#and just had to write something similar

[adrift-in-thyme]

The Ghost in the Lost Woods

While trying to navigate the Lost Woods Link meets a strangely familiar figure

Ao3 | Fic beneath the cut

————————————

When he ends up at the entrance to the Lost Woods for the twentieth time Link is forced to finally admit it. He’s lost, hopelessly so.

With a sigh, he ignites his torch once more. This is the only part of the woods he’s been to so far where he can actually see two feet in front of him. Everything else is bathed in thick fog that he can make neither heads nor tails of.

Supposedly, the wind is meant to guide his steps and bring him to the place where the Master Sword awaits.

Supposedly.

It certainly hasn’t helped him yet.

Maybe he should turn back. He casts a glance over his shoulder to where he knows the path lies, hopelessly obscured by the fog. He could set up camp right outside the forest, cook something warm and hearty, get some sleep. Then, when morning dawned he’d be up bright and early, ready to try again.

But he doesn’t want to give up, not yet, not now when he’s already wasted half of a day trying to navigate these blasted woods.

He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and heads forward once more.

He makes it five steps before the mist closes in, the telltale giggles of Koroks fill his ears, and the forest spits him out…right back at the entrance.

Link lets out a growl of frustration. How’s he supposed to pull the sword when he can’t even find it? He stumbled upon it before, a mere chance encounter when he was a child playing amongst the trees. Why is it so very difficult now?

Does the Goddess not want him to find it? Has she deemed him unworthy after his miserable failure?

It wouldn’t surprise him.

He extinguishes his torch and walks over to the nearest tree. Flopping down, he leans against it and closes his eyes. The sounds of the forest drift to his ears, carried on the wings of the wind that failed him. Usually, they’re calming, a balm on his frayed nerves, grounding him when the weight of everything becomes too much. But today they only serve to remind him that even nature itself rejects him.

He lets out a bitter laugh. He’s unworthy of a forest now. Fancy that.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?”

A voice slices through the quiet, pushing aside his dismal thoughts. Link opens his eyes.

“Huh?”

A tall man dressed in a full plate of armor gazes down at him, his one eye twinkling with something like amusement.

“I asked if you were lost.”

Link blinks once, twice. He has the oddest feeling he’s met this man before, maybe even known him well. But that can’t be. He makes a point of remembering everyone he comes across on his travels and he’s never even seen this man, much less gotten to know him.

Then again, he doesn’t even remember the faces of his parents. If this man is from his past, there is little chance he would recall him now.

“Umm.”

Eyes narrowing, he looks from the man to the woods and back again. He could be a Yiga, of course. That would explain his unexpected appearance. He has never seen Yiga in these parts though. No doubt they’re afraid to venture too close to the mysterious Lost Woods. And, then, there’s also the fact that he isn’t wearing one of their trademark suits, nor offering to sell him overpriced bananas.

Besides, this man has a strange sort of aura about him, almost like the feeling Link gets when he uses one of the Champion’s powers. He must possess strong magic��maybe even dark magic if the odd markings on his face are any indication. Yet, he dresses like a knight.

And to make matters even stranger, he wavers slightly out of focus if Link stares at him for too long, skin turning just the tiniest bit bluish and translucent. With him standing with his back to the woods, Link has the distinct impression of a phantom emerging from the hazy darkness of the trees.

This man is no ordinary traveler, that much is terribly obvious.

Link frowns up at him, hand drifting ever so slowly to his slate. “Who are you?”

The man smiles, kind and a bit sad. “You can call me Time.”

Time.

Link’s frown deepens. There it is again, the feeling of unexplainable familiarity, as though he’s heard that name before.

“And you’re…traveling through these woods too?”

“You could say that.”

Slowly, Link stands, careful to keep his hand by his slate. He hasn’t tested Stasis on magical beings or ghosts, but it’s worth a try. At the very least, he might be able to take advantage of the element of surprise. His efforts to be nonchalant must not be too effective, though, because Time’s gaze flits to his hip.

“You don’t have to worry,” he says, evenly. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Then, why are you here?”

He regards him calmly, arms crossed over his chest. “To guide the hero to his birthright. That is what you’re after, isn’t it?”

Link’s blood runs cold. Usually, he has no qualms about strangers knowing who and what he is. But usually, they’re random civilians more interested in meeting their crush or seeing a mythical weapon than anything else. And they certainly don’t possess any magical abilities. For this man, however, this strange knight who practically emanates power to know who he is, feels…well it doesn’t feel wrong at all. In fact, it feels as right as following Zelda’s voice or setting the Divine Beasts free. It feels like destiny.

