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revelisms · 9 months

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All Gilded and Golden

I've been getting back into Zelda a bunch recently, so I've thought about sharing this fic here. It's an oldie and a big prosey braindump on Zelda/Link and gender identity, but it's become a bit of a personal favorite of mine :-)

Full story below and cross-posted on AO3.

Rating: M | WC: 2.9k | Zelda POV | Oneshot Even a lifetime of constructs can still find ways to be freed. Or: Zelda and Link, as the night sees them. CW: Mentions of war, blood and violence, themes around gender identity and sex, implied sexual context

The boisterousness of men had long dissuaded her: a vile, sordid thing; each galumphing footfall and splatting hand caking the walls with blood-thirst and sweat—but the coffins of seams and satin fared no better, a confine equally damning. On this night, one of countless predicated on ceremony, she is trapped between both.

Throughout the hall's great arches swelters the sweet of mulled wines and meads, roast hog and wild hare, holly glimmering gold with the light of a thousand pyres. She, the Head of their kingdom's exuberance, sits with a chained elegance: a witch burned for her beauty: a dismal observer to a joy numbly felt.

Boots on tile, shields, swords; metal gleamed and glistening. The banquet roars with the fires of a war freshly won. Blood still stains the silver of her soldiers' armor. The stench of it is suffocating. It spears the air like a tainted stream, and she—queen-becoming, highness of wisdom-born, yes—she is meant to take it in with grace; chew on its rotted flesh and sip down the wine of its poisoned fruit, gleefully.

(She will not—and, were it not for her namesake, the ritual itself would never be demanded. But the fates of ones birthright are ineludible. To tear away the vines of their becoming would be as foolish as attempting to split steal with bare hand alone.

She is not the first in this long line of magic, jeweled crowns smothering, to resent the title she was born with. She will not be the last.)

The thought is a dismissed one, spit into the moon-red of her wine and swallowed down. She has too many hours more to go to slip into such loathing already. But it will pass—it will always pass.

(Come star-rise, the men will scatter: to boast the tall tales of their kills, to drown their sorrows, to fuck—and she will retreat to the night; strip down the shackles of her womanhood: a crumpled, silken corpse, discarded upon the stones; be reborn, rebound, in steel and linen, if for a moment.)

That time is yet to come. She cannot think properly of it, now.

"My lords." Her voice carries clear; her posture lifted, with poise. The long wings of her dress unspool from her seat in a glistening tide. "My ladies." A smile blossoms, demure. "We have, yet again, struck down the forces of our enemy." Cheers, stamping, ripples of applause. "We are richer." A scepter drums raucously. "We are stronger." A chorus of agreement. "We are Hyrule, again."

Such pretty little words, for such blood-hungered hounds. Even the guise of nobility could do little to hide their banquet's unashamed victory.

And yet—one wolf in the pack does not cheer. In a sea of rubied armor, he stands, still as a slab of valley rock: blue-fire in his eyes, blood on his cheek. His mouth does not turn at the graze of her stare.

(He, alone, is the very reason for their triumph; he, whose holy blade had cleaved the filthen head of a demon embodied from the loom of its shoulders: plunged into the cursed light of veins throbbing still, any final shreds of beating life stripped red in a feral slurry.

He had torn into their enemy like a mauling bear, and slipped away like a fox to the shadows. None had chorused his name for celebration. None would. He preferred it, that way.)

Her eyes skip across the mud-streaked wheat of his hair, a knot in her throat. She swallows it down. "Now," she presses on, and raises her hands in a bright flourish, "we celebrate!" The hall erupts to a violent symphony, gauntleted fists pounding glinting steel, great cups filled and cheered. A bard strikes up a rousing jig. The shimmer of a fiddle strings starlight through the laughter's glimmering.

She sinks back to her seat, to the rattle of her chains, and lets the smile fall, gently. It is caught, tender as a fallen bloom, by a single voyeur—as it always is.

(It is improper, for him to keep his eyes on her so. But the wildness of them is like a wash of ocean foam to a blistered wound.)

She dares to let her attention lift, if only for a moment. The bow of his head stirs a quiet warmth beneath the twist of her palms.

