I Pray To The Gods That You're Uncomfortable, Miserable Even.

I pray to the gods that you're uncomfortable, miserable even.

why ? is it because you want to take care of me and nurse me back to health ? to show me love and tenderness ? its ok. i know.

( BOTW ) ━ Link has many subtle quirks born from coping mechanisms, traumas and mental illness, as is unavoidable from being thrown into such a high stress situation with nothing to fall back on, with no memory but a larger-than-life goal set upon him, but one of the most noticeable and violent of them is the fact Link is half-convinced of his own corruption.

Throughout Breath of the Wild, the theme of disease, corruption and dark magic is an overarching one. Malice is a plague upon the land, each Blood Moon revives the undead through sheer will of distaste and discontent, Ganondorfs loathing manifested into what is ━ in essence ━ a magical blight formed exclusively through the warping of dark magic, being imbued with a poisonous amount of that hatred, the will to force itself into this form, and to attach itself to anything it can. a hatred so thick it congeals, and corrodes. The undead that the Blood Moon calls upon are full of rotten blood and malice, alive but reduced to the barest thoughts and actions, more nerves firing off instinct than what they were in life. Link, in many ways, is considered at best the healer of the blight and at worst the slayer of the already damned. He's the hero, the one whom Hylia entrusted to the blade that burns away the dark, he is something of the light, however blinding and stark and harsh that is.

... But Link has seen what happens to creatures when they are corrupted, he has seen how easy it is for it is him to cut it back, burn it down. Link has seen and Link knows, but Link isn't stupid ━━━ he was in a chamber for a hundred years, was he not? protected but so, so idle. Anyone else would die, he's learned, in that time. Any Hylian, anyway. What of him, then? He is alive, isn't he? Magic is mysterious, the Goddesses are vague and he is special but he is alive.

... Isn't he?

This is where the fear of corruption comes in, that could be called a delusion in terms of actual disorders but what Link only knows as something he doesn't want to look at but the knowledge still burns in him. He's half convinced himself that he is corrupted, he just doesn't know it yet. He thinks a lot about how Hino turns wild when the Blood Moon rises, and how that wildness is hatred in him, Ganondorf breaking desperately through chains to kill him, to despise him, and how Hino never acknowledges it after, like he doesn't know, just mindful enough to speak and growl before it's over. Do they know when their blood has gone bad and angry? Can they tell? Could he?

He doesn't know, but he is quietly petrified in the way Link does not let his fear breathe into recognition, that one day the Master Sword will burn his hands when he tries to take the handle, grip it tight & true as he was told to do, and there will be nothing for him but a simple knowledge that he is not ━ and perhaps he never was.

🍯🥛🐢🦄⌛ for chara (or whatever muse you prefer!)

━ send 🍯 for a food headcanon Chara's diet in the underground consisted vastly of root vegetables, magic grown crop, and potentially crayfish or other underground fish. Monster food was entirely of magic and did little else for a human’s appetite than stave off starvation, regardless of lack of nutrition. it was more akin to eating a battery’s energy supply than actual food, and as a result, the Dreemurrs had to improvise with what limited resources they had, resulting in their options being limited but not harmful. In many ways, many dishes were substituted for lacking ingredients with magic or other monster alternatives, such as the echo-flower stems being diced and served as steamed vegetables, ranging from the tall reeds in waterfall to the rubbery bark of the trees in the ruins being utilized. as long as it was edible, it was on the table for making up for their limited options. Chara had never been a picky eater.

━ send 🥛 for a drink headcanon When Chara fell, they brought down with them numerous human recipes, many of which Monsters had never tried before just from the sheer lengths of time spent underground. Many recipes had ingredients that had to be substituted with other alternatives, including magic, to varying effects, but one of Chara’s favorite spins put on the recipe they brought below was hot cocoa. drinking it through a hollowed out reed from waterfall as the foam sparkled with the magic infused into it, latching onto the sugars in the drink as the steam billowed out gently like silk curtains dancing in wind, was something indescribable, and deeply personal to them. it felt like something only their family had, could have, and therefore, they loved it.

