#i need to interfere

[chicken-wayng]

So my bestie has watched Supernatural and Sherlock, so I'm making them complete the trifecta as it's a canon event

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

finally at that age where i'm thinking i should get a tattoo. not bc i feel strongly about it, just seems like a waste not to. i've got so much skin i'm not using

[bacchuschucklefuck]

she turns, makes direct eye contact with you, smiles,

[sunderwight]

Bingqiu roleswap where disciple Shen Yuan knows he's gay, and figures out that he has a big huge crush on his handsome Shizun, but also concludes nearly at once that he's not going to be drawing Luo Binghe's eye any time soon. Firstly, Luo Binghe is notoriously straight. Secondly, even if he weren't, he wouldn't go for his scrawny untalented nerd of a disciple! Shen Yuan's not bad looking, not before or after transmigrating, but he's neither a beautiful nor a hot manly man, and he assumes if Luo Binghe were into dudes he'd be into the same kinds of twunks that Shen Yuan likes. Guys on his own level, etc etc.

Plus Luo Binghe hated the original disciple Shen, and only started to warm up to the transmigrated version after Shen Yuan got injured in front of him trying to stop the other disciples on the peak from killing a small animal. For some reason, Luo Binghe brought Shen Yuan medicine. He got even nicer after Shen Yuan distracted the skinner demon by trying to convince it to take his skin instead of Luo Binghe's, and then again when Shen Yuan successfully fought off a demon invader -- though initially when Luo Binghe volunteered him for that job, he thought it was an assassination attempt. His heart was in his throat when Luo Binghe nearly took a poisoned blow for him, but luckily he reacted more quickly and got hit by the thorns instead. His heavenly demon blood took care of the poison, and he managed to convince everyone that he narrowly avoided getting cut at all.

Shen Yuan's careful not to read anything into it when Luo Binghe finds out about his, erm, uncomfortable dormitory situation and moves him into the side room, or when he completely messes up trying to make dinner and Luo Binghe takes over cooking and bans him from the kitchen (he swears he's not actually that bad at cooking, he just never had to use a kitchen without a microwave or an electric hot plate before...)

After all, it's not like Luo Binghe is cooking for him, he's just making food he likes and letting Shen Yuan eat it too! Because he's nice! He's way nicer than the book gave him credit for being, see, clearly Shen Yuan was correct in signing up for his defense squad, "top ten worst villains of all time" his ass that poll was nonsense...

Unfortunately, though, the plot's still gotta plot. Shen Yuan is heartbroken when the Immortal Alliance Conference rolls around and his shizun stabs him and throws him down into the Endless Abyss. Heartbroken, but not surprised. After all, it was always going to go this way, wasn't it?

But at least, now that it's done, he has some agency in how he reacts to it. He's changed the story enough that he doesn't need to go get revenge. Maybe Luo Binghe's still the villain of his story, maybe that was inevitable, but some heroes let the villains get away. Don't they? It's all part of that noble, breaking the cycle of abuse type stuff. He can be that kind of hero. He can let it go. As long as he avoids Luo Binghe altogether, it should be fine, right? It's not like he's obligated to turn people into human sticks. He asked the system, he's definitely not!

Technically he's not even required to conquer the demon realms. He just has to get out of the Abyss and the be sufficiently cool and/or tragic. Conquest is just one means of doing that, and not even Shen Yuan's preferred, since he doesn't exactly want to rule over anybody. Going around the demon realms beating up some jackasses and rescuing some damsels in distress and becoming sworn brothers with Shang Qinghua, one of the current demon kings, is suitable. He definitely doesn't want to marry any of the damsels he encounters (thank fuck the system lets him off the hook for that!)

But eventually he has to go back to the human world. Not only is it mandated by the system, but he also misses living there. The demonic realms are in many ways better than expected, plus a lot of the monsters are really cool, but he misses the weather and plants and the people he's more accustomed to being around.

He misses Qing Jing Peak, if he's being honest with himself. Shizun's cooking and the bamboo forest and the crisp mountain breezes, the comforts of home.

Not that he can actually go back there in specific. Of course not. If he did that, Luo Binghe would try to kill him, or else the system would try and make him kill Luo Binghe. Bad ideas all around. No, he can't go back to Qing Jing Peak, but he can go find someplace nicer than the demon realms at least. He just has to keep a low profile, which shouldn't be hard since the original goods did that even while actively scheming to kill his former master!

Except.

Everywhere he goes, suddenly Luo Binghe is also there?!

