#mactoism

ALWAYS ACCEPTING ┊ send me a topic, i’ll write a meta

@mactoism

Alright, I’ll try and answer this as cohesively as I can, but Nimue and love of any sort is always going to be a complicated subject matter.

NIM && ROMANTIC LOVE

It’s not so much that Nimue doesn’t believe in love - she’s seen some very real examples of it in her time - it’s more along the lines that she doesn’t believe in it for herself. Other people are allowed to have that reckless, fly in the face of fate, all consuming sort of feeling but either she can’t or she won’t allow it in her own bubble of existence. I’ve said it time and time again, but Nimue here doesn’t believe that people are capable of loving her on more than a surface level. She’s like the water upon which Narcissus sees his reflection. People don’t fall in love with her, they fall in love with what they see mirrored upon her.

In a way she’s also afraid of falling in love. She’s seen what havoc it can wreak in the lives of others. ( ie. Lancelot and her mother Elaine, Lancelot & Gwenhwyfar, Tristan & Isolde, Pelleas & Ettarde ) She doesn’t have time for that, she doesn’t want love if all it’s going to do is hurt. That aside, she’s also one of those people that realizes that sometimes love ( no matter how great or how epic ) just isn’t enough or that it’s not quite as equally matched and one person has to sacrifice more than the other. It doesn’t conquer all and it certainly doesn’t heal all wounds. If anything, it creates more of its own. There’s a very real chance that she can’t be what she needs to be both for herself and for other people, if she allows love to consume her life.

AND YET Nimue has a soft spot for romance and the romantics. She loves love poetry - later on her immortal life, she’s a rather avid fan of Sir Thomas Wyatt and E. E. Cummings - and music full of longing and heartache. Though she’s convinced herself she doesn’t need the feeling, it doesn’t mean that somewhere deep down she doesn’t secretly want it. After all, who doesn’t want to be understood, to be looked at underneath the glistening surface and wanted for your darkest depths too? 

Not to mention the entire thing with Pelleas is a testament to the fact that Nimue fully endorses and believes in love for other other people, that her heart is capable of breaking for the woes and tragedies of others. Though she tries not to announce it to the world, she’s a very empathetic creature when it comes to the broken down and ill-used. She’s naturally protective, nurturing and she gets angry at the world for them. She’ll do things in their name - to make their hurt better - that she would never normally do for herself.

As far as soulmates go, Nimue is pretty on the fence. She certainly believes that there are people who are connected to one another forever, through time and space. There are people who will fall in love time and time and time again, and there are people who - while not necessarily in love - are destined to circle one another for the rest of all eternity. But as to the idea that there is only one soulmate for a person, that there’s only this one great love and that’s that? She’s not sure that she can agree, nor is she particularly certain that the concept is as beautiful as we would all like to make it out to be. ( Also boo on the idea that soul connections are only made between lovers! )

NIM && PLATONIC LOVE

For the most part Nimue is incapable of having platonic relationships. People - both men and women - rarely approach her without some ulterior motive in mind. A LOT of the time, people will use friendship as a pretense to get close to her when all they want to do is really force her or corral her into feeling something more or doing something physical. It’s very much the same concept as her feeling that people aren’t capable of loving her on more than a surface level ; why would anyone love her and why would anyone want to be her friend?

And with this frameset in mind - that people only ever want something - it’s incredibly hard for her to let her guard down and cultivate the trust and security that goes into a platonic relationship. She’s just not good at opening herself up to people, she’s borderline terrified of the idea. Because - by the people that should have loved her, the ones that should have mattered - she’s found nothing but rejection. She’s emotionally stunted and she’s never understood what it is to be comforted by someone else. So now she doesn’t know how to let herself take comfort in someone else.

That being said, I’m actually in the camp where I believe that her canon relationship with Pelleas is one based on platonic love. ( Now, I know they supposedly have a child together, but I’m willing to argue that child is adopted. ) BECAUSE, going back to what I was talking about with Nimue being naturally protective and nurturing, it makes sense that she took in an ailing heartsick Pelleas and welcomed him into her hearth. They were kindred spirits. A fondness was developed from their mutual loneliness and they both needed someone ; they both needed that feeling of companionship and protection. In that way they fell into a rhythm where they were a part of one another’s lives and they grew to love one another, but it was a pure and chaste love.

I say this bc at the end of Le Morte, it talks about how Pelleas achieved the Sangreal and he couldn’t have done this if he’d been performing his husbandly duties with Nim in their underwater castle.

