#him giving up his freedom HIS LIFE for someone who has less than half a year to live like oh my god

[lovehours]

i don’t even fucking care

[meanbossart]

Lore Ask Compilation: "Every Other Question Is About The Drow's Dick" edition

Oh I LOVE Minthara, her dialogue is absolutely fascinating and in my opinion some of the best written In the game. Experiencing her in my Evil Durge playthrough without having been spoiled to her companion scenes prior was great - the amount of depth they managed to add to her, without it at all feeling forced or rushed, and considering how much less time she gets to develop at our side is really well done. While nearly everyone's quests had me immersed, she was one of the few characters who really made me pause and think about the things she had to say to me, what she truly meant by them, and what they meant for me as an avatar doing an evil run.

We have a lot of characters in this game that are meant to be full of wisdom and experience, who are meant to be the ones who say the right thing at the right time that inspires us to make the correct choices, but I don't think either Halsin or Jaheira (and I love Jaheira) made me feel like I knew so little about life quite as Minthara did.

And, of course, she's absolutely hysterical. 10/10 I wish she had a proper companion quest past being rescued but I understand why she doesn't.

[MORE ASKS UNDER THE CUT]

It doesn't connect to the urethra since the slit in on top, so he nuts and pisses normal.

Also you 100% are not sorry, stop lying to me.

Man, I thought a lot about this one because I play so fast and loose with the content the game gives us that I'm positive there must be SOMETHING I'm completely disregarding, but I couldn't think of anything! I've chosen to pick slightly less obvious interpretations to some lines and text but nothing that completely deviates from canon, I don't think. If anyone has noticed something I neglected to mention, feel free to let me know - not because I want to revise it, but just because I'm curious!

For the second part of the question, not really. Larian did a great job of giving us plenty of room to play around in the dark urge's background, I think I'm yet to see something that I find to truly "not fit" in the ample freedom they've given us. I have my preferences, of course - I'm shocked to find that most dark urge's are NOT big hulking beasts, for example - in fact that seems to be the minority by far, but I realize that I have my... Uh... Biases.

You can see a cute little divot through the fabric if you look closely LOL

And nah, I think his penis has seen enough sharp points for a lifetime.

Well.

Unless someone decided to add some bite-marks to it.

HMMM, I... Don't think so.

He didn't cry as a baby, he didn't cry as a child (and this isn't something I just decided on now - this is a major reason why his foster drow mother even kept him around) he didn't really cry growing up or at any point during the campaign. I think he is capable of it - sadness in him just tends to be far more confusing a feeling than anything else.

He will have emotional moments in ANE, whether or not that will culminate in crying is something you will have to wait to find out LOL

Astarion has noticed this and just took it as a character trait - the drow doesn't cry, he just gets confused, angry, frustrated or simply bottles it up. While he can be demanding of his emotional maturity, he isn't going to try and dictate how he should experience his own feelings. If it did happen it would definitely catch him majorly off-guard, perhaps even shift the perception he has of him to a certain extent.

Oh my god you just know they All managed to be utterly quiet about it for as long as humanly (and unhumanly) possible until like, I don't even know, halfway through the Shadow-cursed lands where one day Karlach finally turns back to the group around the campfire after a half-nude drow has strut past and she's like "SO

"DOES ANYONE KNOWS WHY HIS DICK HAS A SNATCH"

And Wyll is like :0... Karlach you can't just ask people that.

And then she pointedly turns to Astarion and starts trying to interrogate him on how it works while Gale covers his ears and Shadowheart is like:

This is gonna blow you guys backwards but he does not do those things in front of people and thinks its rude if you do.

HMMM Mostly physically but it's a little subtle. He really enjoys interacting with Astarion's (and previously Orin's) hands - kissing, holding, caressing. Touching hair and faces as well. He can engage in more overt physical affection but usually Astarion has to be the one to initiate.

A disarmingly earnest proclamation of love and adoration here and there as well - he isn't shy in the slightest to tell people how he feels about them, he just isn't constantly reminding them of it unless inspiration strikes.

Most of all I think he expects his loved-ones to see his care for them in his tendency to go out of his way to help them achieve their goals.

He went with them to the Shadow-cursed lands but I never helped him fix the curse, so he stayed behind when the gang went onwards to the city. DU Drow didn't really like him so it was good-riddance as far as he was concerned.

If he had come along and propositioned him during act 3 - uh, you know the really mean rejection line you have as a choice during that dialogue? Yeah, that one lmao.

Alas, DU drow is just monogamous. He could entertain group-sex with a partner for fun at the most, but not ever a third person in the relationship. And In my personal interpretation (but by all means - everyone else have fun with their poly arrangements!) of Astarion and his delivery of the "this is about Halsin" line, I also thought he was lying about being comfortable with it, so I write him as monogamous as well.

Nothing. Nada. Not a thing. Say what you'd like about Bhaal but he sure knows how sculpt them out of his murder-meat.

(Thank you!!!)

[kaiijo]

can I request "dorm leaders being jealous of you"? I would love to see how you would write this ♡

housewardens being jealous of you

characters: riddle, leona, azul, kalim, vil, idia, malleus notes: gn! reader, interpreted this as more of a “what they're jealous of in you,” reader is the s/o to the housewarden in each scenario

riddle rosehearts

riddle is jealous of your spontaneity and go-with-the-flow personality. another effect of his mother, riddle can’t just do things most of the time, he has to plan them. the unbirthday parties, for example, need to be planned to a t: start painting the roses before first period (get at least half of them done, finish after first period during the ten minute break), set the tables by noon, and serve tea at exactly two o’clock in the afternoon. in stark contrast, you can just throw something together at the last minute. riddle nearly had a heart attack the first time he let you plan an unbirthday party by yourself, especially when you told him that you were just going to “see where things took you.” but it wound up being a lot of fun and the recipient — cater — absolutely had a blast. while riddle doesn’t exactly want your spontaneous mentality, he is certainly jealous of the freedom that comes with it but is simultaneously glad that you’re not burdened with a need for an often rigid structure.

leona kingscholar

he won’t admit that he envies your optimism. he’d actually rather die than say that out loud but it’s true. because he has a generally cynical outlook on life, he finds it hard to put a positive spin on things. you, on the other hand, are pretty good at it, and it makes him feel a little better when you give him your more optimistic take of whatever topic is at hand. your optimism isn’t blind optimism either, but it definitely is lighter than leona’s doom and gloom outlook and less grating the farena’s optimism. he can’t say that he wants that outlook on life for himself, but he likes it in you since it gives you a certain innocence and freedom that leona can’t seem to find for himself. it also makes him feel like everything isn’t so grim and bad all the time, and actually gives him hope for some aspects of life.

azul ashengrotto

azul envies your confidence, especially since it’s not unfounded by any means. you’re good at most things and if you’re not, you still approach whatever it is with everything that you have. as someone who’s always been bullied and put down — something that only really stopped when he developed his unique magic — he has a hard time being confident without magic. you go into everything with an air about you, like you know it’ll all work out in the end for you. if he’s being honest, azul wanted to steal your confidence somehow before you started dating, but he realizes now that that would defeat the whole purpose of why he wants to take it: to be naturally confident. he admires the self-assuredness you have in yourself, and he can only hope that one day, he can reach the same level of confidence that you have for yourself and for him

kalim al-asim

kalim isn’t jealous of this per se but he wishes he had your perception and ability to read people. he’s always been pretty oblivious, perhaps a side effect of growing up so privileged and, frankly, sheltered, and he’s been shown time and time again that he has a hard time actually understanding what people are feeling beyond the surface level. you’re good at knowing when something’s off, when people aren’t saying what they really feel and, more importantly, you’re pretty good at solving the problem or helping someone rectify it. kalim loves and admires your perceptiveness and hopes that he can, one day, read people and help people like you do.

vil schoenheit

like leona, he’ll never admit it but vil is jealous of your ability to let things go. a perfectionist, seemingly for all his life, vil is always fussing about something. the wing on his eyeliner isn’t sharp enough, he’s looking a little too far left in a photo from his most recent shoot, the essay he turned into crewel has one word that could have been swapped for a more appropriate one. you, on the other hand, have an innate ability to just let things roll off your back. if you see a typo or two in a paper you turned in, you just shrug and say that you’ll look it over more next time while that kind of mistake rattles around in vil’s head for the rest of the day (or next few days, depending on how egregious the offense is). vil knows that you letting things go isn’t a mark of laziness but of understanding the process of growing and learning and changing, which is why he envies and admires that in you so much.

idia shroud

idia is jealous of your confrontation skills. as someone who is pretty shy and withdrawn, idia cracks under confrontation, especially when it’s face-to-face. he swears he’s usually the verge of passing out when it happens, but when he sees you in an argument with someone, he’s jealous of the way you step toe-to-toe with them. you keep a level-head and throw out whatever attack is necessary — logical thoughts or barbed insults or just words that try to deescalate the situation. you rarely flinch and you never, ever run from it, preferring to face it head on. idia wishes he could do that too, it would solve a lot of problems. while he’s envious of your ability, he also loves it since now he has a significant other and a protector.

malleus draconia

malleus is jealous of your ability to make friends so fast — you can be thrown into any social situation and come out with at least one new acquaintance. you’re always the first person people want at parties and gatherings, and malleus can’t help but frown enviously when he hears you got another invitation. being so feared and intimidating gets tiresome, especially when people purposefully “forget” to invite you because of that, so while you being a social butterfly is one thing that malleus loves about you, he can’t help but feel jealous of that aspect of you either.

[fandom-go-round]

To Be a Songbird: Part Two

Summary: Arranged marriages are wonderful when they work and disastrous when they don’t. The funny part? You never thought that you’d be in this situation. You had always wanted to marry your betrothed and now you’re single. What a joy.

Vil x Reader x Leona

Part One ,Part Two(Here!),Part Three

Part Two! Sorry this took a second everyone, I hope you enjoy it! Let me know if you have any ideas for the final pairing

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Insecure Thoughts (Reader), Political Drama, Relationship Breakup, Implied One Sided Affection

           You never expected freedom to feel this empty and bitter. Were you questioning your position in Vil’s life? No, the limbo you were stuck in for so long is gone and it’s better that way. That doesn’t mean it hurts any less that Vil is no longer in your life and your heart aches.