Good thing Shen Yuan thought to take a page out of the book of Luo Binghe's actual love interest, Liu Mingyan, and start wearing a veil. He just didn't want any randos who might have seen him at the Immortal Alliance Conference or on any of the other missions his shizun sent him on to recognize him. But one minute he's investigating a strange case in Jinlan City, and the next the streets are full of Huan Hua cultivators (Shen Yuan has no intention of joining them, that's the path the original took to getting revenge! He doesn't want revenge!), and then Luo Binghe and Sect Leader MBJ and Peak Lord SHL show up, and SY is ducking down alleys and hiding behind columns, just trying to stay out of the way until the lockdown on Jinlan lifts and he can leave.

Except...

Luo Binghe really isn't acting like himself?

He looks like he hasn't been eating or sleeping well. There are dark circles around his eyes, and something almost melancholy in his countenance. And he's dressed entirely in white, none of the usual Qing Jing greens and blues anywhere to be seen. Of even greater concern, he's being reckless. Shen Yuan can't stop himself from rushing out when he sees his former shizun get infected by a sower demon.

Luckily, it's been some years since the last time they saw one another. Shen Yuan's gained a few inches in height, so he's almost at eye-level with his old master now, and though he's still more slender than bulky he's picked up some totally new styles from training the demon realms. He doesn't move the same way he used to. With that, plus the veil, it's enough for him to quickly swallow back his words as he grabs Luo Binghe and quickly administers a cure for the sower infection.

Well, he has one of course. He wouldn't need it himself, heavenly demon blood and all, but his time running around playing hero in the demon realms meant he rescued a lot of humans from such fates. Which is hard to do if you don't have a cure to their afflictions, but between him and Shang Qinghua, sourcing such things was almost easy.

Luo Binghe looks at him like he's just seen a ghost. The other Cang Qiong sect members are alarmed by SY suddenly accosting one of their own and of course find him suspicious, so he runs away right after, and then he has to lose Sha Hualing's pursuit in the city.

But what else could he do? He manages to evade the system's attempts to railroad him into meeting Gongyi Xiao, avoids the rest of the Cang Qiong crowd, and drops some of the cure through the current Qian Cao peak lord's window to get the incident sorted out. Then he flees and puts a good amount of distance between himself, Jinlan City, and every righteous sect he can think of.

The only problem is that after this point, Luo Binghe is everywhere.

Any time Shen Yuan stays in one place for longer than a few days, Qing Jing disciples start turning up. Any time he takes a job hunting some cool-sounding monster or pursuing some interesting tome of knowledge, the better to satisfy the system, it seems like Luo Binghe has selected and gone after the exact same target! Which is especially annoying because back when SY was a disciple, Luo Binghe was always assigning him to do this stuff. Since when does his chronic homebody master have an interesting in six-tailed scorpion lemurs or ancient spiritual kilns?

What's weirder, though, are the rumors.

It seems like any time SY stops at some well-populated place and asks for the latest gossip, he has to hear about how the Qing Jing peak lord lost his beloved disciple during the Immortal Alliance Conference, and mourned like a widow, and now wanders the earth in search of solace for his grief. Seeking something, possibly even the ghost of his dear disciple.

What nonsense! Luo Binghe threw SY into the Abyss himself. He had to do it, it was the plot! And also his obligation as a righteous cultivator, confronted with a "dangerous" half-demon. Does it sting? Yes it stings! That's why SY wouldn't just forget it! Despite logically knowing it's pointless, is there some part of him that wishes his master would have chosen differently? That thinks he should have known that no matter what kind of power Shen Yuan had, he would never use it to hurt people recklessly, or harm innocents, or especially not harm... well. It's pointless, his blood condemned him, and if there is some part of Luo Binghe which regrets what happened, it's doubtless just that he unwittingly harbored a monster for so long.

Which is fine and Shen Yuan would leave it at that, if the guy would just let him!

But no. Instead he has to deal with Luo Binghe turning up and asking him questions, trying to get him to talk (SY has no hope of disguising his voice, if he says anything he's not even sure it won't crack as he comes perilously close to tears instead, so he just stays silent), and then asking for his name, asking if he's mute, asking about his background, his sect, his kin. Is his a righteous cultivator? Where did he get that sword? (NOT Xin Mo, thanks, he used that thing once and then tossed it back into the Abyss before the portal finished closing behind him -- he knows a poisoned chalice when he sees one, although knowing the plot twist about that sword from the novel sure helped.) Where did he learn those forms? Is he... does he have a safe place to go home to? Someone to tend his injuries? Make sure he eats his meals?

