#Their fate has already been sealed. and it's bittersweet

[sosadraws]

So, I was trying to visualize how many signalis ocs I've created and

...well, that's a lot... 😅

The characters in bold are the most developed and the arrows mean that the character leaves the social circle/group they're in.

It's a shame that Sasha and Luchs are from different planets (and potentially different timelines as well), they wold have been besties...

[miscretis]

Discord Mod!Ronin x Discord Kitten!Reader (G.n) [PART 3/FINALE OF A CRACK FIC TAKEN SERIOUSLY]

WRITERS NOTE

Part 3/3 is finally out now! It's been a good few days since I started this series and it has been really fun to write! I'm appreciative of the support given towards this series and I hope that y'all will continue to support me, my artworks, and my writing! Yes you read that right, this is the finale. This is really rushed because I wanted to start on a new AU, a new project. It's going to be another Ronin x Reader but I promise it's a good one! Now, sit back and enjoy the finale of Discord mod!Ronin x Discord Kitten!Reader (g.n)

CW:

-Mentions of murder

- bad and rushed writing

-cringe.

Months flew past and you were slowly wrapping up the novel for a nice and bittersweet ending. You checked your calendar and realised that today was Valentine’s day! What's so exciting about it anyways? It's not like anyone is going to ask you out…

Until…

@goreboy is calling you!

What is he calling me for?

Curiosity was starting to engulf you so you decided to pick up the discord call. pick up the discord call. As you picked up the call, the wine red hair man appeared on the screen before you, a cheeky grin on his face.

“What’s up my darling daredevil? The devil has come to wish you a Happy Valentine’s day,” Ronin snickered.

You rolled your eyes, “Very funny Ronin, very funny.”

He chuckles, “What? Aren’t you thankful that your boyfriend is here for you?

“More than thankful.” Your tone dripped with sarcasm.

“The kitten’s feisty as ever, I like that. But, my patience is running out, writer darlin’.”

Wait..he knows who I am? How?!?! I have been concealing my identity just fine for months!

However, panicking wouldn’t help you in any situation, so you took deep breaths before replying, “ I’m not scared of you, Ronin. You’re just taking this intense role play way too seriously!”

What I said only fueled his amusement, his voice distorted into a maniacal laughter, “Oh darling. When was it ever roleplay? You’ve been playing my game for the longest time, and you still haven’t realised!”

You were surprised. No, in shock. Wait no, do you even know how you feel at this point? You’ve been fooled, utterly bamboozled. You’re like a mouse in a mouse trap, stuck in a sticky situation. The Devil’s Butcher is right in front of you on your screen. It only took you 5 months to notice.

You were utterly speechless.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

”I know your name, Ronin. I could easily expose you.”

“So what is it?”

You ponder for a while, you only said that out of spite.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t know your boyfriend’s full government name despite dating me for a few months already! I’ve been whispering it to you.”

You quickly toggled off the calling screen and went to search through Ronin’s DMs, you realised the way he typed his words before calling you was weird…

Soon, it clicked.

“You’re Ronin Beaufort.”

Ronin’s eyes glimmered in pure excitement. You could tell that exhilaration was pumped through his veins, “Hah! You impress me, darling. It’s Ronin Beaufort, the Devil’s Butcher, yours truly. Meet me in Purgatory.”

14th February 2024, 8.50pm. You arrived at Purgatory, the very alley where the Devil’s Butcher gets his hands stained red. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your heart rate quickens and your hands clammy. You couldn’t believe you’re meeting up with a serial killer, your boyfriend.

He is a serial killer but he is also my boyfriend. Will he kill me or not?

At this point, it doesn't anymore. By agreeing to come along, you've already sealed your fate. As you walked along the alleyway, you saw graffiti all over the wall. It gave it more of an eerie vibe since murder literally takes place here.

Suddenly, you heard a blood curdling scream. You turned around to check your surroundings. Something's definitely up but you couldn't muster the courage to check it out. So, you stay at your current position, waiting for Ronin to come.

Time passes by and he still has yet to come. So, you decided that it was just a prank. Ronin is the type to pull these kinds of pranks anyways.

“Oh writer darling, getting impatient already? Don't worry, I'm right here!” Ronin creeps up from your back and whispers into your ears. You turned out and gasped out in surprise.

Oh god, it's not a prank. It's the Devil’s Butcher in the flash!

But as the wise man says, panicking doesn't solve anything.

Ronin chuckles, “So we meet!”

“Always the devil, Ronin Beaufort.”

“Aren't you a pleasure?” Ronin walks in closer, “Gotta say, meeting you in person got me feeling some typa’ way. And I wonder how you feel about….well…”

Ronin lets out a maniacal laugh, it stirs up some type of feeling in your chest, your cheeks flare up a pretty red.

“Do you like me now?”

“Yes.”

“Oh just speak the truth! Anything but the truth!”

He whispers into your ears, “Write me a love note, darling.”

“I know your name. I could expose you.”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda. You could end me. You should end me. But would you end me?”

“...”

“I don't think so! Where's the boys in blue? Why's it just us in my favourite gruesome alley? Why's that after knowing who I am, you still wanna see me?”

“So why did you even invite me to the server?”

“I did it for you. You were starving for inspiration, so I gave you insatiability.”

“...”

“You wanted inspiration, so I became your muse. You wanted love, so I gave you love. Isn't that everything you ever wanted?”

“...”

“Why didn't you call the cops? There were so many opportunities that you missed out on!”

“...”

“If I may…I would say you're a little too in love…”

"..."

“So, what would'ja do now? Taste the feeling of metallic death by my crowbar? Or ya gonna kiss me? Or are you gonna kill me? I got a knife right here! ” He lets out a dark chuckle as he closes up the gap between the both of you, pinning you to the wall.

You clenched your teeth, dang it. Ronin really stirred your heart up. If you kill him, you'll be guilty of a crime. If you kiss in, you'll give in.

But fuck it…who cares if you give in or commit a crime anyways? You've gone so far

You pulled him close and grabbed the knife, Ronin dropped his crowbar out of surprise. You've thrown the knife away and leaned him into a heartwarming kiss!

Euphoria spread through both of your bodies and released the unsolved tension between the two of you. You have danced with the devil and now he has now fully corrupted you, having you completely wrapped around his finger. You're now his, he's now yours.

The end.

[dewedup]

27 with MountainDew

Make me cry, Gloomy

💙

thank you mac this idea hit me like a freight train, enjoy some MountainDew for the feels ���🖤🖤

words: 907

Mountain’s arms encase the small, shaking ghoul. Dew’s shoulders tremble with every sob that leaves his mouth, burrowing deeper into Mountain’s chest. If it was physically possible, he would crack his ribs and climb inside the earth ghoul. Mountain shushes him, softly petting his hair as he tries to bite back his own tears. 

He needs to be strong for Dew.

There wasn’t anything to be done. The moment the clergy summoned another water ghoul instead of the fire needed to replace Ifrit, his fate was sealed. 

It wasn’t confirmed until a sibling of sin had come by Dew’s room, dropping off a set of ceremonial robes and telling him to be prepared and in the courtyard at midnight. He’s surprised Dew kept it together long enough to accept the offering and make it to Mountain’s room before breaking down. 

No one has heard of this. An elemental change is the thing of nightmares, threatening unruly young ghouls so that they will behave. 

Being a water ghoul is ingrained in Dew’s whole being, woven into the molecules that make him who he is. In theory, they want to strip that and replace it with that of a fire ghoul. Mountain can’t picture a scenario in which this won’t be the most painful thing any of them have been put through, and they’ve been summoned from literal hell, which is no walk in the park. 

“Mount, please,” Dew cries into his shirt, the fabric damp from the tears he shed. Mountain sucks in a sharp breath, tightening his hold on Dew to make up for the fact that he can’t find any words that could make this better. 

Dew swallows audibly, pulling back to look at Mountain with his tear-stricken face. His hands grip Mountain’s shirt, never looking smaller than he does right now. Dew’s lips tremble as he admits the one thing he’s refrained from saying out loud. 

“I’m so scared.”

Mountain can physically feel his heart breaking as Dew stares at him pleadingly, looking for something that he’s unable to give him. 

“I’m so fucking sorry Droplet,” Mountain’s voice breaks as he pulls Dew back into his chest, holding him tightly to shield him from the tear that finally breaks free and trails down his cheek. The room smells of uncertainty, sadness, and fear. Like stagnant pondwater, with hints of mildew and fungus. It suffocates them, fills their lungs, and makes it harder to breathe in any relief.

Mountain’s gaze flicks to the alarm clock on his bedside table, 11:49 glaring back at him. 

His feet drag as though they’ve turned into cement blocks as he rises from the bed, Dew cradled in his arms as he lumbers out the door and across the hall to Dew’s room. He holds Dew’s upper arms steady, placing the shaking ghoul in the middle of the room, giving him a moment to bear the weight of his own body. Once Dew’s on his own two feet, he carefully peels off his shirt, removing his pants in the same manner until Dew is naked before him, shivering in the chill of the room. 

Mountain hopes that this works, hopes he gets to see his beautiful waterlily again. He knows this might be the last time he watches Dew shiver and it’s bittersweet, as he catalogs the chattering of his teeth into the recesses of his mind. If Dew survives this, the fire of Aamon will course through his being, never to be physically cold again. 

Mountain grabs the velvety soft ceremonial robes from their hanger, draping them over Dew with a few extra touches to remind the water ghoul that he’s here. He takes a half step back, eyes roaming over his work and nods in satisfaction. He bites his lip to refrain from saying anything. Dew already looks like he’s ready to turn tail and flee to the pit.

“It’s time, Dewdrop.” 

“I don’t want this Mount,” Dew whimpers, wrapping his arms tightly around his midsection and looking like a soft breeze could knock him over. Mountain grasps him once again, trying to push him as deep into his chest as possible, to hide him from the inevitable. A million thoughts run through his head, but Mountain can’t act on any of them. Instead, he whispers the only thing that’s plagued his mind since Rain was summoned. 

“I'm so sorry, I can’t protect you, Droplet.”

Mountain’s words seem to break something within Dew. He crumbles to the floor like a leaf falling at the end of summer. Mountain follows him down, dropping to his knees so quickly a jolt of pain surges up his thighs. Mountain goes to grab Dew’s face, desperately wanting to comfort him in any way possible, but Dew flinches away from his fingers. 

He watches as Dew squares his shoulders, reaching an arm up to wipe away the remaining tears from his face and rises back up to his feet. He looks strong, stronger than Mountain ever has. The way he holds his body is a complete contrast from the scared, shaking being that Mountain has been holding for the last few hours. Dew’s face looks carved from granite, all hard lines, and emotionless eyes. He breathes in through his nose, before stepping around the earth ghoul and making his way to the door. 

He spares Mountain a glance, looking over his shoulder at the ghoul still kneeling helplessly on the ground. 

“No one can.”

[spenglersglasses]

⌛⚙️ Take me to Valhalla! ⚙️⌛

Lol j/k

Hello everyone, I am back again with the next chapter of my Immortan Joe x the Fray (Corrine) fic!!!

This one is a bit shorter than my usual chapters, but I didn't feel like I could fit all the next bit without making things way to long so here we go!

I am really excited to get this too you and as with all my fics I will update as I am able and inspired to make sure I am giving you my all every time.

**This fic will be an AU! Mostly I will try to stay canon but there will be some conflicts and reimaginings. This includes themes as listed in the tags, if any of this doesn't sit well with you, please skip this one!**

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️Discussion about RAPE/FORCED PREGNANCY/VIOLENCE/VARIOUS DISTRUBING SUBJECTS⚠️

Listen you are reading a fic with Immortan Joe, it should be pretty obvious. but that being said if you are still here, I sincerely hope you all enjoy!

*Special shoutout to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the awesome dividers!

Glimmer in the Wasteland

Many years after the Citadel was conquered and seized by him, the Immortan Joe longs to feel something besides the pain and anguish of the world. Desperate to secure his legacy by siring an heir, he decides that now is the time before it becomes too late. Meanwhile a young woman named Corrine is separated from her group in the Wasteland and captured by the War Boys. When Corrine awakens within the fortress of the Citadel, her world changes when she has an encounter with the deeply feared and infamous warlord.

Chapter 2: Gilded Cage

Corrine is in shock when she finds out the man who has come to see her is the infamous Immortan Joe, but what will shock her even more is what her tell her is to be her fate.

Also available HERE on AO3. Haven't started yet? Read from the beginning  HERE! 

Will eventually be very NSFW below the cut!!

The air she’d held within her lungs, had left her. Standing still and unable to draw in a new breath. Corrine stared, speechless, into the eyes of her captor. The man responsible for her incarceration. 

Was it really ‘the Immortan’ who had come to see her personally? Was this man, the tyrant of the Wasteland? One who now bore witness to a single tear as it ran down her cheek. IF so then her ill fate truly was sealed. 

No matter how hard or how resolute she had grown from a life spent in unforgiving waste, she has never held more helpless or in danger than in his presence. While life before had been dreadful, at least it was free. Corrine, left now to curse herself for having been foolish enough to be caught. To have allowed the bittersweetness of freedom to slip away. 

The silence between them had felt like hours, though she knew only seconds had passed. Corrine tried to gather herself, if only enough to respond. To appear more courageous than she felt within her true resolve. Crumbling inside, like a dried husk in the sands. 

“The—the Immortan.” she uttered, swallowing back her urge to cry. And with her response, there was a hint of amusement that filled in Joe's eyes. A look that all but assured a smile was worn beneath that mask. Corrine wincing as she felt the grip of his hand tightening around hers. The blood pulsing through her veins, palpable in his vice grip. Her heart, beating harder and harder between them as she knew she could not pull away.  

“So you’ve heard of me?” he mused, taking a seat back on the chair. His adornments, rattling like chains as he relaxed into it. His calm, calculating demeanor—well kept. It was clear to Corrine that she was not seen as a threat. Watching him as prey watches the hunter. 

Joe drew in as deep a breath as he could muster, staring directly at his treasure. Visibly ogling her—Corrine, fidgeting in her discomfort. Joe was already infatuated, filled with desire for his wayward goddess that, as if by fate, had been brought to the Citadel. The Immortan’s mind, filled with salacious thoughts.

He pictured the two of them together. His fingers entangled in her beautiful hair as he thrusted into her. The Fray bent over the balcony, facing out onto the Citadel, as he filled her with his seed. The whole of the Wretched watching them—his virility was on full display. 

There was more. From the moment he saw her it was as if he knew. She was more than anything he’d come across before. Superior to any of those who had previously held her title. Wondering to himself if she would stand by him and the Citadel, together. Hoping that the Fray might save him a life filled with nothing but pain. 

“Yes.” she told him. There wasn’t a man, woman, or child that lived in the wasteland who didn’t know his name. The ruler of the coveted Citadel, bastion of prosperity to some, and leader of the fearful and zealous War Boys. He, of all, was the one person Corrine never wanted to encounter—and now he was a hair's width away. 

The realization stirred her inside. Corrine, doing her best to avert her eyes from looking at him. Her view, now woefully framed, on their hands. Her’s, still held by his. Corrine’s heart began racing, pumping hard with fear from behind the confines of her chest. 

She was stunned. The feelings and instincts inside her, that should be telling her to run, were absent from her mind. Desperately, she tried to shake off whatever unspeakable thoughts had begun to take root. Stuffing them down until she could only feel the anxiety and fear. Her gut, churning as she worried what was to become of her. 

There had been rumors, and all amounted to nothing good. The Citadel’s captives were either put to work, becoming slaves to its leaders or something far worse. The common thought being that women captives were surely assaulted by the high-ranking members. Made to become receptacles for their bodily fluids or, if lucky relegated to a life the likes of a dairy cow. 

The last thing Corrine could recall was the tale of Joe’s wives. A group of women, who were described as beautiful and in good health. All of which were said to be hand-picked by the Immortan to be his breeders. None of them though, having ever managed to give him a viable son. 

“Whatever you think you know about me, Fray, forget it.” Joe told her as she slowly tried to pull away her hand. 

“I can’t…you…really expect me to just…” Corrine hissed, finally freeing herself from his grip and stumbling backward into the water. Drenching the bottom of her dress as Joe stood back up and followed her in. Slowly inching towards her, Corrine doing her best to maintain the distance.

“What is it you think I intend to do with you?” He asked, gripping tight to her shoulders. 

“Nothing I want.” she hissed once again, their eyes meeting as he held her close. That same wretched pumping of her heart starting once more. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, noticing the flush of red as it filled her cheeks. Eyes dilating with the increased rate of her breathing. 

“You know nothing of me…” she began noticing a cocked eyebrow. “...and your arrogance is written all over you like the history men. No one longs to be a slave or…glorified cattle…or worse one of your command's whores!” she yelled, the backs of her calves hitting against the wall of the pool. 

“Ah…Is that what you think?” Joe asked, brows raised even more with the accusations. Having been, however, more than satisfied to know that his reputation and the rumors were still held up. Keeping those who might try to rise up and take all he had away from him at bay. “I could know you. Know everything about you…but it seems…that despite your snarling you are frightened of me? Don’t be. You will not become a slave or a Milk Mother or blood bag… none of those things will come to you. I would never give you over to them.”

“Oh?” Corrine began, confused by his answer. “...How can I trust you…you look as if I blink wrong or insult your position that I will be sent to slaughter. What’s to become of me in this horrid place?” she growled. Breathing heavily, eyes blown wide like a wounded animal. Teeth gnashing and ready to bite if need be to protect herself from harm.

“Heh…” Joe said, humming to himself. Seeming to be thinking before doing something that neither one of them could have expected. As Corrine’s breathing began to settle, Joe dropped the grip of his right hand from off her shoulder. His fingers brought along the back side of his mask, unclasping it. Allowing it to open—revealing his full face to her.

Corrine’s mouth suddenly fell open, staring at the man hidden behind it. His face was both strong and regal. Jawline, sharp and a large, but distinguished nose in the center of his face. And full, soft looking lips surrounding his menacing grin. Before Corrine realized it, she let out a gasp.

“I—I…You…” she stuttered, lips quivering with the words. 

“Am I that frightening now?” Joe asked, continuing to smile, bringing himself close to the side of Corrine’s face. Ready to whisper something in her ear. “Look while you can Fray. I can only manage it for so long.” he told her. His breath, shallow and soft as it traveled along the side of her neck. The sensation, making her tremble. A sight that did not go unnoticed by him. 

For a moment Corrine fell completely silent. Was the war god she had heard about really human after all? Just a man and not a monster? The moment between them, however, abruptly passed when Joe suddenly began to cough. The sound, rough and grating—almost violent. 

Joe quickly worked to re-affix the mask in place. The bladder well hidden behind his white mane of hair, began to inflate once more. Filtered air, filling his diseased lungs and returning his respirations to return to normal once again. Corrine, surprised as she watched him struggling with each breath. 

“You're sick.” she remarked. Without a word, Joe turned away from her. Bringing himself back out from the water and standing between Corrine and the door. Laughing like a mad man at her revelation. Now she knew the truth—that though the Wretched revered him as a god, he was still flesh and bone. 

“Aren’t we all.” he laughed again, that same sinister look in his eye had returned.

“I’m not…” she said, her words trailing off. Corrine swallowed back, stepping out from the water. The two of them now standing opposite one another across the pool. 

“Good…and you shall remain so. So young and beautiful. A desert flower, growing in the harshest of conditions. Yes, and strong…that I can tell. Here in the biodome you will be fed and clothed and educated. Miss Giddy will tend to your every need. You shall drink clean water and eat a bounty from my own personal garden. Sleep in a warm, soft bed and breathe the cleanest air that this world can offer.” he proclaimed. 

“Why? Why would you do that? Why am I here?” she asked, the only question the Immortan seemed to not wish to answer. A fact that chilled her down to the bone. 

“You were brought to the Citadel because your camp was caught by the War Boys in my domain. You were a casualty of circumstance.” Joe explained. 

“Where are the others—my people?” she asked him. 

“They are no longer your concern. Most of them are now dead.” he told her point blank. Watching the horror reach Corrine’s eyes. The people she had grown up with, friends, family, dead or worse and all because of him. 

“Then why not do away with me. Kill me or leave me for dead in the elements. Why keep me here? Why am I spared?” she pleaded, both angry and distraught. Unable to stop more tears from flowing. Joe intended to leave her unanswered. No explanation and without another word as he turned around and took hold of the door handle. Ready to step out and leave her alone in the vault when the sound of her sobbing made him stop. 

“From now on Fray, you belong to me…and me alone. I have not long don't have much time left and you…you will give me whatever I ask of you.” he commanded. His voice, boisterous and daunting. Its resonance, unyielding even with his back turned to her. 

“Please…what do you want from me? Just tell me?” she begged again. Joe stood still, staring at the vault door. Grappling with his thoughts. Things had already started off on an intense note. 

She was alone in an unfamiliar place, of course she had questions. She, like so many before her, was scared of what might come of her. Joe hoped in time she’d accept her fate, and that maybe there would be something more between them than originally intended. Her spirit was fiery, like the combustion of an engine, and nothing excited him more. 

“I want what any king wants for his kingdom. What he wants from his queen…and make no mistake Fray…here, and in the whole of the wasteland, I am king.” he began. His words, lingering heavy in the air between them. Corrine’s eyes fixed on him as he continued on. “I want a son. A son to carry on what I have set forth here. Someone who can ensure my legacy.”

“You…want?” Corrine began, having trouble getting out the words. Joe pulled the door open before choosing to answer her. 

“I want you to give me a son, Fray. A healthy child. Though us things can be different than before, if you will surrender to me.” 

“No…” Corrine cried back. Her fate laid out plainly before her. Joe turned to glance at her one last time before exiting the vault. Shutting the door tightly behind him and leaving her alone once again. Suddenly the beautiful ceiling, Corrine had admired, had begun to resemble a gilded cage.  

[neverchecking]

Eye of the Storm

ITS HERE I DID IT

Y'all have been feeding me with your own OC's writing and I finally am returning the favor (If any of you are interested at all lmao). So here it is, Part 1 of Aaliyah's (And eventually Sage's) backstory.

CW: Mentions of childhood abuse including whipping, graphic depiction of death and resurrection, canon typical violence.

It’s never something subtle. 

If she ever had the choice between refusing the memories, as sharp and biting as they are when they appear, she would. If she ever had the choice between throwing away all that had bred her a title soaked in bile and blood, she’d do it. If she ever had any choice in this bittersweet life that was both simultaneously too long and yet short lived, she’d take it. 

But that was the funny thing about destiny, wasn’t it?  That you never really had any choice in the matter. Every choice you could’ve possibly made was made up for you already. It was all some sick cruel game that those in the heavens played in a form of twisted entertainment. Expectant that every mortal scurrying under their feet like ants would fall in line or be crushed for disobedience. 

She had disobeyed once. 

That was something, in a cruel twist of fate, with its dark humor and rotten jokes, that she remembered vividly. She couldn’t recall her mother’s face, or the way her father’s voice sounded, or if she ever had those in her life at all, but she could remember that start of the downward spiral. Of how out of control it had gotten. How the figurative hourglass they had given themselves shattered and sand slid through their broken and bloody fingers faster than they could cradle their broken hope to their chest. 

Her duty, first and foremost, was to the Crown. To King Rhoam and his daughter, Princess Zelda. The Sheikah were ever loyal followers, blind to a fault to their flaws, and she was trained to be the same. No, not the same. She was groomed and shaped to be their best. 

The prophecies in stories and carvings in loose stone portrayed a beast foul and relentless, power beyond anything this generation, not the one prior, had seen before. A power comparable to the ones the heroes of old had faced in their times; whether it be ones aiming to cast everlasting twilight over the world, shrouding it in dark magic, or ones trapped in demonic masks doing everything to bring their world, and moon, crashing down upon themselves. One that would soon be upon them.  

An older woman, Chief at the time if she remembers correctly, had successfully swayed the naive and arrogant king while he was still young and foolish. Persuading him that Champions, warriors blessed with gifts and abilities far more advanced than anything he would see in his life, were to be chosen. To fight for him like valiant sacrifices, piloting technology that not even the Sheikah themselves fully understood. He had agreed and on her third birthday, she was crowned the Sheikah Champion. 

In a small blessing, perhaps mercy, she did not quite recall all the ‘training’ they had put her through in order to hone her abilities for the role. In a mocking laugh, the scars on her skin spat back enough hints for her to guess. Lines upon lines painting her back and upper spine, thin lines that have long since dulled white. Swipes along her stomach and rib cage that have sealed, leaving only taught skin in their wake. Wide slits on her forearms, evident she did not go down without a fight before wilting into cries of sorrow for her pitiful soul. 

But the worst has to be on her chest. 

She remembered it. 

Starting at the base of the left side of her torso, it crawled up in a crackled line, leeching across sun-kissed skin, until meeting the edge of the right side of her collarbone. It was what kept her up at night, fingers tracing the raised edges as she clearly went through every play by play of that fateful night. 

How they had been caught so off guard, following the princess to another attempt of unlocking her powers. How her and the blond knight had accompanied the other, either in support or by duty she couldn’t recall. How nothing came of the wasteful trip.

She sometimes wondered what it would’ve been like, had she not been born Sheikah. She wouldn’t wish her position unto anyone else, but some days, when she had found a tree with tall enough branches and thick enough foliage no one could find her, she thought. Thought about being blessed a Rito, with feathers rich and thick-- mostly likely a white or brown color-- , free to travel anywhere her heart desired using only the wings on her arms. Thought about being graced with a Zora’s body, all lean muscles and smooth scales, flowing wherever the water decided. Thought about being consecrated as an unbreakable Goron with a body made of stone, steady and unyielding to everything thrown her way. 

Alas, she was none of these things. She was simply a Sheikah.

A Sheikah meant to be the picture of ethereal grace and terrifying prowess. A Sheikah with the ability to harness rune extraction and the consequent rune usage. But in a mocking turn of events, not even she could’ve prepared for the sudden laughter surrounding them. High chimed and insulting, echoing in one round after another. 

Training was a bittersweet memory to her. The muscle memory it had ingrained into her kept her alive, but it had taken something so precious in return. She had no memories of her childhood, because she simply didn’t have one. Any bits she scrumaged together were of early mornings, practicing swordplay in front of the rising sun. Of late mornings spent running along the village’s walkways while other Sheikah welcomed the start of their day. Of midday sparring sessions against teams of exponentially increasing numbers. Of early evenings spent worrying herself over languages that weren’t her own and history about wars she would never fight in. Of late nights spent in the dying light of an oil lamp, hands held in another set of calloused ones, that were scorchingly warm when compared to hers, too scared to speak above a gentle whisper in fear of being caught and torn away from the only worthwhile being in her life. Those memories, centered around flowers that shined the color of a cloudless sky and hair that put golden threads to shame, were her favorites. 

They made the harsh realities easier to swallow. He made it worth it. 

His eyes were wide with the fear of uncertainty, darting from where the Princess stood, paralyzed by her own terror, to the Sheikah, watching her every move. She could feel his eyes follow her hands as she grabbed at the stone tablet that rested on her hips. There were multiple options she was faced with here, especially with the skills acquired from years of practice, but only one option saved him. And, by correlation, the princess as well. 

He had made so much worth everything. Every scrape, nick, gash, burn, and bruise worth the hits that formed them. All the sleepless nights spent riding from place to place, offering deals or favors to placate the beings of Hyrule in return for their own share of rewards. The hours spent patching wounds, both her own and his, and handling the stress that arose with every battle they were faced with. 

Maybe it was the lull of his voice, harmonic and euphonias, that quelled her anxieties. Or perhaps it was the warmth of his soul, so hearty and full that it seeped out of him at any given moment. It could’ve been as simple as his touch was grounding and familiar, something she had become well acquainted with in both the dead of night, when their breaths were nothing more than sharp pants and sweat coated their bodies, and in the light of day, when they laughed in short bursts at the lengths he would allow her to go (Braiding flowers into his hair, a truly blasphemous deed). 

His hand had shot out for her wrist the second he clued into what she had decided on. She predicted he would’ve. It was who he was. She had planned for it, angling her body in a way she could push the slate into his chest, and him into the princess behind him, all while drawing her weapon with her dominant hand. Blue peaked in her peripheral vision before her focus was stolen by a flash of silver. It came down too fast for her to truly comprehend what had happened. 

The crack of her collarbone and corresponding ribs still haunted her dreams as she felt her entire torso crumble inwards. Blood immediately flooded where it shouldn’t, crawling up her throat and choking her in a gargle of misery. The burn of dirt crawling into her open wound lit her nerves on fire, adding gasoline to the spark when an outraged cry called out in pure pained disbelief at the image before him before it faded along with the rest of him.

She should’ve died there.

She sent him a silent apology. 

She promised him so much and it was all shattered in one fell swoop.

How Impa had known about her whereabouts that day remained a tight-lipped mystery to this day. Something she wasn’t even certain she wanted to know about. Not when every image of that memory was of those precious moments spent choking on her own blood, coughing it up and letting it cool on her chin only for it to clog once more in her airway. Of feeling the shards of her bones dig into her organs as that same laughter cried out victoriously around her. Of how empty she felt, laying there and waiting for her own, self-assigned, death. 

Come to think of it, she didn’t like thinking back to that aftermath either. How the agony of being moved was red-hot and molten, and how she would’ve preferred death. The feeling of no longer choking on blood but instead choking on something much thicker that invaded her nose and mouth faster than she could cough it out. Of hands pinning her in place as her vision blurred and her lungs screamed for relief before finally giving way. 

Fingers clawed at flesh in a desperate attempt at escape, warbled screams crashing against the walls of the underground hut. Whoever had a hold on her was stronger than she accounted for, squeezing against her windpipe hard enough to crush the vital organ while another hand pushed on her imploded ribcage. There were words being shouted above her, but they sounded far off and muffled. As if whatever was currently suffocating her was also making her deaf. Death would’ve been preferred. 

It would’ve been a mercy to her as years passed. Day in and day out of an agonizingly slow and searing pain as her bones rebuilt themselves. Minutes ticking by in hellish torture as skin stitched itself together. Seconds fleeting away, taking away her mind and soul with it and scattering it along the land she swore to protect, only for it to stretch her thin enough to snap and feast on her broken remains and-

“You okay, sunshine?” 

Blinking, she reeled her wandering mind back into its place, turning to face the concerned male. Those very same eyes watched her every breath, tracing her microexpressions and following her ques. 

A part of her wanted to deny him. Wanted to push it all off and lie, say she was fine. More than, in fact. 

But she had hurt him enough as was. 

Stepping closer, Aaliyah felt an easy smile twist her lips in the same way it did whenever he was there. Here. With her. Her arms wrapped around his waist as her chin settled on his own collarbone, topaz eyes looking up at him in pure adoration. One of his hands, calloused and scorchingly warm, cupped her cheek, thumb rubbing her under eye when she nuzzled into it. Every part of him fits with her. She was made for him no matter what they had tried pushing upon her. She hummed happily at his comfort, keening into the kiss he bestowed upon her forehead. 

“I’ll get there.” 

She’d make sure of it. No matter how many nights she spent stuffing her fingers into her mouth to muffle her sobs or how long she spent fighting long ingrained habits in an effort to fix herself into the most proficient version she could be for him. 

Because while her training deemed her loyalty to the crown, she gifted it to the knight who was once too shy to look her in the eye let alone make such common touches along her skin. 

He was worth it.

[laurelwinchester]

oh no it was actually pretty good lol

[amiharana]

NOO IM CRYINg i found these bittersweet prompts AND?? 9 AND 10 GOODBYE that's basically canon revalink and im so sad now

user crow cryiling wants me to die y'all

9. “We won’t grow old together, will we?”  “No, but we made memories that’ll outlive even us.”

for the longest fucking time, i've been wanting to write a fic where revalink is some level of established before the calamity, and they talk right before link is about to leave to go fight ganon at the castle. there are so many different ways i could write it go down but for this prompt... while everyone else is hopeful that they'll be able to beat calamity ganon, revali and link are much more perceptive of their fates. the calamity ganon is a beast unlike any other monsters they've faced together, it's a pure incarnation of an ancient evil that not even the heroes of the past have ever conquered. the other champions haven't gained full control of their beasts yet. zelda's powers have still not awakened. hell, link still has yet to tap into the full potential of the master sword. they were never going to have enough time, this battle was never meant to be won by them; it was never meant to be.

after daruk is finished delegating tasks to the other champions at mount lanayru, link turns to face revali and they both already know. this is it, this the end for them now.

link barely takes one step towards revali before the rito strides forward and wraps the little hylian tightly in his wings. link can barely take one breath before his vision is full of navy blue, his skin smothered in a warmth he's never going to be able to feel again, and the emotions he vowed to never show swell in his chest and rise from his ribcage up his throat, until link is choking back tears into revali's neck.

"it's alright, little jewel," revali murmurs into his hair, still holding him tightly. "we did what we could."

"i know," link whispers, blinded by his own tears and navy blue feathers. "i know. i'm still scared."

"the hylian champion and the wielder of the sword who seals the darkness? scared?" revali tries to tease, but even his voice betrays him. he's just as terrified as link is, with the barest tremble in his feathers.

link breathes in deeply, shutting his eyes and trying to will his tears away. "i wish we had more time," he mumbles into revali's neck. then, he looks up at his lover, with the same wide blue-eyed gaze for the last time. "we won't grow old together, will we?"

"no," revali replies softly, cupping link's face, "but we made memories that'll outlive even us." he presses their foreheads together shutting his eyes, and link holds revali's face in both hands to press a soft kiss to the middle of his beak.

"i love you," link whispers, voice cracking. "i love you so fucking much. i wanted everything with you after this."

"i as well," revali says, brushing link's cheek with a gentle thumb. "in another life, i hope the goddesses will be kinder to us. i'll meet you there in our next life and we can do everything we always wanted, alright? for now... fight that old beast like hell for me, darling." "as if i'd go down without a fight," link mutters, jaw tightening. "even if it kills me, i'll make sure it'll hurt him a hundred times harder."

footsteps approach and revali looks up to meet eyes with zelda, who wears a remorseful expression. he takes a breath and gives her a nod, before slowly, painfully, beginning to let go of link.

"it's time for you to take-off, songbird," revali murmurs. "give him everything you've got. and when you're ready to return, your heart will know where to find me."

link sniffles and pulls away, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "he won't know what hit him," he says shakily. "til the next time, 'vali. i'll see you there."

"don't be late," revali replies softly, gaze ever so endeared upon link. "i'll be waiting for you, my love."

(they're right; the champions fall within their beasts, and as revali finally collapses to the ground from windblight's attacks, he faces hyrule castle swarmed in horrid, pulsing malice.

"return to me safely, songbird," he whispers and shuts his eyes, taking his final breath. revali can only hope that link will.)

10. “You’re only a memory to me now, but you’re my most cherished memory.”

for this one, i'm imagining link returning to vah medoh after he clears his final divine beast, the night before he plans to fight calamity ganon. i've always leaned towards the idea that link doesn't recall all of his memories and the memories you receive in-game are only flickers of a past link doesn't ever really get to remember so...

he doesn't remember what he had with revali pre-calamity per se, but he's the only ghost of the past that gets more than just flickers of memories. there was more to it than this, link knows it in his soul. it's been bothering him since impa first mentioned the divine beasts, since he saw the floating mechanical bird in the distance, since he stepped into rito village and laid his eyes on the landing... ever since he finally met revali atop vah medoh. link needs to know if there was more than just the facade that revali is playing.

"you're here again?" comes revali's voice when the warp finishes solidifying link's body. the little hylian looks up and the rito's ghostly green figure stands a couple feet in front of him upon the cold rock of the rito pillar, his arms crossed and his brows eternally furrowed into an expression of irritation. "don't you have better things to do rather than loitering around medoh? perhaps, oh i don't know, defeating calamity ganon once and for all?"

"i will," link replies, his voice soft and nearly carried away by the night wind. "tomorrow, i'm going to hyrule castle and i'm going to beat him."

revali stares incredulously at link for a few moments, searching his face as though he told a joke of some kind, before he relaxes. "well," revali says, looking away. "it's about time."

link stares at him, watching the way the ghostly green flames flicker around revali's body. "will you still be here when i defeat him?" he whispers, almost hoping that revali wouldn't hear him.

and he almost thinks he doesn't until revali turns to look back at him. he's silent for a couple moments just staring at link until he speaks. "i don't know," revali says finally. "our spirits have been chained to the divine beasts for a century, because we haven't fulfilled our role in assisting you defeat ganon. if you truly plan on fighting him tomorrow... our roles will have been finally fulfilled. i don't know if our spirits will remain here any longer."

"oh," link says and a freezing unease fills his gut. "oh. okay."

revali searches his face again. "why would you want us to stay?"

"well, i mean," link starts. "it's— i wouldn't actually care for anyone else to stay but you." he averts his eyes and swallows. "everyone else... i only remember a few things about them, nothing solid. i sometimes feel like those memories don't even belong to me. but with you..."

link looks up and meets revali's gaze. "every day since i've woken up, i always felt like there was something missing. and even after i relearned how to fight and speak and traveled to try to remember all those things, it still felt like something was missing. until i tried to remember you and— and it felt right, like you were all the missing puzzle pieces this entire time. there had to have been more, right?"

"there wasn't," revali replies stiffly. "we were champions, you were the hero, and there was nothing more."

"oh come on," link says, breathless and almost irritated. "there had to have been more than you just being an asshole to me all the time. please don't lie. you wouldn't have done that to me back then, would you?" and that's what gets the rito.

"don't do this," revali whispers, his arms dropping to his sides. his voice breaks and something in link tells him to reach out to hold the rito in his arms, to hug him tight and never let go again. "we can't do this. you can't try to remember me now, what we had, it's not worth it to put yourself through this pain. i'll only be a memory you can never recreate."

“you’re only a memory to me now," link says, resolve returning to his voice, "but you’re my most cherished memory. you're the only one i can remember like this, revali, you're the only memories i have. so please tell me; did you love me back then?”

the rito is silent for a while, but he eventually responds. "i did," revali whispers, staring mournfully, regretfully. "i'm sorry."

"don't be," link replies, taking a step towards him. "i think i loved you too. i wish i could remember."

"it would be better if you didn't," revali says and looks away. it stops link in his tracks, his heart pounding and his confidence crumbling.

"if you don't stay after i beat ganon," the little hylian whispers, staring at the ground and clenching his fists, "then i want you to know... i would have liked to make more memories with you. i would have liked to see where we would have ended up together. if we had more time together..."

he looks up at revali, who has since returned his gaze back onto link with an unreadable look in his eyes. "i'm sorry for coming back to torment you like this," link says instead. "you should be allowed to rest after waiting for me to free you after all these years. after i defeat ganon, i hope your spirit will rest well. goodbye, revali. i'll avenge you well." then, he turns and runs, jumping off the edge of the rock pillar unfolding the paraglider to glide back down to the village.

and revali lets him go, watching after link as he leaves again, every step translating into a piercing pain in his own ghostly chest. "i would have liked that too, snowdrop," revali whispers, placing a hand over his heart. for the first time in a hundred years, he feels it, that overwhelming feeling that threatens to spill from his eyes and shake his soul so deeply he shatters into a thousand pieces, lost and never to be whole again. "i would have, too..."

[cherryjuicegf]

The light of the candle on the table flickers as Jaskier passes by, and returns, and passes by again.

A true performer, Geralt thinks. Even when he doesn't perform, even when no one is there to see except him. Always moving, always loud, currently talking about something Geralt is not quite sure he's grasping, mostly becasue he's too busy gazing at him rather than actually listening.

And Jaskier is walking back and forth, hands flying all over, an amused smile on his face like he discovered the secrets of the universe. Speaking of some old runes, bones, discoveries, the poetry of unchanging humanity and then again, random information, the latest Oxenfurt gossip that Geralt couldn't care less about.

Still, he is listening. And all the same, he's wondering. Wondering about how he's only seen Jaskier so enthusiastic when it's him he's talking to, how the glint in his eyes is the warmest that it has ever been and how, when they share a single glance, there's this sea of safety and trust flooding from Jaskier's look, one that tickles pleasantly, like standing deliberately in front of a scrotching fire, just to feel your skin burn. Home.

He doesn't know, truly. Doesn't know what he can have possibly done to aspire that.

The only thing he knows is that, suddenly, Jaskier stops in his tracks, stares at him and, like a melting candle, his expression softens.

Geralt frowns. But has not the time to ask.

"I love when you look at me like that," Jaskier says and his voice is low, like a secret never to be confessed again. There's a wide smile curving his lips yet it feels timid, lacking the boldness usually coming with it.

It's funny, Geralt thinks. Peculiar, and funny. And he will never guess the reason. He tilts his head. "Like what?"

"Like..." Jaskier wets his lips and takes a deep breath, eyes flying around the room as if they will find the proper words hanging from the walls. He huffs, a bittersweet thing. "Like you never want me to stop talking."

A pause. If a punch to the gut can feel pleasant, Geralt thinks he has just experienced it. He stares at Jaskier, and the bard stares back, hesitant, uncertain as if of what he just dared to say. And Geralt is not good with words, he knows. But the shadow passing before Jaskier's eyes and the way he lowers his look, his stomach dropping with it, makes him swear he will get better, if it's to never see that particular shadow again. That veil of painful, unwanted memory.

Still. The veil vanishes at once, or that's what Jaskier tries to do, because he chuckles again with this carefree breath of his voice and sweeps a hand in the air. "Anyway, as I was saying I–"

"Jaskier."

He stops at once, as though waiting for this interruption, craving it. Geralt stares for a second more, then swallows and stands up, walking up to him. Gently, as though touching a statue of glass, he holds Jaskier's face inside his hands. Strokes his cheek with his thumb and as he looks into his eyes, he feels as though witnessing the most beautiful of blue skies.

Jaskier stiffens under his touch, unwillingly. "I mean," he chuckles humourlessly as if trying to justify an inexcusable weakness, cover up what is already broken, "I talk all the time, say random or– or weird stuff, I–" he averts his eyes, bites his lips, "–I'm not quite used to it, that's all. And I know you don't like–" He looks at him again, his gaze screaming, but he doesn't continue his sentence. He just shrugs, smiles as if in apology.

A deep sigh, and Geralt's touch becomes just a bit firmer, just enough to make Jaskier swallow and close his eyes, lean into it. Geralt nods in silent, almost unexpected understanding and presses his lips on Jaskier's forehead, lingering.

Then, slowly, like an intimate ritual, he rests his own forehead where he previously kissed him. As though to seal a promise. "I want to listen to your voice every day, as much as it's possible, for as long as time holds our fates together." Jaskier opens his eyes and meets his gaze, faintly glistening. Geralt smiles at him, begging almost. "Please," he whispers and it sounds like a prayer, "please don't deprive me of it any sooner."

He sees it, the veil. He sees it falling. And Jaskier smiles wide and finally, finally Geralt can tell that it's genuine. "I won't." A soft kiss on his lips, loving in all its haste. Jaskier draws back, beaming. "I promise."

Geralt huffs and pulls a stray curl aside from blue eyes and behind Jaskier's ear, takes in the scent, the warmth, the laughter, everything he can grasp before it's gone, and suddenly he knows.

When Jaskier starts talking again, something in his heart settles.

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS DAYLIGHT Vol. 3 Sakamaki Reiji [Track 5 + Epilogue]

Original title: ただ寄り添って + エピローグ

Source: Diabolik Lovers Daylight Vol. 3 Sakamaki Reiji

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Katsuyuki Konishi

Translator’s note: I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS. T _ T While this bittersweet kind of approach does hurt my heart, I also think it is the most realistic Daylight CD plot we’ve gotten so far. A happy ending like Ayato’s and Shuu’s is nice and all, but it’s also horribly cliched how ‘true love’ magically saves the day and cures a person from health/heart issues??? So I have to give props to the writer of Reiji’s script, for actually having the guts to write a different kind of ending. 

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5 + Epilogue

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 5: Just Scoot Closer

The two of you are taking a stroll outside at night.

[00:11] “...Hold onto my arm tightly. You can take it easy.”

You apologize for being so slow. 

“Please do not let it worry you. Right now, I am your knight in shining armor, there to protect you at all times. I am beyond flattered to be able to escort you like this.”

You continue stumbling along.

[00:38] “Right...The flowers right here are in full bloom right now. It is a beautiful garden. Let us pluck one of them. I am sure it will look lovely in your hair.”

You stop him. 

“Hm? Do you not like the sound of that?”

You explain that you feel bad for the flower.

[01:07] “...Good point. Even if it is just a single flower, we probably should not change its fate so selfishlessly.”

You apologize for turning down his offer.

“No. I am truly astounded by your kindness and strength.”

You suddenly perk up your head.

“What is it? You can tell me anything.”

You run your fingertips across his hand.

[01:39] “Wound...? Ah, from when I accidentally cut myself, you mean? I am sure your charm played a part in it as well, but exactly, it has fully healed. Do not worry.”

You tell him to never hurt himself like that again.

“...! How do you...?”

You explain. 

“Aah...I did not consider you might have been awake back then. ...!! Is that why you...decided to kiss the wound, because you knew my pain...?”

You say sorry again. 

[02:26] “...No. I am the one who should apologize. It is shameful I had to resort to such actions to suppress my own desires. I truly am sorry. I made you suffer.”

You shake your head.

“Then, why...?”

You tell Reiji he could have sucked your blood and you would not have minded. 

[02:51] “...Haah? What are you saying!? If I had sucked your blood back then, you might have no longer be standing here right noーー”

You insist that it is fine, since your fate has been sealed already either way.

“Wait, please...You are acting strange today. This whole time, you have been saying the weirdest things. Almost as if...As if...”

*Rustle*

[03:20] “I hope this is simple overthinking on my part but...I am begging you, please do not make any rash decisions.”

You ask him to suck your blood now.

“Did you not hear me just now? I told you to stop jumping ahead!”

You insist. 

“You are spouting utter nonsense! Speaking of things which will only shorten your own life without even batting an eye! Those are things you cannot joke about!”

*Rustle* 

[03:51] “Stop! You must not do that! This fragrance coming from your nape...makes me lose my mind.”

*Rustle*

“Even though...I am asking you to stop...Haah...My fangs are aching...This is bad...I cannot...stop this thirst...Ugh! ...Kuh! Haah, haah...Haah...You are a bully, are you not? That habit of yours...is so very kind.”

Reiji grabs hold of your hand.

[04:52] “Come on, let me hug you close against my chest.”

*Rustle*

“Haah...You are right here. In my arms. There is nothing more I could wish for. Right now, I do not have the desire to pierce your skin with my fangs.”

You tear up.

[05:24] “If you want to cry, go ahead and cry all you want. Even your tears are precious. Let us engrave everything about each other in our memories. Until the moment ーー You take your final breath.”

*TIMESKIP*

*Cling*

[06:02] “Well then, open your mouth.”

He feeds you.

“So? How does it taste?”

You smile.

“Fufu, my homemade carbonara has always been one of your favorites after all. I made a few adjustments and tried turning it into a soup.  Soups are easy to digest after all. Well then, one more bite.”

You tell him you have had enough for now.

[06:33] “...I see. Understood. Please tell me whenever there is something you would like to eat. I will try my hardest to prepare it for you.”

You shake your head.

“Oh dear? Do you not like my home cooking?”

You tell him you feel the end is near for you.

[06:57] “...!! ...Time has come, has it not? ...I will stay by your side. I am hugging you close like this after all. Even if my body temperature is low, the warmth of the flames from the fireplace will keep both of us cozy. Take a look. The flames are swaying from left to right, it is a beautiful sight.”

You yawn.

[07:39] “Fufu...Has it made you drowsy? That is fine. Get all the rest you want. ...Goodnight. I am sure you will have a wonderful dream.”

*TIMESKIP*

Reiji is carrying you while walking outside.

*Rustle*

[08:26] “...Good morning. Have you woken up?”

You look around, asking Reiji where you are.

“Fufu...Your favorite spot. A flower field in full bloom. Can you see it?”

You nod.

“Ah...I am glad. You like it, no?”

You ponder if there will be beautiful flowers like this in Heaven as well.

[09:03] “Well, I wonder? ...Heaven and Hell are individual concepts, are they not? It all depends on how you view them. ーー And even if this place were to be either one of those, I will remain by your side forever. Let us make a vow. For eternity. ...Well then, my beloved...I shall seal our promise with a kiss...”

*Smooch*

Track 6: Epilogue

The two of you enter a tea shop. 

*Ring ring*

*Thud*

You note that it smells wonderful.

[00:30] “...Fufu. You must have become a true tea enthusiast as well to be able to tell the quality of the leaves just by scent alone. ーー Aah. It truly is fragrant. Both the fragrance and the taste of the tea sold at this store are extraordinary. I have taken a liking to this shop in particular, because they always provide me with tea leaves of the finest quality.”

You ask if he will purchase tea leaves today. 

“No, today I have come to pick out a set of tea cups. Their collection of chinaware is wonderful as well after all.”

You ask if he gave the broken cup to the restorer.

[01:11] “Of course I did. However, it will take a while until it gets back from the repair shop. I figured there was no harm in selecting a new cup to use in the meantime. I will have a look around. You can look for a cup of your liking as well. We can meet up again later. ーー Well then.”

Reiji steps away.

*TIMESKIP*

The scene shifts to the outside.

[02:01] “We made some wonderful purchases. ...Are you not too tired?”

You shake your head.

“I see. In that case, let us enjoy a cup of tea as soon as we get back home.”

You frown. 

[02:19] “Hm? ...What is bothering you? I told you I approve of the cup you picked out, did I not? ...I suddenly realized that this whole time, we never had a set of matching tea cups. Of course, we have both used identical cups from the same tea set, but never did we pick out two individual ones, did we? Therefore, I wanted to have some.”

You giggle.

[02:58] “Is it strange for me to think that way?”

You tell him it actually makes you happy. 

“Fufu...If it makes you happy, I am glad as well. By the way ーー How about we hold hands as we walk?”

You seem a little surprised. 

[03:21] “We just purchased a matching set of cups, so I figured it would not hurt to show our relationship through our actions as well. This is something a human couple would do. ...Fufu, I am well aware of that, you know?”

*Rustle*

“Well then, your hand please.”

You grab hold of his hand. 

[03:45] “Let us head home then, and enjoy a delicious cup of tea in our matching cups.”

The two of you walk ahead, hand-in-hand.

ーー THE END ーー

[hime-hana]

inspired by doja cat - streets

park seonghwa x fem!reader

non-idol!au

trigger warning(s): smut, swearing, sexual depictions, light angst(?), betting, alcohol mentions

21.48 pm

"‘cause you’re a one in a million, there ain’t no man like you"

“Fancy seeing you here, Mister Park...” you put on your best smile as you take a seat next to him at the table, “... again.”

It was not the first time you were betting against each other. In fact, just one night ago you were sitting in the same spot while Seonghwa’s lips brushed against the shell of your ear. The sweetest, most lewd things being whispered in your ear.

“How could I miss this opportunity, darling?”

You could not see the smirk on his face, but you were sure he had the same smug face as he did last night when you ended up inviting him to your hotel room.

Park Seonghwa was someone you noticed from the first time you step foot into the hotel’s lobby. Tall, handsome, with a face that could rival David himself. And then... There was his arm candy, one that you could swear was a sweet little pillow princess who would never cross him for fear of making him angry. Only fate could be so bittersweet to bring your greedy souls together.

Greedy for money. Greedy for the win. Greedy to always be on top. Greedy for those lustful nights with champagne and fucking under the moonlight. Greedy for each other.

“A little quiet tonight, aren’t we?”

Seonghwa spoke again before placing his bet. You did the same without replying; you knew what he was trying to do.

“Red 48” the croupier announces and you bet one more round as Seonghwa celebrates his victory. His fingers brush against your arm when he leans for his glass. A teasing smile playing on his lips and you see him looking straight at you as he gulps down from the half-empty whiskey glass. You already knew he was imagining what kind of lingerie hides underneath your satin dress. Would it be black like last night? Would he tear your panties off with his teeth while you moan his name again?

“I am getting bored.”

“Already, my darling? Let’s play one more round,” Seonghwa chuckles as he pushes a handful of chips forward. “All or nothing?”

You raise your eyebrows at him before mimicking his motions. This is exactly how your last night's escapade began. It was all fun and games until Seonghwa’s words trailed from your ears down to your neck, chest, and finally to your heated core.

“What about your cute friend?” you barely managed to ask between rushed kisses down the hallway to your hotel room.

“She is just someone who looks good for business. She has someone of her own, we were never together.”

Tonight you found yourself needing him even more. Waking up in the king-sized bed without him wasn’t a surprise, but the way your bare skin shivered as blurred scenes of the way he bruised your hips last night and held your neck so gently while fucking into you made you sigh. You had to find Seonghwa again.

“Do I get a prize if I win, Mister Park?” you ask him now in a teasing tone while Seonghwa was pondering on his bet.

“Is there something you have in mind, Miss Y/N?” he whispers, stepping closer and moving a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips grace over the sensitive skin on your neck; the spot where his lips left the most beautiful mark last night as you became undone underneath him, hidden under your shining necklace.

“I might.” you lick your lips. He knew exactly what you were thinking as you toyed with the hem of his black tie.

“And if I win?”

You giggle, pointing to the croupier.

“I do not believe this will be the case, Mister Park Seonghwa.”

The dealer announces your win not a moment later and you click your tongue as you step away from the table. The money came second to the man in front of you, at least for now. You needed him badly.

Seonghwa does not need another signal other than your catty eyelashes fluttering his way to follow you upstairs to your hotel room. The same place, same time, same golden elevator as the previous night when he laid his eyes upon you and swore he had to fuck you before leaving this hotel. You were too good to be true.

Your hands find their way around his shoulders naturally, lips finding his as if you have been doing this since forever. Seonghwa brings you closer by your waist, the dark fabric of your dress crumbling under his fingers just enough for him to slide one hand underneath and grip your ass.

“Mister Park, you’re always in such a hurry,” you scoff when you reach your room.

“It didn’t seem to bother you last night.”

The devilish smile forming on his face as he raises his eyebrows is enough to make your knees weak. His hands are still on your hips a moment before you push him on the bed, head falling against the fluffed-up pillows.

“Why don’t you come here, darling?” Seonghwa asks, patting his thigh before he lifts himself on his elbows.

You smile and take one step towards him. He makes the first move, taking off his pants and throwing them next to the bed. Your fingers pull at the strings holding your dress around your shoulders but not enough for it to fall off; instead, you take off your necklace placing it on the vanity.

Seonghwa’s eyebrows furrow, tongue poking his cheek at your little game. “Love, I want to see you.” His voice pleaded, almost whining, even if Seonghwa would never admit it.

“It’s your turn,” you reply, and Seonghwa complies by unbuttoning his shirt.

Dark eyes watch as you make your next move, reaching underneath the mini dress, your fingers tugging at your underwear. Seonghwa licks his lips, watching the red lace fall to your ankles. One more step and you are finally crawling on the bed. It took less than a second for his arms to wrap around your body, lips hurrying to meet yours in the middle of a heated kiss. He pulled you even closer, your core barely brushing over his bulge, but it was enough to drive him crazy as he noticed how wet you already were.

“I missed your body so,” he murmurs against your lips as he seals it with a kiss against your smudged cherry lipstick.

“I want to have you all to myself,” Seonghwa continues while his lips trail down to your jaw “tonight...”

And to the side of your neck, teeth grazing over your skin. “...tomorrow.”

You reply with a breathy moan when he bucks up his hips against yours.

And then lower, covering your chest in light kisses while his hips selfishly moved against yours. “...always mine, darling.”

