#inlemoon writes

[inlemoons]

feast

blue water, ch. 2: feast summary: His back is slick with sweat and the cool night air finally drifts through the open windows and kisses his skin, softer than he deserves. universe: OoT pairing: Zelda/Link rating: M

read on Ao3

Years later, Link’s drinking hasn’t ceased, and if asked he would insist that the forest follows him, the scent of pine and pepper and fairy magic grabbing ahold of his senses like a choking hand around a throat. He usually passes out afterwards. The barkeeps tolerate it, though--he’s still a dashing hero, surely worthy of his grand portraits in the castle. It must be difficult to hold such burdens.

Malon has never had pity for it, though. Tonight, she throws a wet rag flat on his face with an unceremonious plop and tells him to get your shit together, fairy boy and this is why I don’t visit you since you moved here, but she does help him into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and setting a cup of water on the spartan nightstand.

In the morning, it’s fresh eggs and sweetbread studded with fruit. Malon looks beautiful, dressed in a green skirt and a silk scarf around her neck. She only dresses so fine when she is heading to the palace. The damp scent of the woods joins them at breakfast-- it’s so different from the cloying smell of a courtyard in the spring, and he’ll never escape this, will he?

~~~

The royal brats always like Link’s presence, running up to him when he joins them for a meal, curious eyes watching as he runs routines with the soldiers in the training yard. The eldest, already looking as though she will become a great beauty, watches him with a particular intensity, not with a shyness like so many girls her age. It is disconcertingly like her mother’s azure gaze and holds nothing of her father’s soft brown. Link imagines it is what Zelda might have looked like if it had been as it was supposed--standing on the parapets of the old castle as a girl of twelve, disheveled piles of weapons far beneath her feet as soldiers sparred to impress. The flow of time is cruel, indeed.

Dinner brings fine platters of soups and roasted meats and sumptuous cheeses flanked with molds of sparkling jellies, along with trays of breads and buttery vegetables. It is not a quiet affair, the royal children bickering and stumbling over their words to tell the Hero about their newest lessons and adventures, even as the eldest princess’ eyes bounce between her mother and Link with a gleam that he does not like. Their father is off on some diplomatic mission and it is not lost on Link that Zelda has little to say. It’s well into the meal when their eyes finally meet, her lids heavier than they had any right to be yet, and as he sips from another glass of Lon Lon’s Premier Milk, so drenched with vanilla-bean it was floral and deep, he wonders what he will feel more this time tomorrow-- the weight of her body on his, or the absence of it.

~~~

It’s so dark in the study, the kind of darkness that desires a cool wind instead of something so hot and stuffy. Sweat drips beneath her skirts. Link traces his tongue up her legs through the path of it and Zelda mewls above. She tastes like salt and vanilla soap and his lips attack the pearl between her legs with fervor. He hikes the fabric up until it bunches around her waist and nearly throws her onto the desk ...until a foot kicks against his shoulder and he stumbles back.

Her glinting eyes are blue and red ice. He groans.

“Fuck, Zelda, another one?” He buries back onto her again, though--gentler this time, even as daggers push into his chest.

Later, when they are done:

“You had a choice, you know.”