He turns in a flush of dark velvet, gold sweeping about the steel at his shoulders, and is swallowed by the crowd.

⚘

Behind the castle walls, she is royal-born; within them, he is a pawn of war. There are expectations for what can and can't be—consequences, explicitly penned, for any lines one may dare to cross in the presence of those whose forgiveness could not be earned, with even a lifetime spent atoning.

But beyond these cursed stones, she is infinite—and he, well...

Outside of the armor, she's never quite sure what to make of him.

He carries himself as though identity itself had failed to settle cleanly about him; as though any christening could not dream of capturing the soul strained against it; as though the wilds of the Green-Valley River and mountain hearths alone knew which name to speak, by the light of the blood moon.

He is the binding of a chain in a great line of prophecy. He is tethered to her. In these moments alone, that is all the clarity she demands.

The night strips their titles to frayed fragmentations; buries their divinity beneath the eaves of the palace's outer gates. He approaches her, always, with the stars held on his back: lays a kiss at the bend of her knuckles, the silk of his hair warm at her hand: leads her, with silent, knowing strides, about the forests' brush, to the great unknown of the world beyond.

There is something comforting, strange though it comes, about the grand insignificance of one's life, when faced with the beauty of it all—miles upon miles of wilderness untamed: the eyes of the great mountains and endless reach of the wide-glittered sea the only ones privy to a history time could not dare to contain.

It should be a damning weight, to a typical mind. But, for her, it is freeing, in a way nothing could have prepared her for.

In the dark, rough earth bruising against her legs, she can breathe—heaving lungfuls of damp, mist-chilled air, eyes closed to the night. Can let her hair fall, rain-wet about the cave of her shoulders, without the burden of its inherent femininity. Can drag muddied fingers about the firm, battle-hardened heat of his own, to be lifted upon the stones' rugged slopes, canopied beneath the valley pine and blessed unquestioning.

(Sometimes, fingers slipping free about the cracks of her shell, she will find herself sobbing; and sometimes, shivering with the cold of the lake's shallows, she will lay a pale hand about the water-beaded slope of his waist and find herself envious; and sometimes, she will pull the heat of his tunic upon her, and hold it to the flat of her sternum with an ache she cannot (will not) name—not yet.)

Most times, they find points of conversation in the quiet. But he is one of few words—and she is one of too many—and the lull that bubbles between the scrape of their heels on dark earth and the claiming of a space wholly theirs, for a time, drifts through touch as much as it is spoken.

Tasting his spirit is enough, in any of its forms. It is the one thing that grounds her, these days.

⚘

"Were you always sure this is what you wanted?" she murmurs, against the tide of his breath.

The night air is cool with a storm across the way. His fingers shift the drape of his cloak about her shoulder. "Hard to say," he says, after a long moment. The cluster of weeds that thistle and sigh about the cliff's edge are frowned upon, thoughtfully. Beyond them, valley settlements lost to the pitch flicker with fireflies of flamelight. "I'm not sure I ever had a choice."

She twists her fingers about the heavy cloth wrapped upon them. "Why do you say that?" She glances up to find the soft angle of his jaw, the sharp line of his nose: golden lashes turned blue to the night: the deep of his eyes—sodalite, in the sun—now a blackish sea: swallowing, and moonbeamed.

He lifts one brow, with an absent sort of smile. The crook of it dimples his cheek. "Well." The smirk loosens, and his stare shifts to steel: hardened, unforgiving, where it wanders through the valley's shadows. "I had to keep going." It is not spoken like an explanation. It is a living fact: present, as much as past. "You take whatever hand you're dealt."

Her eyes slip away, far beyond, steady on the roughened peaks of the cliff's edge. She forces liquid down her throat. Lets her lashes fall. "Did you ever regret it?"

His lungs fill beneath her cheek. "Living?" he breathes out. He turns his eyes to the stars. His fingers burn against her shoulder. "No."

⚘

They are not caught (wine-red eyes ensure of it, though she has yet to be made privy to the silent promise her shadow has made to her)—but wandering eyes stir suspicion, nonetheless.

