#wild midnight

[acadieum]

started my first re-listen of taz balance since starting it in 2018 (?)

and i just wanted to explore what their origin backgrounds were vs the characters they ended up becoming... they are interesting...

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

(ep8 spoilers ahead!)

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a king who honoured Truth.

He was as gentle as a lamb, as pure as driven snow, as warm as sunlight, and his citizens revered him for these qualities. His Truth was his kindness and his hope, and he was said to be able to heal a Cookie of all their woes and pain with a single touch, so blessed by the heavens he was.

Unfortunately, his Truth was no armour, and eventually it became a blade that turned against him. His soft heart failed to protect his kingdom when disaster fell like a fog over it, thick with malice, and those citizens who once revered him came to despise those very same traits they once praised.

The king of Truth, as gentle as a coward, as pure as a martyr, as warm as the remnants of his burning kingdom. The king, dismayed by his Truth failing him, had little idea of what to do as his citizens abandoned him, one by one until only he remained.

One day, a wise scholar happened upon the shell of that kingdom and, curious to know its story, he went to visit the king. The king, still at a loss for what to do and hoping the scholar may impart some of his knowledge, freely shared the tale of the kingdom's downfall with a deep sorrow in his voice.

The wise scholar, taking pity on the king, stepped up to the weary silhouette curled in that old throne and said, "Is it not obvious? You should let go of your Truth."

"My Truth?" The king murmured, disbelieving. "I certainly must have misheard you. I have dedicated my life to Truth. I cannot possibly part with it."

"Whyever not? Look at where Truth has lead your life – to complete ruins, hasn't it?" The wise scholar explained, oh so patiently. "It has paid your dedication back with anguish and despair. Why should you live like that? Deceit would be far more merciful to you, and it would surely soothe your poor heart, if you'd let it."

The wise scholar had offered this morsel of Knowledge out of the goodness of his heart, and for a blissful moment, the king considered it. Sadly, the king could not see it as the act of goodwill that it was, too blinded by his own petty pride, restrained by his years of stubborn devotion to the false idol of 'Truth'.

"No, what you have said is a lie meant to mislead me. I can tell, because Deceit drips from your tongue like poison." The king foolishly declares, his face hardening with misplaced determination. "This must be a test sent to me from the Witches, to test my strength, and I will not fail so easi––"

—No, that's not quite right. Let's try again.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a great hero.

This great hero was benevolent, noble and self-righteous, known as a friend and ally to all, but he harboured a dark secret. His Soul Jam, the source of all of his awe-inspiring power, was not wholly his.

Indeed, it had once belonged to an illustrious sorceror, a manifestation of his very soul. But this sorceror had suffered a great injustice under the hands of the fickleminded Witches, and his Soul Jam had been torn asunder. While he had clung fiercely to one half, the other had slipped out of his grasp and fell into the hands of our great hero, the unwitting thief.

Of course, the sorceror came to confront the hero, to claim back what was rightfully his and reunite with the full extent of his power. But the hero was unwilling to give it up, and after much consideration, the sorceror decided to be gracious. He allowed the hero to keep his half of the Soul Jam, granted that he never stray from the sorceror's side.

For a blissful moment, it seemed like this compromise would work well for the both of them. One day, however, the hero approached the sorceror, fidgeting with his long sleeves.

"My Soul Jam calls for yours," The hero admits, soft and careful, "and so too does my soul. Even though I am by your side, it is not enough."

The sorceror smiled, flashing teeth, pleased by the admittance because it proved his emerging hypothesis correct. That the other half of the Soul Jam could not have landed in anyone else's hands but the hero's, for they were meant for each other.

"Then come closer." The sorceror goads, reaching for the hero. "Unite our two halves and become one with me, as it should be."

The hero does, pressing into the sorceror's arms, pushing the softened middles of their Soul Jams together until they begin to merge, light melting into the dark of the sorceror's tight embrace. Truth into the comfort of Deceit.

For a blissful moment, they are together and whole and one.

