#castaway links

[snowiwyvern]

teehee another one

heres ari, the hero of the minish!

he/him, just a little guy. he manges to be shorter than his bestie fox (despite being a year or two older than them), minish magic yk. side note: he isnt really mad even if tends to look upset hes just got a chronic case of rbf :(

name origin! this ones one of my favorites. so if you have looked at all the names of the minish that arent vaati and ezlo (ex. gentari, librari, melari, etc.) they all end with ari. so ari just kinda went yoink and now here we are

he can often be found hanging out with his zelda, wandering every little crevice in hyrule, or at home with his grandpa. his grandfather is very much the hero of all heroes in his eyes. the minish feather he has is enchanted to turn him into a minish, but it doesnt turn him into a real one though. it feels very uncanny valley to actual minish when he uses it, so he ends up scaring off minish that dont know him very well

[johanvinet]

I'm happy to reveal my new tiny game: 🏝 CASTAWAY! ⚔

Reblogs much appreciated 💛 If you like what you see please Wishlist!

[khaoray]

@kdramaspace YEAR IN REVIEW 2023 | Best Picture @asiandramanet december bingo: colour

favourite dramas of 2023

[the-badger-mole]

.🌊

[kalena-henden]

Soompi be like 'So the identity of Kiho was revealed to the audience in last week's episode. Let's put it in the title of this new article.' LOL

[fwoosheye]

"True heroes doesn't only come in small packages" is factually wrong. Skyward Sword Link, who is taller than his Zelda, is an outlier and shouldn't have been counted.

(Sorry, I couldn't resist lol)

Ok so I PROMISE this is my last post on Link and Zelda height comparison, but having two popular posts about manlet Link that blew up I get notes every day like "Link is shorter in ALL the games." (Not true!! Misinformation!!) and also people complaining about the references I used. So I decided to actually put effort into finding good, side by side height comparisons. For my own sake, but also for artists who need references!

[BTW this is also solely based on in game models and not concept / promo art. Come to your own conclusion there, bc some art directly contradicts the models]

First off, pretty much all the pixel Zelda games have Link and Zelda's sprites in and around the same height, give or take. There's definitely wiggle room here for interpretation (Zelda 1 Link having one spare pixel dedicated to his hat and Zelda in Zelda 2 appearing like she's crouching) but overall it's safe to assume these Links and Zeldas are around the same height if you're staying faithful to the sprites.

Spirit Tracks, Twilight Princess and A Link Between Worlds Links are undeniably shorter than their Zeldas.

Wind Waker is kind of a weird one for me?? Tetra and Link don't have many shots of them standing together and I feel I'd have to open the game to get an accurate comparison (F to my WW copy in the attic). Originally I had stated Tetra was taller but they are actually very close. Tetra still looks taller by a tiny margin(?)

Ocarina Of Time is also difficult to pinpoint! Especially with Link's goofy ass triangle hair! Once again the margin is so slim it's hard to say, but looking at both Zelda and Sheik's models I would say Adult Link is ever so slightly taller.

Round of applause for Skyward Sword Link for being the only Link undeniably taller than his Zelda! Extremely funny that trend did not continue down the timeline.

Finally, Tears Of The Kingdom Link is not only shorter than his Zelda, but arguably has the most notable shortness in comparison to her (him and ALBW are joint contenders for that imo). Short king, manlet, little guy, etc.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 13: The Regrets Are Useless] [Series Finale]

A/N: Below are your final predictions. Let's see how you did... 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Whatsername” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Rain pours outside the cabin, mist-shrouded pine trees and still dark water, a place in southern Oregon called Lake of the Woods. The twin-sized bed with a thin foam mattress was once used by kids attending summer camp, capture the flag and s’mores, hikes and scary stories, but now the children are ghosts and the monsters are real, stumbling down streets and lurking in dark places, licking blood from what’s left of their lips.

Aemond is here but he’s also not, a castaway on an island where the world never ended, his hands in your hair as you straddle him, your hips moving tentatively, his lips and teeth at your throat, the sharp points of his canines like fangs.

“Am I doing this right?” you murmur doubtfully. “I feel like I’m definitely not doing this right…”

“Shh, you’re great, you’re incredible.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know how to do everything already, I’m sorry you have to teach me—”

“Stop,” Aemond commands, a sharp sigh through your hair. “I love this. I love you. I want to teach you things until the day I die.”

The nervous tension in your muscles unravels—peddles thrown into water, campfire smoke vanishing into indigo night—and now his hands are on your hips, steadying you, guiding you. You link your fingers around the back of his neck and try to find a cadence that isn’t uncomfortable, ungainly, effortful. You wanted to try this. You want to experience everything with him.

“Take your time,” Aemond is saying like it’s difficult for him to keep a train of thought, his eye closed, his cheeks flushed, blood-colored blooms like a dusk sky. “I’m fine down here, don’t worry about me…”

Rain drums against the windows; lightning flashes in the sky and thunder growls. From the front porch of one of the other cabins, you can hear the indistinct droning of conversations and Aegon strumming the acoustic guitar he brought from the beach house. It’s something you’ve overheard him singing before, one of his strange midcentury darlings, a song that should be too old for him to know the words to.

“All you big and burly men who roll the trucks along

Better listen, you’ll be thankful when you hear my song

You have really got it made if you’re haulin’ goods

Any place on earth but those Haynesville Woods…”

Your skin gleams with a cool sheen of sweat; there is a draft through the cabin walls that makes you shiver as you cling to Aemond. You roll your hips a certain way and he moans—suddenly, involuntarily—and you know you’ve found the right rhythm.

“It’s a stretch of road up north in Maine

That’s never ever ever seen a smile

If they’d buried all them truckers lost in them woods

There’d be a tombstone every mile

Count ‘em off, there’d be a tombstone every mile…”

Aemond is kissing you deeply, desperately, trembling hands and gasping shallow breaths. And there is not just euphoria written into the lines of his face; there is disorientation, there is wonder. He barely manages: “Alright…um…if you want me to last longer than about thirty more seconds, you should probably slow down…”

“No,” you tease, grinning as you bite at his full lips.

“When you’re loaded with potatoes and you’re headed down

You’ve got to drive the woods to get to Boston town

When it’s winter up in Maine, better check it over twice

That Haynesville road is just a ribbon of ice…”

Aemond cries out, louder than you’ve ever heard him before—you’ve never had privacy, you’ve never truly been alone—and then again, a helpless ecstatic sound, pleasure so overwhelming it almost starts to feel like pain.

“Quiet!” you whisper, giggling, touching two fingers to his mouth. “Everyone’s going to hear you.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He falls back onto the mattress and brings you with him, his arms wrapped around you, kissing your cheeks and your forehead as the two of you lie there panting and entangled, his blue eye astonished. “Okay, okay, I need a minute. I think I just burst an aneurysm.”

“I killed you?” you purr with feigned distress, basking in your conquest.

“You can kill me whenever you want. You can kill me five times a day.”

“When you’re talking to a trucker that’s been haulin’ goods

Down that stretch of road in Maine they call the Haynesville Woods

He’ll tell you that dying and going down below

Won’t be half as bad as driving on that road of ice and snow…”

Aemond stares up at the ceiling—a steep gable roof, a motionless fan—and now you can tell he’s thinking about his family again, discorporate screams, misplaced trust. Otto Hightower’s bones were found in the shower, meaning he likely died before or not long after their power failed and water would have run out in the municipal system. They were probably killed before you and Aemond ever met, distant galaxies lightyears away, remote long-dead stars. And so all the blood you paid to get to California was wasted.

“Do you ever think about the people you have saved?” you ask gently as your fingertips trace the ridge of his scar. “You stitched yourself back together. You healed Aegon’s burns. You sutured Cregan’s arm. You got me and Rio down from that transmission tower.”

“I guess I did,” Aemond says, but his voice is ambivalent, as if none of these things count. He has not found someplace safe for you yet. His job is not finished; his triumphs may only be temporary.

“Aemond…back in Pennsylvania…why did you decide to help us?”

“Luke spotted you guys, and we all talked it over. If it had just been Rio, honestly, I wouldn’t have taken the chance. A man his size, and possibly armed…could be trouble, you know? But I figured since he was traveling with a woman and you seemed to be with him by choice, he was probably okay. And then when we first met, he was so protective of you…didn’t want me touching you, didn’t leave you alone…I realized he had to be a good guy.”

