#for queue on a bad day

[14dayswithyou]

HAPPY VARENTINES DAY, ANGEL ! I've been facing some tech issues recently, but!! To celebrate Ren's birthday and Valentine's Day, I'll be releasing Day 5 (the Early Access version) for all the Beta Testers in a few days!

And for those who aren't part of the 14DWY Discord server, don't worry! The public version will be available for everyone to play once the beta testing period is over ^^

[call-me-pup2]

Friendly reminder - People that run nsfw accounts are actual people and aren't thinking about kinky things 24/7

[platypaws]

has anyone ever written a fic where its norm who gets hit by one of em turning-non-human-creatures-human-intors and he finally gets to be a real boy and doof has to deal with that

[justkillingthyme]

Neither of them will bring this up again

[bad-traffic-smp-ideas]

had a dream the wildcard was me being put on the server with the ability to do commands but i could be killed but instead of causing problems i took and nap and mumbo killed 8 people

@ grian please bring mumbo back so he can kill more people

[snuuyfanged]

so that cassette beasts showcase huh

[drawingwilsoneveryday]

day 79 - png from an fnf cover i'm working on

[front-facing-pokemon]

[crybaby-bkg]

Oliver’s been stressed. it’s an obvious thing, despite the way he tries to hide it with tired smiles and invitations to stay in for the night instead of out on the town. you’re not in a relationship with him, but he texts and calls you more often than not, lets this look cross over his face when he doesn’t think you’re looking. it’s something in between, something yet unspoken.

it’s why you’re not sure if it’s overstepping too close into relationship territory when you suggest a paint date with him. well, not really date, you had stumbled over your words when you introduced the idea to him. just a day where we stay in and paint and order some food and desserts and just—

he’d agreed on the spot, stopping your rambling with a lighthearted smile, a softness in his eyes that you’re not sure you’re meant to see. but he agrees nonetheless, and so you’re set.

the day is cloudy, the air thick with oncoming rain. you’d stayed the night, so all you wear is a pair of his boxers and an old jersey of his. you insisted on sleeping naked, but Oliver had urged you to don his clothing for reasons you think may be too fond that you try not to dwell on, lest you hurt your own feelings with assumptions. but he kisses your head when you plate both of your lunches that he’d ordered, pats you gently on the butt when you lean into it.

“I’m not a painter,” Oliver groused a few minutes after you got started. you sit across from him at his dining room table, too big and fancy, puts you too far of a distance away from him. your legs are crossed and your eyebrows are furrowed in focus. they crease when his words pull you from your concentration; a landscape painting, set at dawn, a pretty wonky deer in the distance, the sky a navy blue, the green a bit too bright for grass. (do the colors match his eyes and his hair? you’re not too sure. you’d deny it anyway, even if you were. which you’re totally not. right?)

“And neither am I,” you tell him, biting your lip in focus as you try to marry the blue and green well. “But this is for fun and relaxation. Not necessarily for talent.”

Oliver falls quiet after that. makes a few quips here and there, peeks around his canvas at you to make some sly remark about how he’s gonna win the best painting. you can only laugh, eyes squinted in mirth, unseeing of how he captures the details with his eyes, his memory.

“Okay, it’s time to reveal our paintings.” you tell him after an hour has passed, and you’ve both fallen quiet in concentration. Oliver looks unsure, the most you’ve ever seen him, and offers for you to go first. he smiles when you flip the canvas, giving you a slow clap, eyes drinking in the details, the colors that reflect him in every sense. he doesn’t say it out loud. he couldn’t if he wanted to, not when he turns his painting and reveals you.

“It’s a little shitty,” he says when you’ve gone quiet for too long, stiff as stone. “I couldn’t really get your eyes right, and your hair is a little off but—”

“It’s perfect,” you say softly, smile shaky, everything unsaid in the way he captured your smile, the reflection of him, of pining, in your eyes. “Out of all the things to paint, why me?”

“Why not?” he counters, saying everything and nothing, his words full and empty, enough but never quite filling. you smile anyway.

