#or even if he thought their plan was entirely doomed to failure

[hephaestuscrew]

I posted recently about how, when Minkowski tries to send Eiffel back to Earth on the Sol in the finale, she doesn't directly express her more personal emotional reasons for this decision (see this post for more detail). But the contrast to that is how Eiffel only gives personal reasons when pleading against her decision.

As he's desperately telling Minkowski not to send him back, Eiffel doesn't say that he wants to help fight against Cutter's plan (although I'm sure it's on his mind). He doesn't try to convince her that he can make an important contribution to that fight. He doesn't attempt to argue the importance of having as many people as possible trying to stop Pryce and Cutter.

Instead, he protests "Not without you!" when she says that he's going home. He tells her "I'm not leaving you behind!" In contrast to Minkowski saying that she wants "one of us... someone" to make it back, Eiffel doesn't shy away from addressing Minkowski directly. He says "you". It's not that he doesn't want to leave the Hephaestus or the crew behind in a vague general way; he makes it clear that he doesn't want to specifically leave Minkowski behind. His attempts to persuade Minkowski not to send him back are largely focused on his bond with her and his unwillingness to return to Earth without her (and the rest of the Hephaestus crew). Those are the most compelling reasons to him.

The only other argument he gives in trying to persuade Minkowski not to send him back is "you can't - you have no right!" This is less about his bond with Minkowski, and more about his own individual agency and his objection to Minkowski making this decision for him. But it's still ultimately a personal reason. None of Eiffel's voiced objections are about the big picture at all (unlike the explanation Minkowski gives to Hera, Lovelace and Jacobi afterwards for why she sent Eiffel back).

In that scene, both of them are acting from a personal emotional place of care for each other as individuals. But in terms of what they actually say, Eiffel expresses this kind of motivation much more directly than Minkowski. He admits to the specificity of it in a way Minkowski doesn't know how to. Eiffel appeals to Minkowski's personal individual motivations, which she hasn't really admitted to. His final plea is to call Minkowski by her first name for the first time.

[jksarchives]

THE SIX STAGES OF A BREAK-UP │03

➪ PAIRING; jungkook x reader

➪ GENRE; lovers to strangers, angst

➪ WC; 1.9k

✎ series masterlist

3. ANGER

▔▔▔▔▔▔

It had been a little over a week since Jungkook broke up with you and moved out of what you thought was your forever home with him. You didn’t know what you were doing or how you were still getting through the days, but what you did know was that you weren’t coping at all.

It felt as if you were standing in the middle of a maze, each of your emotions spread out in different directions and you didn’t know where to go. Your mind was smogged, and the emotions trapped within you were suffocating.

But a big part of you was angry. You were angry at yourself.

For ten years, you had poured every bit of yourself into the relationship. You had believed in its longevity, in the idea that you would grow old together, that your love was the kind that could weather any storm.

But now, as you stared blankly at the wall, you wondered how you could’ve been so blind. The signs were there, yet you stayed oblivious to them.

The anger felt hot and bitter, like bile rising in your throat, suffocating you in its intensity.

You couldn’t stop replaying every moment of your relationship in your mind, every fight, every make-up, every quiet evening spent together, trying to pinpoint where things had gone wrong, and how you hadn’t seen this coming.

But it wasn’t just the loss that stung.

It was the overwhelming sense of failure. You had invested a decade of your life into this relationship, built your dreams and your future around it, and now, it felt like all of it had crumbled into a pile of ashes.

You were angry that you hadn’t confronted him about all the signs earlier, angry that you had allowed yourself to become so dependent on him. And most of all, you were angry that you couldn’t stop yourself from loving him even now.

The days that passed without him, your anger only grew more complex, folding in on itself, becoming more about your perceived flaws and inadequacies.

You began to blame yourself for everything — for not being enough, for not doing enough, for not saying the right things. Every memory became a weapon you used against yourself, cutting deeper and deeper into your self-worth.

You had given so much of yourself to the relationship that now, without it, you felt hollow, like a shell of the person you used to be.

You started questioning everything: your choices, your priorities, your value as a person.

You were haunted by the idea that you had wasted ten years of your life, that you had somehow failed at something you should have been able to hold onto.

This anger at yourself was not just for losing him, but for losing yourself in the process.

At night, when you were alone with your thoughts, the anger turned inward in a more destructive way. You couldn’t help but wonder if she had been too blind, too trusting, too naive.

Had you ignored the red flags? Had you clung too tightly to a relationship that was doomed to fail? The self-doubt nagged at you, and you couldn’t escape the feeling that this breakup was entirely your fault.

You were mad at yourself for not having the courage to question him for all those times he hadn’t been acting himself. Those times where he would push you away. Or those times where he simply didn’t have time for you anymore.

You were mad at yourself for not demanding more respect, and for not standing up for yourself.

You felt weak for allowing yourself to be hurt, and even weaker for still caring about him despite everything. The anger made you want to lash out, but there was no one to lash out at except yourself.

And yet, beneath the anger, there was a deep well of sadness, of grief for what could have been, for the future you both had planned together.

But you couldn’t allow yourself to feel that yet.

The anger was easier to deal with, more straightforward. It gave you a focus, something to hold onto, even if it was destructive. It kept the overwhelming pain at bay, at least for a while.

In the quiet moments, when the anger subsided just a little, you were left with the terrifying realisation that you didn’t know who you were without him.

The life you had known, the identity you had built around being with him, was gone. And that was perhaps the most frightening thing of all.

You were angry because you didn’t know how to start over, how to rebuild your life from the ground up without him.

Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone buzzed on the nightstand beside your bed. You sniffled and wiped away the tears that had spilled onto your cheeks.

Your hand trembled as you reached for the phone, hoping against hope that it was a message from him, that he had changed his mind, that he still loved you.

But it wasn’t him. It was Taehee, your best friend.

You hoped it wasn’t another sympathetic message. You weren’t ready for more pity, or any more reminders that everyone knew your life had just fallen apart.

You unlocked the phone and stared at the screen, and your heart pounded at the first text she had sent.

▍HeeHee🩷: listen I know my vision is not the greatest even with my thick ass glasses on, BUT TELL ME THIS IS NOT WHO I THINK IT IS?!

▍HeeHee🩷: *image*

You tapped on the image, and it filled the screen.

You felt your breath get caught in your throat as you took it in: it was a picture of two hands, intertwined.

One was unmistakably masculine, with strong, familiar fingers. The other was delicate, adorned with a diamond ring that sparkled with a brilliance that seemed almost cruel in the moment.

It wasn’t just any ring; it was the kind of ring you had often daydreamed about — simple yet elegant, the kind that cost more than you could ever afford.

Your eyes widened as you recognised the hands, especially the man’s hand.

Could it be?

Your heart plummeted, a cold dread settling in your chest as you stared at the photo. You knew those hands — you had held them countless times, felt their warmth against your own.

Jungkook.

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you gasping, trying to comprehend what this meant.

How?

How could he have moved on so quickly? And with someone else?

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it, but all you felt was a suffocating sense of betrayal.

Your hand flew to clamp your mouth as you tried to control your sobs. The pain in your chest intensified as you stared at the ring on the other woman’s finger.

It wasn’t just the possibility that he had moved on that hurt — it was the realisation that everything you thought you knew about him, about your relationship, was a lie.

How could he have been planning this while still with you? Or had he checked out long before the breakup, leaving you clinging to a ghost?

Your phone kept buzzing, and you knew Taehee was trying to reach out to you to make sure you were okay.

But you weren’t. Of course you weren’t.

The man you’ve been together with for ten years walked out of your life a week ago and was now engaged to another woman.

How could you be okay?

But then, just as quickly, the sadness was replaced by a fierce, burning anger. You weren’t sad anymore; you were furious.

How could he move on so quickly?

How could he do this to you, and have the nerve to say that he still wanted to remain as friends?

After everything you both had been through, after everything you had sacrificed, he was already with someone else, already putting a ring on another woman’s finger.

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your breaths coming faster as the anger took over. The tears dried on your cheeks, replaced by a tight, painful knot in your throat.

Your fingers tightened around the phone, your knuckles turning white. You didn’t know whether you wanted to scream or cry or throw the phone across the room.

It hadn’t even been a full week, and here he was, putting a ring on another woman when it should’ve been you.

You stared at the photo again, and your jaw clenched so tightly that it hurt.

The girl’s hand, it looked paler and slimmer than yours — the kind of skin tone you wished you had to be more appealing though Jungkook said he loved you and everything about you no matter what.

You felt a pang of jealousy. But it was quickly swallowed by the rage.

You didn’t know who you were angrier at — him for moving on so easily, or yourself for still being stuck in this emotional hell.

But it would make sense to be more angry at yourself. You had let this happen. You had been too trusting, too forgiving, too in love to see the signs. Now, you were left picking up the pieces of a life you thought you would have forever.

You closed the message and tossed the phone onto the bed. You stood up and began to pace the room, trying to calm yourself down, but it was no use.

Every time you would close your eyes, you saw his face, picturing him smiling and happy with another woman in the future you had both planned, and it drove you mad. The anger was suffocating, consuming your every thought, leaving no room for anything else.

How could he do this to you? you thought over and over again, your mind a broken record of anger and pain.

You wanted to confront him, scream at him, bang on his chest to revive the love he once had for you. But you knew you couldn’t do that. You didn’t have the courage to.

Eventually, the storm of emotions became too much to bear. You collapsed back onto the bed as you began to breathe heavily. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal — they all merged into one overwhelming tide, and you felt yourself beginning to crumble.

The tears that you swore evaporated from you began to break free, and they came streaming down your face in an uncontrollable flood.

You laid down on your side and curled up into a tight ball as you wept.

You cried for the loss of the life you had visioned with him, for the years you had spent together that now seemed wasted, for the love you had given that he had so easily discarded.

You cried for the girl in the photo who had taken your place and for the girl you used to be before all of this — before you became a heartbroken shell of yourself.

You cried until there were no more tears left, until your body was exhausted and your mind was numb.

And when the tears finally stopped, you lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, your heart aching in a way you didn’t think it ever could.

You were empty, drained of all emotion, but beneath the emptiness, there was still that faint ember of anger, smoldering quietly in the depths of your soul.

You weren’t sure how you would move on from this, or how you would ever trust or love again.

You were lost in the sea with no sense of direction.

You just didn't know what to do.

NEXT ➜

[mirroringdust]

A retelling of the fight scene from Galadriel’s POV with some twists (M for violence)

It was the clash of swords, ringing in her ears so loud it felt like her head was going to burst. She tried to keep her vision clear and not let it blur, not in front of him, not with his sword held against hers and the crown in his hand. He had come to face her on this forgotten space of land atop a peak that vanished out of a forest, trees erased, giving way to an empty path. The one she was walking.

Galadriel wasn't supposed to face him alone, it wasn't what she had planned, but the circumstances had been different and unexpected, and somehow, she was glad for it. She could not deny that she wanted to face him once more, to make up for what she once had failed to do. To pay her debt once and for all and to banish Sauron from this land, or at least to prevent him from getting those rings of doom.

Everyone knew of her failure, and now she had to cling to the light, just as Celebrimbor had told her.

But it did not begin as it should. You could make it appear before your inner eyes as many times as possible, but when it became reality, it was always different. She had not expected what it would be like to actually see him again, to face him and to be aware of his presence. 

Over and over again, Galadriel had seen him in her mind, replayed the moments of their encounter countless times, just to normalise them, to take away the emotions that accompanied them and put a dull blanket over them, but it hadn't worked.

Now he really was here in the flesh right before her eyes, and she recognised him, even if he had changed. His gaze was stern, the joy in his eyes vanished and his posture straight and defensive or aggressive, she could not decipher. At the same time, she felt that the awareness of his presence made her entire mind quiver as if she had felt a tremor that she had to fight off in her mind to keep herself from letting him in. She couldn’t, not again.

Even now, in the face of his changed façade and his darkness, it seemed as if the connection was a part of her. The pain and turmoil she felt at the thought of Numenor, of fighting with him, of how he had saved lives, made her heart shatter before her eyes. She had never felt so much bliss and so much pain in disturbing unison.

