#wherever dead cavaliers go

[countingnothings]

banging my way through a mercymorn & augustine fic, trying to prevent it from becoming a cristabel & alfred fic, as one does

[psyche-reads]

I’m rereading Harrow for the first time after Nona and noticed a very subtle but very disturbing trend when Resurrection Beasts come up.

The wording is careful, but quite specific when it comes to why the Resurrection Beasts come for the Lyctors; for John, it’s related to him killing the planets, but for his lyctors, it is very clear that the reason why the RBs want them is because they consumed their cavaliers’ souls.

This is pretty obvious in theory, but I didn’t really think much of it when I first read that. Like, it just kind of makes sense as some kind of abstract concept linking them with John while also being “unnatural” enough to invoke the wrath of eldritch monsters. But the more you look into it, the more it seems that the Beasts have some sort of connection to the cavaliers.

They see the consumed souls of the cavaliers and they are physically drawn to them. It’s like some base instinct that draws them to the lyctors at all times, that they just have to get to the cavaliers, but it’s not clear why. THEN, we get to Nona.

In the first conversation we get with blue-madness Judith, Varun the Eater shouts at Nona that he saw Gideon— and ALL the other cavaliers— in the River. The other cavs seem to be fighting the RBs, but Varun’s opinion on them isn’t exactly clear yet. What is clear is that wherever cavaliers go when their souls are consumed is the same place that the RBs go. There is something of them that is alike, where they are called to each other, where they are trapped together, and it has to be important.

Back to image 2 with Mercymorn’s cries about it seeing her cavalier’s mortal soul, she describes the RB (Varun) as “blue like Loveday’s eyes,” aka Loveday Heptane, Cytherea’s cav. You know, the one from the Seventh House.

Varun the Eater. Neptune. Number 7. Resembles the eyes of the consumed cavalier of the Seventh.

No way in hell is that a coincidence, especially with how important eye color is in this series.

It’s also worth mentioning that there were originally NINE Resurrection Beasts, including Alecto; one for each planet. Harrow is the Ninth Saint to Serve the King Undying. Including Gideon (but not Samael), there are NINE dead cavaliers.

THEN, thinking of Alecto, the gold-eyed gold-haired RB who already favors the Ninth House—whose cav has some Very Interesting eyes and a history of body hopping… do you see where I’m going with this?

My thoughts aren’t fully cooked on this one because I’m not that smart, but there’s clearly something here. Like, the Resurrection Beasts are drawn to cavaliers, they go to the same liminal space when they’re dead, they resemble cavaliers, there’s the same number of them as cavaliers… add to this the fact that John keeps all of the corpses of the dead cavs around and we know RBs can possess bodies… let’s just say he’d better start settling his affairs :/

[duhragonball]

Neon Genesis Evangelion 04

"We have to use fourteen-year-olds to pilot the Evas. And we have to make rainbow scans of their skinny little butts! The future of mankind depends on it!"

This episode, Shinji runs away from home. Or maybe he's going back to wherever he lived before he came to Tokyo-3, so he's running away to home? He's running away is the point here.

Misato isn't very surprised to discover this, but she's still frustrated. Then Shinji's classmates, Suzuhara and the other guy... I was gonna look him up but I looked up Suzuhara and just got spoiled so fuck that. We're calling him Big Rigg Mahoney now. Yeah, Suzuhara's taller, but I don't care. We're going with it.

Anyway, Suzuhara and Big Rigg Mahoney show up at Misato's apartment because they haven't seen Shinji at school for days. Suzuhara wants to apologize for punching Shinji in Episode 3. He only did it because he blamed Shinji for fighting the Angel so close to the city, which got his sister hospitalized, but his sister chewed him out for this, and he and Big Rigg Mahoney got a first-hand look at what it's like for Shinji when he's piloting that Eva. That's his motivation, Big Rigg Mahoney's mostly involved because he likes war movies and likes playing soldier, and he's fascinated by the Evas, NERV Agency, etc.

They did not expect a grown woman to be living in Shinji's apartment, so they hand her his assignments from school and leave, but now they think Shinji is even cooler, because he's a badass pilot and he's living with a hot babe.

Let me get this out of the way: I did find this episode much more enjoyable than the last one. I had a good feeling about it, since the next-episode preview promised that Shinji would run away, which was encouraging because at least Shinji would have to make a conscious decision and act upon it, like some sort of fictional character might do. But then it occurred to me that maybe Suzuhara and Big Rigg Mahoney might have kidnapped Shinji and told him to run away, in a misguided attempt to help him. And Shinji would be like "hai!" and go AWOL simply because someone told him to. That would suck, so when these two show up early in the episode and they have no idea where he went either, it was very reassuring.

Not that it's too much of a change for Shinji. He's off on his own, but he's still mopey and dead inside. He rides the subway all the way to the end of the line, listening to his playlist of "Track 25" and "Track 26" over and over again the whole way. Then he realizes he has to "go back". I'm not sure what that means, but I assume he's talking about going back to Tokyo-3, since he doesn't seem to have a destination in mind. And yet, he's in no hurry, stopping off at a movie theater that's running some sort of film festival of Second Impact documentaries.

He watches a couple making out in the theater. I don't know if he's envious or fascinated or disgusted, or he just doesn't know what else to do.

Meanwhile, Misato discusses Shinji's disappearance with Ritsuko. We flash back to the aftermath of the battle in Episode 3. Misato had ordered Shinji to retreat before his Eva ran out of power, but Shinji went gonzo and killed the Angel instead. She scolded him for ignoring her orders, but he acted cavalier about it, reminding her that they won, so it doesn't really matter. She warned him that his attitude will only get him killed, and he replied that his attitude doesn't matter, because he's the only one who can pilot the Eva. It's either Shinji or Rei (who's still injured), or nobody, so they might as well let Shinji fuck around and find out. If he gets himself killed they're no worse off than if he doesn't pilot the Eva at all.

In hindsight, Misato is kind of relieved he's gone, because at least this way he won't bring this fatalistic mentality onto the battlefield. The disconnect here is that she's some sort of career soldier, with loyalties and duties and causes to respect. Shinji got drafted last month, and he doesn't want to do this and he's only participating because he's the indispensible man. But Shinji hates himself, so if he gets killed through incompetence, it's no better or worse than winning every battle, or abandoning his post. It's all the same to him, he's got nothing to gain or lose here.

Meanwhile, Shinji happens upon Big Rigg Mahoney, who's playing soldier out in the middle of nowhere. He's got a uniform and a tent and everything. When he spots Shinji he invites him over for whatever he's cooking, and they hang out. See, this is nice. Shinji took matters into his own hands, and now he's hanging out with his friend, Big Rigg Mahoney.

Finally, a bunch of goons from NERV show up and take Shinji into custody. The next day, Suzuhara is upset to hear the Big Rigg Mahoney let them take Shinji without a fight, but come on, man. Big Rigg Mahoney didn't get this far in life without learning to know when to fight and when to take it easy.

Back at the base, Shinji expects Misato to scold him, but she doesn't. She just asks him if he enjoyed his time away, and he says he doesn't know. Classic Shinji. They continue their argument from before. He doesn't want to pilot the Eva because he sucks at it and it's scary and painful, but he doesn't think it's right to leave it all up to Rei and the others. Misato tells him that has nothing to do with it. If he's only forcing himself to go along with this, then he'll never be in the right mindset to do any good as an Eva pilot. Better if he just calls it quits now and forgets he ever got involved.

Meanwhile, Shinji's dad could not give a shit less whether Shinji leaves or not. He's already figuring out what to do when he's gone. If Shinji won't pilot Eva Unit 01, then they'll just reconfigure it for Rei. Apparently that's a thing they can do now. I thought each pilot had their own specific Eva Unit they were bonded to, but I guess not. According to this conversation, Rei was injured while piloting Unit 00, but it wasn't in combat. They were just running experiments on Unit 00 to get it working, and there must have been an accident.

So some of this is becoming clearer. We still don't know why only certain teenagers can pilot the Evas, but we do know that there are others besides Rei and Shinji. They just haven't located very many candidates, so it's not like Shinji is completely irreplaceable. And Rei is recovering, so there's that. And Shinji can resign whenever he wants. He only got arrested last night because he left without resigning. Today, he's decided to go through with it, and NERV doesn't seem sorry to see him go. Shinji asks if he can say farewell to Misato, but they're like "You quit, so you're not authorized to see her." At this point all NERV cares about is escorting him off their base.

Suzuhara and Big Rigg Mahoney do show up to see him off, though. Suzuhara finally apologizes to Shinji for punching him, and insists that Shinji punch him back to restore his honor. Shinji reluctantly agrees, and at first he kind of holds back, but then Suzuhara tells him to hit like he means it, and he does. See, this is nice.

Shinji apologizes for leaving Tokyo-3 in a lurch, but the boys are used to classmates moving out, and they know how hard it is for Shinji to pilot the Eva, so they don't blame him for quitting. Suzuhara promises to beat up anyone who doesn't respect Shinji's decision to leave.

Finally the NERV goons decide it's time for him to go to the train station, but he pulls away just long enough to tell Suzuhara and Big Rigg Mahoney that he has been cowardly and weak after all. It's like he's having second thoughts about the whole thing.

Back at the base, Misato mulls the whole thing over, and it finally hits her that this is how Shinji expresses his feelings. He runs away and waits for someone to care that he's gone. Realizing this, she rushes to the train station to see him, but she sees the train pull out just as she arrives. For a second she thinks she was too late, but then when the train is gone...

They see each other on either side of the tracks. Shinji couldn't go through with leaving, I suppose because Suzuhara and Big Rigg Mahoney were enough to make him question his decision. But now he looks up and sees Misato cared about him too, and that puts him over the hump.

Then Shinji declares that he's home, and Misato replies "Welcome home." And that's a beautiful moment. Everything kind of came together. Now I'm starting to see what the fuss is about here.

I stand by my criticism of Episode 3, though. I don't think they needed four episodes of this show to get to this moment. Two episodes, maybe. They could have ditched all those scenes of Shinji staring at Misato's beer cans in Episode 2, and trimmed a lot of fat from Episode 3. Suzuhara could have found out about Shinji being an Eva pilot some other way before the episode started, instead of that long scene in the classroom.

Still, we're here. Shinji has decided that he actually cares about Tokyo-3 and its people, and he wants to pilot the Eva to protect his home, not just because someone else told him to do it. We'll see how well that goes, but it's a big step forward.

Also, the next episode preview shows Rei looking healthy and doing things, so that seems like a big improvement too. Everything's coming up Milhouse!

[beelzlikes]

Confession time:

I've got some form of Truman Show delusional paranoia going on. That's why I'm so cavalier about posting shit on here because in the back of my mind I'm thinking "everyone already knows".

Ever since I was a kid, I never felt alone. My parents had always told me that "God" was always with me, so I never had any privacy even as a child; there was some authority figure out there who was watching, judging, even if your parents don't see THEY will and you'll still get into trouble!

Even after I stopped believing in gods, I always felt like I was being watched. I began referring to myself in plurals. "We need to go shopping" "We messed that up" like a cooking show host talking to the audience. So how am I supposed to trust anything?

How can I trust my boss when I only got hired because "the show" needed me to? How can I trust my therapist when she's being paid to guide me to certain conclusions? How can I trust my friends when "off camera" they all drop the act and commiserate together about that day's performance? How can I trust my parents when they're always secretly watching, hiding listening devices in my home, monitoring my transactions, silently judging me from afar. Everything is fake. Everything bad or good that happens to me is SCRIPTED.

It... it takes pressure off me I presume. Which is why I feed into it. "Oh I don't ACTUALLY have any control over my life, some director or other unseen force is going to course correct me wherever they want me. I'm a puppet to be moved about."

And so, I sabotage them all the while not accepting that I'm ultimately just sabotaging myself.

OBVIOUSLY Ky was a plant. They JUST SO HAPPENED to show up on the one day a month I'm in the office. THEY kept contacting me about union stuff, a clever excuse that "they" could use to get us together because "they" knew I am interested in supporting unions, I had been pretty vocal about it at the time. So OBVIOUSLY I had to ruin it - "they" were trying to manipulate me by putting Ky in my way as an obstacle. So even if a relationship would.have brought me happiness, it would have been hollow, pyrrhic. It wasn't MY choice to pursue them, it was prearranged.

OBVIOUSLY Trevor was only being nice because the script demanded it of him. "The show" needed some drama, so the powers-that-be placed him in my way as an obstacle.

It wasn't my CHOICE to move to Oregon. I was pushed there by subtle means. Of course it was easy to find an apartment and a roommate because they were fucking WAITING for me there to arrive.

So then the only question remains: what do "they" want? I'm tired of always performing. I just want to be left alone! But they are everywhere. I can't escape them. So whatever they want, they get. Every stranger is a potential spy, every friend a potential betrayer, everyone always has me dead in their sights and I just want to be left alone! I can't stand it. They're all just waiting for me to... This is exactly like that fucking short story by Arthur C Clark. Has reading that recently exacerbated things in my head? I've always felt this way but that was the first time I feel like I read about the experience I'm having through the perspective of another author.

Whatever. Writing this was pointless, everyone already knows. Nobody cares because everyone's in on it. If I weren't around they could all go back to their normal lives without having to act around me.

[raeynbowboi]

How to Play as Link in DnD 5e (2.0)

With the release of both Mythic Odysseys of Theros and now the new big expansion in Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything, I figured now would be a good time to reexamine Link with the context of new subclasses, class features, and game mechanics that weren’t around the last time that I built him. While I won’t do this for every character I’ve built before, characters who have new options made available with these updates will get a new rebuild for 2021. If you want to compare and contrast this build to the original, I will link that build right [here].

The Spirit of the Hero

Link’s a Hylian and that’s just a fancy way of saying elf. His best racial options are either the High Elf, the Wood Elf, or the Half-Elf. Half-elf’s extra skills are tempting, but as Link is never given any parents or an ancestral family tree, we can’t really justify him as a half-elf. We’ll call him a Wood Elf for the extra +2 to his Dexterity and the +1 to his Wisdom as well as that woodsy vibe. But if you wanna go for a Half-Elf for the power build, I won’t tell anyone.

Link’s alignment is tricky. On the one hand, he is shown kneeling before the monarchy, defeating the forces of evil and darkness, and doing odd jobs to help the common people he comes across. However, he can also start forest fires, break into people’s houses, smash pots, steal people’s life savings or personal belongings, and attack the chicken population until they attack back. I’d wager he’s Neutral Good if for no other reason than his morality is highly dependent on the player.

My first choice for Link’s background would be the Folk Hero for Animal Handling and Survival. However, Link’s background is so inconsistent, it’s easier to just list out the skills he tends to have and tell you to pick a background that has those skills, or create your own: Animal Handling, Athletics, Investigation, Nature, Perception, or Survival. There’s a case to be made for other skills as well. Acrobatics works a little and his jumps did involve sick flips in Majora’s Mask, but Link doesn’t tend to balance or platform jump very often. Link can play instruments fine and danced in the Subrosian Dance Hall in Oracle of Seasons for Performance proficiency, but he’s usually playing instruments to activate effects, not to actually perform for a crowd. Link shows some Stealth skills in Breath of the Wild, but this hasn’t been a longstanding skill of his, so I didn’t lump it in with his main skill list.

Becoming a Hero

When it comes to his build, Link has made some use of spells in the past, but he’s nowhere near the spellcaster that Zelda and Ganondorf are. Link is definitely more of a martial fighter who augments himself with a wide arsenal of magical items. So when it comes to picking Link’s class, we have a few things to keep in mind.

BARD

Link is a talented young man, and he has had magical instruments in a few games over the years, as well as dancing in Subrosia, among other things. While I don’t subscribe to the idea of Link being a bard myself, I understand why people would come to this conclusion, as Link isn’t really bad at anything... except talking. And lying. And looking threatening. Or haggling. Yeah kind of hard to depict Link as a CHA caster who isn’t proficient in any CHA skill checks. 

Spirits (UA) This doesn’t fit for every Link, but especially for Breath of the Wild where Link gets help from the spirits of his fallen comrades, the flavor of calling on the dead works for Link. For a non-BotW example, maybe Link can tell stories of his past lives, and the memories he shares with each of them.

Valor This college has the downside of being built as a cheerleader, while Link really should be built for solo-combat since that’s how he approaches most fights. But Valor is better than Swords and also gives Link proficiency with martial weapons and shields, while Swords does not.

FIGHTER

While there are many martial classes, the Fighter differentiates itself by being the most down-to-earth option. It’s not beholden to rage, or smites, hunting, or sneaking. It is the simple skill of the blade, and this is a skill Link has in spades. From the earliest games, Link has been a master of the sword, the shield, and the bow.

