#and she died alone (yet not alone) after sacrificing herself so her friends could get free

[gumy-shark]

i think the dnd character i played for a halloween oneshot a few weeks ago is one of my favorite characters ive made recently. and her name was fucking paige

[velvet-vox]

The russian worker drones family; murder drone's greatest small scale tragedy.

As long as I can recall there has never been in my mind a story quite as painful and heartbreaking and yet quite as engaging as the tragedy of Doll, Yeva, and her husband, who's lack of a clear name doesn't detract from the impact of this story or the death of the other two.

The last time such an emotional impact was left in my brain was with Noximilliem Coxen the Watchmaker from Wakfu, who I will assuredly make a comparison post with Doll, as they both hit extremely similar themes and ideas while still having such different execution and story beats that it almost makes you question why would you even compare them in the first place.

Tragedy is deceptively hard to write right and make meaningful, as just crippling your characters won't do, because at that point it just becomes drama porn and as boring as a low effort pre-schoolers program. Seemingly unfeasible in a show such as Murder Drones; an horror/comedy/romance where an abused child repaired and made friends with a robot only for said robot to cause the destruction of her planet and... something else.

Buckle up cause these robots emotions might not even be considered real inside the fictional setting but our pain allows what would otherwise be a pretty standard horror scenario to transcend into the bane of my existence as we take a look at the small, inconsequential tale of the russian worker drones family.

Yeva

Starting off with Yeva as the oldest member of our family in terms of chronological relevance, we get our first peek into the way this story plays out due to Yeva being seemingly mute by choice or programming, which retroactively sets up the storytelling method used; Yeva doesn't speak a single word in this scene or the one that precedes it, but we still get a clear rendition of her character by her standoffish behaviour juxtaposed with her caring and nurturing nature, it's debatable whether or not her and Nori are sisters, but you wouldn't be blamed for thinking that judging by the way Yeva tends to Nori after the banishment of the solver, being chained up and experimented upon didn't stop her from staying positive in the midst of adversity and could theoretically be the reason why she was the only correctly patched drone in the facility.

During the V attack she sacrificed her own life in order to protect Doll. An act that, in the long run, ended up being whortless, but that cemented Yeva has an unyielding positive influence in a world stormed by negativity and death.

The father

We know jack s##t about this man but that won't stop us from analysing him. The most interesting things about him are his relationship with Yeva and the fact that the picture of V seen in episode 2 was made by him. He's, admittedly, a white canvas for head cannons, but thematically he keeps a recurring motif that this post will touch upon in his final entry:

Doll

And now, for the crown jewel of this family. The protagonist's dark reflection. Not many people can claim to have been messed up as hard as Doll was. Sure, death is still death, but with it comes a certain sense of finality and rest. Instead, by contrast Doll's death is so brutal and devastating because although it's something that she has been calling upon herself since she started to consume other drones for her goals, it's just so heartbreaking because she managed to achieve absolutely nothing despite being one step forward everyone else in the story; she never got better, never reademned herself, made their parents sacrifice worthless, died almost entirely off camera completely alone and scared, and as her last compensation act she managed to give Uzi a barely useful warning before having her probably still alive consciousness eaten by an eldritch atrocity. At the end of the day, she was deemed worthless by the main antagonist and quickly brushed aside.

And we go back to a certain reoccurring theme regarding this family: Yeva never speaks. Her husband is never given a name. Doll is literally a toy name. Their story plays out in the shadow of the main plot. Every single aspect regarding them paints their existence as worthless and inconsequential (classic eldritch horror), yet are given enough spotlight to leave an impact on us, to have their presence felt, and to give us the impression that, despite their bad luck, if they only took certain decisions in certain key moments, maybe they would have survived and received a much better ending than the one they got.

[ashikarin]

Honkai's retconning of Self-Sacrifice

Can we talk about something that's been bothering me?

It's the complete retcon of Mei's character - and by proxy Kiana's - and the overturning of nearly all the buildup to this current arc.

When Kiamei find out that they can beat the Honkai by taking the power of Finality, but that it comes at the cost of one of them becoming the HoFi, why are they completely okay with that? There isn't a single protest from Mei when Kiana - unprompted, by the way - says that she's okay with it, and that she has resigned herself to her fate as the HoFi. And that's so disappointing.

The entire plot up to this point, if you think about it, really hinges on one thing. Himeko's sacrifice. Or, at the very least, everything from Diane's Sojourn (Ch. XI-1) to Thunders over Nagazora (Ch. XVII). That's a good solid chunk of the plot.

Kiana only goes to Arc City because of her guilt. Fu Hua had to stop her from putting a bullet through her skull because of that guilt, and even though Himeko's sacrifice is the catalyst for Kiana's eventual character growth and development (that was completely destroyed by the recent story), it has never been a good thing!

Mei only joins World Serpent because ultimately, she fails to show Kiana that there are other people who care about her and want the best for her. She only goes down this path of self-hatred and darkness and destruction because she couldn't save both the world and Kiana, and she chose Kiana over the world in the end.

"Kiana, you're always like this. Even when you're battered, you still force a smile. You saved me. You saved us all. Yet you shoulder everything alone, at the cost of your life."

Remember this line? Mei was so against Kiana's "mission" of self-sacrifice and attempt to atone for Himeko's death with her own life that she beat Kiana until she had to resort to her Herrscher form. She was absolutely serious about stopping her! You know, Ms.

"You're the most important person in my life. If rescuing you is a sin, I'll gladly become a sinner."

But I suppose that's been retconned now that Mei is "completely like Elysia." Which brings me to another topic. Mei's character building after meeting Elysia.

I'm not saying the destruction of the ER was a bad move - it was a completely fine plot point. But why, when Mei is said to care about Elysia so much, is she okay with how Elysia died? Why is she so positive about her experience in the ER and EE when she watched thirteen of her friends, who meant literally everything to her when she was there, die painfully and almost for nothing in front of her? She was absolutely devastated when Pardo died in her arms, and yet she's completely okay with it now?

The whole point of the ER and EE stories, to me, was that cold logic and keeping to oneself is what made the PE fail. The ER was never meant to be a hall for achievements and happiness. It was a place where the successors could learn where their predecessors failed! It was literally a collection of souls who were so fragmented in life and so cut off from each other that even though they were the "13 Flamechasers", they couldn't work together to muster a single attack against Finality. THEY'RE NOT MEANT TO BE ROLE MODELS.

And Elysia's story was never about "being happy all the time", it was about how she was so loving and determined that she literally changed fate. She wasn't a perfect being from the get go. And neither should Mei be, now.

Finally, Even Kiana's willingness to be self-sacrificial and turn into the HoFi is absolutely insane to me. She punched a hole in space and time to get Fu Hua back.

"Why is it always like this? Trading sacrifices for so-called victories. It's unacceptable. Give Fu Hua back to me!"

So in the end, this meant nothing, too? All the lessons the girls learned about relying on each other and not sacrificing one for the other, and Kiamei's entire arc from Thunders over Nagazora to them reuniting on the Moon Base? And for what?

The Power of Friendship? Ely/Mei parallels? Kiana HoFi? It's just all so badly done that it's almost laughable.

(big thanks goes to my babu @rainmarginals for ranting with me,,)

[what-even-is-thiss]

super rough draft of thing

Thetis was allowed to set the conditions. She was as strong as the tides and as slippery as her father, so the solution to deter as many mortal men as possible seemed obvious. 

“He’ll have to pin me in a wrestling match.” she said.

“One of them will find a way.” Proteus warned her. 

“Don’t be stupid, old man.” she said. “I’m stronger than you.”

“You also know less about mortals than I do.” he said. “When they’re determined, they’re determined.”

He spoke in the cryptic way that those with forms of sight always spoke. With her father it was knowledge of the past and present, remembered like it was his own memory, but memory can fail from time to time, so he spoke as carefully as an oracle. She’d learned by now to not demand information out of him. He didn’t know her inner determination. Her hatred of weakness. Her anger born from the depths of the ocean with the skeletal remains and living forms of the deadliest fish. No mortal could be strong enough for her.

Men came anyways. Some were sent by the olympians or recommended to her by her sisters. Some heard the rumors from the men who failed. Once or twice a woman attempted it. They found just as much bad luck, burns, sheer cold, and near-drownings as the men did. One or two men died in the attempt. Most just gave up. There were mortal women almost as beautiful as her, much easier to wrestle to the ground.

Nymphs and minor gods were notified throughout Greece. Find a mortal man who is good enough for Thetis. A strong man, a powerful man, a pious man, a man that can quench the anger of the ocean. A man worthy of fathering a great hero.

…..

The huntress Atalanta was making new arrows, sitting in her hunting clothes behind her husband's house, linen sheets wrapped tightly around herself as she smoothed out the shafts in preparation of attaching them to the arrowheads.

The sun shone down on her from his chariot, warming her skin lazily in the summer heat. She wondered if her husband would join her on the hunt tomorrow.

“Hey”

She jumped and instinctively pointed the stick she was sharpening in the direction of the voice.

A woman. Hair tied up in green knots, general glow about her. Definitely a nymph.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” the nymph warned.

“What did I do now?” Atalanta asked. “Can’t you people leave well enough alone?”

“I know what you mean.” the nymph said, “But I have a message from Zeus.”

Atalanta instinctively wanted to cover her body at that name. Most women involved with the gods did.

“Not like that. He’s looking for a mortal husband for Thetis. You’ve met her?”

“Maybe once.”

“She’ll only marry a man who can wrestle her to the ground. Hopefully one that she’ll get along with.  Do you know a man like that, by any chance?”

“A man worthy of a goddess? I wouldn’t say there’s a lot of those.”

“Well if you don’t know…”

“No, wait. There might be one.”

…..

Peleus was happy to see her again. He ordered his cooks to make as big of a feast as they could manage with the current supplies. He asked Atalanta if she wanted to hunt the meat for tonight herself or if she would be happy with the sacrificed cow later.

She hadn’t seen him since they had abandoned the Argo. He hadn’t met Hippomenes yet. The two of them got along immediately. They were both favored by the gods, begrudgingly. They had both been bested by Atalanta and had their worldviews shifted because of it. They let her in on the conversation, treating her the same as a man.

So Peleus hadn’t forgotten then. Bare minimum test passed. She allowed herself to dance with her husband and laugh with her friend. So you got yourself a kingship after all? So you finally caved in and fell for a man? Well yeah long story. You should’ve seen her face when I dropped those apples. I almost killed him but he got out of my way.

Eventually she had to break the comfortable fog of old friends catching up. She waited until after the sacrifice and the burning of fat and bones, the roasting of the meat. Atalanta witnessed a gentle mist lift up from the fire. The gods were listening.

In the sleepy wine-filled depths of the night, she knelt before her old crewmate’s chair, hands on his knees.

“Peleus, I need to be honest about why I came. I’ve been sent here by the gods, possibly with a blessing, if you can earn it.”

Hippomenes sat silently at the window, staring out at the ocean. Peleus sighed. They all knew the curse of being blessed. He gently touched his old friend’s hand.

“Tell me.”

“Have you gotten any better at wrestling?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, the goddess Thetis is to be betrothed to a mortal man. The nymphs asked me who could be worthy of such a thing.”

“Me?” he asked.

“Maybe.” she answered. “First you need to catch her.”

…..

Atalanta had beaten Peleus in a wrestling match a long, long time ago when both of them had joined the hero Jason on his quest for the golden fleece. Now they were both more mature, a bit slower and more careful in their judgment, and Peleus knew now that he hadn’t been weak when he lost to her. Nobody could realistically beat a woman raised by bears. By many estimations the strongest mortal woman alive. But was she harder to beat than a goddess?

“She’ll be relying on the same strategy as Proteus.” Atalanta had warned him. “She’s strong, but she’ll be shapeshifting. Determination is more important than brute strength when hunting a god. They don’t know any technique. Their hubris is even bigger than ours.”

She showed him how to sneak so quietly that even a goddess couldn’t hear him. 

“Just don’t let go.” he told himself silently. “Don’t let go.”

He saw through the mortal mist into the rocks. She was disguised as a normal woman, hair all curly and black, white and yellow chiton blown about her body by the sea wind. And she was simultaneously unremarkable, terrible, and beautiful beyond measure. Knowing who she was, he could feel her cold deep anger from here, or maybe that was just the bone-deep terror choking him from the inside out.

Atalanta and Hippomenes watched from the palace walls, but only her eyes were sharp enough to pick out the details of what was happening. Hippomenes gently held his wife from behind, more for his own comfort than anything else.

“How do you know it’s her?” he asked.

Atalanta placed one hand over his hand, over her own stomach. 

“The nymphs say so.”

Thetis had been told to wait on different shores, at least sometimes. For a bit. In a pseudo-mortal form, the universe above the sky seemed even more infinite than it normally did. She wondered how long the olympians would keep up this charade. She wondered if it was too late to become a virgin goddess. No. She had never wanted that. Despite herself, despite her anger, despite feeling the safest among her sisters, despite her interest in governing, she had always seen her future self as a mother by a man. But why a mortal man?

Her question was soon to be answered as arms found her arms and began to pull her down.

Somehow her senses had failed her. She hadn’t heard him coming. Not even a smell. Panicked, she turned into an eagle and tried to fly away, but he still held her close, her wings unable to fly. Then she became a beetle but he kept her in his palm, then a shark, sharp scales cutting up his face, then a fire, burning his hands calloused from holding a spear, then a cat, a giantess, a pile of salt, a chariot, a mermaid, a rock, a sword, a poisonous snake, an eel, a gorgon, a goat.

And on and on she changed for hours, trying to stab him, freeze him, burn him, eventually reverting to her true form, giant, cold, force of nature. The unseen mortal man averted his eyes the moment he felt the brain-rearranging form of a goddess assault his eyes, but still he held on.

Eventually in her struggling she caught sight of his bloodied face, curiously red, curiously charming, and she returned to her pseudo-mortal form, layed in his embrace, and placed one hand on his beard while another wiped the curiously red ooze away from his eyes.

She coated her hand in the red substance and showed it to him.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Blood, my lady.” Peleus answered.

“Call me Thetis.”

[in-my-feels-probably]

hi! can you do an alden x reader relating to the whisperers? i give you creative liberty for the rest! thank you if you do it 🤍

Together

Request: hi! can you do an alden x reader relating to the whisperers? i give you creative liberty for the rest! thank you if you do it 

Hi! I’m so sorry this took so long to get out, thank you for being patient. Thank you for the request. This is my first time writing for The Walking Dead, and for Alden. Just a forewarning, I haven’t watched the episodes I’m referring to in a long time and the story is a little fuzzy, so I’m sorry if it's a little inaccurate or confusing.

I was a little unsure about what to write about since you gave me creative liberty, but I hope you like the outcome. I don't love the outcome, but I didn’t want to make you wait any longer. If this isn’t what you were looking for, I’m happy to rewrite this, or accept another request. Just let me know, and I hope you enjoy it!

(Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, panic, angst, let me know if i missed anything)

—

The past few day’s events had been exhausting, to say the least. 

Mary, a Whisperer who had turned to your cause, warned your group of Alpha and the Whisperer’s plans to attack. It would result in catastrophe if left unhandled, so the group strategically scattered, planning the best course of action to fight back.

Hilltop had been evacuated a few days before, including Adam, the adoptive son of Tammy and Earl, and Mary’s nephew. Alden left the same day as the children, having other jobs needed for him to attend to. You chose to stay and fight, promising Alden you’d find him when it was all over.

Mary was right. Alpha’s attack hit the group with full force. She had led the horde straight to your gates, setting them on fire. You escaped on foot alone, unable to find anyone before you were forced to leave. There was nothing worth salvaging to return to.

Alden, Mary, and Kelly had met up together at some point, with Alden in custody of Adam, unbeknownst to you. You didn't know, at least until later, that Alden had become the sole caregiver to Adam. Earl was bit trying to protect the kids, and he died, according to Judith. Earl left Adam for Alden to take care of. Mary sacrificed herself to lead a horde of walkers away who had come after her, Alden, Kelly, and Adam. She died a hero, saving their lives. Beta found her, killing her before she could escape. 

With nowhere to go, you went to Alexandria, hoping that was where everyone else had turned to after the dust of the attack had settled. You knew you were right when you made it to the gates, being let in and greeted by a multitude of people. But not the one you were looking for.

You said your hello’s, eventually finding Kelly in the crowd. 

“Kelly! Have you seen Alden?”

She nodded, pointing down the street to the house at the end of the block. “He was with Judith last time I saw him. He didn’t look too good.”

“What do you mean?” You asked in confusion, worry setting in on your face. “Is he hurt?”

“No. Just a little shook up, I think. We had a rough time on the road.”

You listened in horror as she explained what happened in the time since you were separated, and all that happened to Mary. 

You placed a comforting hand on Kelly’s arm, giving it a squeeze. “I’m so sorry you had to see all of that. I’m glad you were with him, thank you for looking out for him.”