Then pain bursts through the sorceror's back and he screeches as the hero pushes and stumbles out of his twitching arms. The sorceror's wide, blurry eyes catch on the icy glint of a dagger in the hero's hand, sticky with jam.

The sorceror heaves as his hand scrambles to his own back, finding an open wound weeping thick jam that seeps through his clothes. He starts to taste it, sour on the back of his tongue. Sure enough, the hero had stabbed him in the back with a blade he had hidden in his long sleeves.

The hero stares down at him passively, unremorseful. The sorceror's back burns with gouging pain, and his chest burns with boiling rage, coming up through his teeth in a mighty growl. Jam leaks through his clenched fingers as he curls into himself, his Soul Jam crying in the hollow of his throat, calling for its traitorous other half, ringing, ringing, ringing, RINGING. "YOU--"

—NO! No, no, no, that's not right either, absolutely not. Let's take it from the top, one more time.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a humble shepard.

The shepard was sweet and languid as honey, content in spending his days tending to his vulnerable flock. He had no interest in the world at large, though he welcomed any travellers that passed through with friendliness, making peace in his little meadow.

One day, another shepard, hooded and pale, arrived at the meadow with a single sheep trailing sadly at his heels. He asked for a place to stay for the night, as he had recently lost the rest of the flock to a wolf and, in his grief, took to wandering the lands as a nomad.

The shepard, sweet as he was, agreed. He led the hooded shepard to his flock, where the hooded shepard settled his sheep in for the night. Then, he led the hooded shepard to his little cottage, where the hooded shepard settled himself in for the night, right beside the shepard in his small wooden bed.

Little did the shepard know, the hooded shepard laying beside him was, in reality, a wolfherd. Little did the shepard know, the sheep he had allowed to rest in the comfort of his poor flock was, in reality, a wolf bundled in sheep's wool, trained to behave mildly in the presence of Cookies.

When morning came, the shepard was horrified to find that his flock, which he had dutifully nutured since young, had been eaten whole. The wolfherd's wolf, smeared in red with its woolen disguise hanging off it in sticky clumps, trotted up to its master lazily as the shepard helplessly fell to his knees.

For a blissful moment, there was just the shepard's sobs as his world crumbled around him, ready to be remade.

Then, the wolfherd came up to the miserable shepard and lunged.

He pinned the teary shepard to the damp grass, bathing him in lamb blood as the wolfherd bared his fangs and dug his claws into dough, shedding a disguise of his own.

A thin throat gave way under the wolfherd's teeth, and he discoverd that the shepard really was as sweet as honey, all the way through, as jam spilled into his mouth. He made cracks as the shepard weakly tried to struggle, tearing into his dough in reprimand, in retribution. The shepard deserved it.

He dug into his chest with his wet teeth, pulling out his jammy heart, his pulsing Soul Jam, his writhing soul. He savoured it as he swallowed it whole, as the shepard went obediently still beneath him, because he deserves it, this is his, he is his, and the shepard deserves it too. He deserves it, he DESERVES it, HE DESERVES IT--

—HE DOES, he does, but not quite like that. No, no, something's still off. Maybe a change of angle is needed. A change of perspective.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a liar.

He was beautiful, magnificent in his dark robes and rough around the edges in a captivating way. He watched the world from the top of a spire, looking down on Cookiekind from above with dozens of golden eyes, turning his back on Truth.

The liar was not alone. At his side, and he at his, was the beast that strung the world in shimmering strings, playing the universe like a grand orchestra to seranade his companion. Their power did not just blend harmoniously; it was a singular one, feeding into an endless cycle between the two of them, driven by the thrum of their Soul Jam.

For a blissful forever, they stood together, casting the veil of Deceit over the world, dampening the blistering light of Truth until it coalesced into the shadow of Deceit, becoming what it always should have been. The two of them were unstoppable, bowing to nothing and nobody, rising above it all. They were unstoppable, they could have been, they would have been unstoppable-- IF--

—IF THOSE GNATS HADN'T– IF HE HADN'T–

(Stupid, traitorous, weak fool!)

