#and when she finally does they criticize her.

[cantareincminor]

Fandom Eras in an Ongoing Canon

Something I've been thinking about recently, as I've been writing SxF fic for about one year, is the inherent uncertainty of writing for an ongoing canon as the characters evolve gradually with each new arc Endo creates.

For example, Twilight. We can joke about how the man is taking forever to acknowledge he loves his family, and the slow slow slow burn of Twiyor. But after 100+ chapters, he is indeed different from where he started. Chapter 1, he was willing to return a poor little kid to the orphanage like a defective toy when he realized she might not be a prodigy as he originally thought. He also left her at home alone and literally barricaded the door to keep her there.

Later, he acknowledges the trauma she must have faced as an orphan and becomes hyper-sensitive to little signs like how she arranges the sand table in his office (even if he reads her completely wrong).

By the time exams roll around, he avoids criticizing her for the Tonitrus bolt in math and gives her a genuine smile for her achievement in classical language, appreciating how she worked really hard.

With Yor, when he initially met her, he told himself he would figure out a way to trap her in the marriage if needed for the sake of the mission. Luckily he didn't have to do that, but the fact he remains that he was theoretically willing to. Then every ten to twenty chapters or so, Yor does something to surprise him with her kindness and strength and unconventional understanding of the world, and he grows to trust her and care for her wellbeing, to the point of taking a bullet for her and sparing Yuri.

In another 100 chapters, or by the end of the manga, whenever that will be, how much more will Twilight change?

As fan creators, how will our imagination of these characters change by then? Will we remember how we viewed season 1 Twilight? The fics we wrote and the characterizations we gave him? How about season 1 Yor, who had an obsession with knives and tended to imagine murder as the solution to any problem she couldn't solve immediately?

My main frame of reference is the ATLA fandom and how the characterization of Zuko and the flavor of Zutara fics changed over three seasons. Fics written during season 1 sometimes characterized him as a dark brooding villain with the trope of capturing or threatening Katara, mixed with uncomfortable power dynamics. Fics written during season 2 cast him as more vulnerable and uncertain, imagining how he might join Team Avatar, as we started to see him as the immature teenage dork he was all along. By season 3, immature teenage dork took over much of his fanfic persona as he finally joined the good guys in canon and added a fresh dynamic to the team. Fans wrote lots of friendship and redemption fics, diving into how he reconciled with Katara and won her over as a friend before pursuing her romantically.

I haven't participated in the ATLA fandom for a long time, but I imagine that few writers now will write fics based on season 1 Zuko, at least not with the fan-imagined version of him that was popular back then. Too much has changed about his canon character to make that palatable.

So, I wonder what it'll be like years from now when Twilight and Yor and other characters are notably different. What will it be like to look back on fanfics written in 2022-2025? Will we still enjoy them easily, or will we have to suspend disbelief as they'll feel like AUs with OOC characters?

Part of me feels sad about this, but I suppose this is always the risk of writing for an ongoing canon! At least I am not the only one risking so much of my own time on creating these stories out of love for these characters.

[blondemrk]

°˖ medical love ១ requested!

p marklee× fem!reader w.c 4.6k t.w death,blood,angst.

the hospital had settled into a strange rhythm, as it always did after midnight. the controlled chaos of the day had dwindled, leaving behind the quiet hum of machines and the occasional shuffle of feet echoing through the halls. it was the kind of silence that forced you to confront the weight of the day, and tonight, the weight seemed unbearable.

you stepped out of the operating room, tugging your gloves off with a snap. the faint scent of antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood clung to the air, but you hardly noticed anymore—it was just part of the job. you were tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that blurred the edges of everything. still, something caught your eye as you turned toward the scrub room.

mark lee was sitting on the floor outside or 3, his back pressed against the pale green wall, his knees drawn up. his head hung low, and his hands were tangled in his dark hair. the sight stopped you in your tracks. mark wasn’t the type to sit down, let alone sit down like this.

you took a step closer, your sneakers squeaking softly against the tile. “mark?”

he didn’t respond, didn’t even lift his head. his shoulders rose and fell in shallow breaths, the only indication that he’d even heard you.

you tried again, softer this time. “mark, are you okay?”

he let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a bitter laugh. when he finally looked up, the expression on his face made your chest tighten. his eyes, usually bright and full of determination, were rimmed red and clouded with something you could only describe as defeat.

“she didn’t make it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

you lowered yourself to the floor beside him, ignoring the cold tile against your scrubs. “who?”

mark stared straight ahead, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his voice steady. “ten years old. she was in a car accident on the way back from her piano recital. her mom was driving. the car flipped, and she…” he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing. “by the time they brought her in, it was bad. massive internal bleeding. her heart stopped on the table twice. we got her back the first time, but the second…” his voice broke, and he scrubbed his hands over his face, leaving smudges of dried blood on his skin.

you felt your own throat tighten. you’d seen countless patients in critical condition, but children were different. they always were. the fragility of life seemed sharper, crueler, when it was someone so young.

“mark,” you said gently, your voice cutting through the heavy air. “you did everything you could.”

he let out a humorless laugh, his hands dropping into his lap. “that’s what they always say, isn’t it? ‘you did everything you could.’ as if that makes it hurt less. as if it makes it okay to walk out of that room and tell her parents that their daughter’s gone.”

you didn’t respond right away. instead, you studied him, taking in the way his hands trembled against his knees, the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of the night.

“you know that isn’t true,” you said finally. “it’s not just something we say. it’s the truth. you did everything humanly possible to save her.”

his head turned toward you, and the look in his eyes made your heart ache. “then why does it feel like i failed her? like i failed everyone?”

“because you care,” you said simply. “and because you’re human.” mark shook his head, his lips pressing into a tight line. “what’s the point of these hands if they can’t save someone like her?” he held them up, his fingers trembling slightly.

without thinking, you reached out and took his hand in yours, wrapping your fingers around his to steady them. “these hands have saved more lives than i can count,” you said firmly. “and they will save more. but you’re not a god, mark. none of us are. sometimes, no matter how good we are, it’s not enough. that doesn’t mean you failed.”

the silence that followed was thick, the kind that stretched and pressed against your chest. mark’s gaze dropped to your hands, still clasped together. his fingers twitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

“you’ve lost patients before,” he said after a long moment.

