#first time actually writing these 2

[hinamie]

unconditionally

[hyakunana]

"My friend, my partner… my Guardian."

[transmascutena]

the poor little meow meow-ifictation of saionji in this fandom has got to stop i can't take it any more

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

[hansluvs]

Your debut into the ton was certainly an anti-climactic one. Being the youngest of your five sisters, who had all been whisked away and married by the time you were of-age, everyone's attention had already moved on from your family's matches and preyed on the newer debutantes that had come in from further districts.

However, a debut that had certainly shocked the ton was that of the oldest Itoshi brother, who was the son of the King's advisor and had been close friends with the crown prince along with his brother since they were children. The entire society had been waiting for him to pursue a marriage match since his younger brother, Rin, had tied the knot with a very fortunate debutante the previous season.

Itoshi Sae had the reputation of being quite the rake, and was notorious for never taking the same woman to bed twice. He was very easily bored, as he put it, always looking for a new source of entertainment. Which consequently swiped marriage right off the table, as words from the mamas claim he's never so much as considered it.

Yet there he is now, standing beside his mother and younger brother, nursing a glass of lemonade. His teal eyes are carefully flitting around the room, seemingly cold and calculated. You hoped they would not meet yours.

As much as the alluring man across you had piqued your interest, you were determined to achieve your one and only goal for this season: to find a love match, and ultimately decided that Itoshi Sae was certainly not the man for the job.

A gentle hand had rested on your shoulder and you turn around to find Mikage Reo, the only son of the Viscount Mikage, and your dearest friend.

"Nervous?" he asked, a cheeky grin on his charming face usually reserved for poking fun at you.

"Hardly. I find it's quite boring, you promised me more fun than this," huffing out a sigh, you take another sip from your lemonade. 

Reo lets out an amused chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way you've always admired. You've harbored an unrequited crush on him for quite some time now, ever since their family had moved in across the street from yours and he had introduced himself with that same toothy grin he now flashed at you.

"It is uncharacteristically dull tonight, I suppose. Would you fancy a dance instead?"

Reo would have been the perfect match for you; attractive, intelligent, humorous, and not to mention from one of the most well-off families in town. You two got along well, and it was no question your shared affection for one another.

"And risk Seishiro shooting another rude remark at me? Thank you, but I'll pass."

If only he had not been in love with your older brother, Seishiro - who had returned his feelings, which you only found out this summer. Reo shoots you a scolding look, as if to warn you about someone overhearing your conversation. It was, after all, inappropriate for two men to be involved romantically within the ton.

Which was why your brother was standing a few feet away from the pair of you, a bored expression on his face as he pretended to listen to whatever Mr. Bachira was talking excitedly to him about.

Reo hurriedly scribbles down his name into your dance card then gently pulls you onto the large ballroom floor. "Don't worry about him, he's not the one making their debut. Besides, someone needs to dance with you in order to gain the attention of other suitors."

As the orchestra plays another lively tune, you scoff at your friend. "I don't need you to attract suitors! I can do that perfectly by myself, thank you very much."

"Really?" Reo smiles, lilac eyes not pointed at you but at somewhere, someone in the crowd instead. "So, do you reckon that Mr. Itoshi Sae would have noticed you had I not intervened?"

"What are you on about?"

As the pair of you turn, you finally see what Reo had meant.

Itoshi Sae, with his piercing teal eyes and indifferent expression, had been watching you move across the dance floor the entire time. Like a hawk.

The two of you meet each other's gaze and a shudder runs through you as Reo twirls you away from him. A sudden, awful feeling sinks into the pit of your stomach, and it seems that you were entirely incorrect.

This season would be far from boring, as you'd come to find out.

[absoloutenonsense]

Coming October 31st…

When the Trouble Comes by nonsensedarling

Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson | 80k | Explicit

Official fic post is HERE.

The Queens Trafficking case is the biggest one of Louis’ FBI career so far; eleven reported missing girls all disappeared under a similar set of circumstances. Louis has done everything he can to try and solve this case over the last nine months... while also absolutely ruining his marriage. Harry has been co-host of Banter at Breakfast for five years now and finally has the opportunity to create his own radio show with the network. Unfortunately, it comes at a time where Harry's thoughts are consumed with his impending divorce from his (caring, loving, infuriatingly thoughtful) husband of eight years. Harry and Louis have both been willing to lose themselves in their work… but are they willing to lose each other?

