sea shatters,

                   In the previous life of Zelda,  Ganondorf had waged war between two peaceful civilizations using his tyranny and strength to manipulate Kaia’s people  ( princess of the coast kingdom Gaea ),   and he tried to swallow all land connecting with chaos and demention.     Azella  ( the princess of Hyrule )  and Kaia,   the two princesses,   worked together behind their father’s backs and cut the two lands away from one another,   and used magic to move them away from each other using the sea.     But Ganon had been on Azella’s land when that happened,   and she,   with the help of Hyrule’s champion hero,   sealed him underneath the sea,   the space between the two lands.     Once there was peace,   Kaia began the work on a bridge that held sourced magic while Azella worked on pouring in magic to keep him sealed  ( the magic keeps him from coming back ).     After the bridge was completed and magic had been embedded into it,   Princess Kaia had been plagued to madness due to Ganon’s attacks on her people and the sensitivity of her taking energy in through her surroundings, so she  ( to keep her people safe )  had Azella seal her magic and life force to the bridge.

                   It is a very long bridge with columns and platforms.     There are seven platforms between the beginning and end of the bridge.     All of the platforms hold portals into the different realms created by Kaia and Azella,   to ward Ganondorf off if he tried to escape.     All of the worlds are corrupted from Kaia’s madness and Ganondorf’s desire to leave the sea,   and the realms merged with the madness and Ganondorf’s corruption,   so all of the bosses are connected to traits from Kaia,   but merged with the madness and corruption.     These different bosses are possessed by the chaos of Ganondorf,   so they are attempting to break the seal/power of the bridge,   mostly affected by Ganondorf’s desire to leave.

Current Zelda is princess of the prosperous seaside kingdom Hyrule.     Current princess of the island kingdom Gaea is Aesha,   and she and Zelda are of consistent communication,   as they have been friends ever since childhood.     Aesha and Zelda have both noticed a strange aura around the bridge and surrounding lands of the bridge,   and they are attempting to figure out what they have to do to keep the darkness underneath the sea of the bridge from coming out.

what if the reason nobody in the pokemon world has any good teams is because its considered a dick move to have a proper team comp

like culturally everyone is like “haha pick the pokemon you want! if you’re happy with three geodudes, thats you and your life!” and then you’re supposed to just have a friendly battle with any other pokemon trainers and whatever pokemon they just happen to have

like the average trainer is probably just walking around with a growlithe because that’s their pet, or a hiker has three geodudes because the geodudes help him with hiking. and if this pet owner and geodude hiker meet, you’re supposed to have a friendly battle but nothing too serious

now imagine the 10 year old kid that has six pokeballs on their belt comes up. you’re like “haha, we’ll have a friendly battle!” and you throw out your geodude 

and they throw out a fucking gyarados, and it one-shots your geodude 

and then you throw out your pidgey you have because the pidgey helps you navigate mountains because you’re a hiker

and then electricity crackles around the gyarados and a thunderbolt flies off of this giant dragon and evaporates your pidgey 

so you’re down to your last pokemon. you tell them you’re gonna send out your bulbasaur. the ten year old is like “oh okay in that case i’m gonna pull out my vulpix.” like not only is this kid walking around with an amped-up super dragon, but theyve also got multiple pokemon specifically for making type advantage counter-picks?

hell yes i’d be mad if i took my chronic pain support chow-chow to the dog park and some asshole with four rottweilers and a husky was like SIC EM THUNDERNUTS even if my dog enjoyed the tussle at first.

[     𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝟹 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴     ]:     @imitorisus​.

                    𝙷𝙴   𝙸𝚂   𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙵𝙻𝚈   𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙻𝙴𝙳   𝙱𝚈   𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳  ,          but it comes from initial instinct          (     the face of a mouse,   but the words taste like bile on his tongue.     ).          what leaves the other’s mouth inspires a smile that washes away,   a thing that becomes bright in reign before the fall of this smile     —     watercolor  on  a  person.     &     of course,   selfish thoughts often bounce around his head,   but it still accompanies the whitened base of instruction     ;     he can be just as dark as he is light,   if he allowed himself to be.          [      𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳  𝚃𝚁𝚄𝙻𝚈  𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁  𝙸𝙵  𝙷𝙴  𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴  𝙽𝙾𝚃  𝙰  𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃  ?     ]          :     he wants to think this without doubt,   but it encompasses within his own certainty.     his body is a contradiction that keeps itself hidden     ;     his body is a contradiction he will not allow his friends the dejection.     but within a body of opposition,   he learns to blame himself,   learns to take responsibility for a cowardice that touches his own lips     —     never blood – soaked,   never without good intention.     /     but that single road of sin   is  entirely  made  up  of  it     :      𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚆𝙴𝙻𝙻 - 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴𝙳, 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵𝙸𝚂𝙷 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂.     so he could apologize,   but the sound of it only resounds within his head.

