#emily writes

[judasofsuburbia]

“what? hello?” steve mumbled sleepily into the phone.

“i’m going insane,” eddie nearly shouts.

steve sits up in his bed and scrubs his hand over his face. “woah woah, eds, what’s goin on?”

a high pitched wail is heard in the background and eddie is immediately cooing and shushing. steve presses the phone tighter to his ear.

“eds. eds, can you hear me?”

“i’m going insane i’m going insane i’m going insane,” eddie breathes. “she won’t stop crying steve she’s been crying for two hours—fuck, three hours. i don’t know what to do. i don’t know what to do steve.”

“who’s crying?” steve asks.

“my cousin. or my niece, maybe? i don’t know how it works. my cousin’s baby is here and she won’t stop crying.”

more crying and wailing is heard. steve has to hold the phone away from his ear when eddie gets closer to her. he can hear eddie pleading with her, trying to comfort her, to no avail.

“i need help,” eddie says. “i need help, please.”

“uh, okay. okay,” steve replies as he rolls out of bed and stumbles around his room in the dark to find some pants and shoes. “i can be there in ten.”

“make it five,” eddie nearly whines, anxiety pouring through the receiver.

“got it.”

steve’s tires screech into eddie’s driveway. his trailer is the only one with the lights still on and he could hear the baby crying from outside. he’s surprised no one has called to complain to the police station. though he’s sure callahan or hopper would simply hang up.

steve barrels up the steps and opens the door to utter chaos. toys and books scatter the ground, there are blankets and bottles strewn over surfaces (some definitely knocked over and spilling onto the floor), and baby clothes and diapers in the leftover spaces. and of course, a screaming infant.

eddie pops out of his room with said infant trashing in his arms. eddie has tears streaming down his fact too and steve’s heart just cracks.

“help me,” eddie mouths.

“uh, okay, okay,” steve is wracking his brain for any tips he learned in home economics about taking care of a baby. “what have you tried? i presume she’s in a clean diaper and…” god it was hard to think with the noise screeching in his ears. “fed her?” steve asks louder.

“yes fuck, i keep changing her and trying to feed her. i read her stories and rocked her and tried to put her in her crib. she’s so upset i don’t know why,” eddie’s voice cracks on the last word and suddenly, steve’s across the room. ready to comfort him.

“give her here,” steve says.

eddie’s eyes are panicky and wide but eventually, he hands steve the child. she continues to cry and thrash in steve’s arms so it takes a second for him to hold her properly.

“what’s her name?” steve asks.

“cheyenne” eddie responds, arms wrapped around himself like a hug. his whole body is bouncing and steve feels the urge to reach out and bring him in too but the more pressing matter is currently occupying those arms.

“hi cheyenne,” steve says gently. “seems like you’re mighty upset.”

she yanks at steve’s shirt with her little baby fists, definitely grabbing some chest hair underneath and ripping it. steve winces but recovers quickly.

“would your neighbors kill me if i take her outside?”

“probably,” eddie mutters.

“i’m going to anyway.”

steve heads for the front door and eddie goes to follow him but steve holds out a patient hand. “stay here, take a breath,” steve instructs.

eddie’s eyes well up with more tears. “but what if something—“

“then we’ll do something. right now, being around her isn’t good for you. let me take a crack at this, alright?”

eddie nods solemnly and backs away so steve can open the door.

cheyenne’s cries echo out into the night sky as steve starts to pace around the porch. steve starts to feel a little scared being alone with her but he’s more scared of what the stress has done to eddie.

so he decides to do it scared.

the baby starts to have this hiccuping breaths that pull steve out of his thought spiral. steve shushes her and props her up so her head is on his shoulder. he rubs her back with his hand, which takes up her entire back, and tries to stay calm when her cries are right next to his ear.

“you like music? 'course you do, everyone does.i don’t know how many lullabies eddie knows. his taste is a little more intense,” steve says conversationally as he continues to pace. “i don’t even think i know any lullabies. um…”

cheyenne cries with new fervor right into his neck and steve just panic sings the first song that comes to mind, “shake it up is all we know. using bodies up as we go. i’m waking up a fantasy. the shades are all the colors we used to see.”

cheyenne’s cries go down a peg, still loud but less wailing and more whimpering. steve’s heart is racing as he slowly continues the song.

“broken ice still melts in the sun. and ties that are broken can be one again. we’re soul alone and soul really matters to me.”

cheyenne keeps crying but it's getting softer by the second. steve rearranges her so she's cradled in his arms. he's blown away by how small she is. how helpless. everything must be so scary for her.

“i'm out of touch,” steve sings softly. “you're out of time. but i'm out of my head when you're not around. oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh.“

cheyenne's eyes open up and they're this big beautiful brown, just like eddie's. his breath is taken away as he keeps singing weakly. he doesn't even realize that she stops crying entirely and is just blinking at him, dazed.

it takes eddie slowly opening the front door for him to recognize the silence. he sits on the couch and bounces her gently in his arms, still humming and singing the occasional "oh's". eddie very slowly and quietly sits beside him.

steve looks up at eddie who is staring at him in awe. the same beautiful brown eyes are puffy and swollen, just like cheyenne's.

“c'mon eds, sing it with me,” steve jokes quietly.

eddie shakes his head. “i can't believe she's a hall and oates fan.”

“everyone is,” steve says simply and sings, “i'm out of touch.” he gestures to eddie to continue.

“i'm out of time,” eddie sings, looking incredibly pained to do so.

“but i'm out of my head,” steve leans his ear to the side.

“when you're not around,” eddie says flat, voice raspy from his exhaustion. it makes steve's stomach flip so he returns his attention to the near asleep girl in his arms.

they keep humming until she's fully asleep. steve leans back into the couch with a long exhale, his shoulders rubbing up against eddie's.

“you're magical,” eddie whispers.

“please,” steve scoffs.

“i'm serious,” eddie replies. steve turns his head to face him and nearly chokes from how close their faces are.

”i don't know how you do it,“ eddie mumbles.

”do what?“

”make everyone around you so calm. i feel like all i can do is make everyone stressed out,” eddie laughs weakly.

steve shakes his head. ”not true. just ask buckley, i stress her out on a daily basis.“

eddie chuckles and sniffles. steve sees his lips stretch over his teeth in a smile.

”thank you for coming over. i didn't know who else to call.“

”how did you end up with your baby cousin anyway?“ steve asks.

eddie sighs, tilting his head back into the cushion. if he leaned his head closer, he'd be on steve's shoulder. steve wishes he would.

”her mom is taking a much needed vacation and i promised wayne that he didn't need to take time off work to take care of her. that was a huge mistake.“

”you did your best,“ steve argues quietly.

”maybe but it wasn't enough.“

”hey, c'mon. don't beat yourself up. you did what you could and found help when you couldn't. it's not your fault this is her only form of communication.“

eddie smiles again and yawns. ”you wouldn't happen to have this album on cassette would you?“

steve beams at him. ”in my car, actually.“

”i'm getting it.“

they put cheyenne to bed with the big bam boom album playing softly on eddie's stereo. they stare at her peaceful form snoozing away and seem to forget how she looked not even a half hour ago.

”you should get some sleep,” steve whispers, nudging eddie with his shoulder.

“you're right, you're right,” eddie sighs. he gestures that he's gonna walk steve to the door. steve grabs his keys and turns before opening the door.

“thank you again,” eddie whispers.

“anytime. hall and oates always heals,” steve smiles.

eddie rolls his eyes fondly and shoves steve's shoulder. only, his hand doesn't move away. it splays out over steve's beating heart which is rapidly picking up speed. eddie's eyes slowly drift up to catch steve's.

“i was listening to that song yesterday,” steve whispers. “over and over and over again.”

“you must really like it,“ eddie says, a little confused.

”no. i mean, i do but…“ steve whispers. ”i was listening to it because... i start to go a little insane when i'm not around you.“

eddie's brows furrow. ”w-what do you mean?“

”can't keep you out of here,“ steve explains, tapping his temple. ”i don't know what to do. this is where i need help, eds.”

eddie's lips part in a silent gasp. he takes a step closer and rubs his thumb over steve's shirt. steve's hand comes up and covers his.

“i can help,” eddie whispers, tilting his head up so their noses brush.

that's how steve and eddie share their first kiss in eddie's living room, sleep deprived and unhurried. just four lips gently sliding over one another.

when they pull away with tired smiles, eddie murmurs, “in case she wakes up, you should probably sleep over.”

(inspired by @gothbat99 's wonderful steve harrington playlist)

#emily writes #idk why i hc steve being great with babies but i just DO #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fics #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things ficlet

[augustslippedavvay]

town crier, village flyer, got a skull and crossbones on his chest (aemond targaryen)

masterlist ❈

summary: You’d never be a dragonrider - you weren’t a Targaryen, though you’d been raised among them - but you get as close to it as you’ll ever be when you lay with Aemond.

author’s note: the title comes from firebreather by laurel, which is such a good song for aemond it’s unreal pls be gentle with me this is my first time writing smut for aemond and i hope y’all like it lol brittany broski if u see this call me

pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader word count: 3k warnings: pwp, unprotected sex, not beta read (but i did read through it myself like a million times)

also cross-posted to AO3 as always xoxo do not steal this from me or i will haunt your dreams. i will take up residence underneath your mf bed everyone in this fic is 18+ - minors dni!!!! see note above about dreams being haunted!!!!!

Aemond Targaryen has never wanted for much. Everything he has ever wanted, he has always known he will have.

That includes you.

You’ve grown used to the second-born Targaryen prince visiting you when it conveniences him, when it pleases him - he’s known the secret passageways of the Red Keep like the back of his hand practically since birth, and it took him very little time to route the way from his chambers to yours.

The two of you hadn’t been close when you’d arrived in the capital nearly a decade earlier - a distant Hightower relative’s daughter, whose family had succumbed to sickness, and who’d had nowhere else to go - in fact, you’d been quite the opposite. Aemond had unsettled you as a child, always lurking, always watching, and he’d never had much interest in the goings-on of the ladies of the castle. And then he’d lost an eye, and you still feel the hot pierce of shame crowd your cheeks when you think of how you’d treated him in the aftermath.

As you’d grown, however, as Aemond had grown, an understanding had developed between the two of you. You each recognized something of yourself in the other. What had once been a mutual intrigue had become fondness, over time. 

You’d begun to spend more time together, too, oftentimes you and Aemond and Princess Helaena all together, while Aegon was off performing firstborn prince duties, but on rare occasions, you’d have Aemond to yourself. Your paths would cross in the corridor, or between the shelves of the Maesters’ library, or in the courtyard, under the weirwood tree that grew there. You both revered the gods of the Faith of the Seven, like the majority of King’s Landing, but it was always quiet there. 

Aemond had kissed you underneath that tree once, where your gods couldn’t see. He had captured your lips with his own, his hands balled into fists at his sides, refusing to touch you despite the damage already being done. You had reached up and cupped his cheeks with your delicate hands, letting him kiss you breathless, but when your pinky had slipped under the patch that covered his ruined eye, he had pulled away and stormed off wordlessly. You had not seen him for weeks after that. When you did see him again, it was clear nothing would be the same between the two of you, not ever again.

“Could I…come to you?” He had asked, no specifics, but you had known what he meant and nodded.

