#well there are 4 main characters and he certainly is one of them

[inkpot-winters]

sorry i haven't been that active on tumblr i've been having breakdowns over the lack of james potter centric fics

[hezuart]

LN Channel Change AU Sequel: “Seven” {1} {2} {3} {here/final}

And they lived happily ever after. Or did they? We've established our main characters Mono (TV/space-time) and Six (Soul Sucking) have strange supernatural powers. I wanted Seven to have one too. (Hydrokinesis aka water bending)

Notes for how I came up with Seven's powers and the deeper meaning behind his interaction with Mono:

1. Each child has nightmare prophecies (something to do with Mono's time loop?)  at the beginning of their stories. Six's is the Lady, Mono's is the door that leads to the Thin Man, and Seven's is being pulled underwater. Six and Mono's nightmare visions are fulfilled at the end of their stories; revealing that the thing they dreamed about, they essentially become or usurp.  Seven's differs. His dream resolves in act 1 and he kills the Granny, the creature assumed to be the one pulling him underwater in his nightmare. But what if Seven's dream prophecy was still valid... even post-Granny? Being dragged underwater... for a different fate?

2. Seven is the only main cast character shown with the ability to swim. 3. "Seven Seas" anyone? Water is a symbol of purification & life, hence, Seven gains his new powers after he survived and Mono broke the timeline loop to start fresh. "Washing it away" so to say. 4. Water is a liquid; passive in nature, but powerful in circumstance. Seven is kind and sneaky but kills the Granny when continuously attacked and threatened by her. He does the same to the Octopus monster.

5. Water molecules have adhesion and cohesion, meaning water likes to stick to itself, and stick to other things. Seven has an attachment to Nomes. He is always drawn to other people and other creatures, wanting to help them. His belief is that survival chances are higher amidst a group. Water is also known for containing life, no matter how strange or deep, such as ocean fish that often travel in schools/packs often to confuse or fight off predators, thus, another reference to Seven's new life, and his teamwork with Nomes and Mono.

6. Seven is often in fandom depicted by a circle. A water droplet. 7. Seven collects flotsam; typically boat debris, but in this case, bottled messages that come from the sea. Yet another connection to water.

All this indicates heavy implication and well-fitting power to bestow hydrokinesis onto Seven. I was inspired by the INSIDE game's drowning chapter and Stanley and Stanford's secret boat hide-out on the beach from Gravity Falls. Which is why I have selected Mono, Seven, and all their future friends to a lovely and sunny (future) beach house, far away from everything they've suffered. And living near the largest body of water on the planet with a kid with hydrokinesis? ...Certainly has its perks!

But Seven gaining powers is important to not only their survival but also him. He was still nervous about Mono. He knew Mono was very powerful and mysterious. In more ways than one. Mono is stronger than him and can also use telekinesis on objects on the beach. He's a better food hunter and seems more like a leader. Seven also likes to lead, but he felt outshined by Mono. (I don't portray that well in my comic) Seven is weaker and defenseless. His only shining quality in comparison is his ability to swim, but even that can only get him so far. He risks his life for his Nome friends and loses his life doing so. Or so he thought. By a miracle, his powers over water awaken. He drains the monster of its water, beaching it. He walks to Mono in a new light. It's a new him. He holds up his hands as if to say "See? I'm like you now." He's leveled the playing field. (It also helps that he now has jurisdiction over power Mono cannot interact with) Now they are truly equal. Two kings; one of land, one of sea, both ruling the island in equal standing. Seven will never again feel like a burden left behind. (Seven's powers activating also has something to do with the fact he bit the Octopus creature to save the Nome. Mono and Six both consume their powerful prophesized enemies to gain some of their power, if they didn't already have some before. Seven biting into the Octopus's flesh and unknowingly consuming some of it may have jumpstarted his power deep within him, on top of him encountering Mono; supernatural kid extraordinaire that brought him through a tower wormhole to escape the city)

~~~

A threequel is planned, and maybe the last addition to this series, but the next one is not fully fleshed out yet so it may be another year until I can really touch upon it yet. Otherwise, hope you guys enjoyed!

[salford-blues]

Flowers follow

A/n: Think I might have to switch some things up. I only write smau's. Do you guys reckon I should write actual stories? I've never done it before, but I can certainly try. Pairing: F1 mystery driver x driver!reader Summary: Reader continues to soft launch her mystery man... through flowers?? (basic ass summary cause I'm bobbins at them) Warnings: like one swear word

@yourusername posted on their story

caption: I love you a lily more every day

Replies to story

liamlawson30 disgusting caption. You should be ashamed of yourself

alex_albon I know who it isssss

> yourusername who snitched?

>> alex_albon my lips are sealed

>>> yourusername count your days Albon

user.1 tell us your mystery man... please im begging

landonorris WHO IS YOUR MANNNN?? Why won't you tell me? Are we not besties?

> yourusername because you can't keep secrets to save your life

@yourusername

oscarpiastri, danielricciardo, georgerussell63 & others liked

''April showers may bring May flowers, but you bring me flowers year-round''

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liamlawson30 whats with the corny captions lately

> yourusername you love them bc you love me

>> liamlawson30 no, I tolerate you

>> yourusername meanie :((

User.2 is mystery man Liam??

> User.3 I don't think so. They're just friends. Plus I don't think Liam rides a motorbike

User.4 Look at our girlie goooo!!

User.5 Lord... it's me again 🙏

@f1driverupdates

liamlawson30, mickschumacher & 240,000 others liked

Rumour has it that our golden girl is now off the market. But the question remains... who has taken her? Still in her soft launch era, @yourusername has not shared that much information about her partner.

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user.6 can't believe someones stole my girl

user.7 We can see you Mick... 👀

user.8 Is Mick our mystery man? I men it checks out... tall and rides a motorcycle. Also seems like a person that is very caring to her and her pets

> user.9 omg imagine little Angie added to that madhouse!! So cutteee 🥰

@yourusername

oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris & others liked

In the garden of love, you are my favourite sunflower!! 🌻

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User.8 Love how he gave you crocheted ones so that they last forever

> yourusername he's so sweet!! Especially since they're my favourite flower as well

User.9 Just tell us already... I'm done waiting

liamlawson30 cool story bro, didn't ask

> yourusername rude. I'll make sure to beat your arse in monopoly next games night

>> liamlawson30 😔 noted

@yourusername

mickschumacher, danielricciardo, charles_leclerc & others liked

Guess what I said??

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alex_albon what is this? when was this? Message me back Y/n

liamlawson30 Pick up the phone Y/n!!! I need answers

user.10 noooooooo... we've lost her

user.11 you said no, right?? pls don't join the dark side 🥲

oscarpiastri I hope that's fake

> yourusername maybe it is, maybe it isn't... but hey i still said yessss

>> logansargeant yeah well me and Oscar are gonna have a little word with him when we see him next

>>> liamlawson30 me three

>>>> danielricciardo me four

>>>>> yourusername oh leave him be. You all know he's nice and takes care of me.

landonorris ????

User.12 ignore the last slide... look at the kitty 🐈 😻

> yourusername main character moment for him. He's the only one that likes the rides 🫶

[svsss-fanon-exposed]

Exposing SVSSS Fanon: 15/∞

SHEN (YUAN) QINGQIU IS A MONSTER NERD

Rating: CANON

One of the most common character traits of Shen Yuan!Qingqiu is his fascination with the monsters and demonic beasts of PIDW. This portrayal is based in canon, as he is shown on multiple occasions to have a particular interest-- in fact, the monsters were the reason he decided to keep reading PIDW in the first place:

There was another important “it” factor. It was, in fact, the main element that had first compelled Shen Qingqiu to follow the novel until the end. The demonic beasts! ... As a cultivation novel, it was out-and-out filled with landmines, but as a monster handbook, it was pretty entertaining. (7 Seas, Ch. 4)

This passage implies that Shen Yuan found the monsters entertaining, and enjoyed them over most of the rest of the novel. However, he is often portrayed in fanworks as having an obsession, special interest, or hyperfixation on demonic beasts.

This also has basis in canon. A bit later on there is the following passage:

Shen Qingqiu wasn’t so pessimistic about his ability to handle demonic beasts. His confidence in his own cultivation and spiritual power aside, his interest in the demonic beasts of Proud Immortal Demon Way had far surpassed his interest in all those flavors of women. He might not have remembered where any given female protagonist liked to go stargazing with Luo Binghe after being slighted, and he sometimes was unable to match names to characters, but he definitely remembered every demonic beast’s attributes and weaknesses with exacting clarity! (7 Seas, Ch. 4)

Speaking from my own experiences, this certainly does sound like a hyperfixation. Remembering the variety of beasts, and perhaps even every single one, would be the same as a usual level of interest, but the fact that Shen Qingqiu had perfectly memorized every attribute of every beast in a novel several million words long certainly seems to fall more into hyperfixation territory.

When it came to Proud Immortal Demon Way’s demonic beasts, he’d really asked the right person. Shen Qingqiu spoke with great familiarity, like he was listing his family treasures. (7 Seas, Ch. 4)

Another instance here, where it shows just how highly he values his knowledge of PIDW's beasts and how familiar he is with them.

Of course, on some level, this knowledge of demonic beasts is expected of his position:

The walking demon encyclopedia—both the original and current flavor could definitively live up to this title. After all, there was that stack of records and ancient books in the back of Qing Jing Peak’s Bamboo House, the same ones that hundreds of generations of peak lords had to read in full before they were allowed to succeed the position. (7 Seas, Ch. 6)

But we must keep in mind that Shen Yuan was not originally the Qing Jing Peak Lord and had no intention on becoming the Qing Jing Peak Lord when he read PIDW-- and the knowledge he has originally comes from reading the novel, so he was not only learning all of this because it was required of his position. Where Shen Jiu might have learned these thing out of necessity, Shen Yuan did so out of passion and genuine interest from even before his transmigration.

This is further supported by a comparison with other readers of PIDW:

He could never have guessed that Shen Qingqiu’s interest in such strange creatures was equivalent to the average Zhongdian reader’s interest in the hundreds of flower-like maidens, each more beautiful than the last. (7 Seas, Ch. 5)

Now, I have noticed that fanworks will have a tendency to play up his obsession with demonic beasts-- while he definitely does have some form of hyperfixation with them, it is not as prevalent in the novel itself (at least, the events that we, the readers see).

My guess as to why this is? Well, it's simply because he is obsessed with the demonic beasts, but he is even more obsessed with Luo Binghe. It's just not as easy for him to admit that.

So in conclusion, Shen Qingqiu's internal monologue indicates that he has some level of obsession, special interest, or hyperfixation with PIDW's demonic beasts. Though it may not be quite as intense or all-encompassing as fanworks often portray it, it would still be perfectly in-line with his character to have him gushing (at least internally) over the beasts of the demon realm while traveling with Luo Binghe.

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness (4)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

Thank you all for the continuous support!

I'm finding it so hard to keep the characters acting how they would in the game...

Also I'm a bit nervous to post this since I'm not feeling confident.

Reader is Gender Neutral!

"Pierro, I think we're attracting unwanted attention." Columbina whispered to the older male, her face unchanging.

He didn't reply, he continued to watch the doctor walk around and look for the Decider.

"Dottore, do you even know what they look like?" Scaramouche asked the man.

"I may or may not have discovered this problematic issue."

Meanwhile, you were in line with your family waiting for your turn to order at the desk.

Your aunt didn't bring her card, so now you all had to physically go to the desk instead of order at one of the tablets.

While your aunt was fiddling with her purse, you were eyeing the Dottore cosplayer walking around the room.

He seemed to be looking for something... or someone...

You wanted to walk up to him, you really did. However, you were with your family right now.

You couldn't just leave them and help someone you wanted to be friends with.

"Y/N! I've been calling your name for the past 5 minutes." Your aunt snapped her fingers in front of your eyes.

"Sorry, sorry, what did you want?" You blinked, focusing your eyes on her.

"I was asking what you wanted, we're next in line." She pointed, the teenagers in front of you grabbing their ticket from the cashier.

"Speaking of which, we're now being served."

Damn it, you were so focused on the cosplayer you didn't decide on what to order!

Hmm, a cheeseburger does sound good... and certainly smells good too.

"Just decide for me." You sighed to yourself, fumbling with your fingers.

"WHAT!? This is so unlike you! ...For your courtesy to my wallet, I'll buy you an extra milkshake."

"Yay."

The Harbingers regrouped at the entrance of the building.

"Dottore, what's our next plan?" Capitano questioned, moving further away from gazes passed at him.

"I'd personally like to leave public view as soon as possible, I think I'm the main problem."

"You could never be the problem, Captain!" Childe smiled.

"Fucking brown noser." Scaramouche scoffed.

"Shut up, balladeer! We all know it's your hat that's attracting attention!"

"Would you two stop arguing like children!" Pulcinella raised his voice, Childe backing away.

"Right, so I'm the child." The Balladeer scoffed, his arms folded as he looks away.

"Do you want extra time in the abyss once we return to Teyvat?" Pierro threatened.

"I'd love that extra time, anywhere away from the fucking man that brought us here is pleasant enough."

"Of course you'd say that." He shook his head in annoyance.

"Dottore, what's our next plan?" Pantalone asked him.

"I have an idea! Let's just kill everyone to attract their attention." Childe suggested.

"Absolutely not, I'm not looking to dirty my hands here." Signora shut him down.

"Tartaglia's idea isn't a bad one." Dottore thought out loud.

"Excuse me?" Sandrone gaped. "How is causing mass-murder an acceptable idea?"

Dottore paused, looked around him, then continued.

"It hurts my intellect to admit this, but we don't have any other options."

"Dottore is right, we can't miss this chance. Who knows when they'll leave the building." Pantalone nodded.

"Additionally, I don't feel like walking much further."

It was decided.

"Well then, comrades, let's dance. I'm glad you all see my way for once."

You were sitting in a dirty ass toilet stall which probably hasn't been cleaned in weeks.

Fiddling with the phone in your hand, you curse to yourself quietly when your Childe still wasn't working.

Okay, it's clearly not your computer that's the issue.

You were about to leave the stall, when all of a sudden you heard screams outside.

Did... Did a celebrity walk through the door or something?

You walked out of the stall, washed your hands and peaked through the main door.

...

Blood. Blood was everywhere. It was splattered across the windows, the stools, the food, the corpses.

The smell was awful. Iron filled your nostrils, making you gag.

You shook with fear, stepping back slightly.

What happened while you were gone!? More importantly, where was your family!?

You wanted to check, but you didn't know if it was safe.

Oh, of course! 999 is usually the number you call in these situations... right? They'll be able to help!

You shut the main door slowly, and ran back to the bathroom stalls.

You quickly dialed the number, and put your phone up to your ear.

"999, what's your--"

"Please, help me, help the people! I don't know what happened." You whispered harshly, hearing footsteps behind the bathroom door.

"Calm down, love... Take deep breaths and explain what's going on." The elderly voice behind the phone calmly warned.

"My... My family. We went to a fast food place for lunch, I went to the toilet. I come back, and... everyone in the entire facility is laid on the floor with blood surrounding them!"

"Did you see anyone out there alive? Perhaps the murderer?"

"No! I ran back inside the toilet in fear! Ohh, I hope my family are safe..."

"Alright, sweetie. Here's what we're going to do. I need you to tell me where you are, and to follow my instructions. From the sound of your situation, you'll need paramedics and police?"

"Yes, yes! Anything that can help! I--"

You heard the bathroom door open.

"I'm fucking checking the room now!" You heard a voice yell. "That damned doctor..."

You felt yourself slowly climb on top of the toilet, hiding your feet from view.

"Hello...? Is everything alright?" You heard the woman on the phone.

When the woman spoke, the footsteps paused.

You couldn't breathe, you were terrified. You could feel your hands shaking, the phone in your grip becoming increasingly heavy.

"There's someone in here!" You heard the male voice shout.

So, there's more than one murderer... who would do this? Who would have the conscience to murder these people in cold-blood?

That's not important. Right now, you had to find an escape.

"_____ ___ _______," You whispered your location. "send help..."

You hung up the phone and frantically looked around the stall for something to defend yourself with.

It's clear to you that you're dead meat. One wrong decision and you're dead. You had to survive until the police arrived.

The footsteps began to move again, you could see sandals when you peaked under the door.

You heard a knock from the other side.

"Listen here, and listen here closely. We've got you surrounded, you can't escape." The voice started.

"If you don't show yourself in 5 seconds, I'm ripping this weak door and showing you to The Doctor." He threatened.

"5..."

What do you do!?

"4..."

They'll kill you!

"3..."

Dottore? Are the cosplayers behind this?

"2..."

This is sick, everything about this is making you sick. Move legs, MOVE!

"1."

BANG!

I want to bring the series into an entirely different direction. I'm going to try and make things quite dark, if possible.

Like I said earlier, I am a very bad writer. The aim of writing these situations is for practice and to see what I'm good at and what I'm bad at.

