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separatist-apologist · 11 months

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Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

It wasn’t every day the High Lord walked into the library. When Gwyn saw him from behind the stacks, she thought she must have hallucinated him. She wasn’t the only one—everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him, straight backed and elegant, though somehow casual. No crown, no cape, no trailing starlight to follow in his wake. Just the High Lord in a black and silver tunic and an easy smile on his face.

Gwyn didn’t hear what he asked for, ears buzzing with surprise. Clotho’s eyes found her across the room, nodding toward the High Lord.

“Me?” she whispered because surely not. Merril, perhaps. That made more sense. He’d come to talk with Merril and Gwyn was the person to take him to her. She stood utterly still as he made his way toward her, hunching ever so slightly as he approached. Cassian did the same thing, trying to make himself smaller so he seemed less imposing.

No one was scared of the High Lord, though. Awed, perhaps, but unlike Cassian and Azriel who looked like warriors, the High Lord merely looked like a slick courtier. No wings, no magic. Just a male who’d given them a home, a job, and a purpose. His protection when he could manage it and his vengeance when he could not.

Don’t think about Hybern, don’t think about Hybern—

“Gwyneth Berdara, correct?” Rhysand asked, his voice smoother than velvet. Gwyn blinked.

“Yes,” she whispered, balling her blue dress at her side.

“Can I buy you lunch?” he asked with an easy smile.

“Me?’ she squeaked, pinching herself subtly just to be sure this wasn’t all a very strange, very real dream.

“Yes, you,” Rhysand replied, his violet eyes pinned wholly on her. “We could go upstairs, if you like? Or into Velaris, if you’re agreeable.”

Choices. Gwyn liked that he was offering her a choice without any emphasis on his own preference. She couldn’t tell which he liked better, which she supposed was the point. No matter what she said, Rhysand would be delighted.

“Um,” she swallowed, thinking privacy might be best depending on what it was he was after. “Upstairs is good.”

“Lead the way,” he offered, gesturing toward the stairs. Nesta would be around somewhere, too. Gwyn hadn’t seen her in the library yet, at any rate, which was promising. Gwyn did as Rhysand asked, turning carefully toward the entrance of the library. Every eye was pinned to her, their curiosity burning against her spine. It would be all anyone wanted to speak about later and Gwyn wasn’t certain she wanted to be the center of their attention.

Rhysand paced behind her, agile as a cat and seemingly unaware of the attention that followed him. Perhaps he was used to it, given he was the High Lord. Gwyn could imagine people were always staring at him. What was that like?

Awful, she decided.

That was why he was High Lord and she wasn’t. He could handle that attention while Gwyn decidedly could not. She liked being alone far too much and would have shriveled into dust if people were always looking at her like some kind of god.

Gwyn led Rhysand up the stairs, turning when they reached the House itself, rather than continuing the trek up to the roof like she so always did. A pang of guilt flooded her when she remembered Emerie’s reproachful words. She had been avoiding them, evidenced by the fact that Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d come to visit Nesta.

She opened the door to Cassian, dressed not in his usual training clothes but in a rather nice pair of black pants and well-tailored blue and silver tunic. He’d pulled half his shoulder length hair from his face and had shaved his typically stubbled face down to the skin.

Behind her, Rhysand chuckled.

“Big plans?”

“Shut it,” Cassian snapped, stepping out of the way so Gwyn could pass. “House is all yours.”

“Thanks,” Rhysand replied, smiling widely. Gwyn waited until Cassian vanished behind him, trailing the scent of cedar and pine in his wake.

“He’s taking Nesta to the cabin,” Rhysand told Gwyn conspiratorially. She could read the subtext well enough, though she kept it to herself. It was strange enough to see the High Lord talking to her like she was a friend, let alone making a little joke at Cassian’s expense.

She led Rhysand through the moonstone halls of the home that belonged to him, another thing that felt supremely weird. If it bothered him, he gave no indication of it.

Rhysand dropped into a chair at the table, foregoing the head so he could seat himself across from her. He was strange—nothing like he ought to be. With a wave of his hand, Rhysand shortened the table so it would be easier to talk.

“Wine?” he asked, that tattooed hand still in the air.

“Um,” she began, wishing he’d just tell her what he wanted. “Sure.”

Another wave brought roasted chicken and bread rolls, a decanter of wine, and steaming, richly spiced vegetables. Rhysand poured two glasses, gesturing for her to help herself.

Gwyn did, trying—and failing—to seem unbothered. Barely tasting that first bite, Gwyn waited for him to just say what he wanted. Had she done something? Was she being reprimanded, then? There was nothing she could think of, though she had been with his cousin the night before and like she always did, Gwyn had failed the obstacle course at the first row of enchanted warriors. Had Morrigan told him and he’d guessed the problem?

“So,” Rhysand began, unaware of her rising panic. “I have a job for you, if you’re interested.”

Gwyn’s fork clattered to the table, slipping from her nervous fingers. “A job?”

He smothered a smile. “Yes. Cassian suggested you might be a good fit for something I need.”

Gwyn couldn’t imagine being the first choice for any job. Not when Rhysand’s High Lady and cousin both seemed so capable.

“Oh.”

Her inability to muster up any enthusiasm didn’t deter him. “You wouldn’t be alone. Azriel will be with you.”

Oh. What did he think of this job? Gwyn was tempted to ask and didn’t think she could stand to see that smile fade from the High Lord’s face as he assured her Azriel agreed with Cassian. Gwyn knew he hadn’t, and that was why the High Lord had come. Azriel had told Rhysand to break the news and Cassian had decided to slink off rather than get roped in. Did Nesta know, too?

“What is the job?”

“An exchange of information,” Rhysand said slickly. “We’re building a relationship with Montessere. They’re curious about our history and some of our magic, and we’re curious about their history and their magic.”

“Why does Azriel need to be there for that?” she asked before thinking better of it. The High Lord’s gaze sharpened, his fork hovering between his plate and his mouth.

“Would you believe me if I said he was there for your safety?”

“No,” she replied, deciding to just be honest.

“Smart.” Rhysand took a bite, his expression thoughtful. Light bounced off his inky hair, gobbled up as though it couldn’t stand to touch him. “He has his own job.”

One the High Lord wasn’t willing to share. But Gwyn wasn’t entirely stupid and judging by the sly smile on his face, he knew it, too.

“So I’m a distraction.”

“I want whatever information you can get,” he replied, not bothering to deny her words. “And you may share things about Prythian within reason.”

“Will you provide me a list of what I can and cannot share?” she questioned, unsure if she’d accept the job. Leaving for months to the continent was almost an intolerable thought. Going with Azriel, who she could barely look at—who rarely spoke and wasn’t exactly what she’d call a friend? That seemed worse. She’d be alone, without her friends or the comfort of her routine.

“Of course,” Rhysand replied through another mouthful of food. “I’ll provide anything you need. And of course you’ll be compensated.”

As if she was concerned about that. “Can I think about it?” she asked him, her appetite gone beneath the realization that the High Lord had come to her, and she didn’t want to disappoint him.

And she didn’t want to leave.

“You can,” Rhysand agreed, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin she hadn’t seen him conjure. “It will take me some time to arrange it, so think it over. Talk with Nesta about it when she returns. I’m sure she’ll have thoughts.”

Nesta would tell Gwyn to do it, though. Of that, Gwyn had no doubt though it was clear Rhysand didn’t think so. Nesta would see it as a grand opportunity for adventure, to test out everything they’d been training for. She wasn’t even wrong—it was a chance to expand the knowledge of her court and the home she loved.

And it would be an adventure. Just…maybe not the kind she needed. And if she needed it, she didn’t think she wanted it. “It’s just…”

Rhysand’s eyes softened as Gwyn tried to force the words from her throat.

“I’ve never left,” she finally concluded. “And my sister is here.” “We’ll keep her safe,” Rhysand told her, stretching his tattooed hand across the table. Tentatively, Gwyn accepted, surprised by the warmth of his skin. “And you, if you’d let us.”

“I’ll think about it,” she whispered, swallowing hard. Rhysand released her hand, reclining in his chair like this was a completely normal afternoon to him. Maybe it was. Maybe being High Lord included roaming his territory for people who could complete little jobs for him.

“Let me know,” Rhysand said, rising from his chair with all the grace she’d expect from him. “Come by if you’re feeling up to it. My mate would love to meet you in person.”

The Feyre Archeron. Gwyn watched the High Lord smother a smile as though he’d guessed her thoughts. She didn’t think she had the nerve to meet the Cursebreaker in person. The High Lord was enough, at least for now. Gwyn nodded, heart thudding in her chest loud enough there was no way he couldn’t hear it.

Assuming, of course, the stench of her fear wasn’t overwhelming him. The High Lord was too polite to ever say so and Gwyn too cowardly to ever admit what was frightening her. He didn’t seem like he’d ever been scared a day in his life.

Of course, if someone had put a sword to his sister's neck, he probably would have wiped them off the face of the map with a flick of his finger. Rhysand wouldn’t have been helpless, frozen with fear.

Rhysand offered her a soft smile, his eyes filled with the all-too familiar pity. Gwyn flinched without meaning to. She hated that her past was so plain, a mark on her face for everyone to read.

“I look forward to talking again,” he told her before sweeping out of the room in a trail of shadow and star-flecked night. Gwyn remained, practically plastered to her chair.

Drowning in indiscretion.

AZRIEL:

“I heard a rumor about you,” Feyre began, appearing seemingly from thin air. Azriel didn’t jump, though his High Lady had startled him. Looping her arm through his, Feyre adjusted the cloth bag of painting supplies on her shoulder until Azriel took them from her. There was a drying smudge of blue on her freckled cheek, a near match for those bright eyes of hers.

Feyre was happy, all but glowing beneath the gloomy afternoon sky.

“Oh?” he finally asked when it was clear Feyre wasn’t going to tell him the rumor until he responded.

“Were you out last night? With a female?”

Internally, Azriel groaned. Fucking Mor, he thought affectionately, trying—and failing—to be angry with her loose lips. Of course she’d skip right into breakfast that morning and tell her cousin and best friend his little escapades.

“Was I?” he replied, suppressing a smile.

“Multiple, was the way I heard it. In the alley, and then a bathroom…and was there someone thrown over your shoulder?”

“No,” he replied, the thought rather amusing. “None of that happened.”

“Of course not,” Feyre teased, poking him in the rib. “But I did hear you slunk out with someone. Who was she?”

Azriel had no idea. He hadn’t asked for a name and she hadn’t provided one. That was how he preferred it, if he was honest. The point was the release, not to find someone he wanted to marry. Of course Feyre would want him to—it would make her family nice and tidy, and if there was one thing he knew about Feyre, it was her love of happy endings. And she’d never be satisfied until he was settled, too.

Even if he had a wife—and Azriel had no idea what he’d do with one—he doubted he’d ever feel settled.

“No one,” he replied, bumping her gently with his shoulder. “Don’t concern yourself with my comings and goings.”

“Why shouldn’t I? We’re family, aren’t we?”

Azriel’s stomach went tight at the thought. He, Rhys, and Cassian were family…but even then, he often felt on the outside. Cassian and Rhys had been friends first and their friendship had always been easy and effortless. Azriel hadn’t known how to make friends back then, and sometimes now he still wondered what it was they even liked about him.

Sometimes, though he’d never admit it to his High Lady, Azriel could still hear Rhys’s fathers voice in his head, talking to him mind to mind as he’d so often done. Azriel hadn’t been allowed shields back then, not like Rhys so casually allowed now. And Azriel had never dared to tell Rhys the extent of what had gone on with his father.

Shadowsingers are valuable. My son has been hiding you…a weapon to use against me.

Azriel had vowed back then to be indispensable to the High Lord as a matter of survival. And when he’d died and Rhys ascended, he didn’t know how to stop. He merely made himself whatever Rhys needed him to be, terrified he’d wake up one day and realize Azriel wasn’t the sort of friend he wanted in the first place.

“Az?” Feyre waved her hand in front of his face. Or, she tried to. Feyre was too small to reach him, though he certainly enjoyed watching her jump up and try. All she succeeded in doing was smacking him on the cheek.

Red faced, she gasped, “I’m sorry.”

“Unforgivable,” he replied flatly, letting her sweat it for a moment. “I’m telling your mate.”

Feyre relaxed. “I heard you’re going to Montessere,” she said, angling her jaw to look at him. No one paid them any mind as they strolled arm and arm down the street. It was a common enough occurrence, though Azriel would never get over the way people treated him.

Like a hero. A warrior god, someone they respected, that they paid deference to. It was clear, from the way Feyre angled away from those who bowed as she passed, that she felt the same. Azriel knew enough about Feyre’s humble beginnings, told to him mostly by Rhysand and Cassian. He’d never pry.

But sometimes he felt a kinship between himself and his High Lady, who only ever wanted peace and security. She, too, had made herself into a weapon, and had martyred herself upon that altar again and again.

Now she had it. Azriel would have died if it meant Feyre wore that effortless, easy smile. They all would have. She’d given them something they hadn’t had for decades—hope. Even Azriel felt it, was grateful in a way he couldn’t put into words.

“As soon as Rhys works it out,” Azriel agreed, relaxing when they turned for the river. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

“Are you excited?”

That wasn’t the word he’d use, though he understood what Feyre meant. Are you scared? But if she asked him like that, he’d be honor bound to assure her nothing scared him. Azriel scanned the horizon, well-aware there were no threats hurtling toward them. Only the River House, glittering like a jewel even under an overcast sky.

“Sure.”

“With a priestess?” she hedged, dancing around what she really wanted to ask. Azriel swallowed a sigh. He didn’t believe for a moment that Gwyn had agreed. At most, she’d told Rhys she’d think about it but Azriel knew full well he was going alone. “Or Lucien?”

He couldn’t help the growl. Feyre jabbed him with her elbow, her expression reproachful. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, well aware Feyre didn’t like dissent in her ranks. For better or worse, they were all stuck with Lucien until Elain made a decision. Which was worse, he wondered? Lucien at every holiday or knowing one of the Archeron sisters would reject a mate? Both equally made his skin crawl.

Feyre only sighed with exasperation. He was grateful when she changed the subject to her shop, telling him of the children who’d come that day and how good they were getting at drawing little faces. Azriel liked these stories. The world was slowly reacclimating after the war. When he was away, bored or hurt or miserable, he’d think of these things.

Children, safe enough to learn to paint. His High Lady smiling as she made her way back to her own son who was just learning to wobble on two legs and would be flying before they could stop him. His friends, casual at dinner, gossiping about his love life.

It made the hard times seem worth it.

Azriel left Feyre outside the River House, making some vague, generic excuse that Feyre almost certainly didn’t believe. She let him lie, though, and that was enough. Azriel took the sky, reveling in the wind on his wings, ruffling his hair as he landed not on the roof, but the outdoor exterior hall overlooking the mountains. Cold air faded in whatever magic kept the house running, and the smell of chicken beckoned him into the dining room.

He couldn’t remember the last actual meal he’d had. Making his way down the hall, he realized he’d have the house to himself for the next several days. Cassian had taken Nesta to the cabin which they were all grateful for, though Azriel didn’t relish returning anytime soon. Cassian was messy.

And loud.

Nesta wasn’t any better, though she was at least polite about it.

Azriel rounded the corner, surprised to see Gwyn staring toward the wall of windows, her own food untouched on her plate. She held a fork between her fingers while coppery-brown hair spilled over shoulders clad in that distinct shade of priestess blue. Gwyn, like so many of the priestesses who came to training, weren’t anything like the ones in other temples. He often wondered what made them so different from the ones like Ianthe and her ilk.

Gwyn lacked their ambition, he supposed.

She startled when he stepped in fully, intentionally making his steps heavy so she’d realize he was around. He would have done it sooner had he realized she was here. Waving a hand, he said,

“Stay,” when she started to rise.

“Did you know?” she accused, always ready for a fight. He felt his temper flare, though he settled it in favor of sitting at the shortened table.

“Yes.”

There was no point lying to her. Not if she might be working with him—he’d need her to trust him, just as he’d need to be able to trust her, too. He didn’t like the notion of relying on another person.

Azriel worked solo for a reason. No one could let him down or disappoint him if he was on his own.

“Thanks for warning me,” she grumbled, pushing out of her chair like a petulant child. Maybe Rhys was right—maybe Vanserra was the better choice. They would at least ignore each other like gentlemen, speaking only when it was absolutely required.

“I was against it,” Azriel informed her, grateful when a plate of food materialized before him. Gwyn’s outrage vanished as he closed his eyes and took a deep gulp of wine.

“Against me going?” she asked, and right then, Azriel realized his mistake. The one thing he’d always liked about Gwyn was that competitive streak of hers. It was almost cruel at times, though she seemed better at reigning it in before anyone got hurt. He recognized it, though, because his ran just as hot, was just as vicious.

If he’d thought his words through, he would have told her she would be a perfect fit and he was excited for her to join him. And Gwyn, contrary by nature, would have given herself permission not to go because he wanted her to.

But now she knew he didn’t think she was cut out for it. And whatever doubts she had, of which Azriel was certain she harbored, were all being shoved to the side in favor of proving him wrong.

Fuck me.

He sighed, scrambling silently to fix his mistake. “I work better alone,” he tried to explain. But the damage was done. Those teal eyes of hers were narrowed, nostrils flared in indignation.

“What do you know about research?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What do you know about torture?” he replied. Gwyn didn’t flinch the way most people did, didn’t shrink back wide-eyed and scared. He was trying to convince her not to go and thought reminding her of his true title, torture master for the Night Court, might dissuade her. Unbidden, he thought of Elain Archeron and how her spine had curved inward when Feyre had so flippantly made a joke about his methods over breakfast one morning. She'd been casual, nonchalant even, though Azriel had once seen the discomfort in his High Lady's eyes, too. Only Nesta regarded him without any fear.

Nesta, and now Gwyn.

“I could figure it out from a book,” she shot back. “Can you even read?”

“Why would I need to learn to read when I’m so good with a weapon?” he replied evenly. It was tempting to pull his dagger out and twirl it about, and Gwyn was likely to challenge him to a duel—one she’d lose—in the middle of lunch. Not that it would frighten her off. Everyone was a afraid of something. Usually that something was him. But for Gwyn, the notion that he might enjoy torturing to the point it consumed all other activities he might engage in, seemed to roll off her shoulders.

“You can’t do this job without me.”

Agree with her, dumbass.

“I could do it far easier and faster without you,” he replied, his temper getting the best of him. Azriel never could resist a challenge.

“No you can’t,” she said, leaning back in her chair. There was no satisfaction in her expression, though. Gwyn’s doubt was a palpable thing, recognizable to Azriel who was, too often, filled with nothing but doubt. He was the wrong male to reassure her. If she wanted that, she’d have to wait for Cassian to return.

Sighing, he said, “Gwyn—”

“Shove it,” she snapped, rising from her chair. Azriel watched her go, likely marching straight down to Rhys to tell him she’d gladly take the mission. And in truth, she’d probably be just fine. He’d lock her up in the library while he got what he needed and whisk her away before she caused any mischief. In and out in a month, tops. Rhys would be satisfied, Gwyn would go back to the library and training with Nesta and Azriel would continue on.

Just as he always had.

#gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #posting this today so i dont forget #and also i just want to

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iolitemoth · 1 year

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Give us the sweet sweet OC lore !

(GUESS WHO FORGOT SHE HAD THIS IN HER DRAFTS)

Get ready for an infodump then because you are going to learn all about this woman if I can help it /lh

Okay so her name is Cloudberry and she’s a Sky Dragon Slayer who hails from the time of the first Dragon War/Dragon King Festival. She was training to be a healer and as such was very enthusiastic to learn Sky Magic, which has some incredible healing spells. She wasn’t involved in the war at all until one day her mentor comes crashing down at the edge of town, mortally wounded. Cloudberry (going by Azure at this time, her current name will come later), shocked and grieving, goes to inform the other members of the Nest/Flock her mentor belonged to of the news, only to arrive and find every last one of them slaughtered. She performs the funeral rites and staggers off into the unknown, lost for what to do now.

The details here are a bit fudged/hand-wavy because I’ve gone back and forth on the order they happened and what even happens at all and I’m still not entirely happy with it but at some point she joins up with/is found by Acnologia and his crew, before they all got power-hungry and started killing dragons for the fun of it (also I am. Not caught up with Fairy Tail canon so I could be very wrong about quite a lot of this but whatever). She tends to stay out of the fighting, mostly sticking to healing and doing what she can for the people who took her in. Everything is slowly weighing down on her, though- the war, her loss, Acno’s stance on fighting, the Dragons themselves, etc.

Eventually it all becomes too much and she snaps, getting into a fight with Acno + his gang and he ends up landing a near-crippling blow. She manages to escape and heal herself, though there’s still a nasty scar. It’s around this point that everything comes crashing down, and she is swallowed by anger and fear and pain and what feels like unending grief, which culminates in her losing control and becoming a dragon herself.

(Now, an important thing to note here is that while the canon explanation for becoming a dragon still holds true, that isn’t the only way. Extreme circumstances and/or emotion, like with Cloudberry, can cause it, as well as extreme uses of Dragon Slayer magic, as in pushing oneself so far past their limits that their body can’t handle it and reacts by giving them a body that can. Now obviously none of these are good for someone’s mental health.)

The next few centuries are a haze of fear and grief, most of which after the Dragon War are spent fleeing from the Black Dragon/Acnologia. One day Cloudberry finds herself flying through a terrible storm. When it clears, she finds herself over open ocean, no land in sight except for islands that could only barely fit a full-grown dragon with room to spare.

After a time, she realizes Acnologia won’t find her here, wherever she is, and lands on an (thankfully empty) island and promptly has a long-overdue breakdown- or, depending on how you look at it, the end of a centuries-long breakdown that has been a long time coming.

Exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally, her magic sort of... gives out? and returns her to her human form. She’s found by a group of people who heard the commotion and arrived just in time to see her transform and pass the hell out. They bring her back to their ship and straight to the infirmary, where she’s unconscious for about uhhh *checks notes* a week.

When she wakes up, she has no memory of who she is or where she came from- and, it’s quickly discovered, has no knowledge of the language they’re speaking.

As it turns out, she’s in an entirely different world- one of pirates and miles and miles of ocean.

Also as it turns out, the person whose ship she’s on is none other than Whitebeard and his fledgling crew (this is a little before Oden joins I believe).

They get along well enough and, despite offers to let her off on an island of her choice, she eventually decides to stay. She rediscovers her love for healing and hoards as much medical knowledge as she can (that’s the dragon instinct talking- it’s a headcanon of mine that Dragon Slayers also get the hoarding instinct, but it’s different for everyone- ex. Natsu and his house full of items from different jobs).

