#i should link it here but i just woke up and i have to digging through my bookmarks

[interview-withthevampire]

as someone whose always been a fan of oc fan fiction, like MGIME and MGIT, I am praying for more OC-based vampire chronicles fan fiction to spawn after the success of the tv show... you have no idea... pls its my favourite fic genre for when i want something enjoyable to read

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

Slap a Bow on It

 "Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t stupid. He could be a bit oblivious, but he always got there in the end. So when Danny woke up the next morning and realized that last night wasn’t a dream, he had an epiphany. He was being courted by the super hot and apparently undead crime lord who ran the haunt on the other side of the street."

@deadonmayn Day 1: Courting Rituals | Flickering | Dinner is interrupted by a rogue/gang fight | "Are they gone yet?"

TW: Danny is thirsty as hell, mentions/allusions to nsfw but nothing explicit

AO3 Link

   Danny blinked.

   He could only assume that the crime lord, illuminated purely by the light of the fridge in the otherwise dark apartment, blinked back. The helmet didn't give anything away, red plating and slanted eye whites impassive. Good for being sexy menacing. Not so good for reading emotions.

   Danny blinked again, wiping the rheum from his eyes with pinched fingers. He squinted once more at Red Hood, who for some reason was in his apartment at - Danny glanced at the clock - three in the morning. He seemed perfectly content to be digging through Danny’s fridge, if a little sheepish at being caught.

    He should probably be more angry that his apartment was broken into. He absolutely was when he first woke to the uncomfortable feeling of an uninvited guest in his lair, but after seeing the vigilante’s arms laden with food his metaphorical hackles relaxed. The apartment was shitty anyway. 

   If anything, Danny was confused as to why he was here judging his fridge’s contents and playing Tetris with tupperware. It wasn’t like they knew each other. 

   Danny blinked a third time just to really make sure he was seeing what he was seeing, "...Hi?" 

   "Hey,"  Red Hood unfroze, seemingly recovered from being caught, and resumed stuffing what looked like a container of tamales into his fridge. 

   Danny couldn’t help but feel sullen at the dismissal. He'd woken up only for the admittedly hot trespasser with thick thighs to barely glance at him. Unacceptable. 

   "Do you want anything to drink?"  Danny must have been momentarily possessed by the ghost of Midwestern manners with how urgent the offer seemed. 

   "Nah," Red Hood stuffed another container into the fridge, turning to look back at Danny, "You don't have any allergies, do you?"

   "Nah."

   Red Hood nodded, pulling out a bag of rotten lettuce. He held it away from himself like it might try to bite him. In Danny’s experience, it very well could. 

   “Do you ever clean out your fridge?”

   Danny shrugged, “It’s finals week. I’ve got to keep my GPA above 3.5 if I want to keep my scholarship. No chores. Only study.”

   Red Hood nodded solemnly as he threw the lettuce into the trash, “No chores. Only study.”

   They fell into silence. Danny watched as the crime lord sifted through his fridge, pulling out rotten food as he went. “Is this because I decked that mugger? Cause’ he deserved it.”

   Red Hood very pointedly threw the expired milk carton into the trash can.

   “Okay then…” Danny yawned, “Well if that's all I’m going back to bed.”

   “Kay.”

   Danny shrugged, turned on his heel, and left the crime lord to rifle through his kitchen.

___👻___

   When Danny awoke the next day, he was greeted by a clean apartment. The absence of crumbs on the freshly swept floor felt odd on his feet, although it was certainly much more pleasant. The trash had been taken out and a new bag had already been installed. He passed by the sink on the way to make coffee, the dishes that had been filling it suspiciously absent. 

   Danny would deny to the ancients and back that his knees went weak when he found the coffee maker already set and filled with grounds... his sister must never know. 

   As he waited for the cup to brew, he opened his fridge for creamer only to come face to face with more home cooked food than he’d ever seen in his life. Danny pulled the food out plastic container by plastic container to stare at in disbelief. Tamales, chicken mole, Mexican rice, enchiladas, and carne asada… It was only a handful of containers, but still. It wasn’t as if his parents had done much in the way of cooking with all their time spent in the lab. Jazz could throw together something basic but nothing like this.

   The local hot crime lord slash vigilante had broken in at three in the morning to feed him and clean his apartment. Huh.

  No time to think about that. He has a final on differential equations in five hours and minimal time to cram. Danny stirs the creamer into his coffee, heats up some Mexican rice, and sits down at the untouched mess of notebooks, paper, and textbooks on his kitchen table. 

   He studies until he has to leave for the exam, only getting up to refill his coffee and get more food. The tamales are pretty fricken good, but they make it hard to focus on the numbers scribbled across his notebook. It’s like each bite is urging him to go back into the kitchen and cook, which is odd considering that Danny can’t cook and he already has enough food to last him through the next day or two (courtesy of the sexy crime lord). 

   He leaves the exam room feeling good only for his mood to immediately crumble when he remembers that he has an aerodynamics final at eight the next morning followed by gasdynamics at one. He takes a brief break to faceplant on the table, scream, refill his coffee for the umpteenth time, and eat some more food but inevitably resigns himself to pulling an all-nighter. Time becomes liquid after that. It’s all just a blur of numbers and properties and instructional videos. 

   At some point, he registers another presence in the apartment. Danny recognizes the ecto signature from the night before so he pays it no mind. Let Hood poke around, Danny has to read more about Newton’s Third Law. What was he going to do? Feed him again?

   The answer was apparently yes. 

   The background noise of shuffling in the fridge and washing empty containers stops and is replaced by soft, mechanical-sounding breaths. Hood is standing next to him, plastic container in hand as he watches Danny run through the Quizlet on his laptop. 

   Danny’s got around eighty percent of the terms memorized. Just another twenty percent to go. He types in the answer for a new blank. 

   Red Hood pokes his shoulder.

   Danny grumbles. His response came back wrong.

   His shoulder is poked again.

   Danny ignores it and moves on to the next blank.

   He continues unbothered for an uncertain amount of time. The words on the screen are blurry like he is trying to read underwater. His mouth splits into an entirely too wide, jaw-cracking yawn. His uninvited guest coos at him as Danny rubs at his eyes. The next thing he knows, his laptop is shut closed and moved away. It feels like any and all visual processing is delayed. Danny stares blankly at the spot the computer used to sit.

   Something slides in front of him to replace the laptop. His core chirps when he realizes it's food. Hood’s answering chirp as he guides a fork into his hand is deep and rumbly with the faint stutterings of a purr. Danny starts to purr in return as he sleepily munches on the casserole.

    Before long the empty plate is taken away. Danny slumps down on the newfound table space and tries to fight off sleep. 

   “I think it's time for you to go to bed.”

   “Noooooo! I’v gotta study fr' aero’namics.”

   “You’re slurring your words there, handsome.”

   Danny’s sleep-deprived brain screeched to a halt. His core chirped to attention, “Flat’ry ain’t gettin’ you nowhere.”

   “It was worth a shot.”

    Danny smushed his face further into the wood to hide his blush and distracted himself by blindly reaching for his coffee mug. Upon noticing, the vigilante moved it out of reach. Danny whined into the table.

   “You can’t overwork yourself like this, Danny,” Red Hood carried the mug to the sink and poured it down the drain. Cruel, cruel man. “I know you’ve got exams but your scores won’t be any good if you go into them like this. You've got to take care of yourself,”  He lightly squeezed Danny’s shoulder. Danny hadn’t even heard him move across the kitchen. “Can you do that, darlin’? For me?”

    Danny groaned, “F’ne. But only cause’ ur hot.”

   The vigilante snorted. It sounded odd through the helmet but not bad. “I’m happy to hear it! Now let's get you to bed.”

___👻___

   Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t stupid.

   He had been helping his parents in the lab since he was four, and he was nearly a straight-A student before the accident. He was an aerospace engineering major with a hefty GPA of 3.8, and most importantly, he’s had extensive lessons on ghosts, the Infinite Realms, and their culture. 

   He could be a bit oblivious, but he always got there in the end. 

   So when Danny woke up the next morning and realized that last night wasn’t a dream, he had an epiphany. The thought kept running through his head as he stared at the food in the fridge, the clean apartment, and the prepped coffee maker. 

   He was being courted. 

   He was being courted by the super hot and apparently undead crime lord who ran the haunt on the other side of the street. 

   Danny had never been courted before! 

   Sure, occasionally there was someone who tried to shoot their shot, but it always fell flat in the end. It was an unfortunate side effect of being undead. Every human relationship he had felt… lacking. Like it was missing something. 

   Val had come pretty close. All the fighting and shooting felt like a mimicry of ghostly courtship behavior. It's what had drawn Danny to her in the first place, but Val wasn’t fighting him in a display of power and capability. She had genuinely wanted to end him. 

   There was also the incident with Kitty, but she was overshadowing Paulina and mimicking human behaviors. There was never any ghostly courtship involved, and besides, she was only dating him to make Johnny jealous. 

   This is Danny’s first time being properly courted!

   What is he going to do about it?

   He decided that the question could wait until after finals.

   The next few days pass by much the same as before: a tortuous cycle of studying, caffeine, minimal sleep, screaming, and exams. Red Hood continues to stop by and deliver food. Danny has got to figure out the dude’s actual name or a nickname or something. He refuses to keep calling his potential partner Red Hood. When you take away the scary crime lord persona it just sounds like a condom brand. He could always use a pet name, but it feels wrong given that Danny hasn’t shown much reciprocation outside of allowing Hood into his lair. Instead, Danny settles on greeting him with a trill and a series of chirps. 

   As soon as he finishes his last final he flops face down into bed. Tomorrow he’ll get to work on reciprocating Red Hood’s efforts. His kitchen is blessedly clean of any ecto contamination. Without the food fighting back, he should be able to whip up something presentable. How hard could following a recipe be?

___👻___

   Danny was wrong.  

   Staring at the stove which was somehow on fire, Danny couldn’t help but finally understand why Jazz had never allowed him in the kitchen. He quickly rushes to turn off the heat. Danny doesn’t have a fire extinguisher. He’s a broke college student with just enough money to live on the outskirts of Crime Alley. Why would he ever be able to afford a fire extinguisher? 

   Danny slams a lid over the pot to smother the flames erupting from it and wacks the stovetop with a damp towel. As the fire dies down he glares at the somehow burnt gnocchi sitting ever so innocently in boiling water. He probably could have just iced it. The ice would melt into water and put out the fire, right? 

   He takes another look at the ruined food as the bubbles die down and decides he’s probably just cursed. Not all hope is lost though, Danny reasons as he dumps the ruined gnocchi down the garbage disposal. So Italian cuisine was not his forte. That’s okay! He’ll just try a different recipe!

___👻___

   The recipe said quick and easy. 

   This was neither quick nor easy.

   He dumped the carbonized remains of food into the trash with a sigh. It was French toast! How could someone go so wrong with French toast? The kitchen looked like something had exploded in it for ancients’ sake! 

   Danny thunked his head onto the counter, uncaring of the milk and eggs coating it. An entire loaf of bread gone and not a single edible piece of toast to show for it! He groaned. Maybe he just… wasn’t cut out for this whole courting thing. 

   Dejectedly, he lifted his head and began to wipe down the counter with paper towels. He really liked Hood.

   He was funny! While he mostly left Danny alone during his study sessions, Danny had seen the viral videos. Hood knew how to crack a good death joke, and the compilations of him ragging on Batman were something to aspire to. 

   He cared for people! The sponsored soup kitchens and homeless programs were an open secret in Crime Alley, and the working girls were paid well. The street kids knew they were safe in the Alley because anyone who tried to touch them would end up with their head in a duffle bag. Red Hood protected them.

   And ancients was he hot! Thick thighs for days and strong arms that could probably lift Danny like a couple of grapes. Danny wouldn’t mind being thrown around by a guy like that. He would happily let him pin him to a wall and box him in and then Danny could sink his fangs into his shoulder and then- 

   Okay! Stop! Too far! That’s awfully ambitious for someone who can’t even cook a proper courting gift. Think, Danny, Think! 

  Okay… okay. So he can’t cook. That’s fine because Danny can build. He’s been building things since he was practically a toddler. He can make something easy peasy!

   What about a gun? Red Hood seemed to like guns. Danny’s core purred at the idea. If he had to guess, the vigilante had a protection obsession of some sort. A gun was something that could protect Red Hood but also be used to protect others in his haunt and directly feed into his obsession. Yes! The gun idea was good.

   But then again, Hood had been working with Batman more and more frequently, and with that had been using guns less and less. How often could the gun be used? No, no. This courting gift should be usable in all scenarios. 

   What about a knife? Yes! A knife could work! As far as Danny knew, Batman didn't have anything against knives. Surely a knife paled in comparison to Robin's katana. A knife was sneaky and quiet, good for stealth missions unlike a gun, and easier to carry for everyday use. 

   Danny hummed, nodding to himself. He’d do the knife first and save the gun for later. He was going to need supplies. 

   Danny wiped the dripping egg away from his forehead before it could get into his eyes. But first, he was going to need a shower.

___👻___

   So…

   It could’ve gone worse.

   Despite basically being raised reverse-engineering his parents’ inventions, Danny had never tried to make a knife. He could gut a microwave from the local back alley dumpster and Macgyver it into a functioning weapon, but building a makeshift forge on short notice and hammering steel down into a smooth curve was a whole different ballpark. Luckily the local trade school had a forge, and after some good old-fashioned bribery, they allowed Danny access. That was the first problem out of the way. Unfortunately, the second problem remained. It was fine. Danny was used to thinking on his feet. 

  After many YouTube videos and failed attempts Danny had a somewhat presentable blade. With a saw edge on the top and a sharp curve similar to a khukuri on the bottom, it certainly didn’t look like a beginner's design.

   He probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to a more advanced shape. Danny hadn’t managed to fix the slight warp of the blade, and maybe the practice beforehand would have done him some good. Regardless, it was too late to fix it after the ecto wash, and he didn’t think the warp would affect the performance too negatively. Besides, with the ectoplasm infused into it the knife should cut through ghosts with no problem. 

  Danny had spent entirely too long trying to find the perfect shade of red leather for the handle, but in the end, he accurately matched it to Red Hood’s helmet. He had wanted to incorporate some protective runes into the leather, but he had no idea how to make a lasting pattern that wouldn’t affect the user’s comfort. Eventually, he decided it was an idea to be saved for another project. 

   With his courting gift complete, all that was left to do was break into Red Hood’s lair and give it to him…

   That sounded wrong. Give the knife to him. It’s not an innuendo! Great. Now he’s thinking about those thick thighs again. Stop! Bad Danny!

   He shook himself to dispel the train of thought. Danny had a different, more pressing problem to deal with: How could he present a knife to a vigilante without it coming across as a threat? He didn’t have a box for it, and the knife didn’t have a sheath yet. He could always make himself the box and store it in his chest, but watching someone pull random items out of their body was apparently gross and disturbing, or so he’d been told. What if he just-

   Danny yanked open the kitchen junk drawer and began to root around. After a few seconds of sifting, he pulled out his prize and ever so gently stuck it to the knife. The green gift bow was squished on one end but remained comically large on the blade. He bounced up and down on his toes. It was so stupid that it just might work. 

   Feeling the cool rush of invisibility, Danny phased through the wall of his apartment to greet the early morning light beginning to peak over the buildings. Floating in the air for a minute, he absently fiddled with the bow on his courting gift. With the city starting to wake, Hood should be returning to his lair. 

   It didn’t take long for him to fly past the unseen territory lines and into Crime Alley. Danny had crossed through Hood’s haunt before. It had never felt aggressive like some in the Ghost Zone. Red Hood's haunt was more curious, probing with a warning to behave himself. The haunt felt different this time around. Now it felt welcoming rather than wary, warm. If Danny closed his eyes, he could almost imagine being held in a protective embrace. His core hummed in response, seeking out the other’s resonance. 

   Danny had never been to Hood’s lair. He hadn’t even been given directions, but he didn’t need them. He'd simply follow Hood’s ecto signature to where the haunt’s energy was most concentrated. Like the dead equivalent of a bloodhound. 

   Danny took his time meandering toward the heart of the haunt. He’d never been this far into Crime Alley before, and he didn’t want to get turned around. That was a lie. Danny was nervous and stalling. Doubts flew unbridled through his head.

   What if the knife wasn’t good enough? What if the bow didn’t work? What if Red Hood thought he was threatening him? What if Danny blew his shot? Danny had already screwed up so many other things in his life, he didn’t want to screw this up too!

   There was only so long he could stall. Jittery with nerves, Danny floated outside a decrepit apartment building. The entire structure was practically drenched in Red Hood’s ecto signature, but it radiated in waves from a unit on the top floor. Danny took a breath to steady his racing heart and struggled to quiet his core. It was now or never. 

   He cautiously phased halfway through the wall, chirping in greeting. The apartment was clean and orderly. The fireplace and full bookshelves gave it a homey feel that sharply contrasted with the worn and weathered bricks on the outer wall. The lack of weapons was a surprise. Even if he couldn't see them Danny figured they were still there, well hidden in the otherwise normal apartment. 

   A surprised sound draws his attention to the man on the couch. He’s built like a quarterback, lounging on one side as he struggles to stitch a laceration across his ribcage with a needle in one hand and a handheld mirror in the other. It's hard not to get distracted by the autopsy scar running cleanly across his collarbone and down to his pelvis. Danny wants to lick it.

   Piercing blue eyes search the apartment, arm lowering the mirror. Danny is thankful that he's still invisible. With the heat flooding to his ears, he’s sure he’s as red as a tomato. Danny’s practically drooling at tousled black and white hair and the long scar reaching up from under his jaw to his hairline like a flower stretching for the sun. His crooked nose, clearly broken and healed many times over, only adds to his beauty. Red Hood is truly a modern-day Adonis.

    Hood’s wounded side finally registers in Danny’s brain, rearranging his priorities and catapulting his obsession to the front. Immediately he lets his invisibility drop, absently shoving the knife into his chest for safekeeping. Hood makes a distressed sound as he does so which urges Danny forward. His hands hover worriedly over the man as he pushes as much help/comfort/safety/concern into his aura as possible. 

   He reaches to take the threaded needle from Red Hood’s hand only to be nudged away.

   “It’s fine. I can do it myself.”

   "Hood, let me help."

   "Jason,” he licks his lips, “My name is Jason."

   "Jason," Danny gently cups Jason’s face in his hands, "Please let me help, Jason."

   Blue eyes gaze into his own. The ever-so-faint hints of green within them are captivating, swirling in a hypnotic dance that leaves Danny in a daze. Finally, Jason looks away and nods, breaking the trance between them and passing the needle over.

   Danny allows himself to revert to the mindset of his vigilante days. He stitches the wound with a single-minded focus, practiced hands falling back into a familiar rhythm. Jason watches the entire time, staring intently at his face as he works. Danny struggles to keep his core quiet and pretends not to notice, taping a bandage over the cut. His fingers graze over Jason's body, checking it over for any other injuries. Jason allows it to happen with a distinct feeling of affection/amusement. 

   “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

   “Nah. The kevlar usually prevents stuff like this. I was just unlucky.”

   “Good.” 

   Danny runs his fingers through the white tuft in Jason’s hair, pushing the strands out of his face. His core kickstarts like an engine with a vengeance, humming and searching for Jason’s core song in anticipation. Danny squeaks, stumbling backward. He smothers the sound and quiets his core, but with the look on Jason’s face, he hadn’t been quick enough.

   “Sorry!” Danny stutters out, flushing. 

    Jason’s expression shifts to confusion, “Why are you apologizing?”

   “I’m being way too forward,” Danny drags his hands down his face in embarrassment, “We haven’t had a spar yet and fuck! I haven’t even given you your courting gift yet, but here I am! Invading your space and trying to harmonize! I’m so sorry.”

    “Lucky for you I like forward,” Jason gently grasped his hands, lowering them away from his face. His palms felt warm against Danny’s skin, “Is that what you shoved into your chest earlier? A courting gift?” Jason punctuated the sentence with a gentle kiss to Danny's slow pulse.

   Danny nodded, stunned. Tearing his gaze away from Jason’s lips, he reached into his chest and pulled out the knife. Jason chuckles, his eyes crinkling in mirth, “You put a bow on it?”

   Danny grinned, his fangs on full display, “Well I had to make it presentable, didn’t I?” 

   He gets down on one knee, head bowed and knife held upwards in offering as if he were a knight presenting a sword to a king. Jason gingerly lifts it out of his hands, cradling it like a precious gem. Danny watches as his fingers trace the edge. 

   “It feels like you,” Jason looks to Danny for answers, eyes wide with wonder and a beautiful flush on his face.

   “I wanted to make sure it was effective against ghosts, but it's hard to find enough clean ectoplasm around here. I sorta just… used my own?” Danny rubs the back of his neck with a wince, “Do you like it?”

   He waits in anxious anticipation as Jason stands from the couch. Jason sets the blade gently down on the coffee table behind Danny before tugging him into his arms, “I love it, baby,” his words vibrate over a purr that Danny can feel in his bones, “Just don’t go hurting yourself for courting gifts anymore.”

   Danny groaned, tucking his face under Jason’s chin. “You have no idea how much that narrows my options down.” 

   Jason laughs. 

   Danny pulls away to look up at him, lightly batting at Jason’s peck “I’m serious, Jason! I can’t cook for shit! You’re gonna need to wait a long ass time until I can get my hands on more ecto. I hope you’re ready to wait because it’s going to take me months to build that gun now!”

   “You wanted to make me a gun?” 

   “Yeah? I was going to have one ready in the next few weeks but-”

   Jason’s smile is dazzling as he leans down to press his lips to Danny’s. Danny forgets to breathe as he melts into the kiss. He’s tugged forward until they are chest-to-chest on the couch, cores close together. Danny’s not sure whose core starts to hum first, but the sound is unmistakable as they waver between pitches. Danny bites at Jason’s lips, making a pleased sound when they part for him.

   It’s weird to be doing this before a spar. It’s backward, unconventional. Danny can’t find it in himself to care.

   It’s a wondrous thing when their cores synchronize. Something finally clicks, like a lock snapping into place, and suddenly Danny can feel so much. The humming harmony of their cores permeates every single one of Danny’s nerves. The rush of giddy happiness is unlike anything he’s felt before. He can feel Jason, too. The rampant emotions fling between them until it's hard to tell whose is whose. In Jason’s arms with a core bond in place, Danny has never felt so secure in his life. 

   This. This is what he's been missing. 

   Danny breaks away from their kiss to nip at Jason’s jawline, paying special attention to the scar. Jason makes a pleased sound, tugging lightly at his hair.

   “Your teeth are sharp as fuck.”

   “Aren’t yours?”

   Jason nuzzles under Danny’s shirt collar and into his shoulder. Danny shudders as he feels canines dig into his skin. They’re sharp, but not as sharp as his. 

   Danny giggles, pressing a kiss to Jason’s hair. “I want to see how skilled you actually are with those teeth. Once you’ve healed we can have a proper spar.”

   “I’ll show you a proper spar,” Jason grumbles. 

  Suddenly Danny is pinned, lying on the couch with Jason’s weight on top of him. Jason kisses his cheek, tucking his head back into the crook of his neck with a contented sigh. It's like the world's best weighted blanket, Danny thinks as his eyes droop shut in relaxation.