Link rolls over on his back and looks away. His back is slick with sweat and the cool night air finally drifts through the open windows and kisses his skin, softer than he deserves.

~~~

Tap tap tap tap tap

The eldest princess stares up at Link in the dark corridor. She was looking for him, he can already tell, and he crosses his arms instinctively. Golden candlelight flickers across her face as she lifts her chin to speak.

“What are you doing with my mother?” Except Link can tell that she knows--his limbs feel suddenly heavy, as though he’d climbed a thousand mountain peaks.

“You should be in bed, Princess.”

“You should be at the Lake. Away from here.” He hates her steely gaze. There really is nothing of the prince there.

a/n: god i am wondrous, updating two fics in a week

[zeldadiarist]

For the Writer ask game! 2, 6, 17, and 22 for Pas de Deux xxx

Hello darling! Thank you for the asks!

2. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Mostly music, some songs spark ideas or scenes! Also some irl situations or stories. Some people are truly inspiring 🤩

6. Post links to your 3 fav fics

I can't post just three, and in no particular order:

Crowd of Thousands and Quintessentially Him by you 🥰

Little shadow by @inlemoons

Uneasy Lies the Chosen of Farore by @drsteggy

Bonus, mostly because it's not Zelda: Soul & Serendipity by moffnat (art by @villtura AND I OWN A PHYSICAL COPY OF THIS GORGEOUSNESS)

17. What’s the last fic you read? Would you recommend it?

Soul & Serendipity and began A Link to the Stars!

22. What scene in [Fanfic Name] took the longest to write? What was difficult about it?

NGL Pas de deux was one of the smoothest writing processes ever along with Playgirl!

I'm having a massive pain with the current chapter of the Golden Chain AU. I was not content with the part I had written, so I restructured some parts and discarded some situations and dialogue. Teaser: Zelda has always questioned her role as princess/priestess/blood of hylia incarnate and all that jazz, but hasn't unpacked much about it. It's time for some generational trauma and emotional damage to delve into that!

[inlemoons]

august

summary: She lives the life of many noble women, loathing her father but obeying him perfectly. Touga is in the room when she accepts Takemaru’s proposal, and he watches the words slip from her mouth as easily as a moan.

rating: M universe: pre-Inuyasha pairing: touga/izayoi

read on Ao3

They’ll never walk in daylight, Touga knows, but for all of his bloodsoaked seasons he still remembers the sun, a different and equal heat to war. Izayoi is his favorite summer so far, will inevitably be gone as soon as he has grown accustomed to her, the curve of her body fitting so well into his, their hair pooling together in silver and black on the blankets, or his furs, or the floor, or the--

He’s a reckless idiot.

She lives the life of many noble women, loathing her father but obeying him perfectly. Touga is in the room when she accepts Takemaru’s proposal, and he watches the words slip from her mouth as easily as a moan. He gives his warm blessing as Guardian of the West, ignoring the heady scent curling towards his nose and she meets his eye. He takes her for the first time that night, silently padding into dark chambers on the rush of the wind, leaving her breathless and bitten beneath his mouth.

“Our days are numbered, dearest,” he whispers another evening, tongue tracing the shell of her ear. Her skin prickles beneath his claws and thick tallow candles burn and drip their wax into puddles on the floor. And from swollen lips, bruised a little on the side, Izayoi announces his end:

“Fill me up, dog.” No gentle, submissive words from her, then, and it sends blood rushing to his groin.

“And you belong to him,” Touga groans as she swings her legs over his, trying and failing to muster a glare. She ignores him, a maddening habit of hers. She is fierce that night, arching her back and grinding her hips relentlessly against his, and he barely manages to pull out and finish on her thighs as sadness creeps into the corners of her eyes.

She isn’t the first willful princess he’s blessed then bedded-- he likes their curious, fever-filled gazes, before their fathers sell them off, before other lesser men douse away the flames in their eyes. But Izayoi is clever, and has a disarming way of maneuvering him into corners from which he could barely stand to extract himself, until one night, he doesn’t.

“It’s nearly been a year,” she says, yanking his sash apart and letting the fabric ripple to the ground. “I suppose we should stop.” She’s baiting him, he knows, but she means it, too-- tying rope around his heart and tugging on it until he relents and keeps her. Later, when she presses down, he comes inside of her -- filling her up is as easy as swiping his claws through the air.

So, he does it again.

He stays away for a week and she nearly slaps him when he returns. Face stoic, belly curling with anxiety, he can’t deny her, now-- she is a girl who loves a daiyokai and is careless enough to chase him. Her enthusiasm for this cursed life makes him want to grin so broadly he barely knows what to do with himself-- I should talk to Totosai--to the horror of her family, he rescinds his blessing. Then steals her away, peals of her laughter ringing through the summer air like bells.

Three months later her scent changes and there is hope here.

a/n: Touga’s dick is rated E for Everyone

[inlemoons]

blue water, ch. 1

