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skyward-floored ¡ 26 days ago
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Whumptober Day 31 - making amends
Cries wails screams sobs I’m finally done I’m gonna cry
This isn’t the best but it’s DONE and that’s all that matters, babey. Thanks to everybody who’s stuck around and read these, I appreciate you all so so much <3 if you want the long version of the thanks go to ao3 lol.
Thank you guys again 💖
Ao3 link
Warnings: brief injury and blood.
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Hyrule had punched Wild in the face.
Time hadn’t seen it happen himself, busy washing clothes with a few of the others, but when the yelling had started and they’d rushed back to camp with their swords drawn, it was blatantly obvious what had happened. Blood was streaming from Wild’s nose, and he and Hyrule both looked furious as Warriors forcibly dragged the two of them apart.
Twilight quickly snagged Wild when he tried to leap forward again, and Sky grabbed Hyrule, the other heroes in camp in varying stages of getting up or in the process of intervening, faces alarmed.
Time frowned, staring at the evidence of the brawl in front of him. More than one punch had obviously been thrown, seeing as Hyrule had a split lip and a shiny eye, Wild with scraped knuckles and a scratched chin that was mostly concealed by the blood running down his face, hair messier than usual. Both of them were further dirty and scuffed and giving each other death glares, and Time lowered his sword as he strode forward.
“And what is going on here?” He demanded, and both boys startled, then resumed their glaring.
“They were arguing about something, I didn’t hear it all,” Warriors admitted when neither of them spoke, crossing his arms.
“It was nothing,” Wild hissed under his breath, and Time raised an eyebrow as more blood dripped from his nose.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Time said flatly, and Wild glared at the ground, Hyrule glaring out at the forest. “What on Farore’s green earth were you two fighting about that was so serious you decided hitting each other was the best course of action?”
Instead of replying, Hyrule finally managed to squirm out of Sky’s grip and bolt into the woods.
“Traveler!” Legend shouted from his place near Time, then growled to himself. “...aaaaand nope he’s gone.”
Wild took their distracted states to also make a break for it, and Time sighed as he disappeared in the opposite direction from Hyrule, both heroes gone in moments.
“Did really nobody hear what started it?” he asked wearily, rubbing a hand over his brow.
“I heard Wild say something about Zelda,” Four spoke up, looking uneasy. “But not much else. I was reading.”
“It seemed like one moment they were just arguing and then the next they were rolling around on the ground at each other’s throats,” Warriors sighed, tapping his fingers on his arm as he spoke. “I apologize. I didn’t realize it had gotten so bad.”
“Well, I’m going after Wild,” Twilight said with a frown, already turning in the direction the champion had gone. “These woods are dangerous, I don’t want him running off alone even if he is mad.”
“I’ll go find our traveler,” Time added, and Legend shrugged, turning back the way they’d come.
“Have fun. I don’t want to untangle that mess. I’ll go get the laundry.”
Time went one way and Twilight went the other, and everyone else mostly went back to what they were doing (with the exception of Legend, who nearly tripped in his haste to get back to the river when he realized their clothes were trying to wash away).
Time followed the faint trail Hyrule had left, the signs of someone passing this way a bit more obvious than they’d normally be. Hyrule really must have been mad if he hadn’t taken the time to be as cautious. Time frowned to himself as he walked, purposely taking his time. He figured he’d give Hyrule some time to cool down, but in the meantime he wondered what it was that had set the two of them off so much.
Wild and Hyrule usually got on like a house on fire, and when they argued, it was usually just in jest. Four had said Zelda had come up, but how had that gotten them to the point of blows? Had that really been the only issue?
Time sighed and shook his head. He wouldn’t know until he found the traveler.
Assuming he’s willing to talk.
A few more minutes of walking went by before Time heard a noise, and he followed it, listening intently. He stepped over a small stream, and found Hyule pacing in an angry little circle around the clearing he’d come upon. His face was red and his eye had further swollen, a little bit of blood still staining his lip, but his cheeks also looked damp from something besides blood. Time stepped forward and Hyrule leveled a glare on him, which turned to a confused look as he realized which hero it was.
Time nodded a greeting, but didn’t do anything else, merely stayed where he was while Hyrule blinked at him. His surprise quickly slipped away, and Hyrule huffed, turning away from him.
“Come to drag me back to camp?” he asked, voice strangely level.
“No, Twilight merely mentioned these woods are dangerous, and it would be unwise to be alone,” Time replied, and Hyrule blinked again, then waved him off, his sour expression easing a bit.
“I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me.”
“Perhaps, but it’s nice to have backup. Especially if you can’t see very well,” Time said, and Hyrule raised an eyebrow.
“I could say the same of you,” he said as he crossed his arms. “Can you see very well? You may keep the lid closed but I’ve seen you flicker your eye before.”
His tone was sharp, and Time frowned. “We’re not here to talk about me,” Time said firmly, and Hyrule turned away again. Time sighed, and made an effort to soften his voice when he spoke again. “Hyrule, what happened?”
The traveler looked down at the leaf litter, bits of moss and grasses sticking up from between the leaves. He nudged at a fern that was still uncurling, then sighed and kicked at the ground.
“Wild doesn’t get it,” he bit out, not looking at Time. “Doesn’t get our situations were different. He thinks— he thinks Zelda is just—”
Hyrule let out a growl of frustration, raising a hand to wipe at his cheek.
“He doesn’t get it!” Hyrule continued as his hands tightened into fists. “I know she’s not weak, but she’s just a young lady! She can’t fight, and if she tried and she was hurt I’d— I’d never forgive myself, and Wild— why does he— rrrgh!”
Hyrule harshly kicked a rock off into the woods, then sat down on a log with a hard thump.
He went silent, and Time cautiously joined his side, sitting beside him on the log when he made no move to stop him. They didn’t speak for several moments, and Time looked up at the trees, most green, some yellow, a handful already turning to orange and red. A bright blue bird flew past, calling a short song into the air, and its mate answered off in the distance.
Hyrule sighed, and his shoulders abruptly slumped.
“I don’t know why I hit him,” Hyrule whispered. “We’ve... it was a stupid argument. Things have just been so tense since Twi...”
He shook his head and stared at the ground, and Time slowly breathed out.
It was true. Their entire group had been on edge since Twilight’s brush with death, and apparently the tension was still as strong as ever despite his recovery. Enough to make two heroes that normally got on better than most of them to exchange blows.
Over Zelda of all things.
“I would bet that the champion feels similarly,” Time said quietly, Hyrule still staring at the ground. “You may have hit him, but it’s quite obvious he hit you back, and I doubt he meant to go so far either.”
“Maybe. We were really going at it,” Hyrule mumbled, wiping more blood off his chin. “I don’t know what came over me. He was being stupid, and I just couldn’t... ugh.”
Hyrule slumped further over, and kicked at the leaves with his boot.
“Do you think he hates me?” he said, so quietly Time barely heard it.
Time sighed, then made sure Hyrule was looking when he shook his head “No. Our champion has been hit by a lot worse than a punch. I doubt he’ll hate you for a broken nose,” Time reassured, and Hyrule’s eyes went wide.
“Did I really break his nose?!”
“It... looked that way,” Time admitted, and guilt rushed across Hyrule’s swelling face. “We have plenty of potions, traveler, I’m sure there’s no permanent harm done.”
Hyrule looked away from him and nodded, though he still looked guilty. He suddenly sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, a strange mixture of emotions on his face.
“I hate this. I hate the shadow,” he whispered. “If it wasn’t for him— I hate that Twilight almost died. If my spell hadn’t worked— it almost didn’t— he...”
His voice died, and Hyrule swallowed as Time’s stomach lurched unpleasantly.
He’d been trying not to dwell on that night, but memories suddenly flooded his brain without his permission. Hyrule pushing and pushing and passing out from sheer exhaustion, Twilight pale as the moon outside as he clung weakly to life, Time staying up to watch the both of them as he weighed his ocarina in his hand, his eye fixed on Twilight’s chest, heart skipping a beat every time his breath hitched.
It had been days now, but the anxiety was still there, and Time hadn’t realized just how much it had been affecting everyone else.
“Traveler, you did admirably,” Time said in a quiet voice, setting a hand on his arm. “Despite everything you managed to heal him, which was more than any of the rest of us could do. You saved Twilight’s life. And you have my eternal thanks for that.”
Hyrule’s face turned red for a reason besides injury, and he looked away as Time squeezed his shoulder.
“But Twilight isn’t the issue at the moment,” Time continued, setting aside his turbulent thoughts. “You and Wild are. Your arguing is none of my business, but coming to blows is a real issue.”
“He deserved it,” Hyrule said viciously, then wilted, sighing. “I know. I should... probably apologize.”
“That seems wise,” Time agreed with a smile, and offered a hand to Hyrule. “Shall we head back?”
Hyrule hesitated, and Time saw something flash in his gaze. “Maybe not... just yet,” he mumbled, and Time nodded.
“That sounds fine. We should probably give him time to cool off further anyway. Our champion has quite the temper."
"He's not the only one, Hyrule admitted with a tiny smile.
Time and Hyrule spent a good hour just sitting there, listening to the woods and the tiny creek, not really talking much at all. Hyrule didn’t heal himself or take the potion Time offered, but Time didn’t press it. If he couldn’t convince him to heal himself now, he was sure Legend or the captain could. Maybe even Wild, once they made up.
Which Time was confident would happen.
They'd better.
Right as the sun began to sink behind the tree trunks, Hyrule raised his head and stood, exhaling slowly. Time stood up as well, and they wordlessly headed back to camp, Hyrule staying quiet.