If anyone has any critiques for me, please tell me if you're comfortable with sharing!

Despite my plans being fucked up, I want to have fun with it!

Please don't expect too many happy, nice and generally fluffy scenes.

This is Yandere, a genre which should never, under any circumstance be considered normal. It's abusive, unhealthy and leads to a lot of victims facing awful conditions which they never should or ever have to endure no matter who they are.

This is fiction that I'm writing, meaning it's all taken light-heartedly IN A FICTIONAL SENSE.

If anyone, by chance, is currently in conditions where a loved-one or yourself has suddenly become distant and/or being hurt when away from eyes please get help. Talk to them, or if it's you, talk to someone you know you can trust.

If you can't talk to anyone, find authorities who can help you. Call 999, as it is in the U.K, or your local emergency service. They will always help you, and will never deny your rights or freedom.

Thanks for reading this, I hope all who's reading knows this information already, but I thought I'd include it since who knows when it comes to where you are in the world and whether your education programs taught critical information like this.

✨Elusive✨ Taglist!:

@valeriele3 @pale-value @pix-stuff @yumi-genshin-writer @yuii-v @itz-luna @annoying-mary @etherisy @khalhaimdad @haikyuusboringassmanager @magica-ren @sweatyexpertdeputyduck @booksandteaplusart @9140

Quick Reminder Here! If you no longer want to be on the taglist that's completely fine! I take no offence whatsoever so please don't hesitate to tell me. ^^

[feral--darling]

In response to this post (https://www.tumblr.com/messiahzzz/742694448371236864/im-not-here-to-claim-that-wyll-doesnt-deserve?source=share) I saw the other day claiming that it's hostile for Wyll fans to "demand" more content for him, and that objecting to his lack of content is "misinformation"... I have so many thoughts.

I have a bit of an issue with calling a difference in opinion "misinformation" as though Wyll fans are lying about the fact that Wyll, as a character, is underdeveloped. I see a lot of people online who use data to back up their own opinion by manipulating statistics in a way that supports their argument without looking at the information holistically.

Sure, we can look at the length of time that Wyll spends on screen, and look at the number of words he was allowed to say throughout the game so say "haha! See, he gets plenty of screen time so you can all shut up about how his character has been done a disservice!" However, there is a huge problem when all of his "screen time" is purely used as 1) a method of moving along the main storyline because he is the *Son*of the Duke of Baldur's Gate which is the titular city in which the majority of the game is set or 2) as a backdrop to focus on other characters' stories (I'm looking at Mizora and Karlach here).

If we were to separate out scenes in which Wyll is present and scenes which revolve entirely around Wyll as a person and not in reaction to someone else, the number of "scenes" he has, according to the list given by the OP, goes down significantly.

1. The "Meeting Karlach" scene is almost entirely about Karlach and the outcome can be decided by the player character without input from Wyll. I would only very loosely call that a "Wyll scene" because it shares very heavily with Karlach.

2. Similarly, the "Mizora scene" has things happening to Wyll but much of the conversation happens between the player character and Mizora - they talk over Wyll as though he is a naughty pet who peed on the floor and the grownups have to decide how they're going to clean up his mess. This is, again, a case where Wyll is in the scene and things are happening to him, but we don't get any one-on-one scenes with him exploring how he feels about it, or what even happens to him. We get a line from the Narrator which tells us that it - his torture- feels like an eternity for him but lasts only seconds for us. What happened to him during that time? How long was he being tortured? Was he actually dragged through all Nine levels of Hell during that time? Did he meet all the devils at each level and get tortured by them? We don't know any of this, because the scene was not focused on what was happening to Wyll. It was focused on Mizora and how she was able to punish him as his Patron.

3. The tiefling party dialogue, where he spends most of the time complaining about looking like a tiefling regardless of whether he is speaking to a tiefling, in a party filled with tieflings, is... well. It's certainly a choice that was made by his devs and story writers. Do I think Wyll would spend the whole tiefling party complaining about how people who look like *tieflings* don't deserve to party because they have horns and claws? No. Do I think the brief kiss you can get from him (only if you choose one very specific dialogue choice and none others) is enough to balance out the rest of this inconsistency for his content in Act one? Also no. But I hope this doesn't come off as too "hostile" and "antagonistic" in the face of the fact that he was allowed to talk for such a long time! We should be grateful that we're even able to hear his voice for all that time even if the quality of what he's saying is subpar, right?

4. The dance scene is cute. It's one of the only scenes that is all about Wyll as a person and a character. He doesn't really talk about himself much, but at least Mizora isn't there so that's... something, right?

5. More scenes where Mizora is the focus. She comes to camp to demand that the player character frees Zariel's asset (and they can talk over Wyll the entire time with basically no input from him. Nothing about his background, past, present feelings, hopes for the future.) Do people understand the difference between being present in a scene and being the *focus* of a scene? A good example would be the difference between a scene where Mizora is talking to the player, vs when Elminster comes to tell Gale to kill himself. During the Elminster conversation, the player character is there, but it is clearly a conversation between Gale and Elminster. There is the option for Tav to leave the conversation to Gale (an option which is also there for Lae'Zel scenes with the Githyanki) and the interaction can go forward without much input from the player. We are watching two people converse. When Mizora visits camp, she talks to the player character and talks about Wyll like he's a dog. She is very much the focus of the scene and Wyll is a prop or background character.

6. The fact that Mizora joins the camp and there is no option for Wyll or Tav to tell her to leave is NOT A GOOD THING?? This just further goes to prove how much of Wyll's "storyline" is actually just a Mizora storyline. If we separated the parts of Wyll's content that revolve SOLELY AROUND the white-coded devil woman who enslaved him as a child (17 yo is a child to me, argue with someone else about that) ... he has the dance scene, the proposal scene (where the intimate scene happens off screen because the devs really just didn't want to animate a sex scene with a black character because who wants to see *that*?) and maybe a kiss at the tiefling party if you choose the one very particular dialogue tree that leads to it. (Honestly, why do you start that by saying "surely you know why I came out here to find you" ?? It doesn't intuitively lead to a kiss in my mind. AND THEN you have to roll a persuasion check to convince him to kiss you?? WHAT?? WHY?)

I, as a Wyll fan, have an issue with the fact that he has so few scenes AND that most of them are of such low quality that they can barely be counted as his scenes at all. So stretching the numbers to include any scene in which Wyll is even present in the scene... It's just not good enough to combat the obvious lack of care that has gone into the writing of his character. Sorry if that seems ungrateful, or "hostile" 🙃

On to the issue of his autonomy: I don't know if OP just hasn't played with Gale, Karlach or Astarion in their party to the end. Karlach's autonomy is that if you kill Gortash without her in your party, she will get angry and leave. Gale can decide to keep the crown and become a god whether or not you want him to, even if you tell him you don't want him to. Although Astarion needs the player character's help to complete the ascension ritual, if you don't help him and can't convince him that foregoing ascension is the right thing to do, **he will leave your party with all the equipment and gear that he has on him**. I don't know what he says if you complete the Cazador quest without him in your party but I can assume there will be some furious words and he will possibly leave. Why? Because his writers have given him enough personality and agency that I pretty much can guess how he would react to any situation. They are all clearly able to show their own wants or needs regarding their own personal storyline.

Wyll, on the other hand, apparently has no wants or needs. If you go to the Iron Throne and let his dad die, he is fine (i.e. he wont leave the party and there will be no actual consequences). If you choose to reject Mizoras' contract and condemn his father to death, he is fine. If you choose to damn him to an eternity of serving Mizora in return for his father's life, he is fine. The only circumstance in which he will leave the party is if you go the evil route and kill all the tieflings in Act one. Regarding his own personal storyline though? Tav makes all his decisions without discussing it with him and he apparently has no problem with that. There is no option to say "hey man, I've only known you for a couple weeks. Maybe you should decide how your life and future will play out?"

Again. It's an issue of both quality AND quantity.

Finally, the issue with the "Ansur quest" being moved from Wylls main storyline to a side quest is symbolic of the rest of the issues we have with Wyll content. Many of Wyll's quests could be moved to the "main quest" or "side quest" subheadings without affecting the game at all. THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT. The companion quests should be PERSONAL to the COMPANIONS. The fact that THE ANSUR QUEST ABOUT THE EMPEROR was the CULMINATION of Wyll's PERSONAL QUEST was a travesty. The developers would not have been able to easily move any other companion's ENDING TO THEIR PERSONAL QUEST to a side mission without having any impact on the game because there was care an thought put into the other companions' personal quests that wasn't put into Wyll's personal quest. I'm hoping that they're gearing up to give Wyll an actual ending to his personal quest and that's why they've changed that quest to a side mission. HOWEVER, it has been months since the "full release" of the game. There have been 6 patches and 19 hotfixes and there have been no material improvements to Wyll's content and characterisation. The hope is getting spread thin.

Honestly, I feel that people who are only willing to point out the "hostility" of fans who noticed a discrepancy between the quality and quantity of content devoted to a black character and feel "scared" to interact with the fans of said black character should stay in their own fandom spaces where they feel safe. No one is asking for a saviour from the fandom who feels uncomfortable owning up to their own racism and anti-blackness (hint: we live in a world that was colonised by white supremacists hundreds of years ago. We ALL have racism and anti-blackness to unpack). No one is asking fans to interact with Wyll when they don't want to. No one is asking the fans to stop being racist. We're asking the *developers and writers* to stop being racist. To listen to black voices if they feel the need to throw a black character into their game which is mostly marketed to straight white men. And give Wyll the content he deserves.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

How about the Fallout 4 robots meeting the robots from New Vegas?? owo

Fallout 4 Robots Meeting New Vegas Robots

➼ Word Count » 1.6k ➼ Warnings » Slightly suggestive (fisto) ➼ Genre » Platonic ➼ A/N » This takes place in the Mojave cause it'd be hard for a lot of the bots from nv to move across the country

Codsworth finds Victor to be quite the character. The moment he saw him and the amount of dust he tracked behind him, he immediately decided that he should step in and help clean him off. If it left any impression on the butler, then it was that RobCo didn't have the same prestige as General Atomics had.

Victor didn't care as much as Codsworth did about the mud and grime that clung to him, but he didn't stop him from wiping his screen down.

When Codsworth happened to meet Mr. House himself, he made sure to snarkily bring up how his company seems to be 'letting itself go'. Mr. House mostly just ignored him, assuming that that was just how he was programmed to be, but he's definitely not allowed in the Lucky 38 anymore out of fear that he'll find it dirty.

Another thing that gets Codsworth itching to grab a bottle of Windex is when he's introduced to Rex. The poor mutt! Not only is he covered in sand, but that awful paint job on his side! Dear God, if he doesn't get the poor dog washed off instantly he fears he might break down!

However, after he's done scrubbing him down, he decides he finds Rex to be quite the creature and would gift him one of the Jangles plushies that Sole doesn't stop flooding his inventory with. He'll certainly find it more endearing than he does.

If there's anyone Codsworth feels understands him most, it's Yes Man. At least he's inclined to sweep every now and then. The two actually get along quite well with how sarcastic and passive-aggressive they can come across as, as well as they're desire to be helpful in any way possible.

Codsworth thinks he's an absolute hoot and couldn't think of a better way to spend his afternoon than gossiping with the optimistic bot.

Curie drops everything when she spots Rex off in the distance. What a scientific marvel he is! She's never seen anything like him before and will take plenty of notes to see if she can't upgrade Dogmeat in the same way when she gets back home.

Rex also happens to be really fond of Curie (mainly because she gives him attention) because of how much better she makes him feel. Who knew he had so many broken parts? And without even realizing it? It's a good thing she came along when she did!

In fact, there are a lot of people who are fond of Curie. One of the main ones being Muggy. Her kind and gentle aura is something he never realized he was missing in his day-to-day life and he will beg her on bended knee to take him with her. He can't stand being with the Think Tank any longer! Please!

The Think Tank couldn't care less if Muggy went with her or not, they just want her out.

They can't stand how naive Curie is. She's clueless! And impossible to talk to! Not to mention how eager she is to put her grimy, wastelander hands on everything.

So, Curie leaves the wonders of Big MT with her strange, new friend to finally go and visit the place she came here for in the first place - Vegas. But she very quickly loses sight of the extravagant place around her when she meets Yes Man.

The two couldn't possibly be more of a perfect match and, although Curie can't ever pick up on Yes Man's sarcasm, and Yes Man can't do anything else but shrug at the scientific terms Curie spits out, they still seem to agree on most things.

They're both so kind to one another and have that same sort of curiosity about a world they've been sheltered from for so long, that they hardly leave each other's sides.

Nick feels a tinge of guilt when he sees Rex running toward him. Even though he's never lived it, he has memories of opening up the morning paper and reading about the reconstruction happening on the West Coast police dogs to make them look how he does. At least he seems happy though, right? Can't be mad at that. He'll scratch him on the head and smile a bit when Rex sits and tilts his head in recognition of his occupation as a detective, and he finds his instinct admirable when it comes to spotting danger, but there's something about the dog that makes him feel a bit off.

On the other hand, Nick can't get enough of Victor. The two will go out and shoot cans all day before returning to some saloon or bar and sharing stories from their time spent out in the wasteland. They're like brothers, just born from opposite sides of the country.

At some point, Nick had found himself tied up in another case while in Freeside and it led him right to where Fisto was stashed. He couldn't help but let out a dry chuckle and a sigh when the bot started offering his 'services', and Nick left as quickly as he arrived, deciding that he didn't want to be involved.

One thing he did get involved in, however, was the little Securitron Curie brought back from outta nowhere. How could he hate a robot who found some kind of... joy? when he cleaned mugs? Muggy warmed up fast to the caffeine-addict human Nick must've once been, as his synth counterpart can't help but down a few cups every morning, despite not ever feeling tired.

X6-88 finds Mr. House to be quite the spectacle. He actually really likes him and wishes to bring his ideas and plans back to the Insitute to try and do those same tactics on the Commonwealth.

Since Mr. House had gone to CIT before the war, X6-88 considers him to be a founder of sorts and has much respect for him and the work he's done in the Mojave.

On the other hand, he finds Victor's happy-go-lucky attitude to be annoying. Even if he were invented by House himself, he can't help but sigh whenever he hears him rolling over to him. He talks way too much and remembers way too little for him to be considered as anything but an inconvenience. He tries to avoid him at all costs if he can help it.

One Securitron that X6 does seem to like, however, is Yes Man. Although he's disappointed that he wasn't what House had originally intended him to be and was made from some dirty wastelander instead, he still finds his attitude and overall composure to be incredibly helpful. If only he were in more... responsible hands, then he could really be doing great things in terms of rebuilding the Mojave.

Yes Man almost envies how pessimistic and emotionless X6 comes off as. A part of him wishes he could express emotions on that side of the spectrum as well, but he supposes he's much more likable with a positive outlook instead.

However, if there's any part of the Mojave that X6-88 thinks could be useful for the Institute, it's all the tech stashed away in Big MT. He's not particularly fond of the Think Tank at all, and could only probably take a few hours of them bickering, but all the information they have with them is enough of a reason for X6-88 to want to kidnap them and bring them back to the Commonwealth to interview them further.

They, of course, make it impossible for him to successfully take them with him since they're all too paranoid to properly be teleported back and he quickly decides to just give up and go back to the Lucky 38.

DiMA likes to debate and challenge Mr. House on his political ideals and, as much as he loves the exercise, he's not fond of how accusatory DiMA can get. Not to mention how easily he seems to get people to rally behind him, so he gets locked out of the Lucky 38 pretty quickly if not Vegas entirely.

DiMA doesn't mind though, he wasn't a big fan of the flashy lights and large crowds anyway. Besides, Freeside is full of such interesting people, that he can't help but prefer it over the city. One of those people being Fisto.

When Nick approached him later one day and told him about his encounter in one of the back alleys, DiMA found himself... concerned, to say the least. And slightly curious.

What kind of robot must one be to be active in such a way? It's strange in any manner, and he was quite intrigued to meet him. However, he was disappointed when he found out he was a Protectron that had only automated messages. How disappointing...

Vegas was fun and all, but DiMA quickly found that he was being called for elsewhere... as he was messing around with one of the radios, he got ahold of the Mysterious Broadcast and disappeared to Big MT.

The scientists, like the other two who visited, were not happy. Especially since DiMA knows what he's doing when it comes to technology.

When he starts messing with Dr. 0's robots and reading through all sorts of Klein's legal documents they decide to ban him from their corner of the Mojave. They may even shut their satellite down altogether because?? they've got the worst types of people entering their lab.

He's honestly going to be the reason everyone has to leave back to the commonwealth. No one wants blud around.

[2nd-toughest-in-the-infants]

Crown of Ashes and Flames (WIP) on itch.io Review

Author: @coeluvr

Characters: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Plot: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Choice: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Writing: ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Replayability: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Overall: 4/5

Pros: ANGST ANGST ANGST‼️, absolute monster of an antagonist, compelling characters, regular updates.

Cons: awkward dialogue from younger characters, no return button on UI.

