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melanielocke · 3 years ago

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Entrance to the Forbidden City

This is a one shot Breath of the Wild AU, where Thomas is Link and is seeking a way into the Gerudo city. Close the the city, he encounters someone who might be able to help him. At this point, I have no plans to continue this, but you never know.

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @alastair-appreciation-month @writeordie-4 @amchara

Thomas sheathed his sword as he entered the Kara Kara Bazaar. He wouldn’t be needing it here, he hoped, but during his travels he’d learnt to always be on guard. Calamity Ganon was growing stronger, and with him increased the number of monster attacks, not to mention he’d heard the rumors the yiga clan was active in the Gerudo Desert. His next stop should be Gerudo City, but there was a problem. For centuries, the famous city of the Gerudo had forbidden entrance to men. Thomas believed it had something to do with previous evil kings leading the Gerudo into pointless wars, but there hadn’t been male Gerudo in centuries. He needed to speak to the chief about appeasing Vah Naboris and freeing Urbosa so he could defeat Calamity Ganon, but lately the Gerudo had been on high guard and the chief would not be leaving the city.

He’d come to the Kara Kara Bazaar instead, a place where the Gerudo traded with Hylian men who were not permitted entrance to the city in the hopes of finding someone who knew another, secret way into the city. Thomas didn’t want to harm the Gerudo and respected their customs, but he liked to belief this was a life and death situation. He overheard a couple of Hylian men.

The Bazaar was a nice place centered around an oasis. A little Gerudo girl was swimming in the water, and Thomas would like to go for a swim later. The desert heat had proven a bit much for him and he was glad for the shade the buildings offered. Most of the traders were seated outside on carpets, displaying their wares.

‘It’s impossible to get inside,’ one of the Hylian men argued.

Thomas was not included in the conversation, but the men did not have the good sense to keep their voices down.

‘There are rumors, of a man in the city,’ another said. ‘There must be some truth to it.’

‘Even if you could get past the gates, I imagine traversing a city full of Gerudo women might be dangerous,’ Thomas said. ‘They’re quite handy with their spears and scimitars and would not look kindly to men sneaking in.’

‘You make a fine point,’ one of the men begrudgingly admitted.

‘Better to send messages through my wife,’ another said. ‘None of this hassle of getting in the city, I bring my goods here and if I need anything from the city, my wife makes the journey.’

Thomas, of course, didn’t have a wife. He’d woken up from a long slumber not long ago and had been fighting monsters and traveling Hyrule ever since. Not to mention he was not attracted to women.

‘I’ll have to find another way in then,’ Thomas said. ‘For I don’t have a wife to ask favors of.’

‘In that case, you might want to talk to that Gerudo girl over there,’ one of the men said. ‘The one selling cakes. Rumor has it she can get you inside the city, but she refuses to talk to any of us, she will only sell us her cakes.’

Thomas followed the man’s gaze to a lone girl with a golden brown skin sitting on a patterned Gerudo carpet. She wore a purple veil that covered both her hair and her face from the nose down, combined with a short purple top and a white sirwal Thomas knew was popular among Gerudo. Her stomach was bare, and Thomas realized that despite being slim, she was quite muscular. She wore lots of jewelry, a pair of topaz earrings. Thomas had been looking into getting a pair of his own as he’d been told they offered shock resistance.

She looked up, caught his stare. She had beautiful dark eyes, he noticed. He rarely looked at girls that way, he wasn’t sure what was different now.

‘She seems into you,’ one of the men said. ‘I say grab your chance, Gerudo girls are said to be hard to get.’

Thomas left the men behind, growing a little uncomfortable with their conversation, and sat down on the carpet beside the girl. He was aware that might be odd or too forward, but he needed to speak to her.

‘Seen something you like?’ she said.

Her voice was a little deeper than he’d expected of a girl, but perhaps that was because she was Gerudo. Thomas didn’t know how to respond. Was she flirting with him?

‘I like men,’ Thomas said.

He preferred being direct, and this way it would be clear he didn’t like her flirting, if that was what she’d intended to do.

The girl laughed. ‘I meant the cakes. As for your preferences… that shouldn’t be a problem.’

Thomas looked at the person in front of him. ‘You’re not a girl,’ he said.

‘Never claimed I was,’ the boy said. ‘My name’s Alastair.’

Gerudo males were rare, some said they didn’t even exist. Of course, it had been a hundred years and Thomas barely remembered anything. Perhaps Alastair was the first male Gerudo centuries. Or perhaps there were more of them nowadays.

‘Why are you dressed like a girl?’ Thomas asked and he realized that might be a stupid question.

‘I like these clothes,’ Alastair said. ‘And considering there are no male Gerudo, you can hardly say these clothes are gendered, are they? I think it’s nonsense for clothes to be gendered, yet so many male Hylians would rather die than put this on. I say, their loss, I look great. Besides, I’d die in the desert heat if I had to wear that tunic of yours. Not that it doesn’t look well on you.’

Thomas smiled. ‘Right. Sorry, I’m Thomas. And you’re right, what I’m wearing is pretty hot. I actually traversed the desert without my shirt, but I figured that would be indecent here.’

‘Now that’s something I wish I could have seen,’ Alastair said. ‘You could go for a swim here if you want.’

Thomas felt his cheeks flush. Was Alastair flirting with him? He had to admit, Alastair was very attractive, although he couldn’t see most of his face. A few locks of ink black hair escaped his veil, framing his face.

‘I’m looking for a way to get inside Gerudo city,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you know how? Wait, you must be forbidden entry as well, right? You’re a man too, even if you’re Gerudo.’

‘I’m not Gerudo,’ Alastair said.

Thomas frowned. ‘Really? You kind of look Gerudo.’

‘If I were, I’d be a lot taller. And my hair would be red, not black. No, I’m Hylian,’ Alastair said. ‘But I live around here, work for the Gerudo chief. I grew up in Hateno village, but I like it here better.’

‘Even if you’re not allowed in the city?’ Thomas asked.

‘You mistook me for a girl,’ Alastair pointed out. ‘I can go in the city whenever I like as long as I wear this. It’s almost time for me to pack up. Why don’t you join me for dinner? We can have whatever I don’t sell for desert.’

Thomas smiled awkwardly. He was very much interested in having dinner with Alastair and not only because Alastair might help him get inside Gerudo city.

One of the men he’d spoken to earlier came by to buy a mighty fruit cake. As it was made with banana, it increased someone’s strenght for a while. Thomas had always been interested in the strange way cooking meals and elixirs could come with beneficial effects.

‘Fond of bananas, are you?’ Alastair asked while scribbling something down.

‘My favorite,’ the man said with a smile. ‘Can’t get enough of them.’

He helped Alastair box the remainder of his cakes, and they went inside. The house was small, with a two person bed, kitchen and table all in the same room, and a small door leading to a bathroom. One wall was decorated with several Gerudo spears.

Alastair removed his veil and put it in a closet. His black hair reached his shoulders, falling in soft locks. Thomas wondered if only male Gerudo had dark hair. As far as he knew all Gerudo women had red hair. He was pretty, Thomas had always loved the combination of dark hair and eyes, and he once again wondered about Alastair’s possible interest in him. He’d definitely been flirting, right? But Thomas didn’t have time for romance, he reminded himself. Lucie was in Hyrule Castle all by herself, holding back the calamity. She needed his help as soon as possible. He was here to appease Vah Naboris.

‘I’ve been selling lots of fruit cakes with banana in them,’ Alastair said. ‘Bad news.’

Thomas frowned. ‘How is that bad?’

‘The yiga clan is said to be fond of them,’ Alastair said. ‘Have you heard of them?’

The yiga clan was a group of evil sheikah dedicated to resurrecting Calamity Ganon and destroying the Hylian champion. Thomas knew who they were, considering they were all after him.

‘I am familiar with them,’ Thomas said. ‘Fought off a couple of their foot soldiers during my travels.’

‘You’re very brave,’ Alastair said. ‘The real reason I’m here, selling cakes, is to investigate them. Hylian men come here, yes, but so do the yiga. I’ve had my eye on that man who bought the banana cake for a while. He’s been here on and off for some time, and the time intervals wouldn’t allow him to travel all the way to a Hylian town. He could come from the Gerudo Canyon Stables, perhaps, but the traveling distance would also match up with the hideout of the yiga clan.’

Thomas’ eyes went wide. ‘You know where their hideout is?’

Alastair gathered some materials onto the stove, Thomas could recognize hylian rice, goron spice and some vegetables.

‘Not yet,’ Alastair said as he added everything into his cooking pot and put on the stove. ‘We know it’s somewhere north of Gerudo city, and they’ve been around a lot. My sister’s been fighting them off, but not long ago they stole the thunder helmet, an heirloom to the Gerudo chief’s family.’

Thomas wondered how Alastair knew so much about the Gerudo. He claimed not to be one, yet dressed like one, seemed familiar with their customs and heritage.

‘I could help retrieve it,’ Thomas offered. ‘I’m familiar with the yiga clans’ fighting style, and am quite accomplished with this sword.’

Finding the master sword had been quite a journey, as Lucie had taken it back to Korok Forest. To find it, he’d had to traverse the lost woods in the north.

‘Good. I like your sword, it looks good. But first, I should introduce you to my sister,’ Alastair said. ‘The chief of the Gerudo.’

Thomas frowned. ‘You said you weren’t Gerudo.’

‘I’m not, my mother is,’ Alastair said. ‘And so is my sister.’

‘I’m confused,’ Thomas said.

‘Gerudo men are extremely rare, none have been born in centuries,’ Alastair said. ‘Gerudo women usually find Hylian men to be their lovers and have children. My mother was different, she was married to my father and lived with him in Hateno village, but she returned to her hometown not long ago. Anyway, this means all Gerudo have a non Gerudo father, and most only give birth to daughters. I’m the exception, but I’m Hylian, even if I do look a lot like my mother. Although you could say that culturally, I’m more Gerudo than Hylian.’

‘That’s weird,’ Thomas said. ‘I had no idea it worked like that. I always thought the children of a Gerudo are always Gerudo.’

‘Most of the time,’ Alastair said. ‘My sister is Gerudo like our mother, I’m Hylian like our father, even if I look like the Hylian version of my mother. People are always very confused. Since the chief of the Gerudo is my sister, I can get you an audience with her, no problem.’

‘Is that why they said you could help me get inside?’ Thomas asked.

‘I’ve spread that rumor myself, actually, to draw out the yiga,’ Alastair said. ‘Unfortunately, they still got in somehow to steal the thunder helmet. But I recognize you, you’re the Hylian champion and you carry the sword that seals the darkness. However, that won’t get you into the city.’

‘You know who I am?’ Thomas asked.

To most people, the Hylian champion was just a story, someone who’d died a hundred years ago. The Zora recognized him, of course, for to them a hundred years wasn’t much and most Zora from back then still lived. He’d encountered his cousin Christopher too, a renown Sheikah researcher of ancient technology who’d accidently turned himself into a six year old. But beyond them, people didn’t know who he was.

‘I recognize that sword. I’ve always been interested in weapons, although I prefer spears myself,’ Alastair said, gesturing to his collection. ‘My sister will be quite interested in you as well. But you can’t walk in like this.’

‘So, then how?’ Thomas asked.

Alastair smirked. ‘I think I have a veil and outfit that would fit you lying around here somewhere.’

Thomas frowned. ‘I’m not slim or feminine like you. No one’s going to believe I’m a girl, not with these shoulders.’

‘You’re right, your shoulders are quite extra ordinary,’ Alastair said. ‘But it’ll be fine. I think at this point, about half the city knows I’m not a girl, but as long as I dress like one no one kicks me out. Besides, Gerudo women are very tall and muscular.’

‘So all these men claiming it’s impossible, they could just put on some feminine clothes and they could go in? And they never realized?’

Some of them had facial hair, but Thomas imagined the veil would conceal that as well. He couldn’t imagine anyone would believe he was a woman ever, not with his height, his broad shoulders Alastair thought were extra ordinary. But according to Alastair, that didn’t matter as long as he was willing to dress like a girl. Alastair had a point though, clothes being gendered was strange.

Alastair rolled his eyes. ‘Most men are far too proud of their so called masculinity to dress in women’s clothes. Never mind that any Gerudo woman could defeat them in battle with their eyes closed. You seem like a strong warrior though, watching you fight a Gerudo warrior might be interesting.’

‘Thank you. You seem strong too. Do you often use your spears in battle?’

‘I am currently undercover, but I do fight. I travel sometimes, and these days anyone should be able to defend themselves if they wish to survive outside the few cities that remain.’

‘True,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ve encountered monsters everywhere lately.’

‘Ever defeated a molduga?’ Alastair asked. ‘My sister and I have. They’re very large and live in the desert, killing unsuspecting travelers. They are sensitive to shifts in the sands and will know where you are in an instant.’

‘I can’t say I have,’ Thomas said. ‘But I’m willing to give it a try. My ultimate goal is to defeat Calamity Ganon though.’

‘I hope you succeed,’ Alastair said. ‘If you ever need help, or someone to accompany on your journey, I’m more than willing.’

‘It would be dangerous,’ Thomas said.

‘Have you seen my spears? I defeated a molduga with those,’ Alastair said. ‘And my sister is even stronger a warrior than me. I’m better at stealth too, so if you need to break into the yiga hideout unseen you could use my help.’

Thomas guessed he should take Alastair up on that offer, he could always use extra help. His journeys could get lonely, would Alastair be willing to come with him beyond a trip to the yiga clan hideout?

‘Alright,’ Thomas said. ‘We can go together after I speak to your sister. When do we leave?’

Alastair made two plates of the food he’d made, and Thomas thankfully ate some curry. It didn’t have any special effects, but he loved eating food with goron spice.

‘After dinner. I think it’s best to start searching for the hideout early tomorrow morning, or it’ll get too hot. Or, and I think this is a pretty solid idea, we wait until it’s so hot you’ll have no choice but to take off your shirt.’

Thomas smiled. ‘Let’s go early. Not that I don’t want you to see… I just don’t think it would be practical, and we only just met…’

‘Don’t worry, I’m just joking. But you should go out with me sometime after we defeat Calamity Ganon.’

‘You’re going to help me?’ Thomas asked.

‘Of course,’ Alastair said. ‘If we break into the yiga clan hide out and wreak some havoc, I won’t have to go undercover as a cake vendor anymore. I’m sure Cordelia won’t mind if I join you.’

#Thomas Lightwood #Alastair Carstairs #Thomastair #Breath of the wild au #Zelda au #fanfiction #the last hours #tlh

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corpsentry · 4 years ago

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fandom: botw rating: t  pairing: zelda/link  notes: post-canon, getting together, mild descriptions of injury. cooking. dancing. crying. and so on. “Let’s say you’ve been asleep for a hundred years and when you wake up you’ve lost all your memories, but you defeat the big bad monster like you’ve been told to, because a girl told you to, and because you were in love with her. And after defeating the big bad monster she comes back, only she’s not the person she was a hundred years ago. And you’re not the person you were a hundred years ago. And yet every time you look at her, your chest hurts so bad you think you might be dying.” He looks up from his breadstick. “Am I dying?” “No,” Beedle says. “I think you’re stupid.”

All roads lead to hateno.

“I ate the frog.” Is the first thing he says to her in a hundred years, because he can’t stop staring at her hands, and his head isn’t working properly because he can’t stop staring at her hands, and he doesn’t remember what he had been planning on saying before he walked into the castle and killed two versions of evil incarnate in a room with a domed ceiling and a field with a domed sky, but he’s pretty sure. He’s pretty sure it wasn’t this. “I’m sorry,” Zelda says. “You what?” “I, uh.” He takes a step back, and then a step forward. Hyrule castle looms like a corpse behind her, hulking and majestic and dead. It distracts him, though not as much as Zelda herself, pale as winter and glowing behind a halo of sun. “There was a frog you wanted me to eat.” A hundred years ago. “You said it would be for an experiment.” A hundred years ago you told me to eat a frog and that’s all that I remember. That’s what’s kept me going all this time. When things got hard, when the weight of the curse you had given me grew too great, I cooked a frog in a pot over a fire. She stares at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “You’re more talkative than I remember.” He panics. “Should I stop talking?” “Oh no! No, just— how do I put it—” This probably isn’t what she had in mind for their reunion. He feels the sudden need to apologize. He should have tried harder to hold onto himself while he was sleeping off the blood on his back and the world retreated into a corner to lick at its wounds, but it was hard. He didn’t know what he was doing. He doesn’t remember, actually. He doesn’t remember going to sleep, and he doesn’t remember what he dreamed of. That’s two question marks in one head, and only one answer to go around. There were two shadows on the wall, though they belonged to the same boy. Zelda twists her hands together, almost as if in prayer. Her white dress billows heavily in the wind, covered in wounds from another century. “I’m sorry,” she says to his feet. “Please keep talking.” He nods, though she isn’t looking. After a moment, they make their way across the trampled, dead-looking field to his horse, who’s had half of her mane seared off and looks like she desperately wants a carrot. He hauls himself onto the saddle, then holds out a hand to Zelda, who stares at it like he’s just offered her the rest of his lifespan. Then she takes it, letting him pull her up behind him, and her hand is so warm, and the sky is so blue, and everything is so strange, he almost lets go. Of the girl. Of the reins. Of his grip on reality, this new, unexplored reality, the carcass of the castle slowly growing smaller in the distance. When he walked into the sanctum with a plan to kill Ganon he had been thinking about how the stalhorses on Tabantha Snowfield run faster than the horses near Kakariko, how a bokoblin will choose a freshly roasted chicken over the skin of your teeth, how stables are a metaphor for family. Now all he can think of is angels. She asks him where they’re going a little while later, and it’s only then that he realizes he doesn’t know. It’s a cool, starless night. No moon, no blood. His horse snickers at a boar by the side of the road, and Zelda tightens her grip on his waist. God, what have they been doing for the last hundred years? “Home,” he answers. “We’re going home.”

