Random headcanon time
Warriors was in Honor Guard, which is a group of people who perform ceremonies and rituals like honors at a funeral or a change of command. Honor guardsmen have to have and maintain the sharpest dress and appearance and they have special dress uniforms that are flashier and fancier than typical dress uniforms. That’s why Warriors is the way he is with his appearance and why he has the bright blue in his outfit.
Wind is ALWAYS hungry. He is a growing teenage boy! He gets super embarrassed when his voice cracks. He has one single hair growing under his nose and is VERY proud of his “mustache.” Sometimes Wind goes through typical teenage episodes of being moody broody “I’m dark and mysterious and my middle name is angst,” but it isn’t long before he’s back to his normal goofy pirate self.
Time may be the oldest, but he’s not the most experienced at leading troops. He’ll oftentimes step back and let Warriors take the reins or lean on his recommendations for action. Even though this is the case, Time is still the most Dad of the bunch and leads by following his Dad instincts.
Ghosts haunt all of the Links from time to time, and Wind is aware of them but no one else is. The ghosts that haunt Warriors aren’t always nice ghosts. Sometimes they’re mean military leaders who died because he wasn’t fast enough to save them. Though Warriors himself doesn’t know they’re there and can’t hear them, Wind tells them off if he can.
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After the events of the cell games Gohan would start to visit Dende on the lookout to hang out, and everytime he goes he'd take some kind of activity for them to do. Books to read, sketchbooks and pencils, coloring books and color pencils(or crayons, just to see what Dende would think), canvases and paint. And all of it would fascinate Dende and he'd be eager to use all of these things but he'd probably feel a little guilty cuz a lot of this stuff belongs to gohan/gohan spent who knows how much money on the new stuff. But Gohan reassures him that its really okay and he that he just wants to give his best friend cool stuff. So Dende tries to reassure himself and fully submerges himself in the items. It really gets his creative side out. He'd probably finish a coloring book in one day if we could, and he'd STILL wanna keep going. He'd practice drawing in ghe sketchbooks and would draw literally anything he can think of. The palm trees, the sky, the lookout, mr popo, he's even drawn Gohan before(though he will NEVER show him that.) And he'd also make his own drawings to color. He'd really enjoy the books Gohan brought too, i think he'd even draw scenes from it! Oh and painting would be so much fun for him He'd love to see the vibrant colors on white canvases, and would honestly just slap colors on there without any idea of what he wants to paint on them. You can imagine how messy that'd get though. But dw!! He's set aside a spare robe to wear anytime he's painting.
And yknow, maybe his artwork ain't the best, maybe they look like something a two year old made sometimes, but who cares. He's having the absolute time of his life when making art, and even so, he's still improving a lot. He's probably asked Gohan for books to help with drawing and ofc he'd get them for his bestie!! They'd probably be those kind that are like "how to draw anime" though but ykw, Dende appreciates them!!!! He loves art!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Dende being an artsy kid just feels right to me guys.
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back on my wolfwood bullshit! i'm using a lot of the same ideas from my other post so i'll try not to repeat myself, but as i said, a major theme of wolfwood's arc is autonomy and freedom, and the idea that having freedom to choose also comes with the responsibility to act and make good choices.
throughout trimax, wolfwood is in a strange position. he's beholden to higher powers - the eye of michael, knives, even vash in a way, while also simultaneously having a lot of freedom to act, particularly in the moment. the things that control him are more like swords of damocles - present, inevitable, but not immediate. he's constantly struggling to figure out what he should do - take knives out, kill vash, and more generally, things like his profession as assassin. he's very torn about the choices he makes (or doesn't make) and the life he lives because he's dissatisfied with his position, and there isn't an easy way out.
there are a lot of parallels between midvalley and wolfwood. midvalley, similar to wolfwood, was forced into a place he really didn't want to be in. he's hyperaware of the danger of his situation, knows he's expendable to knives, and that knives has so much power - how can anyone escape it? so he has to ask himself - how is he going to spend the time that he has? should he risk his life or play it safe? we know what he decides - he's likely to die either way, so he might as well try to get his way, release himself from knives' control.
midvalley pretty easily identifies wolfwood as someone who is allied with vash, who has no true loyalty to knives. he says they have no reason to fight - midvalley and hoppered have officially moved against knives and made their choice. is wolfwood going to resolve himself, follow what he truly believes - in vash, against knives? or will he keep playing the game of someone who doesn't have their mind made up, still working under knives thumb? (midvalley has always called wolfwood chapel, right up until this moment - he's breaking through the pretenses, acknowledging that he knows what wolfwood really is).