NIM && HEARTBREAK

…Nimue doesn’t handle heartbreak well — if at all. She just doesn’t have enough experience in it, and to assume that she broke down all these walls that she has in order to love someone, well…

What she does have fantastic experience however is swallowing her emotions and not allowing anyone to know that she’s suffering. She’ll pretend that she’s fine, and she’ll make a damn good show of it too. A lot of the time she’ll put distance between herself and source of her pain, create a new routine that doesn’t include them and follow it to the letter. Out of sight, out of mind ; until she’s alone with a moment to think for herself, that is. Nim carries her wounds with her and she doesn’t allow them to breathe and heal, so they’re always open and bleeding. 

Given the situation, she’s also one to demand retribution. ( Betrayal is the one surefire way to make Nim go from 0 to 1000. ) In situations where she and Galahad are close, it takes all the will power in the world she has not to go out and murder Lance then and there. If there’s something tangible for her to take out her anger on, it’s going to be destroyed. She spends so much time pretending that she doesn’t feel any emotion, that when she breaks it’s an entire flood that gets let loose. 

ACCEPTING ┊ the idylls of the queen

@mactoism ┊ Catalina de Aragón

      — ☼ —                   ❝ Nay, My Queen, nay. ❞ He speaks his disagreement in a soft voice ; a genuine tone reserved solely for the auburn haired creature whose round face he cradles between his hands. Though she had come to England quiet and reserved, her true nature had begun to shine in the months since their marriage. Catherine - his Spanish Catalina - had proven to be stout and fiery, slow to anger but stubborn when tested. A grin marks his lips as they come to rest atop her head, brushing the fine hairs at her crown. She’s so tiny — tinier still when compared to his great height.

❝ I once thought as much, ❞ he admits after a time. With the deaths of his father and brother ; the blatant disrespect in the treatment of their corpses…Edward had once been sick with the need for revenge. It had been a fever - a fury - that he had once masked as a need for justice. To fight fire with fire — surely it was the only way? He had become a legend on the battlefield through that anger, cutting down body after body so that Lancaster’s precious red blood stained the very earth. 

But he had learned - much to Warwick’s chagrin - that temperance too had it’s place.

❝ Revenge has no end, Wife. One act begets another and so on and so forth, until those who do not die in the fire cannot help but suffocate on the smoke. ❞ It was brutal, it was harsh. It was like an infection of the blood. That was not the type of king he wanted to be ; it was not the kingdom he longed to be known for. There was no glory in revenge, neither immortality nor virtue. Had he not taken for his own motto modus et ordo — method and order?

❝ Justice - true justice - is about balance. I do not always want to be at war ; I do not hate every soul that has ever worn a red rose pinned to their bosom. ❞ The lesser folk often had no choice save for whichever way the wind blew, they were as tired of strife as anyone else. Fate was a fickle mistress, Fortune even more so. Was he to behead every Lancastrian in the whole of England and set their heads upon pikes for those left to see? There would be more heads than spectators, more frightened and angry than appeased. 

       ♱                GABRIEL PERCHED ON THE BACK OF THE BENCH,  knees drawn up to the height of his chest despite the p e r t u r b e d glances of the occasional passersby. Silence reigned between himself and the titian haired creature sitting properly on the seat to his left. For his part, he was content not to talk --- that was all these WRETCHED MONKEYS seemed to do. What, with their endless nagging and moaning, their incessant blaming of everyone and everything but themselves for their problems.

Why oh why were the FAVORITE children always the worst little shits? ( He already knew, of course --- they were allowed to get away with it. )

He rolled a coin between his knuckles - ancient and worn smooth - as he appraised his companion with that hooded, too critical gaze. She was almost exactly as he remembered her, the same sack of skin and flowing hair. Still, it was her S O U L he would have recognized --- any time, anywhere. How beautiful she’d been when the world was still somewhat new; what a shining beacon of Faith and Devotion she’d proven to be when that soul had first been packed into an earthly body. His fondest memories of her were on the battlefield, fighting - fierce and ruthless - not only for country, but for God. 

Not that she remembered any of that now. He envied these talking monkeys their ability to forget - their obliviousness of the world around them. Catalina might never recall her own betrayal, how she’d died feeble and alone. For her - for what she’d been - Gabriel had once wept. Now, all that he harbored was CONTEMPT. 

❝ Are you going to make me stay here all day, watching these apes drag their weighty carcasses to and fro? ❞ Though he offered her a smarmy grin, his voice was reminiscent of a sneer. On this beautiful day, he’d already spotted three pickpockets, a sweaty chimp taking upskirt pictures, and there weren’t enough fingers on his hands to count how many of these ‘happy couples’ were adulterers, enjoying one another rather than their marital beds. 