She uses her medical knowledge to choose a new name for herself- Cloudberry. Time passes and she is one of the chief medical (is officers the right word? i’m not sure) personnel on the crew. She and Whitebeard are as close as old friends, and she looks after the whole crew like family, especially the younger members. She calls Marco nestling; changing to fledgling as he grows older. The two of them are close and bully Whitebeard about his drinking habits and not listening to his doctors.

Cloudberry is one of the few people Ace trusts when he shows up, mostly because she never pushes him to join the crew and even offers to help him + his crew escape if they want it. He declines, but the offer is still there, up until he officially joins and she knows he won’t be going anywhere unless he chooses to. It means a lot, to Ace, knowing he had someone in his corner, someone who will always be there even with pushback from everyone around them.

(Cloudberry never does agree with Whitebeard’s recruiting methods. Many potential crewmates make their escape with her quiet aid, and are far away before anyone realizes what happened. People have their suspicions, but who’s going to say anything?? {I’m not sure if Whitebeard knows or not. I think he might be in the same boat (...pun not intended) in that he suspects it’s her, but isn’t going to let on.}

Those who decide to stay are hers, in a way that’s different than they are a part of the crew. They call her Auntie, or Aunt Cloudberry, and she won’t hear a bad word about it. It’s their choice. ...Of course, that just helps them love her more.)

*There’s a lot more to it than this but it’s already long enough so I’m just going to end it here haha*

#reply #my oc #cloudberry #fairy tail oc #i guess technically also #one piece oc #she’s basically the embodiment of that one post that’s like-#of course you have white hair and trauma #long post #sorry for taking so long!!#i uh. completely forgot about this

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dangarretjournal · 1 year

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The Scarab Won.

It’s been months now since Fantomah waged war on the Earth. For 48 hours, the world was in a panic, fearing her name for the first time in centuries... and the Scarab came along. Not Daniel Garret, and indeed not any particular incarnation of the Scarab, but an amalgam of all our collective beliefs about him. After that, Fantomah fell. She holds no physical power over our world anymore, but nevertheless, she has left a permanent scar on our world.

Jade obelisks litter Oregon. Due to the locust swarms, crops have died, and the nation is now experiencing a food shortage. Perhaps even more devastating is the effects she's had on the water supply: blood filled the waters during the calamity, some say even replacing it. There is an ongoing effort to separate the blood from the water using the usual filtration process, but blood can still be found in the water supply months later in lower-income areas.

Several countries and islands are submerged beneath the waters, and tens of millions are dead… such a high number is difficult for the mind to grapple with. Artist Arturo Cruz did a devastating exhibit about it for the Miracellium (Dr. Maxwell Miracle's Museum). You go into a dark room and all you can hear are voices casually going about their day. There are so many that it becomes deafening… but then you notice some of them go away. Minutes pass, and you’re still in darkness, and the voices keep vanishing, one by one, then ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred, a thousand, ten-thousand at a time, fifty-thousand, and they scream and scream, but they’re so much quieter now, a million… none. It’s all silence. Eventually, an attendant walks you out of the room. Jenny rated it very highly.

I suppose the change most specific to this journal is that our heroes seem to be gone for good. Most of Judicial Supreme was slain by the shadow of the Magician from Mars, and there has been no attempt at recruiting new members. Dr. Maxwell Miracle seems to have given up crimefighting, even though several communities affected by flooding require protection. Attempts to ask him about this have been declined by Maxwell, stating he'd prefer to be alone to collect his thoughts.

Nobody knows how the Scarab won. Not even me. Of course, that hasn’t stopped people from emailing me due to my proximity to Dr. Miracle… inspired by his response, I’ve just decided to block keywords related to this event. Believe it or not, if I don’t give an answer to the Daily Oculus, then I don’t have one. My memory starts with me waking up and seeing Maxwell typing on my laptop, and it ends with the Scarab coming back to life. Apparently, I fainted and didn't wake up until the Scarab had won. Maxwell just let me fall on the floor, and I got to spend the week nervous that I might have some sort of brain injury.

I did of course try to investigate what happened, but it seems I wasn’t the only one with a fractured memory of it all. Ask anyone you know and they might tell you about the deaths of most of the members of Judicial Supreme, they might tell you about the rallies at the capitol building, they might tell you about the plagues or the locusts or the obelisks, they might mention the Mermazons sinking England, they might tell you about the Magician from Mars killing President Gardner, but no matter how much detail you get from them, they mostly stop or start to stop after the Scarab returns. Occasionally you can squeeze some information like the Scarab turning the Magician's shadow good again, or the Magician killing the Spirit of ‘76's shadow (I’ve seen this event described both before and after the Magician teams up with the Scarab). One testimony mentioned him stealing a submarine to defeat the Mermazons… but that’s. Memory only resumes as normal once the calamity ends, and no one can tell you how it ended. It just did.

For those asking me if I’ll retreat further into my Grandfather’s past, the answer is no. The journal is gone. I burned it. Every fragment of my grandfather’s life he imbued into the pages, all the parts I had seen and so much more I had yet to learn… all burned as soon as the calamity was over. Sometimes, in the days since then, I think of that moment. Standing there, the flames refracting in my broken glasses, Maxwell standing over my shoulder. “You did the right thing,” he said over and over again, like a hypnotic chant, and I didn’t quite process it. In my mind, the crackle of flame drowned him out. I think about this moment, and every time I've done so I’ve tried to make myself feel bad about it… but instead, I just feel free.

Truly I knew I didn’t want to report on this anymore, but, as a journalist, sometimes you just learn to act against how your heart feels. In this case, I emailed Dr. Miracle like so many other journalists have tried, asking for an interview... though I didn't mention that I really wanted to ask him about the Calamity. Despite being conscious throughout the whole event and likely knowing what happened, he has not given an official statement about it. When I asked him about it directly after I burned the journal, he immediately teleported out of my house. To my surprise, he said yes to my email, and asked me to meet him at the Miracellium after closing time.

Standing outside the imposing image of a museum bathed in purple light that emanated from vault lights in the pavement, I couldn’t quite get it out of my head that he might not come. Then, as the hour struck, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Hello, Gale,” he said, hovering in front of me. Literally, his feet were inches off the floor.

He had started to show signs of ageing for the first time in years. His dark-brown pompadour was littered with specks of white, and his face looked more stretched, with crevices lining his cheeks. His lips were thinner and I think he was wearing lip gloss of some kind. It was hard to tell in the dark. What wasn't difficult to sense was the thick and ghastly perfume he seemed to have drenched his blue suit in.

He continued to speak, “We can’t go in through the front door, unfortunately. Follow me, I can get you in through the back.”

I followed him through the parts of the exterior they’d prefer you didn’t see, leading to an ugly dark-green door that Maxwell quickly unlocked. Unexpectedly for someone as antiquated as Maxwell, he walked in first, preferring to lead me around the cold museum.

As we walked, he started talking again, “So, Gale, I assume you want to ask me how I’m here right now?”

That was not what I was here for. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, earlier I claimed that I was replaced atom-by-atom by Fantomah… and yet, I’m still here after Fantomah and most of her constructs disappeared from our reality.”

“I suppose that’s confusing, yes.”

He smiled, “It is, isn’t it?”

“Well, why are you still here then?”

Maxwell feigned offence, “Oh you wound me, Gale, you wound me!”. After my lack of response, he composed himself, “Well, in truth… I don’t know either. I’m just here now. I have my powers still, but they’re fading. Maybe I should change my name back to Maxwell Grant.”

I shrugged, “It doesn’t matter to me.” in hindsight, that might’ve been rude of me, but talking with Maxwell for too long does tend to grind away any politeness you might have.

Eventually, we reached our destination. A recently erected exhibit called “Capers of the 20th Century”, mainly consisting of replicas of famous superhero costumes. Among them was a replica of Daniel Garret’s costume, and I couldn’t help but notice the irony of it all. My grandfather made his costume using botched museum replicas, but now all the same parts can be considered a successful one. Part of me wondered if we might get a new Scarab using a botched replica of this very costume.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Maxwell asked.

“I wouldn’t know, I never saw that costume,” I responded.

“No, I suppose you didn’t… but you had the journal. Did it look like how you imagined?”

I paused for a bit to look at the costume. For some reason, I always got the impression that the chainmail my grandfather wore was more clearly blue, maybe even a darker shade… but here it was more close to a silvery-green colour.

“Not really,” I said after a moment.

Maxwell tilted his head in mock-confusion, “How come? It’s an entirely perfect replica, after all. I would know, I had all the original parts.”

“Well, my grandfather said it was… blue.”

“We got into lots of arguments about this, Dan and I… and yet, he always gets to win in his own diary. If he says it's blue, then it's blue.”

At first, I thought this was his usual academic pettiness seeping through again, as it did in his commentary for the section my grandfather wrote about him, so I brushed it off. It was getting late, and I knew we needed to get to the point one way or another.

I set my phone to record. “Maxwell, I'd like to ask you a few questions–” I started.

“Yes,” he interrupted, “we’ve been over this in the emails. Go on. What is it you really want to know?”

And I asked him exactly that. I wanted to know what happened after the Scarab returned.

Maxwell’s face was twitching in and out of stiffness, like he felt strongly about this, but didn’t want to show. “It’s a rather complicated question, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” I stated, by now rather tired of this whole affair.

“I suppose you think I remember it well and will recount it to you perfectly?”

I nodded.

He chuckled, “You do have a strange amount of trust, Gale.”

I shrugged off his comment, “As far as I know, you’re literally the only person on Earth who remembers.”

He nodded, “True, true… but how do you know my memory is accurate?”

“Well, that’s for me to decide. Answer the question.”

“Ah, you get to decide who is being accurate… and you’ve done such a good job so far, haven’t you? What with your little blog series about Danny boy.”

“Will you please just–”

“I’ll give you credit, Gale, you’re good at writing things down. Very very good… deciding on accuracy? I don’t know about that. Danny’s statements about the Second World War seem a bit suspect to me. I mean… I’ve seen the original Spirit of ‘76… he was just a kid. Like, sixteen at most. And I don’t think I saw him kill anyone… so how could he have been so integral? Some historians have even argued it would've been shorter if he wasn't there.”

“Well, I’m just here to transcribe here, my opinion isn’t needed all the time.”

“Sure, it’s not needed in a professional context but… didn’t you think of anything? Did anything strike you as peculiar?”

“What are you getting at–”

“350 pages. His diary. He can write about anything in there, and he writes about his past, he writes about Fantomah… yet he never mentions his wife or daughter by name.”

“Well,” I said, feeling slightly uncomfortable, “they weren’t the focus, it’s…”

“Focus? His academic essays, his memoir, and his letters to space women, all in the same book. You call that focus?”

“That's not what I mean–”

“He was engrossed in his past, Gale, the remnants of his own golden age; the war heroes who galavanted across the battlefields and were a nuisance to both sides, the woman with a submarine who claimed she found an underwater city and probably drowned, the Angel from Mars who we never deserved… and me, I suppose. And, for every spot of rust in that Golden Age, he finds a reason to exonerate himself. Oh, he only beat up those Capers because they were in the wrong, oh he struck me out of self-defence… he saw my friend die, and he talks about how it made him glad he stopped being a hero… perhaps if he was a hero, Peter wouldn’t have died in the first place.”

In hindsight, I had many problems with many of the things he said (mainly regarding how he functioned as a vigilante) but I was tired and the only question I could manage was “I thought you liked my grandfather…”

“I didn’t like him, Gale, I loved him, and when you love someone you notice everything wrong they do.”

“Look,” I said, once again desperately trying to get back on track, “what’s–”

“The point? The point is… I suppose sometimes the best version of the past is what we say to make ourselves happy, rather than the blunt truth of it all. We have control over fiction… we can’t control reality.” I think he could sense that I was getting ready to leave, because he started again without response, “Now, do you want to know how one man, strong but cosmically insignificant, managed to stop three horrors of the collective subconscious and ultimately defeat Fantomah?”

“Yes.”

He looked at me sheepishly, “Well… I don’t entirely know, is the thing.”

“What?”

“A lot happened! I spent so long transcribing that I didn’t pay much attention to what I was writing…” his thin lips etched out a wry smile, “Heh, I’m a lot like you in a way!”

I just wanted an answer, “Come on, you must know something..”

“Okay… you want the gist? No extraneous details? No descriptive flare? No dialogue? Well, I suppose what happened is this: despite all that was going against him, the Scarab defeated Fantomah and saved the day.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes… well, it’s the best we could do. Sometimes I wonder if there could have been another way… but Fantomah’s problems were foundational and could only be fixed with foundational change… we’re not ready to do that yet. So, until we’re able or ready, we all need to believe in the Scarab. Believe that he won and that Fantomah is no more.”

After that, he walked me out of the museum, waved goodbye to a security guard, and we both walked separate ways. As far as I know, Maxwell stopped existing as soon as our meeting ended. He was reported missing soon after, and I was left with the very sparse version of events that he gave to me.

The Scarab won. Fantomah is dead. That is all we need to know, and it is what we need to tell ourselves.

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tigermousse · 4 months

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Soulset

⦁ genre: otome, amare, mystery, thriller, drama, comedy, romance, supernatural

SoulSet is one of my favorite visual novels. I've read it before, and for the first time it hit me emotionally so hard, I couldn't stop thinking of it - even three years later. I would like to erase my memories to unravel this breathtaking mystery again. But I can't do it, so I've just erased my in-game progress and gave this novel a re-read.

You awake in a strange gloomy mansion with five strangers and all your memories lost. The only episode from your past that you remember is that your dragon Isshin is dying and to prevent that a strange man (Feathor) casts a spell on you, binding a dragon's soul to yours.

Who are those people? Why are you in this mansion together? Everyone is claiming that they don't remember anything about them, like you. But what if someone is lying? Who can you trust, if anyone at all? Where do you even start? You need to act soon, because around the mansion is a strange barrier that you can't cross. Who made it and how can you get rid of it? But it seems that this isn't even your biggest problem for now…

It is a game that is meant to play several times (about 20 times, actually) to fully uncover the mystery. . Each route reveals just a part of truth, and I should say that reading the novel first time, I didn't get the whole picture until it was presented to me. There are "true endings" for each character, but also the ultimate "true end" which binds together all story lines. In some endings you will find love, in other - gruesome death, but nevertheless each time the game ends, you wake up in the same mansion. And you need to find out why.

I really love how the tension in the game is building in every route, and even after finishing most of them you are still curious what to expect next…There are some complications and small plot inconsistencies, but nothing changes the atmosphere and fact that this story is incredible. Also there is a huge grumpy CAT!

Marco: "Not counting myself, of course" Shira: "Yeah, yeah, You're so powerful, you can barely stand on your own two feet."

The game reminds me of brilliant "Zero Escape" series in several aspects, though I don't want to give major spoilers, but I adore the idea of tampering with fourth wall and the whole visual novel mechanics. Also it has some puzzles.

!This is an adult visual novel and has some sexual content and use of alcohol!

CHARACTERS:

MC Mariko

Even with her memories gone, Mariko' s personality is flamboyant. She is smart, sexy, funny and confident, has an aura of a leader. Also she doesn't remember her past, but Yvonne tells her that she sees that her aura is very dark. Who she was? What did she done? What she forgot and does it really needs to be remembered? Though she doesn't remember how old she is, she feels like a mature woman.

Also in the library there is a portrait of a young girl that looks like her - and it was painted half of a century ago. How could it happen? Mariko is openly showing her affection to the person she is pursuing. She likes to flirt and tease, and the sex for her is the normal part of life. But also she can be caring and attentive.

Mariko DOES some stupid mistakes in bad routes, but that means she's a human with flaws. I like every single thing about her, whatever she does or says is very amusing. I can see why the other characters like her and give her trust.

Likes: having a good time Dislikes: curses Talents: unknown (necromancy)

My rating: 5/5 [probably, my favorite MC]

Lord Mutik

We have a huge black grumpy cat in this game. Feed him sardines! He'll like it. Or will munch your hand instead. Anyway, the game with cat is always better than one without it.

My rating: 5/5

Love Interests (MILD SPOILERS AHEAD):

On the first glance, LIs in SoulSet are look like a strangely arranged diversion of characters, on second glance - nothing about them is as it seems. It is an amare game, and it does have romance and sex scenes (avoidable), but the main point is building trust between characters, and because of that some routes feel less romantic than others. There are poly-amorous options with some characters. The whole game is pretty much LGBTQ+ positive.

Apris's, Yvonne's and Shira's routes can be pursued from the start; other need clues found in other routes to reach true ending. Marco's and Feathor's true routes can be reached only after finishing all other routes.

Apris

Apris is a strong silent giant, who looks like he hasn't slept for several days, but he keeps telling that if he falls asleep, something bad is going to happen. He doesn't talk much and obviously doesn't like to be around people. It seems that talking to him only makes him uncomfortable, despite his calm attitude. But he has a cooking talent, and deep inside himself (har-har) can be really caring. He has some problems with demons, and you will probably learn about it early in game. His route is not very romantic, and his character feels a bit bland, despite his interesting past.

Likes: fresh air Dislikes: being around other people. demons Talents: cooking

My rating 4/5

Shira

Shira is the one who dresses prettily and doesn't trust people easily. She loves reading, and probably her favorites are mystery romance novels and thrillers (I love these too). That is why she tries the hardest to solve the mysteries of the mansion, and questioning everything that happens. She's expecting everyone to have secret motives (and sometimes she's right).

- Do you fantasize about such things often? - Define "such things"...

Despite seeming rude and straightforvard, inside Shira is shy and restricted. She has trust issues and a secret of her own.

Bringing the most comedy into the novel, Shira is also smart, passionate and caring, that makes her route the most romantic, it is cute to tease her, but it is also fun to pair her with Marco.

Likes: alcohol and mystery romance novels Dislikes: losing Talents: illusions

My rating 5/5

Yvonne

Yvonne is kind, soft-spoken, kind and polite girl, who likes to help other people - despite looking so provocative, she is really sweet. There is no false bottom in her, however her route holds a lot of clues and reveals a great deal of game plot. She remembers that she has a spice shop and that she is acquaint with healing magic. Basically, Yvonne is a typical otome MC, but without shyness and stupid actions. She gives people almost too much credit for her own survival. There is nothing not to love about her, she's really cute in every way.

Likes: helping other people Dislikes: violence Talents: healing

My rating 4,5/5

Shirr

Shirr: "I believe I'm not that good at dealing with people"

Shirr is the last person to be found in the beginning of the game and she is seriously wounded. Who did it and is it someone who is still in this mansion? It seems that she doesn't even remembers her name at first, so she can't tell who did it to her. She is self-conscious, quiet and restrained, but also has some unusual talents as lock picking. Is she speaking so little because of shyness or she is hiding something? Can she be trusted at all?

I have to say that for me my favorite part of Shirr's route was how all the other pairings turned out. [I would like a route like this, but with each other LI involved and Mariko staying single]

Likes: vegetables Dislikes: Marco Talents: lock picking

My rating 3,5/5

Marco

Marco looks like he is fourteen, and sometimes acts like the teenager, but he definitely knows too much about magic and the rules of this world despite the memory loss. Despite being the youngest, Marco is behaving pretty serious at times. Since the beginning he is the one who is telling others what to do, trying to help others to regain their memories and telling about how the barrier and illusions work.

Sometimes he's fooling around, flirting with girls, teasing and pushing the boundaries of others. But when Mariko pursuing him on his route he becomes doubtful, backpedaling all of a sudden. Still he is very protective of Mariko, seems that he cares about her. Who is Marco? (that is actually one of the main question in this game). Has Mariko met him before? Do they know each other? What did they forgot about their past?

For me his route was very emotional, I actually freaked out at one point, but luckily it turned out better than I expected. This storyline is still one of my favorite and it will probably stay this way among other dramatic routes in visual novels.

Likes: pretty girls Dislikes: hurting Mariko, being treated like a child Talents: alchemy, magic

My rating 5/5

Feathor

Despite Feathor being present in Mariko's memory, at first he's nowhere to be found in mansion. Yvonne can found him later and after finding 5 green clues his route becomes available.

Not giving too much spoilers, Feathor is a powerful mage, who knows Mariko for a long time. Once he saved her life, but that comes with a price. He's ruthless, cunning, deceptive, psychopathic, selfish man, who doesn't care about other people's life. He is using people for his own needs or just for fun, discarding them later. But with Mariko it was a bit different. The story of Mariko and Feathor is an illustration of co-dependency, and it is portrayed good enough.

Likes: messing with others heads Dislikes: someone hurting him Talents: magic

My rating: 2/5 as a LI - and 5/5 as a representation of someone to keep away from

Secret Apris route (demon)

Apris is possessed by a powerful female demon, which is dormant when Apris is awake and wakes when he sleeps. This demon can kill everyone in this mansion, but if you guess her name (after finishing Apris route and Shira's bad route), she can not hurt you, and MC can make an alliance with her. (And also have sex). If you play your cards right, you'll make it in one piece. Don't forget how deceptive can demons be.

Likes: toying with people, sex Dislikes: other demons, someone calling her name Talents: killing other creatures

My rating: 2,5/5

Overall:

Visual: 5/5

Story: 5/5

Characters: 4/5

Romance: 4/5

Originality: 5/5

My Rating: 5/5

You can get this visual novel from NoBreadStudio on Steam or on itch.io

#SoulSet #visual novel #video game #video games #otome #nobreadstudio #my review #personal #Tiger Mousse

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earliebirb · 3 years

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i’ll save you a seat

steve/tony, established relationship, canon divergence, 1673 words

(inspired by this deleted scene from the avengers [2012])

“Waiting on the big guy?”

“Ma’am?” Steve looks up from his sketchbook, eyes squinting against the sunlight.

He meets the gaze of one of the waitresses working at the café. Her long blond hair flows down to her chest and she is dressed in the café’s signature uniform: pastel orange blouse, black skirt, and a white half apron tied around her waist.

“Iron Man,” the waitress clarifies, lips quirked up in a knowing smile. “A lot of people eat here just to see him fly by.”

“Right,” Steve says, lips twitching at their inside joke. He opens his mouth to say something else, but a familiar silhouette in the distance catches his eye and breaks his train of thought. “Uh, actually…”

He nods at the sky. The waitress follows his gaze.

The object grows larger, approaching at a high speed. It morphs into a blur of red and gold that streaks across the blue sky right above them, sending a gust of wind that ruffles the waitress’ blond locks. The figure lands a short distance away from the café with a distinct metallic thunk — the sound of gold-titanium alloy hitting concrete.

All around him, people begin to whisper among themselves with excitement, some even taking out their phones to document the spectacle. Although Steve can’t really say he enjoys the attention, warmth still blooms in his chest as he observes the approaching figure. He finds himself hiding an involuntary grin behind his hand.

