#and the weather was cool but so mild and the moon over the trees was beautiful

[whentherewerebicycles]

the moon looked bigger in real life

[kiruamon]

Spring through the Seasons AU

Okay. I know, I know, there are already god-AUs with the DCA. AUs where they are the god of the moon or the sun and so on. But do we also have one where they represent the seasons? Cause I was playing with this thought around in my head and this is what came out of it:

The gods or deities of the seasons live on a ring-shaped island that is evenly divided into four large areas. One for each season in which the associated god lives. The island itself is surrounded by the ocean, while it itself surrounds a large lake with a round, smaller island in the middle. So it's possible to see the neighboring areas from the lake side but not the one on the opposite of the lake, because of the island in the middle blocking the view to it. (As an example: You can see from the spring area parts of the winter and summer area but not the autumn one and so on.)

Things in these areas never change by much. Creating an everlasting spring, summer, autumn and winter in each part of the island. Also the deities haven't meet each other since they usually don't go too far to the borders of their area. Well you can probably guess that this fact will change very soon and creating a bunch of different events happening.

But for now, let's get back to the cast of characters. Who represents which season?

Summer:

It's Sun! Obvious choice here. He represents the warm season. The trees and plants on his side of the island are a rich, vibrant green. Many flowers are in bloom and luring in all kind of insects like butterflies and bees. The weather is clear most of the time and the bright blue sky is rarely overcast. Temperatures during the day can get quite warm or hot in the open air, while the nights are very mild. You can cool down best in the shade of the trees and near the lake.

Sun has his daily routine. Doing stretching exercises every morning and evening. Going jogging after his morning exercises and fishing at the lake during the afternoon and so on. He likes to keep himself busy even when doing more relaxing activities.

There are two smaller flames emitting from his back. And no he isn't a walking fire hazard, because of them. The temperatur of the flames isn't nearly as hot as one would think and they don't cause harm or burns. It's closer to the warmth of the summer sun so one might actually be able to touch them. So the flames kinda represent the warmth that life needs to grow and flourish. I just advise against touching the flames when Sun is angry, cause then the heat goes up by a lot.

Sun can be pretty competitive when challenged by a certain someone. He displays an almost childlike wonder when he discovers new things and is therefore less suspicious and more curious about them. Sun is generally cheerful and usually shows his feelings quite openly. When it comes to Y/N he can be a bit of a show off.

Autumn:

It's Eclipse! He represents the autumn.

His area comes with the colorful hues of autumn. There are colorful treetops with leaves carried by the autumn breezes. The fallen leaves gather on the ground, while some trees are already bare and mushrooms sprout from the soil. The weather in the area is changing often. On some days, the sun still shines warmly through the colorful autumn leafage, while on other days violent storms tear the leaves from the trees. It is definitely the area with the most rain and it is not uncommon for fog to gather over the land and rise above the part of the lake that lies close to Eclipse's territory.

Eclipse likes crafting a lot. Taking what his area provides him with. He will make little figures out of chestnuts, acorns and other things. Or crafting a tiny raft out of some sticks, vines and a red or yellow leaf as a sail and set it onto the lake to see it float into the distance.

I also imagine that his hands are wood like and have a wood grain on them. Fun fact: Out of him, Sun and Moon he is the only one that can swim. Fun fact two: Maybe swimming is said too much. It's more like he will just float on the water like a lump of wood if you would toss him in. If you wonder now what would happen to Sun. He would sink like a stone. So please, don't push him in deeper waters.

From all the deities he is the most chill and mature one when it comes to his personality and behaviour. He is pretty modest and willing to let others talk while being very grateful when being offered the opportunity to talk about himself or his thoughts. Sometimes he holds himself back a bit too much, overthinking the situation and needs a little nudge to understand that it's okay to say or show freely what he wants. All in all Eclipse is a very nice fellow to be around and a good partner for having long and deep conversations and will take the feelings of the ones around him into account.

Winter:

Of course it had to be Moon!

A landscape covered in snow and ice. The only green in this landscape is provided by conifers defying the cold, while snow piles up on the branches of the bare broadleaf trees. Glistening icicles hang from some of the trees and sparkle together with the untouched snow on the sunnier days. But more often the sky is overcast and gray clouds hang in front of the sun as snowflakes swirl around. On some days, the drifting snow is so heavy that you can't even see your own hand in front of your eyes. Moon's area is also bitterly cold and only a few animals are wandering around, retreating to neighboring areas when the weather gets worse.

Moon's fingertips are made out of ice and he has also two curved horns fully made out of ice on his head too. I'm honestly not sure why I gave him a scepter/staff, cause I never drew it again after this image but thought it would be a cool accessory for him to have?

He spends a lot of time walking around in the snow. Surveilling his territory. Watching some animals walking through the white landscape of his part of the island. He is much of an observer, thinking a lot. And while he has taken notice of the autumn and spring area of the island and wondered about them when being at the lake side he never has tried to come near them.

Moon looks often pretty grim or will have a scowl on his face while pondering over things. He won't always share his train of thought with others and comes off as a bit more cold. He can be very snarky. Especially with one of the other season deities. Having a little rivalry going on with a certain someone. He is more considerate as he sometimes let show. But when it comes to Y/N he can't help himself as to let his softer side out more and won't hide that he feels quite comfortable with having them around.

So we had Sun, Eclipse and Moon. Now you might ask who will be spring? Well...

Spring:

It's Y/N! The fourth member of the season deities!

A landscape in which life always seems to have just awakened. The first tender sprouts, buds and young leaves are growing on the trees and have not yet developed their vibrant green of summer. Some trees, however, are in full bloom, while some petals trickle to the ground in the mild spring breeze. Spring bloomers dot the meadows with their cheerful colors. The weather is mild and balanced. The sun's rays are not yet so strong, but already warm and pleasant. Many of the animals that live on the island come here when they are expecting their young and move on to other areas when they get older.

Some little vines and flowers are blooming on Y/N's stole. If feeling certain positive emotions it can happen that more flowers are blooming on the vines. The vines will also move according to the mood they are in.

Y/N as the deity of spring is a somewhat tender and caring person. Often cheerful and optimistic about things. Loving to interact with living beings and watching them grow. They are quite curious and usually just go with the flow. They don't always have a clear sense for dangerous situations, but honestly why should they when living on this island for so long with no real dangers at all around them? Y/N is very talkative and it's fairly easy to impress them or to make them laugh.

It was also Y/N who first set foot beyond the borders of their territory and with this would soonly change the lives of the other three deities.

There are still a few little fun facts left for this au but I think I might share these at another day.

Sooooo that's it for today and for the world building explanation so far. I will tag future stuff for this au as stts au. Hope whoever read to the end of this had a good time doing so.

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

Hi! Idk if you write for Sigurd or Tyr but if you do, can i request a lil something with them, maybe comforting them after their arms got chopped off or something?

At your request 😌

Pairing: Sigurd x reader

Word count: 2770

Genre: fluff, angst

Notes: BB boi needs love. Give him love. Give him therapy and kisses and cuddles.

The mild spring weather, which you would otherwise have been grateful for, was now playing against you as you tossed and turned in your bed, your skin slippery with sweat, your forehead furrowed into deep wrinkles, your breathing ragged.Your dream images have now been ingrained in your mind - you have seen the terrible moments over and over again, you have felt the fear, sorrow, despair, helpless anger so many times. But these feelings did not rise in your heart because of your own suffering. That is, not completely.

The center of your dreams was not you. Your person, your presence was just an insignificant detail, as if you had become an outsider, a ghost, who was only an observer of all the bad happenings, unable to scream, run, or do anything to stop the horrors.

In the end; as always in this dream, you reached the point where your mind could no longer bear to see the further course of events - your awakening was a salvation. 

Gasping for air, you swallowed, your eyelids popped open as if a snake had bitten you; Throwing your blanket aside, you sat down among the furs. With a buzzing, dizzy head, you looked around thought zigzagging, wanting to make sure that it was just your imagination playing tricks on you- you were really in your bed, at home, safe, under the protection of your people, and all the ugliness you saw before was just a figment of your imagination. 

Your pounding heart echoed in your ears, a thin layer of sweat covered your skin as the coolness of the night hit your damp forehead.

Regaining control over your breathing, you took a deep breath in through your nose to calm your heart and mind.

After that you didn't want to go back to sleep— the nightmare chased away the dream from your eyes  and you didn't want to risk reliving the horrible events anyway- because you were almost certain that if you were to fall asleep again the images would return, starting all over again, like an insurmountable cycle.

Pulling your boots on, you pulled your thick blanket over your shoulders and walked over to your candle holder on your dresser. Darkness prevailed in your hut, only the white light of the silvery moon shone through your window, illuminating your modest abode. It was a small room, but it turned out to be just enough for you, its homely warmth always made your residence soothing. Lighting your candle, you stepped out into the evening sky; the fresh spring breeze came as sweet salvation to your heart, after the tormenting dreams. 

You thought that if you take a walk in the town; exercise your tired limbs, cool down your heated soul and clear your mind, you might be able to sleep a few more hours during the night before a new day begins full of tasks and responsibilities which can only be done properly with a clear head.

Your path led you to the river, watching the moon's eternal glow in the sky, listening to the soft creaking and cracking of the trees as the breeze moved them around you. You almost completely forgot the reason why you're awake, you almost completely forgot about the ghostly images that so gladly flashed before your eyes over and over again, while you roamed the realm of dreams.

Walking up the slope as you got a better view of the shore, you saw a figure among the docks, ships and stone pillars, not far at the end of the pier. The figure sat on the planks- long legs reaching down toward the water, the sluggish waves almost lapping at them. You stopped in fright, squinting your eyes, wondering if you could see him by the light of the moon, if it's a friend or a foe, who lurks alone on the shore in the dead of night. You were already about to turn around and quietly sneak home before it was too late, before the mysterious someone could notice. However, the moon has decided to come to your aid—the drifting cloud in front of it floated away into the distance, enveloping Ravenstorpe in a flood of light.

Your eyes widened, face elongated, and your heart felt as if it had been thrown off a mountain, when - to your greatest fear - you recognized the lonely figure. 

Dark red - almost brown braids glistened in the gloom of the night, the white fur coat fluttered on his shoulders as a particularly stronger wind swept across the water – Sigurd sat alone on the edge of the pier, his shoulders slumped, his back bent.

In that moment, the cause of all bad feelings, anxiety, and fear came flooding back into you, crushing you to the ground.

The images from your dream flashed into your mind—a dark, cold, damp room; a huge, murderous shadow, running from corner to corner so you don't even have a chance to figure out who it is; the knives and tongs are a sharp flash. And then there's always comes that makes your blood freeze, the hair on your back stands, and makes you want to cry convulsively. 

You catch a glimpse of Sigurd, sometimes sitting up, sometimes lying on the floor. Sometimes he's passed out or half dead, but that's the best case — most of the time he's awake, very awake.

You stand motionless in the middle of the room, you watch trembling as the dark figure ignores you and walks closer and closer to him, Sigurd's eyes widen, the paralyzing edge of fear reflected in his gaze. With what little strength he has left, he tries to free himself from the chains, ropes, and sharp claws, yelling, spinning, throwing himself- all the more in a frantic rush of terror. 

You also feel his fear, his helplessness, his vulnerability - like an animal waiting to be slaughtered, who has been tied up and is watching the arrival of his executioner. A cold pain shoots through your heart, your limbs start to go numb, your face and ears burn, your eyes fill with tears, as despite all your efforts you cannot prevent the events or turn away from them. 

A rusty, broken saw appears out of nowhere.

Then only the heart-wrenching yelling and sobbing; which one of you hears it, is unknown. Blood flows, blood everywhere, covers Sigurd, runs down to the floor, pooling, reaching your legs, then up to your ankles.

Blood, blood everywhere, red, warm and unstoppable flowing blood, covering the room, covering your body, flowing into your nose, ears, mouth, eyes, suffocating you.

Blinking, you turned back to face the Raven Clan's Jarl. You moved your trembling legs and wrapped your arms around your chest, to see if it could ease your heart's pounding.

You weren't there when it happened. You weren't there, you don't know how it was. It has already happened and there is nothing any of you can do about it. You know well, not even the weavers of fate can change the past. He was home now. Eivor brought him home; he lives- and is at home among his people.

You walked closer to the shore, but still making sure he didn't hear your footsteps - or at least if he did notice you, don't make it look like you wanted to go to him at all costs. In fact, that was all you wanted. Since Sigurd's return, you have only met a few times, your conversations were short. Until now, you didn't dare to bring up the subject of his arm, thinking that you should leave Sigurd, let him initiate the conversation. But inwardly your heart was rent at the sight of his condition; seeing the ghost of the agony on his face, the sparkle in his eyes has faded, his lips have only a faint memory of his smile.

You wanted to let him heal at his own pace, not rushed, forced just for your own peace.

However, you wanted to show him that you are by his side, that you are there for him at every moment, ready to do anything for him, just so that you can see him whole again. Until Sigurd is his old self, you can't be either.

The wind howled and rose stronger, caught in the blanket wrapped around you which flapped against your side like this. Grabbing the warm material, you pulled it closer as you were about to turn back from the shore, leaving him with his thoughts when a voice broke the silence of the night. 

"You're really awful at sneaking." Sigurd spoke to you, his voice seemed forced.

"I didn't mean to… I didn't want to eavesdrop." You stammered, swallowed thickly from the embarrassment and shame. "I just came out for a walk and..."

"I didn't mean to send you away. Just don't stand there alone like a ghost, come here then.” Sigurd's tall figure turned towards you, patting the wood next to him with his good arm. 

You just blinked at him for a few moments, wondering if you should leave him alone, or if he really wanted you to sit next to him for company, but your heart couldn't overcome your mind - you wanted to be as close to Sigurd as possible.

And now you had a great opportunity.

Taking small steps on the slippery wood, you reached him then carefully sat down on the edge of the dock dangling your legs over the water. You couldn't decide whether to look at him or you would make him uncomfortable with it, so you turned to his direction watching the moonlight reflected in the water.

In the past, the quiet, silent moments in Sigurd's company felt pleasant- a real salvation even - when you were both in your own world, yet next to each other —always in each other's company in an intimate silence.

Now however, this light and secure feeling couldn’t be found. A lump grew in your throat with each moment you spent in silence next to him, gnawing at the inside of your cheeks, wondering what and how to tell him. Do you say anything to him at all?

You noticed that, unfortunately, the man has changed towards you as well. The once open, attentive and interesting conversations turned into half-sentence answers, with his indifferent and tired voice you sometimes felt that he was perhaps outright bored or annoyed with your presence…

Although it had to belsaid; Sigurd held back himself particularly around you- since you saw how he could bark orders at Eivor, how venomously he could hurl accusations and insults at a person's head after a simple comment. You usually caught a glimpse of these while walking by the Long House; when at an unlucky moment you turn a corner and find yourself faced with a fight —  you were only an occasional real eyewitness of its manifestations, and even then, as soon as he noticed you, Sigurd immediately retreated into his gloomy, wordless brooding.

While he lashed out at others with burning anger, when he turned to you there was only cool callousness.

The river tumbled, bubbled and splashed beneath you, a chorus of frogs surrounded you as if they were singing to you. At least they are talking while you sink into deep silence.

There were many things in your heart that you wanted to say, that you wanted to share with him, that you wanted to guarantee him; Sigurd needs to know that he is not alone, that he never will be, and that he should never be afraid that anyone - especially you - will reject him because of what he has been through.

"It's so quiet." Sigurd sighed heavily, the sudden noise alarmed you as you turned your head towards him, straightening up in your seat. His voice sounded strangely harsh - raspy and hoarse, as if it pained him to make a sound.

"It's best to contemplate at times like this." You answered, in the hope that a conversation might finally come to fruition. "In peace and quiet."

Sigurd's nose crinkled as he grimaced sourly; his Adam's apple bobbed rapidly while he swallowed. You noticed this;  biting in the insides of your cheeks you thought again, could you have said something wrong to him. 

“Is…something wrong? Did I say something wrong?" You sputtered softly, having enough of the silence, having enough of the speechlessness, having enough that you don't know what is happening between you, what is happening with Sigurd, why he behaves like this towards you. “If you wanted to be left alone you should have just said-” You suddenly bit off the end of your words as Sigurd leaned over to you, wrapping his arm around your collarbone and pulling you close to his side.

A sharp, ragged sigh escaped your lungs, shoulders and torso rigid from the quick and unexpected action.

