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skywalker1dream · 6 months ago

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Strengthened Bonds

part 2 of unknown feelings

part one | part two | part three

As the enticing aroma of grilling barbecue filled the air, Carlos and you found yourselves in the cozy confines of Lando's kitchen, working side by side to prepare Carlos's famous burgers. Amidst the clatter of utensils and the sizzle of cooking meat, their laughter and easy banter filled the room.

"So, what's the secret to your perfect burger?" you teased, tossing him a playful grin as they assembled their ingredients.

he chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. "Ah, that's classified information, Cariño , You'll just have to wait and see."

you laughed, enjoying the playful exchange as you two continued your culinary endeavors. His heart danced with joy at the opportunity to spend time with you in such close proximity, their shared laughter and easy camaraderie lighting up the room.

your hands brushed occasionally as you two reached for ingredients, sending a tingle of electricity coursing through Carlos's veins. He couldn't help but steal glances at you, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of your radiant smile.

"Careful there, Carlos, wouldn't want you to burn those burgers," you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

Carlos chuckled, his heart fluttering at the warmth of your touch. "Don't worry, Cariño, I've got this under control. No burnt burgers on my watch."

Their laughter echoed in the kitchen as they continued their culinary adventure, their playful banter filling the room with a sense of warmth and joy.

Outside, you two caught sight of Lando dancing to the music blaring from the speakers, his moves as lively as ever. you two shared a secret glance, laughter bubbling up as you watched your friend's (brother's) antics.

"Looks like Lando's having a good time out there," Carlos remarked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

you nodded, a twinkle of amusement in your eyes. "Yeah, he always knows how to liven up a party. Let's just hope he doesn't burn the barbecue in the process."

your laughter mingled with the sounds of sizzling meat and lively music, filling the kitchen with a sense of joy and camaraderie. And as you two shared jokes, Carlos couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for the friendship he shared with you.

As Carlos and you stepped outside with the freshly grilled burgers in hand, you two couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Lando's enthusiastic dance moves by the barbecue.

"Hey, Carlos, I have an idea," you whispered, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Let's prank Lando."

Carlos's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but a grin quickly spread across his face at the prospect of mischief. "I'm listening. What do you have in mind?"

you gestured towards the pool nearby, a playful smirk playing on your lips. "What if we sneak up on him and give him a little surprise push into the pool? It'll be hilarious."

Carlos's eyes widened in delight at the suggestion. "I love it! Let's do it."

With silent determination, Carlos and you crept closer to the edge of the pool, careful not to attract Lando's attention. you two exchanged a conspiratorial glance before springing into action.

In one swift movement, you two lunged forward, your hands connecting with Lando's shoulders as you two gave him a playful shove. With a startled yelp, Lando stumbled forward, his arms windmilling as he teetered on the edge of the pool.

And then, with a splash, he toppled over the edge, disappearing beneath the surface of the water with a resounding splash.

Carlos and you burst into laughter as you two watched Lando emerge from the pool, sputtering and dripping wet. "You guys are dead meat!" he exclaimed, shooting them a mock glare before breaking into laughter himself.

As you helped Lando out of the pool, your laughter echoed in the warm evening air, mingling with the scent of barbecue and the sounds of music playing in the background.

As they gathered around the table, their laughter still echoing in the warm evening air, Lando proudly presented his grilled creations. However, the sight that greeted them was less than perfect—charred and slightly blackened burgers that bore the unmistakable signs of overcooking.

Carlos couldn't help but chuckle as he surveyed the less-than-appetizing sight before him. "Looks like you've outdone yourself this time, Lando," he teased, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

Lando's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he laughed good naturedly, poking at the slightly burnt edges of the burgers with a sheepish grin. "Well, I guess I got a little carried away with the dancing," he admitted, his tone filled with self-deprecating humor.

you stifled a giggle behind your hand, your eyes twinkling with amusement as you surveyed the charred offerings before them. "I guess we'll have to stick to Carlos's burgers next time," you joked, shooting Carlos a playful wink.

Carlos chuckled, reaching for one of his own perfectly cooked burgers with a smirk. "Looks like you're off grill duty for a while, mate," he teased, raising his burger in a mock toast.

Despite the mishap with the barbecue, their laughter and camaraderie remained undimmed, serving as a testament to the strength of their friendship. And as they dug into their meal, savoring the flavors of their labor and the joy of being together, Carlos couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for the friends who had become like family.

..........

Barcelona gp

The excitement of the upcoming Barcelona Grand Prix filled the air as Lando extended an invitation to you, inviting you to join him and Carlos in the paddock to support them. Eager for the opportunity to experience the thrill of Formula 1 up close, you readily agreed, your heart fluttering with anticipation.

As the day of departure dawned, Carlos, you, and Lando boarded a private jet bound for Barcelona.

As the flight progressed, Lando drifted off to sleep, his head resting against the window as he dreamed of the race to come. But you found yourself unable to sleep, your mind buzzing with excitement and anticipation.

Unable to resist the lure of conversation, Carlos quietly slipped into the seat beside you, a playful grin on his lips. "Can't sleep either?" he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

you shook you head with a soft chuckle, your gaze meeting Carlos's in the dim light of the cabin. "Nope, too excited," you admitted, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Carlos grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he reached for the chess set nestled on the seat between them. "Well then, how about a game of chess to pass the time?"

you nodded eagerly, your heart racing with anticipation as you two set up the board and began to play. As the pieces moved across the board in a silent dance, Carlos couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the prospect of spending time alone with you, away from the prying eyes of the world.

As the private jet soared through the night sky, Carlos and you found yourselves engaged in a game of chess, their laughter and banter filling the cabin with a sense of camaraderie.

Carlos leaned in close, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he made his next move on the chessboard. "You're putting up quite the fight, Cariño," he teased, his voice low and playful.

you chuckled, your gaze meeting carlo's as you contemplated your next move. "I learned from the best," you replied, a playful glint in your eye.

Their conversation flowed easily as they played, each move accompanied by laughter and good-natured teasing. But beneath the surface, there was an undeniable tension that crackled between them, a lingering attraction that neither could ignore.

As the game progressed, Carlos couldn't resist the urge to flirt shamelessly with you, his words filled with innuendo as he leaned in closer. "You know, Tesoro, I've always admired your strategic mind," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

you couldn't help but blush at carlo's words, your heart fluttering in your chest at the intensity of his gaze. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Carlos," you replied, your tone teasing but your eyes betraying your true feelings.

...........

boredom=prank lando

As you two applied the finishing touches to your prank, you couldn't suppress your giggles, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "I can't believe we're actually doing this," you whispered to Carlos, your voice filled with excitement.

Carlos grinned, his own laughter bubbling up as he surveyed their handiwork. "It's going to be legendary," he replied, his tone filled with anticipation.

With a final flourish, they stepped back to admire their work, their laughter echoing through the jet. Lando remained blissfully unaware, his peaceful expression belying the transformation that had taken place while he slept.

you nudged Carlos playfully, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "Do you think he'll ever forgive us for this?" you teased, unable to contain your laughter.

