#despair smash 2

[oliviakukka]

concept for my komaeda doll custom<3

(check out/follow my doll blog @nukkekodissa for the doll pics later ;3)

[ccellardoor]

genocide jack/syo would be perfect for smash bros thinking of ultra despair girls.  her special attack could be one of her fever moves like the barber one or the scissors ball one. her different outfits could be Komaru with her megaphone gun her special attack could be one of the other bullets you equip, her other outfits could be the warriors of hope. since all the kids deal with robots that could be their special attacks.  Kotoko’s attacks could do with her denture launcher 

while the other kids just kind of deal with robots maybe they could summon monokuma kids the last two outfits can just be Syo from trigger happy havoc

and a recolor of her design. 

[teotalksaboutstuff]

coming soon to your Nintendo Switch

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: i had a "no bald men" rule before he licked a knife... so y'all know my priorities are in order. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con (as per usual), Arranged Marriage, Reader is an Atreides (it's just such a good prompt i couldn't help myself),

Summary: A month-long engagement to the na-Baron Harkonnen makes you question, whether a marriage can bloom on the grounds of hate. Loosely based on "Special Death" by Mirah.

Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.4 (finale)

The message comes from the Emperor himself. An indisputable order that renders your Father speechless. You've never seen him quite as distraught, as when he has visited you in your chambers to deliver the news. Hands fidgeting, eyes refusing to meet yours, heavy shadows falling across his face. He seems to expect your reaction, not giving you as much as a flinch, when you scream your protests at him. And he should've expected as much, you were always the more impulsive of Duke Leto's children. 

- But the Harkonnens are beasts - you argue, voice breaking - You've said it yourself, many times.

- Actually, I think that was Gurney...

- You've never denied it!

And he doesn't deny it now, head hung low. Never, not once in your life, have you seen your Father give up. Until today. 

Your Mother enters just a few seconds after him, her dress flowing around her ankles as if she had floated in on a cloud. She stands to the side of your bed, hands folded, and an impassive expression embedded onto her features. And the more she speaks of the centuries of breeding, the importance of an union and the powers beyond your understanding, the less you see of your mother. What stands before you, instead, is a Bene Gesserit sister, veiled in schemes and dark plans, which were in the making before you were even born. You curse yourself for not noticing this stranger sooner, and storm off, out of your room, your shawl blowing out behind you like bat wings.

Paul doesn't visit you, but you can hear him, even through the effort of swallowing down your tears. He fights for you against your Father. He would fight for you against the whole Empire if he had to, and your heart swells, as he throws a particularly nasty curse into the air of your Father's study. It doesn't change anything. According to the decree of the Emperror, the oldest daughter of the Duke Leto Atreides will marry Feyd Rautha, an heir to the Baron Harkonnen. A centuries long dispute is about to be put to an end, and all thanks to the small sacrifice, which is your life. All would be well in the galaxy. Really, you should be honored, to be tasked with such a monumental peace treaty.

Everyone in the court seems to know about your situation. Mournful looks follow you, as you walk into the training barracks, ridding yourself of layers upon layers of flowing fabrics, leaving you in a rather tight costume, light enough to beat your frustrations out on someone.

Duncan Idaho meets your searching eyes, and you know he is aware as well. All it takes is one inclination of your chin, and he's up on his feet, sword in hand. Loyal as ever, he stands in front of you, watches with mixed feelings as you enable your shield, no questions asked. None needed. 

He barely has time to put his defenses up, when you charge at him, fury and despair pushing your movements into stances which are clumsy and ill though out. Still, there's power within your strikes, a strength of someone who needs to move, unless they break. So he lets you, for a couple of minutes. He dodges your attacks, pairing some of them, never moving quite into the offense.

The rest of the soldiers scurry off somewhere, for which you will be thankful in the future. They might hear your cries of anger, but they will not see you break. They will not see the way your blade smashes into Duncan's shield over and over again, with no regard for the slow attacks, which would penetrate it. Likewise, they don't see your sparring partner fall to his knees and swipe you off your feet in a split-second movement, making you hit the floor with a frustrated snarl. And they don't see you finally give up, and cry, hugging your blade to your chest, the severity of your circumstance falling onto you, crushing you down.

- Never fight in anger, Princess - Duncan reminds you, voice cautious, and you growl at him like a wild animal - It dulls your instincts, makes you distracted.

- Did you know? - you demand, your sharp voice cutting through his half-assed lecture.

For a moment he looks truly remorseful. His eyes float around the room, and your heart sinks when he sighs deeply.

- I found out not long ago - he confesses - Your Father told me. 

Your blade slides against the floor as you throw it, a raw scream tearing through your throat. Duncan takes a step towards you, hand extended towards your shaking form. But, before he can attempt to touch you, you're up, rolling your shoulders forcefully. Tears stain your cheeks, and you wipe them roughly with the back of your hand, skin becoming irritated almost instantly. There are swords laid out on a small table, just beside you,  your fingers grip the cold handle so hard, your knuckles seem to creak under the pressure. Duncan readies himself as well, dusting off his trousers. 

He's not good at comforting, but he's the best at fighting, and if that's what you need in this cold morning, he'll oblige. 

- You'll make it through, you know - he says, his voice genuine, and you laugh without any mirth.

Your blades clash, faces coming closer as you absentmindedly notice small scars adorning his cheeks.

- You can adapt to anything - you strike against his shoulder, the shield pushes your blade away - We could send you to Arrakis right now, and a week later you'd be riding a damned Sandworm into battle.

To that, you laugh, this time your smile reaching your eyes. The idea is preposterous, but it renders your footsteps lighter, and you twist to dodge a nasty blow to the right arm. Duncan huffs a laugh as well, as you slip through his fingers. He points his blade in your direction, a smirk playing across his lips, and you bare your teeth in a playful display of wildness.

- Careful, Princess, you might scare your betrothed away - Duncan teases, as you roll your dagger in your hand.

- Scare a damned Harkonnen? Do you find me that intimidating? - the idea thrills you just a little bit, you're woman enough to admit it.

- I think you're fucking terrifying.

- Duncan Idaho, you better not be swearing at my Daughter.

Your face falls immediately, as your Father approaches the two of you, shooting Duncan a stern gaze which holds no real threat. Still, your sparring partner raises his hands, his blade tucked away safely into his belt. There's sweat clinging to your skin from all the training, mingling with drying tears on your cheeks, and Duke Leto tries very hard not to comment on your choice of processing recent events. Still, he nods at you, and like a good daughter, you put your blade away, walking from the barracks after him. 

***

The Emperor has called for a traditional, Atreides engagement. A mercy, which you're eternally grateful for. You're not too aware of Harkonnen customs regarding marriage, but given the House's reputation, it couldn't have been pleasant. House Atreides however, took to such matters much more ceremonially, old-fashioned to some. 

Soon, a ship is arriving, with your betrothed onboard, and a month-long courting period willcommence. After that, official engagement and soon after, a wedding. Then, you will be transported back on Geidis Prime, where a life of misery awaits. That's all the time you have. A month.  

The dress, which was picked out for you, is uncomfortable and shows both too much and too little skin at the same time. While your legs are bare and exposed to an almost scandalous degree, a high, stiff collar nearly chokes the life out of you. This whole getup was the idea of your mother, as an attempt to highlight your best features and hide all that might be considered less desirable. 

You have no idea what's wrong with your neck. Perhaps, by cutting off your airflow, your mother aimed to keep you docile. 

She frowns deeply as you tug on the fabric, nerves climbing up your spine, growing more desperate every second. She swats at your hand, and you throw her a look. Out of the corner of your eye Paul smiles at your antics, your only consolation in this hopeless place. 

- Stop fidgeting, you'll tear the dress - Lady Jessica scolds you, and you can sense actual worry underlining her stern voice.

The Harkonnen ship slowly glides into the atmosphere of your home planet, a black, awful thing. Like all things on Geidis Prime, dark and miserable. Soon, you'll join them, adorned in equally black and lifeless clothing, never to see your family again. Never to see the Ocean. Your nails bite into the collar of the dress, you can hear a stitch tear.

- Stop that.

Your hands fall uselessly against your body, as your mother uses the Voice on you. Wouldn't be the first time, you were quite the unruly daughter and Lady Jessica was determined to make a Lady out of you no matter the means. Still, this time, the unnatural tone feels more like a panicked plea,  than a light-hearted scolding. 

- Relax Mother - your voice is sharp, despite the slight tremble - In a months time I'll be gone from here forever, stuck in some blackened cell, wistfully sighing "ooh" "aah".

You place your hand on your forehead in a dramatic display of doubtful acting abilities. When you were younger, your mother would laugh at you, as you enacted scenes from romance books. You would throw yourself at a nearby piece of furniture, pretending to be some wronged lover, or an unhappy bride waiting for someone to liberate her. And your mother would clap her hands, thoroughly entertained.

Today however, she doesn't even crack a smile.

- I don't expect you to be happy about all this - she whispers - But I do expect you to wear your grief with some grace.

A slap would've been kinder, you think, and stare ahead, as the Harkonnen ship opens, and a group of people dressed in black spill out of it like ants from a drowning anthill. Your heart is thrumming hard in your chest, and your hand reaches out, despite all your apprehension, towards your mother. A force of habit, to search consolation within her disregarding the fact, that it was her meddling that put you here. 

Her fingers lace with yours, thumb stroking your palm in an attempt to soothe you. 

Immediately, you know which one of the bald headed Harkonnen is your betrothed. 

He's much taller than you, an imposing figure even despite his rather lean built. His skin is almost completely white, as expected, his teeth are blackened out, as expected as well, and his eyes are bearing into you with an intensity so oppressing, you almost look away. Almost. 

- I present to you, Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen. 

The pale man steps forward, releasing you from his gaze for only just a moment, to trade pleasantries with your Father, who looks beyond miserable as he fixes your soon-to-be husband with a tired look. Then, Feyd Rautha is brought before you.

There's grace to his movements you did not expect, as he pushes his black cloak aside, and kneels in front of you. Harkonnen were known for their bulky ruthlessness, but this one... This one reminded you of a panther, the way his eyes travelled the length of your body, full lips pulling upward into a barely noticable smirk. 

Customs, you remind yourself, as your mother's hand squeezes your fingers. You don't want to let her go, but you do, slowly, with so many mixed thoughts rattling around your brain, it makes your head swim. 

Feyd Rautha grabs your extended hand in such a gentle manner, you're almost convinced the Harkonnens have shaved some poor bastard and dropped him off instead of the real na-Baron. Then, he lifts your palm up, until his lips press against your fingertips, a gesture so tender, your heart does a flip in your chest. And then, it stops all together, when his grip on your palm tightens, and he pulls your hand closer, to kiss it properly. As if he can't help himself, he looks up at you, and you realize. 

You almost got yourself caught, but reading people's intentions have been taught to you as fervently as reading texts, and you can see right through this facade of chivalry. There's darkness in this man, a swirling void, which brings a wave of cold fear upon you. This cunning, depraved creature will soon enough become your husband, and you'll be stuck with him forever. How long will he keep up this impeccable appearence? Was this performence for you, your Father, his own twisted fun, or all the things combined?