Link's lone eye flicks to the center island. A sacred dais once lay there, spread out like a stone blanket--he’d stood and watched the Lake fill and clear from the very spot with another by his side. A taped finger had brushed against his palm but was gone before he could grasp it. And there’s no stone now, only tangled wildflowers and grass that grows lush and green-- it is, he supposes, what he fought for. 

universe: OoT pairing: Zelda/Link rating: M

read the rest on Ao3

[inlemoons]

mirrorball

ch. 6 universe: Inuyashaverse Circus AU snippet pairings: inukag, inukik rating: M

ch summary: The girl’s body shimmers as it spins in a circle, feet suspended in the air in a straight line over her head, and Inuyasha curses to himself as he lifts a bale of hay over his shoulder. He’d sworn off circus wenches, even the ones with long black hair and skin so smooth he can tell from all this distance.

read lore on Ao3

a/n: work schedule has been unhinged. hoping to get a bit more writing done in the next few months.

[inlemoons]

whumptober day 3

prompt no. 3-- hair’s breadth from death

pairing: f!sheik/link universe: Ocarina of Time rating: M 

The Gerudo guard’s hair smells like clove and hangs over her shoulder like a winner’s red flag. Long fingers grip the dagger’s pommel and twist--at least twice around--and scrape down to the bone.

“Ugh, you bitch,” the guard hisses, “You got a hit on me!”

And if the blade wasn’t lodged in Sheik’s hip, if the excruciating turn of it didn’t steal her breath and erase all thought, she could have detected the gashes on the Gerudo's arms and belly, or the slashed veil hanging askew from cheek. But Sheik is blind to everything but dark yellow eyes boring right into her own, can feel nothing but the steel that will surely slash her in half.

“I’ll kill you,” Sheik whispers, on some instinct, and the gold eyes crinkle into pained laughter. “I’ll never die--”

“Yeah, you will. Now, even!” But as the dagger pulls out and slices down towards heart and lung, a shower of blood patters on the floor. The guard’s body slumps and the shine of metal glitters with the hall’s scant light. A younger guard-- garbed in a different ranking color -- holds her own blade above her head.

“You--” Gods, all Sheik knows is blood loss and nerve-fire licking at her skin. She would die if she moved. “You’re in Hyrule, not--”

“Except I am here.” The rebel wiped her blade off on the ground. “Our enemies are our sisters and our sisters are our enemies.” Her eyes, her unreadable eyes, are the same yellow as the other. She stoops down and unwraps Sheik’s turban, pressing the cloth to the largest wound.

“Die in the desert, Sheikah. I don’t want your stink.”

~

It’s a new desert moon and it is dark as ink.

Sheik reaches an abandoned outpost and collapses beneath the doorway, the usefulness of the makeshift dressings long lost. A few fairies once lived here, their pretty colors and chimes flitting through the harsh night, but they must have moved on, leaving Sheik with her red fingers and her red wraps and her split-open body.

Always carry a potion, she told Link once, and take the whole thing. Once the delirium sets in, you’ll be dead. He’d looked at her, impatient, blue eyes fighting the urge to roll, which was somehow more infuriating than just doing it. Seriously, Hero, always keep a bottle…Sheik often gave advice she didn’t follow. At present, she could use a bottle of something, potion or liquor or something else, if it helps her die faster.

Maybe the fairies moved to the next one…She should go. She should keep fighting.

Who would find her here?

Her mind screams at her body to move and her body screams at her mind to shut…the…fuck… The star-peppered sky illuminates the sand, and she’s crying, just a little, because even the moon won’t come out to wish her farewell--the tears flow freely, soaking the veil around her nose and mouth. And when Death’s leather hand cups her head and lifts her from the stone, the golden light of whatever-comes-next bobbing about her vision, she doesn’t fight it, for once, only tilts her head back and falls deep into the black.

~

Link licks his finger and threads a silver horsehair through the needle. Epona is angry, which is understandable. He wouldn’t like it if someone cut wefts of hair from his head.

But he’s never seen Sheik so bloodied. Her clothes are torn and her skin is laced with angry black bruises, to say nothing of the blade wounds on her hip and stomach. He’d tipped his last potion into her mouth right when he’d found her, but it would take several more for her to recover, plus weeks of rest. And, stitches.

At least she’d stayed unconscious through the wound cleaning. He didn’t want a knife in his neck.

Firelight glints off the needle. He stares at the freshly-washed skin beneath his hands, already reddening with blood.

Well, he might get stabbed yet.

As gently as he can, he presses his weight to her body, to hold her down if she wakes, before inserting the sharp tip and pulling the thread through flesh.

He’s never heard a gasp so violent. “It’s me, it’s me.”

“The fuck--!”

“You need stitches!” He looks over his shoulder, stares into feral red eyes. “It’s me!” her muscles are wound up tighter than any string.

“Shut up and let me finish.”

Any other time, Sheik would have clobbered him for that, but she relaxes, slightly, still no less incredulous. Link fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to her.

“Bite.” Sheik eyes him. “For fuck’s sake, it’s clean.”

She bites down. His work is silent, informed by his own (smaller) injuries. It takes a godawful number of sutures and the handkerchief is wet with drool by the time he ties the knot.

