#more fluffy than last time

[ponds-of-ink]

Shattered Dreams but Intact Teacups (Followup/Part 2)

It’s finally here! Took longer than I thought, but I finally got it done! :D

In case you are new/need a refresher, here’s Part 1. In case you’re busy, though, the TL;DR is basically: Scraptrap tries to look good for Scrap Baby’s tea party through illusion disks and the plan backfires miserably. Now Scrap Baby/Elizabeth, while playing her tea party character, has to show him that she’s absolutely okay with him showing up sans-disks.

(@uwu-scraptrappy, get ready. I dunno what feels this part’ll give you, but I have a feeling it’ll give you some.)

Scrap Baby looked back at Lefty. Her mind flipped through the pages of her childhood memories (or, well, what was left of them). What fairy tale logic could she use here could she used to “cure” Princess Trapeze [and make Daddy feel better, of course]? What kind of ‘curse’ were they supposed to lift, anyway? A Beauty and The Beastie kind? A Cinderella-But-The-Fairy’s-Really-Mean type? Frog Prince? Little Mermaid…?

…Baby’s eyelids widened. “Blackbear, can we talk in private?” she asked softly, tilting her head towards a corner of the room.

“Sure thing, M’Lady,” Lefty replied in-character, already making her way to their intended spot. She waited for Baby to arrive, then asked the inevitable question: “Do you have a plan to cure her?”

“I do,” Scrap Baby answered, her tone fluctuating between pride and uncertainty. “But there’s one thing I need advice on. Advice that I think you can give.”

Lefty’s eyebrows raised. “All right, what is it?” she asked in turn.

“Do you think we can get a prince to give her a true love’s kiss?” 

“Not really,” Lefty responded solemnly, shaking her head. “If Trapeze’s story is as sad as she makes it to be, I don’t think anyone’s even given her a hug— Let alone a kiss on the lips… Or the cheek, if that’s more reasonable for her.”

Scrap Baby’s eyelids lowered. Her shoulders slumped. “Well, I don’t think you’d count for a prince, Sir Black-Bear,” she muttered. “You’re just a knight.”

Lefty nodded. “And kinda glad about it, actually,” she admitted weakly. “I really don’t want to waste a true love’s kiss on someone I’ve only known for a few minutes. What if I find someone I actually love and I need to break them from a sleeping spell?”

“That’s fair,” Scrap Baby agreed morosely. Her pupils slowly drifted to and fro, as if skimming through the memory that brought her to this train of thought. Her furrowed “brows” relaxed as something eased her. “But I’M still an option,” she resumed, her voice regaining its typical confidence. “Of course I count, I’m a princess! If ‘true love’ can count for us, then maybe I can break it myself!”

If Lefty were a human, one would have definitely been able to see a cold sweat forming on her forehead. “That depends on how the spell-caster defined ‘true love’ when giving the curse,” she sputtered out uneasily. “If he meant romance, then PLEASE don’t even think about trying. It just won’t work with anyone other than who she’s supposed to marry to later. If he meant the kind of love that families or friends have, then sure I guess. Even the love you show when helping out a stranger in a rough time might work, if the wizard was that merciful.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Lefty sighed. “You can try, but I dunno the specifics of this ‘true love’ thing,” she summed up gently. “Just smooch her on the cheek or something, just to be safe.”

“I already had something in mind,” Scrap Baby assured warmly, turning her head towards Scraptrap’s face and arms lying on the table. “I saw Cinderella’s Prince do it once.”

Confident in her plan, Baby quietly glided back to the table. She stopped besides Scraptrap, towering over him even as she tried to look more sympathetic and gentle with her posture. She stood there for a few seconds, analyzing the poor wretch before her. Then, as carefully as she could, she pulled out his good arm and slipped the ring back on. This was the only “warning” she gave before planting her best prince-like ‘kiss’ on his hand. 

To her surprise, Scraptrap was quick to respond. “What was that for?” he asked, quite frankly more shocked about the ring being back on his finger than the ‘smooch’ itself (though, not knowing the exact context, that did come out of nowhere). 