So, she just stood there as he passed by and scrutinised her. As if she had fallen into a trance, she could only try to calm her trembling hands, try to slow her heartbeat and keep her eyes on him. An unsettling image of dread and familiarity. A horrifying warm breeze was blowing in her face as time unfolded agonisingly.

Galadriel’s thoughts were a jumble, and she could only wrestle them down by trying to put them in order, by trying to split the picture down the middle, as she had done so many times in the past few weeks. And in the shape she saw him now, it would probably be easier for her than ever before. 

How could this dark figure be Halbrand? He stood there passively and just watched the orcs slaughter Adar. And he seemed to indulge in it. It was an image of dread as Galadriel struggled to regain her balance. This could never be Halbrand. She tried to let anger seep into her core. How could he have deceived her like this?

He's not Halbrand, it was an illusion, he's not Halbrand, it was an illusion. He wasn't…

Her encounters with Celebrimbor and Adar had shaken her, and not just because of the cruelty he had inflicted on them. He. Sauron.

But she despised herself for feeling another, deeper cruelty at the sight of it all. The cruelty had not only been lying in his deeds. The cruelty had been recognising the truth, looking into a mirror of herself.

She had wanted it.

I wanted what he offered.

Galadriel had longed for it. And now that she saw him again, no matter what he looked like, she felt it again.

He finished the doomed work of destruction and finally turned to her. The shock travelled to her bones and nested there until she had to react. Do something to confront him. 

His face looked much paler in the dim light of the forest. Raising one eyebrow, he focused on her attentively. Otherwise, his expression was devoid of all forms of emotion, and Galadriel found herself searching for clues. What was he thinking, meeting her now?

Such thoughts should not matter at this moment. But somehow they did to her.

“Was it all by your design?” she asked, the words had filled her whole senses, longing to be pushed out in the desperate air. Two contradicting forces were fighting in her mind again. Part of her wanted the easy way out, part of her waited for him to fulfil the desire of her heart to let it be true, only once.

Continue on AO3, hope you'll like it!

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Mephistopheles's Deal - Devilish Hierarchy in the Forgotten Realms

[Spoilers for Astarion's personal quest and also pretty much the entirety of the game.]

So, I have a lot of thoughts about the devils in Baldur's Gate 3. I think in general, Larian has done a pretty solid job of drawing from and referencing the Forgotten Realms lore as it relates to their characters and storylines, but with the devils is where the most has been lost in translation to the broader audience.

There is a big difference in the Forgotten Realms between devils and demons - it's more than just semantics. This is one area where the alignment charts are actually useful - Devils are Lawful Evil, while Demons are Chaotic Evil. What this means in practice, is that devils are evil, yes, but they are also intensely bureaucratic and bound by specific laws, structures, and hierarchies. Demons are the exact opposite, misshapen monstrosities (for the most part) that do not belong in the world and are driven to lash out at it for its existence alone.

The "Blood War" that Karlach and a few other characters mention in Avernus? That is devils vs. demons. In fact, devils were originally celestials themselves, that became corrupted in their efforts to stop the tide of demons. The remaining celestials turn a blind eye to the Hells (or actively encourage its existence) because the devils are the forces holding back the encroaching Abyss, a far greater threat than they themselves could ever be.

The major area that we see this hierarchy expressed is in the layers of the Hells, the different dominions. Zariel is the least powerful Archdevil, ruling (and fairly recently come to power, too) the First layer: Avernus. The second-strongest Archdevil, of the Eighth layer, is Mephistopheles, superseded only by Asmodeus, the Archdevil of the Ninth layer.

With regard to the overall power level of the archdevils, this is where the exact answer gets a bit fuzzy. It has varied by edition, and personal take on the lore, but the ultimate point of agreement is this: no matter how powerful you personally think the Archdevils may be, Asmodeus is the exception. He has at least the strength of a greater god (one with a wide and expansive domain crossing multiple worlds), not even including the additional power he would be able to bring to bear by virtue of his domain, were a conflict to take place within it.

Raphael and Mizora, the two "devils" we have the most direct experience with as players, are not true devils at all, but rather cambions: half-devils. This allows them to skip some of the steps of power development usually required for devils to increase their power, but also stratifies them a bit with that development. Their primary advantage is freedom of movement between the planes, granted to them by their mortal parentage.

(The above is just part of the reason why Raphael's "plan" is so laughably doomed to abject failure, but that is a meta for another day.)

On to souls: why do devils need them, how do they get them, and what do they use them for?

Devils have an entire society based on backstabbing, conniving, one-upmanship, and, most importantly: paperwork. The devils - especially the Archdevils - are always looking for ways to get one up on each other. Not even necessarily to take their positions (although if it so happens to work out that way, all the better), but just to have information, leverage, even one point of superiority over them, etc.

One of the primary ways devils can bolster their power levels is based on the number (and quality) of souls under their command. Those souls, when willingly signed away, do not go to the usual Fugue Plane upon death, to be taken by whatever god values them most highly to their own afterlife. Instead, they go directly to the Hells. There they begin the standard progression of lowest-ranked devils: tortured to wring out what magical energy can be gleaned from them, then starting as lemures on the lowest rungs of the hierarchy, contributing to the infernal economy and adding to their ruling Archdevil's power, ranks, and influence.

Unwilling souls can be used, but they are generally considered to be the lowest quality, used mostly for things like soul coins, etc.

Note: this is where this is going from primarily lore-backed meta to meta I am extrapolating onto a bit, based on what seems logical to me.

If souls can only be willingly signed away, why can Cazador pay for his contract with Mephistopheles by trading the souls of others? Based on the legalistic evil of devils, my take is that, by the properties of magic and vampirism in the Forgotten Realms, "legally" speaking, the spawn he creates are enough a part of him that he is able to speak for their souls in their stead.

Based on this property, and the aforementioned power scale of the devils, the thought arises: does it really make that much sense for the Dark Urge to just be able to waltz into the Eighth layer of the Hells and steal the Crown of Karsus? It would make much more sense if it was willingly given - or at the least, allowed to be taken - by Mephisto, who stood to gain something much better than a bauble of not much use to archdevils: souls, and a multitude of them.

If Cazador is able to sign away the souls of his spawn, due to them being magically recognized as a part of him, I believe the same would be true for mindflayers turned by the controlled Netherbrain. The goal of the Dead Three was to ultimately transform an untold number of denizens of the Forgotten Realms, to take their souls and the power from their worship away from the gods (they never claimed to be brilliant strategists, we'll leave it at that). Mephisto, then, would stand to gain a great deal in being able to make use of those souls himself.

I do think that rather than a heist, Durge and/or Gortash made a deal with Mephisto for the Crown in exchange for the souls of any transformed mindflayers. A win-win for both parties, by all accounts.

Shame about the unforeseen brain damage and/or ragtag team of meddling do-gooders - and their owlbear, too.

[tashacee]

Yay permission to yell about the fic!

Alright three things:

1. Wild's feelings about his failure or not living up to expectations. Hooo boy some of the heroes are going to have words about that. Wind (who wasn't considered worthy until he literally glued the Triforce of Courage back together himself), Legend (may have saved the Wind Fish but doomed an entire dream world in the process. Also knows Ravio, who's a bit of a failed hero in the context of his story) and Time (had to be put to sleep for seven years to wield the Master Sword, and then gets treated like none of that happened afterwards) in particular come to mind.

2. Wild: omg they can't see me without my mask on or they'll hate me 🥺 Wind: Dude, you could look like a Chuchu jelly for all I care if you keep cooking like this I will love you forever. (He would love Wild even if he couldn't cook, I mean just look at the sad little meow meow)

3. Spirit mentioned! (I too have fallen for the propaganda) This is an Aspects thing, but if they do manage to "fix" the Aspect, I want some of the heroes to demand he wear it whenever they meet a new hero because "we went through it and so they have to now too (also it will be funny)". Then when they meet Spirit they're all like "hello we are all eight blonde guys named link and this seven foot tall cat man also named link"

:D :D :D :D

okay SO

1 - OHHH YEAH. Wild has a LOT of of internalised guilt over things that were not his fault and his brothers are going to have things to say about that. So many of them have thought at ssome point that they aren't worthy and they all are working on accepting that actually? They are worthy and deserve better.

There are gonna be a lot of hugs.

2 - Wind loves Wild. He loves his cool new brother. Today's chapter is gonna have a Wind bonding section and i can't wait because. These boys are just the most brother, your honour. I love them.

3 - Spirit is wonderful and i love him. I actually have PLANS for how he will make an appearance in Aspects (it is HAPPENING) and i cannot WAIT.

I'm so glad you've enjoyed!

[entering--hyperspace]

Its 2am, quick! Ramble some preliminary thoughts about Rytlock and Leo's relationship, spoiler alert! Its complicated!

I'm currently "going through" the personal story, and I was thinking about how...complicated Rytlock and Leo's relationship becomes especially as Rytlock Puts Himself Into Situations and that affecting a whole lot later into the story. I was talking to my friend about this. Heres the thing about these two,

They are not perfect for each other. This isn't a fairytale relationship, they arent destined lovers, they will never get a true domestic happy life together, and they could probably find people to fit them both better in the long run.

But, they were perfect for each other when they met.

Rytlock, punished for ambition, losing someone he cared about because of this, gaining a literal physical reminder of it, after he had just lost Destiny's edge. Blinded by glory, torn apart by loss, failure. He grew distant from his warband because the warmth of a flame was more enticing than the bonds of his past. He had no one, he was ignorant to the repeated life lessons, he was bored.

Leo, on the other hand, was a coiled snake ready to strike. He had ambitions of his own, he grew tired of constant death, reckless fighting. Spirits lamented over lost opportunity, of being playthings in wars fought by higher powers. He grew up in a land that was a physical cautionary tell of how single individuals could ruin the very souls and doom entire nations. Souls that cant rest, souls that cant return. It was Ascalon that inspired him to become a necromancer, to commune with spirits, to treat the dead with reverance, and thus respecting life before its final march. It did outcast him from his warband, save for a single individual.

When his warband died fighting due to carelessness on behalf of his legionnare, he still chose mercy, even in grief and anger he would not throw away lives as his people were so readily to do. He would show them all, he would show them there was a different way, that the road harder to travel on was a road worth walking if it meant preserving life. Others would see him as weak for this, but he had the confidence and skill to back it up his claims.

Perhaps it was the sharpness, the same cleverness that Rytlock admired in Crecia that drew him to Leo. I like that, honestly. Its a bit selfish, but Rytlock is a very selfish character for a while.

So he chose him, he could see his potential, he was amused, if anything, by someone with beliefs so different than anything they were raised to believe and was ready to challenge the very foundation they stood on. Speaking of, Leo challenged him in ways that surprised him, in ways that if Rytlock were anyone else Leo would have surely been deranked or snapped at for his boldness. He made him stop and consider, a unique viewpoint a fire that had lived for so long it became too strong to be snuffed out, that alone was impressive. Lmao, It's Leo constsntly challenging rytlock that draws him to Leo as well I think. Someone who will truthfully grab him by the ear and snap him back to his senses. On the other hand:

Leo wasn't ignorant of Rytlocks many prior transgressions and the blood most higher ranked charr spill to stand as tall as they do. He didn't think too highly of him before, but desperate times call for desperate measures. They were also, both, lonely. Rytlock appreciated having someone who he slowly crept into being a bit more of himself around, and Leo appreciated the opportunity of gaining his favor, as well as the acceptance of his beliefs. Rytlock understood climbing a steep hill with the people around pouring water down waiting for a slip. He's loyal above all else, he's similarly ambitious. Maybe Rytlock didnt necessarily Follow him exactly, but he didnt turn away or laugh in his face when Leo one night truthfully shared his plans. He simply told him it would be hard, but challenged him to pursue it. And, if anything, Leo's words actually affected him, he could see it slowly, that was enough for him, They were friends.

Physical attraction was there too, of course, that is admittedly a constant even before they become romantic. I see it at this point of maybe not being a thing of romantic bond, but rather of trust. But this is also normal and expected of charr. Friends with benefits, nothing more. But that more would come in later.

