Tumgik
#Please don't call me out like this.
poorly-drawn-mdzs · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
Laios's three Boy Best Friends. And yes, they hate him.
#dungeon meshi#laios touden#toshiro nakamoto#chilchuck tims#kabru#BF in this context could be boyfriend or best friend. The line is so blurry.#Chilchuck less so but whatever is going on between Shuro and Laios & Kabru and Laios is giving strong:#“dude if you were a girl I'd date the hell out of you”. And from the genderswap extra's that sentiment is canon for BOTH.#This was made prior to the translation of the Laios & Kabru & Shuro restaurant date comic and honestly I am just feeling vindicated.#I don't even know what to call this dynamic other than a situationship. There is so much going on between all of them.#Even on a purely platonic reading - the miscommunication and male yearning for friendship hurt so bad.#When we got the Big Hug scene in the epilogue arc I was whooping and hollering! Pure catharsis moment!#I also don't like hugs very much so I really felt it went Shuro ('hates being touched') went in for the bear hug.#Do not get me started on the agony of 'always lying' Kabru telling the truth (I just wanted to be friends)#and 'always believes' Laios thinking it's another lie and brushing him off.#I am once again supporting dungeon meshi day by posting art. Please watch dungeon meshi.#obligatory edit because I’m tired: YES. Chilchuck cares for Laios and him admitting it was a huge part of his arc#YES he is more just fed up with him that actually hating him.#I needed a third guy to be canonically done with his ass for the THREE WEED SMOKING GIRLFRIENDS reference
2K notes · View notes
moongothic · 3 months
Text
Crocodad AU where immidiately after having left Dragon and his baby boy Crocodile finds an 11 year old Robin. And while he's 100% only recruiting her so they can make a beeline for the Poneglyph and Pluton in Alabasta by the two of them... Crocodile accidentally sorta kinda adopts Robin.
At this point Robin's been running for her life from the Government for three years so her deep trust issues and fear of betrayal are starting to take root in her little heart. Like perhaps they haven't taken fully over yet, and being still a child I'm sure Robin might've still had that genuine hope that she could find a safe place to stay in. But I'm sure the though of "what'll he'll do with me once he gets what he wants?" would be nagging at her at the back of her mind. Meanwhile Crocodile's struggling between the pain and hurt he's already gone through and given him his trademark trust issues, as well as the aftermath of The Dragodile Divorce. But he also has his Fresh Paternal Instincts and probably misses his baby. So when given a small, scared child who is running for her life, being chased by the very same Government that'll want his son dead if they ever find out about him... Yeah that might fuck with your brain a little
You know this post was supposed to be just that first paragraph and just a few footnotes from the following two paragraphs. And then I kept on Having Thoughts. And I kept on writing them down. And oh no what happened when did this post get so long (Look I was going to either kept on writing my Additional Thoughts in the tags or I just put them in the actual fucking post)
Like considder this: based on this one SBS, we can kinda tell that if Crocodile was given a chance to raise a child, that child would be a spoiled little shit, right
Tumblr media
So in this scenario, where Crocodile's looking after lil Robin, would he be kind of torn? Unsure how to feel about her?
Because on one hand, this strange child would have the potential to not only ruin his plans, strip him of his Shichibukai Privileges by outing him and his plans to the World Government, but also put his son in grave danger by extension (if she found out about him having been involved with the Revolutionaries and/or having a child). But on the other hand, his paternal instincts could make him want to spoil this poor little girl rotten. But only because he needs to (perhaps literally) buy her trust so she'll behave. No other reason, he doesn't feel sorry for her one bit, no sirree. (But maybe he did feel sorry for her, since his son could very well end up exactly like her. Poor little thing) (Which is why he needs to nuke Marijoa out of orbit as soon as possible, no matter the cost, and this child can't get in the way of Crocodile protecting his son) (But also this is a child. Like how bad could she be. Besides all he really needs to do to win her trust is be nice and make her feel safe, right?)
Of course, while I'm suggesting Crocodile could have some parental instincts, realistically, he hasn't actually spent any time being, you know, a father to a child (looking after his newborn for an unknown though short amount of time aside), so it's possible he wouldn't even know how to parent Robin even if he wanted to, would he? (Like taking care of a newborn and an 11 year old kid aren't the same either) So if he was kind of just emotionally flipflopping between No Trusting Ever and It's Just A Kid for God's Sake, Crocodile trying to be nice to Robin to make her feel safe and then telling himself to stop being so soft and vunerable... Yeah that would make for an absolute mess of a relationship. (Not to mention, let's be real, dude's a scary motherfucker too, and a bloody giant compared to itty bitty baby Robin. He could keep on accidentally scaring the shit out of Robin (who would be On Fucking Edge To Begin With) by just Being Himself. Like for example, can you fucking imagine if he caught Robin trying to cheer herself up with a little "dereshishishi" only to tell her to stop because "it was stupid"? 'Cause I can imagine him doing that, and boy howdy would that make Robin feel bad)
Or who knows, maybe Crocodile was just Born To Be A Dad, maybe he just Fucking Gets It. Like Crocodile is canonically pretty good at manipulating people to do what he wants them to do (see: how he played Vivi like a fiddle), so knowing Robin's position and understanding how she feels, maybe he COULD completely nail how she needed to be treated. Not being too familiar but still making her feel safe and happy, knowing exactly when to be stern and when to spoil her, etc. Dude just goes off and wins the Dad of the Year Award while being a deadbeat dad himself. The only thing Crocodile would have to worry about then would be making sure HE doesn't get too fond of her. And certainly that could never happen, he's so in-touch with his own feelings and so grounded, he's not a softie, get outta here. Or maybe he does but never realizes until it's too late and good luck backpedalling on those emotions now dumbass
Alright so, the reason I went on that whole rmble is just that like. I'm so interested in the relationship Robin and Crocodile already have in canon. I'm so facinated and curious about how the two feel about each other, considdering they did spend 4 whole years of their lives together as criminal business partners, though neither ever trusted the other. A partnership that was only ended because Robin betrayed Crocodile, out of her own trauma. (God, I want to see these two "reunite" so bad, I want to know how they feel about each other now after the timeskip and Robin joining the idiot in flipflops who foiled Croc's plans)
My question here is just that... if they had met 13 years earlier, would things have been different? Especially if Crocodad Real? Because as I mentioned in the begining, Robin would've been on the run for only 3 years by this point, as opposed to 16 years before running into Crocodile. Simultaneously, this would be before Crocodile went onto spend an entire decade all alone, slowly losing his marbles in his emotional solitude. They'd both be emotionally traumatized, yes, but would it have been as bad in this scenario? Like I did start this post kind of joking about Crocodile adopting Robin, and for clarity's sake I don't think they'd have like a father-daughter relationship nececarily. But it would be a strange relationship still, because we'd have two broken people, both struggling to trust anyone. One who had lost her mother and her only friends, leaving her all alone and afraid while running for her life. The other a father who had just given up his son whom he probably missed dearly. Both having these holes in their hearts from loss of family, holes that could not be filled with replacements. But could they find comfort in each other anyway, because they still as people occupy similar roles to their respective loved ones? If they both could just get over those trust issues?
Tumblr media
Okay I've been going off on the Emotional Side Of Things for this AU Concept, THERE'S PLOT TOO
So if Crocodile did pick Robin up like 19 years ago, that should be before he set up base in Alabasta, long before he had built is homebase and financial empire etc.
