#anyways lmk what you think!

[nonbinary-arsonists]

Jimmy, Timmy, Danny, Manny, Jenny, and Dib.

With Dib being on the "bad" side in Globs of Doom, I think he'd have a hard time fitting in with the rest of them.

(Alt text under cut)

ID: Page 1 of a comic featuring Nicktoons characters. Panel 1: Dib Membrane from Invader Zim looks down at a weird device. He is wearing his usual outfit and has dumb hair. Dib says, “Hey Timmy, did you get the energy readings I sent?” Panel 2: Timmy Turner from Fairly Oddparents looks up from a phone while leaning casually on a giant green cartoon hammer in a suburban street. He is wearing a pink hoodie, scuffed jeans, and a backwards hat over a mullet. Timmy says, “Uh. No? What do you expect me to do with them?” Panel 3: Dib and Timmy talk to each other. Dib says, vaguely put off, “What? No, not you, the techie kid with the stupid hair.” Timmy points at him, saying, “Oh, you mean Jimmy!” Panel 4: Timmy looks over his shoulder at Jimmy Neutron and says, “And look who it is! None other than Mr. Chocolate soft-serve himself!” Jimmy is wearing glasses and a red turtleneck under a lab coat and holds a similarly high-tech device to Dib’s. He looks at Timmy, unimpressed, and says, “Can we stop making fun of my hair?” Timmy replies, “Nope!” Panel 5: Jimmy sighs and rubs his face, saying, “Okay, what do you need.”

ID: Page 2 of a comic. Panel 1: Timmy elbows Jimmy playfully and says, “Eh, I dunno. But get this– Dib still doesn’t know our names!” Jimmy looks at Timmy, interested. Dib angrily shouts, “Wh- it’s not my fault your names all sound alike!” Panel 2: Jimmy shrugs and looks at Timmy, saying, “Well, he does have a point.” Timmy looks unimpressed. Panel 3: A close-up of Jimmy saying, “Statistically speaking, it’s much easier for the human brain to distinguish between highly contrasting elements. (I. Brigg, 1978)” Panel 4: A zoomed-out shot of Jimmy, Timmy, and Dib in the street. Jenny Wakeman from My Life as a Teenage Robot is floating down to join them. Jimmy says, “You can’t really blame him when our names are so similar,” with his hands spread diplomatically. Timmy looks incredibly unimpressed. Dib arrogantly says, “Yeah, you all need to get better names.” Panel 5: Jenny appears next to Dib and says, “I am not changing my name.” She looks similarly to her appearance in the show, but has a ponytail and side bangs instead of twin pigtails and is wearing a contrasting maroon vest. Dib is startled and drops his device.

ID: Page 3 of a comic. Panel 1: Jenny appeals to Jimmy, saying, “Anyway, there are other ways to quickly memorize information. Like patterns!” Jimmy looks up with a hand over his mouth, thinking, and says, “Right!” The background is a red and yellow striped pattern. Panel 2: Jenny stands, confident, in front of Timmy and Dib. She says, “Plus, our names already form a recognizable pattern!” Timmy side-eyes Dib, who stares at Jenny, annoyed and confused. Panels 3-5: Jenny starts listing off the members of their group. Panel 3 shows Jimmy and Timmy, looking at each other and smiling. Jenny says, “There’s Jimmy and Timmy,” accenting the last parts of their names. Panel 4 shows Manny Rivera from El Tigre and Danny Phantom. Manny, in his El Tigre outfit, crouches on an awning in the background while Danny, in ghost form, approaches and asks, “Uh… what are we talking about?” Jenny continues, saying, “Danny and Manny,” once again stressing their names. Panel 5 features Jenny, waving a hand in the air while finishing her list, saying “-and Jenny works with that pattern too!” Panel 6: a group shot featuring all of the characters mentioned. Manny leaps down from the left. Danny stands somewhat in the foreground, looking at Jimmy. Timmy stands in the back, looking at Jimmy while thinking. Jimmy and Jenny stand in the middle, continuing their discussion. Jimmy says, “So you’re saying, if anything, Dib should change his name!” Jenny says, “Exactly!” Dib, in the foreground, objects, saying, “W- hang on-“

ID: Page 4 of a comic. Panel 1: Dib holds his hands up in protest, sweating, and says, “I just meant you should- -y’know, give me some slack w-“ Panel 2: Dib is interrupted by a mischievous Timmy, who elbows in and says, “Hey, what do you think about changing your name to Denny?” Dib looks confused. Panel 3: Manny enters from the other side, scratching his chin and grinning. He says, “I dunno, Timmy. He looks more like a Benny to me.” Panel 4: Danny butts in, holding a finger and looking down at Timmy. He says, “Cut it out you two!” Timmy and Manny look confused. Dib looks relieved. Panel 5: Danny finishes his thought, saying “Besides, this guy’s totally a Kenny.” Timmy and Manny both crack up, while Dib looks royally ticked off. He stares straight ahead and says, “That’s it! I’m going back to the syndicate!” Panel 6: A far-out shot of all 6 of the kids. Dib is storming away, angry. Jimmy and Danny follow after him, Jimmy worried and Danny apologetic. Timmy and Manny continue to laugh between themselves while Jenny stands over them and scolds them. (End.)

[mattodore]

birthday boy 🎂

[heynhay]

and there's nothing i can do, not much i can change, so i give it up to you. i hope that's okay.

[the-lonelyshepherd]

wowza. a yellowjackets animatic

[neoluca]

darbie no! that recipe is reserved for kids at least thirteen or older!

[sheepydwagondraws]

KID. BE HONEST. HAVE YOU EVER WANTED TO [Killing] ME, YOUR OLD PAL SPAMTON? DESPITE MY [Huge Deals], [Huge Stacks], AND [Huge Looks]?

AS A [Claim Your Free Gift] FOR 1,000,000 VIEWS ON OUR [Lil Old] [Webbed Site], MY BUSINESS PARTNER HAS PREPARED A [Commemorative Video Game] WHERE YOU CAN DO JUST THAT!!!!

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[skitskatdacat63]

I've decided to do myself what the cowards at Aston won't. Behold.

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[emergingghost]

julien baker live lyric changes masterpost

the many ways that julien changes her lyrics over time and seamlessly alters the lyrics and meanings of her songs to maintain a level of personal authenticity has become so fascinating to me and many others so i thought it'd be nice to do some research and compile as many as i can. enjoy! or cry! whichever!

the original lyrics are in parenthesis, changes are bolded, roughly in chronological order and i’ve added timestamped links to performances [x] where i can! i use mostly youtube because it's the most accessible. some of these seem to be permanent changes and others are just occasional, probably depending on how she's vibing with the song at the time (i'm assuming). let me know of any i’ve missed!

Rejoice: [x] [x] [x] pronoun change, does this lots! "i know there's a god and they hear either way" ("i think there's a god and he hears either way") [x] she uses the 'she' pronoun here this time! [x] she sings 'force' here and also in a version she performed pre-release "asking why did you let them leave and then force me to stay?" ("asking why did you let them leave and then make me stay?")

Good News: [x] [x] [x] these are not full lyric changes but rather some gut-wrenching repetition. side note she performs a cover of paul by big thief in the first clip here too! "it's less about you / it's all about how i ruin everything oh everything i do / everything i do / god i ruin everything oh everything / oh everything i think could be good news." ("it's less about you / it's more about how i ruin everything--- i think could be good news")

Distant Solar Systems: [x] pronoun change speaking of god, she also omits the second last verse. "I send postcards from the road and now and then she answers" ("and now and then he answers")

Turn Out the Lights: [x] [x] [x] this one hurts! a few times in late '18 and in '19 "maybe i'd do it but it's not a joke" ("i'd never do it but it's not a joke")

Sour Breath: [x] [x] another one that hurts!! "think all the liquors gonna keep me warm / burn everything down just to prove i could / leave you inside a body made of wood" ("think all the liquors gonna keep you warm / burn everything down just to prove you could / leave me inside a body made of wood") [x] audio only from 1:16 (same changes as above +) "i don't do too well when everyone's worried about me" ("i don't do too well when nobody's worried about me")

Appointments: [x] [x] [x] in lots of performances post-2018. she switches between using 'know' and 'think' occasionally “i know that i ruined this / but i think i can live with it / nothing turned out how pictured it ... i think that i failed again / but i know you’re still listening” ("i think if i ruin this / that i know i can live with it / nothing turns out like I pictured it ... i think if i fail again / then i know you’re still listening") [x] audio only - from 2:45 (same changes as above +) "i hope you're still listening" ("i know you're still listening")

Happy to Be Here: [x] tiny changes. not sure if she's done this more than once "different me would be inhabiting my body / have two cars, a garage, a dog..." ("different me would be inhabiting this body / have two cars, a garage, a job...")