—No, no, enough, enough, enough. This still isn't getting anywhere. How about this?

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a saint of Truth.

He was blindingly bright, too bright, and he could drive the shadow monsters away with a single swipe of his staff, so radiant was he. And yet, for all his shining power, he was also a complete idiot, driven by his soft, squishy heart.

For instead he cleaved the monster out of the shadow, held out a hand and said, "Let me be your...friend."

Friend. Friend. How ridiculous! Laughable, really, in its absolute stupidity. The saint's eyes were so soft, gentle in contrast to the harsh edge of the light, gooey like melted chocolate, like the saint was doing the monster a favour even though it was the other way around, it was SUPPOSED to be the OTHER WAY AROUND--

—NOPE, no, that's no good either. Come on, what else, what else, what else– aha!

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived an angel.

This angel was once a shepard, once a king, once a hero, once a saint before he ascended to the light of the heavens. He was beautiful and benevolent, warm as sunlight, sweet as honey, blindingly bright and infuriatingly beloved. Until he wasn't.

You see, when the angel had ascended, he had thought that he had risen from the rock bottom of the river. He had foolishly believed that he now knew everything, that he had captured the essence of Knowledge through a brief meeting of two halves of a single Soul Jam.

He hadn't realised that a new rock bottom can always be created – all you need to do is dig.

And so, the demon did, dragging the angel down from the picturesque heavens and back to him, backed by a symphony of screams.

The angel tried to reason with him, with his faulty logic. The angel tried to fight but wouldn't risk crumbling him for good. The angel tried to reach out to him, like he really, truly believed it would work.

In the end, the angel lays crumpled at the demon's feet in a heap, cheeks wet with tears but eyes tired and wild. His painful light dims into something bearable, close to snuffing out entirely, flickering weakly like a candle in the wind.

"You were right." The angel whispers, about his hope, about his kindness, about anything, about everything. "You were right. It was always going to end like this."

And when the angel looks up, it is as if he is giving all of himself to the demon. Properly, this time, no clever tricks even passing his mind. His life and soul forfeit.

There. Perfect.

Shadow Milk sighs, a heavy sound that thickens the air. He is not quite satisfied, because he cannot be, not with his dough crawling with restless viciousness, but he is satisfied enough. With the story, of course. Not with anything else.

Just thinking of that, Shadow Milk scowls, finally looking back down at his hands. He had forgotten about the little plush doll he was holding. It's a cute little replica of Pure Vanilla, small enough to fit neatly into the palms of his hands. He had been fiddling with it for no reason in particular, mostly agitated boredom.

In the midst of his storycrafting, he must have tightened his grip too hard. His claws have ripped its chest in half, stuffing bubbling out of the wound like sea foam.

He stares at it blankly for a moment, claws idly toying with the fluff. Then he narrows his eyes, growls, and twists his claws deeper into the tear.

Lonely, Pure Vanilla had said, with the absolute gall to act like he could read him perfectly. Like he could understand him.

As if! There was no way he understood him, and his new little light show only proved that. Whatever understanding Pure Vanilla thought he had was conjured by his own mind, his poor little heart's attempt to find a peaceful solution. It's like Shadow Milk had told them – in the face of the unknown, Cookies tend to fill in the gaps with whatever fits best with their existing belief system, and what they want to believe is true.

Shadow Milk huffs, finally pulling his claws out of the Pure Vanilla doll. It's a sad looking thing, droopy with the lost stuffing. He considers it for a moment, before gingerly beginning to push the stuffing back in, tuft by tuft.

There is one thing Pure Vanilla got right, though. He really is the only one with the potential to truly understand Shadow Milk. He was close to it, even, tantalisingly close before he pulled himself back out again, but he hadn't gotten there yet.

Shadow Milk knows that he hasn't. Because Shadow Milk knows what it will take to get him there, and it involves tearing him to shreds–

Shadow Milk summons old marionette strings, now mostly unused, and begins to sew up the open chest of the doll with lazy flicks of his finger. Despite the casual movement, the stitches are precise and perfect. Once he's done, the doll looks almost as good as new, but inarguably altered.