And that is what terrifies him.

“What,” he chokes, “what makes you think I’m the hero?”

Time smirks. “To attempt to pass through these woods you must either be incredibly foolish or incredibly courageous. And you don’t strike me as a fool.”

Link swallows down the fear lodged in his throat. He isn’t entirely sure what to say to that. He’s never been a good liar, that much is for certain, but sometimes he really, really wishes he was.

“Besides,” Time continues, reaching down to pull off one of his gauntlets, “it’s not all that difficult to recognize someone else who possesses the unbreakable spirit.”

He holds up his hand and Link’s eyes go wide. There on his skin is the mark of the Triforce, its far right corner bolded in gold.

Link stares at it, almost not believing what he’s seeing. Slowly, he drags his gaze back up to meet Time’s.

“You—you’re a hero too?”

“I was.” Time replaces his gauntlet, that sorrowful smile lifting his lips once more. “But that was a very long time ago.”

“And now you’re a ghost.”

He chuckles. “Yes, and now I’m a ghost.”

Link runs a hand through his bangs and blows out a breath.

“Okay, wow.”

“Is it really that strange to you?” Time lifts an eyebrow, quizzically. “You’re over a hundred years old, and you often travel with the spirit of your predecessor.”

Link tilts his head questioningly. “Wolfie? How do you know about him?”

“I have my ways.”

Link lets out an exasperated huff. Of course, he’d get the most cryptic ghost in all of Hyrule to guide him. Even Wolfie gives straighter answers than that and he’s incapable of speech.

But Time is gesturing toward the forest now, and Link can tell that particular question isn’t one he’ll get an answer to.

“So, shall we go?”

Link takes one last look at the path and then nods. If he can’t trust the ghost of a past hero, who can he trust?

“Lead on, old man.”

Emotion surges across Time’s face, then is gone faster than Link has time to identify it. He turns away.

“These woods are treacherous,” he says, tone suspiciously level. “Stay close.”

He plunges into the mist, and Link jogs after him.

“Treacherous?”

The only dangers he’s found here are wolves and stalfos. And given that he encounters those practically everywhere he goes, he’s more inclined to label them as incredibly annoying.

Time skewers him with a somber glance. “Those who don’t know how to navigate these woods are swallowed by them. They become stalfos, cursed to wander forever. The forest children have kept you safe from this fate.”

“Oh.”

Well, that certainly brings up more than a few questions and a good bit of discomfort. Suddenly, the fog crowding him on either side seems infinitely more threatening, and Link finds himself gravitating closer to his guide.

“So, how come you know how to get through here when no one else does?” he asks, pivoting on his heel as Time makes an unexpected turn.

The old man’s expression grows nostalgic. “I grew up here. Well, not here exactly, but the Lost Woods in my Hyrule aren’t so different from these.”

Link hums, thoughtfully. He hadn’t thought anyone inhabited this forest save for monsters, animals, and Koroks. But it’s not too hard to imagine that long ago in a different Hyrule this man called the Lost Woods his home. He navigates them with confidence and skill, almost as though the trees themselves are guiding him with silent, invisible hands. And if he were wearing green, Link suspects he would look like he truly belonged here.

“Is this your responsibility, then?” he asks. “To guide people through these woods?”

“No,” Time answers, calmly. “I am only here to guide you.”

Link goes quiet once more, mulling over that in his head. It’s one thing for the Champions, and Zelda, and even Wolfie to guide and protect him. It’s quite another for this man, only connected to him through shared destiny, to show up to aid him, and after all this time too.

It makes so little sense. Then again, he’s found that to be a sort of trend lately.

A blupee darts past them, and he watches it, almost idly wondering if he should take a shot at it. But then it comes an abrupt stop right in front of Time, looking up at him almost expectantly. Time pauses and reaches down to run a gentle hand over it’s head. The animal leans closer, emitting a small, happy sounding noise, and Link shakes his head in disbelief.

“They always run from me.”

As if on cue, the blupee stiffens, bright eyes locking onto him, then disappears in a puff of blue. Time turns to him, something almost accusatory in his gaze.

“Perhaps, if you stopped shooting at them they would be more inclined to stay.” He straightens and makes a beckoning motion with his hand. “Now, come, we’re almost there.”

Link follows him, feeling strangely chastised and a bit annoyed.