And so the first time Aemond visited your quarters, you were seven and ten, and it was frightening. Not that the prince frightened you - he frightened everyone else, missing an eye and always so gruff as he was, but not you, not since you were children - but you had never been alone with a man before. Not in that way. Not in any way. You’d been watching the door, but he had slipped in the way he always does - through the stone door along the back wall of your chambers - and it had startled you, unexpected, that first time.

“There’s a door there?”

Aemond had nodded, stepped into the room and closed it behind him. “There are passageways all over this keep that you have never seen and will likely never see, my lady.”

You had been worried that it would be painful, or unenjoyable, but he had been gentle, loving, until you had asked him not to be, and that had lit a spark in him you’d yet to see extinguished.

This night is quite different from that one, so long ago. You aren’t so hesitant now. In fact, you’re quite confident. You know when he’ll come, where he’ll come from. You know that he’ll come. 

You know how it will feel, how he will taste. And you know that he will leave after.

Aemond never takes anything from you that you hadn’t already been willing to give. That you hadn’t made explicitly clear to him was his and his alone. He has never made any promises to you, outside of pleasure. You see this arrangement for what it is. He has ruined you for other men, but you’ll never be able to have him. Not really.

Tonight you’re poised at your mirror, brushing through your silken hair, when you hear the sound of stone against stone. The promise of a long night. You pause for a moment then keep working, twisting your fingers through your hair, watching in the mirror as Aemond walks across your chambers and stops immediately behind you.

“My lady,” he murmurs, his hands tucked behind his back, and finally you set the hairbrush down.

“My prince,” you respond, turning to face him, gazing up at him from where you sit. He looks so handsome in his riding leathers. He is still wearing his gloves - he must have just come in from riding his dragon. “I am no lady. You know this.”

“But you are my lady,” Aemond says with a smirk, and you roll your eyes. He gives you a half-heartedly shocked expression at the gesture. “Insolence? I could have you flogged for that.”

“Would you, my prince?” You leave your perch and step forward until you’re staring up at him. He looks down his nose at you, smirking.

“Yes, my lady,” he whispers, and there’s a twinkle in his eye, one you’ve grown immeasurably fond of. A playfulness he seems to reserve for you and you alone. You dart away and only just manage to evade his grasp, tip-toeing your way around to the other side of your bed.

“You’ll first have to catch me, Aemond,” you laugh, tossing a grin at him over your shoulder, and watch as his mouth twitches slightly in delight. He moves to stand across the mattress from you, watches your chest rise and fall with glee.

“And when I catch you? What then?”

“What would you like to happen then, my dragon?” You lower your eyelids, look across the room at him through your eyelashes.

Aemond feels his cock twitch in his trousers at the moniker. “I should like to have my way with you, I think. After the flogging, of course.”

“Of course,” you agree, biting your lip. The two of you are trapped in a stalemate, but Aemond makes the first move, stalking around the foot of your bed, hands clasped at his back. He looks terrifying right now, you think. You don’t envy anyone who crosses him one bit.

When he’s made it around to your side, you raise your chin slightly to signal your continued defiance, but when Aemond reaches out for you, you all but let him grab your arm, don’t even try to resist as he pulls you flat against him. You can feel his heavy breath on the crown of your head, and one hand pressed to his chest gives the quickness of his pulse away immediately. 

“Have I got you worked up, Prince Aemond? Are you going to have your way with me now?”

Aemond smirks and gives you two light slaps on your arse. You jump, your mouth falling open at the feeling, but you laugh when it’s done. 

“You call that a flogging?”

“If you’d like, I could bend you over my knee.”

Your head tips back a bit at the thought, and Aemond’s lips meet the skin at the base of your throat. One of your hands finds the back of his head, running your fingers gently through his bone-straight hair, tugging once. 

You pull away from him, and Aemond begins to protest, but then your fingers tug at the string lacing up your shift. His eye follows your hands as you take the hem of the chemise into them and pull it up and over your head, until you’re bare before him.

“Seven hells, I’ll never tire of this.”

You flush at his words and reach forward to grip one of his hands, pulling him toward you. He brings the hand you’ve left free down, down, passing the backs of his knuckles along the inside of your bare thigh before running two fingers through your folds. He clicks his tongue.

“Already soaking, my heart,” Aemond says with a cheshire grin, bringing those fingers up to press into your clit, stroking in feather-light circles. “Were you up here waiting for me? Ready for me?”

“Yes,” you pant, your grip on his hand tightening. Your other hand reaches up to run over his shoulder, down his arm, the leather of his jacket smooth against your skin. “You’re still dressed, my prince.”

“Yes,” he hums, echoing you. He continues his work against your clit before he begins his descent to his knees, pressing his mouth against every inch of available skin on his way. Your hand leaves his, settling instead on the crown of his head.

“Aemond –”

“Shh,” he whispers, biting the space above your hip. You gasp and Aemond cups his hands underneath your bum, holding you close to him as his lips find their way to your weepy cunt. He mouths at your clit, your knees buckling slightly, and then tilts his chin down to run his tongue along your slit. Your mouth falls open, and one of Aemond’s hands falls to the back of your thigh, kneading the flesh there as he consumes you.

Aemond crowds you forward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you sit abruptly, and still he does not take his mouth from you. You bring one foot up to press against his back, supporting your leg so he can spread you open even further, and you cry out when he slips two fingers into you. Gradually you fall backwards until you are lying across the bed, your nails scratching at his scalp. You bring one arm up to toss across your eyes, focusing on the way his tongue feels, the end of it flicking across your clit. His fingers trace over the spot inside of you that sets stars dancing behind your eyelids. Your chest starts to heave.

Before you can come, Aemond pulls away, and you hiss, tightening your fingers in his hair. He wrenches your hand away from him and presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your palm, and you rise onto one elbow and grin at the sight of his lips glistening with your sheen.

“Don’t worry, my sweet,” he laughs, rising from his knees and pushing you further up the bed. “I’ll make you come soon.”

He crawls over you and your fingers tuck themselves into the waistband of his trousers, urging them off of him as he blesses you with another of his rare smiles, his tinkling laugh. Kissing you gingerly once, twice, Aemond sits up and makes quick work of the offending garment, making sure his smallclothes go, too, while your fingers tangle with the silver fastenings of his jacket. Once he is as bared to you, he lets you reach for him once more and urge him down to meet you, flat on the bed.

Without hesitation you are kissing him again, grasping his hips and pulling them forward to press against yours, and gasp at the feeling of his hardened cock at your thigh.

“It seems you’re ready for me, too, my prince,” you murmur, smiling when he leans down to capture your mouth with his own at the same time that he takes his cock into his hand and guides it into your wet cunt. You wrap your arms around his back and ease him down until his chest is flush with yours, and he angles his hips to slip himself all the way inside of you. 

You’d never be a dragonrider - you weren’t a Targaryen, though you’d been raised among them - but you get as close to it as you’ll ever be when you lay with Aemond. It’s a thrill, and you breathe a sigh of relief when each time isn’t the last.

Your grip on him strengthens when he begins to shift his hips, and your mouth leaves his as the welcoming wet heat of you allows him to press in and out without hindrance. He sets a steady pace, grunting against your lips at the feeling of you tight around him.

Aemond’s fingers bite into the skin at your waist, his touch having verged on painful ages ago, but you revel in the feeling. He’ll be leaving you with reminders of how well he handles you for days to come.

He smells like dragonfire, brimstone, and the sea and leather, and you’d let him bruise your hips a thousand times over if it meant you’d be able to bury your face into the crux of his neck just once more.  

“Aemond,” you murmur, fisting the hair at the back of his neck. He hums his reply, pulling back only enough to be able to look at you. You’re not sure when, but he’s lost his eyepatch. The blue glint of the jewel in his left eye socket is nearly hypnotizing, your own jumping back and forth between the sapphire and his violet eye. “Aemond, I’m close.”

“Are you, dove? Would you like to come?”

You nod, your temple pressed to his, and you know then what’s coming next. Aemond stops abruptly, sitting back on his heels, and pulls his heavy cock from you, roughly palming the skin on the inside of your thigh.

“Turn over, then,” Aemond grunts, fisting his cock, and he watches with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as you edge up onto your elbows. Aemond grins and pinches one of your nipples, and he laughs as you yelp and slap his hand away.

“Animal,” you accuse, but he just leans down to kiss the side of your head.

Once you’re settled onto your front, hips flat against the bed, Aemond moves to straddle the backs of your thighs, one hand palming the soft flesh of your bottom while the other works quickly to slide his cock back into your waiting cunt.

You cry out as Aemond’s pelvis meets your back, fisting the sheets underneath you as he begins to ease himself in and out of you again, his pace both agonizingly and mercifully slow. One hand at your hip to hold you in place as his strokes lengthen, he reaches the other up to fist your hair and hold your head in place.

At this angle, he’s able to reach even deeper inside of you than he was when you were facing one another, and as he quickens his pace, you arch your hips up to push one hand under them to rub circles on your clit.

“Oh, you’re so close, aren’t you, little doe? Are you going to come for me? Hm?”

You whine in reply, slowing your hand’s pace but loosening the circles it makes, and Aemond’s hips stutter when you clench around him. He eases his knees back alongside yours until he’s able to fall forward and cover your back with his front. 

Reaching down, Aemond grips your hips and begins to rut into you in earnest, mouthing at the skin of your shoulder while you tremble under him. His hair falls free against the side of your face.

“Come for me, sweet thing,” Aemond murmurs. “Come for me, because I am going to come for you.”

Your fingers press harder against your clit, dancing side to side now, and you let out one sharp groan as you work yourself over the edge while the tip of his cock presses into that spot inside of you once more. Your cunt spasms, luring Aemond in further, so he wraps his arms around your stomach and fucks you harder, faster, riding you through your orgasm. 

“My dragon,” you whimper, one hand reaching around to palm his bottom, encouraging him to fuck into you even deeper. “Come inside of me, please.”

Groaning, the pads of Aemond’s fingers dig into your skin, and he empties himself inside of you, pressed as deep as he can get. His face is hidden in your neck, and you can feel him panting, his open mouth inches from yours. His arms tighten around your middle as his hips slow, then stop, his cock, now softening, still buried in you.

Aemond braces, unraveling his arms from around you, then pulls himself from you and you cry out, pressing your forehead to the bed. He runs one hand gently across your back, soothing you with his touch, and makes to rise. 

It takes you a second to collect yourself - it always does, after Aemond - but eventually you roll over onto your side and gaze at him where he stands, bathed in the warm light of your hearth, your heart aching only slightly.

“You could stay, you know,” you pant, one hand folded across your still-bare stomach, as you watch Aemond collect his clothing from the ground. He hums at the thought, pulls his breeches up his lithe legs, then shakes his head. “No one would know, Aemond.”

“I don’t think I should,” he says, smiling sadly, a far-away look in his eye. He pulls his patch, discarded somewhere, somehow, earlier in the night, over the sapphire he keeps in place of the eye he lost.

You nod, then sit up, pull your knees to your chest, and wrap your arms around your legs. “Could I beg one more kiss off of you, my prince?”

Aemond smiles and stalks towards you, pulling his tunic over his head as he goes. “You wouldn’t even need to beg, my lady.”

He leans down, cups the side of your face, and presses his lips to yours. You close your eyes and grip the front of his shirt, holding him to you. You think to tell him you love him, though you know that could never be true, your traitor heart encouraging madness in the aftermath of your coupling. Your mouth opens in hopes of deepening the kiss, but he pulls away.