The walk seemed much shorter on the way back, and it wasn’t long before they broke through the trees of the clearing where they’d set up, six gazes flickering their way, a seventh staring at the ground. The silence stretched, and Wind quickly resumed the conversation he’d paused when Time and Hyrule had appeared, which made everyone get back to what they’d been doing as well.
Time couldn’t help studying Wild as everyone pretended things were normal, and he sighed.
Wild’s nose had obviously been taken care of, the blood cleaned from his face, but his chin had a bandage on it, and his nose looked a little red. He was crouched by the fire, ignoring Hyrule, and stirring some kind of soup that Time had smelled long before they’d arrived. Twilight was sitting beside him, cutting off slices of warm bread, and Time gently clapped Hyrule on the shoulder before he went to go sit down.
Hyrule’s jaw worked for a moment as he stood in the middle of camp, and then he slowly walked over to Wild and Twilight, his hands fidgeting at his sides.
“Do you... need any help?” he asked, and though Wild didn’t react, Twilight looked up, smiling at him.
“Here, you can finish slicing this,” he offered, handing Hyrule the bread and the knife. “You’ll probably get the pieces more even than me anyway.”
Hyrule hesitantly took them, and Twilight scooted over, making room for Hyrule between him and Wild. Hyrule to his credit didn’t hesitate, sitting down without another word, though he left plenty of room between him and the champion.
Time watched them from his place beside Warriors, and the captain watched the two of them intently, obviously ready to get up at the slightest show of aggression. But Wild and Hyrule, despite only being a foot apart, were very effectively pretending the other wasn’t there, Wild sprinkling salt in his soup, Hyrule methodically slicing bread.
Time watched Wild cook, the champion firmly keeping his head turned away from Hyrule, and he raised an eyebrow as he realized what kind of soup he was making. Hyrule’s gaze flickered to the pot as Wild tossed in some herbs, and he blinked, obviously realizing what Time just had.
Wild had made Hyrule’s favorite.
Hyrule swallowed, and he set the bread down onto a cloth, finished slicing it up.
“I’m sorry,” he said, so quietly Time barely made it out. Wild paused in his stirring, his hood effectively hiding his expression from the angle Time was sitting, and Wind’s laugh at something Sky said felt out of place.
Wild slowly leaned over, taking something out of his pouch, and he carefully ladled hot soup into the bowl he’d grabbed.
Then he offered it to Hyrule.
Hyrule blinked, Twilight stilled beside him, and Time and Warriors watched in silence as he stared at the steam rising slowly from the bowl.
“Me too,” Wild whispered, his expression somehow miserable and awkward and exhausted all at the same time.
Hyrule gave him a wobbly smile and accepted the bowl, and though neither of them said anything further, it was like a fog had lifted off of their group. The mood instantly seemed to get lighter, and Warriors gave Time a relieved look.
Time returned it, and watched with a smile as Wild scooted closer to Hyrule, and the two began passing out food to everyone. They began quietly talking, and Time's smile grew as Hyrule blushed, and Wild grinned at something, tapping his nose.
Time stood up and got his own bowl, and watched the two of them carrying on like nothing had happened at all. Hyrule shot him a small smile as he walked over, and Time sat down beside Twilight, returning it as he casually slung an arm around his descendant.
Twilight leaned against him a little, and Time took a sip of soup, the warmth it sent to his stomach nothing compared to the warmth all around him.
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deep-space-lines ¡ 9 months ago
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okay but like. I just had the weirdest thought about that ‘don’t look I’m naked’ comic. Which is that that’s essentially the same thing Adam and Eve did after they ate the fruit of knowledge of good&evil. So I feel like the theological implications of that could kneecap Gabe if he doesn’t think V1 is a being with free will.
yeah ok. i dunno man. is this anything
((side note. this isn’t necessarily meant to be in-character or story-accurate or take place at any particular point in time, just a way to explore some Thoughts. i was also imagining more that V1’s words aren't actually spoken, more like Gabriel’s more articulate interpretation of whatever garbled mechanical noise V1 is using to communicate. I think an angel could do that.))
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and then they fucked nasty the end
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raven-at-the-writing-desk ¡ 3 months ago
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heartslabyul washroom
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Yes, I am making a whole separate post for this—
WAHHHHHHH 😭 WhAt THE hECKIE, IT’S SO CUTE????????!??!?????????!!!!!???????
It seems the washroom was modeled after the scene where Alice meets the talking flowers. The curved ceiling being patterned like the sky, the floor resembling grass, and all the floral and foliage decorations really give the sense of being outdoors!! I especially love how the flowers are incorporated; they act as lamps (you can see that their centers are giving off light) as well as mirrors. The leafy wall in the back seems to be washing machines or dryers?? The whole washroom has such calming, relaxing vibes, and I bet it smells nice too :0
The jars underneath are also so interesting—they of course resemble the Drink Me bottles from Alice in Wonderland, but it seems they’re serving as sinks here. The mouth of the bottle is actually solid and forms a bowl, and it seems like water might flow from the silver leaves between the bowl and the mirror. I’m guessing that the bottles drain into whatever sewer system NRC has from there. Or maybe the liquids inside the jar-sinks is hand soap…? (But I like to headcanon thar the petals of some flowers are soap strips… You just rub your hands on them to get some.)
I want this washroom… Move over, Heartslabyul 😭 I’m about to camp out there every day and make your washroom my new home…
Edit: I don’t know why this post blew up, but I find it very funny that we’re scrutinizing and evaluating the washroom so hard 😂 Imagine the Heartslabyul boys staring at us as we examine the room all over to understand how tf this stuff functions…
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skyward-floored ¡ 2 years ago
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@bokettochild uh I wrote you a little something too? Happy graduation <3
Something soft under his head was the first sensation Legend was aware of as he returned to consciousness.
The second was the feeling of a blanket overtop of him, and the sounds of a quiet conversation going on somewhere nearby, a laugh quickly shushed when it grew in volume. Something shifted from next to him at the noise, and Legend cracked open his eyes, coming face-to-face with Hyrule, fast asleep with his head pillowed under his arms.
Legend stared at him a moment, watching his curls sway as he breathed. Despite being asleep, Hyrule looked exhausted, and Legend frowned at the sight.
If he’d overused his magic again, they needed to have a talk.
“...Veteran?”
Legend shifted his gaze to look past Hyrule, and saw Sky and Warriors watching him, relieved looks on both their faces.
“Hey buddy, how’re you feeling?” Sky said with a smile, getting up and joining his bedside. “Any pain? Dizziness?”
Legend blinked at him, his brain feeling oddly foggy. It was like his head had been filled up with clouds, and trying to think his way through them was a monumentally difficult task. Why did he feel so... fuzzy?
“Wh’ happened?” he murmured, and Warriors and Sky exchanged looks.
“...A lot,” Warriors answered after a moment, joining Sky’s side. “Long story short, you got us out of quite the tight spot, Vet. Got a little banged up in the process.”
“A little?” Sky muttered with a raised eyebrow, but Warriors waved him off.
“Seriously Legend, how are you feeling?” the captain asked, and Legend closed his eyes, thinking before he responded.
His whole body felt like it was being weighed down by something, a thick exhaustion pulling at every one of his limbs. There was a familiar leftover tingle from healing magic he could feel as well, but on top of that, there was a sort of numb feeling throughout his chest, like his body was specifically being kept from feeling something.
All in all... not a pretty picture as to what had happened to him.
“Tired,” he answered after a long moment, voice quiet.
“Just tired? No pain?” Sky asked carefully, and Legend hummed in a noncommittal way.
“Sort of numb,” he mumbled, and Hyrule shifted in his sleep again, curling closer up to his side. “In th’ middle.”
Sky swallowed, and both him and Warriors glanced at Legend’s chest, distant looks appearing in their eyes as though they were seeing something that wasn’t there.
“What?” Legend asked, a little annoyed at their reactions. It seemed like Warriors and Sky were intentionally not telling him something, and despite the haze his head was in, he rather disliked being out of the loop.
Especially since it was about himself.
“Well?” he asked again with a frown. “You going t’ tell me, or keep staring like ‘m about t’ keel over?”
Sky’s face lost a few shades of its color, and Warriors fidgeted with his scarf for several moments before either of them said anything.
“That was where you were hurt the most,” Warriors said quietly. “It was... bad.”
“Really bad,” Sky said in a tight voice.
Legend blinked.
“Oh.”
That would explain a few things.
Legend shifted a little, then yawned, a slight pulse of pain behind his eyes. He probably should have been more concerned with the reactions Sky and Warriors kept giving off, especially since Warriors of all people seemed rather shaken, but the clouds in his head were growing thicker again, his eyelids drooping under their weight.
Exhaustion was creeping up on him, ready to pull him back into the deep slumber he’d woken up from, and Sky at least seemed to pick up on it.
“Don’t worry about it for now Vet, you should get some more sleep,” he said with a smile that was only a little weak at the edges. “We can talk more after you’ve gotten some rest.”
“I’ll hold y’ t’hat,” he murmured, and Warriors chuckled a little.
Sky pulled the top blanket up to Legend’s chin, and Legend didn’t resist, turning his head and resting it on top of Hyrule’s. His successor shifted a little again, and Legend closed his eyes as Hyrule sighed in his sleep.
“We’re glad you’re okay, Link. Get some more sleep. You’ve earned it,” Sky said quietly.