━ send 🐢 for a mental health headcanon Chara was often easily overwhelmed during their first weeks to months spent underground, and while this was often manageable ( or, rather, simply capable for them to hide entirely ) it wasn’t always so simple. the first time they’d shut the shared bedroom door before balling themselves up in their thick blankets late at night when Asgore & Toriel had already gone to bed as Asriel got a glass of water was the night this became a true problem, where isolation was the kindest option they could think of, locked away in the dark of their bedroom where the anxiety of something being in there with them was not strong enough to override the everything else that refused any and all stimuli, was the same night they found that Asriel would never open the door when Chara was within the room alone. They found him that morning, when the house was quiet and gold and no one else was awake, after falling asleep in the blankets so tight around their body it was almost suffocating as dark stained spots where their eyes had been acted as the only remaining evidence. He’d been curled up with the glass half empty, water dotting the hall up until the door where tiny spills had marked the floors, asleep. They never really knew how to cope with guilt, and the best resolve they had was leaving the door wide open, leaving the house entirely in the early light where the street-lamps were yet to rest, and hiding in a nook of the capital, tucked away, until their parents found them. They never told them why, but they couldn’t stop telling them they were sorry, so sorry.

━ send 🦄 for a physical health headcanon Before the fall, Chara had often worked in wheat fields or as the shepherd to goats or sheep their family owned. Laborious tasks, unrefutably, on a body too small to properly handle when the weeds knotted up like thick hard ropes and knocked them into the harsh form of the plough, or when the goats rebelled their influence more often than not out of spite than defense as their horns risked them ever more than seemed truly worth it. the fall had left them with a limp, one that would follow them past their death, where the knee & the muscle didn’t heal quite as they should’ve, left ankle always not quite at the right angle, tendon straining in a way it shouldn’t, a small piece of bone floating in the gap of their knee, but their life before had never been easy enough to warrant an effortless recovery. It felt inevitable for that work, or perhaps that oversight, over-expectation, to pay its price.

━ send ⌛for a sleep headcanon Chara had a pattern of sleep where, despite their exhaustion or lackthereof, they’d often find themselves laying on their back, staring at the ceiling, thoughtless. if they thought of anything in particular they wouldn’t catch it by the time they’d consciously recognized what state they’d fallen into. it used to startle Asriel at times, enough so to tell their parents of it, and have it looked at by the best doctor they’d had at the time. It wasn’t harmful, unlike many dissociative states could be. They also had a rarer habit of falling asleep with their eyes open, something that they’d avoid at times by taping their eyes shut. it took time to trust Asriel enough to do this, but eventually, it became second nature.

@askganondorftobadragmire - [ x ]

It was like he was hoping for a different answer.

The wind whistled in the trees. The crickets sang a chorus, deep in the long grass, as they anticipated the afternoon's death into evening into night, the sun slow in its settling like an anxiety in the fields. Rustling of grass, of clothes, of skin. The campfire creaking as something on the stand bubbles and froths ━ the air thick with it; it and cut grass, and fresh pollen, and crisp air.

Passing through like ghosts, unheard and unnoticed, like he was hoping for a different answer.

The knight's claymore, leaned against the log they sat on, might've been the answer to that; shining in the dancing light, somehow worse than if it wasn't there ━ better danger than an anxiety, better bare-handed than asking questions. ━ but it was there, of course, and the sound of Link wringing his hands seemed to point it out like the blade reflected the sound too, in the way he wasn't wringing them at all; just bending the fingers, pushing and prodding at calloused palms like they were foreign to him, like they were the most interesting thing in the room.

they might've been, since they were one of the only things he wasn't scared of, right now ━━━ but scared wasn't the right word, he wasn't scared of Toba, but he thinks, maybe, in the way he's not recognizing it at all, that he's scared of the answer he'll get. Not like he doesn't believe Toba, not like this isn't a good thing, but...

that last word could trail forever, and might. the uncertainty in it answer in of itself, even if the reason never saw light. fading fast, in the wind, and the crickets, and the fire that kept it alive.