With a furrowed brow, you tear your hand out of his grasp, a full body shiver running up your spine at the sight of his self-satisfied smirk. He drinks up your reactions like a man parched, and you fight hard to put on a mask of indifference, as he rises from his knees to stand before you in all his imposing glory.

***

You can feel his eyes follow you, as the welcome committee retreats into the Palace. He doesn't let you out of his sight throughout the feast, which takes place immediately after his arrival, and even now, as he gets ready to "entertain" the court by indulging in some barbaric ceremony of his, his eyes are trained only on you. 

It's uncomfortable, to say the least, having him stare at you, while you sit surrounded by your family, who, for the most part, say nothing. Except Paul. Your dear baby brother, your protector in all this madness. As Feyd Rautha throws his coat to the side, showing off his (admittedly impressive) muscles, Paul leans towards you.

- He looks like a hard boiled egg, don't you think sister? - he whispers and subsequently ends your vow of silence. 

The giggle you let out is caught quickly by everyone around, your betrothed included, before you press an open palm against your lips. 

- Behave - your mother warns, and you try, you really do.

But in the serene light of the fading sun, your soon-to-be husband's head does look frighteningly egg-ish. God, you'll get yourself killed, before the wedding ceremony is even resolved if you keep this up.

You're seated high in an outdoor theater. One of your grandfather's favorite places, where he used to dance with bulls for sport. Where he met his demise.

Feyd Rautha presents his knives to you and your family, their blades glint ominously in the setting sun. Again, you are struck with the sheer grace this man exudes. His movements, despite being forceful and wild, have a beauty to them, as if he was rehearsing ancient dance moves, rather than killing blows.

And, despite your brother's earlier comment, there is something enticing in the way his pale skin catches the rays of bleeding sunshine, slowly creeping towards the horizon. He's almost beautiful, almost handsome enough to consider. 

The thought leaves your head almost immediately, as the Harkonnen servants bring in his apparent opponent. Your heart drops to your stomach at the sight of a beaten, dark skinned warrior. Immediately you recognize a Fremen, you've read so much about them in your free time. You know how they filter water, what they eat, how they move through the sands, and despite your knowledge you can't fathom, why this poor man has been brought here. 

At your side, Paul shifts in his seat, all jokes leaving him in a hurry. The both of you watch, as the man you're promised to toys with a clearly drugged victim. Slashes bloom on the prisoners skin, blood sprays in the air. You refuse to look away, to show such weakness, even as Feyd Rautha grabs the poor man by his hair and with a forceful push impales his throat on the blade. Blood pours down onto the sand, paints the Harkonnen's face and chest a deep shade of red.

It's a brutal display of power, of cruelty and wildness the Harkonnens are known for. Suddenly, everything Gurney has warned you about, while training your fighting skills, rings like a thousand of bells in your ears. This is who you will marry, who you will spend your entire life with. 

You swallow down an urge to throw up, and stand up from your seat. 

The show must go on, you think, throwing your Mother one, venomous look, trying to force her to understand your pain. Then, you lock eyes with your betrothed, who watches you from below with a cruel smile, blackened teeth on full display. You meant to congratulate him, to play the part as instructed, but you can do nothing of the sort. Instead, you stare back at him, disgust flowing from your features like a broken faucet. 

Lady Jessica opens her mouth, but before she can, without a doubt, scold you again, you're out of the seating area, your footsteps echoing in the halls. 

Once you're sufficiently tucked away from prying eyes, your back hits the wall, and you allow yourself feel the luxury of unbridled panic. Your breathing comes out in fast, shallow pants, as cold sweat forms on your forehead. Thoughts racing, your fingers tangle into your hair, tugging at the roots. This is your future, the only future waiting for you, and it's filled wth pain and blood.

- Have you enjoyed the fight, my Lady? - you immediately know it's him, despite not hearing him speak before.

A gasp of surprise leaves you before you can catch it, and your back straightens almost painfully fast. 

There he stands, tall and lean, and terrifying. Blood still decorates his torso creating a contrast that is both terrifying and hypnotizing. He watches you, curiosity and humor swirling behind his eyes. You can't decide whether they are completely blackened out, or if they hold a blue, almost serene hue. 

- No - you answer, finding your voice entirely too shaky for your liking - I did not enjoy it.

He laughs, a guttural, low sound that makes the hair stand at the back of your neck. You know he wouldn't dare try anything here, right under your Father's nose while the engagement is still in the making. Yet, as you stand frozen, just you, him and the marble walls around you, dread finds home in the pit of your stomach.

- Was that man Fremen? - you ask, partially to fill the silence, partially because you're genuinely curious.

The man shrugs, you can see muscles moving under his white skin. He takes a step towards you and you will yourself not to run.

- Sometimes we bring a couple of captured desert rats home - he explains with a nonchalant tone - Mostly for entertainment.

The almost bored intonation he uses to describe this barbaric ritual makes something boil deep inside you. 

- That's cruel - you counter, emotions flowing freely onto your face, much to the man's delight - To deny those men the honor of dying on their home planet. To drag them into a completely foreign place, just to kill them for sport, like some animals... It's...

- Some of them live - he cuts you off, taking another couple of steps towards you, but in your growing outrage, you barely notice - Our brothels are filled with Fremen whores.

Your face twist into an expression of utter repulsion, and Feyd Rautha raises his eyebrows in a pathetic mask of confusion, almost childlike giddiness lighting up his eyes as he looks down at you.

- Oh, don't give me that look, my Lady. - he cooes, and you've never felt a stronger urge to slap the daylights out of someone - I know for a fact there are brothels on your planet filled with hungry soldiers.

- Yes - you bark back at him - but the people there are working prostitutes, not slaves!

He shrugs, looking somewhere to the side of your face.

- A waste of money, if you'd ask me.

- Good thing no one has - there's venom in your voice, and your betrothed sucks a breath through his teeth.

You curse yourself for leaving your dagger, for not concealing it somewhere in this ridiculous dress, because the way the Harkonnen's expression shifts freezes blood right in your veins. 

He looks at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips, while something much darker lurks in his eyes. His bloodied hand comes up, finger making contact with the exposed skin of your shoulder. You can feel the thick liquid stick to your flesh, as he drags his hand down, painting you, marking you.

- You're quite the little viper, my Lady.

Watching him silently, you don't respond. Don't know how to, when he closes the distance between your bodies enough to make you feel the heat radiating off of his chest, while the smell of blood and sweat completely assaults your senses. It's sickening, the way he looks at you, like you're a new toy, just waiting to be unpacked and destroyed by too eager hands. 

- My Uncle, the Baron, has instructed me, to be the utmost gentleman to you. To woo you completely - his voice is low, barely above a whisper, as he grins down at you - But I just can't lie to my future wife like that, can I?

He leans closer and finally, you take a step back, sliding out of his space, assessing a cautious stance. His hand almost follows you, the skin of your shoulder feels conflictingly cold without him.

- Once we're wed, I will possess you completely - this time you stand your ground, as he approaches, circling you like a lion stalking it's prey - And then...

He leans down beside you, shoulder to your shoulder, close enough for you to feel his hot breath graze your ear.

- Like the bull that took your grandfather's life, I shall pierce you.

The violent innuendo doesn't slip past you, and with hatred brewing behind your eyes, you look straight at him, forcing your fear to lay dormant. 

- You're disgusting.

- And you're blushing like a lovely, virgin bride should - he concludes, sending an awful wink your way, before withdrawing from you completely. 

Your veins burn hot, as you watch him leave, a selfish confidence painting his steps, and you beg every God in existence to grant you a sword in your hand. Or a dagger. A kitchen knife would do as well. Anything, that would help you cut this unbeatable, patronizing, infuriatingly handsome smirk from Feyd Rauthas face.

Alas, you're left with nothing, only a small glimmer of hope dangling in front of you, after your damned betrothed's words fully register in your brain.

A bride you might be, but certainly not a virgin one. Duncan Idaho made sure of that many years ago. The thought makes you smile, despite nerves wreaking havoc in your body. At least that's the one thing Feyd Rautha won't be able to take from you.

[penguwastaken]

This took WAY longer than necessary, but I present Danganronpa Trigger Happy Havoc but I Ace Attorney-ified the names.

Atlas Sprout

Ace Lucky Student / Ace Hope

Keeping up with the greek mythology theme from other Ace Attorney protagonists, Atlas is a god who was forced to carry the heavens on his shoulders

Naegi means seedling, so I went with Sprout, referencing how he plants the seeds of hope in others

Desbear

A combination of "despair" and "bear"

Athy Lete

Ace Swimmer

A play on "athlete"

Mitch Knightson

Ace Heir

Byakuya means "midnight sun", which sounds like Mitch Knightson

Ella Gantbit

Ace Gambler

A combination of "elegant" and "gambit"

Her true name would be Notta Chance, a play on "not a chance"

Sam Script

Ace Programmer

A reference to the program Sanscript

Sam is a gender neutral name

Otto Kewl

Ace Fanfic Author

A play on "otaku"

"Kewl" was a popular internet spelling of "cool"

Faye Tality

Ace Fashionista / Ace Despair

A play on "fatality"

Dean Tention

Ace Prefect

A play on "detention"

Misty Clue

Ace ??? / Ace Detective

Misty sounds like "mystery"

Clue is obviously "clue"

Her father's name is Earnest Clue, this is because Jin's name means "benevolence" or "virtue"

Hunt Dinger

Ace Baseball Star

A play on "humdinger"

A dinger is another word for a home run

His name also sounds like "hunting," referencing how he's the first killer

Amon Ryder

Ace Biker

Ryder is a play on "rider"

His brother's name is Daya, combining that with Amon, you get a play on the word "diamond"

Daya Ryder is also a play on "died a rider," a reference to how he died

Kimber Stryfe

Ace Soldier

Kimber and strife are guns

Smasha Tophluv

Ace Martial Artist

Smasha is a combination of the name "Sasha" and the word "smash"

Tophluv is a play on "tough love", referencing how she fell in love with her rival

Topaz Thatchart

Ace Idol

A play on "top of the chart"

Brooke Quill

Ace Bookworm

A play on "book and quill"

Geno the Stabber

Ace Killer

Geno comes frome Genocide

Similar to names like Jack the Ripper

Chance Omen

Ace Clairvoyant

Chance references how his fortunes only have a 30% chance of being accurate

Omen is a prophetic event

His first name is also the same as Ella (aka Notta)'s real last name

And that's all. As you can probably tell, some of these names took a lot more effort than others. If this does well enough, I'll consider doing one for other entries as well.

Part 2 with the cast from Danganronpa 2

[inexplicifics]

Oh man so many WIPs to choose from! Feel free to choose the next closest number in any of these or to skip if they've already been shared!

G/J #13

G2/S post tournament

L/A/M #13 (yes 13 is my favorite number 😂)

L/A/V/M Dealer's choice

Vexart tournament (the angst of the tournament is just... so compelling)

Worth the Wyvern barmaid (this was the first fic of yours I read and I still regularly go back to reread it and am STILL wholly delighted by it)

Cats Among Wolves #2

Tbh your WIP list looks a lot like mine, except all of my WIPs are spread across different fandoms but I have.... so many 🙈

Have some Geralt/Jaskier with part-elf Jaskier and angst and hurt/comfort!