Moments later, however, you finally felt yourself melting into his chest, the pent-up doubts and tension of the days had melted away to almost nonexistent as he held you close - even if only for a few moments.

"No, not at all. I didn't want to - you never -" You didn't say a word, you let Sigurd say what he wanted, stuttering, not finding the words. He needed time to express everything he wanted; you also needed time to understand him. "I didn't want you to think... I just... I don't know what's happening to me, what's happening around me. Why is all this happening… Nothing is the same.”

"Hey," you placed your palm on his shoulder blade, trying to calm him by drawing small circles into his clothes. "it's okay. I do not demand anything from you Sigurd, quite the opposite. I want everything to go the way it suits you. I understand why you're upset... I'd be the same if I were you — I am; seeing what happened to you... I just want you to know that I'm here by your side." You spoke as quietly and softly as if you were talking to a feather, making sure your breath didn't blow it away from your palm.

"No—I'm not being fair to you." Sigurd's voice broke, swallowing thickly as he shook his head.

For a moment you blinked in silence gazing ahead into the river, your mind trying to comprehend everything that had happened so quickly until now; how you should respond to reassure your beloved and assure him that it is only his mind that creates these dark shadows. 

"How's your…arm?" You asked suddenly, the topic being so different from the previous ones that Sigurd snorted in astonishment.

"My arm?" A growl broke out of his throat as he forced himself to straighten up, leaving your side, his arm unconsciously touching the wound. "According to Valka, the skin is slowly starting to close... Sometimes it hurts, sometimes itches... most of the time it's like I still feel the -"

From the side you saw him biting his lip through his red beard, distant eyes wandering over the shimmering surface of the water. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together, pulling your body closer to his.

“It’s healing. Slowly, with a lot of care and time it will heal completly. Just the same, you will feel better over time. You can trust the clan, you can trust me— we will stand by you every step of the way.”

You turned to each other; pulling your legs up, you knelt on the pier so you could finally be at head level with Sigurd. Even in the darkness of the night, you could make out his sparkling, soft gaze, as his eyes scanned your features, mapping out what kind of meaning you wanted to give to your words.

Tingling waves ran over your skin as you finally felt Sigurd's warmth and the solidity of his body again; the fact that you could finally hold him in your arms made your heart skip a beat. 

Without a moment's hesitation, your Jarl wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling his cold nose into the crook of your neck, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

You have been missing this feeling for a very long time. You missed him. Now, it's as if a little piece of your heart has returned to you again, as your body has absorbed the love and care of the moment.

Sigurd didn't answer, but he didn't need to-  you already knew what he wanted to express, what he wanted to show you, even though his wounds crippled his voice for now.

"We'll get through this." You sighed, fingers coming to comb through his long braid. "We'll get through this together."

[blvck-cherrie]

Since you’re my blessing from above… My dear cherrie.. if I May can I request a scenario with Noé where he meets a blue eyed vampire who works on odd jobs but hides her presence a lot so at night he looks for her and on this one cafe in a dark corner he finds her, our clueless boy goes in for a nice talk but she strikes at him and he tries to talk it out but gets flustered at her power level…in the end the both stay a good amount of time getting to know each other and maybe a smooch in da end? Ty for your precious time

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓔𝔂𝓮𝓼:  Noe Archiviste x gn!reader

Genres: romance, mild fluff

Warning: none

Word count: 1,573

It was another peaceful day in Paris- the weather was just right, the breeze felt just the right amount of cool when it hit the skin, and the sun hung at just the right spot on the horizon. It was almost sunset and a gorgeous hue was cast over the sky. Noe was out on a walk, carrying Murr in his arms. He did that almost everyday, it was like a routine for him. But these past couple times, it was different. Usually he's out just for a stroll or because he was craving some tarte tatin. But lately, he had been seeking someone. It all began last week, when he first saw you- You were standing at the corner of a busy street bustling with people, a piece of paper in your hand. It had some sort of address scribbled on it, along with a not-so-detailed description of a certain cat. How am I supposed to find precisely their cat with such a lousy description..? You didn't really have stable work, so you took up all sorts of odd jobs for money, and this time, you'd gotten a request to find someone's lost cat- a white one, specifically. By this point, you'd looked almost everywhere- at the river banks, on rooftops of houses, in alleyways. You'd even climbed a few trees to check if a cat was hiding between the branches, but you couldn't find a single cat, let alone a white one. You'd searched all the less crowded areas, and that is why you had decided to look through a street bustling with crowds of people. You had always hated crowds. You absolutely avoided being noticed by people. Part of the reason was because you were, well, shy and wary of people, but the real reason was something else. Standing in a corner, you kept looking around. And that is when you spotted a white cat walking lazily on the street. That must be it. Finally. You quickly pulled the cape over your head, covering nearly half of your face- that's how much you hated attention- and sprung towards the cat. Right when you thought you had the cat in your hands, a tall, tanned man appread in front of you and picked up the cat in its arms. Huh? "Ahh, Murr, you'll give me a heart attack don't just run away like that-" So this is not the one I'm looking for. As soon as you realized that, you began to leave. "I'm Noe Archiviste.. Did you want to pet my Murr?" The man said, flashing a wide smile. But you didn't respond. Instead, you hurriedly rushed past him. Unfortunately for you, as you left, he'd gotten a glimpse of your face as your cape gave way to the wind and your eyes met for a split second. He's a vampire too. Vampires could sense each other's presence, so of course you realized it. You were one too. When he saw you though, you noticed his eyes widen. Ughh they're all the same. A lot of people who saw you, always seemed to have a similar reaction. "You're born under the blue moon clan". Its what everyone always thought. "Wait a minute- who are you-" he quickly turned around so that he could face you, only to watch your retreating figure disappear into the crowd. Ever since that encounter, Noe had always been on the look out for you while you hoped you'd never run into him again. The problem was- the uncanny resemblance of your eyes to Vanitas'. The legendary Vanitas. This alone put you at the receiving end of a lot of unnecessary hate, despite you having absolutely zero relation to that man. But everybody thought it was you, that you were a vampire of the blue moon clan and that you would curse them, solely because of your eyes. The best solution you thought of to avoid all this, was to hide your identity. So you pulled on your cape in public and stayed away from people. The evening sky had now turned into a shade of deep purple. It was already night and Noe was still looking for you. "No luck today either.. Right, Murr?" he spoke to his cat as if expecting a reply. The busy streets had now begun to get quieter. His routine walks weren't usually long, but a part of him never really wanted to go home; to rest, until he saw you. As to why he was so hung up on seeing you again, he himself didn't quite understand. If it was curiosity, or mild

attraction that he felt towards you, towards your eyes.. Or maybe just a little bit of both? He wanted to 'know more about Vanitas, in case you were related' or so he told himself. But with each passing day, his reasons to seek you became more and more unclear to himself. Unexplainable. He couldn't get the picture of your eyes out of his head. They were hauntingly beautiful. They made him want to see you again. Just seeing you once and never getting to know you- this realization made him feel uneasy on the inside, to say the least. He decided to call it a day and headed home, feeling unsatisfied. He was getting tired after all. On his way back, he decided to stop by a café which was a few blocks from the apartment he stayed in. Maybe some tarte tatin will soothe my mood- he thought. He put Murr down, outside the café. Pets weren't really allowed in there. He pushed the heavy glass door and got inside. He decided to have a seat at the back section of the café which was usually quieter and had a dimly lit ambience as compared to the brighter, busier front section. He liked it there because it was pretty cozy. He stepped inside and saw no one except one person. Wait. I feel like I have seen them somewhere.. His eyes began to widen at the realization that the person he'd been searching for, who's face he had been seeing in his head all this while, was finally in front of him. He was happy he got the chance to see you again, but more than that he was anxious. You were engrossed reading a book, so you hadn't noticed him enter. More importantly, you weren't even wearing your cape. But.. How could he approach you? What would he say? That he had been seeking you this whole time? For what? What if you were creeped out? What if you didn't recognize him? His head was swirling with all sorts of thoughts, when he finally made the attempt to approach you. He walked towards where you were seated, with his hand extended, "Hey, uhmm.. We've met befo-" But before even he could complete his sentence, you pushed him against the wall beside you and put a knife to his throat. It all just happened so swiftly, he couldn't even comprehend the situation. You were strong. Definitely strong, and he was flustered by your strength. His hand against yours was the only thing preventing you from piercing his throat, as you looked him dead in the eye. But the only thing he could focus on, was how beautifully your eyes shone in the dim lighting. In all honesty, he could've easily overpowered you and had the knife to your throat, switching your positions, if he tried. But that's not how he wanted to treat you, really. "L- look, I just wanted to talk.. I don't mean harm", he gulped. That, and the fact that he hadn't made an effort to free himself from your grip made your grim expression soften. "What do you want?" you asked. "How about you put this weapon down first..?" He said, eyeing your knife. You were hesitant, but ultimately released him, putting away the knife, still keeping your gaurd up. "You tried to pick up my cat once.. Remember?" He asked, innocently. "Yeah, I do recognize you.. But i wasn't picking up your cat", you said, sounding annoyed. He just chuckled. "Haha, you're cute" "What?" "Do you come here often?" He was apparently good at conversations and you both ended up talking for quite some time. He didn't ever bring up anything about Vanitas, which you thought was pretty nice of him. After that meet, you both ended up meeting each other pretty frequently, at the same café and had almost become good friends, when one day- "You know what?", Noe asked. You both were at that café again, late at night. "Yeah?" "You're really beautiful" "What?" "Yeah. When I saw you the first time, I think I've liked you ever since" "Wai-" What is he sayin- You felt your cheeks burn. He was an idiot, and you loved how genuinely honest he always was. He shifted closer to your seat and rested his hand between the both of you. "And your eyes are really pretty" At this point, he was so close to you, you could feel his breath

on your skin. Needless to say, you were a flustered mess. He tucked your hair behind your ear and whispered, "May I?" leaning in closer. You nodded. You liked him. He was such a nice guy, plus, he was absolutely handsome. The moment your lips touched, you felt your skin ignite, and you fell in love with him all the more.

A/n: Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it! This was fun to write but maybe the ending sounds rushed? Idk tell me in the comments. Also, requests are open so send in some <3

[secretshinigami]

Meet you under the sun

Author: @lightlessons For: @danthegeek Pairings/Characters: Light Yagami/L Lawliet, Misa Amane, Kiyomi Takada. Rating/Warnings: M. Mature language, Swear words, Alcohol consumption.  Prompt: AU Light is a popular Collage Student and invited to a beach party. He is having a lot of fun, is flirty and arrogant as we know him. He is dancing with Misa, who is not his girlfriend but has a crush on him. Then, L joins the party, somebody brought him along. He is chilling awkwardly by the buffet when Light takes notice of him and joins him at the buffet. He has seen him before a couple times on the campus, but never talked to him. What happens next is up to you…

Author’s notes: I bent the specifics a bit in that I had Light talk to L  just a bit after seeing him instead of immediately, because i felt it fit the pacing I had better. Hope it’s still okay though :-) 

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“Don’t tell me you’re a Beach Volleyball junior champion too,” Takada joked after Light obliterated (yet again) a team of what appeared to be sociology majors, or something equally pointless, she had that small, half-hearted smile that was so characteristic of hers but with the slight frown of someone who isn’t used to being impressed.

Light laughed humbly. 

“I’m not. Maybe my experience with tennis helps somewhat? But I’ve really never played it before.”

His classmate sighed, and Light thought that being constantly made aware of his numerous skills had to be tiring for her. “You must be just naturally talented then,” she supposed as she fixed her hair behind her ear in a strange bashful gesture that must mean she was finally surrendering over to Light’s natural charm, as one would expect. 

“Or those two are just awful,” Light smirked conspiratorially. 

The young bourgeois laughed, which was what Light was hoping to achieve. Takada always enjoyed laughing at other people’s expense.

Light wasn’t much of a fan of the beach. There was too much sand getting into bad places and too many people acting as if the transition from monkey to hominid had never been made. Too much noise and too much sun and too many girls asking him to slather them with sun blocker, as if he’d pop a boner over touching their skinny naked backs. But, if there was something he’d learned from a very young age was the importance of having good public relations, and so when Kiyomi Takada had invited him to an exclusive beach party, he knew he wouldn’t say no to the daughter of the Sankei Newspaper’s owner. He’d gone into To-Doh not just looking for a quality education after all but in the hope of forming good connections too. 

And this party, filled with Tokyo’s most important youth, was a perfect opportunity to start rubbing shoulders. Light was young and attractive and athletic, perfectly composed to be like a bug zapper for these kinds of things. 

Plus, the lively music and the three margaritas he’d already had were kinda getting to him. 

“LIIIIIIIIGHT!!!” A familiar voice suddenly screeched from somewhere behind him. 

Oh dear God. 

Five feet of blond supermodel darted towards him through the small crowd of spectators that had formed for the match. Misa Amane, bimbo extraordinaire, had finally shown up to the party in all her unbridled glory. 

“Oh, that was so cool! You’re always so cool, Light,” she proclaimed with shiny eyes while all the other men around and some of the women ogled her in her small two-piece red bikini with a blackthorns and vines pattern, as characteristic of the gothic style she favored. 

Now, Light didn’t dislike Misa. She was cute in a very whiny-cat kind of way. Sort of endearing at first but jarring as the volume increased and the minutes went on. The first time they met she’d claimed she felt a cosmological affinity towards him or some such bullshit and then proceeded to interrogate him for his zodiac, moon, and rising sign, whatever the hell that meant–he hadn’t been paying attention. She was useful, though, in that she was somewhat famous and happily willing to do him any favors, or connect him with any of her large contact lists, even when he’d already been clear about not being interested in any non-friendly relation with her (using the hardships that came to celebrities’ partners as an excuse), he was a gentleman, after all, and he wouldn’t toy with a woman’s feelings. 

“Hey Misa,” Light gave her an easy smile that would hopefully settle her for the rest of the day. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere for the past week! Where have you been hiding? Not with Kiyomi, I hope!”

Takada at his side made an affronted sound that seemed to choke on the way up her throat. 

“Behave, Misa. I’ve told you I’m not your property,” Light belittled her with only mild sternness. 

Misa shook her head enthusiastically. 

“Misa is only teasing, Light! She promises! Besides, Kiyomi and I have started getting along since Spanish class. Haven’t we, Kiyomi?" 

Kiyomi seemed startled for a moment, as if she didn’t expect Misa to call her out like that, but recovered quickly to settle her face into her usual cold mask of indifference. 

“I suppose so.” 

“Aw, don’t be like that. We even planned a fake trip to Playa del Carmen together! Oh, Light, you should join us!” 

“I’m taking Korean.” 

“Not in class, silly, on the trip!” 

"Right… then I happen to be busy around that time of year,” he joked, throwing a smirk at Takada and earning the most formal of snorts he’d heard. 

"Miss Amane does have a fondness for fantasizing,” Takada replied instead, like a ready viper waiting for the perfect moment to strike at her victims. Oh, there’s no need to be mean with her, Kiyomi. 

The implications seemed to get lost on the blonde, however. 

“Pfft, you’re no fun. I’ll borrow him for a bit, Kiyomi. Clearly he needs a little loosening up, and you’re not exactly a party animal, are you?” 

Before Kiyomi could reply Misa had already taken Light’s arm and dragged him to the bar for more drinks. Light had to admit, the cocktails options were impressive, and he sort of wanted to try everything on the menu, but in the end, following the beach spirit, he and Misa both ordered a piña colada, and while usually, he wasn’t a fan of too much sweet in his alcohol, the fresh taste felt like a blessing under the hot summer sun, enough that soon he found himself chatting amicably with Misa and even had to catch himself from -dear God- giggling at something she said. 

Such was his mildly buzzed state when a sight at the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Turning around, he understood why. A black-haired man was standing under a palm tree and sipping at his own colada, with his back very badly curved in an awful posture and huge eyes fixed somewhere on the sand. Weirdly enough, he was wearing jeans to the beach with only a loose tank top to combat the scorching weather, and still, his wild mop of hair was the most recognizable part of him, which was in itself something, as Light had never in his life seen someone more particular. He’d seen the other boy around campus a handful of times before, but there had never been an opportunity for him to approach him, even though Light had always felt an inexplicably strong pull for him to ask him about his name. 

Misa loudly calling his name made him realize he’d been staring. 

“Misa, do you know who that is?”

Misa squinted in the direction of Light’s eyes, face lighting up with recognition. 

