#LIKE THE NEVERENDING TORTURE THESE THINGS EXPERIENCE TOO THE FACT THAT LIKE

[the-acid-pear]

Man I am getting ready to play DSaF 3 again and I just can't get over what Harry told me. That's unironically the most horrifying "I have no mouth and I must scream" shit I've seen because while the things being done (personality changes, emotional and physical restrictions, radical changes to their bodies, memory wipes; all this against their will) isnt something i've not seen before the fact that this is done so regurlarly and is treated as such a common practice that has been going on since the 70s and run by the fucking equivalent to McDonalds is so blood chilling to me.

[l-in-the-light]

When Law is in a relationship how long would it take for him to have sex? I see him taking many weeks until going that far. After a decade of holding hands follows the first shy kiss... all are difficult steps for him to take. Maybe he's even a virgin.

I decided to keep answering asks about Law's love life in bundled posts from time to time. So this will be another post containing multiple asks :D I think it will also make it easier to find them this way.

How long would it take him? Depends on his own recklessness, I suppose. He's smart, but he's also very petty, it's not that difficult to provoke him, and he hates being seen as a weakling. So he might actually try to force himself to be ready before he's actually ready to venture into that territory. And then he would deeply regret, think of himself as pathetic fool, because whatever he tried to do just deepened his trauma for him. Yeah, he's that kinda guy. It would be constant up and downs with him on this journey, many of which would be his own fault for not taking things slow enough.

But once he learns his own lesson with it, he would try to be better and take it more seriously, mostly because his partner would worry for him and scold him on many occassions already, once they realized what's going on. Don't expect him though to suddenly stop thinking of getting some petty paybacks, he just wouldn't let it slide.

How long would it take for him to actually feel good and comfortable about sex? There's no easy answer for that anywhere. People deal with traumas differently, they have different issues to deal with (even if two people have a touch-related trauma, their triggers might differ and their experiences as well). For some it will take many months, but I would say realistically speaking: years. And trauma is a bitch so it loves to resurface because of flashbacks, nightmares, and it also tortures you by putting you in an endless cycle of progress-regress. You might think you're having fun and enjoying yourself and then suddenly your brain thinks of a traumatic experience instead and everything starts to feel wrong. One day you might be fine, the next day you can't even look at other people or stand too close to them.

If trauma was a video game then the progress wouldn't be linear, it would be like being stuck in the neverending PT hallway, and unlocked skills can get locked back again and won't let you progress so you need to restart your game from the very beginning, multiple times. And even after you complete the game (as in: you reached the stage in which you're finally more fine than not fine), the game will sometimes open up by itself and take your console/pc hostage, even decades after you cleared it. Traumas don't just go away, they stay with you, you just gain more positive experiences, learn to know yourself better and work through your healing process to avoid them hijacking your life completely. Also please don't think of it as someone being broken forever, but instead as different needs for different folks. Not trying to downplay it right now, but we all have our own issues, no matter if they're trauma-related or not.

And then there's that other bitch called depersonalization and dissociation, which I'm pretty sure would be part of Law's issues, considering the fact he would have to rely on it to take care of his patients, as a doctor. Which means it might be his first instinct in approaching sex as well: try to dissociate himself from his own trauma. The result wouldn't be nice and he would find himself not enjoying sex at all as the result, because he won't really be into it, instead feeling like something is happening to his body and he just observes it from the side. And if he ends up freezing up and too stubborn to actually say that it's happening... the result would be catastrophic.

Okay, enough about trauma, it's getting depressing. Anyway, what he could do instead, is take it slow indeed. Getting used to hand holding would be a great place to start (it might take him a decade though). Maybe kissing as well, because I don't think he has any kiss-related trauma, so it might be easier on him, he won't have to work through the bad memories of it first. Indirect touches would be probably the main activity for a long, long time. Some voyeuristic fun as well. Just lying down next to each other in one bed or falling asleep would be a huge step in intimacy department as well. Things like trauma and healing take a lot of work, effort and time, and every success should be a celebrated victory (Law would hate to celebrate it though, too dramatic for him).

And who knows? Maybe he will never reach the last base. Maybe he's not even interested in it. Any sexual activity is sex anyway, not just penetrative sex alone. And I think what would matter the most to him is understanding that touch is okay (him being touched and him touching the other person), being close is okay, forgiving himself if he clams up or freezes up, accepting it's not because he doesn't trust enough, realizing that forcing himself to open up won't work. Let's say his partner is a positive person and doesn't mind constant breaks or sudden ends, or blueballing, and instead treats it all like a fun adventure and is quick to change to doing something else, completely sex/touch unrelated. I would say this is already achieving intimacy and getting acceptance (all while not making a huge deal out of it!) and I'm sure Law would appreciate it the most and definitely try to return the favour in any way he can.

So I guess my answer isn't exactly the "shy kiss, chastily holding hands for a decade" kind you probably expected to read. But it's okay, I think your idea also fits, anon, as long as Law can stand that level of sugar.

All things considered, yeah, I believe he would be a virgin. But honestly I think that would be the least important problem here, if at all. Let me preach for a moment here (or just ignore the rest). But does that even matter? The stigma around virginity is honestly stupid and there's nothing shameful in having first experiences late or even not at all. Thinking that sex is all about skills is wrong, it's about passion and learning about new partner from scratch: each person likes different things, and just because you're a master at french kissing doesn't mean your next partner would even like french kissing (or likes it done completely differently). Law is adaptable, fast learner and definitely attentive, so whether it's his first time or not doesn't matter; he would be a good partner, because that's what matters the most: that he listens to his partner. Would it be awkward? Sure. But you know what, sex is a funny thing that often is awkward anyway, so it's okay. It's not a performance in a national dance competition.

I mean, we see him crossing his arms, putting hands on his legs when he's sitting, connecting his own fingers together, he also really seems to like the weight of Kikoku leaning on his shoulder. I wouldn't say he's afraid to touch himself, from what we saw so far. But he's also not using every occassion there is to feel his own touch, I guess his comfy clothes and Kikoku serve as a substitute for that.

What about his libido? He's not exactly a teen anymore, I don't think he's that horny anymore. Besides he likes to keep himself busy so he's probably not thinking much about it in general. But let's assume one of the nights he spends talking with Shachi, Penguin and Bepo, and they talk about dirty stuff. I think he wouldn't really take part much in it, maybe he would even lie a bit (because even Law can feel insecure if that topic constantly comes up and he thinks that if he lies they will finally give him some peace), and maybe he would ask himself the question in his mind: shouldn't he be more interested? Maybe he would want to try out some things. It's not like he never wanted to. But then he knows that would mean approaching other people and he is self-aware, it would be an impossible obstacle (he had enough experience with normal people interactions after all). He might simply do stuff on his own, maybe he would find it nice, but I doubt he would find special interest in it, maybe he would even think it's a bit silly.

But on those nights when he feels especially lonely, can't fall asleep, and all the bad thoughts intrude his mind, he might succumb to self-comfort and feel sort of pathetic as the result. Low self-esteem tends to lead to that. It might become his go-to self-comfort, especially when he's a teen, and not just for sexual satisfaction, but simply touching his skin because it's comforting, the same way you would hug a plushie (but he wouldn't go that far, because he has Bepo and he likes to lean on him. Too bad, there's no shame in hugging plushies, Law!). He doesn't seem like a guy with big libido, but I can picture him compensating with self-touching. In healing process, that's definitely a better step than dissociative hypersexuality ;)

He would definitely take care of his own needs though, it would become his natural instinct, and a logical consequence of avoiding contact with others. Maybe after initial shame and self-issues subside a bit as he grows up and gains confidence at least in his fighting skills, he would remember he learned from medical books that touching himself is just a natural and healthy development in life and he would actively try to remind himself of that, till he finally stops judging himself. Trauma might have stolen him intimacy from others, but at least he can reclaim his own intimacy, right?

Well, that trust would need to happen before any sex happens, obviously. But losing control? I think that would be the trigger in itself for Law. Good news is, he doesn't need to "lose control" to receive a bj. There's so many different ways of doing it, at least one of them would feel comfortable for him. And he doesn't even have to go all the way with it and it still counts as bj. Of course if he ever reaches that stage after years of touch-related trauma. Do you think he could do it by himself with his devil fruit powers? Because I think that's in the realm of possibility.

But if he does reach that stage with a partner, finds a way that it feels comfortable for him without feeling triggering (or least likely to trigger him), then I think it has potential to become one of his fav sexual activities, simply because it doesn't have to involve hands (a bit challenging, but what's wrong with creativity?). Kissing as an activity, even if it is technically touch-related, doesn't carry bad memories in itself for him. Tbh though he is probably so touch-starved that it wouldn't take much for him to reach satisfaction, especially since he might be hyper-sensitive to touch as the result and find it difficult to calm down, his emotions overpowering him. Just saying. I bet he would hate that and feel (again) pathetic about himself, but his partner for sure would be accepting and wouldn't mind. Because why anyone would actually mind? It's not about the length, but quality, and quality would be definitely there if they even manage bj to work out in the first place. It's all really just a matter of perspective, trust and caring for each other's needs and limits. That being said, Law's partner would have to be understanding and willing to put his own needs on a shelf. There's a careful balance to work on here (needs met, no one getting ignored, not feeling like trauma is the centre of the relationship etc.) and lots of potential for exploration of a complex relationship.

Why imagine him in a typical copy-paste bj scenario if you can instead tailor it to his needs, fears, limitations and carefully sidestepping his triggers? Sex is supposed to be very a personal experience between two or more people, not just doing the same thing in different positions, rinse and repeat but with different faces and body parts, you know. It's okay to let your imagination roam free!

Glad you enjoy reading my posts! <3 He's definitely not a super lover and imo smut fics with super lovers are the most boring smut ever. Make them awkward and full of emotions, even clumsy or causing some sort of blunder, it's fun to read, I promise! And it just feels more real and interesting this way. It can still get decently steamy too, one doesn't exclude the other!

Haha, sure, I don't really care about anatomy itself, but the common fanfic fantasies of huge dicks are kinda ridiculous to me. Especially in the world of One Piece, Luffy can inflate his own arm so it turns into an arm of a giant, he can for sure do that to his peen if he wanted to. Sizes doesn't matter anyway, all sizes and shapes are a-okay. And it's okay to imagine Luffy and Law as twinks as well, if that's your thing!

That being said, size comparisons never get old in bl fics. That should always happen just for the hilarity and second-hand embarrassment of it :D

Yeah, I agree, he probably had a few sexual experiences... with himself. *runs away*

I believe in "no sex or sexual relationships on Polar Tang" ironclad rule that Trafalgar Law definitely set up. Why? Because this is noncon territory right here, you can't escape the forced power dynamics. Who would actually say "no" to their captain if it can result in being kicked out of their literal home that is Heart Pirates crew and the submarine? Do you really like to imagine Law this way, because I don't. That's why I'm pretty sure he has the rule of "no romance on the crew".

Heart Pirates by themselves though could get it on if they wanted to. I sincerely believe Shachi and Penguin have a casual thing going on that they think no one knows about (everyone knows though). Of course they only like girls though, uhum, and they do some dirty things together just because they feel a bit lonely (that's the official version). I bet one day they asked Law (just for science!) if he could perhaps turn a guy into a female with his devil fruit powers. Law didn't even honour them with an answer though, lol.

Also what cold nights? Apparently submarines are like heaters constantly working on highest setting. It has something to do with lack of proper ventilation when the ship is submerged. You could even see that in filler after Marineford when Bepo was literally sweating buckets and begging for them to get back to surface so he can get some fresh air. Also Law was leaving Wano wearing a freaking tanktop and in his fight against Blackbeard while they tried to escape in the submarine he was sweating buckets. Heart Pirates come from North Blue, I think they would actually prefer the cool nights over the heat they have to regularly deal with. Even Law's favourite season seems to be "spring on a winter island". Those guys like it cold :D

[plaguery]

on my main ocs and pronouns

siv - theoretically she would like pronouns and if she actually took the effort to consider it she would like he/she and would like people to regularly flip it around. but in reality she doesnt want to think about anything ever and isnt bothered or intrigued enough to consider anything but the default. but i also think she subconsciously enjoys not addressing her gender through language and forcing people to just Experience it with no clarification or answers. wants to be an enigma above all. oblivious to the fact that other pronouns did in fact come with her xbox.

romy - romy cant tell you anything about her identity outside of her interests and abilities and in inverse to siv, this is not out of aversion to thinking about it. she very much does think about it and every few years becomes very invested in testing things out like she can scientific method her way to the truth and ends up making zero conclusions because she sees some sort of merit in many options and is too stubborn to consider that multiple things can be true at once. or that possibly one specific truth is not a thing that exists. her theoretical is that she would probably LOVE it/its pronouns but doesnt know that its even a choice yet and also she is so used to modelling herself off of old starlets and this makes her think she Has to use she/her. plagued by black and white thinking

pomene - starts off with she/her, ends the narrative with they/she (the she/her part being very much in moderation). her narrative is highly contingent on the constructs and constraints of gender (moreso than the previous two here) and her original conformity to social and structural impositions. it tortures her and she tortures others through it and she is very much Part of The Problem as much as she is victim to it. to be reductive, after she nearly destroys everything including herself, they realize that--wait... are those THEY/THEM PRONOUNS? Diversity Win: Second Pronoun Slot Unlocked!

lurley - also starts off with she/her, ends the narrative with they/he/she. her and pomene parallel each other in their shackling under cisnormative gender roles, with lurley's attempts at conformity informed further by her transfemininity and her being a lowblood typically surrounded by mids or higher. she internalizes all the damage and desperately tries to mold herself in a neverending cycle. until they do end it as they start to find more agency outside of the boxed in world and find understanding with themself past a caste contingent binary. gender and identity is a rollercoaster and boy is he on it.

[anmylica]

Chapter Three: A Certain Shade of Gold

Read The Fields of Asphodel on AO3

Catch up on Tumblr 01 02

The lashings and beatings seemed to go on forever, and in some ways that was true. Time had no meaning for the dead. They didn’t change, didn’t progress, didn’t grow. They were only what they were: shades of their former selves. Killian knew this; he wasn’t an unfamiliar stranger with the concept of frozen time. He had never experienced timelessness in quite the same way as this neverending, never-changing torture, though.

The lashes progressed to beatings with a cane. Then came the punches and kicks. Then came the periods of solitary confinement. Killian spent a lot of his time unconscious during those periods. When he was dragged in for another round of torture, he swore he wouldn’t give into what Hades wanted, but it was hard to endure that kind of endlessness. The only thing that kept him going was his faith that Hades had no idea what he was referring to when he talked about Killian’s hope. 

Killian had no hope to relinquish. But still, Hades persisted onward in pushing Killian to let go of something that he knew didn’t exist.  What Killian didn’t know at this point in time, but Hades knew and recognized, was that hope could take many forms. Death often destroyed hope, but not every form of hope was touched by death.

Time didn’t matter in the Underworld, so Killian couldn’t have said how long had passed since the torture sessions had begun. He had honestly begun to sort of tune out the relentless pain until it was nothing but background noise, a fact which cheered him up long enough to endure the session until he was finally granted the oblivion of unconsciousness back in his cell. Then he dreamed.

He dreamed of Emma, of how they had left things between them as he tried to punish her for going against his wishes with the Darkness. He dreamed of the terrible, harsh words he had said to her during his short tenure as a Dark One. He dreamed of the pain he knew he had inflicted on her family, his friends, and her son, who he viewed to be as good as his own. Those dreams made his heart ache, for he knew instinctively that Emma was experiencing the very same ones as he.  Those weren’t the worst he had, however. The worst dreams were the ones where he had returned to Emma, embraced her to him in a bone crushing hug, each raining kisses over each other as rain fell softly down around them. He dreamed of the life they could have had in that Victorian house down by the sea, the children that could have been theirs, the memories they could have made, and the life they could have lived together. 

Those were the ones that burned deep within, the visions of could have been fueling the despair he knew to the very depths of his soul that Emma was feeling too.  That was perhaps the worst part of this whole ordeal, knowing that she was hurting. He hoped she could move on, that this experience didn’t cause her to reconstruct her walls against her family. He hoped that his love had been enough to change her for the better, to allow herself to have built enough connections between her heart and those who loved her to find solace and peace with his passing. He hoped she remembered him fondly throughout her years, if she even would remember him at all. He hoped he could let her and their blossoming love go. 

But an even deeper, darker, more selfish desire reared up and consumed him at that thought. This desire was what had made him stay a pirate after he’d turned to piracy in vengeance for Liam’s senseless death. He wasn’t proud of this desire, but he couldn’t quite tamp it down; he wasn’t strong enough to. Deep down, he truly hoped she would never move on, and when she finally arrived in the Underworld after a long and content life, he could be there to greet her. Then they would both move on to whatever came next, hand in hand as they were supposed to be. He felt this so strongly he nearly burned with the longing, and was nearly consumed by it every time.  

He didn’t like to admit this, for he wanted to be selfless with her, but he couldn’t deny it, even if only to himself.  Every time he’d think about this, he’d end up right back here to this selfish desire. This was beginning to be his way of knowing how much time had passed since his last torture session because Hades would usually show up after he finally accepted that he felt this way and drag him right back to the throne room and repeat the beatings. 

One of Hades’ minions (Killian didn't know his name) had just begun the process for the fifth time when Killian felt his heart skip a beat. He felt a pull on his heart leading to the outside of the throne room so strong he gasped. It felt like his heart had been restarted. He felt more complete than he had since his death, but he didn’t know why. He lurched as another blow connected to his back.

Just before the minion could land another blow, a ray of bright golden light burst through the throne room. A rainbow was left flashing across the ceiling once the golden light passed through, a magical northern lights in a funereal setting. The minion stared at the ceiling, confused, but Killian knew what this was.

“Emma,” he breathed out, love and hope surging through his entire being. Then, he felt a brief pain as the minion gave him a hard blow to his head, and Killian was aware of nothing more.

Emma didn’t see the flash of golden light and the rainbow trailing after it, but the other denizens of the Underworld certainly did.  It blew people’s newspapers out of their hands down Main Street, knocked off several people’s hats and forced them to chase after the missing articles.  The light and its subsequent breeze ruffled the brunette curls of a pretty blue eyed woman stopping traffic at a crosswalk to allow kids to cross.  The light caused a chill to go down a dark-haired man’s spine as he looked up from the notes he was writing about the latest woman who’d been separated from her baby by death.  The commotion knocked over an open bottle and spilled a good bit of expensive rum inside a bar that was run by a curly haired man who scowled at the mess as he moved to mop it up.  The denizens of the Underworld  all stared at the golden light and the rainbow that tumbled after it, and then they looked around themselves in wonder as the Underworld suddenly seemed to be just a little bit brighter.

Rumplestiltskin was the only one of the group who saw the golden flash of light.  His only reaction was to raise an eyebrow before stating, “You should start by having a look around.  The Underworld is a rather complicated place.”

“I’ll say,” Emma breathed as she took in the deadened grass and the gray husks of poplar trees that grew (were they even alive and able to grow?) stilted around them.  

She breathed shallowly, grimacing a bit at the sulphuric smell in the air.  The red glow in the sky made her feel as if she had stepped into some sort of Twilight Zone, and there was no way back to normalcy.  The entire place felt oppressing and hopeless.  How on earth could they possibly expect to find Killian in time to save him?  She wasn’t going to succeed, couldn’t even begin to hope that she’d actually manage to change his fate…  She started breathing harder, panting at the paralyzing fear, that feeling of being caged in, that suddenly gripped her heart.  There was nowhere to run; there was no way out of this realm, and no way to achieve what she’d set out to do. Instinctively, she grabbed at the ring that hung around her neck, and took a deep breath.  The sudden panic vanished as quickly as it had come on.  It was just the atmosphere.  She could do this.  She just had to be strong and fearless.  She took her first step straight into the depths of Hell.