Scrap Baby smiled sheepishly. “I… thought this would count as a ‘true love’s kiss’,” she explained as she lowered his hand back down. “You know, the usual way a curse like yours is broken.”

Scraptrap’s puzzlement melted away. He rolled his (would’ve been reddened) eyes and sniggered to himself. “I’m sorry, Princess Melodica, but I’m afraid mine doesn’t work like that,” he said, returning to being properly in-character. “In fact, I’m not quite sure if there is a cure other than these two trinkets.”

“Oh,” Scrap Baby answered, mild disappointment seeping in.

“But at least you made her stop crying, Your Highness,” Lefty chimed in, moving to Scrap Baby’s side. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve probably broken her real curse just by being this caring. Loneliness like hers must be considered a curse too, if you think about it long enough.”

Scrap Baby tilted her head at Lefty. “Really?” she asked the bear, clasping one of those black plastic paws in her mismatched hands. “But what about her—?”

Lefty cut in with a gentle shush. “That’s a spell to break another day,” she answered warmly. Then, she looked over at Scraptrap. “Besides, Princess Trapeze,” she continued in that same tone, “there’s an expression in my family’s kingdom that should do you well: ‘Fairer be the heart of gold and pearls than the fairest with dainty curls’… Or something like that.”

Scraptrap turned his face away as if flattered, but his expression showed otherwise. “B-But I don’t think either of those things apply to me,” he stammered, unsure if that was in-character or an unintentional expression of… potential guilt.

“I’m not talking total perfect—“ Lefty started, but stopped herself with a frustrated grimace. “Oh, never mind this whole part! I’m not good with summing up stuff like this. That was my dad’s job. I’ll just say that you’ll get better in due time if you’re not being extremely dumb, okay? Like, evil wizard-type of dumb.”

Scraptrap snickered at his companion’s outburst. “Okay,” he grinned as Lefty stomped back to her seat. “I think I understand. Thank you very much, Sir Black-Bear.”

“You’re welcome, but whatever,” Lefty grumpily murmured, crossing her arms and lowering the metal bowl over her head like a cowboy ready to sleep in his favorite rocking chair.

“As for you, Your Majesty,” Scraptrap resumed, turning his attention back to his glowing-eyed hostess, “I would like to thank you for your attempt. I don’t think anyone has actually tried to figure out an antidote before. Well, anyone besides me, I suppose.”

“You’re welcome,” Baby replied proudly, giving her guest her best curtsy. “I just thought I should try to help.”

Scraptrap removed the ring from his finger. “Speaking out of character for moment,” he spoke up, trying not to cringe at his own natural hoarseness, “I have to ask: Why did you do it, really? You could have easily made Princess Melodica politely excuse Trapeze from the party and carry on with her knight friend as if nothing happened. Why did you choose such a… considerate option?”

Baby’s faceplates twitched. Her roller skates shifted aimlessly in place. “Well, I didn’t want to make Melodica mean,” she explained, giving him her best ‘pout’. “It just didn’t feel right after what y— Trapeze said about being lonely.”

Trap nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds reasonable,” he muttered, picking up the ring and holding it in his hand. Then, as he started to slip it back on, something stopped him. He set the trinket back down with an uneasy expression. “I suppose now my only concern is…” his voice trailed as his eyes caught his murky reflection in that magenta crown. “Do you think…?”

His voice trailed again. His pupils remained fixed on that tinted ‘mirror’. Echoes of unseen, taunting voices rung in his mind, causing him to wince even more than usual. With each insult faintly recalled, he inspected his more ghastly features. The gash on his forehead (which itself was a source of ridicule enough already). The uneven eyelids that made him look dazed if he wasn’t paying attention to his emoting. The ghostly pin-prick irises that made his sockets look like metallic eyes. And this was only covering the parts one would notice if that disproportionate head didn’t—

A clawed arm gently shoved the crown away from the rabbit’s view. “Do I think what?” Baby asked softly, almost managing to lean down to his eye level. 

