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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years

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why does jean warn up to mc so quickly? ikevamp makes it clear that jean is a pretty reserved person and doesn't open up or let people in easily but he seems to let mc in quite quickly and it confuses me quite a bit.

Oh boy, where to begin with this one.

Well, I have a lot of Feelings^TM about this, but I'll try to be concise. Essentially, I think Jeanne doesn't recover in the other routes--or the general storyline--largely because he's just a lot to unpack narratively speaking. And without some pretty direct intervention, he has a hard time healing. MC’s direct intervention was meaningful because it was focused, consistent, and adapted to Jeanne’s specific needs. She also doesn’t make light of his experiences which is key; she fully understands that she can’t fathom what he’s been through. There is a very weighty respect and acknowledgement, a seriousness with which she treats his wounds that’s important.

It’s easy to make this a “why is MC nOt LiKe ThE oThEr GiRlS” but honestly that’s just not the sense I get when I look at all the information available to us.

That being said, I also just feel like every person's recovery from traumatic events doesn't really look the same? I mean Leonardo’s cptsd isn’t going to operate the same way Jeanne’s wartime/Inquisition cptsd is going to operate. Some people require very individualized healing, others will often require a large scale group effort to lift them up.

Typically people don't ever just get over what happened to them and never worry about it again, either. It's usually a process of coping; the hope is that with time you find healthy ways to deal with grief and move forward. Therapists aren't magicians, they just help people process painful experiences/thoughts. It's honestly up to individuals to find meaningful ways to implement these tactics.

Tl; dr: My contention is that Jeanne doesn’t open up or choose to stay alive because MC magically heals him, rather his recovery is a convergence of many people’s efforts and hopes that he stays alive. Gilles (he insists that Jeanne must live, asks him to promise), MC (affirms and bolsters that promise), Comte (makes a second life and recovery possible)--and in no small measure Mozart and Napoleon--all make an active effort to buoy him. As people often say, it takes a village to raise a child.

While Jeanne seems to respond most powerfully to MC’s attempts, it feels more like a product of chemistry/compatibility than it does a random cop out. There is no insinuation that only romantic love can heal; after all, MC gets close to him without any romantic intentions at first. They’re just good friends? It’s more that their feelings simply moved in a different direction after a point, which doesn’t necessarily happen all the time. Jeanne is also incredibly moved by Mozart’s love for him as a friend, Comte’s love for him as a father, and even Gilles’ love as a comrade to an extent. If anything, without their input Jeanne’s capacity for romantic love would be questionable at best.

Now, because I can never for the life of me stop analyzing, I have a more large scale outline of my thoughts below. Spoilers for Jeanne’s route:

If we look at Jeanne's life history, he has pretty specific trauma. Most of the harm he endured was a direct result of human rights violations after the war itself. He didn't enjoy fighting and killing people, but he's also very much a man that sees the reality of his position: it's either kill or be killed. His entire goal was to defeat the enemy as efficiently as possible in the hopes of ending conflict, and with his enormous resolve turns the tide. He had no innate interest in inflicting harm, or lack of control when engaging. He isn't pathological about it, and doesn’t dehumanize the other side. He was more "this was an act of necessity, but those are still human beings." So as far as I can tell he has a very strong moral compass and sense of duty, he doesn't show much delusion/confusion in that regard. (Also evident in his conversations with the young orphan boy.) Furthermore, he has been shown to have a sense of humor--cracking jokes with Gilles and boosting morale for his fellow soldiers.

His childhood abandonment is significant (he left his home because he was "not an adequate farmhand and they had no ability to feed all their children") but I don't know if I would consider it a huge trauma point for him. It seems as though he deemed it an act of necessity--not spite. It was simply the way of things, and he couldn't help his wiry constitution. You'd be surprised how common that was once upon a time, tbh... While it's certainly not right or fair, it does appear that in his perception it was the choice he made and he moved on after he became a soldier. Just focusing on what he could do, rather than everything he lacked. For people in his position, they often feel it is useless to linger on what should have been. There’s no time to linger or doubt, life hangs in the balance.

That leaves us with his time under the Inquisition, just before he was slated to be burned alive. I think this is the keystone trauma point for him, because there are a lot of moving parts to his powerlessness here. The first part is that his entire life's mission--ending the war so that people would no longer have to die and/or starve as a result of senseless violence--was just sabotaged. All those years of doing things he never wanted to do (wartime violence) and being forced to leave his family to ensure they didn't all starve, all of it treated like some kind of joke. Like he didn't sacrifice years of his life and sanity to protect a people who were happy to call him a monster and watch him burn alive. The second part is the overt gaslighting and rewriting of Jeanne's personal history (and overall French public perception) for the sake of the King's political agenda. To call him a treasonous danger to the country when he was once lauded a hero. The third portion is the actual physical helplessness of being arrested, starved, and continuously maimed for no reason beyond pure malice. While it's never right to do that to any human being, this was done to a man who prided himself on his stalwart moral code. To abuse and torture him for something egregious that he would never do (at the risk of death) is just another slap in the face to everything he is and believes in.

I just feel like the context clarifies why that period of time would be the tipping point. His entire moral code and life’s work is being called into question and swept aside, as well as his agency? He believes very powerfully in a sense of right vs wrong, what's fair and what isn't fair. Somebody else deciding that for him--and deciding in a way that is openly unfair/incorrect--further makes him lose himself and his sense of reality. A person in that situation begins to doubt if they are good or bad. His belief in god all the more pressing; if he was a good person, why would fate bring him so much suffering? Honorable soldier or not, his blade has drawn so much blood...

People often reference his stilted social skills (and I am of the belief that he is on the autistic spectrum) as a reason why he is so "people-adverse" but tbh? I don't agree. His memories before the onset of this trauma reveal that he was actually a very warm person, and that people were more than willing to fight under his banner. He had friends, and he had comrades--his country loved him. He was the picture of well-meaning civic duty. Just because he doesn’t integrate smoothly into larger social groups or adapt well to socially shifting circumstances, doesn’t mean he just hates people lmao. When people give him the space to exist within his comfort zone and don’t take advantage of him, he thrives. Compounded by that, we also have his actions in the present to further prove what is true and what isn't.

While he is stern with the orphan boy (I'm sorry I can't remember his name, damn it) there is no malice or cruelty in what he has to say. He doesn't punish the kid or do anything out of line. It may not be fair in terms of the adult level of discretion he asks of him, but the kid also didn't have a lot of options realistically speaking lmao. Same thing with MC, she and the orphan boy are nearly identical in how Jeanne treats them. He's a little rough, but the route reveals that his intentions are just a reflection of what he's been through. He truly believes that if a person isn't strong, they won't survive--because his entire life was a series of trying to be strong/reliable because nobody else would. There was nobody to protect him, and nobody to care for him went things went south. It was him and his sword against the world, and even his exceptional skill as a fighter did not protect him from the Inquisition's arbitrary torture. He has lived in a world where good acts can become absolutely meaningless, where following rules and helping people still gets you slaughtered. That's going to take a considerable toll on his mental health: where do you find the will to go on when the next second of your life could mean the devastation of everything that matters to you?

Spoilers: you don't. Or if you do, every minute of the day is a fight to stay alive. That is the point at which we meet Jeanne. Caught in the hellish whirlpool of wanting more, wanting better--but being terrified of the cost. The cost of hoping, only for his entire world to go up in flames again. It's not a small thing, in my view.

If you have any doubts as to whether or not that is the case, I direct you to literally every singular instance in which Jeanne's emotional sensibility goes visibly dark/south. When do these instances happen? When it rains, for one. And when Shakespeare deliberately starts pressing on his sensitivities: about the soldiers he was forced to kill, about the nation that spurned him, how he's truly "wicked" at heart and doesn't deserve to be happy--seconds before flames erupt for the festival. Does that really sound coincidental? I mean lmao. The rain is a painful reminder, but MC transforms that memory into something a little lighter with her bet. He has nothing to lose in her game, all she does is ask for time with him or offers him something if she loses. There's a playfulness there, a restoration of agency and ease that's invaluable to his recovery.

As for Shakespeare's deliberate retraumatization...I can't even begin to explain how damaging that event was. Shakespeare is undermining Jeanne's agency in that he--not unlike the corrupt monarch of Jeanne's era--is twisting Jeanne's beliefs to work against him. He knows full well that Jeanne doesn't feel like he deserves somebody so bright and understanding (we need to remember it's not really a luxury he's had much in life, especially after the war ended). He knows Jeanne has a tendency to impose that strict moral code on himself even more than he does on others. To reaffirm his every worst fear and lurking terror only throws Jeanne into a vicious downspiral. Jeanne doesn't reject MC out of disgust or hate. He rejects her because he literally cannot handle the concept of trying to be happy again, or of burdening her with his constant struggle to move on while he’s in the middle of a bad episode. He knows he won’t be able to stop reliving the past, that every second of his life and breath will be colored by his gruesome memories. He's trying as hard as he can to keep the intrusive thoughts quiet, to move on. But I'm not going to lie to any of you, that is incredibly difficult to do alone.

The next obvious question is, well why can't the other men help him? This isn't to say that they can't--we see how much solace Jeanne finds in Napoleon and Mozart. Even Isaac is gentle with the veteran. But there are limits to how much they can do. Napoleon is struggling with his own wartime trauma, and it's not identical to Jeanne's. Plus there’s a distinct difference in their sensibilities? Napoleon is the type to habitually seek comfort in helping others when he can't help himself, he's not as in tune with answering his own personal feelings and regulating them. (I mean just look at his new ES: he knows what he wants, but it takes a nudge from Isaac for him to go through with it.) He’s very communally reliant in ways Jeanne isn’t; Jeanne is a very private person, and typically prefers one on one from what I can tell.

Mozart is the definition of repression, and if you look at their interactions it's usually Jeanne that's smoothing over Mozart's rough edges. Mozart says as much himself: that he feels like a rotten friend because he knew Jeanne was struggling with a lot of intense trauma, but he didn't know how to unravel it without hurting him in the process. Mozart calls it personal cowardice, but honestly I just feel like they both had too much going on to be able to help each other effectively. (And Jeanne expresses this sentiment too? This idea that he's not angry with Mozart? He knows they're both carrying a lot, he's just touched Mozart cares about him in return.)

Okay, briefly unrelated, but like. Am I the only one that wheezes uncontrollably when Mozart is like "?????? Idk what it is about MC...I don't want her to be scared of me..." in his own main story in the baths. And Jeanne. IS TRYING SO HARD. NOT TO SPILL THE BEANS ABOUT HIM O B V I O U S L Y BEING IN LOVE. THE HILARITY I CAN'T DO THIS. Jeanne was like "yeah....yeah that's rough buddy.......[screams internally, give your boy time Jeanne he's fragile]"

Honestly? That's the thing about Jeanne too--he has incredible self-awareness and hyperarousal-related (I mean the PTSD kind, get your head out of the gutter) awareness to the people around him. He's very, very conscious of the fact that he is surrounded by geniuses when he can't even write his own name. Just because he has the fortitude not to lash out with his insecurities, doesn't mean he never feels stupid or inferior. And it doesn't help when there are people in the mansion who call him--a fucking war veteran from 500 YEARS AGO--nAiVe. He's not naive lmao. He just doesn't know how the world works so many years later, and it's a ridiculously steep learning curve? Leonardo and Comte are nearly 500 years old, but they lived throughout every hour of that time in a linear fashion. It is a big deal to be moved from 1430 to 1890 in the span of a second asynchronously, and then be expected to function without a hitch??? Given the circumstances he adapts well.

That atmosphere--this constant impatience with what he doesn’t understand, his inability to be caught up to speed quickly--is going to hinder his recovery lmao. He feels like a burden most of the time, and agency and freedom are crucial.

Another thing that occurs to me about the mansion's arrangement is that there is a power dynamic, just as any space with people in it has some level of hierarchy (unless you live with miraculously chill people). Jeanne is acutely aware that Comte is the most powerful being in that space, and he is not only hatefully angry at him--but likely afraid too. We have to remember that the biggest betrayal he witnessed in his life was at the hands of a monarch; it was the aristocracy that turned on him and erased the truth. Comte is openly a child that resulted from both that era and that type of lineage, I don't really blame Jeanne for being wary. He intimately knows how willing rich people are to throw normal folks under the bus to suit their ambitions/whims. Comte, while not deliberately threatening, also seems to be painfully aware of this impression he gives off. His "chad persona" as I've mentioned allows him to navigate his life in secret by necessity, but it’s actively damaging to his son. He can't reveal the truth because of Vlad's betrayal, and he's openly unsettled by what it could mean to be honest. Will they wonder about Vlad and find themselves ensnared under his mind control as Charles and Shakespeare are? Will Comte himself be subjected to the mortifying ordeal of being known only to lose them?? That's a risk he isn't willing to take--and that leaves him in a double bind.

What is it that they say, the truth will set you free? This is where MC and Comte come into enormous play when it comes to Jeanne's recovery. One thing to keep in mind is that most of the people in the mansion have their own traumas they're trying to carry, and I feel like a lot of them are unsure how to approach Jeanne. Or if they do, he's very guarded. It takes a lot of consistent effort to get through to him. What does MC do when Jeanne unleashes his harsh worldview on her? She's understandably frightened, but Jeanne isn't malicious (so she chases him around). In fact, he openly avoids and runs away from her--well aware that what he's done is wrong. If anything, he did it on purpose, bringing us right back to Shakespeare's verbal undoing; why does Jeanne attack her in the first place?

LMAO. He attacks her because she essentially says "oh thanks for helping me!" "I am not nice. Watch yourself." "But you seem like a nice guy to me?" "REEEEEE" Does the pattern become a little clearer? When people think kindly of him, his instinct is to shatter that illusion with an impulsive reprehensible act. When people think poorly of him or lash out, what does he do? When that orphan boy starts yelling and screaming, Jeanne is nothing but calm. He explains the situation, and offers the kid a choice, perfectly happy to be the bearer of bad news. This operates on many levels I’m sure, but I have a feeling it has something to do with him being hailed a saint and a war hero only to be tortured and branded a monstrosity (and he probably thinks being a vampire is doubly monstrous). He’s more comfortable being hated because he feels it’s what he deserves in a lot of ways.

