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adrift-in-thyme · 24 days

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@uncleskyrule happy belated birthday!!! Thank you so much for your patience while I wrote this! I hope it's worth the wait!

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Four knows what sleep deprivation looks like.

He’s seen it spelled out on his grandfather’s face when long days turn his usual joviality to melancholy exhaustion and draws the shadows of half moons beneath his eyes.

He’s seen it painted across Dot’s beautiful features after an arduous night when the memories resurface, memories of a leering crimson eye, of claims to possession hanging heavy over her, of cages and darkness and smothering magic.

He’s seen it shadowed across his own face too, when the battles within and without grow to be too much, darkening his features, drawing them thin, sucking the youthful fat from his cheeks, the light from his eyes.

And he’s seen it…on the faces of his brothers.

On Time’s when the moon is full. On Twilight’s when a quiet twilight falls and skeletal trees whisper in tongues known only to some. On Wild’s when the amnesia recedes, Warriors’ when phantom lips press across his cheek, Wind’s after he awakens screaming his sister’s name. On Hyrule’s when he gives too much, Legend’s when the adventures he never speaks of tell their tale in his petrified cries at night…

And now on, Sky’s.

Some may find it strange for a man who can drift off practically anywhere to suffer from fatigue. Add to that uncanny ability, Sky’s penchant for seeming one of the most mature of their little group, the most…put together.

But Four is well acquainted with the deceptions someone can tell through demeanor alone. He himself has been dubbed mature, put together, responsible. And while, yes, those labels are true (Four would certainly be cross if people decided to start dubbing him childish or, Hylia forbid, a disaster as they call some more unruly children in his Hyrule), the lie rests in the assumptions they bring about.

Beliefs of invincibility and impervious spirit. Beliefs that there is no need to be gentle or kind, no need to offer respite or lighten the load.

It is the same fate their leader suffers so often, the same Warriors and Twilight sometimes crumble beneath. Suffering silently, yet always strong. So strong.

And Sky…

Sky hides it better than anyone.

Four is uncertain whether or not he is the only one who notices his distress. Perhaps, he is.

It doesn’t matter though. In fact, if he is the only one who has taken note of it then it is all the more important that he do something before Sky’s inevitable collapse.

But life never makes things simple. And in the end, he’s too late.

It has happened too many times now — a portal that separates the heroes into mismatched groups. Four thinks that perhaps, after his near defeat at the combined hands of the champion and the rancher the Shadow is attempting to be more careful.

More conniving. More vicious.

Attack first and you won’t be defeated. Such is the attitude of wild animals and beasts. More than likely, the Shadow shares it too.

This would explain why in addition to splitting the heroes up, this portal also dumps them right onto a battlefield.

Or at least, it does for Sky, Legend, and himself. Four can’t be sure what the others are facing. But he can only pray it isn’t a sand-drenched dungeon packed with redeads and stalfos.

The unearthly screeches of the emaciated corpses fill his ears as he fights, teeth gritted, heart pounding. It’s all the three heroes can do to stay out of reach of their paralyzing cries.

Back up to escape one beast and you nearly collide with the mad swing of a stalfos’ claymore.

Four winces as the very tip of a blade slices across his left arm and leaves an angry gash in its wake.

That’s going to need a bit of potion to remedy.

Beside him, Legend growls what sounds like a curse as he plunges his hand into his pouch and retrieves a fire rod. He brings it in a sweeping horizontal arc. In a blaze of blistering heat, a group of the monsters fall.

“Well done,” Four says with a breathless smirk. He plunges his sword into the gaping chest cavity of one of the stalfos still struggling for survival on the darkened floorboards. With a raspy exhale, it dissolves into ash. “I think you just turned the battle in our favor.”

“I’d better have,” Legend huffs. “The sooner we get rid of these things, the sooner we can get out of here.” He screws up his face in a grimace. More monsters crumple beneath his skilled hands. “It smells like death.”

It does, indeed, Four thinks as, finally, the last of the monsters fall. The stench of it hangs heavy, permeating the thick darkness that surrounds them, wafting from the thin threads of light carrying from faltering torches.

But now that the battle is over they can focus on escape. Hopefully, to a place where it proves easier to breathe.

He sheathes his sword, glances around. The gash on his arm throbs and the various bruises and smaller cuts he earned join in its stomach-churning beat. Still, it could have gone far worse.

“We all okay?” Legend asks, bangs falling into his face as he replaces his fire rod.

“Yes,” Four says. “How about you…Sky?”

His voice pitches an octave higher as he catches sight of the Skyloftian, turning the question almost into an exclamation.

The knight lies crumpled where he had stood mere moments before. The Master Sword lies fallen beside him, his cape flows over him like a blanket of snow. His breath comes in shuddering gasps that grate upon Four’s ears as he races to his side.

“Sky!”

He shakes him, slightly, and hazy blue orbs flutter open. Sky groans.

“What happened?” Legend drops down beside him, panic in his voice and a half-empty potion bottle in his hand. “Did a monster get him?”

Four shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” A quick inspection provides no sign of blood or other injury. But Sky’s face is ashen and he shudders as though in the throes of fever. “Sky, are you hurt?”

“N-not hurt.” Sky curls his fingers into a fist, as though attempting to gather strength. “J-just…just…” He swallows, tries to drag himself up, and nearly collapses again. It’s only Four and Legend’s quick movement that keeps him upright. “‘M fine.”

“Like hell you are!” Legend’s eyes are blazing with emotion now. “Sky, what happened?”

Sky shudders again. He glances down at the trembling hands he has folded into one, white-knuckled fist. There is a certain helplessness in the look.

“I dunno,” he croaks. “Was fighting and the room start-started swirling.” He curls in on himself further, and Four wonders if the next shaky exhale brings tears with it. His voice is very small. “I just-just fell.”

“And you didn’t have the strength to get back up,” Four says, solemnly. An idea is already forming in his head, a confirmation of what he has witnessed these past few hellish weeks.

I should’ve acted sooner.

But there had been fights both in and out of the group, and injuries and secrets unveiled. There had been discussions long overdue, restorations to be made in the face of pain and sorrow. And he, he had been in the midst of it all.

Between explaining the Four Sword and its powers and making up with Wild, he just hadn’t found the time…

“You haven’t been sleeping, Sky…have you?”

Now, Sky raises his head, glazed eyes focusing unsteadily on Four. Slowly, he shakes his head.

Legend blows out a sigh. He sits down beside Four and brings a dusty hand over his sweaty brow.

“Sleep deprivation? Yeah, that’ll do it. How long haven’t you been sleeping?”

Sky swallows. A beat passes, then another. The oppressive feel of death begins to crowd in on Four again. He struggles to breathe beneath it.

Then, “Since Twilight,” Sky whispers, and Four’s heart plummets to the depths of his stomach.

Legend’s hand falls to his lap with more viciousness than defeat. His face screws up in an expression that toes the line between sorrowful and intensely irritated. “I knew something was up! I knew it! I should’ve — ”

“Couldn’t have done anything,” Sky croaks, leaning further into Four’s touch. A small smile quirks his lips. “Was me that should-should’ve d-done something in the…in the first place.”

Legend’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

Sky looks back down at his hands.

Another theory is beginning to form in Four’s mind now, joining with the previous one, enlarging it, and embellishing it until things start to make sense. A theory born out of something Sky has said before, a snippet he had overheard and tossed aside in favor of giving his full attention to fighting the Yiga that had taken Wild captive.

“I’m sorry, champion,” the Skyloftian had said as he had helped Warriors tend to the boy’s wounds. “I was late…again. I’m sorry.”

“You blame yourself.” Four measures the words carefully, speaking each one with intricate precision. Lest he step in the wrong place and cause them all to plummet. “You blame yourself for what happened to Twilight.”

Sky lifts his bloodshot eyes. A tear wells in one of them then spills over to slither gracefully down his cheek.