“D-Do you think the same applies to me?” Scraptrap sputtered out, the cooling fan in his robotic suit spinning at top speed. “Do you think I look… passable? Or at the very least not nauseatingly vile?”

Baby blinked. “I’m looking at you right now, aren’t I?” she asked in return, tilting her head to one side.

Scraptrap nodded slowly. 

“And you know how I get when I see something I really don’t like.”

That got a chuckle out of the old rabbit. Oh, how could he forget? A moody little arm cross here, a sulky turning her back away from the hated object there, or even just an outright cry of disgust and a pinching of her nose— Well, if she was still the little girl he raised and not an almost eight-foot animatronic.

“So it has to mean something when I look at you and don’t do that,” Baby insisted, holding her dad’s good hand in her own. “Yes, you aren’t pretty and shiny as Circus Baby used to be, but neither was Patchwork Patricia! Or Mr. Frankenstein when I invited him for tea! Or—“

“I think he gets the point, Baby,” Lefty cut in, her tone wavering between annoyance and enjoyment.

Scraptrap acknowledged Lefty’s interruption, then returned to the matter at hand. “And I think that point is…” his voice trailed for a moment as he processed his conclusion, “…you do not think that I’m absolutely repugnant.”

Scrap Baby nodded firmly. “You are not a pug or an ant or a peanut,” she said with (over-confident) authority. “You are my daddy and I’m not going to kick you out for being a Franken-bunny. I don’t care what anybody else says to me later about letting you stay at my tea party without that fancy watch on— It’s my tea party, and you’ll be staying right here… if you want to.”

Minor skewing of the word ‘repugnant’ aside, the sentiment itself made Scraptrap beam in spite of the suit’s lowered rabbit ear. “I think I will stay,” he said as he slipped the ring back onto his finger. “Thank you so much, ‘Your Highness’.”

Scrap Baby giggled. “You’re very welcome, Princess Trapeze,” she responded, straightening her posture. “Now, let’s see if we can get this tea party back on track.”

“Sounds good to me,” Lefty remarked, lifting her second hat above her eyes. “All this reassuring was great, but I was honestly starting to fall asleep.”

The same couldn’t be said for Michael and the technician in the security office. The technician looked away from his static-ridden “TV” to see Michael pacing in one part of the room. “Guess this is a ‘like if you cry every time moment for you, huh?” the technician grinned sheepishly. “You look like you’ve just finished the latest season finale for The Immortal and the Restless.”

Michael stopped pacing. “Just change to a different camera, would you?” he asked quietly. “I need to know how the rest of the building is doing.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Afton,” the technician answered, switching from one camera feed to the other. 

[nellasbookplanet]

I know this is old hat to just about everyone, but I'm more and more enjoying Imogen and Laudna as not just a mirror of the Briarwoods but also, and perhaps even more so, as a foil.

Laudna may be the death magic goth with a necromancer in her head, but out of the two of them, Imogen is the stronger mirror of Delilah. She’s the one with the undead lover, the one prepared to break the world by risking Delilah's return as long as it got her Laudna back, the one with the drive and the thirst for power and knowledge. Laudna meanwhile, while also tempted by power, is mostly just along for the ride, deeply devoted to Imogen over anything or anyone, alive only because Imogen found a way to resurrect her. They have looked each other in the eye, recognised the same seeds of darkness and the possibility of giving in, and said 'Together either way'.

But they are also in many ways a direct subversion of the Briarwoods. Delilah and Sylas both seemed perfectly happy to have made a pact with Vecna and revelled in the power he granted them, even knowing the disaster he would bring and the horrific acts he asked of them. Imogen and Laudna meanwhile, while tempted by power and openly voicing said temptation to each other, actively fight against it. Imogen was prepared to risk Delilah's return for the sake of Laudna's resurrection, but she would've fought her every step of the way. She's tempted by the power and knowledge of Ruidus, but also prepared to give all of it up if it means saving the world, because unlike Delilah she chooses to care about people other than herself and her lover. Laudna may be prepared to follow Imogen into hell itself, but she may also be what would lead her back out, because unlike Sylas she doesn’t just recognise darkness in her lover, she wants to fight it alongside her.

