#in the years to come we'll look back at these atrocities and wish we had done more

[astraystayyh]

Last night Israel cut off all the communications on Gaza before bombing it for hours on end, with no means for Palestinians to document or share the atrocities committed against them. The death toll has risen to more than 7000 people and more than 3000 children killed. Please don't stop talking about this, please be a voice for Palestinians who are forced to be silent.

Learn about the genocide Israel is committing against Palestinians :

Here are the companies to boycott :

Thread of links to pressure politicians to cease fire:

and how YOU (yes you) can help Palestine rn

[notknickers]

könig's new haircut

this is for you, @kathy-ifnt ! (i feel like preemptively apologising for draggin gyou into this, but... it's done.) it's not a silly mini-comic, but sometimes i can put one word after the other in an order that almost means something. almost.

synopsis: in a comment section on tumblr, two unhinged individuals plot to make könig's life into a joke.

warnings: none apply

audiences: teen and up

word count: 1140

a/n: lots of silliness in this one. (don't get used to it, we'll be back with smuttier, slightly darker stuff soon.)

the lights blinded könig for a few seconds before his sight returned, annoying squiggles of static still dancing behind his eyelids as he quickly blinked.

the view in front of him caused such visceral dismay he had not known equal in his years as military contractor, during which he witnessed atrocities that sometimes plagued his dreams to this day.

nothing could have prepared the austrian soldier for this. not in a thousand years.

he instinctively tried to back away – perhaps it was not too late to leave – but he could not. he just could not.

knickers and kathy, his two civilian best friends who had insisted on a visit on his part as soon as he was back from deployment, were standing right behind him.

«do you know how many favours i had to call in to even get you on jean paul’s waiting list?», kathy scoffed, reminding könig that their sacrifices were not being met as a grateful friend would.

a quick glance in knicker’s direction and he knew he had lost this fight: no one in his corner against the afternoon of pampering the two had organised for the soldier.

«chop chop, darling! we don’t want to be late!», knickers hurried him with the same condescension one who’s never been around children would use on a five-year-old.

(and that, pretty much described knickers to a t.)

könig made a mental note never to accept an invitation at the friends’, unless they promised not to ambush him like that. there was nothing wrong with the way his hair looked and he should not have had to be here.

the red-headed giant reluctantly walked past the threshold, all eyes on him for a long moment of discomfort, until jean henri appeared.

«kathy! knickers! you’ve made it!»

«jean louis! mwah! mwah! of course!», the two intoned in unison as if they’d rehearsed, gesturing as if to kiss the empty hair in the iconic hair stylist’s direction, while he mirrored their contactless greeting.

könig observed the interaction, slightly aside. grateful to have been left to his own for a moment as he reflected on how mundane life and its trappings remained inscrutable to him, especially when he spent most of his existence training and not knowing whether he would come back in one piece – or at all – for the better part of the year.

reprieve did not endure. the allegedly famous hair dresser, a short, slight man with tan skin and white stripes of hair at his temples, turned to him with a staged expression of surprise and wonder.

«and this must be my lucky 15:30 appointment!», he clapped his hands in front of his chest, eyes contoured in black beaming in his direction, as he pretended to be incapable of fully seeing könig’s face, at more than 2m of height..

«that’s him!», kathy replied jovially, before turning towards könig, who wished he weren’t so large and noticeable, so he could sneak away in the commotion, «awwww, pookie! don’t worry, you’re in great hands!»

«yes, luv. now stop wasting the nice man’s time and do as he says, yes?», knickers remarked, before something else caught their attention and spared them from könig’s frozen glare.

«right this way!»

the miraculous jean jacques showed him to the shampoo station and könig, defeated, followed with heavy step and heavy heart.

bottomless champaign flutes appeared in the two harpies mutuals’ hands as they conspired giggled and chatted, in a worrisomely increasing state of inebriation, on a satin-lined faux vintage love seat the colour of their ruddy cheeks.

they kept refilling and refilling, to the point that when könig returned, face hidden under his mask and long, silky hair sprouting from the neck hole on top of his head, they almost didn’t notice.