Or a story of (almost) exes-to-lovers.

Chapters will post on Tuesdays of each week, starting on October 31st (20 chapters in total).

(If you would like to be notified by email when it starts posting, you can subscribe here.)

Snippet under the cut:

💼🍷

With a copy of the case file in his backpack, Louis sticks his key in the door, unlocks it, and steps inside, trying to be as quiet as he can because he knows at this time of night, Harry will definitely be asleep.

Except when he shuts the door, he sees the living room light bleeding out into the hallway, a shadow moving back and forth. There’s the sound of footsteps – lots of them, very quickly. Louis stares at the light and for a brief moment panics that he’s walked into their apartment to find Harry with someone else.

He hears light murmurs. Louis leans forward, feet frozen but his ears straining, until he recognizes the murmurs as Harry singing. Louis sighs in relief. Harry isn’t with someone else. He’s singing and probably dancing in the living room, maybe with his headphones in, which is why he hasn’t stopped or popped his head out between the doorframe when Louis opened the door.

Louis isn’t going to look in. He’s going to walk right past the doorway and head straight to the guest bedroom and review the file again, and then go to sleep so he can meet Perrie early in the morning.

He isn’t going to look in.

He really doesn’t mean to look in. A motion pulls his attention in his peripheral vision and his head turns without him realizing it, then his whole body stops moving.

Harry is dancing, wireless earbuds in and a glass of deep red wine in his right hand. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, which tells Louis that the one in his hand is at least his third. He’s wearing just his boxer briefs and one of Louis’ hoodies.

Well, it was technically Harry’s hoodie originally. It’s heather grey, worn in to just the perfect amount of softness with a faded Greenbay Packers logo on the front. The first time Louis stayed over at Harry’s, he got cold just before they were going to bed. Harry took the sweatshirt from where it was draped over the top of the closet door and passed it to him.

When Louis pulled it on… he can’t really explain it, but there, in Harry’s dreadfully small room in his four-roommate apartment, wearing a hoodie that smelled exactly like him (like he’d been wearing it all day, soaked in the scent of his shampoo and body lotion and fabric softener)... Louis had the same feeling he got when he first visited New York when he was a kid. Like he was home. Harry had agreed. “Looks better on you then it ever has on me,” he’d said with a smirk. And from then on, it was Louis’ hoodie. Harry never tried to take it back.

So the fact that his husband is wearing it now makes Louis feel all sorts of things. Before he has even a second to figure out what any one of them is, Harry opens his eyes.

“Shit fucking Christ,” he exclaims, opening his hand automatically. It’s like Louis watches in slow motion as the glass falls and breaks, shattering in so many different directions. He pulls his earbuds out quickly. “Hell, Louis, you scared the shit out of me!” he scolds.

Harry rises up onto his tiptoes, and Louis’ hand immediately goes out in front of him in a stop gesture.

“Don’t, don’t move,” Louis says. “Stay there.”

He turns quickly towards the kitchen, throwing his backpack somewhere off to the side as he rushes to grab the dustpan and broom, as well as the roll of paper towels.

“I’m coming, stay still,” Louis shouts as he starts jogging back.

He keeps his eyes on the ground as he puts one paper towel down to soak up the wine there, then balls it up so he can sweep away the shards. He does the same as he works his way towards Harry’s feet.

There’s red wine all over his toes, that’s got to be uncomfortable. Louis grabs one of the paper towels and goes to dab his feet to wipe it off.

“Stop,” Harry says. He sounds angry.

Louis glances up and sees that he looks angry. He holds his hands up in a surrendering motion, not wanting to upset him anymore.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well don’t,” Harry spits out.

He stands up slowly. Louis doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Harry this angry with him. Even the time Louis accidentally threw out his favorite pair of boots it wasn’t like this. Louis isn’t prepared for this bitterness coming from his husband, and he didn’t think divorce brought on something like that when it wasn’t there before, at least not before they’d even filed the paperwork.

[softinvasions]

Hornet at Herrah's Altar • Dec. 2023

[queen0fm0nsterz]

After weeks of writing, I can finally announce that I am writing a new story! 