[maximura]

[har-har-harvey]

i love the idea that porter(the dumabass he is) didn’t recognize that the kid he got to switch to be a cleric of the unnamed god purely through manipulation and force, who was otherwise empathetically loyal to his previous god of choice(slash upbringing but that’s a different post altogether) to a fault, would be obstinate about something he was told at first about his god even if the person who told him corrected the information. like this is true teenager behavior. the fact that he is so disconnected from his students and has been for however tf long he’s taught at augefort that he couldn’t see that coming from a mile away like any good teacher would is hilarious to me.

[14dayswithyou]

Ren owes me 19 dollars 🤔🤔

So, is there a possibility that Taylor may have npd (narcissistic personality disorder) and/or psychopathy (the second won't be surprising, since I'm more interested in the first one, but it's also curious)? Like in coop with his bloodcurdling yandere nature it would sound even more terrifying, but it explains some things for me (or maybe I'm wrong, idk)

Fell free not to answer on this, as usual!, even for me this sounds too spoilerish... but I can't help but be curious😭

⌞♥⌝ I don't really like to give my characters any disorders I personally don't have, as I never want to misrepresent them, spread (harmful) misinformation, or perpetuate any negative stereotypes.

For example: Elanor has ADHD, Ren has dyslexia, Moth has SAD (generalised Social Anxiety Disorder), And Kiara has OPCD (Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder). I'm not very vocal about it because I want my characters to just... exist without having to link every little thing to their disorders. I merely want people who can relate to look at my characters and go, "Yeah... No wonder I kin you 🫵" lmao /silly

In Taylor's case, he's supposed to come across as an incredibly fucked up individual in a completely fictional sense, so I wouldn't want to demonise or bastardise a disorder — nor use it as a scapegoat for his actions and poor decisions. At the end of the day, Taylor truly is just a sleazy, no-morals kind of guy who just wants his wife to prioritise him and only him.

...Sound familiar?? >:)

[revenantghost]

Hey, I’m just here to say you’re extremely missed and that, even though there’s probably not much I could say to make any of the bad things less awful, I’m hoping for an easier and gentler future for you soon. Take care, ok?

Oh man, thank you so much for sending this, and I'm sorry it's taken so long to respond (and to the other person who sent me an ask, too—I'm not sure when I'll get to it but please know it was seen and means so much). It has just been. So awful. I won't dump on the public at large everything that's happened, you don't need that novel, but it feels like every day life's falling apart more and more.

Just, seriously, thank you for sending this, and to the couple of people who checked in with chats (again, I'm sorry if I haven't responded yet, spoons are just very limited). There have been a lot of times throughout this where I get overwhelmed by everything going on and some truly horrific people I've met in the fandom and I've considered deleting everything permanently! Very often!!! Tbh I'm still struggling with that VERY intense urge while writing this. I feel so unsafe, and scared, and run down.

And tbh, it's really hard to believe anyone could care about me when I feel so awful and worthless, I feel like it must be an obligation, or I somehow accidentally manipulated people, but I'm trying to cling to that being the brain demons talking. Because I really appreciate the time and effort anyone's taken with me. And I really miss fandom and fun, even if it's weighed down with some significant trauma—I still love the stories and the characters and, most importantly, the amazing people I've met here. Outside of any fandom I've poked around in, the wonderful people I've met matter the most, and I'm trying to cling to that.

I really enjoy talking with everyone, running little projects/events, and for the first time in years actually writing again. (I've been slowly plucking away at that AU I mentioned a few times and I want to start posting for an event this month but! Ahhh!!!) I would like to try and be active again, and I'm so sorry for just being such an absolute goddamn mess. I feel like this is all too much to even say, but I do want to just be honest about all of it. Still, again, thank you so much for reaching out <3 And I'm sorry this is so ridiculously long even though I don't feel like I'm saying much and nothing important, I didn't intend for this answer to be a word-vomit update, just. Things suck, but you guys are good, and I hope things are as okay as you can be on your side of the screen <3

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

In Buccleuch Docks (Full Scene)

Posted a snippet of this *mumble mumble* ago, promised that the full scene would be delivered, and then forgot about it... until today, on my BoCo high.

What does a Coppernob and Edward reunion in 1964 have to do with BoCo, you ask? Well, this scene is merely Nobby getting a cameo in a big Edward/BoCo WIP I've been tinkering with... on the side...

But this sort of stands alone and should be of interest to Nobbyverse fans. However, this scene is not canon to Bird at Barrow Central (Coppernob not making a visit to Barrow post-bombing until 1996). Indeed, this scene for that matter is based on a rather idiosyncratic interpretation of what was going on with Edward and the N.W.R. immediately prior to the events of Main Line Engines...

