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linkito · 20 days

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HI LINK. here's a kiss prompt: scarian #19 - for luck <3

Scar stares with growing unease as Grian continues piling sand atop TNT in an alternating pattern, readying the entire desert to blow. It’s something they both agreed upon, sure, but Scar cannot help but have second thoughts as he watches his green-life partner set the rest of their home up for destruction.

The castle itself, of course, is already trapped— their own base reduced to nothing more than a weapon, no longer livable. All they have is a bed and a few chests crammed into a bunker laced with obsidian and surrounded by the sound of popping lava.

It all changed so fast.

Scar was starting to really enjoy their life here in the desert. And maybe it was foolish to grow attached to something that was always destined to fall apart, but...

He sighs, eyeing the sweat dripping down Grian’s brow as he finishes covering up the last few holes in the sand. He looks determined, as always, while he carries out the final few steps of his design— his grand plan to take Dogwarts down at any cost (aside from Scar’s own life).

Scar wishes he could feel moved by that fact, but all he can think about is what will happen when Grian turns yellow.

Not if, when.

Because Grian speaks of it with certainty. He told Scar to pull the doomsday lever even if he’s inside the blast range. His final debt paid at the cost of his own life.

And then Scar really will have lost everything. The desert, the base— neither of those things are truly home in the way Grian is to him. Every build within this death game was always meant to be temporary, after all, but it’s those nights spent curled up together for warmth that Scar wanted to hold onto. To be worth something. To be permanent.

Those wordless mornings where they wake up in a tangle of limbs, neither of them willing to bring attention to it. Both of them swallowing down whatever feelings their sleep-dazed brains may have concocted, whatever weaknesses they may have displayed.

Soon that dance will be over. No conclusion, no fanfare, no closure.

He spent too long convincing himself there would always be a tomorrow, another chance to admit how he feels.

“Scar,” Grian says, somewhat exasperated but with that familiar, fond roll of his eyes. Judging by the tone, it’s not the first time he called Scar’s name. He was just too lost in his own head to notice.

Scar snaps to attention with a theatrical grin and a salute, which makes Grian scoff, but it’s far too close to a laugh. He doesn’t even bother hiding his own smile.

“I asked if you were ready,” Grian says, eyes flicking over toward the horizon as the sun begins to set, scanning for any sign of their enemies. When he looks back, his green eyes are weary, but bright, looking right at Scar with a complicated mix of worry and steady resolve.

Scar pauses. “Almost,” he says, taking in the sight of those very eyes widening in surprise as he takes hold of Grian’s arm— warm and coated with sticky grains of sand where his sleeve is bunched up—and pulls him in close.

For a moment, Scar waits, faces close and bodies closer, giving Grian more than enough time to pull away if he so chooses.

But he doesn’t. His eyes remain fixed on Scar, stunned, but no longer so afraid— a firmness in his gaze that wasn’t there before.

Scar leans in and finds Grian meeting him halfway, lips pressed together in what is ultimately a very brief, yet dazzlingly suffocating kiss that leaves them almost staggering backward to regain the breath that was so instantly stolen from them both.

Neither of them say anything as the sun fades behind the mountains, and for a moment Scar wonders if this will just be another thing neither of them choose to speak about, but it’s Grian that breaks first, letting out a still-breathless chuckle as he tears his eyes away from Scar, glancing down at the sand beneath them as his cheeks glow a rosy red.

Scar can’t help but grin.

“For luck,” Scar says, holding out his hand for Grian to take as he motions toward their bunker.

Grian snickers in response, taking the offering and following Scar inside. He gives Scar’s hand a squeeze, but keeps his face ducked down, smiling softly at the sand beneath their feet.

“Right. ...for luck.”

#scarian #link answers #link writes #i thought about drawing something for this one but i wanted to post so bad #i may draw something for the next one :3 #hermitshipping #kiss prompts

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monstrousgourmandizingcats · 10 months

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Some books and stories that I think are worth reading in conversation with Yellowjackets

Shirley Jackson, all works but especially The Sundial, The Haunting of Hill House, and We Have Always Lived in the Castle. Jackson might or might not need any introduction in this fandom. The Sundial is her take on doomsday preppers, Hill House is of course her haunted house novel (one of the classics of that genre), and Castle has a female protagonist who makes Shauna look like a plaster saint.

Flannery O'Connor, The Violent Bear It Away. O'Connor's work has some of the most pervasive darkness and brutality of any major American writer (maybe Ambrose Bierce comes close), and the second of two novels that she completed before her death is no exception. (The first, Wise Blood, is also very good; the intended third, Why Do the Heathen Rage?, only exists as a fragmentary short story.) Francis Marion Tarwater is kidnapped and raised in the woods by his great-uncle, who is convinced that Francis is destined to be a prophet. The great-uncle's death commences a bizarre adventure involving auditory hallucinations, sinister truckers, an evil social worker, arson, developmental disabilities, and baptizing and drowning someone at the same time. Content warnings for all of the above plus rape. O'Connor is also a fairly racist author by today's standards--she was a white Southerner who died in 1964--so keep that in mind as well.

Ruth Ozeki, The Book of Form and Emptiness. Teenage protagonist is schizophrenic and also a channel for a genuinely supernatural force; well-intentioned but poorly-considered efforts to treat one of these issues make the other worse. Sound familiar? There are supporting characters who are affectionate parodies of Slavoj Zizek and Marie Kondo. A minor character is a middle-aged lesbian who cruises dating apps for hookups with much younger women. Some people find this book preachy and overwritten, but I really like it and would plug it even if I didn't because the author is someone whom I've met and who has been supportive of my own writing.

Yukio Mishima, The Decay of the Angel. Can be read in translation or in the original Japanese. This is the fourth and last book in a series called The Sea of Fertility but I wouldn't necessarily recommend the first three as particularly YJ-ish; Decay is because it deals at great length with issues of doubt and ambiguity about whether or not a genuinely held, but personally damaging, spiritual and religious belief is true. There's also more (as Randy Walsh would put it) lezzy stuff than is usual for Mishima, a gay man. Content warnings for elder abuse, sexual abuse of both children and vulnerable adults in previous books in the series, forced abortion in the first book if you decide to read the whole thing from the beginning, and the fact that in addition to being a great novelist the author was also a far-right political personality.

Howard Frank Mosher, Where the Rivers Flow North. An elderly Vermont lumberjack and his Native American common-law wife refuse to sell their land to a development company that wants to build a hydroelectric power plant. Tragedy ensues. I haven't read this one in a long time but some images from the movie stick in my mind as YJ-y. Lots of fire, water, and trees.

Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers. Yes, this is the same Leonard Cohen who later transitioned into songwriting and became a household name in that art form. Beautiful Losers is a very weird, very horny novel that he wrote as a young man; it deals with the submerged darkness and internal tension within Canadian and specifically Quebecois society. One of the main characters is Kateri Tekakwitha, a seventeenth-century Iroquois convert to Catholicism who was probably a lesbian in real life (although Cohen unfortunately seems unaware of this). This one actually shows up YJ directly; the song "God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot" that plays in the season 2 finale takes its lyrics from a particularly strange passage.

Monica Ojeda, Jawbone. Can be read in translation or in the original Spanish. Extremely-online teenage girls at a posh bilingual Catholic high school in Ecuador start their own cult based on such time-honored fodder as Herman Melville novels, internet creepypasta (no, this book does not look or feel anything like Otherside Picnic), and their repressed but increasingly obvious desire for one another. The last part in particular gets the attention of their English teacher, whose own obsessive internalized homophobia grows into one of the most horrifying monstrous versions of itself I've ever read. Content warning for just about everything that could possibly imply, but especially involuntary confinement, religious and medical abuse, and a final chapter that I don't even know how to describe. Many thanks to @maryblackwood for introducing me to this one.