   They remain like that in silence, basking in the positive emotions and comfort of their new bond. It’s about ten minutes later that Danny finally breaks it.

   “Why me?”

   “Hmm?”

   “Just… why court me? I know I pass through your haunt now and then but we’ve only actually seen each other like… once. What could I have possibly done to catch your attention?”

   “You punched a mugger.”

   “Yeah… so?”

   “You knocked the fucker out in one blow before I could even lift a finger.”

   “And?”

   Jason lifted his head to give him a pointed look.

   Danny stared back.

   Oh…

   Oh!

   “Do you have a competency kink!?”

   Jason flushed, ducking his head back down with a groan. 

[fic-over-cannon]

Part 6: The Mistake

part 5 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: jason flees the aftermath of your night together

tags: angst, jason todd’s usual poor self esteem issues, off screen violence

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 1.1k

Jason is freaking the fuck out. He’s literally just fucked up the one bright spot in his life and he has no idea how to fix this. His first mistake was beating that masked asshole up instead of quietly letting him rob the two of you. He’s got a civilian identity for a reason and he’d blown it all to hell because he didn’t like the way that fuckhead had looked at you. The way his gun had swung from Jason to you when you were struggling with the clasp of your necklace. All he had known in that moment was that there was a couple in an alleyway, a man with a gun, and a pretty pearl necklace. The only thing missing was a little boy to watch on in horror.

His second mistake was taking you home. It was a stupid, rookie mistake, the kind he hadn’t made even as Robin. He had panicked at your blank stare and violent shivering, and your home had only been the next building over. Of course he had known the code to your building. Of course he had known which apartment was yours. He’s spent enough time staring longingly through it’s window. Jason just hadn’t expected your terror to abate long enough to realize just how strange the whole situation was. 

His next mistake had been kissing you back. Scratch that, it had been blurting out the truth of his identity. Revealing to you of all people that Jason Todd is nothing more than an ill fitting suit of clothes for the Red Hood to move through the world in. He’d been so fucking stupid. There’s going to be repercussions for that. There’s going to be repercussions for all of his mistakes. He should have known this wouldn’t work, that he wasn’t fashioned for any life but violence. 

Jason curses, fingers angrily crushing the cigarette held between them. The wind is cold, cutting across the rooftop and digging its fingers under the collar of his shirt. He lets it, embracing the grounding sting of the cold. His position on the roof of the building opposite yours and has a perfect vantage point of your window. You still lie in bed, curled around the shape of his missing body. He shouldn’t have kissed you. The blanket slips off your shoulder as you turn in your sleep and Jason has to swallow through a suddenly dry throat. If he closes his eyes, he can still taste you. Feel the warmth of you under him, the tight vice of you around him. Jason savours the memory of last night because it’s the only time he’s going to let it happen. He should have pushed you away because he’d known better. But you had asked, and Jason had known exactly what it felt like when your skin got too tight and you can barely think except to make that feeling stop.  So he had kissed you again and been lost. 

You start to stir, sleep weighing your limbs down. Jason’s never seen anything more beautiful. You stretch an arm out, reaching out for something that isn’t there.  He realizes who you’re looking for a moment before you freeze. Jason can’t hear you, not from up here, but he swears he hears you call his name anyway. The answering silence of your apartment must echo because it rings in his ears too. Your shoulders tense and then start shaking, arms coming to wrap around your knees. The sight sends a curl of something awful and acidic down his throat. 

In his pocket, his phone starts to vibrate. His knuckles go white. It stops vibrating. He manages one heavy sigh before it starts buzzing again. He pulls it out but lets it go to voicemail anyway. Leaving was another mistake too, and he’s not sure he’s ready yet to face up to everything he’s done wrong. 

“Jason? Look, it’s me,” your voice wobbles and he hates the way his name sounds. “ Like I know we didn’t make any promises, or talk about things at all really. But I woke up and... and you weren’t there.  You’re not here.” There’s a heavy breath on the line. "Can you– can you just call me back? Please? 'M not gonna beg, but can we just talk? Or, or something. Is this about the Red Hood thing? ‘Cause I’m not gonna tell, God who would I even tell without getting myself arrested too? Just... Jesus what the fuck Jason? Because I thought– I thought we were actually friends at least. Just, what the fuck was that.” 

The recording ends abruptly and Jason watches you throw your phone onto the bed. This anger, this frustration feels different. More private. There’s already a sickness lurking in his gut, he doesn’t need to add to it by intruding on this moment. He leaves that rooftop and all it’s flavours of betrayal behind him. He’s fucked up enough in the past 24 hours to know that this would be another mistake. 

The thing is, Jason doesn’t know if this is fixable. If he is fixable. He refuses to settle you with the burdens of him because one day it’ll drive you away. He knows that he won’t survive breaking you but watching you walk away one day will break him. So he’ll destroy his own heart now, instead of letting the inevitable happen. He can live with setting this tender thing between you on fire if it means he gets to keep you. If he’ll never have to wait for the day you’ll discover the truth of him and leave with disgust in your eyes. No, better to make the break early before he becomes too addicted to your approval. So he’ll swallow down the words he wants to say until he chokes on them. He’ll– he’ll make it up to you in any way he can, but this, this is the one thing he can’t give you.

Jason doesn’t answer your voicemail for another day. He needs every minute of that time to convince himself of what he knows needs to do. It hurts. If his heart wasn’t kept artificially beating by whatever toxic sludge the Lazarus Pit was made of, he’s sure his heart would have stopped from longing at least five times over. It becomes a little easier to remember the rules and why he’s put them in place when he’s standing in a warehouse full of dead bodies and staring down the disappointed faces of his former family. Maybe he went a little overboard, let the heart sickness in him bleed out onto his fists, but these were men who were going to die anyway. Had to die or else Black Mask wouldn’t get the warning about encroaching on his territory. There’s new stakes, keeping those under his protection safe, because now you’re one of his in so many ways.  

Time is ticking away and the longer he leaves things unsettled, the slimmer his chances of having any part of you at all. He clears his throat and picks up the phone.

part 7

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 4 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 16k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: thank you guys so much for all the love on the last chapter, sending all of you forehead smooches <3

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 4 – The Note

‘I wish you goodness but I can’t be around to see it.’ — Unknown

You can't say if you've slept at all. Everything seems not inherently wrong, but unimportant. Your body keeps functioning on its own accord, no doubt using up all the reserves it can. But it functions surprisingly well, given the circumstances. You’re not throwing up anymore. Still, a trashcan is placed next to the bed. A glass of water and some tissues occupy the nightstand that usually sits empty, Joel only using the one on his side of the bed.

It’s a bittersweet reminder that you don’t belong here. It’s not your bed or your house, Joel is not yours. The things that are yours are undoubtedly being inspected by whoever Maria has tasked with investigating the situation. Kitchen drawers being rummaged through, notebooks for your classes being picked apart. Looking at a room and weighing whether or not it could’ve belonged to someone who wanted to leave.

You wonder whether or not they’ve found the letter yet. Considering where Lane could’ve placed it so that you wouldn’t see. It suddenly strikes you that she must have been gone when you woke up. That while you were tiptoeing around the bathroom and kitchen, trying to make no noise that could wake her, her bed was empty.

You avoid going further down that road. You don’t think you could stand it if she’d already been dead while you drank your coffee and pulled on your winter coat and flipped through books without a care in the world.

Life pretending that it was still as it had been the day before.

Joel got up a while ago, far too early if the darkness outside the windows is anything to go by. You felt the mattress dip and then rise as he disentangled himself from the sheets while you were giving no sign that you were awake and listened to the floorboards creak as he headed through the room and escaped into the hallway.

It takes you a solid ten minutes to convince your body to crawl out from under the warm covers, still radiating the smell you’ve come to associate with Joel, and pad over to the bathroom. You try hard not to look into the mirror. Of course, just like with everything else, you fail.

The face staring back at you carries dark circles, glassy eyes. The corners of your mouth are slightly cracked, no doubt from last night's intense heaving. But what strikes you most is that every part of your face seems rid of any emotion. There is no light in your eyes. They look just as dead as you imagine Lane’s to be.

You stare at your reflection until your eyes begin to burn. You try to remember to blink. To take a breath and then another and another. Nothing seems to work like it should.

Joel is in the kitchen when your feet carry you downstairs a few minutes later. He pretends to be very busy with the dishes, but you know he’s been waiting for you to wake up. He reaches for the checkered dish towel to wipe his hands before turning his full attention to you. He doesn’t look like he has slept much either. His salt-and-pepper hair is a tad messier than usual. It suddenly strikes you how much lighter it has become since you first met him.

“Hey,” he mumbles, standing in front of you a bit sheepishly. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. “Do you want to have breakfast?”

“Did they bring her letter yet?” You both speak at the same time and then fall quiet.

You can see his shoulders sinking a bit as he takes in your words and his tone sounds careful when he shakes his head. “Not yet. I'm sure they will, in a bit.”

His eyes are trained on your expression and you're close enough that you are certain he is seeing you the same way you saw the person in the mirror. Empty, lifeless. Dead.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” he asks tentatively but you immediately shake your head. 

“No, I won't be able to sleep anyway.”

Joel gives a small grumble at that, deep in his throat. It almost sounds like disappointment. “You didn't sleep?” 

You sigh a little, again shaking your head. “Maybe a bit. I'm not sure.” After a moment, you add, “My brain feels all weird today.”

He nods, slowly taking a step forward and wrapping an arm around you. “Your brain is allowed to feel a bit weird today, all things considered.” For a few moments, you both just stay like that, his hand trailing over your back, rubbing circles into the fabric of your shirt. His eyes fall to your legs, both noticeably banged up from your fall yesterday.

“Does it still hurt?” he mutters, tilting his head to get a better look. 

“It's just a scratch.” When Joel reaches out to touch the small band-aid he insisted on putting onto your knee last night, you take a step back, causing him to freeze in his tracks.

“I’m fine. I'll go and read.”

Joel gives you a few minutes by yourself before he follows you into the living room, placing two mugs of coffee and some crackers on the table before sitting down on the couch. You're curled up on the armchair, only a few steps away from the front door, occasionally casting a glance out of the window to your right. The darkness is slowly fading, dawn ruthlessly drawing closer.

You've picked up a book without really bothering to check what it is. The cover is made of cloth, the color slightly faded, but the texture feels intact. It's a comforting weight in your lap and an even better excuse to keep your eyes off Joel, hyperaware that he is still watching your every move.

You feel like you're back to square one, to the first time you stepped foot into his house. Being taken in and assessed, like a wounded animal. Checking the damage, weighing the options. Deciding whether or not it should be put out of its misery.

Joel leans forward a bit, reaching for a small piece of wood that sits among a few others on the table. Then, he gets out the whittling knife that he keeps in the pocket of his jeans and begins to chip away. 

Even with his eyes focused on the work in front of him, he can tell you're not really reading, your gaze unmoving. You haven't turned the page in at least ten minutes. But he knows not to push. He's content to sit here and wait by your side.

The silence during the next hours is only broken by the small sounds coming from Joel whittling. The small piece of wood he fetched before dawn has turned into the shape of an animal, continuously getting more clear as he works on it. You've put the book down an hour ago, giving up on pretending to read and instead just switching between staring at Joel's hands or into space.

You're certain it's the worst you've ever felt. Sitting and waiting, with the prospect of the letter of a dead girl being delivered today. The impatience drives you out of your seat, makes you pace, first in front of the fireplace, then behind the couch. Back and forth. You try counting the floorboards below you. There are twenty-seven, spanning through the entire room. You step on each one, avoiding the cracks in between. You sit back down. You curl up deeper into your armchair, staring out of the window.

You see him coming down the street before he sees you. When Tommy steps onto the porch, the door is already ajar, your form half hiding behind it. You don't notice the sad smile he sends you. Instead, your eyes are glued to the small paper envelope in his hand.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Joel says quietly from behind you, gently moving you to the side in order to let his brother enter. 

Tommy awkwardly stands in the small hallway for a moment before holding out the envelope. He clears his throat. “Reckon you’ve been waiting for this.” 

You nod automatically, taking the piece of paper from him with a gentle motion and then immediately clutching it to your chest. Tommy’s eyes fly from you to Joel, his eyebrow raising just a tiny bit. 

“Right,” Joel mutters, nodding into the direction of the kitchen. “Why don’t you grab some coffee?” You hear Tommy move further into the house while your fingers are caressing the envelope, staring at the letters on it that form your name.

“Do you want me to stay with you while you—” Joel gestures towards the letter. He watches your face closely as you shake your head. 

“No. I need to do this alone I think.”

“Okay. We’ll be right here if you need anything,” Joel mumbles quietly and reassuringly pats your back before he follows Tommy into the kitchen, leaving you standing in the hallway with a heavy feeling in your chest and the words of a dead girl in your hands.

***

You sit down on the bed, your entire body seemingly numb as you open the envelope and stare at the paper in your hands, filled with the smooth and playful handwriting you've come to recognize so easily.

I know you will not understand this,

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your hands from shaking so much that you can’t make out the words on the page. You already know what's coming and still you dread hearing the words in your head.

but I have decided to end my own life.

You stare at them for a moment. Trying to take them in, weighing them in your mind, trying to understand. But there is no understanding inside of you. Not for this.

I love you so incredibly much. I loved living with you and our time in Jackson was among the best I've had. I’m sorry to be the one to cut it short.

A dull pain throbs in your chest. You ignore it.

You deserve good things. But I know not many have been handed to you so far. I wish I could've been the one to give them to you.

Please do not blame yourself. This was my decision. I promise I’m at peace now.

Her words make you want to scream and cry and curl up into a ball and never speak to anyone ever again and do nothing but wait for Lane to come back. 

Instead, you just quietly hold the letter a little higher to avoid your tears staining the paper.

I know you came to Jackson looking for something. I really do hope you find it.

I wish you the most wonderful life.

I love you, forever.

Lane

***

“I don’t like this,” Joel mutters, his fingers anxiously tapping the counter he’s leaning on. His glance keeps wandering to the doorway, half expecting you to come running in at any moment and bury yourself in his arms. But there is no noise from upstairs, the only sounds in the old house being those of the clock on his kitchen wall and Tommy’s occasional small sighs.

“She shouldn't be alone,” he insists, unsure if he's actually talking to his brother or to himself.

“She's not alone, in a way,” Tommy says quietly. He's staring into his mug, clearly deep in thought as well. “In a way—” He shakes his head. “She's having her last moments with Lane.”

“Oh, gimme a break.” Joel groans, his right hand flying up to pinch his nose. “Do you realize how messed up that is? Leaving her a letter, with no chance to ever reply? The poor girl can’t sleep, she’s not eating—I ain’t trying to talk badly about Lane, god knows she was a sweet girl and I’m sure she had her issues—but she shouldn’t be putting ‘em on someone else just cause she feels like she can.”

At that, Tommy looks up, surveying his brother. All the softness has left his tone, replaced by a harshness that carries a tinge of accusation.

“Are you really the one to judge this?”

“Tommy-” Joel's voice has dropped a good bit too, making him sound like a growling dog. For a split moment, it feels like they’re back to their time before the QZ, back to the fights and the constant tension.

Joel drops his arm, waving his hand slightly. “This ain’t like that.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy gets up so suddenly that Joel startles slightly, but the younger Miller brother just gives a dry laugh and reaches to pour himself more coffee. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna hit you, old man.”

The quiet is broken by the small trickle of the coffee. Tommy glances towards Joel's mug to find it empty. “You want another cup?”

“Yes, please,” Joel mumbles, watching as Tommy pours the rest of the brown liquid into his mug. He places the kettle back on the stove before pausing.

“It is exactly like that, Joel. Now I ain’t saying I agree with what she did. But ‘t was her choice. Ain’t nothing we—” He nods towards the ceiling. “—or her can do about that.”

A small groan escapes Tommy’s lips as he sits back down at the kitchen table, stretching his legs. “Talking about it. How’s she been?”

Joel considers his words for a moment. “Bad. I don't know.” His gaze flies to the doorway again, each minute ticking by making him more restless.

“I talked to Maria this morning. Word should’ve reached everyone by now. The whole town is- they're in shock. Everyone’s devastated.” Tommy keeps his eyes on Joel as he takes a sip of his coffee, taking in his brother's silence.

“D’you think she knew? That Lane was gonna—” 

“No.” The answer shoots out of Joel's mouth before he can even consider it. Did you know? Or at least had an idea that something was happening under the surface? He hasn't even thought to ask, not with everything that's been going on.

“It’s just that, with this sort of thing, folks will ask questions—”

“Yeah, well, they won't be asking her any.” Joel suddenly feels like the room is much too small for him and Tommy. He’s dimly aware that this is technically not his job—that you're an adult and not his responsibility, that he should leave the decisions to you—but then he remembers the way you looked on his bathroom floor last night, dry heaving and sobbing so hard he was sure you were gonna pass out from the lack of oxygen.

“She ain’t ready for that.”

Tommy nods, finally averting his gaze. He knows this tone, the slight edge in it. It means there will be no further discussion and he's not keen to push for a fight in the current situation. He finishes his mug, draining it of the last drops.

“There's one more thing. Lane’s mother wants a proper burial. We've been talking to Eugene about it and—” He clicks his tongue a little as he shakes his head. “With the ground frozen over like that, there's no way to dig a grave.”

It's something Joel already should’ve considered. He's been around long enough to know these things, having dug more than enough graves himself. It was hard labor under the best of conditions. But plainy impossible during the Wyoming winter. 

He's not sure why, when he knows all this, Tommy’s words strike him so hard. The girl who hasn’t made it to twenty-six is not even gonna get a grave.

***

You probably should be breaking down. Screaming or sobbing, hell, maybe throwing up again. Surely your body shouldn’t be so still, quiet, small breaths entering your lungs. Surely you should've stopped breathing by now.

But the body is relentless. It will keep you alive as long as it can, despite the thoughts in your head and the grief that seems to spin a cocoon around you, cutting you off from the things that are right in front of you, making them seem miles and miles away.

You have no idea how long you’ve been sitting there when you stand up abruptly. You avoid reading the words again as you slip the letter back into its envelope and place it in the drawer of the nightstand Joel doesn't use.

You don't remember leaving the bedroom or walking down the wooden stairs. But somehow you're standing in the kitchen, with Joel kneeling in front of you. His right hand is intertwined with yours, his calloused fingers brushing past your knuckles and over the soft skin on the back of your hand. His thumb is gently massaging your palm, rubbing small circles into it.

You flinch a bit and, immediately, his features soften. “There you are. Can you hear me?” You manage a shaky nod.

“Good,” Joel praises quietly, still keeping up the circular motions on your skin. “You doin’ real good, darlin’. Now, do you know where you are?”

Your eyes leave him and fly around the room. Joel's kitchen looks exactly how you remember it, with the addition of two empty mugs standing next to the sink. You recognize the one with the owl painted on it as his. Maybe the other is yours, but you can’t recall drinking anything.

“Hm?” Joel hums quietly.

“We’re in your kitchen.” Relief floods Joel's face at that and he nods a little more eagerly. “That’s right. Think you can help me and sit down right there?” He jerks his head into the direction of the small table below the window and begins to move, very slowly pulling you along by your hand.

You pause just as you reach the table. “What time is it?”

Joel turns his head, squinting at the clock at the opposite wall. “Half past ten.” He tugs on your hand again. “Come on, sit down.”

But you are moving in the opposite direction, taking a step back. “I have to go and teach.”

Joel sighs but his voice stays patient. “Honey, you’re on leave, okay? You’re in no state to be teaching. Now come here.”

It’s the quiet, added “Please.” that makes you do as told.

A steaming mug is placed in front of you shortly after. “Made you some tea. Just be careful, ‘t’s still hot.” Your hands are close enough to feel the heat radiating off it and, slowly, you think you are coming back to yourself. Or rather, to the house you’re sitting in.

The cocoon is still there, so is the faulty wire. But they seem to hit you in waves rather than a constant state of anxiety. Somehow, that is worse. You could get used to a metaphorical limp, one that is a constant. But the waves make you feel like you’re drowning in them. If you could only take a deep breath before they come, fill your lungs with the air you need so urgently. But they hit you out of nowhere. You never see them coming.

Joel sighs a little, nudging the mug towards you. “Come on, at least try it.”

“I still have a mug of coffee in the living room,” you suddenly remember. You can’t recall whether or not you drank any of it.

“Honey, that was cold hours ago,” Joel says carefully. “The tea is still warm. Much better, right?”

You find that you can’t argue with that so you take a few, hesitant sips. The heat settles in your stomach. The tide is retreating. Breathing comes a little easier.

Maybe Joel feels the same or maybe he can just tell, somehow. But he too seems to relax a bit more as he watches you drink.

“It’s good,” you press out, craving words to fill the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Not those words.

You shake your head and are incredibly thankful when Joel doesn’t push it this time. Still, you can tell that he looks troubled. “Want me to do some talking instead?”

“Okay,” you mumble, carefully taking another sip of your tea as you wait for him to speak.

“I talked to Tommy earlier, ‘bout some stuff regarding her—‘nd the next few days. Everyone’s been real sad. We thought it may be—” He cringes at the next word. “Nice to have a wake. Give people a chance to say goodbye and grieve before we bury her.” “Okay.”

He sighs, his eyes searching yours. He considers for a moment whether or not he should go on, explain that the burial can’t happen for a while, at least not with a body being put into the ground. Joel opens his mouth—and sees how much you seem to have aged in just a day.

He stays quiet.

Somehow, he gets you through the day. It’s late afternoon when a groan escapes Joel as he sits down on the couch. His back hurts and his head hurts and he is so goddamn tired. He hasn’t slept a second, having been too worried that you could wake up before him and sneak off.

He leans back into the soft fabric, stretching his legs slightly. You’re upstairs, taking a shower. Surely, it won’t hurt if he closes his eyes for just a minute.

***

It’s dark in the living room when Joel wakes again. The light that was streaming in through the windows earlier is gone and his heart rate instantly shoots up, the organ pumping wildly in his chest. He’s on his feet before his brain fully registers the situation. He moves quietly through the dark house, finding the kitchen and dining room empty.

He’s lucky that his left ear is turned towards the hallway when a small noise travels down the stairs. Joel reaches the landing of the upper floor with his revolver drawn. A trail of dim light falls through a crack in the door to his workshop.

Without making a noise, he pushes it open—and all tension immediately leaves his body. You’re perched on the stool he usually occupies, on the far corner of the tables that are arranged below the windows in an L-shape. The typewriter he’s been meaning to fix sits in front of you.

Joel tucks the gun back into his jeans as he opens the door further. The small creak, combined with the noise of footsteps, catches your attention and suddenly, Joel finds you turning towards him. He raises his hands slightly as he crosses the room. “Sorry. I fell asleep.”

“I know. I didn't want to wake you. You seemed really tired.” Joel stops right behind you, a small grumble escaping his throat as he strains his neck to see what you’re working on.

“You should wake me up,” he says quietly, his eyes wandering over the stack of paper and the tools scattered around the typewriter. “What are you doing?”

It's your turn to sigh, raising your shoulders a bit and letting them fall again after a moment. “I wanted to write a speech. For the service.” You can hear Joel swallow behind you.

“That's a nice idea. You sure you're up for it though?”

“Yeah, I’m—It’s okay. Or it would be, if this thing worked,” you groan, reaching for the screwdriver you’d put down when he joined you.

“Been meaning to fix it for a while. I can do it tomorrow if you like. Or now, if it’s urgent,” Joel mutters, taking another small step towards you, one hand placed on your back. He’s close enough that you can smell his body wash. His free hand, the one that had been closed around a gun less than a minute ago, moves over your shoulder and carefully pries the tool out of your hand.

“It’s late. You should get some sleep, at least.” It’s so caring that, again, you don’t find it in you to protest.

“Okay.”

A small, sad smile plays around Joel’s lips at that. He puts the screwdriver down, his form hovering above yours a split moment longer than necessary. Then, he leans forward and places a small kiss on the crown of your head.

“Come on. Off to bed.”

“Can I have a drink before we go?” If the question startles him, he doesn’t let it show.

“Yeah. Sure,” he says quietly. “Believe it or not, I was about to suggest that myself. You like whiskey, right?”

You’re content to find, half an hour later, that with your throat and belly warmed by the alcohol and the rest of your body warmed by Joel's form next to you, an arm draped around your shoulder as he pulls you into his chest, the waves that you could feel crashing in on you earlier seem to stay away. At least for the night.

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing or commenting, i promise it will be the highlight of my day <3

[thecapricunt1616]

The Bear & His Honey - Chapter 14

♡ Chapter Inspo: The Archer - Lover (TS) ; And I cut off my nose, just to spite my face. Then I hate my reflection, for years and years.

♡ Summary: Winnie has a bit of a meltdown after therapy, this time Carmy is the one to help her calm down.

♡ W/C: 5,444

♡ Posted Date: 03/24/24

♡ A/N: Heyyy all! I am so happy you're enjoying this story! Thank you so much for the love and likes and reblogs!!! This is a 2 part chapter, C14&C15 are kinda twins, it was gonna be one chapter but I think you guys like the shorter ones so each is gonna be 5/6k instead of one thick 12k chapter! I should be posting C15 soon, still polishing it up :) Enjoy!

♡ Warnings for BTC: Anxiety, Panic attacks, Angst, Hurt to comfort kinda thing, Mentions of Domestic Abuse (physical, verbal,etc)

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ♡

𝒞𝒶𝓇𝓂'𝓈 𝒫.𝒪.𝒱.🧸

I woke up, warm and comfortable. There was a weight between my legs, my right thigh actually felt numb under it. I yawned big, stretching comfortably, my knuckles brushing the plush of Winnie’s headboard. 

So I did come back here this morning.  

I reach out to my left, in search of Winnie, feeling a light crinkle under my grasp. I opened my eyes, pinching the flimsy paper between my fingers and unfolding it to read.  

‘Went to therapy. Be back by 4:30, please lock the door if you leave…(didn’t wanna wake you, you’re so sweet + handsome when you’re sleeping ♡ ) xoxo - Honey :)’ 

I smiled lightly, my gaze drifting down. I nudged the cat lightly whom had made a comfy bed on my thigh causing it to fall asleep. “Good afternoon- lazybones” I muttered, sitting up lightly and she mews, stretching out comfortably over my legs, begging for attention.  

I snort a laugh. “Y’know? Y’re a lot like y’mother- needy for pets ‘n love” I teased, rubbing her fluffy chest gently. She purred wildly, sitting up and sniffing my fingers before standing up, stretching out, showing off her daggers and flicking her feather duster of a tail and sassily making a show of walking up onto my hip, since I was sat on my side, carefully balancing herself on my ribs. 

She made her way up silently, and started licking the inside of my ear. “Aughh!! Bad! Shoo! Bad fuckin’ kitty! No fuckin’ way, cat!!! ew! Absolutely not nasty!” I swat next to my ear and felt her claws digging in to my side to balance herself, groaning- I shove her off my ribs and she makes a sharp “mrooww!!!” in protest. “Well, fuck off, cat!” I nudge her off the bed. If there was one thing I would not tolerate, Is something licking the inside of my fucking ear. 

I huffed, grabbing my phone and seeing the time was- 4:00?! I raised my eyebrows in surprise,

Great. Now my sleeping schedules all fucked up. Just wonderful. 

I clicked on a notification from Sugar, huffing a laugh at the drastic changes in tone from one text to another

Hey. Meant what I said, she’s good for youuu!!! Kiss and make up!

Check this lady out she’s right 20s are the worst ever bear it’s normal to feel how u do with all the bs 

Don’t have kids. Just had to go down to the school to bring bug home, she threw up. Twice. 

I chuckle, sending her a reply 

Wasn’t planning on it. Twice?? Don’t bring whatever shit she got to the restaurant. Hope she’s ok 

I got up, clicking the link wondering what she was on about, listening to the podcast of some woman go on about how ‘being in your 20’s was the worst period in your life’ I snort, nodding a bit to myself at the sentiment. 

As far as I’d seen, the last 7 years of my life had been the absolute worst- a shit show, a fuckin’ dumpster fire. So, the lady was onto something as far as that went. 

‘Now- I get it, listen- everyone in your life, has been telling you ‘relax, the world is at your fingertips! You just wanna take those fingertips, curl them into a fist- and punch them into a fuckin face!! Cause how- don’t people realize how scary that is?!’ 

I chuckled, starting the shower and grabbing a towel from the linen closet, leaving it on the counter for when I got out. Wasn’t that the truth. I am sick and tired of people telling me ‘just relax Carmen! You’re only 27, look how much you’ve already accomplished?! You’re gonna be fine, everything will be fine, you’re doing fine!’ 

But I didn’t feel fine. Not in the slightest. I felt fuckin’ lost. Ahead of the curve, but severely behind. Worlds ahead of people my age- but yet, completely socially inept. It was fuckin’ exhausting. 

She continued as I slipped off my sweatpants and boxers, pulling back the sparkly white shower curtain stepping under the water. ‘And let me tell you- people who say ‘oh, your 20s are the best time in your life, blah blah fuckin’ blah, no! That is complete, and utter bullshit! It might actually be the hardest decade in your life. There! I said it. So if you just let out a sigh of relief- i just want to say good. Good! It is normal and I just want to read this, this is a submission from a 28 year old listener her name is Candace” 

She went on about how some girl, had graduated from college- and realized that after she graduated, much like after I’d left culinary school, everything just went to utter shit. She lost all her friends, hated her new job, realized she may not like being in the field she was in, realized she had no romantic prospects after breaking up with her long term boyfriend - was constantly fighting with family, essentially everything she’d thought could never go wrong, went wrong, and she’d felt utterly lost. Something I could very much relate to. 

She continued on, ‘Now- Candace let me just say. Yes! And all the people listening and nodding along? I want you to understand, this is the average experience for someone in their 20’s. And let me just pause and say this this is why this decade is so fucking hard’ she goes on as I grabbed Winnie’s shampoo and started washing my hair, listening intently. 

‘Listen, it is the first time in your life- your whole life! That someone isn’t telling you what to do. Just stop and think, there is no playbook! Nothing! All you’ve known, from 0-20- is someone else’s playbook. Whether it be mom, dad, sibling, grandparents- doesn’t matter! For the first 20 years, every single detail had been planned for you. And it was planned for all your peers and friends too. That’s a huge piece- remember, from 0-20 you were all running at the same pace! You had vacations at the same time for Christ sake! ‘ she explained and I hum a bit in agreement to myself. 

I’d never really thought about it that way, it was true. I’d spent my entire life comparing myself. And now it has just gotten even worse since I’d left culinary school. It was my one crutch- but now? I felt like a fuckin loser.

 Everyone my age was married, or having kids, or graduating college. I had multiple offers to go to Technical College after I’d graduated culinary school, but I hadn’t because I was obsessed with chasing awards.It didn’t matter to me that I graduated top of my class-  I had to prove to my mom, to Mikey- that I was serious, that I had really been made in the industry. And the way to do that, was being awarded- not getting a stupid degree.  

 I grabbed the pink wash cloth I’d taken in with me, looking over one of her many different shelves of various soaps and being slightly overwhelmed at all the options, I just settled on the one at my eye level. Most of them were full, which told me she either didn’t like them, or it was too much of a hassle for her to try and reach them so high up.  My choices in scent were Butterfly, whatever the fuck that smells like, Beautiful Day, sounds flowery- so not f’me. And simply relax. I picked up the bottle, Reading the back ‘smells like a dreamy bedside bouquet of lavender and vanilla’ well, I guess that’s what I was gonna smell like today.

By the time I’d gotten out of the shower I heard the front door close and Persephone loudly meowing. “Is that my wittle baby girl? Is Carmy still here? Mmm? Keepin’ y’company miss baby?” Winnie coos. I smiled a bit to myself, slipping on a clean pair of boxers I’d grabbed from my backpack. 

I paused what I’d been listening to, opening the bathroom door. The steam floods into the bedroom - fuck. I didn’t realize the water had been so hot. I grabbed the towel, messily rubbing it over my hair to get rid of the annoying dripping down my back. 

 “Babe?” I called out to let her know I was still here. 

The bedroom door nudged open quickly and Persephone rushed in, circling my legs and mewing loudly. 

“Oh! You didn’t leave? Hey!” The bedroom door nudges open further, and when my eyes met hers my heart cracked slightly. Her hazel eyes were bloodshot, glazed over like she’d been crying. Her nose has been rubbed raw assumingly by tissues. 

“Are- is everything…are y’alright baby?” I asked gently. She nodded quickly, a small, sad smile curling on her lips. 

“Sorry- I must look like shit…” she started and I shook my head, stepping forward to her and pulling her into a hug. She melted into me, resting her head on my chest and took a shuddering breath.

“Never angel, how was your appointment?” I ask quietly, rubbing soothing strokes over her back. 

“Good- I guess..I mean…I guess it’s good when it hurts? I dunno. But yeah we talked um…about you? Well..about me. And about everything.” She sniffled. 

I rest my chin on her head, biting my cheek nervously since my lip was so sore after I’d bitten the hell out of it last night. “Yea? D’you wanna…talk about it? Er?…we don’t have to- but I’m here baby if y’want to” I questioned nervously, gently rubbing my fingers up the seams of her overalls. 

“Yea-if..if you’re ok with it-well I just..” her voice cracked and she clears her throat. “I’m sorry if I- I-if I cry everything is just really raw and It’s not to make you feel bad” she said and I kissed the top of her head gently. 

“You never have to apologize for crying baby. I know you aren’t trying to make me feel bad, I mean…I kinda wish I could let stuff out sometimes- but I can’t unless…” I trailed off sighing a bit, rubbing up her back and pulling her more into me. 

 ”I-I’m- I’m just so..so sorry, Carmy..” she whispered and I brushed her hair back from her shoulder, gently smoothing it out over her back. 

“F’what? F’what..baby?” I gently play with the ends of her hair, weaving the silky strands between my fingers. 

“I-if I ever made you feel like…difficult? y’re not hard to be with..I’m- I’m so fucking sorry…I’m so sorry f’r being so selfish Carmy, I want you I-“ she huffed a silent, shaking sob into my shoulder.

“Baby what? No…no angel it’s ok” I wrap my arms around her, rocking her gently. “No. No you aren’t selfish baby.” I said “i know you want me, i know. Y’didnt do that…I did that, I make myself feel like that” I whisper into her hair, I usually wouldn’t be so honest with my feelings, but my heart was aching. I had to say anything I could to get her to stop feeling so sad.  

I kissed the top of her head gently, she was suddenly feeling much too warm. “C’mon- let’s get outta this, y’re burning up, baby. Wha’s wrong, mm? Y’re not selfish, Win, why do you feel that way?” I led her to the bed, gently urging her to sit.

She looked up at me, her large green eyes tear-filled and red. “I-I-y’re perfect, Carmen. I-I can’t…I couldn’t…I wouldn’t want to d’anything…like to change you-you” she sniffled and I cupped her cheeks, sitting next to her. “I-I-I don’t” she shakes her head “don’t change f’me, because of me” she hugs me tightly. 

I felt tears welling up behind my eyes. All Claire wanted was for me to change. I took a deep, shaky breath at the realization, holding her tighter. “Thank you” I whispered when I managed to swallow the lump forming in my throat. 

She took a shuddering breath and pulled away, quickly unclipping the buttons on her overalls, “too hot” she mumbled, pushing them down to her hips and shimmying them off quickly before clawing off her long-sleeved shirt, throwing it to the floor.

Fuck..She's having a panic attack.

I quickly got up and grabbed her black NASCAR t-shirt she’d thrown in the hamper that she’d worn to bed so many times before, “Here, ye’? This is comfortable right baby?” I asked and she shook her head fervently, walking to the bathroom quickly and shoving open the door without mind, the wood slamming into the wall.

“Baby- let me” she cuts me off

“Where is it, where did you put your shirt?” she asked, rushing over to the hamper when she didn’t find it in the bathroom and mindlessly rifling through it.

“Wha- which one baby- y’re makin’ a mess…” I walked over, running my hand through my hair as she chucked shirts and underwear and jeans every which way.

“The white one carmy? Which other shirt do you wear?” she choked out.

“Oh! Oh- here, c’mere” i told her, walking over to my side of the bed and pulling back the covers, digging out my white t-shirt from the mess of sheets. “This? Right? Ye’ baby?” she nods and takes it from me, sliding it over her head and sinking into her side of the bed, grabbing her blanket and wrapping it over her head and neck, rubbing the silk tag against her lips as she tries to relax her rapid breathing. 

Seph comes up as if on queue, sitting in her lap and laying down, purring loudly as she kneads the blanket over Winnie’s legs. She strokes her tail and closes her eyes, leaning her head against the headboard.

“Sorry…i’m-i-i’m sorry” she breathes out after a few minutes of stroking her tail and trying to calm herself down. I carefully sat down next to her and tuck the blanket back a bit so I could better see her face.

“Why?” I asked gently, looking over at her. She continued stroking Persephones tail, sighing to herself. 

“F’r…For like- I’m sorry for bombarding you like this” she releases a shaky sigh, wiping her eyes and shaking her head. “It’s a lot every time” she said and I nod, taking her free hand and gently pressing it to my lips. 

“I get it, baby. Trust me. That’s like- nothin’ I get so worked up. Y’re really tame” I said and she smiled a bit, lacing our fingers together. 

“Oh no I had a full meltdown at the grocery store too on the way home, this is just the aftermath…they were out of cherry juice and I- I’ve been thinkin about it all week.” She shook her head, looking at her lap and covering her face with her blanket. “And I- I used the money on cranberry instead, and I tried it…and it’s not the same” she said her voice cracking again and she sniffled. 

“Oh sweet baby” I wrapped my arms around her, kissing her blanket covered head. “I’ll make you cherry juice, d’worry” I said soothingly, rubbing her side gently. 

“It’s stupid Carmy. No. Don’t it’s all stupid. Plus I made you upset. I don't deserve my juice anyway” she said sadly, slightly nudging my arms away. 

I pouted a bit at her words “hey, no- don’t say that, Win. You deserve all the cherry juice. That’s all you want, mm? Some cherry juice?” I held her tighter, pulling her into my chest. 

She rested her cheek against my skin for a moment, before nuzzling her cold, cry-slicked nose into my neck and inhaling deeply, causing me to laugh a bit.

 “Mmhmm. I do. But- You took a shower and used my soap, smells good.” She said and I squeezed her waist gently. 

“I did. Can you tell which of your 50 million soaps I chose?” I mused and she giggled a bit, my heart lightening immediately at the sound. 

“Mmm” she hums, taking another big sniff this time in the middle of my throat, but not without nibbling my collarbone gently before pulling away. “Floral. But herby. The lavender one?” She questions. 

“Wow- you have quite the nose. Even when it’s all boogery cause you’re sad about cherry juice” I teased and she looks up at me, pecking my lips. 

“Mmhmm. I have the best nose. So don’t go smooching any girls cause I know your scent mister.” She mused and I hum, a smirk dancing on my lips. 

“You do now? Go on then. What do I smell like?” I asked, curious as to what she’d say. 

“Well, cigarettes- duh. Hmm..like- musky I dunno like in a really good way though. And then a tiny bit of Y’re laundry detergent annddd” she nuzzled her nose right below my jaw and sniffed, humming in a satisfied way that made me chuckle.

“Mmm like…vanilla. But boy vanilla? Does that make sense?” She bites the sensitive skin gently and I bit back a moan. 

“Mmhmm didn’t ask about taste baby” my hand travels around to her stomach rubbing up gently. 

“What do I smell like? You’re the one with the advanced palate chef” she kissed the same spot she’d just assaulted to soothe the sting before running her tongue over it gently. 

“What part?” I let my eyes flutter shut and she giggled into my skin. 

“Ohhh naughty, dirty chef” she nudged Persephone away to which she meows in objection as Winnie took her spot straddling my lap. “Tell me both.” She said softly in my ear, playing with my hair gently. 

“Hmm…bready but in the best way. But it tastes kinda sweet. Like…” I huff a laugh through my nose at the comparison. “Have you ever had…Japanese tea bread?” I questioned and she giggled into my hair. 

“No. What is it?” I gently squeeze her ass with my palms as I explained. 

“It’s- well bread. But it’s kinda salty sweet, the first time I went down on you it’s what I thought of. It’s really good” I said looking up at her. She shakes her head and rests her forehead on mine. 

“Y’know. I think you’re the cutest ever” she said softly, kissing the bridge of my nose before resting her forehead on mine again. 

“Why, cause I think your pussy smells kinda like shokupan?” I snort a laugh and she giggled, her eyes scrunching adorably. 

“No. Well- yes in a way, I think it’s fuckin adorable that instead of being like- all turned on and thinking about what we were doing, you were sitting there being like ‘i know I’ve had this somewhere’ “ she said and I laughed a bit, my hands travelling up to rest on her hips. 

“No. In the moment I was like- I actually was trying not to bust in your face, like- as soon as you went down on me, because Y’re so hot. But- later. I think it was as we were falling asleep. I was thinkin’bout it. And it dawned on me” I said rubbing the backs of her thighs and gently squeezing. 

“My therapist says we’re good for eachother” she said suddenly and it felt like my heart leapt into my throat and I nearly choked on it. 

“Oh?” I ask and clear my throat. “Like- well…yea..right? D-did you think we were bad for eachother?” I questioned, my cheeks suddenly feeling hot. 

“No! No the opposite. I was hoping she was gonna agree we’re good f’r eachother and she…she did. She said that I just- I need to…like…be more open and stuff with how I feel so…yeah that’s why I allowed myself to tell you everything and..yeah..” she said softly, resting her head on my shoulder and wrapping her arms around my neck. 

I felt myself instantly relax at the admission. The affirmation doing wonders for my anxiety. 

“Thank you f’r tellin me, honey” I said softly, kissing her cheek. “I think we’re good together, too” I rubbed her back gently. “Cmon, let me go get the cherrys baby, y’want your juice” I told her. 

“Y’don’t have to make it for me, Carm. It’s..it’s probably gonna be alotta work and..it’s not worth it for stupid juice.” She muttered and I kiss her cheek. 

“Will it make you happy baby?” I asked, rubbing her side gently. 

“ ‘fcourse I love anything you make Carmy but I’m not gonna make you work on your day off” she said and I gently pull her chin up so she looks at me. 

“It’s not work when I’m cooking for you honey, it’s fun. I love cooking. It’s why it’s my job, even though it’s shit. It’s fun when I can do it in a more…peaceful environment I guess” I smiled a bit and she took my hand, kissing it. 

“I’m making you dinner then and you get a massage after” she said, gently kissing over each letter on my knuckles. 

“That sounds like a wonderful deal baby.” I watched her, my cheeks heating at the sweetness of the gesture. 

“Have you ever had- well. That’s a stupid question. You’ve probably tasted everything” she said, gently playing with my fingers. “I was gonna say have you ever had tomate farcies but now I feel..kinda silly cause- why wouldn’t you have had, it you went to culinary school in Paris” she smiled a bit. 

“You speak French?” I questioned and her brows furrowed a bit. 

“I didn’t- I didn’t tell you? Our grandma was from Quebec…yeah I grew up on French. You- you don’t? How did you live over there?” She questioned and I shrug a bit. 

“Uhh…didn’t. Really- I mean…I was either goin’ T’school or working. I went out like 2 times total. I know all the cooking terms those are all I needed…then I moved to Denmark and uh…yeah they speak a lot more English so it didn't make a difference” I shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to learn though, so you can teach me baby” I kissed the corner of her mouth gently. 

“Of course! Well..I’m not the best teacher, I only speak it with my gram on the phone when I call her now- but she raised us a lot of the time, we stayed with her over the summers cause my mom worked so much. I’ll show you what I know, We’ll start when you get back from the store” she pecks my lips before rolling off my lap and I got up, stretching my back that felt worlds better after a good 10 hours rest in her comfortable bed. 

“Sounds perfect. What kinda cherries do you like babe?” I asked grabbing my grey hoodie from end of the bed and slipping it on. 

“Kind of Cherries? I dunno…there’s different kinds?” She giggled and I shook my head with a grin. 

“Yes, there are, honey. How about I surprise you, yeah?” I wrap my arms around her waist, kissing her forehead. 

“Mmhmm” she said and kissed my nose. “Be safe please, there were alotta cops out when I was on the way back” she said and I gently tuck her hair behind her ear.  “Then lock the door behind me please” I told her and squeezed her hips gently.

I got to the grocery store fairly quickly, walking fast due to the rain that was only getting heavier as I walked. By the time I’d gotten to the store, my hoodie was already half soaked. 

I tugged on my hood, pulling it higher as I made my way to the produce aisle, grabbing 3 bags of sweetheart cherries before making my way to the baking isle for some sugar. 

While rounding the corner, since my head was down momentarily I bumped into someone, causing them to drop the boxes of cake mix they were holding “oh! Shit my bad!” I looked up at them, my heart sinking. 

I suddenly felt hot, my sweater felt itchy, my cheeks were flushed. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. I looked her up and down, my mouth dropping in to a gaping ‘o’. I felt bile rising in my throat, my stomach churning with anxiety. 

No. No. Not her. Not now. 

“Bear?” The name coming off of her tongue nearly made me gag. I shook my head quickly, squeezing my eyes shut and pulling my hood up further. 

“P-please. No. I-I’m. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Claire- I” I looked at her, then the boxes of cake mix, then her again. 

“I-uh- have T-T-t’go. Um-I-please don’t um-“ I took a shuttering breath. 

Unless I slice deep, she will keep trying with me. 

“Don’t- I- we can never be together. I-I-im sorry, Claire. I’m sorry” I turned around quickly heading to the registers. 

“Prick” she muttered as I briskly walked away. The word stung, but I surely deserved it. 

I shook my head, trying to brush off the brief unforeseen confrontation, as I rushed I clumsily almost knocked over a display of bouquets with roses and sunflowers, grabbing one before it fell off the shelf quickly, and instead of putting it back, I paused for a moment, looking at it as I thought, before I took them for Winnie and continued my walk to the registers. 

I dropped the cherries and the flowers onto the belt and digging my debit card out of my pocket. 

I need to get back to Honey. Wait, Honey. She’s gonna have honey, her tea- she’s always drinking tea. I didn’t even need fuckin’ sugar anyway.