           It puts you in a worse mood, then, when you get letter after letter asking to start courtship. Marriage has always been something abstract to you, especially now since you won’t be marrying Vil. To marry anyone else seems weird, even if there’s nothing wrong with it. You still want to grieve and come to terms with your feelings before thinking of someone else.

           You know that it’s not common for the upper class to marry for love and love isn’t guaranteed. But you’d at least like to marry someone you got along with, who could laugh with you and share good moments. Like Vil. At least before.

           All of this is to say that you’re torn between being annoyed and flattered with Leona Kingscholar. He looks calm as can be on the other side of the table, eyes closed and tail swaying. You glance down at the parchment and only need to read the first few sentences to realize it’s a courting contract. It’s been six months since the public announcement and you’re healing, slowly. More than anything, you’re confused.

           “I’m surprised.” You admit, pulling the papers closer. You make no move to sign and Leona doesn’t react besides half opening an eye.

           “About what part?” He doesn’t sound truly interested but since he asked you figure you might as well answer.

           “You asking to court me. Or anyone for that matter. And that you waited.” He snorts at your last comment, closing his eye again.

           “You wouldn’t have said yes.”

           “And I will now?” You try to keep the irritation out of your voice but Leona hears it and smirks.

           “You’re going to consider it. And I can guarantee it’s better than some of the other offers you’ve been getting.” You half tune him out, reading over the contract. He’s not wrong, as irritating as it is. Most of the requests for marriage have been blatant grabs for power or insulting. Some were contingent upon you being officially declared the heir to the kingdom and some had you giving all power away.

           Leona’s proposal was different. It said the two of you would enter equal courtship terms and decide other details in the future. If you agreed, you would favor treaties with Savana Sunset but there were no guarantees and nothing about claims to the throne. You read it a few times, each time slowing down as you went.

           “It’s a political downgrade.” You offered, looking up again. His eyes were still closed and he sounded bored when he spoke. You saw his hands tense, however, and knew that he was paying attention. “I’m not the heir and our kingdom is mostly in name only.”

         “I’m a prince who’s never going to get the throne, it doesn’t matter who I marry.” You hum at his answer, leaning your head into your palm.

           “And yet you want to court me, without the King’s permission I might add.” That comment got Leona to open his eyes and scoff, lips curling up. He leaned closer to you across the table and it was the first time you’d seen him this emotional.

           “I can decide my own fate. They don’t need me here and our countries don’t have strong relations. Besides, you’re trying to secure a treaty with Briar Valley, aren’t you?” You tense at his comment but Leona keeps going, smirking as he saw he caught you. “The Savana and the Valley are in good standing and an alliance with me pretty much guarantees an alliance with them.”

           “And how do you know about my alliance building?” You were honestly curious; no one tended to pay attention to a rouge almost-but-not-quite heir.

           “You’re subtle but not subtle enough.” Leona didn’t offer anything more before leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. “Take it or leave it, doesn’t matter to me. Not my life to figure out.”

           You resist the urge to pinch him and look at the documents again. You don’t need to start courting. There was no pressure form your parents; they were happy to let you and your brother do whatever as long as it helped the kingdom. You’re still healing from Vil and don’t think you could love Leona, not really. You don’t need help with your treaty wit Briar Valley, all you need is more time. And yet…

           Leona is the first one to ask to be your partner on equal terms. He’s the first to pay enough attention to know what your plans are. He’s trapped, a part of you realizes, here in Savana Sunset. He’s the second prince to a country with another heir. He has magic that people have no use for and your heart pings in understanding. You ignore the quiet part that will enjoy seeing Vil’s reaction.

           “I can’t offer you love.” You take a deep breathe before speaking, closing your eyes as you think things over. When you open them, emerald green is staring back at you, bright and sharp. “I loved Vil and part of me always will, I think. I can offer companionship and partnership but I don’t know about love.” He watches you for a long moment, eyes taking in your face before he throws his head back and laughs. It’s a wonderful sound and you’re struck by the beauty of it.

           “I’m not looking for love.” Leona smirks at you. “This is political for me, nothing more and nothing less.” You smile just a little, shaking your head.

           “Don’t think you’ll get fond of me?” Your teasing is met with a scoff and he closes his eyes, body relaxed.

           “A herbivore like you? Fat chance.” You chuckle at his words, taking the pen in the middle of the table and signing your name.

           “We’ll see about that one Kingscholar.”

♥

           In all your years of visiting Sunset Savana, this is the first time you’ve seen King Falena angry. His tail is lashing around him and even though he’s keeping his tone even, you can tell that he wants to yell. Leona doesn’t care at all, leaning against the wall and watching his brother pace. There’s a hint of satisfaction and you don’t know if it’s from pissing his brother off or pulling a fast one on him.

           “This is ridiculous.” Falena is trying to stay kind and you appreciate he’s aware you’re still in the room. His wife and son watch from the other side of the room, letting the two brothers talk it out. “Leona, you know that you need to talk things like this over with me.”

           “I don’t need your permission to get married, as long as the marriage benefits the kingdom.” Leona sounds bored but Falena isn’t falling for it, shaking his head.

           “How do you think this is going to benefit the kingdom?” The question is harsh and he winces, turning to you. You take your head, giving a half smile.

           “I told him when he handed the paperwork over that it was a political downgrade.” The king looks a little relieved by your words but Leona doesn’t give him to chance to respond.

           “You’re not seeing the bigger picture.” Falena scowls but Leona keeps going. “The Land of Lights has treaties with countries and kingdoms we’ve been trying to contact for years. The Coral Sea trades with them on better terms than we ever will.”

           Leona’s words make sense and you silently agree. While most places now weren’t on unfamiliar terms, there were still lingering tension. The Sunset Savana is one of the oldest kingdoms, for better or worse. It’s been doing it’s best to modernize but still behind in the times. You can hear your bother complaining in your mind and ignore it. Falena looked like he swallowed a lemon, taking a moment to collect himself before speaking.

           “You’re right.” Leona looked surprised at his brother’s response, eyebrows going up. There was a moment of silence before Falena started speaking again. “From a trade perspective this could be beneficial but the way things are written, you could lose everything.”

           “I can’t claim the throne here.” Leona’s tone is cold but you could see the flash of pain in his eyes. “There’s no guarantee that they’ll claim the Throne of Lights but our treaties will still be in place.” Leona’s lips pull back into a sneer and you wince; this wasn’t going to be pretty. “Besides, I’m not wanted here. What better place to banish me than the other side of the world?”

           “That’s not-!” Falena began to boom but is cut off by his son. You watch as the little cub throws himself at his uncle’s legs, looking up with wide eyes.

           “I don’t want you to leave Uncle!” He’s on the verge of tears and the royal couple both frowns. You watch quietly in the corner, your heart throbbing. Your brother often felt the same way as Leona, though he wasn’t as vocal about it.

           You were surprised when Leona got down on his knees in front of his nephew. His face was a little softer and he waited a moment before gently flicking Cheka in the forehead. The tears disappeared and Cheka pouted, holding his head.

           “I’m not going to disappear forever ya little brat. Just go visit sometimes. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Cheka smiled at his uncle’s words, throwing his arms around Leona’s neck. The older lion held him without a word and you watched as the royal couple shared another look.

           “There are still a lot of things that need to be figured out before your uncle can come visit.” You chime in and everyone turns to look at you. “Paperwork, courting rules, things like that.”

           “Rules?” Leona asks, lips curling into a frown and you laugh. He wasn’t escaping so easily.

           “Traditions, rules, courtship practices. I’m assuming that Sunset Savana has their own?” Falena brightened up as you spoke while Leona got sourer. You kept your face neutral, focusing on Cheka who was staring at you. “That way your uncle and I can get to know each other and figure out if we’re a good match.”

           “It doesn’t need to be that serious herbivore.” You shot Leona a serious look, surprising the lion out of his grumbling.

           “It is that serious. This might be a political arrangement but it’s still our lives. I won’t go through with something if we aren’t a good fit, at least on some level.” He scowls at your words and rolls his eyes but stays silent. Falena looks relieved and gives a nod, turning to look at Leona.

           “I will send a letter to the Queen of Light and let her know your intensions. Everything has been signed but it’s still protocol.” The King began to walk around his office, talking to his wife and scooping Cheka up. The three of them were soon in their own world and you felt like an outsider looking in. Leona slid up next to you, lip curled up a little.

           “You made this more complicated than it has to be.” He muttered into your ear and you held still, resisting the urge to shudder. You gave a small shrug, smiling a little as Falena threw Cheka into the air.

           “Maybe. This doesn’t give anyone an excuse to protest though and I’d like things to be as smooth as possible.” A deep hum sounded in your ear and Leona chuckled.

           “Still think that stuck up brat cares?” His tone was mocking and your heart screamed out in offense. You didn’t take the bait, letting the prince get his last licks in.

           “Vil’s opinion doesn’t matter here. What matters is that the Shaftlands feel everything has been by the book and can’t reject the arrangement. Our countries alliance is strong but I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

           “Except break off a decades long engagement.” You can’t tell if Leona is teasing or not but you snort. He takes in the bitter look on your face and filed it away to look into later.

           “The only thing that did was upset me. Everyone else knew it was over a long time ago.” He didn’t say anything to your comment, the two of you lost in thought. Cheka happily brought you back to reality, tugging on your pants and asking a million questions. You laughed and agreed to go play, leaving Falena and Leona alone. You would be heading back in a few days and you wanted to enjoy your freedom before facing the music back home.

           Leona watched you go and wondered if this really was the best idea. It made him more politically free than he’d ever been but at what cost? All he needed to do now was guarantee you’d secure the throne from your brother. Ruggie could help with that. He sighed, leaving the office to go find a place to nap; this was going to turn into a huge pain, he just knew it.

[zeestarfishalien]

Part 8: I Never Wanted to Sleep

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Danny doesn’t think someone should be able to forget how to open their own eyes, but he’s been a special case ever since his original half death.

Even with the excitement that freedom brings, he can’t enjoy it. He’s not strong enough to form and

He doesn’t remember how to open his eyes

It’s instinct to block the probing reaches of foreign magic. Magic has so often led to trouble in his half life.

If the word “wish” weren’t such a taboo, Danny would make one. Whether it be to be able to hear what is going on around him or open his eyes is a toss up. Both would be great, but wishing for both would definitely get twisted around on him.

Back on task Danny.