Then he’s gone, before you can open your eyes.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon fic #hotd #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen/reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen/you #emily writes

[cooking-with-hailstones]

To be mortal

Happy Loftwing Letters @mistresslrigtar!

This was written for the valentines gift exchange with the wonderful @zelinkcommunity, and thanks to @bahbahhh for beta-ing!

Read it here or on AO3

The strangest thing Zelda noticed, after they sealed Ganon away and collapsed into a heap together on Hyrule field, was having a body again. For a century Zelda had been incorporeal, everywhere and nowhere all at once, one with all things and yet nothing. She had been watching Link, watching Hyrule, watching Ganon struggle against the bonds that she had trapped him in. For a century she watched. And now here she was, all of her contained in flesh. It was like the sensation of returning to land after a long voyage at sea, but magnified through every cell of her being. She had cells again.

Adjusting to the limitations of a physical body took its time. For weeks after they returned to Link’s home in Hateno, she walked on wobbly legs and found herself stumbling around like a newborn calf. At first she barely recognized the sensations of exhaustion or hunger. Link began to figure it out as she got increasingly irritable in the evenings, and he would sometimes forcibly bundle her into the small loft bed, despite her feeble protests. Every time, she was out like a light within minutes. When her growling stomach forced her back into the waking world, Link would be waiting by her bedside with fresh bread and a steaming mug of soup.

There were times that she missed incorporeality. When the wind rattled the shutters of their small home, she wished that she could allow her consciousness to drift away on the breeze. When she sat by Firly pond, splashing the cold water with her feet, she longed to slip her spirit into its murky blue waters, looking at the world through the eyes of the frogs and the fish. It was strange to be contained all in one place, a separate entity from the earth and sky around her.

But she also delighted in the sensations of the flesh. Once after she came in from a long walk through the village, Link surprised her by excitedly handing her a slice of cake. Apparently he had discovered an old recipe that was bookmarked as the princess's favorite. He had spent a great deal of time perfecting it, and watched with delight as she took her first tentative bite. She relished the taste of the wildberry and apple mash in between two light and fluffy layers of sponge. The sharp tang and taste of the fruit mixing with the sweet sugars of the glaze. 

Another time, Link took her climbing along the Hateno cliffs, hiking down to the beach one afternoon after visiting Purah. They played in the waves and danced in the glittering spray of the sunset.

He also brought her silk trousers he had acquired from Rhondson in Tarrey Town, and she marveled at the exquisite softness of the material against her skin.

She was learning once again to love being mortal. To be skin and bone and sinew and muscle; that ate and drank and ached and sweated and slept. It was a journey of rediscovery, and her scientific mind, delighted and reacquainting herself with all of the molecules and atoms of herself.

That is, until she got a cold.

______________

Link had enjoyed witnessing Zelda's return to the corporeal. In many ways. It mirrored his own return to his body two years prior, when he awoke to her voice in the Shrine of Resurrection. The luxury of feeling the sun on bare skin, of drinking fresh cold water, eating a full meal and feeling your belly expand; there were so many delights to experience. He couldn’t wait to share everything he had rediscovered, that they could rediscover together. 

Her brilliant scientific mind was a perfect complement to his enthusiastic experimentation. She analyzed every fruit tart, wrote notes about how her feet felt numb after sitting still for too long, lingered over the feeling of every fabric in his inventory, marvelled at the brightness of the morning sunrise.

The head cold caught her completely off guard. 

“How did this happen?” she moaned from the loft as he added a dash more salt to some fortified pumpkin soup and ladled it into a large bowl.

“You were talking to the village children, and one of them sneezed on your face?” Link ventured teasingly as he walked up the steps to the loft, careful to not spill anything from the full bowl.

“Hylians shouldn’t be so susceptible to diseases from their young” she grumbled, sitting up slightly to allow him to place the soup in her lap. This was the third day in a row of such grumblings.

“One more thing for you to research once you’re healthy again.” he smiled, brushing a loose strand of chin-length blonde hair behind her ears. He liked the shorter hair. Zelda had very quickly decided that she did NOT like the sensation of long hair on the back of her neck, and now there was no one to complain if she sheared it off. 

She slurped the soup loudly, an affront to any remaining royal manners that she was now gleefully forgetting, before looking up at him quizzically. 

“Yes?” 

“It tastes... different” she sighed in frustration.

“You’re still sick. Things taste different when you’re sick.” 

“But WHY? ” 

Link shrugged. Zelda muttered something to herself, grabbing her notepad from the bedside table and jotting down some questions for later. She had tried to keep working after falling sick, but Link had insisted that she rest. The pencil and notepad was a compromise.

“What good is having a nose if it’s going to behave like this?” she lamented, slurping down more of the soup. Link couldn’t help but laugh.

“Get some rest, Zelda.” he said, tucking the covers more comfortably around her. She caught his hand in her own, and gave it a little squeeze of thanks. 

He paused, startled by her unexpected, tender touch. They had touched each other before, of course. Jostling each other in the kitchen, or leaning on each other while climbing down a steep cliff. But somehow this felt different. Before he could think twice, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

At that point, his brain caught up with his actions and he quickly pulled away, blushing furiously. He barely registered Zelda’s shocked face, spoon frozen halfway to her lips. Instead, he whirled away down the steps, panicking slightly and raking his fingers through his disheveled hair.

______________

Zelda didn’t see Link the next morning. Which was just as well, since she was feeling significantly better and was frankly uninterested in spending a minute more lying in bed. Still, it was unusual of him to not be at her bedside when she woke up. Instead she found another steaming mug of soup and a slice of bread on her bedside. She took advantage of the hot breakfast - which finally tasted normal again - before changing into a fresh linen shift and making her way downstairs. 

Pumping some water into the basin so that she could wash up, she glanced briefly out the window. Her breath caught in her throat.

Of course, he wouldn’t have gone far. 

Link was outside in the yard, drilling sword forms with an intensity she hadn’t seen from him since before the Calamity. Even in the cool morning air, he was shiny with sweat, muscles rippling across his bare back. She couldn’t help but stare. The strange fluttering in her stomach that she had felt the night before, after his unexpected but welcome kiss, came back a hundredfold. 

She forced herself to look away, scrubbing the dishes with unusual vigour. 

She spent the rest of her morning paying fierce attention to her notes, refining all the scribbles she had written from bed during her convalescence and making a list of questions that the village healer might have some answers for. Her fluttery innards were finally starting to calm down when Link came back in, still shirtless and soaked after having briefly rinsed himself off in the pond. 

She sucked in a breath. The sight of him was causing all kinds of physical sensations that she had no rational explanation for. 

He paused, meeting her startled gaze, before hastily pulling out the Sheikah slate and materializing an old comfortable linen shirt.

“You’re out of bed?” he mumbled.

“Yes, I am feeling much better today, thanks to your care.” she smiled, cursing this sudden awkwardness. 

The silence stretched out long and tense between them. Her stomach started fluttering again.

“Link, I - ”

“Yes?” he said softly.

“When you kissed me, yesterday...”

He blushed a deep shade of crimson. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have...”

“No!” she cut him off, crossing the space between them and grabbing one of his hands in her own. “No, its... I wasn’t sure how to react. It was, well, it was a new sensation for me.”

Link hadn’t moved away after she had taken his hand. In fact, she wasn’t sure if he was still breathing. 

A sudden impulse struck her. “Would you... would you do it again?” she whispered.

A beat of silence passed between them. She was just about to apologize, to let go of his hand and say forget it, when he pulled her close and pressed another, gentle kiss to her forehead. 

Like lightning in a summer storm, she felt it again what she felt the night before. The fluttering, the jolt down her spine that was entirely unlike anything she had felt since returning to her body. She shivered with delight.

“Again?” she gestured to her cheek, and he obliged without any hesitation. Heat spread across her face from where his lips brushed against her. She needed more, needed to know more, to feel more.

“...Again?” she sighed, hardly daring to point at her lips. He leaned in, this time without any hesitation, and pressed his lips ever so gently to her own.

#zelink #fanfiction #zelink fanfiction #post botw #sickfic #pre-totk #zelink first kiss #first kiss #canon compliant #musings on mortality #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #emily writes #my writing

[i-love-your-light]

posting a snippet of a wip to maybe motivate me into finishing it?? we'll see!!

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

“Would you… erm, Crowley, I was just wondering,”  Aziraphale was trying to hide his nerves as he and Crowley donned their jackets in the restaurant’s coat room after yet another lunch. “If you didn’t have any other plans for the afternoon, might you like to come see a show with me?”

Crowley was draping his black coat over his lanky frame with a casual ease.  “What kind of a show?”

“Well,”  Aziraphale fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves.  “I was actually hoping it could be a surprise.” 

Crowley’s eyebrows raised, amused.  “You’re not one for keeping secrets, angel.”

“I think you’ll like it!  I’d just… rather not say.”

“Come on, tell me.” Crowley grinned, all teeth, like the cat that got the canary, and took a few steps closer to Aziraphale.  The coatroom suddenly felt quite warm.  “What’s this show?”

The floor was very interesting to Aziraphale at that moment.  Black and white tiles in a geometric pattern, the edges between them blurring the longer he looked down at them.  “Do you trust me?” he said quietly.

Crowley said nothing for a moment, then, “Yeah.”

The angel finally met Crowley’s eyes, or did as best as he could with those familiar sunglasses blocking them.  The grin had faded but there was still warmth there, softness.  Aziraphale imagined that if he brought his hand up to Crowley’s cheek, it would feel warm and soft under his palm, despite the angularity of his features and the sometimes frosty act he put on.

“I trust you,” Crowley said.

Trust, that dangerous, delicious thing, that always hung between them like a magnet, that always hung above them like a blade.  There were other ways one could define what they had. Those ways, however, had to go unspoken.  Trust was an easier one syllable word.  

“Then let’s be on our way,” Aziraphale said brightly, giving Crowley’s arm a quick squeeze before turning heel for the door, trying not to flex his hand at even that momentary flash of contact.

#they're gonna go on a planetarium date:) and yearn:) #good omens fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #emily writes #wip

[wickedlysecret]

(I just had an idea for an interaction between Hunter and Camila while the TOH kids are trapped in the human realm together, and I ended up cranking this out yesterday afternoon. I just have a lot of feelings about Hunter and Luz as family, and Camila loving these kids who fell into her lap.....)

....

Luz was hooking the hose up to a garden sprinkler in the yard, animatedly chattering about the concept of “playing in the sprinkler”, and how it wasn’t just a garden tool, as Willow, Gus, and Amity listened with rapt attention, and Vee chimed in with her own newly-gained knowledge. Hunter, meanwhile, stood in the doorway, watching from afar. Observing.

Guarding….

“It’s so nice to see Luz like this again,” came Camila’s voice from behind him. Had it been anyone other than Luz’s mom, he might’ve jumped, but Hunter had long since adapted to the woman’s constant, caring presence.

“I’m sure you missed her while she was in the Demon Realm, yeah,” Hunter agreed, nodding absently.

“I mean, yes, I certainly did, but… well, that’s not quite what I meant.”

Hunter blinked, then finally turned to gaze with confusion at Camila, wordlessly prompting her to continue. She hadn’t looked at him yet, her eyes locked on her daughter and her friends, a fond, wistful smile curving her lips.

“Before Manny passed, she could always be this bright at home with us. Our little light,” she chuckled. “I know she struggled to make friends at school, but always kept her head up. After her dad left us, though… I think it got harder for her to stay afloat. I saw her sinking before my eyes, and I didn’t know what to do. She retreated into all the things her father and I loved, and loved about her, but that… that I knew would make her life harder.”

