#❝ ⚊ I'M USUALLY THE ONE WITH THE QUESTIONS ❞ answered

[lavnderwonu]

So High School | Kim Mingyu

pairing: fiancé!mingyu x pregnant!fem!reader

rating: fluff, mature

genre: non-idol au, slice of life, established relationship

summary: you and your fiancé haven't discussed the idea of you having children, but with your wedding approaching, the idea of starting a family with him has been on your mind.

warnings: please read ALL! contains smut! not much but a little! (!!!) some time skips, reader gets pregnant, planned pregnancy, reader's mom loves mingyu, reader deals with morning sickness (for my fellow emetophobics this may be triggering!), minwon coworkers mentioned, smut warnings: creampie, unprotected sex, multiple rounds mentioned, backshots, fingering.

word count: 3k

AHEM! go listen to so high school by taylor swift (perhaps while you read!)

author's note!: i listened to taylor waaaay too much while i was writing this, as you can probably tell by the title 🫣 what can i say! guilty. my first time writing slice of life au! i had fun lowkey. AGHHH i just love writing cute mingyu esp when it involves future dad mingyu. the song lyrics are meant to be spacers for the time-skips btw! shoutout to @jenoslutie for also supporting my vision with this 💋 muah xo

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I feel so high school every time I look at you, I wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you...

Mingyu was your dream man in many ways than one. The perfect boy to bring home to your parents, cooked delicious meals for you, and overall made you feel safe. 

You two had been engaged for months now, and wedding planning was well underway, the date set for early into the new year. As if it wasn’t stressful enough, your mom had already started questioning whether the two of you had wanted children, or planned to in the future. The answer was always the same,

“Mom, I don’t know… we haven’t talked about it into a lot of detail… maybe later on…” or “C’mon, we’re still young, Mom!” 

Mingyu didn’t know any of this, and you’d probably never tell him, not wanting him to feel pressured by your badgering mother. You both knew you wanted children eventually, but you never talked that far into the future.

But… you also thought… maybe you would want to have children, if it was with Mingyu. 

Mingyu would be the father to play dress up and makeovers with your daughter, have tea parties with her, or play with faux tools with your son and pretend to fix things, and play with plastic dinosaurs.

You couldn't picture anybody that would be more perfect to do it with than him.

Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me? It's just a game, but really I'm bettin' on all three for us two...

Mingyu stands at the kitchen counter, cooking dinner like he usually does, and he usually insists since he gets home a little earlier from work than you do most days. 

You come from the kitchen after changing out of your work clothes to see him chopping garlic as a pot is boiling on the stove. 

“What are you making?”

“Agio e olio,” Mingyu responds, looking up to smile at you briefly. “I know it’s your favorite, and you said you were craving it.”

You smile, coming over to kiss him on the cheek quickly. “Thank you, you make it so good anyway.” You chuckle as he playfully rolls his eyes. 

He tosses the garlic in a pan on the stove, stirring it a little, then adds the pasta to the boiling water.

You decide now is the time to break your silence, and tell him what’s been on your mind lately.

“Gyu,” You speak up. “… I think we should talk about something.” 

“What?” Mingyu’s gaze turns to meet yours, a concerned look on his face, and you immediately want to kiss him and make it go away.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking…” You pause, racking your brain on how to word what you’re about to tell him, also given that you didn’t want to scare him. “What do you think about us… having a baby?” 

You look up at his undeniable surprised expression; after all you did come out of nowhere with that statement.

“I mean, I know we haven’t really discussed it much, and we’re getting married in a few months… but I have been thinking about it a lot, and I want to, we’re at that age-“ You break out into a nervous ramble before he cuts you off.

“I’ve thought about it too. I thought it should be something that we should…you know… talk about.” Mingyu says.

“I don’t want to put any pressure on you, or I guess, on us.” You continue. “I know we’re not married officially yet, and our wedding isn’t until a few more months, but I don’t know, I think I want to.” 

Mingyu turns to you, smiling ear to ear in the adorable happy puppy way he typically does when he’s over the top excited about something. “I know, me too.”

“Does this mean… we’re trying?” You can’t even hide your smile, your cheeks hurt as you attempt to be the least bit nonchalant.

“Yeah… fuck… c’mere.” Mingyu pulls you closer to him, kissing you fervently.

You pull back, releasing his grip from your waist.

“Hey, after dinner,” You smirk, giggling at his eagerness. “You’re gonna burn your garlic.”

“Mingyu… I can’t, fuck-“ You whine, your face nearly buried into the pillow underneath you.

“Yeah you can baby…” Mingyu grunts, his hand slides up your back to push you down even more. “Taking it all like a good girl…”

You nearly collapse as you can barely hold yourself up anymore, and you’re being pushed forward almost to the headboard from the force of him behind you.

“I’m gonna come, ‘gyu.” You cry, your hand trailing down to rub tight circles on your clit, making your thighs tremble as you push yourself closer to the edge. 

“Go on baby…” Mingyu groans, feeling you get tighter around him. “Cum all over my cock like a good girl.”

You cry his name again as he pushes you over the edge, white-knuckling the sheets as he keeps thrusting inside you, almost even harder.

“Fuck…”  He groans as he slows down, stilling before he comes inside you.

He pulls out, watching himself drip out of you briefly as he curses under his breath, before he pushes it back inside you with two fingers, making you whine.

“Sorry, baby…” Mingyu sweetly apologizes.

You flip over on your back, pulling him down to kiss him.

“I wanna go again…” You say against his lips, pushing his sweaty long hair back.

“Really?” He asks sweetly, leaning down to kiss your neck a few times. “Wasn’t too much?”

“Never…”

Truth, dare, spin bottles, You know how to ball, I know Aristotle Brand new, full-throttle, Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto...

The next few weeks were just the usual. Going into work during the day, shopping for the wedding with your sister, … Mingyu practically never leaving you alone, but that you wouldn’t complain about.

“What kind of flowers are you guys doing?” Your sister asks you. The two of you made plans to get coffee, and you guys typically talked about whatever. She always voiced her opinion on your life whether it was boyfriends, career moves, and now: your wedding.

“White lilies; one of my favorites. Mingyu said I could just pick what I wanted, he’s happy with whatever I choose.” You say.

“That’s sweet,” She smiles, stirring her matcha latte. “Even though, he probably doesn’t care.” She chuckles.

“You’re probably right, I think he has other things on his mind other than flowers.” You laugh, only you know what you mean by that. 

You never told her the both of you had been trying to have a baby.

“I’ve always liked him, though, you know that.” She smiles. “If there’s anybody you marry and spend forever with, i'm glad it’s him. He’s just right for you.”

You smile, glancing down as your gaze flickers on your sparkling engagement ring under the coffee shop lights.

You’re definitely glad it’s him.

“Do you mind if we go into the grocery store down the street? I need to just run in and get a few things.” She asks you.

You nod. “Yeah, that’s fine. I could probably use a few things too.” 

“How do you know if a watermelon is a really good one?” She asks you, as the fruit by the entrance catches her eye.

“You’re asking me?” You laugh. “I have no idea, I have heard though if they’re a dark green, it’s too watery.”

“You were always good at picking them, I know Mom used to always say that.” She replies. “Maybe I won’t get one, are they even in season?”

“Probably not, it’s November. Anyway, what did you need here?” You say, grabbing a hand basket for yourself.

“Just usual stuff, yogurt… eggs, oat milk, some strawberries… whatever else I find that I think i need.” She says, placing strawberries and avocados in her cart. Already straying from the list. 

You follow her, bagging up some apples, cucumbers, and brussel sprouts into your basket. 

You’re both wandering down the ice cream aisle, as you’re grabbing whatever pint of peanut butter ice cream you can find, when your sister speaks up.

“Oh! Let’s go to the hygiene section, I need to get some tampons. That time of the month soon.”

You pause, ice cream in hand, suddenly racking your brain trying to remember when the last time your period was. A few weeks ago? Last month? Were you supposed to get it? Were you late?

“Y/n…? What’s wrong? Everything okay?” She asks, seemingly able to read your inner monologue going on in your head. 

“Y-yeah…” You reply, placing the ice cream in your basket, all while your heart is still racing. Was it joy? Nervousness? “It’s just… I can’t remember the last time I had my period…”

I'm watching American Pie with you on a Saturday night Your friends are around, so be quiet, I'm trying to stifle my sighs 'Cause I feel so high school, Every time I look at you...

“I feel bad doing this without him,” You say, staring down at the two blinking pregnancy tests on the counter. “Mingyu should be here…”

“He’ll be home from work soon won’t he? You’ll tell him then. C’mon, he’ll understand, practically sister code for me to be the first one to know.” She replies, checking the time on her phone. 

It’s true, you both always did tell each other everything before you told anybody else. 

“It’s almost time.”

“I can’t look.” You anxiously turn away. “It’s killing me.”

“How did this happen?” She asks. “I mean… not to be nosey….”

“Well we talked about it, and we’ve been kinda… sorta, trying to get pregnant.” 

“What?! How come you didn’t tell me you were?” She exclaims, playfully shoving you.

“We decided to about a little over a month ago. We talked about it, we decided it was something we both wanted,” You start, just as her phone timer goes off, you quickly turn around from the counter. “Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t look.”

“I’ll do it first,” She says, shoving her way in front of you. “Oh my god… y/n…” You can hear the excitement and smile in her voice.

You turn around, facing the two tests.

You see it, “pregnant”, displayed clearly on both.

“Oh my god, I don’t,” You almost stutter, lost for words. “I- I don’t know what to say.”

“Good news?” She asks.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” You smile, suddenly becoming teary, feeling a bunch of emotions at once. Excitement. Nervousness.  “I just- fuck… I wish Mingyu was here. I didn’t want to find out like this.”

“Relax, you’ll tell him later,” She laughs. “Especially ‘cause I know you won’t be able to keep this from him long.”

“No, you’re absolutely right. There’s no way I’m holding it in.”

And in a blink of a crinkling eye I'm sinking, our fingers entwined Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me...

You spend the evening trying to decide elaborate ways that you’ll tell him. 

Putting a test in a gift bag as a present? Corny.

Hiding it somewhere and letting him find it? Too lame.

You decided to literally just come right out and tell him, especially because you didn’t want to figure out some cliche way of getting it out.

Mingyu comes home from work, greeting you as he walks in the door, adorably kissing your forehead as he wraps his arms around you, perfectly engulfing you.

“How was your day, honey?” He sweetly asks you, genuinely curious as he’s awaiting your answer. 

“It was good actually, I had coffee with my sister, then we went to the grocery store, doesn’t sound like much but we had fun.” You lean up and kiss his lips, smiling.

“But it’s better now that you’re here.” 

Mingyu smiles, kissing you again.

“I’m going to get changed really quick, okay?” Mingyu says.

You jokingly pout. “Aw, but you look so nice in your slacks and button up shirt… at least let me savor it.” You reach up, undoing a few buttons on his shirt.

“Enjoying this?” Mingyu chuckles.

“Yes, very.” You smile.

“Well I was gonna ask you, if you wanted to, Wonwoo and Seungcheol asked if we wanted to go out and get dinner with them, and hang out maybe get some drinks.” He continues, before he starts walking off to your shared bedroom to change, as you follow him. “Wonwoo asked me before I left the office.” 

“I don’t know… maybe?” You reply, hesitating a bit.

Meanwhile your mind works a mile a minute trying to think of how to break this news of yours to him.

“It wouldn’t be until a little later, if that’s better. No rush.” Mingyu says, nonchalantly unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off. What a distraction. 

He slips on a white t-shirt , and gray sweatpants; his usual after work attire. Suddenly you wonder if whatever you have to tell him is really that important anyway, and you immediately consider just saying “forget it” and fucking him right here in the early hours of the evening. What’d be the big deal? You were already pregnant, anyways.

No! You quickly shake that thought from your mind, refocusing.

“Gyu,” You start, getting his full attention. “There’s something… I have to tell you something.”

“What?” 

“I’m not even really sure how to tell you, um hang on,” You continue, leaving the room quickly to retrieve one of the pregnancy tests you’d left in the bathroom. 

You come back, very obviously holding something behind your back.

“I guess I should say I kind of have a surprise to tell you.”

“What? What?” Mingyu asks, eager already by the way you’re already smirking, unable to contain yourself.

“It’s, um, this…” You start, pulling the test from behind your back. “I didn’t know how to tell you, I was gonna plan something but I couldn’t wait.” You laugh, smiling ear to ear.

Mingyu takes it from you, seemingly uncaring, or forgetting, that you literally peed on the thing. His mouth drops opened, in awe.

“Oh my god…” He speaks, beaming. “When did you find out?” 

“Today, actually.” You say. “I wound up taking a test, and… yeah.” 

You sigh. “I feel so weird about it, I know I was expecting it but I feel so excited and nervous at the same time.”

You glance up at Mingyu, and you see him still examining the test in his hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mingyu nods, his eyes meeting yours and you see he’s now smiling. “I’m just… happy, surprised..”

“I mean, cmon, what were we really expecting…” You joke, blushing.

“You know what I mean, it’s still crazy to me.” Mingyu comes closer to you, kissing you. 

“Yeah, it sure is…” You smile up at him. 

“It’s okay, honey,” Mingyu reassures you, speaking softly. “Just get it out…”

Mingyu kneels behind you on the cold tile floor, holding your hair back as you’re hanging your head over the toilet as your stomach empties its contents.

“There you go…” 

You wonder how he can even stand to be in the bathroom with you, if the roles were reversed, you’d be outside the door nearly gagging.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu asks, helping you sit up, as he wraps his arms around you to keep you steady. 

You slowly nod as you flush, still feeling a touch of nausea. “Yeah, can you just- just stay here for a little bit.” 

Mingyu sits on the tile floor as he leans against the bathtub, and he guides you back to sit in front of him.

You lean back into him, and he leans down and kisses your shoulder. You catch a glance at his watch on his wrist even in the dim light of the very early morning.

“Oh my god, Gyu, is it really 5am?” You groggily ask, feeling sorry. “You have to work in the morning, don’t you?”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s not a big deal.” Mingyu reassures you. “I can always go in a little later, I wanna make sure you’re okay.” 

“…I think I’m good now,” You say, starting to stand up slowly, as Mingyu helps you all the way. “…You know, I have heard that the more nauseas you are, it probably means you’re having a girl. And if you have none at all, it’s probably a boy.”