Jorge Luis Borges, lots of his works but especially "The Aleph," "The Cult of the Phoenix," and "The South." Can be read in translation or in the original Spanish. The three works I list are all short stories. The first deals with mystical experiences and the comprehensibility (or lack thereof) of the universe, the second with coded and submerged references to sexuality in general and homosexuality in particular, the third with leaving your well-appointed city home for a ranch in the middle of nowhere and almost immediately dying in a knife fight, which is surely a very YJ series of things to do.

H.P. Lovecraft, "The Colour out of Space," "The Dunwich Horror," "The Dreams in the Witch House," and "The Thing on the Doorstep." Lovecraft in general needs no introduction--the creepiness, the moroseness, the New Englandness, the purple heliotrope prose, his intense racism (recanted late in life but not in time to make any difference in his reception history) and the way his work reflects his fear of the Other. These short stories are noteworthy for having settings that are more woodsy and less maritime than is usual for Lovecraft's New England, for overtones of the supernatural rather than merely the alien, for featuring some of his few interesting female characters, and for their relative lack of obvious racial nastiness. Caveat lector nevertheless.

Herman Melville, Moby-Dick. It's Moby-Dick. Once you realize that Captain Ahab is forming a cult around the whale and his obsession with it you can't unrealize it.

#yellowjackets #books #book recs

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scribble-dribble-writes · 10 months

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Plastic hearts - (7)

<<<Prev Next>>>

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Had some extra time, wrote the next chapter haha. Ken is a golden retriever lover boy ✨

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“It's simple. Go through the ‘tunnel of dreams’. It will take you to where she had gone last.”, Weird Barbie stopped as she dug through her trunk of gizmos and gadgets.

“Then?”, he asked sure that was only the first step.

“Then you improvise.”, she spoke as she brought him a few elements that looked like they were put together by herself.

She strapped a watch around his hand, it’s dial displaying a meter that was scribbled in with sketch pens.

“The Doomsday meter. It will help you with knowing how much time you have left since time behaves differently out there.”, she rushed around him as she spoke out instructions and what to look out for but he couldn’t help but wonder how any of this was going to pan out.

He worried for your safety. He was overthinking, cooking up the most terrifying scenarios of what you could have been facing.

What if you were put in jail like he was?

Or roamed the streets without a home?

This was new. He had never worried about Stereotypical Barbie before, but when he thought of you. His hands yearned to hold you close.

Possibly this was because of the level of respect he had for you and your friendship. He can’t be falling in love again so soon. Can he?

He never felt this stressed and calm at the same time when he was in love before. It was thrilling, exhausting and chaotic.

He brought his attention back to the problem at hand. He had to bring you home. Barbie land was on the verge of collapse.

Weird Barbie ran back to him with a shiny little trinket in her hand. A chain with a small crystal heart pendant. It looked ancient and different. It wasn’t a part of this world.

“Thank Mattel, I found this. They discontinued it long ago but it was around the same time Diamond Castle was released. This is a variant of that necklace.”, she held it as though it was sacred.

“What’s so special about it?”, he asked inspecting it closer.

“This is as close as you can get to a magical compass.”, she raised her eyebrows to then carefully place it in the middle of his palm.

“How well do you know her?”, she asked him with her fingers crossed.

“Well enough.”, he mumbled.

He knew you but he couldn’t remember any of it. He had known you in fragments but now it was replaced with an overwhelming need to just see you again. To want to tell you that he missed you.

“Perfect.”, she jumped, her eyes now borderline crazy with hope.

“Now close your fingers and think of one remarkable attribute she possessed that could never change with time or place.”, she rubbed her hands together, her eyes now focused on the trinket hidden in his hand.

He closed his fingers and thought of the one thing he knew best that could never ever change. The one thing that reminded him he was loved and cared for. The one thing that possessed the entirety of your love he didn’t have a chance to value.

So he thought about it. So much so that he could feel his body crave it. It struck him then, that all he wanted now was a second chance. To do things right. To apologize to you and have you back.

To have you back as his … friend?

Yes.

No.

Maybe there was more to this.

But his palm began to grow warm and from within the cracks of his fingers golden light shined through.

Weird Barbie gasped and then clasped her hands over her mouth, “You did it.”, she mumbled in awe.

Relief washed over him, and so did hope, because now he was one step closer.

“Every time it senses her presence, it will glow. The stronger it does, the closer she is.”, she imparted another rule before she looked up at him with curiosity.

“What exactly did you think of?”, she asked.

“She makes the best sea salt caramel cookies.”, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Interesting.”, she clicked her tongue before she moved away.

What it was that she had observed from his demeanor, he wasn’t sure.

He woke up to the sound of his alarm. His heartbeat a bit faster than usual as he had the worst dream, one of those nightmares again. Where Barbie land is destroyed and everyone thinks he was the cause of it, again.

He got up, to place his head in his hands to take a few deep breaths. It had been longer than he had expected, he was certain to return in a weeks time but New York was an ocean with small delis to fancy restaurants that it was nearly impossible to go to every single one. To track you down with the little he knew. It was as good as fantasy. He would dine alone, with that rock in his hand that never actually glowed the moment he set foot here.

It was beginning to drive him insane. One, to be nowhere near finding you. Two, to see everyone be hurt by the very ideal he had long ago be enthralled. It was everywhere and it stunned him how a large part of the population was actually ok with this. So the job he had now felt much more inspiring.

If this was how Barbie felt, then he wouldn’t stop doing what he did too. He knew a little bit about the job process and what he needed from his last visit. He was passing by a school during recess and was entranced by the sound of their laughs. He had never been a kid before, he had always existed like this. But it touched him, that his existence was never for Barbie’s sake but for them, for their joy and as he shuffled his feet, he heard the sound of paper crackle beneath his feet.

It was a opening for someone who would be willing to help out in the library and also in doing a story reading session a few times during school hours for the kindergarten students.

He was sure he would be a great fit, plus he needed money.

And now as he fixed his tie in place and slicked back his hair that was a lot less paler than what it had been in Barbie land. No matter the worry, he always had a spring in his step. His eyes flit to the doomsday meter, the needle hovered over the green area when he first arrived, now it was crossing over into the orange section.

He downed his glass of orange juice, the tart flavor waking him up, reminding him that today could be the day. It was the day when the school held its parent-teacher meeting for this semester and given the need to maintain an image to get sponsors, a new caterer was set to be hosting the event. So he felt like he had an even more important reason to go.

He took the train along with the morning rush as he held his bag to his chest remembering the one time he was naïve enough to give away his wallet to a thief disguised as a homeless man, he had been homeless once too. As he walked down the street, he made sure he didn’t walk near the edge because on a rainy morning, a car drove past him to drench him in roadside puddle water, causing his shoes that he meticulously polished to lose their shine and also ruined the way he had set his hair.

He was fiercely afraid of rats, so this city had it out for him. Unlike Los Angeles, it snowed here, the people were ruthless and often times he felt like the sun in the darkness of space. No one could light up his world, atleast not like you did.

But as he approached his the entrance, he had a feeling envelope him. It was the sound of his students greeting him, but it was more than that, almost as if his soul could reach out to its other half. He wore the crystal around his neck, afraid that he was going to lose it but now it felt warm.

He grew conscious of its meaning, that his hand snapped to his chest, scared that everyone could see it’s glow but as he looked around, the children couldn’t see it. Only he could, it’s light grew brighter as it spread a zing of warmth through his skin but his eyes moved away from the happy faces to a woman who was observing him.

Her eyes wide as realization dawned on her face but it was in that moment Ken knew that the world could freeze. That even here, magic still had some effect, because even before the pendant could tell him, he knew.