Jaskier had not realized that his life could actually get worse than it already has. First he ends up in the back end of nowhere because he thought it was a shortcut and it most certainly wasn’t, then these vicious yokels decide that his ears are excuse enough to ambush him, beat him bloody, and collar him like a slave, then they gag him when he won’t stop talking or fighting, and worst of all they smashed his lute - all of that is miserable enough, and he is nearer despair with every day that passes without some form of rescue. But this - He is lying at the feet of a white-haired man who, given the way Jaskier’s luck has been going since he left Oxenfurt, can only be the most notorious Wolf witcher on the Continent: the Butcher of Blaviken, in the flesh. The monster who slaughtered half a town for no reason at all. And Jaskier has just been turned over to him as - As a toy, Jaskier thinks bleakly. As a disposable body, flimsy and replaceable as a broadsheet, to be used up and discarded and left in a ditch beside the road. The Butcher bends and picks Jaskier up, heaving him over one broad shoulder without any apparent effort, and whistles; Jaskier, his head hanging down, can see nothing but the witcher’s dark armor. It’s not actually all one shade, he discovers; it has been stained so often that the stains overlap, mottled blacks and browns making the leather as ominous as its wearer. He smells of blood and horse and onion.

And as long as we're doing #13s - have some Lambert/Aiden/Milena with minor goddess Milena:

Lambert makes a horrible wheezing sound, and his eyelids flutter briefly before falling shut again. Aiden finds a second wind somehow - or fourth, or fifth, gods, he doesn’t even know how long it’s been - and staggers forward a little faster, his own broken ribs grating as he cradles his Wolf close. There’s a light ahead. Aiden stumbles across a grassy clearing, up a set of slick stone steps, and into a tiny, candle-lit temple. “Please,” he rasps, as loud as he can. “Please, someone help!” There’s the rustle of fabric and the sudden smell of roses, and a young woman appears out of the shadows off to one side. “Oh!” she says. “Oh dear - put him down there, let me see what I can do.” Aiden places Lambert down on the altar with the last of his strength and collapses beside it. “Please,” he begs. “Don’t let him die.”

I wish you the best of luck with your own WIP list!

[atinycafe]

part 1 | part 2

You're running as fast as you can, feeling your heart pound in your chest. But no matter how hard you try, it's like your lungs just can't grab enough air. You're on the verge of collapsing, but you fight against it because you know that if you do, the creature chasing you will catch up. You try to move quietly, not wanting to draw any more attention from the zombies, the one trailing behind you is more than enough to handle.

You swiftly dart into an alley, the chill hitting you as you slide under a beat-up Ford, hoping the zombie isn't clever enough to figure out how to wriggle in and grab you. With your palms pressed against your mouth, you stifle your sobs, stealing glances as the zombie's body lunges violently at the car, its desperate cries and growls piercing the air as it searches for you.

You remain there, tears streaming down the sides of your temples, praying that it doesn't locate you. It feels like hours, but it's probably only been a few minutes, before the creature loses interest and sets off to hunt down another victim elsewhere.

You shut your eyes, allowing the tears to trickle down your cheeks, relishing this brief respite. You know better than to venture out of your hiding spot now; it would be a foolish move. The zombie might still be lurking nearby, and you're utterly spent, devoid of the energy to flee once more. Your legs feel distant, except for the persistent throbbing in your thighs. Glancing to the side, you catch sight of a distant silhouette at the mouth of the alley. Your lip quivers as you pray it's not another monster. You focus on steadying your breath, doing your utmost not to draw any attention, until the walkie-talkie strapped to your waist crackles to life, Wooyoung's voice inquiring about your whereabouts and whether you were able to secure the meds you sought.

Frantically, you fumble with the device, attempting to silence it, smash it, anything to no avail, as the zombie has already caught wind of the noise. A searing shriek escapes you as it homes in on your position with alarming speed. Fear overwhelms you, making it impossible to stifle your cries as you try to scramble away from the relentless advance of the oncoming undead.

You cry as you try to move but the zombie is already there, having ran so fast, it fell, which conveniently helped it get to you easier. You struggle against the relentless grip of the zombie, which had managed to reach you despite its fall. A piercing shriek escapes your lips as its bloodied hand seizes your boot, refusing to release its hold, overpowering your feeble attempts to break free. The creature's ghastly appearance sends shivers down your spine, its face a distorted mask of veins snaking through its cheeks to its pitch-black eyes. Smudges of blood and shreds of flesh cling to its decaying teeth, intensifying the nausea already roiling within you.

With a horrifying tug, it secures its grip on your ankle, your skin brushing against its own causing you to cry out even louder, the mere thought of a scratch sealing your fate—infected. The monster echoes your cries with its own guttural growls, hauling you closer with an inhuman force. You resign yourself to the belief that this is the end, that you will meet your demise here. It's over. You're dead.

Yet, just as despair settles in, something yanks the zombie by its legs, pulling it out from beneath the car. In a fleeting moment, you witness a knife thrusting into the creature's skull.

Through your tear-blurred vision, you spot Wooyoung kneeling before you, frantically scanning beneath the car, his disheveled appearance adding an unexpected allure. Specks of blood dot his face, his tousled hair falling across his eyes, a glistening sheen of sweat adorning his flushed cheeks. You sob uncontrollably as he tugs you into his embrace, pulling you out from your hiding place.

As you collapse into his lap, your tears dampening the nape of his neck, he holds you tightly, his broad palm cradling your head, drawing you nearer to him, while his other arm encircles your waist. He sways gently, murmuring reassurances about how you're okay and safe, about how he's not going to let anything hurt you, about how he's sorry, about how he should've been next to you and vows to never leave your side again.

His whispered words of comfort soothe your racing heart, calming the storm within you as you cling to him, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace, the assurance of his protective presence.

He eases you back slightly, his gaze fixated on your face as his hands tenderly sweep away the disheveled strands, tucking them behind your ears to better take in your features. Lowering his head to yours, his forehead presses gently against yours, your breaths mingling in the stillness, the world around you fading into the background as you share a moment of intimacy amidst the desolation of the city.

Guiding your chin with a gentle touch, he guides your lips to meet his in a languid kiss, his tongue delicately tracing the outline of your chapped lips, coaxing you to open them. You allow his tongue to slip past, a gentle dance commencing as it caresses yours, each movement tender and deliberate, creating a rhythm that speaks of both longing and relief. This delicate exchange continues, a cherished connection that speaks volumes in its simplicity and depth.

As you both part, Wooyoung helps you to your feet, planting a soft kiss on your forehead before leading you deeper into the city, glock in hand, toward the refuge of a random apartment, your own little sanctuary.

"Let's go pretty girl, I found some canned peaches, we're gonna eat good tonight"

masterlist | taglist in comments | feedback is appreciated :)

[viaviv124]

Cotl fanons pretty much everyone accepted from what i've seen and it makes me happy:

- Lamb saying "would/smash" outloud when seeing Narinder for the very first time allthough they just fucking died

- Narinder going "oh god damn it there's 2 of them?" when the goat shows up in varying degrees of despair and dread

- Crown getting Bill Cipher'd and being done with everybody's bulshit

[awkward-walking-potato]

Apple of His Eye - Part 2

The morning sun had barely started to climb into the sky when you arrived at your bakery, a spring in your step as you prepared for another day of sweet treats and smiles. But the moment you turned the corner and saw the front of your shop, your heart dropped into your stomach.

The large front window of your bakery was shattered, glass littering the sidewalk and your display cases. The once inviting entrance now looked like a crime scene, and the beautiful pastries you’d worked so hard to perfect were now covered in a fine layer of glass dust. You stood there in shock, unable to move as the weight of it all came crashing down on you.

Who would do this? And why?

You sank to your knees, your hands trembling as you tried to piece together what had happened. Thoughts raced through your mind—how were you going to afford to fix this? Could you even open the bakery today? Your customers, your regulars, they all depended on you. And what about Logan? He’d come in expecting his pie, and now you couldn’t even offer him that.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you thought about the costs of repairing the window. You had already poured everything into this little bakery, scraping by to make it a success. The idea of paying for a new window was almost too much to bear.

As you sat there, lost in your despair, you didn’t notice Logan approaching. He had been on his way to the bakery, the promise of a fresh apple pie and your bright smile drawing him like it did every morning. But when he saw the broken window, his heart clenched with a mixture of anger and concern.

“Hey,” Logan’s rough voice broke through your haze, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see him standing there, his brow furrowed, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to blink back the tears. “I don’t know what to do…”

He didn’t say anything at first, his gaze sweeping over the shattered glass, the ruined pastries, the look of sheer devastation on your face. His jaw tightened, and you could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“Who did this?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“I-I don’t know,” you stammered, wiping at your eyes. “I just got here and… I can’t afford to fix it. I don’t know what I’m going to do…”

Logan’s expression softened at your words, the anger giving way to something else—something protective. He knelt beside you, reaching out to gently take your hand in his. “You’re not gonna deal with this alone,” he said firmly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a rare show of tenderness. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But Logan—”

“No buts,” he cut you off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You go home, get some rest. I’ll handle it.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the steely resolve there, and despite your anxiety, you felt a small glimmer of hope. Logan had always been a force of nature—unmovable, unstoppable. If anyone could help, it was him.

Reluctantly, you nodded, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Logan just grunted, giving your hand a final squeeze before letting it go. “Go on,” he said, his gaze flickering back to the broken window. “I’ll take care of everything.”

You gave him one last grateful look before heading home, the weight of the morning’s events still pressing down on you, but with the faintest sense of relief. Logan was here, and somehow, you knew he’d find a way to make it right.

Later that evening, long after you had gone home, Logan sat at the bar with his “brothers,” the same crew that had teased him mercilessly about his feelings for you. But tonight, there was no joking around. They could tell by the look in Logan’s eyes that this was serious.

“Someone smashed up the bakery,” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I want it fixed by tomorrow morning.”

The bikers exchanged glances, each one of them nodding in understanding. They might have been a rough bunch, but they looked out for their own—and Logan, despite his gruff exterior, had made it clear that you were important to him.

“We’ll handle it,” one of the bikers said, cracking his knuckles. “We know a guy who can get the glass replaced tonight, no questions asked.”

Logan gave a curt nod. “Good. And find out who did it,” he added, his voice dropping to an even darker tone. “I want to have a word with them.”

The men nodded again, a ripple of agreement passing through the group. Logan didn’t need to say anything more. They knew what he meant, and they weren’t about to let anyone get away with hurting someone he cared about.

As the night went on, the bikers got to work. They called in a favor with a friend who specialized in emergency repairs, and within a few hours, the shattered window was replaced, the broken glass swept up, and the bakery was restored to its former glory. It was as if nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, Logan had been tracking down the culprit, following the trail of whispers and rumors that circulated in the darker corners of the city. It didn’t take long to find out who had done it—some local thug trying to extort protection money from small businesses in the area.

Logan found him in a back alley, and what followed was quick and brutal. By the time Logan was done, the thug was left bruised and bloody on the ground, a clear message delivered: No one messed with the people Logan cared about. Ever.