Mingyu chuckles, “Where do you come up with this? Is that even a thing?” 

“The internet… you know, social media. Everything’s on there.” You protest.

“You’re delirious,” Mingyu playfully rolls his eyes. “Cmon, let’s go back to bed.”

“Gyu, we have to leave in like an hour,” You say, as you’re getting ready in the bathroom, finishing up your final touches on your hair. “I don’t want to be late for dinner at my parents house.”

Mingyu stands in the doorway now, “This okay?” He shows off a navy blue polo shirt and black jeans. 

“Yeah, honey, you look nice.” You smile. “Besides, you could wear anything around her, she adores you anyways.” 

It was true. Your mother would always be calling Mingyu to help around the house when your Father was away on a business trip. She needed help fixing something? She’d call Mingyu. She needs help building a side table? You bet she’s calling Mingyu. His height was also a bonus, being able to reach things stored higher up.

Mingyu smiles at you adoringly, as his eyes trail down your body.

“What?” You ask when you notice him.

“You’re starting to show a little,” He smiles. “You look cute.”

You giggle, placing your hands on your stomach. “Yeah I know, she wants to be seen now, she’s done hiding.” 

“Well, are my girls ready to go?” Mingyu smiles, kissing you. 

“Yeah,” You giggle, smiling as you kiss him again. “Let’s go.” 

It's true, swear, scouts honor You knew what you wanted and boy, you got her.

tags: @jenoslutie @wonuwrites @aaniag @cosmojinyoung

[amazinglyashy]

hello!! can I request fluff reactions of the boys to mc craving something to eat in the middle of the night?

thank youu have a good day 🥰

I'm laughing because you asked this like it would be the most off the cuff situation, when literally every single one of these men canonly have an awful sleep schedule and nighttime habits. Like, there is absolutely nothing weird about this at all except the fact that you're awake when they're awake.

LaDS men when you crave something to eat in the middle of the night -

Zayne -

In all honestly, he was just now getting home from a shift at Akso hospital, so it takes him just a few moments to register why the situation in front of him was abnormal.

He can't help it, he's usually coming home in the early evening, not at three in the morning.

So when he sees you sitting at the counter, snacking on something, he simply sets his stuff down near the door and removes his tie, before coming over to give you a peck on the cheek in greeting.

He's made it halfway to the bathroom, yawning wide and telling himself to get some good sleep tonight- well, technically this morning- wait… morning…? What on earth were you doing up-

He's back in the kitchen in a second, with your eyes flickering back to him in an innocent question, confused as to why he's looking at you so bewildered.

'Why', is the only thing that comes out of his mouth, and when you finally process what he means by that, you can't help but give him a chuckle and a smile, still eating whatever you had gotten from the fridge or cupboard.

"I was hungry."

Not even going to question why you acted on your impulses to eat at three in morning. He'll just sigh, and tell you to make sure you get to bed soon for the sake of your health and mood tomorrow. Gives you one more kiss before heading off to get ready for bed himself.

Sylus -

He's probably just getting up.

So when he starts to rise and notices you lying awake, he's going to be confused, hoping to himself that you didn't have some freakish nightmare, especially not any possibly involving your past experiences with him-

No.

Turns out, you're currently trying to make yourself go back to sleep, despite wanting something warm to eat, but also not wanting to cook.

He's going to find it terribly endearing, letting out a little snicker and making you blush at his reaction, his hand carding through your hair as he leans down over you.

"I think you're forgetting something, kitten. I wake up around this time- meaning, I need to have something for breakfast before working on anything. You do know you can ask the chef to make you something right now, right sweetie?"

He won't say it, but you can tell he's so pleased to be eating with you, even though he knows you'll be heading off to bed right after, it's a nice change of pace for him. He's more than happy to have your company, no matter the odd hour.

Rafayel -

He's finally ready to kick himself into going to bed, but the moment he opens the bedroom door, he runs into you.

At first, he's worried.

Secondly, he's miffed that you got up to come and harrass him into coming to bed again.

Thirdly, he's extra miffed that none of the previous answers are true, but you're actually just hungry.

He's seen the way you snack, he knows you're not just making something up. And he can't exactly let you go back to bed hungry so-

That's how he ended up making a late night dish rather than finally heading to bed.

Any protests to him cooking fell on deaf ears. He's having none of that. He can tell you're still sleepy, and since he hasn't wound down yet, he isn't. So he's more than happy to cook for you.

Definitely wasn't hungry himself, definitely didn't forget to have dinner, no sir-

He'll sit and eat with you, asking if you had any interesting dreams, before making up scenarios that may have occurred involving food monsters and treat fairies.

He's not trying to hear that beautiful sound that is your laugh. Not at all. He's trying even less hard to make the meal last longer, just so that he can spend a little bit more time with you-

Xavier -

He probably saw you on his own way to get a snack, in all honesty.

You two just have to share a look, contemplating the situation, before the both of you begin to grin, realizing what the other is awake doing.

He offers to walk you around the block to the corner shop that's open 24hrs, so that the two of you can get some junk food or spicy microwave noodles to have together.

If you don't want to go anywhere, he'll either go himself or order delivery from somewhere that's open all hours so that you guys don't need to cook. He doesn't want to put out a fire for his attempts this late at night, and you either don't feel like it, or you're not the best at it yourself.

(You're still better than him though.)

Whenever the two of you end up getting your food, you sit together on the couch, legs folded over one another as you tangle together to watch an episode of something you've been binging.

You'll both wake up completely different though- having fallen asleep together on the couch after finishing your food, and ending up snuggled closely, a bundle of warm blankets and pajamas mixed with the relaxing sensation of the other's breathing.

Thank goodness today was the both of your day off...

[ithelonelyone]

This is EXACTLY why I slowly reveal I'm trans/disabled in my workplace, usually waiting until people have a level of respect and trust in me. Once they know I'm Smart and Respectable, then they're way more likely to not clam up when they realize I'm trans/disabled.

And then they ask me questions!! They know they can trust me, and so they ask their 'stupid' questions and when I answer politely, they relax! And then they ask more. And then they go home, and when their buddy I've never met starts being a hateful shit, they suddenly remember me, and now they have the tools to talk down their buddy who wouldn't've respected me from day one.

Big loud activism is important. So is being That Queer/Disabled Guy in the workplace that will answer your uncomfortable and awkward questions, even when they're phrased 'offensively'. There will always be two sides, the people who yell at the government, and the people who trickle through the community.

Activism is not cold-calling.

Activism is not cold-calling, and this is critically important to understand.

I'm seeing a lot of posts on here about 'building bridges' and 'finding community,' and then (extremely valid) response posts saying "BUT HOW??" And I'm going to explain something that can be very counter-intuitive: there is strategy involved in community.

As a longtime volunteer labour organizer, I’ve taken and taught many trainings on the strategy of talking. Something that surprises a lot of people is the very first thing you do in a union campaign. You sit down with your organizing committee, take out pen and paper, and literally map it out. You draw a physical map of the workplace: where are the entrances, exits, break rooms, supervisor offices. Essentially, ‘where is it safe to have a union conversation.’ Then you draw another physical chart of your coworkers. You sort out who is union-friendly, openly hostile to unions, or somewhere in the middle, and then you plan out very deliberately and carefully who talks to whom and in what order.

Consider: If Vocally Leftist Jane walks up to Conservative David and says "hey what do you think about unions," David is going to shut down immediately. He's not inclined to listen to Jane. But if Jane talks to Moderate Jason and brings him into the fold, then Jason is a far more effective strategic choice to talk to David, and David may actually hear him out without an instant reaction.

IMPORTANT CAVEAT: If Conservative David turns out to be Alt-Right David, and could be dangerous to follow organizers, we write him off. We are not trying to reach Alt-Right David. We are trying to reach Conservative David, who may actually be persuaded to find solidarity with other employees as fellow workers. Jason is a safe scout to find out which one he is. It does no one any good if Leftist Jane (or even Moderate Jane who is a visible minority) talks to Alt-Right David and puts herself on his radar. Not only has she done nothing to convince Alt-Right David to join a union - she's probably actively turned him against the idea - but now she's also in danger and the entire campaign is at risk. NOBODY WANTS THIS. Jane was NOT a hero for doing this. The organizing committee was foolish and enacted a terrible strategy to everyone's detriment.

Where you can make a difference is with people who will listen to you. You having a conversation with your well-meaning but clueless Centrist Democrat Auntie, and maybe gently helping her understand some things the media has been glossing over, is way more strategically useful than you marching up to MAGA Neighbour You've Met Once and trying to "build community" or "understand" them. They don't care. They're impervious, dangerous, and cruel. But maybe your beloved auntie will think about what you said, and then talk to her friend Anna who IDs as "fiscally conservative" but didn't vote because she can't bring herself to get on board with Trump. Then perhaps Anna talks to her brother Nic who has MAGA leanings but isn't all the way there yet. Proto-MAGA Nic would not have listened to you, nor would he have listened to Centrist Democrat Auntie, but he might absorb some of what his sister is saying.

This is not a cop-out or an echo chamber. This is you spending your time and energy strategically and safely. You are not a useful activist to anyone if you’re dead. Anyone who is telling you to hurl yourself directly at MAGA assholes like cannon fodder has no understanding of the strategy behind community building, and you should feel comfortable writing them off.

Last point: If you are tired, emotionally devastated, and/or in danger: take a break. This post is for people who would feel better jumping into action, not for people who are too overwhelmed to even think about it right now. You are worth so much even if you’re not actively Doing Activism, and your rest is worth more than “a break period so you can recharge and Do More Activism.” We all deserve the individual dignity of being worthy of comfort, rest & safety just on the basis of being human, outside of whatever we're doing for others' benefit. To deny ourselves that dignity is to devalue ourselves, and that’s the absolute last thing any of us should be doing right now.

[qqueenofhades]

so I've been watching a lot of videos abt food that's uniquely Hong Kong and y'know with all the changes happening there I had a thought like hm is this preservation and documentation of cultural foods that are at risk of being lost?

and then I thought gosh this sounds familiar likkke everywhere we see violent colonization occur not only are lives and freedom lost but also language culture food

and then I wanted to ask you as a historian: has this always been the case? have people always had low key anxiety about culture "loss" or did they think of it a diff way? is this framing of colonization and cultural loss a recent one?

I'm realizing this is a big question and we are all le tired from les recent events, so pls view this as a no pressure ask, I just uh figured you're the only historian I have real access to haha

This is an important question that I don't currently have the mental wherewithal to answer in great depth, but I think it's important to speak to briefly. And I'll put it this way: yes, human beings have always felt that their culture, their way of life, their present existence, their friends and family, and the forces at work against them are tenuous, uncontrollable, and prone to sudden and violent destruction. I'd say it's one of the key themes of being human. I'll cite the famous example of the 8th-century Old English elegy The Ruin of the Empire, known usually as The Ruin:

This is what many of us would consider the dark and distant past, wherein an unknown person in Anglo-Saxon England is observing the ruins of the Roman Empire in Britain and reflecting on how fragile and frightening the present day feels, as if all the glory has faded into the past, as if things will not be "great" anymore, and the present is just moving inexorably toward darkness:

Bright were the castle buildings, many the bathing-halls, high the abundance of gables, great the noise of the multitude, many a meadhall full of festivity, until Fate the mighty changed that. Far and wide the slain perished, days of pestilence came, death took all the brave men away; their places of war became deserted places, the city decayed. The rebuilders perished, the armies to earth.

And yet... that was the 8th century. That was a very long time ago. A lot of history has happened since then, and despite everything, it's still here. People have always looked at the danger and fragility of their present situation and yearned for the perceived stability of the past. Indeed, the reason we have the myth of the "Dark Ages" is largely thanks to the 14th-century Italian humanist Petrarch, who looked at the (also objectively very, very crappy) 14th century, which is similar to now in a lot of ways, and built the shining myth of the Greco-Roman era as a bygone golden age that society needed to reinstate if it was going to save itself from self-inflicted destruction. This in turn gave rise to the Renaissance, which was intensely a cultural project to reclaim and re-instate a seemingly "better" past in the face of present-day chaos and uncertainty. This included a strict reifying of gender roles (etc. etc. Was There a Renaissance For Women?) and turn toward "purer" social ideals.

Anyway: these concepts have been shaped and articulated differently in various historical periods. But yes, the basic feeling that we are losing ourselves somehow, that the past was better and more stable, that the present challenges can be solved by insular reactionary politics, and so forth, is a very, very common human experience. For better or worse: both tangible and intangible artifacts have always been lost, destroyed, subject to violent sociopolitical conquest attempts, written out of history, and used for oppressive political and cultural processes. Part of the reason the right wing is doing so well worldwide right now is because they are tapping into a very, very old "put the strongman in charge and everything will go back to how [good] it used to be" mythology that is also as old as dirt and time, and which humans just keep doing when things feel existentially scary. This "weaponized nostalgia" is even more of an issue in the age of rampant disinformation, AI, and fake-news bubbles which can totally create what is accepted as reality, very often to the benefit of illiberal, right-wing, authoritarian forces. That is very hard to deal with and overcome, and I don't think we're anywhere near doing it.

That, therefore, is the bad news. The good (as it were) news is that at least these cultural processes and human instincts are not new, and indeed have continued for a long, long time. And even when these old things are destroyed, new ones emerge as well. So yeah.

[bokettochild]

Little Soldier Boy, Come Marching Home

I apparently had some Uncle Aflon brainrot (could y'all tell?) and it spawned this monster!

Not sure if I'm actually going to make a story about this, I mean a proper one, but this refused to let my brain rest until I wrote at least this much, so I figured I'd share it for the folks who kept sending me Aflon asks :)

(Yes I am very aware that the title is from a song, I'd recommend listening to the Reinaeiry cover on YouTube, because it's also rotted my brain since I listened to it and I think it suits Aflon and Legend quite well T-T)

-

  The first time he held Link, it was standing on the edge of the wood, away from the eyes of all the kingdom and under a veil of darkness. The forest chattered and whispered behind him, bringing to mind whispers of thieving Kolkiri and fae, and it had made him hold the babe in his arms all the tighter. 