He knew he would find his way to you.

He knew that as he spent everyday over the past few years trying to find you and the more clearer he began to understand his emotions. He had come to understand that all this while, what he had thought was just a friendship was actually a foundation for something more deeper. For something he had wished for his whole life.

He was in love again. And so as he called for you, hoping this wasn’t a dream, the name that was special to him as he whispered it in his sleep.

He could tell anything you had felt for him long ago was not present anymore because in your gaze he saw a mix of shock and pain. You began to turn away from him and he didn't want to waste another second but in the heat of the moment, he watched as you fainted and all he did was drop his bags to run to you.

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Tags:

@imogen-skye @ateliefloresdaprimavera @meowkid1000 @jokersgrf @linacool13 @oh-kurva @dreamsarenicer @memospacexx @haleysucks00 @ibetyouthinkaboutmefics @tempobaekh @fallingwallsh @whatafreakingloser @lcversrockk @imonmyvigilanteshh @constellationscharts @eddiemunson4ever @freyafriggafrey @neptunelixir @iamruiningmylife @floralsightings @ynbutbetter @lazyboikat @mrharringtonsbae @spookyscellar @harleyquinn03041998 @haydensith @thatgirljas13 @weasleytwinscumslut @bl00dy-murd3r @itstylersblog @papichulo120627 @lee-lee-23 @dazeglitter-blog @urmom24sworld

#barbie movie 2023 #barbie movie #ken barbie #barbie #ryan gosling ken #ryan gosling #ken x y/n #ken x you #ken x reader #ken carson

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izunias-meme-hole · 1 year

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Okay, I keep hearing about the stuff about “TOTK is Pro-Imperialism” and I want to share my thougths.

TOTK isn’t Pro-Imperialism, but it isn’t Anti-Imperialism either

This debate has been surrounding The Legend of Zelda: Tears of The Kingdom for quite a bit, so I’m just here to state my thoughts on it based off of stuff from previous games, and stuff from in-game to try my best to form the clearest possible explanation to all of this. I apologize if this sounds like ramblings, I’m just trying my damnedest to condesce my thoughts on this matter into one post.

Point 1: Rauru is flawed, but not a monster

A fair amount of people think Rauru was the real evil, primarily due to the imperialism, but the reality is not exactly that. Rauru genuinely is a good man, and doesn’t exactly match the image of a conqueror or malevolent being in the end, but he does fall into an archetype the series likes presenting; The Questionable Hylian King. King Rhoam and Daphnes both fall into this category by both being men who would do whatever they can to preserve the Kingdom of Hyrule, but they aren’t exactly great people. Rauru however is a unique case, because despite having a good heart, he is still questionable because of how he was planning to build his kingdom, the stash of Zonai Secret Stones that were just kept in the castle at the time, and based off of how he planned to handle Ganondorf before the bastard became the Demon King, he didn’t consider the potential problems.

As for the Imperialism, based off the scraps of info we have on the Zonai, and the fact that Rauru even considered on having that be the base for the system that Ancient Hyrule would function on once, it leads me to believe that the Zonai Civilization was most likely an empire that lived in the skies that mostly kept to itself and was around since Skyward Sword. Still, empires are destined to fall, and as a result, only 2 young Zonai were left, Rauru and Mineru. I think that when Rauru was founding Hyrule with Sonia, he was most likely thinking about the Zonai Civilization, and what aspects of that he could carry over into this new kingdom. Still, it’s clear that when building Hyrule, the one thing he DID consider was that he wanted a kingdom and land that would bring peaceful and orderly, and he might’ve flirted with the idea of a United Hyrule after finding out about the other races and civilizations.

Rauru if anything, wanted order. He wanted Hyrule to be a land that wasn’t sullied by evil, and he had good intentions and a good heart, but his methods were flawed at best and just garbage at worst. If anything, Zelda and Link are meant to basically are meant to look at him and learn what NOT to do when rebuilding Hyrule. Order may be something that’s usually associated as something good, but it just depends on who’s trying to establish it.

Point 2: Ganondorf has a motive and it’s one that brings only chaos

I hear talks about how Ganondorf has no motive in this game, but that isn’t the case here. This is mostly denied with some lines of his english dub and his motive is explained clearly in the Japanese dub. He, much like his other incarnations, is one of those antagonists who follow “The Mandate To Heaven,” which is basically a “the strong thrive while the weak perish” mentality that was used by a lot of real life emperors and conquerors, however there’s also another element to his character that seperates him from other incarnations of the character. He’s an embodiment of chaos and is aware of it.

Look at Ganondorf’s Demon King design, and his personality in this game and tell me that he isn’t chaos incarnate. Ganon has ranged from being a classic villian, a tragic villain, and magnificent bastard as a human, to a generic doomsday villain in his beastial forms. But here? He’s aware of his capacity for causing chaos and uses it to his advantage to ruin Rauru’s attempt at establishing order. Not only that, but he believes that hard times make people strong, and that anyone who desires peace is a coward. He and the Gerudo have thrived in a chaotic environment, The Desert, however while the rest of the Gerudo wish to just be left the hell alone, Ganondorf wished to extend his reach across the land, and after becoming the Demon King, his first act was to revive dead monsters, reintroducing chaos into the world as a result. He abandoned the Gerudo for the sake of his goal to dismantle the young Kingdom of Hyrule and turn the land into a hellscape where only the strong can thrive, a hellscape ruled by him, a king who MUST crush any opposition and rule.

This is a similar, yet different take on Ganondorf that not only remains true to his kingly mentality, but carries a chaotic and destructive energy that helps cement him as a true enemy to order as a concept, and not a king who’s selfish heart caused him to go power mad (OOT, TP & WW) or a genuinely good leader who still carries a monstrous and power hungry side to him (HW). This Ganondorf is not just evil, nor is he just a conqueror. He’s the enemy to peace and order, no matter who’s trying to establish it, all because peace and order doesn’t align with his worldview.

Point 3: Zelda is not a monster, but she does carry an impact

This one should be obvious, especially since Hyrule was still realing from The Calamity, but apparently it isn’t. Zelda is the last Hylian Royal in the present, but not just that. She’s been helping people recover, alongside the Shiekah too. She’s probably kept in touch with the Gorons, Rito, Zora, and Gerudo during that time and helped them too, and considering that she was friends with their champions, it gives her even more reasons to help, despite the fact that she would’ve tried to help anyway. Zelda in all of her appearances, especially in BOTW and TOTK is a genuinely good person, but unlike Rauru, she’s only concerned with peace and is careful with her steps. Remember, she DID question Rauru’s plan to keep an eye on Ganondorf. Sure it’s her duty to ensure order, as The Princess, but she genuinely believes that peace should be the objective of any royal. Zelda is willing to do whatever she can for peace, but she knows that there are certain paths that she cannot tread, unless she desires to abuse her power, and this is why she values wisdom, and this is why people trust her as much as they do.

Ganondorf’s puppet copy of Zelda did some heinous shit with her face, but even then, it still managed to fool some people. The puppet was designed to take advantage of that trust, and put people in distraught. In other words, when the REAL Zelda came back, you bet your ass that shit was set stright.

Point 4: The imperialism is just… existing in ancient hyrule, and is never glorified or demonized

Yeah, imperialism is implied, but it’s not glorified or demonized. It was just there for Ancient Hyrule before Ganondorf threw the land into chaos. Aside from that, based off of everything we know about BOTW and TOTK, whatever imperialism was in going to be in Ancient Hyrule, it didn’t see the light of day BECAUSE of the chaos created by Demon King Ganondorf. If anything it was just known as a thing exclusive to that era, and I explained Rauru’s deal. It’s almost like the imperialism was just a thing of the past and nothing more, a failed byproduct of a founder who was flawed as a King.

