#*insert ‘where do the lonely souls go’ here*

[matchibee]

Wedding Ring

a misunderstanding between you and Miguel. I didn’t proofread but I did cry

Empty days and lonely nights. From sunrise to sunset your every waking moment felt as though it was spent on your lonesome, only your darling daughter there to fill the void running rampant in your heart. A cavernous void not even the love of a child could fill.

Not when Miguel was the one that carved the path, yanked the love from within your chest and took it with him wherever his whim took him.

“I’m head of the Spider Society,” He’d told you a million times before, words he’d utter a million more. “They depend on me. I can’t abandon them because you’re…” Miguel bit his lip, ceasing himself from continuing his words, knowing he was in the wrong.

The two of you had confined yourselves to your bedroom, Gabriella seated happily upon her plush comforter, some sparkly movie gathering her entire attention.

This was the first time you’d seen Miguel in days, perhaps weeks. The only time you heard his voice or felt his touch was in the midst of slumber, his shadow slipping into bed beside you only to depart before the sun rose again.

An awful cycle, one that was taking its toll, you could feel it.

“I just miss you, that’s all.” You took a seat on the bed,

“And I miss you more,” Miguel spoke, his hand encapsulating your shoulder, a whisper of what you craved. “But I have responsibilities away from you, that don’t concern you. Everything I do is to keep the both of you safe.”

And you knew he was right, of course he was. Miguel wasn’t himself if he wasn’t protecting, providing. That was his personality, his calling. But you’d be damned if you didn’t admit you’d thought of the ways he lacked in his recent performance. “Everything concerns me,” Your words were firm, you refused to stand down, even if the situation had yet to escalate. “We are married, we are a team. Everything that happens to you concerns me because I need you to come home. I need you to be here and show that little girl you love her.”

Miguel groaned, a frustrated noise that stemmed from your lack of understanding, of compassion he wanted you to extend. “I’m doing my best.”

“Your best isn’t good enough, Miguel!”

The room fell silent, your eyes wide as Miguel shifted to his feet, clicking at a few buttons on his watch. “I have a mission I need to get to. I’ll try to be back tonight but… No promises.”

“Don’t do this,” You felt tears in your eyes, the burn erupting from your soul. “Get someone else to go.”

“I can’t do that.”

Tears slipped from your eyes, but you turned on your heel to keep Miguel from seeing, from questioning. With a nod of your head, hands enveloping your own frame, you urged him to go — to leave before you begged him to stay just this once, even if you knew the words would fall on deaf ears.

Miguel slipped through the window, and from the corner of your eye you watched, regretted your words.

Neaten, bloodied and bruised, Miguel slipped back through the window of your apartment. He’d left to tend to countless anomalies, variants persisting where they didn’t belong. And if you knew the truth about Miguel, you’d know he was just like them, inserting himself in a life where your Miguel was lost.

But he couldn’t leave you to suffer, couldn’t leave you to this life of misery. And what started out as a desperate yearning to be a father once more spiraled into something out of proportion. He’d established himself, invested his entirety into this universe. He’s be damned if he let it slip through his fingers.

But then he saw you nowhere to be found, your side of the bed empty, sheets still slick as though they’d never been touched.

Miguel sighed, figuring it was likely you’d confined yourself to the living room, needing a moment away from a place where words were the ultimate misdeed.

In the midst of his exhaustion Miguel slipped into the restroom, the luminescence burning his eyes, washing away dirt and grime that scattered across his body, sweat that clung to his skin as though in longing. He emerged feeling as though he were a new man, refreshed. Miguel was ready to confront you, to communicate the words that had sat upon the tip of his tongue all day.

‘I’m sorry.’

Miguel was sorry, unapologetically remorseful that he’d made you feel the way you felt, the way he seemed to push your needs aside for the greater good. But it could all be damned. Miguel would move the heavens and the earth to make you happy.

The very heavens that gifted your eyes the stars so that he could gaze into them, and the very lands that breathed life beneath your skin so that his hands might have something to hold. Sometimes, he felt the universe taunted him with your very existence, there but not his, an embodiment of perfection someone as flawed as him did not deserve.

The light of the restroom illuminated your bedroom, and there upon the nightstand Miguel felt his being shatter.

A ring. Your ring. The very ring he’d slipped upon your finger in the midst of heartfelt vows, an audience of yourselves, an oath whispered between you. The very ring he’d clenched in his pocket every time you smiled, the carefully crafted band that gave him the confidence to drop down onto his knee upon seeing you drifting off to sleep with his daughter — now your daughter — in your arms.

Miguel fell to his knees once more, this time not with adoration but with regret, clutching the band between his fingers as though they might drift away, taking every reminder of you with it.

Miguel scoured your share closet, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he noticed a few of your belongings had gone missing — shoes, shirts, accessories — things he’d bought you and items you’d arrived with seeming to scatter in their frequency. Hangers devoid of purpose, rocking back and forth as though taunting him.

But then his mind drifted once more, thinking to your daughter, the very thing that’d kept the both of you together when life seemed to suggest otherwise.

You wouldn’t leave without her.

The very thought had bile creeping up Miguel’s throat, legs without stability as he crept down the hall. The door to Gabri’s room was ajar, lights dimmed to nothing, not a sound picked up by his enhanced senses.

It took more courage to open the door than it had to battle everything he’d faced as Spider-Man.

But when he did, your arms wrapped tightly around Gabriella, all rationality seemed to return to him.

Miguel dropped to his knees at Gabriella’s bedside, pushing back stray wisps of hair, taking in her appearance. Mismatched clothes, articles of clothing he recognized as yours, a tiara crushed into the pillow her head had fallen upon.

“Miguel?” Your voice was a groggy whisper, yawning into your hand coated with marker stains.

He didn’t know what to say, just glad to see you, to hear your voice and know you were still there. “You’re here.” His voice cracked, clearing his throat, gathering himself as he watched Gabriella stir in her slumber.

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” You inquired, standing to your feet, kicking off mismatched shoes and ridding your wrists of scattered bracelets.

“I thought— I saw—“ Miguel held out your wedding band, the jewel glimmering in the moonlight. Slowly, without making a sound, you dropped to your knees beside Miguel, plucking the ring from between his fingertips and returning it to where it rightfully belonged.

“I took it off while I was washing dishes and had Gabriella put it away for me. I guess I forgot to put it back on.”

Miguel wiped tears from his eyes, your hand resting against his cheek. “And… Your clothes?”

This left you laughing, trailing your fingertips against his skin, doing your best to ignore the droplets of liquid that slipped from his eyes. “We had a little fashion show. I brought some of our clothes to use.”

Miguel furrowed his brows “Our?”

“Miguel O’Hara, I’ll be damned if our daughter gets marker stains on just my clothes. If I go down, you’re going down with me.”

Then his lips quirked into a smile. “Our.” Repeating the word, loving the way it fell from your lips, a reminder of your union.

“Speaking of which,” You held up one of Miguel’s collared work shirts, multicolored lipstick stains pressed into the collar. “Gabri said she saw some trend for this on YouTube — it’s cute, but didn’t we put parental controls on the TV?”

His eyes widened, mouth agape. “She must’ve seen the password. I’ll change it in the morning, Amor.”

You hummed, satisfied. Miguel inquiring which color was which, though in the moonlight it was obvious. Miguel could recognize your features blindfolded.

“Gabri insisted mine were red, and she chose a sparkly purple you bought her.”

Miguel looked away, knowing he was gonna hear it. “She liked it, you can’t blame me.”

“I’m blaming you for not getting me one! It smells like grapes, Miguel. Grapes!”

Miguel pulled you into his lap, chin resting upon the top of your head, sighing a content sigh. He could stay right here for eternity, his arms around you as you lulled to sleep in his chest. “Te quiero con todo mi corazón.”

You peppered kisses along his neck, whispering words of adoration, of longing. You missed this, missed him. “I’m so sorry for what I said, Miguel. It wasn’t right.”

Miguel shook his head. “I understand where you came from. I should be here more, I want to be here more.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, tilting your chin to place one on your lips.

“You guys need to learn how to whisper,” Gabriella called out into the darkness. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

[rayofdawnworld]

Too Late part 3

Here is part 3 of Too Late a fic that was inspired by this board done by the brilliant @darkficsyouneveraskedfor, please check out her page if you don't already know her and @thezombieprostitute also a brilliant writer that you look in too in case you don't already know her either.

This is a work of Dark Fiction. It WILL contain dark themes. I will post the appropriate tags as they become relevant.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. Don't Like? DON'T READ!

I do not consent to ANY of my works to be posted for profit. I do not consent to ANY of my works to be posted on to third-party sites. I only have ONE AO3 page and I post what I want on it.

MINORS ARE NOT ALLOWED ON MY BLOG! DO NOT INTERACT! MDI

Please tell me your thoughts, this is my first Reader insert so I'm still a bit unsure if I'm doing a good job. I love constructive criticism.

Will tag you if you ask.

Tags based on Reblogs, Tag requests and likes: @roni-not-tyler @rosecentury @raritygold @fidrygalk @leonaax @severussnapesimp @lov4gor3 @kjah97 @silelda @thedragonlab @hopeasan

Part One, Part Two

Mr. Beckwourth was a kind soul. You came across him one early morning on your way to the university, six months into your escape, unconscious by the sidewalk. You didn’t know how long he had been there, but he did have a wicked gush on his forehead. Luckily for you and him, the milk lad was passing by on his way to deliveries when he spotted the two of you and recognised the old man instantly. Telling you to wait with him, the young man sprinted in a direction and came back with the man's neighbours, a foreign middle-aged couple. After telling them where you worked and asking them to send any news, you collected yourself and made your way to work. 

You received news about him a week later. The poor man was robbed; yes, he was fine; no, he didn't see who did it. After some visits and friendly banter, you became friends and had a standing agreement that every Saturday morning, you would go out to the docks with Mr. Beckwourth to get his supply of fish and then help him sell it in the market.

You were busily accepting an order of salmon and herring when your stomach lurched. Surely you were mistaken. 

Ever since you ran away from your previous life, you have lived in fear of a tall figure with broad shoulders finding you and dragging you back to those horrid people you called family. They would kill you if you ever went back home before you came of age, after what became of Darling Anne. 

There was no way that a man like Sherlock Holmes would come to the market to buy his food. Unless he was in one of his cases, why would it bring him here? You had no clue; you just hoped that whatever it was didn't bring him to this point.

Oh, yes, you had followed the news discreetly (no point in letting those around you know you were literate.), but diligently. You knew all about him and his service to the crown and its citizens. Best not to test fate. I’ve come too far. Your thought was desperate as you dove below the stall and rubbed some fish guts on your cheek and head. I’ll have to spend some money in one of the washhouses with warm water then. Mrs. Acker will have a fit if I show up soiled again. You rose again with a cheery smile, despite your fear about whether you may or may not have been seen.

You were hyper-aware of yourself leaving the market. Once, twice, three times you could have sworn you were being followed, but when you stopped in front of a shop or pretended to turn in the wrong street, with a piece of paper in your hand to make it believable, you had either come across a vagrant or no one at all. It took you longer than normal to get to the washhouse, but it was worth the coin and your time. You didn't afford yourself many luxuries, but good ointments and oils for your skin, courtesy of the two nurses, who were just old school mates and the young governess who took care of some lonely boys on the other side of London at night, and a weekly wash—a habit picked up by your mother and father's stay in their respective corners of the east—were a must. It was, in part, also why you decided to help Mr. Beckwourth. Not only did you like the old man, it also gave you a reason to visit the washhouses once a week. The ones with warm and hot water were cheaper than the tepid tub that Mrs. Acker managed. Having one last look around, you quickly dogged into the washhouse.