Jeanne has a lot of internalized self-hatred because of what he's done, and because of how much harm was inflicted on him outside of his control (he's Catholic and he was tortured, come on this writes itself). If I'm honest, I think that's actually the greater part of why he hates Comte lmao. Comte refuses the very concept of being cruel no matter how much Jeanne lashes out. Sure he lectures him and scolds him, but he never actively limits what's important to him or controls or harms him. Comte fully realizes the tragedy of how Jeanne's life was used by a nation in dire straits, and knows he needs time and acceptance to heal. No matter how dismal or unhappy, Comte doesn't stop--he fully believes Jeanne should have time in his life where he can really live for himself for once. But therein lies the issue, Jeanne doesn't know how to live for himself.

Which brings me to how MC and Comte "heal" Jeanne. I feel like they give him the space he needs to recover, and that's what results in his gentled temperament and happiness. Remember that so much of his main story is MC endlessly chasing after Jeanne. No amounts of his hissing or running or threatening stops her. Even if his refusals are empty of real dislike, they're enough to deter most people. Not MC. She's able to see through to the depths of who he is, and doesn't just use him for her own ends? She actively seeks to teach him (to read and write) to help him settle better in this era, she actively tries to ease his distaste for rain with a well-meaning bet, and she never gives up on him. (Actions mean so much more to him than words in general too, tbh...). Love is more easily defined by work and effort than it is by attraction.

When he has his episode at the festival, sure she's rattled; but that's because she truly believed that he didn't want to be around her anymore. When she notices he really doesn’t want to be followed, she stops like any normal person would. It’s only when she reads his notebook and sees the truth for herself (that he’s given up despite having the same feelings for her) that her determination is rekindled. She doesn't approach him fearfully, doesn't treat him like he's made of glass either. She just wants him as he is--accepts and loves him as he is. Scarred, bloody, exhausted, abrasive, terrified. She doesn't define him by how easy he is to love. That is a huge issue with traumatized people lmao. Because of their maturity, people always just assume they don't need help, or they rely on them to an extent that isn't sustainable. The second they reveal need or that they struggle, people walk away or victim blame them because it’s easier than taking them seriously.

While MC's attempts may be a little more obvious (cherishing his lily field, wearing the hair pin he gave her, careful about his gruesome injury, really listens when he talks about the horrors of his life and accepts that he experienced a level of agony/terror she can never understand, tries to express her feelings no matter his evasion) I think it's also important to consider Comte's large scale effort. I don't say this to undermine MC, I say it because Jeanne's life was defined by a complete lack of security. He left his parents to make their lives easier, he lived in a war that meant life or death any second, and his country's leader branded him a traitor which lead to his endless torture and public execution. Jeanne does not know a life in which safety is the norm. Point blank. He does not understanding going outside and not expecting the worst anymore.

Comte not only understands that level of despair, but treats it with dignity and respect. He fully accepts being hated if it means Jeanne can use that hatred to live on and find a way to heal. And most importantly, when Jeanne begins to move forward with MC and Mozart's help, Comte never once holds it against Jeanne when the truth is revealed. He's not angry, this isn't about reprisal or reparations or revenge. It's just love.

Jeanne doesn't really have a concept of this? His entire life was mostly transactional, defined by strength and efficiency. Nobody gives a damn about your feelings. You either hurl yourself at the problem or die. Nobody is going to help you or carry you or save you. While he may have had a little more support while he was in the military from his fellow soldiers, that support system was ripped away from him during the Inquisition.

One very common sentiment regarding elongated imprisonment and torture is that survival occurs in pairs. It is an undeniable fact that people need others to survive. It is the nature of who we are. Individualism has never proven to be successful, or if it is, its dividends are astronomically minimal when compared to people working together.

What does it mean to be the most reliable, steady person in the room? Usually it just means you don't know how to ask for help when you are no longer capable of maintaining that stance. Napoleon is guilty of it. Leonardo, Comte, and Jeanne all are too. It's part of why MC and Comte's capacity to see what he needs and provide as much as they can is such a big deal. That sort of consistent support (without a constant necessity to beg for help) allows Jeanne to be able to re-integrate into his new reality and find joy. Even if his nightmares and memories never go away, they are now being actively overrun by positive experiences. That's the thing about recovery, really--it tends to be more about drowning out the negative as much as possible and coming to terms with it, than it is about forgetting or never feeling it again. It’s about softening the sharp edges of pain like sea glass.

So is MC magical and randomly got Jeanne to open up? Nah, I don't think so. I think it was a series of persistence and real acceptance of who he is that made him warm up. People really seem to underestimate how deeply affecting understanding is, but that's how damage is undone. Jeanne can't really linger on the idea of his own monstrousness, his unworthiness, a lifetime of misery, when the person in front of him actively listens and cares about him. Makes him laugh and smile and lose himself in warmth for the first time.

If I'm honest, I feel like people also just...underestimate the level of traumatic resurgence that's perpetuated and inflicted by society’s standards in general lmao. This rhetorical structure in which good and bad exist in moral extremes, this idea that people should be able to recover and never experience relapses or periods of sensitivity. The refusal to radically listen to people and their problems, and make active attempts--not matter how small--to mend/ease those hurt feelings. Granted there will always be people in the world who do not want to improve, but I feel like most people want to. It's hopelessness, silence, and stigmatization that remain the true enemies of traumatized/mentally ill people everywhere. And among that population are always war veterans...

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp jean #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp meta #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp comte #sorry i have a lot of feelings about this topic kjahsflkjhsjkghfd #but yes!#i think mc being able to help him was more about her sensibility and the mental fortitude/space to be able to care about him as he needed #i don't think it's necessarily that she's SpEcIaL #trauma is a sensitive subject--especially considering he's a war veteran #but i also think it's simple and complex at the same time #simple in the sense that people really do just need consistent support and love to be able to care for themselves again #complex in the sense that support can come in so many permutations and some of them are very delicate and multi-faceted #and thus must be handled with extreme caution in some regards #anywho not that i'm any kind of expert this is just what i understand and see #also in case it wasn't clear i love him and cry every day (look away comte it's my whoring hours)#though i hope this helps??? i went off harder than anticipated lakjhglkj #thank you for the ask!!! <3333 #asks #rambles #not incorrect quotes

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linnoya-writes · 4 years

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ZUTARA - the Trials and Tribulations that come with finding “The One”

I don’t think it was a coincidence that the two most mature kids in ATLA had various potential “suitors” throughout the show—people they were officially “together” with, people they went on dates with, people they connected with, and people they fell smitten over-- and yet, those feelings would always fall short of that “once-in-a-lifetime” romantic, magical element.

It really made me believe that ATLA was setting up a wonderful example to young viewers about the real-life hardship of finding “true love,” demonstrating that sometimes... it takes a lot of trial and error and experience to eventually get to that person who’s deemed The One.

Zuko and Katara were two characters who had to mature to an outstanding degree in a time of war, and we notice them trying to make connections with people all around them. We also notice how, in spite of the many “potential suitors” they have in their own individual story arcs, the two of them always seemed to “bump into each other” along the way, noticing each other’s character development every single time.

In the show, they build connections with people, but never seem to find someone who carries all that they need for a partner. I could also say that they never find someone who “sees” them in their fullest, complex selves... until it’s the two of them!

Let’s review the suitors for Katara:

1) Haru-- While fans like to speculate that Katara may have had a “thing” for Haru, I personally think she saw him as someone she connected with easily because of his bending ability… in the same way she immediately connected with Aang the moment she found out Aang was a bender. Katara didn’t grow up around other benders, and so it would make sense that she would cherish the idea of bonding with other benders. Haru and Katara had their connection with bending, but it’s pretty clear that Haru’s shy nature and his sensitive personality wasn’t something Katara was looking for in a love interest.

2) Jet-- We do know that Katara falls very smitten with Jet, and here we get to see the kind of person she tends to cling to: someone who’s a strong capable leader, courageous, tall, athletic, someone who makes her feel like she can use her talents and brains, and who supports fighting for justice. Of course, Jet also carries his sense of justice too far with his cruelty and malice, which Katara immediately says she will not support in a partner.

3) Aang-- Yes, we see Katara having a long-term connection with Aang in the show, and this relationship turns from a motherly/child relationship gradually into something that could become a romantic partnership. We also know from the beginning that Aang has deep feelings for Katara, and he tries really hard to get her to see him as a potential boyfriend.

However, there are various “hints” throughout the show that Katara wasn’t completely “taken” with the idea of being with Aang (ie. her behavior in the episode “The Ember Island Players”) and based on what we know about the two characters… there would be problems with their relationship down the road: Katara is a proud meat-eating Watertribe girl and the last Waterbender of the SWT determined to bring back her culture/heritage after the War. Being with Aang-- a proud vegetarian who can’t really handle Watertribe food and customs—might make her have to decide if she is willing to give up part of her heritage for her partner. She would also have to give up her own individual goals in the post-war in order to be at Aang’s side, as his voice of reason. There are many instances in the show where Katara had to be the mature one and set aside her own emotional needs in order to tend to Aang’s needs, and this imbalance would eventually make her realize how she needs a partner who can see her as a complex human being, rather than just a “coddler”… a partner who can be the pillar that she can lean on whenever she needs to let out her emotions and rage.

Now, let’s look at all of Zuko’s suitors:

1) Mai-- With Zuko, we learn he had a childhood crush on a girl, and that crush is returned, but after 3 years being banished… there’s no real evidence that either of them “ached” for the other during that time and distance apart. Zuko and Mai did have their moments together when he returned to the Fire Nation, and while Mai does care about him, the relationship was emotionally lacking, and it’s clear that Zuko cannot be with Mai in his fullest, most open self.

2) Song-- During his time as a fugitive, you begin to see just how self-conscious Zuko is around kids his age. Of course, the last thing on his mind is finding a girlfriend, but he demonstrates how awkward he is as a teenager (and I don’t just mean because he’s a Fire Nation fugitive in Earth Kingdom territory).

When he meets Song, his focus is only to get his Uncle healed, not paying mind to the hospitality this family has given them. He acknowledges Song’s kindness and her family’s suffering because of the Fire Nation, and it emotionally hits him when he finds out she’s been hurt. And yet, despite her being a healer, Zuko doesn’t let Song touch his scar. Zuko isn’t thinking about relationships. He’s on the run with his Uncle and is only thinking about survival. Song wasn’t necessarily a “love interest” for Zuko, but this is the first time we as viewers see a kind, sweet girl try to have a connection with him, and how Zuko—perhaps in any other circumstance—may have developed feelings for her.

3) Jin-- When Zuko and Iroh make it Ba Sing Se, there’s plenty of time to “lay low” without feeling like anyone is after them, and we have another chance at seeing Zuko making a connection with a girl. With Jin, there is a definitely crush from the girl to Zuko, and she doesn’t even acknowledge the boy’s scar. Zuko is awkward, almost uncomfortable trying to be a normal teenager when it’s clear his life has been so different. He still does a sweet gesture to try and make Jin happy (risking his own safety as a Fire Nation fugitive), but it isn’t enough to have Zuko say that he wants to see Jin again after that date. However… we do learn that Zuko likes dating, of having a connection with someone, even if that connection is not meant to last more than one date.

**My personal take with Song and Jin and is that these two girls had that sweet, nurturing, caring trait that Zuko desired, but they still lacked a certain type of passionate, fierce attentiveness that Zuko also needed in a partner to really “reach” him fully as a person.**

So, with all of these potential suitors... why Zutara?

The ironic thing here is that Zuko and Katara had run-ins with each other since the start of the show. They were on opposite sides of the war, fought each other, saw their bending abilities develop more powerfully each time, had a chance to talk and have a mutual connection… and also went on a private mission that nobody else wanted them to do. Zuko and Katara had opportunities throughout the show to really “see” each other as complex characters… but the beautiful thing was that this was all happening *without* any romantic implications.

With their minds preoccupied on bigger things through the war, Zuko and Katara’s interactions were forming the foundation to a life-long understanding and friendship, and... had the show continued… had the two of them finally had a chance to set aside some time in their lives to start dating people in the Post-War… it wouldn’t have surprised me if, one day, they would’ve just exchanged a glance as Fire Lord and Master Katara, and realized… “woah.”

And it really does bring together the dreams and the realities of a good romance: Sometimes it just takes a lot of patience, and time, meeting a lot of “potential suitors,” before you discover the person who’s meant to be The One.

#zutara #zutara meta #relationship meta #zuko x katara #zuko #katara #avatar the last airbender

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Something More (Taywhora) - pureCAMP

A/N - Hi Ortega, love you xx

Here’s a cheeky little girl band au in which A'Whora is sort of in love with her bandmate, Lawrence is sort of in love with her makeup artist, and Bimini has no idea what’s going on. Enjoy, bing bang bong <3

Death by a thousand cuts lingers on A’Whora’s mind. There seems to be a million ways to express how she’s feeling; the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final tipping point. The way that little things just build and build and build until their crushing weight is suddenly made noticeable to the poor fool trapped beneath them, already without any hope of survival.

Maybe she’s being dramatic, maybe poetic. Maybe that’s why she’s good at writing lyrics, why she scribbles them down in glittery notebooks that Lawrence makes fun of her for buying. They can hardly use what she writes in her free time, the need for fun, relatable and light-hearted lyrics far outweighing the demand for her emotional ramblings, but nevertheless she’s still alright at it.

More than anything, it’s the numbness that bothers her. This pain isn’t jarring, soul destroying, artistically tragic like she wishes it was. She mostly feels an ever-present nothing, with the occasional empty hole like a vacuum in her stomach that weighs on her late at night, alone in bed. The feeling is heavy and cold, but she can’t describe it any better than that. She’s tried, and the scrunched up paper and furiously crossed out words provide more than enough explanation as to how that endeavour went.