The group moved forward, as if awaiting their cue from Emma, and went through the archway.  They all looked around themselves in amazement.  Everything was dead, or at least it looked like it.  The colors were all muted, as if they had been bleached away by the decay that permeated the air.  After they had walked for some time, they all stopped short.  Somehow, without quite realizing how, they had walked right up to Main Street of Storybrooke.  It was an exact replica, but there were many shops closed and some minor damage along some of the buildings.

“What is this place?” Snow breathed out, startled by what she was seeing.

“I thought we were in the Underworld,” Emma replied uncertainly, her brow furrowing in confusion. Had they been portaled back home somehow?

“The Underworld takes on the appearance that its lord and master wills it to,” Rumple replied.  “For some reason, he sees fit to make it appear familiar to us.”

For some reason, Emma thought that was a peculiar explanation, but before she could think more about why the Dark One’s statement bothered her, her father asked a more logical question.

“Well, where do we start looking?” David asked no one in particular.  

“I guess we split up?” Emma suggested, at a loss for what to do next.  God, how was she supposed to lead them?  This wasn’t Neverland; she was under a completely different set of rules here. She hadn’t even been here for five minutes, and already her leadership was unraveling at the seams. She felt another wave of anxiety wash through her. She had to get it together, or none of them would survive. She mentally shook herself and took a deep breath, trying to ease the anxiousness she felt.

“Well, you can do whatever you wish.  I want no part of this. When you’re ready to give up on this foolish endeavor, you can find me in my shop.”  Rumplestiltskin moved to walk away in the direction of the place he had just mentioned.

“Hang on!  You said you were going to help us!” Emma protested. Wasn’t it just like the damn Dark One to jump ship when nothing in it directly benefited him? She should have just put the Darkness back into him and shoved Excalibur through his chest when she had the chance. She’d have saved herself some damn trouble. Killian really did have the measure of this guy.

“I actually did no such thing,” Rumple responded, turning to address her.  “I agreed to open the portal to the Underworld and bring you here.  I have fulfilled my end of our deal, and now my services are no longer required.  Good luck.  You’re going to need it,” he sneered and stalked off in the direction of his shop. Emma rolled her eyes.

Regina scoffed.  “Well, we don’t need his help anyway.  I think splitting up might be the best way to cover more ground.”

“Regina and I can go check out Granny’s, maybe?  Hook did have a room he was renting there, I believe?” Robin added.

“We can go by what’s supposed to be my office first,” Regina nodded.  “There might be some sort of census record telling us where to find him.”

“Yeah.  That’s actually a good idea.  Mom, Dad, could you guys maybe check out the loft on the chance he might have gone there?”

“Yeah, sure.  If he’s not there, we’ll meet you all at Granny’s,” David said.

Snow added, “I think it would be a good idea to swing by the library first real quick.  It can’t hurt to look in too many places that Killian liked to go, can it?”

“Yeah, we can do that,” David answered Snow.  He added to Emma, “Where are you going?”

“That’s fine,” Emma replied to her mother and then looked at Henry.  He nodded encouragingly.  “I'm going to check out my place, and I think I’m going to go down to the docks on my way.  If this whole thing is a copycat of Storybrooke, The Jolly Roger, or some version of it at least, might be docked down there.”

“I’m going with her,” Henry stated.

“Then it’s settled.  We’ll all meet at Granny’s in one hour.  Hopefully we’ll all find something worthwhile,” stated Regina.  They all turned and began walking towards their assigned locations, all the while unaware of the god that was watching them through a magic ball.

Hades kept his watch on Emma as she separated from her friends and family and headed as fast as she could to the docks, her son scurrying after her.  His blood boiled at the thought that this woman thought she could come to his domain and upend everything that he stood for. Hades didn’t let souls go; he entrapped them for all eternity. He resolved that Emma Swan was going to join his collection. He would use her, break her, and keep her. After all, what better fate could await a savior than being unable to save the very people they were there to protect?

Hades smiled a cruel, evil smile. He moved to sit down on his throne, stepping over the prone body of her paramour chained to the torture wall. He poured himself a glass of red Pinot noir wine, the finest vintage he could find in any realm, living or dead, and sipped it pensively.

“Panic!” He called out softly. Hades knew his minion wasn’t far off, awaiting his orders for how to react to their new guests. 

“You called, milord?” Panic asked as he stepped forward out of the shadows.

Hades took another sip before he answered. “How would you like to cause a little mayhem for our new friends?”

Panic smirked. “All of them?” 

“As many as you can get to in one hour,” Hades amended.

“Who should I start with first?”

“The most susceptible. I’ll leave that up to you.”

Panic bowed a very uncoordinated, elaborate bow. “I shall do as you command at once, sir!” The imp disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Hades leaned back in his throne, slouching a bit, and threw one leg over an arm. He sipped idly at his wine for a while, pondering over Killian’s prone body. In order for his plan to start, he had to divert his attention away from the defiant pirate captain. This was, perhaps, the first time he had cut a session with the mortal short since Jones’s arrival in the Underworld. He stayed in that position for several more minutes, contemplating his next move, when a shudder passed through the air. Distantly, he could hear the screams of panic in his streets. He smiled another cruel, evil smile. 

With a lazy wave of his hand, Killian Jones was returned to his cell in solitary confinement. He would continue his persuasion of the pirate later. First, he had to make sure Emma Swan started to lose her hope. Killian Jones was the least worrisome of the two in regards to that pesky feeling. Emma Swan was the Savior of the Enchanted Forest; her hope was sharpened beyond a normal mortal’s. Her hope could prove to be her salvation down here, and he needed her hope severed from her to fuel his revenge. 

Oh yes, it was time for Emma Swan to be broken beyond repair, and Hades was going to make damn sure that she crumbled. Nothing else would help him succeed as much as this. He stood up and just before he vanished in a whirl of black smoke, he glanced at a clear cylindrical column just off to the side. It was only about halfway full of a swirling maelstrom of kaleidoscopic liquid, but soon it would be full. Then he could begin to repair the tool he needed to finally storm Mount Olympus and get his revenge. But first, he would go to personally keep an eye on proceedings and maybe even introduce himself to his unwanted and unwelcome guests.

[rosecolouredmind]

Savior

Nicholas Scratch x Reader

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Part Four:

The Angel of Mercy

First, it was his soul.

Nick never regretted the fact that he was born a warlock. He had powers, longevity, and led a lifestyle of envy. So, when he came of age, he signed on the dotted line in the Book of the Beast. Ever since then, the word ‘regret’ had never once entered his vocabulary.

There was a slim chance he’d ever be called upon to do something untoward, and if it did happen, well...what’s one sin in exchange for a life of frivolity and debauchery?

But next...it was his heart.

Lust, power, knowledge; dedicating his soul to the Dark Lord came with massive perks, and he wasn’t exactly complaining when one of them manifested in the appearance of Sabrina Spellman.

No...Sabrina Morningstar.

He couldn’t explain exactly how or why. His devotion, his loyalty; It had been stolen away by yet another Morningstar, his heart charmed and mind swayed. The powerful capabilities the young witch displayed did nothing but endear him to the demure, compassionate mor(t)ality she fought so hard to keep.

Sabrina Morningstar-Spellman was both the enticement and innocence of the flesh of the lamb... and it would have done Nick well to remember that the lamb is but the spawn of the Beast.

Suddenly, Nick found himself dancing a little too closely with the Devil; twin stars he pledged himself to ended up with him finally learning the word regret once the last pledge left his lips:

Nicholas Scratch, for the love of his life and the containment of it’s keeper, volunteered to be the flesh acheron.

And now, Nick found himself trapped in an everlasting Hell even the darkest of his nightmares couldn’t have begun to manifest.

The Baphomet and the lamb; the Degraded and the Pure. Both were sides of the same twisted fate he’d found himself a part of, desperate to escape. His mind had long since melted into a pool of chaos and intense fear. He’d tried countless ways to just end it all, if only Lucifer were so kind. He no longer had a life to speak of; just endless suffering and eternal doom. His life wasn’t supposed to be like this…

Not like this.

Nick thought himself a pretty gifted warlock, and had long since placed protection charms upon his mind and body should anything or anyone with malicious intention attempt to try him.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking at the time he convinced Sabrina, the coven, and himself that it was a good idea to use his own body as the flesh acheron, but he does admit that hubris and naivete played a part. And at the moment of that final “I love you” to Sabrina, he accepted his fate and was determined to face it no matter what happened to him.

Unfortunately for Nick, you can’t guard against the Devil.

Lucifer made quick work of him, and Nick soon found himself in a never-ending cycle of pain and torture he couldn’t have even fathomed beforehand. Suddenly, his life’s outlook was being eternally violated by the Dark Lord without reprieve. And from what it looked like, it was only a matter of time before he completely broke and the Dark Lord once again took up his mantle of dominating Hell and eventually Earth. All that would be left of Nick and his sacrifice would be any empty shell of a person who no longer knows how to exist as one.

So when the lamb arrived and saved Nick from the Baphomet, he supposed he should have been grateful. Happy, even. Nick had gone to Hell for Sabrina Spellman, and she’d gone to Hell to save him.

But as time still seemed to stretch on without end, he started to break.

Though it wasn’t exactly her fault, Sabrina could never understand what her father put him through because of her. Coupled with her lack of even really trying, her wish for him to just sweep everything under the rug and go back to how things were left him feeling more than a little resentful.

The resounding silence of his once scrambled mind did nothing but make for a much effective echochamber of his worst memories; memories which were exceedingly numerous and fresh. Nick looked for something, anything to fill up or dull that silence; most of which were methods not exactly healthy for him and definitely not healthy for his relationship.

It didn’t take long for the Morningstars to steal away Nicholas Scratch, and it was with resounding disgust that they spat back out all three parts of him they’d taken, broken beyond recognition.

Now stuck dealing with his many issues alone, the tortured boy clung to the only achingly fleeting memories that kept him grounded in rationality instead of spiraling into illusions of the dreadful abyss looming in his haunted mind. And as he replayed the images of the illuminating figure who reminded him that he was still human and that his heart was still beating, to his displeasure he’d found that he wished he had more.

She visited exactly 12 times.

Twelve blessed encounters, each one increasing his fervor more than the last; her presence was like a drug to Nick, a sustenance that he would easily admit to himself he couldn’t go without any longer.

While (Y/N) did explain to him that her powers were limited inside Hell and there wasn’t much of a chance she could directly free him, he couldn’t stop himself from pining after her whenever she was absent. At first, images of Sabrina had been what kept him going. He constantly reminded himself that she was probably doing all she could to save him, and when she actually did, he told himself that everything would finally be okay again.

Nick and Sabrina picked up exactly where they left off, eager to get back to each other again. He reminded himself, Satan be damned, he loved her; otherwise he’d have never sacrificed himself for her to begin with.

Nick had gone to Hell for Sabrina Spellman, was tortured by the Devil himself, and at the time, he had no regrets.

But things couldn’t go back to the way they used to be. He couldn’t go back.

That doesn’t mean that Sabrina didn’t try to help him in whatever way she could, but once she revealed her new royal status, Nick’s remaining feelings of responsibility towards the blonde Morningstar withered away along with the rest of the kinders of their relationship.

Nick was back amongst his coven, friends, lover; but he still felt so achingly alone and afraid all the time. He wanted to feel something, anything other than the despair Lucifer Morningstar so thoroughly imprinted into his being. Despite the love he told himself he felt for the little Morningstar, the literal spawn of his trauma, the only beacon he could rely on to keep him sane was the memory of you.

And as he reminisced on your serendipitous encounters, to his shame, he couldn’t help but compare.

After a while, it had become hard for Nick to separate the daughter from the father, the lamb from the Baphomet. In his intense resentment, he’d gotten to the point where his mind was becoming absolutely blank as it gave in to the invading presence of the sheer evil he’d been fighting against for so long…

And then an angel descended, and he’d nearly cried out in tears and praise for the false God.

It had taken him a while to realize that Lucifer’s presence couldn’t be felt anymore, and even longer to convince himself that it wasn’t a trick. He would close his eyes and see his demons warping beneath the surface, twisting his psyche into a weak, chaotic mess. He would open them and still see red, the color of a neverending hellscape created specifically to terrorize his soul and break him apart piece by piece, rebuilding and breaking again until nothing original was left. He saw despair, and he felt it as well. A gloom so deeply settled into his being that it would have been impossible to get rid of; a shell of the person he’d once been.

So no, Nick couldn’t tell you if his eyes were ever open or closed, because it made no difference to him at all. And one day in that eternity of Hell, Nick finally came to realize he regretted being all alone...

So, pray tell, when a lonely, broken boy suddenly feels someone wipe away his tears, what ever should he say?

He could only posture himself and pray.

The warmth and comfort his angel brought him blessed him with a near orgasmic experience, abruptly tugging him from the brink of despair. For a moment, he questioned if she, if he — was even real, or if Lucifer was really trying that hard to live up to his name as the harbinger of lost home and doom. But when the blessed hands caressed his face, and those saintly eyes pierced through the darkness forever in his view to meet his own, all he could feel was intense relief -- and shame.

Shame over who he was, where he’d gotten himself, and how he’d gotten there.

Surely someone who dedicated their life and soul to the Devil himself didn’t deserve the presence and grace of a literal angel in the darkest moment of his life?

So, with his eyes wide open once again, he cried. He cried at her grace, and at her mercy. Even after she coaxed him down from his delirium and explained who she really was, he wept at the sheer exuberance he felt that she even appeared -- let alone helped him -- just when he was forgetting what it felt to feel anything but pain and suffering. She was his angel, godly or not, and he thanked his lucky stars that it was his fate to be able to meet her in that moment.

Soon, between visits, it became her face, not Sabrina’s, that he’d found had kept him going. (Y/N) had become his symbol of hope, his new god, his only savior. Disillusioned with giving his life to people who only harmed him, (Y/N) became his new religion as he found himself praying to the stars and the Fates for her speedy return. Every time he was graced with her presence, he understood that whatever was written in the stars for him couldn’t have been so bad if he was able to meet her in between the lines.

And when Nick found himself finally out of Hell and in Sabrina’s arms again, he was fully prepared to keep his newfound faith close to his heart and out of the sight of others. Everything that had happened to him was incredibly personal, whether it be his time with you or with the Dark Lord. But when Sabrina revealed her new status as Queen of Hell to him and effectively admitted that everything he’d been through -- his sacrifice, his loss, his pain -- was all for nothing, Nick felt as if time had stopped and his heart had caved in.

He tried his hardest to be okay; with his life, with his coven, with Sabrina. He began coping in the only way he knew how, which admittedly did more harm than good. But without your presence to pull him from the brink, Nick found himself spiralling down the dark depths of his memories with no foreseeable end and without support. Eventually, the pent up resentment and mind games the Dark Lord still insisted on playing with him even after his escape got to him, and he lashed out. The Morningstars took everything from him; his heart, his body, his soul. The coven, Sabrina; no one actually understood him or the anguish he had experienced -- still experienced -- every second of his existence since that final pledge left his lips. The increased sense of isolation brought up his darkest thoughts and feelings, and soon he found himself not only cut off from Sabrina, but from the rest of the coven as well.

As the witches found themselves caught off guard by the arrival of the pagans, Nick instead would find himself staring up at the night sky, alone, searching for his hope.

And while the witches were more concerned with the moon, Nick was waiting for the stars.

As it was predestined, one very particular night Nick felt a very particular warmth bloom across his chest. He smiled, and smiled as wide as his face would allow at that. Because as he watched a very particular star fall from the sky, he knew finally:

The person he placed his faith in didn’t let him down.

*

Author’s Note: Here’s part 5! Next chapter should be out next Sunday.

Please ask to be tagged! Reblogs, comments and asks are appreciated as well but not required 🤠

Tag list:

@insomniac-nerd-posts-things

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@sophia-of-sass-gard

[dweetwise]

Deathslinger x doctor or deathslinger x oni? Headcanons or fluff for whichever one you choose, I don’t mind :) (happy birthday to your blog!)

oh it’s been a long time since i’ve written sparkslinger! thanks for requesting <3 i made this as a continuation to my previous fic of them, i hope that’s ok!

word count: 1740

Caleb X Herman: Accidental martyr

Since starting his arrangement with Herman, Caleb had to admit that his time in this neverending hell had become a lot more entertaining.

Whether it was getting roped into questionable experiments, late nights drinking cheap whiskey in the saloon, or his own sporadic visits to the old hospital, being around the doctor was a great way to alleviate the boredom between trials.

Unfortunately, that often came at the cost of Caleb’s sanity.

This moment was a prime example of such an occurrence. After Herman had showed up to their latest encounter with a torn jacket and fresh wounds, Caleb was practically forced to play doctor to make sure the man didn't succumb to his injuries.

That didn't mean he had to be nice about it, though.

“Figures ye’d be cocky enough to try to take the bitch out on yer own,” Caleb snarked.

He attempted to clumsily dress one of the numerous gashes marring the doctor’s shoulders; the Entity’s handiwork, no doubt.

“What can I say? I’m a man who likes to push the limits—shit!” Herman hissed out a curse when Caleb tightened the bandage a little too forcefully.

“Don’t do it again,” Caleb growled, masking the uneasy feeling in his chest with anger.

Herman waved off both the threat and concern with a simple "Yes, yes, now get on with it" and Caleb went back to his mediocre job of caring for the wounds.

Since that first night in the saloon, they’d never talked about whatever this was between them. And that suited Caleb just fine; he was a man of few words, and if anything, he should thank his luck that the blabbermouth he kept for company hadn’t deemed it a subject worth discussing.

Apart from a few snide comments of Herman getting his ass kicked by the Entity, Caleb didn’t bring up the incident again.

And he’d probably have forgotten about it completely, if he hadn’t happened to pick up some spare parts from Autohaven a few days later.

“Are you alright?” Philip asked as soon as Caleb arrived at their designated meet-up spot.

“Just dandy,” Caleb drawled, inspecting the Wraith’s latest haul of scrap from the junkyard.

“You don’t have to act tough, Caleb,” Philip insisted, clearly not getting the hint.

Caleb whipped around to give the other killer a properly disgusted look that he hoped conveyed just how little he appreciating being coddled like a damn child.

“It’s okay; we’ve all been there. I understand,” Philip said, giving a look of sympathy that made Caleb’s skin crawl.

“The fuck you on about, boy?” Caleb spat.

“The Entity,” Philip said.

The Wraith flinched at his own words, quickly glancing around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping.

“It… punishes us when we’re not brutal enough or efficient enough,” Philip said, lowering his voice. “And after your leg—there have been rumors, you know.”

Caleb felt the anger bubbling up. Not only did he hate people bringing up his brief time of injury and subsequent uselessness in trials, he also had an inkling of just who had been spreading these specific rumors.

“What kind’a rumors?” Caleb asked.

“You’ve been going to the hospital a lot to treat your wounds,” Philips said. “Herman even had to borrow ointments from Sally, since you’ve been coming in so often.”

Caleb’s eye twitched as he tried to reign his temper. Herman knew damn well that Caleb was insistent on keeping their whatever-it was a secret, yet he seemed to happily gossip to anyone he came across.