“Of course! That’s Ryuzaki! He’s actually the inheritor of Wammy’s Co. But not many people know about that,” the model smirked like she was telling the juiciest gossip. “People like Takada probably think he sticks out like a sore thumb around here. But the truth is, he’s got more money than any of us combined.” Light’s ears perked up at that. “He’s also one of the smartest people you’ll ever meet, and I’ve met you, Light. I don’t know who invited him, though. Let’s ask him! Hey, Ryuzaki!!" 

The odd student turned around towards the voice calling him and tilted his head to the side in silent interrogation. 

The boy’s assemblage of quirks brought a smile to his face. He hadn’t allowed himself to think it before, but he had always thought the student was rather cute even with how little he knew of him. 

“Who invited you?!” 

Light winced and glared at Misa for how carelessly she had posed such a question, but Ryuzaki didn’t seem the least bit faced and instead cupped a hand near his mouth like a mock-megaphone and shouted: “I just came for the desserts!” with a wide-eyed expression that gave no indication whatsoever of if he was teasing or not. 

Misa laughed like she’d heard the best joke ever and Light just blinked in the boy’s direction.

“Isn’t he a blast?” She hollered as Ryuzaki’s eyes met his.

It was hard for Light to describe those few seconds, but for one single moment, the strings holding his soul together seemed to vibrate at a different tune than they’d played previously. He was unsure if he shivered, but he had to break the eye contact like some damned school girl to pull himself back together. 

Why did his face feel warm all of a sudden? 

"Ooh, I love this song! Let’s dance, Light!” Misa interrupted his thoughts again with a squeal.

“Uhh, sure, yeah…" 

×~°~×~°~×~°~×~°~×

Dancing was decidedly not as fun unless you had a certain amount of alcohol in your body. Or at least, that was Light’s opinion on the matter. Who’d enjoy several hours of mindlessly moving your body unless somehow inebriated? That’s why Light had to drink another two mimosas to keep up with dancing with Misa for five songs straight, not because he was somewhat shaken up about the guy with the bird’s nest hair and the absent look –Ryuzaki, his brain provided– and certainly not because he was figuring out how to approach him. 

He separated from Misa when the sun was already setting, bathing the sea with a last warm goodbye. Everyone at the beach stopped for a moment to marvel at it, but Light only had eyes for Ryuzaki, who was… nowhere to be seen, sending Light into a momentary panic. 

He almost slapped himself when he found him below the parasol housing the buffet. It was what Ryuzaki had said before about the only reason for coming to the party. Normally, he would have remembered, which only meant Light’s brain wasn’t behaving as fast as it normally would. It couldn’t be that he’d have too much to drink, could it? 

Alright, be smooth, Yagami. 

“Hello!” Light chirped with a wide grin, planting himself beside the strange boy who was staring at the lines of sweets like they were study material. 

Ryuzaki turned to him with a blink. 

That had come higher than intended. 

"We, uh, are in the same faculty? I’ve seen you around 345.”

“Light Yagami. Second-year Criminal Justice major. You’re the son of detective-superintendent Soichiro Yagami of the NPA." 

"Um.”

“You respect and admire your father greatly and your intention is to become the deputy director of the NPA. You’re as ambitious as you are clever.”

“Why do you-”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re aware of how popular you are around here, word goes around. You’re not the only one I have this sort of information on." 

Light wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring. 

At the very least, that introduction had sobered him up. 

The other student was appraising him with a curious gaze, as he was starting to learn he looked at pretty much everything. 

"Is that the way you introduce yourself to everyone?" 

"Hmm. Yes, usually. I told you. You’re not special in that regard.”

“In what regard am I special, then?” Light asked cheekily. 

“That’s not-”

But he didn’t let him finish before walking around him like a predator would its prey. He made a show of considering what pastry he’d take and settled for a star-shaped cookie. Ryuzaki watched the whole procedure closely and Light smirked at him as he took a bite. 

Yes, I made you think about my mouth now. How’s that, smart-ass? 

“I think we should get to know each other better, don’t you?”

“And what makes you come to that conclusion?” Ryuzaki supposed. 

“Well, I want to, for one.” Light sassed.

“Are you coming on to me?" 

Light’s confident semblance cracked. It suddenly dawned on him what he was doing and where. Fuck, what if he isn’t into guys? This was why he never flirted with men unless he was sure the other person was at least bisexual! Or just let the other guys come onto him, which he never had a lack of. Shit. 

Ryuzaki seemed to notice his momentary alarm because he placed a hand on his arm in reassurance. 

"No, I’m into it. I was just surprised,” he explained with an earnestness Light wasn’t expecting. 

“Surprised?”

“People like you don’t usually flirt with me." 

"What’s people like me?" 

"Now you’re just fishing for compliments." 

Light grinned, feeling like his assured (but not overly-presumptuous) self again. 

“Swear I’m not.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Your hand is still on my arm, by the way.” 

Ryuzaki blinked at the offender, which was indeed still curled around Light’s tricep like a possessive pale spider. He only let go of it slowly, finger by finger, and Light pretended he could see a faint blush on the other’s face with the last rays of sunlight. 

There was a conscious effort on his part to not brush those sharp cheeks tenderly with his knuckles, less the sudden contact spook his new sudden fascination away. 

“It appears you’re not the only intoxicated one of the two of us,” Ryuzaki admitted in a low voice.

The loud party music and noises of the crowd seemed so far away. 

Light took a step forward. 

“We should–” 

“Light!”

A group of people was coming their way, and Light recognized Takada, Okubo Chise, Kinoshita Hideo, and another fake-blond dude he’d never had any interest in talking to. Kinoshita was the son of a major tech company’s executive and was rotting in money from his million-dollar hair to the ugly fungus in his toenails. Light, sadly, had had a mild interest for him at first, but that went to shit when he came to see how much of an asshole he was. 

Kinoshita grabbed him by the shoulder, while Chise and the fake-blond planted themselves in front of Ryuzaki. Takada, for her part, just stood to Light’s side glaring in Ryuzaki’s direction. What the hell?

“Light, what is someone like you doing talking with a freakshow like Ryuzaki.” Kinoshita wondered, exposing his gums in a self-satisfied smile that quickly raised Light’s hackles. "Don’t you know nothing good ever comes from involving yourself with him?”

“Come again?” 

“It’s true, Light. He doesn’t have a good reputation,” Takada interjected, not bothering to hide the disgust in her face with a once-over to his new acquaintance. “I don’t know how he’d have the nerve to come in here, uninvited.”

Frowning, Light searched to see the face of the boy he’d just been so pleasantly flirting with and, outwardly, found him to appear relatively unbothered. He’d expected him to be angry, indignant, or even sad, but Ryuzaki only had his hands in his jean pockets and was yet again staring with wide eyes at some unknown fixed point as if no one were talking about him. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific about whatever offense Ryuzaki’s done. But whatever the case, I find it incredibly distasteful to round him up like you’re doing.”

“It’s alright, Light. Kinoshita is probably still just angry because I exposed a nasty little online scam of his, and attained information that could lose him the already crumbling favor of his father, and also the fact that he is nevertheless unable to cause me any significant harm,” Ryuzaki answered matter-of-factly without sparing a single glance at Kinoshita’s direction.

Everyone fell silent for a moment. 

Okay, that was… 

Extremely attractive. 

“You’re a lying little cunt!” Kinoshita snarled. 

“The naive teenagers being granted false scholarships would argue otherwise.”

“What? Hideo, you said–” Takada began. 

But the small elite group exploded in an argument about what Kinoshita had or hadn’t done, with the latter giving weaker and weaker arguments. Light was so engrossed in his rightful indignation and the opportunity to disgrace Kinoshita, that by the time he called for Ryuzaki’s own word in the matter the strange student had already left without saying a word.

×~°~×~°~×~°~×~°~×

“Ryuzaki!" 

The hunched figure paused in his lazy gait towards the beach boulevard, but the dark disheveled head didn’t turn around. Light was panting by the time he caught up to him and he could feel the beginning of a headache already forming. 

Night had already fallen and the breeze charged at them from within the sea. 

"You’re already going?" 

"I am indeed approximately 700 feet from the party." 

"Not what I was asking.” Light rolled his eyes. 

Ryuzaki turned around finally, all sharp angles and even darker eyes illuminated by the blue and purple artificial lights on the street. 

“Well, your question didn’t contain your true intentions either. You’re asking why I’m going. And I assume this means you’d like to talk more?" 

Fastidious asshole. 

L didn’t wait for Light to answer before taking his phone from his jean’s pocket and handing it to him with the contact app open. 

Light typed quickly and handed the phone back, which finally brought a blessed smile to Ryuzaki’s face.

"I’m looking forward to talking to you soon, Light Yagami. Oh and before I forget." 

Long, spidery fingers settled themselves in a careful hold below Light’s chin, and before he had time to process what was about to happen, soft lips gave a feathery kiss to his own, so quick it might have been fantasy if it weren’t for the ghost of a contact searing an imprint over Light’s heart. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you at the entrance ceremony.”

[darthmaulification]

15 with Maul for the Angst Prompts? 🥺

A/N: dropping this at nearly midnight, but i’ve finished it and i’m proud of it so here’s a late night snack. 😤

also, the song that inspired this one was hard feelings by lorde (also technically loveless, which is the 2nd part of this particular audio, but mostly hard feelings) and i do use a lyric from it in my story. 😊

thank you for requesting the prompt, and i hope you enjoy!! 💗

prompt: 15. "i think we'd be better off alone."

content: angst (but a tad more mild), gn!reader, a break up yet again, but also more mutual, like two people collide to share just enough of a relationship that it hurts when they part, but also the relationship is implied to be Toxic, an embarrassing amount of figurative language, slice of life type deal going on here

word count: 1,504

You met Maul when the weather was good. The vast sky had been pulled taut in all directions— a cerulean blue overwhelming in its vibrancy. Most days nothing had broken up the azure, cloudless and thus without rain, but the sun, which followed it’s charted course day in and day out dutifully, bringing with it a near boiling heat.

When you met Maul, the sun had been sitting in it’s throne like a king, at the very peak of the crest it would slope down as hours ticked by. It shone so brightly that it bathed everything, exciting the flowers that rose to meet it and angering your fellow farmers who complained that the intensity was too much for the infant crops. It obscured, only for a moment, when Maul’s ship had passed beneath it.

He caught everyone’s attention, even yours, but only you caught his.

He approached you amidst the wavering haze above flat ground, that tricks the eye into thinking it’s there. You thought he was part of the mirage, how could you not? The strange visitor from his silver ship, his skin a flaming red and tattooed, wearing black robes far too heavy and dark for your planet. You almost had yourself convinced until he closed the distance between the both of you so hastily that it was like he fully intended to be standing amongst the crops alongside you all along.

(Later, Maul would tell you that he had only stopped for fuel, but had caught sight of you in the fields, angelic in your white linens.)

“Hello.” He had said, his voice like the thick purr of a Loth cat and his gaze the molten glaze of honey. He smiled, and his teeth were pitch black and glossy.

(A dye, he would also tell you later.)

“Hello.” You had replied politely, and when he extended his hand to shake yours, you had marveled at how his black-decorated, crimson skin felt like the heat surrounding you, only a living warmth instead. Maul then exchanged his name along with a suave flirt, and you gave him your name as well, gifting him with a blush on your cheeks. That’s when you learned he was bold and did everything with confidence.

The interest only grew from there, of course.

All the while, the sun sat stiff and blistering in the blue, blue sky and the air was dreadfully torrid, made even more unbearable by the lack of a breeze, but there were no shadows in sight, not while you and Maul talked, or when he offered you a drink, or when he walked you to his ship with his arm in yours, or when you both laughed and smiled and drank and swapped stories and even cuddled. 

All in all, a good sign. A very good sign.

Until it wasn’t.

Maybe it was the lack of wind.

You learned very quickly that Maul was not only the charming, intelligent, if not hot-headed and cocky, Zabrak that you had made him out to be. You cottoned on very quickly and abruptly to his aggression, his brutal temper that would flare at the slightest provocation to the thin thread it hung from. Maul demonstrated to you, on multiple occasions, his wrath, and his willingness to kill instead of maim, or otherwise show mercy on his selected enemy. It bothers you as much now as it did then, and you would consider his anger a billowing red flag.

But at the time he was so new to you that you forgave his outbursts and strokes of cruelty because you had thought that since people could change, Maul surely could as well. And to be fair, you did what you could, successfully quelled his fury more often than not. But it was still hard to want to be close to a man who burned so intensely at his core that it hurt to be near.

And that made the dry season even hotter. For better, and for worse.

(Mostly worse.)

As weeks passed with Maul, and the summer reached it’s fever pitch, you and Maul had softened up enough to each other that you shared intimacy and closely-held secrets, often both under the delicate watch of the moon, when the night brought with it security and a tender break in the heat. Nighttime was always easier, you realize now, when there was no pressure from wandering third parties from the village, or duties to attend, or the sun to make you squint.

It made you realize just how difficult daytime could be, how consumed those hours were by work and people, how busy it all was. It made you loathe the dawn, wanting to keep the star-dappled midnight sky for as long as possible because that’s when you didn’t toil away in the fields, and when Maul was yours and only yours, and when you didn’t have to worry about his temper igniting, or the switch of his lightsaber, or the pain he’d inflict, or the crimes he’d—

Thinking of it now, your only good memories with Maul took place during nighttime.

Except one. The last memory you have of him.

You had been drained and tired by the oppressive heat that the sun had wrought during the day, and the almost constant pleading with Maul not to slice down any more of your fellow villagers that were terrified of him. You were drained by the effort of dousing his fire, the glares of your once friendly neighbors who’d believed you betrayed by picking Maul over them, and of course the heat made you sweat the life from you.

And of course, it was that night when the darkness didn’t quell the oven-like heat suffocating you.

You and Maul argued. It was venomous, spiteful, hateful— but you won’t dwell on it, it doesn’t mean much anymore anyways, besides the last few words you spat at one another.

“You are an ungrateful, pathetic bitch!” Maul had roared at you, his lips pulled back in a snarl and nothing but contempt in his eyes. It had felt like a slap in the face at the time, but now when you think of that moment in all it’s infamy, you only sigh and shake your head. Maul only ever knew cruelty, how was he to act without it?

“And you are evil!” You had screamed back like some wild animal howling, sobbing so hard it sounded like shrieking. Maul only laughed, humorless and mean, and he cocked his head, palm flitting to rest on the hilt of the lightsaber that you knew could flash it’s fear-inducing red at the press of a button.

“Have you just noticed?” Maul had cooed, and that was the first time you had ever been scared of him.

“I want you out of my home, my life. I think we’d be better off alone.” How you managed to say that to him when you had been so stiff with icy dread and a wavering voice, you still don’t know.

Apparently though, it may have been the heat that hammered the final nail into the coffin because Maul left, bitterly throwing you one last insult by telling you that being in your house was like choking on magma. You didn’t say anything back, not while the fear still gripped you by the throat, but once he was gone fully that’s when you cursed his name, his bloodline, his everything. You let yourself get as angry as him in the privacy of your home, for as long as your body allowed it, and until you were shaking and raw.

And despite everything and yourself, and how much you knew he didn’t deserve that hypothetical satisfaction, you wept. But strangely, and a bit curiously, it felt more like the relief of the dry season’s long-awaited rain, not the heartbreak of the love, if any had really been there, lost.

It was comforting.

Months later, when Maul is long gone and the wistfully childish part of you daydreams, you think of all the possibilities that could have been, had the heat not been so sweltering. Maybe, in some other reality, a different timeline where different choices were made, you and Maul met when it was raining. Maybe then it could have worked out, if everything had been dampened, simpler... more cold.

But the sun shines bright, sucks all the moisture from the ground and leaves plants wilting and the freshwater low, and it means you are once again sweating in the middle of a crop field tending to the struggling new shoots.

You sigh, a long exhale from your nose, and you wipe the gathered droplets from your brow. The sun rays beam down, infinite and unforgiving, until you walk to the canopy of a tree, to the shade where they can’t touch you. The semi-coolness dimples the skin of your arms with goosebumps, and the drop in temperature is a welcome change.

You sigh again.

I think it’s time to let go of this endless summer afternoon.

[corpsentry]

ao3 mirror

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

All roads lead to hateno.

