#you don't start crafting and mastering your voice in writing until you actually start

[antisociallilbrat]

A lot of 'eloquent writers' are not going to agree with me when I say this but; write however the fuck you want. Especially if it's for fun online, no one here is grading your shit. Yes it's a little different when it comes to original works you want to get published but fanfic? Nah no rules apply. Write in those run on sentences, fuck grammer, don't capitalize, word vomit your ideas into a google doc, fill those paragraphs up with words that barely make sense, just have fun with it. If it's nonsense it's nonsense but if it made you happy to write then that doesn't really matter does it?

Also, I fail to do this myself sometimes, but give yourself a break when it comes to writing. Your writing does not need to read like anyone else's, it's your writing. Everyone has their own 'voice' in writing and just because yours is different than someone else's doesn't make it any less.

[dreadsuitsamus]

Getting Revenge on Jiraiya Headcanons | Jiraiya x Reader |

author's note: i saw a video on facebook and it inspired me to write something silly lol also i have no idea how to actually classify these? they're more than headcanons but i just don't always want to write a full-fledged story with allllll the details, i like the bulleted list telling a story too but to call them headcanons feels inaccurate. does anyone have any suggestions?

pairing: jiraiya x fem!reader

warnings: the relationship depicted is a little toxic lol nothing too crazy though, jealousy and an on and off relationship, light angst, mention of pregnancy loss

You and Jiraiya have an on-again, off-again relationship

However often you always find your way back to each other, there is eventually an off phase again and that's when shit gets out of hand

The two of you are so obviously in love and hooked to the hip even without being official anymore

But... Jiraiya is gonna Jiraiya regardless, whether it's with you or someone else

And you hate it

It's not cheating in the slightest, but it still creates an ugly feeling in the pit of your stomach when you talk to him the morning after an outing

You know the specific glow on his face and his tone of voice when he's gotten laid

they never make him glow like you do

And sometimes, you can admittedly get a little toxic

But Jiraiya loves it when you get jealous, no matter what the consequence is when he purposely prods you to react to his latest hookup

And his toxic trait, along with intentionally setting you off, is that he gets mad at you when you give him a response like he wanted

he thinks it's hot when you're angry tho

The latest encounter will probably be his last though, which is saying a lot

You were out with some friends at a club, dressed to the nines and celebrating Tsunade's birthday

you don't know how old she is and you're afraid to ask

You're having a damn good time, until you happen to glance over and see Jiraiya with three women

One is rubbing his shoulders while he smirks with his stupid face, rubbing one's stupid inner thigh, and sucking a hickey on the other's stupid neck

Your face twists into a jealous fury, and Tsunade notices fast

She pulls you aside. "How are you ever gonna find the right one for you if you're busy with the Jiraiya song-and-dance?"

That makes you pause. You never really thought of actually dating anyone that isn't Jiraiya

You frown. "You're right. I can't keep doing this."

Tsunade smirks "Then make your last act of revenge count."

god she's hot when she starts scheming

Jiraiya never takes his hookups home, which gives you and the girls the perfect opportunity to hatch your plan

You all head to the nearest supermarket and giggle as you make your way to the craft section, heels clicking against the floor and heads of the various employees and customers turning

You quickly pull together your supplies and rush for the register, your friends having to hold Tsunade back from putting an old man with funky sunglasses in traction

The girls follow you out to take the train out of downtown and eventually get to Jiraiya's place. You use your key to get in and set it in the glass bowl he keeps by the door for the last time

You and the girls each don a container of colorful glitter and get to work, saving the bedroom for you alone as they sprinkle it in as many annoying places they can think of

You head upstairs and grit your teeth, unleashing all of your anger as you glitter his room. You throw it on the carpet, digging your heel in to make sure it's really in there. You put it on his clothes, his master bathroom, and finally his bed.

You're surprised when you feel tears falling down to your neck and chest

Nothing hurts you more than not being with Jiraiya, and to see him with another woman (or three) is excruciating. You've loved him for ten years now and it breaks your heart every single time you part with him

And he moves on so easily every fucking time. As if he doesn't care. As if you're easy to replace. You could never find a hookup within a week or two after a breakup

Your eyes settle on a framed photo hung up on the wall. It was of you and Jiraiya from many years ago, and from what you both thought was the best date of your lives. You were both so happy and it brings more tears to your eyes

You knock the picture off the wall, leaving it face down in a pile of glitter

You toss glitter in a few more places before you're all out, throwing the bottle to the side somewhere and heading back downstairs