 The house in Hateno is a small and modest affair. This is probably the only reason Bolson and his construction company were willing to sell it to him at an equally modest price, with modest display stands for his modest weapons, and a modest bed beside which he hung a framed photograph of him and his dead friends. He’s fine with it, though. The only thing that really matters to him is the photograph, though there are now two living people in it instead of one and a half, and if Bolson had not graciously included a bedframe and mattress in his modest homemaker’s package, then Link would have slept on the floor. He says as much to Zelda, who blinks at him sleepily and throws a pillow at his face. “Please don’t do that,” he says. “Sleep in your own bed,” she replies. He peels the pillow off the floor and pats the dust away before replacing it carefully on the bed. “I promised your father I would take care of you.” And Daruk. And Mipha. And Urbosa, who would kill me if she found out I let the princess sleep on the carpet. Like a dog, she would probably say, her voice low, her eyes slanted. How could you treat her like a stray dog? This is the princess we’re talking about. She deserves better. He opens his mouth to say as much, but Zelda gets there first. “My father is dead,” she says, her voice unexpectedly raw. She seems surprised at herself despite her best efforts, and clears her throat in an attempt to hide it. He finds himself overwhelmed with the sudden urge to hug her or blast a hole through the roof with his sword, but can’t decide on one, and ends up wringing his hands together behind his back while Zelda sits on the side of the modest bed in the modest house in Hateno, and presses the folds of her dress into a clump. There should be more he can do for her. What is it? If only Urbosa were here to tell him what it means when Zelda takes your hand like a promise, when Zelda pinches the side of your waist, when Zelda announces that her father is dead, has been dead for a hundred years, died a long time ago. But Urbosa is dead too. The old world is gone, though its survivors have finally emerged from the twilit field. What now? Zelda rubs her eyes. He picks at a cuticle and holds his breath. Despite her best protests, she agrees to the bed-floor arrangement. Zelda will sleep on the bed, because he didn’t think that far when he walked into the castle and defeated evil incarnate, and she doesn’t seem to care. Meanwhile, he will sleep on the floor. Which floor? The first floor, he decides, but when he tries to go downstairs he almost throws up. His heart’s uneasy, of course, but he had underestimated the side-effects of meeting an angel. Over the past few months, he had gotten used to getting mauled by things to the point where it had become part of his daily routine: get up, have a minor crisis about the fact that everyone you know is dead, have a minor crisis about the beautiful voice in your head, get mauled by a bear. Get mauled by a bokoblin who stole your spear. Get mauled by Mount Lanayru, which has a thing for spitting giant snowballs at him when he’s trying to talk to the Koroks in the region, pleading with them through chattering teeth to stop giving him more tiny golden shits and start letting him talk about his feelings. Zelda is not daily routine. Zelda was the girl in the dream, then a face in a photograph, and now Zelda is sleeping in the house in Hateno with her hands pressed up to her cheek, breathing softly. He’s overcome with emotion, though if you asked him to tell it to you, he wouldn’t know how. And as for the matter of her hands, were they always this lovely? Impa didn’t tell him what to do after he saved the girl, though he knows she’ll want to hear about it from him and not the Sheikah warriors she has spread out throughout the kingdom, keeping an eye on their dying gods. Impa wanted him to look forward, which meant knives and teeth and forests full of bodies. She didn’t tell him what he could or couldn’t do in the presence of the sun, and he, having spent his whole life sitting in a dark room, didn’t think to ask. In retrospect, he should have. In retrospect, he should have asked Bolson to build two beds. But the thought didn’t occur to him, just as it didn’t occur to him that his heart might not be the dead thing the world told him it was, and so he never did.

 “I had a dream.” He flips the eggs. “About what?” “About a world where I made it in time.” Zelda peers over his shoulder. “Are they done yet?” “Almost, if you could please—” “—Ah, excuse me—” She dances out of the way of the big cast-iron pan, which he holds in one hand while he reaches for the plates with the other. In her haste to create space she walks into the counter and winces, bending over to touch the side of her foot. “Oh. I stubbed my toe.” She sighs. After breakfast he goes to look for Uma. He finds her sitting under the same old tree beside the bridge, cradling a cup of tea and humming along with the cicadas. Uma is the only person in Hateno who remembers the Calamity as a name with a face, and not a dream. She also had a daughter once, whom she lost in the years after the Calamity, when the rice fields had not yet begun to flourish, and the winters were long and cruel. He asks her quietly about the weather, which she tells him is her favorite kind. Spring’s never felt quite so lovely, she informs him, as she pries open an old dresser and leans forward to peer inside. He holds her cup of tea with both hands, the mellow sweetness of chrysanthemum tickling his nose and making him sneeze. After a moment, she returns with a set of clothes in the signature Hateno blend of oranges, blues, and warm, earthy browns. She places them carefully on his head and then retrieves her tea before he has the chance to drop the cup. “I hope your friend is taking well to Hateno,” she says warmly. I hope I have a friend, he thinks with his heart stuck halfway up his throat. He’s barely keeping himself together, in pretty much every sense of the word, but he thanks her all the same, and means it.

 He did, in fact, eat a frog. Several times. Once on the Great Plateau, after the spirit of the old king had left him to fend for himself with a pickaxe and half an apple, and again while he was in the Hebra mountain range, because it was too cold out to hunt and one had hopped into his pack while he wasn’t looking and died there. Then there was another time, at one of the stables up north, where he met a traveling salesman who offered him a stamina-boosting trick for ten rupees. The first time he obediently closed his eyes, and could only describe the texture in his mouth as ‘soft, with hints of viscosity’. He returned several weeks later, ran away on his horse immediately after making payment, and was mildly alarmed to discover that he had not in fact been presented with a breadstick, but rather a leg. A very long leg. With joints. And skin. And a big, webbed foot. Once, while sitting on a raft headed out to sea, he considered hurling himself into the water. It had been raining for several days by this point, which itself wasn’t a problem as he had come to quite like the sound of rain bashing on the outside of his tent with bloody fists, but this rain was relentless. Like a ghost which tries to kill you and fails, and, in a fit of bitter resentment, resolves to throw rocks at your window each night for the rest of your life, the water got into his boots and it got into his eyes and then it got into his pack, which spoiled all of his carefully-preserved meat and caused the stopper in his bottle of milk to rot. Under the present circumstances, all the game had either gone off to find shelter or been washed away by the floodwaters. There was nothing for him to hunt, and nothing for him to eat. His stomach growled faithlessly. While stumbling along some beach or another, he bumped into Kass, who told him about some treasure further out at sea. He looked blandly in the direction that the parrot pointed out for him, and found his eyes drawn to the island that lay beyond it. “I’m going to go there,” he said. “I hope you find good treasure,” said Kass. “Yeah,” he said. So he hauled himself onto a raft (he was too shy to ask the people in Lurelin for help, and too proud to talk about his circumstances) at the crack of dawn and began to blast a Korok leaf at the sail. And then he got tired. He sat down. He leaned over the edge of the raft. His reflection in the water was gray, because the sky was gray, and the sky was gray because it was raining. He had begun to shiver again, but he had spent most of the week shivering anyway and so didn’t pay it any attention. His hair was matted to his forehead, and there were bags under his eyes. One of his piercings was smarting; it must have gotten infected. “What if I just stopped trying,” he suggested to the sea, which ignored him. What was the point of it all, anyway? All of his friends were dead and the girl in the photograph was stuck in a castle in the sky. He didn’t remember a single thing about the first seventeen years of his life. Only the things that happened in the last three months, only the things that were deemed important, and even those he remembered in fragments. Like what if he had a sister. What if his father had been kind to him, or doting, or an alcoholic. What if he had been in love with someone, and what if he had had a heart, and what if he had cared. It was hard to discern the world’s sympathies for him when he spent most of his time alone. Sometimes, at night, he drew a face on the rock-wall and gave it a name. “I’m tired,” he said. “I’m tired, and I’m hungry, and I feel more dead than alive, even though I’m the only one still breathing.” But the sea continued to ignore him. The wind continued to ignore him. The rain continued to ignore him, pelting at his wet shoulders with wet hands and wet teeth, clawing at the skin on the back of his neck, telling him to go to sleep and stay there. Eventually the raft drifted of its own accord to the shore of the island he had spied in the distance, and then some thousand-year-old mummy stripped him of all his belongings anyway, so it no longer mattered that he had nothing in his pack or his head or his heart, as long as he was able to replace it with something new.

 A few weeks later she’s standing in the kitchen and staring at the vegetables in the pot, humming to herself, while Link rearranges the condiments on the table. She’s swaying from side to side, holding up the ladle like a sword. She seems happy. He leans back in his chair until he can just about see the top of her head. “What song is that?” he asks, casual as a house on fire. A pause. Something clatters to the floor. Picture two figures in a forest full of thorns and teeth. Picture the knight carving a path through the trees, the princess stumbling behind him, his clammy hand tight around her wrist, their feet bruised and dirty. It’s raining, of course, because it’s always raining in the dream. They’re being chased by mechanical monsters with knives for eyes. And they’re tired, both of them, so tired they could hurl themselves into a pond and drown there, but instead she walks into a tree. The bark scrapes the length of her forearm like a kiss, tearing at her skin and pouring blood down the back of her hand. Something clatters to the floor. Something breaks. Picture the old dream, the one he knows like a memory, the reason he’s less afraid of bears than people. He whirls the chair around to the sight of Zelda’s hand in the fire, her posture rigid, her face hidden by a curtain of hair. “I’m sorry,” she says, crestfallen. “It’s just—” He’s on his feet and halfway across the room before she can finish her sentence, pulling her away from the counter, reaching for the faucet with his other hand. “—It’s the first time you’ve asked me a question since you found me,” she says quietly. The skin on the back of her hand is bright red. If Urbosa were here, she would tie his arms and legs to four horses and then ask them to run in four different directions, and he would die in such a memorable way, it would eclipse even the deaths of all his old dead friends, who were trapped in machines with voices for a hundred years while their bodies turned into dust. If Urbosa were here then he likely wouldn’t be, would be in the next room, his ear pressed to the door, his heart pressed to the roof of his mouth. It’s a good thing, then, that she isn’t.

 It’s spring, so the water from the faucet is cold enough to cut yourself on. The water from the faucet is cold, so it should sting on skin as red as this, but Zelda doesn’t say anything as he holds her hand under the stream of water, his thumbs resting on the curve of her wrist, his eyes searching her blank expression for. A sign? A reason? Why the ladle on the floor; why the hand in the fire? “It’s fine,” she finally says, brushing her hair behind her ear with her unhurt hand. “No,” he says before he can stop himself, bristling a little, feeling slightly outrageous. “It’s not.” Zelda looks somber for a moment. Then she hiccups a laugh. “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?” Yeah, I remember when you [the path that leads to Hateno is wet and winding] and I [your hand on the back of my head was cold and dying], he wants to say. But he would be lying if he did, because he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember anything except the sixteen stories she left him, sixteen shards of a seventeen-year-old life. If she’s referring to something funny, then he’s missed an opportunity to make her laugh. If she’s referring to something important, then it’s no wonder he can’t seem to bridge the gap between the frog and the girl, no wonder his head hurts like someone stabbed it with a pitchfork and forgot to take it out, no wonder Hyrule still feels so far away, even as he milks the chickens and he chases the cows and he collects the eggs from the bears. He turns this thought over in his head as he goes for the medicine cabinet, which he had not asked for and Bolson had installed as a courtesy. Despite his best efforts, the blood on his back never quite washed away. She’s gone by the time he closes the cabinet, and he begins to feel that telltale sickness in his stomach, the sudden urge to throw up. He walks briskly out of the house in Hateno, salve and bandages tied to his wrist, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. The moon is a crescent tonight. Hateno rises and falls with each breath, pressing flowers into the palm of his hand. He folds each one unevenly in half. Zelda’s halfway up the ladder when he finds her. He waits for her to get onto the roof before he starts heading up, and is surprised all the same when he reaches the top of the ladder, and finds her face inches away from his. “I didn’t know you had a ladder,” she says pleasantly. “Why did you follow me up here?” She smells like Goron spice and sun. He is three seconds away from plummeting to his death. This is nothing he is used to, and a part of him thinks that if he knows what’s good for him then he will never get used to any of it. Not the silent, dead castle, not the long black shadow of the future, not the girl. She leans back after a moment. He breathes out. Half an inch of space will not keep either of them safe. Zelda watches him retie his ponytail expectantly. “So?” The ladder is from the Great Plateau. He found it at the back of the Temple of Time days after the old king asked him to climb to the top of the ruined structure and revealed to him that he was, yeah, the old king, and that all of his friends were dead, and that he would have to get the girl out of the castle before she could even think to save him, and by association, the rest of the world. At that point he was still naive enough to think defeating Ganon would take a stick and an apple and a really fast horse. He had also not yet learned of the myriad ways in which he had failed everyone he had ever cared for, and so spent his days wandering from place to place, pointing at bugs in the leaves and laughing. The ladder pissed him off. Who put it there? Why didn’t the old king tell him about its existence? What was the point of leaving a ladder behind the statue of Hylia when you could’ve put it in front, so stupid soulless people like him could use it to reach the end of the story faster? He returned to it much later, after he had purchased the house in Hateno, and yanked the whole thing down. Hacking it into four sections with a pickaxe he stole from a bokoblin (it had probably belonged to him first anyway), he piled all of them on his horse and then walked through Hyrule field, past Fort Hateno, all the way back to Bolson, who stared at him like he’d just asked him to kill a man. What do you mean you want me to fix this ladder, he asked. I mean I want you to fix this ladder, he replied. So Bolson did. Zelda laughs so hard she almost falls off the roof. She gets right up to the edge of it, leaning over the side with her face in her hands while he scrambles to keep her from toppling over. She only let him wrap up her arm because he was talking, because according to Zelda he never did much talking, but maybe he’s said too much. He’s embarrassed. Defeated, he lies down. There’s a star, just above the crown of trees at the other end of the village. He reaches out idly, trying to pinch it between his thumb and forefinger, but his fingers brush against skin instead of sky. Zelda, half-goddess, half-miracle, turns her face into the palm of his hand for the briefest of moments, like a butterfly alighting on the surface of a pond. The cicadas sing ballads. His breath stops in his lungs and dies there. “I like the ladder.” “Oh.” “Please keep it.” “Oh.” “You know,” she says, still leaning over him, close enough that if he gave her hand a tug, she might fall right out of heaven. Her head is tilted, her hair falling into her eyes, splaying across the tiles on the roof like a satiny strip of sun. “What?” he asks hoarsely. She smiles at him like a secret. “I—”

 He used to be in love with her. As each piece of his sixteen-part past was returned to him and the last day of his life emerged slowly into the light, it dawned on him like a horse falling out of the sky that he had been very lucky to be her knight, that he would have willingly given his life for her, and that he did. Only his final, heroic act of sacrifice failed to accomplish anything meaningful in spite of his best efforts. He had died with her hand cradling the back of his head, his tunic wet with blood and tears, believing that the ending could be salvaged still. Maybe this is what it takes to reach happiness, he thought dizzily. Maybe you have to be pushed to the end of the line, before you can start walking back towards the center. But when he opened his eyes, it was to a world which had not moved an inch from the precipice. His back was covered in scars, water streaming down his skin like blood, and his head was so light, he worried for a moment that if he stood up too fast it would float right off of his shoulders. The only thing that remained was old skin, the thin aftertaste of fear, and a bone-deep anxiety that wouldn’t come off no matter how many times he threw himself into the river. The only thing that remained was a voice in his head, calling his name through the dream, reminding him that there was still something that could be salvaged from the fire. He used to be in love with her, though it took him a while to admit it, because being in love with her meant admitting that he had failed not only on a prophetic level, but on a personal level that cut to the wound at the center of his chest. It was a matter of survival in those first few months. Him, or a kingdom. His selfish and worthless pride, or the world. Naturally, he chose the world.

 “Let’s say you’ve been asleep for a hundred years and when you wake up you’ve lost all your memories, but you chase after fairies and you dig up shrines and you defeat the big bad monster like you’ve been told to, because a girl told you to, and because you were in love with her. And after defeating the big bad monster she comes back, and you take her back to your house, and you fry eggs for her. But she’s not the person she was a hundred years ago, because she spent a hundred years in a dream. And you’re not the person you were a hundred years ago, because you forgot everything you could possibly forget, and then you got mauled by a bear. And yet when you look at her, every time you look at her, your chest hurts so bad you think you might be dying.” He looks up from his breadstick. “Am I dying?” “No,” Beedle says very seriously. “I think you’re stupid.” Beedle retrieves a string of petrified armored beetles from one of the pockets on his back, and holds it abruptly in his face. “You can fall in love with someone twice, you know.” Link wrinkles his nose. “How do you know?” Beedle sticks the lower half of a beetle in his mouth. “I’m five hundred years old.” He bites down. “I know things.” Chews thoughtfully. “I’ve eaten things, too. Things you’ve never even dreamed of. “Point is, Link, you’re being stupid. Get it together. The world’s not ending anymore.” “Oh,” says Link. He watches Beedle eat the rest of the beetles. There are five in total. He doesn’t have to chew very hard, which is weird. He turns Beedle’s words over in his head. Beedle has a point. The world isn’t ending anymore. The world isn’t hanging on by a thread, waiting for the boy in the story to haul it back up the side of the cliff. They hauled it back up, him and Zelda and their old dead friends. They hauled it out of the well. And now look at the flowers.

 Once, while sitting on a raft headed out to sea, he considered hurling himself into the water, but here’s the other half of the story. He had recently been into the castle again, up to the princess’ room, where he found, among other things, a moblin, a bow, and a single Silent Princess, growing at the end of the hallway. He also found a diary, which he really shouldn’t have read. He shouldn’t have read the diary. It’s common courtesy. It’s the mark of human decency, respect of personal privacy, respect for the dead, et cetera. But he did. So he hauled himself up to that tower in the sky, and he mistimed several guardian laser parries before finally getting one right and yelling in triumph and getting a beam to his ass for his efforts, and then he cried, standing over that tattered old book while a cold wind blew in through the man-sized hole in the wall. He had spent so long working towards the abstract idea of salvation, he had forgotten that salvation was also, inextricably, a person. A girl with the hands of Hylia, praying in a castle in the sky, stuck in a hundred year cycle from hell. She had thrown away everything so he would float back out of the water with his face to the sky, and he couldn’t even remember how to shoot a bear without getting his face clawed off. What had he ever done to deserve this? What had he done for her? The answer was he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything. The conversation they had about skin-deep secrets, the day it was raining and she told him about the hypothetical nature of failure, the morning of her seventeenth birthday, as she slid the gold cuffs onto her wrists and strode grimly out of the castle, her shadow clinging to the wall like it could keep her from leaving if it did. Did he even say happy birthday? Did anyone bring her candles? Did she make a wish, and if so, for what? He felt suddenly angry, and disappointed, and lonely. The fireplace was full of rubble and the table was covered in dust. The bed frame had collapsed, probably at the very beginning of this whole mess, and the mattress was sunken in like a face with no flesh, the sheets torn, the gold trim reduced to tatters. This place used to be a sanctuary. Now it wanted him dead. He wiped his eyes furiously, though there was no one there to point at him and laugh. He wiped his eyes with the back of his clumsy, scarred hand, pulled the diary shut, and walked back out, into heaven’s line of fire.

 He takes her to the Kochi dye shop on her request, but Sayge gives them a name and an address and herds them out of his store, and so they find themselves in Tarrey Town again, exchanging nods with the people he tricked into leaving their old lives behind while Zelda describes her old outfit to Rhondson, who takes notes on her husband’s arm in erasable ink. Several days later, a new set of clothes arrives in Hateno by donkey. He helps her do her hair, by which he means he holds a mirror behind her back and she does her hair, occasionally instructing him to tilt it several degrees in one direction or another, but it’s the most useful he’s felt in weeks, and when she’s pulled on her gloves and done up the buckles on her boots, she stands up and does a little twirl. It’s a perfect replica. She’s glowing. Rhondson is god. “I feel like I could defeat Ganon,” Zelda tells him. I already did that, he thinks. He nods. “You probably could.”

 “So, are you going to do something?” Beedle retrieves a string of soft-shell crabs from his pack. “Do I have to?” Beedle waggles his finger at him disapprovingly. “The question is, do you want to?”

