now. Seeing Faith laugh and smile again, and really mean it… it’s like seeing her for the first time again.

“God, you wouldn’t last a day up north. 60’s when we break out the shorts. If it weren’t for the workplace hazards…”

It’s another reminder of how quick they’ve grown up.

“Ugh, I hate that we’re all practical now — I wouldn’t go slaying in a skirt if you paid me. And I can’t believe I’m saying that. Is this what being a responsible adult is?”

Faith grins, “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think sex in a stranger’s bed while trying to vanquish an ultimate evil is responsible.”

Her hand runs up and down the curve of her waist, and Buffy doesn’t ever want her to stop.

“Point taken,” Buffy says, ignoring the heat in her face.

“Now, last time we were in the same bed together…” Faith starts, tone turning playful, “You made fun of my underwear.”

Only because I was trying to distract you from my tomato-face. Which I’m kinda trying to do now, too.

She darts back— “And I see nothing’s changed; still boring.”

“Black’s not boring, B, it’s sexy.”

“…You’re hotter without them.”

Why did I say that?

“Didn’t know you could talk like that.”

“I… can’t,” she laughs, unable to keep a straight face. So much for the sexy.

“Fun to watch you try, though.”

And she’s kind of mortified, but it’s also kind of hot, listening to how endearing Faith finds it.

“Brings me way back, y’know. You all awkward and adorable, tryin’ to look tough for me. No way you could’ve known I was putting it on too.”

“You are tough.”

“Not the way I wanted to be.”

Buffy closes her eyes, and tells her a secret: “The night I found out I was the Slayer I cried myself to sleep.”

Faith kisses her, cradling her cheek in her hand. It’s slow, and deep, and stops long before Buffy wants it to.

“Sorry,” she says, hand still on her face.

“I… I didn’t know my emotional trauma got you that hot and bothered.”

“Yeah, you know me, I’m super into the girls with baggage.”

Her words are light and comedic, but her voice is gentle; fingers tucking strands of hair behind her ears.

Buffy sighs. “Y’know… it’s good to just talk, like this.”

Faith nods, letting her hands drop back to the space on the sheets between them. “Almost makes me forget about the whole impending doom.”

“You’re a good… distraction.”

She lets her hand reach out, trailing her fingers down Faith's leg. Her skin dots with goosebumps under her touch, and she can feel the fine baby hairs peppering her thigh.

“Yeah…”

Faith trails off, and Buffy pulls away, worrying she’s said or done something wrong. Everything’s felt so… natural, the way they’ve been talking. She sees a familiar fear in Faith’s eyes, and watches as she plays with her sleeves.

“You don’t have to pretend for my sake. I can handle… I’ve been handling it.”

Faith wants to pull away; hide. She wants to do what she’s always done.

She’s frustrating as all hell.

Buffy treads carefully. “Faith… you know that’s not… I do actually…” Like you. However weird it is to feel. She wishes she could actually put the words together at a time like this, when so much seems to hinge on her being able to spit them out.

Faith sighs silently, and her words are barely spoken; “I can’t give you what you want.”

“You don’t know that.”

Buffy can tell she’s uncomfortable, too vulnerable, face to face like this. But she doesn’t say anything. She just pulls Buffy closer, into the crook of her arm, and wraps her arms around her, over and under.

She doesn’t even know what she wants.

Neither of them has done anything like this before. It feels good. Faith’s endlessly soft; smells like sex, leather, and Buffy’s shampoo. The whole house’s been using her stuff, but it feels more natural on Faith. Like catching the faint scent of a lover on her pillowcase.

“I don’t want this to be it,” Buffy admits, already growing comfortable with the idea of waking up next to her.

If they could just stay in this room, in this bed forever… Because when they leave, everything’s going to change. No matter what either of them say. Even if they don’t speak a word until they find out who lives through this.

Buffy won’t hold her hand in front of the others. Faith probably wouldn’t let her, and Buffy couldn’t even let herself. She wants to, now, before she loses the courage, but it feels too good to be wrapped up in her arms.

“I… I can do tonight,” Faith says, squeezing her shoulder. “But ask me again next Tuesday, yeah?”

She’s not sure if Faith realizes how much that means, coming from her. Telling her that yes, she wants more too, and if they can make it through this fight, she might be able to face that. Buffy can’t even imagine what it’s like for her, to have pined over her for so long, expecting nothing in return — maybe even being too afraid to have someone like her back.

Maybe, by then, Buffy will be ready to do something about it, too. Defeating a great and powerful evil… there’s always been this sense of relief — of a fresh start, of newness and relief and excitement. Maybe, instead of… impulsive wardrobe overhauls, she can do this. God, whatever it ends up being. All she knows is, Faith brings out something entirely innate in her — in both of them — and she’s sick of running from it.

But for now, there’s a girl, and her arms wrapped tight around her, and that’s enough.

“Okay.”

[rahleeyah]

heyyyyyyyy d.c. anon here. Just wanted to say that I appreciate you sm. Like seriously. You take the time to listen and answer not only me but so many others with a rationality that is often needed. With that being said…

I wanted to give myself a couple days before asking anything bc I honestly didn’t know how I felt. I know I needed to give myself time to calm down from how I felt in the moment. I was absolutely heartbroken and gutted with what we got vs what was promo’d.

I feel like I went through the stages of grief lol. Eventually landing on acceptance that maybe that scene was possibly an ending and not a beginning? I can’t shake that feeling. I hope that I’m wrong. Genuinely. What do you think? Any reality where that might be where we’re headed?

But I can’t help but feel that having her say that she wasn’t ready three times and ending the scene with them apart feels like a sign? It would give both shows an out to move on? ::le sigh:: Idkkkkkkkkk lol.

Small disclaimer: I am still in my feels a little and I know that. So my negative thoughts are being fully acknowledged here. as well, I know everything that m has said and everything coming from the sr’s before the season started leans to the positive.

But I just can’t help but feel betrayed and strung along. To have invested decades to just be bamboozled feels… I can’t think of a word atm. I used to watch this show with my grandma on sick days when I was 12. I now have a toddler running around.

another disclaimer: there were positive things in the scene and I am also acknowledging that. I could go in forever but will spare you hahaha. The whole situation just makes me feel blah.

I understand why you feel like this and I appreciate you coming here and being honest (and self-aware!). it's been a few days since you sent this and I hope you're feeling better now. I don't share that particular feeling; I don't think they're ever gonna actually walk away from eo. whether we actually get to see them canon before the final episode of svu I also can't say, but they're not gonna close the door while the possibility is raking in the viewers. whatever it is, however long they intend to string us along, I don't think this was an actual ending. that would be a shitty business move lmao

it feels like tptb decided to step in an stretch it all out a little, but what we saw of the dialogue that was edited out doesn't really put eo in a better spot than where the episode left them. it looks like it was never the intent for this moment to be a real coming together, and we are where we would have been even if we'd gotten the material from the promos; eo were physically close and Elliot is sure but liv's not ready. the hug would've smoothed things out a little, would have been a more hopeful note to end on, but it doesn't really change that liv's not ready.

which makes sense. it hasn't been that long, really, since Elliot came back, and his wife is dead, and for so much of that time eo haven't been communicating at all, and yes the show has been going on for 24 years but it wasn't until Kathy died that eo was ever even possible, and even then it wasn't possible while Elliot was processing, and then undercover. they haven't really been flirting around the edges of this for 24 years; they spent 12 years telling themselves it was never gonna happen and ten years thinking they were never gonna see each other again and for the last two years there's only been a few months when el's head was clear and they seemed possible. this is, despite out impatience, still incredibly new for them.

so have hope, is what I'm saying. maybe not hope that we'll see them kiss before we all retire, but hope that this is not the end.

[missezramay]

Hey there! I read your post on the Ted Lasso finally and you didn’t ask, I guess, but I want to share my opinion because I’m one of those that are not mad with the ending.

For me the show has always been about Ted affecting the people around him and how some of them change for what we understand as “the better” but not being ready to make those changes on himself. This time, going back home to his son, I think he did choose to make those changes. He’s kept up with therapy, he has been working through his feeling towards his dad and how that affected him as a father and by choosing to going back to Henry he’s making the difficult decision of being a dad even though he has stated that he feels he’s gonna fail at that because of his experience with his dad. That’s why I’m ok with the ending. He moved to London on a whim and was not sure if he was making the right decision, he was just running away from something that was making him feel uncomfortable. This time though, he’s sure of the decision he’s making, whatever the outcome is he’s doing it, he’s believing in himself as a father, he believes he deserves to be a good father.

As for his reaction to the rest of the people being emotional about him leaving, truth is he’s always been really loud and excitable but about thing relating to other people, not his personal feelings. To me he’s not acting any different and he receives what the others do or say to him, and he replies in his own way. Is not like he doesn’t say anything to the team, he does before the second half, he also talk to rebecca and hugs her before leaving. He answers in the way he shows his vulnerability, leaving “excited ted” on the side and actually being vulnerable.

The thing with saying no to his name appearing on the book, for me, is also amazing and really smart. If it says “The lasso way” it makes you think that what happened to the team was only because of Ted and for it to happen anywhere else you need Ted there. If it’s “The Richmond way” it includes everyone on that club, which is what happened here, everyone was important, everyone put a part of themselves in building this amazing team and club, and this way you’re saying it can happen anywhere people work together and are good to others. It’s the ultimate “believe” to anyone reading the book.

Rebecca asking him to stay, to me, is also based on fear, fear about what will happen if this person that has been here for me from the beginning goes away. How am I going to handle things without him. She even says it, if you stay I stay if you go I go. She need to make a decision about the club for herself, not about her ex-husband and not about the only head coach she has work with. About herself and what she wants. And she does. And she likes being a part of the club and decides to stay and keep making it better.

I’m sorry for the long message, and the typos (it’s late here 🤦🏼‍♀️) and I’m sure you’ll still feel cheated by the finale and I get it, it has happened to me with other shows, but I wanted to share my thoughts in case, I don’t know, it makes sense to someone… 🤷🏼‍♀️😅 as you can see I also have a lot of opinions and not a lot of people to share them with

Hi! Thanks for your message and willingness to share your thoughts. Kind of sad you're anon, because you're hiding from me. Please don't be scared. I don't bite, promise!

Now that I've had a week to process, I've gone through all stages of grief and can now think rationally. It was definitely rough those first few days 😅

While I'm not completely on your side yet, I respect your opinions and there's definitely a lot of truth to what you're saying. As I mentioned, it wasn't the worst episode ever, just not an ending that left me fully satisfied.

I've come to the conclusion that I'm more of a visual person and so my impressions of the episode were mostly how I personally interpreted what was shown, which I truly felt was lacking not just in this episode but throughout the season as whole. So many unnecessary scenes and lacklustre dialogue that could easily be fixed. Overall, I truly feel like that there was room for improvement.

I actually would love to respond to more of what you said but only if you DM me! Happy to discuss further.

[welivetodream]

The many stages of depression: (TW)

Depression is one of those feelings that a lot of people have experienced at least sometimes in their lives. It is quite correct to state that everyone at one point in their life have been through it or will go through it. Some get depressed more than others; it could be due to environment, abuse, loss, bullying, mental disorders, stress, poor health, etc.

