#and before you say something about how it's link's dream or whatever. the wind fish's skeleton is literally in botw.

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

I'm adding this owl to my shit list

[aces-and-angels]

Title: Not My Birthday

A/N: what the hell is up, gang? i've been dying to share this one with y'all for weeks and now it's finally here 🎊🎊🎊 please enjoy the thing that's been plaguing my very being for hours on end 🖤 @choicesficwriterscreations

p.s. a big thank you to @noesapphic for helping me out with some of the spanish dialogue

Characters: Xiomara Calloway (oc: @a-cloud-for-dreams), Ryan Cortazar, Amalia de León (oc: @itlivesproject), Beau McGraw, Enid Mendoza, Cameron Rose, Tommy Rose, Gigi Sinclair, Martin Vanderweil, Wind Velez (oc: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd)

Pairing(s): Martin x Wind (not yet official), Gigi x Xiomara

Summary: Set sometime before Magnus gets hired; Wind does their best to get through another birthday.

Content Warning(s): brief mention of blood, language, childhood trauma

Word Count: 3.9K

read below cut or...

AO3 LINK

---

McGraw Byrne, morning…

It’s just a day. A set of numbers written in the margin. Zero three zero two. Yet Wind’s calendar remains flipped to February, its page marked with thick black lines crossing off each date. What they’d give to be able to take a sharpie to the day and scribble it out entirely. But they can’t- not for another 14 hours and 32 minutes. Not like they’re counting or anything. 

Amalia saves them first. 

“Mx. Velez, I know you’re busy with that case for Landon, but can you-”

“Yes,” they say all too quickly. 

Amalia blinks, perplexed by their eagerness. “You don’t even know what I’m about to ask for yet.” 

“Does that matter? You know I’d do anything for one of my favorite paralegals.” Their desperate need for distraction aside, the sentiment was sincere. Without Amalia, completing any case would be nearly impossible. 

“Wasn’t fishing for compliments, but I’ll take it,” she breathes with a hint of a smirk tugging at her lip. “Hopefully, you’ll still hold that sentiment after this conversation.”

“Pretty sure I will. What can I help you with?” 

“It’s a bit… Es una tontería, de verdad,” she warns, absently toying with the hem of her wine red blazer. 

Noticing her nerves, Wind pushes their notebook aside. “Amalia, no te preocupes, puedes decirme lo que pasa.” 

The warmth and reassurance in their tone do something to soothe her nerves, as her hand noticeably stills. “Mr. Vanderweil tasked me with redacting these documents yesterday. Simple, right?”

They nod along to her story. “I’d say so.”

“I thought so too, but then I had an issue with loading the PDFs on my computer, so I…” she pauses, sucking in a breath. “I took an alternative approach.”

“What kind of approach?” 

“Converting all the files to Word docs so I could highlight all the info in black instead of contacting IT like I should have.” Her words fly out of her mouth faster than she can speak, jumbling into a mess of syllables they barely manage to catch. But they do- and oh, how their stomach plummets to the floor. 

Panic cracks through the otherwise calm demeanor they’ve maintained thus far. “Amalia-” 

“I know- I know,” she laments, rushing up to the foot of their desk. “Ryan already told me how wrong that was half an hour ago, which is why I haven’t uploaded anything yet.”

“Oh, thank God,” they sigh, visibly slumping into their chair. “This’ll be easy to fix then.”

“Except it won’t be because Mr. Vanderweil wanted this done before the partner meeting, and he’ll definitely chew me out when he learns that it isn’t.” Whatever nerves were kept at bay came rushing back in full force. Amalia began pacing, her heels scuffing up the floors beneath her with every anxious step. “This is the easiest thing to do, and I found a way to mess it up. It’s no question- I’m gonna get fired. And what respectable law school is going to accept someone who can’t even-” 

Wind jumps from their seat to block her path. Their hands fly to her shoulders, stopping her in place with a firm grip. “Amalia,” they say gently, careful not to agitate her any further. Her dark brown eyes dart around the room, desperate to cling onto something- anything. Wind squeezes her once, steadying her frenzied gaze at them. “Inhala. Exhala.” So that’s what they do. They breathe.

In and out. 

In and out. 

Inhala. Exhala. 

Eventually, the dust settles and Wind’s arms fall back to their sides. “Better?” 

She nods. “Better.”

“Good. Now, how much work do you have left?”

“I managed to fix around half of what Mr. Vanderweil sent me, but there’s still over a hundred pages left to deal with.” 

The wheels in their head spin, formulating a plan. “Okay- here's what we'll do. Forward the files to me. I'll take the first 50 or so, you get the rest. Can Ryan pitch in? That would really speed things up.”

“He’s tied up with logging discovery for Ms. Tanaka. That’s why I came to you,” she grimaces. 

“That's fine. We’ll manage on our own.” 

“Are you sure? Even with help, it'll take some time.” 

The honest answer was that they weren’t. Meetings at McGraw Byrne are notorious for being pushed up at the drop of a hat. There’s no guarantee Martin wouldn’t decide to do just that; he certainly flaunted his authority to do so around the office enough. But Wind knew one thing: they can’t cross today out, but they can redact a few dozen documents. And that was enough. “Positive. Hand the files over- we've got work to do.”

—

It’s a tricky thing- pretending to be fine. Until it isn’t. Their smile is a reflex. Their lies, sweet little things, mask the bitter truth buried deep inside them. It’s almost scary how easy it’s become. 

Almost. 

Gigi nearly crushes them next. 

It starts with a playful hip check by the break room counter. Nothing more than a soft bump that Wind returns as a greeting. “You avoiding me, Velez?” 

“Of course not,” they reply automatically. Not on purpose. 

“Then why is this the first time I've seen you all day?”

The corners of Wind’s mouth pull upwards. “You’re exaggerating. Our offices are across from each other, glass windows and all.”

Gigi scoffs, a fond yet exasperated look on her face. “You know what I mean. How much work did Martin stick you with?” 

Actually, he didn't. I asked for more. And I would've stayed in my office, but I physically can’t ignore the gurgling in my stomach with paperwork anymore. “Not much, really. Guess it’s just been one of those days.” There’s a part of them- the smallest, stupidest part- that wishes she, or anyone, could see through their cheery disposition. Lift the mask they’ve clutched onto for years. 

It’s a hollow victory when she doesn’t. 

“Tell me about it. Linda roped me into working on this painfully boring property dispute,” she complains. 

“Think of it this way: maybe the land is haunted.” They wiggle their fingers spookily, throwing in a few ‘oo’s and ah’s’ for good measure.  

“That would explain the urge to blow my brains out anytime I redraft these contracts.”

“Poor little Millie. She’s just trying to protect her property from the grave.”

Gigi stifles a laugh. “Millie?” 

“Judging me only angers her spirit,” they retort, their own bout of laughter bubbling to the surface. A moment of silence passes between them before they both lose their resolve, dissolving into a fit of giggles. 

“Whew, I needed that,” Gigi says, still chuckling. 

They take a bow. “I’ll be here all week.” 

“Perfect- just enough time for you to join me for lunch.”

“You’re shameless.” Despite their light ribbing, they still take a seat at the nearest table and begin to unpack their own lunch. A small break can’t hurt, right? 

“I just prefer to have some entertainment with my lasagna,” she corrects in a light, teasing voice. 

“You made lasagna?” 

“Xo made lasagna. She's been cooking a lot more since her show wrapped.” The glow on her face at the mere mention of her wife is undeniable. 

“Seems like you’re enjoying a lot more than her cooking lately,” they grin suggestively. 

Her daze sharpens into a challenging glint in her eye, her smirk unwavering. “So what if I am?” 

They raise their hands in surrender. “Then good for you, boo.” 

“Mm, that’s what I thought,” she hums triumphantly as she walks over to the fridge. “Seriously, you’ve got to try some. It’s- oh damn it.”

“What is it?”

Gigi pulls out a large pink box and sets it on the table, slightly miffed. “Beau’s leftover birthday cake knocked over my containers. I told him no one but him likes coconut.”

Wind’s pulse quickened. It’s fine. You’re fine. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“How would you know? You couldn’t eat any because you’re allergic to coconut.” 

They shrug. “It looked pretty.”

“Last time I let a man plan an event. I don’t care if it’s his birthday,” she mutters, more to herself than at them- too occupied with reconstructing her toppled lasagna with a pair of plastic forks. Wind turns their attention to their own lunch, a heaping portion of arroz con pollo, hoping to swallow down their bout of birthday-induced anxiety with each savory bite. It almost works. 

They’re mid-bite when Gigi unknowingly moves in for the kill. 

“I’ve decided,” she announces, sliding into the seat across from them. 

“Hm?” It’s all they can manage to say with a mouthful of rice. 

“I’m putting myself in charge of all birthday parties at the firm from here on out. Who better to plan a party than a party-lover like moi?” She cuts a piece of her lasagna with the side of her fork, still talking animatedly. “Ooh, I can start a group chat to organize any after-work festivities-”

“Mhm,” they hum along, trying to ignore the lump forming in their throat. It’s fine. You’re fine. Their eyes fixate on the grains of rice stuck to their spoon. Three on the front. Two on the back. Three on the front. Two on the back. Three on- 

“Wind? You still with me, boo?” 

Their head snaps up, only realizing now that they had tuned out their friend. “Sorry- can you repeat that? I zoned out.”

Another smile. Another lie. But it’s enough.

“I asked what kind of cake you like,” Gigi repeats. 

“Oh- uh… I’m fine with anything, really. As long as it’s not coconut for obvious reasons.” 

“C’mon, everyone has a favorite. Lemmie guess, you’re a cheesecake girl, aren’t you? No wait- red velvet.” 

They force out a chuckle. “You got me. I love a good red velvet.” 

Gigi’s eyes narrow, assessing them like she would a witness on trial. “You’re just being nice, aren’t you?”

“I-I’m not! I really love red velvet,” they reassure her, but to no avail. She only shakes her head, leaning back into her chair. 

“I’ll figure you out eventually, Velez. Cake preference is a science. And I just so happen to be a mad scientist.” 

“You really don’t have to put that much effort into this, Gi.”

“The hell I don’t! There’s no way I’m going to plan a subpar birthday party for one of my best friends. When is your birthday anyways? Before you judge me for not knowing, I did try. I just couldn’t find it listed on any of your socials.” 

Her determination in any other context would flood their chest with a friendly warmth. But now it pierces through their ribcage, sending their heart into an unwanted frenzy- its beat pounding in their ears. 

It’s fine. You’re fine. 

It’s fine. You’re fine. 

It’s fine. You’re-

It’s-

They stand abruptly, the chair behind them screeching against the floorboards. “I need to go.” 

Gigi glances down, concern etching onto her features. “But you’ve barely eaten anything.”

“There’s a call I’m expecting from one of my clients. Can’t miss it,” they explain, hastily packing away their food. “Let’s catch up later, yeah?”

Another smile. Another lie. But this time, they don’t stick around long enough to know if it’s enough. 

—

Calm. They need to stay calm. Yet the air grows thinner and thinner until Wind is gasping, pulling at their collar in a feeble attempt to ease the tightness coiling around their throat. Everything is too loud. Too bright. Too exposed. 

On their first day at McGraw Byrne, Wind marveled at the grandness of it all. How its name glimmered as rays of golden light shone through the floor to ceiling windows, hitting the platinum just right. How every hallway felt like a brand new world waiting to be explored. But now? Now there is no glimmer. No hallways left to be discovered. Only a crushing weight resting atop their chest.

Forget calm. They need to hide.

Wind shuts the door behind them, then the blinds to their windows. It’s a small shield, so they strengthen their armor. Soft, pillowy cushions cover their ears, silencing the wars raging outside. A dark quiet descends over them. Not quite calm, but numb. Numb lets them breathe. Slow their tired, weary heart from running rampant. Here, underneath a cherry wood desk, they can rest.    

—

The thing about a closed door is that it can always be opened.

So Martin does just that. 

He strides in without any warning, preoccupied with typing out a quick response to yet another email, all while hoping to find a certain report waiting in his inbox. “Velez, I need an update on Landon.” Three more notifications- nothing of any true significance, but it gains his attention nonetheless. 

Eyes glued to the screen, Martin doesn’t register the empty office chair in front of him. “I don’t have all day,” he huffs out, already bracing himself for whatever teasing remark Wind has in store for him. But none come. To his surprise, instead of a toothy grin, he sees a pair of pink heels carelessly kicked off to the side. 

Martin pockets his phone and takes a cautious step forward. “Velez?” 

A pitiful sniffle, amplified by the stillness of the room, hits his ears, freezing him in place. Part of him weighs the merits behind turning around. Then he hears it again- that sorrowful hitch in Wind’s breath- and before he even realizes it, he is by their side. 

Months of working alongside each other allowed Martin to experience the many sides of Wind. Infuriatingly righteous. Overly-energetic. Perplexingly kind. Wind got under his skin- crept inside and made it impossible to stay away. None of that prepared him to witness them like this- curled up underneath their desk, unwilling to even look at him. 

At a loss, he simply asks, “What are you doing down there?” 

A few harrowing seconds pass before they mumble a reply. “Hiding.”

“From whom?” 

“Just… from today.” 

Martin hums in acknowledgement, unsure how to take that answer. “How long have you been hiding?” They give a weak shrug. “Can you at least tell me why?” He waits, more than he should’ve, then sighs. “Go home, Velez.”

Wind snaps their head up. “W-what?”

“I said go home.”

“Y-you… you can’t do that!” 

“I can and I am. Clearly, you’re incapable of-”

“-I’m plenty capable-”

“-You’re under a table.” He chooses not to mention the redness in their eyes or how they shine with unshed tears.

“I- I can…” Wind sputters, their voice no higher than a whisper, “I can do it.” 

“I’d have an easier time believing that if you weren’t mid-cower.”  

“I’m not-” Martin cocks his eyebrow, effectively killing their argument. “This isn’t any of your concern. So just leave me be.” 

“Not my concern?” he scoffs, almost in disbelief. “As your supervisor, I’d have to firmly disagree. I’m responsible for your successes and your screw ups. And I work very hard to mitigate the latter. So, I’m asking you again. What’s this about?”

“It’s… personal.” Martin folds his arms, indicating them to elaborate. But much to his dismay, they don’t. He peers down at them, searching for something. The infuriatingly righteous. The overly-energetic. The perplexingly kind. Something he can work with. It’s surprisingly disappointing when his search comes up as empty as Wind’s chair. 

“Send whatever you have on Landon to Aislinn. She’ll be taking point for the remainder of this case.” 

“But-”

“Save your breath, Velez. You can sort out whatever it is you’re dealing with now or never. I don’t care. You just can’t be here.” 

—

Wind trods through the city past several storefronts and food carts, crestfallen. Their aimless journey eventually leads them to a random dive bar- the perfect location to get good and drunk. Its unassuming exterior paled in comparison to its rich interior. Spacious, yet cozy. 

An unoccupied podium greets them at the entrance. “Hello?” Their voice travels beyond the stacked chairs and strings of exposed lightbulbs casting a golden glow over the room. A few minutes go by before they try calling out again. “Hi, are y’all open?” 

They venture further inside, ignoring the big, bold letters indicating patrons to ‘please wait to be seated.’ A plethora of memories line its walls. Polaroids of patrons captured in various states of inebriation- all in good fun, they figure. Along with those are news clippings throughout the years, most of which feature the NYPD in some capacity.

“I bought every copy of that issue.” Wind yelps, coming face to face with an older man. The faint lines on his bronze skin deepen as his face stretches into a friendly smile. He points at one of the officers pictured. “This one’s my niece, Cameron.”

They take a closer look at the photo. Despite its grainy quality, Wind can see the resemblance between the two. Same brown eyes. Same round nose. Her skin, however, is about three shades darker than her uncle’s. Youthful. “She looks beautiful.”

“I like to think so,” he says, pride beaming from his features. “She’s always begging me to take this one down, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Ya only graduate from the academy once, y’know?”

They nod politely. “Sorry for walkin’ in like this.”

“The sign’s flipped to open, even if we don’t look like it,” he chuckles. “Grab a seat, I’ll be right with ya.” Wind slides into an empty bar stool while he makes his way behind the counter. After rummaging through a few drawers, he pulls out a menu. “Ha! I knew I kept a few back here.”

“Thank you.” They skim through the appetizers, not retaining much. 

“I promise, if ya catch us during our peak hours, we’re more lively. Anyways, welcome to The Drunk Tank. I’m Tommy- owner, bartender, and your server for today. Most of our food items won’t be available till our cook arrives, but I can try to whip up something simple if you’d like.” 

“That’s alright. I only came in for a drink.” 

“Perfect. What’s your poison?”

“Whatever’s strongest. Neat,” they answer flatly.

Understanding flashes through Tommy’s face. He works with silent precision, pouring a long stream of amber liquor into a glass. “Here ya go. Spirits to lift the spirit.” 

Wind raises their drink to him before throwing it back in one gulp. The burn is immediate, slithering down to their chest and warming them from within. “Hah,” they wince, wiping the stray droplets from their chin. “I’ll have another.”

Tommy’s eyebrows jump, unable to conceal his shock, but he complies and slides over another shot. It goes down just as quickly. This process repeats two more times before he finally pulls the plug. “Why don’t we pace ourselves for a bit? Happy hour doesn’t start for another thirty minutes. Save yourself a few bucks.” 

“Money’s not an issue,” they say, their words slightly slurred. 

“Alright, I’ll level with ya. I’m not as concerned about your wallet as I am about any ‘accidents’ I may need to clean up.” 

They huff out a hollow laugh. “I can hold my liquor, promise.” 

“Just indulge me and drink some water.” 

“Fine,” they grumble, taking a tentative sip from a much taller glass.

“Ya wanna talk about it?” 

“Huh?” 

“Ya wanna talk?”

“About what?”

“Anything. The weather- the Yankees- oh, I can show ya my collection of wine corks.” 

“That’s… okay.” They gulp down the rest of their water, casting a hopeful glance at him, then at their empty shot glass. 

He purses their lips, thinking. “Tell ya what- I’ll pour another shot if ya tell me one thing about yourself.” 

Their eyes narrow at his deal, but his face remains steady. Fine, they can play along for now. “My name’s Wind.”

A quiet grin spreads on his face. “I was hoping to hear about a hobby or something.”

“A deal’s a deal.” 

Tommy raises his hands in surrender. “That it is.” He serves another shot, which doesn’t last very long. “I like baseball, if ya couldn’t tell,” he jokes, gesturing to the several pieces of baseball memorabilia displayed.

“You play?”

His belly shakes with laughter. “Not well, I’m afraid. My ol’ man still put me in Little League, though, right next to my brother. I was one hell of a benchwarmer.” 

“How ‘bout your brother?”

“Oh, that asshole? He was a mini prodigy. Bastard went on to play varsity. Won the state championship and everything.” Despite his light, jovial tone, Wind notices the distant look in his eyes. 

“... And now?”

There’s a brief pause before he answers. “He doesn't play much of anything anymore.”

“What happened?”

His lip twitches upward with a smile that’s not all there. Dimmer than the one he first met them with.  “I’ll need a few drinks before ya pull that story outta me.” 

“Sorry,” they apologize quickly, “I didn’t-”

“No- you’re fine. Just felt like talking ‘s all.” He busies himself by wiping down the bar with a towel. “Ya don’t need to tell me anything, but a word to the wise: it feels a helluva lot better when you finally let it all out.”  

Wind stares at him, their thoughts- all the pain, anger, and confusion threatening to spill out of them like a faucet. Kind brown eyes stare back with a patience that says, ‘Everything’s gonna be alright,’ without uttering a word. “Well, I-” 

“Pop some champagne, Tito. I just got promoted!” They both startle in place. A woman strolls up to the bar, carrying a faint scent of ginger and citrus as she approaches. Wind’s eyes immediately flick to the golden snake adorning her neck, drawn by its intimidating beauty.

“Nini! That’s wonderful,” Tommy rejoices, clapping her on the shoulder like an old friend.

“I know. Now, where’s that champagne?”

“Hold on, I’ve got some in the back.” He moves to grab a bottle, but stops in his tracks when he sees them. “Oh- I’m sorry, Wind. You were about to say something.” 

They shake their head. “No- actually, I should head out.” 

“Stay for the toast at least.”

“Are you serious?” the woman complains.

“Yes,” Tommy hisses at her underneath his breath, which to Wind’s surprise, is all it takes for her to stand down.

“Alright,” she concedes, peering at them through her curled lashes. “Enjoy it, blondie. I’m usually not this generous, but today is a celebration. Consider it an early birthday gift.” 

Their body seizes up. “What?”

“Or a late one. Not like I’d know the difference anyway. It’s no cake, but it’ll do.”

Glass shatters. A cacophony of shrieks and curses follows. Wind registers nothing- lost to fragments from the past. Their senses recall the piercing sound of their baby brother’s inconsolable wails. The desperation in their father’s pleas. They remember the cool tile on their knees- how sticky their tiny fingers became with pink frosting as they tried to push chunks of uneaten cake back together, ignoring the shards of fine china mixed throughout. All the while, their mother’s broken voice pounds within their ears. A haunting chant they can never forget. 

“No puedo más- no puedo más- no puedo más-”

“Ya alright, pal?” Tommy’s worry warbles through their nightmarish haze. 

“This fucking idiot got glass everywhere.”

“Ay, Nini- just grab the broom. It’s in the back. Oh- and the first aid kit.” 

First aid kit? They glance down- mortified by the crimson stains on their sleeves. “Oh God-” 

“Hey, take it easy-”

“NO-” Their sudden outburst sends them back several feet. “I- I need to- I need to go.”

“Hold on-”

Tommy’s words fall on deaf ears, or rather, no ears. They’re gone in a flash. No warning. No goodbye.

Just like Mamá.

---

tag list: @choicesmc, @win-chan, @brycesgirl, @stars-are-within-me, @inlocusmads

[onebizarrekai]

lonk’s awonk

I finally sat down and finished the rest of link’s awakening for the switch today (I got it for christmas, played through most of it, and then put it off for a few weeks) and can I just say some stuff

first of all, this is the first time I’ve actually played through this whole game, so if you played the original, you’ll probably be laughing at me for talking about an 18 year old game like this. yes, I rommed SOME of the original, but yeah, anyway, first time playing this game. let’s just go with that.

here we go. here’s my long list of thoughts

- every single shopkeeper in this game is explicitly evil, and every single mini game in this game is basically one of those rigged carnival games. and yes, I got every single heart piece and every secret seashell. it wasn’t actually nearly as bad as doing that in minish cap (LOOKING AT YOU, CHICKEN GAME AND FIGURINE QUEST) but it was certainly something. that stupid crane man and that raft guy are the real villains here

- pretty much the only things I REALLY liked about the game were the graphics and the music. everything else was pretty standard but nothing extraordinary. I mean, it’s understandable–it’s a remake of a gameboy game, so you can’t really expect a whole lot

- there’s like so much implicit tragedy and emotional depth to marin?? like what the heck, man. too bad the story itself doesn’t have as much depth as she does and she doesn’t have any involvement in actual ending (not gonna lie, I thought the game was going to tell me I needed her voice to wake up the wind fish and that I had to at least bring her with me)

- seriously what the HECK marin literally confides in you about so much and she talks about how you gave her hope that there’s something beyond the sea and then she tries to wake up the wind fish on her own and she asks you not to forget about her and it’s this WHOLE THING and then you just go and like… fight the big bad and wake up the wind fish. and then the game ends and that’s it. and yeah, there’s some kind of secret animated scene at the end about marin becoming a seagull because she told you she wanted to be a seagull so she could fly away from the island but who cares about that

- link’s voice in this game is the worst link voice I have ever heard in my life. they really did go like “what’s the most annoying possible sound we can attach to link falling, a thing that happens literally all the time in a game with this many bottomless pits in it”

- ok lemme just get into this, man. I know this is an old game and I know this is a zelda game but there is something SO SHADY going on on this island. a random owl comes up to you and basically starts giving you directions, you have no idea who he is. because you don’t know what else to do and you’re the hero and you’re used to blindly following directions, you do what he says. he keeps checking up on you REPEATEDLY to make sure you’re doing exactly what he says, and whenever you beat a dungeon, you get a reminder where to go next too

- every boss in the game tells you that you’re going to ruin everything if you keep this up, and that waking the wind fish is a big mistake. they’re like, if you wake him up, you’ll literally destroy everything. and then the owl keeps telling you to persevere and not listen to them. excuse me?? and then the owl goes like “I was instructed to tell you this” and I’m like INSTRUCTED BY WHOM?? one of the bosses even said “you’re not the only one in a dream” or something and I was like WHAT

- okay, not gonna lie, the fact that I kept reading the owl’s lines and making him say “what’s up loser” every time he flew in and making up all of his dialogue and pretending he was the crackhead part-time drug lord kaepora gaebora I made up last time my brother played ocarina of time wasn’t helping.