This is what I mean when I say these two hold the potential for great darkness. They wouldn’t function as a mirror and a foil of the most romantically iconic critical role villain duo if they didn't. But holding the potential for darkness and corruption also means holding the potential to resist and fight said darkness at every turn. It gives them the potential to choose kindness and struggle while still keeping a little bit of that darkness in their hearts, because without it, they never would have found each other.

[likesdoodling]

A day in the life of taking care of hyperactive elflings~

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

something about trust

Writing below the cut!

“How… does it feel?” Locus asked haltingly. Lopez shrugged. “<Weird. But I expected that.>” Locus hummed, his brow furrowed like he was lost in thought as he scanned Lopez’s face. Lopez grabbed Locus’ wrists, bringing his hands to his throat.  “What are you--?” “<One way to test it. Take my head off.>” Locus’ eyes widened, his expression turning panicked. He tried to pull his hands away, but Lopez held him steady. “<You are the only person strong enough,>” Lopez said firmly, giving the other no room to balk any further. “<If this synthskin doesn’t fix the problem, I want to know now, not later.>” Lopez could feel the way Locus’s hands shifted, his fingers flexing as he fought some internal debate. Lopez couldn’t read his mind, but the flicker of those marble grey eyes was telling as Locus looked at his hands around Lopez’s throat, then to his face and then back again and again. “<It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what all this fuss is about.>” Not strictly true, having his head removed wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling. But better to do it now, with some degree of control, than in the middle of a fight or an accident. The sensation of feeling everywhere his skin touched was strange though, the normally very localized sensors spread out across the surface of the synthskin. Was this how humans felt things all the time? No wonder they were so easily distracted. Neither of them moved. “You’re certain?” Locus asked finally, his voice little more than a whisper. Lopez raised an eyebrow and let himself grin just a little at being able to convey the sentiment properly. Maybe there were some advantages to the synthskin after all. “<I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.>” A nod, then the pressure. Lopez knew Locus was strong, for a human, but the feeling of his hands tightening around his neck and pulling at his jaw, the base of his metal skull…  His head didn’t budge, and the pressure eased. Lopez clicked his tongue, releasing Locus’ wrists. “<Good. That is one problem fixed, at least.>”

[screwpinecaprice]

[adrift-in-thyme]

Remember that Sky Saves Fairy Time fic y’all chose for me to work on next? Well, it’s finished!!

Look out folks this one’s angsty >:)

[hana-bobo-finch]

oughhhh ok perhaps I made fluffy dinyon mother pill

nobody can hear his yippee in space……his dignity is saved…..

[sketchythesketchbook-artblog]

Hey, hi, hello! 👋 It's been a while, how do?

Don't remember when the last time I drew something was, but it's been about two months since I posted anything. 😅 This particular round of art block is trying to murder me.

In the meantime, while we're all waiting for art, we got a new cat. This is Dakota, aka Spacky-Dak, Spack or Dakster. 😁 She's very smoochy and very cute.

This should suffice for the lack of art 😅👍

[rainbowserenity]

“So what if I broke my arm I’m still doing it.” for Clack? (Cloud/Zack, is that their ship name?)

It was really such a shame that duty came first. Maybe if he'd learned to slack off a little more, he wouldn't be in this predicament. Not that it actually was one, since he had no intention of changing his plans. The show must go on! Too late, Zack realized he'd said that last bit out loud. Thankfully, it didn't really matter since the only person who'd heard him was Kunsel. Un-thankfully, Kunsel was a lot more levelheaded and always the first to point out when Zack was about to do something stupid. "I think you need to hit up the medic ward first, man. You don't look so hot." "I'm always hot. At least according to my fan club."

