#Or mentions of long ago calamities

[yandere-wishes]

He's Just Ken

Summary: You're just Barbie, perfect on the outside, dead on the inside. He's just Ken, neither perfect on the outside nor on the inside. 

Author's note: I condone neither patriarchy nor matriarchy. But I do love exploring different forms of mental exhaustion and extreme emotional dependency.

Warnings: Mental abuse, dark mental headspace, mentions of suicide and self-harm (only if you read between the lines), yandere behavior, yandere Ken, 

Not every Barbie has a Ken. Not one for herself anyway. Every Barbie knows a Ken, but that Ken most likely belongs to her friend, or her neighbor, or one of the other Barbies. Not every Barbie has a Ken, but every Barbie knows a Ken. You know one too, one with sandy hair and ocean eyes. And a look that longs for something more. You know a Ken who keeps his heart from breaking by crossing his fingers and praying to the Malibu sun. You know a Ken who's only happy if a certain Barbie looks his way. Or rather you knew. This was before the world fell apart. This was before he destroyed it. 

Ken returned without Barbie and the universe began to crack. It's fine you thought. It's fine you hoped. Ken -That Ken, the one who waited on the beach for hours on end until his Barbie walked by- returned from the real world preaching sermons on how the Kens were better, superior, the rightful rulers of Barbieland. How they didn't need the Barbies, how they no longer needed to settle for being treated as anything less than perfect. How they needn't be number two any longer. Ken returned without Barbie and the universe wept. 

You've always known the real world was a messed up place. It had become evident when the thoughts started to creep in. That was years ago-albeit you'll admit you have no idea if Barbie years and human years aligned- years since you started to feel like a constant failure. Years since that harrowing voice began screeching endless dreadful thoughts into your cranium. Notions that festered your mind and heart, tiny maggots that chewed away at your soul. There was always something wrong and it was somehow always your fault. Then came the pain. Horizontal pangs that shot across your arm. Always in the same spot, always in a cluster of three. Barbies don't feel pain as intensely as humans, at least they're not supposed to. 

 You worried for your human back then. You truly did. But you were always too scared to leave Barbieland. Never brave enough to go find her. She's fine you hope...you doubt it though. 

You also refused to go see Weird Barbie. Too scared of being labeled as anything less than perfect. So long as these thoughts merely remained inside you and no outward defects began to show, you would be fine. You could just pretend like everything was as perfect as it always had been. 

Ken came back from the real world unscratched. Yet his words hit a chord within every other Ken. They began to take over. The Barbies were reduced to accessories. Pretty little things that clung to their lovers. Dressed in short skirts and maid outfits. Turned into what they weren't. 

Ken destroyed what once was perfect. Yet all you could think as you watch the pillars of your homeland cripple and your friends descend into madness. Was how utterly beautiful he was.

The world turned upside down. 

Barbieland fell.

Kendome rose. 

And yet as everything the Barbies had worked all so hard to build came crumbling down. As your friends and neighbors began to lose themselves and submit to a tyrannical patriarchy. You found yourself utterly unaltered. Your world had been destroyed long ago. This was just another calamity that you would fake your way through. It would be easy, a lifetime of practice finally paying off. Stay quiet, stay in the shadows, no one would notice.

No one was supposed to notice...

Ken found you on the beach one night. A day or two after the hostile Ken takeover. He walked up behind you out of breath as if he'd been running. 

The bonfire crackles, a warning, and a love song. Until now you'd only ever existed in his sideview. An afterthought as he impaled his heart and called it love. You had burned yourself in his rays and called it love. You're convinced neither of you knows what love truly is. The moon's rays dance as you two sit side by side. In the distance, you see Blue Mermaid Barbie and Mermaid Ken share a tender kiss. An unparalleled sight. 

Ken sits next to you. Eyes following your every move. Scanning every dip and curve of your plastic corpse. He's just Ken you remind yourself with an uneasy breath. He's just Ken, nothing to fear. Although you're not entirely sure if those old ideologies shine through. He's Ken but somehow he's become unstable at worst, flammable at best. Something radioactive ticks inside of him waiting to detonate. Waiting to make the world feel a trace of his pain. 

Ken's fingers intertwine with yours as waves of helplessness crash across your body. You were created to be ethereal yet all you see is perfection molded in the shape of Ken's face. He leans in, carelessly placing his chin in the subspace of your neck as he whispers. "I see the way you look at me" his warm breath tickles the shell of your ear. You flinch, in time with the breaking of the waves. "I know you want me" Reality blurs when Ken touches you. He pulls you between his legs as his lips kiss the back of your neck. His fingers run up and down your arm as if he's trying to memorize your shape, your soul, you. It's romantic you think but all you feel is puka shell shards stabbing your flesh. You know he's dreamed of this intimacy with the other Barbie. 

you wonder if in his eyes you are merely a ghost. One he resurrected with desperate love and a broken heart. You wonder if he sees her, feels her, wants her. Yet he'll settle for you. The next best thing. The other stereotypical Barbie. Somewhere along the line, your own voice sounds, foreign to you. He's talking, his voice is smooth like silk. Fragile like window glass after a bombing. He asks you something, something you've dreamed of for all so long. He asks you to be his bride wife. You agree despite how degrading it sounds. 

What once was a pink haven of fun and joy has now been turned into a mess of horses and black sunglasses. Barbie's dreamhouse is now Ken's Mojo Dojo Casa House. You feel like an intruder, like a traitor. You feel loved, wanted, needed. Someone once told you that truths can co-exist. It's all you can think to save yourself from going mad. 

There's an unspoken easiness that comes with being with Ken. The way he's always around. His hands never leave you, tracing stars on your arms, running through your hair. He wants his presence to be felt. 

"I like this" you confess one night as you rest your head on his arm. "I've always felt...less than perfect. Like I couldn't be good at anything like the other Barbies." Ken laughs and it feels like the stars have cladded you in their warmth. He pinches your nose with a soft smile. "I know the feeling," he mutters and you feel your heart crack. "But you don't have to worry about that. I'm here and so long as you're with me. We're both going to be perfect." You snuggle into his chest as you close your eyes. "Ken and Barbie" you sing, a mantra, a prayer. One for a better future. One for a happy life. 

You have a dream house. Had one at least. You sometimes wonder which Ken lives there now. You wonder if his Barbie feels your presence radiating off the walls and the floor and the heart-shaped night lamp you once treasured. You certainly feel Stereotypical Barbie's presence echoing from every corner. You see her ghost whenever Ken pulls you onto his lap to watch a horse flick. Infuriated and distressed. You wonder if she's angry because you didn't join the rebellion. You wonder if she's angry because she thinks you took Ken away. You see her ghost again, feel her between the pause of two breaths. She glitches and fades as you hide your face in Ken's mink coat. 

"I don't like being apart from you" Ken claims as he lays your body on top of his. One hand dangling off the couch the other curling your loose locks. To Ken a touch away feels like being galaxies apart. You kiss his chin and his cheek and his nose and finally his lips. It feels like a dream. One you refuse to wake up from. 

Ken is gold.

Unmetable and solid.A kaleidoscope of hope

He has so much potential rotting inside of him.

Ken is gold.

Beautiful and everlasting.

His value lies in how pretty he is. How good of an accessory he's willing to be. 

You wonder if he's sick of being gold. 

You felt Barbie's ghost again today. This time looming and aggravated. She wants her presence acknowledged. She has something she needs to say. Ken was out, one of the rare times you two spend apart. Something about a beach off and rock paper scissors. 

You wonder if a ghost haunting is their way of showing love. 

You wonder if the Kens starting a rebellion is their way of showing love. 

Barbie talks for ten minutes straight. You cling to every word, you forgot how much you missed the Other Barbie's voice. It's in the final beat of her sentence that you notice she's not a ghost. Not this time. This is Barbie, the girl who had been your friend since the day you left your box. "Help me" she pleads as she grabs your shoulders. "We need to fix this", you turn your head and smile a broken smile. "I can't" you confess. 

It's easy to undo brainwashing. Even easier to reinstate it. What Stereotypical Barbie and her friends can undo. You can simply redo. Even Barbies prefer ease, a few simple half-truths sung into the right ear at the right time. And the once normalized Barbies are running back to their Kens. You turn, in the rays of the golden sun, you see Barbie. Her eyes hold glimmers of unshed tears. She wears her betrayal on her pink sleeve. "Why" she whispers as her fingers reach out to hover over your heart before she retracts them. You think you may have burned her. You think she's afraid of being plagued by your depravity.

You feel like a traitor, like a monster. A creature made of pink lipgloss and shattered vows. should Kendom fall, you know your delicate dream life will fall with it. You stare into her eyes. And the words that leave your mouth feel so rehearsed, yet you swear it's the first time you've uttered them. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you both when you went through hell. I'm sorry I wasn't there when the world collapsed and you ran from the debris. I'm sorry I can't help you pick up the pieces and rebuild what once was yours.., ours. I'm sorry I'm so selfish". 

Immortal hearts are cursed with the loneliest beats. Maybe that's why the other Barbies never bothered to ponder their endless existence. Maybe that's why the Kens always clung to false promises of love. Maybe saying I love you is the same as saying I'm letting you go. Stereotypical Barbie has already reached this conclusion, you know this. For a fraction of a juncture, she looks into your eyes. Trying to reason and plea and hope all in the same breath. When you say nothing more her eyes shine with grief as she turns on her heels and runs for the hilled house. You reach out to her, yet only grasp the warm Malibu breeze. 

What do you call a person such as yourself? 

Coward...

That sounds about right. 

Ken kisses your neck, and it feels like lava sprinkling along your skin. You feel like a defeated soldier drowning in a sea of guilt. Survivor's guilt a voice echo inside your head familiar yet all so distant. A ghost from a past life or a current one unseeable to you. "I have it too" the voice replies. You wonder if it's the voice of an angel or a mortal girl. You don't tell him about the Barbie resistance or how easily they can reverse the brainwashing. You work best alone anyway. 

You hear the word death replay in the background as Ken bites a sensitive spot. A faint noise, a haunting whisper. You hear the word death and it sounds more familiar than the name Barbie that has rolled off your tongue every day since birth. 

Ken harbors you inside the once was dreamhouse like a forbidden secret. Sometimes the skirts feel too short. Sometimes the world feels too heavy. You always feel the eyes of the other Kens on you. You think Ken planned it that way to show the Ken world who you belong to. Just last week he took you to the beach. Both of you wearing matching pastel blues and silver earrings. Other Ken was there also adorned in pastel blue and silver earrings. You see the twitch in your Ken's jaw, the icy glare when Other Ken waves to you. "Let's go," he says, commandes really. He throws you over his shoulder and you're heading back the way you came. "I really wanted to see Mermaid Barbie..." You pout. "No no, you wanted to see a movie remember?" Ken corrects you, to be honest, he does that often. You're starting to doubt you even know your own wants anymore. 

Today Ken has you dressed in a pink and white dress. You remember Setrotypical Barbie use to love this dress. You run around the kitchen cooking a pretend dinner. You really want to go shipping, to pick out something you'd like. A rose pink Lolita skirt and a matching button-up. You really want to die. Although that's normal you always want to go shopping. You always want to die. You wonder if Ken will ever let you pick out your own dresses. You leave his plate in front of him as you loop your arms around his neck. You rest your chin on his head as he pulls you closer. Not picking your own clothes is a small price to pay for the intimacy you've craved for far too long. 

"Never has there ever been a girl as pretty" Ken whispers as he relishes in your presence. 

"Do you have any idea what you are?" He rasps, his lips hovering over yours. You're both sitting on the bed, watching the sun die for the day. 

Ken is a monster. At least that's what you're supposed to think. You have something in your mind something that squirmes around in what can only be described as reason. To call it wits and a conscious would be an overstatement. Lucide is a better word. Weak and brittle yet somehow still standing. Deep inside, your heart refuses to call Ken anything other than hero, savior, salvation. 

"I'm yours" it's the first truth that's left your mouth in a long long time. You cup his cheeks and kiss him with all the doom and gratitude that lies within you. And Wow Ken tastes like mint ice cream and shooting stars. Like dead dreams that lay on the tip of your tongue. He's the beach at night and the evermore gardens during the day. He's everything good and confusing and painful and sweet. Ken nibbles your ear, playfully, and coos sweet words into your soul. Spinning tales of how you'll be together forever. You soak in his presence, rolling his name around in your head. You keep your head filled with him before your own thoughts give you a heart attack. 

You're Barbie but now you are so much more than that. You're his Barbie. Ken's Barbie. Damaged yet simultaneously perfect. And he's perfect too, mesmerizing when the sun's rouge rays kiss his pretty face, bathing him in golden ichor.

You wonder if perfection and imperfection have always been in love. 

 Sometimes in the dead of night, you think of the little girl playing with you. Albit she isn't a little girl anymore, is she? Kids grow up. clawing and biting through the painful transformation. Sometimes it leaves their minds fragmented. Sometimes it leaves them less than whole. 