“‘Scuse me,” Caleb said. “I’ma need to have a chat with the good doctor.”

When Caleb slammed open the door to Herman’s office, the man didn’t even flinch.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t break my furniture,” the doctor merely offered, not even looking up from his book. “I could hear you stomping here from across the hospital.”

“You,” Caleb snarled, grabbing Herman by the collar. “What did you do?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Herman said, infuriatingly calm even when face to face with a very dangerous and very angry gunslinger.

“Why does Phil think I’m gettin’ beat up by spider-bitch?” Caleb spat. “Why does Sally know I’ve been comin’ here and you need a bunch’a salve for it?”

“Oh,” Herman said, finally getting his point. “That’s not something you should worry about.”

“Try me,” Caleb snarled, tightening his grip around the man’s jacket collar.

“It might be easier to talk without the strangulation,” Herman countered, his voice strained from the pressure on his neck.

Caleb released his hold but didn’t back off, crowding the man against his office chair.

“Then talk,” Caleb commanded.

“Very well,” Herman said. “As you may or may not know, our Eldritch overlord closely monitors our performance in trials. However, if said performance isn't up to par, it isn’t afraid to take disciplinary measures.”

“So ya didn’t fight it, it fought you? That what yer sayin’?” Caleb asked.

“In a way, I suppose,” Herman said, still annoyingly secretive.

“So what’s that gotta do with me? And stop fuckin’ horseshittin’,” Caleb said.

“Well, in a nutshell,” Herman paused, as considering how to phrase the message simply enough for Caleb to understand. “There was word of the Entity being more agitated than usual. I concluded it was only a matter of time before it chose you as its target, and as a precaution, I deliberately attempted to draw its ire.”

If Caleb was confused before, he was even more so now. The doctor had… volunteered to be the Entity's pincushion? And for what?

“Why?” Caleb asked, hesitantly stepping back from the man and his unknown motives.

“You’re my patient,” Herman simply answered.

“Oh, like these sorry fuckers?” Caleb said, pointing at a human heart sitting neatly in a jar on the desk. “You wanna cut me up yerself, that it?”

“...No.”

“Then what? Ya get off on bein’ tortured?” Caleb prodded, angry at still not getting a real answer. “Well, what is it!?”

“I don’t know!” Herman snapped, slamming the book shut.

It was the first time Caleb had seen the doctor lose his composure, and on reflex he reached for the empty holster on his hip.

“I’ve spent over a decade studying the human psyche, and I don’t know,” Herman said, moving to stand up. “I have no illusions of morality, yet seeing you in agony over your leg—”

“I was fine!” Caleb rebutted.

“The thought of inflicting more pain on you was simply out of the question. So I offered myself up in your stead, until you were recovered. And then I… just kept going.”

“Hold on,” Caleb realized. “You’ve—for all this time!? It’s been, what, months?”

“Fifty-three days, according to my calculations,” Herman said, so matter-of-fact.

“You’re fuckin’ bonkers,” Caleb said. “That shit ends now! ‘M not about to let you deal with my punishment!”

Herman was silent, for once, and Caleb could see his jaw clenching and unclenching. There was a sudden realization that Herman probably felt the same way that Caleb did, a few days ago when he saw the man badly hurt.

Protective.

The anger slowly released from Caleb’s body, and he took a step toward the doctor in a silent peace offering.

“I’ma big boy, doc,” Caleb said. “Been through shit none of yer experiments even come close to. I'm not fuckin' made o’ glass."

"I realize that," Herman said, sighing. "It wasn't my intention to patronize you."

"Pfft, like that ain’t your goal most days," Caleb shot back, the good side of his face drawing into a smirk.

"Well," Herman said with a dry chuckle. "Not in this particular instance."

An apology was left unsaid, but Caleb didn't want one. Still, he kept unwavering eye contact, waiting for a promise that never came.

"And?" Caleb asked when neither of them were budging.

Herman sighed in annoyance, most likely peeved at having been out-stubborned.

"I will make sure it doesn't happen again," Herman reluctantly assured.

"Good," Caleb said, and then inexplicably felt unsure about where that left them. "So, uh… we good, or…?"

Herman smiled. He usually just grinned, or giggled or laughed like a psychopath, but now he looked stupidly handsome with a smile stretching over his lips and making his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Splendid," Herman said.

Caleb could only withstand another few seconds of looking at the damn smile before his patience ran out.

"Get over here," Caleb said, tugging the doctor closer by his lapels and into a kiss.

They didn't do this often, and feeling the warm, chapped lips against his own, Caleb couldn't help but think what a damn shame it was. After the injury to his jaw that felt like a lifetime ago, Caleb didn't think he'd be doing much kissing for the rest of his days, but Herman never seemed bothered by it.

Large hands settled on his hips and Caleb could feel the dormant energy lying underneath, electricity always at the doctor's fingertips. It was absurd to think that their hands, constantly used for killing and more often than not caked with their victims' blood, could be used to hold each other this gently.

Realizing he was getting alarmingly sappy from nothing more than a kiss, Caleb pulled away from the liplock and reluctantly stepped away from the doctor's embrace. He adjusted his hat in an attempt to hide the reddening of his sickly pale cheeks.

"Alright, now come on," Caleb urged, cocking his head in the direction of the door.

"Are we going somewhere?" Herman asked.

"Yer comin' to Glenvale where I can keep an' eye on ya," Caleb said. "Don't trust ya not to break a promise."

The words came out harsher than he meant to. Luckily, Herman didn’t appear to take it personally, instead going to grab some of his things without any further fuss.

"If you wanted a romantic getaway this badly, you should have just asked," Herman teased.

"Shut up," Caleb said half-assedly.

Watching Herman pocket a jar of an unknown substance, Caleb suddenly remembered something crucial.

"Oh, one more thing," Caleb said.

"I'm all ears.”

“Tell Sally to keep ‘er fuckin’ trap shut,” Caleb snarked.

He received a fit of maniacal giggles in return, and Caleb realized that the sound that once grated on his nerves now brought a sense of belonging.

He still didn't know what this was between them, but he'd be damned if he let it go.

[snowbellewells]

Do as the Romans Do

A @captainswanmoviemarathon​ fic by @snowbellewells​

((((I made a first attempt at creating my own fic art, but for whatever reason, I can’t get it to post in my story. It’s on my page, but for whatever reason, I can’t get them both in one!)))

Hello there! Welcome to my little Roman Holiday-inspired AU for the @captainswanmoviemarathon! There were some scenes from the original movie that I was simply too enamored with not to include, so those I am sure you’ll recognize those, but I’ve also let this version of Killian and Emma wander off on their own when they wish to change the script a bit. I’m envisioning this being about three parts - today’s shorter introduction to set the scene, a larger part two with the bulk of the plot, and then a shorter conclusion to wrap things up. We’ll see how it goes (or if it grows on me beyond that!)  Please enjoy, and I’d love to hear what you think…

Part One

                                           *Press Release*

From the Royal Italian Embassy this 4th of September, 1953, Princess Emma Ruth Nolan, Crown Princess of the small nation of Misthavia, only child of Queen Margaret Mary Blanchard-Nolan and King Consort David Nolan visits us here in Rome for a brief stop on her first solo goodwill tour. 

Already, she has made stops in Copenhagen, Prague, Vienna, and Geneva, and will attend a state dinner, tour local businesses, preside over a medal ceremony, christen the children’s wing of a hospital, and hold a press conference in her three days here before heading on to Paris and London to complete her journey across Europe. Lucky indeed are those who have an invite to one of these events and will have a chance to meet the Princess in person!

The receiving line outside the embassy dining room had long since passed from lengthy to trying and on to interminable as Emma prayed her empty stomach would not begin to grumble aloud before she was finally able to find a seat at the head table and at last enjoy the hard-earned meal. As always seemed to be the case at these formal events, meeting “just a select few” somehow turned into glad-handing with a neverending line of people she would never remember or hope to keep straight from one another. 

To think she had initially been excited about this particular event! At least she had thought there might be the chance for some entertainment and dancing after dinner. Now that she stood in one place for so long, she was regretting the posh new heels she had paired with her full-skirted ballgown for the occasion. If she ever got to move from her spot again, Emma was not at all sure that her feet would actually support forward motion any longer; they might well be broken inside the three-inch heels.

Hoping to do so without being noticed, Emma stealthily shifted most of her weight onto one foot, lifting the other slightly beneath her skirts and flexing her toes in the hope of bringing feeling back to the extremities. She bobbled a bit, but thankfully her press secretary, and closest friend since nursery school, child of palace staff or not, was standing beside her. Surreptitiously, Emma caught Ashley’s arm to steady herself. The other blonde made no comment, merely offered a reassuring sidelong glance and tiny smile without the disapproval that Emma knew she would have received from the Countess on her other side - a retired former nun who had been her main chaperone and minder of all the etiquette and behavior since Emma’s first official public appearance years go.  The Princess could practically see the woman’s pinched disapproving mouth, admonishing eyes and warning tone - even in Mistress Blue’s absence.

The end of the receiving line was at last in sight, and Emma let out a breath that she hoped went unnoticed, trying as hard as she could not to let her eyes roll back in her head at the momentary relief she had gained for her aching feet. Intending to put the first one back into its pretty little torture device and flex the other similarly, she continued blindly offering her hand to the passing dignitaries, murmuring greetings and shifting to her other side gingerly.

Unfortunately, just as her foot returned to its shoe, a flashbulb went off unexpectedly and much closer than any had been so far.  She blinked, momentarily blinded, and her balance wobbled; the hidden empty shoe tipped over on its side before she could slip her toes back into it. This made her dip unexpectedly to the left, and she felt herself falling, despite all her natural grace and her practiced poise. Cheeks already flushing, Emma’s tongue was too tangle to call out, knowing her one bare foot and her impatient lack of polish was about to be exposed before she even hit the floor. A gasp escaped Ashley on her other side as she realized too late what was happening and tried to catch Emma’s hand, but instead, what arrested her fall was the interception of two warm, firm hands at her elbows, halting the topple which had seemed inevitable only seconds ago.

Suddenly braced by the solid forearms in a lean, handsomely suited man standing there before her, Emma blinked, reorienting herself to the fact that he’d spared her a rather embarrassing incident, she wouldn’t be humiliated on all the gossip shows that evening.

“Th - Thank you, Sir,” she breathed tremulously, quickly fishing her toes into her shoe and righting it at last before straightening and looking up to meet her rescuer’s eyes.

Bright, crystal blue met her inquisitive green as she did so, a twinkling of mischief enlivened his expression even further against the heavy dark brows and the rather rakish appeal of his unshaven cheeks and jaw. For a moment, the breath nearly rushed from Princess Emma’s lungs again - for a completely different reason.

A gentle chuckle rumbled from this undeniably handsome stranger’s chest as he dipped his chin in the slightest of acknowledging bows. “Think nothing of it, your Majesty. I’m simply glad I was here.”

She nodded in mute agreement, wincing again at how she’d nearly made herself a laughingstock. It was one of the things she hated most about her life as a monarch - one silly mistake, unimportant in the grand scheme of things, could undo or overshadow so much good, so much hard work in a mere instant.

With a rather devilish wink, the man before her, bowed his head over her hand, now more delicately cradled in his own larger one and place and brazen kiss to the back of it, his whiskers prickling her skin and sending tingles all along her nerve endings. “After all, it isn’t every day one finds a princess in his debt,” he murmured silkily.

She blushed brighter, knowing they were beginning to hold up the line and draw curious attention now, but not wanting him to move on. “Is that so?” she replied with equally humored stealth.

“Indeed.” He sketched on more quick bow, then added, “Killian Jones, at your service, Princess.  And if you are safely in your shoes once more, I suppose I must be going now.”

