#now theres a lot of characters in this one... give me a moment...

[yiga-hellhole]

TFTK CHAPTER 20: ENDURING RESOLVE

Ganondorf has gone into hiding. His two most loyal servants guard the desert in his stead. Hyrule approaches, knowing not what kind of death awaits them, deep beneath the sands. Zant tests out his blade.

FINALLY DONE! sooo sorry my beloved tumblr readerbase. this update has been available on ao3 for a little over a week now, but i had to steam through a pretty bad art block to get this promo image done exactly how i liked it. so without further ado, here it is!! i have a real doozy for you all today! again, thanks so much to @bulgariansumo and @orfeoarte for betareading the chapter! there's a couple secret languages in this chapter again... thanks very much to @unironicallycringe for helping me with figuring out Akkadian. as for the translations, well... you go puzzle it out!

content warnings this chapter for: graphic violence, animal death, medical gore, domestic violence/physical abuse (for lack of a better term)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

ao3 mirror

They rose before the sun had even fully set, thieving their love-nest of its purpose hours too early. Any preparations they could do, save donning arms and armor, would have been too late in this final moment before battle, but they had to be ready to defend themselves at any moment. The air was tense, dead-silent so as not to alert any potential enemy scouts. But in that deep silence, every nervous sigh, every jingle of chainmail, grated the ears from miles away. 

So sat Zant in his chambers, eyelids still thick and heavy with sleep, but nonetheless perched at the edge of his bed, gazing out into the night sky. Ghirahim lied where he’d left him, sunken into his pillows and layers of sheets. In this companionable silence, there was as much to be said, as there was a lack of words to convey them. Indecision to what topic could suit the last hours before this all-out battle, they spoke of nothing at all. Yet there was deep understanding in it, a bond between them that only needed a glance of the eye to be conveyed. 

Pacing anxiously was unnecessary. Ghirahim lay comfortable; to him, nothing enriched the soul like battle, and he was ready to rise every minute of the day. No need for armor, for food, for a minute to come to his senses. He could jump up the second the warning horns blared.

Thus, he dozed, his eyes on the tense Twili beside him until they wandered to the portrait above him. When had he moved it above his bed, he wondered? To think a man so reserved could be so vain. The gold of its canvas glittered in the weak light, egging on the stars in the sky beyond with its own splendor. Ghirahim felt a smile creep up on him and his eyes drew to a close.

He didn’t quite keep track of how long he lay there simply sifting through the favorite contents of his core, before that line of thought was interrupted, and a warm static forced itself through his mental imagery. It started deep in his chest, washing over his every extremity in waves. His skin tingled, his breath hitched. A contented sigh dragged out from him and joined the warm air in the room. This feeling, how long ago it was since he last felt it. It could only be…

Sat on the carpet beside the window was Zant, the Demon Scimitar before him. Moonlight could not hope to pierce the deep black of their blade; their masterpiece was a shadow among shadows. A vibrant teal glow pulsed throughout the veins in its fuller, like light beneath the ocean waves. That glow slowly grew richer, occasionally interrupted by the stroke of a cloth across the blade. 

Ghirahim shuddered. There was the source of that odd feeling, that sent shivers up his back and caused his face and stomach to flush an embarrassing red. Soon Zant caught him staring at him past the mound of sheets and met his eyes – glowing, giving him no choice but to witness them – with a smile.

“Pardon me. Did I disturb you?”

“Disturb is a strong word,” Ghirahim said, unable to suppress a shuddering groan. From fingerguard to its point, the cloth rubbed away every speck of dust and smudge of oil.

The sound that escaped him piqued Zant’s interest immediately. Eyes that should pay attention to the razor-sharp edge of their sword widened at him. “You can feel this?”

Taps of powder against the blade. Puff, puff, little clouds of white dissipating in the gentle breeze. “To some degree, yes.”

Bright, amber eyes narrowed. “What is it like?”

Adjusting comfortably, Ghirahim sank back into the sheets, hiding half of his face. He stared him down no lesser, though. “There is hardly any equal to this feeling, Zant,” he hummed, pleased by the sensation of gentle polishing. “But if I had to describe it… Something akin to having my hair brushed, or hands stroking my back, I suppose.”

Zant’s eyes turned to the sword, now carrying a certain spark. He beheld it in a different light. “I see. How fortunate to know.”

Ghirahim shifted, curling himself in the mass of sheets to get a better look at his machinations, but without abandoning the glow of their joint warmth. Their companionable silence returned, the quiet room filled only with the whisper of cloth against metal, and the gentle churning of his core. Warmth buzzed through him in waves, like fingers with long nails tapping and tracing the features deep in his chest. That so-abstract sensation turned ever warmer, more squeezing, when that familiar smell of cloves arose, and Zant turned to oiling the blade. Ghirahim cocked his head, watching intently. “Tending to it again? So soon?”

Zant only glanced at him before returning to his focus. “Our sword is in its infancy, Ghirahim. It has to be nourished in its first year.”

“You’ve done your homework,” Ghirahim smirked.

“You hardly gave me any choice, Ghirahim-hasir,” Zant smirked right back.

Another honorific! He laughed fondly, ever-so-amused by Zant’s habit of slipping into mother tongue. “That one is new! What nonsense are you up to, this time?”

“No more than usual,” Zant hummed, a touch of cheer in his voice. “Now get back under the covers and leave me to do my bidding. We must be in top shape before dawn, you and I,” he crooned, stroking the cloth down their blade in emphasis.

Ghirahim smiled, sighed, and complied.

That morning, Hyrule conquered the southern settlements in a matter of minutes. The market streets the pair had grown so familiar with, committed to memory through the smells of spices, pastries, and smoked meat alone, decimated at once. Not that they’d made it particularly difficult for their adversaries; a minimal amount of monstrous troops were stationed there. This was their bait. A little trick tucked in falsely heightened morale, to fool the Hyruleans into thinking them weaker than they were. Besides, the locals stationed within sight would surely be healthily enraged by the sight of their beloved settlement being torn to the ground. Zant had planned for a bloody start.

The two of them were thoroughly locked away in the North. The Gerudo Temple Complex was a dark and swirling thing, a monumental goliath of sandstone and brick, its dimly lit corridors designed to trap anyone outside the clergy in the bowels. Deep within, it hid the Coliseum. A holy ground to desert peoples, later desecrated by Hyrule and turned into an executioner’s oubliette. Better known as, ‘The Arbiter’s Grounds’. Since its reclamation by the Gerudo (according to Zant, one of the few good things brought on by shattering the Mirror of Twilight), Hyrule was to never touch it again. The labyrinth would guard it for as long as it stood.

In other words, it was the ideal place to watch the battle unfold from afar. Their intel detected signs of three commanders: Link, the Goddess’ favored hero; Lana, still missing her counterpart; and an unfamiliar Sheikah warrior. Knowing the Hyruleans, they likely had more tricks up their sleeves. They needed caution above all. 

Zant was eerily silent for most of their stay, retreating within his helmet. Had Ghirahim not known any better, he would have suspected him of sleeping on the job again. On the contrary, the Twili could not have been more alert. The ace up their sleeve was heaving and buzzing restlessly deep underground below their feet. The Twilit Bloat, Queen Mother of Zant’s favorite pets, spent days spewing forth countless Shadow Insects, which he’d hidden away in every nook and cranny he thought would make a decent vantage point. They were acting as his eyes in the field and to keep track of them all required his utmost concentration. 

Until at long last Zant withdrew from meditation, the segments of his helmet squeaking as he straightened himself and turned toward his co-lieutenant. 

“They are inching closer to the oases. While they busy themselves there, now is the best time to start our preparations,” he said, beckoning him with a wave of his hand as he made his way through the keep.

Ghirahim, glad to finally have something to do, grinned. “You mean to set up the… Shadow puppets, you mentioned, yes?”

“I have told you of my plan,” Zant agreed, scaling the steps to the decrepit altar at the center of the Coliseum. His visor rolled up to reveal a grin. “But not yet of its execution. It should be most familiar to you, however,” he turned, his hand outstretched and palm facing the skies.

Ghirahim smirked and followed, taking his hand to have him lead him further up the steps. An arm curled around his waist, and he rested his on Zant’s shoulder in return. “How courteous of you, Twilight King. Won’t prancing about distract you from your own casting, though?”

Zant smiled in turn. With a small pull at his waist, they quickly sank into a rhythm, waltzing under the sunbeams that peeked through the stone walls. “We must enact our spell in utter synchronicity, Ghirahim-ili. This is the best way.”

A pulse coursed through him. Diamonds rose from their footprints, flickering with signs of their blooming magic. The beating of their feet and chiming of his core accompanied their dance like a dozen tambourines. Through their joined hands, sparks of power crossed into one another, melting together until the pictures in their minds became clear as day, a single being.

“I shall be the source, and you, my conduit. My power is yours to steer, puppeteer of mine,” Zant’s words echoed, but Ghirahim couldn’t be sure if they came from his lips, or snuck into his mind without his notice. How cheeky. 

And soon, that power manifested into being. Rising from the shadows, Ghirahim’s second pair of eyes came into view – or rather, he came into its view. A second Ghirahim took shape, its features growing more defined by the second. Terrible vertigo struck him, causing a temporary lapse in his steps. There was a disconnect, a duplication of his sight, but no identical one. He could see through his own body but through his double’s, too. His core swirled as he looked himself in the eye, standing in the sand with its muted colors and stiff stance.

“It’s easier if you close your eyes,” Zant whispered with a low croon, “try not to think. Let me lead you, my Blade.”

Easier said than done, he’d say, did it not make such a drastic difference. Ridding himself of his second-sight made it all the easier to at least gather his bearings without the spinning surroundings there to distract him. But reaching this double somatically remained a challenge. It was like trying to steer a phantom limb. The tether was weak, but undeniably there, and getting it to move was akin to timidly pressing the keys on an old harpsichord. All the while this buffoon requested him to dance.

But that was the trick, wasn’t it? Channeling their magic? He was no stranger to their bodies becoming one, in many senses of the term. It wasn’t just his own magic he had to focus on, but the force linking its fingers with it, too. 

Synchronicity. The picture through the eyes of his double became vibrant and clear as day.

His double twitched its fingers until they were veritably his, then took a stumbling step. Then another. Then more, stably, rolling its shoulders and bouncing on its heels. The shuffling of dancing feet was soon nothing but background noise, far removed from where his mind settled. Housed in this spectral clone, Ghirahim grinned, braced his fingers, and snapped.

The desert heat felt like room temperature. Or rather, like nothing at all, in this doubly-false skin. Having teleported himself, he stood a ways from the Southern Oasis, surveying his surroundings. Friend nor foe had spotted him yet, concealed as he was by the heat shaking the sights of their surroundings, but they’d have no choice than to witness him soon. He sprinted across the desert, intending to snicker to himself, only to find not a sound passed his lips. 

A gap in their illusion. How embarrassing it would have been! What if he had attempted to taunt their foe, only to be caught missing his voice? He quickly suppressed the urge to scold Zant for failing to inform him of this flaw. To cause dissonance between his two selves would collapse their plans like a house of cards. Which, obviously, he couldn’t afford, as he was already perched on the walls of the Oasis Keep, staring right into fiery red eyes that pierced into him with malice. 

The Sheikah man would be his first opponent.

His perch high up above did nothing to deter this stranger whatsoever. A long dagger whistled through the air just past Ghirahim’s ear, missing him only thanks to his own last-minute dodge. Ghirahim hadn’t yet the chance to righten himself before his adversary took a running start and leapt against the corner wall, kicking himself off to clamber up and meet him at eye level. It hadn’t even taken him five seconds to get to him. 

This was going to be interesting. Ghirahim knew he couldn’t lose his composure so early in the battle, but a warrior so quick and nimble made the stars dance in his core. The Sheikah was upon him in a split second, a long knife in each hand, eyes red and full of death. His strikes were lightning-fast and precise, but not fast enough to break past Ghirahim. This man was an entirely different territory from that white-haired dog. Where Impa combined her tremendous speed with heavy blows, her replacement depended entirely on the fleetness of his feet. And it carried him well. The two of them danced across the walls, locking blades like a pair of cats fighting atop a fence.

But, truthfully, Ghirahim was only humoring him. Against another human, the slashes of the Sheikah’s knives would have been lethal. But to Ghirahim, razor edges struck his sword with gentle taps at most. He had to put this boy in his place. Hilt in both hands, he boldly raised his blade to bait him with an opening – swung down quickly, to bait a crossing of knives, and catch his sword in between. 

The Sheikah were a near-ageless folk, living potentially centuries longer than Hylians, if they so chose. This very moment, the Sheikah proved his youth, his inexperience, despite his prodigal martial skill. He acted exactly as Ghirahim predicted. 

Now locked, Ghirahim shot him a grin, before pushing his bulk into his sword and tossing him sideways. The Sheikah shouted in surprise, stumbled. With the assistance of a showy flip and roll, he dropped off the wall and down into the dirt, quickly righting himself in fear of being ambushed.

Not a second too late! Ghirahim leaped for him, point of his sword aimed for the heart. Or, rather, aimed for the dirt, as the Sheikah darted away quickly. The pair exchanged blows, barraged each other with throwing knives, but their mutual bulk and speed resulted in nothing more than superficial injuries. 

Ghirahim couldn’t outspeed him. So, he’d just have to surprise him, instead. With only a small chime to announce his departure, Ghirahim disappeared into diamonds and landed himself square in the Sheikah’s way. The boy gasped in surprise, only barely managing to stumble out the way of the obsidian sword that flew toward him in a pitch-black streak. Now, all bets were on discombobulating his foe. The Sheikah was forced to face him more carefully, locked in a fierce combat. For every escape, every attempt at sprinting away for another trick, he was punished by the phantom that appeared in his shadow and threatened to rend him to pieces. 

Dark blue Sheikah armor tore to show flashes of skin and bleeding gashes, staining a deeper red every second. But Ghirahim found himself not as unscathed as he’d normally be – this puppet was fragile, meaning even the small enchantments on this warrior’s knives could hurt him. It wasn’t the same pain as he’d feel on his surface when injured. This was a magical, conjured pain, manifesting as a headache and stuttering of his core. But, injuries or not, he was winning. The Sheikah was slowing, growing into an easier target for his thrusts and merciless cleavings with every pace. And there he darted off again, some desperate manner of escaping! Of stalling time! Blood hung in the air, its particles catching delectably on his lolling tongue. He chased its source hungrily, wishing so it was his true self instead who would get to kill this wretched little thing, a mere pup in comparison to his superior. Ghirahim ached to run him through with this blade! Just a few more paces, another leap –

There was a track in the sand. In the corner of his eye, he spotted another. The Sheikah stopped at the joining of lines, readying something curved and golden.

The harp. The harp! His eyes shot to the Sheikah, who grinned at him with a squint, fingers at the ready over his blasted holy implement. Ghirahim looked back to the ground, where he now spotted an outline… And himself spot in the middle of it. An ominous hum, a faded glow, resonant below him as fingertips tensed the strings. Ghirahim turned to flee, but a second too late. With a mockingly cheerful tune, the magic glyph was activated, and a blinding field of light magic launched him out the gates of the Oasis Keep.

He skidded to a halt, clouds of sand trailing his heels as they coursed through. In his concealment, he was fortunate to find his first flaw; a black patch, crackling on the surface of his puppet. Their illusion was falling apart. 

Now is the time to flee. 

They thought it simultaneously, with Ghirahim immediately annoyed by Zant’s meddling. 

Shielded by this cloud of sand, he turned tail and fled. Soon enough, fleeted feet dashed through the sand a little ways behind him.

Just like he wanted! Bloodlust made blind! 

The next phase of their plan was imminent. He had to cross the sands to get to the cliffs, where he could funnel this little songbird into its cage. This seemed easier said and done, because the Sheikah’s tendency to make pot-shots at the enemy made it increasingly more difficult to conceal the black cracks left on his surface. He kicked up as much sand as he could in his sprint to keep himself shielded from prying eyes.

It was a mad chase. In short bursts, his adversary seemed to be faster than him, leading him to blink around to get away from the scatter of needles flying his way. A haphazard, zigzagging trail of metal pins traced their trajectory. Yet, the Sheikah seemed to be letting him escape, at least a little bit. Did he hope he was fleeing to some kind of hideout, and lead him straight there? Oh, if only he knew!

It was a good thing he didn’t. They crossed into the Cliffs Keep, revealing a dead end. Realizing it’d been a trap, before the Sheikah could fully turn, the gates slammed shut behind them.

The enraged eyes of a cornered animal met with a dark grin. The two men flung at one another, daggers in hand. But Ghirahim felt weakened – the magic holding this form together barely persisted through its many cracks, and it was slowing his reflexes. To save himself some power, he dismissed the false cape, at once revealing the web of deep black fractures spreading across his skin. 

This staggered the Sheikah for a moment, but baited him all the same. Daggers crossed, he lunged forward, and drove the tips towards his core. They tangled, tipped over, and landed in the sand, Ghirahim pinned between steel and soil.

For all this man knew, this was how a Sword Spirit died. The daggers sank into his chest, and Ghirahim let the illusion crackle into shards with a pained groan.

But not before leaving his parting gift. The Sheikah choked out a breath, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. Ghirahim had driven a dagger right into his side.

He didn’t have the privilege to see if this caused his opponent to collapse or not, for his eyes caved into dust soon after this deceitful blow. Then followed the rest of his body, leaving only a cackle to fade on the wind.

Deep black turned into an outrageously bright light. With a gasp, Ghirahim came to, finding himself held up by Zant’s arms. Never before had he felt this unsteady on his feet, this jittery like a newborn foal. His shadowy double was gone, which left him to deal with the dizziness of returning to his body. How convenient that this animate coat rack of a man was there to assist him in doing so.

Ghirahim patted Zant on the sleeve, wobbling to righten himself. “Deliciously dramatic timing, Twilight King.” 

“Thanks. I thought so too.”

Zant laughed, patiently assisting Ghirahim through the last seconds of his vertigo. Once Ghirahim collected himself, Zant parted from him, again turning his gaze meditatively to the skies. “We shall let them struggle with this predicament for a little while. Then, I will take your place on the battlefield, Ghirahim-ili.”

The battle unfolded just about how they expected it would. The gates they so merrily left open were breached by opportunistic troops zealously at first, but with the imprisonment of their Sheikah general, anxious caution took the wheel. Nevertheless, critical movement took place: Lana, who had been moving through the desert, succeeded in capturing the Northern Oasis; while Link, having first guarded their home base in the Bazaar, crossed the southern sands to attempt a rescue mission. 

This was their cue. While their demonic troops clashed against Link’s brigade, Zant hopped back on his feet, extending his hands.

“Care to assist me once more?”

Locked again in dance, they watched as a shadowy form knitted into being by their pedestal. The illusory shape of Zant, darker and more muted than usual, readied itself for its host. Much to Ghirahim’s chagrin, Zant was clearly more adept than he at shifting his consciousness, as his double was up and moving in mere seconds.

“You close your eyes too, Ghirahim-ili.”

“Then who will keep watch of where we’re putting our feet? Moron.”

Ghirahim jested, but nonetheless allowed himself a brief respite, and did as he was told. Behind his darkened eyelids, he saw (though subtly) the world through the eyes of Zant’s shadowy double. He briefly worried if Zant had been spying along with him, too. Then, he felt some smug satisfaction in the knowledge, as he thought he’d made for a riveting battle just then.