It was closer to evening when you finally made it to the house. Exsusted, not only from the week of labour you had but from walking up and down the streets of London just in case your follower from last night or that nuisance Sherlock Holmes had seen you or at least suspected it was you and tried to follow you back to your residence. 

Thanking Mrs. Acker for allowing you to take your supper in your room, you made your way up to what once had been a small attic workshop with a partial glass roof but was now a small room. You didn't mind it. The glass part of the roof had a hatch you could open in the summer, keeping the room cool. After all, who would climb to the roof to steal steel from a humble boarding house? And since the fireplace chimney ran through your room, it kept the winter chill out, despite part of the roof being made of glass. You liked the roof like this. It saved you on candles and gas for the lantern; it provided you with lots of natural light for you to read when you were in your room. And you always did love the sound of the rain. 

All in all, it was a quiet place with its share of whimsy. You had fallen in love with it the moment you saw it. Yes, it was a hassle to go down a flight of stairs every time you needed to go to the washroom, but since it was on the smaller side and was in the attic, it did come in cheaper than the other rooms, which suited you nicely. After eating, you settled down for some well-earned rest.

You didn't know that on the other side of London, in an apartment on Baker Street, a tall man with wide shoulders and dark blue eyes seethed in anger.

It had been by sheer coincidence that he found you at the market. Watson had to do some hours at the hospital, and Mary, being heavily pregnant, asked him to help her with her errands at the market. He stood silent as you helped an older man behind the fishmonger's stand. You couldn't help but notice your still-smooth hands. They had thickened with what he deduced was years of hard work, but they were still fine with smooth skin. On the subject of your skin, that too was fine, smooth, and quite clean. It didn't have any of the telltale muck common among the more impoverished folk. He didn't see how you could afford the cost of regular baths in a boarding house, so it could only be through the use of the washhouses that you could keep so clean. It still didn't explain the softness of your skin and healthy glow. Sherlock only had time to quickly turn around before you raised your eyes in his direction. He was going to take advantage of his luck. It seemed that he would move his plans forward by a whole day and a half. Making sure that Mary was alright and excusing himself, he made his way to the first beggar he found near the steps of the market. 

He was going to put his homeless network to good use. He would know where you lived by nightfall. 

Nightfall provided him with nothing. Despite no less than fifteen of his best in the Homeless Network having followed you discreetly, you still managed to give them the slip, more or less where he had followed you last night. He grabbed the skull on the fire mantle and threw it angrily at the wall. He then shot the wall for good measure. 

That sent Mr. Hudson into hysteria, threatening him about calling the Yard. No doubt Watson would have some choice words come Monday morning if previous fits of rage had taught him anything. He growled and threw more things at the wall opposite him. 

Pussycat was in for a right spanking when he finally got his hands on her.

Pussycat was in for a whole lot more when he got his hands on her. A lot more. 

Sherlock smiled in the darkness, clutching his violin bow in his hands.

[miradelletarot]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love 💕

Thank you so much @senualothbrok for the ask!! let's see what I can come up with here...

Now, I am gonna preface this by saying that I LOVE The Weave and the Vines, but I don't feel super cozy about sharing it in the state it's currently in as it's going through a lot of edits and adjustments currently. That being said, It's a project I am so deeply proud of and passionate about. It has had a huge impact on me as a person and writer. If you would like to explore it, please do. I am working on changing how I posted it so parts 1-2 are here while the rest are listed as individual works which can be found on my ao3! So, if you explore this one, please be gentle and know that it's in a transition phase, and is in the process of getting a lot of love. It's based on my main OC, Sagora and her journey since being captured by the Ilithids, and how her and Gale fell in love. Two broken souls finding each other in their darkest times, and shining their light on one another.

Somewhere - Written for @sorceresssundries! This was a prompt based on the song "Somewhere Only We Know," sung by Lily Allen. Gale is in his advanced years, and lonely after Tav's passing some time ago. He returns to the Astral Sea that he once took Tav, and has created a version of them within the illusion for him to visit. He takes comfort in the illusion, but one day, it becomes more than a small visit.

Lies in the Mirror - This little treato is a soft, tender, SFW piece where reader-insert Tav is dealing with some body dysphoria, and Gale is there to comfort them. A bit raw, real, and comforting piece. It's small, but has a huge impact on me personally.

I Wanted to be Angry - This is a Sagora x Gale AU where Gale ascends to Godhood. If you have read The Weave and the Vines, you will know that him doing so would absolutely break her. This is a painful one-shot that explores how she succumbs to her heartbreak, and how Astarion and the other companions break the news to God!Gale during their gathering in the months following the defeat of the Netherbrain. This one made *me* cry so...have a tissue handly. Just in case.

An Unexpected Valentine - This was written for a Discord Galentine's event back in February! It's a one-shot Isekai fic that follows Ilarah, a depressed and divorced woman who works for a shitty boss, and self-soothes by playing BG3 and drinking too much whiskey. One stormy night, a portal appears, and a strange man appears in her apartment...but he's certainly no stranger. I hope you like these!! I will let you know that in light of the recent AI theft issues, I have my fics set to RESTRICTED. If this is an issue for you, and you genuinely want to read them but can't, please message me. I'll be happy to assist you. <3

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Seven: From Now On

The battle is upon you.

and we will come back home, and we will come back home. home again.

-From Now On (From “The Greatest Showman”), Peter Hollens

Stray shafts of pale dawn light peek through the tent flaps. You haven’t slept a wink, cradling a cold cup of tea in your lap. You’d downed three already, chasing the rush of caffeine to get you through whatever is to come. The others would not hear of you participating in the battle in any fashion. It’s frustrating, though you know in your heart that they’re right—the battlefield is no place for a pregnant woman. Still, you felt a twinge of dismay when Fíli left you in the tent to go practice some battle techniques.

Gandalf sits across from you, stirring his own cup. “So,” he begins lightly, “how long have you and Fíli…?”

You gulp, dreading the conversation in fear of judgment. “Since Rivendell,” you say quietly. “Everything happened so fast. We didn’t know if we’d ever get the chance to have a real life together. But maybe now…”

“Does this mean you no longer seek a way to return to your own world?”

That’s not the direction you expected the discussion to go. “I hadn’t thought of that.” You search within yourself, as if rummaging around in your very soul. “But I don’t think I can anymore—if I ever could.”

Gandalf raises an eyebrow.

“When I first came here, I felt this… this pull within me. As if some part of me was missing, like I left part of myself back in my own world. Like maybe I would wake up back at my campsite at any second. But now, I don’t feel that anymore.” You pause. That’s only partly true, isn’t it? You haven’t felt that pull in a long time. Not since you discovered you were pregnant. Your eyes grow misty. “All of me is here now. I… I don’t belong there anymore.” It’s painful to say aloud.

Gandalf seems to understand your conflicted feelings, reaching out a hand to pat your knee. “I’m sure you will be well looked after here in Middle Earth,” he comforts you. “Fíli seems quite proud.”

You smile weakly. “He is. Kíli too, for his part. I just hope Thorin–”

“Y/N! Y/N, Fíli, where are you?”

A shout rings out from outside the tent. You leap up and dash from the tent, recognizing the voice of Ori. The young dwarf in his ill-fitting armor huffs and puffs as he jogs toward you.

Fíli sheathes his sword, stepping forward and putting an arm out to shield you—just in case. “Ori? What are you doing here?”

Ori bends over, hands on his knees. “Thorin… Thorin wants you back… both of you,” he wheezes. “He… says he’s sorry… wants you by his side…”

Gandalf emerges from the tent. “Has the King Under the Mountain regained his senses, then?”

Before Ori can reply, you hear a tremendous roar from the gates of the Lonely Mountain. The troops of Dáin, who had arrived during the night, raise up their weapons. Even from far across the field, you hear them clearly. “Oakenshield! Oakenshield!” they chant jubilantly.

Fíli looks at Gandalf. “I think that’s your answer.” He dashes into the tent and grabs your bag, looping it over your shoulders. “Come on, then!”

Gandalf stops you with a hand. “Y/N. Are you sure this is wise?”

You swallow. “I’m not sure of anything anymore,” you admit. “But I’m not staying here if I can be with my… my family.”

He withdraws his hand. “Then move with haste and caution, and give my regards to the king.”

You nod, squeezing Fíli’s arm and falling into line behind Ori, who keeps adjusting his helm awkwardly as you make your way towards Erebor. The shadow of the mountain looms over you, and you shiver. Fíli rubs his hand up and down your back comfortingly. “We’re going home for good, Y/N,” he whispers. “I promise.”

You open your mouth to reply, but a rumbling interrupts you. From the north, you see them approaching, armor clanging and weapons beating against shields. The army of Azog.

A look of horror dawns on Fíli’s face. The three of you break into a sprint, as fast as you can manage. When you arrive at the wall, a rope falls down in front of you. Nori’s face peers down from the rampart. “Up, quick!”

You stare at the rope, then up at him, gesturing to your belly helplessly.

Fíli rolls his eyes and crouches down. “Come on,” he grunts.

You wrap your arms around his neck in an awkward piggy-back, clinging on for dear life as he slowly clambers up the wall. Just as you feel like your arms are about to give out, Nori’s hands grab yours and haul you over the rampart. “Welcome back, lass.”

“Where are the others?” Fíli puffs.

Nori waves down to the ground, where you can see Thorin and the rest of the Company at the front gate, their communion with Dáin interrupted by the approaching orc army. A thrill of hope and terror fills your heart when you glimpse Bilbo’s tiny figure among them.

“Y/N.” Fili grips your shoulders and kisses you firmly, fingers running along your courting braid. “I must fight.”

Throat tight, you nod. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He flashes you a smirk. “I would never!” Fingering your bead one last time, he turns and rushes down the stairs into the tower, grumbling something about climbing up the wall just to go back down. Nori follows.

Ori looks at your hair with delight. “You have a braid! And a bead! Congratulations, Y/N!” He chuckles. “Dori owes me—I wagered Fíli would propose before November’s end.”

You smile, but it fades quickly as a trumpets sounds below you. The orc army is near now, and the combined men, elvish, and dwarven forces surge forward with a roar, Thorin at the head. A tiny blonde head bobs and weaves through the ranks, Fíli hastening to join his brother and uncle. You lift your hand as if he could see you.

Ori taps your shoulder and thrusts a crossbow into your arms. “Just in case.”

“Aren’t you joining them?”

He shakes his head. “We’re the defensive forces,” he says, puffing out his chest proudly.

Great.

You never realized how loud a battle really was—even though you had to adjust the volume when watching the movies as they bounced back and forth between quiet dialogue and triumphant fights. Up on the wall, it’s mostly calm, though you get the occasional shot in at a few particularly dimwitted orcs who stray too close.

You’re sitting against the wall when you hear it—a loud roar of rage, far too close. Scrambling to your feet, you peer down. At the base of the wall, among a circle of corpses, stand Thorin and Azog. Your heart leaps in your throat. Just like in the movie, just like in your dream, Azog drags Fíli by the collar. Hardly thinking, you grip your crossbow shakily and level it at the enormous orc. But you’re no skilled archer, and this is no ordinary foot soldier; your shot lands at his feet. It draws Azog’s attention, though, and he looks up at the mountain. You load another bolt, struggling against the draw weight. Ori lends you his strength, and the arrow snaps into place. The distraction gives Fíli enough of a window to stab at the arm holding him, causing the orc to drop him reflexively. Fíli rolls away quickly and springs to his feet, taking his place at Thorin’s side. Kíli is there too, bow already drawn and aimed, but Thorin holds out an arm to stop him. This is his fight.

The dwarven king and Azog circle each other slowly. It’s hard to see what’s going on from the wall—you can’t bear it any longer.

“Y/N! Where are you going?” Ori cries as you sprint down the stairs, dashing through the halls from the tower to the gates.

