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writingwithfolklore · 3 months

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Describing Foods - A Masterlist

As a broke university student, I love reading about food. It’s almost like eating a real meal myself <3.

I get a little angry when characters are eating a meal and I barely get to experience it with them. In that, I mean I don’t just want to know what it is, but what it’s like to eat that food—how it tastes, smells, sounds, and feels. Is a perfect croissant still a perfect croissant without the crack of the exterior, the airiness of the pastry inside, the smell of yeast?

Probably not. When writing about a dish, the smell, texture, technique, taste, and how it looks are all important to painting the experience, so here’s some words to use when describing a meal:

Taste:

Acidic: Sharp tasting. Often used to describe tart or sour foods as well.

Aftertaste: A different taste that remains in the mouth after eating something

Bitter: Tart, sharp, and sometimes harsh flavour.

Bittersweet: Less harsh than bitterness. Tartness + sweetness.

Bland: Has no significant flavor or texture

Briny: Just means salty. Often describes pickled foods.

Citrusy: Bright flavour like… well citrus fruits—oranges, lemons, limes, etc.

Cooling: Mimics that cooling feel—like mint.

Earthy: Reminiscent of soil. Can be used to describe wines, root vegetables, and mushrooms.

Fiery: Another word for spicy.

Fresh: Light and crisp—describes produce or herbs.

Fruity: Sweet and reminiscent of fruit.

Full-bodied: Rich and ‘feels heavy’ in your mouth. Can describe wines or soups.

Herbal: Bright, fresh, sometimes earthy from the presence of herbs

Honeyed: Sweet or candied taste like honey.

Nutty: Taste similar to the flavors of nuts. Often used to describe certain cheeses.

Rich: Full, heavy flavour. Often dishes that contain cream taste rich.

Robust: Rich + Earthy. Used for lots of wines or aged liquor.

Savory: Describes meaty, earthy dishes and soups.

Sharp: Harsh, bitter, or tart taste. Used to describe acidic foods.

Smoky: Reminiscent of the smell of smoke.

Sour: Biting, tangy, tart flavor.

Spicy: Burning taste.

Sweet: Sugary.

Tangy: Tart, biting taste—feels tingly

Tart: Sharp, bitter, or sour flavour. Used to describe acidic foods.

Woody: Earthy, sometimes nutty taste. Describes some coffees or cheeses.

Yeasty: Earthy taste reminiscent of yeast. Describes beer and bread.

Zesty: Fresh, vivid, or invigorating flavour.

Sound/Texture:

Sound has a lot to do with texture, so I've combined them for this section!

Airy: Light, pillowy texture (think inside of croissant)

Brittle: Hard but easy to break

Bubbly: Usually during heating, when bubbles rise to the surface—low sound.

Buttery: Smooth, creamy texture (think certain pasta sauces)

Chewy: Food that needs to be chewed thoroughly. Can be light and bouncy (chewy bread) or heavy (steak) and sticky (candy)

Creamy: A smooth and rich texture, comes from dairy.

Crispy: Light texture with slight crunch.

Crumbly: Food with loose structure that falls apart into crumbs.

Crunchy: Firm, crisp texture with a sharp, loud noise.

Crusty (behave): Food with a hard outer layer and soft interior (many loaves and breads)

Delicate: Light and fine, feels like it can come apart easily.

Doughy: Soft and heavy, usually pale colouring.

Fizzy: Usually liquids—a hissing sound, feels like ‘static’

Flaky: Light, characterized by layers that come apart during eating.

Fluffy: light and airy.

Frothy/Foamy: Airy bubbles, usually in a drink like a latte.

Gamey: Usually refers to meats when they’re very “meaty”

Gooey: Viscous, sometimes sticky texture from moisture in a dense/solid food.

Hearty: Firm, robust texture.

Juicy: Tender and succulent texture from liquid in a solid food (steak)

Molten: Hot, gooey

Oily: Slick, heavy, lingers on the tongue.

Silky: Fine, smooth texture that feels sleek.

Smooth: Texture free of grit, lumps, or edges.

Snap: A quick, sharp, crackling sound when broken.

Squelch: A soft sucking sound when pressure is applied. Somewhat gross.

Sticky: Gluiness in the mouth.

Succulent: Tender and juicy

Tender: Soft and easy to break down

Velvety: Smooth and rich

Smell:

Acrid: Strong, bitter, unpleasant

Comforting: pleasant, probably calls back to a nice memory

Damp: Wet smelling—probably a bit earthy

Delicate: subtle, faint, not overpowering

Earthy: reminiscent of soil

Fetid: Caused by decay—unpleasant

Fishy: reminiscent of fish

Floral/flowery: Reminiscent of flowers

Fragrant: Sweet or pleasing

Fresh: Cool, crisp, refreshing—produce, probably not cooked

Funky: Something’s gone off

Heady: Strong smell, pungent, rich

Musty: Not fresh

Perfumed: Pleasant, reminiscent of something (can be perfumed with citrus, say)

Piquant: stinging, pungent—tickles the nose

Powerful: strong

Rancid: Definitely gone off, decomposing

Ripe: Strong, usually unpleasant smell

Savory: spicy, salty, no elements of sweetness

Sour: has gone off

Spicy: Sharp, tingles the nose

Tangy: Strong and bitter but in a good way

Tart: Sharp

Woody: earthy smell, reminiscent of wood

Sight:

Usually texture gives us a really good picture of what a food looks like, so here’s some non-texture sight additions:

Blistered: Bumpy exterior.

Caramelized: Usually golden brown

Cloudy: Splotched. Almost see through if not for a slight white or grey mist.

Colourful: Bright and vibrant

Glassy: Resembling glass

Glossy: Smooth, shiny

Marbled: Two colours intertwined

Opaque: Not transparent. Can’t see through.

Ripe: Colourful (can be to a fault). Nearing the end of its edible state.

Scaly: Covered in scales, fish.

Shiny: Appears wet or glossy

Sparkling: Glimmers under the light

Stuffed: An ingredient placed inside a larger part with no additional space.

Translucent: Allows light through

Vibrant: Striking, bright

Food Prep:

How the food is prepared gives it these other attributes. If your character is familiar with cooking (or is the cook themselves!) they may describe food this way.

Baked: Cooked in an oven. Results in browned or crispy outer layer.