Link slides Sheik onto his bedroll and adjusts her legs as carefully as he can. She winces, but mumbles a small thank you, anyway. And then it’s silent for a long time. Navi crawls up his ear and into his hat, warming his scalp just a little as her wings still and she falls asleep. Link watches his guide as she watches the sky, the quiet blowing around them like a sandstorm, and he absolutely can’t stand it. It’s what the Sheikah wants, though.

~

“Okay.” Sheik lets out an almost imperceptible groan when Link finally speaks. He’s facing away, knees pulled to his chest. “What the hell happened? Why did you follow me? Why didn’t you have a potion? If I would have known you were there, I wouldn’t have--”

“How did you find me?”

He clicks his tongue. “I--I don’t know. You were humming the royal lullaby when I found you. I just knew.”

“You just knew.”

“I must have heard you singing. Like a delirious idiot,” he adds.

“And the rebel who saved me, somehow still at the Fortress.” Sheik glares at his neck. She hopes it burns. “Yet Hyrule is the rebel outpost.”

“Well, she’s at the Fortress--”

“She’s not a rebel, is she?”

“You told me we weren’t together.” The words tumble from Link’s mouth before he can stop them, falling out like the Goron’s most stupid rock rolling onto the world’s most stupid village. He snaps around and meets Sheik’s gaze.

Sheik inhales sharply, the pieces quickly falling into place. She’d followed Link to the Valley, knowing it was foolhardy to enter alone but also knowing he could be a fool. She’d given him distance, like he’d requested, staying out of the Fortress as he found the necessary ice weapons. And then she found him, nuzzled in the warm den of some Gerudo bitch, golden hair splayed out onto a cushion, girl trailing kisses down his bare chest and hips….

Link shifts closer.

“ She loves you.” Gods, why was Sheik whispering like that? “Why else would she kill her sister-guard--”

“She is a rebel. She loves the cause.” Link places one hand on the edge of the bedroll but does not dare touch. “And she knows you are my shadow.”

Fuck. Why does that hurt?

[inlemoons]

exile

from lore: inuyasha oneshots inspired by the track titles and vibes of Folklore. multi-ship ch. 4: exile pairing: inuyasha/kikyo rating: M i guess? summary: They’ve played this game often, one perched tight above and one pulled taut below, neither moving, nor making a sound.

It is a cold night in the forest; tree leaves rustle in the wind. An arrow slides from its quiver into pale fingers, within seconds it is nocked and ready to fly. Kikyo’s eyes scan up the bark, across the tangle of tree limbs, until they land on her target. Inuyasha crouches on a branch just above shoulder-level and she meets his gaze with cool composure. His eyes flicker, duller than in daylight, and she thinks she'd rather stare straight into the summer sun than admit she’s memorized the gold of them.

They’ve played this game often, one perched tight above and one pulled taut below, neither moving, nor making a sound. In some other life, she’d shoot him and the night would sing with his screams, or he’d reveal his undying love as his claws skimmed her skin and the silence between them filled up with her moans. Instead, they only meet in this clearing far away from home, pushing the bounds of what is acceptable, his gaze always breaking first to spare her human arms.

They’d screamed at each other once. Her arrow nicked his ear and he’d called her a bitch. He came back two nights later, though, ear healed but flicking more than it did before, his gaze harsh as lightning. Kikyo dutifully took aim once more, and it was then she knew herself to be the village skeleton, aching little by little until she crumbled to the earth.

Kikyo lowers her weapon first. Inuyasha startles—she has never moved before him.

She turns and waits, and it takes him a second to jump down and join her at her side. They press deeper into the forest, away from shrines and huts and jewels, walking in silence for the sake of it, and this, too, is a type of confession.

[inlemoons]

october writings

a/n: I actually got a decent amount of fics pushed out this month, yay! but also, I kind of didn't too much love on said fics so if y'all would be up to give me a few likes and reblogs, that would be really appreciated. I really like how these turned out and I like how the current WIPs are looking, too.

hair's breadth from death -- Sheik/Link, OoT dead on your feet, hidden injury -- Izayoi/Touga, Inuyasha lore ch. 1 the 1, sesshomaru/kagura lore ch. 2, cardigan, sesshomaru/rin lore ch. 3, last great american dynasty, inukimi/touga, inukimi/touga/izayoi kinda

Read everything on A03.

Read everything on ff.net.

[inlemoons]

diadem ch. 13

ch 13: ashes 

a/n: final chapter, and i have no excuse for my extended absence

read on Ao3

One early dawn, the little birds scream loudly from their windowsills, and even the Queen must see her sister’s body caught in broken plum branches. Whispers blow like ashes across Zelda’s face and she’s sure the taste will forever linger in her mouth.

Too-heavy pauldrons, gleaming stones, tangled hair or discarded love--the goddesses forgive all sins and the people forget blood that’s washed away. Zelda loved her sister a little. Not all love is a vine, she tells Link, when he finally returns long after Agitha’s death. Spring in the courtyard is shocking in its sparsity.

Calloused fingers brush her bare shoulders and Zelda knows he barely believes her. He stays a while, though; so attracted to the things that glitter and burn, and their gazes do not break when her hips sink to his, again. The moon hangs low through the window and shines on clean white stone.