(The court elders may presume, at the simplest of grievances, that she has found an unsuitable lover—and that, perhaps, could be contested. She will not be so brazen as to display her affections in plain sight. But the palace's inner walls knew the shivers of her pleasure: knew she cradled a carefully-wrapped memory of the taste of his mouth, with every instance the touch of his lips had been given.

That scandal, in itself, is such a simple one. There are far greater grievances to be held by men drunk off priest-magick and blood-rites—but those, she takes care to never shine a light towards, at all.)

In the moments closed off from the prowling of their palace's royals, he shares worn tunics with her, unasked; shows her how to thread shut their daggered weaves with a surgeon's stitch, in place of embroidery. His fingers are gentle, so gentle, through the strands of her hair: the long coils of it plaited and smooth. In a mirror that glistens with the flicker of a single flame, she stares at the bared hollows of her cheeks through her fringe, and fights to put a name to the soul she sees.

(She will not keep those beautiful fabrics, no matter how her heart longs to pull them close. Their evidence would be incriminating to scavenging elders yearning for proof of a sentence yet to be made.

Still—there are things she can keep hold of, in her own ways. She gathers them into the empty space of her palms, locks them away in the small boxes of her being, with as much affection she can muster; tries, fiercely as she can, to not let the gleam of their treasure dim with resentment.)

When he leaves, the scent of him lingers—oiled leather, and sweet hay, and the damp green of a forest path before the light.

She drags her fingers about the bared slope of her shoulder, and aches for that hollow warmth to be her own.

⚘

"Ride away with me." The offer is laid into her hair with utmost reverence: one fully aware of its futility. It is no different than asking a long-lost spirit to return to mortal land, once more.

She twists the pale petals of a gardenia within her fingers. "I can't," she whispers, after two breaths. "You know I can't."

He does—and the crease that slides within the sun-kissed hollow of his cheek is accepting of it. His eyes take her soul by the hand and lead it into the shallows of possibility, no matter. They are the sea's green and the blue of dusk wrapped into one: enchanting, and fierce, and quiet.

"You can't, forever," he affirms. He tilts his head, the line of his weight an easy shift upon his palms, pressed to the marble at the empty space beside her. The garden whistles with the tune of a roving nightingale. A breeze sweeps the dark honey of his hair about his cheek. "But—" (Always, this—and, always, she waits: dreading, longing, for where his reason will get the better of her) "—I don't think an hour or two will hurt you that much."

Damn him. "You're determined, again, aren't you?" she sighs.

The flash of his teeth is sly, and lovely.

⚘

Slowly, she begins to resent the dawn.

The sun's glow spiders a scalding hand about the twist of her sheets: snares about the linen that puddles upon her bones, speckled with long-faded stains of bloodspots and grime. It draws him away, like the tipping night pulls the constellations down with it.

Drowsily, she will let the heat of his clothes be reclaimed: sway into the roughened care of his touch, the kiss of his breath upon her breast.

He will dress with the morning light simmering through the fibers, golden through the long frays of his hair. His touch will haunt her: knuckles pressed warm to the back of her shoulder, brow brushed upon the loose curls of her plait.

The birds will chitter through the open window, long after he is gone. Sitting up in a bare, chilled slump, she will lift a weary hand: begin the slow process of unweaving the ties of her hair, a ripple of moon-yellow about the slope of her back.

Across the room, costumes of royalty will catch the sun's glimmer with lace-clotted teeth.

⚘

Eventually, Impa, reddish eyes downcast, reveals her actions to keep them hidden from prying councilmen—shared simply upon the steps of their chambers, a bottle of mead set between them—and there is little she can do, to wrap her heart around the countless things this woman has always been to her, whether bound by blood or not.

(Most of all, it is her shadow's very being—her strength, her rage, her power; it is beautiful, and it is unforgiving, and it is warmer than any flame.

It eases out confessions long sheltered from the daylight, like a poison drawn from a wound: small, shivering, horrid things. Once she has started, she can't find the will to stop.)

"I wish it wasn't like this." Her heart feels heavy—so heavy. "I wish another life could have some to me. That I wasn't spending—spending so much time, trapped between words—"

Impa's mouth is thin. Her eyes are kind. "Why?"