**SLIGHT SPOILERS**

Notes:

TW!: Family Death, Murder, Forced Marriage, Child Marriage, Bullying, Isolation, Struggles with Mental Health

Crown of Ashes and Flames is another really strong IF WIP on itch.io with a very active author and so far it’s been receiving regular updates so I’m quite excited to see how the story develops as the game updates further. As it stands, I still want to share my thoughts on what is available to play so far.

So, Crown of ashes follows the MC who is the last surviving royal of Vesphire after King Luceris of a neighbouring kingdom, Rosea, declares war on Vesphire, murders MCs entire family, takes them back with him to Rosea and forces MC to marry him and become the new Royal Consort (at age 9?!?!) all for the sake of avenging the death of his wife, who he believes was killed by MCs older sister. As you can probably tell by that quick summary, this is an IF that is absolutely LOADED with Angst and drama, so, naturally, I was drawn right in!

I have to start off by saying how good of a job the author did in managing to create a cast of characters that are all so uniquely compelling in their own right. It can be the case that sometimes IF authors will focus too intently on just one or two main ROs while the others can feel like a bit of an afterthought, but in CoAaF, I feel as though all the characters are given equal opportunity to shine. That isn’t to say that there aren’t stand out characters, because there absolutely are and the first that comes to mind has to be Luceris. For me he stands out because not only is he an incredibly well-written, complex villain I find it rare that I have as much of visceral hatred of a fiction character as I do for him. I mean, what he does to MC in the name of ‘vengeance’ and the way he justifies himself just solidifies him as one of the most delusional and twisted villains I’ve read in an IF.

Also, the setting and minor characters in the story really serve to highlight how the MC is ostracised in their new ‘home’ as punishment for their sisters crimes. And it really is sickening how both adult and young characters justify the way they effectively bully MC because of something MC doesn’t have any control over and really serves to highlight the theme of injustice vs. justice that has been present throughout the game so far.

Furthermore, I enjoyed the amount of choice given to the player over the way MC reacts to what they’ve been through as well as to how the people around them treat them (both good and bad) and provides the player with the opportunity to explore how the traumatic events of the game impacts the MCs attitude and mental state.

It’s also quite interesting to see how the MC develops as they grow as the story starts with the MC as a nine year old and eventually grows up. This however, can be quite tricky from a writting perspective as typically authors can have difficulty with writing young child characters. Unfortunately, this is something that I have noticed was the case with this author as I felt that a lot of the dialogue exchanges between the younger characters (particularly the MC) just didn’t really feel accurate coming from a nine year olds mouth. Aside from that however, I feel as though the rest of the dialogue fits very well and overall I would say the writing is of a good quality.

All in all, I would definitely recommend this game to anyone interested in picking up a new, angsty WIP and I will certainly be patiently awaiting updates!

[yandere-arts]

YANDERE COD HCS: Ghost (Simon Riley) Act 1

A/N:😅 This is my first time making a tumblr post, so if it’s kinda wonky, I’m sorry! Also, I’m still trying to set up my blog, but I don’t have my laptop atm, so that’s why my account looks so pathetic 💀.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! (It might take me some time to chug through them though.) And also, this is part 1 of a 3 or 4 part series, so yeah. That’s all — I hope you enjoy! 😌

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ACT ONE which contains more of a description-introduction to the main characters, as well as hints of a growing interest in you from Ghost. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TW: yandere behavior, staring, stalking, ghost himself is enough to be a tw, misogynistic behavior (fem reader), war, guns, slight blood mention I think, violence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Joining the military had always been your fate, you supposed. After all, your parents and siblings, even your grandparents, had a history in the armed forces. And you couldn’t deny the excitement you felt seeing your parents come home with medals or the news of another country’s civilians finally safe because of men and women in camouflage. Of course, you ended up in the military, ready to follow in your family’s footsteps while hopefully making your own history. 

-In the beginning, it had all gone so well. You were nearly the top of your class, a feat not so easily accomplished by women in the corps as their male counterparts. There was certainly an air of respect from others towards you, although that’s not to say that there wasn’t jealousy or misogyny among your peers. 

-Eventually, you were recruited for a more elite program consisting of task forces that conducted high stakes missions. And on the plane to your first deployment with your new task force, you couldn’t help but feel giddy and nervous. 

-You were experienced, this being your fourth deployment. Yet, you were still nervous. It would be a challenge to grow accustomed to a new team, especially one that had already bonded together. You just hoped that they would make some room for you too. 

-All you could do was hope and wait to see what would happen. If you put your best foot forward, maybe things would work out well quickly. 

***

-For weeks, Price had been blabbering about a new addition to their team, “hand-picked by the high-ups.” 

-Some of the men had been excited,  already thinking about how to mess with the new guy. Soap and Gaz had been constantly making jokes and planning silly pranks in preparation for the mystery person’s arrival. 

-And yet, they had all noticed how Price had been a bit sterner these past few days, not tolerating some of the men’s comments. Something was certainly up. 

-And Ghost, knowing that a new addition would already stir the dynamics, was beginning to get pissed off. How could he be angry with someone he hadn’t yet met? Well, he figured that if Price of all people was acting different because of the new bastard, everything could easily go to shit. So, he stayed his old self. Even more bitter, even, as he anticipated what was to come. 

-And, oh, were his suspicions wrong. 

***

-Stepping into the vividly lit hall, you rubbed your eyes gently, a bit unready to meet your new crew for however long you were needed. 

-Stopping in front of the door that would end all you had once known, you knocked and turned the handle. And you were trapped from then on.

***

-It was completely silent. Soap was nearly sitting on the edge of his seat, though he slouched backward in an attempt to look cool. Price sat at the front of the room, a few files he had just reviewed with the men in hand. Gaz sat too, albeit more professionally than Soap. König was silent as usual, but he seemed to be in a better mood than usual. 

-It was Ghost who was “off” today. He was a silent, dark sky before the storm. Not restless, just ready. 

-And so, when YOU walked in, beautiful (h/c) hair, knowing (e/c) eyes grazing over each man in the room, a well-fitting uniform revealing your form, he knew trouble would be the only thing he saw for a long time. 

-He watched the others: Soap’s immediate cheeky grin that you brushed off, Gaz’s lifted eyebrows that you slightly mirrored as if to ask what?, König’s usual silence, and Price’s nod that you responded to with an official, “Hello, Captain.”

-He saw the look you gave him — a hint of shock (most likely at his mask) with a veil of nonchalance. Oh yes, you would be a problem. 

-Price proceeded to introduce you to the team — (Code Name.) He spoke briefly about your experience before letting you say a few words about yourself. 

-So, you did, and you found that most every had a good reaction to you — save for the one with the skull mask (you couldn’t tell if the one with the hood was receptive or not, but his body language was open, so you assumed that there was no issue.) 

-But the skull guy, he was definitely annoyed with you. You’d bet that he’s just another sexist and that he’d make your life hell, but why put money on something you already knew you’d win?

-After that, Price explained the next mission and the meeting concluded with the promise of showing you around the facility so you could get settled in. 

-You would be here for a while.

***

-Your first mission with the boys was tonight at 22:00 hours. It sure as hell would be an all-nighter as you had to enter a compound where suspected Russian drug dealers were providing massive amount of opium, coke, and heroin to the locals, as well as funding terrorism in the area. 

-While strapping on your gear, you reminisced over the past few days. 

-You and Soap had a steady relationship already. Not romantic, but there was plenty of friendly fire and friendly flirting respectively between you two. He was one of your favorites on the team, given his ability to take a joke, although his ability to take a hint could use a little work. 

-Gaz was alright, although you two didn’t really talk much outside of training, working out, or drills. He was always ready to let you sit next him during meals, though, which was something you greatly appreciated. 

-König was quiet, as usual (as you had been told), but was quite shy, as you had discovered. After teaming up with him during a drill, you discovered that he was actually just shy and apologized profusely after giving you several bruises on the ribs. A gentle giant, but a damn good fighter on top of that, you had a mutual respect for each other. 

-And Price, of course, maintained a steady relationship with you, just as he did with all of his team members. 

-Ghost, though, was just plain odd to you. Whenever you entered a room that he was in, it felt as though his eyes were pinned to your back. Whenever you talked, he looked at you, even if you were discussing something completely irrelevant with someone else. Whenever you worked out, he chose to be near you, even if there was plenty of other equipment. 

-You just assumed that he was trying to make a point: I’m better. It felt like he was trying to scream it to you silently. No matter what you did, he could do it better. Your original suspicions were correct — he was an asshole. 

-But, you couldn’t do anything about it, since he was your superior. 

-Your thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on your door. Ghost opened it a moment later, wearing his usual combat gear and plastic mask. If he wasn’t so damn intimidating, you would have made fun of him trick-or-treating year round. 

-“You’re supposed to wait until I open the door, you know,” you commented, finally grabbing your helmet and duffel bag. 

-He was silent for a moment before speaking. “You were taking too long. We’re all already in the truck.”

-“Well, not all of us,” you responded, already slipping past him, leaving him behind in your room. Heavy footsteps followed you, his annoyance tapping out a rhythm. You smirked a bit, happy to have gained a point in your little game. 

-You shook your head slightly, realizing you had to be serious. This was your first real chance to prove yourself to the team — the most important one you’d get. 

-Soon enough, you and the boys were on the road, ready to complete the mission. And even then in the car, Ghost sat directly across from you, staring at you with his dark, shadowy eyes while you rode into the night.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [Act 2 is In Progress, link will be here when done]

[kiirotoao]

Byler and Confrontation

I feel like I’m stating the obvious, but there’s really something about the way that Mike and Will argue that make their personalities and thoughts stand out. So much.

And I’m not even talking about the “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!” or the “And us?” “We’re friends! We’re friends.”

The thought that struck me today was much more meta but still just as revealing, in my opinion.

Truly, when we look at the Byler fights, they’re fighting, right? They’re mad at each other. Then how do their fights by concept manage to make them seem so compatible? Why does their arguing give off the impression of love despite no outright, “I love you” to be heard? Why do we as the audience root for them to stick together despite their moments of splitting apart? Well, I think that a lot of it comes down to who Mike and Will are in regards to confrontation.

For one, Mike hates confrontation. Fights in general. We focus on him mouthing, “stop it!” when Billy and Steve fight. While Dustin, Lucas, and Max are pleading similarly, I find it interesting how the camera focuses on Mike when the fighting gets more intense.

Then of course there’s Mike covering his ears when he’s scared, no doubt a reflex to loud sounds and particularly yells, such as Will screaming.

We also very quickly see this in the shoot out scene in season 4 when Mike panics and covers his head.

And throughout the show, as much as his expression is funny, Mike clearly shows distaste towards arguing, especially if what people are saying to him seem pointless, sudden, unfounded, or wrong.

Mike is a leader as well as a team player and defender, and he doesn’t want to hurt people. Yes, he does argue and confront, not denying that, but time and time again, we see that he doesn’t do it unless he’s prompted.

Now, there’s Will. Will lives confrontation. His main propensity in the beginning of season 4 centers around calling out people for being ridiculous. That goes for Mike, El, and even Jonathan.

Tied to his confrontational attitude comes sass. I won’t try to fit every moment into this post (but I’ll certainly make an entire separate post on Will’s lovable sass haha), but one of my favorite examples is in season 1, believe it or not, when Will replies to Joyce’s question on why he uses fireballs: “Well, yeah, to burn them to a crisp.”

Even though that isn’t a personal confrontation, we see that Will is able to characterize his cleric with sass and boldness, sweetly smiling at his fictional enemies’ demise. I think that Will’s fearlessness is overlooked, subsumed by his constant turmoil, but truly, this boy packs a punch, and he isn’t afraid to face people with honesty.

And to look even further in Mike and Will’s histories with confrontation, both of them have had it pretty rough with their families. Namely, their dads.

In seasons 1 and 2, we see it illustrated through the Wheeler family dinners how Mike has lived his fair share of being shut down by his dad.

Mike doesn’t fight with his dad. Doesn’t confront. He makes an attempt each time to reason with his parents, but his dad ultimately shuts him down. So Mike either walks away or sits and stays silent.

Will, on the other hand, we don’t see with Lonnie explicitly, thank goodness. But what we do see is him overhearing Lonnie and Joyce fighting. In this flashback, we learn that Lonnie never does anything Will likes, and Jonathan encourages Will not to pretend to enjoy that poor treatment.

And while Will seems to be somewhat naturally quiet, I think that there’s also a spirit of quiet indignation that he’s rightfully and righteously grown through moments like these.

So, all of this to say, Mike is non-confrontational while Will is confrontational. That’s how they’ve been built as characters.

So how does this play into Byler? Well, look no further than their arguments in season 3 chapter 3 and season 4 chapter 2. The non-confrontational Mike meets the confrontationist Will. Things go according to character: Will is calling Mike out on his behavior and ignorance and Mike is leveling it and bearing it as he lets Will talk.

But then, both times they fight, the canvas is flipped. Mike ends up being the final word while Will is left speechless.

These reactions are heartbreaking. They’re supposed to be. They show Will’s defeat and Mike’s regret. They show how much their words affect each other and actively change the way they normally face confrontation.

They could have brushed each other off, in fact, they both had the opportunity in both fights to let the other leave (Will could have biked off without another word from Mike and Lucas in season 3 and Will could have let Mike continue looking for El in season 4). But they didn’t let each other leave. They engaged with each other and made known what was on their hearts in the moment.

So what make Mike and Will so important to each other is that they take each other’s words seriously, to the point that they aren’t afraid to be vulnerable and show each other what makes them upset, upset enough to respectively gain or lose their air of non/confrontation. And even though they don’t say “I’m saying this because I love you” outright, it’s clear that they mean as such because they’re ultimately trying to better each other and understand each other in any way they can, raw and hurtful as it is.

So maybe at first glance, this sounds toxic. Why would I call their raw and hurtful arguing positive and bettering and basically a big, unsaid “I love you?” Well, the thing is that Mike and Will don’t continue arguing. Notice their reactions after each one:

They know that they aren’t being themselves when they argue - they know! After both fights, Will falls into somber reflection, and Mike hastens to apologize.

And what gets me is that fact that the canvas of confrontation flips for their apologies, too. Confrontationist Will takes the pain but the non-confrontational Mike initiates the apologies. Both times. And suddenly, Mike having the final word and Will being left speechless isn’t sad anymore. It’s quite the opposite, actually.

What’s even sweeter is how we see them grow from season 3 to season 4. Where the argument is largely ignored in season 3 because of the Mind Flayer, in season 4, they address their argument and explicitly conclude that they want to be friends. “Best friends.”

So despite the emotional damage they inflict on each other, they come together by the end of it, closer than ever. They want to realign their relationship that’s thrown out of equilibrium. They want to stick together. This proves to me that they have undeniable love for each other and an integral bond (and I don’t know about you, but I think integrity is a major sign of relationship compatibility).

At the end of the day, even without fully looking at what they say in their confronting one another, you can see it in the intimate concept of their emotional separation followed by faithful rectification; they love each other. They know each other. Even at their lowest, even though they face confrontation so differently, they ultimately want to support each other. They pursue each other and choose to stand beside each other.

So yeah. If you ask me, Byler is endgame.

Thank you for coming to my completely unprompted, brainrot-induced TED talk lmao

[dropoff99]

Reminder for those in their first read through:

Jordan is a firm believer in an unreliable narrator. I’ve been seeing some absolutely WILD takes on on certain characters that I can only assume are from people that haven’t hit later books yet. Most characters have a number of things they won’t admit to themselves, even within their POVs. Some are thinly veiled so you identify them early, others are not and are often a product of that character not knowing themselves or others very well yet. Also when Jordan felt a character had a wrong impression of someone, he felt that it shouldn’t be corrected unless they saw direct evidence to contradict their views on other characters. And while characters certainly miscommunicate It’s not always because Jordan wanted to stall the plot, he just legitimately wanted flaws in the way they thought and understood what was going on in the world.

My POV reliability ranking is below (yes there are spoilers in regards to large character beats but no plot) ranking on how intellectually honest/reliable WoT characters are within their POVs. Note it doesn’t mean I think the people at the top are always right, just that you can trust their internal narrative as being consistent with how they really feel and their read on others is somewhat accurate. Additionally I only ranked the EF5 and some other big characters. If they aren’t on here it has nothing to do with how reliable I believe they are, just that I didn’t rank them.

One last thing: I legitimately love the tool of an unreliable POV character. It allows you to adds depth, intrigue, and unpredictability. It is not a coincidence that the bottom 3 of this list are my favorite characters of the series.

1 Egwene - controversial I know but her time with Gawyn/Wise Ones reveal this the most. Additionally she has a self-awareness about her dynamic with the rest of the cast. Rand and Nynaeve really stick out in this regard. she figures out their dynamic with her a lot quicker than they do. She is generally a step ahead of others and accurately portrays what she sees and experiences IMO.

2 Thom/Lan - their POVs reveal their motivations pretty clearly and they also are very consistent across the series. Additionally their analysis of other characters is really helpful due to general knowledge of the world. I put them behind Egwene because Jordan is very stingy with their POVs.

3 Min - she is the most openly conflicted of the main cast (especially regarding Rand). But I can’t put her reliability as high as the others because Jordan intentionally obscured her interpretations of her visions for obvious reasons and that is such a big part of her character that it drops her.