Snow stings your face, and vomit rises up in your throat at the smell of death all around. You push past it, pressing your back against the wall to remain unseen. I just need to see what happens, you tell yourself. No closer.

Thorin and Azog still haven’t attacked each other, but Azog has gained a flail since you made it down to the battlefield. He spits something in Orcish that you don’t recognize, lashing out with his sword arm. Thorin ducks under the swing, slashing at the orc’s torso. Azog twists away and brings down his flail. He narrowly misses the dwarf and snarls in frustration. Blood spatters the snow from the stab Fíli inflicted.

Your breath shakes. They’re so close, so, so close. With sweaty hands, you raise your crossbow again, aiming right for the orc’s back, and fire. This time your arrow flies true and buries itself in the meat of Azog’s shoulder. He growls and whips around, tiny eyes pinpointing you against the wall. He takes a great, lumbering step forward.

Shit shit shit.

But as the giant orc approaches you, a little hobbit appears from thin air, throwing himself at Azog’s feet and causing him to stumble. The orc barely has time to register what’s beneath him before a blade rips through his chest. It withdraws and plunges through again and again with a fury until Azog sinks to a knee with a bloody gurgle. And suddenly, a jagged line appears across the orc’s neck, and his head drops to the ground with a wet thud. He remains upright for a heartbeat before collapsing.

Thorin plants his boot on top of the orc’s body, breathing heavily and gripping a glistening, bloody Orcrist. He spits on Azog’s corpse and raises his sword with a triumphant shout. “For Thrain! For Thror! For Erebor!”

The raging battle around you pauses, orcs and goblins gaping at their headless general. Somewhere, one shouts, and they start a hasty retreat. Bodies drop among them as elvish arrows pierce their armor and dwarven axes cleave through their helmets, leaving few to escape the battlefield intact.

Thorin lifts his head and meets your eyes. He lowers his sword and begins to approach, but stumbles as Fíli pushes past him in a sprint.

“What are you doing down here, ghivashel?” he scolds breathlessly, crushing you in his embrace.

You cling to him as if your life depends on it. “Saving your idiot uncle,” you choke out.

Kíli picks Bilbo up and brushes the hobbit off, mussing up his hair. “That was stupid of the two of you,” he says with a grin, pushing Bilbo forward. He embraces you tightly as well.

You squeeze your eyes shut against tears.

“Y/N.”

They blink open as Kíli releases you.

Thorin’s face is battered and dirty, blood dripping from a gash across his forehead. “I owe you my deepest apologies.”

Instead of replying, you reach out and wipe the blood away from his brow. “You look awful,” you reply with a wobbly smile.

He pauses, then smiles and claps you on the shoulder. “We did it, Y/N. Welcome home.”

[littlecactiguy]

@yellowmagicalgirl

Rather than add onto our post again, I decided to write out what's been simmering in my thoughts in a Harrow the Ninth-inspired study, with Penny in Gideon's position in Ruby's head.

Ruby, like Harrow, locked her Cavalier away in her head with help (I sort of imply the brain surgery, but don't actually describe it here).

ngl I'm not entirely sure how the end of HtN would go in this au. I do like Penny ending up in a position similar to Kiriona at some point, though that's also largely due to me really liking the idea of inserting Copper in as a Nona (which I can concede is partial bias toward my own oc for Reasons) and them perhaps interacting.

Except that begs the question of, if Ruby's not in her body, then where'd she go? (talk to Maria in the Tomb maybe...)

(I also really like your idea about Ruby being speedy, especially bc it also kind of reflects her semblance. Though I'm not as well-versed in tlt theories - I have never been more frustrated that I left my copies of the books back with my family some states away.)

Anyways, here's a short(ish) study in the 2nd Person from Penny's POV (also the first time I think I've tried 2nd person pov, so that was fun)

Ruby.

I love you. I have always loved you. I always will.

I will do anything for you. I did everything for you.

I would do it all again.

So, why did you lock me away?

I know I’m not…I was never as good as you, as good as the others. I tried my best, but I…

I thought…

Do you not love me back?

I don’t understand. It was enough. My soul. We did it. You became a Lyctor, and it was enough. You lived.

Cinder didn’t.

It was worth it.

Then you sought her out. The one who helped Cinder, who lied to our faces, pretended to be our friend, and—

I don’t understand, Ruby. I’ve been trying to. It’s all I can do, inside this tomb you’ve made for me. Emerald tried to—

She and Cinder almost succeeded in—

And yet you—

She could have killed you. I watched. I fought her. I fought you.

You looked in the mirror when it was done. After they found you where you lay unconscious in that cold, dark prison. After they interrogated Emerald on what she had done and she replied, only what she asked me to do. After they healed you. After they tried, and failed, to free me.

You looked in the mirror. My eyes looked back at you.

You didn’t remember me. You still don’t.

We were together almost our whole lives and you threw it all away.

I loved you.

I still do.

But I…

Everyday since they brought you here, you struggle. You may have been faster, but you never had my strength, and now you’ve rejected it. You lift the blade they gave you, but it’s not enough. Not to deflect the General’s attacks. Not to parry his sword away. Your speed has kept his blade from your heart so far, but it can’t forever.

I know you fear he will kill you. I can feel it. I could have protected you. I swore I’d always protect you. Even before the vow left my lips.

You were the first thing I ever saw on the Ninth. I was alone. My father put in me in that pod and sent it away. He didn’t even put in coordinates. He didn’t know of anywhere I’d be safe. He hoped.

And I arrived on the Ninth. Months and months later. I mapped the stars that passed outside the only window I had on the journey. I wondered if they’d be the last thing I ever saw before my body finally deteriorated enough that I would be lost.

Except I arrived on the Ninth. I remember seeing its form grow bigger and bigger in that little window. I remember being relieved I would crash, because the journey would finally be over then, and I wouldn’t be lonely anymore.

And I wasn’t, just not how I thought.

It was terrifying, seeing the entry panel of the pod be jostled, my father’s last work, his sealing of it, being broken. Then, you got it open, and our eyes met.

You commented on mine being so bright so quickly I didn’t have the chance to say the same about yours.

No one had ever said anything like that to me before then. No one besides my father had ever talked to me before then either. No one on the Ninth would talk to me, not like you did. Not even your Uncle Qrow, though he was a little better than most.

You meant the world to me, Ruby. You still do. You always will.

I was meant to protect you.

Why won’t you let me?

My strength could be yours. My resilience. Every sword I wielded, I did for you.

Your arms tremble as you try to hold one now. You look at the General across the training arena. We both see the cold calculation in his eyes. They’re green, like mine. They aren’t his. We’ve both wondered who they once belonged to.

I wonder if that soul is like me. I hope they aren’t.

You told me, once, my world would never be a the littlest of windows ever again.

You lied.

[mxlovinovargas]

THAT LOOK YOU GIVE THAT GUY — SWITZERLAND x READER

Synopsis: Switzerland watches you, then he daydreams.

That Look You Give That Guy

CW: Obsessive thoughts, Possessive thoughts, General Uncomfortable Vibes, Use of Country Names, Reader-Insert.

Word Count: 1k

I see you with your man, your eyes just shine—

Foggy steam billows from a lone coffee cup and laps gale in strong winds before they evanesce. The cup sits alone, at a table for two, abandoned by its drinker. There, forlorn at a table for two, sits Switzerland with pointed eyes glaring down into his glazy reflection staring right back at him. It shimmers in a slight breeze, then settles with a rumble. 

Laughter. 

His face twitches slightly. Rich seafoam green eyes cross as they glance off to the side. His gaze drifts up, panning up so slowly like a film, and he sees you. That warm and tender face, painted by a darling smile that smears such youthful vigor and lightheartedness. And those eyes, glowing very dimly set on a luminescence, coruscate with this winsome beauty that leaves Switzerland swallowing a hard lump down his throat with a powerful gulp that resounds deep in his ears. You’re so bright and gleaming that everything around you pales so fast that Switzerland can’t even focus on it. 

But you’re not looking at him. 

That look you give that guy. 

Switzerland scoffs now before he turns his nose up and redirects his attention back to his lukewarm coffee rippling in the summer sun. The scent is sharp and it fills the air with every sparse gust of wind that tickles Switzerland's nose. It’s like a slap to the face and Switzerland damn near contemplates getting up and storming away from the scene. 

He doesn’t need to stick around. Not whenever you’re not here for him (you never are). And it’s not like he particularly cares about that, either (if I could be that guy instead of me, I would never let you down). 

Switzerland’s face blanks for a solid, strong second and he wonders where that thought came from. Something intrusive, something stupid, something dramatic. He’s not here to make a fuss, dammit. Switzerland’s just here for a refreshing cup of java. He doesn’t care about any sort of useless relationship drama, the bickering and the fighting and the arguing and the ability to be able to hold your hand and peer into those lovely jewels crescenting on your face whenever you look up at him. 

An aggravated sound escapes Switzerland and he quickly balls his fist, grooving the smiles of his nails into his calloused palm as a correction. He’s furrowed his brows so heavily that a dull pang thrums to life behind his eyes and he almost feels nauseous. If only you would look at him like that… 

You always seems so jovial, so ready for life, so exhilarating—you’re like a fresh kiss of dew in the morning, the sprinkles that make bare feet wet whenever you run across the open fields of the early sun and the fluttering birds and the humdrum of morning songs; like you’re going somewhere better than where you’ve been before. Sometimes, whenever Switzerland really lets his mind and body relax, he can see himself standing in those fields with you. 

He imagines you running to him, looking right at him the same way you look at that man to your right, and your eyes are so squinted that tears brim at the corners and your smile is so wide that the apples of your face look puffy and ripe. That he could finally let down his walls, sweep his arms out so wide, and scoop your body up into an embrace that never stops coming. 

But that’s not him. Switzerland is nothing like that. His face feels hot just from thinking about such a foolish and childish dream for even a split second. 

I’m nothing like what I’d like to be—not a good fit for you, anyway. He’s a stingy and reserved old soul trapped in a young man. Switzerland knows that he’ll never change his ways, that he’s too set in them. And that will never be anything like what you need. You wouldn’t even look his way; not like you do now either, though. Switzerland feels sticky saliva in his mouth at that, but no amount of swallowing makes the damp cotton go away. 

But you do. You look at him with a slight confusion and concern etched across your features and Switzerland's curses the way his heart pitter-patters in response to your expression. You look so kind, so sweet, so like the coffee that once brewed like white hot lava in front of him before he let it cool. Whenever you give him that look…

Switzerland briefly lets himself imagine that things can work out like they do in his head. 

He loses himself momentarily, dazed and seeing only fantasies, and he imagines that you really are looking at him with that precious painting of a stare that leaves Switzerland speechless and floundering like a fish out of water internally. That you rely on him and he takes care of you despite his hardships—that the day is made better by your grace and touch and your presence and the drift of wildflowers and eucalyptus that seems to linger in your bubble; that you would really tear him like a laceration unhealed. He would melt like caramel in your hands and then he would pour between the vee of your fingers and you would just lap him up so sweetly. 

He pulls on the collar of his jacket and clears his throat. Red burns across Switzerland’s cheeks and he ducks away from your watchful eye. You find him regardless. Switzerland realizes that maybe, just maybe, you always know where to find him. 

If only he were that guy standing so boldly and so cheerfully and so tall, interlacing your knuckles together. 

Switzerland would never let you down. 

[liminalpsych-in-teyvat]

Personal fanfic prompts (Genshin)

Fanfic prompts for myself (or if you know a fic that already exists with these themes, please point me in that direction so I can read it!):

Explore Ayato’s parentified childhood. Him avoiding dealing with it as an adult. Eventually having no choice but to deal with it. (Touching on this in A Matter of Duty but would like to do a short story focusing on it.)