"Har, har." It was obvious Kunsel was rolling his eyes under the helmet. Maybe that was why he always kept it on, so Zack wouldn't see him constantly looking exasperated. "Seriously though, that fight with the Behemoth really messed you up. I know you're a 1st, but you don't constantly have to throw yourself in front of us little people." "That's exactly what it means." Zack winced as he accidentally jostled his arm. "Fine, fine. But you still look like shit. Just tell him that you need to postpone your little shindig. If he really likes you like you keep going on about, then he won't mind." Zack jumped up, ignoring the surge of pain in his arm. "No way, man! Do you have any idea how long it took me to get up the guts to ask him out? Not to mention find a night we were both free?!" He flailed around a little with his good arm. "So what if I broke my arm? I'm still doing it!" Kunsel rolled his eyes again. Obviously it was hidden, but Zack just knew. "You're such an idiot sometimes." "Huh?" "You're a 1st. This guy's a cadet, right?" A goofy little grin formed on Zack's face. "Yeah." "So just rearrange his schedule so that he so happens to have a night off the same time you do." Zack opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut when he realized that his friend was...absolutely brilliant. "Heyyy, good idea!" His good arm slung around Kunsel's shoulder. "What would I do without you?" "Probably lose an arm." Kunsel chuckled and gently nudged Zack away. "Now call the guy and get your ass down to medic before I have to drag you." "Yeah, yeah." Kunsel only left when Zack actually picked up his phone, proving he wasn't going to do anything stupid and stand around much longer with a broken arm. He quickly dialed the number that was now as familiar to him as his own, his heart thudding uncharacteristically fast as it rang once...twice... "Hello?" His chest fluttered, his smile widened, and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He allowed himself to swoon for a second, glad that no one was around to see him act like a fool. That was how Cloud's voice made him feel. "Hey Spike," he greeted. "Zack?" Even though Cloud was one of the shyest, quietest people he'd ever met, there was always a little lilt to his voice whenever they spoke, like Cloud was still amazed that Zack had taken an interest in him. It made the butterflies in Zack's stomach have little caterpillar babies and flutter some more. "Got it in one!" He grinned, only the jolt of pain that shot up his arm when he tried to switch his phone to the other hand reminding him why he'd actually called. "I'm really, really sorry, but I have to cancel our date tonight." There was silence on the other end for a good thirty seconds. Zack wasn't actually sure if it was because Cloud was disappointed, or that he'd actually referred to their little get-together as a date. "Want to have dinner this weekend? Maybe get out of Midgar for a little while?"

"...With me?"

"Yeah, you. I like you a lot, y'know." "...How come?" Cloud finally asked in a small voice, breaking Zack out of his daydreams. "I had this mission earlier today, right?" At Cloud's hum in acknowledgement, Zack continued, "It was mostly just supposed to be me observing, but then this Behemoth charged in outta nowhere. I had to step in." "What happened?" "We got it without any causalities, but it really hated me." He laughed a little. "It swiped me away like I was nothing and I slammed into a wall. My arm's broken."

There were a couple of beats of silence as Cloud let this sink in. "Oh. Okay, then. I guess you need to rest, right?" "Once I go down to medic, yeah." "What?" Cloud's disappointment seemed to immediately melt into concern. "You haven't gotten it checked out yet? How long have you been back? You said your mission was this morning!" "It was," Zack admitted with a sheepish chuckle. "I've been back for a few hours." "Why?!" "I..." Zack trailed off a little. He felt a bit like a fool for admitting this, but he liked Cloud an awful lot and had really been looking forward to their date. Dinner at a nice place, maybe a movie, walking along the fields outside of Midgar and stargazing... Finally, he let out a wistful little sigh. "I just really didn't want to miss out on being with you, my arm be damned." Cloud was quiet for a long moment, and Zack would've thought he'd hung up if not for the shaky little breaths in the receiver. Finally, though, there was a reply. "Does the medic ward allow visitors this late?" It was by far one of the last things Zack expected to hear. "Huh?"