Blackened: When food is dipped in butter and coated with spices then cooked in a hot pan—spices darken, making it appear ‘blackened’

Blanched: Food scalded in boiling water and moved to cold water so it stops cooking. Texture comes out soft.

Braised: Food that is briefly fried in fat and then stewed in a pot. Results in seared, crispy exterior with a tender interior.

Breaded: Coated with breadcrumbs/batter then baked or fried so it turns crispy

Broiled: Food cooked with intense radiant heat in an oven or on the grill. Results in a darkened appearance and crispy texture.

Caramelized: Food slow-cooked until it’s browned, nutty, and has a bit of sweetness.

Charred: Grilled, roasted, or broiled and gains a blackened exterior and smoky flavor.

Fermented: Food that’s sat with bacteria, yeast, or another microorganism and has produced acids, alcohols, or gases. Results in a biting, pungent flavor. (Kimchi is fermented)

Fried: Food cooked by submerging in hot oil. Creates crispy, crunchy texture and golden colour.

Glazed: Food with a coating brushed onto its surface. Appears glossy with a thin, flavorful, and crisp outer layer.

Infused: Food steeped in liquid with another ingredient so it carries the essence of that ingredient. Used with herbs usually.

Marinated: Usually meat soaked in liquid containing flavourful herbs, spices, vinegar, or oil.

Poached: Food cooked in near boiling water. Results in tender, moist texture.

Roasted: Food cooked with dry heat in an oven or over the fire. Results in browned exterior and crisp coating.

Sautéed: Food cooked quickly in small amount of fat.

Seared: Food cooked in small amount of fat until caramelized. Finished by roasting or grilling. Results in crisp exterior and tender interior.

Smoked: Food exposed to smoke from smoldering wood for a long time. Results in that distinctive smoky flavor.

Whipped: Food beaten to incorporate air. Light and fluffy.

What did I miss?

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haste-waste · 10 months

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Waiting

In which Link has it bad.

For @zelinkcommunity 's Zelink Week 2023 day one prompt: Yearning. Read on AO3 here.

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"What do you think?" she asks.

Zelda sits at the table as he prepares their dinner in advance. She's removing rice from the stalk to complement the humongous mushroom cap he's fileting in their kitchen. It's a nice afternoon in Hateno Village, and she is here, living with him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He's still not used to this. She's asking him what he thinks? Even after one hundred years it still amazes him. She is one of few people who takes his thoughts into consideration and values his words, whether they be eloquent or otherwise.

He ponders her request for a moment, and switches to a smaller knife to remove the woody ends of the mushroom stem. "I think that's a proposition for Purah."

"I respectfully disagree. You've had far more practical field experience with the Sheikah Slate than she has. But if you truly think so, I will ask her."

Zelda wants to implement "stress tests" to the slate. Not the actual body of the slate, mind, but the potential and scope of the runes.

The conversation lulls for a short time. Then, she says something he doesn’t expect: "In all actuality, your observational skills are beyond my own when it comes to kinetics. Of course, your skills as a warrior are a factor. Your inherent ability to manipulate a multitude of objects with such precision over distances great and small is absolutely fascinating."

He scrapes the sliced mushrooms into the cast iron pan with the unsharpened edge of the knife. They sizzle enticingly and absorb the oil as he tosses them around the pan with a wooden spoon.

He's a bit taken aback by Zelda's commentary. It's not that big of a deal, it's just something he does. Things move all the time. With enough practice, she could fell a deer across Retsam Forest with the right equipment or skip a stone across Hateno Bay. She's a quick learner, a trait he greatly admires.

But he doesn't know what to say, so he shrugs. She gives him a long look. He knows she's planning something by the way her eyebrows shift. Then she grabs a dinner roll from the basket on the table and tosses it to him. Unthinking, he catches it.

He gives her a dry look, but she has other things in mind. "How fortunate that the door is open. I challenge you to hit Karson in the head with this from the doorframe."

"Do you have something against Karson?"

"Not at all! He does tend to laze about our front lawn, though. Maybe a delicious surprise will do him some good."

Something in his chest flutters at the sound of "our front lawn." So, he acquiesces. He takes the pan off the heat. Then, he gives a playful smile as he struts to the door and eyes his target. Karson sits cross-legged near the cooking pot by the towering oak tree. 10 meters, perhaps? That was manageable.

He yeets the bread perfectly—too fast to make a clear, sailing, parabolic arch, but not hard enough to leave a bruise. He hears Zelda gasp excitedly (Oh!) as the roll bounces with a thonk off of Karson's forehead.

"Hey!" he shouts. They both freeze in anticipation. Uh oh. He sees the both of them standing dumbly in the doorway, obviously watching.

He looks down, seemingly in slow motion. Then, his face lights up like a child at winter solstice.

"Thanks for the bread!" he calls, giving a friendly wave. Amusingly, Bolson attempts to snatch it from him as Link gives a half-hearted wave and shuts the door. Satisfied, he returns the still-hot cast iron pan to the stove and continues sautéing the mushrooms.

"I cannot believe you actually did that," Zelda says, heaving the rice pot into place on the stove. Anything for you, he thinks. He moves out of the way as she stokes the coals within, shutting the door with a clang. Then she brushes her hair out of her face. It frames her chin beautifully. "It was a perfect throw. Excellent work!"

"I try," he says, flustered by her continued praise, and extinguishes the urge to kiss her cheek.

--------------------

He wants to kiss her all the time.

Goddesses, does he want to kiss her.

He wants to kiss her when she finishes writing in her journal and beams at him from the loft. Or, when she makes tea in the morning and groggily places a cup on the end table near his armchair, made just how he likes it. He'd love to after she makes a sudden breakthrough with her research, or when she is always surprised to see a cup of water after she cuts firewood. He wants to kiss her when she gives him that look, like she's been gazing at him for a while over a book cover but tries to be nonchalant. He wants to when she is reminded of something from before and she clings to him as proof he's still here and breathing. He wants to after their ancient tech hijinks and she's laughing maniacally after something of Purah's inevitably breaks or explodes. Or when she leans on his shoulder after listening to him share his thoughts and feelings. Or, when she holds him after he remembers something from before or has a fleeting, vivid nightmare. But especially when she smiles warmly at him while he cooks, and just does his thing.

But the moment never seems right.