Carlos shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "Who knows? But it'll definitely make for a great story," he replied, his voice filled with amusement.

And with that, they settled back into their seats, their hearts pounding with excitement at the prospect of Lando's reaction when he woke up. The Barcelona Grand Prix was sure to be an unforgettable adventure, but for now, they reveled in the thrill of their successful prank, as they awaited the dawn of a new day.

...

before you three could delve into the heart of Barcelona's beauty, Carlos knew he needed to address the elephant in the room. With a determined glint in his eye, he pulled you and Lando aside, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

"Listen, Lando," Carlos began, his voice tinged with sincerity as he met his friend's gaze. "We owe you an explanation for why we were laughing earlier."

Lando's brow furrowed in confusion, but he listened intently as Carlos and you recounted the prank you had pulled while he slept.

but before you told him, carlos and you exchanged a knowing glance, your laughter bubbling up once again as you two reminisced about the prank you had pulled. With a shared sense of camaraderie, you snapped a photo of Lando for the memoirs, knowing that this moment would be one they would never forget.

As Carlos and you explained the prank to Lando, his initial confusion quickly morphed into shock and a hint of anger. "You mean to tell me I've been walking around like this and you two have been laughing at me the whole time?" he exclaimed, his voice laced with disbelief.

Carlos winced, realizing he may have underestimated Lando's reaction. "It was just a harmless prank, mate," he assured, his tone apologetic as he placed a comforting hand on Lando's shoulder.

"So that's why you two were acting so strangely," he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I slept through the whole thing."

Lando couldn't help but crack a smile at the absurdity of the situation. "Well, I guess I'll have to be more careful around you two from now on," he quipped, a hint of amusement shining through his frustration.

you chimed in, your laughter infectious as you nudged Lando playfully. "Don't worry, Lando, we promise to let you know next time before we turn you into a work of art," you teased, your eyes dancing with mirth.

Lando's expression softened as he realised his friend and sister meant no harm, "Fair enough, but I have to go wash my face." he replied with a chuckle, pointed his finger at make up on his face, his smile returning as he joined in the laughter.

----------------------to be continued-----------------------

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando x reader #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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laf-outloud · 9 months ago

Note

If their job was for "people to fall in love with the new guys," then there were multiple fronts needing work. First, yes, we missed Sam. But there were people in the other lane missing Castiel. Most of the PR featured Jensen, not the kids. The sizzle real featured Dean. They co-opted SPN wiki and tags with publicity, so while all spin offs get a boost from the (say it with me) Mothership, this one had a failure to launch once boosted. The dialogue was interchangeable, acting bland. It "bricked"

::shudder:: Not the "mothership!"

Yep... a lot of people failed at their job on that one. Obviously, this writer/EP wasn't in charge of marketing, but the fact that he bought into the fact that they were focusing on the kids proves that Robbie and Jensen had the cast and crew bamboozled from the start into thinking it was about the new kids. In reality, it was Jensen's "fanfiction" he created to keep Dean 'alive,' try and clear John Winchester's reputation with certain fans, and maybe make some money on the side.

I mean... you just have to look at who's in the driver's seat and who's pushed to the side and back.

#ask box #anti jensen #anti spn prequel #what a train wreck

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haste-waste · 1 year ago

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Waiting

In which Link has it bad.

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

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"What do you think?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you have something against Karson?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to kiss her all the time.

Goddesses, does he want to kiss her.

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

But the moment never seems right.

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

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

What would it be like, though?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

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

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

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

"Are you alright?" His voice is soft.

"Yes, why?"

"You were shivering."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...Cute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...He needs to empty his head.

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

"Have fun!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He heads up to the loft.

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

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

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

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

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

"Hm?" Her grip on the pencil returns.

"It's almost midnight," he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"There's always tomorrow."

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

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

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

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

She's asleep.

Aww!

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is far better than he imagined.

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

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

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

Sneakily, he places a kiss upon her hairline.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

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

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

"Are you–augh!"

She crushes him against her chest.

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

"Link." Her voice is utterly broken.

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

"You're really—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You are doing well," he affirms.

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you know why they came back?”

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

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

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

He nods. "You work too hard."

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

He frowns. "That's not true."

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

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

"I am safe."

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

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

"Stop."

She jolts a bit at his tone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He briefly squeezes her hand for emphasis.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warmth blossoms in his chest at that.

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

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

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

"I really love you too."

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

How badly he wants to kiss her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's kind."

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

"Is this alright?" she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good morning," Zelda says.

"Morning," he responds groggily, thoroughly pleased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her face blossoms into a light shade of pink.

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

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

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

No way. Is she serious?

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

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

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

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

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

“I was waiting for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright." Her response is meek but accepting.

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

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

"I'd be terrified."

"Terrified?"

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

"I could not!"

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

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

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

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

He just stares at her, dumbfounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He finally does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Well then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Link, that tickles!"

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

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

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

"Good?" he whispers against her throat.

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

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

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

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

He cuts off her resulting laugh with a kiss.

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

Well, there’s always tomorrow.

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

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dubious-writing · 8 months ago

Note

💜Larsdunn!

💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss

Hello anon! So sorry this one also took a long time, I once again had to go be a slave to the wheel of capitalism. I like my job though, so it’s okay. This one became less of a snippet and more of a 1,216 word oneshot. I hope you like it!!

Vince is not entirely sure how he ended up here.

Well, not literally. He can trace each step that brought him to this room and this situation. Getting picked for one of those silly PR interviews last week, sitting down in that decorated conference in front of a camera to answer questions not in any way related to hockey or how the team is doing. Somehow letting the topic stray to the comments about his and Adam’s eating habits they made at the beginning of the season, admitting that yes he did finally cook a meal for Adam. Telling them that the favor hadn’t been returned yet, actually, now that you mention it.

Somehow being roped into showing up at Adam’s house 8 days later after practice with no game that evening, sitting down at one of the island's barstools, and letting a producer tie a blindfold around his head. They must’ve sprung for a good brand - if there is a good brand of blindfolds - because the fabric is thick enough that he can’t see any shapes through it, and there’s no light peeking in either the top or bottom.

So yeah, he technically knows how he got here, filming some fun little PR piece with his d-partner. He’s just not entirely sure how he ended up here, in Adam’s kitchen, chatting while a meal is being made like this is some kind of normal domestic scene for them.

It’s not, no matter how much Vince wishes it was.

The producers keep asking them questions when the pauses between conversations start to lull too long, keeping the soundbites going, milking as much content out of this situation as they can get. Vince tells stories about learning to cook with his mother when he was young, naive mishaps from his twelve year old self. Describing his favorite meals, how difficult it is sometimes to take the time to make something from scratch during the season. Adam, in turn, admits that he can cook perfectly well - good, even, if some of his exes are to be believed - he just doesn’t necessarily like to. Finds it a little depressing to be cooking for one all the time.

Vince knows a way he could fix that, but is too much of a coward to voice it out loud.