                    𝙷𝙴   𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂   𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁   𝚂𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙴   𝙰𝙵𝚃𝙴𝚁   𝙷𝙸𝚂   𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳   𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝚂  .          it’s a sincere creature made up of hope,   whatever that hasn’t been washed out of the world.          ❛     i don’t–  as much as i used to,   it’s not my entire fault.     ❜          wholly,   he wouldn’t allow the blame a terrible sin of his own,   there had to be another     ;     &     there was another,   who’s name sticks to the back of his throat like the guilt of the sun,   but that guilt won’t always be his own,   won’t always haunt him in the conversations that follow before slumber.     BUT  HE  WON’T  SPEAK  THIS  ALOUD.     through his smile,   there’s a flicker of an ache,   but he allows this as well as he allows his smile     —     he’s never been one to divert less than adverse actions.     /     if this is the upturn of his lips,   this is easily genuinity,   easily sincerity.

[     𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙲𝙴𝚁𝙽𝙴𝙳  𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴     ]:     @decernimus​.

                    𝚂𝙷𝙴   𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼𝚂   𝙾𝙵   𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷  .          or,   she dreams of the deaths she could only assume,   dreams of what she knows.     &     it’s not hard to envision this,   to see what her mind’s already graphed out in clear view.     EVEN  WHEN  SHE  IS  SAFE,   she is wrapped in the pin - prickling fear that’s accompanied her sadness,   a sadness that she’s inherited from her father’s quieted breath.     the moon’s baited breath wrapped her neck with her own hands,   the whistling wind in her chest believes in an unraveling that won’t become her     —     she’s already began a transition between childhood     &     adulthood the moment she became her brother’s light          (     she  was  a  light,   she  could  still  be.     ).          her breath is a thick inhalation,   a deeper exhalation that weeps life in the making death.     the  world  has  died  once     :     to  live  in  a  dead  world  is  to  have  the  desire  to  protect  what  is  not  ruined.     &     she doesn’t know if any sounds had ached the halls,   made a distinct bleeding the way she sleeps without peace     —     sleep like this hasn’t been optional in ways that saturated her own living before,   she’s never found sleep in this opportunity.     /     she’s always been sleepless     &     hungry,   always found herself between a rock     &     a hard place.

                    𝙷𝙴𝚁   𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂   𝚆𝙸𝙿𝙴   𝙰𝚃   𝙷𝙴𝚁   𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙴𝙺𝚂  .          they come back wet,          [      𝖶𝖤𝖳  𝖳𝖧𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲  𝖳𝖧𝖠𝖳  𝖲𝖬𝖤𝖫𝖫  𝖫𝖨𝖪𝖤  𝖳𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖲      ]          &     she feels the hunger stitch at her stomach,   suddenly,   viciously,   but she’s a simple guest     —     her hands retract to her stomach,     &     the strength she wants returns to her throat as sorrow.     /     SHE WANTS TO CRY.     between sectioned blessings,   dreaming still aches,   living begins as a wound that’ll never heal over.     𝙸𝚃  𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻  𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂  𝙷𝚄𝚁𝚃,   𝙸𝚃  𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻  𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂  𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙳  .     or that’s what she’s heard the other children say,     &     she supposes she knows this better than anyone else she knows.          ❛      𝖠𝖱𝖤   𝖸𝖮𝖴   𝖮𝖪𝖠𝖸     ?     ❜          THIS  FRIGHTENS  HER,   LIKE  A  FERAL  BACKED  TO A  CORNER.     there is no more darkness once the light is on,     &     her own nails dig into her skin,   but she smiles like the sky lit by the sun     —     her fears swallow under her tongue.     /     she does not worship an empty god,   or a barren land of unholy.     unwashed clothe,   pristine song that won’t shudder from her lips,     &     she’s scared to speak a truth dripping from the fault of her lips.     the light in her eyes shifts,   her breath shivers within her chests,   her fingers find purchase to the comfort that clings to her arms     —     she  thinks  to  apologize     ;     his inconvenience is not a correlation she desires made to her presence,   but she can’t aid the own itching under her skin,   a redness rashed behind her ear.     it is then her smile shakes,     &     she breathes a hum,   a distinct discomfort in the way her mind permeates her slumber,   the way lullabies warp into laughter shrieking,   screaming,   screeching.     it twists to the way she abandoned her brother,   to the way she’s reminded that her heart could be a bloody shattering     —     she never meant to be selfish,     &     the delusion sits in the simplicity of the nausea sitting at her gut     ;     or  it  could  be  from  the  way  she  eats  as  if  she’s  afraid  to  take.