Writing this one as A Matter of Duty (it’s extremely NSFW, mind the tags on AO3). That political period after the Kamisato parents died and before Ayato succeeded at proving himself as not one to be messed with. How did he manage that? Hurt/comfort where Thoma and/or Ayaka finally uncover what it cost Ayato behind the scenes. Insert trauma here.

Childe's 3 months in the Abyss. Hurt/comfort of actually revealing some of the details with ??? Zhongli maybe? Someone else? Or they find out some other way, without him telling them, and then confront him about it, insert feels here. (Is it just exhilaration that makes him seek out fights and to become stronger, or is it so he won't be a victim of that ever again? Or is he halfway suicidal, since "He has unusual tastes when it comes to combat — the encounters he craves the most being those that bring him closest to his own demise.")

Also Scara's time in the Abyss/as an experiment of Dottore. I haven't been able to find fic about this which is just confusing.

Venti drinks as self-medication/avoidance (I believe all addiction is self medication), uses deflection and humor to avoid vulnerability or dealing with his grief, he's not as happy as he seems. (Haven't gone looking for this fic, it's just my personal headcanon, it probably exists somewhere.)

Something about the Traveler as witness. Angsty experimental piece. It’s a theme that comes up repeatedly, in every land they go to: “witness this, remember this, write this, sing this when I am gone, you are not of this land and can remember when no one else can”. It hits me hard every time (as a psychotherapist, who witnesses so many inner lives that then move on without me, as they should; and I am the container for so many stories that I cannot share; and it is sometimes terribly lonely). Hits harder still when the Traveler remembers Rukkhadevata and no one else does, and the Traveler can’t even talk about it. Holding the space for people and nations and gods. They are not the main character, they are the lens.

Therapy AU with Traveler as therapist (fuck. It’d happen too. He’s the witness, after all)

Jeht/Lumine. Seriously anything. They get together finally, or they have a long distance type relationship where they meet up here and there, or hurt/comfort after everything that happened in 3.4 (at least I found a couple good fics of this), or Jeht joins Lumine for traveling around Teyvat (also a couple well done stories about that).

Fix-it fic for Tadhla because ouch did her story hurt. And she deserved better.

Tadhla/Jeht when they were both in training, maybe. I could see this being a thing. (Which means Tadhla/Jeht/Lumine could absolutely be a thing too. At least as a one-off.)

Xiao/Aether exploring Xiao's need to be owned/wielded/fear of having his own agency or making his own choices. The bindings of contracts and duty that he entered into with Morax that kept him intact even as his duties poisoned him. The mess he's become in the aftermath of Zhongli's retirement.

Zhongli didn't foresee this, thinks he's doing what's best for Xiao or it didn't even occur to him that Xiao would be undone by his strings being cut.

Or Zhongli did foresee this / did notice it, and isn't sure how to fix it or handle it. He's watching Xiao slip further and further and nothing he's tried has worked. Calls in Aether. Transfer of contract/"ownership"? (Insert kink aspects here.)

Bonus Zhongli/Childe, either past or current? Childe being another barely-held-together soul in need of grounding and containment (which of course Geo is great for).

Ayato speaks always with a purpose. “He has forgotten how to do this, Ayato realizes, panic sparking at the bottom of his chest. He doesn't know how to say useless things anymore, to talk for the sake of bringing words into the world.” (From this excellent fic.) Play with this as a therapist parallel, like what happens to me when I’ve been saying every disclosure and every line with intent, focused on clients and their well being and then struggling to switch modes to talk with my interpersonal connections.

Ayato's relationship with Shuumatsuban. Thanks to "Lord Commissioner, the Momoyo flowers have not withered. The branches grow yet. Do not worry." Vaguely The Cost of the Crown (Lackey/Valdemar) but about Thoma and Shuumatsuban and Kazuha's friend and Kazuha and all those sworn to Kamisato and to Yashiro. Possibly he is closer to the Shuumatsuban than he lets on, and also feels very very responsible to them; orphans that are raised in a ninja village to be extra loyal to the Kamisato Clan and Yashiro Commission? Whose names no one remembers (no one, perhaps, except Ayato). ooo. remembering their names. Regularly. (Check Thoma's hangout about the ninken but also the Momoyo flowers quest. Maybe this centers around getting that note? starts or ends with it?)

Cut for the kinkier stuff:

A Matter of Duty (working on this one!): Ayato isn't above using sex to get information or get closer to people, a la Kushiel's Dart.

And/or, Thoma will do anything for the Kamisato Clan, and his role as "fixer" is "fix the situation by any means necessary". Sometimes this is bribery, favors exchanged, gifts. Other times it's interrogation, assassination, threats. Still others are sexual (for information, as payment, or to get close enough for assassination/thievery/etc).

and/or, Thoma and Ayato are close and they do all the dirty work behind the scenes. Keep Ayaka from having to know about it, see it, or deal with it. They've paid a high price. Ayato uses Thoma as currency and for dirty work, with Thoma's consent. Thoma stepped up to this role when the Kamisato parents died and he caught Ayato using his own body as currency; he volunteered himself to try to save Ayato from it.

Thoma as a party favor/servant at a formal dinner event.

yes diplomat shenanigans and service / sacrifice is absolutely one of my narrative kinks, don’t judge me. I might have to write this story / set of stories. We’ll see if I can get my crap together enough to do so.

Ayato meets Alhaitham on a diplomatic errand to Sumeru. Sparks. They fall into bed to gain information about the other and for mutual attraction, and discover they've met their match at subterfuge and dissembling. It's a tantalizing challenge for them both, rarely meeting another of equivalent competence and intelligence. They flirt by playing sociopolitical chess (metaphorically speaking) against each other across the years. Eventually Feelings develop, oops. Slow burn. (Thoma/Kaveh too? Polyamorous quad? Thoma sent as surrogate at some point? Trading Thoma and Kaveh somehow?

Could also combine with the previous set of prompts, they’re not mutually exclusive.

Spin-off from Matter of Duty, but it's Thoma who's on the diplomatic errand first, and Ayato grows fascinated with Alhaitham through Thoma's accounts?

this story concept is getting out of control, why do I do this to myself

Babel/Lumine and how would Jeht respond to that, hurt no comfort in that case probably. Could eventually lead to Lumine/Jeht as Babel is absolutely just setting Lumine up for betrayal, which would be more in the hurt/comfort vein. Or maybe Babel is getting with Lumine because she knows Jeht has a thing for Lumine and she wants to break that tie to isolate Jeht further. Probably would have been a smarter approach than trying to get them to kill each other.

Babel/someone (Lumine, Jeht, Azariq, doesn’t really matter) with a whole worshipping-Domme-as-goddess dynamic. Because she absolutely sets herself up that way.

Babel/Jeht in a grooming-Jeht-for-awful-roles kind of way. Kind of squicky for me so I might not write it but it has a lot of potential to be interesting.

A dominant recovering from an emotionally abusive relationship with a submissive. …what’s awful is that Alhaitham/Kaveh would work for this. But probably people would hate it? I would disclaimer the hell out of it with “I actually love Alhaitham/Kaveh and it’s one of my favorite ships, but I really wanted/needed to write a story with this dynamic, and they were the best option.” Alternatively Alhaitham/Kaveh and Alhaitham had an ex who was abusive, but… I can’t see him being okay with the dynamic he has with Kaveh then. Other options?

Thoma has a yokai/shapeshifter/monster kink. That's it, that's the prompt, I don't know what to do with it yet, but we know he loves stories of yokai and shapeshifters canonically, this is just taking it to the next level.

EDIT: whoo boy I completely forgot Childe was a *literal child* when he fell into the Abyss, scratch that fic concept from the record unless it involves an aged-up Childe, yikes. (I haven’t dug into Childe much as a character and I don’t have him in my roster so I didn’t actually know the details of his story.)

[floriianthefool]

Announcement y'all!!

I'm posting a new fic (another reader-insert) with mer Bruce Wayne as the love interest. I've been posting it on ao3 for the past month as it's over 10k, but, just wanted to post the blurb and first chapter here for advertising reasons.

Hope y'all enjoy!

-

A dark shape glides just under the surface, fins slicing through the waves. The water churns, a thick shiny tail smacking the surface.

He presses down from above, you bent over backwards on the railing, clutching at his shirt, feeling weightless. “Please, don’t do this. Please! Don’t let go!” Eyes burning, you try to grab him.

He lets go.

You hit the water with a splash.

In which you and Gotham Bay Aquarium's newest resident meet, and the rest, as they say, is history.

-

“Creepy little fucks, aren’t they?”

You merely hum, continuing to gaze into the dark blue waters of the tank, encompassing the entire wall at the end of the winding hallway, thick glass reaching the ceiling clear and smooth. Undulating waves of blue light wash over the room, the two of you all that was left of the evening shift, even the last of the cleaners all gone. Quiet. Silence thick like water around you, a muffled quality to the air, submerged in the microcosm of that moment.

“Very creepy,” you agree as a dark shape glides through the shoulder-high swaying sea grass planted at the bottom of the tank, lit up by the sea grass’s dim glow.

You could stay like this for an eternity, just you and Michael, gazing into the tank as the world went on beyond the walls of Gotham Bay Rehabilitation Centre and Aquarium. Just disappear for a bit, lose yourself for a fraction of eternity. Finally do the soul-searching you had told your mother this internship would grant you.

A hand briefly brushes against your own, soft, lightly calloused. “Lost in your head there for a bit, were you?”

“Just thinking,” you say, the skin between your eyebrows pinched as you cross your arms, uneasy. Something flutters in your stomach.

You had thought Michael would be over this, this thing he saw between you that you couldn’t bring yourself to name, shame and embarrassment clogging your throat. What would you mother think? No. What was it with men, what was it with men and their obsession with viewing romance between any man and woman who held even the slightest cordial relationship with one another. What was it with Michael. He had been a good friend. A great friend. A fellow inexperienced intern to get berated with by Crane, to gossip with, to have fun with. He had been a good friend (and maybe, maybe he had made you feel less lonely).

You had hoped he would stay your friend.

Eyes resolutely staying on the tank, avoiding Michael’s eyes, your gaze locks onto the dark shape once more as it grows closer to where the two of you stand. Smooth, long, and lithe, fins gliding through the water seamlessly. It stills, gaze sharp, cutting despite the metre thick glass between you. Head tilting for but a brief moment, it turns, gliding up and out of sight into floor two of three of the tank aquarium, the tank spanning three floors, and only the first and second available to the public, what made the aquarium internationally famous despite its location in Gotham, New Jersey, the cesspit of the east coast.

At least it wasn’t Bludhaven.

“Well, that was weird,” Michael comments.

You can’t help but snort, hardened resolve cracking as the forest between you melts away. “You scared h- it, dude, one look at your ugly mug and zip.” You mime a fish zooming by.

He cracks a grin, shaking his head, chestnut curls swaying with the movement. “You sure it was my mug and wasn’t yours?”

“Hey!”

“Woah, kidding, kidding,” he grins, arms raised in peace, “didn’t mean to offend, princess.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. It was good to have him back to normal, not that strange on-edge state that had defined your relationship for the past two weeks. Your stomach settles. It was good to have your friend back.

“Well, not to kill the fun, princess, but I think we should start locking up,” he says, walking backwards away from the tank.

Not looking away from the tank, you call your agreement.

The feeling is back. Not the cutting gaze, the knife just grazing your carotid artery, the animal part of your brain on edge. No. It was the other feeling. The heaviness. The weight of eyes pressing down, ever-observant, ever-present. No particular emotion, just that heaviness settling down upon you, inescapable and molasses thick.

With one last glance to the top of the tank, you turn to join Michael, ignoring the feel of eyes on your back.