The next morning, you arrived at the bakery, dreading the sight of the shattered window. But when you turned the corner, your breath caught in your throat. The window was fixed. There was no glass on the ground, no sign of the damage that had been there the day before.

You stood there in shock, trying to process what you were seeing. How could this have been fixed so quickly? And by who?

Then, you noticed something else—a familiar scent wafting through the air. You hurried inside, your heart pounding, and saw a single apple pie sitting on the counter, still warm from the oven. Next to it was a small note, written in Logan’s unmistakable scrawl:

“Everything’s taken care of. See you soon.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you clutched the note to your chest. Logan had done this. He had made everything right, just as he had promised.

A few hours later, when Logan walked through the door, you didn’t say anything. Instead, you just smiled at him, the warmth in your gaze saying more than words ever could.

Logan gave you a small nod, his usual gruffness in place, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He took his coffee and his pie, the morning ritual restored, but as he turned to leave, you reached out and gently touched his arm.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice full of emotion.

Logan paused, looking down at you. For a moment, he seemed like he was going to say something, but then he just nodded again, a rare, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Anytime,” he said simply, and with that, he walked out of the bakery, the door jingling behind him.

But as he rode off into the morning, the taste of your apple pie still fresh on his tongue, Logan couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, there was more to life than leather jackets and cold nights on the road. There was warmth here, in your bakery, in the way you looked at him, and he found himself wanting to protect it, no matter what.

[yourfatherlucifer]

The Villain Pt 2 (KHJ)

Villain!Hongjoong x afab!reader

Summary: After getting caught by the hero, the villain now has something to prove to him.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, death/murder, pwp, even more breeding, mean!joong and reader, crying, restraints, blood.

AU: Hero/Villain

Genre: smut

WC: 1.4k

Rated: R

Taglist: @pyeonghongrie-main @jay-scenarios @nebulousbrainsoup @pocketjoong @yunho-mp3

nets: @cromernet @cultofdionysusnet @kflixnet @k-labels @pirateeznet @wonderlandnet

Part One

Hongjoong’s head turned to stare at the man who made his presence known, “Seonghwa, glad you could make it!” With Hongjoong’s back turned to Seonghwa, he growled.

“Hongjoong.” Seonghwa wasn’t happy. He came to save you, but instead, here you are, sleeping with the enemy, “I don’t understand. What is going on, Y/N, why are you here with him?”

Hongjoong scoffed, “You’re in my mansion, man, you’re the one trespassing, whether you came here to sav-” You held your hand up in the air to stop him from talking. 

As you sat up, wrapping your arms around his neck to cover your body from Seonghwa, you peered your head over Hongjoong’s shoulder.

Seonghwa was fuming, "How could you sleep with him? He's the epitome of evil! Why him? When I've been here this whole time? Chasing you, day after day, showing my love for you." 

 "And? I clearly kept telling you I wasn't interested. I like my men bad, I like to be corrupted, in fact, I fell in love with him in high school. Never have I had eyes on you, Park Seonghwa. In fact, you disgust me." Seonghwa's heart and world shattered around him. 

Hongjoong’s mischievous laughter filled your ears, his cock hardening inside of you once again, “That was so hot,” he placed kisses down your neck, Seonghwa’s face contorted into something of disgust and betrayal.

“I’m still here!” 

Hongjoong sighed and pulled out of you, “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa before smirking, “I got you a present, big boy.” He approached him, hardened cock standing proud. 

Seonghwa looked away from him to you, this made Hongjoong mad, “Look at me! Not her! You don’t get to see her beauty in all it’s glory. She’s mine!” He pushed him down into a chair and forcefully wrapped a rope around his body. 

Seonghwa couldn’t help but feel hopeless, out of all the girls he has had, he wanted only you, but he would never get you. The enemy won you over to his side. He also pursued you because you were the only person who didn’t throw themselves at him. But you chose the evil, short ass man. Just how did he get you? He doesn’t deserve you. After all, of course, the first chance Hongjoong got, he slept with you. Seonghwa swore he would never do that to you, but he was just as bad, especially with all the women he’s slept with. How could a hero be such a man-hoe?

His hand clasped Seonghwa’s chin, forcing him to look, “You will watch me as I fuck her again, as I fill her with my cum once more. So that you realize, you will never have her as I do.”

You watched as your new lover approached you on the table, your legs spread wide for him. His cum from earlier, still dripping out, “My perfect girl.” His hand cupped your cheek, “All mine.” 

Hongjoong smashed his lips against yours, claiming you once more, but in front of the despaired hero this time. Seonghwa tried to keep his whines of protest to himself, but he couldn’t help let a few slip out.

You flipped your middle finger off at him, to silence him, not wanting to hear his annoying voice, “Shut up, Seonghwa, I don’t wanna gag you, well, maybe a little.” You giggled against Hongjoong’s mouth. Fuck, you were just as mean as him, Seonghwa now knew he could never save you. It was apparent you were in love with him. 

Hongjoong slipped himself back inside your wet heat with a moan, “Fuck, how can you still be so tight after I just fucked the shit out of you not even 15 minutes ago.” 

His hips rocked against yours in desperation, as if he never wanted to let you go, as if he never wanted to separate his cock from your cunt. As if he wanted to be one with you. Forever. 

“You see this? You see how I am fucking her Park Seonghwa? You will never get a taste of how good it feels to be inside her dripping cunt. How tightly she squeezes a cock, how she pulls you in.” Hongjoong threw his head back, the pleasure was rippling throughout his body, he loved it. 

He pushed your knees to your chest, able to now piledrive into you. His cock jackhammering at such a lovely and harsh pace. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you feel that?” He whispered into your ear, “I never want this to end.” 

Seonghwa was thrashing around in the chair, pulling and yanking at the restraints that held him back, how could he let this happen? Why did he follow you here? Maybe if he didn’t he’d still be free, but wondering where you were. He wanted you so bad before, but seeing you get your shit rocked, he wasn’t sure if he wanted you anymore. 

Your moans filled the room, the skin slapping was a constant, it was so loud. You were sure you’d have even more bruises from Hongjoong by the time he was done with you. 

“Gonna fill you up so good, my love, gonna fill you up with my cum.” 

You grinned from ear to ear, “Yes! Do it Hongjoong! Fill me up! Want it so bad.” His cock pounded into you, the pace lessening, nevertheless, his cock still hit your spot. 

It felt so good to you, felt like you were in heaven. Oh your family would hate you to see you like this. They’d shun you, call you a disgrace for letting them down, for letting him corrupt you, when really, you’ve always been like this. 

When his warm cum filled your walls, he nearly fell on top of you but held his strength for a bit longer, “I’d say we should go again, but, since we have a guest. I’ll have a little courtesy.” He turned to look at the crying Seonghwa, happy that he broke him. 

His softened cock slipped out of you, hitting his thigh, “Enjoy the show, Seonghwa?” 

Hongjoong walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a dagger. He slipped the sweatpants on and marched over to you. 

“Y/N.”

You opened your eyes and sat up to look at him, “Yes, Joong?” You stared at the blade in his hands, “I need you to do something for me, please.” 

You nodded, “Anything for you.” 

He grabbed your hand, turning the palm face up, placing the dagger in your hands, “ "Wanna be together forever? Then kill him, he'll constantly try to tear us apart. Get rid of him for me. Prove to me you love me."

You smiled in happiness, “Of course!” You gripped the handle, hopping off the table, your breasts jiggling from the sudden movement.

Seonghwa’s head snapped up, “Wait! Y/N, please! Don’t do this! You’ll be just like him if you kill me! Please!” He cried out, thrashing around in the chair, the chair creaked but didn’t budge. 

“And? Your point? I love him, he loves me. It’s as simple as that, what do you know about love, Hwa? Hm? Exactly, you broke hearts left and right in school and even now, so why would I ever want you? I found my match, I’d gladly do anything for him. He’s mine and I am his.” 

You trailed the blade across Seonghwa’s jawline, “I don’t understand why you can’t get it. I don’t love you.” 

You swung the blade back, “I cannot stand you, Park Seonghwa.” The blade was dug into his chest. 

“I’d gladly commit murder for him.” You whispered in the now dying man's ear. 

You pat his cheek as his head hung low, blood dripping from his mouth, “Bye bye, big man!”

You left the blade in his chest and skipped over to Hongjoong who was smiling, evilly, “Didn’t think you’d actually do it, my love.” 

You held your hand over your heart in a mocking way, “You had doubts? Rude.” 

You pulled him in for a kiss, “I love you, Kim Hongjoong, I am not going anywhere, lets run away together. Cause mishap anywhere. I’ll do it with you, for you.” 

He nodded, “And I love you, let us be together forever.”

Seonghwa’s body was never found, the two of you had disappeared from the town, everyone wondering where Kim Hongjoong went, the villain and the hero just suddenly vanishing. 

Little did they know, the man would become more powerful with you by his side. 

The Villain always wins in the end. 

[justalittlesolarpunk]

I've been feeling climate anxiety lately. I think it's really necessary to change everything and progress towards a postcapitalist future that doesn't endanger our planet, our Pachamama. But I don't see how that will be possible. What do you think about this?

Hiya, thanks for getting in touch and sorry it’s taken me so long to reply. I get a lot of asks like this so I think I might make this another masterpost. Here’s climate anxiety solutions according to me:

1) Accept your feelings. Recognise that fear, grief, rage and despair are all normal, healthy, human reactions to paying actual attention to what is being done to our planet right now. You aren’t wrong or sick or overreacting by feeling them. Sit with the emotions, allow them to wash over you, cry, smash plates, punch a pillow, journal, write poetry, yell at the news, scream in the woods! Trying to repress these feelings will just make them harder to deal with.

2) Recognise that the paralysis of climate anxiety is not a good place from which to make a difference. Try to let horror, guilt and self-blame go, and lean into the love for people and planet that motivates all eco-anxiety. Start consuming good news stories and keying into activist spaces so that you can learn how others are claiming agency to fight this problem, and how you can emulate that. Remember that despair absolves you of responsibility and that true solidarity with the most affected means letting your emotions drive you towards action.

4) Educate yourself through reading, listening to podcasts, attending talks, seeking advice from elders, and more - whatever works for your particular life and circumstances. The more informed you are about these issues the more you’ll feel able to address them.

3) Make as many changes as you can in your personal life. Are you eating a high-carbon diet? Try to reduce that. Are you consuming a lot of water or energy resources? Look for green and low-intensity alternatives. Examine your transport habits and prioritise walking, cycling, trains, low or zero emission buses, sailing, and replacing longer-haul journeys with remote options. If you live in a throwaway culture, try to prioritise reuse and repair over consumption. Consider how your livelihood impacts the planet, and if it’s negatively and making change is possible for you, start the process of moving towards an occupation that lets you make a more positive difference.

4) Fight! Join a campaign group, write to your elected officials, attend a protest, donate money to causes if you can, commit civil disobedience if you feel willing and able. Put pressure on governments, businesses and the public to change their ways.

5) Prioritise joy and connection. Spend time in nature, watching animals or foraging for plants or swimming or walking or just letting it all wash over you. Link up with other people to talk through your worries, go hiking, lobby for climate justice, safeguard ecosystems and pass down your local heritage. Sometimes, take a day or two to check out of all these issues and problems and just spend time drawing, cooking, playing games with loved ones, or whatever it is that relaxes you. There are enough of us that you can take the time to avoid burnout.