Is she ridiculous to be angry over wanting a little communication, knowing she herself hasn’t done it either? Is she hypocritical for internally begging Tayce to explain when she knows full well she’s not explained her side?

Whatever the answer, she’s an idiot for hooking up with her bandmate.

Sighing frustratedly, she throws her pencil across the room, likely to never be seen again, and shuts her notebook. The pencil flies through the air and hits the wall just as Lawrence enters, missing her head by mere centimetres. She reels backwards out of shock and then clings onto the doorframe, one hand on her heaving chest.

“Fuck me! You trying to kill me or something?” Lawrence demands, her expressions every bit as big and blown up as they are on stage.

A’Whora flops onto her bed as Lawrence sits on hers - they’re sharing the hotel room, Tayce and Bimini paired up across the hall.

“Not you, babes.” She rolls her eyes at herself, stretching her legs out as her head crashes into the pillow.

Lawrence snorts. “Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s far from fucking paradise and you know it, you nasty bitch.” A’Whora shoots back, relieved that neither of them are stupid enough to interpret any malice in the harsh way they speak to one another.

Truth be told, A’Whora and Tayce’s hooking up is probably the worst kept secret in all their band management. Tayce seems to think nobody knows, and she’s all the happier for it, but A’Whora knows for a fact that Lawrence, the entire style team and their management all know what’s going on - it’s really only Bimini, bless her, who’s in the dark about it. The second worst kept secret is Lawrence and their makeup artist, Ellie, but that’s the farthest from A’Whora’s mind currently.

“It used to be fun, you know what I mean, like? Like it’s just me and Tayce and we’re having a good time and everything, there’s no pressure for dating or nothing like that, ‘cause she weren’t ready for it.”

Lawrence blinks. “Am I supposed to be sensing a problem here, or?”

A’Whora groans. “Shut up, bitch, I’m trying to do a fucking monologue for you! Anyway, it’s just weird because I swear like I haven’t done anything and nothing’s changed at all but her texts are really friendly rather than like flirty now?”

“And you haven’t sent me off to Ellie’s room in a while so the two of you can fuck like rabbits.” Lawrence finishes, a sly grin on her face knowing that she’s just pissed A’Whora right off by interrupting the aforementioned monologue.

Crude as she is, she’s right - and A’Whora probably would’ve worded it in a way more disgusting manner herself. It’s a decent system that they’ve rigged up, honestly. Whenever Tayce texts, or A’Whora texts her, she sends Lawrence off to go find Ellie, makes up some lie about why their bandmate isn’t sleeping in their room tonight, and then they can spend some quality time together. It’s simple but efficient, hence its brilliance.

“Sorry babes. You know you can still go see her even if I’m not seeing Tayce?”

Lawrence snorts. “Nah, you’re fine. To be honest she’s fucked me right off recently so I’m not in the mood to see her.”

It’s horrible, but A’Whora’s secretly glad that she’s not the only one entangled in some kind of romantic or sexual turmoil. “Aw, what did she do?”

“None of your business, you nosy bitch!” Lawrence half-yells, but bizarrely, she’s still not mad. “You were ranting about your secret lover?”

“Fuck off,” She shoots back, “I was done, anyway. She’s just, like, reset. I don’t get it.”

She’s not strong enough to confide what she really thinks. It clouds her mind constantly, a small part of her brain daring her to just come out and say it in the malicious hope that she’ll find out how it feels to broadcast. Her stupid, selfish brain is worried that Tayce has met someone, someone she likes, someone she’d be willing to, or interested in, pursuing a romantic relationship with. Because romance has never been part of their deal, something they’d agreed on. Romance was off the table for Tayce because she wasn’t ready, and A’Whora was fine with that.

Maybe she was in the wrong for going along with the hook ups and flirting under false pretences. A’Whora had hoped, secretly, that over time, Tayce’s aversion to love and commitment might begin to soften, and surely the most natural, safe way to ease into it would be with someone who she already knew could have a fun flirty rapport with her, not to mention a metric fuckton of sexual chemistry?

Behind every flirty text held the secret hope that Tayce’s feelings would one day find the strength to break out. A’Whora hadn’t meant to get attached to her bandmate like she had, but there seemed to be fuck all she could do about it now.

“Well,” Lawrence announces, rolling onto her back and gesturing up in the air with her arms, “You’re fucked off, I’m fucked off, I say we go and get absolutely steamin’ and forget that we’ve ever felt a positive emotion towards someone who doesn’t give a fuck.”

A’Whora closes her eyes, heart sinking. “I’d actually love to, but we can’t just go the two of us, because then we’re leaving out the others. Bims’ll wanna come, and if Bims comes we have to invite Tayce and I literally don’t wanna see her because it’s so weird that I’ve been like, demoted to friend.”

“She removed the benefits,” Lawrence nods understandingly, “In many ways, we could compare her to the Tory government.”

“Could we fuck,” A’Whora laughs in spite of her own heavy misery. “You’re literally insane. Loz, what the fuck do I do about this?”

Lawrence shrugs. “I told you, my best solution is to go and get smashed! If we just drink here then we didn’t go out without anyone so we didn’t break any friend rules and they’re none the fucking wiser to our collective romance issues.”

The word romance makes A’Whora tense - it’s uncomfortable to think about it like that, almost embarrassing to dwell on her own feelings as having a romantic nature about them from a purely sexual relationship. Luckily for her, a sneaky or perhaps Freudian slip catches her attention and drags it away from her own issue, A’Whora bolting upright to stare at her friend.

“Lawrence Chaney. Did you just say collective romance issues? I thought you and Ellie were just fanny friends!”

Understandably, Lawrence is horrified at her turn of phrase, but A’Whora doesn’t miss the telltale reddening of her ears that suggests she’s said something she shouldn’t have. An eye-roll powerful enough to induce a tsunami follows Lawrence shifting herself up, glaring at A’Whora, and then scowling.

“First,” She replies, one finger wagging in front of her, “Never fucking say fanny friends ever again. Second…”

A’Whora gasps, already anticipating some gossip.

“You’re gonna get me a fucking gin if you’re gonna make me talk about this.”

More intelligent girls, or perhaps just less heartache-y ones, would know better than to get wasted in their hotel room the night before a show, but A’Whora and Lawrenced have never been the best at smart decisions. Ironically, it’s the deceptively smart bimbo Bimini who usually is able to reign them in, though she often chooses not to. Left to their own devices, there’s a lot of gin and a little bit of lemonade that seems to mysteriously disappear as tongues get looser and inhibitions get lowered. Before they even know what’s happening, both girls are sitting on the floor between their beds, legs stretched out before them, bemoaning their woeful, humiliating love lives.

It’s almost as if they think that if they don’t get it right now, they never will. To some extent, in A’Whora’s mind, that’s true, even when she knows, realistically, that she’s only in her mid-twenties and life goes on. But really, what is love if not an agony freezing you in time, a force that makes the past a mere blur and the future non-existent? Love is present and now, and if she misses her chance, who says there’ll be another?

(Almost everyone says there will. But A’Whora is drunk and her words are happy and her mind is sad.)

Luckily, Lawrence has been talking for long enough that A’Whora doesn’t have to spill all her thoughts into a drunken spiel that she knows wouldn’t make a lick of sense. She keeps swearing and avoiding the point, but somewhere in her long-winded ramble confessions start to unravel themselves, and a good scandal is enough to distract her for the time being.

“So I fuckin’ - aw fuck, hen, do me a favour and refill me?” Lawrence asks, A’Whora just passing her the bottle and gesturing for her to continue. “I fuckin’ asked her, y’know, are we just doing this or are we something more, like, fuckin’ stupid thing to ask honestly and I regretted it as soon as I did but then she answered and fuck me.”

She makes an effort to impersonate Ellie - a slightly higher pitched, slightly less intensely Scottish accent with something of a mockingly nervous whine to it as she repeats, “I’m keeping my options open. Fuckin’ options! I’ve no’ had anyone since her and I wouldny’ fuckin’ want to either and she’s fuckin’ got A, B, C or D all the fuckin’ above! It’s fucked.”

A’Whora gasps. “Bitch, you proper like her! You like Ellie!”

“Say that any louder and I’ll box your fuckin’ ears,” Lawrence threatens, only half kidding judging by the glare in her eyes. “Am I wrong to feel fuckin’ betrayed that I didn’t know she was seeing others as well as me?”

She snorts. “Loz, babes, I’m losing my mind at the very idea that Tayce has found someone, look who you’re talking to.”

Lawrence shrugs in agreement. “Makes me feel sick.”

There’s a pause. “Actually, that might be the gin.”

Another pause. “Oh, it’s the gin.”

She all but launches herself up and towards the bathroom, A’Whora instantly going into a flap. If Lawrence is sick on the carpet she’ll literally never forgive her, but she needs to help her friend, but fuck if she’s gonna stand there in the bathroom gagging at her. She decides, vaguely last minute, to run out into the corridor and grab some cold water from the machine, panicking and shouting her plan in the general direction of the bathroom before dashing outside. Embarrassing, but at twenty five years old A’Whora still can’t handle someone being sick.

A brief but unwelcome thought flits into her head - I’d help Tayce. She shakes it away, tells herself she wouldn’t, but a sad stupid part of her knows she could sit there and painfully gag her way through helping Tayce if she needed to, because she’s a spineless idiot who fell for her bandmate. There’s a flash of guilt for the fact that she wouldn’t do the same for Bims or Lawrence, but reasons that she has to draw the line somewhere.

The hotel has this awful chintzy carpet, a weird swirly print on a red base that reminds A’Whora of weird-smelling care homes and outdated grandma’s houses. Just looking at it makes her head spin uncomfortably - maybe she’s a little drunker than she thought. Perhaps she’ll get two cups of ice water instead, sober herself up a bit and all.

Then Tayce is standing in front of her all of a sudden and A’Whora has no idea how she’s got there.

(Did she… summon Tayce? Manifest her presence?)

“Girl, you alright? You look a state,” She greets, her accent charming enough to rid the words of their potential offense.

A’Whora vaguely points ahead of her, aware of how dumb she probably looks. “Goin… getting water for Loz. She’s absolutely pissed.”

Tayce laughs, baffled. “Babes, what are you playing at getting drunk the night before a show? Gotta make sure you shake off the hangovers before or else you’re done for!”

“Water fixes all.” A’Whora has no idea what to say. Why would she? She’s been lamenting this girl’s very existence for the past…. God knows how many hours, and now she’s here and she has to slip the besties facade back on except she’s a bit too drunk to remember how to do it properly. Sober A’Whora is going to cringe for days over this, she already knows.

Unsurprisingly, Tayce starts to follow her to grab the water, declaring “Well I’m coming with you, sounds like you’re gonna need someone sober to put you both in bed, you absolute lunatics.”

They’re just walking next to each other and yet A’Whora has never analysed her own way of walking so much in her life before this moment. Are her steps too large? Her arms swinging too much, or too little? Which foot comes next? Is Tayce thinking about how weirdly she’s moving? Should she be trying to keep pace with her or will that be even weirder and she’ll realise what a creep she’s been hooking up with all this time and fully decide against any possibility of something more between them?

They’re just walking. Just one foot and then the next.

Ahead of them, the water cooler glistens like a mirage in a desert, a tantalising goal signalling the end of their journey. A’Whora almost feels like she’s been trekking for hours next to Tayce, unsure of what to say, unsure of what her own act to keep up with is.

Naturally, she fumbles in her attempt to get a flimsy plastic cup from the stack, and then all come crashing down before she can even realise what’s happening. She turns to look at Tayce, the both of them momentarily stunned.

“Oh my god, you absolute beast!” Tayce screeches, her voice hushed for the sake of the late night but laughing all the same, clutching the cooler for balance. “We gotta pick all these up now!”

They do; A’Whora thinks about accidentally brushing her fingers over Tayce’s as they scramble to get everything, and then doesn’t. She thinks about abandoning the water and fumbling keys into locks until they fall into one another and forget everything else. She thinks about just blurting out the truth.

By the time all of the potential scenarios have flown dizzyingly through A’Whora’s drunk mind, she finds herself with two cups of water in her hands, Tayce with the same, leading her back to the hotel room and giggling as she instructs her not to spill a drop. A’Whora laughs, pretending like she’s not struggling to figure out how tightly she should be holding them.

Pretend is easy and she’s always been good at it. Pretending she’s a real rockstar with her Sing Star microphone and Playstation 2 in the living room. Pretending she’s not nervous the day before the biggest audition of her life. Pretending she’s a real musician in a band and not one of four girls shitting themselves backstage at the biggest arenas in the city. Pretending like Tayce might fall for her one day.

Once they get inside - it takes four swipes of A’Whora’s key and brief panic that she’s somehow got the wrong one - it’s clear that Lawrence is done with throwing her guts up and has settled herself in a chair, furiously typing on her phone.

“This room smells like a minibar, you hounds!” Tayce half admonishes, her grin entirely downplaying her words and making A’Whora’s heartbeat jump into overdrive. “Lawrence, what are you doing?”

“Communicating-my-feelings,” She answers through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a particularly aggressive stab at her screen.

Out of curiosity, A’Whora peeks at the screen, and upon seeing a horrifically large wall of text typed out in the chat box with no end in sight, snatches the phone immediately. “Tayce! Hide it! She’s writing a fucking essay!”

Whether A’Whora’s drunk coordination is better than when she’s sober - hopefully not - or Tayce is just talented, she deftly catches the device and locks it.

Lawrence all but springs up, incensed. “Fuck off with that! Ellie needs to know- I’m fucking pissed!”

“Ellie?” Tayce pauses, looking down as if she’ll still see the message. “As in, makeup artist Ellie?”

“Who fuckin’ else?!” Lawrence lunges and misses.

“Knew it.” She’s adorably smug, so much so that A’Whora decides against telling her that literally everyone knows. Her perceived victory makes her face light up and she’s already so beautiful that ruining childlike glee like that should be considered blasphemous. It would be a sin to wipe that smile from her face using anything other than her lips.