".. That makes sense-" Link says after longer than is considered polite, says it like he started the words and it went faster than he meant it to, not knowing the way they were going to come, what he was going to say to begin with. "I mean, I'm glad! I'm glad you trust me to ━" the words lodge, and he won't say it. He doesn't know why. He doesn't in the way he does, but it still doesn't make him talk.

he decides, thoughtlessly, to keep his hands busy. They occupy themselves with stirring the pot, glancing through ingredients, adding more of something or other, stirring again. ".. I guess I don't really get it," he admits, eyes fixed on the pot like he doesn't realize he's talking in the first place. "Why you would. It makes sense but I.. Do you..." and reality catches back up "I mean- I... Sorry, forget I said that"

━ talking about how Shiver loves like a shark.

━> Shiver’s default affection is this rough physical contact. not intent to harm but still somewhat reckless to even bruising sometimes. the constant way they challenge the recipient ( or rather their partner ) because thats just what they Do. its learned behavior. sharks fight for territory, sharks fight to feed but also to not be fed upon, sharks test what is and is not prey with their teeth. its just how they Are. Shivers not affectionate the way Octolings are communal, how they sing together: Shivers affectionate in the way sharks ram their heads into knees and ribs to see if they get pushed back or watch the bones shudder and splinter with the contact, Shiver’s affectionate in the way they’re more often than not alone but not in a bad way, in the way they just Are, as much as they live in groups, Shiver’s affectionate in the way they never really grew out of living in that group, in that swarm, and how the swarm is different from the kettles, this is less family so much as its rivalry turned less bloody than war. Shiver is always kind of a rival, or at least, they were raised to be one Which makes the quiet, thin, late night moments where they’re careful and barely touch at all all the more pronounced

━> Shivers just. a very intense person overall but they’re also very intimate and have specific times of vulnerability that it feels just. very different. very quiet. very worth listening to overall n its just fascinating to me

━> shiver can be an incredibly gentle person and esp partner they’re just so accustomed to roughness being associated with affection that its kind of. engrained into them. what do they do with their hands if not scratch until they remember that claws don’t have to dig in to trace on

━> its less vulnerability problems i think and more just. they Forget that this is not how it always is or Must be. they can Choose to act differently than their childhood and tradition raised them, and while the behavior isn’t inherently harmful, they can’t be all teeth and no gums. the meat of it isn’t always just breaking bones

━> its less that theyre not giving as much as its giving in a Different Way :theyre not actively harmful and Will 100% cut the shit the MOMENT they detect discomfort or any kind of negative response bc as much as this form of contact is just what they’re used to they’re also someone who values the people around them much more than how they’ve Always been. a big part of them is changing from their predisposed ways while not entirely losing their tradition, just moving it in a better way. if their partner doesn’t like it when they press their claws or challenge them or push in what is intended to be a push & shove, back and forth, but isn’t then they’re not going to Keep pushing, and they’ll find something different, or new entirely. innovation doesn’t mean the eradication of what came before, it just means doing something different with it, and Shiver will never allow themselves to be so caught in the what they were raised to reject the what they can learn

━> they’re vv aware that they Can be harmful if left unchecked the way a shark can get too much too fast and leave someone missing something and the water bloodier than it ever should’ve been, they’re intense but Conscious of it, conscious of boundaries, conscious of what Is and Is Not, and if what Is Not is the abrasive way they often go about things then its time to find out if what Is is something gentle. the asking of what do you Need from me. the not losing the self in fulfilling that request. the trueness to themselves while never being rigid and unbending. they will bend as you need them to, so how do you need them to bend?

━> they’re intense and stubborn but never to the point of being unreasonable. never to the point of allowing themselves to hurt people. never to the point of refusing to talk. respect is respect, and they respect themselves as much as they respect you, so tell them what you need, and they will give you this without dissecting themselves in the process. if a gentleness is what’s needed, then u will never know a kinder form of contact

━> they’re flexible without being a doormat. they’re not sb you can walk on, but they’re also not someone who wont listen. they’re the embodiment of Knowing who you are, and understanding that while things Must change you do not have to crush and dissolve yourself for other people in the process. changing for relationships is inevitable and necessary but the destruction of the self is not necessary for the repair of the social. the ‘who am i without them’ is always answered with 'i am myself’

Cast Iron for Eternity by Henning Mühlinghaus: Bruges Cemetery Album on Flickr