- oh yeah, the game also encompasses this energy of destruction, and it feels like the further you get into the game, the more destructively insane link gets. when you do the color dungeon, they’re like “what, you want to be even more powerful? scum of the earth,” and when you get the fire rod in turtle rock, the description is literally like “burn everything! burn it all!!” and I’m like JESUS

- you also get some of your upgrades in this game from literal devils

- this is also the only zelda game that you can flat out steal from the shop in. like, you can commit a crime beyond property damage in this game. and then the shopkeeper murders you with the lightning of god if you try to come back to the store later but that’s beside the point

- the final boss’s name is just like, nightmare, right? that thing literally just came directly out of link before you beat it up. yeah, sure, it’s supposed to be a representation of his own worst nightmares based on the forms it takes but be quiet

- and then after you find out that the owl was just part of the wind fish this whole time, the wind fish is all like “thanks for waking me up! I made this world by accident or whatever and then all these super evil guys came in and tried to make it a world of nightmares! also all dreams must come to an end, so bye-bye koholint! it’s not like anything here was real anyway, so don’t worry about that girl whose life you saved that one time and was talking to you about her existential crisis!”

- and congratulations! you beat the game, the island vanished into thin air, and you watched it happen. you get to watch as you see all these characters minding their own business and living their lives and then fade to white and cease to exist and then the game just ENDS

so yeah, long story short, something is incredibly shady about the entire story of this game and I’m still 90% sure destroying koholint was a bad decision and that link has evil-bordering hero complex problems and is now an interesting shadow of who he was in a link to the past but ok

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream IV

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count:

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable; It feels like butterflies fluttering or sparks flying or whatever other cliche Iris could think of. It’s like slow-dancing all alone after dinner in a half-cleaned kitchen, easy and intimate. It feels like warm honey on her tongue, slow and sweet and overwhelming. It’s pillowtalk, baby; lay your head on my pillow, say, "oh-ooh"; way you're touchin' my body, say, "ooh-ooh"; i ain't lovin' nobody but you; you, you, you make me, the kind that starts as whispers in the dark and becomes deep, lazy sex with only the moon there to light the way. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Comfortable

Set the tone, when it's just me

And you alone, never lonely

In the room, breathin' slowly

Oh, you know me, yeah

At a quarter to one on the next Sunday afternoon, Iris finds herself sitting in her living room, waiting for Barry. Her week has been a relatively good one. She thinks they might be over the hurdle of a new semester—learning the personalities of each other—and Dr. Jamison had been on top of her own game, which meant Iris had been able to as well. She’d spent her Friday night watching Bridgerton, well, as much as the hazy cloud of blue diesel had allowed her to, and on Saturday, she’d spent several hours at Jitters typing up a new story for What a Life You’ve Lived. This story had featured an older woman who, years before Loving v. Virginia had made her marriage legal, had lived in relative obscurity with her white husband, dating and laughing and loving in secret.

Yeah, she’d shaken her head at that too.

She doesn’t know where they’re going today, so she’s dressed in a casual emerald green wrap dress, with a deep v-neck and long sleeves, that hems just at her knees. She opts for flat sandals just in case. His number is still unused, though she’s taken the steps to lock it into her phone. She can’t tell why she doesn’t call him, can’t make out why she’s, apparently, too afraid to just reach out to the man. She doesn’t know what they’re doing, outside of this date, or what his goal is. Linda would definitely describe her as being too chickenshit to find out. She obviously doesn’t disagree.

She’s decided that it’s casual, because aren’t most situations these days casual? And it makes more sense than the thought that lives in her head; the alternative doesn’t fit as neatly in her mind. The alternative is, is a little chaotic because that would add layers to the way he grins at her, and to the way he oscillates between awkward and bold when he talks to her, and to the way that she can never completely get the feel and taste of him out of her mouth. The sensation makes her think of runny ice cream, sweet and sticky and dripping, so much so that before she knows it, her hands and her face and her heart are all covered in it.

The doorbell rings.

Iris jumps up to answer the door and he’s standing there, in black jeans and a gray t-shirt, and she’s always struck by how good he looks in such casual outfits. His hands are stuffed down into his pockets and a grin is etched onto his face. He leans into the door when it opens, shoulder on the frame.

“Hi, beautiful.”

The compliment is unexpected and she turns away to grab her bag, to hide the blush that warms her cheeks, even if he wouldn’t be able to see it on her skin.

“You ready?” he asks.

She nods. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They are about fifteen minutes away from Lake Lanier when Iris realizes that’s where they’re going. The ride is pleasant. They don’t talk much outside of a few sentences regarding how their weeks were. Instead, they listen to some rock music Iris has never heard before and Iris alternates between staring at the road and staring at the intricate flowers tattooed on his arm. She recognizes some of them, roses and chrysanthemums and sunflowers, but there are far more that she doesn’t, especially when she remembers that the bouquet goes all the way up and over his shoulder. She decides she’ll ask him about it later.

The trail for the lake comes into view and Barry turns his Jeep onto a barely paved road, his pale fingers caressing the wheel as he expertly maneuvers the vehicle. He drives past where Iris and Linda and their classmates spent countless summer afternoons, past the trail that leads to where her dad had taken her and Wally camping when, at 12, Wally had realized that he was the only of his friends who’d never been.

They come to a stop, moments after Iris wonders if this might be where bodies get hidden, next to a towering oak tree. They’d lost the trail about a mile back and Barry’s four-wheel-drive was a match for whatever grass and rock and mud they rolled over.

Iris steps out of the Jeep and looks around, momentarily in awe. Out this far, the lake looks serene in a way she’s never seen before. It’s quiet, but it isn’t. Even in a midsize city like Central City, there is always something happening; there is always lights and noise and music. Here, the sound of nature takes the stage: the clicking buzz of cicadas and the chirping songs of birds and the gentle wave of the lake. The look of it is surreal, the pale blue of the water and the vibrant dark green of the trees, those slowly giving way to the oranges and reds of fall.

“Wow,” Iris murmurs.

“It’s great, right?” Barry says.

She turns and finds him with his trunk open. She walks around back to see him gathering picnic supplies, a woven picnic basket, a thick red gingham picnic blanket, and a cooler. There’s also another blanket to stem the feel of the wind so close to the lake. She grabs the picnic basket as he handles everything else and she follows him as they set up a few feet away from the bank, on a soft patch of grass to cushion them.

“I wasn’t expecting a picnic,” Iris tells Barry as she settles on the blanket, taking off her shoes and setting them on the edge.

“No?” He grins over at her before resuming his task. He’s unpacking the basket, pulling out saran-wrapped sandwiches, containers of fruit and vegetables with dip, and ziplock bags full of popcorn. A look in the cooler shows her some waters, several beers, and an equal number of mini wine bottles.

“Where’d you think I was taking you?” he wonders.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Like a movie or something.”

He grins, this time slower; and it shouldn’t, but it makes Iris think of the last time she’d seen him, slow and heated on her living room couch.

“That can be our next date,” he says.

“Who says you’re getting another date?”

He looks up at her and it’s the same one he’d given her when he asked her why she didn’t call, the expression a touch calculating. His head is tilted and his eyes are darting all over her face. She wants to turn her head, turn away from his gaze, but she can’t. Because she thinks that she’s hoping he does find what he’s looking for her, that he can help her to find it too.

“You didn’t say that we were going on another date” he says, finally. “But I have fun when we're together, Iris, and I, I think that you do too."

He goes back to pulling items out of the basket, this time a container full of cookies, and Iris starts grappling with whether or not she can take what he says at face value. It’s a flaw, she knows, the doubt that seems to come far too automatically. She wishes that she could blame it on something tangible—on parents who hadn’t been there or boyfriends who’d lied or friends who didn’t have her best interests at heart. That isn’t the case, though. Her mom had been there as much as she could and she had never had enough boyfriends for it to really make a dent. Linda has never even thought about doing her wrong, and her family might be the very best part of her.

But everything in her body catches at the thought of this man being someone she likes, someone she adds to the rotation of people in her life, people who’ve only become occasional brunches and too quick phone calls. What would it feel like for this man—and his smile and his touch and the way that she feels like she knows him when she doesn’t—to become a part of that rotation, until the discomfort of the entire situation makes him taper off altogether?

“Iris?”

She blinks out of her daze at the sound of Barry’s voice, looking down to see him holding out two bottles in front of her, one a lager from a local brewery, the other a chilled bottle of Chardonnay.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Yes,” she answers him quickly. “Just thinking.”

“About me?” he asks, his grin wide, cheeks faintly pink, and the look of him is so adorable that Iris shakes her head as she grabs the wine from him, failing to curb the smile that lifts the corner of her mouth, failing to keep the thoughts, the whenever i get around you, i lose it; lose it, from seeping in.

“Let’s play twenty questions.”

Iris is halfway into her mini-wine bottle when Barry voices the suggestion. For the time being, they’ve been merely sitting, drinking, basking in the day. The weather is gorgeous and Iris likes that the only thing to distract her is the constant tweeting of the birds, or the soft splashes of the fish in the lake, or the steady sound of Barry’s breathing.

“Okay,” Iris agrees, “but twenty is a lot.”

“Ten, then?” he hurries to say. “Five each?”

He shifts on the blanket so that he’s lying down on his side facing her, head propped in his hand. Her own back is propped against the tree, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle.

“You first.”

“Alright.” He pauses, looks up towards the sky as if he’s thinking, and then asks, “What’s your favorite book?”

She is surprised by the question, though she isn’t sure what she thought he might ask.

“I’ve got a lot of favorites,” she says, because it’s true. Books, stories, became an escape early on, from a home that had been too fragile, that had felt like it’d come crumbling down with only a mere gust of wind. “But one that still sits with me is Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. I read it for the first time in high school.”

He smiles at her. “Tell me about it.”

“It’s about a woman named Janie, who was raised by her grandmother who’d been enslaved. Janie’s a romantic; she wants freedom and love. But her grandmother wants her to have security. She’s got a series of suitors: an old man who treats her like the help, essentially; a man who becomes mayor of this all-black town, who only props her up as this thing, this ornament that must look and act like he wants her to; and Tea Cake, a younger man who’s passionate and selfish and possessive. And in all of it, Janie is discovering herself, exploring what she does and doesn’t want. She steps up and she fights back and she learns to dismiss what others have to say about here.”

Barry hums. “She reminds me of you,” he says, “this Janie woman.”

He catches her gaze, holds it. Iris catches the way his eyes track the features of her face. She can never find it in her to shrink away, almost like she’s beholden to the force of him.

“Why?”

“She seems passionate; fanciful. Alluring.”

She’s never wanted to blush as much as she does around him and her face feels warm, tight. She swallows from her wine bottle, still looking at him.

“You are,” she starts, and then shakes her head.

“I am…?” he urges, mouth grinning, eyes wide with mirth. He reaches out and grabs at her ankle, fingers grazing her skin. Her skin tingles beneath his fingers, a slow rush of heat flooding through her. Apparently, Barry has discovered a new erogenous zone.

“Something else,” she answers, finally.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s what you meant.”

She looks out at the lake for a brief moment. “It’s not, but I haven’t figured out what I do mean yet.”

He’s silent for a beat. “Okay. Your turn,” he says and Iris is grateful for the reprieve.

“What’s a country you’ve never been to that you’d like to visit?”

A wistful smile curves his pretty mouth. “That’s easy. Ireland.”

“Yeah?” she asks softly.

“It’s where my mom's family is from,” he continues, touching at her ankle even as he looks away from her. She wonders if he realizes he’s even doing it, tracing along her ankle and then up the length of her calf and back down again.

“My mom was born here in Central City,” he explains, “but her parents were born and raised in Ireland, moving here when they were a couple of months pregnant with her.” She knows she doesn’t mistake the melancholy in his voice. “We’d been planning for a trip after I graduated high school. Since dad was gone, it wasn’t as easy to save up for a long summer trip like that, but we were working on it, before she was killed. I’m still working on it.”

He gives her another smile, this one tinged with hope, and the urge to comfort him is strong. But she knows that there is no real comfort for missing a mother, so instead, she moves from her spot against the tree. The movement confuses Barry, who has to move his hand away from her ankle, but his frown clears when she lies beside him, her head on his shoulder.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Italy,” she tells him. “My best friend Linda’s parents live in a large immigrant community. People from all over live there. It was like heaven for me when I really started getting into writing; so many stories. Obviously, not everyone wanted to tell their business to a 15-year-old, but Mrs. Bianco had no qualms about it.

“Mrs. Bianco has three sons, relatively the same age as me and Linda, one right after the other, but no daughters. So for much of high school, we were her surrogates. My dad worked a lot and so did Linda’s parents, getting their restaurant off the ground. So we’d go over to Mrs. Bianco’s after school to do homework and she’d feed us all these baked goods, cannolis and these things called bombolinis, which are like doughnuts but better. And she’d tell us all these stories about growing up in the Italian countryside and going to college and meeting her husband before they came here, the excitement of it all. She made it sound so beautiful.”

Barry reaches over and touches her, long fingers touching lightly at her arm before they wrap around her wrist. He rubs at the skin on the inside of her wrist. The move feels like a deliberate way for Barry to maintain contact, but also like more. Like the last time he’d come to her apartment, and she’d felt the touch to her ankles at the very core of her, she feels so now. It’s subtle, but it’s there, in the slight clench of her belly, in the low throb of her pussy. It’s been a long time since she’s been with anyone like this — cause I feel so comfortable with you; you make me comfortable with you—easily aroused and just as easily comforted. Her last relationship had been with a man named Eddie, a graduate student she had met early in her senior year of undergrad. He had been sweet, but they had both been so busy all the time that they had felt like work too. With Barry, there’s the newness that comes with a relationship, the giddiness at talking to him, being near him. But this seems like something else, something greater, something that tells of why she can’t stop thinking about this man.

“Why did you invite me over,” Barry asks, “that Friday night?”

She exhales shakily, a little unnerved by him. “Well, you asked me to dance?”

“You invited me over because I asked you to dance?” His tone is incredulous and she laughs.

“No, I mean. It’s the club. People just dance, right? And here you come, rocking those hips unlike any white boy I’ve seen, and then you walk up and ask me if you could dance with me. I thought it was polite.”

Barry rolls over so that he’s long against her side. He moves his hand from her wrist to press on her belly, rubbing his thumb lightly. He plants his mouth right next to her ear. “If you think I’m polite, I’m doing something wrong.”

She catches his eyes. “I don’t know,” she says, smirking at him. “Maybe you are. Maybe you need to work on that.”

She lets the taunt hang, for just a moment, and then she rolls over to kiss him. She licks at his mouth, turning the kiss more passionate in seconds. Their positions change, Barry rolling her onto her back.

“I think I can make you beg,” Barry whispers against her mouth. “I was always told that was impolite.”

Iris doesn’t get a chance to say much else because suddenly, Barry is between her legs, his head dipping down under her dress.

“Barry what?”

As is his annoying habit, he doesn’t respond to her right away. He pushes her dress higher, exposing her belly and the bright yellow lace of her panties. She inhales sharply at the feel of his breath on her belly before he plants a kiss there.

“Ask for it.”

She catches onto his game immediately and her eyes flash. “No.”

His answer is a grin and then, without much preamble, he dips his tongue into her belly button. The action makes her hips raise automatically, and he brings her back down by gripping her hips. He continues down, tongue laving at her skin, fingers running up her torso and down again until they hook in the top of her panties and he starts to pull them down.

Iris can’t describe what it is she’s feeling at the moment. He’s only just touched her, only just planted a few sloppy kisses on her stomach. But her skin is tight with anticipation, her breathing deeper as she waits to see what he’ll do. She wonders, rather absently, if they’re currently being watched by any of the animals she hears living out here by the lake; but then Barry widens her legs and opens her up with the tips of his index and middle finger and she stops thinking altogether.

He holds her open for a long moment, just looking, just breathing against her, and she tries to hold still until she can’t, wiggling her hips a little, hoping it makes a finger slip inside of her.

“Barry…”

“You’re ready to ask for it?”

He drags his gaze away from her sex in order to meet her eyes. They’re the glassy that lets her know that he isn’t as unaffected as he’s pretending to be. That momentarily strengthens her resolve, knowing that maybe he really does feel like this too, that she’s not the only one losing her head in this sexual haze that seems to be moving way too fast and way past normal.

She shakes her head at him.

“No?” he questions. “Not even if I do this?”

Fingers still holding her, he licks her, a long swipe of his tongue. She inhales again at the feel of his wet tongue, lets it go in a noisy exhale when he does it again. And then again and then again, and Iris starts to rock against him, trying to get more of his tongue or his fingers or something. She quivers above him, her thighs opening and closing, and she feels like a butterfly, fluttering and alight, hovering over a precipice.

“Shit, ” she moans.

And then, he stops. He fucking stops.

“Barry…”

“Or this?” he continues, and pushes his fingers in. It’s harder than she likes, more like a stab, and she jerks her hips.

“Softer,” she tells him, and he obliges, moving slower, caressing instead of fucking into her. “ Yes, like that.”

Barry hums around her. The vibration makes her hips rock up, and he circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, sucking on it. He looks up at her again. This is the face she wants to remember for the rest of her days: his dazed eyes, his flushed cheeks, his wet mouth.

“Ask me for what you want, Iris,” Barry licks his lips. “Beg me, baby, please.”

Her heart is pounding and she wonders how a game of question and answer got her here. But they are here, she’s here, quivering with the need to come, with the fact that Barry looking up at her like this, begging her like this, makes her feel more desirable than she’s ever known she could.

“Can you eat me, Barry? Please? ”

Iris has never seen a dirtier smile. “With pleasure.”

He really starts to eat her, then. He kisses at her lips, tongues her down in a sloppy, wet tongue kiss that makes her cream drip out of her, drip down her thighs. She rocks against him, closing her knees around his head when the touch of his tongue to her clit gets to be too much, opening herself wider when wants his tongue back in her, licking and tasting and fucking her. Needing something to do with her hands, she grabs at his hair, pulling at the strands, scratching at scalp, at the back of his neck. That is how she comes, she doesn’t know how much later. But it’s like that: with Barry holding on to her hips, face buried in her slick; with her knees opening and closing, with her hips bucking, with her begging him, “please, Barry, fuck, yes, please, Barry. ”

It takes her a while to come down and when she does, she says the first thing that she can think of. “God, you’re so goddamn annoying.”

Barry bursts out laughing into her stomach, arms wrapped around her.

“What is something that you want out of a relationship?”

They’re sitting up and eating now, Iris several feet away from him so she’s not tempted to wrap her thighs around his face again. She’s chosen the turkey sandwich on wheat bread and a handful of grapes. The sandwich is really good and Barry must think so of his own handiwork because he’s already done with one and unwrapping another. Although, Iris thinks, he likely did work up an appetite.

She can’t say what makes her throw out the question. The skepticism of starting something with him is still there, but laughing after sex like that, coming from sex like that, well. Iris can name that she might be a little whipped by this smooth-talking, world-class fucking white boy.

He chews a bite of his sandwich and swallows before he turns to her with an answer.

“I’m a simple guy, I think. I work a lot; crimes wait for no one so I would want someone who understands that. But in my time off, I like to do things like this, and festivals and running too, so someone who likes that too.” He wipes at his mouth with a crumpled napkin. “But out of a relationship in general, I guess I want companionship, laughing. Communication and patience. Fidelity.” He shoots her a grin. “Good sex.”

Iris rolls her eyes, but she returns the smile. “Did you have that in your last relationship?”

“Ah,” he interrupts, “it’s my turn for a question, Iris.”

She throws her own balled up napkin at him. “Fine. Shoot.”

“What do you look for in a relationship?”

She shoots him a glare.

“What?” he laughs. “It was a good question and I want to know.”

“Okay. Um,” she takes a swig from her newly opened wine. “Whew. I don’t know that I’ve thought about this in a while.” She bites at her bottom lip and lets out a long breath. “A lot of the same things you said, I think. I do love laughing, even if I can get lost in my own head angst sometimes and I’d like someone who realizes that. I’m pretty busy, between school and work and What a Life You’ve Lived, but I make time for the people I want to make time for and I would wish my partner would do the same. Fidelity is also important to me too; communication. I love music and dancing and movies so someone who’d want to do those things with me.”

Barry wriggles his eyebrows. “Good sex?”

“A plus, for sure,” she agrees.

That gets her to thinking about another question she has, one she’s more hesitant to voice. She could get an answer she likes, one that keeps the mood they’ve got going here. And the vibe right now is so good. She can’t remember a date like this, one so simple. Eddie had been courting careers in law and so much of their time together had been spent out at fancy dinners while he’d tried to smooze whoever he needed to that week. It’d been fun sometimes, to see what stories she could get out of the politicians and law officers, but that’s not a date, at least it wasn't to her. During undergrad, dates meant studying together in the corner of a library until one or both of them got the urge to make out behind a shelf of books. And high school shouldn’t even really count. But here, today, this feels like a date. It feels like butterflies fluttering or sparks flying or whatever other cliche Iris could think of. It’s like slow-dancing all alone after dinner in a half-cleaned kitchen, easy and intimate. It feels like warm honey on her tongue, slow and sweet and overwhelming. It’s pillow talk, baby; lay your head on my pillow, say, "oh-ooh"; way you're touchin' my body, say, "ooh-ooh"; i ain't lovin' nobody but you; you, you, you make me, the kind that starts as whispers in the dark and becomes deep, lazy sex with only the moon there to light the way.

But she steels herself and risks asking anyway. “Barry, do you, uh, have a lot of sex, then? A lot of one-night stands?”

Barry’s eyes are wide when he looks at her. He’d been cleaning up their trash, putting napkins and wrappers and empty bottles in a small grocery bag and the question makes him look up sharply. It makes her want to retreat, but she’s already put it out there and she’s extremely curious if she happens to just be one in a line of girls that this surprisingly suave man has beguiled with easy laughs and mind-blowing sex.

“I'm asking because you are, you’re good,” she mumbles, (but, understatement), “and of course, you don’t have to answer me but I just… I'm wondering if…”

She trails off when he stops what he’s doing and crawls over to her. He hovers, making her lean back a little in order to see all of his face. It’s a pretty face, the dark eyebrows over those eyes, the lips that she knows get even pinker when they’re dripping with her juices, the faint moles along his cheeks and jaw that doesn’t detract.