«well, what do we think?», jean justin’s voice trilled.

the seated duo lifted their heads, training their gaze on the central european god in the corner like marksmen training the scope on their rifles on their target.

«is… is that the same hairdo as daenerys targaryen, down to the platinum blond hair?», kathy whispered in utter confusion towards knickers, who was, for once, speechless.

«well…»

kathy pinched the bridge of their nose as they suppressed a hiccup, suddenly feeling sober: «jean pierre, i’m sure someone like you can do batter than this…?»

«oh, you’re right! back we go…», the coiffeur took a könig with the incipience of the worst headache of his life back to the mirror.

«i mean», knickers, finally out of their shocked silence, interjected, «i would have happily been his cal drogo…»

kathy raised an eyebrow sarcastically and rebutted: «… or his horse!»

the two drunken and rumbunctuous mutuals began laughing loudly enough that the hanging crystal on the chandelier at the centre of the of the ceiling started vibrating.

there könig was, back to strut – well, more like sadly drag himself – back to show his new hairdo.

this time, he hadn’t even reached his friends, that knickers, prey of such furor fuelled by both alcohol on an empty stomach and outrage, had already hopped up from the love seat, animaniacs-style, to land in front of the hair stylist.

they grabbed the charlatan by the neck of their salmon shirt: «now listen here, old man! do you think that someone with a mullet – a. fucking. mullet – could ever be the personification of my every erotic dream, jean… jean… jean geneviève?»

kathy pulled knickers back, who still scowled in warning as the two men reluctantly returned to the station.

«i mean… i would still…», knickers gesticulated rather eloquently.

«oh, yeah, no. me, too!», kathy agreed.

the two burst out in laughter for a second time and, this once, it was not just the crystals of the chandelier that shook, but its wiring too…

when könig returned, hopefully for the last time, no more hair peeped through his mask.

Wary, the two mutuals started circling the pleasant-looking mountain of flesh they thought of as dearest friend (with benefits), masterful cunnilinguist, pain slut and obedient little pup, carefully inspecting: all they found, was a buzz cut.

«I… he… ran out of hair to work on…», the coiffeur wrung one hand in the other, intimidated by the unforgiving fury in both of the mutuals’ eyes.

The silky strands of titian red they both had delighted in running their fingers through, tangling, pulling, stroking, weaving in a plait to use as leash… gone.

The next step was nothing if not obvious.

And so it came to kathy holding the traitorous charlatan still, while knickers fed him handfuls of lovely, auburn silky flakes, collected off the floor and forced through the hair stylist’s mouth by the fistful.

König ignored the scene altogether, brushing a large palm across his fresh-shaven scalp in satisfaction: it would soon be time to be deployed again, anyway.

[neurotiddies]

Taken from Cameron Morris, @CamWriter on Twitter, an interesting stance on Ganondorf.

“When Zelda fans talk about WW Ganondorf, it's usually re: him being the most sympathetic version of Ganon, or the most sympathetic character in Zelda.

I'ma take a minute to go over why he's the most evil Ganondorf has ever been. Probably the most evil Nintendo character, period.

People love that line—"I coveted that wind, I suppose." He's reflecting while he says it! Shit's got depth, and feeling behind it! He's admitting to his own greed! This is development!

And, yes, it is development. But it's first and foremost a portrait of a liar, like this scene

The Zelda series never goes deep into the lifestyle of the Gerudo, even in BOTW. We see bits and pieces. When WW came out, OoT was all we had

So when he talks about the suffering of his people, how the desert wind killed them, we want to believe. We want him to have a reason.

But it's not true, you know? Immediately and on its face

We never see the Gerudo populace in Ocarina, only a border fort and one of their sacred temples

We do see the effect Ganondorf has on his soldiers, the experiments his lieutenants run on them, though this isn't about that

Assume that what Ganondorf says is true—the Gerudo existed on the verge of extinction and in a state of constant suffering. Assume that what we see in BOTW, a thriving people who are rich in culture and secure in their place in the world, was a later development.