Her eyes widened even as her fingers released their grip, and he slipped on through the line, while she extended her hand to shake those of the last few people behind him. He had known what happened all the time! Why did that make her heart beat even faster than it had been already?

~~~*

That night, after a long bath, with her hair brushed, nightgown donned, and her legs tucked under the blankets, Princess Emma still felt her fingers tingling from the remembered grip of Jones’ hand, even as she listened to the Countess’ long list of the next day’s engagements. Emma tried not to shudder as she noticed that once again nearly every moment was spoken for, every word and action, and even thought, seemed already determined for her. That near-fall and the following encounter had been the most excitement she could remember in her meticulously programmed, rote, respectable, predictable life of duty.

What would it be like to simply walk out of such an event, as Jones and all the other attendees had done, and have it simply be over? To return to a normal life? To determine what one wanted to do for oneself, and have no watching eyes to judge or weight the following movements. She could hardly imagine such freedom.

When Emma was finally left alone for the night, she knew she needed to sleep. According to the schedule that had just been droned into her ear, she had an early morning before her. Yet, sleep felt the furthest thing from her mind. Eventually, she threw the covers off and hopped back out of bed, crossing the sumptuous room provided to her by her Roman hosts and gazing out the window to the River Tiber below in the distance. Music and lights reached out to her beguilingly despite the hour, and she wished she could be in the midst of whatever celebration was happening there, a part of the laughter and dancing and raucous joy she could only imagine from the echoes that reached her.

It was not an unprecedented longing, but one that struck her more acutely than ever this night. She was going to have this experience while she had the chance. Mind made up as abruptly as the moment presented itself, Emma flew from the window to her suitcase, quickly shedding her nightgown and putting on her most understated skirt, blouse, and espadrilles. With hardly a look back, shew as soon perched on the window ledge, preparing to climb down the fire escape of the old, sturdy building she was staying in without risk of alerting any of her numerous attendants and guardians.

‘Just one day to herself, to live as she chose,’ Emma vowed, closing her eyes for a moment and then surging forward. ‘Then it’s back to what’s expected, what I’ve always known will be my life…’

As she reached the ground and then slipped through the embassy gates out into the night air and the excitement of a foreign city, Princess Emma Ruth Nolan felt like someone else entirely. Like someone who could breath freely for the first time in her life.

Tagging: @captainswanmoviemarathon​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @jennjenn615​ @kmomof4​ @searchingwardrobes​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @laschatzi​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @stahlop​ @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @thislassishooked​ @shireness-says​ @thisonesatellite​

[mac-lilly]

92nd generation Polar Star headcanon

So one thing I would have loved to see happen within the Shokugeki no Soma series (and what I was expecting, to be honest) was the revival of Polar Star Dorm. Yes, there is a sort of new golden era mentioned during the epilogue. But it didn’t satisfy my expectations. I just hoped for more students of 92nd generation to be permanent residents ... at least the Big 8. So I developed a headcanon on how the other 92nd gen students became members of the dormitory. 

Timeline

So during their first year, the inner circle of Soma and Erina will move into the dormitory

Takumi and Isami will be the first since they already live in their own apartment outside of the campus ... and Takumi just wants to be next to his boyfriend

And of course, Nikumi will follow immediately. She just can’t let the weird Italian be so close to Yukihira without constant supervision. And no, she isn’t jealous. Not at all. ;-)

Hisako just wants to be next to Erina. 

Then, in their second year, the Lab Coat Trio (Alice, Kurokiba, and Hayama) will follow

Alice just can’t stand the fact that she isn’t the center of attention anymore. So one day, she just appears there and demands full attention. 

Kurokiba just follows Alice like the loyal butler he is ... 

Hayama, on the other hand, had no intention to be there at all. But Jun begged him to go because she wants him to experience all the fun she had during her time there. (And of course, he triggered a shouting match between the two of them after he mentioned that she’d always been tortured by Yukihira’s father and he can’t really see how this should be fun at all ...) 

Some other minor characters will join as well like Mimasaka, Hojo and Sadatsuka. 

I could imagine Nene Kinokuni becoming a member too ... and Kuga will be a permanent visitor at least. 

Entrance exam

Takumi and Isami pass without any troubles. They are just amazing. 

Nikumi will have some minor problems - she’s just not on the same level as the Elite 10. However, she passed in the end. (I could imagine Fumio requesting a dish without meat and this caught her off-guard.)

After testing Hisakos dish Fumio has an intense flashback/going-back-to-youth experience - just as it was the case when Soma was cooking. Her old bones and joints don’t ache anymore, aging spots mysteriously disappear and in the end she’s back at the beach with her boyfriend And this time it does not stop at kissing ... Fumio’s so over the moon she hugged poor Hisako so hard that she nearly strangled. Hisako was so confused. 

Fumio is amused by Kurokiba’s attitude. His second persona does not intimidate her at all. On the contrary, she mocks him by saying that his dish lacks taste and that he bearly passed. And then she wonders aloud how he even made it into the Elite Ten ... During the next weeks, he will offer her a new dish every day until she finally admits that his food is at least eatable. (This will be a neverending story)

Alice arrived with all her gadgets - carried by Kurokiba of course - and very enthusiastic about the whole exam. Until she notices the immense lack of outlets and that she isn’t able to use any of her amazing gadgets. She throws a nice tantrum about this but goes with it once Fumio tells her that good chefs only rely on their own skills ... not modern technology. 

Hayama's exam is just a bizarre case. Actually, he fully intended to fail his exam so that he can go back home. So he arrives at Polar Star completely unarmed - without ingredients, without preparation. However, Fumio kinda expected this because she talked to Jun... And so she threatens him. If he tries to fail on purpose she will tell Jun all about it. This works because you don’t want to make mama mad. But since he came unprepared and lacks the creativity of Yukihira, he bearly passes the test. This result doesn’t sit well with him and he is really frustrated. So he joins Kurokiba and his attempts to impress Fumio ... because he’s just as proud and stubborn as this stupid mad dog.   

Room situation

Nikumi and Takumi fight about the room next to Soma’s. 

Takumi wants this room because he is Yukihira's lover rival and nobody else deserves this spot.

At first it seems like nobody wants to fight the fired up Italian about this. Then Nikumi appears. And she does not approve. 

This caused a very entertaining evening with a lot of Shokugekis and food for free. Fumio let them fight for weeks until she announces that none of them will get the room. Instead, Hisako will stay there so that she can be on the same floor as Erina. 

Both, Nikumi and Takumi, nearly cried. 

Alice complains about how small those rooms are and that they are not comfortable at all. She demands a second room that she can use as a wardrobe. But Fumio declines. And not even her cute pouting or a proper Nakiri-style tantrum changes her mind. 

So Kurokiba’s room ends as her personal wardrobe instead. 

And of course, Alice lacks all knowledge regarding household chores - just like Erina did. But fortunately, she has Kurokiba and Hayama as her loyal blackmailed servants. So she bosses them around as usual. 

Eventually, Hayama will sprinkle some chili powder on her clothes... from the inside. He swears it was an accident of course.

Hayama’s room is next to Sadatsuka’s. He dies every few days.

One day, Alice takes over the task to renovate the building.

I may continue this later ...

[seven-ish]

❛ ☆ › david corenswet & he/they / male ‷ watch out , seven ace winslet has crash-landed into roswell !! they look 26 years old and celebrate their birthday on February 16th . they are from Roseburg, Oregon, have lived in roswell for 2 years and are currently working as librarian (Out of This World). one thing you should know about them is he likes to narrate book pages by memory ‷

Mathilda Winslet was the most renowned witch of Roseburg, Oregon ( and probably the only one ), but honestly she was a fraud, she tricked her customers with premade readings and generic guesses, oh and you can thank her sneaky child Seven, for the occasional accurate guess ( she would send the little one to go spy on people ).

Born from a man with no name; Mathilda would always refer to him as "your father", "my dear love", "that beautiful man" but never names. Seven grew up with an imaginary image of a man described as "the most elegant and handsome young man you'd ever meet". He was told his old man was English and absolutely out of this world, that he had a thick accent and his clothes remained forever impeccable. Seven Ace never gave much of a thought to this man he had never met, but his mother --oh, his poor mother-- she would fake an English accent all throughout Seven's childhood for the simple need of making of her son quite a decent descendant of the tall and handsome English man.

Failed gymnast due a hereditary defect in her knees, Mathilda threw her son into the same fraudulent career + theater + improv. Poor kid, he could barely hold on to school, his mother’s job and the amount of hobbies he spent the afternoon in.

Growing into lie and deceit caused Seven to absorb it like a nutrient, turning him into a master of manipulation and lies. He was 13 when they were at home ( a cozy place closer to the woods than the actual town ), it was late at night, Mathilda had went downstairs for a glass of water and she didn’t notice one of their cats was sleeping on the steps of the stairs. She tripped and rolled downstairs and upon raising her head, she watched an odd... thing. One could call it some kind of rift, it was causing a wild wind inside the house and nobody knows what exactly the woman saw, but her eyes remained stuck towards the otherworldy gate for 7 minutes in front of her until darkness engulfed her and she went unconscious.

That was only the beginning; Mathilda closed her psychic business and focused a 100% in her weird experience, trying to recreate it, thinking it was her beloved, trying to reach back to her. Using her savings and canned food, she managed to keep her son and herself afloat for a couple of years, but even Seven started to get tired of her weird obsession that most likely was nothing.

Things change when Seven is almost 18 ( thank, gods ) and one night he hears the door slam open, causing him to wake up. Sneaking skills are used thinking it might be a wild animal or an intruder, but instead, he sees his mother walk out on her nightgown towards the woods. A storm is hitting the town. He calls for her, tries to reach for her, but a thunder strikes between them, throwing him back in a frightened jump as his mother stands at the entrance of the woods and when she turns briefly to him, he can see her smile and vocalize: “it is him” and she goes in.         She was never seen again.

But Mathilda’s obsession not only wore her down, it also wore her son down and even infected him as well. He became obsessive, he stopped sleeping, he could… he could even hear his mother’s voice calling from the the walls, he just wanted to find her.

Seven always felt there was something off about him. He would fall asleep in his bed and wake up laying on the floor of the local grocery store or he would go to the bathroom, but opening the door would, instead, lead to the kitchen or the living room, or his mother’s room! He even started to medicate believing his mother’s tragedy had done nothing good with his head, Meds were not ideal, they would kill down his spirit and wouldn’t allow him to hold to a job, so he exchanged pills for tea, finding that some of them could keep him calm and grounded.

Seven is 19 and he is ALONE in a forever shifting old home near the woods so he starts researching throughout his mother’s documents and things; he stumbles against a journal and all of it is savagely written with notes that make no sense whatsoever, somehing about dimensions, portals and similar things. Something tickled inside him and before he knew it, he was being pulled towards the nearest wall by an unseen energy. The surface of the wall distorted into a vortex and like that, he is gone as well.

He spent the next 6 years hopping without control between his home dimension to other ones; some of these were just parallel ones without many changes but others... oh, boy; no one would ever be ready for the Lovecraftian horrors and apparitions that Seven had to share space with for so many years, in and out. Of course you can tell all these experiences left him... touched.

Severe trauma and nightmares affected him even while he was in his original dimension and he developed an eccentric behavior and an uncontrollable habit to suddenly vanish in thin air, just to be dragged back into another realm of horrors.    He never spoke a word about it, though.

The terror has planted its seeds deep in his brain, but also there is this weird sensation of otherness; since he came out of his long trip that lasted years, there was this weird feeling, this… HUNCH that he actually never left, that something else stole his shape and conscience and walked out instead of him, that a seven-eyed beast is nesting inside his body while he remains tortured and lost in an eternal dream…

                                 But maybe he has been drinking just too much lavender tea. 

                                                            Maybe he is just crazy.

He moved to Roswell upon hearing the rumors of strange things happening in there and in fact, since he moved out of his mother’s house, he has been feeling better, he has travelling less and his mind feels a little more at ease, but the sudden dimensional blinks still haunt him and probably always will, but worry not! Seven has learned to accept and embrace these weird things in an attempt to save his brain from entirely shutting down, even if that means he will lose himself completely at some point.

As one of the librarians, Seven is loud and sometimes obnoxious, holds an incredible memory and will recite entire pages of his favorite books. Eccentric and intriguing, he is someone you’d either love or hate to encounter. Seems to know everything about everyone in this little old town. Roswell’s own Cheshire Cat, an enigmatic creature with an immense knowledge about the town’s affairs ( most likely due him snooping into historical papers and townsfolk’s files ). Still, he may be your local gossipy neighbor.

RANDOM FACTS:

His name is a wordplay of Seven Eyes, alluring to his weird situation regarding his powers.

Dresses in almost vintage clothing only, from 40′s to 60′s

Still practices gymnastics in his free time.

Lives at Greystone Complex and has a constant fear of sending the entire complex into a neverending trip.

He might lie just... because.

English accent but has never been to the UK whatsoever.

Chaotic energy af.

Still lives in his mom’s house, the neon signs of her old business still remain on at nights.

Doesn’t like pronouns whatsoever, refer to him with any of his names, otherwise he will get pouty. He feels he has barely an identity, so simple pronouns instead of his name make him feel like the person is stripping them out of the remaining self Seven has (feel free to use he/they pronouns when writing tho).

PINTEREST

TL;DR: Hybrid man cannot control the dimensional doors he opens and keeps being sucked into them making him experience Lovecraftian horrors almost every day. Obnoxious and surprisingly wise, he is Roswell’s librarian and knows a lot of stuff about people bc he is hella nosy.

CONNECTIONS:

Neighbors

Regular clients

Someone that witnessed him disappear into a rift

Someone who found him all weak and shaking after a week-long-trip or smthn.

He is a versatile character so anything goes!

[eldritchsurveys]

957.

5k Survey LIV

2751. What's the most interesting assignment you ever had in school? >> I’m not sure. I hope people realise that my last moment in any kind of school was in December of 2005 (and my last moment in high school was June of 2004). I can barely be arsed to remember anything from 15 years ago unless it’s trauma-related. 2752. What's the most interesting thing you ever had to do for work? >> I thought working as a merch seller for local bands was very interesting. I had a lot of fun. 2753. Do you feel: insignifigant? unable to evoke change? like one person can't change the world? like one life and one person's suffering doesn't mean very much? If you answered yes to any of those can you describe why in detail? >> I, personally, feel insignificant fairly often, but that doesn’t extend to thinking that other people are also equally insignificant.  2754. Do you feel like you could contribute as much to society as ____ has? Albert Einstein: Abe Lincoln: Franz Kafka: Jesus Christ: >> Just because I already have self-esteem problems doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and consciously make “do you have as much worth as these people” comparisons. 2755. Are you aware that your brain is the same size as Albert Einstein's brain? Do you realize that you have the same number of hours in a day as Abraham Lincoln? Did you know that Franz Kafka wrote all of his amazing litterature during his lunchbreaks at work? Did you know that we are all made of matter and that you are made of the Same Thing that Jesus was made of? Do you still believe that you couldn't contribute as much to society as they did? If yes than WHY? >> This is an immensely irritating line of questioning, I hope it’s over now.

2756. Is your mind in the gutter? >> My mind is not in the gutter. 2757. What do you have to complain about? >> Whatever I want to complain about. 2758. Do you remember rock n' roll radio? >> ... Yes? Pretty sure it still exists, regardless. 2759. Is there such a thing as a food that you burn more calories from digesting than you actually absorb from it? >> I don’t know, try google. 2760. Hey, if you've gotten this far than you and me go way back. We've been hanging out for a while now and I gotta know..do you like me? >> --- 2761. What are you doing, Dave? >> --- 2762. As far as love goes do you feel it is better to become complete before looking for someone or find someone who completes you? >> People are already complete, despite however they may feel about themselves. I don’t understand what it means to look for someone who “completes you”, that sounds immensely absurd to me. So I guess I can’t really answer this question except to say “I don’t think people should be thinking about relationships in these terms...” 2763. What attracts you about the opposite sex (or same sex, or both sexes)? >> --- 2764. Do you need people or do you not need anyone? >> Of course I need other people. The fact that I have an attachment disorder is a direct result of my inherent need for other people’s love and support going repeatedly ignored. Even besides that, I need other people to physically survive, because that’s how ecosystems work, and believe it or not, we are still part of nature and beholden to its cycles and systems. 2765. Is selfishness always bad? Is selflessness always good? >> No. 2766. Do you feel like your life is being controlled by a power structure? >> Of course certain elements of my life as a social creature are controlled by power structures. 2767. Can you name three things in society that send the message that being completely yourself and that looking inside yourself and contemplating what's within is a good thing? >> Sigh. 2768. Can you name three things in society that send the message that materialism and the accumulation of stuff is a good thing? >> The entirety of capitalism. 2769. What is more important, a picture or it's frame? What is more important, spirituality or religion? >> These questions truly do get more baffling as time goes on. 2770. How many definitions can you come up with for the wword 'fuck'? >> I don’t have to come up with definitions, google is right there. 2771. Is it less offensive when a black person says Nigger than when a white person says it? Why or why not? >> The context in which a Black person says it is often a far different context from the one in which a white person says it. So, yes. It usually is less offensive by default, unless the Black person being addressed is uncomfortable with the word even when used in a friendly context. 2772. Do you rationalize often? >> Rationalise what? 2773. Do you believe that america is an imperialist nation? >> I mean, yeah. 2774. Would you agree that: hot topic is the new abercrombie? pink is the new black: you are the new you? >> *stares dully* 2775. Do you have more internet or real life friends? >> I only have Internet friends. 2776. What IS the feeding of 5000? >> The what?? 2777. What's an easy way to make money? >> I don’t know. 2778. What's your favorite slang word and what does it mean? >> I don’t think I have a favourite slang word. 2779. Are you uncomfortable? >> Slightly, because of noise issues. 2780. Is anything definate besides death and taxes? >> Taxes aren’t definite for everyone, but death certainly is. I don’t know what else is that predictable. 2781. Would you rather live fast and die young or live slow and die old? >> Living slow sounds nice to me. However it ends. 2782. Can you name 4 people who have committed crimes against humanity? How do you think they live with themselves? >> Probably, but I don’t feel like it. I don’t care how they live with themselves. 2783. If you could imagine, pure fantasy, any God you could concieve, how would you want God to be? >> I can imagine any god I want to imagine. It’s really not that hard, there are already so many to choose from, even if just to use as a template. 2784. do you think the smashing pumpkins have a strong christian theme? >> I don’t know, I’ve never paid a whole lot of attention to their lyrics. Their songs just sound pretty. 2785. Do you think this survey has a strong christian theme? >> I didn’t think that. I hope I won’t have cause to think it in the future. 2786. Fill in the blank for yourself" Give me ____ or give me death! >> --- 2787. Have you ever heard of the USA patriotism act? Apparently they have passed laws making torture legal. Also the FBI can sneak and peek into ANYONE'S home. They don't have to ask or even tell you they were there. This is already the law. So, whaddaya think? >> I mean, yes, I know that. I live here. 2788. The people in power step all over the average citizen, trying to secure all the power and money for themselves and leave us with no rights and under their control. They have the audacity to do this because they know that we will not lift a finger to stop them. Are they right? >> I don’t know if they’re right or not. I’m also not sure what the fuck powerful-ass finger you think we common folk all have. 2789. The Free State Project is a plan in which 20,000 or more liberty-oriented people will move to a single state of the U.S. to secure there a free society. They will accomplish this by first reforming state law, opting out of federal mandates, and finally negotiating directly with the federal government for appropriate political autonomy. They want to be a community of freedom-loving individuals and families, and want to create a shining example of liberty for the rest of the nation and the world. What's your opinion? Could this work? Why or why not? >> Didn’t a bunch of libertarians want to do this at some point? Anyway, I don’t know if this could work or not. I don’t know nearly enough about any of the elements involved to have an informed opinion about the feasibility of this kind of project. It does sound plenty audacious, though (and way too vague). 2790. Have you ever seen the Neverending Story? Remember when Bastian has to prove his worth by looking in that mirror where you see yourself the way you really are with no pretenses, rationalizations or mental lying? Could you stand yourself if you looked into that mirror? >> I do remember that, vaguely. I wanted to rewatch this movie but then I didn’t get to it in time and HBO took it down :( Anyway, I don’t know if I could stand myself if I looked into a mirror like that. I can’t conceptualise what that experience would actually be like. 2791. What is soilent green? >> Oh, you know. (That’s another movie I’d like to rewatch, in fact.) 2792. What are you proud that you have never done? >> *shrug* 2793. What things are hopeless? >> *shrug* 2794. What Are People For? >> Making Soylent Green out of. 2795. What book do you feel could change someone's life? >> Any book could change someone’s life. 2796. Didja ever want to just walk up to the Bush administration and ask them, 'What the fuck?' >> No, I wasn’t really paying much attention to the administration during that time because I had a lot of personal issues taking up my immediate focus. But from what little I remember about it, it’d be a valid question to ask. 2797. How do you take your coffeee? >> Decaffeinated. 2798. Have you ever played: paintball? lazer tag? which is better? >> I’ve never played these. 2799. In what ways are you lucky? >> A lot of ways, I guess. A lot of fucked up shit has happened, but a fair amount of strangely fortuitous stuff has happened, too. Guess something has to even the other shit out. 2800. If Jesse Jackson wants reparations to be given to black people because he thinks that black people don't have equal opportunities in this country than why does he drive a Jaguar? >> “Black people don’t have equal opportunities in this country” is still a fact of life no matter what the fuck kind of car Jesse Jackson drives. Focusing on his personal “success” or whatever like that is just a diversion from the heart of the matter.

