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zeldaelmo · 1 year

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One Night in December

Link flips through the titles of the movies in the media center on the big screen of their TV. "Why do we have to watch these Christmas movies again? Just look at the covers, they’re all the same green-red rubbish."

"Because it's a tradition in my family and I refuse to abandon them as the traitor did."

Ah, yes. Zelda's father had babbled something about taking a break from his manager job, skiing with his new partner, and 'recharging’.

"Alright then…" Link sighs. "Which one is it?"

"Is there one with old friends?"

Link blinks at her.

"What, I thought it's funny."

No, it's not funny. Not at all. Not when he has an unrequited crush on his childhood friend/roommate/laundromat buddy/college pal for years. Did he ever tell her? Of course not!

"'One day in December' is with high school crushes meeting again ten years later," he says instead.

The twinkle in her blue eyes makes his mouth dry as always, but at least it shows him he chose right.

He starts the movie and they get comfortable on the couch. Her knee presses against his thigh, but he's used to the tingling spreading from the spot they're touching. His crush has boiled down to syrup at his point. Sweet, viscous, and impossible to get rid of once you have it on your fingers.

"Thank you for sticking with me tonight, Link. I really appreciate that you skipped family dinner for"—she points at the TV—”this.”

"Always." As if a boring five-course dinner at his aunt Mag's could hold a candle to her. As if he wouldn't choose her over everything and everyone, as if he wouldn't— Wait. Why is she looking at him and not the film?

"Sorry?"

She chuckles. "I asked if you want a cream liqueur on ice, too. We always drink one but if you have your own tradition, I'm happy to switch to that."

"Um, no, it's fine."

Her warmth leaves and Link stares at the guy on screen who's wrapping gifts. He's going to get his happy ending. That's the point of the film. Link had stopped daydreaming about his own happy ending for years.

He nearly snorts when the guy sees his assigned love interest for the first time after high school. She's tinted in the sparkling light of a wintery fair, her smile bright, and the hair cascading around her shoulders is moved by the smooth draft of a wind machine.

"Hey." Zelda is back with the drinks and a soft smile that lets the actress look like a stick with a floor mop put on it as a head.

"Hey." He smiles back like the hopeless idiot he is.

She settles back down on the couch, pulls her knees up, and sneaks her feet under his thigh. "Sorry." She flinches playfully as if he hadn't massaged her cold feet back to warmth a dozen times already.

"Your hands are cold too?"

She nods, crinkles her nose, and sips the liqueur. With a sigh, he tugs the collar of his hoodie. He really likes this one. "Wanna have it?"

She puts the glass down. "If you don't mind?"

He jerks the hoodie over his head, pulling the shirt he wears under with it and revealing his abs. It doesn't matter. She has seen it all before, he has nothing left to impress her.

He can't bear looking at her too long with her golden hair splaying all over his too-big sweater, so he turns back to the movie.

"It's cozy," she mutters, wiggling her shoulders deeper into the fabric. "I might steal it."

He snorts, eyes hefted to a story he doesn't care for. "As if half of your lounge-wear isn't mine anyway."

"You just have the best taste," she teases, blissfully unaware of how close to the truth she is.

The couple on the screen gets into the obligatory breakup and Link stands up and fetches a second serving of cream liqueur. Zelda doesn't look at him when he comes back which is a bit weird. The movie isn’t that captivating. He takes the long way around the couch, putting the drinks on their coffee table.

Oh, her eyes are glistening.

"You ok there?"

She bites her lip and nods. "Maybe you can…"

Of course, he can. She shifts and makes room for him. She's soft in his arms and he strokes a pattern onto his hoodie that he really likes but never wants back if only it means she wears it. He buries his nose into her hair and fully pretends he does it to pick her up from whatever sadness has befallen her. It's selfish, but it's all he ever gets, so he makes do.

"Why did you tell Groose off if you're sad about your breakup now?" It's a little bit of guessing on his part, but he usually has it right. It did take a lot of him to not flip the giant bouquet of roses into Groose's face when he showed up at their door, but he kept it together for her. He hated the tiny spark of hope enlightening in his chest when he walked through the flat later and found not a single rose petal.

She hums and toys with the sleeve of his hoodie. "I don't — It's not about Groose. It's just… dating is so frustrating. So much effort only to find out someone is a mismatch."

Link closes his eyes, arms wrapped around her loose enough to give her space and heart burning like a fireplace on a cold winter night. "Maybe you're looking in the wrong places." It's the closest to a confession he has come so far.

"Maybe," she whispers and her chest rises and falls against his forearms when she swallows.

The film blends over to the wintery fair again, all sparkling lights and soft glow. The guy has it finally figured out and the reunion is heartfelt and cheesy. Link looks at his Loftwing carvings that Zelda has lined up on the shelf above the TV instead of the kiss.

“Maybe,” Zelda says, “Maybe I should take a break. Figure out what I want.” She shuffles deeper into his embrace, takes his hand in hers. Link is dizzy with her overwhelming closeness. Her warmth mingles with his, her hair falls smoothly over the skin of his arm, and he can smell which conditioner she has used today. It’s still not close enough. Her thumb draws a lazy, little circle into his palm and she raises her gaze to him, blue, clear, addicting. His breathing stops. “Or maybe I know what I want, I’m just not willing to acknowledge it.”

Kissing her might be a good idea, here on their old sofa they’ve spent hundreds of evenings on, the trashy music of the end credits of the movie accompanying the smile that parts her lips. He nearly chuckles about himself. He’s trapped in his pining like a figure in a snow globe. There’s a hint of sweet liqueur on her breath and he wants to taste every single drop of cream from her lips, wants to melt with her, into her. Her name, he wants to say her name at least, but he can’t get it out, not even when her gaze flickers to his lips, once, twice.

The ending of the film leaves a gaping silence in the room and the longer they linger, the louder it gets. She withdraws eventually. Link curses under the breath he’s finally able to take again; the years have made it difficult to distinguish an opportunity from a stupidity but he can’t help but feel this one was the former.

He nearly misses the quiet sigh that falls from her lips. She has turned back to the TV, flipping listlessly through the titles. “Why don’t you pick one? I can’t decide,” she says and offers him the remote.

Maybe…

Hand shaky, Link scrolls for a moment, stopping at one that looks like all the others. “Coming home for Christmas.”

“Ok?” She scrutinizes the too-small description. Then she stills. “It’s about a guy stuck in the friend zone.”

“I thought that was funny,” he repeats her words from earlier, heart drumming wildly.

She inhales soundly and takes his hand, interlacing their fingers in a decidedly non-platonic way. Back in his arms, she leans against his chest, putting their hands on her stomach, and nudges his throat with her nose. He thinks he might just faint.

“Does it have a happy ending? If not, I don’t want it.”

"Yeah," he whispers hoarsely. "Yeah, I think it does."

#zelink #legend of zelda #advent calendar #day 5 #one night in december #zeldaelmo writes

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nevertheless-moving · 3 months

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unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self.

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and—

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic, being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life.

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal.

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell)