#Poetry except

[words-and-coffee]

And yet, as they say, the heart is a leaf and the wind makes it throb.

Pablo Neruda, Then Come Back: The Lost Neruda Poems (Translated by Forrest Gander)

[mournfulroses]

Kōtarō Takamura, tr. by Hiroaki Sato, from Chieko & Other Poems; "The Snow Has Piled White,"

[calyptapis]

Mina Loy, "Parturition" from The Lost Lunar Baedeker

[leavemeslowly]

[barbiediamondcastleofficial]

Actually I lied I don’t like sex put your clothes back on today we’re going to talk about CHARACTER ARCHETYPES, TROPE SUBVERSION, and MARTIN K. BLACKWOOD

[batsycline69]

A Cure for What Ails You

Summary: You heal Link's wounds after a battle with a lynel

Pairing: botw!Link x healer!reader (gn)

Words: 1,127

Warnings: brief mentions of injuries, barely edited (I'm just vibing and waiting for midnight)

A/N: This is just a fun little oneshot I wrote up tonight because man oh man am I jazzed for TOK.

“You really didn’t have to do that, you know.”

Your voice cuts the silence between the two of you as you mend the deep scratches across his forearm. The bleeding has slowed, but you still wear the concern on your face.

Link watches you, unblinking. When you first met, you would have said his expression never changes. Now you know better. His bright eyes have a little flicker of indignation. You quirk an eyebrow up at him, a small smirk flashing across your face.

"I appreciate it, though," you continue, turning your eyes to the wound on his arm. If he's in pain, he'd never tell, but his back is stiffer than it's been around you as of late, and his silence feels more pressing.

Today hadn't marked your first life threatening experience since you began your journeys with the Princess and her knight, but you believed it to be your closest to grave harm. Link had stepped in just as you were about to be a lynel's prize.

You'd stumbled into the beast's territory foraging ingredients for tonight's dinner. Luckily, you'd found enough ingredients to whip up some healing potions and a salve as well. Your thankful that Zelda had stayed at the stable, unaware of the whole ordeal.

Link's guarded gaze is still fixed on you, like he's trying to tell you something that you can't quite make out. Though you've learned his little tells, there's still so much of himself he hides when he chooses to. You wonder what he's hiding around you.

"It would have killed you," Link says finally. His voice doesn't convey the seriousness of the sentiment.

You laugh quietly though that's not quite appropriate for the situation either. "It could have killed you, too."

"Probably not."

His bluntness catches you off guard, and you can't help but laugh. Link's expression softens just a smidge, like your laughter is the medicine he's needed for his wounds all along.

"I guess you're right," you say, a hint of startled laughter still in your voice.

Once your pleased with how clean his scrapes are, you wrap them up as you begin to get to work on the salve. He sits still, and though your back is to him, you can feel him observing, always so alert to everything going on around him.

"How did you know to come?" you ask after a moment of quiet. The question weighed on your mind. You'd gone off all on your own. When the lynel made its first yell, you were certain that you'd seen him and the Princess for the last time. And suddenly, out of nowhere, Link was there, just before you, fighting off the lynel before it even had the chance to touch you.

You hesitate before turning to face him, a sudden creeping awareness of him. Your duties were elsewhere on your travels, but within your company, you couldn't help but have...noticed Link was handsome.

It started out innocently enough, admiring the way his light caught his hair, the way their nightly campfires lit his face, how extraordinarily kind he was to his horse. Your not sure when the change happened, but the casual admiration morphed into something less easy to shake off.

You and Link spent very little time alone because he was often fulfilling his duties of protecting Zelda. It'd been easier to keep the feelings at bay then. But Zelda's absence was incredibly noted. Now it was just the two of you, his eyes following you as you prepared a salve for him.

When you finally find the courage, you turn to face him, your hands over a small slimy mixture in a small glass. He sat on a stump, one leg straight out, the elbow of his injured arm resting upon the knee of his bent leg.

Sure enough, he's watching you.

"Thought there might be monsters," he replies.

You breathe a laugh, though the breath is hard to find quite suddenly. You bend down and remove the cloth wrapped around his forearm, your fingers barely grazing his skin as you apply the salve. You tell yourself its so you won't hurt him, but you know perfectly well that as soon as the salve is on, the pain will disappear entirely.

You fall back into silence as you make quick work of healing him. One hand lightly grips his forearm to keep him steady, the other coating his wounds. His skin is warm underneath your fingertips. You try to push the thought back with all your might, though you find it hard to resist.

Link ever so softly sighs in relief. You feel the tension in his muscles ease as the pain fades away and smile gently.