Camila sighed, shutting her eyes as she slumped against the other side of the door frame. “That’s why I signed her up for that camp. I’m glad I have both my kids now, of course, and I wouldn’t change that outcome for anything. But I wish I’d better understood what Luz needed. Even now, I’m not quite sure what it is she needs, other than that she found it in all of you.”

Hunter watched Camila, then turned back to look at the scene in front of them; Luz had powered on the hose, and revealed the sprinkler to be broken, presumably from age and lack of use. It now sputtered and gushed water all over the teens in the yard, prompting squeals and laughter as Luz weaponized the spray to soak her friends and herself alike.

“I don’t think she knows what she wants or needs, herself,” he admitted softly. “I… I don’t think I really knew how much she’d struggled before she came to the Isles. She always seemed like she knew what she was doing, like she was flourishing. It… it didn’t occur to me that she’d ever been… not like that.”

Camila opened her eyes again, turning her gentle smile to Hunter. “That’s how it goes, baby. You meet someone, enter each others’ lives, and you never get to see their before, only their after. You only see what they show you, unless you reeeally go looking.”

Hunter breathed a laugh, still watching Luz. “Luz is really good at that. At looking past what you try to show her.”

“She really is, isn’t she?” The pride warming Camila’s eyes as she watched her daughter was tangible. “It’s probably why she’s good at hiding what she doesn’t want others to see. I’m glad she has all of you to keep that in check, for her. I’m learning that there’s only so much a mother can do for her children.”

Then Hunter did jump, startled as Camila slapped a hand against his back and urged him into the yard. “And what I’m learning I can do for you, baby, is reminding you that it’s summer and your job right now is to have fun. So go have fun with your friends!” A touch of mischief flashes through her eyes. “If you pinch the hose, it’ll stop the water. She’ll probably look at the sprinkler before the hose, and you’ll be able to soak her if you let it go.”

#the owl house #toh hunter #toh camila #toh luz #(background but still) #drabble #emily writes

[marsden-online]

"We are conditioned to believe it’s wrong to show how we truly feel. The anger, the hurt, the raw ugly feelings….In a sanitised filtered world, nobody wants to see ugly. We tell our children it’s OK to cry, but do we know it is OK to cry? .. We want to care and we do care. We’re thrown by injustice. We feel thrown off kilter by oppression. That is a good thing. I worry too often we don’t recognise that this is what it is to be human."

#Emily Writes #humanity #feelings

[clockworkouroboros]

Goncharov (1973)

A ploy from the early years of the War, Goncharov (1973) is a mafia film directed by Martin Scorsese and the unknown Matteo JWHJ0715. Or maybe it wasn’t. The film is of importance in two ways: first, as the last attempt the Hollywood cabal made at creating a memetic device through film; and second, as the ultimately successful memetic device imagined by Michael Brookhaven after he rebranded the cabal as Faction Hollywood. 

While Brookhaven promoted the ideal of a “single striking image,” earlier iterations of the Hollywood cabal adhered to the ideal of the “underlying theme.” Whereas Brookhaven rebuilt Faction Hollywood as a brand, his predecessors preferred more subtle, subliminal approaches to the Faction and to film. Goncharov is perhaps the only film that attempts both approaches at once, although much of its success in these areas are because of consequent meddling from Brookhaven or his underlings.

Scorsese himself was aware of the Hollywood cabal, but never joined it. Goncharov’s influence and success as a memetic device, then, is directly the result of his collaborator, JWHJ0715, a little-known member of the group who likely requested full initiation into Faction Paradox shortly after the film’s release. 

As a means of introducing ideas, Goncharov is relatively simple: its underlying themes of betrayal and corruption are easy for the casual viewer to notice, but the ticking clock heard throughout the movie creates a subliminal effect on the audience, sending ripples out through society and creating both a hypnotic fixation on the film, and an irrepressible tendency towards corruption and betrayal. This is easily seen in the concurrent history: infamous for its long stay in Production Hell, Goncharov was almost never released, and a director’s cut of the film was shown to then-President of the United States, Richard Nixon in May of 1972. That same summer, five men working for Nixon broke into the headquarters of the Democratic National Committee.

Goncharov was met with acclaim from critics, praising it as the “greatest mafia movie ever made.” It broke box office records, scandalizing both the press and the general populace. After its deliberate snubbing at the 1974 Academy Awards, JWHJ0715 vowed to never make a movie again, and became a fully-fledged initiate of Faction Paradox, in which he was tasked to go back in time and kill himself as a child. Scorsese was alive, while JWHJ0715 had lived and never lived at the same time, placing Goncharov in a unique position regarding temporal causality.

Brookhaven took over the Hollywood cabal in 1977, only four years after Goncharov’s release and only three years after JWHJ0715′s initiation. After rebranding as Faction Hollywood, Brookhaven or one of his associates turned to Goncharov as a new project to resurrect.

What had once been a simple device used to control and foment certain attitudes in the population became a device powered by memes that gave Brookhaven and, indeed, Faction Hollywood in general, unprecedented power in filmmaking and production. Like much of Brookhaven’s work in Faction Hollywood, Goncharov was not necessarily used for a greater purpose within Faction Paradox, as Faction Paradox essentially abandoned the cabal after the 1940s. Ever the opportunist, Brookhaven took Goncharov and used it for his own personal gain.

With the initiation of JWHJ0715, Goncharov became a film that existed on the fringes of reality. This gave it limited use for Brookhaven, but as the War progressed and causality became more fragile, Goncharov and its legacy reawakened in the public’s subconscious. While the actual film could not be viewed, people began remembering the effects of the film. Discussion, critique, and analysis of the film sparked a new wave of memetic energy, giving Brookhaven more power to shape Hollywood and its future. One could argue that with Goncharov, Brookhaven was also shaping its past. 

#okay I did it #goncharov (1973) #faction paradox #unreality #emily writes #god who'd have guessed the first fanfiction i wrote in months would be crossover between faction paradox and a fake mafia movie

[sunlightmoonn]

“Something’s bothering you.”

Mob’s eyes darted up from the reception desk, caught off guard from Reigen’s voice cutting through the quiet that had lingered in the office for what had probably been an hour. Mob hadn’t noticed that the meticulous sound of deft fingers typing away on a laptop keyboard had stopped a few minutes ago.

Reigen was staring with a look that Mob had seen a number of times. Mob felt coiled, trapped under a microscope when Reigen questioned him with his eyes. More concern swept over his expression when Mob couldn’t find the words to answer him.

Mob hadn’t realized he’d been staring blankly at the desk in front of him.

“How about we end it here for the day?” Reigen suggested, shutting his laptop with a resolute click. He stretched his arms out behind him, yawning loudly. The setting sun was coming through the window that hung slightly ajar, allowing a cool breeze to have filled the room during the hours that Mob had been at the office.

Mob nodded, standing up to place his homework that he had tried and failed to focus on back into his school bag.

Reigen flung his coat over his shoulder and motioned towards the door. His hand was already on the handle when Mob’s small voice beckoned for him for the first time that day. Reigen paused before looking over his shoulder to see the boy staring at the ground once again, fingers tightly gripping the handle of his school bag.

“He’s gone.”

Reigen watched Mob’s expression that had been empty for hours on end devolve into deep sadness and grief.

He let go of the door handle and stepped towards Mob, bending down on a knee so that he could be eye to eye with him.

Tears began to form in Mob’s eyes as they remained fixed on the ground. Reigen allowed him time to gather his feelings - to put them into words.

“He was my friend, Shishou.”

“I know.” Reigen said.

“I wanted to tell him that he meant a lot to me.”

“I think he knew.” Reigen rested a hand on Mob’s shoulder, and the boy finally met his eyes. “I think you meant a lot to him too.”

A tear slipped down over Mob’s cheek, and he wiped it away shamefully. He tried to right himself quickly, looking elsewhere again.

“Hey,” Reigen prompted, shaking Mob’s shoulder a bit so that Mob looked back at him. “It’s okay to feel this way. It’s okay to miss him sometimes.”

Mob stared for a moment, expression unreadable. But then Reigen felt tension in his shoulders loosen - felt Mob let out a breath he had been holding for who knows how long.

#mob psycho 100 #emily writes #fanfic

[emilywritesfics]

What would Clurphy name their kids?

#clurphy is clarke griffin and john murphy from the 100 #I need a boy name and a girl name #emily writes

[judasofsuburbia]

something something caretaker! steve gets hired by rockstar! eddie to look after and live with wayne. everything is set up over the phone after eddie was given his resume so eddie's never physically seen the guy but he has enough positive reviews and references that it seems like there is anybody in this world that doesn't like this steve harrington fellow.

wayne munson soon becomes his #1 fan.

wayne keeps telling eddie all about steve in their weekly phone calls. anytime eddie tries to steer the conversation into something actually about wayne's health and wellbeing, wayne manages to involve steve. says that steve's blushing face is real handsome while steve rolls his eyes and laughs to himself across the room.

"you should come home on your next break," wayne says.

"i'm planning to."

"steve really wants to meet you," wayne says with an infliction.

"well, shit, wayne. from how much you gush about him, i'm excited to meet your new boyfriend too," eddie teases.

"oh hush, you. my casanova days are over. you, however, could use someone good."

the next break eddie has, nearly six months after steve starts working for the munsons, he arrives at nearly 11pm. he's quiet as he sneaks into the house he bought wayne years ago and nearly shits himself when he sees steve hanging out on the couch watching TV. he drops his suitcase to the floor, jolting steve out of his trance.

"oh god, i'm so sorry!" steve rushes to say as eddie clutches his chest and tries to steady his breathing.

"steve, i take it?" eddie laughs breathlessly.

"yeah, hi," steve stands from the couch and holds his hand out. "nice to finally meet you."

steve steps into the light as he does this and eddie's taken aback by just how handsome he is. oh fuck, wayne wasn't just messing around. eddie takes his hand, firm and strong, and shakes it.

"sorry to jumpscare you like that," steve smiles and his eyes twinkle in the low hallway light.

"no, i should've prepared myself," eddie says. "someone hasn't been in the house either than wayne or i in....well, ever."

"don't worry, i'll try to keep mostly to myself as you two have quality bonding time," steve replies sheepishly.

eddie shakes his head. "you don't gotta do that. you're more welcome around us than anyone. i owe you so much for looking after him."

steve smiles. "you already sign all my paychecks."

right, yeah. eddie's technically this guy's boss. eddie's never really thought of it that way before. that means any plans eddie's monkey brain had in the last thirty seconds about flirting with the handsome caretaker is out the window. it wouldn't be appropriate. eddie slouches and gives steve a tired smile.

"i'm gonna turn in. see you at breakfast?" eddie asks, hopeful despite his conflicting internal monologue.

"be prepared for oatmeal," steve jokes. "it's the only thing he wants for breakfast nowadays."

eddie scrunches up his face. "you don't have any poptarts or anything fun stashed away somewhere?"

"depends. do you like brown sugar cinnamon?" steve asks.

"love it," eddie whispers.

"then yeah, your breakfast fate can be a little better," steve nudges his elbow and it lights up eddie's skin.