I hope some of this was helpful, and do please get back in touch if you have any other questions or queries. You’re part of a huge global community of people who love and revere the earth and want to build a better future for all life upon her. Hold onto that.

[idksmtms]

You Are Not One Of Us (Poseidon x Norse Goddess!reader) - Part 3

Full Request - Part 2

Part 2 << PART3 >> Part 4

AN: I’m so sorry this is so late! I’ve been so busy with life and then I was so tired I kinda lost the motivation to write but I’m back now!!! Also, sorry this is so short, it's kind of a filler before all the big stuff happens!

Side note: I’m so proud of the way I choose to show their messaging systems - will continue in ending note - 

Summary: Forced apart, you and Poseidon try to find ways to communicate.  

Word count: 2,604

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, age gap (even tho they are both thousands of years old), god racism?? Idk they act like “foreigner gods” is a bad thing, lusting, liking the fact that he looks older (is this a warning???), (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not claim to own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

After you were thrown from Olympus and forbidden to even be near your love, it stormed for two weeks straight. With every day of the storm, more houses were destroyed, more people hurt, with no sign of an end. The people trekked to Poseidon’s temples every day with offerings, they prayed until their voices were hoarse, but the rain didn’t cease. The people believed he had given up on them, that they had done something to anger him. They didn’t know the utter heartbreak that coursed with the ichor in his veins. They didn’t know that this was the true despair of a god, that it could destroy them all. 

You had been taken back to Asgard and cared for like you were newly-made, the Aesir tip-toeing around you and hoping not to set off any catastrophes. You had become numb since you had been brought home, moving around the halls of Valhalla like a lost spirit. Odin and Frigg tried so hard to bring you back, to do something that would return you to yourself, but it was all in vain. The only thing that you could possibly want was him. 

Every day you walked the fjords, standing right on the edge of a cliff, the breeze pressing on your back, hoping to push you off. You had roamed every inch of the fjords, combed every cliffedge. You waited for Pegasus to find you, to whisk you away to your love, but the winged stallion never came. You hoped for a sign, any sign that both of you weren’t lost to each other, but nothing came.

And then, when you were beginning to lose all hope, you looked down over the edge of the cliff, straight down and into the swirling waters that frothed and smashed against the sharp rocks. There was no pegasus, but a huge clump of seaweed. You had never seen the seaweed come up near the fjords before in your whole existence, not this much anyway. It was always deep under the water, or only a few specks of it floated up and washed ashore. But there was so much of it floating near the edge that it created an island on the water. 

Your heart stopped in your chest as you watched it float to the cliff wall and bump against it. Again and again it floated into the cliff, as if waiting for something before it would allow itself to disperse. You clenched your hands together, breath suddenly shallow, then took a run and jumped off the cliff. 

The water was icy, and your skin began to tingle as the bubbles floated up around you and to the surface. You waited until they had all disappeared then allowed yourself to push to the surface as well, treading water and staring up at the sky for a moment. It had been so long since you had gone swimming, since you had enjoyed the sea as you once had, and it felt immeasurably good to be immersed in it once more. You smiled, wider and brighter than you had ever done since being back from Olympus. You allowed yourself to drop into the water again and again, ceasing the swirling of your arms and legs to just float in it. It felt like a hug from Poseidon. Then you swam over to the island of kelp and began sifting through it. 

Carefully pulling each piece away and gathering it into your other hand. If it truly was a message from him you wouldn’t let any of it go to waste. It was slippery and a little slimy but you just held on tighter as you straightened out each piece and lay it in your other hand. Right in the centre of the bundle, you found five oyster shells. They were placed in a perfectly straight row in the perfect centre of the kelp and they were… perfect. You had never seen an oyster like that, perfectly black on the outside like a mussel but still rippled so you knew it was an oyster. You reached out and gently picked one up. Your hands shook and tears filled your eyes until the oyster became blurry. You wiped at them haphazardly, blinking until you could see again and the tears had mixed into the seawater. 

The oyster was just barely open, a thin crack that you tried to peek through, but you couldn’t see anything inside. You dug your nails into the opening and used whatever godly strength you possess to pry it open just enough without breaking it fully. It was a rather delicate task and you had to stop a few times for fear of cracking the shell, but when you got it open you found a beautiful pearl sitting in the centre. It wasn’t perfectly round (as you found that natural pearls rarely were) and was actually rather flat with its edges poking out here and there so it looked like a splash of water in pearl form. You picked it out of the shell, the oyster within not giving any resistance, and you held it in your palm. It seemed smooth, and glinted different colours in the grey light. You flipped it over, and you found that there were little scratches on the pearl. They were much too small for you to decipher at first, but as you brought it closer to your eye and realised that it was writing, your heart began to thunder. ‘To have and to hold’ was all it said. You stared at it, heart in your throat, and gently placed it back in the oyster, shutting it and resting it on its bed. The next was the same, except this pearl was smoother around the edges, almost like a flat oval. ‘For better or worse’ it said in the same small writing. The one after it was almost perfectly round but also flat and thin like a drachma. ‘For richer or for poorer’. The next pearl was sharp, its edges jagged and spiking out. ‘Until death do us part’. You caressed it, allowing the sharpest edge to cut into your skin and the bead of blood to stain the pearl. You whispered each word aloud as you opened the pearls, hoping that since you were in the water that he could hear it, that he would know. The final pearl was a perfect sphere and as large as the first segment of your pinky finger. The writing was inscribed around it, and you spun it over and over, reading the words until they were screaming inside your head, until you couldn’t read them anymore because your eyes were streaming with tears and you were sobbing so heavily that water splashed up and into your mouth. ‘I love you’ it read, inscribed over and over around the pearl so that it looked like it was scratched all over. 

You floated there for a moment, staring at the vows, at the pearls, then let yourself sink under the water, eyes closed. You screamed the words into the water, bubbles floating around your face, voice garbled, but you screamed until you had no air left and even your body began to tire. You wanted him to hear you, needed him to know. Then you surfaced, breathing heavily and feeling lighter than you had before coming to the cliffs. You looked at each pearl again, caressed them, then gently placed them back into their shells. You wrapped the shells up in the seaweed, creating a tight parcel and tying it up with the seaweed you had stripped away before. You stayed in the water a while longer, feeling the caress of it on your skin, pretending it was his arms wrapping around you, his fingers running up and down your arms. Then, when it became close to the time of the nightly feast and knowing the others would begin to worry if you did not show up, you grabbed the parcel and made your way back to your new home, a small house built at the bottom of the hills that led to the cliff edges. 

It was more of a hut, built in the viking style and furnished sparsely. You had lost all your taste for glamour in the last weeks, lost the feeling of being a goddess, and had conjured this place, quiet and secluded and right by the cliffs you had once enjoyed. You left the pile of seaweed in the hall of the house by the entrance, thinking of ways to decorate your house with it. You placed the shells in order on a shelf just above your bed. You didn’t want the pearls themselves to be exposed, just in case someone came snooping. You looked at them longingly and kissed each shell before making the journey back to Valhalla. You had to find a way to send a message in return. You had to. 

Poseidon sat on the beach he had once brought you to. He stared out at the water’s edge, watching a happy couple walk along it, a woman in a beautiful dress kicking up splashes of water and the man staring down at her with such devotion in his eyes. He watched them press close to each other, walk further into the water, let it roll over them. He watched them kiss, felt it on his own lips, then a wave crashed over the shadows and they disappeared into seafoam and the sparkle of sunlight on the water. 

Poseidon pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, sighing heavily and shaking his head as he muttered angrily to himself. Though he had been forced to stop the storms lest he flood all of Greece, the one in his head never ceased. You were his every thought, consuming him from the inside. He had gone to the lake on Olympus everyday for the week he had been forced to stay there after your banishment. Zeus has wanted all the gods together to feast and be merry for the return of his bolt. Poseidon had not spoken a word the entire time, glaring at his brother with such fire that even Hephaestus could not conjure a flame with such heat. The rest of the time was either spent watching Hermes, trying to figure out if all of this was really his doing, or making the trek to the lake to sit on one of the boulders, feet dipped into the water, and reminiscing on the time he had with you. 

Even since had returned to his domain, nothing felt right. The usually comforting embrace of the water now felt hollow. The feeling of the sand under his feet did not mean anything now that he couldn’t share it with you. He no longer felt like the god of the seas, just a god of… nothing. Everywhere he looked he saw something that reminded him of you. He could not escape your memory even if he were trying. Even now, sitting on the beach where you had first kissed, he could only hope you had received his pearls, his vows of marriage. 

A butterfly, blue and shiny, fluttered into view. He watched it flap its wings and fly in little twirls, as if looking for something. Then it began to flutter closer, circling its way to him.  He watched the little creature with a sad smile, wishing you were here to see it. He knew you would love it. But the butterfly kept coming closer, flittering and fluttering until it sat itself on the tip of his nose. His eyes crossed as he tried to stare at it, eyebrows knitting in a frown, as the insect flapped its wings once, twice, then laid them out flat and stopped moving entirely. Without the strength of its little legs gripping to his nose, the butterfly fell away and into his lap, laying on his thigh as still and dead as he felt. His frown deepened, staring at the creature with its legs poking up into the air and wings perfectly flat. 

The structure and pattern suggested it was a monarch butterfly, but they didn’t come in blue. It was old, at least for its species, around 6 weeks if he were to guess, right at the end of its life. With the gentlest movements, he dug his fingertips under the wings of the dead butterfly and lifted it closer to his eyes. He flipped it over and examined the backs of its wings, the beautiful blue that somehow shined even brighter now that it was dead. He stared at the black lines that swirled over the wings, creating little pockets of blue and edged with dots of white. It was in the black lines that he found writing, in the smallest letters possible. Where the lines swirled and made pockets, letters followed them. And there, on the wings of this butterfly that seemed to randomly appear on this beach and randomly choose to land on him, he found his wedding vows. Each one he had sent, returned in the beautiful writing of a goddess. And right at the bottom, in the biggest letters, ‘I love you’. He could almost hear your voice, a whisper in the wind, and he closed his eyes lest the tears fall. 

Years passed without a word from neither him nor you. You had settled into your life with the Aesir again, comforted by the pearls that sat above your bed. You opened the shells every night and gazed at them, whispering the words and hoping that somewhere in the sea he felt your love. He too returned to his palace underwater, the butterfly encased in clear ice to be frozen as long as he lived, a reminder that you had said yes, that you had married him. Both of you felt safer knowing he was yours and you were his. It was not a traditional wedding by any means, but it was yours, and you would cherish it until the end of your days. 

After the first three decades of peace and no sign of anyone knowing that you had sent messages to each other, you sent one more, another butterfly with a simple reminder that you loved him. In return you received a conch shell, not too large but still a hefty weight in your palm. When you lifted it to your ear, in the whisper of the ocean you could hear his voice, telling you he loved you. Every night you put it to your ear and let it lull you to sleep. 