[inlemoons]

the last great american dynasty

a/n: ch. 3 of lore, aka inuyasha oneshots inspired by the track titles and vibes of folklore. i’m not going to americanize anyone, but the vibe of ‘women ruining things’ is fun so let’s go ch. 1 the 1 ch.2 cardigan ch.3 the last great american dynasty pairing: inuparents/inukimi-touga-izayoi universe: inuyasha read on Ao3

The clouds tonight are soft and pearly, and Inukimi flies within them, the chilly mist distracting her from thoughts of him, and the girl. She knew Touga would inevitably take concubines—it was his right—but no one expected a human. Or maybe they just hate the changing times, how wars rage on and dynasties fall and lovely princesses fling themselves at great daiyoukai’s feet. And Inukimi knows that mortality has its limits, that in fifty years she will remain a great beauty and that girl’s face would cave like fruit rotting beneath the plum tree.

This truth brings little comfort.

Inukimi drops beneath the cloudline and the midnight ocean stretches beneath her gaze, glassy and clear as crystal, the scent of salt drifting up into her nose. Four hundred years back, after a battle so fierce she could smell the blood from her throne, Touga met her at the entrance to her sky-palace, his fine silks stained green from grass and grime. He’d raked his claws through her hair and pressed his mouth to hers like it was the last thing he’d ever taste. She’d giggled and commanded him to strip before granting entry, palace guards and servants turning in embarrassment as the sounds of armor dropping rang throughout the clouds.

He has a habit of loving things he shouldn’t, and trusting too much in the things he should. Inukimi doesn’t like the earth that much, too much bitter stench, but even she can admit that the shoreline is beautiful when washed in moonlight. And it’s here beneath the stars she picks up the scent of someone trailing her like a veil. She’d love nothing more than to ignore it. So she only flies, skimming the fragrant treeline, never looking back at the presence on her tails.

The princess’ estate is grand by human standards. Inukimi curses the feel of soil beneath her feet as her pursuer lands a yard away.

“It’s unlike you to be jealous.” The Inu no Taisho, bright beneath the moon, finally speaks. He steps in front of Inukimi, not angry, he’d never hurt her, but she’d have to swallow the sourness building in her throat if she wanted to continue.

“I’d only like to see.”

“Mere curiosity, then?”

Touga is amused. Inukimi is annoyed. She brushes past her husband. He follows in silence until they reach the estate’s interior. There beneath a sand-pear tree sits the prettiest pink teardrop of a human, black eyes screwed up in confusion at the two approaching silver daiyoukai, lover and lavender stranger, realization lighting her features only when Inukimi speaks.

“So it’s you, is it?”

[inlemoons]

snake-scale queen

summary: Zelda would never call him the Gerudo term for husband, a guttural word she could barely pronounce because it stuck to the back of her tongue like the snot from a spring cold that wouldn't clear away.

pairing: zelda/ganondorf || universe: some AU ocarina of time, i guess || rating: soft M

remember this? i rewrote it for 2021, but i’ll keep the old one up bc it wasn’t bad

|||

They’d dressed her in what amounted to spiderwebs--not the pretty gossamer kind, but the thick gobby kind she’d sometimes find in the corners of the castle, the kind she’d stick her fingers in and her older sisters would screech; or at least that’s what the guipure leaves felt like scratching against her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. And the gems--she remembered rubies and diamonds from her old life, the graceful lariats and royal paves, but the way these fat gold chains snaked up her ankles and wrists was not delicate. These were pretty shackles--though perhaps not too unlike the diadem she used to wear, not too unlike the Bearers of Wisdom who came before.

Those closest to him called him Gan while the rest called him Lord, and she wondered which she would be expected to use. Murdering Fucker, she might spit out at him. The thought made her stomach turn and her heart beat faster, right up there with her father, who was Controlling Traitous Fucker. She'd never call him the Gerudo term for husband, a guttural word she could barely pronounce because it stuck to the back of her tongue like the snot from a spring cold that wouldn't clear away.

Spring. She knew from her studies that the desert had seasons, but Gerudo Valley was so unbearably hot and dry the thought of lush green gardens felt far away. Her attendant had rubbed so much glittering oil into her skin, muttering little snake-scale princess over and over in that ugly language they didn’t realize she could already speak, in some attempt at softness. Was she the queen of anything besides snakes, sandstone, and stupid negotiations?

The door swung open but she didn't turn towards the noise, instead gazing at the ornate thuribles hanging from the low ceiling. She'd always hated incense, even in her own religion's ceremonies; she thought it smelled like musty, moth-filled closets, and it clouded her head until she couldn't breathe.

He didn’t directly approach, but strode towards the drink table set out by his noble attendants.

“What would you like?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re coiled like a snake.”

“What is it with you people and snakes? The girl called me a ‘snake-scale princess’ earlier--”