  His sister-in-law was watching him closely, hands hovering, wary, like she didn’t trust him to hold the child quite right, ready every second to take the positively tiny bundle back from him and tuck that red and fitful face back against her own breast, hushing and cooing softly herself as she’d been when he’d arrived there. She didn’t though, although whether that was due to his own skill or some sort of restraint from the woman, he wasn’t certain. 

  “What’s the little ‘us name then?” He’d asked, pushing down the swaddling of rough fabric, far too rough for so small a thing, but lined carefully with far finer where no eyes could see. The child within trembled, cold air drawing a wavering wail from a tiny mouth. There wasn’t much to see anyways, he was a baby, same as anyone had ever had. Far smaller than Aflon had ever seen before though; so small he almost could hold him in one hand alone, but by all other means the tiny creature wasn’t much to look at. 

  Despite that though, Loretta’s dark gaze hadn’t lifted once from the infant, usually stern features awash with pure adoration as one trailing hand lifted the blanket back up to shield the babe once more. “Link.” 

  “Like the hero?” The dead one? 

  “Like the star,” her hands lingered so close to the face of her child, and in answer, the tiny one stilled, quieting as though some spell was laid over him. “Like the boy who brought hope to dark countries when Hyrule was at her worst.” 

  “Sir Raven’s squire.” 

  She’d nodded. “The same.” 

  And the child was just, well, a child; a tiny wee thing that felt so fragile to hands accustomed to the sword, and Aflon had shaken his head with a sigh, turning to Loretta with the question that had plagued him since he’d been given his riding orders this morning with the command to meet her here. “Why me?” 

  Those had been the words to make her draw back, pain welling up behind dark violet eyes that avoided his own. “There’s no one else I can ask.” 

  “He’s your son.” 

  “Which is the same as a sentence of death,” she’d hissed, tone harsh as her blade, “you know as well as I how Hyrule sees its crown. You took a vow the same as any other knight.” 

  He had. 

  “That child,” her child, “stands no chance, no matter what I do, if I keep him with me.” 

  Aflon had shifted, sparing the bundle in his arms a glance one more before murmuring, “his chances are pretty slim regardless, ‘Etta. Babes this small-” 

  “I know,” She’d run a finger along a tiny cheek, face pinching into something bordering on gentle, on sweet, something no one would describe the woman as save with her steads, “But it’s the best I can give him.” 

  He’d felt the weight of those words, the weight of their expectation, and all the more so when the Queen of all Hyrule had lifted violet eyes to hold his own and given him her final command. “Protect him, Aflon. He’s not just your prince, he’s your nephew, and I swear on hell’s ashes if you fail him, I will flay you.” Typically, he’d have assumed her words to be in jest, but the fire behind her eyes, a furious and dangerous love the likes of which he’s only heard tell of a mother for her babe, had made him take the words to heart. 

  “I won’t fail you, your grace.” 

  “No,” she’d stepped closer, pulled his arms down just a bit further so she could duck her head and press a kiss to a tiny cheek, “don’t fail him. All else doesn’t matter-” 

 “The princess-” 

 “I will mind the princess,” Loretta’s eyes had darkened, “and failing that, the Impa sent is a good one. Your priority is him,” and both of them had turned to the child, a child so tiny he almost weighed nothing, but yet lay so heavy in his arms with duty set beside him. “He needs you.” 

  And he did. He hadn’t seen it then, hadn’t felt it, but even a man made in blood and battle knows the worth of life. And so, somehow, he’d managed. 

  He’d carried his little charge back to the closest village and taken a room, managing to ignore the curious and lingering gazes of the locals at a young knight in full armor with a tiny baby in his arms.  

  In truth, he hadn’t been sure where to go from there. Loretta had entrusted him with her child, which meant all other missions, whatever they might be, were out of the question. His duty as a knight, as a soldier, was now changed, which, all considered, wasn’t the worst fate in the world. Still, he’d mused, staring at the tiny creature that slept more than he stirred, it’s not exactly the life he’d imagined for himself. 

  They’d always been knights, or so his own father had taught himself and his brother. The men in their family take up the sword and the women the plow and reigns of a rancher. Their older sister already is married with her own farm, and goodness knows Banzetta himself, though king consort, still carries his blade as the second in command to their warrior queen. For himself, Aflon has never imagined anything else than to serve as his forefathers, perhaps to marry, although there’s no woman who’s caught his eye as of yet, or at least none he’d be keen to stay beside for all his life. He can’t continue traveling Hyrule though, not with a tiny child in his care, not when the world out there is still so dangerous and dark. 

  For days, he’d stayed at the inn. He’d had no direction or clue, but he’d done his best to mind the tiny princeling in his care, although his attempts must have been very poorly indeed because it wasn’t long at all before two of the local village women had been knocking down his door and scolding him left right and sideways. 

  Without the women of Kakariko, Aflon could say for a certainty that neither he nor Link would have made it through that winter. They had though. The ladies of Kakariko nursed his precious nephew alongside their own children, taught himself how to change and clean a child, how to swaddle them up tight against the cold, how to burp and soothe them. He’d listened with care, listened like they were marching orders from a commanding officer, and he’d taken them all to heart, employing every bit of skill imparted to best fulfill his duty to the child in his care. 

  Thankful as he was for those women, the many mothers of Kakariko, young and old both, there was still, despite their care, a fear that gripped him each time one of them took up Link in their arms. The babe was a prince of Hyrule, and were that known it would be easy to stage some incident to see that the bad omen that was a royal son was no more. The women of the village would laugh, saying that anxiety for a child was normal, but they had no conception how deeply his fear ran each time one of them held the boy, each time he had to turn his back on his helpless charge for even the smallest of moments. 

  Come spring, he’d settled, bought a piece of land with the money he’d saved over the years and made a home for himself. As it happened, an old orchard had been up for sale, just close enough to the village to keep in touch with those who’d shown them kindness, but with enough distance that he no longer felt the need to be on the defense at all times against neighbors who might seek to harm the boy in his care. 

  They’d asked, some of the village folk, if the baby was his. For lack of a better response, he’d said Link was his brother’s. No one questioned it. Why would they? He was a stranger to them, and though chatter would sound on street corners wondering what had happened to lead him, ‘a clueless young man who hasn’t the faintest on how to mind a babe’ to have care of Link, but they’d never asked him anything more, just gone on offering advice. 

  That was fine though. That was better than them all assuming he was the father, because it felt wrong to allow such a misconception. He couldn’t say why, but when a parent still lives and wants their child, there’s no right for another to claim them as their own. Besides, he couldn’t be a father. 

  As it was, some days he felt he was doing a terrible job of being an uncle. 

  And he hadn’t thought of himself as such at first, but somewhere amid long nights sitting up, just watching labored breaths from a body almost too frail to take them, somewhere amid whispered words with doctors who’d told him to let go already, with midwives who’d urged him to keep fighting as long as his little one did, somewhere along the line of spending every day forever in the presence of the child, there’d come a day when he’d stopped worrying about his charge, and where he’d started fretting about his nephew. 

  Maybe it was those moments of clarity and wakefulness when big bright eyes would stay up at him, so curious. When floppy little ears would follow the sounds of his voice, or tiny hands would cling fast to an offered finger, toothless jaws working at its tip with little coos and warbles. He couldn’t say. But somewhere in that first winter he’d gone from a knight with a charge to an uncle with a nephew, and he’d never wanted to go back. 

  Sure, it was hard some days. Link was a sickly baby from the start, and he grew slowly. He was bright though, so very bright, like a star as his mother had said, and with every passing day those eyes so like the queen’s own had filled up with their own constellations of joy and smiles, tiny hands clapping, little feet stumbling.  

  Despite all concerns and doubts, his little Link beat the odds. 

  The child was his sunshine. He’d never been a very social man, so the company of a single boy wasn’t bad at all in his opinion. Granted, with just the two of them it had raised concerns when Link hadn’t learned to speak when he should, and for a time he’d wondered if perhaps it was for a lack of him having used words enough for the little one to know them, but in time he’d accepted that words weren’t to be had, and while some village folk would murmur that a changeling might have been traded for his precious bundle, stolen by jealous kolkiri in vengeance for their own lost little one, he’d never minded too much. He’d learned to speak with his hands from the village elder, and so Link had as well, and by that means they’d gotten along quite well until the wee one had made up his mind to try for actual sounds. 

  His old friends from the army were company at times, stopping in between missions and runs, catching a drink or a place to stay. He used to worry about exposing Link to the life he’d known among them, but in front of the child they’d all minded well, many even offering help and kindness he’d never dare to ask for. Some had children of their own, they said, others younger siblings. Regardless of the reason though, not a man would enter his home as didn’t have a kind word for his nephew, and while worry still brewed up within to see Loretta’s child among men sworn to prevent his existence, not a one had ever guessed at the truth. 

  And then everything had changed when Link turned eight. 

  He’d been talking by then. Belated though it was, words would come to him at times, although he’d prefer his hands over his tongue. Despite the murmurs of locals though, the boy was bright, sitting up more often than not with whatever book Aflon could find for him and positively devouring anything inside of them, big violet eyes near glittering in delight at the world painted for his eager mind, at the discoveries and worlds and words and stories- heavens did his little star love the stories! He had ever so much to say about what he read, and a smile brighter than the sun itself, and small though he still was, weak though he’d likely always be, Aflon adored the boy that ran to his arms at every day’s end and shared home and heart with him. 

  He’d had doubts, in the beginning, that he could settle to a quiet life, but it never felt quiet with Link so eagerly learning about it beside him, indeed, it felt like he’d only just learned what it was to be alive for himself! 

  And every day was a new adventure, teaching his nephew something new or finding himself taught some lesson or fact. Every night was settling down before the fire and holding firm against the plea of “one more page!” before smothering his precious Link in mustachioed kisses and tucking him in tight against the chill of the night. Sometimes they were disturbed with guests and his efforts would be in vain, but nine times out of ten when that did happen, Captain Bertram or Major Wilkins would take the lad back to bed and recount enough stories to finally have him dozing off against them, ready to be tucked back in again upon their departure. 

  He wouldn’t have changed that life for the world though. 

  Yet, the world seemed to have other plans. 

  Link had startled awake in the middle of a storm one night, tearfully insisting that something was wrong, that there was danger, that Zelda, the sister he didn’t know was his even then, was in danger and that she’d told him so herself.  

  To another man, it might have been nothing, just a bad dream, but Aflon had himself woken before to the sound of startled cries sounding through an army camp. He could remember when the queen would awake from a vision while traveling with himself and his brother, and many a time, Banzetta had recounted to him when it happened that he hadn’t seen. It was in their blood, the people of Hyrule would say, that those of the royal line would sometimes be given visions, often of future events and or trouble brewing beyond even the eyes of the Sheikah. That was how all the prophecies surrounding his own family had come about, how the reappearance of a hero had been foretold. 

  So, upon hearing such strange words from the mouth of his nephew, rather than beg him return to bed or otherwise ignore it, Aflon had taken it to heart. After all, he’d been reminded, looking down at the tear-stained face at his bedside, Link may be his nephew, but he was also still Loretta’s son; still born with the blood of the crown, a prince of Hyrule. 

   So, although Loretta had told him to leave Zelda’s care to herself long ago, back when she and Banzetta were still alive and before some mission had gone awry and the both were lost forever- despite the fact that the Impa chosen by the sheikah had, indeed, never once failed in her duties, he’d still chosen to attend to the fears of his nephew and brave the storm, just in case. He’d chosen to risk it, even if it did mean he’d strayed from his orders. 

  He wishes every day that he hadn’t.  

  If only he’d done as Loretta said and minded Link first and foremost, maybe nothing would have changed. If only he’d promised that in the morning they would go together- although, looking back, he knows the princess would have been dead by that time if he had. 

  He’s long come to grips with the fact that whatever he had done, there would have been no happy ending, but even so, he still hates himself that he had allowed what happened next. 

  Rather than tell him to go home, rather than protect him, shield him from the world his mother never wanted him to know, Aflon had looked into the terrified eyes of his nephew, down in the depths of the castle sewers where the boy had followed him against his orders, he’d used his final breaths to push a sword and shield into hands too small to hold them, bidding the child go to save Zelda. He’d known he was dying, he’d known Link was scared, but at that little obedient nod, he’d also known something more: 

  His death would leave Link the last of their bloodline, and a prophecy given to a queen long ago had once said that it would be the last of them that would face Ganon when next he emerged. Looking at eyes the same as Loretta’s own, albeit far kinder, he’d found himself reminded of those words, and sickeningly certain that he was witnessing the birth of that hero. His little Link who wanted to be a farmer, who didn’t know how to fight and who was still so tiny, so young, was going to become the Hero of Hyrule. 

  Though he’d been bleeding out as they spoke, he’s rather certain it was heartbreak that had been his undoing, not the wound in his side, and he’d drawn his final breath to the sound of sniffled tears. 

  Yet, it seemed his eyes had only just closed before they were opening again, pain gone and so too his young charge. At first, he’d thought perhaps he’d struck his head somehow and dreamed the whole thing, but both sword and shield were gone as well, although when he reached the end of the sewer system the prison was quiet, empty of any princess, and when he’d turned back and returned to the outside world, not only was it daylight, but it was spring. 

  It had been a late autumn storm that he’d traveled through to reach the castle. 

  He’d thought, hoped, that it was some trick, but when he’d hurried along back towards town, to the house, everyone he passed seemed to think nothing at all of the fact that they were plowing fields and making ready for a planting. They were preparing for a new year of work, as though the winter itself wasn’t supposed to be coming, as though it had already happened! And there were still bits of snow lying about. There was a dampness to the ground of a fresh fallen rain. The world itself seemed insistent it tell him that he was wrong. But if he was, then where had the time gone, and what had happened? Where was Link and why was his side unmarred as though never an ax had plowed through it? 

  His feet had all but flown down the paths, paying little or no mind to those he passed or the startled shouts they sent his way. His goal had been set; his destination desperately darted towards. 

  The house looked entirely normal when he’d finally reached it. The orchard was beginning to brighten, not yet blooming, still expecting another snap of cold before the season truly sprung, but they were well along to blossoming. The path was clear, nothing and no one on it, and when he’d come to the door, he’d found it locked up tight. As it should be, as he’d left it, as he’d taught Link to leave it. He still had his key with him even though his sword was missing, and though his hands trembled he’d still managed to fish it out and, with some struggle, had gotten it into the lock. 