I’ve seen so many Thin Dad AUs, so I decided to try my hand at a Lady Mom AU! I’d say it’s more of a character study turned into fanfic, but aren’t all my fanfictions like that at this point... Let me know what you think! 

[faarkas]

domain expansion: weeb in a onesie

[lost-in-fandoms]

Your wingfics live rent free in my head. I can't stop thinking about it. They were so good omg. It's such a beautiful universe, so amazing ♥️ Do you plan to write more about it? 🥹♥️ I hope so but if the answer is no, I will read them again and again because I love them ♥️😍

adsfndjd anon you are the sweetest!!! I'm so happy you enjoyed them and were so kind to tell me, I really appreciate it!

Sadly, I can't promise anything for the future tbh. I have been really struggling with getting back into writing after a really long drought, and I'm giving my brain the chance to just put down whatever it fancies, instead of forcing myself to write something specific just for the sake of it. I am always open to be prodded by an ask like this or a prompt though so always feel free to drop by! A lot of the things I write don't actually live in a wider universe, they just spawn out of nowhere, get thrown down on paper, and disappear in the void, but usually I can still create more around it if someone asks. Another reason why I really appreciate you saying this, because for once my wingfic does have a wider universe around it, and I am always glad to put one more snippet into it.

This is little baby Max in his first year in the rbr seat (part 1 and part 2)

cw: mentions of Jos not being a great father related to unsafe and painful wing care practices, description of said practices, littlest blood mention

Max doesn't like his wings.

He doesn't dislikes them either, but if he could get rid of them, he would. First of all, he can't actually use them to fly, his bones aren't hollow and his back muscles aren't powerful enough anyway, so having wings that don't actually work seems like a taunt from the universe. They're also very inconvenient when driving. Papa has taught him how to keep them clipped to lower their weight, and how to keep them tightly bound in an harness to have them take up less space in a kart, but neither of those things is exactly pleasant. Sometimes, when he drives for too long, his whole back spasms because of his wings being constricted, and sometimes when he clips too much, his wings bleed and molting becomes painful.

It's worth it, of course, to be able to race faster and better, but a part of him does wish he just had Papa's fish scales, or even Mama's diaphanous dragonfly wings.

Cleaning his wings is also annoying, because it's hard sometimes to reach all the spots, and after long days on the track it feels like there will be itchy dust and grit clinging onto them forever.

He's not one to get stuck on made-up scenarios, but it doesn't mean he has to like them.

--

Daniel is not the first bird-winged racer he meets, of course, but he is his first teammate. He has a completely different relationship with his wings than Max, always keeping them shiny and clean, no clipping or binding. He seems to love them and to love taking care of them, parading them around and showing them off.

Max doesn't understand. Not that it matters, he doesn't need to understand Daniel to be able to beat him, but. It's not that he's jealous, he's not, but sometimes he feels the heaviness of his wings on his back, skin irritated by the dirt stuck to it, looking patchy where he's taking longer to molt, and he wishes. He wants.

Most of the time though, he knows it's just a waste of time, to care about how they look so much, when it doesn't even matter, when it doesn't affect his driving.

And then one day, Daniel doesn't knock.

Max is carefully peeling his race suit off his shoulders, hissing slightly when it goes over his bound wings, when the door slams open.

"Maxy, hey, have you seen..." Daniel doesn't finish his sentence, eyebrows knotting together, eyes zeroed on Max's back.

Max feels his skin prickling under his gaze and he's almost tempted to do his suit up again, but his wings are aching, and he wants to take a shower, so he just turns around to face Daniel, frowning just as hard.

"What do you want?" he snaps, hating the way he feels his cheeks heat up. He doesn't know why he's reacting like this, he's done nothing wrong, but the way Daniel is looking at him, a mix of unbelieving and horrified, makes him feel ashamed.

"Do you always do that?" Daniel asks instead of answering his question, taking a step forward. Max instinctively takes a step back, bumping into the massage table behind him, hating himself for not standing his ground. It's his driver room, Daniel has no right to judge him in here.

"Do what, Daniel?"

He goes to cross his arms, but the movement tugs on his still trapped wings, making him wince. He wants Daniel to leave, so he can finally finish undressing, but Daniel steps even closer instead.

"Do you always keep your wings like that? Max, that's dangerous!"