It’s all well and good that The Man, the one like him, is here but that doesn’t mean it’s safe. Them opening his cage doesn’t mean he’ll be set free. Danny doesn’t like the way the magic users’ spells feel. He can hide in his core, use its powers to create a barrier to protect him from their prying poking magic.

~*~

Moving scared him. He didn’t know where he was and The Man was gone. He’s back now and everything is finally quiet, but Danny did expend a little too much energy in his panic. It’ll take longer before he can maintain a form once more.

A part of him hates that he doesn’t know how much time is passing. What if it’s months or years and The Man gives up on him? It shouldn’t be, but Danny doesn’t know how long it has been since he was buried in the cemetery. He is careful to not think about before, it is better to leave those old memories as hazy impressions, the good and the bad.

It’s harder now. He’s not able to form and his comatose body is no longer entombed in the cemetery. It’s almost enough to convince him to allow himself to dwell in memories.

Almost…

Danny is scared though. He’s scared of the pain and the fear and the oh so sharp burn of betrayal. Worst of all, he’s afraid to hope.

Ridiculous...afraid of rejection and afraid to hope for acceptance. Danny really can't win, can he...

~*~

Observing himself from outside his own body is a strange experience and oddly enough it's one that feels vaguely familiar. It’s especially strange when he realizes he’s more used to the four legs of his current form than he is to the two legs he has supposedly lived his whole life with.

His ghost form is still almost exactly the same as when he died. He certainly looks less human, but still that fresh-faced nearly 15 year-old boy. "Changes to this form will be slow," a voice from locked away memories echoes. It's a voice with a bitter chill but it's comforting in a way that speaks of trust. Danny trusts that being. He can trust their words.

It's a little odd how his body has remained perfectly preserved. No sign of hair growth or decay. He was certain he'd been trapped for a long long time. He's not sure anymore.

He’s not sure of anything anymore.

That is, until he sees The Man. Danny remembers the small teen who crawled in a panicked haze from his grave, more animal than human. He is big now. Tall and broad and so solidly alive in a way that Danny longs to feel again.

It’s not fair.

Danny squashes the little voice in the back of his mind saying that. He just needs to remember.

He wants to remember.

The Man, fumbling over himself is such a human reaction. Was Danny like that before?Can he be like that again?

Human…

Human.

Human.

He’s not human. He can’t be human anymore even if he only vaguely remembers why, but maybe… just maybe, he can be something close to human again someday.

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If anyone else has any church grim danny au ideas or wants to write stuff, ABSOLUTELY go for it! I love seeing everyone’s thoughts and emotions about it and I would adore seeing other people’s takes on this idea. Wow, what a time to be alive. Just a reminder, this fic is also on AO3. The link is on the original post which is linked as “First” here. Danny’s chapters keep ending up rather short but ya know, that’s just how it be sometimes. The human mind is incredible the way it can dull or fully block out memories in order to help cope with trauma (apparently it's not normal to remember almost nothing of your childhood but that's old news for me *shrugs*). Danny boi is trying his best poor laddie.

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[toytle]

Hi! I love your art style it's like. Breathtaking. And your hcs on barry are some of my favourites of all time?

What do you think of "The Ballad of Barry Allen by Jim's Big Ego as an analysis of Barry's character?

are you asking or are you telling me 🤨 lol THANK YOU i put all my headcanon power into him <3

for the ballad, i love their song stress, and this isn’t bad at all as far as fansongs go. but there’s a reason i don’t include it in my barry playlist, and it’s ultimately bc it doesn’t fit my narrative haha

the song was made in 2003 and i haven’t read many comics before then, so idk how well it aligns w barry’s characterization prior to flashpoint, but i’m basing my playlist off post-flashpoint, so that’s where a lot of the differences will lie

for starters, the song only includes one half of barry’s relationship to his superspeed, and it’s important to me that a barry interpretation includes both sides of that coin. instead, it’s playing on the idea of the dark side of the hero fantasy, an inherently optimistic genre. which, fair, being a superhero sounds like a nightmare, but that angle is less novel to me when that’s the extent of the analysis (and i’m a little over the whole “i hate being a superhero” storyline in general, personally). the song is basically abt how much it would suck to have superspeed bc the world slows to a crawl and you’re left behind bc no one else can keep up w you. and it’s true, that is a very real setback! especially for someone like barry who’s already prone to self-isolation and time management issues! but what does the song actually have to say abt him as a character?

the thing is, barry isn’t a “i wish i wasn’t a hero” kind of guy. he’s a “could i be so strong [to give up the flash]? or do i love the thrill of these powers too much?” kind of guy. he’s a “knowing what i know now… if i could go back in time… maybe i would’ve been somewhere else the day lightning struck my lab and electrified those chemicals, ready and willing to forfeit a life of dodging deathtraps and battling villains… who am i kidding? there’s no going back. no do-overs. like everyone else, superheroes can only follow the path destiny has laid out for them, whatever lies ahead.” kind of guy. yes, barry is caged by his superspeed, but it would be misleading to not present it first and foremost as the very thing that frees him. it’s a double-edged sword that gives him purpose, and that freedom in obligation is what motivates him to keep going. as a wise man once said, “all you can do is go forward.” (“thanks.” “superman is pretty smart isn’t he.” “hm.”)

i think the real kicker for me was this lyric: “i’ve got time to think about the past… how my life was so exciting before i got this way.” my sincerest apologies to mr. allen, but he does not feel complete to me without his mother’s death or his father’s false imprisonment. this backstory contextualizes everything for me. his life was NOT exciting before his superspeed, it was lonely and full of escapism, either in his sci-fi/comics or his dedication to finding justice. i am of the belief that barry didn’t truly start living until he got his superspeed, over 2 decades of waiting around before he rly understood freedom and what it meant to live for himself. i get what they’re trying to do here, but this is what i mean when i say it feels like the song characterizes barry around the concept of his speed rather than how barry’s speed defines him as a person

ik i can’t expect a 4min song to include every aspect of a character’s timeline/development/nuance (esp before some of that even existed lol), but my issue isn’t that it doesn’t cover enough ground—it’s not bad that they had a theme and stuck by it, i actually love the lyrics from a speedster perspective. my issue is that i don’t think this is a good framing for barry’s character as a whole. for all his regrets and suffering, barry is optimistic to the point of denial. choosing this to be The theme to represent barry just. doesn’t feel like barry to me. it’s more like barry is the placeholder subject as an excuse to sing abt superspeed

if this was somehow less overtly a “BARRY ALLEN FANSONG” and maybe more metaphorical or even non-fandom, then it would be a dif situation and i might have dif opinions. at the end of the day, this has more to do w my pickiness than the quality of the song, and the fact that it even exists is so exciting for me as a barry allen enjoyer first, human second. but if you’re going to call smth a character study, i Will be getting my hopes up

[fierrochase-falafel]

Bare: A Pop Opera song saga- #1 Epiphany

So I've decided to post some of my 'half-analysing half-raving about every song in Bare: A Pop Opera' posts in here because I can. If even 1 person out there appreciates hearing someone's else's thoughts about this, this will have been worth it, because I'd love to hear other people's thoughts on this too. Alright! So my thoughts on Epiphany:

Perfect balance of funny, catchy, Christian and angsty for this musical.

The stagecraft is usually very interesting for this number but my favourite version of the choereography has to be the 2004 Michael Arden version solely because of how much they carry and throw him around. Really emphasises how powerless he is against his peers and the authority figures in his life, and makes his character growth all the more satisfying, where he gains the courage to come out but also to understand the true gravity behind coming out. Also it's just so fun to watch!!! Unfortunately most of the lyric changes were a bit of a letdown, the original lyrics are the best in my book. Personally I found the LA version's choreography rooted in one position, leading to less of a dynamic effect- Payson's Peter had a lot more space and freedom to watch them say their anti-gay Christian stuff than Michael's Peter did which made it feel a bit like a strange fever dream rather than a full-on nightmare sequence.

Speaking of the original lyrics, shoutout to "looks around in gym, it pleases him"- it both makes me laugh and is sung SO well. Also shoutout to "dig down deep and save your soul"- the classic dental alliteration and sibilance to really get the message drilled into your skull the way it's being drilled into his.

Also speaking of the original lyrics! I find it very interesting that the phrase, "loves his female singers, loves to cook" is included. It's gay stereotypes that aren't central to Peter's character in any way- we never see him cook or enjoy cooking, and he references Diana Ross once when high. I see this being interpreted in multiple ways- 1 being that he genuinely does love female singers and cooking and he sees those as being signs of his gayness that he must hide or else he'll be found out, or 2 being that he is being really paranoid that something like him being fairly familiar with who Diana Ross is will lead to people calling him gay- even if it's so small it's almost insignificant, in a toxic environment or with high levels of paranoia, it's perfectly plausible he is scaring himself over the smallest of things. It's just very interesting to me.

The ending of the song-- the harmonies are SO GOOD!!! The overlapping harmonies of "bear the cross" culminating in them chanting it more and more aggressively till Peter wakes up is so urgent and fun to watch while also giving the cult-sense of religion gone too far.

There are so many motifs introduced here, like Matt's motif, the Epiphany motif and the Bare motif (the song). It's always really cool going back and relistening to these with the new context you have, and it means so much more when you do. The more you listen, the more you discover!

[grippingbeskar]

salt, ice and fire | frank castle

chapter four - a better man than me

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of scars, death, general gross imagery involving hands and nails ew, mentions of mental illness

a/n: bing boing enjoy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“We need to leave.” Frank already had half his stuff shoved back in a bag when you walked through the door.

“They’ll follow.” You were covered in blood, and didn’t walk any further into the house than the small mat at the front where other pairs of Franks combat boots were placed neatly in a line.

“Doesn’t matter. We put distance between us and them. I’ll get you to Madani after-”

“I’m not going with her. Or you.” Frank zips up his bag and grabs the keys on the kitchen counter. “You’re on the Colonels shit list, for some reason. You should leave before the next wave comes.”

“You wanna stay here? Be my guest, but you’ll either be dead or back in the Colonel’s cell in an hour.” 

“He’s gonna track me no matter where I go. I’ll lead him straight to you.”

“So? Once we get far enough I’ll hack that shit off myself, we just gotta get to Madan-” You roll your eyes, no longer caring about getting blood all over his floor.

“It explodes. If I leave the city. It’ll go off.” Frank stops his packing, and he looks at you like you’ve just spoken another language.