4 Perrin - as internally honest as they come (especially his guilt) outside of his love interests but this is a HUGE blind spot for him.

5 Rand - despite what some would say on this topic, it’s not so much that he lies to himself, but there are specific and intentional inconsistencies that are plot related. Additionally, the pressure Rand is under definitely clouds his judgement throughout the story but this is usually apparent to the reader.

6 Moiraine - her internal conflict about her schemes/plans as well as her habit of obscuring the truth places her outside of the top 5 but I generally think her POVs are incredibly revealing about what she thinks/feels when you do get them.

7 Elayne - I know you might be thinking… how is she this low? But I believe she lies to herself (even if thinly veiled) on many occasions, especially how she feels regarding her family and close relationships.

8 Mat - the guy is genuinely just a compulsive liar. He lies to himself and others routinely throughout the story. The amount of times he says “this is the last time I (insert any particular thing he does regularly)” even within his POV is astounding. But he does this in such a predictable rhythm that you get used to it very quickly. Also his read on other people within the story is at times so outlandish that you can’t believe he really thinks what his internal dialogue is saying.

9 Aviendha - absolute lunatic internally. I love her to death but what she truly believes is often hidden early on in her POVs and because she comes from such a unique culture Jordan intentionally makes her evaluation of any given circumstance a little confusing. The only reason I would rank her above Nynaeve is because there are legitimate plot mysteries that Jordan did not want to unveil with her early on making her less reliable, which isn’t the same thing as what happens with Nynaeve.

10 Nynaeve - I really don’t want to say much about this because I believe her POV is actually done brilliantly in a lot of ways, it just makes for a frustrating read before you understand her. But to put it simply she is not honest with herself generally and you have to rely on Jordan’s prose and her literal actions to know how she truly feels.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

WHO HAD A SECRET RELATIONSHIP WITH WHOM?!

@miraculoushedgehog replied to your post: I need this info on 81’ Thomas 😂

In Sense and Sensibility 1981, the servants of Barton cottage are not ones coming with the Dashwoods from Norland; whether sir John sent them or they are just a fixture of the place, the series doesn't tell us, but they do get a grand introduction:

Thomas, who is doing some gardening as he awaits the Dashwoodses, with as much or more enthusiasm as Mr Collins' noticing Lady Catherine's carriage, tells the maid when he sees the carriage:

Darcy cannot fix the hour or the spot? Skill issue. This man certainly can, as he ran inside, put on a coat and proceeded to greet them:

What a meet cute! Ma Dashwood is not at all displeased:

She has not withdrawn her hand! she smiles at him!

I know who this woman was voting for on that tournament.

Once she moves past him, he pointedly looks at her as she makes her way to the front door, and then adds:

He introduces Susan, and then:

He's taken with her!

You'd say, Scarlet, you are reading too much into this! these are just some perfunctory introductory lines!

Well, you are wrong, because this sequence hasn't ended yet! I'm tempted to think this is the servant character with the most lines in any Austen adaptation. Which reinforces my theory that this is done ON PURPOSE :P

He shows her the different rooms, and then:

He smiles at her approval, and clearly attempts to prolong their conversation with:

Realizing perhaps this is pushing his luck, as she doesn't answer, he adds:

This is not the last time we see him in this very episode, as he comes in to assuage Lady Middleton's fears that her son might be injured, and informing all that only his cucumber frame has been destroyed, showing with that his great presence of mind.

Episode 2. Tom, who introduced himself last episode as doing gardening and odd jobs, has been ascended to doorman:

After we meet Willoughby, the same way Andrew Davies treated us to some wet shirt Edward, we are treated to some Tom doing physical labour, clearly highlighting how romance is blossoming in parallel between so similar a mother and a daughter:

He stops to listen to Marianne and Willoughby sing a song:

The face of a man in love!

The Queen Maab scene follows this one, and then, as Marianne and Willoughby are singing again another day, what do we see first as background to their singing?

Ma Dashwood! Carrying flowers! This is such an obvious yet subtle romantic parallel. This is the kind of soft romantic storytelling I'm here for.

That's Willoughby's carriage as he's brought back Marianne from Allenham. Would Thomas be complete if he didn't love horses?

Episode 3: We open with some Thomas working in the background:

So that we not forget his real relevance in this story's subtext.

Ma Dashwood not even trying to be subtle.

Another Tom cameo:

And another:

Ma Dashwood's reaction upon hearing that Mrs Jennings has invited Elinor and Marianne to go to London with her:

It is worth mentioning that in this adaptation, there's no Margaret. Ma Dashwood is not sick. There's absolutely no reason for her not to be invited, so why didn't Mrs Jennings invite her? Well, of course, because with her nose for romance she's sniffed her secret out! Ma Dashwood does then demolish all Elinor's objections, is truly overjoyed at the idea of being left behind, and explicitly mentions her having Tom and Susan with her as a reason for Elinor and Marianne to go with a clean conscience.

Ma Dashwood's face after her daughters leave the room:

During episodes 4-5, the series of course focuses on our main heroines in London and Cleveland, leaving us to imagine the full blossoming of this romance happening at Barton cottage, and all the angst and heartbreak that their class separation imposes on these middle aged lovers. Ma Dashwood may be a romantic, but she understands that her daughters come first.

As soon as we return to Barton in episode 6, so returns our favorite gardener-doorman-oodjobman Tom! Without seeing him, Ma Dashwood recognizes his way of shutting the front door, and calls his name, and then smiles at his answering:

♪ So this is love... ♫ (notice Elinor drawing Edward's portrait)

(Then we get the "Thomas tells them Mr Ferrars is married" scene)

Then this scene follows:

It's a really clever piece of writing, where the writers both show us the grown intimacy, respect and appreciation between them, and give us a nice metaphor, where the flowers of the hedgerow, that represent Tom, are picked by Ma Dashwood, beautiful in her eyes, and made fit for polite society. Alas, the crucial question remains: how can they love be, without ruining Marianne and Elinor's prospects?

As we all know, Edward comes and proposes to Elinor, and marries her. We are then treated to a visit of colonel Brandon, where Ma Dashwood sees how much Marianne's feelings and attitudes towards the colonel have changed.

The last line and frame of the adaptation belongs to Ma Dashwood:

That would, to any distracted viewer, seem very odd. Why that? And why that line? But for the attentive viewer who has been able to piece together the little drama behind the curtains, it's patently clear: she has realized that Marianne will marry Brandon, and once that happens, she will be free to have her own second happily ever after herself, with Tom, the gardener of her heart.

[yiga-hellhole]

TFTK: CHAPTER 14

the siege for the triforce of power is at hand. two co-lieutenants are assigned to guard their flanks while their master claims his shard of destiny. one way or the other, death mountain will fall.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

ao3 mirror

hiiii long time no see on the main work. it's out! lots of new (and old) characters in this one. it's been a real trip. i'm just going to let this one speak for itself because, well... it speaks a lot! 14k words under the cut. enjoy everyone!

The announcement of Cia’s demise and the subsequent establishment of Sorceress Lana as the Guardian of Time brought immediate chaos to the palace. Their path was cleared, their forces supplied — all there was left to do was take the Valley of Seers, and with it, return the Triforce of Power to its rightful pedestal on the Demon King’s hand. All tension that had been building up among Ganondorf’s forces over the past few weeks burst apart into shrapnels. That very night, troops took to their saddles and set out to march for the Eldin Border, to join their compatriots in the vast sea of tents.

With Cia’s defeat also came the potential of new allies… Not that Ghirahim was particularly enthused about those arrivals. Volga and Wizzro, his previous co-lieutenants when still under the Sorceress’ command. He had only followed her through the thrall she’d placed on him, though her promise of the revival of his True Master… It was fascinating enough, at the time. But those two, they’d had no motives but their own corruption, or the simple desire to serve the strongest. With her out of the picture, all that was left was to find whatever scraps were left of the disgraced commanders and beat them into submission. 

It was easy enough to find Wizzro. He had lingered in the witch’s library, idly combing through her literature like there wasn’t a war raging mere miles away. All Master Ganondorf had to do was step into the threshold, and the wretched creature had all but thrown himself at his feet, begging to be worn. It was a despicable sight, despite its parallels. At least Ghirahim’d had the dignity to put up a fight.

Volga, in the meantime, was posing more of a challenge. Whatever happened during the Hyruleans’ siege on the Valley, it had not done its favors for Volga’s composure. They encountered him skulking in Eldin, cornered and snarling like a wounded animal. He’d rejected their Master fiercely, vehemently, until the rule of beasts decreed he submit. Ghirahim had marveled at the sight, how the Demon King seized the dragon by his horns and threw him to the ground. The crunching of bone and carapace was only barely drowned out by the beast’s yowls and roars; Master was beating him until he turned man again. Once he did, he’d been pinned to the dirt with his neck between the twines of Ganondorf’s trident. The loyalty he swore then was stained with the blood that poured between his gritted teeth, but it was one, nonetheless. What other choice did he have? It shouldn’t have taken that much violence for the oaf to clear his head. The Princess certainly wouldn’t grant him forgiveness, and he ought to have realized by the second strike to his boney jaw that Ganondorf was no enemy to make light of.

Ghirahim wondered idly, with them all standing at the sidelines and forbidden from interfering, why Ganondorf had taken his lieutenants along for these recruitments. Perhaps to set an example, of what they would expect were they to betray him? Curious, but intriguing. Or perhaps, to grant them an excuse to voyeur? Well, even if it were the former, Ghirahim found him taking all that much more fulfillment in the latter. At least, he was treating it as such.

Now, the six of them stood at the forefront of the war table. The innermost layer of the congregation, directly circling the table, was occupied by them, the highest commanders. Around them, nearly huffing down their necks, were the others: Gerudo captains, darknuts, moblins, and lizalfos, flanked by the stallords and bulblins they had recruited from rogue bands. With the events of the past days still splaying out fresh wounds on the lands of Hyrule, it was perhaps their most chaotic meeting yet. The death of a warlord, and the subsequent disbanding of her entire army, meant far too much territory was suddenly up for grabs. Nigh every minute, some panting messenger would burst through the tent flaps to relay the status of a camp either relinquished to Master Ganondorf’s forces or annexed by opportunistic Hyruleans.

That was the problem with monsters, Ghirahim thought to himself with a disdainful grimace tainting his features. Without a powerful overlord to tell them what to do, the undead were just that — aimless souls, seeking a way to unleash their vengeance. For all the trouble the Hyruleans put them through, at least they had pride, and wouldn’t simply lose all sense of self to mere disorganization. 

Zant stood at Ganondorf’s side, croupier stick in hand. With contemplative silence, he moved pawns on their map to their rightful places, scattering its ink-blotted landscape with blues and reds. The commander tended to the war table as one would prune a garden; through all the bustle in the room, filled with the murmur of men and hurried scuffle of feet, the rake in the hands of that lunatic provided the sole bit of meditative tranquility in the middle of war. With the fate of Hyrule resting on its yellowed surface, this table was the eye of the storm.

Even as the frequency of messengers diminished, in the short term of their plans, very little had changed their plans. From the Gerudo Desert to the Valley, their path was clear. They could march unimpeded, and the siege of the Triforce of Power was within reach. One problem remained: in the time that their rivaling force had fallen, they hadn’t yet dealt with their… Pest problem. Goron City still threatened their flanks, and such a powerful enemy could not be left unattended to. Their forces would have to split.

“Master, if I may volunteer myself,” Volga stated, hands folded behind his back. “My people took Death Mountain as our home, millennia ago. Not only am I well-adapted to the mountain’s harsh conditions, but reclaiming it would restore our hatching grounds. Dragonkind would be indebted to you.” 

Ghirahim found himself somewhat unsettled by how quickly Volga regained his stoic coldness. Something about a mortal man acting like a blade unnerved him.

Ganondorf narrowed his eyes at the man before he glanced back at the table with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “Dragonkind would bend to my will one way or the other, Volga. You are among their paragons, and yet, here you stand at my table.”

Volga’s shoulders stiffened, subtly but easy to spot from the side. 

Gold-tipped claws tapped on the map, and Ganondorf continued. “Nevertheless, your assessment is fair. Having you as a commander in the siege of Death would greatly improve our chances. I have already considered stationing you there for this very reason.”

Lightly, that massive hand dragged across the map as he walked from his spot. Ghirahim’s eyes trailed it hungrily. “Yet, you have other motives, do you not?” the Demon King said as he made his way to him, his cape brushing by the ankles of the commanders he passed along the way. “If I recall correctly, a relative of yours was slain on that very mountain.”

Volga fell silent. Something pulled at the sharp folds of his nose, darkening his expression. He nodded, lowering his head. “Indeed, Your Grace.”

Ganondorf grinned, moving a single pawn on the map to the base of the Eldin volcano. “I do not mind personal stakes, Volga. I need passionate, driven warriors on my side, that will lay their lives on the line to conquer our territory. But do not use our siege as an excuse for a mere revenge plot. It clouds the judgment of my warriors, and risks far too much carelessness than I will tolerate.”

“Of course, King Dragmire,” Volga answered curtly, instantly raising his chin with newfound confidence.

Ganondorf fell silent, staring thoughtfully at the map, his smile at once fading. “Ghirahim, Zant,” he called to their attention. 

They faced him at once. 

“You will join Volga in the siege of Death Mountain. The Gorons are at an advantageous position at the Mountain’s summit, thus I propose we split our efforts in half. Zant is most familiar with our plans for the siege, and I trust your synergy to carry you both to victory.”

Where Zant nodded curtly and continued moving his little pawns, Ghirahim clawed together every shred of composure he had to stop his expression from falling. What?

The words that followed only chipped away at him further. “Yuga and Wizzro, you will accompany me to reclaim the Triforce. Your recent involvements with the Sorceress will give us an advantage in navigating the Valley.”

The rest of that briefing may as well have been a blur.

Stations assigned and resources allocated, gradually the crowd inside the tent began to thin. The lower-ranking officers were the first to leave. Beast after beast passed after him, leaving only those who sought counsel with their superiors, until finally, only their handful of lieutenants remained. All that time, Ghirahim merely stood waiting, eyes glued to the map. Even on this miniature, the distance between Death Mountain and the Valley seemed insurmountable, agonizingly great. Standing across the table from the Demon King, those gauntlets mere golden smudges in his peripheral… Ghirahim refused to let it be an omen. He wasn’t forged for such loneliness. At least, not again.

Ganondorf was presently engaged, but he didn’t care. With a clear of his throat, he captured the attention of the men standing at the other side of the table. "I cannot help but express my displeasure, Milord,” he stated with a bow of his head. “The past months we have fought tirelessly to ensure your advance. I do hope you can forgive me for my desire to see you conquer the valley in all your glory, my Master."

The Demon King chuckled. Arms folded behind his back, he strode his way around the table. Warmth and buzzing arcane power radiated from the massive presence now next to him, almost enough to make his knees buckle and cling to the man's furred breeches. Almost.

"Lord Ghirahim," Ganondorf rumbled. "Your fluency in the realm of flattery assures me of your loyalty, your enthusiasm."

In an instant, he was aflutter. Craning his head up to look at him, he felt pierced by the gaze of those golden eyes. "It is not flattery, Milord. It is my most genuine praise and admiration of your strength." He needed Ganondorf to know he would give him anything. Void deep eyes pleaded. Put your trust in me. 

Suddenly, warm, calloused fingers found their way to his chin, tipping his head gently upward to keep him in place. Oh, look at me more! See how I adore you! 

"I see," Ganondorf said, a smile creasing his bronze cheeks. "... Nevertheless, I must remind you of your place. You are here to be my warrior, not to lick at my heels. I entrust to you this duty, to guard our most sensitive mission, and I will accept no insubordination to this decision."

Ghirahim sucked in a breath but suppressed the sigh that would follow. He could never disobey him, never truly, but his stubbornness certainly got him close. That Ganondorf refused to wield him as intended was the first jagged nail that drove into him. Heart bleeding, he decided then that simply being by his side and following his command would sate him. But now, to be denied even that simple shred of proximity, to be miles away when he should be fighting alongside him… He lived to serve, but first and foremost he was a weapon. To be sent out as any other lieutenant would be to rid himself of what had kept him so close to Demise for all those eons.

What made him special. What made him His.

His instinct prevailed over the meek cry of his soul. “Of course, Master,” he responded, though his face could only have conveyed the contrary. Ganondorf grunted, averting his gaze first, and retracting his hand after. Behind the curtain of his pearlescent hair, the slightest token of the Demon King’s affection remained hidden, a secret between them both. Before he could fully withdraw himself, swiping right under the diamond scar upon his cheek, the pad of Ganondorf’s thumb gently caressed his cheek. It was a tenderness that could only ever be known to the two of them. An apologetic gesture, to lay there shattered, only for Ganondorf to pick up one of his shards and kiss it.

Ghirahim’s eyes followed him all the way through the tent until he could no longer be seen.

A bony hand found its way around his arm, tugging him closer to enter a half embrace. Whatever rosy, yet downtrodden trance he was in promptly snapped and vanished from sight. 

Yuga’s voice crooned mawkishly, tutting at him ever so slightly. “You really are a bit of a spoiled boy, aren’t you, Ghirahim?”