“Do you have a rewards card?” The teen at the register asks glumly. 

“No, thanks.” I mumbled, putting my card in the reader as soon as he scanned the bags and flowers. 

“Do you want a bag?” He asked, and I looked at him annoyed. 

“Do I-? yes. Yes I want it bagged” 

Like, cmon, kid. lets keep this conversation goin, hm? why doesn’t Claire just get in line behind me right fuckin now? 

I thought bitterly to myself as he bagged the 3 bags of cherries and the flowers handed them to me. 

“Want your receipt?” He asked, but I was already headed up to the flower counter with the bag and the flowers. 

‘If you get a girl flowers, y’always get em wrapped, bear. Er’ y’re just givin’ em work. Simple, but impressive’

Was what Mikey had told me once upon a time. I’d never gotten a girl flowers before now, but they seemed to literally jump at me, and it couldn’t hurt after the day Winnie’s had.

I set the flowers on the counter, “can I have these uh- wrapped?” I asked the older woman tending the flower section. 

She nodded, smiling warmly. “Of course. Beautiful choice, if you’d like- we have cards you can write a message on” she motioned to the little table next to the flower stand. 

I looked over them, reading the different choices. I love you, happy birthday, I’m sorry, Just Because I love you - no. Too much.

I shook my head “no. Just uh- just wrapped, thanks.” I mumble, shoving my hand that wasn’t holding the bag in my pocket. 

“Who are these for, if you don’t mind?” She asked as she removed the cellophane, snipping the ends of the flowers at an angle and arranging them. 

“My- uh. This- she’s...we’re…seeing eachother.” I said awkwardly, biting the inside of my cheek. 

“Ahhh ok. So it’s new love then” she said, placing the flowers atop brown paper. 

My cheeks heat and I swallow thickly. She wasn’t wrong but it wasn’t right to call it love..yet. 

“I-I guess…maybe.” I said and she tied them up with twine around the paper, covering them in a clear plastic bag before sliding them in a brown paper one. 

“Stay dry out there” she told me and I nodded, heading towards the doors. 

“Thanks” I said simply, feeling too anxious to say anything else. 

If it hadn’t been pouring, I’d have taken my cigarettes out as soon as I got outside, but unfortunately for me- my hoodie was beginning to get soaked through, and I was starting to shiver because of the wind that was quickly picking up. 

The last fuckin’ thing I need right now is to be sick.

𝒲𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒫.𝒪.𝒱. 🍯

I turned back to the tv, paying attention to a random Criminal Minds episode i’d put on in the living room while I cooked, watching as I cored the 8 tomatoes whilst waiting for the rice to finish boiling. 

This would be the only recipe I could bring to the table in our relationship, other than a few very simple dishes from my childhood my Gram had taught me how to cook plus my easy breakfasts, I was fairly lost in the kitchen. 

But I’d felt proud that at least one night he could let someone make something for him. I scooped the cores into the trash, saving the little lids. 

I was feeling much better now that I’d gotten paid and Sephys (as well as my own) food supplies weren’t dwindling. The cost of therapy ate up most of my checks, then rent, then utilities. So at the end of every month I was left pretty dry. I did whatever I could to not call Gram and ask her to spare me some money, it had happened a few times though, each time I did I was near an eviction notice or my lights getting shut off.

Even though she was insistent whenever I called that if I was struggling she’d be more then happy to send money and help out, I knew she kept tabs with mom, and whatever I said could make its way back to her. And the last thing I needed was her thinking I was failing out here, especially her. I’d never hear the end of it. 

I carefully chopped the onion the way my Gram taught me, chopping vegetables was much easier then meat, to me anyway. So my attempt came out much better then the chicken I’d murdered at lunch with Carmy the other day. 

Sephy jumps up on the counter and I gasp “seph! No! Naughty! Carm would have a heart attack” I quickly pick her up, going and putting her down on her cat tree. “You sleep here. You know that missy” 

I sighed softly to myself, padding over to the sink and washing my hands, drying them off quickly on Carmys shirt before going back to the onions. 

By the time I’d gotten the tomatoes stuffed and in the oven, as well as done a little cleaning of the kitchen, 

I’d laid down on the couch, remembering to set a timer for the food in the oven. I found myself getting drowsy, ending up falling asleep for what felt like 15 minutes until there was a soft knock at the door. I woke up, rubbing my eyes and humming happily to myself, going over and looking in the peephole to see darkness. 

I rolled my eyes playfully, “Carmy- c’mon. I know it’s you” I unlocked the door and as soon as I did it was forcefully thrown open, so hard that it left a mark on the wall. I jumped back in surprise and I swore my vision went fuzzy when I saw who it was. 

“I’ve been told you need me again, darling” he shut the door behind him, locking it swiftly.  

I’m trapped. 

“Joe- Joe..Joe…leave. Please leave” I said, backing up quickly, nearly tripping over my shoes in the entry hall. 

“No. No. I told you I tooold you” he approaches me slowly, like a snake hunting a mouse. 

“I don’t belong to you, anymore Joe” I tried to sound confident and menacing, but my voice came out much weaker then I intended. 

“Winnie, my sweet, sweet little Winnie the Pooh” he backs me into the corner of the living room, gently brushing his cold boney fingers over my cheek. 

I hadn’t even realized I’d been crying, until he swipes his forefinger up my skin and brings it to his lips, humming in satisfaction. 

Sick fuck. 

“It’s okay baby, I won’t hurt you unless you try to scream, you remember the rules, don’t you, be a good girl, and I give you what you need” he grabs my jaw roughly, knocking my head back into the wall for good measure. 

“What are the fucking rules, Winnow, say it” he growls. 

I’m never going to escape him. 

“I guess I have to remind you what happens when you don’t listen to me” he seethed in my ear and I felt my body go entirely numb with fear. 

➵ 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ♡♡♡ ⋙

[areyoudreaminof]

For the final day of @nestaarcheronweek, I've curated a playlist for our music loving girl. I wanted to showcase Nesta's complexities and her deep love for music with songs of strength, anger, loss, and love. Listen to it here! And come for a lyrical deep dive behind the cut!

Fresh Laundry-Allie X

You said you're always on my side But what if my side has changed too much? Then tell me, who am I? You said you're always on my side But what if my side has lived too long? Something has to die Who am I?

Fury Oh Fury-Nico Vega

Fury, oh fury don't you misguide me I need my wits to set me free Fury, oh fury don't you misguide me I need my wits to set me free

Little Dark Age-MGMT

Breathing in the dark, lying on its side The ruins of the dead painted with a scar And the more I straighten out, the less it wants to try The feelings start to rot one wink at a time Forgiving who you are for what you stand to gain Just know that if you hide, it doesn't go away

I Love You, But I Need Another Year-Liza Anne

I don't think enough Before I say too much I'm digging my own grave With all the shit I say I keep my head high Kinda like a lie I say I'm doing fine Even when I'm losing my mind

The Fruits-Paris Paloma

As you eat it up whole My body and my blood You've claimed it now, so come drink up And there's no need to be concerned About what's left when you are done because You've got me on my knees to pray Or play some other pleasing role But never wonder Where I must have learnt it all

Alpha Shallows-Laura Marling

But the grey in this city is too much to bear The grey in this city is too much to bear And I believe you are meant to be seen but not to be understood

It's going to be pretty tough when you leave You'll help to take a little part of me To make sure you don't treat yourself mean And I want to see all that you'll see

What's Wrong-PVRIS

I know it's so wrong but I'm so far gone Don't need you to tell me I'm so cynical Quit being so over-skeptical Don't need a metaphor for you to know I'm miserable

Peacemaker-Jesca Hoop

Put down your peacemaker blue Warrior Warrior Beaten and broken and bruised Warrior Warrior Come and I'll unlock your chain link armour Seven baths absolve your blood stained honor Your honor Tell the water of

Human-Oh Land

I don't love you human You remind me of the things I hate in me I don't love you human Cause You show me how imperfect I can be Human You're so lonely lonely lonely

Smokestacks-LAYLA

You got eyes so azure You got blood orange skin And there's a spark in your centre that's piercing me in I got a night-time shudder and a lion within I got a brain-tricked hunger and you're pulling me in

Willow Tree March-The Paper Kites

You fall through the trees And you pray with your knees on the ground For the things that you need With your lust and your greed weighing down And you weaken your love And you hold it above your head Success is a song of the heart, not a song of your head

Mountain at My Gates-Foals

I see a mountain in my way It's looming larger by the day I see a darkness in my fate I'll drive my car without the brakes

Oh, gimme some time Show me the foothold from which I can climb Yeah, when I feel low You show me a signpost for where I should go

Rabbit Will Run-Iron and Wine

We've all traded lovers and woke up alone And we've clapped for the king though our fingers were cold And I still have a prayer 'cause I love what I cannot control

Water Water-Empress Of

You're just a heart to hold, you're easy to impress I want to care much more, but I'm feeling less awake You're just a heart to break, easy to manipulate I want to care much more, but I'm feeling less and less

Hold On, Hold On-Neko Case

The most tender place in my heart is for strangers I know it's unkind, but my own blood is much too dangerous Hangin' round the ceiling half the time

Shake it Out-Florence + the Machine

And I am done with my graceless heart So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart 'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn It's always darkest before the dawn

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 6

Path of Whumperless Whump Prompt: Alt/bonus prompt "Medical Complications"

Day 6 of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters:

- POV/Caretaker: Gawain - The Green Knight

- Polly (Cursed, Netflix)

- Pym (Cursed, Netflix)

- Kaze (Cursed, Netflix)

- Whumpee: Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

(Character Masterlist)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 624

TWs; Field surgery, pain, pinned down, broken ribs, blood, shards of bone, graphic descriptions, gore.

Lancelot tremoured beneath Gawain's hands as Polly, their healer, lowered a blade into his side.

What had begun as a; "I just pulled a stitch, thats all" quite quickly devolved when it had become apparent this was something far far worse. At Polly's discovery of a rogue shard of broken rib bone that had been cutting Lancelot up inside with every breath, it became outright field surgery.

Gawain glanced down at the terrible bruising that painted across Lancelot's ribs, grimacing at the way Polly pulled his skin apart, slicing through flesh to expose the troublesome shard. Both Pym, a young healer-in-training and Kaze, his second-in-command aided him in keeping Lancelot pinned as the healer worked, though neither seemed entirely pleased about it.

Lancelot hissed through gritted teeth, eyes flaring wide, body shaking with the effort to keep himself still. As Polly worked, sweat beaded up across Lancelot's skin, slick under Gawain's fingertips, and he jerked and spasmed in their hold with small involuntary movements that resisted his valiant attempts to stay still. Lancelot groaned in pain, burying his face into his arms, gasping a shuddering breath.

"That's it, nice and still..." Polly soothed, then dug the knife deeper. Lancelot cried out now, buckling under their hold, and Gawain had to fight to keep him steady. He knew Kaze and Pym similarly struggled where they pinned him.

Lancelot whimpered, desperately choking down a louder scream. One hand clawed into the ground above the blanket he lay on carving furrows into the dirt.

"Pym, your hands are smaller," Polly spoke up now, furiously focused expression on her face, "In a moment I'm going to need you to grab it."

"Me? Grab it? Th-the bone?"

Polly withdrew the knife with an affirmative nod. Lancelot gasped in relief and fell limp, eyes rolling back into his head.

"I think he fainted." Gawain commented, watching the torment that carved deep lines into Lancelot's angular face slowly fade, though the crease between his brow did not and his eyes darted beneath darkened lids.

"Probably for the best," Polly said, wiping her hands on a rag, "Pym, you should be able to get it now."

"Here goes..." Pym whimpered, pulling a face as she dug around with her fingertips into the wound. Lancelot groaned as he woke, grey eyes flying open wide, flailing his arms instinctively and Gawain was forced to kneel on his arm lest he swing and punch him by accident again. Gawain cringed at the tormented scream that Lancelot could do nothing to supress, even as Lancelot hid his face in his other arm again, nails digging so hard into his own shoulder beside where Gawain held him that Gawain was sure he'd bleed.

"I think... I've got it, --" Pym gave a mighty yank, studiously ignoring Lancelots agonised cries, "--There!"

Lancelot slackened again in their grasp, panting, powerful shudders wracking his entire body as he stared near sightlessly across the dirt with pain-glazed eyes. Pym's triumphant face suddenly switched to one of horror, apparently remembering what it was she held; a jagged, pinkish shard of bone almost the length of Gawain's finger and no wider than a blade, which Polly promptly took from her before Pym had a chance to drop it, wrapping it into a rag.

"We need to clean this and stitch him back up. Shouldn't need all of you to hold him now."

Kaze stepped away with a nod, seemingly relieved to no longer have to pin him with a thoroughly unimpressed expression curling her lip to bare a fang. Gawain for his part felt violently ill yet he firmly remained as he was. He didn't miss the thankful look Lancelot shot him.

"Still with us, Monk?"

Lancelot nodded weakly.

"Nearly done, I promise."

I'm enjoying these prompts, they're really helping me flesh out some of the plot ideas for my upcoming Lancewain fic.

I was really struggling to cut the wordcount down on this one! This scene ended up being several thousand words on the initial draft a few days ago, but rest assured it will be expanded upon and included in the main fic in all it's whump-filled glory!

FINALLY we have Pym showing up! She's genuinely one of my fave Cursed characters to write for and I LOVE HER. You can see her and all the other characters in these snippets in the Character masterlist linked above.

Onto the next, thank you for reading!

[haste-waste]

Zelink Week 2024: The Baker and the Seamstress (Chapter 3)

Sorry for the late updates, folks! I will be posting three chapters here today. Day 3's prompt is "Blooming." Enjoy! @zelinkcommunity

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

← Previous Chapter

Next Chapter →

The baker woke up especially early the next morning. Would the seamstress come after her flight from yesterday? If she did, he would absolutely be there to meet her.

At dawn, she came from nowhere. It was like he blinked and she appeared, ghostly pale against the snow and spindly treeline. Where did she run off to in the night? Why couldn’t he learn her name?

He glanced at the seamstress, who rounded up his aprons and began mending them at her stool. It was officially her stool now, whether she knew it or not. She always found something to mend, and she was dead set in repairing his entire wardrobe.

It didn’t matter if her name was a mystery. As long as she returned safely to his bakery each morning, he was content. It was nice to have someone around.

His guest—his friend—he assumed, was strange in her own way. She was courteous, quiet, yet unusually set in her ways. He had never met anyone as painfully shy as her. Even so, she could be so stubborn! She stubbornly used his title at all times. It was always Master Link, and it made him feel strange, like he was above her. She had a stubborn need to help him with sweeping too, and she stubbornly kept to her schedule from dawn to dusk. And most importantly, she refused to eat any food that wasn’t burnt or undesirable in some way. So just as stubbornly, he started burning rolls intentionally here and there so she'd eat more. Today, he cut it open and put a slice of cheese in it before handing it to her. She eventually accepted, but he knew she was secretly upset by the way her brows tightened into a line and her jaw set.

She sat on her stool after lunch, the atmosphere in the bakery settled by food and company. She looked tired, and it continued to bother him. She worked hard each day; he should tell her to rest.

"I thought about the conversation from your customers yesterday," she said, digging through her supplies. "The gentleman was right."

Link stilled, and dreaded the words that were bound to come out of her mouth.

"You shouldn't speak ill of the hand that feeds you," she commented.

Relieved, he continued kneading a seeded loaf of bread much gentler than he had before. Her comment was nice to hear. "So you don't speak ill of me because of that?" He joked half heartedly. "What if I didn’t feed you then, hm?"

She seemed genuinely surprised at his words. "There'd still be no need to speak ill of you." She tugged on her thread, anchored a knot into her fabric, and kept working, leaving him to his thoughts.

He didn't expect that. He didn't expect any of that. "No need, huh?"

She focused on sewing on a button to repair the strap on his apron. Perhaps he could try to tease her, since she hadn’t spoken this much in weeks and seemed in decent spirits. "Not even with my lack of conversation?"

She shook her head and squinted at her work, half-listening to his musings.

"Not even my scars?" He pressed.

She huffed. "I meant what I said." She secured the button and tugged on the strap to test its integrity. "There is nothing ill about you." The strap tore, but the button remained sturdily attached to the front panel of the apron. She sighed, frustrated, and began to mend the tear. He turned back to his work, beginning the lamination process for a croissant.

He passed his rolling pin over some dough once or twice, and then she spoke once more: "When a kind, handsome man offers you aid, you take it," she noted errantly, lost within her task.

The baker paused, his rolling pin sinking into the dough, leaving an unintentional indentation. The word handsome rattled around his brain. That word didn't apply to him, it never applied to him. Anger simmered in his chest. He was only met with disgust and fear in the past. Although, if she of all people said that, the skittish, secretive, and extremely polite seamstress, then perhaps, just maybe…she wasn’t lying?

A squawking noise caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder to look at her. Her entire face was red, bringing out the depths of her eyes. "Forgive me, Master Link. Forget I said anything," she busied herself with work, fidgeting, and brushed her hair behind her ear. He was entranced by the action, the delicate slide of fingertips against the strands, the gesture gentle and unthinking; part of him wanted to replicate the motion by his own hand. He paused at the completely unexpected thought. What was this need to…he didn't know what he needed to do, exactly. Touch her? Smile? Pull her in for a hug because she's needed one for weeks?

The more he stared at her, the more she flustered, her face growing redder by the moment. "I didn't mean to offend you!" She said hastily. "I spoke out of turn! It just slipped out and I—"

Whatever she said after that was completely lost to him; he was too busy trying to process her previous statement. Handsome. He was handsome. Suddenly, he laughed loudly at the comment. "That's...that's nice, thank you." She blushed profusely in response, and goddesses…when she gave him the faintest hint of a smile it had him reeling.

As each day passed, some of her wariness subsided, blossoming into a quiet contentment whenever she worked. It was beautiful. At last; the skittish woman he brought in from the cold started to show her belly, much like a barn cat.

Stay, he wished to say, but he could never be selfish enough to ask. And what would she say, yes? Hardly. She still refused to eat normal bread like a normal person. But it wasn't his place to judge. He wasn't normal. And she mended his clothing for free. So he kept his mouth shut and began to long for her silently, like the crazy man he was.

-------

Lord Yuga walked down the hallways of his citadel and took the long flight of stairs to the dungeons. He opened the wooden double doors to his left and was pleased to find activity in his head sorcerer’s chambers. Books were open on the enchanting table in the far corner. The room smelled of magic, smoky, and invigorating.

Pleased, he knocked on the secondary door. "Enter," a low, gravelly, voice beckoned. Yuga opened the door to an alchemy chamber, the walls lined with vials, potions, books, and Agahnim’s prized tools of torture.

Two plush armchairs with clawed feet were in front of the fireplace. One was occupied in front of the fire; Agahnim sat, donning his usual green robes, facial veil, conservative cap, and circlet, drinking a cup of tea placidly, while a lowly bokoblin was being tortured far above them in the rafters, likely for potent materials.

"My friend, it is good to see you," Lord Yuga announced warmly, taking a seat.

"And to you, sire." Agahnim bowed his head, waved his arm, his billowing sleeves following his movements, and the bokoblin floated above them into a wooden trap door, which shut promptly with a muffled squeal of pain. "The abruptness of your summons was most intriguing," he noted.

Yuga settled into the chair. "You are the only one who I can entrust with this task."

Agahnim placed his tea aside. "We are woven from the same cloth. Blood matters not. Our goals are the same: power."

It was true. Lordship aside, Agahnim was an equal in magical power, perhaps even more so. "I need you to find the girl in any manner necessary. You will be handsomely rewarded, just as you were in the past…"

"Ah yes, that was a treat, was it not? Who knew the carrier of the supposed legendary sword would be such a joy to eradicate? Such a thrilling chase we had together."

Yuga agreed. "That bloodline and cursed sword are buried because of our efforts. But mine cannot. Our power mustn't be squandered."

Yuga itched to continue the hunt. "Again, do what you must, but she cannot be killed. I will receive her myself. She will never run again."

Agahnim made a tent with strong, calloused fingers in his lap. "And how can you assure that?" he inquired.

Yuga bristled. Agahnim’s confidence in his plans was necessary, even if the criticism was unneeded: "No far away duchess’s dowry and land will ever compare to the power flowing through the girl’s veins." Agahnim’s eyes widened in response. "Some sacrifices are required in the name of power. If an heir must be sired with a commoner, so be it."

Yuga gave Agahnim a final, pointed look: "And what mother would ever abandon her child, especially under our careful watch?"

With that final phrase, the Lord left, leaving Agahnim speechless. That was a brilliant plan. An heir…if he were lucky, the Lord’s child would be under his arcane tutelage, and together, they could usurp Yuga and rule Hyrule together instead.

Agahnim unfurled an enchanted map of Hyrule upon his podium. Then, he flipped through a dusty tome for something useful. This spell should ease things up a tad. He raised his arms aloft and began to chant:

Howling wind, biting chill

Winter's breath I will instill

With cryptic gestures, magic swirled around his staff, creating a cloud of ice in the center of the room.

With lupine gifts, scent a route

Determine the girl's whereabouts

Agahnim smacked his staff into the earth, and the light spread from the floor in a haze. Icicles erupted from the cobblestone, the shards fusing into a wolf-like beast.

Steal her strength, shatter her will

Find her form and do her ill

The wolf beast sniffed the ground toward the south, howled, causing its icicle-teeth to gleam in the firelight, and morphed into the ground; a curtain of frost followed its invisible movements.

When the magic intercepted her, she would be completely incapacitated, frozen, and helpless until he and the Lord's men arrived. Once the magic took its course, the girl would be pliant for the Lord's uses. Now, to his own plans…

-------

After the seamstress left for the evening, a winter storm brewed throughout the rest of the night. The baker tossed and turned, anxious for the seamstress's return. He should have asked her to stay for her safety. But she was strong-willed. She could probably make the storm fade with a rare, steely-eyed glare that occurred when he did something reckless.

He tossed and turned in bed. What would her eyes look like when happiness shone within them instead of fear? The faint glow he saw in them had him floating, like he was at Hateno beach

Fortunately, she arrived at dawn, just as the snow started. She was near silent today, overpowered by the wind from Mount Lanayru, which was especially rough throughout the morning. How did she travel here in that tattered dress without freezing?

The seamstress sewed slowly, her exhaustion prominent as she tugged her thread through his apron, repairing a torn pocket. She rubbed her eyes, curled her shoulders in, and kept on with her work, relying on a spare lantern for light, the storm drowning out the sun.

The baker frowned. He'd make them a good lunch today and if Hylia willed it, she'd eat it. The weather was awful, and she barely had anything on her bones to keep her warm.

The futility of it all; she was surrounded by food and welcome to eat it! He distracted himself from his frustration. The rye was ready for the oven, and the bakery was still open for the day.

Snow pelted the windows as the wind howled outside. The sound grew louder, like a wolf's keen across the wilds, shaking the floorboards, and a powerful gust made the back door fly open with a bang. The storm blasted throughout the bakery, cutting his skin with miniscule ice shards. He fought through the swirling snow and used all of his weight and might to wrestle the door shut—the wind cut off with a vaguely canine yelp. The warmth snapped back into the room instantaneously. As he bolted the door tight, he heard a ponderous thud close by.