 He has a dream where she falls from Shatterback Point. He runs as fast as he can down the side of the mountain, cutting his palms on coral and bruising his knees on the wet rocky path, but when he gets to the bottom, no one’s there. You were too late, Muzu tells him, stroking his beard somberly. You tried to reach her, but you let go, and then you were too late. The water in the lake is bright as blood. The sky crackles silently above Muzu’s vacant eyes. A voice emerges from the lake. You let me die, the voice says. I saved the world for you, and you let me die. He wakes up sweating. He curls up on his side, bracing for the cold, hard floor against his cheek, but Zelda’s slipped one of her pillows under his head while he was sleeping. She’s murmuring in her sleep, something about fruit halves and grams of sugar, her hand dangling over the side of the bed clenching and unclenching itself earnestly, kneading imaginary dough, cutting imaginary apples. “Zelda?” Too soft. He won’t call again. He refuses to. In a moment of weakness, he reaches for the side of the bed, but stops just shy of her hand. Beedle’s bright, angular nose appears before him, carrying with it the wisdom of his ancestors. What do you want to do, Link, Beedle’s Nose asks him. What do you want? I want to pull her out of the burning house, he thinks. Is that too much to ask for? Moonlight trickles down her throat and vanishes under the collar of her tunic. His chest implodes and his heart bursts into a thousand tiny pieces, as he wonders how it is that planets were made before people. Beedle’s Nose is indifferent. What burning house, it asks. Where’s the smoke coming from? Look around you, Link. There’s smoke, and fire, and windows with broken glass. But who’s still inside?

 Uma’s hundred-and-ninth birthday arrives on the coattails of fall. On her insistence, they keep the decorations sparse and the cake disarmingly large. Streamers are put up and butterflies corralled into glass menageries. A traveling band with a bit of a reputation further west is invited. There are three musicians with ocarinas and one with a cowbell, and all of them are wearing pink overalls and big yellow sun hats which hurt to look at for too long, unless you work for a construction company, in which case you want to look at them forever. After Bolson has finished taking down all of their contact information on his forearm (they prefer to be called for via messenger pigeon, but if you don’t have one then a snail is fine as well), Zelda drifts across the grass to stand in his place. She’s wearing a white dress, borrowed from Uma, who said it would complement her eyes. Uma was right. The dress is made from a thin, glittery fabric that billows around her ankles and makes her look like she’s floating. Like a fairy in a forest clearing. Like a cat perched at the top of a clocktower. Their conversation lasts for several minutes. She says something, and the others laugh. The guy with the cowbell pretends to look embarrassed. Everyone else at the party is dancing, including Uma, who is holding hands with a small child in a green frog-suit and swaying like a palm tree in the wind. While Zelda keeps the ocarina ensemble preoccupied, one of the adults in the village has gone and retrieved a guitar. He begins to play a warm, meandering tune that reminds Link, distantly, of grassy fields and white skies. “Are you not going to dance?” He looks down. Nebb tugs at the edge of his tunic with one hand, pulling him in the direction of the crowd. He squats down. “I don’t have anyone to dance with.” “You can dance with me. Duh.” “I don’t know how to dance.” Nebb looks at him like he’s stupid. “Then learn.” “What if I don’t want to?” “What if you meet someone who does, and you like them too much to say no?” He squints suspiciously at Nebb. Nebb’s atrocious bowl cut hasn’t grown any less atrocious with time, though it does have the effect of making him look far less menacing than he would be if he were bald or sporting a mohawk. The boy knows too much for someone so small. This cannot do. If this goes on, he will reveal a secret to the gods, and then they will kill him for his hubris. “Shhh,” Link says to him, holding a finger up to his lips. He digs around in his pockets until he finds a piece of honey candy, wrapped in a palm leaf and tied together with twine. “Take this, and go dance with someone else.” Nebb gives him the Stare of Judgment, but takes the candy. “You’re terrible, Link.” He sticks out his tongue. “Bye.” Then it’s back to demolishing the cake, which he’s still not convinced Uma didn’t order expressly so that he would have something to do with himself during the course of the evening, as the dancing progresses from cheerful to insane and a small group of guests begins to construct a spaceship out of empty wine glasses. No one else has gone for thirds, though a handful have gone for seconds. There’s a big fondant chicken perched on the highest layer. He sucks on his fork thoughtfully. He wants it. Last week they went up north, in search of forgiveness. Despite their best efforts and the gift of crabs and crocuses they brought along, their reception in Zora’s domain was cold and gray. It reminded him of the way they had received him when he first stepped out of the rain and into the blue glow of the domain’s hallways, armed with only the knowledge that he had been sent to prevent a tragedy that had already happened. He didn’t yet know that Mipha was dead. He thought he could still save her. They called him failure and fool and living reminder of Hyrule’s downfall, laughing at him in a language called mourning. He had thought they had forgiven the Hylians and their king for letting their Champion die, especially after he walked out of Vah Ruta with a black eye and a bloody nose to show for it, especially now that the evil had been defeated. Apparently the knight by himself was tolerable. The knight and the princess, together, made things too raw. Too immediate. “Mipha’s dead,” they said. It was a Tuesday. “I’m sorry,” Zelda replied. Tomorrow they’re headed for Goron City. He closes his eyes and wills away the taste of sweet cream and berries, tries to picture the winding path up Death Mountain, the grooves hammered into the ground, the rubies in their metal caskets. Flame-resistant armor is a given, so it’s a good thing he bought two sets on accident last winter. He wants to trap a few fire lizards in a bottle and bring them back for a friend. As for what he will say to Zelda before he hands her off to the city’s protectors, their hands half an inch apart but not touching, never touching, there isn’t much. Goron City will be better, he thinks. He licks the cream off his fork. It’s sweet. “What are you thinking?” He opens his eyes. Zelda looks at his plate, then the cake, then his plate again. She points at the chicken. He shrugs. “I was thinking that I hope Uma lives forever.” Someone has invited the dog onto the dance floor. He isn’t trying very hard to keep to the beat of the guitarist, who has been joined by two of the ocarina players with brown hair and blue eyes, but he doesn’t have to. Spinning very fast in a circle is actually the smartest dance move of them all. There’s no beginning, so there’s no end. Zelda plucks a berry from his plate. “It’s not very fun, to be honest,” she says, chewing thoughtfully. “Living for that long.” He watches the dog chase its own tail and she watches him watch the dog, though neither is aware this is happening. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I was asleep.” The dog is easily the best dancer in the crowd. He experiences neither shame nor hubris, and is thus freed from the stresses and seasonal anxieties of being known by others who might fear him or like him. He also runs very fast. Zelda punches his shoulder weakly, her hand lingering, her eyes soft. “That’s a terrible joke, Link.” He pinches the inside of his wrist. “I’m trying my best.” “So am I.” After a beat, the dog who has been invited to the party to spin in tight circles on the dance floor and be a nuisance to the other guests goes careening into the rotisserie chicken. In a wondrous, gravity-defying moment, the chicken sails not away from the dog, but towards him, flying in a swooping arc over his head at a height of several hundred feet above the ground. The plate clatters to the floor before the chicken can find its bearings and, awoken by its war cry, people scramble into action, evacuating themselves to the other side of the buffet table or under the veranda with their legs between their tails, until Uma is standing alone on the grass, still swaying to a song only she can hear, still smiling. The chicken reaches the highest point in the sky, pauses for a heartbeat, then pitches downwards. She catches it. The crowd goes wild. And then Zelda is tugging on his sleeve, like Negg, but not like Negg, because Zelda walked out of the mouth of the monster, because Zelda left her hand in the fire, because Zelda looked at the miserable, vulnerable world that he had yelled at until his voice was hoarse and dying and even the pigeons were something fiercer than him, that he had tended to with clumsy, scarred hands in spite of all the dead things on the ground, and decided to stay. “God,” she says, her eyes bright. “Link, look. In the sky.”

 Picture two figures in a forest full of night. Picture the princess carving a path through the trees, the knight stumbling after her, her hand tight around his wrist, their feet fast and flying. The sky is clear, of course, because someone pulled the mourning veil off its head and threw it in the river. They’re chasing after a column of light, poured by the hand of Hylia from the heavens. And they’re tired, both of them, so tired they could hurl themselves into bed and lie there, half an inch apart, watching each other in the dark with waiting on their tongues, but instead he trips on a branch and goes down, face-first, into the dirt. She doesn’t realize he’s let go until he lets go, but when she turns around he’s already pushed himself off the ground. Hands and knees and boots digging into the grass. The woods outside of Hateno are still teething. The princess gives him her hand, and he stares at it for a moment like she’s just offered him the rest of her lifespan, and then takes it. He’s fine; of course he is. It would take much more than this to kill him. It would take another hundred year cycle of pain. She points at the column of light. It’s still there. Still glowing. So they keep going, picking their way through the undergrowth, climbing over branches and pushing boulders out of harm’s way, doing what ghost children like them do best, which is pointing at something in the distance, and then chasing it. Chasing hope. Following it back to the center. And when they reach the place where the sky has spat out the blood in its mouth, the knight gets punched in the face with nostalgia. He caught a falling star once, when he was all alone and the world was grim and unknowable. Then he gave it to a fairy, in exchange for less blood on his tunic, in exchange for stronger teeth. He approached heaven from afar once, a solitary figure burning darkly against the pale yellow water, but there was no way for him to go home when all was said and done, so he pinched the inside of his wrist and kept walking.

 The thing is you can’t go from swinging a sword around and dreaming about dead people to waking up and frying eggs and searching for ways to heal the cracked earth beneath your feet. Not that fast. Not that goddamn fast. You can’t just flip a switch and not be scared anymore, not wake up sweating anymore, not wake up wanting to hold her hand. Fear is a country and you’ve lived in it all your life. There’s a reason kingdoms keep such a close eye on their borders. You’re either in, or you’re out. Make up your mind. Pick up your sword. Save yourself.

 The star fragment is stuck in a tree. Zelda wants to climb it and he wants her to stop; naturally, she wins. She hauls herself up the trunk while he circles the bottom like a hawk with an anxiety problem, waiting to catch the star, or the girl, or both. But neither comes pitching out of the sky. The dream stays just out of sight. “So that’s what star fragments look like,” she says later, her voice muffled by the sound of crickets. She turns it over in her hands, running her fingers along each point and indent. “They’re warm.” Smells it curiously, then wrinkles her nose. “No smell.” Tries to break off one especially thin-looking point with little success. “Sturdy.” She spends ten minutes staring at the star. He spends ten minutes staring at her. She gets bored, puts the fragment on the ground, and looks up. He looks away. “The party’s probably over now, huh.” He nods to his left. A sigh, very small, very lovely. Like a firefly under a bridge. “I didn’t get the chance to dance with anyone.” Beedle’s Nose is staring at him from a gap in the trees like the red eye of the devil. It’s singing a nursery rhyme he doesn’t remember learning. What do you want/what do you want/what do you want. Link! Link! Open your eyes! He has to break every bone in his body just to turn his head three inches to the right, but for the first time in this life, this new life, this second chance at everything, he gets it right. Zelda’s knees are drawn to her chest, her head pillowed on her arms, her gaze heavy on his face. He sucks in a breath. “Do you still want to?”

 Dancing without music sounds reasonable in theory, but generally requires one party to be exceptionally good at keeping count while the other has to be in possession of at least a rudimentary grasp of the steps. This is, of course, assuming that there are redeemable qualities to both parties. For example, if one is the knight from the fairy tale who has spent his whole life swinging sharp objects at people, and the other is the princess from the fairytale who has spent her whole life praying sharp objects find their way to the right people, then there may not in fact be anything redeemable between them. Her counting is off, his hands are clammy. Her voice is wavering, his feet are too slow. It’s disaster after disaster after disaster, first the champions in their divine beasts, then the castle, then the king on the Great Plateau, a knife through the heart, et cetera. Dancing without music sounds reasonable in theory unless you’ve spent the last three months of your life chasing angry moose down mountains, so it’s a good thing no one’s here to laugh at them. It’s a good thing they’re alone, surrounded by starlight, half an hour by foot from Hateno, village of lights and wonder. Spring has come and gone without them. The night is young and the air is cool and the forest is sweetly indifferent to his tendency to crash into inanimate objects. This would be embarrassing if he left himself think about it, but more importantly it’s unfair, how neither of them knows what they’re doing but Zelda can smile her way out of a clumsy turn, how he has to keep his hand on her waist but hers is doing an elaborate dance on his shoulder, how every time she leans in and her hair parts down her back, a sliver of neck peeks out and steals the lungs right out of his chest. He is going to die trying to keep his hands to himself or they are going to fall off the edge of the forest and into a ravine with no bottom. There is no option to walk away. “You’re a terrible dancer,” she says, smiling up at him from under her lashes. He chews on his lip. “I’m sorry.” “That’s fine.” He twirls her and her dress floats up past her ankles like a cloud of tiny stars. “I like you anyway.” He walks into a tree. Decides that’s not enough. Slaps himself generously across the face, hard enough to leave a mark. Decides that’s not enough. Kneels on the grass, letting go of her hand, to look for a stick that might help him end things faster. “Link?” It is too much and too little all at once, and therefore unbearable. He is going to fall off the edge of the forest right now. He tries to stand up just as she begins to bend down, reaching for his shoulder. They fall off the edge of the forest together. Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh no. They’ve fallen off the edge of the universe together. Her face is in the crook of his neck and her hair is stuck to his clothes. His skin is on fire and his butt is sore and he’s dying. Hylia, can you hear him? There’s a name for the place children go after they leave this world. He’d like to know what it’s called now. “Hey,” comes the small, muffled voice. Her arms are on either side of his waist, and they’re trembling. “Can you say something?” He looks up. Always up, always forward, towards knives and teeth and forests full of bodies. Always past the blurry face in the dream, to the nightmare that follows after. Someone will tell you when to breathe. Someone will tell you when to swing your sword. Someone will tell you when it’s all right to stop being scared of everything, and start looking for angels. Like right now. Like right-right-now. Your heartbeat fluttering in your throat. Your throat an ocean of knives. Eight weeks and three days after he walks into the castle and defeats two incarnations of evil, first in a room with a domed ceiling, then in a field with a domed sky, he steps out of the burning house, and finds himself face to face with the sun. He presses his cheek against her hair. “Do you want me to?” “Yes,” she sighs. “Yes, I do.”

 He tells her about the way the world looks from atop the back of a bear and the gray of the ocean from a raft and the conversation he had with her dead father about how cooked apples taste sweeter. He tells her about the first time he shot an arrow at a bomb barrel and the second time he shield-surfed down a hill and how Urbosa made him promise to take care of her, even in death, even after it. He tells her about being so lonely it hurt to breathe and being so bad at breathing he passed out in a river, and being so hurt he had to be saved by a stranger on the road, tied to the back of their donkey like a piece of merchandise and carried to the nearest stable to be burnt back to life. He tells her how no one believed he was the boy in the story, even when he pulled out the sword, even when he showed them the blood on his back. He tells her about how the stalhorses on Tabantha Snowfield run faster than the horses near Kakariko, how a bokoblin will choose a freshly roasted chicken over the skin of your teeth, how a sword is a metaphor for forgiveness. He tells her how a hundred years ago she told him to eat a frog, and he never forgot about it. Not once, not ever. Walking through the Breach of Demise, looking for Koroks in Fort Hateno, praying for her heart at the Spring of Wisdom, he never stopped thinking about the damn frog, and by extension, the girl. The first thing she says is why didn’t you tell me all of this earlier? The second thing she says is why the hell didn’t I ask? She presses a hand to his forehead, pushing his bangs out of his eyes and glaring at him. The third thing she says is that she really wants to see a stalhorse, and the fourth thing he says is he’ll take her there one day, and the fifth thing she does is cry. Big, heaving sobs. Arms tight around his shoulders, tears smearing the front of his shirt, while he pretends he isn’t half as insane, gives up, and resolves to hide his face in her hair forever. And it’s dramatic as hell, it’s an ancient tapestry on a wall in Kakariko, but hasn’t it always been that way? Haven’t they been through enough shit to justify the heartfelt reunion, the face full of tears? If the conversation they had in the field outside the castle was a blueprint for what it looks like to meet someone you wanted a hundred years ago, then this is the aftermath of that war. Do you remember me? Of course I do. Do you love me? Of course I do. Ask me a question, any question. Crack my chest open. “To make things very, very clear,” Zelda says, wiping her eyes furiously. She’s pushed him flat onto his back and the light’s not hitting her face so he can’t make out her expression, but he can imagine the pinched brow, the bitten lip. “I didn’t fall in love with you because you were conveniently there, like, I don’t know, an armchair when you’re tired, or a glass of water when you’re thirsty.” Her hands on his chest are very beautiful, even in the moon-lit dark. “I didn’t take one look at the prophecy and think to myself, well, if I’m going to tie my happiness to someone then it might as well be him.” Now he’s the one who’s embarrassed. He brings a hand up to cover his face but she tugs it away. Takes a deep breath. Counts to ten, probably, maybe fifteen, maybe a hundred. “I fell in love with you,” she says, softly, each word falling from her lips like a star, each star plucked from the highest point in the heavens. “I don’t even know why I fell in love with you.” She fists her hands loosely in his shirt. “It just happens, you know? One day you look at the boy with the stupid pretty hair, and you think to yourself, oh no.” His head is spinning so fast he feels like the dog at the party. Maybe he is the dog. Maybe he finished eating the cake and shoved the fondant chicken in his mouth and then he passed out, and had to be carried back to his house, and had to be laid gently on the unmade covers. He gathers his thoughts. “I’m not a very good person,” he says quietly. “But if you would have me, I would gladly give you my life.” “You’ve already done that once, Link,” Zelda says, laughing with the sun in her mouth. “Do something else.” What do you want, Link? Open your eyes. Save yourself. “Okay, then. Can I kiss you?”

 His name is Link, and he died once when he was seventeen. It was pretty traumatizing. He got slashed several times across the back with some very sharp weapons, and then he got mauled by a forest full of screaming metal, and then he collapsed, right in front of the person he was supposed to protect, who ended up protecting his dead body by the skin of her teeth. Because he died. Somewhere between the laser on his chest and her hand pressed against the seal of the sky, his body made one last stand against the stark inequalities of the world, and he died. The only reason he knew his name was Link when he woke up was because it was the first word she said to him. “Link,” she said. “Wake up.” He concluded through logical reasoning that “he” must be “Link” and that “Link” had to “wake up”. So he did. He went traipsing around Hyrule with a ladle and a pot lid, seeking out places from a photograph and trying to find ways to bring every four-legged animal in the land to a stable, but he never really felt like “Link”. He felt like a corpse that had received a very shiny, very thick coat of paint. Half-here, half-there. Half-me, half-something-else. What else? A bird, maybe. A horse. One day Link got bored and decided that he was going to defeat all the forces of evil. He fought his way into the castle, where the guardians shot lasers at his earrings, and he fought his way past the lynels, who hissed fire and called him rude words, and he fought his way into the sanctum, where he met the asshole who had put him through all this shit in the first place. And he kicked his ass. And he kicked his other ass. And the asshole died. His name was Ganon. Ganon dying brought Zelda back to life, because the law of equivalent exchange governs half of the children in this world, while the devil gets the rest. The devil got to him: his life will always carry the weight of hundreds of thousands, he will always feel like lead for the first three seconds after he wakes up. But it didn’t get to Zelda. Zelda got the other bargain, the one where your dead father dies but you get your knight back. One or the other, left or right. In the end, you always have to choose. And he’s still pretty traumatized. And dying at the age of seventeen with a sword still stuck in your hand is pretty traumatizing. And the Zora are still mourning and the Gorons are still eating rocks and the Gerudo still think he’s just a really short girl, which he can live with, which he doesn’t particularly mind, but the trauma has a place on the shelf now. And the shelf is in his house. And the house is a modest one, with modest display stands for his modest weapons, and a modest bed beside which he’s hung a framed photograph of his friends. But some things are different, even if the foundations stay the same. No more rafts on gray seas. No more sleeping on the floor. No more standing in the burning building, and wondering why the shadows aren’t moving. No more shrines full of dead monks. No more monsters full of dead bodies. No more waiting for someone to tell you when to breathe, when to stop, when to get mauled by a bear. Pick up your sword, boy. Now put it down. Now pick it up. Now put it down. You’re going to be doing this until the day that you die. Are you all right with that? Are you all right with your god? [Thank you for helping my sister.][They say the leviathans died thousands of years ago.][Get me a horse. A big, strong horse. Any horse.][BROTHER. THE ROCKS ARE READY.][Find me someone whose name ends with ‘-son’.][I’ll sell you rushrooms for diamonds. Fifty-five for one.][Have you heard of the story of the bird on the mountain?][Do you already have someone special in your heart?][They say if two people visit this pond, they’ll be together forever.][Do you believe in miracles?][Do you believe in magic?][Do you believe in me?] [I believed I would see you again.]