[snidgetwidgeon]

Son of Hylia, Daughter of Farore

A roleswap Zelink AU

Art by @anxioussailorsoldier and used here with permission

This story is a one-shot inspired by the prompts from @drsteggy and was gifted to her in a fic exchange.

~~~

Link awoke suddenly, desperately trying to cling to the vision of a woman surrounded by bright light as it diminished from his foggy mind. Try as he might to enter back into the haze of his mysterious dream, sounds came louder and clearer to his ears, and he registered the rustle of the sheets sliding against his feet as he stretched, his senses slowly returning. Today would be a trying affair. He always remained fatigued after she appeared to him, ever speaking yet rendered frustratingly silent.

Perhaps he could try to lay low, hide in the library, and search yet again on the shelves he’d already scoured for something he may have missed; something to prove it was possible that he was having the visions vessels were known to have had. He just couldn’t interpret them. He spared a bittersweet thought for his late mother. She would have known, would have shown him. Or perhaps she would have bore a daughter, and there would be no question; and he could have supported his sister when they found out the Calamity was foretold to return.

But the Kingdom of Hyrule was left with a Prince at the precipice of doom. He’d never felt more useless, or more determined to do something about it. He would find a way. He would protect everyone.

Zelda shifted her feet, practicing her forms to warm up before training. She missed her scimitar. This new blade felt so different and she had to relearn how to make it an extension of herself. It was humbling when sparring partners she had previously bested came out on top. It just proved she still had much to learn and needed to become proficient with many weapon types if she wanted to be the greatest.

She recalled being a bit intimidated as her group of friends grew over the years. Where they used to be physical equals, they now towered above her; but she supposed she could be thankful for the challenge because it caused her to become an incredibly scrappy fighter, always looking for openings she could wheedle into.

This time she wheedled too far and forgot to watch her flank while in pursuit of one of her opponents. Another warrior swept in and bashed her ribs as she was on an upswing and it sent her flying. As she was pulled up, she couldn’t help but think spitefully that the same would not have happened if she were allowed her weapon of choice. She could have recovered with her scimitar but the swing on the Master Sword was different.

“Nice air you caught there,” her sparring partner teased in Gerudo. “Again?”

Zelda recovered her blade from a few paces away and declined, “I think I’ll just nurse my wounds and ego for awhile, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. I recommend you do solitary for a few days with your new acquaintance,” she pointed her chin towards the Master Sword in Zelda’s grip. “See if you two can make friends,” she winked and ran back to join the fray.

Zelda stared down at the sword with slight contempt. Urbosa had told her of the legends she’d learned from the late Queen of Hyrule, and her son, Prince Link- that the sword was wielded to protect Hylia, and how the blade itself chose its master and would even communicate. Someone being chosen meant that a shit storm was likely brewing.

Urbosa also mentioned that preparations were being made against some sort of Calamity. The word made Zelda’s blood run cold and she knew it was something to be feared. If the sword was not speaking to her, perhaps it chose wrong and she was not suited to the challenge. She had tried everything she could think of, even hours of meditation, which she hated because she didn’t like sitting still for long.

But it was all for naught.

She wove her way through the stalls and bustle of the marketplace, sword heavy on her back, and day after day it had only served to weigh her down even more. She could no longer stand it. She exited the north-western gates and ran along the outer wall. Heart pounding and sweating all over, she dug a rather shallow and pathetic hole, chucked the sword in and kicked sand over it before walking away in a huff, muttering, “Curse the day I found your infuriating silence!”

She’d been training in the desert when she discovered it, exploring further than she ever had over the dunes. Following the statues with their guiding swords, she finally came upon the last one and sheltered under her cloak at its base as a sandstorm passed. Thankfully, it was short and as she stood to shake as much sand as she could off her person, she noticed something strange in the distance. She could have sworn she’d reached the last statue of the warriors. Perhaps she’d miscounted as there stood another on the horizon, the reflection of its sword glinting brightly in its grasp.

Zelda took a drink from her ration, taking note of how much was left before deciding she could manage one more. If anything, it would improve her survival skills.

As she neared the solid figure rising out of the sands she noticed that the sword it held was elaborate. Oddly enough, a scabbard for it was slung over the shoulder which made it appear that someone had just left it there. She looked around but only saw a few cacti bearing voltfruits, perfect for carrying around extra moisture for the return trip. Some movement caught her eye behind a cactus and she ran over, pulling her scimitar, in case there was meat to be had, but she was met with a poof of sparkling petals and could have sworn she heard a childish giggle.

After investigating thoroughly, she cut the fruits and placed them into her bag before returning to the statue. It would be a shame to leave such a fine piece of work out in the middle of nowhere. She climbed the figure and slipped the scabbard off the shoulder, letting it fall to the sand before holding the neck and planting her feet against the torso so she could reach the hilt with her free hand. It did not budge. Hiking herself up, she wrapped her legs around the neck so she could use both hands to pull on the wings above the hilt.

She was straining when she heard the laugh again, accompanied by a rattle, and in her distraction, the blade suddenly came loose and they both tumbled into the sand.

She’d thought nothing of it until returning to Gerudo Town.

During a routine visit to the throne room, Chief Urbosa had nearly sent away visiting dignitaries when she spied the sword on Zelda’s back. After the meeting, Urbosa called her into her private quarters, which was very unusual. Perhaps she was to be given a special assignment.

“Where did you find that sword?” Urbosa asked with intense interest and a hint of concern.

Zelda stood at attention and replied concisely, “In the desert, Chief.”

“Zelda, have you any idea what you’ve found?”

Zelda began to doubt her decision to play finders keepers. Maybe it was a ceremonial sword or relic that should have stayed where it was. Though she had been raised with the Gerudo, she certainly did not purport to know all of their culture and was horrified by the idea that she’d deeply offended them.

~~~

Urbosa removed her bracelets and hair ornaments, letting the thick, red locks fall down her back. Making sure her tea would be in reach, she snuggled into her bed and opened a letter from her favorite Hylian. She always saved his letters for the end of the day when her attention could be undivided and she could imagine actually having a conversation with him. He was so bright and inquisitive, and optimistic- as his letter revealed. Just like her love.

~I have not given up my search. I keep thinking that surely, there is a pocket in the library I have not scoured. But then another duty and another day takes me away from it. I see her, Urbosa. It has to mean something. If only I could find evidence that there has been a son of Hylia. Why else would I be given visions? If only I could interpret them...

Do you know how mother did it? Did she ever say anything?~

He then went on to describe his involvement with the funding of the research at the Royal Ancient Lab as well as other gossip that he and Urbosa kept up on, including their inside jokes about stuffy nobles. He also wanted to hear more about the warrior who had pulled the Master Sword.

~Does the bearer of the Blade that Seals the Darkness fare well? The moment I learned of her, I hoped that it was a sliver of evidence to prove my case. If there is a woman as Farore’s chosen, then perhaps it lends weight to the fact that a man could be Nayru’s chosen. But I’m harping. Perhaps I will be able to meet her soon, though father keeps me tied up in social engagements. He has taken to parading me at events where there are ample amounts of young debutantes to vie for my attention. I’d much rather be studying.~

Urbosa wrote back early the next morning after skimming the letter again.

~It seems our chosen Hero is having trouble awakening the power within the blade. When you sent word of legends that say the sword speaks to a worthy master, she immediately felt inadequate. Zelda excels at any challenge and eventually overcomes all obstacles, so when she continually failed to connect with the sword’s spirit, she took out her frustrations in a childish manner. The other day she was witnessed burying it in the sand outside the town walls. She must have blown off all her steam because she did retrieve it later that night.

I think that learning her fate has been weighing on her. She puts on a stoic face but I can see she has reservations. Perhaps if you two came together, something will give?~

After reading Urbosa’s reply, Link laid the parchment back down on his desk and pondered her proposition. He had been wanting to expand his search outside the castle for sometime and though he enjoyed visiting the Royal Lab, it did not hold any answers for what he sought; they were just a bunch of rowdy mechanics who were a lot of fun to hang around with. But to understand his history and role, he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the known spiritual sites of Hyrule, and perhaps discover unknown ones as well so he could be better informed on how to defeat the Calamity, and possibly awaken the power of Hylia along the way.

He would start making arrangements right away.

~~~

King Rhoam rapped his knuckles on the door of his son’s study. When Link answered with a curt nod and a polite greeting, he entered, leaving his guard detail outside. He thought it prudent to retain at least some privacy for this matter, considering the gossip it could generate.

“I hear you’re planning some sort of trip,” it came out as a statement more than a question.

“A pilgrimage. To try and find any proof of my suspicions-”

He was interrupted by his father’s large, dissatisfied sigh. “Link, you really must stop harping on about that nonsense. Hylia has only ever been reincarnated into the mortal body of a female, that’s just the way it is. A tradition that extends even far beyond what we have in written history.”

“Exactly. We don’t know everything. How do you explain my visions? Mother had them. She knew how to interpret them.”

“Perhaps they’re just dreams,” Rhoam offered again in a misguided attempt to engage.

Link smacked the book he was about to pack on the table in frustration. “I can’t believe you keep saying that, you just don’t understand.”

“What I understand is that you continue to foolishly insist on chasing dreams and fantasies rather than doing something tangible for your people. You’re wasting time, Link. You should be courting and choosing a wife so that you can pass on the bloodline to a potential Princess who will-” Rhoam saw the shock in his boy’s face and tried to change track, “We have no idea when the Calamity will strike, we should be doing everything we can to prevent disaster.”

Link clenched his jaw as a deep anger and loathing swelled in his breast. Voice trembling in rage, he rebutted, “I am not going to produce an heir just to send her to the slaughter. I will fight my own battles. This Calamity is coming down on us! I just need to figure out how to awaken Hylia’s power.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out before Rhoam could push his agenda further.

~~~

The next letter Urbosa received from Link outlined his travels. She grinned as she read through them, glad that he’d managed to get away.

~The Forgotten Temple was very difficult to access, and though it did not produce any results, it was a breath taking trip. It has the largest Goddess Statue I have ever seen and I felt a peculiar familiarity while standing under her benevolent smile. I think this is promising.

We’re now at the ruins of the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. I’m no stranger to the place of course, but the Priestess has been most helpful in providing old texts to study that were not available at the Castle. She’s even offered to assign a scribe to make copies for me.

I hope to be underway again soon and I would like to visit the Seven Heroines. I want to leave no stone unturned. I shall send a dispatch for when we expect to be arriving in the desert.~

When the time came, Urbosa bid Zelda to be an escort for the Prince across the sands to Gerudo Town. “Listen carefully, Zelda. Being the Prince is more than reason enough to keep him safe, but there may be a chance that he is so much more. The fact that you wield that sword lends weight to his theory that he may be Hylia reborn.”

Zelda’s eyes widened but she remained silent, nodding dutifully.

“I’ll need you to deliver some supplies to him so that he may enter unmolested upon arrival.”

“Chief?” Zelda asked, uncertain about the order. Hylia possibly being in a boy she could handle, but in all her time there, she’d never heard of a voe entering Gerudo Town. For Urbosa to speak of it almost as if it were done every other day was- confusing, to say the least.

Urbosa raised her brow at the question. “He is my Oten’vehvi and knows how to behave within these walls. You need not concern yourself with the politics, just act as his personal guard.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She made her preparations and checked that all was secure with the ‘contraband.’ The idea of meeting the Prince was troubling to say the least. She felt completely inadequate, bearing a sword that considered her unworthy. Perhaps she could pass it onto him and he could find the most courageous person in Hyrule. With his resources she was sure it wouldn’t be that hard. Then again, legendary swords weren’t known for choosing incorrect Heroes, so what was wrong with her?

They would just have to work together somehow.

She rode most of the way at a leisurely pace behind her sand seal until she noticed a scuffle as she neared Kara Kara. “HUP!” she directed her seal to go a bit faster to investigate.

A couple of Hylian vai shrieked when they saw her. “The Prince! Please save our Prince!” they cried as they pointed west.

There were two Yiga chasing after a nimble blond clad in light blue. She sprung after them, tongue rolling in a call to let her mount know they needed to go as fast as if they were fleeing a molduga.

The Prince was doing well for himself until he fell, a prey disposition coming over him. He scooted back but could only stare at the assassins, frozen in fear.

Zelda used her inertia to whip across the sand and jumped to land between the Prince and his attackers. She drew her sword, imbued with courage and confident that she could easily protect the boy against the likes of this desert rabble. She almost become distracted by the sword’s sudden glow before exchanging blows with the masked Yiga. They soon realized they were no match for her and dispersed in pops of red and orange light, laughter echoing in their place.

Breathing heavily, she turned back to face the Prince who was still flat on his bum. They both ogled the glowing sword.

An ethereal, disembodied voice broke the silence, “Master, it is good to see you again.”

Their eyes snapped to each other and searched for understanding. There was an immediate and unmistakable bond between them. They’d both heard it.

“I see...” Zelda began. She glared down at the Master Sword, fist clenching the handle and shaking with anger. “So you only deign to speak when your charge is present?” Her voice rose, “I wasn’t good enough for you?! You picky piece of shit!” she yelled as she hurled the sword into the dunes.

Link gaped in disbelief that his protector was so uncouth when something profound occurred to him. He fell back into the sand laughing, a massive wave of relief washing over him.

She looked at him curiously. “What? What is it?”

His laughter died down and he gazed into the sky, moisture glistening in the corner of his eye. “She’s with me.”

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, unaware of the turmoil he had experienced regarding his identity.

Link stood and brushed himself off then held out his hand in greeting. “You must be Zelda. Bearer of the Blade that seals the Darkness.”

She accepted his shake and added spitefully, “More like the blade that won’t open its trap unless its mommy is around.”

“You know, I find it very intriguing, my mother’s name was also Zelda.”

“Yes, my mother was a big fan. It’s kind of flattering, she was a great lady. But people always joke that I’m the lost, secret princess and other nonsense.” She started to move away but he touched her arm and she paused.

“Thank you- for saving my life; but also for revealing the truth. Now that I know she’s here,” he touched his heart, “I will find her.”

Zelda eyed him like a strange bug, still unsure as to what he was on about. She patted his shoulder as she walked over to retrieve her weapon, “Good luck with that.”

~~~

A few nights later, Link and Urbosa took a stroll just outside of town to enjoy each other’s company, catching up on their daily lives. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone pale on the dunes, a steady breeze drifting the sands away to the dark horizon. He’d just intimated what his father would have him do to stay the coming Calamity.

She touched his shoulder in support, “And what did you say?”

“That this was our battle. And I would absolutely not have a child just to-” he sighed deeply. “I mean, I know the legends. There will always be a vessel of Hylia and her chosen Hero, but to be so deliberate and unfeeling about it, I just...”

“It’s alright. Your father has always been rather blunt, and practical to a fault. For what it’s worth, I believe in you. The visions you describe sound very similar to what your mother shared with me.”

He looked up to her with a smile, “It’s worth a lot, you’re my Oten’baba; your opinion matters to me more than anyone else.”

They continued on for a short time in companionable silence when Urbosa stopped and lifted her head to the night, listening and placing a hand on her scimitar.

“What is it?” Link asked, only noticing after he’d taken a few steps ahead.

A raucous laughter cut across the desert and as quick as Urbosa had been to draw her blade and prepare a snap of deadly electricity over her foes, two of them grabbed the Prince and held their sickles to his neck causing her to stay her hand.

“What a lovely package we have here tonight. Not only can we bag the boy, we can finally rid ourselves of the thorn in our side, Gerudo Tempest!” a Yiga foot soldier, hidden amongst the rest, spat the last two words out in disgust.

They attacked and dozens fell upon the Chief, running head on and popping up behind. A dance of blades began and Link struggled to free himself. Urbosa tried to lead her foes away but Link’s captors followed, dragging his feet through the sand.

“You’ll not be using your lightning with the precious Prince so close, will you?” gloated the same antagonizing voice.

Link cried out in terror when he saw a Yiga succeed in cutting her arm. She seethed and decked them right across the jaw. When they fell she jumped onto their back and launched herself in the air so she could shoot off a bolt.

“Oh, no! Is the Tempest in distress?” the voice goaded, and the masks cackled.

Link couldn’t tell where the mocking was coming from, they were everywhere and nowhere at once. There were too many. Urbosa was becoming overwhelmed and aid may not arrive in time- a gash landed on her leg- he was going to lose her. The laughing was getting louder, the air becoming so thick with magic that it tasted like chalk on his tongue- a slice was delivered up her back and she cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his mother. What would she do? There hadn’t been anything he could do for her then, but he was here now for his living mother.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see Urbosa drowning under the onslaught and his insides fell into oblivion. They were replaced by a warmth that spread through his body and beyond. He jerked his head in confusion as those that held him fell away. He was free. Sparks akin to those he felt when he fell asleep on his hand in the library spread through his fingers and he launched himself into the foray. He clawed through Yiga soldiers to get to her and did not see how each one he yanked was thrown back with a force of golden energy.

“Urbosa! URBOSA!?” They hit the ground.

The desert was lit with a false sunrise as Link crushed Urbosa in a desperate embrace. The light washed over her, healing her wounds as it cascaded around them in a dome, their enemies lying motionless on the outside.

After a few stunned moments, they opened their eyes and picked each other up. Urbosa held his face in her hands and wiped his tears. “Just look at you,” she said, smiling proudly.

“I- I couldn’t. I was,” he stumbled over his words as more tears fell, “I was going to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too,” he cried into her chest and she held him close.