“He was,” you say solemnly. I was supposed to remind him about the racks. I was supposed to warn him. But you didn’t warn Rio about what was waiting to kill him in that sand-swept grocery store in Winnemucca, just like you didn’t warn Jace about radiation or Baela about the way the rungs of the ladder that ran up the side of the grain bin were rusted and creaking, and maybe there is more than enough blame to go around.

“And then after Battle Mountain, as soon as we found the gasoline and ammo, I knew we had to go back for you. It hit me all at once. I couldn’t protect you by leaving you with Rio and Cregan. And I couldn’t let you go. I’ve never had something like this before. I didn’t know it existed. I told the others we were turning around, and Aegon said: Thank fucking God. Rhaena took off sprinting towards the car.” Then Aemond kisses you again, but tenderly this time, slowly, like you’ll have forever and there’s no need to rush. “I’m going to get you to Odessa. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”

The rain is stopping; there are still a few hours of daylight left.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Chip Skylark. Check it out,” Aegon says, grinning at you from where he’s sprawled on the wet dock and smoking a cigarette, wearing his neon green plastic sunglasses, his left leg finally freed from its bandages and on full display. You’re all wearing the same things, stolen t-shirts and shorts, sweatshirts at night when it gets cold, sneakers you can walk hundreds of miles in; but Aegon won’t give up his Sperry Bahamas. “It’s nature’s tattoo.”

You sit down beside him and admire the scar tissue, red knots and white cords, jagged terrain like a mountain range, organic highways and bridges and trails. “It’s a roadmap.”

“That’s appropriate.”

You’ve been traveling on foot for two weeks since Criston’s white Tahoe ran out of gas and was abandoned in the town of Mad River, California. Now you are only about ten miles from Odessa, close enough to reach in half a day but too far to get into town before nightfall. This time tomorrow you’ll be there, and it will either be a haven or a wasteland, and if Rio’s parents’ community in Odessa has disappeared then so has your last idea for where to go. Absentmindedly, you skate your fingerprints over the bumps and grooves of Aegon’s leg like a blind man reading braille. He shifts and clears his throat; you’ve made him uncomfortable somehow. You lift your hand away.

“I’m sorry, does that hurt?”

“Nah. I can’t really feel anything besides pressure. The nerve endings got fried.”

“Oh.” But now you don’t know what you did to upset him. Aegon doesn’t provide an explanation. Down the dock a ways towards the shore, Rhaena is reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and listening to the pink Sony Walkman formerly owned by a little girl named Ava. Inside whirls Green Day’s 2004 album American Idiot, which Aegon took from his bedroom at the beach house to add to his CD collection, a cultural archive, a gift for posterity. Cregan is teaching Daeron to fish with poles he found in one of the cabins; Helaena is bringing them worms. Aemond and Luke are gathering things dry enough to burn—books and wooden chairs from inside the cabins—and piling them up so Cregan can cook dinner once it’s caught.

“So,” Aegon says, changing the subject, scrutinizing you as he puffs on a Marlboro Gold. “Everything going okay?”

You know what he means; he must have heard Aemond earlier. “Yup.”

“Got it all figured out?”

“Sure did.”

“Great. I’m happy for you,” Aegon says, and yet there’s a twinge of melancholy he’s trying to hide. It must be hard for him; he and Daeron are the only single ones.

“We’ll find you some suitable candidates for your harem when we get to Odessa.”

He chuckles. “Oh, come on.”

“Guys, girls? Do you have a preference?”

He’s smiling wistfully down into the water, a dark rippling mirror. “I have too specific a preference, that’s the problem.”

“Yacht girls in bikinis. Golf cheerleaders.”

“There are no cheerleaders in golf, you yokel.”

“Okay, well…I’m sure you’ll be very popular with the lonely, traumatized, widowed women of the apocalypse.”

Aegon gazes morosely out over the lake. He pitches the end of his cigarette into the water, and your eyes catch briefly on the black ink of the tattoo on his forearm: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. “I don’t know. I’ve been sober for two weeks and now everything is annoyingly clear.”

“What’s bothering you?”

He waits a while before he answers, evasive. “I’ve never been good at anything.”

“Everyone feels that way sometimes. Luke thinks he’s not good at anything either.”

“But Luke’s nice. I’m a rat bastard.”

You laugh. “You’re kind of nice, Aegon.”

“Yeah right.”

“No, seriously. I like being around you. You make me feel better. You’re like…” You ponder how to word it. “I feel like I could tell you whatever and not worry about being judged for it.”

He snorts. “As if you’ve ever done anything judgeable.”

You shrug, peering out over the lake. “I abandoned my family. I stopped sending them money, I stopped calling. And when everything happened…the zombies, the world ending…I didn’t even consider going back to Kentucky to try to help them. I went west with Rio instead. And now they’re probably all dead and it’s my fault. That’s evil. I couldn’t have gotten away with that level of betrayal. I must be cursed.”

Aegon is watching you, eyebrows raised. He has never heard this before. “But your family sucked, right?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “I think it would be hard to argue they didn’t.”

“So fuck ‘em,” Aegon says simply.

You smile at him, touched, grateful. “Okay. Fuck ‘em.”

“I’m relieved my family’s gone,” Aegon confesses, something so brutal he’d never tell anyone else. “I mean…I feel kind of bad about my mom and Criston. But as long as they were alive, I’d always be the person they raised. And if I could bring someone back, it wouldn’t be any of them. I’d pick Rio.”

“I would too,” you say softly, staring down at the faint burn marks on your palms from when you were stranded on that transmission tower with him, talking him out of suicide, so adamant that both of you were going to make it to Oregon. And you were wrong.

“So if you’re cursed, Pita Chips, sign me up because I’m right there with you.”

Rhaena pulls out an earbud and says to Aegon: “I don’t get this album.”

“What?!” he exclaims.

“It’s so good!” you concur. On the shore, Cregan is spearing several gutted rainbow trout on sticks so they can be roasted over the fire. Ice is gleefully gulping down fish organs.

Aegon continues: “Whatsername! St. Jimmy! Jesus of Suburbia!”

Rhaena blinks, glancing between you and Aegon. “But neither of you grew up in the suburbs.”

“It’s not about the suburbs, Rhaena!” Aegon replies with frenetic hand gestures. “It’s about being disillusioned and angry and failed by all the adults in your life, and self-medicating, and losing love every time you get a taste of it, and wanting to burn everything down and start over. It’s about hating the world and the world hating you back.”

“Okay, sure. I still don’t get it.”

You say: “You might have had too happy a childhood.” And you and Aegon burst out laughing.

“You guys are so weird,” Rhaena says, but she’s smiling. She stands up, gives Aegon back his Walkman, and walks to the end of the dock where Cregan is cooking the rainbow trout. Aemond and Daeron are gathering up the aluminum buckets found at the campground and set outside earlier today to collect rainwater. There is one five-pound bag of trail mix left to share, and then all the food is gone. If Cregan doesn’t kill something, you won’t eat.

“We should go help them with dinner,” you tell Aegon.

He groans. “Should we really?”

“Yeah. We should.”

“Fine.” He takes your hand when you offer it and struggles to his feet. Then you inhale a lungful of the scent of roasting trout, and startlingly powerful nausea punches through your stomach, so repellant you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from retching.

There has to be something wrong with the fish. It’s never smelled like that before.

Aegon seems baffled. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Does the trout smell right to you?”

Aegon sniffs the air like a labrador. “I guess…? I barely smell anything.”

“Well you probably destroyed your nose cells with all the coke.”

“That’s discriminatory. Addiction is a disease.” But his brow is furrowed with concern. “Seriously, are you okay? You look awful. Not like that. You know what I mean.”

“I’m fine.” You don’t feel fine; but everyone down by the fire is chatting and joking around nonchalantly, and surely if there actually was something wrong they would have noticed. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, perplexed.

You hurry past the others and take refuge in the cabin you’re sharing with Aemond. Inside the trout smell isn’t so strong. You sit at the edge of the bed and suck in several deep breaths, trying to calm down, willing the confounding wave of nausea to pass.

Did I eat something bad, did I get bit by a spider or something…?

You are checking your arms and legs for little raised bitemarks when Helaena enters the cabin and shuts the door behind her. When she opens her burlap messenger bag to root around inside, you glimpse photographs she must have taken from the beach house, the frames left empty on the mantle of the fireplace. Then Helaena pulls out a pregnancy test, just one, Clearblue.

You gawk at it. “What are you doing?”