It is something widely experienced but not widely explained. The mystery of why depression happens to certain people can boil down to their psychological state but should not be considered the single parameter for its existence. Depression like cancer can happen to anyone regardless of any amount of money, status, love or psycological wellness they have. And like Cancer you can't just tell someone with depression to just ignore it or say they are overreacting.

As someone who goes through bouts of seasonal depression and lives in a place where depression is not even considered "real". I have broken down depression according to personal experience into 5 stages.

I am not a medical professional ( I do want to become a psychologist) or someone who can give advice on this topic. But as a patient of depression for around 2 years I can give a little insight into it. Just because I said there are 5 stages doesn’t mean it has to be these stages only, or in the same order.

Here it goes:

1. Anger: just like the stages of grief I always thought the 1st step towards depression starts with anger. It could be outbursts, sudden rage, irritation, annoyance, physical reactions such as intensive urge to kick or punch something (I always have days when I want to burn buildings down and kill my classmates). These reactions can be due to the sudden change in mentality we get before full blown depression kicks in. When we just hate every thing. Everything is stupid. Everyone is being annoying. One of our 1st reactions to anything upsetting is to be mad about it. Depression is not an exception. Anger is where you start. When you start to blame everything around your for causing the pain you are going through. This stage is very important, it is always good to take out your anger before it becomes too much. During this stage I am at my peak of annoyance and can be diabolical.

2. Paranoia: the stage that continues what anger started. This is when realisation kicks in that something is wrong in your mind. You can become paranoid of everything around you. Why is my friend ignoring me for 5 minutes? Why did my parents became quiet when I walked in? Why does it feel like someone is watching me? Why can’t I trust anyone? This is when you are at your peak in terms of insanity. I have been in this stage for the most part of my depressive episodes. Especially as an intuitive, paranoia can be disturbing and harmful to your mental health. It makes you question silly things that don’t even matter for the sake of increasing your blood pressure and start to isolate you from social life. That’s where stage 3 will come

3. Withdrawal: not the withdrawal due to addiction. This is when you start isolating yourself from others. Paranoia put the seed of doubt in your mind about people and how you don’t want them to be near you. People can be a problem sometimes. And this stage is just what being isolated means. This is also the stage people are the most familiar with, because it is often what depression is portrayed as: isolating yourself from other humans as way to build a wall to protect yourself from what paranoia caused. During this time I stop taking calls from my friends, family, anyone. I stop messaging or replying. I often stopped eating with family or having lunch at school with my friends. As an introvert this stage isn’t even that hard, but there is a difference between the choice of isolating yourself because you don’t like to be around strange people and the want to isolate from people you care about.

4. Sadness: the most well known stage of depression, some people mistake it for the definition of depression, which is so wrong. After isolating yourself, you become vulnerable. This is that stage of vulnerability and mostly when people start to have negative thoughts (suicidal thoughts). Sadness itself can’t be explained that well, other than that it leads negativity, hopelessness and the lack of interest in anything cheerful. When I get into this stage, my depression is the most apparent to other people. This is when my mom steps in and ask if things are wrong. And I say #fine when I am so not. Sadness can manifest in tears, coldness, increased self awareness, intrusive and harmful thoughts etc. This is one of the hardest and longest stages to overcome. Yet not as harmful as the next one…

5. Numbness: let me deep breathe before this……this is the most dangerous stage of depression. Every stage before this one had some sort of emotion in it. Anger, paranoia, withdrawn, sadness. But Numbness is the lack of any emotion that can be experienced, even negative ones. You lose all your hope. All your wishes and goals. Everything becomes a barren wasteland of nothingness. The lack of emotions is the worst thing that can happen to you. Just like how you die when your heart stops beating, having numbness to emotions will as in many cases lead to death. Unfortunately, this is the stage when most suicides take places. The inability to have any interest in life and getting overwhelmed from the fact you stopped living the moment you stopped feeling. Have I been in this stage? Yes. But since I am alive there must be a way out of it.

When I said 5 stages of depression, it was meant for those who sadly ended their lives because of it. Stage 6 is for those who made it out alive.

6. Acceptance: again like the stages of grief Depression ends with acceptance. Accepting your problems (I am the problem it's me!), accepting yourself as a problem, accepting help from people who care for you and accepting the little hope left deep down. If you made it to this stage, you are capable of doing anything you want.

Note: You are worth it! (Can't believe I AM saying this) And if you are going through depression or anything related to that, remember that one of reasons to stay alive is to pull revenge on all the people you hate. Maybe in future you can show your haters that the reason they hate you is beacuse of how strong willed you are. You don't have to prove your talents. You don't have to accomplish things to justify your existence. You are here for nobody but yourself. Be selfish, be a bitch and live out the best life there is.

[savetooru]

feeling strange

because grief is difficult to talk about (but demands to be parsed in some way) here is, instead, a non-comprehensive list of silly, bizarre, and errant reflections i've had throughout the past two weeks:

is this it? is this it now?

i don't want to let you go but i fear it's happening. i think it's happening. do you hate this? i think you're tired. i think i would be tired.

don’t think. don’t think, just do. we’ll figure it out when we get there. stop thinking. right. just like that.

every time someone starts off a conversation with achi it means some serious shit is about to be asked of me. this is so stupid but i swear if i wasn’t the first-born this would be impossible for me. 1

i don't know when it was i shed my stage fright but i imagine it was sometime between the last hospital visit and this moment i am swallowing down five years of religious trauma to serve as lector for your funeral rites. man, anything is so easy if it's for you.

oh. oh— it's. there is no world in which i am not a reader, is there? that's it. that makes sense to me. that works. i can work with that.

okay. okay, fine. "though i walk in the valley of darkness, i fear no evil; for you are with me," is metal. as. shit.

can we get ice cream? i need a sundae. i need something cold and sweet between my teeth, if not extra spicy. it's less a want and more a tether. i need a tether.

the sun is so good when you catch it between just the right amount of foliage. the colors are so vivid and paint-like.

this scene from fleabag is so much funnier when it happens to you in real life. seriously. is it worse people are so complimentary or that i can't be totally unhappy about it?

i almost wish it was always this quiet, and that everyone would always be this gentle. almost. i’d miss the fighting too much.

i should be more upset. i should be more upset but i'm not. i wish someone could tell me whether that means i'm stronger, or if it means there's something broken somewhere.

why do we always end up in the emergency room?

having such a simple rice cooker has spoiled me. i've got to master everyone else's controls. i think a warm breakfast is the only thing getting my uncles through the day.

okay, no. i’m stronger. i’m definitely fucking stronger. i was bluffing before but i’m serious now. messenger, nightwatcher, finder of meds, reader, waiter, smile on my face hater. stronger.

living life is hard. leaving is hard. seeing everyone be so sad is terrible. i wish it wasn’t such a struggle, even if fighting was always gonna be worth it.

god i wish we could have took you out to brunch a couple more times.

holy shit. this stranger's cat is on my lap, purring. holy shit, am i a good person? i must be a good person. a little bit. holy shit.

been asked to say goodbye so many times it’s starting to sound a lot like hello.

thank god i'm young. i'd never have been ready or old enough, but thank god i'm this age. i couldn't, if i wasn't. that doesn't make anything right, but just. i couldn't, you know?

i'm going to love you forever. i'm going to love you forever, i know it.

also just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who sent their emails and well-wishes. no matter how many times i say it i won’t be able to express how much reading your words has touched me.

1. achi is hokkien for elder sister.

[agirlunderarock]

12 about atla and 22 about star wars for the choose violence asks? or both for both if you like :D

Thank you so much for the ask! I'm gonna do both for both lol

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

Avatar the Last Airbender

I'm nost sure there are any unpopular atla characters? So Avatar the Last Airbender is one of those shows that I really enjoy the show, but I haven't engaged with a whole lot of the fandom to know what all the discorse is outside of Zutara vs. Kataang (I prefer Kataang btw) I think if anything there are characters that don't get talked about a whole lot that I really enjoy, like Tao and his father are an interesting in that like to spin them around on their little blorbo stage while I think about Hakoda and his relationship with his kids. I feel like theres a lot to unpack there in how both families lost their mothers (there are a lot of absent moms in avatar aren't there) and precautions their fathers took in response to that. But now I'm thinking about the absent mothers and thats not what I'm supposed to be talking about-

Star Wars

Reva. Like I LOVE her arc in the Kenobi series. The set up for her story was so clear from the beginning and I love the character foil she sets up for Obi-Wan. Where he lets his grief consume him, to the point he turns away other jedi who need help, she turned to her anger, hunting down jedi in order to get close to Vader before trying to take revenge. By all rights she should be angry and she has every right to be, but she let it consume her and twist her until she became the very monster she wanted revenge on. I am interested to see if she pops up in any other rebellion era star wars stories. I would absolutely love to see her work through the pain of letting go of her anger. I think it would be incredibly interesting to have a very brief story about the Path and helping to hide the force sensisitive children, and having the lead characters be Quinlan Vos, Reva, and Barriss Offee. All three of those characters have had a brush with the dark side or been steeped in it at some point or another, and I think theres room for a powerful story in their recovery, and then facing difficult choices because of the war. Between Reva and Kallus, they are the only two star wars antagonist who have to potential to have true redemption arcs. Kallus has a good one in my opinion, but it could be stronger, and I hope to see Reva again in some future projects so she can have that strong narrative.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

Avatar the last airbender

I wouldn't say its ignored, I've definitely seen a few people talk about it, but I do think it gets looked over often, and its that Iroh only has a change of heart about Fire Nation Imperialism AFTER his son dies. I wouldn't say its my favorite part of canon, but I do think its an interesting note by the creators. Its hard to imagine that Iroh whole heartedly bought into Fire Nation Imperialism, but when you think about the letter he rights talking about the siege of Ba Sing Sae its very chilling. Like, no one who doesn't fully believe in the ideals their fighting for, fights the way Iroh did- granted that letter that gives us a hint about whats happening, is being read and Zuko is imagining it, but still. Its a story that I understand why its not explored as part of a kid's show, but I do think it would be interesting to see if Iroh was playing things up for his family back in the Fire Nation, or if there was something more in his relationship with his son that fed into his rejection of Fire Nation Imperialism. Part of me wants to imagine that Iroh took a solo trip around the world to see the connections that his son was seeing and was coming to the conclusion that they were in the wrong, (like Zuko was starting to see in his solo episode) something would have happened that led to his death and thus Iroh abandoning the siege. Somewhere along the way is when he meets the other white lotus members. However, he is a brilliant tactician and I wouldn't doubt he was studying the other benders and their philosophies as a war strategy, much like how we see Sokka do. Don't get me wrong I adore Iroh, he is by far one of my favorite characters, but it is chilling to think about that moment and that letter.