~~~

Link was a natural at seal surfing. That’s what Zelda thought before she realized that he must have actually visited Gerudo Town previously and she just didn’t know it. They had left at sunrise and arrived to their destination mid morning. After taking a much needed rest, re-hydrating and snacking, Link took a leisurely walk around the place to get his bearings while Zelda tended to the sand seals. She joined him after they were settled for a long siesta and the two of them began their research of the Seven Heroines in interest.

There were orbs scattered about the place. Very large, Link noticed. He pushed one with his foot. And heavy. The sand seals might have to work after all. He tasked Zelda with collecting any she could find and in the meantime he studied the statues, picking up rather quickly that some had prominent corresponding symbols to the orbs on various parts of their bodies. Some he couldn’t make out as they were too high so there would be some educated guesses by process of elimination.

Zelda couldn’t help being drawn into his enthusiasm, the way he took notes- the face he made when he took those notes; it was all very quaint, and a bit impressive. Having spent most of her time advancing physically, she appreciated the mental gymnastics they were doing. Where most might sit back defeated, Link pushed through with a calm determination. They tried dropping the orbs in the pedestals in numerous combinations, each with a sound theory behind them. How was Link to know that if shrines had been activated, he would have succeeded in getting a result on the first try? A fact that they both wouldn’t learn for another 103-odd years.

After the sun set, Link scrawled until the dimming light rendered the page unreadable. Zelda had already set about making camp. They could head back to town in the morning, both were knackered. Even with the help of the seals, they’d heaved plenty of orbs around for hours. Eventually he plopped down on the rug with her and heaved a big sigh.

“Wow, you been working all day or something?” she asked in jest as she turned the vegetables in the fire.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out in the field.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What’s it like up at the castle?”

“Stuffy.”

She chuckled and didn’t press but it wouldn’t be fair to leave it at that. For all its faults, it deserved more. “I loved exploring the halls as a boy. I’m fairly certain I found long lost passages even the castle historian didn’t know about. My favorite places are the Library and the Observatory. “

“Sounds about right,” Zelda smirked.

“Ha ha. But really, the Library has books as far as you can see, you’d never finish them in one lifetime. And my mother used to take me to the Observatory. I still go there to feel close to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment when Zelda touched his forearm. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Link nodded in thanks and Zelda started to collect the hearty truffles from the coals. “I lost my father,” she began, and Link was a bit surprised she was sharing.

“He was a knight. We didn’t have any other family close by and mom didn’t fancy moving to Tabantha Village. She hates the cold,” Zelda added as she passed Link a stick laden with dinner.

“Thanks. So she just came to the desert instead?” Link asked before blowing generously and taking a bite.

“She had a close friend here who is practically my auntie. I think she was hoping we could just get away and start fresh from everything we knew before. But then I had to take after dad. Took her a while and a lot of arguments to come to terms with the fact that I was also a warrior.” She shook her head. “I feel bad. I’ve put her in a constant fear of losing me too but... you have to do what your soul tells you, right?”

Link closed his eyes and thought of Hylia, feeling a vibration in his core. “Right.” He agreed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, then this happened,” she said, unsheathing the sword on her back a few inches and letting fall back in with a shinck. “That was not a fun conversation.”

“I can imagine,” Link commiserated as he thought of his own recent rows with his father.

Zelda took a bite of her own truffle and regarded him up and down. With no tact for manners, she said with a full mouth, “You’re alrigh’ fo’ a Pince.”

Link laughed and his genuine mirth spread warmth through Zelda’s chest. “And you’re alright for a Hero.”

[lulu-zodiac]

Title: Twelve Phases of the Moon

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: Purgatory Destiel, Pining

Summary: The quiet of purgatory makes it too easy to hear Dean.

If you want to be added to my fic tag list, let me know! <3.

.

Purgatory is quiet.

Not the iridescent, awed quiet of heaven. Not even the quiet of earth that is never really quiet, but which Castiel has learned to love. Soft, stolen moments of golden summer sun slanting through the windshield of the impala; exhausted, unspoken conversations at 2am in harshly lit roadside diners; the repetitive hush of Sam and Dean’s breathing in dark motel rooms. Purgatory is quiet like a crypt. Rigid, dark, endless. It’s quiet in the same way a dead body is completely still. There is that same sense of wrongness to the silence that swathes everything here. Castiel has never felt more aware of his own heartbeat, how much it aches.

The quiet makes it too easy to hear Dean.

Castiel can’t decide if this is a blessing or a curse. Perhaps both. He has always heard the prayers directed to him, of course. But on heaven and earth, they’re hazy, faraway, easy to tune out if he tries. Here is different. Through the stillness, Dean’s prayers feel closer, disarmingly intimate. As though Dean is whispering right into the shell of his ear.

At first, it had been unbearable. Dean, wandering the endless space, shouting himself hoarse on Castiel’s name. His prayers had been abrupt, frequent, often aborted midway through. Full of the kind of rage that was a split second away from tears, his voice breaking on the single syllable of please. Sometimes that’s all a prayer would be; just Castiel, and please. Castiel had almost gone to him then. It was more than he could bear, the endless torment of Dean’s voice, slowly tearing itself to pieces in the quiet. Please, Cas. He pictured Dean stumbling around in the snarled branches and colourless fog, shouting blindly with nothing to kill, nothing to be angry at. It hurt Castiel so much it felt like physical pain, like Dean was punching him over and over again with his despair.

The only thing worse than listening to Dean slowly fall apart was knowing what would happen to him if Castiel went to him. How the Leviathans that were already so close on Castiel’s trail would tear him apart. Castiel tried not to think about how Dean might not care, anymore. That he might welcome an end to the abyss.

Time was meaningless in purgatory; it was never fully light, and dark was unpredictable, often for what felt like days. The only way Castiel had learnt to mark the passing of time was by looking up at the sky. It was choked in murky black, but he could just make out the lunar eye of the moon, miniscule ancient constellations glimmering in hope, or mockery. They were so very small, from all the way down here, but Castiel could still see them, and he held onto that. Like Dean’s prayers, sometimes he was comforted by them, other times tormented.

Three phases of the moon had passed before Dean stopped shouting Castiel’s name desperately into the unresponsive quiet.

Castiel had always assumed Dean would eventually go quiet like everything else in the quagmire of purgatory. The prospect was somehow even worse than hearing Dean’s fear, his loss. Stillness and silence were never things Castiel had associated with Dean; whenever Castiel thought of him, he pictured the shape of Dean’s mouth as he shouted “run!”, the way he drummed his fingers impatiently on the impala’s steering wheel when they were stopped at a light, how he could only fall asleep to thrashing heavy metal music or the sound of his brother snoring. Castiel dreaded the anguished prayers, but he dreaded the inevitable quiet even more; at least when he was shouting and hurting and fighting, Dean was not giving up a part of who he was.

But silence from Dean never happened.

After a few more phases of the far-distant moon, the desperate, frantic anger faded into something different. Dean started speaking slowly, as though it was an effort just to work the words from his mouth into the ether, defeated by the inevitability of the silence that would meet them. Castiel found himself almost missing the raw agony of Dean’s earlier prayers, the fluid fear and fury of them. This was stillness, if not silence. Dean’s acceptance of his isolation, of the quiet Castiel was condemning him to. He no longer said please. He just said Castiel’s name instead, as though two words were too much energy. Castiel, like it was all there was left. Cas, heavy and pleading, but with no hope. It was the way dying people said help, when they already knew their fate was sealed.

It took everything Castiel had not to go to him. But the Leviathan were still close behind him, and he knew it was impossible.

Slowly, Dean’s prayers evolved. There became a numbed quality to them, as though Dean was no longer sure if it was him saying them. They grew more unpredictable; sometimes full of anger or grief, sometimes strangely empty. Gradually, they lost their disjointed quality, often becoming longer, more contemplative. Sometimes, Dean would reflect on moments from the last few years, or even further back, from when he was growing up. These prayers were startlingly vulnerable, at times. As though Dean, lost in isolation, was using them to invite Castiel into his innermost thoughts just so he wouldn’t have to be alone.

Castiel learnt about how the dark of purgatory reminded Dean of looking after Sam when they were kids, the times they ran out of electricity and had to wait in the dark for days until their Dad got home; how time had blurred into meaninglessness just as it did here. Dean told Castiel about how afraid he’d been when he’d crawled out of hell, how he he’d stared at Castiel’s handprint every night in the mirror until it became part of him. One night, fiercely, he said, Everyone leaves me. But you always come back.

Castiel had found that the hardest to bear of all. Half beside himself, he’d almost gone to Dean that night, to prove that Dean could have faith in something. But he didn’t, because if Dean was killed, there’d be no point in believing in anything.

Dean still kept praying, prayers that made things bloom Castiel’s chest he didn’t think could exist in purgatory. I should have told you, Cas, one day through thick murky mist. We’re going to make it out of here, I promise, whispered in Castiel’s ear, over and over again, as though saying it often enough would make it true. One night, barely audible; I love you.

Sometimes, Castiel wonders if he’ll ever hear Dean’s voice out loud again. If these one-way prayers will be the last communication between them. He tries to hold onto Dean’s dogged determination, the promises he makes without even being sure Castiel will hear. The Leviathan are closer than ever now, and Castiel doesn’t want Dean’s last memory of him to be silence. He longs to sit in the same room as Dean again, hear the things Dean has confessed in his prayers out loud, be able to watch what expressions play through the complex green of his eyes. Reach out, touch his skin, the warmth of it.

It’s so cold here. Tonight, Castiel can see the moon; he’s been watching it for almost a year now. Twelve phases of the unblinking lunar eye. Castiel stands at the edge of a crepuscular clearing, staring upwards in reverent silence. He’s hidden by the jagged shadows of tangled branches, but, for once, they do not seem endless. For a moment, he loses himself in the hope of the moon, the hope that things beyond this somehow still exist, can exist again.

A sudden rustle in the clearing drags Castiel’s gaze away from the sky, and his gaze snaps towards the open space, defences immediately going up.

His heart stops.

For the first time since being here, he feels all the fear melt out of him as he looks at the lone figure standing in the clearing.

Dean.

Castiel can hardly believe his eyes; purgatory has a way of tricking the senses. But this is more real than anything that exists here. Dean. A year on, half-hidden in darkness, but unmistakable. Heaven or hell or purgatory, Castiel would know him anywhere.

Relief is overwhelming, but bittersweet. Dean looks wrecked. His green eyes are stark and staring, a year of being on constant alert, and the sharp lines of his faces are hollow and shadowed. Castiel watches him check the surroundings methodically before sinking down at the bottom of a particularly gnarled tree, putting his head in his hands. Even from the shadows, Cas can sense his exhaustion. He wonders when Dean last slept, if he sleeps.

Castiel can’t do anything but stare, frozen in wonderment and disbelief. Dean rubs his hands over his face, hands Castiel has seen a thousand times gripping a dagger or a steering wheel or tending Sam’s wounds. Warmth that Castiel didn’t know was possible here blossoms through him. He feels close to tears, as though his heart is on the brink of bursting. He feels alive in a way he hasn’t for almost a year. Maybe longer.

In the clearing, Dean tilts his head back, gazes up at the sky. He stares into the unblinking ghostly stars for a long time, before his eyes flicker shut.

“Cas,” he whispers, voice rough from disuse, and it sends a shock right through Castiel to hear it, out loud in the clearing like they both still exist, instead of through the ether. He’s trembling. Dazedly, he realises that the times Dean has prayed to him over the past year may have been the only time he’s spoken at all. “Cas, I know you can’t hear me, but –” he breaks off, takes a deep breath, eyes still closed. “I need you, Cas. I just – I really need you, Cas,” Dean’s voice tightens, like his throat is thick with tears, “Please.”

Castiel feels as though he’s breaking apart and being mended all at once. He can just see the moon; a year since they arrived here. Dean is still praying to him, as though Castiel is as much a part of his life now as he was then, as though he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. A year of silence, and Dean is still making them both promises.

Castiel can’t bear it anymore, can’t do anything except quietly step out of the shadows, and into the fragile moonlight of the clearing.

Dean is on his feet immediately, instincts sharper than ever – but then he freezes. His face is swathed in shadow, but Castiel can see the faint stars reflected in the green of his gaze.

There’s a pause that feels almost as long as the last year, then –

“Cas?” Dean’s voice is so full of hope it hurts, it should be impossible in a place like this.

“Dean,” Cas replies, and the silence of purgatory is broken.

[skye-huntress]

RWBY Panel 2021 Reaction

I figured why not. I was up at three in the morning to watch the panel just for even the smallest sneak peak or news of Volume 9 so I might as well throw out my reactions and thoughts into the void of the internet.

Let me start off with the biggest non-news, the lack of date for Volume 9. In the back of my mind, this was something I feared to expect. Between the pandemic, the blackouts, and probably a lot of other disrupting forces I am not aware about, it’s not reasonable to expect CRWBY to be at the same place with every upcoming volume every year. Similar for the Volume 8 Soundtrack, though for that I wasn’t expecting to hear any new updates on.

I am interested in the new game, Arrowfell, though I will admit that side-scrollers are not a style of game I’ve ever found compelling. It’s RWBY though, so of course I am going to check it out. They never said anything about what platforms it would be on though.

