#Just… this is the result

[skyloftian-nutcase]

(content warning: heavy angst, SI, despair, and some body horror) Link felt sick.

He’d done it. He’d found one of their graves. He knew if he lingered here too long it would give his position away. He knew if Ganondorf took control at any point from here on out, he’d find out his daughter could be found, could be resurrected and controlled like Link was.

It was an accident. He had been looking for sword shards and had stumbled upon this place, nondescript as it was. Hemisi had never been one for flair, unlike her father.

He couldn’t do this. He refused to let his beloved be corrupted like he’d been. Link would rather die a thousand deaths, would rather burn in the magma of Death Mountain, than let Hemisi feel the agony and torture he felt when Ganondorf used his dark powers to bend his will.

Death Mountain. Death Mountain.

A thought crept into his head, dark, twisted, sickening and horrifying but efficient. It came from his heart, a desperate desire encased in love and fear, sharpened into clarity by his crumbling mind.

With trembling hands, Link picked up the urn. Gerudo more often than not burned their dead. The desert was not a forgiving place in general, and bodies rotted quickly. It was the quickest and cleanest way to lay them to rest. Link wasn’t sure Ganondorf could work with just ashes, but considering he’d managed to resurrect Link from likely dust—given how long it had been, he was surprised there had been much left of him—he wouldn’t put it past him.

Link walked for a long time. There was no way he could teleport with the gloom - it would give everything away. He ducked around canyons, hid behind monster camps; he knew the layout of a majority of the Depths like the back of his hand by now. He certainly knew this area.

In the distance it was brighter. Crimson glowed, a dichotomy of innocence and foreboding in comparison to the purple dim glow of the gloom everywhere. Link made his way towards it, feeling the air growing stiflingly hot. He didn’t have any elixirs to protect himself. He didn’t care.

The lava’s heat made the air swim. Link was already sweating, his footing growing unsteady as his lungs screamed in protest. He felt like he could breathe fire at this point. He still didn’t care.

This is the only way. He can’t resurrect what no longer exists.

May Hylia forgive me. May Hemisi forgive me.

I’m so sorry.

Link was close now. The lava was beginning to make the area unbearable. He nearly dropped the urn with as much his hands sweat and shook. He grimaced as a fiery wind tore through him, his skin blistering, his nerves crying for relief, his mind screaming to accomplish his goal before it was too late, his heart begging to join his beloved in this fate.

He was close enough now. Flames licked at his feet, snapping hungrily at his clothes. He took a breath.

He threw the urn into the fire.

The old clay shattered immediately, and the precious ashes it contained couldn’t even be seen in the lava’s voracious hunger. Every last piece of Hemisi disappeared in a heartbeat, as if her memory being erased were simply an afterthought.

Link threw up.

The force of it made him fall to his knees. His head was spinning, and the dirt here was more hot coals than soil. He didn’t have it in him to scream, even though every fiber of his being was doing so. The rancid smell of bile was only compounded and worsened by its cooking in the heat, and Link heaved again.

A scream finally did tear out of his throat as his hands started to smoke.

Leaping to his feet out of instinct, he tried to scramble back, but he wanted to move forward.

To hell with the sword shards, to hell with Hyrule and Ganondorf’s plans for it, he wanted to go home, he wanted to see her—

He was so tired. He was so lonely.

Link stumbled ahead, tears dried before they could ever leave his eyes. The lava was so close, it wouldn’t take much longer before he—

A hand gripped his wrist, cold and clammy, a blessed relief to his skin, but his mind screamed. Link gasped, trying to run, when another hand grabbed his other wrist, and then his body froze up. Cold, dark energy snaked around him from head to toe, except on his forehead, which burned. Link felt his breath stop, his muscles seize, and then, with agonizing effort in each move, he slowly turned away from the magma. A gloom spawn was directly in front of him, easing him away as he walked with it, his mind and heart screaming and flailing and kicking despite his body placidly going along with the beast. The sword shards were warm in his pouch, a comforting kindling fire in an ice cold abyss, and he almost felt himself hesitate despite Ganondorf’s control.

But no. It wasn’t enough.

His head exploded with pain as he fought the puppeteer, as he tried to break free, but he couldn’t. He never could. Unconsciousness was pulling fast, but he’d lose control entirely if he gave in.

Just do it, his mind whispered. Just let him win. What difference does it make now? He can’t hurt her.

Link was so tired.

