I’ll never get over Orins reaction if you tell her the truth about Sarevok. Her whole world crumbles, and it seems like for just a minute, she doubts Bhaal. Until she is forced to assume the slayer form. She is given no choice in the matter, she is a tool. A stepping stone for the dark urge. We see the truth, she became Bhaals chosen for Sarevok. She admired him so greatly, loved him even. And yet, he never cared about her. You can tell her he abused her and her mother, and I like to think maybe, just maybe, in that moment she considered reaching out, and perhaps stepping away, but her autonomy is stripped away, she is forced into this position. In the end, she had no choice. To watch her crumble away at the end of the duel, screaming and crying as her body disintegrates, it’s heartbreaking. Not even a corpse left to bury in the end, she is reduced to a pile of viscera.
I will not deny the pain and terror she has caused, but I also feel like anyone who grew up in her situation would’ve turned out the same. She was never given a chance. Born and bred into a murder cult, intended to be nothing but a sacrifice, and in the end, that’s all she was. In her jealous and hatred for the dark urge, she inadvertently freed them. She deserved freedom too, but it was too late. Bhaal never cared about her, Sarevok never cared about, her mother never did. But I like to think the dark urge held some affection towards her, even if it’s in a strange murderous way. She has lived her whole life deprived of love, she only knew hate and it consumed her. A puppet, that’s all she was. Oh my dear Orin, you deserved so much better.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The progression of each of the acts’ storylines in BG3 is insane because it’s just like
Act 1: There’s a bunch of goblin cultists trying to kill some druids because they believe in a different deity, kill them so the refugees can leave safely, or turn on the druids and refugees if you want to play as a bad guy
Act 2: A bunch of people have been kidnapped so you need to venture through the British countryside of Perpetual Night to kill this lich with the help of his lesbian daughter and her demigod girlfriend in order to revive an immortal child that was banished to the Shadow Realm
Act 3: A gnome terrorist organisation will help you blow up a giant robotic policeman so you can go beat the shit out of an Archduke after you find out his anaemic spy’s underlings have been murdering people from the local brothel before you go to soufflé a giant psychic brain deity so everyone doesn’t turn into evil squid furries.
There's one thing that's been ping-ponging in my brain for a while, and I didn't understand why until now.
At the end of act 2, when it's finally shown what the Absolute is and the chosen of the Dead Three are doing their corny power ranger thing to control the brain, it's already clear that they're out of balance between themselves. This is obvious from their disagreement before they take control of the brain, but I think it's something that can also be seen in the placement of their Nether stones.
Ketheric has his on his chest, embedded in his armor, while both Gortash and Orin have theirs on something that they wield with their right hand, be that a dagger or a gauntlet. It might be nothing, but knowing what happens during act 3, it kind of feels like the game is trying to tell you that this plan is unbalanced because two people are trying to fit in the same shoe.
This is further supported if you're playing the Dark Urge: both Gortash and the Brain clearly state that the plan was perfect when Durge was co-leading, not Orin. Durge knew their position in this plan, and they kept to it, preserving the alliance without overtly trying to take it over (which is then the reason why Orin kills them).
This also ties into a little headcanon of mine, which would be that the Durge is a lefty. This would both be funny for a metaphorical meaning (sinister acts, from the Latin root of left, being anything scary, nerve-wracking, such as murders might be), and for this whole balance thing: Ketheric at the heart of it all, where we find him, with Gortash being the right hand, the one that is supposed to bring order, and Durge as the left one, sowing chaos and destruction. All three, together, working under a Brain, with a perfectly executed plan...
Until a second right hand, Orin, messes it all up.
So I read the first 30 or so animorphs many times over. I also read #54 and the Ellimist Chronicles a lot. But the ones in the late 30s through the 50s, I probably only read once or twice. What are the highlight books in that span? The ones that you get excited about in the re-read?