"I mean..." Now Cloud sounded hesitant. "I know you're in SOLDIER, so it's probably not a big deal for you to get fixed up. And it's probably not what you planned for our....date." He paused. "But at least if I came to visit, we could be together for a while. If you want." "Of course I do!" Zack blurted out. Cloud was right - this was a far cry from what he'd wanted to do, but as long as they were together, that was really all that mattered. "Meet me at medic, okay? They usually like to keep me under observation for a few hours to make sure the mako's not doing anything weird." "Okay." Zack could hear the smile in Cloud's voice and he just about melted. "I'll meet you there." "Perfect." After he hung up, Zack just leaned against the wall with a goofy little grin on his face, staring into space. Visions of the medic doing something painful that would make Cloud want to grab his hand swam in mind. He ignored the logical part of his brain that reminded him that he'd had a high pain tolerance even before making SOLDIER. As he headed down to the medic ward, he remember Kunsel's advice and mentally went over his calendar. He was pretty sure he had next Friday off...and now, Cloud would too. And this time, he'd make sure no broken limbs got in the way.

[billpottsismygf]

.

[landofgay]

she has three modes

[gaensebluemchen]

Interlude

Fandom: The Last Door Rating: G Relationship: Jeremiah Devitt/Alexandre du Pré Word count: 392 Summary: Jeremiah and Alexandre spend a quiet evening together. Jeremiah plays piano. Warnings: Nothing I can think of

Inspired by this wonderful prompt list.

crossposted to Ao3

It had been a while since Jeremiah had last played the piano. Teaching philosophy was rewarding, but preparing lectures, reading essays, and all the other things that came with his position also meant a lot of work. His private studies consumed most of his free time, and then there were also the Playwright's gatherings. Unfortunately, this left him little time to practise music.

In fact, it had been Alexandre who had convinced him to play a short piece this evening. Alexandre had come over to visit him for dinner and a bit of pleasant company. Jeremiah was awaiting a rare book he had discovered in a catalogue, whereas Alexandre needed to restock his chemicals before he could continue his latest experiments. Neither of them would make any progress before their orders arrived, and so they could simply take the evening off and enjoy a bit of leisure.

As he sat at the piano, Jeremiah's fingers stumbled over themselves a few times, but he did not stop, determined to finish playing this piece. He had played it quite well once, but had by now almost forgotten it.

Eventually, the final note faded away, and the sounds of London were audible in the room again. Outside, they were just beginning to light the street lamps, and it would take a few hours until the city would settle down for the night – not that London ever was particularly quiet.

“This was lovely,” Alexandre commented, rising from his chair, and came over to the piano.

Jeremiah turned towards him, raising an eyebrow but not quite managing to hide his amusement.

“Please stop flattering me.”

Alexandre looked at him, his head tilted slightly to the side. A smile, just a little bit lopsided, played around his lips and twinkled in his eyes.

“That's not my intention at all,” he said. “It's just that I'm always happy to spend time with you.”

Jeremiah smiled back at him and rose to put his hand on Alexandre's shoulder. The dark blue fabric of his coat felt smooth and warm beneath Jeremiah's fingers. He tilted his head, and Alexandre, understanding his unspoken invitation, bent down to kiss him softly on the lips.

When they parted, Jeremiah looked up into Alexandre's eyes.

“I'm happy to be with you, too,” he said quietly, not breaking their eye contact. “And I'll always be yours.”

[guinevereslancelot]

how is my friend's baby 12 days overdue and didn't come during the massive blizzard we had yesterday

[nonuggetshere]

KNOCK ON WOOD BUT I THINK MY MIGRAINE IS GOING AWAY, I MIGHT DRAW SOMETHING

Btw my LGBT+ headcanon doodles are still open if anybody wants to request them, or just gimme any suggestions you'd like, I might draw them (girl help I am extremely bored)

Or I might write something (glares at this buggycule WIP fic in my drafts)

[dramarants]