It isn’t enough to just be cryptic, apparently, Time has to be judgmental too.

“I don’t wanna hurt them,” he says after a few moments drift by and the need to defend himself still hasn’t gone away. “I’m just always light on rupees.”

“There are other ways of earning rupees, you know,” Time says, tone still infuriatingly level.

With a petulant scowl, Link goes back to plodding along in silence.

It’s not long, though, before the fog begins to dissipate, and Link can see the beginnings of a tunnel looming up ahead. Time comes to a halt a short distance before it and gestures toward it.

“We’re here.”

Link steps forward, almost hesitantly. After trying so hard to get here, he isn’t sure what to do now. The Master Sword awaits him just past these trees – “his birthright,” as Time put it.

But after his miserable failure, can he possibly pull it? Or will it deem him unworthy of another chance to save his kingdom?

He doesn’t even realize that he’s standing frozen, rooted to the spot, until a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Jumping slightly in surprise, he raises his head to meet Time’s gaze. All judgment is gone now, replaced by something kind and understanding. He might, Link realizes with a jolt of surprise, even call it fatherly.

“You are equipped to rise to this challenge,” he says, firmly. “You have worked diligently to prepare for this moment. Now, it is time to claim what is rightfully yours.”

He gives Link the slightest nudge and he steps forward, heart in his throat.

He’s right, it’s time. But…

“And if I’m not–if I’m not ready for this…”

“The sword holds a strict standard, I know. But I have no doubt you will measure up to it.”

His hands are trembling, his stomach churning, but Link takes another step and another. The tunnel is like a gaping maw, ready to devour him, and spit him out bruised and battered by the expectations he can never meet. There is a pull too though, an indescribable feeling that draws him forth, as though he belongs here, as though taking these very steps was written in his history from the start.

As though his failure and all the consequences of it has all led to this, pivotal moment.

His feet carry him, his body moves for him, and it feels right.

“Go, my son,” Time says, voice fading into the mist, “and do not falter.”

Link steps into the sun.

It’s only when it’s all said and done, when the sword is in his hands, and the Deku Tree’s words are ringing in his ears, and the forest children are crowding around him, eager to meet his every need that he sees them. A gray wolf and a golden one sit a short distance away, cloaked by the mist, unnoticed by anyone save for him. And when his eyes meet theirs, there is pride in their gazes.

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Choi Han, for a test from a god, is sent to an unknown land with "Cale."

Choi Han, upon arrival, realizes something is strange about this Cale. He's got a similar appearance to his own Cale but the eyes are sharper, with a witty bite to his tongue and a quick sneer always at the ready.

He's clearly confused and distressed about being in a strange place with a strange person but he does his best to not let it show. His hand reaches for a bottle of alcohol that isn't there.

Choi Han thinks that this Cale isn't like his Cale at all.

Choi Han has a hunch that this Cale is the one from before Kim Rok Soo's possession. It makes sense. So he isn't his Cale.

However, though Choi Han wants to become cold to this stranger version of Cale, when he looks into those red-brown eyes and sees fear, he draws back. It's an instinctual feeling that he gets, right as Cale is spitting more vile words to cover up the trembling in his hands, that he doesn't want to see even a terrible Cale be afraid of him.

This doesn't stop them from arguing. Through towns, forests, deserts, they both learn on an intimate level that they would never, ever get along. Cale is too loud, too threatening, and Choi Han can't resist from debating with this strange Cale about morals, of all things. They argue constantly.

Though they argue, Choi Han can't help himself from sometimes mistaking this Cale for his own. He tells himself it's because they look alike.

They're both in the midst of an argument when a noble-like individual approaches them with cloying words, which seek to lure them inside of the noble's home. Choi Han is suspicious, but before he has the chance to decline, Cale steps in front of Choi Han and demands to speak to the noble who wants to see them.

The noble-like individual turns out to be the servant of a more powerful man, something that Cale saw through immediately.

Choi Han is stunned.

How did this, this trashy Cale with no moral upstanding, clock the intentions of a person so quickly and accurately?

He asks him directly. Cale shrugs. Choi Han believes he's mistaken when Cale's eyes flicker with calculating intent. They don't discuss it further.

Little moments like these keep occurring. Cale does something impressive, Choi Han inquires, and Cale downplays it with a sneer or an insult and refuses to speak about it again. It's weird and strange but it's familiar. Extremely so. Not the insulting, and the sneer is too odd to be his own Cale's face, but it's familiar in the sense that they both underestimate themselves. They both refuse to acknowledge what lies under the surface of their visage.