Battle Master Link is a strategic fighter. He looks for weak spots, and he exploits them the best he can. Of all the fighter subclasses, none is more clever than the Battle Master. Its many maneuvers resembles the numerous sword techniques Link has learned especially in the later games. Even in Smash, Link showcases how clever he is by being able to combine his arrows with his bombs and shoot a bomb arrow. To my knowledge, none of the other characters can combine their abilities like this in Smash.

Cavalier The subclass is poorly named, and was better in its initial name as the Knight, as that is really what this subclass is. It is the idea of the knight in shining armor. They can also be flavored as bodyguards, a traveling sellsword, or castle guards. So Link does not have to be glued to Epona to make use of this subclass. The main reason to want this subclass is the Warding Maneuver, as giving Link the chance to either block or reduce all damage he takes is going to seriously improve how well he can tank a hit, and help keep him in a fight longer.

PALADIN

More than any other class, the Paladin actually stands for something. They fight for a value or a belief. They swear their life to a cause and are prepared to die fighting for it. Link works on a lore level as a Paladin. Especially when he’s dedicated multiple lifetimes to the same cause. Across every timeline and game over screen, Link has always returned and stood in defiance against whatever evil may come. 

Ancients This oath makes Link sworn to the forces of nature, such as the Great Fairy, and protecting the balance and harmony of the light, life, and love against death, decay, and darkness. The Ancients Paladin is all about protecting the balance in the world and valiantly opposing evil wherever it might arise. It also has a druidic or fey aspect, which kind of works for Link.

Crown With this vow, Link serves the Hyrulian Royal Family. This makes Link the princess’ personal knight, and an agent of lawfulness, order, and peacekeeping in the land. While 5e has backed away from typecasting Paladins as Lawful Good, this is probably the most Lawful subclass one could pick, as it places the authority of the royal family above all else.

Glory Instead of being sworn to the light or the law, the Glory Paladin is the harbinger of the goddesses. They are flavored as legendary heroes of destiny, possibly being demigods or the personal errand boys of the setting’s pantheon. This subclass is clearly focused on being a frontline warrior, and the features make Link a true force on the battlefield.

RANGER

Anyone who’s played Legend of Zelda knows that Link is very good at surviving. The games don’t tell you how to navigate the wilderness, Link just has to figure it out for himself. What’s more, Link may be willing to venture into the wilderness, but he’ll be hard-pressed to find many NPCs that far outside of settlements or cities. Yet what they fear, he thrives in. And it’s no wonder that this is the class most peole would assume for Link.

Hunter This conclave is the slayer of all things that threaten civilization. They can choose to be better at chipping away at one enemy, counter attack bigger monsters, or mow through hordes of minions with more ease by taking out multiple at a time. Especially at higher levels, this conclave excels at ripping apart Ganon’s forces with nary a golden curl out of place.

ROGUE

The rogue doesn’t need to be a wanted criminal on the lamb. They can be a clever fighter with a variety of skills and a knack for evasion. That speaks a lot more to Link’s skill set than one might assume at first glance. It’s not a perfect fit for Link, but it’s really not that inaccurate either.

Inquisitive This roguish archetype is defined by being clever in combat, looking for weak points to exploit. They’re also much more observant, making them better at discovering clues or secret passages, or telling when they’re being misled. At higher levels, their ability to look for weaknesses can even increase their sneak attack damage. This especially fits some of the older games where boss fights were focused on using items to exploit the dungeon boss’ weaknesses, rather than hacking away at their health bar. In these older titles, Link was less of a straight up warrior and more of a clever trickster pulling off strategic victories.

Scout The Scout Rogue has heavy Ranger vibes, as they get free expertise in Nature and Survival, enhanced mobility, the ability to disengage from fights more easily, and at higher levels become masters of ambushes. This fits well with Link’s sneakier sniper playstyle that can be done in Breath of the Wild, as Link can take out entire camps without ever being seen.

Thief While Link is not a standard cutpurse, Link is a treasure hunter, a dungeon delver, and the jokes about him robbing the people of Hyrule and breaking into people’s homes doesn’t exactly help. The thief also gets to use more magical items, allowing Link to use things such as enchanted instruments without being a bard.

WARLOCK

Link usually isn’t the hero of his own volition. He often starts his journey with Triforce of Courage, a source of power gifted by his patrons. It’s honestly a weak connection, but it loosely works, so I’m including it. 

Celestial While this subclass is geared toward serving something other than a god, I don’t see any reason why a Celestial Warlock couldn’t serve the Triple Goddesses of Hyrule or even Hylia/Zelda directly.

Hexblade The most obviously martial warlock option, this is a good choice if you want to incorporate Fi into your character.

Link’s Toy Chest

Hero’s Sword - Longsword (+1-3) Mirror Shield - Repulsion Shield Hero’s Bow - Oathbow Gale Boomerang - Storm Boomerang Fire Rod - Wand of Fireballs (requires spellcasting) Mastersword - Sword of Zariel, Holy Avenger Longsword* Hylian Shield - Shield of the Hidden Lord  Goddess Bow - Ephixis, Bow of Nylea Golden Gauntlets - Gauntlets of Ogre Power Zora Tunic - Cloak of the Manta Ray Pegasus Boots - Boots of Speed Hover Boots - Boots of Levitation Hook Shot - Rope of Climbing

SIDEKICKS

Sidekicks are a new edition from Tasha’s that let Link bring allies on his hero’s journey. Experts are skill monkeys who focus on Help actions, Spellcasters dip into the INT, WIS, or CHA spell lists, and Warriors are trained to fight and don’t have to talk, so they can be animals.

Epona - Defender Warrior Riding Horse Navi - Expert or Healer Spellcaster Sprite Sidon - Attacker Warrior Merfolk Sheik - Expert Noble (Elf) Wolf Link - Attacker Warrior Wolf

Theros Piety

The Piety System from Theros lets us be devout to a god and earn features from worshiping them. As far as I’m aware, this is an optional feature, and not every DM will make use of these, but if you’re able to, here’s a handy guide. These gods really stood out as the clear choices for Link to go with.

Iroas - God of Victory

Domains: War Virtues: Achieve a great victory, Overcome slim odds honorably, Defeat a foe in single combat, Perform a great feat of strength or skill Sins: Being a coward in battle, Beat an honorable foe through deceit, harm innocents Piety Bonus: +3 Learn Compelled Duel spell +10 Learn Crusader’s Mantle spell +25 For 1 minute, creatures cannot gain advantage on you +50 Increase STR or CHA by 2 to a max of 22

Keranos - God of Storms

Domains: Knowledge, Tempest Virtues: Solve a riddle or puzzle, defeat an unwise enemy, plan ahead for an upcoming challenge, build or restore a temple to Keranos Sins: Jeopardize others through foolishness, ignore a wise course of action, fail to plan for a challenge, give in to anger or self-destruction

Piety Bonus: +3 Add 1d6 lightning damage to melee attack up to INT mod turns. +10 Reroll a failed INT or WIS saving throw +25 Advantage on Initiative rolls +50 Increase INT or WIS by 2 to a max of 22

Nylea - Goddess of the Wild

Domains: Nature Virtues: Help any wild animal, stop those who hunt for sport or profit, win an archery competition, slay an aberration, fiend, or undead Sins: Kill an animal without reason, Dedicate a building to or make a sacrifice for any god (including Nylea), protect a city from a natural disaster

Piety Bonus: +3 Learn Hunter’s Mark +10 Learn Speak with Animals +25 Attacking creatures must pass DC 15 WIS save or change targets. +50 Increase DEX or WIS by 2 to a max of 22

Cunning Tactician

Battle Master Fighter (12) Inquisitive Rogue (8) Fighting Style: Dueling Maneuvers: Brace, Disarming Strike, Feinting Attack, Parry, Precision Attack, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Tools: Thieves’ Tools, Mason’s Tools

While Link is brave and strong, he is most defined by his clever mind and unorthodox solutions to boss fights. With this class split, Link has prioritized strategy and tactics over everything else. While it leaves him a little squishier, Link is still a very capable warrior. As a Battle Master, he got a free tool proficiency. Mason’s Tools allows Link to find secret passageways in stone walls, which most dungeons tend to be made of. On top of that, with his Feinting Attack, Link can give himself advantage, meaning he can use Sneak Attack even in a 1v1 fight, which fits his solo adventurer playstyle.

One-Man Army

Battle Master Fighter (12) Hunter Ranger (8) Fighting Style: Dueling, Archery Maneuvers: Brace, Disarming Strike, Feinting Attack, Parry, Precision Attack, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Hunter’s Prey: Colossus Slayer, Multiattack Defense Tools: Mason’s Tools

I used this build once in a level 10 campaign. 6 levels of Fighter, 4 levels of Ranger with a +2 Longsword, and let me tell you something. This build creamed the competition, which was the other PCs at the table, who were also built as level 10 characters. Link nearly defeated his first opponent in a single round, dealing around 70 damage between his four attacks. When I say this is Link’s “power” build, I mean it. I didn’t even sweat when an adult blue dragon showed up after the tournament ended, that’s how much faith I had in Link’s ability to fight. I honestly forgot to even use Link’s battle maneuvers, he was just dealing so much damage that it slipped my mind. You could swap Battle Master for Cavalier, but for me, the Battle Master is more accurate to Link’s favor of techniques over basic hack-and-slash.

RANGER SPELLS

1 Absorb Elements, Ensnaring Strike, Hunter’s Mark 2 Cordon of Arrows, Healing Spirit

The Hero of Hyrule

Battle Master Fighter (12) Glory Paladin (8) Fighting Style: Archery, Dueling Maneuvers: Brace, Disarming Strike, Feinting Attack, Parry, Precision Attack, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Tools: Mason’s Tools

As a Glory Paladin, Link is driven by a desire to be a legendary hero, and at least in the UA version, the Glory Paladin served the gods, as Link does. Like the two builds above, Link balances the brute might of the Glory Paladin with the tactile diversity of the Battle Master.

PALADIN SPELLS

1 Cure Wounds, Divine Favor, Guiding Bolt, Heroism, Protection from Evil and Good, Searing Smite, Thunderous Smite, Wrathful Smite 2 Branding Smite, Enhance Ability, Find Steed, Magic Weapon, Warding Bond

Oaths and Promises

Glory Paladin (12) Celestial Warlock (8) Fighting Style: Dueling Pact: Blade Invocations: Eldritch Smite, Improved Pact Weapon, Maddening Hex, Relentless Hex

The builds from here on are more for the flavor than necessarily Link’s character. As a Blade Pact Paladock, Link becomes a CHA-focused martial with some extra spell slots that turn his smiting sword strikes into a bokoblin slurry machine. This build focuses Link more as a servant of the gods than anything else. Just make sure he has the Hex spell, but you can replace Maddening Hex with Agonizing Blast if you want to use the Master Sword laser beam at full potential.

PALADIN SPELLS

1 Divine Favor, Guiding Bolt, Heroism, Protection from Evil and Good, Searing Smite, Thunderous Smite, Wrathful Smite 2 Branding Smite, Enhance Ability, Find Steed, Magic Weapon, Warding Bond 3 Blinding Smite, Crusader’s Mantle, Elemental Weapon, Haste, Protection from Energy

WARLOCK SPELLS

C Blade Ward, Booming Blade, Sword Burst 1 Armor of Agathys, Cure Wounds, Hex 2 Lesser Restoration, Misty Step, Shatter 3 Spirit Shroud, Summon Fey 4 Galder’s Speedy Courier

To Serve and Protect

Battle Master Fighter (12) Crown Paladin (8) Fighting Style: Dueling, Interception Maneuvers:  Bait and Switch, Brace, Disarming Strike, Goading Strike, Parry, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Tools: Mason’s Tools

Link is Zelda’s knight, bodyguard, and servant. So this build prioritizes features that makes Link the loyal emissary of the Princess of Hyrule. As such, this build changes Link’s role to be more of a defender to the princess than a solo hero. This build assumes that the princess or someone else who needs to be protected is joining Link on his adventure.

PALADIN SPELLS

1 Command, Cure Wounds, Divine Favor, Heroism, Compelled Duel, Searing Smite, Thunderous Smite, Wrathful Smite 2 Branding Smite, Find Steed, Warding Bond, Zone of Truth

After all is said and done, I hope I gave everyone a lot to work with. Of course my suggestions are not law, and if nothing else, I hope it gives you an idea of how you want to build him. Last time I built Link, I gave one set build for him, but I still laid out other options. Recently though, I’ve been trying to show multiple builds at the end of my build posts to offer a wider idea of what building a character can look like. Happy 2021 everyone, and let’s hope this year goes smoother.

[utterlyinevitable]

The Conference (Part 9)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 3.7k Rating: T+ Warning: Some cursing Summary: It’s the evening after the keynote and they go out for a civil dinner date.

A/N: shout out to ruby @starrystarrytrouble for reminding me people actually like reading this mess 💕

________________________________________

After we finished up the panel I stuck around the conference hall to network whilst Ethan had ditched the crowd at the first opportunity he got, heading back to our hotel room and venturing away from the pecking vultures. To be honest, I didn’t really blame him. Everyone wanted a piece of the poor, well-endowed man. 

A couple hours later, I shuffled back into our apartment. My aching feet somehow prevailed without causing me to collapse on the odd geometric carpet floor, or ditching my heels along the way and walking barefoot like some uncultured frosh stumbling home at 3AM. Once through the heavy metal plated door, I headed straight to my room, not throwing a single pleasantry towards Ethan in the seating area. From what I could tell he was typing furiously on his laptop after nursing a scotch - the empty crystal tumbler on the table was a dead giveaway. 

The anxiety and delirium inducing stress of the day lifted the second my kinda-sweaty body collapsed onto the private armchair in my room, clutching its aqua-colored arms and sinking into the velvet cushion. Staring out at the familiar skyline my mind started to replay the happenings of the day; every little thing that happened - from the confidence I felt during our speech, to the way that asshole called me out, and how Ethan stood up for me every step of the way. How proud he was even if he relayed the sentiment in such small words. 

We survived today. We haven’t strangled each other nor suffered any little deaths. All that’s left for this trip is the tour we have tomorrow morning, and then we’ll be on our way back to Edenbrook. Back to the way things were… 

Somehow my tired and self destructive brain decided it wanted to revel in the memories of the last few days. Thinking about all the non-work things that happened this trip. Thinking of all the words shared, and the blast from the past. And the revelation that little adventure birthed. 

Fuck me...

Things are weird. Like, so weird. I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m even thinking this… but I miss him. Today showed me how great we are together! Professionally and as friends. We’re the dynamic duo: Ramsey and his Rookie. His. I - 

I need to stop thinking that. 

I belong to myself. I do what I want when I want and with whom I want. 

And so does he. And that’s why I walked away. I’m- 

I’m still getting over him. 

While simultaneously trying to get under him… 

Thoughts wandered back to Ryan and how long it took me to get over the detrimental ‘what if’s of him. If I held on tighter and longer and didn’t get in the way of myself back then - if one thing was different - everything could be different. 

A small, revelatory gasp escaped me. 

I didn’t want things to be different. 

After eight fucking years I finally understood. 

If I didn’t love and lose Ryan I never would have found my way to Boston. To Ethan. And here - knowing what I do and having all the experiences of the last few months - I couldn’t continue a life without knowing Ethan Ramsey. 

I’m going to do whatever I can to repair our friendship. 

I changed my clothes into something not requiring heels - black skinny jeans, a blouse and my trusty Chelsea boots - and my hair pulled back into a bun. Simple, sleek, and completely me. No pomp and circumstance, or hiding behind anything. Just me, making an effort.  

With all the determination I could muster I sauntered into the living room where I assumed Ethan would still be. 

I was right; he hadn’t changed positions at all. Sitting there on the couch, his feet up on the gaudy footstool with his laptop perched on his lap, tortoise-patterned glasses framing his face, and furiously typing on the keyboard. 

“So...” I trailed awkwardly to break the tension surrounding him, leaning against the wall with my hands stuffed in my armpits. “What do you want to do for dinner?” 

“Oh,” He planted his feet on the floor and turned to face me fully, moving his laptop off of him and folding his arms in his lap. “Uh, well-”

Quickly I added, “If you’d rather eat alone it’s fine by me. I was thinking of grabbing pizza at John’s.” 

Ethan nodded in response, saying, “Sounds good.”

“Cool,” I nodded back. “You ready or…?”

“Let me grab my things,” he stood, collected his things and headed to his room.

Less than two minutes later we headed out of the apartment together, walking side by side. Though this time wasn’t like earlier. There wasn’t the blind determination and need to impress like this morning. Right now we were two people who used to know one another going out to dinner in a spectacular converted synagogue.  

***

For anyone who doesn’t know John’s, it’s a local family-style pizza joint. There’s three restaurants around the city and the Times Square location is by far the best. Every time I have a hot minute to spare I try to go - the stained glass and craftsmanship of the building is everything! But you don’t want to hear about that… and neither did Ethan when I tried to fill the silence during our walk with all the reasons to love this place. For some reason he preferred to barge and weave in silence. 

Whatever. 