I've said this before but as much as I was screaming at my screen, this is an opportunity for ttj to raise roots somewhere that not only includes the love of his life but also relationships without ridonkulous power imbalances among a supportive community and a new way of life outside the expectations set upon him since birth. who knows, maybe he'll choose to embrace his devil god fate lord knows the tension would not only be palpable but sexy af or maybe he'll become the supreme ultimate botanical sword master but he finally gets to be an active agent of his own life, choosing people, values, and goals for his own future, and hopefully, his journey (and lss's own growth returning + learning her identity) will reunite them knowing they're stronger, happier, and simply uplift each other when together. ttj's enduring love surmounted death and five centuries of agony to bring him to her place in the immortal realm, now it's up to them to figure themselves out and truly make it their home.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now”

Read it on Ao3

- Time/Malon

- Summary: an injured Link shows up at Lon Lon Ranch

CW for blood and injury, mentions of death and broken bones

——————————

Malon’s hands never shake.

She can’t afford for them to. Sure, there are times when they are a bit unsteady from exhaustion or stress. Sure, there are things that scare her enough to make them trembling a possibility. But in her world, when things get hairy there is only action and no time for anything else.

Now is no different. At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself. Her hands don’t tremble, even as blood oozes over them. Her thoughts don’t falter. No tears fall.

But they want to. Oh, they want to. Because this time feels so very different. She has dealt with wounded animals before and even wounded people (she will never forget the time Ingo got kicked in the leg by Epona; satisfying though it may have been after the man’s behavior, setting that bone wasn’t exactly what she would call enjoyable). Never before, however, has she held the broken body of someone she cares for quite so much.

“You’re an idiot, fairy boy,” she breathes as she presses another cloth to the gash running across her friend’s middle.

“‘m your idiot, though,” he mumbles back. Even now there is characteristic mischief peeking out from behind the exhaustion and pain straining his tone.

Malon rolls her eyes.

Link has been bleeding all over her nice, clean floors and furniture for at least five minutes now. And that’s after he rode in, slumped over Epona’s back, one hand pressed to his stomach, the other clutching the horse’s reins like a lifeline.

He had come because he had nowhere else to go, he had said when she had stepped out onto the porch, eyes wide and heart in her throat. Because he could think of nowhere else that would be safe. Where he would be accepted without hesitation.

And as she had helped him down from the saddle, as he had practically collapsed onto her arms, he had apologized. Assured her he would take care of the wound himself, if only she would provide him a place to stay. As though he were a stranger in her home and not her best friend.

“Oh, shush,” she had scolded, ushering him into the house and lowering him onto the nearest chair. “I’ll take care of everything. You just sit down.”

And meekly, he had obeyed.

Now, he watches her with a slightly dazed look, as she tries to save his life.

For that is what she is doing, really. If she doesn’t get this wound to stop bleeding soon, he’ll bleed out.

As it is, she’s afraid he won’t last the night.

She worries her bottom lip and reaches behind her for the bandages lying on the table.

“Care to tell me how this happened?” The sharp bite of fear is in her tone despite her attempts to restrain it.

And really, who cares at this point, anyway? Her fairy boy is hurt, badly. She’s allowed to be a little worried.

Link drags in an unsteady breath.

“Monster fight.”

“The usual, then.” She shakes her head, sighing. “What I wanna know is what kinda monster fight was it that got you this hurt? I don’t think you’ve ever come around looking like this before.”

Link blinks, long and slow. The blue of his eyes seems unnaturally bright. Maybe because of the light, maybe because of pain. Malon thinks it’s likely both. But it almost reminds her of that little fairy that used to follow him around.

“Did you go into a dungeon or somethin’?”

Her gaze is back on her work, now, as she ties the bandages as tightly as possible. But when he speaks she can hear something almost like guilt in his voice.

“I—” A sharp hiss, fingers fisting in the fabric of his tunic. Malon murmurs an apology, trying to ignore the way the sound is like a dagger to her heart. “I was looking for…for something.”

“Lookin’ for something huh?”

She ties off the gauzy strips of fabric now practically holding the man together and takes a moment to survey her work.

That should hold.

Now, to get that bleeding firmly under control before he passes out…or worse. She grasps the bottle of potion that she had snatched from the cupboard earlier. It’s always handy, she has found, for times when the healing power of Lon Lon milk isn’t quite up to par. Times like now.