Bonus: You'd otherwise not get to "meet" Hal and Sphyrna the Hammerhead Cranes for ages yet...

Warning: It may not be "canon" to Bird at Barrow Central but it is the same fellow so. Be prepared for the angst. Edward's got some stuff goin' on in this WIP too — even if he's a bit in denial about it.

Buccleuch Docks (1964)

Coppernob wasn't expecting visitors at that hour. The sun hadn't yet put in an appearance, so there were no passengers disembarking from ships. Even the Steelworks were quiet — apparently, operations were no longer 'round-the-clock. A few of the Twenties had been able to make a visit, even though Coppernob was at the wrong dock for them to swing by on their usual route, and he expected to see more of them before his week was out. But not at the crack of dawn.

The last Furness engine he had not counted on seeing at all. Coppernob had been loaned to B.R. and stationed at Buccleuch Docks for the week in a blatant attempt to steal some rail-enthusiast thunder from the North Western region, and he well knew it. Odds were that Charles Hatt understood he was being snubbed, and he might have warned his own famous engines off crossing the line and feeding into the ancient engine's publicity. 

But the Seagull showed up. Albeit before six a.m. there was a certain amount of discretion involved.

That's what taking the morning post will do for you.

After dropping it off for the mainland engine the Seagull navigated the yard until he was alongside Coppernob's makeshift plinth. His eyes widened when he saw the damage on the older engine's dome and boiler, but Coppernob was well used to that, and for that matter the Seagulls were well used to pretending not to stare. "Good morning, Nobby!"

"'Morning, Two."

At that the Seagull blinked, and his boiler gave a little shudder. "Oh, that still feels so wrong!"

"And I still don't see a nameplate."

"Nobody calls me that."

Coppernob snorted. "Oh yes, you're riding rather high these days, aren’t you? A book named after you and everything. It's lucky you have me to keep your wheels in trim."

"It isn't that. My new name would sound wrong coming from you, too. But you might use my old Furness number... there's no one else left to use it."

"That," said Coppernob, slow and deliberate (a mighty bulwark, warding off sentiment) "would be arrant disrespect to your new owners."

"Ah. And you're famously deferential, of course, to humans not named Ramsden."

Coppernob rolled his eyes. "Your lot always fancied yourselves barristers," he muttered... not quite as crossly, perhaps, as he'd intended. "Though that Charles Hatt is quite a muckety-muck among those national rail types, these days."

"Isn't he just."

"I can remember that boy boarding L.M.S. trains after holidays to return to his apprenticeship… he was slimmer, then."

There was a pause, as both watched the great yellow-and-black hammerhead crane slowly swing a piece of container freight. Coppernob was impassive as ever, but Edward was smiling.

It was the blue engine who next spoke. "Town has never been the same without you… I expect you’re getting a good many visitors here?"

"By the train-load," said Coppernob, matter-of-factly. "They really ought to have put me at the new station. Me being here is a disruption to dock operations."

"They may move you, yet. Have you seen the new station?"

"No. But you needn't wrack your smokebox thinking how to break the news gently. I know very well how ugly it is."

Edward smiled again, tamping down a nostalgic sadness that he knew Coppernob wouldn't appreciate. (Or that he would appreciate, but would take aim at anyway, by reflex.) "Gordon complained about the new station every night for two years."

"He left off complaining too soon." Coppernob eyed the younger engine, committing several mechanical alterations to memory. "Are those new frames?"

"No?"

"Don't take that tone with me. Well, if they're the same old, then that paint is doing wonders. New boiler?"

"No."

"Then why did they raise it?"

"They did swap out for a new one for a bit, while mine was in repairs, and that one required these braces. It seems they liked the look. I'm still not so sure."

"No one cares what you think, son," said Coppernob dryly. "If you please your directors, it's all that matters."

"Thanks, Nobby. Can always count on you."

"Always. You're still taking main line trains, then?"

"Not often." Edward grew quite animated. "My friend BoCo usually takes this train. He offered it to me for a day so that I could come see you. He's a class 28 — you've seen them, haven't you? The main line diesel-electrics that are stabled here. Do you know, they were built by the company that merged with Vickers?"