“There are no other girls, Iris,” he tells her, and he seems so sincere as he looks straight into her eyes, as he places a hand on the side of her so she’s clouded in the clean, citrusy smell of him. “I know that we’re just hanging out and obviously, you do what you want, but no, I… I’m a one woman kinda guy. Going home with you was an anomaly, one I certainly don’t regret. But it’s not a thing I do. I haven’t been with anyone else since my last relationship months ago.”

She stares at him, hoping that she can believe him. “Alright.”

“Okay?”

She nods again, this time with a little smile. “Yeah, okay.”

Neither of them asks their final two questions. Barry says that it’ll give them something to talk about when he sees her again. Iris just thinks that today’s been a whirlwind of a day and it’d be nice not to be on the spot anymore. The ride back to town is just as easy as the ride down. Easy listening plays from the radio—'cause I feel so comfortable with you; you make me comfortable with you; i feel so comfortable with you; you make me comfortable with you; you make me—and Iris settles into her seat for the half-hour drive, full and sated and comfortable. She must doze off because before she knows it, Barry is pulling into the parking space next to her Kia and he’s opening the door for her.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” he says, smiling down at her as he grabs her hand to pull her out of the seat.

“I’m sorry for falling asleep on you.” She stumbles a little as she follows him up the stairs and he grips her hand tighter.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her. “I take pride in the fact that I’ve put you to sleep every night we’ve been together.”

She doesn’t even pause as she yanks her hand away and slides past him to her door. “You’re such a dick.”

Barry chuckles, sidling up behind her as she sticks her key into the lock. He gives her a soft kiss on the skin between her neck and shoulder.

“I thought you said I was polite,” he breathes, before nipping at her skin. She closes her eyes at the feel of his mouth on her, the light nips of his teeth, the slick glide of his tongue behind it. He pulls up all the way behind her and wraps both of his arms around her waist.

“You are,” she moans when one of his hands glides down and settles hard over her crotch. “Even when you’re telling me to beg, you say please.”

He licks a longer stripe across her skin, pulls a larger patch into his mouth, cups her pussy in the palm of his hand.

“Barry…”

“But you called me a dick, Iris. Am I polite or a dick?”

She arches into him. “You’re a polite dick.”

He stills against her and it takes a moment for Iris to realize that he’s laughing again. He’s got such a nice laugh, deep and bright. “Damn, Iris.” He turns her around, still with a wide grin on his face. He leans down and kisses her, pecks her lips once, and then twice, and then a longer one that curls her fingers around his neck. He doesn’t immediately let go when he pulls back.

“I want to ask one of my last questions.”

She licks her lips, chasing the taste of him. “Okay.”

“Am I in the running?” He asks the question clearly, though in a voice just above a whisper. “Am I someone that you could want to be..”

She doesn’t need him to finish the sentence to say what she’s feeling, even if she’s terrified of what it might eventually mean for her. “I really think that you might be.”

“It’s a might I’ll take.” He nods at her door. “Good night, beautiful.”

She turns to go into the apartment. “Good night, Barry.”

The door is almost closed when he calls back. “Hey, Iris?”

“Yeah?”

“Call me this time.”

You make me

Baby

You make me

You make me

[poison--ivory]

Uninviting Cataclysm (Alastor x Reader) Chapter 5

Warning: A little smut, toxic relationship and child nearly drowning

Part 1: link

Part 2: link

Part 3: link

Part 4: link

Cool, refreshing night air hit your burning cheeks. Arms wrapped around yourself on instinct to protect unclothed hands from the night's chilled air. Perring off to the right you gazed at cyprus trees with spanish moss blowing in the breeze. The smell of the bayou lingering in the fast moving wind, which typically smelt like alligators and dirty water.

     You weren't going to complain about it though, your papa used to take you shrimp fishing and you got used to that stench from day one. But,much to mama's indifference, she was terrified that you fall in and sink to the murky darkness below and like every other time she was exactly right. One clear, sunny day when you were eleven, you were sitting in papa's fishing boat while he was setting shrimp traps in the water. Well, one of the traps broke free and all you tried to do was put it back in place, but you ended up falling straight forward. You thrived to keep your balance fumbling with your grasp yearning for traction between your hand and the side of the boat, nonetheless you failed and plummeted into the murky abyss, dropping further with each second. You didn't realize, but your papa was on the shallow side while you thought everything was the standing up section. Holding your breath for as long as your little lungs could last, you tried to endeavor into swimming for the top. Not moving an inch no matter how determined you were, you stay put in one spot. In the next few seconds your lungs started to burn for oxygen and just like any human when near death you tried to claw and kick your way back to the surface. This sort of movement caused your energy to deplete, mouth opened without you realizing it, water rushed in and filled your lungs. You always thought drowning was a fast death. . . but no, you were very much awake and terrified that you couldn't breath or call for help. The more you struggle the more water comes rushing into both your mouth and nose.

   Then, came the peacefulness. The bliss of darkness and the slow drift away from the burning of your water filled lungs. The brown murky water turned black and the last kick reflex bucked against the muddy ground below.

   Bright light took over your vision and water bursted from your mouth and squirted from your nose. It took you awhile to see the dark figure hovering above you, before you made it out to be your papa. Who crushed you in a bone breaking hug, weeping and praying that I was fine. That memory always left you nervous, since it was one of the few very descriptive childhood memories you can think of.

   You really wished you hadn't drank that much which wasn't a lot at all, just four small shot glasses of gin. You probably won't drink gin for awhile after this night.(Especially with the thoughts you're thinking). Your body felt like you drank two whole pots of coffee, your nerves spiked like you're being interrogated. Glancing over at Alastor, he had his eyes glued to the road showing no intention of looking anywhere else. I guess the alcohol was speaking for the body to touch him, your head was yelling at you to wait for interaction before moving in. Struggling to keep your body in check you started to think about what Al and Mimzy did that took approximately two hours to finish. Refraining yourself from questing him now and deciding it would be better said at a later time when you weren't intoxicated.

   On the scale of drunkenness you were probably more in a state of excitement than anything. You had a pretty great time at the party and with a few drinks made the night even better. However, now you felt so nerve racked that your stomach was churning up everything you ate this evening and you really didn't want to regurgitate in front of Al. Sucking in a smooth breath and blowing it out trying your best to ease your clouded mind. Taking a mental check to drink ginger ale when you got home and laying awake for a while to read a nice book. Groaning, you leaned your head back and lightly closed your eyelids. This cool air did seem to cool your nerves for just a bit. Trying to fill the silence you mustered up a smile and peered over at Alastor.

 "Lovely night, isn't it?" Tilting your head off to the side, looking back at the surrounding landscape, ",so peaceful."

    Humming in agreement, he drew his hand on top of your cupped hands, giving the left hand a firm squeeze. Maybe a little too tight, but still a nice gesture.

 "Very lovely." Even though he wore his signature smile on his lips, that gaze in his eyes was completely. . . off. His eyes were too blank to comprehend a single emotion.

    Not understanding why his eyes look so indifferent you wanted to say something, anything to get him to vocalize his thoughts. A pang in the back of your head was telling you to speak, along with that heat in your chest.

     Al's absolutely terrifying when he's silent, because usually he can talk anyone's ear off non stop and without failure of boring himself. But, right now his silence most certainly meant he was either mad or in deep thought and you didn't want to take any chance of him in a bad mood.

     Before being courted he scared you to no end with that bleak, emotionless look and that stilled space we called a work environment. Trapping you in his arms, getting in your personal space and touching you randomly. What made it more creepy was he kept that permanent smile on, not falling even once. Needless to say you tried to keep his ego up on those days, no matter what your pride told you.

 "I made beignets for the party. Were you there long enough to grab one." You're not going to lie, your mind is still foggy of when Alastor arrived at the party. You drank more than what you normally drank tonight. So, it would make sense if Al mingled with others before joining you. He did have a tendency of leaving you, so he could talk to his friends. "Did you say anything to Husk before leaving?" Full attention solely on him now, offering him a gentle smile to lighten up the mood. Alastor kept his gaze staring forward his mind in great thought. Not noticing you talking or you trying to pry his death grip off your small hands.

     Accomplishing your quest and checking your hands for any signs of damage, you surveyed his features again. Becoming aware that now on close inspection, he had a small cut on the corner of his lip. It could just be your liquored mind playing with your eyes, but it looks so real in the moonlight.

  A car passing by shook him out of his stupor and he seemed to just notice that you just asked him several questions. The color in his pupils came back, and so went away that heat that flooded your body.

"Why, yes I did have a small chat with, Husker." Answered Al, his speech came out fluidly, like he wasn't just spaced out. ",he was having such a splendid time that I didn't want to interfere with his night of fun." His voice brought you some sweet release, although the pain was still there, you felt comfort in his soothing voice. "Mimzy, did eat some of your confections, but at last I was too busy looking for you, my dear." His hand rubbed against your cheek, cupping it with such warmth and love. It took your mind right off the nagging feeling in your chest.

 "Oh, yes! Mimzy and Husk were going to play tonight weren't they." A guilty pang rushed into you for not witnessing their performance, and were making arrangements in your head to fix them their favorite dishes later as an apology.

 Alastor's hand cupped your chin and squeezed both cheeks. Causing your face to mush together, you in return playfully slapped his hand. "Don't you worry your pretty little head over that. Husker was way too out of it to perform tonight anyway." Giving your head a light tap before moving it back on the wheel. His gaze completely focused on the road now.

    The pain resurfaced with a sharp sting and you were jolted upwards out your seat. Peering over at Al, he seemed to not notice your struggle at all. The fire only got worse with each passing moment only for a cold chill to wash over your form.

    Time steadily passed and with that an eerie silence filled the car, the only sound being made was the bumps in the road, causing the metal of the car to grind together.

    The silence formulated into that known fear that you had when you first met this man. Your mind was telling you to apologize for whatever reason you couldn't understand. It was like a small speck in the back of your mind nagging you to make amends with your lover.

   You just really needed him to converse with you, because this was causing your chest to burn with that searing heat, again. The last time this happened was at that restaurant where you first met. Back then you tried to deduct that it was only acid from your stomach acting up. Now you realized that both pains did feel similar.

    Yet, this time it was way different, because this feeling was more intense and vibrant. In the restaurant there was this escape from your body feeling, the same as a dream like state.

This was much worse.

________________

     The rest of the drive you failed to gain your lover's attention and learned to bear with the ungodly pain that felt like four ovens going off at once.

 Driving up toward your house, Al parked the car, getting out and opening the passenger side door waiting for you to exit the car. The tension was still there and you still don't see why he was irritated. You're probably reading into this and he just had a bad night and it's not your fault at all. But, you listened to that sweet voice in your mind giving you sweet nothings that if you talked to him again the pain would vanish.

     He walked you up to the door and this was usually the time he bid his 'Adieu' and left back to his car. However, he stood his ground and grinned down at you. The small speck yelling at you now that this was your chance to make your suffering end.

Conjuring up a soft smile you asked Alastor, "Uh. . . Do you want to come inside, Al?" Nervously staring up his large stature.

     Alastor rubbed a single finger underneath his chin, looking off to the side like the question was a difficult one to answer to.

       Always so, dramatic.

 "Why, yes! That would be splendid, my dear!" You nodded and spun around to quickly unlock the door. Once successfully unlocking the front door and giving it a great shove, you were met with two white, purebred poodles snapping their heads in both your directions. The metal tags on their collars harshly rapped against the buckle. Tails wagging when seeing your face appear from the door frame.

    Beaming you patted your padded knees calling for those cute dogs to give you small hugs and kisses on the hand. Making way toward in your direction they stopped right in their tracks glaring at the man behind you. Alastor strides into the house, but back tracks when encountering the two pooches. Alastor took comfort standing close behind you.

     Well, they never did get a chance to meet, Al. Papa lent them over to his work friend for hunting he planned to do in the fall.

     Remi and Rosa both were whining at this point and pawing at the ground. Turning around with a swift twirl you glanced up at Al.

 "Oh, yes!" Snapping your middle and thumb together to produce a loud sharp noise. "You didn't meet these two, yet. They were away with a family friend training for the hunting season." Gazing into Al's eyes you noticed the look of distastefulness while he stared daggers at the two poodles. "What's wrong, Al?"

    Shaking his head he made eye contact with, the grin on his features strained with a slight twitch. Even so, he threw off my concern with a wave of his hand. "Let's head up to your room, love." Sensing that Alastor didn't wanna talk about right now.

     Shrugging your shoulders you felt Al grip your hand while passing the pooches. Light growls emitted from their throats, as soon as we stepped forward. They never really growled at anyone before. You wanted to sum it up to the fact that Alastor hunts a lot and dabbles in taxidermy. They probably smell the fur of the dead deer on his clothes. Possibly, a big stretch though.

   Guiding him up the stairs and down the hall to your room, you let him in and dropped his hand to situate yourself on the bed. Well, not before locking the door for precaution sake. Taking the time to straighten out your outfit, while Al looked around your cozy, acquainted room.

    Staring over you ogled his handsome features. He took long strides around your mediums sized room,peering over objects he deemed interesting, which was everything apparently. Picking up a pouch of sand you collected when you last visited the beach. Which was about ten years ago, you went with your parents and brother for a nice day of fun.

      A very eventful day, especially when Isaac got scared of a little seaweed that hit his shoulders. He screamed bloody murder that a crocodile was gonna get him. While he yelled in terror, papa tripped on wet sand running to "save" Issac from a patch of seaweed. Mama and I were watching the chaos proceed within itself and laughing when Isaac was explaining how seaweed could've been a crocodile in disguise.

    So immersed in deep fond memories, Alastor walked over to your bedside and sat next to your small frame, wrapping an arm around your waist. Snapping you out of thought and nearly having a heart attack gazing at his face.

     Alastor gave your forehead a quick kiss, then your cheek two quick smooches and finally, reaching the neck.

     Heat radiated off your cheeks and quickly spread across your body. You should be used to him being this close by now, but nonetheless his closeness and his kisses always left you a heaping mess.

     The most intimate moment you shared was a seering, long and passionate makeout session that turned nearly indecent. You had to wear makeup on your neck to hide the hickeys and bite marks, you still have a reputation to uphold.

     Alastor shoved your back on the bed and climbed over your small frame. Continuing with his kisses and sucking at the flesh on your neck. A light, funny sensation radiated from your chest.

       Al's hands traveled from your waist to your hips, rubbing his thumbs into your sides. His right hand slid back up cup your cheek, kneading the flesh of your plump cheek. Tilting your head just a bit for him to have easy access to the exposed skin. Amused by this gesture he decided one up you.

       His other hand used little to no effort to pry open your thighs. Settling in between your thick thighs, grinding against your delicate parts in the process. Causing a moan to escape your lips.

 "Asshole, that was certainly uncalled for, you know." Huffing and glaring off to the side, applying pressure up on his chest. "Get off! I wanna try something, too." Excitement clearly in your tone. Giving his shoulders a great push, hardly moving him an inch. "I wanna try something new, tonight."

    Al was considering the idea of you taking control, which was uncommonly interesting, coming from you. You never took the first step in these activities. Well, besides hand holding and giving light pecks on the cheek before he goes on air. You honestly never took the first initiative to these intimate moments together.

 "Hmmm. . . Alright darling, I'll humor you just this once." He rolled off your form, laying next to awaiting for your next move. "Come now love, I'm in desperate need of your sweet kisses." Al dramatically draped his arm over his forehead, shaking his head back and forth like so.

     Sucking in a quick breath, you climbed over Al's lanky, built body. Hovering over his face for a good couple seconds, contemplating on whether or not to go through with your motive.

     Not taking any other awful thought to mind, you went in for the kill. Kissing his lips with such outstanding passion, followed up more feverish kisses slowly trailing off to his jaw. Suckling the skin rather harshly, pulling the muscle with your teeth.

     Kind of payback for all the marks he left visible on you.

     Alastor's hands stroked your back and gave your hips a pleasant squeeze. Soft and silent grunt came from his throat.

 "Is that all." He scoffed, rolling his eyes in the process. "I thought you wanted to try something new." He waved his hand off to his side, pulling his body upright along with your mass and sat you on the top of his thighs. "Now if you wanted something new, I can gladly assist in this troubling time for you." His smirk made butterflies act up in the pit of your stomach, your heart rate accelerated even faster than before.

 "I was getting there, I was just working up to the big finalè." Arms shot outward and lazily hung from Al's shoulder blades. Analyzing what he just asked your cheeks went flush with embarrassment. "But, what if I d-do want what you're serving." Nearly stuttering over some of your wording. Afraid to stare at his eyes, so you settled for his chin.

     Alastor laughed very loudly, then gently laid you down on the cushioned blankets. Then, situated himself next to your much smaller frame. Entangling his arms around your torso and waist.

 If question marks could come up out of nowhere the whole room would be flooded in your confusion. "Wait, is that it?"

 "Why of course my dear. This is something we hardly tried together, since your house is always full and my mother needs my attention. Why not now to test out a cuddle session with you."

  Groaning you shoved his chest again to create a barrier between the both of you, but failed miserably. Laying in defeat you decide to stay sheltered under his arm prison.

     "Hey, Al can I ask you a question?"

 "Why you just did my, dear." Laughing at his own joke, "ask away, my dear."

This subject was always delicate when it came to Alastor. He talked about his mom in such high regards, but never wanted to go into full detail about the situation. So, asking this question was already making your chest heat up with such fierce force. Although, you managed to mutter out the next words very clearly.

"So, when can I actually meet your mother?"

". . . ."

[darkhymns-fic]

You Can Watch Over Me

Velvet catches Eizen in the middle of a nightmare. It's familiar to her - and maybe that's the reason why she wants to stay?

Fandom: Tales of Berseria Characters/Pairing: Velvet Crowe/Eizen Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Written for thescarfinator from the @talesofsecretsanta2020​ event! I jumped on the chance to write about Velvet seeing Eizen having a nightmare and was excited to try writing them for the first time. Happy Holidays!

-

It was harder to sleep when on the ship. Not that sleep comes to Velvet all so easily.

It wasn’t surprising at all; the Lord of Calamity should not have pleasant dreams. So she dreamed of Seres, eyes shadowed by butterfly wings, with only the memory of her remaining.  Always upon waking, Velvet’s arm would twitch.

This time she woke up in the middle of the night, leaning against the bundles of ropes that littered the deck of the Van Eltia. It was rare for her to lay down and stay exposed. She always sat up, her arm poised just against her knee. Always on guard and ready to get to her feet. But no one was nearby. 

She felt trapped on this ship sometimes. 

Getting hungry again. She clenched her fist to satiate the feeling. She could probably nibble on a few rations to help, but the lack of taste sometimes only made it worse. 

Velvet stood up easily, having long gotten used to the swaying of the ship by now. The air was quiet, though she could hear the murmur of the few crew members still up and going about their night tasks. She had no idea on the maintenance of ships, and was disinterested in watching. The salt spray from the ocean was strong this evening, but it was better than being cooped up in-between walls. Might as well stay on deck.

Raising her head, the stars were bright and numerous. The moon overhead was full, the sight of it familiar, and she turned away quickly to pace across the wooden floorboards. Maybe she kept an eye out for any hint of a sneaky Magilou, or an ear out for some out-of-the-blue laughter from Rokurou, but none of them here. Just one or two crew members, who swiftly moved out of her way, mumbling something about finishing up tasks below deck.

With less distractions, that’s when she saw Eizen, standing at the very port of the ship.

From behind, Eizen appeared to be overlooking the horizon, arms crossed, the wind lifting up his coat like outstretched wings. She rolled her eyes. She was half-convinced he was standing like this for dramatic effect. Her blade rattling in its holster, she walked up to him. “Is it common for malakhim to pull an all-nighter?” she asked him.

Eizen didn’t answer her. He was motionless, arms still crossed, much more interested in that horizon then in acknowledging Velvet that she existed. 

That just pissed her off.

“Hey! I was talking to-” She marched up to him, just about to grab his shoulder when she finally went in front of him, catching the look on his face.

His eyes were closed. He breathed evenly, slowly.

He was asleep. And he was...standing up, while he was asleep. Velvet raised an eyebrow. So some people slept even more with their guard up than she did, it seemed. 

She would have just called it a night at this point, not admitting that she was disappointed in not getting to talk to him. He'd have just blabbed about those underground tunnels again, she reasoned with herself. Or maybe he’d once again invoke the Reaper’s Curse and have the floorboards beneath their feet rot, letting them both fall into the sea.

She would have done nothing, except she saw how his face was also in pain.

It was subtle, but she heard his fast-paced breathing, and saw the way his fingers gripped his arms. Whatever he was dreaming about, it wasn’t pleasant. A phenomenon that she was much too familiar with.

Best to steer clear, or maybe he’d do something stupid and strike at her while stuck in a nightmare. But Velvet found herself by his side, her arm reaching out to him. “Eizen,” she called out. Slowly, carefully.

Eizen’s head lowered. He grimaced. He was stuck. 

Velvet poised her hand just over his shoulder. It wasn’t coincidence that it was her daemon arm that was closer to him - just in case. “Eizen,” she called out again.

He only continued to struggle. “...Nn…” Eizen shook his head, then lowered it so much that his chin made contact with his chest. “…na…”

She felt the pressure of his malak artes, just enough. It alarmed her a bit. Would he cast a spell in his sleep? She could only imagine one outcome, and a sinking ship was not in her plans.

Velvet dared, finally gripping his shoulder, bandaged fingers holding onto him. “Eizen, wake up!”

Eizen snapped his eyes open, bright blue, the color emphasizing the sudden pallor of his skin. Like a fish out of water, Eizen looked around in confusion, mouth half-parted. It took him a few seconds to finally latch his gaze onto Velvet.

“What… Edna, she’s…” he started, still half-stuck in his dream. But him speaking that name seemed to make him finally find his focus. He uncrossed his arms, one hand reaching to press against his forehead. “Agh…Velvet, why are you here?”

“Well, you don’t sound particularly grateful,” she noted. Her hand lingered on his shoulder, finally letting it slip off. She had just been hungry, that was all.

Eizen looked confused at what she meant. Then the sea breeze picked up, making the white sails above them flutter, hitting the mast. He looked around, his hair shifting along with that breeze. “I just… didn’t expect you. Why are you still up? It’s late.”

“What I do in my spare time at night isn’t of any concern to you,” she retorted.

Eizen stared. “It does if you were just watching over me as I sleep.”

Velvet mentally stumbled at that, taking up a moment to devise her answer. “I was not watching you!” Of all the stupid things this man said! “You were just standing here, how would I have known that you sleep the same way a horse does?"

“Oh, I was…” Eizen looked around him again, realizing, and that was when he seemed to be the one embarrassed now. “It’s… a malak thing. Easy to regain energy this way.”

Velvet highly doubted. “I’ve never seen Laphicet do that.”

“Well, it’s an earth malak thing, to be specific.” Eizen coughed into his fist, still avoiding her eyes. “It’s good to feel steady, so standing is just a preferred option!"

“Really.” Velvet wasn’t going to keep questioning this, and honestly, on any regular occurrence, she would have just left him to do whatever he wanted. But the paleness of his skin hadn’t left, and his hands still shook, even if the motion was so minute. Probably no one else would have even noticed.

But Velvet’s eyes were sharp.

Eizen finally turned to her, seeing her gaze, then lowered his hand. “Thanks for shaking me awake.”

“That only took you ten minutes to finally say so, but you’re welcome.” There was a wooden bench just next to them, placed against the side of the ship, and Velvet took it, moving aside her long hair to lay against the surface. “So, what did you dream?”

She knew Eizen wouldn’t tell her right away, of course. “Nothing,” he said instead, his voice low. It didn’t hold any of the strength of the earth, the unyielding magnitude of it. It came out weak and exhausted. “It was nothing.”