“Yo, Mick, slow dow…” you trail off as he saunters by the staff-only door. “Mick, where’re you going?”

“To lock up.”

“Then come on,” you say, gripping the door handle as he continues on his merry jaunt. The fluttering in your stomach is back, faster than before.

What is he doing?

“Idiot,” you hiss before scurrying after him. “Dude,” you say as you grip his arm,” what are you doing?”

“Sadly, not that hot babe from this morning,” he quips, winking, still walking down the hallway, still pulling you with him. As he heads in the direction of the aquarium entrance, he flexes the bicep under your hands, and you scoff.

“Dude, stop being so immature. I mean, why aren’t we locking up right now. Where are you going?”

He finally stills, brown-eyed stare crinkled in a smile. It doesn’t ease your nerves. “I thought we’d start bottoms up first today.” At your surprise, he flushes. “That’s if you don’t mind. You don’t, do you?”

You glance at the manta ray tank the two of you had stopped by, a large ray gliding past at that very moment. You fight back your momentary sense of awe before turning back to Michael. Something loosens within you. It was just Micheal being dumb as usual, forgetting to tell you stuff until the last moment. “I don’t mind, but you should have told me instead of running off. Plus, why bottoms up?”

“Well,” he says, other arm up and scrunching his curls between thick fingers for but a moment. He tugs at one splayed across his forehead and drooping over his eye. “If we did it bottoms up, the last thing we’d see before leaving’d be the main tank, y’know? Thought it’d be cool.”

He was so… strange today. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a Michael this nervous before. An easily flustered and blushy Michael.

You let go of his arm, crossing your own. “Okay, cool,” you say. “Let’s go.”

And so the two of you lock up. Switching off lights, adjusting water temperatures, changing tank lighting, feeding, recording measurements, administering medicine, cleaning tanks, locking doors, and more. Much, much, much more.

Finally, exhausted and sweaty and stinky, smelling of fish, you arrive outside the observation room for the aquarium’s biggest tank. It’s star. It’s prize. The pearl of the east coast.

A similarly tired and sweaty and stinky Michael trudges up behind you.

“Hurry up,” you pant, resting your forehead on the cool metal of the door. You pull at your blue t-shirt, the weave sticky and clinging to your skin. Why couldn’t they have designed a better uniform? You could feel your trousers sticking to you as well. “Michael,” you call again.

“Coming, just- just give me a minute,” he huffs, loud footsteps growing closer. “Let- let me just catch my breath. Just a second.”

He sags onto you as he reaches the door, sweat slick on his face.

“Gross,” you mutter, reaching for the handle.

A hand drops on yours, heavy.

“Ow!” You jolt. “Dude, what’s your problem!” You cradle your hand as it stings, throbbing in time with your pulse. You blink back sudden tears.

“Sorry, sorry,” he rushes, sweaty face turning red.

“You should have thought of that before you tried to break my hand!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He reaches for you and you flinch, backing away from the door. His gaze darts between you and the door, your hand and the door handle, before finally settling on your face. “I’m sorry, I am so sorry.”

“Then why did you do that,” you hiss, scowling.

He scratches his neck, eyes once more darting away before he forces them back on you. “It’s just, don’t you want to see the tank before we leave?”

“No.”

“Oh come on,” he groans. He says your name and then, “don’t you want just a glance. Just one. Crane isn’t here to tell us off, we can just take a peek and then go. Just a peek. A quick looksy. We won’t get a look like that again.”

“We can’t even go near the tank, it’s too dangerous by ourselves.”

“From above then, on the walkway.” At your raised brow, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t be such a wimp. Just a look. I’ll go by myself if you won’t come,” he says, moving away, away to the door leading to the main tank.

You start towards the door, glance back at Michael. Still aching fingers curving around the cool handle, you glance at him again. He was really going alone, just to look into the tank. By himself. Alone. No one to call for help to if he fell in. Hand curled around the handle, metal warming, you glance back after him again.

Idiot.

“Michael, wait up,” you call, running after him. He slips through the door, letting lose a brief bark of laughter. You and Michael. Michael and you. You always running after him as he did something stupid.

Slipping through the door, you slow as you follow him to the stairs leading to the walkways, one of two intersecting at the centre of the tank, high above the waves.

“Just a peek,” you call. “Just one, then we need to switch off the lights.” You pull yourself up the stairs, gripping the cold railings.

“Yeah, yeah, now come on!” he laughs.

Rolling your eyes, you hurry, water-proof boots thunking on the metal. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Hah! Coming.”

“Idiot,” you say as you join him at the intersection. “At least be creative.”

“Hey, hey, just didn’t want to offend you, y’know.” One side of his mouth quirks up into a smile. “Women don’t like it, y’know. They like gentlemen.”

“And I suppose you’re an expert.” You smile back, leaning on the rib-high railing.

“That’s me,” he says as he joins you. “Michael Wellings, knower of women.”

You just snort.

For a moment, there’s silence as you both gaze down into the undulating waters of the tank. There is a dark shape, long and lean, just below the surface. It cuts through the water, twisting and turning, staying near the surface.

This is nice. Just like the old times. Well, not that old, but still. It was nice just… hanging out with Michael.

“Well, this was nice.” You turn to him, smile faltering at his stare, emotionless, his face blank. His face twitches, a barely there pull at his muscles before he smiles back, wide, teeth gleaming. “Michael-“

“So, um,” he stops. Another pull at his muscles, a twitch. A strain to his smile. “About, about last week, did you change your mind?”

“My mind? About wha-“

“Oh, y’know. My offer.”

Oh God, not this again. Your smile drops, a furrow developing between your brow. You can’t you can’t believe him.

Just, just men and their fucking audacity.

“I can���t believe you, dude, did you-“

“Just answer the question,” he interrupts, still smiling, still strained, still tense. He clenches his fists.

“No!” you explode. “No, I didn’t change my mind! Did you bring me up here just to fucking corner me. Get me alone and-"

“Why? I’ve been so nice and-“

“So what! Being nice entitles you to a relationship!”

Your stomach churns, the butterflies now fucking elephants. You clench and unclench your fists, face and ears hot, as if steaming.

“No! But, but you led me on-“

“I didn’t lead you on! I just wanted to be your friend! Your friend!” Your heart is thundering in your chest, a lump at the back of your throat, eyes stinging.

“Why can’t you just like me?!” He finally explodes, snarling. Face red and twisted, he’s unrecognisable. He strides forwards and you back away, jittery as he crowds you against the railing, the cold metal digging into your spine. Oh God, he was so angry. Furious. “I have been so nice to you. No one else wanted to hang out with you, no one except me! Me! And you fucking led me on! Am I not good enough? Am I-“

“Michael-“

“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!” He’s panting, a vein throbbing on his forehead, his shout echoing around the room of the tank. You lean further back as he crowds in, neck craning over the side of the railing as he braces his hands on your shoulders, still pushing in.

He’s too close. Too close.

Eyes blurring, you grip the railing, jittery and shaky and weak. You need to calm him down. Get him to calm down and step back and give you come space. Your breath speeds up, head pounding to the beat of your galloping pulse.

“Michael-“

“It’s the fish, isn’t it?”

“Wha-“

“It’s the fish.” He steps back and you crumple into yourself, sucking in great heaves of air, gasping, shaky hands grasping at the cloth of your trousers at the knee. You need to calm down. Calm down.

But your breathing stays rapid, stays harsh and quick as you can’t breathe.

You grip your knees, nails digging in. Grounding you. “M- Michael, what are you-“

“Quiet!”

You glance up. He’s calmer, red seeping away, breathing heavily through his nose. He glances down, eyes arctic cold. Your breath hitches as he leans down, crowding your space. You press back, metal digging into your spine. “Michael, Mi-“

He grabs you.

You scream, thrashing in his grip. “Michael! Michael! Let go! Please, let go!”

He struggles up, arms tight and bruising.

“No, NO!” you sob. “Michael! No! Please.” You’re still screaming as you near the edge. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening! He wouldn’t do this! You have to be dreaming. Just dreaming. You twist in his grip, buckling, heaving, scrabbling at his shirt. “Let go!” you scream. “LET GO!” You rake your nails down the side of his face.

“AGH!” he screams, stumbling, and for but a brief moment, his grip loosens.

You twist, thrashing, kicking, pulling at the iron grip around your wrists. “Let go! Let go! You fucking bas-“

He slams you into the railing. Suddenly weightless, top half hanging over the edge. Michael above pressing down, you scrabble at his shirt. “Michael! Michael, just-“

His grip on your wrist tightens for just an instant, a small fraction of eternity, a grain of sand in the hourglass of time.

He lets go.

You hit the water with a splash.

-

And that's all for today folks! The rest is up on ao3, hope you enjoy!!

[lampmanliveblogs]

Seven is often considered a magical number, let’s see if it applies to this episode.

We start with on a rather laid-back scene as Eda looks over her To Do list. And apparently she feels the need to burn her old dress. Unless told otherwise, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that she never washed her old dress and just used magic to make it so it wouldn’t smell. But after she lost her magic, the spell eventually ran out of juice and that’s why she got the new one.

We can see here some notebooks with glyphs, showing that Eda is still learning off-screen. We can also see a photo of Eda, Luz & King from the Grom episode.

Hold up, King is planning on moving out?  Isn’t he like… I mean, I guess we don’t know how long he was in the tower on his own, but he can’t be much more than like ten or something. Unless his species ages really slowly. What is he even gonna do, get a job? Or maybe he’s planning on going on some kind of trip to search for his father.

Secondly, Eda is not too happy with it. ”Everyone’s leaving.” She is no substitute for the ”real thing.” King is going to look for his father. Luz is looking for a way back home to the Human Realm and her mother. Her real mother.

Oof, that’s depressing.

Heck, even Lilith left after crashing on Eda’s couch for two weeks to move back home to mom. Once/if Luz figures out a way back to the Human Realm, Eda will be alone with Hooty. Now, I wouldn’t mind that, as Hooty is Best Boy, but I can see how lesser beings couldn’t withstand his presence for very long.

My joking aside, it does make me think. We haven’t really seen any friends of Eda as far as I can recall. She’s mentioned a few times that she has several exes, but, well… they’re exes. They’re not exactly around. Her sister worked for the Emperor’s Coven and tried to arrest her. Her mother came around once a year to try another miracle cure that inevitably failed. Eda’s always been a bit of an outcast of society, due to her curse and her refusal to join a Coven making her a criminal. With all that in mind, Eda comes of as someone who would be very lonely without King and Luz.

Eda finds this lute (lying at an impossible angle) in the chest. She picks it up and starts plonking with it. A bright aura surrounds her and several objects start levitating. The gem on her chest begins to glow and she gasps, wondering if her magic has returned… only for everything to literally come crashing down and she puts down the lute in frustration.

So first off, was that Bard magic? I know the Bard Coven is a thing that exists, but I can’t recall seeing any Bard magic performed. As far as I know, when it comes to bards in roleplaying games and stuff they’re all about buffing and supporting their allies, or debuffing enemies.

Secondly, Eda’s gem did start to glow (either that or the aura from the lute was reflecting in the rock), so it might really be hinting that there is some magic left in her. Or maybe her curse was reacting in some way? We do know Eda’s emotional state can affect how the curse behaves. Stress makes it worse, so maybe the calming tunes soothed the beast within?

Thirdly. the reason I took this screenshot is because this is where we can best see the symbol on the lute. It’s a raincloud, divided in two halves by a sorta lighting bolt shaped line. There is one eye in each half, one open one close. The cloud has what might be a lightning bolt coming from it.

Something tells me that symbol will be important.

That… is probably not a good sign.

Eda’s Requiem.

Insert your own JoJoke here:_____________________________________.