He fears that it may be the wrong time, or she doesn't want to, and a whole other list of reasons that involve her comfort and boundaries. The few times they had were brief, either on the cheek, forehead, or the exceedingly rare chaste goodbye kisses they share when one of them leaves on a journey somewhere. Besides the one wonderful time on Tuft Mountain where he confessed and she reciprocated, it's been slow. Which is fine, truly. He's happy to have her in his life at all, so he won't complain. He doesn't want to, or even need to complain. He is happy, but he's also curious at the same time. Those two ideas can coexist, right?

Was it the right time to be more romantic for her? How does he even go about this, the whole idea of kissing her?

What would it be like, though?

He's pondering this as they walk back from the Hateno ancient tech lab. The nights are growing chillier as they enter autumn proper.

"Can you believe it? Purah was thrilled to have the data we collected from the slate. We're one step closer to making another one! Oh, I'm so excited—"

She's sunny, a contrast to the dusk which settles around them. They pass a blue flame lantern, and it casts wonderful shadows on her face that emphasize her jaw. He'd like to kiss her there too, if he's allowed.

"We'll have to gather more, of course. Are you alright with that? It may be more extreme, like hurling boulders and the occasional moblin, if there are any left."

Any left? She sees his confusion. "You're incredibly thorough when it comes to pest control."

He supposes so. The tangible delight of freezing moblins mid-swing with Stasis and watching them careen through the air by their own club is entertaining, to say the least. Or, that one time he blasted a boulder from Hyrule Plateau all the way to the desert. He'd like to see her do that, why hasn't he thought of mentioning that yet?

"That'd be fun." He means it, and she is delighted. "But make sure I'm not a test subject this time."

Her entire body cringes. "That pains me still. I've never regretted anything more in my life."

"I mean, it was only a few feet. I've had worse." He shrugs, remembering the small explosion after an ancient tech malfunction. One time he slipped while shield surfing Mount Hebra and fell for nearly a mile. He still wonders how he's still alive, Mipha's grace or otherwise—

She's oddly quiet. "I bet you have."

Oh. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's quite alright. Forgive me," she says gently. Then she smiles to herself. "Even before, you took heavy hits. You tend to fly like a rag doll. It's still a shock to see, but you're unfathomably resilient."

He laughs. That was true. Again, he wonders how he's not dead but stops as she shivers.

This is one of the rare instances where she actively walks in front of him instead of by his side. So, he closes the gap, concerned. She stares off into the distance for a moment.

"Are you alright?" His voice is soft.

"Yes, why?"

"You were shivering."

Her expression before was one of remembering. He can tell something's bothering her, but what?

"It's a bit chilly this evening, that's all," she says while rubbing her hands together. "I was so excited to get to the lab, I forgot my cloak." Her tone is lighter, so she likely means it. "But yes! On my life—" his heart pangs at that, "—you will not be an accidental test subject. Unless you want to be a test subject, but that is your sole decision and we will have to adjust the experiment to keep you safe—"

She pauses as his cloak settles over her shoulders. "Here." He can't have her being cold, she's sensitive to it. Besides, they're not far from the house. He continues walking and stops when she doesn't follow.

Several scenarios come to mind as to why she hasn't. He instinctively checks their immediate surroundings. His hand itches for the sword on his back. Focus. No humanoid shadows in the trees. No monsters in the field or above their heads. He angles his head and sees nothing suspicious. Then, back to her.

Is she blushing? It's hard to tell. For one so open with her thoughts, she can be hard to read at times. Maybe there's a hint of one at the corners of her cheeks. But maybe he's wishing for it. Who knows. If he places his hands on her cheeks like he's been wanting to for months, he could find out...

"Thank you? That's very kind of you. But won't you be cold?" she asks, hesitant to adjust it properly around her.

Seeing her in his clothes makes him feel far warm enough. So, he walks back to her and fastens the cloak around her neck—another place he'd love to kiss—bundles her up and turns to continue forward toward home where stew should be ready. He hopes she likes it. It's a mix of lentils and roasted mushroom, with a gravy made from the unsweetened milk of a palm fruit. It's savory and filling, which is something they both tend to enjoy. "I'm fine. Besides, we have a warm meal waiting for us at home."

"Ah yes, priorities." Her steps are as light as her demeanor. To his complete surprise, her hand wraps around his own as he watches her settle into the cloak. Satisfied, she matches his pace, and they continue the walk home in comfortable silence.

She's been quiet since they arrived. The kitchen is bathed in golden light from the overhead lanterns. Their home is far more comfortable since her arrival. Well, his home. He'd like to call it theirs, but he'll have to ask her about that at a later time. For now, he hums part of a tune that Kass would play in the evenings at Rito Village as he stirs the stew, waiting for the rolls to warm again in the clay oven.

He turns, and the table is set. "Thank you for loaning me your cloak," she says, placing down a final dish for some butter. "I'll hang this up."

He nods. "Dinner's almost ready," he announces after eyeing the stew.

"—Oh! Right." Confused by her tone, he turns, but she's already in her seat across the table. Two patches of red hint at the corners of her jaw as she draws her hair behind her ear, fidgeting.

...Cute.

He gives her an eyebrow and sets the stew on the table. He savors the look on her face when she takes the first bite, nodding slightly with her eyes closed. She gestures with her spoon, then digs in. Success. They enjoy a quiet dinner.

He hums again while they do the dishes. He places the iron pot back on the stove for it to fully dry. He's charmed to see Zelda with her sleeves pushed up, scrubbing away. She has nice arms. She has nice...everything. Something's on his mind, though. Zelda has been notably quiet since the walk home.

"What are you thinking about right now?" he inquires. She's the one who usually asks that question.

A dish is placed in his hands. She's digging at the stubborn film of dried gravy that lines their bowls. Her eyebrows knit in concentration.

Then a wonderful smile graces her face. "Honestly? I'm incredibly happy to be here with you."

It takes a moment to process this. By now, she's finished with the dishes and hauls the water outside.

Upon her return, she takes the towel from his hands and dries her own. She's so close and he just wants to…

—What she just said was so nonchalant, like it was a definite fact, a universal truth.

"Same here," he says far too inarticulately. She looks down at him in vague confusion as he stands directly in front of her. "I'm happy that you're here too." And her smile returns. So lovely. He can't spit the rest out. He's getting better at saying what's on his mind, but he stumbles when he wants to most. I'm happy to be anywhere with you. She squeezes his wrist with her slightly damp hand.