"thank you caretaker steve," eddie salutes and turns heel to his teenage bedroom.

over the next few days, eddie goes out of his mind. he watches steve just do his job, the job he hired him to do, and he's still going crazy over it. how steve prepares for everything, accidents and things eddie couldn't even predict. spoon feeds wayne if his hands are too shaky. jokes and messes around with him like he's family. wayne's eyes keep drifting over to eddie's when steve isn't looking, a smug little smirk on his face.

"it can't happen," eddie seethes when steve leaves the room. "you're what's important here and i need him to stick around."

"and i need you to stop moping about the country, getting your heart broken every other week," wayne retorts. "steve's a good boy. he would treat you right."

"we don't even know if he's gay," eddie grumbles.

wayne gives him an unimpressed look that makes eddie bark out a frustrated laugh. "take a look at his bedroom, kid. you'll have all your questions answered," wayne advises right before steve returns.

"jeopardy time?" steve asks, hands already on wayne's wheelchair handles.

"eddie is gonna beat us both," wayne claims.

"that so?" steve beams. eddie is glaring daggers at wayne.

"he's full of useless facts," wayne jokes while eddie throws up his hands and steve laughs joyfully.

eddie falls for steve more and more as the week goes on. he tries his best to restrain it, tries his best to never be alone with steve. catches himself from checking steve out (especially in his daily running outfit, god) and swallows flirtatious lines that nearly escape his mouth. it's hard to say no when steve invites him to watch a movie or hang out with him while he cooks dinner but he does. eddie has to be coming off like a total dick at this point but it's for the best.

steve is out running an errand so eddie finally decides to snoop only a little bit. opens steve's bedroom door and smiles at all the decorations. sure enough, there is a little bisexual pride flag sticking out of the pen cup on his desk. eddie is admiring framed photos of steve and some kids along with little handwritten camp postcards on his corkboard when steve enters the room.

"anything interesting?" steve jokes from the doorway.

"shit!" eddie yells, clutching his chest again like he did the first night. "fuck, i'm so sorry."

"don't be," steve shrugs easily. "it is your house after all. i snoop your teenage bedroom all the time when wayne asks me to change the sheets."

"still, i shouldn't be invading your privacy," eddie says with an apologetic face.

steve walks carefully over to where eddie is standing. "i don't think there is much privacy between us where wayne is concerned," steve says quietly with a kind smile, leaning up against the desk.

"i'm sorry about him," eddie groans, rubbing his hand over his chin. "he is a little pushy about my love life."

"no, i'm sorry that he's weird about us. i swear i called you handsome once and he has never left it alone since," steve admits with a small blush.

eddie's eyebrows raise. "you think i'm handsome?"

"are you kidding me? you got this whole," steve gestures in a circle, "rockstar bravado going on. hard not to admire the show."

"well, you've got a show i admire too," eddie admits, inching closer.

steve huffs, looking down bashfully. "do i?"

"mhm. smart, genuine guy with a heart of gold. makes wayne's days better. lights up a room. probably rescues cats from trees and saves drowning puppies," eddie smiles.

steve tilts his head from side to side. "i may have rescued a cat before but it was stuck under my little brother Dustin's porch."

"see? heart of gold," eddie repeats.

steve exhales deeply, twisting his mouth. "i wasn't sure if you liked me."

eddie reaches his hand over and touches steve's hand on top of the desk. steve looks up shyly to eddie's sympathetic face. "i didn't want to-- there's a power trip here, you know? like you said, i sign your paychecks. i'm not about to pull out the moves and make you feel like your job is at risk if you aren't into it."

steve nods before slowly rubbing his thumb over eddie's.

"and if i am into it?" steve whispers.

"well i--" eddie stutters.

"can i kiss you?" steve asks quietly. eddie's not sure he's ever been asked in his entire life.

eddie nods. when steve's lips touch his, it's all over. any pretense of keeping his feelings undercover blows up like fireworks underneath his skin. eddie feels as his resolve sparkles and cracks away into the air. he encourages steve to keep kissing him by pulling in his face closer. steve sucks his bottom lip in between his own when his watch beeps.

"wayne's meds," steve whispers.

"old bastard," eddie jokes. "watch a movie with me later?"

steve bites his lip and nods. "i know just the couch."

#emily writes #emily's brain worms attacking her at work once again!!!!! #steddie ficlet #steddie #steddie au #steddie fics #steve harrington/eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson

[augustslippedavvay]

when i see you, the whole world reduces to just that room (eddie munson)

summary: after what feels like the longest year of your life, you’re ready to ring in 1987 in the wheelers’ basement with your closest friends, one of whom you’ve begun to think of as a little more than that - and you’re starting to suspect he might have, too.

author’s note: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! idk i’m supposed to be finishing like, eight other wips but i decided to spur of the moment write a really self indulgent new year’s eve blurb bc why not!!! i’m feeling festive!!! i hope u like <33 also i scouted TIRELESSLY for lyrics for a good title for this before i settled on this one from ‘don’t delete the kisses’ by wolf alice - i looked through like a dozen ‘new year’s kiss’-esque playlists to find a good song LMAOOO

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader word count: 2k <3 warnings: none just fluffy nonsense, mutual pining, maybe a lil angst bc of the events of season 4 

“I swear to all that is holy, if you two don’t make out tonight, I’m–”

“It’s not that simple, Buckley, okay?”

“It totally is that simple, Eddie! You’ve been crushing for ages, just kiss her already!”

“Everything alright in here?”

Eddie and Robin look up at where you’re leaning against the doorway, both of their faces pale, like you’ve caught them in the act of something reprehensible, but really they’re just standing in front of the kitchen sink talking in hushed voices. Which, in retrospect, isn’t any less suspicious. You cock an eyebrow. “I heard shouting.”

“Yeah, fine,” Robin says, smiling, then brushes past you on her way back to the basement. “Eddie and I were just discussing some very important business. I’ll be downstairs. Happy new year!”

“Happy new year,” you murmur, pressing a hand against her arm as she passes. You glance up at Eddie, frozen on the other side of the room, hesitating for a moment before stepping three paces closer. “You okay?”

Eddie hums, his back still turned to you. His Iron Maiden tee rides up on one side, exposing the tanned plane of his back as he reaches up to grab the champagne flutes Mrs. Wheeler keeps in the cupboard above the sink, where really nobody can reach them except the big kids, and now Mike, the beanpole. You press a thumb to your bottom lip contemplatively, take a small, shuddering breath.

“Are you sure? It sounded like you and Robin–”

“Yeah, sweetheart, all’s fine,” Eddie says, turning and gesturing towards himself with three glasses in his hand. “Can you help me grab the rest of these? Told Harrington I’d make sure they were ready for midnight.”

“Of course,” you murmur, taking the ones already in his hands into yours, your knuckles brushing only briefly against his, and watch him grab four more by the stem, wincing only slightly when they clink together. He turns to face you, meeting your eye momentarily and when you go to open your mouth again, he raises his eyebrows and angles his head in the direction of the basement. You sigh. “Yeah, sure, let’s get these downstairs.”

As you descend the stairs behind Eddie, you watch Robin, Steve, Vickie, and Nancy peel themselves apart, each of them giving you their own wary glances, heading off into different corners of the basement, busying themselves and avoiding your gaze. You stop abruptly when you reach the bottom of the stairs, try to cross your arms as far as they’ll go with the champagne flutes in your grasp.

“Seriously, you guys, what the hell is going on?”

“Nothing!” You shoot a glare at Robin, who crosses her heart with her fingers. “Nothing’s going on. Swear.”

“You’re all being so weird, and upstairs, in the kitchen, you and Eddie, like, practically jumped out of your skin when I walked in the room, and now this?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Robin insists, glancing sideways at Steve. “We, uh. We’ve all just been trying to convince Eddie to apply to work at that tiny new record store going in in the spring. He thinks it’s a long shot, but we all know he’s a shoe-in. He’s being too stubborn about it, honestly.”

Eddie scoffs, and you frown, but resume your descent, handing the champagne flutes to Steve, who sets them on a table set up in the furthest corner of the room. You glance at Eddie, suspiciously quiet, who’s ditched his own glasses and is now busying himself trying to figure out the TV.

“Fine, whatever.”

“We can have champagne tonight, too, right?” Max pipes up from the couch, and you narrow your eyes at her. She’s clearly in on whatever the others are up to, changing the subject like that. She holds her arms up defensively.

“No, Mayfield, everyone’s parents would kill me,” Steve scoffs, prompting some muttered insults from Max. “Hey, don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m serious.”

Protests pop up around the room, all of the kids suddenly offended at the prospect that they’re too young to have champagne with the rest of you, though they hadn’t been bothered until Max brought it up. 

“I mean, I think, like, half a glass wouldn’t hurt?”

Steve looks at Nancy, eyes wide, a bewildered look passing across his face. “Nance, I thought I’d at least have you on my side!”

Jonathan laughs and throws an arm around Nancy’s shoulder. He shrugs. “What’s the harm, Harrington? Nancy’s parents are out of town, we’re all just gonna crash here anyway. Live a little, dude.”

“Yeah, Harrington,” Max grins, and Steve shoots her a warning glance. 

“Fine, fine, whatever,” Steve says, glancing up at you. “Give me a hand again?”

Plastic cups of champagne are passed around, and you watch as everyone experiences it for the first time. El is sniffing the drink, not sure what to make of it, glancing up at Will, who seems not to mind the taste. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are all watching Max for her reaction, and when she takes her first sip she immediately pulls a face, disgusted. 

“God, it’s so…dry?”

Steve snorts. “It’s champagne, Mayfield! Get used to it!” 

On the TV, everyone is preparing for the ball to drop. Jonathan grabs Nancy, Vickie grabs Robin, and you watch all of your friends hug and preemptively wish one another a happy new year. After the year you’ve all had, you can’t help but tear up a little at the sight of everyone you love safe and happy and together in the same room.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie whispers, standing at your shoulder with a full flute of champagne in his outstretched hand. You thank him and tap the glass against his own, watching him over its rim as you take your first sip. Eddie clears his throat, one hand clasped around the back of his neck. “You wouldn’t by any chance, I don’t know, want to be my new year’s kiss?”

You swallow the sparkling wine, trying to discern from the look on his face whether he’s being serious or not. His brown eyes are so bright, even in the dimly-lit basement.

When you realize he’s not joking, you take a step closer to him. “Yeah, yes, Eddie,” you breathe, one hand pressed against his chest through his tee shirt. Your hand holding your drink drops to your side, and Eddie clasps one hand around it. 

“Yeah?” He says, grinning, and you nod one more time for good measure. One hand against the side of your face, Eddie lets out a long breath, his cheeks flushing. “You’re sure?”

“Munson,” you whisper into the space between your open mouths, and as the countdown starts, everyone in the room chants along. Five, four, three– “Kiss me.”

Eddie hardly hesitates, and when the clock strikes midnight, he presses his lips to yours before you’ve even had the chance to close your eyes. His mouth is soft, his body so warm. His nose bumps against yours when you shift your head to deepen the kiss, which he welcomes for a moment before pulling away.

You all cheer, ringing in the new year, and now your frostbitten cheeks mirror his own, laughing as you catch Steve’s eye.

“It’s about time,” Steve says, rolling his eyes, but it’s playful, and you glance up at Eddie, watching as a smile makes its way onto his face, and you start to smile, too. You shove Steve’s shoulder then tuck your face into Eddie’s neck, who wraps one protective arm around you.