A requiem is a mass held in repose of the souls of the dead, usually held in the context of a funeral. It’s a primarily catholic tradition.

So, uh… Eda’s gonna die. I’d think that’s the kind of plot twist the writers would save for the season finale, but I admire their guts.

There’s also a famous music piece by Mozart called requiem, so maybe it just means Eda’s gonna play some banger tunes.

[spooksgrove]

— wow, i haven’t seen MILO HOFFMAN in ages!  HE/HIM looks just like BRADLEY COOPER now.  did you hear the rumor:  HE HAS AN OUTSTANDING WARRANT THAT COULD LAND HIM IN JAIL. it’ll probably come to light at the reunion!  

           party boy ,,  class clown  ,,  jock  .  all of these labels were used to describe milo back in high school.  captain of the basketball team,  he was well known and well liked.  other than the occasional drunken fight at a party  ,,  milo didn’t keep many enemies.  he was the kind of guy who never knew a stranger ,,  making a friend out of any soul who crossed paths with him.  fast forward to 2022  ,,  he’s the guy everyone whispers  “what happened to him ? ”  as he walks silently by. 

         everyone was certain he was going to marry his high school sweetheart.  he and ( insert whoever i plot this with here )  were perfect together.  when they grew apart and broke up in college,  everyone in their circle thought love was dead.  it had been his fault:  a perennial flirt with his hs girlfriend in another state,  milo cheated.  stupid, stupid man.  milo took the breakup incredibly hard,  as he was an only child and had no relationship with his parents  ( his dad was a workaholic and his mother was an alcoholic who’d run away years ago )  so she’d basically been his family growing up.  milo never dealt with his issues he’d been bottling up his whole life.  that tipping point sent him into a spiral.  he began drinking heavily,  partying even harder,  dabbled in illegal activities for a while,  dropped out of school.  

         one evening,  he met a girl at a bar.  long story short,  9 months later he became a dad with a one night stand who wanted nothing to do with him.  all custody of his child was revoked and it broke him.  after a couple years of soul-searching,  he cleaned up his act but he was never the same as he used to be.  

            the thing was,  he never got his hs sweetheart out of his mind.  for him,  she was everything.  one day in total romantic fashion,  milo showed up at her doorstep with flowers professing his love and swore he was a better man,  ready for the real thing this time.  within months,  they were married.  it was happy for a few years— they even raised a child together.  milo was determined to treat this kid right,  unlike his first who he had no contact with.  unfortunately,  chasing a love long lost wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.  fights,  distrust,  & problems popped up the longer the relationship dragged on.  inevitably,  they divorced.  now they coparent,  but their personal relationship is strained. 

            milo is bitter  ,,  lonely  ,,  jaded  ,,  harsh  ,,  sarcastic  ,,  and a contrast to the boy his high school friends once knew.  he runs a sports bar and buries himself in work.  there are flickers of gentleness,  romance,  sweetness in him somewhere,  but few experience it now.  even still  ,,  he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to attend shady grove’s reunion.  milo hoffman will always be chasing ghosts  ,,  including his own. 

wanted connections !!   1000% open to other ideas too

obviously his ex-wife/high school sweetheart he coparents with  ( olivia )

former basketball teammates

a fellow jock he was hooking up w/in hs but one of them was closeted  ( henry )

people who frequent his sports bar,  etc  ( jasper ) 

brotps forever.  so many brotps.  bffs from high school  &  a couple besties he’s actually still close with and confides in 

someone he is currently hooking up with, any gender

someone he was hooking up with in high school, any gender

college age roommates ??

someone who was in love with him in hs and he never noticed

reconnected as college age adults and had a fling that went no where  ( juliet )

umm idk anything fun or angsty i love it all

[that-was-anticlimactic]

when Katara has period cramps she and Aang cuddle and he does Zuko’s little heat trick so Katara is just pressed against his side and absorbing the heat with her face buried in his shirt and Aang’s running his fingers through her hair and gentle forehead kisses thank you and goodnight

[heartfullofleeches]

It would be so fucking funny if the Reader was sent to an interrogation bc they are the prime suspect of the disappearance of multiple people and animals in the town and they accidentally meet one of their fellow cultists there like- "Maste- I mean, Y/N? What are YOU doing here??" "Waiting for them to let me uncuff me..." with the most depressing expression possible

Dim lights flicker against the walls of the integration room; electricity buzzing through an empty socket in the corner of the room. A cup rests on the edge of a metal desk, waters rippling with the tap of a foot against the floor below. A pair of eyes watch the lone soul in the room; one clicking his tongue at the sight of them.

"Twenty seven missing persons cases, and that's our main lead?" The officer blows the steam of his mug, eyeing the figure behind the thick wall of glass, their head lowered to the table between their shackled wrists. His colleague glances with tight lips; fingers sunk into the folder in hands. They open it, scanning its contents with a look of uncertainty; until they get to the photo of the suspect in question. Their breath hitches.

"I'm sure they have a good explanation. There haven't been any witnesses reported to any of the crime scenes."

"That doesn't exclude cameras. We wouldn't know either way, since they're keeping their mouth shut. Probably until there's talk of a lawyer."

The younger officer shifts their eyes between the window and their superior. "I... I could try to talk with them, Chief. We all know you don't tend to have the best...temper. They might be frightened."

Their elder huffs. "Do you really think you'll get through to them? It's late as it is, just hurry up."

A pair of keys is shoved into their hands; steps descending down the and off into the recesses of the building. The officer looks down at the set; sweat dripping down their palms. They insert the proper key into the lock; a weight lifting from their shoulders as the door eases open.

The room was cool; their breath tickling the air and a chill ran through them. They slowly enter; the suspect lifting their head from the table at the sound. The officer tenses as the other's eyes fall on them; an all-knowing glimmer in their glare. Making them feel small, yet at the center of the room.

"Took you long enough."

They pause: wondering if they had heard you properly. The tightness of your jaw leads them to think otherwise and they continue. They walk over, pulling the chair on the opposite side of the table out and taking a seat. You lean back in your chair; arms folded over your chest.

"Where were you on the night of-"

"You already know where I was."

A shiver stronger than one brought on by the cold runs through their body at the sound of your voice. Tired; impatient - only directed at them. All at once their facade of an upstanding citizen falls. The worry and panic seeping into their tone.

"Master- ugh... Y/n, what are you doing here?"

Your expression remains neutral, yet your voice speaks with command. "Waiting for you to let me out."

Guilt racks through their brain. They felt shame for even thinking about letting you go; keys still in their hand that rested in eyes view on the table. It wasn't even the idea of letting a criminal free that made them feel this way. It was for the one where they kept you locked up; away from their fellow members so that they could have eyes on you alone.

That wouldn't work. Some way; somehow, they'd eventually manage to get you out, and if their crimes came out it was death or worse. Banishment. This way, if they did let you free, there may be some sort of reward in it for them.

"Of course.. master."

[legendofzoodles]

LOZ Character Analysis/Rant

The Hero of Warriors

"Master, if I'm not mistaken, you are a true hero of Hyrule."

A soul sharpened by war. From a mere rookie trainee he soared through the ranks in the blink if an eye, shouldering not only the burden of the hero like his predecessors but also the weight of being a leader. Hundreds looked to him for guidance, for orders, to plan their attacks and as a pillar of strength. 