So many years passed in this way, changes coming and going, empires rising and falling. Suddenly the modem age arrived, bringing its technology and skyscrapers and all of you gods into each other’s vicinity once more. Now the Greek gods were huddled in New York, living lavishly atop the Empire State building while the halls of the Aesir occupied Boston, hiding in plain sight. The battles continued, the monsters still roared, but things had become slow, the gods became lazy. While you kept your cabin in the fjords, your connection to Poseidon and your homeland, you were forced to spend much of your time in Boston to keep yourself alive, to keep your facade with the other gods. 

The clashes between the worlds of the Greek and the Norse became more frequent, though all the gods kept their promise of staying away from each other. It was not until the battle of the Draugur that this promise was broken. That after millennia you were face to face with your love once more…

A/N: I chose things from the sea as his messaging system because obvi he’s the god of the sea. But I chose butterflies for Y/n because I see her character in so many ways that I feel the butterfly embodies. I was thinking of the butterfly effect (a butterfly flaps its wings in one place and a storm starts in another) and that’s literally Y/n because she’s this small thing who’s seen as gentle and underestimated but she causes all these big things simply by existing. And then butterflies are seen as small and gentle and colourful but there’s literally a species of butterfly that drinks the tears of turtles and that felt so accurate to her character because she’s seen as small and pretty and colourful (and she is) but she can also be vicious and violent for survival. Anyway, thank you for coming to my ted talk. 

Taglist: @thicficbich1, @pasta-warlord

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - First Meeting 1/4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 and end

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Hero stopped on the threshold of the old warehouse. They examined their surroundings, as if to check what was hiding beyond them. Of course they could see nothing. There wasn’t any light. The voice itself seemed slightly deformed with some kind of white noise – it had to be a transmission.

“Why ?” they asked politely.

“Because you won’t see another day again if you step in.”

Hero tilted their head. They grabbed their flashlight, and – what ? They squinted their eyes, but the ray of light bounced on the darkness and went back to them.

Now, that didn’t seem very normal.

“I see what you mean,” they said.

Then they shrugged and entered. A booming laugh resonated as the doors locked themselves brutally behind Hero:

“You’re mine now ! Miiiine ! You belong to the eternal night of everlasting darkness !”

“Uh. Um, okay.”

The laugh stopped and the voice sounded suddenly a bit sulking:

“That’s all ? No witty remark ? No cutting repartee ? I thought you were a Hero. I’m disappointed.”

“Sorry. I’m just trying to do my job. But I have things to say.”

“Let’s hear it, my little prey.”

“Well, there were a bunch of burglaries in this part of the town, and the managers of the stores always complained about the lights that went out no matter what they did before the act. So I’ve investigated a little and I’ve pinpointed this location.”

“How very smart of you, prisoner. You’re the only one who could find the truth and stay alive this long. No doubt you must be special.”

Embarrassed, Hero rubbed the back of their neck.

“Nah, I’m not very high-ranked, actually.”

“I’ve seen you before, though. I remember.”

Hero stroked one of their crochet twists and absentmindedly smiled:

“Yeah, the rainbow beads help, usually. It’s not because I work as hard as I can that I’m very important.”

“Why are you on my trail all by yourself, then ?”

“ As far as I know, you haven’t killed anyone. You just stole the supplies you need, I have the list... so forgive me if I’m not very much intimidated. I mean, you took a lot of Twinkies ?”

“Food’s survivor.”

“It doesn’t even last very long, actually.”

“...You must be the life of the party. Well, it doesn’t matter. I salute you for your efforts, but your time has come to an end.”

“Is that so ?”

“I control shadows, little Hero. My powers are beyond your reach.”

“Yeah, but you use them to steal Twinkies.”

“Would you stop with that ? Very well, I shall make you forget all about them. Behold my lair and despair !”

Pale blue dots weakly illuminated the huge warehouse. A large screen appeared by the ceiling, revealing a hooded figure, but Hero’s attention was somewhere else. There were forms around them that at first they took for furniture – and in a certain sense they were. One of them could certainly be viewed as a chair, if you forgot the huge spikes on the seat, just as the wooden frame in front of it had been made for people to lay down, if the manacles could be taken into account. Hero stared at all this, at the cages on the ground, at the chains on the walls, and stopped walking, their heart suddenly beating way faster. There were traces of red here and there. All of this was separated from them thanks to a glass wall.

“Have I just seen you shudder, Hero ?” simpered the voice. “Or are you still convinced that I’m not so dangerous ?”

Hero did wince. They also took a step back and a deep breath before seeking for an opening.

“I can assure you there’s no way out”, said Villain. “Unless you are strong enough to smash the doors you came from, but then you’d have already broken out by now. Or do you think I’m foolish enough to be around ? Are you so mad for revenge that you have to seek me out?”

“I’m not mad yet. I just want to check something.”

“You should be. I count my victims by the dozens and no one realized that because you heroes are that disastrous. Many disappeared, but no one cared about them. You want to make me think you do? ”

“Yes.”

Hero finally found what looked like a door. After fumbling for a moment, their hand closed on a handle and they could get to the other side. Surrounded by darkness, the torture instruments looked as sinister and impressive as their function implied. Right until the moment when Hero’s fingers brushed against a huge spike and pushed.

Their thumb went into the metal with no problem and left a mark. This time, it was Hero’s laugh that boomed in the room.

“It’s tin, isn’t it ?” they asked to the hooded figure. “Man, it’s impressive. You made me believe it for a minute. The blood is painting, right ?”

“...Maybe.”

“It’s like you’ve made a ghost train ride all by yourself. You’re an artist. I mean it.”

They rubbed their hands together to get rid of the red painting:

“But I have to catch you now.”

The voice growled in answer:

“Then come to find me, nemesis. That’s what you’ve just become.”

“Thank you. I will bring you Twinkies in prison.”

“Oh, I will end you.”

*

(Yes, it's the first time these two dorks have met. Sequel here)

Back to the These Two Dorks masterlist.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[datcloudboi]

List of Video Games Turning 10 Years Old in 2024

Alien: Isolation

Assassin's Creed: Rogue (the one where you play as an Assassin turned Templar.)

Assassin's Creed: Unity (the one set during the French Revolution.)

Atelier Escha & Logy: Alchemists of the Dusk Sky

Azure Striker Gunvolt

The Banner Saga

Bayonetta 2

The Binding of Isaac: Rebirth

BioShock Infinite: Burial at Sea (the DLC where you go back to Rapture)

A Bird Story (a sort of spin-off of "To the Moon")

BlazBlue: Chrono Phantasma

Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel! (is this a sequel to 1 or a prequel to 1? I forgor)

Bravely Default (in North America)

Broken Sword 5: The Serpent's Curse

Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare (the one with K*vin Sp*cey)

Captain Toad: Treasure Tracker

Castlevania: Lords of Shadow 2 (to date, the last new Castlevania game to release)

Child of Light

The Crew (going offline at the end of March)

D4: Dark Dreams Don't Die (a wonderfully strange game from the guy that made Deadly Premonition)

Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc (in North America)

Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair (in North America)

Dark Souls II

Deception IV: Blood Ties

Demon Gaze

Diablo III: Reaper of Souls

Disney Infinity 2.0

Divinity: Original Sin (from the team that would go on to make Baldur's Gate 3)

Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze

Dragon Age: Inquisition (the winner of GOTY at the very first TGAs)

Drakengard 3

Earth Defense Force 2025 (EDF! EDF! EDF!)

The Evil Within (from the creative director of Resident Evil)

Fable Anniversary

Fairy Fencer F

Far Cry 4

Freedom Planet

Guilty Gear Xrd Sign

Hyrule Warriors

Inazuma Eleven (in North America. And digital only.)

Infamous: Second Son (as well as its expansion, First Light)

Kirby: Triple Deluxe

The Last of Us Remastered (just one year after the original version came out...)

The Legend of Korra (the game from PlatinumGames that you can't buy anymore)

Lego Batman 3: Beyond Gotham

Lego The Hobbit

The Lego Movie Videogame

Lethal League (from the team that would go on to make Bomb Rush Cyberfunk)

Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII (the third and final chapter of the Final Fantasy XIII trilogy)

Lisa: The Painful (yes, really)

LittleBigPlanet 3

Lords of the Fallen (not to be confused with Lords of the Fallen, which came out in 2023)

Mario Golf: World Tour

Mario Kart 8 (the original version)

Metal Gear Solid: Ground Zeroes (the prologue to Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain, which came out 18 months later)

Middle-Earth: Shadow of Mordor

Might & Magic X: Legacy

Murdered: Soul Suspect (it's like Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective, but not as good)

Natural Doctrine

Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty! (a from the ground up remake of the first Oddworld game from 1997)

Pac-Man and the Ghostly Adventures 2 (yes, it got a sequel. I don't know how or why.)

Persona 4 Arena Ultimax

Persona Q: Shadow of the Labyrinth

Pokemon Omega Ruby & Pokemon Alpha Sapphire

Professor Layton and the Azran Legacy (the last time that Professor Layton himself was the protagonist. At least, until the New World of Steam comes out)

Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney

Pushmo World

Risen 3: Titan Lords

Sacred 3

Samurai Warriors 4

Shadowrun: Dragonfall

Shantae and the Pirate's Curse (the 3rd one)

Sherlock Holmes: Crimes and Punishments

Shovel Knight (yes, really)

Skylanders: Trap Team (the 4th one)

Sniper Elite III

Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric

Sonic Boom: Shattered Crystal

South Park: The Stick of Truth

Steins;Gate (in North America)

Strider (the one from Double Helix)

Sunset Overdrive

Super Smash Bros. for Wii U and Nintendo 3DS (or Smash 4 for short)

Tales of Xillia 2

Tales of Hearts R

The Talos Principle

Theatrhythm Final Fantasy: Curtain Call

Thief (the reboot)

This War of Mine

Toukiden: The Age of Demons

Transformers: Rise of the Dark Spark (this game merged the storyline of the War for/Fall of Cybertron games with the storyline of the Michael Bay movies. I’m not joking)

Transistor

Valiant Hearts: The Great War

The Vanishing of Ethan Carter

The Walking Dead: Season Two

Wasteland 2

Watch Dogs

The Witch and the Hundred Knight

The Wolf Among Us (sequel this year!)