“You look sick,” Helaena says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s that.”

She is puzzled, wide innocent blue eyes. “Why not?”

“Well…I mean…that would be freakishly quick, wouldn’t it? Like…quick as in immediately. People can’t get pregnant the first time they have sex, right?”

“Huh. They really don’t have sex ed in Kentucky,” Helaena says, and leaves you alone with your pregnancy test. You don’t feel so nauseous anymore, but you sneak around the back of the cabin to take it anyway, because now you’re thinking about the possibility with a vividness you’ve never experienced before: a round blossoming belly and tiny handprints and Aemond cradling his child in his arms. And by the time you get the result, you aren’t even shocked. It feels like something that’s supposed to happen.

You and Aemond don’t have a moment alone together until after dark, sitting on the porch swing outside your cabin for first watch, everyone else asleep, Ice dozing serenely by your feet. The only sounds are the breeze through the pine trees, cool and damp, and the hoots of owls, and the chirping of crickets and cicadas.

“So guess what,” you say casually as moonbeams float rippling and fractured on the surface of the black-glass lake.

Aemond smiles drowsily, not expecting anything. “What?”

“In approximately eight months, I might be having your baby.”

At first, he doesn’t speak; he only studies the test when you hand it to him, and then looks at you like he’s not convinced you aren’t angry, like he can’t quite bring himself to believe that you’d want this with someone like him. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” you answer honestly. Maybe you should be, but you aren’t. “I’m hopeful. I feel like as soon as I realized it, everything got brighter. And now I’m thinking about the future instead of the past.” They’re not going to grow up like I did. They’re never going to think they aren’t loved. “What should we name it?”

“Not Otter.”

You laugh, trying to muffle it so you don’t wake anyone. Ice lifts her head and stares at you curiously, her shaggy grey ears straight up.

“I don’t know, I’m terrible with names,” Aemond says; and now he’s smiling again, a wide radiant smile, and you know he’s thinking about the future too. “Hope or Peace or something. Something happy. Something about starting over.”

You take his hand. “I can’t wait to start over with you.”

“Just one more day,” Aemond says.

One more day.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So what am I going to do in Odessa?” Luke asks as the eight of you—nine, if you count Ice—trek eastbound on Route 140. You are about five miles from Lake of the Woods and halfway to your destination. It’s only 80 degrees and overcast, good walking weather, although there is a looming threat of rain, occasional rogue drops and far-off rumbles of thunder. “Everyone has valuable skills except me. Chips has great aim and can build things, Daeron has his compound bow, Aemond is basically a doctor, Rhaena is learning how to shoot guns and treat injuries…”

“Aegon has skills?” Cregan jokes, casting him a good-natured grin. Aegon acts like he’s going to whack Cregan with his golf club, which he’s spinning around haphazardly. Both his Marlin .22 and acoustic guitar are slung across his back. There aren’t many bullets left, but everyone has a few.

“Aegon can navigate,” Luke says. “And probably impregnate ten women a day. Very useful during a population crisis.”

“We don’t need that in the gene pool,” Rhaena notes.

“You wrote stories in college, right?” you ask Luke.

“Screenplays, yeah,” he says hesitantly. “But I wouldn’t say I was super talented or anything.”

Aegon claps him on the shoulder “Well I’ve got good news for you, kid. A big chunk of the world’s screenwriters are probably dead now. So you’ll look so much better in comparison!”

“Thanks…?” Luke says.

“What I mean is,” you continue. “You could write books for people to read, since there aren’t really libraries or Barnes & Nobles anymore. And you could interview people to get their life stories and then record them so they aren’t lost forever. The next generation should know what the world was like before the zombies.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says as he pets Ice. “Someone has to tell them about blue raspberry Icees, right Blue Raspberry Icee?”

“Maybe,” Luke says thoughtfully, and you notice that he’s smiling a little.

Ice begins whining, and there is a rustling in the woods to the north, low-hanging branches of bigleaf maple and dogwood and Douglas fir trees being forced aside. “Zombie!” Aegon announces, pointing. Immediately, Daeron nocks an arrow and then releases it, and the figure draped in the shifting shadows of foliage drops to the ground.

“Hey Aegon,” Daeron says after a few seconds.

“Yeah?”

“That was actually a zombie, right?”

“Totally,” Aegon replies, but he doesn’t sound certain.

Aemond turns to his older brother accusingly. “How sure are you?”

“Like…50%.”

“Aegon!” Rhaena cries, petrified, and everyone rushes off the road to investigate.

Blessedly, the felled creature is long-dead, a former park ranger whose tan uniform hangs in gore-stained tatters. The nametag reads: Underwood. The arrow pierced its soft rotting skull and remains lodged there until Daeron pulls it out to be used again, giving Aegon an impatient scowl as he does.

“Close call,” Aegon tells him. “Think they would have charged you as an adult?”

“Lord almighty, that gave me a scare,” Cregan says, chuckling. Helaena spies a blackberry bush and begins picking a handful, and Cregan goes over to join her. Rhaena and Luke are telling Aegon that he needs to be more responsible and should have waited for Luke to confirm it was a zombie with his binoculars. You exchange a glance with Aegon: he rolls his eyes, you offer a smirk of commiseration. Ice is already trotting back towards Oregon Route 140.

You haven’t told anyone else that you’re pregnant yet, but eventually they’re going to notice that Aemond won’t leave your side. He sighs and asks you: “Have you had enough of this little field trip?”

“Definitely.” You head for the road. Aemond walks with you, placing you not on his left side but on his right where he can see you. You ask, smiling: “You don’t trust me to watch your blind side anymore, huh?”

“I prefer the view the way it is.”

You are only a few steps from the black artery of pavement that cuts through the Cascade-Siskiyou National Monument, a 114,000-acre preserve of wilderness that somehow—although it is 2,500 miles away—reminds you a bit of eastern Kentucky, endless emerald forests, the omnipotent shadows of mountains. And because you are on Aemond’s right side, he can look down and see something just in front of you on the earth strewn with knobby roots and pine needles and dead leaves.

“Don’t!” he shouts, snatching your forearm and yanking you backwards, and he’s never touched you like this before—so forcefully, so violently—and you stumble and almost fall, and your arm burns and aches where he grabbed you, and people are asking what’s going on, and you peer up at Aemond with confusion, fear, mistrust.

“Why…?”

And then you hear it rustling from the same place where you were standing a moment ago. The others yelp and dash out of the way as the snake escapes into the woods, a drab spotted olive green, a rattling tail, an angular skull like an arrowhead.

“Aemond?” you say, because he hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a sound. He looks down, and your gaze follows his. On his right calf, just a few inches above his ankle, are two small puncture wounds from the snake’s fangs, each dribbling a thin river of blood.

“Northern Pacific rattlesnake,” Helaena says, her voice shaking, tears welling up in her horrified eyes. “Venomous.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond has one arm draped across Cregan’s shoulders, the other over Aegon’s. He’s moving slower, or is that just your imagination? His steps are less steady, his breathing more labored. His leg is swelling, a deep blue phantom of a bruise spreading beneath his skin, so tight it looks like it might split open.

“We’re almost there,” you say; you keep saying it, because hopefully that will make it true. “We’re only a few miles from Odessa, and we’ll find people who can help us.”

“Aemond, you’re a doctor,” Luke says.

Aemond’s voice is weak, pained, hazy. “I’m not a doctor.”

“You know what I mean!” Luke yells, frantic. “How do we fix you? What can we do?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says listlessly. “There’s nothing you can do without a hospital. I’ll either get better or I won’t.”

“People in Odessa will know how to help,” you insist. “They’re outside all the time, they hike, they hunt, they fish, they’ve seen snakebites before. They must have. They’ll have treatments.”

“Aemond,” Rhaena breathes, and you turn to see there is blood running from his nostrils. You scream, and Aemond touches his fingers to his face and then watches as they come away bloody.

“Put me down,” he tells Cregan and Aegon.

“No—” you begin, but then his knees buckle and he’s on the pavement anyway, blood pouring from his nose and his lips, blood filling up his right eye. Cregan walks to the shoulder of the highway, his head in his hands. Aegon stays beside Aemond, and you’re kneeling there with him, both of you using anything you have to clean the blood from Aemond’s face: the corners of your shirts, your bare hands.

He’s covered in blood, you think. Just like Jace, Baela, Rio.