—before fixing him back up in Shadow Milk's design.

Only then would Pure Vanilla really be able to understand Shadow Milk. Only then would Shadow Milk believe it.

Shadow Milk rubs his thumb over the doll's cheek, something ugly twisting in his chest. His claws twitch, eager to tear the doll apart again, to have an outlet, but he refrains because he does have self-control and he just fixed it.

Instead, he lifts the doll up and presses a kiss to the little stitched star on its forehead. No, not a kiss. It's more like a curse, a harsh press of lips with the slightest snarl of teeth, with enough pressure to create a dent in its soft head.

Yes, this isn't the end. They have eternity, after all. The wait may be agonising, but eventually, he'll understand him. Shadow Milk will make sure of it.

The something in his chest loosens just slightly, as if relieved.

[oddmediaforall101]

Just an excuse to mash all my bbgs into one picture🫶

Edit: I’m gonna make a whole post dedicated to all different types of priests (or at least attempt to-), so put your faithful bbg in the comments of this post of you have one

[notyoujamie]

[squishymar]

I just don’t stop do i (i will one day who knows) LETS GO BAD KIDS ☀️✨

[witchofthemidlands]

Me watching Midnight for the first time aged 8:

Me watching Wild Blue Yonder for the first time aged 24:

[hkartincolor]

Pro Hero celebrity merch series from the manga volume back covers

[sihbisu]

:D

[lace4forest]

The Chains Ages in Linked Universe.

I saw people talking about the Chains age in Linked Universe, and I have my thoughts on them.

I've done a LOT of research on the Links and how old they were, I even tried to figure out how long Legend was in Koholint for. (We go with old Canon because new Canon doesn't make since,(Footnote 1) but basically that's the last time we see Legend in normal Zelda Canon)

Anyways-

This is from Jojo's QnA doc on the Linked Universe Discord- ^^^

And this is my thoughts on their ages. Side note, I'm not going off of looking up their ages through google, I'm going off info you can find in game and cross referencing it with other games and the Hyrule Historia and Encyclopedia. Time was 9 in his game and that's about 20 years later so he would be 29. (Unless if we counting Majora's Mask, then he could be 30-32)

Twilight was a "Late Teen" (Also it does state hold old he is) so 17 making him 21 to 22.

Warriors is also "Late Teen" (He was a trainee at the beginning of the war) making him 22 to 26

Sky is also stated to be around 17 making him 18 to 19

Wild is 117 and this would make him either almost 118 or just turned 118.

Legend just became "Of age" in ALBW and that's 16 in his era making 17.

Hyrule we know is 16 making him 18.

Four is 15 or 16 in Four Sword, but he isn't "Of age" so probably 15. making him 17.

And we know Wind is 13 almost 14. (He said it himself)

I just find it very funny the Toons are the youngests. Age explanation and footnotes below cut.

Time - He is 9 at the beginning of his game and becomes an "Adult" 7 years later at 16. This is one of the times it proves that 16 is "Of age" in the Zelda series. We aren't sure how much time has passed between Oot and MM, so we can guess he's 29 to 32 (Making Link in MM 10 to 12 as a good guess.)

Twilight - It's stated in a guide that he is 17. His game also was originally supposed to be a continuation of Oot and MM in the Wind Waker style, with Time all grown up and living on his own. But they changed it to what it is now. So it's just 17+4 or 5 making him 21 to 22.

Warriors - There is no official age and you do NOT need to be 17 to wield the master sword. All we know is that he's "Late Teens" making him between 16 to 19. Making his age in LU between 22 to 26.

Sky - He is stated to be around 17. Making him 18 or 19 (Even if we say he's 16, then he would be 17 to 19.)

Wild - he is 117 years old. We know this. it's been "Less than a year" so he could be almost 118 or already be 118, he probably doesn't remember his Birthday, so there is no saying exactly. (His Zelda should know though. Maybe.)