  The house looked the same as it had when he left. Clean as a whistle because a soldier’s training still lingered with him even after eight years and that expectation was one that he’d taught Link to hold himself to as well. Their beds were made sloppily, as though the boy had tried to do it for him after he’d left and maybe given up after, or else simply been unable to see, from his height, how crookedly the blankets had been lain. Most notably though, Aflon had noted, there wasn’t much in the way of dust. There wasn’t much in the way of dirt. The only difference that he found was that the pot, which he kept by the door for spare rupees, was empty. 

  His breath had evened some at that. A clean house meant someone had minded it, and missing rupees were nothing if it meant Link hadn’t been left to starve in the unidentified period of time where Aflon had been absent. 

  Or so he had thought. 

  It was two days later, two days he’d spent searching the whole neighborhood, quite at the end of his rope in fear as Link hadn’t been seen at all in that time, when at last he’d laid eyes on his nephew. 

  Or rather, when he’d met the hero. 

  Because the wary creature that entered the cottage door and froze, hand on a sword and dark eyes so large in a thin face, was not his nephew. Because his nephew would have run to him with maybe a few tears or a cheer, jumping into his arms with a hug rather than start and draw a blade the moment Aflon made a motion towards him. 

  Link didn’t fear him. 

  The boy who came to him in Link’s stead did. 

  When he voiced his worries to the women who’d helped to mind the lad over the years, some would say perhaps he’d been taken, changed for a changeling by the forest children, at last getting their hands on a hero to replace their own. Others just shook their heads and sighed, unwilling to explain why. 

  He’d known though that the child in his home wasn’t a changeling though. No, because that child had eyes every bit as much like the late queen. Eyes that knew war, and battle, that bore the burden of a kingdom which dragged on too small shoulders, eyes that Knew, that Looked, and eyes that Saw people for what they were, not simply what they’d claim to be. There was no doubt, looking at that boy, that he was Loretta’s son. 

  But he wasn’t Aflon’s nephew. 

  Link was bright and bubbly, quieter by nature but prone to prattling when the mood took him. The silent little thing that lived in his house, wary like a rabbit hunted and hidden, was a stark contrast. Link liked to travel with him, going to town for any errands and skip-tripping along the path at his side, getting distracted by small creatures and ever full of questions.  

  Not only did the hero avoid going out of the house when he could, preferring instead to stay inside behind a locked-up door and shuttered windows, but when he did go out, the lad was ever scanning the world, ever watching the sky and the path as though expecting an attack from one or the other. He didn’t stray off towards sudden changes, curious ears cocked, he put a hand to his shoulder and looked for a blade. 

  The child that came back to him held the manner and look of an old knight, not a child too young to even be a page, and it disturbed him. He tried though. This was Loretta’s son, the prince of Hyrule, and as he’d later learned, the boy had indeed become the country’s hero. Not that the boy had told him that himself. No, the child in his home didn’t speak, tongue faltering and sounds stuttering before hands would lift to answer questions in as few words as possible. 

  Two of his fingers were crooked, Aflon realized, watching him, heart aching. Two fingers and, in those first days, he’d favor one leg over the other. 

  He wanted to help, but the boy was wary of touch, starting and panicking as a first reaction if he didn’t see it coming and wincing even when he could. He kept a wide space between himself and anyone, a swords-distance, Aflon realized after a spell, although as for the blade he carried, well, that had disappeared after the first few weeks. It wasn’t the sword he’d handed to his nephew though. The sword that the hero held was unfamiliar to him; radiant, beautiful, masterfully forged so that his own blade paled in comparison. His was absent, and the one time he had asked what happened to it, he’d just watched violet eyes fall and shoulders hunch, and immediately changed the subject. 

  It was hard. His nephew looked the same as Loretta’s child, same face, same form, same stature, although time had made her changes too. The boy was scrawny, and though he had hoped his lost rupees meant his charge was still fed even with him gone, he’d come to doubt that. 

  He wasn’t sure what to make of it when, at learning of his own return, one of the neighbors down the road had invited them both for dinner, and the hero child had only stared at his own plate, stirring the food around but not eating. He’d dismissed it at first, but soon it became abundantly clear that the hero would not eat food he couldn’t watch being prepared, not unless it was a meal offered by Aflon himself, and, to his own surprise, Dolly, the village elder’s wife. 

  Somehow, both she, Dolly, and Sahasralah, the elder, were the only ones who seemed unaffected by how his charge had changed. In fact, more than once, Aflon would find himself watching, wistful, as the two would speak with or even handle the hero with not a thing done to show fear in response. Simple acceptance met their motions, their words, and at times he’d almost been tempted to ask if maybe the boy that wore Link’s face wanted to stay with them instead, as he seemed so much more at peace in their home. 

  He didn’t though. He’d sworn a vow, a vow to do his duty to his prince, to his queen, and though he wasn’t certain if Loretta’s spirit would haunt him if he failed that, he wasn’t exactly keen to find out. 

  He couldn’t leave her son with strangers, with people she didn’t know or trust. Still, as the days passed, house silent as a crypt and the boy inside nearly the corpse it housed, he’d found the temptation growing daily. 

  At night as he’d blow out the lamps, now knowing full well not to approach his charge in the dark and sometimes fearing to even look at him (because what looked back was a slip of a shade with eyes glinting red like a rabbit’s in the low light of the hearth and by all means hardly human) he’d fight his own mind on the matter. Stay or leave, linger with what wasn’t any longer what he’d sword to protect, the child that wasn’t his nephew but was a hero. 

  Loretta said to protect him, he’d remind himself as he lay beneath the blankets. Yet, small hands knew the touch of blood, and the boy who’d wandered in at his door knew a blade like knights four times his age still hadn’t learned. Lying there at night, he’d wonder to himself, what was there left to protect the boy from? Loretta’s child already had seen everything she wanted to shield him from, so what was even the point, when there was no more innocence to shield? 

  It was that thinking, after weeks, months, that had led to him gathering up clothing and books, toys left behind because the person who would leave with him wasn’t a child but a young soldier, so what did they matter? He’d packed things up, watched the hero slip to his side to help, dutifully but silently gathering Link’s clothes and folding them up with the same careful effort Link always did, ending with the same misshapen result, and tucking them away like they would do every summer for the trip back to his own childhood home. 

  He’d locked the door tight that summer. Shut up the shutters and minded that nothing was left untended, no mess within or without. Long ears had cocked sideways, big eyes watching, curious, but nothing was said with scarred hands holding their bags while he prepared the house for their departure. 

  Most summers, he’d take Link down to Lon-Lon so the boy could stay with his grandparents and Aflon could attend to the heavier tasks of their orchard without worrying over minding the lad or leaving him feeling alone. This year though, after Mother had ushered the boy within the ranch house, shooting him a startled stare over his shoulder, he’d not gone back to the cottage. 

  Aflon Lon had, instead, taken to the road. 

  Guilt ate at him, but he’d known there was no going back.  

  He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t return to the house. It wasn’t home without the laughter of his nephew, without bright eyes and brighter smiles. It wasn’t home without a presence at his side working away at the trees, muttering and talking at times to the birds who’d stop to watch them in their labor. It wasn’t home without Link, and Link- or at least the boy he knew, was gone. 

 So, he’d wandered Hyrule. He hadn’t traveled in a long while, but it was easy to take up again, to wander the roads by day and make camp at night. He stopped in old haunts he used to visit as a knight to see how they had changed, and he’d thought nothing of his wanderings. After all, it was summer; the summers were always free for him to do what he wanted. It was when autumn had begun to show her colors that guilt had well and truly began to build up inside of him. 

  Link would be waiting at the gates of Lon-Lon, watching the road for his uncle to come and bring him home. He knew it wouldn’t be the same eager stare, ears crooked and head rested on folded arms as the boy would perch on the rungs of the fence, leaning his whole weight against it and keeping eyes and ears on the road. The hero child would likely sit with more wariness, but despite all changes there was no doubt in Aflon’s mind that he’d wait all the same. 

  The difference though, the real one, was that this time, Aflon couldn’t come back. He couldn’t. 

  He couldn’t go back to that house, that child, he couldn’t live like that forever, with the shade of what should have been. 

  Mother and Father though, they could handle a soldier boy. They’d handled Banzetta after his first battles, they’d know how to work with Loretta, and if they could manage the parents of his own charge, he was sure theft were the best suited to handling a young hero. Not only that, but they were safe, they were good, and they’d never hurt Link for the circumstances of his birth. They would be better to him than Aflon could be, and given time, he was sure the hero would settle there again, into a life with a knight, a lady, a history of heroes all around him on the walls and swords ready for his hands; the life he’d taken on, but one Aflon couldn’t watch lived. 

  As for himself, he’d wander. He’d travel, he’d embrace the world he’d had to forsake for a small bundle. By winter, he’d gone further south than he’d ever strayed, gone where word of the hero didn’t reach, where peace and simplicity beckoned. He’d meant to resist, but an evening in a bar with a pretty woman at his side had changed that. 

  “Here alone, stranger?” She’d asked, voice thick with a drawl and gaze bold as she’d settled beside him. 

  He’d never been a bold man, quiet by nature, so he’d nodded. 

  She hadn’t been dissuaded, motioning to the barkeep for a round for them both before striking up chatter, asking where he was from? What brought him here? Where was he going? And his answer of course had been that he was from central Hyrule, seeking his fate and unsure where he’d find it. 

  “D’ya have a family?” She’d asked, honest and friendly. “Can’t be easy for them not knowing where you are.” 

  And he’d hesitated, just a moment, before offering a stilted smile and answering “just my parents and a sister.” 

  A sister who’d left, he told her, to marry a man from across the border, who visited at times but was busy with a farm and a family of her own, much like his own parents were even in their older age. He’d said nothing of a nephew, just the same as he’d left out the dead older brother and sister-in-law. 

  He’d lingered in that town for a few more days, and she’d been at the pub each night, coming to join him when he entered and striking up chatter until they were both looking forwards to the evening when they’d happen upon each other. Somehow though, that had turned to arranged meetings, to wandering, to talking, to a kiss that left him speechless and a courtship that left him stumbling and eager like he hadn’t been since he was just a boy. 

  He’d wondered how she hadn’t had a fella before he’d come, but he’d thanked the heavens for it too, especially when he’d proposed, when they’d taken a home together, when they’d made the choice to live life together. 

  It was easy to forget, for a while, in that early bliss, in the whirlwind of emotions, what he’d left behind to find it. He was reminded though when their own little one was born, when a little boy had been laid in his arms and he’d started when blue shone back at him rather than violet. 

  Liza would laugh and tease him, calling him a worrywart when he fussed. She’d say it was like he’d never held a child before; he was so cautious. She’d remind him to relax, when she found him sitting up and watching the wee one slumber, because he was healthy, he was fine, they needn’t worry so much because while babies need care, they won’t break if you breathed wrong. 

  Aflon couldn’t help himself though. 

  He was used to looking for signs of trouble, for any hint of illness. He’d started when their boy had started babbling, started talking, at only two years old. Liza had said that was normal, that they wouldn’t stay babies forever, that it was part of growing up. Still, he’d found himself signing more than speaking with the boy, and more times than he could count, the wrong name had slipped to his lips. 

  Their son had dark hair like his mother, blue eyes like Aflon himself, but it always startled him to see them. It was supposed to be strawberry blonde, with starlit skies veiled beneath. He expected a slip of a child who was quiet but eager, not a loud little thing that ran and darted and climbed and made him panic because Link was fragile! …except this wasn’t Link, and his son was strong, like him, like Liza. His son was bold, loud, like a little boy was supposed to be, not timid and wary like the boy he’d left behind. 

  It never stopped catching him off guard though. Their little Rusl didn’t care anything for books, or reading, or sitting still. He was always off with other children of the village; he was always climbing trees and ‘sword fighting’ other young ones with twigs they’d find on the roadside. 

  He was a normal boy, all told, but somehow that was more jarring, in so many ways, than if he hadn’t been. Because Aflon had never dealt with a normal boy, he realized. Even Before, his Link hadn’t been normal, he just hadn’t known to see it. 

  It was strange, how often Rusl would stare, watching people without those hesitant little falters that Link always had when someone met his eyes. He didn’t pay attention to the little details, didn’t care to watch the sky or the sun. He didn’t care about stars or tiny creatures or pouring over books the same size as himself for hours. 

  The one thing that the two boys did have in common though, was a love for stories of heroes. 

  Link used to bury his little button nose in the volumes of history that told of the Hero of the Four Sword, the Hero of the Skies: the chosen hero. Rusl didn’t read much, but one day he’d come back to their home with Liza after errands, and he’d had nothing on his mind except some story he’d heard about the Hero of Legends. 

  Aflon had paused in making dinner, frowning because he’d never heard of that hero before, because Link never spoke of that title. 

  “Who is the Hero of Legend?” He’d asked, turning to the dirt streaked four-year-old at the door. 

  “He’s who killed Ganon and saved Princess Zelda!” Had been his answer. “He’s so cool, I wish he’d come to our village so I could meet him!” 

  He hadn’t realized, until Liza had darted across the kitchen and scooped up the pot, that their meal had boiled over, or that it’d burned his hand when it did. 

  Rusl and his friends would talk about Link, pretend to be Link, say they wanted to be heroes like him, be knights, be brave. He’d be in the village and stories would sound, gossip between neighbors recounting the latest exploits of the Hero of Legend. He’d killed Ganon twice, he’d traveled the world, he’d saved Labrynna from a witch, he’d fought some tyrant down in Holodrum. Everyone had a different rumor that they’d heard, everyone a different thought on what the hero might be like. Despite all they’d chatter about though, all he could see in his own mind was a boy with heavy eyes and crooked fingers that trembled when he used them to talk. 

  Aflon had gone home that day, after hearing all the chatter, all the stories, all the news that had come down to them from some merchant who’d strayed to town, and he’d told Liza he was taking a trip. 

  “Just for a few days,” he’d said, wrapping arms around her and trying to smile, even though he’d known she’d see past it. “Just to see how my parents are doing.” He’d left out the part about his old house, about the child he’d raised inside it. He knew it was wrong, felt guilt eat away each time his mind turned there, but he’d never let slip about the boy he’d raised before meeting her, the child he’d left behind. 