“Can’t clot,” Aemond is murmuring. “The venom causes coagulotoxicity. Internal bleeding too. I feel like…like there’s all this pressure inside…”

Rhaena is taking Aemond’s pulse like he taught her to, fingers on the underside of his wrist. “It’s really faint,” she says quietly.

You grab a plastic Gatorade bottle filled with rainwater out of your backpack and tilt it against Aemond’s crimson-stained lips. He manages to swallow some of it. “Aemond, listen to me,” you say as calmly as you can. “You’re so close. We’re almost there. I need you to hang on a little longer.”

He shakes his head, slow dizzy motions. “It doesn’t matter.”

“They might have doctors in Odessa.” This is a fantasy, but you can’t resist it.

“Even if they do, there won’t be any antivenom. And it’s too late anyway.”

“No,” you say savagely, a sob ripping through your throat. “We didn’t cross 3,000 miles so you could die here. I won’t let you. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not fair.”

“Aegon,” Aemond says, reaching for him, drained and fumbling.

Aegon catches his hand. “I’m here.”

His eye—crystalline blue corrupted with red, blood in clear water—drifts to his brother. “You have to get her to Odessa. You have to help take care of everyone.”

Aegon is weeping. “Man, it’s supposed to be you. How can I still be here if you aren’t?”

“You can do this,” Aemond says.

“I’ll try.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Aemond,” Aegon says, then crawls away on his hands and knees and collapses on the pavement, gutted, inconsolable, hemorrhaging grief instead of gore.

Everyone is crying and touching Aemond—his face, his hands—saying goodbye, accepting tasks, and they come away stained with red, and rain has begun to fall from a dark sky growling with thunder. Rhaena takes his medical kit. Helaena takes his Glock and stows it away in her messenger mag. Then Aemond looks for you, and now you are alone with him here in the middle of the highway, two golden lines on black asphalt, and with your thumbprint you whisk away the rivulet of blood that is spilling from his eye.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers as his heart fails, as his lungs fill with blood instead of air, as his pores leak rust and ruin. “Odessa will be everything we hoped for. I just won’t be there with you.”

“You can’t leave me,” you’re saying as rain patters against the road. I left my family and now my family is leaving me.

“Love,” he sighs, almost too softly to hear. “I don’t want to.”

You lie down on the pavement with him and rest your head on his chest, feel it rise and fall beneath you as the rain descends in sheets. And then Aemond exhales, deep and rattling, and he never tastes oxygen again, never speaks, never touches you. You don’t move from where you’re lying. You’re there until you’re drenched to the bones with rain and the world is a cold mist of pine trees, of wilderness, and you can never go back to any of the places you’ve been before, you can never get back the people you’ve left there.

Aegon is shaking you. “We have to keep moving,” he chokes out through tears.

You reply without looking at him. “I’m giving up now.”

“No you’re fucking not. We have to walk to Odessa.”

“Everyone’s dead in Odessa. Everyone’s dead everywhere. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to stay in a world like this.”

On the periphery of your vision, you can see Aegon glancing at the others, standing just off the highway and under the canopy of the pine trees. He seems defeated, he seems lost.

Then suddenly Aegon turns back to you. “Hey!” he screams, so loudly you jolt upright, your palms on wet pavement, rain dripping from your hair. “I’m still alive. You’re still alive. This isn’t over yet. I said I would get you to Odessa, so that’s where we’re going. Stand up. Right now.”

Aegon holds out his hand. Thunder booms, lightning strobes, and then you take it. He pulls you to your feet and hesitates, as if he didn’t think he would get this far. Then he throws his arms around you, a crushing desperate embrace, a wordless devotion, a silent vow, sobbing into the curve of your neck, tasting the copper and iron of his brother’s blood on your skin.

“We have to keep moving,” he says again, like an apology, like he understands how impossible it feels. “The storm’s getting worse. It’ll be too dark to see soon.”

“We can’t leave him alone like this.”

“That’s not Aemond anymore,” Aegon pleads. “Aemond’s gone. And he would want us to live.”

Now the others are here on the road too: Daeron, Helaena, Cregan, Rhaena, Luke, Ice whimpering and licking scarlet stains of blood off your hands. You’re all holding each other; you’re all any of you have left. Cregan carries Aemond off the pavement and on a patch of grass alongside Route 140, the seven of you cover his body with branches of pine needles and white petals from dogwood trees. Rhaena is the first person to begin walking again, heading east. One by one you follow her. The downpour is torrential; if you are attacked now, you are nearly blind. Aegon stays beside you no matter how slow your steps are. You think if he disappears, you will too; the strings that tie you to the earth will fray and unweave and your bones will turn to mist, your voice will only be the wind howling down mountainsides. You have no way of knowing how long you’ve been walking or how many miles are left. You wonder what will happen to Aemond’s child if there is nothing for you in Odessa.

The rain is stopping. Now you can hear crows, woodpeckers, formations of geese honking in a foggy sky and squirrels scrabbling up tree trunks. Falcons perch watchfully on dead power lines. Rare aisles of sunlight are breaking through dissipating clouds.

They rise up out of the verdant jungle, a tangle of Pacific ninebark and blue elderberry: four figures in green camouflage, two men and two women, all wearing tactical sunglasses and wielding assault rifles, M16s you’re fairly sure, automatic and with 20-round magazines. Daeron moves to nock an arrow and then stops when he sees you’ve put up your hands. The others follow your lead: palms empty, willingly surrendering.

It’s them, you think dazedly. The people in Odessa. They’re alive, they’re real.

“Please cooperate and hand over all your weapons,” one of the women says, fifties, muscular, alert hawkish eyes.

No one moves. Then you unholster your Beretta M9—received from the U.S. Navy almost exactly five years ago, a different lifetime, a different world—and hold it out to the woman in your open palm. And now everybody else is giving their weapons over too: Aegon and Luke’s .22s, Rhaena’s Ruger, the spare Ruger and Aemond’s Glock hidden in Helaena’s burlap messenger bag, Daeron’s compound bow, Cregan’s axe. Ice peers up at Cregan anxiously, her yellowish eyes wide, but she wags her tail when he runs one of his large, calloused hands over her rain-soaked fur.

Aegon is still clutching his golf club. One of the men stares at him, incredulous. “You can keep that, son,” he says.

The woman nods to the men. “Nick and Glen will escort you five miles up the road, and then return your weapons. We ask that you keep moving and do not turn around. We don’t want trouble, but we can defend ourselves. Don’t think you can double back tomorrow and try to loot us or anything. This is your only warning. Do you understand?”

Aegon nudges your hand with his knuckles, then taps you harder when at first you’re too shellshocked to notice. You have to explain. You have to tell them why you’re here.

“I…I…” You begin, unable to make the words leave your lips, rats from a sinking ship, plummeting bodies from a burning building. Here you stand on a precipice, and with so many other people to save. “I served in the Navy with Bryan Osorio. We left Saratoga Springs together. He told me it would be safe here.”

Now they are interested. Slowly, the woman lowers her M16. “You know the Osorios?”

“I do.” I’ve known them for half a decade.

“Could any of them identify you and verify what you’re saying?”

“His wife, Sophie. She’s blonde, and she likes elephants, and she had a baby recently.”

The woman is scanning the faces behind you. “And where’s Bryan?”

“He’s not here anymore,” you say, and now you’re sobbing again. Aegon is squeezing your shoulder, his head bowed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help him get home. I was supposed to warn him, I was supposed to stop it from biting him, but I didn’t and now he’s gone—”

“Okay, okay.” The woman motions for you to calm down, but her voice is kind. “Who are these guys? Your colleagues, your friends?”

“They’re my family.”

“You can vouch for them?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll all submit to searches for bitemarks?”

“Yes.”

The woman turns to the men she called Nick and Glen. “Take them inside, will you? Get the ID verified and then we’ll process everyone.”

“Got it,” the older man says. And then, to you and your companions: “Follow me.”

Nick and Glen lead you into the forest, the canopy of pine needles so thick the daylight turns to dusk, and you think of lightning bugs, of firelight, of drinking Guinness on the beach with Rio on Diego Garcia. There are several patrols, groups of four or five, that approach to stop you until they see Nick and Glen and wave you through. Then the trees open into a meadow of buttercups and daisies and pink fawn lilies, and beyond that an immense village, some houses decades old, others currently being constructed with logs from pine trees. There are hundreds of people tending to livestock, hanging up laundry to dry on clotheslines, digging in gardens, making candles and soap and butter. There are children playing without fear, giggling as they chase after scampering dogs, challenging each other to games of kickball and Uno.