"Is that better?" you ask. Your grip on his arm lingers.

He nods. For a moment, you think he'll pull his arm away, but he doesn't. His bright eyes are on you, and you can't look away. You're caught in his gaze, stuck on the spot.

"We..." Your voice is thin. You clear your throat and finally tear your eyes from his. "We should get back. We don't want the Princess to worry."

You rise to your feet, beginning to walk away, but something holds you back. A glance down shows Link's hand wrapped gently around your wrist.

"Wait," he says. And for the first time, you can so clearly read everything he's trying to tell you without saying more than a single word. His eyes are so open, as if he's giving you permission to understand him, know what goes on in his mind.

Your breath catches in your throat. There's longing, fear, concern all swimming in his eyes. He's letting you see it.

Link rises to his feet, only a few inches from where you stand. He smells like leather and warm days, fresh breeze and soil.

"It could have killed you," Link says again. This time, his voice is heavy, thick with everything he's feeling. Everything he's showing to you openly, or at least as openly as he can.

You nod, temporarily at a loss for words until you're able to choke out, "Yes."

"I did have to do that," he says firmly. For a moment, it takes a moment for you to understand what he's trying to say. When you do, your lips part to speak, but he frees your wrist and pulls his sleeve down over his healed wound. "We should get back."

The sky has turned vibrant orange. Night soon follows, and you know just as well as Link what you could meet in the night.

"Right," you say softly, and note that for once, he's the one with much more to say. If you weren't still so stunned, you'd think it was funny.

As you walk back to the stable, Link walks behind you, just like he does with Zelda.

[lucidloving]

Jenny Slate, Little Weirds // Melissa Broder, The Pisces // Richard Siken, "Detail of the Woods" // @minuty // Natalie Wee

[girlhud]

this too is poetry

[thebrainrotsreal]

EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK!!! I want to be coherent about this season but please picture me foaming at the mouth and running on the walls. S2 being what if Mark's just like his Dad? Insanity. I love this show. Anyways, AU where an Evil!Mark tries to make Our!Mark worse, and Our!Mark tries to make the other better. Something something confronting your idea of the worst version of oneself. Plus, tweaked black and yellow costume because I saw it and immediately went murder hornet lookin' ass and knew I had to draw it. Evil ass Mark. Horrible. I think he should be dragged kicking and screaming into redemption.

[quotelr]

I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.

Edgar Allan Poe

[words-and-coffee]

Settle your perfect hips here and the bow of wet arrows loosens into the night the petals that form your form let your clay limbs climb the silence and its pale ladder rung by rung taking off with me in my dream. I can sense you scaling the shade tree that sings to the shadows. Dark is the world’s night without you my love,

Pablo Neruda, Then Come Back: The Lost Neruda Poems (Translated by Forrest Gander)

[whaliiwatching]

Hey hello. Consider. Hobie reading over and suggesting edits to drafts of Peter's writing and then going home visually with clippings and quotes from said writing as a part of him. Alternately, Peter takes inspiration from quotes visible on Hobie

heart on your sleeve…..

[cringeworms]

Sara Ahmed's A KillJoy Survival Kit Item 10: Bodies. From "Living a Feminist Life"

[ninasdrafts]

I couldn’t fool you if I tried, not by a long shot. You spot my lies from miles away, hidden in the lilt of my voice and the set of my mouth. I don’t have to say a word. It’s the little things. You know what to say to get me out of bed in the morning, curtains half-closed, sunlight peeking into the room. Your hand reaches for mine when we enter a room full of people because you know I tend to get overwhelmed. You are quiet at night, in the space between trying to stay awake and falling asleep, and when my eyelids grow heavy your fingers trace mine to let me know I’m not alone. You ask me what’s wrong only once, and when I tell you I’m fine, you don’t dig deeper, even though you know I’m not. You know I’ll cave in and tell you when I’m ready. You eye my ink-stained fingers, but don’t comment on them, a secret smile ghosting over your lips. You leave the lights on for me, turn the music up for me, lower your voice for me. We speak in code, using made up words, paint each other’s worlds in colours others are blind to.   You don’t have to tell me you love me. It’s visible in everything you do or don’t do. I hear it in everything you say or don’t say. It’s in the spaces between. Concealed beneath fits of laughter, lines of our favourite songs, hidden in words I wrote. You see me. You know me, better than anyone ever has. To be known like this... I don’t know how it could get any better.

to be loved is to be known / n.j.

[kuumara]

[firstfullmoon]

Anne Sexton, from “Waking Alone,” in The Complete Poems [ID in alt text]