Something: [x] [x] [x] [x] (she adds 'again' a lot, even since 2015) “asking aloud why you’re leaving again” (“asking aloud why you’re leaving--”) [x] (this was prior to release) "asking aloud why you're leaving again / i know you won't answer me" ("asking aloud why you're leaving --- / but the pavement won't answer me")

Red Door: [x] "beneath before you won't follow me down" ("beneath before you wont follow me there")

Shadowboxing: [x] [x audio only - from 3:09] "tell me that you love me / tell me you love me / i wanted so bad to believe you / so tell me you loved me / tell me you loved me / i wanted so bad to believe you" ) ("when you tell me you love me / tell me you loved me / i wanted so bad to believe it / so tell me you love me / tell me you loved me")

Ziptie: [x] [x] [x] [x] (side note the end of the second clip rules!!) “someone’s/somethings got my heart in a ziptie” (“someone’s got my head in a ziptie”)

Tokyo: [x] [x] [x audio only - from 1:30] in a few performances in 2022 “a seven-car pile-up of every disastrous thing that i am" (“a seven-car pile-up of every disastrous thing that i’ve been”) + also sings "accident" instead of "aftermath" in the audio clip

Relative Fiction: [x] [x] [x] [x] does this lots! "honey you're the only thing i'll wait around for" ("--you’re the only thing i’ll wait around for")

Highlight Reel: [x] [x audio only from 1:45 ] original chorus lyrics are 'you feel' but now in one chorus she sings 'to' and the other she sings 'you' "ooh it's a highlight reel / tell me how to feel" ("ooh it's a highlight reel / tell me how you feel")

Ringside: [x] [x] [x audio only from 3:50] two separate lyrics changes in these clips! "like a scratch-off ticket how i dig my nails into your skin" ("like a scratch-off ticket how you dig your nails into my skin")

(from final verse) “nobody deserves a second chance / so why do i keep getting them?” (“nobody deserves a second chance / but i keep giving them”) [x] [x] (from the second last verse) “nobody deserves a second chance / but somehow i keep fucking getting them” (“nobody deserves a second chance / but honey i keep getting them") Anti-Curse: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] she doesn't always change 'foreign characters' "writing the words to the best love song you've ever heard" ...“sounding out familiar characters” ("writing the words to the worst love song you've ever heard"...“sounding out the foreign characters”)

Favor: [x] [x] [x] [x] first change - changing to 'why?' in most live performances “why couldn’t you make me do it?” (“well you couldn’t make me do it”) [x] [x] new change from MSG in 2023! “how did you make me do it?” (“well you couldn’t make me do it”)

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

Funeral Pyre: [x] this is just a funny thing i found on my hunt. the audience accidentally corrected her grammar, theyre singing along and sing "needed so badly" instead of the original "needed so bad" and everyone took a lil' moment to laugh. Funeral Pyre: allegedly. i just read about it somewhere so have no proof!! “while i drank gasoline 'cause it's what i needed so bad” (“while you drank gasoline 'cause it's what you needed so bad”) Shadowboxing: [x] she doesn't really change any lyrics significantly but repeats the final verse for emphasis.

Good News: [x] (i think an early/demo version but i cant find any other recordings/videos of this version!) "how i fuck up everything i think could be good news" ("how i ruin everything i think could be good news") Rejoice: [x] house show performance from 2015 before official release. a few different lyrics! "ask you why did you let them leave and then force me to stay?" ("asking why did you let them leave and then make me stay?") (final verse) "i rejoice anyway / i rejoice either way" ("i rejoice i rejoice / i rejoice i rejoice") Sour Breath: [x] she added a new mini verse repeating "the harder i swim" where there are usually just instrumentals or 'oohs.' then she continued with the original final "the harder i swim the faster i sink" verse.

Sour Breath: [x] house show performance from 2015 before official release. there's an entire additional verse where the repeated 'the harder i swim the fast i sink' usually is. proceed with caution. "...too late to talk just go to sleep been up too long and you've been drinkin' all night it's almost a week and you haven't said a word been thinkin' it isn't worth the tryin' it takes to fix everything you hate about me all that you wouldn't wanna see

the harder i swim, the faster i sink and all i ever wanted was to pull you down with me was to pull you down with me don't you wanna sink with me? don't you wanna drown with me? just let me pull you down..."

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Prisoner of War (Imprisoning War)

Despite the chaos of the battle, something distinct caught Ganondorf’s attention. In a sea of red hair and brown skin paired with leather and steel, in a sea of armor and white banners, there was light gold, like the pale yellow chrysanthemums Orik had gifted to Hemisi.

Orik. Link.

Link was here.

Damn that child. He’d told him to stay away. He knew the boy hadn’t listened, but to have the audacity to fight where Ganondorf himself was…

Well, he had to admit the boy had far more gumption to him than he’d realized. It was no wonder Hemisi had fallen for him.

Ganondorf caught the attention of his commander. “Bring Link to me. Alive.”

XXX

It had been no small feat.

Link was a menace on the battlefield. The boy had gotten far better with that blasted sword, swinging it with ease, dodging and weaving around the Gerudo and monster attacks. He clearly still favored getting in close and personal, often tripping up his enemies so they’d lose their footing before he dove in for a finishing blow. There was no hesitation to it, either – the young fighter was no stranger to killing at this point.

Nevertheless, he went down when Ganondorf cut off the reinforcements that were around him, leaving him to be overwhelmed.

With their Hero captured, the enemy forces had to fall back. It seemed Link was enough of a powerhouse that they couldn’t win the fight without him – at least their general thought so.

Ganondorf waited in his tent, adrenaline fresh in his system, slowly taking his armor off as the guards dragged the boy to him. He heard their approach easily; Link was moaning, clearly hurt, and it made the Gerudo king tense up instinctively.

When they entered the tent, the women tossed the boy on the ground, and he let out a cry of pain. Ganondorf watched him a moment, eyes flicking up to his soldiers, and he dismissed them. Link shriveled into himself a little, though he didn’t seem to move his right leg, which looked misshapen.

Broken, most likely.

A part of the king felt vindicated. This is what happens when you don’t listen, he wanted to growl. But the way Link squeezed his eyes shut, tears mixing with sweat, face stained with blood and dirt…

Ganondorf sighed, kneeling down in front of him. “I told you to stay out of this, boy.”

Link grunted, breaths sharp and unsteady.

Ganondorf supposed there was little need to drive the point home. He’d said what he needed to. The lack of apology or acknowledgement was irritating, but understandable given the boy’s state.

The boy’s state. He remembered seeing the teenager laughing, throwing powders that matched every hue of light into the air during the Festival of Colors. He remembered seeing the boy smiling as he taught Hemisi traditional Sheikah dances and songs. He remembered the young man’s keen eyes glowing with wonder as he’d listened to him tell stories. He remembered the child’s desperate look for comfort, his fear and trust when he’d been so ill he could hardly breathe. He remembered the warmth in his heart when he’d taught the boy how to shave, how those expressive red eyes watched his every move, reminding him so much of Merovar’s younger years that it almost hurt.

And here now, he saw a warrior, bloodied and bruised and broken and in pain.

Ganondorf bit his tongue. Then he sighed, gently picking the boy up and laying him on the cot nearby. Link hissed in pain, jerking his entire body as his broken leg was jostled. The Gerudo didn’t bother to apologize for hurting the boy, still irate, but there was little point in arguing with the softer side that was screaming he clean the child up.

What would he do with him? He wondered as he slowly stripped the boy of his armor, removing first his belt and scarf, then his boot off his uninjured leg. He should have the boy taken back to Lagema, where he could be kept safe and out of the way. Hemisi would no doubt be thrilled.

Hemisi. He definitely wasn’t going to tell her about this until the boy was secured in the Gerudo capital. The last thing he needed was for her to get distracted. Though, perhaps she’d be even more motivated to ferociously defend the desert knowing she was protecting him as well as everyone else, rather than fighting against him. Who knew. The teenage drama that had been unfolding between the pair because of this conflict was an entirely different matter that Ganondorf did not have patience for at the moment.

Perhaps it was best Hemisi didn’t know for a good while. She would remain at her station on the edge of Hyrule territory, safe from the main conflict.

But if he wasn’t saving this boy for his daughter’s sake, then… what was he doing??

You know damn well that you’ve gotten attached too, his mind taunted him as he sighed heavily. He reached carefully for Link’s other boot, shushing him as he winced and moaned while he removed it.

Link lay trembling on the cot now, looking far too broken and beaten down for the Gerudo king’s liking. He pulled away the dark mask the boy wore, showing his young face, showing the tear tracks and the way he bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming and showing weakness.

He told himself he’d clean the boy up once he’d stripped off some more layers, reaching for his gloves next. Link needed a bath and a potion (a part of him wanted the boy to stay injured, as a lesson and a means to ensuring he didn’t escape, while another part of him screamed to heal him now, to stop his moans and cries and soothe his tears).

The right glove came off easily. The left—

Link hissed, pulling his hand away. Ganondorf gently reached for it again. “Let me look, child.”

Link glared in return, breaths coming in shaky heaves.

The Gerudo king huffed. “Of my three children, you were the gentlest and sweetest. Strange that you went to war first.”

“You started it!” Link snapped before wincing as he tried to sit up.

“I do remember your temper,” Ganondorf remarked, gently pushing him back down. “I warned you not to get involved, Link. I had you captured to protect you, and you still don’t think I’ll help you? Let me see your hand.”

“You betrayed—” Link cut himself off, lips trembling.

“Betrayed who?” Ganondorf asked, mildly annoyed. “You?”

There was silence for a long time, neither man breaking eye contact. Then Link muttered, tiredly, brokenly, “You’d said you cared. That you…”

The boy swallowed his words, doubling down on an attempt to be stoic and strong.

I put my entire operation at risk for you, idiotic child, he almost snapped, but Ganondorf didn’t voice it. He had no reason to justify himself to this boy. Instead, he said, “The Triforce is mine, Link.”

“It belongs to—”

“A foolish king!” Ganondorf interrupted. “Who throws his power away at anyone who grovels enough! Such a man is unworthy of divine power!”

“Ozen isn’t king anymore!” Link argued, sitting up again, breath growing erratic as he fought through the pain to make his point. “Zelda is the rightful ruler of Hyrule, and she’s a far better leader than you ever will be! She doesn’t put her people in peril for her own selfish desires! You ingratiated yourself to everyone so you could steal the Triforce, you never cared!”