Now the thing is, while we don't know when, where and how Crocodile learned about the Ancient Weapons, Pluton specifically and how the lead on it would be in Alabasta... Considdering Crocodile did once upon a time aim to become Pirate King, it would make perfect sense if he had learned about Poneglyphs during his past adventures, as he would have needed to get the Road Poneglyphs to find One Piece. And while the World Government did bury the truth about why Ohara had been burned down and why Robin had been given her bounty (remember, the WG claimed it was because she had sunken a fleet of battleships, which she had not, it was because she could read the Poneglyphs), considdering this is a Crocodad AU specifically, you could totally make an argument Crocodile could've learned about what actually happened to Ohara from Dragon and co. So, just to make this AU work, you could just assume Crocodile learned about the concept of the Ancient Weapons from Dragon. And who knows, maybe he overheard the truth about why Robin had been given her bounty from Dragon too (maybe Dragon was able to get intel from Garp in secret) or while going to Marijoa himself to attend a Shichibukai meeting or something IDK.
Maybe he learned about Pluton being in Alabasta before finding Robin by accident, and maybe they made a beeline for Alabasta the second Croc recruited Robin. Travelling takes time and the guy would've most likely had to find an Eternal Pose to Alabasta just to get there (also canonically Robin didn't enter the Grand Line until her 20s so they should've met in West Blue probably, since that's where Ohara was) Or maybe Crocodile had to haul Robin around for a few months while looking for That Missing Piece of Information that would lead him to Alabasta. (Imagine the two travelling from like island to island, library to library, Crocodile trying to find that leads while Robin's just so excited about ALL THESE BOOKS (she's helping too with the research) (but to her, research is playtime, so she's just having the time of her life) (Also, notice how Crocodile's Theoretical Child is a fucking loser ass nerd? Yeah Crocodile would encourage Robin reading and studying, surely. And that would be fucking cute))
But like, once they set sail to Alabasta...
Sure, Crocodile could try to do it The Slow Way that we know he tried in canon, building trust and creating his little empire etc. But also, in canon, Crocodile couldn't have jumped into action head first because without Robin, even if he had found the Poneglyph he couldn't have read it and found the location of Pluton. Crocodile choosing to do it the slow way may have been partially because he didn't have much of a choise and it could've felt like the smarter move long-term.
But in this scenario, he already has Robin. Yes, he could do it the slow, secure way.
But what'd be there stopping him from infiltrating Cobra's palace and kidnapping him (in the night, when nobody suspects a thing), demanding Cobra to spill the beans lest Crocodile kills him and/or his pregnant wife* (*Vivi was born 10 months after Luffy so depending on how long it's been between Crocodad leaving Luffy behind and this scenario... Yeah either the wife is there, still pregnant, or there's a newborn Baby Vivi)
Like it'd be a risky move but depending on how ballsy Croc's feeling and how confident he feels in being able to kidnap the king without being noticed... Yeah he could probably do it. And I'm sure he'd have no problem killing Cobra either, if anything it'd be required if he didn't want the Government to find out he was out to find Pluton, and god knows Cobra would tell on Crocodile if left alive. I could see Crocodad being maybe a little iffy about killing Baby Vivi though (it's not like the newborn baby could report him to the WG anyways), but if nothing else, he just needs to be able to pull off the bluff of his life to convince Cobra to do as he's told. And we all know Crocodile's good at convincing people.
The only question is, how would Robin take that?
Watching Crocodile go into Full Murder Mode, hearing him say he'd kill a pregnant woman/a newborn baby if he didn't get what he wanted? Like yeah, I'm sure 11 year old Robin would be fine with that, that wouldn't make any alarm bells go off in her head at all, it'd be fiiiine. IT WOULD NOT BE FINE, SHE'D BE SCARED SHITLESS. That fear of "what will he do with me when he gets what he wants"? Well, Robin may not have found the answer to that question in particular, but she certainly found the answer to the opposite question, and it's not good
So say Cobra, kidnapped (perhaps with Baby Vivi) by Crocodile in the night, guides the two to the Poneglyph under the tombs. Crocodile puts Cobra out of his misery because he's not needed anymore. And he asks Robin to read the Poneglyph for him.
Robin, who has spent the last little while, be it weeks or months with Crocodile, him having become her "guardian", the thing keeping her safe. Crocodile, who has now shown how cold blooded and cruel he can be. Robin, who might be scared out of her mind. Of him.
And the Poneglyph says Pluton, the thing Crocodile wants, isn't there. It's in Wano.
What's she going to do?
EDIT: I wrote a sequel post, enjoy
#Moon posting#OP Meta#Sir Crocodile#Crocodad#Nico Robin#THIS POST WAS AN ACCIDENT. I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED. WHY DID I WRITE THIS. WHAT DEMON POSSESSED ME#I'm sure someone's written this already right#Right#Surely this fanfic already exists#Please tell me it exists#I dunno what to tell you I am not immune to a Juicy AU#Anyway on a more wholesome side of things: Robin accidentally calling Crocodile ''dad'' and he just inhales and swallows his whole cigar#Nearly chockes to death. Gets burns on his throat.#Robin feeling less alienated because of her DF ability because Croc has seen weirder AND is made of sand himself#If anything if they're literally by themselves then Robin being able to literally lend a hand to Croc at any time could be extremely useful#Like. In regular life situations. 'Cause Croc only has one hand. And Robin as many as she wants. Perfect duo.#(Also if they were travelling on like a small ship then it'd probably be built for a Tall Motherfucker like Croc right)#(Robin's ability would just make the ship more accessible to her and Croc would find that independence good)#Robin still gets a codename because Croc can't have anyone realize who she is. Maybe she even wears like a mask or summin' in public#If Crocodile's openly trans and the news of him transitioning recently broke out. Like. No avoiding that convo eh#Baby Robin's like ''...I read in a book once that some reptiles can change sex but I didn't know crocodiles could do it too''#''💦.../Humans/ can't do that normally either''#''Hmmmm. Weird. I don't think being a girl would suit you though'' // ''...I'll take that as a compliment''#I just. I think they could have really cute interactions if they warmed up to each other after a little while#And I'm Extremely Normal about that
1K notes · View notes
cat-of-starlight · 1 year
Text
I say this in the most lighthearted way possible, but it HAS been bugging me so take the memeee-
Tumblr media
NOTE: Free for personal use, please do not repost my edits without crediting me
1K notes · View notes
bonefall · 3 months
Note
it is healing to come onto this blog and see basic respect for diasbility after being in other corners of the fandom and reading the words “snowkit could never be a warrior because he wouldnt know what anything is. he wouldnt even know what a clan is because nobody could explain it to him” said in full seriousness
Im..... That statement is so ableist I cannot even imagine the worldview you'd need to have in order to come up with that.
They really think the only way anyone learns anything is through verbal-speaking-words-noises? No one has ever observed something before? Not even once?
This is beyond touching grass, this person just fell out of the fucking Jurassic Period when all they had was ferns and stegosaurs.
I just...
OH YES. I remember my first day of Society Lessons as a hearing person, where the everything was explained to me. Via Audiobook. FIRST they spoke and said, "you are standing on the ground." It was a life changing revelation, and the world began to spin.
But it did not stop.