Lucky enough he was more chatty once we were seated. 

Our table was in the mezzanine with not much of a view besides the stone staircase in the corner and the large dome towering above. The dim lighting complimented the deep wooden table and beige upholstered seating. 

We ordered. And without the menu to keep our attention, I tried my hand at conversation once more.  

“Be honest, how did we do?”

Looking me in the eyes, ones that mirrored mine, showed such confidence and pride as he said his next words;

“You handled it well, Becca.” There was a tug at the corners of his mouth that pulled at my own. I was about to get a rare Ramsey smile - one I’ve been devoid of for far too long. 

“Dare I even say, like a natural.” 

I got to revel in the small compliment for a few moments as the server brought over our food - garlic knots, small veggie pizza, and a chef’s side salad. 

“I didn’t stutter too much or come off too young?” I couldn’t help but ask when it was just us two again. His opinion matters more than anyone else’s when it comes to my career. 

“You did.” 

“But you -” 

He cut me off, a slight shake of his big head, “You are young and this was your first keynote.” he clarified. And once more he said pridefully, “You did well.” 

After what felt like ages we shared a private smile. How he was able to bring me back into myself with a few words and stop fussing over imposter syndrome is a wonder.  

“Now eat some pizza and be happy.” 

My smile grew to a goofy one by the way he was looking at me, bemused. I refrained from sticking my tongue out and dug into a little slice of heaven. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

We dug in. Letting the flavors dance over my taste buds and make me only as happy as a New York slice could make me. No amount of fantastic sex could compare to pizza. Everything kind of disappeared - time stopped while the first bites settled in my tummy. Even Ethan looked to be enjoying it even though it’s not fancy smancy and artery clogging. 

Eventually I broke our companioned silence;

“How was lunch with Chief Fredericks?” I asked as I reached for a scrumptious ball of garlicy dough. 

The response left his lips so swiftly he didn’t even bother to look up from his plate; 

“Informative.”

I scoffed at the non-answer answer. 

My little grumble pulled him out of his bubble and he looked over at me - those damn baby blues challenging my thoughtfully indecent outburst. I just gave him a look right back. 

Ethan rolled his eyes and reached for another slice. Cutting it up with a fork and knife like an absolute weirdo.  

“He heard about the state budget cuts. Wanted to know what I think and if I’d be open to consult every so often.” 

“And?” I probed. 

“And what? You know how I feel about the future of Edenbrook.” 

“Yes. But if it goes under, what do you think you’ll do? I mean, everyone’s going to be throwing themselves at you.” 

I shoved some greenery in my gob to keep from adding the jarring truth. 

Everyone throws themselves at you. 

But who he gives his attention to is another story.  

Ethan shrugged ever so nonchalantly, “I haven’t thought about it.” 

The cavalier way he was speaking of his life after Edenbrook had thrown me off. Ethan was never this laid-back. It just wasn’t in his nature. There’s always something for this man to stress over. And Edenbrook’s closing should be his anxiety numero uno. 

But here he was, ever so calm. 

Hmm... 

“Are you in denial?” I said through a bite, fully anticipating another non-answer.  

“Maybe.” 

The way he said it took me aback. It was inherently honest and soft. All of his jagged features were rounded and there was a dulled little twinkle in his eye. 

Yeah, something’s going on here he’s not telling me.  

“Ethan -” 

And of course he deflects by turning the conversation on me; “What are you going to do?” 

Keeping from rolling my eyes at his obvious deflection from roaming into his feelings deeper, I replied, “Transfer my residency.” 

“Where?” 

“I…” - dammit - “don’t know.”

I haven’t really dwelled on what happens when the hospital closes. Obviously I need to finish residency if I want to be an actual practicing doctor. But the matching process can go screw itself. I don’t never ever want to do that again - all I cared about was matching with the best. And I did. So who’s the second best now? 

Is it wherever he goes?  

There’s just so much to think about, and I’d really rather not. Not until the last few nails are lined up against the coffin. 

“See,” he said with a hint of a lopsided grin, “Neither of us are ready to leave Edenbrook behind.” 

He was right. Of course he’s right. You didn’t need to be a diagnostician or even a doctor to see that we’re holding out hope of a buyout. 

I’ve just gotten to Edenbrook - only a few months into my dream career with my dream boss - and now, what? It’s all over before it even really began? No. I can’t accept that. 

There was a beat of silence as we both reached for the salad tongs, our hands brushing on accident. Both our eyes shot to bear witness to the contact, pulling us out of whatever ran wild through our thoughts and into this new, secluded moment. Everything around us dulled in the distance; the sounds swirling in the air muted and like a faint breeze. The warm lighting dimmed further, yet there was a spotlight on the salad bowl. The greens and reds and purples of the ruffage illuminated like it was the only thing that mattered. Like right now the earth was spinning just for this moment of closeness. 

Surprisingly, neither of us made a motion to move. His large hand overlapping my dainty fingers, the metal underneath the pads of my fingers warming up instantly. Electricity still coursed through me like the very first time. Except now it carried the memories of all the other times and places he set me aflame. 

I had to be the one to pull back. 

Almost, like it needed time to comprehend why the moment was intentionally ruined, the atmosphere around us began to revert back slightly. I could hear the idle chatter of those around us now. I could see the full picture of Ethan sitting across from me and all the individuals pattering around behind him. What couldn’t pretend to go back and hung off kilter was the beating in my chest - I could feel the electricity coursing through my veins and putting my heart through the ringer. 

Ethan made up for it by serving me. 

Does he know he still has such an effect on me?  

Quick! I needed to divert my thoughts off of the creeping flush and want from taking hold. So I went back to talking about work, our safe topic. 

“If you could work anywhere else in the world where would it be?” I asked.  

Ethan took a moment to think as he served himself some salad. He looked like he was actually thinking of an answer, maybe, for the first time he’s digested the hospital’s fate. 

“I think the next logical step would be the Mayo Clinic. They’re the best diagnostics in the world.” His eyes diverted back down to his plate and, after a beat, he added, “I also wouldn’t mind spending more time on missions with The WHO.”

My eyes searched his as they looked anywhere but where I was seated across from him, trying to find any sort of fault in his features. Something, anything, that I could hold onto. Nothing. Just stupid sincerity. The first fucking time in weeks he actually lets us talk about his time in the Amazon I can’t be mad at him.  

“You really enjoyed your time there, huh?” 

“It…” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. 

We’ve wandered into emotional territory and we both needed to tread carefully. I need to remember that he was never mine, as much as I felt like his from our first kiss. Need to recall that back then everything was drawn out in plain sight. Our end was always just that - an end. I Need to forgive. And try to remember that at one point he did try to fight for me, in his round-a-bout noncommittal way, and I was the one to end things officially. 

We both need to forgive. Especially if these are the last few months we have working together. 

“Was important work and I got to make a difference in the lives of thousands of indigenous people.” Ethan took another small pause for breath. When he continued, his deep baritone voice was lower, “Even if my intentions for going were skewed, it was an opportunity of a lifetime.” 

The simplest thing to do would be to nod, or eat - distract myself - or even change the subject. To try not to dwell on the implications of the statement. But I couldn’t. My body tensed and the warmth from moments before fled completely. 

We were silent. The brutal truth of why he left stinging just as much as it did the day I found out. 

Minutes, many many minutes passed with me finding solace in sweet savory carbs and Ethan pushing things around on his plate. 

Eager to change the subject there was one other topic of the day I was endlessly curious to know more about; 

“So, what’s the deal with Dr. Schwab?” 

“Don’t.” He dismissed, his authoritative voice seeping through just a tad. Though I’d like to think he’s smart enough not to use it with me outside of Edenbrook.  

“If you don’t tell me I’ll be forced to fabricate my own. I’m feeling a one-night stand gone wrong.” 

He looked back down at his food. 

“Oh my god, I’m right.” The smile that erupted literally took over my entire face. I could not hide it even if I tried.  

“Rebecca,” he tried to scold. 

“Now you have to tell me.” 

Just like earlier he turned the conversation back on me; “What’s with the frat boy?” 

“Ryan was never in a fraternity,” I responded, not hiding the grin that formed by putting Ethan in his place. “He’s a jock though.” 

He expelled a dry laugh, “I don’t think that’s any better.” He took a bite of his salad. Something radiated off of Ethan I couldn’t quite place. 

“We were close in high school,” I added for reasons I’m not quite sure why. Like that explained who Ryan was and why he came back into my life now, of all times.  

Ethan made a condescending, “mhm”. 

I rolled my eyes; “We had a thing for a while, okay.” I conceded. “We grew apart senior year, and then I went off to college. Last night was the first time we’ve spoken in, like, eight years.” 

Ethan made absolutely no reactions to the statement. Not even a stupid wiggle of his dumb perfect eyebrow. 

Is he even paying attention? 

“Now tell me about Schwab - sorry, Hilary,” I coaxed.  

Ethan’s hand flew to the bridge of his nose and up to carefully rub his eyes. 

This has gotta be good. 

I waited patiently and eagerly for this story. She couldn’t have been Ethan’s type and yet… What happened!? 

Eyes still shut tight, he grumbled, “What’s there to tell?” 

“Obviously something happened,” I couldn’t help but mock, “You slept together!” 

“Yes, and it’s something I do not like to dwell on.” 

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like she does.” 

He groaned. Then shifted in his chair. Ethan took a long drag of his drink. And just when I figured he was going to wait this out until one of us changed the subject, he spoke; 

“A moment of weakness a few years back. And she was…” 

Ah! It’s actually happening! Ethan’s telling a salacious story! 

Shifting in my seat and placing my head in my hands to give him my full attention; My brows and smile grew as I finished the sentence for him, “Eager?” 

He scowled. 

“Jesus Christ, Ethan, just tell me what happened!” 

“I will not go into details.” 

“Fine.” I made a motion with my hand for him to continue without the juicy details. 

“Harper and I had just ended things for good not long before…” 

We ended up going back and forth for a while - Ethan not wanting to give anything up and me pulling as much as I could out of him. Long story short, Ethan was in a weird mental state after breaking up with Harper for the hundredth and final time in their six year relationship. He took up a conference opportunity to get away for two nights. Knowing how much he loves people, Ethan spent most of his time drowning his senses at the hotel bar. And low and behold, enter Hillary. 

From the sounds of it she was agreeable and very very forward. And Ethan was so lost in liquor that her voice didn’t irritate him as much as it did the next morning, and every single time they were in close proximity thereafter. Hillary had been going through a separation with her husband and needed a distraction just as bad. Really, who could blame her? Toting Ethan around would be the best revenge. 

The first night of his stay was fine - apparently the sex was satisfactory and she didn’t do anything remarkably memorable. Or so he says. I still think she looks like a squawker. He didn’t linger around long after before retreating to his hotel room. Then the next afternoon he was bored and weak and agreed to lunch. And lunch turned into drinks which turned into round two. In his room. And she didn’t leave. She wasn’t leaving. So Ethan bought an earlier plane ticket, and shook her awake before checking out. 

And every conference since she seems to want to entertain a rematch. 

“Oh my god, you’re horrible!” I exclaimed ever delightfully. This was hilarious! 

“I shouldn’t really be surprised. You flew to another continent after we slept together.” Shaking my head, a stupid little smirk on my lips I asked, “Have you ever had a one night stand before?” 

“Wha - of course I have!” 

“One’s that didn’t end up with you getting on a plane?” 

He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “If you must know, I’ve had my fair share in undergrad.” 

Now it was my turn to send a condescending “mhm” his way. 

We spoke longer and polished off our plates - not a single crumb remained. This was nice. Really nice getting to be close to him again and just being friends. Telling stories and exchanging playful jabs here and there. It’s how I fell for the idiot in the first place. 

Baby steps.     

-

Two hours after we arrived the server came over with the bill. 

She was friendly and lovely the whole meal. The best part about her style of service is that she let us just exist and didn’t check up all that often. When she did I could tell she overheard someone of the crap Ethan and I were spewing. She had one of those knowing smiles, like she was in on our jokes the entire time. 

“Can I just say, you guys are adorable,” she relayed with the brightest of smiles after setting the padfolio on the table, her hands clapping together excitedly. She looked like a child who had just met Santa Claus for the first time. 

L O L she thinks we’re together.  

At that I actually laughed out loud before informing, “We’re colleagues. In town for a conference.” 

The horror on the girl's face said it all. 

“Oh! My mistake, sorry. I can split the bill for you.” She reached for the pad where it sat in front of Ethan. 

He grabbed the black leather at the same time I spoke;  

"Nope, dinner’s on him.” I cupped a hand over my mouth and pointed a not-at-all discreet thumb towards him, “He'll get reimbursed," I laughed more to myself than anything. 

She smiles, a little relieved by my warmth, then turns to look at Ethan - silently asking permission or if it’s okay that he pays. Generally looking for some sort of direction from the old man.    

He shoots the server a look. Then forks over his credit card. 

As she saunters off, I smile at him sweetly, “Thank you.” 

Of course he rolls his eyes. But that rise in the corners of his mouth says so much more. 

________________________________________

A/N: sorry it’s shit. thank you for sticking with this series 💕 we’ve just got one chapter left! 

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[alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice]

If you're still taking requests, how about some fluff with Aaravos reuniting with mc after escaping from the mirror

Aaravos x Reader - Everyone Needs a Friend

A/N: thank you so much for your patience, Nonny! I've had a hard time with school during the pandemic, and my health has been pretty shitty, but I was so excited to do this request and I'm so happy I was able to get to it! In this, the reader is some sort of cleaner in the castle that came across Aaravos many months ago. it picks up sometime after season 3 after Aaravos has theoretically emerged from the cocoon. Not explicitly romantic, but I there's definitely some subtext (who can tell with this elf though, he comes across as such a flirt). Someone give this touch starved star touch baby some hugs!

It has been months now, and I am still heartbroken. I do not know where Lord – King? The politics are confusing – Viren took the magic mirror after King Harrow’s death, but he took it somewhere I could not find nor reach. Perhaps I allowed myself to get too attached. After all, I have never even heard his voice.

Aaravos… he was the one bright spot in my life. I am not sure he meant to reveal himself to me that day I was cleaning the study, but ever since then, he became one of my dearest friends. He offered me a way to hear him, and in hindsight, I wonder if I should have taken the chance, but I cannot do magic. We settled for written notes to each other. His: a glowing elegant script that floated in the air, and mine: messy scrawls on whatever ink and spare paper I could find.

He particularly seemed to enjoy hearing about humanity, about the five kingdoms and our advancements. It seems he has been in that mirror an exceptionally long time. It is heartbreaking to think how lonely he must have been, and I so desperately wished to help him, but I have no power to do so. All I could do is provide a little company.

I hope he is not lonely wherever Viren took him. Now that the temporary king is dead… does anyone else know where the mirror could be? Or will he be alone again? What if he is lost forever? Perhaps I should go looking for him? But wherever Viren hid himself for whatever dark magic he practiced, it was somewhere none of the castle guards could find him. What hope do I have?

Today is the first day going back into Viren’s old study. Once the armies marched on Xadia, it did not need as regular a cleaning. I wonder what the room will become now that he is dead. First things first, it needs a decent dusting.

Being here makes me think of the elf, of his sparkling cheeks that glowed when he smiled, of his golden eyes that so often twinkled with mischief, and my heart aches all over again.

A couple spiders have made their home in one of the high corners of the room. I climb a ladder and begin my work at clearing out the cobwebs. The door to the study remains closed, but a moment later I hear someone clear their throat in introduction. I whirl around in surprise a little too fast, my precarious position on the ladder causing me to fall.

I land in a warm embrace, and for a moment all I can see is a deep purple fabric covering the chest of my rescuer. “I apologize, I did not mean to startle you,” he says. His voice is deep and smooth, and he speaks softly in my ear. I lift my eyes to the speaker and find a face I thought I would never see again.

How is he here?

I feel my mouth curve into a smile mirroring his as Aaravos looks at me with a certain fondness in his eyes. I brush my knuckles along his sparkling cheek, barely believing my eyes. When he speaks again, I realize I could listen to that sound for the rest of my life. I had not imagined his voice to rumble with such a melodious baritone, but it suits him. “You did not think I was gone forever, did you?”

I have half a mind to slap that pretty face for how cavalier he is about this. I settle for a gentle smack to his arm. “I was worried about you, you jerk!”

Aaravos laughs, pulling me closer in his embrace. “Finally, I hear your voice. It is as lovely as you are.” He pulls back to look in my eyes again, cupping my cheek in his hands.

Now that I have found my voice after my initial shock, every question I have comes spilling from my lips. “What happened? Where did you go? How did you escape the mirror? How did you get here?”

Aaravos only seems to half-listen to my questions, his hands gliding along my shoulders to stroke down my arms as if I am some miracle to examine. He takes my hands in his. I feel so ordinary next to him, my simple flesh contrasted by his sparkling lilac fingers. But maybe I am something interesting in his eyes. Those that live in the plains are fascinated by the mountains. Those that spend their whole lives inland are amazed by the sea. I can only hope that I am interesting by being so different from him, I suppose.