“i have,” you admitted. “and it never gets easier. but you learn to carry it. you carry them. and you keep going because the next patient needs you just as much.” he nodded slowly, as if trying to let the words sink in. his grip on your hand tightened, just for a moment, before he let out a shaky breath.

“i don’t know how you always know what to say,” he said, his voice soft. you smiled faintly. “i don’t. but i know what it feels like to sit here and think the weight of the world is your fault. and i know what it feels like when someone reminds you it’s not.”

mark’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile—a ghost of his usual confidence. “thanks,” he said, the word simple but heavy with meaning.

you squeezed his hand one last time before letting go. “anytime.” for a while, neither of you moved. you just sat there, side by side, letting the silence do what words couldn’t. and in that quiet moment, the crushing weight of the night felt a little easier to bear.

hospitals thrived on chaos, and over the next few weeks, the er seemed to exist in a state of perpetual motion. ambulances pulled up one after another, dumping cases that ranged from minor injuries to full-blown emergencies. the surgeons were stretched thin, constantly scrubbing in and out of surgeries, barely getting time to breathe.

you and mark crossed paths more often than not, your shifts overlapping in what felt like a cruel joke played by fate. but instead of feeling burdensome, there was a strange comfort in his presence.

it started with small moments—a quick exchange of updates during rounds, a passing joke in the break room, or a knowing glance across a crowded or. you found yourself seeking him out, your eyes scanning for his familiar figure among the flurry of activity. and more often than not, he was there, matching your pace like a partner you never asked for but somehow needed.

one night, after finishing a particularly grueling appendectomy, you stumbled into the break room, desperate for caffeine. the coffee pot was empty, of course. you groaned, leaning heavily against the counter, debating whether the effort of making a new pot was worth it.

“rough night?”

you turned to see mark leaning against the doorway, a tired but amused smile tugging at his lips. he held out a fresh cup of coffee, steam curling from the rim. you raised an eyebrow. “did you just read my mind?”

he shrugged, stepping closer. “you looked like you needed it more than me.” you took the cup gratefully, savoring the warmth as it seeped through your hands. “i’d thank you, but i’m too tired to be polite.”

mark chuckled, his laughter soft but genuine. “i’ll take it as a compliment.” he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat across from you, leaning back in his chair. “how many hours are you running on?”

“don’t ask,” you said, grimacing. “it’s depressing.”

he nodded knowingly. “you’re telling me. i almost asked one of the med students to remind me what year it is.”

the image made you laugh, and the sound surprised you. it felt foreign, almost out of place in the sterile confines of the hospital. but it also felt good.

moments like these became more frequent. you started to notice the little things about him—how he ran a hand through his hair when he was thinking, how he always had a spare pen tucked into his pocket, how his voice softened when he spoke to patients’ families. he was sharp and quick-witted, but there was a tenderness to him that you hadn’t expected.

the turning point came on a rare quiet night. the er had settled into an unusual calm, giving the staff a chance to catch their breath. you and mark found yourselves alone in the surgical lounge, reviewing charts.

“i think i forgot what silence feels like,” you said, breaking the stillness. mark looked up from his tablet, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “don’t jinx it. the second you say that, the pagers will go off.”

you laughed softly, leaning back in your chair. “fair point.” for a moment, there was nothing but the faint hum of the vending machine. then mark spoke again, his tone more serious this time.

“do you ever wonder why we do this?”

you frowned, tilting your head. “what do you mean?”

“this job,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the charts in front of him. “the hours, the stress, the… everything. we lose so much of ourselves to this place. why do we keep coming back?”

you considered his question carefully. “because the good moments outweigh the bad,” you said finally. “even if they’re rare. that feeling when you save someone, when you give them a second chance—that’s worth everything.”

mark’s gaze lingered on you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “yeah,” he said quietly. “i guess it is.”

the weight of his stare made your pulse quicken, but before you could say anything, the familiar trill of a pager shattered the moment.

“trauma incoming,” he said, glancing at his.

you nodded, already on your feet. “guess the silence is over.”

“guess so.”

as the two of you rushed out of the lounge, side by side, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted.

the days blended together in a blur of emergency calls, surgeries, and brief moments of quiet that were often too short to catch your breath. but somehow, despite the chaos, you found yourself gravitating toward mark more and more. his presence was like a steady anchor amidst the storms of your daily life—comforting, but also quietly intense in a way you couldn’t ignore.

there were moments when you’d catch him looking at you with an unreadable expression, his eyes lingering just a little too long before he’d look away. it was always when the two of you were alone, usually after a particularly difficult surgery. the tension was subtle but palpable, and you weren’t sure if you were imagining it or if he was feeling it too.

one evening, after a particularly grueling trauma case, you found yourself sitting beside him on the rooftop. the night air was cool against your skin, and the sounds of the city below seemed distant, almost peaceful compared to the whirlwind of the hospital. you’d both escaped for a brief reprieve, needing a break from the constant demands of your jobs.

mark leaned back against the low stone wall, staring up at the stars. you mirrored his position, your arms folded across your chest for warmth.

“do you ever think about what we do?” he asked, his voice quiet but thoughtful. you glanced at him, frowning slightly. “what do you mean?”

he took a deep breath before answering, his gaze still fixed on the sky. “i mean, we save lives every day. we do everything in our power to help people. but sometimes… it feels like it’s never enough, you know?”

you knew exactly what he meant. it wasn’t just the long hours or the physical toll; it was the emotional weight that lingered, the feeling that despite all your best efforts, you couldn’t save everyone. sometimes you couldn’t even save yourself.

“i get it,” you said softly, your voice tinged with the same exhaustion. “it’s why we keep pushing. but there’s only so much we can do before it starts to wear you down.” mark was quiet for a moment, and when he finally spoke again, his tone was more somber. “i don’t think i’m cut out for this anymore.”

the words hit you like a punch in the gut. you turned to face him, your heart skipping a beat. “what do you mean? you’re one of the best surgeons i know.”

he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “i used to think i was doing this for the right reasons, but lately, it feels like i’m just going through the motions. like i’m losing touch with the reason i started this in the first place.”

you studied him closely, seeing the exhaustion in the lines of his face, the weight in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. there was more to it than just the job. you could tell.