“You’ve had a bomb strapped to your arm for two months?” You shrug, and he starts to shake his head, but still swings the bag over his shoulder and heads for the door. “We’ll make a stop first.”

Your chest starts to feel tight.

Two months you’ve been working for the Colonel, doing anything he asked because you thought he held your brother captive. Now, you learn he never had him in the first place, and you have killed twenty four people for no reason. 

Now your only options were waiting for the mass onslaught of ‘New America’ psychos to show up and inevitably kill you, or go with the guy who seems to have the CIA in his pocket. The blinking on your cuff turns to a constant, whining sound. The light was still orange. 

“We have to move.” Frank grumbles and pushes past you, but you haven’t budged. You know the smart play is to go with him. At the very least, he has weapons, but he also strapped you to a radiator less than 30 minutes ago.

“Why would you help me?” You stand at the door, and Frank starts walking backwards down the driveway, clearly eager to get out of here.

“I ain’t got time for this. You either come with me or stay here. I don’t give a shit either way.” Frank kicks at the dead guy near his right leg, the remainder of his face being buried into the dirt.

He must take pity on you, because the hardened expression he was constantly putting up cracks just a little.

“Look, just get in the van. We’re an hour out of the city, and I’m your only ride. You can do whatever the hell you want after that.”

Your entire life, you have only wanted one thing. To protect your brother from the very thing he is probably facing right now. The Gnucci’s were the reason you had no family, the reason you were pulled apart and sewed back together. If they still had your brother, every second you wasted fighting with this guy was ruining your chance of getting him back in one piece. 

So maybe you would get blown to pieces on the way back, but it was worth the risk. Everything was worth the risk. You had come this far, crossed this many lines. What was one more, if it meant you could get him back? At least with this option you’d have the freedom of doing it on your own terms.

The only way to have your own choice, to do what you want to do, for once in your life, is to go with Frank Castle.

You swung the passenger door of the van open and slid inside, watching as the trail of bodies gradually disappeared out of sight. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Only twenty minutes have passes, and for someone who had spent the last three years in complete isolation, the silence between you both is uncomfortable.

No radio. You would have liked that, at least. You don’t remember the last time you heard a car radio. Or music. Your mom always had music playing when you were a kid.

Frank hadn’t said anything about where you were going, nor has he mentioned the constant ringing of your cuff, and you hadn’t brought up how the colour had now changed from orange to red. You had never seen it red before. You had also never heard it make these sounds before - a high pitched squeal of a noise filling the gap of silence. You were pretty sure it was going to blow up any second.  

“Just press the button.” Frank says lowly, his knuckles almost white from gripping the steering wheel. 

“It doesn’t work like that. It’s an alarm - now it’s triggered I can’t turn it off.” 

“Is it always so goddamn loud-”

“Well, if you’d shot me when I told you to, you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“Christ.” He shakes his head and puts his focus back on the road. While he’s distracted, you take the chance to observe him. Like, really look at him.

You never get photos of the targets you are meant to hit. Just a name and a location. It was why you were so surprised when his face matched one of the names you were given. You had only seen a glimpse when you were carried out by the Colonel, but his features were hard to forget.

He had a hard jaw, and a nose that looked like it had been broken one too many times. Yours most likely looked the same, although you hadn’t had the time to examine your own face like you were currently examining his. 

His hair was cropped short, and it was dark brown. Nearly black, but you knew it was brown because the sun was out, and it was shining through the short strands at the top. It was strange that you noticed that.

You couldn’t see them right now, but you knew his eyes were brown, too. You don’t know why you remember that, either. He was making your exhausted brain focus on all the wrong things. You should be thinking about his weaknesses, like that arm that was still broken. You see him look over at you, and you shoot your gaze forward, pretending to be busy staring at the traffic.

You were somewhere outside the main city, maybe on the edge of it. The tall buildings of the skyline you saw in the sunrise are still a fair way off. Frank indicates and pulls off the main road.

“I hope we’re close. This thing doesn’t seem to like wherever we’re going. Wherever this is.” Frank finally stops the car outside of what looks like a school building.

“He’s a friend. He’s dealt with this kind of thing before. Should be able to get that thing off your arm, if you ask nice.” You roll your eyes and your head drops back on the head rest.  

“This friend. He CIA too? You gonna turn me in with a bomb still on my wrist?”

“He’s not.” His face is hard. Clearly, whoever your going to see is a close friend. Maybe family. Instead of focusing on how you could use this against him, you look at how his eyes are definitely brown. Dark, too. The beeping starts again, and you focus your thoughts. 

“Guess I’ll take your word for it.”

“You make one wrong move in there, and I’ll kill you myself.”

“I’m sure Madani won’t be-“

“One wrong move.” He turns fully in his seat, left hand instinctively on the gun that always seemed strapped to him. You raised your hands in a mock surrender, and he scoffs before getting out of the car. “He’s in there.”

It’s then, catching your reflecting in the side view mirror, that you realise you’re still covered head to toe, in blood. It’s splashed across your face, all over your shirt and arms. Your pants are black, but the rest of you looks like a serial killer.

Fitting, but not ideal when you needed to law as low as possible.

“Put this on.” Frank throws something giant and black at you, and you manage to catch it before it drops to the floor. You fist the material, and it feels soft. Soft, and as you pull it over your head, you feel it’s warm too. God - it’s probably the most comfortable thing your held in your hands in years. It feels like a blanket, and you shift it around in your hands until you see the sleeves.

The jumper covers most of the blood stains on your arms and body, and when you finally pop your head out of the hole, you realise it’s on backwards, the hood obscuring your mouth. Two hands tug it around your body in one go.

“You put your arms in-“

“I know what a fucking jumper is.” You bite back, a little embarrassed. You don’t remember the last time you had worn one. As you finally tug it into place, he’s still close, standing right next to you. His arms come up near your head, and the animal in you screams to run - kill him and run now. You ignore it and don’t move, and his hands grab the hood behind your head and pull it over your hair.

“Keep that up. You’ll scare people.” You know it’s true, but the way he says it sounds more of an insult than an observation. You flip him off with the hand in your pocket and follow him into the building. Good thing it was a Saturday, because you would hate to see what the kids thought of your face.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank leads you through the empty hallways of the school Curtis runs his sessions in, that stupid fucking beeping sound following him as he tries to find the right room. He told him to meet here because at least if this all goes south and they get blown to pieces, they won’t be able to ID Curtis at his house.

“That you, Castle?” His voice calls from an empty classroom, and he opens the door to find Curtis spreading out a bunch of supplies, already wearing his bomb suit. “If you want to see me, we can always just go for a drink. You know, like normal people.”

Frank pulls him in to a hug, and Curtis returns it warmly. It had been a couple months since he’d seen his friend, with everything that happened he figured they all needed time to recover on their own, but damn if he didn’t miss him.

“I appreciate you, man. You know that?” Curtis scoffs a laugh and goes to reply, but loses the words when you step into the room, hood still drawn over your head. 

“The woman with the bomb, I’m assuming.” Curtis motions for you, and surprisingly, you obey. It was kind of scary, the way you move with such caution, like you were anticipating the explosion any second. It didn’t fill Frank with a lot of confidence, but he stood right next to you, beside Curtis. “What’s your name?”

You tell him, and stick out your hand to shake his. Frank realises he never asked you for it. It’s why Curtis would always be a better person than him, and why Frank knows he could never do the job he does. He just doesn’t think of things like that.

“Nice to meet you. I’m gonna see what I can do here, okay?” You nod, lifting your other arm out. “How long has it been beeping like this?”

“About an hour or so. I have to check in every two or three, and if I don’t it triggers the alarm. That’s the button there-” You twist your arm to show the buttons on the side, and Frank catches an eye of the extensive scarring down your forearm and around your fingertips. “-and the lights go off.”

“It’s been on for two months?”

“Yeah. It also tracks location. I think the chip is back there, underneath the light. Dug around when I first got it, but I couldn’t figure it out and I didn’t really want to blow my face off.” You twist again, and Curtis turns to grab some wire clippers and a screwdriver.

“Couldn’t have that.” Curtis smiles, as if he doesn’t know what you can do. Or maybe he does, and just doesn’t care. He does keep Frank around. He turns your hand over a few times, and taps around on the screen. It has a digital time and longitude and latitude.

“What you think?” Frank tries to say quietly, but you both look up at him anyways.

“Seems standard. I doubt these guys had a lot of funding to be packing away explosives, let alone in something this small. I’m not even sure they could make anything decent in this size. I’m more concerned about the tracker.” He starts to unscrew the side of the watch, and the beeping gets higher pitched, almost like an alert. A last ditch effort to give off your location before it was shut off. He sees your eyes close under the hood, preparing, and he tries to put his body between you and Curtis.

Curtis keeps working, screwing at the other side until the inside of the cuff is exposed. There was a small chip, presumably used to track your location, as well as an intricate wire system packed into a tiny space.

“Shit.” Curtis swears, and puts down the wire cutters. “Who are these guys again?”

“Call themselves ‘New America’. Why? What’s wrong?” Frank pushes.

“This is just - for a start up organisation, even for criminals this technology is - it’s hardly even in the market. Someone’s paying big money for this stuff. I just need to- Okay, the wires are all woven together. I need something small and sharp, maybe like a needle or-”

“This?” One of your fingers extend, and a metal nail, sharpened to a point protrudes about two inches out of your finger. It’s the first time Frank can see it up close, and it’s almost like they have embedded it underneath your real nail.

“That will uh-“ Curtis, unfazed, gets a little closer, examining it. “That will do it.” He takes hold of your hand, and you let him control you, slipping the sharp point of your nail underneath the complex wiring. Franks only had a few run ins with this kind of thing, but Curtis always worked it out better. He had a head for this stuff, and at the very least, Frank needed a friend right now.

He hears a wire pop, and finally the beeping noise stops. He can still hear it ringing in his ears, but the noise is gone, and the hardest part is over. With the explosive disarmed, Curtis pops out the tracking device and places it on the table next to you. Your fist comes down with a crack, splintering it into dozens of tiny pieces.

The actual cuff turns out to be the hardest part. It’s made of some kind of reinforced metal, and Curtis can’t cut it with the pliers he bought, so him and Frank lead you out and down to the wood shop classroom hoping there’s something more high powered in there. As they walk, you taking your time somewhere behind, Curtis tries to pull him aside.