THEN they said, "there are fingers on your hands." The sensation of flesh and bone crackling into existence is indescribable, but I did not yet know pain, until they told me, "that hurts." I began screaming immediately.
And yet... it continued.
They explained so much. Chairs. Tables. Walls. The sky. Frogs. Ionizing radiation. Breathing. I was told all of it, in one sitting, and only then did I understand. Only when my ears were bursting with normal hearing knowledges, did they begin... my final test.
A strange wall-chair-finger emerged from the sky-of-the-wall, stood on the ground several times, until it was in front of me. A second one came behind it, this one slimmer. The audiobook gave these things names;
Human. Father. Mother. Door. Walking. It was completely impossible to know what these things were until that very moment.
I watch a human dip a hook into water and produce a fish, and I recall my Society Lessons where they called that "fishing." I am decked in the face by a nefarious hooligan, and I have only the audiobook to thank when I know I have been "punched" by a "bad guy." It was only the magic of verbal-speaking-words-noise that made me understand that there are "other people" and that they "do stuff."
Sometimes, even, in "groups."
Before the Society Lessons Audiobook, I knew nothing. I was pure, innocent, uncorrupted by concepts such as "parents" and "door." I am grateful every day that there is no such concept as "being shown things" or "simple logical reasoning" or "looking."
Blessed be those amongst us who escape the horrors of the Society Lessons Audiobook. I pray that you never learn what anything is. Be free! Free as a bird, which also knows nothing and famously cannot learn. 🤗
DEAF/HOH FOLLOWERS I'm losing my mind do you want me to bump a 'Hearing Disabilities Herb Guide' to the top of my priorities? Something you can use to bludgeon whackadoodles like that. This is ridiculous
Obviously not a MEDICINE guide but like; common causes of hearing disability in clan cats. Accommodations for hearing loss vs congenital deafness. Actual difficulties of not having that sense Clan-by-Clan. Debunking of misconceptions like... not being able to learn APPARENTLY.
#bone babble#Fennelposting#Obviously the answer is 'theyre incapable of THINKING' but like... they do know snow has a line right#In the book. He figured out. A word. Through observation.#He says 's'all right' because he knows it calms ppl down#He did not need to hear the magic words 'You can make noises at others to influence them'#Like a fucking tutorial tip#Im going to start keeping a JOURNAL of ''times people have been weird about snowkit specifically''#Ableism#cw ableism#I could also link to the pawspeak thing so it's all in one place#I wrote this last night and put it in the queue and I laid awake thinking of this...#What do they think happens when someone goes to another country where things aren't written/spoken in a language they know?#Do they think they wouldn't be able to figure out anything? Do they think the tourist would just perish#Would they collapse in the streets of Berlin sobbing?#Happened to me. Went to England and they called it a Car Boot Sale instead of a Flea Market and I died to death#AND if I did make that guide please tell me if there's any other weird misconceptions you need to see in it#I know that ONE of them is going to have to be that. like. deaf people make noise.#theyre actually quite loud because they don't know they're making noise#and people with hearing loss do not suddenly forget how to speak.#and people born deaf dont talk like cavemen#cw body horror#tw body horror#EDIT: OOPS sorry I have such an astonishingly tolerance for body horror I did not realize that counted as body horror
173 notes · View notes
sprout-fics · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Snowblind
Part One of Snowblind
(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F! 'Fix' Reader)
Wordcount: 6.5k Tags: Angst, Fluff, Medic/Sniper Reader "Fix", Body heat sharing, Reluctant cuddling, Pining, Longing, Slow Burn, Injury/Sickfic Warnings: Referenced childhood trauma including verbal abuse A/N: This is the first in a series of oneshots following the romantic development between you (Codename "Fix) and the man known only as "Ghost"
Summary:
He's stolen the breath from your lungs, sucked it dry and robbed you of your ability to speak. You can only blink in the darkness, feeling your dry eyes chafe and sting as you desperately try and comprehend the enigmatic forces that possessed him to do this.
You shudder, long and hard, feeling the tremor crack outwards like crevasses in a glacier, fissuring like the rifts in your heart. Ghost can feel it, you know he can. Yet the only response your trembling elicits from him is his hand curling into the knob of your spine like a gnarl in an ancient tree. When he breathes you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, like a gentle tide sweeping over your toes at the beach, luring you out to sea.
Tag List: (Reblog this post to be added to future fics from this series! If you'd like to be removed please DM me!)
@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfierriii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes
Tumblr media
The air is thin in the mountains. Here, up in the sky, the oxygen settles downwards towards the earth and away from your form perched against the cliffs. The frostbitten air of the peaks scraped hard against your lungs as you breathe in, scorching the back of your throat and setting a cold brand burrowing into your veins. There’s a blooming ache in your chest, one that can’t be quelled no matter how you breathe.
You know it's bad, you're panting, mouth open and sucking the frigid air deeper into your chest where it accumulates like a slow acting poison. It bleeds into your blood and races along the underside of your chilled flesh, biting your bones with a dull, insistent ache. The sharpness of the sunlight against the pristine snow feels like it's dancing off the back of your eyelids, searing your vision even with your vision scrunched shut.
You'd heard your local informant whisper something about the curse of the sheer whiteness back in the village, rambling in halting English of the word: 'Snowblind'.
White, pristine white, the color of lace and freshly pressed dinner napkins. The color of the pearls resting against your mother's throat. When she swallows your eyes dart up to her face. She's looking past the gauzy pale curtains of the banquet hall, outside to the hazy, dimming streetlights beyond. Her eyes are distant, sad.
"Keep moving, sergeant."
You blink several times, trying to clear your vision against the brightness that feels everywhere all at once, freezing and radiant and deadly despite its etherealness. At last, you cast a look over your shoulder, and there you meet the white mask of your comrade, only several steps behind you as your team trudges up one of the secluded mountain trails hidden within the tree line.
His eyes are dark, and for a moment you're startled by the contrast of them against the grey and white landscape around you. Yet they're just as cold, unflinching and unmoving, imbedded into you just as severe as the chill in your bones.
"Yes sir." You manage, and your eyes don't break from his despite your answer, voice cracked and dry. He'd warned you before the start of your journey to stay hydrated, and now your throat feels tacky with every swallow, sticking to itself like velcro.
"Another mistake." His voice clips against your ears, and you flinch, bunching the fabric of your pressed school uniform against your tiny fists. "When will you learn, oh daughter mine?"
"Ghost, Fix." A voice calls ahead, and you catch sight of Price at the head of your group, snow halfway up his calves as he turns to you both, face grim. "Keep up, we're burning daylight."
You nod, keeping a hold of your weapon as you breathe, let the freezing air settle in your chest before you're trudging forward once more, struggling against the thick layer of powder that clings to your greaves with every step.
Behind you, Ghost follows like a phantom inside your shadow, tailing the group and watching your six. You can hear him moving, can hear the crunch of snow under his giant weight as he follows in the trail Price is carving at the front. Usually, Ghost is silent despite his bulking, rippling frame. It's an uncanny ability, one that more than once has had you with your heart in your throat as he oozes from the darkness like a wraith. The man whispers through walls like they aren't there, clinging to shadows like they're his second skin. His presence is there and gone again, only to reappear behind you- unmistakable, searing, cataclysmic.