The longer they sit there, the more Vince can pick up on the scents being created just on the other side of the island from him. Garlic and caramelized onion, lemon pepper and rosemary, sizzling bacon and marinated chicken breast. If nothing else, it all smells amazing. Every so often, Adam will set a pan down, open the oven, stir something in a pot, metal on stainless steel.

Vince isn’t worried, per se. Adam is an adult; you don’t get through three decades of life without picking up a few tricks, a little bit of cooking knowledge. He’s not even that peeved about the blindfold honestly, perfectly happy to sit there and laugh at all of Adam’s dry little jokes you wouldn’t be able to pick up on unless you were paying attention. Mostly he’s worried about liking it too much, being taken care of in this way, yearning for something he’s not allowed to have.

After maybe thirty minutes, the oven beeps as it’s turned off and all the burners click as the gas is cut, and Adam pronounces the food ready. Vince hasn’t been allowed a peak this entire time, but he has a vague idea about the meal being placed in front of him. Some kind of altered carbonara recipe, chicken and herbs and onions being thrown in with the normal pasta and bacon and eggs and parmesan, he’s pretty sure.

They don’t give him a fork on account of the whole not being able to see anything right now thing, which they warned him about beforehand. What Vince isn’t prepared for, though, is the sudden heat of Adam’s body at his elbow, overwarm from standing in front of the burning stove for so long. The hand that’s placed, featherlight, on his shoulder makes him jump just a touch. There’s the sound of a utensil scraping against a plate, and then Adam’s voice soft in his ear requesting open your mouth please.

Vince is never going to be able to unhear that.

But he obeys, opens his mouth so Adam can guide the fork full of food onto his tongue, clenches his teeth over the tines to make sure he gets it all. It’s an explosion of flavor the second he starts chewing, and he can’t help the moan that escapes his throat when he does.

“Oh my god, this is amazing.”

He swallows quickly and doesn’t hesitate to open his mouth again for another bite, which Adam gives him after a slight pause. His second moan is even louder.

“Is it really that good?” Adam asks, and his voice sounds strangled, like he was genuinely worried about Vince’s reaction.

“Dude, yes, this is literally so good. You’ve been holding out on me, what the fuck.”

There’s a puff of warm breath against the side of Vince’s face when Adam chuckles at him. Oops; the editors will have to take care of that later. “It’s really not that complicated of a recipe.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Vince turns his head in Adam’s direction, licking his lips to catch a stray bit of sauce before smiling up at his d-partner. Adam swallows very loud around his own forkful of food. “If you know what you’re doing, it will always taste this good. That’s what my mom used to say, anyways, when she was teaching me the basics. I’m gonna make you cook for me more often now– mmm!”

It’s not delicious pasta and chicken bumping up against his mouth this time; it’s Adam’s own lips smashed against his.

It’s objectively not that great of a kiss, seeing as how Vince was halfway through a sentence and not at all prepared to be kissed by the man of his dreams. But it’s Adam, so it’s still pretty fucking perfect anyways.

It only takes a few seconds - three, because Vince didn’t even realize he was counting - for Adam to pull away again, and the only thing that can be heard in the silence that follows is the popping of soap bubbles in the sink where Adam set the dishes to soak.

“Um.”

“I didn’t– fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Vince reaches up to pull the blindfold off, feels his curls fly in every direction with the motion, and looks at where Adam is grimacing down at him with a hand rubbing the back of his neck. He looks so worried, like he’s afraid of Vince’s reaction, of getting yelled at or something.

He’s the man of Vince’s dreams, but he’s so stupid sometimes.

“Did you… did you want to though?” Adam takes half a step back before Vince darts a hand out to grab his wrist. Looks like they’re both doing things they didn’t necessarily mean to. Adam looks so terribly worried, and it’s a look Vince has never seen on him before, a sight so foreign that a kernel of understanding pops in the back of his mind, and maybe… maybe he is allowed to have things, actually.

#vince dunn #adam larsson #larsdunn #dunnernlars #seattle kraken #hockey #hockey rpf #my writing

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lizzydizzyyo · 7 months ago

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So fucking sad that David Archuleta put his life on pause for some stupid missionary period taking two years when his career was literally shooting up (eventually killing it until it sizzled out), not to mention doing a whole PR manouver when he was "caught" in a gay bar from a grainy cctv screenshot (which is not a bad thing btw) but he ended up becoming a public queer ex-mormon anyway. All that effort and bullshit. Man. Imagine if he went ahead with his career in 2012-2014 instead, he might even come out earlier because 2013 was literally the gay coming out year. Can you imagine. Can you imagine how spoiled we would have been as an archie if he did that instead. CAN YOU IMAGINE.

#david archuleta #me #god sometimes i just wanna fucking bawl out so bad for him he got is sooooo good back then #i still listen to his new music but like it's just not hitting the same #he was literally my biggest music motivation until i started learning piano and writing my own songs more professionally #biggest motivation to learn english too bc he also vlogged back then #he was such a big BIG part of my life and i still have the deluxe versions of his first two albums #i mean maybe it's fate because this is when i pivoted to loving dan and phil but still #idk man all the things that could have been with this man #i even still read his autobiography chords of strength sometimes #anyway if you can't tell yes I'm listening The Other Side of Down on repeat now #and having so many feelings about it #i still have dream of being able to see him live but i mean come on there is no way he can ever tour internationally again

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anitabyars · 1 year ago

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Mr. Hook-up by Marni Mann is now live!

They’ve made the ideal connection on a hot, new, no-strings hook-up app. But their hearts have other plans in an unpredictable and wildly sexy romance by a USA Today bestselling author.

Hooked. An app designed for the ideal one-night stand is the brainchild of Harvard graduate students Easton Jones and his two best friends. When Easton creates his Hooked profile, he gets a 100 percent perfect match.

Who is this sure thing? Her username is Love.

Their chemistry is off-the-charts explosive, and just when Easton begins falling for her, she disconnects from the app and disappears.

Five years later, Hooked is now the number one dating app in the country.

But that’s not the only thing on fire.

Easton’s brilliant, gorgeous new recruit, Drake Madden, has ignited a desire he hasn’t experienced in years. Professionally and personally, they’re sizzling.

Just as things really start getting serious, Love resurfaces. She wants a chance to explain, and she’s sending Easton’s heart into rewind.

He has a loving woman in the flesh and a fantasy from his past—Easton’s world is about to be rocked.

And rocked hard.

Download today or read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited

https://geni.us/MrHookup

Add to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/43kWuFf

Meet Marni

USA Today best-selling author Marni Mann knew she was going to be a writer since middle school. While other girls her age were daydreaming about teenage pop stars, Marni was fantasizing about penning her first novel. She crafts unique stories that weave together her love of darkness, mystery, passion, and human emotions. A New Englander at heart, she now lives in Sarasota, Florida, with her husband and their yellow Lab. When she’s not nose deep in her laptop, working on her next novel, she’s scouring for chocolate, sipping wine, traveling, or devouring fabulous books.