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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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


::


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

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

[outofangband]

Maedhros and Nolofinwë take a small stroll around the quieter areas of the Nolofinwëan camp. Author’s notes at the end 

This is relatively early in Maedhros’s recovery. He’s been in the camp long enough that he generally knows where he is and what’s going on but he’s still relearning to walk, hold utensils with his left hand, etc

also wanted to link this reminder here that Maedhros was imprisoned during the rising of the sun and moon 

CW: blanket post Angband warning for aftermath of captivity and torture, implied mobility issues following extended enforced immobility, implied internalized ableism. 

This piece is pretty mild though, just some good uncle Fingolfin for you all 💙

I go into more detail about what exactly causes his mobility issues in other Post Angband pieces but please feel free to ask any questions

masterlist 

Tag list: @much-ado-about-whumping @elarinya-nailo @iwenttomordor @tears-and-lilies

The gardens here were far from the expansive landscapes surrounding the homes of the residing Noldor lords. They were primarily practical, little rows of medicinal herbs and flowers, a small square patch for root vegetables and a few fruit trees. None of this could be a top priority in the chaos of the war but those who were tasked to tending to the garden did so with as much care and effort as they could afford. It was a blessed relief from the horrors that, despite the best efforts of the host, could not be fully kept outside the walls of the camp. They were certainly the most peaceful spot the Noldor here had created and Fingolfin was glad to show them off.

Nolofinwë was careful to support Maitimo without attempting to influence or restrict him. He could tell his nephew was displeased with the fact that he still required an arm to guide him when he tried to walk but eventually, the restlessness and desire to move and to leave his little room in the healing house won over his initial refusal to accept help of this sort. Maitimo agreed to allow Fingolfin to support him for a short walk around the outskirts of the camp. They had chosen the evening hours when most tasks had moved indoors and when the light was not at its brightest, Maitimo was still adjusting to the intensity of the sun. 

The younger elf’s right arm was still heavily bandaged. It was clearly difficult for him to raise it and allow his uncle to hold his elbow while his arm rested against his chest. With his left hand he gripped a cane, the positioning of his fingers  awkward. Nolofinwë swallowed the urge to offer a correction for this. Now was not the time. 

Nelyo’s thin body was wrapped in several layers. Buttons, laces, and similar were still very difficult for him but with the light gown and many shawls he at least seemed comfortable in what he was wearing. Nolofinwë smiled as the two strode out of the healing house, Nelyo blinking slightly despite the twilight. 

“Thank you for agreeing to this, My Lord.” His voice stiff but sincere.  Nolofinwë wasn’t surprised by the overly formal language though he felt a small twinge upon hearing it.

“I am glad to accompany you, Nelyo.” He had struggled for a moment with how to address his nephew, wishing to return the respect but apprehensive that his use of a title would be interpreted as mocking.

They walked through the garden, the air smelling mildly of the herbs and flowers. Their pace was rather slow but not uncomfortably. The cane dragged on the ground every few steps; Maitimo had not yet become used to using it. But the evening air seemed to have a calming effect on him. Nolofinwë did not like to think of the last time that his nephew has spent any period outdoors like this. The weather was cool and Fingolfin was hesitant to have Nelyo out of his room for too long, his health was still vulnerable. But he did not want to force him back inside and so merely lead the way to a table by the gardens. Nelyo took a seat beside him. They were in silence for several minutes. The older elf saw that Maitimo’s left hand, still resting on the cane, was clenched into a fist. He was clearly frustrated with his condition. 

When they stood up, Nelyo was leaning more heavily on his uncle for support, Fingolfin using both hands, one still on his elbow, his other arm on his back. His right leg was starting to drag slightly again. But they made it back to the healing house together, a faint tinge of red to Maedhros’s notched ears as Fingolfin helped him into a chair.

“We will manage longer walks yet, nephew,” Nolofinwë says quietly handing him back his cane which had fallen to the ground upon entering, “Do not become discouraged, understandable though it is.”

author’s note: to be honest this isn’t great writing from me, I just had this image I couldn’t get out of my head and I can’t draw so I wrote it up! It will be edited in the future to be more cohesive! I hope it’s ok to read!

(Note: so I headcanon that Maedhros used a cane for awhile following his rescue. I do have some mobility issues myself due to neuro reasons but I do not currently use any mobility devices. I did some research but I welcome input from anyone who has more direct experience with this.)

I should also note that while Fingolfin has the best of intentions and Maedhros’s difficulty walking is certainly very frustrating to him, Fingolfin doesn’t yet know exactly what’s primarily bothering him.

[autistic-stedebonnet]

I wanna be with you

Yueki week day one: modern au | songfic

@yuekiweek

This is supposed to be based on the song “I wanna be with you” by chloe moriondo, but I got a bit carried away so it’s not as obvious that it’s based on the song as I would like it to be. I’m still kind of proud of it though, so I hope you enjoy! :)

---

Swimming in my t-shirts No matter the weather Say what you mean I want to be with you…

...And it's almost unnatural how lame I act around you Give me a chance To say what I mean Please do the same

I want to be with you

Summers on Kyoshi Island were, as Suki had once proclaimed: “Almost as hot as Avatar Kyoshi herself.” Of course, compared to the fire nation, it was practically cold; but cut a girl some slack, Suki has horrible heat tolerance (Kyoshi warrior uniforms are made to be breathable, ok?) Such a fact makes for a wonderful excuse in persuading your crush to sneak away to a secluded pond instead of meeting their other friends for lunch.

---

Suki sighed with a noticeable air of melodrama, vigorously fanning herself as if she was looking to create a hurricane. “Spirits, it’s hot,” she complained. She rolled over from her spot on the floor, moving to better face Yue, who sat in a nearby chair, slouching uncharacteristically and using Suki’s other fan to cool herself. “Tell me you’re not dying of heatstroke.”

“I am,” Yue replied. “Are summers here always so dreadful?”

“Kind of?” Suki chuckled. “It’s always hot but not this hot. Don’t tell Zuko I said that, he thinks the weather is mild.” She perched her chin in her hands and smiled up at Yue. “But that’s just because he was raised in the damn Fire Nation. He has no tolerance for the cold.”

Yue giggled, likely thinking of the time where they’d all gone to visit the South Pole and Zuko had done an impressive job at scowling the entire time, whining that it should be illegal for anywhere to be that cold.

Suki had always thought that Yue’s laugh was like the first snowfall of the year; especially the laugh only her friends got to hear. The one that made her entire face shift and her dimples show. Suki smiled involuntarily, her eyes flicking from Yue’s dark eyes downwards, coming dangerously close to her lips, which had been painted a shimmery pink today; the shine a result of another one of Sokka’s concoctions that shockingly, hadn’t killed anyone yet.

“Suki? Suki?” Yue waved her hand in front of Suki’s face, frowning slightly.

“Huh?” Suki shook herself from her reverie, a crimson blush slowly overtaking her cheeks. “Oh, uh, sorry, I just…”

“Daydreaming again?” Yue asked. She grinned and reached out her hand to help Suki up. “Stand up, we’re meeting everyone for lunch soon.”

Suki took her hand begrudgingly, muttering something about it being too hot to move. She crossed her arms over her chest upon standing up and furrowed her brows in feigned anger. “I’m not hungry,” She said. Then, her expression changed instantaneously and she grasped at Yue’s forearm, beaming mischievously. “I have an idea!” She cried, practically jumping up in the air.

Yue narrowed her eyes skeptically. “What?”

“Well,” Suki drawled, throwing her arm over Yue’s shoulder. “What if we ditched?”

“And did what?” Yue asked, putting her hands on her hips and forcing herself not to smile.

“It’s a secret!” Suki said coaxingly. “We just ate an hour ago-”

“They’re expecting us!”

“Gotta keep ‘em on their toes,” Suki countered, nudging Yue playfully. “Come on! Why did you say you left the North Pole again?”

Yue pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing heavily. “I said I wanted to experience the world and make a positive impact,” She muttered.

“And what experience do you get out of not ditching lunch?” Suki said. “I’m sure your parents would tell you to go to lunch.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Yue giggled, ducking her head down to hide her laughter. Finally, she looked up at Suki, who was inches away from her face and smiling pleadingly. “Alright, alright!” She laughed, pushing Suki’s face away from her and trying to ignore the heat spreading across her cheeks. “You win.”

“Yes!” Suki cried, pumping her fist in the air. She turned to Yue and her expression softened. “I promise you won’t regret this.”

---

After sneaking in an unnecessarily stealth-like manner halfway across the island, Yue and Suki reached a small mountain, with vines and moss creeping around every inch.

“Are we… rock climbing?” Yue asked slowly, raising an inquisitive brow.

Suki chuckled and shook her head. “No, stupid, come on!” She reached up and carefully brushed aside the vines, holding her breath until a large entryway revealed the mountain to be hollow and she heard Yue suck in a sharp, awestruck breath.

White sand lined the entrance for a few feet, leading to a shallow pool of crystal clear water. The roof was open to the sky, slightly obscured by vines and tree branches, but allowing streams of sunlight to dance along the top of the water and illuminate the room. Yue stepped inside hesitantly, running her hand along the stone wall, mesmerized. “How long has this been here?” She asked.

Shrugging, Suki followed her in and letting the vines swing back over the entrance. “For as long as I’ve been on the island, at least. Possibly decades, or centuries.”

“It’s magical,” Yue breathed. “It’s like we’re in a different world.” She turned to Suki, smiling softly. “I think this was worth missing lunch.”

Suki inhaled sharply, nodding. “Oh. Oh it… yea I agree.” She caught Yue’s gaze and stared for a moment, finding herself lost in eyes that mimicked the deepest parts of the ocean and the strong bark on the trees near Suki’s house.

“Suki are you… are you okay?” Yue inquired, gently moving to rest a hand on Suki’s shoulder.

Startled, Suki jumped slightly, before nodding her head and grinning. “Of course I am.” She grasped Yue’s hand and pulled her closer to the water. “C’mon let’s swim!”

“Are you sure?” Yue said doubtfully. “We don’t have swimsuits.”

“What does that matter?” Suki laughed. “Live a little.” She shed her robe and lowered herself into the water in her leggings and tunic, the latter of which billowed out around her like clouds in a clear, blue sky. Leaning forward and positioning her arms on the edge, she smiled up at Yue. “You didn’t miss lunch just to stand around. Yue, please.”

“Well what are we gonna do after? Walk around the island, half dressed and soaking wet?”

“Hey, you’re getting it!” Suki chuckled loudly. “Seriously though, no one will care if we walk around a little wet. If anything it’ll be refreshing, considering it’s boiling hot outside.”

“I don’t know…” Yue said, biting at her lip. “Are you sure?”

“I’m in the water, aren’t I?”

Sighing, Yue nodded in agreement. “Alright. But you owe me!” She added the last part on, laughing; and pulled off her dress and boots, folding them neatly at the back of the space and walking back to the water in her trousers and thin, flowy tunic. She took a sharp intake of breath as the cool water hit her skin, but adjusted to it almost immediately, falling beside Suki, the water coming up just a few inches below her chest.

The vines creeping down the sides of the cave and into the walls of the pond danced in the warm summer breeze, like tides lapping at the shore. Sunlight flowed into the pool like a waterfall of fire, lighting their faces with liquid gold. Yue stood in silence for several moments, her eyes closed, drinking in the atmosphere. She breathed in deeply, shoulders rising peacefully, and falling back down again, sending her unraveling into the water. She lay on her back, her hair floating around her like the midnight sky seeping into the ocean.

Suki watched, moonstruck, as Yue drifted gracefully through the water, her chest rising and falling in synchrony with Suki’s. Her hands fell to her side, almost numb, in a trance. She wondered if Yue’s hair was as soft as the pool made it out to be. Perhaps if she stood still for long enough, the moon would rise and wrap them in her embrace, and they could stay here forever. Suki sunk gently to her knees, her chin floating just above the water-level, breath causing ripples in the glass. Time felt still for a moment, like the Earth and all the stars were breathing in.

When Yue stood up, her gray tunic sticking to her skin and her hair falling in long, damp waves down her back, Suki didn’t move. She was motionless as Yue moved towards her, leaning down and mimicking her position so they faced each other, both submerged from the neck down.

“Hi,” Yue said quietly; even the smallest whispers reverberated off the stone.

Suki’s face flushed bright red as she processed how close they were; she contemplated ducking her head under the water and staying there forever. “H-hi,” she sputtered, her voice raising an octave.

Yue giggled, bringing a hand to her lips. “What are you thinking about?” She asked, a soft smile flitting over her face as she floated closer to Suki.

“I’m thinking- I’m uh- I’m.” Flustered, Suki burst out laughing; the kind of awkward laugh that somehow turned genuine and rocked through your body until your sides hurt. “Sorry, I’m… I’m just thinking about how happy I am right now.”

Yue’s breath hitched slightly. “Really?”

“Yea…” Suki’s flush had died down and her confidence risen. She moved forward until he rface was mere inches from Yue’s, their lips just a breath apart. She could feel Yue’s hair drifting forward and brushing at her shoulders every so often. “I’m glad we skipped lunch.”

“Yea,” Yue agreed. “Me too.”

They fell back, reclining against the wall of the pool, watching as the sunlight dimmed, well aware that there wasn’t much time before stars appeared and the air grew too cool to swim. A light breeze whistled throughout the cave, bouncing off the walls.

“Yue?” Suki asked, her voice hardly a whisper.

“Hmm?”

“I- I’m really glad that we’re friends.”

Yue stiffened almost unnoticeably. “Friends… yea,” she said, like the words had a bitter taste. “Is that… really what you mean?” She asked boldly.

Suki sat quietly for a moment, afraid that she couldn’t say the right thing. It felt like years before she finally said: “I feel safe with you.”

Yue nodded. “Me too.”

The words Suki wanted to say were stuck in her throat, and perhaps this was the perfect time to say them, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it would ruin the euphoria. 

Yue, I love you, more than anything. I want to be with you. 

But there was time. They had all the time in the world, and for now, they could sit beside each other, frozen in time until the sun disappeared and they had to walk through the night in sopping clothes. There was time.

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

Soft summer prompt #5, Nuts and Dolts?

(sorry for the absurdly long wait - hope you enjoy!)

(watching the fireflies)

takes place in my royalty/bodyguard au ;)

.

A pleasant summer’s breeze blows Penny’s curls away from her face.  The princess from the north is in awe of how much more mild the weather here in Vale is than back home.  Her cloak, sewn from a lighter fabric than all her heavy wool and fur ones made to withstand Solitas’s cold, is enough to keep her warm even during sunset, with night beginning to cool the air.

“Your royal highness?  Might I inquire what you are doing out at such a late hour as this?”

Penny jumps.  “Um, uh, nothing?”  Her voice squeaks in a way not befitting a royal.  She tries not to wince.  “Nothing, Stablemaster Port,” she tells the gray-haired man with one of the largest mustaches she’s ever seen, hesitates, and then hastily adds, “sir.”

Do Vale royal staff have a specific way to be addressed they prefer in polite conversation?  Back home in Atlas, Penny had to memorize all the proper terminology for each and every different ranking staff member at a young age.  It was considered a grave insult if the Crown Princess herself addressed someone incorrectly.

Before Penny can fully start worrying over whether or not she’s insulted Stablemaster Port by calling him simply “sir,” loud hoofbeats approach them.  They briefly slow when they reach the princess and the stablemaster.  Penny feels a hand close around the hood of her cloak.  She’s yanked off her feet and pulled expertly into the saddle.  She would panic, but there is only one person who would do such a thing.  Penny trusts her implicitly.

“Ruby Rose!  That is no way to handle a royal!”  Port shouts after them.

“You aren’t my teacher anymore, old man!”  Ruby calls over her shoulder with a laugh.  Her arms wrapped securely around Penny, she pushes the princess’s dapple gray mare into a canter.  Port yells something else, but Penny doesn’t catch his words over the wind.

Once they’re safely away from the stables, Ruby slows the mare.  She stops at the entrance to the riding trail they picked earlier, dismounts, and retrieves her own steed from where she hid the blood bay behind some shrubbery before doubling back to retrieve Penny and her horse.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” From still in the saddle, Penny admonishes her bodyguard.  “He’s going to get us in trouble.”

Ruby retorts.  “No, he’s not.”  She swings up into her own saddle.  Her horse snorts his protest. “Port owes me.”

“He owes you?”  Penny repeats incredulously.  She nudges her mare forward to stand by Ruby’s.  “What, pray tell, does he owe you that he won’t go telling on us for behaving in such a manner?”

“Oh, come on!”  Ruby pouts.  “Don’t get all princessy on me now.  This was your idea!”