  Link, as he’d known him, was gone, why speak of what wasn’t there any longer? Why drag everything he’d tried to leave behind into the perfection he’d stumbled himself into? 

  Still, he needed to know, needed to see, and maybe, just maybe, he’d wanted to see Loretta’s boy again, just to assure himself that he was alright, because try as he might, much as he wished, worry still plagued his heart for the little soldier boy he’d left at Lon-Lon. 

  He’d stopped by the house first, if only out of curiosity for what had become of it. It had been years, had the village elders sold it? Left it be? He didn’t know, so he’d taken the road around Kakariko, hood up as he passed old neighbors, boots stumbling some on a path he knew better than that back to his own wife and child. 

  The cottage hadn’t changed a bit. Standing on the path, apple trees shivering in a slight breeze, he’d almost felt a decade younger, almost tricked himself into thinking he’d need only open the old wood door, the door whose key still sat heavy in his pocket, and a bright little face would whip around to meet him, gap-toothed grin his welcome home as feet would pit-patter across the worn-out floors. Maybe it was that image that tricked his feet into walking, following a path altered only by shade of trees grown taller in his absence, their fruit hanging heavy but not yet ready to be plucked.  

  It’d be cider making season soon, he’d mused to himself, hand digging through his pocket for a key he couldn’t name why he still carried. Absently, he wondered if the old press was still down in the basement, if Link- because it must be Link- had minded to keep it oiled and tended, or if he’d left off using it. After all, the former knight chuckled, the boy couldn’t even turn the handle fully on his own, now could he? 

  His mind had been so caught in his thoughts he hadn’t been minding his surroundings, pushing the door open after a moment’s struggle (the key stuck more than it once used to) and moving to enter his old home. He hadn’t expected to be immediately whacked over the head, nor, when he’d picked himself up again, to find himself face to… face(?) with a masked figure. 

  “We aren’t open!” The purple clad individual had declared, mallet in hand, and a small creature with wings- which could in no ways be considered a bird- fluttering about at his shoulders, squawking and hissing something terrible. “And if you thought you could break in, you’re dead wrong!” 

  Aflon had blinked, slowly, and then started, gaze flying about the house briefly. 

  It wasn’t changed, not really. Pictures were all taken down and boxes were tucked against the walls, but the couch, the rocking chair, the china-cabinet, it was all still there, still in the same places, now with new stains and scuffs, but he could recognize them all the same. Really, the only major difference was the desk near the door scattered over with glittering items and objects, little price tags set before them in poor mimicry of a shop. 

  He wasn’t sure if the purple clad figure was meant to be here or not, but given that the house still technically belonged to him, he’d been more than slightly caught off guard. 

  “I’m not here for a shop, I- who are you?” 

  “Who are you?” The apparent merchant had demanded in answer, face shielded behind a hood that looked like it was meant to resemble a very, very odd face. “And why are you here?” Their voice was trembling slightly, but they stood firm despite. 

  “I live- or, well…” he’d paused, picking himself up and dusting himself off, “I used to live here. This was my house- still is actually, I’ve just been away.” 

  Despite not being able to see the merchant’s eyes, he could feel the apprehension in their gaze, weighty as it was as they looked up at him, one hand on their hip and the other holding fast to their oversized mallet. “You must have the wrong house; this one belongs to Mister Hero.” 

  Oh. 

  “You mean Link?” 

  “You know him?” Their head cocked on one side, hood following with a flap of long ear-like attachments. 

  Aflon had nodded briefly. “Do you?” 

  “Of course!” And suddenly the mallet was gone, the figure gesturing about with a cheery chirp now entering their tone. “He’s my housemate! Lets me stay here, keep up the shop while he’s gone and all that lovely sort of thing. Didn’t realize he had a landlord himself though! So terribly sorry if he’s been stiffing you on rent, he’s been out of town for forever now, you see.” 

  He’d nodded. He hadn’t known what better to do. 

  The stranger had introduced themselves as Ravio, offered to show him their wares, but when asked about Link had firmly insisted that he knew nothing more than that the hero was off on some mission for the crown or something and that he was just keeping the house in order for him. 

  It had been all Aflon needed to hear though. Link was still alive, apparently having embraced his role as the hero, and it seemed he wasn’t alone. He must have left the farm at some time, but seeing as he was approaching fifteen it made sense. He’d been rather eager for his freedom at that age too. 

  The kid would be fine, he’d told himself, walking back to Liza and Rusl. Link didn’t need him; he was getting along fine. 

  Somehow, even with the whole trip home to convince himself of that, it hadn’t worked. In fact, now he couldn’t stop thinking about it, slipping more with Rusl, drifting off at home. Liza wouldn’t let him in the kitchen anymore, insisting that he was too prone to forgetting what he’d been doing, too likely to hurt himself because he wasn’t paying attention. She’d begged him to see a doctor, or talk to her, but he’d waved it off, saying he was just tired, just thinking, he was fine; he just needed to rest. He knew she didn’t believe him, but she’d stopped asking at least. 

  If only he could stop himself thinking as easily. 

  But as the months and seasons passed, more worry had grown, more thoughts. 

  Link is turning sixteen this winter. Sixteen years since he’d stood on the edge of the wood with the queen of Hyrule and taken her child in his arms, promising to guard him. Only eight of those years were spent keeping that promise, only half, and he’d startled when he’d realized it. Even now, he’s left wondering, as he braves a storm so like that night that robbed him of his precious nephew, has Link changed? What is he like now? Did he ever grow into those too-big ears of his? Did he learn to look men in the eyes when he spoke to them, to steady his voice and hold himself with surety and not simply just skill? 

 His boy will be becoming a man, and he doesn’t know what that man looks like. 

  Or rather, he didn’t. 

  Because when he comes home, drenched to the bone but with a fresh kill in hand, ready for dinner, ready for him to show Rusl how to skin and prepare it, he finds his house full of strangers, his wide smiling and telling him that they’re travelers, more boys than men, and they need a place to stay but the inn is so far. Of course he greets them, of course he looks at men in armor and offers a smile like he would to his old brothers in arms, welcomes them to his home. 

  He didn’t realize, until just now, how much he missed hosting people fresh off the path he once used to follow, how much he missed their stories or sharing a smoke or a drink with men like himself once in a while, not just farming folk (nice as they are). 

  He’s midway to offering the a warm welcome when his eyes stray to the fire and he finds himself freezing. 

  Great violet eyes, shaded heavy under strawberry blonde, plastered down by dampness and the storm that howls just outside the door, stare up at him. 

  His breath catches. 

  It’s Loretta’s face, freckled and fine, fae-like features and faint traces of scars, upturned nose and steady jaw, but the galaxies that gaze out from violet pools aren’t the queen, even if everything else about the figure at his fire is. No, those stars are all Link, all his nephew, and the weight of that stare, not sure and stern like his sister-in-law but yet also not startled and wide like that day eight years back when he’d first met the hero. 

  In the same breath, it’s the dead queen and the young hero that sits before him. It’s Loretta with accusing eyes, fire burning in their depths as his own words ring in his head, sounding a promise, a vow to do as she’d said, to guard and guide her son, to protect him, no matter what. Yet it’s Link, it’s that little boy with eyes that know a demon’s smile and remember him bathed in his own blood. 

  If his heart had failed him when he’d first put a sword in the hands of his nephew, it’s ache is a thousand times worse as he stares at the result of that action, even as it refuses to cease in an endless flutter inside him as shock touches the face of the little soldier boy he’d left behind eight years ago, but who’s somehow, some way, found his way back before Aflon’s fire, staring up at him with the same startled gaze that shook and broke his world so long ago. 

  His knees hit the floor even as Liza cries out in concern, hands fluttering about him, but he can’t lift his eyes to look at her. Instead, he’s trapped in an endless expanse of dying stars. 

  “Link.” 

  Long ears, still too big for his nephew, turn his way at the sound of his voice, the answer coming out breathless and disbelieving. “Uncle?” 

[moonchild033]

Hiii sis how are u i was reading post 5th house the jupiter in 5th house tend to be relegious are there placments to show non relegious person

Hii my lil sis, I'm fine, how u doing?! 💖

Oh yes I know a few but the expression of the non- belief and it's extent can be different, I can explain some placements a little but it goes beyond that, based on other aspects too.🫡

Placements that can indicate a non-religious personality:

Rahu in 9H- They can question religious practices or develop a liking towards other religious philosophies than the one they were born into. 🧡🧡

Debilitated 9H lord or 9H lord in conjunction with a debilitated planet - 9H shows our belief systems and how deep we are into it, this placement can cause an aversion or at least a blunt boredom towards religious practices, they simply may not be interested. 💚💚

9H lord in Rahu's nakshatra - They might be inquisitive but they are mostly not atheists, they just want to know the stories and think for themselves whether they could relate to it or not.🩷🩷

Saturn aspecting 9H or in conjunction with 9H lord- They believe in God and might pray but rarely do they exhibit themselves as highly religious. They could think of God as a power in this universe, they trust in God in a different philosophical way which is a deeper connection that others might not understand but they're not conventionally religious as in following the practices. This is somewhat hard for me to explain, they focus on the spiritual and philosophical part of it but not the religious part.♥️♥️

9H lord in Saturn's nakshatra - They are either too religious or a straight out atheist, there's nothing in between, it might be that they got very much hurt in life that they chose to believe in themselves but they could become religious later in life.🧡🧡

Rahu in 5H- This is not a most common placement in this topic but some ppl having this might not be as religious as their surroundings, they could be less focusing or disinterested in religious matters while their surroundings can be more into it.

Debilitated jupiter- They might not like the teachings of their religion, since they couldn't relate to it, they could've just avoided that aspect altogether.🩷🩷

Jupiter Rahu conjunction - This is Guru Chandal Yoga. Even though this placement can give spiritual understanding and good exploring tendency, they usually oppose and argue the traditional religious practices, they wouldn't like some of the conventional sayings and they would try to prove their point why they think it's wrong or pointless, and can be rebellious in talking against religious practices.♥️♥️

9H lord in 6/8/12H- They can be more about the spiritual part or won't believe much in anything religious depending on the strength of 6/8/12H lords, if they're strong, then they might be good and interested in the spiritual areas rather than common practices but if those lords are weak along with 9H lord in these houses, they probably might be atheist.🧡🧡

Debilitated Sun or Atmkaraka- As sun is the natural significator of the soul and AK being your own soul significator, weakness of these can lead to not trusting in anything that is not solid, like they find it hard to link an unseen concept with themselves.These can apply to 8/12H suns to an extent.🩷🩷

If someone has many of these placements, they might be non-religious but keep in mind that other aspects play a role in deciding it too ✨

These are the placements I could think of as of now, tqsm for asking this Q's lil sis, I loved answering it.🤗🫶🩵

Guys, pls send thought provoking 'asks' lyk this, I understand the curiosity and the need for feeling clarity by asking personal placement Q's but sometimes I'm overwhelmed by it, I want to post answered asks that can benefit everyone, lyk everyone has something to learn from it.🥺🥺♥️

Let's Learn and Grow Together! 🫂💋

With Love-Yashi ❤️‍🔥

Masterlist 💖

[latenightreadingpdf]

Knock on the Door - Spencer Reid

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: In the midst of an intense investigation, Spencer and Derek bring you into protective custody after a disturbing discovery links you to their case. As you navigate the unexpected situation, Spencer’s calm presence offers reassurance, sparking an unexpected connection amid the chaos.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The quiet street was a far cry from the usual high-stakes BAU scene, but the tension in the air made Spencer’s skin prickle with unease. He glanced at Derek, who was already preparing to knock on another door, exuding his usual calm confidence.

"This one could be a lead," Derek muttered, showing a slight glint of hope in his eyes as he raised his hand to knock. The case had been dragging on, and frustration was growing with each unanswered question.

When the door opened, Spencer noted the faint hint of confusion in your expression. Derek immediately flashed his badge, his tone respectful but firm. "Ma’am, I'm Agent Derek Morgan. This is my colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI."

Your eyes darted between the two of them, registering the serious expressions they wore. "The FBI? What's going on?"

"Have you had any strangers come to your door recently trying to sell you something?"

A flicker of recognition passed over your face, and Spencer leaned in, catching the shift. "Actually, yes,” you said, brows furrowing. “A guy came by yesterday… He gave me his card.”

Spencer and Derek shared a look. "Do you still have that card?" Spencer asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

"Yeah, I think so. Let me grab it." You turned back into the house, leaving the door partially open, and returned a moment later with a card in hand. As Derek took it from you, he confirmed with a nod that it matched the cards left at the other crime scenes.

You looked between them, anxiety creeping into your voice. "What is going on? Who is this guy?"

Spencer’s voice softened, his gaze meeting yours directly. "We believe he's a dangerous criminal who may be responsible for several recent homicides. His method involves gaining entry to homes under false pretenses."

Your face paled as the weight of his words sank in. Derek placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We need to take you back to the station to make sure you’re safe. There are some steps we’d like to take to ensure you’re protected while we gather more information."

"Safe? Is he going to try and kill me?"

Derek’s expression turned serious. "We have reason to believe he might try to come back, and it’s important we get ahead of him."

A sense of dread settled over you as you let their words sink in. You followed them to the car, feeling your stomach twist with a mix of fear and disbelief. As you settled into the backseat, Spencer turned to give you a reassuring nod.

“Just so you know,” he began, his tone gentle, “we’ll have officers posted near your home to ensure he doesn’t have the chance to get in. We’re taking every precaution.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… a lot.”

“Understandable,” Spencer said, glancing at you with a sympathetic look. “We’ll also have you meet with a sketch artist and undergo a cognitive interview. It’s standard procedure, and it might help us learn more about him.”

You looked out the window, processing the reality of the situation. The quiet chatter between Derek and Spencer drifted over you as they discussed possible motives, patterns, and theories. But for now, you were too lost in your own thoughts to make out their words.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When you arrived at the station, Spencer took a moment to walk you through the cognitive interview process. "It’s designed to help you remember specific details," he explained, his voice calm and assuring. "It might feel intense, but I’ll be with you the whole time."

You nodded, glancing around the bustling police station, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and adrenaline. "Okay, so… I just answer questions, and you’ll be able to get a clearer picture of this guy?"

Spencer gave you a small smile. "Pretty much. Think of it as helping us paint a portrait. Every detail, no matter how small, could be useful."