Now with every shift Ghost sounds like he's summoning an avalanche, shifting and rumbling ominously like the mountain itself. It feels like the ground moves under you with every strumming heartbeat, the trail invisible and eroded by white. Your muscles ache from the exertion of the climb, but you bite down hard on any complaints. The world around you fills in like a gaussian blur, and among it is the hazy, unknown shape of Ghost’s mask against the sheer whiteness of the landscape. Briefly you wonder if your legs give in, if you fall blind, if Ghost will be there to catch you before you collapse into the pillowy slush.
It's a selfish thought, one that has no place on your current mission. You know that if you fell, if you failed to stay alert for even a few moments it could quite likely prove to be fatal. The rogue group of mercenaries you're all hunting know these mountains far better than you, venturing down the slopes only to pillage the surrounding towns for supplies and fuel- leaving nothing but devastation and red stained snow in their wake.
For all you know they could be watching you right now, clocking your movements as your team sticks within the relative shade of the tree line. These mountains loom large over your form, pine and fir clinging to their rocky outcrops- a perfect hiding spot for snipers like yourself. Your white gear camouflages your team’s ascent towards the nearest abandoned outpost, where blood is still etched into the wood walls at the group's most recent slaughter.
Seek and destroy, Price had told you all. As simple as they come.
You can't seek past the snow blindness.
When you shake your head, try to blink away the dryness there you feel him behind you all at once, shrinking the scant few steps between you both until his form towers behind you even with the slope under your feet.
"Fix."
When he speaks your callsign it sounds like a wolf howling at the moon, primal, sacrosanct. It draws you in like a gravity well as he presses closer, just a hair's breadth away. The heat of him glows into your back like a furnace, form casting a shadow across you as he mercifully blots out the sun that leans low on the horizon.
"I'm fine." You respond to his silent question, and you turn your head so he can't see the redness around your eyes, the miosis that leaves your pupils lost in the sea of your irises. You know he'll just scold you for not bringing sunglasses like the rest of them- just another item in the litany of mistakes he seems to take note of no matter how hard you try.
They're applauding for him as he walks the stage. Your feet kick in the empty space between your seat and the ground. His smile is dazzling, blinding, drawing them in like the gravity of the sun itself. You can't stand to look, focusing your vision on the black tops of your shiny new shoes.
"Eyes up." Your mother snaps sharply, but her graceful smile never flickers. Only you can see the flicker of acridity hidden behind her eyes.
The bitter grimace that draws tightly across your face tastes as sour as the dry taste in your throat.
You make a point of jogging the next few steps to keep up with Gaz in front of you, feet crunching snow as you rip yourself free of his shadow behind you.
You can feel his eyes locked on your back.
You don't see the flicker of something there, feather-light and uncertain nestling in the frost-laden branches of his heart.
----
You reach the outpost just as the sun kisses the horizon.
It's a mess. There's bullet holes in the wood, blood still caked and frozen into the floorboards. A shattered mug sits on the tiny kitchen unit, coffee staining the frosted counter. The bodies are long since gone, but it feels as they never really left. Ghosts cling to the broken panes and desolate interior. There's a poster next to the shot-out TV with a flaking, gaping hole through the singer's chest. You think it might be Freddie Mercury. You aren't sure.
The team around you is silent, withdrawn. Part of it is the grueling trek up the mountain, the silence that fell over you all with the knowledge you were in enemy territory. Now here, in the gravesite of others, there's a stillness that's more profound, lachrymose. The boots of your comrades thump and creak over the floorboards as they survey the damage, look over the claret blemishes painting an abstract against the walls.
"We're setting up here for the night." Price announces just as your boots toe the corner of the sole couch in the common area. Part of the stuffing has fallen out. Like a toy shredded by a teething puppy. "It's not much, but it'll have to do."
You listen idly, frowning at your feet as they blur in and out of focus. The lights are out, and the dimness of the setting sun has long shadows stretching against the walls. The lamps probably still work, but turning them on is begging for a shower of bullets while you all rest, betraying your position like a midnight beacon.
It hurts to keep your eyes open. They feel itchy, raw, like you've been crying without the tears. You're tired of seeing white, nothing but white, but here in the dimness of the cabin it feels even more difficult to keep track of the things in front of you. Every time you try and focus it summons a sharp throb against your temples, like icepicks lodging themselves in a frozen outcrop. When you wince, it’s where the others can’t see it.
"I'll take first watch." Ghost offers grimly, and you hear the sound of him unshouldering his pack.
"I'll take second." You volunteer readily, looking up and catching the white of his mask.
White, white, sparkling, shimmering, too bright, incandescent like the afterburn of staring into a lightbulb-
"You can hardly see."
You blink, not sure if the haziness in your vision has somehow manifested in your hearing. Yet when the wavering after-effects subside you find yourself staring at the other four members of your team who have all turned to meet your gaze.
The chill from the mountain gives way to a heat itching along your skin, thorny and warm. You can remember running your hands under hot water after being outside in the cold for too long, the sting smarting against your knuckles and palms. Their gazes rake over you, and when you swallow there’s the cold, blank aftertaste of snow in your mouth.
"I-I'm fine." You try, but your voice is rough, cotton mouthed.
None of them move, and in the growing darkness you think you see Price frown.
Your heart drops straight down to your boots.
Gaz is the first to move, shifting on his feet before taking a few steps towards you.
"Let me see." He offers, drawing his kerchief down past his nose. His breath fogs into the air, and when his hands reach for you they seek to take up all the light in the room.
You stay still, grimacing even as he tilts your head up to see your eyes. It takes everything in you to not tear yourself away, to hiss and spit like a feral cat at his hands on you. You don't want him to see, don't want any of them to see. If they can just look away, can avert their eyes and not see you for what you are, trying desperately to keep up with them and failing even so, then you'd be able to bear this much.
"Soap, light." Gaz instructs, and out of the corner of your eyes you see the dimness of Soap's outline lift a flashlight up to illuminate your face. You hiss at the light, scrunching your eyes shut as the back of your eyelids throb.
The stage lights are too bright. You can't see the crowd. When you hover nervously into your mother's side she rests a hand atop your hair. It feels like a tiger claw.
"It's not bad." You try, offering a small surrender in hopes of preventing a total capitulation. Gaz only shakes his head.
"You need to keep your eyes shut, give them a chance to heal." He tells you plainly, releasing his grip on your chin. Soap's flashlight mercifully vanishes, and for a moment you're thrown into complete and utter darkness, mentally grappling for an anchor, for something to hold onto. When you wobble on your feet, Soap's hand is at your elbow. It burns.
"Gaz is right." Price states gruffly from where he stands behind the two men next to you. "I need your eyes sharp for tomorrow. No watch for you tonight."
That itch inside you burns higher, souring the inside of your mouth with a biting aftertaste. You want to argue, want to protest, but you know it's a futile effort. Price is right, you know that. Even so, the scorch under your skin urges you to lash out, to somehow convince your captain that you can still pull your weight, that you aren't a hindrance, that you deserve to be there just as much as the other men around you.
You'll only end up sounding like a petulant, whining child, all for the useless, performative effort of staking your place here.
"I'll take second watch." Soap offers in the terse silence that follows. His voice is low, a mere murmur in the growing darkness. Then, to you: "Rest up, lass. Consider yourself lucky you get a full night's sleep, eh?"
You don't feel lucky. You feel rotten, a spoiled gem compared to the dazzling pieces next to you, shining radiantly even in the shadows.