Connect with Marni

Facebook: http://bit.ly/MarniMannFB

Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1597153177180837/

Instagram: http://bit.ly/MarniMannIG

Pinterest: http://bit.ly/MarniMannPin

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2IsSRWC

Bookbub: http://bit.ly/MarniMannBB

Website: http://marnismann.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5400988.Marni_Mann

Verve Romance: https://ververomance.com/app/marnimann

My Review

5⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Mr. Hook-Up is the first book in the new series Hooked written by Marni Mann.

Oh! My! Word! I am so in love! My ovaries were not prepared for Easton Jones!!! This was kicking my feet up in the air, giggling, moaning and screaming in my pillow, type of read. At times I found myself closing my eyes to savor the delicious moments reveling in their soulmate connection. I was HOOKED by Mr Hook-Up, from the beginning and if you like dirty talking, sexy as sin, alpha, hotties, this is the book for you.

The plot! The characters! The tension! The SPICE! Perfection! Perfection! Perfection!

This was Easton Jones and Drake Madden’s story. It was everything I hoped it would be and so much more. It was seductive, passionate, alluring, sexy, angsty, littered with heat, full of sweet and funny moments, and completely consuming. I loved every moment when these two were together! I couldn’t drag myself away from it.

Be ready to Swoon!!! Easton and Drake are FIRE together! Mr Hook-Up was pure perfection. This truly is one of the best stories I’ve read in 2023!

I received an early copy and this is my honest review.

#newrelease #marnimann #MrHook-Up #valentine pr #sizzling heat

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ash-and-books · 3 months ago

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Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb:

The third and final installment in Nisha Sharma’s beloved Shakespeare-inspired rom-com trilogy—an ode to Twelfth Night—is the perfect friends to lovers romp featuring an accidental wedding, meddling families, and plenty of sizzling chemistry.

Veera Mathur has been through a lot in the past year. Both of her friends found soul mates, the man she fell in love with got engaged to another woman, and her father fired her before selling the family company. When her twin sister, Sana, tells her there is no way of getting her old life back, Veera feels lost at sea: a single, unemployed mess with a bad tattoo and tons of talent, but nowhere to go.

Deepak Datta hasn’t had the best luck either. To secure enough board votes for the CEO position at his family's company, Illyria Media, he’s ready to marry board member and famous beauty influencer, Olivia Gupta. That is until he wakes up to a get ready with me video announcing their separation. Despite his immediate relief, Deepak needs to do something fast to repair his image.

After a series of convenient mishaps bring them together again—including a literal shipwreck, way too many drinks, and a sunset elopement on the beach—Deepak and Veera realize their accidental wedding might be the solution to their career aspirations. Together, they plot against the very company that ruined their lives in the first place.

As they try to convince the world their friendship was a ruse for romance they’ve felt all along, the line between fake and real begins to blur. Now Veera and Deepak must ask themselves the terrifying question that has haunted them since the first time they met: will love ruin everything?

With her signature humor and heartfelt storytelling, Nisha Sharma writes a messy, spicy romance about identity, family honor, and love. In Marriage & Masti, readers are sure to love the highly anticipated finale of this beloved trilogy.

Review:

The last book in the Shakespeare inspired rom com trilogy featuring two best friends, one fake marriage, and a chance at falling in love! Veera has been through a lot in the last year: fired from her job, her best friends are both married now, and the guy she has a crush on is engaged to someone else... and to top it off her twin sister decides to tell her that she's opting out of their business plan right as they get off a boat accident and has lost both their wallets leaving them stranded without any cash.... and now Veera has to call the one guy she wanted to avoid to ask for help, the guy who broke her heart, Deepak. Deepak has only one goal in his life: to become the CEO to his family's business. He entered into an arranged marriage as a business deal to secure more votes to get him the seat on the board that he needed to get the CEO vote. Yet when his fiancee breaks up with him on the internet the only person he wants to talk to is Veera, his best friend and the only person who gets him... who suddenly asked for space. Yet when she calls asking for help Deepak is more than happy to get away from his PR nightmare of a breakup with his ex and see the one woman who makes him feel safe and happy. Yet when he arrives one thing leads to the next and suddenly they are drunkenly helping out at a wedding and perform a fake marriage ceremony that might actually be very real as they followed through with all the religious steps and now in the eyes of their community and religion are very much married. Deepak realizes one thing: he is very much in love with Veera and wants a real marriage with her and he can't believe all the time he's lost not seeing her... if only he could convince her that he means it and that their fake marriage isn't fake to him at all. Veera is determined to keep her space and doesn't want to open her heart to heartbreak again but Deepak is getting harder and harder to resist. With both their reputations and jobs on the line, their families scrutiny, and their hearts... can they find a way through this fake marriage? I absolutely adored this one, it's such a sweet read and I loved how down bad Deepak was for Veera. Its a really cute read and the spice was fun. The characters are enjoyable and I loved seeing the other characters from the previous books in this one. It's a delightful series and one I'd recommend for anyone who enjoys a great rom com!

Release Date: August 27,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Avon and Harper Voyager | Avon for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

#book review #bookish #book #marriage and masti

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piastrinorris · 2 years ago

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Since it's octofficially Saturday.... WE GOTTA HAVE RALPH BEING INTRODUCED TO THE CONCEPT AND PRACTICE OF SEX TOYS! This poor man was deprived fo sexual safari with that nonsense with Victoria and the escort business, WE GOTTA MAKE UP FOR LOST TIME ( LITERALLY ! ) How would that goooo? This man gotta explore self pleasure okay. I just. Please, he deserves it.

you were SO QUICK on this hahahaha ilysm yve <33

okay you know the drill, nsfw under the cut, it's all up there

it's a busy streets and busy lives-themed sleepover night! :)

i wanna say there's a time when you and ralph are just kept so busy with work, and now that you live further away from your friends you're taking every chance you can get to see them, maybe ralph's starting to get pr opportunities with his whole social media branding. whatever the reason, you just barely have time for yourselves anymore.

you still have needs, of course, that need attending to, but there's just never a day when both you and ralph aren't totally drained. but there was life before ralph, even life with ralph, but before you-and-ralph. you had needs then, too, and you managed to cater to them yourself. and of course, there's nothing wrong with getting yourself off while you're in a relationship, but you assume that ralph'll only feel as though he's failing you if he can't attend to you in that way, because that's what ralph always does.

so, while he's away, you get out your favourite vibrator and go to town. obviously, you're thinking of him the whole time, moaning his name so loudly that when he comes home early, he investigates the moment he's through the front door.

when you see him in the doorway of your bedroom, at first you panic ever so slightly, wondering how you'll comfort him, but the man is hypnotised by the sight of you getting yourself off to the mere thought of him. he's licking his lips and his mouth is moving wordlessly as you slow down, his eyes looking at you in disagreement. with a coy smile, you ask him if he wants you to keep going, and he nods enthusiastically.

he makes his way over to sit on the bed, eyes trained on the toy, studying it as if committing every move to memory to learn just how to touch you. you tell him to hold it with you, and his hands shake slightly as one wraps around yours. a blissful smile plays along your lips as you help ralph to guide it.