Anger surged through him, and Ganondorf channeled it quickly, backhanding the defiant teenager. The force of the blow nearly sent the boy careening off the cot, but Link recovered quickly, glaring at him as if he hadn’t felt it despite how his lip bled.

They were getting nowhere. This boy wouldn’t listen! Ganondorf should just kill him and be done with it!

“Did your time with us mean so little to you?” he said in a low voice, surprising himself at the regret panging in his chest all of a sudden. Where had that come from? “Did Hemisi mean so little to you?”

Link’s anger melted in an instant, eyes widening, hurt evident. For a moment, Ganondorf saw the sweet, placating child he’d known, the fierce warrior fading into the background. “I… it… sh-she… she meant everything to me.”

That was a lie and he knew it. But the tears in the boy’s eyes were genuine, and Ganondorf hated how it was working on him.

“Yet you fight her people, her father,” he snapped in return.

Link’s tears vanished, replaced with a rage he hadn’t seen in the boy. “Did you expect me to lay down and let you try to destroy my country?”

“I expected loyalty if you truly loved her,” Ganondorf rebuked, voice darkening.

“You expect groveling,” Link hissed. “You expect slavery. My loyalty isn’t blind, I’m not the idiot you think I am!”

This was going nowhere and he knew it. His own temper was rising, and Link was working himself up so much his face was actually draining of color like he was about to pass out.

Idiot child, he berated the boy in his mind. And he berated himself – why had he thought it was a good idea to capture him?

It was honestly pointless denying that he’d grown attached to the boy. But it was equally pointless to see this ending well. Link was too far gone… wasn’t he?

He’d spared that boy when Link had found the Master Sword. Of all the times—if Ganondorf were to have ever killed him, it would have been then. It wasn’t as if the Gerudo king hadn’t been surprised, perhaps even horrified at the sight of it – a sword of destiny, imbued with divine power to defeat darkness, etched into the fabric of destiny and history as a beacon of hope for Hyrule against its enemies… and it was in the hands of a child Ganondorf had grown to love.

Link. It was supposed to be an anomaly. That name wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Destiny wasn’t supposed to meddle with his family.

Ganondorf gritted his teeth. Din’s warning echoed in the back of his mind, and he grew angrier for it. How dare she try to torment him like this? She, who had given him a second chance at life, who had placed him in this land after he’d nearly died at the hands of the sages, who had listened to his plea when she’d offered him an alternative, only for her to tear his family apart?

He felt his eyes widen a little at the thought of it. Since when had he started viewing Link as family, anyway? He’d known from the beginning, even from the night before the assault, that the boy would not join their fight.

Link fell back on to the pillow of the cot, whimpering a little at the sudden movement as he lost his strength. He tried to save face, scrunching his face and refusing to look the king in the eye. Ganondorf sighed, taking a step back to give them both some space.

He supposed he had presumed Link would join them when it was done. Because there wasn’t supposed to be a war. Not like this. It was supposed to be swift, decisive, quick and clean. The original plan was to take the Triforce and immediately take Hyrule with it. That would have simplified things. Ganondorf didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, and a war wasn’t going to stop him, but if it had gone the way it was supposed to, he’d already be ruling all the lands, his wife at his side, and his children would be happy.

Besides… now that war had broken out and he was seeing Link as a fierce warrior, he felt… even more admiration for the kid. The sweet Sheikah who was always so shy and quiet and acquiescing, who held a little mischief to his eye whenever Hemisi pulled him into silliness, who was always respectful, who had enough grit to prove to a culture of warriors that he could hold his own in a fight at twelve years old… he was really coming into his own. Ganondorf had to respect the boy’s determination, had to smile at how the little glimpses he’d gotten of the iron will the boy held were finally shining through. The Gerudo king had always loved a challenge, and the boy was certainly both presenting himself as one and rising up to meet the one he was facing.

Either way, he had to figure out what to do with the boy now. He’d mull it over more as he finished cleaning him up. The fewer words they said to each other, the better. He knelt down carefully, putting a hand over the boy’s chest to quietly let him know he was there.

Link’s eyes barely opened, sluggish and exhausted. Ganondorf gently pulled the hair tie out of the knots that had formed around clots in his hair, letting it fall down into the mess that it was. The boy feebly moved at the touch, sniffling. He was too tired to put up a fight anymore, as the king suspected he might be. The vulnerability that was laid bare as a result made Ganondorf’s heart ache far more than it had any right to.

“Oh, Link,” he sighed.

At the sound of his name, Link’s eyes opened entirely now, tracing around confusedly at the ceiling before settling on the king. The blood from where he’d hit him earlier had started to clot, leaving a trail of red syrupy crust from his lip to his ear. Ganondorf’s gut churned a little at the sight of it, and he was strangely on edge.

He’s not family yet, he reminded himself. He’s still fighting for the enemy.

This conflicting loyalty was growing tiring and irritating, but he still needed to follow through with the original plan. He was a man of action, not indecisive debate based on sentimentality. Looking the teenager over, he saw where he’d left off, one fingerless leather glove remaining on Link’s left hand. The boy had pulled away when he’d touched it, so it was likely hurt.

Ganondorf took the boy’s hand in his own. Whatever injury Link had, he could—

The glove slipped off Link’s trembling fingers easily, revealing a sacred mark.

The blessing of Farore was etched on his skin, like the remnants of a kiss from the goddess herself.

Ganondorf stared.

What?!

All this time, he’d been looking for the other pieces of the Triforce. All this time, he’d been waging war with little idea how he would actually obtain his goal.

And it was hidden in his child.

The goddesses truly did love to torment him, didn’t they? Or was this some sort of sign that he should bring the boy into the fold and protect him?

But Link knew. He knew what this signified, because he was trying to hide it, because the boy still tried to pull his hand away, succeeded in doing so as Ganondorf’s grip went slack.

He felt his temper rise to the forefront, and he rose with it. “You have one of the pieces?”

Link tucked his left hand into his armpit as if it could hide the evidence, eyes halfheartedly glaring behind a very thinly veiled fear.

He was afraid of him. Of course he was afraid of him. Ganondorf was his enemy.

Link had chosen that path! Ganondorf had warned him at their last confrontation, despite the obvious signs that he should kill the boy! He’d told him to stay out of the fight! And now, after ignoring such an order, he willingly kept the Triforce of Courage away from him! It was clear the boy’s loyalty was to the crown, as Ganondorf had always known it would be, and nothing would change that. He wasn’t going to swear his fealty to Hemisi or Ganondorf. He never would!

To think he was so close to achieving everything that he wanted…

Ganondorf swallowed, swallowed his temper and tried one last time.

“Give it to me,” he said as calmly as he could, reaching his hand out.

Link’s fear evaporated, replaced only with determination, eyes hardening.

Ganondorf’s patience snapped, and he threw his hand down, ramming it into the child’s broken leg. “GIVE IT TO ME!”

Link screamed. It tore into Ganondorf’s mind, shredding the red haze that clouded his vision, but his heart raced and his desire for power thrummed just as loudly.

He wasn’t giving up his plans for a boy who wasn’t even family, who purposefully chose to not join his family. He refused. He gripped the warrior’s broken leg more firmly and, with his other hand, reached for his left wrist. Link couldn’t fight him, completely overrun with agony, but despite the sacred relic staring at him and mocking him, he couldn’t access it.

“Give up the Triforce of Courage or perish!” Ganondorf threatened.

Link gasped for air before seeming to get a hold of himself. He watched Ganondorf a moment, giving the king a moment of hope, before the boy spat at him, eyes vicious.

Ganondorf grabbed the brat by the throat, raising him into the air, snarling with fury. Link struggled, left leg trying to kick, tears freely falling as he clutched desperately at the man’s grip around his neck.

Tears. Tears.

He’s crying. You’re killing him.

He was a traitor!!

He’s a child!

He was standing between Ganondorf and victory!

Hemisi won’t forgive you for killing him.

Hemisi had to learn how to handle the cruelty of the world. This boy was a traitor to her as well as him.

You love him too.

Ganondorf’s grip tightened. Link’s struggling grew weaker.

The Gerudo king let out a shaky exhale, letting his fingers relax a little, other hand reaching up to grip the boy’s tunic instead as he finally released his throat. Link rasped, a wretched, unhealthy sound, and Ganondorf felt his stomach churn, remembering when the boy had sand fever and he’d cared for him.

Look what you did.

He deserved it! The boy was an enemy!

Ganondorf grit his teeth, letting magic surge through his arm. It hardened, crystallizing around the child, leaving Link floating in an amber prison within seconds. The boy tried to cling to consciousness, hands desperately pressed against his cage, exhaustion evident, emotions raw. He leaned his head against the amber, and Ganondorf’s hand hovered over his forehead, touching cool, magical stone instead of soft, bloody skin.

He needed to calm down. He couldn’t kill Link. If nothing else, it could make the Triforce of Courage disappear entirely.

The boy’s screams still echoed in his head, despite the silence from him now. He doubted Link could make a sound through his damaged throat. His breaths came in high pitched gasps, alarming some part of his mind that told him his breathing could get worse.

Ganondorf shook his head. He couldn’t stay in here. He walked away, leaving Link’s fate to the goddess who cursed him with her grace. If the boy was still alive when he returned, cooler heads would prevail. Perhaps Ganondorf would clean him up and heal him then.

Perhaps.

XXX

Impa barely listened as the officers around her bickered.