(using the overhaul translation here bc it's much clearer!) midvalley basically says that wolfwood does have power, but at that point in the story, he's mostly just going along with what's safe, as opposed to midvalley and hoppered. midvalley is aware that wolfwood might have similar goals to him. as someone who, like wolfwood, fears knives and what he can do, midvalley criticizes wolfwood's passivity or inability to fight for what he wants.
still, we see that when midvalley does act against knives he dies. immediately. both him and hoppered made their choice, and it didn't end well for them. maybe they knew it'd be that way. still, it's a poignant reminder to wolfwood about the power of choice, and the risks that come with it. he has to confront what other people are willing to risk and ask himself if he can do the same.
then we get to volume 8. wolfwood, who spends so much of the story agonizing over his choices, is finally resolved. he goes against knives and frees vash. he chooses not to kill unless absolutely necessary. his autonomy is realized at the price of his life. and that's the equation he has to figure - save myself, and damn everyone i care about? be dissatisfied with myself, my life? or save what he loves, do what he wants, and risk himself? wolfwood is keenly aware of his own morality. he has so much he wants to protect, and he can't do that if he's dead. i think one of the reasons he's able to take a stand against knives is because of his relationship with vash - he knows that there's someone with similar goals and values who will fight to protect humanity after he's gone. he goes out having taken care of chapel and livio, and trusting that vash will handle knives. he can die peacefully knowing he's assured the safety of his family.
by volume 10, wolfwood is showing everyone who he is and what he stands for, for better or worse. he was willing to fight - and willing to die - to do what he believed was right. trimax shows, again, and again, that there's often no easy answer, no easy way to live, no easy choice to make. that's sort of the idea that's communicated with the bird imagery - a life of freedom is a life of struggle. it's not a new idea, ofc. but we see with wolfwood - the right thing and the safe thing are often not the same. what are we willing to do? how far will we go? what will we sacrifice? and what will leave us most satisfied at the end?
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perhaps 💗 + estinio if you’re feeling it <:
thank you dani!! i am always feeling it 🥴
💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft || 790 words || allusion to nudity/sex, but it's really just morning-after mush.
The sun winks between thick, velvet curtains, the single sliver of light determined to fall across Estinien’s face. The rest of the room is still comfortably shadowed in early morning gray. Realization creeps into his senses like the unusual warmth spreading from the source beside him. He wakes fully, trying to quiet the thunder of his heartbeat in his own ears.
Io is loosely curled on her side, ink-blue hair draped across both their pillows and covered only by his sheet bunched around her waist. She sleeps soundly, unaware of his quiet observation.
This is the first night they've shared a bed–among other firsts.
It replays in his mind, fragmented and out of time: a dozen images–remembered sensations–of her hands on his body, her just parted mouth, his patient ache for her soothed and amplified in equal measure. She is his, the realization settles in his mind, heavier under the weight of her serenity. In a manner she doesn't and cannot belong to the rest of the world, she is his.
If she were not here now, Estinien might think it a dream. He rolls onto his back, palms digging into his eyes. It feels real enough.
So real that his movement disturbs her. Io stirs and pulls the sheet up to her chest. He watches the sleepy, twitchy smile that creases the skin around her eyes. She’s holding them shut, pretending he didn’t wake her.
“You’re shit at mummery.” His voice is thick, more gravel than teasing sweetness. He wishes he’d cleared his throat first.
Io opens one eye, a sliver of blue darker than the shadows around them glancing his way. She sets her face to firm seriousness before closing it again. “Is this better? Shall I snore?”
“Would it be more believable?”
“Even less so.”
“Let no one say you’re inconsistent.”
Io bolts up into the sunbeam, rounding on him with an open grin and sleep-heavy eyes, ready to wield the steel edge of her wit in this feigned indignance. “I–”
But the banter dies on her lips. She sees him and freezes, clutching the sheet tighter against her chest. Estinien can’t quite name the emotion in her expression. Only sees that she is suddenly aware of the greater context he had the luxury of noticing quietly.
He assumes she will shy away. Pull into herself and flee the mortification of this vulnerability. It would not be against her character, and he would not begrudge the instinctive withdrawal.
Instead, she reaches up to smooth her hair, wide eyes drifting across his face, his unclothed chest, and back again. He catches her thick swallow, then the sheet falls away as she leans in.
Io approaches, illuminated from behind. Slow and golden, like amber. There is a moment, tiny and insulated, in which he considers once more if this is a dream. If there is a more beautiful sight on this star, he has not seen it. He doesn't care to. In the liminal space between her anxiety and certainty, her outstretched hand before it meets his skin, the fading distance keeping him from her affection, Estinien wonders why he should deserve this. Her friendship, her companionship, and if he were keen to wager… her love.
Io’s fingers graze the gnarled scar on his shoulder with the same tenderness they did the night before. He closes his eyes, and she indulges in the privacy. Fingertips sweep along his collar, over his neck, and down to his chest, where her hand rests, finally, over his heart.
There is a question in her kiss. A need for reassurance after sharing something rare, inviting him to see a part of her reserved for few. Her lips drag across his, each gentle press lingering longer than a single breath.
Estinien gathers her in his arms and answers in kind. He matches her unhurried movements and magnifies her intensity, until nothing remains of her self-doubt. She pulls away with an easy smile, but doesn’t go far.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers between them, biting her lip, and he will be thinking about that all day. “I should have more decorum during such an occasion. Instead, I asked you if I should snore.”
Estinien kisses her again, then clears his throat. “And what of it? We sleep together, and now humor is forbidden? Your comfort makes me glad.” His thumb strokes a steady rhythm across her back.
“You could not make me more comfortable if you tried, a fact that has been well-demonstrated.” Io settles on his chest, proving her point. Her fingers skim over smooth muscle and raised scars without discrimination, and Estinien is in no rush for this to end. “I hope we will have more mornings like this. I like your sleepy voice.”
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