She holds the phone up in the air above her head, unreachable. “Right. Well, Lawrence, you can have this back after you’ve drank this water here, brushed your teeth and got into bed, okay? I think that’s a fair deal.”

“Get fucked,” Lawrence responds, totally deadpan as she snatches the plastic cup, spilling half of it down her front and not noticing. “I will drink your magic water and then you will fuck off and I will tell Ellie that she’s a slimey wee bitch.”

Tayce laughs, unfazed. “On second thoughts, darling…” She tucks the phone into her bra and gives a little flourish. “Sort yourself out and I’ll get it back to you in the morning. I’m not having you abusing our lovely Ellie ‘cause you’ve had a lover’s tiff.”

Lawrence squints. “Fuckin’… A’Whora will get it for me. I’m sure you won’t mind feeling her up, eh hen? Though I bet your girlfriend might have something to say about it. OOP!”

A’Whora feels her face flushing, and the panic slams into her like a wave hitting the beach full force, washing over everything. At first she was glad Lawrence was drunker than her, hoping to make less of a fool of herself in front of Tayce and direct the attention onto their favourite Scottish menace, but Lawrence being drunker means Lawrence with an even looser tongue, and for someone who loves to crack a joke and make a cheeky observation at the most inopportune moment, A’Whora finds herself wishing she’s passed out snoring instead. Tayce just laughs and manages to mother hen her into the bathroom, where A’Whora spots her in the mirror, grumpily brushing her teeth like a petulant toddler in the midst of a tantrum.

“Tell you what, I could never have kids, this is bloody exhausting!” Tayce explains, her big bright smile distracting A’Whora, thankfully, from the bulge of Lawrence’s phone. At least, it’s easier to pretend, even mentally, that that’s why she keeps looking at her chest.

“God, I know!” She laughs back, faking it harder than ever and sipping her cup of water. She feels sobered up already, though she’s sure she’s probably not, all too aware of her red cheeks and Lawrence’s loose tongue and terrified something else will be said.

“I mean, what on earth was that? I don’t have a girlfriend, I can tell you that.” She chuckles as if the idea’s ridiculous. A’Whora wonders if she genuinely thinks that, if she doesn’t realise just how many beautiful men and women would fall down at her feet if she so much as paid them a glance.

Lawrence stumbles out; in the two minutes she’s been gone, she seems to have forgotten entirely about her phone, and she looks at the pair with lidded eyes. “Fuckin’ shattered, girls.”

Tayce beams at her. “Get your arse in bed, then!”

A’Whora finishes her water, and Lawrence is asleep in seconds. For good measure, they poke her a couple of times, but since she’s very clearly breathing and seems fine, they decide to stop tormenting her and to just let the poor girl sleep. Tayce sets down Lawrence’s phone on the nightstand next to her, making sure to plug in her charger so it won’t be dead when she wakes up, and the tiny act of thoughtfulness makes A’Whora’s heart swell in a manner she’s wholly embarrassed of.

As if she’s swooning at a girl charging her friend’s phone? It’s ridiculous and she knows it.

“Shall I walk you to your door?” She offers, holding her arm out. Tayce laughs and takes hold of her elbow, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Ooh, promenade!”

“You’ve been watching far too much Bridgerton, you have,” A’Whora teases her, jabbing her side as they make their way back down the empty corridor. “Do I have to start calling you My Lady or something, babes?”

Tayce swats her away. “In bed, maybe. Oh, I’ll happily be a Duke or a Duchess, I mean have you seen the pair of them? Bloody gorgeous!”

A’Whora’s chest seizes up at the casual mention of being in bed together. Is the stalemate over? Is Tayce about to explain why she’s suddenly frozen on her and decided she no longer wants to hook up? What the hell even is the reason if there’s no girlfriend? She’s just gone off A’Whora now?

“Oh my God. Tayce, I can’t do this.”

It’s out there. She can’t go back now, can’t reel it back in. She’s fucked.

Tayce stops mid-hallway and frowns, worried. “You alright? If you don’t feel well you can go back, you don’t have to walk me to my room.”

“No, not that,” A’Whora massages her temples, trying to encourage some kind of eloquent thought to help her out, trying to stimulate the part of her brain that writes lyrics, to no avail. “This, us, the weirdness, I can’t do it. I have to know what’s going on, I’m literally going spare over it.”

“I don’t- I don’t get what you mean.”

“Us!” A’Whora cries, then shushes herself, acutely aware of her volume and the people sleeping adjacent to their conversation. “You- you don’t text me the same, and we haven’t- in ages, and I just… Tayce, do you like me?”

Tayce frowns even deeper. “Of course I like you, Rory.”

“Do you proper like me? Do you like me like I like you?”

She feels like a child, enacting a schoolgirl crush with a scribbled note that asks them to tick a yes or no box drawn in pink felt tip, the kind fuzzy from little fingers pressing too hard. If anything, it’s worse than that; at least some prior planning went into those, and a clear question with a yes or no response indicating some kind of confidence. A’Whora has no idea what she’s doing, where she’s going, anything.

“Rory… do you-”

A’Whora cuts her off. “Lawrence thought you might have a girlfriend because I thought you might have one because I was ranting about us to her and how shit I feel that you’ve lost interest in me. We got drunk to ignore how shit we both feel and it didn’t work because she almost blabbed to Ells and now I’m here blabbing to you but I literally can’t help myself. I never can when I’m with you.”

It’s only when she’s finished that she realises Tayce’s expression is full of fear, and her heart sinks like a lead balloon.

“You told Lawrence about us?”

She swallows, guilt seeping in like cracks in a dam. “Tayce, I… We’re not the big secret you think we are. A lot of people know, or suspect. Is… Is that the issue?”

Tayce chews her lip, eyebrows furrowed. Every millisecond that she doesn’t speak is agony, each second another stab to A’Whora’s heart, tiny needles of time cutting into her as she waits and waits for the ugly truth. This is it, now, the swirling nausea in her stomach tells her, this is when it all ends. This is where you scare off the love of your life.

The… what? The fucking what? The who of her what?

Too late now.

“I haven’t lost interest in you. I don’t think that’s even possible. I’m like, obsessed with you.”

A’Whora freezes, expecting virtually anything but that. “You- what? But- huh?”

“Yeah!” Tayce laughs nervously, unsure of how to react - they have that in common, at least. “I mean, girl, look at you, you’re gorgeous. I was getting freaked out by how much I, like, feel, so I just shut everything down and denied it all. I mean, I figured if I was freaking myself out, you must think I’m a right old weirdo. Have I got this all wrong?”

The ice melts. A’Whora can feel the shards shrinking, the wounds closing up, the warmth returning to her in a blossoming not unlike the flowers of spring, freshening the air and sweeping away her anxieties.

“I’ve never been so happy to call you an idiot in my life,” A’Whora tells her.

Tayce cocks an eyebrow. “You dirty liar, you love calling me an idiot,” She bites back, not leaving room for A’Whora to reply before kissing her right then and there, in the middle of a hotel corridor, leaning up against the wall for support. A million chemical reactions spark off all at once, a frenzy of activity rendering her incapable of doing anything but wrapping her arms around her bandmate, her best friend, her everything, and kissing her until she can’t breathe.

When they have to come up for air they do, all gasping and pink cheeks and dazed eyes. Every cell, every nerve, every neuron in A’Whora’s body is awake and alive, drawn towards Tayce like a magnetic pull. She can’t ignore it, and can’t think why she’d ever want to.

“Will you fucking stay still?”

“I haven’t moved an inch, hen, your shaky hands are not my problem.”

Ellie huffs, big pink earrings dangling from her ears swinging as she moves her head. They’re shaped like hearts, the word ‘doll’ in cursive across the middle in sparkling letters, and it’s adorably Ellie Diamond in every way possible. Even irritated, she’s oddly cute.

“Lawrence! I’m not trying to make you look ugly, stay still for me!” She pleads.

A’Whora watches from her chair, face already expertly done. She woke up pleasantly early, nestled happily in Tayce’s arms after everything. They’d decided to go back to A’Whora’s room, just in case Lawrence woke up and tried to send reams of abuse to Ellie, and ended up laying together cuddling until they fell asleep. No matter how sober A’Whora swore she was, Tayce just giggled and told her there was no chance of anything more than a cwtch, at least until the morning.

Thankfully, they’d kept Lawrence’s phone away from her, but there was nothing she could do but watch helplessly as Ellie and Lawrence engaged in a battle of attrition while doing makeup.

Lawrence rolls her eyes so hard A’Whora can practically feel it from across the room. “Not to worry hen, there’s more than one girl in the band, I’m sure you’ve got options on who can look pretty and who can’t.”

A’Whora winces at the low blow, and judging by Ellie’s expression, all pouty lips and big sad eyes, she’s hurt. More than anything, she wants to rush in and fix things for them, help them do the big talk and work it all out, but she knows it’s not really her business. They have to do this for themselves, so she sits quiet and prays that they will.

“Oh my god.” Ellie sets down her brushes and stares Lawrence in the face, awfully bold and completely unexpected. “Are you gonna hang this over me forever? I just - didn’t want you to think I was too forward! I’ve been regretting it all night, I regretted it as soon as I even said it! I can’t stand you being upset with me.”

Lawrence’s expression softens. “What?”

“You’re, like, the best person ever. I look up to you so much, I don’t think I could admire anyone more than I admire you. I really didn’t mean to upset you, I didn’t want to come on too strong.”

There’s a pause - A’Whora holds her breath, and notices that just across from her, Bimini is suddenly paying attention, her phone long since abandoned in her hand as she gapes at the two of them, dumbfounded.

Lawrence throws her arms around Ellie, squeezing her in an embrace that seems too tender to be looking at, the next best thing to a kiss when in the middle of painting someone’s face. Ellie squeezes back, her lips mouthing words that the other girls can neither hear nor try to. This is for them and them alone.

Tayce enters just as they break apart, throwing herself into the seat next to A’Whora and grinning. “Hiya, gorge, what’d I miss?”

She leans over and kisses A’Whora’s cheek.

Bimini’s eyes pop open. “You and- and then her and- what the fuck? Babes, I think we skipped a few chapters!”

“You just haven’t read the book,” A’Whora winks at her.

“Right, right,” Bims nods understandingly, ever one to just go with the flow. “And is the big lesbian orgy before the concert or after?”

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #purecamp #taywhora #ellie x lawrence #tayce #a'whora #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #bimini bon boulash #uk2 #lesbian au #popstar au #something more

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enemiesofcreed · 4 years

Text

Mind and Might - Prologue

Our twin hearts pound in our chest as our wings strain to carry us beneath the clear, moonless night. Death comes for us as surely as the stars continue their silent paths across the sky.

Creed has killed our nephew, Khan the Hoarder. He killed our uncle, Nash the Hunter. They did not heed our warnings, and they paid with their lives.

And now our cousin comes to kill us.

There is a spasm in one of our left wings, and the uneven load causes our other three wings to fail as well. We have pushed them beyond their limit trying to escape the inescapable, and we land hard on the desert sand below.

We are not alone for long. Creed’s wings flap as he lands, creating a localized sandstorm in the process. The pride emanating from him is palpable.

“Ah, the Destiny Sisters at last,” says Creed. “Good evening Vy. Good evening, Bea. I’ve been looking for you. It seems you’ve somehow wandered a long, long way outside the borders you and those other traitors agreed to.”

“Bold of you to call us traitors when you’re the one killing the last of your own kind,” we reply in unison.

“You have only yourselves to blame,” Creed spits back, malice dripping from his voice. “The moment you and the others betrayed what you are and entered into this farce you call peace, you sealed your own fate.”

Creed’s face twists into a hungry grin. “But then, you know all about fate, don’t you cousins?”

“More than you ever will,” we reply.

A jet of fire lights up the scene as Creed roars in fury. “Then why choose the path of blindness and a slow death by atrophy when it came time for us to make our choice?” Creed bellows. “The others I understand. Khan just wanted to be left alone to admire his ridiculous pile of trinkets, and Nash only cares about his fun at the top of the food chain.”

“But I expected more from you,” he says, a quiet sadness now creeping into his voice. “You were supposed to be the wisest of us all. If the two of you had sided with me, Khan and Nash would have been outnumbered, and they would have listened to reason.”

We stand on our feet. Our limbs and tail are strong and ready for a fight, but it makes little difference while our wings are still useless and spent. “It was your sense of superiority and entitlement that made you deaf to reason,” we say.

“Am I not Creed the Proud?” he roars back. “If I don’t speak up to uphold the pride of our kind and all those who look to us for inspiration, then who will? We spent an entire age of this world enduring wars and attacks from those who should be little more than insects to us. And when our enemies finally wore themselves down into broken fragments, it should have been the hour of our great final victory over them. The dawning of an age where they would have to scrape and struggle against us! And instead you accept a truce?”

“You imagine a future that would not have been, because you lack the sight we have been entrusted with,” we say. “You say that we should have been the wisest of our kind. Do not delude yourself, Creed. We Destiny Sisters ARE the wisest of our kind. And if you were wise, you would listen as we tell you what you are blind to under your own nose.”

“And what is that?” Creed asks derisively.

“That the Primafolk are far more important to this world than you realize,” we say, “and they were at their breaking point. If our kind had pressed our advantage while they were at their lowest point, it would not have caused their subjugation. It would have caused their destruction. Followed by the destruction of us all.”

“You speak nonsense,” says Creed. “Excuses invented by the weak.”

We do not argue. Creed knows we speak only truth, but is too proud to admit it. Instead, we let our flame speak for us. Black flame with the sheen of a hundred colors washes over Creed, and for the first time since he began hunting us, Creed looks truly afraid. He was not expecting this.

Creed’s body is unharmed of course, but his eyes cloud over with the same color as the flame. He whips his head wildly from side to side as he sees the vision we have shared with him. When it is over, his eyes return to their natural golden color.