“Always a dramatic entrance, huh?” The waitress chuckles.

“You know it.” Steve sighs with fond exasperation. All eyes are on Tony as he walks toward the outdoor area of the café, the nanotech suit peeling away from his body. The excited murmurs and whispers increase in volume.

When Tony finally arrives at the table, he bends down to plant a kiss on Steve’s cheek. “Good morning, beloved.”

“Mr. Stark-Rogers,” the kind waitress greets with a smile. “The usual?”

“Please, Beth. I told you to call me Tony.” Tony reaches up to slide his sunglasses a few inches down the bridge of his nose, giving her a disapproving look that makes her chuckle. “And yes, please. Thank you.”

“Table’s yours as long as you like,” she says before disappearing into the indoor part of the café to relay the order. Steve knows she means it, too. She’ll make sure of it, just like she always has for the past few years.

The café had been Steve’s favorite café, at first. He visited the place often, especially during his first few weeks in the twenty-first century. He developed a fondness for their sesame seed bagels and the lovely view of Stark Tower from his favorite outdoor table, although the latter is a fact Steve would never admit to Tony even on pain of death.

However, the café quickly became Steve and Tony’s favorite café when their reluctant camaraderie bloomed into friendship all those years ago. Even before they started dating, Steve and Tony already established a weekly ritual of having brunch at the café whenever their schedules aligned.

Tony did eventually admit to Steve that he found the café’s coffee to be subpar. He did, however, insist that the café was his favorite, albeit for reasons different from Steve’s. Not for the bagels, not for the exceptional view of Stark Tower, and definitely not for the coffee, but because the café was a place full of memories. His memories of the two of them, his memories of Steve:

“That café was where I first made you laugh. Like, really laugh. I’d seen you smile or chuckle before, but that kind of full-body laughter? That was a first. And I remember thinking that… I really, really liked the way you laughed.”

It has been seven years since Steve first sat at this very table and sketched the figure of Stark Tower looming before him. Beth is still working at the café, having made her way through the ranks. Now a co-owner of the café, she has developed a friendship of sorts with Steve and Tony — both of whom she claims to be her favorite regulars. Tony likes to joke about how she probably says that to all of her regulars, something Beth always denies vehemently.

Steve turns his attention back to Tony, who has taken off and folded his sunglasses, letting them hang from the collar of his shirt.

“Would it kill you to take the elevator and walk?”

“It’s not like I do this every single time. Besides, why take the elevator when you have a flying suit? That’s just ineffective.” Tony makes a face as he pulls his chair out.

“‘S good exercise.”

“I exercise plenty.” Tony sits down on the chair across from him, scooting closer to the table. Under the table, his ankle brushes Steve’s. “Besides, we just engaged in a vigorous workout session this morning.” Tony bites his lower lip, giving Steve a lascivious wink.

“Tony,” Steve reprimands, but finds himself unable to say anything further, not when the back of his neck is heating up at the memory of what they were up to just a few hours ago. While Steve immediately showered afterward and headed straight to the café, Tony decided he wanted to sleep for a few more hours, promising to join Steve later.

Tony grins before leaning forward on his elbows to peer at Steve’s sketch.

“Which lucky building are you sketching today, honeybunch?”

He squints and frowns when instead of a building he finds a rough and nondescript sketch of a person’s face.

It could be anyone to the untrained eye, but Steve’s pen strokes are sure and confident, having rendered the same jawline countless of times.

Every single time, Tony’s figure never fails to fascinate him. Always so beautiful from every angle, in every light. Steve knows it well enough by now to be able to sketch him simply from an image in his mind’s eye.

Still, nothing beats the real thing. Steve takes in the sweep of Tony’s dark lashes and his coffee brown eyes as he appraises the drawing.

“It’s not a building,” Steve says instead.

Tony hums noncommittally, tilting his head at the sketch and giving it one last look before leaning back in his seat. “How was your morning run?”

“Uneventful.”

“Really?” Tony says distractedly, his attention on Beth who is once again approaching their table with his cup of coffee, black as midnight.

Tony engages in more small talk with Beth as she sets the cup and saucer on the table, asking after her husband and kids. There is an easy and carefree smile on his face, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

All the while, his fingers are fiddling with two sugar packets Steve knows he will only use one of. He is always buzzing with energy, parts of him always in a state of perpetual motion, finding it near impossible to stay still.

Steve also knows that he won’t finish the coffee because it wasn’t made by Steve or himself.

These little idiosyncrasies are details that make up Tony, the little quirks that only Steve knows.

The little things that make you mine, Steve thinks privately. He feels something inside him softening at the thought.

“Sorry, honey,” Tony says when Beth eventually leaves to take another table’s orders, his smile soft and affectionate. “You were saying? Running was uneventful?”

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, “nothing really interesting.” He admires the way sunlight turns the tips of Tony’s dark hair into a lighter shade of brown. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re still the highlight of my morning.”

Tony huffs, rolling his eyes, but his lips curve up into a pleased smile and his brown eyes are warm with affection as he meets Steve’s gaze. He reaches for Steve’s hand on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. The band of vibranium around his husband’s ring finger gleams in the late morning sunlight.

“I better be, after waking you up with one hell of a—”

“Tony!” Steve exclaims, knocking his ankle against Tony’s in warning. “Stop it.”

“What? It’s the truth! You really did enjoy it when I—”

“There are children around,” Steve hisses, casting a furtive glance at a nearby table occupied by a family of four.

Tony laughs softly, his shoulders shaking with it. Still holding his gaze, he brings Steve’s hand to his lips, pressing two feather-light kisses to the back of his hand. He continues holding Steve’s hand against his mouth, and when he speaks Steve feels his lips and the bristles of his goatee brushing his skin.

“Sorry, baby, I can’t help it.” Tony hides a smile against Steve’s knuckles. “You’re just so pretty when you blush.”

Steve looks down, avoiding Tony’s eyes in favor of staring at the cookie crumbs next to his half-full cup of coffee that has long since gone cold. His cheeks are still burning, and Tony’s words are not helping.

“See?” Tony says, before planting a kiss to his knuckles. “So pretty.”

Steve shuts his eyes with a defeated sigh. “Please just drink your coffee.”

Tony chuckles again but Steve hears the clink of ceramic, a cup being lifted from its saucer. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

He only allows himself to open his eyes when Tony gets distracted by some pigeons, immediately launching into a spiel about the one time he was attacked by a pigeon who was apparently really determined to steal his sandwich.

Steve nods along dutifully, reacting at appropriate times throughout the story, but all he can think of is that sitting there, at a café’s outdoor table on Park Avenue on a bright Sunday morning, his husband sat in front of him talking a mile a minute, is that there is nowhere else he’d rather be.

His gaze falls down to where Tony’s hand is still holding his, even when his other hand is gesturing animatedly as he tells his story.

Yes. Steve thinks, smiling helplessly at the twinkle in Tony’s eyes — the one that appears whenever he gets excited. I’m home.

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something

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shima-draws · 3 years

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THIS IS SEVERAL DAYS (WEEKS?) LATE BUT I LOVE YOU ALL thanks for enabling me

-The AU begins with a casual city patrol. Izuku, Todoroki, Uraraka and Ojiro are teamed up. Things are seemingly normal until they accidentally bump into Shigaraki and Kurogiri—a completely unplanned encounter. Despite Kurogiri’s warnings, Shigaraki charges into battle against the students. Kurogiri jumps in to back him up by using his warps

-There’s a close call where Izuku’s about to get the jump on Shiggy—but Kurogiri manages to open a warp right before Izuku can reach him. This is where things get...funky.

-Izuku activates One For All as he disappears into the warp. Kurogiri opens a gate somewhere nearby. Todoroki and the others wait for Izuku to reappear...but he doesn’t.

-Todoroki, Uraraka and Ojiro gang up on Kurogiri and demand their friend back. Kurogiri doesn’t know what to do, this has never happened before, and he doesn’t know how to bring Izuku back. Apparently his warp malfunctioned, and Izuku seemed to get lost between dimensions.

-Finally, several minutes later, Izuku reappears. In the ensuing chaos Kurogiri and Shigaraki make their escape. Izuku is weak and shaking from the distorted warp, so Todoroki calls Aizawa and takes him back to campus.

-Izuku explains that it felt like he was falling, and almost like his entire body was trying to rip itself apart molecule by molecule—but then he fell back into the warp and came out on the other side like he was supposed to. Recovery Girl checks on him and just says that he’s in shock, no other injuries besides that. Izuku tries telling her about the strange feeling of pain he had, but she just says it might be a side effect of Kurogiri’s quirk, and that it might be some sort of delayed reaction. Izuku accepts that and things go back to normal

Rest is under the cut because she is looooooong lmao

-Except they don’t. Izuku starts to have strange dreams about somebody calling out to him. They leave him feeling unsettled and shaky in the mornings, almost like how he felt right after the warp. The dreams don’t go away—they keep coming back almost every night, and while they seem to get clearer, he still can’t figure out what they mean.

-Things start to get worse when the dreams transition over into the waking world, and Izuku starts to see flashes of someone with white hair and sad eyes in the corners of his vision. He easily gets distracted during training, and can’t seem to shake the worried feeling he has about this being important.

-It all comes to a head when Izuku suddenly finds himself in that weird place between dimensions during a training drill. He’s only there for a few seconds, but he’s finally able to catch a glimpse of what that world is like, because the last time he was there he was falling and spiraling and was too panicked to pay attention to his surroundings. After he snaps back to himself, he wonders if it was just in his head, but when it happens again and his friends have to shake him out of it, he realizes that his mind keeps transporting to that world...it seems like his place in reality is faltering.

-The “visions” slowly continue to get longer and longer each time, with Izuku slipping into that world more often. It’s getting harder to hide it from his classmates and teachers, and finally, there’s a time where it happens and Izuku is unresponsive for over 15 minutes. The person with the white hair keeps showing up, and Izuku is desperate to find out who they are

-During another training session, Izuku feels the lapse coming on, and decides to hide away for a bit to let it pass. Except this time he doesn’t just slip into the nether dimension with just his mind—this time his whole body transports there...and he finally figures out the truth.

-Izuku searches through the new world. Everything is distorted and gravity is all topsy turvy, and when he finally catches sight of the person reaching out to him in his dreams, he follows them. At long last he discovers just who has been communicating with him...and it’s himself!!

-The mystery ghost is finally revealed: an older Izuku, from another timeline. He explains to Izuku that the place they’re in now is a world between time and space that acts as a stabilizer and general overseer of other timelines and worlds. He refers to it as the Beyond, or by its more technical name, the nexus. Apparently the other Izuku has been here for a long time, keeping watch over all of his alternate selves and keeping the timelines in balance.

-Izuku questions just why he was brought there, and his alternate self tells him that when he activated One For All in Kurogiri’s warp, it ripped open a hole in space and he was able to make a connection to the Beyond, primarily because of his alternate self’s already existing presence there. That connection is unfortunately unstable so it kept pulling Izuku back in over time. The other Izuku has been trying to fix that connection but wasn’t able to do so without full contact, which is why he’d been reaching out to Izuku in his dreams.

-To make things easier, the other Izuku asks to be called Nexus. Izuku peppers him with questions, but Nexus is reluctant to answer. He decides to send Izuku back while he researches about his connection there to try and fix it—and then he makes Izuku swear that he won’t tell anybody about their interaction, mostly because outsiders shouldn’t be aware of the Beyond’s existence in the first place.

-Izuku arrives back in his world and realizes that several hours have passed since he vanished into the Beyond. His classmates and teachers swarm him when he returns, saying that they were about to send out pros to go find him. Toshinori questions Izuku about what’s been going on with him lately, but due to the promise he made Izuku can’t answer.

-As the days pass, Izuku continuously visits Nexus (mostly because he has no choice in the matter, being dragged there by the distortion lol) and tries to pry more answers out of him. Nexus is shockingly tight lipped and Izuku knows that something bad must have happened in his timeline for him to be here. Being older isn’t the only factor tying into Nexus’ general quiet demeanor and more serious attitude. Meanwhile, Toshinori and the Dekusquad are hurt by Izuku’s silence on what’s going on with him, and Izuku has an internal struggle over what matters more: the promise he made, or the trust of his friends and family. It’s a rough time.

-Izuku breaks down and Nexus realizes that maybe it’s time he starts being more forthcoming—he knows what the burden of secrets does to Izuku, being Izuku himself. Nexus finally reveals that his timeline had been completely wiped from existence centuries ago, due to an epic, climactic battle with AFO who was attempting to figure out how to access the Beyond and gain control over it in order to rule over all possible timelines. Apparently there was a backlash when AFO tried to access the Beyond and it caused the timeline to be erased. Izuku is absolutely horrified by the truth, realizing that billions of people existing in that timeline are just...gone now. Including everyone he loves.

-Izuku asks if AFO is gone too. Nexus looks haunted by that, but says he’s sure that he’s gone for good...leaving himself as the only proof that his world even existed at all. After Izuku leaves, Nexus decides to do a bit of digging, just to make sure that the AFO from his world truly is dead. And what he finds is not comforting.

-Apparently, after the timeline had been wiped from existence, Nexus wasn’t the only one who was tossed out before it happened. He discovers that AFO is still around, and that he’s been skulking between timelines, gathering new quirks and more power. Terrified, Nexus summons Izuku and tells him of his findings, and says that if AFO were to come after him in the Beyond, or any of them from any timeline, there’s no way they would survive the battle.

-Izuku convinces Nexus to come to his timeline to explain everything, because clearly this is no longer a one man job and something Nexus can’t handle by himself. The issue with that is that the Beyond has a strict no interference policy, at least on the basis of entering the timelines and tampering with them, so Nexus has been stuck there for centuries because he’s literally not allowed to go timeline hopping lol

-However, since Izuku was able to make a connection there and can travel between the two worlds freely (for the most part…) he’s able to utilize that connection to allow Nexus to enter his dimension. Nexus sees the sky for the first time in hundreds of years and is shaken into complete silence.

-The rest of the Dekusquad happen to be there when Izuku arrives with his alternate self and immediately bombard him with questions, but Izuku tells them the first thing they need to do is go see All Might and the other teachers to explain what’s going on.

-Upon seeing All Might again for the first time in centuries, Nexus bursts into tears (and this is a MONUMENTAL moment because Izuku hasn’t seen him cry once since meeting him, even when he told him that everyone he loved no longer exists). There’s a lot of fluffy family bonding and it’s very soft. Toshi holds onto both his boys and cries and I’M EMO LISTEN

-Nexus prepares to tell all the staff what’s going on, but first he reveals to Izuku that he didn’t...exactly tell him everything about what happened to his timeline. A quirk user is brought in who can read memories and project them on a movie screen, and the teachers and Izuku watch in horrified silence as they experience the last night of terror and heartbreak Nexus went through before his timeline was erased forever.

-The memories play back. Izuku is awoken in the middle of the night to find that the entire city is burning. The screams and pleas for help echo all around, and he finds that he can’t get into contact with any of his friends. Racing outside, Izuku looks up to see AFO silhouetted against the red sky, floating among the ashes and smoke. As Izuku hurries to catch up to him, he witnesses the sheer horror of a mass body count and hundreds dead along the way, including lots of minor and pro heroes that he knows.

-Izuku finally reaches AFO and immediately leaps into the fight. He doesn’t stand a chance. AFO has gathered too many quirks, and explains his plan to escape this dimension and gain access to the Beyond in order to spread his control further. Izuku is joined by his friends, but does not get to enjoy their help for long, because each of them are struck down, one by one. Fueled by rage and grief, Izuku ramps up OFA all the way and completely lets loose, chipping away at AFO while he cries over the deaths of his friends. Yeah this is gruesome and dark as shit and I’m not sorry

-AFO is about to get one final attack in—but Bakugou arrives at the last second and takes the blow for him. Bakugou dies in Izuku’s arms and that’s the last straw—OFA goes out of control right as AFO is preparing to open a warp to the Beyond, and the power spark causes a backlash that distorts everything, making the world glitch out.

-When Izuku wakes up, he finds himself in the Beyond with the blood of his friends on his hands. Information starts flooding into his brain about the Beyond and all of the timelines it’s tied to, and Izuku realizes what has happened. His home is gone...his friends, his family, the entire world...all wiped from existence. Now he is the only one left, tasked with taking care of the Beyond and mourning his losses for the rest of eternity.

-Needless to say, everyone watching the memories play are extremely emotional, and Izuku (our Izuku) is overcome with so much grief for his alternate self that they end up in an embrace, sharing a feeling that only they know between each other.

-Nezu and the other teachers agree to help Nexus defeat AFO once and for all. Nexus tells them that bringing in Class 1-A would be smart as well, and that he won’t make the same mistake twice and let them die. They decide to battle it out in the Beyond, it being the safest place to go wild without any risk of casualties or property destruction. And so!! Izuku introduces Nexus to the rest of the class, they all take a trip to the Beyond together, and so begins their grand training arc.

-Nexus preps each member of Class 1-A individually and on teams. They take turns going up against him and all get their asses thoroughly handed to them :) Nexus is hella strong and has had centuries to practice. He teaches them how to use the terrain of the Beyond, how to deal with the gravity and use it to their advantage. He tells them how to look for AFO’s tells and quirks so they can deal with his multipurpose battle style. Overall it’s a very fun yet stressful time with lots of bonding, sleepovers in the Beyond, and everybody getting a huge ass crush on Nexus because 1. He pretty, 2. He stronk, 3. He’s literally an eldritch being at this point, and 4. It’s Izuku. How can they not.

-There’s a time where Nexus takes Izuku to a special corner of the Beyond, and Izuku sees it’s covered for miles and miles and miles with gravestones. Izuku realizes that Nexus had spent years crafting as many as he could for all of the people that were erased from his timeline, even those he didn’t know, and at this point he’s lost count with how many there are. There’s a separated section with all of his family members and friends, and each of the stones are carved with special memorials. The rest of the class shows up and gets to look at their own gravestones and it’s fucked up as shit!! It’s very emotional and then everybody smothers Nexus with hugs and hgnhhhgh 🥺

Obviously there’s a lot that happens after this and the whole battle and everything but like. I don’t have all that planned out yet. But this is the general idea for the most part!! I’ve had a lot of fun brainstorming for this AU, I would do anything for Nexus period, and I’m super excited to start making content for it >:D

THANK YOU FOR READING and thanks for letting me infodump oh my god this is so long

#BNHA #Boku no Hero Academia #My Hero Academia #MHA #BNHA AU #Distortion Link AU #Midoriya Izuku #Deku #Dekubowl #Tododeku #Bakudeku #All Might #Dad Might #Toshinori Yagi #Nexus #Shima's AUs #Shima answers questions #Long post #Friends

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even-after-a-millennia · 3 years

Text

The Freeman's and Firsts

My first fic for @nilefreemanweek2021 and the prompt Nile Freeman + First(s)! You can read it below or over on my ao3 account here. Nile-centric | Rated G | ~1.7k Enjoy!

Nile jerked awake, her eyes opening and lungs heaving. She forced her body to remain still, to not jolt upright. She instinctively started taking deeper breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. After six months of immortality and the dreams that came with being connected to Quynh, she had gotten better at moderating her body’s reactions to her nightmares.

It was her mind that would not calm.

With a sigh, she eased herself out of bed. Joe and Nicky were sleeping in the bed opposite her, Andy unconscious closer to the wall in Nile’s bed. The safehouse was small, but it had a balcony, and suddenly that was the only place that Nile wanted to be.

She snuck out of the bedroom and across the living room, doing her best to keep quiet on the creaking floorboards. The door to the balcony squeaked as she opened it and she winced, stopping it for a moment and listening.

There were no noises that indicated she had woken anyone, so she slipped out the small gap she had created and into the cold night air beyond.

The balcony wasn’t much, but it did boast a few chairs and a rickety table whose screws could probably use a tightening. Nile sank into one of the chairs and pulled her feet onto the seat with her. The sun was just an idea on the horizon, barely a faint glow of orange to be seen, and the early morning air was cold against her skin.

She needed that. Needed the cold to ground her where she was, in a safehouse with her fellow immortals. Not the heat of Afghanistan, the warmth of the floor under her as her blood soaked into the rug.

She continued to breathe, holding her breath for seven counts before she released it. Slowly, her body calmed. And all she suddenly felt was exhaustion.

The sky was slowly brightening, reds bleeding into the black and blue of night. She tried to catalog the colors, so that she could recreate the moment some time later on canvas. But her mind pulled her back to her dream no matter how many times she tried to redirect it.

The door squeaked but Nile didn’t turn to see who it was. Any of her family would be a welcome distraction at the moment, but she felt a pang of guilt at waking any of them.

A blanket settled around her shoulders and a cup of hot coffee materialized before her.

“Two sugars and a splash of milk,” Nicky’s soft voice said.

Just how she liked it.

She turned to him as she took the mug from his hand. He looked barely awake, his eyes slightly puffy with sleep still. But he had taken the time to make coffee for her, get a blanket.

She swallowed, slightly undone with affection for him. “Thank you, Nicky.”

“Prego,” he replied, sinking into the closest chair to hers.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said, cuddling the warm cup close to her. Between that and the blanket, she was feeling warmer, but luckily, no memories tried to upset the moment.

He shook his head. “Many nights, I try to wake to check on the room. Usually, I can drift back off quickly. But when you were not there, I worried. We have seen our share of bad nights. They are easier when not alone.”

Nile sniffed, then reasoned that the steam from her coffee had made her nose run. She nodded, taking a sip.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked, staring at the burgeoning sun.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t looking at her, that she was able to speak.

“When my dad died, I missed school for a few days. Even when I got back, I wasn’t really there. My grades suffered and I ended up in my guidance counselor’s office. She said something to me that I will never forget. Well, hopefully,” she said drily, remembering the vastness of time available to her.

“She said that after something traumatic happens, like losing a family member, you go through a year of firsts. Big ones, like the first holidays without them. Small ones, like the first time you want to call them, only remember they aren’t there to pick up. A whole year of constantly remembering that your life is irrevocably changed.”

She sipped the coffee and let the warm run down her throat, savoring the feeling of its heat in her stomach.

“That first year was so hard, I wasn’t sure we would all get through it. But we did. Even after that year came big moments, though, times I thought my dad would be there for. Prom, graduation. Birthdays. And I realized that it wasn’t just firsts. It was those moments when all you want is your family surrounding you. And suddenly, there was this gaping hole where he was supposed to be. To take pictures of me and my prom date. To cheer as I walked across the graduate stage.”

Nile pulled the blanket closer around her and surreptitiously wiped her eyes with the corner of it.