“Why would you blame yourself?” Legend asks, even as comprehension burns in his violet irises. “It’s not your fault the rancher got hit. You weren’t even near him when it happened!”

“I was near enough.” Sky’s voice is quieter than ever now, more like a whisper than anything else. “I know the skyward strike. I could’ve hit that…that thing if I’d been…b-been faster.” His breath hitches. But to Four it sounds defeated more than panicked. “I was late and he paid for it. I’m a-always…”

He curls in on himself, weighed down by exhaustion, shuddering with pain and sorrow. Legend looks at Four and Four looks at Legend. Then, slowly, together they reach out and draw Sky into their arms.

It’s strange. Four hadn’t taken Legend for someone willing to show physical affection freely. But he embraces the Skyloftian as though it is no price to pay. As though he has done so before.

Long nights. A shuddering sob. Soft feet dressed in boots with wings adorning their sides. Whispers in the dark that exhaustion muddles before Four can make them out. Amethyst eyes staring from over a hazy cloud of silken white. Sliding shut as a larger form huddles deeper into an embrace.

Sky shivers again and Legend holds him tighter.

“It’s not your fault,” Four murmurs, pouring every ounce of confidence he possesses into those words and praying that it is enough. “It’s not your fault, Sky. You did everything you could do for him. There’s nothing else you could have done.”

Sky doesn’t reply.

They hold him, whispering assurances, as his tears wet their tunics and his fatigued body quakes beneath the burden he forces it to carry. They hold him until, at last, in the murky darkness, surrounded by carcasses of monsters and piles of resting sand, he drifts off.

In the arms of his brothers.

#trin writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu sky #lu legend #lu four #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #angst

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thehistoriangirl · 4 months

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The Tides Have Veiled [Second Interlude]

The second arc of the story comes to an end with this part :3 I'm still not 100% sure, but I think this fic will have other four arcs Thank you all for reading this story! Hope you like it! ^^

Viktor x Fem!Reader/Gothic AU; Haunted Sea---1.4K----SFW**

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: There were three times when the beach of Piltover the Old got stained with blood during your lifetime. This is the first one.

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip

Interlude II: The Crimson Tide

As soon as you enter the lighthouse, you know Viktor isn’t there.

It feels empty when you call his name. The walls newly painted echo the sound of your voice back to your ears without an answer; your footsteps, however, are absorbed by the wooden steps when you decide to climb toward the beacon room, the keys jingling in your hands, still cold from your father’s grip on them.

The open windows carry the salty marine breeze, some hairs prickling your forehead as you get near the balcony where a chair is put against the wall with a book atop the seat.

Nosy, you peek at the worn-out dark blue cover, the words Marine Legends almost erased.

Looking at the coast, you see him. He’s like a painting now—probably all the time, but today it remembers you of those seascapes hanging on the overly decorated foyers from all those wealthy people hosting parties in the city.

There are too many seas today: a sky icy blue, like the frozen surface of a rippling lake with the clouds streaked in harmonious lines across it, and the navy blue of the sea that sways in gentle waves. And in between all, there is Viktor, sitting in a formation of rocks by the cliffside.

Your stomach churns, almost like a sensation of vertigo pulling you toward the rail, down to the sea. You don’t want to get close to it, but you doubt Viktor will be returning soon to the lighthouse as it’s just past noon.

Also, your father told you to return soon, as you must get ready for a soirée.

Back at his studio, your eyes were glued to his stern face, the handsomeness of his youth washed by the ferocious sun in the middle of the sea, by the cold breeze continuously hitting his face, by the scars some mermaids got to draw on his flesh before he carved his own.

Your hands were interlocked against your stomach, wanting to stop a sudden wave of nausea. “Luna told me I wasn’t invited to dinner tonight.” Mr. Fresnel could frighten with your air of perpetual melancholy and the intense gaze you bear, just like your mother’s. Or even worse, he could take a liking to you and go crazy, she had said with her blank expression, knowing-it-all, supposedly.

Gavin clicked his tongue. “You know you shouldn’t mind her comments—you and Astraia are equally my daughters,” he says, his light eyes glued to your face, pulling your back straight. “No matter what everyone says.”

You felt the twitch of your nose—words stuck that run across your mind in disdain.

Daughter? Only when you see fit. When you need my face to distract a man long enough to sign a paper to give you money.

“Mr. Fresnel is a gentleman, with all that privileged education in the newly built city,” Gavin continued, as if sensing your disgust. “It’s a wonder that a man like him still believes in the miracles coming from the sea.”

He wouldn’t be the first one, not after all the dozens coming from poor coastal towns to Piltover to harvest all the riches of the sea, and all its mysteries. Now, the desolated, wild coast was scattered by huts and docks with fishing boats gently swaying against the waves.

The magic had gone away, and everything was his fault.

Gavin pointed at you, the golden marriage band in his hand twin to the one in the other that is scribbling away. The sight makes you want to yank the older band apart from him. Bold of him to think he deserves the memory of his previous marriage after Gavin left all the things of your mother to burn. "Don't disappoint me."

He held your gaze, the air heavy. Don’t disappoint me even more, hangs in the silence.

Taking deep breaths, you make your descent toward the beach, gripping the keys so hard it’s a miracle your hands aren’t bleeding.

It’s a beautiful day, but now you can only focus on the way the sand pushes your feet under, how the long skirt tangles around your legs like a net, with the roar of the waves growing closer, calling you, demanding you to submit to them just like your mother did. That it’s the only way you could be free.

“Miss,” Viktor says, your eyes darting away from the waves toward his face, chestnut locks of hair glued to his forehead thanks to the humid ambiance. “What do I owe your presence?”

“I came to give you the spare keys.” You swallow hard, feet walking toward the shallow end of the beach, stepping over broken shells and wet sand, almost as if it would devour you. “My father told me to tell you not to lose them again, or you’ll have to pay for the duplicate.”

He brushes his cold fingers against yours when he takes the keys, stuffing them in the breast pocket of his shirt. “I won’t, don’t worry. It was… eh, an… accident.” His cheeks look dusted in pink, and you have to look away.

“Well, it’s fine. I… I think I’ll go now,” you say awkwardly, your stiff hand waving him goodbye.

“Miss, wait,” Viktor calls. He can’t get down the rocks so easily, between the slippery surface and his cane, so you relent and come back to him. “I… I wanted to give you something I’ve found.”

“Oh?”

“It-it’s something I think it’s pretty and… eh, maybe you might like it, perhaps?” All red cheeks and avoiding eyes, Viktor puts a shell the size of your palm from behind his back, bright pink, and orange in stripe spirals.

It feels like being hit in the stomach, bathed in freezing water during winter. You look at the shell, feeling a pull down your insides, down toward the sea.

“You don’t like it. I should’ve known it,” Viktor mutters, clearing his throat as his fist closes around the shell. “You don’t like the sea, you probably don’t like things that come from the sea, either.” He chuckles, trying to hide his nervousness. “Of course.”

“I like the sea.” I’m just scared of it.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Miss,” Viktor says, his golden eyes filled with resolution.

“I’m not lying,” you mumble, closing your eyes when you see his brows furrow. “I just… I hear the screams, Viktor.” Your arms tangle around yourself in a makeshift hug, trying to hide you from his gaze, from this sea that whispers your name in each wave rolling against the beach. “I hear their screams.”

His inquisitive expression morphs into surprise, and you're filled with regret. Why did you say that? He's going to think you're out of your mind, and perhaps he wouldn’t be wrong—if he’d say it, then Gavin and Luna would be right. You don't want to know what you'd do if that's the case.

"You saw it," Viktor says instead, his tone soft and barely audible, making you lean closer to him, ignoring how the water has started to soak the edge of your skirt. “How the waves turned red.”

“I did." The words are stuck in your throat, and you don't really know how long you were expecting to let it out. Since the death of your mother? Or was it since the first time you saw it? Just an innocent child gazing at the yellow sand turned red with splashes of blood, ears filled with wails of agony. “I did.”