                    𝙷𝙴'𝚂   𝚆𝙰𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝙵𝙾𝚁   𝙰𝙽   𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁  .          her bones settle before the shell breaks,     &     she’s awkward.     she is everything that includes a smaller timidness,   but her smile is still there,   still sincere in the warmth     —     her shoulders square to become the ground she holds to,   if not anything else.          ❛     i think i am.     i just had a bad dream…     ❜          her voice falls to a mumble,     &     her arms consider the way they wrap around her stomach a secret,   a way to contain hunger without consumption.     LIAR,   YOU  SHOULDN’T  LIE  TO  THE  SINGLE  PERSON  WHO  TOOK  YOU  IN  WITHOUT  AN  UNKIND  MOTIVE.     you expected nothing short of cruelty,   a push without a tug,   a glance without acknowledgement,   but all he’s ever been was the kindest she’s ever felt.     he is kinder than a memory,     &     the concern on his face almost alleviates the dysfunction,   but it tinges the shades of pain before blossoming again.     her face is a flushed rose,   colored in embarrassment with the sound coming from her stomach.          ❛     …but i’m hungry,   i think.     you wouldn’t mind if i ate now,   right     ?     ❜          mumbled hum that drips from her lips,   a shutting behind her irises.

]:     𝙼𝙴𝙶𝙰𝙽  𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙾𝚃𝚃  𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴  .          @serirosea.

                    𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚂𝙴   𝙰𝚁𝙴   𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂   𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃   𝙷𝙴   𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚂   𝚃𝙾   𝙱𝙴   𝚂𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂  .          his head faces downward,      &     he lets this bitter thing sit on his tongue    ;     he allows this to be without an argument.     a smile doesn’t claw its way to his face,     &     the teeth that bite the inside of his cheek bites his tongue.          [     boy     :     to protect     ;     teeth     :     to withhold     ]          he abstains thoughtless projections,   keeps words tucked under his tongue where all tasteless biles should go     —     GALL  BECOMES  THE  SALIVA  DRIPPING.     tears are relearned,     &     the kindness has also become a feral thing untouched,   so this had been a tempered treatment.     god did not cry the day his sister died     ;     god had been the single creature to allow this wrath.     &     it’s stuck behind his throat,   behind his eyes,   the way his fingers pull strings to sate an anger that flickers unwavering within his chest.     the flowers are set aflame,     &     floral current boils in his mouth,   dribbling from the sides where his tears could go.     but his tears trade for a hum of light where his thoughts don’t tangle,   where the center of his forehead won’t ache.     WHAT  HAS  BEEN  TAKEN  BY  DEATH  CANNOT  BE  GIVEN  BACK  IN  FULL     ;     there will always be loss.     there will always be this thing that hurts.

                    𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃   𝙷𝙴   𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝚂   𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙾𝚃   𝙱𝙴   𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙳   𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼   𝙷𝙸𝚂   𝙻𝙸𝙿𝚂  .          he does not desire many things,     &     this is allowed.     he will allow this fashion a fabric in his media,   tongue spliced into a terrible feeling     —     red metallic is the taste of his resistance.     /     he knows this well.     but then he will draw this upward curve of something he cannot say very well is fondness,   not yet.     he doesn’t what that yet tastes like,   another who you enjoy indiscriminately without a netted filter tied around your head.     the child under the kid is a silent,   humming song,   a sniveling bug which stains the hellfire of your stomach     :     THIS  CHILD  IS  YOU.     but you are not this child,     &     blood colors the stains of want     —     saotome yoichi wants things that are perfectly understandable,   he considers.     blood for blood,   the blood   he   stole.     /     that is the crimson that colors the rooms of his desire,     &     the paint is a stand - in ache he predicts as a temporary place.     AFTER  ALL,   WHAT  BOY  IS  NOT  FULL  OF  ANGER  IN  THIS  CRUEL  WORLD  FULL  OF  HOPE.     hope is alive,   existing within the unbelievable despair that should have became his          (     &     it is,   because yu could inspire a beast if he was allowed,   could inspire justice to a criminal in the act.     ).          thankful graces,   white flowers that toss in the wind before consuming     :     he swallows this,   keeps this just under his skin.     when the tears come,   they are made of this,   wash out before the next fill - up returns.