Now for the sneaky peak:

I’ll admit, that first half of it was intense. It really brought everything back, the anxiety, the near-panic, the anticipation of what would happen. It felt fresh seeing it from Ruby’s perspective.

Maybe seeing Yang’s fall happen in realtime will get people to lighten up on Ruby and realise that she couldn’t have really done anything, but I doubt it.

It is interesting to see how the edges of Ruby’s vision light up when she’s trying to call on her silver eye powers. I’d wager she experiences other sensations as well when its working and not just the sudden fatigue we see her go through after the fact.

So Neo is still attacking Ruby on sight despite the fact this path may have already sealed both their fates. I feel I should say this, I don’t think there is any reasoning with Neo. If she’s half as smart as she thinks she is, there’s no way she genuinely believes Ruby is responsible for Roman’s death. She went after Cinder first for a reason. She’s angry and in pain, and she needs someone a little easier to stab than a rogue maiden to take out her frustrations on. Ruby’s just a convenient scapegoat for Neo. One way or another, it will end this volume.

Oscar, Yang, Penny. These are all people Ruby has failed recently. Oscar was captured and tortured and Ruby didn’t even hear of it until afterwards. Yang took the blow meant for her and was the first to fall. Penny is the Maiden and it was Ruby’s job to protect her but now she is at Cinder’s mercy and that bitch doesn’t even have the word in her vocabulary. I feel this is the volume where Ruby has to confront her failures and increasing doubts about her leadership. We’ve been building up to it for a while

All alone and unarmed on a shore, in a strange place in another world. Nothing to do but keep moving forward.

At the very least, that she landed in the same realm we saw Crescent Rose suggests all or at least some of the Fallen have ended up in the same place.

Predictions

For Ruby, I think this will be a critical volume for her. All sorts of negativity has been building up with her for a while now and with her current situation, the fate of her friends, and when the news of Penny’s death inevitably reaches her, something is going to give. This might be a break from the plot but it is also a break for Ruby to reevaluate her leadership, her choices and how she’s been handling basically everything. How this changes her will likely determine the direction of the show and how the protagonists confront Salem going forward.

For Weiss, this could also be a big volume for her. For one, she’s gained and lost a lot this volume. Atlas, for all its faults which caused her to leave it twice, was her home, and now it is rubble and those of her people that survived are now refugees in a Kingdom they are not necessarily welcome. She confronted her father, and was working on her relationship with the rest of her family, but is now separated from them. She wasn’t as close with Penny as Ruby, but she lost her, too, and now her sister has the same target on her back and is probably doomed to suffer the same fate sooner or later. She also thought she lost her other family and it will be bittersweet to find herself stranded with them if when she can find them again. It’s been a rollercoaster for her.

While on this note, I think we are due for a heart-to-heart between Ruby and Weiss. Ruby recently had a talk with both Blake and Yang about her leadership, but I think Weiss has the best chance of actually reaching her. After all, Weiss was the first one to openly express doubts about Ruby being a leader, and it was also a position she once coveted for herself. Weiss is the sceptic turned believer, and she’s not afraid to call things as they are, so I think she is and always was the best one to talk to Ruby about this, which is why I think they never had this conversation before. Now that Ruby is in this critical stage, of course this is the perfect time for her once reluctant and now devoted partner to put in her two cents.

Since everything went down with Adam and her relationship with Yang improved, I haven’t been quite sure where Blake’s character arc will go from there. When Yang fell, she nearly completely lost and it clouded her judgment. After her talk with Nora, I wonder if Blake herself needs to reevaluate if perhaps there are parts about her own life and wellbeing that she has neglected since she and Yang have gotten closer. Perhaps it’s a time for her to reevaluate her priorities, which doesn’t necessarily mean distancing herself from Yang but it could still mean she puts more effort into herself and her other relationships, especially with Ruby, Weiss and Jaune.

Yang was the first to fall and everything went to shit after the fact. She stopped a sneak attack on Ruby but she couldn’t stop Neo or Cinder, and she was not there for her team or Penny. That moment is probably also too familiar to what happened with Adam at Beacon for Yang’s comfort, not that I think there was anything she could do better in either situation besides simply being faster. I don’t know what Yang’s response to everything will be, what effect this will have on her. Plus I can’t forget that she’s probably suffering a concussion right now.

As for the Bees, despite all they’ve been through and even with the split that happened last volume, they were still closer than ever. There’s a mutual respect there for each other’s decisions. If one is going through something, the other will be there to talk them through it or even simply be a shoulder to cry on. If this is a situation that they’ll be stuck on for the foreseeable future, at least they have each other and there are worse places they could be stranded in. Despite everything that happened or maybe even because of it, it might seem the perfect setting and timing for some confessions and more.

Now to Jaune. He certainly hasn’t had it easy. From the start, he was the furthest behind among his peers, and now he’s been licensed earlier than most of them. Pyrrha helped him a lot with that, and was the first to believe in him and she was taken from him, and it seems he came to terms with that since Argus. He didn’t let his grief blind him and he stayed on task with the evacuation, and he wasn’t reckless when he did confront Cinder. He did everything right, but it wasn’t enough to save Penny and in the end he had little choice but to respect her dying wish. It had to be done, I don’t blame him for being put in that position, but it’s still got to hurt. It’s also so appropriate that his weapon, one of his most important tools as a Huntsman, was broken after spilling innocent blood, almost like a punishment(?) for his “betrayal” to what a Huntsman is suppose to be. He’s going to carry this until the day he dies, and now he has to face his friends, especially his best friend whom was the closest of all of them to Penny.

Finally Neo. Like I said, I don’t think she can be reasoned with. She abandoned any sort of rationale a long time ago, and it will take more than words to shake her out of it, if it’s even possible anymore. I doubt there will be a peaceful solution to this conflict, it feels too similar to what went down with Adam towards his end. He also refused to back down, he too insisted on making Blake his scapegoat, and despite being given every chance to walk away, he persisted until his death. Time will tell if Neo can avoid that fate, but my doubts about that have only strengthened since the sneak peak.

As for Oscar and the others, I already had my doubts about whether we’d see them at all. The way CRWBY talked about this volume, it seems clear that this is our break from the main narrative so I doubt we will be seeing much of Vacuo yet. I am more than okay with that, it’d be good to take a break from the main plot and focus and our main girls again and we’ll get more of that with a significantly reduced cast.

[cryoriku]

How come everything hurts if nothing lasts? [chapter 1]

Ao3 Link: [x] Chapter 2: [x]

Relationship: Warrior of Light & Estinien Wyrmblood

Tags: Multiplicity/Plurality, warrior of light is an osdd system, Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Self-Harm, Suicide Mention, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, estinien dad grunts, estinien is surprisingly good with children

Gils's crying has eased, but his voice still wobbles as he asks, "Do you have hot cocoa?"

Estinien takes a pause to contemplate the question. He sighs. "Yes. I have hot cocoa." Then, "Come."

~

Or, how Estinien would offer comfort to my wol Arkao and his little, Gils. Chapter 1 of 2.

The sky is without star.

Arkao tugs the collar of his cardigan closer to his neck against the chill. It has started to snow again, as was Ishgard's wont, but even as snowflakes made their gentle descent around him, Arkao can not find solace.

His feet seem to carry him of their own volition. Though in reality he had only been in Ishgard a few weeks prior, it seems like a lifetime since he had walked the streets of his youth. And yet, the ache is not the nostalgia he expected. It is guilt.

Remember that we lived.

All of Arkao's closest people are here with him. Alphinaud, Alisaie, even G'raha—they have all safely returned to the source, and tomorrow morning, they would set out for the Rising Stones with Estinien in tow.

But even though he has returned home, even though his loved ones are well, even though they had saved Norvrandt and soon, with all the strides made in curing tempering, the source would be too — the victories are bittersweet knowing there are people with only vague memories of a home they can never go back to. Perhaps it is silly to wish to save an already dead race — one besides whom are the enemy. As all else in Arkao's life, it's complicated. But it hasn't stopped haunting him.

Arkao begins to slow as he nears the outskirts of the Pillars. He stops at the ledge, hands only lightly on the railing, as though wanting still to keep a distance, though he knows without it a single willful pace would be enough to seal his fate. He stares out, where pitch dark silhouettes of mountains homogenize against the night sky. No sharpness to their peaks anymore. They reduce to mere smudges in an abyss of gloom.

This walk tonight was meant to clear his mind after tossing and turning in bed in the room the Edmont had kindly set up for him and the others. To process everything that happened to him. What is yet to come. But instead of clarity his head is only becoming more spun with turmoil.

It doesn't make sense to call himself a hero when by saving one he hurt another. Isn't Elidibus right? Of course he's going to say that, he can imagine Domin scolding him, but it felt unfair. He wishes it were so easy for him. He wishes everything didn't hurt so much.

He forces his eyes away and his legs reluctantly begin to follow suit. Heart thuds in his chest when he stops. Backpedals a half step and turns on his heels back toward the balcony—

Arkao's wrist is grasped and yanked.

He stumbles a couple steps backwards and lands himself against Estinien; Estinien says, "I do believe I've seen this song and dance before."

Arkao feels the sound of Estinien's voice as though in his own throat, tightening and filling until he can't make a noise of his own, but merely stares wide eyed. His heart is hammering.

Estinien all but drags him away. Arkao's legs function only in autopilot, everything in the snow and darkness meaning nothing, hollow void.

He falls into the seat underneath the gazebo Estinien leads him to. He is no colder than he had been earlier, but nerves have him shivering.

"I've not a coat to offer you, so you'll forgive me," Estinien says, "but it does raise the wonder of why you're out here contemplating the railing with a scarce piece of fabric to cover you."

Through the knot in his throat Arkao fumbles over an excuse that he just needed some air, and, because he's feverish and, and he didn't know what else to, Tataru and Krile have been—

Estinien gestures for him to quit. "Enough. Understand that this, you cannot hide from me. The road to destruction is a road with which I am well acquainted... and I've seen your signs for some time now."

As though Estinien had driven his lance into his gut, Arkao realizes what he meant. Still, he can not reason when it happened. Certainly not in ishgard. Even on their journey to Moghome, though they'd shed a few layers and spent a handful of nights washing off dirt in a stream alongside each other, Arkao kept a modest distance. Maybe he's wrong. Could convince Estinien he is wrong. Or maybe…

Maybe… after G'raha failed to pull him to the First...

With a start Domin pushed forward, cofronting. He shakes their head, "No. Those are old. I'm fine—"

"They still bother me..." Arkao interrupts.

"But I'm fine."

Their head is pounding.

Estinien relents. "I am by no means a coddler, but don't think me the kind to sit by idly as you attempt to—"

"No." The sound is forceful, desperate, dazed. "We don't do that anymore."

Estinien's brows are furrowed, trying to riddle this. Their eyes clench shut. They are trembling unlike he had ever seen before, head spinning from the emotion and all it took for both Arkao and Domin to keep switching like this.

Without warning Arkao's fingers grab the end of their shirt and he pulls it up, revealing on their stomach the selfsame tale: a rush flurry of lines overlapping, red and deep purple collecting to form scabbing over the still tender mess. Clearly not an attack, clearly deliberate, and clearly recent. Tonight. Still doing it.

Estinien takes a pause, lips pressed tight as he's looking at them. He nods slowly.

"Put down your shirt." Arkao does as he's told.

"Now look what you've done." Domin does not say it out loud, but Arkao shakes his head as though it will block it out. "Do you want him to make you stop? I thought you had gotten stronger. But you're the same dependent pup you used to be."

A heat rises to their face. They're dizzy and dizzy and their eyes close as Gils switches to front, tears pouring from his eyes. He falls forth, curling into Estinien's lap and balling his fists in the fabric of his trousers as he hiccups sobs.

Estinien stiffens. "Ah—" comes from his mouth first, stunned and a touch confused by the predicament. He attempts a couple awkward, impersonal pats at Gilss' back. Then he says, "Follow me inside, will you?"

~

They walk to Estinien's home close by — a humble quarters given to him back when he was first officiated as a dragoon. The frigid air is shut out with the door and replaced with the subtle warmth of a hearth on the other side of the room. Gils's crying has eased, but he sniffs and his voice still wobbles as he asks, "Do you have hot cocoa?"

Estinien takes a pause to contemplate the question. He sighs. "Yes. I have hot cocoa." Then, "Come."

Gils follows Estinien into his kitchens. As Estinien sets about heating the water, Gils curls up in a seat at the table — making himself comfortable. He lays his pounding head down on the table and closes his wet eyes. Little by little, the clinking and shuffling of Estinien fixing the cocoa lull him to a calm.

Estinien's grunt as he takes a seat makes Gils lift his head at last. He has a mug in either hand and slides one across the table. Heat blazes his icicles of fingers when Gils captures it in his hands — but still he takes several greedy gulps. Estinien watches this, speechless.

When he finally stops with a sharp exhale, Estinien says, "So let me get this straight. You say you're not Arkao anymore."

Gils shakes his head. "Not forever. Just right now." He explains that he's the youngest alter and that's all he really knows about this stuff. Arkao and Domin had been fighting during their conversation outside, and Arkao got sad, so Gils had begun to share consciousness— before ultimately taking the front, to stop their fighting and prevent them from wearing out their body.

"Something I've never had to do before…" Gils admits.

Estinien scratches his neck, not really seeming to understand. But then he nods. "When Nidhogg was in possession of me," he tries finally. "I think I understand that grapple for control."

"I don't. If they didn't hurt each other, no one would have to feel hurt at all." Gils's gaze falls. "I wish they would get along…"

Estinien sits back. "And you're... eight?"

Gils nods.

Estinien is silent a moment before sighing. "Aye, you have the right of it," says Estinien. "But people will never stop preying upon others for want or need of something. All there is to do is bring justice to it."

Gils pouts his lip, unsure if that was a compliment or an insult. He takes another sip. Says nothing.

Estinien leans forward. The look on his face is a puzzling one; near impossible to discern the thoughts and feelings beneath it. He gives a tilt of his head when he says, "I don't suppose you would want to talk about what's going on between them. So I won't make you."

"I don't know, anyways."

Estinien hummed.

Bit of silence. Gils expects Estinien to say more after his statement, but he does not. This guy really doesn't make sense to him. He finishes his drink as Estinien just takes him in.

"Want mine too?"

Gils looks up at him. A small smile began to twist on his lips. "No thank you."

Estinien ends up getting up then, and motions to set the cup in the washbasin before placing it on the counter. Gils, calmer now, takes in his surroundings. It has been a long time since he has relished in the comforts of Ishgard. His home.