Velvet stared at his back, at the metal plates affixed to his coat, catching the moonlight. She stared at the rips, running symmetrically just beneath his shoulders. “Are you just going to run from it?”

That had hit a nerve, somewhere deep in this man’s pride. Eizen continued looking up at the sky before he finally went to sit down with her, though it looked more like he tumbled backwards, his legs barely holding him up anymore.

Velvet blinked. Something about the way he acted was…familiar. Too much so. She wasn’t sure how much she liked that.

“I get these most nights,” he admitted, still avoiding her gaze. Eizen sighed, his chest moving inward as he did so. “It gets awkward if I sleep in the bunkers with everyone. So I usually just… stay out here.”

Guess that’s not surprising, she couldn’t help but think. Eizen had a pride she found foolish, one that would only worsen when he was around the likes of Rokurou. But there were other times when he was humbled, when he was suddenly much subdued then he first seemed. In a way, she found that aspect of him far more compelling.

She was thinking on that too much. She brought her knee up, laying her bandaged arm around it. Loose, white strips floated along with the breeze.

“Then what was it about? Did you dream yourself losing out on a winning bid for some old rusty vase?” It was barely an exaggeration. She had seen the malak actually tear up at the thought of missing out on some relic rumored to lie within a deserted island that the ship had passed by. The currents had been rough, making it impossible to land. Eizen had sulked for the rest of the trip. ("It was a priceless Kharlan painting from the Enlightenment era! You just wouldn't understand…")

Even as Velvet acted frustrated then, she still wouldn’t admit to herself that maybe the other’s weird sentiment with such things was a little endearing. Just a little.

She expected Eizen to either be annoyed at her words, or just plain confused. But what she got was exactly nothing. Eizen sat still, hands now gripping the other as he laid his arms on his knees. She wasn’t even sure if he heard her.

“I could handle that kind of dream,” Eizen finally spoke. “This was something else.”

“Part of the Reaper’s Curse?” she asked, only half-serious. The man could stub his toe and he’d blame it on the curse over his own foolishness.

“Maybe,” he simply said. Another pause, his jacket spread out on the wooden bench like an ocean full of pitch. “They only seemed to start ever since I left her.”

Her. The name he only half-said in sleep. “Edna,” Velvet said, but did so carefully.

But Eizen wasn’t like her, furious at hearing others spill out the name of his sibling. In fact, she saw him smile, even as it twisted along with his pale skin. “Edna should be safe and sound back home. That’s why I left her, so that she could be safe. No Reaper’s Curse to put her in danger. I stand by my decision.”

He pulled on his gloves, fidgeted more in those few minutes then she had ever seen him since he first joined their group. “But, most nights… I dream up something horrible happening to her. The sky swallowing her up, or a daemon fighting her.” He pressed his boot into the floor, as if trying to dig a hole right into it. If the wooden boards had been soil, he might as well have. “I dreamt her being shot, but instead of another malak, it was really her-“

Velvet reached out again, with that same bandaged arm. But she gripped his wrist gently. “Enough,” she warned. “You’ll get lost in it, if you keep going.”

Eizen shook, then stilled. He placed one fist into the palm of his hand, squeezing it tight. “Thought you said I was running from it.”

“You were, make no mistake,” Velvet quickly answered. “But if you face it the wrong way, you’ll only get trapped in it. You’ll be devoured.” She kept her hand where it was, feeling the tension pulling at him so tightly. “Funny, usually you’re the one giving out all the tired, cliched advice.”

The laughter that came from Eizen built something inside her chest that she dared not name. She was just sleep-deprived, like he was right now. Just two people in the middle of the night, unable to swallow their fears. “Maybe you’re right. You’re not usually this patient with people, except perhaps Laphicet.”

The night breeze blew her hair away from her neck. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. She had said the name of his sibling, it’s only fair he could say the name of hers. (But he’s not Laphi). She put down those other intruding thoughts for now.

“You just can’t let it distract you from what is real and important.” She finally let his wrist go, seeing how his eyes followed along her motion. Did he expect her to do anything else? “But, if you’ve had these dreams for that long, you probably already know that.”

Eizen took another breath, but his voice was stronger, firmer. No longer stuck. “Guess that’s true. But, it’s nice hearing someone else say it.”

“Even if that someone is a daemon?” she asked, maybe too genuine in her question.

“There’s a reason why you are what you are, and it’s made you stronger for it.” Eizen finally looked at her, his cheeks now full of color. For a so-called Reaper, he seemed to have more life in him now. “Because you get it too.”

The acknowledgement might have hit too deep. She turned away, eyes rapt onto the stars. “I do, and you’ll keep quiet about that.”

“Heh, fair enough.”

The easy acceptance Eizen took of the situation also surprised her. Her chest tightened. Again, she was just hungry. They’ve been stuck on this ship for weeks, and while ocean deamons sometimes appeared, it wasn’t enough to completely sate her arm.

“Have you ever fallen overboard?” she asked suddenly.

The look of pure confusion on Eizen’s face amused her greatly. “What? Uh… perhaps a few times actually. I don’t remember how though. Usually it’s at night when…” He paused in realization.

“You know, it'd be good if you get someone to watch over you as you sleep, or you’ll keep breaking the Van Eltia more than sailing it.” How he’d been able to deal with it, she had no clue. But the man was as stubborn as the very earth he hailed from.

“Right…” Eizen coughed, his embarrassment once again so plain on his face. “Now Aifread’s complaints back then… make a lot more sense.”

“Men like you and him need more sense ,” she spit out.

“If that’s the case… are you saying you’ll offer to watch over me?”

The smile she saw on his face was stupid and ridiculous on him. Velvet turned away more, hugging her knee close to her chest, not caring whether any of the belts or leather was pricking into her skin. “I did plenty enough. It’s ruining what little sleep I can get tonight.”

“Fine, then I’ll do the same for you.” Eizen sat back with her, just near enough for their shoulders to touch. The man was surprisingly bold. “As my way of repaying you.”

“Huh.” Velvet scoffed, clenching her bandaged fist before looking over at Eizen, his face nearly impassive now. “You’re serious.”

“It only makes sense, doesn’t it?” He shrugged. “Besides, I’m not sure I can go back to sleep tonight.”

“So, the Reaper wants to watch over me at my most vulnerable?” She eyed him. “Will I even make it through the night?”

“I think, being the Lord of Calamity and all, your misfortunes offset my own.” He shrugged. “We can put it to the test.”

It just all sounded like an incredibly far-reaching excuse to her, but Velvet somehow couldn’t find it in her to say no.

“Just no sudden movements,” she told him as she laid back against the rim of the ship. The swaying of the ocean waves felt comforting, more so in evenings. The sky was open, gave her more to look at than in all the years she had been locked away. “This arm bites, you know.”

Eizen smirked, but he nodded. “Got it then.”

Velvet couldn’t believe she was allowing this, but she really did feel so fatigued. With no daemons to nourish her, she could only feel how heavy her body was. Velvet gazed up at the sky, tracing the constellations that she had missed, then shut her eyes. Eizen was still near, enough that she could feel his body heat.

I shouldn’t fall for this, she thought before sleep took hold. But maybe it was nice to let down her guard, at least for a while.

-

The dream is the same. Seres again, in the white void, eyes completely covered. And over her neck, the black marks of someone’s fingers that had strangled her.

Velvet felt her arm burn, clutched it to her chest. “I can’t forget,” she said.

“You won’t ever forget,” Seres said to her, in a voice that was so painful in its familiarity. It pierced her as sharply as when she would plunge her blade into the quivering body of a beast. “And you can’t regret.”

“I don’t… I shouldn’t!” Velvet gritted her teeth. Her arm became malformed, an array of black that ran with so much red, pulsing like magma beneath the earth. “You offered yourself to me! I needed to live! I don’t care who stands in my way-!”

She reached out with her arm, to grab Seres again, to devour her again. But in her grip, it was a young boy instead. She had already squeezed tight before he vanished, lost forever, again, again, again-

Velvet woke up, gasping for air. But a hand kept her steady, strong and firm.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Eizen was speaking, even though it sounded so far off. “A nightmare, that’s it.”

Velvet heard it, denied it with all her heart.

“No… it’s more than that.” She gritted her teeth, shook in his hold. “I watched him die! Again…” The guilt clawed its way into her throat, and all she could do was let it fester. “Always, again. You don’t understand.”

Eizen had no words, and for once, she regretted something just now. She didn’t mean for it to slip past. But she shook, and her arm still hurt. She curled in on herself, and felt those same arms hold her close.

“You’re right, I don’t,” Eizen was saying. His words were barely above a whisper, yet they felt rough against her hair. “And I hope I never will.”

I hope that too, she thought, shutting her eyes tight. Always on guard, but she wanted to let herself go, for one short moment. The steadiness of Eizen was comforting. Maybe, even after everything she’d done, she could be allowed to have this.

[poorlytunedukulele]

Day 28 - Vision

Sometimes Azra dreams her own dreams.  They are fairly normal as dreams go: common ones like driving a Sparrow whose breaks won’t work properly, getting into a Crucible match to realize she’s forgotten all of her guns, bits of memories smashed together in colorful jumbles.  She has nightmares, too, drowning in Darkness and torture and death.  She doesn’t remember much, even when she does stay in her own head.

But most of the time she does not.  She will one day learn this is a very stereotypical Arcstrider trait.  They are wanderers by nature, constantly moving, and this includes their sleeping hours.  So more often than not she is somewhere else.  She walks the plain with the dark tower and the sunset-fractals on the ground. She passes through scenes she does not belong in, noting familiar faces, experiencing odd sensations of worlds not perceived by her own brain.  She remembers these even less than her own dreams.

But she also intimately knows the Void.  So sometimes when death weighs heavy on her, on days that are worse for whatever reason, she goes even farther, in places not reality but certainly not dreams.

-

You sit on your cliff with the sun setting in front of you, the clouds shifting in the sky above you, and the sea crashing below you.  The sun burns Solar and the lengthening shadows it casts shimmer Void.  The wind hums electric on your tongue.  It ruffles your hair and spreads out your cloak like an old friend. Grass and moss dot the cracks in the rock but for the most part the cliff is bare.  It is that magic inbetween time right before sunset when the light is golden and smooth.  The sea breeze is a caress against your skin.  The waves roll in and out, the sound of their breaking ringing like laughter.  It will rain tonight, you know.  But this place is not tonight, it is right now, when you can smell the salt in the air and feel the grit in between your fingers.

 -

The air here is dry without being thirsty, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and creosote.  The ground is broken.  The shadows cast by the half-moon are sharp-edged.  You skirt them superstitiously, worried that they might cut you.  Fractured boulders sit at odd angles, almost like someone scattered them from above instead of pushing them up from below.  It’s easy to feel tiny here.  But the stars do twinkle friendly behind the intermittent clouds, and Andal Brask’s campfire is warm and welcoming.  He sits beneath one of the stone buttresses and makes jokes about you haunting him. You talk (about what, you can never remember).  You can feel comfortable here if you settle your nerves.

 -

Wei Ning stands on a plain of yellow grass that sways in the wind.  It is either late morning or early afternoon by the angle of the sun, and the sky is clear and so blue it almost hurts.  Stormclouds loom over the mountains in the distance, but here and now the weather is good.  The grass is only knee-high, and beneath it the earth is hard and thirsty.  Wei Ning fights.  Of course she fights.  The enemies come in waves that crash against her fists, leaving neither the stain of blood nor the scar of bodies when they are defeated.  There is energy in the air.  Wei Ning laughs, and thunder booms in the distance.

 -

You’re on the moon. The stars pierce the black velvet of the sky, cold and hard and brilliant.  The ground is lumpy and uneven, but largely flat.  The shadows are impossibly dark, the lunar dust almost blindingly bright. There is very little cover here, which leaves you feeling a bit unnerved and jumpy.  Pahanin doesn’t spend too much time in this place.  He says he likes to wander a lot because he doesn’t like being alone.  Despite the feeling that something is about to leap out at you (from what cover, you do not know), this place does feel lonely.  Desolate.  Sometimes you can get him to sit down for a bit and you talk.  It’s nice.  A perfect marble of blue and white sits on the horizon, a promise of home.

 -

Kabr is not here.  He wasn’t, and never will be.

 -

You know this place in the living world.  It’s different here.  Fellwinter Peak is devoid of its Iron Temple or cable cars.  It’s not snowing so much as the wind is hurling flakes of ice and sleet from place to place.  The cold air snaps with cynicism.  The sky fades to mist overhead.  Lord Fellwinter stands there, arms crossed, unmoved by wind or ice.  He gives no thanks for his rest here, but you think he appreciates what you’ve done.  There is a brazier on the peak behind him, the fire burning bright despite the weather and the tired look in his optics.  

 -

Puck lies in a boat on a small lake.  The summer sun beats down, filling you with easy warmth.  This place is rich with life.  Water bugs skitter across the surface of the lake and fish dart by below. The buzz of cicadas fills the air. At the edges, lily pads and cattails thrive.  Red-wing blackbirds perch on the stalks and compete to see which one can sing the loudest. The forest beyond is dark and cool and mysterious.  Puck will demand you lie down with zir and cloud-watch.  If you do, ze will weave you stories from the air.  You wonder at the impossible shapes the clouds make. The smell of the lake is strong but not unpleasant.

 -

Jolder is in a field of flowers in the shadow of a huge iron mountain.  The flowers are rich blues, reds, and yellows.  You can never stay here for more than a moment, but she thanks you anyway.  The sky is a light gray.

 -

You know this place too. Dwindler’s Ridge always seemed oddly empty to you in the living world.  Despite all the myth and legend, it was just a place.  Now, you can feel the sense of justice pulling like north pulls a magnet.  A sense of things set right.  You wonder how Jaren Ward knows this place; it only comes into his story after he’s gone. The sun is high and the earth is baked dust.  It’s hot, but it’s a dry heat.  You sit with Jaren and your feet dangle off the sheer, wind-eaten slope.  It’s impossible not to draw some inspiration from the man.  His every gesture is balanced in this world.  No regrets, or remorse, or things left unsettled.  He is bright and untarnished as gold, as well-worn steel. You notice his gun is not at his hip.

 -

The air is clean but has a bite.  You stand on a gravel-bar in some northern river.  Therin Vai stands a few meters into the current and twirls a long pole made of ash.  His lure flits across the surface of the river.  You don’t think he’s going to have much luck catching trout, but you don’t think he cares that much.  You’ve found a lot of people who go fishing don’t do so for the fish.  The river sings over stones, crystal clear and shockingly cold.  Hardy pines cover the ground outside of its reach, doing the laborious work of turning hard rock into more welcoming soil.  This place is not tamed and never has been, even by stubborn trees.  Their trunks are sparse.  Therin’s rod hums as he casts again, carefully maneuvering his fly so it doesn’t hit you.

 -

It's on a beach at night. The waves break softly against the sand, creating a pleasant background of white noise.  A crescent moon sits just over the horizon.  It seems to suck the light from the sky instead of providing it. The stars shimmer overhead, somehow seeming close and intimate, as if you listened hard enough you could hear their whispered secrets.  Their light reflects off the calm waters.  To the right, there are dunes, held together with sparse grass, forming a ten-foot tall bluff.  To the left, there is the ocean.  Tevis Larsen walks between them, in the place that is neither land nor sea, where the damp sand is somehow more supportive than dry or wet.  He paces the shoreline or sits on top of the bluff where stone or driftwood provide a sure place.  The two of you don’t talk, the silence in the air like a spell nobody wants to break. You don’t need to speak, anyway, to understand.

AO3 Link

[maximumsnow]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Link & Tetra (Legend of Zelda), Linebeck & Link (Legend of Zelda) Characters: Toon Link, Linebeck (Legend of Zelda), Tetra (Legend of Zelda) Additional Tags: spoiler in the tags, The first half of the story is very much a nightmare, There is a character death in the nightmare but it's not real, Also Linebeck says a single swear but I couldn't think of a way around it when he's an actual sailor, I want to emphasize that the relationship between Link and Linebeck is Platonic, Or familial, But you can read whatever relationship you want between Tetra and Link though

Summary: Phantom Hourglass and Wind Waker end with Link fighting and defeating a man at the end, and sometimes nightmares don't like keeping the facts straight with how things actually went.

It was raining. (It shouldn’t be raining.)

Link didn’t know when it had started, but when he woke up to Ciela’s pleas, the first thing he noticed was Linebeck swinging the Phantom Sword wildly around.

The cowardly man had stabbed Bellum. For him. And was keeping the monster at bay while Link recovered. The memory and urgency of the situation drove Link to his feet.

Then Linebeck made an error no experienced swordsman would make and turned his head away from the enemy. To check on Link.

Bellum took the easy opening and grabbed Linebeck’s arms. The horror that flashed on his face was replaced with determination as he struggled against the hold long enough to throw the sword to Link.

It was easy to catch it despite the haphazard way it had left the older man’s hands. But he was forced to watch as Bellum wrapped more tentacles around Linebeck and latched itself onto his back.

Dark energy flowed around them until thick phantom armor materialized on Linebeck’s body and forced him to stand up.

His face was tinted an unnatural purple (like a drowning man), and his eyes were glazed over with white.

Despite the almost dead appearance, he was able to wheeze out, “Link...”

A helmet appeared before he could say anything else, and with far more grace, the possessed Linebeck swung a heavy sword at Link.

The blow was easy to dodge, and Ciela was already shouting instructions at Link about how to deal with their problem.

After a few swings of the Phantom sword glancing off the armor with no effect, Link tried running and tumbling to get behind Bellum. But, no matter how fast he ran, the armored front would always face him in its inexorable march.

Finally, Ciela was able to let loose a Phantom Sphere, and Link stopped time long enough to run behind the large Phantom.

There was no weak spot to attack.

(There was no sign of Bellum’s body that should have been sticking out of Linebeck’s back.)

Ciela tried hovering behind Bellum to see if there would ever be a weak spot, and she was grabbed by a tentacle that was somehow still there.

The fight continued. (Different this time.)

No matter how many times he landed distracting blows and picked up and used Phantom Spheres, no eye ever opened.

He was getting tired.

Bellum wasn’t. (Bellum never did)

The large Phantom started another spin attack, and Link noticed just how unbalanced the helmet was when that attack was performed.

(Oh goddesses, please no.)

Another dodge, another parry.

He called on Neri’s aid to just help him get to the next spin attack. The blue fairy’s power coursed through him in time to block a would have been fatal blow from Bellum (Linebeck).

Their blades met time and time again. Just when Link thought he would never get another hit in, Bellum couldn’t recover quickly enough to avoid a cheap shot that knocked it to Linebeck’s knees.

Ciela took the opportunity to throw another Phantom Sphere at Link, and as soon as he caught it, Bellum stood back up. The way it grabbed the sword told him that it was about to do another spin attack, and Link prepared.

As soon as the attack started, Link stopped time and ran.

With a jump and a flourish, he slammed the helmet upwards and away from the Phantom’s head.

(Linebeck’s head)

Once again, the familiar face was exposed. Still with the purple hue and unseeing white eyes.

No sign of Bellum’s black and orange eye.

There was only one way Link knew how to finish it. But he couldn’t do that to his friend.

(The same way he killed a man a year ago.)

Linebeck (Bellum) staggered as he lost his balance before fixing him with that dead stare and marched towards him.

(Was Linebeck even still in there?)

Link shook his head as he tried to repeat the process with other pieces of the armor.

Nothing worked.

He could faintly see the eyes on the tentacles near the joints, but even when he tried to stab them directly, it was like a forcefield would cover them and make the blade glance off.

He couldn’t keep this going. His arms and legs were burning with exhaustion, and his lungs were begging for a reprieve.

If he kept putting this off, he would die. And so would Tetra. And Ciela. And Neri and Leaf.

The realm of the Ocean King would be destroyed.

(I’m sorry, Linebeck.)

The last Phantom sphere pulsed as he activated it.

With ease, he took a running jump, and plunged the sword nearly to its hilt into Linebeck’s forehead.

(How he killed Ganondorf.)

Link jumped away so that the heavy body didn’t crash onto him, but once he was on his feet again, he could only stare in horror as the armor turned into a purple mist with black and orange eyes staring at him. Mocking him. Before they inevitably exploded into bright yellow sand and fell into the water below.

It left the body of his friend face down on the driftwood.

He wasn’t moving.

Link stumbled towards the body left and collapsed to his knees near Linebeck’s head and tilted the face upwards.

Linebeck’s eyes were green again, but dull and unseeing. Bright red blood leaked out of the wound where the sword was still lodged.

He was dead.

(I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorryI’msorryI’msorry.)

Link didn’t know when he started to scream the words aloud, but when hands grabbed his shoulders, he shoved them away violently.

“Link!? Wake up!” Ciela’s voice sounded wrong, like it was mixed with someone else’s.

(Tetra?)

He stopped struggling, and the scene went dark as he realized his eyes were closed. He was laying down on something instead of standing on wooden planks.

His eyes shot open, and it took a few seconds to see in the faint candlelight. Tetra was hovering nearby, a worried look on her face and her hair in even more disarray than usual.

Link tried take a few calming breaths, and the fact that she didn’t comment on how he managed to choke on air must have meant he looked bad.

“You were shouting.” The words lacked any of their usual bite and contained an unspoken question.

He rubbed at his face, which was noticeably wet, and tried to answer.

The image of a dead Linebeck, that he had killed, came back.

All that came out was a low whine that was cut off by a sob, and he curled his legs forward to bury his face into his knees.

With surprising care, Tetra approached him and sat down on his bunk nearby. “We’re on our ship. We just docked at an island for the night.” She looked at the door before continuing. “We’re all safe.”

Before he could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard accompanied by shouting. It spiked his heart rate briefly, before he recognized the voice.

“Hey, put me down!”

Relief. Link let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, and tears threatened to fall again.

Gonzo kicked in the door, and slung over his shoulder was a very much alive, if annoyed, Linebeck.

“Captain’s orders, yeah?” He dropped the sailor onto the cabin floor before looking to Tetra.

Link didn’t pay mind to the silent conversation he knew they were having thanks to zeroing in on Linebeck. The sailor had a hand up brushing his hair out of his face, and that allowed Link to see that there was no injury marring his forehead.

He had figured out by now that it had to have been a nightmare, but he still couldn’t help checking.

Linebeck staggered to a standing position, and without his coat on, he looked even smaller than Gonzo. It didn’t stop him from pointing a finger at Gonzo’s chest and saying, “Just because I’m traveling with you doesn’t mean you can drag me out of my cabin and manhandle me like a dead fish!”

Gonzo just rolled his eyes before turning on his heel and leaving Linebeck without a response.

Linebeck was about to follow him out, offense written all over his face. “HEY! I wasn’t-”

“Read the room,” Tetra spoke up firmly. The lack of sarcasm and playful nicknames must have registered something in Linebeck’s head, for he quickly turned around, and the annoyance vanished.

Link vaguely wondered how pathetic he must look. Sure, Linebeck had seen him hit some lows at night when they traveled together in the Ocean King’s realm, but now he knew just what Link was capable of.

Some legendary hero he was. Wrapped in a blanket with a wet face and faintly shaking in the aftereffects of a nightmare.

“Aw shit. You’re not okay, are you, kid?” Linebeck scratched his head as he asked. The rhetorical question hung in the air as neither teenager was willing to bother with the obvious answer. Waving it away, he took a few steps closer to the huddled mess.

He stopped and gave Link a pointed look that the boy recognized well. Can I come closer?

Link froze. The guilt of literally having just killed the man in his dream was telling him that he had no right to ask for the simple comfort that Linebeck somehow managed to give.

Just knowing he was alright should be enough.

It wasn’t.