[capmerthur]

THE ONCE AND FUTURE FIC

Yet another resurrection fic (sorry?). ARTHUR RETURNS IN CHAPTER 2. Lots of feeeeels, and overdue conversations (at last!) between our precious King and Warlock. Title might change as this goes along, but this has always been the work title in my head since I started thinking about writing it, so… Starts right when 5.13 ends. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IN CHAPTER ONE.

Excerpt PART VIII:

"You cannot be my manservant anymore, Merlin."

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER CHAPTER VIII)

VIII. (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur has noticed another oddity in Merlin's memories: Gwaine - or better said: his absence. He's seen Gaius, Leon, Percival - all older than he had known them. But there has been no Gwaine; and Arthur doesn't dare to ask. On the one hand, Arthur knows Gwaine's loyalty had always been to Merlin first, so perhaps be had decided to keep at Merlin's side at the lake? On the other hand though... It feels too positive to be true though, and Arthur fears Gwaine wasn't only absent from Camelot but from everywhere else too. And so, Arthur doesn't ask - he simply doesn't want Merlin to have to relive nor explain any of it, in case it might be the second option.

As he's pondering on this all, he starts undoing the ties at his wrists - he evidently doesn't need his armour (as Merlin doesn't seem expecting an attack), and his body reminds him he'd like to get dry...

Merlin is suddenly in front of him - "Sorry Arthur, I should have realized-" - aiming for the ties; and Arthur swiftly moves his arm further away, out of Merlin's reach:

"What do you think you are doing?"

Merlin looks at him as if he's lost his head:

"Helping you out of your armour, as I should have done already by now?"

And so Arthur has to spell out the obvious, apparently:

"You cannot be my manservant anymore, Merlin."

Merlin's head tilts, and his eyebrows furrow; but in worry more than puzzlement.

"Because I have magic?"

And Arthur feels like slapping himself. No matter how defiant it might sound, there is an undertone in Merlin's voice - a hurt, fragile, fearful tone Arthur has heard only once: when he had pushed Merlin away after he had revealed his secret. Of course Merlin misread the swift withdrawal of his arm coupled with such words for disgust or fear! Arthur inches now closer to Merlin, wishing to make sure Merlin knows he doesn't - *doesn't* - fear him nor feel repulsed by him, and corrects him with a shy smile:

"Because you are the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the Earth. And now that I'm aware of it, it doesn't feel right to have you wash my socks and emptying my chamber pot? There surely must be greater things for you to do."

Merlin seems stunned for a moment - and then he shakes his head.

"I swear this is the most ridiculous thought you ever had. What should my abilities have to do with being adequate or not for being your manservant? And why taking care of my mother made me a loving son, but taking care of you should be demeaning?"

Arthur can only sigh:

"Because your mother didn't throw buckets of water over your head nor throw stuff at you?"

Merlin seems surprised by Arthur's sudden open shame at his own past behaviour. Then Merlin's eyes turn softer, and his voice now sort of soothing:

"I accepted it as part of the job, Arthur... I never complained, right?"

"You should have. I was searching for your limit, I think, in a way; because there seem to be none; and I... appreciated that. But I know I sometimes went too far..."

It's Merlin's turn to sigh:

"Don't you see? I didn't want to complain. You never really minded my bad mouthing you either, did you? So surely, you must understand. Believe me, I didn't want to complain. Because somehow, I sort of relied on it. It kept me grounded."

Arthur hadn't expected such an answer; but indeed, it makes sense. Power can easily get to the head. Especially such as Merlin's - alledgedly unparalleled. And knowing Merlin's *kindness*? Of course he'd fear to succomb to its lure...

And yet, Arthur knows he sometimes abused his. And only rarely, and never straightforwardly, apologized.

"Your playful insolence cannot equal some of my faults, Merlin. You never took out on me your anger for something I had no responsability in..."

"Again, Arthur: I accepted it as part of the job."

"A manservant isn't supposed to be a receptacle for one's fury."

"No. But a good friend can be."

Arthur has to close his eyes. Friend. No matter how many times he had repeated to Merlin that they could never be friends (not that he didn't want Merlin as his friend; simply because he couldn't - a King is alone); he knows that's what they became, indeed. And this time, at least, finally, even if he's not saying it, he doesn't want to deny it out loud. Even if it only makes his past behaviour even more shameful. He gives Merlin a sad smile:

"Well, in that case... Just as a powerful sorcerer, a good friend shouldn't be a manservant, either."

Merlins smiles back:

"Wrong again. *Only* a good friend should be a manservant. Because it definitely isn't limited to tending to one's physical needs. (a smirk) And anyway, to tell the truth; if it bothers you that much? I never actually touched your dirty laundry, nor your chamber pot."

Arthur can't help but laugh at that.

"Is there anything you've actually done with your two hands?"

He sobers right away though, not wanting Merlin to think he actually means any of it.

"I know there is, Merlin", Arthur pledges.

My armour.

My food. (As Arthur suddenly realizes Merlin's habit of 'stealing' from his plate has probably been about protecting him from poisons more than about keeping him in shape).

"I know."

"Good. So now that the matter is settled, will you grant me the honour?"

Only Merlin could utter those words with both such mirth (in his eyes) yet so much devotion (in his voice).

Arthur smiles, warmly this time, bringing his arm in Merlin's wainting hand.

"As long as you know the honour is mine."

Merlin shakes his head and sighs.

Arthur knows though from the blush that reaches his ears that Merlin heard he meant it.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

(Warning for this chapter: suicidal thoughts)

I. (MERLIN POV)

Merlin holds Mordred's sword in his right hand, appraising it. He still can't believe he has found it; still can't believe it's actually in his hands.

Over sixty years now - nothing; yet far too long - Merlin has been waiting for this moment. Since he has begged Freya, and threathened (and apologised - he couldn't blame Freya for not listening; he wouldn't have either, if their roles had been reversed), and begged again - in vain, for Excalibur. Since he has finally understood that he was a fool to hold onto hope for something that couldn't, wouldn't come to pass. Arthur was *never* coming back: Merlin had simply witnessed enough - he had witnessed too much; and too many times; and definitely one time too much one time too many - to ignore it any longer.

/

It was not that Merlin had grown too tired of waiting - too tired of the ache, the longing, the loneliness... For Arthur? Merlin would *always* wait; however long it might take.

It was not that Merlin had come to believe mankind didn't deserve Arthur to rise again to start with - even though it *was* an easy conclusion, when it was at its worst, when it turned its anger against itself - too many horrors, atrocities, bloodshed. But mankind could be beautiful, when loving, in any form; and marvelous, too, when it was at its best; when it turned its anger towards its limits: the medical progress over the ages would have had Gaius exhilarated, and proud; and what about its general neverending thirst for discovery, for explorations, for quests? - of course Arthur would come back: if only he could.

It was just that Merlin had finally understood that he had been played - not even because Albion (the name has since long fallen out of use and its people had been scattered through the globe, so it might mean nowadays something else than it had used to to start with) had got united without Arthur (and even if it still only meant Great Britain, well, it might after all need to be united again); but simply because the list of unending reasons why Arthur should have come back to save the day and yet hadn't (to mention only the very top of the list: half of humanity wiped out in a finger snap by the Black Death? the whole world collapsing in chaos, bend on destroying itself - World War?) had turned out suspiciously too long, and finally impossibly too long, as mankind had truly reached the lowest point not only ever but even possible without Arthur rising yet again (organised experiments and torture on toddlers, honestly?).

So.

Arthur wasn't ever coming back from the dead, simply because no one ever came back from the dead (except as a shade - and that would be even worse, wouldn't it? - or at a cost too great to burden anyway). It had been easy to believe in the prophecy; simply because it had been what Merlin had wanted. A distant promise of Arthur returning was still way better than no Arthur at all, and so Merlin had willingly taken the bait. But the fake prophecy had obviously been made up; as revenge, or entertainment - or both; and Merlin had felt stupid for not having realized this ages ago - The Sidhe were proud indeed; and Merlin had thwarted them. (It had been easy to forget it at first - to tell himself that they hadn't known Arthur was THE Arthur at the time, whatever...) Merlin wasn't sure about what Kilgharrah might have exactly known or not (On the one hand, Kilgharrah had forged Excalibur, who had always truly helped them. And Merlin had been warned by the Great Dragon, right from the start, and repeatedly; so wouldn't it all have worked out just fine if he had listened. On the other hand, if he had listened? Wouldn't he have been a monster, punishing people for crimes they had not yet committed? So maybe giving him the truth had in fact been the sure way to have him not acting on it. After all, Kilgharrah had hated the Pendragons - at least Uther - enough to have tried to wipe out Camelot. And he hadn't been exactly pleased either to discover Merlin was a Dragonlord, even if he had seemed to soften when he had realized that Merlin would not control him as a puppet. And last but not least, Kilgharrah hadn't taken care of Aithusa as Merlin had thought he would; and that's how Aithusa had ended up with Morgana - and had forged the sword that had killed Arthur), but it didn't change anything anyway...

Well, you bet Merlin hadn't been willing to indulge them any longer. Not that anger was what was driving Merlin, of course. There was simply *no point* anymore in waiting. Nor in living, to be honest - especially as it might be what kept him from actually finding Arthur again somehow; next life, paradise, wherever and however and whenever? Merlin was no religious man, but even he had no answer about what happened after death after all. Maybe it was worth a shot? It was a very, very thin chance indeed; but it was still more of a chance than just staying here waiting for *nothing*... So. Merlin had begged Freya for Excalibur. But as she had kept absent, it had dawned on him at some point that Excalibur wasn't the only blade he could use... Merlin had searched for that other mighty weapon through his magic for years; then had sent his creature to retrieve it when he had successfully localized it.

/

And here, now, finally, is Mordred's sword.

And Merlin feels no dread, no fear, while holding it. If anything, he feels calm - calmer than he has ever been, probably. And that's how Merlin knows that his decision is indeed right: even his magic agrees.

He should do it in the lake though. Magical artifacts just shouldn't linger around in the open, huh...

Yes.

Let Mordred's blade rest along Excalibur.

And let Merlin rest along Arthur.

Freya will make sure they all lay undisturbed.

Merlin blindly pulls at the cord around his neck, taking it out from under his tunic and sliding his left hand along it until it closes around Arthur's mother sigil (AN) and Camelot's ruler's ring (Gwen had it brought to him, so he could give it back to its true owner on his return: Camelot in the meantime was to be ruled by a Concil of Knights and a Guardian, until Arthur would come back to sit on his kept empty throne and his kept empty seat at the Round Table).

Merlin closes his eyes; makes a silent promise.

I'm coming, Arthur.

He takes a first step into the lake.

.

Backstory: +1500 years in short - because it hurts and I just don't have the heart to fully write the prologue I had intended to write:

Merlin has never left the lake. He kept waiting. He couldn't, wouldn't leave, (nor SLEEP even for that matter by the way) no matter for how short - imagine if Arthur came back just when he was NOT there, huh. And of course he wouldn't trust his magic to warn him somehow - it had failed Arthur when he needed it the most after all. So no. Merlin has never left the lake. But Gaius has mentioned to him (Merlin got visitors, in the beginning (and his mother came to live with him until she died); before he cut himself off the world) how maybe the time he was given without Arthur was to LEARN more about magic; so that he would be prepared when Arthur came back to face whatever ordeal they were supposed to face. Because even if Merlin is hyper *aware* - he feels *everything*, through his magic - practice is necessary too. So Merlin mastered the art of molding sand/clay and animating it with his magic (basically, he walks the Earth as Old Merlin - because people tends to let old grumpy men on their own - whenever he needs anything physically). He can speak, hear, see, learn, through him, following the world as it expands (America, Australia, etc etc, because even if he was aware they existed, he couldn't physically *go* there before they were 'found'). And he can touch, and carry (for example you bet he brought back something red for Arthur to wear every time - Merlin sort of owns a 'male red mode through the ages' museum by now - and he hates it, of course). The first time Merlin has truly thought Arthur *would* come back has been The Great Plague. The second time has been WWI. The last drop has been the Nazis and Unit 731 experimentations. So Merlin sent its creature to fetch Mordred's sword after having localized it though his magic - and that's what Old Merlin is bringing back to him when this all starts (aka that shot at the end of 5.13)…

(AN: Just so you know, Merlin's magically pierced in the thickness of Ygraine's sigil to pass a cord - he wouldn 't make a hole in the front design of course!)

(Also... A resurrection fic!? What am I getting myself into!? I'm still a newbie around here so I definitely haven't read enough Merlin fics to ever claim making something original (so by the way, please feel free to let me know your all time favourites resurrection fics! So far I've read The Change Trilogy and Like the cycle of the year we begin again (and they're both gorgeous reads so run and read them if you haven't yet!) but I haven't seen (yet?) my take, both on the waiting and on the getting along after Arthur's return, in the fics I've read so far, so I thought I might as well write this down ?)

.

II. (ALTERNATE POV)

Arthur regains consciousness under water.

He's cold; so cold he's shaking - helpless, steady spasms he just can't put an end to (being past half dead apparently has repercussions?). But it's bright, up over him, and he instinctivally pushes himself up towards the light; towards the air.

The moment he breaks the water, Arthur registers that he's not only alive but that he feels *just right*. No pain in his side, no weakness, no dizzinesss, no strain: nothing wrong at all - except from the convulsions from the cold, but you bet he's not going to complain, all considered. The sun is veiled by clouds, but feels nonetheless like a welcomed warmth on his face, and Arthur breathes deep, bringing his arms up and turning his palms towards the warmth too as the tremors start to subdue; he's alive!; and well! He doesn't need to pat his absent wound in wonder, nor to look at the water, transparent clear instead of bloodened red, to know that what he feels is true.

Merlin's done it.

He *has* saved his life.

Again.

It's both unexpected (Arthur had been so sure he had taken his last breath, when all had finally faded to black) - and yet somehow expected. Magical waters and a sorcerer who knows how to work its power would do wonders, obviously. It has happened before after all, bringing his beloved Guinevere's spirit back?

A sudden realization; and Arthur can't help but laugh. And it feels so exhilarating - alive! alive! - the laugh turns into a howl; and Arthur relishes on it, throwing his head back. Honestly? How could he have ever been *so* blind - of course it had been Merlin then too by the water edge, disguised as an old woman!

/

Somewhere on his right, a buoying laugh erupts.

And Merlin knows that laugh. So hearing the exact right tone of that entirely unexpected laughter at once feels as if a vicious invisible hand is squeezing at his heart.

He had forgotten it; he realizes. But he would recognize that howling laugh amongst any other...

Merlin doesn't dare to *believe*. Cruel hope nonetheless blooms unbidden in his heart, and his eyes can't help but zero in on the source of that sound.

And it is exactly as it should be; exactly as it has used to be...

There *is* ARTHUR; standing in the lake, water reaching his hips, chainmail glistening, head thrown back as he laughs. (Has anyone ever looked more simply breathtakingly majestic no matter what they did and even without trying?) Merlin can only see his back, but you bet he would recognize the shape of that back amongst any other too.

Merlin's breath is knocked out of him; and Mordred's sword falls from his hand.

Merlin knows what he hears and sees *cannot* be true. He has seen the world in a much, MUCH more desperate state without Arthur coming back then. There is absolutely no reason for Arthur to come back right now. So. He is being granted a vision; that's all. But of course Merlin wouldn't, couldn't, try to take his own life anymore, not after having had even just a glimpse... Besides, he has just handed over the last sword that could end him anyway. Merlin has to acknowledge The Sidhe's thinking; they know exactly well how to play him. But damn, they are vicious.

But no matter the abysmal pain from such a low blow, Merlin still considers this to be a gift, and is determined to draw it out for as long as he will be allowed to. Those few seconds might sustain him for another fifteen centuries to come, and maybe more...

/

Arthur quiets down after a while. Thinking about his savior: where is he?

Arthur scans his surroundings; and the warmth he feels when he finally spots Merlin definitely eclipses the sun.

/

The laughing stops, and Arthur turns, eyes searching; and a bright smile appears on Arthur's face the moment they find him.

"Merlin!"

Merlin's knees give out. His name through Arthur's lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this* too? It shouldn't have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

And Merlin's fingers dig; hard, deep into the sand. He cannot reach out. He longs for; he *aches* to - both physically and emotionnally. But he cannot. As long as it's only his eyes and ears that are deceived, then he can pretend it is true...

Merlin starts to cry. He can't help it; he cries - as he hasn't cried since, well, all those years ago: silent tears endlessly streaming down his face, unabached, treacherous; and Merlin hates them - hates the way they blur his vision when he has to - HAS TO - *see*. He is powerless to stop them though.

It is *blinding*.

Merlin has tried, so hard, to keep remembering, to NOT forget. But his memories, even sustained with his magic, have so obviously failed him; haven't done Arthur any justice at all. Merlin has forgotten so, SO much; and being proven just how much he has actually forgotten slices through him like a knife. The exact darker shade of Arthur's blond hair when wet. The exact way Arthur stands and moves. The exact sharpness of Arthur's features - his nose, his cheeckbones, his jawline. The exact shape of that smile - that particular, undeniably fond smile following his name Merlin has used to live for and from. Guilt slashes through him again. How could he have *forgotten* the exact shape of *that* smile; the most precious to him amongst the myriad of each and every of Arthur's smiles?

/

But then Merlin collapses, instead of cheering with him - he has thought him gone for good? And Arthur suddenly feels like there is still after all a gaping aching wound on his body; but this one deep in his chest, and of his own making. He owes Merlin *everything*, doesn't he? Yet he has hurt him - and so very severely. Despite it, though, Merlin obviously still cares for him; and so very much... His own behaviour puts Arthur to shame. So. Arthur hadn't had the time nor the strength to plainly apologize before. But he has now; and he won't run away from the words that he needs to say - and even more important, that Merlin needs to hear...

/

Arthur is now rushing through the water towards him - so fierce!, so strong!; alive and well!? His smile is gone though; replaced by worry - because of Merlin's tears, no doubt: yet another reason to hate them then...

And then Arthur is plopping down in front of him, out of breath; and Merlin gets proof again of just how much he had forgotten - the exact colours and depths of Arthur's eyes! There is now a fragile smile back on Arthur's face - a soothing smile, meant only for Merlin's sake; and it's going to break Merlin's heart, no doubt.

.

III. (MERLIN POV)

"I'm fine, Merlin. I'm fine."

And not only the voice is perfect, but the language is the one Merlin hasn't heard for over a millenium...

"Arthur?" is all Merlin can let out - no more than a somewhat hiccuped whisper as he still has no breath, no voice, to start with; but an obvious plea coming from the depths of his soul. A world of wonder, and longing, and ache, and disbelief, and hope - because no matter what, Merlin can't help but want; can't help but hope - in those two syllabs that own his heart. Magic *does* exist, after all; and Merlin would give it all - all the magic he possesses, all his pain, all his hopes, everything - for this vision to turn real.

Arthur's already fragile smile falters: "Don't you remember, Merlin. No man is worth your tears." The reproach is nothing but badly fake though, and Arthur's voice somehow breaks as it ends: "Especially not me."

And then suddenly - and so quickly Merlin doesn't register any of it before it has actually happened, and so it is too late for him to move backwards to prevent it from happening - Arthur brings his hands on Merlin's face, gloved fingers brushing his tears away under his eyes - and Merlin can *feel* them!?

Merlin is lost; lost in what he sees, lost in what he hears, and lost in what he feels. Can this be true? Can it truly be true?

But then Arthur starts speaking again - rushed out words leaving Merlin stunned.

"I apologize, Merlin. The way I reacted- (sigh) I deserve all the names you've ever called me and more. I'm thick, and dumb, and *such* an idiot, and a complete dollophead, and a cabbage head, and a prat, and a royal *ass*, and I still don't know what a clotpole exactly is but I'm certain I am the definition for one indeed too. I may have seen anyone with magic turning against me; but I should never have doubted *you*, Merlin. I should have remembered the butterfly (AN)."