“Finding a snake skin in the desert is good luck. You know that.” His switch to flawless Hyrulean cutting through the smoke like a knife. “Drink. You’ve had nothing since earlier-”

“So you can drug me into a stupor?”

That got him. “I didn’t authorize that.”

She shot to her feet--who cared, really, that her breasts were nearly bare--and the world swam. Shit. And then, something cool at her mouth, liquid, head tilted back, the jangle of his bracelets chiming in her buzzing ears.

"I hate you." Zelda whispered it. He stepped back and she clutched the half-empty cup, the spot he’d touched on her chin still warm. Her vision shifted inadvertently to his hands, thick and wide and decorated with rubies. She thought of those dark jeweled hands pressing on her body--goddesses, I’m going to have to--and flinched so hard the rest of the water spilled between the chains on her legs.

"Not all of them hate you," he said, and she could feel his eyes on her. "Most of them don’t, even." He paused.

She wanted to retort, well all of Hyrule hates you. Goddesses, a few months back she was reading books in the courtyard, pink peonies climbing up the trellises in the lush garden castles, and her head buzzed with endless springtime. Now, her world was golden and red and smoky, and scarabs clawed her spine.

He pulled a stool from a nearby desk and told her to sit, then touched her shoulder lightly. It was startling in its softness.

His eyes, even: “Your father told me you were a virgin.”

Her eyes, ablaze: “Yes.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” Then, “I know what is expected.”

“I expect truth from my wife.” He leaned back, and regarded her, a finger pressed to the full mouth that had spilled commands as easily as water flowed in Hyrule. It had a ring pierced through it, she realized. She hadn’t noticed when it pressed gently to her own mouth earlier, when the priestess pronounced them wed--

Zelda squared her golden shoulders.

“I want what is expected.”

He said nothing.

“I said, I--”

“I do like you in our gold.” Pause. “Your sulking is more believable.”

Zelda’s mouth clicked shut. And on some inarticulable instinct, her finger slipped down, beneath her waist, to the hooks at the back of her thighs. And then, the world’s finest gold, so precious and priceless, slunk worthlessly down her legs. She stepped out of it. Her skin puckered.

“I want you to watch me not care what you say,” she told him. It was a whisper, but the room was so quiet his senses would allow nothing but to hear it. “Until your eyes grow weary.”

“You’ll shut yours first.”

And Zelda bared her teeth at his smirk, she couldn’t help it, and her mind fled to lush summer grasses and the sound of mountain streams that once flowed behind her childhood summer palace. He could have picked her younger sister, perhaps. That would be worse than this, right? At least she’s still alive, right?

She slipped the fat rings off her fingers and let them clack to the stone floor. She slid the bracelets down her arms, one-by-one, skin pale and veins blue. She ignored the blood rushing through those veins, the pounding in her head. She thought about picking off the gold nail paint, but that would take too much time and might ruin the point--she had a point, truly--and skimmed her hand over her biceps to remove each pearl cuff.

He stood and crossed the room in two strides.

“You’re such a bastard.” Shiver. Too cold, too hot.

“I am.” He was tall, so tall. She felt the thick pad of his fingertip trace down her vertebrae, curling the tuft of her braid when it reached the bottom. Her eyes fluttered and snapped back open. The Lord Ganondorf worked deftly, untwisting the ornaments others had sewn in, pulling and teasing each beaded strand apart. It reminded her of when she was young, when her mother would brush her hair smooth.

And the Lord Ganondorf did not let his people’s gold and gems fall onto the floor, but carefully placed them onto velvet cloth, and Zelda hated how the smell of his skin and hair lingered around her, how her lower spine still tingled, and even lower than that. She could want him, or she could not. She didn’t want to marry a murderer she wanted.

“I still hate you.”

“I still hate your father,” he countered, “even as he’s dead.” A huge hand, extended, a wide palm, open. Her neck, long, pale, slim-- perfect for delicate chains, Princess--and now his fingers sliding down her clavicle, catching the guipure leaves and pulling them off her shoulders, until one thumb-pad landed on a nipple, already pert, and Zelda’s breath hitched higher than she would have ever volunteered.

“Get off of me,” she snapped. The hand withdrew. Her skin burned. No one ever touched her back in Hyrule. She was too precious for that.

She pulled away, mystically not tripping over the rugs.

“Your assassins hung my father from my balcony.”

“It was cruel,” he conceded.

Zelda wanted more. “His blood dripped down the columns.”

“I heard that you smiled.” That proud chin tilted up. “That even your little sister couldn’t cry.”

His smile flashed white, his eyes were amber, his hair was inferno red.

Above her he towered, but she did not shrink. And a golden fire flickered between her thighs and begged for the friction of him--and from the mouth of Zelda, Princess of Lost Seasons, barely a whisper, her first concession:

“I could make a good queen of snakes.” And she reached forward, and plucked the ruby crown from his head.

[inlemoons]

diadem, ch.s 6 & 7

ch. 6  roses & ch. 7 vines 

universe: Twilight Princess pairing: Zelink rating: M

lol oops @ the 2 month hiatus from this. i got real busy and then real sick.