Something else was draped on top of both him and Hyrule, soft and familiar, and Legend caught a whiff of Warriors’ cologne before soft darkness claimed him again.
Hey lovelies!!
Did you know that @bokettochild graduated college??? Did you know that she’s awesome and deserves to be celebrated and have her tumblr family celebrate with her??? Because she 100% does.
So! I’m declaring a graduation party post for Ketto! Reblog this post, tag Ketto, and send her some love/accolades. ❤️ I’ve got a few gifts for her from some of us!
Here’s some art from @nancyheart11!
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And some art from @kikker-oma!
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And here's a gift from me :D
Lon Lon Ranch had been lovely. It really had. But Legend wasn’t accustomed to staying in one place for too long, and seeing a Hero of Courage settled into such domesticity was…
The veteran sighed, crossing his arms irritably.
At least they were done. A part of him felt bad even thinking that, but he was too annoyed and tired to worry about it much. Malon was wonderful, and he would love to visit again, but… whatever. He woke up irritated today, he was sore and hurting and wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone.
When the sailor bounced over and started talking excitedly to him, Legend did his best to make an exception for the kid. He didn’t have to speak much when Wind was around anyway - the youngest Link usually did enough talking for the whole group.
As Wind started showing Legend his seashell collection, however, the veteran’s patience started to wear thin. His acknowledgements grew shorter by the second, and when the sailor paused to rifle through his bag, Legend pat the kid’s back and walked away to just get some distance.
Which was then taken away from him by Wild stepping in his path. “Hey Vet, I had an idea about your fire rod–”
“No,” Legend immediately said dully. “You’re enough of a pyromaniac. You’re not touching it.”
“Well, technically the captain has it now–”
“And I can take it from him whenever I want. He’s borrowing it.”
“Long-term borrowing,” Warriors pointed out with a smirk as he waved the rod. “Thanks again for that, though.”
Legend waved his hand dismissively, stepping around Wild.
“Hey, I found it!” Wind chirped cheerily, completely missing the fact that Legend was desperately trying to be alone.
“I don’t care,” the elder Hero finally snapped. Wind’s brow furrowed in exasperation and the kid huffed.
Warriors rolled his eyes. “You’re already not a morning person, are you not an evening person either? Is there any time you’re not a grouch?”
Legend felt his ire bubbling more. “Not everyone can babble aimlessly for two hours like you can.”
“What’s eating you up?” Warriors asked, his face pinching in annoyance.
“You are! Anything is! I’m just tired, damn it, aren’t I allowed to be tired?” Legend finally snapped before pointing accusingly at Sky. “Sky’s always tired and nobody gets on him for it!”
The area quieted, most of the boys looking in his direction. Legend regretted saying it the instant he did. Sky’s exhaustion was both a point of contention and a point of concern to many in the group, most notably Sky himself.
Feeling even worse now, the veteran stormed out of the camp, ignoring Wind’s call.
They had traveled fairly far in the day since they’d departed Lon Lon Ranch. A portal has fed into a bright, forested area, and they’d cut their path through hills until they hit the base of a mountain and had settled for the day. With fresh energy within his body, fueled by frustration and an ache he couldn’t put words to, Legend traipsed up a set of stone stairs that overlooked the forest sloping down the mountainside. He traipsed onward, foliage and sticks snapping in his wake, birdsong echoing in the air alongside the distant call of fairy magic. The air cooled the higher he climbed, his face flushed and stinging by the time he emerged from the dense woods.
The vague path he’d been following bled into a wide opening, the peak of the mountain, a place of harshly cut stone and constant winds and a view of the world below. He climbed the rock a little ways before sliding into a seated position, the wind settling a bit as crickets heralded the oncoming dusk.
Legend sighed.
He… hadn’t meant to snap like that, but by the triforce it wasn’t like he hadn’t been trying to hold himself together.
There was the sound of a foot slipping on rock, and Legend reached for his blade automatically when he turned and saw Sky.
The veteran hero froze, unsure what to expect. The Skyloftian was huffing a little, clearly winded, but trying to keep it quiet as he followed Legend’s path up the steep rocks. Eventually, he settled beside Legend with a little smile.
“Sorry for the captain,” Sky offered after a moment. “He means well, but he pushes too much sometimes.”
Sky had followed him all the way up here to apologize for someone else? Legend’s annoyance grew, but it died just as easily. He didn’t have energy to be upset about this anymore. He wanted to be alone, he wanted comfort, he wanted isolation, he didn’t know what he wanted.
“No, it’s…”
It’s more than that. He knew it was. Spending too much time at the ranch… it…
It reminded him of everything he didn’t have. Everything he could’ve had if he hadn’t lost it. And maybe it was stupid to feel that way, especially when he did enjoy adventuring so much, but…
But sometimes it just hurt.
Sky watched him for a little while, body relaxing as he had time to catch his breath. Legend didn’t know what to say.
“Do you miss home?” Sky asked.
Legend huffed. “Not much to miss. Besides, I’m on a new quest. I don’t think about home much.”
The elder Link’s brow furrowed slightly at the words, and then Sky grew pensive, staring out at the view in front of them. A falcon flew across the way, gliding by their line of vision as it let the wind carry it effortlessly.
“I didn’t want to be a Hero,” Sky said softly, making Legend stare at him. The crickets filled the silent void that followed before the knight continued, “It didn’t make sense that it was me. I was the lazy one, the guy who was always tired and daydreaming. I didn’t really have a direction or plan for anything. I just… coasted through life.”
Legend watched him, unsure what to say about the situation and still too caught in his own head to offer words anyway. Sky smiled softly, his eyes distant. “But the goddess had other plans. It’s… comforting to know we all have paths laid out for us, and it’s fun figuring out where we fit in with the world around us, you know?”
Sighing, the veteran hero nodded, gaze drifting to the valley below. He puffed out his chest a little. “It’s an honor to be a Hero. I’m thankful for that honor.”
“Yes,” Sky agreed, though the lilt in his tone indicated there was more to it. “But your path has sucked.”
This startled a laugh out of Legend, harsh and bitter and surprisingly vulnerable. The veteran hero hiccupped and covered his faux pas with a little quip. “That wasn’t the most eloquent way to phrase it.”
Sky shrugged with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not really an eloquent guy. But I can tell when there’s more to things than people say.”
His friend looked him in the eye, eyes seeming to bore into his soul. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Legend was held hostage in the gaze, words caged in his chest alongside his breath.
His uncle. Marin. He’d lost many on his journeys. He’d been isolated, hurt, terrified.
His breath released shakily, shoulders slumping as he looked at his lap, breaking the hold Sky had on him. “.....Yeah.”
The crickets chirped gently as a breeze brushed by them, cooling the hot flush of tears threatening to spill. Legend closed his eyes a moment, letting the wind carry him, feeling his hair tickle his face.
Sky’s hand was gentle on his back. “It’s… okay not to be okay sometimes, you know.”
The words were so simple. Ridiculously simple. Stupidly simple. Legend bit his lip.
He truly did love being a hero, he truly did love being able to help others. Why wasn’t that enough? He didn’t need to let everything else phase him.
It’s okay not to be okay sometimes.
Legend hiccupped. Folded in on himself. Shuddered.
And then he cried.
It was embarrassing, really, and at first he tried to downplay it. The hiccups and sobs tire out of him in startled gasps, but the more he tightened into a ball and tried to muscle through it, the gentler Sky’s hold became.
Legend tried to snap at Sky to lay off and leave him be, and all that came out was a loud hiccup that caught him so off guard he had to laugh at it. Sky took it as an invitation, pulling him sideways so his head settled on the knight’s shoulder, and Legend couldn’t stop the tears and desperate gasps that escaped him.
Sky’s head relaxed over Legend’s, his body warm at the veteran’s side. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t have to. Legend cried until he only had little pathetic hiccups remaining, and the younger Link sniffled, grumbling as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pouch.
Legend blew his nose and had a snippy halfhearted remark at the tip of his tongue before he sighed and pulled away, letting himself be vulnerable a moment longer. “Thanks. I… thanks.”
Sky’s smile was as soft as the clouds overhead, eyes watching him carefully. “You’re welcome. Want to head back?”
The air grew chillier by the moment, and though Legend probably would prefer to stay up here, he knew the others would start to worry. Warriors and Twilight would probably go searching for them soon. He took a breath of the mountain air and let the wind dry his tears, and then he nodded.
When they returned to the camp, everyone was waiting in various states of worry or curiosity. Wind offered a small hello, and Legend smiled at the youngest member, reassuring him that his earlier outburst was not the sailor’s fault.
The veteran hero hugged himself a little, not caring for all the scrutiny he was receiving and definitely not knowing how to backtrack on his earlier outburst. He didn’t have to, though - everyone settled into a routine, worry abated by Sky’s smile and nod. The team huddled around the fire for dinner, a quiet cheer bubbling from Link to Link in the form of snippets of conversations. 
Wind flopped onto the ground with a laugh. “You should’ve seen the captain and the rancher, they were about ready to arm wrestle over who was gonna find you two!”
“Arm wrestle?” Sky asked with a laugh as he slipped his sailcloth off.
“The old man suggested it because they kept trying to one up each other,” Hyrule explained with a smile. “The captain would say it was his responsibility to make sure you were ok and then Rancher would say he was the better tracker and it went on for like forever.”
Four silently laid out some blankets for a softer seating area, and he and Sky settled with a space in between as the knight plopped his cloak over his friend.
As Legend settled beside Sky, comfortably wrapped in his sailcloth, he accepted Wild’s hearty stew and sighed with a little smile. “Thanks. I… I don’t deserve you guys.”