The interview went smoothly; Spencer’s presence was patient and encouraging, never making you feel pressured to remember something you couldn’t. Afterward, he led you to a small break room, offering you a seat at a worn table with a coffee machine humming nearby.

A few minutes later, Spencer returned with two steaming cups, handing one to you. "Here," he said, "it's not gourmet, but it’ll keep us awake."

You took it gratefully, feeling a sense of normalcy settle in. "Thanks, Spencer." You sipped the coffee, savoring the warmth. "I didn’t expect to spend my afternoon in an FBI station, but… it’s definitely more interesting than my usual routine."

Spencer chuckled, seeming surprised by your laid-back attitude. "Most people aren’t as calm in situations like this."

You shrugged, feeling the weight of the situation but refusing to let it get the best of you. "I don’t know. I figure, if I’m in good hands, there’s no point in freaking out."

As you chatted, Spencer filled you in on some of the behavioral profiling techniques they used, giving you a peek into the mind of the BAU. His eyes lit up as he explained the ways they’d been analyzing the unsub’s behavior to find any possible patterns, and you found yourself genuinely interested, asking questions and absorbing his answers.

"Do you ever wonder why people do these things?" you asked thoughtfully, watching him as he considered your question.

"All the time," Spencer replied, his voice softening as he looked down at his coffee. "But there’s rarely a straightforward answer. The best we can do is study the behaviors and try to make sense of them. Hopefully, it helps us stop them."

A sense of respect grew in you as he spoke, and you found yourself admiring the dedication he had for his work. "That sounds exhausting. Important, but exhausting."

"It can be," he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. "But it’s worth it, especially when it means keeping someone safe. Like now."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his sincerity. "Well, I guess I’m lucky you guys were around."

The door to the break room opened, and Derek poked his head in, giving Spencer a grin. "You two doing all right in here?"

Spencer nodded, standing up to update Derek on the details you’d given during the interview. As they talked, you finished your coffee, feeling a strange sense of calm despite the unusual circumstances.

When Derek turned his attention to you, his gaze softened. "We’re going to have a team set up around your house tonight, keeping a close eye on things. We’ll catch this guy if he shows up."

You nodded, feeling reassured. "Thanks, Agent Morgan. I know you guys are handling it, so I’ll let you do your thing."

Spencer glanced back at you with a small smile. "If you need anything, or have more questions, just let me know."

As they walked you to the main desk, Spencer looked back, his gaze soft. "We'll keep you safe," he assured you once more, his sincerity unmistakable. "Until then, try not to worry. We’re on it."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded. "I trust you," you replied, giving them one last grateful look before they escorted you to a waiting area. And as you waited, you felt a sense of calm, knowing you weren’t facing this alone.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[ayoharuko]

Love and Deepspace: Boyfriend Headcanons ♡

I really need to start writing more Zanye stuff considering his my type in so many ways, don't get me wrong but I love all of them, however. Zayne was the one who pulled me into the game and made me stay :3

Again, most of the headcanons may or may not be already canon in game. But do not worry, I do have originals I've thought off :3

Reader here is Gender Neutral (They/Them)

If you haven't seen Xavier's part its here!

Warning: Some Spoilers from his Myths and minor swearing.

Reminder: The character belongs to INFOLD/ its respective creators; this is all just fictional work so please try to not take these too seriously :)

♡ Now, we all know that our favorite Doctor loves sweets right? I feel like in his feel time, aka when he doesn't have work and takes a break from the hospital - he'll practice how to bake sweet goodies.

♡ Think about it! He knows how to cook well and his knife skills are exceptional, so he would definitely make baking as a stress relief and hobby.

♡ I imagine him making sweets to either give to the patients in the hospital, or maybe his coworkers too, once they finish another hard day.

♡ Obviously, you'll get most of the treats as your his special person but not only do you get most of the goods - you also get the first taste! He would also ask you for your honest opinion, now if your scared in telling him the truth; don't be. He encourages it so he can improve better in baking :)

♡ While on the convo of cooking and food - we also know that this man can cook very well, not only is the meal balanced but the presentation and taste is immaculate.

♡ Don't worry picky eaters, you won't even taste the veggies he put in the meal so you'll be safe and not gag (At least not from the food yk what I'm sayin-)

♡ Zayne will ALWAYS make time for you. No matter how busy he is, you will always be his top priority.

♡ You are literally the whole exact reason why he choose to be a cardiac surgeon/doctor after all.

♡ That also means he worries over you like a mother hen, sometimes he can be overbearing and too much on the scolding or doting whenever you get injured.

♡ So obviously, that leads to a few fights here and there but you understand that his intentions are all good.

♡ You are the passenger princess ✩

♡ Like. His car will always have snacks that you love, extra necessities, ties and your playlist is saved on his car too!

♡ On his day offs and you guys feel like hiking somewhere far, he would stock up his car filled with stuff that you usually use at your home as he wants you to be as comfortable as possible.

♡ He tries not to spoil you... he tried to put a limit on everything so you don't get your way but your just so fucking adorable and stupid sometimes that he can't resist giving in... kidding he loves you-

♡ Dates would consist of; cat cafes, hiking, going to the gym, trying out cafes, kitty cards but mostly he would prefer to spend time with you at your or his place :)

♡ Love languages would be Acts of service and Quality time.

♡ As mentioned, he would do chores and he'd cook for you. He also prioritizes you over anything, all his time belongs to you... it has always belonged to you.

♡ Despite telling you to always limit your sweets/desert intake, it apparently doesn't apply to him.

♡ You both would frequently visit the dentist as his teeth would hurt from the amount of sweets (and sugar.) he'd consume, one wonders how he hasn't gotten diabetes yet....

♡ Zayne knows that he can come off as aloof or cold so he thinks about the words he says to you before he actually speaks it. Which often saves you both from arguments a lot.

♡ He also makes a point to be honest whilst not hurting your feelings, you won't have to worry about him lying about how you look or the answers he'll give to your questions.

♡ The only thing he'd be dishonest about tho is when his the one in need of help. His so used to not accepting help that he lies that his evol doesn't hurt him; when clearly, it does.

♡ You'd have to be super plushy to make him care enough to take a break for his own well-being, how ironic for being a Doctor right? Well, his thankful that in times when he can't be the doctor, you make sure to step in as a Doctor just for him and him only.

♡ Zayne often has trips to the Arctic; and when he does, he would either take you with him (Which is rarely.) or make sure to update you with pictures of/or with Pie, the scenery and with your requests - his face as well. You both won't be able to video call all the time while his at the arctic because the signal would be weak so he takes pictures instead.

♡ When he does get back from his trip, expect gifts and tea from him. He'll also make sure to kiss you deeply as he definitely missed you a lot.

♡ Cats aren't really fond of him right? You would force take him to cat cafes all the time and try to establish a connection between him and one of the cats! There was only one cat that liked him enough tho- But thats a win for you!

♡ Since its been said that you both do go hiking sometimes, I believe you guys would do some camping as well.

♡ He would take you on a hiking journey up a cliff filled with pretty flowers and Mayne jasmines that he may or may not have planted himself and you both would set up camp there.

♡ He would grill some food, take out the sweets he baked back at his place and cuddle you under the starlight... wishing for this all to last forever.

♡ He gets nightmares right? When he does; all he wants to do is seek you out, but he often feels guilty as he knows you have your own problems... So you have to rely on your 'Zayne Senses' to know whether the nightmares haunt him or not.

♡ When it is haunting him; all you need to do is Lead him to the bed, tuck his head into your chest - just enough so that he can hear your heartbeat while you whisper promises that you're never gonna leave him.

♡ Zayne has learned how to be patient, yet for you? His Patience will be tested. Whether it's you on those week - long missions or you not calling or messaging.

♡ Zayne does skincare..... I firmly believe he has friends that are dermatologists and that they give him skincare products sometimes as a gift. He gives some of them to you too, if it has good benefits or if you just want it.

♡ If you both are living together and your schedules are in-sync; you both would do your skincare routines together.

♡ I believe that Zayne - not only takes care of his body health but also his face - and not in a beauty standard way but in a 'Good looks makes the patient more at ease and would likely trust him more typa way'

♡ However, in months where the hospital gets busy; he develops a little stubble under his chin. Sometimes its on purpose as he likes the way you shave it or the way you sit on his lap if yk yk...

♡ Nicknames that he gives you are so sweet like honey... the way he calls out to you with that sweet nickname he has given you, it instantly fills you with butterflies.

♡ I like to think he'd call you Honey, Sweetheart and My Love a lot... but when your asleep in the comforts of your shared bedroom; he'd whisper My heart and My Jasmine, just soft enough that you could barely hear whilst slipping away to dreamland.

♡ In conclusion, Zayne is just filled of Husband Material ᯓᡣ𐭩

♡ His not perfect by all means (Expect you think he is) but he will do everything in his power to make sure that you'll not only be satisfied but also comfortable.

I had a lot of fun writing Zayne's part! Considering that his my main after all heh.

I hope that you all enjoyed reading Zayne's part and let me know if ya'll want a NSFW Version of these headcanons :)

See you guys on my next post~!

Rafayel's Boyfriend Headcanons, check it out too!

Reblogs are appreciated and Feedback/Comments are always appreciated! :3

(Note: please don't copy and paste my works anywhere, and if you do see them on other platform please inform me.)

[markrosewater]

Hi Mark! What usually leads to higher sales: a more liked flavour of the set or a more liked gameplay of the set? (To give context, I think more people liked the flavour of Bloomburrow more than they did Duskmourn, but in terms of the limited environment, I think more people liked Duskmourn's than Bloomburrow, so I'm curious which one was more successful. I'm curious whether this was an exception or follows the pattern to the answer you'll give to the initial question)

The "sell-in" (aka what gets bought when the set first comes out) tends to be more about how popular the flavor and larger themes are.

The "tail" (aka what gets sold for the rest of the duration of the product) tends to be more about how popular the mechanics and individual card designs are.

[jesncin]

hi, I just read your ask about the "true kal-el/clark kent" and your answer about now it's reductive to try and pin him into one box or another when in truth he'd surely have a nuanced and potentially complex relationship to these two facets of his identity. really interesting and well-said stuff!

further to that, how do you see the constructed persona of Superman: Man of Tomorrow fitting in with this question of identity?

I know that in some stories the costume is/is inspired by kryptonian garb and in others it's not really, and that in some stories he uses the superman persona as a public outlet to live as a man from krypton while in others he tries to hide that side of himself from the public (although usually not for long, like in sstk) and I'd be really interested to see your take on how the superhero dual identity can relate to the immigrant dual identity

Thank you!! I'm glad people enjoy my musings about Immigrant Superman, haha. And this is another fun question! There's a ton of versions with how Clark comes to terms with the persona of Superman all with varying levels of a different diaspora Superman reading- personally I am really fond of the SSTK version.

Some versions have it so Clark is bestowed the Kryptonian clothes and House of El symbol, but in SSTK Clark gets the idea to present Superman as The World's Strongest Strongman, inspired by circus performers' colorful costumes in a deliberate move to look less intimidating.

Then we have Ma Kent sewing Clark's Superman costume, translating the "othering alien symbol" into a "S in a funny diamond shape", letting people interpret the symbol to mean the "S" in Superman. What I love about this version is we get to see Clark very relatable-y fear alienation and xenophobia by attempting to present himself as the most palatable, model-minority American Man ever. He doesn't debut as Kal-El the alien, he debuts as Superman! The Strongest Super MAN on Earth.

If this kind of Immigrant Superman characterization were to continue, I see Clark's relationship to the Superman persona as his outlet to be the approximation of so many identities that he can't quite have all the way. In the beginning of SSTK, Superman was his attempt to be the human approximation of an alien. Afterwards, once he's formally come out as an alien immigrant and can more comfortably showcase and explore his alien powers, the Superman persona becomes his means of connecting to Kryptonian culture. He's not going to emulate being a Born and Raised Kryptonian perfectly, since he's adopted and came to his alien roots later in his life- but his "S" was also a humanized translation of an alien symbol. His costume is now how the only representation (before Supergirl) of an extinct culture. Would he be able to communicate in Kryptonese perfectly? I'd like to think he struggles with it, as many migrants do with learning languages later in life- especially on their own.

Couple all this with the fact "Superman" is the public persona while "Clark Kent and "Kal-El" are his secret identities, makes his journey of connecting to his roots all the more complicated. Because he's doing all that reclamation of an extinct culture while the world watches.

That's how I see it anyway! I feel Superman characterizations that aim to make him "more scifi starting out" and embrace the alien side of him ("make the suit more scifi and less circus strongman!") to be lackluster because they're not taking advantage of Clark being a step removed from Krypton. How Clark presents Superman, from his mannerisms, to the outfit, the anxieties around his alien identity, and which powers he chooses to showcase is an opportunity to tell a compelling story.

[mismaeve]

Honor's Downfall

↳ Honor's Downfall, Boromir x Fem!Reader, Bodyguard AU ↳ Request: may I request a !bodyguard Boromir for our dear reader ?? I imagine something with mutual pining. Make it as yearning as you may like ! (requested by anon) TW: angst, mutual pining, hurt/comfort Word Count: 1.7k A/N: I had so much fun writing this! It felt like it took on a life of its own, so I apologise if this is not what you had imagined. I tried to portray pining but I'm afraid that it might have come out as angst in stead. I really do hope you like it, and let me know your thoughts!

“How many times do I have to tell you to address me by my name?” you asked, your tone expressing your annoyance ever so clearly as you watched your bodyguard straighten his back after the ridiculous bow he insisted on performing whenever he greeted you.

“At least one more time, Princess,” Boromir gave his usual answer while his fingers moved to adjust his suit. Impeccable as always, almost to a fault.

“This may come as a shock, but “Princess” isn’t exactly my name,” you frowned.

“How awkward. For almost a year I’ve gone around and thought it was your name,” he dared to mock you in the face of your misery.

Boromir chuckled quietly as you sighed in defeat and rolled your eyes at him. It was pointless to continue your mission of trying to persuade him to abandon his manners and spit in the face of protocol. He was too noble, too honorable to do so. While it was what you admired about him – his unwavering sense of duty – it was also what broke your heart. How could you possibly dream of feeling his hands on your body when even his lips refused to utter your name?