The elf brings my hands to his lips with a ghost of a kiss to my knuckles. He glances at me, then moves his eyes away as if shy. “It is a long story. Perhaps I could tell you on our journey?”

I tilt my head. “Journey?”

He murmurs my name then clears his throat. “When I escaped my prison, I emerged in Xadia, and I will have to return soon. I do not… that is… I have not had the luxury of friendship in a few hundred years, if ever. You have been a friend to me, and I thought I would return the favor... and take you with me.”

I let out a slight laugh at the thought. “So… you came all this way and found me because you want to be my friend?”

Aaravos’s cheeks turn a deep violet and he frowns. “You make it sound frivolous.”

I laugh out of sheer joy and throw my arms over his shoulders and hug him. “I missed you,” I mumble into his chest.

Aaravos chuckles. “You told me you have never been outside your hometown, and I am curious how the world has changed in the last few centuries. What do you say we see it together?”

“I’m insulted you think you even have to ask,” I respond.

Aaravos grins and takes my hand, leading me out the secret passageway he took to find me. We exit the castle hand in hand, and I feel Aaravos leaning into my shoulder as we walk, as if he has never had a hand to hold.

I lean back into him, resting my head on his shoulder for a moment. I am happy to be that person for him, happy to be needed for nothing more than my company, happy to be a friend to a lonely elf.

And I do not tell him how much I needed a friend, too. I just enjoy the tale he spins of his adventures since he saw me last.

[ghostmartyr]

/clears throat/ so, Immi, I hear you like the locked tomb, which is fantastic! from one person also escaping the snk series into TLT to another, what did you think of the characters and plot in HtN? are there any things you're most excited to see when Alecto comes out in 2022?

-pats lifeboat- This baby can fit so much trauma.

SPOILERS, naturally.

With another paragraph informing the curious that unspoiled is the way to go into HtN, since if you aren’t lost and confused, are you really reading Harrow the Ninth?

I read it all in one day, and that was a choice. It does mean my memory and understanding of what all went on is slightly dependent on someone else on the internet exploding over a particular set of paragraphs and explaining their significance to me, but I still enjoyed the hell out of it.

HtN disappointed me on one front in that I was hoping seeing more of Harrow 1.0 would help out any future fic endeavors. On everything else, like the first one, being told the story is such a good time that I’m willing to wait on a full comprehension of where it’s going.

I also really like second person.

What I loved most about HtN is how even without Gideon mentioned until very, very late in the book, you can feel her absence everywhere. In the wrong bubble flashbacks you’re commanded to examine the strangeness, but even in Harrow going about her day, the isolation and the wrongness of it decorate her every action. She’s alone, and she shouldn’t be, and the loss she’s unaware of bleeds into a constant echo of grief.

I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated absence as a narrative tool so much. Obviously griddlehark hours go hard once they start in HtN, but even before then, there is so much power to their connection that looking into a world where it never exists still manages to punch you in the heart with how much each one inhabits everything the other is.

The whole series is amping me up with a few thoughts on loneliness, honestly. Gideon and Harrow grow up alone on the Ninth, save for each other. It takes leaving for that to be any kind of good thing. The first book is tag team Among Us with everyone in their little clusters, slowly learning what other people are about as they all drop dead.

The second book has a different vibe and different plot things going on, but it’s similar in that the protagonist gets thrown into a world they don’t fit and have to put on a show. Only now there are even fewer people to familiarize with, with that number correlating directly to how they all killed the person closest to keeping them from being alone.

Lyctorhood is taking the person dearest to your heart and trapping them there forever while they’re stripped of everything that made them who they are.

...Also Ianthe is there.

Gideon, Mercy, and Augustine are the last Lyctors standing after 10,000 years. There were only seven, starting out. Sixteen acolytes who came to the First. The only pair who didn’t succeed in condensing themselves is separated from the pack and sent to live away from their peers on a tiny planet that no one has anything good to say about.

Alecto is John’s -- who even knows, past A Lot, and he puts her to sleep and locks her in a prison no one but he can get past.

God has seven friends. More if you want to count the people in the Cohort, but realistically, he has seven friends. Then they keep dying.

Harrow spends HtN in a spaceship with five people.

One is trying to kill her.

One ordered that one to try to kill her.

Two could not care less about the useless baby Lyctor.

One is Ianthe.

There is no real endgame. There is surviving life, and life has become a game of running as far away as possible so you don’t share your ruin upon your inevitable death.

It’s bleak and sad.

Harrow’s healthiest relationships are with dead people, and some of them she didn’t know at all in life.

Reiterating it, the most plot significant bit of the world is finding someone else in the world, swearing yourself to them, and smashing your souls together until you’ve lost the connection entirely.

My brain’s not in the best place so I can’t do more than gesture loudly at it, but a few people have mentioned that the series’ thesis is a counter to Ianthe’s statement that love is acquisitive.

Harrow tightens her hold around Gideon until Gideon would rather she just strangle her and get it over with, all things considered. It fucks them both up, and when they start working to get past it, circumstance wraps a chain around both their throats.

The necromancers who become imperfect Lyctors have all acquired their cavaliers, and besides the cav, it kills that bond.

Harrow’s rejection of that is why Gideon’s soul is still in the world of the living (and John blood).

She has spent her entire life eating pieces of Gideon to keep herself a horrid imitation of whole, and when she is finally offered that, she refuses.

Grief and how Harrow just can’t are active elements of the book, and Magnus gives her more therapy in five minutes talking about it than she has ever had in her life, but the reason why that isn’t the end of Gideon is because, unlike all the other Lyctors, Harrow turns the offer down.

With the exception of Babs and Ianthe, the relationship between cavaliers and necros about to do the Lyctor thing is cavaliers promising to burn for an eternity while their necromancer lives off the fumes.

Fuck that is Harrow’s response.

Cytherea says, in the aftermath, that they had the choice to stop.

Harrow stops.

A lifetime of doing exactly what Gideon is telling her to do with her death, and Harrow chooses to stop.

Harrow remembers Ortus’ poetry. She regularly sees her congregation off to their deaths. She keeps Gideon’s glasses. She views Palamedes, head exploded and all, as an infinitely better person than she is because of the quality of his exemplary character. She pulls Gideon the First from the incinerator on the night she plans to kill him.

Kiddo has so many fucking issues, but somewhere, she has learned to respect people for being people. That’s why she and Gideon are the heroes of the story, ultimately, and Ortus saying that they’re heroes worthy of the Ninth doesn’t fall flat. They’re actually trying.

Where that puts us for Alecto, I don’t pretend to know.

Since the first book is the temptation of an end to isolation, only to have it snatched away, the second book is the continuation of isolation with a few promising sparks of human connection that pave the way for hope...

That leaves the third book to shed the isolation and allow the connections to thrive.

With Gideon and Harrow MIA.

I know that the books kick things up into high gear in the final acts each time, but if they’re both gone for the majority of the book, no matter how much fun it is, I’m going to miss them. They’re the core leads, and I don’t want to be without them in the final part.

The 2022 release date has aged my soul. I deliberately planned my GtN read to land a month before HtN came out, then suffered when that was delayed. When really that was nothing at all. I hate waiting.

(Insert note that I’m very glad they aren’t forcing Muir to rush anything out. It’s been a rough time, but also, just in general authors should have the opportunity to create the best versions of their art they can, so the extra time hurts, but it’s obviously for the best.)

What I’m most excited for is probably the cover art. The first two have been awesome, and the artist said he’d likely do print sales for all three when the third’s revealed. My wallet cries but my heart does not.

What I dare not be excited for is the potential for Gideon and Harrow meeting again and perhaps hugging. In their own bodies.

I’d take other bodies, but ideally, y’know.

Also I would love for Harrow to finally meet her popsicle girlfriend.

I doubt it would be a wholly positive experience, but by golly I want it. Maybe they could hug too. It would probably kill Harrow again, but who doesn’t expect several people to die again in the third book?

However it plays out, I’m expecting to enjoy AtN. The writing’s the sort that I’ll happily follow wherever it goes. For everything else, there’s fanfic. The only real worry I have is the whole book will be narrated by Ianthe, and while I mentally groan at that, I actually find Ianthe’s commentary delightful, so even in the worst case scenario I’m having a good time.

Thank you so much for the ask.

[zenosanalytic]

Harrow the Ninth: Insanity, the Body, and Gideon Redux

Spoilers, Obvsl

While writing My Other Three Reaction Posts while reading this book, one thing I kept WANTING to do but kept stopping myself from doing was praise Muir’s treatment&presentation of psychosis. I THOUGHT that was what she was aiming for, but It’s a touchy subject and I worried about imparting motive to an author on it or misrepresenting my own experience or knowledge of it in doing so, so I kept deciding to Not. But then, In the Acknowledgements at the back, Muir touches, very briefly, on her own experiences in this regard so I now feel comfortable giving her treatment of the topic all the kudos I can. Her portrayal is affectingly Honest. The terror and shame of Harrow’s condition -the vulnerability which makes trust both an inescapable necessary and horrifying to offer; Her desperate NEED for people to trust, and how easy that is to exploit and abuse- is fully conveyed. It’s rare enough to see a sympathetic portrayal of any mental illness in our society let alone psychosis, a condition which has been enthusiastically vilified and sensationalized in our popular culture for at least a century. But to see a psychotic PROTAGONIST, and to see her condition in all the sorrow, fear, and wretchedness it can bring, through the eyes of a sympathetic narrator, while said protagonist is trapped among callous self-serving ppl who see in it not suffering to be soothed but an excuse to discount, ignore, abuse, and exploit; and then to see her declared INNOCENT and VICTIM and RIGHT in clear, masterful prose; when the fuck does this happen?

It of course plays structural roles too; both by confusing what exactly is going on with Harrow and, through that confusion, allowing the reader to share a small piece of Harrow’s experience. Her visions, her memories, her FALSE memories, and her experiences all intertwine to muddle what exactly is going on. Is this “madness” a long-term shame hidden, or an intense response to trauma? Is she physically injured, or emotionally wrecked by Gideon’s death? Has she changed herself in some way, and if she has is it a result of that; or is this something longstanding we’ve merely never seen before? Is she sleepwalking, or is Gideon sleepwalking her, or is The Body, or is something/one else? Is Cytherea a hallucination, or a cruel prank, or a revenant, or is she Haunted? Does physical evidence truly contradict her memories or is this a hallucination too? Harrow can’t be sure of any of this and neither can the reader, and this taste of her experience helps the reader to sympathize with her plight. 

And, by confusing the nature of The Body, Cytherea, and what happened to Gideon(all “Bodies” from Harrow’s past in one way or another; some excellent wordplay whether intentional or no), the plot is obscured so that it can develop in a naturally suspenseful way. All these other possibilities obscure the possibility of Wake’s haunting, even though she and revenant possession are mentioned repeatedly throughout the book, laying out the development hidden in plain-sight. And that, in turn, works mechanically to allow these related plotlines -What’s up with The Body; what’s going on with Gideon; who’s the Narrator- spool out in a smooth, naturalistic, engrossing way as well.

 It’s obvs by the end, and spcl given the reveal about Alecto’s eyes and how she leaves just when the Resurrection Beast arrives(ie just when it would start making a spirit leaving difficult), that “The Body” -Alecto- is a real visitation; from the moment they become gold on at least. I’m still not sure if her presence going back to Harrow opening the tomb are real or fabricated; I feel like she’d have told this to Gideon with all the rest. But: they didn’t have much time together, and it wouldn’t make much sense to fabricate visions which began post-Lyctor back into her past when the transformation itself could be blamed for them, so there’s good reason to think this aspect of her remembered “madness” was real even if the rest seemed to be part of the backstory needed to “make her a different person”(e.g. in fact she disdained grave dirt on the trip to First House and perennially disdained comforts or reliance on others of any kind, but the her she remembered not only always took the dirt, but also told Ortus about her “madness” immediately when it became pertinent. Pre-Surgery Harrow would never do that).

As to the Body and her visitations by it, based on what was said about Alecto(that she wasn’t really “dead” just sort or “turned off”) and the mechanics of revenant-possession/spirit-visitation(running along thanergic links created through relevance and physical contact/called up by powerful necromancers), I think that Harrow, through her religious devotion to the Tomb-turned romantic ecstasy(and what a cool callback to medieval sexualization of faith THAT is!), and by physically TOUCHING Alecto(who maybe was still spiritually aware even if her body was “turned off”) probably created an avenue for Alecto to remain in contact with her through the River wherever she went(though I can’t remember her mentioning having Visions of The Body on Canaan House? I need to look through Harrow again to see), potentially further amplified by Harrow unknowingly summoning her through sheer emotional need. Gideon’s description of “surfacing” pretty definitely nixes the idea that any of those visions were overlays masking interventions by her.

Jumping off from there to the sleepwalking/body-sharing/possession... Gideon makes it clear her “surface” moments were incredibly short(she kept getting “clotheslined down”) and that she never manifested or had any control over Harrow’s body until the climax. The description of how Harrow’s Memory-Stage works states Harrow’s soul “emptied” from her body whenever she was on the Stage, which was everytime she slept or otherwise became unconscious(I really need to go back and see if the Break Chapters always followed “Whole” chapters ending in sleep/unconsciousness) but, as above, Gideon was too well partitioned to ever take over until the moment near the end. Wake was in Gideon’s sword(thinking back to GtN, Harrow DID have an odd antipathy for it even then), and at somepoint post-Lyctor(post-surgery? That makes sense given that’s when the Dream Stage was built and Harrow’s defenses would have been down) she jumped to possessing Harrow herself. It must have been Wake who sleepwalked her to impale Cytherea, perhaps so she could transfer her “anchor” from the sword to her corpse. Though maybe revenants can haunt multiple objects at once from their anchor; I find it Ominous that Pent kept mentioning the need to exorcise the anchor there at the end and that no exorcism took place. Could the sword STILL be haunted? But what role could she possibly have to still play in the story?

As to Gideon herself... I really cannot see Muir killing her off like that. Is it possible for a bound cavalier soul to break it’s link to the Lyctor’s body? It is possible that -given the empty Tomb in Harrow’s final chapter and what that place could potentially represent- Alecto is now in Harrow’s body, but Alecto has HER OWN Body(which apparently looks nearly IDENTICAL to Harrow with Gideon’s eyes, which adds a humorous line of narcissistic accusation to Harrow’s attraction to her; hope Gideon picks that up in AtN :p), and it’d be the easiest thing in the world to have the trauma of resurfacing, somehow given she lacks Necromancy, from The River give Gideon in Harrow’s body amnesia. That chapter DOES have the implication, with those bones, that she’s doing Necromancy though, so who knows. It’s possible what we’re seeing there is finally a true merger of the two, though I doubt that given how I read the ending; I think the possibilities are either Gideon with amnesia(and potentially Necromantic now due to Harrow choosing not to return and her powers “ceding” to her body’s current occupant. Still not sure where the line btw physical&metaphysical is with necromantic ability), or Alecto in Harrow’s body, with both Gideon and Harrow “dead”(in or over the River due to Harrow’s choice) atm. One Flesh, One End, afterall owo owo owo

[swanqueeneverafter]

Sins of the Past Pt.20

Wonderland. (Lighting candles on an altar, Morgause looks up to see Ella standing nervously beside her.) Ella: "You said you had answers about my mother. Please, tell me all that you know about her.” Morgause: “I’m sorry, Ella, but your mother is dead. She’s been gone a long time now. (Ella drops her head, her worst fears confirmed:) Perhaps you would like to see her?” Ella: (Raising her head quickly:) “What? Oh I... I want that more than anything.” Morgause: “As you wish. (Morgause holds out her hand, which Ella takes. Turning her so that Ella's back is to the altar:) Close your eyes. (As Morgause begins to chant, a breeze blows through the garden:) Arásae mid min miclan mihte þín suna to helpe. Hider eft funde on þisse ne middangeard þín suna w’æs." Cecelia: “Ella. (Ella opens her eyes:) Ella.” Ella: “Mother.”