Star Wars

Theres parts of canon that canon ignores lol Unfortunately this is both my favorite and most hated thing. I haven't talked about it on here, nor have I shared any of the drafts regarding my OC interacting with this character despite me thinking about it like every few days. But Satine. Satine was a previous love interest for Obi-Wan during a time when he was questioning his place in the Jedi Order, and we find out all about that in Clone Wars and she's brought up in the books now, and yet the shows, both the Obi-Wan series and the Mandalorian have not brought her up. So she's canon but not canon? which is fucking hilarious to me, but not my favorite thing. I don't like her, but I would have liked her with more development, and thought. I hate her lack of development, when clearly her actions and death have an impact on Mandalorian culture for DECADES. And I hate that most of the time she's talked about by the fandom its in regards to her love story with Obi-Wan. Which I'm gonna be honest isn't a love story. So we're finally getting to my favorite thing, and its that Obi-Wan and Satine's relationship feels so incredibly aroace X nonally allo coded to me. In that every time Satine speaks to Obi-Wan, you can see that she struggles to accept only friendship from him. Theres a whole bit where she stumbles over calling him a friend, and he never struggles with it. She brings up her very romantic feelings for him using a lot of present tense phrases and verbs, when he speaks of it, its very much in the past tense, even when he talks about her to Anakin. It isn't that he doesn't love her, he does in the way someone might still get a little fluttery thinking about the first time they fell in love, but he's very clearly accepted that they have gone on different paths and grown into different people, and his love has grown into that love of a friend. Its not any less, if it was he wouldn't have gone through half the shit he did for her. Then you look at their physical interactions, she goes up and hugs him, touches his face, unprompted, a lot of his initiated contact is with her hands, thats his boundary. And I say all this, not to be like "oh this is the only way to watch it" no, those are just things I noticed because I'm ace and interactions resonated with my own experiences. I think a lot of their romantic relationship is conflated because they're meant to be a foil for Anakin and Padme, but I hate that for them? And I know this asked for my favorite thing, and it is, possibly just because there are so many little details and things that get over looked, and like I have to wonder what was the intention by the writers to portray here in their relationship? To me I see my ace experience and people constantly pushing my boundaries, when I can't give them what they want or expect, and the tragic end to a friendship. Fandom sees a tragic romance, whic again I get and I see it, but its tragic for different reasons.

I guess that last one really was for the violence cause I feel like thats a super divisive thing to say but I don't know If anyone wants to send another or do the questions them self the link is right here.

[echobeachimagines]

‘ just what i needed ’ || abed nadir

Word count: 1,511

Characters: Gender Neutral!Reader, Abed Nadir, Annie Edison, Jeff Winger, Troy Barnes, Shirley Bennett, Unnamed girl in magenta, Joey/White Abed/Wabed.

Warnings: profanity

A/N: Before we begin, I want to thank you in advance for reading. The title has nothing to do with the fic. It is just a random song title from my personal love songs playlist. Also, I know that this reader may not be just as relatable as many would like, but they are gender neutral. They say write what you know and I know emotionally overwhelmed but detached, haha. Also, if you could tell me if there is not enough space between the sections, that would be great. I am working on a chromebook, so it looks a little different on my end. In addition, I will be making edits if I find errors in this fic in the future. Onward and, as usual, constructive critique is welcomed as I am a masochist but not a human carpet. Thank you and I am sending you all love !!

---

      Truthfully, you’d never been one to express how you felt to others. It applied to everyone. Family, friends, and romantic interests for sure. It wasn’t as if you felt nothing for these people; Quite the opposite, actually. You’d argue you felt more than you should. It was intimidating and made you feel as if you were intruding on their peace. It wasn’t their responsibility to take on your emotions; good or bad. Besides, your poker face was absolute garbage. It gave well enough away as it was.

This led you to where you were right now. Jaw clenched as Jeff gave the beautiful brunette in magenta advice on how to approach the object of your affections, Abed Nadir.  

“I know that guy’s M.O and I think it’s better if you introduce yourself.”  

Your heart all but dropped through the floor. The green-eyed monster reared its ugly head and you couldn’t help the daggers that shot in the poor girl’s direction. It wasn’t her fault. You, of course, understood the appeal. The tall, adorable, stoic film nerd with the puppy-dog eyes who looked amazing in mustard yellow. Well- looked amazing in any color, really- How could one not feel some sort of attraction toward him? And why did you have to be one of these people? You felt the frustration building as she sauntered over to the pool table. This wasn’t a rare occurrence, to be honest.

As if witnessing Jeff in all his... glory... wasn’t bad enough. Now you had to watch as yet another stunning woman shoots her shot with your crush? God, ‘crush’. It sounds so stupid just hearing it. So immature.

Needless to say, you were beginning to think that pool table was cursed.  

“Are you alright, Y/N? If looks could kill-,” Annie begins before being cut off by White Abed- Wabed, as you’ve personally dubbed him- as he took a seat next to you.  

“Man, why couldn’t I be brown Joey?” You couldn’t help the redirection of your glare toward the sweater-clad man. “His name is Abed, Jackass.” You spat before you could stop yourself. He put his arms up in mock surrender. Annie’s gaze turns back to you, wide-eyed.  

You also happened to pull Jeff’s attention at your words, also a little wide-eyed, but seemingly out of entertainment than anything else. “Woah there, tiger. Retract the claws!” he says through a chuckle.

“Seriously, YN. Are you alright? Did something happen?” Annie asks yet again. You sneak a look at Abed, the girl seemingly vanished in the time you’d looked away. A wave of guilt begins to form. Jeff, oh so observant of others all of a sudden, takes notice of your glance in his direction. His face shifts through what looks like the stages of grief before a grin breaks out on his face. He couldn’t have possibly figured it out so quick, could he?

“No way!” he starts. You try to keep a neutral expression, but the blood rushes to your cheeks uninhibited. Oh, he’s going to have a field-day with this one. 

“What? What is it?” Annie inquires, still not having caught on.

“NO WAY!” Jeff says again, his eyes not once leaving your face as you give up trying to pretend. You sigh.

Annie glances between the two of you, her voice raising in pitch slightly. “What is it?! What am I missing?!”  

By this point, Abed is looking in the direction of the commotion, clearly curious.

 Wabed decides it’s his moment to shine. “I think your friend here likes Mr. ‘Abed’ over there.” He says, giving a short nod in the direction of the pool table. Annie gasps, looking at you excitedly. You’ve managed to make direct eye contact with Abed, however. Having noticed Wabed’s attention on him, he begins to make his way over. Panic starts to spread through you and you can’t help but feel like he's heard everything the others are saying. You jump up before making a break for the door. Fuck this.

You hear Annie call after you as you speed walk your way toward the exit. You don’t look back and, since you don’t have any other classes that day, you decide to head home before things escalate any further.  

-

As much as you dreaded it, you knew you couldn’t avoid Jeff and Annie forever... Or Abed for that matter. You also couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had slipped up. Annie had as good of a poker face as you did, Jeff could go either way, and Wabed sure as hell had no loyalty to you.  

You had sent Annie a myriad of texts only to be met with silence and Jeff was never one to respond to your texts immediately anyway which was strange considering he was always on his phone. All you could do was stress over the situation as the night progressed. As you approached the study room, you could see the back of Jeff’s head. Pulling open the door, you could see everyone except Troy and Abed in their seats.  

“Y/N!” Annie yelped as you walked in; You stopped in your tracks. Of course. Of fucking course. “You told, didn’t you.” You deadpanned. She looked like a dear in the headlights.  

Jeff craned his neck around to see you, a smirk taking over his face.

“She didn’t even last five minutes- OW!” He was cut off by Annie hitting his arm. “It wasn’t like that and you know it! You have to believe me, Y/N-” She argued- pleaded, really.  

Shirley, bless her oblivious heart, interjected.  

“Ooooh, told who what?” She lilted as she clutched the top of her purse, a smile on her face at the prospect of new gossip. You contemplated skipping this study session, maybe hiding near the fire exits.

Your luck, however, must have just run out as you heard the chatter of Troy. You turned around, now face to face with Abed as he opened the door to the study room. You couldn’t bring yourself to move.  

“Hi,” You said, just above a whisper. A small smile tugged at the sides of his mouth as he echoed you. He turned his head to look at Troy, giving a short nod. Troy raised his eyebrows briefly, looking at you with a knowing grin before walking over to his seat. So he knows too, then. Great.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Abed asked. You looked behind you, seeing Annie and Troy watching with anticipation, Jeff with mild intrigue. You couldn’t help the shaky sigh that escaped you as you nodded. “Um, Yeah- Yeah, sure. Let’s go.” You attempted to sound somewhat confident as you both made your way out of the study room.  

There was a silence between you as you walked aimlessly through the hall. Although normally comfortable, this one seemed tension filled; At least on your end as you considered denying what you know he’s already heard. You decided to throw caution to the wind. Besides, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him. “So, Annie told you then.” You uttered as you clutched the strap of your bag with both hands, finally looking in his direction. He nodded before stopping. You stopped just a few steps after before turning around to face him. 

“Look,” You readied yourself for the rejection by trying to beat him to it, as analyzing his face had yet to yield any information. “, You don’t have to reciprocate, and I am sorry if it makes you uncomfortable-” You are interrupted.

“I like you too, Y/N.” He stated curtly. You don’t think you heard him correctly, asking for him to repeat himself. “I’ve liked you for a while.” He clarifies.

“And Troy knew?” You ask, your head tilting as you processed what you were hearing. Your confusion softens into a flutter in your chest. He nods before responding.

“I told him last month. And then he accidentally told Annie.” Suddenly it made sense. You sigh, “So that’s why she told you then?” You ask rhetorically, chuckling as you decided to forgive her... This time. You realize that the ball in now in your court; Your golden opportunity has presented itself and, although your nerves were still in overdrive, made your move.  

“Would you maybe... want to hang out? Not just as friends, of course.” You ask, shakily as you stood awaiting his response. He smiles slightly, nodding. “How about this weekend?” He prompts. You can’t help the smile that takes over your face, a blush likely present as well, but you didn’t want to think about it.

“That sounds great!” You enthuse as you let out the breath you had been holding since you asked.  

“Cool... Cool, cool, cool,” He says. It is silent for a moment before he extends his arm in the direction of the study room. “After you.” Abed adds before you both begin to make your way back to the study room.  

Now you’d just have to deal with telling everyone else, though you figured you’d cross that bridge when you got to it.

---

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin snaps just a little;

Everyone feels guilty about it. Especially when they realise that their apologies won’t be accepted so easily.

The dreaded magic reveal has happened.

I won’t write it out, it doesn’t really matter how it happened; maybe there was a fight and it was a last desperate attempt on Merlin’s part to save everyone, or maybe he was just stupid and oblivious and cast a spell without realising someone was looking. Or maybe it was neither, maybe Arthur just finally pulled his head from his arse and put it together.

Like I said, it doesn’t matter.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, is gathered in the Roundtable Room. Mordred, Gaius, and Lancelot look quietly worried. Morgana and Gwaine look an odd mix between protective and upset. Leon, Elyan, and Percival look angry, though more at the secrets and lies than at the magic. Gwen just looks heartbroken, unable to look at the man she thought she knew everything about. Arthur is stony-faced, furious and embarrassed; at having been lied to, at being made a fool of, at giving everything to a man who had done nothing but lie to him.

Merlin himself sits slumped in his seat, hands dangling loosely over the sides and blank face staring at the table in front of him. His mind wonders, cycling through all five stages of grief, though his expression remains resolutely empty, and the awkward, thick silence stretches for a long time before Arthur finally breaks it, his voice hard and unforgiving:

“Why wouldn’t you tell us, Merlin? You’ve known us for years, ten, in the cases of Gwen, Leon, Gaius, and myself. How could you keep this from us? How could you lie so thoroughly?!”

