#with a tiny bit of a clean slate

[drabblesandimagines]

Scoot On Over

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship, fluff with a tiny bit of suggestive spice at the end

Leon threw himself down onto the mattress with a relieved sigh – a cliché, but there was nothing like sleeping in your own bed after being away. It had been a mixture of questionable motel beds, a couple of nights in the backseat of the car, another night of no sleep at all and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t on the brink of exhaustion, running on adrenaline until he made it back home to you that evening.

He rubs his cheek against your pillow, inhaling the scent of your perfume and allows himself to close his eyes. Now, he just needs you in his arms for a perfect’s night sleep…

--

“Leon?”

Nothing – again. You’d worry he had stopped breathing entirely if he wasn’t letting out soft snores from where his face was pressed against your pillow. He’d been away on a mission for two long weeks and had arrived home early evening, duffel bag in hand, covered in fading bruises, kisses and wandering hands tinged with weariness despite his obvious excitement to be back home with you.

You made small talk as you’d made a light dinner – get him fed and then you could both have an early night. He didn’t like to talk much about his missions had entailed – he wanted to keep the two things as separate in his brain as he could – but he knew if he needed to talk about something, you’d be there and that was enough.

You’d sent him up to bed first whilst you finished up in the kitchen – you liked to start off each morning with a clean slate in there and it would only take you ten minutes tops to sort, you’d assured him, a cheeky pat to his backside as you encouraged him up the stairs.

He’d changed into a pair of plaid PJ bottoms and a plain white tee, so he must’ve brushed his teeth and then just… collapsed? You place a hand on the broad expanse of his back, giving him a light shake. “Sweetheart?”

The problem is, Leon is broad and tall and currently, somehow, taking up the whole of your double bed. You can’t even see a reasonable space you could try and curl up into against his side and be remotely comfortable, the way his limbs are spread out like a starfish.

“Leon,” you place another hand on his back and give a more vigorous shake. “I just need you to scooch on up a bit, sweetheart.”

Nothing.

You change tact and try and lift an arm, maybe you can get him to roll with a little encouragement, or he’ll wake up? Surely as an agent he’s a light sleeper anyway, what if you were an enemy or any sort of threat?

His arm is deadweight, all muscle - even if you try and lift it with both hands, embarrassingly, you can’t get it even an inch or so off the mattress.

You try and push it inwards so it’ll sit tight against his body, but it just won’t move.

“Leon?” You grab hold of his shoulder and shake it with all of your strength.

“Yeah, baby?” He mumbles.

A sign of life – hallelujah. “Can you move along a bit for me?”

“Sure.”

He doesn’t move.

“Just need you to scooch up a bit for me, handsome.” “Mm-hm…” And he snuggles his face further into your pillow, an adorable smile on his face as he does.

With a sigh, you try and wedge yourself into the space in defeat – maybe he’ll subconsciously feel you and lift his arm up for a cuddle, and then you’d be able to fit a little more comfortably? He did prefer to sleep with an arm wrapped around you, keeping you pressed close up against him, legs tangled together.

After trying out various positions in the hopes of coaxing him into a spoon, a few more vigorous shakes and, finally, a more than playful smack to his backside that achieved no more than a mumble – not proud of that one, but needs must - you admit defeat, kneel down beside the bed and stare at his slumbering face in thought.

He must be utterly exhausted and, despite the frustration of not being able to cuddle up against him after so many nights apart, it is flattering, you suppose, that he must feel safe within your company to allow himself to relax so completely and be out like a literal light.

You lean down to pick up his neglected pillow and press a kiss to his forehead, and grab the throw from the end of the bed – looks like it’s a night on the couch.

--

Leon wakes up slowly as light filters in through the curtains. His body had been aching from his time away, but it seems a night in his bed has set him right. He stretches his arms out, expecting for a hand to brush up against your warmth but is dismayed when he finds the bed empty.

He turns and sits up, cautiously, rubbing the back of his head with a loud yawn and takes in his surroundings, wondering if you’ve just nipped to the en-suite, but the door to it is ever so slightly ajar.

Your phone is plugged in on the bedside table, charging, which is odd – although not glued to the thing, it's strange for you not to have taken it with you if you’d gone downstairs to make breakfast…

There’s a sickening feeling in his stomach when he realizes he doesn’t remember you coming to bed at all, that he had been waiting for you to come join him and…

Hazy memories of you calling out to him?

Fuck.