Wonderland. Red Queen’s Dungeons. (Returning to check on her prisoner, Anastasia stands outside Will’s cell.) Will: “You’re a funny wonder you are. I thought the whole point of becoming Queen was that so you never had to get your hands dirty again.” Anastasia: “Will, I still get my hands dirty.” Will: “That’ll be because you’re not actually queen of anything! So what, you've just come to gloat? Laugh about how you’ve got half of Wonderland thinking you’re still queen?” Anastasia: “That's not why I’m here.” Will: “Then what is it?” Anastasia: “I came to tell you that while you might be feeling cavalier about your life, there are those of us who think you’re one of the finest men they’ve ever met. I’ve locked you in here to get it into your head that there are people out there who want you dead!” Will: “I’m well aware of that, thank you!” Anastasia: “Oh I know you are, but what about the people you care about? Do they know what kind of danger you’re putting yourself in just by being here?” Will: “They don’t need to know all of my sins.” Anastasia: “That’s where you’re wrong, Will. Back when I was being hunted by Cora’s men, you were there to make sure I survived. I became the Red Queen to save myself and you became a thief for the same reason. A long time ago you reminded me that no matter how bad things may seem, the one thing that will always be there for you is family. Well today I'm the one standing outside these bars and I've brought your family to you.” (Will watches as Tiana climbs the steps towards his cell, followed by his sister, Alice.) Tiana: "We're not going to let anyone hurt you, Will, but I'm gonna need a real good reason to not kill you myself. (Will drops his head:) How could you not tell us about all this?" Will: "I didn't want you to know. Either of you. (To Alice:) The things I did while you were locked in your tower, I couldn't have you worrying about your big brother. (To Tiana:) I never wanted you to find out what kind of man I was back then." Alice: "So you'd rather risk your own life than let us down? Don't you know how stupid that sounds?" Will: "It wasn't stupid to me. I thought I was protecting you from the truth." Alice: "What truth? That you were so desperate to survive that you stole a few things? Are you forgetting that we used to pinch stuff together? Back when it was just the two of us, right after Mum and Dad died. We were a regular Fagin and Artful Dodger, you and me." Will: "That doesn't make it right, Alice." Alice: "No, but I also remember who we used to steal from. Only those who could afford to lose a little here and there. (To Tiana:) I bet you that's who he stole from for the Caterpillar. (To Will:) I'm right, aren't I?" Will: "It's not that simple-" Alice: "See? I told ya." Tiana: (Moving closer to the bars:) "I never would've asked you to come on this journey with Ella if I had known just how dangerous it was going to be for you." Will: "It's me own fault. I should've told you." Tiana: "You're damn right you should. Because of you, we've got blondie over there thinking she's still queen." Anastasia: "Excuse me?" Tiana: "Oh I'll get to you in a minute. For now let me just say this, if you ever even think about keeping secrets from me again, the Caterpillar will be nothing compared to what I'll have in store for you. Are we clear?" Will: "Yes, love." Tiana: "Pardon?" Will: "Yes, Your Majesty." Tiana: "Mm hmm. Now, speaking of Ella, where is she anyway?"

Wonderland. Oracle's Garden. Continued. Cecelia: “My daughter. (Cecelia goes to Ella and embraces her:) When I last held you, you were just a child. You were the most precious thing in my life. I’m so sorry.” Ella: “You have nothing to be sorry for. Alice and Will told me what happened, that you were cursed.” Cecelia: “I should have told you. The pain I’ve put you though-” Ella: “No, you are not to blame.” (Cecelia releases her, holding Ella’s hands in her own.) Cecelia: “I cannot bear the thought that you believed I didn’t love you, that I wouldn’t have done everything I could to find my way back to you and your father.” Ella: “It’s me who should be sorry, for doubting your love for us.” Cecelia: “Do not think that. It is the Evil Queen who should carry the guilt for what happened.” Ella: “What do you mean?” Cecelia: (Hesitates:) “It is not important. What matters is that you are happy.” Ella: “Why should the Evil Queen feel guilty?” Cecelia: “It’s better left in the past.” Ella: “You cannot leave me with more questions. Please.” Cecelia: “Shortly after I left you, the Hatter’s travels to the Dream Realm came to an end. With the loss of his wife, Sarah, Jefferson had to do whatever he could to keep his daughter safe. He decided they would leave Wonderland and start afresh in the Enchanted Forest. The Hatter offered to take me with them, but I refused, believing the answer to my curse lay in Wonderland. So I remained behind, living in Jefferson’s old house in Tulgey Woods.” Ella: “So you were there?” Cecelia: “Yes, for a short time. By night I would read books about Wonderland’s many different poisons and by day I would search the forest looking for them. Until the day she came looking for Jefferson.” Ella: “Regina?” Cecelia: “After my dealings with the witch who cursed my heart, I knew evil when I saw it. Jefferson was trying to begin a new life away from the kind of wickedness the queen courted. I couldn’t let her jeopardise that for him, so I told her he wasn’t interested. The queen attacked me, insisting that I tell her where the Hatter had gone, but I couldn’t betray him.” Ella: “So she killed you?” Cecelia: “I sacrificed my life so that Jefferson could live his in peace, together with his daughter. (Ella closes her eyes, shaking her head:) Please, do not let this knowledge change you.” (The wind blows once more. Ella looks back up and sees that Cecelia is gone.) Ella: “No! Bring her back!” Morgause: “I cannot. Once the doorway is closed, it is closed forever. I am truly sorry that you learnt of your mother’s fate in this way. I can only imagine how it must feel to discover Regina is responsible for her death. It is an unforgivable betrayal.” (Morgause walks away, leaving Ella standing alone, a fire burning behind her eyes.) Storybrooke. Swan-Mills House. Regina: "What the hell are you talking about?" (Standing outside on the porch, Emma and Regina have been visited by Mulan and Ruby.) Ruby: "A friendly contest between two of the hottest couples the world has ever seen." Regina: "And what makes you think we'd be interested in something like that?"

Ruby: "Hey, I'm just the messenger, it was Xena who laid down the challenge." Emma: "Xena did?" Mulan: "She told us to tell you when she and Gabrielle took over our watch in the forest." Ruby: "Apparently her ego was bruised after what happened at the gym." Regina: "Xena has nothing to worry about, loss of flexibility is perfectly natural, for a woman of her advanced age." Emma: (Scoffs:) "That's cold." Mulan: "Wait, aren't you both the same age?" Ruby: "Well let's work it out. (Regina rolls her eyes:) Let's say Xena left home at sixteen, had ten years of dark deeds." Mulan: "The Evil Xena phase." Ruby: "Right. Then she spent five years or so travelling with Gabrielle before they were frozen in ice for twenty-five years." Emma: "Don't forget the year she spent without her memory. (At Regina's look:) What? It's a great show." Ruby: "I think Regina was around the same age when she cast the curse so... they're pretty much the same age, yeah." Regina: (Flatly:) "Well that's two minutes of my life I'm never getting back. (To Mulan:) Shouldn't Xena be spending her time coming up with a battle strategy should we need to lay siege on Camelot?" Mulan: "We have discussed it. As things stand right now, if Morgana's army is truly behind her, there's no one who can match it." Ruby: "And that's if it remained a non-magical battle." Mulan: (Nods:) "Because if Lily and Maleficent are being held in the castle, we can't go in blasting through Camelot's defenses without the risk of retaliatory action being taken against them." Ruby: "It's your classic impasse." Emma: (Sighs:) "Any sign of Mordred?" Mulan: "No, but we're covering a lot bigger area now that there are more volunteers." Regina: "We can't just sit on our hands and continue to do nothing." Ruby: (Mischievously:) "So, does that mean you're accepting Xena's challenge?" Camelot. Dungeons. (Morgana accompanies Elsa to the dungeons for a second time. Having previously inspected each cell the night before, Elsa curses under her breath after finding no trace of either Lily or Maleficent.) Morgana: "I understand your frustration, Elsa, but they are simply not here." Elsa: "It doesn't make any sense. The potion lead me to Camelot." Morgana: "You are free to search wherever you like. (Taking Elsa's hand:) Please, if there is anything I can do for you, all you need do is ask." Stables. (Anna and Kristoff speak in hushed voices.) Anna: "Of course they're here, they're just very well hidden, that's all!" Kristoff: "How can you be so sure?" Anna: "Because Elsa used the same locator spell when she found us washed up on the beach in that old trunk." Kristoff: "Yeah, but I think Morgana's sense of hospitality might waver if Elsa were to start blasting through walls!" Anna: "Well we have to do something!"

Kristoff: "We've searched every inch of the castle including Merlin's tower. Where else is there to look?" Anna: "I don't know! If you like questions so much, why haven't we seen Morgana's sister since we've been here? Huh? Answer me that." Kristoff: (Shrugs:) "Maybe Morgause has her own life to lead? Not all sisters are joined at the hip all the time you know." Anna: (Ignoring this:) "Or maybe she's where Lily and Maleficent are being held. Guinevere said Morgause is untrustworthy and has dark tendencies. It doesn't get much darker than kidnapping." Kristoff: "Well, there's murder. That's definitely darker than kidnapping, but there's been no proof of that either. And don't most kidnappers leave a note or a list of demands?" Anna: "Don't try and sway me with your cool-headed logic, Mr. Questions, this isn't the time." Kristoff: (Dryly:) "Of course not." Anna: "Camelot's a big place so we have to check anywhere and everywhere. Lily and Maleficent are family and we are not leaving without them." Kristoff: (Putting his hands up:) "Agreed. So where do you wanna look next?" Storybrooke. Sheriff's Station. (Emma and Regina meet up with the Charmings.) Snow White: "I think it sounds like a great idea. It could be just what everyone needs." Emma: "What, a chance to see me get my ass handed to me by Gabrielle in a staff fighting contest?" Snow White: "No, an excuse for another festival. (Emma and Regina groan:) Last time it was to raise the spirits of the people of Dun Broch. This time we can invite everyone from all the realms." Regina: "Oh great. Your mother's going to sell tickets." Snow White: "I just think that given the current situation, Storybrooke needs as many allies as possible if we're on the verge of going to war with Camelot. David thinks it's a good idea, don't you?" David: (Smiling:) "Absolutely." Regina: "Well of course he does. After knocking that knight over with his truck, he's got his swagger back. You'll probably challenge everyone you can to a joust." David: "Actually, no, not this time. I'll be helping Snow with organising everything. Guinevere's already got her hands full so I thought I'd offer my services." Snow White: "Plus Jasmine's offered to help Queen Roberta, so David won't have a chance to ask Aladdin for a rematch." Regina: “Mmhmm.” Emma: "Yeah, well that's great and all, but we haven't actually accepted the challenge yet. We don't even know if it's something we want to do." Zelena: (Entering:) "Oh you're doing it all right. I've got a lot of money riding on you two to win." Regina: "You only want us to do it so you can spend more time with Maria." Zelena: "And what's wrong with that? Someone's got to look after the poor girl, while you're off gallivanting. Tell you what, (Her hand already on Maria's baby carrier:) why don't you two go discuss it over coffee at Granny's (Picks up the basket and places five dollars in it's place:) My treat." (Before either of them can say anything, Zelena turns and leaves the station with Maria.)

Forest. (As the search for Mordred continues, Hook and Robin walk together along the forest path. Hook stopping occasionally to look through his spy glass.) Robin: "So, how are you holding up?" Hook: "Not great if I'm honest with you. It would be one thing if we knew for sure where Lily and Mal are so I could then go and rescue them." Robin: "Yeah, it's the not knowing that's the worst. Have you heard anything from Elsa and the others?" Hook: "No. I should be there with them in Camelot. (Sighs:) But it was agreed, what with my temper, that my staying here was best for everyone. (Notices Robin glancing at her watch:) Am I keeping you from something?" Robin: "What? Oh, no, it's just that Robin Hood was supposed to come take over for me. With Maleficent gone, it's been down to me to run the bar and-" Hook: "You've done a grand job with that place, Robin. Mal knows it too, though she'd never say it to your face." Robin: "Tell me about it." Hook: "That's just her way. She shows her appreciation differently to other people. You'll get to know her quirks the longer you work together." Robin: "I hope so. Did she really say she likes the changes I've made?" Robin Hood: (Arriving:) "Sorry I'm late. I was just rounding up the Merry Men. Your brother's back there with Little John." Robin: "Great, I'll say hi to him on my way back. Thanks for covering me." Robin Hood: "Not at all." Robin: (To Hook:) "Well, I guess I'll see you." Hook: "Aye, it's the best thing anyone can do for now. Keep doing what you have been and make Mal proud. (Robin smiles and turns to leave, almost bumping into Robin Hood. They share an uncomfortable nod and Robin Hood steps aside to let her pass:) Well that was awkward." Robin Hood: "Shut up and give me that. (Hook allows himself a smile as he hands over the spy glass:) I know this might not be the best time but, do you have any advice... on how to be a good father?” Hook: “Robin giving you the cold shoulder is she?” Robin Hood: “Oh we’re perfectly civil to each other, it’s just... me being with her mother and-” Hook: “And the fact that you’re not actually her father but look exactly like him? Yeah, that’s a tricky one. My advice would be not to force these things. Robin knows you’re not her dad and at this stage she’d probably resent you for trying to be. The one you have to worry about is Zelena.” Robin Hood: “Zelena? Why’s that?” Hook: “That woman’s got baby fever in the worst way. (Holds out his hand for the spy glass:) So good luck with that, mate.” Wonderland. (Striding along the forest path with a new sense of purpose, Ella is stopped by two men who are cooking their dinner beside the road.) Man 1: “Hold on there. Where do you think you're headed?” Ella: “I'm heading west. I need to find someone, and you're blocking my way.” Man 1: “If you keep heading west, you'll end up in the Black Forest, luv. You won't find anyone there.” Man 2: “They say it's so dark, you can't even find your own nose.” Ella: “I'll take my chances. Thank you.” (Man 1 blocks her path.) Man 2: “That seems awful dangerous, don't it? A little girl traveling alone. She might not know the rules.” Man 1: “See, this here's a toll road. You needs to pay the toll.” Man 2: “Now be a good girl and give us that necklace.” Ella: (Draws her sword:) “You even touch this necklace, and you'll lose your hand.” (Man 2 laughs.) Man 1: “Careful who you threaten, luv. No bauble's worth losing your life.” Ella: “This one is. (Ella knocks Man 2′s mace out of his hand and hits him with a spinning back elbow. Blocking Man 1′s overhead strike with her sword, she kicks him in the gut and he falls hard to the ground. Side stepping another attack from Man 2, Ella knees him in the gut and pushes him face first into a tree. Ducking Man 1′s wild swing, she punches and elbows him several times before hurling him to the ground. Standing over him with her sword in his face:) Be careful who you threaten, luv. (Picking up a flaming log from the fire:) Thanks for the light.” (Ella sheathes her sword, using the log as a torch, and continues on her way.) Storybrooke. Granny's Diner. (Taking Zelena's advice, Regina and Emma discuss Xena & Gabrielle's challenge.) Regina: "I mean just the fact they even challenged us shows that they're the ones who have something to prove." Emma: "Well, it sure as hell beats sitting around waiting. Besides, Mom was right when she said we need allies." Regina: "The other realms wouldn't possibly choose Morgana and Morgause over us. They love us. We're still wading through all the baby gifts the people have given us." Emma: "Yeah, but that was before Morgana reminded everyone that I killed Arthur." Regina: "Oh, no one cared about that bearded buffoon when he was alive, why should they care about who killed him?"

Emma: "Hm. You know, it might not be so bad. Do you remember the first time we had a friendly wager between us?" (Emma conjures a piece of paper into her hand and gives it to Regina. Looking at it, Regina sees that it is an old poster depicting Emma as a firefighter with the words 'Vote Swan For Sheriff' written on it.) Regina: (Smiling:) "I remember very well." Storybrooke. Past. Mayor's Mansion. Night. (Answering the door, Mayor Mills opens it to find Sheriff Swan standing on her porch.) Regina: "Miss Swan, it's late." Emma: "Is Henry asleep?" Regina: "Yes, why?" Emma: "We had a bet, winner take all. (Puts on a large fireman's helmet:) I've come to collect." Regina: "What the- Ahh! (The mayor gives out a yell as she is lifted over Emma's shoulder into a fireman's lift. Struggling momentarily with the door, Emma closes it and heads towards the staircase. In a hushed voice:) Emma put me down, this is ridiculous!" Emma: "Sorry, can't do that." (Emma readjusts her grip, so that one hand is now firmly squeezing Regina's ass. Resigning herself to this indignity, Regina ceases any pretense of a struggle. As they travel across the hall however, one of Regina's shoes falls noisily to the floor just outside Henry's bedroom door.) Regina: (Her voice serious:) "Put me down, I mean it." (Emma lets her down. Straightening her dress, Regina takes a deep breath before slowly turning the handle and gingerly enters her son’s room. Seeing that Henry is still fast asleep, she backs out of the room and closes the door.) Emma: "Well?" Regina: (Nods:) "He's still asleep." Emma: "Good." (Immediately, Emma scoops Regina into her arms and resumes carrying her across the hall.) Regina: "Well this is much better." Emma: "Yeah, but you're so fun to mess with." Regina: (Reaching her bedroom:) "I'm even more fun to fu-" (The door closes sharply behind them.) Wonderland. Present. (Walking past a sign that reads ‘Dead End of the Queen’s Road’, Ella continues undeterred.) Ella: (Reading more signs:) "‘Abandon all hope ye who enter.’ I'd have to have hope in order to abandon it. (Seeing yet more signs:) Seems like an awful waste of wood, when one sign would do. I mean, is it really that bad? Worse than finding out your mother-in-law killed your mother? (Reaching the end of the path, Ella sticks out her hand into the darkness which ripples like a wave, enveloping her fingers. Gasping, she removes her arm:) Okay, Ella, a little bit of darkness might be just what you need.” (Taking a deep breath, she steps inside the darkness and disappears.)

