God. My Favorite Thing With My Version Of Ganondorf Is His Power Not Quite Being A Plague But Rather

god. my favorite thing with my version of Ganondorf is his power not quite being a plague but rather a permanence.

his hands brushing reeds and it turns white as though shocking its color from its fiber, a field of silver left where he walks for generations that grows in on itself, out on itself, learning to live regardless. an insect swarm comes to him and leaves him with a violent coordination of those minds altered. punished or blessed beasts finding their eyes seeing a kind of sight they were not born with but given, rewired, cats given a dogs eyes, dogs given crows. he takes the quill and its ink and the ink writes itself into the essence of its parchment like an oath, an oath to stay, a promise on a future it is determined to stay in at his word, at his command. he may be corruption he may be ancient upon evil upon spite that does not die; that cannot die; but he is a memory you cannot get rid of, a history that aches in the bones of the land, a monument unmovable.

he is a bitter loathed selfish truth but you cannot make him pretty, you cannot make him gone. a lesson to keep learning. a person immortalized without body, without name. he inhales and you hold your breath. he speaks and you listen. he exhales and you see the world change. his personhood will never outlast him, who he is a footnote on a list of unimaginable enormities, but his single presence is a fact in a sea of shining lies. he is not pretty, but he has always been beautiful.

you who will not love him, but you who will know he was here. where you are. a hundred years ago. a hundred years ahead.

you tell him to apologize for his own birth, and he laughs, and says I was born, and you will be born knowing me, and you will die knowing me. the way gods are legend. the way he is history.

No wait everyone shut the fuck up you've been what hold on y

Steve, in a way, both did & did not expect Cesare's appearance, the way he always knew where to find him and the way at times, Steve did not want to be found. ━ Cesare was the eternal exception, & for as flighty a creature as Steve was, he would never run from him in sincerity. His presence was almost startling, perhaps, the way it always was, but in equal measures it was comforting to him. A sweet thing. He doesn't think anyone's ever called Cesare sweet, or if they have, nary as sincerely as he.

When Cesare seeks & finds him, short knees tucked in the driver's seat that jolts but quickly, effortlessly relaxes when he realizes who it is ( perhaps fast enough to miss, if Cesare was too occupied with his curiosity ), he'd be fiddling with a silvery contraption, composed of many spoons and forks. Steve pauses his fiddling to look over, eyes squinted slightly at the name he knew was his but was no less jarring, as Cesare talks.

There's a moment of thought, genuine as he taps his chin, as Billi & Penny chatter in the back of the truck. ( 'I mean.. I don't care about Steve having a boyfriend, but you know.. it'd be kind of nice if, uh, they like... removed the cannon from their truck. That's not like.. a weird ask, right..? like.... they have cannonballs.' 'oh yeah, very normal ask, but oh, I don't know, I kind of like it! Gives it a rascals charm, y'know! Ooh, maybe we could ask him to make it a confetti cannon instead! That'd be a good idea!' 'a. zombie themed confetti cannon...?' 'yeah!' )

"... do you know what an underwater kazoo sounds like?"

[ starter @quillheel's steve! ]

💀 — " Babygirl, " [ Cesare drops the name ( a bit too ) casually, emerging from the back of the truck. he plops down into the passenger's seat. ]

" If I went berserkus and had a taste for living flesh, and I tried to eat you, would you squeak like a dog toy? "

@lcngdays - pete & remy; the long walk!

Pete's face was calm, that of someone older beyond him, and maybe that's what was scariest.

there was an apathy that only a 17-ish boy could have in his life, where even death is an afterthought to the act of memorial, like the funeral was the cake to him ; death, the disease hidden inside. A lack of existence, an absence, just oblivion. That's what this was, and that's what McVries was going after. Insane, fucking insane, maybe he always has been.

Pete bends down like a broken bulky lawn-chair after it'd been kicked in, tying his shoe all scuffed with mud and grass stains from the rain this morning as they talk. The school was busy as it flooded open like a cracked egg, chattering and loud, the metal fenced gate shuddering with the stampede as they went by, far enough to be comfortable; close enough to be masking. He was calm in the ways he shouldn't be, casual, you can't tell if its a joke or not. — in a way unique to Pete, you know it's not, but you pray it is. a poison that only gets worse, toxins congealing, growing, concentrating in the pouch of your inner cheek ; his fucked up sense of humor.

Remy knew him just long enough to know it's not. That's worse, that you have to question it, question if he's fucking with you, and pray he is in the way it'd make you hate him. He wants you to hate him. He'd wanted it for a long time now. maybe now this'll do it, finally tip you off, break you down.

McVries leans back up, hushed tones all nonchalant on broader shoulders clad in a camo-patterned jacket he's had for as long as you've known him, the striking scar on his tanned face like the beginning of the end; knowing this was coming, but now he was dedicated. It'd only been a few months time since it healed. Something changed. Something never went back.

” I don't. “ he concedes. easily. too easily. it means nothing. ” But I'm just as shit as the people still signin' up for it come registration. “

like stabbing an aching wound, one he knew was torn open for a long time now — sentimental bastard — one he didn't seem to care about, now, when it mattered most. the way it's almost easy conversation is like nausea lining the stomach as Pete grabs his backpack from a puddled bench, sky overcast, his eyes just as sharp. A normal school day, except it's not, except it's not. Apathy — always the reaper — she changed him.

or maybe he just changed.

Replaying Pokemon black and white reminded me why i love these two so much

well he doesnt count in that generalization obviously. his sexuality is none of your business but if it WAS your business he'd be straight. mhm. least fruity man to ever exist he might as well have been named after plywood mhm yep