This Cale is a strange individual. He swears and laughs and grins, he's too calm about their situation, and it's difficult to get through to him when he makes up his mind about something. But the strangest thing is that all of these things remind Choi Han of his Cale.

Finally, it all comes down to a final battle. One more fight and both himself and this Cale can go back to where they belong. Choi Han is ready.

Cale receives a power from a book before the battle and it's unlike anything Choi Han has ever seen. But the coughing up of blood makes him have Cale swear to never use it. Cale swears.

Choi Han makes Cale promise to stay on the sideline and not approach. Cale easily agrees.

They get to the last stage, the last time they'll see each other again, and the villain of this world is too powerful. It's as if he weren't meant for them to fight. It's as if he were made so that they struggle.

Choi Han swings his blade to block a blow that he knows he can't block, knows might end him, and he thinks about how he can't possibly die right now and leave this Cale behind... but he's too weak.

He wonders what his Cale would do in this moment, when everything seems hopeless and nothing is working.

Cale steps in front of him and uses his power to its fullest extent.

White light is shining everywhere, blinding Choi Han who keeps his burning eyes open, desperately keeps his eyes on the Cale that's bleeding from his mouth and his nose and his eyes and his skin is starting to crack, crack like he is about to turn into dust and disappear.

Cale turns to look at Choi Han.

"Ah. I was worried it wouldn't be enough to take out the villain." His eyes stained with blood curl up in a smile. A ball of dread sits in Choi Han's stomach. "I'm glad. I'm really, really..." eyes drifting closed, his body begins to shatter further and further. "Happy for you, Choi Han."

This is why they felt familiar.

It's with a cry of grief and anger, anger at himself, that Choi Han reaches out to hold Cale, hold onto even a piece of him.

Cale's eye, the only one left as he is disintegrating, widens.

Choi Han grasps a fragment that's about to vanish from Cale's chest, somewhere next to his heart, and this piece doesn't break, doesn't disappear from Choi Han's hand. It stays solid and firm and real-

And it's all that Choi Han is left with when the gods test ends.

Choi Han wakes up, surrounded by his family, with a red, glass marble in his hand. He holds it to his chest. It hurts.

It hurts.

[oleafia-art]

some golden guards + caleb

i wanted to take a break and do some character design of a few golden guards based off of some of the ones seen briefly in canon. i also drew hunter and caleb as references for faces and stuff. i tried to make them as similar as possible, but also looking very individual to one another. since belos claimed that hunter looks the most like caleb, i tried to stay true to that while keeping the other three looking similar but not quite as identical. anyways i love them <3 they’re like the most mentally ill family ever to me

these weren’t supposed to be real ocs or anything but then i ended up giving them names and backstories and so i wrote a little about them aaaand now im obsessed. i will try to make a full body ref for them, especially alistair and/or constance, if i have time

i apologize for my godawful handwriting 💔

[bbuzz28]

Memories

Old man Fiddlestan, my beloved-and what's this? It could be semi-canon compliant :O ?!?! Woof- this is one of the saddest things I have ever written. I know some of you gremlins (affectionate) love that sort of thing, but I don't. I like really really don't. This is my comfort ship, so I don't even know where this came from other than trying to figure out how they *could* work in canon. Truthfully though, I prefer my Fiddlestan heavy on the comfort when it comes to the "hurt/comfort" genre. This is my only “angsty” (i.e. no immediate happy ending) Notes-app fics, so don't get used to this level of sad from me lol.

“Stan?” an oddly familiar voice called. Mr. Mystery, Stan Pines, glanced up from the flyers he was organizing and found that Old Man McGucket stood in the doorway of his front door. The last tour of the day had just left, it was dinnertime, and he was exhausted. Stan rolled his eyes as he unfurled his tie, wishing Soos was still there to escort the crazy old man off his property. No matter what he did, the old hillbilly always managed to find his way back to the Shack. “Sweet Moses McSuckit, what are you doing in here? Shoo, scat, or whateva will get rid of ya.” Hearing no movement, he looked at the man again and found he was standing erect. His blue eyes were the clearest he had seen them in no less than a decade.

          Wait, what did he call- oh. Oh no.

“Stan…ley? Did I…did I do somethin’ wrong?” the other man asked, his hands twisted in knots in front of him. Memories flashed through Stan’s mind; Ford falling through the portal, Fiddleford finding him passed out in the lab, working together to bring Ford home again…being together. Being happy. They had been happy, if just for a little while, hadn’t they?