Before anyone brings it up, yes, the Gerudo of the past (TOTK Memories and OOT) are different from the ones in the present, and they even fought Rauru, but juding by how their leader revived a bunch of long dead monsters and tried to turn the world into his “only the strong survive” dreamland, it makes sense why they ditched him, it’s the same reason why the Gerudo centuries after OOT are allies of Hyrule in the BOTW timeline. They may have their problems with the hylians and men, but they’d rather work with them than pave the way for Ganondorf to bring them to ruin.

Conclusion: ToTK is not propaganda, it’s just a simple game with a piece of lore that has imperialism

As I said in point 4, the game isn’t pro imperialism, but it isn’t anti imperialism either, it just brings it up for the flashbacks as the implied system of government Rauru probably wanted to set up (Which I theorize was due to the Zonai Civilization being something akin to an empire that kept to itself before inevitably falling) for the purpose of genuinely wanting peace and order, and when the war against Ganondorf begins, that idea falls apart because chaos is sweeping the land and Rauru basically sacrifices himself to stop it, and Zelda at the end of her journey learns from the founders mistakes.

Hope this helps, but it probably won’t ☠️☠️☠️☠️

#the legend of zelda #legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #ganondorf #ganon #zelda #king rauru #analysis #tw: imperialism

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officialdaydreamer00 · 2 months

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Doomsday Device

(overblot!irene lovejoy lore)

Description: Every type of magic has its own consequences. Except for the type that has been plaguing her family for generations in the past. a so-called "unbreakable death sentence" set the moment the user learn their first spell...

CW: Irene's descent into madness, use of black matter for blood, violence

Tags: @azulashengrottospiano @identity-theft-101 @xen-blank @siren-serenity @cookiesandbiscuits @dove-da-birb @krenenbaker @ferris-the-wheel @edith-is-a-cat @axvwriter @ameleii @loser-jpg @taruruchi @thehollowwriter @escha-evenstar @cyanide-latte

Inspiration: Doomsday by Derivakat

The long awaited lore!! As always, remember to comment and reblog if you enjoy my work!! ^-^

"Today couldn't possibly get worse..."

It was a rather gloomy day at NRC. Unusually so.

Classes seemed more difficult than normal, it was unbearable and hard to breathe. And there was just something lingering in the atmosphere that sent the student body on edge. Something sinister.

Grim didn't hold his usual confident attitude and kept darting his eyes around nervously. Moreover, he attended classes with only Ace and Deuce since the Prefect was not with them.

... The Prefect was never seen without them.

The duo had been worried the entire morning. They didn't see her anywhere, either. In fact, no one did.

Where is the Prefect?

That sent everyone on a search for the missing prefect, by the order from the headmage and the housewardens. They search high and low, from every classroom to the dorms, but still no Prefect.

Unknown to them, the wind blew harsher than before, picking up the dust and sand like a theatre's curtain.

"That wasn't me..." They heard Housewarden Kingscholar muttered. Looks of confusion were thrown around, then who did that?

As the dust dissipated, their bleary eyes darted around, coughing from having inhaled the dust while they searched desperately for the missing Prefect.

"Prefect!"

"Prefect, where are you!?"

"Myah!! Where did the water come from!?" Grim jolted. He frantically tried to paw off the water on his face, only to freeze up as a sharp metallic smell hit his nose and pulled his paw back. All he saw was black.

Ace turned towards Grim at the cat monster's sudden stop, his face paled once he saw the viscous black liquid smeared on his face.

"Shit- Grim... That's not water—!!"

Suddenly, loud gasps were heard from the student body. Some pointed their fingers, looking up at something, or rather, someone.

And someone familiar, indeed. There on top of the castle they called their school, a black clad silhouette stood. Black smoke rolling from the hem of her floor length skirt as her cloak billowed in the wind.

And flying ominously above her head, murders of crows circled into a black cloud looming over the silent castle, much to the students' growing horror. Their caws all melted into a cacophony, horrible and deafening, bringing shivers down their spines.

Several sharp eyes caught a glint of metal shimmering under what little light going through the shifting cloud of crows. A long, slender blade clasped tight in her hand.

And with one final caw in unison, the crows above scattered around her, staring down at the people below. A large pair of wings as dark as the clothes she wore unfurled from her back, flapping a few times before they settled comfortably behind her. The cleared area of sky shined down on her figure like a halo, as if she was an angel of death sent from above.

"Prefect...?" Deuce muttered in worry. Gloved hand tightened around the magic pen, he did not want to hurt his friend, even if she had turned.

"What's the meaning of this!?" Headmage Crowley finally arrived at the scene, infuriatingly insufferable as always. "Ah, there you are, Irene! What are you even doing up there!?"

She stayed silent, staring down at Crowley with an unreadable look. Then, a snort escaped her, a giggle, which soon turned into a full blown laugh. She sighed, petting a crow that was sitting on her shoulder as she looked down at Crowley with a crazed grin.

"Why, the crows are demaning bloodshed, of course." She answered, her smile widened even more, if it was even possible. The same black liquid dripped down her chin, staining the collar of her pristine white shirt. "And who am I to deny them such entertainment?"

Another round of caws echoed in unison, hundred of crows scattered over the sky, cawing endlessly as waves of shadow extended from under her feet, gradually swallowing the entire campus in eternal darkness.

"Down with NRC, boys. It's was never meant to be..."

It was a bad omen. Not as a threat, but an inevitable promise of total destruction.

#Spotify #irene's writings ♡#twst #twisted wonderland #twst yuusona #twst oc #twst oc lore #oc lore #tech child <3 #welcome to the irene-verse

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justcallme-ange · 11 months

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I just had a though about Doomsday trio and it's making me sad - so I'm inflicting it on ya'll too. (Pardon the rambling)

Something something - Dream for a lot of the SMP was valued for the fact that he had resources and power. He had the TNT he had the armor, and even his relationship with George ended up where it was mostly about the things he could give to him - first the crown and then the armor. And how once he exhausted his resources... people abandoned him. Like even in Prison, Quackity only valued Dream's life because of the revival book - no one would care if Dream himself died (he burned those bridges long ago).*well except for Sam, but that's a whole other can of worms

So immortality/longevity makes it so that attachments to places or objects is not really a thing - and I mean this in the sense of if you lose all your riches or your house/castle you have more than enough time to amass more and rebuild, (it'll suck - but there's time). The loss mostly comes from the people you've met in your lifetimes, because they're not replaceable.

So I've imagined a scenario where... Dream does question his relationship/value to Techno, and by proxy Phil. Because why would they care, once Techno has the info for the prison - Dream has nothing else to offer. Would they leave Dream imprisoned. And why shouldn't they? Even the revival book (if we're looking at the angle of Immortal and Married to Death) isn't really something that necessary to Phil and Techno. Does Dream himself have value, or is it only what he can bring to the table? And of course Phil and Techno have no need for any of what Dream is offering, they never really did.

And I think that's why I find their dynamic (in AU) so interesting - because they have everything Dream could/now can't offer... and they still care about him. How would that turn Dream's views on himself and the value of his time on it's head?

#Idk #this is probably talked to death already #but it's been in my head since I started making stuff for the rivals and doomsday trio #rivalsduo #rivals duo #rivalsblr #cdream #ctechno #dsmp #doomsday trio #ramblings

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retrocgads · 2 years

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UK 1985

#UK1985 #FANTASY SOFTWARE #ACTION #SPECTRUM #C64 #THE PYRAMID #DOOMSDAY CASTLE

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tadpolesonalgae · 5 months

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Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Chapter 11

Warnings: murder, general death, Azriel, gore

Word Count: 3,549

-Part 10-

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It’s been simmering away long before he turned you. Maybe even before he met you. Bubbling and festering deep in the marrow of your bones, suppressed and denied over and over until it became something awful and ugly, untameable and unstoppable once it’s leash finally snapped. Wreaking devastation with wide-grinning teeth, talons that snicker-snack through flesh, crushing corpses beneath its leather covered paws.