"All right, son." Coppernob eyed him askance. Not exactly reproving, but bemused. "I didn't need your friend's life story." A faint blush began to grow on the Seagull's smokebox. "What do you do these days, when you're not swapping jobs with dodgy diesels?"

"He's not dodgy."

"Mechanically, son. Mechanically. They have something of a reputation."

"Their engines aren't well-made," Edward admitted reluctantly. "BoCo's very clever about managing around it, though."

"Ah," said Coppernob. "So you have something in common, is that right? But this isn't what I asked."

Edward twisted his lips briefly, the locomotive equivalent of a shrug. "I manage my yard, like always. I don't do much banking anymore, the trains are beyond me, but I help out here and there with branch line goods."

"Hmm. The steelworks engines say they heard your Controller uses you as something of an under-manager."

"The steelworks engines!"

"Yes. They're ex-Furness, you know. Well, the steam engines, obviously."

"Oh, I know. But I never knew them, you know. I hadn't expected they knew anything of me." Honestly the Sodor engine was surprised they were still extant.

"The Twenties have always kept up with the doings of the world. And they knew I'd want to know what was going on with you. Is what they say true?"

"No? Well, sort of. People have been saying I’m a manager now as a bit of a joke. Controller has put me in charge of trialling our newcomers for different things."

Coppernob's expression didn't change, except for his eyebrows to slowly rise. "That's a fair bit of responsibility."

"Well, I've been training up other engines since the '20s. But I'm expected to make recommendations now, and that's new... I suppose. The real difference is that this is fast becoming my only use."

Something between melancholy and bitterness stained those last words. Coppernob acknowledged it only by silence. They spent several minutes watching the activity in the docks. A great bulk carrier was being loaded at one pier. At another a tanker was slowly being siphoned of some of its precious liquid cargo.

"What's it like," asked Edward, "being back?"

Coppernob eyes followed the crate's progress upwards and then over to deck before answering. "The aluminum doesn't seem to do as brisk a trade as the hemitate did."

"No."

Coppernob was still not quick to speak. Edward, however, was these days a practiced listener, and wore him down. "More raw wool and foodstuffs go out. I suppose there are not so many locals to feed as there once were."

"Yes."

"The new crane seems strong."

"Oh, Sphyrna's very good. She's nice, too."

Coppernob gazed at the younger engine, eyes hooded against some hidden emotion. Or joke. "I suppose it would be ungracious of me to say I prefer the old one?"

"Oh," teased the ex-Seagull, "very."

"So many things these days, that I’m not to say."

"Of course you miss Hal," said Edward, more seriously. "There never was such a crane."

"His design was very common. But none braver, no." Coppernob snorted, but his heart wasn't in it. "People make much of what I did in the blitz, which was nothing. Hal kept this place going day and night. He couldn't take shelter when everyone else could. Nice easy target. But they had to take him out before they slowed him down. He never missed a beat."

"No."

"I wonder if the people remember him."

"The locals do," said Edward quietly. "One still hears him spoken of, sometimes. Our new Caledonian engines came and asked me if I knew who they were talking about, and they've only been here a couple of years."

Coppernob seemed to consider some more, eyes continuing to examine the yard. 

Finally, with an air of great deliberation, he gave his verdict. "I think my lot ran this place better."

Edward laughed, though subsiding to a diplomatic murmur when he spoke. "That's no very great boast. I hear those Hudswell Clark shunters are rather troublesome."

"To be sure. I've seen for myself." Coppernob, though to be sure his voice had been low to begin with, did not trouble to lower it further. Might have raised it, even. "Not open cheek and frank mischief, either. They've some sly game going. I don't know exactly what scheme they have, but whatever they’re about I know that a hundred years ago you could be scrapped for it without a second's thought. Do they try tricks with your lot?"

"Well, we generally shunt our own goods here. But no, they don't seem to dare give us trouble." Edward heard himself, and chuckled. "That may sound rather brash. It's because of our Controller. Though to be sure Gordon and our Scotsengines are plenty intimidating, even on their own." He gave Coppernob another would-be discreet survey. He was better at it than he and his lot had been back in 1908, that much was for sure. "How's the museum, Nobby?"

Coppernob thought it over. "All right. The Government projected 140 thousand visitors last year, and we had nearly 175."