She smiled, patting your hand. “It was no trouble. He handled it well.”

She turned to find her friends, but you stopped her, brows furrowed. “Wait, sorry. Why is he with Judith?”

“Michonne isn’t coming back. I think Judith and RJ are going to stay with Daryl for a while, at least until they come up with a plan.”

You felt your heart sink at her words, making a mental note to find Judith and RJ later to make sure they were alright. Kelly continued, only growing the pit that had settled itself in your stomach.

“Judith said Alden and you could stay at the house while she isn’t there, since he’s got nowhere to go yet. I know we’ll all probably have to evacuate here in a few days, but it’s the solution for now, I guess.”

“That’s sweet of her,” you said, smiling at the thought of Judith’s kindness. “So you saw him at the house, then?”

“Yeah. But Y/N, I’d be careful. Earl didn’t make it out there.”

You felt sick to your stomach hearing about the death of Earl, knowing how close he was with Alden.

You brought a hand to your mouth, jaw going slack. “But what about Adam?”

“Judith said Earl told her that he wanted Alden to take Adam. Apparently Earl thought he was the best one for the job. Judith found Alden and told him, and he went into the house. I haven’t seen him come out since.”

You brought your fingers to the bridge of your nose, wincing. “Alright. I better go check on him. Thanks for telling me.”

“Come get me if you need me,” she said, patting your shoulder before turning back to her friends.

You took a deep breath, calming yourself, before hurrying down the street. You didn’t knock, letting yourself in. You tried to ignore the eerie feeling you got stepping through the door, knowing all who lived there were either dead or gone, except for Judith and RJ. 

You went straight for the guest room of the house, knowing it had been converted into a nursery after RJ was born. You pushed open the door, only to find Adam in his crib, and Alden, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. 

You frowned at the sight, stepping in front of him, offering your hands. Your voice was soft. “Alden? Hey, baby.”

Alden looked up at the sound of your voice, quickly grabbing your hands as you helped pull him up, before he threw his arms around your waist. He pulled you tightly into him, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around his neck, gently swaying him back and forth.

“Hard couple of days, huh?”

“Hey,” he murmured into your shoulder, sighing in relief. “God, now I feel like I can finally breathe.”

His voice was small. Cracked. It broke your heart. Adam started to stir in his crib, letting out a wail. Alden visibly flinched, letting out a pained groan. He let you go, heading to pick Adam up, but you grabbed his arm, gently holding him back. 

“Sit down, love,” you said, reaching into the crib. “I’ve got him.”

Alden nodded, backing up to the wall, slowly sliding down it. You placed Adam on your hip, gently bouncing him while you cradled him to you. Alden faintly smiled at the sight, feeling himself ease, if only for a moment.

“You look good with him.”

You tried not to hear the undertones of worry in his voice, knowing he was thinking to himself, how the hell are we supposed to take care of a baby? How can we do it alone? There isn’t even enough time to grieve Earl.

You weakly smiled, softly cooing at Adam, whose cries had ceased. “That’s all him. He’s so cute, I don’t even have to do any work.”

Alden smiled, although it didn’t quite meet his eyes. You sighed, placing Adam back down in his crib, before easing yourself down the wall to sit next to him. You pulled his hand into your lap, intertwining your fingers. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb in circles along the backside of your hand, looking at you with tired eyes.

“We’ll make it work,” you said, trying your best to make the both of you believe it. “It’ll be fine…we’ll be fine.”

Alden nodded, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I know.”

You sat in silence for a moment, relishing in the peace. But you could feel the tension in the room, knowing there were some unsaid words, waiting to be freed. Yet, you couldn’t look him in the eye and ask. 

Instead, you turned your head, letting it rest against his. “I’m sorry about Earl. I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you–”

“It’s not your fault,” he cut you off, squeezing your hand. “You know that.”

“I do. But still,” you nodded, and there was a pause. “Do you want to talk about it? Kelly filled me in a little, but I want you to talk about it, too. You need the release.”

He sighed, moving to press the heels of his palms to his eyes. You stayed quiet, rubbing a comforting hand along his back.

“You know, after Enid…I just shut down. I said some things I shouldn’t have said to Lydia, even though it’s not her fault where she comes from. Lord knows how true that is, considering how we were on opposite sides when we met.”

You flinched at Enid’s name. Neither of you had been able to fully process her death, or truly move on. Your mutual grief is what had brought you together. You both knew Enid would have wanted you to be happy with her gone. It took you both a while to accept that.

“I’m glad you were with the Saviors,” you said, truthfully. “I don’t care what side you were on. We’ve all done shit we’re not proud of. And, you didn’t do Negan’s bidding. But even if you had, it would have been to survive. Lydia did the same. You were hurt, after Enid…Lydia understands that, I promise you.”

His jaw clenched, and he kept his eyes on the floor.

“Still. Maggie changed my life, letting us stay at Hilltop. I would never have met you if it wasn’t for her. And yet, here I was, being a complete dick to Mary. Judging her on where she came from, as if taking a chance on me isn’t what your people did. She just wanted to help. She wanted to see her nephew.”

His voice broke as he spoke, and he stood, violently wiping under his eyes. 

“I fucking hate them. I can’t help it. But Mary…God, I should have done something.”

Your gaze softened on him, and you stood, pulling his hands away from his face. You wiped under his eyes, much more gently than he had been doing, before holding him still by his shoulders. 

“There was nothing you could have done, Alden. Nothing. She made her own choice, and I’ll be grateful to her every day for it.”

Alden shook his head, but you cupped his jaw, holding him still.

“Hey, listen to me. Listen to me. I’m grateful to her, and I’m grateful to Earl. You and Adam came home because of them,” you said, speaking firmly. “And not just you, but Kelly, too. And all those children. They got to come home because of them. Judith came home. That makes their sacrifice worth it, doesn’t it? They didn’t die for nothing.”

You went over to the crib, picking Adam up again. You gently passed him to Alden, making him focus on you both. Alden softened, looking at Adam with teary eyes.

“He was worth it, wasn’t he?”

Alden let out a heavy sigh, nodding. You nodded with him, setting one hand on his arm, resting the other on Adam’s back. 

“I think it was. We’re all alive, we’re all ok. We’re home. I couldn’t ask for much better. It’s gonna be alright, Alden. We’ll make sure of it, and we’ll do it together, alright?”

He nodded again, leaning over to press a kiss on the top of your head. You leaned into his side, and you both took deep breaths, trying to keep yourself calm. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice firm and full of reassurance. 

“Together.”

—

A/N - Hi! Sorry this is a little short. I feel like I could have done better if I came up with something better for the plot, but that’s my bad. Anyways, thank you again for the request. Hopefully this is alright, let me know what you think!

[mondothebombo]

The Ninja’s Love Languages

For anyone who doesn’t know, the five love languages are...

Words of Affirmation

Physical Touch

Quality Time

Gifts

Acts of Service

I had this idea last night at 4 am and i’m gonna try and make sense of it so here we go...

Jay

Physical Touch

-this one’s super easy

-hands down this is 100% jay

-when isn’t this boy clinging onto someone (esp. nya and cole)

-i mean just look (there’s so many more but i got lazy, feel free to add on)

-his first response to comfort/fear is a hug, a hand on shoulder, etc.

-and when you think abt it it makes sense

-cuz first of all just look at his parents, ed and edna

-the most affectionate and loving ppl on this goddam planet

-they showered him w/ undying love and support his whole life, ofc this kid’s gonna turn out the same

-but then if you also tie in his abandonment issues and fear of being alone and it makes even more sense

-we find out abt those mainly in s12 when he talks abt his birth parents to unagami, but looking at what happened to him in s6 when he was alone for so long on the misfortunes keep and nya dying to top it off...

-he lost all his friends not once, but twice (and that’s not including all the separate times the ninja have died) plus he feels like his birth parents abandoned him, w/o him even rlly knowing for sure what happened

-so it makes sense he’d be more comfortable showing his love by clinging onto someone, giving a hug, high-fiveing, etc.

- i hope this made sense i’m so sorry

Nya

Acts of Service

-this also makes sense

-we all know nya is a very independent person, and she doesn’t usually like all the touchy feely stuff

-this is especially shown w her and jay’s relationship

-( i didn’t want to make this all abt jaya i’m sorry)

-we know they both are two very different ppl.

-nya’s strong and independent, while jay is a lot more sensitive

-you’ll notice in the earlier seasons nya almost never initiated the affection w jay, he always the first to mention it, also coupled w the fact that she’s never told jay “i love you” (at least not yet) and we can pin this on her childhood

-she and kai didn’t have it great as kids, they basically raised e/o and the only times nya ever heard “i love you” was from kai

-so if she wasn’t used to saying it growing up, why would she immediately jump to it now that she’s a teenager/young adult? even w someone she does love

-she expresses her love in what she does and says.

-the main example i can think of atm is this

-jay’s freaking out abt catching her for the dance move and with 100% confidence she just says “i trust you” and then fucking yeets herself at him

-there’s other examples of this w the others too

-she builds their mechs and vehicles, back in the earlier seasons she always made sure the boys were taken care of when they got back from missions, she was always the cavalry, she sacrificed herself for jay back in s6 when they were at the lighthouse, and kai mentions she’s always taken care of him

-not to mention how she adopted lloyd back when he first came in

-i could go on

-does this make sense?? i hope it does

Cole

Words of Affirmation

-i had a little more trouble thinking abt cole but now that i’ve decided i’m pretty sure WoA suits him best

-cole didn’t have the best childhood either

-we now know his mom, Lilly, died when he was fairly young, judging by the flashback, i’d estimate around 10-13 y/o

-we know it wasn’t too long before wu found him

-and she showered him in love much like jay was

-just in the flashback she tells him how proud she is of him and how much she loves him

-(also look how quick he was to try and justify why he got in a fight to avoid getting yelled at when his mom mentioned him getting in trouble bc he didn’t want to disappoint her)

-now we don’t know what Lou was like before his wife died, but we know he was definitely not as loving towards cole afterwards

-Lou ignored Cole due to his grief most of the time, coupled w him wanting Cole to follow in his footsteps, and their relationship overall sucks until after the royal blacksmiths ep

-so it all falls the same that Cole would want to keep seeking out the words he got from his mother in his relationships w others (especially authority figures)

-just look at all the times he absolutely lights up when getting praised by wu or even the others

-plus thx to day of the departed, we know he’s afraid of being forgotten

-hearing the others say they love him and want him around would appease that

-staying on this train, we have...

Lloyd

Words of Affirmation

-i was tied between this one and acts of service, but then i decided

-lloyd’s life, esp his childhood, has absolutely sucked

-he was abandoned at a very young age at darklys which we know the other boys there weren’t kind, and then when he finally gets a home and a family, the weight of the world is now on his shoulders bc he’s a prophesied savior

-morro’s possession says enough on its own

-the list goes on

-then we get s8-s10

-harumi goes and absolutely destroys his trust in everyone and everything

-(after she told him she loved him)

-but also...

- then boom. yeeted through a wall

-he’s been abandoned, rejected, and used his whole life

-why wouldn’t this kid need words of affirmation??

-the other ninja have been the one staple in his entire life, and after everything he’s gone through, he definitely needs to hear that they love him and want him around every now and then

-this kid’s also emotional (who can blame him)

-he always puts all his cards on the table, more so in s11 and onward

-and we’ve seen how he always gives encouraging words to the others, mainly while they’re fighting

Zane

Quality Time

-i had trouble w zane’s too lol

-but i think this fits

-this nindroid is the purest being ever

-don’t get me wrong, zane can definitely be a smart ass and sassy when he wants to, he’s not all innocent, but u catch my drift

-let’s look at his past too

-he was all alone and by himself, he didn’t even know who he was until he found his true potential

-and he gets a family, ppl who live and care abt him

-then he sacrifices himself and dies

-when he was imprisoned on chen’s island, he was alone

-then decoded happens and we find out he’s got intense trauma from that

-he thought he was alone in his internal battle

-then boom

-he’s the fucking ice emperor. alone for decades, committing genocide

-and when he finally snapped out of it, that had to of destroyed him

-he’s spent so much time being alone and facing so much trauma, that he always gravitates towards being in groups

-we’ve seen him and pixal spend time working together in the workshop, he enjoys family meals and cooking for everyone, he’s been shown to not like it when the others occasionally fight, and an overall loving guy

-he prbly doesn’t realize it, but he’s the glue that holds everyone together

-this one was so jumbled

and last but not least...

Kai

Gifts

-now not only does this fit his personality, it also makes sense with his bad childhood

-we all know kai is a very cocky and prideful person. he’s always showing off, flaunting his good looks, and can be sometimes arrogant

-ofc under all that is a very kind and loving big brother and friend

-but bc of this he’d not only love getting gifts from fans and the others, but giving them as well

-kai, like nya, didn’t have a good childhood

-he’s not an emotional person and he was never used to saying “i love you,” instead he had to take care of his sister while trying to run a business

-his way of showing love is giving things for his family

-there’re aren’t many instances of this in the show, but the gift giving doesn’t necessarily have to be smthg physical

-he’s sacrificed himself for the others on several accounts, he offers advice when needed, giving pep talks, helping raise lloyd, he even helped jay propose to nya, those things can be considered as gifts too

(again i’m sorry if any of this isn’t coherent i just had some thoughts. pls feel free to add on if i missed smthg)

The point of this is that these kids love each other and have different ways of showing it💙💜🧡💚🤍❤️

[liltaz-asatreat]

oooh i know you briefly mentioned this a few days ago (i think? time is fake and also soupy) but i would really like to hear about the whole Julia and Leon dynamic going on in the julia survives raven's roost au!!!

Okay, so in the inception of the idea of Julia and Leon being friends, I, at first, wanted to make a character sheet for Julia, so the dice can help me tell the story a little bit like they would in a real dnd campaign, and it got me thinking about what class I should make her. And I figured I could just make her a fighter because that's probably what her class would most likely be considering her background of a craftsman's daughter and helping with a revolution. Magnus probably taught her how to use weapons if she didn't know already. But I was like, I don't want her to be basically Magnus 2.0 and just being a fighter alone didn't really seem the way to go, and I thought she might be more interested in crafting, so the obvious solution was artificing. I don't think she would have learned artificing at Raven's Roost though because Steven wasn't an artificer, and I don't think she would have felt the need to learn anything about magic in the past. But I got really hooked on the artificer idea, so I figured I could have her multiclass, and to do that, she would have to train under someone (Leon), but that would need an inciting incident. Also, she would need a 13 in intelligence to multiclass, and I gave her basically Magnus' starting stats except I switched the Charisma and Intelligence scores, so that it would only take two times of getting more stat points to get rid of her negative in Wisdom and get her up to the 13 in Intelligence which so happens to happen at 6th level for Fighters. Lining up perfectly with Petals to the Metal. And what happens in Petals to the Metal? They meet Sloane and Hurley and learn Sloane is a good person who just got taken over by the sash to the point where (presumably) they both died as a result of that fiasco. Perfect jumping off point to get her interested in learning more about how artifacts are made, and, well, I'll put what I have written for that scene under the cut :)

(Also background info, I kept the concept that only the people who made the Relics would be able to actually resist them, so Julia is also somewhat looking for a way to keep herself better resistant to them in any way that she can without staying like, a hundred feet away from them and clenching Magnus' hand when they collect them. Also also, I'm having fun imagining the scene directly after they come back from Wonderland because I want Leon to be there for her too as part of the welcoming party, and I don't have a solid vision yet of what that's going to look like, but basically I'm going to make them best friends :) )

The Reclaimers' last mission left Julia more shaken than she was when she, Magnus, and the other boys first encountered the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet. It's been a little over a week since they recovered the Gaia Sash, and in that time, she did a lot of reflecting on the events that transpired. The way the Sash completely took Sloane over and the sheer, hopeless power it had when it did was terrifying. There was no way they were going to win that fight without Hurley sacrificing herself in doing... whatever she did. It's still not clear to Julia what had happened when Hurley rushed in, but it still left her dying in Sloane's arms all the same. It's too much, Julia can't let that happen again. She refuses.

But what if when they go to collect the other Relics, they will also be actively being wielded by other people? And Taako, who up until now was able to resist the thrall they had, even he almost put on the Gaia Sash. What if that happens again? What if they all succumb to the next one? Or the one after that? Or the last one they have to collect? What then?

Julia needs answers. She needs to know how the Relics work, and maybe in knowing that, she'll be able to figure out a way to work around them. It hasn't happened yet with the people who have already been studying them, but maybe a fresh set of eyes will do the trick?

Unfortunately, because of the nature of the history of the Relics, there isn't much information on them that she doesn't already know, so that's a dead end. But they're magic items, and they had to be crafted as such like any other magic item, right? And she does know an artificer she can turn to for help. The only question is whether her little group has annoyed him enough that he will be too reluctant to help her out.