A chain is harder to break than a string, much harder. It weighs heavy, its cumbersome at times, but it holds things together quite well despite everything, despite "everything"

They are not a red string of fate, rather a forged red chain. Charr care a lot about loyalty, they care about loyalty in a way that I feel is hard to describe other than something deeply rooted in their culture thus hard to shake. During the time Leo and Rytlock spent together as Leo climbed the ranks and together they took on Ascalonian missions, sharing nights, swapping stories, sparring, challenging, they forged that bond. A bond between two people with no other options. They chose each other.

My memory of path of fire is, muddled, I'll get there when I get there. But what I know for sure is that what began of a romantic relationship would become quickly strained as the story goes on and it is revealed that everything occuring is due to Rytlock's recklessness.

Leo isn't the commander, Connie is, this almost makes it worse for them in a funny way. Leo would probably be more forgiving over his own death, but instead he is made to watch someone else die, he watches countless others die, all while knowing at night he shares a bed with the person at the root of it. But he doesnt leave, because theres always that chain, its backs turned to each other but still comforted by the warmth of another, even if their presence is denied. Im sure when i learn the details of it i can share more thoughts on them but ough.

When Leo does take on more commander-like duties and rytlock is still at his side, it becomes even more apparent how their relationship isnt as ideal as it could be in a perfect life. In a perfect life leo wouldve left everything to be with the olmakhan, to live a peaceful existence, to raise a family. Rytlock thinks of his cubs in a similar regard, Leo and Rytlock cant give that to each other, the world will not allow that of them both, especially leo, But they leave together with that knowledge.

Does this make sense? Idk, i hope so. The love is there, but there is an acceptance of the fact that there will always be a void that cant be filled. Perhaps there is a gentleness to them both that they treat each other with because of that fact and thats just how it is.

[justmaghookit]

Thinking about Trigun again and how well it does portraying an abusive sibling relationship. Though if I was Vash I would never forgive Knives, but Vash’s whole thing is kinda how he forgives regardless of what an offending party has done to him [that is a problem and he should be in therapy so i will put him in brain therapy, there is where i take him to therapy in my brain and rotate him in my mind like he is my oc.]

But like as someone who grew up with an abusive older brother, who did not necessarily know what he was doing was abusive, but hurt me badly regardless. I have a lot of feelings about it.

so iunno ramblings from a childhood sibling abuse survivor about how fucked it is the way Nai treats his brother.

In Nai’s own mind he loves Vash, cares about him and wants to protect him, but he also in a way does not see Vash as an individual that is separate from himself. He has an internalized entitlement to Vash, to his time, his thoughts, his mind and body. He wants complete ownership and control of him, because in his mind this is the only way to keep him safe, but in doing so he would erase literally everything that makes Vash who he is.

[oh this got long, under a read more to keep dash clean]

TLDR: Nai says no one is allowed to hurt my brother, except for me i get to hurt him as much as i want but its for his own good so its ok [its not its really fucking not]

Nai is so utterly convinced he knows whats best for him, how best to look after him, that he crashed an entire armada of ships, ultimately dooming them both to a horrible 150 years on a planet that cannot support them. We could also go into Nai’s fear and how that drove him, but thats for another post I think.

Nai’s plans regarding Vash always end in failure for two reasons.

1. Nai is horrifically short sighted and narrow minded, almost hilariously so.

2. He does not know Vash as well as he thinks he does, and what he does know he disregards.

Nai crashes the SEEDS ships to protect Vash and make a paradise for plants. He does not actually know at this point HOW he’s going to do that, just that he wants too. He also didn’t know the planet he crashed them all on would be horrifically ill suited to his kind, or he did, and ultimately didn’t care. He did not think that Vash would leave him. He disregarded Vash’s emotions and when Vash reacts badly he berates him, taunts him with being his accomplice. Though we the viewer know that this is patently untrue. You cannot be an accomplice to murder if you lend someone a knife to cut a cord with and they go on to use it to stab someone[Vash did not hand Nai the codes, so much as Nai saw him enter them and memorized it and then used it for his own purposes.]

Guilt tripping in order to force someone to stay by your side is kind of textbook 101 for abuse. And then he does it again, and again, and again. It never works, but he keeps doing it! He keeps trying to break Vash down into little pieces he can put back together in the shape of what he thinks his brother should be.

Nai’s plans at July fail because once again he disregards Vash’s emotions and his connections with people as insignificant. They may be twins, but they are both individual, independent plants. Vash’s relationships quite literally ground him in reality and allow him to build a place for himself in the world.

Millions Knives does not have connections with people outside of Vash. He has what I’d call Business Deals. He is not grounded in reality, he doesn’t even want to keep his feet on the ground. He wants the access to the Higher Dimension that Vash can get him. He wants to tear it open, crawl inside it and never leave, even if it means a gaping bleeding wound in his brothers soul leaking out across the planet, turning him into a literal husk of himself.

This plan of course fails, because Vash is not beholden to Nai’s views on how the world should be, and his connections with people allow him to hang on even while being literally re-written from the inside out.

I think it’s telling, at the end of the final episode, how Millions Knives claims Vash killed Nai. Even with his plan blowing up literally in his face, he has to take on last low blow at Vash, one more guilt trip for the road. “you made me like this” standard fair for an abuser.

[late-to-the-fandom]

"Relies on a lot of risky assumptions, this plan.” "Why, my dear," said Renathal with lavish humour. "Since when is the Dark Prince of Revendreth's consort afraid of a little risk?" Read on Ao3 here.

The first question was where.

Soulbinding required a Forge of Bonds - a specialised structure that conducted the transfer of anima from one soul to another, thus binding them together. They were a rarity in Revendreth, owing both to the difficulty of their creation and the Master’s near moratorium on the practice. In his whole, extensive history, Renathal had only ever known the existence of two.

All of which he explained, in a much less harassed manner, to Elisewin as they lay tangled together in his bed, after the bliss of her acceptance had settled enough to make room for thoughts of more practical details.

“Have you ever seen anyone soulbind?” she asked sleepily, propping her chin on Renathal’s chest in a lazy attempt to meet his eyes.

“Not for a thousand years or more,” Renathal replied. “And none that I remember now remain. Some terrible doom always seemed to befall them shortly after.”

“And that never struck you as suspicious?”

Renathal grimaced. The arm not trapping Elisewin to him contorted to reach the teacup on the nearby nightstand.

“The Master called it a careless undertaking ,” he said, fumbling for the tiny porcelain handle. "Which was why, even when he was more inclined to approve the practice, it was only ever among the lower classes of venthyr.” He angled his neck to take an awkward sip of long-cold tea, before admitting, “I simply assumed its falling off was an indication the lesson had been learned. Or a fashionable imitation of nobility."

An echo of the day’s congealed amalgamation of horror, anger, and shame - at the Master’s long-standing manipulations and Renathal’s own willful ignorance of them - shuddered through him. He gulped down the last dregs of tea, feeling the meagre anima content seep into his thirsty veins, but it was the soft pattern Elisewin’s fingers traced across his bare chest, and the memory of her yes, and his pleasant fantasies of what it meant for their near future, that soothed him.

“Only the lower classes…" she mumbled against his skin. “Harvesters were never permitted to soulbind, then?”

Prodding the empty cup back onto the nightstand, Renathal shook his head against the comfortable silk of his pillow and let his eyes drift shut. Between the events of the day and the warm ministrations of Elisewin's fingers, he felt sleep creeping up inexorably on him, as well.

“Permitted to? No, never. But…” He smiled faintly, eyes still closed. “I believe there is one pair who have managed to evade his notice.”

-

The Accuser glared at the Dark Prince from across the nave's candle-covered altar, but her pale yellow eyes betrayed a flicker of apprehension. The Curator, beside her, looked merely bemused.

“Do not trouble to deny it,” said Renathal, swatting her ire away like smoke with one impatient hand. “My interest is personal, not punitive.”

The Accuser lifted her chin.

“I do not deny it,” she said; and, after a brief hesitation, she let her fingers wind defiantly around the Curator’s, who squeezed absently back. Renathal watched, slightly wistful. He would have enjoyed taking Elisewin’s hand in a mirror of the illicit soulbinds opposite him, but he had left her at Darkwall Tower. “I am merely surprised,” the Accuser continued, “to find you wasting time on such extraneous inquiries while Revendreth still wilts under the Master’s corrupted thumb. One failure, no casualties, and you are already willing to concede defeat? That is hardly the Harvester of Dominion I know. But... then again..." she added with dripping asperity, "you have proven yourself woefully easy to distract."

Renathal bristled. But seeing as how he had let an entire day elapse before visiting the Halls of Atonement and relaying to the Accuser an abbreviated version of their rebellion's failed plan - and how he still needed important information from her - he let the insolence pass. For the most part.

"I have conceded nothing, " he said with a bite that made the Curator jump and her soulbind tighten her grip on her hand. "The Master and his many sins will be dealt with, in time. But I assure you, my inquiries are essential for the success of any subsequent plans."

The Accuser's eyes narrowed warily.

“You intend to Soulbind with your mortal, then?” And, at Renathal's sober nod, burst out incredulously, "You understand that is a solemn commitment? One that must be undertaken with the utmost sincerity? Another soul is laid bare before you; their existence entwined with yours. It is a responsibility , not a fashionable accessory!"

“I do understand.”

Renathal's reply was laced with a deadly warning that poisoned whatever arguments were left on the Accuser's tongue. She shut her mouth with a snap, contenting herself with a visible clench of her jaw; which Renathal, for the sake of time and diplomacy, ignored.

"And now that is settled," he went on smoothly, "would you be so good as to disclose where the two of you performed the ritual? I was under the impression the Master controlled the only remaining Forge of Bonds."

“Oh, no,” said the Curator, and both Renathal and the Accuser’s heads whipped around at the unexpected sound of her voice. “It has been in my keeping; hidden in the catacombs for centuries,” she explained. “Of course, it was never to be used without the Master’s permission, but… ” She shrugged one shoulder and squeezed the Accuser's hand again, face registering only the lightest apprehension at the thought of disobeying a direct order from the Sire.

“Would you permit Elisewin and myself to use it?” asked Renathal - a pointless bit of politeness as neither Harvester could rightly refuse. Except-

"You can't," said the Curator. “No one can. It's gone. It has been missing from its place in the catacombs for… well I … I cannot remember exactly…" Her vacant face clouded, and she tapped her temple with her free hand, as if she might knock the stubborn memory loose. When it had no effect, she continued blithely, "Well, whenever it might have been, it is certainly gone now. And I'm afraid I've no idea who would have removed it, or why."

The Accuser snarled, "Denathrius," at the same time Renathal growled, "I believe I do," and all three Harvesters fell silent for a long minute, each digesting the implications of this grim news. Almost literally, on Renathal's part. His stomach had both dropped and hardened, as if he had swallowed some great, bulky weight. This was not a setback he had anticipated. And, for an idea he had conceived of only yesterday, his existence had become quite dependent on it.

Stroking the hair on his chin as he brooded, he happened to catch the Accuser's eye. She was watching him, face oddly twisted; an expression it took Renathal several seconds to tentatively identify... sympathy?

“There may be another,” she said carefully. “At least... there is a rumour of one." She cocked her head at the Curator. “Did you not once tell me of a Forge of Bonds in Sinfall?”

The Curator, nose again scrunched in polite confusion, wet her lips, but it was Renathal who answered first.

“Yes," he said impatiently. “There was, once. But that was long, long ago. In a different age of Revendreth. It would have been destroyed with the rest of that unlucky ward."

“Are you certain?”

The Accuser's question was mild, but it struck a strange chord in Renathal. It resonated. He knew, rationally, the odds of such a miracle were slim to none, but the idea of a Forge of Bonds waiting to be used in Sinfall felt certain, somehow; as if it had once been an unquestionable truth he had - with time, he supposed - forgotten.

“Not entirely,” he admitted slowly. “I have not been inside Sinfall since the Light’s devastation. I do not know what, if anything, remains."

“Then, there is a possibility."