He jumps up to his feet, dashes out the bedroom and takes the stairs down two at a time, trying to think. He’d left his gun in his duffel bag, hadn’t even taken it up with him, left it by the door when he arrived home last night. Had he been drugged? He had felt exhausted, but he’d put that down to the poor sleep over the last while. Could someone have followed him home last night, drugged him somehow, a tranquilizer, waited for him to be out for the count to swoop in and…?

His heart stops as he sees you lying on your side on the couch, the throw from the bed now twisted around your legs, arms wrapped around his pillow.

Safe and sound, and fast asleep.

He exhales, calming himself for a moment with a chuckle, before kneeling down besides you and tilting his head, awkwardly, so he can kiss you up the lips.

The sensation is enough for you to stir, blinking up at him with a dozy smile.

“Morning.”

“I don’t recall us having a fight last night, sweetheart.” He grins at his joke, but it’s one that falls flat.

“A fight?” You repeat, confused.

“You know, when couples fight, one of them ends up sleeping on the couch...”

“Oh, yeah,” you yawn, sitting up with the slightest wince. “You wouldn’t let me in the bed.”

“Huh?”

“When I came up to bed you were dead to the world, literally star-fished. I tried to get you to scoot up a little so I could get in but it was impossible, so I slept down here.”

“Seriously?”

“Mm-hm, you must’ve been exhausted.” You nod, shuffling around to place your feet flat on the ground. “Lemme make us some coffee… Ow!” You hiss as you stand, placing a hand on the small of your back.

Leon is quick to his feet, eyes wide in alarm. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m okay, it’s just my back,” you rub at the sore spot, the muscles feeling tender. It had been fine last night… “Maybe the couch isn’t the best for sleeping on.”

 You take another step forward, intent on heading to the kitchen, but there’s no hiding the wince from Leon’s gaze. “Oh, baby…”

“It’ll be fine, I just need to walk it off.”

“Uh-uh, come on,” and those muscular arms that were so impossible to move last night are suddenly scooping you up and holding you against his chest as he heads back towards the stairs. “Let’s get you to bed. It’s still early and a couple of hours on a proper, supportive mattress might work wonders.”

You wrap your arms around his neck in turn. “Oh, I know your game, Kennedy.”

“And what’s that?” He replies, nonchalantly as he begins to ascend the stairs, careful not to knock your legs against the banister.

“The other activity you like to conduct in bed, the one that’s not sleeping? I just…” You tense in his arms, looking a little hesitant. “I don’t know if my back’s gonna play ball...”

Leon reaches the top of the landing and smirks, “Trust me - stretches work wonders for back pain, sweetheart.”

He strides into the bedroom and kicks the door closed with his foot.

It doesn’t open again until late afternoon. -- AN: Inspired by my boyfriend actually star-fishing me outta the bed and me having to sleep on the couch x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

Comments, reblogs and likes make my whole day x

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy mild spice

[jhuzen]

*pops open another beer 🍺*

helloooooo can u pls give me some sugar baby dottore hcs??? i am currently bent on him i need u to quench this thirst

the love in hatred [m.reader]

hope i’m not too late in quenching your thirst beer anon hsjsjdsj. i was busy with some uni things and only got to it now. hope you don’t mind me adding in a little spice in the dynamic ;D and i’m sure you like it nsfw so there are some little sprinkles of it lmao.

𖦹 modern au (but it’s not heavily implied), suggestive themes (of course), a little bit of dark themes, possessive dottore but he hates you at first lol, nsfw terms, reader is rich rich.

Imagine…

Sugar Baby Dottore who absolutely despises you and every fiber of your very being. You were the antithesis of his existence, absolute respite encompassed you while he was the unyielding scholar. He pursued knowledge until the very edge of Teyvat, while you sat back and relaxed, stopping because you ‘know your limits’. You’re a coward in his eyes, that’s what. But you’re a coward that can make a lot of money. And a coward that he can coerce into giving him financial aid in his experiments because he doesn’t want to lower his pride to ask Pantalone instead.

Sugar Baby Dottore who was welcomed by the not-so-cowardly you when he came to strike up a deal with you. No longer were you that chipper easygoing lad that he despised, but an incredibly emotionally constipated man that can barely work your facial muscles into a fake smile. It almost felt like getting bit back in the ass by the way you threw him off the loop. He no longer knew you the same way you no longer knew him. It’s a clean slate. But he still hates you.