TBH, #36 - #52 really is where the series dips in quality. Continuity gets shaky, Jordan and Rachel especially have out-of-character notes, and some of the plots are After School Special Handled Badly. But. Many excellent books to be had in there. My favorites:
#38: The Arrival
One of the less popular books overall, but my favorite Ax story. I love how the andalite Suicide Squad coming to Earth becomes this visceral demonstration of how much better the Animorphs have gotten than even elite andalite fighters, because the Animorphs are just so damn experienced. It also forces Ax to confront his growing discomfort with andalite imperialism while also driving home just how lonely he is as the only member of his species on this entire planet. He wants to go home, but even if home's waiting for him, he's no longer the person who fit in there.
#45: The Revelation
Of course I'm a sucker for any book that lets Eva be awesome, but I also really like the pacing and tonal shifts in this one. It goes from light (Marco at dinner with Peter and Nora) to horrifying (Peter almost infested) to bittersweet (Nora infested, Rachel being a true bro) to bleak and disturbing (Visser One's near-death) to almost giddy with tension and humor (stealing the Bug fighter) to horrifying again (Eva not being the sweet person Marco remembers). It feels like the best of Marco's narration, silly and dark all at once.
#49: The Diversion
Mostly I like this one for the deep irony in Tobias's and Jake's arcs. Tobias starts out darkly humorous about how he's their least source of worry since he doesn't have any family, while they're all micro-focused on Jake because they plan to evacuate Tom. Tobias ends trying not to pity the now family-less Jake (because he knows how much it sucks to be pitied) as he and his mom and her dog sit on a park bench playing fetch together. It all reverses, in the span of a few hours. And Jake's mistake is what got them there.
#51: The Absolute
Another one of my all-time favorite books, because the Marco-Ax-Tobias dynamic is unparalleled. It's a breath of fresh air before the awful bleakness of the endgame, a chance to let the three Animorphs who are actually having an okay time of it have one last wacky adventure set against the backdrop of their friends falling apart around them.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I wonder how many people at the Gardens were infested specifically because the yeerks figured out that this was probably where the Animorphs were getting all their morphs from.
A moment in the weave leaves Ada with a storm of emotions.
For the song she sings, check out "Ich bin es nicht" from the German Wicked Soundtrack!
Please mind the Content Warnings for this fic! If you want to start at the very beginning, check here.
Read the full fanfic on AO3 now 🗡️
⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡
The party had slowly dispersed and the air had cooled in the grove. Ada felt relieved by the quiet and the break from the heat of the day.
When she found Gale, a little away from the camp, he stood with his back to her, his head bowed, his focus entirely on his open palm. From where she stood, she could see a faint lavender light emanating from his hand. Curious, Ada stepped closer, squinting to make out the details in the dim glow.
In his palm hovered an image, not just a light but the head of a woman.
She was ethereal and impossibly beautiful. Her features were delicate yet commanding; sharp, regal cheekbones, her hair swept back from her face, a diadem resting on her brow. The faint glow that surrounded her head pulsed softly, like the rhythm of a heartbeat.
The centre of the diadem was made up of a big, eight-pointed star in the exact shape of Gale’s earring.
Gale was standing there, gazing at the image with an expression she had never seen on him before. It was as if he were looking at a long-lost memory.
Ada cleared her throat, and Gale jumped, startled by the sudden sound. He quickly closed his hand, snuffing out the image.
"Oh my, Ada... you startled me. I was miles away."
"I’m sorry," Ada said, stepping a little closer. "Are you alright, Gale?"
He hesitated, his expression clouding with sadness as he gazed at the spot where Mystra’s image had been. "Just... pondering what I lost," he said softly, his voice uncharacteristically sombre.
"Mystra is my goddess; she commands all magic. Salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withhold. And yet, even now, more than I fear losing my own self and soul, I fear losing my command of her art."
Ada’s eyes widened. So that had been Mystra, the goddess of magic? The goddess Gale had called to for help in semi-consciousness.
His voice wavered slightly, and he looked down, defeated. "Magic is my life. I've been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There’s nothing like it... it’s like music, poetry, physical beauty, all rolled into one and given expression through the senses."
Ada could hear the depth of emotion in his words, and it struck her: this was not the confident and arrogant, scholarly Gale she knew. He seemed exposed and defeated somehow.
He is in love with magic itself, Ada realised. This stirred something within her, an unease she didn’t fully understand.