The Accuser's gaze glinted with steel once more. As Renathal watched, she shifted closer to the Curator, fitting herself against her soulbind's side; two parts of one connected whole.

“Just how important is it to be soulbound to your mortal?" she asked.

And that, thought Renathal, was no question at all.

The real question was how. And the answer, which began taking shape in Renathal's mind even before he left the Halls of Atonement, solidified later that day.

“Surely someone is bound to notice the two of us taking a stroll across that giant, open bridge and report it to Denathrius?” Elisewin pointed out as they stood together on her guest room balcony, inspecting the distant spire of Sinfall and the Light-cursed land at its feet.

“Most certainly,” Renathal replied.

“And you're not immune to the Light. Isn't the Ember Ward as dangerous for you as any other venthyr?"

“Absolutely.”

“Then, how is this even an option?"

Long, claw-like nails taking gentle command of Elisewin's chin, Renathal adjusted her gaze left and down.

"Look there," he said. He waited until her eyes had focused on the ancient, crumbling ruins decorating the jut of cliff-side just visible almost directly below. "Once, long ago, that was a road, connecting the Ember Ward to the castle ramparts. It was cut off when what was left of the ward became a prison, and the road itself left to decay, but... " Renathal's lips twitched triumphantly past his fangs. "There exists in the ramparts beneath us a little-known hole in the wall through which one may still access it."

"Little known," echoed Elisewin tonelessly. "You really think Denathrius has never found it out?"

"Oh, I am sure he has," said Renathal, coaxing her chin another inch to the left. "But you see there... it goes south for some miles. An almost direct route to Darkhaven, should one wish to reach it unseen. And, as the Accuser has been good enough to agree to rally the rebellion there while we are gone, it is what the Master's spies who inevitably follow us will likely assume. While they hurry back to inform him of our apparent destination, we will continue to the road's true end. There." Elisewin's face followed the lead of his hand. “It doubles back on itself and disappears into the Ember Ward's Light. Once there, any who still follow will be forced to retreat or burn. Or reveal themselves... in which case I will deal with them directly."

The word trailed into an anticipatory growl. The thought of running a blade through something was enticing - Renathal was thoroughly sick of sneaking and subterfuge just at present. But the pleasant vision was interrupted by Elisewin's dubious hum.

"Relies on a lot of risky assumptions, this plan.”

"Why, my dear," said Renathal with lavish humour, tilting her face back to his and pressing his growing smirk to the lavender lines of worry furrowed across her brow. "Since when is the Dark Prince of Revendreth's consort afraid of a little risk?"

Elisewin's short, self-deprecating laugh conceded him the win.

"Touché, your Highness."

She stretched on her toes to chase his lips as he pulled away, and Renathal, feeling lighter than he had in days, was delighted to indulge her - comprehensively, and at length.

Which meant it was another hour before, stretched out across the wreckage of her guest room's little-used but surprisingly comfortable lavender bedclothes, they were able to resume finalising their plan.

"Alright then," said Elisewin, still breathless, running her fingers absently through Renathal’s hair. "Let's assume your plan plays out. We make it to the Ember Ward and through it unscathed. What do we do when we reach Sinfall itself? Scale the side of that bloody enormous tower?”

Renathal chuckled against the soft skin of her stomach and murmured fondly, "You do enjoy jumping straight to the most strenuous of solutions."

At Elisewin's hm? of confusion, he shifted slightly; adjusting his mouth so his words were less muffled but enjoying his place wrapped between her legs too much to move further.

"There will be a lift there, too, dearest," he said. "Broken, no doubt, but a little anima donated to its repairs should do the trick. We will need to bring as much as we can, in any case. Whoever activates the forge for us will also require a good bit of excess."

Elisewin's hands stilled against his head, and Renathal wondered if it was post-orgasmic whimsy to imagine he could hear her blink.

"We're bringing someone else with us?"

"We must. Soulbinding requires a third party to initiate the ritual. We will need someone competent and trustworthy, whose presence will not be quickly missed."

Which left them with the question of who.

This, Renathal puzzled over alone through Revendreth's socially constructed night, serenaded by Elisewin's rhythmic breathing as she slept tucked in the crook of his arm. The list of friends and allies who fit all three requirements was sadly short. Draven or Theotar, he knew, would assist in a mortal heartbeat; but the General had other duties and an extended absence would be noted; and with the Duke there was the unfortunate risk the plan would reach the ears of other nobles, or worse, the Countess. In the end, as the nominal night outside the guest room’s windows gave way to a morning of identical twilit shades, Renathal decided on Chelra. The Princeguard was discretion itself, and, as his protection was her sworn duty anyway, no one at Darkwall Tower would miss her while he, too, was gone.

Informing the stoneborn of her impending assignment was Renathal's first and only item of the day. Once her assent was secured and she was filled in on the details of the plan, there remained only one final question.

When?

“As soon as possible,” was Renathal's vote when Elisewin posed it to him over their morning repast. “The Accuser’s patience will be tested only so far. The sooner we are soulbound, the sooner we may join the rebellion in Darkhaven and set our sights back on deposing the Master.”

“Agreed,” said Elisewin, and clinked her coffee-stained teacup to his.

Which was how they found themselves mere hours later strolling, carefully casual, about the outer rim of Nathria's courtyard, ducking around a shrouded corner once reasonably certain no nobles or guards looked their way, then scrambling through the crumbling hole in the lower ramparts wall and out onto the rotting remains of the old road on the other side. Chelra was waiting for them with their prepared packs of anima, dark, hooded cloaks, and the parasol Elisewin had insisted they bring as an extra precaution. With the armed stoneborn as rearguard, Renathal was free to lead the way, and he set as brisk a pace as possible over the inhospitable terrain, full to bursting with illicit excitement.

An enthusiasm which waned slightly with each of the road's painstaking miles.

It was a much more difficult descent than he had anticipated, clambering in his armor over the decomposing stoneworks and the thorny, trunk-like vines growing through and around them, without using any anima. Elisewin, in her less cumbersome cloth, fared little better. She tripped constantly; a regressive clumsiness Renathal attributed to the compulsive glances she kept throwing towards the shrouded sky. But they made it to the road’s sharp bend un-accosted and, as far as Renathal could see, unobserved. No miniature stone fiends fluttered overhead; no swarms of stoneborn enforcers swooped down to spirit them back to the Master.

A pity, Renathal thought; a fight would have been a welcome outlet for his sudden onset of nerves as the road’s dilapidated brick gave way to a steep decline of rocky earth and left the shadowed shelter of the ramparts behind. A golden tint was creeping steadily up the edges of the twilit air, and apprehension instinctive to his race prickled down the back of his neck at this evidence of encroaching Light. He wondered with bleak irony if another excursion into Nathria to search for the Master's reappropriated Forge of Bonds might not have been the wiser course.

A line of black silk fringe abruptly obscured the bright horizon. Elisewin had caught up to him - Renathal had not realised he had stopped - and unfurled the black parasol over both their heads.

"Shall we?" she asked with a smile - that little, sideways smile that both goaded and encouraged; and, with a sudden suffusion of warmth as palpable as her skin against his, Renathal remembered why they were braving such dangers in the first place, and why they would be worth it in the end.

"Do, let's," he replied, and if his own expression was more mordant than merry, the words themselves thrummed with renewed good humour and resolve.

Taking Elisewin's arm as if continuing their aimless stroll begun in the courtyard hours ago and far above, Renathal set his face to the ruined road's last ashen metres, and together, parasol over their heads and Chelra at their heels, they entered the Ember Ward at last.

Chapter 13 is assured | Visit the Masterpost

If you enjoyed this story, I would love to hear it 💜

[mumms-the-word]

An Argument

Day 17 of the BG3 Fic February Challenge

Today was supposed to be Tav/Durge meeting one of the Dead Three in the flesh but I haven't gotten to the point where Freyr literally talks to Bhaal yet, and that's what I was going to write, soooo we're replacing today's prompt with a prompt I had skipped earlier.

Nothing quite like a heated argument to rouse your creative brain, I guess

Check out my masterlist of BG3 fics here!

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17. A heated argument with companion/LI (originally #7)

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“How could you embarrass me in front of Elminster like that?” Gale asked, reaching out to stop Dani before she got too far away. They were just outside of Sorcerous Sundries, Elminster having come and gone with his usual wisdom, which Gale seemed inclined to ignore. Karlach and Astarion stopped short before either of them crashed into the pair.

“Embarrass you how, Gale?” Dani asked, setting a hand on her hip. “By telling him you want to reforge the crown? By telling him the truth? Did you want me to lie to him?”

“I wanted you to have my back in this delicate matter,” Gale said, frowning at her. “Now all the world might as well know our plans. You’d have done less damage shouting it from the rooftops.”

“Your plans, not mine,” she said, poking a finger in his chest. “That crown is dangerous.”

“That crown could be our only chance of defeating the elder brain and making the world a better place in the aftermath!”

Dani gave a loud, short, derisive laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. Trust me, Gale, I’ve read enough legends and learned enough ballads to know that anyone who goes after power like that is just dooming themselves to failure. Or are we forgetting Karsus’ Folly? Or, better yet, Gale’s Folly?” She reached out to tap his chest just over his orb.

He swatted her hand away. “The mistakes of the past are not the topic of discussion here.”

“Uh, guys?” Karlach asked. “Maybe now’s not the time?”

“But it could be the place,” Astarion said, smirking and looking around at all the passerby in the plaza. “Nothing like a good audience, hm?”

Dani and Gale ignored them both.

“Dani, be sensible about this,” Gale said. “With the crown reforged—“

“You’ll be able to stand against Mystra and steal her powers from her, yeah, I heard,” Dani interrupted. “I heard the bullshit you spouted off to Lorroakan earlier. Are you insane?”

“That was all—a bluff,” he said, his face coloring slightly and betraying him. “To goad him.”

Dani laughed again. “Yeah, I’m sure it was. How clever of you, darling, to wave it in Lorroakan’s face that you’ve bedded a goddess.” She gestured wildly and feigned an awestruck face, before dropping it with a glare. “Impressive form, Gale, he looked so intimated by you.”

He matched her glare for glare. She could see his annoyance clear as day on his face, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. She knew she ought to stop there before she made things worse, but she was so irritated with him. She’d planned an entire heist to get him into the vaults of the Sorcerous Sundries, only for him to read a few pages of his stupid book and develop delusions of grandeur. Then to watch him boast to Lorroakan, the horrible wizard who was abusing Rolan and seeking to cage Aylin, and hear him say his ambitions were better than his? And then to get annoyed with Elminster when Elminster expressed faith in him, faith that he could find solutions other than the crown of Karsus? It was too much. 

It wasn’t even noon yet.

“Was that what you were going to tell me tonight?” she asked. “That your new plan was to dethrone the goddess of magic?”

“Keep your voice down,” he said, his own voice low, almost growling. 

“Because that is without a doubt the dumbest thing I think you have ever said. And you’ve already said some really stupid shit today.”

“Enough,” he snapped. “Gods.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply through his nostrils. “Here I thought you’d understand, as much as you deride the gods for their lack of intervention. But instead it seems clear to me now that all you want to do is play the hypocrite.”

Dani’s mouth fell open. “The hypocrite?”

He dropped his hand from his face, looking smug and satisfied at her shock. “Yes, you heard me. Remind me, between the two of us, which of us has spent the last several tendays making deals and seeking treasure in order to become a little more powerful each day? What’s the harm in a little greed, hm?”

“You’re trying to claim divine power, that is not the same thing.”

He threw up his hands. “How is that any different than you going around trying to foist Netherese-tainted illithid tadpoles at us at every chance you get? How many parasites are devouring your brains right now, in exchange for a small edge in battle?”

“It’s completely different, I’m trying it make sure we all survive, idiot!” Unbidden, without her meaning to, a purple glow illuminated her eyes for the briefest moment, imbuing her words with psychic power. Gale flinched as the psychic magic struck him.

“Don’t call me an idiot,” he said, his expression darkening and his voice deepening into a dangerous warning tone. A flickering thread of lightning sparked at the corner of his eye, skittering down his arm to dance across his knuckles before fizzling out. “Don’t you dare.”