Judging by how long it's been, your little girl is grown up by now. You close your eyes and give Ken a final kiss before sleep overtakes you. You hope she's okay, even though you know that can never be true. Being "okay" doesn't seem to be a real thing in this universe. 

Because girls are broken and the universe knows this 

Because boys are broken and the universe knows this 

Because the universe does nothing. Just sits there and watches as life bends and breaks itself over and over again

Barbieland is broken too, imperfect and destroyed.

And so are the two of you. 

Yet in the end, it doesn't matter. 

For as broken as the world is the most important of things has been resolved. 

Ken has his Barbie.

And Barbie has her Ken. 

[crazylittlejester]

Do you have any angsty/general hcs of Wild?

yesssss yes i do >:) i actually have a lot of thoughts about Wild (sorry for taking so long to answer this im real behind on asks)

- Fluent in a TON of languages, which he only discovered when he actually went to the other regions of Hyrule and got a few memories back. If you asked him to think about it he wouldn’t be able to, but plop him down and have him have a conversation with someone from a different region in his Hyrule and the memory of the language will come back and he can understand and speak with them

- His poor body is so used to getting thrown around that he rarely if EVER experiences motion sickness (never let him challenge you to see who can roll down a hill faster. it will be him because he will make it to the bottom and you will have to stop because you got nauseous.)

- There’s something INCREDIBLY odd about him that is both extremely uncanny and alluring at the same time, and its not because he’s covered in scars. Like people will look at him as he passes by and they can’t STOP looking at him for some unknown reason and they get a full body chill when they do. It took the chain a very very long time to stop feeling like that near him because they just had to adjust to him (it’s not caused by anything Wild does, he’s not in control of it, it’s just that he has the aura of an ancient dead being and it’s so fucking strong that those who are more attuned to magic can like. literally feel him.)

- His eyes used to be a very dark, stormy blue. In a way, they still are, but they seem unnaturally bright and almost turquoise, but if you actually got up in his face you can see the stormy blue beneath it, it just looks very oddly dead

- He’s hard of hearing, and it’s harder to hear from the ear on the same side as his scars which he why he really liked learning the chain knowns sign because he CAN read lips fairly well but sometimes it’s just hard and annoying to have to do when people are talking quietly. He can hear like, a slightly louder than normal talking volume if the person he’s chatting with isn’t too far from him, but anything softer than that becomes very hard for him to make out

- He has no memory of his mother, and the guilt eats him alive. She died so long ago there’s no one alive who remembers her still, not even the few older people who’ve survived the calamity and stuck around for a hundred years, and he feels bad that he has a few faint memories of his dad and sister but not her

- He’s a bit scared of Warriors at first because he looks at him and wonders if that might have been what his life would’ve looked like had he not failed, but once he spends more time with him and realizes that Wars is just a person, and a person who lives under so much stress and regret at that, he realizes he has a lot in common with him and they connect really well

- He. LOVES. to. talk. Whether he’s using sign or running his mouth he LOVES to talk, and he has so much to talk ABOUT. He has so many pictures and he’s seen SO many things and now he has friends to share that with who also love to learn???? This is so good for him. However he will stop talking the second he gets overwhelmed or overstimulated, and sometimes it takes him a day or two to start talking again

- He documents everything with his slate to show Zelda when he gets home because even though she’s free now, he feels bad that he gets to see a side of the world she never will so he takes pictures of it so she can experience things through HIS memories in a way to pay her back for letting him re-experience life through hers

- He sometimes has trouble feeling like he’s actually IN his body and it scares him. He mentioned it to Wars at one point (because Wars has moments where he doesn’t seem all too there) but neither of them can figure out if he’s dissociating because of trauma or if his soul is literally just loosely tied to his body because he died and he ACTUALLY starts to drift out of it. It scares him that Wars doesn’t have an actual answer for him, and no one else seems to know either

- He gets overwhelmed at times, especially when people hover over him because he simply isn’t used to it, but if he gets hurt he will let Twilight hover all he wants because the alternative is Twi working himself up and driving everyone else insane and Wild knows that Twi just needs to feel useful and taking care of people helps him keep himself calm. So Wild puts up with it

- Will spontaneously try new food dishes or just combine ingredients he was curious about and feed it to the chain without telling them he’s testing out a brand new recipe so they aren’t unconsciously biased when he asks them how it is (obviously he avoids allergens, diet restrictions, or foods that will just make them uncomfortable because he’s not an asshole, he just doesn’t tell them its something he’s never made before)

- On a similar note one of the first things he did when the chain started getting comfortable with eat other was take them all one by one and have them cook with him a dish they liked from home so he could learn the recipes and they could all share their cultures and food with each other

- It’s not that he DOESNT take care of his hair, he just also barrels down hills, crashes through bushes, and falls in mud puddles so by the end of the day he’s a hot mess. He takes very good care of his hair, and he WILL NOT go to bed without combing it out and braiding it to keep it from tangling, no matter how fucking tired he is (or Twi or Wars will end up doing it for him)

- TERRIFYINGLY intelligent and a brilliant strategist. He’s the only one who’s ever outsmarted Wars in a game of chess, and no one in the chain has gotten over it. Sometime’s Wild’s head is really foggy and it’s hard for him to think but on days of clarity he’s wicked smart and he thinks FAST

- It’s very hard for him to sleep sometimes because of his century long nap. Sometimes he’ll be up for multiple days in a row and then crash for 15 hours

- It is not necessarily that he’s reckless, more so that he had to relearn what it is like to be killable. His recklessness is accidental. He woke up, grabbed a stick, and just fucking WENT, and when he got mipha’s grace he was invincible for a bit. Obviously he knew death was a thing but until he recovered the memory of himself dying, it was almost like he didn’t think it could happen to him. Because of this, sometimes he just jumps at things before he remembers “hey, you can die doing this- maybe do not”

[silentprincessofhyrule]

i always found it weird how so many npcs in totk don’t remember link.

yeah i know i’m not the first person who’s made a rant about this before, but this just really annoys me.

like, what do you mean you don’t remember link, the guy who sealed the calamity? the guy who sealed the 4 divine beasts threatening to destroy your home town?

link, the guy who went all across hyrule helping citizens, the guy who also built terry town? it just makes no sense that some npcs just refer to him as zelda’s knight and don’t know his name, or some just forgot him!!

also, consider this: if everyone remembers zelda, (who hasn’t been exploring hyrule as long as link ever since 100 years ago) then why don’t they remember link? i’m assuming link stayed by zelda’s side as zelda’s chosen protector during post botw to totk. it just dosent make sense.

and don’t get me started on how totk dosent even acknowledge that botw existed. yeah there is some little easter eggs/mini references to botw (like the divine beast helmets) but you know what imo is one of the biggest ‘fraud’ things of all?

how do people not remember the divine beats or sheikah tech at ALL????

this is something that really makes me confused. how in the hyrule does nobody remember those 4 big animal looking robots trying to destroy your land? how does nobody remember the scary creepy guardians scattered all across hyrule? oh, and what about the shrines and those humongous towers all across the land? absolutely nobody acknowledges these things!!

the champions!! practically everybody in botw remember urbosa, mipha, daruk, and revali. however in totk… it seems like they’re forgotten. mipha is out of the question though because she got an entire court built in her memory in totk, but that’s it. during my playthrough of totk, they DID make some references to the champions but it was small. really small. daruk was referenced in the yunobo quest, and his statue in the mountains is still there. urbosa got a mini mention in rijus diary, but that’s it. and now there’s revali. i don’t know if revali was mentioned at all…

in the end, totk itself is a really good game. personally, i don’t really like how the story was handled, this is just 1 aspect i didn’t like.

[kradogsrats]

Aaravos, Leola, and the Entire History of Human Magic: Revisited

So I last dumped on this topic right after s5 released, and came up with a rough series of conclusions that were largely correct, as far as interpreting what information we had been given so far. Now that s6 has dumped some new delicious and crunchy twists into the mix, let's take another look.

The Unicorn's Gift

Going into s6, we had 2.5 accounts of the gifting of primal magic to humans: the Book One: Moon novelization, Tales of Xadia, and Ripples. In Book One: Moon, and Tales of Xadia, we learn that humans received primal magic from the/a most selfless and compassionate unicorn(s), against the advice of the elves.

Unicorns were always the most selfless of the Xadian beings. There came a time when, filled with pity, they desperately wanted to help the struggling humans. After all, it was not the humans' choice to have been born without magic. But the First Elves were wary. They warned the unicorns that kindness was not always returned with kindness; it would be a mistake to trust the species. After all, if humans were supposed to use magic, they would have been born with it.

— Book One: Moon

One heart took pity on the plight of humanity. A unicorn, unique among her own rare kind, saw the strength and ingenuity of the human spirit where others saw weakness and beastly ignorance. Her name was Leola. While elves warned that if humans were meant to wield magic they would have been born with it, she gifted the wisest humans with secrets: the language of the dragons and the runes that shaped spells.

— Tales of Xadia

What's interesting is how inaccurate both of these stories have turned out to be. We also don't even actually know whose stories these are. By the time of the series events, it's no longer even remembered that humans had primal magic, aside from primal stones. It's a truth forgotten on the human side, and either similarly forgotten or deliberately suppressed in Xadia. Despite the brightest, most constant star in the sky still retaining the name "Leola's Last Wish," neither Callum nor Rayla know who Leola was.

Ripples obliquely acknowledges the vagueness and changing nature of these stories, opening with:

Like all the oldest tales, time has bent its shape and blurred its color. It is a fable whispered on some tongues and shouted on others. While one may say it ends with a sunrise, another will insist it ends at nightfall.

— Ripples

So rather than directly telling the story of humanity's acquisition of primal magic, Ripples deals with the aftermath. We learn that humanity had been, implicitly or explicitly, forbidden primal magic, and in the wake of them receiving it, a star fell.

It happened long ago, when humans had only just learned to hold fire in their hands without burning. They nurtured their precious primal flames secretly—in the dark of night, beneath shadows and shrouds—as cultivating its glow drew the eyes and ire of monsters. Eventually, for the audacity of their fire, they were hunted, and—though they looked to the stars for salvation—the stars, too, looked down upon them with disdain. Humanity had been given something it was never meant to have. And so there came a calamity.

— Ripples

The story told in Ripples turns out to be the most accurate, based on what we have learned from s6. Humans acquired primal magic, and a star was cast from the sky. (A tiny star, if you want extra emotions.) It makes no mention of how humans learned primal magic, only that they did, and—unlike the other stories, where the elves caution against giving magic to humans but take no other action—the are hunted by monsters for it.

Elarion, fading bloom, afraid to wilt and dim and die, she searched the dark for but a spark and caught the dragons’ hungry eye.

— Midnight Star

Hmmmm.

The Order of the Stars

One of the main things, possibly the main thing, we learned from s6 is that we were given a glimpse of the stars as the god-like authorities that have been hinted at in a lot of Aaravos-related side content. It's not a good look. (It never was.)

It tells us succinctly why primal magic was forbidden to humans: in the timeless gaze of the stars, humans acquiring magic dooms the universe.

(Of course, it is the attempt at averting prophesied doom that actually brings it to pass, but that's just standard stuff. For all their omniscience, the stars apparently still lack genre-awareness.)

This "cosmic order" is likely what the stars have built that Aaravos seeks to destroy:

I hope the stars were watching. I hope they saw it: the moment their perfect reflections turned warped and ruined, churned to chaos by the touch of a single human hand.

— Ripples

And when everything they have built lies shattered, I will savor their fall from the sky.

— Patience

Snitches Get Stitches, Even Dragons

The other major curve ball s6 has thrown into the story as we understood it is the involvement of the archdragons, Sol Regem in particular. According to Aaravos, the testimony of a young Sol Regem is the only evidence against Leola.

At the time, Aaravos seems to take this at face value, and argues that anything Leola may have done was out of love for humans and the world, not defiance of the cosmic order. Maybe this is because Sol Regem/Anak Arao is an archdragon of the Sun, the primal source known for the light of truth.

I, however, have to wonder if he was lying. Taking a look at Ripples, again:

It happened long ago, when humans had only just learned to hold fire in their hands without burning. They nurtured their precious primal flames secretly—in the dark of night, beneath shadows and shrouds—as cultivating its glow drew the eyes and ire of monsters. Eventually, for the audacity of their fire, they were hunted, and—though they looked to the stars for salvation—the stars, too, looked down upon them with disdain.

— Ripples

Apparently, the first primal source humans accessed was the Sun. It could just be that Anak Arao was a rules-obsessed hall monitor and... but what if it wasn't Leola who gave humans that secret? We don't even see Leola doing any magic of the kind she's credited with giving humans—no runes, no spells of any specific primal. If someone did teach humans the runes and Draconic words for primal magic, it seems unlikely to have been her.

But as heir to some kind of position of authority, could it have been partially Anak Arao's responsibility to keep his primal source out of human hands? Was it maybe stolen out from under his nose, and he sought to shift the punishment away from himself? (And boy, would it sure be a real uno-reverse to have this story loop all the way back around to a literal theft of fire for humanity.) Or could it have been lost/given to humans by someone he wanted to protect from the same cosmic justice?