ACCEPTING ┊ send in a 💀 and I'll make our muses' aesthetics

You know, that one about the lounge singer and the private detective who walk out of a bar.

❝ You really do take your work with you, don’t you? ❞ 

There’s a faint trace of appreciation in her voice, words washing warmly against the private detective’s ear as she settles behind him. Her gaze is trained over Edward’s shoulder, scanning over the papers scattered across the bar. It was last call for drinks and the few stragglers of the night were slowly trudging out of the hotel lounge, either heading back to their rooms or the lonely homes that awaited them this Christmas Eve. Nimue has just given her final rendition of ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ for the year and there’s an aviation cocktail calling her name.

Her smile is somewhat triumphant when he swivels on his stool, eyes meeting eyes in the dimly lit room. It’s all about the mood, isn’t it? The lights, the ambiance? 

❝ Is this the part where you tell me that organized crime doesn’t take holidays? ❞  She arches a golden brow at him, leaning forward to grab her drink as it slides down the counter. Their shoulders touch; she can smell smoke and aftershave...maybe a splash of cologne. Whatever it is, it’s rather lovely. ( Funnily enough, she’d pegged his preferences as leaning towards something more luxurious in the scent department. )

❝ On the contrary, I’m counting on that very thing. ❞ He always spoke so distinctly, as if every syllable that left that mouth of his was nothing but pure, simple matter of fact. ❝ Is there a better time to strike? ❞ 

❝ How deplorably ruthless of you, ❞ the lounge singer can’t help but compliment between sips of her gin and crème de violette. ❝ I suppose there’s some notoriety to be had from shoveling more than snow from the streets on Christmas day. I’m sure King George will love his present. ❞ 

Of course, she doesn’t ask if his family will miss him from hearth and home. That line of questioning opens up the opportunity to pry into her own personal life and the folks up north who are merrier and brighter without her there to dull their shine. Charitable as she could be, there were some things even Nimue didn’t share. Everyone has their reasons, don’t they?

❝ Would you like to come back to my room? ❞ It’s an entirely innocent question, spoken from an idle tongue once she’d drained the remainder of the glass in her hand. ❝ Unlike you and I, the rest of the staff all have places they actually want to be tonight. In any case, I’ve a proper desk you can borrow. ❞ 

For a moment, she thinks he’s going to decline - she can practically see the gears at work behind his slate colored eyes. And that’s fine, really...Nimue has never been one to beg for the attention of others, nor does she mind spending her time alone. ( This certainly wasn’t her first holiday on her own. )  BUT, when he gets up and extends his hand in that age old ‘lead the way’ gesture, the blonde can’t help but feel the delicious thrill of victory. After all, battle was all about gaining ground, wasn’t it?

The ride up the lift to the fourth floor is remarkably silent, each quietly sizing up the other for even the faintest sign of weakness. Edward’s breath catches in his throat. She taps faintly at the metal wall at her back. The looks they share are all too similar, a faint something quirking dangerously on the corners of their mouths.

❝ Home Sweet Home. ❞

She can feel the heat of his breath on the back of her neck as she unlocks the door to her room, allowing him inside before locking it behind them. 

Of course, there’s no need to tell him to make himself at home. Not when he’s striding through each room as if it’s his rather than hers. He stops occasionally, examining small pieces here and there -- She knows what he’s doing; it’s nothing countless others haven’t tried before: As if a trinket here or a bauble there can decipher the code that composes the woman herself. The truth of it is, there’s very little in her room that isn’t carefully curated.

People only ever see what she wants them to see.

❝ I’m sure I’ve got a family photo album lying around somewhere if you’d like to dissect that too. ❞ Amusement is the prevalent emotion in her voice all the same, fingers gripping the lapels of his coat as she pulled it from his taller form. Warmth and comfort were simply tools of the art; Nimue is aware she had a welcoming face.

❝ Are they your photos or ones you’ve picked up along the way? ❞ Clever, clever boy.

❝ A bit of both, I suspect. The key is hiding some truth among all the lies. ❞ 

His touch is warm against the side of her face. Edward’s hands are calloused...worker’s hands, and they drag along the soft skin of her cheeks with a welcome friction.

❝ You want something from me. ❞ His words are less question than statement, his dark gaze searing her with their intensity.

A smile paints the crimson slash of her mouth, pale fingers wrapping delicately around his wrists. 

❝ Nothing you don’t want from me, surely. ❞ Time. Attention. A moment of idolatry? In any case, no one really wanted to be alone this time of year. Keeping her grip steady, she leans forward, bringing their lips together in a dragging experimental caress. He tastes of harder stuff than her cocktail from before, burning her searching tongue and the back of her throat.