It’s a cruel, unforgiving world. People die and don’t come back. But you did. Now get up. Someone’s waiting for you.

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Text

lip sync your way into my heart

( @thecomfortofoldstorries and I got into a fun head-cannon debate last night about Tik Tok POVs and this is what happened)

--- Jaskier has never really been in the loop when it comes to social media. He was behind the curve when he made his Tumblr and he was two years late to sign up for Twitter. It’s no surprise that he finally downloads Tik Tok and makes an account several months after it’s become a viral platform.

That also means all the good usernames are taken; Jaskier types in @buttercup-bard, sees that it’s available, and calls it a day. This isn’t an app he’s going to care about. It’s just to waste time during his forty minute commute to and from campus.

Alas, he has ADHD...and this shit is addictive.

Especially, he hates to admit, the thirst-trap hotties who do weird, obscure, edgy POV videos. Jaskier knows they’re aimed primarily towards teen and young adult women but he’s a red-blooded Redanian gay. He’s horny. He can watch a few POV Tik Toks on the bus and thirst after pretty boys with big muscles...as a treat.

By Jaskier’s second week of classes he’s found a definite favorite Tik-Tokker (is that what they’re called? Or is it influencer? Jaskier doesn’t care). The guy is gorgeous. He has beautiful honey-gold eyes and long, silvery-white hair; which is appropriate since his handle is @whitehairdontcare. He makes a wide range of content, too. Perfect for Jaskier’s Concerta-focused tastes. There are some dances here and there and some Q&A videos, but for the most part he does POVs.

Jask and his roommates, Essi and Priscilla, have spent many happy hours poring over Mr. White Hair’s account, watching and re-watching their favorites from his vast repertoire of content. Essi loves his weird, edgy-boi shit. Stuff with titles like “POV: I fight the bully who insulted your haircut” or “POV: you make a deal with the devil for true love”. Stuff that Jaskier would have been into when he still listened to My Chemical Romance on the regular (okay, he still does, but don’t tell Essie).

Priscilla is a huge fan of Tik Tok dances. She follows every challenge and ranks her favorites, compiling them into a YouTube series that’s more for her self-gratification than anything else. Mr. White Hair is generally towards the top of her list whenever he deigns to follow a trend that doesn’t involve badly applied makeup blood smears. The guy clearly works out and the definition of his body (and the movements of said really hot body) make the dances look so much more fluid and fun. Jaskier and Priscilla clearly share a brain-cell when it comes to appreciating Mr. White Hair’s hotness.

Jaskier’s favorites, of course, are the cute little POVs that lie scattered between all the edgy ones. Stuff made for the softies of Tik Tok. Stuff made for boys like Jaskier. “POV: I fix your car for you” is the one he’s probably re-watched the most. Mr. White Hair is lying on his back beneath a jacked-up blue car, oil smeared in a few strategic places on his face, chest, and arms. At the very end of the Tik Tok he moves the wrench out of the way of his face completely and winks directly into the camera.

Jaskier hates to admit it, even to himself, but no matter how many times he’s watched that stupid twenty-give second video, that wink drops his heart straight down into his shoes and fills his stomach with butterflies.

---

“Hey do you guys carry fake blood here?” an almost terrifyingly deep voice asks from behind him. Jaskier twirls around on his heel, Retail Smile firmly in place, and loses his shit the moment he sets eyes on his latest customer.

It’s Mr. White Hair.

Here. In the middle of the aisle of the Party City where Jaskier works every weekend. He’s either going to throw up or pass out or both.

He doesn’t though. Instead, the Demon Lord of Retail possesses his body momentarily and nods, “Right over this way!” He leads the insanely attractive influencer over to the year-round section of Halloween FX makeup and gestures towards the shelf filled with various fake blood capsules, bottles, and packets.

“Thanks,” Mr. White hair smiles. Jaskier nods again, silent, and drifts back towards the counter in a daze. He’s the only one on shift right now (it is not a very busy Party City) and he knows that he can’t pass out on the dirty tile floor or he’ll get fired (and perhaps tetanus). He just needs to power through the next few minutes and then he can crouch next to the helium tank and freak the fuck out.

But not until Mr. White Hair is gone.

Just as Jaskier is re-learning how to breathe normally, the sexy internet star makes his way towards the counter with an armful of products and the retail worker loses it again. Thank god for the ability to compartmentalize.

“So, just these for you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem! I love your Tik Toks by the way,” Jaskier replies automatically. His eyes widen slightly. Why the fuck did I mention his Tik Toks!?

“Thanks,” the guy says and blushes. “I didn’t know they’d gotten so popular.”

“You have like two million followers?” Jaskier laughs. “I think that makes you pretty popular. Maybe even famous.”

“Oh yeah...right.”

“Anyway, your total is going to be twenty-one fifty.”

Mr. White Hair pays and Jaskier bags all his fake blood, wondering the whole time exactly what kind of content he can look forward to seeing. More of Essi’s edgy shit, apparently. As he’s handing the plastic bag over the counter, Jaskier smiles and works up the courage to ask, “Is your hair naturally white? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just really pretty.”

Geralt’s face goes slightly pinker than before and he nods. “Yeah. Weird genetic thing. Thanks.”

“No problem. Right on,” Jaskier beams. “Well, it was nice meeting a famous person. Thanks for stopping in.”

“Thanks for helping me out,” the Tik Tokker replies. Jaskier watches him exit the store before ripping his phone from his pocket and dialing Essi. He needs to talk to her before he spirals into a giddy panic attack.

---

“Hey Jask have you seen that hot guy’s latest Tik Tok?” Priscilla asks, lounging across her futon like a queen. Jaskier looks up from his copy of The Collective History of Aedirnian Funeral Dirges and wrinkles his eyebrows in confusion.

“No, why?”

“You should go check your phone. I think you’ll be happily surprised.”

“Oh-kay,” Jaskier says, drawing out the ‘kay’ for as long as it takes him to get up from his seat on the floor and exit the room. He retrieves his phone from the charger in the kitchen and returns to Priscilla’s bedside. He opens his new favorite app and pulls up @whitehairdontcare’s page. There’s a new POV from earlier this morning and Jaskier taps on it.

His eyes go round when he reads the caption: “POV: You’re the cute cashier at the Party City and I’m bad at flirting”.

Mr. White Hair is staring into the camera with those beautifully golden eyes, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand while he lip syncs to whatever song is playing. He’s wearing a tight, navy blue v-neck and Jaskier can see the movement of every one of his ridiculously defined muscles as they flex. The silver wolf’s-head necklace Mr. White Hair always wears around his neck is in its usual place, dangling down between those perfect collarbones…

Jaskier takes a shaky breath and glances up at his friends, who are staring back at him with wide eyes. “It could be about anyone.”

“How many Party Cities do you think he went to yesterday?”

“I’m not going to get my hopes up,” Jaskier snorts. “He’s a social media influencer and I am one semester away from finishing my degree and my thesis. Why would he ever want to be with someone like me?”

Essi rolls her eyes and Jaskier goes back to his homework.

---

Later that night, alone in his room, Jaskier plugs his earbuds into his phone and watches the Tik Tok over and over. He finds the song Geralt used and adds it to his Work Is Tough playlist, which he’s allowed to play over the loudspeakers at the store so long as he’s working a solo shift.

He watches Mr. White Hair’s plush pink lips move around the words and dreams of kissing them someday, as far-fetched as that scenario is (because this video is definitely not for him, that’s impossible):

“My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me.

So won't you kill me, so I die happy.

My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury,

or wear as jewelry; whichever you prefer.”

Fucking Dashboard Confessional. Of course. One of Jaskier’s favorite bands from his emo days in middle school. If this really was for Jaskier, if this really was a legitimate attempt at online flirtation by Mr. White Hair himself, it was working.

Jaskier buries his head in his pillow and sighs.

#geraskier fic #geraskier tik tok au #there will be a part 2 i promise #geraskier fanfic #geraskier #geraskier au #all I do is make aus all day and work retail #geraskier fluff #flirty geralt #influencer geralt #party city employee jaskier #college student jaskier #geraskier college au #geraskier alternate universe #oops I keep making cute shit

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clairenatural · 4 years ago

Text

look at you, strawberry blond

destiel, 1.8k. pining, fluff, growing up together, etc! minor character/parental death, vague mention of John’s A+ Parenting. based on the mitski song (this is a repost because the first one got deleted)

I love everybody because I love you

Castiel first learns what love is when he’s eight years old and Gabriel, sixteen, is grumbling about driving an hour out of his way to find his girlfriend the rare chocolates she likes for Valentine’s day.

“Why?” he asks his older brother, and Gabriel sighs, melodramatic as always.

“That’s love, little bro. Remembering the little things and then putting in the time to make it happen.”

Cas thinks about when he told Dean his parents don’t let him eat candy. He thinks about how Dean has given him half his Kit Kat bar every day for the last year.

He thinks about the time he scraped his knee falling off the jungle gym and Dean spent the rest of recess picking dandelions to make him feel better. Yellow is his favorite color.

“Oh.”

“You’ll understand when you’re older, Cassie. Love is about sacrifice, and commitment--” he goes on, but by the time Michael cuts him off, yelling from his office that you’ve only been dating for two months, Gabriel, stop preaching to Castiel, Cas has already sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom.

A broken piggy bank, $1.50 in pocket change, and several pleas to Gabriel later, and Castiel tucks a king-sized Kit Kat into Dean’s valentine box.

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

When you stood up, walked away, barefoot

It’s eight years later, one summer in high school, when Castiel realizes that there’s a difference between loving and being in love, and that he is, in fact, in love with his best friend.

He realizes this as he watches Dean walk away, sandals discarded and unnecessary in the soft grass, back to the picnic tables to get them both more fruit punch. It’s the annual junior class picnic, the official welcome to being upperclassmen, and the August sun casts a warm glow over Dean’s freckles, and Castiel knows.

Two seconds later, he watches Dean nearly get hit by an errant frisbee and completely forget his punch mission in lieu of playfully tackling its thrower, Benny Lafitte. He watches Lisa Braden, giggly and glowing and perfect as always, yelp as she’s almost caught in the crossfire, and Dean winks at her as he releases Benny.

He swallows thickly and turns his attention back to the patch of grass they’d been laying in, flattened where Dean had been just a few moments before. He wishes he hadn’t come to this particular realization.

And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape I looked over it and I ached

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

I love everybody because I love you I don't need the city, and I don't need proof

Castiel goes to college in Chicago and pretends like the two-hour drive between them doesn’t mean anything. And it doesn’t, until Dean’s father gets a job back in Kansas halfway through his freshman year. Dean goes with him even though he’s an adult because the alternative is letting Sam deal with John alone, so Castiel spends most of that summer in Lawrence, dodging both his friends in the big city and his family back in Pontiac. He tells them all that he’s studying Kansas’ role in the Civil War, assisting in research back at the University, but he and Dean spend two months going on road trips with Sam.

His sophomore year John dies and Castiel flies back for the weekend, explaining his sudden departure as a family emergency and getting an extension on two papers. Dean holds his hand at the funeral but won’t look him in the eyes for two hours after, even as he refuses to leave Castiel’s side.

The boys move in with Bobby but that summer Dean shows up in Chicago, explanations lined up about not worrying about Sam anymore and wanting to see what about the city made Cas keep coming back. Castiel gets an internship and pretends like that was the plan all along. He quietly cancels his plane tickets to South Dakota.

All I need, darling, is a life in your shape I picture it, soft, and I ache

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

Reach out the car window, trying to hold the wind You tell me you love her; I give you a grin

Dean stays in Chicago. He moves into Castiel’s empty room when his original roommate moves out, he finds work at an auto shop, and he starts taking mechanic classes at a community college. Castiel isn’t sure why—he doesn’t want to ask. Afraid to look the gift horse in the mouth and risk having his happiness bitten off.

Then Dean starts talking about a girl. Then Castiel meets the girl, Cassie Robinson, and it all makes sense.

He pretends it doesn’t sting every time Dean brings her up, that the way his face lights up doesn’t burn, that he doesn’t feel physically ill the first time he meets her.

By the time Dean tells him he’s in love, gushing about Cassie in a way eerily reminiscent of Gabriel twelve years earlier, it’s turned into a dull ache that Castiel has mostly contained in the back of his chest. They’re on their way to Cassie’s apartment, the first stop on their way to a cabin spring break of their junior year, and the ache is suddenly threatening to break through his ribcage.

But the sun is warm on his cheek, and the radio is playing a soft summer soundtrack, so Castiel allows Dean’s happiness to wash over him long enough to forget who—or, more importantly, who isn’t—causing it. He grins at his best friend before turning his gaze back out the passenger window of the Impala.

Oh all I ever wanted was a life in your shape So I follow the white lines, follow the white lines, Keep my eyes on the road as I ache

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

Look at you, strawberry blond

Dean and Cassie break up, and Dean drinks for a month, but Castiel getting into Stanford for grad school distracts him just long enough to go back to normal (a normal that does not involve thinking about how Dean nearly kissed him when they were both drunk the night he got his acceptance).

This new normal involves staring graduation in the face, and California beyond that, and moving out of his Chicago apartment somewhere in this middle, which also involves coming to terms with moving away from Dean.

Until Sam gets his own acceptance to Stanford a few months later. Then Dean starts sending him links to two-bedroom apartments, and using “we” when talking about the move, and looks just as confused as Castiel when he asks about it.

“Well, yeah. I mean, with you gone, and now Sam—You thought you were going by yourself?”

And even though Castiel vaguely thinks this is a bad idea, and living with his best friend who he’s been in love with for his entire memory had been hard enough for the two years they’d been doing it, he can’t say no. Because every time he gets up the nerve to say something Dean calls him over and shoves his laptop into Castiel’s face, talking about hiking trails and flower fields and front lawns and dogs, and that quells any doubt he had.

They move to Palo Alto, into a townhouse with a lawn and a communal garden. Dean adopts a golden retriever.

Fields rolling on, I love it when you call my name

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

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm? Watching your arm

Two months into Castiel’s first year of graduate school they have a picnic, taking advantage of the lingering warmth of the California fall. Sam is off in the field playing with Zeppelin, obviously having used the ‘come meet my brother’s dog’ excuse to invite the pretty blonde woman (Jess?) chasing the golden with him. Dean is rambling about Star Trek and Castiel is paying half attention, the majority of his focus on the reading in front of him because professors don’t consider picnics an extension-worthy excuse.

He’s just started to get invested when he hears a yelp and looks up to see Dean Winchester, his best friend, most trusted confidant and the possible love of his life, swatting a bumblebee. Cas gasps, reading forgotten, and lunges across the picnic blanket to grab Dean’s wrist. “Dean.” He chastises, and Dean gives him a look.

“It’s a bee, Cas.”

“It’s a bumblebee, which are essential—”

“To our ecosystem, yeah, but it’s pretty essential to me that it doesn’t sting me.”

“It won’t sting you if you don’t swat at it.”

“You didn’t see the look on it, man. It meant business.”

“Bees are attracted to sugar. You probably just smell good.”

Dean grins. “You calling me sweet, Cas?”

And, well, no. He isn’t. He’s talking about the empty pie tin next to Dean. But the words make him realize just how close they are, how far he’d moved into Dean’s space in his efforts to stop his hand, how the force of the movement had pushed Dean almost back onto his elbows.

He opens his mouth to respond the way he usually does to Dean’s cavalier flirting, but the words don’t leave his mouth—which is, somehow, he swears, closer to Dean’s than it was a second ago. Just as Castiel is preparing to push back, clear his throat, and add this moment onto a growing list of almost-but-not-quite moments stretching back years, Dean sucks in a breath and closes the gap.

Castiel reacts before his brain can fully comprehend what’s going on, bypassing any shock entirely and kissing Dean back immediately. He lets go of his wrist, instead bringing his hand to the side of Dean’s face, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. Dean pushes himself back up and wraps an arm around Castiel’s waist, pulling him essentially into his lap, and then they’re kissing, and Dean smells like summer and tastes like apple pie, and Castiel suddenly understands more than ever why bees are always buzzing around him.

It feels like a lifetime until it’s over, until they’re just staring at each other and out of breath, both scared to say anything and break the magic they’d accidentally created. The silence is only broken by a shout from across the grass, followed shortly by a tennis ball that nearly misses them, followed by 65 pounds of golden retriever that does not miss them and nearly topples Castiel in his pursuit of the ball. And then Sam comes running after the dog, still shouting—apologies, this time—and then there’s Jess, laughing hysterically, and then Castiel has to scramble out of the way because Zeppelin has made a U-turn, interpreting the whole commotion as a game of keep-away.

Dean meets his eye above the chaos and grins, and the sunlight hits his dirty blonde hair, and it’s so breathtaking Castiel almost forgets to smile back.

I love it when you look my way.

#destiel fluff #deancas fluff #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel #fic #spn #i told myself i wasn't gonna repost this but this verse lives rent free in my head so like. here u go sorry #also i like it and want it on my blog!!!#my words #(tumblr actually put this in the tags challenge)#over 1k words

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slipping-through-my-fingertips · 4 years ago

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Klaine it up! 2, 7, 12, 21, 50

Okay...I got this. PROMPTS FOUND HERE

2 - you accidentally sprayed them with yogurt when you open the lid the wrong way.

This was not Kurt Hummel’s first time opening yogurt but it might’ve well have been. He was sitting at a picnic table in Central Park on his lunch break from Vogue.com having just picked up a BLT, sweeten iced tea, and strawberry yogurt from his newfound favorite sandwich shop. It just happened to be two blocks down from the Vogue offices too.

After eating half a sandwich, he found himself watching three young girls practicing their hula-hooping skills. Of course, while entranced by the colorful swirls of plastic, Kurt grabbed his low-fat yogurt and pulled at the lid, and the minute he did another man was being dragged by his golden retriever over to Kurt’s table.

Before he could stop it, a splash of light pink yogurt was splattered across the front of a bright blue polo.

“Shit, I am so sorry,” they both said.

Kurt had a lap full of puppy and the man covered in yogurt.

“She’s really friendly and has a fondness for bacon,” the man said, gesturing to the sandwich. “And who can blame her.”

With that comment, Kurt pushed his meal away slightly. Out of reach of the dog’s mouth.

“I usually am way more careful with my food,” Kurt said.