The seamstress was sprawled out on the floor in a shivering heap, her stool askew beside her, blown over by the wind. She attempted to push herself off the floor. "I can't—" She fought through gritted teeth, glancing down at her hands in astonishment. Her arms quaked from the effort, the energy draining from her as she struggled fitfully. A faint sheen of residual powder suspended above her in the air, then collided into her skin; she gasped, her eyes widened in fear, and her imploring eyes met his own. "L-Link–!"

She had never said his name like that before. Her helplessness made a sense of dread build in his throat. She tried again to rise, but her skin rapidly began to lose what little color it had. He reached for her in concern, and she collapsed to the floor.

This was too much to handle. She could be mad at him later for this. The baker scooped her up from the floor and into his arms. Goddesses, she was freezing! And far too easy to carry! The seamstress shivered violently, practically vibrating against his chest. Snow and ice shrouded the bakery as he raced her upstairs to the only place that was fit for rest: his bed. He laid her down gently without protest. She was out cold, figuratively and literally, and it terrified him. He tossed every blanket he owned over her bony frame and tucked her in.

He should have done something sooner. He should have loaned her his cloak, fed her proper meals even if she fought him tooth and nail. Now, she was like this…she'd die at this rate…so stubborn in her secretive ways! She needed to keep being stubborn and live.

The baker didn't know what to do, so he immediately went to work to fix mistakes. He flipped the wooden sign to close his shop, dug in his root cellar, and cooked the heartiest soup imaginable. He put his soul into it, to nourish her, using hearty radishes and a coveted endura carrot, cooked separately to maximize their effects.

The storm howled even louder outside, like a pack of wolves had started circling the bakery. It was just the wind, but it fueled his unease. Every few minutes, he'd stop and run upstairs to her side. The pile of blankets quaked with her movements. She was getting worse.

When the soup was ready, he practically sprinted it up the stairs, the soup sloshing and burning his fingers as he set it on his nightstand. The sound awoke her—he expected her to shoot up with a gasp and flee—but she blinked blearily and fell unconscious once more. Her lips began to turn blue.

What was happening? The wind practically snarled outside the windows, the forest shrouded by the white-out conditions. This was no ordinary storm. It was suspiciously intense, almost magically so.

Suddenly, her shivering stopped, and her breath became a rattle. His heart rate and dread spiked in his chest. Now thoroughly panicking, he attempted to feed her. The soup dripped down her chin.

"Come on, please…you have to eat!" He'd do anything to help, even if it meant forcing her mouth open with the wooden spoon. He tried again, and broth ran down the sides of her face and onto his bedsheets. He wiped her face with his sleeves. He refused to give into the immense feeling of helplessness weighing on his shoulders and heart. "Oh, you stubborn thing," he said ruefully, speaking aloud in an attempt to stay calm. "And I still don't know your name."

She said nothing and remained alarmingly still, completely unaware of his presence. He couldn't give up. She needed him.

Determined, he tried once more to feed her. By Nayru, he'd do anything to learn her name and the full meaning of her smile. She just had to get through whatever this was first. "But I'll take care of you," he said hopefully. "You've taken care of me. You—" he choked, the spoon wavering in his hand as he shook. "—You just need to eat."

The baker took a small serving of broth. He couldn’t hear himself think over the sound of the wind rushing through the rafters. The force of it made him worry that the roof would tear off. But she was his first priority. He could do this.

"I've got you, love," he said hopefully, the endearment unfamiliar on his tongue, even though it felt right to say. With all the care in the world, he tipped some of the broth past her lips.

A deafening sound occurred from the bed, like ice cracking underneath his feet. The seamstress arched upward, pulling up on the sheets, and a torrent of glowing snow shot out of her skin and airways, dissipating into the air around them.

Link held his breath. Was it over? To his absolute relief, she coughed weakly, her jaw finally unclenched, and she began to shiver once more, no longer deathly still.

Thank the goddesses. He tucked his blankets around her snugly, and slowly continued to feed her broth. Each spoonful brought back some color to her face. The wind had died down, so he eased up and kept to his task.

"Link?" she croaked, catching him by surprise. He watched her feel around the blankets in his bed. Then, she sighed and melted into the bedding, an explicit look of awe crossing her face. "I'm dreaming," she whispered.

Heat bloomed on his cheeks. "You think so?"

She didn't seem wary of his words. "There's a bed," she said weakly, still a bit removed from the world. "It's warm." There was a lengthy pause between each statement. "There's food. It's so good. And you're here," she said softly. Her voice was reverent, completely out of character, and it stirred his heart.

She struggled to say something after that, but lapsed back into unconsciousness. At least she wasn't shivering anymore.

He dragged her stool upstairs and sat, keeping watch over her for several hours, her appearance and breathing improving over time. Eventually, she fully came back to herself, and there it was—the jolt, the need to flee.

"Master Link!" She stirred within his blankets, then began to scramble out of bed in fear and confusion.

"Hey! It's okay!" He held his hands up. "It's okay," he repeated calmly.

"W-why am I?" She looked around. Then, she clicked her tongue, confused. "My mouth is salty."

"Well, you had some broth," he noted.

She looked devastated. "I ate some of your good food? I'm so sorry! I didn't intend to steal it from you, even though I don't remember it happening—"

The seamstress's statement made his frustration, previously buried by his dread, come to the surface. "That doesn't matter.It never has. You barely eat! You probably wouldn't have survived the storm without it." How many days had she starved on her stool, in a bakery, of all places, because of her stubbornness?

Each word he spoke increased the guilty look on her face. "But—"

That was enough. "You will not starve under my roof," he commanded tersely, pointing a finger at her. "You will eat the food I make for you or our deal is off."

Shock, guilt—ugh, she needed to stop with the guilt—"Now rest,"he ordered.

Of course, after an hour, she returned downstairs with the stool in-hand. "I can't believe you did that," she said weakly, sitting down with unsteady footing. "Why?"

What could he say? You're my only friend? I've been fond of you since the moment we met? You have never talked down to me or made me feel like I was ugly and—

He gave her a look of some sort. Even though he didn't know why he did all of this, she must have found an answer in his expression. "Thank you…I—this is twice, now, that you've helped me. I don't even know what happened…"

It was a curse. It had to be. Why she, of all people, was cursed, he didn't know. But the last thing she needed was another excuse to hide in the snow. So, he told the truth, at least partially: "You fell ill. Rapidly."

"Rapidly," she echoed. The color he fought so hard for instantly left her face. She shuddered, her fear practically radiating into the room. "I must go," she said resolutely, and dove for the door.

"Wait!" He threw himself in her path. Her trust in him frayed slightly at the action; he saw it in her eyes.

Link wanted nothing more than for her to stay. Her safety…but her stubbornness, too. She was terrified. And honestly, so was he, especially after what happened today. So, he found the only solution to keep her warm while she was away. "Take my cloak."

His words brought her to a guilty pause. "I can't—" She said, with her back to the door.

"—Please." He pressed his hand against the door, keeping it shut. He reached over her and snatched the cloak from the nearby hook before she could fight the door open. Slowly, he laid it across her shoulders; she stiffened and shut her eyes. He buttoned the collar near her neck, and took a step backwards, exhaling some of his tension.

Fortunately, she made no motion to remove it. "I will return this tomorrow," the seamstress vowed. She was coming back? After that stunt? Wasn't her trust absolutely violated? "Thank you, again," she said quietly, and fled into the night.

How he wanted to chase her into the cold. But he didn't. But what good would that do? She needed him, didn't she?

-------

Weeks passed, they fell into a routine, and the last slog of winter came and went, the tantalizing concept of spring becoming reality and blooming outside the bakery. Spring blossoms and new leaves painted the village and forests in pastel pinks, purples, and greens. The baker hadn't been this happy since…gods, he didn't know if he was ever this happy before. Spending time with someone was a blessing he never realized.

She seemed happier, too. Now that she ate at least two meals a day, she had more energy, looked healthier, and was in better spirits. She even asked him benign questions from time to time. Today, he repaid the favor.

"How did you become a seamstress?" he asked, scoring the tops of baguettes before the oven.

"It ran in the family," she answered eventually, with a mournful, but soft expression on her face. "Why did you take to baking?"

His father wheezed, laying back against a tree. His mother cried, something he had never seen before. His father beckoned him closer and hugged him, clutching him for dear life, as though he'd never get another chance to do so. "My boy, my Link," his hand went to the back of his head and he pulled him close, "l love you. Listen to your mother now, do you understand?"

"My sweet child," she said, caressing his cheek, and her tunic looked dark and damp. "Take it." She clasped his hand feebly around the handle of her old, rusty sword, her palm covering over his own, too clammy and wet. The metal was hot under his skin. "Take it and flee. Hateno Village will house you, I swear on it." She coughed and it sounded heavy and painful. "Offer yourself as an apprentice to anyone who will take you. Never part with the sword, do you understand? You must live—"

A shadowy figure hidden under thick robes appeared from the night and towered over them. His father shouted in alarm. His mother flinched, brought him into her chest protectively, and was ripped away from him by a fist in her hair; all he knew was pain after that. So much pain, like daggers cutting through every inch of skin. And it all went black.

When he awoke, he couldn't breathe. He dug himself out of the freshly disturbed earth using the sword buried beside him, and was greeted by silhouettes of trees, utterly alone in the night.

With nothing else to guide him, he ran.

"Are you alright?" The seamstress's soft voice brought him into the present.

The baker took a long, deep breath, and stared at the bowl and dough in front of him. He felt the weight of her eyes on his back. "It was the only option," he admitted, kneading the dough harder than necessary. "I was lucky to learn from my master." His master passed away a few years back, and the shop became his own.

Hesitantly, he turned his head to see her reaction. The seamstress focused on her task of mending a colorful patch to the inner lining of his oven mitts, sewing methodically, and adjusted her position on the stool. She looked healthier. Her skin wasn't sallow, her hair was shinier, and a lovely roundness was forming on the apples of her cheeks.

The light of the half-covered sun shone through the bakery windows and onto the floorboards, the stool and its occupant casting a shadow near the edge of his leather shoes. If he took a step, he'd dive into the darkness of it.

The shadow shifted. "Your master would be very proud of you," she said, her sincerity woven into her tone. She walked over to where he stood and placed the fixed oven mitts in his hands. He put them on, and she tested the reinforcement on the top of the thumb. Watching her touch the fabric on his hands burned him as much as the oven would without them. "You've continued his craft. You provide for the village in his stead. People thrive because of you…" Guilt flashed on her face at her words.

The baker looked down at her, flustered by her closeness, saddened by her guilt, and that inexplicable need to comfort her resurfaced.

She gazed at him, her eyebrows drawn together and biting her bottom lip. He wanted to trace his thumb over it, to soothe the worried flesh and…

The bell to the shop door chimed. Without thinking, he shoved her into the pantry with a clatter as someone called loudly from the door.

He walked to the front. The weaver was at the counter, tapping her foot impatiently. She blathered on about the strange weather and left without gossiping at him for too long. As soon as she was out of sight from the door, he ran back to the kitchen and opened the pantry door apologetically. "I'm so sorry! Someone was coming and you didn't notice so I—"

He paused at her immensely grateful expression. Well, if she didn't mind being shoved into a pantry…She seemed far more relaxed for the rest of the day, enough to slouch and keep up with meaningless but enjoyable conversation. The light of the setting sun shone on her and her thread, lighting up her form with a soft, stunning silhouette. "I'm sure you know the most gossip in the village," she noted. "You listen, but never share it. I don't know a single thing about anyone in the village besides you."

"What's there to say? It's none of my business. They talk at me, more than anything."

The seamstress chuckled, and it made his chest tingle in response. "But I'm glad that you share your words with me," she said sweetly, packing up her supplies for the evening.

Oh my gods? That was so— "You too," he replied, and kicked himself internally at how little he conveyed in that statement. Soon, she went to the door, and gave him a little wave. "See you."

"See you," he said, holding the door open for her. She gave a little bow of her head as she stepped outside.

Unexpectedly, she turned around in the middle of the doorway. "Master Link?" She asked. It was so quiet he barely heard her.

He stepped close, as close as he'd ever been to her to hear her better. "Yeah?"

She looked over her shoulders. "Can I tell you something?"

He nodded.

"Promise not to gossip?"

He nodded vigorously.

He watched her gather her courage. She took a deep breath. Then: "M-my name is Zelda," she said softly.

The baker felt his jaw open slightly at her admission. She trusted him enough? He finally knew her name! It was a secret he’d take to his grave. He swallowed thickly, then found himself beaming at her, something deeply fond blooming in his chest. "Good evening, Zelda." He bowed his head politely.

"Good evening, Master Link," she responded with a playful curtsy, and he swore he saw a smile on her face. But maybe he imagined it.

"Just Link," he requested. "No need to be formal around me."

She nodded solemnly. But then, to his utter delight, she smiled. "Good evening, Link." And then, she disappeared into the night.

He stood in the doorway, unintentionally letting the bugs in. Wow. She should smile more often. It suited her.

Oh, who was he kidding. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

-------

"Nothing? No trail?"

Agahnim nodded, scowling prominently. "The curse has lifted. I felt its power building, but it broke this afternoon. There are no traces of it left." The cobblestone cracked under his feet in his anger, the earth fracturing under the magnitude of his magic.

Lord Yuga pinched the bridge of his nose. "You, of all people, couldn't track her down? What could have broken it?"

"Do not doubt me," Agahnim threatened. "The only way to break the curse is to announce that you have captured the recipient. Someone, somewhere, must have found your seamstress. There is another option to find her, if she wasn't found already by an ally. It is difficult, but plausible, something I haven't done in years. It will not fail. It has never failed me."

Yuga parsed the news. "And what option is that, exactly?"

"I will need her blood. Or any remnants of it that have spilled. Something tied to her, something crucial…" Agahnim muttered, lost in thought.

Lord Yuga’s eyes lit up in realization. "Will a sewing needle work?" The wench had left one behind after her escape.

Agahnim laughed darkly. Yes, it would. The needle would be the perfect conduit for what was required.

[trials-of-apollo-my-beloved]

A Collection of My Trials of Apollo Fics

This is the link to series I made of them here.

These are the fics linked individually with their summaries:

Rules Are Made To Be Broken

An Artemis Fowl Crossover. 

Three months after his return to godhood, while Apollo is taking the sun chariot through a merry ride over Ireland, he is attacked by a mysterious group of creatures. When seeking out more information on the species his questions are blocked at every turn. He starts digging for more information on the species that his father forbade him from seeking out, but realises too late that he should have stopped digging, when a prophecy is foretold that whatever those things were, they were going to spell the end of Zeus' rule on Olympus and that he was going to help them. 

Meg’s In A Musical 

Apollo thought his trials were over. He finds out he was wrong when Meg asks him for dance lessons in preparation for her school musical.

Meg and Apollo Strategically Don’t Die

Apollo, Meg, and Meg's younger stepbrother Cassius decide that they need some bonding time and head off on road trip through some of the states Apollo wished he got to explore more during his trials. When their car starts breaking down the group is forced to spend a few days at a dingy Inn in a small town. Things get weird when a murder gets reported around the Inn they are staying in.

Or a Meg and Apollo murder mystery road trip fic.

Door Three-Thirty-Six

Apollo finds his way into a therapy session. And despite telling himself not to, keeps showing up.

Quite A Picture 

"Will was missing. It shouldn’t have been possible, but I couldn’t find him."

Meg Just Wanted Cake

Vanilla Cake Recipe:

Two sticks butter Three cups flour One tablespoon baking powder One half teaspoon salt One and one-fourth cup sugar Four large eggs One teaspoon vanilla extract And one and one-fourth cups milk (Can be substituted with Apollo.)

I’ll Miss You

Meg and Apollo get held up at a bus stop and admire the view.

In Between Memory and a Dream 

Warning: graphic depictions of violence. 

I woke up in between memory and a dream.

I couldn’t remember anything except that I had a promise I needed to keep. I had a vague idea that death was supposed to be peaceful, an end. There was no end to whatever was happening now.

Mortality Ends In Too Many Ways To Count

Apollo puts on a brave face, but he fears death.

You’re My Missing Puzzle Piece 

She used to think Apollo was a failure. When Meg was trapped on that shard her stepfather called Apollo the worst kind of failure, a failure that could’ve been great, but gave up trying. But Apollo never gave up, she realized that night at the myrmekes’ nest.

He kept trying, and trying, and trying, and trying, until he physically couldn’t. About the things he cared about, Apollo never gave up. It just happened somewhere along the line himself stopped being one of those things.

A Single Moment

They were literally in the eye of the storm, and there was no question what would come after. What they were doing wasn’t a foray into the unknown; every single one of them had thousands of years to explore all possible outcomes, and every single one of them had come to the realization that there were only two; success or death.

Who I Am Is Not Who You See

Apollo and Zeus have a conversation. Every moment Apollo wishes they didn't.

Family Game Night

It's family game night at Aeithales.

Not In The Script

The Arrow of Dodona confesses his feelings to Apollo. (Polldona)

The Adventures of Lester Papadopoulos and the Scrap Master

Lester's life has been a on a steady decline ever since he left his abusive family to go be on his own. The days at his new job at his local coffee shop are monotonous and unrewarding until one day he gets robbed by a human traffic light that insists things around here start changing. Lester just wished the "here" she was gentrifying wasn't his life.

Fine to Not be Fine

Meg is sick. She doesn't like to be sick. She doesn't like the headaches. She doesn't like the aches. She doesn't like the snot. Most of all she doesn't like how people act around her when she's sick.

A Canvas is Still a Canvas Under the Paint

What would your first thought be if I died?

Believe in the Heart of the... Sun God? 

A Yu-Gi-Oh Crossover

Yugi and friends find themselves transported into the middle of The Dark Prophecy. Meanwhile Apollo and Meg find themselves in another universe, if Apollo's remaining gody senses mean anything, in the midst of a deadly... card game tournament?

Co-written with @txny-dragon @littleredniacurutu and @phoneheadedemployee 

Not the Hunter Not the Weapon

Apollo/AoD

The stars were gone and the sun rose to the next day.

An ode to

This entire fic is Apollo's scribblings on a piece of paper trying to write a song in Meg's honor. This is all he can manage after hours spread out across days.

A Run Away Train

Apollo/AoD

Apollo tries to rob a train for shits and giggles. His boyfriend is not a fan.

A Song For You

Apollo/AoD

Apollo sings a song to his boyfriend.

The Moon Brooch

Apollo, newly appointed king of a kingdom desecrated by his father, finds himself in the center of about ten assassination plots. Not for him though. No, the assassins were aiming for the head of Emperor Nero, the adoptive father of Commodus. Commodus being the man he also happened to be in love with. A relationship his own father (or the crown) doesn't quite approve of.

Yet despite all these threats Apollo decides to spend a summer at the Kleenthe Empire crown palace. It was certainly a choice he made.

This post is going to continue to be updated as I post more fics. 

[apathetic-theme-song]

Afterlife Orientation

Jounouchi tells Shizuka some important information about the afterlife. Namely, that everyone's dating everyone else. Ties into Tomb Robbery & Other Plights. CW: Everyone's dead and they talk about it a little.

Shizuka was a little overwhelmed, if she was being honest. One moment, she’d been lying in a hospital bed at the end of a long life. Then, she woke up in a near-perfect recreation of Domino City in a body much younger than the one she’d died in with an ethereal-looking woman who gave her water and patiently explained that this was the afterlife. Jounouchi had come to find her almost immediately and show her around before dropping a pretty big concept on her. “So, we can go other places,” he said, stretching out on the couch of his apartment. It was still cluttered and messy, just like the one he’d had back when he was in his 30s. “Courtesy of Atem, we can go to Egypt, too.”

“Like… his Egypt?” Shizuka knew a little about Atem, but the whole ‘Pharaoh’s soul trapped in a necklace’ thing had been pretty wild to her even when it was happening.

“Yeah. Oh!” Jounouchi shot upright, digging around in the mess of papers to find a blank one. “Except there’s a few things you should know. Everyone’s kinda… been getting around since we’re all together.”

“Katsuya! I don’t want to hear about that!” Shizuka practically screamed, eyes widening in horror.

“No no no - just hear me out, okay?” Jounouchi started scribbling on the paper. “So, like… it turns out that we’re all pretty bad at being monogamous, okay? So you should know who’s dating who. It’s kind of a mess.” Shizuka tentatively sat on the couch next to him, watching as he created something of a flow chart. “Okay, so Atem’s at the top, right? Since it’s his afterlife and he’s been here the longest.” Jounouchi drew out some lines linking to five names. “He hooked up with Iah first - I’ll explain Iah in a second, you never met him - but then he also has Mana and Mahad. They’re like his best friends since they were kids. When Yugi and Anzu showed up, they all settled that weird love triangle they had going on when we were alive, so they’re all together, too.”

“Are they still married, though?” Shizuka asked curiously.

“Oh yeah. Yugi and Anzu are definitely still a thing, although Anzu’s also been spending time with Mana lately. And honestly, good for her. Yugi kind of has a thing with Ryou now, too, except they haven’t made it official or anything.”

“Yugi and Ryou?”

“I know, right? Then again, they had that kinda vibe before Yugi and Anzu got hitched, so…” Jounouchi shrugged. “Anyway. Yugi and me - you know I love ‘im, but it’s strictly platonic.” He paused. “Atem kissed me when I first showed up and I didn’t hate it, though. And I messed around with Ryuji a little, too, but we're better as friends.”

Shizuka couldn’t help but smile, leaning in to coyly ask, “Did you and Mai ever…?”

Jounouchi smiled back at her sheepishly and held up his hand to show off the simple gold band on his ring finger. “Oh yeah. Although she has date nights with Ishizu sometimes. Didn’t see that coming, but my girl’s got good taste.” Jounouchi turned back to the page to draw even more names and lines. “Anyway, Ryou’s kind of off in his own world, but like I said, he’s kind of got a thing going with Yugi, and he’s been spending a lot of time with Marik and Kek, too -”

“Wait, who’s Kek?”

Jounouchi took a deep breath, then started coughing. “Hoo boy - marker fumes! Kek’s… so Marik had DID when he was alive, and Kek was his super-evil alter ego that tried to kill everybody.”

Shizuka shuddered. She briefly remembered seeing Marik jump off the deep end in Battle City. “He’s there, too?”

“Yeah, but he’s been here a while and he’s actually chilled out a lot. Mai and him can't be in the same room, but it’s civil enough. Marik and Kek have a lot of issues they're still working out, so Ryou dating both of them is kind of awkward. And speaking of awkward - Iah. He’s the Thief King, he was kind of the reason Ryou went a little crazy, too. It’s complicated, but Iah’s pretty cool now. He’s with Kek and Atem, but he’s been hanging out with Marik a lot. I guess they kind of had a thing back in Battle City and they’re sorting that out. Ryou kind of hates Iah, though.”

“I really didn’t think Ryou was the type to hate anybody.”

Jounouchi shrugged, staring down at the paper. The flow chart was looking more like a word jumble at this point. “Well, he didn’t like talking about what he was going through. He’s still working on that. He was actually pretty pissed off about a lot of things. It wasn’t entirely Iah’s fault, I guess - part of him got sealed up with literal Evil Incarnate and made Ryou’s life a living hell, and Ryou still doesn’t trust that he’s good now.” Jounouchi sighed. “But… he likes Marik, so as long as you don’t leave him and Iah alone, it’s fine.”