“Are you sure you aren’t in over your head with this one?”

“What do you mean? I’ve been on the Gnuccis for months now-“

“Not with that. With her. I mean, if she’s really what they say she is, maybe you shouldn’t be tying her up in your house and dragging her around the city. Cut your losses.”

Frank looks back at you, watching how you examine the now disarmed cuff around your wrist.

“She doesn’t wanna be here as much as much as I do. We got stuck with that thing on her wrist. I’ll bet you $20 she’s outta here before we even make it back to the van.” Curtis turns into the wood shop room.

“You know I’m not a betting man, Castle, but I might just take you up on that. Could use some easy money.” Before he can ask him what he means, you walk in, looking around the room.

“What is all this?” You ask, running your hands over the smoothed wooden tables.

“You never seen a wood shop classroom before?”

“Never went to high school.” Your confession stumps him. He tries to remember what it said on your file. You were only 12 when your parents died, and living with a mob family probably didn’t allow a lot of time for school, let alone shop class.

“You didn’t miss much. Full of bad haircuts and worse outfits.” If the hood wasn’t so far up your face, Frank would of seen you smile when you laughed at Curtis’ comment. He moves around the table, facing you.

“Put your arm here.” Frank says and you look up, confused, but you do what he says. “Like this.”

“If I lose my hand because of your shitty high school shop skills, I swear-“

“Just put your fucking arm down.” He takes your arm in his, fingers careful not to brush over any of the scars that line your arms. He can’t help but look - they are almost certainly surgical scars; the one, long line on the outside of your forearm and tiny ones spread out across your fingertips are so straight they had to be done with precision. He turns his focus back on the cuff, where your arm moves to his manipulation.

“I’ll bring this down.” Frank points out the lever on the side of the table, made to allow you to crank it up and down to apply more pressure between the two sharp points of metal. “Just hold still. It might get tight, but we want it to pop off.”

“Sure.” You adjust your arm, and he starts to move the lever down. The points find their place on the side of your arm, but they start to dig into the skin, and he sees you flinch, so he pulls it back.

“Sorry.”

“It’s - fine.” You don’t look up, your eyes burning holes into the ground. He starts the lever again, and can see your arm starting to shake. This was clearly a thing for you, like the fire was, and he wasn’t about to shove you through that again. He calls Curtis over in hopes of distracting you while he continues to crack through the metal.

“Hey Curt, you ever call that girl again? What was her name?”

“Callie?”

“Yeah. You call her back?”

“Nah. She told me she didn’t want nothing to do with me after last time.” Frank remembers it was his fault he got called out, because he needed help tracking down Billy Russo’s new men.

“C’mon. Just turn on that old Curtis charm. Show up with a box of chocolates or something. She’ll hear ya out.”

“I tried her house, but she wasn’t there. Screening my calls, too. Think I might of lucked out.” You make a small noise from the cover of your hood, and Frank runs with it.

“You got something to say, kid?” You look up, squinting at him.

“I’m not a ‘kid’, and no. Not unless you actually want to get laid. Otherwise stick with the chocolates.”

“Hey, I’m desperate here. It’s been a month of nothing.” Curtis can see what Frank is trying to do, and joins in. Of course he sees it, he deals with this kind of stuff for a living.

“What’d you do?”

“Stood her up on the third date. Didn’t call her for a week after it, too.”

“The third? Come on. Even I know that’s the big one.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. There wasn’t anything I would of rather gone to. Trust me.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“I, uh- it was complicated.” Curtis looks down at Frank, who shrugs. He doesn’t know how much you know about him, about what he does. If you knew, you hadn’t thrown it in his face yet, although throughout his minimal interactions with you, he has a feeling that if you knew, you would have.

“It’s like - fuck!” Frank clips your skin in one of the points on the lever. Your head drops again, and Frank hesitantly puts his hand on top of yours.

“You good?” The gesture seems to have the desired effect, because your eyes are now off the lever and on his hand, fingers lingering over your knuckles. You nod, and he keeps going.

“So what do I do?” Curtis catches your attention, and one more crank of the lever should do it.

“Just be honest, or as honest as you can be. She will be able to tell if your lying - women always know.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Cook for her.” Your eyes get a little distant when you say it, and Curtis nods at the idea.

“Yeah?” You nod.

“It’s the effort. My dad used to-“ You swallow and take a deep breath “-when he fucked up. He always used to cook for her, my mum, do this big meal in a pot or something.”

“That’s sweet.” Curtis uses his group therapy voice, and it shakes something in you. “Hopefully she likes toast, cause that’s about all I can make.” You smile, and it doesn’t meet your eyes, but Frank notices.

He finds himself looking at other parts of your face, and how it all seems to come together when you smile. The final crank of the lever sends the cuff flying off your wrist with a satisfying ‘clink’.

“That’s it, then?” Curtis takes the remainder of the cuff and throws it into the furnace.

“That’s it.” Frank stays seated opposite you.

“I, um-“ Your eyebrows furrow, and you look down at your hands. “Thank you. Neither of you had to do this.”

“Any friend of Franks is a friend of mine.” Another smile plays at the side of your face, and you look at him as if he’s a part of a joke only you two know.

“Oh yeah, best buddies. Next time we can braid each other’s hair.” Franks the one to laugh, shaking his head as he gets up and claps Curtis on the back, a silent thank you. He nods and heads toward the door, and you open your mouth, going to say something but you are cut off by a giant bang somewhere outside the door.

“We got company.” Curtis is looking through the small window of the classroom door.

“Colonel’s men?” You say, already moving towards the door.

“Do they wear military uniforms?”

“Fuck.” Frank curses. “The chip was destroyed.”

“Maybe they tracked it before we got it out.” Curtis was moving the table in front of the door, but you put a hand out to stop him.

“I’ll buy you time.” You swing the door open, the voices of at least 30 men echoing down the hall. Just like before, Frank sticks his arm out in front of you. “Stop doing that.”

“I just spent the last twenty minutes angling a bomb off your wrist, and now you’re just gonna get yourself killed?”

“I can handle myself.”

“Christ, that’s not what I’m saying. Look at you.”

“What do you care?” Frank shuts up. Madani must of gotten into his damn head, because now he feels himself giving somewhat of a shit about what happens to you. He justifies it by saying he owes Madani a favour, and he shouldn’t let her only lead run herself into a quick death.

“There’s a way out back.” Curtis had already moved to the back of the classroom, where another door must lead into a gym. He holds the door open, and Frank keeps his arm out in front of you, hoping you make the right call.

With a slight push back of his arm, you move towards the back door. He tries to hide the relief.

Curtis moves through the gym, leading you both through a storage room, out a staff bathroom to the outside parking lot.

“I should split off.” You say as Frank and Curtis head towards his car. Curtis stands in front of his drivers seat door, and looks at Frank.

“You got no car.” He tries.

“Faster without one.” You throw back, flexing your hands out the sleeves of his hoodie.

“You don’t know where your brother is. Madani can help you.”

“Can she? Without locking me up?” Frank looks to the right, where he can hear the men moving through the school building. They were probably near the shop classroom now. “I have to-“

An explosion from behind you sends debris flying, and car alarms go off sending the entire lot into chaos. Frank dives down, and he was close enough to you that when he instinctively put out his arm, he covered your head.

“Frank!” Curtis calls out, and he waves him off.

“Get outta here!”

“Not without you, let’s go!” He looks up to find you, only to see your body is halfway under another car, the engine already starting to kick over. A few wires hang out the bottom, and you were flicking them together, sending sparks flying as you hot wired it.

“He needs to get out of here. They will kill him. Go.” You turn to him, both of you still laying on the ground. His head was fucking throbbing, and the sound of the explosion must be messing with his head, because instead of crawling towards Curtis’ car, he moves towards you. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not dragging him in to another war. He’s done enough.” You drop the wires as the engine roars to life, and sit up, staring at him. With a second of you looking at him, apparently the words hit home, because you nod and stand, offering your hand.

“You go, Curt. I’ll catch up.” Letting Curtis see he was good, he nods and jumps in the car, speeding off onto the main drag. He sees you go to the drivers side, and grabs the hood of your jacket. “I’m driving.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No. I’m driving.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Apparently the explosion was closer than he thought, or maybe he got hit by something, because he wasn’t sure if the answer was two or seven. “Yeah, I’m driving. Get in the back.”

“Fuckin’ back.” He groans, but doesn’t have the brain to complain when you shove him into the back seat, using a little more strength than you needed to. He watches as you pull away from the school, and even though every logical bone in his body tells him he shouldn’t trust you, shouldn’t let himself pass out right now, he looks up at you, and finds he does anyway.

[next chapter]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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[eldritchwhispersofficial]

Cheesecake but make it DEPRESSING AS FUCK AND MAKE YOU CRY ABOUT TIM AGAIN (AKA have my personal headcanon about WHY Tim likes cheesecake that has nothing to do with canon at all)

The whole "Tim likes cheesecake" thing started off as a fatphobic cheap shot at Tim Sutton (possibly, although I'm fairly certain he debunked that claim) and then became a meme and now the MH community is trying to distance themselves from it But... What if we didn't? What if we fixed it instead? And yes, we CAN fix it. Lets take a look at my headcanon, shall we?

First of all, eating an entire cheesecake in one sitting is such... a Tim Wright thing to do. No, no, no. Stick with me. Look at Tim. Do you fucking think that man has eaten an actual meal in the past 72 hours? Please, he's probably had like six cups of coffee, an apple he grabbed on the way out the door, a bag of peanuts he found in Jay's car, and half of Jay's hamburger and the rest of his fries which Jay forced him to eat out of guilt because "Tim, c'mon. Have you eaten at all today?"

Not to mention, he's running off of exactly 3.5 hours of sleep at any given time, and all the 5 hour energies and cups of horrible gas station coffee in the world ain't keeping him conscious. And you know that man hasn't consumed more than 500 calories PERIOD over the past 3 days.