Just give in. Let him guide you, go along with it. Let him take care of you.

Link was so lonely.

Let him love you.

He couldn’t stop himself from getting sick again, dark control or not. But since his body was no longer his own, he continued to walk, though his steps stumbled to a halt as he vomited. Gloom spread under his feet, easing the burning from earlier, and Link was pulled under.

When the darkness faded, he was back in the Center, the focal point of all the dark energy, and he heard footsteps rushing towards him. The world was spinning so dizzyingly he could get sick again, but miraculously he didn’t - either that or he just had nothing left in him.

The icy puppet strings that infected his muscles receded, leaving him with a pounding headache and body wide shivers. His knees buckled just as Ganondorf reached him, catching him.

“Link, what were you thinking?!” his fa—abuser demanded, voice shaking. “Why were you over there?”

He’d been playing his role so well. He’d been distracting Ganondorf, helping him in smaller ways, gaining his trust. He didn’t want to do it anymore. He just wanted to die.

“I’m tired,” he whimpered, the tears beginning to fall.

Ganondorf held the boy with trembling arms, but his grip tightened as Link fell apart. The child had no more words to say, only convulsing with full body sobs as Ganondorf gently picked him up to support him better. Link gripped his tunic, quickly soaking it with tears, and the demon king found himself at a loss of what to do.

The image of the boy laying in his arms, bleeding and crying and dying flashed through his mind, and he held him tighter, swaying back and forth.

Ganondorf didn’t understand what had happened. Link had been fine, hadn’t he?

His cries clearly indicated otherwise.

He felt his anger start to swell, an automatic response as his heart screamed, as he felt it race in terror at what had almost just happened. He didn’t like feeling afraid and out of control like this, so desperate to try and fix something that he couldn’t just fix. He bit back a snappish rebuke, channeling his anger into energy as he started to walk around the chamber, holding Link close, so close, he’d almost lost his boy—

For once, he didn’t know what to do.

This was why he had placed his magic in the boy. This right here. Because he’d done this before, this was how he’d died before! He’d sacrificed his life to save that pathetic excuse for a king! Why did the child think he could just throw his life away like this?! Did he not realize how important he was?

Ganondorf again found himself fighting his anger. It wasn’t particularly easy, as he usually just let it out, but years of parenting had taught him some self control.

This place was taking a toll on the boy. He needed to fix that, to help him. He channeled his rage into power, reaching up above into the Surface, feeling the swell of the Blood Moon like a high tide pushing on to land. Gloom gathered around the pair, and he made it take them above.

The air was suffocating a moment as they moved, and then it cleared substantially. A breeze blew, cooling the Gerudo’s hot cheeks, and he took a steadying breath. The smell of cherry blossoms and sweet honeysuckle saturated his nose, too unfamiliar to be comforting but pleasant enough. But for Link, it would mean the world. He’d taken them as close to Kakariko as he could manage. He hoped it was enough.

Link’s sobs hitched and paused as he felt the change in atmosphere, and he peeked his puffy eyes out from the folds of his guardian’s tunic. Ganondorf swept a hand up and down his back as he gazed around in wonder and confusion, a glimmering hope shining in his eyes for a moment.

When he looked upward, red eyes matching the moon perfectly, his face fell.

“W-what—what are you doing?” he asked shakily, eyebrows pulling together in worry. “Stop it, you’re going to hurt everyone—”

“My power is slowly growing. This is not hurting anyone.” Ganondorf assured the boy. “When the time comes we’ll take what is ours.”

Link wiggled feebly in his grip. “No, why can’t you just—stop—”

Ganondorf frowned, tightening his hold. “We had nothing but the harsh sun and winds, while Rauru sat on every resource this bountiful land had to offer. The only way he offered aid was through a vow of fealty, yet he did not have the strength or impetus to rule. Everything about Hyrule is a disgrace - a people who think peace is a more palatable option to the point of laziness and stagnation, an over bloated land full of weak fools! I am a true king, Link, and I will rule this land properly. Nothing will stop that.”

Link’s energy drained out of him, and Ganondorf brushed some hair out of his face. “You’ll see, child. When it’s all over, you’ll see how much better it is. Just trust me.”

Link closed his eyes, crying once more. “Let me go.”

“Link—”

“Let me go.”

“No,” Ganondorf said firmly, placing a hand on the boy’s cheek, demanding his attention. “You’re my boy. Your life isn’t a waste, you’re not destined to be cast aside and forgotten. You’re a prince, and I am never letting you go.”