In front of one of the houses that predates the apocalypse, brick with a screened-in porch, there is a small blonde woman standing in a garden, smiling and chatting with a middle-aged couple. The baby she carries against her chest in a blue sling has dark curly hair like Rio’s.

Sophie and the baby are here. They’ve been alive the whole time.

You rest a palm on your belly without realizing you’re doing it. “What happens now?” you ask Aegon.

“The rest of our lives.”

It is unimaginable, it is impossible, it is so full of luminous potential you feel like the light will spill out of your pores like blood, it’s an oasis, it’s a second chance, it’s an island in the vast lethal untamed blue of the Indian Ocean.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says softly, taking your hand and leading you across the field of wildflowers, kaleidoscopic blooms in the last days of summer.

[thee-horny-thicky]

Which of yours fics are your fav? Because I can say with absolute certainty that FES is mine. Savior was okay. And confessions has a lot of potential. I need to read the one with Geto / reader visit Japan and link up with Gojo.

This is so hard to answer, because each fic I write holds a piece of my heart. However, after careful deliberation, I sorted through my 43 fics and selected those I'm fondest of, in no particular order. For anyone interested, I included the links, and their bio :)

The Exchange Student Series (Suguru/Reader. Incomplete)

Take the role of a foreign exchange student who had the misfortune of catching Geto Suguru's attention.

Honey, I'm Home! (Satoru/Reader. Will be expanded)

After being trapped in the prison realm for so long, Gojo is in dire need of release. What better way to do that than paying a visit to his favorite girl?

The Sacrifice (Sukuna/Reader. Will be Expanded)

After stealing, the village priests select you to be sacrificed to an elusive forest beast to avoid his wrath.

Surprise! (SatoSugu/Reader. Complete, but I may do another chapter)

Your boyfriend of a year decided a trip to Tokyo would be the perfect anniversary present. He missed his hometown, and you always wanted to visit. However, he failed to mention that the two of you would be staying with his stunning best friend. He also failed to mention that the two of them liked to share.

Hide & Go Get It (SatoSugu/Reader. Complete)

Satoru and Suguru show you how to play hide and go get it, taking your virginity in the process

Orange Juice and Milk (Francis Mosses/Reader. Incomplete)

You're a lonely housewife, neglected by your workaholic husband, and you're 90% sure he's cheating. As your frustration builds and you grow disillusioned with your marriage, you come up with a way for some relief; Francis Mosses, the neighborhood milkman.

Oh no, he's hot! (Nanami/Reader. Complete)

After Haruta Shigemo was killed, you should've been terrified of the blond giant who set his sights on you. But instead, all you could focus on was how hot he was.

Pretty Young Thing (Gojo/Nanami/Ijichi/Reader. Complete)

Gojo forces Nanami to go to a hostess club with him and quickly becomes captivated by a particularly pretty young thing. Unfortunately, Gojo also has his sights on her. Who will she choose? You decide!

Castaway (Gyutaro/Reader. Complete)

When you become stranded in the middle of the ocean, a merman by the name of Gyutaro takes a liking to you.

Shower Time Comfort (Shoko/Reader. Complete)

After Gojo is cut down, you and Shoko seek comfort within each other.

Mr. Steal Yo' Girl (Dark!Gojo/Reader. Complete)

After beating Sukuna into submission, Gojo decided to rub salt into the wound by claiming the ‘King of Curses’ woman.

Tattoos and Tenderness (Sukuna/Reader. Complete)

While taking you to Pound Town, Sukuna evaluates his feelings for you.

Bunnies and Vices (Bunny!Izuku/Reader. Incomplete)

When you stumble across an injured green rabbit, you just thought you had a little too much to drink and took it home with you. But when the rabbit remains green, you realize you might’ve bit off more than you could chew. And when the rabbit turned into a man, you knew that you were way in over your head.

But, hey, at least he’s cute.

A Little Demonstration (Lucifer Morningstar/Reader. Will be Expanded)

When you ask Lucifer how he exactly took both of Adam's wives, he decides to give you a little demonstration

Blood and Breeding (Doppelganger!Francis Mosses/Reader. Complete, but it may be expanded)

When a Francis appears covered in 'scarlet milk,' you're unsure if you should be scared or horny. He makes that choice for you.

Update Edging (Nanami/Reader. Complete)

While his computer updates, Nanami calls you into his office for a little fun.

[felassan]

The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard - more preview pages, under a cut due to spoilers. Preview pages come from Amazon.

( Other batches of preview pages, spoiler warning for links:

[Foreword]

Google Books pages [Part One]

Google Books pages [Part Two] )

Antiva We wanted the city of assassins to be opulent, seductive, and theatrical. The tongue-in-cheek design concept was 24/7 Batman opera: dark roofs to perch on, rich interiors with daggers behind every curtain. Antivan designs worked best in high contrast with rich colors. It increased the overall drama. We made the rooftops the domain of the Crows. Above the city they move freely, striking bold silhouettes for the population to thrill at. Some parts of the city have sunk deeper into the sea.

Antivan Crow Costumes The Antivan Crows are murderers, yes, but they are wealthy, flashy, stylish, sophisticated murderers. They are not a goon squad killing innocent, helpless people. They are what Antiva has instead of an army to (for a price) protect the nation from threats both foreign and domestic. While outsiders may see them as swords for hire with delusions of grandeur, the Crows are a celebrated and integral part of Antivan culture. This is you working alongside Antonio Banderas in Desperado, not Steve Buscemi in Fargo. They may not be nice, and it is totally reasonable for a player to be opposed to working with assassins, but this specific group is not intended to be uniformly grim. Crows aren’t shy about displaying their wealth. [Center] Originally designed as a seasonal Halloween costume, this Crow was too good not to build. Costume design for a faction that’s all about theatricality gave us a chance to go big.

There are still a lot of different archetypes within each faction.   For the Crows, they can range from ominous to bombastic. It was fun to explore the range of Crows, from the elegant to the scoundrels. We briefly explored giving Crows functional grappling hooks. While the Crows were mostly about leather and silver, we still wanted to have some heavy armor in their lineup.

Furniture tells you a lot about a region. In the case of the Deep Roads, we went for as many single-cut stones as possible. Paragon sculptures celebrate prominent figures in every profession. [top right] A tongue-in-cheek design for a dwarven mining suit. Bas-reliefs, sculptures and signs all speak about what life was like in the Deep Roads before they were abandoned.

[top center] A mobile crucible. [center left] Crane powered by a walking wheel. [center right] A walking wheel-powered pile driver. [center bottom] Industrial-level blacksmithing equipment, including a trip hammer, a grinding stone, and bellows. [bottom right] An industrial-grade blast furnace where tons of metal are smelted and poured out into giant molds.

Rivain Castaways making new lives. The majority are human, descended from Tevinters and their longstanding trading partners. There are ethnicities here who don’t seem to match the currently documented list of nations, hinting at shores not visited in living memory, and there are also Qunari. Some fleeing the Qun. Some not fleeing, but reinterpreting. There is a sizable Qunari community, and it is finding converts and alarming both Tevinter and the Qunari triumvirate. Rivain is a mix of outcast people making something new. Life beneath Rivain is just as varied. Banners of conquerors over buildings touched by many cultures, smuggler tunnels, Tevinter public works, the bones of conquered cities and even deeper infrastructure, elven ruins, deep roads, and deeper roads. Rivain was a great palate cleanser between dense urban regions, midnight swamps, and vast caverns. It may be beautiful, but it’s no less dangerous to navigate. From the earliest sketches, we wanted a land of tropical colors, infested with dragons.