She's up in the loft now, continuing her mission for the past few weeks—pouring over several years of Purah's research notes. He can tell that she was itching to get back to work. He doesn't know how she can do that for hours. Sure, ancient technology is fascinating and filled with secrets. Purah's handwriting, on the other hand, while flawless, is tiny and the pages are dense. Reading that for hours would give him a migraine. He’s happy that he researches the ancient histories instead.

He watches her from below as she writes. He visualizes the ancient gears turning in her head. How she fits so much knowledge in there, he doesn't know. She is like a sponge, soaking up information from anywhere and anything. He's only seen brief glimpses of her journal, but it's just as detailed as their long conversations as they travel, work, and live. There's a word for people like her, and like her mother. Was erudite the term Mum used for the Queen? He frowns, trying to remember. Zelda definitely has her mother's brains.

She brushes her hair behind her ear again, contemplating for a moment. He's drawn to the elegant slope of her neck. What would it be like to kiss her there, just below her ear? Would he be able to discern the subtle notes of fragrance from the soap she uses? Would he hear her heartbeat? The sound of her sighing?

...He needs to empty his head.

"I'll be out back," he calls upstairs.

"Have fun!"

He heads outside, taking his cloak to fend off the chill. He goes to put it on but stops as he realizes that it smells different. It smells like her. Clean, fresh. Floral, like blue nightshades. Before, it didn't smell like much of anything. Now, he can't stop thinking about it. Every time he moves he can smell her. It's really nice, actually.

He goes to the small stable by the house and checks on their horses. Epona is out grazing near the small pond behind the stable. Equs, the chalk-white descendant of Zelda's old horse, mows down his pile of hay. He gives his snout a pat and continues on. He was a pain to tame, but now he's a likable and reliable horse. Epona likely whipped him into shape. She's a good influence.

He returns to the yard. Epona trots over and butts her head into his chest.

"Hey! Whoa, girl—" it's almost like he can read her. She's sniffing around his pockets. "No apples today. But I do have this for you and the big guy." He presents a humongous, tasty looking carrot. She takes it happily and chomps away. She follows him back to the stable as he stocks it up for the night, giving the other carrot to Equs in the meantime.

"Goodnight," he calls. They look at him, almost like they know the meaning behind his words. It's a nice thought, but they're still horses.

Next, he investigates the apple tree behind the house. It looks like he picked most of them, but he wants to be thorough before the frost sets in. He finds a few up on the highest boughs. Then, he clambers down to a lower, sturdier branch and sits.

It's quiet. It's a bit chilly. All in all, a beautiful night. The air is crisp, making a wonderful rushing sound through the leaves that will likely begin to drop in a week. He can't smell winter in the air. He can only smell the traces of her lingering on his cloak. He wraps it around him a bit more, closes his eyes, and listens.

Nights like these are great for clearing the head. It's easier and also harder to bring his mind to the earth, especially since Zelda lives with him now. They're living together and experiencing what "normal life" is like. He never would have dreamed of this a century ago.

Not even in his wildest fantasies did he ever think of peaceful domesticity. He didn't have much time, if any, to fantasize about any sort of future with her. He could only replay scenes in his head where she gave him affection, like the time on death mountain where she pushed his bangs back, and when she held his hands after giving him custom made gloves for his birthday.

His other fantasies involved a life outside of fighting. He once wanted to own and run the pub with his grandparents. Or be a ranger, like Mum. Or be in the royal guard, like Dad. Well, he was the latter, in a way, but with Zelda as his Queen. Maybe he would settle down with a husband or a wife outside of his duty in that future that is now the past.

He finds himself reminiscing. He had a partner once, a fellow knight named Pietr a few years before he became Zelda's chosen knight. He was from Lurelin, his first kiss, and his amicable (and only) ex. They were young, still children, and they were happy. Pietr was wise to break it off because of their changing duties. Not even a year later he found himself becoming Zelda's chosen knight. At least Pietr survived the Calamity. It sounds like he had a good life, actually: his great-grandson Tauro is living proof of that.

But if Mipha knew about Pietr or his feelings for Zelda before the Calamity, she would have been devastated. But there's nothing he could do. She was his calm, poised, and far cooler partner on the battlefield and childhood friend. He loved her too in many ways, yes, but marriage? He's thought long and hard about this before during his travels. Not marriage. He wouldn't be able to provide what was required by her birthright. He would have died far before she did. She was his first love, but that changed as soon as the sword called to him at 13. Why Mipha is on his mind, he doesn't know. It's not painful anymore. She's gone, it's the past, and he's moved on. He hopes, wherever she is now, that she's happy and at peace along with Urbosa, Daruk, Revali, and his loved ones.

About a half hour later, he drops down from the tree, his thoughts released to the earth and the wind. He feels a bit lighter.

After practicing some swordsmanship, he investigates their firewood reserves beside the house and is proud to see Zelda's handiwork. They'll be set for several weeks. The stars glimmer above him and he spots a shooting star.

He doesn't wish on it; he has everything he could possibly want. Someone else can have that wish.

It's very dark now. He heads back inside.

"Hullo," he says, kicking his boots off near the door.

"Hi," he hears from upstairs, her tone less enthusiastic and more tired. She’s always one to keep busy.

He hesitates before removing his cloak, wanting to smell her for a little while longer.

He relaxes in his reading chair and reads a heavy book that Paya loaned him on ancient Sheikah tales. The lore of Hyrule has always fascinated him. He's glad it also helps Zelda with her research. Her specialties are within the royal family, while his is broader. It's the opposite with ancient technology: he’s all too familiar with the royal guard class of weapon while she knows practically anything about everything. He's glad that they find ways to help each other to solve some ancient mysteries.

The candle is burning low by the time he finishes a long chapter about a third Yiga invasion several hundred years ago. He's a bit tired, but not enough to sleep. 100 years of sleeping will do that to someone, he supposes.

It's nearly silent in the house now. His ears strain, trying to pick out the faint sounds of Zelda's wax pencil or beloved green ink being scratched against a page. He turns down the lanterns from the ceiling (the contraption Zelda made to do this is genius) after getting ready for bed.

He heads up to the loft.

Zelda has fallen asleep at the desk. Her face is squished against the open pages of her journal, and her wax pencil barely stays within her relaxed grip. The flicker of the candle gives her hair and face a warm glow. His heart melts.

Her hair is woven gold, a crown upon her head—even though she refuses to wear her birthright.

…Just like she refuses to rest when she needs it most.

He's hesitant to touch the gentle slope of her shoulder, but he does anyway.