                    ❛     𝙸   𝙲𝙰𝙽   𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂   𝙸   𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙼𝙾𝚂𝚃  ,          i think.     my friends taught me to want unquestionably,     &     i think that matters in the kind of world we live in,   he tells me.     ❜          all these comes forth as hear - say,   words that lingered at the back of his tongue before being coughed to his lips,   sweetness that could be his but not now,   not nearly a fact he can hold in his tightly gripping hands     —     HE  CAN  BE  SOFT,   BUT  NOT  IN  THE  HAZE  OF  HIS  DESIRES.     a likeness to a monster,   a petty delivery of the offense of what he feels buried under his heart tearing his skin.     he doesn’t want to say more,   but the words ache on his tongue,   feel heavy even in the smile that is bright before he dims,   without reason,   without song.     his grief is a lead exposure that sits itself in his head,   coloring his tears the color of his desires     —     he  wishes  he  could  be  a  nicer  child.

]:      𝙸𝙳𝙺  𝙸𝙵  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝚆𝙰𝚂  𝙰  𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴   .          @imitorisus​.

                    𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙰𝙲𝚈     𝙸𝚂     𝙽𝙾𝚃     𝙰     𝚂𝙸𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙸𝙲𝙸𝚃𝚈   .          the sound that scrapes his tongue,   word that hisses in incomplete laughter.     he finds this tasteless,   bloody thing that should taste like metallic guilt     ;     he  fosters  this  thing  without  a  name     —     he builds this soundless weeping to a shattering sky,     &     that is how he knows it stays.     HOW  COULD  IT  FALL  WHEN  IT  HAD  BEEN  PLACED  IN  THIS  GLASSY  ACHE     ;     how could a god  pluck this from his own fingers     &     tell it a wrong to deceive.     he will devour this softness,   something terrible     &     brave altogether pouring from unopened skin     —     he thinks it means that his body is full,   his mind choking back an ungodly red that have become a part of his wants.     &     he remembers his friends.          &     HE  REMEMBERS  HOW  THEY’D  HATE  FOR  HIM  TO  HIDE  THIS  BITTER,   BILEOUS  THING  SURROUNDING HIS  HEART.          though,   this is brought with a smile,   a light that wavers inside of his mouth before it boils in the hollow of his teeth.     /     he wants this vivid color to remain,      &     he wants to remind himself that this weight is nothing a child should carry without many hands,   but he’s already made this judgement as the god of this world had sent it     :      𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴  𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽  𝙰  𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳.     𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴  𝙷𝙰𝙳  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴𝙽.          &    this is,   instead,   the reminder drilled into this world shifting under a child’s feet     —     this is,   instead,   the reminder carved into this feral creature of a memory.

                    𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂     𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙵𝙰𝙲𝙴𝚂     𝙰     𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙴𝙺     𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙳𝚈   .          or any tragedy.     whether a hero faces an evil is irrelevant when the end is a man with teeth,   the hand needed outstretched with acid revelations.     the holy book has crumbled into a black light ratio that never creates enough light.     the light is made of a fabric that stains all too easy,   a never-ending god that touches your mouth like the words that leave it.     the sky stretches over the words,   stretches over the way he folds inward to himself     —          [     WHEN   THE   HAND   RUFFLES   HIS   HAIR,   HE   FEELS   WATER   AT   HIS   THROAT.     ]          it is as though taunt is a synonym of a dynamic poured from his tongue,   as though skin is an artificial canvas.     his eyes are saucers of puzzle pieces,   sheer glances of an uncut veil,   so painfully human in the eyes of the effect of a careless god.     his hands almost beg for the contact once more     ;     yoichi could weep at the sweep of affection that feels like a childish sermon he’s plead to twine between his fingers.     it’s water that runs behind his eyes,   the very spit that dribbles from an infant’s mouth     —     it is the way it comes innocently,   comes without a spur of affection.     /     this hand has been a gift received graciously,   a gift that cries before it chokes on the bile that comes at the gag reflex.          ❛     a - ahh,   thank you.     i can do better,   i will     !     ❜