"Because I don't—" The words shake: incredulous, enraged. "I don't know why I feel like this—"

"Highness." And surely Impa, herself, knows—for she wears her authenticity upon her sleeve; carries her presence without any possibility of burying it. "I understand. I do." The bottle hangs over the great slope of her knee. "But you do not have to crawl through the pages of a life you were not present in, to a find a reason for why you feel the way you do."

If only it were that simple—oh, if only—

"Your story has not been predefined—Crown, or not," Impa continues firmly. It crumbles any scraps of denial to measly things, forgotten. "We are living; oral histories and songs—our existence transcends language." Vermillion eyes turn with gentle focus down a strong shoulder. "Our tales do not have to fit into the words of men."

⚘

Perhaps, indefinability in itself is the answer to it all—and what a freeing, terrifying thought that is.

It is what he has embraced. It is what she has yearned for.

(But it is not an explanation enough—and she is searching, searching still.)

⚘

The banquets arrive and depart in grand flourish, one after another after another, harkening the seasons like a vile overture.

They will never end, so long as a kingdom is here to lay claim to them. She is not so foolish as to forget that. Battles will still be fought, and lost, and won: blood will still be shed in her name: and, contained within the clamor of their noblefolk, they will appear in their assigned roles—allow their eyes to find each other, as they always do; one affirmation of countless unspoken others, no matter the wilds that surround them—and carry out their respective duties, in silence.

It is a routine time will not abandon; one she is unable to avoid.

But it will pass. It will always pass. That, she has not forgotten, either.

⚘

Dusk blooms violet and pink across a blue-blackened streak of rolling hills, her breath sharp and cool between the galloping—and for this moment alone: eyes sinking closed, pressed to his back, to the warm furs of his steed: they are flying.

She tightens her hands about the curve of his waist. Turns her eyes to the sky's settling dark, far beyond the horizon.

He turns over his shoulder, hair fluttering against her cheek. "Where to?"

It is an endless host of possibility—the chance to run across the farthest edges of the world and dip down to the lowest rocky points of the southern shoals—and she could let him ask her, for a lifetime. A smile curls across her mouth, absently, where she tips her chin into his shoulder.

"As far as you want to go," she murmurs. A grin creases through his cheek.

In this moment, she is winged, and golden, and glittering.

In this moment, she doesn't need a definition.

#zelda fanfic #loz #zelda #gilded and golden #link #zelink #so...like of 90% is coming from me just being a nonbinary kid growing up on zelda and projecting onto link *a lot*#(didn't we all)#blame this on me getting emotional listening to zelda piano covers #augh this series #also this is...sort of oot timeline?#not really sure #words just happened #writing #cw war mention #cw blood #cw violence

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butchfalin · 6 months

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the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

#yeehaw #1k #5k #10k #posts that got cursed. blasted. im making these tag updates after... 19 hours?#also i have been told it should say speech loss bc nonverbal specifically refers to the permanent state. did not know that!#unfortunately i fear it is so far past containment that even if i edited it now it would do very little. but noted for future reference #edit 2: nvm enough ppl have come to rb it from me directly that i changed the wording a bit. hopefully this makes sense #also. in case anyone is curious. though i doubt anyone who is commenting these things will check the original tags #1) my friend did not do this on purpose in any way. it was not intended to distract me or to hit on me. im a lesbian hes a gay man. cmon now #he felt very bad about it afterwards. i thought it was hilarious but it was very embarrassed and apologetic #2) “why didn't he use 🫵🏼?” didn't exist yet. “why didn't he use 🆗?” dunno! we'd been using a lot of hand emojis. 👌🏼 is an ok sign #like it makes sense. it was just a silly mixup. also No i did not invent 👉🏼👌🏼 as a gesture meaning sex. do you live under a rock #3) nonspeaking episodes are a recurring thing in my life and have been since i was born. this is not a quirky one-time thing #it is a pervasive issue that is very frustrating to both myself and the people i am trying to communicate with. in which trying to speak is #extremely distressing and causes very genuine anguish. this post is not me making light of it it's just a funny thing that happened once #it's no different than if i post about a funny thing that happened in conjunction w a physical disability. it's just me talking abt my life #i don't mind character tags tho. those can be entertaining. i don't know what any of you are talking about #Except the ppl who have said this is pego/ryu or wang/xian. those people i understand and respect #if you use it as a writing prompt that's fine but send it to me. i want to see it #aaaand i think that's it. everyday im tempted to turn off rbs on it. it hasn't even been a week