"Zelda?" His voice is soft. She doesn't respond. He gives her a tiny shake. "It's getting late."

"Hm?" Her grip on the pencil returns.

"It's almost midnight," he says.

"Just a bit longer—" she slurs, rubbing her face with her arm and righting her posture. "I have to get this done."

"Don't push yourself too hard," he adds, squashing the urge to kiss her cheek.

He goes to his Kakariko-style futon on the floor, with Zelda's nearby. Part of him wonders if her bedding smells like her too.

...He's more tired than he thought.

It's kind of funny. Even though they live together and have confessed their feelings to each other, they don't share a bed. They don't share much affection, really. He doesn't mind, though. In fact, his actual bed hasn't been used since the few days before they defeated Ganon together. He wanted her to have it when she moved in from Kakariko, but she adamantly refused. Neither of them would budge, so this was the best compromise: two comfy futons on the floor. The bed is for guests. Besides, if she took the bed, he wouldn't be able to see from a distance how serene she is when she sleeps, just like a century before. It might be nice, though. But that's for a future time.

He takes out his hair tie and brushes his hair back, putting the comb back on top of the bedside table. He hears a thud.

Ah, she's fallen asleep again, judging by her posture. She jolts awake, shakes her head, and stubbornly continues to work.

"You should sleep," he says, resting his forearms on top of his knees. He perches his head on them to watch her.

"There's still so much—" she replies after a while. "The more I do, the closer we are to understanding things."

Something in her tone reminds him of before. It's the same determination that almost made her freeze to death or drown in the sacred springs. Her tone is the same from those quiet nights in her study, using the little time they had to try to stop Ganon's return. Is their project eating away at her?

"I'm losing time," she says, picking up her pace. This confirms his worries.

He pads barefooted across the floorboards to the desk. He's tired too, but not as much as she is. She was up before dawn this morning. He allows his fatigue to lessen the iron grip on his affections.

He's standing to her right. He drapes his left arm across her shoulders and lightly pulls her into his side.

"There's always tomorrow."

He drifts his thumb across her shoulder. He's delighted when she relaxes into him. He can catch hints of her floral soap from here. It's a comfort. He stares at the stack of books and the flickering candle, enjoying the warmth and the closeness.

"There's always tomorrow," she asserts after a time.

He continues drifting his thumb, trying to memorize the feeling of her weight resting against him. She sighs, relaxing even more, almost as though she melts into him.

"Come on, time for bed," he says, but she doesn't respond. He looks down at her.

She's asleep.

Aww!

He makes a mental note to keep an eye on her on late nights like these. He doesn't want her late night working to become a bad habit.

"Zelda," he says playfully, giving her a little shake. She doesn't awaken. Her breathing pattern confirms it. He's learned to keep an eye on that during the nights he doesn't feel like sleeping. Usually her breathing changes before a nightmare. Since the project started, she's had more than usual, the ones where she tosses and turns, but never enough to wake. The waking ones were far worse—the first few months after Ganon's defeat were brutal on her. He's been worried, but they don't seem to affect her when she wakes. He secretly fears that they do.

Fortunately, her breathing is slow and measured. It would be a shame to ruin this rare chance at deep sleep by waking her.

She's completely out. So, it wouldn't hurt for him to try something he's been wanting to do for over 100 years.

He moves the chair out from the desk as gently as he can. Carefully, he scoops her up into his arms. Her head rests between his collar and shoulder. Her breath flutters on his neck and all he can smell and feel is her and wow—he can't help pressing his face into her soft, sleek hair.

He stands there, just for a moment, and takes everything in.

This is far better than he imagined.

As much as he wants to, he doesn't overstay his welcome. He takes a few steps over to their futon and kicks out her comforter with his foot. He begrudgingly rests her down on the mattress. She's still in her day clothes. He tucks her in, admiring the delicate curves in her wrists, the shadows under her eyes, and the serenity on her face.

What a marvelous gift it is to have her here. How wonderful it is to share each day with her in peace and safety. All the hardships they faced over a century were worth it. Everyone in Hyrule can rest as easily as they can now. All thanks to her. He just tossed Ganon around a bit before she obliterated and sealed it off for eternity. The thought makes him smile.

He's stretched his luck far enough today. He could stand to stretch it a little more.

Sneakily, he places a kiss upon her hairline.

I love you, he wishes to tell her. He thinks about it instead. She'd never hear it, even if he said it aloud. She must know by now. He doesn't know why he hasn't said it to her again after all this time. Maybe because the time wasn't right? Anyways—

Satisfied, he blows out the candle on the desk and returns to bed. He watches her chest rise and fall as moonlight emphasizes her silhouette. His eyes close.

--------------------

When they open, it is still dark outside, likely just before dawn. There is a low, golden glow beside him. He rubs his eyes. Did he leave the candle burning? No...he's immediately suspicious and worried, and turns to Zelda.

Her breathing is ragged. Her bedding is a twisted, constricted mess around her. She's curled on her side with an arm partially extended toward his mattress. Her hand flickers with golden, holy light.

Oh no.

He hasn't seen her like this in months, since the springtime right after Kakariko at the very least. Alarmed, he immediately crawls over to her just as she begins whimpering under her breath. He has to wake her up. Not doing so prolongs her suffering. He catches whispers of phrases and her hand glows more intensely. She looks sickeningly pale, the thin sheen of sweat on her brow worsening in the washed out moonlight.

She tosses and turns, lying supine. Her jaw is rigid and her face does not hide her distress. "Link—" her voice is filled with despair as she thrashes and shudders. "—Save yourself." He falls to his side, supporting his weight with his elbow, and leans near her in an attempt to reach for her shoulder. He doesn't quite make it—she jolts awake with a pained gasp. "NO!"

Her eyes darted frantically around the room, disoriented and terrified.

"Are you–augh!"

She crushes him against her chest.

She clutches blindly and a trembling hand lodges itself in his hair, keeping him against her. It does not hurt. The side of his face rests on her pillow, away from her own. She shudders, holding him like he might be snatched from her arms at any moment.

"Link." Her voice is utterly broken.

Tension radiates from her. Her shoulders shrink inward. "You're really here," she asserts, seemingly trying to convince herself about reality. His heart breaks.

"You're really—"

She begins to cry. It's barely audible even while he's against her. Her grip tightens, and he’s thankful that his entire body weight isn't on her. Her free hand grips and bunches fistfuls of fabric from his shirt.