[firewoodfigs]

hug me ‘til you drug me, honey, love me 

(for @royaiweek day 1 - letters & day 2 - little pistol. thank u mods!! 💕)

read on ao3 

Summary: They don’t, can’t remember each other - not when they’ve been stripped of their identities and labelled with letters and numbers, before being slotted deftly into an inescapable hierarchy and social destiny. The only brief memory they have of each other lies within a letter inscribed onto her back.

Rating: M, for Machiavellian bastards!! 

a/n: (i) inspired by many pieces of art - Huxley’s Brave New World (some of the italicised lines, as well as the title, are taken from his book), Wilfred Owen’s Anthem for Doomed Youth, snippets from Mother Mother’s Little Pistol, as well as soterianyx’s analysis of Riza’s tattoo and my friend’s explanation that fire on sand brings glass (hello friend thanks for teaching me physics!!).  (ii) please note the rating - it’s rated for graphic depictions of violence and war, and the context of this piece is based on an autocratic dystopia. (iii) count the alphabets if you’re confused by who’s who xD  (iv) i wanted to experiment with a different writing style - it’s meant to sound more detached etc (quite out of my comfort zone tbh haha because i'm typically a sap) to bring across the ruthlessness of everything that’s going on here. feedback is greatly appreciated!

~x~

Memory. Identity. Emotions.

The Amestrian military has no need for silly things like these. Sentimentalities are but frivolities in a war zone. The military needs people who can kill without batting an eyelid - cavalier about murder, like the Autocrat’s rapier. Soldiers who will mindlessly obey orders; subjugate themselves to the will of the State without resistance.

The individual is not its own being. It is a part of the State.

Bearing this axiom in mind, A-18/13 dutifully accepts his fate as a State Alchemist. He snaps on his ignition gloves, staring blankly at the red sigil - a lost, distant memory, perhaps? Regardless, he does not probe, does not flinch as the heat engulfs his hands and reminds him of a bittersweet embrace that he’s never tasted.

After all, the perfect soldier wastes no time on ruminations like these.

A-18/13 is armed for battle and ready to abide by the State’s decree. What might have once been remorseful reluctance and moral scruples are now replaced by an undying loyalty, an unwavering fealty to the State.

The white coat shrouds him like a cloud, but there’s an inexplicable coldness to it. It’s odd. He’s supposed to be the Flame Alchemist, but using his powers for simple comforts like warmth instead of killing feels rather inane. And so he refrains from doing so.

Instead, he stands ruler-straight with the rest of the State Alchemists, ignoring the subtle hunger and discomfiture bubbling in his throat.  

“For the greater good,” the soldiers chant, mouths moving like parrots. “For the greater good of the State.”

On the other side of the room, E-18/8 likewise accepts her orders. She’s young - hardly an adult by legal standards - fresh out of the academy, but it’s of little import to the State. All that matters is her talent in handling a gun, a rifle; her readiness to be shipped out to the desert. Notwithstanding her relatively petite stature, there’s a stubborn strength in her shoulders that beguiles her age and inexperience in war.

“Stay in the shadows, fire at any threat,” is the command given to her. “Sacrifice yourself for those who are above you.”

At their behest, she salutes before stepping forward to accept her instrument of death. The rifle feels cool against her palm, but she doesn’t flinch. What might have once been a burning desire to protect someone has been quashed and replaced with hands that are cold as ice. Indifferent to bloodshed.

“For the greater good,” the soldiers recite again. “For the greater good of the State.”

Their hollow voices reverberate across the room like the sounds of a lonely, dispassionate choir.

“Silence, silence.” Chanting dies off into light, regular breathing. The air is sibilant with the categorical imperative as they await further orders.

The Autocrat begins his descent down the stairs, into the basement shrouded by a thickening, eerie atmosphere of gray. He enters into the room: regal, powerful and of stalwart built.

The ultimate Alpha.

Everyone bows deferentially. “Fuhrer King Bradley,” his puppets’ voices resonate in perfect harmony across the room.

He looks upon them from the platform on which he stands with an unreadable expression. Then, with a deceptively pleasant smile, he asks, “You know what Ishvala is, I suppose?”

A rhetorical question. The soldiers chime in with the answer he anticipates, without any need for prompting. “A dead religion,” they reply, in perfect harmony.

Deadened, darkened eyes turn to look at him.

“Wonderful. Such excellent soldiers you all are. Well, remember this now, even if you forget everything else.” There’s a gleam in his eyes that’s disgustingly delightful as his lips curl upward, undertones of menace lingering within. The Autocrat draws his sword out. The tip of his blade meets the ground, and he rests his palms on the hilt as he barks out his next command. “All orders are to be obeyed immediately, for the greater good of the State.”  

“For the greater good of the State,” his lackeys reply, an incantation thoroughly internalised by now.

He smiles once more, before letting his gaze linger for a little while longer on A-18/13 and E-18/8. The two soldiers who, reportedly, were the most difficult amongst the lot to deal with during the extraction process.

Amelos potamos, it was called - a process by which soldiers were medically induced into a coma before utilising alchemy to tap into their subconscious, to extract and seal their memories away.

The goal was for them to wake up without any recollection of who they were, save for their fighting capabilities, as the gold-toothed doctor so kindly explained to the Autocrat. Emotional capabilities eroded so that troublesome fetters like - god forbid, feelings! - could get out of the picture. Consciences atrophied, minds brainwashed. All obstacles to the full realisation of their indestructible power in the war erased.

Reduced to subconsciousness, amelos potamos had been a surprisingly easy process to perform on most soldiers. For the general majority there was no struggle against the process, and they awoke into nothingness: nothing but shells of their former selves. For some, their minds had repelled against the procedure initially, as if desperately grappling on to fragments of their former selves, but eventually they’d succumbed as well.

A-18/13 and E-18/8 had, however, proved to be most cumbersome with their startling mental resistance. Even in their subconscious their minds had clawed frantically at the memories they shared with each other, stubbornly refusing to let go of the basis behind their shared bond. The doctors struggled to find a way around this, and even when they arrived at a solution it was a long, painstaking process to go through the elaborate removal of their memories, piece by piece - for there were so many - and -

-- and destroy every single trace.

And finally, at the end of it, they recalled nothing, felt nothing as they arose from their comatose states to a chilly hospital room. To a perfect world, without hindrances to ruthlessness. The perfect soldiers were engineered thus.

What man has engineered, nature is powerless to put asunder.

The Autocrat smiles beatifically at last, eyes crinkling with genuine pleasure. He inspects the soldiers once more with all the coldness of someone debating a pawn’s move on a chessboard.  “It’s time.”

At his beckon, they march out into battle like an army of marionettes.

~x~

Out in the battlefield, the Amestrian soldiers are like industrialised man-machines, way ahead of their time. An inward dehumanisation, an outward mechanisation. The Alchemists, in particular, possess a power so lethal that they could wipe out an entire army of men with the slightest snap of their fingers, the briefest clap of hands.

This they do unflinchingly, without hesitation.

True to the gold-toothed doctor’s predictions, there were no obstructions to the realisation of their full potential. Gone were nuisances like compunction, pity - foreign concepts that didn’t belong in the desert. The soldiers simply stare at their corpses laid out before them with glazed eyes, before continuing to traverse the desert like the very harbingers of doom themselves.

Death and destruction follow them, wherever they go. There is no remorse to be felt amidst the rifles’ rapid rattles; no guilt or sympathy that halts their movements.

Neither does fear plague the brave, heartless soldiers - not even when the soldiers are held at gunpoint or witness an explosive being thrown their way. Epsilons like E-18/8 protected those who were ahead of them in the hierarchy, and were willing to kill, murder; sacrifice their bodies without a second thought.

When A-18/13 was almost stabbed from the back, for example, E-18/8 had fired a shot straight to the culprit’s head that instantaneously killed him without batting even so much as an eyelash.

Her victim’s blood spills in the distance. A bright splash of scarlet, like carmine roses growing on a decrepit wasteland. He falls lifeless to the ground.

She doesn’t recoil in the slightest: her eyes are as lifeless as the cadaver’s.

For the greater good of the State, they cantillate in their heads. An anthem for doomed youths who are slotted into an inescapable social destiny.

A-18/13 notices the sniper hiding in the comforting darkness of a bell tower from the corner of his eye, and makes a mental note to thank the stranger as she begins walking towards their base camp for their lunch break. They stand six feet apart, glassy-eyed amidst desultory conversations.

He approaches her slowly when their eyes meet. There’s an uncomfortable feeling stirring in his gut - have we met before? But he’s quick to quash it, as if stepping on a bothersome insect. “Thank you for earlier,” he says.

“Not at all. It is my duty, sir,” she responds tonelessly, before taking a seat opposite A-18/13 and B-13/8. They sip coffee and eat ration bars in a wordless, somewhat peaceful quietude despite the chaos around them.

The coffee tastes like dirt, and the ration bar reminds them of cardboard.

They eat anyway, without complaint.

Incidentally, A-19/10/11 happens to overhear their interactions. He turns around to face them. “Cadets like her deserve no thanks when they are simply doing their jobs,” he sneers. It's doltish, he thinks, to thank someone for something they're ordered to do.

E-18/8 makes no protests or objections despite the condescension in his statement. In a world without trivialities like memories or identities or emotions, the hierarchy’s austerity elicits no complaints.

Suddenly, a bell goes off. Duty calls. It signals the end of their lunch break, and they're quick to finish the last of their measly meals before standing once more for battle.

E-18/8 slings her rifles and prepares to leave. Her back reminds A-18/13 of the tall, white columns of an estate that occasionally appeared in his dreams.

A ponderous lump begins to form in his throat, but before he can ponder further the bell chimes again. Around him, soldiers recite the dreadful axiom once more.  

War wages on. The Flame Alchemist rises, and the sigil on his leathery glove begins to glow a lethal claret.  

A snap. Bodies burnt beyond recognition. Another snap. Curses and vows of vengeance eventually subsiding to muted prayers.

It’s a mortifying sight to take in: the entire place reeks more of death than sand.

The desert wind carries the howls of pain, the screams for mercy and the broken pleas for salvation from a god who doesn’t seem to hear the dying voices of its people. Please, stop - what did we ever do wrong? Don’t take my lover’s life, take mine instead -

(I pray that you’ll always be that way… May you shine like fire before men; kindness and mercy your strongest traits.  And most of all, I pray that our love for each other will always -)  

A-18/13 simply regards all of this with a vacant, uncaring look. He’s quick to snap once more, incinerating mortals into ash - from dust we were made, and back to that we shall return - as if they were but matchsticks waiting to be lit up.

Unfettered by scruples, carefully curated gardens and entire landscapes are eventually swallowed by a lake of fire and brimstone. Roses are set on fire, and there’s a pistol party going on somewhere behind him.

A cacophony of bullets, a symphony of death.  

(Be thou for the people. You’re… you’re the most honorable of all my apprentices, and you deserve to have it. If you just ask my daughter, tell her you’ll use it for the right reasons… she will give you the key to the secrets of flame alchemy.)

(Can I… can I trust you with my back, Roy? You’re a good man, and I’d like to put my faith in that dream of yours.)

His expression remains unfazed.

~x~

Amelos potamos, despite its promises of creating the perfect soldiers, did not grant its victims immunity from physical sensations.

Pain. It's a complex feeling (feelings? god forbid something like that exists!) - equal parts physical and mental. It's as much biological as it is psychological.

E-18/8 bites her lips to stop herself from screaming in pain when the explosion burns her instead of A-18/13. Jumping in front of him to defend his body was an intuitive reaction, one that doesn't even require any contemplation.

(I would do anything to protect you, Riza. Even if that means sacrificing myself.)

(As would I, Roy. A life without you is not one worth living.)  

Surely, it must have been the call of duty that compelled her to act that way. The words of A-19/10/11 echo in her mind, and she decides that she doesn’t deserve any thanks or show of concern for merely complying with orders. She’s prepared to walk - no, crawl - back to the weather-beaten tent despite the agony that sears through her, but -

-- for the first time since the war, the Flame Alchemist’s expression cracks ever so slightly.

He crosses the distance between them in two long strides and ushers her towards the tent, allowing her to lean on him for support. E-18/8 staggers from the pain, but holds in her scream nonetheless. A subtle hint of worry starts to sneak into his frown.

A-18/13 pushes aside the flap and quickly shuts it for privacy, before setting her down slowly on the bedrolls and deftly removing what was left of her uniform jacket and undershirt so that he could tend to her wounds.

The lacerations that she’s sustained look awful. It’s the worst on her shoulders, angry blisters mottling her smooth skin. His eyes move lower down her back - the injuries there don’t look as bad, and for the most part the ink there remains.

The scene feels strangely familiar, like he’s done this before.

He pours out the antiseptic and dabs gently at the gaping wounds. She winces, but before she can yelp she contains it with another hard bite down her lips.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

E-18/8 thinks it’s strange. There’s nothing to apologise for. In the first place, it’s an oddity why someone higher in the hierarchy like him is even helping her dress her wounds. But she supposed it made sense - she couldn’t reach those wounds herself, after all, and it was best to repair his subordinates quickly so that she could resume her duties as his human shield.

“Not at all, sir,” she manages to exhale through the pain. Bandages are rolled around the injured area on her shoulders fastidiously. He moves on to the wounds on her back.

It is only then that he takes a closer examination at the tattoo, and to his surprise he realises it’s an alchemical array - an array that’s strikingly similar to the one on his gloves.

The epiphany hits him then, like a blaring truck. It bears an uncanny resemblance to the back of the nameless, faceless girl that appears in his dream.

He wonders why he dreams of someone he supposedly doesn’t know.

“Sir?” she asks, snapping him out of his reverie. His mending has come to a pause. E-18/8 wishes he would hurry up so that they could return to their duties. The perfect soldiers, after all, wasted no time on silly musings or dilly-dallyings.

“Ah, sorry,” he apologises again. A frown makes its presence known on her ashen countenance, but she swallows the pain as the dry air kisses her blisters along with the - dare she say, irritation?

“We should hurry up,” she whispers softly through gritted teeth, masking her - well, she didn’t know if it was irritation causing her teeth to grind against each other.

“Right,” he replies. He makes quick work of patching up the last of her wounds, before continuing to trace the tattoo in a dazed trance. There’s a tender sort of carefulness to his movements as he caresses the planes of her back. It elicits a shudder from the blonde, and she pins the blame on the desert wind that blows in fiercely through the little gaps pockmarking the flimsy tent.

His fingers continue their methodical dance down the grooves of her spine. E-18/8 shudders again, but the winds have stopped.

The Flame Alchemist gently thumbs the words that lay below the intricate array. Poems alluding to love and apology and light; frivolities that are unequivocally frowned upon by the State.

(Through fire, we gain knowledge and truth - the same way fire brings clarity to sand in the form of glass.)

(Well, that’s very... poetic, Roy.)

Further down, there’s an inscription that stands out in a gentle blue cursive - like the waters of an ocean, or a clear, azure sky he doesn’t quite remember seeing since time immemorial. The only images they saw in the desert were rivers of blood that drowned land and sky in crimson, the colour of the sigil on his glove and the words above.

This particular inscription, though, is different. Aside from the disparity in colour, it speaks not of holy flames or physics or thermodynamics. Instead, it’s a letter, seemingly addressed to someone. It’s intriguing and frightening all the same, because it whispers taboos and a dangerous secret that he can’t quite wrap his finger around.

Nevertheless, he runs a finger across the alphabets spelling out a… a name.

A name.

His face pales, like the posthumous whiteness of marble - does this blaspheme against the State? - but ignoring the warning bells his fingers continue their descent.

It’s not just a name, but two. Two names, framing an inscription of identity. Emotion. Memory.

My dear Riza, dearest Riza Hawkeye,

You will always be your own person, And I will always love you for that.

Lest we forget, Roy Mustang

“Ri...za,” he calls apprehensively. The foreign taste lingering on his tongue makes him feel like he’d just eaten the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge.  “Riza,” he tries again, “Hawkeye.”

“Who is that, sir?”

Riza Hawkeye.

The image of a young girl in a sundress flashes before him. His mind reels like a film-roll as memories flash past, sepia tones of nostalgia colouring them. It’s vague, but he’s starting to see the barely discernible outlines of a girl who looks like a younger version of the injured sniper before him.

The nameless, faceless girl that haunted him in his dreams…

Was it - was it her?

“It’s… I think it’s you.” he says, a desperate plea for them to remember, remember - lest we forget -

“That’s impossible, sir. I go by E-18/8,” she answers, but there’s a nervousness that creeps around her placid tone as she remembers the occasional dreamful slumber.