Sugar Baby Dottore who was genuinely surprised that you didn’t need a lot of convincing. That you were willing to give him everything as long as he abides by certain rules and requests of yours. He hates it (and again, you), but he’d rather cut his throat than ask Pantalone for even a tiny pouch of mora. And while he’s relentless in his pursuit of knowledge, the man knows even the mora in his pockets have limits.

Sugar Baby Dottore who was relatively glad that you never once placed him under a tight budget. You were generous with him and maybe he sort of liked that all he had to do was spread his legs and tempt you into a good time. No attachment. As soon as the fun (for you at least) ends, Dottore wakes up with an allowance that any Northland Bank branch could only gawk at. It was ridiculously heavy.

Sugar Baby Dottore who only ever resorted to seducing you when he needs something at this very instant and his little impatient mind couldn’t bare you entertaining your big shot clients first. You promised you’d give him everything if he fucked you dry, right? Often times, when his impatience strikes, he’s already grabbing at the lapels of your pristine suit, tugging you away from your now confused clients while you and him screw in the empty room right next to your study. After milking you dry, he already has his greedy little palm out, expecting you to just drop your entire leather wallet on him (he’s hoarded so much of your wallets already).

Sugar Baby Dottore who at first finds your date nights annoying but necessary (to butter you up into buying him new laboratory apparatuses) — you’re so difficult to talk to! Unlike your days in youth when you would engage him with a small smile, you and your annoying stone face only prompted him to want to watch bacteria cultures grow in a petri dish. But the moment you start opening about your work the more he feels relatively intrigued.

Sugar Baby Dottore who’s slowly starting to cherish the little knickknacks you give him. He never really batted an eye to the souvenirs you’d bring home to him from your international trips. In fact, he used to cherish the times you were away. He still receives cash and he doesn’t have to fuck you. Anyway, he used to just ignore them and opted to only take interest in the money you give him for his lab equipment, but it’s recently that he’s staring more and more at the taxidermies of certain native species you gave him. And maybe some of those magnet things from each nation… if one looked behind his wheeled whiteboard, they could see some of the ones you brought home.

Sugar Baby Dottore who starts to get more conscious of how he looks around you and starts taking effort in looking good for you. Don’t get him wrong, he knows he looks good, it’s partly why you agreed immediately in financially supporting him. For his looks and his body. But there was something refreshing in making a conscious effort of looking even more alluring — absolutely loving the way your usually stern eyes just digging into his form.

Sugar Baby Dottore who’s slowly becoming addicted to your scent. Your imported colognes that he used to gag at, he’s now spraying into his suit before he heads to the laboratory, absolutely loving the way when your eyes twinkle in recognition at his new scent whenever he passes by you to get his daily allowance of a hundred thousand mora (how are you not broke yet, no one knows).

Sugar Baby Dottore who’s slowly feeling the grips of insanity when he realizes that his hatred for you is dissipating into nothingness. When he’s slowly looking forward to your cock shoved up inside him more and more. He hates that within the few months that you and him made that deal, he’s becoming more and more enamored to the mornings where he can still see you beside him, your big sturdy back facing him with all the scratch marks and love bites he made on you the night prior.

Sugar Baby Dottore who becomes far more possessive. Suddenly, the tables have turned. He thought he’d always have the upper hand, he could charm you with his body and there’s mora in his pocket in an instant. But somehow it’s him that gets hungrier and hungrier for you — he went on an all time high the one time you dropped by his laboratory to talk to him about something he doesn’t remember anymore. He likes the attention you’re giving him and archons, he wants you to have him as your sole object of affection. This man will go feral if you made external arrangements in your business trips.

Sugar Baby Dottore who’s becoming clingy to you. He can’t leave you alone for a second. His addiction of you festering within him. Suddenly, it’s not just about the mora that you’re giving him anymore. It’s suddenly turning into a matter of your loyalty to him, that one day you’ll make him your pretty wife, financially secured with his own laboratory in your mansion, leaving you no room for bargains while he stuffs himself with a mouthful of your delicious cock.

Oh no! Seems like your pretty little doctor has moved on the next step, already planning your future with him and only him! Best of luck to you~

May you kiss your bachelor days goodbye now, because he’s never letting go of you.