Viktor's thumb rests over his chin, deep in thought. "But they don't come here anymore. They know, now.” He looks at you. “Do you fear them?”

Yes, you want to say. Yes, I do. But you don’t, not really. You're the daughter of your father and mother, after all, and they didn't find them threatening at all, for better, or for worse.

You understand them—how they were used to fulfill stranger’s desires, tossed aside when they weren’t needed anymore. How they retaliated, with sharp teeth and murder songs, unbridled magic and purposeful.

You want to be like them.

“How do you know about the mermaids?” you ask instead, the image of the marine legends’ book in the beacon coming back to you. “Do you like mermaids?”

Viktor looks toward the sea. “I find them fascinating. They were the reason behind the sudden blooming of this town, and now, they’re behind its downfall. It’s… poetic, in a way.”

You chuckle despite yourself. All these years you can't hate the men working under your father’s thumb, they had families to feed, vices to fulfill. But your father? He has no excuse. No exit.

“Yes. I suppose it was only a matter of time.” You can’t trample with powers you don’t understand, at least not for very long.

“A matter of justice, one might say,” he adds with a slight smile. “Then, would you like to keep the shell? Or… eh, maybe it’s not of your liking?” Viktor extends the shell toward you. “You can hear the sea from here, and there will be no screams. I promise.”

It's your turn to feel flustered, lips curved in a smile. This time, your fingers are the ones brushing his palm when you take the shell in your grasp, smooth and warm, heavier than it looked.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Viktor,” you say. “I’ll give you something back soon.”

He chuckles. “There’s no need. I’m not giving you this for you to feel indebted.”

Habits are hard to change, you assume but prefer not to tell him that. At least, not yet.

“I’ll let you go now,” Viktor adds once you don’t say anything. “But I hope I will see you soon, Miss.”

“Me too,” you smile, tucking the shell in the inner pocket of your coat as you wave him goodbye, striding up the hill.

Midway through it, you see the outline of a person waiting for you at the top.

“Astraia," you say, hating the slight pain in your voice from climbing so fast. You don’t stop, however.

"You shouldn't behave like that," your sister says, hands taking fists off her dress to avoid it getting dirty. “What will father and mother think if they see you like that with the keeper? It would ruin your reputation.”

As if I have one. “I don’t care.” You’re an oddity, the child of a crazy woman who may be just as crazy, why does it matter? To keep a false image of yourself that will get washed away? “And you shouldn’t either. Focus on your debut, Astraia.” You look at your younger sister’s pristine hair and fawn-like eyes, so, so naïve.

She says your name, but you don’t care. You just can’t care anymore. “What did he give you?”

“Mind your business—”

“If it’s a shell, you know you have to throw it away!” she cuts you off, taking you by the shoulders. “They’re dangerous, you can’t keep them close to you. They… they attract monsters.”

Your jaw feels tense, if it’s for anger or frustration, you don’t know.

“I’m already surrounded by monsters, Astraia, my dear,” you say coldly. Your words freeze her, and you push her hands away, walking toward the house whose entrance looks like an open mouth ready to swallow you whole. “Just... let me alone.”

From the Diary of Astraia Galvin.

Dear Diary,

Today marks one month since my sister hugged me. Since she talked to me. I didn’t think that when she told me that now she was dead to me, she’d mean it. I’m like a stranger to her. She feels cold and aloof like a ghost roaming our shared floor. I wish I knew how to amend it—where did I do something wrong? I only wanted to protect her. Sometimes, I want to go to the ocean and dig up that shell I throw away, but the ocean is forbidden and dangerous. I know I’d die if I ever set foot in it. But what if death is the price I have to pay to earn my sister's forgiveness? Could she be that cruel? I don't believe Mother. She loves me. She has loved me ever since I have a memory. What changed? Was it me? Her? I want to go back to those days when I could lay on her bed while she told me a story about the sea, to wake her up in the middle of the night and both tiptoe down the stairs to prepare hot chocolate because the nightmares wouldn’t end. I want her with me, and I don’t know what to do to cross the rift created between us two. No, when the abyss that separates us is filled with black-ink water that smells like death and magic. Today is raining and she isn’t here; I don’t want her to do something she will regret, as I don’t wish for her the pain that now consumes me like the candle on my desk, almost out and without her returning from the lighthouse. I don’t want the sea to take her. I don’t want the mermaids to claim her. Dear Diary, I only want her to be free. For us to be free. But… I don’t know how much we’ll have to pay for that to become true. And I’m too scared to find out.

#viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #arcane fanfic #viktor fanfic #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor x you #arcane viktor x fem! reader #viktor arcane x f!reader #arcane x female reader

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apoemaday · 1 year

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Flower of Love

by Oscar Wilde

Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day. From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song, Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong. Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed, You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enameled meed. I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine, Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine. And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without name, And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of Fame. I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young, And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre’s strings are ever strung. Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine, With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in mine. And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove, Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love; Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart, Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part. For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth, And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth. Yet I am not sorry that I loved you--ah! what else had I a boy to do?-- For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue. Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is past, Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last. And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the root, And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit. Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God’s own mother was less dear to me, And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea. I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in wasted days, I have found the lover’s crown of myrtle better than the poet’s crown of bays.

#poetry #oscar wilde #flower of love

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leggerefiore · 2 years

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Scotophobia

cw: fluff, chandelure ingo

Pitch black surrounded you as you held your knees to your chest. Your living room was impossible to navigate by sight after your power flickered and failed. Judging by the heavy storm that brewed outside of your apartment building, it was obvious what had happened. Despite the observation, you felt extremely nervous over the darkness. You had a bad fear of the darkness since you were a child. Something always felt like it was lurking out of your sight, just waiting to get you.

It did not help that your childhood neighbourhood often held a variety of ghost types that haunted children for a laugh (or over darker reasons). You knew that as an adult, you had nothing to fear, but the phobia from your youth never left you. It was part of the reason you enjoyed living in Nimbasa so much. A city known for its light would definitely be the place for you to be. Currently, however, the storm knocked out the city's power. You whimpered as you felt the worry about a Duskull appearing before you with its crimson eye piercing the void around it, signifying your end being near.

However, it was not a crimson light the broke your fears. A soft, flickering violet came to you instead as your boyfriend left the kitchen. His ghastly body glowed brilliantly in the darkness, providing a sudden and unexpected comfort. “Dearest…” his voice was controlled and gentle, “What is wrong? I can feel your fear through our bond…” You jumped to your feet, nearly tripping over the coffee table, and clung to Ingo tightly. His body held his inhuman warmth to it and beautiful, sweet light. While he may, too, be one of the ghost-types you so feared, you knew that Ingo would never harm you. The Chandelure hybrid was absolutely adamant that he never consume your life energy or dare touch yourself, putting aside the way his species bonded themselves to a human mate.

“I-it's dark…” you managed to get out, “I'm afraid of the dark…” He hummed as he gently embraced. The flame burning inside him suddenly grew brighter and bigger, his accent fires that spread from the affixed arms of his shoulders did much the same. The candle-like light flooded the room and provided much respite to your worried mind. He gave a slight laugh and pressed a kiss to your temple. “I suppose I am quite the perfect being for this situation,” he spoke clearly, “I do apologise about dinner, but the power ruined my stew.” You sighed. First darkness, now no dinner. Some things were just annoying to deal with, you accepted. At least you had your cute boyfriend to offer you company and support.

You both returned to the couch. You sat in his lap and buried your face into the nape of his neck. You cuddled him happily. Ingo's presence was a calming one. Despite his stiffness and loudness in public (likely from how humans judged Chandelure hybrids), his persona at home was a much more meek and relaxed home. He always sought to take care of you and make sure you felt loved, just as you did for him. Your fear of ghost-types always felt a bit ironic with how easily you got along with him. Chandelures themselves terrified you, too. Their ability to consume life force and hypnotise people was a scary thought to consider. Even legends about them being used to light homes in the past resorting in deaths commonly.