The handsome man only laughed, “it’s no big deal, do you happen to have a napkin?”

“Oh yes!” Kurt reached into his bag to grab one.

“Thanks,” he said, “come here, Lacey.”

The puppy sat right at his side and waited. Kurt stood up to wipe the yogurt away while the man kept Lacey still.

“I can...” he started to say but Kurt was already pulling away having cleaned it up the best he could.

“Lacey and I also share a fondness for cute boys but I don’t suppose...” he trailed off, blushing.

Kurt still wasn’t used to being flirted with but this wasn’t small town, Ohio.

“And who can blame you,” Kurt replied, already grabbing a pen and paper from his bag to write on.

THE REST OF THE PROMPTS CAN BE FOUND BELOW THE CUT

7 - you both do the side-to-side dance when you try to pass them in the grocery store aisle

Kurt told his dad to pick up an extra heavy whipping cream three days ago when Burt asked if Kurt needed any other ingredients for Thanksgiving dessert. He told him.

“I only need 3 things: dark chocolate, heavy whipping cream, and almond extract.”

Burt had gotten everything but Kurt needed whipping cream for both the chocolate mousse itself and the whipped topping he planned to make. Now he was at the crowded grocery store one day prior to Thanksgiving. Exactly where he didn’t want to be.

Of course, every grocery store made you walk all the way to the back of the store for dairy products. I’ll just grab milk and eggs real quick, you think, then suddenly you have a cart full of snacks you didn’t need.

Kurt found the red and white carton fairly quick. He backed up and started to make his way to the self-checkout. Before he could think about the temptation of potato chips, he was stopped by another body.

They both stopped and shifted their feet to make way for the other. From right to left and back again for several seconds before both falling into pits of laughter. Kurt looked into deep hazel eyes that twinkled at him. He wondered how long he could do this dance just to stare at them some more.

“That’s my fault, I came around the corner too quick,” he said.

Not quick enough, Kurt thought, we could’ve fallen to the floor. You on top of me would be quite nice.

“No, it’s all me,” Kurt replied, “I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

He fumbles into his pocket for a business card. Isabel’s one-month anniversary gift.

“If you’re in town longer than tomorrow, I’d love to buy you some coffee as an apology,” Kurt said, handing the card over.

“Oh.” Kurt watched him scan the card, flipping it over in his hands. “I’d love to, Kurt.”

A shiver ran down his spine. Maybe he should thank his dad for forgetting the cream.

12 - you kick a ball and your shoe flies off, hitting them in the back of your head

Blaine used to hate having an older brother. Growing up, he felt constantly in competition with Cooper’s larger-than-life personality. Now that Cooper had settled down in LA with Lisa, his wife, and had two wonderful kids, having an older sibling didn’t seem too bad.

It was summer break, Blaine was free to leave the confines of his NYU dorm room. He was trying to get lost in the sunshine of California to forget he was about to start his final year of college. Time with his niece and nephew was sure to put any nervousness out of his head.

They were playing soccer in the park when it happened. It was bound to. Everyone in LA was hot. It was like the law.

Cute boys and Blaine’s non-existence coordination weren’t a good mix.

Blaine went to kick the ball and caught sight of a bicep. An unusually pale bicep. A rare sight in sunny Los Angles. Arms, Blaine fantasized, he’d love to see wrapped around him or possibly pushing his legs apart.

He was sure he tighten his laces. This is why Blaine Anderson didn’t wear sneakers. Missed the ball by an inch but the force of his kick sent something flying through the air directly towards the cute guy: a sneaker.

It happened so fast, Blaine heard the yell of surprise before realizing his sock was exposed. Once he realized what happened, he rushed over to the man.

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” Blaine said. “Can I do anything?”

“Well, an aspirin would be great,” the man teased.

Blaine sat in the grass and chuckled. Still extremely embarrassed.

“Not exactly the fairytale I always dreamed of.”

“Fairytale?” Blaine asked, scrunching up his nose in confusion.

“Cinderella,” he said, like it was obvious, “a lost shoe as it were.”

“I’m not Cinderella,” Blaine told him, “sorry to say. I’m more of a Blaine.”

“Kurt.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“I do believe this is yours,” Kurt said, handing over the shoe.

21 - Almost spilling a drink because you met their eyes and got distracted thinking how cute they are.

His dad always said pour your drinks yourself. Blaine became that friend who grabbed drinks for everyone for this reason exactly. He wasn’t sure what the occasion was exactly but his study buddy from his songwriting workshop invited him. It was at some loft in Bushwick but Blaine didn’t mind the adventure.

Until tonight he had no reason to venture to this part of the city.

“Blaine!” Elliott exclaimed, pushing a solo cup into his hand, “Drink up, karaoke at eleven!”

Then he disappeared into the crowd. Blaine headed straight for the kitchen and poured the toxic mixture down the sink. He found a new cup and started reading the labels of the bottles spread out across the counter. Mixers and any alcohol of your choice seemed to be available.

Rum and coke sounded good. He went into the fridge for a cold soda first. Blaine was happy the kitchen was empty he wasn’t quite ready to start making friends. As far as he knew, Elliott was the only friendly face here tonight.

He poured the rum in for some semblance of tracking his alcohol intake. The last time he got drunk, he dialed the professor he TA-ed for, who thankfully overlooked that incident. Blaine cracked open the coke and while he poured surveying the living room.

People were dancing to an upbeat pop song that Blaine strangely didn’t recognize and others were mingling in doorways or sat on scattered sofas and chairs chatting. He caught a pair of blue eyes in the crowd.

The man they were attached to was stunning. If he hadn’t blinked, Blaine could’ve mistaken him for a marble statue carved by the gods. They didn’t lose eye contact as he walked towards the kitchen. It wasn’t until the man stood on the other side of the counter that Blaine noticed his hand was covered in soda.

“Papers towels are behind you,” the man offers.

Blaine set the now empty can down and spun around for paper towels to clean up his mess.

Just great, he thought, make a fool out of yourself. That’ll score you some points.

He cleans up his hand before wiping down the puddle of bubbling coke on the counter.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he continues, “and this is my party so I like to know all my guests.”

“Your party?” Blaine stutters.

“It’s my birthday.”

“I’m Blaine,” he introduces. “Elliott invited me. We have a class together.”

“Oh, you’re Blaine. From songwriting workshop.”

“That’s me.”

Elliott’s obviously talked about him before to this man. This gorgeous, completely out of Blaine’s league man.

“God, he’s relentless,” he says. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Um, might I ask why? I can leave if there’s an issue.” Blaine knows when he isn’t welcome.

“No, no,” he replies, “don’t go. It’s just he’s been trying to set us up for months now.”

It all clicks.

“Oh god, you’re Kurt.”

“That’s me, the birthday boy. and you are Elliott’s idea of the best gift ever.”

Blaine blushes. “I don’t know if I can I've up to that but if I can have the next dance I can try.”

Kurt nods. “I’d like that, Blaine. A lot.”

50 - getting paired up on an amusement park ride that requires even-numbered riders

All of Kurt’s friends hated rollercoasters. Rachel didn’t like heights, Elliott refused to do anything with loops, and Santana, well, she was too caught up in her new girlfriend to be bothered.

“I only wanna hear screaming tonight,” she told him.

So, Kurt waited in line himself. Some fun day at Coney Island this was turning out to be. He was so glad he was spending the day with friends. Kurt rolled his eyes.

The woman directing the ride gave Kurt his row number and moved down the line. Behind him someone tapped on his shoulder, Kurt turned around and found himself looking at a curly-haired man around his age.

“Guess we’re both odd men out then, I’m the single rider in my group today.”

“Oh, um, no, my friends were too chicken to even ride,” Kurt said.

“I’m really surprised Wes and David are good to go. They both hate being upside-down.”

Kurt smiled.

“I'm Blaine, by the way.”

“Kurt.”

The ride emptied out and Kurt crawled over to the far seat. They buckled themselves in and listened to the instructions to keep all body parts inside at all times. Then, the bar came down and the ride launched.

After the ride ended, Blaine and Kurt were chatting all the way down. Wes and David trailing behind them.

“That second loop really threw me,” Blaine was saying.

“I saw,” Kurt exclaimed, “I thought you were going to fall out of your seat.”

“Downfalls of being short and compact.”

When three more people joined their day at the park, no one questioned it.

#this was a lot at once but SO FUN #monica's inbox #my fics #klaine drabbles #meet cutes

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

Text

“You Get Me” Pt. 3 (famous!y/n x harry)

Aka “Kissy” 🥺

honestly its really just domestic harry bahaha and I added that they have a slight age gap ?but seriously I hope y’all enjoy the third and final installment of my first ever writings - a little miniseries if you will. I loved writing this part sm, probably my favorite part yet. I linked a spotify playlist that was some inspo (I literally listened to your summer dream on repeat for one part that I wrote, that song is so beautiful) anyways - not really proofread and I tried to break it up more so it was less big chunks to read formatting wise

here’s part 3! read: part 1 | part 2

word count: 4.0k | warnings: makeout sesh, shirtless harry!, nothing graphic tho (I think!)

tag list : @marauderswhisperer, @morgannope, @daddystevee, @kthemarsian, @bi-andready-tocry

playlist for the inspo✨

One Week Later

“Hey, Har...change of plans!” you exclaimed as you peaked through a door in Harry’s house.

You’d hung out together at your apartment once since your phone retrieval visit and the two of you had been texting constantly. You loved Harry’s company and Harry couldn’t get enough of you. Harry had called you late last night, ‘Want t’take you out tomorrow, love.’ his voice was groggy as if he was about to fall asleep. You’d instantly agreed and drove over to his house the next day. He was leaving back to London on Saturday, so it was your last day to see him for awhile.

Inside the door you had just opened, a beautiful vintage convertible sat. You had found the garage. “You are so driving this,” you turned to see the man who held your entire heart in his hands walking up beside you. Harry reluctantly agreed and leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Ready?” he questioned, holding up the soft blanket he had retrieved for your coastal picnic. You nodded, proudly displaying the little picnic basket you had packed full with food. Simultaneously the two of you reach for each other’s free hands, clasping them together and walking out to the car.

“I’m on aux, you can focus on the road,” you told Harry when both of you went for the cassette device that functioned to allow you to play music from your phone despite the age of the car. Harry loved how assertive you were even if it meant he didn’t always get his way. That was one of the reasons he liked you so much, your strength, your ability to hold your own in any situation, even with him, opposite of how a lot of people treated him in the industry in bids to get in his good graces. You were his match, so similar, yet so unique.

The pair of you started out on the road. Harry wore a white t-shirt with a blue bee slogan, purple trousers, and some clean white vans. His rings and pearl necklace wrapped up the look. His tattooed arms starkly contrasting the crisp white of his shirt. His eyes on the road were covered by large sunglasses, but his hair flew out behind him as the wind rushed over the car. You had chosen high waisted mom jean style denim shorts and a lavender femme top with a mesh white floral overlay, it had ties on the shoulders and it complimented your skin color perfect, tanned in from your life in the golden state. You too had your rings on and a silver necklace with your first initial hidden in the pendant. Even your clothes complemented each other.

The first song to play through the speakers was Joni Mitchell’s “California.” You looked over to see Harry smile and you two began to sing along. You didn’t talk much on the ride, staying silent other than singing along when you pleased, but you always made sure not to overpower the actual song, you didn’t like to do that if the music was there for ambiance. Harry would speak up a little when passing various things, just simply pointing them out. Then, after the first notes of “California Dreamin’” came on Harry couldn’t help buy say, “Y/N, seriously? S’not like I don’t love these songs, but please tell me you didn’t just search up ‘California’ and are playing tha’?” All you did was shush him and tell him this was one of your favorite songs before singing along.

Then, as the Mamas and the Papas voices began to fade out, Harry started again, “This next song’s title better not be fuckin’ California or somethin’ with-” but he stopped as the light quick notes of “Golden” came through the speakers, followed by his own voice. You grinned and gave his shoulder a little push. You had just gotten on the PCH and you remembered his mention of it being the quintessential coastal drive song a couple years ago so you had queued just in time.

A grin spreads onto his features that had been in slight exasperation at your antics previously and shakes his head at you, does a little finger shake vaguely in your direction, “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.”

You both burst out in song, practically yelling the first chorus, Harry taking little harmony parts that most wouldn’t even notice, but he notices them, he made them. You dance in your seat to the song, taking control of the background ‘da da da’s. Harry is in awe of how well your voice sounds with the track, when you sing along to the second verse, much more seriously than the first one you had screamed together. He glanced over at your moving figure that began to sway at the slowing of the song. You weren’t wearing sun glasses and you had your eyes closed, basking in the shining sun. You looked at peace, yet completely fulfilled and overjoyed. In that moment, Harry knew he wanted to keep making you feel the way you did right now every time you were together. The song ended and your playlist continued, random songs regarding California and the feeling you get with someone you care about - makes you feel sunkissed.

“You’re literally so corny,” Harry laughs to you when ‘California Girls’ by the Beach Boys came on. You throw side eyes at him, “What can I say, Brian Wilson knew, California girls are where it’s at,” you roll your lips into your mouth and then bite your bottom lip.

The drive continued with you giving a rousing rendition of ‘California Gurls’ with Harry as Katy Perry and you as Snoop Dogg as you had insisted. Harry even busted out some minimal dance moves while driving the car, honking the horn at the appropriate moment. You made Harry feel like he was 19 again.

Then, straight into ‘Canyon Moon,’ Harry really was in disbelief of the woman next to him. You got so into the “I’m goin’ home” part of the song. Harry said, “Really like tha’ one, I gather,” after it finished. It was your turn to look at him in disbelief, “It’s my favorite, Har, I remember listening to Fine Line the first time and loving it immediately. Still loved it even after everyone else barely talked about it. Deserved so much more, s’amazing.” You finished with a half smile slipping onto your face. Harry gave a quiet ‘thanks’ and returned the smile.

Harry was finally satisfied with where you had landed along the coast. There had been no set destination, just a plan to drive to a lookout for the picnic. Finding a small parking area, you two gathered your items and set out for the perfect spot. The California coast really is beautiful. You’d lived there your whole life, just further up north, moving down to Los Angeles when you started your music career. You ran ahead of Harry to seek out a little bluff you’d seen in the distance. “Oi!” Harry called, but didn’t run to catch up, he had taken the picnic basket and it had drinks that wouldn’t be great if they were all shaken up.

You were right, it was the perfect spot, a little ways up from the set path there was a flat surface on the edge of a cliff, it was safe, with wildflowers and tall grass around a more bare area. You layed out the large blanket, then stood and watched as Harry made his way to you. His hair was every which way due to the wind whipping through it during the car ride, you subconsciously ran your hands through your hair for that reason. He looks gorgeous, you thought.

When he arrived at your little patch, he sat down the basket and you threw your arms around his neck. You pulled yourself into him and basked in his glow, his warmth and scent. He held you and ran a hand through your hair. The pair of you could have silly fun, but you could also be extremely intimate. In these quiet moments you wished you could stop time and live here forever. To live in his arms would be a wonderful thing. “So happy right now, darling,” Harry whispered, the soft swish of grass and the distant crash of waves the only sounds he had to speak above. You said nothing, but pushed yourself even further into his body, a response in and of itself. In this moment, there was no one else, just you, Harry, and the beautiful nature you stood in. This moment was everything. And you didn’t want to set it free.

Eventually, the two of you parted and relaxed into the blanket. For once, neither of you played music, you talked and ate and listened to the ambient sounds of nature. The melodic waves carried the conversation, when neither of you felt the need to say words. After eating, you let Harry pop the bottle of champagne he had brought along, unbeknownst to you, nevertheless when you saw it you wanted to be the one to uncork it. Still, your protests fell on deaf ears. “Y’seem to be getting very used to getting everythin’ you want, huh? Already a spoiled princess after a couple months of fame,” Harry teased as he worked to open the bottle. You huffed at his teasing and your failed attempt to get the bottle from him, which had caused him to move off the blanket and have his shirt be stretched from you grabbing at the bottle and only getting fabric.

“Whatever, don’t act like you’re not a total diva sometimes, Styles.” You couldn’t deny that him calling you a ‘spoiled princess’ made you feel things, unholy things. Of course you found Harry unbelievably attractive, but this was your fourth time being with Harry and the two of you hadn’t done anything besides heavy makeout sessions. You loved the way he said your name, but you also loved his nicknames for you, but this was a new one that seemed to hold some meaning within it.

Harry liked to see you all worked up, but knew he could get the exact same way, upset when things don’t turn out the way you want them. Frustrating. Finally, he popped the cork and you both cheered for the golden bubbly liquid. You had spent almost about an hour on the road and an hour or two already on the cliff, so the sun was starting to make its farewells to this side of the earth. The sky was beginning to light up with pinks, oranges, and lavenders. You both sat back down on the blanket, this time with you sat up inside of Harry’s spread legs, reclining back onto his chest.

You continued to talk, about the view before you for a little, but then each other. Whenever you were together, the two of you gravitated to the topic of enjoying the other so much. Today was apparently Harry’s turn to share. “When we were in tha car, earlier,” he started as you twiddled your fingers on his thigh, drawing shapes. You looked up into his eyes to encourage him to continue. “Haven’t had tha’ much fun in awhile. You…” he hesitated again and averted his eyes from your stare. You whispered a little ‘yeah’. You really cared about Harry feeling comfortable with you and making him happy, so you knew encouragement was helpful when he was trying to gather his thoughts. “Y’make me feel young...tha’ sounds so dumb, but y’really do,” he finally got out as put his hand over your moving one on his thigh. The two of you didn’t talk about the fact that Harry was a bit older than you. He was famous when you were a puberty-stricken teenager. The age gap wasn’t really an issue, you were both adults, but his statement reminded you that he would be 30 soon and you were still in your early 20s.

You twisted around to sit on your knees and face Harry. You placed both of your hands on his face, cradling his jaw and cheeks on each side of his face. This forced him to look you right in the eyes. You appreciated the beauty of his piercing green eyes for a moment and then went to kiss his crows feet on the sides of his eyes, his forehead lines, his hairline, his five o’clock shadow, and his smile lines, that had cropped up as he giggled at you. You were making exaggerated kiss noises as you loved on his face. “First of all, you are young,” you finally said in audible words. You waited a beat, then you kissed his soft lips that were smiling up at you. He was still smiling when you kissed him so your lips hit a bit of a tooth and you both giggled. But, you stood strong, not pulling away to laugh. Harry kissed you back. He shifted and brought his hands up from the ground where they had been holding him up to cradle your body instead. The kiss stayed chaste, despite Harry’s protests when you pulled back.

“And second, you make me feel alive.” “Alive…” Harry echoed you slowly, “Tha’s a better way to put it. I am young,” He smirked and then winked at you. You moved your hands to sit on his upper chest and could feel his heart beating soft, but strong beneath his skin. You grabbed his arm and moved it from around you. Harry quirked a brow at you. Then you placed his hand above your left breast and below your collarbone. Now he could feel your heartbeat, too. Yours, you thought, was beating a bit faster than his, but you didn’t care. Touching like this, made you feel close to him. Like you could see inside each other.