The first glimpse of the sun broke over them, illuminating Nicky’s face. His eyes were more open, more awake now as he looked at her. His brow was lowered, not in anger but in concentration, as if every word that came out of her mouth had weight and importance.

Like he was trying to understand her more than anything else in that moment.

She smiled a bit at him even as he got blurry behind the tears in her eyes.

“This whole experience reminds me of that. I am suddenly the gaping hole in my mom and my brother’s lives. I should be there for birthdays and big moments and small ones. And I’m here, knowing what that feels like, knowing I’m responsible for them feeling that way, and not fixing it. I don’t even know if there is a way how. And it overwhelms me sometimes.”

Nicky nodded, looking back at the sun.

It was halfway visible now, harder to look at in its brightness.

“Were there good firsts in that year?” Nicky asked.

Nile considered. That time felt hazy and endless in her mind, a place that she only visited in her darkest moments.

“A bunch of ladies from our church would make us a hotdish every week, so that we would have guaranteed meals. I didn’t want to see tater tot hotdish again in my lifetime until I was eighteen. I finally made us spaghetti one night just to be able to have something different. It was the first night my mom laughed since my dad’s death, once I explained why I had done it,” she finally said.

Nicky snorted a laugh. She grinned faintly back at him.

“Miss Temple from down the street came with her son, who was about my age, and he and my brother Jordan played basketball on the sidewalk as she, my mom, and I sat in the grass and she did our nails. She worked at the salon my mom went to. It was just before the funeral. We both had beautiful nails for the service. I kept looking down at them while people were talking. They made me want to paint. It was the first time I had thought about art since we found out he was gone.”

Miss Temple had been adamant about not using black nail polish. She had painted Nile’s nails blue and her mother’s purple, both so dark they looked black until they hit the light. Nile remembered using the lights in the church to illuminate the color of her nails, to show herself they weren’t just black. That there was still color, even as her father was being put into the ground.

“A girl at my school had lost her mom the year before. Cancer. She ended up sitting next to me at lunch my first day back. We hadn’t talked much before, but everyone else was avoiding talking to me. I was sitting by myself and suddenly, she set down her tray next to me and started talking about what I had missed in the class we shared. I think she knew that I needed to not talk about my dad,” Nile admitted. “She made me laugh, catching me up on all the shit that had gone on while I was gone. Some stupid story, but it was funny enough to get a laugh out of me. Another first.”

“There’s more, but those stand out. Little kindnesses. Little moments.”

Nicky nodded. “A few centuries into my immortality, it surprised me how many of those little moments were still present in my memories. The first time Yusuf and I broke bread together without bickering. The first time I slept through the night without memories haunting me. The first time a child looked at me and smiled, rather than shrinking away. They add up in such a way that makes the awful moments fade slightly. Balance. I am glad of them. It would be a much more miserable existence without them.”

It was Nile’s turn to nod.

She let her mind wander back on her life since she had gained immortality. Yes, there were awful moments of death and violence and loss. But there was the first time she had disarmed Andy and the proud look in her eyes as Nile whooped in victory. The first time she and Joe had painted together, music playing in the background as they lost themselves in colors. The first time that Nicky had made her coffee just how she liked it, though he had never asked.

So many little moments that added up to so much.

The sun began to warm her as she sat there in silence with Nicky, mind finally settled into the moment filled with coffee, companionship, and, finally, contentment. There were still many firsts to come, but she knew that she wouldn’t have to face them alone.

#nile freeman #nileweek2021 #nicolò di genova #aka nicky #fanfic #my fic

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raamyun-and-rambles · 3 years

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Of Qingxins and Rattles: One

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairing: Xiao x Reader

Summary: He's afraid to reach out, to touch something so pure that a being like him must never hold. The voices in his head scream blasphemy and lies.

———–

Xiao was a being that has existed for thousands of centuries.

Which meant that he has outlived countless of people, watching them come and go as they eventually get taken by the passage of time.

It was also safe to say that the yaksha has experienced much more than any other mortal could in their entire lifetime. He's travelled the entirety of Liyue on foot, has bore witness to phenomenon that people could only talk about in hushed whispers as the eons pass them by and has fought a number of battles that no human could ever imagine. The blood that stained his hands wasn't something that could be easily washed away and Xiao was convinced that anything good touched by those hands would wither and perish. He was a sinner and Xiao was determined to live the rest of his life paying off the debt of his sins in perpetual agony until you waltzed into his life, turning everything he's come to known in disarray the moment he saw the breeze catch locks of your (h/c) as you overlooked Dihua Marsh from Wangshu Inn's balcony.

In retrospect, the Yaksha should have known better than to meddle in trivial human affairs. You were just another face among thousands he's met. You shouldn't have been able to draw him in the way you did. Yet here he was now, putty in your arms as you stroked gentle circles on the small of his back, whispering words of love and reassurance that Xiao knows he doesn't deserve but soaks it up all the same.

Perhaps...just maybe - Xiao thinks with a hopeful afterthought as his lips press against yours in a silent act of worship of your presence, fingers ghosting feather light touches onto your skin - maybe he too deserved even a moment of respite, to love and be loved.

To simply exist in bliss.

Xiao looks at you with a gaze that displays deep unspoken emotion. He watches you in awe even with the simplest of his things.

He watches in awe as you work your way in the kitchen, weaving your way through the space and he fights back a chuckle as you almost trip. He catches you before you could hurt yourself though (he always does).

He watches in awe even when you rouse from your sleep, admiring the way the sun bathes you in a warm glow as it floods into the room from the open window. He admires the way your lashes slowly flutter as you attempt to blink away the sleep that raptures your system, sending him a small smile as you nuzzle further into his embrace, murmuring something about needing a couple more hours of rest. Xiao scoffs at that every time, knowing you'd oversleep (yet he always allows you).

Mortal traditions don't normally interest Xiao, yet he watches in awe as you walked down the makeshift aisle the inn staff had prepared, donned in fine silk and Qingxin braided in your hair. Xiao thought you've never looked more beautiful, like a goddess that has descended from Celestia itself. It takes him a while to recover from the sight and by then you're already standing next to him with the brightest of smiles, holding his hand and intertwining your fingers. The entire world tuned out of existence and the only thing Xiao could see was you. He doesn't even remember what he said for his vows, too awestruck to even form a coherent sentence as his thoughts reeled a thousand miles per second. Whatever it was he said seemed to make you happy and Xiao allows himself to smile as he slips the ring onto your finger. There weren't many to bear witness to the day you both promised to be one - except perhaps Verr, Huai'an and the traveler who each played a part - but for Xiao it was more than enough to feel the plush of your lips against his under the light of the moon and the stars.

(Zhongli couldn't help but smile at the scene before him but he leaves without another word, receding into the darkness of the night before anyone could take notice.)

Xiao worried the most throughout your pregnancy and even more so on the day you gave birth. Mortals are far too fragile of a creature and Xiao was hyperaware of this fact as he paced to and fro outside the door, could only hear the way you cry out and the midwife's gentle encouragement as she eases you through the process. There was a moment of silence and Xiao had to fight the urge to burst into the room, thinking that something terrible must have gone wrong until suddenly there was a tiny cry and Xiao's heart seized up in his throat.

He was allowed inside a moment later and he immediately moves to your side, gently stroking your hair as you smiled up at him tiredly before turning your gaze to the baby swaddled in your arms.

"Congratulations," the midwife had said, a smile on her face before leaving the room, "it's a healthy baby girl."

No amount of words could have ever expressed the emotion swirling in Xiao's eyes, both anxiety, joy and excitement clashing within amber speckled orbs but his hand stops in mid-air and all of a sudden time feels as though it was suddenly put to a halt.

Is this truly alright?

He's afraid to reach out, to touch something so pure that a being like him must never hold. The voices in his head scream blasphemy and lies.

Perhaps this was just some dream he's conjured up in the hazy murk of his mind and he'll wake up on the roof of the inn like he's always had with only the frigid wind keeping him company. That's right, maybe this wasn't true at all. He's simply far too gone that he's fabricated an ideal world of his making. One where he lives in peace, where he's loved and accepted. The iron tang of blood suddenly fills the air and all at once he imagines the battles he's fought, the sickening squelch of metal against flesh and the dust and grime of battles waged in war. The screams, the cries, the pain, the agony-

A small hand wrapping itself around his pinky successfully pulls him out of his trance and the soft giggle and coo that followed after it made Xiao's chest constrict tightly with an emotion he can't seem to place.

Xiao's breath catches in his throat as the small fist around his finger grounded him back to reality.

For a moment Xiao felt stupid for allowing himself to be consumed by how his mind wandered back into one of the darkest fragments of his memory, how could he when he was in front of the very two things that shone light in his life of perpetual agony?

The adepti allowed a shaky breath himself a shaky breath at long last, leaning closer so he could rest his head against yours while he allowed his daughter to hold onto his pinky.

"Can I..." he started, fumbling with his words as he kept his gaze fixated on the infant, "can I hold her?"

The apprehension in his voice was terribly apparent and in an effort to calm his nerves you gently press a kiss to his cheek, nodding before carefully placing the child in his awkward attempt of a cradle. He quickly adjusts himself with your careful guidance, much more silent than he already usually is as the baby babbled sleepily. You will yourself to stay awake despite the fatigue and discomfort settling in your bones, opting instead to lean back against the headboard as you watch Xiao marvel in the presence of your child.

"I'll protect you." Xiao says a moment later, voice soft yet filled with determination.

He turns to face you this time and you swore you saw his eyes glisten with the beginning of tears but you don't get so much of a second chance to look before he rests his forehead against your shoulder, purposely hiding so you won't see the way he breaks and the vulnerability that lies behind the battle-hardened warrior of one of Rex Lapis' strongest Yakshas.

"I'll protect the both of you no matter what the cost."

You're both terribly precious to me.

———–

I feel like I idealize relationships with these characters so much because of how touch-starved and affection craved I am but I live for soff Xiao so here. Take this mushy thing I made during class again wwww

I do hope it wasn’t too OOC at least

#Genshin Impact #Genshin Impact Xiao #genshin impact fanfiction #Genshin Impact x Reader #Xiao x Reader #Of Qingxins and Rattles

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clown-of-rivia · 4 years

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In his 300 years Jaskier has perfected being able to hide his true nature. Not even his closest friends knew that there was more to the clumsy charming bard than meets the eye.

He had managed to make a lifestyle and rhythm for himself, and worked very hard to keep it that way. He was happy. He was safe. He was normal.

As normal as a Higher Vampire can be.

Till he met Geralt

____

Being an extremely rare and dangerous race, very little is known of higher vampires. They keep to themselves and are highly secretive. They can pass as human and hide their powerful abilities rather easily, and often do, living for decades amongst them without suspicion.

They were inhumanely fast, could behead a man with a single swipe, and could regenerate from a single piece of flesh back into their normal state. They were, essentially invincible. But they had one weakness. They had to feed.

It was their biggest secret, closely guarded. If a higher vampire was starved for too long from human blood they would grow weaker and weaker until they start to transform. They become feral and lose all reasoning, not being able to retract to their calm state, permanently becoming bloodthirsty killing machines that could usually only be killed by one of their own kind. Human blood was therefore more than just a delicacy, it kept them healthy, powerful, and most importantly, sane.

There was another well-kept secret to higher vampires, although it had been speculated by experts throughout the years. Being as complex and powerful as they are, each higher vampire had a special ability, often completely unique.

So did Jaskier.

Jaskier was able to hypnotise. Although he was careful not to use his talent when performing, it was a necessary part of his life. You see, Jaskier was a bit of a slut. Or that is how people thought of him with how often he took someone to bed. He hardly even had to try, his paramours usually approaching him with their proposition.

There was some truth in the rumours, he did get proposition very often, and he accepted more often than not. However, only a small handful of those encounters ended in sex. Jaskier knew he had to feed, it was an unfortunately unavoidable part of his nature, no matter how much he hated it. So he developed an art out of it - returning the alluring looks, a saucy wink, and following an eager human to bed. He would serenade them then, softly, leading them into a calm hypnotic state. A gentle bite to their neck, careful not to injure more than absolutely necessary, he would take a few mouthfuls to keep him for the next few weeks. They always tasted so sweet, nothing like the sharp bitterness of a frightened human’s blood like what his parents had in their house. Calm and happy and aroused human blood was unparalleled to any other.

Once done and his brief intoxication passed, he would lull them to sleep with another song, replacing the blank memory with something happy and sweet, leaving them to blissful dreams. He carried a small pot of healing balm he would apply to the two tiny punctures, ensuring it would be gone by the morning. They would wake up happy, and be none the wiser.

Jaskier had no desire to ever outright harm, drain, or kill. It was what had isolated him from his family in the first place. Not even in self-defence would he resort to his vampiric abilities, knowing that no matter how he was harmed he would heal.

He just wanted to be happy, and to make others happy. He wanted to play his music, make friends, and enjoy life.

Then he met Geralt.

When he first approached the hooded stranger it was out of curiosity, and maybe hoping that with some eyelash fluttering he could score a free meal as he had been short on coin for a while. True, he didn’t need to eat, but he still liked to.

But then he saw the yellow cat eyes, the two swords, and the heavy armour.

Jaskier used his iron will he rarely relied on to keep his panic down, knowing Witchers could smell such emotions.

Despite the risk, Jaskier was short on material for his songs, and when the Witcher pointed out the inaccuracies, he decided he had a new goal. Stick to the Witcher. (as long as he could)

He had been sure Geralt would figure it out, soon rather than later. But he didn’t. Jaskier had spent centuries perfecting his cover, so knowing it paid off to such a test was delightful. So he stayed and followed.

At first it was for inspiration, then for adventure, then for friendship, then for happiness...and now it was for love.

It developed slowly, this ‘thing’ between them. Warm golden eyes on him when he laughed, sitting pressed together next to the fire, getting one bed despite having enough coin for two, excuses to touch, and sharing a bedroll ‘for warmth’ despite it being a warm night. It was soft shy smiles and gentle lingering touches. It was new and fragile and made his heart feel alive in a way that it hadn’t...maybe ever. He kept it close to his heart, shielded it from the elements, nurturing it and watching it bloom. Both welcomed this unspoken change between them, this new happiness and warmth. By now it was more like playful teasing, seeing which of them would snap first and take that final step, to seal their lips and finally confirm their relationship.

But as with all things in Jaskier’s life, happiness just wasn’t that simple. He still had to feed. He used to break away for a week or so every few months for that exact purpose, but had grown reluctant to leave his Witcher. When he suggested he needed to attend to something, Geralt shyly asked if he could come with, clearly not wanting to be without him either.

So he was torn between the the way seeing Geralt smile at him made him feel like he could burst with happiness and love, and the way he could feel himself grow weaker, see himself getting more pale and gaunt.

Geralt became more and more worried as the weeks passed. Worried looks turned to carefully asking if he was okay, to firmly demanding he eat and sleep more and ride on Roach instead of walking. He refused Geralt’s offers to take him to a healer, because obviously the bard had something serious, until the offer became a threat. Jaskier knew he was running out of time.

So he waited for an opportunity. They were in a new town and Geralt had just left on a contract and wouldn’t be back till morning. That night Jaskier mustered all his strength and charm to sing, then accepted the flirtations of the comely barmaid. He hadn’t realised how truly starved he was till the taste of her sweet blood knocked him out and he awoke to morning’s early light. She was still thankfully sleeping blissfully, so he quickly applied the balm and hummed a tune and watched a smile spread on her lips.

He sneaked into the corridor, careful to quietly close the door behind him. He had just turned, fixing his sleep wrinkled shirt with his doublet in hand when he heard a crash and looked up.

A stake to the heart would've hurt less than the look of wounded betrayal on the Witcher's beautiful face. At his feet lay two plates of food, breakfast he was bringing to what he had assumed would be a sleeping sick bard in their bed.

“Geralt, this isn’t-” he started, his eyes desperately imploring as he reached for his Witcher, but the man only made a choked sound, taking a step back, then all but fleeing the inn.

Jaskier had never hated himself and his nature this much in all his years. And he had hated himself a lot in the past.

They never spoke of it. But things had changed once again. Only now it was cold. Distant. He couldn't explain to Geralt that these interactions were never sexual (he never - not once - took sexual advantage of a hypnotised paramour), hasn’t been in years, or why he had to do it. That would also mean Geralt finding out the truth about him. The entire truth.

Whether it be about lying for 20 years or being a vampire- either or both would have Geralt leaving him. Even kill him. He couldn’t bear the thought of parting from Geralt, just the thought left him feeling empty, lost, and hurt.

Still, Geralt didn’t turn him away. He didn’t tell him to leave, didn’t disappear in the night, or ride off with Roach at a speed he couldn’t keep up. He took the cold silence and clear muted pain on his beloved’s face as his punishment. He would do anything fo this man. Anything to make up for the hurt, even if Geralt never looks at him with a smile on his lips and affection in his eyes again.

So Jaskier decided to give up feeding.

At 327 he has lived a full life. He had lived and laughed and loved and lost, more than he could ever have hoped for. He use his remaining time to write as many songs as he could that would become his realy immortality once he is gone, that would remind the world that his Witcher was kind, noble, and brave. That would make life easier, even just a little. He would follow Geralt as long as he could until he grew too weak to walk, then go off on his own to put an end to himself before he hurts anyone.

And if he turns before that...well. At least Geralt would be there to put him down.

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #netflix the witcher #geraskier #julian alfred pankratz #vampire!jaskier #non human jaskier #my writing #vampire au

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squiggledrop · 3 years

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Birthday Confessions - Spencer x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Reader (gender neutral) and Spencer are both secretly in love with each other. Reader is going to be alone for their birthday, so Spencer comes up with a plan to surprise them.

Word Count: 4k

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: Kissing

Note: Written based on this request: “Spencer knows the reader doesn't have family near and celebrates it with her?” by @amofbebbanburg. So sorry this literally took me forever.

The low rumble of the jet lulled you to sleep, your head falling to rest on Emily’s shoulder. Spencer sat across from you, his eyes fixated on the slight curve of your lips as your chest rose and fell with every breath you took, in tandem with the fluttering of his heart. The orange hue of his reading light dusted your cheeks, and the soft sounds you made resonated between his ears. He was so transfixed on your angelic, sleeping form, that he was unaware of the smirk plastered across Emily’s face as she watched him look at you. When he noticed her staring, he cleared his throat and abruptly returned his gaze back towards his book. Her light chuckle at his actions brought a harsh blush to his cheeks, only causing him to sink behind his book even further.

“You know, you’re not being very subtle”, Emily teased, “(Y/n)’s going to catch on sooner or later”. Spencer felt his lungs constrict as panic coursed its way through his body.

“Wha-what do you mean?”, he confoundingly replied, having realized just how obvious he had been.

“Spencer”, she said with a knowing look, “We all know how you feel about (Y/n)-”

“Emily!”, he hissed. His eyes growing tenfold as he looked back at you to make sure you were still asleep. “They’re right there!”, he pleaded, turning his head to gesture towards your unconscious form.

“Relax”, she grinned. “They’re asleep, and trust me, (Y/n) can sleep through anything”, she said, rolling her eyes fondly. Spencer fought back a smile, trying to maintain his stoic composure, as he thought of how annoyed Emily would get on cases when your absurdly loud alarm would go off and not even wake you up. You would always joke that the point of your alarm wasn’t to wake yourself but to wake up Emily so that you could be woken up by the smiling face of your best friend. Emily would always glare at you in the mornings while on cases, and you would return the favor by laughing Oh hush, you love me, as the rest of the team shook their heads at your comical antics.

Spencer bit his bottom lip as he thought about how he wouldn’t mind being woken up every morning to an air horn in his ear if it meant he got to wake up next to you. He would wake you up with gentle kisses across your face while holding you tightly to his chest. He would make sure to always have a huge smile on his face as he told you how much he loves you, just so you would start each day knowing how wonderful he thinks you are.

When the jet landed Emily gently shook her shoulder, causing you to groggily awake from your sleep. “Morning sleeping beauty”, she joked. You took in a deep breath, lifting your head and taking in your surroundings. It was dark, save for an amber halo peeking through Spencer’s deep curls. An inaudible gasp left your lips at the sight of him smiling down at you with his dark eyes that still managed to shine brighter than all the stars in the night sky. To quell the augmented flutter of your heart, you quickly turned away, hiding your flushed cheeks, before putting your head back down on Emily’s shoulder.

“Mmm, goodnight”, you sighed, closing your eyes as a smile crept its way to your lips.

“Nice try”, she laughed as she took her arm out from under you, placing a teasing pout across your face, “I’ve hit my sleeping (Y/n) quota for the week”. You reluctantly sat back up and were face to face with the man you had been hiding from. Your eyes met, and you lingered slightly too long looking at each other, completely unaware of Emily’s smirk.

“Right”, you cleared your throat, standing up. Spencer jolted his eyes back down to his book as he turned to place it in his satchel. You took this opportunity to make your way off the jet, not daring to look back at the man you were hopelessly in love with.

As you rode the elevator up to the sixth floor, you were hyper-aware of Spencer’s presence behind you. You kept sneaking glances at him, only to see he was looking at you each time you did. And each time you would both avert your eyes, just to look back a moment later.

After the team debriefed in the conference room, everyone went back to their respective desks to finish up some paperwork for the case before heading home. Luckily for you, this meant having to sit across from Spencer and using every fiber in your body to not look up at him. Spencer, however, couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He watched as you flipped through the files on your desk, and admired how you ran your fingers through your hair, a habit of yours when you were deep in thought. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you began to chew on your lip, and he couldn’t get the idea of kissing your tender, plump lips out of his mind. You were killing him. He couldn’t focus on his work, and all he wanted was to hear your voice, he needed to.

“So, are you doing anything for your birthday this weekend?”, Spencer inquired. Your head shot up from your desk, your mind having gone blank at his question. He furrowed his eyebrows at you, while his musky brown eyes searched your face. Spencer’s face fell as he slowly turned back to the open file on his desk, figuring he said something to make you uncomfortable. Your eyes were fixated on him, as his words, that hung in the awkward silence, finally caught up to you.

“Uh, h-how did you know it was my birthday?”, you questioned, genuinely confused. You had been at the BAU for seven months, after having transferred from the San Francisco office, and you were sure your birthday, of all things, had never been the topic of conversation. It’s not that you hated your birthday, but seeing as your family lived on the other side of the country, you felt silly celebrating it beyond a text from your mom. Truth be told, you had almost forgotten it was coming up with how hectic everything has been at your new job. It was a lot different than your previous job in California, which mostly consisted of doing paperwork at your desk. But, you couldn’t be happier than where you were: doing your dream job with people that were slowly becoming your family. Emily quickly became your best friend, and your crush on the very man sitting across from you formed not long after. So, imagine your surprise when he looked at you, through dark circles that framed glazed over eyes, hazy from sleepless nights during long cases, and asked you if you had any plans for your birthday.