Penny grins.  “My idea was to go on a pleasant evening ride.”  She pauses dramatically.  “Not that tomfoolery.”

Ruby sticks out her tongue at her.  Penny can’t help but giggle.  She loves this.  So much.  Back home, Ruby wouldn’t dare pulling off such a stunt like she had.  The pressures of being a Royal Bodyguard weigh on her too much.  Penny knows they do.  Usually, such a position is reserved for a highly regarded lord’s son.  Not some commoner girl poached from another kingdom’s academy.  Ruby’s arrival in Atlas and appointment had caused a stir among the nobility, to say the least.  There are many among them who are waiting for Ruby to make just the right mistake that they finally could consider it reason enough to oust her.

The situation tends to cause Ruby a lot of stress.  Not that she’s ever admitted to it anytime Penny has attempted asking.

Here in Vale, away from the prying eyes of Atlesian nobility, Penny noticed, Ruby is more relaxed, carefree.  She still takes her duties seriously.  She’ll always protect her princess, of that Penny has no doubt, but Ruby goofs off in ways Penny could have never predicted while in her homeland.

It gives her mixed feelings.  Penny loves seeing this side of Ruby.  She does.  It just kind of hurts knowing that when they go home, to Penny’s home, it won’t be the same.  Penny holds back a sigh.

They ride on, silent but the clip-clop of their horses hooves for a few minutes.

Penny sees the first bright green spot in the air.  Her breath catches in her throat.  The spot disappears quickly, but then another appears.  This one drifts over to her.  The little bug that caused the bright light lands on Penny’s horse’s mane, crawls around, flashes bright green again, and then takes off.  Penny watches it go.

“Are these…?”

“Fireflies?”  Ruby finishes for her.  “Yup.”  She halts her horse, dismounts, and ties her reins loosely to a tree.  Then helps Penny do the same.  Taking Penny by the hand, Ruby leads her princess to the center of the meadow they’ve come to.  All around them fireflies drift around, blinking their lights leisurely.

Penny twirls around in a circle.  She can’t take her eyes off the little bugs.  Solitas is too cold for anything like them.  She holds out her hand.  A firefly lands on her index finger.  Penny giggles, and turns to show Ruby, who’s grinning dopily back at her.

“I knew you’d love them.”  Ruby approaches Penny.

“I love you,” Penny answers without thinking, and then chokes on her gasp.  Oh gods.  Oh gods.  She just admitted—to Ruby—she just said…

Ruby’s silver eyes are as big as saucers, or the moon itself.  She stares back at Penny, her face gently illuminated by the fireflies’ lights.  Her mouth opens, and then closes, and then opens again, like a fish.

Panic rises in Penny’s gut.  She shouldn’t have said that.  What they have is special, but it’s not allowed, and they shouldn’t—it will be easier to not be hurt when they have to let go if they don’t admit like she just—and oh gods.  Oh gods.  Oh gods.

Ruby takes Penny’s hands in her own.  She kisses the backs of them.  Not in the reverential way reserved for royal and bodyguard, but in the tender way only a suitor is allowed to do for a princess.

“I love you, too,” Ruby breathes.

In that moment, Penny knows Ruby will never let go of her, and she’ll never let go of Ruby.

No matter what.

[themousefromfantasyland]

The Ballad of Lenore

The Dead Travel Fast

By Gottfried August Bürger

Translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

This is an old ballad written by german poet Gottfried August Bürger. It was later referenced in Bram Stoker's Dracula, as Jonathan Harker cites "For the dead travel fast", here translated as "Bravely the dead men ride through the night."

Charles Dickens too alludes to this line in A Christmas Carol, during an exchange between Scrooge and the ghost of Marley ("You travel fast?" said Scrooge. "On the wings of the wind," replied the Ghost.)

The Aarne–Thompson–Uther Index classifies this tale as 365: "The DEAD bridegroom carries off his bride"

Up rose Lenore as the red morn wore, from weary visions starting; "Art faithless, William, or, William, art dead? Tis long since thy departing."

For he, with Frederick's men of might, in fair Prague waged the uncertain fight; Nor once had he writ in the hurry of war. And sad was the true heart that sickened afar.

The Empress and the King, with ceaseless quarrel tired, at length relaxed the stubborn hate which rivalry inspired. And the martial throng, with laugh and song, spoke of their homes as they rode along. And clank, clank, clank! came every rank. With the trumpet-sound that rose and sank.

And here and there and everywhere, along the swarming ways, went old man and boy, with the music of joy, on the gallant bands to gaze. And the young child shouted to spy the vaward, and trembling and blushing the bride pressed forward. But ah! for the sweet lips of Lenore the kiss and the greeting are vanished and o'er.

From man to man all wildly she ran with a swift and searching eye, but she felt alone in the mighty mass, as it crushed and crowded by.

On hurried the troop, a gladsome group. And proudly the tall plumes wave and droop. She tore her hair and she turned her round and madly she dashed her against the ground.

Her mother clasped her tenderly with soothing words and mild:

"My child, may God look down on thee. ⁠God comfort thee, my child."

"Oh! mother, mother! gone is gone! I reck no more how the world runs on. What pity to me does God impart? Woe, woe, woe! for my heavy heart! "

"Help, Heaven, help and favour her! ⁠Child, utter an Ave Marie! Wise and great are the doings of God; ⁠He loves and pities thee."

"Out, mother, out, on the empty lie! Doth he heed my despair,doth he list to my cry? What boots it now to hope or to pray?The night is come, there is no more day."

"Help, Heaven, help! who knows the Father ⁠knows surely that he loves his child. The bread and the wine from the hand divine shall make thy tempered grief less wild."

"Oh! mother, dear mother! the wine and the bread will not soften the anguish that bows down my head, for bread and for wine it will yet be as late that his cold corpse creeps from the grim grave's gate."

"What if the traitor's false faith failed, by sweet temptation tried? What if in distant Hungary he clasp another bride? Despise the fickle fool, my girl, who hath ta'en the pebble and spurned the pearl. While soul and body shall hold together, in his perjured heart shall be stormy weather."

"Oh! mother, mother! gone is gone, and lost will still be lost! Death, death is the goal of my weary soul, crushed and broken and crost. Spark of my life! Down, down to the tomb. Die away in the night, die away in the gloom! What pity to me does God impart? Woe, woe, woe! for my heavy heart!"

"Help, Heaven, help, and heed her not, for her sorrows are strong within. She knows not the words that her tongue repeats. ⁠Oh! count them not for sin! Cease, cease, my child, thy wretchedness, and think on the promised happiness. So shall thy mind's calm ecstasy be a hope and a home and a bridegroom to thee."

"My mother, what is happiness? ⁠My mother, what is Hell? With William is my happiness, ⁠without him is my Hell! Spark of my life! Down, down to the tomb. Die away in the night, die away in the gloom! Earth and Heaven, and Heaven and earth. Reft of William are nothing worth."

Thus grief racked and tore the breast of Lenore, and was busy at her brain.Thus rose her cry to the Power on high, to question and arraign. Wringing her hands and beating her breast, tossing and rocking without any rest, till from her light veil the moon shone thro', and the stars leapt out on the darkling blue.

But hark to the clatter and the pat pat patter! ⁠Of a horse's heavy hoof! How the steel clanks and rings as the rider springs! ⁠How the echo shouts aloof! While slightly and lightly the gentle bell. Tingles and jingles softly and well. And low and clear through the door plank thin comes the voice without to the ear within:

"Holla! holla! Unlock the gate; ⁠Art waking, my bride, or sleeping? Is thy heart still free and still faithful to me? ⁠Art laughing, my bride, or weeping?"

"Oh! wearily, William, I've waited for you, woefully watching the long day thro'. With a great sorrow sorrowing for the cruelty of your tarrying."

"Till the dead midnight we saddled not. ⁠I have journeyed far and fast, and hither I come to carry thee back ere the darkness shall be past."

"Ah! rest thee within till the night's more calm. Smooth shall thy couch be, and soft, and warm. Hark to the winds, how they whistle and rush thro' the twisted twine of the hawthorn-bush."

"Thro' the hawthorn-bush let whistle and rush. ⁠Let whistle, child, let whistle! Mark the flash fierce and high of my steed's bright eye, and his proud crest's eager bristle. Up, up and away! I must not stay. Mount swiftly behind me! up, up and away! An hundred miles must be ridden and sped ere we may lie down in the bridal-bed."

"What! Ride an hundred miles tonight. ⁠By thy mad fancies driven! Dost hear the bell with its sullen swell. ⁠As it rumbles out eleven?"

"Look forth! look forth! the moon shines bright. We and the dead gallop fast thro' the night. 'Tis for a wager I bear thee away to the nuptial couch ere break of day."

"Ah! where is the chamber, William dear, and William, where is the bed?

"Far, far from here: still, narrow, and cool; ⁠plank and bottom and lid."

"Hast room for me?"

"For me and thee. Up, up to the saddle right speedily! The wedding-guests are gathered and met, and the door of the chamber is open set."

She busked her well, and into the selle she sprang with nimble haste, and gently smiling, with a sweet beguiling, her white hands clasped his waist.

And hurry, hurry! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing. Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, and the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.

Here to the right and there to the left, ⁠flew fields of corn and clover, and the bridges flashed by to the dazzled eye, as rattling they thundered over.

"What ails my love? The moon shines bright. Bravely the dead men ride through the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?"

"Ah! no;— let them sleep in their dusty bed!"

On the breeze cool and soft what tune floats aloft, while the crows wheel overhead? Ding dong! ding dong! ’tis the sound, ’tis the song:

⁠"Room, room for the passing dead!"

Slowly the funeral-train drew near. Bearing the coffin, bearing the bier; and the chime of their chaunt was hissing and harsh, like the note of the bull-frog within the marsh.

"You bury your corpse at the dark midnight, with hymns and bells and wailing. But I bring home my youthful wife to a bride-feast's rich regaling. Come, chorister, come with thy choral throng, and solemnly sing me a marriage-song. Come, friar, come, let the blessing be spoken, that the bride and the bridegroom's sweet rest be unbroken."

Died the dirge and vanished the bier. ⁠Obedient to his call. Hard hard behind, with a rush like the wind, came the long steps' pattering fall. And ever further! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing. Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, and the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.

How flew to the right, how flew to the left, trees, mountains in the race! How to the left, and the right and the left, flew town and marketplace!

"What ails my love? The moon shines bright. Bravely the dead men ride thro' the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?"

"Ah! let them alone in their dusty bed!"

See, see, see! by the gallows-tree, as they dance on the wheel's broad hoop. Up and down, in the gleam of the moon, half lost, an airy group.

"Ho! ho! mad mob, come hither amain, and join in the wake of my rushing train. Come, dance me a dance, ye dancers thin. Ere the planks of the marriage-bed close us in."

And hush, hush, hush! the dreamy rout came close with a ghastly bustle. Like the whirlwind in the hazel-bush, when it makes the dry leaves rustle. And faster, faster! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing. Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground. And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.

How flew the moon high overhead, in the wild race madly driven! In and out, how the stars danced about. ⁠And reeled o'er the flashing heaven!

"What ails my love? The moon shines bright. Bravely the dead men ride thro' the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?"

"Alas! let them sleep in their dusty bed."

"Horse, horse! meseems 'tis the cock's shrill note, ⁠and the sand is well nigh spent. Horse, horse, away! 'tis the break of day. ⁠'Tis the morning air's sweet scent. Finished, finished is our ride. Room, room for the bridegroom and the bride! At last, at last, we have reached the spot, for the speed of the dead man has slackened not!"

And swiftly up to an iron gate with reins relaxed they went. At the rider's touch the bolts flew back, and the bars were broken and bent. The doors were burst with a deafening knell, and over the white graves they dashed pell mell;

The tombs around looked grassy and grim, as they glimmered and glanced in the moonlight dim.

But see! But see! In an eyelid's beat. Towhoo! a ghastly wonder! The horseman's jerkin, piece by piece, dropped off like brittle tinder!

Fleshless and hairless, a naked skull, the sight of his weird head was horrible. The lifelike mask was there no more, and a scythe and a sandglass the skeleton bore.

Loud snorted the horse as he plunged and reared, and the sparks were scattered round. What man shall say if he vanished away, or sank in the gaping ground?

Groans from the earth and shrieks in the air Howling and wailing everywhere! Half dead, half living, the soul of Lenore fought as it never had fought before.

The churchyard troop, a ghostly group, close round the dying girl; Out and in they hurry and spin through the dance's weary whirl:

"Patience, patience, when the heart is breaking. With thy God there is no question-making. Of thy body thou art quit and free. Heaven keep thy soul eternally!"

[hilltopsunset]

I Regret Buying Pokémon Shield

I told myself I wouldn’t do it. I’ve seen time and again the lack of innovation from main-series Pokémon games, and I insisted nothing would convince me to buy this latest atrocity. Yet here I am, reviewing the game I said I’d never purchase. I should have listened to myself. I KNEW BETTER! Strap in, ‘cause this one’s pretty long.

Pokémon has been around for a long time—like, a long, long time—and I’ve been around for every single new main-series game that’s been released since the franchise’s first arrival in North America back in 1996 with Red/Blue. I was not yet 10 years old, and I still remember the childlike excitement of finding rare, never-before seen creatures, the stress of trying to catch a wily Abra or elusive Pinsir, and the challenging first encounter with the Elite Four and the Champion, a 5-man gauntlet of trainers with powerful Pokémon rarely (if ever) seen in the game prior to that moment. It was exhilarating in a way that keeps me coming back for more, hoping to rekindle those same flames of wonder. 

While the main gist of the games hasn’t changed much over the years, one of my favorite parts of playing a new Pokémon game is seeing the improvements each game brings to the series. Many of the initial sequels made huge leaps in progress: Gold/Silver introduced a plethora of new mechanics like held items and breeding; Ruby/Sapphire introduced passive abilities and was the first to include multi-battles in the form of double-battles; Diamond/Pearl was the first generation capable of trading and battling online and brought us the revolutionary physical/special split so elements were no longer locked into one or the other. These changes all had significant impacts on how players approached battles, formed their teams, and used each Pokémon.

Those changes, combined with the addition of new Pokémon to catch, regions to explore, and enemies to fight, were enough to keep me interested. But I know I wasn’t alone in imagining all the possibilities of taking the franchise off the handheld platforms and moving the main series games over to a more powerful home console. In the meantime, each generation that followed Gen IV highlighted a new, troubling pattern that became more and more prevalent with each addition to the series.

1.       Gen V: Lack of meaningful gameplay innovation

By Generation V with Black/White, not only was Game Freak quickly running out of colors, they were quite obviously running out of ideas for significant gameplay innovation. The bulk of Black/White’s biggest changes were improvements on or adaptations to existing staples to the franchise: many new Pokémon, moves, and abilities were added, and the DS platform allowed for greater graphical quality where Pokémon could move around a bit more on-screen during battles, the camera wasn’t as rigid as it had to be in previous games due to machine limitations; perhaps most importantly, they FINALLY decided to make TMs infinite. Thank goodness. While the updates were nice, they were nowhere near as impactful on the game as previous generations’ changes were and served more as needed quality of life adjustments.

I would also argue Gen V also had the least inspired Pokémon designs (like Vanillux and Klinklang) with the worst starter choices of any Pokémon game, but that’s a discussion for another time. Excadrill and Volcarona were pretty cool, though.

 2.       Gen VI: Gimmicks as the main draw

Pokémon X/Y (See? They ran out of colors) continued this new downward trend in innovation. Mega-evolution—while admittedly pretty cool—wasn’t enough to carry the new generation into an era of meaningful improvement because it was equivalent to adding new Pokémon rather than developing innovative gameplay, ushering in a new era of gimmicks in lieu of substantial updates.

Though the gameplay innovation for X/Y was minimal, the graphic updates were substantial: Pokémon X/Y was the first generation to introduce the main series to a fully 3-dimensional world populated by 3D characters. However, since X/Y was on the 3DS, it was a ripe target for the 3D gimmick seen in almost all games on the console, which I personally used for all of 5 minutes before feeling nauseous and never using the function again.

Despite the fresh look of the new 3D models, the battle animations were, to be frank, incredibly disappointing. Pokémon still barely moved and never physically interacted with opponents, nor did they use moves in uniquely appropriate ways. To my point, for years now there’s been a meme about Blastoise opting to shoot water out of his face rather than his cannons. I was sad to see that they didn’t take the time to give each Pokémon’s animations a little more love. But I figured, in time, when or if the franchise ever moved to a more powerful machine, they would be better equipped to make it happen, right? I also convinced myself that the lack of refined animations were kind of charming, harkening back to the games’ original (terrible) animations.