Shizuka slumped against the couch, her head spinning. “This is weird. Dating people that your other partners don’t like?”

“I mean - we’ve literally got eternity to work stuff out. There’s been a few break-ups here and there - oh!” Jounouchi slammed the paper down on the table. “Almost forgot about Kaiba! So he spends most of his time here, unfortunately for literally everyone else, but he goes to Egypt to duel Atem now and then.” He sighed. “Honestly, I don’t think Kaiba can figure out whether he loves Atem or hates him. It’s a real on-off relationship, and Atem always gets super bummed out whenever they go ‘off’. He just needs to make up his freaking mind.”

Shizuka thought back to Jounouchi’s irrational hatred of Kaiba when they were younger and said tiredly, “Or maybe you could just -”

“Finish that thought and I don’t have a sister anymore. Uh - Kaiba does kind of have a girlfriend, though. I think. No one’s ever met her in person, but he wanders around with a girl sometimes. So I guess we add her in, too.” Jounouchi wrote ‘girlfriend from Canada’ underneath Kaiba’s name and linked them together. “But that’s pretty much it. Any questions?”

“You guys really have a lot of free time, huh?”

Jounouchi rolled his eyes. “Hey, we’ve got all the time in the world, remember? Kind of. They’ll let us reincarnate whenever we want, but everyone’s pretty happy right now, so we’re gonna be around for a while. There are tournaments here and a lot of festivals over in Egypt, so it’s easy to keep busy, too. We’re not just lying around with each other all day.”

Shizuka found the energy to sit up and tease, “Good, because you were really good at lying around when we were alive.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know, I was a high-ranking Duelist and had a job! A lot of jobs, actually. I worked hard!”

“I know, Katsuya.” She reached over to hug him from the side. “I hate that you got stuck with Dad and all his debt.”

“Yeah. Thank God Yugi let me crash with him after Dad died, I would’ve never been able to afford rent.” Jounouchi got quiet and abandoned the flow chart, leaning back against the couch to hug Shizuka back. “I’m glad you’re here. You did good after I was gone?”

“Yeah. It was hard,” Shizuka admitted, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “They named my grandson after you.”

“Oh, stop it, I’m gonna start crying, too,” Jounouchi said loudly with a laugh, his go-to reaction when he was getting emotional. “Hey, the cherry blossoms will start blooming soon. Once you settle in, I’ll grab the gang and we’ll go, okay?”

Shizuka hugged him tighter and smiled. “Sounds good. Thank you, Katsuya.”

Jounouchi ruffled her hair gently. “What are big brothers for?”

[catreginae]

Thou Shalt Not Fall: The Past - Quarantine

Link wakes up in a place he doesn't recognize, but that's the least of his problems. Fun fact: this has been called 'Waking Up in Vegas' in my doc for months.

[Previous] - [Next]

View the Master Post here!

Link woke up in a dark room.

The bed was comfortable, the quilt covering it was thick and warm, though knowing that it wasn't his bed put him on edge. When he sat up and looked around, the only source of light was a lantern sitting on a small desk on the other side of the room, but he found he didn't need too much light. Odd. He had a closet, though it was mostly empty except for his boots, a vanity with a covered mirror sat against a wall on the wall that faced his foot board. The only thing he found lacking was the fact that there wasn't a single window in the bedroom.

Overall, the room was modest, but he didn't need anything more.

He had no idea how he got there though. He tried to dig through his memories, but he could only remember starving and how nothing he ate seemed to help. He remembered wondering if he was going to die. Come to think of it, it he felt much better – the hunger mostly was replaced with a strange ache in his jaw, but he would rather have the aches than the strange insatiable hunger. He was still kind of hungry, but he didn't feel like he was starving.

Link shoved all those thoughts in the back of his mind. He had to figure out where he was. He got out of bed, his bare feet meeting with the surprisingly not-cool stone floor. The heavy, wooden door in the corner was closed but when he jiggled the handle, he found it was unlocked.

His room was near the end of a hallway that seemed to open up to large, open room. There were more doors and hallways that lead away from the open room, but the centrepiece of the room seemed to be a large, ornate fireplace. It took most of the wall and it was tall enough that a person could walk inside of it. All along the edges of the opening were carvings, though he couldn't see any of the details at the distance he was at. Around the fireplace were sofas with people sitting on them.

“Oh, you're awake!”

Link nearly jumped out of his skin. Next to his room was a young lady with blonde hair tied back into a braid. She was gearing a grey dress with a black apron. Somehow, he completely missed her. “I'll inform Lady Elena. Please wait in your room.”

With a nod, he stepped back inside his dark room, taking a seat on his bed as he waited for Lady Elena, whoever she was. Zelda was slowly introducing him to the nobles but he had yet to hear about a Lady Elena.

The door opened and another woman walked into his room. On the surface, she seemed like a normal Hylian. She was of average height, had long, blonde hair that fell to the middle of her back in waves, and grey eyes that regarded him with warmth. A knee-length, purple dress hugged her figure tightly, and attached to a sash around her waist was a long, black train. Black leather boots, tied in the front, went up to her knees. To add just a little more balance to her outfit, she had some sort of black, floral ornament pinned to her hair on her left side.

“Good Evening, Link. My name is Elena. Do you know why you're here?”

He simply shook his head. He wished Proxi was here.

“Allow me to explain, then,” she mumbled, taking a step closer to his bed. She tilted her head slightly. “Do you feel any different?”

He opened his mouth to explain the ache when he finally realized something else was wrong his mouth. He ran his tongue over his teeth, only to find that his canines were definitely longer and sharper than they should be. How did he miss that before? There was also a strange, metallic taste in his mouth. Elena stepped in front of him, grabbing his chin and pushing his head up.

In a split second, her eyes changed colour. Yellow replaced grey. There was a red ring on the outside, surrounding the yellow. Her canines were also longer, just poking out from her lips.

“What the...?”

“I am a vampire. Vampires are beings that exist almost purely in the shadows. There's a lot that makes us different from normal Hylians, but I suppose the most defining trait of ours is that we need to drink blood to survive. Somehow, you've managed to join our ranks and while Princess Zelda has apparently acknowledged that we had nothing to do with that, we're all in a bit of a predicament now.”

Link shook his head. “I'm not like that...”

He could feel the teeth, the long fangs that made his jaws ache and had him tripping over his own words trying to adjust to them, but he couldn't believe he was a vampire. He was a hero chosen by the goddesses, he could wield a sword that repel evil. How could he of all people have turned into something that drinks blood?

Elena cocked her head to the side, then walked over to the vanity with the covered mirror. She pulled the cover off. “Take a look.”

He leapt to his feet, slamming his hands onto the vanity to lean into the mirror. The same yellow and red eyes she had stared back at him in confusion. A mouth with four teeth that were too long frowned when he frowned. Link looked for anything, anything, in the mirror that could somehow tell him that the reflection in the mirror was not his own but he came up empty. The man in the mirror had the same burn scars from Volga and wore the same clothes.

“I can't be a vampire...” he repeated to himself.

“I'd also like it if the Hero of Hyrule wasn't a vampire. It complicates things. Link, Zelda sent her general and a child to deliver you here, in the hopes that me and my coven here could help you adjust to your new life. So you have two choices – you stay here until I'm confident that you can keep the existence of vampires a secret, or I can take your head right here and put you out of your misery. Adjusting will be hard, especially since you're so... malnourished, but I don't think the Princess would ask for my help if she thought you couldn't do it. She could have killed you quite easily herself and save everybody the trip.”

“How... can you help?”

“I can help you pass for a normal Hylian,” Elena said, blinking hard. Her eyes were back to grey and her teeth no longer poked out. “We'll help you learn how to put your fangs away, how to appropriately source blood... you know, everything one might need to know to be a polite vampire who won't give us all a bad name here.”

“This is hardly a choice,” he muttered. “Either I learn or I'm dead.”

She smirked and snapped her fingers. “Exactly. You might be the Hero of Hyrule, but you won't be anything compared to a vampire who has lived for as long as I have. I can make your death a quick one if you really don't want to be a vampire.”

Link swallowed hard. “If Zelda believes in me... then I guess I have to.”

“That's the spirit. You stay here, I'll be back in just a moment.”

Link let out a curse when she left and fell backwards into his bed. He located a pillow, held it over his face, and screamed. A vampire. A fucking vampire. How the fuck did he become a vampire? He didn't even know what a vampire was until two minutes ago! Maybe Zelda sent off him so she wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. What would Mask and Tune say? Did he even have a future in the military anymore?

A certain smell, a smell he could smell even with the pillow in his face, pulled him out of his thoughts. He threw the pillow off his face his and found that Elena returned, holding a dark mug in her hands. “Drink up. You need to build your strength. You almost died from starvation.”

He sighed and sat up, taking the glass. He looked inside and found a dark liquid. It took him a second to realize that the smell was that of blood. She handed him a mug filled with blood. It made him drool, actually drool, but before he could even wipe his chin dry or even think about what he was doing, Link was bringing the mug to his lips. The metallic taste of blood hit his tongue and suddenly, he came aware of just how dry his mouth was and how much his throat ached. It was like he was sparing for eight hours straight without a glass of water.

Link wasn't unfamiliar with the taste of blood. He split his lip before, sometimes he tasted blood when he bit his lips, and once he got punched in the face and the blood from his nose leaked into his mouth. However, it tasted different now, except not really, but he couldn't really describe it. It was still metallic but somehow, that became the best taste in the world. It had no right being so good. It was the answer to every craving he ever had in his entire life.

Within seconds, the mug was empty and that wasn't enough. He need more -

“That's enough,” Elena said. “I need a better idea of how it settles with you before I give you more. In the mean time, get some rest.”

“I don't think I can sleep.”

“Shall I use hypnosis? I can put you to sleep right now.”

Hypnosis? He supposed that couldn't be the strangest thing he heard of today. He looked up at her with a frown.

“Maybe once to see what it feels-”

He found himself gazing into glowing yellow eyes and after that, he couldn't remember anything.

“You know you need to drink blood, right?”

It wasn't Elena who came to see him when he woke up next but who he guessed must have been other vampires judging by the way they made his skin crawl. It didn't take long for him to decide that he liked Elena better than the two girls who were trying to get him to drink another cup of blood that he didn't feel like drinking. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry for it – he was starving and that weird craving from earlier was back – he just didn't want to acknowledge the fact that he needed it.

So Link was busy sitting on the corner of his bed, in the corner of his room, trying to ignore the two similar looking girls – probably sisters – and their stupid cup of blood.

“Do we really have to get Elena in you to use hypnosis on you again?”

“I only said she could do it once.” He was still trying to figure out how to talk with his stupid, overgrown teeth. He glared at them. The sisters looked to be somebody was maybe a younger teen and the other looked to be in their early twenties at most. They had rounded ears and dark hair that they tied up into long ponytails, but the could still see the curls. One was taller and the other had a different shade of brown in her eyes.

“You still gotta drink it,” the younger of the two stated, tilting her head slightly. “It's not a choice for us, you know.”

“I want to talk to Elena.”

“Fine, suits us,” the older one muttered, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Beth.”

The two of them left. He was still in his corner, picking at his nails, when Elena came in after what felt like several hours. He wasn't sure how much time passed since he had no windows or anything else to tell time with. He wasn't even sure how many days passed since he was last at the castle. It could have been two days, it could have five. He had no idea.

“I know it isn't easy for new vampires to accept it, but you do need blood.”

Link merely glared at her. She was wearing something new – a red floor length dress with long sleeves. She was frowning as she crossed her arms.

“You arrived here not in your right mind. They had to tie you up in castle to keep you from hurting anybody because you tried to attack anything with a pulse. That's what happens when a vampire doesn't get the blood they need. I have to protect the Hylians in my service, so if you won't drink it yourself, I will shove it down your throat so that doesn't happen. If you continue to refuse to cooperate, I'll take it as a sign that you don't want to be a vampire anymore and we've already discussed what that means.”

“I...” Her threat barely registered. Link couldn't remember attacking anybody. If he actually hurt anybody, he wasn't sure if he could forgive himself, especially if it was Tune or Mask he hurt. He was attached to them, like they were the little brothers he always wanted, but did they even like him anymore?

Elena snapped her fingers. “Link.”

His eyes snapped to her fingers.

“If you want to prevent such episodes in the future, you're going to need to drink the damn blood. We drink blood to survive. It's not some sort of dessert that you can skip, got it? If you go without blood and you start starving, your vampire instincts will fight for survival. Nobody knew you were a vampire at the castle, not even you, so it's forgivable that you tried to find a source of blood when on the edge of death. Now that you know, though? Why, it would be your fault if somebody got hurt or died because you're too good to drink blood.”

Before Link knew what he was doing, a vicious hiss tore from his throat. His fingers curled into the sheets, practically tearing through them as he attempted to reign in some of the sudden anger.

“Facts are facts, Link. You need the blood. You need to get used to digesting it and that's why I can only you give you a little at time. However, you are not at the liberty of skipping meals when I send them to you. If you ever want to see the friends who cared enough to send you my way again, you will cooperate.”

He didn't say anything, but Elena seemed to take his silence for an answer. She disappeared and came back with the cup of blood he rejected earlier. The smell hit him as soon as it was in his hands and for a second, Link wondered how he could have ever said no to such a delicious smell. Then, he reminded himself that it was blood, and he didn't know how the blood was sourced, and it made his stomach curl up at the thought of it. Delicious yet nauseating.

When he brought it to his lips, any thought of being concerned of where the blood was coming from disappeared. All Link could think about was that he needed more of it. Once he downed the mug, he licked the inside of it to extract every drop. He licked his lips and his oversized teeth. Then he wanted to throw it all back up when he realized how gross it was that he was so excited for it. Elena frowned.

“Hmph, now you like it? You're overthinking it. It's just blood. You need it to survive and you need it to heal. You of all people must know that sometimes we have to do unsavoury things to survive.”

Link frowned. She was right. His world was one where he had to kill to avoid getting killed himself, or watching the people he cared about more getting killed. He would be the first to admit that sometimes he was a bit brutal in that regard.

“Try to get some more sleep, alright? The faster you recover from the transformation, the faster you can hide your fangs and go back out into society.”

He handed the glass back – and it occurred to him that he didn't do this before he passed out last time – and tucked himself in. It wasn't like he had anything else he could do.

At some point, Elena came in every day for something other than blood.

“The fangs are retractable. If you're fully recovered and in control of yourself, you should be able to hide them just by thinking of it. It's like flexing a muscle.”

Link wasn't that great with magic, but if he could manage to use some of it, then surely he could hide his fangs. It would almost feel like he wasn't a vampire if he could simply hide the most obvious signs of being a vampire. He never thought that he would miss the fact that he used to have blue eyes, but there was the strange reality of his situation.

He kept the image of what he used to look like in his head, thought about the blue eyes he inherited from his mother and the lack of long, pointy fangs in his mouth, and thought about really wanting to go back to that. He thought about the fangs simply vanishing. He even thought about simply being Hylian.

None of it worked. He could still feel his too long and too pointy teeth when he ran his tongue over his teeth. He frowned.

“It's fine, Link. It could just be that you haven't completely recovered yet. It's possible that you just need some more time to figure it out. Nobody gets it on their first try.”

Huh. He found himself looking at his bed sheets instead.

“Just keep trying. You'll figure it out. I know you will.”

The first time he finally managed to put his fangs away, he almost cheered. Link watched himself in the mirror a couple of times, popping his fangs in and out of his mouth until it started making his gums hurt, so he decided to stop. Besides, it was eerie to watch his eyes change at the same time. He still wasn't used to seeing himself with anything besides blue eyes because he covered up the mirror for a while.

“How long have I been here for?”

Ever since he shooed off the sisters, most of his interactions were with Elena. He saw the other vampires – two more in addition to Elena and the sisters – but they seemed to steer clear of his room for the most part unless they had to bring him his blood serving. They only one who introduced himself with a taller guy with red hair named Walter and then there was the younger girl, Beth. Beth's older sister and what looked to be a older teen, somebody that was probably closer to Tune in age, were still a mystery to him.

“Two weeks,” Elena said. It took him an entire week before he could put his teeth away? Damn. “Being able to put your fangs away is a good sign. It means you're well fed and you're starting to gain some control over your powers. I've never seen it take a week but everybody learns at their own pace. You might be ready to leave the room soon as long as you're accompanied by another vampire.”

Link sighed. Elena hasn't let him leave his room since he arrived, saying that he couldn't be trusted to be around the Hylian servants if he had no control over his powers – the inability retract his fangs despite being 'healed' was proof of that – so he just drank the blood they gave him, slept a lot since he was still quite exhausted, and he read the books that Elena would bring him sometimes. It felt like he was cooped up in there for much longer than two weeks though but he supposed if only received one set of letters from his friends at the castle and just some of his extra clothing, he couldn't have been gone for that long.

“I don't think they like me.”

“Oh, Walter's been waiting to question you. He's a scholar at heart, he'll talk forever if you let him. Beth is a sweet girl, I don't think you being snippy at first will chase her away. As for Marcus and Audrey... well, I guess they just don't like the idea of our coven expanding.”

In other words, he threw a stick into a wheel spoke of a perfectly good carriage. It wasn't like he signed up to be a vampire. If he had a choice, he wouldn't be here. In fact, still wasn't sure how he became a vampire in the first place. He felt a bit different once he came to the castle after fighting Cia, but why should she want to turn him into a vampire? Was that what he got for rejecting her for the last time? Did she think he could get to him by making him into some sort undesirable monster? Did she want him to be reminded of her every time he had to drink blood?

“They'll get over it. They have little choice in the matter. I get to decide who belongs in the coven, and you'll always have a place here.”

“... really?” Link couldn't see himself living with vampires but he appreciated the sentiment. Maybe he would live with them one day, if he retired form the military or if he was no longer welcomed there. He knew Zelda and Impa cared from their letters and they apparently had no problems with the fact that he was a vampire now, but he couldn't predict how the rest of the military would feel. The thought of being turned on again made his stomach ache.

“Of course. We'll always be here. Us vampires in Hyrule have to stick together. I still don't know how you became a vampire, but I see you as a little brother. You're taller than me... but I've got more than a thousand years on you,” she said with a smirk. Link almost hurt his neck whipping his head so fast to see her face. He felt his fangs pop out on their own accord. Damn, if he was in front of anyone else, he would have just blown his secret. Even in front of Elena, he would be embarrassed if he wasn't so surprised. He thought he finally had control over his fangs.

She tilted her head slightly.

“What's the matter?”

“You've been alive for more than a thousand years?” His voice was louder than he meant to be but nobody told him that vampires could live that long. They just said he needed to drink blood or he would lose his mind and attack his friends and he knew that Elena had hypnotic eyes, but that was about it.

“Vampires don't die of old age. We will always look the way we did when we were turned, except for superficial changes, of course. We can cut our hair and it'll grow back, for example. That isn't say we're completely immortal – we can be killed – but neither age nor disease will end our lives.”

“Then what does kill a vampire? I'm guessing it's not the same things that can kill a regular person.”

“Kind of,” she said, tilting her hand side-to-side. “Humans can't survive being staked through the heart, decapitation, or complete immolation and neither can we. Sunlight will set us on fire. We can starve to death if we don't get blood. We can regenerate a great deal though, so what doesn't kill us is more inconvenient than anything else.”

“I can't be in the sun? How I'm supposed to work?”

“You'll find a way.”

“Why am I only finding out about this stuff after two weeks?”

“We were focusing on your recovery and making sure you were getting used to drinking blood. Besides, if we told you everything at once, while you were already upset about being turned into a vampire, you'd get even more overwhelmed.”

Link sighed. Elena had a point.

“But know that you're ready, we can talk a lot more now. Come, let me show you around.”

So this chapter has been mostly finished for a while, so the next update will take a lot longer because I still have to write most of it.

[homo-rashi]

Roommates (Original Work) Ch 4.

Safe With Me (contains Omorashi)

Read it on my Ao3 here: Link

August is sitting uncomfortably on the floor of Rowan’s room, borrowed sweatpants feeling like they are gonna burst at the seams, eyes cast down to his fingers, twiddling with the dark blue rug taking up half of the room. Gray is sitting a few feet away messing with Rowan's ipad, listening to some type of minecraft youtube video through Rowan’s airpods.

“You know…this is like breaking every single school rule imaginable, right?” Rowan says quietly, from the desk chair mere feet away from August, motioning to the kid.

“Hence why you weren't supposed to find out.” August says under his breath, feeling, not so in the mood for arguing after utterly embarrassing himself again.

“I think there is a lot of stuff you haven't told me, but I'm least worried about the kid. Seems like Max did the right thing, no kid his age should be around their parents when they're drunk. Bringing him to our super strict zero-tolerance boarding school…That was questionable but what can I do now? He is already here and it's the middle of the night.” August lets out a sigh of relief, he couldn't imagine Max’s reaction if Rowan took Gray to the headmaster. “But-” August snaps his eyes up to meet Rowans, for the first time since coming back from his shower. “We have to talk about what happened.” and, August once relieved tension skyrockers back up to his ears,

“I don't want to.” August wines, pulling his knees up to his chest, ignore the sounds of all the threats breaking in his pants.

“I know you said it's your anxiety that causes your…other issue.” Rowan says, looking at Gray while speaking vaguely, “Is what happened tonight related to that? I'm not trying to make fun of you or anything but, its-” Rowan seems just as much at a loss for words as August is.

“It’s weird that I keep pissing myself? I know…” August feels shame. He can feel this stomach tightening, his anxiety heightening, he angrily grabs onto the fibers of the rug with his hand, digging his nails into the padding of the rug, “The kid woke me up, I was dry but had to piss…tried the restroom…it didn't work. Thought I could make it here and you saw how that ended up.” August explains, hiding it will just make his anxiety worse, in turn making his issues worse.

“Why…um, did the restroom not work?” Rowan asks about the part August was hoping they would just jump over and move on from without acknowledging it, He should have known Rowan wouldn't give up that easily.

“The kid was with me…I couldn’t go with someone, you know, around.” August cringes, he actually cringes. He rips a few pieces of the rug out and bans himself from touching it, knowing he already defaced the floor of this room once tonight.

“Shit dude…If this is like- a thing for you…How the hell are you gonna manage sharing a communal restroom when the rest of the guys get back to the dorms tomorrow, It's never empty, not completely. Or during class? You can expect to run back to the dorms every time you have to go during class, you will get caught.” August swallows hard, that is exactly what he was planning to do. The dorms should be empty when everyone living in them is in class, he long accepted the fact that his classmates would think he was taking a dump every time he excused himself to pee because of how long it would take, but he would accept the occasionally poop joke at his expense to not literally pee his pants in class.

“I'm open to suggestions.” August shrugs, stumped and annoyed.

“What did you do at your old school?” Rowan asks, clearly trying to help. August looks to make sure Gray is still preoccupied before spilling another one of his horribly embarrassing secrets…

~

Most days August has his bathroom habits down to a perfect science. He would go before he left for school in the morning in his safe, perfect bathroom in his house. Of course, he would need to go by the end of the day on most days. Sure it was uncomfortable to have to walk home feeling like you have a liter of sprite sloshing around inside of you, but He managed. One unfortunate day he found he couldn't manage.