Link watched him, some kind of yearning and desperation fighting the dull look in his eyes, those eyes that used to be so bright with fire and determination, that used to reflect the blood moon beautifully. Ganondorf felt his heart break a little at the sight of it, and his hand shifted to behind the teenager’s head, pulling him forward so he could kiss his forehead. The magic he’d imbued there was a promise of protection, and he would ensure this boy was safe, even from himself. Link trembled under his hold, and he heard him sniffle.

Sighing, he let the boy sink into his embrace once more. “I love you, Link.”

The young boy’s cries carried on the wind, filling the blood stained land. The demon king swayed back and forth, soothing him with gentle hushes. And in the distance, a Hero perked up at the sound of crying, pausing from his meal and grabbing his gear to investigate.

[pollsgalore]

PART 2 of this poll: Click this

[cottonspotten]

*person has consented to being eaten; they’ve donated their body. they died without suffering. you can cook the meat. you will not get sick from the meat.

bonus: explain why!

[mienar]

the wandering painter, part one

instagram | shop | commission info

[mellosghosts]

this is what you get for dating an atheist

original

[batsyheere]

Bruce tries to adopt Ellie, who is immediately against it. She keeps throwing him off her trail and he keeps tracking her down. She's honestly concerned, and normally she would handle her problems by herself- but this is Batman.

So when Bruce gets a little too close and Ellie is just so tired... she calls for Danny.

"Mom!"

Cue college student, perpetually tired and overworked Danny "High King Phantom" Fenton appearing from the very shadows Batman normally does himself, seeing the situation and going off at this "clearly older man" chasing his daughter in the middle of the night.

Cue the most elaborate "stop trying to adopt my kid before I adopt yours" series of battles

[pachix]

https://www.geoguessr.com/vgp/3007

[egophiliac]

(looks at upcoming card releases)

I'm in danger :)

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[isjasz]

Damn guys this new anime's opening is fire. U should all check it out i think. The mc is a bit of a maniac but the series seems pretty cool so far /SILLY

[glittergroovy]

(if the full rent is $2000/month but you split that with a roommate, vote $1000. This is just about what you pay)

[poorlydrawninstarsandtime]

really specific hangups

[ids in alt]

[littleogreboii]

i see a lot of people talk about edward being disabled in fma, but it's less often talked about how alphonse is also disabled. i think it's partially because alphonse doesn't experience physical pain like edward so for a majority of the series, he's not having any of those kind of symptoms, but he is still disabled. also because alphonse's experiences are unique. like you don't see ant walking, talking suits of armour in real life (unless they're piloted by a human being physically inside them) and in world, there are about 3 others like alphonse).

alphonse is dependent on edward's survival to function. after fighting scar for the first time, alphonse is literally in pieces. he can't walk or anything until edward is in a position to fix him. similarly his body is dependent on nutrients from edward's body. like there's the point towards the end where edward gets impaled and alphonse collapses. furthermore, these periods where alphonse collapses start to become debilitating towards the end of the series and massively alter his daily living.

also, alphonse constantly talks about how upsetting it is for him to not feel any physical sensations. yeah, he's not feeling physical pain, but he's also not feeling the warmth of a fire, the sun on his face, or the fluffiness of the cats he keeps petting. he talks a lot about not being able to eat or sleep, and how there's a lot of foods he wants to try.

there's another thing that highlighted by edward at one point. alphonse's body doesn't regenerate at all. the parts scar destroys are gone forever; edward stretches out the metal that alphonse has left to repair his body. and obviously human beings don't regrow limbs, but imagine if your skin didn't ever heal over a cut. how long would your body last?

also alphonse gets told several times that his body is great throughout the series, and he literally argues against it every time, because to him it is shit. like he is missing some of his senses just for some supposedly immortal body that isn't even immortal.

even once alphonse gets his own body back, the amount of physical therapy the boy has to go through. his body has essentially been doing nothing and only receiving what nutrients it can get from edward for years. by the end of the series, he's still using a cane as a walking aid. it's unknown whether he requires that cane for the years to come, but for at least a period of time he requires a mobility aid. I don't know enough to say what effect muscle decay from inactivity and severe malnourishment during a major portion of his teenage years would have long term.

[bixels]

I watched Starship Troopers tonight.

[lucabyte]

monologue

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.