Legend - SO. I feel like people are gonna fight me on this, but I got the math and hours of research to back it. At the beginning of ALTTP, some guards say that Link shouldn't be out here or that he's too young to wield a sword (Or even start learning to) In BOTW Wild got the Master Sword at 12-13. And people said he was still very young and a prodigy, which means he was already learning the sword by that time. and we also know that in BOTW they think of "Of Age" as 17 instead of 16, meaning they probably make them learn stuff when they are a little older. There's also the connection to Oot, In Wind Waker its stated that Wind is the same age as Time when he Defeated Ganon (Making Wind Canonically 16) And Twilight is the age of what Time should have been when he decided to settle down, making him 17, which leaves us with Legend's age. Most likely taking Times age from the beginning of his game. LONG STORY SHORT- In ALTTP Link is between 9 to 10. NOW. The Oracle games, Link is still a CHILD, so before "Of Age" (Aka less than 16) A LOT of people call him a CHILD and wonder why he has a sword! making him most likely around 11 or 12. Same things with Link's Awakening. (FOOTNOTE 1). Then we have ALBW. Link has a job now and is learning to become a smith. so most likely after his return home, as well as he needs to learn this stuff before becoming a full adult, but then again he lives alone, so we could accurately say 15 to 16. SO LONGER STORY SHORT. We can say 16 and be GENEROUS. Making Legend 17 in LU (but probably closer to 16).

Hyrule - It's literally a plot in his game he is 16, making him 18 in LU.

Four - He is a Child in Minish Cap (So less than 16) and same with Four Swords. He has to be older than 12 because he was given a sword willingly. So between 13 to 15, but we can be nice and say 15 in Four Swords, making him 17 in LU.

Wind -

I do want to say, it's literally stated in his game he is the same age as Time when he KILLED Ganon as an ADULT. It's just the art style of the game.... He JUST turned 16, so people are still calling him a child. (Like how people call 18 year olds children in rl) But also he does look 12 in game... ART STYLE WHYYYYYY (also thats what Twi was supposed to look like lmaoooo)

---

FOOTNOTE 1 - The Encylapedia has wrong information that's easy to disprove and I want to throw it out a window. It also switched the order of the Oracle games and Link's Awakening, even though Oracle of Ages LITERALLY ENDS With Link taking the boat out to sea to head home, and LITERALLY Transitions to Link's Awakenings Opening. ITS THE SAME BOAT. I'm Gonna Cry- NINTENDO WHYYYYY.

[nephtheless]

Please send Gabbro ::P

Was busy working on an art request, when my brain did a cartwheel and I suddenly had to draw a distraught Hatchling.

...But then I thought I should add some humour instead, and this meme took over.

Forgive me...

[cry-ptidd]

(with rizz) Have you seen the play "Lady Windermere's fan"

Details

Flower meanings + my post

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Snapshot

Pairing: Wild x Reader...?

Warning(s): Wind :((((((

Notes: No one can convince me that Wild didn't take photos of himself on his sheikah slate, so feast.

Masterlist

It was a perfect morning. The sun was shining, the breeze was blowing, and the camp was filled with the sounds of gentle ribbing and mirthful laughter as the boys readied themselves for the day. You sat on a log on the edge of the camp, idly flipping through Wild's slate in search of eggs and rice. He had handed you the device on a whim, already traipsing into the forest in search of kindling with a request for ingredients thrown over a muscled shoulder.

"What in Hylia?!" Several heads turned as a gasp tore through the clearing.

You held the sheikah slate in a death grip, mouth falling open as you regarded the screen with unblinking, horror-struck eyes. It can't be, your mind whispered, thoughts laced with terror as you beheld the image before you, face flushing redder than Legend's tunic.