This Link was very different to his lone adventuring predecessors. 

~~~

Before I analyse his character in the game I’m going to do with him what I did with the Hero of the Wild and make up a backstory for him. The game doesn’t give us any insight whatsoever into this Link’s backstory other than the fact that he’s a newish knight in training before the war is under way. 

I’ve seen two main renditions of Warriors’ backstory. One being that he’s from some remote village in Hyrule, living a simple farmer life, probably with Linkle as his sister. The other being that he grew up as a middle-class apprentice in castle town, training to be a shoemaker or craftsman. In both cases something caused him to want to join the military: either seeing an advert poster for it, or seeing soldiers parade around or due to something tragic. 

Ok so, real talk for a sec, HW Link is the blandest out of all the 3D Links, with so little characterisation in game that he’s quite literally a blank slate. What the LOZ and LU fandoms have done with him are amazing! There’s so many good stories out there that delve into how the events in game may have shaped his character. I’m going to do that here, so this is mostly all ‘soft analysis’. 

The only things I really have to go off of are the Dark Link incident and the cocky character entrance he gets (that thing where when you face one of the main characters a cutscene plays where they flex their weapon). Other than that he’s a blatant self insert for the player. So I’m gonna to run with those and have his arc be all about growing from cocky to confident.

At the end of the first level he goes from being a random trainee soldier to their undisputed hero. That success definitely went straight to his head. Not just in in the usual ‘I’m the greatest person ever’ way, but also in the way that he took his role very seriously. Because he was so motivated to become a knight he took his training seriously and this was no different to him. He threw everything he had into it, getting advice from seniors, making sure to be close with Impa (not just as a fast track for promotions but because she’s a reliable ally) and commanding whoever he was in charge of with calm authority.

The addition of Proxi is interesting. In the game she refers to him as a man of few words and then just decides that she’s going to speak for him. Bare with me, but I’m gonna ignore this and say that Proxi only delivered Link’s orders to the rest of his troops on mass using magic and the boy wasn’t mute. Meaning he could communicate with his troops from far away and allowing a sort of disconnect, to make it easier to make hard choices.

Btw Proxi is a chaotic neutral and I won’t hear otherwise. 

But back to Link, I get the feeling that he started out as a nobody in the Hyrulean Army (as in the main faction at the Castle, not the under 18s branch I made up), since he was a rookie barely starting out. Because of this he didn’t have the chance to make friends before the war and making friends within the army casually will be near impossible with the role he’s got placed upon him. To cope with suddenly being in charge of soldier’s lives he had to put on a sort of mask, a way to put a barrier between them and himself, a sort of buffer if you like. He did it to protect himself but also to command respect. Like I said, he wasn’t some well known veteran, he rose to where he was from being a trainee, meaning that not everyone is going to wholeheartedly follow him from the get-go. Respect is earned not given. 

But luckily for Link he’s a charismatic little chappy, who’s able to deflect backhanded remarks with easy manners (if a smidge condescending) and eventually win over anyone. He still keeps around those who don’t like him as long as he recognises potential in them. If not, they’re sent to another squad.

Speaking of his leadership, I’m under the impression that he’s a natural born leader and strategist with good instincts and the ability to perform well under pressure. That being said, up until Zelda returns he’d take up a more conservative and cautious attitude to leading, preferring to wait for orders from superiors before making a move, simply because he lacks experience and knowledge. With each battle he becomes more proactive and takes initiative when drawing up battle plans.

Oof, so Zelda. Most people agree that he’s has the most tumultuous relationship with his Zelda compared to the other Links. I disagree with that, prefering to reserve that title for post-game Time and Lullaby, or pre-Yiga Attack Flora and Wild. 

Link would have had a neutral positive opinion of Zelda. To him, being in good graces with the princess- maybe even being friends is huge. It would give him more credit, legitimacy and power in the army and it’s another fast track to being rich. 

When she initially goes missing he’s worried about her, but only because it means that they’ve lost their commander which would give their enemy the advantage and since he’s not evil he’s going to worry regardless. He might have felt something when their eyes met during that training session, but I wouldn’t bet on that being anything deep. She may have crossed his mind now (like in the cutscene after completing the ‘The Sorceress of the Woods’ level) and again, but they’re strangers so they wouldn’t mean much and besides he’s fighting in a literal war right now. 

When she does come back, nothing significant happens between them, because they’re fighting in a war! There’s not going to be much room for alone time between strategy meetings, long expeditions, writing letters to families of fallen men, training and keeping track of supplies. Anyway, I get the feeling that this Zelda is a practical no nonsense leader, she’s got her priorities and isn’t going to get distracted. Those two would have acted more like work colleagues.

I feel like Link would have underestimated Zelda upon first impressions, seeing her as someone who needed to be protected. Only for his assumptions to get eviscerated once she finally took to the battlefield in her true form and after finding out she was Sheik. 

To be honest, the three people Link was closest to were Fi, Proxi and Impa. Proxi should be obvious; she was there yelling in Link’s ear 24/7. I chose Fi because he spent two whole levels with just her, plus she’s the best person he can discuss the whole hero thing with. I don’t believe that those two were ever friends though, not like Sky and Fi. I also chose Impa because she was the one that gave him the hero uniform and believed in him. She was the one he saved from Volga and thus, that kind of introduction was bound to lead to a friendship. I’d argue Impa was Link’s only real friend during the war.

Unlike Wild, Time and Twilight this snooty officer never really bonded with the Gorons and thus never became one of their honorary brothers. Darunia was just a regular ally to him, like Agitha, Ruta and Midna. 

Volga. Ngl, he never really stood out to me when I played HW, but I’ve seen and agreed with the headcanon that their first fight scarred Link. Mentally as well as physically. Which, in the context of the game makes sense. To the player he was just the first boss, and easy introduction to the game, but to Link he was the first powerful enemy he ever faced. Add to that the burn scars he received from not being properly equipped (remember he was in just his trainee uniform), and yeah, that would leave a lasting impression. 

Volga also got a sort of redemption thing going on. I can’t quite remember it, but maybe that could have factored into Link’s growth as well. Making them less like mortal enemies and more like rivals. 

I don’t buy that Link ever genuinely forgave Cia. At the end of the Wind Waker campaign when Cia is rescued and redeemed, Link seems to do the generic anime nod along with everyone else when she apologises. I can totes see him pretending to get along with her, putting on a friendly mask so that working with her would be somewhat tolerable but still holding a grudge for all the suffering she caused. 

That dlc war must have been so awkward for Link. He must have been forcing himself to be civil with Cia when she joined their side. If not for the sake of being the better person, then at least for team morale and keeping Lana happy. 

Her war led to the deaths of many good soldiers. The embarrassment he had to endure when the army stormed the Temple of Souls only for his men to finally see first hand how obsessed she was with him. Which probably damaged his reputation to such extent that he’s still struggling to repair it. Unlike with the other Links, the war he fights against Cia is incredibly personal, since it’s because of him that the war even started. 

The war wasn’t his fault and he knows it, because Cia didn’t even know him. And while you could say it wasn’t entirely Cia’s fault because Ganondorf was manipulating her, she did too many awful things of her free will to be absolved of blame. 

Btw, Ganondorf didn’t mean much to this Link. He was a formidable threat sure, but they had no personal connection to each other and taking him down was a group effort (go team). Link’s personal enemies were Cia and Volga.  

Going back to Lana, since I believe that this Link is very emotionally intelligent it means he would have been aware of Lana’s crush on him. Luckily she never really acted on it, so Link could act like an ally. Whether he feels something for her or not is up to the player. I don’t personally, since she isn’t really any more special than any other of his allies. But she seems fun to be around and I think Link would appreciate her upbeat attitude and respect her prowess on the battlefield.  

All strong and reliable allies are good in his book.

There are snippets of development in Link’s character in HW. The standout moment being when he faces Cia alone at the Temple of Souls and she makes some evil clones of him. But rewinding a bit, I said before that Link let the sudden promotion and power go to his head. Think about it though, General Impa dubbed him the legendary hero after he saved her (and he didn’t do it perfectly), he has a close circle of powerful allies who verbally lick his boots at every opportunity (Proxi being his main cheerleader), Fi literally accepts him as her master in a heartbeat (before he has the Master Sword mind you), he hasn’t made any significant mistakes, he’s got the glowing mark of the Triforce as extra validation (although given by his confused looks at it in cutscenes I’m convinced he isn’t 100% sure of what it actually means) and he retrieves the Master Sword with little issue. 

How could he not, at least a little bit, have all that reinforce the notion that he’s the greatest being to ever exist? How could he not become cocky? In his mind it was all completely justified, he had the skills and he was the hero, it was his job. Up until the Temple of Souls he was probably in a sort of bubble- not that he wasn’t diligent or incompetent- he was still taking it seriously, but the mistake during this stage that meant his forces had to flee really made him shape up. 

Cia did to him what Ganondorf did to her. She took the ugliness in Link’s heart: his overconfidence, brashness and superiority complex, and used her dark powers to create physical manifestations to attack his allies. The fact that those apparitions are so powerful to begin with show how strong those feelings were. 

Not only did those fiends weaken his forces and further ruin his reputation, but he couldn’t deal with them alone even though they were coming from him and his allies essentially saved his life. On top of that having the battle be effectively lost due to the fact that the army was so overwhelmed they needed to retreat, would make this a very humbling experience for him. It was like a turning point for him. He learned a lot of lessons from it and worked to be better. It turned him from an inexperienced lucky rookie to an experienced and confident leader who people can rely on and look to for guidance.

He apologised to his men, and strove to make deeper connections with them. He no longer saw the sword as a crutch or this all powerful instrument and was more than happy to put it back when the time came. 

Also after going through all that, I don’t think that Link could just walk away from the army or go through with his original plan of ditching action for a life of comfort and luxury. A shallow life of riches no longer satisfied him. 

Oh, about the fates of his parents. It’s tradition for Links to be orphans so maybe they die in prison or perish when Hyrule Castle is attacked. Or maybe they killed themselves/fled the country before they could be arrested...idk. Either way, they don’t show up in Link’s life again and he never much cared for them anyway. 

So, even after it was all over he stayed and rose the ranks properly like any old soldier. He did get special honour by virtue of being the hero, he and his teams are allowed more autonomy and he’s allowed to carry out assignment solo if he wishes. He doesn’t though- I truly believe he prefers to travel and fight with allies, another thing that separates him from the chain who are mostly all loner adventurers.  

I can also see him being a diplomat as well as a soldier after the war is over. As a close friend of the princess and high ranking military official, he would be invited to all sorts of fancy political dinners with backstabbing nobles and leaders of other nations/tribes. 

The mask he created for himself the moment he became the hero never really came off. It couldn’t come off. He only became more famous following the war and was now forever in the public eye. He’s got to be careful now when he’s out and about, vigilant to not fall for assassination attempts from political rivals or enemies. He can’t afford to get drunk and do something stupid in a bar, unless he wants to end up a scandalous article in the paper. Speaking of scandals, he even has to watch out for who he speaks with behind closed doors, one misunderstanding could lead to disreputable rumors. 

Perhaps such a rumour circulated among those in the royal court regarding her majesty's relationship with the hero, causing the two to grow apart. Hence their strained relationship after being fairly close friends towards the end of the war. Also, since Link is obviously aware of his good looks and is a bit of a flirt, there’s no way he didn’t try a few good humoured pick up lines on the princess in casual conversation. Only when they were alone or with close friends behind closed doors. 

I love the idea that Linkle joins the military at the end of her campaign and Impa puts Link in charge of her. Since in my story Link spent a year working in Linkle’s village, the two knew each other vaguely. Linkle used to see him as a haughty snob but now respects him greatly as one of Hyrule’s best soldiers and looks up to him. Link used to see her as a strange airhead who talks to birds... and his opinion is largely unchanged, except that now he can’t deny that she also fights good. They have the ‘strict older brother and chaotic little sister’ dynamic To Link, spending time with Linkle is like speedrunning the journey to premature baldness. 

Are they actually related? No, but they give off the vibe to outsiders that they could be.

Random thought: now that I think about it... maybe Link talks to Cia during the WW levels about acknowledging the darkness within you and working to better yourself so that you can control it before it controls you. Perhaps he’ll do a similar thing to Twilight in LU in a subtler way, so that he doesn’t succumb to the dark curse placed on his slash wound from Dink.

To see my take on his fear of traitors see: LU deepest fear headcanons

~~~

Thanks for reading!

For more character analyses see links here:

Hero of the Sky, Hero of Time, Hero of Twilight, Hero of the Wild

Masterlist

[shkspr]

hi. on your post where you may or may not have ended on 'moffat is either your angel or your devil' did you have maybe an elaboration on that somewhere that i could possibly hear about. i'm very much a capaldi era stan and i've never tried to defend the matt smith era even though it had delightful moments sometimes so i wonder where that puts me. i'd love to hear your perspective on moffat as a person with your political perspective. -nicole

hi ok sorry i took so long to respond to this but i dont think you know how LOADED this question is for me but i am so happy to elaborate on that for you. first a few grains of salt to flavor your understanding of the whole situation: a. im unfairly biased against moffat bc im a davies stan and a tennant stan; b. i still very much enjoy and appreciate moffat era who for many reasons; and c. i hate moffat on a personal level far more than i could ever hate his work.

the thing is that its all always gonna be a bit mixed up bc i have to say a bunch of seemingly contradictory things in a row. for instance, a few moffat episodes are some of my absolute favorites of the rtd era, AND the show went way downhill when moffat took over, AND the really good episodes he wrote during the rtd era contained the seeds of his destruction.

like i made that post about the empty child/the doctor dances and it holds true for blink and thats about it bc the girl in the fireplace and silence in the library/forest of the dead are good but not nearly on the same level, and despite the fact that i like them at least nominally, they are also great examples of everything i hate about moffat and how he approached dw as a whole.

basically. doctor who is about people. there are many things about moffats tenure as showrunner that i think are a step up from rtd era who! actual gay people, for one! but i think that can likely be attributed mostly to an evolving Society as opposed to something inherent to him and his work, seeing as rtd is literally gay, and the existence of queer characters in moffats work doesnt mean the existence of good queer characters (ill give him bill but thats it!)

i have a few Primary Grievances with moffat and how he ran dw. all of them are things that got better with capaldi, but didnt go away. they are as follows:

moffat projects his own god complex onto the doctor

rtd era who had a doctor with a god complex. you cant ever be the doctor and not have a god complex. the problem with moffats era specifically is that the god complex was constant and unrepentant and was seen as a fundamental personality trait of the doctor rather than a demon he has to fight. he has the Momence where you feel bad for him, the Momence where he shows his humility or whatever and youre reminded that he doesnt want to be the lonely god, but those are just. moments. in a story where the doctor thinks hes the main character. rtd era doctor was aware that he wasnt the main character. he had to be an authority sometimes and he had to be the loner and he had to be sad about it, but he ultimately understood that he was expendable in a narrative sense.

this is how you get lines like “were the thin fat gay married anglican marines, why would we need names as well?” from the same show that gave you the gut punch moment at the end of midnight when they realize that nobody asked the hostess for her name. and on the one hand, thats a small sticking point, but on the other hand, its just one small example of the simple disregard that moffat has for humanity.

incidentally, this is a huge part of why sherlock sucked so bad: moffats main characters are special bc theyre so much bigger and better than all the normal people, and thats his downfall as a showrunner. he thinks that his audience wants fucking sheldon cooper when what they want is people.

like, ok. think of how many fantastic rtd era eps are based in the scenario “what if the doctor wasnt there? what if he was just out of commission for a bit?” and how those eps are the heart of the show!! bc theyre about people being people!! the thing is that all of the rtd era companions would have died for the doctor but he understood and the story understood that it wasnt about him.

this is like. nine sending rose home to save her life and sacrifice his own vs clara literally metaphysically entwining her existence w the doctor. ten also sending rose with her family to save her life vs river being raised from infancy to be obsessed w the doctor and then falling in love w him. martha leaving bc she values herself enough to make that decision vs amy being treated like a piece of meat.

and this is simultaneously a great callback to when i said that moffats episodes during the rtd era sometimes had the same problems as his show running (bc girl in the fireplace reeks of this), and a great segue into the next grievance.