You can feel it cracking open an eye, a slimy, translucent film beneath its lid, opening blearily, fully fledged at last, and ready to wreak havoc on everything around it.

And you know just the place to begin your destruction, how to set the doomsday in motion.

The twisted fucker that got you into this situation in the first place.

—————

It’s been a long time coming, this selfish sense of justice that you need to bring.

How many other women and innocents have they murdered in the name of mild boredom. The devil makes work for the idle, and their palms are softer than cotton. Easier to shred through.

Night hasn’t even fallen when you crawl up the walls of the palace, built in the centre of the citadel, able to see the priestess’ temple from the high crenellations. In a fleeting thought, you wonder what she’d think of your actions, if she’d condemn them or turn a blind eye for the sake of your own suffering. But she won’t be spared either—she should have warned you. Not sat you down over a cup of tea and given out her own simpering story.

Your claws hook over the balcony, effortlessly hauling yourself into the boy-king’s chambers. Take in the gaudy and lavish spread, undeserved opulence at its finest, long past the line of decadence. Nobody needs a golden chamber pot beneath their bed, no matter how well they eat.

Heightened senses pick up the beat of two hearts outside the door, filthily-paid guards positioned at the entrance, and your forked tongue flickers out over dark, rubbery lips. Drool drips onto the floor, but you pay it no mind, snaking silently across the marble before flinging the doors from their hinges. Blood splatters and bone splinters beneath the force, glittering talons making a wretched mess of the spurting bodies, unthreading sinew as you crush their lungs beneath your paw, the steel of their weapons nothing against the raw hide coating leathery limbs. At your back, your tails thrashes, gouging slashes in the stone as spikes slice through marble, putting breaks in the castle that nearly broke you.

Your nostrils flare, picking up the scent of someone young, blood too sour to enjoy laced with the overripe flavour of age. The sag of skin practically a flavour in and of itself as you skitter down the hallway, scrambling up the walls, clambering along the ceiling as you spot a familiar pathway, ones you’d been forced up when you were human. A human woman with bare feet and scrappy clothing, still shot through with remnants of sickness.

The great hall looms before you, and your pulse spikes, screaming for you to loose hell on the people within. Your back arches in a stretch, easing your muscles into working condition, warmed from the earlier blood-bath.

With a flick of your great, thrashing tail, the massive doors cave in, being flung from the frame in a crash of dust and stone. It doesn’t even take a minute before the guards within are splattered upon the pristine walls, dripping blood and viscera onto pretty, marble floors. Staining the stained glass red.

The boy-king screams, a high pitched wail that grates on your ears as you slither through the hall, only to come to a stop at the foot of the dais, watching as an acrid smelling liquid drips from the too-large throne where he’s cowering. Blacked-out eyes flick through the room, but the advisor is no where to be found, fury lighting you ablaze, rage rippling through your soul as magic pulses through the room, shattering the glass, sending bloody fragments raining down on the gardens below.

You hardly feel his tiny bones crack beneath your palm, as simple as squashing a fly—the difference being you’d feel bad about the latter, stealing food from the spider. Hot flesh is crushed into the floor, leaving a mushy pile of indiscernible parts dripping from the throne, iron mixing with ammonia.

Again your nostrils flare, heart pounding with bloodlust as you search for the man who’d sentenced you. Who’d been responsible for casting you out into that forest, beyond reason.

A broken cry sounds from the entrance, and you whip around, rubbery maw sharpening into a grin as you find your meal, held upon narrow, shaky legs that wouldn’t make more than a mouthful. His eyes are round and terror-filled as they take in the hell-beast you’ve become.

Shadows writhe at your wings, crowing them in a corona of darkness, tail thrashing and tearing at stone.

The advisor stumbles back on doddery old legs, stumbling and tripping as he falls on his bony behind, hands scrambling as he frantically pushes back from you, like a baby trying to crawl away. Razor-sharp teeth glitter, kept clean and pristine, waiting to be used.

You prowl forward, excited to take your time stripping his skin from his skeleton, feeling it peel from his flesh. Claws click on the marble floor, ticking like the second hand of a clock as you revel in the rising scent of his terror, so many wonders afforded to you with this new body.

His mouth opens in soundless scream, a wet gasp rasps from dry, old lips, hot breath wheezing from sinking lungs.

You press your paw over his chest, pinning him to the ground as his skeletal hands weakly rub at your fingers, trying to remove the great things from spearing him entirely as they curl into his back, tearing at sagging muscle. You wish you could gloat, could tell him who you are, see if he remembers what he did to you. See if he remembers being the one to suggest leaving you to the devil you’d sold your heart to in order to be cured from the plague.

His eyes are wide and glassy…the old man with already fading hair and wrinkles that swallow his eyes beneath flaps of loose skin.

The memories pour in, the rope biting into your wrists, weakness coating your muscles…eyes as black as the devils. The look alone had been enough to have nausea roiling in your stomach, threatening to upend it right there on the marble floor you’d been shoved to. Eyes that had swallowed you whole—black like you’d never seen black. Dark as pitch.

(alarmingly void, more than anyone’s have any right to be…and lacking in definition. Just one solid layer glazing across the obsidian coloured surface. Depthless.)

Terror-stricken blue eyes stare up at you, watery and weak as they strain and bulge beneath the pressure on his chest.

Ice glazes through your veins, blood freezing over just as a wave of pure power slams into you, throwing you back through the hall.

Your head cracks back against the marble, spine aching from the shockwave and you slide down onto the floor, collapsing behind the throne before slithering back to your feet, snaking down the dais. Eyes locking with cocoa.

There’s a brief moment of sorrow that flashes. It’s hardly noticeable, and passes before you can fully grasp it, but it’s enough for her to slip in.

Elain raises her thyrsus, knocking its base against the floor, a thrumming wave of power gathering in a shield as your talons clack against the stone, warily prowling forward, mouth watering to sink into his flesh. Cocoa flicks through the room, finally taking in the carnage—the blood splatters, and splintered fragments of bone dripping from the dais you’re standing on. The warped and crushed corpse of the young king.

“What have you become?” She breathes vehemently, delicate brow narrowing over cold eyes, shields rising up and locking down, sceptre spinning in her hand as she sets one foot before her, the other behind at five o’clock, pointed outward. A snarl rips from your chest, watching as she takes up a defensive position between you and the exit—between you and the rasping advisor. Between you and your meal.

Before you can think properly, you’re darting forward, faster than a shadow, shooting across the floor as talons crack down on her shield of magic, the staff appearing as a way from her to convert her power into a weapon. Burning rage pounds through your skull, yearning to obliterate as magic gathers at your fingertips, rubbery lips stretching into a grin when it coats your claws, slicing through her barrier.

She’s thrown back in the room, robes skidding through cooling pools of blood until she reaches the threshold of the caved-in doors. Glee beats in your chest as you skitter forward, the sound of leather stretching as your grin widens, showcasing gleaming rows of razor-sharp teeth, ready to rip and shred to your pleasure. The staff has been knocked from her tender hand, and she grapples for it as you scuttle closer, speeding up the closer you get until darkness is building at your back and your wings are flared in a display of dominance, keeping her pinned to the bloody marble with shadows.

Incisors glitter in the light as your jaws part above her, preparing to bite down and end when steel wreathed in fire slides beneath your throat. “Step away from her.”