“Oh, um, well”, he looked away from you and scratched the back of his neck as his plump lips formed a slight smile, “i-it was in your file from when you joined, and you know, eidetic memory”. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled innocently at you before staring back down at his desk.

“Right, of course”, you forced a smile as his head shot back up and nodded. “Well”, your face brightened in an attempt to break the palpable awkwardness that had formed between you two, “probably just going to spend it watching David Tennant on my tv while curled up on the couch with some ice cream.”

“What? For your birthday? You aren’t going out to celebrate?”, he questioned, appearing genuinely concerned.

“Well, normally I would, but drinking at a bar alone doesn’t scream ‘Happy Birthday’, you know”, you chuckled.

“You should at least have cake, everyone should get to have cake on their birthday. Actually, birthday cakes date back to ancient Rome, where people would have cakes made out of flour, nuts, yeast, and honey. However, birthday cakes became popularized in the 15th century in Germany when bakeries began making one layered cakes for people to buy to celebrate birthdays”, he said as he raised his eyebrows while his lips formed a thin smile. You couldn’t help but look at him with complete adoration as he rambled. “But, um, you aren’t even doing anything with Emily or Garcia?”, he hesitantly questioned. Your lips pressed together as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Emily treated me to lunch earlier in the week because she has plans this weekend”, you reassured him and he nodded, “Plus, it’s the first year I won’t be with my parents and I just miss them so I don’t really feel like celebrating alone”, He gave you a sympathetic smile as you shrugged. “But, I promise I’ll at least get cake batter ice cream”, you smiled while winking, eliciting a laugh from him.

“Okay good”, he said, smiling back. His warm chuckles still reverberated throughout your chest, swirling around your heart. Once again you found yourself frozen, knowing you should turn away, but not finding an ounce of strength to do so as you both just gazed into each other’s eyes.

“Well uh, goodnight”, you said, forcing yourself to look down to grab your bag and head towards the elevator. Your stomach clenched as you kept your gaze ahead, not daring to look back at him. Spencer, however, couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you left. His eyes caressed each of your curves as you walked further and further away from him. He bit his bottom lip, smiling to himself as he watched you leave.

“Goodnight”, he murmured to an empty room with an obnoxious smile plastered on his face.

You woke up the next morning, the sun glaring in through your blinds. You turned over in your white, crinkled sheets, shutting your eyes in an effort to avoid the intruding rays. The ding of your phone pierced the quiet room as you sighed and rolled back over to check your phone. You groaned as you squinted at the screen, the harsh light it emitted illuminating your face.

From Derek: Hey sweet cheeks, sorry to bother you on our day off, but Hotch called a meeting. He said it’s urgent.

Great, you thought, Happy Birthday to me. You forced yourself out of bed and wasted no time getting ready before heading over to the BAU. You grabbed a granola bar on your way out, rolling your eyes, dreading having to spend your birthday working instead of sleeping all day.

When you walked into an empty bullpen, you were even more confused. You got out your phone, ready to text Morgan, but you got a text from Garcia.

From Penelope: Good morning and happy happy birthday my sweet sweet (Y/n). Everyone is in the conference room! :)

When you opened the door to the conference room, instead of seeing grotesque crime scene photos of victims, you found the whole team there, each sporting a very cliché party hat. You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face as everyone shouted Happy Birthday! You made your rounds hugging and thanking everyone, however, you couldn’t help but notice that someone was missing.

“Hey, Pen, where’s Spence?”, you asked as everyone else was distracted in conversations.

“Oh, he um, he had something to do today, so he couldn’t make it”, she said sympathetically, noticing that the smile you were trying to force was gradually falling.

“Oh okay”, you said, looking around trying to appear happy.

“But um”, she said, turning to Derek, who raised his eyebrows and shook his head before stepping out of the room, “he gave us very special instructions on what to do”, she reassured. Your heart fluttered at her words, knowing that Spencer did this for you. Just as you were about to ask her what he said, the lights turned off. Derek came in holding a cake adorned with candles as everyone sang “Happy Birthday”. When he held the cake in front of you, you read what it said: Outside those doors, we might see anything. We could find new worlds, terrifying monsters, impossible things. And if you come with me… nothing will ever be the same again! Happy Birthday (Y/n)! You felt a tear slip down your cheek as you blew out the candles. The tenth doctor was drawn on the cake and you couldn’t stop rereading the quote of his that was written on top. You smiled back up at your team and thanked them for such an amazing birthday.

Despite the love and appreciation you felt from the rest of the team, you couldn’t help but spend the rest of the party overthinking, hiding it behind a façade. You didn’t want to read too much into the quote, but Spencer, who could probably, no definitely, recite every line from Doctor Who, had chosen this one for your birthday cake. You desperately wanted it to mean something, but if he hadn’t even shown up to your party, clearly you weren’t that important to him. When everyone had finished eating, you thanked them again and gave your hugs goodbye. You drove home and blasted your music, loudly singing along, in hopes of drowning out the thoughts of Spencer that swarmed your head.

When you reached your door, there was nothing you wanted more than to put on your sweats and sink into your couch. You slid your key into the deadbolt and pushed open the door. Expecting to walk into your desolate apartment, tears were brought to your eyes at what you found when you walked in. The lights were off and the windows had trash bags taped over them to prevent any sun from breaking the barrier and entering your apartment. You looked all around and were met with string lights adorning your ceiling as if there were a thousand glass stars littering your apartment. A projector sat on the floor near the entryway, projecting galaxies that were currently orbiting around the room. The twinkling lights drew your gaze onto the figure standing in the middle of the dimly lit room. You couldn’t make out his face, but you could tell who it was by the way his dark curls were illuminated by the intertwining auburn and cream-colored swirls of Jupiter that spun around him.

“Spence…”, you whispered, his name slipping out as you felt yourself being pulled towards him. You had missed him so much today, and at the sight of him, you couldn’t contain the relief that washed over you. You placed your hands on his arms, the soft fabric of his pinstriped suit felt so right under your light grasp. You looked down at his converse, laughing as you realized he was dressed as the tenth Doctor. Looking up at him and meeting his gaze, you suddenly realized how close you two were and that you were practically holding him in your arms. “This is amazing”, you chocked out as you quickly pulled away, wiping the tear that rolled down your cheek as you sheepishly smiled.

“That’s Doctor to you”, he teased, matching your smile tenfold.

“Sorry”, you laughed, “this is amazing, Doctor.” You looked around your apartment again, still stunned at how captivating it was. “Um, how did you do all this?”, you asked amazed.

“W-well, you mentioned you were going to spend your birthday watching David Tennant on your television, and I figured having the Doctor in person would be an even better way to spend your birthday… And then I figured what kind of Doctor would I be if I didn’t show you outer space”. You opened your mouth but were swiftly cut off by him, “And, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to celebrate with everyone, but, I had to get you out of here and I thought you would enjoy spending some time with the team. Oh!”, he abruptly interjected, “did you um, get your cake?”, he timidly asked with a sheepish smile.

“Yes, I-I did. It was delicious by the way”, he nodded, “I missed you, but thank you for the party”, you said, just above a whisper, “but um, this, is amazing. I-It’s beautiful, Spence”, you smiled, admiring all the twinkling lights and planets that orbited the two of you, “really. Thank you”, you said, finally looking into his eyes that bore into you.

“You are beautiful”, he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. You were speechless. Your mouth opened a few times as you struggled to find a response. “I just thought you should know”, he added after your prolonged silence.

“The quote, on the cake. Did you um…”, you broke the silence between you two looking up at him expectantly.

“Yeah um”, he scratched the back of his neck as he smiled to the ground, “I uh, that line always makes me think of you”, your eyes widened at his words, “At work, we come across the most ‘terrifying monsters’, but, when I’m with you, I feel safe and when I look at you, I’m reminded that there are still amazing, beautiful things in the world, because, I-I think”, he cleared his throat, trying to hold back tears, “Because you are beautiful and amazing, and I am so lucky to have you in my life”. You were stunned. Your heart was beating so fast you feared he could hear it. Your silence, however, scared Spencer, because he didn’t want to lose you just because he had decided to spill his heart to you after breaking into your apartment. “I thought we could watch Doctor Who together”, he paused, still looking for any hint of a reaction from you, “but if not, I can just go. I didn’t mean to barge in like this and-”, he was cut off as you flung yourself into him. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he latched onto you, breathing a sigh of relief.

“No! Um, that, that sounds amazing”, you whispered into his neck. “I’d love nothing more than to be th-the Doctor’s companion”, you said, smiling against his soft skin.

“Good”, he laughed, “that’s, that’s very good”. You lifted your head off his shoulder, just enough to look into his eyes. Your smile slowly dropped as you moved in closer to his mouth, lightly brushing your lips against his. His eyes fluttered shut as you spoke against his mouth.

“But, as much as I love the Doctor, I would much rather be with my favorite doctor,” you smiled against his lips as you looked up, searching his eyes.

“I think that can be arranged”, Spencer mumbled against your lips, opening his eyes as your noses brushed up against each other. You looked into his velvet eyes and swore you could see the entire universe in them as they reflected the warm glow of every star hanging above your head. You moved in closer, finally connecting your lips. Warmth rose within you, radiating out through your chest as his lips moved against yours. His arms moved up and down your back, mapping every curve of your body as if he were drawing constellations onto your flushed skin. Your fingertips ran across his supple skin as you cupped his cheek, deepening the kiss. His tongue grazed your bottom lip and you gladly opened your mouth, granting him more access. With every breath you took, you inhaled him in even deeper, getting high off the notes of cinnamon and coffee that flooded your senses. He pulled you impossibly closer, pushing you flush against his chest, and the moan you elicited only intensified his grip. Your thighs clenched and your knees felt week as he began to kiss along your jaw. The warmth of his mouth trailing its way down your neck, caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “So beautiful”, he murmured against your sensitive skin, saying it to himself more than anything else. Each kiss caused a string of electricity to shoot throughout your system, as you ran your fingers through his deep curls, tugging lightly. His kisses gradually became less intense, and your breathing began to even out. He gave a final peck to your neck and then to your cheek and finally your lips, before leaning back to look you in the eyes. “Happy Birthday”, he said smiling at you, while his eyes gleamed with adoration.

“Thank you”, you replied, your brain still fuzzy from the kiss you two just shared, “for, um, everything.”

“Of course”, he smiled, still holding your gaze, “So um, do you want to watch Doctor Who…”.

“Yeah, yes”, you nodded, finally getting some grip back on reality. You walked over to the couch, Spencer’s hand still laced in yours. You sat down first and Spencer sat next to you, still grasping onto your hand as if you would disappear if he let go. You grabbed the remote from the coffee table and leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as you both relaxed into the couch. As you were getting Doctor Who set up on the tv, Spencer took your hand into both of his and ran his fingers over your knuckles.

“I know I’m no David Tennant”, he said, causing you to turn and look up him, “but um, I-I just wanted to be clear that I, I like you, a lot”.

“I like you too Spence”, you smiled, “a lot”, you teased. “And, Dr. Spencer Reid is way better than any other Doctor in my book”, you kissed him on the cheek, causing him to blush.

“Really?”, he asked, biting his lip.

“Really”, you reassured him.

“Even Matt Smith?”, he joked.

“Oooh I don’t know about that”, you said coyly, raising your eyebrows. Despite your joking manner, Spencer’s face still fell.

“Oh. Sorry. Yeah, he’s um-”, he rambled, looking down at his shoes.

“Spence”, you stopped him and put your hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up at you, “I was just joking”, you said earnestly, making sure he understood. You searched his eyes as he slowly nodded. “When I said I like you, I meant I really like you, and only you, okay?”, he nodded again but remained silent, “I’ve kind of had a crush on you since my second day at the BAU”, you said smiling as a blush found its way to your cheeks, “and there is no one I would rather be with than you”. Spencer couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Your angelic voice echoed in his head as he pulled you towards his chest, enveloping you in a hug.

“You are the only person I want to be with too”, he said, pulling back so he could see your beautiful face. “And I’ve liked you since your first day at the BAU”, he smiled, crinkling his eyes. You let out a breathy laugh as you gave him a quick peck before snuggling back into him on the couch.

“Always have to one-up me, don’t you doctor”, you teased, and this time he laughed as he pulled you in closer to him, running his fingers along the side of your hip. As the episode began, you turned up to him again and pondered, “Speaking of one-upping, you took me to outer space on our first date, so I am very excited to see what you plan to do for our second”. You both giggled as he kissed the top of your head.

Finally feeling confident after your many reassurances, Spencer quipped back, “Someone’s eager, and who said anything about a date?”, he smiled, “this is just a birthday present”. You feigned being hurt by his words as you laughed.

“Dr. Spencer Reid”, you shook your head, “I told you, I’m your companion”, you smirked, causing him to laugh, “you are stuck with me”.

“Good”, he said, peppering your face with kisses as you giggled, “Because I am never letting you go”. He looked into your eyes as the Doctor Who theme song played in the background and you both smiled like idiots. You turned your attention back to the tv and held onto each other for the rest of the night. You fell asleep in each other’s arms as the stars twinkled above your heads and you spun in orbit with the planets that danced throughout the apartment.

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mythicmalasada · 3 years

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*rattles container* it’s feeding time

on bennett’s birthday, lumine teased him like they weren’t going to celebrate it because it wasn’t *actually* the 29th.

(actually had xiangling make him a cake where they then had a party at diluc’s tavern)

when aether and lumine reconnect and move on to travel even more worlds in the future (which will happen. they will make up), xingqiu writes a story about her/their adventures. it becomes a bestseller.

similarly, venti writes her a song that becomes popular all throughout teyvat.

xingqiu writes another book after lumine leaves about his time spent adventuring together with them, all the crazy situations he’d been in and the wild things they’d seen.

lumine doesn’t read either of these books until she returns about a decade later, to which she flips open the first page, reads the first few words, then smirks and looks up at xingqiu with a smug “so you think i’m a hero, huh?”

sleep wise: chongyun sleepwalks, xingqiu sleep talks. bennett kicks violently. lumine just has nightmares (oops)

on nightmares, though: sometimes when it gets bad and she’ll wake up screaming, xingqiu, chongyun, and bennett will all lay around her and help her fall back asleep.

venti comes to xiao when lumine leaves mondstadt to travel on to liyue and tells him to keep her safe; it’s the first time xiao’s ever seen him serious.

chongyun being the youngest even by a few months connects him on a different level to gen z humor; sometimes he says the most random, absurd or concerning shit that gets eyebrows from the rest of the team

“chongyun you should practice your footwork today” “guess i’ll go drown myself”

“poor xiao, according to these novels it says he’s been trapped in eternal suffering for centuries” “mood”

lumine didn’t think chongyun was anything special when they first met, but then she saw him fighting and instantly became entranced by his abilities.

he’d mastered the ability to use his claymore as a center of gravity from lots of hard work and training; he’s practically flipping in the air, the weapon using him as extension rather than he himself wielding it.

it’s amazing. lumine’s never seen anything like it. she goes from “pfft okay let’s see this kid” to “oh wow... you... you’re beautiful” in Seconds

a boy once had a crush on lumine in a world they’d travelled to long before. aether’s overprotective big brother instincts had kicked in and the memory is still fond in the back of her mind; she wonders how he’d react to the current lumiharem that has more or less formed within teyvat.

travelling to inazuma becomes too dangerous to bring any of her previous teammates along, so considering lumine doesn’t have a vision, she goes by herself.

in inazuma she meets kazuha (i am an avid kazlumi shipper, read to learn how, somehow, to be loved myself) where they start travelling together as a two person team.

eventually sayu joins; picture kazuha and lumine each holding one of her hands as she walks between them, the two of them swinging her back and forth.

sayu’s design implies she’s a tired kind of character, so she often sleeps. kazuha the workaholic and lumine the go-getter are suddenly introduced to the concept of afternoon naps.

sayu the tanuki ninja vs. kazuha the bakufu samurai. do i need to say any more

anemo family,,

kazuha and lumine, sword users, are amazed by how well sayu wields a giant claymore.

again, kazuha and lumine are very one-track minded, often not stopping to sleep, eat, or take care of themselves until their task is completed. sayu’s added presence makes them more self aware, stopping for full meals or naps or doing things a bit less recklessly.

lumine leaves for a few months for inazuma and when she comes back with a boyfriend and adoptive daughter bennett, xingqiu and chongyun are like: 🧍🧍🧍

in other words, bennett LOVES sayu. he takes her toy shopping and lets her ride on his shoulders to see above the crowd, or builds her a little doll out of sticks and windwheel asters he spent hours making.

(he’s also determined to be the favorite.)

chongyun is awkward around kids but they’re still drawn to him, for whatever reason. sayu likes seeing the way his cryo vision works because it reminds her of ayaka.

xingqiu tries his hardest to get sayu to like him but she really just Does Not, for whatever reason.

when xingqiu and sayu first meet, he holds out his hand in a handshake for her to take (because he has no other grasp of how to interact with people if not formally) and she starts trembling.

lumine ushers sayu away from him and xingqiu is like what did i Do

(on a sadder note: lumine comes back from inazuma with a literal Family and xiao, who had been pining for her the whole time she’d been gone, is crushed upon the sight of her return.)

lumine likes to braid both sayu and kazuha’s hair because it reminds her of how she used to do it for aether.

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sugarcubetikki · 3 years

Text

Implications of Teaser #2

I can't stop thinking about the 2nd Teaser. I've found so many implications to it already that I'm freaking out.

(Probably going to talk about the first teaser later. We can save time for ranting about Hawk Moth's ugly suit later).

Let's start off with exactly who this person is (poor Barkk).

From older spoilers, this person goes by the name Su-Han.

Miraculous Mexico also confirmed that he's a guardian from the temple and doesn't like the idea of Marinette being a guardian.

And surprise. Surprise. He's also going to be akumatized:

The real question is:

Why is Su-Han against Marinette being guardian?

There are a multiple range of answers to this question, some more obvious than others.

I'm going to highlight on key three reasons why:

Marinette is Master Fu's chosen.

She has no proper guidance.

She's only a teenage girl

Firstly, it's important to note that Master Fu made Marinette the guardian, and the last impression that Fu made on the order of guardians wasn't very...pleasant. Due to his foolish actions, the temple was destroyed and all the guardians and miracle box in the temple were gone for nearly two hundred years until Feast when Ladybug used her cure to resurrect all the damage. It's not like Fu even went back to talk to them. He said he would but never found the time since he was on the run and lost his memory after that.

These people from the order "wake up" after nearly two hundred years, and they're probably trying to catch up with time, and are trying to locate other miraculous. We see exactly that happening in the NY special, when the guardian of the Native American Miracle Box, locates Eagle and tries to take back the miraculous from her.

By evidence of LB and CN's presence in Paris, they must know that the Chinese Miracle Box is there too, and that ties back to Fu. Since it was one of the guardians that told Fu to take the Miracle Box to safety, they can connect the pieces.

However, are they going to be accommodating to Fu and his choices? Especially after he made that huge mistake? How can they trust him or his chosen to handle the Miraculous?

Furthermore, they don't know how exactly the Butterfly and Peacock Miraculous got into the wrong hands, but they're going to blame that on Fu too. With the claim that Paris wouldn't need superheroes if Fu hadn't lost the miraculous...

Since Ladybug and Cat Noir are tied to Fu, they might not like them very much. This might go two ways: they might want to take the miracle box AND the their miraculous away OR they might let them continue being heroes seeing how they defeated Feast in the first place to bring them back, however, they still don't want Marinette do be the guardian.

The shadows of Fu's mistake is a key element in why they're very unsure with the whole idea of Marinette guarding the Miracle Box. She's still Fu's chosen. Wielding a miraculous is one thing but guarding an entire box of miraculous is something else entirely...

This is where my second point comes in: she has no proper guidance. From what we know, these guardians put people into training for guardian from a very young age. Having these really strict methods of guarding the miraculous, and we're still not sure what they think is the appropriate age to become a guardian.

The thing is that...Marinette is a very young guardian, with no proper training. In their eyes, they could see that as a potential risk. They might think Marinette's inexperience could lead her to making a number of mistakes in the future. They could even connect Marinette's position back to Fu's mistake, who was also young and inexperienced, and because of that, he destroyed the temple, and let the butterfly and peacock miraculous fall into the wrong hands.

They might not want history to repeat itself and therefore, letting Marinette stay as guardian very difficult for them to accept.

This is where we move onto the third point: Marinette is a teenage girl. They don't trust Marinette because she's too young and the last time they trusted a teen with a Miracle Box, he burnt down an entire temple. Furthermore, all the guardians so far, the ones in NY, Su-Han, Fu, they're all men. These guardians weren't chosen in the 21st century, but chosen in a time where women were still seen as inferior to men. And from what we know, the guardians are very old-fashioned.

It makes me wonder...whether...Marinette being a girl serves more as a reason to why she shouldn't be a guardian. It's an extremely sexist perspective. Miraculous might not directly point it out, but they might imply it. The show is about female empowerment, and adding a conflict point like this, is something they would do. It might imply that females are not often chosen as guardians. On top of being young, Marinette being a girl could break the guardian's traditionalist ways. This is speculation. Like I said, Miraculous would not directly address this matter, but they might imply it, liked they implied xenophobia in Bakerix.

As this show encourages female empowerment, makes sense why Marinette is the guardian. It has more impact in breaking traditionalist views. Since the guardians follow traditionalist views, and Marinette stands for everything that breaks these traditionalist views: a 21st century female teenager

Where does Su-Han come to play in this? Exactly?

Makes me wonder if he was the previous guardian of the Chinese Miracle Box before Fu. What if he was the one who assigned Fu to guard the box? What if a part of him also sees it as a mistake to entrust Fu? What if he's going back to Paris to fix his mistake?

Technically, Su-Han is a loophole in the "renounce the Miracle Box, lose your memory" rule. Since he was pretty much killed, when the box passed on to Fu, and then resurrected again afterwards.

Now, it also makes me wonder, since he doesn't want Marinette to be the guardian, he wants Marinette to renounce the box. If she renounces the box, she'll lose her memory. And this could mean he's considering taking her miraculous away too since she'll lose all memory of the miraculous away anyways. Making the plot of the episode even more dramatic and impactful. Like with all this happening, how would one not be watching this episode sitting on the edge of their seat?

And this is what I got by one little promo?

Crazy. Crazy. Crazy implications. This might not all happen, I'm theorizing and exploring all the implications and reasons behind "Su-Han being a guardian and being against the idea of Marinette being a guardian."