He lays there for several moments. He's worried about suffocating her, so he pushes himself up with his left arm and she follows, refusing to let go. He wraps his other arm around her and sits them up. She pushes herself into the empty space within his lap instinctively, draping her legs together across his thigh to lessen her weight on him. Her chin rests over his shoulder as he adjusts them. Finally, she's secured in his arms, and he relaxes a fraction.

"You're safe," he breathes. "It's over now."

He feels the fabric on his shoulder become damp with her tears, and it pains him that she's had to endure so much. He rests his head against her own and holds her, shielding her from the world as long as he can. She’s done the same for him when he has nightmares. He can't shield her from her past experiences, as much as he desperately wants to do so; he hopes this is good enough. It's seemed to work so far since she returned from her imprisonment.

"Thank you," she weeps bitterly. He ignores her thanks and holds her tighter. She's safe. He will do anything to keep her that way. His own anxieties lessen as he holds her.

Someday, he will tell her how much he loves to hold her—not just when she's crying. It makes him feel relied upon, trusted, and like he's providing for her somehow, even though they are equals. But now isn't the right time.

At some point, he starts running his hand up and down her back. It's something she has always done when he's in a similar state of mind. It seems to help. Her shuddering slowly subsides.

Her breathing relaxes just as the sky begins to lighten, turning from deep purple to that particular shade of blue green. Soon, she delicately removes her fingers from his hair and nestles her face into his collar, completely exhausted.

"I'm alright now," she breathes into his neck.

He nods as best as he is able. He assuages his anxieties about not helping her enough by continuing to run his hand along her back.

What must she be feeling right now? He can't imagine the horrors she had seen during a century of isolation with the embodiment of evil. Her grip on his shirt returns.

"I was doing so well," she says dejectedly. She releases her grip, continuing to hold him. "It's been so long since I…" her voice fades for a moment, "...since I reacted this severely."

"You are doing well," he affirms.

"I don't want to be doing well if it means I'm watching you die in my dreams."

His hand pauses halfway down her back. "Since when?"

"Since Ganon. I hadn't been remembering my dreams for quite a while."

Since Ganon? Damn…he remembers her saying that they had stopped happening a few months ago. It’s a shame they returned to haunt her.

Something else is weighing on her. He's determined to find out what.

"Do you know why they came back?”

She shakes her head. "I don't."

He sits and ponders their conversations from yesterday, rubbing her back again, trying to find a source that triggered her dreams.

"Did you put me to bed?" she says after a time, drawing him from his thoughts.

He nods. "You work too hard."

"I don't work hard enough,” she says, deflated.

He frowns. "That's not true."

"It is, Link. The last time I didn't work hard enough you died. And now, you could easily die again if I'm not careful. You were already injured with the new Sheikah slate project. I must work as hard as I can to achieve our goals and keep you safe."

With that, he remembers their conversation on the walk home from the lab. It all clicks in the span of a second.

"I am safe."

She freezes in his arms. "I know, but…"

"I don't want you to die again," she professes. "I could barely handle it before. I don't know what I'd do if it happened now." He can feel the tension and panic building within her. "But what if it does? What if everything goes to pieces again? What if you get hurt? Hurt enough to die? What if you can’t be healed? What if I'm the one who hurts you? The person I care for most will be dead and it will be all my fault—"

"Stop."

She jolts a bit at his tone.

He cuts her off before she can apologize for her words by adjusting her head to rest near the center of his chest.

"Listen," he says, pressing her into him. "I'm alive.” He taps his chest, and breathes slowly, keeping his heartbeat as steady as he can.

He doesn’t plan on dying anytime soon. Staying alive makes her happy. And he likes making her happy. It’s a win-win scenario.

"—And I'm not going anywhere. I'm certain of it."

"How?" she interjects. "You can't possibly know that."

He releases his grip around her. She sits up and stares at nothing in the general direction of his mattress. Her eyes are glossy and irritated red.

The words come naturally to him, as though they are plain as day. He thanks the goddesses for that.

"Zelda, you kept me safe for over one hundred years." He takes her hand and holds it to his chest. "I know that you will never stop protecting me, just like I will never stop protecting you." He hopes this statement is the most obvious thing in the world.

She seems to move to object. To his surprise, she stares at his hand and nods, swallowing thickly. Then, she takes a long, slow, and deep breath. When she opens her eyes, he continues. She's listening—she always is.

"Yesterday, you told me that on your life, no harm shall come to me. I said the same thing about you to your father and Urbosa when I became a Champion at your side, an oath I still hold to this day."

He stops, thinking for a moment. "I can't promise that I won't get hurt. You can't promise that to me either, before and now. I almost died...a lot. You were tortured by Ganon. It gave you actual scars." He takes his spare hand and brushes the white scar that's like shattered glass across her collarbone. "As much as we tried, we couldn't keep each other completely safe. But your determination to keep me safe regardless is exactly why I am certain, just how you are certain with me."

He briefly squeezes her hand for emphasis.

She seems despondent, then sighs. "That's fair," she says after a moment. "I didn't think of it that way. You described it so eloquently."

This strengthens his resolve. "And besides," he continues, "you said it yourself: I'm unfathomably resilient."

She smiles the smallest of smiles. "That I did."

"I'm not going anywhere," he affirms, gently and assuredly. "And neither are you."

They sit quietly for a while. She sits with her eyes closed as she collects herself. He watches her carefully, taking in every minor detail, like the tiny movements in her shoulders as she breathes, how her hair barely touches the neckline of her tunic as she slouches, and how warm her hand feels against his chest.

He breathes in slowly, deeply, and feels her hand press back against him.

The sun begins to rise, casting warm beams of light throughout the house.

Her hand slips from his grasp. She rearranges both of his hands and holds them, resting them on her lap, and stares intently where they meet. Her hands are warm, strong, and lightly calloused, something he's never had the opportunity to notice before. She's always wearing gloves when they travel.

"Thank you, again." She runs her thumbs across the rippling scars on his hands. There's a wonderful softness to her expression; the deep orange hues of dawn cast over her face and mollifies any traces left from the evening. He's captivated. "I appreciate you more than anything." Her sincerity is undeniable to him, an expert in second guessing.

Warmth blossoms in his chest at that.

"You must really like me or something," he muses.

She looks up at him and her eyes are stunning, like emeralds in the morning light. "Love," she amends, and it takes his breath away. "I really love you."

He rests his forehead against her own and breathes her in.