“I see,” he says. “It appears there are powers at play greater than I had realized. Powers that even our kind would stand no hope of defeating, though it wounds my pride to admit. You’re right, cousins. The Primafolk must survive.”

“Yes,” we say. “You finally understand.”

“And yet, there’s something that bothers me,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Vy used her Obsidian Flame to show me this vision, but where was Bea’s Opal Flame? In all the centuries we’ve known one another, I’ve never seen the black without the white. Could it be you’re holding something back from me?”

“You underestimate how far our sight extends,” we say. “We knew you were coming to kill us and take both of our flames. Every destiny has two sides, and it is impossible for any being to possess both at once. So we have already entrusted the Opal Flame of Destiny to other caretakers.”

“Is that why you’re out here in this worthless desert?” Creed asks with spiteful laughter. “You know I’ll simply find whatever gullible worms you’ve doomed with your gift. All you’ve done is ensure your allies will die, and I’ll still claim both your flames.”

“No, you will not,” we state as simple fact. “You will hunt high and low for the Opal Flame for a hundred years, but you will not find it until it finds you.”

Creed’s hungry grin then returns. “So you violated your own borders to grant one of our kind’s greatest weapons to our oldest enemies,” he says. “I can think of no greater act of treason.”

He steps towards us, slowly and menacingly. His sharp teeth illuminated from behind by his own crimson red flame. “A hundred years you say?” Creed asks, closing in. “Perfect. That will give the Primafolk enough time to recover and prepare so they can actually survive the coming war.”

He looms over us, and we lay both of our heads down to the cold sand, resigning ourselves to the fate we could not escape.

“You know what?” Creed taunts. “I think I’ll even give them a little help to make sure the fight is worth my time.”

[Want more? The story continues at EnemiesOfCreed.com]

#enemies of creed #prologue #the destiny sisters #creed #opal flame #obsidian flame

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capri-ramblings · 4 years

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Yikes,I know there's bound to be questions but trust me, chapter 3 will answer most of them. Aha,I'm sorry if this chapter is kinda confusing at first,I'm not good at planning out thoughts or stories systemically,it kinda makes it harder for me to write whenever I try to. But here,the second chapter of Raptured! Thank you for reading! ( ꈍᴗꈍ) ♥️

[ R a p t u r e d ]

Chapter 2: Banter

In the moment Riddle had finished telling his brothers what conspired with their human captive, the first to speak up was Azul.

"They offered what?" His words were a mix of shock and amusement, gaze fixated on Riddle who seemed almost flustered from how red his cheeks were.

The red haired sighed, sending him a narrow eyed glare before crossing his arms.

"The head of their own brother"

"By their own hands?" Kalim asked aloud, his features scrunched up worryingly. "Isn't that bad? Why would anyone want to kill their own brother so suddenly?"

From the chaise across the room,Leona let out a scoff, lips upturned into a smirk.

"What are you? A five year old? If you give a herbivore the chance of freedom,they'd leave their entire fleet open to make sure they survive. Humans aren't so different."

"Indeed" Vil joined in with a smile of his own. "Humans are very fickle things, they live out their life struggling and as a result they stink of repulsion."

"They can barely even stand on their own.." Idia added thoughtfully and as the gazes of his brothers turned to him, the flames on his hair flickered and he looked away.

"Maybe the isolation's got to their head?"

Riddle let out a scoff, his lips upturned in a sneer almost too vicious to be formed on such a delicate looking face.

"The cottage they were in was secluded from the rest of the village,they were already a reclusive. Why should it bother them now?"

"Maybe Idia has a point" Kalim interjected then "Before they were on their own by choice...and they weren't exactly trapped in a tower either"

"It's all the same" Leona snapped " Damn herbivores will always be too fragile."

"Though, our soft-shelled brothers have a sound reason" Vil's lips curled in an effortless smile,his ever sharp gaze glinting like jewels.

"At this rate our small hare is going to die before the homage from her brother, and that makes all of this pointless."

The room went silent then. Each males having their own thoughts wrapped around the situation.

When they came to a decision to face the hunter who killed their family beast, he was nowhere to be seen and left tending to his cottage was none other than their captive human, a young sibling unaware of what their fool brother had committed. They opted it was easier to simply kidnap them and have their brother come looking since neither one of them wanted to wait around. There was also the fact that the death of the beast had affected their Mother's health greatly, and all seven brothers fumed with rage.

"Our methods doesn't matter anymore" Riddle spoke up, "What's done is done. We can't exactly just put them back where we found them."

"I agree" Azul said "Though if the human dies in our care now, when we're fully able to change their situation, I fear the price of that loss would be great."

"What? Are the humans going to chase us around with pitchforks?" Leona sneered,his sharp fangs visible as he leaned back into the chaste. "You saw how further in their cottage was, chances are the herbivore doesn't even go down to the village often enough for people to notice them missing."

"They can't die." Idia drawled the words out this time,his gaze sharp and harsh as he stared down Leona who all but grinned at his brother.

"Why? Because you like them?" The laugh that barked out from Leona was cruel and Idia flinched.

"Go ahead and save the poor herbivore then,Prince Idia of the lands of burrowed moles. You think they'd ever look at you fondly?"

"Enough." Riddle came between the fight with his own ire and before he sent a glare towards Leona, he let Idia catch the solace in his.

The situation was getting worst. They needed a decision quick.

"You're not a five year old as well,Leona, so keep that tongue of yours tamed"

"What are you? Suddenly playing the role of the Eldest when you can't even reach his height?" Leona scrutinized Riddle with an aggression that seemed ready to claw him in the face, but Riddle kept his own spite and promptly choose to ignore his brother.

Instead,he turned to Azul.

"The hunter should've came back and see his sibling gone, you even sent those eels of yours to make sure he got the hints. Why hasn't he made a single move? It's been two months."

"Maybe he's forgetful?" Kalim chipped in, eyes glowing. Riddle wanted to tap the side of his face and gently tell him to shut up but Vil patted his head instead.

"A forgetful hunter managing to kill a wild beast is unlikely, mein bruder"

Azul crossed his arms,gaze narrowing.

"They've sent word that they have information regarding our human and the whereabouts of their brother"

"And?" Vil prompted.

"I told them to come meet us as soon as they can, which shouldn't be long."

The moment those words were uttered, a dull thud came from the would-be-entrance of the tower, and a familiar voice calling out.

"My Princes! Open the door please!" The urgency of the voice had all the present Princes turning their head, though the one who seemed genuinely surprised and concerned was Kalim.

"That voice..." He said, turning to Azul "Is that who I think it is?"

Azul's lips curled into a knowing smile and with a flick of his fingers, the sound of a door being swung opened then slammed shut could be heard within the tower itself,followed by light rapid footsteps approaching them.

Out of breath and desperately panting, a young girl made a hasty bow as she came before the Princes, though the way her legs slightly trembled suggested that she was near collapsing.

"It is her!" Kalim's eyes grew wide with familiarity, the worry in his voice replaced with joy as he came up to place his hand on the girl's shoulder.

"The last time I saw you, you were still learning how to walk!" Kalim's loud voice seemed to make her flinch but the girl met his gaze with warmth before she bowed her head again.

"Pleasure to meet you again,Prince Kalim." She's heard stories of him, the Prince Fae known to give out bits of his treasures to those who come wishing at his well. It seemed odd to act as if she's known him, but she knew better than to put logic before courtesy. He was one of the seven Princes after all. Acting too smart with them was a fool's mistake.

Before Kalim could say anything else, Azul stepped forward and the girl promptly met his side with a suddenly serious demeanor.

"I'd ask you for the information I had you fetch but I wonder why you were running in the first place?"

The girl laughed dryly if not nervously.

"Floyd wanted to see who could win in a race in getting here,your Highness."

Azul frowned, internally sighing.

"Why on Earth did you agree to that?"

Again, the girl laughed. "He terrifies me,my Prince."

Riddle couldn't place where he's met her, but hearing her words had him internally sympathising her. Azul's leeches were a pair he'd gladly avoid for eternity as well.

"So,you got a changeling to be at your beck and call as well,Azul?" Vil sounded amused as he turned to Azul, but the degrading glance he gave the girl bellied the smile coyly sitting on his lips then.

"She's indebted to us anyway" Azul stated simply "Why not put her to work?"

His gaze returned to the girl.

"What do you have about our human then?"

It took a full ten minutes for the young changeling to inform them of what she's managed to compile on their human and hunter. Turns out they aren't related by blood but by marriage. Apparently most of the villagers knew of the hunter but rarely saw the younger sibling as they took more liking in staying indoors. There was also talk that their relationship with one another was never close and answered Riddle's question as to why he hadn't showed up yet.

"So, he's just going to leave his sibling at our mercy?" Kalim asked,he had his expression scrunched up with worry and pity again but Leona shared none of it and only growled with distaste.

"There won't be mercy if they're left with us a second longer"

Riddle caught the flicker of Idia's flames and instantly reacted.

"Threaten to murder our captive one more time and I'll have your head,Leona."

"Hah, you're trying to scare me,Riddle?" Leona sneered,fangs glistening with malice. He's been irritated by the whole situation since the beginning. Taking in a human in hopes that another would appear to save them, it was all a damn fairytale. Leona knew humans were selfish, his brothers should've had that piece of common sense drilled into their heads as well. No one was going to play hero for their captive.

Riddle gritted his teeth and again instead of lashing out senselessly, he swirled around to face the changeling. Every bit of his anger flaring in his grey gaze.

"Where's the hunter now?" He asked,though it sounded painfully like a death threat.

The changeling bowed her head.

"He's at the human King's palace,Prince Riddle. King Aothor ...of Nostorne"

The words sent the entire room tilting, and Riddle would've gripped her by her neck if Azul hadn't stepped forward.

"King? Since when did the humans have a King?" The last time they came to the world,their mother's shrine was built almost everywhere to acknowledge her ruling. Had times changed so drastically since their absence?

"Yes. It's been this way for years now. A dukedom raised after Her Most Divine's departure from the human realm and ever since then a lineage of human nobles have taken the throne as the Human ruler."

"My, how futuristic, and here we were in the guise that we still sat on the top of their world" Vil was laughing but his words cut into the tension of the room like a blade coated in venom and the changeling girl shifted uncomfortably.

"It seems like the order of the slaughtering was made by him and ultimately fulfilled by the hunter. His name is Cyril and he's being celebrated by the King for his bravery."

Leona heaved a heavy sigh,leaning once more into his chaise. He looked ready to fall into a deep slumber already but his irritation kept him awake.

"So,we have information. Now what's the plan?"

***

Jade and Floyd,two of Azul's trusted companions came into the situation while the Princes were sorting out their thoughts and opinions (Which all greatly contradict one another) and brought word that their hunter had refused to save their sibling in a conversation Jade overheard him had with another hunter right before he was called on by the King.

"He said he knew of the Fae's trick and that by taking something of theirs as his own, he'd gladly give anything they took from him as compensation." Jade explained in his usual matter-of-fact tone,his mismatched gaze still and knowing.

Riddle clicked his tongue, brows furrowing. Idia's was the most sympathetic along with Kalim while Leona and Vil seemed ready to send a fleet of their army to storm into the human villages.

"I'm not really surprised though" Floyd spoke up lazily "He seems like a guy who'd do that kind of thing anyways"

"But now the Princes are stuck with keeping a human captive in their care", Boe,the young changeling from earlier, pointed out grimly.

"What if we sent you to negotiate with him in our stead?" Idia suggested which earned a rather hasty look from the girl.

"Human royals don't take too kindly to my kind,Prince Idia. I doubt he'd even let me enter"

Leona let out a menacing growl. One that reverberated through the tower walls.

"This is going nowhere. Riddle, go up to that damn herbivore and have them beg their brother come and pay his homage so we can give them back."

Riddle frowned.

"You heard the changeling,Leona. If their relationship with their brother is as bad as we've heard, do you really think they'd beg for him to come save them?"

"Couldn't you talk some sense in them?" Azul had eyes turning once more to the young changeling who all but reluctantly slumped her shoulders.

"I don't see how me being the one talking will get them to cooperate..."

"Clamshell,you should at least try,right?" Floyd's smile was sickly sweet and when he attempted to sling his arm over her shoulders, she avoided the outcome by shifting close to Jade.

"What would you want me to say to them?"

"The offer they gave" Riddle said "Have them elaborate more on that. I'm not going into a deal without knowing why it was proposed in the first place."

There was hesitation in her eyes but it was swiftly changed to a silent resolve as she nodded her head.

"I'll see what I can do."

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst mc #twst wonderland yandere #twst riddle #twst azul #twst idia #twst kalim #twst vil #twst Leona #twst jade #twst floyd #twst fanfic

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patiusarchivist · 3 years

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The Night Comes

Battle of Ilum - 3640 BBY/13 AToC

The Shadow came like a writhing shape. The Jedi slowly stepped back, watching as metal corroded and warped like screaming blackening branches to the Dark Lord’s presence. Frost crawling as the Sith drawn closer. Their senses were screaming to run. This thing was barely human anymore. The cold that burned Illum. They’ve heard the reports. One of the Dark Council has come; Darth Nox.

Jedi Master Rem held his lightsaber in both hands, “Begone from here, Sith. We will not stand aside while you bring ruin here.”

The sockets of the phrik-crafted skull glowed a vivid amethyst with a hatred so focused, it felt like venom was crawling in their guts. A sickening power. “Good.” His dark voice soothed, “I was hoping for an actual challenge today.” “Ready yourselves!” The Battlemaster called out as the glinting claws of Nox’s hand rose from the wavering shroud of his robes. The Force growled from the flooding of such raw emotion. The six Jedi Knights in that chamber did not match this one Sith Lord, all of the Light were mere stars to the eclipsing power roused from the shrouded form.

This form that hungered and those already claimed stared out in ageless malice. Master Rem saw them and he could not scream before the ravenous arcs of lightning crackled and thrown themselves for the prepared Jedi. The lashing power scarred black stretches on floor and walls, crossing the distance in a heartbeat. Rem’s teeth clenched, feeling an itch from the intense energy before it was even a pace away...only to see the lightning tear itself into a chain whipping at his fellows.