In a corner of the room opposite of the door, the hearth blazed, casting gentle light into the room. Gils gets up from his seat and hurries over to it — plopping down on the old wood floor in front of it, legs tucked under his chin.

"You're allowed to speak your mind, though," says Estinien finally, "if you wanted. But, ah…" He makes a vague gesture with his hand, but Gils could guess what Estinien is trying to say: he is no Haurchefant.

Despite himself, Gils giggles a little. "No, I'm okay. I'm tired."

Estinien mumbles, "'Tis only two hours past midnight..."

Gils wriggles in the shirt Arkao had on, cold and wet and wishing it weren't so tight. It is the only thing making him not totally comfortable right now; otherwise, he feels fit to sleep. He looks back up to Estinien, who is now standing just behind him. "Can I have a bigger shirt?"

Estinien's brows furrow in intense thought. He says, "I don't own many pairs of clothes. But"—he shrugs—"I'll see what I can find."

He leaves the room then, disappearing down the short hall.

Gils, disregarding his alters' sense of modesty, takes off the snow-damp shirt. Then he takes a deep breath as the warmth wraps around his skin. Slowly, surely, the gentle crack and pop lulls him like a lullaby, and he sinks into the floor and closes his eyes.

When Estinien returns, he finds Gils asleep. He releases something like a laugh, as he picks up his shirt to hang over the back of a chair. Rather than rouse him to put on the dry shirt, or even to get back to his own quarters at Edmont's — Estinien fetches a blanket from his room and drapes it over Gils's body. Whatever had happened with Arkao and the other one, Estinien reasons, will not leave here.

[burnedbyshoto]

wake up

— Todoroki Shouto doesn’t believe in gods, not in spirits, not in celestial beings.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: angst

word count: 1,029

a/n: life is pretty hard ngl... im contemplating some things and am exhausted, but have some brain throw up

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Todoroki Shouto doesn’t believe in gods, not in spirits, not in celestial beings.

Maybe he did at one point.

No.

He knows he did at one point. 

He remembers the cold of the nights, the way the ice crawled into the room, circling around his neck and squeezing his neck. Shouto can recall his pudgy, swollen hands pressing to the cold floor, shoving himself up onto his knees, the palms of his hands shaking as they pressed flushed together. The acrid taste of bile and blood remain heavily on his mouth, his tongue, his lips despite the vigorous, near immaculate brushing of his teeth five times tonight. He doesn’t even feel the wet tears on his face, the snot falling down from his nose as he stares at the corner of the wall his voice cracking as he begins praying for an angel, a god, a spirit — anything — to come to save him.

To stop his father.

To save his mom.

To heal his brother.

To protect his sister.

To hold his brother.

Shouto is four years and ten months old when his father becomes crueler, his mother is sent away, when his brother dies, when his sister is broken, and his brother is abandoned. He realizes it while staring at the shrine his family prays to, the anger bubbling in his throat, and the tears flowing down his face that the things people pray to are stupid, pointless, naive, and a complete fucking joke. 

God doesn’t exist. Gods or goddesses are fake. Deities are dead. And anything with the power to save will never use its power to save unless it helps them.

He knows this as clear as crystal blue skies after a passing storm; it’s something he firmly believes in, even years after graduating from UA. But suddenly, he’s no longer four, but twenty-four, and he still believes in most of the things he’s come to realize.

God still don’t exist, gods or goddesses remain fake, deities will never not be dead, but sometimes there are great people out there with the power to save and will use its power to save even when it doesn’t help them. He likes to think — hopes and pleads — he is that person, that him and his friends are those saviors.

He knows that with his strength — his own self-power — that things have changed for his family. 

He no longer has to pray for his father to stop as it’s been years since he’s enforced any vile dream on him, or have ignored his siblings, or hurt his mother. 

His mother is now saved; she’s resilient and robust, getting stronger just as Shouto does.

His brother wasn’t healed, not really… but in a twisted, bittersweet way, Shouto thinks that Touya found himself, that he recovered himself in a way that only he could understand.

His sister was protected, she protected her identity, her needs, her ideals, and wishes were covered despite the rough beginning of her life. And he’s grateful to see her prideful smile whenever they talk, when the family gathers.

His brother is held, he feels loved. And when his eyes are wide and full of tears with every small, gentle hold that’s passed within their family and the one he made, Shouto feels warm.

Shouto was saved by Midoriya, by Bakugou, by Aizawa, by All Might, by his classmates who never gave up on him, by his schoolmates who saw him as a rival, the first person who called him their hero, the first civilian who gave him a present in thanks. He was saved by others, real people, not beings that you’ll never meet, entities that are merely anxiety calmers and projections of inexplicable biological saves that science can’t explain because not even science has all the answers.

He doesn’t scoff at the people who do pray to the gods, even if he thinks it’s pointless. He doesn’t judge because even though he knows it’s fake, and even though it might be because there was no miracle for him when he was a helpless, needy child, there’s no reason to tell people they’re wrong.

Shouto doesn’t believe in gods, not in spirits, not in invisible beings, not in heaven or hell.

They don’t exist. 

They can’t exist.

They…

They’re fake.

But Shouto finds himself sinking to his knees anyway.

The smell of bleach and other chemicals burning the hairs in his nose, stinging his eyes as they’re already red, puffy, swollen with tears that couldn’t be stopped. The white tile floor is uncomfortable against his knees, hurting as his full weight falls onto it. And the only noise he can hear is that fucking machine breathing for you, the constant beeping of the heart monitor.

Your hand is so cold.

Colder then after he dropped his ice to the furthest temperature he could manage, but he can’t keep you warm as the tears prick in his eyes yet again.

His hands surround your limp one, your hand feeling so small in between his. He lifts your hand up, his lips pressing to your fingers, and the twenty-four-year-old, accomplished, resilient, hero finds himself feeling like he’s suddenly four years old again. 

He’s weak, beaten, hopeless yet wishing for some unnamed entity to save him.

“Please let y/n wake u-up,” he rasps, speaking to the quiet of the room. “Please let y/n open their eyes. Wake up… please don’t die.”

Shouto finds himself praying to God, to every god and goddess, to the celestial beings, the entities unknown, to spiritual beings, and all deities he could name. He begs heaven not to accept you just yet, cursing hell for maybe having a say in the way that you are right now.

Todoroki Shouto doesn’t believe in gods, not in spirits, not in celestial beings… but he promises, prays, and seals his fate that if you wake up… if you open your eyes and let him see you alive once more and let him continue to live the life he wants to have with you once more, forevermore, he’ll believe.

He’ll believe in it all.

He promises.

He swears.

“So, y/n, please, please just wake up.”

[hanibalistic]

#796986 | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | fluff, high school au, crush au

word count | 1824

warning | none

note | thank you for requesting, i hope you like this!

request | @childofthecycle​

having a crush on someone is about a lot of things.

it is about awkwardly pacing around the classroom for over five minutes, just walking and talking to your friends, pretending that you have a lot of things to tend to when you are just hoping he would finally look up from his desk and see you walking around the space.

it is about the whispered rumors spreading through a class, talking about who is in love with who and who brushed hands with who. and whenever his name is mentioned with yours, you would deny, deny, deny, all the while wondering if he turned to take a look at you.

it is about the faint heat at the tip of your ears whenever you feel him next to you during assembly line up, your eyes desperately trying to take a closer look of his gorgeous yet not being brave enough to turn your head in case he would notice you.

having a crush is about hoping, it is about looking, and is about public secrecy. the thrill in almost being exposed but always making sure your feelings stay behind a pair of sealed lips, and the endearment of yearning to be looked at, while immediately turning away when his eyes are on you because you could not bear to be seen by him either.

"[name]... what the hell are you doing?"

jisung could tell by the way you ignored his question and simply moved your head over to peek at the basketball court outside the cafeteria.

there was only ever one reason why you would awkwardly hide behind a brick wall in the middle of the school ground, and there was only ever one reason why you would be interested in an unofficial, lunch-time basketball game.

it was all because of hwang hyunjin.

"you're gushing. stop it, stop gushing at the wall," he said as he stepped up to stand next to you, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

the way he pulled a face when he watched hyunjin dunk a basketball was not lost on him. even after so long, he was still not fond of the divine-looking, soft-spoken, almost-six-feet boy. and, to be frank, jisung wasn't sure if he ever will be, considering the countless trouble he has indirectly brought to his table.

listening to you talk on and on about hyunjin was one thing. jisung found hilarity in teasing you of your crush on the perfect student in your grade, especially when you would always start to ramble out incoherent words trying to save yourself from expressing too much of your embarrassingly romantic daydreams.

but oh lord, when you start going out of your way for him was when he couldn't help but think your feelings were starting to get a little ridiculous.

a prime example he would hold a silent grudge against hyunjin forever was when you twisted your ankle trying to impress him during the soccer unit in p.e class.

all hyunjin saw was you crying! there was noting impressive about that!

(yet, when he asked you if you were okay the morning came back in a cast, you were so giddy you almost forgot your feet were injured.)

"lunch is almost ending, we should go back to class," jisung said after he took his eyes off hyunjin and turned to you instead.

your eyes were fixated on hyunjin. even though the boy was moving about in the court, running and jumping and pushing and smiling, your eyes could always find where he has gone to. it was like your got lenses that specifically filter out and blur out anything that simply isn't hwang hyunjin. and you drowned yourself in your small, safe world where your love for him could expand as much as you want every time you watch him.

the smile lingering on your face, the kind of smile jisung knew no amount of jokes could bring out of you, was what made him keep his mouth shut whenever he felt like complaining about your crush on hyunjin.

you were so happy liking him, you always have been. he was in no position to defeat your spirit, and he in no way would make fun of your feelings for another.

plus, he wanted you to be happy. if talking about your crush on hyunjin would provide that, he would let you do it.

"alright, suit yourself," he muttered to himself after a scoff. "i'm leaving first, then. don't come whining at me later."

you did not hear a lick of what he said. your mind went hazy the second you saw hyunjin turn his head and looked at you, a smile still present on his face that would send you the delusion that he was smiling at you. fingers clutching the edge of the wall, you sucked in a loud squeal and immediately turned around to press your back against the wall, hiding.

you couldn't even find the time to wonder why jisung was no longer by your side. you were too occupied in the knowledge that you have been seen. not just by anyone but by hyunjin, by your crush, by him.

it was a short glance; you made it a short glance by shielding yourself too quickly, but it was enough to get your heart racing.

because when you are fond of someone, even the smallest detail was orchestrated by impenetrable fate. even the tiniest thing means something, be it just an accidental smile or a coincidentally shared glance. those little things become your midnight dreams and the pinnacle of your fictional scenarios.

they mean something. hyunjin means something, as well as your affection for him.

taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you shoved down the shy smile and slowly turned your body so you could peek out again and see if hyunjin was still looking.

it was likely wishful thinking, but you wanted to hope for it nonetheless, as the kind of thrill you get in crossing your fingers and hoping, and then the unique embracing of disappointment when it lets you down, was a bittersweet feeling you thought deserved to be felt. it was, graciously, addicting, with the way you gamble each time wondering if your prayers would be heard.

you were met with a face instead when you turned around. or, more specifically, hyunjin's face. it was a sweaty face, but somehow you still wanted to exert your affection for him through the less-than-elegant love language of biting. maybe just the tip of his nose, or the bottom of his lips, or even his arm.

hyunjin watched with surprised eyes when you stumbled back with a yell. he took a hesitant step forward, his hand ready to fly out and support your fall, but you regained your balance and steadied yourself only two feet more away from him. shrinking back into his bubble, he watched you with intrigue as you began fumbling with your words.

"i–um, i was just watching you play–i wasn't specifically watching just you, though! i was looking at the whole team and your friends–actually, yeah! i was just watching you all play because i had time on my hands, haha, because it's lunch, you know? it's lunch–"

hyunjin held up his hands gently, wanting to get you to calm down in the middle of your stuttering speech trying to explain why you two met eyes in the first place. your voice slowly trailed to a stop when you saw that he was laughing—cute, tiny laughs that meant no harm; it was more as if he found your bubble-soda eyes adorable as they gleamed with each word you spoke.

"can i say something...?" he asked after you stopped talking, and he waited until you give him a grim nod before he continued, "i didn't mean to scare you, i'm sorry. i thought it would be funny if you turn and i'm already here."

you furrowed your brows at him. "why would that be funny?"

he scratched his cheek faintly, uncertain. he knew he would catch you off guard, and he had wanted to see how you would react to being so close to him because he has caught you, on multiple occasions, staring at him and looking away when he saw. it was all for good fun, he didn't know he would freak you out this much, and neither did he think it would be funny.

"i have a bad sense of humor," he explained. "i'm sorry i freaked you out."

you huffed out a string of air, your neck heating up as the conversation went on. you should be panicking more, you thought, because you have never had a casual conversation with him before. but his kind demeanor made it so easy to feel calm around him despite your likeness toward him.

"it's fine, i probably freaked you out even more by peeking at your play anyway," you shivered, "that was creepy, wasn't it?"

hyunjin smiled, a dimple showing. he shook his head, wiping his forehead with the towel around his neck. "no, i think it's kind of cute, actually," he admitted, "frustrating, though."

"oh... sorry–"

"i would have liked it better if you were sitting on the bench instead of hiding yourself," he said. "hell, i probably would have done better too, who knows?"

your creamy eyes popped, and it blossomed all over him. he was looking for that—that sudden burst of joy in your eyes. he has only seen it a few times before, you were always turning away from him that he couldn't properly look at you.

it was like you wouldn't even give him the time and chance to come to his senses that he does think you are adorable, and he should probably talk to you before the year ends with you two being strangers.

how unfortunate that would be; another pure crush slain by the separation of the year-end graduation. thank god hyunjin came to his senses.

"i... i can sit by the bench tomorrow if you want," you suggested carefully, not daring enough to look at him.

he pursed his lips into a teasing smile, wanting to lean down so he could catch your lowered eyes, but he decided against it just to make you less anxious around him.

"thank you, [name]. that would be great,"

his name rolled off your tongue so smoothly, it was as if he has said it millions of times before. and maybe his heart has called your name when you were unaware, maybe his eyes have thought of your name countless times before he finally had it in himself to talk to you.

you breathed out a sigh. what a relieving feeling, like all the hardships have melted away.

this was what having a crush feels like. it is like having softness bleed into the rough patch of high school life, and you were glad hyunjin was the reason behind it.