Truthfully, you shuddered a bit at the thought since you currently had one lighting your home, but you had the most subtle feeling that he was not out to end you. Especially judging by how distressed he became at the thought of not spending his future with you. You had no plans to leave him anyway. There was something so enjoyable about having the ghost help take care of your home. He was everything you wanted in a boyfriend. “You know,” you started, “I'm also afraid of ghosts.” He gave you an odd look as a hand rubbed at your back. Clearing his throat, “Is that so? How do you handle being at my side, then?”

You hummed and pulled away from his to look into those glowing yellow eyes. “You're sweet and loving, not soul-eating and haunting,” considering your words a bit more, you changed your mind, “Well, you're a bit haunting. Not too much. Do not enjoy you passing through our front door instead of opening it, though.” This time, he let out a genuine laugh. Your chest felt light at his reaction. Hearing him laugh was such a rare thing, yet you had heard it twice tonight alone. Perhaps the dark was not your enemy as much as you had thought. “Thank you, I do try to be more human in my actions and presentation rather than a creature that consumes the souls of others to thrive,” Ingo gave you a small smile, “Knowing that I make you think that way about me, however… That makes everything feel better, my love. I do worry that I come short in our relationship often… That maybe a human would be a better choice for you.”

You shook your head and pecked a kiss to his cheek. No human could make you as happy as him, neither could any other being. You loved Ingo, not anyone else. Nuzzling your nose to his, you grinned back at him. “I love you, hubby,” you called him the pet name you often teased him with, “I want you. You're the best choice for me.” His flames burned even brighter from his embarrassment. Shaking his head, you giggled when a kiss was pressed to your lips. Your foreheads rested together for a moment.

“I love you, too, dearest,” he replied, “Ah, we should probably call Elesa and see if she's alright. Emmet, too. He's working tonight.”

Before you even realised it, your fears were completely gone.

Ingo had burned them away.

#ingo x reader #ingo/reader #pokemon x reader #pokemon ingo x reader #pokehybrid au

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typekiku · 4 months

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TSUKIHIME FASHION REVIEW 3!!!

under the dark crimson moon, i write this newest entry of the much awaited much beloved tsukihime fashion review.

it's a duty i must carry out for the sake of the generations of lost sheep both before and after my time that have yet to truly appreciate the true depth of style that is contained within the single greatest visual novel known to mankind (according to me)

yet, i feel as if i am not doing my duty to its fullest... how can i possibly adequately sum the glory of todays fashionista? how can i dare attempt to sum that up?? no! i cannot waver in my faith in my incredibly lacking writing skills nor fear people figuring out this barely has anything to do with fashion... I WILL PERSEVERE!!

on with the show as the youth say!

(SPOILER ALERT: i should mention ill probably end up spoiling a shit ton of oghime and whatnot here so watch out)

so without further ado todays subject is:

drum roll

MORE DRUM ROLL

thanks uhh whatever you are from

MICHAEL ROA VALDAMJONG

yes the one and only roa

BROA

the legend himself, the Serpent of Akasha, Uroboros, the founder of the burial agency, the infinite reincarnatior, and professional Arcueid simp.

we have gathered here today to judge his design and uh fashion ig and whatever else i feel like ranting today about.

lets get right to it.

look at this dude all shirtless and shit like cmon so shameless... cover em up damn. seriously tho this man has a thing for showing off his (or should i say others) bodies like you will see soon.

i guess this comes down to him enjoying the freedom of being fully in control of whatever body he is currently occupying actually?

maybe this is some super deep look into the merits of semi nudism or whatever idk im not smart.

probably takeuchi just wanted an excuse to draw some seriously ripped abs actually i mean this might seriously be the most abby abs we ever see in any TM work. its fucking shredded and roa probably knew that. weirdo

on the flipside that majestic hair is simply incredible. DAMN thats some 10/10 hair. only other hair in this series that compares is my wife arcueid's long hair before her mean little (Older actually but idc) Altrouge got all mean and shit.

umm who is this? what happened to my incredible haired roa?? TAKEUCHI WHERE ARE YOU??? someone please give me back long haired roa... this isnt funny...

do you see what we lost? long gorgeous haired roa should've stayed and im genuinely upset we lost him to this admittingly much better dressed roa. im ashamed of you serpent of fraudkasha

fr tho where tf did he even get this rockstar ass drip anyways? we know SHIKI has been locked up in the outside house for awhile before released thanks to a certain maid... did he just drop by the local hot topic or whatever? did he manifest it through sheer willpower and arcueid simpery?

understandable tbh i too acheive things through arcueid simpery such as dirty stares and social exclusion!!

for reference, here is SHIKI

yea

i guess he just uhh changes him which in hindsight is really fucking sad to think about so lets not

uhh ANYWAYS

ok so ignoring ciel on the right elesia or should i say roa decides the very first thing hes gonna do in poor elesias body is to strip it naked

huh?

yea roa is definitely a weird one. no wonder the other ancestors hate him (besides nero because he is #HIM)

sick cape tho

why is he so hot here actually? what the hell? i underestimated his looks like damn

no really why is he so hot anyways he should look like an absolute freak like he actually is. i see you roa. i see you got that long braid wrapped around your neck like damn son... you may have fallen in love with a literal killing machine and never even got to speak to her till the very very end but i see you.

rizzless bastard.

well thats enough from me so ill drop this classic mahoyo line because i found it very funny without context.

ciao!

#type moon #tsukihime #roa #broa #serpentofakasha #arcueid brunestud #ciel #shiki

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eternalstarlitwonderland · 6 months

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Rainbow Butterfly ~Ethereal Poem~

These starlit hours have begun

Suddenly she appears in a dazzling glint

As the darkness gives way to the light

Her skin is in a very fair complexion, smooth and flawless

Her face is youthful and lovely

Wearing a glistening colorful diamond butterfly pendant around her delicate neck

Her hair is flowy and hip-length and in the color of crimson

With a full fringe concealing her forehead

Her eyes are sparkling and in a deep blue shade like a sapphire

Her lips are pillowy with a tinge of glimmer

Her dress was brilliant and glistening like a diamond in the rough

It's vividly colorful

Her heels are sparkly and match the theme of the dress

Accentuating her flawlessly

Her wings begin to brightly resonate

With a snap

Dozens of sparkly rainbow-colored butterflies appear

The sparkly rainbow-colored butterflies following her

Each butterfly embodied every dream that was granted through warmth desire

She has been recently reborn

Asks herself how she gets here?

From a wish? Or maybe from a promise?

Who knows but she's here

She knows the world is her oyster

She wants to see it and its entirety

Being mesmerized by its shimmery glint

Her wings twinkled in a sheer cloak of night

Concealed it in its colorful glimmer

Now, it's her chance to show herself

With a snap

Another dozen sparkly rainbow-colored butterflies appear

Dispersing and scattering

Spreading the word of the legend

Satisfied with her effort

With a snap

She dissolves herself into a million brightly lit rainbow-colored butterflies

Turning herself into lore as well

The lore of the Rainbow-colored butterfly

#my writting #written by me #my words #words #nature writing #astronomy #stars #original poem #poem #poetry #starry writes #starry speaks #starry night #rainbow butterfly #rainbow colored butterfly #ephemeral butterfly #ephemeral #ephemeral poems

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horn-of-leo · 1 year

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I love that Saga's literally always brought back from the dead almost immediately when he thought he was done paying for his crimes

Timelines from when he dies to revived:

Classic Series: However long it took between Sanctuary-Hades

The Legend of the Crimson Youth Movie: It looks like it's been a few months(?) since he died since he and the besties all get nice matching coffins

Soul of Gold: He's really at his fucking limit in this one

Saintia Sho: I think the body was still warm honestly

#talks #saint seiya #gemini saga #Saga: PLEASE LET ME FUCKING SLEEP #he also comes back in ep ga but idk what exactly happens so uhhh i won't include it since i don't wanna spread misinfo #but please its so funny #Saga: Welp 'nough repentance for life :)#every spinoff afterwards: fuck you :)))

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jeannahas · 4 months

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To be American - Is to be Fragmented

I have lamented - often, and too long, the fact that I have no culture, no home to call my own.