“mark…” you hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. the space between you felt different tonight—thicker, heavier, as if the walls that usually kept you both at a safe distance were beginning to crack.

he turned his gaze to you, his expression guarded, but his eyes were vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache. “i don’t know what i’m doing anymore. i don’t know if i can keep pretending like i’ve got it all together when i don’t.”

you felt a rush of empathy, the weight of his words settling in your chest. you could relate more than he realized.

“you don’t have to pretend with me, mark,” you said quietly, your voice breaking the tension between you. “you don’t have to do it alone.”

there was a long pause, as if he was weighing your words. then, finally, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t know what to do anymore. i’m so damn tired of pretending.”

you reached out, resting a hand on his arm, offering a silent comfort that you weren’t sure would be enough. but it was the only thing you could offer. and in that moment, as the night stretched on around you, you felt the distance between you close just a little bit more.

the days that followed were a blur of surgeries and patient rounds, but there was something different in the air. an unspoken understanding lingered between you and mark. you both carried the weight of the hospital together, but now, there was something else—a connection that neither of you had acknowledged, but both felt.

you noticed mark’s eyes lingering on you more often, his smile softening when you spoke. and when you looked at him, you saw something different too. something that made your heart race just a little faster and your thoughts scatter.

it was after a particularly long shift that it finally happened. you were both in the break room, grabbing a quick snack before heading out for rounds. your conversation was light, filled with small talk and the kind of easy banter that had come to define your moments together.

but as you finished your meal and prepared to leave, mark stopped you. “hey,” he said, his voice low, but with a seriousness that caught you off guard. you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “yeah?”

“i’ve been thinking about what you said the other night,” he began, taking a deep breath. “about not having to pretend.”

you felt your heart skip a beat. “and?”

“and i think… maybe it’s time i stopped pretending.” his gaze softened, and for a moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of hope, maybe. but then it was gone, replaced by his usual stoic expression.

you stepped closer, your pulse quickening. “what do you mean?”

mark hesitated, his fingers running nervously through his hair. “i mean, i’m tired of hiding behind this wall. i’m tired of pretending that everything’s fine when it’s not. maybe i need someone who understands what it’s like to be in this—someone who doesn’t just see the surgeon, but the person underneath it all.”

your breath caught in your throat as the words hung between you. his eyes were searching yours, as if waiting for you to say something, anything. and in that moment, you realized how much you had come to care about him—not just as a colleague, but as someone who shared the same struggles, the same heartache, and the same need for connection.

“i’m here,” you said quietly, stepping even closer. “you don’t have to go through this alone.”

and as mark closed the distance between you, his hand gently resting on your arm, you knew that whatever came next—whatever challenges you faced in the hospital, whatever insecurities and fears you both carried—you would face them together.

the weeks after that night on the rooftop passed in a blur of shifting dynamics. the connection between you and mark was no longer subtle; it was there, undeniable, even if it was still tentative. neither of you had put a label on it, but the moments you shared were enough to make your heart race in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

there were times when mark would linger after rounds, walking beside you down the hall, exchanging a quiet word or an inside joke that made the rest of the world fade away. he seemed to be more present now, his once-distant demeanor softer, as if the weight of his thoughts had lifted—at least a little. but with that shift came new challenges.

one late afternoon, the hospital was chaotic as usual. the sounds of the er echoed through the hallways—pagers going off, medical staff rushing to and fro, and the steady beep of monitors. you were in the middle of stabilizing a patient after a traumatic car accident when you heard your name being called.

“y/n!”

you glanced up to see mark hurrying toward you, his face tight with urgency. his eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you saw the familiar strain in his expression—the same one you’d seen the night he opened up to you about his doubts.

“what’s going on?” you asked, moving toward him instinctively.

he didn’t answer right away, his lips pressed together in a thin line. then, without warning, he grabbed your arm, guiding you into a quieter part of the hospital. “mark, what’s happening?”

he stopped just inside an empty conference room, his back to you as he ran a hand through his hair. when he turned around, there was a new kind of tension in his gaze. “i need you to help on a procedure with me. it’s urgent,” he said, his voice unusually clipped.

you raised an eyebrow. “what’s the rush?”

“just trust me.” his eyes softened slightly, but the concern in them was clear. “it’s complicated. i need your expertise.”

something in his tone made your stomach tighten. you didn’t need any further explanation. you nodded and followed him back to the or without a word.

the procedure was grueling. the patient’s internal injuries were extensive, and the time spent trying to stabilize them felt like it stretched on forever. both of you worked in sync, each movement seamless as you followed the rhythm of the operation. but as the hours dragged on, the stress began to show.

you noticed how mark’s brow furrowed with concentration, his hands steady but his eyes flickering with doubt as the situation became more complicated. he’d glance at you more often now, his expression a mix of trust and desperation.

the room grew heavy with the weight of what was happening. time seemed to freeze, your every move calculated and precise, as though you were both operating on autopilot.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, you and mark exchanged a brief glance. he gave you a small nod, his lips pressed in a thin line. it wasn’t much, but it was a signal—a recognition of your shared strength in the face of crisis.

after what felt like an eternity, the patient stabilized, and the immediate threat was over. the two of you stepped back, wiping sweat from your brows and exchanging a tired look.

“good work,” you said quietly, your voice hoarse from the tension of the past few hours.

mark didn’t respond right away. instead, he wiped his hands and took a step closer to you, his expression unreadable.

“thank you,” he said, his voice low. “i don’t know what i would’ve done without you in there.”

you met his gaze, and for a moment, everything else in the room seemed to disappear. there was something in his eyes—a mix of gratitude, admiration, and something deeper that you couldn’t quite name. before you could say anything else, the moment was broken by the sound of the door opening. a nurse walked in to update you both on the patient’s condition. you both straightened up, falling into professional mode once again, but the connection between you lingered in the air, unspoken yet heavy.

it was a few days later when things came to a head. the hospital had quieted down, the frenzy of the past week finally dying down to the usual low hum. mark was finishing a round when you bumped into him in the hallway. he was looking down at his phone, but when he saw you, his eyes softened slightly.

“hey,” he said, tucking his phone away.

“hey.” you smiled, and for a moment, the weight of the hospital life seemed to melt away. it was just the two of you in this small moment of peace.