Merlin just cannot believe what he's hearing. It's everything he has ever wanted to hear; everything he has ever hoped to hear - so how can it be real?

"But more than anything, I think, I'm sorry because I should have known, Merlin. I called you a liar; looked at you like you had betrayed me. But you've told it. You actually shouted it for everyone to hear; and I believe you nearly told it to me, privately, at least once, and presumably more... But I just didn't want to hear it, did I? So I'm sorry I was such a coward; a *coward*, Merlin. And I'm so sorry, and so ashamed - and honestly I really can't blame you for not trusting me to understand: because you were right; and it guts me, Merlin. 'There is no place for magic in Camelot'? How hard it must have been for you to say-"

Merlin can't help but shake his head, about to interject. Not because (even if it's true) one exception shouldn't and couldn't be enough to break a rule anyway; at least not at once, and not until Arthur would understand that magic itself isn't corrupt. Not even because it hadn't been hard in fact to say those words - at least not hard enough, and that will always feel wrong. But simply because real or not just cannot matter anymore; not when Arthur's gaze is boring into his very core, pleading and honest and full of a guilt Merlin just can't bear to witness: "Arthur-"

Arthur silences him though, cutting him off by shaking him once by the shoulders: "But what counts is that I know, now, Merlin. Your magic is not only part of who you are; it also makes you who you are. And I will trust it; because I trust *you*. You must believe- No, let me rephrase this before you obey me again - because you *always* obey me, don't you Merlin; even when whatever I say in anger or despair isn't intended nor meant to be an order; and I've done it so often, haven't I... 'Do not put me into that position again'? 'Tell me it's gone'? (AN) So. Can you believe me; Merlin? It's not an order; I definitely do not deserve to give you any order at all to start with anyway. And I'm not asking for you to forgive me; I even think you shouldn't forgive me. But please, at least, can you b-"

"Of course I believe you. And there is nothing to forgive, Arthur. Nothing." Merlin half shouts, ancient words flowing instinctively, head skaking 'no' for emphasis, bringing his hands up to Arthur's wrists and pushing downwards, keeping Arthur's hands in place on his shoulders. If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. "You're here. You're well. That's all that matters, Arthur; I swear that's all that has ever mattered to me."

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin's clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: "And you're here, Merlin, and you're *you*; and I swear that's all that will matter to me from now on."

.

AN: Tiny quotes from my Body Swap fic; sorry, I just couldn't NOT put it there, it just FITS...

(Also, just imagine they speak in old brittonic... but please don't expect me to write it? sorry?)

.

IV. (MERLIN POV)

Arthur squeezes his shoulders one last time and then lets go, about to stand.

"Now, let's go home. We have a feast to prepare in your honor."

Merlin cannot tell if his heart has just completely healed or totally disintegrated. Let's go home?

It's real! Of course it's real. If Arthur doesn't know- It's real! Arthur is truly back! And that's...

But *Arthur doesn't know*. And so *Merlin will have to tell*.

Merlin blanches. He feels guilty, anew. Because he has hoped and prayed and begged for Arthur to return; with everything he had. He has been selfish, hasn't he? And he has been blind; stupidly blind - again. All those years he has prepared for taking care of a still bleeeding wound, for clothes, for food, for any necessities; but it has never crossed his mind that Arthur wouldn't know... and he is not prepared for Arthur's emotional pain; and even less for causing it. Some small part of Merlin can't help but wish now that Arthur had stayed in the lake after all, had never awoken. It's too cruel. Merlin shouldn't be the one to break Arthur's heart.

Arthur is reading his panick wrong, of course:

"Don't worry- No one else has to know about your magic if you don't want to. But you DID end the war, Merlin; you did what I couldn't do - Morgana... All Camelot should know what they owe y-"

And Merlin can't bear Arthur's concern on his behalf any longer; making it last feels like a betrayal. And no matter how much Merlin doesn't want Arthur to get hurt, ever, he cannot and will not lie - not about this. Conjuring ghosts wouldn't be real and would only make it worse in the end anyway. The only option is a clear cut, right away.

"It's not- (deep breath) I'm so sorry, Arthur. We cannot go home. You were gone. For such a long time. For such a long, long time, Arthur. I'm so, so, sorry."

And Merlin watches, feeling his eyes filling up once more, as Arthur's eyebrows furrow in incomprehension; as Arthur blinks, taken aback as realization hits; as Arthur's eyes turn desperate and pleading, shaking his head in denial-

"No. I remember just-" His voice falters as he probably notices the house behind them - the house that definitely hadn't been there before - and who knows what more (trucks on the road farther away? joggers in strange clothes passing by?) "And you look exactly-"

And Merlin has nothing to say, nothing to offer, to soothe the hopelessly growing pain ready to crush his King, hollow him out - nothing but the cruel testimony of his once more, always, useless tears; and Arthur knows, indeed.

It comes out as a whisper, but it sounds as if Arthur's spirit has gone with it, vacillating.

"They're all-"

And the only thing Merlin can say still is: "I'm so sorry" - again.

"My people? My Knights? My- Guinevere..."

And it hurts. Oh, it hurts; to have to see Arthur's broken heart on his face, to hear its crack as his voice breaks on his Queen's name and his head turns away.

"I'm so sorry."

A litany; a chant; a prayer. Over, and over, and over. Pointless, worthless, useless, anyway; as his King cries silent tears, all the more shattering by their quietude...

Then Arthur is up and pacing, a fierce but dark spark in his eyes as his hands turns into fists - anger, rage; of course.

"Why did you bring me back then? How could you bring me back if-?"

And Merlin would gladly take a blow; if it could help Arthur to feel better, somehow. But nothing comes. It's Arthur. Of course nothing comes.

Arthur briefly closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. And when he opens them again, Arthur's anger hasn't faded; but isn't directed towards Merlin anymore.

"But then; you would have brought me back right away, wouldn't you have - if it had been in your power..."

And Merlin feels crushed, again; by how he *always* fails Arthur, indeed.

"I'm so sorry..."

.

AN: I realize I do have a thing for Merlin crying - blame it on Colin's A+ crying performances - so of course it has to appear somewhere... Merlin will not weep though for much longer, if it can reassure you...

.

V. (ARTHUR POV)

Merlin hasn't said the word; but Arthur heard it anyway.

Dead.

He'd been dead.

And for such a long, long time, Merlin had said; even though it feels merely minutes since he closed his eyes?

It makes no sense; it feels unreal - impossible. Merlin hasn't aged a day...

And yet... The grief in Merlin's eyes tells him it's true. Everyone he knows, except Merlin, is gone. Arthur doesn't know what feels worse. To know that he will never see any of them again; or to know that he has failed them all... He feels unfulfilled, hollowed out; utterly lost, even though knowing exactly where he is...

He feels furious, too. What is the point of coming back to life, if it's coming back *too late*?

But Arthur simply knows, somehow, that Merlin - who has literally collapsed upon seeing him emerge from the lake; who has seemed so utterly shattered by his apology; and who looks now so honestly sorry for his loss, gazing up at him from the ground, nothing but stabbing understanding and concern in his eyes - isn't to blame for that lost time.

Which means his presence, here and now, is puzzling indeed:

"What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?"

.

VI. (ARTHUR POV)

("What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?")

Merlin seems to hesitate - looking embarrassed?

"I was waiting. Since you- I've been waiting for you."

And this just doesn't make sense.

"Why would you think I would, I could, ever come back, if I was...?"

"There is a prophecy, Arthur. So you were to return, in order to fullfill it."

"A prophecy?"

Arthur is stunned shocked. He had expected some malicious sorcery at work and Merlin having heard of it and come over - it would have made sense; and it would have given him the opportunity to fight, if not to save then at least to honour his lost people. But Fate? How is he supposed to make Fate pay? And what is Its intent to begin with? A prophecy about him? Arthur feels powerless. Is his life not even his own?

Then Arthur remembers the puzzling word has passed Merlin's lips once before.

(I'm sorry. I thought I'd defied the prophecy.)

So. Merlin had known about this? Before...? And had never said a word - again? Another secret Merlin has kept from him; but this time, about himself - about *his death*? It feels even worse than Merlin hiding his magic. After all, Merlin's magic concerned Merlin, indeed. But how and why could Merlin - who Arthur considered as his true friend, no matter how often he had repeated they couldn't be - keep something that concerned HIM from him? Especially something that monumental?

It hurts. Arthur wants to scream. But all that comes out is a shocked whisper:

"All those years; and you never said a word. You knew how and when I was to die; and you never said a word."

Merlin looks shattered by the accusation - but he doesn't refute it; only try to explain the unexplainable, eyes apologetic under Arthur's blaming gaze, voice so evidently full of guilt and regrets:

"Because I believed I could actually prevent it from happening, Arthur. You are the once and future king who will unite Albion and bring magic back to the land; and helping you achieve such a goal is to be my destiny. So says the prophecy. So I believed I was the one, the only one, able to prevent it from happening. And as it depended on me alone anyway, I thought I should spare you from the weight of such a burden."

Merlin lets out a deep sigh before meeting his eyes fully again, his voice turning urgent and pleading:

"What was I supposed to say? That your loved ones would turn against you? You wouldn't have believed me. And even if you had... I didn't want you to have to worry all the time and about everything. You have no idea how it feels - the infuriating and desperate helplessness; to constantly fight to stop something you constantly fear, but to see everything you ever try twist and turn against you; to realize at every corner that what you thought you understood means something entirely different; and that nothing you ever do makes a difference in the end... 'Once and future'? I used to think it meant you would win the war; take your throne back for good. Or die trying, by Mordred's hand and Morgana's will - but only if I failed. There were two stories, and I thought it was to be or/or; but it was and/and. I was such a fool, Arthur; such a blind fool. It's only when you- when you- that I understood what it truly meant as a whole."

Merlin sounds utterly sincere; not only heartbroken but even empty after his confession.

And Arthur wants to believe that Merlin's silence had been well-meant.

But Arthur can't help but feel betrayed still, lingering on the echo of yet another odd word he hadn't realized to be literal at the time.

(It's my destiny. As it has been since the day we met.)

And Arthur finally understands what he has never been able to comprehend until now. Merlin's puzzling bone-deep *devotion* to him; that dumbfounding unequivocal absolute *commitment* he has never wanted to doubt nor question. Well; it turns out it has in fact little to do with him... He is just a mean to an end, right? Arthur can't help but replay their shared years through his head now with this new knowledge; and it all slashes through him like a double treachery. Arthur can't even tell what feels the worst:

Did I ever know you at all?

Do you even like me at all?

'I want you to always be you', he had said - and he had meant it: the magic, all in all, had only been an addition to who Merlin was. But this? This isn't a simple revelation. This feels like a revolution - a definitive, shattering change. And it hurts, losing Merlin; even though he's right in front of him. Does the person he had always believed Merlin to be even exist? Yet another grief, on top of his fresh mourning for everyone and everything he's lost...

Arthur's hands turn into fists at his sides to suppress his urge to snarl.

"So that's why you came to Camelot. For me to bring magic back."

"What? No! I had no idea- My mother hoped Gaius might be able to guide me: I had questions, about my magic, and-"

Merlin seems honestly surprised - and appalled - by his train of thoughts; at once standing and coming closer in his urge to explain. But Arthur moves away, keeping distance between them. He cannot trust anymore in his abilities to see straight through Merlin without further information. He has never seen straight through Merlin, apparently.

"When did you hear about it then?"

"A few days after I had arrived in Camelot", Merlin confesses right away; eyes pleading, definitely understanding the terrible weight of his words yet obviously choosing to come clean - but not moving closer this time, knowing it would only be rejected.

And it's here, again; in those little things. The way Merlin not only respects his boundaries, but respects them *even at his own expense*. The way Merlin has kept so much hidden, and for so long; yet can't actually tell a lie right to his face when asked for the outright truth, even to save his own skin. It cannot be pretense, right? On the one hand, Merlin's face tells him all he needs to know. But on the other hand, Arthur still needs more answers, and he commands them.

"Who told you?" (Not Gaius, right? Please; not Gaius.)

"Kilgarrah."

"Kilga- who?" Arthur is honestly puzzled. He surely never heard of someone with such a name in Camelot.

"The dragon your father kept prisoner under the castle."

"What are you speaking about?" Arthur doesn't let Merlin time to answer though, cutting him once more as he opens his mouth - collateral information must wait for later, when faced with such an enormity. "No matter; one treacherous beast just said (can dragons even talk?) *this nonsense*, and you believed it? It's insane!"

"The druids spoke about it too."

"That's even more insane! Why would the druids trust- They hated Camelot. They hated me."

"They didn't. Not all of them, at least. (helpless sigh) Anyway, the prophecy is truth, Arthur. Your return is proof of it. You were to rise again; when Albion's need would be greatest. And you just did, Arthur. You just did."

The words stab through Arthur, making him see red. So Arthur cannot be softened by the evident not only wonder but even joy in Merlin's voice and eyes and everything. It comes out in a roar.

"My people needed me! What need can ever be greater than that responsability!"

Silence falls, all the more shattering after his outburst.

But Merlin has heard his need for an answer, and so he gives him one - even if it's none; shaking his head in helplessness, voice breaking and eyes begging:

"I do not know, Arthur."

Merlin is nothing but obviously caring, and sorry - sorry for him; holding his gaze with only patience and commiseration - hurt about his hurt, regrets about his regrets, and helplessness about his helplessness.

And somehow, having to see Merlin's hurt and regrets and helplessness feels worse - worse than his own hurt and regrets and helplessness, somehow: because the pain on Merlin's features is his own doing, again - even though Arthur has sworn to himself only moments ago never to hurt Merlin that badly anew; and even though Arthur knows that none of the injustice he feels is Merlin's fault to start with, if everything had already been written in the stars anyway. Arthur now feels guilty for having lashed out.

Besides, Arthur knows his rage cannot and will not change a thing, sadly. Even Merlin's supposedly unparalleled magic is powerless, obviously. So. His whole purpose, his reason to be, has simply vanished. The desperate rage finally turns into crushing grief, the shout into a devastated whisper.

"The only destiny I ever wished for was to be the King Camelot needed. And now Camelot is gone."

"No."

The fiery professed word brings his attention back to Merlin - Arthur hasn't been expecting an answer; it hasn't been a question. Merlin shakes his head, a clear denial; and then kneels down on one knee, all reverent, head bowed down.

"For as long as I draw breath, Camelot still stands, Arthur. I may have grown up in Ealdor, but you have always been and will always be my King."

The words ring nothing but deeply heartfelt. But to Arthur, they only feel infuriating. Merlin officially bowing to him off formal ceremonial occasions makes him sick. Because surely Merlin is deferent in any way but not that one, especially when it's just the two of them. And most of all, because this is fake and wrong. Arthur wouldn't tolerate even for the most helpless person to bow to him simply because he should to start with; so the greatest warlock to walk the Earth, the most powerful being alive probably? The idea isn't only ludicrous, it's simply nauseating.

"Because a prophecy says that you were 'born to serve me'?", Arthur can't help but spit out, knowing now how literally Merlin had meant those words. It is not enough. It could never be enough. Arthur lets out a deep sigh though at the edge he couldn't keep out from his tone, realising in fact and no matter what, he is more angry at Merlin's Fate than at Merlin himself. How come Merlin isn't enraged too, to start with? He is just as much a puppet of Fate as he is, isn't he? "Get up Merlin; this is ridic-"

"Because I wouldn't change a thing, Arthur", Merlin exclames, cutting him mid-sentence. And it is not often indeed that Merlin actually raises his voice in anger at him; and it startles Arthur silent.

Arthur has crossed a line, apparently. The most startling though is to realize that Merlin's lines aren't about himself (he sure never looked angry over buckets full of cold water over his head or anything): they're about Arthur - once about Arthur creeping around in the woods unprotected for example; now about Arthur misreading him. Merlin's eyes are now boring into his, nothing but fierce and ardent; even though his voice turns again gentle and even adamant:

"You are not my King because of a prophecy. You are my King *in spite* of it. I grew up wondering why I was born with the abilities I had, indeed. But when I was told... Believe me, I really didn't want it to be true; at least, you bet I didn't want it to be *about you*. But then... I got to see what you were truly made of; who you really were. And everything I've ever done since then has always been for and because of you. That's why my magic is for you; and only for you, Arthur. Not because I am supposed to; but because I want to. Because I believe in you. And if my destiny is to be of any help to you then I am proud of it indeed - because I am proud of you."

As always, Merlin just sounds sincere, radiating unwavering loyalty; and Arthur is baffled. Can it still be true, despite it all?

"Please get up, Merlin," Arthur repeats, this time more gently.

"Not yet."

Stubborn - as always, again. It would make Arthur smile if it didn't feel so heartbreaking.

But then, Merlin lowers his gaze once more as his hand moves about his collar, and Merlin is presenting him with Camelot's ruler's ring, holding it out.

"Here. Gwen had what is rightly yours - according to each soul in Camelot - sent to me; so that I could give it back to you on your return."

And Arthur is paralyzed. It means so much. But he cannot take it. It is both too much and not enough. And more importantly: he has no right to - he has let his people down.

"Please, Sire."

And Arthur hears the word exactly for what it is. 'Sire' had used to be his official appellation in Merlin's language in their beginning ('My Lord' being restricted for sarcastic comments since its first use). But its meaning has grown over time - as Arthur had let simply his first name or nothing at all become the norm between them - and Merlin only uses it now on special occasions: whenever Arthur needs an extra boost in confidence and Merlin feels like insisting on his allegiance to him. Some things apparently truly never change.

"It doesn't have to be for me; nor for you."

He's transparent to Merlin, isn't he? Always has been, probably. It doesn't feel worrying though. It is a gift, to have someone who understands him that intrinsically.

"It is the wish of your people. Take back your ring. Wear it with pride. For the love of Camelot."

And how could Arthur deny this? The rallying cry is deep embedded in his soul, indeed - and he would never turn it down. No matter his guilt or inadequacy, Arthur will honor his people's will.

"For the love of Camelot."

Arthur finally takes the ring from Merlin's hand and puts it on.

/

AN:

I swear, those two will be the end of me. Everything about them is so LOADED, and it hurts :( Their shared history is heavy. Merlin's lonesome centuries are heavy. Arthur losing in a wink his reason for being is heavy. I'll never rest until they get some happiness, they just deserve it :(

Also, please don't be angry at Arthur. He's not at his best in this bit, I agree; but his purpose for being alive is gone for good and he's supposed to be all right 'because it's meant to be'? He has a lot to go through, and it is a lot to take in. So remember two chapters ago. Arthur isn't good with talking about feelings; but he's brave, and when it matters, he speaks - and he actually said A LOT to Merlin then, for someone usually emotionnally constipated who expresses his affection by throwing punches, right...

.

VII. (ALTERNATE POV)

Merlin sadly but undeniably beams at him - and still doesn't seem willing yet to stand up. So Arthur gets down - sitting on the ground instead of commanding Merlin up once more. It's the result that matters anyway: to get them both on the same level. And it works, Merlin finally quitting bowing down to simply sit too.

Arthur focuses for some time on the ring back around his finger, and finally exhales:

"I was unnecessarily harsh, wasn't I?"

And he knows Merlin hears it for the apology it is - and accepts it:

"It's all right, Arthur. I realize it is a lot to take in."

And somehow reassured by Merlin's understanding, Arthur finally dares to ask:

"Will you tell me - what happened?"

Arthur can't help but hold his breath - his loved ones being long dead is bad enough; Arthur isn't sure he could deal with learning that the circumstances of their deaths had been bad too...

/

Merlin feels stabbed in the heart. Because of the swift cut from his own pain at his losses - still, no matter how long ago. And because he can read not only Arthur's pain but also Arthur's fear in Arthur's features.

So Merlin hurries to give Arthur both a firm nod and a fragile but positive smile - a silent soothing promise that it is not the worst, at least:

"I can even *show* you; if you want. Share my memories?"

It's out before Merlin had time to weigh the pros and cons; but Merlin won't back off. Sharing his memories implies sharing how he feels about them - and Merlin of course doesn't want Arthur to get more hurt in the process. But sharing his memories brings an added level of truth and certainty and knowledge to what only words ever could - and Merlin's priority right now is simply to make sure Arthur never gets to wonder about how much he might have edulcorated the past in his retelling.

Arthur starts breathing again, but still has to ask for confirmation, in probably the tiniest voice Merlin ever heard from his King: "They aren't bad, right?"

And Merlin just knows what he should mention first; what Arthur fears the most:

"Gwen lived a full life, and brought Camelot his golden age in your name."

Arthur seems to absorb the information. And then, he smiles - a smile both fond and proud:

"I always knew she would be the greatest Queen."

Arthur meets Merlin's eyes again; sad, of course, but assured:

"I'd like to see, then."

"All right."

Merlin moves closer, extending a hand towards Arthur's forehead, explaining:

"We'll have to be connected. And you must close your eyes."

Arthur studies his eyes a moment - not his hand; then gives a nod, doing as requested. Merlin presses his hand against Arthur's skin; not even taking the time to relish on its welcome warmth - alive! alive! - before plunging inwards.

/

Merlin focuses on Gwen, and there she is.

"I understand why you need to stay here. But please don't become a stranger?"

And so Merlin had taken a pebble from the ground and had enchanted it before giving it to Gwen. If she held it in her hands, they could communicate through their minds.