Then there was the cult, and his discovery of the damn memory gun that had finally ruined everything they ever built. He took a hesitant step forward, a thousand thoughts roaring in his mind at once. “Fidds? Wha-what do you remember?” A bandaged hand snaked up and rubbed over the faded scar on the side of his head “I…don’t rightly know. Did we…I think we had a fight? I just woke up in the…in the dump. N’ I don’t have any shoes. Do ya know why my arm is in a cast?” Fiddleford looked so lost.

Stan knew in his heart that all of this was fleeting- “clarity” would hit Fiddleford every few years after he had finally wiped his mind of himself. Almost like his brain was trying to jumpstart itself back together. The first time they thought it was a miracle but…it didn’t last. It just started a trend that would follow them both for the next almost thirty years. Fiddleford would seemingly “wake up” and be lucid for a few weeks in the beginning, then eventually only a matter of days. It had been so long since the last time that Stan would wager, they only had maybe a few hours together if he was lucky.

The last time Fiddleford was himself…they had fought. Stanley thought he had figured the only way Fiddleford could stay; he needed to remember. Remember everything he had ever forgotten. At the time, Fiddleford had been unwilling to try. He didn’t think he could handle it; he knew he had forgotten what he had for a reason.

Stanley had gotten as close to begging as he ever had in his life since surviving Tijuanna, and when it had no effect…Stanley had told Fiddleford to leave and never come back. He had left that night, and by the next day he had faded away again. After a while, Stan thought his last words had been the final nail in the coffin that was Fiddleford’s mind. He carried that weight along with every other mistake he had ever made. But here he was. Fiddleford. His Fiddleford.

He took a deep breath before he opened his arms up. “Hey, don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. I’m right here.” Fiddleford rushed through the doorway, melting into Stanley’s open arms. “I went away again, didn’t I?” Stan could feel Fiddleford’s tears soaking into his chest, his own whispering at the edges of his eyes. Yes, and you will leave again. You will leave me and I will be alone all over again, you fucking asshole. “Hey cowboy, didn’t I just say not t’ worry about any a’ that? You’re here now, n' that’s what matters. You’re…you’re home.” A haggard laugh vibrated through the smaller man’s chest into Stanley’s own. “I know I keep tellin’ ya, tellin’ me not t’ worry is like” “…tellin’ a fish t’ stop swimmin’; I know Fidds, I know.” Fuck was really the only conscious thought that went through his head as he held his one-time lover. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, again.

Fiddleford looked up, eyes wide and searching Stan’s face. “How long do ya think we have?” Stan shook his head, unwilling to lie even if it eventually wouldn’t matter because he wouldn’t remember. You’ve always been the only person I couldn’t lie to. “I dunno, it’s been…a while. Probably not very long.” Fiddleford closed his eyes before he said “I need ya t’ know somethin’, Stanley.” Stan started to shake his head. “Fidds, you don’t have t-” The look on the other man’s face shut Stan right up-he had always had that ability. Stan wished he didn’t miss it as much as he did. “I need ya to know that even when I’m not here…I miss you. The part of me that’s somewhere in here-” A weathered hand tapped the side of his head to emphasize his point “ misses you. I’m just so sorry, Stanley. Sorry that I’m a coward. I’m sorry that I’m not strong enough to be here all the time…but I’ll never stop tryin’. I’ll always try n’ come home to ya.”

Stan thought of the thousands of times he had chased Old Man McGucket, the neat little character that Stan had to compartmentalize his Fiddleford into when he wasn’t himself, out of the Shack. How many times he had found him curled up like a cat on the back porch. How every time they “met”, McGucket would say how nice Stan was or how good he felt to be around him “for some reason.” How many odds and ends McGucket would gift Stan from the dump for exhibits at the Mystery Shack with a large smile and nothing substantial behind his eyes.

It would be so much easier if he would stop trying to come back. Maybe the hole in Stan’s heart the size of the sweet, certifiably insane man would scab over. How many times had Stanley mourned him? How many times was he willing to hurt himself? They were now nearing their sixties, how long was he really willing to do this song and dance?

What’s one more time? he softly thought, his hand coming up to tenderly cup the grizzled face of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Mad scientist, friend, and unfortunately for them both…the love of his life.

“I miss you too, Fidds.”