The picture of a younger her with a nameless, faceless raven-haired man, summertime and sunlight kissing their skin as they sat together on the front porch, feet dangling and fingers intertwining. The dream would always end, without fail, whenever he began to whisper their names to the wind.

But once, just once… she’d seen him mouth a “ri” before the dream came to an abrupt end.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s you,” he says, with more urgency to his voice this time. A desperate plea for them to remember, remember - lest we forget - “There’s another name here - Roy Mustang. Does that sound familiar to you?”

(... Hello, Mister Mustang.)

(Please don’t call me that, Riza. Just call me Roy - I won’t bite, I promise.)

“... Vaguely, sir.”

(Alright… sir.)

(That’s even worse! I’m not some… some old-fashioned lord. I just want to be your friend -)

(... Friend?)

As if possessed by some kind of uncontrollable automatism, they begin to cry. A teardrop falls on an open wound on the small of her back, and she jerks upright.

“Sorry,” comes his third apology.

Acting purely on instinct now, he wraps his arms loosely around her from behind, trying to navigate through the storm brewing in his mind. He finally has a taste of the embrace he’s subconsciously been yearning for. It’s bittersweet and agonising all at once. Desire burns, and he finds himself longing for more.  

She makes no move to escape his hold. Instead, she rests her palms on his scorched skin, feeling the calluses with a rough, padded thumb. It’s warm underneath her. He lives up to his moniker, she thinks, as heat begins to surge through her body.

Hug me till you drug me, honey; kiss me till I’m in a coma…

An almost carnal desire spills from his heart, running to his lips. He presses his lips on the back of her neck to soothe it. She shudders again, and this time she knows - it’s not because of the wind, but him.

“What… what were we, Riza? What are we now?”

“I don’t know, Roy,” she cries out softly, as she turns to return his gesture of affection.

For the briefest of moments, their lips meet. Flames unfurl beneath them, and suddenly the only war, the only tussle is not the one awaiting them outside, but within them - their souls and memories desperately trying to reconnect with their bodies -

(I pray that our love for each other will always remain. I pray, Father, that you forgive us for our sins, past and future, and that the scarlet thread that runs between us will be one of love, not murder -)

The bell rings, again. Any memories that they might have recollected of each other immediately recede like a spectre.

For the greater good of the State.

They break apart from each other in stunned silence. E-18/8 is the first to stand, thanking him for tending to her wounds. “I am alright now, sir. We should get going.”

(Isn’t it interesting, Riza? Fire on sand brings glass. Here, let me show you - )

(Yes, Roy. I’m well aware. You’ve made that clear with your incessant rambling.)

Their consciences remain unclear as they step back out into the arid, sandy wasteland.

[psyche-reads]

Yeah so this is heavily based on a previous meta post I made about the lyctoral cavs and the Resurrection Beasts that went into some parallels I found but can’t fully explain:

The whole thing about them fighting each other comes from something Varun the Eater says when possessing Judith

It’s very vague, just “I saw your cavalier…I saw them all—they hurt me,” coupled with some offhand comments from Harrow the Ninth implying that Resurrection Beasts have a specific fixation on cavaliers that have been consumed. Plus all the stuff about the Tower, wherever the Stoma led, and the “Harrow in Hell” title implying that there is ~somewhere~ that characters go after they sort-of die, so theoretically the RBs and the dead cavs could still be intact there, especially if (as I theorize) they’re each partnered up in one way or another.

It’s all speculation based on very shaky ground, but this is a pet theory I’ve been nurturing for some time

The first act of Alecto is Harrow descending into hell. There are nine circles of hell in Dante’s Inferno. There are nine dead lyctoral cavaliers. There are nine resurrection beasts. Nona the Ninth implies the cavaliers are fighting the resurrection beasts Somewhere. Theory: in Alecto, Harrow will encounter each dead cav/corresponding RB one by one, liberating their souls a la the biblical harrowing of hell, culminating in her reuniting with the fragment of Gideon’s soul she consumed in a manner not unlike Dante’s Beatrice. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk

[casualcatte]

RP Journal: 08/09/2020

Rae-Hann appeared to visit me today; it’s been a short bit since I’ve seen him, so he was welcome, as always. He has a strangely calming presence, the mystel, and I find I can talk to him about most anything. There was something a little disconcerting about his reason for finding me, though.

[ Courtsey cut for length. Are these ever short?! ]

It was just to give me a book, written mostly in Vrandtic, but with some parts on Astromancy that he thought might interest me. “I don’t want it left unattended,” he’d said, “should I find myself here physically. Or, dead.”  That last worried me. Was he in some manner of trouble?  Trouble always seemed to find Rae, no matter where in the worlds he went. I couldn’t help but ask him. 

A secret, he said. I had to keep it a secret. Especially from Frey and Shieda. I owe more loyalty to Rae than the two of them combined, so being Rae’s secret-keeper was of little concern to me. What followed… I won’t even write here. A secret is a secret, after all. And Frey is a clever catte who would be the type to ferret out my journal just to see if I’d written anything. So, no, Frey, if you’re reading this. You’re not going to get it out of me.  If Rae-Hann wanted you to know, he’d have told you.

He reassured me that I wouldn’t have to hunt him down, so that’s a relief. I have no doubt I could do it easily, but I wouldn’t want to. That’s a position I’d prefer to never have to be in. Still, I plan to keep an eye on Rae as much as I can, which means getting business concluded in Kugane and Ishgard so I can go back to the drama hot-bed that is Ul’dah. Gods, why do you keep dragging me back to that place?

Rae also spoke of helping him on some Vrandtic expedition he’ll be going on soon. I told him that he knows how to call for me if needed, so I suspect I’ll be taking a dream journey soon. I’m curious about this underwater trip that requires no swimming, though. How is that even going to work?

I’d have to figure it out later, because almost as if he has a sixth sense that I’m talking to someone else, Edgard Beaumont puts in an appearance. How is it that he knows just when to interrupt a pleasant conversation with the crushing weight of his ego? He was, of course, uniquely Edgard, making inferences about my relationship to Rae-Hann, who is only mentor and friend.

Though, once he heard mentor he couldn’t help but bring up that gods-awful Hunt and how I’d missed four shots. /Ugh./  Why did he even have to hear about it? I swear, I’m never going to live it down til the day I die.  Or he does.  It makes it very tempting to shoot him. 

Edgard was Edgard, all talk and suave and confident assurance that I was enamored with him. However, the shocking thing wasn’t Edgard. It was Rae-Hann. There was a… concern there that I’d never before seen.  Not like he was jealous, but more like my godfather, questioning if Edgard had untoward motives. Color me doubly gob-smacked when it seemed to… I don’t know, subdue Edgard.  He admitted he liked my company.  Admitted that it was all in good will and that he had no intention of trying to seduce me. I’m almost convinced he meant it.

Once Rae left, Edgard almost seemed uncomfortable that he’d made the admissions, like someone had suddenly pulled the mask off his facade and yelled “Ta-da!”  It was...strange to see him so vulnerable, stripped of the veneer that was his cavalier, womanizing attitude. I only managed to tease him about it briefly before he shifted the topic to Edmond. 

He’d apparently seen his brother somewhere recently and they’d made it a point to make up with one another.  I was genuinely glad to hear it; family is such an important thing. It’s a shame to see people take it for granted, they don’t realize how lucky they are. There are some of us in the world that have no family to speak of. He went on to say that Edmond was in some manner of trouble, though he had no specifics on the why or the how. I offered to help, which, of course, Edgard had to make about him and how much I care about him. I swear, he’s such an idiot sometimes.

It didn’t take long for Edgard to recover from whatever blow Rae-Hann had dealt him. He was soon back to his usual antics. He mentioned somewhere along the line that he’d told me his intent wasn’t serious back in Ul’dah, but it’s hard to take Edgard seriously about anything when he’s talking to me. To listen to him tell someone else that his flirtations were empty and that it was just in goodwill and fun… it brought a strange sense of relief. I hadn’t realized it til then, how I was expecting him to try something or suggest something, prepared to haul off and slap him for it whenever it happened. It was nice to let go of that expectation. I felt more relaxed, less guarded. Like I wasn’t walking across a Garlean mine-field.

I started to feel more at ease, like I didn’t have to question every gesture and every turn of phrase for fear that he’d get the wrong idea. The rest of the night passed easily until the Ishgardian decided to go to bed, virtuously alone, but in those moments he seemed almost happy. Content. More than I’d seen him since the day I met him.

When I got back to the Bokairo, there was a mail moogle waiting with a letter for me from Lorrendor Hauland.  I was sorely, sorely tempted to punt that marshmallow lump back to wherever it came from. I’m not even sure what he expected to accomplish by sending it.  An apology on paper from half a world away? Tch.  If you can’t even muster the guts to face me in person about the harm you’ve done, you don’t deserve to be forgiven.

Tristane was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to face in my life. I /watched/ him die, even as I tried to save him. I can still feel the heat of his blood pumping over my hands in time with his heartbeat as I tried to staunch the most vital of his wounds. I can still feel his bloodied hand on my cheek, wiping away my tears as he gasped out that he was glad I was safe. Gods damn you Tristane Alexander, I never wanted to be safe!  I wanted to live or die at your side, as your partner and your love. I wanted us to fight this battle together.  But you left me behind…

(whatever came next was scribbled out in a large block of ink)

I buried him with my own two hands beneath the caelumtree where we first met. There isn’t a thing about home that doesn’t remind me of him and why going home is always so bittersweet for me. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s also why I left…

These feelings are not weapons to be used against me when someone finds them convenient. When someone wants to manipulate me into permitting behavior I would never allow. I never share Tristane’s death lightly and to have it used as a crutch to try get me to accept being treated as anything other than an equal...as anything other than a /friend/... I can’t just /forgive/ that. I would never use that kind of knowledge like that.

Gods, just look at what I know about Edgard and Rae-Hann, the loves they’ve lost.  I would never use that knowledge to try and manipulate them. The very idea makes me sick to my stomach. Their pain, that agony, is a symbol of trust and vulnerability that should be kept sacred and precious. Used only to make them better men and for their own gain, not as a method and means for mine.

I just can’t understand the thinking. Maybe I just don’t get it.

Mentions @yokasaris for Rae-Hann @sola-ffxiv for side-mention of Frey I don’t think any of the other nerds mentioned have Tumblrs (yet)

[heartslogos]

an oath to keep

Gideon is sitting on a dull ashy rock, boots covered in dull ashy dirt, staring out at a dull ashen sky as dull ash clouds puff around her. She is waiting for a drop ship to pick her up and take her away.

She is certain of two things.

One, when Harrowhark Nonagesimus gets her she’s going to be so mad at Gideon that she’s going to skip straight past frosty rage and into frothing at the corners of the mouth and she might try to pop each individual vertebrae of Gideon’s spine out through Gideon’s mouth like a candy dispenser.

Two, Gideon is deader than disco. Which provides a minor sliver of hope because disco has a weird tendency to dip its toe back into living every so often before being quickly shunted off into its shallow grave.

Gideon, in fact, does feels some minor, weird, buzzing feeling in the back of her skull that signals to her that she’s not all the way gone yet. Just ninety nine point nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine percent there.

She raises a hand and runs it through her hair, as she sighs, slumping down on the rock to stare up at the bleak sky.

Trust being dead to land her back at the Ninth. The afterlife couldn’t have something a little bit more interesting? Gideon’s no saint and didn’t have many expectations for what the other side would hold for her, but surely it wouldn’t be ye old homestead of eternal bleakness.

Figures that the bad place for the bad people is just the Ninth. It explains so much, honestly.

So far Gideon has catalogued three bits of good news while sitting on her old rock friend.

One. She’s got her two hander. Its familiar weight means that this place can’t be completely awful. Real hell would’ve been stuck in the afterlife with the little metal wand of a rapier and the kind of alright knuckles.

Two. Gideon also still has her glasses. Unscratched, unbroken, and in perfectly mirrored condition that she can see her reflection in them.

Three. Gideon’s existence in the afterlife is not a complete mangled wreck like it was when Gideon threw herself into it to start with. Her arms and legs work, her torso isn’t a sieve with a bonus chance at tetanus, and — not as great, but neither here nor there — her face paint looks fresh, sharp, and unblemished. Which also leads to the bad news that Gideon poked at her face a bit and could still feel the angry little zits on her forehead and the sides of her face.

Being dead, apparently, does not rescue a person from acne. Acne is a powerful curse that extends beyond life. There can be no rescuing from acne.

“Ninth.”

Gideon looks up and is somehow disappointed to see Camilla.

“Yo,” Gideon stands up, waving awkwardly. “Do I apologize?”

Camilla blinks at her, confused, “What for?”

“You’re here.”

Camilla looks around, and shrugs. “Not for long.”

They both look up at the sound of ship engines.

Camilla’s hands rest on her hips as they watch the dull clouds part, and the lights of a ship start to come closer.

“Thank you for what you did back there,” Camilla says as they watch the ship descend. “You do your house proud.”

Gideon shrugs, uncomfortable at the thought of making the Ninth House feel anything positive. The Ninth could suck it. It wasn’t really —

“The Ninth has less syllables than Harrowhark Nonagesimus,” Gideon says.

Camilla’s lip twitches upward at the corner. Gideon has a feeling Camilla already knew that.

“It was an honor to fight with you,” Camilla says as the ship completes its descent, landing off in the distance and lowering its ramp. She turns to Gideon and holds her hand out. “I’m going to join my adept.”

Gideon grasps it. “Hey, what was it that you were supposed to do?”

Camilla’s smile is grim and thin. “Finish it.”

Gideon’s hand tightens on Camilla’s. “And — ?”

She doesn’t now how to finish that question.

Camilla nods once. “It is done.”

They both let go of each other and Camilla turns to walk away. Gideon watches her for a bit before returning to her rock.

“Gideon!”

She looks up and sees Camilla, almost at the ship.

“You could come with us,” Camilla yells out towards her, “You’ve done more than enough. Our part is over.”

Gideon stares at Camilla, and then beyond her at the ship. She imagines she can see Palamedes in the shadow of the ship’s entryway. Boy that would be an awkward ride to wherever dead people go next. No thanks.

“Pass. I’ll wait for mine,” Gideon yells back.

Camilla is very still in the distance before she raises an arm and waves, then turns and completes the walk onto the ship.

Gideon watches the ship as it slowly returns to the sky and away from here. Her throat tightens and she tells herself she isn’t crying. She’s got no paint or brushes. If she messes up her face it’s going to be stuck that way for eternity. No thanks.

Gideon doesn’t know how long she’s been here. It could be minutes. It could be hours. It could be days or years or centuries.

She doesn’t feel tired or thirsty or anything. She’s got enough to do. Infinite laps to run, push ups, crunches, squats, sword drills. She even messes around with pushing rocks around the bleak landscape.

“You.”

Gideon groans, sheathing her sword as she drops her stance. She turns and she sees the hulking mass of Crux lumbering towards her, face grim and foreboding as ever.

“Come on, Crux,” Gideon gestures around them, “We’re dead. Can you drop being a giant wanker for like…a minute? I’ll even pretend I don’t know about the part where you rigged my ship so I would die as soon as I got off planet.”

Crux scowls, coming to a stop a few feet away from her, “Death is the least of what those who abandon their house deserve.” The formal marshal looks her over. “Ultimately you made up for your many flaws, though I can see that your disrespect and lack of manners remains unfixable.”

“Thanks?” Gideon hedges that this is supposed to be the most backhanded of complements, so backhanded that it goes right around to being a complete insult. “You know, Crux, I didn’t think you’d ever kick the bucket. Do I get to ask what did you in? Was it spite? Did you enjoy yourself so thoroughly on the news of my death that you kicked it to see if it was real? Did your dusty old bones just give in and send you collapsing to the floor in a puddle of skin?”

If Crux’s scowl gets any deeper it would threaten to become engraved onto his very bones themselves. Crux’s scowl is so deeply etched into his face that Gideon swears that you could pack the grooves like pockets.

“You wear the paint and patterns of the Ninth like an unattended toddler who put them on in the dark with their fingers,” Crux says. Overhead Gideon hears the sound of a ship coming.

“Looks like your ride’s here,” Gideon says, “Bet you hope that I’m not the one who rigged it this time, eh? Wouldn’t that be a nice turn of the dramatic? You want to offer me some skin mags? For old time’s sake?”

Gideon scrambles to hide behind her rock as Crux advances.

“You can’t kill me, Crux. I’m not scared of you, you old bag of dust,” Gideon says as Crux strides past her and her rock towards the ship, one hand on her sword just in case. The entire way the sound of his breathing and the rattling of his bones made Gideon think of a goody bag for necromancers with knuckles in it being shaken about. Gideon gives Crux’ back the finger.

“Gideon Nav,” Crux says as he walks towards the ship, “You have been a blot on the records of the Ninth since you fell onto our heads.”

Gideon is about to fire off a retort regarding the lack of heads in the Ninth in general, when Crux continues.