Max decides to ignore the worry in Daniel's voice, feeling himself bristle.

"I am of course able to drive safely!"

"Drive?" Daniel gives a short laugh, so different from his usual one Max feels himself shiver. He wishes he had more space to put between them. "I am not talking about driving, I am talking about your wings!"

Max opens his mouth, ready to tell him to leave him alone, when his back spasms, a hot flash of pain traveling from his neck down his spine, wings straining against the constrains, and what comes out is a strangled gasp instead.

A second later, Daniel's hands are on his shoulders, forcing him to turn around with a swear.

"Did you put this on this morning? Let me help you take it off."

Daniel doesn't give him a chance of answering, fingers already working on the buckles on Max's side, as Max scrambles to push him away.

"No, no, you cannot, you have to..." he breathes in sharply as the harness start to loosen, wings cramping as they try to flutter, eyes snapping close.

"Max, you need to..."

"Slow," Max interrupts him, clutching at the straps to keep them from slipping open all at the same time. "You have to, one at a time."

He doesn't open his eyes again as he undoes them carefully, feeling Daniel hover just in front of him, keeping his wings tightly pressed against his back until he can slip the straps over his shoulders and down his waist.

"Max..." Daniel doesn't try to touch him again, but Max can hear the stress in the way his vocal cords curl around his name, mixing it with an involuntary warble.

Max ignores him. This is always the worst part, but he is practiced enough to make it go quickly.

He takes a breath, wrapping his right arm around his waist until he is able to grasp his left wing's tip, and then holds it as he works it open, fingers sliding along the length of it, straightening feathers as they come. Pain shoots through it, his back burning, his shoulders tensing, but when it's fully open, he works to close it again, and then it's done, just a dull ache left behind.

He lets himself take two deep breaths before repeating the whole thing with the other.

When both wings are resting along his back again, he shifts his shoulders, trying to get rid of the tension there, and then finally opens his eyes.

Daniel is looking at him, eyes wide and horrified, mouth slightly open. His hands are shaking. Max doesn't know what to say.

"It is of course fine, see?" is what he settles for, fluttering his wings to prove it. It's slightly painful, especially his left one where he clipped a bit too much and is bleeding a little, but Daniel doesn't need to know that.

"Fine?" Daniel chokes out, eyes widening impossibly more. "You're hurting yourself! That's not safe, Max!"

Max scoffs, letting the harness fall on the massage bed and pulling his undershirt off, carefully easing his wings through the slits in the back.

"I'm fine, Daniel."

For a second, it looks like Daniel is going to scream at him, eyes narrowing and fists closing, and Max wonders if it would be inappropriate for him to flee the room half naked, but then all the fight seems to leave Daniel's body. He sags a little, raising a hand to drag it across his face and sighing, shaking his head to himself.

"Listen, I don't know why you've decided this is the right thing to do to yourself, but you're going to take a shower, and when you're done we'll go back to the hotel, and I'll preen your wings."

Max opens his mouth, ready to argue with him, he has data to go over before tomorrow's qualifying, but Daniel doesn't give him a chance to, turning around and leaving the room as quickly as he had come in.

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 2: Thermometer, Delirium (“I’ll call out your name but you won’t call back”)

This one has similar vibes to day 1, but it was originally for a different later-on day so that’s why (if you know the prompts, you can probably guess which!). Also there’s no actual thermometers here, but I definitely used the prompt as inspiration lol. Sorry Sky.

Warnings for: being out in the heat too long, an implied head injury, and a character thinks briefly about how it wouldn’t be so bad to die.

Read it on ao3

————————————————————

Sky couldn’t remember why he was here.

Blinding sun shone in his eyes, even when he shaded his face with his hands, that made the pounding in his skull twice as worse. The glare made it impossible to see across the desert he was walking through, and his eyes hurt from squinting. Sand blew past his face, tripped his steps, and the heat rose off of it in waves, making it hard to focus on why...

...why what, exactly?

Sky shook his head, unable to remember, and kept walking. There wasn’t anything else to do, after all.

He’d been walking for ages, and the temperature had risen sharply as he’d gone, making sweat pour down his face and drip down his back. His sailcloth had long been put away in his pouch, and as tempted as he was to remove more layers, he didn’t want to be vulnerable to attack, or exposed to the blinding sun any more than necessary.