Hmmmm.

There have been hints about a larger human/dragon conflict in the past, most notably the Midnight Star poem. In a hiatus-era interview, Aaron Ehasz describes an early version of the setting as being essentially humans/unicorns vs. dragons/elves. The low-key emphasis on humans and dragons in opposition that we get from some of these materials is a) interestingly not mentioned in either of the "unicorns gave primal magic to humans" stories, and b) not actually what we see as the primary conflict in the setting, outside of Sol Regem's personal grudge.

It gets especially weird because, like... there's no reason to think all the other archdragons we're aware of (except Zym) weren't there, too. Sol Regem is cast as a bit older, but not "of an entirely different generation from the other archdragons"-older. So like, you'd think Zubeia would remember, at minimum, that primal magic was forbidden to humans by the cosmic order. Maybe, given the implied departure/loss of interest by the stars, no one cares anymore? Maybe dark magic was considered a much more serious issue, as far as perversions of the natural order are concerned. Or I guess it's possible that there was some special relationship between the stars and the line of the archdragon Sun King, and the other archdragons weren't privy to the machinations going on in the heavens.

Basically, there's been a big new mystery introduced as to the geopolitics of Xadia and the heavens in the distant past, in addition to Aaravos's personal relationships with all the archdragons.

Book and Key

So overall, I don't actually know what to make of this:

But I have a couple wild theories to put forth.

First of all, Aaravos has been referred to as "archmage of all six primal sources," and this is reflected in the pre-s6 promo art series featuring the book and key.

But, interestingly, we also see in s6 that in order to truly commune with the heavens, the Celestial elves have to remove themselves from the influence of the other primal sources, specifically the Sun and Moon.

So, as powerful as they are, I think maybe Startouch elves don't have automatic access to the other primal sources. Maybe not even the magic of the Star primal, as it exists harnessed by rune spells. The book is probably how Aaravos himself built connections to primal magic while in Xadia.

(This would mean that the reason it was at all believable for Leola to give the secrets of primal magic to humans is because Aaravos was exploring those secrets—something it could be that the stars resented?)

Anyway this could also connect up with any number of wild theories about the nature of primal magic or primal elves, though we see a Moonshadow elf among Leola's friends so it seems primal elves are already present at this point. Being me, if Aaravos and Leola's home was actually in what is now Duren, I at least personally want to believe that he was seeding the frontier with magic.

Anyway, as always: some answers, and even more questions. Catch y'all later when the post-release interviews and Q&As inevitably make everything even weirder.

[mayapapaya33]

I'm rewatching Exu: Calamity and I think they made a mistake with the name. The real title should be Exu: Actually, Vasselheim has good reasons for how it operates, even if they're dicks about it sometimes. Maybe it was too long, so they went with the snappier CALAMITY! Instead lol.

The end of the Calamity was only 840 something years ago. With Elves and dragons running around, some of them are definitely old enough where, if they didn't live during the Age of Arcanum themselves, their parents or grandparents would have and they would have been told a thousand stories of the fuck heads in flying cities who destroyed the world and were super annoying and dangerous long before they did that. Many more would be born during the latter part of the Calamity or raised by people who survived the Calamity who passes on those stories. Depending on the race we are talking anywhere from direct witnesses (Like the Bright Queen and Ludinus) to like 2-5 generations removed. Even humans with our short lifespans, it's really not THAT long, especially if you've got a bunch of old ass elves around teaching history class from a first person pov for like 500 years lol.

Intellectually people know that Critical Role, the world of Exandria is a post apocalypse story. Exandria is a scarred landscape that is just beginning to bounce back from the brink. But because it is recovering, it's easy to forget sometimes that it IS POST APOCALYPTIC. So people looking at Vasselheim in the modern day are like, 'bro, you really need to chill, everything's fine.' And Vasselheim is like... 'Chill? I do not understand the meaning of this word. And everything is fine... for now. We will be a bastion of civilization when the end times come once more. Fare thee well traveler.'

Then everyone rolls their eyes and moves on with their day. But if you really think about Vasselheim's isolationism and strength and distain for arcane magic in historical context, you can't really blame them. Are they over the top about their dislike of arcane magic? Sure. Is it quite possibly the most understandable over reaction in the history of over reactions? Also yes! They haven't made it illegal, they are just going to keep an eye on you, so you don't pull a Vespin Chloras and doom the planet to another few centuries of choked skies and sundered landscapes, that's all. Vespin was IN Vasselheim! Of COURSE they have strong feelings about it. The (Almost) End of the World began in Vasselheim due to arcane magic. If they had been stricter, maybe it wouldn't have happened at all!

And it really does paint their actions in Campaign 1 in a different light as well. Their isolationism can come across as shortsighted and selfish, until you view it from their point of view. Which is that they are constantly under threat, they know for a fact that Asmodeus wants their city destroyed, they are a bastion for the Prime Deities in a world filled with many heathens (lol that's where the dickishness comes in) and the Betrayer Gods would take any sign of weakness in their defenses and attack with glee. Hearing it in C1 it sounds like an excuse not to help against the Chroma Conclave, but it is literally just the truth from what I can tell. In BOTH Calamity and Downfall they have mentioned destroying Vasselheim being on the Betrayer God's to do list lol. If I was on a Betrayer God's to do list specifically, by name, I too would be somewhat paranoid and would not really want to disarm any portion of the city to go do something else. No matter how important the something else might be.

Vasselheim was basically like; Look, I'm very sorry to hear about your Dragon problem, that sucks, truly, but if we go out all willy nilly and leave this city undefended, it'll be fucked when we get back. When you have a real plan, come back and get us and we'll join you for the big fight. Until then, it's up to you, here you can have Kima as well, she's been desperate to get out of here anyway, and here's some supplies. We have larger concerns than one continent being attacked by four ancient Dragons. We are the seed bank for civilization for when shit inevitably hits the fan. We are the doomsday bunker for the Apocalypse, four Ancient Dragons are terrible, but they are not the Apocalypse. And they are right. Looking at it all in context, The Chroma Conclave are small potatoes. Horrific, monstrous, life destroying, but compared to the threat Vasselheim is preparing for, nothing.

They are the doomsday preppers of Exandria, except the threat is real and they are only letting their collective trauma and ptsd inform their decisions a little bit. They are actually fairly rational all things considered. This city withstood the entire Calamity. The stewards of the city must feel an enormous weight and responsibility to keep it safe going into the future. Imagine the pressure. Are you going to be the one to fuck it all up, after thousands of years? Sounds like a nightmare to me. The level of devotion and conviction required to keep something like that going is incredible.

[edelgarfield]

god damn it all this Aeor and Calamity lore has me liking Ludinus a lot more than I ever wanted to. I find him so fascinating and compelling as a villain, in the way that he reflects a lot of my favorite characters' flaws particularly from CR2, but CR3 in Bell's Hells at times self-defeating pursuit of power in order to win.

I'm thinking abt a couple quotes from Essek, bc he & Ludinus obviously have so much in common. By Essek's own admission, it was his inability to trust people that made his pursuit of knowledge at the cost of others so appealing, that made him lose sight of the hurt he was causing

In particular the second quote: feeling personally responsible for doing something because of your inability to trust anyone else. I think that encompasses Ludinus's ideology & motivation so well.

The idea of longevity/immortality being a barrier to intimacy is something that gets talked about with respect to elves a lot, and I think Ludinus encompasses that to its logical extreme. Ludinus is one of the last survivors who actually lived on Exandria during the Calamity. Most elves actually fucked off to the Feywild and didn't return until long after the fighting was over. Given Ludinus was a child when Aeor fell, I would assume that means his parents chose to stay on Exandria & he was born afterwards. (Which if that's the case, adds another layer to his resistance against the gods bc he was doomed to live through the war on the surface of Exandria bc of a choice his parents made before he was born.)

All the elves born at the tail end of the Calamity are dead by now, Ludinus lived at least 160ish years of it, and most of the elves born around that time would have been in the Feywild and wouldn't have the experience of seeing what happened to the world. Everyone else who survived the Calamity would have died hundreds of years ago, not to mention that only a third of the population even survived it in the first place. The thing that's saved the PCs (& Essek) time and time again is their bonds with others, having other people to support them & remind them that all the power in the world means nothing if you lose yourself in its pursuit, that there are good things in this world worth living for.

Anyone that might have had the chance to sway Ludinus from his path is long dead, either from the Calamity or old age. Liliana seems to be the only person he feels close to, but they're both bonded through their shared cause. Even other elves, the people with the longest memories, don't understand what living through the Calamity was like. They weren't there.

I know it was mostly a joke when Laudna suggested Ludinus go to therapy, but at the same time where would he go? One of the things that helps PTSD is a sense of community, feeling like there are other people who share your experience, but there isn't anyone that shares Ludinus's experience (Not to mention anything resembling a therapist on Exandria would most likely draw power from a deity, which Ludinus is understandably opposed to).

That sense of isolation is something that comes up again & again among CR PCs. CR2 is the most obvious, but it's something plenty of the CR3 characters have been through as well. Ludinus would have been alone in his trauma for hundreds of years. That's completely incomprehensible to us. He would have watched the world move on and forget something that's so deeply affected him. Any attempt to confide in someone about his anger & pain would often be met with "this is punishment for our hubris" "the gods love us" "don't question their will." The very, very few allies he had would die out over the years until one day he's the last and he would be the last for centuries more. I feel like that sense of isolation, feeling removed from the world, bottling up centuries' worth of emotion would make anyone numb. he withdraws further and further into himself bc he doesn't belong. he works for centuries at removing the gods, becoming more and more desperate as he grows older, without anyone else to provide perspective as his plans grow more and more ruthless. (i also have a theory that this loneliness is part of what makes him sympathetic to predathos but that's a separate post)

Given his age & being the last survivor of the Calamity, I think it's nearly impossible for him to connect with other people. The only thing that gives him any sense of connection or community is his crusade against the gods; he only feels connected to others through their shared pain & anger, which never allow him to move past it. He can't trust anyone bc no one else understands what the gods are capable of like he does, nobody else understands what's at stake. He's the only person remaining who does, which means he's the only one who can do what he believes needs to be done.

There's a sense of duty. He needs to eliminate the gods because he doesn't trust the future inhabitants of Exandria to be able to protect their world. He owes it to all those who've been trampled on by the gods to do what they no longer can. I think he genuinely cares about mortals & he wants to defend them from a threat that he believes only he can see, but I think he cares far more about the thousands of dead he carries on his back than anyone alive. He can't simply live a happy life bc everything that once made his life worth living is gone. He can't let go of that pain & anger and move forward. His trauma is what gives him purpose and meaning; healing from it would be a betrayal to all the people that have suffered beneath the gods.

I don't think he's wrong about the gods, but I think he's seeking freedom from the gods' control, not realizing that he's letting himself be controlled by the dead. I think it's been a very long time since he spared a thought towards actually living. Bell's Hells keeps accusing him of wanting to take the place of the gods, or wanting to be seen as a messiah, but I truly don't think that's it. I don't think he cares about what comes after, if he's even thought about it at all. I don't even think he wants to be a martyr. His goal has never been for him to live in a free world, it's to ensure that there will be a world after he's gone, forever. he thinks if he dies without securing that future, he'll have failed Exandria & all the souls that have ever lived on it.

He's been completely ruthless in his pursuit of power because to him, he is fighting for Exandria's survival. That's exactly the trap BH has fallen into in the past, pursuing power even when it hurts themselves & their friends, losing sight of the actual people they claim to be protecting. Ludinus surrounds himself with terrible people; Otohan and Trent to name two, bc he wants the power they hold without getting his hands dirty himself. but in doing so he immediately removes any possibility of emotional intimacy. the people he works with don't trust him & he doesn't trust them. the one exception is Liliana & unfortunately I think she just met him far too late.

so much of CR is about the importance of feeling connected to other people, how those connections remind us of what's truly important, and keep us grounded, how when we begin to lose sight of ourselves, it's those we're close to that remind us. I think of Caleb & Essek, they both had goals they wanted to pursue, but in finding a place to belong realized those goals wouldn't actually make them happy. Ludinus doesn't want to be happy, he wants to have a purpose, and I know I'm a bleeding heart, but I think there is something incredibly tragic in someone who can't even imagine what it would be like to live a happy life.

I think of Fjord & Percy & Imogen & Laudna & Dorian, people who nearly lost themselves in pursuit of power, but chose to turn away because living for their friends was more important that dying for the world. Ludinus is the pendulum swinging in the other direction. It's incredibly tragic bc imo his intentions are genuinely good; he's arrogant and selfish and ruthless but i think he truly does want to protect Exandria.

I think there was a point in the past where someone could have reached him & he could have chosen a different path. i don't even think he would have necessarily had to give up his goal of removing the gods. if he had other people working alongside him instead of under him, who knows what he could've come up with? if he had people to pass the torch onto once he was gone, maybe he would feel like there was time to come up with a solution besides Predathos.