Huge concept stuff right here. A lot of theory potential. I'm already hyped and I cannot wait for S4 : )

EDIT: Ignore my “what if” relating to Su-Han being Fu’s teacher. A user makes an excellent claim saying that each guardian seems to possess a special staff. In the flashback of Feast, Fu is carrying a staff with a green gem. In the trailer, Su-Han’s staff carries a purple gem. Shows that they’re different people.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #mlb #ml season 4 #ml theory #miraculous season 4 #ml analysis #ml spoilers #su-han #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #master fu

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pastelsandpining · 3 years

Note

Song: "The Panic In Me" by Elton John

Pairing: post-calamity zelink

Congrats on 200!! You deserve more you lovely goddess!!

here you go! a serving of angsty fluff

The Panic in Me

words: 2349

warnings: death mention, panic attacks, nightmares, survivor's guilt if you squint

Masterlist | Song Fics

------

In a perfect world, they could leave their past behind them. They could move on with their lives, never once interrupted by the ghosts of an era that played out so long ago, neither of them should be alive to remember it. But this was not a perfect world, and too often, memories of the past taunted and pulled them so taught, it was hard to believe they hadn’t broken yet. Link did not know if it was easier to have a full memory, or if he was the lucky one out of the pair. Most of the time, he just felt lost. Where something should be, there was a blurry and vague image that made no sense to him. Gaping holes in the memory of his past life lead to many sleepless nights, and this was just another one of them.

In that life that was lost to the hands of time, he’d been a knight in service of the princess. A hero, destined to bring about the Calamity. That’s the kind way to put it, he thought. Harbinger of doom was a more fitting term, even a century later when it was done and over. It was a cruel trick that, by the time he was able to sink the sacred blade into the grotesque body of the beast, he could not remember much about those he was fighting for.

There was a collection of memories, sure. A few flickers of a face here, a voice there, a group of skilled warriors that’d come together for the sake of Hyrule--and what good did skill do them in the end? Remembering meant nothing when they weren’t around to remind him of who they were. They felt too far away for him to have any sort of connection to them, and it hurt. He felt… traitorous.

“Link?”

The hero lifted his head, tearing his gaze from the water flowing quietly beneath the bridge, and turned to look at the fallen princess he’d rescued a handful of weeks ago. She was creeping towards him from the house, hugging her arms. It was too late in the night, or early in the morning, for her to be awake. He pulled his legs from over the water and stood up to meet her, the wood cold beneath his bare feet. It reminded him that the weather was growing colder, and she must be freezing. He removed the cloak from around his shoulders and draped it around hers instead, but she caught his hands before he could withdraw.

“Are you alright?” she asked. Three simple words and the answer was anything but. He didn’t think there was a set of words he could string together that would make sense of his thoughts.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered instead, giving her hands a gentle squeeze in assurance that he was fine. In moments like these, he wondered if time was a blessing. A century ago, he’d have never dared to touch her in such a casual, insignificant way.

“How long have you been out here?” she asked. It was unnatural, surely enough to be a crime, how her eyes could glow even in the darkest hours of night--even when she was tired beyond belief. He thought briefly of saying not long, but he didn’t want to lie to her.

“I don’t know,” he decided instead. It was an alarmingly honest answer. He couldn’t keep track of time when he was in his head, thinking too much about things he could do nothing about.

“Do you want to come back inside?” she offered--an implication that they shared the house on the cliffside. He supposed, in a way, they did.

“It’s cold,” he answered with a nod towards the building. She’d come out barefoot as well, and he didn’t want her getting sick when she was just starting to regain her health. “Come on.”

The house was not much warmer than the air outside, but at least there was no breeze to sink the chill further into them. Zelda discarded the cloak and Link shuddered as he fetched a spare blanket from storage. He offered it to her, then wasn't entirely sure how it came to be wrapped around both of them.

“Link,” she tried again, fishing for his hand as she started towards the stairs. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He thought about nodding, assuring her he was fine and telling her to go back to sleep, but she was too smart for that. Maybe it was a gift she had, to know when he wasn’t okay, or maybe she just knew him that well even decades later.

“I was thinking,” he admitted at last, taking a seat on the bed when she pulled him down beside her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, holding his hand between both of hers, stroking it gently with her thumb. Link never realized how fleeting physical touch was, or how badly he craved it, until he wrapped her in a hug the very day she returned. Maybe it was selfish, how he didn’t want to let her go. Some small part of him still thought that if he did, she would dissolve right in front of him the same way everyone else from his past had.

“I died,” he said simply. “Didn’t I?”

It struck a chord with her too, because she tensed and averted her gaze. He was sure it wasn’t a pleasant memory for her. He’d gotten the best of it, after all--the only thing he could see or feel was her.

“Yes,” she replied quietly. It was no louder than a whisper, but it was deafening. There was no new knowledge to be learned, but hearing the confirmation from other people was so much worse than just knowing it himself.

It was panic that filled him, thinking back on it. Panic that it wasn’t actually over at all, and that he’d find himself waking up alone with no one to touch all over again. He couldn’t speak the words aloud, so he simply sat there, letting Zelda lay him in her lap. Her hands in his hair, her quiet humming, carried him through the staggered breathing and flashes of a burning world. By the time he came around again, dawn was breaking over the horizon and he didn’t have the energy to move. It was a miracle Zelda’s fingers hadn’t put him to sleep already.

“You’re here,” she whispered, far closer to his ear than he remembered her being. It made him shiver. “We’re here. I won’t let you be alone.”

No, she wouldn’t, because she was too good for that. She was too good to have suffered the way she did. Where he was responsible for bloodshed, she was devoted and loyal. Link still couldn’t understand why the Goddess and her powers ignored her for so long.

“Zelda,” he said in return, lifting his gaze to her at last. It was all that could be said.

He didn’t remember being moved to the pillows, but her head was next to his now and he was certain their legs were tangled together under the sheets. He was holding onto her nightshirt far too tightly, so he uncurled his fingers to take her hands instead.