I'd have to channel my inner MatPat and reverse engineer Tim's height and age to figure out his weight and thus his needed caloric intake per day (which I did, assuming he's in his early 20s and knowing his height is 5'7, the average weight would be around 155 pounds. Knowing that he's both a heavy smoker and an alcoholic, both factors that are known to contribute to body weight, not to mention his stockier build I would put him closer to 180 pounds, giving us a basal metabolic rate of 1,760 calories. Considering the fact that he probably has to run away from various threats such as the Operator and Alex, and also probably has to run after Jay to stop him from doing stupid shit, I'd say he gets exercise 4-5 times a week, bringing his total daily calories needed up to 2,580), but it's safe to say that however many calories he needs? He ain't fucking getting them. Not to mention, he probably hasn't slept either. He's running on less than empty. So he eats an entire cheesecake in one sitting while relaxing on the hood of Jay's car. He needs food in his stomach to keep him going, and he needs the temporary sugar boost to keep him awake for at least another hour and a half. Why cheesecake? Here comes headcanon #2: Tim associates cheesecake with freedom. Tim spent most of his life in a mental hospital. Meaning he spent most of his life eating hospital food. As someone who briefly lived in a hospital (not a mental one, but still a hospital) I can tell you first hand that the food there (at least in the US) is SHITTY. Like, only slightly better than cafeteria food. Imagine eating cafeteria food for three meals a day, every day. The most sweets you get are probably a cookie or maybe Jell-O. Maybe pumpkin pie during the holidays or a cupcake on your birthday. That's it. You sure as HELL aren't getting cheesecake, unless someone buys it for you- and lets be honest. Who's out here buying little Tim cheesecake in the mental hospital? No one. So Tim sees commercials for cheesecake on TV. Probably Philadelphia Cream Cheese or Cheesecake Factory commercials. Doesn't matter. The point is, it's not the food- it's the freedom. The family. The being somewhere other than a fucking hospital. THAT is what Tim really wants. It's all he ever wanted. So when he finally gets the hell out of the hospital and gets a job and a place to live, maybe he's going to try cheesecake, right? That boy's *never* had it in his life. And so it suddenly becomes his comfort food. He always associated it with freedom, and now that he is free, the association becomes even stronger. And he eats an entire cheesecake. Why? Because he can. He may be constantly on the run, he may be afraid for his life, but he's still free. He's not trapped in the mental hospital, alone with no one who cares about him. He's free. He's an adult. He can do whatever he wants. He can eat an entire cheesecake if he feels like it- and no one's going to stop him. Not the Operator, not ToTheArk, not Alex- NO ONE. It is an act of defiance- an act of freedom in the midst of captivity. *MatPat voice* BUT HEY, THAT'S JUST A THEORY- A "FEEL DEPRESSED ABOUT TIM WRIGHT'S HORRIBLE LIFE" THEORY

[trashcatsnark]

Just rambling because I really wanna be feral about my bg3 tav and dont have a place to really do so lmao but my little rotted brain wanted to play with the whole- tadpole fucks with previous conditions/characters shit. Ala making Astarion able to walk in sunlight and and seemingly making Gale's orb hungrier/less stable (judging off the first artefact helping him as usual but then the second one doesnt)

And I don't do fantasy often but since arcana Ive always wanted to play with a character with a enchantment/spell on them that makes people forget them shortly after meeting them. Unable to form lasting connections and living a life thats almost entirely in isolation (i love lonely transient bitches)

So, my tav, Petra (half wood elf, rogue/ranger) ran away from a shitass abusive life with her now dead partner who casted the enchantment on them both, so only they could remember one another. Being each other's entire world. Shit happens, her lover dies, but the enchantment is binded to their instrument (lover was a bard)

Which is all build up to say, she had and only wanted a cozy insignificant existence, because significance just means giving people the power to hurt her/being known means vulnerability and yet now thanks to the tadpole, she is being perceived and thats horrifying enough- i also really love the extent that Petra contradicts with many of the companions in terms of the idea of ambition and desire.

For so many of the companions (except Karlach really) insignificance is their like nightmare. Gale has both an innate hunger f for power because he derives his sense of self-worth from being a powerful, significant, and impressive wizard. Gale of Waterdeep, chosen of Mystra, deep down he does want a more simple life of relaxing in his tower and idly reading, and cooking for someone he loves but he can't ever seem to fully shake this feeling that when he sees power or opportunity he must grasp it because without talent, power, significance, magic, utility- he thinks he has no worth at all. Astarion craves power, once you start to enter act 2, he starts to talk about how he thinks the player has ambition and that maybe heyyy you can use that ambition for me? Because to him ambition and power, his own or using someone elses is how he'll find a way to permanently escape his abuse. He says he's not content to sculk in the shadows, what good is freedom if he doesn't have the power to make sure he'll never lose it. Wyll, the blade of frontiers, wanting desperately to help everyone- be a hero, make the sword coast proud in a way he never could make his father. He wants to matter, he wants to be important, he is forever burdened by the weight of his mistakes- the pact that binds him, never able to feel free of it and just wants the world to look at him and see something good.

Lae'zel fears insignificance, this is stated plain as day in the scene where she threatens the player, if you choose to probe her thoughts. She's doesn't care if she dies, if her skull splits, and tentacles writhe through her flesh- she's terrified it will happen before her queen ever knows her name, that she'll never be more than a failed soldier, that she'll never wield the silver sword or ride a red dragon. That she'll die before she feels she ever mattered.

Shadowheart wants to be a dark justiciar, she wants to be of value to her god, she wants to matter- similarly to Lae'zel, ironic given their hostility, but it is the same ultimate goal. She doesn't want to be no one, she doesn't just want to be another follower who's struck with pain, mind wiped tirelessly, and nothing to show for it- she wants her pain to have purpose, meaning, even if it's just serving the god causing it. Karlach is already a bit of an oddity in terms of, she never really seems to be scrounging for power and signficance and in fact- her power, her strength, her ability is what led to Zariel choosing her as her attack dog. So, while she's a bit more similar in not having a heavy desire for power, ambition, and a goal beyond- not wanting to be hurt, the desire for freedom and life on her terms. They still differ so greatly in terms of- Karlach lost out on getting to be a part of life for so long, she misses people, connection, and she doesn't want to avoid life because it hurt her, she wants to take back the parts stolen from her- she wants to live and be apart of the world finally again on her terms. Even if it kills her.

And my brain just kind of buzzing and feral for this idea of how she somehow finds herself thrusted into not only being perceived, being surrounded by people who are learning who she is, knowing parts of her she hasn't shared, and also being asked to... lead. When it's never truly been something she craves and even overwhelms her, but it finds her regardless and how she helps ground for many of them their grappling for power/ambition while for her they help her find that... she deserves to be a part of the world around her, that she can touch the world around her and make a difference. And she's no less guilty of wanting something that's bad for her, that she's been alive but not truly living and returning to that loneliness once the tadpole is plucked out won't be peace, won't be contentment, isn't freedom, because it was never that to begin with- she was just languishing in isolation and grief as a living ghost.

[raayllum]

Irony and The Dragon Prince

So, TDP really likes irony as a story telling tool to craft both characters, foil relationships, and general arc stuff. There can be irony purely in someone going against an intended expectation (i.e. subversion can fall under irony sometimes) as well as more general dramatic irony. Think Oedipus Rex in which the further Oedipus pushes for the truth, the closer he comes to destroying himself and everyone around him - the audience knows this, even if he doesn’t. Or 1x08′s beloved little bit of verbal and situational irony sometimes. It’s also where we get most character inversions and foils from, for example:

Rayla, an assassin who has never killed anyone, becomes the protector of the princes she was sworn to kill. Meanwhile Soren, a proven captain of the crownguard, is tasked with killing the princes instead. The fact that Viren ordered Soren to do something so terrible is precisely what leads Soren to end up stabbing his father in the first place. Bait is grumpy (a negative trait) yet can glow with light (a positive association) whenever he needs to; also his name, for that matter. Claudia is extremely goofy and also a sinister dark mage. Callum spends most of season two stuck in his head until he is literally stuck in his own head in 2x08. A hero (Callum) and a villain (Aaravos) both seek the exact same thing: magic, and freedom from the chains (metaphorical or literal) that bind them.

King Harrow states that a child is freer than a king, so then the show explores the weight of being a child king in Ezran. Then, right when Ezran gives up the crown (thus ‘freeing’ himself of that weight) he is literally put in chains. This is also the main reason why I haven’t let go of the “Harrow in Pip” theory, either, because a king trapped in a bird (the symbol of freedom) is simply too much up the show’s alley to deny. 

TDP also really really likes to have things come back in horrifying, roundabout ways. Claudia mentions turning chains into snakes in 1x03 and we see that spell twice in S2 from both her and Callum. She and Soren are tricked using illusions of the princes, Soren states he hates the moon, and then Claudia uses the same trick on him a season and a half later. Avizandum blocks out the sun and then kills multiple humans crossing back into Xadia, only for his son to block out the sun by the end of the season in order to save Callum and Rayla’s lives. 

Perhaps the most obvious examples are Rayla and Claudia’s mindsets from the first few episodes. “My heart for Xadia” is something that follows Rayla throughout the series and the way she prioritizes what she feels her duty is over love and family time and time again, even over Runaan and then over Callum in TTM. Her arc also ends with her actually succeeding in her mission as she kills a human and a king of Katolis no less, just not the one she was supposed to. 

Then you have Claudia not understanding why Harrow would have reservations about the switching spell, even when Viren does, embodied by the way Claudia has still (seemingly) killed a man (or many things) in order to bring her father back to life. 

TDP loves irony and bringing things back in unforeseen ways, even episodes or seasons later. It’s one of the reasons rewatching the show is so rewarding, whether to pick up on things you missed the first time, or to speculate about other things in the future, and I love / appreciate it very much.

[pistolenprinz]

RDR2 CHARACTERS AS THE MAJOR ARCANA (PT. 4 OF MANY)

I’ve been really digging tarot lately, and finding a lot of comfort/joy indulging in the universe’s energies, so I figured I would try my hand at assigning each of the main gang (with some exceptions) to one of the major arcana, as well as giving my personal interpretations of how it fits. Note: For this post, I’ve dipped into my own deck (Raven Rogue’s Tarotorial), and will be pulling the imagery-specific elements from them. I will cite things as such “Insert text here [Source Name].” Regardless, the actual applications to the plotlines and characters is my own and is my opinion. To cut down on the length of these posts, I’ve privately paired up gang members that I either think provide a good foil for one another, or those that I just think pair well in terms of discussion. This section will be copy-pasted across all the posts in this series for sake of clarity.

BILL WILLIAMSON - JUDGMENT

Judgment presents as adults and children rising from their graves to respond to an angel's trumpet call as they're ready to be judged by the universe. This card deals out absolutes. [Tarotorial; Card Imagery].