You finished off the bottle of champagne because Harry had to stop drinking to be able to drive the two of you home safely. You felt very warm from it, despite the sun setting a while ago and your bare arms and legs. Luckily, besides the slight buzz you had, it was summer in California, and the nights stayed relatively warm. You skipped to the car and bent over the convertible to put the picnic basket in the backseat. Harry was right behind you and gave your bum a light pat, you pulled yourself up and flipped around, giggling. You tugged Harry in by his shirt and demanded, “Kissy.” Harry snorted and obliged, but with an open mouthed kiss where his tongue basically slobbered over your lips, mouth, and a bit of your nose. You whined, “You’re fucking disgusting, Har.” “Ya’ love it,” he responded with a faux posh voice before giving you a quick peck to your lips and rounded the car, telling you to get in and buckle up.

The whole ride home, Harry had his hand on your thigh. With it there, you occupied yourself with twisting his rings and and dancing your hand around his fingertips. The champagne had made you quiet, but smiley. The music you played was softer on the ride back home, you knew Harry needed to focus with the dark road and you didn’t want the music to distract him.

One song that was of note was “Lavendar (Take 4)” by the Beach Boys. The recording is somewhat unpleasant, but the song is beautiful. It had reminded you of the clothes you and Harry had worn on your date, the wildflowers that had just surrounded you, and the color of the sky when the sun had set on the scene of you and Harry tenderly kissing each other. The Beach Boys are known for their California, Surf pop sounds, but this sound is soft and filled with lushious harmonies, an ode to lavender, maybe a girl named lavender, but nonetheless it was for lavender. Harry harmonized along with their voices, returning to his original state. It ended and went straight into Simon & Garfunkel’s “America.” Paul Simon’s voice passed through the speakers and whispered to us sweetly. Harry again hummed in appreciation for the song choice.

When you arrived at the house, you helped Harry clean up the dishes and trash in the picnic basket. Then you sat on the couch, it was around ten o’clock and Harry had offered to make a pot of tea. You looked over the back of the couch as he moved around his kitchen. He padded around, putting the kettle on, opening cupboards for mugs and tea choices. When the water was ready, he got the tea ready, choosing a loose-leaf blend he’d found at a fancy restaurant in Amsterdam. “No cream tonight,” you called, still watching him work his way around his home.

Admiration shown in your eyes as he nodded and finished up the tea, bringing it over to you at the couch. He chose your mug tonight. Different from the previous two, his and yours were a matching set with dark blue interiors with tiny cartoon sailboats. You loved his collection of fun mugs, it fit him so well. After handing it to you, he snuggled in beside you and you took a sip, then rested your head on top of his strong shoulder. You turned your head to give a light kiss to his shoulder, and then moved back to staring ahead of you.

“Wanna stay?” Harry asked, his arm around your body, holding you close to him. “Can just drive ‘ome in the mornin’,” he continued. “That’d be really nice,” you sighed. This was so comfortable, how was in possible to be like this with someone you’d known for a little over a week? It didn’t matter to either of you how quick it had happened. But it happened, and it felt right, so you went with it. This, what you and Harry had, made you happy so there couldn’t really be anything wrong with that.

You two chatted a bit more - about your week of tour preparations, Harry’s flight time tomorrow, various random thoughts, - and you drank your tea. At about midnight, Harry suggested that you and he get ready for bed and then watch something on his laptop. You agreed and ventured into an unknown part of his home. You’d started to snoop earlier today when you had found the garage, but had only gotten that far because you got distracted by Harry’s car.

His house was beautiful and perfectly him. It was big, but his decor and things made it specifically Harry, even if he didn’t live here full time anymore. You reached the master bedroom, located in the back of his house, with french doors, identical to those in the sitting room, opening out to the grass in his backyard. His bed. His bed. It was a California King with tasteful bedding and a beautiful wooden headboard and frame.

You ran and jumped onto it, the bed sinking beneath you and the bedding fluffing around you. You snuggled and rolled around in the sheets, “This is so much nicer than my bed in the apartment, it’s only a full…” you trailed off. Harry leaned against the doorway of the room, smiling to himself as he watched you make yourself at home among this life. “You’ll be gettin’ a new place, soon, I reckon?” Harry asked and went to grab you both some clothes to sleep in from his closet. “Yeah, maybe!” you called out to him in the little room connected to the master that housed his clothes.

When Harry returned, he was only in boxers, but was holding two large t-shirts, a pair of sweatpants, and another pair of boxers. “D’ya mind if I sleep like this? I can put more clothes on if that makes you more comfortable?”

You couldn’t keep your jaw from dropping. You’d seen Harry shirtless before, everyone had, but to see him right in front of you, that was something else.

He noticed you staring at his body and smirked, but then threw a shirt and the pair of boxers your way, “Stop bein’ such a perv, love,” he teased. “Rude,” you muttered, “Was simply admiring...but if you don’t want me to look, you can sleep fully clothed,” you scratched your nose and then shrugged your shoulders.

As you worked to slide off the big bed, Harry crossed the room and trapped you on the edge, leaning over you with both his hands landing on either side of you on the bed. You scrunch your eyes and nose up as he tries to make eye contact with you. He goes to kiss you, but you turn your head and your cheek receives a kiss. He stays against your cheek, drags out your name and groans, “s’teasin’ you.” “I know, baby,” you respond and kiss his cheek now. You duck under his arm and run into his en suite bathroom, shutting the door to change. When you re-emerge, Harry’s in the bed, with the sheets pulled back, and his computer in his lap.

Harry calls out to you without looking up from his screen, “S’was thinkin’, y’know, since you’re always saying your apartment is tiny, y’could house sit ‘ere while I’m away?” You tilt you head as you approach the bed as you ponder the idea. “I mean, I guess ‘why not’? It would be a longer commute into the studio, but this place is gorgeous, and I’m gonna start traveling a lot anyway so I won’t need my apartment for much longer…” You continue to think on it as you climb back onto Harry’s bed and snuggle yourself into his body. Harry looks slightly down at you by his side, he’s put on his glasses, “Think you should, I’d also like knowin’ someone was ‘ere, keepin’ things running while I’m away.”

You nodded and move slightly to rest your head on Harry’s naked chest. His sunkissed tattooed body is mesmerizing, you reach your hand up and start tracing the various designs and running your hand along his collarbones and veins as well. Then you flattened a palm and smoothed it over his right pectoral. Harry hummed and pushed himself further down the bed. “Can we not watch anything actually, m’kinda tired,” you whisper up to Harry, your voice the only sound in the house besides the light clicking of a clock in a different room. Harry responds by closing the laptop and readjusting your position in the bed. You and Harry are a tangle of legs and bodies pressed against one another. Everything is calm and Harry says one word, “Kissy.” And you smile and let yourself pull slightly away from Harry to lean up and kiss him one more time before the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms. It’s soft and chaste, completely closed mouths, but you linger in the kiss, feeling his warm nose brushing besides yours. A hand moves up to his hair and gives it one good run through and then you pull away, “Kissy,” you finalize. The two of you giggle and snuggle even further together.

Your bodies fit so well together and again you were struck with the feeling that you never wanted this to end, even if tomorrow he was flying away, to somewhere halfway across the world. The distance didn’t matter. You knew the two of you had what it took to be there for each other, even if you couldn’t touch or feel the other. Even if laughter over the phone had to suffice for awhile. What the two of you had was greater than all of those obstacles of space and proximity. It was powerful because you were both powerful. Powerful in the way you loved, in the way you worked, in the way you simply were. You fell asleep in Harry’s arms that night filled with contentment. Harry fell asleep with you in his arms that night filled with joy that he’d found someone to share everything with. Someone who was willing to give him all of themselves. Someone who was finally able to get all of him.

love y’all sm 🤍🤍 hope you enjoyed and have a nice day

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles is domestic #famous!reader #famous!y/n #famous!y/n x harry styles #you get me #kissy #ahhh hope you enjoy #my writings #like i know describing their outfits is lowkey juvenile but its like IMPORTANT to their characters bc they thrive off of fashion

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kittydemon9000 · 4 years ago

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I wrote a thing for @anxiousworm‘s Spirit Kai au which has been living rent free in my brain for the last however long so ENJOY

In all his years of living, his first memories were both the worst and best of his life.

Granted, he was pretty sure they weren’t actually his first. He always had a vague sense he was missing something, something that came before, but alas.

He remembered standing before a rundown home, something inside pulling him like a tether.

He remembered passing through the door and the overwhelming smell of alcohol and empty bottles that littered the entire room.

He remembered following the tether to a small closet in the back of the house.

He remembered the soft sniffles.

He remembered the burning rage that filled his soul.

But it was nothing compared to when he opened the door.

Curled up in a tight ball was a young child, if he had to guess she was maybe three or four years old.

She looked at him with tear streaked cheeks and water eyes and mumbled a simple question.

“Who are you?”

“I….I don’t know.”

Her name was Nya, and she was the first of many children.

He remembered pulling her into a hug, only for her to disappear.

But he didn’t panic. Something about it felt….right.

He remembered the heat of the fires as they consumed the house.

He remembered the look of pure happiness when he visited Nya in Home, a place where no one but him and those he brought could go. A place where he could raise his Children in peace and happiness.

He remembered the first time she called him Brother, saying that he reminded her a lot of her real older brother, someone by the name of Kai

He was never able to find Kai, much to both of their disappointment.

So yes. They were his worst memories, but also his best.

And after Nya, there were hundreds more children, and he remembered every single one.

Most, he brought back Home, so he could raise them along with the others, but some he gave to new families.

A particular case that stood out to him was an infant. The father was always busy and didn’t care for him, oftentimes going weeks without even being in the same room.

He didn’t know how he knew these things, he just did.

Luckily, he’d found the infant a new home, in a scrapyard belonging to a lovely couple who’d sadly been unsuccessful in having a child of their own. Every once in a while he would check in on them, and they were doing a fantastic job.

Another case was a boy he’d found wandering the snow, lost and confused. He couldn’t explain what it was, but despite the child’s older exterior, he was still young. Very young with much of the world left to experience.

He’d brought him Home, but the boy only stayed a short while, claiming he wished to find his place in the world, and who was he to deny his request.

Then, a few months later, another child, this one running away from a special school. He always hated those places. What was the point of having a child if you were going to send them away to be raised by someone else?

But, alas, there wasn’t much he could do for him. He also brought him to Home, but he too wanted to go out.

Then…..there was Lloyd. Poor, sweet, not-too innocent Lloyd.

He had found him wandering the island, causing mischief as he went. But deep down, he knew Lloyd was never bad, simply misguided. Built up to be this great son of the dark lord, when really he was just a young boy who needed guidance.

He had at first hated Home, wanting to go back to Ninjago, but after a few days and some coaxing from the other children, he loved it. He realized there was no expectations for him there or a need to compete for attention. All of it was freely given.

He would never admit it allowed, but Lloyd became one of his favorites, right alongside Nya.

But beyond the troubles, life was good. His Children were happy, safe and learning from the security of Home.

But then there was the Great Serpent. The first of many tragedies.

So many children were lost, so many more lost their families, and even more were traumatized. Like the young Harumi, who had yet to speak a word since he retrieved her.

Then, there was the Stone Army, impenetrable soldiers who wouldn’t hesitate to kill the children they found.

He saved even less that time. He remembered being so terrified, thinking he’d failed, but actually they had been saved by The Protectors, but more on them later.

Then….there was the Golden Spirit.

The Golden Spirit was a creature of destruction and death and suffering. It’s aura was wicked and dark and threatened to consume him completely. It probably would have…..if it weren’t for the White Protector.

And oh the agony he felt when he was killed. He was tethered to every one of his Children, and losing one was already an unbearable pain. But, the force of his tether snapping was more painful than any time before it. Like he was truly being erased from existence.

Luckily he was returned soon, though the scars remained.

Which led him to now, standing before his Children.

“Who are you?” Cole demanded. “And why are you stealing kids?”

But he just smiled. “It is good to see you again, my Children. I hope life has been kind.”

Jay sputtered. “What are you saying?!? And why are you calling us your kids?”

But he just smiled. But of course, his Children were just confused. They’d been fighting for so long, never having a rest. He wanted to give that to them.

“You have been fighting for so long, it is time for you to rest.”

They went in guard. The leader stepped forward.

“We don’t want a fight. Just tell us why you’re taking children and we’ll go.”

“I do not take the Children. I am rescuing them.” He started. “I help them escape from families who do not love them, I give them places to stay when they don’t have any families at all, I show them the love they deserve.” He paused, looking them all over. “Just like I did for all of you.”

They all froze. “What are you talking about?” Zane asked.

It always hurt when he had to alter their memories of Home, but it was for the safety of all. However, he always kept the fun.

“Jay.” He said. “You were too young to remember, but when you were an infant and I delivered you to your parents, I did not leave you alone.” Jay looked perplexed, so he continued. “You recall the blue stuffed creature that you’ve had since you were young? What did you name it….Mr…..Mr….”

“Mr.Cuddlywhump!” Jay exclaimed. “I still have him!”

“Jay!” Cole hissed, but he was already beaming.

His Child loved his gift. He loved it enough to keep it well into his older years, something many didn’t do. I warmed his heart.

“And Cole.” he turned to him. “When you ran away, I was the one to get you somewhere safe.”

Cole glared. “No you didn’t, it was…...was…..” he trailed off, clearly struggling to remember.

“I had to erase your memories, in order to keep the others safe. You didn’t want to remain at Home, so I took you somewhere safe.”

He turned to the last of his Children.

“And Zane. I found you wandering the icy woods, lost and afraid. I brought you Home, then let you back into the word. Surely you recall a handful of years you cannot properly remember, yes?”

The silence coming from him was telling.

“Why did you let us go?” He finally asked. He felt his smile fall slightly.

“I do not mean to keep my Children captive. They all stay there by their own will. Once they are old enough, or if I find them a family, I let them back into the world. But, every child I have taken in, every single one, I watch over. And the second they need me again, I’m right back there.”

His smile fell away completely. “But I….I failed you. All of you. You were placed in danger time and time again because of my decisions. And in the end….” he looked to Zane. “it cost you your life. But not longer.” His cloak has started flaring up and a few of his fire lights started glowing brighter, but he quickly calmed himself. He didn’t want to scare his Children anymore than he already had.

“But that is why I’m here now. To take you back Home, where you’ll be safe once again.”

“Wait a minute, hold on, we can’t just leave!” Jay exclaimed. “Ninjago needs us to protect them!”

Oh boy, he thought this might happen. His Children were quite stubborn, it seemed.

He waved his hand. “The police can handle it. It is, after all, what they are supposed to do. You are children. Your job is to grow and learn, not protect an entire world.”

They started protesting, but he wasn’t having it.

“Hush now, you will be safe.”

He spread his cloak and carefully let it descend upon the and then….

They were gone. Disappeared and sent to the safety of Home, with all the others.

Hopefully they would get along with the other Children. They were definitely on the older end, but not completely out of possibility.

Nya, now quite far into her older years, would probably show them around. She was the only adult currently allowed in Home, but that may change someday. He never could bring himself to let her go, and it’s not like she wanted to leave either.

He looked to the moon, cursing at how late it had gotten. He still needed to check on a few of his Children living nearby, as well as check on the twins that lived nearby. He had a sneaking suspicion something was going on there.

Life for the Flaming Spirit, as the locals called him, was never over and never dull, and he couldn’t be happier.

#:D #I had fun #ninjago #my writting #kai #kai smith #nya #nya smith #cole #cole brookstone #jay #jay walker #zane #zane julien #lloyd #lloyd garmadon #spirit au

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tarlosbuddie · 4 years ago

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CapSwap - Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Summary of the fic: Bobby and Owen exchange their station and team for show called CapSwap produced by Taylor Kelly.

Chapter summary: New captain, new rules. Owen Strand arrives at the Station and the 118 is ready to have get to know him and to have some fun.

Word Count: 2478

Chapter: 2/?

Hanging banners has been a tradition in the 118 since Chimney, Hen and their former teammates hanged one to congratulate Bobby on winning the bet his first month here. They have had so many captains quitting after a few weeks that they wanted to celebrate, mostly by pranking him. So, before he arrived, they used the biggest ladder they could find and hung a white banner that read “You’re still here!!” and threw him a bunch of confetti as he walked in. Buck got his first one a few months only after he arrived. He came for his shift the day after being fired and the red letters formed the words “You’re not fired! (yet)”. It was one of the first times that he felt like it was a real family. Chimney had a few ones too, the most recent one was from when Bobby came back from his suspension and it read “Your reign is over Interim Captain Han”. It was Eddie’s idea. He knew Buck was on sick leave but he filmed the whole thing to cheer him up. They bought enough cakes and banners to be known by the local stores at the point.

This time, Chimney comes to work early, with the biggest smirk on his face. He is not about to break the tradition, especially with everything being caught on camera. Taylor and her crew are getting ready and Chimney waves at them.

“You guys don’t wanna miss this.”

“Get the camera ready.” She orders her team. “I need a strong clip for the promo of the show.”

Buck and Hen are already next to the ladder, ready to hang what Chimney always described as their best one yet.

“You’re sure it’s a good idea to prank the new captain?” Eddie asks. Taylor directs the camerawoman to film his reaction as she starts taking notes in her little notebook. “Maybe he’s not as cool as Bobby is” the firefighter adds.

The second person directs her camera toward Chimney who’s grinning. Taylor circles his name in her notes, hoping that by the end of the month, she will get the juicy reason behind his nickname.

“Trust me, when you’ll see this, you’ll know he’s not really shy,” Chimney promises.

“Okay Eddie, now move your pretty ass on that ladder,” Hen says.

Both Eddie and Chimney climb the ladders on opposite sides of the banner. Buck is not allowed to do it anymore since he proved he’s not capable of hanging a banner straight. So he just stays behind Eddie, having his back from the bottom of the ladder where he thinks about Hen’s comment. She is right, he can’t deny that.

The banner is a lot heavier than the ones they usually buy. Chimney insisted that it must stay rolled up until Captain Strands arrived. They climb the stairs, eager to start their shift. They all wait on the balcony, the oldest holding on the strings of the banner.

A car finally arrives, and Taylor keeps one of the cameras on the crew when she directs the second one toward the car. She has seen pictures of him and she picked him for her reason, the man looks perfect. She knows the public will love him and she’s counting on him making a grand entrance.

Owen gets out of the car, with his Austin Fire Department jacket as she requested in the contract. She was not expecting him to wear such a fit white tee-shirt underneath but she appreciates it. It would look great on the promo. He doesn’t bother to take his sunglasses off, he only moves them down a little to wink at the camera she asked them not to look at. She can cut it off, but she is not sure she will want to when she will check the footage.

He makes his way toward the inside of the house. He is about to take up the stairs when he hears whistles coming from the balcony.

The banner unfolds as he walks under it. It’s a huge picture of him from a firefighter calendar, wearing his NYFD pants, with the suspenders touching his bare chest. The text on the banner reads “Welcome to the 118 Mister December 2003.”

Everyone is laughing, including the man staring at a shirtless picture of himself taken 17 years ago. He runs toward the stairs to introduce himself. One of the cameras follows him when the other is on the opposite stairs.

“Welcome Captain Strand,” Eddie says first. He stands straight and shakes the captain's hand. The other members do the same, and Owen memorizes everyone’s favorite nickname. Chimney is the last member of the team to introduce himself.

“I’m Chim-” he starts but Owen cuts him.

“Mister April 2019. I’m guessing you’re the one I owe that great surprise to?”

“Huh, yeah.” He answers.

“Can one of you show me my office and the nearest shower please? I just spent the best part of the weekend in my car and I would kill for a shower, and a coffee.”