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iamanartichoke · 10 months

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I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

#fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fandom things #tumblr things #i may have said this at some point #i'm sure i have #but whatever - just in case #i don't say this with the presumption that i'm so amazing and people are clamoring to save my fics #but just if anyone is so inclined that's all #ftr i don't intend on ever removing my fics from ao3 or deleting fandom things from this blog #i've always shared my fandom things with the intent of keeping them shared bc that's the whole point of posting #but the fandom atmosphere and ao3 constantly being under attack who knows what can happen #not that this applies to anyone but should all else fail you can also reach out to me and i will personally give you a copy #at least of fics bc i save everything #not so much the tumblr things but this is a good reminder to myself that i should do that for the things i care about #that i've made or done and only posted here #anyway sorry i have now used up my quota of the putting words into sentences doing for today #i have plans to stare into the void now

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inkskinned · 10 months

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so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

#where's the word woman in this u might wonder if u suck #good news i am nonbinary and have a uterus so that is something that can happen #im also gender fluid tho which means im immune to certain psychic damage bc if u call me a woman i'll be like <3 okay <3 #writeblr #the tightrope of ''ppl need access to this''#and like also #''what the fuck is going on over there'' is like. so difficult as an activist #i was <3 punctured <3 during mine #and almost bled out on the table :) they didn't have anyone standing by bc it's ''just a little insertion''#so i started crashing and i vaguely remember apologizing for the fuss as i heard my heart rate monitor start going <3 tachycardic <3 #she wasn't even a bad doctor tbh #ps btw the reason i even HAD a heart monitor is that i have a genuine heart condition and they knew GOING IN that there was a chance #i'd crash on the table #like my heart just likes to do fun little tricks and <3 stop working <3 (i do not want to discuss the specifics ty i am okay im ontop of it #and they were like 'oh u will be fine' and then she did do a puncture thru my uterus . pop!#and im sitting there dizzy and feeling my heartrate start to drop bc it feels almost. beautiful. like. the whole ground just #woosh! out from under you. and shit is like grey's anatomy. i'm looking up at her grey eyes #she's old she wears this nice shawl she's like got Cool Lesbian vibes and people are sprinting into the room #from other parts of the clinic unrelated to me. while the monitor is like a little aria singing #and shes like hey youre okay stay awake stay with me something went wrong we have to keep trying #and i remember thinking - i was trying to think of nice things. i have so many beautiful places that now overlap #with this terrible memory #i became dimly aware that there was too much on her wrists and hands. like #that was too many liters #and then when they had finished all this. i packed up and drove myself home #i have had (bad thing) happen to me. and the same feeling happened after #that numb almost lamblike bleating. you cry without noise. like. ur body is so shocked and ur mind so empty #you just stare at the road and everything everything is happening behind glass and static and you are standing so far away from it #while you hold ur hands at 10 and 2. and something in ur brain is SCREAMING at you - IT WAS BAD AND IT SHOULDNT HAVE HAPPENED #and ur just watching the alarms in your body going off and youre thinking. a little pinch! ha. i think i just lost something important.

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whilomm · 28 days

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i like to think that the tentacles in dungeon meshi are kinda like mushrooms or perhaps even lichens in that they are very confusing to identifty and have 200 completely different species that look very similar ("delicious brown tentacle vs BROWN DEATH TENDRIL") and you need to be an Expert to determine the difference between some of the more confusing species and some of them have like 300 different sexes and some of them are actually composite creatures composed of several different species and somehow yeast is involved and also no one really knows half of whats going on with them and in like 50 years someones gonna figure out that uhm actually these are two completely different types of tentacle creatures that arent related like at All they jusf happen to look similar and oh btw that one common house mold is actually a tentacle