Wolfenstein: The New Order

Yaiba: Ninja Gaiden Z

Yoshi's New Island

[silenthill2ps2]

ranking ALL richter belmont designs (except netflixvania i don't like him.)

rondo of blood - 10/10

the first appearance of richter and obviously one of his best. his character design really represents when he was youthful and hotheaded, it's very shonen protag and fits him well. when i think of richter THIS is who i see. he is perfection.

akumajyo dracula peke - 10/10

easily the best richter design no notes

dracula x - 8/10

well that sure is rondo richter again. docking points cuz he isn't as cool as rondo richter sorrryyyyyy i like the shonen style better

the bloodletting (cancelled game) - 5/10

ummmm he's whatever i guess. the skinny jeans are inspired though

symphony of the night - 10/10

EASILYYYYY one of his best designs. it's the natural evolution from his design in rondo since he's more disheveled and fucked up due to his mental breakdown and shaft possessing him. also bonus points for cleavage

dracula x chronicles - 2/10

straight up richter's worst design and i have expressed my hatred for it MANY times before. it tells us literally nothing about his character and removes all the depth from his design in rondo. he gets only two points cuz i can imagine his family dressing him up like this for events and balls and stuff but for FIGHTING DRACULA????? i don't think so

4koma strips - 7/10

docking points for using the dxc design but he's silly funny so it's ok

harmony of despair - 8/10

i think this was ayami kojima's first time drawing rondo richter and i really like her version of it, very cute but not shonen ENOUGH

grimoire of souls - 9/10

ayami kojima's second time drawing rondo richter, DEFINITELY an improvement. the bow in his headband is the greatest thing ever and is just canon to me at this point

super smash bros ultimate - 10000000000/10

I NEED TO FUCK HIM

moonlight rhapsody - 6/10

this is like a spirit halloween costume of his sotn design but the double belts go extremely hard

eternal knights 2 - 7/10

you all know my thoughts on his dxc design but he's wearing the fuck out of that hat

[bahbahhh]

begin again

a lot of change happens in between Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom. let’s fill in the gaps.

zelda pov | zelink | totk spoilers | rated T zelinkweek2023 | @zelinkcommunity [first] [ ao3 ]

Again, big shout out to my beta reader @zeldaelmo who is an amazing writer for the LoZ fandom and is posting for zelink week as well. I had the pleasure of returning the favor for this totk zelink oneshot and absolutely recommend it.

chapter 2

for the prompt “forbidden”

Link’s just publicly recommended they destroy the most valuable resources available for the restoration of Hyrule and Zelda has no idea how to save him. 

Everyone just stares, and with the company they find themselves in, it may as well be the very eyes of Hyrule itself that are on him. Zelda can’t find her breath. She’s back in Blatchery Plain, drenched in rain and despair, surrounded by a swarm of corrupted guardians. Link faced a sea of eyes then, too. He stands with his back to her, just like he does now, and she watches his silhouette light up with constellations of crimson. 

He’s about to be blown to pieces right in front of her. 

She starts to raise her hand to protect him like she did that day, only to remember she hasn’t felt the hum of power, nevermind summoned the glow of golden light to her fingertips, since they destroyed the Calamity six months ago. She’s a star burnt out with nothing to show of her once formidable brilliance, but an ugly scar on her hand.

“All of it?” Impa asks, calmly.

Link nods. 

“Even the Divine Beasts?”

“Especially those,” he asserts.  

He has yet to make eye contact with Zelda again since the smile; that red herring of a smile that had her daydreaming while he nocked a kill shot. She gives up on trying to summon his gaze with her mind and glances desperately at Impa. The keeper of their histories, a guardian of lost tapestries and lessons of the past, a voice of reason in the hundred year storm—

But Zelda sees none of the women she thought she knew in the way Impa considers him. She’s got her head tilted pensively, like she might actually be contemplating what Link has said, which is impossible because he is suggesting they dismantle all the ancient relics of her people. 

Impa rotates her gaze out to the crowd and extends her hands to welcome the discussion, looking like a statue of the Goddess herself. Zelda’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach with a splash. She wants to scream, at both of them, but the continued and calm silence of the crowd is starting to feel less like they are preparing to strike and more like Link’s found the hidden door they’ve all been searching for. An emotional outburst could compromise the cogendy of any argument she might make. 

Goddess, she can still hear her father’s voice in her head after all these years. 

“Where would it all go?” Reede finally asks. 

Link crosses his arms over his chest, thinks about it for a half a second –1 like they are talking about something as simple as mending a pasture fence – and offers, “Sheikah Slate has a limitless inventory. Load it all into the Slate and then get rid of it.”

“How do you suppose we do that?” 

“Smash it with a hammer?” 

Purah gasps. “That would be such a waste, Linky! We still haven’t unlocked a quarter of the Slate’s potential.”

“You’ll build something better.” 

“Like what?” Robbie says, visibly shaken and pale.

‘That’s your thing, isn’t it?’ Link signs.

“If I may, wouldn’t destroying the Sheikah Technology prolong restoration efforts?” says Hudson of Tarrey Town. 

Link nods. 

“Did you yourself not benefit from the technology during your travels?” Traysi asks in a strangely formal tone. She lifts a pen and paper out of her lap without looking away from Link.  

He shrugs and Traysi’s expression sinks. She must be remembering he’s Hyrule’s worst interview subject. She rolls her shoulders back and tries again. 

“Wasn’t it Sheikah Technology that saved you from death?” 

An unbearable amount of guilt seethes out from wounds deep inside Zelda. Questions she’ll never feel brave enough to voice echo in the silence that follows Traysi’s: Did I make the right call? Is it what you wanted me to do? She can’t see his face, but she imagines it is unsettlingly neutral, as it always is in crucial moments of outrageous tension.  

Do you resent me for what I did? She’s screaming inside her head, glaring at the back of his skull. Unbearable heat swirls in her chest like dragon’s breath. You must! Just say you do! 

“It trapped his soul inside his body,” King Dorephan says.

Link’s body flinches. It’s microscopic. Zelda only catches it because she’s so focused on him, but she sees it, and pain blooms in the very center of her chest. 

“Mipha’s soul was trapped inside Vah Ruta after all these years, too.” King Dorephan continues. He is a monolith of a presence and yet, when he speaks about his late daughter, somehow, he’s transformed into something smaller and broken. This is the price of a long life. The Rito who flew with Revali, the Gerudo who marched with Urbosa, the Gorons who laughed with Daruk; they have all since passed. If there is grief, it is distant and therefore, instinctively more bearable. Only the Sheikah can begin to relate and still, with the Champions, the Zora stand alone. Zelda’s here. The Sheikah’s Princess returned.

The title suddenly feels too heavy again. 

“Father, her body was gone,” Prince Sidon says gently. He has tears in his eyes. Unapologetically emotional as ever, and instead of responding with rage or shame, the great King of the Zora places a hand on Sidon’s shoulders. His eyes, set beneath the mighty crown of his people, swim with tears as well. 

Zelda wilts with envy. 

“The Zora second Link’s motion to destroy all Sheikah Technology.”

“We-we would be forfeiting artifacts that have withstood the test of time and have proven immensely useful,” Robbie proclaims. For the first time, he looks his age. Shaking where he stands, shoulders crested with fatigue, his hands braced on the back of Purah’s chair.  

“When they function properly,” Teba’s chimes in. He has the kind of call that booms across the Tabantha sky. A few Ritos whistle in consensus. “Vah Medoh terrorized our people for decades. Too many Rito warriors took their final dive after it claimed the sky for the Calamity.” 

“It didn’t get you though, Dad,” Tulin says. 

Teba grins, “Right. Thanks to Link. Kaneli?”

“The Rito soar with Link.” Kaneli flashes his massive wingspan. “Destroy it all.” 

“Forget a hammer, the Gorons will take care of anything that needs smashing,” Bludo grunts.

Yubuno clenches his fists and blows out a sphere of molten light around him. “Yeah, goro! We got this!”

“We passed many guardians and shrines during the march here from the desert. They are a map of tremendous loss across Hyrule. The Gerudo cannot remember a time when this technology was useful. We only know its devastation. It is time to let the past go. Hyrule is ready to move forward.” Riju sets her hands on her hips and nods in Link’s direction. 

“Our research…we would be throwing it all away!” Purah cries, and like Robbie, she’s looking her age. Six and completely devastated the grown ups are planning to take away her favorite toy.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Purah, Robbie, but weren’t the shrines and the Slate originally created specifically for Link? For the chosen hero?” Impa asks.

“Yes, that is correct,” Robbie says.

“And we all believe Calamity Ganon is finally vanquished, yes?” Impa turns to look at the crowd. 

“Mipha’s Grace.” One of the elder Zora crosses his fins at the same time Buliara and the other Gerudo soldiers raise their spears. Teba whistles and the Hylian’s offer the sign of the Goddess with their hands. It is a resounding and unanimous ‘good riddance’. 

“So, with this in mind, have the shrines and the Slate not served their purpose?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s true,” Robbie says. Purah starts pouting. Zelda can see the defeat starting to take root around the Sheikah researchers. Feels it starting to wrap around her own ankles. She feathers a hand up to touch the spot where her voice is trapped in her throat. All those years resisting her father’s guidance and now, it’s the one thing keeping her from damning herself. To this group, so revitalized by new hope, united and rising from a hundred years of ruin, her proposal of clinging to their ashes might feel like poison. 

Like malice.

“I know it feels like a waste, dear sister. Robbie. But I ask that you both consider the possibility this is not another squandering of our efforts.”

“It’s the fulfillment of them.” Paya’s voice is exceptionally steady. She folds her hands over Robbie’s and helps him peel back his fingers from the back of Purah’s chair. 

“The Zora will continue to look to the Sheikah for guidance,” Sidon says.

“It would be foolish to ignore the knowledge of the Sheikah,” Kaneli agrees.

“Like Link said, this is our opportunity to build something new for Hyrule.” Yubono pumps his fist in the air.

“Something better,” Riju adds.

“We will all have a hand in rebuilding Hyrule. From the ground up this time.” Hudson rubs his hands together like he’s ready to get started.

Tulin lets out a cheer. His voice is youthful and hopeful and infectious. The perfect song for the future of Hyrule. A few out Rito echo him and then the Gerudo join in. Then the Gorons, and the Zora and the Hylians. Impa holds her arms out to Purah and both she and Robbie lunge forward to embrace her. Link claps a few times and then finally looks over his shoulder at Zelda. His eyes are brighter than luminous stones.

He has no idea what he’s done. 

The smile was just a smile. A pathetically desperate misinterpretation on her part. He smiles because he’s polite, not because she’s something special or they are together in any of this. 

Link died on the field that day. And with him–

The pages slip from her hands. Her proposal scatters across the grass at her feet. 

She scurries to gather them up and Link immediately takes a knee to help her. Zelda snatches the pages back into her chest and recoils like the wounded animal she is. He blinks at her, a wordless question forming on his lips. The hand outstretched for the pages turns over slowly to offer his palm to her. He’s trying to help her up without any idea he’s the one who put her here.

“What says the Princess of new Hyrule?” It's Traysi’s voice. Probably ready with her pen, eager to draft a report and spit the plan for the restoration out to the Rumor Mill by sunset. 

Her hands are shaking. Dozens of eyes on her, fire in her throat, nothing but a scar on her hand. She glances down at the mark, a nameless cluster of triangles. In stasis, she decided they represented the holy Springs. For a time, she held all three in her hand, but Courage and Power only flowed through her. For some reason, predetermined by fate that has proven nothing but cruel, she is the vessel for Wisdom. 

And Wisdom tells Zelda her thoughts have no value. They never have.  She looks around at the faces of her people. Unknowingly, they’ve not only stolen her newfound sense of purpose–they are making it forbidden. 

And now they are asking for her blessing. 

She swallows what feels like acid and looks back at Link. At some point in her reeling, she’s risen to her feet without realizing it. He remains on his knees, looking up at her with an innocent tilt of confusion, Master Sword strapped to his back. Her body blocks out the sun and casts a looming shadow over his face. The pasture falls away from her. She’s surrounded by cascades of water and trees twisted with age and swarms of fireflies. Beneath her feet, an altar with a space for a traveler’s gift lifts her even higher above him. Zelda tries to keep the horror from washing over her face, but the restraint necessary only makes her feel like she might turn into stone. 