Oh no! Seems like your pretty little doctor has moved on the next step, already planning your future with him and only him! Best of luck to you~

Oh no! It seems like your pretty little doctor has moved onto the next step, already planning your future with him and only him! Best of luck to you~

Oh no! Seems like your pretty little doctor has moved on the next step, already planning your future with him and only him! Best of luck to you~

#i hope this was worth your beer my guy #this was nice to write LMAO #someone give me a fic of sugar baby dottore i will fucking cave #i will love u #genshin impact x male reader #il dottore x male reader #dottore x male reader #dottore thirst #jhuzen’s stupid hcs #time to do the part 2 in that sagau thing that i did

[breannasfluff]

Broken Trust

Whumptober: Setbacks Whump Rating: 0.5/5

Wild sits away from the camp, fabric clutched in his hands. He’s staring at it without really seeing it. Instead, the previous situation replays in his head.

Wind, going through his slate and pulling out his vai outfit without asking. Putting it on and waltzing around, then getting into a wrestling match with Warriors. Tearing the delicate silk and grinding dirt into the fabric.

The champion gave the group access to his slate as a show of faith. If something happened to him and they needed to get food or potions, he wanted them to have the option.

What Wind did? Taking his belongings without asking? Ruining them, even on accident? The trust he’d given the group was broken.

Wild accepted his outfit back with barely a word, leaving the camp. Now he’s settled on a rock with a ruined outfit.

The crunch of leaves has him flicking his ears back.

“Just me,” Hyrule calls. Then he joins Wild’s side, sitting on a slightly lower rock. “I’m sorry about your outfit.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. It’s clear it's important to you.” When the champion doesn’t answer, Hyrule prods further. “Mind telling me about it?”

With a sigh, Wild holds up the torn fabric. “It’s an outfit to get into Gerudo Town. They don’t allow men but if you dress like this…”

“Do you mind? Wearing girl’s clothes?”

He shakes his head. “I know it’s weird but—no. It’s nice to be a vai in town. No one minds my scars or cares that I’m the hero. The fabric is soft and it doesn’t bother me when I wear it. Even outside Gerudo Town, I like to put it on when the other outfits bother me.”

“It’s not weird.” Hyrule leans against Wild’s knee, stoking his fingers over a clean part of the fabric. “It’s beautiful. I see why you like wearing it.”

“Thanks.”

Hyrule continues to stroke the fabric and Wild finally hands it to him to look at. “Wind shouldn’t have gone through your slate without permission.”

“Well, it won’t be a problem now.” Wild can’t help the sharp bite to his words. At Hyrule’s questioning look, he sighs. “I locked the slate again. I know it’s best for the team but I just—”

“Hey.” A hand rests on his arm with a soft squeeze. “You are within your rights to do what you want, Wild. It’s your stuff. This is a setback, but it doesn’t have to be the end of everything. Let us work on earning your trust back, okay?”

Wild nods, a little of his misery lessoning.

“Mind if I keep this for a bit?” Hyrule holds up the vai outfit. “I think I might be able to clean some of the stains.”

“Sure. If I have to, I’ll buy a new one the next time I can visit Gerudo Town.” However long that may be.

Hyrule hums, but doesn’t leave. The two sit in silence, enjoying the forest and companionship.

Two weeks later, Hyrule gives Wild the vai outfit back. The stains are gone and the tears are mended with tiny stitches. The champion clutches the outfit to his chest and pulls Hyrule into a hug.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Later, he gives Hyrule access to the slate. He’s earned it.

#setbacks #whumptober2023 #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu whumptober #breannasfluff #mywriting #lu hyrule #lu wild #lu wind

[shattteredvisage]

You are Connor Roy, and you are the only child of one of the most powerful men in the country. Your father eclipses everything in your life, and you are rarely denied anything. Anything that is, but his time. There are nannies for that after all. You are raised to believe that the business he is building before your very eyes is your birthright. You're a little fidgety, true - a little bit soft. Your mother will sometimes rest her forehead on yours and call you a dreamer. You think she means it as a good thing, so you aren't sure why she says it so sadly.

You are Connor Roy and when you're 10 years old, your mother decides that she's had enough of everything you've ever known. She takes you with her to find "something different, something real." She calls it the adventure of a lifetime, but the faraway look in her eyes when she grasps your shoulders like a lifeline makes your stomach turn. So what does your old man do to get you back? What does he do with all that power his friends are always reminding you of? Absolutely nothing. With every day you spend without him, the reality of who your father is seeps into your bones and you feel real fear for the first time in your life. The reality is that being soft will not be tolerated and that family is only what Logan Roy says it is. The reality is that you are weak, and your father would never fight for a weak boy.