It's early afternoon when Julia decides to make the trip. Magnus and the other boys are off somewhere, Julia didn't pay particular attention to where Magnus said they were going, so she's got a fairly large window of time to herself before they come back for a group dinner. As she reaches the door to Leon's workshop, she pauses with her hand on the door handle and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. She opens the door and steps through, and Leon looks up from his desk. As soon as he sees her, his expression turns sour.

“Gods, why? It's been a week! You can't have gone on another mission already! Where's your husband? Where's your friends?” Leon stands up from his chair and rounds the corner of his desk to meet her.

Julia winces and puts her hands up placatingly. “It's just me this time, Leon. Um, I don't have any more gashapon tokens. I actually came here to talk to you.”

Leon eyes her suspiciously with his arms crossed. “It's not to antagonize me, is it?”

Julia laughs nervously. “Uh, no. I um... I was actually wondering–” She takes a deep breath. “– I was wondering if you could teach me about artificing?”

Leon looks taken aback. “You want me to– okay. What uh– what exactly is it that you want to know? Artificing is a very broad subject, so you're going to have to be more specific.”

Julia taps her pointer fingers together nervously. “Well, I suppose I– I want to know how magic items work. Like, how are they made and what properties are they supposed to have. And I guess from there, how they could be made to be more powerful and corrupted.”

Leon looks at her sympathetically and uncrosses his arms. “You want to know how something like the Grand Relics could have been made?”

Julia nods. “I... I want to know how we can fight them smarter,” she says quietly. “The last mission... It was hard, and I'm afraid it's only going to get harder, and I need to know how we can avoid more casualties.”

Leon sighs before walking to the other side of the room. He pulls out a chair by the wall and carries it to the front of his desk before gesturing for her to sit and taking a seat himself behind the desk. Julia sits down and bounces her leg up and down nervously. Leon clasps his hands together and set them on the table. “The way making magic items works– well, there are two ways. There's the less permanent way where you can infuse mundane objects with magic to give them a magical property or the ability to cast a spell, and that can easily be changed or taken away again. The other way, the way the Relics and a lot of the items you'll find in the Gashapon Machine or at Fantasy Costco are made, ispermanent. To make something like that, you would need to gather specific materials capable of resonating more deeply with the magic you want to bake into it to make the items from scratch, and it's in the process of making the items that you would imbue magic into it.”

Julia furrows an eyebrow and slips the Alchemist's Ring from her middle finger. “You mean like this Alchemist's Ring had magic imbued in it as the ring itself was being made?”

Leon nods. “Exactly. And the more powerful the item is, the more care in picking the right materials and making it needs to go into it or else it could go horribly wrong. Because of the amount of magic items there are in the world, even though most of them are comparatively weak, people tend to think artificing is an easy area to get into, but artificing can be dangerous, and if it's not done to an exact science, at best, the thing you're making won't work, at worst, it could hurt or even kill the people who made it or use it.”

Julia's mouth goes dry as she slips the ring back on her finger and rests her hands on the table. “Do you think that's what happened to the Relics? The Red Robes tried to make things that were way to powerful without being careful enough, and now they're world ending weapons that take over their wielder?”

Leon's face goes a bit grim. “As much as I would love to think that the Relics were an accident, I don't think I can fully get behind that theory. The– The Relics...” He shakes his head. “Maybe I'm biased because all I've seen them do is destroy, but the Relics' powers seem like they were made with purpose without caring for the collateral damage they would cause. I can see the gauntlet being an accident if all they wanted to do was make a somewhat standard weapon, but the others we've collected so far– the Oculus with the power to create anything and the Gaia Sash with the power to control all of nature– their powers are so broad over the domains they were created for, it could only have been done with the purpose of giving them that much power. Power for power's sake, if you will. And the fact that they not only have that much power, but they actively seek to overtake the will of anyone who comes near them, that can only be done with a precise science behind that. And if this is how they are as a product of precision, I'd shudder to think of what would have happened if they were made incorrectly.”

Julia shivers at the grave tone Leon adopted for his last sentence. She can't imagine what could be worse than the Relics as they are now. “I just can't fathom why someone would make things like that on purpose. I get experimenting around and trying new things, but if they made them specifically to be used by whoever comes across them... it just doesn't make sense, Leon.”

Leon pats her hand and gives her a small smile. “I don't think it's supposed to make sense to people like us. If it did, we probably wouldn't be here trying to do our part to save the world.”

Julia sighs. “I suppose you're right.” She bites her lip and jiggles her leg again. “There's got to be a better way of trying to combat them when me and the boys go to collect them though at least, right? The Director said they're all made for different specific schools of magic, so is there a way to create something that might dampen it a little or do anything to help us if we have to fight someone who's under its thrall again?”

Leon tilts his head in thought for a second. “I'm not too sure of something that could be made to dampen the effects of the Relic's power directly, but...” He pauses to think some more. “To take over someone's will, that falls under enchantment magic, so all of them must have that baked into them as well. I don't think I can make something quite strong enough to cancel out the thrall completely, the Relics are just too powerful, but since you and the boys are already somewhat resistant to their power for what ever reason, I think I might be able to make something that can dampen enchantment magic in general. That should make it easier to collect them without you all losing your heads.”

Julia smiles with relief. If something like that is possible to make and he can make multiple of them, that could give her room to breathe and the others fuller immunity. That would be a dream come true for her. “Thank you, Leon!”

He tilts his in a slight nod and smiles. Then he frowns. “Oh, shoot. I forgot that we can't give each other magic items.”

Julia's heart sinks. “I'm sure the Director won't mind if it's for something like this, right?”

“I suppose.” Leon looks contemplative again. Then his eyes brighten, and he snaps. “Right! I can't give you magic items, but if you were to create it with my help– that is, if you want to learn artificing?”

Julia perks up at that. “Uh, yes? That would be amazing!”

“Great! I can start you off with learning the basics, just making simple stuff, and we can work our way up to that big project. I should have an extra pair of some kind of artisan's tools somewhere.” Leon mutters the last part and starts going through his desk.

“Can you make magic items with wood? I'm good at carpentry, and I already have the tools for that on me.” Julia says.

Leon sits back up with a wide smile. “Yes! That's really good to hear. I can start you off on some wood projects and then go from there. We may have to graduate to smith's tools eventually to make the enchantment resistance item, but–”

Julia laughs. “Good news! I'm proficient in that as well! My dad was a general craftsman who specialized in carpentry, but he taught me how to craft with a few different mediums. I just don't know magic, and I didn't get to keep any smith's tools with me. I just know how to use them.”

“Well, I'm sure I can find you some new smith's tools in time. So–” He sticks out his hand across the desk. “–when do you want to start?”

Julia takes his hand and shakes it firmly. “I'm free right now until seven.”

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

we have all eternity (to love the dead)

As a child, Katara had always dreamed of meeting her soulmate, of being swept off her feet by some dashing stranger, of hearing her name fall from their lips like snowflakes fluttering down from the pink sky above. She’d found solace in this perfect person, and she’d used their unlimited potential to distract herself from the horrors of war ever surrounding her icy home.

The day Katara learned she didn’t have a soulmate, she’d wept for hours.

For Katara and Aang, fate works in mysterious ways.

(Written for Day 7 of Kataang Week 2021: The Sea & The Sky/Soulmate AU, hosted by @kataang-week. Read here on AO3 or continue reading below.)

Soulmates were everything a person wanted and more, or so the legends told. As a child, Katara had always dreamed of meeting her soulmate, of being swept off her feet by some dashing stranger, of hearing her name fall from their lips like snowflakes fluttering down from the pink sky above. She’d found solace in this perfect person, and she’d used their unlimited potential to distract herself from the horrors of war ever surrounding her icy home.

Sokka had teased her about it, her tendency to drift into dreams, but she knew he longed to meet his soulmate, too. As such, his barbs never dug deep.

The day Katara learned she didn’t have a soulmate, she’d wept for hours. Her mother’s words of comfort had fallen upon uncaring ears, because what did it matter that a rare few were born without soulmates, what did it matter that she could lead a happy life without one, what did it matter that she had such a unique opportunity for freedom in her passion, why, why did it have to be her? How was that fair?

Deep down, Katara suspected she’d always known. The name of one’s soulmate was the first word spoken on a child’s first birthday, oftentimes the first word they’d ever say. Sokka had known the name of his soulmate for as long as Katara could remember, and he would express his excitement about meeting her on only the quietest of nights.

Yue, he’d say, breathless, the word but a whisper slipping from the tip of his tongue. Have you ever heard a more beautiful name?

Katara would always giggle in reply. No, Sokka, I haven’t.

Sokka would then stare up at the star-dotted, moonlit sky, his face and body washed over with a pale silver glow. You know, I bet the moon doesn’t even hold a candle to her.

Every time, Katara would rest her head on his shoulder and agree. Every time, Katara was unable to offer up a name of her own. The signs were there, they’d always been there, the nagging terror that on her first birthday she had been—

“You were silent, sweetie,” her mother had told her on her eighth birthday, holding Katara’s face in her hands as Katara screamed and cried like a child whose future had been ripped away from her. To eight-year-old Katara, maybe it had been. “But Katara, listen to me. Just because you don’t have a soulmate doesn’t mean you won’t find love.”

“Yes it does, Mom,” Katara had sobbed, shaking her head and trying to pull away from her mother. “It means there’s no one out there who’s perfect for me!” Years of fantasies, years of hopes and dreams, the possibility of freedom and the end of this war were gone, destroyed, torn to pieces, and there was no putting them back together.

“Shh, sweetie, I need you to take a deep breath,” her mother had crooned, thumbing a tear from beneath Katara’s eye. “I need you to listen very closely to what I’m about to tell you, okay?”

It had taken a minute, but Katara remembered that she’d managed to do as instructed, because even—or perhaps especially—at her lowest points, she would always turn to the advice of her mother. When her sobs had faded to quiet hiccups, her mother continued.

“I know it hurts to not have a soulmate, Katara, and it is more than okay for you to let yourself feel that hurt. But in some ways, I promise your life is better this way. Do you want to know why?”

Katara had nodded, doubt riddled in her bones.

“Because without a soulmate, sweetie, it means you get to have a choice. Some soulmates are destined to end in destruction or pain, others in tragedy, but you, Katara?” Her mother had placed a gentle, teary kiss to Katara’s forehead. “You get to choose if that love is worth it. And the power of choice is something hard to find these days.”

At the time, Katara had barely processed those words, instead letting her mother pull her into the tightest of hugs as she began to cry all over again. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair.

But what was truly unfair, Katara now knew, was just how right her mother had been. Some soulmates were fated to end in destruction, in pain, in tragedy.

A week later, the Fire Nation navy had taken her mother’s life before Katara’s own eyes. That same day, her father had lost his own life, his spirit shattered and torn apart into a million little pieces that might never find their way back together. Not another week had gone by before he’d left. Left to fight, he’d told her and Sokka, but Katara had never been so certain.

Destruction.

Now, eight years later, Katara could only watch in unspoken horror as the life faded from Princess Yue’s delicate body, her form slumping weakly against Sokka’s chest as he buried his face in the fur of her coat and screamed. There was no return from such a sacrifice.

Pain.

Katara found Aang later that night, after the Fire Nation’s navy had been turned away from the Northern Water Tribe when he’d channeled the might of the Ocean Spirit. He was sitting atop an icy railing, feet dangling off the edge, either not cold or uncaring of the North Pole’s frigid nature. Katara joined him, resting her elbows on the same railing. Together they stared out over the city, up at the moon, away into the stars.

Tragedy.

Aang sucked in a sharp breath, and Katara suspected she knew what question was headed her way. “They were… They were soulmates, weren’t they?”

Katara nodded. She didn’t need Aang to specify to know the two star-crossed lovers he was referring to. “They were.”

Aang grimaced, eyes closing as he exhaled slowly, a reaction of distress and defeat. “Spirits. Poor Sokka.”

Katara nodded again. She’d tried to get her brother to talk about it earlier, but… he needed time alone. As much as she wanted to be there for him, the way silent sobs had been wracking Sokka’s body spoke for itself, and she’d let him be. Which was how she’d ended up out here, night nearing dawn, standing at Aang’s right.

“You know,” she said after a pause, bitterness seeping into her tone before she could stop it, “for all the eternal bliss soulmates are supposed to bring each other, I don’t know of any two in my life that have ever been lucky enough to be granted a happy ending.”

Her mother and Yue, sacrificing themselves for the sake of others, leaving her father and Sokka behind to mend gaping wounds in their hearts that no stitches could close. Gran Gran’s husband had died long before Katara was born, yet she knew now that her grandmother’s soulmate had never been someone in the Southern Water Tribe but instead a stubborn man on the opposite end of the world. And yet all that time, all those years, her grandmother had held on to Pakku’s necklace, passing it down to Kya and then to her.

Tragedy, destruction, heartbreak.

Aang nodded glumly. “I know what you mean.”

Katara blinked, wincing as his words sunk in. Aang was a kid a hundred years out of time—spirits, of course he understood her sentiment. How callous had it been, no, how egregiously cruel had she been to even mention it?

But it was too late to take the words back.

“Monk Gyatso never told me who his soulmate was,” Aang continued before Katara could apologize. He was staring up at the moon but, Katara suspected, seeing something else entirely. “Just that… they could never be together. And Bumi—”

“The king of Omashu?”

“—yeah, him.” Aang swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I remember that his soulmate was killed in an earthbending accident before either of them turned nine years old.”

He stopped there, but Katara could tell there were words still hidden behind the cloak of silence. Aang’s own soulmate, presumably, a person now lost to time. And seeing as Katara had been the one to bring it up, it was only right she offered to share his burden, too.

Katara placed a hand on top of Aang’s. A beat passed, and he turned his hand over, palm upwards, before gently lacing their fingers together. “Tell me about them,” Katara whispered, and a ghost of a smile flitted across Aang’s lips.

“His name was Kuzon.”

Soon Aang was regaling her with stories of all the mischief they’d gotten into together, how once upon a time it had been only natural for an Air Nomad to have a best friend from the Fire Nation. They’d protected a dragon egg from poachers, taught each other the dances of their respective nations, stayed up until sunrise seeking out their own constellations in the stars, and now—

“And now,” Aang whispered, his grip on her hand slackening as his shoulders fell, “it’s been a hundred years. I don’t know…” He trailed off, but Katara heard the final word, unsaid though it may have been.

Anything.

What fate had met Kuzon, if he’d missed Aang after he’d vanished, if they ever could have been something more than what they were.

“I’m so sorry,” Katara said, and she was.

Aang nodded. “Thank you.” His voice was hushed, fractured, heartbroken when he added, “I’m sorry, too.”

And she knew he was.

Katara gave his hand a gentle squeeze, moving closer to Aang’s side. Their shoulders brushed, and her heart fluttered for a reason she couldn’t quite and maybe didn’t yet want to discern.

“I don’t even have a soulmate,” she admitted after a pause, keeping her eyes glued to the stars. They glittered the same way every night, didn’t they? Unchanging. Permanent. “Naturally, I was devastated to learn that as a child. I cried so much they could have made a sculpture with my frozen tears.”

Aang chuckled at her attempt at humor, or maybe just at her dry tone, but hearing the warm sound made a smile tug at Katara’s lips all the same.

“My mother told me that I was lucky, in some ways,” she continued. “Without a soulmate, she said that I’d get to choose if the love I pursued was worth it.” Katara licked her lips, hesitant, but powered through. “I—I know it’s not exactly the same for you, Aang, with what happened to Kuzon, but if it helps at all—”

“Don’t worry,” Aang said, and he smiled at her as he turned around to jump off the snow-coated railing. “I understand what you mean.” He gave her hand a final squeeze before releasing it. “Thank you, Katara.”

For a moment, all Katara could do was stare. In front of her stood the most powerful bender in the world, able to channel the might of ancient spirits far more powerful than any mere mortal could ever dream to be. This was the man who would end the war and bring peace, harmony, love to the four nations for the first time in a hundred years. But all Katara saw was…

Aang.

Her best friend.

And in his eyes was a silence, an ache, an affection so deep it rivaled—no, it reflected her own.

You get to choose.

Katara met Aang halfway, wrapping her arms around his shoulders while he closed his own around her midsection, embracing each other like it was the last hug they’d ever share. He fit so naturally against her, like a puzzle piece Katara hadn’t known she was missing.

And if Aang inhaled a shuddering breath to hold back tears, and if Katara hugged Aang just a little bit tighter in return, well… that would stay between them and the moon.

[meimi-haneoka]

Akiho Shinomoto - a manifesto of love

Despite becoming one of my favorite characters in the whole Cardcaptor Sakura franchise (and I would’ve never expected to love a new character this much), I realized I’ve never spent a long post for her, like the ones I did for SyaoSaku or for Tomoyo and Syaoran long time ago.

And there’s a lot to say, because Akiho Shinomoto is actually the first character who has introduced the concepts of evil and child abuse in Cardcaptor Sakura.