“i was thinking about what happened the other day,” mark began, his voice hesitant.

you frowned, a bit unsure of where this conversation was going. “what do you mean?”

“the procedure,” he clarified, his gaze meeting yours. “how you stayed calm. how you just… took charge. i don’t know what i would’ve done without you.”

“you would’ve figured it out,” you replied automatically. “you always do.”

mark shook his head, stepping a bit closer. “no, i don’t think i would have. you didn’t just help me in there, y/n. you… you made me believe that i wasn’t alone in this. you’re not just a colleague. you’re…”

he trailed off, his words hanging in the air between you. the tension in his expression deepened, his vulnerability laid bare in that moment.

and you, too, felt the shift—the silent understanding that had been growing between you both. something unspoken, yet undeniable. you took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “mark, we’ve been doing this for a long time. i think we’ve both been pretending that everything is fine when we both know it isn’t. we can’t keep ignoring this, whatever it is between us.”

mark was quiet for a moment. then, slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours in a simple, yet profound gesture.

“i don’t want to ignore it,” he said quietly. “not anymore.”

and in that instant, you knew. this wasn’t just a fleeting connection—it was the beginning of something more. something that would require both of you to be vulnerable, to face the challenges ahead, and to step forward together, no longer afraid of the space between you.

the days after the procedure were a whirlwind of patient rounds, late-night shifts, and brief moments stolen between surgeries. but through it all, the unspoken connection between you and mark remained, growing stronger with each passing day. it was no longer just a shared understanding of the chaos of the hospital. it was something more—a mutual recognition of the uncharted territory you both had entered, a place that blurred the lines between professional respect and something deeper.

one evening, after a particularly draining 24-hour shift, you found yourself standing by the elevator, waiting for the door to open. your mind was foggy, your body ached from the exhaustion of being on your feet for so long. when the elevator finally arrived, you stepped in and pressed the button for the parking garage, the silence inside the small space almost deafening.

but as the doors were about to close, a hand shot out, stopping them. mark stepped in, his expression weary but still holding that quiet intensity you’d come to recognize. “hey,” he said, his voice low, the exhaustion evident in his tone.

you gave him a tired smile. “hey. didn’t expect to see you this late.”

mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i could say the same about you.” he glanced at you, his eyes lingering just a second longer than usual. “how are you holding up?”

you gave a nonchalant shrug, though the truth was, you felt like you were running on fumes. “surviving, i guess.”

the elevator descended in silence, the hum of the machinery the only sound between you. then, just before the doors opened to the parking garage, mark spoke again. “y/n…” he started, his voice a little strained. “i need to tell you something.”

you turned to him, feeling the weight of his words before they even left his mouth. the elevator door opened, and you both stepped out into the dimly lit parking garage. “what's going on?” you asked, your curiosity piqued, but there was a quiet tension in your chest—something that told you this wasn’t just small talk.

mark stopped walking for a moment, his hand reaching out as if to steady himself. his gaze was intense, and for a moment, you saw that vulnerability that had been slowly building between you two—he was struggling with something, something he hadn’t yet shared. his usual calm composure was slipping, and you could feel the weight of it.

“i’ve been thinking about… us,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “about how things have been between us lately. and it’s…” he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. “it’s confusing.”

you met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. “confusing?”

mark nodded, his expression tight. “i don’t know what’s happening, but every time i’m with you… it feels like there’s something else, something more, that neither of us is saying. i don’t want to ignore it anymore. i can’t.”

the words hit you like a wave crashing over you, sudden and powerful. you stood frozen for a moment, trying to process the emotions that were bubbling up inside you. he felt it too. this unspoken tension between you, this pull that neither of you could deny.

“mark,” you began, your voice quieter than you intended. “i…” you hesitated, your own emotions catching in your throat. “i don’t know what to say. i’ve felt it too, but i didn’t want to—”

but before you could finish, mark closed the gap between you, his hand gently cupping your face. the touch was so tender, it made your breath catch in your throat.

“i don’t want to keep pretending that i’m fine with just being your colleague,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “i don’t think i can anymore.”

your heart pounded in your chest as you stared up at him, the distance between you almost nonexistent. his face was inches from yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. the space between you, once filled with the weight of unspoken words, was now filled with something undeniable.

“i don’t want to pretend either,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “but this… it’s not just something we can ignore. we can’t pretend like it’s just going to go away.”

mark nodded, his eyes searching yours, looking for some kind of confirmation. “i know,” he said softly. “but i think… i think we should stop pretending.”

before you could answer, mark closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. the world seemed to fall away in that moment, the only thing that mattered was the heat of his kiss and the quiet realization that everything had changed.

the kiss was slow, unsure at first, as if both of you were still processing the enormity of the moment. but as it deepened, the uncertainty melted away, replaced by a growing sense of belonging. mark’s hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if afraid you might slip away.

when you finally broke the kiss, your breath was shallow, your chest rising and falling rapidly. you looked up at him, and for the first time, you saw something in his eyes that you hadn’t before—something raw, something real.

“y/n,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “i’m not sure where this will go. i don’t know what happens next. but i want to find out. with you.”

you took a deep breath, your mind racing with everything you were feeling. the uncertainty, the fear, the excitement—it was all there, tangled together. but as you looked at mark, standing so close to you, you knew that whatever came next, it was something you wanted to face with him by your side.

“i’m in,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you. “i don’t know what this means, but i want to see where it goes, too.”

mark smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. “then let’s figure it out together.”

and in that moment, you realized that, for all the uncertainty that lay ahead, there was one thing you were sure of: you weren’t alone anymore.

masterlist

hey guys!! this was a request! i hope u like it! @thevirginsuicidenotes

[lanafofana]

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁

Hehehehe

Xx

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

The answer to this will never be no 😘

“I don’t have any magic,” she said doubtfully.

Gale waves off her concern. “Think of it like plaiting a rope. I will provide the material to be wielded, you only need to move as I instruct you. Together we will twist the rope into being.”

So they arranged themselves side by side. He showed her the physical aspect of the incantation and felt his skin prickle under her solemn stare as her eyes flicked to each part of his body as it moved. She copied him, grim faced but her actions were exact and he felt the magic begin to catch.