you're so close, but you need something more. you need to hear ralph, but he's so transfixed on playing with you that he's stunned into silence. neither of you have really established a particular role in your sexual dynamic, but arguably you do take the lead a lot, so it's the shock to his system ralph needs when he hears you whining and begging for him to talk to you, to make you cum. and of course, he's there for you, he always is. anything you want, he'll provide.

he tells you how exquisite of a sight you were to behold, how he feels like the luckiest man in the world that someone so breath-taking would be so desperate for him even when he's not there. he admits that he, too, still occasionally takes showers like the one you'd caught him in that time, where he touches himself and thinks about you. he thanks you over and over for attending to his needs even when you don't realise you do, and for deeming him worthy of the same. finally, he tells you to let go in the most back-arching, leg-shaking, toe-curling climax yet.

you make sure to clear a day in both yours and ralph's schedule after that to go visit an adult store together. while you do try and explain what certain sex toys are and do in advance, which of course scandalises him to no end, he's still a total mess in the shop. by the time you finally leave, his ears are practically sizzling with embarrassment.

but you leave with a cock ring, which, once ralph learns he can use to coax three whole orgasms out of you while his own one taunts him at its very precipice, becomes one of his favourite toys. you buy some bondage items, too, because there's just something so satisfying about the thought of coming home from a stressful day, tying ralph up and having your way with him at your own disposal. and similarly, his favourite way to decompress is to please you over and over again, getting a particular thrill out of being able to do so without you being able to reciprocate.

i think he'd get a little too overzealous with wanting to use them, though, like once things have calmed down in your lives again you're happy enough just being together, you-and-him, and you have to gently offer that sex with toys be more of a special occasion, than an everyday thing. which, in a turn events, would cause ralph to think that you think you're failing him sexually, so he pulls out all the stops to make a super romantic night that ends in your most tender lovemaking session yet. and yeah, you still use them pretty often, and you still try out new things now and again, but the two of you find toys to work better in moderation.

i'll leave it up to you guys' imagination whether or not he likes getting pegged. ;)

#bsbl night #ralph timewasters #ralph penbury #ralph timewasters x reader #ralph penbury x reader #ralph timewasters x you #ralph penbury x you #ralph timewasters imagine #ralph penbury imagine #bsbl

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enbycrip · 1 year ago

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ID: “Reflecting on it, the reason I think the OceanGate situation has become such a flashpoint for anger is because it's such a perfect microcosm of the problem with everything right now.

Decisions are not made based on safety, reasonable caution, or concern for human life. Every decision is instead made from a default assumption of what if the bad thing just DIDN'T happen?'

We are given pie-in-the-sky promises and sizzle reels and an endless PR hype-cycle for every new innovation and inevitably it fails to work, harms people, and then is maybe barely apologized for before the next bad idea comes down the pike.

OceanGate's underengineered, undercooked, doomed submarine isn't merely a metaphor for the hubris of the wealthy, it is a scale model of the way the wealthy dictate our reality. All consequences can be ignored, all blowback can be forestalled, let the end-user eat the cost.

I am not angry because the submarine was badly-made. I am angry because I live in a vastly larger pressure vessel being managed and maintained by the exact same people.”

This encapsulates my thoughts on Oceangate so well.

People who amass vast, obscene amounts of resources through fraud and harm to others, including criminal negligence and exploitation, then build generationally on that fact, passing those lessons on to their kids along with their stolen wealth, try to portray themselves as “genius entrepreneurs” because they know that actual story of how they obtained it will, rightly, make people excoriate them.

The small safeguards we had, at least for a while, like health and safety rules, unions, parental leave and protections for characteristics like gender, disability and race, however inadequate, were small protections for the vast majority of humanity against limitless exploitation. So of *course* oligarchs have been trying to destroy them since at least the 1980s (as ever, fuck Reagan and Thatcher).

The Titan situation was an incredible microcosm on how disaster capitalists work - exploit the public purse mercilessly, put everyone involved in terrible danger through deeply irresponsible, criminal negligence towards their rights and safety, spin that fact as “sleek innovation”, and then expect the public purse to pick up the pieces when it implodes.

The sole difference was that, in this rare case, the disaster capitalist actually suffered the consequences. Usually they walk off with huge profits.

#titan submersible #oceangate #disaster capitalism #end stage capitalism #health and safety rules are written in blood

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seerofmike · 2 years ago

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i wish octane interacted with more people pt 2

here's the full octane story under the cut. btw

wraith. wraith amiga listen. so i was on worlds edge today with wattson and seer and we decided to go bloodhound's weird trial thing with all the prowlers because seer hasn't been there yet so anyways we dropped and wattson did her fence thingy and she tried to block all the prowler entrances off so that they couldn't get out and maybe we could cheat the trial system that way and get all the loot for free without having to waste our bullets cuz the only thing we had were like mozambiques and stuff i mean seer had a charge rifle but he was hogging that shit but whatever anyways so the first couple of prowlers got stuck in her fences and they got all like electrified and they were sizzling it was pretty nasty actually that shit kinda scares me. have i ever told you that wattson kind of scares me like definitely in the top 5 scariest legends for me like señor loincloth WISHES he scared me half as much as she does so the first couple of prowlers were getting electrified when all of a sudden i heard that little KA-CHING that loba's black market does when it opens up and we looked up at the big hole and we saw her squad and seer--by the way did you know that seer is my ex boyfriend like i'm not sure but i think i told you that once yeah it didn't work out he's really annoying anyways so seer throws his heart exhibit and was all like "loba my friend i hope you came here to steal my heart as well as our hard-earned loot" which pfft yeah we didn't earn that stuff we were cheating but anyways we start fighting which i'm gonna be honest amiga wasn't looking too good for us since we only had mozambiques but then--GET THIS--the second wave of prowlers break down wattson's fences and they're SUPER pissed off, like have you ever not done your dishes after gibby makes dinner and you know the energy he has its kind of like that except worse since the prowlers want to eat you. well i guess gibby's not that bad when he's angry but once i just put my dishes in the sink and he knocked on my door so hard to tell me to wash them that it rattled in my frame and interrupted my stream but i still got up and did them anyways even though wet food makes me wanna puke. speaking of puking the prowlers smelled SO bad from getting fried and shit and they wanted to get OUT of there so one of them jumped all the way to where loba's squad was and you can tell they weren't expecting that because mirage screamed like a little girl and i heard loba teleport away which was hilarious but some of the prowlers didn't jump up, instead they were super pissed off at US and we just wasted all our ammo firing at loba's squad and they were getting mauled so we couldn't exactly ask for help like do you remember when we all fought together against that giant sea monster that was pretty cool we should do that again i think thats from when newcastle joined. yeah my dad had to do all sorts of PR for that it was sort of a mess. it smelled bad too. wraith are you still listening to me. okay just making sure. so after all that fighting wattson gets her pylon up and running which SURPRISE doesn't do jack against the-

#apex legends #octane #bangalore #wraith #newcastle

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mattnben-bennmatt · 4 months ago

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Ben Affleck's interview w/ The Hollywood Reporter (10 October 2012)

Confessions of Ben Affleck

Argo's Oscar-baiting director, newly 40, talks about his career turnaround, how anxiety drives him, what Matt Damon's wife might think when he comes over, and what he emailed J. Lo.