Something that wasn’t even remotely conceivable until (almost) 5 years ago.

Often considered boring and weak from the CCS fandom, Akiho actually harbors an immense strength inside of her, which goes mostly unnoticed to everyone, in-story friends included. Let’s see why.

Sentenced to death, for lack of magical powers

Once upon a time, a baby girl was born in a clan of powerful magicians, the most ancient of Europe. Clan members seemed happy and curious about the new entry to the family. They had great expectations about what magic she would develop, as everyone else in that family. At the ripe old age of 1 year and a half / 2 years, the baby girl was expected to show some signs of magic, but she had none. But hey, maybe she would become powerful later, let's pat her head and wait patiently. At that time, the Clan still showed some kind of "attention" for her.

But by the time the girl was around 6/7 years old, no fragment of magic appeared in her. Unacceptable. She's the daughter of two top rank magicians, in a clan of magic prodigies. Yet, she showed none of those gifts. They kept comparing her with some boy, living in a far away country, part of another famous magical clan. The girl suddenly held no more interest for her Clan. They actually started seeing her as a stain on their Clan's pride. Suddenly, the focus was all on how they could surpass the other rival clan. The girl was left all alone. A magicless member of the family is a member who doesn't even deserve being talked to. An interrogatory, at most. Who cares if the little girl wants to socialize, if she wants to play, if she's the only young person in that Clan, already without her parents who died so early on? The only thing this girl was good at was reading books, so all that's she's allowed to do. Not even playing with stuffed animals. For some reason, she's allowed to keep only ONE plushie, which is basically everything to her. But books and dolls can't fill that sinkhole she's already feeling at such young age.

Obsessed with this "anomaly", when she was about 2 years old, the Clan had the baby girl examined by a member of a Magic Association in England, known to be the den of shady magicians. A 8/9 year old bored magic genius, named “Yuna D.”, was her examiner. The boy said "She's like a blank book". The girl grew up, and the situation was still the same. The disapproving stares of her relatives cut the little girl’s heart like a sharp knife. They called her “worthless”, “useless”. They even doubted she could really be the daughter of her powerful parents. So what should they have done? Let the little girl live her life like any other regular human being, or taking literally the words of a BORED, EMOTIONALLY UNDEVELOPED CHILD who literally spat out the first thing that came to his mind?

Although the choice should’ve come easily for any normal human being with a functioning brain, they actually went in the other direction, greedy for power. And so, they decided to treat the girl like a tool, using her to store all kinds of magic for them to use. If she couldn’t be of any help to her clan with her capabilities, they would give her a purpose.

On some kind of altar, halfway between a lab rat and the sacrificing ritual of a sect, the most ancient Magicians of Europe together with the Magic Association performed a dangerous magic on her, which afterwards would take its toll even on the casters: they turned her into a magical artifact, capable of engraving in herself all the magical books she would encounter, transforming her de facto into a book herself. As if this wasn’t horrifying enough, this spell will progressively try to crush her soul and conscience, until it gets destroyed completely. So when the artifact will reach its limit, it will be the death of her, as a human being. Only a shell of her will remain. And judging by what was said later on in the story, they actually hope for her to lose her consciousness completely, so they can make use of her more easily.

Afterwards, they burned the book they took the ritual from, so the procedure would remain in their knowledge only. Greedy till the very last drop.

Once their perfect magical tool was achieved, turning a little girl into some sort of artifact, both the Clan and their accomplices couldn't stop bragging about it. The only positive words Akiho has ever received in her life by her people were after she was turned into a tool.

With a newly found purpose for that stain on their clan’s pride, they sent her away into the world to collect all the magic books she could find and write their powers into her, even though she was still just a child. For reasons still unknown, Yuna D., the boy who involuntarily caused this horrible ritual to happen and basically condemned her to death, offers himself to accompany her. The very first decision he took in his own life. That decision will change forever the course of their life, for both of them.

Rising from the ashes, towards a future of hope

Rehashing Akiho’s past is important to understand her personality and behavior fully. CLAMP, in the Clear Card manga, have portrayed the story of her past in a very peculiar way: it starts as any other fairytale, with light tones and cute designs. But as the story progresses, and the horror ensues, the tone of the tale changes, and so the drawing style too. It becomes serious, and “realistic” (ad opposed to the initial cutesy style). What started as a possible generic fairytale, turned into a real nightmare.

On top of being deprived of the love of her parents ever since she was born, because apparently they died right after, Akiho spent her early childhood in complete solitude. Those magicians who were supposed to be her remaining family were too absorbed into their own greed for power, to consider the needs of a baby girl. Not to mention that they had some kind of disgust for her, for being magicless. She was denied attention, cuddles, conversations, play activities, toys. She was denied love and care. All basic things that contribute to shape the personality and psychology of a person. Akiho grew up with the conviction that she wasn’t worth any of that, because no one gave it to her. One of the complaints I have seen the most about her in the fandom, is how she’s always so apologetic, to the point of becoming obnoxious. If you think about it, one of the most prominent characteristics of her personality is how she continuously apologizes to people, thanks them for any smallest thing, and is always, constantly seeking validation. 

But if you stop for a second to think about her past, you’ll realize with dismay that those are none other than symptoms of the abuse she suffered in the past. She was called “good for nothing” and “useless” by her clan and the Magic Association, and those words carved themselves into her heart, forever scarring it. Akiho grew up believing that she was really worthless and good for nothing just because she couldn’t meet the expectations of her clan, and it’s apparent when we see her considering herself “extremely clumsy”, even though we have afterwards seen that she’s perfectly capable of cooking, sewing, even playing sports. She only needs the dedication of someone who would teach her that.

With a disastrous psychological situation like this, one would naturally wonder how this girl didn’t commit anything extreme yet. Completely alone in the world, deemed useless. Unloved.

Books, books were her first lifeline. The fictional, magical, wonderful worlds depicted in those stories saved her sanity, making her dream about a better life, about friendship, about love. They taught her everything. They gave her the hope that those things existed out there, and maybe one day she would be blessed with them too. The fantastical characters kept her company when no one was there for her (yet). And she loves them viscerally for that, to the point of seeing herself mending damaged books in the future, as a possible occupation. Just like they mended her lacerated heart.

The second lifeline was her meeting with Kaito. Uncharacteristically to him, Kaito showed immediately a kind and interested behavior towards her. This was so shocking, so incredible that Akiho’s first reaction to his introduction was to run away. No one ever addressed her with the intention of having a conversation. No one was ever interested in what she was reading. Even just by this you can get a glimpse of how miserable her life had been till then. Full of psychological issues himself, thanks to the human connection Kaito gradually turned his attentions towards Akiho from contrieved mannerism, to genuine and sincere gestures. Akiho can feel that affection, even if her self-criticism always pushes her to believe that she’s nothing more than “job” to him. It’s something small, but what she’s experiencing with Kaito is her everything, and more than she’s ever had.

The third lifeline is Momo: Akiho doesn’t know, nor remotely imagines she’s actually a living magical creature. But she has been her constant presence ever since she was born. Her connection to her is special, and you can see it in their daily (one-sided, for now) interactions. Akiho talks to Momo, she greets her when she comes back home, she constantly carries her around, she thinks about giving her a little dress as a present. Momo is Akiho’s strength. The love this girl pours into what she believes is just a stuffed animal is incredible. It goes to show Akiho’s immense capacity to love something/someone without expecting anything in return, but actually just enjoying the simple presence and courage they give to her. If you think about it, it’s the very opposite of what she experienced with the only human interactions she’s ever had before Kaito came into the picture. Her aptitude to selfless love is also remarked between the lines in chapter 49, when Akiho is telling Sakura about her relationship with Kaito. Despite all the ugliness she went through, she’s still able to find in herself the strength to overcome all of it, and change her life for the better.

This certainly hasn’t been an easy or quick process, because in the flashbacks of her journey with Kaito we always see her with a pensive/serious look. It must have been extremely hard to start trusting others, when she had no one she could count on in her own home.

Akiho’s capacity to love and rise from the ashes of her terrible past has been so contagious, that it has started to affect Kaito too.  As Momo said in chapter 51, once you’re given the reason to change, no person can ever stay the same. This must have been true for Kaito, but certainly for Akiho too.

I’m absolutely positive that Akiho (and possibly, Kaito too) will be the symbol for one of the most important, beautiful messages in the whole Clear Card Arc: even if your life isn’t perfect, even if your past scarred you in multiple ways, there’s always hope. Hope to turn over a new leaf and change yourself for the better too, in the process. Overcome everything that had you stuck in pain and grief. Achieve what you always wished for.

[mhevarujta]

Zoya and the Darkling [Rule of Wolves Spoilers]

It’s a pity that fandoms mostly focus on romantic/sexual relationships, because The Darkling and Zoya have one of the most epic dynamics in the Grishaverse. The way they affect each other is so complex.

Zoya did not go to the Little Palace after being tested in the usual manner of Grisha travelling across Ravka to recruit children with powers. She was a young girl, a child really, living with a bitter and broken mother, in a home where her Suli inheritance was not appreciated, in a country that would condemn her both because of the power she let her demonstrated AND because of who she would have been without it. She was basically sold as a child-bride and her mother deluded herself into thinking that her daughter would not be raped by the old man she was marrying so that she’d feel better about herself, not to mention that she poisoned Zoya with her fears and made her afraid of her own heart. At the wedding her power broke loose and her aunt took her to a hard journey to the Little Palace so that Zoya would be tested and have a chance at a better life.

Zoya was taken in and she was separated from her family, but her aunt was ALWAYS in her heart. She started training and she was stronger than most, she was also driven and resilient. She arrived at the Little Palace when she was 8-9. When she was 13, she was the youngest one to be chosen as part of a group that would travel with the Darkling to Tsibeya to find the white tigers of Ilmisk because one of them was supposed to be an amplifier. By that age, Zoya was half in love with him already and she lived for his rare appearances at the school. She was the best, she had fought to be so, and he wanted him to see it. The Grisha were focused on hunting the female tiger, but the amplifier was a male one. He tried to kill the female’s cubs and Zoya gave them the protection of her body, she got scars that she never had tailored and she almost died, and killed the tiger to defend the cubs; not for the sake of power.

It wasn’t HER turn to get the amplifier, but since she killed the tiger only she could claim it. And THIS brilliant scene happens:

Some part of me always feared that he would send me away, banish me forever from the Little Palace. I told him I was sorry.

“But the Darkling saw me clearly even then. ‘Is that really what you wish to say?’ he asked.”

Zoya pushed a dark strand of her hair behind her ear. “So I told him the truth. I put my chin up and said, ‘They can all hang. It was my blood in the snow.’”

Nikolai stifled a laugh and a smile played over Zoya’s lips. It dwindled almost instantly, replaced by a troubled frown. “That pleased him. He told me it was a job well done. And then he said … ‘Beware of power, Zoya. There is no amount of it that can make them love you.’”

The weight of the words settled over Nikolai. Is that what we’re all searching for? Was that what he’d hunted in all those library books? In his restless travels? In his endless pursuit to seize and then keep the throne? “Was it love you wanted, Zoya?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. I wanted … strength. Safety. I never wanted to feel helpless again.”

  “Like calls to like” fits the Darkling and Alina, but it also fits Zoya and the Darkling… in fact it fits Zoya and Aleksander even more so. Both were powerful and KNEW it. Both eventually learned to be unapologetic about it and saw it as their safety net. Both were taught that power would give them safety, survival, fulfillment in some ways, but not love. And yet, as much as they denied it and hid their hearts they DID want to be loved more than anything.

Zoya only rises thereafter. She gets her rank, she is one of the most valued Grisha in the Little Palace, she is admired for her strength and beauty, she armors herself with arrogance, and ruthlessness. But she has not friends. Both her and the Darkling are surrounded by people, they are admired, but they don’t have people close to their heart. The Darkling always cared about Baghra as much as he could still manage and Zoya cared only bout Liliyana and Lada (an orphan girl that her aunt had taken in).

The Darkling SAW her. He saw how she tried like no other, he saw her pain, her anger and he considered these to be things that he could use to control her and to push her towards the direction he desired. And despite not being appreciative of her devotion when he had it, he missed it when it was gone.

When Alina got in the picture everything changed for Zoya. Yes, Zoya had feelings for the Darkling and I DO believe that her feelings and vanity would have been hurt to some extent by the intimacy in the way he approached Alina, but the primary problem was Zoya’s sense of injustice. Zoya had tried for YEARS, had trained hard, had sacrificed to be where she is. Alina never asked for any of it, but from Zoya’s perspective Alina would have been an untrained Grisha who got all the status, power and recognition that SHE had fought for without even trying. Until then, Zoya had been praised for wanting power, but when her anger is not convenient anymore, the Darkling punishes her for it and does not have a second thought about her.

And yet she remained loyal as always.

Even more so than rank, the Darkling and Liliyana were Zoya’s safety-net. And in ONE MOMENT, by genociding Novokribirsk, Zoya’s own mentor, the one who gave her safety and who was meant to create a haven for the Grisha, a person who KNEW her and who KNEW that she had family there, showed that he had no care for her, not care for human life and she wiped out the last people that Zoya loved.

He left her broken inside. In Siege and Storm, Zoya was at her lowest. She has to plead to Alina to have a position in the second army and she has to reveal a part of her heart; not just her loss of Liliyana. Her voice BREAKS when she says that the Darkling could have warned her of his plan; her pain at the idea that he did not give a crap about taking EVERYTHING from her is raw and cutting.

But she is not a quitter. She adjusts, she pulls her pieces together fast, she is a warrior and she stays on the right side without a question.

Then the Darkling attacked the very Grisha he was supposedly fighting for and killed half the people that Zoya had EVER KNOWN. And she still keeps fighting.

 Enter Rule of Wolves. There is SUCH DEEP IRONY in this book and the way Zoya and the Darkling’s arcs interconnect is a prime example of Leigh’s amazing writing.

The Darkling had told Zoya that they would change the world and he completely stopped paying attention to her the moment the potential of Alina’s power blinded him to anything else. And yet, when he returns Zoya has gained the kind of power that could eventually rival his own. But he STILL thinks that he should be the one to rule Ravka. He still thinks that he is the best option for the country. And once more, he criminally underestimates Zoya and overestimates himself.

Who else is vengeful and afraid of his own heart, I wonder…

Aleksander considered Zoya weak for the very same things that were his own fatal flaws.

But unlike him, Zoya SAW her flaws. The Darkling shut himself off more and more in order to save himself from pain. Zoya eventually opened up her heart to grief and pain to become the person her country needed and to embrace her power. She opened the door, when the Darkling did not manage to do so. She showed more courage than he did… and he SAW it.

Aleksander hoped to become the savior during the battle, he wished to demonstrate how only HE could save Ravka. But seeing Nikolai and Zoya defending the country is the first time it registers that there are others who are up to the task and who may be better suited than he is.

And he becomes essential in Zoya being accepted as a saint and in her rise to power partly because he wants to gain her favor but also because he finally sees all her potential, all she can achieve, how a Grisha queen of such power might give the Grisha the haven they need, when he clearly can’t.

And what is left for him to do? What does he want? He wants to serve the country he loves in a way that will affirm his sense of self-importance (he wants to offer something that no one else can) and he wants to be loved. So his new objective is to stop the blight.

The blight was created because of his own power. This man who hunted down and ruined the life of a young girl (Alina) in order to force her to be his balance, so that he could freely use his power in a very imbalanced way, finally realizes that HE is responsible for his power and that HE can be the only one to balance it and himself. So there is a new path he sees ahead of him: he can sacrifice himself to stop the blight and in the process Ravka might finally see that he always wanted to protect the country… and it might love him back. He KNOWS that he has committed crimes, he does not seek redemption, but he desired for all he has done to matter. And it can’t matter if he is not at all responsible for its country’s well-being and if everyone hates him. He has lived so many lifetimes without happiness or fulfillment and they would all have been wasted.

But he can’t achieve this by himself. This man who always thought that he could do things alone, and who took away everything Zoya had fought for, NEEDS her allowance for his centuries-long life to gain a scrap of meaning. He needs her allowance to be appreciated and loved.

I can’t be the only one who sees what a beautiful twist of fate this is.

At the same time Zoya herself understands the Darkling. She understands how anger and using power as a coping mechanism can corrupt. Knowing herself and seeing how he turned out are essential in her becoming a good ruler. He is the cautionary tale of what she could but will never allow herself to become.

When he explains his plan, she KNOWS that he’ll be in eternal pain and she has does not mind that his will be his fate. But when she sees the aftermath of his sacrifice and when she feels the kind of pain he’ll be experiencing for eternity, it leaves her shaken. She feels that pain in her own heart and this is not a fate that she wishes even on him. Genya and Alina are very much willing to let him rot but Zoya, who also believed that she could forgive him, feels that she has to.The Darkling has not redeem himself. He is doing penance. But as Genya mentions, there’s a fine line when one has to do the math of how much a person has to pay and of how much pain they have to feel before their punishment stops being just and they become victims instead. Zoya, being afraid of becoming him, knows that learning to show forgiveness is the only way forward, it’s the way for her to keep her heart open and not become the avalanche.