And that's why Merlin can show to Arthur how she reigned - or, in fact, not. She soon took the title of First Guardian instead of Queen, taking care of Camelot until the return of its true ruler, and ruled Camelot with her Concil of Knights. One guardian in waiting was elected right away, and then every five years, by and from Camelot's commoners, both to assist and to be trained as next Guardian, so that there would always be continuity by people aware of the kingdom's affairs in case Gwen would suddenly disappear. The new Concil Knights were chosen by all Knights from the Knights ranks whenever a Concil Knight had to be replaced. The First Knight (Sir Leon had been the first of course) was elected by his fellow Concil Knights. The next Guardian was to be chosen from and by the guardians in waiting. Everyone admired Gwen's natural grace, intelligence and gentle heart. She was a just and concerned ruler, and her people thrived to be worthy of her. Merlin had placed magicals protections on Camelot's borders, so attacks were rare, and never a surprise. There were winters harder than others, and summers harder than others; but all in all, life in Camelot was good.

His last memory of Gwen still brings tears to his eyes.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you too, my dear old friend; but my time is coming to an end. I can feel it, Merlin. This is our last conversation. And I thank you, for all you did for Camelot, for all I know you will continue doing for Camelot, and most of all, for being here for Arthur, when he finally returns."

Merlin needs a pause.

Arthur is crying silent tears when Merlin cuts their connection.

/

Arthur doesn't know how to deal with the force of it all. He hadn't realized he would not only see but FEEL Merlin's thoughts as clearly as his own - nor that Merlin's feelings would be as conflicted as hiw own.

Because Arthur feels relieved, from what he saw: Guinevere had been well, indeed. And Arthur is grateful, and amazed, and proud, and grateful, again, for all she accomplished, indeed. But he can't help but ponder about what he didn't get to see - or better said, to hear: her laugh.

"Was she happy?"

Merlin confirms his doubt, making a face and hesitating before answering; and Arthur can't help but wince.

"Happiness comes in all sorts, Arthur. After all that had happened... But all in all, she was *content*, I believe. Satisfied about what she had achieved, about her people living in peace and prosperity. It brought her joy, and fullfillment. You know she was always happy for anyone being happy. That counts too, Arthur."

"She never remarried?"

"She didn't."

And Arthur's first emotion at Merlin's words is guilt.

"I've doomed her, haven't I? My love for her trapped her into becoming this resplendissant but melancolic Queen." She had been his Queen, and she would always be his Queen, no matter the title she had chosen to wear.

"No. Her love for you."

"I let her down."

"It was neither your fault nor your wish to begin with, Arthur; she knew that."

"But I did it all the same. I had sworn to take care of her; and I didn't."

Arthur can't help but let out a huge sigh.

"She would have been happier with Lancelot, wouldn't have she? If only they had escape-"

/

Merlin's heart definitely cracks at the honesty in Arthur's words. Because Arthur loves Gwen that much indeed - to put her first; even if too late. And because Arthur's remorse is only wishful thinking anyway.

"It wasn't Lancelot at the time, Arthur."

"What do you mean?"

"Lancelot had passed behind the veil, and never came out of it. It was a shade, an empty shell brought back and controlled by Morgana to tear you apart. Remember how he was different? So Gaius and I checked. It wasn't Lancelot."

/

Again, Arthur doesn't know how to deal with this new information.

On the one hand, it makes sense, indeed. Lancelot loved Guinevere; had always loved Guinevere - Arthur had realized in retrospect after his Knight's death. But he was nothing but honorable to start with. The Lancelot he knew wouldn't have tried to...

On the other hand, if it hadn't been real, why hadn't Merlin explained it? Merlin had known Arthur had felt guilty for being the reason for Lancelot's death - again. Merlin had known Arthur had blamed Guinevere, even as he had missed her.

But Arthur understands, eventually.

Because it didn't change anything in the end.

Arthur was still the reason for Lancelot's first (and only) death. And Guinevere still loved Lancelot to start with. Arthur had realized that too, long before then - as she had mourned his passing. Knowing bad magic had been involved explained why things had actually happened - Lancelot wasn't Lancelot and Guinevere was enchanted - but it didn't erase the reason things happened from...

Still, it mattered.

Because even if it didn't change the reason, it had taken away Guinevere's choice in the matter, hadn't it? Arthur had accepted not once but twice that he was her second best. Because he loved her. And because she loved him - Arthur had never doubted her love, even though knowing 'With all my heart' meant 'With all there is left of my heart to give'. So Arthur had chosen to forgive her, of course; but he had blamed her, at first. And he knows Guinevere had always blamed herself. But knowing now what he knows? Arthur believes there would have been nothing to blame her(self) for, if no magic had been at play. Even if Lancelot had been real and she had chosen Lancelot over him? She would have told him, before, instead of...

"Did you ever tell her?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

.

AN:

It's canon after all magical beings *can* communicate through their minds. Merlin is just powerful enough to create such a link even with not magical persons, bear with me. I mean - he could even communicate with Lancelot's mind after his death, right ! (so no, no, no, this has nothing to do with me being too a Trekkie in love with mind melds...)

Also: I have a lot of feelings about how BBC butchered my heart with 4.09 (and their lousy treatment of its aftermath) and it shows, sorry?

[sieben9]

“beauty” impressions

{Quick request to anyone reading: I’m watching OUaT for the first time, and I want to avoid spoilers. So, if you want to discuss something spoilery, I’d be grateful if you could start a new post for that. Thank you!}

Well… That sure happened

Now that I am nothing more than the hollowed-out, broken shell of a person, let me share my feelings with you! But under the cut. (Fair warning: there is a lot of sadness in here. Proceed with caution and maybe a mug of hot chocolate. Also, don’t open this on mobile. I went a bit screencap-happy.)

I loved this episode? So much? I know, I was really subtle about it, and it’s possible to miss amidst all the crying but hoooly crap, this is easily among my Top 3, I think.

Alright, quick rundown of the “side plots”, because while That Thing™ is definitely at the forefront of my mind after watching, the other stuff going on was actually pretty good and important plot developments. Which, really is another point in the episode’s favour. Yes, the Halloween-plot worked well to space out the other stuff, and it provided some much-needed relief of tension, but it was clearly important in its own right, so…

Guh. Henry. You know I love you, but I will also find a way to smack you in the head with a rolled-up newspaper, because you are an idiot. …yes, I get that he feels like he just lost his family all over again, and that’s not something that inclines people to adventurous behaviour, but still. You were so close!

Instead, we get this:

Which, uh… I’m not saying Ivy shouldn’t have good things in life, because lord knows, that was a sad, sad story right there, but this also did not sound like you two will be good for each other. Neither of you really want a safe, “uncomplicated” romantic relationship, you want a family. Ivy, specifically, needs someone to who doesn’t just love her conditionally, and Henry… well, Henry mostly just needs to wake up from the curse, because what he wants will be all over the place until he does.

Still, Ivy’s moment of bravery when saying that she’ll deal with Belfrey and the others should enjoy their Halloween was pretty heart-warming. Did I mention that this lady worries me? I’m worried for her, and I am still worried about her.

In other news: I’m pretty sure I know where Hook’s daughter is, now.

the rook is a metaphor

I mean, I could still be wrong, but that seems like one hell of a red herring to put out. And it opens up so many questions! Did they meet again before the curse, or is this a horrible game of emotional keepaway? Does Rumple know who these two are to each other? What, exactly, is his relationship with Tilly/Alice? I mean, he was so ready to fight Tremaine over her, before and after he woke up, and he went into 107% Concerned Dad Mode when he thought she was hurting, so he clearly feels very protective of her, but when did that happen? How did that happen? Is she actually this “guardian” or is that Henry? Or is this just one big prophecy-screw, after all? Seriously, you’d think after that first disastrous experience, Rumple would have learned to never trust a prophecy. Ever. Why am I the only one here who remembers that??

Ahem. Anyways. Lots of potential there. I can’t wait to see how that one unfolds.

Other highlights included Weaver butting heads with Belfrey. It was glorious. I almost wish Rumple had woken up just a little bit later, because watching these two go up against each other was a pure delight.

Also, this:

presented without comment

…look, I’m only human.

I was also deeply amused by the conversation between Weaver and Rogers. Okay, maybe “amused” isn’t quite the word, because it’s clear that Roger’s cold case is how the curse incorporated his search for his daughter into his memories, so it could keep torturing him with the loss. Which, you know, doesn’t really qualify as amusing. But Weaver is the walking, talking personification of that meme “’I don’t care,’ I say, caringly, as I care way too much.”

Yes, it is immediately obvious that you do not care about anyone. At all. Not even a little.

pictured: a lying liar who lies

Really, the relationship between Weaver and Tilly might just have made it on the top of my list for this season, on the strength of this episode alone. The way this kind of terrible person cared so deeply for young woman, showed concern for her well-being, and directly jeopardised his own advantage and safety to help her just pushed aaaall of my buttons.

And Tilly’s mounting desperation to remind Weaver of who he really is, before she loses herself again was heart-breaking to watch. She knew she wasn’t getting out of this with her mind in once piece, but right until the end she didn’t stop fighting to help her friend.

…look, “help” looks different for different people, alright?

And with that…

Thanks, show! It’s not like I really needed my heart in the first place. Fantastic light, though.

So, I pretty much knew what was coming (in general terms at least), because… well, I had some warning and it didn’t take that much guessing in the first place. And I saw the “how” the moment that montage started because I, too, have seen Up.

I still cried like a hungry baby. My cat was very concerned.

please. your face. I cannot deal with this.

This was such a well-told story. They really gave it their all to show that yes, these two were happy, at the end. The montage, for one, which even for people who haven’t seen Up works as a good visual shorthand. The nostalgic clutter in the house. The fact that these two dorks still dance around the house when they feel like it. All the little gestures between them—the fond looks, the little tuck of a blanket, Rumple matching Belle’s steps perfectly as they walk out into the garden. I just… they were so happy together.

And I’m glad they told the story like this. Nothing bad happened to Belle. Her life wasn’t some inspiring tragedy or anything like that. She spent her life with her True Love. She raised her son and saw him grow up well. She got to fulfil her dream of travelling the world, and did so together with the people she loved most. And she died after a long and happy life, not in some grand, dramatic fashion, but simply because that is what mortals do. We die.

hi, is anyone else absolutely convinced that he carved that with his own two hands rather than use magic? because I am and I want to share my feelings! there’s quite a lot of them…

And just… you know, when that conversation with Gideon happens, and Rumple says ruefully that time might have stood still for this realm, but it didn’t for Belle… you just know he forgot about it. They were together, and they were happy, and he was so determined to spend the rest of his life with her that he didn’t realise what was happening right until she fell off that ladder. It’s clear they’d never talked about him using his magic to rejuvenate her before—that was the first time the topic ever came up, I think. And the last, of course.

(By the way, there’s totally a conversation about fridging to be had here, but I’d prefer that to be another post. I’m really deep in my feelings right now and I’d rather leave putting on the analytical hat for later in the day.)

Obviously, that entire death scene fucked me up. His face. Her face. The way they told each other their own story like it was a fairy tale (because it was!) Rumple’s half-sobbing “I am afraid”, because he sees the rest of his life without Belle looming before him and he doesn’t know how to do it. He never planned to, in the first place. And then she was gone, and he was crying, and I was crying, and the camera cut away, and you could still hear him sobbing in the background god why...

yes, I will be interspersing this with pictures of my OTP being happy and in love, why do you ask?

And while I’m a bit sad that I’ll never find out what Weaver really wanted, this very clearly sets the stage for Rumple’s motivations and goals this season. Because this episode, beautiful as it was (no pun intended), can’t be the last entry of the Rumbelle story. This was the end of act 2, and I insist on a third act. The stage is all set: Rumple needs to get rid of the dagger so he can be reunited with Belle, which, granted, a bit dark. Considering it means he’s going to die (and won’t that be a fun day…) At the same time… he said it himself: he’s seen the generations pass by and he doesn’t even want to be immortal anymore. He was planning to spend the rest of his life with Belle. Just because he wasn’t physically able to doesn’t invalidate the decision he made. He’ll just have to get there the long way around.

And can I just mention how damn impressed with Rumple’s character development I was? He threw away the dagger! Not in a moment of “do or die” crisis, not as part of an “either, or” ultimatum, no, he was just… done with all that. He didn’t want the Dark One anymore, and nobody had to push him into that realisation. So much for “my power means more to me than you”, huh, past!Rumple? (Also, is it just me or did it feel a little like he waited for Belle to be roughly his physical age to do that? Because it did to me, and I have a lot of emotions about that.)

though I might giggle for a while about how Belle went grey the way an Urban Fantasy protagonist would

Other highlights included, but are not limited to:

The neverending stream of loving looks, from soft fondness to full-on bedroom eyes...

Local Dork Caught Staring Lovingly At His Wife

Also, is there a version of that first scene where Gideon doesn’t show up? Asking for a friend.

The Skin Deep parallels!

did I open up Skin Deep to get that first screencap? of course I did.

Just… guh, my heart! And the poor cup got shattered.

Again.

Everything about that last confrontation between Alice (because at that point she could barely remember ever being Tilly) and Weaver messed me up, by the way. Her mounting desperation, because she didn’t have much time left. His frantic pleading, first because he was worried she’d hurt herself and then that she’d do something she wouldn’t be able to come back from.

And, of course, that last scene between Rumple (welcome back, buddy!) and Tremaine. I’d almost feel sorry for the woman, because she probably wasn’t counting on this happening. Though I would disagree with Rumple’s “there’s nothing you can do to hurt me”--you, my friend, just lied your ass off to help Tilly get out of trouble for shooting you. After waking up. Clearly there’s some people you still care about, and I can’t wait to see how that plays out, honestly.

And there’s so much more. I could just post stills of the entire montage here, really, because it was wonderful and I loved it, even as it cracked open my ribcage and held my still-beating heart up to my eyes so I could see the life go out of it.

…ahem. All right. Deep breath.

Like I said at the top, this episode actually had some important developments that seem like they will be catalysts to kicking the plot into gear. …and as soon as my emotional batteries have recharged, I’m sure I will be very excited about that. In the meantime… please send fluff?

Oh, on that note: I want to thank everyone who tagged me in stuff. You are amazing, and I am incredibly grateful! It’ll take a while to go through it all, but I do look at all the little @s in my notifications, and they fill me with joy. (In other news: prepare for some dashboard spam over the next... ::checks drafts:: three months or so.)

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 154: The Inevitable

Previously on BnHA: Even though the previous chapter ended with Deku arriving to punch Overhaul in the face, the majority of the chapter somehow was spent getting up to that moment which we’d already gotten up to! But finally it happened, and Aizawa, Nighteye, and Deku burst onto the scene. Nighteye gave Mirio a big ol’ hug and told him he did so good, and it was one of the few highlights of this arc, and so deserved. Deku and Aizawa went to apprehend Overhaul, but one of Overhaul’s Endless Minions woke up and used his quirk to basically paralyze Aizawa, so that Aizawa in turn was forced to blink and Overhaul was able to reactivate his own quirk. He proceeded to straight up murder his loyal right hand man and fuse their bodies together to form some kind of grotesque monstrosity, but like, it’s not even the good, interesting kind of grotesque. It’s just the same old Overhaul with some extra demon arms that’ve got big claws on ‘em, and now his mask is fused to his face like a demon bird beak as a bonus. Whatever. Nine seven chapters to go.

Today on BnHA: Overhaul revels in his new power-up and taunts Mirio a bit, mostly just to make sure everyone knows that his quirk is gone for good. Nighteye tells Deku to take Mirio and Eri and get them to safety while he holds Overhaul off. He thinks about everything he taught Mirio and how strong he became and how proud he is of him, and that all he wants to do right now is protect him and Eri. As Deku hauls Mirio and Eri away from the carnage, the narration starts talking about how Nighteye spent so much time desperately trying to change the futures he saw, but that it never worked no matter what he did. In spite of this, and in spite of knowing that his actions are merely “drawing out the inevitable”, he continues to fight Overhaul until he is brutally impaled on some more spikes. Enraged, Deku turns back, leaving Eri with Mirio, and activates One for All at 20%.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 185 now, so any ETAs will reflect that. Posting this a few hours early since I won’t be able to later this evening.)

fun fact, Fallen Angels/Jaimini’s Box doesn’t have this chapter translated on their site. in fact they don’t have any chapters translated from 154 all the way until 167. I can only assume they were getting as sick of this shit as I am. can’t even blame them for bailing

so Mangastream, that leaves just you. the brave souls who stuck it out till the bitter end. you guys are the real heroes academia

unfortunately the FA scans were also the cleaner scans, so now we’ll have to deal with these kind of dark, smudgy-looking pages. on the bright side, if you squint you can almost pretend like what’s happening on the page is actually interesting

sorry to rag on you before you even get started, chapter. but let’s not kid ourselves here

so Overhaul says he’s in a bad mood but “this is a little better”

and the text is all “that form... grotesque!” but again, it’s just his normal form with a couple extra demon arms. nothing we haven’t seen from Shouji or Tokoyami. do you guys remember Shouji and Tokoyami. good kids. wonder whatever happened to ‘em

Deku is like clinging to one of the floor spikes and trying to assess the situation

oh?

if Aizawa gets a one-on-one fight with that guy it had better be sick as hell. do NOT fuck around with my Aizawa fight. I will not forgive you

(ETA: does it count as fucking around with my Aizawa fight if we don’t even get an Aizawa fight. given how they probably would have managed to make even that inexplicably bad, it’s probably for the best that we didn’t get this in the end.)

Overhaul is monologuing about how germophobic he is and how this is the first time he’s been pushed to this point

oh shit he’s bringing out the big guns

did Mirio even know that his quirk was gone forever? up until this point he had no reason to assume the effect wouldn’t just be the same as with Tamaki. he really drew the short end of the stick. poor baby

oh here’re the rest of the bullets

-- excuse me, they’re the ones dragging this out?? WHO WAS IT THAT ORDERED HIS SUBORDINATES TO CREATE A NEVERENDING MAZE OF MEDIOCRE SECOND TIER VILLAINS

now he says Mirio has gotten all his friends mixed up in this and that they’re all gonna die

why does he keep taunting Mirio even though he’s already basically out for the count. still sore about how badly he fucked you up huh buddy. you prick

Mirio is all

um, yes way. he was torturing a six-year-old on a regular basis just to make no-quirk juice. he doesn’t even have a deep-seeded reason for it as far as I can see. he’s just in the mob and wants to make money. and even his boss was all “dude I get that you wanna make bank, but that plan is too fucked up even for us.” but he went and did it anyway

so yeah, I don’t know why anyone’s surprised that he’s cool with callously murdering his own subordinates, or why that of all things would somehow be the straw that broke the camel’s back

here comes Deku again!

did he throw that spike at him? nice

he caught it, and it did nothing, but still. nice

he’s grabbing another one! and thinking of Mirio!

stab him in the face Deku. do it for senpai

you know who I miss? fucking Stain. I miss him so much. I’ll never say a word against him again. that’s a lie but my god it’s like how you weirdly appreciate George W. just a little more after dealing with Trump. even though W. was just the worst. still so bad. but like, it gives you a new sense of scale and an understanding that no matter how bad things are, they can always get just a little bit worse

anyway, Deku’s diving in still but Overhaul is creating more spikes, this time from his hands

they’re crumbling upon impact with Deku’s kicks, but he’s thinking that if it weren’t for his iron soles he’d have been done in just now

I’m sorry are those things not impressive? what else do you need? he’s got smarts too, for what it’s worth

what in the

was that another one of his stamps?? Nighteye is such a freak

yep. look at this

take that bitch. I’m gonna sign for you like a package from Fedex

we’re now flashing back to a conversation they had while running in the hallway for those five long hours

“don’t you DARE fucking break your bones again you little punk”

Nighteye’s asking what Overhaul did with Aizawa

oh shit this is the first interesting thing Overhaul has said in ages

(ETA: so what a surprise that absolutely nothing came of it)

yeah, I bet he’s interested. oh shit. so now he’s whisked him off to the “VIP room.” what’s in there, caviar and high-stakes poker tables?

you guys. Nighteye is piiiiiiiiiiiissed

yeah for real. because he used the permabullets even though he only had five of them. I was wondering about that too

now Overhaul is disintegrating his two right arms. what are you playing at now

look how fucking weirdly Nighteye dodges

the hell kind of dodge is this

Overhaul is thinking he’s not particularly fast, but that his movements are similar to Lemillion’s. “so this guy’s the teacher...”

Nighteye’s flashing back to Mirio’s internship when he explained to him that by accumulating experience he would learn how to predict people’s actions and move accordingly

I’m so sorry this asshole took your son’s quirk Nighteye

all right so now Deku’s reached Mirio and Eri and he’s asking if they can move

Mirio’s all “no sweat” ffff

ffffffffffffffffff

baby sweetie honey nooo shhhh. don’t apologize for being sad that he forcibly destroyed a part of you. something that was unique and that you worked so hard to perfect and that was going to lead you toward your dreams. fuck. you’re allowed to be fucking bummed out kiddo. it’s gonna be okay