He shared with her the words and gave her an encouraging smile when doubt and unease twisted out from her eyes like pale lanterns. She repeated them in her low velvet voice soft but firm around each unfamiliar syllable and despite himself he felt a rush of something in response to her tone.

The magic, he thought to himself dismissively, merely the manifestation of the Weave.

The final instruction was the most critical so he spoke as clearly as he could without artifice or poetry. Harmony, he stressed and did not know what to make of the face she gave him. Utter confusion.

“A childhood memory?” he tried but her lips drew thin and she looked suddenly much older than he supposed her to be.

“I think, wizard, even if I could pull a memory from that cask of oil you would see something far different than harmony.”

“Music then, surely a verse must linger in your memory from poetry or song. Some lyrics you find your mind repeating though no music plays?”

Her gaze is distant and a little sad. “I have none. But tell me wizard what is the point of the instruction? Give me something else or else this lesson will be for naught.”

Gale thinks long and hard and at last he admits, “The truth of it is that it is through harmony the subject could at last open themselves to the mother of magic, to bare yourself down to the core of yourself. Harmony is by the easiest. Not a rending of the soul entire but a jab, a peek, a key hole through which you surrender yourself, opening yourself to her.”

“Is that all,” mutters Tav, staring at the ground with a furrowed brow.

He’s ready to cease the lesson and retreat, ready to release his tenuous hold on the flimsy filaments of magic they have begun to call together from the aether when she places her hands to her breast as if to pray.

Her face is a rictus of concentration, jaw tight, shoulders nearly bowed. The silence between them stretches long and dark and he almost suggests an end to it. His mouth is open the words on his tongue the color of disappointment but acceptance. They curl against his teeth, ready for release. Some are not meant for the study or application of magic and it was perhaps a little foolish of him to cast aside her initial concerns so dismissively.

In the same breath he might have spoken, he feels it. The tendrils of weave snagging on the trembling wings of her spirit and fanning out like a blaze. The air around them is suddenly flooded with magic so potent it sings in his veins and sends his heart skipping like a fool in love.

“You did it,” he breathes.

She stares at the evidence of her success, a little awed a little dumbstruck, and a little afraid.

“How does it feel?”

The only time Gale has ever felt the tiniest bit of regret for being a wizard prodigy is when he sees others experience the Weave for the first time. There is not a memory in his head that is not tinged with the presence of it. What must if be like he wonders, drinking in the expression on her face, to never know a thing as big and as eternal as the Weave and suddenly come face to face with it.

Tav stares around at the magic in the air. There is no sense she possesses that could contain the words needed to express what she feels. It is more than sight or taste or touch or smell. It is something both heavy and light and it lingers against her skin, her mind, her heart. How does it feel? She would need an eon to quantify it and another eon to describe it with mortal words.

It was the first wedding bell ringing in spring. It was rich soil after a heavy rain, swollen with potential for new growth. It was the horror of a building hollowed out by fire. It was the sensation of standing under the eye of a goddess and being perceived for exactly what she was.

“It’s…a lot,” she finally says, finding more truth in those small humble words than any other description that flitters against her mind. “Too much to take in all at once. Light and air and a tingling that starts in the fingers and zips down to the toes. Art and poetry indeed.”

He smiles though, a handsome thing. Self assured, cocky, proud, blazing bright like a star and she feels the breath stutter out of her lungs.

They linger in the pocket of Weave for a moment or an age. When she turns to look at him a question dies on her tongue before it can be born as something unfolds in her mind’s eye. A sudden vision of Gale, of how she imagines his future when all this mess is sorted.

Humming happily to himself, walking down a street, on his chest— in place of the orb— his skin is blemish free. He calls out with a smile and wave and she sees herself turning to look. A smile on her own face. He holds out a hand and she reaches for it, the sun is high and hot and they are content.

It’s such a beautiful daydream she feels the corners of her mouth twitch in response but through the vision she sees his face beyond it. Surprised mostly, and she realizes she’s projecting her errant daydream between them. Before the vision of his hand can grasp hers the image dematerializes as cold dread seizes her heart and twists it like a dishrag, wringing sour embarrassment and shame where before there had only been the warmth of basking in his pride.

If she had known what thoughts trailed like branching streams through is mind she wouldn’t have worried half so much or at least not about the same things. Gale himself hardly knew except that his heart was aching as if split open and he felt both warm and hot for opposite reasons and they clamored for control in his breast and his brain.

It was a simple spell often done in an apprentice’s first year at Blackstaff. Something to give them a taste for the Weave if they were unfamiliar or better their focus if they were. Most students had the same vision on completion and their thoughts tumbled loud and braying into his before they had learned to contain them and ward off the eyes of others. Visions of success or homesickeness or which student they hoped was watching. The pride of being singled out by the professor for exceptional wizardry. The impatience for doing something harder, grander, greater.

She had shown him none of it but that her greatest wish in that moment was to see him whole and happy unburdened by his curse. She had hardly starred in her own vision except perhaps as an afterthought. That she might someday bear witness to a Gale of the future. A future she thinks he is owed. He is dumbstruck by it. He doesn’t think the image will ever not be emblazoned across his mind.

“Thank you for showing me your magic, Gale,” she says, looking off to the side to avoid his gaze. “It was…quite something.”

“Yes,” he murmurs, staring at her in profile and wondering if experiencing the Weave for the first time could hold a candle to being seen so purely by another. “Quite something,”

She flashes him a smile and he sees the walls going up again but he can’t do anything but watch as she turns and walks away.

more asks here fam 👁️🫦👁️

[pinepickled]

I don't hate Scott. I think he is an interesting character on occasion (like when the narrative challenges his ideals) and I wouldn't bother watching the show if I didn't find him funny.

But also, you're just wrong. Malia thought correctly that Scott wouldn't support her. Teen Wolf in the buildup to the series finale shows several times that Scott 1. Knows what she's doing, so idk why you say "when he found out he helped her" because he knew at least 10 episodes before he helped, 2. That he disapproves of her path and thinks she's getting too much blood on her hands, and 3. Only helps when it's clear she's not going to take another path and the desert wolf will not spare her, which btw is another lesson in hypocrisy for Scott.