By Stephen Galloway

On Aug. 15, Ben Affleck — Oscar-winning wunderkind of Good Will Hunting, other half of “Bennifer,” skyrocketing superstar who soared, sank and sizzled again thanks to his directing endeavors Gone Baby Gone and The Town — turned 40.

He celebrated with a dinner party thrown by his wife, Jennifer Garner, at their Pacific Palisades home, attended by a handful of close friends on the brink of middle age, including Matt Damon, his WME agent Patrick Whitesell and Disney production president Sean Bailey.

“It was not fun for me,” says Affleck of entering his fifth decade. “It’s this moment of bifurcation between youth and middle age. One wants to think of oneself as young. One does not want to think: ‘Wait a minute! How can I be halfway to death?’ ”

Halfway to death, perhaps, but sitting with him one late September morning at Santa Monica’s Hotel Casa del Mar, this actor-turned-director — the Hollywood embodiment of nine lives — seems anything but as he bristles with nervous energy, words spilling out of him about his roller-coaster past and glittering present.

“He’s gone to the top and then to the bottom and now to the top again,” says Damon, his friend since the two met as children. “He’s gotten the full measure of what this life in Hollywood can offer, and now he is comfortable with it.”

Nearly a decade after Affleck had one of the most ignominious falls in Hollywood history — thanks in part to Gigli and dubious PR stunts like kissing Jennifer Lopez‘s derriere in a music video — he has emerged, unexpectedly and almost suddenly, as one of the best directors of his generation. Warner Bros.’ Argo, an Iranian hostage drama that he helmed, is an early leader in the awards race. Set to open Oct. 12, it was called a “tight and tense political thriller” by THR‘s Todd McCarthy and has earned the kind of raves that once would have seemed impossible for the star of Armageddon.

All this is the hard-earned climax to a deeply considered shift Affleck embarked on eight years ago, when he set out his goals and determined never again to do work he was ashamed of. “I made the decision: ‘I’m never, ever, ever going to do anything where I don’t absolutely kill myself to get it right,’ ” he recalls.

Vanished is the man who dwelt on his deep insecurity when he and this reporter last sat down about five years ago. During that conversation, he admitted the Gone Baby Gone shoot had left him physically sick from stress. “I’m very insecure,” he said. “I’m human, just like anybody else.”

Vanished, too, is the tabloid pinata with his colorful love life, personal drama (including a stint in rehab) and career highs and lows. “I tried to ignore it as much as possible,” he says of the fuss. “There was only one way to handle a situation like that: Go straight through it.”

He addresses all this with an openness and even sweetness that would surprise those used to the more coiled figure onscreen. “I was shocked at how warm he is,” says Alan Arkin, who plays a Hollywood producer in Argo. “He’s got a great deal of warmth, and he’s not afraid to show it. He has a wonderfully open, youthful quality that you don’t see a lot in the characters he plays.”

Sitting by a window overlooking the Pacific, in jeans and a blue-checkered shirt, unshaven and sipping from a plastic cup of soda, with flecks of gray in his beard and a gold tooth he’s never bothered to replace, he has embraced the very doubts that once assailed him. “Anxiety is a kind of fuel that activates the fight-or-flight part of the brain in me,” he says. “It makes sure that a velociraptor isn’t around the corner and that you do as much as you possibly can to survive. Because Hollywood has a lot in common with Jurassic Park and its primeval-dinosaur universe.”

Affleck, the one-time party boy, now gets up at 6, goes to bed at 9 and has been married for seven years with three children (Violet, Seraphina and Samuel) under age 7. As he discusses married life, Garner, about to fly to New York, calls on his cell.

“Hey, love, are you on the plane?” he asks gently. “I’m in an interview right now, but I love you very much.” Then he quips that her trip is doubly traumatic for the actress, “First, ’cause she’s away from the kids, second, ’cause I’m in charge.”

She might have reason to worry, given how consumed Affleck is by work. “There are so many decisions to be made, and it’s more than you can get to each day,” he says. “There is this underlying anxiety not just about getting the movie done but getting it done really well. It keeps my head spinning — even when I am giving the kids a bath. I can be giving them a bath or feeding them, and sometimes they say, ‘Dad, pay attention!’ ”

When he’s not with his family, he’s at home working in a “sort of little office hut” or developing material through Pearl Street Productions, the Warners-based company he runs with Damon, who has remained a lodestar throughout the ups and downs and who now lives down the street from him. “We see each other almost too often,” laughs Affleck. “I wonder if his wife is thinking, ‘Is he really going to come over every night?’ “

When he’s on his own, he reads and consumes films avidly. He has just finished Laurence Gonzales‘ nonfiction book Surviving Survival, about how individuals cope with horrific incidents like being attacked by sharks; he also has been reading novelist Gillian Flynn‘s suspense drama Gone Girl and David Mitchell‘s Cloud Atlas.

Rather than watch television, he recently has immersed himself in a trip through some of the greatest films ever made — from the 2011 Mexican movie Miss Bala to director Victor Fleming‘s The Wizard of Oz and Gone With the Wind, which he viewed back-to-back — as if he wants to quench a raging thirst for the knowledge that will allow him to seize the ring within his grasp. He is intrigued to hear about Memo From David O. Selznick, a collection of the Gone With the Wind producer’s notes, and orders it immediately by phone after his interview.

He also spends time at a coastal getaway near Savannah, Ga., and in his New York apartment, where he expects to move with Garner when their kids have grown up. He plays poker on a regular basis with actor Hank Azaria and his Argo producer Grant Heslov. “It’s very, very psychological,” he explains of his attraction to the game. “It’s about weakness and strength and divining whether the other person is strong or weak.”

He goes skeet shooting and admits to owning several guns — which he has embraced since his wife faced a stalker.

“The stalker had been to our house many times and ultimately came to my children’s school and was arrested,” notes Affleck of Steven Burky, who was deemed insane in 2010 then placed in a mental ward and ordered to stay away from the Affleck family for 10 years. “It gave me a stronger sense of feeling protective about my family. There’s a lot of crazy, weird people out there. It’s an ugly world.”

Affleck has given up any notion of reforming it. After once being rumored to want a career in public office, he now says, “I loathe politics.” He supports President Obama but has not actively campaigned — partly because of his workload, partly because of his political disillusionment and partly because he is convinced the president will win the election despite the Oct. 3 debate. “I watched it backstage at Jimmy Kimmel,” he says. “It wasn’t his best performance. But I am still going to vote for him, and I am very, very confident he will win.”

As to his other interests: “Kids eat up that kind of hobby time,” he admits. “I used to ride motorcycles. I used to play basketball. And now basically I’m at home with them, or I work.”