"That’s why I asked you to seek me out," Gale continued, his voice soft but earnest. "To offer you a taste of such wonders. Would you like me to show you?"
There was a hint of hope in his tone, and Ada couldn’t bring herself to refuse. She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I’d love that."
Gale smiled then and stepped closer, positioning himself beside her. Their bodies were almost touching. The proximity made her heart skip a beat and she tried to ignore the flicker of warmth that spread through her chest.
“Watch me closely,” he instructed.
With a precise movement of his arms, he summoned a bright, sparkling light, tinged with a purple hue that looked inviting and friendly.
"Now, you," he said, his gaze steady on her, expectant and encouraging. Ada tried to mirror his movements, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Slowly, she traced the same patterns with her hand, and to her surprise, the same light appeared before her.
As the magic swirled, she felt a sensation like a kind word, a warm touch. It was comforting, familiar in a way she couldn’t explain.
"Excellent!" Gale exclaimed, his voice filled with enthusiasm. Ada couldn’t help but smile at his excitement, her heart swelling with pride at his approval.
But the feeling was also disconcerting. What was happening to her lately? Why did his praise affect her so much? There was something more, something unfamiliar that unsettled her.
Gale’s voice interrupted her thoughts. "Now, repeat after me."
He recited a short spell, and Ada listened intently, trying to memorise every syllable.
Carefully, she repeated the words, her voice steady, and suddenly, the scent of rosewater filled the air. The feeling of well-being wrapped around her, and a sliver of the Weave, sweet and delicate, lingered on her tongue.
"Very good!" Gale’s praise made her blush, her cheeks warming against her will.
What was wrong with her? She had never been so affected by his approval before. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, or of him, in that moment.
"Now, I want you to picture in your mind the concept of harmony, as true as you can," Gale said, his voice calm but insistent.
Ada closed her eyes and thought of a moment from her old life.
She was in a crowded concert hall, surrounded by people, all singing along to a song that filled the space. The vibration of the music, the tenderness of the lyrics, all permeated her body and soul. That was harmony.
As the image took hold, something shifted. Ada felt a presence—familiar and yet strange. The woman from Gale’s palm was there, but this time, Ada could sense her, instead of seeing her.
She turned to Gale, finding him standing even closer to her now, watching her intently. His eyes sparkled with wonder, and something in her stomach fluttered. There was an undeniable pull between them, something warm and magnetic.
In the Weave, the sensation was almost like the anticipation of a kiss, followed by the pleasure of being cloaked in peace. Ada felt safe, as if she were nestled in the cup of Mystra’s hand.
Gale chuckled, his voice filled with delight. "Ha! You did it! You’re channelling the Weave! Tell me, how does it feel?"
Ada struggled to find the right words, her thoughts still spinning from the sensation. "Comforting," she said, after a moment. Her brow furrowed. "Like I was being... held?" Her voice faltered on the last word, unsure.
Gale nodded, still smiling. "That it does."
The connection between them deepened, the Weave making them one. Ada let herself sink into it, drifting in this soothing sensation. And then, an image flashed through her mind.
She could feel his breath ghost across her skin. His temple rested on her collarbones as his head was placed on her chest. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her to him tightly.
She sat in his lap, her thighs around his waist. One of her hands was on his side and her thumb lazily traced over the soft fabric of his shirt. Her other hand was in his hair. Gently, her fingers raked through the wavy strands that fell to his shoulders.
Ada felt safe with him. She looked down at him and felt a tender pull in her heart. It was a peaceful and intimate moment…
That’s when she snapped out of it, the warmth of the moment replaced with the sharp lightning of embarrassment.
She dared a glance at Gale, wondering how he would react.
His face was flushed, his expression a mixture of surprise and something else; something she couldn’t quite name.
He stuttered, his voice shaky. "Sorry, I wasn’t expecting... Not that the image was unpleasant, to be sure... Most pleasant, in fact. Most welcome, even if..."
He trailed off as the magic between them faded, and with it, the warmth of the Weave. The night suddenly felt cold and lonesome.
Gale collected himself, his voice soft and sad. "Oh... there it goes. How easily things slip away from us, no matter how hard they were in the obtaining."