Countless nights you had laid in your bed, imagining how sweet it would sound – your name carried by his velvety voice. Fantasizing about those strong arms around you, holding you tight against his chest - the safest place you could ever be. What you wouldn’t give to have him love you the way he guarded you – fiercely and unapologetically.

It wasn’t unheard of – you naively had tried to reassure yourself on several occasions – to develop a crush on a bodyguard. Days and nights often spent in close proximity after escaping possible danger, practically living together more often than not, the sense of security he provided when tensions were high, the cool and confident calm he always exuded – how could you not fall for his promise of always keeping you safe?

It was during those private moments away from prying eyes that you would catch a glimpse of the man hidden behind the stern exterior. His boyish smile that lit up his face when it reached his eyes, his warm laughter – so contagious and carefree you couldn’t help but laugh yourself. In those precious moments, you almost felt normal.

At least one more time, Princess.

Little did he know that there was no more time. You could no longer wait for his honor to crack.

“Well, as someone so fond of our customs, you’ll love this one – we’re going on a date,” you announced in exaggerated cheer as you got up from the couch, throwing aside the magazine that had previously rested on your lap.

“I don’t follow,” Boromir’s face morphed into a question mark, his eyebrows furrowed together as he no doubt tried to decipher your vague statement while his eyes tracked your movement across the living room.

“Tradition dictates that the royal family members must marry to secure alliances and ensure prosperity and well-being of our country.”

Boromir froze. He hadn’t expected his body to betray him like this, not when he had ordered his thoughts and desires to the deepest darkest corner of his mind. A painful ringing in his ears resonated throughout the rest of his body, suspending and trapping him in this state of cold and paralyzing terror.

He hadn’t seen this coming. His job and sole responsibility had always been to foresee any possible threats, and he had failed to see this – the greatest threat of all. The possibility of losing his princess. It’s what you were and always had been, from that very first awkward meeting when you had averted your eyes with a timid smile on your lips when he had bowed before you. His princess. Boromir had always known that he would gladly die for you, in less than a heartbeat he would willingly and gratefully give his life for yours, never suspecting that a different sort of death awaited him.

All those moments spent together, his eyes tracking your every step, admiring the graceful way in which your body moved. Boromir had often wondered how it would feel to dance with you, to mold your body to his as you glided along the music – blissfully ignorant of the world around you, endlessly lost in each other. It almost felt wicked, pretending that he was doing his job when he knew that he would gladly follow you anywhere either way. You were his sun, warming his soul with your cheerful laughter, your sparkling eyes more beautiful than any precious gem. His princess. His everything.

Now slipping through his fingers.

Boromir blinked and noticed you studying him. He cleared his throat and gathered what little of his professional composure was left at his disposal.

“I wasn’t aware of this custom,” he admitted in earnest.

“Arranged marriages are quite common for royals,” you answered plainly while your gaze still lingered on him, making him wonder if you suspected his inner turmoil.

“I thought it was only for those first in line for the crown.”

“Not always.”

“I also thought that you weren’t one for tedious customs,” Boromir remarked, surprising himself by the bold choice of words that had spilled over his lips. If you hadn’t suspected it before, you certainly would now.

From the day you met, you had fought ferociously against the weight of your title and birthright. Countless battles had been fought inside the walls of your apartment where you would demand that he disregard your noble birth and address you by your given name. Boromir had never given in, not once, even when his heart had screamed at him to oblige you. Even as you had confided in him, after suffering yet another assault by the ruthless and entitled paparazzi, about never having wanted this life, this so-called privilege - his morals hadn’t faltered once. Boromir had witnessed your struggle but had never once offered you the reprieve and normalcy that you so desperately craved. His code of conduct would not permit him to make you happy. Only ever safe.

“What do you expect me to do? I can’t even convince you - my own bodyguard - to do as I say,” you snapped at him, compelled by your own frustration.

Boromir’s words had ignited your anger, your resentment of your title reaching a violent culmination. Bitter tears stung your eyes, blurring his immaculate frame from your vision. In the face of your outburst, he stood quiet, his silence telling you what you always had feared – he would not bend for you.

You closed your eyes, forced to admit your defeat. You had to accept the cold and harsh reality – he would not allow himself to love you.

“You’re dismissed,” your whispered words were barely audible. You couldn’t trust your voice not to betray your pain and reveal the heartbreak that was in the making. He had to leave, his once reassuring presence now becoming unbearable. A living reminder of the kind of life you would never have, the kind of love that would never be yours.

Boromir stood still, his body seemingly frozen solid. Only his heart pounded a punishing rhythm, each pump echoing your dismissal of him over and over, turning his blood to ice. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, the sudden surge of emotion threatening to suffocate him.

The sight of you pained him, the urge to close the distance between you and take you in his arms to hold and comfort growing stronger by every tear that rolled down your flushed cheek. His own aching heart battled and fought against the weight of his sworn oath. What good was honor when it prevented him from soothing your soul?

You’re dismissed.

“No,” Boromir heard himself growl, the sound startling you into opening your eyes. The grief and suffering that he saw in them was enough to break the last of his resolve and jerk his body into action. Within a heartbeat he was right in front of you, his arms going around you and pulling you in for an embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere, Princess,” he promised as he held your trembling body tightly against his own, your sobs reverberating through his soul. He held you through the worst of it, his silent patience allowing you to unburden your heart.

It was quiet now. Neither of you moved, save for the measured manner in which Boromir’s fingers trickled through your hair. You could hear the steady rhythm of his heart where your ear was pressed against his chest, the sound oddly comforting. You found peace in this moment, tucked away safely in his arms where you had yearned to be for so long. If only it would last.

“You really should go,” you whispered meekly, your heart not wanting to let go.

“It’s the one thing I can’t do,” his voice was equally quiet. “But by all means, you should fire me because I can no longer work for you,” he added before pulling away enough for his eyes to find yours.

“Truth be told, I should have been fired a long time ago. A decent man would have walked away but I don’t think I am that man.”

His eyes searched yours, for what – you couldn’t tell, but the fire that burned deep within his grey irises made you hold your breath in anticipation.

Your bodyguard cupped your face, causing a soft gasp to escape your slightly parted lips in surprise. Boromir closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against yours, a heavy breath leaving his chest.

“I cannot do my job when all I want to do is this.”

Just as soon as the words had been uttered, his lips claimed yours in a kiss filled with longing equal of your own. Warmth exploded and swept over your entire body, burning away any trace of the grief you had felt only moments before, making your heart flutter and swell in response.

The kiss felt like it lasted for hours, both of you lost in the other, trying to make up for the time that had been lost. And when you finally came up for air, Boromir whispered only one thing.

Your name.

General Tag → @heilith @kanafinwe-makalaure @eunoiaastralwings @snowtargaryen @aduialel

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[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

* **FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

The Shower Scene

Noah leaned over the sink, watching intently in the mirror as the razor glided across his skin. The pitter-patter of the shower the only sound in the bathroom, broken every so often as water splashed. He had lost track of how many times they'd done exactly this. One of them in the shower while the other did whatever they needed to. And every single time he had to fight tooth and nail not to sneak a peek. Friends weren't exactly supposed to want to see the other one naked. But damn it, he couldn't help it.

With a groan he leaned down, rinsing the remaining shaving cream from his face. Friends also didn't sleep in the same bed more than half the time. Or cuddle the way him and Quinn did. They sure as shit didn't get jealous every time one of them went out on a date. She had such shitty taste in men, too. All of them absolute tools that left her disappointed at the end of every date. Yet she still went back. It made zero sense.

Her phone on the counter lit up. A quick glance and he wanted to vomit. Here she was, getting ready for another date with another boring asshole that if he even made it past the first date would disappoint her, again, by the end of the second or third. What the fuck was she doing wasting her time with these idiots?

"Noah? Can you pass me my towel?"

Noah paused for a moment, wondering just what would happen if he said no. If he made her get out and get her towel herself. It was tempting. Maybe a little too tempting. Resigning himself he grabbed her towel off the rack, passing it through the shower curtain to her.

"Got any plans tonight?" He knew the answer, but fuck it, why not torture himself and hear her say it?

"Yeah." She stepped out of the shower, wrapped up in her towel. "Got a date."

Biting back the words that so desperately wanted to escape he moved aside and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He watched her as she applied her leave-in conditioner. Watched as she wiped her hands on her towel before she picked up her phone. Ignored the pit in his stomach as she responded to whatever the douchebag had said.

"You deserve better."

"You don't even know him, Noah."

"Don't have to. You have fucking terrible taste in men." Noah's eyes widened. He hadn't meant to say that. "I'm sorry. Fuck. I shouldn't have said that."

Quinn laughed. Actually laughed. But it wasn't her usual laugh. He could hear the pain hiding behind it. What the fuck was wrong with him?

"Yes, you did. It's okay, though. You're not wrong. Just look at how we met." Her eyes met his in the mirror. "I would like to get dressed now, if you don't mind."

Noah stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. Of course he had meant it, but he hadn't meant to actually say it. She didn't need to tell him that his words had stung. He could hear it in her voice. See it in the way she looked at him through the mirror.

"I'm just tired of seeing you hurt when they all inevitably do the same stupid shit. I love you, terror pixie." He bent down, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"I love you, too, Bigfoot."

She grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners. At least she was smiling again. With a weary sigh he reached up, ruffling her hair before darting out of the bathroom. Part of him, real deep down, knew that if he had just asked her to cancel. To stay home with him, she would have, no questions asked. But that would be selfish. Who knows? Maybe this guy wasn't a total douchebag. And maybe he would turn out to be the love of her life. The thought made him physically ill.

Noah burst into Jolly's room, quickly closing the door behind him. Jolly merely looked up from the book he was reading, an eyebrow arched.

"Lemme guess. Another date tonight?"

"Yeah. And we all know how it's gonna go. Gonna need all of you to get lost for a while."

[lie-lacdreams]

Thermodynamics and Turmoil (Curly x Reader pt. 1)

Hello! I'm putting out my very first piece ever and I'm so excited to feed the masses as much Mouthwashing content as they deserve :) This game has a lot of sensitive topics to it and as such I'll try my best to bring them up as appropriately as possible. The story is gonna start off slow and elaborative because I love all of the Tulpar crew so much (except for Jollof rice, Jimneva convention) and they all have such interesting personalities that I couldn't help but to explore their wants and aspirations. This story will feature an alternative ending to the game because I cannot stomach sad things they make me very sad </3

engineer! reader x curly TW: a bad word or two, I think word count ~ 1.9K

Curly was back in the medical bay for his routine psychological evaluation with Anya. With all of the questions answered and out of the way, the both of them were just chatting before he had to go back to the cockpit and finish up his duties for the afternoon.

“You’re all good to go, Captain. Seems like there isn’t much change from your answers like last time, as usual.” Anya let out a tired sigh. 

“That should be a good thing, given we’ve already been on this trip for almost two months now. We should all be used to the routine around here at this point. Has everybody else been adjusting alright?” Curly stood up from his chair, Anya following suit as they moved towards the door. 

“For the most part, everyone’s been well but I wish they would open up or take the assessment seriously. I mean, at least Daisuke has been making my job a little easier – he just talks and talks.” she mused. Curly gave a little chuckle in response, thinking about the last-minute intern that the Pony Express decided to add on board to their journey. He wasn’t exactly the most helpful – at least according to Swansea – but he brought an air of lightheartedness that they all needed in a cut-corners, shitty working environment like the Tulpar. “Oh, actually, have you seen (Y/N) lately?”

Curly thought for a moment. Along with Daisuke, (Y/N) was another late addition to the crew. The Tulpar has started showing its age and as such, there were increasingly consistent problems with the water pipes, life support, and fuel usage. However, instead of giving the crew a new ship, they handed the responsibility of keeping the ship up and running to the passengers. After their previous trip, Swansea went straight to the higher-ups and ripped them a new one, stating that ��he couldn’t be expected to perform miracles”. When the crew was assigned this trip, they were all surprised that corporate had listened to Swansea’s complaints and granted them with another engineer. (Y/N) was self-sufficient, only really needing to work with Swansea to consult him on how best to move forward and with Daisuke when Swansea needed a break from his overzealousness. As a result, Curly saw and knew very little about her. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t. Why?”

“She’s due for her check-in as well but I haven’t seen her these past two days to tell her that. Go figure. We share a room yet recently she’s been waking up earlier and sleeping later than I have. When I went to ask Swansea and Daisuke if they’d seen her, they said that they haven’t seen her at all today.” 

“Huh. She’ll show up eventually. This ship only has so many places a person can be. If I see her, I’ll let her know to go straight to you. Thanks, Anya.” He patted her shoulder lightly before heading out, making his way back to the cockpit to fulfill his duties. 

In the evening, the crew convened at the table for dinner. Curly always looked forward to this time of day, where everyone had finished all of their tasks and could open up with light hearted banter. With only the six of them on the ship for over a year, all they had were each other, and he cherished all of his crew members. Anya and Swansea were chatting to the left of him about Swansea’s kids back on Earth. To his right, he saw Jimmy get increasingly agitated as Daisuke tried convincing him to swap dinners with him. That’s when he spotted the empty chair across from him and realized that (Y/N) was still missing. 

No one was concerned by her absence; it was a common occurrence, and he trusted Daisuke and Swansea to be in the loop about what she was up to and would report to him if anything happened. During the work day, everyone was so consumed with their jobs and couldn’t afford to worry about the whereabouts of the others, unless they needed to lend a hand. Curly wasn’t an exception to this. As the captain it was his responsibility to make sure his crew members were okay and that things were moving along nicely, and so far there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that indicated otherwise. With everyone finishing up their dinner, clean up began before people bid each other goodnight. 

In the middle of the night, he woke up parched. Debating whether or not to get a glass of water, he finally got out of bed and made his way to the lounge where the kitchen was. Leaving his room, he could hear a faint clacking noise grow slightly louder the closer he got to the lounge entrance. Opening the door to the lounge, he was finally met with the sixth crew member whom no one had seen all day. Sitting at the dining table, (Y/N) rested her feet on the seat of her chair and had her knees drawn up to her chest. All around her were books and loose papers scattered about. Her hair was messed up, likely a direct cause of the hand she kept on her head, fingernails digging into her scalp. Curly gently cleared his throat, trying to make her aware of his presence. Shooting a tired glance his way, her eyes widened a bit before immediately sitting up straight and tidying her hair. She looked guilty, like she was caught in the middle of doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. 