It can't be, your mind hissed in all-consuming terror, trying and failing to protect you from the visual. An abdomen, awash with golden skin, pocket-marked with raised nicks and a very familiar pattern of burns on the left side. A small dip of a belly button, undershadowed by the soft dusting of straw-colored hair that led down, down, down–

Someone called your name. You slammed the slate screen-down on your lap when Four approached, flanked by Wind and Hyrule, their brows knitted in concerned expressions. "Are you okay?" Wind asked, with Hyrule echoing: "Did something happen?"

Oh Hylia, have mercy!

The hero's eyes narrowed when you began to sweat, pressing the slate down with enough force to crack it. You didn't care what Wild thought, not when he had that on his Hylia-given device. "I-I'm fine," you stuttered eloquently, avoiding eye contact while making possibly the least convincing expression you could have in that moment. "It's fine. I'm fine."

Four raised a brow, obviously not believing a word you said. His gaze flicked to the slate in your lap, and you had the distinct urge to shove it up your tunic to protect it (and your crumbling sanity) from prying eyes. "Uh-huh."

He obviously didn't believe you, and you would be a liar if you said that you wouldn't, either. Wind, however, took a more direct approach, physically reaching for the offending slate with a curious gleam in his eyes. "Let me see," he said, and your soul nearly combusted at the thought of his sweet little mind being exposed to the pure filth Wild apparently delighted in having access to at all times.

You reacted with an accuracy usually reserved for fighting monsters or warding off Warriors' attempts at hugging when he was drunk, gently swatting the sailor's hand away before he could ruin his both sanity and innocence. "Don't touch!"

Wind looked shocked at the unusual development, yanking his hand back as if he'd been burned. Fuck, you thought, when his expression morphed into a pout, eyes crinkling at the corners. You were weak for that shit and he knew it. "What?! Why not?"

"Yeah," Hyrule added, edging forward as he studied your lap. You held the slate tighter, praying to every deity out there for mercy, because you did not want to explain why you were peering at Wild's... pictures like some weirdo, even if clicking on that specific album had been a complete and total accident on your part. "We just want to make sure you're okay."

Like hell they did, the little fuckers just wanted to see what had made you act like a teenager in a bathhouse! Sucks for them, because there was no way in Hylia you were showing them the picture, much less letting them get their grubby hands on something that you assumed was private to the champion. Hylia, you fucking hoped so. "N-No!"

Over Four's head, Wind and Hyrule shared a look.

A beat passed.

They lunged.

You shrieked at the action, practically flinging yourself backwards to avoid them. It was by the grace of whatever deities that had heard your earlier plea that you managed to dodged the first attack, clutching the slate to your chest as the two heroes advanced, eyes gleaming at the challenge. "No! Go away!"

But, of course, that was not the case, so you resorted to sprinting to the opposite edge of camp, where Sky and Wolfie snoozed against a large tree. The skyloftian didn't even flinch when you practically tripped over his outstretched legs, and Wolfie merely regarded you with perked ears and a chuff, which quickly turned into something surprised when Wind and Hyrule barreled after you, the former yelling some obscure bullshit about fairness. Per usual, Twilight was nowhere to be found when you actually needed him, and Legend, Time, and Warriors had all but evaporated into thin air. Four seemed to have given up on the matter, watching the scene with rapt attention from your prior seat on the log.

You choked on a breath when something heavy slammed into your back, knocking you to the ground. You heard Wind's victorious shout as another, heavier weight clamored atop your back. The slate was promptly torn from your grip, and you let out a string of expletives that would have had Sky glaring down at you had he been awake. "Hyrule!"

The weight left your back. Hyrule strode in front of you, grin wide as he held up the slate like it was a goddamn prize. Like he didn't know the horrors that lurked within. You jumped up, terror cursing through your being as reality set in. Unfortunately, there was nothing you could do to stop the Traveler from turning the slate around and tapping the blank screen, which flashed on in a brilliant light that made you want to tear your hair out.

For a moment, it was silent. For a moment, Hyrule looked normal as he stared at the screen. For a moment, you dared hope that the device had reset to the main screen.