Zoya Nazyalensky has become everything that Aleksander Morozova, the lost boy, wished to be. Poweful, eternal, with friends, with a true partner, holding the best position a Grisha could imagine without forcing her rule and finally giving their people a true chance without comprominsing them. 

The Darkling was hoping that Alina would have been his balance. We are told how she might make him a better man and she might make him a monster.

But at the end of the day it’s Zoya who allows the Darkling to become the closest thing to decent that he can be at this point.

It’s the Darkling’s life that allows Zoya to see the lines that she will not cross and how to not become a monster.

And it’s Zoya’s ability to forgive him and her willingness to save him that becomes the backbone for the next phase of the Grishaverse, whenever Leigh decides to write it.

The way their paths entangle will always be at the core of the story.

_______________________

@myfriendscallmeraba​ I’m tagging you because you asked for it. It’s very encouraging to have someone interested in my ramblings.

[herenortherenearnorfar]

This Tornado Tolerates And Respects You

A little story about Gothmog and orcs that I’ll probably put on other sites later. But for now, a tumblr exclusive! CW for the terrible reproductive politics of evil (implied reproductive coercion, forced childbearing, light eugenics), orc awfulness, disdain for incarnates, radiation poisoning, chemical weapons, Fingon’s fate, mentions of cannibalism, malnourishment, ear cropping, and all of the above with the implied harm to children.

Orcs, Lord Melkor’s special pet project, a blasphemy first and a strategic asset second, didn’t make the best troops. They could swarm over a target in a useful mass of bodies but they lacked skill and drive. For the Captain of Angband’s own force of fire and shadow, spirits sprung free from the tyranny of the Valar, orcs were a sea of troublesome bodies, cluttering up the field of battle. More flesh to whip through, barbed wire quick, more lungs to choke with lime gas. An annoyance, not an ally.

He didn’t have very high expectations of them as a source of soldiers and there were very few individual orcs who he respected. Gorfaunt was one of those rare exceptions.

They’d fought on the same battlefield under the taunting stars, in those blissful days before the heavens changed, and he’d been impressed by the orc commanders ability to marshal troops. Very few in that division ended up trampled beneath Balrog feet. Even the retreat was prompt, almost orderly, without sacrificing that wild spirit which was one of the orcs’ few redeeming qualities.

When it came time to capture the stripling-king of the elves he’d requested Gorfaunt’s orcs in particular. Once again they’d proven their mettle and the commander had become of of the Captain’s favorites. If orcs had to be stationed next to their betters it was preferable that it be Gorfaunt’s orcs, who knew how to comport themselves and could fight near Balrogs without dying in droves.

Now with the latest glorious battle (and another successful collaboration, the Captain still glowed at the memory of the Noldor’s latest king cracking open to spill his red insides over his silver banner) behind them and Lord Melkor demanding Nargothrond and Gondolin, they met once a month to strategize, share intelligence, and complain about everyone else. To an outsider they might have passed as friends. There was less formality between the two of them than another high general of the iron fortress might have demanded, they sat at the same table and spoke freely.

(The Lieutenant still asked commanders to bow before him; that was why even his own troops called him Sauron behind his back. Gothmog was a superior appellation, less insulting, more fearful, but he still didn’t hasten to encourage its use.)

Despite their surface level amicability and the handful of tried-and-true inside jokes—mostly having to do with how enemies had died— they could bat at each other, they knew very little about each other’s lives. Meat and smoke only mixed when making a brisket, trying to relate two such different ways of being seemed impossible.

But when he saw Gorfaunt waddling into their monthly kvetch with a belly round and swollen like a tick’s, the Captain felt driven to say something. He was the marshal of Angband, he couldn’t let his king’s forces go to seed.

“Are you ill? Cursed?”

Gorfaunt managed to pull out a chair, made for a Balrog three times the size of an orc, and hoist themselves into it with rangy arms. “No? Just five months with a baby kicking around in my insides. The little bugger’s finally starting to show itself.”

That took a second to decipher. “You’re having a baby?”

Of course the Captain knew the basics of how incarnates made more of themselves. It was a topic of great fascination in the old days, when Yavanna was first figuring the system out, and of course the Lieutenant would prattle on about warg breeding to anyone who’d listen. They had sex— another thing that did not come naturally to beings of spirits, though some Maiar had made astounding progress in the field, for pleasure was pleasure and even Nienna’s acolytes sought catharsis and comfort—then there was lots of squishy biology on a level invisible to the incarnates themselves, then a little parasite was somehow blessed with Erú’s fire, to be nurtured until it could nurture itself.

He also knew that orcs, like elves and dwarves, had little distinction between men and womenfolk. Useful when it meant you could channel your entire adult population to battle. Startling when you realized that a key ally had been quietly pregnant for months without you, a greater being able to perceive stalactites growing and the scales on insect wings, noticing.

In truth he’d been doing a lot less noticing of late. His senses were dulling. Perhaps it was the light of the cursed gems, which painted everything in blinding, indistinguishable holiness. Or he was just losing his touch.

If he focused now he could see it. It was easiest to sense on the plane of wraiths. There was Gorfaunt, a guttering candle; wheezing, weak. All orcs had that fire, however dim. No one had managed to fully extinguish it though it had been much suppressed. Tucked against her, nearly imperceptible, was a little spark. Not much yet but given tinder and carefully fanned it could grow. “You’re having a baby,” he marveled.

Gorfaunt’s face was… orcs were hard to read at the best of times, bubbling over with noisy pain and anger that obscured their true emotions, prone to skin diseases and horrendous eye infections that muddled their expressions. She didn’t wear her gas mask around him anymore, though most were quick to cover up around any Maia of Morgoth. It helped little, her face was still opaque as the mountain itself. “Yep, Captain.”

“Good?” You congratulated an ally on a new weapon, a new bond, a promotion. Which one was an infant classified as? What was the correct form?

“Hopefully it’ll be over and the little goblin will be in the caves with the old’uns by the time we find either of the cities.” Gorfaunt provided, only barely contextualizing his felicitations. She was chewing on the inside on her cheek; sometimes she would gnaw until she spat black blood. “Terrible time for it. Terrible time. But the high ups are worried about reinforcements down the line, I suppose.”

Orcs came from orcs. It was a fact so simple it barely bore considering. Another department handled it. The new ones just showed up, springy and long limbed, faces still soft and unmarred. “Goblins” he’d heard older orcs call those fresh pale creatures. Barely even monsters, more like stunted, crepuscular versions of the elves and dwarves they fought.

“How much longer?” They had a few good leads on Nargothrond, a promising word about Túrin Turambar. The Captain could not sack that city himself, the honor had already been promised to the sulfurous worm. Apparently they wanted to test the mettle of these dragons. But Gothmog could assign a few good orc commanders to supervise, make sure the worm was not overstepping his bounds.

Dark blood trickled out of the corner of Gorfaunt’s mouth. “Five months, I’m told. Could be more, could be less. Then I have to wait until the thing is independent enough to leave alone, that’s another few months.” She was probably counting months as the orcs had started to, by the moon. Wretched traitor, Tilion, who’d laughed with them at the idea of running away then turned his face when the time came to flee for freedom. They hated it as much as everyone else but in their hatred they were aware of its cycles. They rejoiced when it went dark.

“You’ll still be able to manage your underlings?” Orcs, and freed Maiar, were fractious. They did not respect a leader who lacked the strength to force them to obey. It could be exhausting. And Gorfaunt was already so round. The Captain did not wish to lose her support over one orcling.

“I think so. So far… in old days you’d den up somewhere for a year, avoid everyone prowling for blood, but I don’t want to fight my way up the ranks again. I’ve got an ax and I’m using it.” Despite that she sounded tired.

Long heartbeats stretched between them, that exquisite embarrassment of two coworkers suddenly forced to talk about private affairs.

“This is your first,” the Captain didn’t reach the tone of a question with that one.

“Yes. The recruiters were getting growly so I grabbed a fellow. I’ve been avoiding it for too long.”

“You don’t want a child.” Again, not quite a question. He was feeling it out as he goes along. This is the longest conversation about orc reproduction he’s ever paid attention to, for the Lieutenants diatribes we’re always dull.

It was no matter to him, except that this was the only orc commander he could tolerate working with and she was chewing through her own cheek in discomfort.

“They take something from you,” Gorfaunt admitted. “Dame and sire both, but worse for the dame since she has to carry the clot. You go… stretchy. Bleached like old bone. I’ve seen soldiers and after twenty children they’re not good for anything but shoving onto a line of pikes. Raw meat for the wargs.”

That didn’t make sense to him, but he was never a scholar of flesh or spirit. He knew how a skull split and how a soul fled, how this matter-sprung life withered, how it died. That was all that counted. He also knew how to value a resource.

“There won’t be any after this,” he said firmly. “Not if you don’t want them.” If need be he’d escalate to Lord Melkor, frame it as sapping strength from their command structure and propose making officers off limits from breeding programmes.

“As you command, Captain,” she said with a bowed head, but she looked gratifyingly relieved, and their conversation could finally move on to the latest stories of occupied territories and the search for the hidden cities.

The next few months Gorfaunt somehow managed to get bigger and bigger, until she was no longer able to swing herself into a chair and had to take their meeting standing. Her leather armor no longer fit and with just a thin layer of rags over her distended stomach it was easy to see the squirming creature inside.

Ferocious little animal. It would go so still and then kick out again, as if it could burst free of its creator by force of will alone. The kernel of its mind was forming too, a hazy bubble of sensation and half formed emotion. He could see what had the Lieutenant fascinated. It wasn’t his field but it was morbidly interesting, seeing the shape of something new and moldable come together right in front of you.

But he had not been made a sculptor or a craftsman. He’d been born a wild thing, a tornado, a volcano, every disaster meant to fell cities, and though he had not known the words yet he’d sensed in his core, seen in glimpses in the song, that he was a creature of war. Like many other wild things—Ossë, the simpering coward tied up in Uinen’s tresses, excluded— he’d found his way to Melkor in the end. Oh, he’d idled for a time with Vána, heard Námo’s dolorous call, but it was Melkor who he came back to and Melkor who he picked in the end.

Melkor taught him so many more ways to be. The smoke, the blood, the screaming not in sorrow but in anger. He taught the others who came to him as well. In the Captain’s little squad alone there was one who learned the slaver’s whip and the threat of fire, one who learned the ooze of pus and malodorous air, one who came to appreciate the ravenings of rabid beasts. From the dragons in the treasure-caves to the cat in the kitchen to the vampires in the highest towers, they were all Melkor’s creations.

Gorfaunt, born and raised here in the shadow of his ancient power, was even more Melkor’s than most. This was how the Captain rationalized his continuing fondness for her as she weakened, his interest in her spawn. Works of the same maker might gravitate together. They could see parts of themselves in each other, the way he could once see himself in other Ëalar born of the same bit of song.

When Gorfaunt came in four months after their revelatory meeting with a sagging belly and a bundle nestled against her chest he was excited to finally see what had been made.

It took a bit of coaxing to get her to show him the baby but no orc would outright refuse an order from anyone stronger than them, they knew better than that. The newborn was dutifully unwrapped and presented, though Gorfaunt’s expression suggested that she considered this all a silly waste of time.

It was a rumpled wet creature; mostly skin and bones, with a cranium as big as its rounded torso. Small too, barely bigger than Gorfaunt’s hand, and Gorfaunt was smaller than all elves and many humans; based on overheard complaints failure to grow was an ongoing issue with their kind. When it was unswaddled sticklike limbs flailed out and began batting at the air ineffectually. Despite this wriggling its face remained in a sleepy scowl. It wasn’t until Gothmog moved one cherry-hot finger closer to it that it opened its hazy grey eyes and tried to focus on him. Even then the dismayed frown stayed put.

An unscarred orc was always an interesting sight; for it revealed the scale of their reworking. How much orcishness was self-replicating, as the Lieutenant liked to claim, and how much had to be beaten in? This one had a droopy brow bone and already peeling corpse-grey skin but it did not look much like an orc besides that. It even had hair, which most orcs lacked (aside from a few lank patches). The fine red down covered its whole body, thickest on the head and face and arms.

“It’s supposed to fall out,” Gorfaunt said, “Everyone says it’ll fall out soon. Even the prisoners lose their hair after a while, especially in the deep mines.”

That was probably because of the miasma of decay that emanated from the ores of Angband. Not macro-decay, of skin and bone (that came later) but the infitesimal decay. Every piece of metal— every piece of existence, when you got down to it— was made of little stars. There was a gaseous center of energy and little orbiting specks around that, spinning in probabilistic loops. Like stars some were bigger and some were smaller and some were ready to collapse. Ilmarë loved to speak of supernovas. The yellow and blue metals below the mountain were full of little stars collapsing, reforming, giving off energy in great sums as they did so.

The Captain had noted the negative effects of this energetic output on incarnates some time ago. Elves sickened and humans just died— Lord Melkor had moved the man he hoped would give him the location of Gondolin far from those mines for a reason. A few of the spirits with natures inclined towards metal, salt, and industry had already incorporated the burning energy into their signatures. The Lieutenant doubtless had some wicked little experiment running with it. It was a part of life here, that background hum of a trillion crumbling particles, and the Captain never thought of the effect on orcs, though they were exposed from birth.

Now that he focused he could see the little crumbs of decay glancing off the baby.

Hmm.

It would probably be fine.

It was already rubbing its eyes and going back to sleep, one hand curled next to a crumpled, not-yet-cropped ear.

“Are you recovered?” he asked Gorfaunt.

“I’m fit enough to fight,” she said shortly, defensively, as if afraid he’d snatch her command from her. “I’ll be better soon when this thing is gone.”

The Captain’s huge palm hovered over her infant. He knew better than to touch; his ability to change forms was not what it once was, he could not stop being a bipedal avalanche, to strong, too close, too dangerous. Even just containing the noxious gases— the pustulent yellow and choking green— simmering inside this war shaped body was difficult. If he kept a few feet distance the chaotic heat of his skin faded into the air and the baby wriggled contentedly in the ambient glow, like a little lizard.

“And how long will that be?”

Gorfaunt’s hand twitched. Another few months, till it can manage worm meal and listen to the grands.”

It seemed impossible that anything could be big enough to leave alone in such a short time; but incarnation was not the Captain’s specialty. “And that’s the accepted practice?”

“A little young, but safe now that the master put a stop to the baby eating problem.”

“I wouldn’t want it to be a concern,” the Captain said very seriously, even though his fingers curled slightly around the baby’s limp body. “We can make modifications if the child must stay longer.”

Gorfaunt glanced down at her sprawled offspring. “I don’t— I don’t want this to last any longer. I’d rather have my life go back to normal.”

That, at least, he could understand. It has been a rather troubling experience overall. Revelations are not always useful and though he’s gained some knowledge it’s not very practical stuff.

“One more question, commander, then I’ll drop the matter. What is it named??”

That nascent mind bubble had sharpened with time and experience but was still comprised mostly of sensation. He could not even grasp at a basic sense of self. The child’s mother should know what if calls itself, if anyone did.

(He wanted to remember the name, for forty years from now, when he needed more good orcs. All those rants about the fundamentals of inheritance left him with some ideas about how incarnates develop traits. Another Gorfaunt would be a helpful tool to have on hand.)

The question left Gorfaunt unimpressed. “It doesn’t name itself anything yet, it hasn’t got the common sense. And no one’s given it a name because it hasn’t done anything interesting.”

“It has an interesting look” the Captain pointed out, “Tell them to call it Red Cap,” he slipped into the elf tongue, which had better color words than the one the Lieutenant devised, and in the process accidentally named the child after a former king of the Noldor. “Or something like that.”

Gorfaunt apparently had a better memory for politics than he gave her credit for, or perhaps just a distaste for the elf cant, because she quickly translated it back into Angband’s crackly tongue . “Rotbint.”

“Yes.” A Balrog, even the chief of Balrogs, could not give much to something so soft and incarnadine. A name, incorporeal, existing in the plane the Captain knew best, was the only thing he could offer. “Now, to business?”

Gorfaunt wrapped the little creature away— it woke halfway through the rolling to stare at them once more— then tucked it against her chest.

The Captain was sad to see it go, though he couldn’t say why.

He remembered that he had come to this physical world for a reason once. He had wanted to see all there was to see, to feel and taste everything, chew chunks of Arda up and spit it out new. Disasters hungered as much as anyone. Yet all he’d had lately was war fare; blood-soaked mud and rage-tinged fear.

Deprived of fresh experiences, he clung to the potential, the novelty, of new life.

Perhaps Gondolin would see him out of his funk, he thought. It couldn’t hide forever.