His voice rose as he spoke, but Merlin doesn’t move, his gaze doesn’t waver, not even when Arthur abruptly stands and gestures wildly with his hands.

Merlin reconsiders his five stages of grief, and circles back to anger.

The servant smirks slightly, though it’s sad and mournful as he shakes his head, sitting up straight and levelling a cool stare at the furious King. His voice comes out quietly, but the cold tone cuts Arthur to the core:

“You want to know why I didn’t tell you?-”

Arthur just huffs and gives a slow nod, anger not receding despite Merlin’s bitter stare.

Merlin stands slowly, his gaze sweeping smoothly across the faces of everyone else, still sat at the table. Half of them can’t meet his eyes, staring into their laps, not bothering to hide the betrayal on their faces:

“-You all want to know? Fine.”

His eyes finally settle on Elyan and Gwen, sat together next to him, though they’ve pushed their chairs as far away from his own as they could manage. When they don’t look up at him, Merlin rolls his eyes and clicks his fingers, eyes flashing briefly golden as they both get a short static shock. They jump slightly, and everyone tenses when they realise that Merlin had openly used sorcery, but he doesn’t care, just nods satisfactorily when the siblings finally look up at him:

“I didn’t tell you two because despite my best attempts, your father died after being accused of sorcery. You've spent your whole lives since then talking about the evils of magic, about how it corrupts without question, and how no one should practice it because it’s selfish and innocents get caught up in the middle of it. I don’t just practice magic, I am magic, I was born with it. According to you, my very existence is a danger to everyone around me. What the fuck was I supposed to say?-”

Gwen takes in a sharp breath and Elyan widens his eyes in shock, but before either of them can say anything, Merlin moves on, ignoring the guilt in their eyes and instead focusing his angry gaze on Percival:

“-With all due respect, Percival, I know jack shit about you. You may have grown up outside of Camelot, but I’m not going to risk my life on the off-chance that you might disagree with the justice system of the man you swore your life to.-”

Percival just nods, understanding at least a little, flinching slightly at the disgust in Merlin’s tone when he spoke of Arthur’s justice system.

Merlin quickly turns to Leon, gaze jumping over Mordred who, though worried, looks a little proud. Merlin sighs heavily when he looks to Leon, and the older man frowns, knowing that whatever was about to be said was... not going to be pleasant:

“You. You were a favoured knight under Uther Pendragon, the man who started the purge. You followed his orders without hesitation when he told you to slaughter and burn my people and you then became First Knight under his son. Arthur may not be quite as much of a genocidal fucking maniac as Uther, but he’s well on his way, do I really need to keep going?-”

Leon shakes his head minutely, resolutely ignoring the tears gathering in his eyes and the guilt swelling in his lungs. Merlin ignores the sharp intake of breath he hears from Arthur when Merlin spoke of Uther, turning instead to Morgana:

“-Morgana, you may have been vocal in your opposition to the ban, but you’re Uther’s daughter, Arthur’s sister, a Lady who lives in the godamn castle. Who are you to decide that my life is worth the risk just so you get to feel better about your activism?-”

Merlin is speaking quicker and quicker, and he ignores Morgana’s gasp and tears, his gaze jumping over Gaius and Lancelot to settle on Gwaine:

“-You’re mad because you told me about your secret heritage, but I didn’t tell you about mine? Get over yourself. Your heritage is secret because you don’t like talking about it and it makes you a little sad; my heritage is a secret because it turns everyone I’ve ever cared about against me in an instant, and earns me nothing but torture by pyre. I owe you fucking nothing.-”

Merlin finally turns to Arthur. The King’s anger had drained out of him, and he just looked sad and guilty and remorseful, but Merlin doesn’t stop, breathing hard and eyes blazing as he pushes on:

“-And you. The Butcher King’s Butcher Son. -”

Merlin laughs incredulously and throws his arms up slightly:

“-Basically all of the above. Do I really have to explain? Your father single-handedly orchestrated the genocide of my people. You stood at the still smouldering funeral pyre of my best friend, who died saving your life, and told me that he was evil because of the magic you thought he had. You and your father are hypocrites of the highest order: you use sorcery when it suits you, for your own personal gain, and return home to execute magic-users the next hour. You’re well on your way to becoming exactly the legacy that Uther wanted, and I say that with all the disappointment in the world, and what? You think I should’ve risked my life just to teach a grown man a moral lesson that he should’ve been capable of learning himself?! No.-”

Merlin steps back from the table, glaring around at those he called his friends as they all stare at him with varying levels of guilt and horror:

“-All of you are pathetic, get over yourselves. You may consider my life and safety and freedom unimportant compared to you feeling good about yourselves, but I don’t. I am not obligated to risk my life just because none of you could put more than two seconds of thought into the motivations behind your deadly, inherited prejudices. NONE of you are entitled to my secrets, secrets that according to you, mean I should’ve been executed the moment I was born, so fuck off.”

With that, Merlin turns and storms towards the door, opening it with a bang and slamming it shut behind him before anyone has any time to react to what he said. No one tries following him, all knowing on some level that they wouldn’t be welcome.

Mordred, Gaius, and Lancelot share a look, glad that everything was out in the open, but feeling sad and guilt-ridden that it had happened in such a way. At least Merlin had managed to get all of that off his chest, it had evidently been stewing for a while.

Arthur sits back down in his chair heavily, letting out a deep sigh as he stares at the table, eyebrows furrowed and eyes sad. His words come out barely above a whisper, but no one draws attention to the way his voice cracks as he repeats Merlin’s earlier words:

“The Butcher King’s Butcher son...”

Gaius looks to him mournfully, not really wanting to upset The King any more, but also feeling just a little of the anger that Merlin had shown:

“Uther was known as The Butcher King in magical communities, I suppose the nickname was... passed on, in a manner of speaking.”

Arthur shakes his head slightly, blinking away his tears as he whispers once more:

“Butcher...”

Leon frowns in confused realisation, looking up to Mordred on his left first, and then Gaius and Lancelot further around the circle between Morgana and Gwaine:

“He... he didn’t say anything to you three.”

Mordred and Lancelot tense, eyes widening as they sit straight, as if they were getting ready to run, but Gaius just sighs and nods:

“We already knew about his magic, though if... if I had known he was so... upset, I would have spoken to him sooner.”

Gwen speaks up next, her voice shaking and teary as she looks almost accusingly at the three of them:

“Why did he tell you?”

Lancelot manages to hold in his annoyance, but Mordred scowls at her tone of voice and Gaius raises an eyebrow before responding slowly:

“He didn’t tell any of us. His mother told me in the hopes that I could help him learn to control it when he first arrived in Camelot.”

He looks to Lancelot next to him, nodding at him to explain:

“I found out by accident. He saved my life, helped me kill the griffin with his magic.-”

The knight sighs, leaning back in his chair and running a tired hand through his hair:

“-He was... grateful that I knew; he appreciated having someone to talk to about it, but equally, I think it made him anxious. He felt like he was putting me in danger and didn’t tell me a lot of things, I think that... ultimately, he wishes I hadn’t found out, no matter how much easier and safer it made his life.-”

He gives the group a weak smile:

“-He’s never been one to share his worries.”

Everyone nods, knowing that Merlin had never liked genuinely troubling anyone, no matter how much he complains about his chores. They look to Mordred next, but when he stays silent, resolutely staring at the table and ignoring the fear and anger clawing at his gut, Arthur prompts him:

“Mordred? How did you find out?”

The young knight tenses even more, frowning into his lap, and The King sighs, rubbing his eyes tiredly:

“You won’t be in trouble Mordred, no matter what it is, I promise.”

Mordred looks up sharply, angrily:

“Really?! Because when you found out that Merlin, your closest friend and ally of ten years, had magic, you freaked and got all... accusing. Exactly how am I meant to feel safe with any of you, as a Druid?-”

He ignores everyone’s sharp intakes of breath in favour of standing, hands clenched tightly at his side at he glares at the shocked King:

“-Merlin is a hell of a lot more than you have ever given him credit for. He has given up everything in pursuit of your safety and happiness, and in return you treat him like some sort of criminal. Butcher indeed, My Lord.”

Mordred snarls out Arthur’s title, and just like Merlin, he leaves the room with a dramatic slam of the door, not waiting for anyone’s response. The silence grows thicker and thicker until Gaius clears his throat and quietly explains:

“Merlin has a sort of... bond, with the Druids. He and Mordred share a mental link that allow them to speak to each other in their minds and be aware of each others’ presence at all times. Merlin has been teaching Mordred to control his gift, channel it, grow it; due to this, their bond is... deeper than most, Mordred looks up to him.”

Arthur sighs and nods, but Morgana is the next to speak, tears on her cheeks and an excess of guilt in her eyes that Arthur doesn’t quite understand; her voice shakes slightly:

“We... we have to find them, apologise.”

Everyone stands, ready to march out the citadel and track down the wayward Warlocks, but Lancelot quickly steps in front of the door, holding his hands out:

“No. You’ve all done enough damage. They’re both angry and scared; they would never hurt any of us but... they need time. This has been ten years in the making for Merlin, it’s a big deal and he deserves a little peace before you all go running after him with your tails between your legs.”

Arthur, Morgana, and Gwaine look desperate to argue, but Gaius nods his head in agreement, and another pointed glare from Lance has them sag and reluctantly agree. Arthur runs a hand through his hair, frowning as he stares towards the window, resisting the urge to search the courtyard below for any sign of Merlin:

“You’re right. Everyone finish your duties for today, three days from now we’ll track them down and... and apologise. Properly.”

Lancelot doesn’t look very happy, but to be perfectly honest, he’d rather everyone left Merlin and Mordred alone entirely, Gods know they deserve the opportunity to confront everything on their own terms, but getting Arthur to wait three days was probably the best he was going to get.

~

Merlin and Mordred were nowhere to be found for the next two days, but that was to be expected. The moment Gaius got back to his chambers he checked Merlin’s room, only to find all of his ward’s possessions missing, and a note saying he was nearby if Camelot ever needed help. Gaius had sighed at that, but he wasn’t surprised; it would seem that Merlin had finally had enough, and had decided to complete his destiny from afar.

Mordred’s rooms were in a similar state, he had taken his armour, but left the red cloak, and Gaius and Lancelot were grateful that the two Warlocks at least had each other, wherever they were. 

Arthur cleared everyone’s schedules for the next few days, and from dusk until dawn they all gathered around the table in his chambers, guards dismissed and doors locked. Gaius and Lance used that time to explain everything, starting of course with the prophecies (though they leave out Mordred’s role), running through everything that they knew of. They brought with them tokens from their stories: artefacts stolen from enemies, a sketch Merlin had allowed Gaius to create of his healed Serket Sting, shards of Aithusa’s shell, and a few of Kilgharrah’s scales, among other things.

Each story incited a long list of varied reactions. There were bits and pieces of anger, but at Lancelot and Gaius’s continued insistence that Merlin had been dealing with this almost entirely alone, with help only from a cryptic, uncooperative Dragon, and the Druids, who saw Merlin more as some legendary untouchable being, rather than an isolated boy who needed guidance, they allowed him his mistakes. Mostly, there was just a great deal of guilt. Guilt at Merlin’s suffering, the injuries he had sustained and the nights he goes without sleep. The nightmares that Gaius regularly wakes him from and all the people he had lost, all the lies he had to tell to keep himself or others safe.