“Ah, yes, you are correct, you absolutely do not deserve me,” Warriors tutted with a false air of superiority and a wink. “But I shall grace you with my presence nonetheless.”
Legend shoved the captain with a roll of his eyes, chuckling despite the maneuver, and the group shared a hearty meal that warmed his heart and soul alongside his stomach.
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royalarchivist ¡ 1 year ago
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Ramon: So opinions on [Bagi]?
Fit: She's legit, we can trust her. We can trust her.
Ramon: Would you rather a dad or a mom [for me?]
Fit: Uh- I- no one! No one. Let's- let's get over to Felps' Square, Ramon. [They head to the warp at Spawn, then Fit hesitates] Um, wait- Ramon. [He pauses, briefly looks at the camera, then says in a rush] If I had to choose between the two, it'd be a dad. Alright, let's go. Let's go, let's go.
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whumpitisthen ¡ 2 months ago
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Leashed to the floor by a short lenght of chain. The chain has just enough give to let them scramble back just a couple inches, low to the ground on their hands and knees, when they get scared. They can't even look up from how hard the unforgiving leash pulls their neck back towards the ground unless they stay where they are supposed to, right where whumper wants them to be.
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mikakuna ¡ 9 months ago
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i have this thing where i involuntarily make really high pitched noises because i literally cannot help it. it's basically a vocal stim.
so now i'm imagining baby jay during his robin run who has little vocal stims that sound like a baby chick. he already looks like one with his yellow cape wrapped completely around him and only his little wide-eyed face poking out.
sometimes he gets so excited or worked up during patrol that he makes baby chick noises while hopping around and hiding in bruce's cape. it just happens, okay! bruce absolutely loves it-- he imagines his inner self just falling to his knees and clutching his heart because oh his little baby is so precious...
+
bruce: robin, this is superman and wonder woman.
little jay who's so happy he can't form words: *squeaky baby chick noises*
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skyward-floored ¡ 2 years ago
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You mean liiiiike... this?
...
Link did a loop around camp for the second time that evening, an emotion he refused to call worry speeding his steps.
He hadn’t seen hide or hair of Mask since the battle earlier in the day. He’d been keeping half an eye on him during the fight, and had watched him don the Fierce Deity mask at one point, but had lost track of him when he’d moved to a different part of the battlefield.
It had been nearly three hours since then now, and while Link hadn’t looked quite everywhere, he only growing more frantic the longer there was no sign of Fierce or Mask.
What if Mask had been injured? Fierce would never let him come to harm, but what if he’d been hit beforehand? Or struck by some attack that the deity wasn’t impervious to, or the mask had been removed somehow and Mask was lying somewhere waiting for help—
Heavy footfalls suddenly sounded behind him, and Link turned, utter relief soaking through him at the sight of the Fierce Deity walking up.
Thank the goddesses.
“Fierce, there you are, we’ve been looking for you for hours!” he said as he joined his side. “I thought you or Mask might’ve been injured, where on earth— what is that.”
The Fierce Deity merely blinked at the captain’s question, then looked down at the item he was cradling in his arms. The tiny bundle was nearly invisible in his hold, and the deity leaned down so Link could better see the reason for why he’d been gone so long.
The reason being a tiny, sleeping baby.
Link stared in shock for a solid minute and a half, and Fierce merely watched him, glowing eyes steady.
“That’s— that’s a baby,” Link choked out, and Fierce tilted his head in confusion.
“I thought that was obvious Captain,” he replied, and Link spluttered in disbelief.
“It is, I just— where did he come from? And why do you have him?!”
“I found him,” Fierce said in a perfectly calm voice. “He was alone by the remains of a wagon, and monsters were lurking about where he was hidden. It appears his parents are gone.”
“Oh,” Link said a bit more softly, and leaned in closer to the baby.
Fierce shifted his hold, and the baby squirmed a little in his sleep, a little yawn escaping his mouth. The baby looked absolutely tiny in the deity’s arms, but his hold was nothing but gentle, and if Link was being honest, the sight of him holding the child was rather sweet.
“I guess we’ll have to figure out what to do with him,” Link said quietly, already thinking through options.
“I will care for him,” Fierce said matter-of-factly.
Link choked again. “Wait you’ll— what? But— Fierce, do you know anything about caring for a baby?!”
“I found him, and I will care for him,” Fierce said insistently, then got to his feet. He began to walk away, and Link stared after him in disbelief before going after him.
“Fierce wait, where are you going?”
“To find him some food. He’s likely hungry, and I don’t want him to cry again.”
“Hold on a moment, we need to talk about this! You can’t just—“
“It can wait for until after he’s eaten.”
“Fierce!”
You mentioned something about Fierce and accidental baby acquisition and may I just say I’m FULLY on-board and invested. Are you willing to elaborate? 👀 -Sky Floor
It started when I was rp’ing with the AI and now I just need fierce finding a child and going- is this any one’s? No? Mine now.
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dear-ao3 ¡ 5 months ago
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I FINALLY REALIZED WHY THIS BLOG SEEMS SO UNCANNILY FAMILAR
ITS BECAUSE IT FEELS LIKE A GOD DAMN SITCOM
WHY ARE YOU TWO LIVING OUT A SITCOM???
(/lh /pos)
man if you think this is a sit com you should come hang out in my apartment for a few hours on a weeknight
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becca-e-barnes ¡ 1 year ago
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The Study
Not only is this the start of my 'Moving In' series, I'm also calling it my birthday piece! I turn 24 on Tuesday and I'm trying hard not to think about the fact I'm overdue a quarter-life crisis.
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 2.7K (oops)
Warnings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky, sub! reader, spanking, use of a vibrator, forced orgasms, kinda Dom vibes but totally consensual, degradation, safe word system but safe word not used, pet names
Summary: Bucky spends the weekend at your new house and you take him on a tour.
Minors, do not interact
Turning the key in the front door still feels odd. One of the very first changes you made to the house was installing a new locking mechanism on both doors and it hasn't had a chance to stiffen up yet.
The smell of paint is starting to dissipate but it hits you hardest when you open the front door. The hallway was one of the last areas of the house to be redecorated so the smell seems to be most noticeable right at the door.
"Damn, this place is deceptive." Bucky's remark makes you smile to yourself while you hang your jacket up. "It's a whole lot bigger on the inside than I thought."
"It surprised me too. All of the rooms are a nice size."
The house had ticked so many boxes for you. More than two bedrooms in a quiet development, a low maintenance garden, off road parking, a downstairs bathroom and the whole house has plenty of potential. The plan isn't to live here forever, after all. It should be easy enough for you to sell when you decide to move on.
You flick a few lights on in the hallway and toss your keys into the bowl on the hall table before you turn your attention back to Bucky standing in your living room. Despite the fact you hadn't removed your own shoes, he's taken his off, leaving them neatly at the doorway of the living room beside his travel bag.
He's respectful of your space; he always has been but it's nice to just have him in your space. It's nice to have him be part of it.
He walks slowly around the little living room, looking at the few ornaments and picture frames you'd collected. "That's cute." He's looking at a picture of you and your best friend, sitting on the floor of your old kitchen, laughing yourselves to tears over the fact your Christmas tree was three inches tall and cut out from the back of a cereal box. The photo brings a smile to your face every time you see it.
"Are you hungry? You've had a long day." You move over behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing his back through his clothes while he looks at your pictures on the fireplace. He's had to travel for a few hours just to get here so you imagine he's bound to want something.
"I'm okay for now." You nod at his response, taking in the fact he's actually standing in your home.
The time you have with him is limited. That's how this works but for just less than two days, he's yours. After that, he'll go back home so you've learned to make the most of the time you have with him.
"Help yourself to whatever you like. Kitchen is down the hall." You don't even really want to move but you can't stand like this forever.
He turns in your arms so he's facing you and captures your lips in his. It's a soft, slow, gentle kiss; the kind you've been dreaming of since you last saw him. You need him to feel exactly how much you've missed him without having to tell him.
The kiss lasts for minutes, far beyond its natural end but neither of you care.
After what feels like forever, your lips part but your foreheads stay pressed together, both of you determined not to pull away.
"I still haven't gotten the grand tour." He's got the most beautiful eyes and they're locked on yours to the point that you'd almost forgotten he's never been here before. "But I want to start in your favourite room."
"Well, the study is my favourite. I converted one of the bedrooms into an office space."
"Show me."
You don't protest. Instead you head out of the living room and up the stairs to the furthest end of the hallway, with Bucky following closely behind you.
"These all used to be built-in storage units around a headboard for a bed. I took all the doors off the cabinets and made it into shelving." You'd turned the room into a space that you love. The walls are painted a light shade of cream with houseplants lined up between books on the shelves. Instead of storage around a headboard, you now have book shelves, arching around your desk. The other side of the room has a sofa that converts into a bed for extra guests and there's a beanbag in the corner by the window to read on.
"I see why it's your favourite. Odd mix of books here though." Bucky's eyes flick over the titles, ranging from your collection of political figures' autobiographies, the 'Diary of an Oxygen Thief' trilogy, the selection of books providing commentary on the criminal justice system and a good few classics.
"It is. But I like this room. It'll be cosy in winter once I get some fairy lights and nice and bright in summer. Somewhere to unwind." You're thinking out loud as you reach up to close the window and that's when you feel Bucky step behind you.
"I think we should celebrate." Bucky’s voice is low, his lips trailing up the side of your neck, heading towards the spot just behind your ear that he's always loved to kiss.