“We’ll find it, Captain,” Gorfaunt assured him stubbornly. “And we’ll tear it down brick by brick, raze their gardens, fill their streets with blood.”

Even with a baby trying to gum her collarbone her firm tone allowed no questions.

Orcs were, as a rule, bothersome, unruly, walking corpses. Fractious, ugly, difficult, bothersome, recklessly stupid. The Maiar serving under the Captain were sometimes stereotyped as simpleminded brutes but at least they were able to perceive the world around them, even if few bothered to use that perception. In comparison orcs were stumbling around in the dark. They were inefficient as well, you needed three of them to take down any decent enemy. But when they were well made they were well made. Those were the ones that made it all worth it.

It had to be worth it. This was freedom, after all.

[herinsectreflection]

I Don't Sleep on Bed of Bones: The Slayer as a Killer Across the Seasons

A pretty constant question throughout Buffy's arc - arguably the central question of the entire show, that Buffy must answer, is "what is a slayer? What does being The Vampire Slayer mean?". And a major part of that is the question of whether a slayer is just a killer. It's a question central to S5, but ripples throughout the rest of the show too, with some of the most iconic scenes in the show in converstion with each other around it. Inspired by an ask I received about this from @potterkid, I took a look at how this idea develops and resolves itself over the course of the show.

In S1, being the Slayer means accepting responsibility. It's metaphor for growing up - a metaphor that recurs throughout the show along with other ideas, but is strongest in S1. Buffy is torn between her teenage/human wants and her adult/supernatural responsibilities. She accepts her mortality and her duty (fighting the Master), and wins when she manages to integrate that with her personal desires (fighting the Master in a kickass prom dress with her friends and boyfriend). There's some stuff around the classic superhero idea that being around the hero is dangerous -e.g. in Never Kill a Boy on the First Date, but not much on the idea of a Slayer being a killer exactly.

In S2, being the Slayer means making hard choices. It means accepting that sometimes all your options are bad ones, but choosing one anyway, even at personal cost. This is introduced through Ford's story in Lie to Me, with Buffy's words to him forming one of the core thesis statements of the show ("You have a choice. You don't have a good choice, but you have a choice."), and it's climaxed beautifully in the tragic ending of Becoming. There's not much direct allusion to the idea of Buffy being a killer here, but this is a vital moment in that discussion. Ultimately, Buffy does make the decision here to kill Angel - not to slay Angelus, but to kill him. To take the life of her ensouled lover in order to save others. It's kind of the opposite of the decision that Ford makes - the best of two bad choices. It's the classic trolley problem, and Buffy's hand is on the lever by design - she has to make that choice because she's the Slayer. We will see this moment returned to again and again as this Slayer-vs-Killer theme develops.

Also, Ted is a very important episode for later. Buffy herself feels guilty specifically because she used her slayer powers on what she thinks is a regular human, and therefore killed him. Specifically, being the Slayer made her a Killer. It's also notable that this is where the idea of Buffy having a free reign to kill is first introduced - by Buffy's original shadow self in Cordelia no less.

Cordelia: I don't get it. Buffy's the Slayer. Shouldn't she have... Xander: What, a license to kill? Cordelia: Well, not for fun. But she's like this superman. Shouldn't there be different rules for her? - 2x12 Ted This isn't explored massively here but will be revisited again and again going forward.

S3 is where this theme really comes into focus. Faith enters as Buffy's shadow self and a representation of hedonism. How that manifests is as a Slayer who gives herself a license to Kill. She posits the idea that as slayers, they can and should decide who lives and dies.

Faith: Something made us different. We're warriors. We're built to kill. Buffy: To kill demons! But it does not mean that we get to pass judgment on people like we're better than everybody else! Faith: We are better! - 3x15 Consequences

Obviously, this is something that Buffy has to reckon with and fight against. But there is a glimmer of truth here, because at the end of S2, she does take the power of life and death into her own hands. She is faced with the choice between Angel and the world and decides that Angel should die. She had to, that's the position she has to be in because she is the Slayer. She has to be a Killer because she is a Slayer. So the two are intertwined.

More than this, Faith is someone who at least appears to revel in the kill. Up until now, we hadn't really seen Buffy enjoy being a slayer, but Faith does. Buffy is genuinely drawn to that, to slaying for pleasure. The equation of slaying/killing and sex for Buffy is first explicitly drawn by Faith in this season. ("Isn't it crazy how slaying always makes you hungry and horny?"). Slayers are very much like vampires in that respect, blurring the line between sex and death. In general, Faith introduces the idea that Buffy is drawn to killing - not just to protect people (the ideal of a Slayer), but for its own benefit. That's something that Buffy continues to struggle with going forward.

I have said before that Faith in S3 is an echo of Angel in S2, both in Buffy's relationship to them both and how that shifts mid-season, and in how it ends. In Graduation Day, Buffy again is given the power of life and death. This time, it's more personal - she can stop Angel dying by killing Faith. It's not such a straightforward (for want of a better word) decision as Angel .vs. the literal entire world, it's just the value of one life against the other. Another trolley problem, and it's not an easy choice, but it's still a choice. Just as she chose the lesser evil in killing Angel in S2, she kills the person filling the Angel role in S3. And this time, the choice is explicitly tied to the idea of being a Killer. Faith is set up as the person that Buffy could be in a slightly different world, and that person is a Killer, as Faith herself claims.

"What are you gonna do, B? Kill me? You become me. You're not ready for that, yet." - Faith Lehane, 3x17 Enemies

"You did it, B. You killed me." - Faith Lehane, 3x22 Graduation Day

In the act of choosing to pull the lever, Buffy has to kill. In the act of killing, she has become her dark mirror. In the act of defeating/becoming Faith, she becomes again the sole Slayer. Being a killer and a Slayer again intertwined. It's interesting here that she then makes the decision to feed herself to Angel. She unravels the trolley problem by throwing herself on the tracks. It's fascinating that between the dual trolley-problem finales of Becoming and The Gift, where in the first Buffy chooses to pull the lever, and in the latter she refuses and chooses a third option, Graduation Day exists in the middle as a stepping stone where she kind of does both.

The bulk of S4 is a little lighter on this theme, instead examining The Slayer as a role that must be juggled amongst a series of competing roles as Buffy's life as an adult becomes more fractured. There are flavours of it in Fear Itself, where Buffy fears that her friends will leave and her destiny lies with death and the dead, but otherwise not too much jumps out at me. Except, of course, for Restless, which is so heavy with this theme. It's one of the many reasons why I kind of consider Restless an honourary part of S5, as it's setting up the themes and arcs of S5 as much as it's wrapping up the like from S4.

RILEY: Hey there, killer.

BUFFY: We're not demons. ADAM: Is that a fact?

RILEY: Thought you were looking for your friends. Okay, killer...

TARA: I live in the action of death, the blood cry, the penetrating wound. I am destruction. Absolute ... alone. BUFFY: The Slayer. FIRST SLAYER: No friends! Just the kill.

OK, so SO much to unpack here. This is all within the under-10-minute sequence of Buffy's dream, and in that sequence she constantly shows a fear that she is in fact a "killer". It's clearly strong in her mind. Riley calls her "killer" multiple times, and Adam equates her with him, and with demonhood. I also find it very interesting how she responds to Tara's words, which are very literally describing the act of kiling ("the action of death...the blood cry...the penetrating wound"). She hears that and immediately identifies her as the Slayer, so slayerhood and killing are clearly bound up together in her mind.

Central to her concerns is the dichotomy between friendship and death. This was built up in Fear Itself, and it's central here. Riley and Sineya both frame it as a choice, between friendship and "the kill". This is a fear that Buffy has already, since S1, that her Slayer life will stop her ability to have a "normal" life of friends and family, but it also sets up her arc in S5 nicely. She chooses her friends over becoming a pure instrument of death in Restless, but that does not resolve her ongoing fears. They existed before and continue to dwell even more strongly in her mind, with words that both Sineya and Dracula repeat.

"You think you know ... what's to come ... what you are. You haven't even begun."

This sets the stage for S5, and her arc of choosing between family and being the Slayer. Friendship and family are presented as more of less one and the same a few episodes later in Family, and the choice Buffy is faced with in S5 is another trolley problem - the life of Dawn against the world. This time, it's more specifically tied to the Slayer/Killer dichotomy through the prophecy that Buffy is faced with ("Death is your gift"). This frames the similar choices she faced in Becoming and Graduation Day in the same light, with Buffy even specifically comparing this to the former.

BUFFY: I sacrificed Angel to save the world. I loved him so much. But I knew ... what was right. I don't have that any more. I don't understand. I don't know how to live in this world if these are the choices. If everything just gets stripped away. I don't see the point. I just wish that... I just wish my mom was here. The spirit guide told me that death is my gift. Guess that means a Slayer really is just a killer after all. - 5x22 The Gift

S5 is soaked in this Killer-vs-Slayer idea, and that's part of why I love it so much. It opens with Buffy having gained an appreciation of killing. She goes out not to patrol, but to hunt. To revel in the enjoyment of the kill, just as Faith did. There's also a constant theme of people identifying Buffy as a Killer. Importantly, it's a theme of her believing them. She knows that there is a kernel of truth there, and it develops from a subconcious worry in Restless to a more concrete fear in Intervention, where Buffy explicitly says that she is afraid that being the Slayer means losing her humanity and ability to love, and become nothing more than a "killer". Eventually, Buffy is so ground down by it that when The Gift rolls around, she simply accepts that the Slayer is "just a killer" as an inevitability.

BUFFY: Yeah, I prefer the term slayer. You know, killer just sounds so... DRACULA: Naked? - 5x01 Buffy vs Dracula

SPIKE: Death is your art. You make it with your hands, day after day. That final gasp. That look of peace. - 5x07 Fool for Love

FIRST SLAYER: Death is your gift. - 5x18 Intervention

I also like the way that Joyce is repeatedly linked to this idea. Buffy's response to Sineya points to Joyce's death as a rebuttal to the idea of death being a gift ("Death is not a gift. My mother just died. I know this."). Buffy talks about Joyce just before accepting that "a slayer is a killer" in The Gift. Spike's speech about Slayer's having a death wish comes immediately before Buffy finds out that Joyce is going into hospital. The idea of the Slayer as an instrument of death, killing every day, is juxtaposed against the mundane horror of what death is really like, as demonstrated in The Body. As the Slayer, Buffy must cause death, but this is what death looks like. It's hard and painful and mortal and stupid. Eventually Buffy reaches a point where she just can't do this anymore. She can't live in a world where she must choose to be a killer, because she understands death more now than ever.

It's here that the show explicitly connects the ideas of utilitarianism and being a killer. Buffy says that killing Dawn to save the world (and by association killing Angel to save the world, or killing Faith to save Angel), would make the Slayer "just a killer". This goes back to S3, and Faith arguing that the death of one innocent was washed out by the many people that they save, and that being Slayers gives them the right to make that calculation. Tara points to Giles in this episode, the voice of utilitarianism, and identifies him as a killer. Giles himself identifies himself as one when he kills Ben, and here draws a line between being a utilitarian/killer, and being a hero.

BEN: Need a ... a minute. She could've killed me. GILES: No she couldn't. Never. ... She's a hero, you see. She's not like us.

Some people criticise the moral absolutism of this, and could very justifiably argue that killing Ben, or even killing Dawn, would be the most moral thing in this situation. Who are we to say that Dawn's life is more valuable than the lives of a thousand other 14 year old girls, with families of their own that love them just as much as Buffy loves Dawn? But within the context of the show, I think it makes sense for them to reject utilitarianism. Buffy is a Sisyphean story. There will always be another apocalypse after this one is stopped. There will always be another impossible choice with innocent lives in the balance. Through that lens, the idea of "killing one to save a thousand" becomes meaningless, because there's a thousand apocalypses, and if you kill one to stop them all, then you've killed a thousand. That's how Buffy feels - she killed Angel, she killed Faith, now she has to kill Dawn? Where does it end? Eventually it all just gets stripped away, so what's the point? There's no winning move here. The only way to break the cycle is to change the game.

We should also keep in mind Buffy's words at the start of the episode. She fears that the Slayer is "just a killer", but she is also identified by the guy she saves in the alley in the opening scene as "just a girl". And Buffy agrees ("That's what I keep saying."). Buffy is The Vampire Slayer, which dictates that she must make these impossible choices, but she's also Buffy, which means she is a human being with the power of free will. She gets a choice - not a good choice, but a choice. As a human being, she can reject the options in front of her and find a third way. She can transform the whole game, and turn "Death is your gift" into an empowering statement. This was heavily foreshadowed of course - the Guide in Intervention outright stated that Buffy was full of love, and that "love will bring [her] to [her] gift". But it takes Buffy working through these fears and emotions and realising that she simply can't take Dawn's life. She chooses a new way. She avoids being a killer by rejecting utilitarian ethics. To paraphrase The Last Jedi, she wins by saving what she loves. Ultimately, she's not a killer, but a girl, a friend, a sister, a Slayer - a hero.

So season five is very much the climax and resolution of this theme. Very few themes ever disappear entirely from this show though, and this one continues to echo throughout the show. In S6, Buffy again fears she is slipping into darkness. That there is some kind of darkness that is innate within her. But where in S5 this was a fear that she recoiled from but at times seemed inevitable, in S6 it is something that she is drawn towards, that disgusts her but that she takes a kind of comfort in, because it's easier than facing the mundane reality of her depression.

This yearning for her own darkness takes the physical form of Spike, who she uses for what is basically sexual self-harm. Spike steps into Faith's role as Buffy's shadow self for much of the later seasons, and , and like Faith he represents killing as hedonism, and as sex. There's no vampire who so aggressively blurs the lines of sex and death/violence as Spike. Her fear that killing is part of her nature, and her fear of her own sexual desire, are very much one and the same. When she breaks down in Dead Things, she talks about the darkness within her, and of her shame over her own sexuality.

Spike also repeats Faith's utilitarian justifications from Consequences in the episode which forms the climax of Buffy's self-destruction, Dead Things. When Buffy attempts to metaphorically commit suicide by turning herself into the police, she does it while constantly identifying herself as a killed. She repeats some variation on "I killed her" four times in just two scenes. She wants to be punished for being a killer, and not protected for being the slayer. She has grappled with this several times, and is still resolute that being the slayer does not give her a license to kill, but this time she is desperate to be seen as a killer, to give justification for her own self-hatred.

The final way S6 explores this idea is with Willow. When she is after Warren, Buffy tries to stop her, not for Warren's sake but for Willow's. She knows that taking a life changes a person, and implicitly draws on the first time she chose to take a human's life, the moment she "became a killer" on that rooftop with Faith.

Buffy (re: going to kill Faith): I can't play kid games anymore. This is how she wants it. Xander: I just don't want to lose you. Buffy: I won't get hurt. Xander: That's not what I mean. - 3x21 Graduation Day

XANDER: She should be coming down at some point, shouldn't she? I mean, back there she was out of her head ... running on grief and magicks. BUFFY: Doesn't matter . Willow just killed someone. Killing people changes you. Believe me, I know. - 6x21 Two to Go Killing Warren might have been justified given what a complete piece of shit he was - just as killing Angel was justified, just as killing Faith was, just as killing Ben was. That doesn't matter, because Buffy still recognises that the act of killing leaves permanent psychological scars, which she is still bearing.

In S7, we get the final major exploration of the "does the Slayer have a right to kill" idea in Selfless. Here, Buffy seems to have reached the conclusion that Cordelia, Faith and Spike (all her shadow selves) were right, and she does, in fact, have the right to pass judgment because she's the Slayer, when she decides she has to kill Anya.

"It is always different! It's always complicated. And at some point, someone has to draw the line, and that is always going to be me. You get down on me for cutting myself off, but in the end the slayer is always cut off. There's no mystical guidebook. No all-knowing council. Human rules don't apply. There's only me. I am the law." - 7x05 Selfless

However, I don't think the show wants us to take this as gospel. Buffy is conclusively proved wrong in this episode, since killing Anya doesn't work, and it's Willow who finds a third option that saves the day. In S7, the idea of the Slayer-as-Killer is more an incidental theme, while the central exploration is the idea of "one girl in all the world". It explores the nature of that tragedy, that Buffy is by definition alone. Because of this, she necessarily must be a killer. She does have to pass judgement, because there is nobody else capable of it. She has to be the one to hunt and kill vampires. She has to face the choice to kill Angel, to kill Faith, to kill Dawn, to kill Anya.

This is where the theme ends up - as a tragic inevitability. Buffy must always make that choice. Making the selfless choice to kill her boyfriend doesn't stop it. Avoiding the choice and dying herself doesn't even stop it. That boulder just rolls down the hill again and again, and Buffy is the only one who can push it back up. The Slayer is a killer because the Slayer is alone. So the only way to break that cycle is for the Slayer to no longer be alone. There are still elements of The Slayer, and of Buffy as a person, that are linked to death and killing, but she has mostly made peace with those parts, and now can be free of having to be "the law" too.