Eyes flick up, jaw locking as stinging, searing pain lances down your right collar bone, bleeding into your shoulder as your gaze locks with a whirring, mechanical eye. Golden and russet narrows with unforgiving fury, glowing like the flames from a forge as the blistering steel raises in warning before pulling back. Fire sparks across the floor, aiming for your limbs to burn you alive as he spins, making to slice the blade across your throat.

Darkness flares out of nowhere, colliding with rampant and furious fire, and you’re thrown back as another figure joins the fray. One that’s packed with deadly power, great wings wreathing his back as he looms over Lucien.

“Step aside, Azriel,” the male hisses, flame licking up the walls, heat sweltering.

“Put the blade away, and I’ll consider letting you keep your other eye,” he drawls lowly, syllables dragging like gravel from his throat. Fury gathers in the room, settling like oil over your skin, so heavy and greasy you can feel it practically weighing you down.

“Look around,” Lucien snarls, flame deepening with sizzling rage, held in check by a leash of thread. “Your mate has killed dozens of humans, as well as trying to murder mine.” His power flares on that last word, as if instinct is roaring at him to protect but he’s restraining it. “Put. Her. Down.”

Even through your haze of anger, the words clang through, reverberating across leathery skin, hackles raising at the threat.

Azriel shifts on his four great paws, wings flaring menacingly as a snarl rips from his throat, settling between you and the male. “You look after yours and I’ll look after mine,” he growls, darkness taunting flame, building steadily at his back.

A little further behind Lucien, Elain shakily pushes up from the pool of blood, a trembling, pale hand reaching for her staff, brimming with a pale light. With a flick of her wrist, the magic flares, beaming like a spear for the unprotected underside of his throat. Faster than thought, faster than instinct, you’ve shot across the marble, skittering beneath his front left paw, jaws snapping viciously as your own power grates against Elain’s before sending it careening off, gouging marble from the crumbling castle.

Tension ripples as the four of you are locked in on one another, senses keyed to the slightest movement, waiting for the coil to snap so the others can be torn to shreds.

The room explodes in glittering black, razor sharp talons clicking skittishly as power splits your two sides apart, blasting a wall of physical adamant between you, just translucent enough for Elain and Lucien’s figures to be wrought in shadow.

Azriel’s body lowers, both in a bow and in a circle of protection, paw shifting forward to keep you tucked beneath him. Instinctively you follow, curling back into his power, tail pulled tight—ready to lash out.

The darkness simmers away, revealing the tall, powerfully hewn figure of a male. Wickedness practically drips from his finery, raven-black hair pushed neatly back from his brow as sharp violet eyes settle coldly over the scene. A wave of dread ices across your skin, a weight dropping in your belly as you take in the immense power that’s rolling from his shoulders—a god.

Azriel doesn’t so much as breathe different, but his shadows gather beneath you, thick and lush like a rug of black wool, drawing his magic in closer as a circle of protection. A suggestion of defence.

“Azriel.”

The voice is deep and icy, dripping with malice, and the spines at your back prickle. Your own magic weaves through with his shadow, hiding in plain sight but ready to spring free as fear pools in your stomach.

Violet flicks through the room, taking in the splatters of blood, dripping viscera, then his gaze locks with yours. It’s a new kind of fear, you realise, being singled out by a being so much greater than you are, and you shrink away, pushing back into the protective power of the male above you. His stance broadens, covering more of you as great paws settle further apart, braced for sudden movement.

“What happened here?” The god doesn’t remove his attention from Azriel, but it’s clear the question is not addressed to him. The shadowy wall fades entirely, and your gaze shifts to the two figures opposing you, Elain having gotten to her feet, robes soaked in blood, staff gripped dismally in her hand with grim determination.

“Your brother let his mate run free,” Lucien replies lowly, tone like gravel—lined with restraint. “She tried to kill Elain.” Fire brightens before again banking, as if being soothed by the reminder of her presence at his side. Sharp, violet eyes once again cut to you, “is that right?”

You manage a quiet snarl, fear drumming in your pulse, paws shifting like a great cat preparing to pounce. Muscle coils tight with terror at being faced with the god, having his attention settle like ice over skin, preparing to rip away. His sharp eyes narrow on you, and you pull your magic tighter.

Is that right? He repeats, and you recoil into Azriel’s chest, flinching as the god’s voice echoes through your mind. Through your peripherals you can see as a frail body starts to life, gangly limbs trying to heave up his torso as the king’s advisor return to consciousness. Once again you shift on your paws, hissing viciously at the trembling man, blood and vomit coating his front as he takes in the four beasts before him. Five.

“She wouldn’t kill Elain,” Azriel growls from above you, shifting his paw to block your line of sight from the advisor. “I wasn’t asking you,” your god replies coldly, attention pinning you to the ground as violet bores into you. “She won’t be able to speak yet,” Azriel bites out, power thrumming at your paws, curling up your arms, brushing at the leathery hide you’ve been coated in. “She changed less than a week ago.”

“Then why weren’t you watching her?” Lucien growls sharply, eyes blazing.

The god casts a warning glance at the fiery male, but does no more than that, evidently also seeking an answer.

Azriel shifts above you, and you can feel the oiled gears of his mind clicking effortlessly, spinning his information into a silky web. “I was,” he growls, gaze turning to the god appealingly. “You know as well as I do everything is well warded. The only way she could have escaped is if someone let her out.”

“If someone let her out?” Lucien echoes disbelievingly. “Those wards are practically impenetrable. It would be impossible to unlock them from the outside.”

“Lucien’s correct,” the god drawls icily, gaze drifting to Azriel’s, warning glittering in their depths. A timer counting down as his patience begins to fray, the metallic scent heavy in the air. Azriel makes no obvious moves, but you can feel his frustration curving around your bones, wrapping you tight to him.

It seems the god senses his hesitance, pouncing on the second of indecisiveness. “Don’t try and hide things from me,” he bites out coldly, power weighing heavily in the air, so intense it sets your iron stomach churning.

A muscle feathers in Azriel’s jaw, before charcoal eyes raise to violet. “She wasn’t going to make it,” he growls lowly, resentment coating his tongue. “Elain can attest to that.”

Violet flicks to hardened cocoa expectantly, but the priestess is already watching you, peering beneath a strained brow. Her jaw is tight, but she gives a curt nod, fingers still bone white around her staff. “That’s true. We both saw her before,” she answers, gaze briefly meeting Lucien’s. “She was feverish and already going into delirium. It’s unlikely she was going to survive.”

The god’s attention returns to Azriel, the edges of his irises slightly thawed but remaining hard.

“She was going to die,” Azriel repeats, words pulled taut as they leave his tongue. “She had to go through the Pit, or she wouldn’t have survived.” The three figures stiffen preternaturally, colour draining as something cold and awful settles uneasily across the room.

“The wards were likely weakened from residual magic,” he grits out, still keeping you wrapped beneath his shadows, as if trying to keep you hidden from them. “Enough for someone to get through.” You press a little closer into the lines of his body, tension beginning to drip away, releasing its hold on your heart. “They’d already tried to take her once. They thought this would be their chance to get back at me.” Shadows writhe across the marble floor, flaring with concealed rage, fury manifesting in his power.

“You think your brothers caused this?” The god asks slowly, eyes once again touring the room, filled with drying gore. Azriel nods, and you begin pulling slowly at your magic, gathering it close to your skin, preparing to jump.

Tension and fear knots your stomach, twisting in vicious carvings as you keep yourself coiled tight beneath the solid frame of Azriel’s form, keeping pressed tight.