[runa-falls]

imagine convincing steven to let you suck his dick for 'practice' so you'll know how to do it when you get a boyfriend. but the whole time, the only boyfriend you want is him.

suddenly, he's thinking about you 24/7, craving your messy mouth and the painful dig of your nails against his thigh when he pushes in too much. he falls in love with the way you take care of him, how you can go from eagerly swallowing him down to cooing soft praises when he's coming down from his high.

so when he's reminded of why you're really doing this, he becomes a tad bit possessive. he holds you closer, kisses you harder, and keeps you in his arms a little longer. in his mind, he should be the only one tugging at your hair and staring down at your glistening eyes as he drives himself against your face again and again.

one day, he finally says it.

your lips are still plump and red, the only evidence of the activities that you were doing just a handful of minutes ago. he fiddles with his hands as he watches you search around his flat for your things.

this is one of the few times he hasn't held you in his arms afterwards. he feels empty. alone. he wants to reach out, stop your frantic searching, and tug you onto his lap. he wants to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck and breathe you in. he wants you to stay.

you said were meeting up with someone for lunch. you didn't specify who and you didn't seem like you wanted to. his heart dropped at the mention of someone else and there was only silence between the two of you. it was a piercing needle of reality popping his lovesick bubble.

you seemed disappointed by his silence, a slight frown pulling at the corners of your lips. you merely returned his silence and stood up to look for your shirt.

you're tying your shoes when he finally speaks up.

"don't go." you don't look up, but he knows you heard him because your hands are frozen above your shoes with your laces pinched between your fingers. "stay...here. with me."

you huff out a sigh, finally looking up with inquiring eyes.

"what are you saying, steven?"

"i don't want to do this anymore." you drop your laces and turn your body to face his. everything just spills from his lips, "i know you just wanted help to please your next partner, but i can't stand the idea of seeing you with anyone but myself."

"steven..." you stand up and walk over to the bed where he sits, carelessly leaving your one shoe untied. you rest a hand on his shoulder, urging him to meet your gaze. dark lashes frame his warm brown eyes. "there isn't anyone else."

he blinks as a dusting of pink rises to his cheeks, confused and a bit embarrassed. "...there isn't?"

"no."

"then who are you seeing for lunch?"

"there is no lunch." you confess, "it's selfish, but i just wanted you to tell me not to go..."

gentle fingers wrap around your wrist, "then don't."

"steven, i already told you, there is no lun--"

you yelp when you're abruptly pulled against him, your chest meeting his. "don't go. ever." his other hand cradles your jaw and pulls you in until your lips are nearly touching his. "stay with me." his voice lowers to a whisper, but you swear you can feel the vibrations flood through your body.

"ok."

[sketchingdemonss]

i pull the crops from my mind fields and all i harvested were these vintages what the hell

[batcavescolony]

Rebecca: your son-

Wanda: why is he only my son when he does stupid shit?

[beaulesbian]

so unfair i'm on my third playthrough and only for the first time i see a romance-only option added into a dialogue like this (that wasn't just between rook and their romanced companion)

[lyxchen]

I love writing dialogue where Sang-woo is trying to communicate a want to Gi-hun but because he's so repressed and never talks about his feelings like that it is incredibly hard for him to actually say what he wants. Like he can't even get the words out. How scary it is to say something out loud that you won't even let yourself Think. I feel like Sang-woo really isn't a communicative person. So when it gets to a point where he does want to communicate something, especially something that he is ashamed of, he just can't really get himself to actually say it. He'll talk around it, trying to explain what he means without actually using the words for it. It's so much easier to say "I want you to do it" than it is to say "I want you to kiss me". Also on that note. I love the idea of Sang-woo just finally "snapping" and doing the thing he's been wanting to do without asking (aka kiss Gi-hun). Just because he's been holding back for so long and he just can't anymore. But another idea I recently had that I love even more is Sang-woo getting so close to that point, where his want is so strong but he still can't do it because he's still holding himself back. So instead he needs Gi-hun to do it for him. And so he'll have to get over at least one of his issues and Ask Gi-hun to kiss him. Because for him Gi-hun has to make the first step. But he can't wait any longer for Gi-hun to take that step so now he has to tell Gi-hun to do it. But for that he'd have to get over himself and actually say out loud what he wants. Anyways, I'm making a comic about that hehe

[morelikesin]

Everybody loves somebody sometime

And although my dream was overdue

Your love made it well worth waiting

For someone like you.