so Deku’s grabbing them all and he’s kicking open the path that Overhaul just tried to close up again

and now Eri is clutching at him and crying ffffffffffffff

THIS IS NOT OKAY. HORIKOSHI!!! COME THE FUCK ON. WHAT IS THIS

and Mirio’s looking back over his shoulder as they retreat, and he seems to have seen something troubling oh shit

this is all very interesting, but I thought he could only do one person a day? I still don’t fucking get how his power works in combat

(ETA: as the next page clarifies, I guess he used it on Overhaul and that’s how he saw himself and Deku dying at Overhaul’s hands. and this must mean it’s been more than 24 hours since he used it on the babysitter guy. and this is also why it takes him a full day to die afterwards, so that he can live just long enough to look into Mirio’s future one last time. ...fuck me why am I thinking about that noooo)

OH SHIT!?!?

WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. “THE INEVITABLE”!?!?

WHAT THE FUCK

DID THEY JUST FUCKING KILL NIGHTEYE WHAT THE FUCK

AT THE VERY LEAST WE ALL AGREE HIS ARM IS GONE, YES. STRAIGHT UP NO LONGER GOT A LEFT ARM

HOLY FUCK

AHHHHHHH EVERYTHING JUST SUDDENLY WENT BLACK

AND HIS EYES ARE LIKE

I’M FREAKING OUT!!?!?!?!?!

DEKU’S LOOKING BACK TOWARD THE SCENE AND HE’S TOTALLY BUGEYED

OVERHAUL IS SENDING SPIKES THEIR WAY

HOLY SHIT DEKU!?!?

OH SHIT

DEKU BE CAREFUL OF YOUR LIMBS!! ALSO YOU’RE THE BEST, HOLY FUCKING SHIT

even Overhaul has abruptly stopped his endless spike attacks and is now resorting to cautious trash talk

oh shit

CALL BACK TO THE ALL MIGHT PROPHECY OH SNAPPPPPP

DEKU YOU ARE SO COOL JESUS CHRIST THIS WAS SUCH A COOL MOMENT. I FORGOT THE MANGA COULD DO THAT

WAS IT WORTH 900 CHAPTERS OF BULLSHIT? AND MIRIO LOSING HIS QUIRK? AND NIGHTEYE FUCKING DYING FUCKING JESUS CHRIST? NO

BUT GOD IT’S SOMETHING, AND THAT SOMETHING IS ADMITTEDLY PRETTY COOL

I swear to god if he loses even with this. just...

just remember Deku. Nighteye literally died for this shit. probably. oh my godddddd

no bonus. because I’m pretty sure the next omake is supposed to go with tomorrow’s chapter. it’s really hard to figure this out tbh. but I guess I should be grateful that we even still have translated omakes right now, since even that will come to an end once we hit chapter 167. enjoy it while it lasts I guess

[whale-shark-queen]

Who’s ready for some GUZZLORD N???? I saw that there was a popular Guzzlord Guzma ages ago and I wanted to join in on the fun but I’ve been way too nervous to post anything to do with this but here he is

Context under the cut ^v^ (warning it’s p long)

Basically in an AU where Lusamine has scientists working specifically on UB fusion shit she hears about a certain ex Plasma king who just so happens to be popping in on Aether Paradise to check out the resident Pokemon and their accommodations.  Personally I hc her as N’s birth mum but since she’s a total bitch at this point she sees him as her ‘last chance’ at having an ever so perfect obedient UB child and what better way to do this by luring him in with kindness and wanting to catch up on all the years she’d been away to earn his trust and literally turn him into an Ultra Beast fusion?

And which Ultra Beast more fitting to fuse him with than the ‘king’ of the lot? Even if he did turn against her or the experiment failed it’s not like he’d be privileged enough to run off with the genes of her personal favourite UB.  Infact she’d easily be able to keep him just to have her fun with him by mocking him or just looking at him and thinking wistfully about what he could have been.  

So he ends up going along with it willingly at first, thinking that he’s being put under for brain scans to try and find what allows him to communicate with Pokemon so that they can share his ability so they can become closer with their Pokemon friends blah blah blah.

Eventually he figures out that things aren’t as they seem when he hears Pokemon voices crying out for help from the labs late at night and gets strange cravings to take bites out of bits of furniture that he definitely did NOT have before hand.  Then bam he’s dragged off to a cell and told he’s gonna turn into an enormous violent alien crab dragon thing that has weird similarities to a certain dragon belonging to his father.

Time goes by, N begins to develop more features and mannerisms of Guzzlord (yes, including a bit of pudge thanks to his new very painful seemingly neverending hunger that) which SEVERELY fucks him up since the whole ‘freak without a human heart’ thing and the fact that Ghetsis kept him on a strict diet to maintain a ~perfect~ body has stayed with him even after he defected from Plasma yet he’s stuck in a cell without even knowing that Touko infiltrated Team Skull in the hopes that he’d show up to stop them or even that Touya is like five floors above him scrubbing windows as an employee waiting for him to show up to play with the Pokemon.

Lusamine would eventually find out about Touya’s connection to him (and his status as one of the heroes of truth and a champion of Unova) and decides that if he ever found out about N he’d easily be able to break him out with the god of truth and ruin all of her plans, so she decides to be kind enough to send him down for a reunion and a bit of DNA splicing himself.  No use passing up extra test subjects right?

Touya is a smol angery boi so surely the origami knife fairy would suit him nicely.

SO yeah they both end up stuck in cells going through traumatising painful  experimentation and torture and mocking from Lusamine (but hey atleast theyve got eachother right?:’) )until they both manage to transform into their full UB forms and break tf out of there

God I’m so sorry I’m terrible at summarising and there’s so so much potential for angst and fluff!! And dont worry N might hate himself at first but!! He can learn to look past the shit Ghetsis drilled into his head about his body with lots of love and support and body positivity from Touya and Touko ovo

Also I might post some Kartouya at some point but not for a while im...v tired but hey thanks for reading !!

[esthermeronobaro]

One Train May Hide Another: An Interview With Jim Jarmusch

Originally published as the cover story for the January 2014 issue of SLUG Magazine. Read it online or in print. 

“I love getting lost in a place I don’t really know—it’s something very freeing. Instead of anxiety, like some people have, I feel so free to be lost,” says Jim Jarmusch. “I like to follow instincts, and oddly enough, it’s a kind of discipline. My little game of ‘get lost and don’t know where you are’ is a process for me that is very helpful for my imagination.” 

Most know Jarmusch as an influential writer-director of American independent cinema, boasting an interlacing filmography of artistic, counter-culture films like Dead Man, Ghost Dog and The Limits of Control since the release of his debut full-length, Permanent Vacation, in 1980 as a 27-year-old grad student at NYU. The man is a sub-cultural icon, eschewing the mainstream to create rewarding works of art that long to be close read. 

Raised on Jean-Luc Godard and New Wave cinema, nurtured through adolescence by Kenneth Koch and the New York School poets, and slow diving into the future with the support of ATP Recordings and a handful of relevant musicians, Jarmusch’s intellectual repertoire is expansive and continuing. Much like his films, the man has the ability to lose himself in the present details, while retaining an impressive understanding of the past. Perhaps it was subconscious self-reflection that materialized the filmmaker’s latest character creations: a couple of incisive, decades-old vampires in his upcoming release, Only Lovers Left Alive.  

“My interest was, ‘Wow, if you could be alive that long, imagine what your perceptions would be like and all the experiences you’d have.’ Your knowledge of things would be incredible, if you could remember it all … Just having an overview of history that way was very attractive to me,” says Jarmusch. 

Only Lovers Left Alive is the filmmaker’s addition to a long history of vampire mythology in both literature and film, and he’s versed on the great and obscure. Jarmusch links his characters’ British roots to “The Vampyre,” a poem written by Lord Byron’s physician, John Polidori, in 1819, the first time vampires appear in literature. Film-wise, he cites Carl Dreyer’s Vampyr, first and foremost, claiming it’s more of a poem than a monster movie. “I like the ones that walk outside the margins, that follow the genre in a way, but they’re not just following the Bram Stoker Dracula idea,” he says. “Of course, Nosferatu is an incredibly great film as is the universal Dracula with Bela Lugosi as well, but those are the ones that meet the expectation, and I like the ones that are traveling outside the mainstream.” 

Only Lovers Left Alive, before anything else, is a love story between Adam (Tom Hiddleton) and Eve (Tilda Swinton). “Ours isn’t a horror movie … they just happen to be vampires. The thing I love about vampires, too, is that they’re not monsters, they’re humans that have been transformed,” says Jarmusch.  “Even Nosferatu is not purely a monster—there’s a sophistication to him.” Adam and Eve are such altruistic vampires, in fact, that acquiring blood the more traditional and fatally seductive way is considered retro and obscene. He describes his characters eloquently, calling them both wild, but saying, “ … [Adam’s] the guiding sunlight of the film, [Eve] the golden light of reason and intelligence … She’s very happy to have the gift of her consciousness—it’s something very fragile and beautiful to her—and he is too, but he’s a little more romantic in a way, tortured a little, somehow.”  

The filmmaker is known for being somewhat incestuous in his use of cast and crew members, and Swinton is quite obviously a favorite actor, and a good friend. According to Jarmusch, Only Lovers Left Alive might have remained in the shadows had she not kept the project going despite the film’s languid start and precarious financing. The part of Eve was written with her in mind from the beginning. “It’s good to work with people you know, but you’ve always gotta remember there’s people you don’t know who are amazing that you might get a chance to meet and work with, too,” says Jarmusch, who also gushed over French cinematographer Yorick Le Saux, production designer Marco Bittner Rosser and editor Affonso Gonçalves, all of whom he worked with for the first time on this film.  

Other than using children’s digital cameras from Toys “R” Us for The Raconteurs’ “Steady, As She Goes” music video in 2006, Only Lovers Left Alive also marks Jarmusch’s introduction to shooting digitally. “I’m a film person. I love the magical thing of film, which is, first of all, light affecting chemistry on the surface of the film material, and then light passing through the print when you project it that creates this magical world of light and shadow,” says Jarmusch. 

“Now, digital is a different kind of magic: It’s numbers being translated. So, my first thing is that I don’t like digital, and I don’t like MP3 sound, and I like analogue sound and vinyl and cassettes … but at the same time, I believe in these things as tools, and I love technology—I just love the old stuff, too.”

However, all of his qualms about digital, including the neverending depth of field and unnatural skin tones in daylight, didn’t end up applying when shooting Only Lovers because it was mostly shot at night. Shooting digital ended up being more efficient, as the desired effect in a scene could be achieved with very minimal lighting, among other benefits. “I found great strength in [digital] even against my own prejudice,” says Jarmusch. “So it turned out to be quite a magical tool for what we were doing and very helpful. It changed my preset dinosaur obsession with film, and now I’m more open.” 

Jarmusch’s creative process is incredibly free-flowing, reflective of his self-proclaimed motto: “It’s hard to get lost if you don’t know where you’re going”—which is one of the many reasons why his films stand out. When beginning production for 2009’s The Limits of Control, for example, he didn’t even have a script—just a lot of ideas that were collected along the way. Only Lovers Left Alive started with a full script, but veered from it often. “I have this one chance in my life to be in this place, shooting this thing, with these people, so I’m going to shoot as much as I can think up,” says Jarmusch.  “I have to do that because I don’t know what I’m doing—I know that I will figure it out in the editing room … You have to listen to the film, and that’s just my way to capture everything I can … ” 

He describes a scene in the film where Adam and Eve have a sort of quarrel, saying that in preparation, he asked Hiddleston and Swinton to write out their own lengthy speeches, venting to the other character. Though Jarmusch cut out most of the dialogue, he was able to capture the feeling needed for the scene. “I’m always playing like that, trying to think of another angle for something. If we’re standing outside to do a shot and it starts to rain, most films will say, ‘OK, shut down, it’s raining, it’s not in the script,’” says Jarmusch. “Well, my first reaction is, ‘Mmm, what would this scene be like in the rain?’ … 

“I don’t like to follow the map too closely, because in life, when you take the detour, that might be where you meet your lover! Or that might be the place you learned something you never expected.” 

Of course, no Jarmusch film is complete without an exceptional, personally curated score and soundtrack. Only Lovers’ composer is Dutch lutist Jozef van Wissem, with whom Jarmusch released two albums in 2012, supplemented by Jarmusch’s latest musical project, SQÜRL, a trio including Carter Logan and Shane Stoneback. SQÜRL released two EPs in 2013, consequently with vampiric squirrel cover art and track names that undoubtedly relate to the new film. SLUG music writer Ryan Hall describes them as “no wave destruction paired with the lethargic and caustic wail of major-chord stoner riffs and a warped, warbled approximation of the music of the American West.” With a rich and varied musical background himself, Jarmusch’s track selections are always a special gift for music aficionados. 

“There’s a kind of cowardly nature in the corporate film world where the suits want everyone to get what they expect, and what a drag. What kind of life is that where you just get what you expect? So I find it so disappointing when there are these incredible genres of music around the world, and then it always sounds like the same thing.” 

Musical cameos in Only Lovers include Lebanese singer Yasmine Hamdan, who wrote the song she’s seen performing specifically for the film, New York psychedelic space rockers White Hills in a quick scene, and the soundtrack features Zola Jesus, ’60s soul singer Denise LaSalle and rockabilly musician Charlie Feathers.  Like everything else, the music in the film is a carefully selected detail with a touch of meaning beyond its surface appeal—especially with one of the main characters (Adam) being a musician. “[Adam and Eve] have been alive a long time, so they appreciate things from all of human history, and they’re also not hierarchical about high culture/low culture—they appreciate it all,” says Jarmusch. “So having lute music, which is particularly associated with Baroque and Renaissance periods, mixed with sludgy, molten drone rock, is a kind of nice way to reflect that mixture of their interests as well … They like good stuff—they don’t care if it’s Franz Schubert or Charlie Feathers’ rockabilly—if it’s good, it’s good, and they don’t differentiate that way.” 

It’s very Jarmuschian to write a love story about vampires free of the lustful violence usually associated with the genre. Jarmusch’s style has been criticized in the past as dull and contrived, but to appreciate his films, one must lose all expectations of Hollywood allure and watch them in the same way one would read a poem, or look at a painting: making connections, finding pleasure in the weighted details and minute brush strokes, and accepting the incomprehensible. 

“These poetic structures are much more inspiring to me in the form of my films, in a way, than prosaic structure because poetry leaves spaces around things. Poetry doesn’t have to connect everything syntactically or even logically,” says Jarmusch. “Someone said—I think it was e e cummings—that you can understand a poem without knowing what it means—which I love so much … A lot of people don’t get it or they may not like it, but the hell with ‘em.” 

It can be important to have waited at least a moment to see what was already there.  Only Lovers Left Alive has been screening at film festivals around the world, including the New York Film Festival and Cannes, and will make an appearance at Sundance in the Spotlight category. If you don’t catch it there, it’s set for theatrical release in April of this year.

[kingdoms-of-fate]

Ravien

Setting:

Mordeadus - homebrew

Country:

Ravien

Race:

Human

Terrain:

The region is mostly dark pines and bogs.

All the trees secrete a black oily sap that smell like sulfuric rotting meat. The trees ooze so often that bogs often form around forest patches, but instead of water, the ponds are thick with stinking black tree tar.

The trees, even when dead, will often still leak this tar and the people of Ravien have found the only way to stop this leakage is to burn the wood to ash.

The sap is very sticky and will stain anything it touches: fabric, skin, etc.

Settlements:

There are many cities, towns and villages, sometimes with overcrowding.

There is little wealth and most live in dilapidated buildings, stinking of rotting meat.

Most settlements have drainage ditches built along the road to catch the oozing sap which then runs out the city to a bog.

Architecture Style:

The buildings of Ravien are all built with the black sticky wood.

Walls glisten with oozing tar and pools of sap line the homes leaking into the drainage ditches.

Everything is smeared with tar and anyone not used to the smell is often overwhelmed by the foul odor.

Rooftops are often made with dark brown moss held together by tree sap.

Clothing Style:

The people will often wear black wool clothing.

Because of the tree sap, most clothing is stained and oily.

The people themselves are often stained with tar and look dirty.

Most people smell terrible with the odor seeping into their pores, making it almost impossible to get clean.

Religion:

There is no central religion, but people do fear magic and psionics on an almost spiritual level, explained in issues.

Government:

Lead by a monarchy, the true power resides in the Order of the Clear Mind, a group of doctors that wear a medallion of a sun with two eyes.

They are in charge of keeping psionicists and wizards off the streets for reasons explained in issues.

The order is a from of inquisition, questioning everyone, even nobles, and the monarch is not safe from their prying eyes. This makes the monarch more of a puppet to the order.

The order has a faction barracks in every city and town in the form of an asylum made of stone, iron and sticky wood. This ensures the order's reaches extend to every corner of the nation. Note: There is more on the asylums and order in the issues section.

Economy:

The regions is mostly poor with little to offer in exports except for rat fat soap which they trade with Mordak for food. Note: There is more on the rats in the issues section.

Issues

The Rat Swarms

Because of the rotten smell of the woods, most settlements are plagued with rat swarms. Most often the swarms will be nothing more than a nuisance, even a source of food and commodity, but there are ones more dangerous.

Ravenous swarms: Eat everything, attacking towns and villages like packs of dogs or a swarm of red ants. They hunger for flesh but will also eat the wood.

Plague swarms: The rats will often look like they are rotting, covered in boils, and carry diseases. Making contact with a plague rat brings a chance of getting one of the illnesses below: A: The person begins to rot, suffering damage daily till healed or death. B: The person becomes disfigured with boils, losing charisma and becomes unable to speak until healed. C: The person becomes weak, suffer dexterity and strength loss with half movement until healed. D: The person becomes confused, suffering loss of intelligence and wisdom along with a number of spells until healed.

Psychic/Magic swarms: The rats collective can manifest spells or psychic power. The strength and number of which is determined by the size of the swarm. Example: Every hundred rats are equal to one level in the wizard or psyker class with the loss of every 100 rats equaling a level drain.

Mutant swarms: These rats have grown in size, grew extra teeth, limbs, etc. Depending on their mutation is the effect they will have. Example: Increased size will grant more hit-points, extra teeth will grant more damage, extra head will give more attacks and etc.

Madmen

Deep below the earth, a psychic energy has irradiated the minds of the peoples living in Ravien. This effects has driven many in Ravien to become mad, seeing illusions, hearing voices and living through nightmares every minute of the day.

Most madmen become violent, attacking people, eating their own flesh and destroying everything around them.

In rarer cases, the radiation has even twisted the minds of the madmen and granted them psychic powers. The madmen's minds shattered from the twisting seldom have control of these powers and therefore are used at random.

Some powers can manifest horrid creatures, like a swarm of eyes or mounds of bleeding tentacles often rampaging through the cities. Some powers manifest nightmares within the minds of the sleeping. The nightmares become so traumatic and vivid, the victim often dies in their sleep or has their mind so warped, they too become psychic and spread the madness like a disease.

Some powers can cause fires, explosions or blasts of psychic power ripping people apart.

The mad will often scarce themselves and hide in dark places, alleys, basements, etc., rambling about unknown things, their minds sending off wave after wave of their psychic engine. It is not uncommon for one mad psyker to send an entire village into chaos with nightmares and manifestations until they are found.

The Order of the Clear Mind

Because of the extreme dangers of those with psyker powers, the order has risen to stop them.

Proclaiming to be an order of doctors who are here to vet the populous and find those infected and then cure them of their illness,  they are in fact little more than a group of mad scientists.

The asylums are cruel and dark places where dozen of victims are changed into cramped rooms or held in cells.

The doctors preform all manner of experiments on the prisoners, from surgery to torture all in the name of finding a cure. They will fillet a person to study their muscles and skeletal system, break a person's mind to examine one's mentality, conduct Frankenstein experiments of conjoining bodies to test the durability of a body.

Some doctors are little more than sadist, only capturing people to torture them, seeing how much a person can take before death. Others force people to fight each other or live in cruel conditions such as cells littered with broken glass or food laced with a light poison to keep one permanently sick.

The experiments are also often used to create mindless humanoids destroying a person's mind and reprogram them to be an unthinking golem - the brutes.

The brutes are often gathered from the biggest humans and follow the doctors around wearing all black, with executioner hoods and wield two handed axes. They act as the order's muscle and the private army. Note: The brutes act as a golem/undead only being able to carry out one order at a time. They can never act on their own nor turn against a doctor.

Fueling the orders never ending appetite for experimentation, sadism, golem creation and the seldom effect into curing the madness, the order is not above imprisoning their political enemies, the innocent and members of the monarchy, to keep their rivals at bay and silent.

Wizards, priests, druids or any spell-casting class whose abilities can be blamed on psychic energy are often rounded up and never released, making almost every adventure and potential hero and savior think twice before entering Ravien. Because of this, those who do have magic abilities or tame psychic persons or have gained spell-like abilities from prayer and worship of their God often have to hide in fear.

Studies of arcane, and spirit are done in private in secret covens, often far removed from settlements. The order is not ignorant to this fact, and with the aid of the local guard and barons will often conduct raids turning entire villages into a massive witch hunt.

Those helping a “Madmen” will be executed on the spot by decapitation or burned at the stake. The order will even burn down an entire village believed to be aiding a madmen.

Because of all of the above, the people of Ravien live in the neverending shadow of the mad and insane.

END