“You drove here, Captain?” Eddie asks.

“I was not gonna miss an opportunity to take a road trip to our beautiful country.”

“I’ll give you a tour” Eddie offers.

- -

Owen is taking the longest shower, so the crew decides to rest. The cameras are off, or at least off their faces so they can take a break. They are all sitting on different couches and there is still a free one when Eddie arrives toward his friends with a bowl of popcorn. Taylor walks toward them with a gentle smile on her face and Eddie walks faster to arrive before she does. He hurries up and sits next to Buck on the couch. It’s just more convenient to share the popcorn with his team, he tells himself while he looks at Taylor who’s sitting down on the last couch.

They are eating in silence, not daring to speak while she is here. Buck offers her some popcorn but she politely refuses. She looks even more uncomfortable than they are. Hen notices and invites her to the kitchen.

“Do you want a coffee?” she offers. “It’s bad but it will keep you awake for a long shift.”

“Yes, please,” Taylor answers shyly. “I know you guys all hate me. But I’m just trying to do my job.”

“We don’t hate you, girl,” Hen replies. “We are not fans of having cameras around though.”

“I thought Buck would be the one hating me after what happened between us.” Taylor says. She looks down at her coffee mug, taking one sip and confirming what Hen told her, it really is a disgusting beverage.

“Buckaroo is a golden retriever. I don’t think that boy is capable of hating someone.”

“What’s the deal between him and Eddie?” she asks while turning to face the couches where the three boys are chatting. Eddie is throwing popcorn in the air for Buck to catch them with his mouth. “I feel like he’s gonna murder me.”

“He’s just having Buck’s back,” Hen says. “We should go back to the boys before Buck chokes on a popcorn or something.”

They walk back toward the couchs, grimacing as they drink their coffee. Taylor explains some ideas she has and then she tells them that they will turn the cameras back one while they talk about Owen. She sits somewhere off camera and directs her team to start filming.

“So, what do you guys think about the new captain?” Buck asks. It’s not his natural tone and he has to force himself not to look at the camera. But then Eddie starts speaking and Buck has something more interesting to look at.

“He seems nice.” Eddie simply says.

“It’s hard to judge a book by its cover” Hen answers.

“We all did it with Eddie on his first day” Chimney says. Buck takes a handful of popcorn and sends it on his eldest friend who’s happily catching half of it with his mouth while the rest ends up on the couch. “What? I was talking about Hen’s comment, not about your jealousy.”

“Okay, first of all, I wasn’t jealous,” Buck clears, shifting a little on the couch to look more at Eddie. He can feel his face turning red from remembering that day. “And second, we were talking about Captain Strand.”

Eddie chuckles and adds “The man seems okay, we should give him a chance.”

“You okay Buck?” Chimney asks. “You look like you’re praying for an emergency right now”.

“Huh. I.” He starts, but Owen is finally out of the shower, wearing another tee-shirt that compliments his body. Buck wonders if this man already took a DXA scan to measure the fat in his body. He stands up and walks toward Owen.

“I think this is for you, Captain” Buck says. He holds an LAFD blue shirt, with the Strand name written on the metal name tag on the pocket.

The captain puts his long sleeves shirt on with the help of his youngest team member. He read a detailed file about these people but he still doesn’t know them like he knows the 126. He chose his entire team, learned to work with them and even though the idea of the show seemed interesting, Owen misses his team.

“So” Owen starts, he claps his hand and takes an enthusiastic tone. “Let’s get to know each other a little.”

“What would you like to know?” Eddie asks first.

“Come on, guys, this is not a job interview. I just wanna get to know the people who I’m working with.” Owen says. They all look at each other, it’s like the first day of school and no one wants to be the first to introduce themself to the new teacher.

Buck lets himself fall back on the couch and sights dramatically. He wouldn’t know where to start. So much has happened to them lately. Every person in this room could use some serious therapy and there’s a lot you can’t tell a person you just met. So how can the 118 introduce themselves without talking about all of the trauma around them?

“Okay, I’ll start” Owen says when it becomes clear that no one else would. “I’m from New York. I’ve been a firefighter there for two decades.”

“So, you were there when…” Eddie starts asking.

“I was.” Owen answers briefly before continuing his introduction. “My son and I moved to Austin a few months ago. He’s a firefighter in my station too. He’s about your age, Buck. Does your captain have kids?”

“You mean besides Buckaroo, here?” Chimney jokes.

“Bobby’s not my dad.” Buck pouts. He looks at Eddie, hoping he would take his defense but his friend just holds his hand up and pretends to zip his mouth shut.

Hen laughs at the three boys and answers Owen’s question “His wife has 2 kids.”

“Oh she remarried too. I have something in common with his wife. Do you guys have kids?”

“My wife and I have a son and we are fostering a baby girl,” Hen says.

“I have an 8 years-old son.” Eddie answers.

“His name is Christopher,” Buck adds, holding his phone up to show Owen the picture of Eddie and Chris he has on his lockscreen. “He’s the smartest kid!”

“Hey!” Hen cuts, pretending to be offended.

“I'm sure Denny and Nia will grow up to be as smart as Superman.”

“Are you two…” Owen starts. He felt like he might have missed some information in his files.

“Oblivious” Chim whispers and Hen laughs.

“Buck is helping me a lot with my son. Christopher loves his Buck.”

“And you, Mister April? Do you have any kids?”

“He’s dating my sister” Buck answers for him “So if he ever knocks her up, I’d better be the first one to know.”

Chimney almost chokes on the food he’s eating. Hen gently pads his back. He tells her everything, even the things Maddie made him promise not to talk about. She is his best friend and he can’t keep big news to himself. So she knows Buck won’t be the first one to know about the Hans’ new secret.

“You are dating his sister? Family dinners must be interesting.”

“She’s a 9-1-1 dispatchers. So you might get to talk to her while you’re in L.A.”

“Okay, bonding time is over for now.” Owen declares. “Probie, you start cooking while the others clean the rigs” he orders.

“Huh, probie?” Eddie asks when he sees his Captain looking at him. “My probation period ended last year.”

“According to your files, you’re the last one who arrived, which in my eyes, makes you a probie” Owen half jokes. He knows he misses his probie, and he’s probably trying to find a replacement for them. Judging by Chimney’s and Buck’s laughs, he knows the nickname is gonna stick for a while.

“Huh, the Cap was usually the one cooking.” Eddie says hesitantly.

“My house, my rules. Everyone takes turns in my house.”

“Then you’ll probably talk to my sister soon Captain, cause we are definitely going to call dispatch to report the entire house suffers from food poisoning.”

Everyone but Eddie takes down the stairs to clean up the trucks. Eddie looks at the kitchen, terrified. Even his kid that never complains about anything told him that he can’t cook. He doesn’t want to poison his captain on the first day. And the show is gonna be broadcast on national television, his whole family is gonna know what an awful cook he is.

The alarm goes off and puts him off his misery and he runs down the stairs. The team was already cleaning the truck so they climbed before he could even get to them. He’s the last one to arrive so Owen ends him the key.

“Heard you can’t cook” Owen says and everyone pretends they didn’t say a thing while they were cleaning the rig, “but I hope you can drive, Probie.”

Buck and Chimney’s phones buzzed from the back seat. Hen looks at the both of them, assuming it might have something to do with Maddie since they both got a text at the same time. She forgot her phone at the station, like she always does. Buck shows her the texts they received. It’s from a new whatsapp group they’ve all been added to.

Unknown Number: How’s the new cap treating you?

Unknown Number: Please, go easy on my dad.

Unknown Number: Yeah, we kinda like the old guy.

By this point, they’ve all guessed what this group chat is about but they get the final confirmation when they receive a picture of 5 firefighters doing funny faces while Bobby has his back turned.

Unknown Number: Thanks for lending us your Captain for a month. We'll try not to drive him crazy!

#Emilie writes #owen strand #evan buckley #eddie diaz #howard han #hen wilson #taylor kelly #prodigalleverage #captainstennerstar #userbeff #tell me if you want me to stop tagging you in this #CaptainSwap #(my english is not perfect I'm sorry!!)

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winterbites · 4 years ago

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Quicko thing I've seen about Yashahime

So, as a recent commenter and the general fanbase of InuYasha have said, the mother of Towa and Setsuna is theorized to be Rin. She's an obviously popular choice to be Sesshomaru's lover/baby mama. Honestly, I would be ELATED if she's confirmed canon as the mother but there are a few complications that need to be checked in order to reasonably explain the theory of her being the mother. Keep in mind, I'm not a guru of InuYasha and I'm going to be referencing mainly the anime canon for this. So, in the case that I get something wrong or miss something, don't mob my house and crucify me amongst my mint garden. With that being said, let's get into it!

So, right outta the gate is the obvious one: Rin's age as she's 11 years old at the end of InuYasha. The seasons never seem to change in the Feudal Era but we know it was spring when Kagome graduated high school and transported back to the Feudal Era. So, as we know that time in the Feudal Era moves at the same rate as the Modern Era due to the 3 year time skip, we can safely say it's fall during the Since Then chapter/episode. I'm not an expert in the Japanese school system but a quick Google search says Japanese high school begins in April and ends in March, so I'm just gonna assume I'm close enough. Anyway, we don't know Rin's birthday but, just for a best case scenario for the theory, we'll say Rin turned 12 during this time. The synopsis of Yashahime is that it begins "a few years after" Since Then and then time is skipped ahead by 10 years. The girls are 14 years old - 10 years + 9 months of pregnancy = they were 3-4 years old during "a few years after". If they were 3, then we'll just say they recently turned 14 as we're only counting the years and not the months or days. Now, in ye olde days girls were generally married off when they got their first period, and that usually happened when the young ladies turned 13-14 years old (due to changes in nutrients in the modern world's food, puberty and, thus, periods actually start earlier so that's why 13-14 years old might seem a bit old for it to start). With that in mind, I'm going to add a year to this Rin is the mother theory so that she can be 13 and become eligible for childbirth. Kinda weird to show a 13 year old as a mother but Miroku did have a 14 y/o girl beg to be his wife (Kagome commented on this as well) so it's obviously a line that Rumiko isn't afraid of crossing. Also, given that Miroku and Sango's twin daughters are 2-3 years old and Sango was a 16 y/o during InuYasha, Sango and Miroku were clearly married and got busy while she was still 16. This is Rumiko telling us that modern expectations don't mean shit in the Feudal Era; what we consider underage is overage in the Feudal Era.

Whew! I think that's the biggest one out of the way, so let's move on to genetics - phenotypes in particular (remember, genotypes have to do with genetic appearance and phenotypes have to do with physical appearance). Typically, children in the InuYasha universe look very similar to their parents. Sesshomaru is the spitting image of his parents: white hair, face markings (Sess takes after his mother in that category along with her pale skin) and golden eyes. InuYasha also takes after both his parents: Toga's tanned skin, golden eyes, white hair and (in his human form) Izayoi's black hair and eyes. We don't know what Kagome's father looked like but she does share many similarities to her mother in pretty much all phenotype categories. The only real difference between the two is that her mother's hair seems to be on the curly side while Kagome's (and Sota's) hair is more straightened, presumably a trait from their father. For an example from Yashahime itself, look no further than Moroha: brown eyes from Kagome, InuYasha's tanned skin, Kagome's (and technically InuYasha's) black hair - hell, she even got InuYasha's doglike behaviors (even if it was meant for comedy relief at most times). Setsuna and Towa though? They don't look a lot like Sesshomaru to begin with, let alone Rin. Assuming Rin is the mother, Setsuna has Rin's hair, Towa has Sesshomaru's hair, and both have Sesshomaru's pale skin; however, both girls have red segments in their hair and both have differently colored eyes, neither of which match their parents. Now, Setsuna and Towa are half-demons and, although we don't see a lot of half-demons in InuYasha, we DO know they don't always look like their parents. Case in point: Jeninji. Jeninji is...well, physically-wise, the general definition of a monster despite his father being godly in appearance along with a very pretty mother. The only other (canon) half-demon we've seen is Shiori, and the only things she got from her mother was her gender. So Towa and Setsuna, two confirmed half-demons, having physical features that match only one or neither of their parents? Fairly plausible.

Lastly is Rin and Sesshomaru's relationship and Sesshomaru's general relationship to the general human race. Sesshomaru fuckin hates humans, no ifs, ands or buts about that one; HOWEVER, there are a few humans that meet his exceptions. I'm fairly positive he only puts up with Kagome (she called him big brother at the end of InuYasha and no shit it looked like he wanted to kill her) because InuYasha loves her and I'm a firm believer that Sesshomaru cares for InuYasha more than he lets on. As I said in a previous post, Kohaku is on Sesshomaru's good list due to his efforts to protect Rin; I think the only reason Sesshomaru seemed to be harsher to Kohaku was because he was a boy and was expected to take care of himself (for example, Sesshomaru expressed annoyance at having to defend Kohaku and threatened to leave him to die but didn't follow through with it). Last human on Sesshomaru's 'this person is ok, I guess' list is, obviously, Rin. He loves her, no ifs, ands or buts about that either but we don't know what kind of love it is and we don't know where it could extend to as she grows older. When Rin died the second time, Sesshomaru cradled her body and probably would've cried if he was normal in literally any kind of way. When his mother (y'all ever realized that Sess's mother doesn't have a canon name?) revived Rin, Sesshomaru crowded her and caressed her cheek. As one of my dad's favorite songs goes, if that ain't love then I don't know what love is. The way Sesshomaru views Rin is never stated, whether explicitly or implicitly, and, in my opinion, Rin is too young to understand whatever type of admiration she has for him. Rin has stated that she wants to be with Sesshomaru for forever and Sesshomaru, who seemed to feel the same way, had obvious plans to retrieve her once she spent more time with other humans - but only if Rin wanted to come along. Also, lets keep in mind that Sesshomaru was reluctant to separate from her to begin with and he still visits her very often plus brings her gifts on each visit.

With half-demon daughters and his general hate for anything human, Rin is by far the strongest candidate to be the mother but we don't know what Sesshomaru is up to during his travels. For all we know, he could've bonded with some other human woman in the time between InuYasha and Yashahime. On a sidenote, and I know this is pretty stereotypical, but clothes (the type of gift he seems to leave her more often than not) is among the top 3 things you give to your boo to woo them (I especially say this 'cause even I enjoy clothes shopping) but that kinda depends on the person.

#kohaku inuyasha #rin inuyasha #miroku inuyasha #sango inuyasha #inuyasha #sesshomaru #sesshoumaru x rin #sessrin #kagome higurashi #kagome #towa higurashi #setsuna #yashahime: princess half demon #hanyou no yashahime: sengoku otogizoushi #inu yasha

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bambigoose · 5 years ago

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Puppy Love - Tyler Seguin

The iron gates look like something straight out of the medieval ages, the intricate detailing never fails to take Mia’s breath away during the day despite their imposing stature. She’d moved into this community by per chance a little over a month ago and the judgmental stare of Mrs. Fredrick glaring at her currently stopped being intimidating on day one. That miserable old women had no problem letting Mia know she didn’t belong, not like she needed to be told, her older Chevy Equinox stuck out like a sore thumb in a neighborhood of range rovers, Cadillacs, and even a few Ferraris. Mia however knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Her mother was an angel and let her live with her until she was twenty six while she was working the nurse supervisor third shift at the hospital, paying off her student loans, and saving every cent she could with hopes of being able to buy a condo. Mia paid rent of course but it was about half of what she would have paid anywhere else.

Five months ago while searching on Zillow, in bed trying to fall asleep after her shift, her house popped up. It had been posted eight minutes ago and she immediately requested a showing saying she could do it that day while shouting for her mom to call out sick and come with her.

Four hours later, Mia was in love. It was a perfect little two bedroom house with an extra room in the basement that could make it three. Her mom had turned the house upside down searching for a reason it was on the market so cheap besides the fact it was about four times smaller than the average house on the street. Finding nothing despite checking every crack and crevice throughout the entire house, both Mia and her mom had their excitement grow. While having a discussion with the relator about the previous owner who passed suddenly at their summer home in Minnesota and their children were just trying to close everything quickly. Mia immediately put in the offer.

She met Mrs. Fredrick three weeks later while the woman continually walked her fancy poodle with her nose in the air around the entire street. Clearly she had less of a problem with the people moving in a little further down the street on the same day. Clearly they had money, based on the two moving trucks and friends luxury cars helping them move in. Of course according to Mrs. Fredrick his ugly dogs would be a problem in the neighborhood, but that was minimal crime compared to Mia moving in with only her three best friend’s and mother’s older cars. Her nose went even higher seeing them unload a lawn mower, “You’re lawn will never meet the standards of the neighborhood.” The evil witch of the west finally disappeared after Mia just shrugged and stared her down.

Now she just took satisfaction watching her face scrunch up every time she pulled through and waved at her. She could only imagine the rumors she spreads about her being gone all night long most times. Pulling into her driveway, with her decently up kept lawn, Mia placed her head on the steering wheel and sighed. It was a long shift last night and in typical fashion she put off grocery shopping until the very last minute, forcing herself to have to go this morning in order to eat at some point today.

Stepping out of her car, Mia mentally debated whether to just lie down on the couch in her scrubs or expend the energy to walk upstairs to her bed and change into sweats. Opening her trunk, sleeping on the couch was looking even more appealing staring at all her bags. Resigning herself to making multiple trips, she headed in with the first one full of frozen foods, a habit ingrained in her by her mom. ‘Don’t let the frozen go bad in all this heat.’

On her return to the car she thought she could hear jingling as she past the driver’s door but she wrote it off. Turning around the tail end she was greeted by a chocolate lab whitening around his nose and tail wagging a mile a minute in her trunk laying on the cool spot where the frozen food was had just been.

Mia melted on the spot. “Hi baby! Where’d you come from?” She asked leaning down accepting the slobbering kisses all over her face. Her Golden Retriever used to do the same thing before he pasted, if someone opened a car door while he was outside he’d jump right on in. “Where’s your family buddy?” Pushing down a little hard while rubbing his ears, she got an even more enthusiastic tail wag and a tongue rolling out of his mouth.

“CASH! Where are you buddy?”

She heard shouted out from up the street, as his ears perked up. “Cash, is that your name buddy?” Getting one last lick he took up off the street, “Bye bud!” Mia laughed grabbing the last of her groceries before slamming her trunk door shut.

Daylight savings was the ban of Mia’s existence. All she saw was darkness during the winter months; she might as well as move to Alaska with their twenty-one hours of darkness. A surprising winter blast had hit Dallas the past few days in October so she took a deep breath bundled up in a sweatshirt and scarf. All her winter clothes were still in the attic and she couldn’t convince herself to pull them down just for a few days.

Closing and locking her door she headed out into her usually abandoned street. Tonight though she could hear whispering toward the end of her driveway, “Gerry you gotta calm down bud, how are you still this hyper.” Looking up she could spot a man in what looked like a suit with a dog walking across the street from her house. The dog appeared to be dragging him along popping from flower bed to flower bed smelling everything. Mia giggled quietly to herself, unlocking her car. The click and lights turning on brought their attention to her.

The dog was clearly an excitable yellow lab, Gerry she believed it was called. The tail was wagging so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if his handsome suited owner would have a bruise on his knee tomorrow morning. “Gerry no.” The command was useless, Gerry had already taken off across the street at her legs, his poor owner practically running in order to not end up face planting on the ground.