moffat hates women

he hates women so fucking much. g-d, does steven moffat ever hate women. holy shit, he hates women. especially normal human women who prioritize their normal human lives on an equal or higher level than the doctor. moffat hated rose bc she wasnt special by his standards. the empty child/the doctor dances is the nicest he ever treated her, and she really didnt do much in those eps beyond a fuck ton of flirting.

girl in the fireplace is another shining example of this. youve got rose (who once again has another man to keep her busy, bc moffat doesnt think shes good enough for the doctor) sidelined for no reason only to be saved by the doctor at the last second or whatever. and then youve got reinette, who is pretty and powerful and special!

its just. moffat thinks that the doctor is as shallow and selfish as he is. thats why he thinks the doctor would stay in one place with reinette and not with rose. bc moffat is shallow and sees himself in the doctor and doesnt think he should have to settle for someone boring and normal.

not to mention rose met the doctor as an adult and chose to stay with him whereas reinette is. hm. introduced to the doctor as a child and grows up obsessed with him.

does that sound familiar? it should! bc it is also true of amy and river. and all of them are treated as viable romantic pairings. bc the only women who deserve the doctor are the ones whose entire existence revolves around him. which includes clara as well.

genuinely i think that at least on some level, not even necessarily consciously, that bill was a lesbian in part bc capaldi was too old to appeal to mainstream shippers. like twelve/clara is still a thing but not as universally appealing as eleven/clara but i am just spitballing. but i think they weighed the pros and cons of appealing to the woke crowd over the het shippers and found that gay companion was more profitable. anyway the point is to segue into the next point, which is that moffat hates permanent consequences.

moffat hates permanent consequences

steven moffat does not know how to kill a character. honestly it feels like hes doing it on purpose after a certain point, like he knows he has this habit and hes trying to riff on it to meme his own shit, but it doesnt work. it isnt funny and it isnt harmless, its bad writing.

the end of the doctor dances is so poignant and so meaningful and so fucking good bc its just this once! everybody lives, just this once! and then he does p much the same thing in forest of the dead - this one i could forgive, bc i do think that preserving those peoples consciousnesses did something for the doctor as a character, it wasnt completely meaningless. but everything after that kinda was.

rory died so many times its like. get a hobby lol. amy died at least once iirc but it was all a dream or something. clara died and was erased from the doctors memory. river was in prison and also died. bill? died. all of them sugarcoated or undone or ignored by the narrative to the point of having effectively no impact on the story. the point of a major character death is that its supposed to have a point. and you could argue that a piece of art could be making a point with a pointless death, ie. to put perspective on it and remind you that bad shit just happens, but with moffat the underlying message is always “i can do whatever i want, nothing is permanent or has lasting impact ever.”

basically, with moffat, tragedy exists to be undone. and this was a really brilliant, really wonderful thing in the doctor dances specifically bc it was the doctor clearly having seen his fair share of tragedy that couldnt be helped, now looking on his One Win with pride and delight bc he doesnt get wins like this! and then moffat proceeded to give him the same win over and over and over and over. nobody is ever dead. nobody is ever unable to be saved. and if they are, really truly dead and/or gone, then thats okay bc moffat has decided that [insert mitigating factor here]*

*the mitigating factor is usually some sort of computerized database of souls.

i can hear the moffat stans falling over themselves to remind me that amy and rory definitely died, and they did - after a long and happy life together, they died of old age. i dont consider that a character death any more than any other character choosing to permanently leave the tardis.

and its not just character deaths either, its like, everything. the destruction of gallifrey? never mind lol! character development? scrapped! the same episode four times? lets give it a fifth try and hope nobody notices. bc he doesnt know how to not make the doctor either an omnipotent savior or a self-pitying failure.

it is in nature of doctor who, i believe, for the doctor to win most of the time. like, it wouldnt be a very good show if he didnt win most of the time. but it also wouldnt be a very good show if he won all of the time. my point is that moffats doctor wins too often, and when he doesnt win, it feels empty and hollow rather than genuinely humbling, and you know hes not gonna grow from it pretty much at all.

so like. again, i like all of doctor who i enjoy all of it very much. i just think that steven moffat is a bad show runner and a decent writer at times. and it is frustrating. and im not here to convince or convert anyone im just living my truth. thank you for listening.

[chaztalk]

Boy, do I have a lot to say when a saw this (from a Romione shipper):

Let’s break it down

No offense to any guy that follows my account.

A common translation when using “no offense” before you make a statement is: “I’m about to hurt your feelings but let’s pretend I didn’t.” And in the end, they do indeed, because what they are basically saying is that most men are complete dunderheads when it comes romance (and, no, I’m not meaning we men act awkward or oblivious when we are in a relationship with someone). More on this later…

I am sure not all men are the same.

Wow, really? What a profound statement! Kudos to you for realizing that we aren’t robots. Oh wait, you’re just saying as a weird way an attempt to compliment the male Romione followers you have because the next thing you say:

Most men don’t like our ship.

Most men, or most people in general don’t ship fictional ships in general. There’s a real world out there and the world doesn’t revolve around HP ships. If I asked my dad or sister (both ignore/avoid nerdy things) whether they preferred Harmione or Romione, I’d simply get shrugs and eye rolls as a response since they don’t care. Also, I’ve seen a lot of women dislike the ship too. You know, I dislike the ship because of how Hermione treats Ron. Females that tend to dislike Romione because of how Ron treats Hermione. So why aren’t they mentioned here too? Is it just the fact that since you have a low opinion on Harmione and a low opinion on males’ thoughts and feelings that you found it relevant to make these assumptions? Maybe. And, yes, I’m not a fan of Romione. JKR had this bad deal in the books with the only way someone had feelings for the other person through jealousy, and that became really annoying to me. Also, as of late, I do like the main male character paired up with the female main character because it generally makes sense if authors go that way correctly. I recently read the first book of The Blue Lagoon trilogy, which is categorized as a romance novel, which it shouldn’t. Regardless of the lack of romance in that, Emmaline and Dick make more sense than the canon pairings in the Harry Potter series. What are Harry and Ginny without quidditch? What are Ron and Hermione without fighting/bickering? Bottom line is, we don’t really see either of the two hanging out, or it’s just very vaguely described. And that’s my issue with the romance in HP.

They like Harry/Hermione.

Or Lunarry, Haphne or Flowerpot, or even Harry/OC. Exploration of a relationship is a fun part of FanFiction. I’m not a fan of Luna. Haphne is an OC to me, Flowerpot is ok, but not every fanfic author writes Fleur with a French accent like in the books, and Harry/OC is where the actual self-insertion takes place. So, if I had to choose between these and Harmione, I choose Harmione Harmione is more popular than other non-canon HP ships because they have more foundation in canon. One thing I have learned reading fanfic is that the romance progresses pretty fast, and I’m not a fan of that. I’m a slow burn guy. One can argue that Rowling did that with Hinny. From my experience with reading fics with a Harry or Hermione ship other than Harmione, the romance progresses rapidly. Harmione fics do that too, but I’ve read a lot more slowburnish Harmione fics than any other HP ship.

They want to be the hero and get together with the main female lead played by Emma Watson.

This kind of logic doesn’t really make much sense to me. First of all, isn’t Ron also considered a hero too? Couldn’t that also mean that make Romione shippers ship Romione because they perceive themselves as Ron being with Emma Watson, I mean Hermione? Tbh, most people relate to Ron than people to Harry. Even me. Such silly assumptions! Call me an over-exaggerator, but what I think this translates to is: “Male Harmione shippers are sad, lonely, pathetic, obsessive (of Emma Watson) souls and they read Harmione fics to achieve their desire to get with Emma Watson (Hermione) by being Harry”. Is that not crazy-sounding to you?

That’s it.

Haha, no it ain’t. Harmione is one of my comfort ships that serves as a model for what I want in a relationship (my others are Cleon, Jeid, Snowbarry). You know, ships that people would call “vanilla” because they’d be less problematic…

Lastly, I want to talk about gender. Why did they choose males as a way to bring down the ship? Is it because males are less intelligent in the romance category? Is it because men aren’t huge fans of drama? Maybe a mix of both. I cannot account for the first question, but I frankly don’t know he is intelligent at romance. To the second question, I do like drama sometimes, just not the Ron and Hermione kind. The ships with drama I follow are: Brucas, Dasey, Lauriver, and Silver Sablinova/Spiderman. Moving on, women who ship Hermione are not mentioned here because of the assumption that mostly men ship Harmione. I just want to note that, from my Instagram stats, the male-female percentage for my followers is 50-50. A perfect balance. Could this be a sign that says the Harmione ship is the most balanced by gender?

One final thing: I’ve been working on this sporadically for a couple weeks. I just hate being treated this way, and it just feels better to let out my thoughts and frustrations here. Thank you.

[iamherefortheships]

HCCC: I came for Kim Seon Ho playing the romantic lead, but I stayed for Shin Min A’s Hye-jin - Part 2

Part 2 of the long essay on why Hye-Jin was such a well written female lead. If you are up for it, you can read part 1 here.

Continuing with my list of why I find her character relatable, well rounded and REAL!

Being ambitious and owning success!

Hye-jin has incredible confidence in herself to walk out on a job and then set up her own clinic in a town where no one knows her. She knows what she can do !

But success hasn’t come easy to her, and she still battles those insecurities. Her whole prepping for the wedding party is SO RELATABLE (and nice trope inversion – she is going to a wedding party but not worried about her marital status, but will she have enough professional success to brag about?). This is basically Hye-jin’s ‘fake it till you make it’ moment!

She sees ambition and success as a positive thing and over the 16-episode arc, that doesn’t change. Even in the last 15 minutes of the final episode, she is prodding Du-sik on being more than just the area chief. It's such a blink and you miss it scene (especially considering what follows LOL), but it's interesting that writer Shin Ha-eun inserted this as an indication that Hye-jin will always want a little bit more than Di-suk and that's okay.

Unapologetic clarity of thought and purpose (coupled with kindness and compassion)

THIS!! While I love flawed women on screen, I am tired of seeing flaky characters who are just fumbling through life in the 30s. Yes, those stories need to be told, but I also want to see more stories of women who have their shit together.

And no matter what life throws at Hye-jin, she has her shit together.

Whether it’s her feelings for Du-sik, her stand against Nam-Sook’s bad medical advice, her take on Gam-ri’s dental treatment ..she is so clear in how she wants to handle things. She has clarity of opinions (but not stubbornness, she listens too!).

And most of the times, she brings forth her views with compassion. In her multiple proposals to Du-sik, she is unafraid of the consequences. When Du-sik starts unravelling in the early stages of their relationship – she is patient and kind, but still advocates for open, healthy communication!

This ‘no-drama, let’s talk about what’s going on and lets deal with it together’ is such a real representation of female strength.

I know more real women who get their life thru with this approach – compassion, understanding and open communication!

….and yet, and yet she is incredibly vulnerable!

This is my favorite part that makes her such a rounded character. Hyejin goes all out in everything that she does – which leaves her incredibly open to being hurt. She has one friend in the whole world – that’s her only support system. Imagine how alone she is and how much she protects herself – coz she knows that the world has hurt her before. And when she starts trusting Du-sik (very early on..)..she goes all in. Her friendship to Du-sik is literally one lonely soul reaching out to another – and she lets him see her in her too-quick-to-judge self, drunken silly and sad vulnerable self. Du-sik is the one who remains closed off till the end…!

And that’s why I love how she is written – she is all that awesomeness, but she is also this. And for me this representation is what takes the cake – coz that’s the kind of complex, rounded characters I want to see on screen.

So if you made it till here, thank you !!! (This turned out to be longer than I thought but character analysis is my jam!)