Not that it mattered much. There was no shelter anywhere.

Only sand. Endless sand.

Sky squeezed his eyes shut a moment, the uncomfortable sting from their dryness worth the temporary respite from the sun. He only had a few sips of water left, and as much as he wanted to gulp them down, he needed to conserve them so he could make it back to... to somewhere.

...to someone?

Sky swallowed, the motion barely relieving the dryness of his throat.

He was alone, but it hadn’t always been like that, had it? He did faintly recall being in a desert like this before, but... but maybe he’d always been wandering out here by himself.

Alone in the desert, with no water and a headache that only got worse.

He kept walking.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky above him, no respite from the sun that beat down on his head. A scorching wind sometimes brushed past his bangs, kicking up the sand, but bringing no relief whatsoever.

Sky’s legs dragged more and more the longer he walked, his clothes soaked in sweat. He gulped down the last few drops of water he had, but it didn’t do a thing to quench his thirst. His head pounded, his headache worsened from the bright sun and pulsing behind his eyes, but Sky couldn’t even close them. Whenever he did, he always tripped soon after, and pulling himself back up got harder each time it happened.

A sound suddenly caught his attention, one that wasn’t just harsh wind or shifting sands. Sky dazedly looked up (when had he lowered his head?), and his eyes widened at the sight.

There were trees a short distance away, trees and tents set up around a large rock that reached up towards the sky. They all provided a glorious amount of shade from the sun, and in the middle of it all was a large pool of water.

Sky stared, then felt his aching face stretch in a smile.

Shelter. Shade.

Water.

He let out a raspy laugh, and began to run towards it, stumbling in the sand as he went. Finally, civilization, and a respite from the awful heat. Somewhere to rest, to figure out why he was wandering through the desert, why he felt like he shouldn’t be alone.

Sky was so fueled by the sight of something other then sand that in his excitement, he suddenly tripped on the large dune he’d been running down. His legs were too exhausted to recover, and he fell forward, arms pinwheeling.

Sky’s yelp was quickly cut off as his face hit the sand, and he tumbled down the rest of the way, limbs flying and sand getting on every bit of him that didn’t already have it.

He finally rolled to a stop with a groan, his exhausted body even more tired from the fall. He felt bruised and dizzy, and the same spot in the back of his head that kept pounding was blazing with pain now, but the reminder of water got him to fight through it, and Sky took in a steadying breath. Once his head finally stopped spinning, he carefully raised it, trying to focus on the oasis again and reorient himself.

Nothing but empty sand met him.

Sky stared, eyes widening as he lurched to his feet and looked around with increasing desperation. He could no longer hear the splashing of the water, see the leaves of tall palms rustling with a cooling breeze, just... sand.

Nothing but sand.

There had never been any oasis. It was just his mind, desperate for something to cool itself off with, tricking him.

Sky closed his eyes, a wave of despair crashing over him. It was so intense he nearly fell over, and he felt a frustrated cry build in his throat. He’d been so close, to shelter, to water, to people... but no, there’d been nothing to be close to at all. Just his dehydrated mind playing tricks.

He shook his head, and swallowed back the sting in his eyes as he reopened them. A dull feeling settled over him as he stared at the empty sands, and he sighed, the sound raspy and weak.

Nothing to do but keep going.

He began to walk again, and he couldn’t bring himself to scan the horizon for help any more. Maybe there just wasn’t any shelter anywhere.

Maybe the desert had no end.

Waves of heat rose off the sand, making the horizon impossible to make out no matter how much Sky squinted at it. The sun was right around its peak, scorching its rays onto his head, and Sky took his sailcloth back out with shaking hands and rested it over his head to protect his face. It barely helped, and he knew his skin was already peeling from burns, but he kept it there anyway. The faint sweet smell coming off of it was comforting at least.

He wondered why it smelled so nice. He couldn’t remember.

The sun seemed to stall above his head, getting no lower. Sky’s stomach began to roll unpleasantly, his dry throat crying out for water. He wasn’t sure why he kept walking honestly, when it would have been so much easier to just stop, but something kept his feet moving, even despite the pounding in his head.

A laugh floated by on the wind, and Sky blinked, a flash of pale hair in the corner of his eyes. He thought he saw a man approach him, covered in armor, but when he looked again he was gone.