It was exhausting, and Arthur was glad that none of them had to deal with meetings or training or chores; he’s not sure any of them would be able to cope with so much horror on their minds. 

Lancelot’s angry (he’s been angry a lot in recent days. Partly at everyone else for pushing Merlin so far, but mostly at himself for not having seen his friend’s stress sooner) addition at dusk on the second day, that he and Gaius only knew part of the story, that Merlin kept as much of it as possible to himself, how he had many injuries that they couldn’t account for, a hundred nightmares he wouldn’t tell them about, and days he went missing that he would never explain, really drove home to the gang just how much Merlin had suffered. Was still suffering.

At dawn on the third day they gathered once more, travelling clothes on and a map spread out in front of them.

Arthur cleared his throat and took a deep breath:

“Right. Merlin’s note said they’d be nearby, but where would they go?”

Gwen is the first to speak, looking hopeful for the first time in days:

“Back to Ealdor perhaps? I know Merlin hasn’t been home in a while, and Mordred seemed eager to visit again.”

Gaius shook his head:

“No, he wouldn’t go somewhere so obvious. He’s sick of having to hide himself, and having magic in Essetir is just as dangerous as having it in Camelot.”

Gwaine speaks up next, though he doesn’t sound sure of his own solution:

“The Druids then? There are plenty of camps within our borders, but we mostly leave them alone, and they’re all about magic”

Gaius shakes his head again, and Lancelot holds in his annoyance at the older man for helping them:

“Definitely not. He’s not overly fond of the way they treat him, and Mordred left for a reason. They’re looking for peace and quiet, somewhere where they can practice and train alone and uninterrupted, wherever they are, they’re likely on their own.”

Arthur throws up his hands, pacing the room in his annoyance:

“That could be anywhere! The woods are huge and the kingdom is riddled with caves and valleys and abandoned buildings. We’re the only ones that can know about this search, we can’t exactly spend months scouring the land looking for them.”

Morgana gulps and steps forward, raising her hand slightly:

“I... uh... I might be able to help with that.”

The gang look to her curiously and she clears her throat, taking a deep breath before she admits:

“Merlin and Mordred aren’t the only ones with magic. I discovered mine a few years ago, I’ve been teaching myself to control it from books I sneak from the library. If Merlin is as powerful as you say he is, I might be able to track him, if I can find some sort of spell.”

Everyone looks shocked, bar Gaius, who, though a little surprised, looks like he almost expected it. He wasn’t certain, but he had suspected, though he buried his suspicions when Morgana had stopped complaining of nightmares and headaches.

(She kept her magic hidden, though she isn’t destined to turn evil; Kilgharrah and Merlin have no idea she has magic)

She holds her breath as she waits for a reaction, and it finally comes in the form of Arthur letting go of a deep breath and rubbing his face with his hands, looking to Gaius:

“Does such a spell exist? What would we need to do?”

Gaius nods slowly:

“In a manner of speaking. If you are... well practiced with your magic...?-”

He trails off, though his voice lifts in question and Morgana shrugs and nods slightly:

“Everything I know I’ve taught myself. I wouldn’t say I’m powerful, but I’ve got fairly good control of what I’ve got access to so far.”

Gaius nods and continues:

“-Well, it wouldn’t be a specific spell. Merlin is incredibly powerful, his magic, his soul, is practically a beacon if you know what you’re looking for. My magic is too dormant, buried far too deep for me to be able to do anything with it quite yet, but Morgana may be able to.”

Morgana straightens her back and clenches her hands:

“What do I do? How do I look for him.”

Gaius turns the map to be facing Morgana, instructing her to hold her hand out over it, palm down, and close her eyes. She does as she’s told, and Gaius continues softly:

“Focus on your magic, the feel of it; allow it to come to the surface. Do not instruct it to do anything, don’t think any spells, simply feel it, free it from it’s confines.-”

Morgana nods and takes a deep breath, her expression softening into a slight smile and her posture relaxing as a gentle, effervescent glow spreads under her skin:

“-Think of Merlin. Picture his face, imagine his voice, think of the magic in him. Specific memories hold more power, so try to remember a time you saw him amongst nature: that is where he is strongest.-”

Morgana’s smile grows, and after a few moments she gasps tensing slightly, and Gaius nods:

“-You feel him?”

Morgana nods shakily, her breathing just a little deeper and she mutters:

“My Gods, when you said powerful, I didn’t think... this is insane, it’s like he’s... everywhere. He’s all I can feel.”

Gaius raises an eyebrow and shrugs slightly when the rest of the gang look to him bewilderedly, though Lancelot just looks marginally smug:

“Focus on that. Stop allowing your magic to move freely and direct it to the map, keep focusing on Merlin, though try not to... intrude. If he feels you searching for him then he may shut you out.”

Morgana nods again, lowering her hand towards the map slightly and biting her lip in concentration, trying to track Merlin’s power, feel it, but not push it or snag it with her own. After a few moments of tense silence, a thin golden thread of light extends from Morgana’s palm, lazily curling through the air as if moving through water. Everyone holds their breath, and with one last tense scowl from Morgana, the tip of the thread drops to the map, sinking into the paper over an area of mountains a few days ride from the city.

Arthur frowns in confusion, but Gaius nods to himself, almost as if he suspected it already. Lancelot hums lowly, he had definitely suspected, though he was still adamant that they should leave the Warlocks alone, so had kept silent. Morgana lets out a breath, opening her eyes just as they fade from gold back to green and dropping her hand, the golden thread disappearing as she collapses back in a chair:

“That was... I don’t even know what to say. How does he live with that? I was just... sensing it and it was overwhelming. How can he function when he’s feeling so... feeling all of that constantly?”

Arthur’s frown deepens, but before he can question anything Gaius tilts his head knowingly:

“Perhaps you now understand why he is so clumsy, My Lady. It is hard to focus on one’s physical body when what you just felt is only a fraction of what he has to keep contained within himself.”

Arthur clears his throat, crossing his arms:

“What I don’t understand is how they got there? Those mountains are a full three days ride away and they didn’t take horses. The caves are impassable, we don’t even know what’s in there, and according to Morgana’s... magic, Merlin is right at the centre.”

Gaius looks to Lancelot, and the physician and the knight seem to have an unspoken conversation, much to Arthur’s annoyance:

“Well? You two obviously know something, care to share?”

Lancelot huffs and rolls his eyes and Gaius raises an eyebrow before nodding:

“It is likely that they had... help getting there. We told you of Kilgharrah and Aithusa? Those caves are where they dwell when they aren’t out with Merlin. It would seem that Merlin has returned to his true, Dragonlord roots, and has invited young Mordred along.”

Gwaine lets out a low whistle and the gang look to him incredulously:

“What? Up until right then my brain was still kind of hung up on the whole... Dragon thing. Seems a tad unbelievable.”

Leon’s grumbled “I was there, believe me, the Dragon is bloody real.” goes unnoticed when Arthur rolls his eyes and says:

“What, less believable than surviving a Serket sting? Or being immortal? Or being a legend of prophecy?”

Gwaine shrugs, pulling an apple from his pocket and taking an obnoxiously large bite, promptly ending the conversation as Arthur grimaces and scoffs, rolling his eyes and walking purposefully to the door, everyone else trailing behind him.

~

The rest of the council were told of some sort of secret mission, and whilst they were unpleased at being left in the dark, Arthur was King, and could damn well do what he pleased.

Everyone’s mysterious absence over the last two days had definitely been noted with concern, but Arthur waved them away, reassuring them that everything would be made clear by the end of the season; though he was hoping his magic ban repeal would go through quicker than that, he had to be practical in his assessment that it would be a lot of work, and there was every possibility that he wouldn’t have Merlin’s help.

They set off immediately after speaking to the council. Gaius was left behind, they were already depriving the kingdom of her King and inner council, they couldn’t also take her best Physician. Besides, Gaius was not as young as he used to be, a three day’s journey and then a trek through perilous mountains wouldn’t be good for him. Arthur had wanted to leave Lancelot behind as well, so that only those who had apologies to be heard would be present, but Lancelot absolutely was NOT having that, and The King had to give in fairly quickly.

The three day journey was made mostly in silence; Arthur stopped being petulant about Morgana’s hidden magic almost immediately, though everyone still remained slightly... uneasy, when she openly used it. To which she rolled her eyes and insisted:

“Look, Merlin and Mordred are in the centre of a Dragon Lair, I can guarantee that there will be some serious magic going on when we get there. You need to get used to it eventually, because I have a feeling neither of them are going to be willing to make compromises for your comfort.”

Lancelot had smirked and nodded at that. Everyone could tell he was incredibly unhappy about this journey, though he only said it once; they know his thoughts, no point repeating them. Lance was of the opinion that Merlin and Mordred should be left alone entirely and everyone knew it. They’d left for a reason, and they knew how guilty everyone was feeling, if they wanted to hear apologies then they would come back. But they’re hiding in one of the hardest places to get to in all the Kingdoms... you’d think that would be hint enough. Apparently not.

On horseback, with Morgana’s help clearing a path and showing them the way, they made the journey in three days. Just over six days since Merlin and Mordred had left, their righteous anger keeping their heads held high whilst the others bowed their heads in shame.

They stood at the foot of the mountains, composure in tatters and breathing quick as they stared up at the vast stone structures. They’d had to travel through a thick, basically untouched forest, and the impenetrable canopy in the height of summer meant the sky was almost completely hidden. They knew which direction to travel in, thanks to Morgana, and they knew roughly how long they had to ride, thanks to the maps, but the way the forest suddenly gave way to a cliffside was unexpected and breath taking.

The maps were incomplete and vague, and Morgana could only point them in the right direction as the crow flies, so it took another half a day of scrambling around at the base of the mountains, avoiding surprise rockfalls and hidden crevasses, for them to find a path that could conceivably be an entrance.

Lancelot was of no help, letting the others take the lead as he shook his head, praying that they would just give up and leave the Warlocks alone, but knowing on almost every level that that wasn’t going to happen.

The path, as they had guessed, was dangerous, and they definitely had a few close calls. Morgana, Gwen, and Leon managed with endless amounts of grace, but Gwaine almost slipped a few times, and Percival, with his size, struggled with sticking close to the stone wall and away from the edge.

It wound along the edge of one of the mountains, climbing higher and higher up the cliffside as it snaked towards the centre of the mountain range. It could hardly even be called a path, and it took all of their courage to force themselves to flatten against the side of the mountain where it got too narrow, or leap over knife-edge drops where the path had fallen away.

The first night, they managed to find a cave. It wasn’t very deep, the damp was almost intolerable, and the way the wind howled through the cracks and gaps in the stone almost froze them as they tried to sleep, huddling for warmth, but it was safer than sleeping on the cliff’s edge.

The second night, they weren’t so lucky. They were running out of rations; the horses had been let loose at the base of the mountains (they were trained to stay close to wherever they were left, so as long as bandits didn’t get to them, they should hopefully still be milling around when the gang finally escapes these infernal mountains) and there was only so much they could carry between them. They walked through the second night, unable to find anywhere even remotely safe to stop and rest until late the next morning. 