Tsunade looks at you carefully and brushes her bangs out of her eyes, and quickly calls the rest of the girls to hurry up in case Jiraiya comes home early

You all leave and head back to another club to get what Tsunade referred to as "white girl wasted"

and god were you fucked up

When you're next conscious, it's because your phone is ringing right in your ear

You push your head up, the world around you spinning and the sunlight burning your soul. You check your phone to see it was one in the afternoon, and Jiraiya was the one making your phone ring

"Pfft... 'm not answerin' that one..." You snort, flopping your head back into your pillow. You're not even sure how you got home, but you're thankful for it nonetheless

Eventually you get up to eat and then shower, and when you go back out to your bedroom with your body only covered with a towel, you find Jiraiya sitting at the edge of your bed with his head ducked

You frown. "You should leave."

Jiraiya looks up with fury in his eyes. "I don't think so."

"I'm too hungover for this." You mutter and walk to your dresser.

"You glitter-bombed my house." Jiraiya says, clearly not letting you walk away from this.

"How do you know it's me?" You scoff.

"For starters, I have a Ring camera." He deadpans, "Tell me what you remember of last night."

You inhale deeply as you search your drawers for something to wear. "I went out for Tsunade's birthday."

"And that's it?"

"Obviously." You mutter, lying through your teeth as you pull out a crop top and a pair of underwear. "Look away, perv."

he doesn't

You drop the towel and pull the top over your breasts quickly and follow suit with the thong-style panties, turning and crossing your arms at him

"So what do you want?"

"You should be nicer to the man who got you home safely last night."

You blink, and Jiraiya stands tall with his impressive height and muscle. You forget just how big he is sometimes

"That's right." He crosses his arms. "Even after I came home and saw the mess you made, I still got you home."

"You saw it already? What, you shoot your load early with those bitches last night?"

Jiraiya smirks at your bitterness. "You know more than anyone I'm no one-pump-chump. And I didn't sleep with them, you green-eyed monster."

You narrow your eyes. "Liar."

"I swear on that baby of ours in heaven." Jiraiya says solemnly, looking you right in the eye.

You stare at each other for a long moment before you finally break the silence. "Why are you here?"

"It's time to settle this, don't you think?"

"I settled it last night."

Jiraiya pulls something from his pocket. It's your key you left behind. "You call this settling it? You left your glitter in my house! You'll be stuck on me forever, whether you like it or not. And something tells me, you little minx, that you like that thought."

"Of course I do. But I don't think you do. You move on so fast when we split. Do you even care?"

"I've never moved on from you once. I drink and fuck around to numb the pain of not having you. Every single time." His eyes are soft. "And when I saw you with your friends, I couldn't think of anything but you. So I went home early and found the mess you made, laughed at what I found and went out to take you home. Because you're crazy and I just can't get enough."

"Tell me you mean that." You swallow thickly. "Tell me this will be the last time."

"I'll die before I let you go again. And I really don't wanna know what you'd do to top the glitter revenge."

You laugh and move into his arms, embracing each other tightly and pressing your lips together

Naturally, he places a hand on your ass and gives it a squeeze

"I know what's good for that hangover. Let's just say that there's a little someone I know that's standing here in a thong that once said dick is the best way to cure a hangover."

"God, you're a pervert."

"The name's Jiraiya." He smirks

Dick was, in fact, the best way to cure your hangover

[mantrabay]

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea's ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn't yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea's job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer's block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea's voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it's sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren't you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it's on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I'll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That's when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don't want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That's when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She's going to call over one of these days I'm sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I'm fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma ...you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn't believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven't seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn't want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There's been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I'll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story copyright protected

[sage-nebula]

do you have any thoughts or headcanon on BOTW Link's past? I know his father is a night but I wish the game would tell us about his life growing up and how they knew he was the chosen hero. ( This is my first zelda game so I don't know how they generaly explain things like this)

Hey! So, apologies for the fact that I’ve been sitting on this for a couple days, but I wanted to wait until I finished the Champions’ Ballad DLC just in case there was new information about Link in it.

In regards to your parenthetical: They don’t generally tell you very much about Link’s history in the games, no. The Legend of Zelda series is an action/adventure series, meaning that although most of the games have a story, the emphasis isn’t actually put on the story (and thus isn’t on the characters). Rather, the focus is always on the gameplay, to the point where the developers actually come up with the core concepts they want to explore via gameplay first, and then write a story to incorporate those concepts (rather than crafting gameplay mechanics to suit the story).  We can see this in Breath of the Wild, actually; they wanted to recreate the feel of the very first Legend of Zelda game, particularly with regards to exploration, and they wanted to create a game where the player could do just about anything they wanted, whenever they wanted. This was the very first concept which inspired them to make Breath of the Wild, and so they crafted a narrative which would suit that concept. Thus, the post-apocalyptic Hyrule that we know and now love was born.