“But you saved the Reverend Daughter, and thus the Ninth. You may have been a blot on our records, but you will remain recorded, nonetheless. You were a cavalier worthy of service.”

Gideon watches Crux shamble all the way to the ship and get onto it, saying nothing in return.

Aiglamene comes around eventually, and Gideon is surprised to find herself sad to see her old mentor.

Her face is, dare Gideon think it? Fond.

“What’s up?” Gideon says, mustering up a small salute for the old woman. “You outlasted Crux! Good on you.”

“You are a wretch and a fool, and a legend of the Ninth House,” Aiglamene says. “It is good to see that despite the legends that came after your death and the amount of heroics involved in those legends, you are still Gideon Nav. When we heard word of what you did, I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe it. You did — “

“If you say I did the Ninth proud I’m going to throw myself down right here and have the biggest fit you’ve ever seen in your life, and since you’ve been around since the beginning of time it’s going to be one impressive fit.”

Aiglamene gives her a flat look that makes Gideon’s guts gurgle in protest.

“You did me proud, you thrasonical miscreant.”

“You got a dictionary for that one?”

Aiglamene sighs. “I can’t believe that I actually missed you.”

Gideon puts a hand over her heart, “Captain. You do care.”

“I regret the waste of emotion every second I spend looking at you. What are you wearing on your face?”

“Glasses and face paint. Don’t I look like a real proper Niner?”

“You look like a proper malignancy.”

It feels like it’s too soon when the ship comes for Aiglamene. Gideon wants to keep her here, ask her a billion questions about what exactly happened after Gideon died. About Harrow. About the Canaan House. About everyone and everything. About what it felt like to see Crux dead and do a jig over his body.

Aiglamene might even stay.

Gideon’s not so selfish as to ask that, though. So Gideon just gestures to the ship.

“No one’s rigged that one to blow, swear it,” Gideon jokes.

Aiglamene just looks at her, like she’s studying Gideon’s face. Gideon half expects the woman to command her to drop and give her some drills, make sure she’s fighting fit. Gideon expects that she’d do it on reflex.

“If you wait here, you will have a long time to go,” Aiglamene says. “You’ve done your service, Gideon. You did more than what anyone could have asked you, more than what duty asked. You’re free, Gideon. No one owns you, no one can ask anything of you anymore. You can walk away.”

That would be nice if it were true. But it isn’t.

“I made an oath, Captain,” Gideon says. “And I intend to keep it.”

Aiglamene starts to smile.

“You know, so when her lady of eternal gloom and dusk shows up I can tell her that this is what keeping a promise looks like.”

The smile doesn’t go away.

Aiglamene holds her hand out, Gideon grasps it, expecting a firm shake and a serious and slightly formal nod goodbye, but the old woman pulls Gideon in with surprising strength. Gideon is surprised to find that she’s actually taller than Aiglamene now. Which is weird, because one would think you would stop growing when dead.

“Goodbye, Gideon Nav,” Aiglamene whispers into Gideon’s ear. “And good luck.”

It takes a huge amount of effort to uncurl her fingers from Aiglamene’s robes as they part.

Gideon watches Aiglamene go. And when Aiglamene raises her hand to wave goodbye as the ship’s door closes, Gideon salutes. And she holds that position until the clouds have closed over the ship and the gray world is silent again.

There are others. Eventually Lachrimorta and Aisamorta kick it. Gideon takes great pains to make sure that she’s well hidden when she hears those two biddies coming. She’s there for a handful of nuns she recognizes, some other serfs and cultists, various laypeople. Most of them she doesn’t know by name. There are some she doesn’t recognize at all. She does her best to remain hidden for the most part. Gideon would rather not have to deal with them.

Time must pass, though Gideon doesn’t really feel it. It’s like all of time is a giant slush that Gideon stands in the middle of, unmoved and unmoving.

The temptation to get on one of those ships and get away from here is there, but Gideon has something stronger than that. An oath.

Gideon’s word is important. She can’t leave here until it’s completed.

So she waits. She practices drills with her sword, even though she doesn’t really need to anymore. It does keep her fit for running away and hiding from faces she doesn’t want to deal with, which is nice. She does laps. She does sit ups. Crunches, squats, one handed push ups. Clap push ups. Hand stands. Whatever.

She even does the motions for the drills with a rapier and knuckle using a stick she’d found.

Gideon waits.

It feels like not long enough when she feels the dreaded step of Harrowhark Nonagesimus on the horizon.

Gideon turns, hand resting on the pommel of her two hander, the other adjusting her glasses as the shadowy figure of velvet and lace and bone drowse closer.

She hears a ship in the distance.

“One flesh, one end,” Gideon whispers to herself as Harrow comes into close enough view that she can see the press of her thin lips, the coiled tension in her shoulders, and the spite flickering in her eyes. “Sup.”

“You,” Harrow snarls. Gideon holds her ground as Harrow picks up the pace, great clouds of gray dirt and ash puffing away behind her as her long robes hiss along the ground. “You impertinent, selfish, foolish, insufferable, malicious, contrary shit.”

“I feel like that this is just the prologue for an epic speech,” Gideon says, pointing towards the ship coming towards them, “You want to discuss this on that instead?”

“I’m not going to discuss anything with you Griddle,” Harrow snaps, but continues walking towards the ship, “I am not having a discussion. I am going to tell you exactly why you did a completely stupid and unnecessary thing. I am going to tell you exactly the many ways you were wrong and how idiotic you were. I am going to tell you, in great and exact detail, the many ways in which your choices negatively impacted me over the past centuries, and I am going to explain to you in a way that even your single brain cell — which, I imagine has much atrophied over time due to lack of any meaningful stimulus — can understand how incomprehensibly and stupendously ill advised your abrupt departure was and the repercussions of you disobeying my orders was.”

Gideon falls into step behind Harrow, folding her arms around the back of her head and grinning at the back of Harrow’s.

“Oh, you did miss me.”

“It was a cold universe without you, Griddle,” Harrow snaps. Gideon beams. “And I had to deal with it by myself. I had to hold a sword, Griddle. A blasted sword. Do you know how frustrating it was to do — to do laps? It took me years, Griddle. Years. Just to swing a metal stick. A metal stick. Did it ever strike you that I had better things to do? That such physical labor was meant to be delegated to one such as yourself? I doubt it.”

Gideon stops waking and just watches Harrow go at it, snapping as vicious and mean spirited and terribly frustrating as ever. She missed this. She missed Harrow.

And now she’s going to have forever with this.

Gideon’s smile feels like it’s going to crack her face. She’s a masochist.

“Are you coming or not Gideon?” Harrow turns about, one foot on the ship’s ramp, tapping impatiently. “I’ve been waiting for this end for millenium, Gideon Nav. How long are you going to keep me waiting?”

“You’d think with millennium to yourself you’d have learned patience,” Gideon says, slowly walking towards her. “Besides. Aren’t I worth waiting for?”

[bowan-deflorentine]

For the first time in a long time, Bowan was up to see the sunrise.

Rather, she wasn’t awake all night again and only saw the sunrise because it just happened to show up in the middle of one of her bleary-eyed investigations. It might not have been particularly restful sleep the night before, but she had actually gone to bed at a normal goddamn hour, like a normal goddamn person. And she had risen, not in a panic, and calmly gotten dressed and walked to the harbor with purpose for this very reason.

It was weird. But it was also… very nice. Maybe the circumstances weren’t nice. Maybe the fact that they had completely run out of leads and there was simply no way to track the one calling himself “Fiver” or whatever it was, and because of that there wasn’t a reason for her to even be up all night anymore… maybe that wasn’t nice. Maybe it wasn’t nice that she had decided that whenever he decided to make his next move against them, that she wanted to be well-rested and enjoy herself a little before she had to deal with something new and horrible, or end up quite possibly dead, or Natalin or Watcher or Seeker or Reiko or Luca got hurt, or worse.... No, it wasn’t all that nice after all. But this moment was lovely, blowing smoke rings over the bay with the gulls calling from somewhere in the mist above, and it was one of the first nice moments in the city she had had in a close to a year. So that was it then. All that mattered after all this time was she finally stole a moment for herself. And it was nice.

As she watched the sun slowly crest the horizon, all golds and oranges and pinks, she found herself wishing for something like this every day. Quiet mornings like the dockworkers and fishermen had, as they loaded up their nets and their crates and their poles and headed out onto that beautiful shining bay to start another day’s honest work. It wouldn’t be the first time she longed for a peaceful life. As the sun warmed her face, she allowed her thoughts to drift, just a bit. Even if she and Jeán hadn’t had anything close to a ceremony, as far as the city records were concerned they were wife and husband now. Not like that meant anything new, not to either of them, but still she found herself longing to have him at the very least by her side. And then there was Rory. Was he rising with first light too? He usually did, if she recalled. He’d probably already be begging for a trip to the farmers’ markets in Elwynn, or for a walk down by the city docks to watch the ships, or to the stables to see the horses and steeds there. Or, hell, he’d be off on his own into the city with his friends, unseen until nightfall. Even if it didn’t feel like home anymore to Bowan, Stormwind was Rory’s home. For all she agreed with Seeker, Stormwind had nothing left for her either, but it had Rory, and it had Jeán. That should have been enough for her, and yet- Would Stormwind even take her back? Her record was in tatters. Suspected treason, suspected consorting with pirates, suspected acts of warcrimes in times of peace, accusations of post abandonment, suspected desertion. Really, there was nothing concrete about most of these claims, but her position within the Cavaliers had always been shaky. There was only so many times the city was willing to pardon someone they didn’t even really like in the first place. And on top of that, she didn’t even want to go back to serving Stormwind and the Alliance. No. Fuck that. Fuck them. But if not Stormwind, where? Boralus? Maybe- no. Absolutely not. Well… maybe. Maybe. Once all the business with “Fiver” and Veva and Audra and the crew and the whole fucking lot of them was over with, maybe Kul Tiras would be safer than Stormwind, for her, for her family. Maybe she and Jeán could build a nice little house on the coast in Tirasgarde, or Stormsong, if they avoided the big cities and towns. Not like her record was any cleaner than his anymore, and look how long she’d survived right under the nose of the Boralus military. Rory was a happy kid, he’d settle in quickly wherever they went. A promise, then, to herself. When this was all over, it would happen. It had to happen. You would hate it, that terrible voice piped up after weeks of silence, creeping from the back of her mind. You’d die of boredom. You had your chance at a good life and you threw it away twice over. Stop pretending it’ll be different this time. It was right, of course. Usually was. She’d moved in to a little cottage in Elwynn, just after Rory was born. It was good. It was safe, and quiet, and she’d thrown her lot in with those horrid city nobles only months later just for a chance at some action, some adventure. And look what good that did her. Danger, betrayal, daggers in her back. And then there were the Stormwind Cavaliers. Another good home, not the safest but stable, and honest, and she let her inability to let the past go ruin that too. But it would be the best thing for Rory, to really settle down. She could do it. She would make it work, she would- A peaceful cottage by the sea? Tending to a home like a good mum, a good wife? Please. You’re too selfish to settle down. You relish the chaos, the violence, the hunt. It’s the only thing that keeps you going. And it was still right. Who was she kidding? Flicking the smoldering butt of her cigar to the dirt, she ground it out with her heel. The epiphany she was hoping this peaceful moment would grant her wasn’t as much of a relief as she wanted it to be. Maybe it was, in a way, to finally face the truth. But the truth was ugly, too ugly to face at such an hour. Hands free of distractions, she turned her face again to the sun. What, then, was the plan? For her, for Jeán, for Rory? Her admitted distaste for domestic life aside, retiring to a quiet life would mean turning her back on the rest of her family too, she decided eventually. Seeker. Watcher. Reiko. Natalin, even after all this time. Especially after all this time. “Allies”, “friends”, none of it was really enough for her anymore. Hell, she was getting fond of Luca, too, and he seemed to make Seeker happy. She had to be there for them, too. All of them. So she would find a way to do just that, somehow. Without abandoning Reiko, Seeker, Watcher, Natalin, Luca. Without dragging Jeán and Rory back into danger. She could do it. She would. She had to.

[lethalneuroses]

be brave

Fire Emblem 7 | Florina/Lyn | Florina will confess when the time is right, but the time will never be right.

Florina doesn’t intend to keep silent forever.

She will tell Lyn when she sees her again, when she finally finds her. She is a true pegasus knight now, and she will not be afraid. Talking to Lyn is the easiest thing in the world, so it will be easy to tell her.

It is not. They meet in a whirl of confusion, in a battle that’s all her fault, and Lyn’s parents are dead and she’s on her way to meet the grandfather she never knew she had—

It would be selfish to say anything, Florina thinks. When this trouble is over, she will say something. The burden of expectation slides off her shoulders and it is a relief, but also something sour and disappointing curdles in her stomach.

The night they spend in the old ruined fortress, the bandits chased off and their small group camped between old stone walls, she watches Lyn and Kent from a distance. He is a proper knight, chivalrous and courageous and measured. He came into Lyn’s life to deliver her news of noble lineage and to escort her safely home. Florina has crashed into Lyn’s life, twice now, as a problem to be solved.

“Don’t worry,” Sain says, catching her by surprise and causing her to jump and squeak. “Kent’s a gentleman. He won’t do anything untoward. Neither will I, Lady Florina.”

He winks, and she blushes, and though she just wants to slink away she somehow stammers out, “I—I didn’t—I mean—they just look—happy.”

She’s surprised when Sain’s expression shifts, suddenly much more serious. He glances over at them too, and then offers a short laugh.

“So they do.”

.

Lord Lundgren is dead and Lyn is reunited with her grandfather and Florina has found herself in service of Caelin, and the trouble is over but still she says nothing. Her old reasons have been replaced with new ones: Lyn is getting to know her grandfather and learning the responsibilities of her new position, and she doesn’t need Florina being a bother.

But Lyn still visits her almost every day, and time passes wonderful and dreamlike and agonizing all at once, and Florina is certain that she will never be brave enough to earn anything at all.

Then Laus attacks and the lords Eliwood and Hector sweep them all off on an adventure again, and happy as she has been in Caelin Florina finds herself exhilarated to be traveling again. Lyn is Lyn, not Lady Lyndis; the structure that has provided a barrier is suddenly gone and it is thrilling. They might be children again, playing in the fields of Sacae and sleeping under the stars, except that the fate of the world depends on their company’s success.

She improves her lancework under Marcus’s stern eye and shares a tent with Serra and Ninian and finds herself dodging Black Fang arrows and axes until it becomes almost easy, and she tells herself that this time, really this time when it’s over she’ll tell Lyn.

She doesn’t believe herself as she tells it, and she is a perpetual child, cowardly and more concerned with the matters of her heart than the shadowy villains they face.

But childlike as she is, and naïve as they all see her to be, she asks innocent questions and thinks nobody suspects her true interest.

“My heart belongs to Saint Elimine,” Lucius stutters, the normally serene monk flushing and immediately finding an excuse to end the conversation.

“Such matters should be approached carefully, with the head and the heart,” Canas says cheerfully.

“I’ve never really gotten it, you know? Nobody caught my eye like that. But there are a lot of lookers around now,” Rebecca says, her cheeks going pink.

“Oh, Lord Pent and I? We were head over heels for each other.” Louise’s smile is radiant and nostalgic and Florina finds it hard to listen to what she’s saying.

“Best confess quickly and get it over with, and take to the bottle when it all goes to shit,” Legault interjects, overhearing. “Poor girl.”

He knows, Florina is certain, and she is so embarrassed that she gives up talking to anyone and avoids so much as looking in his direction for a week.

.

There will never be a right moment. Ninian is dead; the friend she treasured and with whom she shared a tent and her doubts is dead, and she could never have really understood Florina at all, not when she was a being more powerful and alien than any of them could imagine. What arrogance to think they were really friends at all.

There will never be a right moment, but the Black Fang’s archers shoot straight, and they left Rebecca in a grave in Nabata and Erk was gutted by a cavalier and a brigand’s axe broke Isadora’s lance in two and cleaved through her breastplate right in front of her—

She catches Lyn, wan and looking as distraught as the rest of them, in the halls of Castle Ostia. She does not have the right words, never has the right words, but she opens her mouth and suddenly there is a flood coming out.

“After this—after all of this—I—well, I don’t think I’ll survive, but if I do—if we do—”

“Florina,” Lyn says, catching her hand and holding tight. “What is it?”

“I want to go back to Sacae with you. I want to be with you, wherever you go. That’s what I’ve wanted ever since we met and you were so kind to me. I’ll be your knight. I’ll be strong for you. But Lyn—Lyndis—”

There are arms around her and Lyn is holding her tight, so tight.

“Yes,” Lyn says, and sniffles. “Florina—”

“I love you,” she says, as easily and naturally as if it was never an effort at all.

“My knight.” Lyn pulls back, and though her eyes are red and bright she smiles. “We do have a future. Together.”