Their loss was catastrophic in nearly every way. The majority of their battles up to this point had been skirmishes, aside from siege on the Wastelands and the Battle of Hyrule Field. It had been a back and forth between the warring factions, monster camps taking military bases, Hyrule soldiers tracking down Gerudo pockets. But this…

To attack the lands of the Mountains and Forests of peace, the seat of power for the sages and the land of the forgotten temple where the Master Sword had been rediscovered, was to attack the soul of Hyrule. Ganondorf had been very precise in this battle, and he’d brought all his power and soldiers with him. The Sage of Lightning had been killed, and—

Orik.

The chief of the Sheikah felt her heart clench at the thought of her youngest brethren in war. She’d tried, as best she could, to look after the young man ever since he’d passed his trials – he was the youngest ever to do so, and it made her worry, despite knowing that he’d earned the right and had no need to be coddled. Nevertheless, as his chief, he was her responsibility as much as anyone else.

Link had stepped up in every way possible, and had even been chosen by the goddesses to truly deserve the Hylian name his mother had given him. He’d helped Impa fight for Zelda during the coup to overthrow King Ozen. He was one of Hyrule’s best soldiers.

And now, he’d been captured.

The Hyrulian army was in a frenzy. They’d lost a sage and the Hero. They’d lost their sacred grounds, watching the sacrilege of Gerudo banners lay claim to the land after their leader had desecrated their most sacred relic.

And Link held a piece of it.

Impa’s heart thrummed in her chest. Ganondorf will kill him to claim it. If he hasn’t already.

She couldn’t just sit on this. They couldn’t limp away and lick their wounds and prepare for an entirely new battle. They had to act quickly.

But the officers were too busy panicking, bickering. She listened halfheartedly, mind buzzing and clouded at the same time, before she bit her tongue to help her focus. Their soldiers were still trying to recover, having retreated to the fortress near the Lost Woods. She’d sent word to the capital to ensure that Castle Town was fortified, as Ganondorf’s forces were closer than ever to try another assault.

They couldn’t sit on this failure. They had to retaliate.

But they needed more soldiers for a full-frontal assault. Her Sheikah warriors had been nearly cut in half due to the coup – there were still many who were injured and some who were imprisoned and had yet declared their loyalty to Zelda over Ozen. General Enos’ army had been fairly depleted form this fight. House Serenne could perhaps loan their personal militia as this was their territory, foolishly given to them by the former king. While Serenne looked out for its own agendas, this was a matter of survival. Impa vaguely heard the general speak as much, claiming to send word to them. It could take a day or two to get a response and organize a counterattack.

Impa finally interjected the inane babbling in the war tent. “We don’t have time. We don’t have time for any of this. We need to attack their camp now.”

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?” the general asked, frustrated. “We hardly have the men.”

Impa bit her lip. “Retaking the land is the ultimate goal, but it shouldn’t be our priority right now. Link holds both the Master Sword and the Triforce of Courage. Our focus should be on getting him back before they can kill him or extricate him.”

The other officers murmured worriedly, an anxious energy filling the air.

“I can gather my people to infiltrate the camp,” Impa continued. “But we’ll need a distraction.”

The general’s brow lowered heavily over his eyes. “You’re suggesting we use my troops as bait.”

Impa met his gaze, face stony. What other options did they have? There was no time to gather a larger force. “I am. But we just need to rescue the Hero. With that as our objective, we can retreat as soon as we have him.”

Hopefully too many won’t die, she implied.

General Enos sighed heavily. “Gather your forces, then. We will attack at dusk. The cover of nightfall should help. I will send someone to contact House Serenne for reinforcements in the larger assault. In the meantime, we’ll wait for word from Queen Zelda.”

Impa nodded, leaving the tent. Hang in there, Link. We’re coming.

XXX

Ganondorf had to admit, he’d definitely been finding reasons to avoid the tent. However, they were valid reasons. He had to ensure that they held this territory – he’d attacked Hyrule’s most sacred land in the hopes that it would reveal the location of the other two Triforce pieces, and it had certainly done that. But now he had to hold this land, both to potentially find the Triforce of Wisdom and to rub it into Hyrule’s face. Such a victory was hugely impactful, and it could break the enemy’s spirit entirely, especially given that its new ruler was so young and inexperienced.

But after twenty-four hours of taking tally of the casualties, making plans to fortify their stronghold, and looking at maps to see where they should investigate and attack next, he could no longer avoid visiting the makeshift prison cell he’d created.

He’d given himself time to calm down, at least, and the distractions had helped. He still wasn’t happy with Link – the boy was actively in defiance of him, refusing to give him the Triforce of Courage. He wondered if killing him would extract it, or if it would simply make it move to another location. He couldn’t risk losing the sacred relic, and…

He wasn’t ready to go that far yet. Not… not yet.

He still had to clean the boy up and heal him. Mostly. He would send him back to Lagema where Hyrule’s forces couldn’t reach him, where the boy had no chance of escaping. And perhaps he’d eventually come to his senses, but Ganondorf wasn’t really holding out hope. It was foolish to assume such a thing would happen, even if his heart ached for it.

A pity, really.

The Gerudo king’s walk back to the tent was interrupted, however, when there was a cry from one of the sentries. “Enemies spotted to the south!”

Ganondorf immediately changed directions, moving towards the guard’s post to see what she was talking about. It was a fairly large group, seemingly the remainder of the army they’d encountered yesterday. He hadn’t expected a counterattack so quickly, not after they’d retreated as they had.

“Send the beasts,” he ordered. The monsters could handle the first wave – his women were recovering as well. This would thin the enemy’s numbers first.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He had a bad feeling about this.

On the other end of the Gerudo camp, ten Sheikah snuck in through the shadows, quickly killing the guards in the area. Impa motioned silently, ordering her brethren to fan out, and they spread across the camp while the majority of its inhabitants lined the southern border.

Impa moved towards the center of the camp, figuring Link would be somewhere well guarded, but saw no structures that might indicate a prison of sorts. When she found the largest tent in a cluster, she peeked inside and gasped.

Link was there, floating in an amber magical crystal prison. His head was drooping, brow slightly furrowed in pain, shadows across his face even in the glowing light. His green tunic was stained with blood and dirt, right leg bent the wrong way, brown trousers darker than they should be, saturated with blood and heaven only knew what else. His hair was matted, colored like an artist’s palette where light gold and crimson mixed together, patches of blood clot and dirt holding clumps of hair hostage.

Goddesses.

Impa rushed forward, tracing her hands along the smooth crystal, wondering how in the world she was supposed to release him. She pulled out a knife first, whispering his name desperately as she slammed against his prison. The knife was getting her nowhere, though, and she knew she’d have to use magic to break through. Link didn’t budge, limp in midair.

Thankfully, all Sheikah knew magic, and she focused hers to her hands, pressing her palms to the amber. Although her magic was hardly ever used for brute force, she could connect it enough with the magic encasing him that it started to crack. She heard some noise outside and overhead, and she whirled around as the crystal continued to fracture, armed and ready for a fight. When no one entered the tent, she listened closer and realized it was beginning to rain.

Good. That would help cover their escape. It would make sending off the signal difficult, though.

When Impa returned her attention to the amber in the center, it was falling to pieces, chunks of crystal dissipating into the air, until she could reach in and grab the young warrior. The prison faded immediately as soon as she pulled him to her, and his full weight bore down on her. Impa drew him close, trying to support the dead weight by bringing his center of gravity to hers, but she still stumbled as she held him to her chest.

“Link,” she whispered, strained and desperate and scared for him.

The teenager groaned in reply, hissing when his right leg scraped against the ground. Impa knelt down, lowering them both to the earth so she could rearrange him a little, slinging an arm over her shoulders. He flinched and almost cried out until she slammed her palm over his mouth to muffle the sound.

“I’m getting you out of here,” she told him softly, gently, as reassuringly as she could, heart breaking for the kid. She braced herself and stood once more. Link, addled as he was, tried to put some weight on his good leg, and she was grateful for it. “You must stay quiet. Understood?”

Across camp, Ganondorf picked up his pace as he listened to battle break out in the open field. Rain started to pelt against him before it became a steady downpour, decreasing visibility. This attack was so abrupt, and it didn’t seem like they had the numbers for an assault like this. It was either utter desperation, or…

He had to move quickly.

When he reached his tent, he got as far as opening the flap to enter when he saw the empty space in the center. His heart felt it stopped a moment, cold ice filling his veins, and he snarled, drawing his swords and prowling the surrounding area as he alerted his troops. They couldn’t have gotten far.

A few rows of tents away, Impa dragged Link as best she could, her grunts of exertion covered by the torrential rain. Link had tried his best to assist, but he was mostly dead weight hanging off her. He was spending all his energy gritting his teeth and trying not to make a sound as his broken leg was scuffed along the earth and stones. Impa just needed to get somewhere they could pause and she could concentrate long enough to get them out of there. Then she could worry about sending the signal to everyone.

Ganondorf’s voice echoed across the way, disappearing in a peal of thunder. Impa froze nonetheless, swearing she heard something, heart skipping a beat. Her breath quickened, and she tried to move faster.

The Gerudo king rounded another corner, and the opposing combatants froze as their eyes met.

“Link, hold on to me,” Impa ordered breathlessly, standing her ground. Ganondorf charged, a snarl on his lips, blades at the ready. The young Sheikah moved feebly, and she repeated, more frantically, “Link, hold on to me!”

She felt him put enough weight on her with a trembling grip that she could release him and focus her energy and magic. Ganondorf was ten paces away and closing, hunger and rage in his eyes, and he moved in to strike.