[billiedeanhwrd]

mind is just as frail as it's frame, you know i'd leave it alone

billie dean howard x reader

summary: you're fighting a losing game with your disorder, let's hope it's not too late when your ex-girlfriend shows up in your apartment.

warnings: eating disorders (bulimia), depression, sad ending

word count: 1730

a/n: this is basically a vent i dumped into my notes app in one sitting after not being inspired to write for way too long, so, pls don't judge too harshly and pls DONT READ THIS IF IT COULD TRIGGER YOU

gif credits to @mildredratchds

You had fallen into the dark, deep blue again. Time and time again you fell and you fought your way out, you fell and you picked yourself up again. Not this time though, you were drowning and there was nothing you could do to get back to air. You were trapped in this pool of misery as if it was locked on the surface, and there was no way you were getting out of it by yourself.

The last time it got this bad you had Billie, sweet, sweet Billie, who would've sacrificed her life to help you in any shape or form, but she was gone. Her departure left a cavity in your heart, yet you couldn't be mad at her. She had tried. But you locked her out when you needed her the most. There really was no one else to blame for the decaying of your heart, but you.

Nothing particularly bad happened that would've caused you to spiral this extremely, it was simply the fact that everything was bad, everything is bad, and everything would always be bad. In reality, your problems weren't getting worse, but the continuous strain of having to deal with the same troubles every single day was eating away at your resistance. You could feel the energy and willpower to keep going creeping out of your body, leaving you with the empty shell of who you used to be.

You hadn't talked to Billie in months, after repeated tries to break down your walls and being pushed away every single time, she gave up. You did it, you pushed away the one person who truly cared for you. Your mind was clouded by self-hatred and anguish, it was as if your eyes were shielded by a grey layer, making it impossible for the world to look anything but cold and loveless.

There was not a single thing that could spark up the joyous flame inside you. Nothing was even remotely good anymore. Nothing.

You were here, but at the same time, you weren't. As if you had taken a step back from reality. The feeling of not being real blurring the lines between good and bad. At certain moments the light inside you would flicker, pulling you back and guiding you to the right thing. But it was only a flicker. It was weak and it was temporary. The disordered desire to completely destroy yourself was starting to consume you.

Everything was blurry, the line between good and bad, the one between acceptable and inappropriate and most dangerously the one between you and your illness.

Were these your authentic thoughts or were they caused by a disorder?, was a question you often asked yourself, but never actually answered.

You had long reached past the point of not caring, now you wanted it, actively wanted absolute destruction. You resumed all your old unhealthy coping mechanisms and made no effort to stop your current ones.

Who would really care if you died? no one, at least that's what you made yourself believe.

Total isolation from friends and family was necessary so you could spend all your time focusing on your eating disorder.

Instead of spending your nights in the arms of the woman you loved, you spent them hunched over the toilet, hurling your guts out.

You felt weak and disgusting at all times, nothing about what you were doing was anywhere near glamorous. Well... except if anyone finds choking on your own vomit or all kinds of gross digestive issues glamorous.

You couldn't recognize the girl starring back at you in the mirror, who the hell even was this red-eyed girl? Her puffy cheeks stood out to you immediately. Snot, vomit, and bile were running down her face, probably picking at her skin. And her eyes... well, except for tears and popped blood vessels there was nothing in them. Not a single glimpse of happiness or remains of a person.

It was a heartbreaking sight that left you cold.

Dizzily you walked to your bed, too tired to do anything. The tiny remains of energy you had left you with the content of your stomach.

It was 5 in the evening and you were laying in bed, staring at the spinning ceiling, until your eyes fell shut.

Your friends had contacted Billie, she was the only one who used to be able to help you at least a little bit. She was there for you, always, and she never judged. She stood by you in your darkest times, supportively holding your hand and not letting go even when the going got tough. You were constantly terrified of dragging her down with you, the last thing you wanted was to rob the world of her angelic presence.

She would hold you close when you were down, which was admittedly most days. She would clean your apartment and do your laundry, things you didn't feel like you could do in the state you were in.

She loved you and you loved her.

Of course, you returned the favors, you were there for her as well, but you knew it was different. It was a bigger challenge being with someone so deeply intertwined with their illness, but she still did it.

She was your everything, and you had lost her.

Not only was she your light in this pitch-black hole others called life, but she was also your soulmate. The one you laughed with most. The one who got you, everything about you. You shared a myriad of beautiful moments that outshined any bad time for her. She wanted to marry you one day, of course, you didn't know that until you kicked her out of your apartment and discovered a red, velvet box weeks later when you finally cleaned out her drawer.

You were moody, irritable, impulsive, and horribly depressed. It seemed as if your actions didn't have consequences, life was a game of numbers. Calories in. Calories out. Nothing else mattered.

You felt no remorse when things ended with Billie. The realization only really hit you when you found the 18 carat Tiffany diamond.

For a second your eyes opened wide and your lips curled into a smile, despite having ruined the surprise proposal. Then, boom, it hit you and your heart crumbled. There was no surprise to ruin, anymore. You two were done. She didn't need you, she had moved on, appearing with a new side-piece on the covers of tabloids weekly.

Why would you even care though? You ended things. you could hear a painful laugh erupting from you, you didn't need her, you didn't need anyone, not when you had your innermost nervosa.

Eyes wide and dead, smile big and stiff, you looked horrifying. But what did it matter? Sanity was a hoax anyways.

When your friends called Billie she dropped everything for you, like she always had and always would. The second she heard how you were behaving, her heart rate went sky high. It was happening again, and this time, she wasn't there to throw you a lifejacket, this time, you were drowning on your own.

It was 6 in the evening, and you were laying in your bed, facing the now still-standing ceiling.

Billie chuckled to herself as she used the spare key you hid in your not-so-secret-secret hiding spot to open your front door. The apartment was just how you had left it.

After you had practically inhaled the kitchen until you were painfully full and then, of course, ritualistically aggressively forced your hand down your throat to un-do what just happened. That's what appealed to you about bulimia. The control. Life didn't have an undo button, so you had to create one for yourself. You cheated in the dirtiest games of them all and your pride overthrew every bit of rationality that was left. Not once did the thought "I shouldn't be doing this" enter your mind, this was after all normal to you, blurry, but normal.

It doesn't work that way though, you can't undo anything or cheat your way through life just because you're unable to give up control. And a part of you knew that, a part of you wanted to listen to what your therapist had told you. She was right, you could drop dead at any second, the chances of having a sudden heart attack rising after every heave.

The smell of vomit invaded the medium's nose when the door creaked open, and her heart sunk. She wanted so badly to help you through this, stand by you, and overcome this with you, but you wouldn't let her. You made it impossible for her to be apart of your life. She had no energy to keep up the fight and so she left, like you wanted her to, like you said you wanted her to.

She called out your name. no response. you must be asleep somewhere, she thought. Your ex-girlfriend made her way through the food packages and dirty dishes on the floor to the bathroom, it wouldn't be the first time she'd find you passed out on the cold ceramic tiles. She flushed the toilet and wiped down the blood and vomit-covered toilet seat before stopping in the doorway to collect herself. Fiddling with her pearl necklace before taking a deep breath, she left the bathroom.

It was 6:10 in the evening when Billie switched off the light in the bathroom and headed to the kitchen, her red pumps echoing through your deadly silent apartment. She stopped in her tracks and seriously considered cleaning for a second, like she used to do for you when you were dating.

She missed you, a lot. She missed seeing the relief on your face when you entered your freshly cleaned kitchen after beating yourself up for nights for not being able to just. Do. IT. She missed the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at her, she missed your bear-hugs and cuddles, she missed everything about you. Billie shook her head, cleaning could wait, she needed to talk to you.

It was 10 past 6 in the evening and you were laying in your bed, which was how Billie found you a few seconds later.

Because everything was just how you had left it. Dirty dishes on the floor. Lights on. Vomit in the toilet. A lifeless body facing the ceiling.

[lene-loki]

Never Too Close

Summary: After the events of Avengers: Endgame, (Y/N) Romanoff is mourning the death of her sister Natasha. She is unexpectedly finding comfort in the presence of someone who shares the pain of losing the people he loved.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff!Sister Reader

Warnings: Character Death, Spoiler for Avengers: Endgame, Angst, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts

Word Count: 2264 Words

A/N: I hope ya’ll liked this Imagine. Please let me know if you want to get tagged on future Imagines or Series that I want to write. This isn’t proofread and please excuse grammaticaly and verbal mistakes since English isn’t my mother tongue. And now please enjoy!! With Love, Léne xx

(Y/N) = Your Name

The pouring of the rain sounds like a faint whisper in the distance. When I close my eyes and listen precisely to the rustle I can almost hear the voice I long to hear. I open my eyes when the wind starts to blow into my ear, making my whole body shiver. A raindrop lands directly on top of my cheekbone and gets mixed up with a teardrop that escapes my eye. The wet droplet almost feels like a passing kiss. As if she is standing right beside me and kisses my tears away or maybe she cries from heaven herself and her tears end up on my face. I like to think that she watches me from above. Seeing my every move. Despite the rain a familiar warmth is spreading through my heart, making me feel safe and not alone anymore. My eyes blink the tears away, trying to focus on the words that are written on the wooden cross in front of me. The fact that her death is still so recent that she has to wait for a stone to mark her grave, makes me sob. I have looked so many times at that wooden cross that I started to hate it. She deserves a beautiful, carved stone. Not a dirty, broken cross where her name already starts to fade. But she has to wait. Her coffin isn’t set enough to put a heavy stone on top of the earth. I wipe the back of my hand over my tearstained cheeks before I kneel down in front of the grave. Everyday I bring a new kind of flowers by. Making the earth dissapear in a vibrant, little garden. It helps my own mental health to transform the place of grief into a little paradise for her. And I hope this is exactly where she’s at now. In a paradise. My eyes tear away from the flowers before I start counting them again like I always do. Because the number of the flowers is the number of the days since she passed away. My chest hurts, my heart starts to crumble inside when I once again think about the empty coffin under the ground. My sisters body dissapeard when she sacrificed herself to get the Soul Stone. Now all that remained of her is the memory.

Although it’s past midnight when I leave the graveyard I can’t help but to ring Clint out of his sleep - as well as his wife and his children probably. He picks up the phone with a yawn, his voice raspy from his deep sleep. He is the closest I have to family now and he knows. He always cared for me and Natasha and now that she’s gone he’s supporting me more than ever. Giving me a shoulder to cry on no matter how late it is. That is exactly whe he’s never annoyed when I call him at times like this. My loneliness leads the conversation as I tell him that I don’t know where to go. “Where are you right now, (Y/N)?” I shrug my shoulders even though he can’t see. “I think I’m near the Avengers compound.” My voice is barely louder than a whisper. My throats stil sore from my hour long crying at Natashas grave. “I can pick you up. You can stay at mines if you want.” He suggests and I can hear him fumbling with the bedsheets in the background. Ever since Natashas passing, I stayed at the Avengers compound in her former room. But sometimes it gets too much being surrounded by her memories and her whole life in just that little space. Everything in her room reminds me of her scent, her smile, her voice, the look in her eyes - especially that tiny twinkle in her iris that always appeared when she felt extremely proud of me. I have to pull myself together to not sob again and alarm Clint even more. As much as I want to escape from the compound for a little while, I don’t want to wear out Clints care for me. I feel like I already asked too much of him. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry that I woke you.” I swallow the lump down in my throat in hopes he doesn’t hear how near I am to losing it all again. He sighs at the other end. “You’re sure?” “Yes.”   “Okay, love. Don’t apologize for calling me.” His voice sounds so soft I could fall asleep immediately on the side of the road. He just has this soothing affect on me. I hang up after telling him that I love him and walk in the dim lights of the streetlamps to the compound.

Inside the building everything is pitch dark. The only light comes from Wandas room. It’s red and spreads in chaotic rays around the space of her own four walls. She surely is training her magic since she still hasn’t full control over her powers what burdened her more than usually the last couple of days. I decide not to disturb the Scarlet Witch and seek refuge in Natashas room. I really try to sleep but since Thanos happened my nights are as restless as my hurting heart. I’m still wide awake physically but dangerously exhausted mentally when I hear voices in the early morning hours in the kitchen. Wandas voice makes me wonder if she’s been awake the whole night as well. I leave the room in my short pyjama shorts and my plain white T-Shirt. I wouldn’t fall asleep anyway so I might as well just get up and start another day of inner misery. I round the corner to the kitchen island where Pepper placed a large bowl of exotic fruits on top. The blonde showed me a sad smile since she’s lost in her own grief. Pepper disappears out of the kitchen - leaving me alone with Wanda and a familiar brunette man which I recognize from Tony’s funeral. I can’t remeber his name but I recall the pained expression on his face and the devastated haze over his pupils. He seems like he always looks like pure misery. “Good morning.” I greet them both shyly since they haven’t notice me yet. Wanda immediately sends a heartful smile in my direction while the stranger’s corners of his mouth just twitch the slightest bit upward - almost to tiny to notice. I also perceive his new hairstyle. The last time I saw him he had messy, long waves. Longer than shoulder length and a full beard. Now he has his hair cut short and looking neat with his jawline covered in dark stubbles instead of the fullgrown beard. “Bucky, this is (Y/N). She is Natashas’ sister.” Wanda explains him in her thick, sokovian accent since he developed the same look of recognition on his face as me. Now the puzzle pieces click together. That is Bucky Barnes. Steves’ best friend and the other Super Soldier. His facial features unravel in realization. “Oh, right. Hello, (Y/N). Nice to meet you again and I’m... Sorry about your loss.” He frowns at the last part. “Thank you, it’s nice to see you again in less sorrowful circumstances.” I try to lighten up the mood a bit because I don’t want to start my day already with a bad encounter that reminds me once again how miserable I am inside. Unsure if we should shake hands, Bucky’s metal arm jerks briefly in my direction but he instantly lets it sink again - wrapping the room in an uncomfortable silence. “Well it was nice to see you again. I got to go now.” I excuse myself from the weird situation and leave without breakfast to go to my Natasha’s room. I still feel uncomfortable calling it my room since it was Natsha’s place to live for so many years. I didn’t completely lie to Bucky and Wanda since it’s a new day and time to pick up new flowers for my sisters grave. I change into comfy short, cotton pants and an old, blue pullover from Natashas wardrobe before I leave the compound.

I take a cab to the same  flower shop I visit everyday. Where even the owner knows me by name already. Today marks exactly thirty days since Natasha died. A whole month without my older sister by my side. I ordered a special type of flower for this occasion. A bouqet of beautiful Royal Azaleas - the most precious flowers of our native country Russia. As beautiful as Natasha and I like how it brings a bit of our home to her - making her little paradise even more exotic. At the graveyard I am so consumed in my own thoughts to where I’m going to place the Royal Azaleas on the ground in front of the wooden cross, that I don’t notice right away the broad figure a few feet away from me. He’s standing upset in his posture  and bent a little forward above a grave. It’s the back of his head - his freshly done hair and the colour of his shirt that gives him away and I realise that it’s Bucky. I decide against it to walk up to him since he’s mourning in his own world as well and obviously needs his space. My eyes tear away from the picture of the broken man in front of me and I finally walk straight up to Natashas grave. I crouch slightly to put my bag on the ground. I brought a little shovel to set the new flowers into the earth directly in front of the cross - making the Azaleas stand out from the rest. It is when I walk over to the well a few feet away from me to pick up the watering can, that Bucky notices he’s not alone. The can is filled to the brink and quite heavy in my hand as I carry it to Natashas grave, losing waterdrops on my way there. I silently water the flowers - careful not to drown them in the lack of strength I have in my hand that is holding the water can. The whole time I can feel his stare on me and I can almost feel his inner battle if he should come up to me or not. A few moments later he starts nervously walking up to me while I clean the little shovel to stow it away in my bag. “Do you still the need the watering can?” He asks hoarsely as he comes to a halt beside my bend over figure - blocking the sun out of my view which throws a few rays on the water droplets. Making them sparkle inbetween the flowers of Natashas floral paradise. “No.” I smile softly at him and stand up again. He returns my friendly grin and takes the water can but doesn’t leave straight away. He hesitates a second unsure of if he should leave me alone again, but somehow I long for company - not wanting to speak with the wind again and hallucinate about Natashas voice. “I lost everyone. Natasha was the only one left of my family. Although Clint supports the weight of my grief to make me feel like I’m not alone I still feel like it. I always felt like I’m alone in this world and deep down I don’t feel like I belong to the Avengers either. It was Natashas community. Not mine.” My eyes start to sting with upcoming tears while I open up to Bucky. I don’t really know why I do this. I guess I never felt so out of place and so lonely like I did in the past days and it scares me. Bucky clears his throat, his glance burning holes into my soul as he watches every slightest movement of my facial expressions. “I went through losing the people I love so many times that I lost count of it.” He blinks the tears away which threatens to fall from his eyes. “After Steve left to live the life with Peggy he always dramed to have, I officially got left alone. Steve was so much more than my friend. He was my brother.” He sniffs. “And now I’m searching for a sign - just something that keeps me in this life.” I let my tears run freely as I identify his words as my own feelings. And I realise that we are two souls hurting from the same experiences building a connection to one another through the desperation of having lost any strength to keep living. “Without wanting to get too close to you, I think you just as broken inside as me.” He speaks up. His eyes are swollen and red, still glossy from fresh tears which haven’t stopped being reproduced and leaking out of the corner of his eyes. I strangely feel comfort in the detail that his blue pullover matches mine. My heart starts to pick up a pace as I cross a vulnerable line between us and say: “I think you can never be too close to someone. I’m sure closeness is what we both need the most now.” I gift him a teary smile which he returns with a faint tint of red across his cheeks. Our encounter feels like a big step for the both of us - coming out of our shells we’ve been hiding in like anxious snails and I could feel it in the beating behind my ripcage that it was towards the right direction.