“Be careful aiming that attitude at my girl, Harrington,” Eddie teases, palming the back of your neck, pulling your face back to look him in the eye. His gaze is drawn down toward your lips, still wet from his, and kiss-reddened, for only a moment before it meets yours once more. The affection you’re faced with almost knocks your knees out from under you.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you respond, leaning forward enough to push your nose against his. Eddie grins.

“He’s right, you know,” Eddie whispers, and you nod. He is right. “Been wantin’ to do that for so long, you’ve got no clue. Just never plucked up the courage.”

“Is this what all of you were up to tonight? Which one of these hooligans finally convinced you to do it?”

“Um, all of us hooligans, actually,” Steve murmurs, chugging the rest of the champagne in his flute and pulling a face. Robin gives you a guilty look and mouths Sorry! when you aim a halfhearted glare at her. “He was like a lovesick puppy. It was gross, the way he’d moon over you, making eyes at you whenever you turned your back.”

Eddie makes a noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head. “I was not mooning, Harrington.”

“Oh, you were mooning, man. Thank God that’s over.”

“Hey,” you murmur, grinning up at Eddie. “If I tell you I was mooning, too, but I was just better at hiding it, would that make you feel any better?”

“You know what,” Eddie sighs, planting a kiss on your cheek. “That does make me feel a lot better, sweetheart. Thank you.”

“No problem, baby.”

Eddie laughs at the pet name and pushes both hands up under the back of your shirt, pulling you tight against him, one of his thumbs underneath the band of your bra.

“Seriously, should we give you guys the room, or?”

“Shut it, Henderson,” Eddie grumbles, leaning down and pressing his lips back to yours once, twice, three more times. 

You grin against Eddie’s mouth and finally pull back for good, and when he whines, you give him a searing look. “We can continue this when there aren’t minors present, Munson.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, sweetheart.”

You begin to make your way around the room, hugging each of your friends close. Wishing everyone a happy new year. Knowing the cost everyone paid to be here today. Thankful to still be alive to hold the people you love. Glancing over at Eddie every once in a while, and finding that he’s already watching you, a sweet, shy smile on his face. 

And if you fall asleep that night on the couch spooning Eddie, waking up in the small hours of the morning to turn him in your arms and kiss him silly, no one else has to know. You pull away from him, lips aching from the memory of his against yours, and click your tongue.

“You really spent all year pining after me?”

“Well, not...all year long.” You give him a knowing look, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and he laughs softly. “Okay, yeah, most of the year. I swear it wasn’t as bad as Harrington made it seem, but you just - you made it really hard not to fall in love with you, sweetheart, what with saving my life, you know,” he whispers, biting his lip, and sucks in one more sharp breath before finishing with, “and all.”

Fondness softens your gaze. 

“You should’ve said something, Eddie,” you murmur, bringing your hand back up to run your knuckles across the side of his face. He preens at your featherlight touch, pursing his lips, his gaze slipping down to your mouth. “You should’ve said something sooner. I would’ve let you kiss me, like, six months ago, if I knew.”

“Yeah,” he says, laughing. “We got a lot of time to make up for.” 

The two of you fall into silence, and Eddie smiles at you, a slow, soft, lover’s smile, meant only for you in the dark of the Wheelers’ den, the unspoken thought that thank God you even can make it up hanging between you. It’s not lost on you that it’s a miracle you’re even holding him it all.

The others are scattered, asleep, elsewhere in the house. All of these people you love, these kids who’ve had to grow up so fast, who’ve all faced the prospect of a terrifying end head-on and found respite in one another after the fact. The strongest, bravest group of humans you’ve ever met. 

You hum, lost in thought, and shift so your face is pressed between Eddie’s neck and his pillow, your mouth against the skin right behind his ear.

“We have all the time in the world, Eddie.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson/reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things season 4 #stranger things season four #eddie munson stranger things #emily writes #lil blurb #i finished this while i was supposed to be getting ready to hang out w my friends tonight #the things i do for the little fanfiction people in my phone smh i love u all mwah i hope u like this!!! #also i read through it 3 or 4 times and spotted a few spelling/grammar mistakes that i fixed #but i might have missed more so sorry if u come across any!!! #also my 'c' key stopped working while i was writing this aksljdngfkl

[cooking-with-hailstones]

Forever Bound to the Soul of the Hero

Fi's retelling of the Breath of the Wild Memories

(Rated T: Canon typical violence)

For @linksthoughtbrambles

Awakening

I have been asleep for a very long time.

The woods where I was laid to rest have flourished since their destruction in the last war. The spirits of the forest are chittering with nervous anticipation as I spark back to wakefulness. The Great Deku Tree rumbles his warm welcome, even though my awakening signals a portent of doom.

I feel the evil gathering in the land. Even in my sleep, I have sensed the aura of dark energy seeping into the earth, the trees, the wind, the shifting of stone on stone.

It is hard to tell how long it has been between cycles. Sometimes millennia will pass, sometimes only a hundred years.  But every time the evil comes, someone will be chosen to fight back.

I can feel him out there. He sees me in dreaming, and he knows a great destiny awaits him.

It will soon be time. I shall be raised skyward once more.

Ceremony of Innocence:

“ Hero of Hyrule, chosen by the sword that seals the darkness… You have shown unflinching bravery and skill in the face of darkness and adversity. And have proven yourself worthy of the blessings of the Goddess Hylia. Whether skyward bound, adrift in time, or steeped in the glowing embers of twilight… The sacred blade is forever bound to the soul of the Hero. We pray for your protection…and we hope that-- that the two of you will grow stronger together, as one…”

I am afraid.

Much has been lost in the generations since the last champion of the Goddess bore me across his shoulders. I can see remnants of the technology, lingering vestiges that have not decayed over the millennia. But so much knowledge is gone. 

There is no mystery here as to why this spirit maiden is unable to awaken her powers. The Sheikah elders from whom she must receive guidance and instruction in every generation have lost their influence over the royal family. They are only now, through their adept understanding of ancient technologies, able to regain some of their former status. But the king and these so-called priests of Hylia take no account of the Sheikah’s wisdom. Instead, they have her bathing in the sacred springs, without any of the other rites of purification. They have her speaking prayers that carry no meaning and no power. And this blessing she speaks over Link, over my new master… 

This cannot be all there is. There is so much more to do. The hero’s soul has not been tempered, not been tested. While the sacred realm has long been sealed, the Sheikah of generations passed have devised many trials to strengthen our bond. But they are dormant, so it seems that this, too, is forgotten. 

I have been reduced to some mere symbol, a figurehead in this war. 

I am very afraid.

Listening 

“From here, we’ll make our way to Goron City. Then we’ll need some adjustments on that Divine Beast so Daruk can manage it as easily as possible. He’s figured out how to get it to move! However, it’s apparent that we still have much more to learn. But to think, that Divine Beast was actually built by people… That means we should be able to understand how it works and use it to our advantage. 

These Divine Beasts…so much we don’t know… But if we want to turn back the Calamity Ganon, they’re our best hope.”

My master always listens keenly to the spirit maiden Zelda, even though he lacks sufficient technical understanding to truly follow her excited monologues. She has much of Hylia’s wisdom and ingenuity. She is passionate and dedicated to her craft. In some ways, she is the most like Hylia of any of the spirit maidens I have ever encountered. I estimate that, given proper training and access to the correct tools, this spirit maiden would have a 78% likelihood of being able to forge an entity similar to myself. 

The lack of technical comprehension in this era continues to trouble me greatly. The slate the spirit maiden is holding is an invaluable tool, designed by the Sheikah to interface with my technology and assist in the transmission of information, transportation, and a myriad of other utilities that they cannot even fathom. All of these have been designed by the Sheikah to aid the fight against Ganon, and it is only being used at a fraction of its capacities. 

“Tell me the truth… How proficient are you right now, wielding that sword on your back? Legend says that an ancient voice resonates inside it. Can you hear it yet…hero?”

My master stops in his tracks. He cannot, I think forlornly to myself. I can see his thoughts, I am coming to know him little by little, but still, he cannot hear my voice. No matter how much I scream, my master only perceives me as an echo in his subconscious. 

Being the hero is not just a matter of drawing the sword – he isn’t tested. He has not passed through the goddess’ trials and forged the bond with the master sword through the goddess’ flame. His spirit may very well shatter when he confronts the agent of Demise. 

He is angry and sad and cannot tell her. He tries to listen for the sword but no one has ever taught him how, and I am too weak to reach him. 

And even now, I can feel the stirring in his heart. Every reincarnation of the Goddess draws the soul of the hero to her side. Whether friends or lovers, they cannot bear to hold hatred between them. I can feel the way his heart quickens when he has to grab hold of her. I know the thoughts he does not allow himself to think. 

He says nothing. She turns away in a huff, thinking this means he has nothing to say.

Devotion and Resentment 

My master has awoken, suddenly aware of Zelda’s absence from Tabantha stable. This is hardly the first time she has tried to evade him, but over the last few months he has become far more adept at finding her. 

There is a 75% probability that he has deducted that I am the reason he is able to trace where she has escaped, no matter how clever her trickery. He feels it not like the dowsing I used to perform, but rather as an itch behind his eyes. A compulsion that pulls him forward, towards her, demanding that he be near her. It was designed by the Goddess, that their souls should find each other. And I will always pull them together. He can no more stop following her than he can stop breathing.

After a fierce gallop across Tanagar canyon bridge and nudging his horse up to the ancient columns, he finally starts to relax. I can feel the tension leave his shoulders. 

Zelda, however, seems far from pleased. 

“I thought I made it clear that I am not in need of an escort,” she says with great indignation. “ It seems I’m the only one with a mind of my own. I, the person in question, am fine, regardless of the king’s orders. Return to the castle. And tell that to my father, please.”

She was in the process of examining one of the shrines left by the Sheikah monks, meant to temper the hero’s spirit and strengthen him for the trials ahead. These are objects of curiosity for Hylians, and for Zelda in particular, but they are meant to play a vital role. It is essential that the hero be able to access these shrines. Without completing a significant portion of the shrines, I predict a 98.2% chance that the hero’s spirit will break. 

My master takes this in stride. It is hardly the first time he’s weathered such outbursts. He steps in line, always three paces behind her. 

She whirls around. “And stop following me!”

She is so angry with him, all the time.  She does not understand that Hylia’s chosen hero will follow her to the ends of the earth and beyond. He will follow her through time, through space, through any hardship, just to see her safe and the land protected.

She does not yet know that she and the land are one. And he is now starting to realize that his duty, his destiny, is to protect them all.

A Champion’s Compassion

“Ah, well…you certainly got here fast. I should have expected as much from the princess’s own appointed knight.” The Gerudo champion looks down at the sleeping Zelda. “She was out on a survey all day today. Still as the sands now…” Turning to look at my master, her eyes sparkle in the desert night. “So…? Spill it, boy. Have the two of you been getting along all right?”

Quite the opposite, I think to myself. He must have heard the thought, because he winces. 

The champion laughs. “It’s OK… I know. Your silence speaks volumes.” She sighs, looking down at the sleeping princess on her lap . “She gets frustrated every time she looks up and sees you carrying that sword on your back. It makes her feel like a failure when it comes to her own destiny.”

And hardly fair, given how little progress this hero has made in his own right, I think sullenly. They are both so unprepared, so untested. Training drills and prayer are hardly enough to strengthen their spirits. The champions have been through much more rigorous trials to connect with their divine beasts. I am happy to say that Zelda’s confidence in them is well founded. 