Cold violet flicks over the squashed carcass of the young king, distaste passing through his features. “You’re telling me your brothers created a gap in your wards, and she managed to do all this before you noticed?” The god drawls skeptically, voice clean-cut like glass. Azriel’s talons pierce the marble floor. “She went through the Pit,” he repeats lowly, “she’s much stronger than—”

The advisor starts in your peripherals, body jerking to life as the contents of his stomach is heaved upon the floor.

Your tail cracks like a whip, coil snapping free, splattering pieces of flesh against the already blood-caked windows.

Body obliterated in the blink of an eye, before curling back tight to your paws.

Silence buzzes across the room, four pairs of wide eyes watching as bits of intestine drip from the sill, pooling in a gouged-out puddle in the floor. Almost immediately Azriel’s own tail is curling around you comfortingly, shadows stroking at your sides as if to lull you back into a state of ease, soothing the wild drum of your heartbeat, tail twining with your own.

Cold power raises from the floor, darkness thrumming in warning as tension buzzes in your ears, having them flatten against your head.

“How much blood did you give her?” The god’s tone puts fractures into your bones, like rock grinding against rock, grating on your soul.

“As much as she would take,” Azriel replies quietly, and you feel his attention brushing affectionately over your leathery skin. Silence reigns heavily, stretching out as you huddle back into his power, wanting to escape from the immense power of the god.

“You did what?” Elain breathes, eyes wide as she stares at Azriel, grip tightening on her sceptre. She seems to be the only one of the three capable of formulating a response, something blazing in her eyes. “She was going to die, Elain,” he snarls protectively, body settling closer to you. “Because you neglected her,” she hisses, brown eyes cold and hard as they bore into the male. “You plucked her up out of her life, you refused to properly care for her, you were the one who refused to teach her anything because she wasn’t what you wanted.”

Azriel’s snarl is like thunder breaking across the heavens, marble trembling beneath your claws, and you settle against the sound.

Yet it doesn’t seem to bother the priestess.

“If she was the one who tore all these people to shreds,” she breathes, pale blue light blazing from her staff. “It is because you put that anger into her.”

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general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #demon!azriel x reader #teeth and talons

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ihatelink · 1 year

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Trust Fall (Revali X Reader) - Part 1

Word Count: 2,780

Pairing: Revali X Reader (Female)

Fandom/Universe: Legend of Zelda (Breath of The Wild)

Themes/Content: Romance (Slow Burn), Fantasy, Action.

Warnings: None

Synopsis: You visit your friend in Rito Village in order to escape the sense of dread looming over your home of Castle Town as the prophesied doomsday slowly grows closer. It is here on your visit that you meet a Rito warrior who turns your world upside-down.

Authors Note: Finally got round to writing this! Since he's not mentioned in TOTK at all I just had to start a fanfic for him. I miss him so much. I'm uploading this from my laptop so if the formate is weird or there needs to be more paragraphs just let me know! I don't consider myself a pro on Zelda lore so I do apologise for any mistakes. Also, this fan fiction will have two endings! (One canon to BOTW and one canon to Hyrule Warriors) Other than that, I hope you enjoy! - I don't know what to call myself... should I go by my username? What about something stupid like Loafus?... I don't know... I'll work on it 🪶🤎

Rito Village was your second home. You felt so much comfort and associated the place with such a feeling of warmth, it was surprising you hadn't made it your permanent residence. When it came to Rito Village you only had positive memories.

This was mostly due to your best friend, Frita, being a rito. The two of you had met at a very young age and had been best friends ever since, visiting each other every couple of weeks or whenever you had spare time. She would teach you about the ways of the rito and you in turn would teach her about hylians. Frita truly was like a sister to you, and you loved her more than words could say.

"Daydreaming again?", her voice broke you from your thoughts, her bright blue eyes sparkling with joy. You blinked a few times, finally registering her words, and you couldn't help but giggle to yourself. "Yes, I guess I was". "What we're you daydreaming about?", she asked, turning her attention back to the salmon sizzling in the village's communal cooking pot, the aroma swirling through the air, making your mouth water in anticipation. Later in the night was the perfect time for cooking here as most ritos had gone to sleep; Their poor night vision meant that many would retire early in the evening. "Just thinking about flying", you confess sheepishly and Frita rolled her eyes playfully, responding with, "You're always thinking about flying". "I can't help it whenever I'm here. You all look so majestic and free", you gushed. "I would love to be able to experience what it's like to fly for myself instead of having to be on your back". "Perhaps if you pray to Hylia enough she'll allow you to become one of us", she chuckled and you couldn't help but laugh along with her. Frita eventually added the tebantha wheat to the pot and the goat butter as the two of you talked about everything under the stars. "Are you still planning on moving to Hateno Village?", she asked as she began to plate up your dinners. "Yes, unfortunately. It means I'll be further away from you", you mumbled and Frita's face fell in disappointment. "It's the best option as, if this impending doom really is to show itself one day, the city centre is most likely one of the first places to be attacked. If I could, I'd love to live here with you". "Well, why don't you?". You shook your head. "You know I'd stick out like a sore thumb here. I wouldn't be able to pull my weight or help the village in any way. I'd be more of a burden than anything". "Perhaps not! If I could find a way for you to easily integrate into life here, would you move here?". The more Frita spoke, the more you felt a warmth spread through your entire being. "You'd have me, you'd be well protected- our warriors are exceptional, there's plenty of food and resources in the area… just don't make any final decisions to move just yet. Allow me a chance". You chuckled, taken aback by your friends willingness to help you and keep you by her side. "Okay, I'll give you a chance".

You cut yourself short when you noticed movement out of your peripheral vision. The gentle padding of talloned footsteps grew closer and bright emerald green eyes encased in bright red watched from the darkness. Finally a rito came into view. "Rather late to be cooking, don't you think?". His tone was sharp and precise, you couldn't tell if he was making small talk or if he was irritated with the fact that the two of you were occupying the cook pot. Did he usually use it at this time? "Oh! Revali! Sorry, did you want to use the cooking pot", Frita asked, a light quality to her voice as she politely addressed him, yet an awkward silence seemed to settle over the three of you as his eyes travelled from her to settle on you, staring down his beak right into your very soul. "Who is this hylian?", he asked bluntly. "This is my best friend. She's visiting for a short while", she informed him of your name and that you were from Castle Town. "Would you care to join us?", you then offered, cutting through the awkward pause in conversation. "We have plenty to go around". Frita cut you a glance, surprised by your sudden offer, but did not protest, adding "Yes, do join us! I'm assuming you've just finished practice? You must be famished". Revali opened his beak but quickly shut it, perhaps to reject the offer but thought better of it. He took a moment to smooth out the cream scarf around his neck. "Well, if you insist, I suppose I could join you", he hummed, making his way to sit across from you.

As he took his seat, he placed a beautifully crafted bow to his side, coated in vibrant colours and intricate designs, a scrap of teal fabric tied to one end. He held himself with pride, sitting tall, spine straight, shoulders squared. With the fact that he was taller than you, it was a little intimidating. "Have you visited our village before?", he asked, and it took you a second to realise his question was directed towards you. "Oh yes, plenty of times. I've been visiting since I was a child. That's how I met Frita", you explained, gesturing to your friend as dinner was being dished onto plates chiselled from stone. "Hmm, surely I would have met you by now if that were the case", he muttered as he was handed his food, "it's interesting how our paths have never crossed". You shrugged unsure of what else to say, other than, "Perhaps we weren't meant to meet yet. Us meeting now may be fate?", you laughed lightly, amused by the thought. Revali scoffed in response, "I believe we are in control of our own fate. For example; I didn't become one of the greatest rito warriors through fate and sheer dumb luck alone". "And so modest about it too", you joked which caused Frita to just about choke on her food. She tried to excuse herself as calmly as possible, covering her beak with her wing while still coughing her lungs up. Judging by her reaction, you considered how you may have overstepped a boundary. Not everyone knew when you were joking upon first meeting you. You often sounded more serious than you intended. "I'm only teasing", you clarified, playing with your food on the end of your fork absentmindedly. "I'm sure you're more than deserving of the title", you tried for your most sincere smile you could conjure, yet Revali didn't seem convince.