I was raised in lands that were taken, among crimson cliffs, orange craigs, tracing carvings that predated my ancestors by generations, their meanings long lost to the cruel sands of time and desert winds. I was raised on stories of gods of foreign lands - tales of Thor, and Mjyonlir, mixing and twining with those of Zeus, Hades, Amateseru, Kokopeli, and Coyote.

I was raised fearing the Skinwalker, and was taught how a Skinwalker is vastly different from a Werewolf, and was taught Asian Ki-Gong medicine, and listening closely as the Navajo told us of their fears, showed and shared with us their dances, as friends.

I miss those days. The drum, the singing - the mesmerising spread of hoops during the eagle dance - if that's what it was called.

I saw the terror in the eyes of my first crush - a Navajo girl, as she explained that her family was moving away because they saw the shadow that laughed in the flames as their house burned to the ground, and I legitimately beleived them, felt sorry for them. I learned from them always to erase whatever you drew in the dirt, and I still do to this day.

I had an ancestor die in the Alamo, he knew Daniel Boone. Texas rangers, mountain men, the members of the LDS church who settled massive tracks of the west, who mixed and mingled with the native tribes, often in friendship, while others warred. I was told when I was younger, that there was Native american blood in me, but that what it was- from where it came - has been lost. Who even told me this>? I certainly can't remember, and don't have any proof. What tribe? What family? Where do I call home? What legends are truly mine to posess, to pass on? The Shoshoe? Ute? Paiute? One of the many tribes from Northern California?

I don't know. Do I really descend from any of them?

We learned in 2017 that my direct family line, that of my Father, hailed from clan McLeod, from Scotland, and through them, the vikings, who claimed descendance from norse gods - but are these legends mine? Are the legends of the Tuatha d'Danan now mine as well? The legends of Scottish heroes, of Scathach, who dwelt upon the Isle of Skye? The great feats of clan-cheifs proof of my line's draw to combat and war? Could I lay claim to and learn Gaelic, and not be rejected by those who still speak it as their birthright, and could I bear the seal of Clan McLeod? I can - I have a pin that marks us as descendants of the family, and we know exactly which of our ancestors branched off, changed his last name - but it still feels strange, after so long not having any connection.

My first ancestors on this land came on later voyages of the mayflower, we learned. They were here for the Revolutionary war, 1812, they were here for the civil war. We came through the younger brother- he fought for the Union, and in stories called the family slave brother, and helped to free him.

His actually older brother fought for the south - he died.

My grandfather, while in northern california, was gifted an Eagle feather. How? From Whome? Why? Am I crazy? Did this not actually happen?

I don't know.

I am an American - I was born in Ohio. I grew up at the base of and within the Rockies, and it is the tales of the miners and settlers that describe the arrival of my kin. I was raised in southern Utah, brought up on native American legends and taboos, among Hoodos, Petroglyphs, and remnants of the Ancient Pueblo, called the Anasazi still in my youth, and my mother had an entire library dedicated to the stories, the songs, the myths and taboos of many different Tribes, and I still recall the legends about the staining of the stones, of the White buffalo, and I held a healthy respect for the legends of Coyote the Trickster, of the fact that the people of this land credited him as the one who cursed those who became Bryce Canyon. Are these legends mine? Are these songs mine to tell? Can I tell people the fact that seeing the patterns of native american pottery actually puts me at ease, makes me feel at home, in ways that other things... don't? That I yearned to enter the cities of the Pueblo left behind at Mesa Verde, that they called to me, and I could not enter, could only speculate at the lives once lived there?

I don't know.

Native tribes probbably wouldn't accept me among them. I cannot claim one as my ancestors. I can't even declare with certainty I have any Native American Ancestors.

I grew up learning martial arts, a Korean Style called Tang Soo Do, passed down from my father, who learned it at great expense. I learned to love the sword, to learn many fragments of the Korean Language, and always seek to know more, and have adopted many aspects of martial arts culture. I bow reflexively in respect to others, be it a small nod of the head, or an accidental full bow in times of exhaustion. I have accidentally bowed while crossign the threshold of my home, or while entering a gymnasium, or while entering my bedroom. I shake hands with my left arm tucked under my right elbow- a habit engrained through years of shaking the hands of other martial artists in greeting, and I accept things offered to me with both hands - a custom I have learned is prevelant in Asia.

I cry when I watch the end of elemental - they have the Big Bow- what do we have here in America? In India, they have ways to show maximum respect to their fathers, to their elders, to show their gratitude, great gestures to save for those of Import. What do I have? I yearn to show this level of respect for my own parents, to share with them a gesture that is filled with such meaning, and I am left feeling that I have NOTHING save to invite them to the events which are of greatest significance. Do I make something, a masterwork weapon to gift to my father, to echo the many training weapons he made and gave to me? What could possibly convey this?

Our culture has nothing. We have to borrow from others around us.

I learned that there are Ties within our style to Shotokon, in Japan, to Shaolin Boxing, in China, and to a dozen other styles around the world. Are any of these tales and stories mine to tell? Can I truly claim legacy with the Hwa'Rang'Dan? Can I claim sincerely descendance through training, through legacy of instructor and teacher, back to the Silla Dynasty in 57 BC? My martial arts legacy is 3 steps away from Chuck Norris, and 3 steps away from Grandmaster Jae Chul Shin - does that matter?

I don't know - some will tell me yes - many will tell me no.

Lastly. I came to live in another country, to learn the legacy of Artigas, of San Martin and Belgrano - of their fight against the Spanyards, and I learned of the battle of Tucumán, and felt great pride for the fact that the Gouchos fought like demons. I came to speak Spanish, Castellano specifically, and to take to the language so well I had to take a couple months to learn english again when I returned, and months more to remember what a "Watermellon" was called. I began to feel most comfortable with an Aguayo sash around my waist, a knife tucked in the wraps, and my favorite way to keep warm in winter mornings to this day is to Don my Poncho in the colors of Salta, and remember the cable cars, the climb down the hill, the sights and crisp mornings that always greeted me, the briliant golden light of the main Plaza of Salta or Monteros during the day, or the sight of the night sky as I looked at a moon that seemed to Wax and Wane in reverse.

I am not from there- but still, to this day - Castellano leaps to my lips, and the Chacarerra brings me comfort. I'm sad I lost my hat - I actually thought I looked good in that one.

And I miss Gaseosa Secco.

oh forgotten gods of all my ancestors - Secco is fantastic, and if you are in Santiago del Estero for some reason - you need to try some.

I think, one of the defining traits of life as an american... is the hollowness. We do not really have a food to call our own. We do not really have legends beyond our founding, save those our ancestors brought with them, and shared to their kids. Many are immigrants- they have the stories of their homelands, and they claim them as theirs. People say that our legacy as Americans is that we posess all legacies- but that's not really the case. Cultures do not readily share, do not readily welcome outsiders, and we are not really part and pacel of any culture, not really. There is a void there that used to be filled with patriotism, but as despotism, fascism, curruption, and inumerable other ills cause our nation to crumble from within, as corporations dictate the whims of law, and cause those of use who are simply trying to live life to flail, to flounder, to scream and rage futily against a system too megalithic for us even to understand....

We are left with nothing.

Maybe that Is why we hold to our guns - the only stories we have left are of the revolution - stories of hunters who drove off an empire. Perhaps this is why we are so violent- for stories of violence are the only stories we can truly call our own.

I want to claim the stories of my clansmen - for I feel this claim the most direct.