[marmolady]

The Fountain

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Post-EndlessEnding. A Broken Chains AU. The world has been restored, but at the price of Taylor's life. And Estela isn't ready to let her go.

Word Count: 2121

Warnings: Major character death.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove

Hug prompts-- 29. group hug. Thanks @mauvecatfic! I'll make Raj's next hugs more cheerful.

Through the rumblings of an oncoming rainstorm, the silent figure of Estela Montoya limped and crawled through the thick La Huerta jungle, driven by a thought that had become a need… to see the face of her beloved again, to hear her voice.  It spurred her on, a tiny glimmer of something worth living for that she clung to with desperation that increased with every unsteady step.

Estela’s last memory of her wife, of her beautiful Taylor, wouldn’t be that hollow shell-- bloodless, devoid of all the fire and spirit… all the easy warmth that should have been there-- that she’d laid sobbing next to the dark medical room. No. She was going to take her minute more. Everyone else… they had a world raised from the dead; a world that meant absolutely fucking nothing to Estela now. After everything she’d sacrificed… god, Taylor… the world owed her that moment.

The Fountain of Youth was a long and arduous trek from Elyys’tel at the best of times, but half-dragging a savaged leg, it was near insurmountable. If it weren’t for the promise of hearing that voice, of seeing those sapphire eyes alight with life… well, Estela would endure the harrowing journey over again if that was the end. Her knees, the heels of her hands… they were badly grazed and muddied from catching herself as she’d stumbled again and again. Her senses, usually alert to her surroundings, had been dulled by the haze of grief that preoccupied her every thought. She was lucky to have gotten all this way through La Huerta’s treacherous jungles without coming to serious harm, but it was of little concern to Estela. The worst that could happen was that she’d die. And that…. In all honesty, it would be welcome. What was there worth surviving for now? Were it not for all that had been sacrificed so that she might live, she’d end her fucking life herself and be done with it. There was no future… no future save for this time they had together. When their moment was over, Estela would be once again plunged into the abyss that was the depth of her grief, an abyss that would surely swallow her up. She couldn’t look that far ahead-- she just couldn’t. She had to keep it together for Taylor… one last time.

Estela fell to her knees as she came through the doorway of the abandoned temple. Dread flooded her body. All that was left now was for her to summon the courage to reach out to the woman she loved from across time… to do so knowing that she’d been setting in motion the last minute they’d have together. Once it was done it was done; that much she as certain of. She could keep going back to that tree until she drove herself to insanity-- but doing so would be to inflict that pain on Taylor, forever colouring her too-short life with a darkness she didn’t deserve. Just once. Just once in the rest of her life-- that wasn’t asking too much, was it? Estela’s stomach turned as she thought it out. There had been no thinking it out while she’d slogged through the jungle; she’d moved onwards robotically, her mind and body detached from one another while grief drove her to the last hope, the last scrap of her person. Only now did she doubt everything. She hauled herself back to her feet, her weakened leg trembling violently beneath her weight. And she kept walking forwards, all the while her mind whirred.

It wasn’t as though Taylor would see this future, see the heartbreak in her wife’s eyes, and be able to change the path she’d set herself on. This path had tortured Taylor. She’d sacrificed herself because she simply couldn’t live with the alternative. And she’d died with hope. A hope that had been for naught, a spark extinguished along with the life in her eyes, but a hope that had given Taylor the courage to give away her very life force. What right did Estela have to take that away?

But I need her. I need her!

She’s gone.

The minute would be over and… Taylor would still be… gone. Would Estela hurt any less? No, but she’d endure a world of pain for even a second of feeling Taylor’s presence there with her. She’d endure it again and again, over and over until it killed her.

If it’s gonna hurt her…?

Estela’s shallow breathing became even more rapid as she stood before the tree. Tears spilled down her dirty cheeks. Blind grief had gotten her this far, but she’d been so blind. She couldn’t do this. Not now, not ever.

Taylor was dead. Dead and gone. They’d said their goodbyes down beneath Atropo, before Taylor had touched that damned crystal.  She’d close her eyes and see the terrible, sickening way her sweet Taylor had writhed in agony… the way her face lost almost all semblance of her self as it contorted with the pain. As Estela had seen again and again, near constantly since she’d woken to a healed world, but a world without Taylor. It was more than she could bear.

With tears and snot rolling into her mouth, dripping from her chin, she stumbled toward the tree… toward the Fountain of Youth. If she was careful, if she thought it through properly, she could find solace elsewhere. Panting for air, Estela wiped her face hurriedly. She couldn’t be crying for this, no matter how much she was tearing up inside.

She’d told herself she wouldn’t do it. It was risky; she’d need to be certain not to say or do a thing that could alter the events that would shape, well, everything. But it was different now. She needed it; she needed her mom to tell her everything would be okay. Because the person she’d otherwise have turned to was lost forever, and… because it wasn’t okay…. She wasn’t… she wasn’t.

Raising her hand to the tree’s surface, Estela closed her eyes and imagined her mother’s face… the words of comfort that would come. Just enough… just enough to keep her from crumbling. But as her fingers were about to graze the bark, she hesitated. That face in her mind warped with shock and fear. Of course. That fucking scar. She wouldn’t even be able to get a single word out before it would be clear to Olivia that something had gone wrong… that she’d been badly hurt. Estela felt the cold weight of her heart sink down to her toes. She… couldn’t do that to her mama.

A tortured cry wrenched itself from Estela’s lungs as she threw her body forward against the hard, cold bricks. There were no more loopholes… no cheats that could give her even a moment more of an existence that wasn’t this fucking, fucking nightmare. She screamed into the damp ground, and screamed until her throat and lungs were raw.

Why did she have to go on living?

It was like she was drawn to people who were like her-- people who cared too much, people who would die for a cause. They’d die and they’d leave her. She’d tried to warn Taylor off; ‘you get close to me, you’ll get hurt’. Bullshit. Because no matter how Estela might put her life on the line for what she believed in, somehow she ended up the one still breathing. But she didn’t fucking want to. She didn’t want to live anymore. She didn’t… want to….

She howled.

_________________________

A small party emerged at last from the thickest part of the forest, the ruins of No’ox Naj illuminated by a flash of lightning as if to welcome them to shelter.

Shivering from the wet that sent a chill to his bones, Diego huddled close to Varyyn, who guided him with a gentle steer of a long and muscular arm.

“You must watch your step. It would be easy to slip on the wet moss.”

Gazing around the temple, taking in the gloom that hung there, Raj shuddered violently. “Maybe it was all that talk of ghosts and the whole ‘dead Zahra’ thing, but this place just gives me the heebies….”

“Well, yeah. That’d… that’d do it.”

“Estela?” Quinn called out, her voice echoing off the stone walls. “Esteeelllaaaa…!”

No answer. Diego’s heart sank. He’d been so sure he’d been onto something. Not only was this place a strong connection to the Endless-- and by association, with Taylor-- but it held within a magic gift that could never be more tempting than it was right now.

“We should go further in,” he decided. If this ‘Fountain of Youth’ thing did work, maybe they could ask…? The thought made a hard lump rise in his throat. The thought of seeing Taylor again. But they couldn’t… they couldn’t.

“You’re right,” Michelle agreed. “As if Estela ever comes running when anyone calls her name at the best of times…. If she’s anywhere, she took herself there to be alone; she was never going to make this easy.”

Diego winced so hard he was certain it hadn’t gone unnoticed by a single one of the group. She’d have come running for Taylor. Every time. He cleared his throat. “We should at least check around the tree. Um, maybe check in with the others?”

Somehow, he’d found himself leading the search party. A role, he was so painfully aware, that would usually have naturally fallen to Taylor. That should still be falling to Taylor. His imaginary friend had left him, so… so it was time to grow up. To step up. He supposed it helped that everyone was handling him with kid gloves just as they were Estela; if Diego needed something to happen, everyone just about fell over themselves to make it happen. Right now, all he wanted-- all any of them wanted-- was to know that Estela was safe. If anything happened to her now….

Quinn checked her phone; still a bizarre feeling after so many months without such communications. Her face fell, even expecting no different to the response she got. “Still nothing on their end. But the Elysian could take days to check properly, even with whatever scans Iris has access to, and all the cameras-- just because they haven’t found her there yet, doesn’t mean….”

“We’re not losing anyone else!” Michelle said shrilly as she paced the floor. “I’ve just lost one sister and I’m not about to… about to….” She gasped and dissolved into sobs. “…Taylor would be losing her mind.”

There was a shuffling sound… stumbling feet. Everyone hushed, a joint breath held.

Limping into view, one hand-- stained with blood as were her forehead and knees-- propping her up with the wall as she came forward; Estela.

“It’s okay. I… I’m safe.”

Safe. Not ‘okay’, but safe. It was all she could give them.

She could have hidden away. Her friends--- though she loved them so much-- were living reminders of what had been torn away. She could not look at a one of them and not see Taylor.

“Oh, thank god!” Michelle exclaimed, and she rushed forward. She had a moment’s hesitation, holding back from taking her friend in her arms and squeezing her to within an inch of her life, not knowing if any physical show of affection would be welcomed. But Estela reached out, her eyes welling, and Michelle guided her into an embrace.

The feeling of being taken in a friends arms, of being held… it was wonderful, and yet it hurt, and all at once the dam broke and Estela could not have held back her tears if she’d wanted to. She collapsed to the cold, damp floor, eased down by her friend's steadying arms.

Raj was next in-- never one to hold back when a group hug was in the offing. As he got down on the ground, Estela flopped forward and cried into his chest. There was nothing to say, so he just wrapped her in a hug and squeezed her there, while Diego and Varyyn, and Quinn piled in too. There they wept together. Sharing in loss and relief and exhaustion and a deep and overpowering sadness.

In the centre of the mass of arms and bodies, Estela closed her eyes against Raj’s warm chest… surrounded in a scent so reminiscent of happy memories and better days when the world was not so dark… feasts and laughter and… her. Her Taylor. She sighed deeply… and let herself feel it.

The comfort she needed was right there. It wasn’t enough-- how could it be when her world had ended?-- but it was warmth and it was love, and her heart was not breaking alone.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if vampire Bella took Renesmee and ran away with her? What do you think would happen?

Well that would be an entirely different story on so many levels I don’t even know where to begin.

First, when is Bella running away and why?

Per your ask, you specify that Bella is a vampire. This means that this is not beginning of Breaking Dawn AU where Bella, terrified Edward and the Cullens will force her to abort, flees from them in order to save Renesmee’s life (sacrificing her own in the process). 

For the record, though you didn’t ask, I imagine Bella would have a terrible time, starving in the jungle in Brazil, probably drinking the blood of dead road kill until Renesmee pulls an alien and bursts out of her womb and stomach. Renesmee then eats her mother’s corpse.

Edward would never find her because he’s an awful tracker, he’d probably do what he does best, goes to Rio. Eventually, he shows back up on Aro’s doorstep telling him it’s time for assisted suicide again, because Bella is definitely dead this time. Just to make sure they actually do it this time, he walked into Volterra shirtless.

Aro just stares, gets up, and walks out of the room. He has a very terrible phone call to make to Carlisle and then a hybrid vampire (and probably an immortal child) to track down somewhere in South America.

Caius looks at Marcus, Marcus looks at nothing, Caius tries to decide if he’s more insulted by being Edward Cullen’s assisted suicide express or by Edward Cullen’s existence. It’s a very tough call. I imagine that, rather than let Edward slip away again after breaking the law several times over now, Caius goes, “Okay” and lights him on fire.

But you specified that Bella’s a vampire, meaning this is happening post birth and possibly post Breaking Dawn.

To be honest, I think towards the end of Breaking Dawn, Bella’s left the planet. Her world is a surreal haze that has nothing to do with reality. She had this horrific pregnancy, she actually died, went through three days of agony, and is now this alien being.

She prances through fields of flowers in beautiful clothes, she has a lovely five-year-old precocious daughter, he has Edward and a small little cabin where they have the world’s tamest sex, she’s able to keep Charlie in her life, the realities of vampirism are miles away from her.

Bella’s not living on Earth anymore, she’s in the headspace only Esme of the books lives in. And, to be honest, I think Bella’s doomed to become Esme 2.0. Bella will go full incest at high school (as you know she, Renesmee, and Edward will be posing as triplets), probably bake cookies for Renesmee (who probably can’t even eat them), thinks vampire hunts are the equivalent to camping and a wonderful bonding experience, has 0 awareness that every relationship in her life is falling apart, and is just this deeply weird and frankly creepy person.

Renesmee is more... a concept to Bella than a person. I mean, I don’t blame Bella in this, Bella goes from never thinking about having kids to suddenly having an alien five-year-old in a month. How do you process that?

The damning part is Bella thinks she knows her daughter very well. She looks at Renesmee and sees this alien thing that she can’t gauge at all (she keeps trying to guess Renemsee’s physical and mental age in human terms when Renesmee isn’t remotely human, her DNA is completely different, she just has this human shell). Bella concludes she’s very mature and adult in mentality. Renesmee seems to read Bella’s favorite books, (which by the way are really weird reading material for children), and Bella bonds with her daughter by reading Wuthering Heights to her alien child. 

Bella sees a miniature Edward in her child (in terms of sophistication and intelligence) and thinks everything’s wonderful.

Bella’s life is perfect. Everyone else’s lives, including Renesmee’s, are perfect. Why would she ever leave?

So, for Bella to take Renesmee and run, we need a catalyst.

I believe Edward will inevitably cheat on her (yes, I know, I haven’t posted a meta yet but you can’t simply open the dark box labeled Edward Cullen and emerge unscathed, these things take time). But I think that would prompt Bella herself to leave or, more likely, be the Yoko Ono effect that breaks up the Cullen coven.

It’d be devastating, but has nothing to do with Renesmee. I imagine Renesmee would just sit there, eating rats like she’s eating popcorn, looking rather bored as she saw this coming ages ago and she has no idea why everyone’s losing their collective minds.

I also imagine she takes this as permission as that she can eat Edward (I imagine Renesmee and Edward’s relationship is... not good, but that’s for another meta).

The Romanians may come calling and try to sweet talk Bella into the necessity of destroying the Volturi. That, or Edward himself will decide it’s his god given mission to destroy the Volturi and free mankind and vampirekind from their tyranny.

However, while that will result in a horrific dystopia, it doesn’t necessitate Bella and Renesmee breaking off from the coven. That, and Bella’s so far from reality, that I imagine it doesn’t sink in for a long time and perhaps ever that she now lives in a hellscape.

I think it’d have to be a direct threat to Renesmee from Edward. And a clear, non-negotiable, horrifying threat at that (which Edward is fully capable of).

I say Edward, because that would be the biggest betrayal to Bella. After New Moon, I believe that Bella thinks her fate with the family rests on Edward’s opinion alone. Edward can make them flip on her in an instant. If it was someone else threatening Renesmee, then Edward could come with her or they could do something about whoever’s gone crazy.

If Edward decides that, no, it is time to kill the demon child then Bella will lose faith in the entire coven. She’ll panic, and she will run with Renesmee as far and as fast as she can.

Volterra’s off the table thanks to the Breaking Dawn fiasco, I imagine Bella would be too paranoid to seek out any of Carlisle’s friends as she’d lump Carlisle in with the threat that is Edward. So, likely, she and Renesmee would go to Antarctica or somewhere else completely uninhabited.

Edward would go to Rio.

Bella and Renesmee would probably finally talk to one another. Though it’s probably mostly Renesmee trying to deal with the emotional, depressed, mess that is her mother whose entire fantasy has now completely fallen apart.

Renesmee gets to be the new Jake!

Carlisle, meanwhile, is wherever the Cullen family has moved to, trying to process what even happened and what he’s going to do. He’s probably lost all faith in Edward and finally acknowledged that something’s not right and is desperately trying to get a hold of Bella and Renesmee, who aren’t answering his phone calls.