But he doesn't and he can't trust anyone bc no one else believes in his cause as fervently as he does. he can't trust anyone else to make the sacrifices he's willing to make so he never tries. He denies himself the aid & perspective & closeness that comes with trusting someone and becomes further and further entrenched in his mission to remove the gods at any cost. He's the only one alive left to remember the trauma of the Calamity: he has to carry all of it because no one else can.

[daeyumi]

hcs for Link, GO!

cw: mention of possible self harm; mention of injury

spoilers for totk events & end of totk

okay so i’ll be doing these for botw/totk link since he’s the link i feel the most familiar with

also i’m sorry that this list ended up like 8 miles long lol & believe me i had to restrain myself a lot

- transmasc (he/him or he/they)

- aroace

- sleeps on his back

- NOT a morning person. he likes his sleep & has trouble waking up sometimes (so many ppl seem to hc him as an early riser but i just. don’t see it lol. i think he’s the kind of person who woke up from that 100 year nap asking for 5 more minutes)

- /can/ talk, chooses not to. when he speaks his voice always has that quiet scratchy quality to it like he hasn’t used it in a while

- likes having his hair brushed

- his hair is full of leaves & at least 4 different sticks at any given time

- loves puns. the stupider the better

- likes dressing pretty. he doesn’t get the chance to do it often & most of his clothes are caked in blood & sweat so it feels good to look nice occasionally

- #1 questionable food enjoyer

- big gremlin energy

- naturally warm hands

- probably has a sweet tooth

- a bit of a hoarder. a habit he picked up from being alone in the wild for so long

- favorite fruit- apples

- probably musically inclined & would be good at playing an instrument

- loves animals (also great with animals)

- really spontaneous & gets distracted easily

- his arm doesn’t magically grow back post-totk. after the end of the events of totk, he is missing his right arm up to the bicep & has heavy scarring around his right shoulder, basically the same area where the zonai tattoos were when he had rauru’s arm

- heavily scarred in general. this one is basically canon, but i figured i’d include it since link’s character model doesn’t have any visible scars (even tho robbie in botw mentions needing to see link’s scars as proof that it’s really him. give link visible scars nintendo u cowards)

- self conscious about his scars, especially the ones from pre-calamity era that he can’t remember how he got them. they’re a constant reminder of the missing part of his life

- (totk) extremely uncomfortable with having rauru’s arm attached to his body. he hates that it is not his own and it feels alien and strange to him even tho it still operates as if it’s a part of his own body. borderline wants to self harm bc he does not want “his” arm that does not belong to him- hates the sight of it but has to deal with it because of its usefulness to him

- doesn’t do well in social interactions that involve more than 1 other person. /maybe/ 3-4 if he knows them Really Well

- extremely uncomfortable with being known as the hero of hyrule actually

- moderate to severe insomnia. he’s been through a lot & has a ton of nightmares as a result

- definitely has some degree of ptsd

- feels extremely guilty about all the ppl he can’t remember from 100 years ago— he regrets their deaths, but more so than missing the people themselves, he feels guilty that he can’t even remember them to mourn them properly. complicated emotions surrounding this, he doesn’t like to talk about it.

[unapprovedtrash]

Wild Tears of The Kingdom theory but it’s been floating around in my head all day.

This is long and probably all over the place but please bare with me.

So I’m sure by now most of you have already seen the official artwork for Ganondorf and noticed that he had one of the tear shaped Gems on his forehead.

Except this one is red, you might even say it looks corrupted.

But we’ll get back to that, because I wanna talk about the hero on the tapestry in botw for a hot second.

So I know we’ve all already talked about how the hero in the tapestry isn’t Link, doesn’t even look remotely like Link, with the red hair and beard, but you know who does have red hair and a beard, oh yeah, Ganondorf.

Also, in the opening of the tapestry he isn’t called “The Hero” which is what we always call Link, he’s called “a warrior wielding the soul of a hero”

So here’s where it gets crazy, well, crazier. What if for some reason Link wasn’t around for Calamity Ganon 10,000 years ago and Hylia, (or I guess it would technically be Fi?) was forced to chose someone else to battle The Calamity. A strong warrior, like someone from the Gerudo, like maybe….Ganondorf? And perhaps the “soul of a hero” refers to the master sword.

So let’s say I’m right and Ganondorf somehow ended up being the hero from 10,000 years ago, then what happened, why does he want to destroy us now?

Well, here’s where we pick up where I left off on the tear gem because I have a second theory inside of this one. Maybe, because he wasn’t the true hero, because he wasn’t LINK, he somehow got corrupted by malace during the battle, and they ended up having to seal him away somewhere deep underground. And the reason he’s so angry now isn’t just because of his malace corrupted soul, but because they betrayed him, they forced this role upon him, this destiny he never asked for and then when he needed help instead of trying to save him they locked him away, abandoned him after everything he had sacrificed for them.

I saw a post on tumble where someone mentioned they wanted to be able to save Ganondorf, which got me wondering if we can purify his little gem thing, but yeah that’s pretty much it.

Also, in not related to this theory, but I noticed the Zelda on the tapestry seems to have a dark skin tone, which makes me wonder if this is the Zelda from 10,000 years ago.

[potteresque-ire]

Happy Halloween! 👻 (Happy Birthday, Wei Wuxian!)

For this spooky evening, I'd like to present this spooky song named 《辜》 (Guilt, pronounced gu), one of the theme songs from Season 2 of 天官賜福 TGCF's audio drama. (Lyrics and some thoughts under the cut!)

Below is my attempt to translate the beautifully written (and eerie) lyrics, although I can't say I'm satisfied with my efforts this time. It bears strong roots in the Taoist (religious) tradition, which I'm not part of. The very last paragraph (the one that mentions a pardon) is from a prayer known as 往生咒 (The Rebirth Mantra; Buddhists have their own version), which believers chant to help lost spirits find their way to the next life. Hence, the change in tone. I hope though, that as music is universal, that even with the language barrier this song can successfully spook some of you. Oh, by the way, the vocal in the middle of the song (starting 2:27) is from an opera style known as 華陰老腔 (pronounced Huayin Laoquiang), which has been designated as an Intangible cultural heritage by UNESCO, and the performer 張喜民 Zhang Ximin is the heir of the style (kudos to the production team of the audio drama for inviting him!). Even though the origin of the style is far from where I've grown up, the lines from that paragraph: 善有善報，惡有惡報 不是不報，時辰未到 Good is retributed by good. Evil is retributed by evil. It’s not a lack of retribution. It’s the time of retribution has not yet come. is something I can recite, in my own dialect (Cantonese), since I was little. The way this song conveys this well-known message ~ one that I admit I don't / can't always believe in ~ is very powerful to me. It's one of the reasons why I've repeatedly spooked myself with this song this month! (And so, I'm also using this post to send a message to Voldie: yes, I remember what you did 43 years ago on this night. The time of retribution would come for you.) (No, I haven't forgotten my "birth fandom" (Harry Potter), which I do plan to revisit one day. 😊) Anyway, onto the lyrics!

《辜》 (Guilt) [0:14] 幽幽夜沉沉 語悄悄 The night is dark and heavy, its words quiet. 聽 何人行踽踽 登初宵 Listen ~ Who’s walking in solitude, ascending upon this evening? 遊魂野客喧囂 高門重府燭搖 Boisterous are the wandering souls, the unbridled guests. Flickering are the candles in the mansions, the palaces. 問旦福夕禍 世間知多少 Asking about the ever-changing fortunes and calamities, how much and how little this world knows about them.

[0:43] 忽而風起 似誰笑 良辰吉時到 The wind suddenly rises, as if someone laughs. The propitious hour has come. 幾家烹調歡宴 肉骨餵邪妖 不足飽 Some homes have cooked a feast, meat and bones to feed the wicked but can’t satiate. 他神色木然 既悲又喜 耳畔道 Wooden is his expression, both sad and happy, and by each ear, he utters words. 回頭 卻是惡言生寒 入髓竅 But when heads turn, the evil in the words grows into a chill and burrows into the marrow.

[1:34] 迷迷霧漫漫 哭渺渺 The mist dazes and lingers, its tears vague.  提 昏燈過長街 天不曉 Uplift ~ dim lanterns crossing the long streets, the sky that fails to dawn. 花腔滾板未消 惡鬼怨倀又告 Dissipating still are the coloraturas and percussions. Accusing once more are the wicked ghosts, resentful, 問天公愚聵 善惡何以報 Asking the gods, stupid and deaf, the retributions for the good and the evil. 

[2:00] 社鼓陣陣 金鐃厲 良辰吉時到 The temple drums beat. The golden cymbals clang. The propitious hour has come. 造化如命數 歡恨誰藉著 不相饒 Life’s blessings are like the accounts of destiny, transactions of joys and hatred are not forgiven. 他神色木然 似悟非悟 舉斧刀 Wooden is his expression, both knowing and ignorant, and his hatchet rises. 回頭 卻是青衣��搖 登仙道 But when heads turn, rising is the commoner’s attire, ascending to the enlightened path.

[2:27 Vocal] 休將奸狡昧神祗，禍福如同逐影隨 Don’t use guile to deceive the gods, calamity and fortune follow like shadows. 善有善報，惡有惡報 Good is retributed by good. Evil is retributed by evil. 不是不報，時辰未到 It’s not a lack of retribution. It’s the time of retribution has not yet come.

[2:52 Chant] 斷足折顱 摧魄裂魂 Feet broken, skull snapped, Spirit broken, soul cracked, 手起刀落 血飛肉滾 Hands lifted, knives dropped, Blood spilled, flesh rolled, 剜心剔骨 解我悲忿 Heart hollowed, bones carved All to solve my sorrows and fury. 易除厄罰 難償苦恨 Easy it is to root out adversaries. Hard it is to compensate the bitter loathing. 斷足折顱 摧魄裂魂 Feet broken, skull snapped, Spirit broken, soul cracked, 有命還命 以待三更 A life for a life, to wait for midnight 諸罪來受戮 見鬼神 When crimes come for a slaughter, to greet their demons and gods.

[3:23 From 往生咒 The Rebirth Mantra] 有頭者超，無頭者升 鬼魅一切，四生沾恩 太上敕令，超汝孤魂 脫離苦海，轉世往生 Those who’ve kept their heads, transcend. Those who haven't, rise. All apparitions are marked with the blessings from life, The pardon from The Supreme transcends your wandering souls. To leave this bitter sea, to reincarnate and reborn.

[sage-nebula]

@sharpidiot — making a new post since the other one is super long, but yeah, considering the position of the Sheikah at this point in Hyrule's history, and how they got there and the existence of the Yiga Clan? It's a big problem.

It's not mentioned in BotW itself, but the entire reason why the Yiga Clan exist is because 10,100 years ago, after the Sheikah helped save Hyrule from the Calamity by building the Divine Beasts and Guardians, the King of Hyrule felt threatened by them and basically attempted a genocide on the Sheikah. All Sheikah tech was ordered to be destroyed, Sheikah were forced out of the main parts of Hyrule, and Sheikah were banned from doing anything more with science on punishment of imprisonment at the least. The Sheikah who survived all this dealt with it in one of two ways: they either went on to found Kakariko Village and live in secret, or they formed the Yiga Clan and swore revenge on the royals (and more importantly the goddesses) that betrayed them.

All of this is in the Creating a Champion book, scattered throughout the history section and in detail on page 368. It casts the Yiga Clan in an entirely new light. While they can't exactly be excused for wanting to kill those that had nothing to do with the paranoid king's decision and destroy the world, we also can't say they're just bonkers or that they formed for no reason. The Sheikah were sworn to the goddesses (and Hylia in specific) to protect the royal family of Hyrule (Hylia's descendents). This was their divine duty. And then they were punished for it, exiled and had their culture destroyed and were oppressed and imprisoned. Their goddesses did nothing to help them. The king and people they had protected were the ones doing this to them. Can we blame them for turning the way they did? I can't.

But now, a huge chunk of that just seems . . . gone, from TotK. If the Sheikah tech didn't exist, then the king from 10,100 years ago wouldn't have done what he did to the Sheikah. And if he didn't do that, the Yiga Clan wouldn't exist. It makes zero sense. What's worse is there are parts of the Zonai things that are very reminiscent of Sheikah things, such as the orbs in the shrines. We could say perhaps the Sheikah inherited those things from the Zonai, but . . . that's plot putty to try to spackle the holes.

I'm still early in the game (I have only finished the Rito portion) so I do not want any spoilers for anything that comes later. Maybe this will be fixed. I hope it is. But if it isn't, then I will probably consider TotK to be yet another video game fanfic, a la Age of Calamity (albeit one that is higher quality at least).

[amtskind]

franz kafka and the nameless cat

a long time ago i stumbled upon this 12-year old blog-entry, which tells the story about kafka's mouse-plague and his encounter with a cat. so i decided to translate it into english and added the original german letters mentioned after the cut:

As Franz Kafka himself confessed in a letter to Felix Weltsch on November 15, 1917, he had "always secretly hated cats". However, when he stayed with his sister for a vacation in the Bohemian village of Zürau in September of that year, he was so plagued by mice in his room that he felt compelled to take the house cat into his room, which actually gave him peace and quiet. Although he couldn't stand it when the cat jumped on his lap while he was writing, he had to admit in a letter to Max Brod that it was "an extremely good, childlike animal". The cat, whose name he doesn't mention, was not house-trained at first. Kafka described in detail the calamity that developed for him as a result:

"So how does the cat do it? It chooses a place that is dark, for example, which proves its attachment to me. Seen from the human side, this place happens to be the inside of my slipper."