“Link,” she replied, giving his hands a squeeze, and the ridiculousness of the idea that he couldn’t even form a thank you caused him to laugh. It started weak and hardly more than a chuckle, but Zelda giggled softly beside him, and it grew until he was gasping for breath.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was so funny. Maybe nothing was, and his laughter was simply a result of the unbridled joy she brought him. He would never truly know the answer to that question.

~~~

Zelda did not go without her fair share of torment. Nightmares were common, but her waking up with a blood curdling screaming in the middle of the day was not. She didn’t remember falling asleep. Her hands grasped at something, anything, but all she found was the now crumpled pages of her journal and the wooden desk that bestowed upon her hands a new splinter. She could feel her heart slamming against the inside of her ribs, trying to break free from the prison its sole job was to keep alive. She just barely registered the words coming from her mouth: “no, no, no.”

The door flew open. Footsteps pounded up the wooden stairs and she flinched when he entered her periferal.

“Zelda?” he asked as he knelt by her side. She slowly looked his way, her entire body trembling, and she wanted to cry.

“Link,” she whispered back, broken and watery. “Gods, I-”

“What happened?” he demanded, taking one of her hands. She winced. It was the hand with the splinter. He flipped it to her palm. She didn’t know how he could be so precise and smooth, but the intrusive piece of wood was gone before she could think of digging it out herself.

“I had a dream,” she explained, “the night before… before the Calamity. It made no sense but it felt… foreboding, like a promise—and I think I just had another.”

“Okay,” Link answered with a nod. She watched him shift, kneel in a more comfortable position--a sign he wasn’t going anywhere until she finished speaking. Zelda gripped his hands tighter. She recalled the whispered cries for help, the mangled corpse with glowing, familiar eyes, the feeling of falling down, down, down with him being the last thing she saw. She was shaking again, on the verge of tears, because she didn’t want to lose him again. They had only just started to learn how to love each other in a way that wasn’t dependent on who they were a century ago. She didn’t think she could do it again.

“It doesn’t feel like just a dream, does it?” he asked. Always so considerate, always so understanding.

“There’s been records of prophetic dreams,” she admitted quietly. She wished that if she didn’t speak it loud enough, then it wouldn’t be real.

“Do you think it’s prophetic?”

“I don’t know.”

She didn’t want it to be. The idea that this might not be over after all was terrifying. But Link gave her hands a gentle squeeze and pulled her forwards until she was on his lap, curled up into his arms where nothing could get to her. He was there, just as he always was. He was there when she visited the supposed grave of her father, and he was there when she took her first pilgrimage to Gerudo Town without the company of Urbosa, and he was there when the expectations of the past on her shoulders felt too heavy for her to keep afoot. What had she done to deserve his good graces?

“It’s okay,” he assured, even though she didn’t feel like it. His fingers came up to thread through her hair and she held onto him a little tighter. There were still the remnants of what it felt like to be falling, and the disgust and trepidation that came after seeing the dried out remains of someone who looked too familiar to be of any comfort.

“What if it’s real?” she asked in a whisper, trying to search his blue eyes for any indication that he was lying.

“There’s no way to know that for sure, but if it is, then I won’t let you face it alone.”

He looked so sincere. There wasn’t the slightest waver behind his eyes, or any uncertainty in his voice. He was so steady, so kind, and she almost believed him. She wanted more than anything to believe him. But she didn’t like the implications of her drop into the dark chasm, or the look on his face when she fell.

“I don’t want to do it again,” she said and lowered her head. “I’m tired. I’m so tired. Haven’t we done enough?”

He didn’t answer. He probably didn’t have anything to say, because the same questions must’ve been running through his mind. He had perished to the hands of the Calamity, and now at the slightest whisper of a return, what were they supposed to do?

“Zelda,” he said softly. She always liked how her name sounded in his voice, with no titles or such attached to it. “Look at me.”

She did. He took her chin in his hand, and she could melt at how gently he touched her. In this new age, outside of the eyes of Hyrule, she’d only seen him this serious on a few occasions.

“Yes?” she managed.

“I won’t let anything happen to you if I can help it.”

But he couldn’t always help it, and expecting it of him wasn’t fair. He was still learning how to deal with that knowledge--accepting that he couldn’t always stop what was to come. Even so, it made her feel better. It filled her with warmth to know he was still so determined to stay by her side.

Zelda managed a small smile, then assured them further with a feathersoft kiss. It wasn’t the first they’d shared, and it wouldn’t be the last, but it was a comfort she indulged in whenever she could. There was no reason to be ashamed of it or want to hide it anymore. All those who might’ve cared were dead, and that, while by no means preferable, was perhaps the best part to come out of a fallen kingdom.

“You calm the panic in me too well,” she commented with a weak chuckle.

“I’m just returning the favor,” he replied with a shrug.

It took a few minutes more for them to untangle themselves and stand from the hardwood floor, but by the time they did, the nightmare that interrupted her nap was nothing more than an uneasy feeling in the back of her mind. She trusted in Link, in the bond that they’d not only repaired but regrew and strengthened from almost nothing, and if something wanted to tear them apart again, well, it would have to go through her.

#zelink #botw zelink #post calamity #post calamity zelink #hurt/comfort #let them have peace #nintendo: no #did some nifty foreshadowing

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stark-tony · 3 years

Text

underrated irondad and spiderson fic recs part 1

Men's Synch 3m Platform by loudestfandomsoftheworld

summary: or 5 times Peter Parker goes dumpster diving, and one time he does something else... " “You took my nephew dumpster diving?” Ben asked incredulously.

His wife stood tall with a toddler strapped to her chest, tugging at one end of a couch with all her might. “I did not,”

“Twash!” Peter yelled."

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

do you even remember what the world looks like? by iron_spider

summary: Tony’s heart has been working on overdrive since this whole thing started. Friday has a countdown clock plastered on the heads up display, but it feels like hieroglyphics to him at this point, like some ancient language he could never master.

Because when Peter Parker is missing, things start losing their meaning real quick.

“Should be around here,” Rhodey says on the com. May is still on the other line, listening in, because once a certain amount of time goes by without word from Peter, things move into Extremely Worried Aunt territory. They’re already in Tony Is Panicking territory, and when both of those territories overlap it’s never a good time for anybody.

Time? What the hell is time? His mind is blanking numbers out entirely. Minutes are seconds are hours are years.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Empty Casket by Jen27ny

summary: After the Vulture, Tony should have known better.

He should have listened to Peter.

But he didn’t.

And now, Peter is dead.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Patient #2252 by TheSoulOfAStrawberry

summary: When a warehouse comes down on Spider-Man’s head and leaves him with a brain injury, Queens social worker Bianca Browne and Dr Grace Li of NY-Presbytarian Hospital find themselves racing the NYPD to uncover Spidey’s identity and get him help before he can be charged with a litany of crimes.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: police brutality

That's why they call me mr. fahrenheit by SparrowFlight246

summary: Peter’s on fire.

He wakes up fast, and before he even gets the chance to feel the pain, the aches, the dizziness, he feels the heat. It’s all encompassing, a raging inferno blooming from within him and burning him up from the inside out, and god, it—

—god, it hurts.

Peter gets whammied by a 24-hour superbug, and Tony’s left to keep him alive until tomorrow morning.

It sounds a hell of a lot easier than it ends up being.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

not like megatron by iron_spider

summary: “Hi! This is Peter Parker, I can’t get to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll call you back later! Hopefully not too much later, but don’t get your hopes up!”

Tony knows that message by heart. He’s heard it hundreds of times, in a greyer world, and it sends shivers down his spine as he climbs into the car.

He doesn’t think about that place. That half-world. No way, that’s done, that’s over, that’s history.“Hey, kid, don’t you know it’s bad etiquette to go and disappear on your birthday? Not allowed, really, really bad vibes from the universe. What’s going on with your suit? I wasn’t watching. Nope. Just got an alert. What’s going on? Uh, call me back.” He clears his throat and hangs up like a moron, driving out into the street.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater by frostysunflowers

summary: ''Dying.''

''You’re not dying.''

''Totally am.'

'''God, I hope not, otherwise May will skin me alive.''

A weekend visit to the cabin doesn't go according to plan.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, humor

warnings: none

an irondad's misguided approach to homesickness by livingtheobsessedlife

summary: Peter mentions it once. Once. That he’s maybe kinda sorta vaguely somewhat homesick. MIT is no Queens, that’s all really. All in all, Pete’s having a great time at college. Really, truly.

The thing is that Tony’s never really taken the whole ‘only mentioning it once’ thing all that well. Not when it comes to Peter at least.

This time is no exception.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

you held your pride like you should have held me by searchingforstars

summary: “I had to take the risk!” Peter snaps. “I saved your life.”

Tony’s stare hardens. “Yeah, and nearly ended your goddamn own. This isn’t a trade-off. It wasn’t your call to make.”

“You would have done the same thing to protect me,” Peter points out. Tony just seethes at the statement.

“I don’t care about what you think I would have done. You are not me. And I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself."

or, as the timer ticked down, Peter knew his only option was to take things into his own hands. He just didn’t expect Tony to be mad at him for saving his life.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

always on duty by parkrstark

summary: Peter manages to convince Tony to take him to a gala, but when Tony is hurt, he realizes that it's just as dangerous to be Tony Stark as it is to be Iron Man.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, humor

warnings: none

Out of Left Field by blondsak, seekrest

summary: Even if Tony didn’t end up becoming a big fan of the Mets, Peter knew they’d still have a great time at the game. And the fact that Tony wanted to go with Peter badly enough to make it clear that he should buy a pair of tickets as a birthday gift?

Peter shakes his head fondly.

Maybe for once the month of May was going to work out for him after all.

pairings: spideychelle

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

three weeks, two days, seven hours by crowkag

summary: It was a mess. A real mess. Peter had been gone for three weeks, two days, and seven hours, taken right out from under their noses.

And Tony was laying on the floor.

(AKA “you’ll always get there first”, but from Tony’s POV.)

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings:

for as long as i live and as long as i love (i will never not think about you) by searchingforstars

summary: When Tony first started to forget things, Peter thought maybe it was just age. People’s memories fade as they get older, right? Minds get weaker. It’s just natural.

But Tony has arguably the sharpest mind of the 21st century. Peter should have realised that it was never going to be just getting weaker. It was never going to be just age.

No - not when the sharpest mind of the 21st century also happened to come into contact with the deadliest amount of gamma radiation known to man five years ago.

or, Tony’s sacrifice is still haunting them five years later. Peter has to come to terms with the fact that Tony’s memory is fading.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

a dream is a wish by floweryfran

summary: Tony seems to panic for a moment, shifting his weight foot to foot, before spitting out in one mouthful, “I have a business trip in Florida right before your spring break and I talked to May and she says I can bring you to Disney for the week once it’s done ahhh.” He then breathes, grins plastically, and holds his hands out, like, I’m Tony Stark, hold your applause.

Peter runs the words through his head no less than three times to make sure he had understood them properly. “Disney—you and me—spring break?” he repeats.

Tony nods, hair flopping. “I mean, like, don’t feel obligated to say yes, but I thought it would be fun since May says you’ve never gone and she would’ve been working for your whole break anyway, y’know, at least this way we won’t be worrying about you sitting home alone for hours doing G-d only knows what—building accidental robot armies or something, or, worse, becoming a couch potato and forgetting every bit of knowledge I’ve ever carefully placed in that rat trap you call a brain—”

“Tony,” Peter says, waving his hands to shut Tony up. Something warm sits in the core of his chest, hovering. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, yeah, for sure, let’s—Disney. Let’s go. Wow.”

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Of birthday cake and millennium falcons by frostysunflowers

summary: "You still haven’t answered my question," MJ says, taking another sip of her juice.

"Isn’t it obvious?" Tony replies, scratching at one of the scars on his neck with the end of a screwdriver. "It’s Ben’s birthday."

"And Ben’s birthday warrants a…" MJ waves a hand vaguely, "what the hell is that thing anyway?"

Tony has no self control when it comes to birthday parties and his grandson.

pairings: spideychelle

tags: fluff

warnings: none

what i have, i give to you by aatticsaltt

summary: Tony would give everything to Peter Parker, if he asked for it. When May calls telling Tony she thinks Peter isn't feeling well, he drops everything to go check up on his favorite spider kid.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Smile! by aatticsaltt

summary: Taking Peter to Disney World was one of Tony's better ideas.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

and when it's hard, i'll place your head into my hands by hopeless_hope

summary: “Tony,” Pepper sing-songs to get his attention. “Your mother hen is showing.”

“What?” he snaps indignantly. “I am not a mother hen. This is just... concern. Of the average kind. Perfectly normal.”

“Of course,” Pepper humors him, and he shoots her a dirty look as he types out a quick text to Peter.

It's been five days since Tony's heard from Peter, who's away at college, and Tony is not coping well. (Neither is Peter.)

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

Of Wally-Crawly Harnesses and Over-Enthusiastic Hat-Bestowing Capabilities by TheOceanIsMyInkwell

summary: Tony raises a brow at him in triumph, then sniffs and rubs the side of his nose. “Besides, think of it this way. Now you got a bullet-proof neck.”

“Nobody would even shoot a sad-looking orphan bundled like a spring roll in Red Heart yarn,” Peter points out. “That’s just low.”

“Excuse me, young buck, I resent the implication that I would let Red Heart come within an inch of your skin.”

“You’re insufferable,” Peter says flatly. “I hate you.”

“And just for that, I think this calls for those wool socks I was working on,” Tony says brightly.

“No--no, wait--”

“It’s time to learn that your consequences have actions, Parker--”

“Wait, wait, I love your knitting, I think it’s super healthy and fulfilling and honestly the best thing that’s ever happened to you since you retired!” Peter hollers at the man’s figure as it retreats quickly down the hallway. -- After Peter faints into hibernation because he can't thermoregulate, Tony isn't taking anymore chances. Out come the wool skeins and the knitting needles.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

how do you sandwich!? by killerqueenwrites

summary: “Why are you buttering toast before you toast it?

”“I’m not toasting this.”

“Then what are you doing?” Peter demands.

“I’m making a sandwich.”

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

What I Can't Live Without by aatticsaltt

summary: Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. Heavy lies the heart of the father who has to watch his son bow beneath the weight of the world.

or: When Peter calls Happy needing a ride out of the Netherlands, it's Tony who comes to the rescue.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Tales from Quarantine by just_a_hungry_author

summary: Peter, Morgan, and Tony are all stuck inside during the Coronavirus quarantine. Morgan learns to play Monopoly, Tony struggles to help with 1st grade math, and a prank war ensues.

God, this is the longest two weeks ever.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

if we have each other by ftmpeter

summary: "Do you ever just, like, feel like you’re upside down?"

"You are upside down, Pete."

"Sounds fake."

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

What Happens in the Blanket Fort Stays in the Blanket Fort by TheOceanIsMyInkwell

summary: “Well, I was gonna discuss with May some legal particulars about changes to my will that involve you,” Tony drawls, “but looks like I’ll just have to change my plans.”

There’s a beat. And then a yodel: “I’m just a poor boy, I need--”

“If not for this goddamn quarantine, I’d be there in a flash to shut you up myself, Spidey-Tighties.”

“You made these ‘tights’.”

“Funsie-onesie.”

“Mr. Stark.”

“Cooty-footies.”

“Mr. Stark. I’m begging you. What does that even mean.” -- Tony comes over to keep Peter company during the quarantine while the kid waits for May to come home from work at the hospital. Bants are had. Feelings are spilled. And maybe, just maybe, a hug or two is shared.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

On his Shoulders by snarkymuch

summary: “Please, please,” Tony begged, “Keep breathing, kid. Don’t do this to me. You can’t leave me like this.” The morning started like any other for Tony. He kissed Pepper good morning and sipped his coffee. He scanned his emails and chatted with Pepper about the vacation they were always planning but never took. The calm should have been a warning, as the storm always followed.

Peter and Tony get trapped in a building collapse and Peter is gravely injured.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

coronapocalypse by peterstank

summary: “This whole quarantine thing shouldn’t even apply to me.”

“Uh, I beg to differ, it’s very serious,” replies Tony’s voice, slightly muffled like he’s got his phone pressed between his shoulder and chin. “We’re all on lockdown, which means no leaving your place unless it’s for emergencies.”

“And what qualifies as an emergency?”

There’s a pause.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not in your apartment?”

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

Little White Lies by snarkymuch

summary: Peter gets injured and tries to treat it himself, hiding it from Tony, but he can't keep it hidden forever.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Peter Parker and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Semester by just_a_hungry_author

summary: "So tell me, Kid." Tony said, patting the space next to him. "What's been going on?"

"Nothing's been going on." Peter denied, but he sat down anyway.

"Pete, don't bottle your emotions up. Only I'm allowed to do that."

When Peter again didn't smile at his joke, Tony continued. "I know you're stressed, Bud. But tell me why so I can help you."

"It's nothing you can help." Peter mumbled.

"Can I at least try?"

"I've just been having a bad week."

OR: Peter’s been having a rough time at college, Tony tries to jump in and help. 3000 words of pure fluff.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Windy Webs by silentsaebyeok

summary: And that was it. He was officially an idiot. Peter didn’t mean to be dramatic, but this was one of the most embarrassing things to ever happen to him, even if there was no one around to witness the fall of the century. -- Peter goes web-slinging in dangerous weather and gets seriously injured. It doesn't help that he has to spend the whole summer living with the consequences.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Peter gets the chickenpox by snarkymuch

summary: Peter and Morgan both catch the chickenpox. Morgan's case is mild, but Peter's is severe. Tony takes care of them both.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

#irondad and spiderson #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #my fic recs #police brutality tw

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corpsentry · 3 years

Photo

ao3 mirror

fandom: botw rating: t  pairing: zelda/link  notes: post-canon, getting together, mild descriptions of injury. cooking. dancing. crying. and so on. “Let’s say you’ve been asleep for a hundred years and when you wake up you’ve lost all your memories, but you defeat the big bad monster like you’ve been told to, because a girl told you to, and because you were in love with her. And after defeating the big bad monster she comes back, only she’s not the person she was a hundred years ago. And you’re not the person you were a hundred years ago. And yet every time you look at her, your chest hurts so bad you think you might be dying.” He looks up from his breadstick. “Am I dying?” “No,” Beedle says. “I think you’re stupid.”

All roads lead to hateno.

“I ate the frog.” Is the first thing he says to her in a hundred years, because he can’t stop staring at her hands, and his head isn’t working properly because he can’t stop staring at her hands, and he doesn’t remember what he had been planning on saying before he walked into the castle and killed two versions of evil incarnate in a room with a domed ceiling and a field with a domed sky, but he’s pretty sure. He’s pretty sure it wasn’t this. “I’m sorry,” Zelda says. “You what?” “I, uh.” He takes a step back, and then a step forward. Hyrule castle looms like a corpse behind her, hulking and majestic and dead. It distracts him, though not as much as Zelda herself, pale as winter and glowing behind a halo of sun. “There was a frog you wanted me to eat.” A hundred years ago. “You said it would be for an experiment.” A hundred years ago you told me to eat a frog and that’s all that I remember. That’s what’s kept me going all this time. When things got hard, when the weight of the curse you had given me grew too great, I cooked a frog in a pot over a fire. She stares at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “You’re more talkative than I remember.” He panics. “Should I stop talking?” “Oh no! No, just— how do I put it—” This probably isn’t what she had in mind for their reunion. He feels the sudden need to apologize. He should have tried harder to hold onto himself while he was sleeping off the blood on his back and the world retreated into a corner to lick at its wounds, but it was hard. He didn’t know what he was doing. He doesn’t remember, actually. He doesn’t remember going to sleep, and he doesn’t remember what he dreamed of. That’s two question marks in one head, and only one answer to go around. There were two shadows on the wall, though they belonged to the same boy. Zelda twists her hands together, almost as if in prayer. Her white dress billows heavily in the wind, covered in wounds from another century. “I’m sorry,” she says to his feet. “Please keep talking.” He nods, though she isn’t looking. After a moment, they make their way across the trampled, dead-looking field to his horse, who’s had half of her mane seared off and looks like she desperately wants a carrot. He hauls himself onto the saddle, then holds out a hand to Zelda, who stares at it like he’s just offered her the rest of his lifespan. Then she takes it, letting him pull her up behind him, and her hand is so warm, and the sky is so blue, and everything is so strange, he almost lets go. Of the girl. Of the reins. Of his grip on reality, this new, unexplored reality, the carcass of the castle slowly growing smaller in the distance. When he walked into the sanctum with a plan to kill Ganon he had been thinking about how the stalhorses on Tabantha Snowfield run faster than the horses near Kakariko, how a bokoblin will choose a freshly roasted chicken over the skin of your teeth, how stables are a metaphor for family. Now all he can think of is angels. She asks him where they’re going a little while later, and it’s only then that he realizes he doesn’t know. It’s a cool, starless night. No moon, no blood. His horse snickers at a boar by the side of the road, and Zelda tightens her grip on his waist. God, what have they been doing for the last hundred years? “Home,” he answers. “We’re going home.”

 The house in Hateno is a small and modest affair. This is probably the only reason Bolson and his construction company were willing to sell it to him at an equally modest price, with modest display stands for his modest weapons, and a modest bed beside which he hung a framed photograph of him and his dead friends. He’s fine with it, though. The only thing that really matters to him is the photograph, though there are now two living people in it instead of one and a half, and if Bolson had not graciously included a bedframe and mattress in his modest homemaker’s package, then Link would have slept on the floor. He says as much to Zelda, who blinks at him sleepily and throws a pillow at his face. “Please don’t do that,” he says. “Sleep in your own bed,” she replies. He peels the pillow off the floor and pats the dust away before replacing it carefully on the bed. “I promised your father I would take care of you.” And Daruk. And Mipha. And Urbosa, who would kill me if she found out I let the princess sleep on the carpet. Like a dog, she would probably say, her voice low, her eyes slanted. How could you treat her like a stray dog? This is the princess we’re talking about. She deserves better. He opens his mouth to say as much, but Zelda gets there first. “My father is dead,” she says, her voice unexpectedly raw. She seems surprised at herself despite her best efforts, and clears her throat in an attempt to hide it. He finds himself overwhelmed with the sudden urge to hug her or blast a hole through the roof with his sword, but can’t decide on one, and ends up wringing his hands together behind his back while Zelda sits on the side of the modest bed in the modest house in Hateno, and presses the folds of her dress into a clump. There should be more he can do for her. What is it? If only Urbosa were here to tell him what it means when Zelda takes your hand like a promise, when Zelda pinches the side of your waist, when Zelda announces that her father is dead, has been dead for a hundred years, died a long time ago. But Urbosa is dead too. The old world is gone, though its survivors have finally emerged from the twilit field. What now? Zelda rubs her eyes. He picks at a cuticle and holds his breath. Despite her best protests, she agrees to the bed-floor arrangement. Zelda will sleep on the bed, because he didn’t think that far when he walked into the castle and defeated evil incarnate, and she doesn’t seem to care. Meanwhile, he will sleep on the floor. Which floor? The first floor, he decides, but when he tries to go downstairs he almost throws up. His heart’s uneasy, of course, but he had underestimated the side-effects of meeting an angel. Over the past few months, he had gotten used to getting mauled by things to the point where it had become part of his daily routine: get up, have a minor crisis about the fact that everyone you know is dead, have a minor crisis about the beautiful voice in your head, get mauled by a bear. Get mauled by a bokoblin who stole your spear. Get mauled by Mount Lanayru, which has a thing for spitting giant snowballs at him when he’s trying to talk to the Koroks in the region, pleading with them through chattering teeth to stop giving him more tiny golden shits and start letting him talk about his feelings. Zelda is not daily routine. Zelda was the girl in the dream, then a face in a photograph, and now Zelda is sleeping in the house in Hateno with her hands pressed up to her cheek, breathing softly. He’s overcome with emotion, though if you asked him to tell it to you, he wouldn’t know how. And as for the matter of her hands, were they always this lovely? Impa didn’t tell him what to do after he saved the girl, though he knows she’ll want to hear about it from him and not the Sheikah warriors she has spread out throughout the kingdom, keeping an eye on their dying gods. Impa wanted him to look forward, which meant knives and teeth and forests full of bodies. She didn’t tell him what he could or couldn’t do in the presence of the sun, and he, having spent his whole life sitting in a dark room, didn’t think to ask. In retrospect, he should have. In retrospect, he should have asked Bolson to build two beds. But the thought didn’t occur to him, just as it didn’t occur to him that his heart might not be the dead thing the world told him it was, and so he never did.

 “I had a dream.” He flips the eggs. “About what?” “About a world where I made it in time.” Zelda peers over his shoulder. “Are they done yet?” “Almost, if you could please—” “—Ah, excuse me—” She dances out of the way of the big cast-iron pan, which he holds in one hand while he reaches for the plates with the other. In her haste to create space she walks into the counter and winces, bending over to touch the side of her foot. “Oh. I stubbed my toe.” She sighs. After breakfast he goes to look for Uma. He finds her sitting under the same old tree beside the bridge, cradling a cup of tea and humming along with the cicadas. Uma is the only person in Hateno who remembers the Calamity as a name with a face, and not a dream. She also had a daughter once, whom she lost in the years after the Calamity, when the rice fields had not yet begun to flourish, and the winters were long and cruel. He asks her quietly about the weather, which she tells him is her favorite kind. Spring’s never felt quite so lovely, she informs him, as she pries open an old dresser and leans forward to peer inside. He holds her cup of tea with both hands, the mellow sweetness of chrysanthemum tickling his nose and making him sneeze. After a moment, she returns with a set of clothes in the signature Hateno blend of oranges, blues, and warm, earthy browns. She places them carefully on his head and then retrieves her tea before he has the chance to drop the cup. “I hope your friend is taking well to Hateno,” she says warmly. I hope I have a friend, he thinks with his heart stuck halfway up his throat. He’s barely keeping himself together, in pretty much every sense of the word, but he thanks her all the same, and means it.

 He did, in fact, eat a frog. Several times. Once on the Great Plateau, after the spirit of the old king had left him to fend for himself with a pickaxe and half an apple, and again while he was in the Hebra mountain range, because it was too cold out to hunt and one had hopped into his pack while he wasn’t looking and died there. Then there was another time, at one of the stables up north, where he met a traveling salesman who offered him a stamina-boosting trick for ten rupees. The first time he obediently closed his eyes, and could only describe the texture in his mouth as ‘soft, with hints of viscosity’. He returned several weeks later, ran away on his horse immediately after making payment, and was mildly alarmed to discover that he had not in fact been presented with a breadstick, but rather a leg. A very long leg. With joints. And skin. And a big, webbed foot. Once, while sitting on a raft headed out to sea, he considered hurling himself into the water. It had been raining for several days by this point, which itself wasn’t a problem as he had come to quite like the sound of rain bashing on the outside of his tent with bloody fists, but this rain was relentless. Like a ghost which tries to kill you and fails, and, in a fit of bitter resentment, resolves to throw rocks at your window each night for the rest of your life, the water got into his boots and it got into his eyes and then it got into his pack, which spoiled all of his carefully-preserved meat and caused the stopper in his bottle of milk to rot. Under the present circumstances, all the game had either gone off to find shelter or been washed away by the floodwaters. There was nothing for him to hunt, and nothing for him to eat. His stomach growled faithlessly. While stumbling along some beach or another, he bumped into Kass, who told him about some treasure further out at sea. He looked blandly in the direction that the parrot pointed out for him, and found his eyes drawn to the island that lay beyond it. “I’m going to go there,” he said. “I hope you find good treasure,” said Kass. “Yeah,” he said. So he hauled himself onto a raft (he was too shy to ask the people in Lurelin for help, and too proud to talk about his circumstances) at the crack of dawn and began to blast a Korok leaf at the sail. And then he got tired. He sat down. He leaned over the edge of the raft. His reflection in the water was gray, because the sky was gray, and the sky was gray because it was raining. He had begun to shiver again, but he had spent most of the week shivering anyway and so didn’t pay it any attention. His hair was matted to his forehead, and there were bags under his eyes. One of his piercings was smarting; it must have gotten infected. “What if I just stopped trying,” he suggested to the sea, which ignored him. What was the point of it all, anyway? All of his friends were dead and the girl in the photograph was stuck in a castle in the sky. He didn’t remember a single thing about the first seventeen years of his life. Only the things that happened in the last three months, only the things that were deemed important, and even those he remembered in fragments. Like what if he had a sister. What if his father had been kind to him, or doting, or an alcoholic. What if he had been in love with someone, and what if he had had a heart, and what if he had cared. It was hard to discern the world’s sympathies for him when he spent most of his time alone. Sometimes, at night, he drew a face on the rock-wall and gave it a name. “I’m tired,” he said. “I’m tired, and I’m hungry, and I feel more dead than alive, even though I’m the only one still breathing.” But the sea continued to ignore him. The wind continued to ignore him. The rain continued to ignore him, pelting at his wet shoulders with wet hands and wet teeth, clawing at the skin on the back of his neck, telling him to go to sleep and stay there. Eventually the raft drifted of its own accord to the shore of the island he had spied in the distance, and then some thousand-year-old mummy stripped him of all his belongings anyway, so it no longer mattered that he had nothing in his pack or his head or his heart, as long as he was able to replace it with something new.

 A few weeks later she’s standing in the kitchen and staring at the vegetables in the pot, humming to herself, while Link rearranges the condiments on the table. She’s swaying from side to side, holding up the ladle like a sword. She seems happy. He leans back in his chair until he can just about see the top of her head. “What song is that?” he asks, casual as a house on fire. A pause. Something clatters to the floor. Picture two figures in a forest full of thorns and teeth. Picture the knight carving a path through the trees, the princess stumbling behind him, his clammy hand tight around her wrist, their feet bruised and dirty. It’s raining, of course, because it’s always raining in the dream. They’re being chased by mechanical monsters with knives for eyes. And they’re tired, both of them, so tired they could hurl themselves into a pond and drown there, but instead she walks into a tree. The bark scrapes the length of her forearm like a kiss, tearing at her skin and pouring blood down the back of her hand. Something clatters to the floor. Something breaks. Picture the old dream, the one he knows like a memory, the reason he’s less afraid of bears than people. He whirls the chair around to the sight of Zelda’s hand in the fire, her posture rigid, her face hidden by a curtain of hair. “I’m sorry,” she says, crestfallen. “It’s just—” He’s on his feet and halfway across the room before she can finish her sentence, pulling her away from the counter, reaching for the faucet with his other hand. “—It’s the first time you’ve asked me a question since you found me,” she says quietly. The skin on the back of her hand is bright red. If Urbosa were here, she would tie his arms and legs to four horses and then ask them to run in four different directions, and he would die in such a memorable way, it would eclipse even the deaths of all his old dead friends, who were trapped in machines with voices for a hundred years while their bodies turned into dust. If Urbosa were here then he likely wouldn’t be, would be in the next room, his ear pressed to the door, his heart pressed to the roof of his mouth. It’s a good thing, then, that she isn’t.