"I really love you too."

Her hands remove themselves from her lap and rest on his cheeks, her thumbs drifting across his cheekbones.

How badly he wants to kiss her.

But she's had a rough night, and could use some sleep.

"Are you up for a little more sleep?" he asks gently. Her hands withdraw from his cheeks, and he already misses their warmth.

"I'm a bit scared to. But if I do not, it will just get worse."

She eyes her futon and sighs. "I should change, too." She gets up and walks across the loft, shrugging off her blouse in the process. Part of him would be startled to see her in her sheikah underthings but that didn't matter at the present. He's seen them before in plenty of different mundane contexts. How many times has she seen him shirtless? How many times have they swam together or spearfished in only their underthings, the only clothes they owned that were waterproof? And besides, it doesn't matter anyways. People need to change before bed. He needs to stop being weird.

While she's gone, he eyes her futon, thinking. When she returns, she wears a thin, dusty blue tunic that he got her in Lurelin, and she stops short.

Their mattresses are pushed together. He adjusted and turned down her linens while she was away.

"I thought it might help," he says sleepily.

"That's kind."

She crawls into bed. To his amazement, she continues crawling until she's right beside him, nestling into his chest. Luckily, his arm is already underneath his pillow. He gets a lungful of her—

"Is this alright?" she whispers.

Goddesses, yes it was. He pulls her closer and promptly falls asleep before he can second-guess himself.

--------------------

His eyes open briefly, and he sees her peaceful, sleeping face. Relieved, he closes them again as sleep beckons.

--------------------

He's somewhere between dreaming and waking and it's pleasantly warm. His comforter is the perfect weight, and there is a wonderful smell around him. He doesn't want to wake up. The pillows are so soft, and something's gently caressing his cheeks.

…Someone is caressing his cheeks. It feels nice. He remembers the circumstances, and opens his eyes to see her.

"Good morning," Zelda says.

"Morning," he responds groggily, thoroughly pleased.

“More like afternoon, now,” she adds sheepishly, removing her hands from him. “Did you sleep well?”

She is golden in the sunlight. Her smile could make flowers grow. The shadows under her eyes have returned to their normal shade, much to his relief. He can’t hide the smile on his face. He hasn’t moved the entire morning, apparently, since she’s exactly where she was when he fell asleep: in his arms. But she smells even better, and her hair looks slightly damp and towel-dried. She must have washed up, then. She runs her thumbs across his cheeks again. He leans into her touch. She makes a quiet noise of content at that.

He nods, not knowing how to sum his feelings (I slept very well and maybe we should sleep like this every night and I love to hold you and—)

If he could paint, he’d paint a portrait of her right now, with all her beautiful hues of gold, apricot, green, and the dusty blue of her tunic. He’s still a bit sleepy. He’s lost the want to hold a grip on his affections.

Then, she seems to realize what she’s doing with her hands. She removes them and glances at him cautiously.

"What are you thinking about right now?" she inquires, staring into his tunic and echoing his own question from the day before. She's avoiding eye contact for some reason. It's a shame—he could easily get lost in her eyes, as sappy as that sounds.

Then, she peeks at him over the edge of his bedsheets endearingly. It’s rare for her to act like this, so shy and meek. While she is quieter now in general, she’s much more self-assured than she was before the Calamity. She’s so cute!

"I want to kiss you," he thinks automatically. He goes to say something innocuous but stops when he sees her eyes widen.

Her face blossoms into a light shade of pink.

Wait...shit. Shit. Did he just say that out loud? The one time he needs to moderate his thoughts he doesn't. He instinctively covers his mouth with his hand. He just ruined everything oh goddesses someone execute him shit shit shit shit shit SHIT

He's still panicking when she meets his eyes again. The corners of her jaw are the most flushed he’s ever seen them. Their gaze holds for an agonizing and overwhelming moment.

"By all means," she breathes, her meekness immediately changing into relief.

No way. Is she serious?

"Are you sure?" he questions, immediately doubting himself, suddenly very nervous. He doesn’t want to overstep or make her uncomfortable or be selfish or—

"I wondered if you'd ever kiss me again," she responds ruefully. "So yes, I'm quite sure."

He registers her words and the guilt sinks in. She waited for him? Didn’t she wait a hundred years for him already? And now he’s unintentionally withholding something from her that makes her happy? He just wanted to respect her wishes and not overstep any bounds!

He wants to hold her tight, but she continues speaking, likely finding something in his expression to comment on. “You are not required to do so if it is against your wishes, or if it makes you uncomfortable. Or if you don’t see me in that way. I have a tendency to jump to conclusions.”

Comfortable? Jumping to conclusions? Of course she”jumped to them”, he literally confessed his feelings to her! He’s been going insane trying to hide his affections. It was easier a century ago, but definitely not now. Definitely not when she’s in his arms and she wants him to kiss her. He definitely owes her an explanation. He does his best to do so. Of course, it doesn’t come out the way he intends.

“I was waiting for you.”

Zelda’s absolutely astounded. She makes a choking noise and grips into his shirt near his shoulders. “I’ve been waiting for you!” she asserts, giving him a little shake as she speaks. “I assumed that you were not partial to physical affection or still becoming used to it.”

The sheer ridiculousness of all of this comes to a head. They were waiting for the exact same reasons, for each other's comfort. It’s kind and considerate on her end, really, but…

“I like physical affection,” he finds himself saying, “if it’s from you.”

Zelda’s eyes light up, and it’s his turn to feel relieved. “Thank the goddesses,” she says. “It has been a challenge to get by without your affections,” she adds honestly.

Now what does that mean? “Get by?” he says, intrigued, and pulls her the tiniest bit closer.

She's incredibly and adorably flustered at his question and their increased closeness. "Well, I suppose I—"

"Suppose what?" he goads, pulling her in just a bit more, feeling bold enough to tease her.

“I…was not the most expedient in preparing the table for dinner last night.”

That doesn’t matter. The table was set, wasn’t it? Who cares about speed? He raises an eyebrow at her, and her blush deepens.

"I only wanted to smell your cloak one last time before I hung it up!" she admits.

He feels his eyes widen, remembering as she fidgeted at the table just before dinner. He doesn't have time to ask for an explanation. She gives one readily.

"I didn't know the next time I'd be able to wear your cloak." She hurriedly continues: "And it smells like you. You smell absolutely wonderful. So I did, but I thought you caught me in the act! Goddesses this is embarrassing—"

Her ink stained hands cover her face for a moment as she curls into his sheets, avoiding his eyes.