Kafka consoled himself with the following insight:

"Cats drive away mice by their mere presence, perhaps even by their mere filth, which is why they are not to be entirely despised."

Kafka slowly got used to the cat, he even "carried it home every evening across the Ringplatz 'warm in his arms'". At the beginning of December, he proudly and happily reported to his friend Max Brod on the results of his educational efforts in terms of hygiene:

"It's wonderful when you've come to an agreement with an animal. Like a well-behaved child, it goes to the box in the evening after it has had its milk, climbs in, humps itself because the box is too small, and does what it has to do."

And he wrote to another friend that he had "declaimed your poem to my little sleeping cat". So Kafka, who hated cats, had slowly become accustomed to them and had probably grown fond of them by the time he left Zürau in the spring of 1918. Perhaps Kafka had this nameless cat in mind when he wrote his only literary text about a cat two years later: "A Little Fable":

"Alas", said the mouse, "the whole world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there in the corner stands the trap that I am running into." "You only need to change your direction," said the cat, and ate it up.

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type au part 8!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9

can i offer anyone... almost 8k words of exposition and plot dump? hmmm? no? well, what if it comes with ghost resting his head in soap's lap? huh? what then?

fair warning: ghost has a bad time again

@imjustheretofightforlove / @pieckyghost / @life-as-a-gamergirl

...

The soldiers would often mention how they withstood the general’s abuse because they knew that they could trust him. That he was one of, if not the greatest war hero to ever grace the kingdom. Well known for being honorable and doing everything to protect his men. 

There was no honor to be found in surprising an enemy encampment at the dead of night. Very few were armed, most were likely still asleep as they lost the fight for their lives. But the general was good, successful, victorious. So his men charged in without a doubt. Laughed at the ease with which the enemy was felled. 

By the time reinforcements arrived, there was nothing left to save. They tried to avenge their fallen comrades, but instead joined them in the afterlife. To say they retreated was far too dignified for the fear and desperation with which they ran. Some of the oh-so-honorable general’s soldiers even laid chase, shooting arrows into their backs as they fled. 

The encampment was empty. Smoke billowed into the sky, tainting the white clouds. The ground was scattered with puddles — both blood and water alike. 

Ghost sat in the ruins and watched as the tents burned. 

After the slaughter, the allied dead were carted away to be given a proper burial. The rest were abandoned. Blue tunics stained red and fragments of shields covered in blood littered the ground.

Winter had long ago sunk her claws deep into the land and the bodies would most likely freeze before they could decay. Stuck in the inevitable snow, they would only be allowed to rejoin the earth in months when Spring’s thaw would free them, all based on the color of their uniforms. 

For now, scavenger birds picked at their corpses, enjoying the free feast. 

There was a haunting type of silence that could only be found in the wake of a massacre; An echo of death that seemed to scar the earth. Regardless of who or what was left alive, there was nothing living to be found. Shadows of ravens took away the dead, piece by piece. Whispers from the fates were carried by the wind, lies of justice and retribution pushing around dead leaves and tattered scraps of fabric.

Displeased with the lack of calamity, his mind filled the void, reminding him of the clanging metal, pained screams, and unheard pleas for mercy. A macabre orchestra singing a sweet lullaby, begging him to lay down his weapons and freeze along with the dead.

He felt the warmth of his arrival before the god spoke.

“I think you should deflect.”

Ghost didn’t jump this time, by now used to the god’s tendencies. He didn’t look away from the smoldering ash that had once been a medical tent. 

He tried to say something, but it didn’t work. There was a vast disconnect between his brain and the rest of his body. It was like he was trapped in sleep paralysis — his mind running rampant but his muscles unable to follow. 

He watched a corvid begin picking through the intestines of a soldier who still had his eyes open, watching the clouds pass overhead. 

“This doesn’t have to happen again if you leave.”

“Do you think I stay by choice?”

“Yes.”

Ghost didn’t have the strength for anger. He dropped to his knees like he was honoring the people whose blood still coated his blades. 

“It must be easy, then, to be a god, if you truly believe it to be that simple.”

“I did not come back from the brink of death just to become a patron of this violence again.”

Soap’s voice held a level of fury he had never heard from the god before. Boots walked in front of his vision.

Before him stood Soap, the God of Death. For the first time since they met, he looked the part. He stood as he had been described, tall, blue eyes, and the clean, unwrinkled clothes of a man rich enough to have Ghost’s lip curling in disgust. 

“You came back,” Ghost muttered with poison on his tongue, “Because I gave you an offering.”

Soap matched his tone, “And I accepted because you gave me hope.”

They both had rage sparkling at the tips of their fingers but the tragedy around them weighed far too heavy for something so grand. Soap kneeled, not low enough to be at eye level with the way Ghost hunched in on himself, but no longer leering over him.

Hope.

Ghost only scoffed half-heartedly in response. He hadn’t felt so tired since he had an arrow embedded in his chest.

Soap’s voice was kinder, but not softer. “I am not the god of war—”

Ghost interrupted him, “So you want me to continue fighting a war to prove it?”

“I want you to end it,” Soap corrected in a low tone, emphasis placed on every word.

He almost laughed. “A war that’s been ongoing for almost twenty years — You want me to stop it by just—?”

Soap returned his rudeness by interrupting him, “I want for this bloodshed to cease. Immediately. If that means your general dies, it will not be a great upset.”

“He is not my general,” Ghost growled out through gritted teeth.

The god sneered, “No, you just kill whoever he tells you to without question.”

“I owe him my life,” Ghost spat, feeling phantom chains on his wrists; a weight that had rested on him so heavily for so long he often forgot they were gone.

“Did you owe him their lives too?”

Ghost said nothing in response, just watched the embers slowly die and the flies begin to gather. The silence lingered.

Soap sighed and dropped his head, looking off to the side. It seemed he was taking some time to compose himself but Ghost couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scavenger birds. 

Would the people who had been turned into their dinner be glad that their body was not going to waste? Or would they be angry that they were not allowed to rest even in death? 

A pessimistic part of Ghost tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter, that the dead do not have feelings. Ghost thinks that he’d be happy to be able to keep providing, to let the birds eat his flesh and the earth prosper off his bones.

There were hands reaching towards him. He couldn’t bring himself to flinch away.

“Ghost.” Soap sounded almost like he was pleading. “Please look at me.”

His hands cupped Ghost’s face. Ghost followed absently. His eyes were no longer focused on anything but he could still only see sleeping faces.

It never got easier. 

Whoever suggested as much had never felt the way blood dries on your hands. The way it got tacky, sticking your weapon to your palm even as you tried to drop it. The way it stained your nails and lingered for days. The way it never seemed to wash off. The way it haunted you. The way it got under your skin and festered.

“I cannot watch this happen again.” Soap’s thumbs rubbed just under his eyes like he was wiping away non-existent tears. 

Was he crying? 

Soap squeezed his fingers where they rested in his hair, drawing him back. “Please do not make me watch this again. Not when you can change it.”

“How?”

There was too much scathing disbelief in his voice for it to be an honest question. 

“Do not let them win.”

Ghost waited for more, but that was it. That was all he had to offer. How does he stop them from winning? Simple. Do not let them win. He wanted to scoff at the answer but he didn’t have the air in his lungs.

Just five words but he heard everything Soap was too reluctant to say with them. It was more of a non-answer than anything else because Soap didn’t have an answer; he didn’t know how. He said so himself, he was the god of death, not war.

If Ghost did this, it would be either under his own plan or none at all. 

Why was he considering it?

He couldn’t. For all his faults, the general had pulled him out of the ash and gave him food when he should have been left to starve. When the gods ignored his pleas, it was a mortal man who answered and offered him a home.

And now it was a god telling him to betray his liberator. 

Was it all for nothing?

One of the tents collapsed in on itself, crackling as it lost the struggle with the flames. Ghost leaned into the god’s hands and closed his eyes. He could still see their faces.

…

A new day was just beginning to break over the horizon, pale light spilling over the military camp. Dew had frozen to the grass and a chill clung to the air even as the sun shooed it away, foretelling the upcoming snowfall.

The sentinels wouldn't be switching for another hour, the soldiers stationed at the lookouts shuffling in place to keep themselves awake and alert. The lookout fire was warm and sang a siren song for them to curl up and fall asleep but they stayed firm in their position. They watched for threats even as they fantasized of the shift change that would let them sleep the day away.

Soon, the camp's cook would be fumbling over the fire with cold fingers as he began to prepare breakfast for numerous hungry soldiers. Until then, they were still huddled on their cots, happily asleep with their warm blankets.

The general lied in his bed, sleeping soundly, warm. Their plans had been finalized the night prior, having spent hours perfecting them. Before long, they would be marching on, taking the enemy by surprise and pushing them back; The war was nearing an end and in due time they would be at the enemy’s front gate. 

But, for now, they rest. They were warm and safe. 

All except for one. 

Ghost was sitting up on his cot and had been for the entire night. He would like to say he had spent all of those hours coming to a decision, but he already knew his answer. No, he had spent all of those hours alone in his tent staring at the grass beneath his feet, only partially aware of the chill numbing his fingers, trying to come to terms with his sudden and drastic change in fate.

He spent all of his life knowing he was never destined for more. He would die as he lived and leave no impression on the world save for the fear that permeated people’s hearts at knowing that something like him could exist. And yet…

Hope. That’s what he spent all of those hours doing. Hoping. 

Hoping that maybe he could be something other than man’s monster. Hoping that he could watch the sunrise without the weight of blood staining his hands. Hoping that maybe he could have that happy ending he always heard his mother talk about.

That stupid little idea of a farmhouse in the middle of fields and fields of flowers, or a cottage tucked away in an expansive forest full of animals to make for kind neighbors. When he was younger, it made for a dinner table hypothetical to distract from how little food was on their plates. When he grew older he saw it for what it was: An unobtainable fantasy to make going to work the next day feel less like a death sentence.

But now it was so, so close that he didn’t know what to do. Not the house away from everyone that could bother him, but a happy ending. It was right there and it collapsed his entire worldview.

For so long he didn’t care about death or the afterlife because there was no hell that could be worse than what he was living. But now, he had the chance to be happy. For the first time since he was a kid he had something to lose. And by the gods, did it terrify him.

The sun rose higher; He would need to leave soon. His hands were shaking. 

He already had a copy of the plans, he just needed to get them to the opposing army. Ghost had snuck a peak at them as they were being finalized, memorized them, and wrote them down in the margins of that book he got during his second encounter with the god. He had justified it to himself by lying that copying them down did not mean he had to deflect.

Deflect.

Ghost heard the cook strike his flint and steel to start the fire, it echoed through him and got louder with each reverberation.

Gods, he was actually doing it, wasn’t he?

The general had saved his life and in return he was not just going to betray him, Ghost was going to make him watch his troops fall before he stabbed him in the back. As nasty as he could be, he cared for his men. Being forced to watch them die was perhaps the cruelest fate Ghost could inflict.

Please do not make me watch this again.

What was his story? Where does he claim he was going? Was there anything he could say that wouldn’t arouse suspicion? There was no reason for the general to think Ghost was betraying him.

Ghost is… Ghost is just going hunting again. 

Yes, that’s it. 

A simple hunting trip and nothing more. That’s why he’s leaving on horseback, so he can transport whatever bounty he collects. It’s why he’s carrying such a heavy bag with him, he’d need camping supplies and a book to keep him company. It’s why he’s leaving for several days, hunting can take patience.

He stood mechanically and walked out of his tent. 

The general was chatting with the cook. He was probably waiting for his cup of coffee. He didn’t know that one of his best was actively turning traitor.

Ghost approached. He did not feel anxiety eating him alive, no, that had happened hours ago when he had condemned everyone around him. Now he stood hollow, his chest empty, ribs encasing nothing, his heartbeat echoing in an empty cavern.

“I would like to go hunting,” Ghost announced, interrupting the two’s conversation. The cook was confused and the general angry before they saw who it was interrupting them, the former gaining a look of understanding and the latter looked…

Ghost didn’t know what the general was thinking when he saw him. He looked almost… excited. It had Ghost’s already clenched teeth grinding themselves into dust.

“Hunting?” the general asked.

“Yes sir,” Ghost affirmed, praying to gods he did not know, pleading for everything to be okay.

The general hummed, thinking about something. He nodded, “Be back within three days. We leave in four.”

The general grabbed the cup of coffee offered to him by the cook and walked back to his tent.

What the fuck?

No, really, what the fuck? No questions of where or what he was hunting, no arguments, no complaints, no denials… 

Why? Ghost would rather have been interrogated and questioned on every specific detail the general could think of to dispute. Why did he agree?