-

Because I've been more experimental in what I want to do with my art, but I'm also a sucker for Dean Martin and a pretty man in an equally pretty dress.

[wonder-worker]

Wild how we know that Elizabeth Woodville was officially appointed to royal councils in her own right during her husband’s reign and fortified the Tower of London in preparation of a siege while 8-months pregnant and had forces gathering at Westminster “in the queen’s name” in 1483 – only for NONE of these things to be even included, let alone explored, in the vast majority of scholarship and historical novels involving her.

[sadalmostlesbian]

Now that sotr is allowing (some) people to come to the realization that Suzanne Collins is not infallible as an author and some character decisions are a result of flawed writing rather than flawed characters… I think we all need to consider that District Thirteen, while undoubtedly militaristic and nationalist, may have been misrepresented or dramatized to fit into one white USAmerican woman’s shoddy critique of communism.

[essektheylyss]

me: okay time to edit. I am focusing.

me, like four paragraphs in: [angrily ranting about some shitty writing advice post I got served on substack today because I found a line that blatantly disproves one of the stupid examples]

[fortune-maiden]

Based on Bridon Ep 4, I’m starting to wonder more about how Lu Guang’s powers work

He took a photo of CXS and was apparently able to keep an eye on him through that

But doesn’t that raise some questions about the “12 hours into the future” that LG can see? He took the photo so wouldn’t it make more sense that he could see 12 hours into the photographer’s future? It would explain why he followed CXS to the pub rather than watch from the hotel room, but somehow it also looked like he was able to know exactly what CXS was doing in the pub so he knew the exact moment to call and summon him back

Is he just able to zoom in on the particulars as long as he’s physically present in/within some short radius of the location?

[lickmycoffeecup]

Uh. Yeah.

“John,” Arthur sighs.

Arthur’s head falls gently back against the wall. His head turning to allow better access. John hums, smiling against his neck. He continues to kiss, grazing his teeth over sensitive skin. His lips brushing the scar across Arthur’s neck. Arthur’s breath hitches in his chest. John’s breath huffs hot, and fast against just under Arthur’s jaw. His arm snakes around Arthur’s lower back, pulling his closer. Pushing his thigh between Arthur’s legs.

John’s lips move higher. Arthur’s breath shivers as they shift against one another. So close, and still not close enough. Arthur’s nails dig into John’s neck with one hand, while the other makes lines down John’s back. Both wished his shirt wasn’t in the way. John’s free hand slips under the hem of Arthur’s shirt, just above his belt, and Arthur can’t stop his hips from moving. Chasing John’s pressure against him.

“Turn around,” John growls.

Arthur can’t stop his breath from coming out in short pants. This is one of the few times Arthur relishes being told what to do. The ambiguous sense of control, Arthur at his most vulnerable, making his heart beat with excitement, instead of panic. John nuzzles into his neck, briefly. Just a small beat of making sure his command was what Arthur wanted. Arthur nodded, fast little movements that sends a flutter of heat into both their bellies.

The loss of pressure as they disentangle themselves enough for Arthur to do as he was told, makes Arthur whimper. Low in his chest, just the smallest whine. Making John fight pushing him back against the wall. The chill on Arthur’s neck gives him goosebumps. Everywhere feels too hot, too tight, and too far from John. But it doesn’t last long.

Arthur twists, turning his back to John. Placing his hands firmly on the wall. Planting his feet. His palms barely find firm ground, and large warm hands are on his hips. A broad, warm chest is pressed into his back. The return of lips, and a hot breath on his neck, as John’s whole body is pushed against him. Arthur can’t help the smile edging at his lips, he sighs as John’s broad frame envelops him again.

John’s hips roll against him. Arthur tries to push back into him, but John’s hands remain firm at his hips.

“So eager,” John murmurs against Arthur’s torn ear.

“Ass,” Arthur hisses.

“Such a mouth,” John smiles.

Arthur gasps as teeth sink into his neck. He braces himself against the wall. Fresh waves of heat radiate out from the bite. Arthur’s thighs shiver, and his legs seem to spread against his will as John pulls Arthur’s hips back against him. Giving Arthur exactly what he wanted. Arthur’s eyes close slowly as the warmth from the pain settles in his crotch. Wetness staining his pants. His breathing is heavy, shuddering in his chest. He reaches back, and runs fingers through John’s hair, as John releases his neck. Kissing the bite, leaving behind slightly pink, bloody lip stains.

“Arthur,” John breathed.