SY, of course, stays silent. But it's difficult. Not only because Luo Binghe asks, but because he still looks... bad. Sunken, sorrowful, desperate almost. Shen Yuan can't figure out if he knows or not. Maybe he's unsure, maybe he's looking for SY to give him a sign, so that he can figure him out and then flip a switch and try to finish the job he started.

That can't happen. If they fight, SY will win, and he doesn't want to hurt Luo Binghe.

But even if Luo Binghe's not a heavenly demon, he is a highly accomplished cultivator, and it seems he's got his own breaking points to reach. Eventually he corners SY and gets a hand on his veil, and for a moment SY is sure he's going to rip it off, see his face, and confront him all "I knew it was you, you twisted evil demon, you won't escape justice a second time" and he feels a deep, icy terror close around his lungs--

Luo Binghe lets go of the veil before he can lift it.

But then something even worse happens. Because Shen Yuan's handsome, peerless, noble master breaks down. He falls to his knees, begging forgiveness, sobbing, clutching at his head like he's being driven to madness.

It all spills out of him, then. How he pushed his own dearest disciple into the Abyss, which obviously SY already knew, but also how he was apparently qi-deviating the whole time, and his senses could not differentiate between one kind of demonic "threat" and another. How he realized what he'd done only after he regained his senses hours later, and rushed back to the place where the tear to the Abyss had opened, but could not find a way in after the one he lost. How he had betrayed and thrown away the only person who cared about him, and couldn't even explain that he hadn't intended to. How he would accept anything, any punishment, hatred, penance, or revenge, if only he could see his disciple's face once more.

SY is stunned.

Apparently, Luo Binghe hadn't rejected him for his demon blood?

Not only that, but beforehand, he seemed to have valued Shen Yuan a lot more than Shen Yuan would have credited.

Is it a trick? Is he lying? SY would have guessed so, would have assumed that Luo Binghe's plan was to lull him into complacency only to turn on him once he finally had confirmation. But somehow, he just... doesn't think this is an insincere display. His old master is too cool for this stuff! He has too much dignity to just throw it away on a scheme! There are other ways to get what he wants.

Even if it is a lie, Shen Yuan is tired of running. He's the hero. He won't actually lose, and if it comes to it, it's still in his hands to decide if he wants to spare Luo Binghe or not (he does, of course he does, even if this whole spiel is an act). Plus he's got a backup plant body in one of Shang Qinghua's greenhouses if all goes to shit.

He takes the veil off himself.

Luo Binghe, teary-eyed, stares at him as if his face is the most beautiful he's ever seen.

Shen Yuan nearly puts the veil back on. His cheeks heat up. Dear Shizun, aren't you an immortal master? A noble peak lord? Isn't it your calling to vanquish demons? Get up off the dirty ground right this minute! Where did your dignity go? Shen Yuan did not spend all those nights doing the laundry to watch his teacher dirty his knees for no good reason!

There's a quaver in Luo Binghe's voice as he points out that Shen Yuan was terrible at doing laundry. Luo Binghe had to redo it the day after, all the time.

Shen Yuan chides at him that he should have made one of the other disciples do it then.

Luo Binghe just laughs, and stays on the ground, until finally Shen Yuan has to physically pull him up. Muttering about how he's being ridiculous, what's he crying for, why's he been moping so much, doesn't he know that handsome face should never look so bereft? Then he realizes what he's saying and shuts his mouth, but Luo Binghe just looks happy for the first time in years. Since the Abyss. How is it possible that SY, who actually had to slog through that awful place, can still smile more than Luo Binghe, who didn't?

They're standing so close. Holding on to one another. Almost as if... as if the scene's tone is... well...

Oh what the hell!

Shen Yuan closes the last little bit of distance between them, and kisses Luo Binghe.

[dukeofthomas]

Can't believe Bruce canonically picked up a random 12yo homeless child who had no intent to become a vigilante and suddenly thrust Robin onto him without asking if that's what he wanted because he missed Dick (whom he fired because being Robin was too dangerous) and people still act like any take that's not "all the Batkids became vigilantes on their own completely independent of Bruce (who tried so hard to stop them but sadly just couldn't do it)" is a complete idiotic bad-faith take and that you're crazy if you disagree with people saying that Bruce has never ever absolutely NEVER picked up a kid for the purpose of making them into a vigilante.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

[moonshynecybin]

pecco and vale dynamic also rules because it’s like well what if your only hope at keeping your arch enemy/ex friend from overcoming you within the arbitrary ego schema that exists within your brain is your protege that you don’t even really think can do it. and he represents “you” in the conflict, but you know in your soul that the other guy is MUCH more like you (which is why you hate him) which is ALSO in fact why you think your protege will not succeed !