“No? Sorry. Let me rephrase.” This time she intentionally gathered psychic magic to herself, threading it through her words, her eyes glowing a brilliant purple. “This little plan of yours is imbecilic and if you go through with it you’re no better than that piss-weak, shitey little bitch Lorroakan. In fact, you’re worse.”

Gale’s glare was the darkest she’d ever seen. Her vicious mockery flashed with purple magic around his skull but this time, he barely winced. Instead, his eyes flickered with white/blue lightning magic and the air grew staticky. A threat. One Dani wasn’t even sure he was aware he was making.

“Whoa. Hang on, both of you,” Karlach said, holding up her hands, but both of them whirled on her in an instant.

“Stay out of this!” they snapped in unison. A small wave of unfocused magic lashed out from both of them, harmless and unguided, but staticky with lightning magic and psychic energy. It swept outward toward Karlach, who stumbled back a step in surprise, her eyes widening with shock and hurt.

Dani and Gale froze, their magics fading away, realizing too late their mistake. If they’d actually had spells prepared, Karlach could have been seriously hurt. Even Astarion’s gaze had gone from amused interest to surprise, eyes flicking between the three of them.

Dani felt her anger evaporate under Karlach’s hurt look. “No, Karlach, I’m sorry,” she said, stepping toward her. “I didn’t mean—“

“I spoke out of turn,” Gale said at the same moment. “Forgive me, I—“

“Save it,” Karlach said roughly. “I didn’t even feel anything.”

She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Look, you two have to work this out. Without coming to blows, yeah? You’re better than this. Both of you.” 

She looked between them, but Dani couldn’t quite meet her gaze. She only felt guilty for hurting her best friend. And guilty for not quite feeling guilty for yelling at Gale.

Karlach sighed and looked at Astarion. “Come on, Fangs. Let’s give them some space. If they want to fight in the street, let ‘em.”

“Oh, but we will find a good vantage point to watch if they do keep fighting, won’t we?” Astarion asked, following her as she walked away.

“No, Fangs. Come on, man, read the room…” 

They disappeared down the street, leaving Gale and Dani in silence. Dani crossed her arms and lowered her gaze to the cobblestones.

This was…stupid. The whole thing. Gale’s plan. Her reactions. The fact they were doing this in a public plaza. All of it.

Gale was quiet too. She didn’t know what he was looking at or what he was thinking because she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Not yet. She knew one thing, though. Whatever her thoughts about the crown and what Gale was planning on doing with it, he didn’t deserve her yelling at him and attacking him like she’d done. In public, no less. Like a couple of dramatic patriars staging a duel for the press.

She sighed, her guilt finally getting the better of her. “I…Gale. Listen. I’m sorry.” She forced herself to face him again, dragging her gaze up reluctantly to look him in the face. “That got out of hand. I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t have used Vicious Mockery on you…twice. I mean, one was an accident, but that doesn’t excuse either one.”

She shook her head. “Scratch that. I don’t have excuses for any of my behavior just now. But I am sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. It took him a moment before he spoke. “It wasn’t the worst tongue-lashing I’ve ever been on the receiving end of,” he said at last. “I think we both let our anger run away with us.”

Dani nodded, lowering her gaze. Things didn’t feel right between them. Not yet. But she didn’t know what to say next to help set things to rights.

“I…shouldn’t have lost control like that,” Gale said softly. “It’s very unlike me. I’m not proud of it. I could have hurt you.” The last words were spoken so softly, some of his former tenderness returning. Dani looked up to find him gazing at her mournfully, ashamed. “Forgive me, Dani. For all the things I said and for very nearly attacking you outright.”

“No, I’m the one who goaded you into all that,” Dani said. “I should have kept my temper. We should have discussed this like adults back at the Elfsong. I just got so…”

“Angry? Annoyed?” He chuckled self-consciously. “I suppose you had every right to be.”

Both were true, but it wasn’t the word she was thinking of. Seeing the hunger in his eyes, hearing him boast to Lorroakan, she’d started to fear Gale a little. Frightened that he was changing from the man she’d fallen in love with. Terrified that in his quest for power, he would lose all of the good parts of himself…and leave her behind, mortal and broken, when she refused to step over the line to accept divine power with him.

But perhaps that needed to be a discussion for later. Not for the public plaza.

She took one of his hands, leaning in to press a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Angry or not, I shouldn’t have yelled or mocked you. I’m sorry, again. And I do forgive you for nearly zapping me with lightning magic, even though I kind of deserved it.”

“No, don’t say that. You don’t.” He tilted her chin up with one of his fingers and kissed her gently. “I forgive you, too, Dani. I love you. And I hope…” He paused. “I hope we can discuss this more calmly tonight. Please, trust me. I will explain everything, if you’ll let me.”

She did trust him, though at the moment her trust was a little shaken. But she nodded regardless. “All right,” she said. “We’ll talk more tonight.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her again and she let herself relax a little in his arms, one hand coming up to comb into his hair. When he pulled away, he was smiling again, back to his usual sweet, loving self. “So…what now?”

“Now we find Astarion and Karlach,” she said. “I didn’t break into the vaults of Sorcerous Sundries and walk out with a half dozen powerful artifacts just to annoy Lorroakan, you know. You got your Annals, and Astarion got the Tharciate Codex thing, and I got some other goodies besides, which means…”

“Ah yes. Cazador.” He said the name with a hard C, mimicking Astarion’s inflection. Dani couldn’t help but giggle. “Well, it’s about time we address the old vampiric master. And,” he added, “the sooner we deal with him, the sooner we can return to Elfsong.”

For their little discussion. Right. But it would have to wait. Cazador would demand all of their attention, and Dani didn’t want to risk jeopardizing her other best friend when he was so close to being free of his maniacal master.

“Come on,” she said, taking Gale’s hand. “Let’s go find our friends.”

[soir-rouges-esprit]

xx111.b: The City, Anything that would allow all the pain I was going to go through, happen … so long this time I had someone to grasp onto. Would they be proud? … He would not be … but … he hasn't experienced my pain … not yet at least … and therefore I'd accept his disdain … and the ignorant blasts of borderline hate speech if not physical violence I know he'd gift … my own abuse. I would hope to treat him as loved ones kept close to quarters treat me today, I'd allow him his human experiences of lashing out in the name of pain alone even if unjust, even if I'd be the innocent bystander caught in the wakes of Wrath. To allow him this expression … and then allow him to view the wretched defilement of his words/actions to my soul and my very existence. And allow him the full cycle of grief … so that he then, may build me a house of gold. Repent in full … to the only god, I serve … Anguish. Although "full" for me is, more than given, auto allocated with interest … I do this with everything. Revenge, Forgiveness, Hate, and Love/Interest … everything. I try and give more than receive. I want … to give more to than receive. Why was this my cycle? I hate it, I love it … why is there never a Me, for Me … I'd feel happy ideally with someone just as I, but maybe … we all think that, but probably we'd go mad … Insidious. I descend down the hill I stood on. Down into that final wasteland gap. I walked straight to The Gate of The City … It was larger and more intimidating than I last remembered. But there was no turning back now … It was time to finally after a year start the process that was finding and reunifying The Shades and repairing the great mosaic that shattered so long ago … and through all that I had been through so far … so much more to go through, and much much worse at that … Insidious. I thought briefly … Wow, I really was crazy back then. Trying such a plan like this … to shatter and die … to hope that at least one in the million shattered shades that hated me more than anything … the only unifying thought at the time … that one … would try and set me back together to how I was … that one would face the entire city. Maybe I also just wanted to die? because these odds are so overwhelming that It’s hard to see how or why I’d doom even one shade to this hell thinking anything other than a fiery failure would come from such a gamble … well, I hope you’re happy so far you bastard … make it as far as you thought? As I walk across the Waste Line, internal dialog spiked … I wonder if they'd figure it out? What The City had to offer … surely peaking into the chapters as they fall they gather its general construct and metaphorical purpose … but will anyone see the result of the battles to come for what they really were? Will they seek further, after the story comes to a close? For a millisecond a brief red vision flashed … I saw myself, looking through broken glass of what appeared like the outside of a skyscraper, high in the sky but on the outside looking in … at myself? falling through many floors with rubble falling with me as if many flights below me collapsed beneath my feet … the other Red was looking shockingly back through the window as well … as if he also didn't quite understand why he was seeing me. The vision stopped. I stop for a moment … the fuck was that? … then continued on. I climb up a small embankment to The Gate. I stand on the outside looking up at the mockingly large city sign that read … Insidious. I then looked down and straight through The Gate on the other side … there they were … shades bustling the streets, driving the cars, working the construction, cleaning the windows, and working the shops … everything … I hadn't even entered the gates … and yet … it was all so incredibly loud. I look past the gate towards the ground and at the line that separates The City’s inners from the rest of the world. I take a deep breath … and go and take a step … [To Be Continued]

[dishtothedeath]

Eternity Served Cold | Jun'ya | Trial 5 Verdict

If they were going through with this trial at all, then surely they were at least trying to maintain some semblance of structure. The project began as something that would have a narrative twisted out of it, in pursuit of naming a winner one way or another. Out of everyone who’d make it through today still alive, not a single one of them could be considered anything remotely resembling a winner after everything they'd been forced through. Inigo had said something to him once, that it was never a matter of just you and a target. Everyone, inevitably, got hurt. The promise of collateral hadn't exactly been a deterrent at the time, but it was clear not everyone thought that way.

So, at the end of this act, was there anything accomplished that was worth the harm, to Man or to anyone? Two more g.hosts joining the ranks, and a miserably lack of catharsis? Hardly. Another accident was all it came down to. Certainly, one that started with more intent behind it, but just a few more moments to dismantle his efforts and hide the evidence could have easily prevented this. Too little, too late - and now there’s nothing to do but wait for another man’s death.

It’s pathetic.

He hates Manqian for his failure to commit to killing someone, and his snivelling sob story. Hates Fergus for rewarding the feeble effort by rushing in like that and dying for it, unceremoniously buried under a pile of rubble. Jun’ya doesn’t feel bad for either of them, of course. Manqian and Fergus both dug their own graves, as far as he's concerned, failing to heed four warnings in sequence. Reckless confidence, foolhardy heroics, stronger resolve, and deeper malice had all failed before - and Manqian, from the sounds of things, was doomed to fail far worse than any of them from well before he even considered drafting his plans.

“How utterly disgraceful. If you’re going to drag me back here like this, I’d have expected it to be for something more worthy of my time. Just look at the wretch - my god, I don’t care if he killed someone, he’s barely worth executing if this is merely for the sake of documentation.”

Not that he cares what happens to Man either way, really. The entire affair deserves neither his contempt nor concern at this point. This is, or at least should be, beneath him now. An old memory of helplessness, unfortunately, still resounds. Being forced to watch as misery and death play out never had gotten any easier. He’d just gotten so much better at convincing everyone otherwise that he, too, had come to believe it.

“If you’re going to insist on carrying out the motions like this, please just get it over with. I'm sure we're all quite ready to leave by now.”

[prototypeluv]

the problem with healing

This is going to be a long random vent about my own experiences. Many of the topics will be triggering, so I am going to include a warning about it. It will include: suicidal ideation, sexual assault, bpd, general talk of trauma.

take care of yourself, and have a good day <3

A majority of my life had led me to believe that I am doomed for failure. Although I continue to strive for happiness, I never feel complete. In fact, it's only led me to feel lonelier as the days go by.

I am young, and I acknowledge that my youth leads to the possibility of so much more. So much promise and hope, as I have not reached my twenties. However, the continuous attempt at positive reinforcement feels tiresome.

It started two years ago. Long story short: I met a boy, we dated, he used coercion and manipulation to gather sexual favors from me. I've been attending therapy the years prior to this experience, but now I see my therapist weekly. When I had come out with the truth regarding this relationship, I was met with nothing but shame and anger. My family did not support me the way I needed them to. Our relationship had already been strained; but all I needed in that moment was support. I needed a hug from my mom. Instead of the care I needed. . .I was blamed for what had happened to me and my own suffering.