The work itself will have its greatest test with Argo. Affleck was fresh off 2010’s The Town and in talks to helm another movie at Sony when Warners showed him Chris Terrio‘s script about real-life CIA operative Tony Mendez and his little-known plan to free six men and women who had fled the U.S. embassy in Tehran when it was seized in 1979. The escapees took refuge with two Canadian diplomats, and Mendez set about creating a phony Hollywood film, Argo (that title derives from a CIA in-joke — “Ah, go f– yourself” — though it is not presented that way in the movie), as a front to squirrel them out of the country.

The moment he read it, Affleck called Heslov and George Clooney, who had been developing the project through their Smoke House production company, “and I just launched into what my take was and didn’t stop talking for 45 minutes.”

Heslov and Clooney were sold.

“This film tonally is a very tricky piece, and he had very intelligent things to say about that,” recalls Heslov, describing the movie’s tightrope balance of comedy and suspense. “His idea was to push the thriller aspect a little more than we’d originally talked about. And he was right.”

Initially, Affleck had envisioned reworking the script himself, but the draft was so impressive and his relationship with Terrio so good that he allowed Terrio to make the changes. Together, they added a new opening that succinctly explains the Iranian revolution and how it led to the capture of more than 50 Americans, who would remain captive for 444 days within the embassy.

They also worked on redefining Affleck’s character, based on Mendez. “He was a little bit more broken in the draft that we got,” notes Affleck. “He was older, an alcoholic. And I changed that and made his personal stuff revolve more around his family and losing his marriage.” Ultimately, he says, that was “the wrong choice because I ended up cutting most of it out. I cut out six or seven minutes from the final film, which is a lot.”

Other characters were merged, and some situations simplified, which later would lead to complaints from former Canadian Ambassador Ken Taylor that his country hadn’t been given its due. Affleck addressed those concerns with a card at the end of the film that explains how the CIA plot complemented Canadian efforts, which he expands on in a long interview planned for the DVD.

In preparation for the movie, he flew to Maryland and met with Mendez, who took him to a bar that turned out to be a CIA hangout — the very hangout where agent-turned-spy Aldrich Ames had met some of his Soviet contacts. He was surprised how taciturn Mendez was. “He was extremely withdrawn and very unassuming,” says Affleck, adding that he only came to understand this when he saw the 2001 Errol Morris documentary about the operative, The Little Gray Man, showing how blandness was crucial to his work, allowing him to blend into alien environments.

With Mendez on board (joined by John Goodman as real-life Hollywood makeup man John Chambers, Bryan Cranston as a CIA staffer and Arkin as a fictionalized producer), the CIA opened its doors beyond anything Affleck had experienced when he’d worked with the agency on 2002’s Tom Clancy thriller The Sum of All Fears.

Invited to visit, he was astonished that “every hallway had a pretty elaborate lock on it, and every door had a lock, and there were no windows to see in any of the rooms, so everything was secure. Some of the offices had two computers at every desk, one with huge stickers that said: ‘This is connected to the Internet. No classified information.’ I wanted to use that, except there were no computers in 1979.”

He also was surprised how low-key the place seemed, even when he stepped into its holy of holies, the futuristic Operations Center, where supersecret material and personnel were whisked away before he arrived. His impression of inactivity changed two weeks later, “when they killed Osama bin Laden.”

Thanks to the CIA’s reverence for Mendez, Affleck received permission to shoot several sequences at the agency’s headquarters in Langley, Va. — though “that meant having the trucks show up at 2 in the morning, so they could all be searched down to the screw. I’ve shot in a prison, and the search they put you through was nothing like this.”

Most of the film, remarkably, was filmed in and around Los Angeles, with a Hancock Park mansion standing in for the Canadian ambassador’s residence, where the escapees hid out. (In reality, they were kept in two separate places in Tehran.) Zsa Zsa Gabor‘s home was used for the Hollywood producer’s (she was upstairs during shooting, but too sick to come down), and the Ontario International Airport, 35 miles east of L.A., substituted for Tehran’s.

A 65-day shoot began in California then relocated to Istanbul, Turkey, for a month. Affleck had hoped to use real-life Iranian immigrants in Turkey for all the crowd sequences but well into filming found that “we couldn’t get one person of Iranian descent who speaks Farsi to be in the movie because they’re all so terrified of what that would mean for their family back home. We were completely f–ed.”

(Some of those scenes later were re-staged in Los Angeles, where there are about a half-million Farsi speakers, says Affleck. They and the CGI shots that transformed signs in English gave the film a rare authenticity and allowed it to be made for a modest $44.5 million.)

Shooting in Istanbul had its challenges, especially when Affleck came down with the flu while still acting and directing. “He was really, really sick, with a fever, the whole thing, and he didn’t take a day off,” says Heslov. “At the worst point, he left a bit early, and he had to be feeling really terrible to do that.”

His enthusiasm was matched by the extras, who often numbered around 2,500 and occasionally got out of hand, especially once when Affleck was in his car. “People were yelling and chanting and throwing stuff and having fun — and it all sort of bled over,” he explains. “I was a little scared, although I tried to summon up that director’s arrogance. All the great directors, I think, are arrogant; so I thought, ‘This is the time when I get out the bullhorn and say, ‘Back off!’ ”

He didn’t, alas. “I must not be doing something right,” he jokes.

Contrary to his image as a working-class “Southie” in Good Will Hunting, and later in The Town, Affleck, the elder of two sons (his brother Casey also is an actor), grew up in relative comfort in Cambridge, Mass. His mother, Chris, had been one of the original freedom riders who went into the Deep South during the 1960s to fight for civil rights. Both she and his father, Tim, were intellectuals who gave their son the middle name Geza after a Holocaust survivor they admired. (Affleck comes from Protestant stock but is agnostic.)

Damon — who was 10 when he met his 8-year-old near-neighbor Ben — remembers the cut-and-thrust of discussions in the Affleck home. “That dinner table was one of the funnest places to be growing up because of all the debates that went on — on any subject. You had to craft an argument and a good one to survive. Ben really honed his debating skills there. He’s not a guy you want to get in a debate with.”

Adds Affleck: “My mother taught public school, went to Harvard and then got her master’s there and taught fifth and sixth grade in a public school. My dad had a more working-class lifestyle. He didn’t go to college. He was an auto mechanic and a bartender and a janitor at Harvard.”

He also was an alcoholic, a predisposition Affleck inherited. “His life sort of hit the skids when I was in my teens,” he says. “It was difficult. When one’s parent is an alcoholic, it’s hard. It was a little scary and trying, but then he got sober when I was twentysomething, and he’s been sober ever since.”

The two maintain a cordial relationship, though they don’t see each other much, says Affleck. “My father has positional vertigo, and if he flies he gets really dizzy, so he has to drive out to California, which he does a couple times a year. We talk, but we e-mail mostly.”

The problems at home peaked when Affleck’s parents split before his teens and filtered into his life at the Cambridge Rindge and Latin School, where he sought refuge in plays, appearing as Damon’s son in Friedrich Durrenmatt‘s The Visit before both started auditioning for professional roles.