[isbergillustration]

I got covid for the first time and I'm being so brave and un-dramatic about it

[hurtingbuck]

things unsaid

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Most important thing to know before writing: What is the point of your story?

There are two parts to that question.

-What are the main story elements you want to feature? A certain character? A setting? A moment of the plot? A particular theme? Which elements are essential to the story you're trying to tell?

-What type of ending are you aiming toward? It doesn't have to be super-detailed, but knowing something about where the story is going is how you know you have a story and not just an image. Is the main character going to change/grow somehow? Learn the answer to a question? Accomplish a certain goal? Make a friend?

Defining those things before you start lets you know that your idea is a story, not just an image or a concept that won't go anywhere. It also gives you a core to base the story around and keeps you from going off-track.

As long as you have defined the essentials to the story and the general direction that you need the story to go in, everything else is negotiable. You have freedom to adjust the non-essentials and explore different possibilities as you discovery-write, so long as none of those non-essentials interfere with the point of the story. If it distracts from the main point, or turns the plot in a way that'll make it impossible to reach main point of the story, it needs to be discarded. Anything else will most likely enrich your story.

[poppy-s-rampage]

Chapter 2: Welcome to Gotham!

Warnings: A little bit of blood, breakdown and emotional distress.

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

Chapter 1! | Masterpost | Chapter 3!

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

After finally closing up the last wound, Clockwork took a moment to look over his work. All of the young Halfa’s wounds have been sealed and treated with diluted ectoplasm. It was only enough to make the injuries look a week old at best but it will have to do.

The Ancient lifted his staff and in one swift movement ripped a hole in the fabric of reality. CW then carefully cradled Danny in his arms. Then both the Ancient and the Halfa stepped into the portal.

On the other side, they were met with an emaciated woman clad in a red and black Victorian dress accompanied by a small rose decorated matching hat. In her hand a small umbrella made of lace and what seemed to be black clouds. 

Her delicate snow white skin furrowed by ink black veins. Her blood red lips striking against the pallor of her face were pursed in worry. Her eyes, even while covered by her laced black veil, didn’t hide her apprehension.

The woman’s dress’s neckline was fashioned in the silhouette of a bat. Pearls scattered like falling stars across the red and black folds of the garment. Her waist encased in a tight bodice was embellished by small golden coins and feathers. The red fishtail spilling on the ground lazily trailing after its mistress.

The woman bowed her head, greeting the Ancient and his charge.

“Lord Clockwork.” Her raspy yet somehow suave voice resonated into the night.

“Lady Gotham.” He responded while slightly dipping his head down.

The city spirit glanced at the boy in the other’s arm. His bandaged form and torn clothes were not what first captured her attention. What truly horrified her was the state of the young Halfa’s core. Wrapped and cracked, barely a breath away from breaking and ceasing to exist.

Her own aching at the view, screaming at her to take the boy, wrap him in a bundle of blankets and nurse/guard him until at full health.

Being ended was reserved to the lowest of the low. It was a last resort that should only be used should the offender be irredeemable and too dangerous to be contained. To think that this almost happened and still could to her own king and one so young.

It was nauseating.

Lady Gotham forced herself to look away, turning her attention back to Clockwork.

“I assume he is the charge you want to bring into my care.”

“He is.” Clockwork responded.

The woman nodded, the smoke and black clouds in her umbrella spreading around her.

“Then if you will follow me.”

Lady Gotham faded and became one with the smog. The black mass zooming towards Midtown Gotham, the ancient of time on its heels.

They soon arrived in front of a small but clean apartment building. The two ghosts phased through the wall of the top floor only to be greeted by the view of a spacious yet cozy loft.

The unit was furnished with all the necessary furniture, non-ecto-contaminated food already stocked in the fridge. The space was designed in order to facilitate Daniel’s recovery. The boy would already be going through hell with his recovery and grief; it was best not to add insult to injury.

The city spirit having taken back physical form, leads Clockwork towards the bed on the second floor of the loft.

Once inside, the Ancient carefully sets Danny down on the bed and slowly covers him with a soft blanket. He then produced a pen and a neon green notepad from who knows where and started writing.

Lady Gotham approached the ghost.