According to Morgana, they were close, so they only stopped for a few hours; there was no cave, but the ledge opened up and became wider, just about wide enough for a few of them to sleep at a time whilst the others kept watch.

They were incredibly annoyed to find that the next corner they turned curved round into the mountains; the path widening significantly and the cliffside of another mountain rising up where previously there had been nothing but a long drop.

Arthur was stuck between wanting to speed up now that it was safe to do so, and wanting to slow down because they don’t know how long the path would remain easy. Or as easy as it can get when at least once an hour someone almost gets crushed by boulders tumbling form the heavens.

They rest eventually, stopping when it gets dark and spreading out on the spacious pathway, as far away from the cliffs as they could get to avoid being flattened should something fall in the night. For the first time since Merlin and Mordred left, Arthur lets everyone sleep in, and it’s almost noon by the time they get going again; though Arthur does make them practically jog. He was getting restless, his apology speech playing over and over in his head, desperate to escape his mind, he just wanted to find his Warlocks and get it over with and bring them home again.

Lancelot raises an eyebrow at Arthur’s fast pace, but shrugs and bites his lip to stop himself from laughing derisively, keeping up easily, but not happily.

It’s just before dark on the third day, though they’ve only been travelling for a few hours; in the centre of the mountains with cliffs rising hundreds of metres on every side, they only had direct sunlight for a few hours over the middle of the day, and it got dark quickly. The path widens into a broad, open glade, almost a perfect circle roughly the size of Ealdor. The rockface has been methodically carved, runes and images and words decorating the stone further up than the eye can see. On the cliff side directly opposite them, the rock opens up into a jagged, gaping maw; it looks huge, even with the great distance between it and the gang, an entrance, they think, wide enough for a Dragon.

They all gaze around the clearing in wonder, before determinedly walking towards the cave entrance. It takes them a few minutes to reach the other side, even with their purposeful stride, and Gwaine lets out a low whistle when they peer inside... or more accurately... over the edge.

In the entrance, under the largest mountain of the range, the ground gives away to nothing. There’s a thin path that zig-zags down the edge of the drop into the darkness, far deeper than the land surrounding the mountains. With another deep breath, they begin their descent, being forced to light torches after only a quarter-candle-mark due to the impenetrable darkness closing in from every direction.

It took them almost two candle-marks to reach the bottom, where they find a wide cavern. The moment they stepped away from the cliff face, giant metal braziers all around the edge of the cavern lit, as if by magic. All of them jump before putting their own torches out as they peer around the cavern. It was gargantuan, and they could see tens of tunnels dotted along the edge of the walls, as well as giant holes high up on the walls, walls which were covered in dragon-sized foot holds. Leon is the first to point them out, his voice echoing loudly as he says in a fascinated voice:

“This place must’ve been where the Dragon-Lords and their Dragons lived before the purge. The Dragons obviously couldn’t fly down here, but I bet you there’s a hugely complex cave system just for them, above the normal pathways for people.”

The others nod distractedly, but Gwaine lets out another impressed whistle:

“So I guess just... don’t stand below any big holes in case a Dragon lands on you.”

Elyan rolls his eyes, and uses the hand that isn’t being clutched by his sister to thump him on the arm:

“There are only two Dragons left, Gwaine, this place is mostly empty.”

Morgana looks back to the group with a small frown:

“Yeah, except Merlin is the last Dragon-Lord, and he isn’t best pleased with us right now. You know what Gaius said, Merlin has a bond with these creatures like no other connection in nature, they’re probably not all that opposed to killing us right now, so be careful, be respectful.”

Arthur nods in agreement, looking to his sister:

“Can you figure out which way?”

Morgana glances to the many tunnels, but shakes her head and looks back to Arthur with a grimace:

“No, but look around, Arthur,-”

She gestures vaguely at all the lit braziers, the shadows of flames and smoke flickering ominously against the rock walls:

“-they know we’re here, and I can feel Merlin getting closer. Now I’m tuned into his magic, I don’t even need Gaius’ neat little trick to sense him, he’s... it’s been getting stronger, it’s sort of overwhelming.”

Everyone frowns in confusion, but it’s Gwen that questions:

“Well... if he’s that powerful, and Gaius’ spell is now all but useless, why couldn’t you feel his power before?”

Morgana’s grimace deepens and she runs a hand through her knotted hair:

“He was probably hiding it. I can’t imagine keeping all of that inside. I struggle to hide mine entirely and he’s practically a God compared to me.”

Arthur bites his lip hard at that. How had he kept Merlin so far below him? Both in his mind and in station? If Morgana’s... magic, and Gaius and Lancelot’s stories are anything to go by... Merlin has the power to level Kingdoms, and Arthur had him mucking out stables and polishing armour. Worse, he questioned his loyalty, the loyalty of his — not that he would ever admit it — favourite person in the world. Arthur had a lot to apologise for. 

Before his thoughts can spiral even further and before any one else can say anything, their attention is jarringly caught by a spine-chilling scuttling sound echoing all around the cavern. It comes and goes, but it’s clear that whatever it is is getting closer and closer; they all bunch together fearfully, bar Lancelot who rolls his eyes and leans up against the wall with his arms crossed.

They can only assume that it’s Kilgharrah and Aithusa crawling around in their tunnels as an ear-splitting screech of claws against stone sounds out all around them. Lancelot grimaces slightly, but just huffs in annoyance when the others tighten their defensive huddle, all of them doing a terrible job of hiding how afraid they are.

After another few minutes of that, the noises steadily getting louder and louder and Morgana glancing to the people-sized tunnels with increasing frequency, the noise finally stops, and the silence is almost scarier than the previous cacophony. They all hold their breaths in suspense, gasping and letting out short yelps of surprise when a huge golden beast lands gracefully in front of them.

No one judges when Arthur takes an alarmed step back and Leon grabs Percival’s hand; they were the only ones who had met Kilgharrah already, and it wasn’t such an... amicable meeting. At least, they thought Arthur and Leon were the only ones to have met him before. Kilgharrah’s angry eyes rove over the group huddled at his snout as if he were looking for something specific, but he looks up sharply when Lancelot yells from behind them:

“Sorry to intrude Kilgharrah, they insisted. How’ve you been?”

The gang stare at him in shock, and the irate knight finally pushes himself off of the wall to walk up next to them, completely ignoring them as he frowns, annoyed, at Kilgharrah’s angry huff of hot air:

“I’ve been better, though I assume you already knew that, noble one.”

Lancelot smiles apologetically, barely sparing Arthur a glance as he replies:

“Yeah, I figured. If they really don’t want to see us then just threaten to crisp them up a little bit, they’re already scared shitless and I told them this was a bad idea.”

Kilgharrah’s lips lift to reveal razor sharp teeth, in what the gang can only guess is the creature’s best imitation of an amused smile:

“I, personally, was of the opinion that I should be allowed to raze Camelot again in response to My Lord’s cruel treatment,-”

Arthur takes a noticeable step back at that, but neither the Dragon nor Lancelot look to him:

“-but My Lord was decidedly against it. Aithusa is on her way, she has not quite mastered climbing through the tunnels yet-”

With that, a high-pitched, though still terrifying screech sounds from above, and a horse-sized white Dragon falls from the ceiling, managing to slow her descent with her shivering wings just in time. She lands a lot less gracefully than Kilgharrah had, tripping over her tail once and her wings twice before she manages to right herself. Lancelot holds in a laugh as she huffs petulantly at the gang before trotting happily up to him, pushing her scaled head into her chest and only letting up when he lifts a hand to run his nails harshly along the ridges behind her ears. She purrs happily in greeting and Kilgharrah rolls his eyes, muttering “You shouldn’t encourage her, she’s not a pup.-” to the giggling knight. She gives her next petulant huff to the larger Dragon before bounding enthusiastically over to the one of the human-sized tunnels, sticking her head in as far as she can fit and waving her tail in the air. Lancelot snorts at Kilgharrah’s continued muttered complaints “-Though apparently she may be part cat.”.

The great Dragon turns his attention back to Arthur and the group cowering confusedly behind him:

“My Master and his Charge will join us shortly,-”

He walks towards them, his belly low to the ground and his teeth bared as if he were a predator stalking oblivious prey from a hiding place in long grass. His voice drops, coming out as an angry growl, and Leon squeezes Percival’s hand so tightly that the gentle giant has to resist the urge to wince and pull his hand away:

“-though if it were up to me, I would burn you to ash before you ever set your judging eyes upon them again.”

Lancelot raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything at Kilgharrah’s newfound protectiveness of not only Merlin, but Mordred as well, knowing that the old reptile had originally been intent on convincing Merlin to kill him, even as a child. 

A shrill bark sounded from Aithusa before anyone could react to Kilgharrah’s unhidden hatred, and everyone looks to her as she frantically backs out from the tunnel, pouncing around in circles at the arrival of her Master and new brother.

Merlin and Mordred walk out with grins on their faces as they stare fondly at the Dragon, eyes unashamedly golden as they light their way with magic, and the gang are struck by how free and relaxed they look. Arthur had never realised how constantly tense and miserable his manservant was until suddenly... he wasn’t. Neither of them were in their usual wardrobe, Merlin has exchanged his red tunic and blue neckerchief for a loose white lace-up shirt, and Mordred had replaced the armour with soft-looking casual clothes, his tunic unlaced just enough that the gang can see the edge of a Druid Triskelion tattooed onto his chest.

The moment doesn’t last, the second that the Warlocks look over to the gang, their smiles drop into scowls and their shoulders tense angrily. Merlin holds a hand out to Mordred protectively, and though the younger man doesn’t seem too pleased about it, he obeys Merlin’s obvious request for him to stay slightly behind; the two of them stalk over, gaits purposeful and eyes remaining gold.

Lancelot shoots Merlin an apologetic smile and the former servant returns it with a respectful nod before turning his gaze back to Arthur. The King gulps, looking the two of them up and down and staring with an odd mix of fear and awe at the shear power radiating from them. It’s not just the magic they can feel crackling in the air as if lightening were about to strike, it’s the way they stand, the way they hold themselves with such confidence and elegance, the righteous fury on their faces and the gold of their eyes.

Merlin sighs harshly at their staring and clenches his hands tightly:

“I’ve spent ten years hiding who I am, and I’m done. I am Emrys, the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, this is my magic, our magic, and I’ll be damned if ever let you take that away from us again.”

Arthur recoils slightly and the others look to the floor in shame, bar Lancelot, who smiles proudly and nods, absentmindedly stroking Aithusa’s scales again as he waits for someone to say something.

Arthur clears his throat, glancing fearfully at Kilgharrah for just a second before looking back to Merlin and opening his mouth. The moment he tries to speak, all his practiced speeches and many apologies fall to his stomach like lead, and he closes his mouth again. Mordred smirks and Merlin quirks an eyebrow, crossing his arms mockingly as Arthur flushes and tries again:

“Merlin, I... you were right. We had no right to be angry, and it wasn’t fair of us to expect you to trust us when we had given you no reason to...”