The light grew more orange, his shadow squirming like snakes over the dunes. Harsh wind stung at his face like bitter words, and a wolf laughed at him when he stumbled, barks ringing in his ears. Something with fiery hair challenged him to a fight, but when Sky drew his sword to face it, there was nothing but a distant laugh in his ears.

He kept his sword out after that, using it as more of a walking stick than anything. Apologies spilled from his lips, for scuffing her steel and getting sand stuck in her hilt, but he didn’t know why. She was just a sword, wasn’t it?

Something circled lazily above his head, and Sky squinted at it, pausing as he tried to figure out why the shape seemed so familiar. Something outstretched to either side, a tail in the back...

Red flashed in his vision, and an intense hope caught in his chest as a memory surfaced.

“Crimson?” Sky breathed, watching the bird swoop around, wings stretched towards him as if it was coming in for an embrace.

Then it abruptly changed course and began to fly away.

“No— nnno no Crimson no, come back—!”

Sky bolted after his loftwing, but barely took a step before tripping in the sand, sending him sprawling. He desperately looked up, but his bird was long gone, lost in the blue sky.

It had left him. Everyone had left him. The scarf, the leaves, the golden hair, even his sword— Sky sobbed and tried to get up, but he’d finally reached his limit, the loss of his bird one loss too many.

He collapsed, muscles worn, heart aching, and his vision went dark.

(...)

A faint whisper tickled his ears.

Sky breathed out a soft moan, too hazy to try and listen. It was a gentle voice, one that made his chest hurt for some reason, but everything was disjointed, dark color smearing around the inside of his eyelids.

The voice repeated itself, but he couldn’t focus through the darkened void, too weak, too faint. But the voice continued, kept trying, and eventually Sky could hear it enough to just barely make out what it was saying.

“...Link...”

It was if his name was spoken through a heavy fog.

Sky still didn’t move, feeling utterly drained. It was like a weight had been dropped on top of him. Even when he thought he heard something move nearby, he remained still, listening silently as it approached. The sounds were strangely distant, but he listened to them anyway, unable to do much else.

The footsteps stopped, and Sky could feel that he wasn’t alone.

Maybe it’s a monster finally come to finish me off, he thought distantly. The idea was almost a welcome one, and he exhaled, sure that he’d feel a blade cutting into his heart any moment now. Then maybe he could truly rest, and join everyone who had left him.

“Sleepyhead, it’s time to get up.”

The familiar nickname abruptly cleared some of the fog that had descended in Sky’s head, and he forced his eyes open through the grit encrusting them.

Warm yellow met him, not like the painful glare of the desert sun, but a kinder, cheerful shade. Like gentle spring sunshine, with a silver glint from the moonlight. Sky blinked, and felt a huge surge of emotion as he looked up into crystal-clear eyes, their middle a blue even brighter than the sky.

“...Zelda?” he croaked, and she nodded from where she stood next to him.

“Sleepyhead, you need to get up,” she said in a teasing voice, and Link closed his eyes again, already exhausted from opening them the first time.

“...I can’t... Zelda, I...” he whispered, and he felt a light touch on his cheek, fingers gently caressing him.

“Open your eyes, Link.”

He obeyed, and Zelda smiled at him again, her form strangely hazy in his vision.

“You’re close to help, Link. It’s not much further, you can make it. I know you can.”

“I can’t,” he repeated in a whisper, wishing he could do as she said, but unable to gather the strength.

The sun had wrung out any energy he had, sapped by sweat and heat and the endless pound in his head. Sky belatedly realized it was much colder now, but the temperature switch was of no relief to his worn and wearied body. The air was now freezing instead of burning, and he barely had the energy to shiver, the cold leeching any remaining strength he had.

He was deathly thirsty, his stomach still hurt, and he still couldn’t remember why he was in the desert in the first place, or what he’d been doing beforehand.

Link closed his eyes again, a sudden wave of despair crashing over him through the confusion and haze.

“I can’t,” Link trembled out again, and tears would have sprung to his eyes if he’d had any water left in his body. “Z-Zel, I can’t.”

“You can,” Zelda replied in a voice equally firm and soft. Link couldn’t stand to look at her.