“Lord ClockWork, pardon my intrusion, but wouldn’t it be best for you to explain the situation to the young king face to face.”

Clockwork paused.

“Young Daniel is too unstable to be dealing with the emotional distress my presence would bring. He has been hurt enough as it is.”

“Those excuses are nothing but the words of a coward.”

“Pardon me?”

“You are not. Are you truly running away in order to protect the boy or are you doing so to save yourself?”

“…”

“Tell me, Lord Clockwork. When the young king awakens, would he prefer to be met with an insincere apology letter from a coward or the genuine words of a man admitting to his mistakes?”

Clockwork couldn’t even utter a word.He didn’t have any excuse to defend himself. The city spirit was right.

“Your words are as sharp as ever, old friend.”

“I speak nothing but the truth, Master of Time. However, it seems to me that you are already set on your decision.”

“I-”

“I hope in your interest that you made the right choice.” The Lady snapped.

The woman turned away but not without leaving a few departing words.

“Or that at least you are prepared to face the consequences.”

Lady Gotham disappeared in a whirlwind of smog.

Clock work turned back to Daniel watching as his face scrunched up when the old ghost brushed a strand of hair away from his face.

His old core flared with parental love.

He looked so peaceful, as if nothing ever went wrong. However, In just a few hours, he would wake up and reality would come crashing down.

His bright and joyous protegee. The one he couldn’t help but adore every version of. The one he subconsciously adopted as his own child.

Clockwork couldn’t. He just couldn’t bring himself to face the hatred and pain his pupil would inevitably direct at him.

Gotham was right.

The Master of Time set down the notepad on the night table

He was a coward.

—-------

*A few hours later*

As the first few rays of sunshine broke through Gotham’s thick smog, a young black and white haired boy slowly woke up from his slumber.

It was comfortable, the soft fluffy blanket brushing against his achy skin. The warmth that comes with being cocooned in the safety of your own bed. Danny didn’t want to open his eyes. But he needed to wake up, in just a few moments Jazz would come knocking at his door to drag him to school.

The soft familiar knock never came, but the memories sure did.

Danny snapped his eyes open. Tears threatening to fall.

Clockwork -LiaR- ,the reveal, the capture -BeTraYaL-, the experiments -PaIN-, Jazz, Sam, Tucker,-PAINPAINPAIN mY FauLT- the wails, blood, explosion, death -MurDEreR!-, pain, Core breaking, burning, melting- PAIN PAIN PAIN! I ShOuLD be DeAD!-.

The Halfa now fully awake kicked the blanket enveloping him away and tried to get out of the bed.

His legs still injured and unable to support his weight gave out and he collapsed on the wooden floor in a heap.

The sharp pain of jolting his injuries and face planting further cemented to Danny that he wasn’t dreaming and that the nightmare was fully real.

“...no…NONONONONONO! Please, no! Please! I BEG YOU! PLEASE! JAZZ, TUCK, SAM PLEASE! DONT BE REAL! PLEASE!” Danny tried to say, but the only thing that came out were erratic breaths that could vaguely be associated with words. His damaged throat made it impossible to even breathe without it flaring in pain.

Choked and pained sobs filled the once silent room.

The young Halfa still collapsed on the floor cried , slowly curling up on himself hugging his knees.

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

Chapter 1! | Masterpost | Chapter 3!

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

See you next time!

[alshaverpressbox]

your 2023-2024 minnesota wild (girls just wanna have fun edition)

[inspired by]

[lotus-pear]

what did he mean by this

he's gonna eat salad with a spoon

[skyloftian-nutcase]

age of calamity prompt: mipha and link post water & fire mission? 👀

With all his strength, training, and the benefits of youth, there were few times Link truly ever felt absolutely exhausted. It had happened far more frequently in the last year, what with all the monster attacks making everyone feel like they were in all out war.

But now that war had actually arrived, Link learned a new level of exhaustion, born from a worry so deep in his heart and soul that he didn’t even know what to do with it.

When Ganon had taken control of all the technology they’d worked so hard to learn and utilize, it had been such a defilement that Link’s blood had boiled with rage while his heart froze with fear. His, Zelda’s, and Impa’s determination helped them push through, of course, and he’d hardly had time to truly register any of his emotions once they’d started moving once more.

He remembered the heart stopping terror as the initial realization hit him though. He remembered feeling his breath utterly stolen away in a dread, a knowledge that the capital was falling, he and Zelda were in danger, his family was in danger, the Champions were trapped—that Mipha was trapped, and, for one moment, he thought he was absolutely powerless to do anything about it.