Ghirahim hissed and spat in response. “Spoiled! You will know to watch your tone, Yuga. Your familiarity with our feudal system should tell you that I outrank you.”

Yuga cackled flightily at his snapping. To his dismay, his attempts to shake the Lorian off only made him cling to him harder, jingling his various jewelry in their motion. “Perhaps so! Yet, you’ll forgive me for being so amused by your pouting face. To speak against our Master’s wishes!” he murmured, clawed fingers finding his chin. “Well, it can’t be helped now, can it?”

“No, it cannot,” he groaned, head drooping away from the man with a sigh. “Of course, I will carry out any task our King gives me, but I just can’t help but feel duped. To be miles away, during such a paramount battle..! What an unprecedented tizzy to find myself in.”

Yuga hummed piteously. “I do so know your adoration for him,” he said, emphasized by an empathetic pat on his shoulder. “You needn’t worry, Ghirahim. I will ensure no harm befalls our precious Master in your absence.”

That was precisely the problem! His fondness for Yuga was a mere speck in comparison to his dedication to his Master, and it similarly could not outweigh the jealousy he felt. Envy gnawed at him, like stripping flesh away from ribs with snarling teeth, laying bare the bleeding heart that lay beneath. He’d outmatched Yuga in battle multiple times now, and had at least several months more to prove his loyalty than the sorcerer had. Every siege he’d won, he’d dropped into the Demon King’s lap, bloodstained and with love. What sleepless nights he’d accompanied him through, and how he’d managed to crack through his shell and win his smile! His gentle affections! Such gestures that Demise would grant him as scarce rewards, rare but precious all the same. They came just so tantalizingly easily when he pushed the right buttons on this mighty man. Could Yuga have attained the same, in such little time? He doubted it, and yet! There would that wicked sorcerer be, joining his side in his moment of glory! The urge to rip his cloak to shreds with his teeth was only tempered by his sense of decorum, and the cold, gentle hand, that despite his bubbling rage for the man, continued to pet him affectionately. 

He brushed him off with a dejected sigh and made his leave without looking back.

—

A loud clang, a screech. The impact of blade on blade sent a shock of vibration from Ghirahim’s hands to his shoulders, snapping him out of a train of thought he now couldn’t remember. Bright orange eyes called to his attention.

“I cannot believe I am the one saying this, Ghirahim, but you are distracted.”

“So I am,” Ghirahim bit back coldly, lunging forward with a thrust that could only be responded to by a sidestep, and a slice to his armpit. The way Zant read his mind was starting to perturb him, but not so much as his annoyance. He would now have to mend his suit there.

Zant stepped back, sword back at the ready. “It is unlike you to be nervous before battle.”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I am not nervous,” he grimaced, before coming at him again with an overhead strike. Zant parried it, catching sharp edges together, but Ghirahim was quicker. One bit too much force and he caught him off balance, slipping his blade past his arms and heading straight for his helmet. Its tip stabbed right into the chameleon’s facsimile tongue before he stepped back out of range again. “I’m merely peeved.”

Zant similarly stepped back, nodding quietly. “You are upset with our stationing.”

“By Demise, yes!” he spat sonorously, relinquishing one hand from the grip of his sword to throw it in the air in exasperation. “Millennia I have spent, working tirelessly to fight by my Master’s side! Not to speak of this past campaign. I’ve done nothing but prove my worth to Lord Ganondorf, and now that the battle that we had been working towards has finally arrived, he casts me aside for newcomers? It’s humiliating!”

Zant hummed. Having stood at ease during his soliloquy, he now readied his stance again. “It does not particularly please me either, but Death Mountain is an important siege. Master needs capable lieutenants to carry it, lieutenants who can hold their own without his presence.”

Ghirahim sighed but didn’t have enough time to dramatize before Zant lunged at him again. Steel clashed together, but false edge slipped on, and the Twili had broken past and into his shoulder. But not without Ghirahim’s blade tearing through the tough fabric of his sleeve, and jabbing into his forearm. 

“I know, I simply,” Ghirahim muttered, but then paused. How long had it been since he’d last confided in the man, and genuinely so? He supposed this languid tale was harmless enough; his dedication to the Demon King was no secret. Still, since his talk with the Arch-Demon, he’d been constantly vigilant of sharing even the slightest sliver of truth with Zant. It disturbed him to know that the Twili had an acute sense of when he was lying, but despite all this time, he hadn’t been able to spot the slightest tells on him. 

He’d been silent enough. Zant had stepped away, uncrossing their blades. So Ghirahim continued. “I wanted to be there with him. I so wished to share the glory I’ve worked this hard towards.”

Zant nodded again, before lowering his blade to inspect his arm. The tip of Ghirahim’s sword had jabbed right above where his leather armor stopped, but not broken it. It would bruise, not bleed. 

“I understand, Ghirahim. Yet, you must understand its practicality. Our very sparring sessions here have given us far greater synergy than with our other lieutenants,” he began, raising his blade again. His stance was wide and immaculate. “We simply work best when we are in the same field. The same, I’ve observed, goes for the Master and Yuga.”

Ghirahim pondered his words, before a smirk cut through his face, and he came at him with an underhand strike. “I’d wager there is far more going on between them than mere synergy.”

Fearing for his sore elbow, Zant locked their blades and stepped in, sliding forward until their crossguards kissed. “You say that as if the very same does not count for us, Demon Lord,” he murmured, a smile audible in his voice as he leaned in.

But before Ghirahim could open his mouth in retort, the ground shook. Death Mountain was making itself known, causing dust and gravel to rain down from the ceiling of their training cave. 

The two paused, standing there shoulder to shoulder in silence, before each lowering their swords, leaving this match unfinished. 

“I believe the Mountain tires of our presence at her feet, Zant,” Ghirahim remarked with an hollow chuckle.

“We will see her again soon enough. I am quite content with our session today, either way.”

The rumbling of the mountain loosened yet more of the cave, its stalactites shivering ominously. A mosaic of crackles formed against the ceiling, bit by bit flaking away. It chipped, rumbled, and clattered, before losing its hold altogether. Pebbles fell and scattered on empty soil.

—

The climb to Goron City had begun. Wind soared through the mountain path as their troops marched ever higher. Without the shelter of trees or rock outcroppings, every step was dangerous even with a flat path to tread. Soles braced into the coursing sands and cloaks billowed in the gust, but nature alone could not deter them. They had been trekking for several hours now, and had long passed the signs of struggle beaten into the rock surface by Zant’s fake-out siege from mere weeks earlier. In the valley to the south, they could still see the battalions in the south moving to the Eldin border. The Demon King’s forces split off from their own at almost equal numbers, but would soon join the expanse of monsters that stood at ease just at the horizon’s edge. From this height, the battle camp's brown and red tents were like a bloodstain on the scorched and barren sands in the distance. Oh, how Ghirahim longed to have witnessed that very camp come to life at their arrival, to hear the rallying cries of infernal forces that lusted for nothing but slaughter and victory. So far away now, the marching of his troops drowned out the distant beating drums and pounding feet of those chasing after the Demon King. It brought him as much misery as it grounded him. He had to focus. 

Focus so much, in fact, that it started to irk him how eerily silent the mountains were. For their entire trek up, not so much as a single Goron had reared their head, much less attempted to stop their advance. Such were the troubles of leading an advance to highly guarded territory on even higher grounds — they could only be walking right into an ambush. The tension was palpable among the pair of familiar lieutenants, yet somehow, marching upfront and shoulders squared, Volga did not seem deterred. Either he truly had confidence in his own abilities, or he was plainly a fearless idiot. Ghirahim was betting on both. 

The mountain path split in two here, a tall rock outcropping forming the partition of the two roads. To the east, there was what appeared to be a now-empty mine, though their true objective branched north. Not wanting to risk getting flanked by an ambush from those treacherous caves, Zant appointed a platoon to keep watch there and set up a makeshift base in the event they had to fall back. He was being cautious; perhaps the only one of the three. 

They could only march onward for their first units to pass the intersection until the sounds of explosions and panicked yelps of Lizalfos echoed from that back-up platoon. 

Ghirahim whipped around back east, only to find a massive shape eclipsing the sun. Something was cutting through the skies above, and making their way straight to them. 

Whistling as it came down, a shadow dropped and hit the ground with an explosion. Rock and dust flew into the air, sending shrapnel carving through armor like paper to the forces that managed to stay outside of its blast range. Those that were not so lucky were either dead upon impact or would find their end soon, dragging themselves away from the crater with whatever limbs they retained.

The claw-like blades of Zant’s swords drove through the skull of one such unfortunate fallen, putting the whimpering barbarian out of his gut-spilled misery. 

“Cease your sniveling,” he boomed, claiming his sword back from his mercy-kill with a sickening squelch. “Archers to the front! Shoot this eyesore down!”

Only now did the backlighting of the sun let up, and the true appearance of the baffling object became clear. Hovering above them all was what could only be described as a giant balloon, clad in red and green stripes, and forced into a round shape by a woven net. Dangling below it was what appeared to be a small wooden boat, steered by propeller in the hands of a small, stocky man who fearfully peered over the edge of his craft. Said man began hastily cutting down bags of sand dangling at the edge of his craft and pulling at the cords above him at the soonest mention of ‘archers’. Just like that, the balloon flew out of reach. The coward! Drawstrings creaked around him as Ghirahim rallied his central archers, but found them too late. The volley of arrows, save for a few stray ones that stuck to the bottom of the boat with a thunk, soared past and into the mountain walls.

The balloon continued moving above them, casting an ominous shadow at Ghirahim’s fifth and last battalion, the one between himself and Zant’s brigade. A sudden realization made him bark the command to clear the way below, breaking up that last formation as they scrambled to get out of the way of yet another dropping bomb. 

The path was too tight, too narrow, and their formations packed together too much to make way for all of the fleeing men. They panicked, they pushed, they tumbled and skidded off the edges, if they managed to get out of the way at all. Ghirahim gritted his teeth, shoving the crowd out of the way if only to keep his eyes on that balloon. A second assault fell soon after, but instead of a single bomb, the miscreant had thrown a whole bag’s worth down.

A deluge of rubble, dust, and boulders cascaded down the mountain, burying those that failed to get out the way of the previous assault. The sand plume was blinding, but the impact couldn’t knock him off his feet. The tremors alone threw most of the smaller monsters to the ground. So quickly, their careful formation had fallen into chaos! They braced themselves, hoping that the unseen rocks that rumbled past them like a stampede would spare them, and waited for the dust to clear.

When the ground finally settled, and the wind whipped the dust away, Ghirahim winced at the sight behind him. Cutting through their path and separating his brigade from Zant’s troops altogether was a massive fan of rubble, spotted with the mangled bodies crushed by the debris.

The balloon continued to soar. Another bomb dropped, one after the other. Once again the archers attempted to intercept, but still they could not reach. They were being decimated!

Pushing through the crowd, Ghirahim came across Volga, who had ordered his men to continue their march as fast as they could manage. The man himself stood there snarling, embers pouring from his lips with every snarling breath.

“This is a waste of time,” Volga growled, his fists flexing into claws. “I’ll handle this.”

Ghirahim looked to his side in shock. Steel and bone on the man beside him began to crackle and groan under the beginnings of his transformation, and he knew what would follow. He quickly struck him in the chest with the flat of his palm, startling him out of his focus. “No, you buffoon! That waste of skin has laced himself with explosives. You’ll set them off and bury us all!”

Yet, the lack of interference was proving itself to be quite adept at burying the lot of them, too. The aeronaut above them hauled another bomb bag over the edge of his basket and sent it plummeting down, blowing another hole in the side of the mountain. The rubble that broke free rushed toward them in a mighty cloud, but Ghirahim was quicker. With a raise of his hand and a snap of his fingers, a great wall of diamonds formed itself at the edge of the path. He winced as the tons upon tons of rock pressed against his magic, the very extension of himself, but it held. Even so, he could not block all of it, and the mountain path by far didn’t have enough space for the troops to flee to safety. Squeals and cries from panicked bokoblins rang out behind him as the landslide claimed them. Those that weren’t doomed to an untimely grave were dragged down the edge of the path with the dust and stones, and met their end falling down. 

Not another minute of this would do. He realized it just as well as the half-morphed, bulging heap of plating and muscle beside him, but Volga couldn’t be the one to fix it. Ghirahim’s eyes narrowed to a squint, his core chiming painfully under the crushing weight pressed against his magic and the ringing in his ears. 

They couldn’t dedicate all of their forces to this floating buffoon alone. They had to make progress! “Leave the bomber to me,” he yelled. “You have to clear our path up ahead!”

Volga’s flaming gaze turned northward, to find his rogue troops organizing themselves into formation. The nature of this ambush became clear; either blast them off the mountain or funnel them onward to walk into another trap. A shower of arrows up ahead had already taken the dragon’s frontlines, and his lower commanders were trying their damndest to prevent them from losing any more. 

Sulfuric bile dripping from between his fangs, Volga snarled in affirmation and promptly doubled over. He crawled, stomped, and hissed his way through the troops before them, all the while growing in size. Armor turned to scales, fingers turned to claws, and his helmet lengthened into a snout. With the unfolding of his wings and the climactic beating of his wings, Volga’s transformation was complete. Whoever was laying in ambush further up the mountain had better hope to be fire-proof.

With their biggest flying asset now occupied, Ghirahim was left with a conundrum nonetheless. Their archers couldn’t reach, and his knives were dragged down by their own weight before they could even make it halfway. A smirk crept up on his face as he realized that, once again, he had to take matters into his own hands. And how deliciously he could crush it between his fingers…

He snapped his fingers once and blinked from existence in a diamond shroud. Swift like a javelin, he darted into the air through the space between spaces. How long it has been since he’d flown like this! Yes, he could see now, in that split second of lingering — he would fit up here with this bumbling idiot just fine. Whether he wanted to be up close and personal with such a tasteless little man…

He had to set his gripes aside. Lounging on the edge of the great balloon’s basket, he poofed back into existence, prompting a startled shriek from the tubby cretin that tugged at the cords that presumably piloted the strange vehicle.

Laughter shook his shoulders as he watched the green-and-red-clad fashion disaster scramble away from him, pressing himself against the edge of his vehicle with a heartbeat pounding hard enough to taste it. “What’s the matter,” Ghirahim purred. “Didn’t expect the sword to get within close range?”

“Don’t come any closer!” shrieked the figure. “The whole balloon is riddled with explosives. One wrong step and we both blow sky-high!”

Ghirahim’s eyes darted to the floor of the craft, and found, indeed, bags upon bags of bombs propped up against its edges. Luckily for the both of them, the Demon Lord wasn’t known for misstepping. His lips split into a grin, tongue darting out between them treacherously, and he lurched forward. 

At least, until he stared down the barrel end of some kind of steel crossbow. 

“Hands off your sword,” the little man barked, pointing his little pocket-sized blunderbuss at him far more insistently, and clicking some switch or other at its top. 

Ghirahim raised his hands, fingers wiggling in a deft motion as he held them above his head. He wasn’t particularly afraid of this glorified stableboy, but he could not be fully certain what manner of weapon he held in his hands, nor did he like the way it pointed straight at his chest. 

The corners of the lips on the man across him began to tug. In realizing he had just, in some measure, pacified a demon, it seemed like his confidence began to swell to sickening levels. “Well, Lord Ghirahim. Tingle must say, when he got the orders to separate you and your fellow commander, Tingle didn’t expect it to work quite so well!” 

This ‘Tingle’ figure lapped at his chapped lips after the stretch of his idiotic grin had cracked them. “Word between the fairies travels quick, oh, yes! And Tingle hears it all!”

Ghirahim frowned at his nonsensical babbling, until realization dropped into his gut like a lead ball. Fairies! There had been two accompanying Majora! Whatever he’d told the Arch-Demon, then, must also have leached its way into whatever network of sparkly little bugs roamed these lands. Then somehow, those words must have reached this airborne court jester, and possibly landed in the hands of… Oh, this wouldn’t stand. Quickly, he broke eye contact with his makeshift hostage-keeper just long enough for him to notice and eyed the cords that he saw him pilot this ship with lustre. “Now, then. In that case, I suppose I ought to make sure the gossip ring ends with you.”

“No!” he shouted, grasping the grip of the weapon in both hands to stop himself from shaking. “You stay right where you are.”

“… You know, ‘Tingle’,” he chuckled, rolling the name in his mouth as if tasting it. “I think you’re not fully certain if that little toy of yours is going to actually hurt me, or if it’s just going to piss me off.” 

The gun nearly rattled in the fairy-man’s hands as he shook. The crinkle in his brow, his mousey whimpers, the sweat that beaded down his cheek… His fear was delectable! 

Ghirahim had called his bluff. A wicked, skin-crawling laugh escaped his lips. “Well, I have some news for you. It already has!”

In an instant, he lunged for the cords that piloted this gaudy monstrosity. Some seemed to activate the burner above them, causing it to cough and sputter with bright blue flames until it sighed its last breath. The man panicked and finally pulled the trigger on his silly little device. The bullet that bounced off his shoulder did, in fact, hurt him, leaving an ugly scrape that peeled away the layers of his false skin in a small groove. But it wasn’t enough to deter him. 