Finally, Frita had caught her breath, tears in the corners of her eyes. "No no, Revali really is the greatest of our warriors. Our people gave him that title", she croaked, her throat sounding raw from coughing. "He's the pride of the rito", she insisted, dropping her voice to a more serious tone. Your face contorted in amused disbelief before you began to wrack your brain for any information that would help you deduct the truth. "So he is the rito that's won the annual archery competition for the past five years? He's that same-…", you began to trail off, recalling the conversation you had with your father.

You came from a wealthy family, both your parents working for the King and late Queen of Hyrule . Your mother was the royal gerudo correspondent and your father was the royal rito correspondent- this being the reason you spent so much time in Rito Village growing up, as well as Gerudo Town. You remembered the past few years you couldn't make the annual archery competition held in the village, since you were either accompanying your mother on business trips or doing your own work, but you father had come home stating how the rito 'Revali' had won again. He would then follow up by talking about his superb skills and how his talent for aerial combat were superior in comparison to his peers. Your father claimed that the rito was unmatched and unrivalled, as well as claiming that he may very soon be known as one of- if not the most skilled warrior in all of Hyrule. (Which was very high praise coming from your father, since he was rarely impressed by anyone).

It was like a shock wave was sent through your body. "In the name of Hylia! I didn't realise it was you! I am so sorry! Please forgive my rudeness", you blubbered, putting your half eaten dinner aside, stumbling over your words as you rushed out your apology. "So you have heard of me", he lulled before an amused smirk graced his features. "I suppose I can forgive you since your rudeness was more disbelief than pure ignorance". "Thank you”, you breathed a sigh of relief. “I have heard a lot about your skills and I-… well…", once again you had trailed off. You looked to Frita for reassurance, yet she seemed as nervous as you; her posture was stiff as she sat with a straight spine, her eyes glancing between you and the navy rito. "From what I've heard, you're an incredibly skilled archer", you approached the conversation cautiously, hoping this angle would amend any bitterness you may have caused. Revali looked a you and you felt your breath catch in your throat as you locked eyes before he let out a gruff chuckle. "I suppose you could say that".

You and Frita ate in a comfortable silence while listening to Revali drawl on about the countless competitions he's won along with his many talents regarding aerial combat. Before long, your mind began to wonder.

You couldn't help but think of home. How it was slowly being consumed by a festering anxiety. There was a heavy air across the whole of Castle Town as you all prepared for this prophesied impending doom. The army had began vigorously training since last month. Some of those warriors were your friends- people you had grown up with. It was terrifying to think how some of them you may never see again once the Calamity strikes. Some were beginning to research the ancient technology that had recently been unearthed to see if they could be used to defend Hyrule. These were called guardians, and then there were also the recently uncovered Divine Beasts. At times, it was all a bit much, being at the central hub of Hyrule where there is no escape from the looming sense of dread. Things were moving so quickly and it seemed as though you may never escape the ever present anxiety that hung in the air of Castle Town. But here, in Rito Village, people seemed more relaxed. Many ritos believed that their home would not be effected by the foreseen Calamity. This made the village a nice escape from daily life back home. Here, you weren't reminded of what was to come. You weren't reminded of your duties. You could just breathe easier here in the village nestled into the rocky pillar.

"I do love it here. Rito Village is such a beautiful place. I don't have a single bad memory while being here", you gushed, earning a raised brow from Revali at your comments about his home, his interest now piqued. "Is that so?". Before you could stop her, Frita spewed, "Yes, in fact, she might move here". You shot her a look, a signal to keep that information between the two of you, to which she sheepishly dipped her head in response. You didn't want others knowing of your plans to move just yet, especially since you hadn't even mentioned it to your parents. "A hylian living amongst ritos?", Revali questioned, an amused undertone laced within his words as his luminous eyes narrowed a fraction, as if trying to read your expressions for some sign of the truth. "Hylians aren't equipped for living here. You would struggle". "Yet so many visit and get by just fine", you bit back, sharp tongued yet it was all said with a simple smile across your lips. What he said was true, yet you disliked how he assumed you would struggle when Frita, a fellow rito, believed you could easily adapt to life in the village. "Visiting and residing are very different though", he then shot back, cocking his head to the side as he examined you and your heart began to pound slightly. You felt a pout develop on your features, brows furrowed. He made a point you couldn't argue against. It was the truth. "Well, I'm taking it upon myself to help her integrate into the village before she permanently moves here", Frita chipped in, sensing some tension settling in the air. "If you truly want to move here", Revali began, capturing your attention once more. He wore a smug smirk before he finished, "You'll have to prove yourself".

"Prove myself?", you parroted. "Yes. You'll have to learn our ways and prove to us that you belong here". Revali studied you for a moment, as if he hadn't been doing so all night already. "Firstly, the women of our village are know for being beautiful singers and us men are talented archers. Tell me, can you sing?".

Being from one of the wealthier families of Hyrule Kingdom, you did have the privilege of music lessons from a young age. Your parents wanted the best for you, so consequentially, you had many lessons in a multitude of subjects and areas; Geography, horse riding, music, dance, literature, cooking, etiquette, biology and more.

"I have had many singing lessons", you informed the feathered man matter-of-factly. "It's more a matter of personal taste weather you believe I sound good". "Perhaps you could sing for me tomorrow then. After my training, well meet at the flight range. You can showcase your voice there", he challenged, the smirk across his features growing as he stared down his beak at you. "After all, it would be rather nice to have something to help me relax after such strenuous training", he teased. "And if my voice is to your liking, what do I receive then?". There was a slight pause. "What do you mean?", he tilted his head slightly, perplexed by your response. "Well, if my voice is to your liking then that would mean I have somewhat proven myself worthy of living here amongst your kind", you began, Revali's attention honed in on you, "Which I believe would be worth a reward". "Your reward would be living amongst us", you ignored his comment, pressing on. "That being said, if I prove myself, then I would like to learn archery". "What good would that do you?", he asked. "It's always good for a woman to be able to defend herself, wouldn't you agree?". "But if you were living in Rito Village you wouldn't need to defend yourself", he argued. "I'd have to say it's always good for a woman to know how to use a bow", Frita affirmed your point, edging a little closer to you as she joined the conversation. "Especially a hylian. They are smaller than most races, so it's most likely that any threat they face will be larger than them and could over power them", Frita continued, delving more into her argument. "Exactly, Frita! Meaning wouldn't it be beneficial to have a long range weapon in that instance? Surely, with your knowledge on combat as one of the greatest warriors of our time, you'd agree, Revali". You couldn't help but notice how the feathers around his chest plate plumed in reaction to your words. You'd noticed many ritos would unintentionally do this when feeling prideful, being boastful or being frustrated or angry. Perhaps it was a subconscious way of asserting dominance? Like how a Hylian may square their shoulders to appear larger and more confident in front of others. "It would be an honour to have you teach me".

There was a pause.

"I suppose it would be beneficial for you to have the most skilled archer teach you…", he mused looking off into the night, as if he barely acknowledged your being , like you were nothing more than a speck on his radar. A nuisance. "Alright, you have yourself a deal; continuously show your willingness and progression to integrate into our society, and in turn I will teach you how to use a bow". "And you swear not to go back on your word?", you quirked a brow in Revali's direction. "I swear".

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