He straightened, forcing a smile. "Good night, Ada. I enjoyed sharing a moment of magic with you."
He offered her one last, sincere smile before turning and walking back to his bedroll and the campfire, leaving her standing there, alone.
Ada stood frozen, her emotions tangled and raw. She couldn’t process the abruptness of the evening’s end.
The anticipation she had felt before coming here, the excitement of channelling the magic, the transcendent feeling of the Weave. All of it still swirled inside her.
And then there were her feelings for Gale, feelings she hadn’t fully understood before tonight.
They unsettled her, left her questioning not just her bond with him, but what lay beneath it. Had she scared him off with that image? Had she ruined the easy companionship they had built?
As the night closed in around her, Ada wondered if things would ever be the same.
Ada knew she would find no rest like this; with her head still spinning and her heart aching and tender. So she decided to take up the lute and find a quiet corner of the grove.
She found the grove was transformed in the light of the moon.
Gone was the nervous bustle, the lingering distrust and the whispered arguments between druids and refugees. In their place was a deep and soothing silence, like a balm laid gently over frayed nerves.
Moonlight filtered through the leaves, painting the stones silver and the moss a dark, rich green. The air was cooler now, tinged with the scent of damp earth, crushed thyme, and wildflowers that bloomed under starlight.
Cicadas hummed softly in the underbrush, and the wind rustled the branches above her in a slow, affectionate murmur.
Ada tilted her head back, gazing up at the stars and exhaled loudly.
There was an old, quiet magic here she could feel like silk touching her skin. As if the grove itself were alive and cloaking its inhabitants in serenity.
She wandered a little longer until she found a tree that had grown around a large boulder, curling its roots lovingly around the stone like a sleeping giant cradling its treasure. The roots formed a natural bench, padded with moss.
Ada thought it looked like the throne of a nature deity and decided it was a good place to find rest and soothe herself.
Settling down with her legs crossed, she tested the lute’s feeling in her hands. Carefully, she plucked at the strings, trying to get familiar with the differences between this instrument and her guitar at home.
To her satisfaction, she found the two extra strings were easily integrated into her muscle memory and she began to pluck a few notes from the instrument.
“Magie lockt, Zauber lacht; sie ist wie für ihn gemacht.
Angesicht zu Angesicht.
Seine Art von Frau.
Ich weiß genau, ich bin es nicht.
Gib auf, lass los! Manche Wünsche schmerzen bloß.
Wen interessiert, ob mein Herz zerbricht.
Er bemerkt es kaum.
Sie ist sein Traum; ich bin es nicht.”
A few words had changed while they had left her throat. Her eyes stung and as she blinked, a couple of tears made their way down Ada’s cheek.
She had been in this world for an entire week now. With all that had happened, it felt ten times as long. She had gone from denial to realisation to exhausted acceptance: This was real and she was on this strange plane now.
It had all felt like a dream at first, albeit a nightmare. Her new body, her companions and the threats they were facing.
She had told herself she imagined the pull she felt towards Gale and the way he made her seen and safe. The tadpole, she had reasoned, was the explanation for this connection to him.
But she no longer had the luxury of this delusion. She had feelings for Gale, that were different from any affection and friendship she had felt before.
Not in the way her friends had spoken about people they wanted physically. She had never felt attraction like that, though she had to admit he was handsome.
What she felt was more a longing to be held and cherished, to trust someone enough to not fear being completely seen by them.
Ada took a shuddering breath and a sigh escaped her.
Don’t be pathetic, the voice in her head scoffed. You saw him look at his goddess. You heard him call to her when he was injured. And you still hope he might have noticed how you comforted him?
And even if he had: As soon as the tadpole was removed, Ada would leave this place again, set off on her own mission to find a way back home. Their paths would split and she would disappear from his life.
So why open yourself up to embarrassment? Wasn’t tonight enough? Why hope that, whatever it is you want to give him, could be enough?
Her hand went to the pendant of her necklace, tracing the round shape with her thumb.
With another deep sigh, she got up from her throne, carefully picked up her lute and slowly walked back to camp.