The balloon jerked left and right at the mercy of its new puppeteer, all the while it gradually sunk. The ominous jingling and clanking of the explosives around them made the man next to him whimper and shiver in his boots, but Ghirahim only howled laughter at his plight. Finally, he’d found the right cord, and hung from it with all his weight. 

In an instant, the captain went against all maritime rules and abandoned ship. Well, he supposed they were in the air, after all. The balloon veered south, its cargo spilling from their bags, but before the first of them could blow apart, Ghirahim had snapped his fingers and disappeared from the deck.

Perched upon a rock, hands proudly propped in his waist, he looked on as the balloon caught aflame. The burning fabric was whipped along with the wind, now far off-course and plummeting down the side of the mountain. His hard work reached its beautiful climax when finally, the cargo inside the airship had been jostled enough and engulfed it all in a shower of explosions. Burning tatters whipped around in the wind like flower petals in the spring, but before he could fully come to appreciate the sight, another explosion to the north caught his attention.

An indignant, shocked groan burst out from him when up in the sky, once again, there was that leather-clad idiot, suspended high in the air by a balloon coming up from his rucksack. Somehow, in his escape, he’d not only survived to keep himself floating, but armed himself with a final bag of bombs, and gleefully continued pelting their forces with them. 

But before Ghirahim could give the command to fire, a second rumble came from down the path, behind the fan of stone. A second shadow now blotted out the skies, growing ever more prominent. The conical chameleon helmet of Twilit King Zant, now ten times his original size, rose above their forces like a colossus. Raising his knee, he planted his draconic shoe atop the rubble. The sound alone was enough to bounce every man that stood on the path an inch upward, rattling bones and teeth and sending a hollow reverberation through their chests. At once, all on the mountain was quiet.

“You dare mock us?” Zant’s voice boomed forth from his helmet, bringing the defaced rock wall to further ruin. “This is funny to you? Very well. I will give you something to giggle about!”

Zant raised his hand, his sleeve nearly long enough to bridge the gap between himself and the floating bomber. The man adrift yelped, audible even from that high up, and yanked frantically at the cords on his backpack. Yet, to no avail. A ball of crackling energy shot from the Twili’s outstretched hand, and tore a devastating hole into the side of the balloon. No amount of aerial skill could prevent the bomber’s literal downfall. The last bit of wind that kept him in the skies veered him southwards, until the whole thing sank, and plummeted down the side of the mountain. 

Normally, such a sight would reduce the Twili to a fit of laughter, but now, there was only fury. The massive shape of Zant bent down, digging his fingers into the fan of debris like it were all mere pebbles. An uproar of men dove away from the wreckage as they all realized just what he was doing. With a roar and a tense sweep of his arms, he pushed, and sent a rain of rocks and boulders cascading down the mountain beside them. 

All Ghirahim, much less their troops could do, was stare in awe and perturbation at the massive man striding his way past them, his brigade behind him. A wicked snarl from the echoing helmet prompted a rallying cry as they all followed him, trailing the shielding of trunk-sized legs. 

The path turned to a funnel before them. Any other time, with any other lieutenants, this stretch would have likely proven fatal, but the Hyruleans would not be so fortunate. Volga had already scorched the place, burning most catapults to a crisp and chasing off their archers. Still, Gorons were as crafty as they were strong, and before long, the first boulders came sailing through the sky and rolling down the incline that led to the upper mountain. Zant hissed, staggering back as one hit him square in the chest, threatening to flatten their front row under his massive heels. Such injuries only appeared to enrage him further — the very next rock that came rolling down the hill was promptly punted back with an accompanied shriek, shattering it to dust and pebbles. 

Zant broke into a sprint to the top of the rock tunnel, but the Gorons held fast, refusing to leave their post unless ripped away from it. Thundering footsteps threatened another landslide, and their men hurried down the corridor behind him in droves. Yet, the Gorons continued sending down their boulders, flattening battalions left and right where Zant didn’t crush them under his soles. 

Courage morphed more and more into stupidity when, despite the gargantuan threat drawing ever closer, the Gorons continued loading their catapults. As if their contraptions could shield them from Zant’s wrath, they ducked behind their makeshift barriers when the massive man was mere steps away. Those that didn’t turn tail sailed into the air along with their siege weaponry. With one two-footed stomp, like a child jumping into a puddle, Zant leaped forward and landed in a shockwave of dark magic, launching every last obstacle that still stood in their way out of sight.

“I will take the Western pathway,” Zant growled, his voice alone resonant enough to crack the walls. “We meet again at the city borders.”

And so, with just a few paces down the forked pathway with his brigade behind him, Zant shrunk back down to his original size, shrieking and cackling all the while. Still, the stumble in his gait, and the rasp of his voice… Ghirahim couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d exerted far too much of himself at the first beat.

Ghirahim stood at the intersection of upper Death Mountain, the scorching volcano air clinging to him like maternal fires of the forge. To the west, Zant was marching onward, flattening everything that dared cross him. Soaring high above was Volga, undeterred by any projectile the Gorons would throw at him. Blades in hand, Ghirahim strode onward. His troops had long run ahead of him, swarming the Goron keeps like rats. Still, he couldn’t let his co-lieutenants have all the fun. Behind him, now, Volga swooped down, tearing through a squad of Gorons that tried to slither into their flanks. Almost longingly, Ghirahim gazed at the scorch marks, the deep gashes those claws left in the stone floors. How he yearned to leave such hickeys on enemy territory! No, for the time being, he had to focus. While the small fry was taking care of the chores, he had his eyes set on the prize. He was heading straight for the City, and whoever he’d carve down on his way there, was a mere bonus.

The rumbling and roaring of rolling boulders that launched down the central corridor were of no concern to him. He’d dodged every single one that attempted to impede his advance to the city, and by now, he’d outran every catapult and funnel that was to spit them out down the slope. All he had to do was make it to the city and get his pot-shots in at their sad excuse of a King. 

Yet, something was amiss. The last time Zant arrived here, he’d reported the city gates to be firmly shut, but this time, they were wide open, and not a soul lingered inside. What’s more, the rumbling behind him was persistent. He had seen no more funnels up ahead, and yet, it seemed the Gorons continued trying to squish him with their endless supply of rocks. 

A second too late, he pinpointed just what irked him so about this particular sound.

It was coming uphill!

Before he could fully turn, a terrifying force had rammed him straight in the back. Clothing tore under the friction, false skin cracked under the impact, and all air that once found its way inside him was forced out in one ragged groan. He was launched forward, rolling and tumbling. Fingers dug into the stone floor of the city plaza as he anchored himself down, and forcefully came to a skidding halt. Gloves worn down shamefully, but the carved tile floors suffering far worse damage, he righted himself, glaring at the source of this humiliation. 

One of the stone-skin Gorons, and a particularly massive one at that, sped towards him curled up in a ball, and unrolled himself at the gate. A wide grin on his bearded face, King Darunia strode toward him, rolling his shoulder with athletic nonchalance. 

“Demon Lord Ghirahim! Thought I’d give you a warm welcome. Oho!”

Oh, so the lout wanted to play coy? Two could play at that game. His scowl melted into a bright smile, though his glare never lost its venom. “Salutations, King Darunia, Chief of the Goron Tribes. Truly, your hospitality is rivaled by none,” Ghirahim sang canorously, bowing with a flourish. “Allow me to procure my own visitation gift.”

Rapier extended, he launched himself forward. His sword carved through the bristles of the Goron’s straw-like beard, but could only leave a small nick on his chest before a large, meaty hand shoved him out of his trajectory. Had he any bones and joints to crack, Darunia would have shattered them all with that strike alone. He landed on his feet, shook off his stumble, and instantly twirled back around, blade at the ready. The Lord Ghirahim, exemplary of demonkind, swatted from the air like a mere fly! 

He had to be more careful. Darunia was far quicker than he looked, and this had been his one and only warning. Eyes narrowed, he braced himself for a follow-up attack as Darunia grinned at him, as playful as he was vicious. A pillar of fire gathered in the man’s dust-yellow palm, twisting like serpents as they grew into shape. He then clenched his fist around it, and in an instant, the melting flames solidified. Now before him, Darunia stood armed, a giant, smoldering warhammer slung over his shoulder.

Even with the chaos boiling outside the city gates, Ghirahim heard nothing but the sounds of their combat. His sword carved through the air with a nearly imperceptible whistle, contrasted drastically by the crackling and roaring of Darunia’s warhammer as he swung it to and fro.

The massive chunk of leaded steel twirled in Goron hands like it weighed nothing at all, though the blackened craters it left on the ground said otherwise. The very thought stung his pride, but Ghirahim had the creeping suspicion that he was in a spot of trouble. Strikes that should have severed tendons and rendered him immobile didn’t deter the hulking figure whatsoever. Darunia was too quick, his weapon too large, and his arm span too long for him to win this battle with anything but well-placed nicks that would otherwise topple giants. The goron bled, sending red droplets splattering around him in arcs with each wild swing, but he didn’t so much as wince. Ghirahim couldn’t stand around and wait for this goliath to bleed out; there had to be an opening.

And if he couldn’t find one, he would make one. 

He snapped his fingers. Daggers appeared around his head in a spinning, whistling line, thirsting for the heated blood of their to-be target. With a second snap, they sped towards his opponent.

As he’d expected, a single strike with the warhammer knocked most of his projectiles out of the air, but fortunately for him, Darunia lacked the precision to deter them all. One struck him clean in the face, carving through his cheek and nicking his ear, and sent him staggering. The sight alone was enough to send an arduous shiver down his spine. Once again, he had defaced a king in the honor of his own. Oh, but the distance between the pair simply agonized him. He had to get closer, witness the wounds he’d left up close, and preferably leave a few more.

Ghirahim seized the opportunity with a laugh. He once again lunged for him, both blades outstretched, and carved a taunting cross into his chest. Flesh tore like paper; even such a leathery hide didn’t stand a chance against his perfectly sharpened swords. A second longer within this range, and he would have dug the tips of his blades into him, tongue lolling madly from his mouth to savor that rare, mortal blood. But much to his displeasure, Darunia thrust the pole of his hammer forward, slamming it into his chest and launching him backward. He only barely regained his balance before Darunia attempted to whack him into the wall for good measure. Wind whipped through his hair as the hammer swung mere inches away from his face, which surely would have knocked his head clean off had he not thrown himself out of the way. 

Darunia’s once so confident grin now faded, as if his newfound glare had been cut into him by the dagger just at his face. Adding insult to injury, Ghirahim decided to lap his blades clean, now that he’d so thoroughly captured his attention. To taint that brutish king’s pride was a victory in and of itself. 

Blood trickled into the Goron Chief’s mouth from the wound on his cheek. He spat the red-stained spit out onto the floor at his feet. “Can’t win the fair-and-square way, I see. If you want to play tricks, I’ve got a couple!”

Darunia reared back, and Ghirahim braced himself. Whatever he was about to throw at him, he had to think quickly — every spell he knew flitted through his mind, but before he could fully finish his index, a new presence alerted him.

Stood at the gate, spear at the ready, was Volga. Clearly, he was as healthily enraged by the presence of the man who’d slain his ancestor, as he was agitated by Ghirahim beating him to his kill.

Ghirahim could think of many strategic excuses for his next actions, but truly, they would have been afterthoughts. It could be his concern for Volga fighting with a clear head when faced against a vengeful foil, or the dragon’s greater capability for mass destruction. But really, he simply wanted to be the one to report the slaying of the Goron King. After all, he remained the beast’s superior. He could do as he wished.

And so, he took to barking commands. “Volga! They’re thinning out our troops. Go, take to the skies! Lay waste to their rock keeps!”

Darunia, holding his hammer out like a shield, burst into hearty laughter. “Lay waste? Bahaha! I’d like to see him try! Goron steel can withstand the fires of Death Mountain herself — Woah!”

Ghirahim didn’t let him finish that sentence before lunging at him again, this time driving his sword right into his inner elbow, piercing into his rock-hard bicep like a syringe needle. This had to at least slow those fearsome swings!

“And here I was, thinking you were more of a talker,” the Goron King murmured in reply, now steeling himself.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Volga yet linger. A nasty expression pulled at the corners of his lips, but as he watched the pair again lock in combat, he turned and ran. The guttural roar that followed soon after confirmed that he took quite well to following orders.

That was about as many distractions as Ghirahim could afford. A smudge of burning grey flew toward him and he leapt back. Darunia’s weapon was enchanted, and he wasn’t going to risk to see if it could crack him. The massive warhammer struck the ground next to him, but his missed shot seemed to bother the Goron none. Wrenching the hammer from the ground, he brought it back down in the very same crater. Nigh instantly, the ground fissured before him, forcing him once again to jump to safety. The searing heat of molten stone smoldered from the yawning crack now splitting the ground, its embers burning pin-prick holes in his tights. Whether up close or at a distance, Darunia had a few too many tricks up his sleeve. Ghirahim realized soon enough that his greater speed was not enough to knock this brute off his feet. He was outclassed, not in skill, but in size. 

In this form, at least, he realized with a grin. It was time to level the playing field a bit.

With a grin, he vanished inside a shroud of diamonds and reappeared behind the Goron enshrined in even more. A barrier formed around him as he cloaked himself in magic, and once again reverted to his true form. 

Diamonds whipped around him like a sand devil, swirling and trailing around his feet as they slowly dissipated the higher up they went. He embraced himself behind its tantalizing veil, basking in the weight that lifted from him as he shed his skin. All pretense of appearances, of theatrics, and his masquerade among mortals was lifted, though he loved to flirt with them so. His custom shell was dear to him still, but like this, he fulfilled his purpose. Like this, he knew all he had to do was kill. Following that raising shroud of magic, his fingers trailed up from his hips to his waist, to finally grasp his chest, head tossed back with a reveling sigh. The illusion faded, disrobed of his tunic. With it, the crystalline bits of arcane at once surged towards his now exposed core and began to glow at its facets. 

He plunged his hands inside, took hold of what he sheltered within, and pulled.

To his dismay, it didn’t seem to faze Darunia whatsoever. Now, the King of Death Mountain was showcasing just how strong he was. The claw of the warhammer pointed forward, he began beating at the translucent barrier with nearly frightful strength. After a mere three strikes, his magic was already starting to crack.

Well, not that it mattered much. The grip of his trump card was already in his hand. 

The last few inches of his colossal greatsword surfaced just barely from his chest when the barrier gave way, shattering into a shower of magic shards that dissipated the second they hit the ground. Darunia stepped into its radius and past the rain of them, hammer proudly slung over his shoulder. 

Before him, Ghirahim stood a full head taller than he was before, his metal skin a glittering black, and in his hands, a sword as tall and broad as himself.

Darunia let out a low whistle at the massive blade. “More of a heap of steel than a sword, isn’t it?”

The nerve! Ghirahim clicked his tongue with a frown, the grip of his sword creaking in his tightening grip. “Your own weapon isn’t much more elegant.”

His catty remarks are met with only another bellowing laugh, before once again, Darunia throws himself at him. Sword raised like a shield, he caught Darunia’s hammer on the flat of his blade. It was dizzying – the impact resonated from his sword to his arms, and conducted down into the ground as it shuddered through his body, pushing him backward with his soles digging into the stone. 

But he could withstand it. Once again, the battlefield would be his playground. Now mere inches away from the giant man, who now looked at him with a single sting of worry, he broke into laughter and drove his heel into his gut.

Darunia stumbled backward but brought his hammer back up to shield himself just in time to block the sword spirit from slicing him clean in half. Ghirahim’s tongue drooped from his mouth as if hoping to catch the groans of exertion and savor them. Gone was that happy-go-lucky, confident bolstering of that oversized pebble. Darunia was getting scared. 

They hacked, pounded, and jabbed at each other. Darunia’s wheat-golden skin only barely managed to peek past the blood that he’d coated him in, and a vile carve through his knee left him with a limp. But these injuries did not go unpunished. The flat of that blasted hammer struck Ghirahim twice: once in his shoulder, and once square on the top of his head. He did not dent, by Demise, did not crack, but the foreboding ringing in his chest told him he preferred not to be struck a third time.

Ghirahim wouldn’t tire; after all, a sword could only ever be rejuvenated in fulfilling its purpose, but his one-on-one with Darunia went on far too long undisturbed. Either Volga had cleared his side of the field, or he’d neglected the Eastern front in favor of his kill, but at least he’d shown his face. Zant, however, had yet to break through. Something was distracting him.

The worry that bubbled up in him was swiftly smothered. Were he to break away from this crucial goal just to babysit his co-lieutenant, that softness could cost them far more than their victory. 

After having frowned and groaned for however long they’d been at each other, Darunia seemed to find his wit again, though that thought had been charitable. Even past his exhaustion, he managed a chuckle. “What’s wrong, peeling knife? Missing one of your allies, huh?”

His expression shattered like glass, his aloof and mocking grimace cracking into a teeth-baring snarl. Almost, the fury of being insulted, much less being predicted, distracted him. The massive hammer soared at him from the side, but not fast enough to catch him off guard. Ghirahim stepped in and caught its shaft on his blade, locking the two together. “Speak, you rock-hide buffoon, before I find a more creative way to get the words out of you.”