 3.       Gen VII: Focus on Minigames

The main innovation (gimmick) that came with Generation VII, Sun/Moon, was the lack of HMs in lieu of riding certain Pokémon. Sun/Moon also added Ultra Beasts (essentially just new Pokémon) and Z-moves (just new moves) which only added to the number of gimmicks present in the games. These changes, which provide some mild adaptations to gameplay from previous generations, don’t fundamentally change the way players go through each game, the way that updates in the earlier generations did. I personally played through the entirety of Sun/Moon without using a single Z-move or seeing a single Ultra Beast outside the one you’re required to fight to progress the main story. Ultimately, these changes were not a significant enough experience to warrant an entirely new game that is otherwise full of more of the same stuff with slightly different creatures who have slightly different stats and occupy a slightly different world.

Though Sun/Moon was comfortably embracing the franchise’s affinity for gimmicks, it brought to the forefront yet another troubling trend: mini games. Between photography, the Festival Plaza, and Poké Pelago, the focus on and attention to detail toward mini games had grown considerably over the years. Pokémon games have always had minigames and other time-sinks—which is great! Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate having more to do than trudge through the main story. But it is apparent that, with each new generation, more time seems dedicated to development of these extras. Pokémon Contests, Secret Bases, Super Training, feeding/grooming; a lot of their larger innovations after Gen IV were centered on non-essential parts of the game, which results in diminished game and story quality overall.

Admittedly, Sun/Moon did have some of the best exploration moments of any of the Pokémon games, which I did very much appreciate. More on that later as it relates to Sword/Shield…

 4.       Generation VIII: You Can’t Be Serious

When Game Freak finally announced they were launching Generation VIII, Sword and Shield, on the Switch rather than a dedicated handheld console, I was beside myself with excitement.

And then I saw gameplay footage like this, and my heart sank.

What is the purpose of launching the game on a stronger console if they are going to continue copy/pasting their sprites and their animations? If they aren’t going to provide the Pokémon any unique flair or create more appropriate animations? It was disappointing enough seeing the same animations/models from X/Y for Sun/Moon, but that was sort of expected since the games were on the same console. But now that the game has moved to the Switch, this is unacceptable.

When I learned that they were significantly cutting the number of Pokémon available in the game, I thought for certain that would translate to more time dedicated to the ones that made the cut, to focus on adding animations and character to the critters to make them feel like real parts of the world, rather than avatars of a child’s imagination, unable to fully process how the world functions. Alas, what was I thinking?

I thought the Dynamax gimmick would be one of my biggest gripes because it’s so pointless, or maybe the Wild Area’s severe lack of organic belonging (all Pokémon are just wandering aimlessly, weather can change drastically after crossing an invisible line, trees look like they were cut and pasted out of Mario 64, you can’t even catch Pokémon if they’re too high a level) but honestly the most disappointing part of the game for me was the pitiful routes between towns/gyms. Previous installments of the game included routes full of trainers and puzzles you needed to defeat or solve before you could progress—in Sword/Shield, the only thing that ever prevents you from progressing are some Team Yell grunts barricading paths the game doesn’t want you to take yet, for literally no reason. It completely removes player autonomy and a sense of accomplishment earned through overcoming challenges—now instead of learning that you need to find an item that allows you to cut through certain trees to gain access to new areas, you simply follow the story beats and then, upon returning, the path will be open. It’s inorganic, it’s clunky, and it’s extremely lazy.

Speaking of lazy, the story itself was another massive disappointment for me. Pokémon games are not particularly known for having deep stories, but Sword/Shield takes it to a new low. Every NPC simply pushes you to battle in gyms, and every interesting story beat that occurs happens just outside the player-character’s reach. Any time something interesting happens, you are shooed away and told to let the grown-ups handle it while you just get your gym badges. There COULD have been some interesting story moments where your character gets more involved with helping fix the havoc occurring around the Galar Region, but instead we as the player are simply TOLD what happened, why it happened, and who fixed it (usually the champion, Leon).

I honestly think having the game focus on the story of Sonia, Bede, Marnie, or even Hop (was not a fan of this kid) would have been a much more interesting game, because those characters actually had some depth to them, some bigger reason for taking on the gym challenges than simply “I want to be the very best.” Albeit those stories would have required a tremendous amount of work to add depth and details, the potential for a better story is in those characters. There is just no story at all to the main character, who is ushered from gym to gym because…because? Because that’s what kids do? I’m not even really sure what the motivation is.

There are SO MANY exciting, interesting, innovative ways Game Freak could drive Pokémon into a new and exciting direction while still maintaining its charm and building on existing mechanics, but they instead choose to demonstrate their lack of interest in significant graphical and gameplay innovation. I imagine this is largely because the masses will eat up just about any Pokémon product produced so long as there’s a new bunny to catch, and Pikachu is still involved. I’m disappointed, and I wish the Galar region could meet the expectations of my 10-year old mind’s imagination.

When abilities were added, we suddenly had to consider whether our Earthquake could even hit the enemy Weezing and adapt to the tremendous changes the passive skills added, reconsidering how we faced each battle. When the physical/special split occurred, entirely new opportunities opened up and certain Pokémon who were banished to obscurity due to their poor typing and stat distribution, like Weavile, were suddenly viable. Some even became incredibly powerful, like Gyarados, who had been hit pretty hard by the Special attack/defense split. There were also already-powerful Pokémon (Gengar, Dragon-types) who became even more so through access to STAB moves that benefited off their strongest stats.

I want new games to include updates that feel as impactful as these changes. If you’re interested in how Game Freak can improve on the main gameplay, I have some fun ideas that will be fleshed out in another article: How to Breathe New Life into the Pokémon Franchise. That article will be dedicated to explaining what those changes are, why I want them, and how they can improve future games.

[watersbound]

LUNA  LOVEGOOD  /  001  .  if  not  always  in  the  way  you  expect  !

triggers  ;  insects  /  spiders  ,  mild  mentions  of  hunger  ,   mentioned  ;  ginny  weasley  .

 perhaps  she  wandered  on  purpose  ,  but  perhaps  not  exactly  .  perhaps  it  was  the  same  tendency  of  people  in  this  little  town  to  disappear  .  perhaps  a  sort  of  magic  crept  into  her  body  from  her  toes  ,  and  brought  her  here.  that  would  be  silly.

 with  no  shoes  or  direction  she  dipped  into  the  shade.  gently  she  moved  leaves  ,  so  not  to  disturb  them.  she  stepped  over  branches  ,  so  not  to  break  them.  it  feels  as  though  she  should  be  worried  that  she  was  getting  so  far  out  ,  but  did  not  have  so  much  as  a  satchel  with  her  ,  nor  any  markers  to  find  her  way  back.  she  isn’t.

 there  isn’t  much  that  she  eats  ,  for  she’s  ever  so  distracted  by  the  world  around  her.  the  colors  of  the  earth  ,  the  sounds  of  birds  ,  and  insects.  of  the  curiosities  and  ideas  that  float  through  her  mind  like  the  clouds  above  her  and  the  trees.  is  her  body  even  hungry  ?

 when  she  knows  ,  she  picks  the  gift  the  plants  give  her  in  the  shape  of  wild  berries.  if  you  ask  luna  ,  the  gooseberries  are  best.  the  taste  of  them  lingers  on  her  tongue  for  many  minutes  ,  after.

 for  luna  ,  it’s  easy  to  make  friends  with  animals.  and  oh  ,  she  makes  so  many.  they  are  drawn  to  her  as  she  is  to  them.  she  is  approached  by  a  deer  and  she  asks  him  what  he’s  thinking.  she  sees  a  pond  and  waves  at  the  tadpoles.  she  adorns  three  butterflies  at  the  same  time  ,  and  she  is  sure  to  stay  perfectly  still.

 as  the  evening  hours  approach  ,  when  her  fingers  slip  into  the  pockets  of  her  overalls  ,  they  happen  upon  magic.  they’ve  become  cold  ,  you  see  ,  her  hands  have.  when  did  the  cool  air  sneak  up  on  her?  but  as  they  bury  themselves  into  cool  jean  ,  but  soft  from  years  of  washes  ,  there  are  sandwich  baggies.

 seeds  and  millet  ,  for  the  birds  she  meant  to  feed  this  morning.  a  granola  bar  ,  for  if  she  stayed  at  the  river  longer  than  normal.  oh  goodness  ,  she  forgot  to  go  to  the  river.  her  lips  form  a  laugh.  she  sits  on  some  leaves  on  the  ground.  hopefully  the  swans  are  all  right.  if  they  can  survive  the  weather  of  twinrivers  ,  they  can  survive  nine  days  without  luna  too.

 she  saves  the  baggies  for  later  ,  in  case  she’s  in  the  woods  for  awhile.  is  nine  days  awhile  ?  well  ,  time  is  quite  subjective  she  supposed.  and  truly  ,  the  days  don’t  feel  like  days  .  and  after  all  ,  she  likes  the  gooseberries  just  fine.  and  she  likes  the  woods.

 she  lies  on  the  ground  and  her  hair  is  in  the  dirt.  she  looks  at  the  moon  and  thinks  of  ginny.  the  warmth  in  her  cheeks  when  she  shared  with  her  ,  just  how  she  felt.  the  warmth  in  her  chest  ,  when  she  learned  they  were  reciprocated.  she  presses  her  palms  to  the  earth.  she  swallows  spiders  ,  accidentally.

 luna  doesn’t  feel  sad  anymore.  of  course  that  was  her  very  first  response  ,  when  ginny  broke  up  with  her  ,  both  because  she  felt  terrible  for  not  being  enough  ,  and  because  she  felt  terrible  seeing  ginny  so  torn.  with  her  head  in  the  clouds  ,  she  doesn’t  notice  things  sometimes.  but  generally  ,  she’s  just  noticing  other  things  just  as  beautiful.

 she’s  happy  ,  really.  before  she  went  far  from  a  cell  phone  signal  ,  ginny  assured  luna  she  was  still  her  best  friend.  that  would  do  ,  whatever  made  her  love  happy.

 and  her  friends  were  still  her  friends.  she  wasn’t  alone  ,  not  really.  not  anymore  ,  anyway.  she  managed  to  wiggle  her  brain  out  from  its  dark  place  by  being  out  here  for  nine  days.  in  the  morning  the  sun  shined  on  her  mind  through  her  ear  ,  making  it  all  a  bit  more  true  for  her.  she  loved  little  happenstances.  they  felt  like  a  magic  of  its  own  kind.

 a  few  days  in  isolation  after  that  day  ginny  broke  up  with  her  ,  she  was  in  her  cottage  then.  only  stepping  out  to  visit  her  garden  or  the  sunset.  nine  days  spent  out  here  in  the  woods  (the  outskirts  ,  some  said  ;  she  found  the  name  a  bit  chilling  to  be  honest)  ,  she  was  far  from  isolated  even  though  she  was  far  from  any  people.

 if  you  ask  luna  today  ,  she  would  not  recall  precise  events  that  transpired  out  in  the  woods  .  how  she  managed  to  emerge  seemingly  unscathed  ,  her  skin  completely  free  of  scratches  or  bites  ,  and  her  hair  flat  with  only  a  few  leaves  with  spider  eggs  ,  tucked  between  soft  strands.  her  aura  ,  more  cheerful  than  it  has  been  in  awhile.

 how  did  she  manage  to  find  her  way  back  ,  after  nine  days  ?  how  did  she  know  ,  aloof  as  she  is?  how  did  she  not  go  hungry  ,  or  mad  ?  she’s  rejuvenated  ,  now.  she  doesn’t  remember  and  that’s  okay.

 she  smiles  and  speaks.  pleasant  ,  calm  as  always  .  there’s  no  hoarseness  to  her  voice  ,  because  luna  likes  to  talk  to  herself  and  well  ,  she  had  a  lot  of  time  to  do  that  in  the  woods.

 “hello,”  she  says  to  one  patch  of  her  many  patch  of  plants  ,  as  she  traces  her  finger  over  the  moss  covering  a  nearby  tree.  “i’m  back  from  the  woods.”

[vminity21]

Harvest Moon | ksj, kth [Sneak Peek]

Pairing: VeggieFarmer!Seokjin x Farmer!Reader, Florist!Taehyung x Farmer!Reader, farmer!au 

Word Count: 2.5k (currently)

Genre: romance/angst/fluff/potential smut

Warning(s): language, mention of death, potential smut

Summary: When your father’s death leads to you taking over his farm, you never dreamed of returning to the place you once called home. With doubts lingering on if you can accomplish such a goal of replenishing his farm, your best friend Kim Seokjin begs to differ, encouraging you with the reminder of how you helped mold and shape the island of happiness where he resides. Upon arrival of the town, you meet a mysterious florist who beckons your heart with every flower petal blooming across your heart amongst many other available, yet dashing bachelors. Alas, your heart is deeply conflicted for you still hold love for the man you left behind. Whomever will you choose?

Trampled grounds provide sporadic patches of grass along the land where numerous trees keep their distance on either side of the widened path. Brown dust springs underneath trotting hoof beats; the creaky carriage follows behind the pale, white coat of your horse who keeps his gaze ahead while your grip tightens nervously on the reigns. Your father left you his farm- one that has not been effectively used since he was moved into a hospital that is days away from the destination you are currently heading. It was hard enough to accept the day of his passing, but the locket panging against your chest leaves the reminder that he will always be with you no matter where you are.

The farm was just a placeholder until you could venture elsewhere, raising your horse, Prancer, that was gifted to you as a colt by your best friend, Kim Seokjin. He stayed behind in the small island that you helped revive, tending to his crops while he traveled for his job, and knowing your love for animals, he brought home Prancer in hopes of lifting your spirits to take your mind off your father who was battling a sickness that ultimately took his life. Seokjin was also aware of the ponders involving your mother whom you never knew, yet the wonderment on whether she still exists upon the earth or within the heavens swarms you every day. Father never seemed to talk about her very much, and whenever you pressed him, he would shut the subject down leaving you just as confused as you were prior. Eventually, you dropped the topic and focused on the relationship with your father which brought the pair of you closer, and you could not have been more grateful for that.

A random sign off the open trail floods your vision to show you are going the right direction. Slightly crinkled letters are pinned by the bottom of your thigh to prevent them from flying in the wind- one written as a farewell from Seokjin, the other the final letter your father ever wrote to you. Tears blur your sight sparking a mild burn to your nose- your heart is heavy because you miss them, and the doubt of bringing your father’s farm back to life terrifies you, yet you want to honor him- make him just as proud of you as he was when he was alive.

“Are you sure about this?” Seokjin’s voice etched into your memory, him hooking the cart to Prancer’s saddle before patting the horse’s shoulder where the animal reacts with the panniculus shiver of its skin. Flies buzzed in the glee of the warm weather, you swatted one away from your face, trying to suppress the budding anxiety formed beneath your chest.

“I think so,” you murmured, fighting the urge to cry before folding your arms across your chest. A dull floral handkerchief is tied into your hair, matching the orange-tinged plaid splayed upon the material of your dress where red stockings parade your legs that complement the musty, brown of your laced boots. A red vest tied in with a belt strapped around your waist put a finishing touch on the outfit- an outfit you threw together with the intention of putting on a good impression for the townspeople you would be re-introducing yourself to after all this time.

“Hey,” the tenderness of your best friend’s voice echoed, and you met his eyes with evident doubt on whether you were making the right decision. “You’re going to be great.”

“How do you know?”

He rested his hands on your shoulders, gently squeezing while he never broke eye contact, “The people here will never forget the hard work you put in to bring it all back to what it used to be. I will never forget. If you can revive an entire island, design a bridge as well as countless boats to be able to travel to the countryside, raise a horse, tend to my crops, and God knows what else you can do; then, I know you can replenish your father’s farm.”