But he wasn’t powerless. They’d gotten there in time, they’d saved Mipha.

But it had been close. Hylia, it had been close. She’d looked absolutely exhausted - if it hadn’t been for Terrako’s magic, for that man—Sidon, he reminded himself, marveling at how the little fledgling could turn into such a massive Zora—then Mipha would have… would have…

She’d barely had the words to even acknowledge him when he’d finally gotten there. And he’d had to rush off to save Daruk as well.

Now that all the Champions were safe, Link felt himself on the verge of collapse. Zelda was trying to rest, instead worrying and mourning. Link felt awful for her - despite all the lives they’d saved, after all, she’d still lost her father. Link’s own father had barely escaped Castle Town and was recovering.

But now their friends were together once more, Divine Beasts ready for a counterattack. They were all impatient to do so much, to fight back now, even Link, willing to push through his exhaustion and end this.

There was no way they could fight right at this moment, though. Even Link couldn’t. But what he did want to do was check on Mipha. He’d been with Zelda, trying to keep her company, and with his father, but his heart was aching and worrying for the Zora princess as well.

After all she was… she was his friend.

Goddess, he couldn’t really lie to himself anymore. She was far more than a friend to him, and he’d almost lost her.

Link dragged his feet towards the palace. Of the four locations they’d helped free from Ganon’s hold, Zora’s Domain was the most fortified and therefore the safest, so it is where the majority of them were staying to recover until they could plan things out better in the morning. Mipha had been whisked away by her people upon exiting Van Ruta, and Link hadn’t seen her since.

He was allowed easy access to the palace, having visited Mipha multiple times and befriended her family (or, really, King Dorephan had essentially adopted him, he was so charismatically extroverted). The older Prince Sidon was excitedly talking to the king, missing Link entirely for he moment and giving him a chance to sneak into Mipha’s room.

He knocked, clearing his throat nervously (he wanted to see her, genuinely, but going to her bedroom seemed… inappropriate). Initially he heard nothing, and he worried a little more, cracking the door and calling her name softly. Silence was the answer, and he finally peeked around the door to see an empty room.

Where was she? Her family wasn’t distressed at all, so she couldn’t be in worse shape than he thought, right? Did they even know she wasn’t in here?

Link walked into the room quietly, closing the door behind him, examining everything. Mipha’s jewelry was on her little vanity - she always wore it when she went out, unless…

The one time Link saw her without her jewelry was when they’d agreed to sneak out at night - she’d commented that at the least, the headdress was too noisy for such a venture.

Wait. Surely she didn’t…

Narrowing his eyes, Link moved towards the window by the shallow waters where she likely rested. Looking out, he could just make out the area they’d designated for triaging the injured.

He had a funny feeling he knew where she was. Link climbed out of the window, crawling along the side of the palace so he could avoid scrutiny, and then hastily made his way back to the medical encampment. He saw a flesh of red, and he followed it to…

His father’s bed. Where Mipha sat, hands glowing, slowly working on healing his wounds. For his part, Link’s father was fast asleep, having been just as exhausted as everyone else - it was why Link had gone to be with Zelda and comfort her, as he’d felt fairly useless hovering anxiously over the man.

Mipha seemed to notice the scrutiny and glanced up, jumping, startled. “Link!”

He was relieved to see her on her feet, so relieved. After their last encounter—goddess, she looked so much better.

But she was still tired. So, inevitably, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Why aren’t you resting?”

He wanted to kick himself. He should be thanking her for looking after his father, asking her how she’s feeling instead of just scolding her.

But he was scared, tired, and angry too - why didn’t Mipha ever let herself get a break?

The entire situation was crashing down on him, and he didn’t know wha to do with all the emotions he was feeling. He didn’t want to take them out on Mipha, though, so he tried to keep his mouth shut and was nearly mortified to instead feel his eyes stinging with tears of frustration.

The magic glowing over his father subsided, and Mipha hugged herself a little insecurely. “I… I’d already been unable to assist any of the other Champions. I was resting, Link, but when I saw so many injured coming in, I knew the others would need help.”

“You were unable to help because you’d almost died,” Link argued, his voice shaking. “Everyone almost died.”

Mipha swallowed, easily reading how close Link was to falling apart. She clearly was shaken as well���he could only imagine what it felt like to have been so close to death. He saw his friend bite her lip uncertainly, hands wringing in front of her. “T-they did. I… Link, I promised… I promised I’d protect you, and I almost failed.”