Darunia’s smirk only widened. “Hit the tink in your armor, did I?”

Ghirahim hissed in response, once again driving his heel into the Goron’s iron gut to send him off balance. Darunia stumbled, fell through his bad knee, and Ghirahim lunged for that second of weakness sword-first. Against all reason, his opponent still found the will to toy with him and smacked his blade off course. His only solace in the frustrating affair was that it prompted Darunia to continue babbling. 

The Goron Chief once again swung his hammer, using its heavy momentum to throw himself back up on his feet. “I didn’t even have to worry about him none. The young lady took off after ‘em right when the lot of you split up. From the look of it, she’s holding her ground mighty well!”

A laugh rolled forth from bleeding lips. Ghirahim ought to have known better, but he felt taunted and swung his blade down with one decisive strike. Darunia caught it on the pole of his hammer, held above his head. Close enough to feel the earthy breath fog on his metallic skin, Ghirahim pushed down, but the wretch’s mirth would not cease. 

Instead, with one decisive heave, Darunia managed to push him off. “Now all I have to worry about is you — and that dragon!” 

Darunia had only just uttered the words before the entire city shook. Death Mountain was no stranger to quakes, but this was no mere explosion, nor an eruption. This impact was almost soundless, save for a deep droning sound that left Ghirahim’s core buzzing with vile dread. The world around them turned just a little bleaker, for what could only have been seconds. Risking it all, he glanced over his shoulder, only to find a massive cloud of muted amber twilight overtaking the mountain in the west as if the fabric of reality itself had torn. 

The thrum felt different. This wasn’t Zant’s doing.

Midna.

Steel struck steel harshly when he turned back to his opponent, nearly smacking his greatsword out of his hands. With that one, resounding clang, Ghirahim was shaken out of the thrill of his private battle. It wasn’t just that Zant and his entire brigade appeared to be held up in the west. His troops, too, had failed to break past the blockades. The sounds of battle, of catapults and explosives continued, even with the dragon at their side tirelessly attempting to tear it all down. With each swing, Darunia was driving Ghirahim back out the city gate, and into the chaos. 

With the boulders, arrows, and burning embers flying over his head, Ghirahim came to the haunting realization of just what dire straits they were in. Even now, the Gorons retained the high ground, and with it, had perfect control over far too many distractions than they could keep up with. They were fighting a losing battle; they’d been led into a death trap. 

The Gorons were planning on eliminating them one by one, starting with their most fearsome commander. If he didn’t hurry to his aid, Zant might breathe his last that very day. In an instant, the hairline cracks and tears that crumbled their bond seemed to glaze over. 

One shining beacon stood out among it all. Perhaps they couldn’t win, but they could ruin these worms beyond repair. He saw it already in the spirit of the Goron Chief — he remained vigilant, proud, and radiated power, but even he was gradually wearing thin. Whatever strength reserve he was relying on to bite through those injuries was going to wear out sooner or later. Ghirahim could only hope it was soon.

To his surprise, the sounds of boulders to the south had ceased. A massive shadow soared above them, and Ghirahim disappeared as soon as it passed by.

He appeared spot between the shoulders of the red dragon, forgoing his trademark refined lounge. “I’ve no time for bickering. Listen.”

As startled as he was enraged by the sudden presence on his back, Volga snarled but was soon silenced by a sobering punch to the plating of his neck. “Make it worth my while, Demon.”

Ghirahim sighed frustratedly, fingers clutching the edge of the plating below him. The idea alone injured his pride, but he saw no other way than to swallow its broken shards. “It brings me no joy to say this, but this battle is doomed for failure,” he sneered, gesturing with wide arms to the chaos below. “Just look around you!”

volga snarled as soon as he registered his words, but beyond their glow, he saw bright green pupils survey the battlefield. Their numbers were now halved, if not far worse, and the Gorons appeared to be sending out more and more traps faster than they could tear them down. 

Volga grunted bitterly, prompting him to continue. “I leave Darunia to you. Cause as much destruction as you can, and I will join Zant in taking down their remaining commander. Once I’ve recovered him, we flee.”

A displeased growl sounded from gnarled maw, but not in protest. Volga didn’t linger on his thoughts too long. Perhaps that was one of his only virtues. “Very well. I promise you carnage, Demon Lord. Now get off of me, so I can tear that stone-hide menace limb from limb.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. Ghirahim happily removed himself from the ashen, blood, and grease-stained scales of the dragon’s back, and reappeared with both feet safely on the ground. 

His soles pounded into the desecrated stone paths of Death Mountain, barreling his way down West as fast as the wind would carry him. He cursed himself for how easily the thought alone of the Twili had swayed him, distracted him so thoroughly from what he’d been appointed to do. With every step, his core grew heavier, buckling under the two outcomes that were disturbingly equal in weight. Either he displeased his Master’s orders, or Zant could very well end up dead. As broken as his trust may have been, the sharp edges on those shards only seemed to dig the Twili’s presence into him deeper. Instead of simple contentment, playful affection, and guilty pleasures, there were now questions. Burning ones, that left his already sleepless mind far more restless, and would haunt him till the day he shattered were they left unanswered. His shame would enrage him far before it could make him falter. And so, eyes on the gurgling and chiming haze of Twilight before him, he ran onward.

What he saw on the other end of that veil stopped him in his tracks. Stood facing Zant was not the child-sized imp he remembered blemishing so carefully mere months before. Rather, a tall, graceful woman, radiating the power of a monarch, stanced fiercely in the middle of the haze. A sheer black cloak shrouded the armor around her hips and torso, billowing outward with outstanding familiarity. The second he surfaced into her realm, she whipped her head around to scowl at her intruder — though he could only guess it was a scowl. Obscuring her face was a great, mirror-polished mask, that shamefully covered the features he would so have loved to see. 

The distraction he delivered alone almost proved fatal to her. Zant lunged for her in an instant but was warded off by the massive stone slab she wielded.

As before, Ghirahim bowed, baring his teeth with a grin. “I see you have recovered, in more ways than one, Princess Midna,” he taunted. “Though, I do so wish you’d let me see that little mark I left on you.”

“Not a chance, Demon,” she growled, her voice much more ripened and deep in this form. “You will not gang up on me again!”

With a swirl of her hand, the Mirror of Twilight spun around her as if suspended from a string like a flail. Zant jumped back, forced out of her range in an instant, but not fully deterred. Tassels floated from the ends of his sleeves, fluttering from a festering current that could only be described as pure malice. He stood in wait and needed only an opening to let himself truly boil over.

Midna turned to the demon behind her, in that split second he was distracted. And what a sight she was! A familiar handprint had been left on her chest-plate, right where her heart would sit. The mark scorched, ate into the metal like acid, with a sickly bloom and crackle in tyrian purple. How kind of the Twilight King, to give him such an easy opening. Like a moth to a flame, the spot of weakness intoxicated him, drew him closer. Greatsword clutched in his hands, he ran for her. 

But within mere paces, she had already raised her other arm, and with it, brought upon a deep feeling of dread. It was a flash, a mere blink of light, if light could be pitch black at all. Liquid shadow formed like a puddle at her feet, rising from the ground in a spontaneous tar pit. Sparks crackled forth, pulsing through the shadows once, twice, rippling its inky surface, until it all burst from her like a tidal wave.

Pure discombobulation, that’s what it was. The second the ancient magic reached him, it felt like chains had been tied to his ankles, dragging him down with weights that could pull the very mountain through the ground. Only by the time the shadows rose to his knees did he fully register just what surged through him. He was being electrocuted, restrained, and dismantled, all at once. 

Yet, she was so close. He refused to fall so quickly to this wretched woman’s hands! The tide rose ever further, now weakening the grip he held on its sword, but he grit his teeth and bore it. The momentum he’d built before had to make up for the trudge he’d been reduced to, he decided, dragging the tip of his blade across the ground. 

A breath reflexively sucked in through his teeth. Midna’s magic was all-encompassing now, drowning the miniature realm in what may have been the night sky itself. It smelled of ozone, rang in his ears, and made his gem rattle in his chest. But even as the foreboding amber runes of Twilight climbed up his legs, his arms, and crackling forth from the corners of his eyes and reducing him to stone, he wouldn’t stop. Instead, he reared back his sword and swung. 

Midna clicked her tongue, catching the blade’s edge on the ever-whirling Mirror. Even in this state, he mustered a laugh. No, perhaps he couldn’t overpower her, though the rattling and groaning of metal against stone came close. But he could distract her.

Zant found his opening. He soared towards her in an instant, his mere approach sparking a primal thrill that should only be known to the likes of prey. Twilight enveloped his blades like a flame as he swung their razor edge right for the back of her tantalizingly unguarded neck, but Midna was quicker. The Mirror swung back around, ripping Ghirahim’s sword from his shivering hands along with it, and rammed into the Usurper with blinding speeds. 

Something cracked, and Zant was thrown to the ground with a painful yelp.

A sight that would normally fill Ghirahim with wicked glee now only alarmed him, not just in piteous disdain but more akin to fury. Even without the weight of his sword in his hands, his arms felt unbearably heavy, but he refused to stand down. 

It was juvenile, and with his current waning strength by all means pathetic, but he still balled his fist. Summoning every inch of strength he could, from every link and every fiber, he tensed what he could of his body and threw a punch.

His fist didn’t connect. Midna’s did.

Instead of thwacking him with the Mirror itself as she did for his compatriot, she brought it up before his face, and from it, launched a teal-runed fist directly into him. He was launched, back skidding against the floor, and felt his control over his limbs leave him with each dizzying second. Were it not for the burning will of duty that shoveled the coals onto him, perhaps even he would have given up. As it stood, both men had fallen to but one pompous young girl and the thought infuriated him far too much to let it go untested. Ghirahim squinted his eyes shut, forcing his will to move one static-filled, necrotic finger, before the other, until stubbornness alone made him for a split second unaware of his encumbering and threw him to his feet.

She didn’t even look at him and clicked her tongue nonetheless. “You’re far too persistent for your own good,” Midna sneered. With the curl of a single rune-spotted finger, a crushing force pulled at every inch of his body. Ghirahim cried out as each of his limbs suddenly seemed to close their gates from him completely, and denied him his command.

He took one agonizing, wobbly step towards her before the crushing pressure of twilight magic brought right back him to his knees. Every rune on him glowed violently, he noticed now with his head drooped down. He couldn’t even claw together enough strength to clench his hands in rage.

A little whimper caught him off guard. With how long Zant had been laying there unmoving, he would have thought him unconscious. Instead, as Midna made her way to deliver the killing blow, he twisted himself in violent convulsion. A gasp; a crack; a dribbling, euphoric little giggle. Of course, only a man like Zant could try to pop his shoulder back into its socket in the midst of battle and succeed. The Twili rose, bit by bit like a long-dead corpse rising from its grave, and threw himself at her with a shrill cry.

The rest of that battle was a haze. Twin stone hands, one glowing blue and one bright red flew above the pair of rivals like dueling birds. Each attempted to swipe the other’s master clean off the mountain but was swiftly halted by its counterpart swooping in to shield their puppeteer. Below them was a vicious scene that could hardly be perceived, blurred out by bursts of dark magic and the lightning-fast movement of swinging weapons. 

Ghirahim clenched his jaw as he realized just who was winning. Only he could recognize the smell of that blood so intimately.

He cried out when that red-runed hand was just a split second too late. Within an instant, Zant was trapped between stoned fingers, and thrown harshly to the ground.

Midna laughed, sniffed, shook her hair free from her hood, as she delivered a spiteful kick to the legs that stuck out from under the death grip of her automaton. She tossed the Mirror in her hand almost playfully, toying with inspirations of suitable punishment. 

It was nothing but coyness. Midna had decided what to do with him the second she set foot on this mountain. “I ought to send you back to where you came from, wretch!”

Horror dawned on Ghirahim. With the Mirror of Twilight now under Midna’s command, if Zant crossed over now, she would never permit him to return. Their King would lose one of their most powerful commanders.

Ghirahim would lose him. 

Zant was pinned to the floor, joints creaking and popping under the squeezing force of giant stone hands. He couldn’t move, there wasn’t a way in Hell, struggle as he may. The mirror floated over him, its gates whirling open in gentle white light, and projected on the floor below him. The droning hum in the air announced their eleventh hour — it was opening, and ready to drag him in. 

And yet, Ghirahim couldn’t move. Any attempt to move as much as a finger was met with numbness and a painful crackle, as the muted amber of pure, twilight magic consumed more and more of him. Yet he shuffled forward, knee before knee. 

It gained him mere inches before he fell to the ground.

Another dooming sound rang. The edge of his field of vision glowed blindingly, halving his sight entirely. Ghirahim felt himself shake, though he couldn’t tell if it was with fear or rage when feeble sounds of protest babbled out before him. Those whimpers reached their crescendo with a bloodcurdling scream, and the glow grew brighter. Ghirahim clenched his eyes shut as if it would somehow prevent him from hearing it. Those were the last sounds he’d hear from the man, and he’d refused them. 

Or so he thought.

Zant’s scream turned throat-rending, ear-splitting, and the pale white glow was replaced with something else. Something vaguely golden.  Ghirahim heard a strained yelp come from Midna, before out came a resounding crack. 

A magnificent, yet horrifyingly powerful force suddenly sent him rolling across the floor like a tumbleweed, and it sent a frightened Midna flying back in the other direction. Dust and volcanic ash shrouded him, but even through it, he could see a brilliant light. He came to a sudden halt when he bounced against the rock wall, and to his fortune, landed on his side. Paralyzed he may still have been, but blinded he was not. Past his daze, he saw him; upright, hovering above the ground, and shrouded in a menacing, purple force, that in itself radiated the faintest golden aura. 

Midna had risen to her feet some distance away and weighed her options. A violent crack formed itself on the Mirror in her hands, and her grip on her magic was fading. Were the situation not so dire for him, Ghirahim would almost have smiled. Arrogant girl, he thought, you let him get any closer to you, and he’ll stop at nothing to tear you limb from limb. 

Then, his eye fell on a curious sight before him. The little pebbles right before his eyes were vibrating on the ground. Not long after, a powerful explosion shook the ground. Volga had surely fulfilled his promise of carnage. Pity he wasn’t there to help.

Midna looked at the both of them. Ghirahim still lay prone, though he felt slowly the grip of her magic lose its grip through the tingle and twitching of his fingers. Zant, on the other hand, had not ceased his advance. Stumbling, yet steadfast, liquid shadows nearly dripped from him as he set his sights on Midna. All intent of decorum, of an honorable vengeance, had left him. All that was left in the cold, empty eyes of his helmet was the ravenous desire to rip her to shreds.

And so, she fled, off to where the Goron Chief presumably just breathed his last.

Zant did not pursue her. Rather, his malicious aura faded in an instant, and he fell to his knees.

That left just the two of them on the side of the mountain, each beaten and prone. And despite his dwindling strength and the blood trail he left behind, there was a King on his knees, crawling his way on all fours towards him. Like a dog. 

Zant’s visor raised, and Ghirahim had to take a second to confirm he wasn’t going blind. Where there usually was a faint orange and teal glow coming from his eyes and markings, there was now none at all. 

Zant paused, hands outstretched yet hesitant to touch him. “Ghirahim, can you stand?”

Stand? What a joke. He could barely raise his head to look at him. “Not quite yet.”

He huffed once through his nose, gray hands hovering over him as if assessing him, but he felt no force intrude. “I could use the last of my powers to return your strength, somewhat, but… It pains me to say this, Ghirahim, I find it better spent taking us back to the Eldin keep. We are in no state to keep fighting.”

Ghirahim sighed, unenthused to relay such a shameful plan a second time. Still, with his limbs refusing the slightest action, and Zant trapping him in his gaze even with his eyes shielded, he hardly had a choice. “I’d long planned for our retreat, unfortunately. I told Volga to leave our calling card so we can turn tail with slightly more dignity, and, ah,” he nodded his head north, drawing his attention to what could only be a scene of total chaos. “I believe he’s taken care of it already.”

Zant craned his head to Goron City, the dented edges of his helmet groaning with the movement. He grinned weakly and let out a scoffing laugh. “A creative solution, indeed. The Gorons will need quite some time repairing the damages, victory or not.”

His response was painfully typical. Whatever bounced so erratically in the Shadow King’s mind once again landed in a thoroughly practical corner and nestled there. Yet, how disturbingly quickly he shook off his frustrations, much less the burning rage the true face of his nemesis must have brought him… There was something off about him. Really, there had been something off ever since they set foot on this mountain. Where he would normally fall to his own volatility, kicking and screaming to tear down every witness to his dishonor, there was now only icy cold.

And so, he prodded at the sore spot. “What about Midna? She’s managed to slip away from you yet again.”

Zant’s expression stiffened, yet his composure held. “We will meet again. For the time being, I will have to be content with giving her second thoughts about attempting to banish me to my own home.” Those last words were spoken with their expected bitterness, like a smoldering fire persisting under a buried campfire.

Its embers were quickly snuffed with a handful of sand. Finally, a gray hand reached to lay upon his shoulder. “What of you, Ghirahim? You are not the kind of man to leave unfinished business at the battlefield.” 

So he refused to answer. That made two of them. “Zant,” he hissed, interrupting the Twili and his own screaming thoughts all the same. “Just get me out of here before I get second thoughts.”