Her body warmed despite the frigid rain and her adrenaline. Link moved abruptly, throwing her off for a second, and Ganondorf flinched a moment as a kunai sliced his cheek open. It didn’t quite stop his attack, but it did make him stutter a moment, surprised and confused and realizing—

Link glared at him, balefulness painted in every aspect of his face, hand still thrust outward from the toss that could have taken out an eye if he’d aimed better. The shock of the move didn’t last long, and Ganondorf was on them in an instant, massive swords held over his head as if to crush them.

Impa finally had enough energy summoned, and she and Link vanished in a heartbeat as the Gerudo’s blades sank into the earth.

His battle cry echoed in the air, absorbed in the rain like water to a sponge. Ganondorf didn’t move for a long while, and the downpour was deafening.

XXX

It was honestly a near miracle that everything had worked out as it had.

Once the signal from the Sheikah chief had been fired into the air, the remainder of her task force and the Hyrulian army retreated before being reinforced by House Serenne’s militia. Queen Zelda herself also sent more troops from Castle Town, leaving the capital’s defenses unnervingly thin, but that changed when the Hero was escorted back there to recover.

Zelda found herself wandering one of the many castle halls that had been converted into a hospital area, trying to help out as best she could. She didn’t have the time she did when she was a princess, but she still tried to assist the overworked healers. She hated to hear the moans of the dying and injured, but she’d started to grow accustomed to it.

When she didn’t see the Hero anywhere, though, she started searching other areas for him.

She eventually found him sitting on a cut down tree at the edge of the city, its base large enough to fit three Hylians. He stared off at the sunset, his back to her, posture slumped, hair a disheveled mess. She could see the tears in his clothing, and she grew worried as she moved faster to reach him.

“Link,” Zelda called gently, walking into his periphery. He didn’t bother acknowledging her at first, and so she hesitantly sat beside him. “You shouldn’t be out here. They said you were hurt pretty badly. Let me take you back to the castle, okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied quietly, glancing down at his hands. “I drank a potion. They patched me up on the way to the capital, anyway.”

To emphasize his point, he played with the empty bottle in his hands, and then gave her a halfhearted smile. His face was still bloody, exhaustion etched into every corner of his being, emphasized by the lines under his eyes. Zelda had never seen him in such a state, and it frankly left her so unsettled that for a moment, she didn’t know what to say.

“You still need to rest,” she tried to insist, not entirely used to him ignoring her.

Link said nothing for a long time, the air around them stilling. Then he said, softly, “I’m sorry you had to fight your father for the throne.”

Zelda blinked, a little caught off guard, wondering why this was being brought up. Was he going to mention how she’d cried that night?

Wait. She… she remembered seeing him with the Gerudo delegation often before the war.

“Not that he didn’t deserve it,” Link continued with a dark huff of a laugh. “He was a terrible king and a terrible man. But… I’m sorry you had to overthrow him, to…”

Her friend swallowed, face hardening, glaring into the sunset, its light reflecting fire in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated before putting the bottle down between them and patting her on the shoulder. He rose, walking to the western end of camp, his silhouette cutting into the dusk’s light, shadow growing ever longer. Zelda watched him go uncertainly, heart aching at her own confrontation and what she was beginning to assume must have happened when he’d been captured.

Link moved in silence, ignoring the world around him, until he reached the basins of water where he could wash his face. Some sanitary supplies were nearby, and he wordlessly rinsed the blood and dirt away. He paused when he grabbed a shaving foam, staring at it and the razor beside it.

The area was deserted. The Hero stood alone in the center, eyes fixed on the shaving supplies. And then he burst into tears, burying his face in his left hand, Farore’s blessing dully shining through the blood that dripped off his knuckles.

[tubbytarchia]

I was speedrunning traffic/hermit merch ideas because I really wanna be a vendor this summer so uhh would you guys buy these lol

Edit: BEANS ALSO. THE SQUISHY COTTON BEANS BUT WITH LIKE. Bdubs' or Scar's face (they have the most marketable faces idk what to tell you)

Edit again: made another post about shipping (as in, parcels)

[puppyeared]

Once upon a time

[thedeadthree]

-ˋˏ .·:·. ⊱ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐛𝐲 @pavus — day one: 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

— 𝐈𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐑 . 𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐃𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀 . 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐒. 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐒.

— 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (mutuals can opt in/out via 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 <3):

@loriane-elmuerto, @carrionsflower, @auricfog, @girliefailure, @sunsofdawn

@risingsh0t, @griffin-wood, @lilywatt, @full---ofstarlight, @grapecaseschoices

@tommyarashikage, @shadowsofrose, @shadowglens, @weisshaupts, @queennymeria

@deadrlngers, @d-esmond, @courtana, @gothimp, @wlwaerith

@unholymilf, @aezyrraeshh, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @shellibisshe, @florbelles

@celticwoman, @neonshrike, @cloudofbutterflies92, @adelaidedrubman, @carlosoliveiraa

@pinkfey, @spookyrares, @yharnams, @aceghosts, @confidentandgood

@theelderhazelnut, @leviiackrman, @ellierenae, @anoras, @lavampira

@dialdrunk, @full---ofstarlight, @imogenkol

[thetomorrowshow]

intruder

backstory of why jimmy and scott moved out of the super neighborhood in my empires superpowers au!

cw: murder (in SELF-DEFENSE) of an unnamed character, blood/violence, like a decent bit of it, injury, dissociation

~

Scott’s been missing for two days.

Scott’s been missing for two days, and Jimmy isn’t going to wait around doing nothing.

The news had come in the form of a knock on the front door, around 3pm on the first day. Jimmy doesn’t officially live at Scott’s house, but he spends a fair amount of time there, and now he pushes back from the kitchen table and heads to the front door, snapping on the mask that hangs on a hook by the entrance.

“Oh, hi, TJ!” Blossom says when he opens the door to find her on the step, flowers actively winding around in her hair. “Is Major around?”

Jimmy frowns, checks his watch. “Um, he left for work this morning, around eight? He shouldn’t be back until four, at the earliest.”

Why would Blossom be asking him this? Don’t they all have some sort of hero group chat?

“Are you sure?” Blossom’s smile drops. “Did he say he was headed somewhere else?”

“Just to work,” says Jimmy. “Why? What’s up?”

 Blossom bites her lip, the flowers in her hair wilting. “He never showed,” she says. “He isn’t responding to messages.”

That’s enough for Jimmy to shut the door and run back to the table, grabbing his cell phone. Then he returns, pulling it open again. Blossom is still there, looking a little surprised.

Jimmy pulls up his contacts, clicks on the one labeled ‘scott :) - super’ and hits call.

“You’ve reached Major, I’m probably winning a battle right now. Send me a text and I’ll get back to you when I have a moment.”

Straight to voicemail.

That can’t be good.

“Try the Mad King,” Jimmy tells her. “I’m still working until four, but keep me updated. Do you have my number?”

But Blossom never texts him any news.

And Joel tells him, that night, that Scott’s officially missing, and they’re moving Jimmy to a safehouse.

So it isn’t even 8pm when Jimmy finds himself in a small apartment downtown, the dim light of the setting sun half-illuminating the single room.

And Jimmy stays there all night, staring at his phone, as his worry crescendos over and over again, blowing out lightbulbs and spoiling food can by can.

They still haven’t found him in the morning.

Jimmy can do nothing but sit, alone, in this cheap, unused apartment of Joel’s, waiting for some message that his boyfriend has been found.

But there’s nothing, and Jimmy isn’t going to wait around doing nothing when Scott could be getting tortured right now.

Because that’s it, really. When Jimmy went missing, it was because some horrid, insane villain kidnapped him and ran experiments on him and treated him like an animal—

One of the blades on the floor fan comes off, crashing to the bottom of the fan cage.

Jimmy takes a deep breath.

He can’t continue to sit here on the ragged carpet (because there’s no furniture other than a single folding chair and a mattress) while Scott could be going through the exact same things that he had been subjected to.

Or worse, he thinks, pushing back a sickening memory.

So Jimmy packs up his little backpack that he hasn’t actually unpacked yet except to get his toothbrush, grabs the mask he’d left on the kitchen counter (which he balls up and shoves in the pocket of his jeans), and leaves, ready to find Scott.

Where does Scott usually go first?

He covers all of the city, but rarely ventures away from the most densely populated areas. Downtown is one of his favorites to frequent, as well as the pier.

Good thing Jimmy knows downtown like the back of his hand.

He catches the bus like it’s second nature, the schedule practically tattooed on the inside of his eyelids (despite the fact that he rarely rode the bus for fear of causing an accident. He learned it in case anyone ever asked him the bus schedule). He hasn’t spent much time out and about on his own, but he can get around and he’s lived with Lizzie long enough to know how to go somewhere by himself. That doesn’t mean he isn’t careful: he sits at the back of the bus with his back pressed against the window and watches everyone, careful to sort them into threat categories and keep tabs on everyone.

It’s exhausting. It always is.

It isn’t long at all before he leaves the bus at one of Scott’s favorite places—right across the way from the elementary school. Scott heads here first thing most mornings, keeping an eye on the children as they arrive at school.

The mask is scrunched uncomfortably in Jimmy’s pocket. He wishes he could put it on. He hates going out in public—not without at least a baseball cap.

It feels like everyone at this park is watching him.

Any of them could be in league with whoever took Scott. Any of them could have been one of the thugs that worked for Xornoth. Any of them could be someone he hurt in the past.

Every time someone walks past him, Jimmy automatically tenses. That woman could attack him. That man could crush his skull. That child could be a distraction. That man could grab him and pull him into an alley.