Not a second longer did Zant let his puppet stick around and promptly sent it away. Just in time for Ghirahim to spin the both of them around and prevent them from tumbling off the altar.

Ghirahim’s impressions of this battle were vague, bestowed upon him in flashes through Zant’s incomprehensible sense of sight. The world was a blur of overly saturated colors in the Twili’s eyes, splitting into sharply defined contours at every moving object. Of course, the rapidly approaching emerald green and blue was then clear as day, as was the glowing blade that cut through the air towards him. 

But Link could not land a single hit on the Usurper’s false shape. Zant blinked himself across the sand and clapped his hands pompously, a playfully mocking tribute to Ghirahim’s favored spellcasting. At once, every gate in the battlefield slammed shut, isolating the three generals in their own death traps.

Wrathful Gerudo, Bulblins, and Stalfos poured from whatever crevice they could force themselves through to descend upon the now-isolated warriors. Whether they would surpass the Hyruleans in martial prowess remained to be seen, but surely, they’d leave not a shred of their morale untouched. 

Yet Zant led the Goddess’ little hero away from the onslaught, seeming to prefer a one-on-one duel, though there’d be nothing honorable about it. This battle was an absolute waste of time, drudging Link along through the scorching desert to chase after his constantly teleporting apparition. Even if his opponent couldn’t hear it, Zant couldn’t help but giggle. With such a jovial mood, one would expect victory, but aside from Zant’s violent retaliations, his health rapidly failed him. Not only was his double on the verge of collapse, but nearly every hack and slash it endured bore down on its host. Dancing with a smile, blood gushed from Zant’s nostrils with every hit he took. Ghirahim doubted whether the desperation on his double’s part was an act –  it contorted, stomped, flailing its arms and hurling wild bolts of magic at whatever blue banner-bearing shape it could see. But Zant seemed at peace, even as his puppet raised its arms to ready a bomb of pure, hexing shadow, only to find itself ran straight through by the Knight’s holy blade.

At once, the tether to their puppet was gone.

“... That’s it… Our first ruse is up,” Zant mumbled, before slumping forward, just barely caught by Ghirahim’s frame. The blood trickling from his nostrils was worrying still, so Ghirahim allowed him to collapse, lowering him carefully to sit at the edge of the pedestal. Yet, Zant declined any fussing over him, preferring instead to retreat into his mind again and survey the damage they’d done. With his ‘death’, every single gate in the battlefield flew back open – save for the Temple complex. Sitting side by side, Zant relayed what he saw through the eyes of his countless insect servants. Among the Hyruleans, there was relief, rallying cries spreading through the battlefield as they once again rushed forth to seize new territory. Their own forces still held fast. The defeat of their Lieutenants sowed seeds of anxiety, which their captains and commanders did not allow to sprout among the common infantry. Though the full plan of today was relayed to very few, every officer of repute knew not to lose hope when all seemed over. 

They’d seen the captured beasts in their chains, after all, and had yet to see them surface in this battle.

One unexpected problem remained. When the gates to the Sheikah commander’s imprisonment were opened, he was already long gone. The trail of blood scaling the cliff wall toward the Temple clued them in where he could have gone. He was trapped in here with them, somewhere. Zant seemed to take nothing but amusement in that thought.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait. Wait for a surge in confidence among the Hyruleans that would raise their might and lower their guard. If this took mere minutes or hours, then the blood spilled to tip the scales would simply have to be an acceptable sacrifice. Time ticked away mostly in silence. On occasion, Zant orated an update from the battlefield with his vacant, manic gaze. Ghirahim stared at the man beside him, bloodstained as he was, and wondered how far the gray blight had crawled up his arms today.

Zant perked up sooner than Ghirahim expected and turned to him. “Their bases are almost settled. They are transporting their goods. Now is the time, Ghirahim. Will you do the honors?”

Ghirahim grinned. “Gladly.”

Within a blink, Ghirahim disappeared from the Arbiter’s Grounds and materialized far below the earth. Deluge streams of sand poured down from above – he found himself in an underground cave, discovered long ago by the Gerudo when digging for water reservoirs. Quicksand pools from above fed this ever-filling chamber with gold, like an hourglass that would never tip. Behind him was a nearly-buried gate leading to the old waterways. In front of him were cages. He didn’t want to keep the beasts inside waiting any longer; he’d kept them unfed a little too long. They frothed at the sight of him, spurred on by Zant’s blood caked into his suit. 

“You’ll find something far tastier on the surface, my dears!”

One, two, three showy snaps of his fingers, and the chains bearing the monsters down disappeared. With a flex of his hands, his fist cloaked itself in glowing, purple magic. He took a running start, heading straight for the back of the cages (where the monsters’ eyes hungrily followed him), and launched himself at the massive lever that stood there. With one solid punch, the old mechanism screeched back to life, and past all its rust, the switch was flicked. A rattling that could only be produced by a machine at the end of its life echoed throughout the room. Tugged upwards by heavy chains, the cage doors were lifted, and out stormed their inhabitants. 

But before they could make for the little creature that stood antagonizing them, a cascade of sand cued them in on the blue skies above. A ring tunnel of diamond magic pried open the quicksand pitfall in the ceiling and allowed these beasts the first glimpse of sunshine they’d seen in weeks. 

Not to mention, the smell of fresh carcasses. 

The Manhandla, a four-headed, man-eating plant; threw itself against the wall and clambered up through its web of roots. The Molduga, the very giant sandworm Ghirahim had stolen away scarce a month earlier; took to the skies and flew through the opening. The Lanmola, a cyclopean centipede; swam up the stream of sand.

But that was merely the first wave. This was the Southern Desert’s treat: the North would get its very own collection of nuisances. His next teleportation took him to the mesas in the northeast, where six pairs of eyes furiously eyed him down from within their cave prison. The caverns in these rocky mountains were straightforward tunnels, opening right into the deserts. After opening the cages, all he had to do was give them an incentive to break free.

So, naturally, he brought the entire cave to a collapse. As soon as the beasts panickedly rushed out of their prisons, Ghirahim snapped his fingers and perched himself on the Mesa’s edge, overlooking the monsters’ exit holes. 

The first to break free were the two Dodongos, bulky, rock-clad lizards; curled up and rolling, shot out like cannonballs. Then came the Helmaroc King, a giant prismatic bird; shrieking wildly and leaving a storm of feathers in its wake as it beat its wings and flew off. Finally, poking out one head after the other, came the Gleeok, the three-headed dragon; with stout little legs and clumsy, serpentine necks, it sauntered to the mouth of the tunnel somewhat timidly. But at the first sight of prey below, it roared viciously and spread its draconic wings, and set off in pursuit of violence.

Ghirahim returned to his post at once, finding Zant just as vacant as he’d left him, but with far greater amusement sketching his face. The Twili didn’t appear to notice him as he sidled up next to him, hands in his sides. 

“Satisfied by my handiwork, Twilight King?”

“More than, Yima Zeeioitneit,” he responded. Zant had cleaned himself up a bit in his absence, but was looking no less gaunt. “Would you like to see the fruits of your labor?”

“Gladly, I would,” Ghirahim said, keeping his apprehension about Zant’s intrusive, meddling magic to himself. 

Zant shook himself out of his daze, at once standing with his eyes bright and glowing. “Then allow me some time to recuperate. I will share my clairvoyance with you in the meantime, Ghirahim-ili.”

Before Ghirahim could utter a word of questioning or protest, Zant’s shape turned pitch-black, becoming no more than a silhouette with shining eyes. A rustle sounded as the shade before him ducked down and turned into nothing more than a smudge, and, shockingly… Melted into the floor. Just like that, Zant seemed to have crawled into his shadow. There was the alarming presence of magic, certainly, but otherwise, he felt not a thing of it. At least, not until Zant fulfilled his promise. Ghirahim then learned, intimately, just what he meant by ‘clairvoyance’. 

A sudden burst of droning visions took over his sight, shaking him into an unsightly stumble. Each flashed by for mere seconds before Zant flicked him over to the next, all blurring into the same haze. Only after sitting there, hands in his hair and groaning audibly, did he piece together just what he was looking at. It seemed that Zant had planted more of his Shadow Insects on the skulls of their monsters, and thus, allowed the both of them front-row seats to each individual rampage. 

To the north, the Helmaroc crested to dizzying heights, carefully eyeing its companions. Yards below it, the Gleeok was circling the desert, scarcely avoiding flurries of arrows from piercing its wings. It found its point of interest in a line of provision wagons, which already had its many hands full with the giant lizards besieging it from both sides. Claws extended, it swooped down in an instant, plowing through the line of them with its razor-sharp talons. 

Now out of a meal, the twin Dodongos sought their fortune elsewhere. They turned straight to the oasis, where they expected to rake in the biggest rewards, only to find the place heavily guarded. Grimoire in hand, Sorceress Lana nervously eyed down the two approaching beasts. She was a nimble woman, swiftly evading raking claws and blazing fire, but she did not take well to being surrounded. From the eyes of this Dodongo, she swooped in dangerously close. Just as the massive reptile thought to swallow her down in one gulp, a large, translucent cube was lodged in its gullet, and with the touch of the Sorceress’ hand, electrified. It shrieked and convulsed, reflexively clamping its jaws hard enough to crack its teeth, and just like that, collapsed.

This Dodongo was down for the count. But before its Shadow Insect died with it, it captured just a few more seconds. From the sound of blazing fire and the screams of their opponent, the beast’s twin appeared to hold fast.

The southern desert was similarly infested. The Manhandla had dug its roots throughout the sand, sprouting additional heads across the desert to drown it in a poisonous haze. Soon, only the dead could wander here, and the very bold. Those who dared approach the floral menace disappeared quickly past its massive teeth. Monitoring this monster led the pair of lieutenants to begrudgingly note that one of its four heads seemed to have gotten hacked off somewhere along the way. Though, they doubted they minded. If the victory was all too crushing, there would not have been any honor in it. Much less satisfaction. 

This next vision was fully dark, until it burst with sudden light. How the fragile insect managed to cling on to this creature through all the sand was a mystery. From the shrill bellowing, these could only have been the sights of the Molgera, soaring through the skies in pursuit of prey. And what a target it had chosen! Skidding away from the sandworm, bow and arrow boldly drawn but visibly alarmed, was their favorite green-clad menace, his blue scarf long lost in the scuffle. He had felled the Lanmola in record time. From the look in his eyes, that wouldn’t be his only trophy of today. Whether he would fulfill that ambition was another question. The Molgera roared and dove for him, but shrieked when an arrow pierced it someplace unseen, and veered off course. It burrowed beneath the sand once more, plunging their vision in darkness. Through the roaring of sand surging past the giant beast, there was a sound; footsteps, hurrying away. The Molgera homed in on its source and launched for the surface. 

It breached, it opened its maw. A scream was heard, then muffled by the resounding clap of the Molgera’s jaws snapping shut. As the Molgera twisted itself through the air, not a trace of the Hero of Legend remained.

Cackles and shouts of triumph and astonishment echoed through the Arbiter’s Grounds. Had the Twili stood beside him, rather than lie hidden in his shadow, Ghirahim would have embraced him and thrown him around the arena for good measure. What an undignified end for the little Hylian! Ghirahim was ecstatic. Already he swell with pride over the thought of informing their Master of this victory. The pair of them sang praises of this magnificent sandworm. Even after they’d treated it so cruelly, it hadn’t let them down in the slightest. Whether it could hear their words conveyed through the Shadow Insect, wasn’t their concern. 

Amidst their celebration, the Molgera suddenly groaned. Shuddered. Slowed in its flight. It contorted itself, squeaking in pain, until it tore its mouth open in a shriek. The Shadow Insect lost all functionality. Its host could only be dead.

What happened? It was in the air – how had it perished!? 

Zant apparently had the same questions. He frantically browsed through the Insects still alive, until he found a proper view of the events through the eyes of the Manhandla. The Molgera fell from the skies, its spiked belly slit wide open. A rain of blood and guts splattered onto the ground before its multi-ton body hit the sand, sending forth an explosive dust cloud to shroud the battlefield from all.

Surfacing from that shroud, visible through the makeshift sandstorm by a glowing silhouette, was a newcomer to today’s battlefield. Fi, doll-faced as ever, but her blue gemstone surface now tainted with viscera, had surfaced from the Hero’s blade, and freed her ‘Master’. Offering her wing, she stuck herself halfway into the Molgera’s eviscerated stomach to pull Link free, soaked in mucus and blood. The morbidity of it all seemed completely lost on her gentle smile, as she stood watching him gather himself.

Ghirahim grit his teeth. “It seems they’ve taken a page out of our book, Twili… They’re hiding commanders!”

“And where there is one, there may be more. They think they have us for fools.”

With the appearance of Fi, a Hyrulean war horn sounded in the Southern Desert. The troops in the North responded. Surfacing from Lana’s shadow was none other than Midna, who immediately clenched a keratin fist around the head of an ambushing Bulblin commander. A sense of fury bubbled forth from his shadow, and lingered somewhere in Ghirahim, too. But as much as the arrival of the Twilight Princess spelled trouble, something about her appearance soothed Zant’s mood into a bubbly giggle. 

She was an imp again.

The war horn sounded in the North. Two responded; one from the Western mesas, and one from the South. Through the eyes of the Helmaroc King, a far more alarming sight poured into the desert. The troops they had fought so deftly to thin out were filling their numbers again. Vast swathes of Zora and Gorons arrived through glowing portals and raced to assist the overthrown Keeps. Only to then clash against equally large numbers of frothing demon forces, pushing each other back and forth past a faultline of trampled steel. This visceral desperation of gnashing teeth and battered armor only left the frontlines in stasis for so long. The Zora Princess, her arrival announced by a tidal wave sweeping along her own troops in massive schooling, forced an opening through the simple measure of washing away everything in her path. She came out the other end of the first line of infantry clad in silvery armor, spear in hand, looking back at the dizzied and drowning mass of demonic forces behind her. This very measure would carry her to the northern desert, where she quickly joined Lana’s side. 

Lana startled when the Dodongo just in front of her was sucked into a maelstrom and launched across the sands. When she turned to find Ruto, some sort of sentimental conversation was surely being carried out. Watching from the Gleeok still soaring above the keeps, neither Ghirahim nor Zant cared to hear it. Their despairing, confused prattles were far more interesting.

The Gleeok swept in closer, ducking out the way of an impending lightning bolt sent from the Sorceress’ grimoire. 

“I don’t understand, Ruto,” Lana cried. “Ghirahim and Zant were defeated, but their armies haven’t slowed down whatsoever!”

Ruto intercepted an incoming belch of fire with a watery shield, bursting it apart in glittering projectiles as she dismissed it. The Gleeok shrieked when one of its many eyes was pierced. “Desperation, it must be. It takes a pair of cowardly men like them to rig such posthumous traps!”

“Are we sure it was really them Sheik and Link defeated?” Midna cut in, surfacing from Lana’s shadow to glare down the limping Dodongo in the distance. “Like you said. They’re cowards! I’ll bet my entire treasury that the foes we saw were nothing more than illusions!”

A troubled expression dawned on Lana, which soon turned to anger. She burst out in front of the Zora Princess, spellbook at the ready, and sent out another burst of lightning. Though, this one was different. It broke apart like fireworks, each spark lighting its own deadly branch, that darted in zig-zags through the air. The Gleeok, hopeless to dodge such a flurry, lost one of its wings to countless tears and perforations and then crashed to the ground. 

Before the beast could stomp its way inside the keep, Lana blocked its entrance with a crackling barrier and whipped around to look at her companions. “Then- The real Ghirahim and Zant… They must be hiding somewhere, commanding from afar!”

“Oh, they can’t be that far. Those two draw to carrion more than a common fly,” Midna grimaced, squinting to peer out into the scorching desert. “Just so happens, I got just the trick up my sleeve to get to the bottom of this. Ruto! Cover me!”

Ruto nodded, readying her spear to join Lana’s side. Lana’s barrier did not hold much longer. Every passing second, the Gleeok was driven to madness by two voices balking commands into its triplet minds, and could only think to throw itself at the magical wards harder. Finally, it burst through, and wasted not a moment to start snapping at the two warriors in its way. Lana fought grimoire in hand, turning scattered parchment into razor-sharp projectiles, while Ruto threatened every impending bite with a thrust of her spear. 

While the Gleeok was rapidly losing scales to the combined assault, Midna stretched out her hand, readying a spell amidst the chaos. A gap tore itself through the fabric of reality, manifesting as a spreading shadow on the ground, soon thrumming and glowing with runes.

Stepping out of the shadows was a little girl, no older than eleven, who curtsied under the protection of her parasol. “Agitha has waited patiently as you ordered, Miss Kitty! How can she be of assistance?”

Lana was almost as disturbed by the girl’s appearance as Ghirahim and Zant, but clearly for different reasons. “A-Agitha? But… The two of you can’t just go out there alone. There are still giant monsters alive!”

The Zora Princess glanced over her shoulder, the second of distraction nearly costing her a fin to the jaws of the Gleeok. “Sorceress, if you wish to accompany them, We will hold down the Oasis.”

“Ruto, are you sure? In this weather, the Zora-”

“Do not doubt the resilience of Our people,” Ruto interjected, jabbing her spear between the plates on one of the dragon’s jugulars. “We know where their limits lie. Place your trust in Us. Now, go! Waste no precious seconds!”

“My, what a shame,” a voice echoed from the dragon. “They’ve become aware of our little plan quicker than expected.”

Zant figured to broadcast his mockery through the Shadow Insect still perched on the dethroned creature. Bleeding heavily from one of its throats, its still-living heads contorted their faces into toothy grins, the Gleeok puffed out its chest and stanced imposingly. The spread of its wings blotted out the sun above the keep, casting it in shadow.

Ghirahim found it a fine idea. “Then let them come find us! We’ll finish them off right away!”

Thus, precious seconds were wasted. By some incomprehensible measure of lollygagging, Midna stuck around while Lana and Agitha made for the desert. The pair of girls slipped past the Dodongo only thanks to Midna’s uncouth taunts, who sent wolves yipping and nipping at its front legs. A little of Zant’s own hatred for the Twilight Princess must have leaked into it, then, because the beast took the bait hook, line, and sinker. So focused it was on the hounds and the woman cheering them on behind them, that it failed to notice its remaining surroundings. Its maw opened wide, readying a blazing inferno, and aimed straight for its annoyance. 

Only for said target to dodge out of the way at the very last second, dragging the Zora Princess out of the trajectory along with her. Instead, the hellfire launched across, square into the chest of the already wounded Gleeok and melting everything in its way. A weaving path of coarse glass glittered in the sand, tying the two monsters by a thread of aggression. Their dragon could not resist retaliation and lunged for its treacherous comrade.

Thus, in the Oasis, two of the beasts were tearing each other down. In the sand wastes, one last beast made itself useful. The King Helmaroc, contrary to its name, was an obedient creature, and soared as high or hovered as low as they needed it to. Through its eyes, they saw Midna had joined the pair a little after her charade of chaos. 

From this vantage point, Ghirahim and Zant quietly observed their desert trek. At least, until Zant clicked his tongue, seeming annoyed. “I see now why they brought the girl. I should have expected this.”

“Somehow, even when we share the same thoughts, you manage to puzzle me. Get to the point.”

“Look closely. They have a Goddess Butterfly. It will lead them straight to us, and the labyrinth will not keep them.”

Once again, silence fell between them. Less time wasted in the labyrinth meant fewer opportunities to whittle down their strength. With this many enemy commanders, such a head start was crucial.