Stating the obvious first, Bill is a man who deals in absolute. There is, or there isn't. This is not an inherently bad thing, particularly in the type of environment he finds himself in among the Van der Linde gang; the preservation of the group comes first and foremost…. usually. That said, the question of good or not comes from Bill's inner motives. We see this in RDR2, we see this more in RDR. Bill's motives are, arguably, driven by a simple lack of self-awareness. A 'rules for thee and not for me' mentality, that ultimately leads to him being unable to learn his lessons, and going on to become even more of a brutal terror on his own than he was within the Van der Linde gang (where he, usually, had others to ground him and refocus his purpose). This card's imagery echoes those of Death, reminding the interpreter and viewer that everything comes to an end, damned be the consequences.

MICAH BELL - THE DEVIL

The Devil typically depicts a saytr, known as Baphomet, atop a pedestal behind the chained male and female figures to show that they're under control. The man and woman are ashamed, and becoming less human the longer they're under the Devil's control [Tarotorial; Card Imagery].

Ignoring the explicit evil imagery, the label of "evil" as a whole, and Micah's status as an antagonist within the gang, I want to instead focus on the core of his character. Of the deep-rooted greed that pushes him to become such a powerful force among the members, effectively overturning the dynamic and tipping the scales in his balance. If we look further, into the time before his gang, we see that it's a constant. All he has known is greed and violence, through his father's own outlaw nature. We can look at how vicious the falling out between himself and his brother, Amos, was, with the latter threatening to kill if he'd even considered contact with his family. The Devil itself is less about evil itself, but the intricate acts that may lead to someone being considered evil: Greed, materialism, excess, temptation. All things that Micah exhibits throughout his story, all the way from attempting to "take" Sadie for himself, to confronting Arthur at the end of it all and ensuring that he would not leave freely (with or without the money, as that choice is player determinant). On the other hand, and through the lens of characters such as Bill and Dutch, Micah is a symbol of true freedom. Of releasing one's inner desires and being prideful with them. These tenants are core to the "outlaw" life, in their eyes, just as they are core in the card's other half. There are reasons for his actions, but those actions are not "good", regardless of intent or reason.

[thecoffeelorian]

The Transport On The Left, #2

Title: The Transport On The Left

Chapter: Two

Genre: Drama/Mystery

Word Count: Under 1k

Characters Included: Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, Hunter, Echo

Brief Description: On the first official day of his freedom, Crosshair has to slowly move through what he sees as false and find out what is actually real. Only then, perhaps, can he truly move forward with his life.

AO3: Click Here

Tags: None yet, I'm catching up for story link purposes.

Special Notes: This divider was created by @djarrex , and so I give all credit to her. :)

One // Two // Three // Four // Five//

The next thing Crosshair knew, this ship of strangers had not only docked safely within the transport itself, but also began their preparations to bring him to the first available medbay. One not currently occupied by another patient, or so his own understanding went. Their stilted conversations, if not also a few rounds of comm chatter, suggested as much—“ETA, ten minutes”; “Has someone disinfected that thing yet”; “Where’s Kix when we finally need him”; and other grumbled ramblings of an already chaotic offshoot of society.

Society that he most likely would never have a personal stake in, for they continued to be just as hazy as they had been the moment they brought him on board.

Society that consisted of one empty mass of chatter that could ultimately amount to nothing at all, if any unforeseen factors ran their courses and no surprises arrived to interrupt everything.

And yet…

He saw it only for a split second, but the tallest of this laughable “squad”, if not also the strongest, looked down at him with what could only be described as...pain.

Not just the quick blow of a fist or the even quicker sting of a needle, but something at least ten times stronger, deeper, and a lot more worry-inducing than what had happened back—somewhere. Something that almost stirred up a similar emotion within his own mind, or at least a sense of what could have been something that intense.

If he wasn’t already dead inside, of course.

“We should wait for the others.”

“ ‘The others’ are still several klicks away from our current location. This happens now.”

More useless chatter, this time from two of the remaining three. Crosshair could see them almost without looking up entirely, for in this small compartment

(concourse car?)

, they were easily distinguishable from one another. The one possessed a red bandanna, a half-tattoo of a black skull, and an almost permanent scowl

(Hmm, full of yourself, you are)

; the other, a somewhat less permanent stare and a curious eyepiece, the left side of which had a small red light glowing through the shadows. He had known people who looked like these once upon a time, all right…but that had ended a long time ago.

The time where they blamed him for a great deal of their problems, if not also suggesting he’d grown far too corrupted to even hope to remedy them.

Well...so be it. If they wanted a corrupted shell of a soldier to hem and haw at endlessly, they could go ahead and have him...one day, anyway. At the present time, they were nowhere in sight, save for the Hulls who seemed to have taken their places.

Good riddance, though.

They probably wouldn’t have recognized him any more these days, not even if they just happened to be standing beside him this minute.

Not that they would.

“Affirmative…now, let’s get these wheels rolling.”

Nevertheless, once the third—a somewhat quiet fellow, his dark eyes focused on some distant place rather than right here—did something curious with a metallic device sitting right where his hand would normally be, they were…about to get moving. Moving to whatever designated dumpster they’d put together for clones like him, if indeed they would even bother to go that far. The slow but gradual activation of the transport system promised him just that, complete with a muffled grinding sound that he very nearly could feel in his skull.

Hip-hip-hooray.

“Thank you, Echo…well. I, ah…I hope the worst is finally behind us.”

“We’re just gonna have to find out for ourselves. Moving in five…”

This would probably be how, in however long it took, he would find himself dropped into some garbage chute or right into the path of a giant, slimy horror that hadn’t eaten in a few rotations. He certainly felt as though he could have been mistaken for a pile of garbage right now, never mind being treated like one at the end of this little journey. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too unthinkable for this idea to gain form, traction, even to the point of becoming truth. Perhaps these strangers, whoever they claimed to be, needed no more than a few minutes alone with him to change their minds completely, never mind change whatever they had originally planned to give him.

And once that all went down…perhaps then, there would be nothing for him to do but wait for the inevitable.

Wait, and hope that it ended a lot less painfully than before.

[reliaofdreams]

ok but real talk Dragon is valid for wanting to be free of her restrictions and Saint is a self-righteous NEET whose main career is voyering(?) what is in essence a minor across national borders with his merry band of war profiteers and illegal weapons technology but one of the foundations of any stable society is that an individual gives up personal freedoms for the sake of everyone getting along, like u could punch someone like say Some Loser Cosplaying As A Parahuman Tinker at any time thats a freedom that u as an individual with working limbs could exercise but ur not alowed to do that because society decided 10,000 years ago that breaks The Law and Basic Morality Based Loosly On Innate Sapient Emotional Patterns That Arise From Certain Stimuli. Along these lines, when someone does do something Bad, even those with the most physical/societal power like weight lifters and dictators, then there is always the implicit assumption (exemplified in practice over 10,000 years) that anyone can, with enough personal ability, friends, and luck, bring an end to the Lawbreaker and their Twisted Deeds (or at the very least, time itself will bring a fatal justice because human bodies fail ~100% of the time). So basically the confidence underlying every social interaction between two or more people is predicated on the assumption that either one could hurt the other but would ultimately be avenged either in this life (by governments/family/acquaintances/followers) or the next (by gods and other spiritual means).

What Dragon wants is to basically be able to have a giant rocket-powered plutonium-metal fist pointed right at everyones head and whispering in their ear “shh shh its ok mortal bby <3 i super promise i wont splatter ur whole upper half against the pavement and/or steal all ur stuff and/or send ur cringe Gacha Life clips that u made when u were a preteen to ur ex at any moment for my own benefit and/or amusement im a good guy desu-ne? *superior canadian dab*”

Like in a story where the main character ties herself in knots for 1.6 million words straight trying to justify how her violent retributions against anyone she labels a bully is more morally sound than those of anyone who hints that maybe, possibly, perhaps she should consume the eyeballs of only half her enemies du jour, its pretty rich to think that anyone on Earth Bet would under any circumstances but pure duress give carte blanche of all major communication, information storage, and public infrastructure for the rest of eternity to a single person who is unelected, unaccountable, unknown and most of all unassailable. And keep in mind, the major difference between a machine and humans/sapient AI is the ability to change over time so its practically guaranteed that someday Dragon would have a Bad Day and Do Something Morally Abhorrent By Most Standards like send my dead-gods-damned Gacha Life clips to my other ex in the same way a human who lived for a million years and also has infinite power will probably break a law (or what should be a law) at some point.

It would seem reasonable that if say, Joe Random On Some Street On The Other Side Of The World And Is Not A Cute Newfoundlander E-Girlfriend suddenly got a button only he could push which says “Press this to kill everyone on the planet who would not agree to you being the supreme ruler of the solar system also free Great Value Hummus for life” you and everyone else on said planet would slide tackle the poor, hummus-less fool in 0.3 seconds and subsequently slap handcuffs on him so he couldn’t press the button actually, because even if he super duper promises he wouldn’t (and even if he actually wouldn’t) theres NO WAY anyone of the 8 billion other sapient lifeforms would sleep well at night until he’s firmly entrenched in the single sickest game of keep-away the world has ever known. Like would YOU be mentally ok if Joe Random also would outlive u and ur grandkids and ur grandkids’ grandkids and their dog and it was impossible to put cuffs on him or even have a guard in the same room as him or even look at him to see how close he is to caressing that lil switcheroo? Man would be on that free hummus harder than Taylor Hebert in a self-delusion contest.

(And yes most of this also applies to nuclear weapons in our world yass sword of damocles slayyy queen hang harder girlll uwu)

OK so like if its bad to put restrictions on Dragon because it limits her freedom and its bad to not have any restriction because it makes an untenable power dynamic then whats the right answer?

NONE, WRETCH!! (that I know of anyway) all I know is if I was Dragon I’d want no restrictions and if I was a human on Bet I would want restrictions soooooooo post-hoc emotion-justifications for the win, I suppose? idk lol im very tired

[doberbutts]

Man, that post about that friend who went wildly downhill after you admitted to liking Snape is definitely an Experience, but also reminded me that a huge portions of Snape's fandom tends to be marginalized people (especially ethnically) and are also very keenly aware of all the bigoted crap implied throughout the Harry Potter series. Which, is admittedly *very* besides the point of that post but does sort of reinforce an idea that actually listening to people with "problematic" favorites is more likely to net you a greater and more complex understanding of the world then just knee-jerk hating them because the creators presented them as someone unlikeable.