Scott doesn't want killing to be an answer at all. Like I said in that post you didn't read, there are several instances of justified self defense killing that happen in the series, and whether Scott holds the person accountable seems to rely only on how much he likes them. When the two werewolves from Satomi's pack kill a hunter to survive, again I'm repeating myself because you didn't read, Scott harshly criticizes them and ostracized them for what they did, claiming they took innocent lives just because their eyes turned blue- a phenomenon impossible to reliably track on who is considered innocent and guilty, by the way. Not even to mention that Deucalion and Ethan together killed so many damn people, and yet Scott let him walk free as well as Gerard, but Theo had to go for doing objectively less heinous shit than the lot of them.

That's what I'm trying to point out to you, but I guess you're a Scott stan so you can't take any criticism of your precious baby. He doesn't have a consistent moral compas on who gets redeemed for killing and who doesn't. Just vibes. And again, he never has to make that decision himself. You bring up not wanting to be the monster Monroe sees him as in 6B? Then why did he try to get Peter and Deucalion to kill her for him? In a way the writing specifically acknowledges? Why does Scott bring up that he knows he is failing to take responsibility for the dirty work his ideals need? Is it somehow better that he gets other people to kill instead of himself?

More importantly, how many people does Monroe need to kill, how many lives do her and her gang need to destroy, until Scott pulling the metaphorical trigger is justified to himself? Apparently she's killed enough to put Peter on her path, just not Scott himself.

You say it yourself: *think*. He doesn't want to be the monster Monroe *thinks* he is. Why is he concerned with what a genocidal maniac thinks? To protect his own psyche, like op originally said, so thank you for showing you do actually understand the point. He cannot accept that to keep his pack from literally being wiped off the map, he might have to seem like a monster to like 2 people.

Also, it's very morally ironic that Scott thinks in "good vs bad" "monster vs human" so much because it betrays how egotistical he is. His ideology, like I said in that post you didn't read, demands that he believe there are shades of gray, but he outright rejects that notion again and again. Notice that not once in teen wolf does he ever call an immoral human a monster: only immoral shapeshifters. That doesn't betray something to you?

Some musings about Scott's morality (probably not very common and a little controversial)

Scott McCall’s adherence to his no-kill rule can be seen as both a moral stance and a psychological defense mechanism, shaped by his own fears, insecurities, and desire to preserve his innocence. At its core, Scott’s refusal to kill, even when faced with situations that may arguably call for it, reflects a deeper internal struggle to maintain a clear sense of right and wrong. However, this rigid adherence to his ideals, especially when it leads to others suffering, reveals underlying contradictions in his character.

Scott's moral code is largely centered on protecting his own sense of innocence and moral purity. By clinging to the no-kill rule, he avoids the emotional burden of directly taking a life, even if it means allowing harm to befall others. Psychologically, this allows Scott to protect his self-image as a "good" person. His reluctance to engage in lethal violence can be seen as a defense against the guilt and moral ambiguity that would come with making more ruthless choices.

In the case of the Kanima, Scott's refusal to kill Jackson despite the clear threat he posed to others shows how his need to maintain his moral boundaries outweighs the immediate threat to those around him. His insistence on finding non-lethal solutions, while noble, reflects an almost selfish prioritization of his internal morality over the safety of others.

There’s also an aspect of moral superiority in Scott’s unwavering no-kill stance. He often positions himself as the moral compass of the group, but this also gives him a sense of control over situations. By dictating that no one should kill, Scott maintains his leadership position and moral authority. However, this control is built on a framework that isn’t always flexible or responsive to the nuanced, dangerous situations he faces. His rigid moral stance can put others at risk, as seen when lives are endangered by the Kanima’s rampage while Scott focuses on preserving Jackson’s life.

Scott's no-kill rule can be seen as a form of psychological conflict avoidance. Killing someone would force him to confront the darker aspects of his role as a supernatural leader and protector. By adhering strictly to his rule, Scott avoids the internal conflict that would come from crossing that line. In a way, Scott’s reluctance to kill is an avoidance mechanism that keeps him from fully engaging with the morally complex world he inhabits, allowing him to maintain a black-and-white view of morality.

While Scott views his refusal to kill as a form of self-sacrifice, it can often lead to the sacrifice of others instead. In situations like the Kanima case, where innocent lives are at stake, Scott’s refusal to make the hard choice arguably protects his own conscience more than it protects the people he’s responsible for. This can be seen as an attempt to shield himself from the psychological toll of killing, while others bear the physical consequences of his inaction. It’s a form of indirect selfishness—by preserving his own sense of moral integrity, he unintentionally places the burden of suffering on others.

Scott’s no-kill rule is a complex and flawed psychological mechanism. While it is rooted in a genuine desire to be morally upright, it often causes harm by preventing him from making hard but necessary choices. His strict adherence to this rule can be seen as a defense against guilt, moral ambiguity, and the loss of his own innocence, but it also exposes him as someone who prioritizes his internal morality over the safety and well-being of those he is meant to protect. In this way, Scott's idealism becomes a form of moral tunnel vision, where the desire to remain "good" leads to greater harm for those around him.

[the-genius-az]

There are times when I read Azula fics where she tells of her suffering, but the characters always tell her that she doesn't feel sorry for herself, but... why shouldn't she? Her family is shit to her, she was trained from a young age, forced to be perfect, she went to war at fourteen (Or less), she was betrayed and left by everyone she loved, she had a mental breakdown, her own brother he took everything from her and put her in an asylum.

And there are even more things! So why? Why shouldn't he complain and kick? all the characters have done it, however Azula hasn't, they all cry and "feel sorry for themselves", but Azula isn't allowed to do it? that's not fair.

[metanarrates]

chat i need to get further in my orv reread. so i can write fanfiction about yoo mia.

[cosmicgamer]

I'll never understand why the TOH crew changed Luz getting bullied for her weirdness that's not actually hurting anybody in the pilot to her being an actual menace who's usually not properly called out for her bullshit because she's just misunderstood

[possamble]

What are your headcanons about Marcille's mom if you have any? It's interesting that what drew Donato to her was cause she lived the history he studied, or that was said somewhere at least. She must've had an interesting life.

so this was going to be just a normal answer but then I realized I have a Lot of Things To Say. so here goes, a compilation of what we know for a fact from the canon, what I've extrapolated from the visual cues and details, and my theories based on all of that.