~~~

ch. 6 roses

It’s a cold spring, but roses thick as fists still sit prettily on the courtyard bushes. Link dutifully hold’s Agitha’s basket as she picks early-bearing plums from the nearby orchards. A smile tugs at his lips when she delights at the tiny size of the fruit, and he can admit that time is easy with her.

But after a time, a chill begins to roll through the castle halls, sending goosebumps all the way up to the tips of his ears, and one day, he has morning tea with the queen, and with a mouth like a bee-sting she tells him that he is an idiot. His mouth is half-full of muffin but he shoots her a look so dirty the nearby guard shifts very uncomfortably.

“So we’ll leave.”

“So you’ll leave.”

Not what he expected, there: “I don’t want to go.”

And her inscrutable eyes, saying something he cannot read: “So you’ll stay.”

“Zelda.”

She stands abruptly.

Goddesses. It’s not like Agitha didn’t know everything, wasn’t privy to how this would really work. Nothing was stopping the princess from bringing in her own shenanigans, even, if she found someone with complete discretion--

Link is grumpy.

“Don’t do that queen -staring- bullshit to me!” he yells at her retreating back. The guards exchange a horrified glance.

Queen Zelda, of course, will do just as she pleases.

///

ch. 7 vines

Zelda pleased herself with any number of things. Books, silks, perfumes, jewels, the presence of bright minds, the company of dogs--well, one specific dog; she much preferred cats. She even enjoyed her sister, for the first bit after she’d moved into the castle--Agitha was quick-witted and a good conversationalist.

And then, well.

Link is yelling for her as she crosses the courtyard.

It was such a cold spring this year.

She stops. He catches up to her, panting. They’re on the sunny side of the courtyard, and it’s a bit warmer than the rest, and vines are beginning their green crawl up the columns.

Zelda was brilliant. She also had a darkness in her heart carved out by loss so great no amount of dazzling intellect could describe its impact. Sometimes the darkness dropped so deep she was sure it was actually a river inside of her skin put there by Hylia herself. And sometimes Zelda did not want complication, or convoluted answers to stupid man-made problems, made more convoluted by nature taking its course, or to hear the thousands of men begging her divine feet to restore their wives’ fertility.

Zelda did not want to be asked to do things men knew she couldn’t do.

Link squints at her, mouth-half open and about to say something, slams his lips shut as his eyes grow huge. She wonders what makes it click for him--how the straps of her dress are a little tighter, maybe, and now fit just so on her bust, or how she’d been sleeping a bit more, or requesting apricot muffins from the kitchen despite never really having much of penchant for them in the past--

“By the end of the summer, they’ll be too heavy, you know.” She nods to the creeping vines. “They’ll choke on their own weight with nowhere else to go.” 

~ beta’ed by @vaegtersang

[inlemoons]

diadem chs. 11 & 12

diadem, ch. 11 clavicle & ch. 12 plums

a/n okay okay, looking like it’ll be a chap or two longer? but we’re almost finished!

universe: twilight princess pairing: zelda/link rating: m 

read on Ao3

ch. 11 clavicle

It’s Link that finds Zelda in a pool of blood, soaked through her silks. She clutches something small and black and dead to her breast; like all those years before, he doesn’t look at it.

The doctor is discreet. The maids scrub the marble.

The Chosen Ones are wed within the month. Everyone looks at the Queen’s neck, at the diamonds hanging there, but it is Agitha who sees the bones. When Link visits her room a few nights after, the coil of attraction springing hot in her belly, she forgets the queen. They are not the same, Agitha knows.

Blood will spill and flow, but sometimes it stops; Agitha is given nine full wardrobes and the locks switch closed. Her sister and lover visit in the evenings and she is hidden from the castle like a book on Zelda’s shelf. Her hands begin to shake--once the porcelain shatters, she is given no more tea, no matter her cravings.

ch. 12 plums

Portraits of Little Princess Zelda have fat cheeks like peaches and eyes like blue pea-flowers. Agitha’s mother was the king’s favorite whore blessed with beauty and cursed with madness – so sing the little birds perched on the castle’s highest windows.

Agitha hears their song every dawn and dusk. Link tells Agitha stories of the war, of another beautiful queen on the other side of a desert mirror. She looks at her own body, at the soft changing slopes of her breasts and belly, and wonders how many princesses Link has dared to love.

Her mother died in the first wash of twilight. She was kept secret until the end, drowned in quiet gold. Queen and Consort leave Agitha alone in the evenings. The door is locked in their absence and her world is three fine rooms.

Does a crown truly need a body? she wonders one night, as her fingers trace along the cool stone of her window. Won’t it always sparkle just the same?