I started to isolate, went on various depressive episodes where I would not eat for days. All I did was try to get rid of the skin that he had touched. Even a quick glance at the mirror was enough to fuel tears that come from pure rage. His existence consumed me entirely, and I had felt out of body. I had multiple plans for my death, but the feeling of the pain I will experience prior always averted me. At the time, I considered myself weak for not being able to do so. The self-loathing that had grown from every failed attempt became me. I was angry, hurt, unbearable, irritated. I went to a psychiatric facility. Months away from my 18th birthday, I went. It was my senior year, and none of my teachers gave me the grace I needed; explaining my situation to them made everything more difficult. I was there for a week, and I felt safe. Every day was repetitive but being around younger staff who empathized with me felt safe. I only was discharged because I was genuinely doing a little better, but it was unexpected, and I hadn't felt safe at home. I explained this to the doctors, but they seemed to gather that my family wanted the best for me. It was disingenuous and leaving ultimately made me upset.

I graduated. I didn't envision seeing myself in a cap and gown the year prior. I turned 18. I felt disconnected, I felt as though I broke my destined end by living. I spent the next two weeks of adulthood sobbing. Then I had gotten my BPD diagnosis. I had been trying to advocate for the diagnosis years prior, because I knew the way my brain worked wasn't normal, it wasn't healthy. I knew but I always got told that I was being extreme, jumping to conclusions. The diagnosis had changed things for me as it was the first major step in KNOWING how to heal. This is an identity that I keep very close to my heart, and guard extremely. When I opened up to my family and friends, they claimed that I was "too put together" for this. My self-aware persona had become a gigantic block in my health, and a majority of the time I don't allow for myself to feel. I only allow logical thought processes, and in the end it just backed everything up.

When I was younger, I had ambition, a dream of being the first ever college student in my family. I still have this dream; I think of the time that I could've had a full ride to a school and regret that I didn't take the opportunity. I wanted to be a teacher, or a journalist. I still do, I just am in fear of financial struggle (I am currently dealing with this).

I am on the brink of my birthday, and I am just unlearning my thought process. I fight every day with myself, trying to release the constant tension I feel. I want to make positive steps in my future, but the lack of motivation is hurting me. It sounds entitled and annoying, but I just want my happy ending already. I want something good to happen to me, like it is happening to those around me. Internally I still struggle with envying those around me; they're finding careers, going to college, found a significant other, moved out of the city/state.

But I am still young. I have a life ahead of me. I may not have a plan, I may feel lost and empty, but this one thing always sticks with me:

"You have so much to experience, you're just getting started."

I haven't done everything I want yet. I haven't traveled. I haven't met the person who I consider my love. I haven't had a wedding. I haven't found a friend group. I haven't had the chance to shine.

I am so young, and I should allow myself to explore the possibilities that come with aging.

[dramatisperscnae]

"Yeah, I know. I looked up the plans when I first decided to sneak in here to see you." Dick shrugs, as if such things are only natural. He really has put quite a lot of thought into his actions, it seems, for a boy his age. But then again, if he hadn't he wouldn't have made it even this far before failure struck, and given what Dick is doing, that failure would be very permanent.

He leans back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. Talking about Commissioner Gordon is absolutely not a good idea here, though he's been discussing the matter with Alfred since the appointment was made official. Honestly, Dick thinks the man has a good shot at rebuilding GCPD into something actually useful and functional if he's given half a chance, but telling Wayne that will absolutely do more harm than good right now.

Besides, just at present Dick isn't in the mood to be kindly disposed towards Gotham's finest. His leg hurts too much for that.

The softness in the fallen Knight's voice has him glancing over in quiet surprise. That's new…and kind of heartening, really. Maybe there's more humanity left in Bruce Wayne than Dick's thought. He'll never be a good guy, not at this point, but…maybe he's not entirely doomed to be a complete villain, either.

"Like I said, I know my limits. I can't afford to not be at least seen right now; I'm still trying to establish myself. Building hope is a lot harder than building fear." Dick doesn't want to be feared, not by the general citizenry, and if they're ever going to actually trust him then they need to constantly see him at work. If that means having to shorten his patrol route and focus on one specific neighborhood a night to avoid too much strain on his leg, then so be it.

  🦇—-;; "I can do a lot of things if I'm given enough time." Grim responds to the teasing with a small shrug. He lets out a soft breath when Dick actually listened to his scolding and sat down. He's not entirely sure why it mattered to him, maybe it's because of the fact, that despite everything, Dick was trying to be kind to him and maybe the part of him that's still Bruce wants to protect the kid. Not that he thinks the kid needs it, seems he's holding himself well enough so far in the wake of whatever's going on out there. And the mess Batman had left behind. And Even if Grim thinks the kid's a bit foolish, he's not going to tell him that, he doubts there's anything he can really say to stop him either, so he doesn't bother.

Grim gave a little nod at that, he knew that, he had done enough infiltration to know. "Well, these buildings do have plenty of places you can get into if you're sneaking around." He might not know the layout of the building, but these places tended to have similiar things in place. But, Grim can't exactly get out to confirm that. He lets out a soft breath after a moment, that sedative cocktail still makes him feel like shit, they'd changed it a little bit after it made him actually sick, but the side effects were terrible still.

Grim quirks a brow at the comment about the new police commissioner, he had to wonder about who, but he can take a pretty good guess. He hums a little, "Well...we'll see how long the new commissioner can do that for." He shakes his head a little, making it clear he's done with that part of the conversation, because he still hates the GCPD. But, if they were actually going to be doing their job? Then he didn't care either way.

He tilted his head a little at that, well...if he hasn't said those exact words himself. It's a bit jarring to hear them from the mouth of a fifteen year old. Grim grunts a little. "It won't kill you to rest properly." He says, voice softer than it's ever been. He sighs a little, moving a little. "Not that I'm one to be giving that whole speech, I didn't take a night off either. Pretty sure I made some of my injuries worse."

[imagining-in-the-margins]

The Only Exception (S.R.)

Summary: Reader is only just beginning to believe in love again. Request: the only exception by paramour. readers parents didn’t have a good relationship causing the reader not to believe love is real and it’s only in movies until she meets spencer Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader Category: Fluff/Comfort Content Warning: None! Word Count: 900

MASTERLIST

The first time you met Spencer, you thought a great many number of things. You thought that his lungs were awful hardy for someone so thin, and that despite the way he loved to run his tongue over his lips every other word, he’d never bitten the thing once in his life.

Not much changed over the time you knew him; the boy always seemed like a walking contradiction. An impossibility. A dream.

But you were taught young that dreams were things best kept behind closed eyes. That was why you approached everything about him as cautiously as one could.

When you fell in love with Spencer, it was entirely on accident. You weren’t able to pinpoint when exactly it happened, but it was somewhere between the cafe and your apartment on a mundane Sunday afternoon. He drops you off at the door with a smile and a wave, and you say nothing about the revelation.

You convince yourself that you are able to forget about it and return to work the next morning like you hadn’t just done what you’d swore you never would. You couldn’t be in love with Spencer Reid, because as far as you were concerned, love was a fairy tale that belonged between decorated fabric covers.

There was no divine intervention — your decisions were entirely your own. So, you decided, that it was better not to ruin pure things to pursue your own unhappily-ever-after.

You decide that you are not in love with Spencer Reid, but you avoid him for the week. It isn’t until Wednesday that you realize that you are, in fact, still thinking about him by trying not to.

On Thursday, you see him again. There are dozens of open seats on the jet, but he sits next to you. He is so painfully normal that you start to question his abilities as a profiler. Surely, he should know that things have gone terribly wrong.

But when you start to nod off on the long trip, he is more than happy to offer you his shoulder instead of the cold, rumbling window to your right. Reluctantly, you take it, wondering whether this is some cruel way to punish you for having fallen for him in the first place.

That night you see him again, staring back at you from the second bed in the strange room. You shiver not from cold, but from fear of the way his eyes make you feel so utterly vulnerable.

But when he offers you a place in his bed, wordlessly lifting the sheets and beckoning you forward, you take it. You curl up in his arms and wonder how it could be that he felt so terrifying and so comforting at the same time.

You look up at that impossible man, and you wonder what his plan is. You wonder what he could possibly get out of dragging you along, knowing that it was doomed to failure no matter what.

“Why are you crying?” he asks, and you notice the tears falling for the first time.

“Because I’m scared,” you answer.

“About what?”

“About you.”

Spencer shifts awkwardly under the sheets, distancing himself a few inches until he sees the way it makes you cringe. Then, to spite your fear, he brings you even closer.

“I love you,” you whisper into his shoulder, and you feel the way he tenses. You prepare yourself for the rejection, but it never comes. So, you bring it instead. “I love you, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

You hate the way he is so good at lying. It is the only way to explain how convincing he sounds when his voice cracks.

“Because I know how it’ll end. I know it’ll all fall apart like it always does.”

There is a moment of silence that is broken by a lighthearted laughter. You hear it as it travels through his chest. The vibrations wake you from your self-pitying slumber. You are not dreaming, but awake when he gives his reply.

“Yeah… but…”

“What?”

“What if it doesn’t?” he suggests.

You pause, eyeing the man with pink cheeks and a whole lot of tenacious audacity.

“What if it all works out?” he asks, and you don’t know what to say. You are so unable to entertain such a ridiculous notion that all you can think to do is laugh along with him.

“It is a possibility,” he insists, but you cover his mouth with a firm hand. He obeys your command for a little while. He does not need his lips to cherish you, relying only on his hands that frame your face and his wrinkled eyes that wiggle their way even further into your heart.

He waits until you drop your fingers to his chin before he says with a playfulness that makes the pitter-pattering in your chest seem almost comical, “I’m a very good gambler, you know.”

“I know,” you laugh along with him until he finishes with words that strike you to your core.

“And I think I’d like to take those odds.”

You stare at him with a dropped jaw that slowly, eventually shifts into a smile. A grin that only grows when he pulls you close enough to whisper against your lips, “All in or fold?”

As you seal the deal with a kiss, you realize that you still don’t know which answer you’d picked. All that you know is that it was the right one.

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

[wutheringmights]

Can I be greedy and ask for all of the boys ? And any characters you have strong opinions on? Pretty please? With lots of cherries and chocolate on top? ( for the ask meme ofc)

Anon, I'll finish up all of the boys in the Chain just for you. And trust me, I have an Infinite Amount of Strong Opinions. You have no idea how Opinionated I Am.

If anyone is coming in late to this, here are the boys I have done already and a short summary of my thoughts (click the hyperlinks to get the full Opinion):

Warriors: he's best when he's the trashy anti-Link, and I like him so much

Twilight: kind of boring, but I have a soft spot for him anyway because you never forget your first

Wind: should have been aged up a little so that he can have that identity crisis I'm craving

This... gets long. Really long. 3-hours-of-work-long. Before you read, please note that even when I speak negatively about something, it’s not to diss anyone who does like the thing. I’m not vague posting or being passive aggressive. This is all written in good humor and good faith. 

That being said, let’s a-go!

-Sky-

What I love about them: He has one of the best character arcs of all the Links. I love that he starts off being lazy and kind of a jerk, but grows as a person because he wants to save his friend. And I love that he's truly the most courageous Link. He has no other successful hero of past or legacy to lean back upon to reassure him. He walked into that fight with Demise with no assurance from anyone that he would succeed. Yet, he does it anyway. Because he's a true hero and someone had to be one. And he's rewarded with a curse that he does not initially take seriously. He thinks he's saved everyone, yet he's cursed his spirit, possibly his bloodline, and his entire legacy of the kingdom of Hyrule into a doomed cycle of destruction. All because he dared to face evil incarnate. I love him.

What I hate about them: You know how I called Twilight boring? I should have saved that critique for Sky. LU Sky is actually the most boring interpretation of his character. All of his negative traits? Gone. All of his positives? Also gone. He's the blandest version of himself, and like Twilight, I now feel like I gotta add some spice to him to make him more interesting while still keeping him recognizable. Even so, he's still one of my favorite Links.