"Oh, congratulations are in order."

"Government's still not happy. Somehow the money doesn't work out. But it sounds as though the money never is quite right, for a museum. I reckon things are going fair enough."

Edward waited, until seeing that was as much as he was going to get. "Do you like the other engines and things?"

"They're a little mad." Coppernob's mouth quirked as he owned: "So I get on with them. But don't pump me for tales about the others. Unlike some engines I hear of, we make it a point to guard each other's privacy."

"Well, then. Are many of the visitors Londoners? Or do they mostly travel in?"

"About half and half."

"... and do you like them?"

"A few, I suppose. Most I neither like nor dislike — they’re just part of the crowd."

Edward make a little hiss of amused exasperation. "Yes, but — are — are you happy there, Nobby?"

For his trouble he found himself, predictably, pinned by one of Coppernob's most inscrutable gazes. Predictable... and yet in years past it would have been more a blazing glare.

Certainly old Nobby had mellowed in the past few decades. But whether that was something to celebrate or something to mourn was unclear.

"Happy?" muttered Coppernob. "What is this preoccupation everyone has with happiness. In our day no one was happy or unhappy... men no more than their machines. You were decent or shiftless. Honest or ne'er-do-well. If you were happy you were born well or you were dead."

"Yes," agreed Edward. "I think it's been getting better, too. But now it's you who hasn't answered my question. Do you miss Barrow very much, or are you happy at Clapham?"

It hadn’t been easy to make himself ask. And when Edward saw his blank expression, saw how the ancient engine struggled with the question, he suddenly understood that none of them had ever before enquired after Nobby’s well-being, not really. No one had dared think of it. The entire railway, in Edward's day, had run on Coppernob being exactly what they all needed him to be: a source of legitimacy for the directors, entertainment for locals, an attraction for visitors, a role model for engines in service, an ally for the retirees, a minder for the young, a rod of correction for the errant, a reservoir of memory; the old number three seemed to have fulfilled all that was wanted of him effortlessly, with his own feelings immaterial. 

And now Coppernob blinked at him. Only vaguely annoyed, instead of wrathful.

"Oh, I'm all right enough. I miss Barrow as it was — but it's not coming back. Better to be among other engines like me and have something to do, than to watch strangers run this town. Clapham is a very comfortable place to sit around and be a well-polished curiosity. Though I rather miss Horwich."

"Horwich!" That had all been a bit surprising, a bit new. But it was that last sentence that really shocked the ex-Seagull. "I should have thought..."

It was Coppernob's turn to twist his lips. "I should have thought, too." Horwich Works had been a curse on Furness engines after the Grouping, its appetite for scrapping younger and younger engines never seeming to abate. In the immediate aftermath of the bombing of Barrow station Edward had needed to make several inquires before learning Coppernob's whereabouts, and the news "taken to Horwich" had chilled him to the firebox. He'd been genuinely surprised several years later when he'd had news of Coppernob putting in an appearance at some centenary celebration in Manchester... alive. "But it's not as if I had to see their scrap lines. If anything I felt closer to the rest there than here. Anyway, I liked being in the shop. There was always something going on — work-y, engine-y sort of things. The workshop really is the heart of a railway and while I was there I could almost feel... But then again, it was dark and noisy, and not the sort of place children come to visit. And I suppose these days B.R. is mismanaging it into the ground. I'm fortunate to be just where I am. Doubtless some other old thing is rusting away in storage because I have their spot at Clapham." And on that note, Coppernob seemed to feel confidences were over. "Tell that absurd Mogul to come over before I've gone."

"I will. Thomas sends his regards. He can't possibly get over this way, but he wanted to say hullo."

"Thomas... ah, yes, that's the little lost sidetank, isn't it." Coppernob's expression didn't change. "Haven't heard that name in a minute."

"Oh yes. I'm sure children who visit transport museums never ask every steam engine they see if they know Thomas the Train."

"Please tell me he has no idea how famous he is."

"Fortunately not. He knows he's a fixture on Sodor but not how far that fame extends. It's about the only secret Controller's ever tried to have everyone keep and succeeded."

"Speaking of fame, I don't know if you noticed that man in street wear. He's taken at least one photograph of us and will probably take more at close-range. You meant to be discreet — will your Controller be angry?"