You are Connor Roy and when you're 13 your mother is carted away to a place upstate. No one asks if you'd like to visit her, but your father scoops you up and tries to sit you on his knee the way he did when you were younger. You're much too big for that now though, awkwardly sliding off and sitting next to him instead. She's a psycho he says. She put you in danger he says. Part of you is furious. Part of you is seething at him for saying that, for abandoning you, but mostly you feel relief. For the first time in three years you have more than enough food to eat and are not constantly worried that the alimony check will be spent on booze and pills. Your father, for all his faults, is sturdy and secure. He's your old man and he came back and this time he'll be all the strength you need.

You are a twenty year-old Connor Roy and you are peering into the eyes of your replacement. They're dark, not like yours, but the tufts of hair peaking out from the blanket that swaddles him remind you of your own. You hold him in your arms and he peers up at you, a soulful gaze that sucks you in until you're completely lost. Spellbound, you pull him a little tighter and sink into the nearest chair. You should hate him, you know, but the idea of hating someone so small makes you sick. In those eyes you can see the same promise your father probably sees; This one doesn't have a crazy mother in the middle of nowhere, this one is a clean slate, this one can be strong when all you can be is weak. Holding that newborn in your arms you resolve not to fight as your birthright is snatched by a tiny thief - to instead cling to this new, better family your father is building and to build them up in return. After all, family is what Logan Roy says it is.

You are Connor Roy and you do what you can. You stay present, stick around when you could be off making something of yourself. You give yourself to them in little ways, in ways you wish Logan had given himself to you. You take your little brothers on fishing trips, you let your baby sister climb on top of your back and dig her heels into your kidneys as you crawl on the hardwood. But part of you will always want to be as far from your father and his overbearing presence as you can. The houses you have built are always rural, always quiet and lonely, everything that Logan Roy isn't. You don't want to think about why that is. When you aren't there you know he pits them against each other, you know that they're starting to claw the weakness out of each other. The love you offer them is met with derisive snorts and rolled eyes - they become more like your father than you could ever dream to be. You're left behind, abandoned again, deluded and desperate in thinking that someone - anyone - could love you the way you need.

#shout out to kendall roy's sad eyes that would make you automatically pity him even as a baby #this is technically unfinished i wanted to add one more paragraph #but it's been sitting in my drafts for 8 months i just gotta get it out #connor roy #nothing like woobifying my future president #succession #hbo succession #shiv roy #roman roy #logan roy #kendall roy #willa ferreyra

[hyperfixatedfandomer]

I know you by heart (Amnesia AU)

Ok y’all remember the chaotic blorbo thought? My brain suddenly expanded and I found a way to make it even more heart-wrenching.

.

Imagine if Quaritch, after trying to get away on his ikran at the end of the movie, passed out and ended up on some island million miles away from the Metkayina with amnesia? All of his (human and recom) memories are gone so now he is, by all means, a clean slate.

He is found by a different tribe, they see that he is frankly confused as well as terrified, and let him in out of pity. They teach him their ways and slowly, Miles creates something of a new life amongst the Na’vi.

One word and image that keeps popping up in his head almost every day though, is that of a spider. Arachnids do not exist on Pandora, but he presumed it was a memory he had when he was an avatar. He feels like it’s important and weaves the animal into his jewellery as well as engraves it on his weapons.

But the rest of the memories do not come back, and it wrecks him to his core because he can feel that there was something, someone important. So important that his heart feels like it’s bleeding without them, like a big chunk of it was ripped away and no matter how much Miles tries to just live on, he can’t let go but feel this agonising emptiness.

Until, a couple months later, Metkayina reach the Island where Quartich’s tribe resides because its leader Tonowari and his right hand Jake are uniting the reef clans against the sky people. The Olo’teykan of Miles’s tribe filess them in on their tribe and mentions the mysterious dream walker who had their memories erased and began their life anew here. The leader notes that this avatar is a warrior like no other, despite the fact that they cannot remember where they’ve learned to fight the way they did and at the end of said introduction, Quaritch is introduced, with a new look and name.

Jake is bamboozled, Tonowari is bamboozled and so is the strange sky boy who stands beside them.

Miles’s heart lurched violently at the sight of him, and the man doesn’t even notice how tears begin falling down his cheeks. Seeing his face alone is akin to finding a beautiful oasis in the middle of a scorching, dead desert. The Na’vi feels like this boy is the piece he’s been missing, the piece he desperately needs back in his arms, but he freezes as he watches him take a step back with an alarmed expression.