Is it a crown they want her to wear or a halo?

Zelda gathers herself and says the only thing she can summon from the depths of her panic, “May the Light of the Goddess shine upon you.”

—-

The Summit lasts four days. Link has all of the shrines, towers, and the majority of the remaining guardians already mapped out on the Slate, so it is only a matter of divvying up the work. Each group is responsible for their assigned regions and are free to do what they please with the guardian parts once the cores are removed. The Gerudo and the Zora verbalize their intent to destroy all the Sheikah tech in their territories, but the Gorons, Rito, and the Hylians (who stand the most to gain from recycled materials) plan to repurpose. 

The plan is to harvest the ancient cores and store them in the Slate. Link will travel across Hyrule to load the cores into Slate, along with any unwanted materials it has the capacity to absorb.  Once the guardians are taken care of and they figure out how to dismantle the shrines, they’ll destroy the Sheikah Slate, smother the ancient furnaces, and bury the Divine Beasts. They will reconvene as needed to collectively approve next steps. The Sheikah are tasked with what to do with the towers because everyone agrees there is value in preserving a modern mapping system as long as a new network is created.

It is Link’s task to figure out how to handle the shrines since he is the only one who can enter them. He disappears into the shrine near his house the first night only to emerge several hours later, circling it like a wolf. He eventually settles down and appears to just glare at the terminal until the sun rises. He does the same thing the following night and the night after that. Zelda knows this because she’s been watching him from Purah’s second floor window.

Seeing him struggle with it doesn’t make her feel better (okay, it helps a little), and it’s hard to stay upset when she sees how well-received his recommendation is; how necessary it feels for the rest of Hyrule to start planning their future. It’s just when this anger completely deflates, she knows she’ll be left to deal with what actually lies beneath it, as is often the case with her anger, and it’s a sorrow she’s afraid she will drown in. 

“He’s still at it?” Zelda jumps back from the window at the sound of Purah’s voice. 

“What? Link? I wasn’t–” Zelda sputters.

Purah waves her tiny hands and tip toes across the floor to a desk. “Don’t worry about it. He’s a fascinating subject.”

“Why are you up so late?” Zelda wraps her arms around herself. Purah gets a guilty look, but as Zelda draws closer, she hears a soft, excited hum coming from the researcher. Like Zelda’s presence alone lit some internal fuse and Purah is on the verge of bursting into sparkles. 

“If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone else?”

Zelda knows this is a dangerous game, Purah used to say the same thing a hundred years ago, right before she launched into an explanation as to why the western castle wall was damaged, again.

“Did you break something?”

“No!” Purah sets her fists in her hips, insulted. 

“Are you going to?” 

“Princess!”

Zelda lifts her eyebrows. 

“Come on, do you want to see what I’m working on or not.” Purah stomps her feet very softly in an exaggerated manner, obviously trying to keep the noise level down. 

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

“Pinky promise! I mean it, I need you to have my back like old times. You were the only reason my research didn’t get shut down back then.”

“It was threatened.” Zelda smiles at the avalanche of memory that befalls her. It didn’t feel funny at the time, – lying to her father, tempting his wrath – but it felt good to protect something she was equally as passionate about. 

“I know.” Purah rolls her eyes. 

“Multiple times.”

“I know! So, so, so?” Purah holds up her pinky and wiggles it at Zelda. Zelda rolls her shoulders back and sighs. 

“Okay, pinky promise,” she says and loops her finger with Purah’s. 

Purah flings open a wide drawer filled with blueprints. She throws the top half of pages to the floor with enthusiasm, mumbling about how Symin can pick them up later, and rummages around the rest with a hushed frenzy. Zelda spots a copy of the new Hyrule map from the Summit with the restoration territories outlined. Purah’s already marked all the Sheikah tower locations and made notes on possible spots for relocation.

Even she’s found a purpose in the path forward. 

Purah fans out the papers hidden at the very bottom of the drawer out on her desk. “I’ve expedited my experiments with the Anti-Aging Rune. I just want to reverse this,” she gestures to herself extravagantly, “and then they can do whatever they want with the Sheikah Slate.”

“You’re going to return to your original state? You’ll be over a hundred and–”

“No. I just want to look old enough so people stop telling me I need to take a nap whenever I raise my voice.” A beat. “And I want to be able to reach the jar Symin hides the honey candies in.”

Zelda scans over Purah’s design, which calls for the Guidance Stone, the Sheikah Slate, and something called ‘cellular maturity milestone marker’ coding. 

“Does Impa know you're working on this?”

“It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than seek permission, Princess. And besides, I’ve already got ideas for a better Slate with an even better name, so that should buy me a royal pardon if I need it, right?” 

As if Zelda holds any authority in any of this. 

Zelda backs away from Purah’s desk and the ugly feelings of jealousy starting to bubble up inside her. She ends up back at the window and turns her face to the cool night air. Link’s pacing in front of the Shrine again. 

“Do you think he’ll figure it out?” Zelda asks.

“The shrines? Yes.”

“He’s always been good at puzzles.”

“Yeah, but so have you. Aren’t you going to help him?” Purah quips innocently. With the way her hushed voice carries in the night, it’s like she's speaking from Zelda’s shoulder.  

—-

Zelda hasn’t spoken to him since the first day. If he’s noticed, he hasn’t made it known. He’ll occasionally catch her eye and smile, but she’s learned not to read into that anymore and hardens herself to any tenderness that attempts to sidetrack her thoughts.

Purah asks her to retrieve the Sheikah Slate from Link when he’s done with it so she can run a trial on the Anti-Aging Rune before Symin wakes up. If nothing else, it gives Zelda an excuse to wander down to the shrine while she’s still deciding if she wants to help him. 

He’s sitting cross-legged on the terminal gate with his chin in his hand when she approaches. The Master Sword lays unsheathed beside him. Weathered and dull, unable to glimmer even in the moonlight. Like her, it hasn’t glowed since the final battle.

It takes a second for him to return from wherever his thoughts are, but she can tell he’s been aware of her somehow since she started climbing the hill up to the shrine. He paws his chin with his fingers and then flops backward in the grass at her feet with a frustrated sigh. 

“Can’t figure it out?” She asks. 

He puffs some hair into his bangs and signs, ‘Not yet.’

She sits down beside him. “Do you think there is a core inside?”

He crinkles his nose and shakes his head.

“You told me you think the Shrines, like Divine Beasts, run on some kind of spirit-based energy, right?”

He nods. 

“But when you clear a Shrine, the spirit of the Sheikah Monk inside disappears?”

“Right.” Link sits up on his elbows and rolls his head around his shoulders.

“But the Shrine stays semi-active, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t that imply a power source remains?”

Link shrugs. Zelda follows the curls of cerulean along the walls of the shrine up to the peak where the Sheikah Eye glows. The symbol always brought her comfort. The presence of a friend, the company of like minds—a buffer of protection against the unbearable amount of pressure building on her shoulders since the day she turned seven. But the symbol feels different now, as most symbols tend to do with time. It doesn’t bring her much comfort. It’s just another thing from her past she has to let go of; the sign of something else evolving without her. 

It stares unblinking and focused on some distance point she can’t see. 

He taps her on the shoulder to pull her attention back to him. A tiny pulse of electricity moves from his fingers down into her belly when he seems to appraise her face before he signs. 

‘Any ideas?’ He looks tired. Overdue for a visit. She can feel sleep reaching for her as well. Her attention drifts back to the Sheikah Eye and she imagines it closing shut. Resting like they both should. Like she could if she had a bed.

A home. 

“You said you think the Shrines work like the Divine Beasts? So in theory, those stopped working because our friends—” Grief, unexpected and sudden, crackles in her voice. She clears her throat. Pivots. “You can’t use their gifts any longer, right?”

Link flexes his fingers slowly. Like he’s just missing something that keeps passing through his fingers. “I let them go.”

She thinks about what King Dorephan said about the Shrine of Resurrection and Link’s soul. How he had been unable to die because the Shrine kept his soul tethered to his body while the waters healed it.  She thinks about eyes closing and Tulin’s cheering and the sadness that comes with at last fulfilling one’s purpose. 

“Can I see the Slate?” She asks. Link unclips it from his belt and slides it over to her in the grass. Purah would slap him if she saw just how casually he handles it. Zelda wants to tell him to be careful, that Purah might be tall enough to reach his face soon, but she has a pinky promise to keep, and the Slate will be gone before too long, anyway. She weighs it with her hands a few times and then stands to approach the terminal. 

“How do you activate the Shrine if there isn’t a slot?” She feels Link come up beside her. He leans over and mimics holding the Slate over the Sheikah symbol with an empty hand. The hair on her arm stands on end in his closeness. Will this feeling ever go away? Or will it always feel like she is about to be struck by lightning whenever he’s near? 

“Have you ever tried to do it again once the Shrine is activated?”

“No.”

Zelda lifts the Slate up to the terminal. Nothing happens. The shrine glows calm and blue, the door stays shut, the Slate screen blank–as she suspects it would. She bites her cheek and hands the Slate back to him. “You try.”

The second he holds the Slate over the terminal, the light at the center of the Sheikah Eye blinks once, calling the Slate to life. He turns over and inspects the screen. The name of the Shrine, which Zelda assumes is the name of the Sheikah Monk whose soul powered it for thousands of years, has a check mark next to it. She assumes it is because Link completed the trial inside. 

Below the name is a single, pulsing command:

> Rest? &lt;

They snap their heads up to look at each other at the same time. 

Link’s shoulders collapse. An irritated puff air escapes his nose. 

Zelda leans over him, presses her thumb against the word, and watches it dissolve into the darkness of the screen. The steel shifts under her feet, and they immediately scramble off the back of the entryway because the Shrine has started disintegrating around them. Link wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her flush against him so his body breaks their fall when they hit the grass.

They watch the last bit of light in the Sheikah symbol disappear into nothing. In a matter of ten seconds, the only evidence the Shrine was ever there is a round footprint of dirt. There are no materials to sort through, no cavern to fill in. She shifts and sits between his bent legs, frantically turning on the Sheikah Slate where, on the digital map of Hyrule, the symbol marking where the Shrine was is completely gone. 

“I…I can’t believe that actually worked!” She laughs, collects herself, holds the Slate out at another angle and laughs again.“You were right about the spirit energy,” she insists. Funeral pires, ashes in the wind, a deliberate letting go; one way or another, a soul needs to be put to rest. Otherwise, it just spins like a windmill blade even after the wind is gone. 

“How did you know?”

“I’m just good at solving puzzles.” Purah deserves a honey candy for reminding her of that. “It will speed the restoration up significantly if that’s all you need to do…” Her voice trails off slowly. He’s got his head next to hers, eyes fixed on the Slate in front of them. It takes everything inside her not to fold back against him, so viciously desperate for touch – for his touch – her hands start to tremble with urgency. The last drop of anger left inside her vanished with the shrine.   And as predicted, the misery left behind is deep and agonizing and it goes by another name:  

Loneliness.