"Yes sir." You mutter, wishing for all the world the snow would sift down over your form, bury you there in its pristine, glittering frost.
---
The cabin is colder than a coffin when the sun goes down- pitching it into complete, unmitigated darkness.
The sleeping bags are sprawled between the TV and couch, well away from the entrance and partially shielded by the half-wall of the kitchen. There's not much room for four people, but the proximity is a welcome one. The blotted rug offers a small reprieve from the harsh floorboards, but even then the cold manages to seep through the woven fabric, into your sleeping bag.
Beside you, Soap shifts restlessly, twisting, turning, and mumbling. You know he's not truly resting, too pent up and anxious to let the velvet whisper of sleep wash over him. Like you, he must sense the strange spirits in this place, hear their voices over the low, lonely whistle of the wind outside the window. Price and Gaz sleep soundly near it, under the broken pane, unmoving and silent. You wonder if they're actually asleep, or simply feigning it just as you do.
The MRE in your stomach churns uncomfortably, cold before you had managed to finish it. The steam had curled against your fingertips, warmed by the scant few minutes Price had allowed you all to use the tiny stove unit. You had wanted to place your hands against the door, trying to imbue feeling back into your frozen knuckles regardless of the burn it would impose.
You seem to be doing that often, trying to counterbalance only to teeter near the precipice, a dangerous and aleatory asymmetry that you can't control. Desperately trying to take orders as they're given, to anticipate them in the way the others seem to read the minds of the brothers next to them. You're striving, contending, toiling in the way that only you can. Yet every time you try to follow them as the axis shifts you're again feeling the world lurch under you as they march ever onwards.
Too cold and too hot, a feverish flippancy that leaves you reeling in the darkness, shivering under your bedroll.
Soap flinches in his sleep, as if something has brushed over his shoulder. You hear him mumble and twist, then settle once more. It's a clear night outside, hardly any clouds. Moonlight streams through the trees outside, dancing in haphazard shapes through the broken panes of the window. A single ray illuminates the top of your sergeant's shoulder, and you follow the curve of it downwards across the planes of his back hidden under the fabric.
He'd tried to break your sulking earlier, after you had all eaten and had begun to settle in. You were laying out your bedroll when Soap had waggled his eyebrows at you, ever flirtatious and good-natured.
"Going ta be a cold one, lass. Might need to share body heat."
You'd scoffed at him, stomach still twisting from your interaction earlier. No, you'd prefer to lick your wounds in private, under the solitary moonlight.
"In your dreams, Soap."
"Aye, a man can dream alright."
You hadn't dignified him with a response, huffing and burrowing into your sleeping bag.
Now, nearly an hour later, teeth chattering, shivering hard, you wish you had taken him up on the offer. If only you had zipped your two bags together and nestled into him, trying to leech warmth from his body, then you wouldn't be worried your teammates would find another body here in this desolate cabin come morning.
It had to be well below freezing. Even with all your gear on, feet still tucked into your boots, it's not enough. The cold flays against your flesh like a jagged knife, stabbing inside and twisting, separating mind from body as you try to grapple with the shadows in your thoughts.
Fall asleep, give in to the temptation of rest and pray you wake up come dawn. Stay awake, watch the hazy, dappled moonlight dance across the floorboards as you long to sleep. Scoot closer to Soap, surrender and plead with him to share what little heat he has to spare. Keep to yourself, refuse to show any sign of weakness lest they notice, lest they leave you even farther behind.
If you could make it through the night, if you could be rested come morning, could get up and keep up, then maybe they wouldn't look down on you. Maybe then they'd even consider you one of them.
A shifting noise and a sigh, not from Soap this time. No, it's behind you, near the doorway. Ghost perches near the window, hidden in the shadows as he keeps watch. If he's noticed Soap's restless slumber he doesn't given any indication.
You'd seen him settle there, his weapon across his lap, seated in one of the few remaining chairs. He'd easily dwarfed it, legs spread and boots planted on the floor. Your eyes had traced his toes of his boots, skimmed across the snow that had yet to melt from them. When your gaze had darted up to the white of his mask you found his gaze leveled at yours, eyes piercing and intent from behind the darkness of bottomless charcoal. You'd paused, watching them, but the expression there had been blank, indecipherable.
Watching, always watching. Cataloguing your every move, taking note of your mistakes but saying nothing- judging but never speaking, like souls of the dead.
He's been as still as a grave this whole time, sinking deep into the darkness and letting it absorb him like an old ally. There had been minutes you'd forgotten he was even there, his presence shrinking slowly and subtly into nothingness like he himself was a phantom. It's only when he shifts, when you can hear his soft breath curling against his mask that he makes himself known. Ghost scrapes along the periphery of your thoughts like a specter, trailing skeletal fingers along the inside of your skull in a freezing, indelible imprint.
If there's ghosts remaining within the outpost then surely he's among them, not truly dead but never truly alive.
You wonder if he's cold to the touch too- if the iciness of his alleged heart extends like fissures across his flesh.
There's a guilty part of you that wants to find out, hard as it is to admit. In the same way that he presses at your back Ghost slinks within the outskirts of your mind. When he's there he's impossible to ignore. His size, his presence demands attention, respect, deference. With every move of his rippling shoulders he seems to echo in your thoughts endlessly, shifting and groaning like a rumbling mountain during a thaw.
He'd touched you once, one massive hand settling against your elbow during shooting practice. He'd never spoken, had let his palm cup your arm and lift it a fraction of an inch to correct you.
You shivered so hard your aim was off, and in the days that followed your thoughts roiled of him.
More than once you had caught yourself imaging those same gloved hands spread across the meat of your thighs- whispering along the small of your back, smoothing along your ribs and up your chest as they dug in, flipped you over as he pressed the full length of his frame into your back, smothering you into the soft surface of a mattress as he-
You scrunch your eyes shut automatically, trying and failing to ward off the haunting temptation that was your superior. Yet even then the sound of his voice bounces off the inside of your head, tantalizing and forbidden. It's poison, syrupy sweet and spilling like honey over your lips. You can indulge, you can taste, but only once before fate pulls you like a riptide into the river Styx. Forever damned.
Even if you were to yield to that unconscious, taboo seduction- allow yourself to accept those festering, unnamed feelings inside you, it would be for nothing. Ghost wasn't a man who developed affections towards others. Alliances, camaraderie, these were things needed in war. Yet the profound, prohibited thing as attraction, infatuation- no. He was a soldier, destined to be one until the day he died. You knew just as well as he did that there was never guarantees either of you would come home in anything other than a coffin.
It's hard to love a man who's already dead.
Soap shifts suddenly in front of you, recoiling in the darkness at a force you can't see. When he breathes it's to mutter a curse, and abruptly you hear his sleeping bag zip open, feel the floor tremble as he scoots himself free. He doesn't notice you're awake, wide eyed in the darkness as you watch his broad form unfurl from under the confines of his bedroll. When he at last stands above you he blots out the pale light from the windows, towering like a gnarled oak tree over your huddled form.
His boots creak against the wooden floorboards as he skirts around you, around the couch towards the phantom hovering by the doorway. His chattering shudder trails off into a mutter as he speaks to Ghost in a low, lilting accent. You can't hear the words, but you do hear the rough scrape of Ghost's voice, like soot sifting down from the sky after a dying wildfire. You want it to burn you, scorch off the frostbite from your fingers and let the flames light a wavering, flickering spark within you.