Was it a trap? 

He’d asked that same question the last time he approved of a hunting trip but found his fears unjustified. The general did not like him and trusted him even less, there was no reason for him to grant Ghost this kindness.

Did he know? 

There was no way he could. The only evidence that there was something afoot were the scribblings in a book shoved into the bottom of his pack — hell, even then they were written on the inner margins some seventy pages in. Besides his one conversation with the god of death, in which he didn’t even fully commit to deflecting, that one book stored at the bottom of his bag hidden beneath his cot was the only way the general could know.

So why, why, why did he agree?

“Breakfast will be served in half an hour, unless you plan on helping, get lost.”

Ghost drew out of his panicked mind and stared at the cook, slowly processing the sentence. And creeped him out in doing so if his sudden lack of assertiveness and refusal to look at Ghost was any proof.

He turned back to his tent, feeling like an imposter in his own skin, and prepared for his trip.

…

It had just reached high noon and a soldier was riding through rolling plains of dead grass.

The wind had gone from whispers to howls. Winter’s mongrels bit at any inch of exposed skin. His steed speeding through the lands only worsened the sting as he struggled to keep his head up and eyes open. Still, he did not tell her to slow. There was no time for delay.

Truthfully, Ghost did not know where he was going. The plans mentioned assaulting a fortress resting at the foothills of a mountain, one that was old and had stood the test of time; One that could end a war if it changed hands. 

The plans did not, however, include a list of directions for how to get there. The only thing he knew for certain was that he needed to head north, but beyond that was a mystery.

Initially, he’d gone back to the ruined encampment with the intention of searching what little survived the fires for a map or something of the like. He spent several minutes staring at corpses that had frozen solid in the night and likely would have spent longer if not for Taxes refusing to stay there.

When he was pulled away from the grim sight, he found his plan to have been useless. There was only ash in the main encampment and the reinforcements had come from a smaller camp up the way and closer to the road, likely a failed lookout, one which did not have a map either.

He could trace the events of the fight from the remains of the camp. 

The fire had burned out on its own. Stools were knocked over and arrows were snapped on the ground as if they had spilled from a quiver and been stepped on. Blankets had been tossed aside with a quickness, weapons taken but scabbards forgotten.

They had been preparing a meal, probably resting and chatting when they heard the screams of their comrades and cheers of their enemies and raced to help, only to then too become victims of a rich man’s war.

He tried following the trail of those who fled but it only led to him finding more corpses, some who died as they ran and others who either bled out or froze in the night.

He changed plans quickly after that.

Ghost figured he would find something eventually if he just kept moving. He was distinctly aware of the fact that the fleeing soldiers probably had a similar ideology when they succumbed to their wounds and the harsh elements.

After a few miles his plans changed again to finding somewhere to safely spend the night. He could see his breath puffing out even through his mask when it was noon; If what should be the warmest time of day had him shivering, he had no chance of making it through whatever the night held.

When he set out in his panicked state, the only thing he could think about was getting out of camp as fast as he could and in turn finding the fortress just as fast. To set out with more or less no plan was a stupid move, but for all his panicked overthinking, he apparently forgot to think about how he would trade over the information without dying of hypothermia.

He had made good progress but he needed to find a roof to lay under — and fast. Once the sun began to fall it wouldn’t be long before it was pitch black with the hounds of hell masticating a chill into his bones.

…

Ghost had no idea why he deviated off the road he had been following, he just knew that he found himself on a trail with an old cabin sitting at the end of it. It may have been divine intervention or it may have been his subconscious stepping in when the forefront of his mind was stuck in turmoil, either way he didn’t bother questioning it.

Based on the state of the cabin and its furnishings, it was likely a summer home owned by someone, perhaps a hunter, who was thankfully not present and based on the dust, hadn’t been for a while. Whether it was abandoned or not  didn’t matter; It was currently vacant and had a fireplace which were the only two things he could bring himself to care about.

Ghost had a distinctly out-of-place feeling as he stood in the middle of a cabin meant for warm summer nights while his breath visibly puffed out and snow piled outside. 

Maybe he was just disconnecting from his body again.

Now that he thought about it, he’s not sure he’d felt connected to his body throughout the whole day.

He wanted to shake the feeling away, but he did not have the agency over his muscles to do so. He was only able to collect firewood by absent muscle memory; He could do nothing but hope that whatever part of him still worked would be enough to keep him alive.

All he knew was that he had been looking for somewhere to spend the night, found a cabin, and was staring at a fire in a fireplace shortly thereafter. 

He knew he was missing something as he somewhat came back to himself, energy shooting through him as he realized he couldn’t recall what he’d done with Taxes after dismounting. Suddenly terrified that he’d left her on her own, he burst out the door and looked around quickly, searching for tracks and…

She was stabled. 

There was a tiny, two-stall stable next to the cabin. She had been de-tacked, brushed, and fed. He approached her and slowly reached out to touch her muzzle, the normally irritable horse accepting the slow touches like she knew something was wrong.

He stayed there for a while, making sure that she was alright and then waiting longer to see if it was an illusion that was going to wither away with his grip on reality.

It didn’t. 

He returned to the cabin.

He sat against the wall near the fireplace with his legs splayed out like he’d collapsed and stared at his hands, focusing on how they burned from the change in temperature. He still had blood under his nails.

The calluses that had developed over years and years of wielding various weapons were still very visible in the dim light. Some were lighter, some were darker; they sat at the base of his fingers, a few trailing up higher.

He remembered when he had been younger and stupider, he thought he was being tough by continuing to train even as his hands grew sore and blistered. He remembered the panic he had felt when he realized that the next day he would not be given a break.

Only barely winning against his opponent, he stood shaking, hunched over and leaning on his sword, the tip of it buried into the sandy ground, completely relying on it to stay standing. He heaved for air; His lungs were still fighting even as the battle was over.

Blood stained the guard and ran down the blade, dripped down his fingers and fell to the ground. It didn’t splatter, it stayed in neat little drops as it mixed with the sand. His arm hanged limply, thousands of needles prickling his hand like it was going numb even though he could still feel the pain.

He was exhausted to the point of twitching, the world pulling apart at the seams. He could only feel his heartbeat reverberating through his skull. His chest rested against the pommel, the intricate design coming to a point that tried to stab through to his heart. 

The sores on his hand had opened very quickly after the fight started. Everytime he lifted his sword, the pain spiked to such an intense degree that he’d fumbled his weapon several times, once almost dropping it on himself. He wanted to cry. Wasn’t his brain supposed to shut off his pain response when it was life or death?

It hurt so bad he’d started to pray that his foe would kill him just so this torture would have been done with. But his pride got in the way of his dreams of dying; He couldn’t bring himself to hand victory to his opponent. He refused to give up even as he wished nothing more than for the enemy to strike him down.

He couldn’t let go of his sword. He tried loosening his grip, he wanted to drop it and never look at a blade ever again, but it stuck to his hands. The opened blisters had dried and scabbed over against the leather wrap of the handle. 

He didn’t what would hurt more: To rip all of that away and drop his weapon or to keep pressing against them as he held onto the sword for balance. He tightened his grip.

He couldn’t see or hear. His heartbeat was thudding in his ears and there was red-stained sandy ground beneath him but he couldn’t see or hear. He could, but he couldn’t. 

He wondered if this was what it felt like to pass out.

Hands, different ones, not his own. They grabbed at his shoulders and pulled him but his mind was already gone. The scabs ripped and reopened. They were not healed by the next fight.

His hands were bloodied.

When Soap appeared, he had the decency to do so quietly, looking regretful for the situation he had put Ghost in. It was an accusatory way to phrase it, but still held some truth.

“Ghost, I—”

“Please.” 

Ghost shook his head, not knowing what he was pleading for. The real world was too much and he shut his eyes tight. He was not equipped for whatever conversation Soap wanted or needed. 

With one word, Soap apparently heard enough. 

Ghost heard him stand, walk towards him, and stop. When he worked up the courage to open his eyes, he saw the god of death before him, holding out his arms. Ghost waited but Soap remained. 

Deciding to be brave, Ghost placed his hands in Soap’s. The god gave a small, reassuring smile; He tugged Ghost’s arms lightly twice, warning him of the upcoming movement before fully pulling him up to standing. 

Ghost had only a moment to wobble and distantly worry about falling before Soap pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him. Despite being shorter, he still managed to engulf Ghost in his grasp, holding him like he was blocking away the rest of the world.

Ghost had to squeeze his eyes tighter but soon reciprocated. Whereas Soap wrapped his arms tightly around him, Ghost could barely cling onto Soap’s shirt. He had no idea how long they stayed like that; Even time itself seemed to still to allow them a small reprieve.

He knew that Soap began humming a quiet tune at one point or another; Ghost did not just hear the soft melody wander into the dark cabin, but felt it reverberate from Soap’s chest as well with how close they were pressed.

When Ghost found it within himself to lift his head, Soap offered him that same reassuring smile once more. His tune petered out as he guided Ghost towards the dusty bed. His mind was elsewhere but he knew deep down he could follow Soap.  

And perhaps out of everything that had happened, that was the part that frightened him the most. The fact that he trusted Soap. Ghost was… vulnerable. Ghost was vulnerable and he trusted Soap to take care of him. 

Soap only stepped away for a moment to shake off and resituate the dirty bedding before sitting down and motioning for Ghost to join him; He had Ghost lie down with his head resting on Soap’s leg. 

Ghost did so very slowly, his back protesting at every movement. He perhaps should have been embarrassed over the strained grunts he let out but he didn’t care. He was more concerned with reminding himself that it was not supposed to hurt to relax.

It took him a good long while to be able to breathe again after fully lying on his side with his ear against the other’s thigh, his lungs suddenly burdened with the brunt of his anxiety. 

Soap draped a few blankets overtop of him; Ghost wasn’t sure where they came from, but they smelled nice. It made part of him shrivel at how incapable he was at taking care of himself, but the comforting weight they offered was a welcome juxtaposition over his rampaging mind attempting to crush him. 

He was sure that when he could think beyond reminding his heart to beat and his lungs to take in air, he’d be grateful that Soap didn’t make him lie on top of the moth-eaten top blanket or the grimy pillow. In the moment however, he appreciated the easier contact that kept him tethered without anything more overwhelming. 

Ghost pulled the blanket up close, practically hiding under it like there were monsters under the bed. He could feel his heart preparing to fight for his life but he closed his eyes and tried to breathe. They were staccato inhales, shaky and short, but he was breathing.

Would he return to camp? After everything, after the information had been handed off, would he go back to his tent, help them pack up like he hadn’t betrayed them?

Should he run? Just pray that everything works out and try to find some land far, far away where they would mistake Ghost for one of them? As something that deserved respect and kindness? As someone who didn’t have enough blood on their hands to start or end a war?

He’s only ever been a weapon for other people to use to kill anyone they felt like. Why now was he so caught up on killing people? 

They were not good people — Ghost knew his sense of honor was twisted but he would never attack the back of a fleeing man for being on the other side of a war. They killed innocent people who surrendered the same way they did an active threat.

Were Ghost’s actions any different? Had he not done the same?

Soap brought his hand to gently card through Ghost’s short hair.

Ghost would have been dead if not for the general. Yes, he hated him, but that didn’t change that he saved Ghost when he should have been left to die.

Soap saved your life too.

And he knows that. He knows every counter argument that could be thrown out at it, he’s had the same debate with himself for years. But shouting into the sky about the cruelty of fate did not clear his warring mind.

Ghost opened his mouth to try to speak but the words didn’t form, his throat closed up and his lungs refused to provide the air. It was only after undoing all of his work to keep himself breathing that he was able to choke anything out. 

“I’m scared.”

He could barely admit it as if he weren’t holding the blanket he was hiding under in a white knuckle grip. He didn’t feel any lighter with the admission off of his consciousness.

Soap remained silent. 

Ghost was suddenly very unsure if he’d spoken at all. Or maybe he had. Maybe Soap was doing him a favor by pretending not to have heard it, acting like Ghost hadn’t just embarrassed himself. Or…

“Me too.”

Perhaps it should have made him more nervous to hear a divine being admit to such a thing, but he wasn’t after thoughtless false promises. He couldn’t stand being trapped in his mind as he was, not knowing if he had completely lost it. He didn’t want denials or lies that everything would be okay, he just needed…

He didn’t know what he needed.

It’s okay to seek solace.

Ghost closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to exile all of his stress as he exhaled. It didn’t work, but he felt better which was all he could hope for.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t know which one of them said it or if it even existed outside of his decaying mind, or perhaps it was that old friend’s voice that had been haunting him. Regardless, the world resting upon his shoulders felt a little lighter as he fell asleep.

…

When he woke, he had a pounding headache that left his eyes feeling dry and grainy even though he just opened them. Winter’s pale blue light was poking in through the half-boarded windows of the cabin; the dust particles floating through the air looked like snowflakes that had fallen under the roof. 

Soap was still there, not having moved through the night and still acting as his pillow. His hands were still gently running through his hair as well, the motion almost making him fall back asleep. 