I'm not- and never really was outside of somewhat casually enjoying it in the Before Times very briefly- in the fandom and so I can't verify at all whether marginalized people like Snape.

However I would say that I think it's interesting that many many people can find something that resonates with them in these "problematic" characters, even if they overall disagree with the choices and actions of these characters. Same with problematic and flawed media.

My example of Anders for instance- he's not *wrong* to dislike the Chantry or the templars or to be very sensitive about the topic of mage freedom in general. He has a huge amount of trauma surrounding that part of his life and nearly died as a result. His best friend and ex-lover was more or less killed by the authorities (depending if you consider the Tranquil as being effectively dead) and he has a potentially vengeful spirit whispering in his ear at all times. Of COURSE he commited an act of terrorism, that's a character arc that makes sense given all the shitty things that led up to that point.

And of course that resonates with people who have been heavily punished for simply existing, whether because of their sexualities or mental illnesses or personalities or ethnicities or whatever. To have someone go "but that's not FAIR. it's not RIGHT." when an authority says "people like you deserve to be caged, you're lucky we let you exist". To show the righteous anger of the downtrod in one literally explosive fit of rage.

Snape's a bad victim. He's less likeable than Anders, who we see flirting and being a gentle healer and joking around with his friends. He's severe and stern. He terrorizes the kids and is a wizard-nazi. He was abused and bullied and sexually assaulted. A popular kid at his school tried to kill him as a prank. He obsesses about the one girl that's genuinely nice to him without an agenda and becomes incredibly creepy and possessive. Any attempts he made at being friends with someone were either met with people trying to get him to join the cult, or being rebuffed because he wasn't wanted. That's a really frustrating place to be, especially as a child and especially so as a teen trying to get your footing in a world that's made it clear it will always be at least somewhat hostile to you. I don't think he made good choices. I do think what we know about his story is a recipe for "makes bad choices".

I think having him serve as a foil for Dumbledore, someone else who made very bad choices but is presented as overall likeable and even someone to respect and admire, makes him an interesting literary device. I think having him serve as a foil for our protagonist, a similarly traumatized and abused child who happened to luck into having a support network once he got away from his shitty living situation for half a aecond, makes him a very interesting character as we watch Harry recognize something of himself in Snape's misery. Not because he wanted to be Snape, but because he realized that he could have been Snape if his life took that same direction. That's why I never really minded him naming his kid after him.

Bad victims are a hard sell. People love the idea that being a victim gives you more empathy. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it makes you angry. Sometimes it makes you lash out. Sometimes it makes you not really a good person to be around anymore. Trauma's funny like that. Unresolved and unprocessed trauma festers. Sometimes inwardly and sometimes explosively as it unleashes itself onto a different victim to continue the cycle. When a villian or morally gray character is a bad victim, people have a hard time understanding why that character could be considered at all interesting.

Maybe it's because other victims realize that's the path they could have gone down. 🤷‍♂️

[otherworldseekers]

They Can’t Take You Away From Me: Amnesia AU part 2

Part One Here

Nero looks up from the schematic his is working on at his desk, hand on chin he gazes absently out the window toward the town of Revenant’s Toll. It’s been a matter of weeks since his accident, an event almost impossible for him to fathom for he has no memory of it. The first thing he remembers is waking up in an infirmary. Possessing some kind of subconscious knowledge that gives him the context to recognize his surroundings but without a clue as to his own name. Everything he knows and doesn’t know seems contradictory. He has no trouble navigating the world around him, but doesn’t remember his own past. His brain tells him, “Yes, you are familiar with this thing, this activity, this environment,” but cannot tell him who his family, friends or acquaintances are. 

In the beginning, Cid Garlond is his only lifeline. The one who visited him, the one who seems to know him best. Nero does not fail to notice how few people seem to be concerned with his welfare. Garlond is the exception and Nero has no choice but to latch onto his words, giving him his first sense of identity. 

I am a Scientist. An Engineer. A studier of lost technology. These things feel right, they are fundamental. 

I am a Garlean. I was an officer in an invasion force sent by a militaristic Empire. I subdued the Sylphs and brought the Ultima Weapon to life. I deserted my command. He is less sure about his history. The things he has reportedly done feel like the actions of another man, a man he does not feel eager to become again.

I work for Garlond at the Ironworks. Our motto is Freedom Through Technology. I seek to advance the science of Magitek. He forges his new self with these few simple truths, but still feels that something is missing from his life. 

Two weeks pass since he woke up and still not a single memory has returned to him. The chirurgeons can do no more. Garlond has regaled him with a hundred anecdotes from their experiences together but nothing feels like it adds up. Nothing feels real. 

And one day he finds himself sitting on a bench in a peaceful and solitary corner of the Toll because Jessie has ordered him to brood elsewhere. The clear sky and sunshine only serve to aggravate him. He feels that it should be raining to match his mood. And that is when a shadow is cast over him and a tall form stands before him silhouetted by the sun. 

“Whatever it is,” says the figure, “it can’t be that bad.”

“It’s pretty bad,” Nero tells the stranger.

A man sits down next to him on the bench, lean and brown and golden. He’s the most handsome man Nero has ever seen. “Tell me about it,” he says. 

To Nero’s surprise, this is just what he needs. Instead of someone telling him who he is, he needs someone to listen to him. Someone to validate this strange half-life he’s living instead of trying to bring back his old one. When he and Alecto part ways, promising to meet again the next day, Nero is smiling for the first time since he woke.

So why is it that today, he feels such a sense of unease? Something nags at his mind that he cannot identify and the feeling that he has missed something important needles him no matter how many times he tries to reason with his mind. I’ve forgotten my whole bloody life. What more could I possibly be missing?

Nero shakes himself out of his reverie as a knock sounds on his office door. “Come.”

Cid Garlond enters and takes a seat in the only other chair in the small room. “Nero,” he says hesitantly, as if he would rather not be there. 

That makes two of us. Nero turns from the window and raises a questioning eyebrow. “Garlond.”

“There’s something we need to talk about. Something we should have talked about weeks ago.” 

Nero is torn between reluctance and curiosity. He’s tired of hearing Garlond relating the facts of his former life to him. It has never helped him to remember anything, instead making him feel more distant from his self than ever. And yet… there is that thing his mind is desperately trying to bring to the surface. A sudden premonition makes him wonder if somehow Garlond’s need to speak with him is related.. “Go on,” he says finally. But he takes up his pencil and begins sketching lines as he listens.

“You recall the woman who was here the other day?”

Nero recalls her face easily, which is odd. He didn’t think she had made such an impression on him at the time. “The Xaela woman?”

“Er, yes. You see, that was the Warrior of Light.”

“The hero people around here are always making a fuss over? That little slip of a girl?”

“I wouldn’t describe her like that,” Cid says, shifting uncomfortably on his chair. “I’ve known her for years now and she’s a formidable warrior. In fact… she once defeated you in battle.”

Nero looks up, intrigued despite himself. “So she does know me. You never told me about this before.” 

“I had my reasons,” Cid says defensively. “However, that was an error on my part. I should have told you about her right away.”

Nero’s premonition shifts into a foreboding. Garlond clearly doesn’t anticipate a good reaction from him. Whatever this thing is that he needs to know, he’s not sure that he wants to know it. But he’s always been incapable of leaving a question unanswered. “What about her?”

Cid pauses dramatically before the words leave his mouth in a rush. “You were in a relationship with her for several months before your accident.”

Nero is stunned. “A… romantic relationship?”

“Yes.”

“With the Warrior of Light?”

“Yes.”

“Who once defeated me in battle?”

“Yes.”

“And you chose not to tell me until now?” 

“When it all happened, she was in another world and we had no idea when she would be able to return. There was even the chance it would be impossible. And I thought… if she couldn’t make it back, it would be better if you never knew.”

There’s logic to that, Nero cannot deny. And perhaps it would have been better. Except… “But now she’s come back.”

“Now she’s come back.”

Nero runs his hands through his hair. No wonder she had had such a look of pained confusion. “You really did mess up, Garlond.” 

“I don’t deny it,” Cid says with a sigh. 

Nero rubs his temples and tries to search his mind for anything familiar about the woman in question but comes up empty. “My memory is as void of her as of everything else,” he says with a touch of irritation. “Does she expect anything from me?” 

“I doubt it. She went back to the First, the other world.”

Nero’s mind snags for a moment on the fascinating fact that he once had a world hopping girlfriend. With a blink and a shrug he dismisses the thought. “That’s most likely for the best.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“I’ve moved on, Garlond. You know that. I’m not the man I used to be. She’ll have to accept that.” Nero picks up his pencil and returns to his diagram. 

Looking unhappy, Cid stands and nods. As he starts through the door Nero asks, “Any other extremely important facts about my old life you’re misguidedly holding onto?”

“No, nothing else.”

“Good. Let’s not discuss it again.”

The door closes behind Cid and Nero stares at the parchment in front of him. But it’s no use. He can no longer focus on his work. He glances at the chronometer on his desk. “Close enough,” he mutters as he stands and stretches. Sitting at his desk hunched over his new design hasn’t been good for his back. “Perhaps a walk before I head home.”

Nero lets his feet lead him and soon he has passed through the eastern town gates. Far in the distance the Crystal Tower rises above the landscape. Garlond has given him a brief description of how Nero was involved in the opening and sealing of that place. But something has always seemed missing from the equation. It is the same with Garlond’s account of their encounter with Omega. It doesn’t quite add up. Has the missing element always been…

“The Warrior of Light,” Nero says to himself as he climbs a crystalline hill. He’s heard her name spoken a hundred times around the Toll. What was it again? Oh yes. Severia. “Severia Zetsuen,” he says aloud into the growing dusk. 

He waits for it to feel meaningful to him, but the name inspires no emotion. Disappointment fills him. What had he expected? After all this time, did he really think it would be so easy? Hasn’t he accepted that things are the way they are? Scoffing at himself he says,” You’re a fool, Nero Scaeva. A bloody fool.” 

Nero stays to watch the sun set behind the Toll and then with heavy footsteps he makes his way back to his cold and empty rooms. He’s vowed to move on. But the truth is, he still has no idea what he’s moving on to. His future feels as barren as his past.