Arlathan Forest Arlathan Forest, once the seat of power for the ancient elven empire, is now a realm where magic runs wild and twists reality itself into new and terrifying shapes. Artifacts from that long-ago time have begun to activate. Infused with the powerful magic that saturates the very ground in the forest, they have made what was already a dangerous place far stranger and more deadly. [right] [there is one more caption in this image that I cannot make out the text of]

[snowiwyvern]

yeah so remember my guys i mentioned

heres one

pixie (pix for short)!! the hero of hyrule my beloved (loz & taol)

he uses he/him, hes a bit quiet and a free spirit. he usually just has that blank expression (it does change, but very minimally) and is generally off putting. hes spoken about as if hes a cryptid that randomly shows up. he can usually be found running around just killing monsters

so name origin. i had a lot of fun figuring out names for these guys, just generally. so pixies, according to wikipedia and britannica, in the modern age are wingless and typically wear green (theres obviously a lot of different versions though). he reflects those two traits, and pixies are commonly associated with fairies, the hero of hyrule turns into a fairy yk yk.

he lived in caves for a while, and as soon as he went to go be a hero he spent too much time in the sun had freckle genes and got freckles 😔 he really hasnt got much of a change in like magic and stuff from the games, its just all gold and glowy cuz i think it looks cool. his eyes glow gold when he uses his magic. plus his blood is gold, a side effect from his magic use. just alot of gold

i love his color palette btw green brown and gold is a banger

if you recognize the first frame of this ^ thats cuz it used to be my old pfp

his sword and shield are well, magical, so they can be summoned with a bit of magic which is why he doesnt carry them on him

buh bye

[piosplayhouse]

EVERY PIKMIN 4 CASTAWAY'S CANON DOGSONA

Link to the rescue corps

After hours of research, I've compiled a definitive chart of what every dog every single Pikmin 4 NPC's name references. This time, I also added their original Japanese names in comparison to their English localized ones, as some of the breeds aren't entirely clear in the latter. I cross-referenced Pikipedia and Yuatoa Game Labo to formulate the best guesses between the two languages, so I hope this satisfies curious onlookers!

Special conundrum: Wolfgang.

So you would think Wolfgang would be an easy character to do this for, right. Obviously the wolf's in there, that's it, right? Except it's not because his name in Japanese isn't anything close to Wolfgang. It's Airu. As in Ireland. So all leads in Japanese led to Irish dogs, but all leads in English led to wolves and wolfdogs. And I have no idea why this translation discrepancy is so ridiculously gigantic that it blows all the rest of the names I was having issues with out of the water.

But I came to the conclusion that obviously the translation team would have the knowledge, they would choose something that still references the original concept especially on a theme as universal as dogs, so with that idea I came to this 3am guess: he's an Irish wolfhound.

Probably no one cares about this character, and I don't either. But this is my informed speculation conspiracy corkboard theory on his dogsona. Please leave your thoughts below and let me know how you feel about the doggy dog world of Pikmin 4.

[sharpedgedfool]

Sonic's gang, lore under the cut!

Knux is the Captain, his normal crew consists of Tails, Amy and Sonic. Stick's is a bit feral, she's a castaway they rescue but she refuses to go on land again so she ends up part of the crew.

Knuckles has a link to the water, Echidna are linked to Chaos so he can steer a ship through rough storms better than anyone. He's not looking for riches, he's trying to steal back Echidna artefacts that have been pillaged by other pirates. He's one of the only Echidna above water, but still dawns a ton of his clan's garb to keep them close to him. Because their crew operates differently from most pirates, they've got a good reputation across the world, often seen as a sign of good luck when they dock at a harbour as they treat the locals nicely, they've helped defend fishing boats caught off guard by other pirates more than once (they're friends with Big because of this).

Tails is their cartographer, and handles most of the repairs (be it the ship or any of their gear) and he built Sonic's prosthetic. Tails' had been captured by other pirates and was rescued by Knuckles' crew, and by the time they brought him to shore he was asking to stay with them - he'd no family waiting for him at home so they took him in.

Amy's a powerhouse - she's good with talking to people and just as good swinging an axe that has most people running at the sight of, she's Knux's first mate. She's got a temper, but is a huge romantic, she says the only reason she's a pirate is so her love story has some drama in it, she used to travel on land a lot and knows a ton of stories. She picked up tarot cards at some point and often does a reading every night - she's managed to warn Knux of storms before even the seas tell him.

Sonic's mostly just on lookout, he's usually hanging around (napping) above the sails - as far away from the water as possible. Knux always threatens to toss him overboard for not doing enough around the ship but he has a suspicion that Sonic grants the ship a boon for strong winds that always seem to be in their favour. He used to have shaky legs, but he's gotten used to water over the years and can put up a fierce fight - though he swears he's better on land.

The Chaotix is Knux's old crew, they all used to work on the same ship. They've since split to do freelance detective work but they remain close allies to Knux's crew. Vector has his own ship (albeit a small one), Espio and Charmy help him out on the water whilst Ray and Mighty work on shore as an informant.

Vanilla and Cream run a market stall they often frequent, Amy's good friends with them so they have special packages ready for them to pick up in the middle of the night without fuss, they also have two Chao they're keeping safe with them - Chao aren't widely known as they typically stay underwater but Knux has told them how to care for them properly.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

hii! it’s me yet again. just resending the link. thank you!! 😊

https://www.tumblr.com/little-miss-dilf-lover/740301214616616960/hi-how-are-you-ive-been-reading-your-fics-for-a

hii angel!! really loved writing this!! link - but will summarise to save the search. thanks for requesting, hope like it💌 not back yet, this was in my drafts

MISSED CALLS.

tangerine x fem!reader

summary. tangerine doesn’t answer your calls when he’s away on work. one night you think you hear a someone breaking in

word count. 968

warnings. angst!! little bit of hitting (reader hitting tan) hurt comfort bc it heals my heart and wound cleaning

The severity and extreme conditions of Tangerine's job often left you feeling vulnerable - alone hundreds of miles away as you wallow in worry. Castaway with no way of keeping tabs on him, no way of confirming whether he was dead or alive. 

This particular mission had you in all sorts of perpetual grief - in an everlasting spiral of dread as you await his calls. For the last week, you eagerly lingered by the phone, waiting for him to give you updates - anything to let you know he was okay. But you never once received a call - not even a quick, measly text.

It was late, the evening dark and quiet as you set up in the kitchen, wanting to distract yourself from the fear of him being gone by making a hearty dish - cooking your favourite meal to ease the ache in your heart.

Pulling out the ingredients from the fridge, you place them on the counter beside the board and knife, setting everything down on the surface. You pause, stopping still as you hear the sound of faint scuffling from behind the front door - the noise of heavy footsteps.

You grab the large knife from the chopping block, clutching it tightly in your fist as you back away from the window, shrinking in on yourself to minimise being seen. Without a second to think otherwise, you find yourself following the sound, territorial footsteps leading the way.

Standing beside the grand wood door, clasping the chef's knife with the blade pointing down - holding it in the angle Tangerine taught you. Stilling your erratic breath, you pause, hearing a familiar groan from behind the oak.

The jingling of keys confirms your theory, and you yank the door open, the immediate feeling of relief easing your shoulders when you see him on the other side.

"Oh my god," you gasp, dropping the knife to the floor - pulling him in for a hug. "Oh my god," you repeat, shock evident in your breathy tone.

Tangerine drops his duffle bag, gripping you tighter, hands clasping around your mid back - holding you like he didn't want to let go. "I'm so sorry," he mutters, his words full of sorrow. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, clutching you in a tight embrace.

"Why didn't you call? I was so worried," you whisper, squeezing him, relishing the feeling of his upper body. "You didn't even text... nothing," your tone subtly changes, the juxtaposing emotion of anger slowly creeping in. "You didn't text."

You back your head away from its spot in his neck, pulling away. "A whole week— nothing. How could you do that?" you remark, tone growing pointed.

"I know, love. I know—" he starts, his words soft and heartfelt though you were in no mood to hear it this second.

"That's so fucked up," you retort, trying to pull away from his tight hold. "So selfish," pushing and hitting at his chest, attempting to free yourself. "Let go— you're so selfish. You— how could you do—" you continue, words breaking when he doesn't release you - his hold still firm around you even with your hitting. "A whole week."

"Darlin'," he coos, pulling you back in. "I know," he adds, words faint as he mutters them into your forehead - clear regret in his voice.

He slips his hands from their hold on your back, moving to the sides of your face, cupping your cheeks as if to calm you - ground you. Making you look him in the eye, and only then do you really see his face, finally taking note of the cuts and scrapes and bruises marking his skin. 

"You're hurt," you mumble, teary eyes darting over his face.

He hums, pressing a kiss into your forehead. "Bit of'a bosh," he weakly smiles, trying to lighten the mood.

You give him that all-too-knowing look, a faint grin lining your lips as you slip from his hold, weaving your hand into his. Leading him into the kitchen, you guide Tangerine to the table, making him sit. 

You rummage the cupboard under the sink, collecting the medical kit and a glass of water - setting it all down on the table before washing your hands. You pull out a chair beside him, dragging it closer to take a seat.