But... I was not raised on those legends.

I was raised playing with my brothers, pretending Loki, Hermes, and Coyote were names for one crazy individual - I was raised reading about all these other cultures, with their names and customs, and dreaming I might see a white buffalo someday, or that I might track and kill an Elk the traditional way - I almost hunted one with a Katana directly drawn from the sheath - that action might describe this clash of cultures best. An american descended from the English, the Scottish, and who knows what else, wearing a krorean do-bohk and nearly hunting one of the most American Animals possible with a Japanese weapon, and then cursing in Spanish when I missed.

I am so deeply American it almost hurts. In the continental sense, not in the national sense. We were on this continent before the USA, and we come from and have been to countries all over these two continents.

I meet people daily from Israel, and wonder if the Geneology that ties me back to the Tribe of Ephraim lets me claim kinship with them, who come from the Tribe of Judah. I meet people from Ethiopia, and am in awe at the beauty of their language. I meet people from spain, Cambodia, the Philipenes, California, Wyoming, New York City, Mexico, China, Vietnamn, and Ukraine - and all of them are equally foreign, equally similar to myself. I teach them, and we all have legends to share - stories to pass around. I have heard legends from other cultures, and in turn have taught them the tale of Achiles.

As was said by Hugh Laurie - "America is too big to [even] know itself."

My soul wails, for it does not have a people, and I search for them constantly. I search for friends, I try to live in whatever culture remains to us- but what is that? Is it the DnD which many of us have fled to as our means of telling stories, of gathering around the fire? Is it the dying breed of the cowboy, who used to be common when I was growing up, herding their sheep and horses, fighting mountain lions in my lifetime, and hunting deer with bows and arrows? Is it our culture that we learn to make things that originally hailed from so many other cultures? Is it the Martial Arts family that I have truly come to love and cherish in a way similar- although not as critical or tight- as the ties I feel to my blood-kin?

My father hand-makes recurve bows, and fletches his own arrows, and taught us to do the same- We learn to make and repair swords, and each have affinities for swords of different legacies. Weapons hailing from different countries. We learned how to bind books, like the europeans did, and like the Maya did once upon a time, before the Conquista, and practiced writing on rice and slats of wood, inspired by the Chinese and Japanese.

I want to scream, I want to cry out and unify the threads of my identity -

But.... around what?

what can I claim to be?

I don't Know.

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batgirlsay · 10 months

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Falling Through Time

A Legend of Zelda AU Playlist for Obiyuki Bingo 2023 by @snowwhite-andtheknight

I was so excited to see Zelda on my bingo board! I’ve been playing Tears of the Kingdom almost every day since release date and I have so many Zelink feels… glad they also overlap with my Obiyuki feels! (This one is a more general Zelda playlist and has specific Obiyuki feels, but I am also posting a playlist for the first day of Zelink week too!)

There are time/memory related lyrics throughout the playlist, with a shift after the Louie Zong song to after they get reunited at the end of each game (if only I was able to get there…)

Falling Through Time

Ocarina of Time- Zelda’s Theme- Good Knight Productions You Fall When You Hesitate- Mae Playing With Fire- Brandon Flowers The Great War- Taylor Swift This River is Wild- The Killers My Valuable Hunting Knife- Guided By Voices Gerudo Valley Social Club- Louie Zong I Can Make You Feel Young Again- Copeland

Summary lyrics are cited after the cut:

You Fall When You Hesitate- Mae

Time machine, I'm adding up And I'm killing time all the while it’s time that's killing

Time machine, I want to go back To live in my past is exactly right where I want to be It's nostalgia haunting me

She says to me that You fall when you hesitate You crawl after tripping on your regrets You fall in and out of love again

Found the reason I could back down to dust See the daylight and the moon lit in the night above That's the treason but I do it for your love If I felt you But what if I failed you?

Playing With Fire- Brandon Flowers

That road outside that you've been taking home forever That'll be the same road that I take when I depart Those charcoal veins that hold this chosen land together May twist and turn but somewhere deep there is a heart

However dangerous the road, however distant These things won't compromise the will of the design

Ten thousand demons hammer down with every footstep Ten thousand angels rush the wind against my back

Rolling River of Truth, can you spare me a sip? The Holy Fountain of Youth has been reduced to a drip I've got this burning belief in salvation and love This notion may be naïve, but when push comes to shove I will till this ground

The Great War- Taylor Swift

Spineless in my tomb of silence Tore your banners down, took the battle underground

Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur

All that bloodshed, crimson clover Sweet dream was over My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War Always remember Tears on the lеtter I vowed not to cry anymore If wе survived the Great War

Soldier down on that icy ground Looked up at me with honor and truth

We can plant a memory garden Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair And we will never go back

This River is Wild- The Killers

But you always hold your head up high Cause it's a long, long, long way down

You better run for the hills before they burn Listen to the sound of the world, don't watch it turn I just want to show you what I know And catch you when the current lets you go

I've been trying hard to do what's right But you know I could stay here all night And watch the clouds fall from the sky

My Valuable Hunting Knife- Guided By Voices

I want to start a new life With my valuable hunting knife She will shine like a new girl And I want to shout out our love to the world

Days, they will turn into nights But my valuable hunting knife It will not rust through the tears And it will not lose its appeal over years

I Can Make You Feel Young Again- Copeland

Take me now, take me anywhere you're going Cause I can't stay here; I won't make it long And this piece of my soul you're controlling In this time and this space where we belong, it's worsening

It's breaking down, as a reel of thread unwinding You're surfacing just to take me down When I feel like I'm dead, you're reviving me

A billion stars and here we are The same bit of dirt holding our weight And before it drags us under I can make you feel young again

I can make you feel nothing at all for the years that led you here Now all your tears that are falling will never show I can make you feel young again

#obiyukibingo23 #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #obiyuki #legend of zelda #zelink #playlist #lyrics #mae #brandon flowers #the killers #taylor swift #guided by voices #louie zong #copeland #the killers song always reminds me of playing twilight princess #partially coincidental totk references in the final song!#this panel also kinda reminds me of the depths

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yoan-le-grall · 8 months

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#gif #anime #old anime #saint seiya #anime 80s #legend of crimson youth #pisces aphrodite #gold saints #peaceful #river

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kosmicpowers · 8 months

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Hi, Hey there!

I've had this blog up for a few weeks so I figured I'd introduce myself. Not gonna reveal my actual name for security reasons but just call me Kosmic.

I currently live in the USA (Unfortunately). I'm genderfluid and really don't care what pronouns I am referred to with as long as they're not it/it's. I'm also an aspiring writer but for now I mostly just write fanfiction. Mostly Saint Seiya related obviously though I've been working on other stuff.

You can find my AO3 account here:

I've also been working on art but I'm still a beginner.

I try to be a nice person. (Though I'm not sure if I'm good at it because I can't stop swearing.) I don't accept racism, ableism, bullying, kin exclusionists or gatekeeping, misogyny, homophobia or anything anti-lgbt...

Yeah, Just don't be a dick. It's not hard.

Also don't be a sicko, no pedophila or zoophilia.

Some other stuff about me in case you care:

I'm a minor, don't be a creep.

I have ADHD, tend to hyperfixate on weird stuff. Then again a lot of people on this website do. Just saying I'm not one to judge people when I think about my interests.

I'm agnostic but I'm not going to crap on anyone for having a religion, as long as you're not a Jehovah's Witness. Screw those abusive idiots.