                                                           ❝ I get cold easy. ❞ 

The silence that punctuated her words is quickly ruptured by their combined laughter, his hands tangling in Nimue’s honey hair as he pulled her in once more. His kiss was playful but demanding, Edward’s body guiding hers against the wall until she was pinned between plaster and man. 

MODERN AU where Arthur brings home his girlfriend Catalina for the holiday and young Hal finds yet another reason to envy his brother.

He watched her play with Mary in the yard, rolling around a growing ball of snow to use as the base for a snowman. It hadn’t taken more than a minute for the rest of the family to fall in love with Catalina. His little sister clung to her every word, trailing after her in unbridled fascination. And why not? She was a striking woman, a beacon of light and warmth with her round face and endless auburn hair. Even the cold English weather was becoming on her, giving the Spanish girl a proper flush on her nose and cheeks.

Arthur was a lucky man -- he always had been.

Hal knew it was a sin to covet thy neighbor, let alone one’s own brother...but could you blame him? Arthur had everything. Being the eldest might not have been anything great if it hadn’t come with Father’s favoritism, his time and attention. Even though he was weak and sickly, among the Tudor brood, Arthur would always be the golden child. He was well on his way to taking up Father’s mantle, of having it all in the palm of his hand. And now, he’d grabbed Catalina up too.

Would Henry always be left begging for scraps?

He pinched himself bitterly, hating the train of his thoughts. Hal loved his older brother, he really did. Arthur was smart and capable -- after all, he too was a Tudor through and through. He deserved this happiness, the younger brother knew. It was just....hard to be on the outside, always waiting on the wings like the spare tire he knew himself to be. He’d only ever be of use if Arthur went flat.

If it wouldn’t have broken his mother’s heart, he might have spent that Christmas away. Of course, even Thomas took a break for the holiday season, so there were no lessons in morality or understanding of the law to be had. Charles would have been around, he was certain of that. Surely there was sport to be found somewhere this time of year? If not, they would have rooted it up from the cold hard ground all the same...much to his father’s chagrin.

Alas, he’d never have met her if he’d stayed away.

The snowball that smacked him in the cheek was cold and wet, followed by peals of merry laughter from the girls that had conspired to throw it. Although he cast a harsh, disapproving glare their way it quickly dissolved into good-natured chuckling, a faint spring added to his step as he casually walked closer, leaning low to scoop up some of the powdery fluff for himself.

                                               ❝ I take it you ladies want WAR ? ❞ 

There was a glint in his pale blue gaze, danger and mischief curling impishly at the corners of his mouth as he launched his packed snowball Mary’s way. Who was he to run away from a battle? A flurry ensued, snow flying back and forth as he took the two of them on. They were worthy competitors, running round and round the yard - but Hal had the longer, quicker legs. He scooped his sister into his arms, swinging her high into the air.

❝ Admit defeat and I’ll put you down! ❞ He shook his laughing sister, ❝ I’ll even tell our mother that you lost with dignity and grace. ❞ 

❝ NEVER! ❞   Mary squirmed and wiggled, attempting to batter his forearms with her mittened fists.  

❝ Spoken like a true Tudor, ❞ he praised.  ❝ Sadly, we Tudors show no mercy! ❞ 

He would have tossed his sister into the snow if it weren’t for the stick poking him in the back, a stolen arm from their snowman. It would seem Mary had only been a diversion.

❝ Will I tell your mother that you lost with dignity and grace, Henry? ❞  Catalina’s thickly accented voice was warm and playful against his ear. She gave a sharp jab of the stick for emphasis.  ❝ Be a good boy and put my comrade down. ❞ 

The boy winked at his sister, making a show of carefully placing her back on the ground only to swivel around and grab Catalina about the waist. Gravity sent them crashing to the ground, their laughter lost in the rush of air as they both went tumbling down the hillside. 

❝ Would you consider that graceful? ❞ Hal asked between heaving breaths, hands braced on either side of her head. He tried not to focus on the feel of her small body beneath him, the rise and fall of her chest as she too tried to catch her breath. In the tussle her cap had fallen off and her titian hair was spread over the pure white snow in a striking contrast. Azure eyes drank it all in, painting a portrait in his mind to visit again and again once reality had gone. She was the most perfect thing he’d seen; the most angelic creature in existence.

He would have given everything he had in that moment to kiss her - to have her.

A muffled groan escaped him as he rolled away, the back of his head falling heavily against the ground. The problem? He knew that everything he had in that moment amounted to nothing. 

Slowly, he lifted himself up and brushed off the snow from his pants. Henry held out a gloved hand, waiting for her to take it. Better get her back where she belonged.