Even so, the thought of their plan failing ever so slightly, filled Ghirahim with a strange sense of excitement. “An unfortunate twist, but… Frankly, I was getting bored. I’m itching for a fight.”

Then, as if Zant had taken note of his excitement, he felt the warmth of a smile inside his mind. “Ghirahim-ili… When they arrive here, let us fight our hardest.”

Of course, the Helmaroc understood nothing at all of such banter. It was far more focused on the triad of two-footed creatures zipping through the sand sea. To a bird, this entourage of warriors must have looked awfully like a line of ants. 

It dove down for them, talons outstretched, as if they were. 

The first to react was not the Sorceress, nor was it Midna. Instead, the young girl turned a pouting face to the sky and popped the cork off a glass jar.

In an instant, a massive, emerald beetle appeared from thin air and swung its horn full-force into the Helmaroc’s gullet. Their eyes in the sky shrieked. An explosion of feathers obscured their vision as the panicked bird flailed its wings, knocked entirely off balance by the throttling of this massive bug. Zant’s quiet marvel for the adversary’s familiar was drowned out entirely by Ghirahim’s rage. How preposterous! This massive bird of prey, knocked out of the sky by a mere insect!? He took the reins immediately. 

The beetle now dismissed, the Helmaroc King chased after the girls on foot, pouncing at them with its claws and jabbing with its beak. But just as it started to get the drop on the group, the Temple complex was in sight, and the doorway they slipped through would never fit their bird.

When the Helmaroc was left behind them, squawking and pacing indignantly at the gate, the trio chased the little glowing insect through the Temple’s ever-twisting halls. Following this journey proved to be a pain. Zant had only set up Shadow Insects in so many corridors, and tracking their trajectory was a dizzying flurry of different angles and crowding soldiers. Yet, Zant managed to follow them in glimpses. Hyrulean and Demon soldiers alike had swarmed the place, fighting pointless battles in corridors leading nowhere. Undead gaolers were already scavenging the heaps of dead and injured, either locking those still breathing in chains, or ripping the bones from the freshly deceased to replenish their own limbs. Thus, the pair of women led a child over this carpet of corpses. The girl’s fighting ability mattered very little here – they were under the protection of Midna and her wolves, but even then, little ‘Agitha’, as they’d called her, looked too stunned to do anything but keep running. 

Along the way, found tearing the talons of a Dinolfos to replenish his throwing needles, was the Sheikah warrior. He had forfeited his turban to use it as a makeshift bandage for the wound in his side. The group swiftly urged him along. Striking down whatever station guards stood in their way, they reached the deeper bowels of the temple, where lines of defense grew more and more scarce.

The three eldest of the company grew more skeptical with each step. Midna leaned closer to Agitha, whispering something the Shadow Insect could not perceive.

“The Goddess Butterfly is never wrong, Miss Kitty,” the young girl assured. She seemed to have full confidence in the butterfly’s sense of direction, and faltered not even a second in chasing after it. And that confidence was well within her right, for Ghirahim recognized these corridors. They would reach their location in no time flat.

Soon, the ground beneath the group’s feet turned sandier and sandier, until the stone tiles were completely covered. They reached a dark chamber, lit only through the cracks of ventilation slits above the massive stone door across them. The butterfly fluttered across without a care, landing on the dusty surface of the door, and fanned its wings in rest. Agitha was about to tromp right after it, but the Sheikah stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. He pushed her back, right into Lana’s protective embrace. 

Painfully slow, annoyingly cautious, the Sheikah inched into the clearing of the room step by step. He could check for traps, he could listen for mechanisms and dowse for curses or enchantments, but he would find none. Instead, something found him.

A stinger, tall enough to almost scrape past the ceiling, shot out from the sand, and jabbed at the intruder. Its menacing needle missed only by the grace of the commander’s reflexes, pushing the tail out of its trajectory with a talon dagger, but failing to crack carapace. Shaking itself out of the sand, the final bastion had revealed itself. The Moldarach, a massive scorpion of centuries old, screeched and chittered a word of warning. Its pincers snipped menacingly, tendons tight and fierce. Yet, under the threat of its lightning-fast stinger, the little girl was least afraid of them all. 

Agitha looked up at the Moldarach in awe and rummaged in her basket, not taking her eyes off the creature once. “Ohh, I’d hate to hurt such a beautiful bug… I’m sorry, li’l one! But I don’t have a big enough bottle to keep you in!”

From it she retrieved an armful of glass jars, brandishing them as if they were explosives. Her entourage backed away hastily, clearly knowing far more about the contents of those jars than the Moldarach could. She tossed the jars with a sweep, racking them on the scorpion’s hard carapace at first impact. Out swarmed dozens of glowing, spectral butterflies, that headed straight for the first sign of soft flesh they could find: the Moldarach’s eyeball. The beast recoiled, pawing at its face in an attempt to shake the pests off, but it was fruitless. It could now only depend on the eyeballs hidden within its pincers, but in doing so, it revealed the soft tendons holding its claws together. Midna and the Sheikah exchanged a look, seemingly sharing an idea. 

Getting up close to this creature proved to be a challenge. Lunging in to take out its claws also meant being subjected to the monster’s lightning-fast reflexes, and Midna found herself trapped in its clutches soon enough. It squeezed, digging the teeth of its claws into her flesh dangerously. They hardly even needed the Shadow Insect for this – they could hear her cries of pain through the door. A little more and it might have killed her, had the Sheikah commander not severed the tender meat in its other claw. Its grip on the imp loosened in its distress and she managed to slip away, evading its gaze long enough for it to lose sight of her. The clash of claw, stinger, and blade continued, though the Moldarach grew more fatigued by the minute. Butterflies continued to eat at its face and attached themselves to whatever nerve opening they could find. Thus the creature slowed, its jabs and lunges losing their accuracy, until at long last it ceased its attacks altogether. They saw no use in waiting until the monster fully died; their little band of foils took this earliest opportunity to flee and push through the door.

The door slid open, grinding down coarse sand of centuries old as it slotted into the wall, and allowed the quartet of Hyruleans into the Coliseum. In the center they saw Ghirahim, lounging atop the Keep’s crumbling walls and examining his nails. 

Midna scowled, her fangs bared. She felt at the wounds on her chest, already scabbed over – so quickly? – and glanced to her side, where the child stood waiting expectantly. “Great work, Agitha. Now get out of here.”

At this command, Agitha looked to the Sheikah man with big, glittering eyes, smiling when he met her gaze with a nod. She curtseyed – if Ghirahim didn’t know any better, he’d think it was at him – and, with a dainty clutch of her frock, hopped down a Twilit portal.

“There you are, Demon!” Midna turned to foul, biting language the moment less-matured company was out of earshot. “Just you, huh? Go on. Cough it up! Where’s Zant? I don’t believe we got rid of him back in the desert. Not one bit!”

Ghirahim laughed, once again donning his gloves. Now more appropriately dressed, he hopped down from his perch and landed with a feathery flourish. Now that he seemed to be alone, and outnumbered at that, he decided he could afford a bit of taunting. He hummed, tapping thoughtfully at his chin with a wildly exaggerated gesture. “Oh, who can say? You make such a poor host out of me. All these questions, yet I’ve no intent to answer them!” Resting his hand on his cheek, he turned to Midna with a grin. With a puff of diamonds, he vanished, then reappeared before Midna, leaning down to glare at her with one pair of big, buggy eyes to another. “Say, I have one of my own. You look different. New haircut?”

Midna bared her teeth in a snarl, the fist at the end of her ponytail balling tightly until its fibers threatened to give. She lunged for him, the massive orange hand open and clawed. When his defending sword caught on the curved metal of her bangle, she leaned in with a grin. “Real jester you are! I take it this was your idea, then? That gaudy-masked imp told me to send you its regards.”

Majora. Ghirahim winced. It was getting a little too quiet on the Arch Demon’s front, he’d thought. But to rear its head again and mess with the Demon King’s enemies… There was no telling of its little plans. He turned his blade with a flick of his wrist, threatening to sever her hair at the shackle, and forced her back. “If I wanted you to be cursed, I’d ask someone more reliable.”

His eye flicked to the ground. Where he stood now, the low angle of the light stretched his shadow to that of the Keep’s walls… 

Zant emerged from the shadows in an instant, mere inches behind Midna, and swung at her like wings on a windmill. She shielded herself with the hair-clad hand of her ponytail, only to realize within a split second that the Twilight King’s new blade cut right through it. Ducking quickly out of the way, she spun through the air, launching herself to stand closer to her two companions. 

“It is a shame about your plight, Twilight Princess. I would have preferred to fight you in a more dignified form.”

When Midna forfeited a reply to glare him down, he laughed, turning to the altar behind him. “Nostalgic, is it not?” Zant waxed, his arms spread as he spun himself to the center of the coliseum. “The birthplace of our people. And perhaps, where the last of us will meet our end.”

Midna then made the grave mistake of taking his poetics as an opening and launched for him, the hand on her ponytail outstretched. The giant fist clenched around empty air when Zant promptly warped out of her way. Placing himself beside her momentum, he swung his scimitar down like a cleaver.

In an instant, magical wards were shattered. Showered in a foreboding glitter of gold, Midna cried out and smacked to the ground. But before Zant could lift his blade again and cleave her in half properly this time, the Sheikah dashed in to intervene. Only to then, himself, be driven to his knees by the daunting force of the Twilight King’s blade. It was two against one; each time Zant had subdued the one foe, the other would step in to try and take him out through his flanks. But Zant was too quick, his blade too sharp. Screeches rang out when the scimitar coursed past the edges of the Sheikah’s daggers, filling their cutting edges with worrying chips. Then, the first of them shattered to pieces completely.

Amidst it all, Zant cackled maniacally, madness tugging at his sweat-drenched brow with each swing of his sword. “Witness me, Ghirahim! We are unstoppable!”

But Ghirahim had very little time to witness. Lana had chosen him as her opponent and did everything in her power to keep him from uniting forces with his co-lieutenant. Frankly, he was a little amused that the Sheikah had not dared to face him a second time. But moreso, insulted, that the Demon Lord was not deemed a terrible enough foe to require backup to challenge. Tongue lolling from his lips in mockery and Annihilation in hand, he decided to make the Sorceress severely regret underestimating him.

Scratches tore through his robes and the strikes that hadn’t broken through his leather mail had surely bruised him, but Zant didn’t seem discouraged by injury whatsoever. Instead, he pushed through, seeking risk after risk and tearing through everything that opposed him. Soon, that boldness was awarded. Midna held up her hair-clad fist to defend herself, and Zant carved through two of its fingers as if it were made of wet paper.

Zant screeched with delight. “Your weeks of bedrest have atrophied your skills, Princess! While you lay there rotting in your own misery, I have gotten stronger!”

Midna growled, ducking behind the Sheikah to conceal herself from his bloodthirsty glee. Ghirahim, though, could see everything. Portals appeared in the shadows and from it surfaced a trio of wolves, each raising its hackles before bursting past the Sheikah and charging at the Usurper.

“Such cheap tricks will not work a second time,” Zant clicked his tongue.

Then, with a gust of wind, he launched himself backward and well out of range of the two warriors. With a single twirl, he drew a circle in the sand with his feet, and raised his arms to the skies. When he parted his lips to speak, every shadow stilled at once, slithering beneath the feet of each combatant, turning the air thick and heavy.

The air grew heavy, stopping every warrior in their tracks. A pale blue light shone from above, but none dared take their eyes off him to look for its source.

One by one, limbs limp and gangly in their descent, three creatures fell from the sky. Upon hitting the ground, their bodies contorted as they rose, each more bizarrely and stiffly than the next. They were massive, gray things, fitted with stone masks upon their faces and a mass of wet, slithering tentacles pouring from their faces.

Without even having to command them, the monsters galloped on all fours to throw themselves at the hounds. They entangled in a mess of rune and shadow, tumbling through the dust in a bestial scuffle. Midna looked on with horror.

Her companion had different concerns. Distracted by the sounds of magic, she whipped around. “That spell… How does he know that spell!?”

Just as Lana yelped, beset once more by the Demon Lord’s blade, Zant scoffed. “Did I not say I have gotten stronger!?” he taunted, knocking another brittle dagger out the hands of the Sheikah.

“Stronger!? And yet you rely on them?” Midna shouted, hurtling herself past her fellow commander to throw herself at Zant in a raging flurry. Where Zant could not parry her, he settled for shooting her from the air at point-blank with his projectiles. “How dare you utter even a word of affection toward our people, when you force their mutilated bodies to fight for your own gain!”

“Make your dogs stop attacking them, then,” Zant said, thoroughly nonplussed. At last, he forced both combatants off of him with a resounding shock wave, rattling even Ghirahim’s core where it rested in his metal.

When the ringing in his mind subsided, a different, familiar sensation took over Ghirahim. A blinking sound deep within him, imperceptible before, now alerted him to the presence of his kin. Fi – and by extension, most likely the green-clad knight tagging along – was fast approaching. “Oh, thank Our Lord, your cavalry is arriving. I was worried it would get a little too easy.”

Lana fell to the ground as Annihilation jabbed into her ribs. Its point bounced off stronger wards than he’d been met with before, and though Ghirahim didn’t exactly break skin, she clutched her chest with a groan either way. All three of their opponents exchanged a worried look, doubtlessly contemplating how to best gang up on them as they were bound to do.

Just as each of the Demon lieutenants took a step forward, deciding whose head to lop off first, new presences made themselves known. Pointing the glowing Goddess Blade forward in dowsing, Link entered through the stone gate, with Fi soon joining by his side. This second of distraction, a spark of hope for Hyrule, was just enough for the lot of them to scramble back to their feet and cluster into tight formation.

“Everyone, watch out,” Lana shouted, grimoire at the ready. “Only those with the Triforce can wield that magic!”

“He still has it?” Midna asked, eyeing Zant with her fangs bared.

Not expecting that reply, Lana turned to Midna, eyes wide with shock. “Still!?”

“Oh, so you remembered,” Zant chimed, making his way to the clustered group without hesitation. “Our Master is quite generous with his gifts. A small piece of that power is all I need to decimate the lot of you, who now have none at all. You would do better not to underestimate us!”

Midna’s eyes darted between her companions. A heaving, determined sigh tore through her. Then, her enraged expression twisted into a malicious grin. Her arms raised, she placed her hands on either side of her helmet. “Doesn’t matter. I could best you then, and I can do it now!”

The Coliseum was bathed in shadow. Midna drew darkness to her like a cyclone. Where Zant’s shadowy magic was warm and suffocating; a pulsing, all-consuming parasitic disease, hers was an eerie chill. From the pitch-black surrounding her feet, three ancient stone artifacts, the Fused Shadows, surfaced and encased her like a tomb.

When the first spidery legs burst forth from the bottom of the Twilight Princess’ stone-hewn armor, Ghirahim found himself beset by his own opponents. Link, drenched almost completely red with monstrous blood, ran for him, aiming right for his chest. Disappointed, almost, that the boy had learned nothing, he took hold of the blade with his bare hand, flicking it aside just in time to be able to step out the way of Fi’s impending kick. They were teaming up against him again, just as their other, more wounded companions were now piling on Zant. Where worry once would have possessed him, Ghirahim was now buzzing with nothing but thrill. The boy was already exhausted. He would get to tug the cords of his life from him strand by strand, and he hardly had to break a sweat to do so.

With that ever-lasting nuance and his dancing blade demanding his every second, Ghirahim couldn’t spare a glance at his battling compatriot. Not even as tendrilous arms, gnarled and glowing like smoldering branches of wicker, scampered around this battlefield, their incessant thumping shaking the rubble off the walls. Dust and pebbles rained down from above, only to be meticulously carved into halves by his sword. Some time ago, the duo of Link and Fi had bested him. 

But back then, he didn’t have this blade. Annihilation soared and carved, striking hard enough to make even the stone-faced Goddess Blade wince as he parried her swinging legs. With this power, enemy numbers didn’t matter – he would win.

A twinge of anxiety simmered in him nonetheless. While he could indeed not spectate the battle behind him directly, he caught impressions from the piece of himself, wielded by his co-lieutenant. A screech of metal, a beast recoiled. Hair-coiled fists he so easily carved through minutes past now felt solid as rock. Midna could not find a way through his defenses, and the ground shook as she struggled away from his offenses. Those that dared to try left a taste of blood upon his blade, however slight. Weapons crashed into each other in such a cacophony he could no longer distinguish the flashes of light in his own battle, from the ones imposed on him by Zant’s hands. To any mortal, such a barrage of violence would render them collapsed in the confusion, but to Ghirahim, it was Paradise.

Yet, this could not last long. Caught in bladelock with Link, he swiftly kicked the boy off of him when an alarming sensation overtook him. The part of him resting within the Demon Scimitar overloaded him with visions. With the uttering of strange words, Lana had bypassed Zant’s wards. Metal groaned eerily, then exploded, shrapnel shooting into the sand. An inky-black fist clutched around an equally black steel javelin, then threw it whistling through the air. But Midna didn’t aim for the now staggered Zant – she aimed at the ceiling. Chunks of stone and wispy sands rained down, blinding all who waited below, until the dust cleared. Zant noticed it before anyone else, and burst out into a shriek when sunlight flooded every corner of the Coliseum. 

They hounded him like a pack of starved wolves. More blinded than ever and his skin blistering, Zant couldn’t defend himself from the Sheikah’s assault, nor Link’s, nor Lana’s, all the while Fi kept Ghirahim across the arena. His guard dog, forced away from its flock. With every second in the sun, Zant was weakening. He simply couldn’t keep up, not while blinded and in agony like this. With desperate flings of their sword, he only barely managed to deflect the blows that would have otherwise sliced his head off. Blood stained the sand around him as strike after strike tore through his armor like it was no more than air. When his weapon finally fell from his hands, Midna took it as a sign, and grappled his battered body with a tendril for each limb. When he lifted his face, his stare was aimless, but full of malice.

“Sheik, now!”

Lana commanded, desperately eyeing the still-bleeding Sheikah commander. He complied with a nod too serene for such a boyish warrior. A glow gathered in his palms, abstract and foggy at first, until he grasped it, held it before him, and drew the string. Fuzzy sparkles shed from the light-made object, revealing its true form.

A bow. With a single blink, the Sheikah’s eyes turned from red to crystal blue.

It was the Princess! Ghirahim’s body froze over. In Zant’s current state, that single arrow would be fatal. What could stun their Master was deadly poison to his underlings.

An inhibition, once hard-coded into every fiber of his being, now shattered. Annihilation felt feather-light in his hands but crashed into Fi with the force of a stampede. A single facet chipped off her core, and would still be floating in the air when Ghirahim bolted to the center of the arena. Step, after step, after step, pummeling the sand into craters. The arrow nocked and braced, was then released. Ghirahim disappeared. A whistle, fletchings quivered in the air. Ghirahim burst into view in the middle of the Coliseum, arms outstretched. He grabbed Zant by the shoulders, and with a chime of diamond magic, they were gone.

The arrow pierced into the Keep wall. A piece of Fi’s core fell into the sand. Out of the five warriors present, none of them had been able to prevent their escape.

He needed shadows. There was only one place that would suffice. Around them, the world turned monochrome. With the Twili tucked carefully in his arms, he set his sights far beyond the labyrinth and took them both to the Palace. Nowhere would be darker than the quarters of the Twilight King.