My hobbies are reading, writing, drawing, playing retro games, creating OCs, watching documentaries, and staying up at three AM regretting all of my life's choices

My favorite shows are: Saint Seiya (1986), Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas, Ronin Warriors, Ranma 1/2, My Little Pony Friendship is Magic, Astro Boy, Jetter Mars, Sonic Prime, Sonic X, Beastars, Thundercats (both 1986 and 2011), Futurama, Kimba the White Lion, Cowboy Bebop, To Kai Watch, Captain Scarlet, Black Jack, Samurai Jack, Ampanman, The Amazing World of Gumball, Don't Hug Me I'm Scared, Danger Mouse, Kamen Rider, Super Sentai (AKA Power Rangers)

My favorite movies: the Guardians of the Galaxy trilogy, AKIRA, the Barbie movie (don't judge), Godzilla, Plague Dogs, Spirited Away, My Neighbor Totoro, Saint Seiya: Legend of the Crimson Youth, Chirin's Bell, The amazing Spider-Man, Toy Story 3, The Iron Giant, Into the Spiderverse, also as of now gotta add the FNAF movie

Favorite video games: Sonic the Hedgehog series, Phantasy Star 4, Columns, Panel De Pon, Mega Man, PulseMan, Mario Kart 8, Pokemon: Legends Arceus, Animal Crossing, Earthbound, Poyo Poyo/Mean Bean Machine, Sin and Punishment, Harvest Moon, Star Fox

Favorite Bands/Musical Artists: Jack Stauber, Daft Punk, Lemon Demon, Caravan Palace, Tally Hall, Miura Ayme, Rammstein, The Living Tombstone, Rare Americans, Nirvana, Rammstein, Witchfinder General, Gorillaz

Favorite books: The Golden Compass, The Most Dangerous Game, Magnus Chase, Heros of Olympus (or basically anything by Rick Riordan), Death Note, Beastars (manga), Inuyasha, The Lovely Bones (I fucking cried so hard), MAUS (Made me cry harder), City of Ember, Journey to the West, Most classic creepypastas mainly "Abandoned by Disney" (YES. I know they're not books), Cells at Work, AKIRA (Manga)

So... Um... Yeah.

I like to talk with people about my interests so don't be afraid to give me a message. (As long as it doesn't promise "hot singles" in my area, I'm not that stupid.)

Updates:

I have a discord under the name robotic carnival and a side blog Tezuka Brainrot.

I am fictokin of: Cobalt from Astro Boy mainly.

Partially:

Mars from Jetter Mars.

Jibanyan from Yo Kai Watch

Rika from Phantasy Star.

Akane Tendo and Ryoga Hibbikki from Ranma 1/2

Cygnus Hyoga, Pegasus Seiya, and Aquarius Camus from Saint Seiya.

And the flag on my profile picture is ADHD flag.

Cringe and proud. ♥️

My husbandos are Doctor Yamanoue and Doctor Kawashimo from Jetter Mars, Phoenix Ikki from Saint Seiya, James/Kojiro from Pokemon, and Rune from Phantasy Star.

I can't beat Zio PLZ someone tell me how.

I am pro Palestine and I will accept no support of genocide.

I am neutral on the Joe Hawley situation as he has done terrible things yet does not deserve to be hacked or harassed.

Also ship discourse and fanfiction censorship discourse is dumb I don't care anymore. And regret my past actions. Don't harass over stuff you don't like but also tag your shit. You can't complain about people judging you if you are irresponsible about keeping it where it belongs.

#intro post #too long

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sonicasura · 1 year

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Feral!Sky

A headcanon list for our Hero of the Sky. Any only involving the Forgotten Land iteration will have a 🕊️at the front. Let's get started.

Found in a forested area and raised by animals ever since he was a baby. Able to fully communicate with any animal thanks to his upbringing. Ended up in Skyloft at the age of 17 via the Crimson Loftwing.

Learned various languages by eavesdropping on people. Could only speak a few phrases until he was properly taught. Zelda fully teaches him while Meta Knight and Elfilin takes the role in FL iteration.

Sky's wilderness diet consists of stolen food, foraging food such as fruit/mushrooms/bugs, rocks and monsters. Yeah, he eats monsters like Octoroks, Deku Babas to even a Moblin. Nowadays he doesn't steal food that much but he still eats monster flesh.

Doesn't like traditional baths as he tried eating soap once. Prefers soaking under waterfalls, lakes and rivers. Sky will run if he knows a bath is coming. Catching Sky for his bath time is actually extra credit in Skyloft Academy. In FL iteration, Meta Knight is the only one to begrudgingly get him to bathe with soap.

🕊️ Wears modern clothes albeit purposely torn and a fake tail made from shed fur/feathers/scales. Sky looks for clothes alongside other materials when scavenging with Sillydillo.

Prefers sleeping in a nest than on a mattress. Its more comfortable for him that way. Zelda and her father made Sky a special bed to lay on. For FL iteration, Meta Knight made a hand knitted nest for Sky. He takes both everywhere.

🕊️ Has stolen the giant coconuts from Tropic Woods on multiple occasions. Leon sometimes has Sky join Gorimondo on scavenging for food in Everbay Coast. What better way to bribe someone from not taking food than a giant coconut?

A very skilled digger capable of making dens anywhere. Sky made special gloves called Shovel Claws so he could dig faster and better. Been working on special armor that works similar to armadillo plating.

Animalistic tendencies such as walking on all fours, sniffing strangers, hissing, growling and sharpening his nails on any surface. Sky will bite whether it be friendly nips, gnawing to keep his teeth sharp or bites of annoyance. Can purr via mimicking the sound.

Usually uses his claws, teeth and body to fight like a wild animal. Sky will only use conventional weapons such as swords, bows or bombs if needed. Also utilizes his digging skills in a fight.

🕊️ Often leads a small group of Beast Pack members as Sky has the potential to join the Council(Royalty type). His title is 'Beastly Paragon Sky Orchidaceae'. Winter Horns possibly being the domain he'll rule over.

Sky's feral nature is actually preferred by certain people, mainly demons. Mortals aren't that close to their animalistic instincts unlike the Skyloftian. Even Ghirahim mused about having Sky as his master instead of Demise.

Animals and even normal monsters see the young man as an Alpha. Especially when Sky releases killing intent. Only stubborn or courageous ones can fight their flight instincts around him.

The Chain have the hardest time earning Sky's respect much less trust. He'll help if needed otherwise he's napping in a makeshift burrow. Nicer to Wind, Hyrule and Legend since Sky sees the youths as cubs.

Bitten Twilight for tricking him into a bath twice. Bitten Groose twice for stealing his food. Bitten Time for trying to pull Sky from his burrow. Bitten Warriors multiple times for his self sacrificing tendencies. Mauled Dink out of pack instinct (and for the cubs' sake).

That's all I have for now! Until next folks, I'll see you back at Skyloft! Here's a little soundtrack from KAFTL that I was listening too while writing this.

youtube

#legend of zelda #loz #linked universe #loz link #legend of zelda link #linked universe related #lu sky #sonicasura #feral!sky #loz ss #legend of zelda skyward sword #katfl #kirby series #kirby #kirby and the forgotten land #Youtube

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aratakigang · 6 months

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AU and muses

Verses for Itto, Dottore, Tartaglia, and Wriothesley

V: Hisui Hunk (Pokemon)

Born into the land of Hisui, Itto was raised by a lost tribe known for the crimson horns on their heads. The tribe was often chased and persecuted due to their ghoulish appearance and remained hidden. But on a cold and cruel night, their chasers caught up and burned their village down. Itto’s mother carried him in an attempt to escape, but she was cornered onto a cliff. With no choice, his mother threw her baby rather than leave him to die at the hands of their chasers.

But before the babe fell to his demise, a light shined, and a hole through space opened, taking him to a much kinder time. As opposed to the dreary and snow-covered land of Hisui, he was taken to a land of autumn leaves and warm skies. The babe wrapped in his mother’s blanket in the streets of Ecruteak City cried out until a woman with gentle eyes came along and found him and tried to find someone who knew of the baby’s whereabouts but to no avail. All that the babe had was the blanket he came wrapped in and his father’s belt, which carried his family crest and name engraved.