“I was a bit of a f–up,” he says. “I got really good grades until the last two years, and then I didn’t. I was having issues around my dad and my mom, and things just weren’t that stable — though that puts the responsibility on them, when really I just lost focus and stopped caring.”

While Damon went to Harvard, Affleck attended the University of Vermont, where he majored in Middle Eastern Affairs before switching to Los Angeles’ Occidental College, embarking on an acting career while he and Damon were roommates in Eagle Rock, an East Los Angeles neighborhood.

He found minor success with such films as 1992’s School Ties and 1993’s Dazed and Confused. But it was Good Will Hunting — the script Affleck and Damon sold to Castle Rock Entertainment for $600,000, which went to Miramax in turnaround — that made them stars. At the Oscars, they brought their moms and soon were double-dating with Gwyneth Paltrow (Affleck) and Winona Ryder (Damon). America was enchanted. With an Academy Award for best original screenplay, Affleck was a mere 25 years old and as hot as they get.

Then something went wrong. Instead of following Hunting with equally impressive material, Affleck chose roles in such action pictures as 1998’s Armageddon and 2001’s Pearl Harbor, while Damon starred in Saving Private Ryan. Partly, says Damon, this was because these were big breaks for a relative newcomer and partly because Affleck thought he could fix scripts that didn’t work — only to discover the director is the fixer.

His movie choices solidified a lightweight image that, combined with romantic escapades, made him perfect fodder for an exploding celebrity press. When he went from dating Paltrow to media-magnet Lopez (buying her a multicarat pink diamond ring, to boot), he no longer was just an actor — he was part of a phenomenon known as Bennifer (version one). Their Bentley rides, engagements, breakups-and-makeups were chronicled almost in real time. Affleck, who had risen to earn a reported $10 million to $15 million per picture, now was more infamous than famous.

“To watch the entire world have the totally wrong idea about somebody you care about and admire was painful, just as his friend,” says Damon. “I can’t imagine what it felt like to him. I remember Ben calling and saying: ‘I can sell magazines and not movies. I’m in the worst possible place I can be.’ “

Over the next few years, everything he had built came crashing down. He already had gone into rehab for unspecified causes in 2001; then came the disappointment of his superhero-in-tights spectacle Daredevil and the disaster of Gigli, the 2003 picture in which he starred with Lopez before their relationship collapsed.

“I went to rehab for being 29 and partying too much and not having a lot of boundaries and to clear my head and try to get some idea of who I wanted to be,” explains Affleck, declining to go into further detail. “It was more a ‘let me get myself straight,’ before it became a rite of passage.”

He stays in touch with Lopez, just as he does Paltrow and his high school girlfriend, Cheyenne Rothman. “We don’t have the kind of relationship where she relies on me for advice,” he says of J.Lo, “but we do have the kind of relationship where there’ll be an e-mail saying, ‘Oh, your movie looks great.’ I remember when she got American Idol. I said: ‘This was really smart. Good luck.’ I touch base. I respect her. I like her. She’s put up with some stuff that was unfair in her life, and I’m really pleased to see her successful.”

Despite the media onslaught, Affleck’s closest friends remained convinced his talent was supreme.

“What always struck me was how smart he is,” says his longtime agent Whitesell. “He had the biggest disconnect of anybody between the way the world saw him and the way he really is. We talked to each other and said, ‘It’s going to be a long road back, but we will get there.’ “

When Affleck took the risk of going behind the cameras with Gone — a mystery about two investigators tracking a missing 4-year-old girl, released by Miramax in the post-Harvey Weinstein era — Hollywood insiders were stunned that this apparent featherweight had such depth. But the movie still was perceived either as a fluke or too dark to make Affleck a candidate for bigger films. Only Warners executive Jeff Robinov pursued him with absolute conviction.

“Gone Baby Gone was not at all financially successful,” notes Affleck. “But Robinov brought me into his office and said: ‘I think you’re a hell of a filmmaker, actor. What do you want to do? Tell us, and we’ll do it.’ And I wasn’t having those meetings with every studio.”

Affleck opted for The Town, a $37 million drama that earned $92 million domestically. Its success shocked even cynics. The flameout, who had become a byword for has-been, was now one of Hollywood’s most promising directors.

Getting there was a direct result of the decision Affleck made around 2004.

“I was frustrated with the movies that I had done,” he explains. “I knew that I had something to offer. I said: ‘Here are the things I’d like to do: I want to direct movies, and I want to be in a movie that I’m enormously proud of. I want to have kids.’ I set out goals. It was a bold thing because when one is accustomed to falling short, as I had been, one becomes fearful of making predictions. But I did.”

Garner, whom he met on Daredevil, contributed to this thinking. “Jennifer played such a profound role in making me a better person,” says Affleck. “We don’t have a perfect marriage, but she inspired me; and finding myself in that marriage and having a child dovetailed with getting to be a little more mature.”

Asked what drew him to his wife, he considers. “She truly is kind,” he says. “She means no one any harm. She doesn’t have ill will for any person. She’s not competitive with other people. She’s not spiteful.” He laughs. “It’s one of those things where it becomes almost aggravating at times. Every time I go, ‘F– him!’ I see in her face that she just thinks that’s petty and small.”

Now Affleck is concentrating on the meaningful and large. He is developing a movie adaptation of Stephen King‘s The Stand and plans to reteam with Damon on Whitey, the story of James Joseph “Whitey” Bulger Jr., a Boston crime figure who went on the run for 16 years before being captured outside his Santa Monica apartment in 2011. Affleck will direct, and Damon will star.

But other matters are beginning to weigh on him just as much as film. “One gets older,” he reflects, “and the things that you didn’t realize were absences in your life now feel like real vacancies.”

In November, he will make his seventh visit to the Democratic Republic of Congo, where bloody civil war has lasted 14 years (despite peace accords signed in 2003) and cost 5.4 million lives. It has become his abiding concern ever since “I came across this passage about how 10 times as many people have died in Congo in the wars since 1997 [as in Darfur] and was stunned that I didn’t know.”

The filmmaker first went there in 2007. “I saw terrible things,” he says. “You know: the amount of sexual-based violence against women; people suffering from preventable disease; child soldiers who needed to be integrated into society; children without schooling at all. So we started to get involved in those areas.”

Two years ago, he helped form the Eastern Congo Initiative, which provides developmental aid for local communities, working with farmers who grow cacao, among other activities.

Affleck’s commitment to Congo has not been risk-free. On one occasion, he was in a single-engine plane caught in a hailstorm, with a pilot who didn’t know his way. “We were flying through Sudan, and the hail was really banging up the plane. The pilot was saying he didn’t have enough fuel to fly back to Juba. I was terrified. It was the only time in my life where I really thought, deep in my heart, I might die.”

It’s a flash of the old insecurity that still remains, buried deep inside. He’s older, wiser, glowing in the gleam of his new film, but the fears and anxieties still have to be held at bay. Even in his work.

“Sometimes I get insecure about being a real director because I look at the great directors, and they have such command,” he says. “But maybe that keeps me critical of myself. Maybe it keeps me moving forward.”

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