Sheets hastily ripped off, bedding drenched in darkening blood. Zant lay stiff and unmoving, gasping like a fish, struggling none as Ghirahim ripped his clothes from him. A decorative fastening pin flew and clattered across the tile floor. Zant’s portrait above them looked on with a smirk.

Hyrulean weapons had gone right through his armor. He was a mess of red-stained wool and torn leather, gaping wounds pulsing fresh blood. Far too much of it. Ghirahim ripped the cork off a potion bottle with his teeth and shoved the glass opening to Zant’s lips, who coughed and sputtered as the thick liquid gushed down his gullet. 

“Just this- Just this, and you will be alright. Stay with me,” Ghirahim hissed, keeping a close eye on the Twili’s battered body. Wounds closed up, but too many remained raw and open. Cursing under his breath, he snipped his fingers, keeping one hand – glove bunched underneath his grip – pressed heavily to a gash on Zant’s thigh. And what a useless measure it was. This wound was just one of many that needed his attention. The sheets he tore from the cupboards, drenched in water from his nightstand washing table and spilled bourbon, soon lost their white cleanliness to deep, deathly red.

Needle and thread summoned themselves with a snip of his fingers. Sewing implements, but Ghirahim had little else in his reach. Zant cried and whined when the makeshift gauze was now pressurized by a knee, Ghirahim’s hands too occupied with the needle. Bent into a rounded angle around his finger, sterilized with a flame. He thread the needle and set to pushing it through flesh.

“I’d say your crying brings me misery, Zant,” he grinned, an expression creeping on him purely from his nerves, “but do not stop. At least then I know you are alive and conscious.”

Pierce, tug, tie, and snip. Rhythmic and perfect, Ghirahim mended wound by wound. He knew how to carve flesh, so too, did he know how to sew it back together. Each wound bled with different severity. His midriff, his legs, his chest. There, he’d been carved down to the rib, surrounded by irritated flesh and glowing veins. The body tormented by these injuries cried and cried, but had not the strength to even writhe. As focused as Ghirahim was, his eyes still strayed and flicked to his right. Zant’s naturally pallid complexion helped him absolutely none in telling how much time he had. But his fading patterns did. Their teal glow almost ceased. Another potion. This time, he poured some of it directly on the still-opened wounds, hoping their sizzle would burn the veins shut. Zant was awake enough to swallow the rest of it, but not to protest against the drops that snuck into his windpipe. Only when Ghirahim had turned him on his side to tend to his back did the healing liquid’s magical effect rejuvenate him enough to rasp and hack it up. He shrieked immediately when the sudden jolt caused Ghirahim’s needle to stick him.

“Keep whining, please,” Ghirahim muttered. “If you have enough energy to act childish, then…”

Zant hissed, growled, snarled, every tug of the thread now an affront. His toes curled and his fingers dug in the sheets, weakly, but characteristically, either way. When every wound he could see was stitched, Ghirahim took the cords of lacing out the loops at his back and rid Zant of his final layer. Red, white, black; teal slowly returning, if it wasn’t simply the phosphorescent glow of the room around them. In a few days, this body would be a rainbow of bruises. Should he last that long.

Only then did Ghirahim allow himself to draw breath. Not as a necessity, but as a soothing tic, to come back to his senses and for a second empathize with a mortal man. He slumped onto the bed, his head resting on Zant’s chest. It was in this rest that the full gravity of the past minutes reached him. Rather, it jumped full force onto his back, its weight forcing him into immobility and sinking him into the bed. Ghirahim couldn’t recall when he started weeping; he’d been on auto-pilot from the second Zelda nocked her arrow.

Zant’s heartbeat thumped against his forehead, hard and heavy as it would whenever the Twili had a lump in his throat. Its pace quickened when Ghirahim spoke. “I almost lost you.”

Zant’s hand raised, then dropped onto Ghirahim’s back. Cold fingers stroked him softly. “You may still, Oibedelrik, Yima Daegge Esweteli,” Zant whispered hoarsely, forcing his words out with the nigh manual contracting of his rib muscles. “Odowuni kem idzidiy Iya, ee Iya-” he murmured, his eyes rolling to the backs of their sockets. His eyelids fluttered shut, then shot back open, revealing darting pupils as if he’d just remembered where he was. “I am not yet bandaged,” wheeze, “and when my blood returns to me,” wheeze, “I may yet fall to fever.”

“Shut up.” Banish the thought. As if he would be so negligent! A doctor, he was not, but as much as he could bring death, he could also spot its tellings, and he did not intend on letting it rear its head again. Ghirahim closed his eyes, listening intently to his pulse – as if it would slip away if he turned away for even a second – then raised himself to finish the job.

He had to go back to the battlefield. There was no telling whether all their beasts had been defeated or not, or whether they even had a chance to take down Hyrule’s commanders. He would return, alone if he had to, Ghirahim decided as he stroked a warm, wet cloth along the dried blood on Zant’s torso where his stitches did not taint him. But he’d only leave when Zant was stable. 

In his spiraling, Zant’s hand had found its way to his hair, running its fingers through the strands. For once, Ghirahim cared not how bloodstained he would get. Zant’s weak voice muttered, slipping between heaving breaths. “All of them, at once… I foresaw many, but every caste and clade…”

“I know, I know,” Ghirahim responded, wringing the blood from the reddened cloth. “But the more we whittle down today, the less prepared they’ll be when Master strikes.”

“There is no ‘we’, Ghirahim. I cannot fight like this. I was bested once again.”

“I will take care of it,” Ghirahim muttered, a frown on his brow. He thought it ripe time to change the subject. “The Princess, disguising herself as a Sheikah... I’d almost say she exceeded us in trickery today.”

Zant sighed, his arm quickly becoming deadweight in his hand as Ghirahim took it for bandaging. That strange gray on his skin had spread almost no further. “Posing as a substitute for General Impa, I reckon.”

Ghirahim left Zant to his musings and grew oddly giddy with his own. The thrill of battle and clawing his companion away from death’s door scalded him from within, filling him with an inexplicable well of energy. 

“But if the Princess is here… That’s good news, wouldn’t you say?” Ghirahim began to prattle, a manic tug at his brow as he pinned the last few bandages in place. “Fewer commanders are guarding the palace than we expected. If we hurry and inform Master Ganondorf, surely–”

“Ghirahim–”

But Ghirahim did not hear him. Whatever he said then, he could not even recall himself, so thoroughly he was caught up in a whirlwind of plans.

“Ghirahim, stop.”

The pair met eyes in silence, one still wearing a bewildered grin, the other lying grim and pale on what was almost his resting place. “There is no point. Your revelation will fall on deaf ears. We were never meant to leave this desert.”

Ghirahim’s expression dropped, managing only a slight grin in his confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Master sent us here to die.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ghirahim frowned, fighting off a pit of dread in his gut. This was just his usual delirium, he thought. The same madness shaken into him by fear and injury, like it had Volga.

Zant, however, did not take his struggle kindly. He frowned at him indignantly. “You call me ridiculous? You deceive even yourself. Face it, Ghirahim. We are two against seven of Hyrule’s finest commanders. This was a suicide mission from the start, as I suspected Death Mountain must have been, too.”

“... But-” Ghirahim struggled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Zant was a liar, he knew this. But now? To him? About something like this? Neither possibility, not Zant deceiving him so brazenly, nor being abandoned by his Master, computed in his mind. “We were- What could I have done to displease him to this degree? Why would he want to be rid of me? You speak nonsense!”

“You did nothing, Ghirahim. You are perfect. Your sole crime was associating with me. For me, it was only a matter of time until he did away with me. He is unworthy for the throne, and, one way or the other, I would have stopped him from seizing it.”

Ghirahim froze. Pieces fell on the ground before him but he didn’t dare to watch them assemble. Something hot and furious was starting to thaw the ice of his shock from within. “What?”

“Your surprise tells me he did not even bother to confirm his suspicions before abandoning you.” With a huff and groan, he shifted, trying to prop himself upright on his pillow. The grimace he pulled in his pain remained in his face, molded from rage and hatred. “I detest him, Ghirahim, and finally he has noticed it. He must have known I wished for his death, and that I intended to follow through.”

Ghirahim staggered away from the bed as if pushed. An instant revulsion forbade him from staying anywhere near the wounded man before him, and in his disgust, he willingly followed this instinct. He scowled at him, wide-eyed and vicious, tongue lashing and drenched with venom. “So your title was given to you for good reason. I cannot believe my ears. Immature little boy, you are! Our accursed usurper, unable to keep his grubby claws off any throne when he grows the slightest bit displeased. You ungrateful wretch!”

“Ungrateful? You know not what you speak of,” Zant scowled right back, tears of rage welling up in his eyes and his teeth bared. The Lord of Twilight turned to him unflinchingly, hunched like a pouncing beast as if his drive to convince him had filled him with fresh vigor. “In my time, Ganon was to me what Demise was to you. My God, I adored him,” he waxed, hands covering his face in grief. “I did his bidding. I worshiped him, freed us both from our decrepit prison. Yet, when I gave my life for him, he broke his promise to me. Instead of freeing my spirit to rule by his side, he took everything I ever worked for. And then- then-” Zant paused, hands falling limply into his lap. “When defeated by his little foil, when the strings of his soul dared touch upon mine to beg for my assistance, I denied him.”

Zant’s eyes turned to him again. The first hints of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “You understand, don’t you? It was no hero, no princess, who slayed the Demon King in the age of Twilight. The one to deliver the final blow, was me.”

That very second, a little part of Ghirahim’s world shattered. When he realized the consequences of plotting alongside a man so treacherous, the rest shattered with it. Right under his nose, Zant had made an enemy of his Master, and by extension, of Ghirahim. There were questions he wanted to ask, insults to be hurled. He could only think of one question, that bubbled to the surface of his heart like scum in a boiling pot. “How long have you plotted this?”

Zant lowered his gaze, for as far as the stare of a near-blind man mattered. “From the very start,” he admitted, sighing. “After such a betrayal, to awaken to another manifestation of my tormentor, and have him once again demand my services… He may as well have spat in my face. Though, I admit, for a little while, I buckled. Somewhere, I must have loved him still, drawn to his power and our shared hatred for Hyrule as I was. I wanted to see if I could trust this version of him, who seemed so noble. But after your stories, Ghirahim, how his incarnations cast you aside so carelessly… I made up my mind. Ganondorf does not change.”

“So then all of this was just a lie, part of your plans?” Ghirahim asked, his voice quaking. He didn’t care for Zant’s excuses, not when they pulled every minute he spent by his side into question. Not when they sabotaged everything he’s ever stood for. “I, too, just a little scheme for you?”

Zant gasped, inching closer to the edge of the bed to look at him in pleading. “No, Ghirahim. How could I have foreseen this? I came to you seeking an ally, and I found a new reason for my heart to beat. For every lie I have told you, I have spoken to you as many truths tenfold, in how I’ve grown to love you. It is only because of you I have made it this far. You’ve given me peace, soothed my soul when I threatened to bubble over. And, more importantly, Ghirahim-ili, you have made a warrior of me.” Zant urged, attempting a smile, his hand outstretched. “Which is why I ask you to join me.”

Ghirahim was too stupefied by his words to answer. So Zant took advantage of his silence to continue. “You know now of my hatred, my every motivation. Yet you stay loyal to him, even if you must know he will not spare you. He has not spared you, for he resigned someone so loyal to him to the same fate he did a traitor.”

His arms snaked around himself, his nails digging in the false skin of his arms. Ghirahim took another step back; the Twili’s presence alone made it feel like insects were crawling inside his steel, tunneling through him like termites. His mind hit a roadblock, reached a final terminal, and the logic Zant asked from him sat horizons away where his tracks would not reach. “... Then if Master wills it-”

Zant shot up in his seat, snapping at him before he could finish his sentence. “Do you know how it hurts me, Ghirahim? To see someone so precious to me tear himself apart over someone who would shatter him on a mere whim? After all you do for him, he denies you at every turn and punishes you for the barest things. It has taken every shred of composure I had not to tear into him when he threatened to hurt you. If I had not hated him before, the way he treats you would have convinced me to.”

He’d avoided his eyes up until then, but Ghirahim now shot his gaze straight at him. They exchanged a scowl, each gnashing teeth, one from hatred, one from love. Desperation seized him and sharpened his edge. 

Ghirahim made for him and pushed him back into the pillows. “You know not what you ask of me. To think I would care what hurts you now, after what you’ve told me! You speak of whims? You’re asking me to abandon my every purpose for something as small as your mortal love. My purpose is all I have. It is me. To ask me to betray Demise is to doom myself to scrap, Zant.”

Zant had refused a squeak when he was shoved. With tears in his eyes, he simply laid there, glaring at him. He cradled a freshly ruptured suture through its bandages. “You are not yourself when you speak of him! Listen to the words you spew! Scrap!? So highly you think of yourself, you carry yourself as the priceless artifact that you are, yet when around him, you are degraded to the ranks of mere tools.”

Ghirahim gripped his hair in wild frustration. “Because- I am precisely as perfect as I am because of Him! Without Him, without a hand to wield me, I am nothing.”

Zant stared at him, perturbed, before groaning in his agony and sinking into his pillows. For a moment, he wilted again, speaking bitterly as he resigned himself. “Then you have been, and will be nothing, for a very long time.”

In an instant, his vision went red. “How dare you!”

Ghirahim pounced him, hands outstretched and clawed, landing square upon his chest, ignoring the grit of Zant’s teeth, his squirms, his pained squeaks. All he paid attention to were his wide-open eyes and the fear he could milk out of them. He gripped him fiercely by the shoulders and shook him as he spoke. “It’s all your fault, isn’t it!? Why he would not wield me! Why I could not gain his trust!? All because of your greed, he now sees me as a conspirator to your rotten betrayal.”

His hands found Zant’s throat and squeezed. Ghirahim leaned in close, fangs bared. Zant did nothing. Just the sight of those glowing pupils fueled the fire of his rage. “A thousand miserable years I’ve waited, working hard to see him again. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? Your puny, mortal mind could never comprehend the lengths I’ve gone to!”

He reared back his fist, and still Zant did nothing. “Now I can wait thousands more, and he will never wield me again!!”

Ghirahim panted amidst his accusations, tears streaming down his cheeks the second they beaded in the corners of his eyes. He scanned the Usurper’s eyes for substance, for anything that wasn’t pity. When he didn’t find it, he snapped. Before he knew it, his fist connected to Zant’s cheekbone. Crack. “How could you do this to me? We were going to win!” Crack. “I would finally have been happy, after I’ve been alone for so long, and you RUINED everything for me!”

Crack. Snap. A whimper. There wasn’t an inch of Zant’s face untainted by blood and bruising, and still, that horrible fool did nothing to stop him. “I should kill you!”

He sent Zant’s head twisting left to right, right to left, with each punch. His heart had broken twice over today. First, shattered to pieces from all hope of becoming his Master’s blade. Then, its shards were trampled by the very man below his relentless assault, who had punished him so severely for daring to open himself to that mortal love. What a complete and utter fool he’d been. He should have expected to be punished like this, for entering a world he didn’t belong in.

And still, past the swollen, blood-smeared skin, Zant did not take his gut-wrenching eyes off of him, trying to fool him into loving him again to save his own measly life. It was an outrage! A betrayal this massive, and Zant had the gall to try and garner his sympathy. To assert they were alike in fate. There was only one who had lost everything, whose prospects were null, and who was only living on borrowed time. Only one banished from his home, his every goal snatched from before his nose. Only one whom his Master truly abandoned, to never be forgiven.

… No.

There were two.

Before his fist could crash into him once more, a convulsion tore through Zant’s body below him. Within the blink of an eye, he changed. His skin lost all color, turning a deep, shadowy black, while his patterns dimmed, and his hair bristled into a brittle white, like spider’s silk. 

Zant was dying.

The ties to the Demon Scimitar pulsed in his chest. There lied that rebellious little dagger, the one that thumped against the walls of his core whenever this wretch would look at him in his strange ways. Did it not feel good? Its little voice whispered in his mind. Even if it was such a small piece of you in his hands, did it not fill you with joy? Master will not wield us, and this world has so few who are worthy of us. Is it not better to rest part of you in capable hands, than in nothing at all?

Ghirahim clutched his head, begging for silence. He could not handle even a second of doubt, of weakness. If this man were simply dead, everything would be so much easier. If he were the one to kill him, Master would forgive him. But are you ready for him to die? 

He was. He would have to be. He wanted to be. It would be so simple. He just wanted to be wielded. To be held in someone’s hands, to be part of something greater.

He wanted to be loved.

Please, help him.

Oh, God. What has he done?

He detested the despairing little squeak behind him as he walked away from that deathbed. Even more, he reviled himself, for glancing behind and allowing the teeth of guilt to sink into him at the pitiful sight of that beaten creature. 

What he hated most was how he’d been convinced to return after his brief departure, healing elixirs in hand, and seeing tear-drenched eyes looking at him with a bloody smile. 

Don't look at me like that, you horrible man. You’ve ruined my life.

But that pitiful part of him felt relieved how Zant could smile at the sight of him still. How Zant was glad to see him, even after attempting to take his life mere seconds earlier. A withered hand shook as it reached out for him. Ghirahim took it and squeezed.

The room was silent as Ghirahim nursed Zant back to health. Far, far into the desert outside, chaos was unfolding. The few remaining giant monsters were now surely being slaughtered, and their troops would have to cherish idle hopes of succeeding in their reign of terror, in their commanders’ absence. Deep, deep below the ground, Gerudo and Bulblin who could not fight were taking shelter in the dungeons, waiting for the pounding footfall to fade away and leave them in peace.

Neither side knew they were here. They would sit in this room, disturbed only by the glare of Zant’s portrait, judging this pathetic display. Zant strained to breathe. His complexion had inverted almost to its original colors, while his hair returned to its original, rosewood shade. However, some strands retained that ghostly white from before. Ghirahim hoped it would be permanent. He hoped he would remember this accursed day every time he was confronted with his reflection. 

Never before had shadows bothered him. Now, in the deep darkness of Zant’s bedroom, it suffocated him. Neither of them said a word. There was nothing to say, but in this stifling pit of nothingness, he began to crave the slightest noise. He wished he could go back to a time when this dark was comforting, to be filled with nothing but idle chatter and the grappling of their bodies. Like this, through noise, through touch, Ghirahim could only think to hurt him.

So, Ghirahim seized the bridge of Zant’s nose and cracked what cartilage he hadn't shattered back into place. He took hold of his jaw, counted to three in his head, and popped the crooked thing back in its sockets. If Zant had cried out in pain at any of this, he wouldn't have noticed. The ringing in his ears was just too loud. His handiwork now finished, he trusted the potions to do the rest. 

Then, he waited. For anything, really. For the battle raging outside to dissipate. For their forces to come bursting through the castle gate cheering with glee, or for the enemy to come raid it of every worth and woman inside, and drag the two of them to the gallows, while they were at it. But mostly, he waited for any change in Zant. 

Look at him. He cannot even raise a finger to hurt you. You could end this right here, right now, Ghirahim thought to himself. Yet he sat and did nothing. When his eyes met the ones that stared glossily back up at him, filled with agonized gratitude, that thought snuffed out, and its wicker would burn no longer.

Ghirahim swallowed his apprehension, inhaled sharply, and sighed. “What will you have me do?”

Zant opened his mouth to speak, but the shards of crumbled teeth fell into his throat as he uttered his first syllable. Ghirahim sat and watched as he choked and spat them out on his pillow.