The fire roared on the other side of the cabin and he was covered in blankets, yet he shivered. He dreaded to think how much snow was sure to be on the ground outside. 

Ghost sat up but did so grumpily, his mood worsening when one of the several blankets fell and left him just that much more exposed to the cold.

“Good morning.” 

The fondness was clear in Soap’s tone. He grumbled back with a glare, unable to think about anything other than how much he wished he was still asleep, and held onto the blankets as he shuffled to the fireplace. 

His annoyance at being awake was soothed by the warmth it provided and again he was tempted to fall back asleep. Ghost didn’t remember the specifics of the night prior and he would like to keep it that way. If he didn’t acknowledge it, then there was nothing to be embarrassed by.

Ghost was vaguely aware of a corrupted feeling flowing through his veins; He furrowed his brow, trying to pinpoint what it was. 

He felt like he had crossed a malevolent god who placed a curse on him, a curse that made him feel dizzy even as he sat still on the ground and his fingers feel detached as he stared at them. The world around him seemed to move in slow motion, like he was stuck in molasses.

Soap walked over while rooting through his bag. 

“You need something to eat, you didn’t eat at all yesterday.”

Ah, he was hungry. That explained it. At least that was an evil that was easy to defeat. He accepted whatever food Soap handed him and ate slowly, taking immense effort to chew every bite.

He still didn’t feel hungry, if anything he felt the opposite, but he did feel a little better once he was finished, even if it took him almost an hour. (It was not because Soap’s smile seemed to brighten every time he took a bite.)

Ghost was slowly coming back to himself but wanted to check on Taxes before he did anything else. When she saw him she whinnied and shook her head; she was just as happy to see him as she was ready for him to pet her. 

He obliged, stepping into her stall and looked for where he set her gear as he scratched and petted to her heart’s content. (And was thoroughly reprimanded when he got distracted and stopped; She whinnied loudly, somehow always right in his ear, if his hand stilled for even a moment.)

To his past-self’s credit, he got most things in the right spot, only a few baffling misplacements. Taxes was outraged when he fully stepped away, but calmed down when he gave her breakfast. 

He was shaking out her blanket when Soap exited the cabin with his bag looking much fuller than it had the day prior. Several blankets stuck out the top, too full to close. 

Ghost shook his head, not wanting to think about whatever the god of death had filched from a stranger’s cabin. Soap stayed outside the stall, passing his bag over silently and watching him as he prepared to head out again. 

As he expected, the bag was much heavier than it had been when he left. Looking at how much was in it, he had an errant thought about Soap not seeming like the thieving type and a realization crashed over him. Perhaps there was a reason why the god of death was able to lead him to this particular and particularly vacant cabin.

He suddenly decided not to dwell on why Soap led him there.

Taxes was still eating so he took some time to himself, pulling everything out of the bag and organizing it, both to take inventory and to make everything fit. 

He didn’t know where he was relative to the shitty map he had, but based on the temperature difference, he probably made enough progress yesterday to reach the fort before nightfall. He would have to wait until he was on the road to find landmarks that he could use to orient himself and plot a proper course. 

After some deliberation, he took the book and put it in an inner pocket of his cloak; he didn’t want to risk anything happening to it in his bag. He spent some time shuffling all of the items, finding an odd amount of comfort in the control he had from simply organizing his own bag. 

He felt a smidge of happiness when he got all of it to fit in a way that still allowed the bag to close, an impressive feat considering just how much shit Soap grabbed. A smidge of happiness that weakened when he realized that he couldn’t stall any longer and would have to set out again.

…

He would never admit to anyone, not even himself, how relieved he was when Soap got on behind him and wrapped his arms around him. It was a mirror of a position they had found themselves in before, but this time it felt different. It no longer felt like Soap was worried about falling or trying to warm him but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was. 

It’s called a hug.

He rolled his eyes at the little lying voice and was glad Soap couldn’t see his annoyance at the nuisance that decided to chime in again. Because he was wrong. It wasn’t a hug. Soap, the god of death, was not fucking “hugging” him.

(His cheeks burned at the thought but he did not pull away from the touch.)

Soap wouldn’t be able to stay for long. Ghost had of course noticed the pattern in his visits; They were always fairly short and rarely lasted more than a few hours. And while his memories of the day prior were shot to shit, he knew the god must have pushed well beyond his limits.

The realization that he forgot to give Soap an offering made him want to hang his head in defeat. It was the only way he had to thank Soap for all that he’d done or to provide compensation but he was too absorbed in himself to even give the god a flower.

He had never felt like he owed anyone an explanation for why he was the way that he was, but… Soap owed him nothing and gave him everything. The least Ghost could do was give an excuse a reason for… just… everything.

Ghost took a long time to focus on his breathing, in and out, refusing to repeat yesterday.

“I used to be a fighter in the arena.”

Such few words yet he felt like he just gave an entire speech. It was a pitiful excuse for the amount of blood on his hands. He was too lost in his head to see if Soap reacted.

It wasn’t a well kept secret, but the legends surrounding his nickname had grown murky over the years; He didn’t know if people had truly connected the dots between the famous deadly gladiator and infamous deadly soldier under the same name.

“We needed money, seemed like an okay decision at the time.” 

He suddenly felt like he had to defend his younger self’s actions, as stupid as they were. 

“I knew it could and would probably kill me, but it — dying in battle, it sounded more appealing than starving.”

This is unnecessary. Stop trying to make him feel bad for you.

He continued. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes at the memory. 

“My mother begged me not to, but it was the only work available and I couldn’t sit back and watch. So I signed a contract.”

Once he started talking he couldn’t stop himself. Years and years of bottling everything up was finally spilling over and Soap wasn’t the one who needed to hear it, wasn’t the one who deserved to have all of his grief dropped on, yet he didn’t shut up.

If he wanted you to stop, he’d have said something.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, at first. There weren’t many fights and they paid well, most of them weren’t to the death or anything like that. I… couldn’t really leave the arena, but it got money to my family so I didn’t care.” 

Ghost paused, reminiscing on when things were easier. Soap rubbed his thumb in small semi circles on his arm. Ghost tried to focus on the touch. 

“A sponsor didn’t like that I beat his favorite fighter and lost him some money. So he—” 

Ghost’s voice cut itself off. He forced himself past the emotional mess his brain was becoming, or tried to. 

“He had someone— I didn’t— No one—”

Gods, fucking pull yourself together.

He almost choked on the lump in his throat that he had tried to ignore and coughed.

Just breathe.

“He got caught and they decided death by gladiatorial combat was appropriate. It didn’t make me feel any better; It didn’t bring them back. I signed another contract. I—”

Soap doesn’t want or need to hear this. Shut. Up. 

He lost track of where he was or whatever other woes he wanted to force Soap to listen to. He hadn’t explained anything. So many words used and yet nothing of value said. There was no amount of rambling that could make it come across as a sound decision — that could make him look like anything other than a deranged monster in denial.

“The general saw me fight one day. Gave me a better offer.”

You aren’t forcing Soap to do anything. You think he’s kind? Then he’s happy to listen.

“It… wasn’t much different. But the bars were gone. The shackles too. I got to watch the sunset for the first time in years.” 

He was having a rather difficult time trying to talk in between arguments with himself. 

Soap pulled that same magic trick he had that night of the bar fight and inexplicably managed to hold him closer, somehow squeezing without feeling constrictive. He felt stupid for how much comfort he found in it.

And what have you done to deserve the kindness he gives you? Have you even thanked him?

Ghost shook his head. 

“I’m sorry, I—” 

His voice broke, saving him from sounding like even more of a fool.

Soap was there out of necessity. Nothing more, nothing less. Ghost lost his mind following a trail to a cabin. He was not sticking around “out of the kindness of his heart,” or whatever other lie Ghost had unwittingly convinced himself of.

Soap was there because if he wasn’t, Ghost would have gotten himself killed, and that was that. He was stuck there until Ghost came back to himself and stopped spilling his fucking life story as some pitiful excuse for why he’s not a monster.

And now he’s spiraling, again, and proving that he couldn’t be trusted with the simple task of delivering information. Gods above and below, he’s a fucking joke. 

Soap is currently fucking hugging you, you oblivious bastard!

Ghost thought back to the bar fight again, the way Soap clung to him, worried about—

What part of ‘being worried about falling’ would lead to someone leaning their head against the other’s shoulder? Or caressing their fucking hand?! He’s half a damn inch and one impulsive decision away from kissing you!

Ghost really fucking wished that the dead man’s voice would fucking stay dead.

Fuck you.

In spite of the absolute fuckening the past two days had been, he huffed a small laugh. 

“I had a… a friend— my cellmate, actually. He was the only thing that… that kept me going a lot of the time. We’d patch each other up, laugh and joke, remind each other that there was more out there. We always talked about what we’d do when we got out — we were gonna stick together and become mercenaries… ‘heroes for hire’ he always said.”

He laughed wetly, the tears coming back even as he reminisced on long, pained nights made bearable by stupid jokes and drawn out fantasies of the world that lay behind the bars of their cell.

“He…” 

His smile waned. Ghost took a deep breath. 

“He didn’t make it. Took an attack that was meant for me and paid for it.”

Ghost shook his head again and got back to the original point he wanted to make. 

“I can hear his voice now. I don’t know what or how, but I guess getting close to the god of death has unexpected side effects.”

An embarrassed flush ran to his cheeks at his own poor wording, one he was glad Soap couldn’t see. 

“It started under that overhang. Ever since, he pops in every now and then, usually to make fun of me or offer advice while calling me names.” 

Ghost felt Soap smile against his shoulder.

Ghost smiled as well. 

“He likes you, thinks you’re nice.” 

It was one hell of an understatement, but he had a feeling that confessing, ‘the voice of my dead friend won’t leave me alone and he thinks you want to kiss me,’ might make things awkward. He didn’t want to make Soap think that he mistook his kindness for romantic advances.

Oh my fucking gods.

Ghost almost laughed aloud at his annoyance.

Soap asked, “What is his favorite color?”

The present tense didn’t slip his notice but he didn’t feel like diving into what the hell that meant. It was the first thing Soap had said since they hit the road.

Ghost smiled. He answered with a griefed laugh, “Brown, like a freak.”

Soap hummed. After a short pause, he leaned forward somewhat and inadvertently pulled Ghost back. Ghost looked at him with a raised brow, but as per usual he was undeterred and stared at him ruminatively. 

Rumination complete, Soap fell back to hugging holding him with his cheek against Ghost’s shoulder. He quietly commented, “I think I’d be inclined to agree.”

Ghost rolled his eyes and scoffed playfully, “‘Course you would, freak.”

[ezlo-x]

tbh my biggest gripes with totk is the fact that they did it beginner friendly new comer friendly... like i know this is gonna sound mean but genuinely I wish it didn't try to cater to new fans who want to get into tloz cause totk's story failed cause it needed to cater to new zelda fans

idc abt the lore getting rebooted, sure im going to miss the triforce being an essential piece of the story and lore, only to become the Hylian symbol and game's logo (which tbh is strange its like pokemon using the pokeball as their logo/symbol but pokeballs becoming obsolete in new pkmn games). But because it wanted to be new comer friendly botw's story and lore aspects are long gone and only to be referred to as easter eggs to ppl who played botw know. When characters talk about things that happened in botw as if it was a long time ago like the attack of the Calamity 100 years ago but things that actually happened a very long time ago make it sound like its pretty recent.

I don't like how the new sages just don't remember the champions at all. If you get the divine beast helms through sidequests and read their dialogue they speak in this way as it is their first time seeing it like?? Which is so strange cause totk would gladly reference Sidon and Link's companionship with a statue when trying to access Vah Ruta in BotW, but Mipha gets barely a mention from him? My biggest hopes before we got the title of the game was to let go of the champions, as in we don't need them to be back as they already have done what they need to do. But also I didn't want them to be completely gone from the game and only know them through easter eggs and references.

Like yeah TotK is a sequel to BotW but its more so "ok botw was a rough draft, THIS is the story we wanted to do" and it turns out to have inconsistencies. Zelda mentions the Calamity a few times, there are tombstones to placed around Hyrule commemorating people who lost their lives by the Calamity. But the Sheikah technology is completely gone, the towers that were there for eons are gone. I feel like the towers could've been an easy fix to explain why they are gone like "oh these chasms appeared and collapsed the towers, so now we built these new towers in replacement."