So to that end, we have that as our first reason for why Link’s backstory was never focused on very much in previous games. The second reason is that Link is supposed to be a self-insert for the player. When Miyamoto Shigeru first created the character we know as Link, he named him Link because Link was supposed to be “a link between the player and the game”. The reason why Link is a silent protagonist is because the player is supposed to imprint their personality onto him. The reason why he is right-handed in recent games that don’t feature the (supposedly) 1:1 motion controls is because the majority of the world is right-handed. Although Link is always male, his appearance has become increasingly androgynous as time has gone on to make it easier for players to believe they are him. And though his default name is Link, in previous games you were always given the option to name him, with the idea being that you would input your own name into the name entry field. (The only reason why you aren’t given that option in Breath of the Wild is because of the voice acted lines.) The Legend of Zelda is a game series where you’re supposed to imagine yourself as the Hero, so just like we don’t learn anything about MC’s backstory or history in Mystic Messenger, much of what we learn about the various Heroes in The Legend of Zelda games is left open to the imagination, even when it comes to his personality. (This is really shown in Skyward Sword, where you do get dialogue choices, but those choices let you decide what his personality is like.)

So with all of that being said, the information we got was always limited. In A Link to the Past, for example, we learn that Link was descended from a line of knights (again), and that he lives with his uncle, who is a knight. In Ocarina of Time, we learn that Link’s mother was a Hylian woman who, dying from injuries due to the war, fled into the Kokiri Forest with him and entrusted him to the Great Deku Tree when he was an infant. In Wind Waker, we know that Link lives with his grandmother and his little sister, Aryll, on Outset Island, and that he loves them very much. We also learn that he is not descended from the Hero of Time. And once again, that’s all we learn. In Skyward Sword, we learn that he is childhood best friends with Zelda and that Groose is jealous of him, and also that he’s an orphan. And again … that’s it.

With the information being as sparse as it is, the fact that we know so little about Link in Breath of the Wild is unsurprising. All the same, thanks to the dairies especially, I feel that we actually know a bit more about him than we do about previous Heroes.

Canonical information for the Hero of the Wild:

His name is definitively Link, with no room to call him anything different.

He comes from a family of knights.

He is omnivorous, with a huge appetite (and yes, the omnivore bit is hard canon as of Daruk’s training journal, not just implied by what you can eat in game should you so choose it).

He met Mipha when he was four years old, and she was an adolescent; she saw him as an adorable child at the time as a result.

He … bested adult knights in swordplay when he was a four-year-old toddler … I guess.

When he was a toddler, he was energetic, bright, and rambunctious, resulting in him acquiring quite a few bruises but not losing his cheer.

He enjoyed swordplay even as a toddler and was always eager to challenge older knights to duels.

Sometime shortly after they met, Link left Zora’s Domain (since he was only there for a visit with other, adult knights), and didn’t return until over ten years later, when he was ~17. (Note: We know this because Mipha met him when he was four, yet then didn’t see him again until it was time for the Champions to be sought out. Thus, despite the main story making it seem as if they spent their entire childhoods together, Mipha’s diary makes it pretty clear they didn’t.)

When Link returned to Zora’s Domain when he was seventeen (and especially when he saved her from a Lynel), Mipha developed a crush on him.

Link’s friends (Zelda and Daruk) tried to get him to eat strange things (frogs and rocks) with varying levels of success.

Link was assigned to be Zelda’s appointed knight as a result of both being the Hero and the most skilled knight out of the entire force.

Link and Zelda did not get along at first because Zelda thought he was silently judging her for not being able to awaken their power, and was also salty at the idea of having an appointed knight in the first place.

Link started concealing his feelings and keeping his thoughts to himself once he pulled the Master Sword from its pedestal, because he felt the pressure of his role as the Hero and was afraid that revealing his feelings would let others down / disappoint / upset them. Thus, he thought it best to stay quiet.

Mipha asked Link why he was so quiet when he returned to Zora’s Domain as a young adult; he did not confide in her.

Zelda asked Link why he was so quiet when they were eating together one day; he did confide in her.

Revali resented Link for being the one chosen to fight Calamity Ganon, and for being so quiet all the time.

Daruk thought Link was super cool because Link wiped out a bunch of monsters by himself when they first met, and liked to eat a lot.

Link was very good with animals, and in particular he had a gift with horses.