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #i dont know enough about lichens to go into detail they confuse the fuck outta me #i love how the wikipedia page uses the words #'was UNDERSTOOD to be...'#'in 2016 research revealed a NEW PARTNER a yeast'#they sound like fucked up little guys #(looking at tentacle porn) huh i wonder about the scientific research on these guys #like it would explain how theres just So Many Types and its just a fucking mess every time they appear onscreen #oh sorry you thought this was a common docile soecies of tentacle that happens to be delicious but its ACTUALLY the voracious Sex Tenta

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fanficmemes · 2 years

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I really do adore the kind of character who would rather make everything worse than even try to fix the problem. Yeah man, fuck communicating with your friends, blow the place to hell!!!

#i make words real good tag #hm do I could solve every problem in my life right now #if I just trust my friends #OR #skskskskskskskskkskss god love when that happens

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petitelappin · 1 month

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I want her to scoop him up so much. I think they would both enjoy it. Sweep the man off his feet, as they say!

#my art #digital art #bg3 #wyllach #wyll ravengard #karlach cliffgate #baldurs gate 3 #fan art #i still havent reached the point in the game where they can touch yet but once they can its over for everyone #the amount of times in camp im just like. we gotta go to karlach and remind her i/wyll want to kiss her #im sure the other companions must be sick of it #is this caption worded weirdly? its 4:30 and i havent slept bc theres been weird things happening loudly outside all night

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raepliica · 9 months

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tristamp post-S1 mashwood sillies and tri98(?) merylwood :]

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marlequinncos · 2 months

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every single possible thought I was brainstorming about this episode came to a screeching halt when I heard the click of that tape recorder

#we're so back gamers #I felt like a sleeper agent who just heard the code word when that click happened #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #the magnus protocol #tmagp 10

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thedreadvampy · 1 year

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Losing my shit about this article in which a transphobic Tory was so busy panicking about existing in the vicinity of a Trans that she almost certainly misheard "jeans" as "penis" and decided that not only was this a problem with the other woman, but also that the world must be informed of this pressing danger.

"a trans woman! I had to stand directly behind her....I thought, 'this is going well', I'm handling The Situation fine'..."

translated: I saw a tall woman with broad shoulders. How would I get out of this alive? I thought. she has a PENIS. PENIS PENIS PENIS. through some force of PENIS I mean will I managed to PENIS behave normally towards her. My hands were PENIS PENIS PENIS shaking as I tried to dry them. summoning up all my PENIS courage I said 'dryer's crap innit'. she turned to me and said " yeah I'm just goiPENIS PENIS PENIS"

It's been a week and I'm still shaking. This proves trans women are the problem and I'm not weird. I'm fine. It's fine. If you think about it I'm the hero hePENIS!!!!!

very this

#red said #it's just. I'm obsessed.#everyone on Twitter is saying 'never happened' and i think they're wrong #this absolutely did happen and she's been obsessing over how vindicated it made her feel enough to WRITE AN ARTICLE ABOUT IT #because she MISHEARD SOMEONE IN A CASUAL CONVERSATION #i lay out my reasoning thusly: if you were INVENTING a scary trans woman in bathroom story out of nothing. why would it be this?#why would you go with 'we had a banal conversation until she said a sentence that makes no sense and that no human has ever uttered #but which does coincidentally sounds almost exactly like a mishearing of a very NORMAL thing to say in the circumstances #then she left and nothing else occurred'#if you were going to INVENT a story you would probably make it MAKE SENSE or SOUND THREATENING #i truly believe this is a very authentically told account of what she thinks happened #because who would. by means other than mishearing. think 'I'm going to wipe my hands on my penis' makes any sense at all.#a) 'I'm going to dry my hands on my genitals' says the presumably fully clothed woman #b) who then proceeds to leave without doing anything threatening #c) WHO SAYS PENIS THREATENINGLY? sorry it's writing out 'penis' repeatedly that made this jump out to me but like. who says that?#you might hear someone talk casually about their dick or cock but i stg it's only doctors and TERFs who casually use the word penis much #it's so. clinically descriptive. it's a weird use of language. but it IS. something you could plausibly mishear from 'pants' or 'trousers'

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coffeecatcraze · 3 months

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I would just like to say how hard it hits me in the chest to see Charlie masking every time she's onscreen the day before the fight (including what we see on Vox's spy screens of course), except when no one is with her but Vaggie. Even during her emotional speech she tries so damn hard to keep that confidence up and smile on. But we do see her stop masking twice, when the only person watching her is Vaggie.