Things we know for a fact about Marcille's mother because they were explicitly stated in the manga and supplemental materials:

She was a court mage for a Tall-man kingdom at the southern part of the Northern Continent

Donato, a court historian, fell in love with her because she had lived through the history he was studying, and he courted her for 17 years (age 15 to 32) before getting married

She was a cheerful person who rarely showed extreme emotion and took things as they came

She always cooked a huge meal for Marcille on her birthdays

She remarried a gnome after Donato's death and a short distance away from Marcille's childhood home

Pipi, Marcille's pet bird, was actually older than Marcille and originally belonged to her mother (bird died at 62)

She was extremely heartbroken when Donato died and ultimately ended up instilling a deep fear of mortality in Marcille with her words

the only time she showed extreme emotion in front of her family was when Donato could no longer eat his favourite dish near the end of his life.

She scolded Marcille for being cruel to ants (implying she can have a stern side when needed)

Things that are explicitly shown but mostly through visual cues

She has a very distinctive style of dress always involving a ribbon choker (mirroring Marcille's habit of always wearing a matching choker with any of her outfits that don't cover her neck)

She was almost stereotypically good at housekeeping and traditionally "wifely" things (very frequently depicted wearing an apron or doing some domestic chore when not at work, seems to have been an avid cook).

She knits? (also, note the affectionate smile as she's looking at Donato and Marcille reading a book together in the full panel)

She was as excited for Marcille's milestones as Donato was.

She didn't tell Marcille much about elven food

(there are a couple things that this panel in particular implies:

She lived a good deal of her life (if not being born and raised) in a mainly elven country in the West, implied by her knowing enough of an elven region's cuisine to prefer Tall-man food over it

seems to have a pretty carefree and casual demeanour overall, if this is how she replied to Marcille asking her about it (sounds like she never gave her culinary preferences that much thought to begin with)

slightly related to number 2, it seems like she and Marcille had a fairly casual parent-child dynamic (especially in comparison to the Toudens' memory of their father)

(local elf tastes Italian food once and never goes back))

However, she seems a lot more... serious in most of the other times we see her? Almost like the very stereotypical archetype of a graceful elf.

Subsequent conclusions about her personality:

Usually pretty carefree and cheerful at home, has been a loving and attentive parent throughout Marcille's childhood (while not being so doting that she didn't discipline Marcille).

Slightly more conjectural theories on her personality:

Had a much more graceful and professional personality at work, which would explain the more serious portraits we see of her.

Given that both she and Donato had positions at the royal court, it seems a little odd that she'd go out of her way to do all the housework herself, so maybe she just enjoyed doing it?

Now taping all the evidence together and toeing the line between analysis and fanfiction:

It's clear that she loved Donato very much and was utterly devastated by losing him. But there's one thing that really stuck out to me in what little we see of her:

Doesn't she seem... angry? The way she's gritting her teeth, clutching the tablecloth, and how this is the first and only time we see her eyes opened that wide. In the following panel, you see her being quiet and dejected after her initial outburst. She's still crying very intensely, but her brows are furrowed, and she's not really responding to Donato's affection in her body language.

We're not told the details of how she felt about losing Donato other than that it upset her. But this, to me, implies that she was angry and resented that he was aging, that the end of his life was approaching. An "it's not fair" type of preemptive grief. And if this was the first and last time she cried like this in front of her family, she was either very good at coping in private... or very bad at letting herself feel unpleasant emotions until they become unavoidable and end up overwhelming her.

It's not too remarkable a detail on the surface. It's even reminiscent of what the audience has seen of Marcille. But... when it comes to the big picture, you'd think an elf who voluntarily chose to marry a tall-man and have a half-elf child would have been better prepared for this.

It kind of recontextualizes her cheerfulness to me.

"I'm sure everything's gonna be okay!" (or some variation thereof, depending on what translation you have).

And this is stated to contrast her extreme grief when finally confronting Donato's failing body and eventual death. But I'm wondering if... maybe this optimism was why she was so upset. What if she went into all of it thinking "everything's gonna be okay"? What if she was a little young by elven standards, and just followed her heart thinking that her own resilience would get her through anything?

Of course, only to get completely overwhelmed when she actually loses Donato. She turns into a completely different person. And that's heartbreaking on its own-- but what the audience sees is the effect it had on Marcille. Can you imagine being her, watching your invincible and upbeat mother suddenly lose all the light in her eyes in one go?

I've already made a huge post about how I think Marcille models her "work persona" off her mother, but another thing that stuck with me as I was looking for more details in the manga was this:

copy pasting from the other post i made about it lmao it's like... the second she resigns herself to lifelong pain and terror, there's another portrait of her mother facing her like this. with their heads bowed, in mirrored body language of resignation and despair and sorrow. Except it's posed like Marcille is still looking at her mother but her mother is looking away.

It took me a second to realize, but I think that it's a visual metaphor for the fact that Marcille's mother was the only long-lived role model she had-- and she failed to model healthy grief for her daughter. I don't say this as an accusation or to disparage her as a character, but just as a matter of fact. In her, Marcille was seeing herself older and losing a short-lived spouse or loved one of her own, and all she saw was hopelessness.

But her mother didn't mean to instill hopelessness and terror in her. She wasn't really thinking of how it would truly affect Marcille at all (at least, that's how I'm interpreting her looking down and away from Marcille in the metaphor), she was just sad. And she, in her own way, was trying to protect her daughter and help her prepare for future losses.

What she meant was "loss is inevitable, and you have to learn how to be in pain but live on anyway." What Marcille heard was "loss is inevitable, and you will be scared and hurt for the rest of your life."

Again. Marcille's mother doesn't feature explicitly in the story the way her father does -- but in so many ways, her shadow, her silhouette, her reflection is always hanging over Marcille.

All that to say... headcanon-wise (everything from here on is 100% without evidence lmao), I'd like to think that she matured and realized that she failed Marcille. I imagine her being regretful about it, wanting a chance to fix it but never finding a way to insert herself back into Marcille's life when Marcille is so so so busy becoming the most accomplished mage possible. I imagine her being herself again, now, so many years after her loss and after remarrying -- but with her cheerfulness tempered with a lot more wisdom and the pain of having gone through loss like that. I think the second Marcille actually tells her what happened in the dungeon, she'd want to go running to her daughter again -- if Marcille tells her the full truth instead of just being embarrassed she let things get that far. (oh, the tragedy of her wanting to be more like her mother and an accomplished adult who doesn't need to be babied... being embarrassed to actually tell her mother how much she fucked up...)