Mia dropped to her knees and readily accepted the puppy loving. The lab was so excited he was bouncing in place, weaving in between her legs before settling on her feet, head leaned back against her knee with the puppy dog eyes. She continually waved off the apologizes his owner was giving. “Hello love! Aren’t you just the most adorable puppy ever?” Scratching up and down his sides the lab start talking to her. Little yelps and excited yips coming out of him each time she rubbed him down. “Shh… gotta be quiet buddy. Mrs. Fredrick will come out and yell at me and your dad. She already hates me enough as it is.”

“Ahh… you’ve met the wicked witch too”came from the suited man, mischief shining in his eyes eliminated by the street light. Sharing a laugh he reached out with his hand extended, “I’m Tyler.”

“Mia. Would it be offend you to know I prepare to refer to you as the puppy father?”

Surprised laughter left Tyler, his eyes crinkling while his face scrunched up. Mia dropped his hand, not realizing how long she had been holding on. Last thing she ever wanted to do was make someone uncomfortable like that, her anxiety was rising just thinking about it. “Well I’ll just have to refer to you as the beautiful nurse.” He says pointing to her ID badge.

“Your daddy is a flirt Gerry.” She says leaning back down to his level getting a slobbering lick all up her face. “Your dogs clearly enjoy slobbering all over me.” She laughed.

“Dogs?” Tyler questioned, trying to think back if he had meet the cute neighbor before. The boys commented on her every time they saw her. The yard work in the yoga shorts and tank top was a particular favorite of the team, especially when working on her flower beds.

She looked up at him locking eyes, “Yes, Cash visited the trunk of my car just last week.”

Tyler went white, he was sure Cash had only taken off into the woods a bit, not all the way down the street and into someone else’s car. “I am so sorry. I can’t believe he…”

Mia cut him off, “Oh he was a love. Not to worry, my last name isn’t Fredrick, your cute dogs and their puppy loving kept you out of trouble.”

Tyler smirked, “Will the cute dogs and puppy loving be enough to get me a date with the pretty nurse?”

Mia looked down towards Gerry, “I don’t know buddy, should I go on a date with your daddy?” Unbeknownst to Mia, Tyler was actively regretting not listening to Jamie and teaching his dogs silent commands. He was banking on Gerry’s excitement and mentally promising him treats should he get him this date. His hopping paid off, Gerry licked her in the face. “I think that means yes.” Mia laughed. “Well puppy father, my next day off is Thursday, but you have a game the next night. Would it work if we do something before your curfew?”

Tyler’s eyes widened like saucers. “You know who I am?”

“If by that you mean know you’re the man with a ton of puppies that lives up the street and happens to be particularly skilled in hockey, then yes but I mean everyone has to be good at something right?”

Tyler release a breath, “And what are you particularly good at?” he joked.

“Loving on puppies, napping, and walking out on conversations so I’m not late for work.” She counted off on her fingers. “I’ll see you Friday?” she questioned.

Tyler smiled, “Come up around five? I’ll order us in something, that way you’ll stay for the entire time. Can’t disappoint the dogs by walking out on them.”

Mia beamed, “So what you really mean is I get to eat and go on a date with the puppies. You clearly know that way to a ladies heart sir.” She scratched behind Gerry’s ears “I’ll see you and your brothers on Friday for our date buddy and I guess we’ll let your dad tag along.” She waved goodbye, hopping into her car and reversing out of the driveway. Tyler watched her go until the tail lights disappeared.

Mia was finishing up her yard work Friday afternoon, she checked the clock sighing, there was about fifteen minutes before she needed to head in and shower for her date with Tyler tonight. She ran into him the next day and numbers were exchanged. They had been talking all week, him sending her different pictures of the dogs every day with reminders not to disappoint them and Mia was excited for tonight.

She grabbed her water and sat down on her steps with her eyes closed and face turned to the sun basking in the warmth. After a moment she felt something wet against her knee. Eyes opening she laughed seeing Marshall, the only Seguin dog she had yet to meet at her feet. “Did your dad send you down here to remind me about tonight huh?” She leaned forward and scratched behind his ears. Marshall galloped up the stairs and leaned against her side, “You’re just a cuddle bug, those young ones trying you out buddy.”

Throwing her arm around Marshall she pulled out her phone, muting the music and opening the camera. She flipped the camera around and snapped a quick shot of them. Sending it to Tyler Lost dog?

Jesus, I’ll come down and get him.

Petting his side Mia looked at Marshall, “You wanna go home buddy or should I tell your dad I’m stealing you?” Marshall shook out his body and leaned heavily against her. Mia chuckled, “Staying with me then I guess.”

Nope. He’s mine now. He’ll escort me to yours later :P

You’re trying to steal my children.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Come on buddy. Let’s get cool inside the house yeah?” Mia called standing up, Marshall following behind her closely. He was practically attached to her hip. She almost tripped over him heading up the stairs. Sitting down on the edge of her bed she tapped the side next to her. Needing no further invitation Marshall hopped up and curled up almost in her lap. “You keep doing this I’m going to call you cuddle bug.”

Slipping out from underneath Marshall she gave him another ear scratch before heading into her bathroom. She made sure the doors to both rooms stayed open in case Marshall changed his mind and wanted to get her attention to leave. She showered quickly, debating what to wear throughout the duration. It was a first date but it was also only at his house. Her anxiety was spiking slightly in worry. Taking a deep breath she told herself he thought you were cute in baggy ugly scrubs everything else you own is better than those.

Rubbing a towel through her hair, Mia throw it up into a messy bun before brushing her teeth. Deciding just to do light makeup she was finished in just a few minutes. Returning to her room in order to check in her friend she paused in the doorway smiling. People say depressed people tend to have more blankets and pillows on their bed, in which place she must be denying the truth but Marshall does not seem to mind at all. He had all but tucked himself under her fluffy blanket, leaning up against her pillows with the ceiling fan circling slowly above him. He raised his head to look at her with a tiny tail wag when she headed to her dresser. "What should I wear cuddle bug?" Marshall was zero help, he just continued to sit there staring at her.

"So jeans and a tshirt with a pullover sweater sounds good then." Slipping into her clothes she nudged Marshall off the bed. "Let's go cuddle bug. Time to see daddy and your brothers." Mia would swear she saw Marshall sigh the same way older siblings do when resigning themselves to watching their little siblings for the evening. The duo walked up the street together never further than three feet apart. That would continue throughout the rest of the night. Tyler had to fight the dogs in order to weasel his way next to Mia on the couch.

…..

Mia sighed pulling into her boyfriend's driveway. Tyler and her had seen even less of each other lately. The hospital had been all hands on deck as the flu ripped through the area leading to a higher than normal admit rate and the Stars were in the middle of the season. Tyler's coach had harshly called out him and Jamie not to long ago so they were practically killing themselves at the practice rink.

Tyler had tonight off and Mia felt awful cancelling their plans to go out at the last minute but truthfully Tyler was relieved. Both of them could use a night on the couch with the dogs and food brought to them.

Turning off the engine, Mia waved to Mrs. Fredrick who of course was even more disgusted with her and Tyler now that the were dating and committing sins staying at each other's houses most nights. As per usual Mrs. Fredrick stuck her nose back up in the air huffing away with her miserable poodle.

Unlocking the door Mia laughed hearing thuds through the hallway. Pulling her phone out from the back pocket of her scrubs she started recording. The post on Instagram was the most liked of the year. Tyler and the dogs rushing down the hallway all but tripping over each other was one of the most hilarious things she had seen in a long time. The best response to her caption which puppy missed me more was Jamie's posted seconds after it went up.

The one with two legs.

#nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl hockey #tyler seguin #tyler seguin imagine #dallas stars #dallas stars imagine #hockey writing #hockey fanfiction #hockey imagines

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makemadej · 5 years ago

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So today two of my worlds collided in the best way: Ryan and Shane were guests on one of my favorite podcasts. I was totally blindsided by this since there was no promo for it whatsoever (who knows why, maybe they forgot when the release date was, maybe they’ve been taken captive by skeletons, maybe they’re just terrible at promoting themselves), and it killed me that I couldn't listen to the whole thing until after work. It's over two hours long and podcasts aren't everyone's cup of tea, so I'm capturing the ghoul boy highlights here for anyone who wants them.

Wine and Crime is a weekly podcast hosted by three ladies who are feminist as fuck and pair a different crime with a different wine each episode. This time, the theme was Pandora's Box crimes, aka "crimes that were only supposed to be minimal but ended up being a shitshow." Inevitably, they paired it with boxed wine.

Enter the ghoul boys.

Ryan, on Franzia: I do enjoy slappin' a bag Shane: I've seen Ryan slap some bags in my day. [...] Ryan: Shane has to tell me to stop slapping the bag sometimes Ryan: I used to do this thing in college called Tour de Franzia. It was like a drinking game, but it was an obstacle course, and at every checkpoint you had to slap the bag. [beat] I made great decisions in college.

Ryan: You say "nice stream" to the sound of liquid being poured into something, it maybe is not the best...it may not communicate well over audio. Shane: Hey, nice stream Ryan: Nice stream. That's what I say every time I go up to a urinal. To any guy. Tap him on the shoulder. Shane: Men in public bathrooms, we all compliment each other's streams. Ryan: Yeah. It's best if you whisper it. At close proximity. I get really close so he can smell the Popeye's on my breath that I just got at the terminal and I whisper "nice stream."

Ryan: We're drinking the 14% Four Lokos seltzer over here [borderline unintelligible banter about playing Edward Four Lokos hands]

Ryan, on the description of himself on a "which BFU guy are you" quiz: That sounds like the description of a golden retriever.

Shane: I know there's one quiz that was popular where the description [of me] was entirely wrong.

Ryan, increasingly high pitched: A fan sent you all these goat parts?

[What is your favorite wine varietal?] Ryan: Hmmmmmm... [Do you know what a varietal is?] Shane, with gusto: No!

Ryan: Wine to me is just wine at this point. I'm not that far on my wine journey. I was a beer guy that's transitioning over into wine. Shane: Well, it sounds like you're not doing a very good job. Ryan: You know what, I said I am LEARNING, Shane. So why don't you get off your high horse and tell them what kind of wine you like? Shane: I don't even know! Ryan: Mr. "I don't know what a wine varietal is" Shane: Yeah. But I don't call myself a wine guy Ryan: I never said I was a wine guy! I said I was-- Shane: You were like, "Oh, have you see that Netflix documentary, Sommelier?" Ryan: First off, I didn't say it like Elmo from Sesame Street, but I also said I was transitioning!

Shane: I like some red wines and some white wines Ryan, imitating him: I like the stuff with the alcohol in it...and sometimes it has bubbles and makes my tummy feel good and uhhhh, yeah Shane: Yeah, I don't really know... Ryan: Sick answer Shane: There's a kind my girlfriend always gets that's really good but I don't...I can't remember the name of it Ryan: That's a long name. That's actually a good name for a wine! The Kind My Girlfriend Gets, ever had it? They sell it at Trader Joe's. Shane: I'm not even trying to do like a...*weird cowboy voice* "I'm a man, so I don't drink wine. Only my girlfriend does." I like wine, I've just...I've never been good at wine. And wine makes me real sleepy, so I almost never have it. Ryan: That's why I don't drink red wine...and it also makes me look like I've been chewing on mud clots or something.

[What is one "unsolved" case that you're pretty sure you've solved?] Ryan: What was that one where I was like, I think I've pretty much solved this one? The Black Dahlia I'm pretty sure was George Hodel. I'm almost positive of it. Shane: Wasn't there like a missing child one that we thought we had sorta gotten? Bobby Dunbar Ryan: Bobby Dunbar. I think we had solved that one. Uh... Shane: We can never concretely say that we've solved it. Ryan: No, we can't legally, but I'm pretty sure D.B. Cooper's bones are an ornament in some pine tree out there in the Pacific Northwest [...] Shane: The case is pretty closed on Amelia Earhart, too. Ryan: I don't think so. Shane: Yeah, she got eaten by crabs. Ryan: I think it's closed in your mind. That's what you'd like to have happened. Shane: That's what happened. Ryan: Giant, man-eating crabs. It's amazing that those exist. I saw one dragging a coconut. Not hard to imagine that coconut being a head. Shane: Yeah. Of an aviatrix. Ryan: Of an aviatrix, yeah. The most famous aviatrix of all time!

Ryan: Fun fact, shaking my bones is what I call dancing.

Shane: I'll say that Ryan is 100% that bitch. Ryan: I'd say 0% actually. Shane: See, that's what makes you that bitch. Ryan, cracking up: What about you, Shane? Shane: Mm. 45.

Ryan: I don't know if people would like me walking into a room trumpeting "I'm 100% that bitch!" every time I walk in a room. I think there's nuance to it. You can't always be 100% that bitch. [...] Or if I'm trying to make an omelet and I can't make the flip...not 100% that bitch in that moment. I'll tell you, it's the bane of my existence Shane: You can't make an omelet? Ryan: It's impossible! Shane: It's not. Ryan: It's really hard! I don't think I have the proper pan. Shane: It sounds like you don't. Do you have a good spatula? Ryan: Maybe, I dunno... Shane: WHAT DO YOU MEAN MAYBE? DO YOU HAVE A GOOD SPATULA OR NOT? It’s a yes or no question! Ryan: I think it might be, I don't know! I have no idea where it came from, I got it from my mom. Maybe she bought it from Sur la Table? Shane: I was gonna say, go to *French accent* Sur la Table, get a little free espresso... [degenerates into arguing about French pronunciation]

Shane on working at Abercrombie: I was in the stock room, they didn't let me up front. Not my beat. [...] Me and my friends...would just hang out in the back and listen to music and eat cookie dough. And they'd be like "we need you to fold this box of girly shirts" and we'd be like "ah, okay!" and then we'd just take the box and be like "this is too many shirts." And we'd just throw it...this was the area like a loft area where you couldn't see anything. We'd just throw the boxes so we wouldn't have to fold the shirts. They're probably still there. Ryan: Sounds like you were a great employee.

Shane: I started as Buzzfeed as an intern. Ryan had started a month or two before me. So we came up in the same intern class together.

Ryan: I did grip and electric work for two years, which is basically like lifting heavy gear essentially on set and I realized I didn't want to do that for ten years before I even had the chance to sniff a camera.

Ryan: I filmed powerpoints for doctors...I did feel like a prisoner at times when I was there, listening to a doctor from USC's Keck medical school talk about irritable bowel syndrome for two straight hours...I was a couple days away from joining the union...That was concurrent with the irritable bowel syndrome filmings.

Ryan: I chose the internship at Buzzfeed not knowing what it was, met the Shaniac over here, and then, um...we went through that program, which was kind of like the Hunger Games. We saw all of our fellow interns die. [...] We worked our way up, I eventually made Unsolved.I made unsolved actually with a different host, Brent Bennett. He left the show because he didn't like...I believe the quote was "I don't like these stories anymore." Shane: *dies laughing* Ryan: And I turned to my right and was like, "hey Shane, wanna do this instead?" and he was like "sure" and that's that. And from then on I guess we never looked back.

[Shane, how do you feel about being the second choice?] Shane: I'm fine with it. Really, there was so little fanfare to him asking me. Ryan: No ceremony at all. Shane: 'Cause we were just making stuff left and right at that point and series were not really an established thing at Buzzfeed [...] Even when Ryan had asked me "hey, would you like to be in this?" uh...I was like "yeah, lemme..." Ryan says I checked my calendar. Ryan: Yeah, Shane looked over at his google calendar, saw that next week was open, and was like "yeah, looks like I've got some time" and I was like "sweet, lock it in" and he was like "cool." And then we both put our headphones back on 'cause we sat next to each other at a desk and worked on other things and that was that.

[What is some of the silliest feedback you've gotten about your show?] Ryan: Luckily the fan base is pretty nice. There's plenty of fun, positive comments out there, however, this is one that tickled me the most. A guy somehow found my personal email address and emailed me to let me know. He's like "hey man, love the videos, excellent content to get stoned to. Keep it up, cheers!" I don't know who this man was.

Shane: I do have some hope that Bigfoot is real. A little unlikely. The other one I always root for is Champ in Lake Champlain. Ryan: I don't know why you have such an obsession with Champ. [...] Shane: Champ...there seems to be something fishy going on there. There's something going on in that lake. Ryan: Good pun Shane: Not even. There's something going on there and I've seen that lake and I've looked out at that lake and I've felt something inside me just looking out at it. Ryan: You sure it wasn't just IBS? Shane: We've established that you're the one with IBS Ryan: I'm not the one with IBS! Shane: You joined the union! Ryan: You were the one who almost pooed your pants on an investigation Shane: That's a different story! Ryan: You ate two hot dogs that were served at the baggage claim in Philadelphia Shane: We. Were. Hungry.

Ryan on Dyatlov Pass: I'm gonna double down here. I think it was a yeti. Or, not a yeti. I think it was an abdominal snowman. Shane: Abominable.

[borderline unintelligible banter about an incredibly ripped yeti doing crunches]

Shane: I'm very content with the mysteries of the universe never being uncovered. It's fine. Ryan: It's frustrating. Shane: You're gonna go to the grave not knowing so many things, so you might as well just give up on them. Ryan: Such a nihilistic way to look at everything.

Shane: If you know anyone who's traveling and they're your enemy, you just call the FBI and say "oh, they're up to no good up there." Ryan: If Shane was flying somewhere I could just say "yeah, I think he's dangerous. I know him. He's the guy who couldn't fit a hat on his big head."

[interlude where they decide to name an anonymous suspect Shane Ryanson]

Shane: It would be funny if this was like the highest escalation of a prank war between two friends Ryan: That'd be a hilarious prank, getting someone thrown into federal prison. Super funny. Gotcha!

Shane: If you're the kind of person who is likely to call in a threat to the FBI solely as a way to get a dig in at your friend, that probably stays with you for life. That's pretty hard-coded into who you are. Ryan: That's true. Especially when you look like an out of work Batman villain [...] If this dude walked into a 7-11, I would drop my Slurpee immediately and run to my car. He's a scary man. I'm out. Slurpee's on the floor.

Shane: I'll tell you this in defense of dolphins, they do have funny little smiles.

Shane, on breaking into Sea World: That seems like an extremely Australian thing to do.

Shane, googling fairy penguins: Yes, it's a wonderful little penguin! He's so small! Ryan: This is great, this is like a dark gritty reboot of Mr. Popper's Penguins.

Shane: Just...to meet someone, get along so well that you each drink a half a liter of vodka together and then go swimming with dolphins and blast some sharks with a fire extinguisher Ryan: ...and then decide, let's top off the night by bringing home a fuzzy little friend Shane: I mean, by that point you've got a winning streak going. You're like, "yeah, we didn't get eaten by sharks! we did swim with the dolphins! Of course we'll steal a penguin!”

Ryan: I bet the penguin actually helped the hangover, to be fair. If I was hungover, I normally just see my blinds shuttered in my room, my shoes are somewhere in the house, but if I found a penguin I'd be like "okay, maybe this isn't so bad." Shane: A rehabilitation penguin. He just hopes on your bed in the morning. Ryan: Just starts smacking me in the face with his little fins. It's great, I love it.

Shane: I think she shouldn't have killed her husband. Have a little faith in his worm farm.

#long post #buzzfeed unsolved #wine and crime #ryan bergara #shane madej #sometimes i write

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