Lips that once stiffened in solemnity now parted gently, revealing the tips of sheathed teeth. Zant nodded and extended his hand, suspending it just between the two of them. Ghirahim glanced at the sickly gray thing, tainted as it was with dried blood and the grime of battle, and then back up at the Twili’s face. Instinctively he reached to take his hand, or at least drove himself to do so, as his body would not yet listen to his mind’s commands. The burnt golden circuitry that had sunk into his form was retracting, slowly but surely, yet it still glowed softly. That very glow persistently sapped him of every bit of strength he put into his arm. He couldn’t falter now, he had to pour every bit of focus and dedication into this so-simple act. It could not have been more straightforward. Reach out. Take his hand. Flee.

Flee? Did the illustrious Lord Ghirahim flee? Lower himself to the realm of vermin? 

He would have to. Reach out. Take his hand.

There was no time. Reach out. No space in his mind left to contemplate his pride, or the distrust he still felt for his co-lieutenant. Reach out. Every little spark in his core that managed to slip away from Midna’s draining magic was dedicated to his quivering hand, to keep it from falling into the dirt. He had made up his mind, he couldn’t do anything else. Reach out. He couldn’t think about how he’d abandoned his objective with the risk of rejection from his Master. All just to make sure the very man that was trying to save him hadn’t been slaughtered. How he prepared to witness him gored on the side of the mountain, blood seeping into the soil to nourish it with something other than volcanic ash, for a change. How, now that he’d found him, the Twili was just sitting there, face and hand unmoving, and watching him as he shook so desperately to touch him. 

Reach out.

Their fingertips nearly brushed when his strength faltered. Take his hand!

Before his palm could fall to the ground, Zant swooped in and caught his hand in his. Within an instant, the world winked out of sight.

They appeared again, and Ghirahim found himself cradled in dusty black sleeves. His head lay in the nook of Zant’s elbow, facing the skies. Even outside of the clutches of twilight, the daylit skies did not blind him. Pillars of smoke rose from the volcano and billowed into veritable clouds, blotting out the light of the sun with their foreboding gray. Zant panted above him, chest rising and caving with each heaving breath. Spot in the middle of the dirt, a few empty tents around them. Their teleportation appeared to have missed its mark but brought them to safety nonetheless. 

It worried him. Even with Zant’s chaotic penchant for casting, his omnipotence had never failed him before. Just how much had he exhausted himself? For his sake, supposedly, he’d once again stooped to cowardice. Why did he, time and time again, throw himself down the pits of such humiliation? Why insist he drag him down with him? What moved a mortal man so, to rip him from his purpose, and set him beside him as if he, too, were made of flesh, and not killing steel? It made not a lick of sense. That impulsive fool infuriated him as much as he enthralled him.

Ghirahim wanted to inquire, to reach out for that pallid face, but found himself too paralyzed. His limbs remained unfathomably heavy and crackled painfully with every twitch. As he laid there, staring up at him, he found he didn’t quite care enough to force himself. Once again, Zant had in his sentimentality removed him from the battlefield, this time in a definitive retreat. He’d hurt his pride, his sense of duty, but most of all, swayed his loyalty right under his nose. How many more times was he going to tolerate this?

Even as he laid there, held in those warm, shaking arms though he weighed far more than any man could carry, he could only meet the unavoidable pounding it brought to his core with resentment.

In that moment, they shared nothing but silence. Ghirahim avoided his gaze, his head instead dropping to look to the north. Another battle was being fought there, keeping them safe yet separate from the King that started it all. The demon despised this safety. Had he the strength, he would have ripped himself from the Twili’s arms and ran the whole way there to meet his Master. Even if it meant admitting to his defeat, even if it meant disobeying orders. Even if it meant he would be shattered by his hand. He was prepared to face it all. 

A laugh tore through him when he realized he needn’t wait long. Smoke was no longer the only haze that shielded Hyrule from its sun. With a ground-shaking, droning hum, a purple, smoking beam shot into the sky, shaking every god and dragon that resided there out of their seat. Such power, such a display of earth-splitting darkness could only mean one thing. Master Ganondorf had won, and the Triforce of Power was in his hands.

A pulse of malicious energy washed over everything in sight, but where it would buckle anyone else with dread, it only filled Ghirahim with zealous elation. As soon as the shockwave that tore through the lands brushed into them, Zant clutched him just a little tighter.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hello again!

Reading some interviews I’m curious about the teaser that “Dubai will be explosive/spicy etc.”

What do you think will happen in Dubai this season- if you were to speculate freely? Will there be violence? Do you think there will be horror and even frights? What kind of horror in that case? Truths seem to be coming to the surface - from maybe all of our main characters? Also how(!) do you think stuff will play out - I feel there’s been a lot of good speculation and of course the books are there about the what - but I’m getting more and more curious about the how of it all - if that makes sense?

Would love to hear your thoughts! Thank you!

Hey!

I've spoken about this before, but... I expect some kind of Merrick-esque fallout in Dubai, coming also with some kind of reveal wrt to "The Groan".

So - emotional impact and also lore-story-line explosion: 1000% :)

I just reblogged a bit of a discussion-meta wrt the revisit of episode 5 here, and I really am nodding along there, because I also feel that one of the big emotional gut punches will be that Merrick-diary-reveal (that was also a sucker punch for book readers back then!). And the attempted suicide after that.

Now, if that is really Marius in the trailer... then "Those Who Must Be Kept" are likely near. IF that holds, then they could be connected to "The Groan". That said, Lestat has to show up for s3 in some kind of manner as well, soo...

I think that Dubai will be increasingly painful. Memories will come back, years of memory, as was said in the trailer. Both Daniel and Louis will be deeply affected. Truths will come out. About their lives, about what they believed of themselves.

About what happened, and why.

The why will be the horror I think.

And the who.

Now, there are a lot of possibilities flitting around my brain as to how the season could end, tbh, but it's a bit difficult to pin down:

There's

Lestat waking up to save Louis , literally shaking the tower's foundations (which would be in line with Merrick, but might be too much "white savior" for the show, however, there was a version that Anne thought about writing first that the show might play with). This is what I think will happen.^^

Akasha waking up in the basement, literally shaking the tower to pieces (she did destroy the tomb under the ice when she rose)

Lestat coming from somewhere else and crashing the party

or Lestat coming onto the radio/TV/internet after all with his rock career

or something entirely new which has to do with the "great conversion"

Personally I think the rockstar career happened in the 80s, it just didn't lead to the same events, in a way proven by Daniel being old now.

We will need to have Lestat "there" somehow for s3.

I think Daniel will continue the interview for at least the next season. I think he will also remember something wrt Lestat.

I do hope for a 4 person play in Dubai in s3.

Imagine Armand, Louis, Lestat and Daniel on a couch, all aware of what the other knows (well, apart from life stories). The bitching, the pettiness, the hidden aggression. Glorious. I would love that.

I do not think there will be violence. Armand loves both Daniel and Louis way too much for that, and Marius would not hurt them either. IF there is violence then that is coming from another source, and if it isn't Akasha... I cannot quite see someone becoming violent, not really. Self-destructive, yes. But against another there? Mhhh. The books coming down on Daniel will most certainly connected to a cataclysmic event, and that... will likely be connected to "The Groan", imho.

And that cataclysmic event will then carry us into s3 :)

Sorry if this isn't... precise.

There is a LOT they could play with and while I see the arc building they might choose to pull something else in, maybe, like the threat by Rhoshamandes, maybe. Or even a Talamasca threat, something Anne toyed with, but never really wrote up.

So there are... possibilities.

The only sure thing is, imho, that it's going to hurt, and that it will bring us to s3 :))))))

[funishment-time]

for the ask game, Toko Fukawa :D

you got it! i'll include Syo as well. this is a bit Incoherent, but with any luck you all can Parse what i mean

Sexuality Headcanon: Toko's...tough, because she's got so much going on. regardless, i think if you strip everything away she's genuinely Bisexual, as is Syo. they lean towards Men, but Komaru is special. additionally, i say "comphet" for a lot of the girls, but in Toki's case it's a bit different: hers was less societal and more the abuse of her peers and parents. had she never met Komaru it may have never occurred to her that she could love and partner up with a Woman.

brief aside on this: i don't think Toko would ever identify as gay or queer or anything remotely accurate or healthy (ha). nor would Syo, but Syo would probably use a Slur as a label to get a rise out of people, avatar of rebellion and grunge that she is. Toki in particular is on my list of personal "what are you, gay or something?" characters while actively being married to a woman, next to Miu and a few others. good times

Gender Headcanon: okay, hear me out on this one, and sorry if this doesn't make sense, but...

the Fukawas are generally cis to me, though i've imagined a few scenarios where they're trans. when they're cis, however, i headcanon that, if they're with Komaru, only Toko ends up actually being cis. Syo becomes a sort of...genderweird she/her because she sees herself as the fantasy-masc Byakuya to Komaru's femininity. for lack of a better term: Syo thinks of herself as Komaru's husband (hersband...) a lot.

i have no idea how else to explain this without getting mildly NSFW. my thoughts on it aren't really pornographic so much as, like, Psychosexual? you know? and i want to keep the blog somewhat PG-13, so i'll leave it there!

A ship I have with said character: i am a diehard Tokomaru shipper and they're probably the one OTP i don't like splitting up in the whole franchise. they have a game together. they are the Girls of all time

A BROTP I have with said character: i've always loved the idea of Komaru being the entryway into Toko genuinely befriending (or at least earning the tolerance of) a lot of her fellow survivors in the main timeline. i do think Makoto would sincerely be Toko's pal, though, and i adore positioning him as the sweet bachelor brother-in-law in their nasty little family

A NOTP I have with said character: are there people out there who genuinely ship Fukawa System x Byakuya? if so...i'm sorry, but why? whyyyy. again, i try to Live and let Live in this fandom, but lorda mercy you chose poorly in this case, no offense

A random headcanon: to expand on my previous point...i will add, however, that my Fukawa Headcanons generally don't exclude Byakuya. i've said before that, for me, the Fukawas never really lose their crush on him, but it becomes purely, well, NSFW. if you excuse me being blunt for a moment: they still want to rail him, he figures in many of their fantasies, but they don't want to wake up next to him, and they certainly don't want to have his kids or make him breakfast.

Komaru, however, is the Fukawas' WIFE. she is Love, she is Healing, and she is their very best friend at her core beyond all the romance. she is pancakes and shitty manga and joy. Toko (and Syo) may not dream of Komaru kicking them around, but they do dream of creating a peaceful life with her. well...as peaceful as things can get in that timeline. some shit is always Happening

anyway: and Komaru just accepts this, because she knows she's got the girl(s) in the end!

General Opinion over said character: 10/10 i love my Toki so very much. Toki kinnie 4 life. stinky little insect creature. vile and perfect and lovable

[w1f1n1ghtm4r3]

ippiki au: minor characters edition

first things first: here look at everyone. dont mind the inconsistency of style, i took a 4 month break in the middle of these okay

and now! lore and stuff will be under the cut to not clog up everything

ill include everyones images a second time before their specific lore just to help keep track of things i hope you dont mind that. also implied vbs event spoilers (specifically for light up the fire) when you get to radder, if thats a concern at all

mizuki- deer. a runaway from an arena with lower security, met ena early into their escaped days and theyve stuck together since. their antler broke while in the arena, and they havent shed yet to grow back evenly. whether the white spots are because of their deer species or the fact that theyre still a teenager or just because of weird hybrid things is up to viewer interpretation (aka i never really settled on a specific type of deer for them). unfortunately the antlers make them pretty visibly trans and they dont really like having them, but at least most other hybrids dont seem to care too much.

ena- mountain lion. grew up in the same lab as akito, and to neither of their knowledge, they are actually related (ena was still somewhat of an older sister figure to him, along with some of the others from his group. they havent seen each other in a few years since ena got taken to an arena. to each other they might as well be dead). not the biggest fan of their current situation, but shes trying to make the best of it.

they live together currently in the undercity, living somewhat steadily off of odd jobs. its not the greatest life, and maybe one day theyd like to leave, but for two teenage girls, its the best theyre managing for now, and it certainly could be a lot worse. they both couldve never escaped their arenas and died there.

haruka- domestic shorthair cat (but often mistaken for being a russian blue... shes just a regular gray cat with blue eyes). an ex-feral (captured as a child) turned show pet with a reputation for her cool charm. while shes taken to this life with relative ease, she misses her home from far outside the city and her childhood best friend who got captured at the same time and separated from her (she cant help but fear that an is probably dead, sent to an arena for her rowdier personality. shed like to hope otherwise, but the odds are against her)... also yes, her outfit mainly looking like her asrun outfit is intentional.

minori- goat. i forgot her sideways pupils here but she has those, just like kohane and luka. a childhood friend of kohanes, raised in the same lab, but was bought as a show pet instead. no one really knows why, besides her enthusiastic personality having its strengths in the idol-like niche of show pets. admires haruka from a distance, but theyve never had a chance to properly meet. maybe one day...

nene- longhaired fold cat x canary. part of a private project attempting to create non mammalian hybrids by balancing them out with known stable hybrids, and shes one of the first semi successful ones. she might have survived to a reasonable age so far, but not without complications. shes prone to occasionally unstable health and has some speech issues, mostly caused by the bird parts of her not mixing well with everything else. the feathers are cute, but at what cost? although being kept in a very restrictive environment isnt doing her any favors either...

technically shes not even a main part of the au! shes got her own side storyline with wxs lol

kotaro- racoon. literally just some guy. from the same town as haruan, but hes just been there the whole time. probably the only character here who hasnt experienced the horrors to some extent. not actually relevant to the au besides like oh he exists he might briefly show up, but i wanted to draw him because i had design ideas

souma- domestic dog, some kind of mutt. suffered a combination of severe injuries throughout his time in an arena and during their escape, leaving him with a nasty mess of scars across his body as well as a mostly paralyzed arm and a noticeable limp. hes trying to stay positive despite that, after all theyre free! but its tough sometimes, he cant help but feel bad that hes slowing down their pace in traveling.

arata- caracal. from the same arena as souma, but escaped much more unscathed, his past injuries are nowhere near as severe. heard stories about the outside world somewhere and is now determined to find somewhere worth living out in the wasteland with souma. hes not exactly friendly to people they cross paths with, but its mostly out of caution to protect both of them.

fun fact i had to redesign soumarata partially because i just wasnt satisfied with their designs (i had made some very early on into the au) and partially because me and my friends realized souma is the taller one (hes like. slightly taller than touya? while arata is only taller than akito) and i had it the other way around before.

nagi- maned wolf. a popular face around town, and one of their most successful participants in various resource gathering missions (it isnt uncommon for hybrid towns to have members who will steal things for their towns from supply trains that go out to human towns in the wasteland and nagi was often a fan of going on those). she liked to get out and explore the wasteland! sometimes shed let an (and less often, haruka as well) tag along with her so they could see more of the world while still supervised, but that led to her own downfall. a mission went wrong, the kids got caught, and she got killed trying to save them.

taiga- tiger (how could i not go for the pun, and also canon did it first anyway). while once a common sight around town, after nagis death hes become a rare visitor, traveling more often than not, only stopping home once in a while. maybe he doesnt want to linger around the feelings left behind now that shes gone. scary and serious, but not out of bad intentions.

ken- fox (just like an). runs a somewhat popular cafe in town, comfortably settled down. he regrets not being there to protect his daughter, but theres nothing to do about it anymore. maybe one day shell come back, but for now, hes got a job to do and thats the most important thing for him to focus on.

nagi and taiga are fully aware that theyre siblings, unlike akito and ena. it was more common for their generation to be aware of this, rather than having knowledge about their origins withheld. they both were in an arena that focused on team fights, and when taigas original teammate was killed, nagi ended up with him, prompting him to help them both escape because he didnt want to let his sister get hurt more than necessary (even though shes capable of taking care of herself in a fight). they met ken (another arena escapee) during their way out of the city, and began traveling as a group of three until they found the town they all called home. their presence was an important part of making that town thrive into the place it is now, even if things for the trio have since fallen apart quite a bit. nagi is gone, taiga rarely sticks around, ken is the only one who stayed now.

meiko- bear. runs a convenience store at night in the undercity near one of the arenas (the one akikoha are in), well known around the area and uses her advantageous shop location to help new escapees get a little more set into their newly freed lives. a kind if intimidating woman, and very reliable at her jobs.

miku- striped hyena. just an average young escapee living in the undercity, although she doesnt try to blend in very well. ever since she got her hands on some hair dye shes been stubbornly sticking to the faded and grown out color, she thinks shes cool with it. friends with a couple humans who seem completely unbothered by her animal traits

luka- ibex. an escapee from the outer city workshops who decided to move to the undercity... and never really settles down anywhere. she likes to wander from place to place, experiencing the great expanse of the city from its depths. shes got her favorite places to come back to, but more than anything, shes always on the move to see something new.

kaito and the kagamines are humans (the kagamines are mikus human friends!) which is why theyre not here 👍

and thats everyone! apologies this is a monster of a post, but i hope youve enjoyed reading. and hopefully its semi coherent lol