While fighting to keep another sob down, Link nodded and scooted closer to Tetra. Permission given, Linebeck sat on Link’s other side, and Link instinctively leaned against him. He felt Linebeck’s arm carefully settle on his shoulders, and Tetra’s hand started to rub circles in his back.

The contact settled the racing feeling in his chest in a way their presences hadn’t been able to. The part of his mind still affected by the nightmare couldn’t ignore the fact that Linebeck was alive and breathing right next to him.

With little preamble, Linebeck started, “So, kid, did I tell you about that time I-”

Link couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at the unexpected topic change and met Tetra’s eyes in mutual sarcasm. Given how often Linebeck embellished his stories and changed them around for fun, Link probably hadn’t heard whatever nonsense he was about to spill.

But, just the segue had managed to stop fresh tears from falling, Link wasn’t going to say no to the obvious attempt to keep his mind off of the nightmare.

The first one hadn’t quite worked. The second nearly did. The third one managed to make him laugh so hard, that he rolled backwards and out of the mess of blankets. By the middle of the fourth story, his eyes were getting heavy, and he didn’t get to hear how that one ended. The sound of Linebeck’s storytelling voice and Tetra heckling every now and then lulled him to a deep sleep.

His dreams were blissfully blank.

[syilcawrites]

archived memories | 6

Series: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild Type: Multi-Chapter Main pairing: Zelink (Zelda and Link) Rated: T Tags/Genre: pre-calamity, fluff (middle chapters mostly), hurt (toward the last chapters lmao), pining Summary: bits and pieces of zelink scenes strewn in between the canon memories in botw! Snippet from Ch 6: “’Oh fish pie, one day you will soon find your home inside my stomach,’ Zelda sighed out wistfully at her drawing, hugging it close to her face.” A/N: Between Memory 7-9  You can also read it on ao3! Click here to see all chapters on tumblr

Chapter 6: people watching

Zelda swung her legs as she sat snuggly inside a tree that faced Castletown, hiding from her citizens. She watched them roam about their day, unaware of her presence, as she observed them curiously. This had been a habit of hers since she was young, and it was a nice break in between praying and studying Sheikah technology.

She quickly shoved the last of her candied apples into her mouth and scrambled for her quill as a group of little kids appeared around the corner, running and scrambling and laughing.

It seems that the citizens of Castletown are quite close to one another, as many of the children that I have seen roaming about are doing so unsupervised. This is pleasantly surprising considering how many outsiders come in and out frequently, but I’m glad to see such safety present in our beloved, bustling town.

Zelda brought a leg up to her chest as she tried to keep the ruffle of her dress down in the process. She would’ve changed into her field attire if it wasn’t for the fact that she wasn’t supposed to leave the castle without some sort of escort in the first place.

She leaned against the trunk of the tree, watching them play tag for a little. She could already hear her father’s reprimanding tone regarding her boorish posture, but that was the beauty in hiding—she could do whatever she wanted to do, and she desperately needed this. She shook her head at the thought of her father, letting thoughts of him fall out in the process. The last thing she wanted to do was to mull over her relationship with him when she finally had some time to herself. With a sigh, she tapped the feather of her quill on her knee as she absentmindedly flipped through the pages of her notebook, mostly paying attention to the noisy, boisterous children.

The longer she watched them, the more uncomfortable she became—it was a sensation she was all too familiar with. Zelda scolded herself as she nipped away a bud of jealousy that had begun to form within her. She wanted to run around in the grass, laughing carefree and wholly. She thought she had dashed away such desires, but watching others do so seemed to resurface those bygone dreams.

As they rounded another corner, disappearing from view, her attention drifted to a bakery a bit further down the road. Zelda brought her ink bottle up and dabbed the tip of the quill into it before going back to her notebook.

The bakery near the east gate always has delicious bread and pastries available—I’ve always wanted to try some, but I would have to disguise myself. I’m not sure if I will have time…

She looked up thoughtfully, watching the leaves sway in the wind, as she tried to scourge up some plans to sneak into Castletown on her own. The last time Zelda tried venturing in, she had taken escorts, and the experience resembled the taste of watered down fruit juice. The escorts took every single thing she tried to eat out of her hands and tasted it themselves first before letting her have a bite out of it. Eating a meal that was already bitten out of wasn’t quite the same and made the experience quite… unenjoyable to say the least.

Zelda sniffed the air—fresh bread. Her stomach growled as she rapidly wrote down her thoughts.

The owner must wake up before the sun even rises to prepare his dough for it to look as scrumptious as it usually does! I cannot wait to see what types of pastries he’s made this week. Two months ago, the last time I was able to take a breath outside of the castle on my own, he had a set of specific assortments. Maybe now, he’ll spruce up the variety that he offers. Will he have more pastries this time around? Does he work alone? It must take hours preparing as much delicacies as he does.

Zelda tapped her notebook carefully as her thoughts drifted to Link. He would eat almost anything, and he probably had already tried every single meal that Castletown had to offer at this point.

She perked up when she saw the bakery owner walk out with a steel plate full of various pastries and breads—from fish pie to plain wheat bread—and all of it looked as delicious as one would expect. She chewed at her bottom lip as she quickly sketched the tray of goods in his hands. Luckily for her, he was setting it down outside on a table to organize it.

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted together in concentration, her hands trying to get down the perfect line and stroke. If she had the Sheikah Slate with her, she could’ve taken a picture, but Impa had asked for it before Zelda decided to go on her rendezvous.

Regardless, her drawings outside of Sheikah technology never ended up the way she wanted them to. She found sketching ancient ruins and tech much more linear and… ironically, more simplified compared to sketching the daily wonders of life itself, which always seemed to prove difficult for her.

“Oh fish pie, one day you will soon find your home inside my stomach,” Zelda sighed out wistfully at her drawing, hugging it close to her face.

She lowered her notebook to see if anything else particularly stuck out, but instead found herself face to face with bright blue eyes. She squealed in surprise and scrambled in her spot, almost falling off the tree. Link released one of his hands that grasped the tree branch hanging above her to catch her by her shoulder before she could fall off.

“Link, you almost scared the Goddess out of me!” Zelda hissed as she composed herself, going back to her snug spot nestled in the tree. She looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow. “When did you even—how did you even get up there?” she asked, her heart still racing in her chest. He looked a little funny just hanging around in front of her, but she was also concerned that the branch would snap off if he hung there any longer.

“I climbed,” he stated simply. He began swinging to a branch on her left, and she lightly hit his shoulder when he swung by.

“Don’t make too much noise or they’ll hear us!” She hissed again. He landed quietly on it, crouching. The branch was thicker and closer to the trunk, easily supporting his weight.

He cupped his hands over his mouth. “What are you doing up here?” He half whispered back, but it was still much louder than she would’ve liked.

She brought a stiff finger to her lips, darting her eyes over to the citizens, but they continued to obliviously go about their day.

“I’m simply…” Zelda waved her hand toward the people. “Observing my people. Sometimes I like to people watch.” She whispered, shrugging. She had been doing this since she was a young girl. Although she certainly stopped coming here as frequently as before, sometimes it was nice to just… watch others go about their day. To be an invisible spectator. It was something that she hadn’t experienced much in her own day to day life, where everyone was constantly watching her every move.

And she was still feeling a bit glum about being unable to accompany Link back to Hateno, so she sought refuge away from everyone else in order to feel sorry for herself in solitude. After her father had found out she was planning to visit Hateno with him, he had explained his disappointment in her for even considering such a thing.

“There are enough rumors about you already, do you plan to add more by accompanying your knight attendant, alone, to his hometown?” He had told her, shaking his head.

Zelda was confused, because they had traveled alone together before, but any word to defend herself simply went in one ear and out the other whenever it came to communicating with her father. She wasn’t sure what was worse though—hearing him explain how unacceptable and foolish it was of her to consider such an activity or the fact that Link remained quiet for the remainder of the week afterwards.

He didn’t tell her when he left for Hateno, and she saw him ride away across the grassy plains early yesterday morning from her study tower. She was glad that he was able to visit his family without any setbacks, if anything.

“When did you get back?” Zelda asked him, still scribbling away at her notebook. She was almost done with the last batch of pastries, and the baker was beginning to bring them all back into the building to put them on display.

“Just now.”

She heard him shuffling around—he did have a satchel around him when she saw him. It was probably food, knowing him.

I’ve also feel inclined to mention that the baker seems to have two children, both quite young, but I have never seen the baker embrace another adult. Perhaps his significant other is ill, or—

Zelda stopped writing, letting the sentence drop off where it was. She used to create scores of stories for random citizens she saw, but for some reason, she found it to be rude the more she thought about it.

Link tapped her shoulder, and she withdrew herself from her notebook.

“I brought these for you,” he stated, shoving a couple of jars filled with a milky liquid color at her. His voice had a sound of excitement that she was surprised to hear.

“Oh—“ Zelda struggled to juggle holding her notebook, ink, quill, and the bottles all at once, but Link was too busy pulling the bag over his shoulder to notice.

“I’m not sure what colors you wanted so I just picked up a bunch of bright flowers and rocks…some monster parts too.” He flipped the flap open, and she saw various colorful materials neatly stacked and labeled. There were fleet-lotus seeds, nightshade flowers, rock salts; there were even some moblin guts in a jar.

“What’s all this for?” Zelda asked, blinking.

“You said you needed to dye some clothes right?” Link asked, tilting his head. He looked down at her lap and noticed all of the stuff piled on top. “Sorry, your hands are already full.” He frowned and reached over for the jars, stuffing them back into the satchel.

“Oh Link,” Zelda laughed lightly, her heart felt full against her chest. “You didn’t have to go out of your way to get all of this.”

“You sew a lot, and Hateno’s dyes are really good.” Link pulled something out of the pocket inside of the satchel—a piece of paper. “The owner of the dye shop told me a list of materials that make really strong colors, in case you’re interested. Just let me know if you want anything and I can get it.”

Zelda’s tongue caught in her throat and she didn’t know what to say. For some reason, it felt overwhelming and her cheeks hurt from smiling.

“That’s awfully sweet of you,” Zelda said, accepting the piece of paper. “Did you draw this?” She held up the list, waving it a little.

Link hummed, nodding his head.

Her smile widened as she rifled through the list—the drawings were simple and crudely colored, but they were carefully considered.

“Thank you Link.” She hugged the paper to her chest. “I’ll keep this close to my heart.” Zelda hummed happily as she shifted through the objects that Link still held out to her, his arms stiff. She looked up quizzically when she didn’t hear a response from him, and froze. He was staring at her, his cheeks tinted a warm red—and now she was blushing because he was. She looked back down at her journal.

“Anyway, h-how did you even know I was up here?” Zelda said, her hands fumbling as she tried to be quick, but careful not to crumple the papers, as she shoved the list into her notebook. “I know that no one can see me from town.” She was too far from the castle for anyone to see her with the naked eye.

He let out a quick exhale, as if he was relieved she had changed the topic. “I asked Impa,” he jabbed his thumb behind him, back toward the castle. “Apparently she’s been watching you with the Sheikah Slate since you left.”

Zelda raised her head, peering past Link’s shoulder. “And to think I could avoid the gaze of the castle,” she mumbled. If she was alone, she would’ve stuck out her tongue and hoped Impa would’ve caught it. She was constantly watching out for her. Sometimes Zelda wondered if she ever slept. She was hoping at least one of her hiding spots would remain safe, but apparently that was too much to ask for. Feeling exposed, Zelda let out a small, frustrated sigh.

“Shall we head back then?” she asked stiffly, already moving herself from her position. She hoped that the various flora and shrubs would block her from anyone’s sight. Link looked at her curiously, but began to climb down as well.

“Is something bothering you?” Link asked as Zelda patted down her skirt, making sure it was free of dirt.

“I’ve been up there before the sun rose up, so I’m just feeling a little winded down.” Zelda tried to keep her voice light, but she knew it came out strained instead. She flipped through her notebook quickly, ensuring that everything was still in its place.

“Nothing else is wrong?” Link pressed again.

“What isn’t wrong?” Zelda huffed out, shutting it with both of her hands a bit more forcefully than she intended. She stood there for a moment before letting out another small sigh. “I apologize. I’m not angry… just frustrated." She stared up blankly at the castle. "I simply want to unlock my sealing powers,” she admitted tiredly.

She turned to face him when she felt his hand press against the top of her head. He drew his hand back with a small cherry blossom flower in between his fingers. He twirled it a little by the stem, looking at it thoughtfully.

“Just know that you’re not alone,” he said quietly. Zelda smiled at him, but it did not linger for long. Even though she knew he meant it, it couldn’t erase the sense of loneliness that was ever-present in her life. She followed his movements as he looked up to the sky, raising his hand, about to release the little flower into the wind.

“Wait—“ Zelda held out her hand, staring longingly at the flower pinched between his fingers. “May I?”

He placed it in her palm, and Zelda watched the petals flutter lightly against the gentle breeze. She softened at the sight of it and glanced at Link.

“It’s just for research.” She declared swiftly, when she saw him eyeing her with an unreadable expression.

“Using a cherry blossom?” Link asked. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to keep a laugh at bay.

“Yes!” Zelda insisted, drawing her hand back to her chest. “Just for research,” she quietly said. She glanced down to make sure the little flower was still safely in her palm before she turned around so he couldn’t see what she was doing. She tucked the flower into an empty page, pressing her notebook shut firmly and tightly to ensure that it wouldn’t slip out.

She told herself that she always pressed flowers and all sorts of vegetation for documentation. This wasn’t any different.

“On a more important note,” she started, mostly to remind herself, “I want to get the Sheikah Slate back from Impa. I still have a multitude of tests to run through with it, and there’s a shrine that I want to visit with Robbie and Purah before we head to the Spring of Courage.” It was going to be one of the last shrines she would be able to visit in months, and she wanted to get the most out of it before then.

Zelda raised an eyebrow when she noticed his eyes flit to the left, which was a habit of his when he was thinking.

“Thinking about something?” she inquired curiously.

He parted his lips slightly, but just as quick they sealed back together and he shook his head. Zelda narrowed her eyes.

“Come on, tell me?” she asked, poking his chest. “You can’t just not tell me after looking so thoughtful!”

He smiled at her—but it was a smile filled with mischief.

[midzelink]

Marin and the Wind Fish

We are all familiar with the story of the Hero of Legend - the story of a boy who, upon heeding the call of a mysterious voice that came to him in a dream, was thrust into a dangerous adventure to save all of Hyrule from the impending threat of the resurrection of Ganon at the hands of the evil wizard Agahnim.  In the end, he was successful - but this was only the beginning of his long journey, as he shortly thereafter found himself in the distant kingdoms of Holodrum and Labrynna, where he faced an entirely new set of challenges.  And when all was said and done and he set out to return to Hyrule by sea, he fell victim to a stormy night, crashing upon the shores of the mysterious island of Koholint, where he was found and tended to by local songstress and dreamer, Marin.

Of course, we know that Koholint and its inhabitants are only an illusion - an illusion dreamed up by the Wind Fish, a large, flying whale with a penchant for music, trapped in a never-ending dream of his own creation by the Nightmares.  But what we do not know is who exactly the Wind Fish is, or why he fell into such a slumber in the first place.  To answer that question, we must look to the past - and so now, for the purposes of which I am writing here today, allow me to tell you a story:

Long, long before the Wind Fish was lost to the realm of dreams - before the kingdom of Hyrule was founded, before Demise crept up from the earth and the millennia-old cycle of hatred began - the world enjoyed an era of peace, ruled over by Her Grace, Hylia, the Goddess of Light.  She was a benevolent and loving goddess - or so they say - watching over the land of mortals from the comfort of Her own realm in the heavens.  However, She frequently found Herself leaving the comfort of Her world to walk amongst the very land She protected, as it was full of delights and surprises the likes of which Her own world could never offer.  It was there where she would inevitably meet her Chosen Knight - a courageous young man by the name of Link - but before the world had need of Heroes, on one such journey to the realm below, Hylia found yet another gift: the gift of song.

It came to her carried on a gentle breeze, the sound of plucked strings and the voice of a young woman like a choir of angels accompanying it.  It was unlike anything She had heard before, and so enamored with the sound did She become that the Goddess saw it fit to keep her close, to learn more about this thing the mortals called “music.”  And so it came to pass: the young woman became as a Minstrel for the Goddess of Light, and in exchange she was given a gift of her own - a Crimson Loftwing - so that she might travel freely between the heavens and the realm of mortal men.

Many years passed with the Minstrel in Hylia’s court, and with the aid of her newly found feathered friend, she traveled farther and wider than she had ever dreamed she could, performing for people the world over.  She wrote countless songs for countless hearts: songs for the Six Great Sages of the Land of Hylia, songs that evoked vivid, profound images of lush, green forests and vast, deep oceans. She even wrote a song for her Loftwing, and it became the means between which the two found one another, no matter how far apart they might have been.  And of course, as was befitting of a Minstrel in Her court, she wrote a song for Hylia Herself - a grand, sweeping movement that she called a ballad - and it became the Ballad of the Goddess, and it would come to be known by many, as she was so loved.

Indeed, she was beloved far and wide - but none loved her so much as the Great Spirit of the Sky, the leviathan of the heavens, Levias.  Long had he served as the protector of the skies, but never would he forget the day he first heard her song with his own ears, as it had so deeply touched him.  Before long, they became as dear friends, for she so loved the way he accompanied her songs with his own enormous, bellowing voice, like the sound of harmonious thunder splitting the sky, and he in turn grew fond of her kindness, and of her curiosity.  And then she did what she was often wont to do - she wrote him a song, and he adored it in full.

Over time, the Minstrel became like a goddess in her own right: a Goddess of Song, whose moving melodies could change night into day and heal the weary of their wounds.  Hylia soon fashioned an instrument of her own after hers - the Goddess Harp - and it would come to play an important role in the fate that would soon befall the land, for peace is a fleeting and fickle thing, and not something to be taken for granted.  A great scourge monsters would rise up from the earth, and in the coming months Hylia would formulate a plan: a plan involving a Chosen Knight, a Legendary Sword, and - with the help of Her Minstrel - a song fit for a hero.

Of course, we, too, know the rest of this story; this is the story of the Hero of Sky, who tempers the Goddess Blade to its Master state, and with the help of the power of the Old Gods and a reincarnated Hylia, is at last able to defeat the great evil known as Demise.  And we know Levias, too - a behemoth of a sky deity who watches over Skyloft for thousands of years, protecting his own piece of the Song of the Hero, one final gift from his most beloved friend.  We know that he fulfills his duty, and, in time, the residents of Skyloft leave their skyward home and make for the Surface, where they go on to establish the Kingdom of Hyrule - and the seemingly endless cycle of heroes and villains begins.

And yet - whatever became of the Great Spirit of the Sky, who had watched over the heavens for so long?  It is true that, after Skyloft was abandoned, the skies were not completely void of life; we see it inhabited by the Wind Tribe who our Hero dons a talking hat, and perhaps the Loftwings themselves changed and evolved to become the Oocca we meet amidst the Twilight Invasion.  But throughout all of this, Levias is nowhere to be seen.  The absolute truth of the matter is that, after millennia of soaring the skies, with fewer and fewer to keep his company, the leviathan who so adored to sing grew painfully and painfully aware of two simple facts:

That he was incredibly, incredibly tired, but mostly...

...that he missed his dearest friend.

And so he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Minstrel he had loved so dearly.  He dreamed of a town by the sea - no, an island - an island by the name of Koholint, and he populated it with a village of animals, talking animals, because animals were her favorite - and in his dream the Minstrel sang the song she had written for him: the Ballad of the Wind Fish, a name she had affectionately given them upon their first meeting, a name that had irreparably stuck - and he dreamed and dreamed till the Sky Spirit known as Levias was gone, and nothing but the Wind Fish remained - and that Minstrel’s name was Marin, and she was as captivating and gracious in the dream as she had been in life.

It is hard to say exactly when the Wind Fish fell asleep, but so rooted, so lost in the dream did he become that it eventually became much more than that, gaining a life all on its own, and allowing the Nightmares to take ahold of it.  Perhaps he had no one to blame for himself, seeking sanctuary in the imagined world of a dream, and staying there for much, much too long - but in the end, even he knew that the dream had to reach its conclusion, as it was a small piece of his own spirit who guided the Hero of Legend on the path to waking them both.  Perhaps, deep down, he knew that the Marin he loved would not have wanted to be trapped on an island with nowhere to go for all eternity - that the Marin he loved would have wanted to be free, to share her songs with all of the world...

But whatever became of the real Marin, the one upon which Levias based his dream?  Some inhabitants of Hyrule believe that the cycle of reincarnation affects all living things, not just the spirits of its great heroes and villains.  Legends say that, as the Knight had so loved the Goddess, so, too, had the Minstrel loved the Knight - and some even say that Crimson Loftwing he could be seen riding through the skies was Marin’s own.  It is not so hard to believe that, somewhere out there, she could be reunited with her noble steed - and that she could sing to her, as she always did.  Perhaps, in another time, in another life, she could still waiting for her Knight in shining armor to come and sweep her off her feet...

[seekingseven]

The Most Sincere Kind of Lie (Ch4)

Chapter 4 of my Linked Universe fanfic! Also available to read here on AO3

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Legend woke up to the sound of humming and the disturbing sensation that the fabric of reality was being torn from underneath him. He sputtered and sat upright in the bed, promptly smacking his forehead into Sky's chin.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you up," Sky said with a half-lidded smile. "It's just that the lady wanted to wash this bed sheet and I offered to help her out. Somehow Hyrule got cream all over it and she said it'll make the linen go bad." The bleary, confused look on Legend's face was met by a gentle chuckle from the other hero. "You can sleep on one of the other beds, though, if you'd like. We’re not going to be leaving for another half an hour or so.”  

It smelled like morning and clouds and screaming, weeping demons. Legend felt his muscles spasm and his eyes roll to the back of his head.

"Woah! Legend, Legend! It's alright. It's alright, look, it's just me. Look, hey! Look here. Look! Listen to me, Legend! Legend! It's me, it's Sky. You know me. It’s alright. It’s okay. Calm down, you’re safe. It’s just me."

The cool metal of the Lens of Truth and the Magic Mirror pressed up against the bones on the underside of Legend's fingers. The skin of his knuckles stretched tight over his bones, and the artifacts’ handles shook under his grip. Everything was blurry. Everything was red. Everything smelled like burning clouds and tears and crippling guilt.

That voice, though...

He knew that voice...

His femur crunched against the bone of his hip socket as his chest tipped forward. He was falling…

Falling..

Falling...

"Hey, I've got you,” Sky cooed. “It's alright. Whatever happened was just a dream, okay? You're okay. It's okay." Unfamiliar fingers ran through his hair. Legend squinted at the blurry form in front of him and, upon recognition, nearly crumpled in relief.

Sky. Oh, it was just Sky. Oh, thank Hylia. It was just Sky. Just the happy, lazy, vaguely irresponsible Sky, who had blue eyes, not orange ones, who had blond hair, not red. Legend’s temple rested against Sky's collarbone for just a moment longer before he pulled himself out of the embrace. His heart wasn't pounding anymore. Legend blinked quickly and got to his feet, trying to walk off the pins-and-needles in his legs, deaf to the words falling out of Sky’s mouth. So many words were said, words of the comforting, meaningless, cliche sort, words he didn't really hear. There was mention of breakfast and travel and laundry and red and green and a blue sword and a broken-hearted hero with a soul so wracked with grief it found no relief outside of self-flagellation. And then the world was black and grey and Legend was left with the sinking, sinking hopelessness that came with knowing you had no control. His breath became short. He blinked quickly. The world came back. Sky kept talking, a confused, sluggish smile creeping back on his face as he mistook the Legend's blank stare for attentiveness. Words, words, more words, and Legend found himself breaking the brief lull in their one-sided conversation.