"I think..." He stops briefly on his path, taking a second to inhale deeply, determined to slow down. "I think we should make love in every room of your new house this weekend."
Fuck.
"Are you sure you're up for that? Because I can really stretch it out. I'm not sure how we're going to make it work in the pantry or the downstairs bathroom but I'm happy to try."
"Your 'pantry' is a cupboard." Bucky's breath is hot on your neck, and you feel his lips have curled into a smile.
"I know. You promised every room though." You can't help but tease him, although you're half serious. It's not your fault that you're keen. Not when he's kissing down your neck like that and holding your waist so your back is flush against him.
"You're a handful." You feel his fingertips graze the bare skin of your waist and you remember how nice it is to just be touched the way he touches you.
"I might be a handful but I can promise if I have my way, after you leave here on Sunday, you won't even be able to think about cumming again until Thursday at the very earliest."
"Jesus, that's one hell of a promise." He turns you around to face him and you notice his eyes are damn near twinkling with excitement.
You've got all weekend together; there's no need to rush but you can't help the overwhelming need to feel him sliding into you. That's when you feel closest to him and it's the closeness you're craving more than anything.
Your hand cups the side of his face, your thumb tracing across his freshly shaved jawline and you allow yourselves a second to just be together.
He smells familiar. The heat of his body against yours makes you feel safe. He makes you feel safe.
"I want to start with you though. I brought you a little something." He kisses your lips gently and smooths a hand down over your hair before he retreats downstairs to the bag that he'd brought a few changes of clothes in.
He returns with a small cardboard box with the tape on one end already cut.
"I didn't have time to wrap it. It arrived last minute." You're so busy trying to get into the box that you hadn't even noticed.
Inside the box are a few instruction manuals, a thin white cord and a black satin pouch. Inside the pouch is a neon pink toy that's thicker at each end, narrow in the middle and nicely curved.
"I've already charged it and paired it to my phone. This end slips inside you." He points to the thicker end, studying your face to make sure you're okay with this.
And why wouldn't you be? This is pretty damn close to a dream come true.
"Remember what you said last time I saw you? You wanted me to spank you. Maybe we should take it a little further." He's always been hesitant to do anything that would hurt you and that fact is the very reason you want him to. You know how much he wants to protect you and knowing he cares about you has you convinced that he's the right person to explore this with.
"Please." You whisper, beyond excited at the thought of getting everything you've begged him for. "What did you have in mind?"
"I'm thinking about you bent over this desk with this inside you and we'll start off with a couple of light taps to that pretty ass." He presses the button on the narrow part of the toy and it give a short buzz, coming to life in his hands.
Fuck, you're into this man. You're into his hesitation just as much as you're into his willingness to try something new.
"Traffic light safe word system. 'Red' and I'll stop, 'amber' and I'll give you a break, 'green' to keep going." He wants to be fully sure you know you're in control here, not that you ever had any doubt.
You nod and stretch up on your tiptoes to kiss him, this time with as much passion as you can manage. Your hands run through his hair while his trail over your body, your tongue flicking gently against his.
Just being around this man makes you wet, not that you'd ever admit that to him. Even the thought of him has you throbbing with arousal so now that he's here in front of you, your whole body feels like it's buzzing.
He touches you like he can't get enough. He can't get you close enough and it's beyond thrilling to be the subject of his need.
It's almost embarrassing that you get yourself worked up so easily but from the hungry look in his eyes when you undo the button of your jeans, he doesn't seem to mind.
You step out of your jeans and panties and Bucky helps you out of your top and bra, leaving you naked in your study.
"Look at you." Bucky sounds like he's almost in awe, no matter how many times he's seen you naked.
He kisses you again, matching the same passion he'd had earlier, trailing his hands over your soft, warm skin until his fingers are nestled between your thighs.
"Fuck, you're soaked." His fingertips trail between the folds of your sex, gathering the wetness he's responsible for. "Good girls don't get this wet at the thought of being spanked. You know that, don't you?"
You're almost too turned on to even respond to him. "Bend over. I want to see how well you take your toy."
You do as you're told, bending over your desk while Bucky drops to his knees behind you to slip the toy inside you. You feel him trail the thicker end of the toy against your slick cunt, gathering enough wetness to let it slip inside you comfortably.
Within a minute, the toy comes to life inside you and there's no way to stifle the moan that catches in your throat.
Not only is the internal part vibrating at a low, delightful buzz, the other end is pressed right to your clit and is stimulating it at the same strength.
"Did I say you could make a sound?" Bucky quizzes, sounding harsher than ever and when he gets no response, his hand comes down on your ass with so much force that it makes you yelp.
It was a hell of a spank and you can feel heat blooming under the skin of your left cheek, quickly followed by another spank to the right.
"For the record, you can make as much noise as you need to. But only because I've told you that you can. You see the difference?"
You force yourself not to nod and it has the effect you were hoping for. Two more harsh, painful spanks are delivered, one to each cheek, the same as before.
You don't know if you imagined it but the toy inside you feels stronger. You can't be sure if you're just focusing on the pleasure over the pain or if Bucky really has turned it up.
"Does that feel nice, sweetheart?" He needs to know you're enjoying this because a little part of him is surprised at just how much he's into it. He gets to control both your pleasure and your pain because you want him to and the trust alone is enough to get him off.
"Feels amazing, fuck. Making such a mess." Stringing sentences together isn't easy but you swear you're about to cum already. Your nipples rub delightfully against the wooden desk and you swear every sensation is heightened.
"I wish you could see the mess you're making. Looks fucking delicious." He turns the toy up ever so slightly but that's enough to send you spiralling, gripping the edge of the desk as pleasure ripples through your entire body.
You can do nothing but sob, cumming relentlessly because he's refused to turn the toy down. Even after you're done, he keeps it at the same intensity, moving on like nothing happened.
"You say the sluttiest things. That promise of yours to totally drain me. Who says shit like that? So fucking filthy."
"I mean it. I want every drop of cum you can give me. And then more." You know saying something like that will earn you another spank and it does.
"You're not just acting like a slut. You are a slut. You spend your life hiding it from everyone else but you can't hide it from me." A shiver runs down your spine. You almost feel like you've been caught. Like he's figured you out and now you have nothing left to hide. "Say it."
It's a clear instruction but saying it makes it real.
Your hesitation earns you another sharp spank, heat prickling both your face and your ass at the same time.
"Don't make me tell you twice." For someone hesitant to slip into a dominant role, he's absolutely nailing it.
"I'm your slut." Your voice is less steady than you would've hoped but the words at clear at the very least.
"My slut?" He almost sounds like he can't believe what he heard.
"Yours. Your slut." You repeat, wishing you could see his face.
"Oh sweetheart, that's cute." He means it too. He turns the toy up as a reward and even though it's only at half its full strength, you can't help but cum again, pleading your way through another blinding orgasm.
"Such a good girl for me. That's it. Cum nice and hard. Give that slutty little pussy what it needs." He lands one more harsh spank on your ass and you swear it only makes you cum harder, to the point that your legs are shaking.
But all of a sudden, the sensation stops completely.
"B-Bucky?" You ask, turning around to look at him, wondering if something went wrong.
"Don't want to wear you out, sweetheart. I think that'll do for now." You agree that it's probably a good place to stop and you have no problem taking the toy out for a while.
He pulls you in close, resting your head on his chest, letting you catch your breath while he holds you and kisses your forehead.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His voice is soft, hoping that you'll tell him the truth.
"No. It was perfect." You smile, capturing his lips in yours, hoping to relieve some of his fear. You're almost giddy with excitment. It truly was everything you needed and you fully intend to thank him for it before the weekend is over.
"Good. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would." He's back to the gentle, tender touches that you're so used to from him and it's a blessing that he can flick so effortlessly between both personas.
"How about we order in and stick a movie on?" He suggests, kissing the tip of your nose. "Go put on something comfortable. I'll find a takeout."
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skyward-floored ¡ 3 months ago
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Whumptober Day 7: Only for emergencies, magic with a cost
Legend again! Legend angst lovers rejoice! And also Time because I love him and Legend as a duo and I’ve barely hurt him so far this year.
Warnings: violence, blood, magic exhaustion.
Ao3 link
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They always took a lot out of him. Legend’s medallions.
He never said it outright, but Time could tell after the rare occasions that he used them he was always a little more worn out, a little faster to sit down, hands shaking around his sword. The pure magic they used drained him nearly dry, and you didn’t have to be able to sense magic to see the obvious drain on Legend’s energy.
It was a lot like when Hyrule went too far with his own magic. Exhaustion, dizziness, a green potion or two, and a need for a good night’s sleep all obvious markers. Time was glad that Legend rarely resorted to using the medallions, but when he did he trusted the veteran to know his limits.
He shouldn’t have. So far Legend had used all three of them in this fight.
Time slammed his blade into a moblin, and watched in concern as Legend stumbled against a wall, using it for leverage as he stabbed a bokoblin. His face was as pale as the skin of the beasts they were fighting, and Time could see his legs shaking from here.
Trapped in a cave system by a portal spewing endless monsters, they were both exhausted. Magic whispered to Time from inside of his bag, but he ignored it for now, separating a stalfos’s head from its shoulders.
Not yet.
Only if things got really bad.
Time continued to work his way towards Legend, cutting past monsters with both normal blood and black. The majority weren’t infected, but enough of them were that it made the fight a lot harder. A clatter rang through the cave, and Time saw Legend’s sword go flying, torn from his hand by a swing from a poe’s lantern.