First:

No one's really paying attention to her, and she's not smiling; she's worried. When Vaggie approaches her, she doesn't put on a happy face. She talks about her mom with the same smile as in the first episode (during a very emotionally vulnerable moment with Vaggie, might I add). It's not happy or confident. It's nostalgic, wistful, and sad, because her mom's absence is something very personal and painful for her. When Vaggie asks if they're ready, Charlie doesn't instantly start to smile or answer with confidence even though she usually would (even within that short beat of time), because her mask is off. She's not confident or optimistic. She's scared. She's not ready.

Then Pentious comes out and she's all smiles again! The mask comes back on when someone other than Vaggie is there.

Second:

Of course, one of our favorite scenes. Charlie's alone when she breaks down, but when Vaggie shows up, she keeps the mask off. She admits how scared she is. When she does smile, it's not the big smile she's been throwing on throughout the day, and it's not strained either. It's soft, gentle, and real. She's not masking. Vaggie is genuinely making her feel better when she's finally letting herself fall apart, just by being there and reminding her that no matter what happens, she's already accomplished so much, and she's so loved.

Charlie is under a lot of stress and pressure. She's scared. She's not as optimistic as she's making herself out to be. She's giving everything she's got out there being a strong, confident, inspirational leader and friend in front of everyone, and it's only with Vaggie that she lets it go. She doesn't have to try to be strong. She doesn't pretend. She lets down her guard, because for her, Vaggie is that one infinitely special person who gets to see every part of her; the one person she can always be her honest self with.

There were plenty of times in other episodes when Charlie didn't mask her negative emotions around people, but that was when she didn't have anyone looking to her as a leader. She's running on adrenaline and the weight of people's expectations as Extermination Day gets closer, and she can't let the mask she's put on slip in public. She has to seem like she's totally ready for what's coming. But Vaggie is different.

The amount of trust and love Charlie has for her is staggering. She's under an insane amount of stress and pressure, and having Vaggie by her side is probably the only thing keeping her from completely falling to pieces. Seeing a relationship so full of deep trust and love is absolutely beautiful. <3

#hazbin hotel #chaggie #charlie morningstar #vaggie #no i am not saying her usual attitude is always a mask #just that when you're known to be a certain kind of person it becomes an automatic mask sometimes #and from these two moments and the situation as a whole it looks like that's what was happening here #she's probably spent the last month trying increasingly hard to keep up a face of confidence and fearlessness #except with the one person who's by her side and not following her #they are PARTNERS and that word means so much

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little-pondhead · 15 days

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Day 3: Invisible

[Full strip without text under cut]

[Dialogue]

"Hey, Danny! Wanna play?"

"Sorry Youngblood. I can't play with you anymore, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot you grew up."

"Do you want me to sketch you again?"

"Nah, your memory is getting worse. I looked like a monkey in the last one. It sucked."

[If it isn’t clear, Danny can hear Youngblood, but not see him. The downside of losing his ghost powers post Phantom Planet.]

#danny phantom #dannymay2024 #day 3: invisible #phantom planet compliant #agit didn't happen #those are words I never thought I'd say #YB: your drawings suck #Danny: just cause I can’t see you doesn’t mean I won’t drop kick your toddler ass #yes I used a stamp for the city scene don’t pay attention to that #I got tired

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irisbaggins · 5 months

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In rewatching the season, I'm noticing how clever Aabria and Brennan were in crafting Tula's story. How well thought out everything was.

Specifically, the bear. It's been mentioned so many times before, but with the context of the completed season, I cannot help but be in awe at the skilful storytelling at display here. The way in which the Blue is described to appear wrong only in reference to Tula and her heart, the way in which Tula talks about curiosity and and having experienced knowing someone who died because of it. Of how Aabria describes to Izzy how Tula looks when she heals the bear, of how Aabria specifically points out that Tula recognises the commonalities between herself and the bear. These breadcrumbs that mean little in the beginning, that tell everything at the end. It's amazing, stunning, masterful storytelling. I am in awe.