He trails off, and it’s perfectly obvious that he had planned to say more, but his words fail at Merlin’s continued hard expression, and Gwen steps forward instead, her voice shaking and tears gathering:

“I’m so sorry, Merlin. Gaius told us what you did, at least some of it, and it was cruel of us to be angry. I know you tried your best to save my father, and you’ve kept me safe for ten years, and I was completely out of line to expect more when I never gave you anything. You were my best friend and I utterly failed you, and I’m so sorry.”

Merlin just raises an eyebrow again, golden eyes looking around the mini crowd as he gestures vaguely:

“Any one else want to get anything off their chest? Me and Mordred were in the middle of a lesson that I’d like to get back to.”

Gwen’s tears silently overflow at Merlin’s obvious dismissal, and the gang shuffle uncomfortably on their feet before a chorus of murmured apologies float up. Some specific, some vague, but all over the top of one another. Merlin chuckles darkly and shakes his head, staring to the floor as he holds a hand up, signalling them to be quiet:

“You know what’s happened? I’ve done the one thing I promised myself I would never do. I forced you to face your prejudices, and you lot didn’t have to put any effort I because I did it for you, as per fucking usual.-”

He looks up angrily, his hands clenched tightly at his sides and his eyes glowing brightly in tune with his fury:

“-So fuck off. Apologies not accepted. Leave us be. All the murder of innocents and blood spilt and lies spread and terror doled out like goddamn snow in winter does not get scrubbed away just because you’re all feeling a little guilty. Actually do something about it. I’ll bet you’ve spent the last week and a half sitting around feeling miserable and sorry for yourselves, and rehearsing your shitty little apology speeches; well I don’t want to hear it. I’ve spent ten years in utter agony, I’ve spent ten years being terrified out of my mind as my default emotion, and I categorically refuse to live like that any more.-”

He paces to the side slightly, raking a rough hand through his hair as he lets out a short, humourless laugh:

“-Gods, I’ve been pathetic haven’t I? Allowed myself to become friends with, to rely on, to care about people who turned on me the moment they found out who I truly was, despite the fact that I sacrificed everything for them, for you,-”

He turns back to them, his eyes wide and his smirk dangerous:

“-and the worst part is I knew that was what would happen. I knew you would turn on me, I knew that my friendships with all of you were conditional on the fact that you could never know anything about me, because you despise the very thing I’m made of.-”

Merlin sags all of a sudden, staring at the floor in exhaustion as Mordred steps forward to put a hand on his shoulder:

“-I’m... I’m tired, Arthur. I can’t do this anymore. Please leave.”

Arthur takes in a deep breath, holding in his tears as he nods stiffly, but before he can walk back towards the stairs Morgana pushes her way to the front of the crowd:

“Merlin, I may not understand the challenges you’ve faced as Emrys, but I do understand your fear, and I’m sorry.”

Merlin looks up at that, freezing when her eyes flash golden and a miniature flame lights itself in her palm. It goes out again after a few moments, and her teary eyes fade back to their normal green, but it takes Merlin a while to stop staring at her out-stretched hand. He looks up at her incredulously, clenches his hands so hard his nails break skin as he harshly whispers:

“How dare you?-”

Morgana is taken aback at his reaction, but she doesn’t have time to say anything before Merlin lets out another slightly manic laugh:

“-Gods above, you really are Uther’s daughter aren’t you?! The entire fucking family... I suppose cruelty and hypocrisy just runs in the bloodline, huh?”

Morgana bites her lip harshly and looks down, wanting more than anything to argue, to apologise again, but knowing she doesn’t have anything worthwhile to say. Merlin's accusations are accurate, she has no right to be angry at Merlin for hiding his magic, when she hid her own for all the same reasons.

Mordred’s hand slips down to his mentor’s wrist and he tugs backwards slightly. Merlin nods and Arthur is sure that they’re communicating in their heads like Gaius said they could, but he doesn’t say anything, waiting for one final dismissal. Merlin looks to Kilgharrah, not even sparing the others the briefest of glances as he tiredly says:

“Make sure they get out of the mountains safely, please.-”

Kilgharrah growls in annoyance, but nods, understanding that, whilst Merlin currently had no intention to go back, he still felt loyalty to Albion’s golden future, and that could only happen if no one tumbled off a cliffside.

The Warlock turns to Lancelot next. The knight looks a lot more mournful than he had previously, but still has a softly proud smile on his face as Merlin speaks to him gently:

“-Fancy staying for a little while? I never got round to showing you the back halls, and I know Aithusa has missed you. I can teleport you back whenever you like.”

Lancelot raises an amused eyebrow at the white dragon curled up at his feet, nodding in agreement, before looking back at Merlin:

“Sure. And you can teleport now?”

Merlin grins and nods:

“It’s amazing what you can do when you stop being so terrified of letting go.”

Kilgharrah, realising that Merlin has nothing more to say to anyone else, turns to Arthur and the gang with an angry snarl, gesturing to the stairs behind him with his snout. They give Merlin one last tearful look, but resist saying anything as they all stumble with blurry eyes towards the cliffside.

~

Lancelot, like promised, reappears in his bedroom in the castle about three days after everyone else had gotten back. He raises an eyebrow at everyone’s questioning looks, only responding to Gaius to fill him in on how his ward was doing once the Problem People had left the vicinity.

Arthur had gotten right on drafting up the ban repeal, though work was slow. Morgana and Gaius were the only ones with enough knowledge on magic that he trusted with accurate research and application. Leon and Elyan had marginally better reputations among the Druids that the others did, so they were sent to the closest camp to request any help or information on previous magical law they could provide. Lord Geoffrey is drafted in and “I swear, as King, in the name of Camelot, that you won’t face any punishment for having any books on sorcery hidden away. In fact... I’m actually kind of hoping that you do... please?” to which he responds with a coughing fit and a nervous glance to Gaius, who just smiles and nods.

A whole murder of crows — that Merlin is incredibly proud of himself for managing to train — ferries letters back and forth between Lance and the two Warlocks, and whilst they refuse to reply to anything that’s directly from Arthur or the others unless it’s strictly educational/political, they keep Gaius and Lance in the loop on what they’re up to. Merlin and Kilgharrah are finally starting to fix up Aithusa’s growth issues, Mordred’s magic is coming along very nicely, Merlin managed to grow and then destroy an entire mountain... you know... normal stuff.

Like Arthur had said, everything was in fact made clear to the council before the season’s end. They weren’t very happy, and a few of them even accused Morgana of enchanting Arthur, though they were quickly removed from the council room and replaced with the likes of Leon and Gwen and Morgana herself.

They only had a first draft to present to the councilmen, and information was still being sent in from the mountain-dwelling Warlocks and Leon and Elyan, still at the Druid camp, but they were making progress. They could only pray that weren’t too late to earn Merlin and Mordred’s forgiveness.

~

The repeal finally went through as summer faded to autumn, the trees were just about turning and it was becoming more consistently cold. Arthur found himself, in the middle of the city-wide celebrations, absentmindedly wondering whether Merlin and Mordred were keeping themselves warm enough in those dark caves.

They all plastered smiles on for the celebrations, though when the gang was out of the public eye, none of them hid their disappointment. Their Warlocks had been told the date of the repeal, had acknowledged it in their responding letter, and they had all hoped that their faces would be in the crowd when Arthur announced it to the public; but they were still nowhere to be found within the city.

No one missed the way Sir Lancelot disappeared a few days before the announcement, and had yet to return, though Gaius assured them that he was safe. When Gwaine knocked on Lancelot’s door in hopes of having a word moments after he spied the knight shutting the door behind him, only to walk into the room and find him vanished, he kept it to himself; teleportation was apparently something that could happen now, and there’s no point stirring the pot as it were, if Gaius was so sure he was alright.

Though to be honest, everyone had assumed he was with Merlin and Mordred anyway. It’s not like he would be anywhere else, not with the cold shoulder he had been giving everyone bar the elderly physician.

Eventually he reappeared, a week or so later. To say everyone was taken aback when a sparking golden circle, about seven feet across, appeared in the centre of the council room in the middle of a meeting would be an understatement. Leon absolutely did not yelp in surprise and reach for his sword, and Lord William will deny to his dying day that he almost fainted.

After a few moments the circle sharpened and stilled, and Lancelot walked through without a care in the world, appearing from the inky blackness with a raised eyebrow and a smug smile on his face. He looked back, saluting into the... portal (?) as if whoever was on the other side could see through the shadow; it suddenly faded from existence, and the knight turned to face his King:

“A small Druid contingent are on their way with the Lord Emrys, his two remaining kin, and his charge. Might I suggest a welcome is organised, My Lord?”

Arthur stares at him blankly for a few moments, brain kicking into gear when Gwen kicks him gently under the table:

“Uh... yeah, yes! Of course! Thank you, Sir Lancelot, for passing the message along.-”

Lance nods slowly, expecting a dismissal (or an invite to joint the meeting, where he should’ve been anyway), but Arthur’s face morphs into a small frown as he asks:

“-When can we expect them?”

Lancelot smiles again, trying to hide his amusement:

“Within the hour, I’d imagine.-”

Arthur’s eyes widen and the council members shuffle in sudden discomfort at having to organise something with such short notice. Lancelot bows his head briefly before turning to the door, speaking over his shoulder:

“-I’ll speak to the Steward about preparing some rooms, Sire.-”

Arthur nods wordlessly, trying his hardest to square his shoulders and settle his face into something resembling confidence, though that flies out of the window when Lance pauses in the doorway, turning back around with a cheery expression:

“Oh! It might be worth it to tell the knights and guards not to get the crossbows out, I have a feeling that they plan on... ahem... landing in the courtyard?”

Arthur’s eyes widen in shock and Leon pales, but Lancelot is shutting the door behind him and making his way down the corridor with a grin on his face before anyone can say anything.

~

Arthur, crown atop his head and red cloak billowing behind him, only just makes it to the courtyard steps in time to see Kilgharrah and Aithusa landing side by side on the cobblestones.

The gang manage to stay composed, at least on the outside, but the other council members looked about ready to piss themselves, despite the warning they’d received and the excited grin on Sir Lancelot’s face. Arthur had tried to keep the number of guards in the courtyard at a minimum, but he couldn’t dismiss all of them, and the remaining ones, despite being handpicked for their loyalty and bravery and quick acceptance of magic, shuffled uncomfortably at the sight of the apparently friendly beasts. The fact that the entire Kingdom would’ve seen the creatures circling and then landing in the citadel would also have to be addressed at some point, but Arthur will have to deal with that some other time, hopefully the Druid’s presence, the guards and knights explaining things, and the lack of warning bell would stop people from panicking too much.

The Druids, around twenty of them, filed into the courtyard through the main gates a few moments after Kilgharrah made his graceful landing and Aithusa made her... landing. Arthur held his breath, trying not to look as if he were glaring as he squinted at all the faces in the crowd, trying to find his Warlocks; it took Gwaine muttering “Holy shit...” and Leon giving him a subtle punch on the arm and nodding at Kilgharrah for him to finally see two figures sliding from The Great Dragon’s back.

Arthur clenched his jaw and squared his shoulders, plastering on a fake smile as the two figures, Merlin and Mordred, and one of the older Druids approached him on the steps. Aithusa seemed distracted, staring around in wonder at the great walls and turrets of the castle, though Kilgharrah sat regally, primly, giving Arthur a look of sufficiently snobby disinterest.