"Hey, I can take those from you," the veteran heard himself say.

"The bedsheet?" Sky wondered aloud as Legend took the bundled linens out of his hand, "Oh! That's quite nice of you. Are you sure? You don't look too good."

"Mmmm, don't worry about it." The prickly, uncomfortable conviction that he should say more tugged at the hairs at the back of his neck. Sky, clearly baffled but not one to argue about having mundane household chores lifted off his back, shrugged and smiled. The veteran found himself walking downstairs and out to the backyard, where a small tin tub and block of soap stood waiting.

He didn't realize he'd taken the lens and mirror along with him until he dumped the sheet into the tub and heard the tell-tale clank of metal on wood. Oh no. Oh no. Every half-decent mage knew that magic and water rarely mixed: the artifacts’ enchantments were liable to dissolve if left in there for too long. Blood screamed in the small matrix of veins behind his ears, and his hands shot forward into the tub. He pulled both artifacts out of the water before his heart had taken another full beat and neurotically dried them on his tunic. A hot glob of air stuck itself in his throat. Legend coughed dryly. Praise Hylia, both artifacts looked fine.

A demonic, curious part of him hummed with relief.

"Mr. Legend!" a feminine voice cried out behind him, "please don't worry yourself about the linens! Sir, please. I can't have a guest do housework in good conscience." The Wise Man’s daughter crept up next to him and fiddled awkwardly with the corner of her apron. Her face was set in a tight, uncomfortable grimace.

"Ma'am," Legend began with a smile, "please believe me when I say these chores are more of a pleasure to do than anything else. I've been traveling for a long time. It's nice to something normal like this every now and then." His eyes lingered on the white, frothy suds drifting lazily on the top of the water. He turned to face the woman. "However, would you mind terribly if I did ask you a favor?"

"Oh, of course not!"

"Sky and Wind. You know them?"

The woman nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on her face. "Wind is the little one with the blue shirt, and Sky is the, uh..."

"The sleepy, lazy one, yeah." Legend smiled as the woman giggled into her hands. His focus drifted to the blue mountains in the distance. "May you please, if possible, give them something sweet to eat? A pastry, perhaps, or maybe something cold for the journey? I understand if it's not possible, I really do. But, well, don't let them know I told you this, but they've...been through a lot lately. Maybe this would cheer them up a little bit."

The woman's face brightened at the idea. She started to say something, but second-guessed herself and quickly hurried off towards the house. Legend's heart was warmed by her eagerness. It was a good thing to know that people didn't necessarily need the blood of the hero to be altruistic and compassionate. He turned his attention away from the woman and back to the laundry in front of him. The water swirled and burbled happily as Legend gently cleaned the bedsheets. There was something soothing in the repetitive, mindless movements. Scrub, press, check for stains. Repeat. Scrub, press, check for stains. Repeat. Repeat. Watch the cream stains fade and surrender, watch the cloth darken with water. Scrub, press check for stains. The mountains looked so pretty from where he was sitting. Repe--

"Legend!"

The veteran turned around, not at the sound of his name, but at the loud, uneven footsteps he would recognize anywhere.

"....morning," Legend said, suspiciously eyeing the bottle Hyrule carried in his hands. Brownish, clumpy water sloshed around within, and the murky silhouette of what looked like a dead fish floated inside.

"Good morning," Hyrule cheerfully responded. "I got you breakfast!"

"Where is it?" Legend questioned, trying to distract himself from his growing dread.

"Right here!"

Of course.

The bottle.

Legend opened his mouth slowly, carefully picking his next words. "What is it?"

"Fesikh," Hyrule answered. "You've never seen it?"

"Can't say I have."

"It's something like, uh, pickled fish. It's really good, a delicacy, even! The Wise Man’s daughter and I made it just for you!" The excited grin on Hyrule's face started to slip when he saw how Legend shirked away from the bottle.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be able to eat that. I haven't -- uh -- I'm not really hungry. Maybe something lighter? Do you guys have any bread and cheese?" The skin of Legend's hands had started to wrinkle and bloat in the soapy water.

"Oh, uh, I think Wild made omelettes. He's in front of the house with the other guys -- Time went out to ask the townspeople if they needed help with anything and we're just waiting for him to come back before we head out."

"Sounds good. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Legend turned back to the soaked bed sheet, which looked mostly clean at this point. The sound of Hyrule's footsteps faded behind him as the veteran hung the sheet up on the laundry wire. He'd done a good job cleaning it; not even a memory of the whipped cream could be found. Legend knelt down in front of the tub and washed his face and neck with the leftover water, scooping the less-sudsy bits of water into his hands and combed it through his hair. It trickled down his neck and along the ridge of his spine, leaving wet spots behind on the back of his tunic. Oh, that felt so much better. He stood up and strung the lens and mirror to his belt. Now that the bedsheet was clean, he might as well go and get breakfast.

The smell of cooked eggs and steamed vegetables was almost too much for Legend's empty stomach to bear. He found himself sprinting around the house and over to Wild and barely refrained from tearing the proffered plate from the latter's hands. There was no doubt in anyone's minds that Legend would have eaten the whole thing with his hands if Four hadn't cautiously extended a set of utensils to him. A wet breeze skittered above the grass. Legend admired the small, careful clusters of horsetail grass that skirted the nearby river as he stuffed his face with breakfast. The other heros chatted quietly amongst themselves, drifting in and out of the house to collect and assemble their things. Warriors dropped off Legend's stuff on the step behind him, muttering something about only doing it because the veteran looked a little bit preoccupied.

A witty response was already building itself on the tip of his tongue but was cut off by the low, authoritative rumble of Time's voice. The Old Man had returned, and the tight look on his face betrayed the fact that he didn't come with good news.

"Alright, boys. From what I could gather, everyone in Saria Town is relatively happy and healthy. However, the River Man said something about a certain Darunia Town seeing a higher frequency of monster attacks than usual. From his description, they seem to be of the infected sort, and some of them have made their way to the city bounds."

Hyrule's eyes went wide at the news. Everyone turned to look at him, this was his Hyrule, after all, and he was the only one who could properly gauge how bad this situation was. And, if the ghostly pallor on his face meant anything, things weren't good.

"We'd better get going quickly, then," Hyrule began. "Darunia Town is in East Hyrule -- we'll have to cross the sea to get there and the closest dock is at least half a day's walk from here."

"Does the town have a militia to fend off the attackers until then?" Four wondered aloud as the group of heros began to pack up.

"Not exactly a militia, more like one knight. He's a very talented knight, of course, but I don't think he can protect the town by himself. The thing that worries me most is that Darunia has more children than any other town in West or East Hyrule."

"They need all the help they can get, then." Twilight asserted. The entire group nodded in agreement. Legend picked himself up off the step and tried not to heave -- this was exactly what happened when one ate too much too quickly -- slinging his bag over his shoulder as he hopped off the porch.

Just as they were all about to leave, the front door swung open and the Wise Man hobbled out.

"Gentlemen! A moment, please. I'm so sorry to disturb you all," the Wise Man apologized as he made slow, unsteady steps down the stairs. "I just need to speak to Mr. Legend about something. Is he still here?"

Legend, who was straggling behind the rest of the group, stuck his hand in the air. After a few seconds of deliberation, the group moved on without him, leaving the veteran with the warning to join them as quickly as the conversation was over. Slowly but surely, the Wise Man made his way over to where Legend stood. A yellow scroll, flaking at the edges, was bundled in his withered hand.

"I wrote the fusion spell down on this scroll, in case you wanted to attempt it once again," the Wise Man explained.

Legend took the scroll in his hand and casually unfurled the edges. He was half-inclined to give it back and explain that he couldn't read (he could, of course, just not anything written in Hyrule's Hylian) but the words died immediately in his throat.

Every word was written perfectly in his Hylian.

"It is a very ancient spell," the Wise Man continued, "so if you think you might have trouble reading it, I've got a dictionary right here that translates Modern Hylian to the Ancient variant."

"It's alright, sir. I can read this just fine."

"Of course, I should have expected no less from a young mage as talented and well-versed in magic as yourself."

Legend's throat burned. His stomach clenched. His fingers shook with adrenaline and his obsessive curiosity rejoiced with him.

"Thank you," Legend heard himself say, "but I don't think I'll have a chance to use it."

He cringed at his own blatant lie.

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The beach's pink stand crunched loudly underneath the multitude of leather boots. Hyrule stood alone on a tiny dock -- not even a dock, really, more of a pathetic outcrop of rotted wood -- and stared at the crystal blue waters ahead.

"Is something wrong?" Sky questioned.

"Yes." Hyrule confessed. "I mean, uh, kind of. I realized just now that my raft probably won't be big enough for all of us." The thin, wiry brunet stepped aside from the doc to reveal a Hyrule-sized wooden raft bobbing in the water. "And the sea isn't safe to swim in...unless you're a River Zora with a, uh, magical force field or something, you won't be able to make it across."

For some reason, this earned a chuckle from Time.

"I mean, we could just make another raft," Wind suggested.

"I've got a few extra bundles of wood with me, as well as some rope. It’s pretty flimsy, though, so if anyone has got binding materials that are a little tougher it might be a good idea to use those instead," Wild said.

"Perhaps we should buy some rope," Warriors mused. The captain turned to Hyrule. "Do you know if there's any place nearby where we can find some?"

"They might sell some sort of fishing rope over in Mido Town," Hyrule said, pointing to the distant shadow in the vague shape of a town. "We can also get lunch from there, since Wild would be using most of his firewood to make the raft."

"Mido Town?" Time mumbled to Legend. "What an odd name."

"I dunno, 'The Water Town of Saria' was also pretty weird."

"I suppose you're right," Time conceded with a wistful smile.

Wild, with Twilight's help, had already laid out a rough raft scaffolding. Four suggested that they just head into the nearby woods to cut down a few trees and expedite the process, but Wind pointed out that the forest was too unfriendly for exploits of the kind.

"Ah, you remembered what I told you about the forest?" Hyrule sheepishly asked Wind.

"Of course. I listen to you when you talk, Hyrule."

This only made the traveler smile wider, but the sailor had already gotten himself knee-deep into a squabble with Warriors.

"Please, Wind, I think I can handle something as simple as overseeing the construction of a raft," Warriors asserted, chin pointed loftily over his shoulder.

"I'm an islander and a sailor!" Wind protested. "I know a thing or two about rafts. I can handle being in charge for three seconds, you know!"

Legend watched the entire exchange with a bitter taste in his throat.

“Wind, just go help Four untie that bundle over there,” Warriors sighed, waving away the indignant sailor glaring up at him. The captain turned his eyes to the rest of the group. “We’ll need two people to go into town to get rope and lunch. Wind, Sky, that will be you guys.”

Legend grinned. This was the perfect opening.  

“Hey, Wars, d’ya think I could swap out with Wind?” the veteran questioned off-handedly.

“What, scared of a little hard work? Wait, no, let me guess, you’re scared of rafts? Is that right?” Warriors teased, obviously a little more than irked at the constant questioning of his leadership.

The veteran chuffed at Warriors’ comment and shrugged, blinking slowly and lazily. “Nah, not quite. I haven’t been feeling too good lately, Sky can testify to that,” he said, jerking a thumb towards the smiling Skyloftian, “and I think a little walk would help clear my head. You know? And also, I think the sailor’ll do a much better job of overseeing this than you think. Don’t forget that this guy literally stuck the Master Sword in Ganondorf’s forehead.”

The Links were silent.

Legend smirked so hard that his cheeks hurt.

Wind looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cry or crush Legend into a massive hug.

“So, what’ll it be, pretty boy?” Legend quipped.

Warriors rolled his eyes, but there was a resigned scarlet flush on the tip of his ears. Legend was sure it wasn’t from the heat.

“Okay, sure, whatever. Wind can supervise. I’ll supervise his supervising. Is that better?”

Everyone nodded in casual agreement, and Wind let out a wild whoop . His eyes met Legend’s for a brief moment, sparkling with gratitude.

For some reason, even this victory wasn’t comforting. It was too temporary of a fix. Legend broke eye contact and looked away.

“Uh, everyone? I-In regards to lunch, do you guys want to know what they sell in Mido Town? I spent a lot of time there during my journey -- they’ve got really good food. If you guys want to, uh, want to choose, I can tell Sky what they have, and he can write a list. Then you guys can choose what you like.”

Everyone was grateful for the diversion Hyrule supplied and crowded around the traveler without a second thought. It was only a matter of minutes before each hero had decided what they wanted, and more than one Link was watering at the mouth at the prospect of lunch.

“So,” Sky began, reading the finalized list out loud, “Time, Wars, and Wild want meat rice, Twi and I want salad, Wind and Four want shrimp, Legend wants, uh….bread?”

“Hey, I‘m not a picky person. Carbs are good for long term energy storage, anyway.” Legend explained. Four hummed in quiet agreement. Sky shrugged and continued on.

“And finally, Hyrule wants...oh dear, I can’t read my handwriting. Hyrule wants… H-A-L-V-A?” Sky said, the questioning inflection thick in his voice.

“Halva!” Hyrule replied cheerfully. “It’s like a really sweet paste. Don’t worry, there’s only one food vendor in the whole town, and he sells all of this stuff. You won’t be able to forget anything even if you tried.”

Sky and Legend looked at each other and shrugged, waving goodbye to the group as they veered off the path and made their way to Mido Town. The thwack of wood-on-wood and the high-pitched shout of Wind’s instructions faded as the two heroes walked on. The sun beat down relentlessly, glinting off the glassy sand and burning into the lacy hair on their heads.

Mido Town was even hotter and quieter than the path leading to it. A sun-baked wind blew through the shells of abandoned buildings, pushing around the crumbled remains of brick and mortar. Pink sand hovered in gritty clouds. It fluffed and plumed up to their waists every time the two heroes took a step. The faint imprints of their footsteps were swept away by a floor-length wind.

The villagers eyed them quietly. No one smiled. No one waved. Blinds closed. Doors shut. If it weren’t for the suspicious, life-weary eyes peering at them through darkened windows, Legend and Sky would have assumed the place to be abandoned.

Was this the kind of treatment Hyrule received during his journeys?  

“Are you alright?” Sky queried, only half-looking for the vendor Hyrule had mentioned.

“Mmmm. It’s a great thing to see that this is the world I left behind for Hyrule. Nice to see that this is the fruit of my labors.” Legend’s voice was deadpan and flat despite the obvious ire in his words.  

Sky said nothing. Grief flickered across his face.  

“This is the world I left behind for all of you,” Sky mumbled to himself. His voice was barely audible over the humming of sifting sand.

“Ugh, Sky, you aren’t to blame for any of this,” Legend said. “And anyway, there isn’t a point in looking for someone to blame. It’s, it’s not going to fix anything. Beating yourself up for something you can’t control isn’t...uh...it isn’t a very smart thing to do.” His voice and thoughts and confidence began to trail off, but Legend forced himself to continue. “Let me just say that you’re so much stronger than you think you are. I, uh, I think Hylia made a wise choice.”

Legend turned to his companion and rested a hand on Sky’s shoulder. He had no more words left to say, nothing left inside his brain but the overwhelming conviction that he should be doing more. Should he confess? Should he tell Sky that he knew -- that he knew so much more than he should? That he knew everything Sky was trying to hide?

His soul fragmented under the weight of his guilt.

Sky gently curled his fingers around Legend’s wrist. His thumb rested on a vein on the underside of the veteran’s arm, and his breathing slowed to keep time with the blood’s calm thrum. A tear dribbled off Sky’s face and landed in the hot dust below, darkening and clumping the fine grains together. Eyes, dark and dull and unbelieving and flashing with ghostly wisps of orange, glittered with tears. Legend squeezed Sky’s shoulder and pulled away, lost for words and lost in thought.

┕━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━┙

[stubbornness-and-spite]

Chapter One

Link to Prologue

Summary: The oldest son of Captain Hook, once known as Killian Jones, Peter Jones has been on the Isle of the Lost as long as he can remember. When he was younger, his father used to tell him stories of his mom and papa, who lived in a far away place called Neverland, but it had been years since Peter had been calmed by fairytales. Peter is torn, between the island that calls to him in his dreams and the one where the only family he’s ever known lives: his father, his brother, Harry, and Bronwyn, the boy who has more secrets than he can count but who Peter loves more than anything. When destiny comes calling will Peter choose the magic that runs in his veins or the family he’s built for himself?

Relationships(possibly to be updated): Peter/Bronwyn, Harry/Gil/Uma, Captain Hook/Peter Pan/Tinker Bell

Notes: I don’t know anything about actual psychics and any descriptions in this story are based off of a fantastical magic system. Any similarities to real life practices are not intentional. *Chapter continues under the cut*

Warnings: Non-graphic mentions of blood, mild violence, occasional language

Word Count: 2132

Chapter 1

A familiar figure was perched on a rock just off the shore not far from the ship. Peter grinned as he made his way over. He slipped behind the figure and wrapped his arms loosely around the other’s chest. “Hi, Bronwyn,” he whispered, grinning.

“Shit, Peter,” Bronwyn yelped, jumping. Peter dropped his head onto Bronwyn’s shoulder and leaned on his back. Bronwyn laughed as their cheeks touched. He turned his head to Peter and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “Good morning,” he murmured. Peter settled down next to him on the rock, one arm falling to his side, the other staying wrapped around Bronwyn’s shoulder. Bronwyn let his head fall onto Peter’s shoulder as the last of the sun broke free from the horizon. Peter rested his head in Bronwyn’s hair and sighed, watching Bronwyn’s hair ruffle with Peter’s breath.

“Something bad is going to happen,” Peter said to the wind.

“How bad?” Bronwyn asked the sun.

Peter grimaced and exhaled sharply. “Bad. And soon,” he promised. “I dreamt the king was here and he stabbed me in the heart. I woke up gasping. It’s probably not literal, you know it rarely is, but I’m worried.”

Bronwyn reached up to Peter’s hand on his shoulder and gripped it firmly. “We’ll get through it,” he said, his voice steel.

“There was more to the dream that I didn’t tell my dad,” Peter confessed. “The king, he was dying. He looked fine but I could tell he was dying. We were on a ship and the sea was made of blood.” He swallowed. “On the horizon, there was a shining green light and it wanted to help, but it couldn’t. I think it might have been Neverland.” He took a shaky breath and squeezed Bronwyn’s hand. “I think Neverland pushed harder than ever last night to warn me of what was coming.”

Bronwyn stayed silent for a few minutes. “Or maybe it was trying to give you a chance. You’ve said it yourself, Peter. Neverland wants you to come home. Maybe it pushed through because there’s a chance to leave here coming.” Peter desperately wanted to latch onto Bronwyn’s hope like a lifeline, but he couldn’t grab it any more than he could grab the fairy dust that should have been in his lungs and running through his veins. “The king’s already taken kids to Auradon. Maybe him stabbing you through the heart symbolized him killing the part of you that belongs on the Isle and letting you go home.”

“I don’t remember Neverland. I don’t remember my papa. I don’t remember my mom.” Peter closed his eyes and tried to picture it, but all he could see were his dad’s descriptions. “I don’t want to leave you behind. I don’t want to leave my dad behind. Or Harry who couldn’t leave Uma or Gil.” He let out a breath. “Fuck,” he shouted, frightening away a flock of seagulls. 

“You know we’d all want you to take the opportunity to go if you got it, right?” Bronwyn asked, sliding an arm around Peter’s waist. 

“Yeah, I do,” Peter said. He smirked. “You know I won’t take it without you, right?”

Bronwyn rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I do,” he said.

~

“Wanna go get lunch?” Bronwyn gently pushes Peter off of him and leans back to face him. The darkness of the day where the sun was hidden behind never-changing clouds had risen. 

Peter shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Ursula’s Fish and Chips?” he suggested. “We can check out the trainwreck that is Uma, Gil, and my brother.”

Bronwyn grinned. “Sounds like a good time.” He stood up and stretched, before leaning down to offer Peter a hand. Peter took it, laughing. He let Bronwyn help him to his feet and they made their way down the coast to Ursula’s ship. The dock was falling apart even more than Peter’s. He sneered at the stinking fish and rotting boards that had clearly never seen a broom, let alone been scrubbed. Bronwyn grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together, drawing his attention away from the ship’s state of disrepair. Peter sighed fondly as they made their way onto the ship, avoiding the areas of the dock that looked like supporting weight might be the last thing they ever did. Gil was sitting outside the door when they reached it.

Peter bit back a laugh and forced himself to sound sympathetic. “What’s Uma pissed about this time?”

Gil glared at the ground in what Peter would have called a pout if he’d wanted to start a fight. “She was complaining about the awful things that Mal did and I reminded her of one she didn’t want to think about,” he admitted.

Bronwyn grimaced. “Mal was a bitch to her.”

Gil nodded. “I know, but I thought she wanted to bring it up so she could complain and I didn’t notice her and Harry glaring at me until it was too late. She had a whole song about it which ended with me in a net with her using my feet as a chair and shoving me across the bar. I got pissed and brought it up again. Now she’s mad and Harry’s mad and I can’t even go in and apologize.”

Bronwyn closed his eyes for a long moment, his jaw set. “One: I hate that the ambient magic around here makes people break out into song and dance. It’s stupid and useless and you would think magic would want to build up its power so it could do something actually impactful instead of wasting it on creating enough harmony to make our lives a literal musical.”

“Babe.” Peter put his hand on Bronwyn’s arm, his expression fondly amused. “You’re ranting.”

Bronwyn sighed and shook his head. “Two: Uma’s being a self-centered bitch and you should really consider your other options if she’s going to keep taking you for granted,” he said to Gil.

Gil shrugged and grinned ruefully. “I think I’m good. Uma and Harry are…” he trailed off.

Peter nodded. “You know Harry loves you too, right?” he asked. “He’ll never say it, but he does.”

Gil nodded. “It’s the Isle, we’re fucked up. If this makes Uma feel like her entire life isn’t out of her control, then I’ll sit here forever. Maybe if we’d gotten picked instead…”

Bronwyn gave him a regretful look. “I know.”

Peter spoke up. “You’re cool if we go in, right? We were going to get lunch and I should probably talk to Harry.”

“About your… you know?” Bronwyn asked.

Gil’s eyes went wide. “Is something bad going to happen? Not the kind of bad we like but like the kind of bad that-”

“Gil,” Peter interrupted. “It’ll be alright. Don’t worry about it.” 

They stepped onto the ship, pretending not to hear Gil call out. “That wasn’t a no!”

~

Peter waved at Harry as he and Bronwyn walked onto the ship. Harry grinned manically and made his way over. “Was wondering when you two would make your way over here,” Harry said, roughly guiding them to a table. “I’ll get out of your way.”

Peter grabbed Harry’s arm. “Wait, I wanted to talk to you.” He said, biting his tongue. “Just… be careful, alright.”

Harry nodded. His eyes were dark, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and his jaw was tight. “Eyes up, head down?” Peter echoed the statement. Harry nodded again and made his way over to Uma. He whispered something in her ear and she stiffened. A moment later, she relaxed as if she’d never frozen at all. She jerked her head towards the door and Harry nodded sharply. He walked over and out, but came back inside a moment later, dragging Gil along with him. He gestured at Uma and the three of them slipped away. 

Peter relaxed. They’d taken his warning to heart. He turned to Bronwyn and smiled. “Are you going to bother ordering or just eat whatever?”

Bronwyn laughed, “I’m not in the habit of wasting words or time, so no. I’m not ordering.” Peter reached out and placed his hand on the table, instantly Bronwyn placed his hand on top of it and smiled. “We’ll get through,” he said. “Just like we always do.”