Link felt his breath get stolen away. She… he didn’t know what to say, only that he wanted to tell her over and over that this wasn’t somehow her fault.

“I knew,” Mipha continued quietly, and now her own voice shook. “I… I figured I would be the weakest Champion. I was prepared to die if it was to happen. But… I…”

Mipha sniffled, inhaling steadily to try and calm herself, closing her eyes. Link moved towards her in an instant, dragging her into a hug.

His mind and heart were screaming.

What kind of thing was that to say - I figured I would be the weakest Champion, was prepared to die—had Mipha truly expected not to survive the encounter with Ganon? Yet she’d pushed forward anyway, had promised to protect and heal Link—

He didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to feel. He was horrified and terrified and felt so awful for her, he wanted to hold her for the rest of his life and tell her over and over that she had done nothing wrong, that she was an incredible fighter, that he would protect her. Mipha was trembling in his arms, crying quietly, finally letting her own stress out, and Link found himself crying too.

Words came forth before he knew what he was saying, genuine and raw and desperate to be heard. “I love you.”

Mipha’s sniffles turned to outright sobs, and she slid her arms around him. Link rested his head atop hers, cheek pressed against smooth scales, tears slowly sliding downward.

“Link, I—I’m s-sorry—”

Please don’t be.

“We’re at w-war—and I—”

“I know,” he whispered.

He let her cry for a while longer, he let himself cry. He was too drained to figure out how to proceed, to worry about protocol or anything of the sort. He just wanted to be with her, to comfort her and let her hold him in return. He wanted this nightmare to be over, and for a moment, it was just them.

As their tears slowed, the pair slowly, hesitantly pulled apart.

Mipha spoke first, trying to get a hold of herself. “Thank you… thank you for saving me on Vah Ruta.”

Goddess, did she even need to thank him for such a thing? He countered, “Thank you for healing me so many times, for always being there. I… Mipha, I’ll always protect you. I promise.”

Mipha watched him a moment, smiling as a blush stained her white cheeks red. She looked down at her hands, suddenly seeming to remember her usually far more shy nature. “Did… did you mean it…?”

Link blinked, confused. “Mean—why wouldn’t I mean—”

“O-oh, no!” Mipha interrupted, waving her hands. “I mean—I know you would protect me, Link, we’re friends after all, and you’re a Hero and—”

Oh. He knew what she was asking.

Of… of course he meant it. He’d just… been not addressing it. Because… well…

They’d been friends when they were children. And he’d liked her a lot then too. More than any of the other Zora. He was attracted to her kindness, her compassionate heart, her silliness and desire to help. Before his little mind and heart knew what such a love was, he already loved her. Now that they were both older, that feeling had matured, and…

Link swallowed, grabbing hold of his courage. “Yes. I meant it. I love you.”

His words derailed Mipha’s stuttered rambling. The silence gave him an opportunity to continue, saying, “You’re not weak. You gave that blight everything you had. You’re an excellent fighter.”

“Link…” she muttered, clearly unsure what to say, but then she giggled, bubbly and emotional as it was, her eyes glistening with tears. “I…”

Link suddenly felt insecure, suddenly felt like maybe he shouldn’t quite have said everything he had. But he’d… she deserved to be comforted, if nothing else. But maybe he shouldn’t have said…

“I love you too,” Mipha finally replied.

…Oh. Oh.

Oh.

Did he… did she… they…

She actually said it?!

Mipha having some sort of strong feelings for Link had been somewhat apparent for a little while now. Her tripping over herself around him had been downright endearing, honestly. But given that she’d never admitted it, Link had figured it was because it was entirely inappropriate, or that perhaps her feelings were not the same as his. But her—she actually—

He… he really wanted to kiss her. Instead, he just felt himself blush.

A heavy sigh resounded from behind them, and both teenagers nearly jumped out of their skin.

Whirling, they turned to see Abel staring at them under heavy lidded eyes, looking exhausted and exasperated at the same time.

“Papa!” Link gasped, rushing to his father’s side, and Mipha was quick on his heels. “Are you alright?”

“I’m about as well as you appear to be,” his father replied, and he could sense the judgment from the man. He sucked in a cheek and bit on it, sheepish at being called out, but it wasn’t as if he’d had a chance to rest quiet yet. He’d wanted to check on Mipha, and then all this had happened.

“I’m so sorry, Sir Abel, I didn’t finish healing your wounds,” Mipha hastily said, moving to the other side of the bed to get a better view.