Legend stumbled, barely throwing his shield up in time to dodge a slice that would have taken his head off, and Time fought his way towards him even faster. He grit his teeth as he spun through a small cloud of keese, stabbed through a poe of some kind, and then ran forward just in time to block a slice that Legend wouldn’t have been able to dodge.
“Thanks,” Legend gasped, and Time nodded, quickly scanning the veteran before going back to the fray.
Legend was paler than ever, and his hands shook as he grabbed another weapon from his pouch. Time’s eye itched, but he ignored it as he viciously defended the veteran, refusing to think about it. Not unless there’s no other choice.
A roar shook the cave, and Time and Legend both faltered as two lynels ran into view, nostrils flaring. They weren’t Wild’s version of the beasts thankfully, but lynels were tough no matter the breed.
Legend’s eyebrows narrowed, and Time cursed under his breath at the look in his eyes.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said sternly, stabbing two blins at once.
Legend stumbled back against the wall again, and didn’t look at him as he began patting at his tunic.
“No, gotta... use it again,” Legend panted, hands fumbling as he tried to grab the cord around his neck. “Gotta...”
“Legend you can’t,” Time said sternly, throwing up his shield to block a swing. “There’s no way you have enough magic left to use that.” I’d rather use the mask—
“Too many,” Legend shot back, finally pulling the medallion from under his tunic. “Keep coming, gotta clear... clear p-path. Those lynels...”
Time had to look away to slash at some monster he didn’t recognize. “Legend we’ll figure out another way, do not—”
A wolfos lunged for Time’s face and he cried out as it threw him to the ground, fangs snapping at his nose. It bit down on his arm and he yelled, kicking up at it until he knocked it off. Time snatched his sword and stabbed it, breathing hard as the beast fell dead.
Magic prickled in the air, and Time whirled around. His eye caught on the medallion clenched in Legend’s hand, his teeth gritted and eyes screwed closed.
“Legend!”
Lightning crashed into the cave, monsters shrieking as electricity coursed through them. Most of them fell dead to the ground, but Time’s attention wasn’t focused on them.
He was too busy catching Legend as he collapsed.
The veteran crashed into his arms, completely limp, and Time scrambled to pick him up while the monsters that were still standing were stunned.
Blood trickled from Legend’s nose, his arms shaking where he still clutched at his necklace. Time had no idea if he was conscious or not, but he didn’t have time to check right now.
“Legend you fool,” he muttered worriedly, holding Legend tight to his chest, then bolted, leaping past stunned monsters. Legend’s actions had given them a window, and he wasn’t going to waste it.
The strongest monsters were already shaking off the hit, howling in anger as they realized their prey was escaping. One of the lynels had gone down, but the other was already getting to its feet, eyes blazing as they zeroed in on Time.
It bolted, and Time pushed himself to run even faster, stretching past his exhaustion, ignoring the stinging lines on his cheek begging him to give in. He was nearly past the portal, he just had to get outside the cave and find the others, come back with backup—
A different sort of roar came from behind him, and Time whirled, grabbing his shield and deflecting the fireball that burst out of the lynel’s mouth.
He didn’t stick around to see what it hit, but another roar rang through the cave as he bolted away. Legend was still motionless in his arms, and Time held him tight as he leapt sideways from a blade, twisting around another one.
Nearly all the monsters that had survived were chasing him now, and Time dodged and sliced, stabbed and lurched out of the way, all while Legend lay halfway slung over his shoulder.
Then something slammed into him, Time lost his grip, and before he knew what was happening he was on the ground, Legend gone from his arms.
“Vet!” he shouted the moment he realized, and scrambled to his feet, frantically casting his gaze around. And felt his heart stop as he saw Legend.
The veteran was lying motionless on the ground, the lynel’s hoof on his chest.
Time ran, ignoring his aching body, yelling as he sliced past endless monsters. They seemed to swarm to block him, and fear hit Time like a bolt of lightning as the lynel held out a blade, raising it above its head.
It was about to plunge it through Legend’s neck, Time was too far away, there were too many beasts, too fast too thick too many—
His pouch sang with urgency as Time’s eye burned and he didn’t even think as he pulled the mask out and slammed it onto his face.
His world narrowed, power rushed through his limbs. Someone screamed, a monster roared, a blade swung outward.
A spray of black.
Another scream.
Pain.
Then nothing.
(...)
Link floated.
He had a vague sense of moving, of muscles being used, his sword swinging in wide arcs. Muffled sounds reached him, but nothing distinct. Nothing clear penetrated the strange whiteness he was swaddled in, and so Link drifted, exhaustion keeping him under.
“...an...”
He stirred.
The whiteness pulled at him, cottony and safe, but Link pulled away a bit, listening.
“...ol...m...”
That sounded familiar.
The deep white pulled more insistently as he tried to listen more, sticking to his limbs, crooning and urging him to just sit back, let go, rest for a bit longer. But Link was waking up more by the second, and he began to struggle, pulling against the magic he could feel clinging to him now.
“...ime...”
Link had a vague awareness of his limbs now that he didn’t have before, one gripping something tight, his eyes staring at something. There was a greyish figure, too indistinct too make out, but the shape looked familiar.
The sight of it made something in Link’s chest pound, and he felt suddenly aware of the mask on his face, pressed tightly to his skin, meshing seamlessly with the markings on his cheek.
“Link...com...ack...”
Link raised a hand, the cottony magic turning sharp, wailing at him, begging him to stay down, stay safe, sink back into the protection he could offer, but Link fought past it.
“Almos...ere”
He raised his hand higher, ignoring the siren song of the magic coursing through him, vision still indistinct and washed out, then caught his fingers on his chin.
Then Time fell to the floor, the world snapping back in a wash of color, the clatter of a mask hitting the ground like thunder in his ears.
Time could only lie there for a moment, breathing harshly as his vision wavered. He felt exhausted and drained like he always did after giving in, and looked over at the mask, grimacing as pain streaked across the scar on his face.
Every time it was harder to let go.
“T...Time?”
Time turned his head the other direction, and saw Legend lying a few feet away, eyes half-lidded and full of worry. It was then Time realized that the cave was eerily quiet, and he slowly blinked, trying to get his vision to focus.
“They’re... gone?” Time croaked, and Legend nodded, dried blood coating his upper lip.
“All gone,” Legend breathed, his eyes sliding closed.
He coughed weakly, and Time dragged himself across the floor with shaking limbs, his eye burning. It took him a long time, but he finally managed to lean himself against the wall, and pull Legend’s head onto his lap, the veteran nearly limp as he moved him.
His vision was swimming enough that he couldn’t get a good look at Legend, but he was alive, and not suffering from any grievous wounds as far as he could tell.
It had been worth it.
Time closed his eyes, trembling with exhaustion as his breath wheezed. There was a sharp feeling in his ribs, his leg— he could smell blood, both monster and not, and he was sure he was coated in it. But he was alive. Legend was alive.
They’d made it.
“Hyp... hypocrite,” Legend whispered, and Time cracked an eye open, looking at him.
“Hm?”
“Hypocrite,” Legend repeated, giving him an exhausted glare. “You... chewing me out for... magic, then... using that m-mask.”
Time breathed out a laugh, and let his eye slide closed again, resting a hand on Legend’s head.
“You’re right,” he admitted, voice fading. “But... I don’t regret it.”
“Me neither,” Legend murmured.
Time ran a trembling hand through Legend’s hair, and the veteran didn’t resist, further relaxing into his lap with a sigh.
It wasn’t long after that that the both of them passed out, Time’s one hand in Legend’s hair, the other still holding tight to his sword.
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cartoon-thembo ¡ 2 years ago
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I HAD TO MAKE SOMETHING OR I WASN'T GOING TO BE ABLE TO SLEEP WHAT A CHAPTER HOLY FUCK
@buggachat
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jesterjaxx ¡ 2 months ago
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Hey guys have a doodle
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skyward-floored ¡ 24 days ago
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ehehehe you’re welcome!!! I’m glad you like it :D
So. Um. I tried my hand at writing a little something with hdw and Power Link (who I ended up calling Chime because of your one doodle with him and Mask and calling him “other Link” got hard to work with and I gave up lol). I tried to give it some comforty vibes, and hopefully I succeeded. And hopefully I also wrote Power okay 😅
it’s not much, but I hope you enjoy and also feel better Skye <3
- Sky Floor
———
Impa was often... not sure what to think of the other heroes who were fighting with them.
The fact that two of them were children was alarming, even if the hero of winds generally acted fairly mature. She couldn’t deny that they were all skilled fighters, and Mask truly was a menace on the battlefield. Tune could be so as well, and the eldest, the one Mask had started calling Chime was... well.
He was just as skilled a warrior, no doubt about that, and seemed much more put together outwardly, but Impa was not convinced.
It was only small things she noticed, signs here and there. He was about as secretive as herself, and his personality was hard for her to parse out. But the heaviness in his gaze and circles under his eyes she often glimpsed reminded her all too much of the reflection she saw in the mirror every morning. Add that to him being half-Sheikah, and the pieces of his life she’d gleaned, and she couldn’t help but watch him a bit more closely than the other two.
He’d mentioned he was close with an Impa of his own. And despite her own troubles, Impa figured she should at least try and watch out for him in her stead.
And now, watching him and her son doze against each other after a particularly exhausting battle, there was a strange mix of warmth and worry for the both of them plaguing her.