“We are to wait out the right time to strike back for the throne, but today, we cannot. So we will have to fool them with one more ruse. Return to the battlefield, Ghirahim,” he wheezed, swallowing the blood from a dry throat. “Strike at whoever is closest. Be vengeful. Be fierce. You must fight like you never have before.

Zant breathed deeply. With each chug of air, another wound closed up, though their scars and deep black bruises remained. “You are to disappear with me. They must be convinced that I succumbed to my wounds.”

You should have.

“And, to their knowledge, you will take to the grave with me. Come closer,” he said. His hand searched beside his face on the pillow and retrieved a shard of tooth, long and pointy, almost complete. With a tiny crack, he then reached over, and fastened it to Ghirahim’s earring, to an empty link remaining there. “A memento, to convince them of my death.”

Ghirahim rose again in silence. A little piece of bone so small dangled from his ear, but the weight of its burden could tip him over. Zant continued to speak as if this was the simplest matter in the world. “Take our blade. My power rests within it, still, and it is all the help I can afford you.”

Listlessly, mechanically, Ghirahim rose from his seat before Zant even finished his sentence. The sword lay by his bedside, hastily thrown to the side along with Zant’s armor. He picked up that shard of himself and apologetically wiped it of its grime. 

A roar reverberated from outside, echoing past the sands and through the castle walls. Zant called to his attention again with his glowing eyes aimed straight at him. “The Gerudo are innocent in all this. The least we can do is scare this vermin away from their homes. I trust you to have tricks up your sleeve, Yima Mionaida.”

Despite it all, his little nicknames stirred in his chest. Ghirahim clenched his fist harder around the grip of the Demon Scimitar, as if to smother it. His Diamond. The miserable, manipulative cretin that he was. And Ghirahim was doing all his bidding. 

Just before he could turn his back to leave, he was halted one last time. “Ghirahim,” Zant started, but he knew saying his next words would only draw his ire. His face said every letter anyway. I’m sorry.

Ghirahim ran. Within a flash, he was back in the sweltering heat of the desert, bolting from the Temple Complex and kicking up sand trails in his escape. He tore past keeps, the slain corpses of their monsters, and field battles still unfolding between forces too stubborn to believe the war was won. Those who dared bar his way were dealt with swiftly, their heads rolling. He left the perfect trail like this. A pristine white lightning bolt with a sword sharper than the cruel edge of time, such a description could only fit one man. The eyes he sought snared onto him. Enemy commanders, skeptically scouring the desert and leaving not a stone unturned for a trace of Ganondorf’s finest. Now, they found him and were giving chase just like he wanted. 

Blood and plate mail carpeted the vast sands racing below his feet. Rock outcroppings raced past; trampled patches of desert scrub – Safflina and a type of sagebrush. The smell of drying vegetation filling the air was the same as when Zant held sprigs from them up to his nose for inspection – and, finally, the gate to the bazaar, zipped past him. Almost, he, the false deserter, had gotten away with leading the lot of them out into the wider desert, until a familiar rumble ripped him from his concentration. 

Ghirahim swerved to the side, narrowly avoiding a boulder that barreled past him. It skidded to a halt before him and unfolded, though he didn’t have to see that transformation to know what nuisance stood before him. There was, once again, Darunia, Chief of the Goron Tribes.

“Not one step further, Pebble.”

The sight of him was enough to startle even Ghirahim, though he was too jaded to find any delight in it. Darunia’s torso was heavily scarred, and his right arm, gone. In its place was a jumble of machinery, with pistons and gears whirring noisily to heave the weight of a massive hammer at the very end of the prosthetic limb. Beyond a solid steel helmet, the Goron Chief wore a wide grin, though one less eye stared back at Ghirahim than last time.

“Thought to slip by us, did you? All on your lonesome?” said the Goron Chief, brandishing his weapon. “I wasn’t looking forward to facing off against that nutcase anyhow, but a lil’ something tells me my siblings took care of that for me…”

Ghirahim looked back. The peaks of Gerudo Palace were no longer in sight. For whatever chaos he would unleash… This would have to be far enough. All he had to do was stall for time until the rest of the Hyrulean commanders caught up to him.

“You truly wish to keep me? Very well,” Ghirahim replied, holding the Demon Scimitar up to the sun. Sand powdered his bodysuit from top to bottom, crusting gray and gold in every crease. But their blade remained immaculate. Its silvery edge still shone into his pupils, like teeth flashing in a hungry grin. “Make this worth my while.”

Darunia’s hammer pounded into the ground fiercer than ever. The springs on his arm, hefty as it might have been, gave him untold speed and force with each swing. Ghirahim couldn’t stop the speed of that hammer anymore – where there were once bulging veins now sat machinery, forged from a steel he dared not chip the Demon Scimitar on. So, he had to settle for the rest of this massive creature. They clashed like this for what felt like hours, neither showing any signs of tiring. The resounding clanks of the warhammer striking upon resonant steel had surely deafened them both, and everyone daring to come near them. It was thoroughly inelegant. Ghirahim hissed, roared, lunged at him with wild swings wielding a sword leagues to big for his frame. Such wild desperation hampered him as much as it worked in his favor. A grief-stricken foe was always quickly underestimated. Even with his new accessories, Darunia would not leave this battlefield unscathed. A blade made from the heart would know how to find another without effort. As he riddled the Goron’s bulging ribcage with scars, a foreboding chime in his core once again alerted him of his pursuers. They were getting closer. He could feel it. 

Then, for a second, he could feel nothing at all. A split second of distraction cost him dearly, when it allowed for Darunia to come within arm’s reach and drive his hammer straight into him. The flat of the giant hammer drove into the side of his head with such a deafening impact he thought his head might snap clean off. Instead, he remained intact, launched across the bazaar to tumble through ruined market stands and trampled carpets. When he came to a halt, all he could see was dust, the approaching Darunia not more than a shadow in the clouds of sand. Ghirahim stood up, a hand to his wounded cheek to find it just that – wounded. Through his false skin, he could feel chips taken out his face, like little razor-sharp dimples on his cheek.

The rest of them were approaching now, right outside the gate. Ghirahim found the least he could do was give them a proper welcome spectacle. Concealed by the dust, he launched forward at the shape of the Goron Chief in ambush. Its wicked, curved tip aimed at the jugular. Darunia staggered away, but every twitch of movement just made the scimitar slice him deeper. With just one more stumbling step, Ghirahim got the vengeance he wanted. An arc of blood gushed from the Goron’s collarbone, splattering to accessorize Ghirahim’s wounded face. Clutching his bleeding wound, Darunia thrust his metal arm forward to push the Demon away from him and hobbled back into the dust. 

Ghirahim gave chase until he remembered his task. Wind whipped through his hair and took the sands with it, revealing at last his surroundings to him. Standing in an arc around him, barricading his way to the desert, stood the mightiest of Hyrule’s army. There was nowhere left to lure them, this would have to be his final stand. He could not fight all of them at once – not Link, not Fi, not Zelda, not all of the other pompous royals gathered here. But he could make them see. The blade, the tooth dangling from his ear. Now, he would make them witness his sorrow. To their knowledge, it would be grief for a fallen friend, but in the depths of his core, he felt nothing more than disgust for obeying the word of another.

Tears gushed from his eyes. He was doing this – he was betraying his Master. Ghirahim (was he even worthy of a name?) contorted his face into a maddened grin. The carnage, the destruction, the pure, unfiltered chaos this final gambit would unleash might have pleased Him, but it would not be in His name. It was moot! He should have accepted his fate in the Arbiter’s grounds. He should have stood patiently waiting in executioner’s row, to be pierced by the very same arrow that he saved his conspirator from. If his Master willed him to shatter, to turn to dust and forgotten in the eyes of history, then that was to be his fate, and nothing more. 

Instead, the Sword Spirit glared down the approaching Hyrulean commanders with the same manic grimace, and readied his spell.

“Šamu dullu-ya, Majora! Bēlu ellāmu-adāni, Lā Naparkû Umṣu! Anāku bussuru kâti bursaggû, naqrabu napištu. Banû annûm āra-šu ašītu, baqāru tidintuka!”

He danced and danced through the sand, flickering himself atop every surface he could find to evade the grasp of his assailants. Midna and Lana were the first to stiffen, to call for someone to put a stop to this, but none of the arrows sailing past could hit their mark. Every word drained more and more energy from him. This was a true summoning, a bargain driven. Within the first uttering of the Arch Demon’s name, he could feel it watching, stalking around him like a wolf with gnashing teeth, licking its lips until it found his offer sufficient. 

He would have thought it an infernal illusion, ripping him to some other plane of existence, did he not notice the straw hat atop the mask and the blue sky expanding behind it. The Skull Kid floated before him upside down, looking him dead in the eye. With a single tap on the nose, it shook him out of his paralysis.

“Took you long enough. Don’t let me get bored again, Ghirahim-ili!”

It mocked, it shrieked with laughter, and it rattled its mask. Arms to the sky, it hovered squeaking and groaning with strain, and then with the same great effort, swung its clawed little hands down as if pulling a massive lever. Then, it waved cheerfully and disappeared within a blink. 

Silence. Nothing at all. The commanders still around him stood waiting with caution, alarmed by the Arch Demon’s arrival, and just-as-sudden departure. Only when a rumble shook the pebbles on the bazaar grounds did they think to look up.

Not Ghirahim. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the skies for even a second. He saw it the second Majora disappeared. A small dot, a mere speck in the endless blue of the cloudless heavens, approaching rapidly. The Moon was falling down on Gerudo Desert.

Cries of panic, of retreat. Chimes of magical transportation rang around him. Hyrule’s commanders were fleeing en masse. Perhaps he would not strike his intended targets, but he didn’t care. This battle would find no spoils or prisoners. Nothing but a wasteland would be left, leaving not the slightest bone for the vultures to scavenge. Swirling clouds of condensation shrouded the Moon in its rapid descent. It was hypnotic, almost, Ghirahim thought, standing in the center of its massive shadow. He considered then what would happen if he simply stayed here. The clouds dissipated as the Moon crossed their threshold. By all means, he was insane for dawdling here, and yet he took the time. 

Head cocked curiously, but eyes blank, he peered up at a giant visage that scowled back. Like it challenged him, almost. He was forged to survive any impact, surpassed only by weaponry that rivaled him in magic ability. But he’d never been hit by a meteor before. Would it shatter him? Did that matter? Oh, how tempting the thought was. He was a dead man walking either way. Where would he go if he survived such an impact? Master would break him. 

Ah, his trump card was getting a little close for comfort now. He could feel the heat of its approach on his skin, its tremors shaking the ground beneath his feet. There were mere seconds between this moment and the inevitable crater the Moon would leave. He turned his stare away from the skies and turned to look around. Not a soul remained in the bazaar, but the soldiers that fled – be they friend or foe – certainly weren’t far enough to escape the blast radius. They’d be dust soon, blend in with the sands.

Playtime was over. He’d fantasized plenty. Zant was waiting for him; whether he’d find him succumbed to his wounds, or in a prime state to kill him himself, he’d have to see when he got there. Whether he’d have the guts to see him to his end…

Now, to get out of here. 

[gifti3]

happy bday to me! 🎂🥳🎉

for this very special day i wanted to list and compare the presents and interactions i got in the mobile games ive been playing consistently lmao

under cut cause the pics are big

Time Princess A letter with 10 golden tickets, 100 stamina, and 10000 coins

Obey Me! Nightbringer 1 UR+, UR, and SSR Joker each 3 Demon Vouchers 30 Karma Points 200 AP 30000 Grim 50 Devil Points Along with a bday video, birthday calls from the characters throughout the day and a UR guarantee for a 10 pull There's half-off on Devil Tree unlocks There's also special birthday dialogue in the Surprise Guests: -- the first Surprise Guest I did gave me 30 more Devil Points -- and you can press anywhere on the boys and get max hearts :]

What in HELL is Bad They haven't implemented bday stuff yet so nothing (´。＿。｀)

Twisted Wonderland A Happy Birthday from the character you have set as your favorite card and a Tenfold Key Set (for rolls)

and last but not least.....*drum roll* 🥁🥁🥁 Love and Deepsace! Special Happy Birthdays from each guy which include them singing happy birthday to you :3 Birthday Dialogue on the home screen Presents from each one (items you can use to decorate their desks) 500 Diamonds 5 Empyrean Wishes 1 Bottle of Wishes: SSR 1 Energy Capsule: Powerful And 2 birthday stickers

[ajdrawshq]

playing Q2 n watching Akechi get affectionately suffocated by some guy in a bear costume. this game knows exactly what i want

[runaeveena]

Your dashboard if you were in a d&d fantasy world still involved in fictional erotica discourse part 2

⛰️ berenicesblade Follow

now that the new Mountain Angel volume has come out can we please tag spoilers, some of us are still waiting for our pigeon mail

🦚 faeynadaughter Follow

you can access the volume in full on TomePlane!

🎭 bardcampistrash Follow

until TomePlane acknowledges that its interplanar storage is made possible by binding aboleths to the plane and killing them then we are going to continue not using that platform, thanks

🦚 faeynadaughter Follow

aboleths killed my cousin who was a royal cleric. ill never understand why theres a whole movement to protect abyssal creatures when theyve caused so much damage to our kingdoms. and disliking a pocket dimension which provides thousands of people access to books? your attitude reeks of anti literaturism and mal-aligned virtue signaling and im not sure which is worse

🫒 tenthday237 Follow

Aliizya gets pregnant on page 62

⛰️ berenicesblade Follow

banished

620 Notes

🏰 finchtruther Follow

okay but the way that faelor finch writes every song that perfectly fits pennbiel liiike its giving closet fangirl

🧭 waywardwarlock

seriouslyy!! like what else is "give me your unmarked hand / in the shadowfell we won't be a secret" supposed to be about if not pennipher and corabiel

16 Notes

🌫️ cloudgiant-snailboy Follow

yall please dont fill up the unseen servant tag with your super fucking weird smut posts im just looking for tips on how to find my unseen servant

🪡 scç-writer

the search function on tomeblr does need to be updated but we dont have to kinkshame :)

🌫️ cloudgiant-snailboy Follow

the site is being overrun by virgin degenerates

🍯 treebarkhookhandwagondoor

sounds like you need Wilam the Wizard with Wandering Hands to help you summon the unseen stick in your ass

290 Notes

🗝️ crypt-princess Follow

so whose going to be the first to commission a painting of that scene with Aliizya and the beholder 👀

🍎 bloodmaledickening Follow

i already asked my local artisan he said he's gotten two other commissions for the same scene lmao

🐁 softbarbarian

girl i commissioned a tapestry

45 Notes

🕯️ andersfirelight Follow

friendly reminder that devil deals are a real thing that a lot of people fall victim too and that demons are malicious and do destroy peoples lives if theyre not careful so please be careful when consuming works like Hellionfinity which romanticizes devil deals and fiendish soul contracts

🌾entangled-farmer Follow

imo any work of fiction that involves a romance between any type of fiend is not just problematic but harmful

🕯️ andersfirelight Follow

i used to be indifferent to books that had devil romance interests because like thats their whole thing theyre seducing people to get their souls and the mc overcomes it, but reading through the replies i see that Hellionfinity actually ends with the devil character as the main romantic lead which is super problematic in terms of power imbalance and the fact that he has a redemption arc is so out of touch especially since our military is finally recovering from the azgurian assault

🧚🏻‍♂️arms-of-faelor

helliofinity also has a scene where the main character uses a soul coin that an imprisoned mortal gave him and he uses it to bring the devil out of avernus so he doesnt fully die and no one in the book mentions it or talks about how messed up it is to use soul coins and we never see the now bound to hell prisoner ever again

🕯️ andersfirelight Follow

hellionfinity officially cancelled on my end!

88 Notes

☘️ celest-ial Follow

moment of silence for all the customers waiting on drink orders while the tavern wench gets her back blown out by a new guy every night ✊😔

🦁 king-killa Follow

the gods work hard but Girthy Gladys gets worked harder

57,022 Notes

🎲 beholdersbeholdingme

paladin and warlock romances are OUT! cleric and necromancer romances are IN!

🪭 royalcoinpurse Follow

the only thing a cleric should do to a necromancer is beat him to death so she can revive him and kill him again

🎲 beholdersbeholdingme

❇️ arch-dryad Follow

i think we need to analyze why we're so quick to place women in categories of devious seductress or healer in romance novels as if that hasnt been the pervasive trope that holds magic-touched women back in our actual society

🍯 treebarkhookhandwagondoor

why do you assume these fictional tropes are mf couples only? can a gay cleric not beat his gay necromancer boyfriend to death?

🎲 beholdersbeholdingme

and off! beat him off cmon guys

5,275 Notes

🧀 weremouse Follow

yall ever be talking or whatnot and feel like no one understands you

🪨 sebrenenogdon Follow

ᛄᚠ ᛡᚢ ᚳᚪᚾ ᚱᛁᛞ ᚦᛄᛋ ᛡᚢ ᚺᚪᚠ ᛏᚢ ᚱᛁᛒᛚᚪᚷ ᚦᛄᛋ

🧀 weremouse Follow

say that shit fr (<- looking around clueless)

🪨 sebrenenogdon Follow

ᛋᛁᚱᛁᚪᛋᛚᛁ

60 Notes

🌠 crownofstars

remember when that person made a call out post for the author of ilairepeler for using a ghost writer and it turned out the author was an actual ghost. writing. like a literal ghost writer. like.

🍄gnomestool Follow

arent you the dwarf that fucked a slaad

🌠 crownofstars

how would you like to become a ghost so you can write more witty comments like this for eternity

301 Notes

[rzyraffek]

Slashers with y/n that just gets along with everything

Like slasher could litteraly kill somone near y/n and she would be like alr alr whats really important is that you are happy🤠😎. Im sorry that first 2character had super long headcanons while last ones have way less :( I had no ideas Request open!

Billy Lenz

He always expects some sort of negative response when he calls people and when he heard new voice on the Phone he got even more exited cuz new person new reaction! He totally didnt expect her to just go "yeah yeah sure buddy, anyways... how is your day man? Cuz im so so tired...*starts normal converstation*

He probably tries to stay in character but he is so caught of Guard he doesnt know how to react really (hehe the table has turn)

Now he kinda hopes that she will pick up cuz shes very intresting😈 billy likey

"Ew its this creep again! He is asking for you y/n? Of please dont tell me you befriended him??" "So what? He said hes favourite fruit is strawberry he cant be that bad!" *billy saying slurs on the phone*

You need to constantly tell him that, no Billy no harrasing women isnt sexy, you arent quirky, you are mentally ill

"Y/n i killed that bitch that was gossiping about you 🧍 " "👍good for you billy im glad you found healthy way to cope with that negative emotion😇" "on god"

His whole moral compass is created around the simple question 'does it hurt y/n?' .1:no it doesnt so feel free to do it .2 do not do it, she will ban Billy from sweets (bad ending)

The man from hush

This guy. This dude. This Little gremlin. He is upset that he gets no reaction! Like please oh please act all angy when he 'acidently' shot tire in her car! But oh no ofc no, she had to be like "oh its okay honey i have backup in garage🥰" hes like HHUH SINCE WHEN WE HAVE GARAGE

Like tbh thats how i imagine how they met: he saw her, he wanted to hunt her, she was so chill that she didnt even leave her household while the power was off and he went inside and just saw her having lil nap on couch. 🧍🤨erm exuse me gurl im trying to roleplay epic hunter here tf

He probably kidnaped her cuz she was too weird to just kill her but he didnt want to risk her calling police. He probably tied her up and yeeted her on backseats. And then she begun judging music on the radio"yo big guy can i get some good music taste?" "What? Whats wrong with Taylor Swift?"