Somehow by fourth period, He was already a squirming mess. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why. His habits naturally included drinking less and making sure he didn't have tea or coffee or anything that would make him have to go more. He just knew he was not going to make it home like he usually did. Of course he tried to find a bathroom that was empty, but his public school was big, and did not have that many bathrooms. By the time he got out of fifth period and was heading to lunch, he was hardly able to think about anything else besides peeing.

So…When he got his lunch and his juice was handed to him in a tall, scratched up plastic cup, His eyes flicked with the idea. He didn't eat any of his food, ditching his tray at a random table and dumping out his cup in the trash, but holding onto the receptacle. He found an empty classroom swiftly, making sure he was far enough away from the cafeteria that nobody would wander in. Dropped his pants just enough to pull himself out and shamefully let go in the juice cup.

When he finished doing it the first time, he realized he still needed somewhere to put the cup and spill out the shameful liquid he had just filled it with. That day he ended up hiding it in his locker, asking to go to the bathroom during his next class and spilling it out in the sink in the bathroom, but all the times after that, because he did continue it for his entire time at that school, He made sure to sneak into an empty science classroom and pour his piss down one of the science station sinks.

Nobody ever found out. He never had to sit through his last period class being so immensely uncomfortable ever again, and he never had to step foot in the horrible school bathrooms either…

~

“So yeah, I'm disgusting.” August finishes telling his story, his horrible, embarrassing story.

“August, that's terrible. You shouldn't have had to do that, your needs should have been accommodated.” Rowan says, August can feel the genuine sorrow in his voice, but August doesnt feel bad for himself, the situation was of his own making after all,

“They would have, had I told anyone. I don't want to be the guy who uses the nurses bathroom, or hell, you know, the guy who changes in the stall. It's embarrassing to be different.” August would rather pee in a cup every single day then tell the Headmaster he has ‘potty issues’. His mom pavlov dogging him is another thing, it's not his fault, this thought feels like it is.

“Where the hell is he?” The door to Rowan's room slams open, Max stops dead in his tracks peering around the room. “Why the fuck would you take him out of our room? Do you know how much of an idiot you are?” August doesnt have time to react before Max’s hands are bundled in the front of his shirt, pulling him up to eye level.

“Hey, lets just calm down-”

“Shut up, ladyboy! this has nothing to do with you.” Max yells, Rowan takes a step back towards his bed, “You could have gotten me kicked out! Why would you leave? Whatever it was I was right there-”

“Stop!” Gray yells, standing up, Ipad and airpods abandoned, “It was my fault. I asked August to take me to the restroom because I couldn't wake you up!” Gray rubs at his tired eyes,

“Gray, Fuck dude. You know what I told you…” Max bends down to his brother's level letting go of August's shirt, He promptly backs away, knocking into Rowan in the process who places a leveled hand on his shoulder.

“What was I supposed to do? Pee on your floor?” Gray says, with a bit of sass in his voice, August is slightly amused,

“You drank a whole bottle of something to make you have to go, hmmm?” Max claps back, August can see the visible blush spread across the kids face,

“Hey! I'm sorry to break up…whatever this is but, It's two in the morning, I have 20 freshmen arriving in four hours and I promise not to tell anyone he is here, But can you get the fuck out of my room.” Rowan is already walking to the door, August goes first, purposely making eye contact with Rowan as he leaves his bag of soiled clothes hanging on the bathroom door handle, hoping He just washed them or tossed them.

Max stops when he gets to the door. August can feel his eyes running up and down his body, stopping on his legs.

“What the fuck is wrong with your pants? They look goofy as hell.” Max asks. August’s eyes fall to the group, meeting Grays for just a split second. He is caught. It's obvious. Anyone with half a brain would know why he is wearing Rowan's sweatpants.

“I got lost in the bathroom and he slipped on a puddle in the showers.” Gray says, taking a step forward in front of Max. August mouths ‘thank you’ to him as he passes by. He can only hope he isn't now indebted to owning miniature max any favors.

Waking up dry the next morning, or well, a few hours later is the only nice thing about waking up. He is immediately hit with the sound of chunky liquid splattering into a mental container of some sort. He opens his eyes to see Max, puking into his hydroflask…

“What the hell?” He jumps out of bed, almost forgetting about Gray, just barely missing stepping on him.

“Hnghh-hungover-sorry-” Max can barely get two words out before he is puking into the bottle again. August looks around for something else to hand him but the only trash cans in the room are mesh, not best for holding someone puke. “I’m going to huuuck- shower. Watch him and dont leave this room, get it?” Max gets up, taking the abused water bottle with him. August just hopes he tosses it at that point.

August looks down at Gray, who is still sound asleep. He decides to sit on his bed and scroll on tiktok, hoping Max won't take too long to shower. Thankfully, his prayers are answered when, gray still sound asleep, Max comes through the door, looking less green, way cleaner, with the pleasant smell of sausage and egg following him.

“Here-” He hands August a breakfast sandwich wrapped in a paper towel, all the while gently kicking Gray with his foot.

“Wake up idiot, it's already nine. Eat.” Gray groggily wakes up and takes the sandwich, and the carton of orange juice offered to him, groggily unwrapping the food and taking a sleepy bite.

“Max…” August didn't want to have this conversation, but he can't imagine anytime is a good time to talk about the elephant in the room.

“I know. I don't want to hear it from you. His mom comes back tomorrow. Then i'll send him home…just…help me watch him until then and i'll consider us even, or, i'll even owe you one.” August can almost detect an ounce of empathy and human emotion from Maxes tone so, he agrees, not like he was never gonna have the kid sent back to his drunk dad, who doesn't even feed him properly it seems.

Gray yawns, standing up and stretching his legs, rubbing his eyes to fully wake up, crumpling up the paper towel from his breakfast. “I gotta pee…” He looks up at His brother first then to August, who also has to pee, but has been dreading the idea of going outside the room, where he can hear its already busy with guys returning back for the start of the school year.

“Here, have at it.” August looks at Max with wide eyes as he hands his brother an empty water bottle from his desk. Max must notice August's shocked expression and take it as judgmental.

“Its not like he can fucking go out there! I was just in the shitter and it was crazy. Someone would see. So shut the fuck up and get out, give my little bro some privacy.” Before August can say anything, not that he really knows what to say, he is shoved out the door, his student card being chucked at him before the door is slammed and locked.

August makes his way down the stairs, slower than usual from all the people bringing in boxes and such to the higher floors. He doesn't even bother stopping by the bathroom, hearing a flush every so often he knows it wont work. Instead he resigns his fate and goes straight to Rowan's room, softly knocking.

“For the last time, No! I don't know how to work the air fryer in the lounge- oh! Hi August!” Rowman instantly looks relieved to see him, “finally, someone who doesn't look at me like i’m Cruella Devil. Wanna go shopping?” August motions to their entire floor filled with candles, hair styling tools of all different kinds, and one, large, red microwave in the middle of the small room.

“Uh-” August doesnt know what to say, but steps into the room anyways,

“Confiscated before they even made it to their rooms, funny, freshmen are so easy, if you ask to ‘borrow their straightener’ they hand it right over.” Roman laughed, kicking various straightener cords out of the way to get to his desk.

“I see now why they are afraid of you.” August doesnt sit down, or even move away from the door. He feels bad, suddenly, realizing he came here only to use the restroom, feeling like he is taking advantage of Rowan’s kindness. That still doesn't keep him from eyes up the bathroom door,

“Go piss girl.” Rowan says, seemingly catching on to August lingering glance at the bathroom.

“Sorry.” He ducking into the bathroom and quickly tries to relieve himself. He isn't as desperate as he was yesterday, so it doesn't come easy. He can hear Rowan out there, fiddling with his desk chair, but after some coaxing, he manages and for the first time in days, not even his underwear is wet. He feels embarrassed at how proud he is of that.

Walking out of the bathroom tho, he find Rowan sitting with his hands crossed over his chest,

“Uh oh, am I in trouble, dad?” He makes his way over to the bed, plopping down onto it.

“No…of course not but August. This can't keep happening. I love you, i've adopted you as my closted gay son of the school year but…you can’t only piss in my room…If you wanna talk to someone about getting a medical accommodation, i'll come with you...” August can tell Rowan is trying to make light of the situation, but he already knew he couldn't make a habit out of this…not really.

“Does this campus have cameras?” August asks, depending on Rowan's answer, he might have an easy solution.

“Like on every building, on every exit. None in the dorms though, for privacy laws or something, they can't.” That isn't the answer August wanted to hear.

“Guess pissing on a random tree isn't an option...” August wants to die. He can’t believe he is already in this type of situation, school hasn't even started yet. He cannot and will not become the weird outcast kid who has pee issues. He wants to actually have friends, besides Rowan and his crazy roommate.

“August…” He stands up. He doesn't want Rowan's sympathy, not right now at least. He has embarrassed himself enough in the last twelve hours,

“It's fine, Rowan, I can handle myself but…”

“If it's an emergency please don't hesitate to come here…” August goes to the door. Knowing he will now, always hesitate before coming here. To Rowan. And he can't even be mad. It's annoying to have someone barging in your private space when said person is refusing any help from adults. And it's not like Rowan can say no to a friend with their hands between their legs begging to let them use your bathroom, like last night. August decided then and there, he will come up with a fool proof solution to his problem once and for all…He cant put the stress of his anxiety on another person.

***

Unfortunately for August, the next time he found himself needing to pee was only a few hours later without a single idea of how and where that was going to happen. Luckily though, He had other things to worry about.

“No! I don't want to!” Gray kicked and all but screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Come on, you did it earlier without a problem.” Max looked just about done with his little brother. The two of them have been cooped up in this room for the better part of a day. August went and sat under a tree in the courtyard to clear his head of what happened this morning, only coming back to chaos. At first it was a lack of headphones that didn't hurt Gray's head, causing Max to have to sit and listen to some guy called Dream play minecraft on twitch for four hours. Now, it's a more alarming issue.

“That was when I was tired and didn't realize it was gross!” Gray literally bats the empty water bottle out from Max’s hands, it goes flying onto August’s side of the room, he stares at it, wishing he could grab it and just go inside it, but no, he couldn't…could he?

“I wanna go to the actual bathroom! It's not fair, you left to pee like, six times already!” August eyes widen at the embarrassing admission, Six times is a lot, Max also must know this as his demeanor changes.

“Fine!” he yells, storming over to his desk and slamming his headphones on. “Piss yourself for all I care, it's not like I had to get drunk to save your ass less than twenty-four hours ago.”

The room goes silent besides Max clicking away at his keyboard. If there is one thing August has learned, its Max might as well not exist in the small room when he is gaming. He can't hear anything with his headphones on and does not take well to being interrupted. August goes to roll over, to try and ignore his aching bladder, but he stops when he hears a muffled sniffling. He wants so badly to ignore it. So bad to just focus on his own problem and not some kid he doesn't know, but…he owes him for last night.

“Hey…” August gets out of bed and walks over to the kid, who is standing in the middle of the room, crying, aggressively wiping at his eyes.

“Hi.” He looks up, red rimmed and clearly annoyed at this current predicament.

“Max can be…a little…” August doesnt know what to say, mean? Is that mean? Rude? Not that worse than mean.

“A total dickass?” Gray blurts out. It takes all of August's willpower to not laugh, but he can't say he doesn't agree with the kids' statement. August looks up at at Max then back at Gray,

“Listen. You saw what happened to me last night…it's not fun to…have an accident. I don't think I ever thanked you for not telling your brother.” August whispers to the sobbing kid.

“I knew he wouldn't be cool about it. He has made fun of me before…it's not that he- He just, Ugh. I have to pee, please take me to the restroom.” August feels bad for the kid and he can more than sympathize.

“Would it help if me and your brother left the room?” August tries to think of what would make him most comfortable, and being alone definitely would help.

“Maybe, but…the bottle…its…” August can tell the kids want to say something but he is hesitating, looking back at his brother then back at him.

“Is it a secret? Wanna whisper it so Dickass doesn't hear?” August gets a chuckle out of the kid, who nods. He bends down so his ear is right next to the kid's mouth.

“The bottle didn't work earlier. It got all over my legs and… hands…I didn't tell Max because I was afraid he would make fun of me.” August feels the gears click into place. It makes sense. He definitely didn't have the best of aim when he was in middle school, at that it is embarrassing to admit. August looks around, His eyes lock on his hydro flask, that it is sitting atop a paper towel as if its been washed out and it drying, cap set just to the side.

“I think I can help with that.” August, begrudgingly, walks up to Max’s desk and grabs the bottle, in turn, making Max take off his headphones and give him a disgusted look.

“Hey!…I only washed that fuckin thing with a tide pod in the laundry room sink…it should be like bleached before you drink out of it.”

“Here. It's fine, I was gonna toss it anyway, it has a big opening, see. Come on dic- I mean Max, I need to talk to you in the hallway.” Max looks at his brother then back at August, with a less then please look on his face, but eventually, he gets up and follows August to the hallway.

“What?” Max says the second the door is closed,

“Huh?” August looks at him confused,

“Don't ‘huh’ me? You're the one who wanted to talk to me out here.” August rolls his eyes, he can now add dense to the list of stereotypical stupid bad boy stereotypes this guy lives up to.

“You really don't know why we're out here?” August asks, Max, annoyingly shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“You were really gonna let your little brother wet his pants?” August can't believe those words are coming out of his mouth, and to his roommates of all people right now, but under these circumstances, he feels like he has to.

“He is a smart kid. He won't piss himself, he isn't a baby!” Max seems offended, August can't begin to fathom why.

“Being smart has nothing to do with when you have to take a piss...If I didn't give him my water bottle, he would have! by the way, thanks for ruining it, not like I didn't have a sentimental attachments to any of those stickers from my home town or anything!””

“Gray is…” Max’s eyes go wide, as if all the moving parts just clicked into place.

“Yeah, news flash, A thirteen year old might have trouble pissing into the opening of an arrowhead water bottle, especially if they are half asleep!”

“Fuck. He crawled back into bed after you left and didn't move for hours…did he…you know,?” Max motions to his pants, August cringes, but knows what he is asking.

“I think so… he didn't give me all the details okay…I shouldn't even be telling you but, he probably shouldn't keep wearing those pants and his underwear.” August knows sitting in even a little bit of piss can be really irritating, it's not comfortable.

“Stay here and lock the door… I gotta call his mom.” Max disappears down the hallway, August, who did a very good job of acting like he wasn't just terrified for his life, immediately throws his hands between his legs, slipping in the door of the room before anyone can see him.

“Hey thanks for th-oh.” August immediately stops wiggling around when he remembers the whole reason he was in the hallway, the kid. The kid who is holding his capped hydro flask, staring at him doing a potty dance for the second time in the day he has known him.

“No worries, just leave it by the door. I'll throw it out later.” August cringes at how forced his voice sounds, not that it's not completely obvious he is having a situation…

“It's not full, I mean- I didn't, you can… I'll hide in your closet.” August can't believe he is even considering it, but he is.

“You can't tell your brother, please, It's- I have, it's a long story.” August says wiggling in place over to snatch up his water bottle.

“Airpod are noise canceling…I know you- I heard you tell that girl about your problems at your old school.”

“Rowan is a boy and-” Gray cuts him off,

“Go potty, it can wait!” August waits for Gray to close the wardrobe doors, immediately uncapping the bottle and shuffling over to the farthest corner of the room. Cringing at being told to ‘go potty’.

“Please, please.” He begs his body to cooperate just this once. He pulls himself out, aligning his dick with the top of the bottle, seeing that it is indeed not too full, less the half it should hold majority of what he is holding, if any would come out. “No, come on. Nobody is here.” August pleads to himself, second later, a small, painful stream starts to exit his body.

His stream starts to pick up momentum. The tinny splashing noise it makes going into the bottle makes him slightly self conscious, but he doesn't care, he doesnt care at all until he hears a knock at the door.

“It's me.” fuck. August thinks to himself, trying to cut off his stream, but now that he is going, like actually, he can’t stop. “Hello? Can you let me in”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” August doesnt know what to do, Suddently the wardrobe door opens. Gray comes out, with his hands covering his eyes. August tucks himself rather into the corner, trying to just finishing peeing,

“No. I’m mad at you.” Gray shouts back on the other side of the room.

“Gray, Where is August? August let me in!” Max pounds again, August stream has slowed down, not because he is near empty, but because of the voice, people talking. But he cant stop it, it would hurt and he doesn't know when he will have this chance again.

“He has headphones on and is in bed, he can't hear you.” August doesn't want to focus on what the two brothers are saying, but he is and he can't help but agree that Max was right, August is a smart kid.

“Come on, Gray. I’m sorry I got mad, you know what dealing with dad does to me…and alcohol.” Gray takes a step closer to the door,

“Yeah, I know what alcohol does to you. That's why you should have known I wasn't lying when I said I needed to pee.” August wonders what gray means by that, but he doesn't dwell on it, feeling his bladder finally run dry. He caps the bottle, tucking himself back into his pants.

August sets the now full, hydroflask down by the door, bidding it the weirdest farewell, since he is for sure throwing it out the second he has a chance. He taps Gray's shoulder, mouthing the most sincere thank you he can, before jumping in bed, and throwing on his own noise canceling headphones.

“I know you weren't lying and I was a dick, now let me in. I have good news.” August turns away when Gray opens the door, he doesn't have any music playing so he hears Max call him names before he feels his leg being shoves, he turns around and tries to act normal.

“Get up. We have to make this place look…not like this.” Max motions around the room, the various cans and bottles all over the place (on mostly max’s side) and the blankets on the floor.

“Why?” August asks, sliding his headphones off into his lap.

“Gray’s mom is on her way here.” August swallows. He doesn't know why, but he gets the idea that this woman, gray moms, not Max’s mom, as he keeps clarifying, is a scary woman.

“First, I guess ill run this down to the dumpster- Oh holy fuck!” August nor Gray can stop Max before he picks up the hydro flask, the extremely full hydro flask that to his knowledge his little, very little brother filled up.

“Damn little bro, impressive. Are you sure your underpants are dry?” Max teases, Gray laughs making eye contact with August, who's underpants and in fact not dry. But Gray already knows enough of his secrets. August gets to work tidying his side of the room, wondering what chaos his roommate is gonna bring him into next.

[xxemosceneacidscumxx]

Dark Link x FEM! Reader

~Puzzling~

Part two

(Song: Sarcasm by Get Scared)

The next day I woke up hoping I would open my eyes to my OWN bedroom, but to my sinking suspicion I was still in the Zelda game. I inhaled and looked for the woman, and she was over at the stove across the room cooking. I got up, put my house shoes that I had back on my feet, made the bed as best I could, and went over to the woman. "Good morning" I said through a yawn. "Good morning" she responded with an awfully cheery tone. "Have you gotten any other clothes to wear? Your outfit is... interesting. You must not be from here?" My heart stopped for a second. "I uh. Umm. This is all I have..." the woman's face looks kinda afraid and a little worried as she stared at me. "Was your mother a gerudo?" I was taken aback by her question. "Your ears are... round" then it clicked. "Ohh, yes she was, but I take after my father." I said lying through my teeth. She let out seemingly a breath of relief. "I have some clothes that'll probably fit you. And the food will be ready soon." "Okay." I stopped for a second. "I haven't caught your name?" "It's pearl." "Ohh ok" i sat on the bed that was just made and thought about everything. And the expression on pearl's face. Why did she look like that.... Is there a beefy law or something? I shook my head and yawned. She came over and brought me some food. "Thank you." I said realizing just how hungry I am as i smelled what looked like some kind of meat and bean soup. I took a bite and immediately started grinning. I made sure to swallow my food before saying anything. "This is delicious." I Said before putting another giant piece of meat on my spoon and haning it into my mouth. I tried to finish my food around the same time as pearl, because i guess it would feel a little odd not knowing what to do with my bowl and waiting for her to finish eating. We finished our food, she put our bowls in a basin looking thing, full of water. Then she pulls out a trunk from under her bed, digs around a little bit and pulls out a dress, dominantly a light lavender- ish purple with pink and black accents. At least it's not ugly. And then after she pulls out the dress she pulls out a plain white dress with long sleeves and it's much shorter that he other dress, and lastly she pulls out a pair of black boots, along with some stockings. "This should fit you." She said smiling. "I'll hop outside so you can change. "Ok" i nodded. She stepped out, and I invested the clothes she had taken out. I stared at the smaller dress, and looked at the other dress too. Why did she grab to dresses? I sat flabbergasted for a second. OH WAIT. The smaller white dress is a chemise. It goes UNDER the other dress. I chuckled at myself and took off my pajamas, folding them and putting them on my bed, feeling the cool air hit my body as i slipped on the chemise, and then sat down to put on the stockings, and then I finally put on the dress itself. I inhaled and stepped outside with pearl. She smiled "you look lovely, dear!" "Thank you.." I said with a nervous smile. "Now we just need to comb your hair. "Ok" we went inside for a second just to comb my hair, and then she showed me around Kakariko. I already knew the basic anatomy since it's a video game but hey.... She showed me the graveyard, the homes, impa's house, the  guards, and she told me what was good, and what's not good. "Don't go to hyrule field at night, stahlchildren will get you, there's peahats out there, and do NOT go near hyrule castle, you can enter town, but near the castle isn't safe... and don't go into the forest." "Ok." I said agreeing with pretty much all of the things she told me. Though if this is ocarina of time, then why can't I enter the forest? You can do it in the game.... Whatever. After about 10 seconds or so o felt my curiosity growing. "Soooo why can't I go near the castle?" "Well, since we have a new king, it hasn't been as peaceful and there's thugs EVERYWHERE in castletown-" and then she stopped talking and looked around real fast. "And the king is an evil man... nobody knows what's happened to the royal family, or the original castletown guards."

[lucalicatteart]

Poll adventure (paventure? lol) Day 13: read the small story tidbit below the poll for more details, OR just vote based on initial impression

(✦ see past poll results + further information HERE (link) ✦)

Yesterday's poll decided that The Adventurer should just start crying whilst being robbed in the abandoned barn ...

~

(----- tw for mild violence (he gets into sort of a fight) until after the next orange text section in parentheses -----)

Not sure what else to even do, The Adventurer simply collapses into a ball on the floor and starts sobbing, screaming, and rolling about. The hooded figure pauses in confusion at first, but.. apparently is not very sympathetic to his plight.

They rush over, grappling with him as he cries, fighting to pry the backpack out of his hands. The Adventurer continues screeching frantically, and during some of his flailing accidentally swings his arm up, elbowing the hooded figure in the face. They let out an exasperated sigh, knocking him against the wall then firmly yanking him up by the hair, securing their arm around his throat to restrain him as they grab for the backpack. He kicks a few times, struggling, clawing at the hooded figure's arms, but just isn't strong enough to free himself.. There's a thwack and a sudden sharpness in the side of his head, the backpack pulling away from his shoulders, cold ground, and then… nothing at all..…

(------------------- mild violence tw over -----------------) ...............