Merlin, dressed in blues and whites with a delicate crown of silver vines and leaves resting on his hair, approached Arthur with his head held high, and Arthur bowed slightly in respect:

“Lord Emrys, Sir Mordred, we welcome you back.”

If his voice shakes at the formal way he forces himself to speak to them, no one says anything, Merlin simply bows his head in return and turns to introduce the elder:

“This is Iseldir, the leader from Mordred’s former camp, you’ve met briefly.”

Arthur gives them a wide faux smile and nods, before gesturing to the citadel doors behind him, giving a questioning glance to the Dragons and remaining Druids. Merlin walks up the steps to greet Lancelot and Gaius, but Mordred spies Arthur’s confused look and speaks lowly, his voice calm and detached:

“Kilgharrah and Aithusa will fly back out and settle in a clearing just beyond the city, the Druids have a camp just next to it that they will be returning to, they’re only really here for the welcome.”

The King nods, shooting a mournful, but grateful smile to the younger man; Mordred returns the smile weakly, and Arthur has never been more grateful for such a tiny twitch of someone’s mouth before.

The official introductions were a little awkward, but thankfully, forcing himself through awkward political small talk was something that Arthur was somewhat a pro at, and within an hour of everyone’s dramatic entrance, the bulk of the Druids were moving back through the city towards their camp, and Iseldir was being shown to his room in the castle.

The only ones to remain in the throne room were the gang, including Gaius. Lancelot still has a mildly smug expression on his face, as does Mordred, but Merlin remains blank in the face of everyone else’s moroseness. It’s Leon that breaks the silence first, resisting the desperate urge to pull Merlin into a tight hug:

“I’ve no clue if you even want to hear this again but... we’re sorry Merlin, Mordred, we’re glad to see you back, and we... we hope you stay.”

Mordred remains still, but Merlin raises a scathing eyebrow before rolling his eyes and smiling fondly. He wraps his arms around the anxious knight’s middle, and huffs a laugh at the way the other man falls into the hug without reservation:

“We forgive you, you big blonde idiot. We just refused to make hypocrites out of you, we weren’t about to step foot back into Camelot until it was no longer illegal for us to exist.-”

Merlin pulls back, but leans into the strong grip Leon keeps on his shoulders, looking around at the relieved faces of everyone else:

“-We were angry, and we had every right to be,-”

Merlin chuckles and Mordred hides a snort behind his hand when they all vigorously nod:

“-but you’ve... started the road to fixing it. Thank you.”

Everyone stops holding back, and the two Warlocks are pulled into hug after hug, each seemingly tighter than the next. Morgana is the last to hug Merlin, and she does so with tears in her eyes and trembling hands:

“I’m so sorry, Merlin. Would... would you teach me? I’ve never felt power like yours.”

Merlin chuckles as he runs a soft hand over her spine, gratified to feel her relax in his embrace:

“I would love nothing more. From what Lance says, you’re already well on your way to becoming pretty powerful yourself.”

Morgana pulls back with a blush and Merlin raises an eyebrow at her shy humility, smiling widely at her eagerness to learn. Though honestly? It’s Arthur’s proud grin that makes Merlin happiest. 

Arthur Pendragon, proud and excited for magic; who’d have thought?

~

THE END!!

I hope y’all liked this!!! I really struggled finishing it off but I’ve finally got there :D

Next, there’ll be a Fae!Merlin piece that isn’t on my prompt list, then it’ll be back to The List!!

[dendrite-blues]

For a relatively short exchange, this scene is jam packed with characterization for Loki. 

It’s also our first reliable look into what Loki was like before Thor 1. Not as described by others, but first hand and from his own mouth. I think that deserves a closer look, to see what we can learn about Loki and how he thinks.

This scene is significant because it tells us what Loki’s personality is like when he’s not running for his life. It tells us who he was before his trauma and what his core beliefs are underneath those layers of humor and bravado.

Better yet, since he’s alone we can assume that every line in this scene is presumably true, or at least Loki believes it to be true since he has no audience but himself. 

The dialogue centers mostly around the statement “You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.” I’m not going to focus too much on the “alone” motif since I already dedicated an entire meta post to it.

What I think is more interesting about this scene is actually the looping, and the stages Loki goes through in trying to deal with it. There’s a lot of really interesting character traits on display in that progression.

Loop 1: A Warm Bath and Glass of Wine

The first loop entails Sif lecturing Loki about cutting her hair, kicking him in the balls, and storming away. Loki kneels on the floor and he gives us this great line:

“A bad memory prison? How quaint. Some punishment. I remember exactly what I did after that. I went and had a nice, hot bath and a glass of wine, and I never thought about it again. Because it was just a bit of fun.”

So we can take this to be Loki’s default reaction to pain and criticism. When put into an unexpected conflict without any forethought or outside influence, this is what he says/does.

1) Downplay the damage/threat. How quaint. 2) Dispel/soothe the emotion. Nice hot bath. 3) Minimize the impact. Never thought about it again. 4) Deflect responsibility. Just a bit of fun.

Keep those in mind as we move forward, since we’ll be using them to make sense of what else Loki says in this scene.

Loops 2 and 3: Okay, Sif, Hang On

This bit is about Loki realizing just how bad his predicament is.

L: Okay. Okay, Sif. Hang on. S: No, you hear this. You deserve to be alone... And I always will be. L: Alright, I get it. Listen. You are a reconstruction of a past event created by the organization that controls all of time. So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah? S: Pathetic. (she kicks him again) L: (winces and groans)

As we all would expect from him, Loki’s first impulse is to try and talk his way out of it. What he says to achieve that goal is pretty revealing though. Because he doesn’t try to ease Sif’s upset by apologizing or explaining or offering to magic her hair back. 

Any of these would have been more likely to save his nads in the given circumstance, right? The present threat is Sif, and she’s mad about what Loki did to her hair. But Loki doesn’t really see that. Rather, he treats her as a means to an end.

“So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah?”

To me, that choice reveals something of a blind spot Loki has to the feelings of others. Even if he doesn’t actively like hurting people, he does prioritize their problems below his, and quite shamelessly. And at least on his first impulse, he doesn’t seem to feel much remorse or empathy for them.

Usually in fanon we attribute this callousness to his trauma. He’s learned that no one can be trusted and no one cares, and so he doesn’t allow himself to care for others. 

But between his Loop 1 sentiment of “It was just a bit of fun” for an event which caused real hurt to Sif, and his Loop 2/3 behavior of “you, stop being mad and help ME” I think it’s reasonable to say that selfishness/low empathy are traits Loki possessed pre-trauma.

Loop 4-????: Happens Off Screen

It’s unclear how many times Loki loops while the camera is following Mobius, but the implication is clear that it was been many, many repetitions. Somewhere in this his denial and deflection must break, because we come back to a much humbler, more pleading Loki.

The Final Loop: I Crave Attention

S: You conniving, craven... L: Sif. Sif. S: ...pathetic worm. L: Please, please, no more. Please, I beg you. I'm a horrible person. I get it. I really am. I cut off your hair because I thought it'd be funny. And it's not. Uh... I crave attention... because I'm... a narcissist. And I suppose it's... It's because I'm scared of being alone.

HOOO BOY, so this is quite a tough bit to analyze. There’s a lot of interpretations you could make, and a lot of topics to delve into. For the sake of focus, I’m going to ignore the narcissism question. That one really needs an entire post, and I want to focus on something else here.

That being, Loki’s way of processing conflict/punishment.

I’ve always found it strange how Loki takes such pride in being called a liar and cheat when he simultaneously has this chip on his shoulder about how nobody likes him. 

Those two traits don’t seem to play well together, and I always scratched my head over how they coexist in his character. If he wants people to be nicer to him, maybe he should stop antagonizing them? Yeah?

Well, here we’re finally given a clear reason. Loki craves attention, he hates being alone. So how does he avoid it? Pranks and mischief. 

Fair enough.

But then, if all his pranks lead to this outcome--outrage, retaliation, insult--why doesn’t he ever learn? How is it that after 1000 years of this behavior, he hasn’t found a better way to get the attention he craves? 

Loop 1: Downplay, dispel, minimize, deflect. He accepts zero accountability for the impact of his actions, and doesn’t think at all about how they affect other people. Just a bit of fun. I had a hot bath and a glass of wine, and never thought about it again. 

The only reason he reaches the level of self awareness on display in the Final Loop is because the looping forces him to contemplate his actions and the impulses within him that lead to that behavior.

This is projection on my part, but to me he acts as though this kind of deep reflection is a new thing for him. He sounds like someone sharing a revelation that he’s just had about himself. We’re being shown that Loki is a man of action. He will always move forward if he can, possibly because looking back to so painful that he can’t bring himself to do it.

Circling back around to the pride Loki has for his knavery, let’s suppose that he’s been on this negative reinforcement cycle since childhood. He’s always acted out to get attention, then received retaliation and insults for it, and then pushed the bad feelings out of his mind with creature comforts and mental gymnastics.

What happens over time, when you’re being constantly told that you’re a pain in the ass and no one likes you? Most of us would take it to heart, but Loki doesn’t. He has a big ego, big enough to resist that constant barrage of hate coming at him.

So how does he marry these two conflicting realities? 

He turns it into an identity, the God of Mischief. 

In his head, Loki excuses himself of blame by shifting the culpability to his moniker. It’s not that he’s immature and petty, he’s just a “trickster.” It’s in his nature to cause trouble, so he can’t help it. You wouldn’t dangle a steak in front of a tiger and blame the tiger for striking, would you? And if other people can’t take a “joke” then that’s not his fault, that’s on them for not having a sense of humor. It was just a bit of fun.

Here we see the union of these two halves of Loki, the lonely ice runt and the mischievous scamp. (And a little bit of the original Loki who Thor accused of being incapable of growth!) 

By refusing to think about others, and excusing himself from responsibility, Loki successfully preserves his self worth and insulates himself to most of the negative emotions he experiences.

Pain, embarrassment, and grief aren’t pointless emotions though. They are vital feelings that serve to regulate our behavior, and that push us to conform to the ways of our social circles. Without them, we annoy and upset others. Be annoying for long enough and you will eventually find yourself, well, alone. As Loki is.

Thus “Mischief” is a self-defeating loop, and Loki is just as caught in it as the cell Mobius trapped him in.

In order to be free of both traps, Loki has to stop running. He has to take a deeper look at himself and realize how much he is getting in his own way. The entire scene is one big parallel between these two “loops.” Pretty neat, huh?

Sadly these kinds of thought loops are really difficult to break, they’re buried so deeply in our personalities and habits that we usually don’t notice them until life forces us to address them.

The cell is Loki’s wake up call, and thankfully he does seem to rise to the occasion. He tells Sif quite clearly what his problem is, and he does it with beautiful, painful honesty.

Which is why it’s so fucking awesome for Mobius to acknowledge that, and to finally give Loki a taste of positive attention. 

You don’t deserve to be alone. I believe you can be anything, even something good. Whatever you two did, it was powerful enough to bring this whole place down.

It’s a beautiful scene. Well written, meticulously acted. The clarity of vision in the pacing and shot selection, it’s really something special.