~

“Again.” Peter bent forward, his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. He gasped a few more deep breaths and threw himself into a fighting stance, his feet shoulder-width apart, his toes pointing away from Bronwyn to give Bronwyn less of a target from his current angle. Peter’s hands shook on the handles of his knives, his dagger long since knocked away. His skin glistened with sweat and blood leaked from shallow cuts on his arms.

Bronwyn leaned back on his heels, putting himself off-balance to signal to Peter to wait. “Are you sure you can go again?” he asked skeptically. Bronwyn’s shoulder-length black hair was slick with sweat and strands fell loose in his face. His breathing was heavy but more controlled than Peter. His long leather pants and long-sleeved leather jacket had protected him from most cuts by Peter’s knives. The gold patterns on his green jacket looked worse for wear and his black pants had taken the cuts that hadn’t reached his skin.

Peter glared furiously at him. “Again.” Bronwyn sighed, flicking his wrist to send a throwing knife spinning towards Peter’s face. Peter’s feet didn’t move, but he twisted his body back and out of the way. Bronwyn sent a second knife flying to where Peter had moved to avoid the first one. Peter noticed a second too late and pulled out of his twist a hair shy, taking the cut across his cheek. He stumbled back at the sudden pain. Still half twisted and standing up as he staggered away, he lost his balance and ended up on the sand. He made to push himself up, but Bronwyn walked over before he could and pushed his chest down until Peter lay flat on his back. Peter strained to push Bronwyn off of him, but Bronwyn picked up the knife that he’d thrown a moment ago and spun it around to grab in his fist. He held the point to Peter’s throat. 

“We’re done,” he growled.

Peter dropped his head back and groaned. “Fine, we’re done,” he acquiesced. Bronwyn let out a breath and rolled off of Peter to flop on the sandy beach beside him. 

“You’re running yourself ragged over this vision,” Bronwyn remarked. “Getting yourself killed isn’t going to stop anything. Fighting me until you literally can’t anymore isn’t either.” Peter didn’t answer. “You’re sloppy when you’re paranoid,” Bronwyn noted. “You can usually beat me half the time, but when you’re swinging wide and putting too much energy into everything, you aren’t hard to evade.” Peter groaned and smacked Bronwyn in the chest. “I’m serious, Peter.” Bronwyn stressed. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Pretty sure I can’t,” Peter reminded him. “They brought people back to life to imprison them here, do you really think this barrier will let us die?”

“Get yourself permanently maimed, then.” Bronwyn let out a harsh exhale. 

“I’m going to be okay.”

“Sorry if I don’t believe empty words over actual prophecies,” Bronwyn scoffed

“That’s not fair,” Peter muttered. “My prophecies are shit and vague and you know it.” Bronwyn didn’t answer. He stared up at the dark clouds that covered the afternoon sun and sighed. He let the back of his hand touch Peter. He turned his arm and wrapped his hand around the back of Peter’s hand, lacing their fingers together and running his thumb softly up and down the skin it could reach. Peter sighed contentedly and Bronwyn closed his eyes.

~

The sun was setting when the boys finally stood up. Bronwyn pulled himself up and offered Peter his arm. Peter grabbed it and pulled himself up. He stretched his arms over his head until his back cracked. Bronwyn put his hands on his arms and twisted to stretch. He hesitated.

“Can I borrow your belt?” He asked tentatively. “I’ll give it back in the morning. I just need to borrow it.”

Peter looked at him with a furrowed brow and narrow eyes. “You want my belt?”

Bronwyn hissed softly. “And your dagger,” he said. “Peter, I promise I’ll give them back first thing in the morning, please.”

Peter sighed. He slung off his belt and grabbed his dagger, placing it in the scabbard. He held it out to Bronwyn. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Bronwyn grinned. “Thanks, Peter. See you tomorrow.” He leaned over and kissed Peter lightly on the cheek. He turned to leave, but Peter caught his wrist, smirking. He spun Bronwyn into him and dipped him, kissing him deeply, with the sunset framing their silhouettes.

[candrawithwip]

Missing You

NOTE: This is just a completely self-indulgent fan-fiction I wrote for the invisible!Snufkin au and finally got around to uploading. I read this fic before writing so there might be a few unintentional parallels. I’m linking it either way because it’s a good read so check it out.

It had been a foggy night in the mountains; the dense clouds had descended from the heavens and blanketed the earth in a heavy white mist, which had made it difficult for Snufkin to see. He took a deep breath of night air and pitched his tent in a clearing, resolving to continue his journey by the morning, but when the dawn broke he had exited his tent to find the fog still hadn't lifted. He had paused for a moment, noting that the forest was unusually silent, before shrugging it off and packing up his tent. With his things packed, he started off on the mountain trail, but as he wandered between the towering pines there had been a sense of unease growing within him; a feeling that be had been able to brush off until he stumbled across the ashes of a burnt out campfire. His campfire, the one from the night before. He shook his head: there was no way he had gotten turned around, so perhaps he was mistaken. It had to be another camp site, left by some other traveler passing through the area. With a little conviction, he started back down the trail only to find himself back in the same place no more than half an hour later. He tried to remember what had happened next, but all he could remember was running. Just running with no real destination, terrified and alone. He had heard some voice far off in the fog, or perhaps in the back of his head, telling him that he should just give up, but he knew he couldn't stop. He wasn't sure when he had lost track of time, when things stopped making sense, when the running had slowed into walking, when he had started to dissapear into nothingess... he didn't even know how long he had been there, but he could feel that it had been a long time.

He blinked and looked up into the branches of a nearby tree, where a bird was singing. It was like he had just woken up from a dream, and only now was time catching up with him. The fog had left just as quickly as it had rolled in, seemingly out of nowhere and in such a way that he didn't even realize it at first. He had felt the wind tugging at his hat and noticed the clear sunlight dancing on the forest floor and as he walked, things had slowly started coming back to him. Suddenly he could hear voices, and noticed a gap in the trees in front of him; a trail. Snufkin cautiously made his way down to the edge of the dirt path and peered out from between the trees. Two hemulen were traveling down the road, chatting about a harvest and a couple other things. They didn't notice his backpack hovering above the ground or the shadow he cast on the rocks, the only signs of his presence. They simply continued on their way, chatting about this and that, but as they were about to turn a corner, Snufkin heard one of them mention the date. He dropped to his knees.

...

Moominmamma ran a wet dishrag over the smooth surface of a freshly cleaned plate before setting it to the side to dry under a warm beam of sunlight that fell onto the countertop through the window. They were a week into spring, and things were much the same as the two prior; Snufkin was nowhere to be found. She frowned and wiped her hands on her apron.

The first year had been difficult; at first Moomintroll had waited patiently as always, but as the days turned to weeks and it became clearer an clearer that Snufkin wasn't coming, he had become more and more despondent. They were finally able to bring his spirits back through constant reassurances that Snufkin would surely come next year, but they were all talking through clenched teeth. There wasn't any guarantee that he'd come back, and although they all experienced varying degrees of concern for his wellbeing in general, nobody shared the sentiment aloud: only through silent, knowing glances at one another when the subject came up. The hardships of the first year, however, were nothing compared to the second.

Moomintroll had waited in apprehension, and nobody had the heart to tell him he should stop waiting. It was finally little My that approached him on the subject, but the exchange went poorly. They rest of the family had watched from the porch as the two of them talked until the conversation abruptly ended with Moomintroll getting up, running past them into the house, sprinting upstairs to his room, and locking the door behind him. When little My finally made her way back to the porch Moominmamma had tried to ask her what had happened, but she refused to say much except "He's useless, he'll just have to get over it." She had reached out a hand to stop her, to remind her how important Snufkin was to Moomin; how important he was to all of them, but she stopped when she noticed that My was biting her lower lip. It wasn't something words could fix, but something had to be said, even if that wasn't her strong suit.

He had stayed locked in his room for three days after that, and it wasn't until My finally pushed her chair back from the table at breakfast one morning and kicked his door open that they were able to turn things around. They made excuses to get him out of the house, picnics at the beach, mushroom picking, gardening, whatever worked. She could still see the sadness in his eyes, but he was doing alright by the time winter rolled around. They took care not to mention Snufkin around Moomin, but when he and My were in bed, Moominpappa and Moominmamma had talked about it. Just wondering where he was, if he was okay, and if he'd ever come back.

Turning away from her dishes and returning to the moment, Moominmamma looked at My who was sitting on the table and cleaning some mushrooms. "Hurry and get your tackle son, I have a feeling the fish will be jumping into our boat this fine morning!" she heard Moominpappa say loudly from the living room.

"Yeah, that's what you said last year, but we barely caught enough for dinner." Moomintroll responded somewhat sarcastically.

"That was last year, and today I'm sure of it! It'll be a feast, and even then, it's the adventure that counts!" Moominpappa responded with a chuckle.

Moominmamma stepped into the livingroom to see her husband standing confidently with his hands firmly on his hips, and Moomintroll staring at him sceptically. She walked over to give both of them and gave them both a kiss on the cheek "Just be carful dears, and when you get back two days from now, I'll be sure dinner is lovely either way."

"Yeah, because I'll be helping." little My chimed in from the kitchen.

...

Snufkin walked slowly down the familiar path to Moominvalley, looking down at where his boots should be. What would he say? What could he say? His heart was heavy with fear and remorse. He had heard tales of travelers dissappearing into the woods for years, only to show back up with no explanation as to where they were or what had happened to them. He had thought it a tall tale made up by unseasoned adventurers who got caught up in their wanderings and had no good excuse for their friends and families back home, but now he knew better.

It was obvious that it wasn't his fault, he knew that, but he had still broken his promise. The thought of their angry or saddened expressions was like a stabbing pain in his heart, but what scared him more was the thought of turning around and returning to the mountains. He needed to see someone, to talk to someone, to make sure he was still real. He had almost given up on everything and he needed to know that it wasn't just a dream, that he wasn't still trapped in that haze just tricking himself into believing he was finally free. He sighed and placed a hand on his chest... if it was a dream, couldn't it be a better one? He thought about pulling out his harmonica, but he didn't have it in him. When he looked up he could see a familiar sight in the distance. The tall house on the hill, smoke coming up from the chiminey, a small river with lush green banks, and a small bridge to cross over on. He knew Moomin wouldn't be there waiting for him, but the confirmation still hurt.

He eventually made his way quietly down to the tree-line where a soft breeze rustled his hair. He stood there awhile, just absorbing the scenery, trying to think of different ways he could apologize, but nothing came to him. He started for the bridge but with every step, his grip on his backpack straps tightened and he started to shake. He dug his nails into his palms and after a moment, he turned to the familiar tree where he used to camp and began to unpack. Tomorrow maybe.

It had only been half an hour when little My walked out onto the porch, on her way to fetch something from the garden, and noticed the tent across the river. He eyes widened. There was no way, but what if it was? Slowly she made her way to the campsite. Snufkin, who had been gathering material for a fire, quickly dropped the handful of sticks and stepped closer to the tent so that his shadow wouldn't be visible. It seemed little My hadn't changed much in the time he was gone, he thought to himself. She looked around awhile, prodding and poking at things, but soon it became clear that she wouldn't find anyone. Huffing, she turned around and trotted back to the house, where Moominmamma was preparing a small dinner for the two of them.

"There's a tent out on Snufkin's campsite." little My stated matter-of-factly as she walked into the kitchen, and Moominmamma dashed to the window to look, "I wouldn't get too excited, I couldn't find anyone."

"What do you mean?" Moominmamma asked as she looked at the campsite.

"I mean there's nobody there. I looked inside and everything. I guess they're off somewhere." My responded.

"That's very impolite My, you shouldn't look inside other peoples tents." Moominmamma remarked, scanning over the empty camp. "I must talk to them about camping elsewhere-"

"because if Moomintroll saw it would be bad?" My interjected, to which Moominmamma nodded slowly. "What if it's him?" She asked after a moment of silence.

"Then how wonderful it would be..." Moominmamma said with a soft, sad voice. She served dinner and the two of them chatted idly, every once and awhile glancing out the window only to see nothing.

When night had finally fallen and My had gone to bed, Moominmamma made her way to her bedroom window and drew the blinds, peering out into the darkness where she noticed that a fire was burning. She squinted and for a moment she thought she could see a shadow on the edge of the light, but she couldn't be sure. She watched for awhile more before closing the curtains and climbing under the covers. She had no way of knowing, but as she looked at that shadow, he had been looking back at her.

...

When the sun rose over the horizon the following morning, Moominmamma was out of bed bright and early, cutting up fresh vegetables and cheese for a plate of sandwiches. little My walked downstairs, rubbing her eyes. "Is that breakfast?" she asked.

"Not quite." Moominmamma responded, "Go fetch some eggs down the way." she hummed while slicing the sandwiches in half.

"Why do I need to do such a thing?" little My responded.

"It's the only way you'll be getting pancakes and jam this morning." Moominmamma noted without turning away from her work. She could hear little My hesitating for a moment before leaving the kitchen.

"I want them extra fluffy." she shouted as she headed out the front door. Moominmamma watched her go from the kitchen window before picking up the plate of sandwiches and heading out herself.

The morning was pleasantly cool, birds were singing happily, and the wind was gently blowing over the grass. She smiled as she headed down the path to the bridge and watched dragonflies dart across the water. Halfway across the bridge, she stopped to sit and placed the sandwiches next to her. Snufkin watched quietly from the shade next to his tent, not entirely sure what he should do. She seemed to listen for awhile before speaking.

"Oh dear, it seems I've made too many sandwiches to finish on my own. It will be awhile before little My returns with the eggs, and neither Moomintroll nor Moominpappa are here to enjoy them either. I wonder if there's anyone nearby who might be interested in taking a few off of my hands?" she said, playfully. Snufkin looked down at his hands, but nervously and slowly got up and approached her. She could hear the footsteps and see the shadow before he reached her, but she pretended not to notice. He sat down next to her and reached for a sandwich, slowly lifting it off the plate.

Gently, she moved her hand out and touched his wrist, and he didn't pull away. She reached up until she could feel the brim of his hat, and it was then that she was sure. Grabbing his wrist, she pulled him close and wrapped her arms around him. "Where in the world have you been? We've been worried to death." She said, her voice full of emotion.

"I'm sorry I-" his voice barely came out, less than a whisper, but she stopped him.

"It's alright, it doesn't matter. You're not hurt are you?" she said softly, and she could feel his shake his head in affirmation. "Come inside for some real breakfast. I'll be making pancakes and jam. It will be the best thing you've eaten in a long while I promise, and I'll get you something to wear as well, something warm." tears filled Snufkin’s eye's as he pressed his forehead into her shoulder and nodded

Holding his wrist, she gently led him back to the house and sat him down at the table. She somehow managed to finish a hat that was nearly identical to Snufkin's old one by the time My had returned to the house with a small basket of eggs. Seeing the floating green hat in the kitchen, she nearly ruined breakfast, but stopped short of entirely dropping the basket and breaking all the eggs.

"Snufkin?!" My exclaimed, as Moominmamma came and gently took the eggs from her.

"Would you like to help me with these pancakes My?" she asked. little My just stood there, mouth open, eyes wide, starting at Snufkin while a huge grin began to spread across her face.

"When Moomin sees you he'll be downright insufferable." she laughed, "He's not going to believe it!"

"He's not... mad?" Snufkin whispered, his voice trembling.

"What? Moomintroll? Since when has he been capable of seriously getting mad at you?" she scoffed, "We must be talking about different Moomintrolls."

"I... I didn't... keep my promise." Snufkin said softly, turning his eyes to the floor.

"You seriously believe he'd be mad about that? He's done nothing but worry about you, it was unbelievable. I could barely stand him." she said cheekily.

"Where... is he?" Snufkin asked, looking at Moominmamma.

"Moominpappa took him out fishing yesterday, and they'll be back tomorrow morning. Would you like some blueberries as well?" she asked, setting a plate of pancakes down in front of Snufkin, as well as a plate for little My who jumped up into the chair and began eating with a grin still plastered on her face. Snufkin thought silently and shook his head, beginning to eat.

When breakfast was over he curled up on the loveseat in the living room as Moominmamma began work on a tunic, scarf, and pants for Snufkin. There wasn't much she could do in way of boots, but she was already doing much more for him than he felt necessary. Still, he appreciated the gesture, and watched her work in a comfortable silence. He appreciated the company, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a measure of peace. When she noticed his hat had fallen to the floor and the indentation on the cushions, she pulled a blanket from the back of her chair and lied it across him. Continuing to work as he slept.

...

Over the course of an afternoon, Moominmamma had finished Snufkin's new outfit. It was much the same in appearance, but less worn and noticeably warmer. He looked down at his hands, now visible after having slept peacefully for the first time in years. He could see the scars and scratches on his palms, a byproduct of the many times he fallen in the mountains out of pure exhaustion; trapped in that unending fog. He was sure that Moominmamma had seen them, but she hadn't asked about them, and he was glad of that. He still wasn't quite sure how to explain what had happened, but he would. He couldn't afford to worry about that now though, as there were other things to deal with first.

Moominpappa and Moomintroll would be returning today, and Snufkin had no idea what to do aside from wait. It was as if they'd traded places, as Snufkin was now the one waiting quietly on the bridge. He laughed softly at the thought. When he looked up from his hands he could have sworn he saw little My hiding somewhere in the bushes further downstream, which didn't surprise him in the slightest. She could never mind her own business, always being the first to insert herself into situations that didn't really involve her, but knowing she was there put him at ease. They had assured him Moomintroll wouldn't be mad, but he was still frightened and knowing someone was nearby took a bit of the pressure off. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the breeze. When he could finally find the courage to pick up his harmonica again, he had a few song ideas he wanted to try out.

On their way through the trees, Moomintroll and Moominpappa were returning with a decent amount of fish. It wasn't quite the amount Moominpappa had anticipated, but it would be enough for a sizable meal. Naturally, Moomintroll was aware that the fishing trip had ultimately been a means of getting him out of the house. He knew that they worried, and he was doing his best to move on with life. He tried not to think about it as they got closer and closer to the house, Moominpappa humming all the while.

When they reached the treeline, Moomintroll heard the humming stop, and looked up to see his father standing quietly eyes fixed on something father ahead. "are you alright?" Moomintroll asked.

"I think I'll let you handle this one, son." Moominpappa responded, taking off his hat and scratching his head. Moomintroll looked at him in confusion before turning to see the figure sitting quietly on the bridge.

He shook his head in disbelief and held his breath, fearing that even a small gust of wind would blow the vision away like smoke, but the figure remained. Stepping quietly forward, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Snu... Snufkin?" He asked quietly, dropping his fish to the ground. Snufkin stood and looked at Moomintroll, at a loss for words. The world seemed to stand still for a moment, but then Moomintroll rushed forward, almost knocking Snufkin off his feet before pulling him into an embrace. "Snufkin! Snufkin! Snufkin!" he cried, buring his face in Snufkin's shoulder. It didn't matter that he couldn't see Snufkin's face, he was home. He was alive. He had finally come back.

Snufkin also began to cry, unable to contain his feelings any longer. He wrapped his arms around Moomintroll's back and hugged him tightly, letting his tears soak Moomintroll's soft white fur. Neither of them cared about anything else in that moment. They were just so glad to be with one another, after what felt like an eternity, they were finally together again.

"I'm sorry Moomin, I'm so sorry I tried-" Snufkin weeped, and Moomin violently shook his head.

"No, no. I don't care... please just don't leave again okay? Just for awhile okay?" He cried, his voice strained, and Snufkin nodded. They felt another pair of arms wrap around them as Moominmamma had come down from the house and joined them on the bridge, she was soon followed by Moominpappa, and even little My eventually came over and wrapped her arms around Moomin's leg.

"This is ridiculous." she scoffed, but they could hear the emotion in her voice.

Word got around slowly. They didn't want to overwhelm Snufkin, still entirely unsure of what had happened to him, so they tried to keep things relatively quiet. It didn't entirely matter though, because both Moomintroll and Snufkin seemed lost in one another, talking softly and refusing to let go of the other's hand.

Moominmamma had offered Snufkin the couch, but he had declined, heading back to his tent for the night. When she finally headed to bed, purely on a whim she pushed open the door to Moomin's room and peered inside. The rope ladder was hanging off the side of the house, and she could see Snufkin curled up on the covers next to Moomin. She could see the scratches on the sides of his face, just the same as his hands but to a lesser degree. She knew they would hear the full story in due time, but he was sleeping peacefully now. She smiled gently and lingered for a moment before quietly pulling the door closed.

NOTE: What kind of ridiculous artist would I be if I didn’t even add an illustration to the end of my fan-fiction? Oh and just to make this clear: they’re boyfriends and they love each other, and they absolutely kissed afterwards.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Eyestealer 6 - ao3 link

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama (mostly gen, hints of other relationships)

Summary: Hashirama really doesn’t approve of the thoughtful way his father looks at his younger brother’s bright red eyes. He’s sure it doesn’t mean anything good for anyone.

He’s right.

——————————————————————————————

Hashirama leads his clan, Madara leads his, and yet there is no peace.

It’s – frustrating.

“Anija,” Tobirama says without looking up from the paperwork he’s doing, probably their tithe to the daiymo or some other internal clan matter that only appears unimportant until nobody does it. “You’re destabilizing the architecture with your feelings again. Go play in your garden until you feel better.”

Hashirama’s Forest of Death is not a garden and he’s sticking to that. Though it is a remarkably good place to sulk, and anyway going there will mean he doesn’t have to work on –

“You can take the papers I prepared for you to sign with you.”

Hashirama groans.

Tobirama is far too good a clan leader, given that he actually isn’t, but Hashirama can’t help but be grateful for it. If the clan’s finances had been left in his hands alone…

It’s not worth thinking about, really. He’s so bad at paperwork.

Specifically, at remembering to do any of it.

Tobirama, though, never complains. He likes being of use to the clan, he says, and every time he does Hashirama gives him a giant bone-crushing hug because he still hates his father for making Tobirama think he has to be of use to be wanted.

(Tobirama’s standing in the clan is…not great, though better than Hashirama worried it might be. There’s never any love for a parricide, of course, and there were a lot of whispers at first, a lot of uncertain glares from shinobi who still desperately wanted to follow Tobirama in battle but who didn’t know if they should, but it all got resolved the day his Aunt Kaede – who is everyone’s Aunt Kaede, really, because she’s so old and still so terrifying – decides to draft Tobirama to be her walking stick for the day, which is her version of a stamp of approval. After that the whispers mostly subside and things go back to normal, and there are sometimes a few comments about how the wind sometimes carries things back to the person who threw them that make Hashirama see red because if they knew and did nothing then he…is going to do nothing about it because he can’t abuse his position as clan head, but it makes him want to do something.)

Tobirama even finds time – somehow, between doing the clan administration, keeping up his training, and continuing to churn out new jutsu at an alarming rate – to start studying up on all sorts of bizarre things.

At first Hashirama can’t figure out why in the world Tobirama would care about things like sewage systems and garbage disposal and plumbing and electrical lines, but then Tobirama gives him twenty scrolls on architecture and civil engineering and how larger settlements get laid out to maximize both efficiency and defense and suddenly Hashirama gets it.

Hashirama’s the clan head now, after all.

Tobirama wants to be ready to build his village.

Hashirama blubbered for at least three days after he figured it out, which made Tobirama so horrified that he's been forced to promise not to do it again.

Still, knowing that Tobirama's on board with Hashirama's dream village means so much to him. They're ready for it to happen.

Except, of course, said dream village requires peace with the Uchiha, and that part is – tricky.

He tries to talk to Madara about it during battle – somewhat incessantly, he’ll admit – and gets nothing but fireballs thrown at his face for it.