You tear open an antiseptic wipe and carefully dap it around the gash above his eyebrow, cleaning the bloody skin. "Lucky it doesn't need stitches," you murmur, eyes focused on the wound.

Tangerine doesn't respond, not even a hum - appearing as though he was preoccupied, just intently gazing at you as you mend him. 

You part focus from his eyebrow and sift through the first-aid box. "I'm sorry for hitting you," you whisper, keeping your gaze down. "That was..." you raggedly exhale as you squeeze antibacterial cream onto your index, reaching to smear it on his skin. "That was stupid of me— shouldn't have done it," you shake your head, brushing off the thought.

His head cocks to the side in disapproval. "Don't say that," he softly scolds, his tone still warm and loving. "You don't need to be sorry... for anything."

You slump back into your seat, finally looking Tangerine in the eyes - finally meeting his gaze. "I thought you were dead," you admit, fidgeting with your fingers.

He notices your uneasy hands and places his over yours - large palms engulfing yours, the sentiment immediately comforting you. "I'm okay, darlin', I promise," he says softly, squeezing your hands. "I ain't ever gonna let that happen, okay? Ya'hear me? I will never let that happen."

"But what if when—" 

"No," he cuts you off, his single word firm and gentle. "I will never put you through that."

[andrevasims]

Okay it actually took a little bit of searching to find enough defaults to make every pine tree in the game a season/snow-friendly version, so for my future self's convenience here's the list of links:

• Snow-enabled BV & AL pines (the BV one is only for small pines; see link below for BV big pines; also compatible with other defaults)

• Snow-enabled BV pines default (the big pines)

• Season-friendly Castaway Stories pine trees as BG default (single trees only; see link below for the clustered/grouped trees)

• Season-friendly Castaway Stories pine trees as BG "pine forest"

[goofy-clan]

⭐️PINNED POST⭐️

WELCOME TO GOOFY CLAN!!

“you’re traveling through the woods, it’s calm. It’s quiet. And then it’s not. A bunch of cats are just- doing Non-cat things. It’s strange, and nothing seems serious. The “lore” isn’t working. A small cat with odd eyes asks if you want to come over and have fun! Do you wish to join…?”

Fanart by- @shaded-or-shades

Hey! Click more for important info and links to comics below!

-----------------------------------

Welcome to the blog!

You can call me ‘Legume’. I’m the writer and artist for this blog!

This series is mainly meme filled and goofy. It’s a kind of way for me to relax and just let loose with art. So let me explain the universe!

…

…

…

Anything and everything happens. That’s all.

Want to read? Start here! —> Beginning

-----------------------------------

INSPIRATIONS!

This series has been inspired BY-

@circus-clangen , @dawn-clan , @moons-of-dewclan , @echoes-in-echoclan , @castaway-clan , @fallenclan , and @juniper-clan !!

The entire thing wouldn’t be possible without viewers like you @officialclangen !!

** PLEASE GO CHECK THESE GUYS OUT!!**

-----------------------------------

MINI INFO!

* Each eyes represent a Goofyclan member. Regular eyes represent outsiders or “Normal” cats. Kits born from founders sometimes inherit this

* goofyclan cats have more simplistic designs, whereas other clans/Outsiders have detailed

* Starclan probably hates them

* MoonMoon is technically our Protag

* Rombus eyes/Stars are for starclan cat only.

* Most ciphers I use for clues are Atbash, Ceaser, Morse, and Pigpen!

* Most cats can stand on their hind legs, for comedy reasons of course.

* Memes are refrenced everywhere

* the crater brings life to all

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ASK RULES:

🌀 No weird/NSFW asks. This is a cat game, be sensible.

🌀 Sometimes asks move plot along, so don’t be afraid to interact!

🌀 If you want to ask, ask as much as you want! It may take a while for me to get to it though-

🌀 NO Magic asks/Self insert stuff

🌀 You can asks kits, but they ain’t gonna say much.

🌀 If you wanna ask me directly, Use “Legume” so I don’t mix asks up!

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Tags will be: #Goofyasks , #ComicPages , #Doodles , #Asks4Me , #Fanart

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AND that’s all! Happy reading!

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Don’t eat yellow snow

[asherlockstudy]

The plot hole of Wonderhole (E1)

Introduction

The Plot Hole

The Flight

The Simulation

The Desert Island

Introduction

I finally found the opportunity to start my ANALysis of Wonderhole (Rhett & Link Wonderhole compatible joke). If you have read previous posts I have made about their scripted content or even candid conversations they have had, my main object is to examine whether this new content belongs to the same category of the recurring - and treated as a symbolism of their reality by me - Rhink storyline like almost all their previous scripted videos (including stuff from 2015) and creations (i.e TLCOBC); what I have been calling "One Story" for convenience. One Story Masterlist can be accessed here. By the way, I will also not take into account what new thing Rhett IRL may or may not have said in order to mud the water because he has been doing it a lot lately and I am not sure it is 100% reliable.

I will say that I had to watch the First Class Flight more than once to determine whether this episode is actually part of the One Story or not. After a few rewatches I realised that what was confusing me is that Wonderhole so far has a critical difference from the previous videos. The previous videos usually take place in an undefined time or in the present and they are full of symbolisms of their past and present. Wonderhole deals mostly with the future. Therefore, there are two ways we can view this:

Wonderhole so far is not part of the One Story because it only minimally draws parallels from their lived past.

Wonderhole so far IS part of the One Story because even though it doesn't draw from the past a lot, it actually reflects their certainty or expectation for how their future will unfold depending on certain circumstances, so technically it is still part of their true One Story because it is the future that's coming towards them or the one that seems very likely to come their way.

I suppose it's easier for readers to understand this through the obviously futuristic Time Capsule episode, however here I will argue about how this is also the case with the First Class Flight. This episode is linearly distinguished in two great time segments: the present in which Rhett and Link fake a first class flight vlog and the future of them being deserted in an island three years from now.

The Plot Hole

This is the time I should explain the title of this post. There is a massive plot hole in the episode and it is an intentional one. The way we can tell it is intentional is because our attention is drawed multiple times throughout the video towards it. Here are some examples:

"Without ever having to leave Burbank" - Rhett

"Since this is a simulation-" - Link

"...to fake fly us to fake Singapore wearing a fake mustache" - Rhett

"Well, it tastes like it might be juice but it's a simulation!" - Rhett

Link: "We're moving"... Rhett: "Oh it almost feels like it hehe"

"I gotta say, this is the smoothest takeoff I've ever experienced" - Link

"Since Mythic Air flight 138 operated at a real world altitude level of zero feet above ground we're not anticipating any flight safety issues" - Flight Attendant

Get it? They were in Burbank in a simulation of a flight. They never left. They go out of their way so many times to make it absolutely clear they are not moving and they are faking the whole thing. So, how on earth did the disaster and its consequences prove to be real???

At this point we should also acknowledge that there is not any technical evidence, there is no footage - how could there be one after all - that the plane somehow crashed and Rhett and Link survived the fall and were washed ashore to some desert island. This is the general implication but like we saw it is a very faulty one because it makes no sense. Which means that if we want to be precise about what could have happened in those three years between the vlog shooting and them being castaways, there are two possibilities:

It is a fantastical story in which the lie somehow morphed into a truth, it transcended into reality and caused all these consequences or

the technical issue / fall in the flight was just part of the prepared experience by the Mythical Crew, like everything else. We stop witnessing before the fall but it doesn't mean it didn't stop at some point, Rhett and Link continued the vlog, returned home and they ended up as survivors in a desert island after making the real vlog in a later time.

Now, I don't have an opinion or preference on which is the better theory between the two but I think that as symbolisms they signify pretty much the same thing. In order to understand this, we need to examine what each segment of the video stands for.

The Flight

This is very easy. The whole segment of the First Class Flight symbolises Mythical and, most notably, GMM. Everything that happens in this vlog is a conflation of all the most typical GMM formats and running jokes together.