He will overshare everything to kinda check where is her limit if it comes to being chill "yeah so i killed this old lady.." "im sure you had good reason🥰" "🤨... anyways... yeah so i was drinking some redbull when some guy said i look ugly so i shoot his head off and-" "HEY HEY hold up geez you CANT drink Energy drinks?? Bestie you know it is unhealthy?? Also you like hunt for sport it will ruin your condition!? How you gonna shoot people with shakey hands?? You crazy or something?" "Damn😔"

Micheal myers

I tried to put him here but i realised he will be as chill as her.

Like he can give her gifts covered in blood and she' just going to clean it and wear it like nothing happened or completley ignore it

He cares about this stuff as much as y/n so like not at all. I mean tbh theres is a bit of difrence: shes at least positive about it! Like "yeah micheal go for it, love🥰😇 i know its hard to cope with trauma take it all out alr?" Shes trying to be a good supporting gf not her fault she never had serial killer bf!

Brahms Heelshire

He lives for attention! What do you mean the war crime he commited this lunch break is okay!?!? Baby pleasee

But this negativity disapears the moment he realised he can get a lot of positive attention when he will do some nice stuff! "Oh honey I didnt kill any rats today" "oh that's amazing brahms I'm sure you and the rats inside walls will get along well soon🥰" (rats in walls bully brahms)

Please complement him or he will get a tantrum and destroy something

Brahms and rats have very hard past i might do seperate hc about that

Ghostface

"Look babe! My newest victim *shows photo*" "ugh baby...😰 you NEED to buy new camera or watch some youtube tutorials about how to take good photos" "aw man whats wrong with my pictures 😔"

Otherwise y/n supports his hobbies! People need to grow😇 (and he needs to grow up)

If theres 2ghostfaces(like in most movies) they will bet money on how long you gonna keep this 'do whatever as long as youre happy' act. Well they didnt know that this wasnt an act but her personality

Also they will probably try to use this chillnes aginst her like "oooh y/n something terrible happened! I crushed my car oh what will i do!" "Alr bestie i will drive you over there😇" "😈omg you are so nice i totally didnt expect that(heheh i dont need to pay for gas today (hes very evil))

[bulbabutt]

if i can be corny for a second i wanna talk about the greatest strengths of the 2003 tmnt series and why it speaks to me (esp as a queer person)

so i might have alluded to this before, but let me say it outright: each show is definitely a product of its time, and the ideals of whatever generation its from. whether talking about the humour, the story, the dialogue etc, its always important to remember that these shows will always come off in a way due to the generation theyre from. and thats not a bad thing! it just means its important to think about them from that perspective.

2003 is a show of my generation growing up, and a thing about that era that maybe some people younger than me wont understand is there is so much more language commonly available to describe yourself now than there was then. you can take this in any context; mental health, sexuality, gender identity, or even just the ability to describe your relationships with more (idk if this will be the right word) therapist language.

in 03 we have a family unit of splinter and his sons, each with their own strengths and weaknesses. we have a splinter who hasnt opened up to his sons about the trauma hes experienced, but not in a way of shutting them out, simply because it isnt their responsibility to know as they are teenagers. he tells them of the mutagen that created them, but not of his past with his master yoshi, who he calls father when by himself, but never around his sons which is just an interesting concept to think about.

(i do not intent this next sentence as ragging on the two shows after this when i say it, simply from a character standpoint) this is the splinter who completely doesnt make his problems his sons problems, but he also is very willing to tell them the truth when he knows they're ready. this is is the most idyllic version of splitner out of all of them, even when comparing to his mirage counterpart (who hes the most based on) due to that splinter raising them to be ninja specifically to make them fight shredder. this one is just their father who loves them and wants to keep them safe the best way he can, and he was never a human in the first place to even know how to be that. so this whole family dynamic starts with him, and the way he raised his sons reflects his parenting.

so, the setting and year this show is made is 2003. something very relatable here is how there isnt a lot of language for the personality quirks of the turtles. there's so much evidence here for mikey having adhd, his brothers will say things like "why doesnt mikey have to help?" and the answer is "well, he'd be bored. and whats worse, mikey not helping or mikey being bored?" its this beautiful moment of, "hey, we know its not fair, but thats how mikey is, and its better for everyone if we just respect that thats how he is" mikey cant keep his hands off stuff, they know this they dont yell at him for behaving that way, they just stop him. this coding feels the most specific, but like i said. its 2003. we dont have the words to describe what this is yet, and if we do its not common knowledge.

another example is in the classic episode where raphael meets casey jones. raphael is sparring with mikey, and he lashes out and nearly kills mikey. everyone reacts to this by getting him to stop, and no one is more upset than raphael himself. they all tell him to go get some air, which he does. theres no moment of any of them screaming at him for losing his temper, its very clear that they all know he's going to do that himself. and he does go get some air. they all know thats what he needs. he goes and meets casey jones, another hot head, and raph has to help coach this hot head on his anger. when he comes back at the end of the episode after having let out that aggression, he apologizes and no one is upset with him. there's a very clear understanding among his family that he cannot help it, but the best thing they can do is give him his space when he needs it. watching this from a 2023 perspective (20 years later) im sure we could analyze this as a few things going on with raph, my mind comes to autism but at the end of the day it doesnt matter why he behaves like this, the point is that he does and the best thing his family does is just...help him. which they do. and they never hold it against him.

when leo is going through his ptsd arc hes at his closest to raph as a character, the show draws a lot of parallels (like having him go let out some aggression with casey) and we get to see the dynamic in reverse. in "i, monster" (the rat king episode) leo is losing it, taking on rat king alone and not wanting to let up. raphael is actively holding his brothers back when they say "we shouldnt leave him to fight alone", raphael says "if leo gets in trouble i'm the first one in there, but right now it looks like leo's got more than one monster to work out of his system" raph doesn't exactly know what leos going through, but he recognizes it. he knows he needs to fight alone, so raph lets him. its only when the building collapses and leo is no longer in a safe position that he says "leo lets go", which leo wordlessly agrees with and actually listens.

this is what i think is the best part of these guys, the unconditional understanding they have for the way they are. we still have our "raphs a big hot head" "mikeys annoying" jokes, but they feel like genuine good natured sibling ribbing because they know each other on that level.

and to go back to the fact that this show is set in 2003, there's something so specific about the way mikey constantly makes references to liking women's clothing, to being fine with feminine language, and to being open about being the pretty turtle who "has that effect on minds of men" speaks to me as a queer person. this could easily be intended as homophobic jokes and probably is, because again.... its the mid 2000s, thats very much what media was like, thats what the jokes were. especially with the girly screams mikey does being one of the first jokes of this nature.

but theres something that happens in season 4, where an alien is attacking mikey, and donnie rushes in and says "hey, thats my sibling" that sticks out. and it happens again in fast forward. when talking to the dark turtles leo says "you and your brothers" "me and my siblings"

because of the way this family unit just understands each other without ever having a conversation about things, it feels like its not a joke. theres some kind of affirmation happening here. even if it seems like i could be reading into it too much, its specific! and it keeps happening!

and by the end of the show, when mikey says he wants to be maid of honour, even if that line in the media itself was intended to be a joke, no one in their family treats it like one. of course mikey is the maid of honour, he asked to be one! the only real offence taken is when april says bride's maid, to which he is offended because hes so much more important than that!

so from a story standpoint, this show doesnt have the intricate complexities and butting heads of latter iterations, there isnt much relationship growth to be had (in fact once we get to around season 5 the flanderization of the characters kind of begins and it loses some of the more complexities) but thats because its just not the focus of the story! the story is more about what they go through together, and thats fine! thats what our shows kind of were at the time. not saying there isnt any relationship growth, but its very much not the focus because these turtles? they already understand each other in a healthy way.

so to me, these guys are kind of the most wholesome family unit

[puhpandas]

Garrett theory:

so you know how serial killers can be sentimental in a way? like theyll keep a trophy of their kill? i think thats why William kept Garretts plane.

why? i personally think that Garrett was Williams first kill. like ever. its so far from the Pizzeria. its in a random camping spot in the woods. it was so sudden. like it was a spur of the moment thing. he saw the opportunity and just. did it

and then we went as far as to keep the kids toy and give it to his own daughter. its horrible

but its JUST like Charlie Emily. im an Evan Afton was the first death believer, but Charlie can just as easily be. no matter what, Charlie was Williams first murder, and then he kept going.

with that in mind, lets look at the fact that Golden Freddy is inhabited by TOYSNHK. aka the movieverse Cassidy. that slot is filled.

Its Me appeared on the mirror in front of Mike. the puppets music box played during the credits. immediately after 'COME FIND ME' is spelled out with the fnaf 2 minigame robotic letters.

mike himself even said Garrett felt closer in the pizzeria! theres a lot of evidence right now pointing towards Garrett being the puppet. he was the first kill. the first before the MCI, like Charlie

not to mention how the Schmidts seem to be replacing the Emilys in a way. the family name vs family name type thing. dont forget theres also that theory of mikes dad being Henry.

but back to my other point about Evan and Charlie, and how either of them could be the first based on what you believe, it still counts. garrett takes both evan AND charlies roles in the story. like how Vanessa takes Vannys and Michael Aftons. Like Mike schmidt takes michael aftons but also the story of an innocent family who are victims of williams killings by losing a loved one.

Garrett is both the lost first kill of the 'good' family of the story (the emilys in gameverse), AND he has the role of Evan with mike, with mikes guilt and the idea that he can avenge him or save him in a way. hes the Its Me. hes the puppet

(the family (afton + schmidt) duality also works because of the symmetry theme in the movie. also Garrett would be two game characters combined, also applying. just like how the characters i mentioned above also have combinations of two game characters as their own)

anyway this universe is super intriguing and awesome and i cant wait to see what theyre gonna do next

[novalizinpeace]

This question just came up randomly from my dyslexia, but I'll ask it anyway.

Why did you name the characters exactly what they are called now? Like, what gave rise to giving them such a name? Especially a question for Neill.

(By the way, I pronounce his name as “Nail” (nail and hammer) due to dyslexia and only now realized that Neill is correct)

It took me like 3 hours looking for the names for each children (on the original post were i introduce them), 'cause i was really trying to get details both for the original critters and the children own personality in said name.

Let me use Google to explain the meaning part, and then i explain my own work with it. long post guys, Nova is gonna talk a lot

First with Nell

As i said before, Nell's name was fitting for him 'cause the ''Shinning light'' goes fine with Dogday character, but on the other side, the ''hard as a horn'' was the part that, for me, work with the experiment one: Nell's can be emotionally weak, but his temple and spirit is the strongest in the gang, specially if it mean to protect those how he care, he's the shining light of the killer team, their boss but most important, the one that is ready to give his life for his loved ones.

Now, Callem (here it show Callum, but is another way of write it, it mean the same)

Just, is a simple meaning, and yeah the bird side was for Kickin, BUT the meaning of said animal is was Callem's character really is about

Callem is the free spirit of the gang, a soul that is only trapped in the physical way, but that doesn't care about anything else, he isn't afraid of cry, of scream, of love. Yup, maybe he doesn't take the iniciative with Nell, but not 'cause he's afraid, but 'cause he care for Nell's feelings, he never liked to be force to do something, why would he force Nell out of his comfort zone? He's ready to fly when needed, that's Callem for you.

Now, Charlie

What does this had anything to be with Bubba? Well, this was a inside joke with my lil' cousin, that when we read the name Charlotte whe remember the spider, AND then we remember the game song (in spanish, idk if there's a version in english) ''Un elefante se columpiaba sobre la tela de una araña'', it was a silly moment, but she ask me to name him Charlie, 'cause she liked the name and, in her words, ''Tiene cara de charlie'' (he had a charlie face). So yeah, Charlie doesn't have a strong meaning in his name, but hey, the ''Warrior'' part was what make me put him in the Killer team, and it a choice 'm really happy about.

Now Alba

The ''white'' meaning is for literally Crafty's fur, and also the name is kinda relate to a colour palette, so it fit in her side. Now, with the experiment, is basically a mirror of Nell, but in a more ''bright'' way; Nell and Alba had always been mirrors of the other during their time working in the playcare, but Alba has something that Nell doesn't: A mind without attachment. Alba never had something to care about in her past life more that herself, something that make her miss her past life, so when she learn the true, she was angry 'cause she was used, no 'cause she wasn't a children in playcare anymore. Nell since day one has been emotionally ''in a eternal night'', there's something that give weight to his actions, something that make him worry. Alba was able to pursue Nicole, she was able to become the second in charge of the heretics, she was able to make a community with the little they have, 'cause her mind was already past the night, unlike Nell, that shine in the dark.

Now, Nicole

Obviously more close in meaning with the cartoon side that with the experiment side due the deatils of ''victory'' related to competitions, BUT in Nicole theres also some true: She has always been a fighter, maybe not in the physical way, but in her past life she refuse to let the employees experiment with her using the Poppy serum, doesn't caring if she could die without it, she wasn't a lab rat, and even after getting turn in Hoppy, she show them that she still was able to win over them, by been the most hard to tame, to the point of breaking the scientists's patience with a literal jumpscare (this gonna be show in her VHS)

Now, Samina

The name, as i read in another place, also mean a ''well feeded child'' that goes to the side of Picky, but the rest is for the experiment, 'cause yeah, the bitchiest, most intense and meany member of the gang is actually a generous soul, but a soul that had been breaked over and over again, and even after that still have a lil' piece of that kind soul to give to her friends.

And then, we have Amara

why i had to scroll so much to get this meaning? But yeah, 'm using the latin/spanish meaning of this name for her, that is basically ''to love'', something that work both for Bobby and for Amara herself, 'cause both were means to be a character full of love to give, full of emotions and ready to ''love'' those she care about.

Also! Funfact!

Do you know what Theo's name mean?

An interesing choice considering all his relation with the prototype, good on that Mob game.

And here ends my tedtalk, good night everybody!

[the-s1lly-corner]

C, I, K, L Q and Z for Jax plz? 👀

Fluff Alphabet w/ Jax! (1)

as of writing this i only have this request and one more!! i didnt think i would be able to catch up them all when i woke up this morning, but ive been killin it today i guess! yahoo! Im still taking requests but after this and the next ill take another short break to stretch my legs and recharge my brain !!

CUDDLING- if you read the caine alphabet, i believe i mention that caine would wrap his arms and legs around you and trap you (at least i did, im p sure i did but im too tired to check)

well, jax does that to you, pretty much, but hes a lot more stubborn about letting you go and wants to see you squirm and fight for your freedom... so good luck if you had anything planned that day...! he looks like he would be soft, both because bunmy... but also like, stylistically he looks like he would be squishy.. pretty pleasant to cuddle in to!

IN HOUSE ADVENTURE- unless the adventure gives him some ammo and/or way to be a menace to others, i think he just skips them. or if he does stick around he just. doesnt help, instead kind of just not doing anything.. now whether or not you and jax share similar traits is up to you, but if you needed help and asked nicely he would help you with something but otherwise youre on your own sister (gender neutral)

KISS- lots of kisses, especially if you get flustered easily. sure, you get a bit of a break from his antics but not by much... and if he can make you turn red from simply kissing your cheek hes going to exploit that.. speaking of, a lot of the kisses he gives are quick and fleeting, usually short pecks while hes walking by

LOVE LANGUAGE- little harmless pranks that make you do a double take or mildly confuse you are how he shows his love. now this is different from his usual stuff, because what he does to you is like. he leaves you a note. aww hes telling you how cute he thinks you are..! you pull the note out and BOOM! theres now powder everywhere and the note says you're sweet (the powder, being sugar). shit like that. outside of that words of affirmations work for him to, giving and receiving.. gonna be real though, i think jax is one of the hardest characters for me to write for since hes an ass (no shade to everyone asking for him! i love a little challenge!)

QUIET TIME- does not like quiet calm moments, but thats because hes an enjoyer and bringer of chaos, so moments of true silence are very rare. but lets say you two both just sit down and just. exist. actually, ill do you one better and tie this into the cuddling segment, he would probably busy his hands with your hair or any accessory you have on you

ZZZ- assuming you guys can sleep if you so desired, and you somehow convince jax to sleep with you (i think he would be the type to need to be talked into it), he would steal all the blankets. and the pillows. regardless of if hes actually sleeping or not. if this were the real world, and you guys were normal people and you actually needed to sleep due to exhaustion he would ease up on you (if hes doing this while awake). most definitely the type to say something as youre trying to sleep

"first person protagonists in video games never blink" or something similar

[ethanhuntfemmefatale]

spent a bit of time today writing out some thoughts on ford as a character and thought it might be fun to put them here. I think ford is a really interesting commentary on heroism and his role in gravity falls is specific and pointed. theres a lot more i COULD get into (the way he and Stan act as foils for example) but here I just want to explore the fundamental ideas of his arc which includes parts of his dynamic with Bill Cipher and Dipper.

I really love the way gf combines the ideas of the lone hero/adventurer (a classic hero trope) with the ideas of the mad scientist (a classic villain trope) to reveal the way they're really based in similar lines of thinking and emotional pitfalls. Ford's isolation & paranoia, his tendency to put his own body on the line, his (relative) willingness to endanger others for his cause...it all points out a neat overlap between the guy who wears all black and carries a gun at his hip and the guy who WOULD inject himself with some kinda substance in the name of Science. I think that's part of why from what I've seen the fandom can be pretty conflicted on Ford--even on a basic design level, he evokes strong and conflicting feelings.

A key moment to me in establishing the ideas of Ford's arc happens at the very beginning of Weirdmageddon--a strange point to choose maybe since it's so late in the show, but I feel like those three episodes beautifully encapsulate Ford's failures and his development. After realizing what's happened, Dipper is desperate to find Mabel and make sure she's all right. Ford tells him, there's time to find her later--right now we have to stop Bill before the weirdness spreads. I love the way that the show presents throwaway moments like this: they're not questioned in the moment, but they stick out to you anyway because they run so counter to the philosophy of the show. Through the past 2 seasons, not only has the show proven that saving Mabel is more important than stopping Bill, it's also proven (and proves again after this) that saving Mabel is essential to stopping Bill. Evil isn't defeated by one guy being brave enough to shoot a gun at it, it's defeated by a community that works and fights together. And, hilariously, Ford is captured within the first 7 minutes of the episode, making everyone else's jobs way more difficult.

To be clear, it would be a complete misunderstanding of the character to say that Ford prioritizes stopping Bill first because he doesn't care enough about Mabel or her safety. It's precisely because he cares so much that he doesn't look for her right away. Ford has bought thoroughly into the lie that Bill fed him, which is that devastating personal sacrifice is not only right & good, but necessary in order to accomplish great things. As long as Ford believes that lie, he remains Bill's perfect prey—even with a metal plate in his head, even 30 years after the initial manipulation. Ford will easily give up sleep, food, friendship, family, sanity, and his own life, if he can be convinced he's doing it for the right reasons. And he's very easy to convince! Ironically, despite being arguably one of the most formidable characters in the show, he's also arguably the weakest and most gullible of the main cast, because he's so obsessed with the idea of giving up everything for something greater than himself.