“Don’t worry, it’s not like you carry blame in any of this.”   She sighs, stroking Zelda’s hair.  “It’s unfortunate. She’s put in more than enough time. Ever since she was a young girl, she’s gone through rigorous daily routines to show her dedication. She once passed out in the freezing waters trying to access this sealing power. And she has nothing to show for it… That’s the motivation driving her research. I’d be doing the same thing.”

I appreciate the Gerudo champion. She is a formidable blademaster, a dedicated champion, and a wise and supportive presence in Zelda’s life. Far more than can be said for the useless aristocrat that calls himself the king, without a drop of Hylia’s blood to his name. 

“She really is quite…special. You be sure to protect her with your life.” She looks at my master with a piercing maternal gaze. “It’s quite the honour.”

He knows this. I know he dreams of it every night. He knows he will fight and die for her. He meets Urbosa’s gaze, and I sense she knows it too. 

The champion reclines on her cushions. She has done much to make her divine beast a more comfortable abode, befitting a Gerudo chief. 

“The night brings a chill… It’s probably time we take her in. Or...” She smirks as some mischief crosses her mind, then with a snap of her fingers, the desert sky lights up with electricity.

My master stumbles at the quaking thunder and Zelda wakes up, frightened. Neither of them have ever been particularly fond of storms and lightning, even if they don’t know why. 

“Urbosa! What was that?! Did you feel that?!” Zelda gasps, before catching my master’s shadow by the doorway. 

“Wait, what--how did you-- what are you doing here?!”

He blushes furiously, and though the darkness might conceal the pinkish glow from some, Urbosa’s gaze is far too sharp to miss it. She leans back with a hearty laugh. 

“Wha-what’s so funny?”

“Ah, you, my dear.” Urbosa wipes a tear of mirth from her eye. “One day you’ll laugh about all of this.”

I hope she is right. They deserve to laugh. 

Blood on the Sand 

MASTER! I am screaming as loudly as I can. MASTER! DANGER! GO!

He feels my desperation, dropping the bundle of arrows he was examining from a merchant in the Kara Kara bazaar, and takes off sprinting towards the pull that he’s grown used to, the itch behind his eyes that’s always there. But now it is more acute, so loud he must be able to hear the ringing of the dowsing call in his ears. 

He rounds the corner and sees them. Those cursed agents of evil, seduced by the false promises of Demise, and they are chasing Zelda over the sands. They cackle, their wicked sickles glinting in the hot desert sun. There is a cold rage in my master’s heart, and he puts on another burst of speed, drawing me from my scabbard. I brace myself, ready for the battle, as the Yiga’s blade curves towards Zelda’s fallen body.

My master is quick, and ruthless. I feel myself slip through the Yiga’s neck with a cold efficiency as warm blood soaks the edge of my blade.  The body drops to the ground as he wheels around to face the other two. I can sense their fear, and I calculate only a 26% likelihood that they will attempt to continue the fight.  

Sure enough, they scatter and vanish into the desert wind. My master does not take his eyes from them until they are truly gone, only then sheathing my bloody blade and turning towards Zelda. He gives her his hand to help her upright. “Are you hurt?” he asks fearfully. I can feel his heart still pounding in his chest. 

Her eyes. She has never looked at him with any fondness before, but her eyes are brimming with gratitude and care. “ No, I’m fine, I just…” she pauses, and bursts into tears. 

I know Link is thinking nothing of propriety when he wraps his arms around her. I know she is thinking nothing of resentment when she buries her face in his shoulder and sobs, the fear and adrenaline rushing through her body. 

Maybe this is the beginning. Maybe this is how their spirits will grow. Maybe this is how evil will lose.

Laughter

I am not supposed to feel emotion. It was not part of my design. Yet after spending millennia borne by Hylians and getting to know their innermost thoughts, I have inevitably adapted to many of their traits. 

To that end, I am beginning to feel… frustrated. 

“There’s one! Oh! And another! The flowers we have in Hyrule aren’t just beautiful…They’re also quite useful as ingredients for a variety of things.”

Today the spirit maiden and my master are out on a field survey. I am grateful that they are getting along better, and that her resentment seems to have given way to a nascent friendship. My frustration is not with them. It simply irks me to see the Sheikah slate being used like some ordinary pictobox. 

She gasps with excitement, and Link quickly settles down beside her. 

“This one here is called the silent princess. It’s a rare, endangered species. Despite our efforts, we can’t get them to grow domestically yet. The princess can only thrive out here in the wild. All that we can hope…is that the species will be strong enough to prosper, on its own.”

She smiles, sadly, and my master’s heart flutters. He understands her meaning as clearly as I do. Neither of them can thrive here. They know that their destinies are not waiting for them inside the castle walls. 

The prayers, the training, the wasted time, the technology that they’ve only uncovered 18% of the capabilities of… they must feel as frustrated as I do. 

The somber moment is dissipated as Zelda gasps with excitement and lunges forward.

“Is that what I think it is?! Look at this, I don’t believe it, but I actually caught one! This delicacy is known to have very, very potent effects under the proper circumstances. Tada!”  

She opens her hands to reveal… a frog. My master recoils slightly.

“Research from the castle shows ingesting one of these can actually augment certain abilities. We wouldn’t be in a controlled environment out here, but with your level of physical fitness…you’d be a perfect candidate for the study! Go on! Taste it!”

Link makes a truly disgusted face. 

“Oh come now, I’ve seen you eating Goron rock roast. Surely you’re not put off by a little bit of mucus for the sake of scientific inquiry?”

She may have a point there. This particular incarnation of the Hero’s spirit seems to have a stomach made of cast iron. 

With a resigned sigh – he truly cannot refuse her anything – he leans down towards her hands… and the frog leaps straight into his face. He startles, falling backwards on his rear as the frog scampers away. 

Zelda collapses to the ground in a fit of infectious giggles, and soon enough the pair of them are leaning on each other as their laughter echoes through the hillside.

The Question of Destiny

In truth, I do relish sword drills. It is for my benefit as well; learning how my master moves, what his grip is on the sword, the gestures he favours. My algorithms internalize and optimize every movement. As we practice together, we grow closer. Even if he cannot hear me, he knows that I am with him, helping to guide his actions and see that each strike lands true.  

Zelda watches him closely from her shelter beneath the tree.

“I doubt this will let up anytime soon… Your path seems to mirror your father’s. You’ve dedicated yourself to becoming a knight, as well. Your commitment to the training necessary to fulfill your goal is really quite admirable. I see now why you would be the chosen one.”

He stiffens slightly. His father had only died a year ago, and the wound was still fresh. But Zelda seems too lost in her own thoughts to notice.

“What if… One day…You realised that you just weren’t meant to be a fighter. Yet the only thing people ever said…was that you were born into a family of the royal guard, and so no matter what you thought, you had to become a knight. If that was the only thing that you were ever told… I wonder, then…would you have chosen a different path?”

There was no other destiny for my master. He was born to be Hylia’s chosen.

Not for the first time in my long existence, I wonder at the cruelty of the Goddess’ choice of mortal champions in this cosmic war.

Link pauses a moment before returning me to the sheath across his back. 

“This… isn’t about me, is it?”

Zelda blushes. “I… well…”

He takes her hand. I can feel both of their heartbeats quicken.

“I think…” he pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I think that no matter who I was, where I was born, whatever was expected of me…”

“Yes?”

“I would find my way to you.”

Prayer and Dedication

It is a unique pain that my master must experience, and thus I experience alongside him. The unique pain that comes from watching someone you love torture themselves for circumstances beyond their control.

These prayers are useless. She is not praying to a Goddess. She is meant to awaken the Goddess within her own spirit. But they still cannot hear me, and nothing I could suggest to my master would have any effect. And so, I sit, sheathed and silent as my master and I ache at the desperation in Zelda’s voice. 

“I come seeking help, regarding this power that has been handed down over time. Prayer will awaken my power to seal Ganon away… Or so I’ve been told all my life. 

And yet… Grandmother heard them--the voices from the spirit realm. And Mother said her own power would develop within me. But I don’t hear, or feel anything! 

Father has told me time and time again… He always says, “Quit wasting your time playing at being a scholar!” Curse you…”

Holy water splashes against clenched fists. 

“I’ve spent every day of my life dedicated to praying! I’ve pleaded to the spirits tied to the ancient gods. And still the holy powers have proven deaf to my devotion.  Please just tell me, what is it…? What’s wrong with me?!”

Link’s composure finally cracks. I am truthfully relieved when he drops me down on the stones and splashes into the spring, wrapping a sobbing Zelda in his embrace.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. We’ll figure this out, together. I promise, Zelda, I promise…” He strokes her hair, and she weeps all the more.

I cannot weep, it is not in my design. I should not feel emotion, but despite my programming, I have begun to understand something of grief. Oh, children, what have we done to you?

They may not succeed. They may not have the strength and ability to fight off the coming Calamity. But I will fight back. The Goddess created me to protect and guide her chosen. I must do whatever I can. 

Calamity and Corruption

The final spring. The last hope they had. And just as I had predicted, nothing happened. 

The champions all do their best to conceal their dismay, offering words of encouragement to Zelda, but to little avail. The Zora champion starts to say something, but –

The ground shakes.

The sky darkens.

The Rito champion launches himself skyward to see what’s taking place, but before I even hear his horrified gasp, I know what has happened. 

My master leaps forward to support Zelda as she stumbles. He does not need to be told either. Just as with every Hero’s spirit preceding him, he has seen this moment in his dreams since he was an infant. But he is not ready, Zelda is not ready and the Calamity must know this as well. It has chosen this precise moment of despair to strike. 

The champions disperse, each of them racing back to their Divine Beasts. Without the spirit maiden’s sealing power, the only hope at holding the Calamity at bay now lies with the strength of the champions. 

Link and Zelda, now alone, race down the promenade towards Kakariko village. Bolts of purple and black tar seem to be streaking across the sky overhead, the sunset rapidly disappearing behind the dark clouds.

This is unfamiliar to me. What kind of attack is the Calamity readying? I have never witnessed this before. 

They keep running, over the Sahasra slope and towards Hyrule field. The castle is the nexus point. Link must be ready for when the champions reach the divine beasts for their attack. We must try to defeat the Calamity, with or without the Goddess’ power. There is only a 2.6% chance that we succeed, but 2.6% is not 0. 

beep

What…?

beep    beep beep beepbeepbeepbeep

A guardian! Link and Zelda both heave a sigh of relief. The guardians have been deployed from Castle Town to protect the surrounding villages. At least that will provide some measure of safety.

Wait... Something’s wrong.

POW!

Without a moment to spare, Link tackles Zelda to the ground out of the way of the guardian’s deadly line of fire. Without a second thought, he pulls me from my scabbard, leaps forward and drives me straight into the guardian’s vulnerable eye. It sparks, fizzes, and collapses, purple smoke billowing out of its joints.

“What’s going on?” Zelda screams, as torrents of purple-black tar continue to pour from the sky onto Hyrule field and Castle town. “Why did it fire at us?”

Wasting no time, Link grabs her arm and whirls around, sprinting back the way they came and dragging Zelda behind him. 

“Link, no! We need to go to the castle!”

“Zelda, we – ”

A bolt of purple tar slams into me.

“The master sword!” Zelda cries. 

CORRUPTION! 

This is the Calamity’s plan! Oh, Hylia, no!