The conversation doesn't last long. You hear the sound of the chair scraping the floor as Ghost stands, yields the post to the Scotsman and begins to circle to where you and the other two men lay against the floor. It occurs to you too late to feign sleep, to try and quell the tremble of your frame as he approaches. By the time you realize his feet are less than a step away from the top of your head, and you hear Ghost pause as he traces the outline of your shivering form in the darkness.
"Fix."
The sound is a mere whisper so as to not wake Price and Gaz, only feet away. If you hadn't been listening you wouldn't have heard it, mistaken it for the cadaverous whistle of the wind outside the shot gunned walls. You try to pretend like it's just that- like Ghost hadn't just whispered your callsign in the midnight stillness, a deathly temptation of which there's little return.
Yet Ghost sees you go rigid in your sleeping bag, and when he echoes the nickname again it feels like an icicle breaking and shattering into the frosty ground below.
"Fix." He whispers again, and you can hear the exasperation in his voice when he sighs. "I know you can hear me."
You sigh yourself, giving up the farce of forced sleep and letting your eyes flutter open. They feel raw, too dry. When your vision shifts it summons a dull, insistent throb behind your eyelids- an aftereffect of the snow blindness.
"I'm trying to sleep." You manage, voice hoarse and teeth chattering with the burgeoning stages of hypothermia.
You feel the floor shift- and suddenly Ghost is crouching in front of you, blotting out the moonlight with his hulking, massive form. The suddenness of his shape in front of you is difficult to decipher, and when your vision wavers the throb at your temples sharpens, penetrating.
"Ghost-" You try, but the man before you is silent. You're unable to see what he's doing between the darkness and your own strained eyesight, but you can hear him shifting, hear the slide of cloth against skin before a hand suddenly braces against your forehead.
It's cold.
"You're freezing." He remarks, and you think you imagine the undercurrent of concern in his voice- a strange hallucination from your overexerted senses.
"I-I'm fine." You protest, shifting to try and meet his eyes to prove your point. You only succeed in catching the pale outline of his mask, his eyes boring holes into you and setting a shiver racing along your spine.
Yet that's nothing compared to the abruptness of Ghost's bare fingers digging into the fabric of your sleeping bag, burrowing beneath your hood and pressing on the underside of your jaw.
You swallow.
Your pulse flutters against his fingers like a trapped bird, wings spread and beating the frozen air around you. He's never been this close before. He's hardly ever touched you- much less with his bare hands. The sensation of it threatens to throw you from that precipice where you balance precariously, falling once more into that asymmetry you fail to understand. You can only pray that your rapid, strumming heartbeat doesn't betray you, doesn't let him sense the thoughts you're holding silent within your heart.
Yet the only thing Ghost does is huff at you, displeased at your wracked, trembling body. His touch vanishes from you, and for a moment you think that's the end of it, just another flaw he's secretly filed away to review at his leisure.
What you don't expect, however, is for him to unzip your bag in a single, fluid motion.
You're too surprised to protest, and when you open your mouth it's only to hiss at the sharp, unrelenting freeze that greats you outside the layer. You nearly bite at him for throwing you into the cold, your irritation from earlier still roiling low in your stomach and incensed by this sudden action of his. Yet instead, you still as Ghost's hand wraps itself around your waist, and with a grunt he hauls you closer, closer until he's all but curled around you, tucking you into his front.
You don't move.
You're unsure if you even can, completely taken aback as you are. It feels like your voice has died in your throat, brain working into overdrive as you desperately try to regain reality of the situation. The wind whistles through your mind as it empties into nothingness, entirely uncertain and shaken by the actions of your Lieutenant.
Ghost doesn't speak either, simply wraps himself around your shaking figure inside your bag, tucking his chin at the crown of your head and tangling his legs with yours. His arms secure around your back- feeling for all the world like prison bars, preventing your escape. When he breathes, you feel the air tickle the top of your hood, curl and dissipate into the midnight stillness.
He's stolen the breath from your lungs, sucked it dry and robbed you of your ability to speak. You can only blink in the darkness, feeling your dry eyes chafe and sting as you desperately try and comprehend the enigmatic forces that possessed him to do this.
You shudder, long and hard, feeling the tremor crack outwards like crevasses in a glacier, fissuring like the rifts in your heart. Ghost can feel it, you know he can. Yet the only response your trembling elicits from him is his hand curling into the knob of your spine like a gnarl in an ancient tree. When he breathes you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, like a gentle tide sweeping over your toes at the beach, luring you out to sea.
Yet you still flee back to shore. Your entire form is rigid with uncertainty, a trepidation unmatched by your desire for warmth. The vulnerability of this, of being wrapped in the arms of your dead-eyed superior, the one who silent judges your every move and keeps his secrets close to his heart, is immeasurable. It feels like you've been stripped bare and laid out on the snow, skin engulfed in a cold brand that threatens to send your system into shock.
When you finally summon the strength to try and wriggle away, Ghost's clasp only tightens on you wordlessly, preventing your retreat. He hums a displeased sound, and that should be enough to silence you but it’s not, not when you feel it echo inside your ribs and spark that tender, infant flame there you keep just for him.
"G-Ghost." You try, voice trembling- from apprehension, from the touch of the gelid air around you, you aren't sure. "I-I can keep warm on my own. You don't-"
"Stop that."
You still at his voice. It would be a reprimand, harsh and direct like all his orders, if it weren't for the undertone of something that felt dangerously close to concern.
When you swallow it feels like you're drinking in tepid water, the taste obscured by the ice crystals that dance silently in the moonlight.
"Stop...what?" You ask, and you sound for all the world like the child you've tried not to be, always fumbling, uncertain, and afraid.
Ghost goes quiet for a moment, and it occurs to you he may not have expected a response from you. He doesn't move, and the only indication he's not a corpse is the faint thrum of his heartbeat under your fingertips that hover at his collarbone.
"Trying to do everything yourself." Ghost tells you at last, and the sharp breath you suck in sinks into your lungs like tenterhooks.
Ah. It seems he even sees that mistake.
Your insides twist like the dull grip of a knife against flesh, and you grimace where he can't see it, feeling that acrid, bitter taste run foul across your tongue.
"I-I don't." You try, but it's a paltry defense at best, a useless one that you know he won’t accept.
"You do." He returns plainly, but there's no venom in his voice. It's just a simple observation, one you yourself can't see through your own stubborn snow blindness.
You fall silent, and whatever burgeoning warmth that glows between your two intertwined forms fails to reach your heart.
"I have to try." You whisper at last, and your voice sounds fragile in the darkness around you, wrapping across your form and keeping you secured within his embrace. The confession feels mephitic across your lips, souring within your chest along with all the doubts you hold there.
Ghost doesn't respond. You're not sure if he's starting to fall asleep or if he's waiting for you to speak.
Balances and counterbalances. Weighing the truth against your tongue, wanting to confess your sins and your guilts to a darkened window that watches your trembling form.
"I'm not...strong like you." You whisper, and the words are barely audible, shaken free of your chest but sifting downwards like powder from a frosted fir tree. "Not like the rest of you. Not yet."
Glaciers crack and shift inside your chest, groaning with ancient memories as they dislodge themselves to an unknown future. You're lost among them, body frozen and heartbeat too fast, vision obscured by snow.
"I...don't want to be left behind."