Everything seems fairly hopeless.

Then, one day, he bumps into Madara in the middle of the small fishing village just down the way from the daimyo’s summer palace.

He stares.

Madara stares.

They’re both hiding themselves with henges, both alone, probably both here for the same stupid mission, but there’s no circumstances under which they would not recognize each other.

“Did that asshole actually hire both our clans to do one job?” Madara finally says, sounding somewhere between bemused and deeply offended. “Does he not know…?”

“Active sabotage seems more likely than someone forgetting about the whole Senju-Uchiha thing,” Hashirama concedes, thinking to himself that it was particularly likely given the particular constraints of the mission – requiring secrecy and power both, meaning that it was really just him or Tobirama able to take the job for the Senju, which now that he thought about it was remarkably well paid. It was probably the same on the Uchiha side. “Truce until we figure out what the trap is?”

“Don’t call the generations of outright warfare between our clans a ‘thing’ like you’re a teenage girl discussing her favorite celebrity couple,” Madara says, looking pained, “and you can have your truce.”

Hashirama promptly changes his henge to a moderately attractive but not particularly noticeable female form of himself, wraps his arms around Madara’s henge, and obnoxiously coos, “Whatever you say, Madara-senpai!”

Madara makes a very fine effort to keep his face straight and his grumpy temper intact, but then he glances over at Hashirama’s new henge and just bursts out laughing.

Probably the addition of bunny ears.

“I hate you,” he chokes between howls of laughter. “Why do I like you, you’re so dumb –”

“The sloth contract makes me irresistibly cute,” Hashirama says primly. He doesn’t actually have a sloth contract – he doesn’t have a summoning contract at all, no animal would take him; Tobirama says it’s probably because of the Mokuton and Hashirama agrees, though he half-suspects he might have bound himself by blood to an oak tree once given how he seems to be able to summon them out of nowhere no matter where he is or how unlikely it is that there were any acorns around for him to use – but no one else needs to know that. Anyway, it’s a great excuse: no one ever seems to question it when he says vaguely that getting the sloths moving is too difficult to waste on routine missions. “Let’s go eat some ramen.”

“In the middle of a mission?”

“We still have to eat. Besides, we can listen for gossip at the same time!”

“Listen, just because we’re teaming up this one time doesn’t mean I’m not going to kill you the next time we meet on the battlefield –”

“Yes, yes, of course. But that’s then, this is now, and now we’re getting ramen!”

They do end up murdering the person who hired them – it turns out he was hoping they’d destroy the village by fighting each other, thereby covering up certain very naughty things he’d been up to – but it’s still the most fun Hashirama’s had in ages.

“Want to do this again next month?” he asks as they prepare to head back out to their respective clans.

“You really don’t get the whole ‘mortal enemy’ business, do you?” Madara asks, but he sounds resigned, and he does show up next month so he’s a rotten dirty hypocrite anyway.

He tries to justify it as fishing for information, but it’s not like Hashirama actually tells him anything he could use about his clan – he mostly complains about dumb stuff people in his clan are doing (“Touka is trying to see if you can double-wield naginata again!”) and laughing at Madara’s horrified responses to them.

Madara doesn’t tell him useful things either, sticking to equally ridiculous topics, and that’s fine.

(Tobirama knows where Hashirama's going every month, but doesn’t even bother trying to get stuff out of him afterwards, telling him that he’s hopeless and an embarrassment until Hashirama sits on him, smiling, because he knows that’s as close to Tobirama’s blessing as he’s ever going to get.)

He doesn’t know if Madara’s got the same arrangement with Izuna, but he likes to think so.

“How’s that white demon of a brother of yours doing?” Madara asks one day. “Haven’t seen him in battle for a bit.”

They’re sitting by the pier with donburis and Hashirama has taken off his shoes to see if the fish really will come nip at his toes if he puts them in the water while Madara rolls his eyes at him.

“I wouldn’t be here if he were injured,” Hashirama points out. “No, he’s just…he developed this new, uh, thing, and he’s taking some time to work out the kinks.”

“Great,” Madara says. “Is this a ‘lots of your clan’s people are going to die when he unveils this’ sort of thing or is this more like the time he tried to raise the dead?”

“I told him to stop doing that,” Hashirama says. “Andanywayheonlysortofgotthatowork – anyway! Not the point –”

“There wasn’t a point, I asked you a question. Also, he got it to work?”

“No, because I told him to stop.”

“…that’s not comforting.”

“Anyway, you don’t need to worry, it’s not either,” Hashirama says, deciding to just move on. They’ve had the ‘necromancy is a bad habit’ discussion before, he agrees wholeheartedly, and anyway Madara clearly doesn’t have anything new to add, he just likes to whine. Hashirama's already forbidden it, okay? What more does Madara expect from him? He certainly can't stop Tobirama from inventing new forbidden things; it's like his brother's only hobby. “It’s more of, um, you know, a defensive measure. A bit like that thing you do, the Susanoo…say, is that particularly characteristic of your clan?”

Madara gives him a weird look. “Yes…? The tengu are traditionally seen as a gift from the founder of our line, along with our Sharingan.”

Damnit.

And Tobirama’s been so excited by the possibilities of the Susanoo, too! He’ll be disappointed when he finds out he won’t be able to plausibly use it in the battlefield.

(“I won’t let you be stained with our father’s crimes,” Tobirama told him once, his eyes bright red and swirling in the way he only permits them to do in the privacy of the training field Hashirama built and warded just for him. “I know no one can ever find out. But I won’t let you die, either, and if that means revealing all of this, then so be it.”)

Hashirama sighs, then turns and pokes Madara in the side. “Hey, speaking of Susanoo, yours changed recently. Wasn’t it just bones to start with?”

“It develops more as you master it,” Madara says, batting his hand away. “Eventually you can get it to a full person, with armor and a sword. Then it’s really useful.”

“Do you think I could do the same with wood, if I tried?”

“Hashirama.”

“Right, right, I keep forgetting, battle plans and new jutsu are not appropriate subjects of conversation. Oh, wait, before we change subjects, has Izuna figured out that new jumping move? Tobirama said the last time he tried it on the battlefield, he ended up in a tree.”

“Hashirama.” Madara’s attempts not to start laughing are really making his stern words a lot less effective.

“I just want to know,” Hashirama persists, grinning. “Tobirama laughed so hard that he couldn’t breathe last time, the second we got home, so it's clearly need-to-know information: I need to know if I should learn some sort of lung-clearing jutsu to keep my brother from dying from excessive laughter –”

Madara puts his head into his hands, but his shoulders are shaking. “Izuna said it was a bush he got stuck in.”

“Tree,” Hashirama says. “Definitely a tree. Trust the Mokuton: it was a tree.”

This secret friendship is not what Hashirama wants, but it’s what he has, and he’ll live with that.

He still spends each battle offering peace to Madara – still starts ever meeting by asking about it before being shut down – but Madara refuses time and time again, thinking first of his clan and what they want rather than what would be good for them.

(Tobirama says that Hashirama is not naturally democratic, even if he is something of a pacifist, and he’s probably right about that. Well, nobody’s perfect, and Tobirama’s always cared enough about democracy for the two of them anyway. Hashirama has no clue where that urge came from, but it’s the reason he has to contend with a stupid council so he’s not sure he entirely approves of it.)

It’s mostly all pointless.

But sometimes, the best times, Madara will let it slip that he still thinks of their dream.

“Looks like the Hatake would be tentatively up for a more permanent alliance if we ever actually make the village,” he tells Madara one time.

Madara groans. “The Hatake? Really? Between them and the Inuzuka –” Uchiha allies. “– the whole thing’ll turn into a dung-pit; I thought we were planning a village, not a zoo…”

“We’ll put them on opposite sides of the village so that they don’t run into each other.”

“There isn’t going to be a village, we’re at war. And anyway, even if there was, they’d have to go together; I’d never agree to having more than one side with exposed open forest access.”

“But what about the Nara? They won’t want to share their deer with wolves.”

“Hn, prey animals…maybe some restricted preserve for those?”

“That could work. We’d need lots of space for the training grounds anyway. Can you imagine being stuck in a siege without a place to train?”

“Yes. Viscerally well, having experienced it several…wait, are you saying the Senju compound has training grounds inside its walls?”

“Why did you think the compound is so large? We’re a smaller clan than yours!”

“That still seems unnecessarily decadent. But I suppose it would reduce stress under siege…”

“It really does. I was thinking maybe fifty or so for the village –”

“Fifty training grounds?! Where are you planning on putting this village, the moon?!”

And so it goes.

Not peace, no, but – something.

And then things change.

[dirthenera]

Secrets From Dreams

One of my contributions to Solavellan hell. Will be updating on AO3 under the same name. What if Lavellan lived two lives? One in our world and one as the Inquisitor, with sleep pulling her through to each?

Here's the first two chapters, there's more up and will be more as I polish what's already written, which is currently up to 35 chapters!

The first thing she noticed was that everything hurt. Well, that wasn’t exactly unusual. The pain in her hand was unusual though, and she tried to remember why, but nothing came to mind. She blearily opened her eyes, and looked into a space that looked wholly foreign, but… somehow familiar?

She tried to remember how she got there… Or, anything really. It felt like looking through a fogged mirror at a forked path, both blurry and indistinct. Her head pounded and she raised her aching hand to hopefully squash both pains with some judiciously applied pressure, and a guard shouted as a green light filled the edge of her blurry vision.

“The prisoner is awake Lady Cassandra!” He called.

Wait. A guard? And… this was a cell. And… Cassandra? Too familiar. She forced her eyes to focus, and she saw the green light crackling, the same color as the pain in her hand. Something lit up on one of those forked paths. The anchor, she remembered. She saw a smiling face, and then her mind recoiled from the memory. There was also something else there, down the other fork? A campfire full of familiar faces, laughing and trading songs and old stories over the days hunt. That fork hurt less.

She didn’t have time to think about it more before she was hauled roughly from the cell and a tray of food was shoved at her, and she tore into it ravenously. Her hand crackled in pain, glowing. The anchor, her mind insisted again with a twinge. She fished the food and gulped down the cup of water the guard offered.

She saw two women enter, dressed in armor and eerily familiar. Cassandra, a friend. Leliana, a trusted ally. She looked up in hopeless confusion as her mind played the words a heartbeat before Cassandra could speak them.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended it is dead. Except for you.”

“You think I’m responsible?” Her voice floated out in front of her. It sounded strange to her own ears.

“Explain. This.” Cassandra grabbed her marked hand, and images flashed through her mind. Her hand connecting with a rift. Burning bodies surrounded by slag. A creature of immense power, glowing red, looming over her. A gentle laugh that stirred her soul. A broken orb. Pain.

“I… Can’t.” The images were moving too fast, dizzying. And still, her mind echoed Cassandra’s words before they were spoken.

“What do you mean you can’t?!” Cassandra was enraged. Truly, she should be afraid, but she heard an echo of her own oddly unfamiliar voice. Cassandra’s like that with everyone.

“I don’t know what that is or how it got there!” The pieces would fit together but there was so much, too much to process and everything ached.

“You’re lying!”

“We need her, Cassandra!” Leliana cut in. She always was the voice of reason. Brutal, unyielding reason. Her hands were carefully placed behind her back. In control. The images flashed to what must have happened before, and the screaming bodies surrounded by slag.

“All those people, dead?” Her stunned voice broke. Why did this feel like a dream but not? Why was it so familiar?

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” Leliana asked, gently. A few pieces fell into place.

“I remember running… things were chasing me. And then… a woman?” She glowed. A spirit. You will meet again.

“A woman?” Leliana asked. Her silent questions hung in the air like a prayer. She believes it to be Andraste.

“She reached out to me. But then?” There was a tear, and she fell through. Pearls of memory to chase later.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.” Cassandra said.

“What did happen?” What was real?

“It will be easier to show you.” With her lips set in a thin line, they went outside.

She felt the maw before she saw it. The breach. A mournful wolf’s devouring gape. Her gaze drew up, unable to stay away, and she felt the link between it and the mark on her hand. Her mind screamed at the pieces scattered, filling her with dread, and the strangest sense of… adventure? Promise?

“We call it the breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.” Cassandra explained. She knew. She didn’t know how, but she knew.

“An explosion can do that do that?” The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them. Familiar. She had heard them before, but from outside herself?

“This one did. Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world.” Cassandra’s brows knitted together. The maw pulled at her again, and her hand responded, tearing her open and replacing pieces of her with pulsing, crackling pain. This will kill you, but not yet.

“Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.“ Cassandra turned to her, small movements different than expected, only increasing the uneasy déjà vu.

“I understand.” She felt the path stretch out before her and knew the steps. She felt the choices open up ahead, unnerved but certain.

“Then..?” Cassandra choked back hope.

“I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.” Cassandra nodded in approval, and began walking with her towards the breach.

They made their way through town. Haven. The mutters of townspeople reached her ears as they walked, harsh. Calling her knife ear, traitor, murderer. Her brows furrowed.

“They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our most holy, Divine Justinia. We lash out at the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves, like she did. Until the breach is sealed.” She said the last part as much for herself, taking a steady breath and releasing some of her anger.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more. Come, it is not far.” She didn’t ask where they were going. She knew.

2

“Quickly, before more come through!”

He grabbed her hand and lifted it to the rift. The energy rushed out from inside her, somehow both deafening and serene, painful and desperately cleansing. It felt like a freezing winter wind snapping through every part of her being and leaving her clear. All the pieces fell into place. This was a dream of something she loved. Something she had played many times. The other world was faint and far away here, and this one had never been so real. She even had memories of aravels and hunting for her clan. She hoped, desperately, that she would remember this when she woke. She glanced in awe at the elf who now held her hand. Not fair, his cheekbones were even better in person. And even though all of this was his fault, his smile broke through the haze and she was suddenly, solidly, here. Not dreamlike anymore. Maybe the other world was the dream? But then how could she explain knowing so many of his secrets?

They had pushed through demons, thankfully finding a bow on the way. She had wondered what it would be, but now that she remembered the other world, it made sense. She looked up at him and didn’t even know what to say.

“Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that opened in the breach’s wake. And it seems I was correct.” He said. His posture was much more humble than she remembered. An affectation? Or a variance?

“Meaning it could also close the breach itself.” Cassandra added.

“Possibly. It seem you hold the key to our salvation.” He held his hands in front of himself carefully, full of hope and good cheer. She knew it was only for the safety of the anchor, but her stomach still did a stupid little flip. Luckily Varric interrupted her mooning before anything suspicious could be noted. Definitely not a good time for it, surrounded by death and destruction.

“Good to know. And here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” He fiddled with Bianca, and she smiled. The first real smile since coming here. It would be ok.

Introductions were made, and she grinned at Varric, despite Solas’ protestations. Except then it was her turn. And she had no idea. Wait. Dreams. Uthenera, the enchanted sleep of the ancient elves. Thenera would do, if she was to be a dreamer in this world.

“Thenera Lavellan, of Clan Lavellan.”

“I am pleased to see you still live.” Solas smiled, the very picture of a humble apostate. Ah, affectation.

“He means: I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.” Varric added wryly.

“Well then I suppose I should thank you.” She…. Thenera, said, matching Varric’s wry tone. She knew it would be a long day yet, but longer with only Cassandra’s dour sensibilities. Also. Kinda his fault the mark was killing her in the first place. Kinda.

“Thank me if we manage to close the breach without killing you in the process.” He said solemnly, and turned to Cassandra. “Cassandra, you should know. The magic involved here is unlike any I’ve seen. Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

“Well. Bianca’s excited.” And Varric strode off without explaining.

[rousingloki]

Thoughts: Nintendo VR

 Oh Nintendo, you really have outdone yourselves.

So on my last “Thoughts” topic, I explored what Nintendo has done to keep its identity of Nintendo, and how Nintendo has managed to keep it’s core philosophy alive, and to pass on the dream of Mr. Iwata in keeping games affordable, accessible, and most importantly, fun. I mentioned that I noticed all this with Nintendo Labo, and the upcoming VR kit, and it’s that VR kit that I’d like to talk to you all about.

(Note, if you want to start a discussion about this, I more than welcome it, because discussions about this sort of topic are always great to listen to. I think it’s very important to hear other perspectives, and what other people have to say. With that in mind, however; please try not to start a flame war, or attacking other people’s opinions, I did say discuss, not argue. Thanks)

So before I get into the Labo, let’s look back on a little history. Nintendo has been involved with VR, or the realm of 3D gameplay multiple times. It started back with the Famicom, with a device called: Famicom 3D System. (If you don’t care for the history portion just skip ahead 5 paragraphs)

This pair of goggles basically allowed you to have the game right in front of your face, not really making it Virtual Reality, but it was a start I suppose. To compare it to anything, would be Sega’s Segascope 3D glasses. The system was a colossal failure, and only compatible with about 7 games. It would be about 8 years before Nintendo threw their hat into the ring with another Virtual Reality project.

Skip ahead to 1995. Nintendo was dominating the 16-bit market, with their Super Nintendo Entertainment System (Or Super Famicom if you’re from Japan), and they had complete control of the handheld market with the Gameboy. Nintendo wanted an edge though, to fill a gap before the release of the Nintendo 64. Thus was born, the Virtual Boy. (Then known as VR32)

The Virtual Boy was sold as a Virtual Reality console, and it also was deemed part of Nintendo’s “Portable” line of gaming. Most use that term very loosely though because even I, someone who had a Virtual Boy as a kid, could not see this thing as anything being even close to portable. The Virtual Boy also did not boast real Virtual Reality, what it did have, was 3D screening. Using Stereoscope technology, it tricked your eyes into thinking you were seeing true 3D, which worked, but it didn’t have anything like head tracking, and the constant red and black colors, mixed with having your eyes so close to the poor screen meant eye strain, and headaches.

In the end, the Virtual Boy was a catastrophic failure from the start. It was discontinued less than a year after it was released, with only 22 games ever made for it. The Virtual Boy does have a legacy however; and that legacy was picked up in 2011, by the Nintendo 3DS.

The Nintendo 3DS was everything the Virtual Boy wasn’t: Fun. Not only did games happen for console, but it met the many goals that the Virtual Boy didn’t meet: It was portable, had better 3D, was a social console, and had an excellent line of video games made for it. The 3DS still continues today, and even though it’s hard to say if it’s gonna stick around much longer due to the domination of the Switch, the 3DS is an excellent handheld, and loved by many. Although the one thing it didn’t fulfill, was a VR type experience, which brings us to today...

The Nintendo Labo VR Kit.

Being the first “VR” style platform Nintendo has attempted in 24 years, Nintendo is bringing VR to it’s beloved platform: The Nintendo Switch.

Where to begin with this... I guess I’ll just give my first impressions based on all the pics and videos I’ve seen so far. (Here’s a link to the video Nintendo posted on it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uOjcbdAU5Gw&t=2s)

So from just the announcement, before a video was even in place, I was immediately excited. I’ve bought every single Labo kit before this, and each one has not disappointed. As someone who’s involved very deeply with STEM, this type of kit is perfect for those looking to get interested in that sort of field, while also having fun, and learning at the same time. I don’t look at the VR as a plaything in the traditional sense, while I do want to have some fun with it, and see what direction Nintendo is taking with it, I’m mostly interested in how everything works, and why everything works about it.

(This is why I will die alone)

When it comes to the games, they’re honestly the least interesting part of the whole experience. While some games (e.g. Piano Studio in the Variety Kit, Adventure in the Vehicle Kit) do have some pull and keep me a bit more interested, the most fun part I’ve had is building them. Anyone who’s played with Lego’s, Bionicle, Gundams, or anything that requires any sort of building, and enjoys that aspect the most, would be absolutely delighted by how satisfying it is to see these creations come to life with each sheet of cardboard.

And once you’ve built them, even if the game doesn’t stay interesting for very long, there’s something very exciting about seeing the Labo work once you start playing the game. The actual reeling in of a fish on the fishing rod, listening to it actually make sounds was something that made me act like a 6 year old kid going fishing with my dad for the first time.

Once you’ve built, and played with the Toy-Cons, you can learn everything there is to know about them.

Ranging from just learning about the Nintendo Switch Hardware on its own, from the Screen to the Joy-Cons, to the actual Labo creations themselves. You can see how the games work, how the Nintendo Switch system is involved, and some general knowledge like fixing the labos is included here as well. As well as how to make your Labo your own, giving customization tips, and what NOT to do if you want to preserve the life of your Labo.

Of course once you’ve learned everything, you can open up the Toy-Con Garage and make your own creations, make your own Labo’s to play with, now that you have the knowledge and tools to make them. It’s what makes the Labo near infinitely re-playable. Ranging from simple games, to instruments, if you have the imagination, I’m sure you can find a way to build it.

After having said all that, let’s get back into the VR kit itself. The VR Kit comes in two different flavors: One with just the Goggles and Blaster, and the other has everything else. Because I’m getting the latter (And will be reviewing it so stay tuned) let’s talk about that one. The Labo comes with 6 different Toy-Con creations: The Goggles, Wind Pedal, Blaster, Bird, Elephant, and Camera.

If we were to go through each one of these, we’d be here forever (Plus I said I’m gonna review it next week, so we’ll do that there) so I’m just gonna say what I feel about the kit as a whole. I absolutely love it. The whole idea of the thing is just fantastic. Not only does it introduce VR at a more affordable yet still fun level, it introduces it to a younger audience, those who are too young to be able to use actual VR systems that were designed with an older audience in mind.

Sure the games look simple, but like I said it’s the experience as a whole, from building the labo, to trying it out, to learning how everything works that makes everything count in the end. Like I said, as someone who’s worked extensively in the STEM field, I’m absolutely delighted to see something like this. It takes the limitations of the switch and expands them to incorporate an entirely new way to play video games. It stretches the field of imagination to new heights, and showcases not only what the Switch as a system can do, but how you can do things with your imagination.

Like the other Labo kits, this one is getting a “garage” where you can create your own games. While you probably won’t be making much out of cardboard, you’re able to make games that would fit with the VR’s idea in mind. From exploration games, to rhythm games, it’s whatever you can think of and get working that makes it so much fun. Plus Nintendo is adding support to Super Mario Odyssey and Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild for free, so that’s a bonus.

Now this isn’t a full fledged review, and I’m gonna take advantage of that to ask a question, why do people give this thing so much hate? Why are people so against Nintendo Labo?

I’ve seen the hatred for Nintendo Labo since the beginning, it shows with the like and dislike bar of the original video that Nintendo posted before the first two kits were even released.

I truly do not understand the flak that the Labo gets. Most people seem to think that the cardboard is made out of 8x11 printer paper that would fall apart the second you tried to play with it, but after getting 15+ hours out of EACH of my Labo kits, I can safely say that they’re surprisingly durable, and none of them have received any real wear or tear to them.

Yet I still don’t understand the hatred towards them, people say you’re paying a huge amount of money for cardboard, even though people are content paying $60 for a piece of plastic and silicon (not even that if they buy a download code) People also don’t look at the fact that the PSVR, which is usually around $250 to buy new (about $350 if you include move controllers) and most of the games are still nothing more than tech demos, ones of huge games like Skyrim, or Borderlands, which you’re expected to pay for, for full price, and even then the games still feel like nothing but glorified tech demos. Maybe I’m just being cynical, maybe I’m just being a Nintendo Fan boy, but it’s something I really just don’t understand.

So yeah, these are all my thoughts on the VR right now, something I’m looking VERY forward to, and has me being all giddy and excited like a 7 year old kid who’s only a week away from Christmas. It’s something that I know will make people happy, and maybe even get more people interested in VR, and the STEM community as well.

Thank you all for reading (And again, please ask away if you have anything you want to tell me, I’d love to hear what other people have to say on this)