The knights screamed as the force battering at their own shields like a pointed hammer before their minds could forge into a wide bulwark together. Most were pushed back and tried to fight the Sith’s assault, Rem and the few Consulars were more prepared with their streams of dark power. Suddenly, the assault twisted into a pulling vortex yanked these brave warriors of the Light off their feet. A number of knights screaming as they were whirling by the mere pull of the Dark Councilor’s curled hand. “No!” Rem cried out before they were torn apart by a screaming attack of the Dark Side so naked and spiteful, their lives were taken and became mere fuel to the Sith Lord.

“Ah.” Nox sighed out, arm flowing with the ashes of former Jedi flying in the cold wind. “Much better.”

Rem seethed, the air was strangling with the Dark Side and he felt his own fortitude being challenged from it. “I...can’t believe this…” He muttered out. “Master Rem, there is no passion. We will not allow this demon to claim our peace!” Consular Jara inclined despite her own wavering resistance, drawing her lightsaber. “We will win together.”

“And you will all die together.” Darth Nox agreed, their minds suddenly barraged by a warping sensation. Their bravado was eroding, their fear was becoming manifest. They can still hear the screams. They are drowning in the victims to the point of couldn’t hear their own while this growing spectre loomed at them. Sockets burning of amethyst ghostfire and a blood-red blade igniting from its claw-curled hilt.

“Keep...strong…” Rem called out to himself as much as the others, feeling like he was being strangled into a tight corridor. The air was thin. The Jedi’s mind was racing, he could barely keep hold but the Force is his ally, even now. His azure blade whipped in the howling miasma of darkness, clashing with the Sith’s blade and trading blow for blow. The others weren’t so fortunate to do such a powerful thing.

They screamed, throwing themselves into the melee. The one other guardian beside himself swung in blows of Djem So, giving himself to the panic and use it for his own survival. The Sith was moving in eerie motions like a great wraith, his shroud flowing like gathered ashes. It was blinding. It was hard to find his true self, attack all one might - there was no use. And Rem was able to deflect an attack but only watched as his former padawan was run through by Darth Nox. The screams echoing and adding to the cacophony. The sadistic chuckles rippling in the cries and hollers.

His dark sockets falling on Rem again.

The Battlemaster was sweating. He shouldn’t be...he couldn’t even feel Illum’s cold as he held into stance. He kept fast with quivering fingers, clenching with dominant foot forward and eyes fighting to be defiant. “You better to stand against me, Jedi. Beg. Beg and I will make allow your Spirit to flee into the Force’s skirt. Unlike so many others…” Nox seethed in cold mockery, coming to strike his opponent down and Rem believed it.

“NO!” Jara’s voice screamed through the fear-storm, jumping between Rem and Nox. Her green saber slashing at the Darkness, how it recoiled with a snarling hiss. A hand out glowing of purity against it. “You will not have him, Sith! Your trickery will have no power here!”

“Foolish girl…” Nox hissed, “Your interference will cost you an agonizing death.”

“I may die but I will be One with the Force, and you will be tortured by all those you wronged.” Jara retorted, her palm glowing brighter and the rushing Darkness was being pushed back somewhat. Rem breathed, he found courage in this young woman’s own great character. It inspired him and he held his own hand out to her’s, giving his own Light against the Darkness.

It was like parting a great sea to reveal the great beast causing the tides. His shroud parting to reveal the armoured Sith Lord underneath, but also the trailing fabrics almost making shapes. Figures of dark power arched over him like snakes poised, the bare visage of their deathly faces forever trapped to his will. Darth Nox lifted his hand and directed his power forward.

The Light’s wavering heat and the Darkness’ slithering cold fought one another in a ballet that has existed since Time Immemorial.

One by one, the Sith spirit lifted their own hands and lent their power to the battle. The Light pushed hard but the Dark was coiling around them, more and more until their power was the only thing keeping the Jedi from drowning. That too was waning under the pressuring weight. Darth Nox stared down, “Until then - I will enjoy this, Jedi.”

With a crackling gathering in the Darkness, he unleashed a storm of power that left an eternal echo of pain on Ilum.

#swtor #darth nox #sith inquisitor #drabble #i should just make a darth nox blog and get it over with

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ceescedasticity · 4 years

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outline: jin guangyao’s hoarding problem, part 1

I am STILL NOT WRITING THIS.

Cast:

Jin Guangyao, schemer extraordinaire. He’s got a lot on his plate right now, scheming for the Jin Sect’s advancement, scheming for his personal advancement within the Jin Sect, trying to get Qin Cangye to let him marry his daughter, trying to juggle his sworn brothers, wrangling weird 13-year-old Mo Xuanyu who his father dropped on him as some sort of power play, wrangling Xue Yang insofar as it is possible to do so, promoting research into demonic cultivation, and on and on and on. Jin Guangyao, as no one will ever let him forget, was not born rich; he understands that you can’t just go throwing things out when you might want them again later; and in this universe he’s let that reluctance to discard outweigh his caution.

Wen Ning, conscious fierce corpse. Keeping Wen Ning was always the plan, even when plans to control him didn’t quite work out. Because he’s a really good conscious fierce corpse. Maybe they’ll work out controlling him someday. Maybe he’ll be good as an example. They went to a fair amount of trouble faking his destruction, so no sense wasting that. (Wen Ning, for his part, is… not happy. Even when they’re not trying to control him, he is not happy. But he is not making trouble if he can avoid it, because…)

Wen Qing, really outstanding doctor. Jin Guangyao cannot understand why his father was planning to execute her – she’s such a good doctor! Groundbreaking! Sure, she has some inconvenient morals, but she’s simple enough to leverage, just grab some family members – Wen Ruohan kept her in line for years. Why would Jin Guangshan not try to obtain such a valuable resource? It’s probably because when he looks at a woman he stops after the boobs. Anyway, now Jin Guangyao has the opportunity, and it’s easier to fake her death than Wen Ning’s (just have to kill a heavily bruised woman in Wen robes, rather than something that passes for a fierce corpse). She can be kept in line just by threatening Wen Ning’s non-life as the stick, and for a carrot, taking the nails out of his head when they’re not actively experimenting. (Wen Qing is sick to her stomach. Although not everything she’s been required to do is bad–)

(Off stage, but alive, is Jiang Yanli. Jin Guangyao likes her more than he likes most of the Jin Sect, he didn’t want her dead – and whisking her away to a mystery doctor who saved her life means Jiang Wanyin owes him. Big. —He doesn't want her angling for any kind of power/regency after Jin Guangshan dies, so he's been making sure there are plenty of rumors that she's physically and mentally fragile, and his leverage over Yunmeng Jiang is better with her in Jinlintai so he's angling to maintain that, too, but unlike that other idea he's not blackmailing her. This is probably a mistake.)

Wei Wuxian, Yiling Laozu. Smuggled back to Jinlintai at least half dead, and really wanted to get all the way there. Didn’t really change his mind on that until after he got conscious enough to process that (a) Wen Qing and Wen Ning were alive(ish), and might be punished if Wen Qing couldn’t save him; (b) Jiang Yanli is alive, but in Jinlintai, which means not safe. Even after he’s trying, though, he’s in for a long convalescence – especially without a core. (Which Jin Guangyao has figured out and, worse, figured out the reason for.) Wei Wuxian is claiming he couldn’t possibly recreate the Stygian Tiger Seal outside the Burial Grounds and/or without all the pieces and/or while he’s still so weak. The last one is true, the others are… not completely false? He certainly couldn't make it like it was before.

Mo Xuanyu, weird 13-year-old. Inexplicably if usefully devoted to Jin Guangyao. Jin Guangyao doesn’t trust him to do more than some very basic reading on demonic cultivation, but when the secret prison acquired the gravely wounded Wei Wuxian it became important to have someone other than Xue Yang checking on things, refreshing supplies, and getting Jin Guangyao immediately if necessary. Mo Xuanyu also likes Wei Wuxian, and Wen Qing, and Wen Ning, and (for some reason) Xue Yang. Not enough to impact his devotion to Jin Guangyao, though.

Xue Yang, spite elemental. (This Xue Yang has never worked for Wen Ruohan – I may keep the Yin Iron in this universe mashup, it just had no particular connection to Xue Yang.) Half feral (at least). Demonic cultivation natural talent. Delighted to have the opportunity to independently recreate the Stygian Tiger Seal, not that it stops him badgering Wei Wuxian for tips. Big fan of “better to ask forgiveness than permission”. No, that’s not it. Big fan of “better to say ‘yeah, I did it, what are you gonna do about it?’ than ask permission.”

WQ, WN, and WWX are full-time imprisoned in some sort of secret dungeon/basement/hidden complex in Carp Tower. MXY and XY are in and out a lot. JGY less so because he has a busy schedule.

So, moving forward:

Wen Qing is trying to keep WWX alive. WWX is cooperating halfheartedly.

Xue Yang is trying to recreate the Stygian Tiger Seal. WWX is cooperating hundredthheartedly.

JGY picks up that WWX is not being entirely sincere in his cooperation. He decides to show that his threats have teeth, in a very mild way. He plays some 'healing music' for JYL.

JYL has a bad week.

WWX becomes somewhat more cooperative.

(JYL is aware enough of her own body and mind and has enough of an ear for music to say — extremely politely, and not implying (or suspecting!) any malice — that she thinks JGY may need a little more practice.)

(JGY decides he needs to be a little more conservative with his use of the Collection of Turmoil, and maybe, say, not teach any bits of it to people who are not definitely on his side, no matter how innocent and gullible he thinks they are.)

(Nie Sect's trip to the Sword Hall can't be said to go well by any stretch of the imagination, but it's not an almost-TPK either. No one unwittingly kills or spiritually poisons anyone they love. It doesn't make much difference in the timetable of NMJ's decline, really. It doesn't make as much of a difference as you might expect in the timetable of NHS Figuring Shit Out, later on. It does make a difference in the experience level and cohesiveness of Nie Sect's inner-ring disciples. It does make a difference in NHS's emotional health and support structure. It may in fact make a difference in whether JGY is going to get out of all this alive. But that's later.)

When the reconstructed Seal is mostly complete, Xue Yang takes off to Yueyang to "test" it. He may or may not have informed JGY first. Let's go with 'not' (not out of any concern that he'd disapprove, Xue Yang just doesn't want to bother).

So here's the thing. The Seal is not a loyal tool. Insofar as it has a consciousness and feelings it's kind of pissed off at WWX anyway. But he is still its original creator, and this time he's alive, and this time he was extorted into helping reconstruct it, and this time — unlike when he was forging it the first time — revenge doesn't even really make the motivation list, so it's not quite the same reconstructed Seal. It's not a benevolent tool. It doesn't like people. It doesn't want to help people. It doesn't have principles. If Xue Yang just stood outside and ordered fierce corpses to slaughter everyone in the Chang compound, the Seal would have cooperated eagerly.

But obviously Xue Yang isn't about to just stand outside, he goes in and gets his hands dirty, and when he tries to use the Seal to directly, personally attack a child, something goes… sideways. There's an explosion which blows a large hole in the side of the house. Some of the corpses attack Xue Yang. The Seal levitates six meters up into the air and won't come down until grabbed. It's very annoying. Xue Yang makes sure there's no one with a golden core left and sets the building on fire and leaves in a very bad mood.

There are only like a dozen survivors total, no adult cultivators, and the one surviving kid who saw him is too young to give any kind of useful witness statement, but still.

He goes back to the basement and blames WWX for the unsatisfactory performance of the Seal. WWX's response of "Good" didn't deescalate things any, but he probably would have gotten the shit kicked out of him regardless.

Someone interrupts before he can actually beat WWX to death (which had better not have been WWX's plan, says WQ). Right. No core, already seriously injured. Xue Yang gets Wen Qing, who has to do surgery for flail chest. Xue Yang makes a surprisingly good surgical assistant.

JGY gets back from wherever he was (Qinghe playing fake!Clarity? Laoling trying to get a date?) and is like. I was gone for two days.

Xue Yang does not deny almost accidentally killing the only available Yiling Laozu, but blames it on WWX being too fragile due to being coreless and injured.

Maybe if we gave him someone else's core he would be sturdier?

Jin Guangyao doesn't immediately shoot it down. Wen Qing tries to — WWX would never survive the procedure in his current condition, and the donor has to be willing, does JGY really want to sacrifice someone loyal for this questionable gamble?

No, he doesn't. At least not right now.

Xue Yang says he's taking time off. JGY tells him not to get caught.

He gets caught.

Trial, commutation, official imprisonment, and now Xue Yang is stuck in the basement with the others basically full-time. He's seriously trying to convince Wen Qing to teach him surgery. She's appalled, but on the other hand would surgical skills make him any more dangerous than he already is? And it keeps him from sticking nails in Wen Ning's head.

While she's distracted Wei Wuxian is trying and failing to convince Wen Ning and/or Mo Xuanyu that he is recovered enough from the flail chest to walk around. He is failing.

Jin Guangyao is spending a lot of time in Qinghe…

#other fic #things i'm not writing #more random mdzs thoughts

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keepitreal1 · 4 years

Text

END THIS CRAP!

She arrived in the UK so sweet & so kind. Treated like a princess she was wined & dined.

She said she couldn't wait to be part of the firm. Eager to hit the ground running & to learn

The uk was so happy, so full of joy & hope, We didn't know she'd turn the Royals into a soap

There were things said about her from her sister & Dad. The Brits didn't believe them & we got mad

We all had Meghans back, So her family got allsorts of flak,

They were called liars & got lots of abuse, They were slated & called obtuse

We ignored all the bad things about her that was said and went out to support her & celebrate her instead

The Brits filled the streets for a glimpse of the bride, So full of best wishes & of pride

The UK thought she would pull the Royals in to a new era. But soon her true intentions would become clearer

We watched her break rules & do the opposite of what she should, We started to see, that all was not good,

We realised she came here determined to be defiant, it seems we were fooled when she acted all compliant

We realised she thinks herself so supreme, We watched her try to rival the Queen

To look like a victim was all in her plan, She set out to make the Royals seem like klu klux klan

She went out of her way to look a mess So she could claim to be picked on by the press

She wanted everyone to think she is a poor picked on saint, not giving a damn whose name she'd taint

We heard of how she treated her staff like shit. Then in succession a bunch of them quit

When we started to see her plan unfold She then accused us all of being racist & cold.