“Your Highness, that’s unnecessary,” Abel waved her off as respectfully as he could in his state. “I appreciate your singular resolve to heal everyone - you are a good person, and a testament to the Zora’s compassion. But I… have a favor to ask of Your Highness, if you’ll allow me this.”

“Yes, of course,” Mipha nodded eagerly, putting a hand on his shoulder. It was an automatic gesture, born from a kind heart, always eager to soothe, even if it was a little odd for her to be doing it to the seasoned knight. “What is it?”

“Rest,” Abel replied. It was disguised as a request, kind and gentle, but there was the slightest heaviness to his tone, one that Link knew intimately. This was a command, in the only way that the quiet knight could offer to a princess far above his station.

Mipha swallowed, mirroring Link’s sheepish reaction, and let out a small laugh. “A-ah. Well. I—I suppose I could use a little more rest, but the others—perhaps I can do so after I help—”

“You would be disregarding my request, then, princess,” Abel noted carefully.

Mipha’s mouth snapped shut. Link almost laughed - his father got her.

He’d have to remember that trick

Sighing heavily in defeat, Mipha bowed her head. “Well, I—yes. I’ll just—I’ll go back to the palace, then. Sir Abel, I—I’m sorry I wasn’t able to heal you fully before I go, but I—”

“Mipha,” Link interrupted pleadingly. “Please, don’t be sorry. You’ve done more than enough, I promise.”

His dear friend watched him before smiling gently, genuinely, lovingly. He smiled back at her, heart warming. They exchanged a quiet promise to continue their conversation later, and Mipha excused herself.

Abel sighed heavily again. Link glanced at him, worried. “Papa?”

“You two are ridiculous,” his father grumbled. “If Tilieth had been just as shy as me, you would have never been born.”

Link felt his cheeks scald with heat. “P-Papa!”

His father didn’t comment further, respecting his privacy, but he did yank him into a hug, holding him hostage in the bed with him until the Hero of Hyrule settled in his embrace. Zora’s Domain quieted as evening came, and everyone settled in to rest for the war to come.

Despite the dread hanging in the air, Link smiled, feeling lighter than he had in ages, heart full as Mipha’s words repeated in his mind, as he was safe in his father’s embrace.

I love you too.

[assmaster-8000]

𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒐 ✧

✧ Regret

✧ Rememberance

✧ Reunion

✧

All men are equal in death. To Clotho, such is their reigning tenet.

And to Clotho, a man like them sheds no tear for the departed. A necromancer need not fear death, for it is a cycle devouring upon itself, and they are the ringmaster of this primal instinct. As in— need, should, must. One must not fear, one must not ache or pine or rage. A snake is still a snake. Death is still a wild animal. Show your soft palm within the ribcage of your fist, and it will not yield to you. Clotho, for all their cool expertise, knows this through trial and error.

All men are equal in death. So this mantra becomes their epitaph for every sentiment buried under the grave of their tongue.

It's a corpse beneath the floorboards; this memory. The tremble in their fingers - the shortness of breath. Their prized coherence pooling out their ears like brains on a sidewalk. Black is all they've known the world to be, but this time it is blue. Saliva spilling past the shore of her lips. Piercing red lightning streaking through the sky of her eyes. She does not respond when they shake her. By God— what have you done?

All men are equal. Their mother was no man, no monster. Mother, simple and sweet, was cruel enough to damn her. As they were.

Their tears come soft on the linen of her robes. She is softer still. The used crowd of spellbooks and artifacts and alchemical instruments behind them laugh hollow at the display. Wire is taut, so is cloth. Neither will hold them now, after destroying the muscle that stretched to cradle their wretched self. So they bind her in her day shroud. And they bury her in the belly of the primordial Mother.

On her grave, they plant a singular Asphodel. Their one specimen.

And when they shakily kneel back to look down at the mount of soil, for a moment - just a moment, their nails slip back beneath the dirt. Back to where home was.

A moment was all it took. Soon as it comes, they rip it out her shabby resting grounds and lay it on their crown. That brain-shaped gilded mausoleum of theirs. So it has remained all this while - so has she, with that memory just as equal as a dead man.

But you know they never stay where they're supposed to for long.

In the land of the dead, asphodels are for the gray in between. They are the sustenance of the dead. They are my regrets, following you to the grave. O, Mother. You raised a walking corpse. As long as I hold you in my heart, the grave goes where I go; and dead men tell no tales, so... I love you. Isn't that the worst thing you've ever heard?