That lie of the moral necessity of self-sacrifice, the lie that makes it possible for Ford to give up his brother, lock himself in his basement, be angry when he’s brought back home, and nearly destroy the world, is heavily in the offing through the Ford-Dipper plotline of Dipper and Mabel vs the Future. Ford offers Dipper apprenticeship and tells him that he’s capable of handling it—but it would require personal sacrifice, giving up his childhood with Mabel to join Ford in his self-imposed isolation. A test of Dipper’s aptitude for that kind of sacrifice occurs in that episode: Ford nearly dies, and orders Dipper to let it happen so that the rift is kept safe. Dipper doesn’t even think before disobeying him. He doesn’t seem to consider it a decision. There's no thought of the greater good when his uncle needs him.

Later, talking to Mabel about the idea of joining Ford as an apprentice, he says how ridiculous it is--sees it for a fantasy. The image of heroism Ford presents is appealing, but it's a lie.

For Gravity Falls, a show with two central protagonists, a show arguing over and over that the only way to change things for the better is to work with, trust, and care for your loved ones, Ford's position is an interesting one. I'd argue that thematically he stands in a more relevant antagonist position than Bill Cipher. He represents everything that the show is poised against. He's set up carefully as the epitome of Cool, with a masterful buildup to his entrance, badass styling, and hero worship from Dipper (the closest thing GF has to an audience insert.) And then, slowly and subtly, the show reveals how the lie of the lone hero has convinced him to hurt himself and everyone around him, nearly to the point of destruction.

I love him dearly. The best awful guy of all time

[lains-reality]

hello! i rlly love your blog and the way you explain things

how do i just apply? whenever i do i stress that i’m doing it wrong because i feel overwhelmed by the amount of info and things i have to make sure i’m doing right then i spiral and over consume again. i don’t want to rely on tumblr anymore.

what’s the simplest way to apply all of this and just “manifest” (i don’t rlly like this word bc it implies there’s a process or that i’m trying to get) my dream life? thank you

hi! ty!

it takes some courage! i also read a lot as a way to feel secure, but eventually i just got tired and just decided 'i have no more fears from this day on! done with this!' and i made it a practise to stop avoiding myself whenever something comes up

its all very natural, i can't say how you'll just finally decide that your over this lol

"whenever i do i stress that i’m doing it wrong because i feel overwhelmed by the amount of info"

well, learn how to stop yourself in the moment. you're putting too much pressure on your character! it only know what it knows now, it will not accept anything outside of what it already knows! thats why you leave it alone. read all you want to read, but stop when you feel like you have to. like you must. let yourself relax.

"i don’t want to rely on tumblr anymore."

good! keep going!

"what’s the simplest way to apply all of this"

just do it. try it and see. something that is a recurent theme in all the posts and book i read, is to try it. experiment. just for this one moment, let all the worries go. promise to never make problems for yourself again. you've given up troubles now, no more. just test it and see. surrender. let the mind cry and scream, for this moment, you won't allow it to deter you from freedom.

i'll give a list of stuff that helped me

theres only now -> stop bringing the past to now, learn to sit in the present moment

stop avoiding emotions, sit with the fear, discomfort etc

you already are Self! nothing can undo that!

be patient

non attachment (or detachment)

experiment - take something you already know and test it

question everything

find out what are the stories you want, what the desire will supposedly give you

it is not necessary to get rid of thoughts or images just stop deriving identity from them

"am i arguing for my limitations?"

soon more lovely thoughts and images will appear in your awareness and you can choose what you want

can you outgrow it? not you. observe it? not you. in the absense of it, you don't dissapear? not you.

be okay with not having it. get to a place where no one and no thing can disturb you (and your happiness and peace)

just see how absurd all this shit is. like i was born? what was it like before i was born? why is it normal to hear your voice in your head? no one knows what tomorrow is but we all worry abt it, where tf does the voice in your head come from? how can we actually identify feelings, what if the feeling pride isn't actually pride and you've been lied to? do you know how crazy this is for an infant?! we say we are an [x] person and that changes and so we say we are an [y] person, so who are we?? if we can change like that? being a human is confusing, seek the truth out and question all

just start to disidentify as the body-mind. when you disidentify as the body-mind you'll start to feel better as all the pressure you put on your character falls away. this will intice you to keep going as you feel freer!

have fun!! go and live life!! appriciate what you have now - this is all expressing the character, omnipr3sence, perfectly! you'll start to see "i barely thought abt x 2 days ago and now i see it here lol" "i was worrying about y and now i see it here too" "oh so this comes along with being the character too, maybe i should change that story"

you're in your own dream, see it as your dream and you'll start seeing the connections.

no need to convince the character, just move on. let yourself doubt this 'reality'

disclaimer: i'm still learning too! so please keep practising and have your own epiphanies!

reading

habit

no need to convince

behaviour

[yarrayora]

I actually really love ur interpretation of farcille where falin and marcille have a... Difficult time together. Because it annoys me when people treat their relationship like the most important one and also like they're completely perfect for each other. Because they're not! The bath scene itself is an example of how they're not completely on the same page yet. Marcille treats Falin like a precious toy to look over, even when she's clearly uncomfortable, and when Falin starts asking questions (because she knows something is up), Marcille shuts it down. Marcille doesn't treat Falin as an equal. Also the bits in the daydream hour where it implies Marcille wants Falin to dress a certain way or cut her hair a certain way because it looks good to Marcille.

Not to say that Marcille is evil, or even completely in the wrong. I think Falin has a bit of a bad trait where she doesn't talk about things that upset the ones she loves. There was an extra comic, if I remember correctly, from Falin and Marcille's school days, about Falin bringing food to Marcille's room and Marcille would just be like "??? What???" And eventually Falin just stops going to Marcille's room. But then later Laois explains that Falin was trying to get Marcille to eat with her, but eventually gave up without speaking about it at all. Or how she did drop the topic of her resurrection even though she knew something was wrong and deserved to know what was going on. And while she was under the influence of the dungeons magic, it's pretty in character of her to go hungry and not say anything because someone she loved (Thistle in that moment) wanted her food.

And that's not even getting into how many fans erase how important Laois is to BOTH of them and how much he loves them as well. (Marcille was definitely not his biggest fan in the beginning, but I think you could make the argument that by the end, she cherishes him almost, if not just as, much as she cherishes Falin. Not even in a shippy way)

Anyway. All this to say, I love farcille but they're not a perfect couple right now. I actually really like that ending you imagined a while ago where they never put a label on things and falin dies old and happy but Marcille keeps thinking of "what could have been". I think that's really the only way their relationship can end (unless they COMMUNICATE in the case of Falin and LISTEN in the case of Marcille)

here's the scene you mentioned!

i think theres a scene in a different chapter showing more of this but i cant remember lol so im not sure if falin stopped or not. but considering how falin grew up as a conveniently good kid for her parents i think it's in-character for her to give up in fear of bothering marcille

which is in line with chimera falin's attitude (WHICH IS SO COOL THAT HER CORE AS A PERSON REMAINS UNCHANGED DESPITE THE DUNGEON'S INFLUENCE)

and yes i think a lot about how laios is the reason they even go on the dangerous quest to save falin! he is what convinced marcille and chilchuck it's not too late for her! because they know hes knowledgeable about monsters, so if he thinks they can still save her then it must be possible! on the contrary, as shown by the official roleswap comic where falin and laios swapped places, she couldn't convince the party, not even marcille, to go save laios with her. further showing that laios is the person they trust as their leader

also regarding marcille and laios i think people sometimes forget that despite their difference branch of passions both of them are hungry for knowledge

hell, she might be the only one in the party beside laios who is in it for the sake of knowledge instead of glory and wealth (toshiro is in it to prove himself as a warrior, namari having to make up for her father's misdeed, chilchuck for the betterment of his people, and falin who is still at the stage of following laios and marcille's whims)

honestly i think it's inevitable for The Most Popular Ship to be sandpapered. in the end, shipping is about having fun with barbie dolls that have no agency to protest about how theyre being treated and we the shippers are gods ruling over fanon

but im also. kinda petty about it lol.

[vidyagamereference]

I have so many feelings about touchstarved character design pt 1 Kuras

So! First lets talk about how his whole outfit is just.... yassified priests garb. Like... the collar, the long sleeves, the "tabbard" straps, the gold. Its all very.... 3 peice suit high fashion is eating a catholic Fathers robes and a protestant Preists robes at the same time. Like the whole suit to me drips power.

Lets count off the different things that imply power to his outfit

Gold and stark white fabric (hard to clean and hard to find)

WELL TAILORED suit (high fashion)

J E W E L E R Y

Religious leader symbolism (Christian)

Fucking EPAULETS???

The hair (weird one but in animated/drawn mediums royalty tends to have longer hair)

If yall told me there was 1 person from Hightown (rich people land) and everyone else was from somewhere else and ONLY showed me the character lineup I'd pick Kuras as the hightowner tbqh.

More analysis under the break

Lets look at his "circles"

I dont have anywhere else to put this so... epaulets look like wings sleeves also imply wings. Makeup = crying gold. Gold bodily fluids = ichor. Ichor = divinity. that is all

A list of imperfect/broken circles/halos on kuras

There's attempted circles with his belts (inturrupted by his buckles and almost always at least two [i'll get to the one on his chest]). The buckles around his thigh in particular remind me of slashed circles.

There is an attempted circle on his chest (implying a flase homesty if you like the theory that veres chest is open bc hes more honest and kuras's is covered because hes more of a lier) that is left open by way of the empty preists collar. Like something religious was taken away. Its highly decorated so i think were ment to see it

The epaulets have some shape language of wings and halos imho and they also continue the trend of doubled up circuits (these are too angular to be circles but square triangular halos were in fact a thing)

His earrings are rayed halos (halos that have sunlight/sunbeams coming off of it) but even they somehow seem inturrupted by his ears when looking at how theres never a perfect circle. Another example of doubling round things

The golden cords on his hip (princely) are also imperfect circles and doubled up round things

What do the doubling up of round things (and honestly most things in some way or another. Makeup, vials on his chest, aprony tabbardy strappy things) mean? I dont know for sure but I'd wager its hinting at a few things

Broken halo

His Angelic body structure (see also: belt talk below)

A duality to his nature

Actually on the topic of halos he seems to imply a lot of shapes of halo! He obviously has the thin circular outline ones (for old testament prophets, angels, saints, Mary, and the symbol of the four evangelists according to Wikipedia), the triangle (less prominently) which is for The Holy Trinity (god jesus and the holy spirit),

and somewhat also (weirdly) square halos. Which was for.... *checks notes* celebrities who wanted to be painted like their blorbo jesus and friends... dont beleive me? Look at the fancy "not a belt buckle" thing he has and if its NOT giving painting frame I'll eat it.

Looking at the belt buckle square halo thing again it has been crossed out which makes me think that maybe kuras hates the rich and idolitry (komrade Kuras)

Another word for halo is glorihole. That is apropos of nothing i just had to learn that and yall do too now. Youre welcome

Anyways back on the topic

His too many belts moment at the hips really makes me think of the standard idea of a biblically accurate angel. Yknow. Rings of eyes around a central flame are a common depiction, the hidden rings on the inside are studded to look like false eyes to me. Especially so hidden behind a decorative false belt

The hiding of so much black (another dye reserved for royalty) under such pristine white makes me think hes lying to us, or at best putting up a facade.

THE ABOVE BEING SAID he only has two stripes of true black, the rest is a humble brown. And the belts look like theyre holding something in. I think theres a third layer to him

Layer 1: The Good Doctor Kuras Of Lowdown. Friends? You mean people im around so nobody suspects I'm not human! Yes i am human man and i eat human food!

Layer 2 possibilty a: MWAAHAHAHAHAHA I AM EEEEVILLLLLLL A FALLEN ANGEL!!! THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED ISNT IT?!?! [Edgelore noises] [terrified screams of those who just realized this edgelord could kill us all]

Layer possibly b: this is the [insert accurate adjective here] of a killer bell- I MEAN MC. emotions. Like 300 gallons of them in one sitting. Possible 0 sum game. More likely hes a living nuke and will Go Off somehow

Layer 3: hey I'm feeling less catholic guilt can i still go sorta wild ish and not be eeeevillll? And also maybe kiss? Also I'm not actually baby I'm just unsure of how to be myself in this new way will you help me figure it out [happy ending noises]

So yeah tell me if i missed anything :]

@hollana

[dapperrokyuu]

Alright now that I’ve seen the end Slay the Princess, who’s your favorite princess?

Ill do you even better and give you my top 5/the ones Id love to get if I played the game, just to see their sequences in the end and how itd reflect on that version of the player (literally made a list for fun just before you sent this ask, hehe).

Admittedly, a lot of this is informed by aesthetic and then enjoyment of their routes because I came into (watching Manlybadasshero play) the game after some fandom osmosis–thus, understanding I wouldnt have all my thoughts together within one playthrough. So I cant say Ive devoted my satisfactory amount of attention to speak on the princesses’ narrative presence... But I did rewatch their routes and “Thoughts on this vessel?” sections a bit to formulate a stronger opinion. Here we go...! (Buckle in, fellas, haha ha h a…)

1. Adversary/Eye of the Needle

The Adversary and the Eye of the Needle are very hand in hand imo, and I love the progression into a dragon-like appearance for the latter, especially in combination with the cabin becoming akin to a dragon’s den. This (combination of) routes stands out the most to me (as far as Manly has played) because I personally feel its the one where the princess is the most active and engaged. Whether its being beaten to death or running for one’s life, the route was very exciting for me! And it was intriguing how the princess and player felt the most on equal ground because they are both intent on pursuing some objective. Its just that in this case–and this is how this princess exceeds and is an overwhelming presence compared to the player–the princess is set on a choice they dont care to deny and the player is a creature of the habit called “deliberation,” as narrator aside, in-universe reasons aside, the very structure of Slay the Princess has taught you to constantly pause and consider your choices.

It contributes to the tone of the routes so well! Even if you can sit forever in the Outside World, the game progresses like a split second decision and/or that any time given to you is at the princess’s turbulent discretion. In a game where your choices tend to matter most (which, frankly, they do, its kind of the whole point, but you may not know that your choices are what caused this situation yet, lol), the princess seeming to supercede you and the narrative and the concept of death is!!! Powerful and quite something, lol. And poignant, considering *gestures vaguely but particularly at the Narrator*.

Otherwise, I love how theres apparently many more and amusing divergences in this route (that Manly did not showcase) and the ending is pretty cathartic. And to keep this a bit short, yadda yadda, dragon dens is where they store and protect their treasure and in this case, the treasure is fighting you, yadda yadda, as the vessel of growth, the princess’s embracing of the cycle of violence between you two is her latching onto the only avenue of growth she can perceive (as opposed to escaping–since you didnt offer that option prior–and dying since thats tend to be the stop to the concept of growth), yadda yadda- 

2. Spectre

This princess’s voicework is probably my favorite! The whispering under the regular voice acting is just really neat, doing a great job setting a tone of something delicate, chilling, and unnerving. The princess’s design shifts between cute and scary very well too! Her personality is probably my fave overall; while her “thoughts on this vessel?” section highlights her embodying kindness and understanding, they only exist to an extent that is fair. Which is, well. Fair. And I think it extra emphasizes the understanding aspect, with how the princess is aware of her circumstances and the injustices that have occurred yet is willing to let bygones be bygones. Shes coy, sincere, and pragmatically deadly, which is a full spectrum of delight for me!

The moment that really gets me regarding her character is when you say youre gonna leave her. Other decisions lead you to working together or demonstrating you have no intention to with some form of violence–both resulting in the Spectre just responding fairly. But the “leave” option truly shows that the Spectre doesnt/never intends to act out in malice, since Spectre responds out of desperation to avoid perpetual loneliness, pain, and emptiness. Theres an aspect of “fairness” here too (youre abandoning and hurting her more after having murdered her), but the choice comes after a breakdown and deliberation as opposed to an immediate retaliation. Even then, Spectre laments that she didnt want things to be this way but youve made her worse. Other stand out moments are when Spectre goes, “Youre funny when youre confused. But I didnt give you permission to touch me,” and the player’s moment of patheticness, lol. 

This route really hints onto the meta aspects of Slay the Princess too, which is neat! The whole “want to end the world” convo, Spectre just wanting to go home, reality being what is in front of us vs. static truth/objectivity, whether destruction being one thing leading into another vs. the same thing reborn, glass on the floor, and the narrator being like Spectre as a memory of a person…I dont have much to say here currently–still need to ponder, itd be a whole other conversation, Im a bit tired, lol–but its tons of food for thought that I enjoy! Yay, Spectre!

3. Prisoner

Fun fact: this is a rewriting of the extreme word vomit that was me lamenting over how I was kind of confused about the Prisoner but chose her for the sake of a 5th (note the placing change) and then discovering the absolute genius she is!!! Basically, my only exposure to the Prisoner I had was Manly’s recent playthrough, which contained (what Ill call) the Chained Together variation and didnt even have her “thoughts on this vessel?” section due to the game going into the final sequence immediately after. The Prisoner’s section in that final sequence befuddled me because I couldnt connect much other than a theme of “inevitable change,” and even when I dug up the Prisoner’s “thoughts on this vessel?” elsewhere, I couldnt put it all together…until I watched (what Ill call) the Head Trophy variation in the middle of my initial writeup.

Regarding what I enjoyed prior to recognizing genius, I really enjoyed how the Prisoner conducted herself–her curtness and resignation was very unique. Her form was created as a result of the player cutting off her arm, instilling a matter of fact-ness to her that allows her to slit the player’s throat later (got this from the Wiki, Manly didnt show this part). Upon waking up once again chained and chained even more, I interpreted the cleverness aspect from the Prisoner’s “thoughts on this vessel?” section as being able to come to terms with her situation, play along, and bid her time in hopes that her patience (that she emphasizes) would eventually reward her. After all, the Prisoner was willing to pretend she and the player met for the first time until the player prompts otherwise, even saying they dropped “playing the game”--very meta of her! Thus, I interpreted the Prisoner as the princess completely embodying/accepting her role in the game; she couldnt leave when she defied her role last time, so she was fine continuing to wait this time. As a character who realized they were a character and systematically changed their behavior to attempt a new avenue of escape, I thought that was the extent of the Prisoner’s cleverness and was satisfied…enough.

AND I WAS WRONG. DELIGHTFULLY WRONG. I assumed the Prisoner was completely fine with her potentially only means of escape becoming not one, since she didnt seem upset or disappointed. Which was frankly incorrect, as her rude curtness is a result of her being miffed with you. Why? Because her cleverness actually alludes to the fact she had a plan for escape the entire time, and you utterly fucked it up! Which, tbf, she shouldve shown more reaction than curiosity to dissuade the player, but I digress- During the Head Trophy variation, you realize that the Prisoner had a plan this entire time to deceive the Narrator and she succeeds so well because she also got me and got the player. How often do I get got? It was amazing! From the stare as the Prisoner takes the knife away from the player, to the smile before That All Happens, to the wink as it occurs and after, it may speak to an underestimation thats set up due to the Prisoner’s appearance and behavior, but reflecting on all the signs that She Planned This dismantles that perception and reaffirms that the Prisoner is a person with depth beyond what you expect from her and those in her role. As I viewed the Prisoner as a caricature of the princess’s role in the first place (the whole point is that the Prisoner is exactly like the princess in appearance except the chained/locked up aspect is exaggerated), this route is so striking for me with its interrogation of victimhood, how victims are treated/viewed, and how that may be unintentionally stripped of their personhood and reduced (into a caricature of solely “a victim”). The Prisoner puts it quite nicely when the player attacks and she “suddenly” has a ton of fight in her, stating, “Im not a damsel to be helplessly murdered!” …Im not sure if I put it into words the best, but I hope this is understandable. To top off the topic of Prisoner’s cleverness, its a neat detail (I dont know if this is intentional) that the Prisoner does the opposite of what her prior princess form did: the player cut her arm to free her last time, she cut herself out this time and the player “died” the last time, she “died” this time. Beyond recognizing there was a Narrator beyond them she should fool, the Prisoner also reasoned that since having the player kill her is likely not favorable, dying by her own hand might just be fine! The Head Trophy variation is just more poignant when you note that her “thoughts on this vessel?” section talks about how the Prisoner protected herself when others could not but for her plan to work, she has to put complete faith in another.