Favorite Moment/Quote: When he kicks Twilight's ass at sword fighting. That's stuff is *chef's kiss*

What I would like to see more focus on: You would think that there would be more angst out there about him realizing that he's actually been cursed, but it's still kind of hard to find. He's the Cursed Knight! The beginning of a terrible legacy! Imagine meeting a bunch of heroes for the first time, and instead of being relieved at having someone who understands your experiences, you're filled with horror at realizing that your victory was a false one. You didn't win. Your spirit will never be at rest. Imagine dealing with that realization for the rest of your life. You could never be at peace.

What I would like to see less focus on: I love that he loves his wife, but he's more just the fact that he's married, y'know? I would like to see a little less blind devotion to Hylia and Zelda, and more complicated feelings about being manipulated into being the hero.

Favorite pairing with: Sun/Link/Groose OT3! I have no reasoning behind this other than I like Groose and Groose definitely had a crush on SkSw Link.

Favorite friendship: I won't answer Groose again even if I want to, so I'll say Warriors. I cannot begin to describe how elite this friendship would be if you gave it a chance. They're just two boys dealing with unique positions of leadership and responsibility. They would probably even bond over being shitheads at different ends of the shithead spectrum. It's so good, okay?

NOTP: Ghirahim. I'm not too adverse to this one, but the ship hinges on whether you can redeem Ghirahim or not. In my opinion, Ghirahim is awesome because he's such a fun villain. Redeeming him ruins the fun.

Favorite headcanon: I have a whole life story planned out for Sky. Basically, he lives to be close to 500 years old by the power of the Triforce. He is the Link throughout the Era of Chaos who banishes the Dark Interlopers to the Twilight Realm and seals the Triforce in the Sacred Realm. He actually seals himself in the Sacred Realm as well to keep the Triforce safe, and he fought Ganondorf in when he broke in. Sky, like Time and Wind, does not get a happy ending.

-Four-

What I love about them: Four is origin of the heroes of Hyrule being known for being children. What a legacy to leave behind. He's such an interesting case of an incarnation of the Hero's Spirit, too. He fought Vaati, and he did his job so well that Demise's next incarnation had to be Ganondorf. Four did his job the best out of everyone, and it came at the cost of creating a magic sword that changed him permanently. I like to think that the Four Sword was not meant to split him, that it was a mistake he made with the design. And it's sad, isn't it? You made a defective sword, and like any good sword, it has a symbolic double edge. It gifted you with so much, and yet he can never be the same again. And his story is never well-remembered because it is overshadowed by the Links who fought the King of Evil. He's does so much, yet his legacy is underappreciated.

What I hate about them: I want to prepare you for this Opinion, because I know it's unpopular. Are you ready? Okay. I don't like the Colors. I'm sorry. I want to like them, but they don't interest me at all. Because they are parts of Four’s personality, they have to be one-note archetypes which does not make for exciting storytelling. I also haven't found a fic yet that has been from Four's POV that did the internal monologue of the Colors in a way that wasn't a pain in the ass to read. Maybe if someone can figure out how to do the Colors in a way that doesn't feel like a drag, I would like them more. But in the end, I think Four himself is more interesting than the Colors.

Favorite Moment/Quote: The fact that he didn't want to touch the Master Sword because he doesn't trust magic swords. That is every I need to know about his opinion on his own adventures.

What I would like to see more focus on: I want more of Four as Four. It's getting harder to find content of Four being his own person first and the Colors second.

What I would like to see less focus on: Four being the Colors first and his own person second. There is something about viewing Four as this cover identity for the Colors that doesn't feel right. There's a balance that needs to be strike between his ability to split, how that affects his every day life, and his own identity of being Four. I think I may have read one fic that hit that sweet spot for me, but still.

Favorite pairing with: Shadow. I'm such a sucker for befriending and falling for the enemy. That is all.

Favorite friendship: Dot! Their friendship is super cute. I like the idea of them being super close when they were younger and struggling to keep the friendship going as they age due to how much their paths in life diverge.

NOTP: This isn't necessarily a Four or an LU problem, but people who ship the Colors together? Bro. C'mon.

Favorite headcanon: I'm torn between two different Four and the Master Sword headcanons. On one hand, Four thinking that the Master Sword is just legend until he meets Sky and everyone else is just a fun idea. He sees the legendary sword for the first time and his mind is blown. On the other hand, I also like my Four with a side of hubris. What if he had the option on his quest to draw the Master Sword himself? What if he could tell that if he did that, the consequences would be terrible. He's not sure what would happen, but he knows it would be terrible. So he decided to make his own sword instead to disastrous results. Wouldn't that be tragic or what?

-Time-

What I love about them: Last winter, I did a two hour powerpoint for my friends about the Legend of Zelda timeline. During that powerpoint, I was rating every iteration of Link. What I said about the Hero of Time then holds true to my thoughts of LU Time now. Time is the original Link, more so than Sky in the lore and Legend/Hyrule in real life. Every other hero is a reflection of him. So the fact that his story is about the loss of childhood and the tragedy of that is incredible, and you can see those themes reflected in every other game. Moreso, he’s the only Link with a confirmed tragic ending. Not only does he end his life unsatisfied, but his adventure is failure on every timeline. In the adult timeline, Hyrule is swallowed by the sea. In the child one, Ganondorf returns again. In the fallen timeline, Hyrule fell. I like the idea since that the games themselves are the legends that are past down about each hero, Hylians have also remembered Time as a tragic figure. Yet, they also remember that the happy moments for his life come from small acts of kindness. Even someone as sad as him finds joy in helping others, even if it’s just to small deeds that will not be heralded as grand heroic quests. It’s beautiful.

What I hate about them: This is more about Mask than Time, but Mask is not an adult in a child’s body. He did not rewind time in Termina enough to be considered mentally an adult. He’s a young teenager at best, and that’s me being generous. He is a child who was forced to be an adult and despite the gods being done with him, he cannot conceive of ever having a childhood again. So he can say all he wants that he’s an adult, but he is not. That’s just what he thinks he is.

Favorite Moment/Quote: Anytime we get a flashback to him being a younger adult is great. I want to see more of his in this his early adulthood.

What I would like to see more focus on: I think I just want more of Time being... not a bad leader, but being an imperfect one. I honestly think he’s only the leader because he’s the oldest and enough of the heroes recognize the title of Hero of Time. But he is not the leader type, and he is struggling to keep it together and has to defer to Twilight and Warriors for help a lot. 

What I would like to see less focus on: I’m not the biggest fan of Dad!Time for any of the Links. He’s not emotionally ready for it. And I think he defaults to treating the boys like adults because that’s how he wanted to be treated when he was their age. 

Favorite pairing with: Malon. He has this great partnership of equal respect with her and it’s just. So good.

Favorite friendship: Linebeck. I know. This exists only in my head. But if these two ever meet, you cannot convince me that they would not get along swimmingly. It would be so good (once Linebeck gets over his crush on Time and stops hitting on him, of course).

NOTP: Child Timeline Zelda. Let me explain: I fully believe in Bi Time supremacy, and when in OoT, he definitely had a crush on Sheik. However, one of the worst parts of rewinding time and being in the child timeline is that Zelda is a completely different person now. They may have been friends in the other timeline, but her life experiences are completely different now. She is not the same person as he once knew. And it’s tragic to know someone as who they could have been, not as they are.

Favorite headcanon: After Termina, Time spent a lot of time with the Nabooru because out of everyone he knew, she’s the only who took him seriously even as a child. She has big older sister energy, and he considers her a part of his family. However, being treated as such made it easier for him to ignore his issues and put off his healing process by a few years.

-Legend-

What I love about them: Veteran of Heroes! What a freaking title. I love that he keeps on finding adventures, and that he keeps hustling. Even if he complains about never getting a break, you can tell that he loves helping others. He loves being on the road, never settling down, and finding adventure after adventure. Honestly, if any of the Links had a calling to be a hero, it’s him. Is he tired? Sure. Is he a little jaded after having saved Hyrule and a bunch of other kingdoms multiple times? Yes. But at the end of the day, he likes being a hero. This is who he is. His complaining is not genuine; he just plays the martyr because, at this point, he’s earned the right to.

What I hate about them: If you can’t tell by now, I have a, uh, different interpretation of Legend from popular canon. Fandom Legend is not right to me. He is unrecognizable. It is hard to write him because I feel like I have to balance what other people think Legend should be versus how I think he is. The people who are big Legend enjoyers probably feel the same way about my version of Warriors, and that’s fine. I’m not going to gel with every character and I don’t expect everyone to gel with how I see characters either. It’s goes both ways, y’know.

Favorite Moment/Quote: I like how subtly he tried to approach the Wolfie problem at first, trying to ask questions and get more proof before confronting Twilight. It’s a good touch.

What I would like to see more focus on: If I had to choose one thing, it’s this one throw away line about him never wanting to settle down. I’m telling you, folks! He likes his lifestyle! And did you see him when he does presenting the origins of the hero? He’s not bitter about being a hero! Legend is moody, but he is not angsty about the whole hero thing. Have fun with him please!

What I would like to see less focus on: If you can’t tell by now, Legend is my least favorite Link. There is a lot I want to see less of, but just to name one thing, it’s the headcanon that Fable is his sister. I live and die by common born Link, and whether he’s a legitimate heir or the royal bastard, I am more than bored with the persistent Prince!Legend content.

Favorite pairing with: Marin. It’s a good tragic story and I like it well enough. She’s cute, and he’s cute with her.

Favorite friendship: Warriors. I’m with everyone else on these two have peak sibling energy. They tease and pick on each other, but only they are allowed to mess with each other. They’re each other’s bully, and it’s always good to see.

NOTP: I do not have enough energy to have a lot of strong opinions about Legend’s romantic relationships, but I will mentioned that I have lost a lot of love for Ravio recently and am liking seeing him with Legend less and less. I have no better reason for this than the fact that I finally played ALBW and hate how many of my hard earned rupees he’s taken from me by withholding important, lifesaving items. Rat bastard.

Favorite headcanon: Remember my headcanon about him being the coolest bad boy folk hero on the block because everyone thinks he kidnapped Zelda? Yeah, I still stand by that one. I did good there.

-Hyrule-

What I love about them: If there is any Link that I would call a gutter rat, it is this one. I struggle a bit to talk about Hyrule since his games gives us so little, but in the end, I always fall back on him being a hero of the people. He is the one who has nothing and relates the best to people who are at their lowest. Yet, he is still a hero. He earns the right to be a hero because he helped Impa in her time of need. He’s selfless and competent. Even if he never got a traditional education, I bet he’s wicked smart too. He is the Link that symbolizes all of the parts of the Triforce the most. And, god. I cannot talk about him without mentioning the blood sacrifice part of LA. It’s such a cool concept, and I cannot imagine what it must be like to go from being the rough and tumble, win-at-all-costs fighting to protecting yourself first because if you don’t, the consequences are disastrous. It’s paradoxical, and it must be such a different mindset to fall into. But it must also be a blessing in disguise since now he has a reason to finally care about himself.

What I hate about them: Who started the Hyrule is innocent headcanon? Come over here because we need to exchange some words. If there is anyone who would be a realist and know how the world works, it’s this guy. And while we’re here, who came up with the Hryule is always lost headcanon? I also have some words for you. And you know what? WHILE WE’RE HERE, who let him be named Hyrule? I’m have more than choice words for you. His name scheme is the bane of my existence and the express reason why I don’t write him more. God.

Favorite Moment/Quote: That one panel where he takes utter delight in Warriors hiding from his scorned lovers? That is a central pillar in my understanding of Hyrule.

What I would like to see more focus on: Again, his relationship with other people. Even if his games are lacking in NPCs, we know from lore that he’s a good guy who will jump in to help others. He must know plenty of people, and I want to see who exists in his world with him. 

What I would like to see less focus on: I have an on-going joke with my brother that certain characters are Catholic, even if Catholicism does not exist in the world of the thing we’re watching or playing. Of course, we’re not being serious. we’re just joshing around. So imagine the gut punch I feel whenever I see people say Hyrule is Christian and realize that they’re being serious. I just can’t take it seriously.

Favorite pairing with: Aurora. It’s cute and I’m a sucker for that hero and royalty dynamic, especially when the hero is a peasant. It’s so cheesy, but I love it.