Rather than leave the child in an orphanage, the older woman took him as her own and raised him on a farm just outside of the city. She bestowed the name she found on the belt, his father’s name, Arataki Itto. The child grew up unaware of his past, always curious about why he looked so different from the other kids. He was taller, bulkier, and carried those horns. Subject to mockery and teasing, he was always the center of drama and fights at school. But things changed when he found his first Pokemon. Tauros, one he named Ushi.

With a Pokemon on his side, he gained a little acceptance thanks to battling. He even gained a following by standing up for a few classmates by serving as a punching bag to distract bullies while the victims got away. As time passed, Itto’s skills and team grew; not only that, but physically, he became a hulking behemoth in comparison to the other trainers. Before he knew it, he became a so-called ‘gangster’ in the town. In reality, he was nothing more than a troublemaker at best.

But something always bothered Itto as he grew into adulthood. Glimpses of his parents and past would creep into his dreams. Asking his grandmother about his past would lead to more questions about his origins. Lost about who he was and where he came from, he set off to travel the world in hopes to finding answers to his questions, causing trouble on the occasion.

His pokemon team is comprised of

Paldean Tauros, Anihilape, Grimmsnarl, Falinks, Heracross, and Regirock

V: The very best (Pokemon)

Ajax Rybakov works for a special division of Interpol tasked with procuring legendary pokemon to keep them out of the wrong hands.He is ranked number eleven. During his youth, he endured over a year in ultra space and grew tremendously strong because of it. Nowadays, you can find him traveling to get these legends out of their dens or spending time with his family in their newly purchased Alolan home.

His team is comprised of

Kingambit, Palafin, Decidueye, Jolteon, Gallade, and Lunala

V: mad doctor (pokemon)

Zandik was a brilliant scientist from the Kalos region who worked under Dr. Fuji. Their team was sponsored by Team Rocket to create the ultimate Pokemon, and on the side, they also did some tests in human cloning. Months passed, but their sweat and tears were rewarded with results. The team had created the ultimate Pokemon, but doing so resulted in their annihilation. They had been overwhelmed by their own fruit, and Mewtwo destroyed all around it.

By the time Interpol came to investigate, only one soul remained among the corpses. His body was shattered, and a few parts of his body remained. Interpol managed to keep what was left of him alive. They gave the survivor an option to spend the rest of his life behind bars and hooked up to machines or to offer his services and knowledge to a righteous cause. In return, they offered to fund him in his research and freedom.

It was a fair deal. He joined up with Interpol as a chief researcher. In time, the doctor created replacement parts for his body with his knowledge of cloning. Next, he finished his research on Mewtwo and created a more obedient version to wield under his command, then took research from other groups and created a copy of Genesect. Years passed, and events from Hoenn to Galar plagued the world with trouble. Interpol had tried its best to stop such incidents, but the breaking point had been in Alola.

When word got out of Director Anabelle, and Agent Looker defying direct orders to procure Necrozma, the entire entity of Interpol went berserk. Thus, a new branch was made, one tasked with nullifying the threat of legendary Pokemon, preventing cataclysmic powers from getting into the wrong hands and eventually hoping to remove the will of Arceus in the world; in doing so, they could secure humanity’s future and safety. Because of Zandik’s cruel tactics, knowledge, and aid over the years, he has been placed second in this group.

The reason why Zadndik strives in his research is because he has yet to finish his experiment with Mewtwo. With so many new and powerful monsters out there, he has to test his creation's limits, push past them, and prove to the world that he has made the ultimate lifeform and that not even the divine can surpass his intellect,

Zandik now tends to go by his assigned name, Il Dottore.

His team is comprised of

Corviknight, Genesect, Mega Mewtwo Y, Aromatisse, Zoroark, and Rotom (wash)

V: Punched out Plasma

Wriothesley's earliest memories were of his time in an orphanage in Castelia city. Life wasn't pleasant, but it was far from awful. His time there was short spent before he was taken in by a loving family. He was in a lavish home with over a dozen siblings... and most notably, his parents were part of a strange group called Team Plasma. He was given love, food, a warm bed, and more attention than he could ask for. Years passed and they were taught and raised with principles of how Pokemon ownership was wrong and that they needed to be liberated. For Wriothesley, he understood; it didn't seem like Pokemon enjoyed being smashed with borders or burned up for entertainment.

At the age of ten, things changed for him and his loving family. Plasma made its campaign against the region of Unova. Peace for people and Pokemon all around was about to become a reality until their king was tossed from his throne by a champion of trainers. Sage Ghetsis fought valiantly to try and save their future, but he, too, was best. The golden age of Plasma was over, and they now scurried to the shadows like vermin for the sake of survival. Members all over were hunted and thrown away to rot by Interpol. During the shuffle for safety, the parents and children of the family were split apart. Ghetsis ruled that if there was any hope for Plasma, sacrifices had to be made. The days of warmth and joy were gone.

Team Plasma went under total reform. They had new parents while their old ones were sent away for 'special training' , though they were cold and cruel. Each and every day, he and his siblings went through excruciating training to refine their bodies into agile machines like the shadow triad. They were forced into combat with each other, given Pokemon, and battled every hour of the day to perfect their skills. Despite the hardship, Wriothesley excelled in any subject. He surpassed his siblings, grunts, and officers and even came to a draw with a triad member.

But as he thrived, his siblings fell behind. They were graded by pulling off assignments for Plasma. Whether it be procuring Pokemon, resources, or documents from those who hunted them. Every time one struggled and showed a lack of potential, they too were sent for special training. Now a teenager, Wriothesley was suited up for the final campaign of Plasma, but before that, he wanted to visit his family to give them one last hug in case the worst came to be. Using his training, he snuck in, stole, and found what had happened to those who went through 'special training.'

Documents revealed that those who knew too much about Plasma and its hidden bases were disposed of if they had doubts about the new order. All the people he loved were being taken by Plasma. They didn't care one bit for the lives of him or his family; they were just pawns meant to be tossed aside once their usefulness ended... and these new parents knew. They were murderers. At that moment, bloodlust was the only thing in Wriothesley's mind. He set out with his Houndoom and slayed his 'parents' that very night. After what he had done, there was only one way out, and so he turned himself and his siblings in to Interpol. Their base was raided and secured by the police. He cut a deal with prosecutors to get his siblings free. But because of the blood on his hands, Wriothesley would spend the next ten years behind bars.

Let out into the world after so many years, things seemed so foreign and strange. Plasma bit the dust thanks to a little girl and her Pokemon, mega evolution, dynamaxing, and smartphones were everywhere to be seen. With no home, Wriothesley spent most of his first days out on the streets, doing odd jobs, donating blood, whatever he could to keep the stomach of his Houndoom full. He tried every job that he could get with his criminal background, from fast food service, to stocking and cleaning. Nothing seemed to fit, and time and time again, he was fired. Until one day, he got into the sport of boxing. Starting off as a rookie, he gained enough money to stay afloat with his Houndoom; eventually, he climbed the ranks thanks to his combat skills, strength, and reflexes. Whenever he fought, all the thoughts and bad memories disappeared, and he felt happy.

At the age of twenty-five, Wriothesly took the title of heavy-weight champion of Unova. Earning enough money to buy a house on the outskirts of Nimbasa, a beautiful dark red truck, and all the snacks a Houndoom and some extra strays he picked up during his travels could want. Wriothesley doesn't participate in Pokemon battles anymore; he wants nothing to do with the life Plasma forced on him. He lives for himself now, doing what he loves and giving his three dogs a normal and happy life. Wriothesley fights to protect his life and his dogs, rather than using pokemon to protect his dreams.

Wriothesley will travel to other regions for exhibition matches; in such instances, he brings his dogs with him. His dogs are Oso (Mightyena) male, Rex (Houndoom) male, and Luna ( Lycanroc shiny dusk form) female.

#v:mad doctor ( pokemon dottore)#v:the very best (pokemon tart)#v:hisuihunk #v:punched out plasma (pokemon wrio)

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