 It’s spring, so the water from the faucet is cold enough to cut yourself on. The water from the faucet is cold, so it should sting on skin as red as this, but Zelda doesn’t say anything as he holds her hand under the stream of water, his thumbs resting on the curve of her wrist, his eyes searching her blank expression for. A sign? A reason? Why the ladle on the floor; why the hand in the fire? “It’s fine,” she finally says, brushing her hair behind her ear with her unhurt hand. “No,” he says before he can stop himself, bristling a little, feeling slightly outrageous. “It’s not.” Zelda looks somber for a moment. Then she hiccups a laugh. “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?” Yeah, I remember when you [the path that leads to Hateno is wet and winding] and I [your hand on the back of my head was cold and dying], he wants to say. But he would be lying if he did, because he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember anything except the sixteen stories she left him, sixteen shards of a seventeen-year-old life. If she’s referring to something funny, then he’s missed an opportunity to make her laugh. If she’s referring to something important, then it’s no wonder he can’t seem to bridge the gap between the frog and the girl, no wonder his head hurts like someone stabbed it with a pitchfork and forgot to take it out, no wonder Hyrule still feels so far away, even as he milks the chickens and he chases the cows and he collects the eggs from the bears. He turns this thought over in his head as he goes for the medicine cabinet, which he had not asked for and Bolson had installed as a courtesy. Despite his best efforts, the blood on his back never quite washed away. She’s gone by the time he closes the cabinet, and he begins to feel that telltale sickness in his stomach, the sudden urge to throw up. He walks briskly out of the house in Hateno, salve and bandages tied to his wrist, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. The moon is a crescent tonight. Hateno rises and falls with each breath, pressing flowers into the palm of his hand. He folds each one unevenly in half. Zelda’s halfway up the ladder when he finds her. He waits for her to get onto the roof before he starts heading up, and is surprised all the same when he reaches the top of the ladder, and finds her face inches away from his. “I didn’t know you had a ladder,” she says pleasantly. “Why did you follow me up here?” She smells like Goron spice and sun. He is three seconds away from plummeting to his death. This is nothing he is used to, and a part of him thinks that if he knows what’s good for him then he will never get used to any of it. Not the silent, dead castle, not the long black shadow of the future, not the girl. She leans back after a moment. He breathes out. Half an inch of space will not keep either of them safe. Zelda watches him retie his ponytail expectantly. “So?” The ladder is from the Great Plateau. He found it at the back of the Temple of Time days after the old king asked him to climb to the top of the ruined structure and revealed to him that he was, yeah, the old king, and that all of his friends were dead, and that he would have to get the girl out of the castle before she could even think to save him, and by association, the rest of the world. At that point he was still naive enough to think defeating Ganon would take a stick and an apple and a really fast horse. He had also not yet learned of the myriad ways in which he had failed everyone he had ever cared for, and so spent his days wandering from place to place, pointing at bugs in the leaves and laughing. The ladder pissed him off. Who put it there? Why didn’t the old king tell him about its existence? What was the point of leaving a ladder behind the statue of Hylia when you could’ve put it in front, so stupid soulless people like him could use it to reach the end of the story faster? He returned to it much later, after he had purchased the house in Hateno, and yanked the whole thing down. Hacking it into four sections with a pickaxe he stole from a bokoblin (it had probably belonged to him first anyway), he piled all of them on his horse and then walked through Hyrule field, past Fort Hateno, all the way back to Bolson, who stared at him like he’d just asked him to kill a man. What do you mean you want me to fix this ladder, he asked. I mean I want you to fix this ladder, he replied. So Bolson did. Zelda laughs so hard she almost falls off the roof. She gets right up to the edge of it, leaning over the side with her face in her hands while he scrambles to keep her from toppling over. She only let him wrap up her arm because he was talking, because according to Zelda he never did much talking, but maybe he’s said too much. He’s embarrassed. Defeated, he lies down. There’s a star, just above the crown of trees at the other end of the village. He reaches out idly, trying to pinch it between his thumb and forefinger, but his fingers brush against skin instead of sky. Zelda, half-goddess, half-miracle, turns her face into the palm of his hand for the briefest of moments, like a butterfly alighting on the surface of a pond. The cicadas sing ballads. His breath stops in his lungs and dies there. “I like the ladder.” “Oh.” “Please keep it.” “Oh.” “You know,” she says, still leaning over him, close enough that if he gave her hand a tug, she might fall right out of heaven. Her head is tilted, her hair falling into her eyes, splaying across the tiles on the roof like a satiny strip of sun. “What?” he asks hoarsely. She smiles at him like a secret. “I—”

 He used to be in love with her. As each piece of his sixteen-part past was returned to him and the last day of his life emerged slowly into the light, it dawned on him like a horse falling out of the sky that he had been very lucky to be her knight, that he would have willingly given his life for her, and that he did. Only his final, heroic act of sacrifice failed to accomplish anything meaningful in spite of his best efforts. He had died with her hand cradling the back of his head, his tunic wet with blood and tears, believing that the ending could be salvaged still. Maybe this is what it takes to reach happiness, he thought dizzily. Maybe you have to be pushed to the end of the line, before you can start walking back towards the center. But when he opened his eyes, it was to a world which had not moved an inch from the precipice. His back was covered in scars, water streaming down his skin like blood, and his head was so light, he worried for a moment that if he stood up too fast it would float right off of his shoulders. The only thing that remained was old skin, the thin aftertaste of fear, and a bone-deep anxiety that wouldn’t come off no matter how many times he threw himself into the river. The only thing that remained was a voice in his head, calling his name through the dream, reminding him that there was still something that could be salvaged from the fire. He used to be in love with her, though it took him a while to admit it, because being in love with her meant admitting that he had failed not only on a prophetic level, but on a personal level that cut to the wound at the center of his chest. It was a matter of survival in those first few months. Him, or a kingdom. His selfish and worthless pride, or the world. Naturally, he chose the world.

 “Let’s say you’ve been asleep for a hundred years and when you wake up you’ve lost all your memories, but you chase after fairies and you dig up shrines and you defeat the big bad monster like you’ve been told to, because a girl told you to, and because you were in love with her. And after defeating the big bad monster she comes back, and you take her back to your house, and you fry eggs for her. But she’s not the person she was a hundred years ago, because she spent a hundred years in a dream. And you’re not the person you were a hundred years ago, because you forgot everything you could possibly forget, and then you got mauled by a bear. And yet when you look at her, every time you look at her, your chest hurts so bad you think you might be dying.” He looks up from his breadstick. “Am I dying?” “No,” Beedle says very seriously. “I think you’re stupid.” Beedle retrieves a string of petrified armored beetles from one of the pockets on his back, and holds it abruptly in his face. “You can fall in love with someone twice, you know.” Link wrinkles his nose. “How do you know?” Beedle sticks the lower half of a beetle in his mouth. “I’m five hundred years old.” He bites down. “I know things.” Chews thoughtfully. “I’ve eaten things, too. Things you’ve never even dreamed of. “Point is, Link, you’re being stupid. Get it together. The world’s not ending anymore.” “Oh,” says Link. He watches Beedle eat the rest of the beetles. There are five in total. He doesn’t have to chew very hard, which is weird. He turns Beedle’s words over in his head. Beedle has a point. The world isn’t ending anymore. The world isn’t hanging on by a thread, waiting for the boy in the story to haul it back up the side of the cliff. They hauled it back up, him and Zelda and their old dead friends. They hauled it out of the well. And now look at the flowers.

 Once, while sitting on a raft headed out to sea, he considered hurling himself into the water, but here’s the other half of the story. He had recently been into the castle again, up to the princess’ room, where he found, among other things, a moblin, a bow, and a single Silent Princess, growing at the end of the hallway. He also found a diary, which he really shouldn’t have read. He shouldn’t have read the diary. It’s common courtesy. It’s the mark of human decency, respect of personal privacy, respect for the dead, et cetera. But he did. So he hauled himself up to that tower in the sky, and he mistimed several guardian laser parries before finally getting one right and yelling in triumph and getting a beam to his ass for his efforts, and then he cried, standing over that tattered old book while a cold wind blew in through the man-sized hole in the wall. He had spent so long working towards the abstract idea of salvation, he had forgotten that salvation was also, inextricably, a person. A girl with the hands of Hylia, praying in a castle in the sky, stuck in a hundred year cycle from hell. She had thrown away everything so he would float back out of the water with his face to the sky, and he couldn’t even remember how to shoot a bear without getting his face clawed off. What had he ever done to deserve this? What had he done for her? The answer was he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything. The conversation they had about skin-deep secrets, the day it was raining and she told him about the hypothetical nature of failure, the morning of her seventeenth birthday, as she slid the gold cuffs onto her wrists and strode grimly out of the castle, her shadow clinging to the wall like it could keep her from leaving if it did. Did he even say happy birthday? Did anyone bring her candles? Did she make a wish, and if so, for what? He felt suddenly angry, and disappointed, and lonely. The fireplace was full of rubble and the table was covered in dust. The bed frame had collapsed, probably at the very beginning of this whole mess, and the mattress was sunken in like a face with no flesh, the sheets torn, the gold trim reduced to tatters. This place used to be a sanctuary. Now it wanted him dead. He wiped his eyes furiously, though there was no one there to point at him and laugh. He wiped his eyes with the back of his clumsy, scarred hand, pulled the diary shut, and walked back out, into heaven’s line of fire.

 He takes her to the Kochi dye shop on her request, but Sayge gives them a name and an address and herds them out of his store, and so they find themselves in Tarrey Town again, exchanging nods with the people he tricked into leaving their old lives behind while Zelda describes her old outfit to Rhondson, who takes notes on her husband’s arm in erasable ink. Several days later, a new set of clothes arrives in Hateno by donkey. He helps her do her hair, by which he means he holds a mirror behind her back and she does her hair, occasionally instructing him to tilt it several degrees in one direction or another, but it’s the most useful he’s felt in weeks, and when she’s pulled on her gloves and done up the buckles on her boots, she stands up and does a little twirl. It’s a perfect replica. She’s glowing. Rhondson is god. “I feel like I could defeat Ganon,” Zelda tells him. I already did that, he thinks. He nods. “You probably could.”

 “So, are you going to do something?” Beedle retrieves a string of soft-shell crabs from his pack. “Do I have to?” Beedle waggles his finger at him disapprovingly. “The question is, do you want to?”

 He has a dream where she falls from Shatterback Point. He runs as fast as he can down the side of the mountain, cutting his palms on coral and bruising his knees on the wet rocky path, but when he gets to the bottom, no one’s there. You were too late, Muzu tells him, stroking his beard somberly. You tried to reach her, but you let go, and then you were too late. The water in the lake is bright as blood. The sky crackles silently above Muzu’s vacant eyes. A voice emerges from the lake. You let me die, the voice says. I saved the world for you, and you let me die. He wakes up sweating. He curls up on his side, bracing for the cold, hard floor against his cheek, but Zelda’s slipped one of her pillows under his head while he was sleeping. She’s murmuring in her sleep, something about fruit halves and grams of sugar, her hand dangling over the side of the bed clenching and unclenching itself earnestly, kneading imaginary dough, cutting imaginary apples. “Zelda?” Too soft. He won’t call again. He refuses to. In a moment of weakness, he reaches for the side of the bed, but stops just shy of her hand. Beedle’s bright, angular nose appears before him, carrying with it the wisdom of his ancestors. What do you want to do, Link, Beedle’s Nose asks him. What do you want? I want to pull her out of the burning house, he thinks. Is that too much to ask for? Moonlight trickles down her throat and vanishes under the collar of her tunic. His chest implodes and his heart bursts into a thousand tiny pieces, as he wonders how it is that planets were made before people. Beedle’s Nose is indifferent. What burning house, it asks. Where’s the smoke coming from? Look around you, Link. There’s smoke, and fire, and windows with broken glass. But who’s still inside?

 Uma’s hundred-and-ninth birthday arrives on the coattails of fall. On her insistence, they keep the decorations sparse and the cake disarmingly large. Streamers are put up and butterflies corralled into glass menageries. A traveling band with a bit of a reputation further west is invited. There are three musicians with ocarinas and one with a cowbell, and all of them are wearing pink overalls and big yellow sun hats which hurt to look at for too long, unless you work for a construction company, in which case you want to look at them forever. After Bolson has finished taking down all of their contact information on his forearm (they prefer to be called for via messenger pigeon, but if you don’t have one then a snail is fine as well), Zelda drifts across the grass to stand in his place. She’s wearing a white dress, borrowed from Uma, who said it would complement her eyes. Uma was right. The dress is made from a thin, glittery fabric that billows around her ankles and makes her look like she’s floating. Like a fairy in a forest clearing. Like a cat perched at the top of a clocktower. Their conversation lasts for several minutes. She says something, and the others laugh. The guy with the cowbell pretends to look embarrassed. Everyone else at the party is dancing, including Uma, who is holding hands with a small child in a green frog-suit and swaying like a palm tree in the wind. While Zelda keeps the ocarina ensemble preoccupied, one of the adults in the village has gone and retrieved a guitar. He begins to play a warm, meandering tune that reminds Link, distantly, of grassy fields and white skies. “Are you not going to dance?” He looks down. Nebb tugs at the edge of his tunic with one hand, pulling him in the direction of the crowd. He squats down. “I don’t have anyone to dance with.” “You can dance with me. Duh.” “I don’t know how to dance.” Nebb looks at him like he’s stupid. “Then learn.” “What if I don’t want to?” “What if you meet someone who does, and you like them too much to say no?” He squints suspiciously at Nebb. Nebb’s atrocious bowl cut hasn’t grown any less atrocious with time, though it does have the effect of making him look far less menacing than he would be if he were bald or sporting a mohawk. The boy knows too much for someone so small. This cannot do. If this goes on, he will reveal a secret to the gods, and then they will kill him for his hubris. “Shhh,” Link says to him, holding a finger up to his lips. He digs around in his pockets until he finds a piece of honey candy, wrapped in a palm leaf and tied together with twine. “Take this, and go dance with someone else.” Nebb gives him the Stare of Judgment, but takes the candy. “You’re terrible, Link.” He sticks out his tongue. “Bye.” Then it’s back to demolishing the cake, which he’s still not convinced Uma didn’t order expressly so that he would have something to do with himself during the course of the evening, as the dancing progresses from cheerful to insane and a small group of guests begins to construct a spaceship out of empty wine glasses. No one else has gone for thirds, though a handful have gone for seconds. There’s a big fondant chicken perched on the highest layer. He sucks on his fork thoughtfully. He wants it. Last week they went up north, in search of forgiveness. Despite their best efforts and the gift of crabs and crocuses they brought along, their reception in Zora’s domain was cold and gray. It reminded him of the way they had received him when he first stepped out of the rain and into the blue glow of the domain’s hallways, armed with only the knowledge that he had been sent to prevent a tragedy that had already happened. He didn’t yet know that Mipha was dead. He thought he could still save her. They called him failure and fool and living reminder of Hyrule’s downfall, laughing at him in a language called mourning. He had thought they had forgiven the Hylians and their king for letting their Champion die, especially after he walked out of Vah Ruta with a black eye and a bloody nose to show for it, especially now that the evil had been defeated. Apparently the knight by himself was tolerable. The knight and the princess, together, made things too raw. Too immediate. “Mipha’s dead,” they said. It was a Tuesday. “I’m sorry,” Zelda replied. Tomorrow they’re headed for Goron City. He closes his eyes and wills away the taste of sweet cream and berries, tries to picture the winding path up Death Mountain, the grooves hammered into the ground, the rubies in their metal caskets. Flame-resistant armor is a given, so it’s a good thing he bought two sets on accident last winter. He wants to trap a few fire lizards in a bottle and bring them back for a friend. As for what he will say to Zelda before he hands her off to the city’s protectors, their hands half an inch apart but not touching, never touching, there isn’t much. Goron City will be better, he thinks. He licks the cream off his fork. It’s sweet. “What are you thinking?” He opens his eyes. Zelda looks at his plate, then the cake, then his plate again. She points at the chicken. He shrugs. “I was thinking that I hope Uma lives forever.” Someone has invited the dog onto the dance floor. He isn’t trying very hard to keep to the beat of the guitarist, who has been joined by two of the ocarina players with brown hair and blue eyes, but he doesn’t have to. Spinning very fast in a circle is actually the smartest dance move of them all. There’s no beginning, so there’s no end. Zelda plucks a berry from his plate. “It’s not very fun, to be honest,” she says, chewing thoughtfully. “Living for that long.” He watches the dog chase its own tail and she watches him watch the dog, though neither is aware this is happening. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I was asleep.” The dog is easily the best dancer in the crowd. He experiences neither shame nor hubris, and is thus freed from the stresses and seasonal anxieties of being known by others who might fear him or like him. He also runs very fast. Zelda punches his shoulder weakly, her hand lingering, her eyes soft. “That’s a terrible joke, Link.” He pinches the inside of his wrist. “I’m trying my best.” “So am I.” After a beat, the dog who has been invited to the party to spin in tight circles on the dance floor and be a nuisance to the other guests goes careening into the rotisserie chicken. In a wondrous, gravity-defying moment, the chicken sails not away from the dog, but towards him, flying in a swooping arc over his head at a height of several hundred feet above the ground. The plate clatters to the floor before the chicken can find its bearings and, awoken by its war cry, people scramble into action, evacuating themselves to the other side of the buffet table or under the veranda with their legs between their tails, until Uma is standing alone on the grass, still swaying to a song only she can hear, still smiling. The chicken reaches the highest point in the sky, pauses for a heartbeat, then pitches downwards. She catches it. The crowd goes wild. And then Zelda is tugging on his sleeve, like Negg, but not like Negg, because Zelda walked out of the mouth of the monster, because Zelda left her hand in the fire, because Zelda looked at the miserable, vulnerable world that he had yelled at until his voice was hoarse and dying and even the pigeons were something fiercer than him, that he had tended to with clumsy, scarred hands in spite of all the dead things on the ground, and decided to stay. “God,” she says, her eyes bright. “Link, look. In the sky.”

 Picture two figures in a forest full of night. Picture the princess carving a path through the trees, the knight stumbling after her, her hand tight around his wrist, their feet fast and flying. The sky is clear, of course, because someone pulled the mourning veil off its head and threw it in the river. They’re chasing after a column of light, poured by the hand of Hylia from the heavens. And they’re tired, both of them, so tired they could hurl themselves into bed and lie there, half an inch apart, watching each other in the dark with waiting on their tongues, but instead he trips on a branch and goes down, face-first, into the dirt. She doesn’t realize he’s let go until he lets go, but when she turns around he’s already pushed himself off the ground. Hands and knees and boots digging into the grass. The woods outside of Hateno are still teething. The princess gives him her hand, and he stares at it for a moment like she’s just offered him the rest of her lifespan, and then takes it. He’s fine; of course he is. It would take much more than this to kill him. It would take another hundred year cycle of pain. She points at the column of light. It’s still there. Still glowing. So they keep going, picking their way through the undergrowth, climbing over branches and pushing boulders out of harm’s way, doing what ghost children like them do best, which is pointing at something in the distance, and then chasing it. Chasing hope. Following it back to the center. And when they reach the place where the sky has spat out the blood in its mouth, the knight gets punched in the face with nostalgia. He caught a falling star once, when he was all alone and the world was grim and unknowable. Then he gave it to a fairy, in exchange for less blood on his tunic, in exchange for stronger teeth. He approached heaven from afar once, a solitary figure burning darkly against the pale yellow water, but there was no way for him to go home when all was said and done, so he pinched the inside of his wrist and kept walking.

 The thing is you can’t go from swinging a sword around and dreaming about dead people to waking up and frying eggs and searching for ways to heal the cracked earth beneath your feet. Not that fast. Not that goddamn fast. You can’t just flip a switch and not be scared anymore, not wake up sweating anymore, not wake up wanting to hold her hand. Fear is a country and you’ve lived in it all your life. There’s a reason kingdoms keep such a close eye on their borders. You’re either in, or you’re out. Make up your mind. Pick up your sword. Save yourself.

 The star fragment is stuck in a tree. Zelda wants to climb it and he wants her to stop; naturally, she wins. She hauls herself up the trunk while he circles the bottom like a hawk with an anxiety problem, waiting to catch the star, or the girl, or both. But neither comes pitching out of the sky. The dream stays just out of sight. “So that’s what star fragments look like,” she says later, her voice muffled by the sound of crickets. She turns it over in her hands, running her fingers along each point and indent. “They’re warm.” Smells it curiously, then wrinkles her nose. “No smell.” Tries to break off one especially thin-looking point with little success. “Sturdy.” She spends ten minutes staring at the star. He spends ten minutes staring at her. She gets bored, puts the fragment on the ground, and looks up. He looks away. “The party’s probably over now, huh.” He nods to his left. A sigh, very small, very lovely. Like a firefly under a bridge. “I didn’t get the chance to dance with anyone.” Beedle’s Nose is staring at him from a gap in the trees like the red eye of the devil. It’s singing a nursery rhyme he doesn’t remember learning. What do you want/what do you want/what do you want. Link! Link! Open your eyes! He has to break every bone in his body just to turn his head three inches to the right, but for the first time in this life, this new life, this second chance at everything, he gets it right. Zelda’s knees are drawn to her chest, her head pillowed on her arms, her gaze heavy on his face. He sucks in a breath. “Do you still want to?”

 Dancing without music sounds reasonable in theory, but generally requires one party to be exceptionally good at keeping count while the other has to be in possession of at least a rudimentary grasp of the steps. This is, of course, assuming that there are redeemable qualities to both parties. For example, if one is the knight from the fairy tale who has spent his whole life swinging sharp objects at people, and the other is the princess from the fairytale who has spent her whole life praying sharp objects find their way to the right people, then there may not in fact be anything redeemable between them. Her counting is off, his hands are clammy. Her voice is wavering, his feet are too slow. It’s disaster after disaster after disaster, first the champions in their divine beasts, then the castle, then the king on the Great Plateau, a knife through the heart, et cetera. Dancing without music sounds reasonable in theory unless you’ve spent the last three months of your life chasing angry moose down mountains, so it’s a good thing no one’s here to laugh at them. It’s a good thing they’re alone, surrounded by starlight, half an hour by foot from Hateno, village of lights and wonder. Spring has come and gone without them. The night is young and the air is cool and the forest is sweetly indifferent to his tendency to crash into inanimate objects. This would be embarrassing if he left himself think about it, but more importantly it’s unfair, how neither of them knows what they’re doing but Zelda can smile her way out of a clumsy turn, how he has to keep his hand on her waist but hers is doing an elaborate dance on his shoulder, how every time she leans in and her hair parts down her back, a sliver of neck peeks out and steals the lungs right out of his chest. He is going to die trying to keep his hands to himself or they are going to fall off the edge of the forest and into a ravine with no bottom. There is no option to walk away. “You’re a terrible dancer,” she says, smiling up at him from under her lashes. He chews on his lip. “I’m sorry.” “That’s fine.” He twirls her and her dress floats up past her ankles like a cloud of tiny stars. “I like you anyway.” He walks into a tree. Decides that’s not enough. Slaps himself generously across the face, hard enough to leave a mark. Decides that’s not enough. Kneels on the grass, letting go of her hand, to look for a stick that might help him end things faster. “Link?” It is too much and too little all at once, and therefore unbearable. He is going to fall off the edge of the forest right now. He tries to stand up just as she begins to bend down, reaching for his shoulder. They fall off the edge of the forest together. Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh no. They’ve fallen off the edge of the universe together. Her face is in the crook of his neck and her hair is stuck to his clothes. His skin is on fire and his butt is sore and he’s dying. Hylia, can you hear him? There’s a name for the place children go after they leave this world. He’d like to know what it’s called now. “Hey,” comes the small, muffled voice. Her arms are on either side of his waist, and they’re trembling. “Can you say something?” He looks up. Always up, always forward, towards knives and teeth and forests full of bodies. Always past the blurry face in the dream, to the nightmare that follows after. Someone will tell you when to breathe. Someone will tell you when to swing your sword. Someone will tell you when it’s all right to stop being scared of everything, and start looking for angels. Like right now. Like right-right-now. Your heartbeat fluttering in your throat. Your throat an ocean of knives. Eight weeks and three days after he walks into the castle and defeats two incarnations of evil, first in a room with a domed ceiling, then in a field with a domed sky, he steps out of the burning house, and finds himself face to face with the sun. He presses his cheek against her hair. “Do you want me to?” “Yes,” she sighs. “Yes, I do.”

 He tells her about the way the world looks from atop the back of a bear and the gray of the ocean from a raft and the conversation he had with her dead father about how cooked apples taste sweeter. He tells her about the first time he shot an arrow at a bomb barrel and the second time he shield-surfed down a hill and how Urbosa made him promise to take care of her, even in death, even after it. He tells her about being so lonely it hurt to breathe and being so bad at breathing he passed out in a river, and being so hurt he had to be saved by a stranger on the road, tied to the back of their donkey like a piece of merchandise and carried to the nearest stable to be burnt back to life. He tells her how no one believed he was the boy in the story, even when he pulled out the sword, even when he showed them the blood on his back. He tells her about how the stalhorses on Tabantha Snowfield run faster than the horses near Kakariko, how a bokoblin will choose a freshly roasted chicken over the skin of your teeth, how a sword is a metaphor for forgiveness. He tells her how a hundred years ago she told him to eat a frog, and he never forgot about it. Not once, not ever. Walking through the Breach of Demise, looking for Koroks in Fort Hateno, praying for her heart at the Spring of Wisdom, he never stopped thinking about the damn frog, and by extension, the girl. The first thing she says is why didn’t you tell me all of this earlier? The second thing she says is why the hell didn’t I ask? She presses a hand to his forehead, pushing his bangs out of his eyes and glaring at him. The third thing she says is that she really wants to see a stalhorse, and the fourth thing he says is he’ll take her there one day, and the fifth thing she does is cry. Big, heaving sobs. Arms tight around his shoulders, tears smearing the front of his shirt, while he pretends he isn’t half as insane, gives up, and resolves to hide his face in her hair forever. And it’s dramatic as hell, it’s an ancient tapestry on a wall in Kakariko, but hasn’t it always been that way? Haven’t they been through enough shit to justify the heartfelt reunion, the face full of tears? If the conversation they had in the field outside the castle was a blueprint for what it looks like to meet someone you wanted a hundred years ago, then this is the aftermath of that war. Do you remember me? Of course I do. Do you love me? Of course I do. Ask me a question, any question. Crack my chest open. “To make things very, very clear,” Zelda says, wiping her eyes furiously. She’s pushed him flat onto his back and the light’s not hitting her face so he can’t make out her expression, but he can imagine the pinched brow, the bitten lip. “I didn’t fall in love with you because you were conveniently there, like, I don’t know, an armchair when you’re tired, or a glass of water when you’re thirsty.” Her hands on his chest are very beautiful, even in the moon-lit dark. “I didn’t take one look at the prophecy and think to myself, well, if I’m going to tie my happiness to someone then it might as well be him.” Now he’s the one who’s embarrassed. He brings a hand up to cover his face but she tugs it away. Takes a deep breath. Counts to ten, probably, maybe fifteen, maybe a hundred. “I fell in love with you,” she says, softly, each word falling from her lips like a star, each star plucked from the highest point in the heavens. “I don’t even know why I fell in love with you.” She fists her hands loosely in his shirt. “It just happens, you know? One day you look at the boy with the stupid pretty hair, and you think to yourself, oh no.” His head is spinning so fast he feels like the dog at the party. Maybe he is the dog. Maybe he finished eating the cake and shoved the fondant chicken in his mouth and then he passed out, and had to be carried back to his house, and had to be laid gently on the unmade covers. He gathers his thoughts. “I’m not a very good person,” he says quietly. “But if you would have me, I would gladly give you my life.” “You’ve already done that once, Link,” Zelda says, laughing with the sun in her mouth. “Do something else.” What do you want, Link? Open your eyes. Save yourself. “Okay, then. Can I kiss you?”

 His name is Link, and he died once when he was seventeen. It was pretty traumatizing. He got slashed several times across the back with some very sharp weapons, and then he got mauled by a forest full of screaming metal, and then he collapsed, right in front of the person he was supposed to protect, who ended up protecting his dead body by the skin of her teeth. Because he died. Somewhere between the laser on his chest and her hand pressed against the seal of the sky, his body made one last stand against the stark inequalities of the world, and he died. The only reason he knew his name was Link when he woke up was because it was the first word she said to him. “Link,” she said. “Wake up.” He concluded through logical reasoning that “he” must be “Link” and that “Link” had to “wake up”. So he did. He went traipsing around Hyrule with a ladle and a pot lid, seeking out places from a photograph and trying to find ways to bring every four-legged animal in the land to a stable, but he never really felt like “Link”. He felt like a corpse that had received a very shiny, very thick coat of paint. Half-here, half-there. Half-me, half-something-else. What else? A bird, maybe. A horse. One day Link got bored and decided that he was going to defeat all the forces of evil. He fought his way into the castle, where the guardians shot lasers at his earrings, and he fought his way past the lynels, who hissed fire and called him rude words, and he fought his way into the sanctum, where he met the asshole who had put him through all this shit in the first place. And he kicked his ass. And he kicked his other ass. And the asshole died. His name was Ganon. Ganon dying brought Zelda back to life, because the law of equivalent exchange governs half of the children in this world, while the devil gets the rest. The devil got to him: his life will always carry the weight of hundreds of thousands, he will always feel like lead for the first three seconds after he wakes up. But it didn’t get to Zelda. Zelda got the other bargain, the one where your dead father dies but you get your knight back. One or the other, left or right. In the end, you always have to choose. And he’s still pretty traumatized. And dying at the age of seventeen with a sword still stuck in your hand is pretty traumatizing. And the Zora are still mourning and the Gorons are still eating rocks and the Gerudo still think he’s just a really short girl, which he can live with, which he doesn’t particularly mind, but the trauma has a place on the shelf now. And the shelf is in his house. And the house is a modest one, with modest display stands for his modest weapons, and a modest bed beside which he’s hung a framed photograph of his friends. But some things are different, even if the foundations stay the same. No more rafts on gray seas. No more sleeping on the floor. No more standing in the burning building, and wondering why the shadows aren’t moving. No more shrines full of dead monks. No more monsters full of dead bodies. No more waiting for someone to tell you when to breathe, when to stop, when to get mauled by a bear. Pick up your sword, boy. Now put it down. Now pick it up. Now put it down. You’re going to be doing this until the day that you die. Are you all right with that? Are you all right with your god? [Thank you for helping my sister.][They say the leviathans died thousands of years ago.][Get me a horse. A big, strong horse. Any horse.][BROTHER. THE ROCKS ARE READY.][Find me someone whose name ends with ‘-son’.][I’ll sell you rushrooms for diamonds. Fifty-five for one.][Have you heard of the story of the bird on the mountain?][Do you already have someone special in your heart?][They say if two people visit this pond, they’ll be together forever.][Do you believe in miracles?][Do you believe in magic?][Do you believe in me?] [I believed I would see you again.]

It’s a cruel, unforgiving world. People die and don’t come back. But you did. Now get up. Someone’s waiting for you.

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