Until the Hero of Hyrule let out a strangled gasp, cheeks flushing a deep, dark crimson, and you realized that the goddesses must be dead or crazy to have allowed such fuckery to take place. "Hyrule, put that down–!" you tried, tone desperate. He was frozen still, and you wanted to cry. "Don't–!"

Just when it couldn't get any worse, it did. Wind, ever the curious little shit, craned his head over the older hero's shoulders, staring down at the screen. You could practically see the gears in his mind working furiously to decipher the image before him, and it was with a heavy, dilapidated heart that you mourned the loss of innocence, only to be torn from your thoughts when the sailor let out the most mortified noise you had ever heard, loud enough to wake the dead, or, more accurately, Sky, who sputtered awake like he had been stabbed. "Wha–?"

"Woah!" Wind's yell cut through the clearing, mouth gaping in abject horror. You covered your head in your hands with a whimpered: "Oh my Hylia– shut up, shut up, why did you show him?!"

"He looked!" Hyrule exclaimed, blushing redder than fresh blood. He kept his eyes averted, trying to return it to your hands without viewing the image for another traumatizing time. "W-What even is this?!"

"What do you think it is?" You hissed in horrified frustration, willing yourself not to think about the toned abs or... other regions of the image currently taking up the screen. "It's obviously his–"

A new voice broke rang through the clearing, and your worst fears were confirmed. "What in Hylia is going on here?"

Wild was here, firewood in hand as the terrifying presences of Legend, Time, and Warriors followed him into camp. Slate in hand, you did the only appropriate thing to amend the situation. You threw the slate at Wild with a half-delirious shriek: "You happened!"

With a yelp, Wild dropped the wood and scrambled to catch his precious slate. He opened his mouth, presumable to admonish you for throwing his stuff around, but the screen flickered to life and his jaw snapped shut, face paling when he registered the content before him. "Uh–"

Legend, who was closest to Wild, scoffed. "What is–"

And then, because the Goddess Hylia was truly gone and dead, the pink-haired veteran caught sight of the slate. Like the others, the reaction was instantaneous. Legend, the unofficial king of snark and dirty jokes, grew beet red in the face and stammered out a traumatized: "the fuck?!"

Time was the next to fall, using his superior height to view the horror. You watched as the blood seemed to drain from his face, and the scandalized look on his face would have been hilarious had it been literally any other situation. Warriors, not wanting to be left out of the loop, fell over himself to peek, only to draw back with a yell that threatened to permanently damage everyone's eardrums. "WHAT IS THAT?!"

It was a nice set of abs and a penis, you wanted to say, but that seemed far too poignant for the sheer terror radiating from the group. It was only natural that Sky got his own eyeful of the slate and promptly threw himself back with an expression that resembled that of a traumatized war veteran. Honestly, you didn't know why they were so shocked, they literally bathed together! You were the real victim here!!

"It's– uh," Wild sputtered, pressing the slate close to his stomach to avoid any more mishaps, but the damage was already done. You couldn't even look at him, much less–...Hylia, just thinking about it had you flushing a very guilty, very mortified crimson. Cerulean eyes turned to you, and a finger was turned in your direction. "You were the one with it in the first place!"

"Me?! At least I'm not the one with that on my slate thing!" You shrieked back, the accusation making you feel like a teenager who had just been caught reading a particularly steamy novel, which was totally not the focus of the fuckery that was unfolding before everyone's very eyes. "Don't you dare turn this on me, Link!"

Several people flinched at the use of the name 'Link', but you were too angry to care. First he was harboring porn on his very public, very accessible slate, and now he was trying to pin the blame on you?! Despicable!

"It was private!" he shot back, like you didn't already know that, cheeks darkened with embarrassment, which you were glad, because this was completely and totally his fault. "I can't believe you went through my stuff!"

"I can't believe you keep dick pics on your slate!" you shot back without missing a beat. Everyone flinched, save for Time, who cleared his throat in an attempt to regain control of the obviously spiraling situation.

"That's enough–"

"Hang on, I'm not done," you cut the eldest hero off in a rare moment of rage, walking forward and jamming your finger in the center of Wild's chest. 'And you want to know the worst part?"