He kept his eyes closed, and then something moved at his side where his pouch was. He stayed still as it moved, then felt something soft fall over his shoulders, a familiar perfume drifting into his nose.

“You can, Link,” Zelda repeated, her voice encouraging. “I’ll be with you for every step. Don’t fall here. It’s time to get up.”

Link exhaled, and looked into Zelda’s eyes, watching the way the moonlight made them shine.

“Is that a command from my goddess?” he whispered in a barely-there voice.

“No. It’s a request from your friend,” Zelda said as she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his hair. “Now come on, Link. It’s time to keep going.”

Something alit inside Link’s chest at her words, something weak, and faint. But it was warm, and Link clung to it like a drowning man, curling around and snatching at it, and suddenly felt as if he had some of his strength back. Not a lot, barely any, and he doubted he could even raise his sword... but he could move.

He wasn’t going to die alone in the desert. He wouldn’t fall here.

He would keep going.

Link clutched at his sailcloth with trembling fingers, and turned himself off his side and onto his hands. Then he moved to his knees, and ever so slowly, body shaking with the effort, got to his feet.

He stood for a moment, trembling in the moonlight, afraid to move for fear that he’d fall over. But Zelda’s words rang in his head, and he breathed in, tightening his grip on the sailcloth. Then he took a single swaying step, and then another, and another, legs trembling like those of a newborn loftwing. Walking through the sand seemed more impossible than earlier, and once he began shivering, it was even worse.

But every time he faltered, every time he nearly collapsed, wanted desperately to stop and just rest... he saw a shine of yellow hair ahead of him, a glint of blue eyes... and he kept going.

All through the night he plodded along, boots slipping in the sand, clutching Zelda’s words to him as tightly as he clutched the sailcloth.

Something at his back gave out an occasional weak pulse, and Link matched his steps to the faint rhythm. The horizon began to lighten, orange streaks shooting through the sky, and somewhere in that time, Link stopped shivering, the temperature rising again as he trekked endlessly across the sands.

Step, after step, after step.

He kept walking.

The sun broke over the horizon, making his eyes sting from its brightness. His footsteps weaved uncertainly as it cast orangey rays across the sands, voices warbling to him on the wind, cheering him, jeering at him, words both indecipherable and clear as ice.

A red haired man yelled at him after spending all day with Zelda, and a tall woman fiercely berated him, making his ears sting. The armor looked at his sword with dislike and anger while a bunny twitched his whiskers, the very grass and trees laughed, dusk fell and cried out as he struggled against the darkness, his parents looked at him with pride and grief and Mia wove around his legs as she begged to be picked up—

Link belatedly realized he’d fallen to the ground, still-cool sand pressing against his cheek.

Zelda’s voice had gone quiet, no more yellow hair to follow, no voice urging him up. Link breathed out, his strength gone. The faint flicker he’d regained was utterly spent. His body had been pushed to its limit, and he’d gone as far as he could. He’d given it his all.

He couldn’t keep going.

The darkness started to creep up on him again, but it felt colder this time, deep, reaching out to drag him down with its claws. Link shivered and wanted to brush it off, but he couldn’t even raise his arm.

I’m sorry Zel.

The claws hooked into him, began to cover his vision, sending darkness over his sight, but as they did, Link thought he saw a flicker of color out in the sand.

A yell rang faintly in his ears as he closed his eyes, footsteps pounding the sand. More yells joined the first as Link relaxed, and the sand brushed his other cheek, though it felt remarkably smooth and gentle as darkness swept over him like a wave.

For some reason, he felt perfectly safe.

[illarian-rambling]

Damn, what if I reworked Starbreaker to be exclusively in Anarac's pov instead of trying to balance 5 new povs in one book?

Thoughts?

[pamela-lntt]

I can't believe q!Tubbo got Fredzoned

"haven't you done a drawing like this before-" yes but shhh

Like my art? Consider buying me a coffee!

[clock0fmeantime]

so anyways i think i've returned to tumblr. Ch&t designs be upon you

[glass-oranges]

Hiiii I made a core picrew if u wanna check that out I think that would be super cool <3

[iris-drawing-stuff]

Sometimes I just get the most nonsensical crossover ideas.

Doki Doki Literature Club! Milgram Edition

Does this make sense? No.

Was it fun to draw? Yes!

And that's what's important!