Jimmy shoves his hands in his hoodie’s pocket so that he doesn’t have to look at how they tremble. This is why he doesn’t go places alone. This is why he works from home right now.

This is why people need to not get kidnapped. Specifically the people that can help him not panic about being kidnapped.

Right, now, does he usually patrol around the school? Or just wait out front and watch the kids go in?

If he was Scott, what would he do?

Scott would probably patrol. He likes to be moving, likes to show off his skills.

So Jimmy hikes out of the park and crosses the road to the school, following the sidewalk all around the building.

On one side is an alley between some run-down apartments, and Jimmy passes through, keeping a close eye on anything out of place. Any knocked-over trash cans, any smears of dirt or dried blood on buildings, anything that could be the signs of a struggle.

He feels more and more anxious the further down he goes, swallowing back the thrumming of his power within him, the scar at the base of his skull burning.

He can’t cause an accident here. He's next to an elementary school, he can’t risk it.

Can he?

What accidents can he cause here?

Jimmy’s never really reached out with his powers before on purpose—not in a long time, not in a searching way.

But his powers can cause terrible things to happen, things as far away as inside the school, and if his power can know that there’s things that far away to ruin, then can’t he know, too?

So he reaches out into the surrounding buildings.

There are a lot of people here.

That’s the first thing he feels.

There’s hundreds of children in the school, and one of these buildings is an apartment complex, and Jimmy can’t see them or even really sense them? He just . . . knows that they’re there, in some kind of . . . sixth sense?

There are so many other things that he knows are there, but can’t verbalize. He simply knows, to an overwhelming degree, the contents of everything around and maybe there’s a reason he’s never done this before because he thinks he’s going to be sick—

“TJ!”

Jimmy flinches, hears something crash in the distance. He wheels around—this could be it this is the moment he’s kidnapped—, only to find fWhip standing at the mouth of the alley.

“Why are you out and about?” fWhip asks, moseying over, hands in his pockets. “Don’t you usually stay home from the cool parties?”

Right. He knows fWhip. Kind of. fWhip is nice, right? He helped save him.

Jimmy isn’t wearing his mask. Which is fine. It’s fine to not be wearing it, because fWhip recognized him anyways and his secret identity isn’t contingent on a mask anymore.

“Um, I’m looking for Major,” he says, head still spinning a bit. “He usually goes here every morning, and nobody saw him for his whole shift, so if he got kidnapped it was probably near—”

“Wait, Major’s missing?”

Jimmy frowns. “Yeah, did you not hear? He disappeared yesterday.”

fWhip checks over his shoulder, adjusts his goggles. “Okay. Not good. And if Major’s missing, why aren’t you in a safehouse?”

“Well, I was,” Jinmy says, looking down at his feet. How has he been caught already? He just barely left!

“But you couldn’t stick around when Major could be . . . being tortured?” guesses fWhip.

Jimmy shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah,” he says dejectedly. “But I can go back. The Mad King would—”

“Nah, don’t do that. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. Do you need help looking?”

And before Jimmy can so much as process what he’s said, fWhip is reaching up to the window in the building beside them, testing the latch and finding it open.

“Let’s check out this place,” he suggests, shoving the window open and grabbing the sill, pushing himself up and into the window in an impressive show of upper-body strength.

Jimmy blinks.

He didn’t expect to be joined in his search.

Let alone by fWhip.

“Okay, nobody’s here,” fWhip calls out the window. “You coming?”

“Is there a door?” Jimmy asks halfheartedly.

fWhip shrugs.

Jimmy sighs, grips the windowsill (a bit lower for him than it had been for fWhip), and heaves himself up, legs kicking for purchase on the wall and arms trembling under his weight.

He falls back once, arm scraping a bit against the sill, then manages to pull himself up the second time, his ribcage pressed in painfully against the windowsill, where he hangs for a moment before tipping over and landing in a heap on the other side.

“Try to roll when you come in,” fWhip advises as Jimmy picks himself up. “It’s easier. And way more cool.”

“I’ll remember that,” Jimmy grumbles, brushing the copious streaks of dust off his hoodie.

“So we’re looking at an abandoned first floor of some office building, I think,” fWhip says, flipping a switch on his goggles. “See anything?”

Jimmy looks around. It’s a fairly large space, the concrete ground scarred by the torn-up carpet (some of which still lies in an awkward heap against a wall), a single dead office chair sitting in the middle of the room. Otherwise, there’s some brightly-colored papers in a corner, and—

The front door slams open.

“TJ,” comes a suspicious and familiar voice.

The Mad King is standing in the doorway.

“Rats,” fWhip says, frowning. “Did you follow me?”

“You and Mythics are always up to no good,” Joel tells him dismissively, before turning back to Jimmy, arms crossed. “Why are you here?”

“Um . . . looking for Major?” Jimmy tries.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “With fWhip? Come on, TJ, if you were going to break house arrest it should’ve been with someone respectable.”

“Hey!”

“Come on, back to the safehouse.”

“But—”

“TJ,” Joel says firmly. “We aren’t arguing about this. I’ll keep looking for Major, yeah? You need—”

“But I, I can help!” Jimmy insists. This isn’t fair, he shouldn’t be locked up when his boyfriend could be going through the worst experiences of his life—

“Jimmy,” Joel grits out. fWhip makes a ‘yikes’ face, turns to start going through the neon papers in the corner.

“Since Major has been kidnapped, they will want to get the people he cares about the most—you,” Joel stresses. “They will want to hurt you to get him to give up whatever information they’re looking for. That’s why—”

“I know, I know, but I can defend myself,” argues Jimmy. “It’s—it’s Sc—I mean, it’s Major. I have to help. And I know—”

“You’re helping by staying safe,” says Joel. “I’m not arguing about this, okay?”

“Who would have a bake sale and then put the signs in an abandoned building?” fWhip murmurs, examining one of the said signs.

Which is stupid.

This is stupid.

How does Joel expect him to just sit there?

How can he tell Jimmy to go hide and let Scott get hurt?

But there’s no point in fighting this.

“Maybe there’s some way you can help from the apartment, okay?” Joel says placatingly, and Jimmy rolls his eyes.

“Sure. Fine, take me back, officer.”

“Don’t get an attitude with me, young man,” Joel warns, sputtering jokingly, but Jimmy’s stomach squirms just the slightest bit.

He’s not a child.

“fWhip, I’ll be back here in half an hour, okay?” Joel says. “Let me know if you find anything.”

Then he strides out the door, Jimmy reluctantly following along behind.

-

Joel finds Scott the next day.

It’s a small place, a closed mechanic shop, near the East side of the city, where this particular gang of villains decided to keep him.

Joel finds him by checking the security footage of the elementary school. He sees, in the corner of one of the cameras, a couple of neon signs hanging on the side of the building fWhip and Jimmy had broken into.

Backing it up a little bit, Joel finds the car that carried the people who hung up the signs (something they did several hours before dawn).

And when he tracks down that car, he finds Scott.

Jimmy receives the text that Scott’s been found and instantly calls Lizzie, begging her for a ride home. Lizzie agrees, and when Joel and Scott come through the front door, Jimmy is there waiting, a frozen pizza in the oven.

Jimmy drops everything, his stress releasing in a little burst of power that crashes his phone and knocks all the cushions off the sofa, hurrying toward Scott.

Scott looks absolutely exhausted. His suit is torn here and there, his hair tangled and greasy, his eyelids drooping. But he gives Jimmy a small smile and acquiesces to a gentle hug.

“Glad you’re safe,” Scott murmurs. “I was worried.”

Jimmy chuckles, pitched a little high with nerves. “You were worried? Imagine my state!”

Scott pulls away, plants a small kiss on Jimmy’s lips before tugging off his mask, mouth twisting in a grimace.

There’s a large bruise on his cheek, and a small line of them down his jaw, but he otherwise doesn’t seem to be in very bad condition. Still, Jimmy frets, hands twisting anxiously.

“Where are you hurt? Do you need to get checked out? You really should go to the hospital, just in—”

“I’m fine,” Scott cuts him off. “Just some bruises. It’s all right.”

Even so, Scott stands there patiently, as Jimmy takes in every part of him.

He seems to be telling the truth. Nothing looks broken or like it’s bleeding too badly. He’s holding himself a little gingerly, though, that could be a broken rib—

Jimmy prods at his chest and Scott steps back, hands over himself.

“It’s not broken,” Scott says, teeth gritted. “Joel already tried it. Just a deep bruise.”

“Probably the worst kidnappers I’ve ever seen,” Joel calls from the kitchen, where he’d gone after pushing past the two of them in the hall. “Didn’t even know how to torture him properly.”

Torture? “Scott, I’m so sorry—do you need anything? Should I schedule you a therapy appointment?”

Scott bursts out laughing. “Thank you, baby,” he says. “I’m fine. I promise. Just tired.”

“And an idiot,” adds Joel. “How’d you manage to get kidnapped by such an incompetent lot?”

“Their signs said homemade croissants,” Scott moans, walking into the kitchen as if nothing ever happened (though his arm is still wrapped around his ribs). “You know I love supporting small local businesses.”

“’Twas your downfall,” Joel intones, snickering. “Sorry, mate.”

Jimmy follows awkwardly, not entirely sure how to behave.

Scott’s . . . fine?

He hadn’t even considered that as an outcome. He hadn’t dared to think that Scott might return without severe injuries, without being traumatized by the torture and greatly needing help returning to the real world.

Like Jimmy had been.

He doesn’t know what he can even do.