He visibly gulped.

You pointed to Wind, who looked seconds from passing out, and let that do the talking.

The Hero of the Wild's went pale as realization dawned upon him.

"No..."

"Yes."

The camp descended into chaos once more.

"Darlin', I know yer mad, but–"

You turned a flaming glare to Twilight, who had finally seen fit to join the group no less than two hours after the self-proclaimed "slate incident", though he seemed worryingly caught up with recent events. Too bad you were too pissed at Wild to care, even now, two days later. "But what, Twilight?"

The Rancher blinked, looking seconds away from raising his hands in defeat. You were glad his sense of self preservation appeared intact, though he could definitely work on his timing. All of them could, judging by the looks you were currently getting from all over camp. Wild looked particularly apologetic and your only thought was good. "Ah'll leave ya alone now..."

You patted his head. "Good boy."

Wind, glued to your side like an adorable koala, giggled like a gremlin. He was recovering remarkably well after the horrors of forty-eight-hours earlier. Twilight made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, retreating to sit with the other men, who looked similarly cowed. It was almost funny how scared they all were of you. Almost.

A thick silence blanketed the camp.

Wind poked the edge of the campfire with his stick.

You let your eyes meet Wild's, and, for a brief moment, allowed yourself to wonder what exactly was so wrong about him having photos on his slate. Nothing, except for the fact that a fourteen-year-old had seen his junk and you were allowed to be pissed.

Abruptly, the Hero of the Wild's stood. His bony language was tenser than a bowstring as he trudged to 'your' side of camp; shoulders rounded, head ducked just enough that he could still see where he was going, expression the picture of determined regret.

"Can we talk?"

You hummed, letting his words hang in the air until they felt stale, then nodded. "Sure."

Wild's gaze nervously shifted around the clearing. "...Alone?"

You stood with a sigh. "Fine."

Without another word, you turned on your heel and strode in a random direction, knowing he would follow. A few minutes passed, and when you were confident that you were out of earshot, you stopped, turning to face the sheepish hero with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow. "Alright, Link, I'm listening."

Wild, who was a good three feet away, looked away, expression nothing short of positively guilty. Okay, now you felt a bit bad, because for all the exasperation you held for the situation, you didn't want to be mean. He just needed to learn.

"I'm sorry," he said, and it was a battle unto itself not to interrupt with your own thoughts. You would hear him out, and you would be respectful about it. A soul-deep breath passed through Wild's lungs as he continued: "I didn't mean for Wind or Time or anybody to see..."

"Or me?"

He winced. "Especially you."

Fair. You ran a hand through your hair, letting out your own sigh. "I'm not mad, just... you know what? It doesn't matter. We all make mistakes, and while I'm not a fan of Wind being scarred for life, it could have been worse... but," you paused to collect your thoughts, and maybe see him squirm one last time before amends were made. "trust me when I say no one wants to see that, dude."

Wild blushed, and you were honestly just done with life for a bit. "Yeah... um... it won't happen again."

You nodded, already feeling better about the whole thing. "Great, just save it for the barmaids, m'kay?"

"Got it."

"Awesome."

A thick silence blanketed the clearing, though it was far from uncomfortable. You licked your dry lips in an attempt to regain some much-needed moisture. "That being said, if I find that you let another unassuming soul discover... that, I'm breaking that slate. Am I clear?"

Wild went significantly paler, but he managed to nod. "Yeah... crystal."

You patted his head. "Good boy," he flushed a healthy crimson, but you paid no mind, smoothing down the sleeves of your tunic before making for camp. "Let's go back, yeah? I'm starving."

The Champion was quick to follow, and the two of you never spoke of the slate again.

I'm not sorry 😈

[ironmaidenhead]

THE LADY CHABLIS starring as Herself in MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL (1997) Dir. Clint Eastwood

[asktheritochampion]

[farmersdaughter444]

Wandering

[layraket]

when your older brother is being called out by dad for something you did

goodnight