"Oh, no. Why would he? No, I only wanted to come when it was quiet so as to not get you in trouble. I suppose the whole point in B.R. having you out here was to try to overshadow our region."

"Oh, it was. It very much was."

"Then ought I head off the man with the camera?"

"They care. I don't."

Coppernob gave a secret, wicked smirk, as if to his own self, and Edward grinned. For an instant it was the old Nobby, a Nobby that for the Sodor engine had been bumped askew on his pedestal since 1915, the fearless golden hero of his youth. "Right. Trust you for that. Though I'm afraid I must be saying good-bye. I'm to pick up that petrol and take it back over the bridge."

"Write more often."

"More often! You never answered."

"Perhaps I didn't. Do it anyway."

"Only, I thought I must have annoyed you."

"Son, your lot has been annoying me since before the turn of the century. Don't break tradition at this late date." The old engine looked typically indifferent. Edward knew that expression very well, too well to be fooled by it, but he looked his fill anyway, re-committing it to memory. Coppernob seemed to be doing the same with him, though if he really were then he was much more subtle about it. "After all, you're my only source for news of that blasted island. No more than half of any letter about that Vickers diesel of yours, if you please."

"Very well. And I'll pass on word to James and the others today. I'm so glad to have seen you again, Nobby."

Edward half expected an idle remark in return that he, handsome old Coppernob, was of course well worth the seeing. But Nobby's playful mood — or what passed as a playful mood, for Nobby — had already passed over. He was staring ahead listlessly. Perhaps the mention of tradition had sent him on a reverie. Perhaps he was gloomy at the thought of a new day entertaining modern, unsatisfactory Barrovians. Edward did not imagine for a second that Coppernob's heart was breaking to say good-bye to him. The old engine was too tough for that.

Indeed, it seemed he was too tough to even acknowledge his departure. Edward was about to give up waiting for a response, and he gave a whistle to signal his movement.

He hadn't quite gotten off his brakes, though, when Coppernob, voice urgent and somehow bare, stopped him with a single word.

"Thirty-Four. Don't — " Coppernob broke off for an instant. Then he took a deep breath and finished, as if angry at whatever invisible force had stopped him. "Don't let them do to you what they did to me."

Edward looked over at him.

There was a new Coppernob there. One he had never shown any of the Seagulls. One he probably had shown very few engines at all.

The old engine grinned twistedly, as if to mask it. "That is what young Hatt wants, isn't it? Have you get the newcomers settled, run out your boiler ticket, then stick you on a plinth, probably at that little station of yours. The railway continues to benefit from your experience without your operational costs. I remember. I know how it goes. Don't let them, don’t you dare let them. Better scrap than that. Preservation isn’t any sort of life."

Coppernob didn't look a bit sad. But the intensity of each hissed word betrayed years of solitary pain, and Edward was terribly shaken.

"I — I can't let them scrap me," said Edward numbly. "I've been fighting to prevent that for ages."

"I know."

"Not only for myself, Nobby. I'm not a coward, I know I'm no better than all my brothers who faced the torch. But it would set a precedent for the others — Thomas and the others. I must keep going, at least until they're safe — "

Coppernob gave a harsh laugh, humorless. "Save your puff. I know. Don't I know! You mustn't fall into every single trap I did, son. Anyway, what of it? Do you suppose your friends would be happy in that position? Could you stand by, and watch it happen to them?"

"I — don't know," said Edward, still blank. The truth was that he'd assumed that the younger engines, most of them more popular than he, would be kept operational even if the future Nobby predicted for him (a future that he himself indeed saw coming) came to pass.

Coppernob's gaze was piercing. "I tried to fight them. I knew what a terrible thing they were demanding of me. You won't even try to resist — I taught you too well, didn't I? Duty above all else — that's a rule for a younger engine. It was a good rule for all those other poor sods with their short, normal lives. But you... maybe it makes no difference. It didn't for me. But fight anyway. Once you give your railway fifty years of service, you're allowed to say no, damn it. Loudly, and often."

And then Coppernob looked away. Clearly he thought there was nothing more to be said. 

After a dazed moment Edward whistled again, limply, and chuffed off.

He almost forgot the petrol altogether.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

TotK DLC idea!

The screen is black. You don’t hear anything for a long time. Then, faintly, in the distance, you can hear it.