How can he help Scott when Scott doesn’t need help?

So Jimmy just kind of hovers, near Scott, as he sits there and eats pizza and jokes a little with Joel.

Then Scott leaves to go shower, and Joel shoots Jimmy a sympathetic smile.

“He’s fine,” Joel assures him. “He may be a bit clumsy for a while—his hands were zip-tied pretty tightly together—but he’s really fine.”

It’s hard to believe him.

But Jimmy just nods and resolves to not treat Scott strangely. He’s fine, after all.

If he’s fine, then so is Jimmy.

-

That night, there’s something wrong.

Jimmy wakes up quite suddenly, the odd sixth sense that he’d probed at the other day ringing with the notice that something is off.

He doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know what’s changed in their surroundings, but he knows that it’s not quite right and he needs to be aware of it.

Jimmy blinks open his eyes, glances over to Scott to reassure himself that his partner is safely there.

And leaning over Scott, a knife gleaming in their hand and poised above Scott’s chest, is a person dressed in black.

Jimmy reacts immediately.

He dives over Scott, knocking the man’s arm just as he sinks the knife down—Scott wakes with a cry of pain, the knife carving a jagged line in his chest and up his shoulder as the man is knocked off course.

Jimmy rolls off of Scott, faces the intruder for a brief second.

The intruder spits out a curse, then barrels into Jimmy, brandishing his knife.

Jimmy moves on instinct. He grapples with the man, twists his wrist with the knife—the man slashes at him, but Jimmy twists further until his grip loosens on the hilt, and then he takes the knife.

He spent hours and days and weeks training with Xornoth in knife work and he knows exactly how to attack to injure, which spots are the most painful without being fatal. He stabs the knife into the attacker’s upper arm, then into his side when he howls and twists away, and Jimmy can’t help but show off a bit as he flips the knife to his other hand and drives it into the man’s knee.

The intruder falls to his knees, and Jimmy’s head is pounding with the adrenaline, and he can’t move his focus from taking this man out entirely because he tried to kill Scott—

Jimmy spins around to be behind the man, hands on his throat—the man grabs at his wrists, nails scrabbling against his skin—and sends a burst of power out.

Under his sweaty palms, knife still tucked between the fingers of his right hand, Jimmy feels the man’s neck break. Not just the bone: his vocal cords snap—his muscles fall loose—his throat collapses, and so does the man, falling heavily to the carpet.

Jimmy stands there, panting.

Scott wheezes in pain.

Jimmy fumbles on the bedside table, grabs Scott’s hero phone with fingers slick with blood. He presses the emergency button on the side, holds it down for a solid five seconds.

Then he drops it back on the table, opens one of the drawers to pull out Scott’s mask.

“Jimmy,” Scott gasps, sitting up, clutching his arm over the slash in his shirt. “Are—are you okay?”

Jimmy nods, then he clicks on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in low, yellow light, and surveys Scott.

There’s a sheen of sweat over Scott’s bruised face, his eyes pained and confused (and concerned, and very very worried), but Jimmy barely registers that as his eyes find the wound.

His nightshirt is soaked in blood, spreading out from the slash, and it only takes one glance at the wound for Jimmy to know that it needs a professional to take a look at it. He doesn’t know near enough about injuries to know anything other than that it looks bad.

He leans over Scott (Scott flinches back) and pulls the mask over his face, carefully holding the knife pointed away from him. His hair catches a bit in the eyeholes and Jimmy doesn’t do anything about it.

"Major?" calls a voice from below, and Jimmy spins around, knife held out, as he hears the stairs creak with running footsteps. Was there back-up? No matter. There won’t be, soon.

A pajama-clad Blossom pushes open the door from where it's half-open (Scott always closes the door when they go to bed), her hands flying to her mouth when she takes in the scene. "Oh my gosh—Major, TJ, what happened? Should I call an ambulance? I'll call one—"

"Hello? Is everything okay?"

More footsteps, then Gem appears, mask pulled over tangled hair.

"Hi, we need an ambulance—the address—"

"What happened?" Gem says, echoing Blossom's words as Blossom turns away, one hand covering the ear not pressed to her phone.

Scott pushes himself up further, grimacing. "Intruder," he manages, nodding toward the body on the floor. Gem glances at it, before her eyes fix on Jimmy.

"TJ, sit down—where are you hurt? Where do you guys keep your first aid kit?"

"It's not my blood," Jimmy says, his voice too loud in his ears. He gestures with the knife toward the motionless body, the neck appearing kind of . . . squashed. "I'm fine. Check Major."

"Shoot, the attacker," Gem mutters. "Blossom, tell them that there's two or three people that need—"

"He's dead," Jimmy interrupts. "Don't worry about him. Check Major."

Gem blinks.

Meets Jimmy's eyes.

"Okay," she says after a moment. "I'll check Major. Did you kill him?"

Jimmy swallows.

"He was attacking us," he says stiffly. "He stabbed Major. I acted in self-defense."

Gem moves around and climbs onto Jimmy's empty side of the bed, still keeping an eye on him even as she checks out Scott, pulling away his shirt and asking quiet questions (to which Scott responds, his breath shallow and words faltering).

"The ambulance should be here soon," Blossom says, moving toward the foot of the bed. "TJ, you're covered in blood—set that knife down, let me help you."

"It's not my blood," Jimmy says again. "I'm fine."

"Okay, then—"

"You help Major," Gem says, slipping off the bed and coming back over. "I'll help TJ wash up. C'mon."

Numbly, Jimmy follows her out of the room, checking over his shoulder to make sure Scott is okay. Scott waves him on with the hand that isn’t held to his chest, and Jimmy continues down the hall, into the bathroom.

"We'll have to make this quick," Gem says. "Sit down. And give me that knife."

Jimmy doesn't want to give her the knife. He pulls it back to his chest when she reaches for it, thumbs the blade protectively.

"I need the knife to give it to Major, so that when the police get here we can have a convincing story without you in it. Make sense?"

After considering, Jimmy nods. It makes sense.

And that means he needs to not be here.

He hands over the knife. "I killed him," he says. "If they ask, Major stabbed him three times. Then he fell and broke his neck."

Gem shakes her head. "Okay. Wow. Okay. You know we don't normally kill people, right? Never mind. I'll go give this to Major."

Jimmy glances in the mirror as she steps past. There's blood spattered across his face, more in splashes on his nightshirt and shorts and arms. His eyes, cold and wide, peer back at him out of his pale face.

He needs to get out of here.

Gem returns after two or three minutes, handing Jimmy a jacket (one of Scott’s, he distantly notices).

"Zip that up over the blood, rinse off your hands, and let's go," she says. "We'll head to my place. Blossom will ride with Major in the ambulance. It doesn't look too bad, so he should be okay."

Jimmy obeys, letting Gem turn on the water so he can stick his hands under the cold spray.

For a moment, he's back there—just trying to scrub the blood off his hands from his first intentional murder in the sink with the broken handle.

Then he blinks, looking down at the sink, at the red running off his hands.

"Good enough. Let's go."

-

Joel joins them in Gem's dark kitchen after about two hours, stripping off a pair of gloves. He's fully dressed in his supersuit, his hair unbrushed and his posture stooped, looking more exhausted than ever.

"Gem, you have anything caffeinated?" Joel asks, opening a cupboard.

"Yeah, there's a pot of coffee already made. Mugs are in the left cupboard."

Jimmy watches as Joel finds a mug, fills it up with coffee, and then takes a swig of it black.

"Thanks," he says, face scrunching up at the taste. Joel doesn't like black coffee. Jimmy knows that. He always adds cream and sugar.

"Major's okay," Joel informs them, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table to sit across from them.

Jimmy's been here more or less in silence for the past hour and a half, staring at the wooden table. When they'd first come in, Gem had sent him to wash his hands and arms and face better than he had before, but there's nothing they can do about his sleepclothes, so he's just been sitting here in a blood-spattered t-shirt for a while. Gem had joined him after pulling a hoodie over her pajamas and starting the coffee maker, and has since sat beside him, working on a crossword puzzle.

"Major's okay, he and Blossom are at the hospital now. The intruder was pronounced dead on site. Major identified him as one of the men who kidnapped him."

Jimmy doesn't feel anything.

No sense of satisfaction at knowing that the man truly deserved it, no fear at how close they had been to getting killed, no guilt for his actions.

Nothing.

"TJ," Joel says hesitantly, "how are you doing?"

Jimmy shrugs.

He's still covered in the blood of the man he murdered.

"They say killing is like riding a bike," Jimmy says after a long pause. "You never quite forget how to do it."

Gem sighs. Joel winces.

"Right. Well, we don't really kill people, as a general rule. It's kind of, like, against the law."

The law.

As if the law applies to heroes and villains.

Jimmy's not really sure which one he is right now.

Neither, probably. Which means the law should apply to him, even if it hasn’t stuck in the past.

"I've never really been one to follow the law," Jimmy says.

"Sure, but as a person—"

He isn't a person. If anything was to prove that fact, it would be tonight. He hadn’t thought, he’d just acted, and even now the first feeling that he can even register is the feeling of not feeling. He isn’t a person.

He's a weapon.

He's a pet.

That's the word that triggers his therapy brain.

"I'm in a bad headspace," Jimmy interrupts Joel, using words that he'd rehearsed with Nora. "I don't feel like a person right now. I might be dissociating."

"We have to talk about this," Joel insists. "We can't run away from hard conversations—"

"I promised I would never kill again," Jimmy whispers, and, ah. There’s the panic. Detached and not quite real, but panic nonetheless. "I can't escape it. I'm not—I can't. I'm a weapon, I was made to be a weapon, I—"

"Stop that right now," says Joel firmly. "You are a person, and you just saved someone from being killed. It was self-defense, not mindless."