She did a number on Prince Harry, who also changed the day they did marry

She told him she was oh so bullied, making sure the UK & Royal family she sullied

They both started to moan & whine playing poor victims all of the time

When the UK stopped taking their bait They ran to America full of hate

On zoom they continue to preech Claiming compassion is what they teach

Neither of them would know compassion if it knocked on their door, They are both selfish & always want more

We are tired of them sitting on their garden bench, with moaning & whining from the narcissistic wench

They have their cult that is the Sussex squad, who worship Meghan & treat her like god

They are so vile & so deluded, its clear that with the Sussexes they colluded

They try to dupe the Queen & the palace So full of spite and of malice

They continue to blacken the Royal familys name

Including his elderly grandparents he should hang his head in shame

They play the victims all the time Thinking themselves to be sublime

The truth is they are mad because they didnt get all their demands, Harry the puppet, constantly dancing to Meghans commands

They prepare to sit with Oprah for a tell all. They are hoping that they will cause the UK Royals downfall

They want to be the Royals of the USA. This was the end plan for this path she lay,

The Poor Queen what must she think at her own grandson causing such stink

All this whilst Prince Phillip in his hospital bed he lay. The Poor man at 99 in sheer dismay

They are set on revenge & they just sue, sue, sue. They are determined to be the worlds top two

Even Judge Warby let her win when she admitted she had lied. She gets away with everything its time to change the tide

Its time to take the titles from them, To cut them off at the stem

Its time to stop them if the Monarchy is to survive, step up & stop their diatribe

Their staff have finally spoke about the bullying that they endured. Megsy thought with the NDAs their silence was assured

Its time to open the flood Gates & let out the real reason they ran to the states

By keepitreal1

Also on twitter @it_real1

#pdina #according2taz #harry markle wordpress #murkymeg #yankeewally

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bgnmagic · 3 years

Text

Whiskered Away

Summary: Arthur gets sent out to see the world after angering the King. He's not given much notice and is literally escorted out of the kingdom. Merlin was away visiting his mum at the time and is very upset to learn of his journey without him. So, Merlin sets off to find Arthur, he has to make sure the clotpole survives his adventure away from Camelot. Enough times passes that both Arthur and Merlin change in appearance.Why shave when you're on an adventure? Beware beards abound!! XD -- Merlin could hardly believe his eyes, there, on the dirt path not fifty paces ahead of him was Arthur. The past two months of searching for his friend and failing had finally come to an end. Sighing in relief Merlin called out Arthur’s name. However, he was exhausted and the wind carried his weak voice away before it reached the intended target. Blast it all Merlin would have to run to catch him now.

Trying again he yelled louder, this at least got Arthur to stop the horse he was riding. Then, Arthur turned around and Merlin skidded to a halt. Life was apparently cruel, the man who turned had a scruffy beard and his blond hair was too long. It wasn’t Arthur after all.

Breathing heavily from running so fast Merlin worked to catch his breath. “Sorry – sorry I thought you were – someone else,” he managed. “I didn’t mean to shou--.” Merlin didn’t finish his thought as he gaped at the man before him. The blue eyes currently staring at him in shock were definitely Arthur’s, maybe it was really him. Renewed hope sprang through his veins. Merlin stumbled forward slightly and continued to look longingly at his prince.

“Merlin?!” Arthur exclaimed after a few seconds. “Dear gods man you don’t look like yourself at all!”

In hindsight Merlin had forgotten his own appearance. He’d foregone shaving on his journey as well. Unsure what his hair looked like Merlin self-consciously pat it down. “Sire,” he offered by way of an answer.

Arthur simply barked out a laugh and jumped off his horse, the other men he was with also halted and observed with neutral expressions. Merlin found himself being drawn into a strong, blessedly warm hug a moment later. Wrapping his arms around Arthur’s back Merlin allowed his mind to still. It had been a hard journey thus far to find Arthur, and now it was over.

“What are you doing here? Did you not get my note?” Arthur asked once they’d separated.

“Note? Wha? No, I’ve been searching for you since Uther sent you away when I was visiting my mum!” Merlin exclaimed, still upset at what Uther had done.

“Have you been trying to find me this whole time? Merlin, it’s been nearly two months!”

Nodding sheepishly Merlin let out a big breath, “I came back from my mum’s only to find out you’d been sent on some bizarre character building quest. I left before I even found out all the details.”

“There isn’t much to tell Merlin, father got mad at me for defending a good cause during a council meeting and decided I needed to learn more respect and sent me away to see more of the world.”

“How much more?!” Merlin lamented. “This is Germania for heaven’s sake. It took me nearly a month to even get on this bloody continent.”

“Ahh yes, well you didn’t have the lovely escort of knights I did to take me to the coast and make sure I got on a boat, did you?” Arthur grumbled.

“What did you say in your note?” Merlin asked suddenly curious of what he’d missed.

“Nothing truly special only that I had knights with me for protection and for you not to worry. I know how you get. I only intended to go as far as France but I got a little distracted.”

Smiling slightly at how Arthur would find purpose even when he’d clearly been trying to spite his father. “Now what?” Merlin asked as he glanced around to the other men in his small party. “I don’t think those are the knights you left with,” he noted with a raised eyebrow.

“Huh? Oh, the knights, yes, I ditched them as soon as the boat landed. Boring lot they were not very adventurous. Never mind them I found new friends, join us; we were attempting to find a camp site for the night. Do you not have a horse?”

“I’m not royalty like you Arthur, I can’t afford such things.”

“No matter, you can share with me. You look positively worn out. I hardly recognized you with all that hair going every which way.”

“Say’s you, who’s sporting an even fluffy beard than me.”

“You’re not around to shave my face now are you, come along,” Arthur ordered as he pushed them towards his horse.

Introductions were made of the other two men in the company but Merlin was too tired to really latch onto their names. One may have been called Randy and the other sounded like Marcus or Bracus. The only thing Merlin picked up on was one of them kept staring at him. Ignoring the attention Merlin held fast to the back of Arthur’s cloak and focused on not falling off. Now that Merlin was off his feet an overwhelming tiredness took hold.

Merlin managed to stay awake until they found a suitable place to stop and bed down for the night. It probably wouldn’t have been a very nice initial meeting to fall off the horse and crack his head open. Staying quiet Merlin knelt and began to unpack his own things. The other three men seemed to have a routine and Merlin was slightly jealous he’d been left out. Arthur was his friend but now he felt oddly out of place.

Wondering what he could help with Merlin forced his aching limbs to move as he stood. “Can I hel--.” Merlin’s breath caught in his throat mid-sentence. The man, Marcus or something, the one who’d kept staring at him had just used magic to light the fire. Absolutely no one seemed to care and that made Merlin very uncomfortable.

In a panic he glanced towards Arthur who was putting up a makeshift tent. Had he not seen? With wide eyes Merlin whipped his head back around to Marcus. The man still had his head bent down and was carrying on like it was perfectly normal to use magic out in the open.

“What, Merlin?” Arthur asked as he spun around. “Sit down, you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Shouldn’t I – help?” Merlin tried again attempting to not look nervous.

Arthur, damn him, picked up on his distress and crossed the short distance between them in a two quick strides. “You need to sit down, I don’t want you falling into the fire,” he replied while reaching out to guide him down to the ground.

“Sorry, I think I startled him starting the fire.” The other sorcerer offered by way of explanation.

“Oh shit, yeah, Marcus knows magic, um,” Arthur trailed off from his crouched position. “That must be a little jarring to see since, well, because of the laws back home and all,” Arthur finished.

“Magic shouldn’t bother him, he’s like me. I literally meant I started the fire without warning and he flinched, is all.”” Marcus added as he calmly setup a cooking pot over the fire.

Arthur’s full attention was on him an instant. The grip on his arm becoming almost painful as Arthur stared at him. “Is this true?”

Only able to nod due to his nerves, Merlin waited to see what Arthur would do.

“Fuck, Merlin. So you weren’t lying that day when you said you had magic in front of the entire council.” By now Arthur had released his grip and had stood up walking away in a daze.

“It’s no wonder he didn’t tell you Arty, from what you’ve said the punishment for magic back home is nasty,” Marcus supplied.

“How’d you know?” Merlin asked in a hoarse whisper.

“The protection spell you cast on your person is very strong,” said Marcus simply.

“Can I not do anything without the aid of magic!” Arthur bellowed after a beat. “I was in this place for barely a week when I met Marcus. He’s saved my skin several times already and now I’m realizing you’ve done the same thing.”

“Sorry,” Merlin rasped automatically. Hiding his magic for so long had done a number on his mental health. The first reaction to being discovered was fear and the worry of rejection. This was not how he imagined Arthur finding out.

“Oi, I think you might want to tell him it’s alright, he’s lookin’ a little pale,” the man named Randy pointed out as he walked closer and nudged Arthur in the arm.

“What? But he’s lied to me!” Arthur answered in defense. “For years!”

Merlin wanted to say something but he was having a bit of a panic attack. They were all talking about him like he wasn’t even there.

“And what else would he do? You said it yourself Arty, magic users get burned at the stake where you come from.”

Arthur deflated somewhat at that comment. Merlin watched and prayed Arthur would forgive him for lying. It wasn’t like he’d done it out of malice.

“It does fit with all the stories you’ve told us,” Marcus continued on as he cut up a few items for the stew he was making. “Merlin seems like he’s been your magic guardian since you two met.”

Merlin couldn’t help but yelp when Arthur suddenly plopped down right next to him on the grass. “You are to tell me everything, and I mean everything when we have a moment alone.”

Sorry was all Merlin could manage as he sat looking at the fire. He didn’t even want to know what came next. Arthur was clearly furious and Merlin didn’t have the energy to deal with it right now.

“He’s still looking a little peaky there, you might wanna tell him he’s not gonna die by your hand,” Randy chimed in.

“You wouldn’t have them burn me would you?” Merlin asked in a rush. Dying by another’s hand would count as Arthur not doing it.

Arthur groaned and roughly ran his fingers through his beard, “Merlin, I won’t hurt you, no one will. You do realize I’ve spent the last two months hanging out with Marcus and that’s changed my opinion on some things. I’m just fucking pissed that you lied to me so let me deal with that for now okay? ”

The night progressed slowly after that. Merlin didn’t move from his spot but neither did Arthur. They sat nearly touching shoulders and ate in silence. Randy and Marcus went about preparing camp but remained quiet. After what felt like an hour Arthur leaned close and grabbed Merlin’s arm.

“Did you not trust me?” he asked with a pained expression.

Merlin couldn’t shake his head fast enough, “No! it’s not that, I mean I did wonder what you’d do to me if you found out, considering how the king feels about magic but I do trust you, I swear it!”

“Then why keep it from me?”

“I was scared, it’s not like I could go back in time to undo things if it didn’t work out. Every time I wanted to tell you, something would happen and you’d hate magic even more.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur murmured. The prince sighed heavily and let go, letting his hand drop to the ground.

Nothing more was said after that, Merlin simply watched the flames lick at the wood in the fire. Marcus broke the quiet some time later announcing that they should all get some rest. Merlin nodded and went to crawl over to his bedroll, his being the only one out in the elements and not under a small tent.

A hand on his elbow stopped him. “Come on, you can share my tent, the extra body heat will do you good.”

“Are you sure?” Merlin asked of Arthur as he waited for confirmation.

Arthur’s answer was to tug him over to the tent and push his shoulders through the flap. The bedroll was tossed in next and Merlin went about setting it up. The space was small and neither of them would have room to do much else but lie directly next to each other.

It took several, long awkward minutes before they were able to situate. There was no light and Merlin could only feel the puffs of breaths coming from Arthur. He was too upset to sleep despite his tiredness. What if things didn’t go back to the way they were? Merlin didn’t think he could live life on edge like this; it was no different than hiding his magic. He was always in the wrong it seemed.

��If you don’t sleep Merlin, you’ll regret it in the morning,” Arthur huffed quietly.

“I can’t,” Merlin whispered back.

“Still scared of what I think of your magic?”

“Yes,” Merlin offered quickly.

“What exactly are you worried about?”

“I don’t want things to change between us.”

Arthur sighed deeply before he responded, “They’ve already changed Merlin that was inevitable.”

“Oh, -- what will happen to me when we go back?”

“You’d willingly go back with me knowing the laws of Camelot?” Arthur asked.

“You were, are, my friend Arthur. I have faith that you’ll become a great king in the future and I want to do my part in helping you achieve that goal.”

“With magic, I suppose?”

“With whatever it takes, magic, being there for you, anything you need.”

Merlin, why do you insist upon being so damned kind hearted!” Arthur exclaimed in a forced whisper.

“I just told you, clotpole.” Merlin was unprepared for the arm that flew out and smacked his ribs. Gasping at the sting he tried to figure out if Arthur was still mad at him or not.

“Cheeky bugger, listen, we are still talking later about all of this, but for now you need to rest. I can’t have my manservant falling over on our next quest.”

“Of course my lord,” Merlin offered with just a hint of sarcasm, he didn’t want to push his luck.

Arthur snorted in response, perhaps his tactics were working. “Idiot, go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”

Closing his eyes Merlin hoped his brain would slow down enough to actually accomplish something akin to sleep. “Sorry for lying, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he offered humbly in one last effort to make Arthur understand his feelings.

“Merlin, I forgive you, but seriously go to fucking sleep,” Arthur ordered with another light shove to his ribs.

Upon order of his future king Merlin temporarily let go of his worries and drifted off.