Link sought out Urbosa when Zelda kept ditching him, and Urbosa gave him a tip on how to get into Gerudo Town (i.e. crossdressing). She also told him when Zelda was with her so that he could come seek them out.

The decorations Link can install in his house are places to hang weapons, and the picture of him and the other Champions + Zelda.

Honestly, this is a lot of information—far more than we have had about previous Heroes, even though there’s still so much left to the imagination. So with that said, I do have some headcanons, yeah:

I don’t buy, as you know, that Link, as a toddler, could defeat adult knights in swordplay. Rather, I prefer the explanation you provided that they let him think that he won, to boost his confidence, and bby!Link, not knowing any better, just told everyone that he beat them. However, by the time he got to be around ten or so, he was able to beat them, in part because he never stopped practicing due to the confidence boosts they gave him.

He really likes dogs, in addition to horses.

Both of his parents were knights, not just his father.

Both of them were very accomplished, and people often compared Link to his father. However, his mother was actually the one who took her duty more seriously, in the sense that she was always impressing on Link what an honor it was to be a knight, and what a burden such a duty was to carry, and how important it was to be worhty of the title, and so on and so forth. His father, while skilled, had more chill about it.

On top of impressing on him the weight of the duty of being a knight, his mother is the one who taught him survival skills, such as hunting and foraging for food in the wild, and how to throw something together in a pinch if you were out in the wilderness with no rations.

His father taught him actual recipes one would make in a home.

He forgot both of these things after waking up in the Shrine of Resurrection and had to learn all over again once awaking, RIP.

He always loved music and really wanted to learn how to play an instrument, but swordplay and knight training left him no time to learn. He grew a bit envious of the bard who would later become Kass’ teacher (who in turn was envious of him for being so close to Zelda).

When the Master Sword was discovered, all of the knights were given the task of trying to pull it free from the pedestal to see if they were worthy. Link was among the last (if not the very last) to try due to his young age. When he gripped the hilt, the blade gleamed with a faint blue glow; and when he gave it a tug, it slid free from the pedestal as if it had merely been cased in a sheath instead. The drawing of the Master Sword from the pedestal made it clear beyond doubt that he was the chosen Hero, and Link knew then that the burden he carried was far more than mere knighthood could grant him.

He always felt frustrated with Revali for being such a jerk to him all the time, not because Revali was a jerk, but because he couldn’t figure out why Revali was being a jerk. 

He didn’t actually enjoy eating that rock that Daruk fed him. He just pretended he did so as not to hurt Daruk’s feelings. Think like how Hiccup forced himself to swallow that bit of raw fish in the first How to Train Your Dragon movie to make Toothless happy.

He put in work during his spare time to learn how to braid hair so that he could braid Zelda’s hair as a thank you for the times when she patched up his injuries, or else they just had downtime together.

He did develop feelings for her one hundred years in the past, but felt it wouldn’t be right for him to act on them since he was her appointed knight, and as such he never let them show.

One hundred years ago, he communicated often with the spirit of the Master Sword (Fi); she mostly spoke to him in dreams, but she would “speak” to him in waking times as well, in the form of a little ideas or words popping into his head that he knew, instinctively, were coming from his sword. One hundred years later this never happens, and though he can’t remember that it used to at first, he still feels a strong sense of loneliness that he can’t quite place all the same. (And when he gets the Master Sword back, he does remember, and wonders why she won’t speak to him, and wonders if it’s because he failed her one hundred years ago.)

He didn’t return Mipha’s feelings, but instead saw her as a childhood friend / sisterly figure (albeit it was a bit confusing to him whether he should think of her as an older sister, a sister around the same age as him, or a younger sister; his decision changed all over the place depending on the moment). He didn’t realize that she had feelings for him one hundred years in the past, and when he learns about this one hundred years later, he feels confused and awkward whenever it’s brought up. He really wishes Sidon and King Doraphan would stop bringing it up.

He can be quite snarky, particularly one hundred years later when he no longer has the memory to remember why he repressed himself so much one hundred years ago, and curses the goddesses (Din, Nayru, and Farore) a lot, in varying creative ways.

He hates snow, sand, and he especially hates the rain.

He’s not a fan of lava, either.

I could probably think of more if I had time, but yeah! That’s what I’ve got for now.

[mantrabay]

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea's ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn't yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea's job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer's block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea's voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it's sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren't you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it's on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I'll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That's when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don't want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That's when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She's going to call over one of these days I'm sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I'm fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma ...you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn't believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven't seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn't want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There's been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I'll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story copyright protected to mantrabay