Peppering the swollen mark with sweet nothings. His fingers pushed against Arthur’s stomach. Inching slowly down, under the waistband of Arthur’s pants. Arthur is smiling, so content, as the hand creeps further down. His eyelids flutter.

“Parker,” Arthur sighs.

All at once, they’re both frozen.

Everything stops.

John pulls away with a harshness that makes both of them sting in the most sensitive areas. Stepping back. John is breathing hard for all the wrong reasons.

Arthur whips around. Strands of short dirty blond hair whip out, and cling to his forehead. His hand is covering his mouth. Eyes wet with the start of tears. No longer warm, and content. Everything feels cold. He stares blindly in John’s general direction.

“I—-,” Arthur can barely manage.

“I’m sorry,” there’s barely any sound to his voice, as his hand hovers just over his mouth.

Before John can say anything, Arthur is moving to his room. Heavy, quick steps on the hardwood floor. He runs into a table in his haste. The lamp sitting on the table starts spinning, and barely stays upright with the momentum as he makes it to his room. He grabs his door, and flings it shut, but it hits wrong on the frame with a heavy smack, and bounces slowly back open. The sound of wood rattling fades quickly.

John stands at the far end of the room. Breathing heavy as the light wobbles over him, and the walls. Finally the lamp comes to a rest, settling nearly at the edge of it’s table.

He tries to settle his breathing, his heart pounding in his ears.

Everything is silent.

Except for the soft sound of sobs coming from Arthur’s room.

John isn’t sure how long he stands there. His body feels chilled, and numb. The slow fading of his excitement just leaving him shaky, and covered in a cold sweat. His feet start to hurt as he remains rooted in his spot.

Arthur’s room is silent, and dark.

Finally, John lets out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he had been holding for far too long.

The motion, the deep exhale, and slow inhale, finally breaks John of his stupor. His eyes focus on Arthur’s darkened doorway. He takes slow, careful steps across the room. Trying to be quiet, but the creak of hardwood boards betrayed his every foot fall. He stops at the table, looking down at the lamp. He reaches down, straightening the table. Correcting what had been tipped out of balance as he pushes the lamp back to the center of the table’s flat surface. He reaches under the shade, and pulls on the metal beaded chain. The lamp turns off with a solid click.

John feels bolder in the dark. Less pressure to be quiet, and he takes the final few steps to enter Arthur’s room.

His eyes adjust slowly.

Soft blue light spills in from the windows. In the far corner of the room, the reflection on the floor helps highlight the shape of a person. But Arthur is still in the shadows. Sat on the floor, his knees pulled up to the chest. His head is down. He makes no movement, or registers that he knows John is in the room.

John walks over to him. Unsure of what he’s even doing. What he hopes to accomplish by closing the distance between them so soon. He stops a few steps from Arthur. Who still doesn’t move.

He leans down, and reaches out, but stops. Finger tips maybe an inch from Arthur’s hair. John pulls his hand away slowly.

With a sigh, John turns, and pushes his back against the wall. He sinks down onto the floor next to the Arthur. He stretches his feet out into the light coming from the window. Feeling like he made a mistake coming in here. But it felt just as wrong to be so far apart. John couldn’t stand the idea of still standing there, staring into Arthur’s room. Or even worse, retreating to his own room.

Their shoulders were only a few inches from touching.

But John didn’t want to make this worse.

It was bad enough it had all been doomed from the start.

John sighs, low, and deep, he really meant it as he said a low, “I’m sorry.”

The seconds turn into a minute. Then more seconds turn into more minutes.

John nearly jumps when suddenly Arthur shifts. Moving to drop his head onto John’s shoulder.

He makes no move to touch Arthur any further. He stays perfectly still.

“Me too,” Arthur whispers softly.

After another minute, John slowly lowers his head. Resting it lightly against Arthur’s.

They don’t speak the rest of the night. They stay there, long after their position grows uncomfortable. And even longer after limbs go numb. Eventually they move closer. Wrapping their arms around one another. Lacing fingers together. Letting the silence speak for them.

They had come so far. Worked so hard to get here.

But there was the ever present feeling they always had more work to do.

[yah1dka]

when everyone is fighting shigaraki, denki explains that katsuki always pays attention to his surroundings.

can it partially be influenced by the fact, that, while struggling against the sludge villain, katsuki blew up and threw on fire everything around him and it was the reason why presenting heroes didn't save him? yk katsuki is the boy who cried, because he "ended all might", so could blamed himself for the attack that time too