[inlemoons]

diadem, chs. 9 & 10

universe: Twilight Princess pairing: Zelink rating: M

read the whole thing on Ao3

a/n: i’ll remind you that the genre for this is basically horror/romance. looking to be a little longer than originally anticipated, abt 12 chs.

ch. 9. snakes

Hyrule Castle’s halls wound like snakes around tree branches. Little birds perched on the parapets and peered into dangerous windows. Agitha’s rooms were adjacent to the Queen’s, but with an arguably better view of the courtyard below. Agitha understood the arrangement. Bear fruit, little plum tree, the birds told her once, pecking at her crickets, before she shooed them away.

The first time Link joins Agitha in her rooms, he kisses her knuckles; the second, he brushes a finger to jawbone. The third time, Agitha pushes the evening teacups aside and plants her hands on each of his thighs. And then the Hero of Twilight's rough hand is pressing into the small of her back, and their mouths are hungry and red when they pull apart.

He abruptly stands.

“After the wedding, love.”

Agitha is in agony. “Zelda is with child,” she says plainly. “What of me?”

“Nothing has changed,” he said, his eyes so far away, lost in twilight, “please believe me.”

///

ch.10. rubies

One deep summer day, as the orange afternoon ripens into rich red sunset, the curse comes calling. Queen Zelda sits, still as stone, her white gloves as of yet unstained. A line of Hyrule’s denizens trail out the doors.

“Blessed One,” they all begin. Locked gazes, or eyes cast down--farmers or merchants, mostly, but some wives. Each brings sorrows. None smell blood in the draftiness of the throne room.

When they leave, Zelda places a hand to her belly. Her head slides left. The rubies on her diadem sparkle. It’s her richest crown--heavy and imposing and dripping crimson. She has nothing to say. She feels no wetness at her feet and hears no screams.

[inlemoons]

diadem, ch. 3

universe: Twilight Princess pairing: Zelink rating: M

read on ao3

ch.1 little birds || ch 2. sapphires

ch. 3 you drink now

//

In her bedchambers, Link is not polite to her body and she welcomes it, tired of the deference and old whispered ways. His kisses are brined in salt and he’s got hardtack fingers to push her heavy skirts up, and he doesn’t stop when she climaxes the first time even though she begs, oh fuck, oh goddess, it’s too much, hero, goddess, it’s so much, fingernails scratching blood out of the skin on his back on the second, and on the ones after. She doesn’t move when he pulls away--the air, fingers; the bed, home.

He pours a drink. She declines when he offers.

“I’ve heard rumors,” he says.

“Someone always wants to kill me.” Zelda stretches catlike over the cool sheets, eyes trailing up the wall.

He sees through it.“You’ve quit looking for them..”

She peers at him over her shoulder, finally, for the first time in years--at the new, long scars down his shoulders, and the sharper cut of his jaw, maybe, but he’s mostly the same, a little older. Still pretty-skinned in golden firelight. Still smokey-eyed. He peers back.

“You’re even prettier,” he tells her, between slow sips, “though somehow paler.”

“You drink now.”

“I drink in front of you now.”

Zelda slips to the edge of the bed, and aimlessly pulls her fingers through the knotted mess of her hair. It’s lovely, really, the diadem of tangles, the red swollen mouth, the bruises and scrapes and cuts, the ache between thighs. She is a spectacle, as is normal; for once, she does not mind the gaze. The worst part of dying would be that she would not get to die like this.

“Tell me.”

His glass clanks down.

//

a/n: sorry it took me a sec to get back to posting, work got busy, i got married to @vaegtersang, like one does 

[inlemoons]

diadem ch. 8

ch. 8, passerines

universe: Twilight Princess pairing: Zelink rating: M

read on Ao3

Summer crawls on so slow. Passerine song fills the outside air, music for the season’s second brood, fledglings chipping in the trees and never too far from family. Link’s tongue licks the slopes of Zelda’s breasts, his fingers thumbing her sensitive nipples to pertness, and she sighs against the weight of him. The most lovely ache between her legs spreads to her belly and up to her chest and cheeks, and she wriggles against his lips when they reach her neck.

Sometimes he won’t wait, and her crown remains tangled in the waterfall of her hair when he fucks her hard, and his fingernails transform to wolf just a little, just how she likes it, so they prick at just the right spots on her skin until she cums against his fingers. Sometimes he tears her fine dresses to tatters, the wretched dresses that make it easier to pretend, the loose summer silks that save both of their asses from insurmountable amounts of trouble. And, goddesses, the mess they’d just made--but somehow, the blood flowing through her felt new and clean, purged of the curses of twilight.

a/n: ch. 9 & 10 coming up shortly; just gotta get ‘em edited up