Like with Majora's Mask being separate but also a follow up to Ocarina of Time works because. While yes they are using the same characters and same game mechanics. They are using a whole different world/setting that is different from OoT. Where it excuses using the same characters and same game mechanics, cause it has a complete different story but is consistent on where it left off with Ocarina of Time. I honestly thought TotK was going to take place mostly in the skies than in the surface. Since they kept hyping people up with the teaser trailers and then we had SkSw HD being released. Like yeah it will be like some glorified version of SkSw

When I was reading the interviews Nintendo uploaded a few days before TotK's release and saw Fujibayashi say ,"We put in some effort to make sure that it feels comfortable for both first-time players and those with experience of the previous game." In the back of my mind I questioned a bit this cause I mostly asked myself "isn't this a sequel?" but then I reassured myself that they'll probably would reexplain certain things about the previous game and what happened in the story for new comers. But not to this extreme

[ludinusdaleth]

i feel like the mere idea of bringing up orym & ludinus and their entwined threads of fate is taboo, but i cant stop thinking about it.

orym is a rare, nearly impossible kind of protector - a guard, somehow not attached to a corrupt, brutal system. he just wishes to protect his home, his leader. but ludinus, via otohan, attacks this peaceful place. he turns the ashari cautious & agrieved. he turns the society of air into the eye of a hurricane. orym is turned into a widow. his title as guard is marred; he failed. maybe zephrah is forever marked as a battleground & graveyard, now.

orym walks across tal'dorei & marquet, slowly healing beside his friends, protecting them as best he can. but then he learns who killed his family, and she kills his friends, too - and him, for a moment, giving him visions of his dead husband, reopening the wound. he is in the eye of a sandstorm, tinged red by the moon. he is a pilgrim no longer. his attempt to be a guard has once again been thwarted. maybe you cant have peace if you're a protector.

orym is at the center of the goddamn planet, the leylines aligning as he witnesses his leader fall at the hands of otohan, again at the center of his home's wound, and ludinus, again pulling the strings. a protector far stronger, more capable, than him, adorned in feathers, alight with divinity, falls worse. his friends are flung to the far sides of the world. he once again fails as a guard. maybe a guard is too small in the scale of this world's forces to impact the tide at all.

and so, orym nods to laudna as she rips bor'dor's life from him. he shears his hair ever more, adorns tougher armor. he makes a deal with a hag, desperate for any chance someone he cares for could maybe fucking make it out okay - even if his vastly increased sternness to keep them safe pushes all of them farther into fear of their own. he sneers with unfathomable anguish as he sees ludinus at the volcano and wastes every one of his action points to rip his soldiers apart. he uses ludinus's harness. he takes the willmaster's power. he keeps pushing into the bloodred storm. he could never be a guard right. so it is time to be a soldier. to truly protect must mean to run to the source of all of it and end it once and for all.

all of the bells have been forged by ludinus, a horseman of war, but orym takes it most viscerally. he does everything in his power to stop ludinus, but in a way the elf has already won - or perhaps, in his need for exandria to be "saved" (as he percieves his actions will do), he's failed, but the bells have still lost. because this new generation isnt at peace. they arent even heroes. they are soldiers. orym more than anyone else has accepted that is his life, his death, his fate. there is no goal of his that doesnt end at ludinus. ludinus, who just like him, lost everything in a war involving gods. who has felt the way the world keeps turning, unbothered by what destroyed his society. who uses that accursed harness to take power for a cause. who doesnt want to force someones mind to get what he needs, or kill, but does, because it is necessary. who has pushed himself to the point he is a means to an end more than a person, willing to rip himself apart because he doesnt matter, his goal does. who cant see anything but war on the horizon anymore.

when the two are mentioned together it causes folk to bristle. the idea orym could be in ludinus's shadow is seen as a suggestion that orym is evil as him. but, thats not what i intend. it is a terrible thing, watching someone's gaze harden after tragedy. once a long time ago, as the gods fought across exandria, ludinus saw his world destroyed. and so he enacted a plan to ensure that would never happen again. that they would suffer, and mortals would thrive. but his plan was a god's foot, trampling mortal society upon society. and so orym saw his world destroyed. and he knows killing ludinus is how to let it mend. as the two march forward, in a second calamity, i can think of nothing but the first scene of exu: calamity, when pelor & asmodeus fought as avalir fell below them. despite ludinus's raging, incredible hatred of the gods, the biggest tragedy of all is that mortals really are crafted in the gods' image: and he, & orym, are most representative of that endless cycle of war, of this war, a failure of the past generations, of ludinus, to ensure a "true" freedom of mortals. of peace.

willmaster edmunda was a terrible person, but i fear she was on the right track when she spat at orym "some would like to live in harmony [with Exandrians]. some... know the nature of violence, that others like you carry."

he would never have carried it if ludinus had not dropped it at his feet.

[gayforsphaghettios]

based on a certain fanart i reblogged and mention my kogha x link fic i was working {ideas and didn't write out yet} ages ago and didn't post.

my actual notes between me and my friend abou this:

What if... link has been marriage scammed before. But he didn't know it before someone claimed that they'd married him and he had to find out how to divorce them and be like "hey i don't like u like that and also im broke af amd a workaholic and v likely to die in combat so ud get literally nothing from this. U deserve better than me trust me ik myself" . He could have gotten "married" like 8-9 times over the years and is like, the go to specialist for how to propose to someone of a specific race bc he had to figure out how not to get scammed again. (Revali could have proposed to him omg.... mipha could have tried to marry him with the shirt.... the possibilities r endless....)

Possible link: I've been married like 7 times and I've never even kissed someone let alone gotten laid

Sidon: 🙏(deep inhale) link HOW

One of the regions could have the ancient greek proposal of tossing an apple at someone and link caught and ate it bc he needed the hearts but that was like fucking vows

(The real reason y the yiga r after him: a young kohga tried to marry him (sheikah live for a long time and for all we know he was a teenager back before the calamity) and didn't take their divorce well)

(I'm joking here, this is supposed to be funny and terrible but mostly funny)

His good looks have been a blessing, and a curse.

Honestly kohga definitely tried to marry Link and either got rejected because Link didn't know about the proposals or he hardcore rejected him. Or Link divorced him and kohga got incredibly pissed because Link didn't know they were even married

Kohga got unintentionally left at the alter.

Imagine if link had been into kohga but accidentally left him at the alter due to the calamity and didn't get the memo of marriage.

The yiga blade masters were his wedding entourage,

That's why all the yiga have a vendetta against Link and remember him in totk and 100yrs later. He's their boss's ex fiance.

KOGHA KNOWS LINK EVEN THOUGH HE WAS DISGUISED AS A YIGA. HE KNEW AT FIRST GLANCE.

per my reblogg with more info:

the plot was Sidon going to Link's house in hateno or vice versa link goes to the domain, but it worked better for Sidon doing it. To get married for tax benefits or because of something similar. Link agrees but "Oh yeah i need to divorce Kogha then" Pre calamity he married Kogha accidentally as i stated previously. link had accidentally done that quite a bit after he woke up from the shrine.

Link would infiltrate the Yiga hideout, again. potentially get captured only for Link to nonchalantly just say "we need to get divorced"

the other Yiga freaking out because "master kogha got married to his enemy?? The hero of Hyrule wants to divorce him?? what's going on"

now the big question; is should i write this out and would people read it?

[yanderes-galore]

I'd like to request a romantic concept for Zelda from BOTW if that's okay!

At first I was stuck on how to do this but I think I have an idea after some research! This takes place before Calamity Ganon returns.

Wrote this late at night as I could not sleep so I apologize for errors! (Nothing's wrong I just took a nap mid-way through the day and my sleep schedule broke)

Yandere! Princess Zelda (BOTW) Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Unrequited love, Fear of loss, Angst, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Abuse of power, Trauma, Minor jealousy mention, Isolation, Dubious relationship.

Zelda's story is a tragic one.

From a young age she was told her destiny.

She's meant to awaken her sealing powers to seal away the Calamity.

She's never wanted this destiny but she cannot fight it.

Despite this she occupies her time with research.

She researches how to use ancient technology to help fight Ganon, she puts together her Champions, she's even appointed Link as her night.

BOTW Zelda as a yandere has so much angst potential I've noticed.

She's shown in memories to be frustrated with herself and those around her as she's scared of failure.

She doesn't like that she can't awaken her powers.

She always fears the worst... especially with the incoming evil.

She most likely met you when she was young.

You were both friends at a young age... even before she had to commit to her destiny.

Zelda always thought of the warm moments you'd spend together and holds you in high regard.

You were someone she could run to if she didn't want to face her responsibilities.

You're always one to give her comfort, even now when she's in distress.

You supported her research and often did what you could to help.

Simply being someone Zelda can turn to, a childhood friend that manages to soothe her worries, is enough to make Zelda hold you close to her heart.

I imagine Zelda would've fallen for you a long time ago.

She's just never had time to properly tell her feelings to you.

She always drowned herself in research and prayer.

Zelda isn't a very violent yandere either.

I imagine her being a very quiet yandere for the most part.

She is observant of what you do and what others around you do.

While she is nervous to tell you how she feels due to the stress she's going through, she doesn't like the idea of letting you go either.

Zelda often has you accompany her on research trips.

She loves hearing your voice as she snaps pictures and does tests.

Occasionally Link accompanies you both for protection.

Zelda often asks how your life has been while she toils away for destiny.

She listens carefully to see if you're interested in anyone.

If she notices someone sounds too close to you, she does some planning behind your back to distance them from you.

It's selfish but she feels she wants to reserve a spot for being your girlfriend.

Even if she can't confess now.

You can almost notice the distaste in Zelda's tone when you admit you're closer "than you should be" to someone.

"Oh, I see... how nice."

Zelda is envious of anyone who is close to you.

She wants nothing more than to confess her love to you.

She wants to make wonderful memories with you... yet she has to worry about awakening her powers.

Honestly, the fear of Ganon may make Zelda's obsession worse.

As the days tick down she begins to feel like a failure.

She begins to lose hope and fears the worst.

Even more so when she thinks of you.

She wants to protect you from Ganon.

She feels if she doesn't... she could lose you forever.

Before she even gets to confess.

Honestly the fear itself may push Zelda to confront you.

You notice how she looks nervous on one of your research trips but think it's just because of her destiny.

The princess may then pull you aside and tell you how she feels.

She loves you... has for a long time.

She wanted to tell you now as she was worried she may never be able to.

You most likely may say yes to her confession.

You've known her for a long time and trust her.

It's then Zelda allows her actions to vent her worries.

It's then she allows herself to hold you and kiss you.

She feels more grounded and safe when you're in her arms.

She still worries for Ganon's return, yet she's happy she at least said something.

By this logic she should be able to awaken her divine powers now.

Yet this doesn't happen until later.

Your relationship is a bit messy due to Zelda's anxiety.

She still has to prepare to defend Hyrule... and now she feels she needs to find a way to protect you.

She hopes her powers awaken yet she also feels she should appoint someone to watch over you.

Zelda is a very protective yandere, especially due to her role.

So much could go wrong... she wants to be prepared.

When she's stressed she pulls you into private to lay in your embrace.

She keeps her feelings private from her father and focuses on you.

Now here's the angst....

You know what would really break her?

In the game we can see she found her powers due to her love for Link and did everything she could to protect him.

When Calamity Ganon awakens and your life is threatened.

Perhaps even to near death like Link.

She'd want to do the same with you.

When her plan starts failing, she never leaves your side.

She asks Link to protect you too and plans on the go.

Things go wrong when the Divine Beasts go rogue... the Guardians grow corrupted... and Hyrule begins to fall.

Her home collapses around her and all she feels she wants to do is keep you safe.

This may seem unrealistic but Zelda would want to look for a way to keep you protected after Link falls in battle.

Fi has already told her to put Link in the Shrine of Resurrection.

Maybe Fi senses the care the princess also holds for you.

It's much stronger... and intense with different motives.

Perhaps Fi tells Zelda there's a way to seal you away until Link returns?

Zelda would definitely try to convince you to allow this.

The princess promises she just wants you safe, she fears she'll lose you... so sealing you away would be the best way to do so.

Zelda understands you're scared.

But it's either this or you die.

Zelda wouldn't be able to continue on if you died.

If she let you die....

Even if you resisted Zelda would still find a way.

This isn't in canon but imagine if there was some sort of spell or other shrine Zelda could bring you to in order to seal you away.

Honestly even if you weren't together she'd still do this.

Zelda is a very soft yandere.

She'll manipulate others away from you but still cares for your safety and happiness.

She'd lock you away for your own safety no matter if you wanted it or not.

The idea of locking you in a safe space brings her comfort and a sick feeling of... ownership?

She feels happy knowing nothing can take you from her.

She'll have you locked away in safety while she holds Ganon off until Link saves Hyrule.

It brings her some sort of comfort to know you'll be untouched.

Then there's after the day is saved.

I won't go too into this as we may be getting into TOTK territory with this but...

Zelda may have some trauma after BOTW due to the past 100 years.

Her obsession may get worse once she sees you outside the shrine/spell bound area she put you in.

By this point she'll never want to leave your side again.

When Hyrule castle is rebuilt she may just lock you away again.

She felt so much more at ease at the thought of nothing coming into contact with you.

Zelda is a yandere who gets worse by trauma.

By the end of BOTW she thinks locking you up will ease her anxiety.

Locked away she can freely kiss and hold you... and you'll be safe.

After BOTW... your girlfriend has changed.

She thinks you'll be better off as a prisoner in some fancy yet comfortable room.

A pretty cage is still a cage...

But to Princess Zelda... it's a sanctuary made with love for her dearest to be kept safe.

"We've been through so much already, haven't we? I promise I'm just taking care of you like I did a century ago."