“Arty – Arthur?”

Taking a deep breath Arthur lifted his head to see who had called his name. Most likely Marcus since he was the only one that called him Arty. “S’everything okay?” he asked once he spotted the other man peering in through the tent flap.

“That’s what I was going to ask you, it’s nearly midday and you both are still asleep.”

Turning to check on Merlin, Arthur noted that he was still in a deep slumber. He’d looked exhausted the night before it was no wonder Merlin was sleeping so well now. Suddenly the thought came to Arthur that Merlin might be ill. Reaching out he felt Merlin’s forehead, the temperature seemed normal.

“Sorry for being late, I’ll get him up and we’ll get going.”

Marcus held up his hand and shook his head, “No need, he clearly needed to recoup. Let him rest we can take today to prepare for the mission.”

Arthur agreed and lay back down. He could hear Marcus’ footsteps outside but it was peaceful otherwise. Rolling over slightly Arthur took the time to really check on Merlin. The young man had turned over during the night and was asleep on his stomach. The journey Merlin had taken so far had tanned his pale skin, it also added a few wrinkles here there, but that may have been stress induced.

Wondering whether Merlin’s magic would change things for the worse, Arthur began to think of all the times he’d made it out of a situation that should have killed him. After a few minutes he had to stop, it was alarming how often Merlin had been there, a seemingly innocent bystander, when he was nothing of the like.

After spending two months with Marcus, Arthur’s views on magic had changed. They’d been thrown together at the right moment and Arthur had been unable to hate the man. He was a good person, just like Merlin. The first few weeks were rough trying to adapt to trusting in someone with magic but Arthur had persevered. Now it seemed fate had simply prepared him for Merlin’s reality. One with magic.

Unsure of how he would have reacted back home Arthur hoped he would have been open minded, but that wasn’t a given. Uther’s hatred of anything magic had permeated his very being from a young age. That sort of conditioning was hard to shake.

“Shit! Oh, it’s just you,” Merlin exclaimed suddenly.

Arthur had flinched when Merlin awoke but his friend hadn’t commented on it yet. Good, maybe he didn’t see. “Yes, its me, who did you think it would be?”

Merlin yawned and stretched, almost like a cat, before rolling over on his back. “I wasn’t sure; I just saw the fuzzy beard and forgot it was you.”

“I’m not a barbarian Merlin, no need to excite yourself.”

“More like Neanderthal,” Merlin muttered around another yawn.

“What?! Merlin!” Arthur shouted before dragging the groggy man closer and giving him a noogie. Merlin shouted in surprise but could only squirm to get away, Arthur was stronger. “You were saying?”

“I yield!” Merlin yelled a second later.

The moment Arthur released his hold Merlin bolted up and crawled out of the tent, apparently he was awake now. Smirking at how he missed picking on his manservant, Arthur followed him out into the open air. Might as well get the day started. They had an attack to plan.

Merlin fell to the ground panting heavily, he was so tired. Having gone off in search of Arthur months earlier, Merlin had never dreamed he’d be able to stand by his prince’s side and use magic openly. Well, he wasn’t currently standing at the moment; he was working on not passing out. Hands on his shoulder forced Merlin to look up. Arthur was there in his line of vision grinning like a loon.

“We did it, we won Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed.

Happy that Arthur was safe and seemingly not upset at seeing Merlin use a massive amount of magic, he toppled over in the grass and smiled.

“Hey, don’t pass out; are you going to pass out? Shit, Merlin are you alright?” Arthur asked in a panic.

“M’fine, let me rest, we just took down an entire army of men.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you or your magic.”

Relief flooded over Merlin, Arthur truly accepted him, magic and all. Marcus’ voice sounded off in the distance, he sounded happy as well. Arthur had extended his trip away from home in order to help Marcus rid his village of invaders. The other sorcerer had seen in Arthur what Merlin always knew was there, a great leader and good man.

Despite Marcus being a magic user Arthur had looked past his feelings on the matter and offered to help. Merlin’s heart swelled in pride at the thought. Camelot would have a great and gracious king when the time came. Letting his eyes slip closed Merlin let the warmth of the sun touch his skin. The next task was the journey home. It was time.

“I still don’t see why you haven’t let me shave that thing off your face yet,” Merlin sighed as they rode along towards Camelot. “You let me trim your hair when we arrived a week ago, why wait on this?”

“I think it’s a good disguise don’t you? No one seems to know who I am,” Arthur answered smirking. “Besides, I didn’t want to bother until we were closer to home. It’s hard enough to keep things trimmed and maintained with the proper supplies, let alone in the middle of the woods.”

“I can use my magic Arthur; its how I keep my stubble in check.”

“Yes, yes, but you have a baby face, it’s understandable that you need to use such measures.”

“Excuse me? I have a what?”

“You heard me, a baby face, soft and --.” Arthur stopped talking when Merlin’s eyes glowed gold and he felt a soft brush of air to his face. “What did you do?” he demanded looking down only to see his blond whiskers scattered across his lap. “Merlin!”

Ripping his gloves off Arthur reached up and still felt his beard in some places. Confused as to what Merlin had done he spurred his horse forward to catch up. “What did you do to me?”

“Nothing terrible sire, I simply cleaned up your beard. I think the new look is quite dashing.”

Feeling his face one more, Arthur could trace the hair along his jaw line, up the sides of his mouth, and across his upper lip. “Did you give me a goatee?”

“Sort of, it’s closer to how Gwaine wears his but I’ve bothered to make yours look kingly.”

“You better not be teasing me Merlin.”

“Never sire, don’t forget I have to look at you too, is there any harm in making the view appealing?”

“Hey! You said my beard looked good!”

“It did, but this is better,” Merlin laughed before sticking out his tongue and spurring his horse onward.

Arthur couldn’t exactly catch Merlin, it didn’t matter they were nearly home. He’d have enough time to torment his servant later. For now Arthur was content to return to a normal routine. The only thing left to figure out was whether or not to keep his beard.

#merlin #fanfic #beards #more beards #we stan the beard

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winchester-reload · 4 years

Note

hi! i just read your fic, After Dark (for the second time, it’s amazing, easily going into my top five favorite fics of all time, your writing and characterization of dean especially is phenomenal and knocked me off my feet), but i’m still a little fuzzy on the ending. if you find time, could you possibly explain? thank you so much, your writing is beautiful

Okay, so I know I’ve had this ask for a while. I haven’t been ignoring you. It’s just that this fic is one of those stories that was so consuming when I wrote it, I have a hard time diving back in when I get asks. It was my Everest. I was obsessed with finishing it but kept trying to die at the top of the mountain (so to speak). I started writing it in June 2015 and didn’t finish it until December 2018. I have sooooo many notebooks filled with notes and rewrites for this story, it’s almost embarrassing. And, you’ve read it, so you probably know why: it’s INVOLVED. I mean, the very first chapter gives you the most important line from the penultimate chapter of the book.

So, yes. You know what? Let’s talk about After Dark. I’m ready.

Spoilers after the cut

I’m gonna do my best here to clear things up, but since you’re specifically asking about the end of the fic, I won’t do a complete chapter by chapter breakdown of the plot. Let’s instead pick up at Chapter 19 with a little more of a abridged version.

In 19, we finally get our Sam breakdown of what he’s been trying to figure out from the beginning– why it struck him as odd that Dean and Cas had hooked up this time over all the times before. He realizes that the general assumption that God was the light that beat back the darkness wasn’t actually a metaphorical idea, but was, in fact, a literal one. God wasn’t the thing that conquered the Dark, the light he yielded was. That light was Love. Fun side note: The sources Sam cites in that chapter to support his theory are all actual academic sources/philosophical ideas. You can look any of them up to find out more about love as a daemon, or The Unity of Opposites theory. So, Dean now knows that Cas is being used by Alice for something, but doesn’t know what.

Ch 20: Alice explains that the only thing that can save Dean’s soul from its eternal fate with the Darkness is if he’s “released” (so to speak) by his light. She says that the way it works is through Cas’ ultimate broken heart.

“If he takes you, you don’t die out of hate, or spite, or fear,” she whispered. “There’s no jealousy or malice or revenge. You die in stark contrast to all those things. It’s the opposite of everything he’s ever wanted for you— Wanted with you. Everything he’s ever hoped or dreamed or fought for; he does it only because he loves you, and it’s that selflessness that cleanses the shadows. It’s the power of a broken heart.”

It’s Cas’ sacrifice that will save Dean’s soul. Alice is careful to tell Dean that he was never going to survive this. Cas and everyone else is supposed to, but for Dean, it was always just a matter of where his soul ended up.

Cas, of course, says he’ll do it and that Dean needn’t ask, because there’s not really a choice here.

Ch 21: We pick back up with an echo of Rowena and realize that everything she told him in Chapter 2 actually came true. (weird, right?)

Ch 22: Cas wakes up at “the start”, only, this time’s he’s fundamentally changed from the journey. It’s in this chapter that we find out why Cas was getting glimpses from the ‘end of the story’ throughout the book:

Angels are ethereal. They’re not contained to a specific timeline–this is something they’ve talked about in canon. It was ONLY while Cas had his grace AND was actively dying that he was able to see snippets of the things that would happen after the events in Chapter 20. (IE: the dream he had in Chapter 8 of Crowley, the dream in Ch 15 where he’s walking across the field where the Winchesters crashed, even though he hadn’t actually been there yet, etc) It turned out he wasn’t actually seeing or speaking to Rowena. She was more a figment of his subconscious as he tried to warn himself where this story was going. Unfortunately, there wasn’t really any way for him to stop the train. HOWEVER,

In Cas’ lame attempt to keep from drowning Dean like “The Fish” Rowena kept calling him, he’d made the conscious decision to give Dean some “wings” in Chapter 15. The grace had proven threatening/effective enough in the fight against the Darkness to that point, that it had spent the entire story trying to snuff Cas out. It was also the only element keeping Cas from becoming infected by the Darkness the same way Sam and the rest of the people were, which is why Cas quickly became infected after extracting it.

So, when Dean got the grace in Chapter 15, it was enough to pull him back out of the Darkness’ grip and bring him back to life.

When Cas comes out the other side of the spell in this chapter, alive, as he was supposed to be, he realizes that everything had reset like Alice said it would– Except for him. He was still wearing the same clothes, and still dying from his own self-inflicted knife wound (sans Darkness insanity). (Dean, remember, was not supposed to reset. The actions he took during the fic were always supposed to be permanent for him.)

It’s then that Cas understands that it’s not over yet; they’re still fundamentally connected through Cas’ grace, and that means, there’s a CHANCE that Dean’s still alive too (and with Cas’ grace). He asks Crowley to teleport him to the field he saw in his dream and it’s here that he finds Dean, still clinging to life and staring up at the newly found stars.

Cas rallies his grace one last time by laying a hand on the burn mark left on Dean, and uses the rest of it to save him. Then, the very exhausted, very exsanguinated human Cas topples over in the field.

Ch 23: is probably where I lost you and I’m gonna tell you, it’s very intentional that I’ve made you unsure.

It starts with a dreamlike Cas in the field staring at the back of an ambulance bed. There are elements of the Darkness around him, filtering into the sky. He panics when he thinks it’s Dean on the back of the stretcher dead, but specifically points out the bare feet (Dean was in socked feet. It was mentioned multiple times in Chapter 18-20). Alice then comes out of nowhere and tackles him to the ground. She’s our dream stand-in for the things the EMTs are doing to save Cas in that moment (Cas was the one with bare feet) while she warns him that the Darkness is not gone. She tells him she’s proud of him for finding a loophole, but that he shouldn’t believe he’s won. He should, in fact, fear the opposite.

“…it doesn’t matter how fucking proud of you I am for finding it” she says. “The truth of the matter is, it’s gonna take what it’s owed— Or try… ”

Cas then wakes up in Dean’s bed and Dean tells him he was having another nightmare. It’s established at this point that Cas has been having a lot of them since becoming human. So much so, that Dean is practiced in dealing with bringing Cas back down. Cas gets frustrated with the situation and with himself and goes to wander through the bunker and get water. Dean chases after him, like the good caretaker he is.

Cas tells Dean that he doesn’t believe it’s a nightmare. He believes that the conversation with Alice really happened and that the Darkness is not gone, but, maybe, lying in wait either to attack again, or, even, MAYBE, that it already has him… (Not Dean, but Cas this time. Like a trade.)

This leaves us, the reader with the uneasy feeling that that might be true. We’re in Cas’ POV and the last we saw him, he was face down in a field bleeding out from a wound he was probably not gonna be able to recover from. If he’s not sure what’s real and what’s a dream, then how can we be? This is amplified by the fact that everything Cas has done in the story to this point has been proven true, so we want to believe him. But his unsureness feels so much more like the answer we don’t want.

Our unease is punctuated by small things like 1. Dean wearing a purple shirt* when Cas had specifically named that as a color he’d never seen Dean wear before (Ch 19). And then, of course, 2. the fact that his coat is there when it shouldn’t be. Did Alice leave it? Why would she leave it? How could she leave it?

We’re left, like Cas, not sure if the story has ended like it appears to have ended. We’re unsure if they both made it out safe. If they’re really together. And with everything so damn woven, how can we just have these plot holes????

But, that’s also kind of the nature of the trauma Cas has endured. And, if he wasn’t really living this moment with Dean, then why is he healing slowly from his wounds? Why is he out of breath before he gets to the kitchen? (You know how it is when you’ve been laid up for a long stint. EVERYTHING IT HARD.)

So, you, like Cas, find yourself placing your trust in Dean as he reassures Cas that it wouldn’t matter if it’s not over.

“Because you an’ me, we’re unbreakable.”

And now this is where you really hate me because I’m not going to tell you one way or the other. I’m gonna let the story speak for itself. I will say that I would NEVER want to put them through all of that if they couldn’t live in the sunshine on the other side, though.

*more on the color purple

#luniares #and THAT is the story that tried to kill me #essentially #destiel #destiel fic #my fic #after dark #flashing gif #my art

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