“Finally, we get to see her. Where have you been, Miss Absentee?” He sent a small smile her way, walking over to her.

“C-Captain! What are you doing up? It’s quite late.” (Y/N) nervously fidgeted.

“Just up for a glass of water. What are you doing up so late is the real question.” He crossed his arms. 

“Just doing a bit of work. Can’t get enough of it.” She joked dryly. Curly frowned and pulled the chair next to her to take a seat. She sighed and leaned back, finally relaxing from tensing up after seeing Curly enter the room. (Y/N) didn’t know her captain well, and as such she always tried her best to save face and remain professional with him, but at this hour of the night, she was too tired to keep up with decorum. 

He leaned on the table, facing her. “I know we may not be as close as you are with Swansea and Daisuke, or even Anya, but as your captain I care about how you’re doing and I want you to open up to me.” Her expression became hesitant as she shifted in her seat. “We’re all busy and even though it’s common for you to go missing during meal times, seeing you like this now is making me worried about how you’re doing.”

(Y/N) kept quiet for a second, looking like she was mulling something over before picking up the object right in front of her.  “Do you know what this is?” 

“An abacus. Interesting that you have one.” he said. 

“Yeah.” she sighed. She moved her gaze from Curly to the plastic Polle statue in the corner of the room. “Before I got on the Tulpar, they had given me all of the supplies I needed to fulfill my duties and do what they asked of me. I had met Swansea only briefly before so he could give me manuals and maps of the ship’s layout. I got the uniform, the steel-toed boots, notebooks, writing utensils, and a solar-powered calculator.” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d think that would be enough to prepare me to be here, but no . If only there was a way to have a bit of sunlight in outer space in a ship with no windows. They gave me something so crucial but useless out here. I had brought the abacus on board with me for sentimental reasons, but ironically enough it’s the only thing here that allows me to do my job.” She glanced back at him. “I’m not sure if you were aware, but Pony Express lied and said this was an internship for graduate students. Little did I know I’d be thrown into something I wasn’t going to have much guidance in. I needed a break from my PhD and even though the pay wasn’t that great, I was desperate for some sort of escape from academia.  I thought going to space would give me that, but every day I wake up is a constant reminder that I’m so underqualified. Swansea is an expert with the mechanical side of the ship and he’s helped me a great deal, but the fluid mechanics and thermodynamics of it all are things he knows nothing about. So I’m here, trying my best to play catch-up and praying that I figure out a solution so that this ship has enough fuel, enough air to last us an entire year, and that the Tulpar doesn’t pop like a pressurized soda bottle while we’re out here.” 

“(Y/N)...” Curly’s voice died at her name, shocked at this revelation and disappointed he somehow didn’t know about her struggle sooner. “I had no idea what you were going through. You always seemed to have a grasp on your tasks and Swansea always praised the work you did, so I just assumed you weren’t having a hard time adjusting. Have you told any of this to Anya during your evaluations?”

“No… I really wanted to believe that I could do it and stick it out, and so far, thank God, I’ve just barely made it every time. I really wanted you and the rest of the crew to believe I was capable and worthy of being here.” He cautiously put a hand on her shoulder, testing the waters on how he should comfort her. 

“You are worthy of being here. The fact that we’ve been having such a smooth trip with no complications so far makes that obvious. I really appreciate you opening up to me now. I want to do everything I can to make sure you aren’t stressed about your work. You need to get rest and eat like the rest of us. Sure, none of us are a chemical engineering smarty pants like you, but you can always ask for help, even if it’s just for something like bringing you food or running errands around the ship.” He smiled at her, and she weakly reciprocated the gesture.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Thank you, Curly.” Too tired to remember formalities, (Y/N) let out a big yawn, much to his amusement. 

“So are you gonna go to bed?” He asked. She threw her head back and groaned in defeat, murmuring a “yes”. “Good! I hope I get to see more of you around now that you’ll be asking for help, yes?”

“Yes, of course, Captain. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The both of them stood up, (Y/N) to head to her quarters and Curly to finally get his glass of water. Before completely leaving, she paused and turned back. “Oh, and Captain?” 

“Hmm?” He raised his head up to look at her again.

“I know you have a lot of responsibility on your shoulders looking after all of us. Please, rely on me too.” She smiled gently.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).” He called after her as she slipped through the door. He felt content that he was making good progress to gaining the trust of the crew member he knew the least. It always made him feel good to be the reliable captain he hoped everyone viewed him as. Having that conversation with (Y/N) made him a little more relaxed now that she had opened up to him for the first time.

[everpresence]

hi! sorry if this is a repetitive question, but how can you manifest when you are desperate for something? i try to be nonchalant about it, but i can't help but think about it obsessively and the more i affirm my desires the more i hear the opposite thing. and i know i shouldn't be paying attention to that, but i can't help it. i want to be more strong minded when it comes to loa, but right now i feel defeated.

hiya! i don't think that's a repetitive question that i've answered before, so don't worry about it. if i did answer a question like this before... well, let's just say that i'm expanding on it LOL!

the more i affirm my desires the more i hear the opposite thing

what you said is reminiscent of this passage from The Power of Your Subconscious Mind by Joseph Murphy:

I have talked to many people during the past thirty-five years whose usual complaint is, "I have said for weeks and months, 'I am wealthy, I am prosperous,' and nothing has happened." I discovered that when they said, "I am prosperous, I am wealthy," they felt within that they were lying to themselves. One man told me, "I have affirmed that I am prosperous until I am tired. Things are now worse. I knew when I made the statement that it was obviously not true." His statements were rejected by the conscious mind, and the very opposite of what he outwardly affirmed and claimed was made manifest. Your affirmation succeeds best when it is specific and when it does not produce a mental conflict or argument; hence the statements made by this man made matters worse because they suggested his lack. Your subconscious accepts what you really feel to be true, not just idle words or statements. The dominant idea or belief is always accepted by the subconscious mind.

i have a feeling that you are trying to "ignore the 3D," that you are trying to deny what the 3D looks like through your affirmations. i'm not a fan of how people teach the idea that you should "ignore the 3D."

coming from personal experience, it's exhausting to be told that. you grow weary. hammering affirmations into your head is a chore. you delude yourself by saying that the 3D looks "fantastic" when in reality, the 3D looks like shit. you are lying to yourself -- and you know very fucking well that you're lying to yourself.

when you focus on affirming against the 3D, you are suppressing your emotions and reactions to them. by trying to reject your 3D, you are giving it even more attention.

Your thought can only affirm, for even if you deny something, you are actually affirming the presence of what you deny. Joseph Murphy, The Power of Your Subconscious Mind

i honestly don't think it's even about trying to manifest through the desperation anymore. it's not about struggling or fighting against the 3D to have what you want. it's about learning who you are and what the 3D represents.

your 3D circumstances are the result of your past beliefs, reactions, impressions, etc. when people look out here, they fear it because they believe that it is the "final outcome" or that it's never going to change. but it's not the final outcome. it is always responding to who you are deciding to be in your 4D, and you are always changing, expanding, and growing out of previous patterns. the 3D is just feedback of your 4D. by denying what the 3D looks like, you are literally denying what you made your 4D look like.

be honest with yourself. allow yourself to admit that the 3D looks like absolute shit because you're right, it is not the way you want it to be.

people tend to believe that acknowledging the 3D means that you're giving up, that you're resigning to it. that's not the case here! accepting that the 3D is shit is recognizing the fact that what the 3D looks like is simply a state of consciousness, and it is only one state out of infinite states that already exist in imagination.

so it's okay. you can admit that the 3D looks like shit, but you still have the free will to decide who you want to be within. no worries! you can always come back to the 4D (i.e., your imagination) and remember that creation is finished. you are not the state, you are the occupier of states (I AM). you can still experience the state that you want to be in RIGHT NOW despite what the 3D looks like.

and you're not going to be desperate anymore when you know that creation is finished, that you already have what you want in your 4D. it's a state that already exists! and to desire something is to already have it. you can always come back within and do whatever you want with it, experience the feeling of already having it because that's the truth. you already have it. you already are it. let it sink in.

[bokettochild]

Hi, I've been following you lately. Your fictions are so awesome, they really made my day.

I'm currently looking for new works and came across your Opera House AU. It's a bit unfortunate that those main ideas and plot aren't quite on AO3(where I usually read most because I'm not good at English). So I follow your instructions to Tumblr to search by tag.

I don't know and I'm not sure but I have scroll down all the way to find the first post about the idea of it. Well... I've come to the post from 20/3/2023 and it not the first one(?). It seems like you've talked about it for a while before having the tag.

The story plot made me feel so curious because you've been talked about it for a while. What have happened? What are those about? What will happen next? So exciting, can't wait to know!

Sooo... If you don't mind, can you tell me about the first idea of it and the story line up until now. I'm really grateful and thankful for any ideas that will help me know more about the AU!

After all, thanks for answer me and please forgive me for bothering you. I love you so much! Wish you have a great day/night! <3<3<3 💗💗💗

Oh hi!

So, the opera house AU actually did only start around that time! I made sure tag all the posts with the appropriate tag, it's just that ny missing pieces you feel might have existed before exist only in Ds between myself and @/cantankerouscanuck, who I believe was one of the ones to start the AU rolling and really get me making it (him and @/mermain123)

The AU is still pretty new works wise, although I guess it's been around for over a year now!

The main plot is yet to be written, but would focus, theoretically, around a young Hyrule, who, freshly booted to the streets after out-growing foster care, is homeless and working a crappy job while trying to figure out life, and runs into Legend, who is, well, on the run from the cops (he's a graffiti artist in his spare time).

The two boys would sort of connect as Hyrule insists on helping the guy- who literally fell through a window of a (seemingly) abandoned building and landed him while he was trying to sleep there -back home. After this, they meet again and, attempting to help Hyrule in return, Legend gets him a job at the opera house where he's worked since he was small.

The main story would follow Hyrule getting familiar with the cast and crew of the opera and finding his own place among them, either as a performer himself or in some other role (so far unknown because that's something he has to decide for himself).

I fully intend to write this one day, but have a lot of other big stories in my head so it's been slow. that said, there's been so many great ideas, suggestions and prompts given to me that I did end up creating a few one shots for the story, focusing around the other Links and their own respective drama (mostly Legend and Twilight but trust me the OH AU Time brainrot is real rn)

If you have any further questions about the series, feel free to ask! I love talking about this one so very much and it's never a bother for me when I see messages or asks about it (it honestly brightens my whole day!)

[georgiapeach30513]

Peach! Mrs. Pasta here...checking in for the second time in a few days!

Normally I just lurk in and smile to myself when I see your posts and banters with your followers. But tonight I just couldn't resist...

Ramen, bless him, is getting really good at the non-specific, vague-turnaround, deflective answers to personal questions! I'm impressed.

Also...Nobody keeps their hands more to themselves than Ramen does when he's around a lot of salty things. Is he on a low-sodium diet? Is that why he exercises such great self-control when it comes to these things? TBF, he's very gentlemanly when it comes to being around women, especially costars/colleagues.

I can see (most) people on here are either tired, upset, tired, over it, or a combination of both. I can understand that, especially for the mods that run these blogs. I notice that for a lot of people, separation of professional and personal for their favorite celebrity can be a difficult task. I don't blame anyone for feeling that way, it can be hard to "not think about THAT" when you just want to enjoy "THIS". I will say this though.

Something I have found time and again to be true, is that IF something/someone/someplace is meant for you, things will fall into place. If something is NOT meant for you, no matter what you do, things tend to fall apart. You can try and put it back together, but then something else falls. This has happened to me personally recently, where I was in a situation where I wanted to make something work because I thought I had no other choice and I didn't really want to rock the boat further and go searching for something else. Unfortunately, the more I tried, the more I compromised and kept on staying, the worse it got. I'd fix one thing, another would break. I'd get over one hurdle, another inconvenience would pop up. Finally, I decided to take matters in my own hands and started actually listening to what the universe was trying to guide me towards. It was very hard for me to do this, as I'm more of a logical/rational person, than a spiritual one (I don't really like reading signs or feeling energies to tell me what to do)...But I tried a different approach, and started asking the universe, "If this isn't right, what should I do?" And I would listen and wait, and then tangible things would happen, and then I started making different decisions and taking different approaches. Almost immediately, things started changing for the better. I'm in a much better place now (figuratively and literally).

Just some food for thought: Let things play out. They will. And hindsight is always 20/20. Think about it. I believe Anne's blog has a library that can be helpful for those interested. If all else fails, keep coming to Jen's blog where she posts stories, baking, and general hilarity to keep everyone's spirits up. You are truly a beautiful soul, Miss GeorgiaPeach! <3

Mrs. Pasta! Welcome back. Clearly, your presence has been much needed this past week. Which I do say that there is a reason one shouldn’t consume too much sodium. I suppose were all bloated, and now need to fast.

Ramen is quite smart. He’s playing it coy and vague, non-definite answers. He’s doing good, despite a quick facial change with some questions. It’s funny to watch.

For someone that is quite a gentleman and claims to love PDA his hands do seem quite to himself. But it is a family movie after all, wouldn’t want to be too obvious, I suppose.

I think a lot of people are tired, and more so tired of ongoing arguments that suck the life out of the fandom, much like an overly salted diet. So maybe it’s just the influx of salt that has everyone red in the face? But this is why I implore anyone to curate the space that you want. Filter tags, block blogs, unfollow blogs, create the space that you watch to see with personalities that jive well with your own.

The universe is quite a tricky lady. She usually makes way for things that are for you. Usually when you try to fit a square peg in a round hole, you’re met with resistance. You can sit there, and smile you’re doing it, but others around you will eventually be able to see that you are in fact creating a bigger problem with an impossible task. I’m glad you were able to get to a better place once you listened, and were aware that what you’re forcing isn’t for you.

I do think that hindsight is 20/20. There always seems to be something poking around that pops up at the last minute. Eventually things either fall into place, or you’ve created a big mess. @anneslibrary is a great well of information. And of course @annislittleshopofhorrors herself is a peach in her own right. You are a beautiful soul from the inside out as well, Mrs. Pasta. Take care, and never feel afraid to pop on by when you can.