Link. Link. Open your eyes.

While the line echoes familiarity, the voice does not.

Or. Well. It does. Because while it isn’t Zelda, it’s a familiar man’s voice speaking gently, so gently you almost don’t recognize it because there’s no way he ever spoke like this in the main game.

But he is now. And instead of a golden light being the first image you see before the screen shows Link awakening… you see gloom floating in the air. The image cuts to a Hylian waking up who… doesn’t look like Link from TotK?? He’s different, still small in stature, with slightly tanner skin, platinum light blonde hair, and red eyes. But… something’s wrong with his forehead. There’s a weird line on it.

This new character you apparently are gonna be playing in the DLC blearily blinks his eyes open, clearly groggy and too weak to really move. But then that line on his forehead moves a hair, it splits apart, and you realize it’s a freaking eye, red and yellow and it’s like the ones on gloom hands and oh gosh what the hell is it doing on his forehead—

Link realizes something is off and his eyes blow wide, his hands reach for his forehead and he screams in agony and terror, only for someone to scoop him into a hug to soothe him.

And suddenly you realize why that voice was eerily familiar.

It’s Ganondorf. He resurrected you from the era of the Imprisoning War. You, who have a history with him and his family. You, who he wants to protect, who he views as his kid, who he calls a prince and says he’ll keep you safe by controlling your body with his dark magic if he has to.

Welcome to Tears of the Kingdom: Hero’s Shadow.

You have to play a long gone Hero who was resurrected. Ganondorf, who is still recovering his strength in preparation for killing the current Hero, tasks you with finding your betrothed, his daughter, as well as his wife. They’re buried somewhere in the Depths like you were. He wants you to find their burial sites so he can use his secret stone to resurrect them like he did you, and control them as well. Which is doubly bad when you realize his wife was the original Sage of Lightning. He gives you free reign to wander once you go through a tutorial (he tests you to see if you’ve recovered enough strength), because he knows you love wandering and collecting things. Your own personal objective, however, is trying to help Hyrule from the Depths, to break free from Ganondorf’s control, because Link would rather set himself on fire than let Ganondorf resurrect and control the love of his life and his mother-in-law. Your best hope is to find shards of the shattered Master Sword to try and stab the eye on Dark Link’s forehead and break the control Ganondorf has on you. Until you can, though, the monsters are your allies, you can teleport across the Depths by manifesting out of the gloom created by gloom hands (just like what Phantom Ganon does), and the world below is your oyster. If you get too close to sword shards when gloom hands are nearby, Ganondorf can see your attempt and immediately takes control of your body, and no matter what button you press Link just walks back to Ganondorf’s location and stays there until you get a chance to try again.

You start with three hearts, all empty looking like when gloom hurts you, and if you get injured they just shatter. Whenever they all shatter, you respawn at Ganondorf’s location because his gloom hands came and rescued you from dying. The only way you can get more hearts is by collecting poes and offering them to the statues in the Depths. You can communicate with the spirits of soldiers, who may give you combat tips or info about the area. If you gain enough of Ganondorf’s trust, he’ll let you command monsters, and he might even let you wander the Surface (under his supervision) during a blood moon.

You learn of Link’s and Ganondorf’s history through discovering ancient relics/texts that trigger memories. This connection between you and Ganondorf stems back to time before the war, well over ten thousand years ago. Link was engaged to Ganondorf’s daughter, but during the Imprisoning War the family fought against the demon king. Ganondorf did love his family, but he loved power more. Link sacrificed himself, letting himself get mortally wounded to save Rauru from a killing blow. Gan held him as he died, and it allowed Link to both beg him to stop and stab him in the heart with a light shard. The shard didn’t kill him, but it was what Rauru connected with when he hit him in the chest, allowing him to seal Ganondorf away. Ganondorf still wants the world, but his love for his family is still present, though now twisted, so he thinks he can control Link and everyone else with his dark magic in order to keep them safe and in line. Once the threat of the current Hero is eliminated, the world will be his, and his family will be safe. As such, he treats you, Link, the player, like a stubborn child, reeling you in, but does so in a horrific way, torturing Link by controlling him.

You have to break free of this and stop him, and the only hope you have is the distant call of a sword spirit…

[justkillingthyme]

Whatever. Go my Celeste