#text_loke #meta from loke #Burrow's End #Burrow's End Spoilers #Aabria Iyengar #Brennan Lee Mulligan #i am forever in awe tbh #also the way i gasped at several of brennan and aabria's lines this episode #i'll need to pull some quotes from that whenever i get on my computer #and i desperately need to write a fic about everything that happened from Tula's perspective #but that would be AFTER i finally manage to finish the little beast i'm working on about that Last Fight from Tula's pov #'cos BOY i have a feeling i will write a lot. just 600 words on the intro before 'kill them all'. so y'know. a wordy little thing...#anyway. i love burrow's end so much. i cannot stop thinking about it #Dimension 20 Spoilers #D20 Spoilers

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pumpkinnkidd · 10 months

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leafpool should get to say the line not grey wing the ass

#my art #warrior cats #leafpool #hollyleaf #it’s a little rushed but i just needed to jot the idea down #this happens during the scene where holly tries to feed her death berries #i tried to add alt text that says what they are saying cause the words are very light #if this needs to be tagged as anything btw let me know!!

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inkskinned · 1 year

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sometimes we just need someone to pay enough attention.

for the longest time i had been trying to read The Lord of The Rings. everyone had sung the praises for it, over and over. i'd seen clips of the movie and it seemed like it could be fun, but actually reading it was fucking horrible.

my parents had the omnibus - all the books squished into one big tome - and in the 4th grade i started sort of an annual tradition: i would start trying to read TLR and get frustrated after about a month and put it back down. at first i figured i was just too young for it, and that it would eventually make sense.

but every time i came back to it, i would find myself having the exact same experience: it was confusing, weird, and dry as a fucking bone. i couldn't figure it out. how had everyone else on earth read this book and enjoyed it? how had they made movies out of this thing? it was, like, barely coherent. i would see it on "classics" list and on every fantasy/sci-fi list and everyone said i should read it; but i figured that it was like my opinion of great expectations - just because it's a classic doesn't mean i'm going to like experiencing it.

at 20, i began the process of forcing myself through it. if i had to treat the experience like a self-inflicted textbook, i would - but i was going to read it.

my mom came across me taking notes at our kitchen table. i was on the last few pages of the first book in the omnibus, and i was dreading moving on to the next. she smiled down at me. only you would take notes on creative writing. then she sat down and her brow wrinkled. wait. why are you taking notes on this?

i said the thing i always said - it's boring, and i forget what's happening in it because it's so weird, and dense. and strange.

she nodded a little, and started to stand up. and then sat back down and said - wait, will you show me the book?

i was happy to hand it over, annoyed with the fact i'd barely made a dent in the monster of a thing. she pulled it to herself, pushing her glasses up so she could read the tiny writing. for a moment, she was silent, and then she let out a cackle. she wouldn't stop laughing. oh my god. i cannot wait to tell your father.

i was immediately defensive. okay, maybe i'm stupid but i've been trying to read this since the 4th grade and -

she shook her head. raquel, this is the Silmarillion. you've been reading the Silmarillion, not the lord of the rings.

anyway, it turns out that the hobbit and lord of the rings series are all super good and i understand why they're recommended reading. but good lord (of the rings), i wish somebody had just asked - wait. this kind of thing is right up your alley. you love fantasy. it sounds like something might be wrong. why do you think it's so boring?

#thanks for reminding me this happened #writeblr #warm up #i don't think this story translates well to the page #IRONIC!!!! :)#but yeah man i read the Silmarillion before i read the hobbit #the omnibus didn't explain what it was and i figured - you start at the beginning and then you read from the beginning #that's how books work #how was i supposed to know #EDIT IN THE TAGS: hi i think i worded this in a confusing way #the omnibus had ALL the stories in it - the silm #the hobbit #and all of LOTR #they just put the silm in the front so i thought logically it was the first book #that's how an omnibus usually works after all - the first book in the series is the first book in the tome #to be fair i GUESS the silm takes place “before” the hobbit????

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