She’s never been like this before. Normally, she states things plainly, kindly, and somewhat literally, refusing to conflate her ideas with subtle emotional cues that are hard for him to catch and vice versa. They both take things literally. So, he takes this literally. She is literally so cute. And intelligent. And beautiful and wonderful and a whole bunch of other adjectives.

"What? That's adorable!" He can actually feel the heat casting from her. The thought of her sneaking away just to smell his cloak doesn't help his constant need to kiss her. She's still panicking. He can't help but laugh. "Zelda, seriously, it's fine."

"But don't you think it's odd?" she says, shamefaced, clouded by his bedding.

Why is she mortified by this? "No way. It makes me really happy." He gently takes her wrists into his hands. She looks at them, then back up at his face as he continues. "Wear it whenever you want, I don't mind."

"Alright." Her response is meek but accepting.

He feels an urge to squeeze her for some reason. "I don't mean to say this to invalidate your feelings, but you're adorable when you're flustered."

She makes an indignant sound, her face still somewhat flushed. "What if I do feel invalidated?" she says playfully. "What if I desire retribution?"

"I'd be terrified."

"Terrified?"

"Well yeah," he runs his thumbs across her knuckles. "You could easily grind my bones to dust."

"I could not!"

He laughs and pulls her even closer. “You really could, though,” he insists softly. She’s the only one who could ever curb-stomp the embodiment of evil. If her powers worked against him, she could handily beat him, without a doubt.

He’s been a chatterbox this morning. Holding her wrists should shut him up for a bit. She half-heartedly wrestles away from him, just enough to look at him.

“And you could easily kiss me,” she counters, bringing the conversation back on track.

His heart sprints in his chest as he stares at her, the weight of her request pinning him to the floor. He can't move. Why can't he move? He's never been unable to move, not even when he was terrified for their collective safety on the battlefield.

He just stares at her, dumbfounded.

No way. No way. Seriously? He has permission? She wants this? He wasn’t overstepping? AaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Of course, he knows his face is completely blank. He wishes it weren't so she could see that he's trying to move—

But then she grins. "Come here. Please?"

Well, she asked nicely. She laughed, too. It must be alright then. He gets a grip on his senses, and wraps his arms around her, pulling her even closer to him. He sees the anticipation on her face.

Like all the best things in life, he will savor this. He's here with her, safe, and the world isn't burnt to ashes. She wants this. She wants him.

He's imagined countless scenarios where this happens, where he finally gets to kiss her again. This is far more than ideal. There are so many ways to go about this, though, but it's all what he desires.

"This is—" he stammers,"—Is there any way you want me to?" he asks.

"Hm…" she supposes. "Will you kiss me how you've been wanting to kiss me?"

Oh boy, would he! He's surprised how level his voice is. "Gladly."

She’s a work of art. She’s quite literally a goddess in the flesh. But beyond that, she's just Zelda, a normal person, who's just letting him kiss her.

He tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Wow, it's so soft. How does she make it like that? No matter. Savor this.

Now that he's here and he has permission, it's still hard to allow himself to do the things he's been wanting. To do the things she directly asks of him. He takes a deep breath.

His thumb trails across her cheek. She leans into his touch along with a quiet hum of content. Heat radiates into his palm, centered from the corner of her jaw. So she is blushing. Her eyes flutter closed as he places his other hand on her cheek. She's so close.

Goddesses, does he want to kiss her. All he has to do is lean in.

He finally does.

He's slow, kissing her like he's wanted to for months: gently, languidly, reverently, learning the feeling of her. He's never loved anyone like he loves her. He wants to show that. She makes a relieved sound, and he feels the tension throughout her ease a fraction.

They break apart for a moment. She's speechless, dazed, and the most beautiful person in the world. Their foreheads rest against each other as he continues to trail his thumbs across her cheeks. Her breath graces his skin. Zelda.

Slow, but deeper. He tries to show her how he feels, his yearning for her, all those secret emotions he’s hidden away until now. He angles her head, and he feels her sigh into him. Her cheeks are ever warmer. The pressure and softness of her lips against his own, that electrifying feeling tingling in his chest—especially since she's completely in his arms in his futon—is amazing.

He doesn’t want to stop, but he does anyway, just to see her. Just to ask her a question.

He looks at her shyly, adjusting her in his arms so her face is level with his own. It's easy since she's taller than him. "Was that…?" he trails off, unsure.

She just makes a quiet, needy noise, and pulls him in for more.

…Well then.

"Weren't you going to the lab today?" he finds himself whispering dizzily near her neck a few moments later. She shivers in response.

"There's always tomorrow," she states plainly. He can't help it, he laughs. But then he's absolutely touched.

Ancient technology and helping others is her passion. She's willing to put off her work for an entire day?

"Are you sure?" he asks quietly, with a smile on his face.

"I could do this all day," she says earnestly. Perfect, that makes two of them.

She glances over him. “Your hair—” she grins, running her fingernails through his fringe. A shiver runs down his spine at her touch. Her hair is askew, and her tunic is wrinkled from sleep. Basically, she's absolutely gorgeous. He's holding a brilliant, yet completely normal person who could turn him into ash. He loves that about her. He eyes her blush, wondering what it would feel like against his hands, or more intriguingly…

He moves to the corner of her jaw, finally being able to feel her flush for himself.

"Link, that tickles!"

He smiles against her skin, kissing her again. He can feel her laughing in his arms. Carefree, he places his lips on her neck, right beneath her ear.

She gasps and makes a faint, incredible sound he's never heard before.

He's very relaxed at this point and exceptionally intrigued at her response. It'd be nice to hear that again. He kisses her there once more, and she quiets, her hands gripping to his head a tad.

"Good?" he whispers against her throat.

"Wonderful," she breathes. “Consider my retribution waived. Unless…"

He looks at her. She's planning something, isn't she?

"Unless you're a glutton for punishment," she speculates.

He beams at her. "I am a glutton."

He cuts off her resulting laugh with a kiss.

And with that, any productivity they planned for the afternoon practically flies out the window. They spend the rest of the day making up for lost time. And if there’s not enough time today?

Well, there’s always tomorrow.

#zelink week 2023 #yearning #one-shot #fluff #hurt/comfort #mildly suggestive but nothing too serious #post botw #pre totk #they're idiots in love your honor

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