Favorite friendship: Legend. But not the way everyone else pairs them up as the grumpy one and the sunshine one. I think of it more as them being the pinnacle of boys being boys. They’re shitheads. They do stupid shit together. They both have a dark sense of humor. They joke that they’re practically the same person sometimes.

NOTP: uhhhhhhhhh.... Is he paired with anyone else?

Favorite headcanon: I love the idea that he just likes his way of life and refuses to accept anyone saying otherwise. Legend wants to teach him to read? Sorry, but he’s never had to read before in his life so he’s pretty sure he’ll never need it anyway. Want to participate in the treasured Hylian tradition of piercing your ears when you come of age? Why would he ever do that when a monster could rip those earrings off? He’s stuck in his ways and it frustrates everyone else to no end, but he has no interest in ever changing.

-Wild-

What I love about them: When I was 9, I spent my time online on Legend of Zelda forums. I remember one of my forum friends saying that they wanted a Legend of Zelda game where Link lost. And I think of that friend whenever I think about Wild. BOTW Link is the best Link that has ever been. He is the epitome of every trait we associate with any Link. He’s smart and sassy. He’s hard working and kind. But underlining all of that is the fact that he’s still the one who failed. If Demise’s Curse in SkSw is the set-up, the Great Calamity is the payoff. And I haven’t even talked about how confirming him as being non-verbal before the Calamity does so much for his characterization. I don’t even know where to start or how to articulate it. By game storyline alone, Wild is one of my favorites.

What I hate about them: You guys knew this one was coming, but I’m going to have to say it anyway. Fandom Wild.... not good. I’ve said it for half of these boys so far, but god is it true. I have a way I see Wild that is rarely done in the fandom. Fandom Wild has a lot of the traits I also see in Wild, but to all of the extremes. I will mention one thing in particular as being a pet peeve, and it’s how some people headcanon him as always being nonverbal. I know what they’re trying to do, and I think they’re on to something, but they’re also missing the point of what BOTW Link’s character arc is. I just wish more people would forget fandom and work more off of the games for how to characterize him.

Favorite Moment/Quote: Weirdly enough, my favorite moment is when he got mad at everyone for making fun of his Gerudo outfit, so he dumped Goron Spice in his cooking. It’s encapsulates a part of his character I think a lot of people forget about.

What I would like to see more focus on: I think he has a really complicated relationship with his past. He said himself that his old self felt like a different person, and I think that should be explored a lot more. That idea actually fascinates me so much that instead of CTB, I almost wrote a character study fic about Wild. His emotions are not as simple as feeling guilty about letting his friends die and not preventing the Calamity. His emotions would be so complicated and because I don’t have the time to explore it, someone else needs to do it for me.

What I would like to see less focus on: There is a weird fascination with Wild having memory loss and essentially being like a kid again. And this feels infantilizing to me. It honestly bugs me a lot every time I see it.

Favorite pairing with: I can’t decide between Zelda, Mipha, and Revali. They’re all different dynamics and they’re all good.

Favorite friendship: Paya. I firmly believe that Paya is Wild’s best friend. I am the only one in the world who believes this. But I am also the only one in the world who is correct. 

NOTP: Wild is good with everyone. Good for him!

Favorite headcanon: An essential scene of my Wild character study I will never write is one where his horse dies. He goes into shock and walks back to Kakariko to talk to Impa. But once he goes to her, he breaks down in tears and has an absolute melt down over the horse. And Impa sagely says, “It’s not about the horse, is it?” She’s implying that he’s actually mourning the loss of his friends, Hyrule, his life, everything-- but through his tears, he keeps tell her that she’s wrong. He barely remembers them. He doesn’t know them. He doesn’t have any feelings about them. He just really loved that horse. But Impa refuses to listen to him, just repeating over and over again: “it’s not really about the horse.”

And that’s it! That’s all of my opinions! I know a lot of my opinions are polarizing, but everything I said is in good faith, and I am not trying to diss anyone for how they approach these characters.

I welcome you to send me your Opinions on the Links, even if it’s just to disagree with me. I’m cool with it, and I like knowing what everyone else thinks!

[dothwrites]

13 and 20

13. and 20.--Detective AU and Teacher AU

---

Castiel represses a sigh as he stands up straight. His spine pops as he subtly stretches out the kinks in his aching body.

He'd thought that he was a reasonably fit man, but bending over and scrubbing at filthy floors and tables every day is playing hell with his lower back.

The bell rings, and Castiel curses under his breath as he moves back against the wall. Less than thirty seconds later, all of the doors near him burst open and a flood of teenagers courses into the hallway.

Castiel's had a lot of unpleasant assignments in his life, but going undercover at Carver Edlund High School is among the worst. He thought that he'd seen some of the worst that humanity had to offer: murderers who cared nothing for the pain of their victims, kidnappers who plunged families into turmoil for years, robbers who were willing to kill just in order to get a few quick bucks. But upon seeing the horror show of the cafeteria after a group of freshmen finished lunch, Castiel has to start reevaluating his list of atrocities.

The tardy bell rings, and Castiel sighs as he steps out in the hall. He rolls his eyes at the debris that the students have left behind and grabs his push broom to start clearing it away.

Going undercover at Carver Edlund wasn't Castiel's first choice of assignments, but with several students ending up in the hospital due to drug overdoses, something drastic had to be done. Castiel's job is simple: gather as much intelligence as he can about where the drugs are coming from. If possible, he's to find the dealer and shut the whole production down.

In theory, it's a good assignment. Success here would mean a potential commendation, maybe a promotion if the operation is big enough. But the reality of the situation is much different. Castiel's been masquerading as a member of the maintenance team for a little over a week, and he's no closer to finding the source of the drugs than he was when he started.

His captain had ultimately decided to send him in as a member of the janitorial staff for access reasons: as a janitor, he has keys to every door. Not even lockers are safe from him. There's no place in the school off-limits to him. Unfortunately, it also means that his opportunities for questioning potential suspects are limited: no high school student wants to have long conversations with the janitor. He's reduced to sweeping around gaggles of kids, hoping that they'll just so happen to let something slip.

His plan hasn't worked. So far, he's learned about the latest TikTok challenge, who's rumored to have slept with who, and who on the football team is getting suspended, but drugs? Either these kids are savvier than he gives them credit for, or they don't know anything.

"Oh, sorry, 'scue me... Oh. Hi, Steve."

It takes Castiel just a second too long to respond to the name. Part of that is because he's still not used to answering to his cover name, and part of that is because he's still not sure how to act around Dean Smith.

He braces himself before he turns around, but that still doesn't prepare him for the sight of Dean Smith leaning against the wall. Looking at him is like looking into the sun, if the sun was in a dingy hallway with flickering florescent lights and questionable stains on the floor. Even with those inauspicious surroundings, however, Dean Smith, with his sandy hair, vibrant eyes, freckles, and bright, crooked grin, stands out.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel allows the hint of a smile to cross his face. He'd called Dean 'Mr. Smith' exactly once before Dean had put a stop to it.

"Oh, no," he said, grimacing in distaste, "I get enough of that from the kids. Just Dean, man." Castiel hadn't argued, and the slightly stuffy Mr. Smith became Dean.

"Another beautiful day cleaning up the debris of the world?" Dean gestures towards the small pile of dirt and dust that Castiel has managed to collect.

"It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it," Castiel answers.

No doubt his superiors would be screaming if they could see him right now. Zachariah, his Captain, would sneer, You're there to catch drug dealers, Novak, not to play nice with pretty boy teachers, but Zachariah isn't here right now. Plus, it's not like Castiel's making any headway on the drug dealers, so he might as well indulge his crush with a guy who's miles out of his league.

Dean is the kind of good-looking that gets noticed by modeling companies in the line at the cafe. Castiel has found himself wondering, more than once, what a guy like him is doing substitute teaching. It's obvious that Dean is smart, and he doesn't doubt that he could have a job doing whatever he wanted. Still, Dean's being a substitute teacher works out well for him, so he doesn't complain. Not if it means that he can be just a little closer to him.

Maybe if Castiel wasn't undercover and wearing an unflattering jumpsuit with the name 'Steve' stitched across the front pocket. Maybe if he were dressed in his customary suit and had a badge and gun to flash around. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

"Don't talk to me about dirty jobs," Dean says, his voice entirely too low and insinuating for the circumstances. Heat blooms underneath Castiel's collar.

"Well, I'm not sure what else to talk to you about," he confesses. He resents the broom handle in his hands.

Dean shrugs. His smile is still carefree, but there's something else in his eyes when he says, "What about any books that you've read lately? TV shows that you've watched?" His eyes flash to Castiel's, and his tongue flirts with his lower lip as he asks, "Restaurants that you'd like to go to?"

Castiel's heart stutters. For a second, it sounded like... But that can't be right. Dean can't be inviting him out. Guys like Castiel don't go out with guys like Dean. That's just the way the world works. Maybe if he was Detective Castiel Novak, but now when he's Janitor Steve.

He takes a second too long to answer. By the time that he's managed to figure out that Dean is serious, Dean's expression has shuttered. He flashes a painfully fake smile at Castiel. "Hey, man, don't worry about it. I'll catch you later, okay?"

He's turning to go, and fear grabs at Castiel. He knows that if he lets Dean walk away, then everything will change between them. No more jokes, no more stolen conversations in the hallways. They'll become nothing more than vague, uneasy colleagues, at least until Castiel's assignment ends and he disappears forever from Dean's life.

The indignity of his assignment and the frustration of his ineptitude rises in Castiel, and bursts out of him in a quick call. "Dean!"

Dean turns around. Hope flickers in his eyes before he hides it. "Yeah?" he asks. The carefully blank tone in his voice is like a knife twisting in Castiel's chest.

"I like Italian food," Castiel answers. He offers a hesitant smile towards Dean, hoping against hope that Dean will accept his overture.

After a second, Dean's smile spreads slowly across his face, as bright as the sunrise. "Yeah," he says, nodding slowly, "yeah, I think we could do that."

---

Dean's heart dances in his chest as he walks away from Steve.

He did it. After weeks of ogling and tentatively flirting, he finally asked out the hot janitor.

Steve is a lot more than a pair of pretty blue eyes and a five o'clock shadow that makes Dean's lip yearn for stubble burn, though. (Though Steve does fill out a jumpsuit better than anyone Dean's ever seen. One day, he was lifting a desk onto the dolly so that it could be moved, and Dean thought his eyes were about to pop out of his skull. Between the thick thighs attempting to pop the seams on his pants, and the biceps rippling, Dean hadn't known where to look.) Steve has a wicked sense of humor, an innate sense of kindness, and he's caught every single one of Dean's literary references (the pop culture ones, not so much. Seriously, who's never seen Indiana Jones?). There's more to Steve than meets the eye, and Dean's itching to peel back the dozens of layers.

He ignores the tiny voice in the back of his head (which sounds like an alarming mix of Sam and Bobby) saying Don't get too involved. This is a temporary thing. Dean frowns and tries to tell the voice to shut the fuck up.

He's only here for as long as it takes him to figure out who's bringing drugs into the school. At the first viable lead, he'll be yanked out, and Dean Smith, substitute teacher, will die, to be replaced by Agent Dean Winchester of the DEA.

Because of the environment, there are multiple law enforcement agencies working on this case. There's state police, the DEA, and maybe even a few FBI agents sniffing around. It's naive to believe that there aren't other agents working in the school, but he hasn't come across any yet that he knows of. He's not entirely sure; he lets Bobby deal with all of the inter-agency bullshit. He has his mission and his cover, and Bobby, as his handler, can navigate every other pitfall.

Beyond small talk and leading conversations, Dean hasn't tried to get close with anyone. Every smiling face could conceal an undercover agent or a dealer. With suspicion everywhere, it's best not to succumb to temptation.

Which makes his attraction to Steve all the more intriguing.

Just thinking of the other man sets off a series of fireworks in the pit of Dean's belly.

This is probably a terrible idea, doomed to failure, but Dean is going to enjoy the ride while it lasts.

Whistling, he goes back to the classroom and prepares for his next class.