Seokjin was right despite your disbelief, but when you have a goal, you were trained to accomplish it. “I’m scared,” you confessed, Seokjin sighing understandably as he pulled you to his chest. The feel of his arms encompassing your frame brought a comfort you know you will wish for while being away; you buried your tears into his flannel, the tip of his chin rested on the side of your forehead as he swallowed the lump in his throat, sadness brimming his eyes that he squeezed shut. Seokjin took you in when you had nowhere else to go; in the desperation of moving six years ago when you were eighteen, he discovered you exhaustingly fighting your fluttered eyelids within a café you chose to rest after engulfing a bowl of spaghetti. The conversation led to a prominent connection that developed into a friendship you had always dreamed of. With how hard you worked growing up on your father’s farm which felt like a lifetime ago, you only had known the townspeople enough to help provide for the land more so than building friendships, but maybe for once, this could be a change? And, maybe the same people aren’t there anymore? Maybe it will be a difference in scenery compared to when you were younger? Maybe the nostalgia would be good for you?

There are repressed feelings you may have had for Seokjin that you never put into words, but when he held you, you knew you wanted a goodbye that was more meaningful to both of you. Or, what you hoped would be for him just as much as you. His arms loosened just a mere fraction, your hands gracefully moving to the collar of his shirt, though you were paused with ajar lips as your breathing slowed. His eyes enlarged when he realized there was some form of contemplation hidden in your expression, and when he noticed how close you were, he bowed his head enough, timidly wondering if you both were on the same page. You hadn’t taken your eyes off him, absorbing anything and everything of him as much as you could with the fear of not knowing when you would get to see him again depending on what would be demanded of his job.

“Jin,” you whispered, your eyes flitted to his lips, feeling your heart ramming along your ribcage. If he rejected this then you knew it was not meant for you to express your heart the way you longed to for six years; you had not wanted this yearning to be considered as something that was too late, but something that could be reminisced upon as something good. Something that defined the love the two of you had for each other even if it was not seen as more than a friendship. “I don’t- I don’t want to lose you-”

“You’re not,” he panicked, bringing your gaze back to his, “You’re not. I will write to you as often as I can. I promise you; this will not be the last time we see each other; if I have to borrow a boat, or a horse, or both, you bet I’m going to visit.”

The rise of a small smile filled your mouth at his words because you knew he meant them. “I’ll miss you,” you breathed, your forehead leaning into the crook of his neck.

“I’ll miss you more,” the pair of you remained embraced with the seeping reality that tomorrow would never be the same, and stepping into this new normal meant being apart which neither of you was honestly ready for, but you knew your duty was to create a new life in what your father left for you, and deep down you knew Seokjin wanted you to do the right thing. Bravery painted its part on your soul sparking the subtle gesture of you pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He hardly pulled away- only enough to read your eyes that glimmered with prominent adoration which mirrored the exact way he felt about you. 

And, that was the answer you needed when his palm cupped your cheek instantaneously to the way his soft kiss covered yours almost urgently. You knew you were in love with him, and that you always will be, but timing may not have been on your side as you so pleaded. Seokjin tasted the salt from the tears that dripped upon your cheeks, tearing his heart in every direction for if he could take the pain away from all that you had been through, he would. He remembered the day you first were read the will, and there you were two years later, finally making the decision that Seokjin knows will change your life for the better. If only, he could find a way to live that dream with you, he would go to the ends of the earth.

His hands glided to your waist, fingers tightened piningly for you to stay, but he did not voice it because he refused to put himself before you. The kiss slowed in a loving pace where your mind soared beyond the clouds, not wanting to find the will to stop. The moment was real. And, it was beautiful. Your hands remained on his chest, dazed eyes connected when you inched away, hearts pounded in unison, and neither of you spoke, just stared in blatant awe. That was when he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket, a letter you have not read yet, but intend to do when finally settled into your soon-to-be home. The cool air had brushed your face reminding of the dried trails left behind from when you cried, and at the splash of a tear hitting Seokjin’s cheek, you dried it, your thumb remained, steadily reaching to place one more lingering kiss, “It’s always been you, Jin.”

You broke down when you found your place on the carriage, commanding Prancer to march, repudiating to look back because if you would have seen a man almost brought to his knees in the heavy brink of heartbreak, you would have never left. Mind spinning with the feel of Seokjin’s kiss, there has been one too many times that you almost turned the cart around to rush back into his arms and forget about the farm waiting beyond the horizon, but the remembrance of your father must live on, and rebuilding what he once created may bring you the extent of peace that you need.

The moon dims into a shade of darkened orange prompting the start of finding a vacant area of rest off the side of the dirt road. Your father taught you all you needed to know which ignites a tiny giggle at the memories of unintentionally impressing Seokjin with the skills you happened to already know. A break in a patch of trees enters your vision and you click your tongue multiple times to signal Prancer to ease his steps, and with the reigns, you direct him into the space. Owls hoot in the distance mingled with the chirps of crickets and the ribbiting of frogs, and body aching, you stiffly stand before hopping down, gathering the letters and gripping them between your fingers. If only you thought to sew pockets into this dress.

The mayor’s wife who used to babysit you from time to time when your father traveled happened to teach you to sew, and when it became what you argued to be a healthy addiction, you eventually filled your closet with new designs until you grew out of them- inspiring you to create more and more as time flew by. Opening the carriage, you lay the letters upon the comfy seat of where you originally plan to sleep, but you move to unhook Prancer from the cart, scanning the grounds for any sticks or debris. The crackle of a mini bonfire is an idea that forms, and once you collect the materials needed, you fester a fire, waving your hands near the smoke while Prancer lazily gapes from a distance.

It is comforting. Nature encircling the atmosphere with a serenity that sweeps your heart, and the stars glowing above in the vast shade of darkness remind you to count them, helping you slip into slumber before the random snap of twig perks your eardrums prompting your eyes to fly open.

‘Shh you idiot, you can’t let her see you yet!’ ‘Oh! Calm your horses, Guppy, I’m pretty sure she didn’t hear me now shut up-’ ‘Guys, seriously, we need to make our presence known without scaring the daylights out of her, now where’s Taze?’ ‘Probably out looking for Harvest Goddess, who else?’

Heart increasing in pace, you swallow the dry taste in your mouth while the squeaky voices rumble in rustling bushes, nowhere to be seen. Tempting to speak, your fingers dig into the ground, wondering when the steps of the intruders will end, but they continue their bickering. Furrowed eyebrows, you raise slowly to your feet; you never imagined ever needing a weapon, but laying nestled in your carriage is nothing other than a pocket knife that you now want to kick yourself for not keeping with you. Carefully, you press your booted feet along the grass as lightly as you can without causing the sound of a crunch, and with gritted teeth, you determined to discover what lies beyond the brush, your hands bundle into the skirt of your dress in a tense cling.

‘Oh no! She’s coming- Look what you did!’ “Me!? I didn’t do anything!’ ‘Oh yes you did, you shouldn’t have worn those new shoes LenLen, I told you they were too loud!’ ‘Just because they have sparkles on them does not make them loud! AH-’

Frozen, your eyes panic when the rattling leaves of the bush upsurges to gush out a miniature being who stumbles uncontrollably trying to gather its bearings. Gasping, you stare in awe at the tiny frame clothed in purple where dark strands braided into pigtails poke past elf-like ears from a hat embellishing her small head. Tilting in confusion, you have never seen anything like this before, and the sight leaves you speechless as her dizzy countenance and frantic eyes finally calm to where multiple of you becomes one.

“AH!” She screams, throwing her arms in front of her face, rigid in apparent fear. “Please don’t hurt me for waking you up! I- I didn’t mean to!”

Fingers untightening from the hold you have on your dress, you cautiously crouch to more of the being’s level, tainted nerves still evident in your expression, you are, rather, relieved that this little girl is the definition of harmless. “I’m not going to hurt you,” you promise, reaching tender fingers to tug her arms from her rosy face, “My name is [Y/N], by the way.” Eyeing you, the, what you assume is an elf, relaxes- looking at you fully while her lips scrunch shyly.

“I’m- I’m LenLen. I’m one of the Harvest Sprites assigned to watch over you.”

Harvest Sprite.

The sharp leap of your heart halts you in your tracts. Harvest Sprite? You have heard of the stories involving Harvest Sprites when you were a kid, yet you always associated them with nothing more than a

myth. 

“You’re real?”

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ @sasuhinabigflash2020​​ || Day Twenty-Six: Starry Nights ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Fugaku ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: When Dead Walk ] [ AO3 Link ]

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One thing he’s noticed since this all started...is just how many stars there are in the sky. For most of his life, Sasuke lived in the big city. Sure, a bit out in the suburbs and a more residential area, but there was still enough light pollution to leave little to no starlight. He knew far more about the glow of street lamps, windows, and signs than constellations.

But that changed when the rumors began, and his family acted quicker than most. Though, in all honesty, they were more prepared than most, too.

People started getting...sick. At first, the ever-logical and practical nation of Japan kept everyone calm. But even with their careful management and focus in science...they could not stop the plague that had begun sneaking its way through humanity.

Within weeks, a full-blown zombie outbreak had consumed the island nation...as well as all others. Cities were overrun, panicked people swallowed up in waves. Tiny pockets of survivors were all that was left, facing a new, horrendously hostile world.

But the Uchiha had taken the warning and run with it. Fugaku’s parents, though passed, had left him their rural home in some foothills. Though no longer fully functioning, it had been a farm at one point. And at the first sign of trouble, the head of the family had packed up his family, and his wife’s, and moved the lot of them out into the country.

It was an..adjustment for them all, but the man insisted on taking no chances. His sons and nephew alongside him, he started fixing the place up and reclaiming it from the growth that had tried to consume it. It wasn’t easy, and beyond a few long-past Summers spent at the farm when they were young, none of them had much practice in the art.

But they kept on, only fueled on as the radio (there was no television there) kept relaying more and more worrying tales from the city they’d left behind.

There was no going back.

And then...the radio waves went dead. The cars that had been fleeing past the property stopped coming. And an eerie silence seemed to fall over the world.

That was about a month ago. And so far?

Nothing.

It’s almost...peaceful. And yet all of them realize just how isolating it all is. How...unnatural. Unnerving. But so far, they’re doing all right. The weather has been mild, the work difficult but rewarding. Things are just about up to snuff, now.

But there’s no telling what time will bring. Winter isn’t far off, and they won’t go unnoticed forever, no matter how well-hidden they feel they are.

Which is why gardening and home repair isn’t all Fugaku has been teaching them.

Being a relic from a time long past, the house is full of secrets. Shisui is given an old tantō. Itachi takes a katana. And Sasuke?

“...a bow?”

“Silent, and at a distance,” his father replies sagely, ignoring the boy’s look of disappointment. “A blade means being close enough to be in danger from an enemy like what you will face. But this? This will leave you unheard, and unseen. Your cousin and brother will not have that advantage.”

But Sasuke is still discouraged. It seems so much less...cool to have a bow than a sword. He’s not scared of the undead ones! Practicing nonetheless, he still can’t help but begrudge every shot he makes, even the good ones.

Once he’s good enough? He decides to give himself a little test.

There haven’t been any undead spotted near the farm, yet. But the further out you go, the better your odds of finding one...or many. Packing up for a journey, Sasuke decides it’s high time he killed his first undead one.

Then maybe he can have a blade, too.

He slips away when scheduled to be doing a solo chore, no one around to spot him. Armed and supplied, he heads east toward town. Hours pass with nothing to show for, and by the time Sasuke’s frustration level gets high enough, it’s getting late.

Later than he planned.

Sun sinking as he swears at the empty expanse around him, Sasuke realizes that it’s going to be dark by the time he gets back. Not only will he have to make his way home at night, but he’s going to be in an unholy amount of trouble.

But before his frustration can rise any higher, a cry sounds to his left that chills his bones. It sounds like...a woman? A shrill, panicked screech that makes it abundantly clear that she’s in danger.

Exactly what he’s been waiting for.

The first stars begin to peek through the sky as he tears through the undergrowth, clinging to his drawn and strung bow. The cries have been intermittent, but enough to follow. Hopefully he gets there in time…

Breaking through a treeline to a road, he skids to a stop. Seems his path was off - he wasn’t expecting to hit it so fast. Puffing for air, he scans the darkening environment.

...there!

As he watches, a woman wrenches open the door of an abandoned car, pulling it shut just as a gang of zombies descends upon it. Moans and shrieks sound alongside thumps against the metal frame.

This is it…! Ducking behind another car, Sasuke squints in the twilight. He better make this quick, or it’ll be too dark to see. Nocking an arrow, he stands long enough to line up his shot and let it fly.

With a dull thwack, it lands its mark, and one of them falls. The rest pay it no mind, too focused on the prey trapped in the car.

Another shot, another downed zombie. Then a miss as the bolt instead buries in a shoulder, followed by a kill shot.

In the car, the woman seems to finally notice the thinning of her pursuers, struggling to see where the heroism is coming from.

And by then, Sasuke manages one last shot...and the now-empty street goes unnervingly quiet until the creak of the car door sounds. Shaking like a leaf, a young woman steps out, looking all manner of rough. “H...hello…?”

Sure the coast is clear, Sasuke steps out. “...hey.”

She gawks at him as though he’s some kind of ghost. “You…? How did you -?”

Approaching to grab any arrows left undamaged, Sasuke starts retrieving them and cleaning them off on the undead’s clothes. “Bow and arrows. Silent, and distant.”

...maybe his father had a point.

“That’s amazing…! Oh...f-forgive me, I -. My name is...is Hyūga Hinata. Thank you, for...for saving my life.”

“Uchiha Sasuke,” he replies bluntly. “Are you alone?”

“I -?” At that, she wilts. “...yes. My family and I, we...we fled a few weeks ago. Tried to outrun them, but...we were overrun by a hoard a f-few miles from here. We scattered, I…” Tears build in her eyes. “I d-don’t know if...if anyone else s-survived.”

Sasuke can’t help a small wilt of sympathy. “...well...we can’t look for them in the dark. You’re welcome to come back with me - I know someplace safe. Are you sure there’s no more of those things?”

“I have n-no idea. I just...I just ran…”

“...well, I don’t hear any. Let’s go.” Hefting his things, Sasuke leads the way back down the road - it’ll be faster than fighting through the trees in the dark. Stars shimmer overhead, a nearly-full moon helping to light their way.

Neither of them attempt any small talk. Hinata, clearly too shaken, has no intention of bothering the one person currently keeping her alive.

It’s only once they reach the farm that things get...loud.

Fugaku stalks along the front of the house, looking up as they approach. “...where have you been?”

“I didn’t -!”

“I asked...where. Have. You. Been?” There’s venom in his voice, clearly furious but trying to bite it down.

So, Sasuke tries the truth.

“...practicing.”

“Without telling anyone where you were going or why?”

“I knew you’d stop me.”

“And for good reason!” His tone jumps in volume. “You could have been killed, and we would be none the wiser!”

“If I hadn’t gone out, she would have been!” Sasuke counters, gesturing to Hinata.

Fugaku glances to her as though only just noticing her. “...who are you?”

“H...Hyūga Hinata, sir.”

A harsh breath exhales through the man’s nose. “...what happened?”

“My...my family was on the run. We stopped to camp, and...were ambushed. We fled, got s-separated. I was being chased, and...Uchiha-san saved me. He -? He must be your...your son?”

“...my fool of a son, yes,” Fugaku mutters in reply. “...it was truly him who saved you?”

“Yes...he k-killed the group of undead chasing me. They never even saw him. It was like...those old tales of a ninja. If it weren’t for him...I’d be trapped in that car until I…”

Fugaku watches her, and then sighs. “...both of you, get inside. We can search for your family come morning. But until then, no one leaves the house.” He gives a pointed look to Sasuke before turning and retreating inside.

Sasuke’s head bows before glancing to Hinata, who looks to him in turn. “...my father, Fugaku,” he then offers flatly.

“You...have family here?”

“Mm. Mother, brother, cousin, and aunt. We all fled together over a month ago. This land was my grandfather’s. Never thought we’d need it, let alone like...this.”

“...I’m glad you have it,” is her soft reply, following as he moves through the door and leads her to a spare room. “I...I owe you my life.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sasuke insists. “Just...get some rest. We’ll look for the others once it’s light out.”

She hugs herself. “...I doubt I’ll sleep.”

“Then just lie down. Any bit will help. Until then, there’s nothing else we can do.”

Expression sobering, Hinata merely nods, letting him close the door with a soft, “Goodnight…”

Once it clicks shut, Sasuke stands for a moment, thinking...before retreating to his own room.

Maybe he should break the rules more often.