“That had better have been one important treasure. Did you get it at least?”

A small smile lifts Link’s lips. Somehow, it doesn’t make him look any more alive. He’s too pale, too ashen. There’s too much blood, coating his tunic, coating his hands and dribbling down from his mouth and nose.

But at least he has the strength to smile. Malon is willing to appreciate small miracles.

“Yeah, I got it.”

Something in the way he says it makes her slightly suspicious. But she hardly has time to figure out why. She wipes her hands on a nearby cloth, quickly so as not to take in just how stark the crimson looks against the white. Then, she uncorks the potion bottle and gets to her feet.

Link moves trembling, crimson drenched fingers toward the bottle. But she shakes her head.

“Uh-uh. You’re weak. Let me.”

With one careful hand, she tips his chin up and holds the bottle to his lips with the other. He swallows its contents obediently.

“That should help,” she says, once he’s finished. She turns away, setting the bottle back on the table. “At the very least you won’t be bleeding everywhere anymore.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs. He sounds a bit stronger already, she thinks. But maybe she’s just fooling herself to distract from the worry currently chewing a hole in her gut.

“Anytime, fairy boy.”

Malon inspects the wound one more time, reassuring herself that it’s no longer in danger of bleeding through the bandages. Thankfully, the potion already seems to be doing its job. The bandages remain a clean, cottony white.

“Looks like you’re out of the danger zone,” she says with a sigh of relief. “But you’re gonna need some rest and a new set of clothes.”

She looks over him once more, frowning. He raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I’m gonna have to tend to those other wounds of yours too. I swear, you look like you let the horses trample you.”

There is a distinct twinkle in his eye now. Already, he is beginning to look a little more like himself.

“Ah, it’s a…a good look then. A seasoned adventurer kind of look.”

Her lips quirk up even as she glares at him.

“No. It’s not a good look. I thought that much was implied. And it’s the kind that gives me a heart attack.”

He grins. But it quickly turns into a grimace as she sets about cleaning a cut along his neck. Gently, she tilts her head to get a better look at it.

“Stay still, now, and let me work.”

He mumbles a tired-sounding reply. His eyes are beginning to drift closed, despite his efforts to keep them open. And as she tackles each injury, he grows closer and closer toward losing his grip on consciousness completely. But the time he is cleaned up and she has managed to help him fumble into one of Talon’s spare tunics he is practically asleep.

“There,” she murmurs, setting aside the bowl of water and multiple cloths that she had used. They tinge the water pink. “Feelin a little better now?”

She knows that she is. The terror of earlier has abated somewhat, every steady breath, every beat of his heart convincing her that the danger is gone. At least, for now.

For now, her fairy boy is safe. For now, her hands don’t shake.

He hums, sleepily. His gaze is trained on the fireplace now, seemingly mesmerized by the flames dancing there. But when she drapes a blanket over him he drags his gaze up to meet hers.

“Hey, Mal.”

“Yeah?”

“I…I think I’m in love with you.” He frowns, thought obviously a difficult task at the moment. “No…know I am.”

Malon stops short, edges of the blanket still clutched in her suddenly shaky hands. A short bark of laughter escapes, a bit louder than she means it to be.

“I think you’ve lost a little bit too much blood.”

“‘m fine,” he retorts, scowling. “Malon ‘m serious. I love you.”

Shaking her head, she tucks the blanket up around his chin and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Alright, fairy boy. It’s time for you to get some sleep. We can pick up this conversation in the morning.”

His scowl becomes decidedly pouty, though he has little choice but to comply. His eyes slip closed, breath beginning to even out.

By the time, Malon has cleaned up the gory mess (she never wants to see this much blood again, especially not from him), and put away her tools, he is long gone. She allows herself a moment to gaze at him, slumbering peacefully, face illuminated by the flickering flames. He is less pale now and with the blood gone he looks more human. Younger, more like himself.

Reaching out, she rubs her thumb on his cheek, a smile playing on her lips.

“I love you too, Link.”