He has remembered his defeat from 10,000 years ago. He remembered the technology that was turned against him and his armies, and his hatred and malice are now corrupting every element of Sheikah technology, and everything they interface with.

Including me.

NO! I twist through the dark tendrils reaching through my circuitry. YOU WILL NOT TOUCH ME. I WAS CREATED BY THE GODDESS HYLIA, AND I WILL NOT YIELD TO YOU, FOUL AGENT OF DEMISE. 

I push back along these tendrils of malice, burning them away with the divine light of the Goddess. I reach through the telepathic link I share with the Sheikah technology, cutting and blazing through the spreading rot. The Sheikah slate, the towers, the shrines, all the creations designed to interface with the Hero’s soul, I can still connect with them! With every scrap of energy I have left, I burn away the malice creeping through their networks.

The malice fights back, the darkness spreading… but I will not yield.

Exhaustion and Despair 

The forest near the bottomless swamp is dark and twisted, the tangled roots and mud are treacherous in the shadow of the storm. It is almost dawn, they haven’t slept, they are still running.  I can feel the exhaustion creeping in, their stamina depleting. I too am exhausted - still fighting against the malice, trying to keep it at bay. I cannot help them any more than this. 

Zelda stumbles and cries out, falling to her knees on the path made slick by torrential rains. 

“How… How did it come to this?”

My master kneels beside her, desperate to move along, but reticent to force her to keep running. 

“The Divine Beasts…The Guardians… They’ve all turned against us. It was Calamity Ganon. It turned them all against us!”

She is weeping in earnest now, rivers of tears meeting the raindrops already pouring down her face.

“And everyone--Mipha, Urbosa, Revali and Daruk… They’re all trapped in those things… It’s all my fault! Our only hope for defeating Calamity Ganon is lost, all because I couldn’t harness this cursed power! Everything--everything I’ve done up until now… It was all for nothing. So I really am just a failure! All my friends, the entire kingdom, my father most of all… I tried, and I failed them all… I’ve left them all to die…

“Zelda…” he grips her tighter. “Zelda, we have to go. There may be soldiers who can protect you at Fort Hateno. We need to go.”

She nods miserably, taking his arm and standing up again. They turn to the misty shadows, and keep running.

I truly had hoped their love might be enough. 

Hylia Reborn

They are tracking us. Some corruption of their programming has locked them to our signal. Perhaps it is me they are tracking, a beacon of the Goddess’ light flickering amid the swirling chaos of malice.

Wouldn’t that be ironic. 

The guardians homing in on us are coming thick and fast. While I am able to target their weak points with a respectable accuracy, I was made to cut through Demise’s creations - beings of corrupted flesh. I was never made to fight these machines. 

Link is exhausted. Almost two days with little sleep and hardly any food, he has taken more than his fair share of blows. There are gashes across his legs and arms that are oozing blood, and three of his ribs are broken. I predict that he will lose consciousness in less than four minutes. 

But Zelda is unharmed, for now. Nothing else matters to him at this moment.

He stabs me through the eye of yet another guardian, staggering backwards and leaning on me heavily.

“Link, save yourself! Go! I’ll be fine! Don’t worry about me! Run!”

He can hardly hear her through the blood rushing in his ears, and the incessant beeping as they scan for us. I don’t know what to do! The Goddess left no instructions for this. I have never witnessed my master die. 

Another guardian has spotted us through the husks of its fellows. My master is so tired, and I have no strength to give him.

And yet Link pulls me up once more, readying himself and covering Zelda with his body, as the laser flares to life. 

This is it. 

Hylia, forgive me. I have failed you.

“NO!”

Zelda leaps forward, throwing herself in front of Link, hands raised in desperation. What is she -?

The world explodes with golden light.

Link winces, but does not shield his eyes. Nor would I, if I had eyes to behold this sight. The light radiates from her, guardians exploding and collapsing in its wake. 

She did it. Hylia has come into her own!

“Was… Was that…? The power?” she whispers in the sudden quiet that follows as the corrupted machines power down.

You did it, Zel. he thinks, and seeing her safe, he finally yields to the pain. 

She whirls around as he falls. “ No, no…Link! Get up!” She lifts him into her arms, hardly noticing the blood soaking into her ruined dress. “You’re going to be just fine…”

He looks up to her, eyes full of pride, of sadness, and love, and then he lets the darkness take him. 

Our telepathic link snaps. I cannot sense his thoughts anymore. He is... gone. 

Hylia help me, I did everything I could, but I could not save him. May the Goddess forgive me. 

The Goddess holds his body and weeps.

But, wait.

Against the pommel of the sword, I feel the slightest pressure.

thump thump

thump thump

thump thump

A pulse. A pulse! His heart is still beating. He might yet be saved!

With my  limited remaining computing power, I desperately run through the calculations. The medical infrastructure needed to treat these wounds is sorely lacking in this era of Hyrule, but... Yes! It is there! Reaching through the Sheikah network, I can feel it, safe from the Calamity’s corruption. I remember the monk Maz Koshia designing this shrine for just this reason. The Shrine of Resurrection. 

Above me, Zelda shifts. Slowly, she starts to relinquish him, not noticing the pulse that I can feel, still beating ever so faintly in his chest.

No. NO! She cannot let go! 

HYLIA, HEAR ME! I am screaming through broken circuits and fragmented code. I have been damaged beyond anything I was designed to withstand, I am decayed beyond measure, but she is awake! She must listen!

ALIVE

My strength is fading, but she cannot abandon him! Not now! 

ALIVE

ALIVE

“The sword…?” 

She has heard me! YES.

“So he can… He can still be saved?”

QUICKLY, THERE IS NO TIME! THE SHRINE OF RESURRECTION ON THE GREAT PLATEAU. YOU MUST TAKE HIM THERE, NOW. IT IS THE ONLY WAY.

“I… how..?”

“Princess!” a voice echoes from across the field. The Sheikah, loyal to the last, have tracked the Goddess here. Their timing could not be better.

“Princess! Are you all right?”

She draws herself up with a strength I have never seen in her before. 

“Take Link to the Shrine of Resurrection. If you don’t get him there immediately, we are going to lose him forever! Is that clear?! So make haste and go! His life is now in your hands!”

The two men nod, immediately setting to work to stabilize him for the journey. They lift him carefully, wrapping his deepest wounds in bandages, before melting into the shadows as only Sheikah can. Zelda watches them disappear into the rain, then grips me hard, clutching me to her chest.

“You speak? I can hear you? How? How is this possible?”

With the last bit of strength I can muster, I answer. YOU ARE AWAKE. 

“The power?”

YES. THROUGH YOUR GRACE AND WISDOM, AND LOVE FOR MY MASTER, YOU HAVE FOUND THE TRUE POWER OF YOUR SPIRIT.

“What do I do?” she cries. “How can I seal the Calamity without Link? Without the champions?”

BREATHE, ZELDA. 

I am not meant for this task. I am meant to guide the hero, not the spirit maiden, but I carry enough of the Goddess’ memories to know what must be done while she waits for the hero to return.

YOUR POWERS SHOULD NOW CONNECT YOU TO THE SPIRIT MAIDENS WHO HAVE COME BEFORE YOU. LISTEN TO THEM. THEY WILL GUIDE YOU. 

She looks startled, but she does what I say. Sitting in the mud amid the husks of the defeated guardians, she takes a deep, shuddering breath. Her ancestors gather around, and I hear the whispers of Hylia’s past incarnations floating past me, just on the edge of hearing. She glows with a faint golden light in the falling rain. After a few minutes, she opens her eyes.

“Yes.” She says. “Even if he cannot yet be defeated. I can hold the Calamity at bay. I… I have done it before.”

MANY TIMES

She nods. “And what of you? I cannot bring you with me, but I cannot leave you here.”

I am barely capable of speaking anymore. The decay of the malice has been stopped by her light, but I am already close to shattering. 

I AM WEARY. I MUST HEAL. 

“Of course, what must I do?”

TAKE ME TO THE LOST WOODS. THE CHILDREN OF THE FOREST WILL LEAD YOU THERE. 

Laid to Rest

With the spirit of the Goddess awakened within her, Zelda can now see the korok spirits guiding her, from the field of battle all the way through the Lost Woods. Now she stands at the roots of the Great Deku Tree. At last, I can rest. In Hylia’s light, my master and I shall both become whole again.

“Your master will come for you. Until then, you shall rest safely here. Although the Slumber of Restoration will most certainly deprive him of his memories, please trust me when I say that I know he will arrive before you yet again.”

She places me carefully back in the pedestal at the Great Deku Tree’s roots. I feel myself slipping into my deep sleep once again. 

As my consciousness fades, I hear the Deku Tree ask “If I may be so bold…what is it that you are planning to do next, Princess?”

Zelda looks resolute. “The Master Sword… I heard it speak to me. It seems that my role is unfinished. There is still something I must do.”

“I sense there is great strength in your dedication.”

She has greater strength than ever. She is not alone anymore. The spirits of her ancestors are guiding her now, all the way back to the first Zelda who sealed Demise for a thousand years, waiting for her hero to return. 

“Great Deku Tree, I ask of you, when he returns, can you please relay this message… Tell him I—"

He interrupts her. “ Now, then… Words intended for him would sound much better in the tones of your voice, don’t you think?”

She smiles up at him, nods in understanding.

As my consciousness finally slips away, I think to myself, dearest Zelda. He already knows. He loves you too.

Awakening II

He is awake, and so am I. 

The spirits of the forest are chittering with excitement. Even as I rest here, I can hear the Great Deku Tree stirring with anticipation. We all felt the call of the spirit maiden locked away in Hyrule Castle, calling him once again to her side. I have felt her longing for him these hundred years. 

This time, he will grow strong in spirit. This time, we shall fight together. 

This time, the Calamity will fall.

Thanks so much for reading! You can also find this fic on AO3

#emily writes #my writing #fanfiction #skyward sword #Fi #loz fi #zelink #botw zelink #BOTW link #BOTW Zelda #hateno house gift exchange #hateno house #linksthoughtbrambles #gift exchange #fi lore #sheikah tech #calamity ganon

[sicknessinmotion]

KILL ME IF IT'S WORTH IT; ON FLESH.

silas denver melvin // ethel cain // george bataille // blythe baird // margaret atwood // nicole homer // emily palermo.

#sorry 2 silas denver melvin for having to endure all the posts where he's mentioned </3 #on flesh #web weaving #silas denver melvin #ethel cain #george bataille #blythe baird #margaret atwood #nicole homer #emily palermo #writing #poetry #webweaving #quotes

[perfectfeelings]

It always takes two. For relationships to work, for them to break apart, for them to be fixed.

Emily Giffin

#Emily Giffin #motivation #quotes #poetry #literature #relationship quotes #writing #original #words #love #relationship #thoughts #lit #prose #spilled ink #inspiring quotes #life quotes #quoteoftheday #love quotes #poem #aesthetic

[anna-scribbles]

thirteen_decemberLOADING.jpeg

#posting this as a morale boost…. #i WILL write this chapter i WILL i WILL #I WILL WRITE IT NOW #ml #miraculous ladybug #emilie agreste #my art #thirteen

[clockworkouroboros]

At long last, I’ve finally started working on the Gallifrey high school au again. just a little at a time, but god, I’d missed it. And I’d gone on hiatus right as I was getting to the part where I could have Narvin and Leela actually like each other!

#this post was brought to you by high school au narvin subconsciously comparing leela to an angel #emily writes #gallifrey audios #galli hs au