     This is...really random, but it’s the first thing that came to mind. Also far longer (and later OTL) than I intended. Not gonna get these done any faster if I keep making them too long kjdfhgjfg      ANYWAY, random zombie verse stuff. I dunno. Feels kinda flat to me but I’m worn out from a long couple of days. Hopefully it’s better than I feel it is :’D Either way though, thanks for reading! Just five more to go until I finally catch up and finish this thing, lol

[maluminspace]

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Calum Hood/Michael Clifford

Word Count: 3.4k

Requested: @calumsmermaid​

A thought: Professors!Malum are supervising the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, reminiscing on all the dates they had there when they were each a young Ravenclaw (Mike) and Puff (Cal). Also some pining because after a couple years of teaching old sparks are starting to reignite but neither of them have said anything about it. 🥺 

Includes: Pining, mutual pining, mild sexual content

A/N: This was a really great request, Lauren. I enjoyed writing it so much! I hope you like it :)

***

Autumn was in full swing. The large trees lining the path between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade were already filled with leaves made up of a multitude of different rich red and gold colours. As Calum walked amongst them, he admired the way they drifted away from their branches and swirled around him in the light breeze. 

The Charms professor always enjoyed supervising these weekend trips, but today felt extra special somehow. That was partly down to the perfect fall weather. After all, the way that the weak morning sunshine filtered through the branches, scattering pretty shadows across the leaf-strewn ground made for a very pretty view. Laughter filling the air around him and the carefree chatter of students enjoying a rare taste of freedom from school, also added to Calum’s particularly good mood. 

As much as all of those things lifted his spirits, Calum had to admit that none of the were the main reason for the smile that seemed to have unconsciously graced his face. No, the key factor in that was walking alongside him, rambling passionately about how his new lesson plans were proving to be a success. 

“...And I’m just really excited to see how my new fifth year students react with the thestrals.” Michael grinned, “I know it must be weird for the ones that can’t see them but it’ll be interesting to see!”

Calum sort of hated himself for not having listened properly to his colleague. He’d been too busy daydreaming. It wasn’t because he was bored, he just couldn’t help remembering his own time as a student. He’d been an eager young Hufflepuff back then, ready to take on the world. There’d been times that he’d felt invincible, like nothing could ever stop him from achieving whatever goals he set for himself. One of those times was during his final two years as a Hogwarts student. Those were the years that he’d been lucky enough to call Michael, the cheeky Ravenclaw he’d been in love with since his first day of school, his boyfriend. 

“Sorry, I’m rambling.” The blonde man mumbles, awkwardly pulling his robes a little tighter around his waist. 

Things had been getting a little tense between the two of them lately. It’s been two years since they’d both come back to Hogwarts as professors of their favourite subjects. It’d been strange at first, having not seen each other for years prior to the welcome dinner on that first night of school. Their break up at the end of their 7th year had been emotional to say the least. Neither of them had really wanted to seperate but the career paths they’d chosen were very different at the time. Michael had wanted to travel the world studying every magical creature known to wizarding kind, just like Newt Scamander. Calum’s dreams, on the other hand, had stretched no further than the Ministry of Magic in London. They’d discussed trying out a long distance relationship but had ultimately decided that it wasn’t fair on either of them, particularly when Michael was bound to be uncontactable for certain periods of time if he was busy tracking dangerous animals around remote parts of the planet.

To distract himself from the heartbreak, Calum had thrown himself into applying for every job vacancy that the Ministry posted. He hadn’t really cared what area of the Wizarding Government he worked in and had initially been over the moon when he landed a position in the 

Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He’d worked in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad for three years before the current head of Hogwarts had approached him to offer him the job of Charms Professor. Despite loving his job in the ministry, he couldn’t very well pass up such a rare opportunity and he’d found out later that Michael had a very similar story regarding his appointment as Care of Magical Creatures Professor that same year. 

It kind of felt like fate had thrown them back together, somehow. Two vacancies becoming available at Hogwarts in one year was very rare in itself, so the odds of them being for the two subjects that Michael and Calum specialised in was, at best, extremely improbable.

“Don’t be sorry.” Calum replied, a soft smile curling the corners of his lips. “I’m really happy that your new lesson plans are working out so well.”

“But you wish I’d talk about something else.” Michael giggled, his eyes scrunching in the corners adorably. “You don’t change, Hood. You still have that glazed over look in your eye when you get bored of a conversation. You can’t lie to me.” His tone is undeniably fond as he bumps Calum’s shoulder playfully with his own. 

Calum scoffs. “It’s Professor Hood now, actually. Besides, I’d never dream of even trying to lie to you! You know me too well.”

His words were completely true. He couldn’t really think of another person on earth that knows him as well as Michael does. Despite the years they’d spent apart, the two of them still shared a seemingly indestructible bond. In fact, it was becoming harder and harder for Calum to deny that his old feelings were resurfacing with a vengeance. Michael hadn’t really changed a lot, he was still kind, loving, funny and not to mention that he’d actually gotten even more beautiful since their years as students.

“That’s true.” Michael beamed, watching Calum with those pretty green eyes that constantly seemed to have mischievous glint in them. “So are you going to tell me what you were thinking about whilst I was rambling about my students and animals?”

A slight blush coloured Calum’s cheeks as he shrugged. There was no point in denying that his mind had wondered, but he didn’t want to be too honest about the thoughts that had been fogging his mind “This just brings back some nice memories I guess.” He replied, gesturing to the little knot of buildings looming ever larger ahead of them. “We used to love our Hogsmeade dates, didn’t we?”

Michael’s expression became an odd mix of fondness and sadness. Calum was also sure that there was a hint of longining in the blonde’s eyes, but he didn’t want to kid himself into thinking that Michael still cared for him in the same way he had done back then. “We did.” The former-Ravenclaw sighed. “Remember the time we tried to sneak off into the woods to make out?”

Calum laughed at the memory as he nodded. “We got detention for like a week…” He recalled fondly. 

“Yeah…” Michael muttered, his cheeks slowly heating up to match the pinkness of Calum’s. “We never did finish cleaning all of those potion bottles, huh?”

The Charms professor giggled cheekily, resisting the urge to say anything that might alert Michael to the fact that he missed those times more than he could ever say. “Do you think our professor ever realised what we were really doing in those store cupboards?”

Michael’s blush deepened even further, his gaze focused straight ahead where most of their students were starting filter off in different directions as they reached the edge of the village. “I think we’d have gotten into even bigger trouble, if they had ever worked it out.”

There was no doubt about that. Calum had often wondered just how badly they’d have been punished if a professor had walked in to check up on them, only to find Michael pinned against the shelves with Calum pressed against him, their hands tucked down each other’s trousers as they panted into desperate kisses. He had to try hard to shake that thought from his head before speaking again. “Yeah, you’re right there…”

A slightly uneasy silence settled over them as they reached the edge of Hogsmeade. Calum couldn’t help hoping that Michael was thinking about one of their intimate moments as well. There really was something rather nostalgic about taking this walk together and he wasn’t sure just how much longer he could pretend that he only wanted to be Michael’s friend.

“We used to go to Zonko’s first, every time we came here, do you remember?” Michael asked, pointing down the high street towards the magical joke shop. “We must have spent a small fortune in that shop over the years.” 

“Yeah, we must have.” Calum agreed. “Shall we go and see if it’s changed much?” 

Michael nodded enthusiastically, walking with a little added spring in his step as he made his way through the crowds. It really did feel as though the Charms Professor had been transported back in time, watching his excitable sixteen-year-old boyfriend weaving through the masses of wizards littering the street to get to the joke shop. 

When the blonde man came to a stop outside of Zonko’s to take a look at the magical window display, Calum almost bumped into him, but just about managed to avoid a collision. They stood side by side for a long moment, giggling at the display of nose biting teacups as they repeatedly attacked a moving manikin. Realising just how close he was standing to his fellow professor, Calum felt his fingers twitch towards the back of Michael’s hand, almost of their own accord. When they finally made contact with the blonde’s cool skin, Calum had to suppress a gasp as a familiar sensation, similar to a jolt of electricity shot up his arms, causing his pulse to race in his chest. Judging by the startled look on Michael’s face as they met each other’s gaze in the reflection in the window, the Care of Magical Creatures professor experienced an identical shock. 

Michael glanced around at the crowd of students as though he was worried they’d have noticed something happening between their professors. “Shall we go somewhere a bit quieter?” He asked, a shy quality to his voice. 

Calum nodded, even though he was sure he was about to be subjected to a tedious conversation about how the two of them can never be more than friends ever again. He allowed Michael to lead them off the high street into a slightly less busy one. It didn’t take long for the marginally younger man to work out where they were headed. He decided against saying anything out loud, but his suspicions are confirmed when the garish pink exterior of Madam Poodifoot’s Tea Room looms into view just ahead of them. The tiny cafe had never been that popular with Hogwarts students due to its old fashioned decor and the distinct lack of butterbeer sold there. Calum’s always quite liked it though. He and Michael used to snuggle up together at a table near the window, drinking hot chocolate and chatting for hours, comparing their purchases from Zonko’s, Honeydukes and Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. 

The familiar tinkle of the bell above the door announced their arrival as Michael swung open the old pink wooden door. Unsurprisingly, the tea room was fairly empty. The elderly waitress that Calum recognised from back in his school days, looked up from a teacup he was drying and smiled at them brightly. “Hello boys.” She beamed. “Haven’t seen you two in a long time. Don’t you both teach at Hogwarts now?”

“You remember us?” Calum asked, shocked by this revelation. 

The waitress nodded. “I never forget a face, dear.” She stated plainly. “Your old table is available, if you want to take a seat, I’ll bring you a menu over.”

Calum had already made a few steps towards the table when he realised Michael wasn’t following him.

“Thanks, but I don’t think we need a menu.” The slightly older man said, causing Calum to turn around to face him again. “We’ll just have our usual won’t we, jellybean?”

Calum was caught off guard by the use of his old pet name. Michael had fondly given it to him on their first ‘date’. They’d sat by the Black Lake with some snacks and Calum had brought along a few muggle treats that he thought Michael would enjoy, having had very little experience outside of the wizarding world. He’d particularly enjoyed the jellybeans, giggling that their name was funny and cute, just like Calum. 

The two men locked eyes, unsure of what to say now that Michael had, seemingly by accident, thrown their whole equilibrium off. 

The blonde man looked seconds away from a breakdown as he opened his mouth, presumably to apologise. 

Calum couldn’t bear the thought of Michael saying sorry for using a pet name he’d loved so much. In a split second decision he held his hand out to Michael and smiled, albeit shakily. “Of course, pumpkin.” He replied before forcing himself to look over at the waitress. “Two hot chocolates, please, with extra whipped cream and sprinkles.” He ordered, trying to keep his voice even as Michael took his outstretched hand. 

The elderly lady smiled almost knowingly before bustling off behind the counter to fix their drinks.

Calum still felt kind of shell shocked but having Michael’s hand in his again felt so right. He led the way over to the table by the window that they always used to claim as theirs, his heart thudding in his chest like a bass drum. 

“Cal.” Michael whispered when they reached the table and the younger man reluctantly let go of his hand so that they could sit down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t apologise.” Calum shrugged, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “I’ve always loved when you called me that.”

For  a moment it seemed as though Michael might continue trying to apologise. He still looked a little embarrassed and Calum hated that. “I just… Well it kind of slipped out, I guess this place sort of…”

“I know.” Calum cut him off gently, gesturing to the seat that Michael always used to occupy. “You don’t have to explain to me, Mikey.”

The Charms teacher’s words didn’t seem to have the soothing effect that he’d hoped they would. Michael continued to give off an air of anticipation and anxiety as he took his seat and immediately started staring out of the window.

If he was going to get their comfortable atmosphere back, Calum had to act fast. He reached across the table to place his hand over Michael’s. Part of him wanted to confess that he was still in love, that his heart would probably always belong to Michael and that he could do what he pleased with it. That conversation could possibly end very badly, though, and Calum wanted to enjoy this time with Michael, even if it meant keeping his deepest secret buried forever. He couldn’t entirely change the subject, that would feel forced and he wouldn’t be able to concentrate properly anyway. Instead he found what he hoped was an acceptable and comfortable middle ground. “Remember the time that we suggested Luke bring his date here in our final year?” He asked, smiling mischievously as he recalled the disastrous afternoon. “We came in here to spy on him just in time to see him spill the tea in her lap.”

Michael laughed, his green eyes sparkling beautifully. “She called him a clumsy troll but they still ended up going on a second date.”

“Only because Ashton sent him a letter with a long list of do’s and don'ts for dating to get things back on track.” Calum replied, stroking over Michael’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

“Oh yeah!” The blonde exclaimed delightedly. “I’d forgotten about that… I swear those two made dating look like hard work. We never needed anything like that.”

It was true, of course. Dating Michael had been as easy as breathing. Every development in their relationship had felt like a natural progression and despite the odd spatt created by stress or typical teenage jealousy, their two years together were pretty damn near perfect.

“Do you still hear from Luke and Ashton much?” Calum asked, eager to keep the conversation flowing, even though the ache in his chest was starting to reach an unbearable level. 

Michael nodded, smiling faintly. “They both write to me quite a lot, Luke came to visit me over the Summer, too. Ashton said he’d try and get back to England for Christmas so we could have a meet up. Do you still talk to them?”

“Not as much as I’d like.” Calum replies, “Ashton did mention that meet up at Christmas in his last letter, though.”

Luckily the waitress chose that moment to bring over their hot chocolates, saving Calum the bother of trying to muster up another subject change. “Enjoy, my dears.” She chimed, offering them both a fond smile before heading back to her task of drying teacups.

“Wow these look just as good as I remember.” Michael beamed, taking hold of the handle of his mug with his free hand, seemingly reluctant to break contact with Calum.

Equally as disinclined to take his hand away from Michael’s, Calum lifted his own mug with his other hand. The hot chocolate tasted every bit as delicious as he remembered, the whipped cream and sprinkles on the top adding just the right amount of flavour. 

The two men were enveloped in a noticeable silence for a moment. It wasn’t exactly tense or uncomfortable but it definitely felt significant somehow. It was broken, however, when Michael lowered his mug to reveal a tiny blob of cream on the end of his nose that made Calum giggle. “You never change…” He declared delightedly, placing down his own mug so that he could reach over and wipe the little white smudge away with the tip of his thumb. “You always used to get cream on your nose when we were kids.”

Michael’s eyes sparkled with a playfulness that Calum hadn’t seen in a long time. “Yeah, but when we were kids, you wouldn’t just have wiped it off with your finger. You always used to kiss it off, remember?”

The Charms teacher gave a wistful little smile as he nodded. “Of course I remember. You always used to blush, no matter how many times I did it.”

Without uttering another word, Michael took another sip of his drink, holding Calum’s gaze over his mug the entire time. When he lowered it another globule of whipped cream was perched on the tip of his nose.

Calum rolled his eyes fondly. Of course this would be Michael’s way of trying to see whether their old spark was still there. “You did that on purpose.” He accused light heartedly. 

“Oh no… did I do it again?” Michael asked, feigning innocence. “You’re not allowed to use your hands to get it this time.”

A whole flurry of butterflies seemed to fill Calum’s tummy as he silently agreed to Michael’s only condition. He slowly leaned forwards until he was close enough to the flecks of every different shade of green in Michael’s eyes. Not wanting to turn the sweet gesture into anything more meaningful without Michael’s clear say-so, Calum simply pursed his lips and gently sucked the cream from the tip of Michael’s nose. He backed up just enough to see the familiar pink tinge appear in the blonde’s cheeks before Michael caught Calum’s face gently in one cupped hand. “You used to always give me a kiss on the lips afterwards, I’d hate for us to break tradition.” He whispered, tilting his head ever-so-slightly to create the perfect angle for kissing.

 Without hesitation, Calum closed the tiny gap between them, placing a soft gently kiss to Michael’s lips as requested. It felt even better than it used to when they were kids. Their hormonal lust and vague understanding of love had been enough back then, but they were wiser and more experienced in life now. The fact that they still felt as though they fit together perfectly, was even more significant in adulthood. 

Michael sighed blissfully as they pulled apart, giving Calum the impression that the blonde had been aching for that kiss as much as he had. “I really missed you.” Michael smiled bashfully, “I know we’ve been friends for a couple of years again now but… I still missed you.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Calum replied, stroking Michael’s cheek gently with his finger tips. “This feels like it’s how we’re meant to be, doesn’t it?”

Michael nodded, leaning into Calum’s touch. “We’ve been slow to realise it, but I know we’ll have a lot of fun making up for lost time.”

As they closed in for another kiss, Calum had absolutely no doubt that Michael was right.

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