Counting, we have: 1) the Mythical Crew crafting and the attention down to the smallest detail, 2) not consuming alcohol due to youtube rules, 3) their whole experience is curated by the Mythical (Plane) Crew, 4) precautions taken for dangerous Link, 5) Link interrupting the pilot (Stevie), 6) Mythical kitchen outdoing itself, 7) Rhett and Link tasting stuff, 8) Link typically going for what Rhett wants / has, 9) Link being super picky with the food, 10) Link not ceding to compliment Rhett to save his life, 11) Link oversharing and then Rhett making him feel worse for it, 12) Link's sexual but meaningless jokes (coconut in the pants / mile high club), 13) Link being extra particular about getting the perfect angles and shots, 14) Rhett and Link made to do something intimate together with stupid excuses just for the shippers (changing together, touching butts, sleeping together), 15) Link being grossed out, 16) indirect reference to Link's much discussed herpes, 17) Mythical grooming products, 18) doing something physically strenuous but ridiculous, 20) feeding each other, 21) smelling stuff blindfolded, 22) Rhett winning and / or doing something impressive, 23) Rhett winning the prize (here, picking what TV show to watch), 24) synchronizing in everything.

They squeezed in this "vlog" everything they typically do in Mythical episodes. The plane and the flight stand for Mythical, this space Rhett and Link have carved around them and it is what has made them rich and, to a degree, what keeps them secure. Also, the fact that it stands for Mythical is not subtle at all actually:

And in case you did not realise, THIS IS MYTHICAL.

The presence of their company has not been so emphatically stressed in other videos and it makes sense both at face value and subtextually because this is of course who is behind the making of this supposed vlog according to the plot, however we will see now why this matters a lot as a metaphor as well.

The Simulation

This is actually part of the Flight segment but I really want to talk about it on its own because it is the most essential part of the video. I believe this is why they made that video and this is also why it is the first episode of Wonderhole.

Like they clarify, this is not a vlog. It is a test video in place of the actual vlog they wanted to do but weren't sure the fans would approve of. So, they decided to test the waters by spending budget to frivolous Mythical simulations in order to minimize the risk and check the fans reactions, before proceeding with the actual vlog. I have explained many times that this is exactly what I believe it is happening with all their scripted content, especially the recent ones (TLCOBC onwards) and this is what is happening with Wonderhole too. This is the first episode because it is the warning, if you will, regarding what Wonderhole truly is. In short, this first episode is the shrunk simulation of Wonderhole itself, if not their situation for quite some time. Don't forget that last year Link had said there was a very specific question they wanted to get an answer to in regards to people's response to their scripted videos and by the end of the year they both concluded that aside from the positive reviews they had not received the exact response they wished for. (This is why Wonderhole is also going to be bolder than last year's videos, you are seeing this already. Because there is more despair to get the specific response.)

This explains why it didn't matter whether Rhett and Link survived the plane crash either through a fantastical transcendance to reality or in a later time but we do not see it; because it means disaster ensued either because they danced too close to the fire with their simulations / scripted content and people realised it had to be real or because they ignored alarming cues from the audience, went through with the "real" content and that's when the disaster took place. Both are possibilities and whichever one is the one that happens, in their minds the result is the same: they end up stranded and forgotten in a desert island by themselves.

Before proceeding with the final segment, there are more significant layers to the simulation. There are three times when Rhett and Link hear a concerning noise from the plane: when they touch butts in the bathroom, when there is an implication for Link's herpes and when they are together in bed. So those sobering noises happen in moments of relatively more intimacy. Rhett and Link then watch a trash reality show with a frankly weird premise, hot singles go to underdeveloped countries to perform surgeries as complete amateurs?! Wow. Perhaps there is meaning to it but I couldn't find it. The interesting thing here is that even this reality show has the element of practicing something dangerous through simulation. The show host tells the players they have the chance to perform a surgery in a practice before being exposed to the real thing. This is exactly when chaos unfolds, the show is paused and the pilot screams in panic. And at that moment we have what I think is the most important, the most telling screenshot so far:

Rhett and Link then embrace, waiting for the end, while they confess to each other things we all know. As they are looking for something super special to confess, Link says Rhett's balls are hanging out at that moment too. I don't think there is a sifnigicance to this unless the implication was that Rhett had removed his pants while we were unsuspectingly looking at the reality show! But, honestly, I don't think we got the equivalent of the announcement this was an allegory for. They didn't push for anything more there other than the notion that it was time for a most pivotal confession.

Lastly, let's also examine Link's quote early in the episode: "We like closing one eye, because it immerses us in something that's not really happening". This can be interpreted in various ways. Does it mean that we close our eyes in order to see something that is not true or does it mean that if we opened our eyes, then we would see what is really happening? These may seem similar but there is all the difference in the world between them.

It is very interesting however that the theme recurs later with the reality show: the participants perform eye surgeries like cutting cataracts, so there is this repeated theme of wanting to improve what one's eyes see. Alas, they are amateurs which means the surgeries are likely to lead to disaster before they lead to the much desired "eye opening".

The Desert Island

Believe it or not, this is in my opinion the least important segment or, maybe, the one least packed with information. That segment expresses their conviction of how they will survive a potential disaster. They appear removed like recluses but they stick together. Of course, their big longing will be to keep making videos, even if they don't have the means anymore or even if nobody cares to watch. This is about their professional life. Then:

"When left alone Rhett and Link exhibit all sorts of strange behaviours"

Aside of hopelessly trying to work and create, we are presented with what their life is likely going to be privately post-plane crash / disaster. Almost everything we see involves a level of physical intimacy; Rhett massages Link, "their" version of poker (which involves nipple stimulation), trying to make wine (like the notorious wine they made in puberty), skygazing together, checking each other for dermatological issues, sharing their thoughts and the classic joke of changing SOS to SEND TACOS, an indication that they are having enough of a good time to not really try to be rescued and return to their previous lives, with their old job and families. Oh, and having sex with the sex bush. This is the boldest imagery in this episode because we see them... uh...rub themselves on the sex bush (at the very least), not only in each other's presence but also while clasping hands. I don't think I have to tell you this but this is canonically engaging in the same sexual activity because it's like they are masturbating while holding hands. Now, if Rhett considers this a wild leap of logic indicative of "us the Rhink shippers", I don't know what to say.

There is also a very interesting lyric in their song. Watch how it is phrased:

"Sharing peanut butter because we are peanut butter lovers, lovers as in, we're both loving peanut butter. Not that we are making love with one another... We got a bush for that."

What exactly does this mean? We are making love with a bush instead of one another or we are using the bush to make love with one another and not the peanut butter? It sounds more like the former one but the imagery suggests the latter. I don't know. It could also mean that they are really tiptoeing around each other while still keeping their sexual life straight. We are not making love with the peanut butter (gay sex), we have a bush for that (straight sex). But then we see that in the bush they are really pushing the limits between them. It could be all of these things.

Bush aside, what does the peanut butter symbolise on its own? Link denies he is aroused by it but he readily admits he wants to "eat it out" and Rhett follows immediately, the more Link opens up. Again, we see once more Link to be the first one to voice his desire and of course Rhett jumps at it at a moment's notice. This is the case also in Digging the Medium-sized Hole, in the Puzzle, in the Brown Diamond. But then we have this strife caused between them as they cannot decide who should take the "first scoop". Like, who will break the seal of the peanut butter? To be honest, I think this is the drama that anal might have caused between two ex-Christian very traditional dudes. Like, who takes one for the team. Both of them claim the position of sticking their spoon to the peanut butter. Link has the argument that he should be the one to do it because he is the guy into peanut butter while "what Rhett really is is a bean guy" (bean is a slang for clitoris, so he's more into female genitalia, more hetero than Link). Rhett on the other hand doubts Link's versatility in sex (has happened IRL as well) so he doesn't want to cede the position of control to him.

Link: I got a lot of novel grill ideas. Rhett: Like what? Link: Like, the grill that uses the heat generated from rubbing your hands together. Rhett: ...And then you place them on the food?! Link:...... Yep. Rhett: So, the Link Neal Grill is just hands?!

Link is shamed for being too vanilla.

After a lot of talking it out, their eyes are opened to what they wanted all along. Link admits Rhett might like peanut butter just as much and Rhett admits that Link might be as competent in this as he is (find the peanut butter). They decide to each take a scoop from one side of the top and then enjoy it together. I mean, none of this is a great analogy but the most plausible scenario is that in order to overcome their conservative inhibitions and their sense of pride, they had to both agree to engage in this in absolutely equal terms. In short, to switch. Which I totally believe could be the case in reality as well.

The way the sex bush contrasts with the peanut butter makes it all rather confusing because we can also tell this does not proceed in a chronologically linear way at all, let alone that we have a blend of past and future here. But don't worry too much because the result is the same. By putting the peanut butter on leaves from the sex bush and then consuming it, they have canonically exchanged sex fluids. I could have said this from the beginning of this segment and save me of all this struggle.