The Adventurer slowly opens his eyes to a quiet foggy morning.. Tiny particles in the dusty barn air gently flutter to and fro, dancing around in the streams of early sunlight trickling through the slight crack of the front doors. With a groan, he rolls over, suddenly feeling every ache in his body. His head, his wrist, his leg injury from crashing the raft.. He spends a while just laying on his back, watching the dust and gazing hopelessly at the moldy boards of the roof, mustering the strength to sit upright… What can he even do next? He's failed.. His first EVER actual quest of his adventuring career, and he can't even keep a stupid egg safe for more than a few days! What type of adventurer is that?? Maybe he should just give up.. Go back home and do nothing with his life, just as he was meant to... He sighs, turning back onto his side and curling into a ball to sulk even more dramatically. The cat trots over to him to interrupt his swirling thoughts, pawing at his face, then directing him towards a small stack of hay in the corner where... there it is! His backpack!! He scrambles over, immediately digging through to check for his belongings.. To his surprise, everything it still in it's place. His food, his money, all of the cool shiny rocks he's collected so far.. And tucked away in the very bottom, the Mysterious Egg box remains, completely undamaged.. somehow with the egg still inside! And... a note? He shakily unfolds a crisp sheet of pale yellow paper dotted with a few scribbly letters: "I took care of her for you. Be more careful next time. Just get where you have to go."

Well...... He supposes that if there's apparently going to be weirdos following him around anyway, maybe he's lucky at least one of them seems nice. Better than trying to ROB him, at least.. Even if it is a bit creepy. He realizes now that his injuries have been bandaged as well, and that when he woke up, he was wrapped in a blanket, and.. where is the hooded figure? What does the stranger mean that they "took care" of her?? He turns to the cat for answers, as if they'd be able to clear up his confusions, but they simply make a "mrrp!" noise and stare blankly in response. Figuring that it's all far too much to think about first thing in the morning (especially with the headache that he has), he just decides to be thankful he at least still has the egg, and thus can continue on his grand adventure!! He will NOT let himself fail again! Sore and limping but full of renewed motivation, he leaps up (at least as best he can) and continues back onto the road. After walking only a few hours, he comes to a clearing at the top of a large hill, overlooking the next stop on his journey (then double checks the map just to make sure it actually IS the next stop). This is a much bigger area than the previous villages he's been to, possibly large enough to even count as a small city. With a wider variation of shops and attractions available to him than usual, he wonders if he should just take a break and relax the rest of the day.

He's too tired to walk much today anyway, soo.. maybe it'd be good for him to spend some time in a safe public space, doing something to help take his mind off of this morning's drama… But, what should he do?

-

-

Additional Information

the adventurer's current main quest: follow his map to reach the abandoned castle ruins and see the rare animal specialist about the mysterious egg he has

[gust-jar-simulator]

This took me about four days to write. Most of what I write takes an hour at most.

It's inspired by a certain concept I had for BOTW!Link, but I'll leave it up to you to figure out exactly what I did to him.

The italic stanzas are part of a song. The first four I made up myself, and the last two are credited to Wyndreth Berginsdottir. The version I was listening to on loop can be found here.

Characters: Link (BOTW), assorted extras

Prompt: See the listed song.

•⚔️🍃🐴🍳•

My mother's child is a weapon

Hungry for blood and scabbard alike

Searching for home in the heart of another

Be it by violence or sweet lantern's light

Gutting guardians was bloody work. It felt bloody, anyway, coolant and lubricant running slick down his forearms with struggling sparks of blue vitality. The death throes of a thing already disarmed and disemboweled. He wondered, distantly, if the cool electric tingle was what it might feel like to stick his hand under the data droplets from the Towers.

It wasn't important.

Picking up a rock, he bashed around inside the chassis a bit until something clattered loose. A tube spat blue at him like robotic arterial spray for his efforts, but he also got gears out of it, so he didn't much mind. It'd wash out. Probably.

He ignored the sharp ache of digging around in unyielding metallic innards, twisted an elbow deeper, and growled faintly at the power core just out of reach.

Something under his ribcage whispered take the heart and eat it, and if he wasn't a royal knight he would've scoffed at it. A mission was a mission, not some kind of gluttonous orgy. No violence for the sake of violence, only violence for the sake of the heiress apparent. And, occasionally, her trusted subordinates. Purah would appreciate the gears they'd collected so far.

Strange dissatisfaction hummed in his bones like the aftershock of thunder, the possessive sort of I kill I eat I bare my teeth that shot through him like hard whiskey when they spotted a lynel, and he gripped the guardian's core hard enough to bleed.

No.

He was a soldier. Not a monster. Not one of Ganon's creatures, not again- that failure had been as good as turning the blade on her himself, and he would never forget it. He'd died, and he would wander Hyrule as a dead thing, selfless and starved if he had to, because every breath he took was one she wasn't taking.

So no, he wouldn't be enjoying himself anytime soon. There was a demon god to kill.

The sick burn in his veins roiled like Malice, but subsided. Maybe he should have Purah check that out.

He wrenched the power core free, and piled it in the slate with the rest.

My mother's child hides in branches

Scattering laughter like leaves as they roam

Waiting for someone to answer the riddle

Of why they were lost in the woods long ago

They found you!!!

Tricky, tricky hiders that the shadows love the way the leaves love you. Or they think they found you- can they sniff? Sniff sniff? The masks hide their noses, but that's fine. You try not to giggle and give yourself away.

Your mask hides your nose too.

You woke up without it, which was weird, but it's not important- you've got fun and interesting clothes, now, more clothes than you can wear, so you don't wear any of them because it's quiet time and the jingly clink of bracelets would get you caught. You like jingly clink.

There's an odd feeling in you like the warning of rot, something not-quite-pain behind your mask that says danger danger danger, but there's no danger here. You're only in danger if you get caught, see? And you're very good at hiding.

They haven't found you, not exactly, but you can hear them in that not-hearing way of silence where there should be birdsong, silence where there should be crunching leaves.

They don't jingle like you do when you play.

They're not playing.

But they are, because it's your game, and an old game- a magic game. You just have to stay very, very quiet, and listen to where the awful-smelling silence goes, all burning paper and overripe bananas.

You're the champion of hide-and-seek and this is your domain, though you're not quite sure how it's yours more than anyone else's. It just is, like the southern sky belongs to Farosh and every tree in the world is the Deku Tree.

Maybe that's why.

You press yourself flat to the fork of a tree like a lizard until the awful burned fruit smell is gone, watching the sky turn a deeper blue until the edge of your thoughts fuzz out and the mask starts to itch, uncomfortable because you never wear this thing unless you're korok hunting.

There's a cramp in your arms.

Did you fall asleep up here, or something? Why else would you be in a tree?

My mother's child runs with wild horses

And braids their long hair with a half-recalled dream

Spirited like the wild rush of the river

Untamed and unbroken, roughshod like their queen

Everything was so bright all the time. They felt like a newborn foal, all placenta-wet and bowlegged on that cliff at the beginning of the world, and the feeling never really went away. They'd earned their muscles by now, of course- they'd seen the sky and fallen in love with the horizon, nearly bitten the old ghost on the plateau for his dodging court-speak.

Sometimes when they went back they could almost hear that first hawk-cry shriek of delight from when they'd flung themself off the steeple. Freedom tasted like the dragonflies they spat out when they crash-landed in a grove of trees, and they'd been chasing it ever since.

Link (whose name was that?) grinned widely at the stable hostlers, cheeks wind-burned and hair a wreck. "Miss me, boys?"

The kid mucking the stalls laughed at them, threw an apple from his bag that Link snapped from the air like a fairy. "Are you gonna book a room, or do we need to get you some hay and sugar cubes? Keep running around like that and you'll turn into a horse."

"Maybe I'll find the horse god," they hummed blithely, crunching a loud bite of fruit just to be obnoxious as they slouched against the wall of the enclosure. "Think if I tell him you said so he'll give me hooves?"

The hostler blanched.

Link laughed like he wasn't well aware the horse god could strip his hide to make a saddle with, settling into the lines of his name and the way the innkeep's hello sir! meant him. It fit a little poorly, like a too-small shirt, but then any shirt felt small after running around the grasslands in nothing but a skirt.

A Silent Princess slipped out of his half-unbound braid, petals skimming his shoulderblade so like delicate fingers that they spooked, darting sideways.

...

"-nk? Link?"

"Not Link," something in him rasped like a desert parched for water, some salt-dry place behind his ribs that suddenly had claws like someone else's soft memory of Mipha's claws being gentle with his arm. Were we ever anything? Why is that important? "Not right now, don't call me that."

"O...kay then." The hostler nodded, and their attention caught on the green of his eyes. He held up another apple, awkward but eager to move on, and didn't throw this one. "Is that a neigh on the horse treats then?"

They weren't quite sure where they found the room to laugh, with weird images superimposed over the whole thing- a frog instead of an apple, what the fuck, but then frogs were edible- but they bent over the stall door to snatch the apple in their teeth and whirl in a flurry of petals, trotting off into the hills and leaving the stranger laughing.

The field would clear their head, it always did. Already the horizon was tugging at them, the wind tying fairy knots in their hair. Blue, endless space, enough grass they could almost believe the field stretched on forever.

Fuck it. Maybe they could race the sun to the edge of the world.

My mother's child waits by the hearthstone

Wielding a ladle like knights wield their swords

A kindness so gentle it makes the earth tremble

A welcome held firm before wolves and dark lords

Songs always came to mind, when the fire started crackling. The rare and beautiful flameblade she couldn't quite remember acquiring (a chest? a Hinox?) attracted almost as much attention as she did, humming over the public cookpot just outside the Gerudo palace, but eyes were only eyes and talk was only talk.

Eyeing the popping oil critically, she sprinkled in a bit of spice, and let the evening bustle of Gerudo Town's market recede to the hiss of wind through the palms, the lap of water in the reservoirs.

Ting Tong, tong along, dig the ground for iron!

No, no, that one was a mining song. Possibly better for cooking rocks with, but this was just a stir fry. Something fast and simple.

Fast and simple... the notes leapt into the air like baby birds, eager to rise and fall and rise again, and she let the song tug her along for inspiration. Greens, mostly greens and a few mushrooms. Zapshrooms would be good for the area, or chillshrooms for the weather, but something about the thoughtful little phrase at the coda tasted lush and mossy, cool like the thick forests circling Eldin.

She rolled the notes around, tasting, and the song twisted in on itself before blooming into something else, and for a moment she almost smelled leather. Sweet apples, mild cheese, maybe some acorns to carry through the hint of forest lurking at the back of her throat, something like drums and woodwinds and branches tossing sound back like a vaulted temple ceiling. Some songs, like some foods, just weren't suited to being caged up in castles or fancy kitchens.

Beside her, too-small hands edged a little too close to her heavily enchanted and glorified firestarter. Gerudo were lightning-quick but her ladle was quicker, and the curious vehvi squeaked in alarm as she turned an eye to pin her with a look.

The sudden fear was confused by the fried mushroom on offer, and the cook's significant nod at it.

Watching her nervously, the child took a careful bite, before her eyes popped wide and starry. "Oh! It's good, miss Hylian! It's really really good!"

She beamed, humming, and in the moment of distraction slipped the very dangerous glorified fire stick away in a flick of blue light.

Really, what more needed to be said?

Some of this would go to Spera, as penance for willingly buying that last batch of dubious food. She'd said it would be educational, probably, but Sa- Link the wandering vai, certainly not Hero of Hyrule, at least owed her cheesy apples for the trouble. Both products were hard to come by out here in the desert, and if she hummed a bright little song over it to encourage the merchant's efforts with child, well. It certainly couldn't hurt and no one had to know.

She frowned over her cooking, pensive.

It... would be easier, sometimes, to use another name for things like this. She could remember in a distant way feeling like this before- a rockslide and grateful merchants she couldn't quite recall, a Gerudo vaba on her last adventure attacked by a pack of wolves, a wrecked bokoblin camp and a tearstained archaeologist. They wanted names to call her by.

The only name that mattered was the one she used to stable horses, and no one else needed it. She could have more if she wanted, then, couldn't she?

Wrapping up her dishes was as easy as... gutting a guardian, though she wasn't sure why that was the phrase coming to mind. Why would you gut a guardian? They probably weren't edible. The music in them was wrong, cold and strangely holy, for all that their eyes made her burn scars ache.

She left food for the river gods and the forest children. Maybe, someday, she might leave Hylia flowers, if she ever scrubbed out the image of a waxen girl dressed in white like a corpse crying snotty, broken, mortal tears into the spring of the goddess. That was his charge, that was Hyrule's hope, and it might be above the station of a knight but even so-

She snapped back from strange memory to see Spera peering at her curiously, cheese-stuffed apple still letting off cheerful steam. The merchant asked if she was okay, and suggested maybe she head to the inn for the night. She hadn't had a name to call, but apparently the little vai had been out of it for a minute. The little vai herself couldn't remember handing Spera the apple.

Names had power, as did speech, and Saria hadn't used the Hylian tongue in... who knew how long. But she said her name, she said I am Saria, and felt a little strength return to her.

The inn would be good. But no massage, tonight- she needed to be away, tucked inside her own skin again, and she didn't say another word the rest of the night.

Now we are all brought forth out of darkness and water,
Brought into this world through blood and through pain;
And deep in our bones, the old songs are waking
So sing them with voices of thunder and rain.

Once upon a time, a Hero looked at his Princess, all glamors stripped away in the wreckage of Hyrule Castle, her hands in his almost as heavy as the ocarina on his hip.

"How did you do it?" Half a demand, half begging. From dainty frilled sleeves emerged weapon-calloused hands, places where she tore herself bloody on daggers and harp strings. He squeezed until he could feel bone. "How did you change into someone else without going insane?"

Zelda's eyes looked bizarre with familiar flaking kohl around deep blue eyes. The lines had made Sheik harder, masculine- he could see the ghost of the warrior past all the pink and gold. She squeezed his hand back just as hard with that warrior's strength, the same strength that had asked him in a child's voice if he believed her visions.

"I did go insane." He stared. She smiled. "The world went mad, and I went mad with it to survive. You don't... act, by making up someone completely new. You just become a little more of part of you, for a moment."

"For seven years?"

"For as many years as it takes." She took his hand, laid it on the weak armor over her chest. Memories, his-and-not, told him he could twist it like tin with Zora claws he didn't have. Her eyes were blue, but just as steady and burning as the red ones that had followed him these unmeasurable weeks. "You'll never be anyone but yourself, Link. I am Zelda. I am Sheik. Where that starts and stops, who can say- but Sheik came from me and what I needed to do to survive. That's what matters." She pressed his hand there, harder. "You're alive, Link of the Lost Woods. That's what matters. Do you understand?"

He understood he was too old and too young at the same time. He understood the rotten stench on the air was dead demon. He understood that she was princess of a broken castle, and he was a kid from a poisoned wood. She'd become a boy. He'd become seventeen.

Something in his veins whispered that somewhere along the way, forwards or backwards or sideways, he'd become so much more than that. His face itched.

He took a short, sobbing breath, and nodded.

He'd be whatever he needed to be, to survive. And he'd be whatever he needed to be after that. The dress couldn't hide the hard biceps in her arms. Killing a demon didn't make him an adult.

She kissed him on the forehead and asked for her ocarina back, and he gave it freely.

In another lifetime, Link sat frozen with his Sheikah armor half-on and wondered who he was.

The view from the plateau overlooking the Temple of Time and the churning writhe of the Calamity was an answer, as much as it wasn't. Either way he had to move- what mattered was that he was alive, and his princess was waiting. The name didn't matter. The gender certainly didn't.

He snapped open his glider and jumped.

We are our mothers' savage daughters,
The ones who run barefoot cursing sharp stones.
We are our mothers' savage daughters,
We will not cut our hair, We will not lower our voice.

[primevein]

The Prime of Our Youth: Book II: Quest for Fire: Ch39: Daub

Arcee carried Jack down the spiraling stairs with Windblade behind her. They saw three Cybertronians below them. They looked up, and started climbing the stairs. Windblade approached the railing and looked over, "Hail!" Windblade called down the stairs.

"What do you want?" One of them asked.

Windblade turned to Jack, "I believe they are the same ones that had an altercation with Bulkhead and Miko."

"Oh, wonderful." Jack sarcastically said, while Arcee just smiled at him.

The three below them started to move with more haste at the lack of answer. They followed it around until the two groups were looking at each other. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?!"

"If you could put me down?" Jack asked, and Arcee did. She they looked at the Cybertronians below them.

"Oh, you're slagged, now." Arcee said to them.

"What does that mean, and what are you?" he asked.

"What am I?" Jack asked, "I think you've met someone like me before."

Their eyes widened and they developed defensive stances.

"Why are you trying to claim your territory here?" Jack asked them.

"Why do we have to answer to you?" one of them asked.

"You don't." Jack replied, "But, with the size of the Undergrid, why are you trying to take territory here?" He paused, and got no answer, "Because it's part of a successful city." Jack stated. "You don't want to build anything, you want to take something other people have built."

"We dug this mine!" their second stated.

"And why did you dig it as part of the city?" Jack asked. He paused, and silence reigned, "No one would care if you went anywhere else in the Undergrid, and dug your mine, no one would have a problem."

"You're here for Chromia!" the third exclaimed.

"Close." Jack replied, "I'm here for New Kalis." He paused as the two stared at each other, "So, here are your options, go back to being loyal, or dig your mine elsewhere."

"And what are you going to do about it?" the second asked.

"Less than Chromia will." Jack stated, and they rushed. Jack drew his sword and spoke, "Non-lethal, please?" he asked. The first one found his legs wrapped with Jack's sword, and shocked. Knocked into stasis and falling down the stairs.

Arcee's kick sent one flying, and used the momentum of the punch and knocked him over the railing and down the centre of the staircase.

Jack opened the com. link. "Master?" Roxana asked.

"Report to the mine." Jack said.

* * *

The one who had been shocked woke up, only to find Jack sitting on his chest. His head felt foggy and turned his head, only to see Jack's sword planted right beside him. "So, from a technical perspective," Jack stated, and jumped off of his chest, picking up his sword, "you're a traitor. Whatever you think happened here is us attempting to put out the fire." Jack lined his sword up with his sheath and sheathed it. "What do you think will happen when it starts to burn?" He looked at the man for a moment, "I can assure you that Chromia is not going to sit around and let her city fall like this." Jack turned to Roxana as she worked on another, "How's he doing?"

"He should fully recover." Roxana said, as she started to put away her equipment. Jack looked at the other one, "Full recovery." she giddily said.

Jack turned back to the one what was shocked, "You'll probably wondering where we go from here?" he asked, and a pregnant pause followed as the two looked in each other's eyes. "I won't be doing anything. I'll be leaving after we finish our resupply." he said, and turned to walk away.

Arcee walked up behind him, "And then you deal with an even more pissed off Chromia." she said, before picking up Jack. Windblade then soon walked up behind her as they walked to the stairs. Roxana was too busy swooning for a moment before rushing to catch up.

* * *

"The next location is a... foundry?" Jack asked, and looked up at Arcee.

"Do I look like a builder?" she asked.

"They make waut pannels."

"Which is?.." Jack asked.

"Iron, minerals, and Energon, melted into pannels, used in construction."

"Energon?" Jack asked, "Isn't that... very, very volatile?"

"It takes great skill." Windblade added. "Energon, once used, reverts into Cybermatter, but it also allows the pannels to draw Energon through them. This allows them to power anything that does not require a heavy draw. Why I am the one explaining this?"

"I didn't know that, and you have more experience than anyone other than Ratchet." Arcee replied.

"How did you not know that we have Energon in the walls?" Windblade asked.

"I knew Energon moved through the walls," Arcee replied, 'I didn't know you actually melted it into it."

"I'm guessing the foundry hasn't been active in... a few million years?" Jack asked.

"I still don't know how your time units works, but most likely." Windblade replied.

"They seriously melt Energon into them?" Arcee asked.

* * *

Arcee carrying Jack stopped outside of the large building. She turned to look over to Windblade.

"Should we save time, and just draw our swords now?" Windblade asked, and Jack sighed.

* * *

They stepped into the foundry. It was the end of a large production line. The walls were bare, with the bare metal on the machinery rusting.

"Hello?!" Jack shouted, and it echoed down the empty foundry. "She did say they had setup in the staff room."

* * *

Arcee, carrying Jack, climbed the last set of stairs, Windblade right behind her. She stepped into the room and stepped to the side to let Windblade in.

The Cybertronians in the room all tensed up as they looked them over. Jack pointed to the table, and Arcee put him down. "How long has their place been silent?" Jack asked.

"We have more than enough empty buildings as it is." one of them replied.

"Didn't you guys hear?" Jack asked, and they looked at him, their breath would be bated if they had to breath, "Cybertron is back online. They are rebuilding. And you have working foundry, and don't want to help?" He paused as they all looked at him, "Do you want to just sit in this hole, forever?"

"You don't know what?.." one of them tried to say.

"NO - I - DON'T!" Jack shouted, "But I do know the war ended! I was there! I helped. Cybertron was a forgotten rock, and now has life again! How can you NOT be excited by that?!"

Arcee walked up, beside Jack and the table he was on, "This is Cybertron. This is what we fought for. For millions of years..." she said, and paused. "Tsk."

"For longer than his species has existed." Windblade said as she walked up. "Well?" she asked, and they looked at her curiously, "Are you going to rust with your foundry, or are you going to help rebuild Cybertron?"

"I feel the rust sinking to my bones." one of them said, and stood up with a groan, "We've been idling for far too long."

"Will it even work?" one of his seated comrads asked.

"We are millwrights." the standing one said. "It's our job to make it so." He transformed his hand and a welding unit appeared.

* * *

Arcee carried Jack into a small tunnel for Cybertronians. It was small enough that Bulkhead couldn't have Miko on his shoulder.

"Is it just me, or am I getting skid row vibes?" Jack asked.

Windblade looked at Arcee, "I don't know why you think I'd know what that is." Arcee said to her.

"I guess it's..." Jack said, and paused a moment to think it over. "It's from one city, the worst part of the city. Crime, drug addiction, homelessness. That kind of thing."

Windblade grabbed her sword hilt with her left hand. "Isn't that a little much?" Arcee asked.

"Put me down." Jack said, and Arcee simply stopped. That was perhaps the most frightening thing Jack had ever said to her. Until now, he had been prudent, prepared. Never going into battle without plan. Always thinking several steps ahead. And here he told her to put him down. She slowly, nervously did, ever looking about. He balanced himself and put his right hand on his hilt. Arcee slowly stood back up and transformed her arm blades, ever looking about.

They walked, slowly for Jack, like they were crawling for a Cybertronian. Foot by foot they advanced, looking down side alleys. They heard a noise behind them, and Arcee quickly turned around. She saw nothing but darkness. Not even the dull glow of Energon. It was then that she realized the walls were dead. She quickly looked up and down the tunnel. They approached a side tunnel, and Jack paused as soon as he looked down it. "Keep a look out." he said. Windblade walked passed the side tunnel. Arcee looked into the side tunnel, seeing a Cybertronian slumped over, barely moving. She looked backwards down the tunnel, keeping her face so that Jack was still in her peripheral vision.

Jack walked towards the Cybertronian, and paused, "Hello?" Jack firmly said. The Cybertronian's head slowly moved. His eyes opened momentarily before closing. Jack took a step back and turned his head slightly, "Not good. We'll need help." He slowly backed away until he was back in the main tunnel. "Let's get out of here."