There's also the tension of her having remarried -- I know that there's at least a little bit of resentment that Marcille harbours about that, because she's childish like that at heart even if she makes an effort not to externalize it. I think that her mother would be aware of that, potentially adding to her sense of guilt and apprehension at trying to reappear/intrude on Marcille's life. I honestly don't think Marcille has met her stepfather -- or even considers him a stepfather rather than "mama's new husband" and kind of a total stranger. I think she and her mother actively don't talk about it in their correspondence, like an elephant in the room.

but, ultimately, I think her mother is on her side no matter what. Ancient magic? Dark necromancy? Sure, she'll feel guilty and like she was partially responsible for setting Marcille down such a painful path, but she wouldn't care. that's her daughter!! she would've moved back west and been petitioning for her at the court, buying a house right next to the Canaries barracks and visiting her every day that she wasn't on a mission. And if her husband had opinions on Marcille becoming a "dark arts user," he either gets over it or it's divorce with him. Yes, she might have had her optimism completely humbled by losing Donato like that -- but she's still headstrong and self-assured and she doesn't care what people think of her. It's her way or the highway and she's always going to be in Marcille's corner.

(She also needs a name lol. I went with Juno, just to be cute about "Marcille"s closest real life equivalent being Marcella, which is the female version of Marcellus, which in turn is a diminutive of Marcus, which was derived from Mars. Absolutely in love with Marcille potentially being named after Ares/Mars the fucking god of war btw)

[danwhobrowses]

For anyone else who is gonna struggle surviving the next 3 weeks with the angsty and tense situation of Callowmoore here's a few things from the last 2 episodes that I feel were underrated and will assist in trying to keep me sane/emotionally stable: - Matching messed up hands built for holding - Fearne nervously playing with her hair as she approaches Ashton - Ashton wanted Fearne to be either the last thing they saw if they died or the first thing they saw when they succeeded - Fearne's admittance corroborates Ashley's 4SD revelation that Fearne is in love with someone in the party but doesn't know how to process the emotions - Fearne wanted Ashton to be happy, while Ashton wanted to feel whole so they would be worthy of the Hells - Ashton twice tried to lead a search for Fearne, and instantly clocking onto Chetney saying he followed Fearne - Fearne making herself look as radiant as possible before giving Ashton the cold shoulder - Ashton only rose to Chetney's provocations until he said 'You hurt Fearne' Use how you will

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

ok ok its my fault for being on reddit but r/houseofthedragon rn full of people arguing that demon and his 99% neck lizard have a stronger bond than aegon and sunfyre and it's so fucking frustrating that its entirely condolt's fucking fault that this is even a fucking argument because he thinks the greatest bond between a dragon and his rider to ever go that fucking hard in this universe is pRopaganda and gives dae mon and car ax es more screentime. i'm just so fucking done man. never showed us sunfyre TRULY until it was time for demon jr the anime edgelord to attack him and aegon, never get the fact that sunfyre is literally on aegon's arms, never got the coronation flying, DIDN'T GET ANYTHING UNTIL IT WAS TIME TO FUCK HIM UP FOR THE PLOT.

i wish this mf would get fucking fired before he has a chance to touch these two anymore because I don't think i can handle how he will underplay and butcher the fact that this dragon literally fought tooth and claw with a broken wing to find his way back to his rider.

[caeslxys]

What didn't gel for you with the ritual? Was it how Delilah is still... kinda around? Or how the characters reacted?

The Delilah thing has me concerned but I felt it was an overall positive for Laudna, and I'm just curious of your thoughts!

oh I'm actually elated delilah is still around, if she were perma-gone I would've honestly had more problems with it 💀

not because it isn't a wonderful thing for laudna! it is! I'm so happy she has more control over her life and choices!! she deserves it so much!!

but. as someone deeply invested in that narrative. that its been built up for about 100 episodes (I believe it was 4, when delilah was first officially revealed?) and was (semi-)concluded in a ritual that took less than an hour to complete, that they discovered less than a full game ago, and that they proceeded to then not talk about at all in any significant way was deeply disappointing. a culmination that should have been this massive emotional upheaval fell overall flat to me bc of how rushed it felt.

But that's just me! and some of it was my own expectations and my own distaste for the pinion as a solution since well before they realized that's what it could be. but at least she's still there! so it's not truly over yet!

[elisedonut]

Trans boy Percy can be a lot of fun

just a lot of people have a tendency to make it something he comes out about Pre-canon and that it changes nothing

while I'm over here like I firmly believe that Molly would not have continued having kids if she thought she already had a daughter

and i think she would be annoying as hell about him figuring himself out I just think she would be so disrespectful about it

Molly would be a "but your ruining yourself! you are my baby girl!" while crying type of parent and I believe that in my heart

She would guilt trip Percy like crazy about it while feeling 100% like she's doing the right thing.

Do I think that maybe she would realize after a few years that she's being absolutely terrible? I mean like I would hope so

[itspileofgoodthings]

tags continued from prev post.

[go-setyoursoulonfire]

Man, Monster High G3 really did not want to commit to giving Toralei a redemption arc. In the season 1 finale she seemed to take a step on the right track...and then promptly did a 180 for the rest of the show.

[athalantan]

There's so much fucked about the My.stra's daughters situation, but what happened with Elue breaks my heart the most. Because Mys.tra didn't have to possess someone in order to have children. Evidence points to the contrary. But, what's important to remember is that Mys.tra didn't get hit by baby fever. No, she was specifically breeding potential Chosen she hoped would fit her needs and loyalty requirements. Possessing Elue's body to birth them ensured they would be completely mortal, albeit with a few advantages. There's no indication they have a shred of divinity beyond what Mys.tra imparted when they became her Chosen. There's no risk of losing control / them trying to usurp her — or at least there's significantly less risk. And, Elue paid the price in blood.

[puzzlekinq]

cant sleep because im seething with anger