And there's the truth of it all. The fear, the loneliness of failure, of not being enough for these men, of not being able to prove yourself capable to stand beside them. They hike higher into the hills, their backs blurred by your own failing sight until they at last vanish into a cloud of white. You're all that's left, figure rooted to the frost beneath your feet, waiting for the fatal ice to creep up your veins and into your heart.
"I expected better of you." An old opponent whispers into your ears, breath ghosting across your spine. "I guess I should have never expected at all."
The truth stings sharper than any wound, leaking past your flesh and bleeding red into the snow like the men who once lived here. You can taste their lingering sorrow in the splintered air, can feel their regrets echo in your own ribcage like the affliction that haunts you still. The tightness there feels like you're buried under permafrost, starved of oxygen.
You think the words have echoed out into emptiness, that Ghost is immune to them, having already surrendered to sleep. Yet when he shifts, you feel warmth spill from him like a cup overfilled. It feels like hot water over your chilled, cracked lips, settling low in your stomach with an uncomfortable weight.
"No one fights alone."
It's hardly a whisper, his voice, yet it sounds like the final piece of the mountain giving way, snow, rock, and debris cascading over your rampant thoughts and drowning out any other noise. Catastrophic, cataclysmic, inexorable.
You curl into him. You can't help it. The pressure of it all forces you to bury yourself in him in a vain attempt to escape.
"You see my mistakes." You hoarse, throat raw, tight with an emotion you dare not name.
Ghost is silent like the grave, and that fact alone threatens to send you spiraling off that axis, into a desperate imbalance you'll never be able to rectify no matter how hard you try, how you strive to stand beside these men.
"I see you." He mutters, voice strangely fragile, almost hurt. "Just you."
You freeze.
And once again, the axis shifts.
Yet this time, you're not alone. Ghost keeps a hand at your elbow, helping you correct, maintaining your balance.
You exhale hard, letting go of a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The warmth of it curls into your cheeks as it reflects off Ghost's tac vest, the one your nose is all but pressed against. It absolves you of guilt, of the sins you're so afraid of, the ones that whisper in your shadows. When it dissipates, it's alongside the ghosts of the outpost that sigh, evaporate into nothingness.
Not an avalanche then, but a slow and steady snowfall from above, blanketing your senses in a gentle, downy realization.
He isn't the man you thought he was.
Ghost's gaze doesn't judge you, doesn't mark your faltering steps with sinister intent. He doesn't see you as they did, a blemish in contrast to a grand tapestry of triumph. His stare doesn't pass a verdict. He simply observes, takes you as you are, stands in your shadow ready to catch you if you stumble on the path marked by these men.
He sees you. Just you. As you are, no more, no less.
And you, you had been so blinded by the pristine, unblemished surface that you didn't even notice the beauty that lurked within the darkness.
That hope you had kept hidden under the ice of your heart, the one that had wanted to reach out for the man before you, seems to bloom like hellebores. Soft and somehow sturdy, you accept the things that are, and somehow find him waiting for you in the middle.
Him, unyielding, immobile, a steadfast mast when the inertia sweeps you out to sea. He's darkness against the light, a relief from the radiance of it all. His mask is snow sheer, but his gaze is dark like coals. Tinted black, like the bottomless pits of Tartarus, where dwells the spirits of which he fashions his name.
Ghost.
It should be the haunting wraith of the afterlife, tormented and distraught at all that has come to pass. Yet the man before you sinks into nothing but the present, grounding himself in ways you can only fathom. You want to lean against him, let him help you find the bedrock hidden under the snow, let him whisper your name in the way your heart so desperately craves. Not 'Fix'. Not your callsign, but your name. Yours.
You want him to see you, just you, and in turn smudge the charcoal from his own tinted eyes so you can see the iridescence underneath. Even if he doesn't feel the same, you crave the simple grace of knowing him, letting him yield a fraction of his heart to yours.
"Fix." Ghost mutters, and you wind the name around you like another layer, let it blanket you in warmth even if it's not meant to be.
"Sleep." He mumbles, and his own voice is tinged with fatigue. You nod against him, feeling his hand shift along your back as he settles with your frigid form in his arms.
He's not cold at all.
You know there will come time for you to understand your feelings towards him later, when you have both climbed down this mountain and into the lush valley below. Fragile though they are, you feel them thaw inside your chest, coalescing with the heat that he wraps around you. The emotions you harbor for this man, illicit they may be, spring forward in the twilight between light and darkness.
Ghost sighs, and the mere motion of it makes your heartbeat stutter in response, muscles falling limp and pliant within his embrace. It's nice, this. The steady frame of him feels like a wall shielding you from the wind, his chin braced atop your hood and his gloved hands pressed gently against your nape and the small of your back. He's large enough to dwarf you, this behemoth of a man. You should be scared of him, terrified of his strength and brutality. Yet all you feel is an undeniable sense of safety, here within his hold.
A wraith, perhaps. One that seeks your enemies, heralds their deaths with his own hands.
"You're warm." You whisper into his chest, arms bunched between you, his massive bicep your pillow.
"You're no longer shivering." He notes, and if you listen there's the trace of a smile there.
"…No." You agree, feeling the shudder in your limbs abate and warmth again instill itself against your flesh. "I'm not."
Yet he doesn't pull away, doesn't abandon you to frost, and you don't retreat, at last surrendering to his aid.
When you close your eyes, they no longer burn with the aftereffects of toxic brightness, and you realize that the darkness may be your salvation after all.
The night grows long against you both.
-----
If you enjoyed this work please consider donating to my Ko-Fi!
675 notes · View notes
mixelation · 3 months
Note
would itachi meet toris old clan? how would that go?
no, i can't see that happening. she doesn't consider herself one of them, and they effectively kicked her out as a very small child, meaning THEY don't consider her one of them either. plus by the time itachi is in the picture, they're mostly. uh. dead?
62 notes · View notes
I've seen a lot of people are as excited as me for a Zelda game that focus on how Ganon's constant reincarnations affects negatively to Zelda, Link and even Ganondorf. We've already seen this theme subtly in BotW (Zelda chastised for not awakening her power, Link unable to speak and enjoy himself because of how the Hero's title burdens him). However, I normally wouldn't expect "the harm the vicious cycle of reincarnation makes on it's unwitting pawns" to be the theme of a Zelda game. After all, it's Nintendo, and we know they don't like to stray so far from the "evil is bad and we must defeat it" plotline and they wouldn't dare to criticize the goddesses' plans...
Oh, wait, they already did it.
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
The Wind Waker is about letting go of the past and how being unable to move on will harm you and future generations. Daphnes and Ganondorf can't let go of their kingdom, and they die with it because they can't imagine themselves living without it. It harms Medli and Makar, who are taken away from their home and family and are confined into the heart of a dungeon so the Master Sword can maintain it's full power. It harms Tetra, too, who sees her whole individuality taken away in favor of performing her role as "Princess Zelda". And it harms Link, who is treated as a pawn by Daphness to do the work of the Hero of Legend, despite literally being Just A Kid (TM) who just wanted to rescue his sister.
But, despite everything, they manage to break the cycle, as Ganondorf no longer appears in other titles situated in the Adult Timeline (neither do Hyrule, or the Triforce or the Master Sword, or most classical elements of TLOZ). By killing Ganondorf, Demise's hatred could no longer persist in the world, thus breaking the eternal cycle of death and reincarnation. But how could that happen? Sure stabbing a whole man in the head usually turns to be fatal, but that's been done before and they only managed to seal him away. Why did this time work?