Jimmy almost laughs, because to some extent, it was mindless. He acted entirely on instinct, following the training Xornoth had given him, whether or not it was self-defense.

He doesn't like hurting people.

He never wanted to go back to being a villain.

It's not even that he's upset about killing that specific man. Screw that man, he tried to kill his boyfriend.

He's really just afraid that now that he's killed one person, he'll keep doing it. It isn’t like anyone can stop him. Nobody can stop him, not even himself, and he wouldn’t even care if his current state has anything to say about it.

"TJ," Gem says carefully, "why did you kill that man?"

Jimmy frowns. Why? "To protect Major."

"Do you have any desire to kill people outside of defense?"

Does he?

He's never had the desire to kill.

Not even when he was getting rewarded for it. Killing was something he did to survive, to escape severe punishment, or accidentally.

And here, he killed to protect. To save his boyfriend. He didn't get any satisfaction out of it. He certainly didn't enjoy it. He doesn't want to do it again.

That cuts through the foggy panic in his mind, the fear that he might keep going, that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

"No," he says, then stronger, "no. I never want to kill. I hate it. I only do it when I have to."

Joel lets out a breath of relief. "Thank goodness. Okay, next issue. You and Major clearly aren't safe here. Do you want to try to stick it out, or should we start moving you two as soon as possible?"

Jimmy hadn't even thought about it.

Of course they aren't safe here—he hadn't been safe alone, when Scott was kidnapped and he had to be moved to the safehouse. Why did he think that things would magically change just because Scott was here? Every villain in the city knows where they live. The rest of the gang that kidnapped Scott could show up on their doorstep at any time, even more angry than before.

Anyone could show up at any time.

Jimmy doesn't feel as secure as he used to feel, surrounded by superheroes as they are.

"We'll move," Jimmy decides. "As soon as Major is back, we're moving. It just isn't safe here."

They’ll move.

Then he’ll deal with this numbness.

-

"Hey!" Jimmy calls, running into the kitchen. "No! You aren't allowed to lift anything more than ten pounds, put that down!"

Scott sighs with an over-dramatic roll of his eyes, sets the box back on the counter. "It's not that heavy. And it doesn't even hurt right now."

"Just because it doesn't hurt doesn't mean it isn't injured, Mister," Jimmy tells him. "You don't want to pull out your stitches."

"You haven't let me help at all. Pearl already handled the actual heavy stuff, let me do something."

Jimmy shakes his head and picks up the box. "That's your own fault for getting stabbed right before we moved."

"We're moving because I got stabbed," Scott points out. "It's not like any of this was planned."

"You should have thought about that before you got stabbed, then."

Scott groans, then reluctantly laughs. "I guess I should have. Can I at least drive?"

Jimmy lets out a very put-upon sigh. "I suppose, since I don't have a driver's license, you can be allowed to drive. But only if you behave yourself."

Scott giggles again. "You're adorable," he says fondly. "You know I'm the Primary Protector of the city, right? I don't think you'd be able to stop me."

"And I killed a man last week," counters Jimmy. "I don't think you want to be on my bad side."

"Oh," Scott says after a moment. "Are we joking about this now?"

Jimmy shrugs. "We're in the laugh-or-cry stage. I'm trying to laugh about it right now."

Scott looks at him. Really, truly, looks at him.

Then he laughs. Just a little bit, but still a laugh.

"I love you," he says. "I'll help you hide the body next time."

Jimmy laughs a little, too, but Scott pauses.

"There . . . isn't going to be a next time, right?" he asks uncertainly.

"Oh, absolutely not. Not unless it's entirely necessary."

Scott nods several times. "Good," he says. “Yep. Cool.”

Jimmy turns back toward the door, box in his arms, and waits until he’s out of the house to huff, shaking his head (though a smile plays on his lips).

They’re okay.

He pushes away the numb feeling that threatens to seep into his brain and thinks and remembers and knows that they’re okay.

That’s good enough for him.

[queerstudiesnatural]

Fan favourite characters I dislike poll

[thepunkmuppet]

I have spent so much time thinking about the miss holloway musical WHICH THEY HAVE ALREADY WRITTEN and I need to spill my thoughts about it

there is no point or end to this it’s just a brain fart of all the thoughts I’ve been having so enjoy I guess lmfao

“backstory”. it will be about her backstory. was she an 80’s music star who sold her mortal life for fame in a deal that backfired on her?? or was she a woman with the gift about to be hanged by the hatchet men who saved herself by making that same deal?? HOW FAR BACK DOES THIS GO IS WHAT IM ASKING WE KNOW FUCK ALL ABOUT THIS WOMAN

if it’s the former, I would love to maybe have mariah as casey (the girl with the gift in the witchwood who asked for her autograph) be an actual character who holloway maybe tries to help. also kim singing 80’s songs fuck yeah

and if it’s the latter then,,, oh wow. some heavy musical numbers, a shitload of hatchetmen / church of the starry children lore, and maybe another form of the lords in black (maybe the creepy hooded figures that we see drawn in the black book???)

also sorry EDIT I just looked at this picture again and the middle one (probably wiggly) is holding a knife. there’s no fucking way that’s not the black blade this is absolutely miss holloway guys omggggg

I would love to see this scene on stage with kim!!!! this would make 5 different forms of the LIB that we’ve seen / heard about (dolls, teens / humans, their true forms, wiggly in made in america, and whatever this is). I’m just imagining you see these black hooded figures, and then in the pro-shot you get a good look inside their hoods… and their faces are NOT human. like just imagine a massive purple eye staring out of one of those hoods, maybe even moving and blinking, a cool animatronic thing. SO CREEPY!! I also love the idea of switching up the actors again - I love jon so much as wiggly and I don’t think they would change him bc of his voice, but with the rest of them I think any actor can play a LIB which opens up so many possibilities…

I also would love to know how miss holloway met duke, and potentially even how many times they have met and then he had to forget her. considering the fact that we now have weird lore about his dad in 2005, did she know duke when he was younger?? did she help him out when he was a teenager, or help his dad?? is it a family thing, like she’s vowed to watch over the keane family or something??

duke’s dad is a big part of this tbh, because what a random insane lore / backstory drop, like WHAT? I genuinely have no idea what douglas keane sr’s murder could be about, except that it ties in to duke and to wilbur. and shows that 2005 is SO DAMN IMPORTANT

2005 was the year hannah was born, the year the portal to the black and white was created, the year wilbur cross went insane and became a disciple of the LIB, the year miss holloway took on the mantle of “miss holloway”, and (very likely) the year miss holloway and wilbur fought. so i think it’s safe to say that the musical itself will be set in 2005, which to me means macnamara and wilbur backstory alongside holloway and duke, which is very very fun

I like the idea that wilbur and macnamara were canonically together, and I really want to see pre-LIB wilbur. I also love the idea of macnamara and holloway working together or even becoming friends - despite being set a decade and a half before nightmare time, it would feel like the culmination of the two hanging plot threads / overarching arcs to me. also the idea that it was holloway who introduced macnamara to the paranormal and therefore essentially set up PEIP and doomed wiley is some juicy stuff that I would LOVE to see, especially if either macnamara or wiley lived in hatchetfield as kids and miss holloway helped them, inspiring whichever one of them to set up PEIP

ok so leading off of that I have a clear vision of a potential final scene that is driving me insane, and that’s the main reason why I patched together this post.

the final scene is the fight between miss holloway and wilbur, the one that happens in every single timeline.

and the basic idea is that we see both fights at once. there’s a song, and the stage is like black friday and spies are forever, with a level above the stage the actors can walk up to and stand on. joey and kim sing, and do their bit on the stage, but above the stage there are either doubles or a projection, mirroring the choreography. only in the pro-shot version, they would splice in joey and kim playing both pairs, which I just think would turn out looking really awesome despite being tricky to pull off live.

and yeah basically at the exact same time, one wilbur stabs holloway, and the other holloway stabs wilbur, creating a gorgeous visual representation of the newly splintered timelines.

either that or they do a trail to oregon and just do a different ending each night, and then splice them together in the pro-shot like I was saying. but I personally prefer the first one, if they’re able to pull it off and make it look good

and duke shows up just after that, having followed miss holloway throughout the story so far. and in the universe where wilbur’s dead, miss holloway makes him forget it all, hence this being the year that she takes on the new name and the fact that we know he has forgotten about her / her true past before. and then in the universe where holloway is dead, he holds her as she dies in his arms. bonus points if we get dying holloway saying “please don’t forget me” and living holloway saying “you have to forget me”. oh and just to be cruel, both dukes saying “I could never forget you” at the same time :) stew on that for a bit. yeah. fuck you I guess lol I woke up and chose violence today apparently

the idea of the two of them finding each other again after that in some timelines is just gorgeous to me, especially given the fact that NMT3 seems to suggest them finding each other AGAIN after she needs to make him forget. truly star crossed lovers they are so insane for this

in summary I guess what I’m trying to say is I think it will include miss holloway’s full backstory and then be mostly set in 2005, and centre around the opening of the black and white portal (macnamara and wilbur), miss holloway meeting duke (wilbur murdering duke’s dad, possibly something with lex and hannah if duke was already a social worker) and eventually the big fight between holloway and wilbur, ending in the audience seeing both potential endings. also obviously a reference to hannah’s birth because that seemed to be some kind of catalyst. thank you for coming to my utterly deranged ted talk goodbye