As 1000% better the Head Trophy variation is in the Prisoner’s route, I do have a soft spot for the Chained Together variation since, from both the Prisoner and the Narrator’s perspective, it must be a hilarious emotional rollercoaster. The Prisoner’s plan failed and shes now stuck with the loser who made it so…for potentially forever! The Narrator probably oscillates between an uneasy concession that while both gods are not dead, they are locked up forever and an utter dread that things may fall apart at any time and thus, the world is practically doomed with no way to change that. The Prisoner doesnt have to decapitate herself, which makes her freedom extra cathartic in the relief she likely felt and didnt expect…and also extra sad in how she found it was nothing but cold and is quickly taken away. Theres also something to be said about how the player joins the princess in her perspective by chaining himself up and that they both inform each other’s perspective, leading to their escape together: (1) since the princess isnt starving to death, the player also doesnt, which is a surprise to the Voices and (2) the player showing up again signaled that change is indeed possible to the princess, perhaps causing the ability for the world to erode around them. Maybe the latter is the Voices informing the player, causing the change…? But I like to think its the initial thought since the cabin could and shouldve have eroded prior to the player’s arrival, assuming the Prisoner understands the concept of erosion…which, I assume she does- Anyways, the route is as emotional as it is kind of wacky, which is up my alley!

4. Witch

This princess is the one I enjoy the most aesthetically. Im a sucker for both witches and cats, what can I say? The allusion to the fable The Scorpion and the Frog really tickles me, and ultimately, whatever decisions made in this chapter are some form of hilarious. Whether we’re both dying on the floor with broken backs or handing a blade to someone who immediately stabs you, its great. I do enjoy the progression into the Thorn chapter, especially with the immediate regret from the Witch and the following reconciliation in Thorn’s chapter, but Thorn is not as funny and aesthetically pleasing as Witch princess for me, which is why she is not here, haha.

Her “Thoughts on this vessel?” section adds a lot of depth to her, since the way the Witch presents herself is very superficial and guarded. Particularly the statement about the Witch making for a “righteous” heart, in combination with her ability to just slip out of her chains. She couldve freed herself at any time, but chose to stay and confront you. Which I feel speaks to the bitterness aspect, as the Witch feels its only “right” to pursue an answer to her pain–whether it be the player’s penance or punishment. The game’s thoughts on bitterness are made even more poignant when you realize the Witch’s ends are either death (hers and/or yours) or a transformation into another state.

5. Tower

This route is just incredibly cool in how she takes over the narrator and the little divergences of the narration’s phrasing to be in her perspective in the voiceover. The progression into that route was amusing for me to think about because I think the shift of perspective that transforms the princess boils down to either “the princess had the might of a god to have defeated you,” “your sudden stop during the fight was a blessing from god to the princess,” and/or “your sudden stop was because your recognized the value of the princess’s life as larger than your own (‘larger than life,’ referring to her bigger form as the Tower and godhood itself).” The Tower calling you disappointing is funny, but what also sticks out is how she said she wanted company before turning into the Tower. Even as the Tower with the ability to just free herself, she chose to wait for you because thats what she wanted, and I think that plays on the relational idea of “What is a god without a believer?” since she’s willing to have the player as a priest or pet, lol.

How this route differs from the Adversary route is interesting, as the Tower is indeed also an overwhelming presence whose decisions matter more than yours not because her single minded relentless pursuit of it but because of the power to overwrite yours. Its a twist on the player’s and princess’s roles until now, but instead of making them equal like in the Adversary, the roles were reversed on who decides and who is forcefully changed as a result of that decision. Of course, you cant take the ability to choose from us, as a player completely, but its about the best you can do, I imagine. And not to mention the “defiling” aspect when you slay the Tower, dragging her down from godhood to an equal (humanity?) or perhaps her original state of someone who responds to your decision as usual… I think this route connects deeply to the meta aspect of Slay the Princess, since this state is where the princess is closest to the “concept of change” and the concept of their true self as a god. It makes the “thoughts on this vessel?” section very poignant because change in itself is indeed a constantly dominant, terrifying, and arguably divine force in its inevitability.

Honorable Mention to...the Damsel!

I really like the deconstruction of her concept, but that also means I feel that liking her is completely counterintuitive to that very deconstruction, lol. Her route is very straightforward in what it does, but it kind of has to be. Meaning it does what it set out to do very well.

This took a bit and is so much more than you asked for, so thank you for your patience and acceptance. Im just bonkers and bananas, so if I have it partially done, I might as well go all the way instead of going in depth on only one, lol. It was a fun exercise in pondering deeper about the princesses and dipping my toes in the ~meta~, but I will also readily say that Im not at all nearly deep enough into Slay the Princess as a whole to be confident on my takes, so this may have just been a session of Talking Out Of My Booty. Nonetheless, I hope this was enjoyable and thank you for prompting me to think about it! The order of the princesses changed throughout this answer, and it may be fun to guess what order they were written in, lol. Id love to hear about your fave/faves if youre interested in sharing as well~! And please, have a lovely day too!!! c:

[vashbug]

Dropped into No Man’s Land Ch 2

Summary: Vash has a hard time trusting you. You tell him about Earth. You realize something important.

Notes:  Chapter 2 of my silly Trigun Isekai fic. Okay, that's all I'm posting for today! I think two chapters is enough for now. I hope you enjoy :)

First Chapter: Here

Read on AO3: Here

***

You let out a nervous laugh as you watch Vash's face go from jovial, to curious, to suspicious in the span of a few seconds. He's taken a cautious step back, and suddenly you feel like he's looking at you as though he's calculating the trajectory of a bullet. Vash might be all too trusting, but he's not stupid, and you're an outlier in a world he knows almost everything about.

The moment drags on for a little too long, and you can see Vash's right hand twitch slightly at his side near his gun. You know he won't fatally harm you, but you sure don't want to get shot today. You make the mistake of sparing a quick glace at the holster strapped to his thigh, and it takes a millisecond for him to take that as a threat and draw, aiming directly between your eyes.

"Hey! Woah!" You put your hands up quickly. You know he's only doing this because he feels like you've deceived him, but the sight of his gun makes your blood run cold regardless.

"What are you," He asks, "and why are you here?" He's practically growling, and if you were watching him on TV, the tone in his voice would make you shiver. Instead, you feel like you might throw up.

"I'm human, I swear!" Your mind is struggling to process what is happening, and you're having a hard time finding the right words to defuse the situation. His glare is colder than you anticipated. "I told you the truth! I swear on my life."

Vash doesn't move a muscle as he stares you down. "Explain why you know who I am, then. I need to know if you're a threat to the people who live on this planet or not."

Ah, that's what this is. He couldn't give a shit whether or not you were here for him, he just wants to make sure you won't hurt anyone. Your mind clears somewhat and you're able to speak.

"Oh," you chuckle nervously. There's no point in hiding it now, whether he thinks you're insane or not. It's better than having him shoot you. "You're sort of... famous. In my time."

For the first time in a minute he moves, slightly lowering his gun. He looks surprised. "What?"

"Theres..." You need to phrase this in a way that makes sense, and in a way that doesn't make you so embarrassed that you beg him to shoot you. "There's a book about you. Where you're the main character. It's a... western, about a gunslinger named Vash The Stampede. He wears a red coat and travels from town to town helping people. Or trying to," you smile sheepishly.

He takes a moment to think this information over. "So in your... reality or whatever, there's a book about me? That you've read?"

"Yeah, I mean, it doesn't seem like it's entirely out there that at some point our realities have crossed, given that I'm here." You feel a lot more confident now that his gun isn't pointed directly between your eyes. "Maybe the author dreamed about you or something."

"How much does it say about me?" His curiosity is obvious now, though he's still trying to mask it with suspicion. His gun is lowered all the way down now, still in his hand.

"Oh, well, it... It says enough about you that I know who you are, but you seem a little different from the Vash in the book." He seems exactly like the Vash you know, but you're trying to save face a little, in case you get any details wrong.

"Okay..." He doesn't seem entirely convinced. "Then tell me something no one else knows about me."

This takes you by surprise. You didn't expect a quiz. You have to think for a moment. "Um, I know that Rem grew red geraniums."

He looks surprised again. "That's... That's not good enough. There are plenty of people who know that." His face says he's expecting another answer.

You feel sick to your stomach. You look him directly in the eye, so he knows that you're serious. You know what you have to say, but you desperately don't want to open old wounds.

"You saw something terrible; something when you were young, back on your ship." You eye him cautiously, careful with your words. "After you saw that, Knives was asleep, and Rem told you about the train, and the ticket..." You stop, sure this is enough. You don't dare to elaborate further.

It's Vash's turn to look sick. He carefully places his gun back in it's holster and sits heavily on the ground, his head dropped between his knees. "There's only a couple people that know that," he mutters.

Your heart aches for him, but at the same time you feel relief flood through you. You slump back and sigh. He raises his head and gives you an apologetic look. "Sorry, this is just so weird. When I realized you knew me, I was worried you were an alien... here to threaten humanity... or something." He looks ashamed, his cheeks red with embarrassment. It's obvious in the way his shoulders hunch forward that he feels bad about threatening you. "If it makes you feel any better," he pulls his gun back out and releases the cylinder with a click, showing you the inside. "I'm out of bullets."

You glance between him and his empty gun with your mouth open, not sure of what to say. Then you laugh-- a real laugh--and the sound makes his face brighten. "Damn it... you really are him."

He laughs as well, and for the first time since you've met you're both smiling at each other. He takes this as forgiveness and snaps his gun shut again, hiding it away once again. The two of you sit quietly for a while, watching the fire flicker in the dark, trying to process everything.

"So..." You look up at the sound of his voice and find him tracing circles in the sand with his prosthetic hand. He looks like a little kid about to ask their parents for something they're not supposed to have. "In this book... what other things do you know?"

"I'm not sure if I should tell you," you say, trying to sound playful. Truthfully, you were worried about this. Would telling him too much alter the timeline? Was it even the same timeline?

"Please! Just a little!" He half-walks on his knees over to your side, lacing his hands together and giving you the biggest puppy-dog eyes he can manage. His big blue eyes sparkle with anticipation. "I just want to know a little, you don't have to tell me anything life-altering; nothing about the future."

You fold immediately. Damn it. "Okay, I'll tell you. But only the light stuff! I don't even know if this is the same timeline I know." He sits upright, legs crossed like a child ready for story-time.

So you tell him about his friends, mostly, steering clear of any major events. He knows Wolfwood, Meryl and Roberto already, but the timeline diverges slightly and he ends up separated from them, with plans to meet with them again after Vash makes a few stops. You don't have time to ask him for details, as he's playing 20 questions with you at break-neck speed. After a while you run out of things to tell him about, and he begins to ask about your timeline and your Earth.

"What's it really like there?" His eyes are wide, and he leans closer and closer with each answer you give him. "Is flora really everywhere? Do you really watch movies? And just how many people are in your town?" He hangs on every word you say, and the fire begins to die from neglect.

"Well, flora really is sort of everywhere, except for in the desert, but even then there's specific vegetation there." You're careful not to use the word plant in this context. "And I do watch movies... And..." You have to think for a moment. "There are about 9 million people in my city? It's one of the biggest." You have to guess the population size.

His already wide eyes grow even wider. "9 million... In just one city." He thinks about it for a moment, and then his tone turns quiet and serious. "Is it... peaceful?"

You know the answer he is hoping for by the look on his face.

Your heart throbs painfully in your chest. "Well..." You look down at your hands. "It's more peaceful than here." You give him a weak smile, and you know it's not convincing. "It's not the same as here, really. I mean, I don't think you can even compare the two. People have more peaceful days than not, depending on where you live, I guess." You quickly realize you're not cut out for this conversation; you're not sure how to explain that there are so many contradictions in your life on Earth.

You look at his face in the dying firelight. For the first time since meeting him here, you see that familiar look, the one that exposes just how old and tired he truly is. You're not sure if he's disappointed with your answer, and you don't have the heart to ask.

"But," you continue, reaching over and taking his hand in yours. You figure you know him well enough to do this much. "People are mostly good. And we all help each other when we can. There are so many people from my Earth that are trying to make it a better place. I forget sometimes, that the Earth is a good place. It is... It's beautiful." You smile at him, this time genuinely. One of your hands holds his right, the other tracing circles into his palm. You notice that his hands are bigger than yours.

His eyes search your face, and while his expression is still worn-down, something else is there. Surprise? Curiosity? You can't place the feeling.

"Rem would have really liked you," he says quietly, looking down at his hand in yours. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you, but she wanted the world to be a better place. She wanted everyone to get along, just like that." His voice hitches slightly in his throat.

You're surprised at the mention of Rem, and suddenly you're keenly aware of your hands, your finger tracing it's slow circles over his gloved palm. You know it's a huge compliment--an honor, really--to be compared to Rem. Your face turns hot, and you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears. You can feel him looking at you, but you can't meet his eyes. You have to change the subject.

"The fire..." You glance at the dying coals. "We should probably keep it going, it's getting cold." You pull your hands away so you can wrap them around yourself.

"Ah!" Vash looks as though something in him has snapped back into place as he makes a show of fussing over the fire. He seems like his usual, cheerful self as he pushes sticks and kindling into place. The fire comes back to life, and you're both bathed in the warm glow.

"Thank you," he says into the fire after a while. "For telling me about Earth. I hope you get back there someday. It sounds like a wonderful place." He turns his head to look at you as he says this, a smile that reaches his eyes spreading across his face.

He is so sincere it makes you want to cry again. You're not sure if you want to curl up in his jacket or curl up in his arms. He's still smiling at you, and you're sure he knows exactly what effect he has on people. Several thoughts cross your mind, all of them having to do with touching him or kissing him, and you have to fight to hold down your embarrassment. You decide it would be best not to act on any of them, though he's still looking at you, and he's so close...

Instead, you pick up your cracked phone and look at it once more, Idly turning it over in your hands. You concentrate on picking the sand out of the crevices, trying not to think about Vash. You look at the cracks in the screen, thinking it would probably still work if you could get it to turn on. You know you won't get a signal, but you'd at least have whatever is saved on it...

You exclaim so loudly Vash nearly falls into the fire.

"Ah! What that hell? What is it?"

You ignore him as he watches you scramble on all fours behind him, reaching for your bag. "My laptop!" You pull it out of your bag and brush the sand off of it, frantically opening it and pressing the power button. "Come on..." You plead. Please turn on.

Vash moves to sit behind you so he can look over your shoulder, obviously curious about your strange tech. His proximity is dangerous, with his chest practically pressing into your shoulder, but you don't have time to think about that.

You have to contain a shout when the screen blinks on. You can't believe it. It's working. You sort through your files and find that everything is unchanged, and this fact brings a small comfort to you. A piece of home.

But more importantly, you're looking for something. You search your downloads folder for the file. Vash watches you without making a sound; his gaze could drill a hole through your face and hands.

And there it is. Thank god for poor reception on the subway! If you really want to read something on the way home, you have to download it and send it to your phone so the poor cell reception doesn't prevent the next chapter from loading.

The fic your friend sent you, the one you didn't finish, sits in your downloads. The absurdity of it makes you laugh and nearly tear your hair out. Vash looks at you, concern and confusion written across his face.

You scan through the pages you've already read, heart thrumming in your chest.

Your hunch was correct. The events of this world, the one you've fallen into, aren't following the plot of the original. No, they're following this specific story. Vash separating from his friends, on his way to Octovern to buy gun parts; it can't be a coincidence. You've fallen into the story you were reading when the car hit you, right where you left off.

If you can't get back home, you'll need a way to protect yourself.

It doesn't seem like much, but with your combined knowledge of the original story, this is the closest thing to a weapon you have here. You might as well be able to tell the future.

This is it. This is how you'll survive.

[wade-a-minute]

Deadpool's voice and its media portrayals

I read this post by @jhirowolf and @spider-mand, which inspired me to make my own post specifically about dp's voice - please read the og post first!

In the comics it's known that Deadpool has a unique voice - his speech boxes are yellow while everyone elses' are white. What makes it unique is its quality (it's described as rough, raspy and gravelly) but I also think that it's its cadence too (i'll get in to this below). Unfortunately, Ryan's voice in the movies doesn't really come close to this - for multiple reasons.

Ryan's voice physically is very smooth and also pretty high but I get the sense that as dp, he doesnt really do much for his voice, he is pretty much just himself and cracking jokes. As @jhirowolf pointed out, he kind of has this smooth, sarcastic tone. For me the vibe is that of a stereotypical side-character who mumbles sarcastic comments at whatever the other characters are doing. Ryan's voice is often mellow, calm and even

I dont have concrete examples right now, but in the comics SO many characters call Wade insane mere minutes upon meeting him, despite the fact that they dont know anything about him apart from the fact that he is a mercenary.

Why? Because of his voice!

Immediately upon hearing him talk they conclude he is unhinged and unstable and generally unwell. He's loud, aggressive, speaks a mile a minute and on top of that makes dark jokes serious situations that no one else laughs at. It freaks people out and rightfully so! Adding on to this, I think he varies his pitch and rhythm frequently, further making him appear unstable because his voice is never even or monotone for more than a few seconds. I'm basing this on the fact that his speech bubbles are so much bigger than everyone else's (he talks a lot) and also bc he varies his facial expressions and body language a lot when he speaks.

@jhirowolf mentions that Denis Leary was the inspiration for his voice, which i had no idea about but looking at this video, I think his cadence is perfect. You feel that unlimited energy, the loudness, the unpredictableness, his voice and the look behind his eyes make him seem manic and frantic - which it should! It puts people on edge around him, gives him his reputation of being unpredictable and also makes him regard him as insane. Wade doesnt give a shit about norms for socializing, how loud or crass he is - hes got shit to say and hes gonna say it, no matter how much it may annoy, offend or make others uncomfortable

i think the teaser trailer for the first movie could be Ryans best work when it comes to wades voice

Conversely, this video could be the worst:

Like this is purely Ryan, theres no deadpool here. its just his own shameless self-promo in a dp suit

Nolan's voice, on the other hand, isn't perfect either bc it kind of has the similar smooth quality as ryans, its not gravelly, raspy or anything. But his cadence is soo good! He's calm one minute but you never know when he's gonna snap and lose his shit, i love it

And yeah, Nolan's performance and the funny moments are the only good thing to come out of this game (well i guess another positive is that it made him more popular, it certainly was one of my first encounters which made me interested in him). The bad thing is the amount of damage it did to the complexity of dp's character - they stripped away his layers, the serious and tragic parts that make up who he is, instead of this they literally gave him 1 trait - insane. And that was it. I blame Way's 2008 run for this bc he essentially did the same thing - but the game turned it up to 11. Way at least included several serious and earnest moments where Wade was forced to be introspective and face his issues

in conclusion - so far our ears havent yet been blessed to hear wade's voice