Tumblr media
I think he just gave up.
He realised he would never get Hyrule, that even when everything was at his favor (the Hero gone, the Princess at his power, the Master Sword was weakened, he even managed to get the Triforce of Courage from Link!) he still lost. He gave one last fight, but he didn't even transform to Ganon (it's only appearance is as a puppet, another symbol if he being treated as a pawn by a higher power) and after Link delivers the final blow, he accepts his fate and passes away.
Even though he's been treated as the major villain in the series, he's been as much as a pawn from the gods as the multiple Heroes and Princesses from the series. He may not have been the best man before OoT, but he was a victim of his circunstances and his initial motives where to grant his people a home where they could live in peace instead of fearing death day and night, turning into thieves just to survive. But he was corromped by anger, by revenge, by malice, and he turned the perfect vessel for Demise's curse. I think that BotW's Ganon was the same but it's been so many centuries that the man he once was can not be recognised, he's more of a beast now. But I still have hope, and now that his "mummy" has awakened, maybe we could get a more humanized version of Ganondorf instead of a simple "demon of malice". The old leader of a desert tribe who just wanted to give a better life to his people, and went too far.
I find this to be very unlikely, but not impossible. While WW's Ganondorf had it easier, as he was more collected and thoughtful, there's still the possibility that Ganondorf "awakes" from its Ganon-self and shows a bit more of characterization and his motives. Who knows, we could even break the cycle in BotW-TotK's timeline if Ganondorf refuses to continue this endless cicle of destruction and give up on Hyrule's conquest (a little more optimistic that being stabbed on the head, please and with sugar on top). But we may have to pay a big price to make it. After all, the cycle was broken in WW, but a great sacrifice was necessary...
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Hyrule's destruction
558 notes · View notes
airborneice · 22 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
couple doodles of the sillies
29 notes · View notes
greyeyedmonster-18 · 7 months
Text
(also, stop buying art from target and ikea and Home Decor stores.
please just stop.
if you want a basic something or other for your home, and you have one person in your life who knows how to draw/make/paint things. Ask them if they wouldn't mind painting a picture of a sunset or creating some abstract squares etc for you. and pay them. not target.
i can almost guarantee they will say yes.)
56 notes · View notes
quadrantvacillation · 2 months
Text
Hey in addition to everything else I am dehydrated for Charlie/Pentious FRIENDship content.
25 notes · View notes
smile-files · 4 months
Text
just a kind word for all of you lovely folks out there: if you say the r-slur or you don't call out your friends for saying it then i hate your guts :)
36 notes · View notes
moongothic · 1 month
Text
Tumblr media
32 notes · View notes
welcometoteyvat · 3 months
Text
me, watching chongming stocks go up: it's all coming together
34 notes · View notes
prouvaireafterdark · 1 year
Text
some of y'all: Lestat is so cold to Claudia, no wonder she doesn't consider him her father
the actual episode, told from Claudia's POV: Lestat wearing a silly hat, singing to her, and giving her a meaningful (to him, at least, if you read into what he says about it) gift on her birthday, the three of them dancing together and spinning each other around, Claudia leaning into Lestat's side as they make fun of Nosferatu in the theatre and laughing about it again when Lestat reenacts it for her amusement later, Claudia saying she has a lot in common with Lestat and that he defended her behavior to Louis when he expressed a concern about her being too removed from humanity and not acting quite right around other people, Lestat nervously teaching her how to drive and reminding her that even if she cannot die, she can still be seriously hurt so she should take her safety seriously, etc, etc.
319 notes · View notes
paimonial-rage · 1 year
Text
alhaitham analysis
When you first meet Alhaitham, he comes across as someone that has a negative EQ. He's curt, rude, and critical. And yet the truth is surprising? Like looking at his character quest and how he basically emotionally manipulated the whole hive into revolting, this man is very emotionally intelligent. You can honestly see it in a lot of his lines too. When he speaks about people, yes, he may sound like he's simplifying or trivializing things too much, but he's not wrong. He understands people. He knows how they work. It's just that he views emotional labor as too much of a hassle majority of the time.
Spoilers below the cut
You can gather a lot about Alhaitham through Kaveh's character stories. Like while it may not seem like it, Alhaitham is genuinely trying to help Kaveh. He points out to Kaveh that the source of his problems isn't luck, but his sense of impractical idealism and inescapable guilt. Some may say Alhaitham lacked tact when saying this, but it was kindness on Alhaitham's part. Once someone can acknowledge the truth, no matter how hurtful, they can then make the needed changes for the better. When they met up again years later, Alhaitham asked him, "How has realizing your ideals gone for you?" This wasn't done out of a sense of pettiness, but to solidify the truth once more. It was to help.
I think if you don't know someone that operates in this way, Alhaitham's love language may be difficult to decipher. His words may seem cruel. It may seem like he's trivializing your problems. But to speak truth is to show that you're not a lost cause. He has proven he won't abandon you along the way. After all, to speak truth, no matter how hurtful, is to show love.
89 notes · View notes
hassianlovebot · 2 months
Text
like on one hand i understand why people don't like subira at first, but i'm also getting tired of seeing people shit on her without actually getting to know her. and i know how that sounds, but she's literally fine. like yes death to cops but the in game order lady isn't the evil witch come to kill zeki and reth that everyone thinks she is. and they would know that,, if they did her quests,, or at least spoiled themselves and looked at the wiki,,,
it's getting embarrassing honestly
#spoilers#like Please just look at the wiki aldghlj#like trust me i understand the initial hate cause i didnt trust or like her at first either#but then i looked at the wiki to see what was going to happen#and realized it wasnt that bad#and then i did the quests and realized she's literally fine#like the order absolutely still sucks imo but she's fine#seeing hate when she first came out was chill and expected#seeing hate now after people have had every chance to get to know her and the quests is just embarrassing#if you dont want to see spoilers then dont keep reading these tags#but she Literally says that she doesnt hate zeki and that he's just being controlled and manipulated by the cartel#which he is!! that's literally what he tells us!!#she literally says that at most he would just have to pay a fine like my guys#and she doesn't know about reth at all#and by her lvl4 quest she doesnt trust the order as much and starts to doubt them#LIKE#she's not even evil! she genuinely believed in the order's mission but she changes her mind once she's presented with them being assholes#and again she's not even trying to hurt zeki or get him in trouble!! he's gonna pay a fine at most!! that's all!!!#and from what we have seen from her i genuinely don't believe that she would be against reth#she would absolutely feel bad and it could even end up being her wake up call to how the order's mission isnt good#and people would know that if they took the time to read her wiki or do her quests#but instead they make bad jokes about 'how dare people like the hot older lady who ends up being really nice and caring grrrrr'#like ajhdgljdag#begging you guys to just read the fucking wiki dude#its not really spoilers if you have no intent to actually do her quests#it gives the same vibes as when people say that reth is super boring and just the dumb cook because they havent gotten to know him#like this whole game is about lore and secrets and characters not being what they seem#im not saying people Have to like her but i am saying you look silly when you hate on her without doing her quests#yeah the devs actually just told me you can only hate her or make jokes about hating her After you complete all her quests#sorry guys :/
18 notes · View notes