Impa crossed her arms, studying them. Neither was fully asleep, but neither of them was fully awake either, breath puffing out in faint clouds as they dozed. The small scratches and bruises that weren’t worth a potion to heal on their faces seemed more obvious in the light from the dying fire, and Impa trailed her gaze over them, wondering they’d been cleaned or not.
She would’ve stayed where she was and let them doze a while longer, but it was starting to get cold, and the last thing the army needed was the two of them sick. Impa sighed, and stood and walked over to them, both heroes’ eyes cracking open at the sound of her approach.
“It’s getting late,” she said, her voice feeling oddly loud despite her quiet tone. “You two should head inside. It’s been a long day, and I know you were both injured. Proper rest would do you good.”
Her son groaned, closing his eyes again, but the other Link nodded, nudging his younger counterpart further awake. “Come on Captain, she’s right. You’ll be warmer inside.”
“Mm... fine,” her son mumbled, making half an effort to blink himself awake. He rubbed at his arm where Impa knew he’d been struck earlier, then yawned, dark circles stark under his eyes.
They matched the ones on his counterpart’s face, and Impa couldn’t help but hover when they stood up, Link stumbling due to tiredness, Chime stumbling due to his previously-broken leg that a red potion was still working on. They both managed to get themselves upright though, and once Impa made sure they were both able to stand, she began herding them both across camp.
Her son’s sleepiness made him more snuggly than usual, and Impa looked at him worriedly as he slumped against her shoulder. Chime at least was holding himself upright, but both were well and truly exhausted.
The whole day had been... a lot.
Blood flickered in Impa’s memory, but she hastily shooed it away. There was no need for that. Both of them were fine. Everyone was fine.
Impa finally got them to Link’s tent, the closest of the three of theirs. Tune and Mask weren’t around, which wasn’t surprising as they sometimes slept elsewhere, but Impa was relieved it gave them some extra peace and quiet. Link slumped down on his cot when Impa guided him there, barely looking alive, and Chime sat beside him and nudged him, urging him to take off his boots at least. Link did so, slowly, and Impa looked at the other hero, making no move to do the same as he stared off into the middle distance.
“Do you need some assistance?” she asked him carefully, and he blinked, his blank stare turning towards her. “With your shoe. Because of your leg?”
He blinked again, then shook his head, earrings reflecting the lantern light as they swayed. “I still need to head back to my own tent.”
“Your tent is currently halfway across camp, and you were falling asleep just on the walk here,” Impa said sternly. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t stay. There’s enough room beside Link.”
“Yeah,” her son mumbled, sleepily leaning on his counterpart. “I don’t mind. ‘S fine.”
Chime looked unsure, but then Link slumped, asleep again. Impa couldn’t help her quiet chuckle, and Chime sighed at the hero dozing on his arm, carefully maneuvering himself around so they were both lying on Link’s cot.
Impa wordlessly moves to his feet and the older Link kicked off one of them, Impa tugging off the other on his injured leg. He met her eyes as he gave her a nod of thanks, his red alarmingly close to her own, and Impa briefly wondered if her own son would’ve looked like him if her genes had won out.
“General,” he acknowledged quietly, and she nodded in return, a smile twitching at her lips as Link grabbed onto him in his sleep.
“Got some rest. You’ve both earned it,” she replied just as quietly, and though he seemed hesitant, Chime eventually closed his eyes, joining Link in falling sleep.
Impa fetched a blanket and set it over the two, then watched them again for several moments, their expressions more soothed in slumber, but with exhaustion still tugging at the edges. Chime seemed younger as he slept, much of his worry smoothed from his face, and Impa wondered not for the first time how old he was.
Much too young, she thought with a sigh, and gently fixed the blanket over the two, watching them for a few more quiet seconds.
Then she exited the tent with nothing but a soft rustle.
I had to hold on to this so I could reread it like four times AAAHHH PEGGY I ADORE THIS ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Nicknaming him Chime is adorable and precious I’m adopting that idea I love it you’re a genius and so is Mask 🥺❤️❤️❤️
I love how quiet this all feels, like it’s still comfort but it has that distance to it from the strained relationship between Impa and her son and because Power tends to keep everyone at arm’s length and doesn’t know what to make of Impa and alsjdfhdowiher PEGGY this is fantastic!!!! You wrote Power great, he’d be trying to look out for Link but also just be so dead tired mentally and generally stay formal and distant from everyone he isn’t looking after, especially Impa as he has many mixed feelings about her fisheeveififhsskiwjw THIS IS SO GOOD OH MY GOSH
WARRIORS BEING ALL SNUGGLY BECAUSE HE IS SLEEPY AWWWW
HE LEANED ON IMPA IT COUNTS AS CHDDLING WIRH HIS MOM
IMPA LOOKING OUT FOR POWER BECAUSE MAMA CAN SENSE SOMETHING IS OFF GOGFHSJSOWBEBR
I ADORE THIS THANK YOU 😭❤️ Power and Warriors are so cute together aahhhhhh they’re brothers I love them this is amazing I’m gonna reread it a hundred times ❤️❤️❤️
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ifyoucandaniel ¡ 2 years ago
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why are jegulus authors the best wolfstar authors…. like stg they’re putting smth in their side wolfstar tag. every time i read a jegulus fic and it’s got background wolfstar and the author switches prospectives or has an epilogue for them it’s always the most scrumptious kicking screaming giggling wolfstar i’ve ever read. and they always NAIL their characterization ??? what is it
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chiropteracupola ¡ 2 months ago
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"What Grows on the Oak," 2024.
it's the time of year, once more, for an original spooky story!
The oak trees lie across the hills like low smoke, soft and near, and the road dips down into the valley, as inviting as any road has ever been, but the girl on the bench of the buggy on the hilltop makes no move to follow it.
Rose looks out down the road and over the hills, and taps her fingers beside her on the bench. It’s a quiet enough afternoon that there’s little other sound but the high thin sound of insects, and the wind in the long grass, and Rose’s fingers, tapping. The horse, still in harness, looks up and flicks its ear, as if in protest at the sound, and Rose sighs and forces her hand still.
There is a girl in the nearest tree, Rose notices — the fact of it is idly categorized, without true interest. All the same, the light is catching in her hair, dashing shadows over her face as she sits draped across the curve of a branch, and Rose cannot look away from her.
The Fosters, at whose door Rose waits, have no daughter — no children but the one still-toddling son, who Rose remembers as a colicky, twitchy boy. Besides, this girl looks nothing like Mr Foster and his wife, for her hair stands out about her head like a bundle of mistletoe, pale as sun-worn wood. She is, perhaps, their hired girl. Rose is struck by envy, suddenly, that the Fosters’ hired girl had the time to shinny up a tree in the last light of evening, and still would be paid for her work…
Rose sighs, leaning her chin on her hand. Perhaps it is enough for her to be her father’s driver, and to have bed and board in his house — perhaps some day there will be money for school again, in San Francisco or even out east. And perhaps it is not enough, and perhaps there will not ever be.
“Hello, doctor’s driver,” says a voice at Rose’s elbow. Rose yelps in surprise, then turns. It is the girl with the mistletoe hair — dry moss hair — hair like a cloudy day in August.
“No, you’re his daughter, are you not?” asks the Fosters’ hired girl, and Rose nods. “Miss del Llano, that’d make you.”
“Just Rose, please.” She’ll be Miss some other day — not now, in her too-short skirts and with her plait hanging over her shoulder.
“May I come up?” asks the girl.
“Surely,” says Rose, and the girl has swung herself into Rose’s father’s accustomed seat in a fluttering of pale skirts.
“Your father is the doctor — what does he do here? “He is a leech, then? A bloodletter?”
“Don’t be silly, he’s not medieval!”
“Hm-mm, I shall believe you when you prove it me,” says the girl, laughing, and leans her chin on her hand to make herself Rose’s mirror. Side by side they sit for a while, and the dark gathers in across the hills until oaks and grassland alike are made one mass of shadow. Somewhere in the trees beyond the road, a horned owl utters its deep, melancholy cry out into the dusk.
“If ghosts had telephones, I should think they’d sound rather like that,” says Rose, the early chill of after-sunset driving her quite easily to a morbid sort of cheer.
“How the times change,” says the girl, with an odd, but not entirely unhappy, look in her eyes. “No, my dear; ghosts use the same telephones as you and I, as you well know.” Rose does not know, well or otherwise, much at all about ghosts, so she nods, and feels a little more of the girl’s weight settle on her shoulder.
“You have very cold hands,” says Rose, and the girl from the oak tree smiles and taps at Rose’s cheek with clammy fingers.
“I always have, I’m afraid.”
“It’s no bother, really.” And so they sit and watch the sky, the falling-dusk and the distant fog that creeps over the hills, until there’s light, sharp as a door opening.
Rose turns, and it is only Dr del Llano, leaving his patient with his hat in his hand. She turns back, and the Fosters’ hired girl is gone.
“How is Mrs. Foster,” Rose asks, without any particular feeling in her voice, and her father shakes his head in reply. But the road down into the valley, where lies the town, is before them, and Rose is pleased enough at the journeying that she asks no further questions.
It’s in the hills and on the road that Rose meets, again, with the oak tree girl, the mistletoe girl, the girl with hands like marble in the shade. Once again, Rose is waiting for her father while he attends a patient, and, lazing in the sun, Rose has pushed the sleeves of her shirtwaist up to her elbows.
And then the girl is there again, with her shock of cobweb hair moving, ever so faintly, in a breeze that doesn’t seem to reach as far as the buggy-seat.