Then what?

Ganondorf ruled Hyrule with absolute power for seven years. No army could stand against him; no martial force was a meaningful threat. His forces were omnipresent. He was effectively omnipotent.

Not one Gerudo lives in the body of Hyrule when Link returns. Not one.

You may be thinking, "But WW Ganondorf is a different character!" It's true that he can't inform our reading of OoT, but WW is so dependent on the events and characters of its predecessor that I think it can't help but be informed by it. This is the same man you defeated in 1998.

The really terrifying thing about Ganondorf in this sequence isn't that he's telling us a lie—it's that he might well believe it. Here? He is real. He looks back on his deeds and says, "I must have had a reason."

And he invents one.

And he believes it.

And we believe him.

He is a man who is rewriting his past, holding up his own people as justification for atrocity because there is no one left to gainsay him. A country shattered, a world ruined, but it was for a cause, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

But the lie doesn't hold up under pressure. There's only so much that Ganondorf can believe about himself. At his heart he is not a sad creature given to melancholy—he still hungers, and that hunger would swallow the world.

Wind Waker is about him nearly satisfying that hunger.

"Give Hyrule to me!"

We might still believe him, even then, mightn't we? That he's simply settling his ancient grudge, righting a layered wrong against his people, against himself, against Hyrule. Who doesn't want Hyrule to come back? Who doesn't want the sea to recede?

But he doesn't get his wish. The world is in his hand, and once more it is pulled away. And something falls from him, then

Maybe he doesn't stop lying to himself, but he certainly stops pretending to be something he's not. Denied, his hunger doesn't recede; it finds a new outlet

Daphnes wishes for hope for Link and Tetra, for the people of Hyrule. He wishes that they have a future free of the shadow of Ganondorf, the Triforce, everything in their blood-soaked history

Here, Daphnes is who Ganondorf pretends: flawed, cruel, but struggling for his people

And Ganondorf is left without the ability to pretend. And Ganondorf no longer sees fit to hide himself.

When looking at the children who will guide the future, who are to be free of him, with the engine of the universe turned against him, he has only one thought: to ruin what part of the world he can still touch.

And it is not rage, or sorrow, or yearning for the return of his people that drives him. He does not covet the wind; he sought the world, and it is not his, and its inheritors cannot either. Why should he be unhappy now? He is free to express himself as he did centuries ago.

So he turns, and shows us his real face. And oh, how he is smiling.

And still—still!—we believe him.

We remember him for his moment of melancholy, instead of the blood he has bathed in. For the lie he told about himself and his people, instead of the truth of the children he would have butchered simply for the cruelty of ruining the world.

We want so badly to believe him, I think, because we want to believe that people aren't simply evil. We'll extend that to anyone, even our sorcerous god-kings.

What a good lie he told. How effective. How monstrous! How real. A lie that actual men like him would tell.

I think about this almost every time I see people who make fanart or fanfic of Ganondorf being a kind, misunderstood person. Or their own good versions of Ganondorf.

I'd like to see that character—the one people believed to be there—one day. This man isn't him.

The Calamity is a natural cataclysm; TP Ganondorf is someone who thinks themselves a god; OoT Ganondorf is a wizard king who seeks the world.

Wind Waker Ganondorf is a man who tells himself he's justified in burning the world, and believes it. What's more evil than that?

In case it's ambiguous: Ganondorf is one of my favorite characters in any game, and Wind Waker is definitely my favorite iteration of him. More believably evil wizards!

Always more believably evil wizards

If you like how I talk about Zelda, listen to my podcast.

The Book of Mudora's nothing but talking about the lore of the Zelda games, and how we relate to that lore. It's a lot of fun! Also available on whatever podcast platform you prefer.”

http://www.audioentropy.com/#/the-book-of-mudora/