“Hello, my pretty-lovely,” says the girl, putting her hand out to the horse still in its traces. Though usually affectionate, the horse puts back its ears and pulls its head away.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” says Rose, half-laughing. “Save your sweet words for someone who wants them, all the same.”
“Has she a name, then?”
“Other than Morgan, for what she is? Not at all,” Rose replies. Neither she nor her father have ever thought of one, for all that they’re fond of the hardworking little mare. “And have you a name, then?” For she’s remembered, now, that her oak-tree girl had never told her of it.
“I’m called Saro,” says the girl, and again swings herself up beside Rose. “What does your father do here, my Rose?”
“Oh, I oughtn’t say,” and Saro looks back at her with a stare of please? and Rose laughs and says anyway. She shouldn’t gossip, but she leans in close anyway, and whispers that “Old Man Lucas has got the clap, and him a widower these ten years!” Saro’s mouth twitches at the corners — she can’t hide her laugh for long, and it bursts, bright, out from her.
“I shall tell, I shall tell!” says she, and Rose coughs on her own laugh with a still-merry “Don’t!”
“You’ll have to catch me and make me, first!” and Saro leaps down from the buggy and runs, her skirts, her hair a flash of white in the golden-dry grass. And Rose, her spirits raised beyond what a grown girl such as herself should permit, follows. She’s less fleet-footed than Saro, earthbound still, stumbling on furrows in the land, catching her heels in ground-squirrel burrows.
Saro, she’s sure, is holding back for her benefit — letting herself be caught. And Rose does catch her, knocking her off her feet and into the grass. Saro’s laughing-merry still, her hair stuck full of grass-seed and foxtails. Close-to, Rose can see the freckles that dapple her cheeks and nose, the squint of her dark eyes when she smiles. Saro flicks Rose’s cheek, the snap of her fingers like a prickle of frost, and Rose lies there in the dusty field, entirely lost.
But Saro’s on her feet again before Rose can blink, before Rose can reach out to her, and Rose is standing, blinking in the sunlight, stumbling back to the buggy as she dusts bits of dry grass from her skirt. She buttons the sleeves of her shirtwaist again, the cuffs of which don’t quite come to her wrists anymore, and laughs when her father hands her up into her seat like a lady.
“The best whip I ever had,” he says, perfectly straight-faced.
“Gee-up!” says Rose, holding the reins in one hand and imagining herself perched atop a stagecoach. But even for all her imaginings, she’s as good a driver as her father says, and draws the horse into a gentle trot to see them home. It’s hill and dale down into the valley, hill and dale again like a song, and in the inner slopes lie trees in amid the dust-golden grasses of summer. Beneath the sparse, spreading branches, it is suddenly cooler, then warmer again, as the horse steps evenly onward and back into the sun.
“That’s mistletoe, you know,” says Dr del Llano, as he’s said a thousand times before, and points up at the gray-green mass that clings among the summer-sparse branches of an oak.
“Isn’t that for Christmastime?” asks Rose.
“It’s an odd thing we bring it in for the Nativity,” muses her father, still looking back at the tree as they pass it by. “Poison, that — and it chokes the life out of the oak tree, too. Not a kindly thing, mistletoe, but we hang it up with the flor de Nochebuena all the same…”
He doesn’t speak after that, but sings instead, an out-of-season hymn of sons newborn and deaths already foretold. If the verse telling of tombs ought to be grim, Dr del Llano doesn’t make it so, and so the story of gloom and gravity is nothing but a blithe eventuality, predicted all light-hearted by a man very certain of the truth of it.
Mrs. Foster dies soon after. Rose sits in the church as the priest says the first of the masses for her, the first of seven that her widower has paid for. She waits at the door while her father makes conversation — how she wishes he would hurry up! But the doctor in his black coat and the priest in his cassock are two crows alike, and so she is there in the doorway until her father says ‘good-by, Padre’ and comes to join her. Rose hardly has the time to shut her hymnal closed over the catalog tucked inside before he bustles past her, eager now to be on his way.
“Damned quiet place now that the mine’s shut up,” he says on the walk home, and Rose nods, though she does not remember the mine-town as her father does. She knows that there is no more coal to be had here and no more sand, and that with the mine has gone much of her father’s custom. Without black-lung and burns and broken bones, there is far less for a doctor to do in these hills.
But there is no other doctor than Juan Soto del Llano, with his limping step and his rosary about his neck and his rattletrap of a horse-drawn buggy with his only daughter to drive it, so he goes on as he has, and mends up broken bones and offers fever-cures to farmers and their wives, and to the valley townsfolk nearer home.
Henry Freeman is twenty-two, the bright young son of a new-money farmer. He is sickening for something, he is grey-faced and cold and his eyes do not focus.
Dr del Llano is at his door with hat in hand — money passes from the elder Mr. Freeman’s worn hand into his, and the doctor closes the older man’s hand over the coins. Out on the bench of the buggy, Rose scoffs and shakes her head. The fog-touched night is cold even through her coat, and she shivers involuntarily.
“He oughn’t to do such things,” she says, to no one but herself. But all the same, Rose turns her head, and Saro is there beside her, smiling.
“What oughtn’t he do?” asks Saro, with the questioning merriment in her voice that Rose has come to like so well.
“He doesn’t ask for payment, when it’s hill sickness,” and, seeing Saro’s quirk of the mouth, the way the question lurks in her well-dark eyes, Rose continues. “Father doesn’t know what it is, still, and he can’t mend it. It cannot be consumption, for it doesn’t settle in the lungs, but all the same — it is as if something is drawing out the life from them, every one.”
“So your Henry Freeman shall die, then,” says Saro, blunt.
“Don’t—“ says Rose, and stops, cold. “Who are you?” she asks, and looks Saro in the eyes, the brown of them so dark that Rose can barely find her own reflection. And the girl with the mistletoe hair reaches out, and pulls her hand across the golden curve of the hill as if she is stroking the grass that lies like dry cowhide on the ground.
“You know my name, doctor’s daughter, is that not enough?”
“Saro—“ Footsteps, and Rose’s head turns without her willing it. Doctor del Llano still has his sleeves rolled up, the edges wet from scrubbing. He doesn’t let them down again as he drags on his coat, hauling himself up to the buggy-seat as if held down by a great weight.
“Father—“ says Rose, and looks to Saro beside her, but even as she turns back, Saro is gone again.
“I’ll not talk of it,” he says, and hauls his bag into the buggy. It might well weigh as much as all the world. Rose huffs, and pulls her arms against her chest, and sets them on the road again.
And so it goes, over and over again — the Misses Hayward, unmarried, a few years older than Rose herself — Martin Foster, only three — the widow Ruiz, whose husband died down the mine before Rose was born. All of them greying, cold, dying quick. There is sickness in the hills, and it is sickness that the doctor cannot cure, and Rose — Rose finds that she barely cares. She stands in the church, once more, at Lillie Hayward’s funeral, and cannot look at the coffin, but only turns her head to search for wild light hair among the townsfolk in the pews.
But Saro doesn’t come to town; that’s not the place for her, Rose knows. How could she stay anywhere else but where the wind drags the points of oak leaves down the sky, where the tall grass parts under her hands like water?
So life goes on as it did before — the spiders building their webs across the age-grey clapboards of the doctor’s house by the old mine, the oak leaves stuck by their prickling edges to the drying wash, Rose’s father singing softly in his parents’ Spanish as he stocks his black bag at his desk in the front-room.
Rose leans against the desk, chipping at the varnish with her fingernails. In concession to the afternoon heat, the eastward window is flung open, and the thinnest breeze flicks at the pages of the last Sears catalog laid idly within her reach. She has begun to resent the sun — she closes her eyes, hunting darkness for darkness’s sake, and thinks of Saro in her white skirts, standing candle-slender in the dusk between the hills, Saro’s hands that are always cold, pressed softly against Rose’s face, her neck, her chest.
Telephone, its jangling sound sharp in the late-summer quiet — her father’s soft noises of questioning and assent — the practiced movements of putting harness to the horse. But for all that the interruption is sharp, there’s a pleased rise in Rose’s heart nonetheless, for if she is lucky, she will see Saro on the road.
She reins in the horse when her father tells her so, and hands him his bag as he jumps from the buggy — once he’s gone, Rose allows herself a secret smile. It’s early in the evening now, with the light all golden, her father’s horse with its dark mane a-gleaming in the last of the sun. Rose has a flask of coffee with her, brewed black as her father’s coat. She drinks most of it, hot and bitter, never mind that it had been meant to be shared. It doesn’t keep her awake — she drowses, head on her arms, and feels a breeze like soft hands stroke along her neck.
Today she has a headache. Her face is hot, even with her collar unbuttoned and her hat laid aside in her father’s seat. The day is warm, and the air tastes of dust, hot and dry in Rose’s throat. Saro’s hand on her cheek is as sweet and cold as anything Rose has ever snuck from the ice-house. Saro’s mouth against her neck is a cool draught.
“My dear sweet Rose,” says Saro, quiet, with only the barest hint of her usual merriment. “You’ve been ever so patient, even while I took my time with others.”
“Mm,” says Rose, and lets the weight of her body press up against Saro’s cold frame. Perhaps — perhaps that cold could leach the heavy heat from her head, the feverish blur from her eyes.
Saro’s fingers are at the buttons of Rose’s shirtwaist, now, the full breadth of her hand an ice-print on Rose’s chest. Saro from the oak tree, Saro with her hair like mistletoe. The hills rise golden around them, the wind rushing in Rose’s ears without touching her skin.
“May I?”
“Please,” says Rose, at the last, and lets Saro draw away the last of her living warmth.
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