Jake is arguing with the Olo’teykan as he doesn’t believe that Quaritch could have amnesia all while Tonowari, while believing the claims, is still trying hard to dissuade himself from closing his hands around the recom’s throat. Miles payes them no mind however, as he, almost instinctively gets on one knee to be on eye level with the boy and smiles warmly at him.

“ Hey there, kid” he addressed him in na’vi, the words feeling just right on his tongue for some reason, but the stranger’s eyes widened at his sentence.

“…y-you can speak Na’vi?”

“It’s the only way I can speak” he shrugged.

“…What was your name again?” He asked timidly.

“ Iam. What is yours?” Recom’s ears leaned forward, afraid he’d miss it if he didn’t strain his hearing.

“… my name is Spider…”

Iam’s eyes widened as something deep in his soul shifted and he gasped. There was no doubt about it, he was that missing piece, a piece the man couldn’t afford to loose. It didn’t matter that he now had a new life. He’ll split himself appart if it means staying with this human.

He needed him.

“…I know you, don’t I?”

A tiny nod followed.

“…Would you like to remind me?”

The kid shook his head.

…

“…Would you maybe like to start over then?” He didn’t mean to, but the question came out as a desperate plea as he tilted his head. “Please?”

Spider’s eyes finally met Iam’s, and he could feel the bits and pieces of the memories he had lost slowly coming back. The blonde’s distant laughter echoed in his ears and couldn’t wait to hear it again.

“…sure. Let’s start over.”

.

.

.

Yeah, this is the idea. I may expand on it with headcannons soon who knows 🤔

#avatar spider #avatar 2 #avatar #spider socorro #avatar headcanons #avatar way of water #miles quaritch #avatar quaritch #miles spider soccoro #recom quaritch #spider avatar #miles spider socorro #miles socorro #avatar miles quaritch #quaritch avatar #na’vi quaritch

[cafecourage]

Pinky Isn't Suffering

Chapter 3

Previous chapter - Next Chapter

Reminder these chapters happen between Enno cant get their crap together on @luimagines

The good luck that they had since the battle kept up it seemed. Of course Wild, Sky, and Warriors haven’t turned back to normal yet, however, they were still at Lon Lon Ranch and safe. Which is all that Twilight could ask for, honestly.

Even if Wild was still driving him and Pinky crazy, for such a tiny body, he is very hyperactive and destructive. Twilight was beginning to feel the consequences of always trying to keep up with the child, making sure he stayed safe from harm, thus taking the hits himself.

It was fine though. Nothing he wasn’t used to.

During lunch, however, disaster strikes once more. 

It started out as a slow lunch break with Malon, Time and Pinky. Wild was playing with some of Malon’s old toys, wearing Time’s old clothing.

They were just chatting and catching up a bit. Twilight was trying to pay attention to the conversation, honestly. He really was. But Wild kept edging towards a bookshelf nearby eyeing something up top. 

Twilight knew that look. The kid wanted something and knowing Wild, he would get it.

“Wild.” Twilight gave him a warning but the kid had the nerve to look over at his mentor, then immediately started to climb up the shelves. 

“Wild no!” He was quick to act, taking the kid off of the selves.

First, the bookshelves started to wobble. Then Wild fell off and the bookshelves started to fall forward.

Twilight pulled the cub under him bracing for the impact.

“Wild!!” Pinky’s calls were voided out by the pain that was shooting through from his back, neck and head. The weight on him lessened as Time and Malon helped both of them out and put the bookshelf back upright. Once Twilight knew it was safe, he and Pinky got Wild out first.

When the shelf was finally off of the Rancher, Time was by his side helping him stead himself. “How are you feeling, Pup?”

“I’m fine.” He lied, his back and head was killing him. Twilight was tired. There was a small voice in the back of his head that was telling him just to curl up around his cub and make sure his ‘child’ was fine. It was a need that he could only barely suppress. 

Before Twilight could even help Time and Malon clean up the mess, a hand grabbed his forearm. 

“Oh hell no.” Pinky was looking up at him angrily. “You, sir, are resting.” Twi couldn’t even protest as he lets her just lead him into the kitchen. “Sit.”

Twilight took the place next to Wild. The small hero was visibly shaken and looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Are you ok cub?” Twilight pulled the child close as Wild threw himself on Twilight, finally crying.

“I sowwy.” His speech was slurred through his sobbing. 

Placing Wild on his lap, he let the kid cry it out. “It’s not your fault.” Twilight started drawing circles on the smaller back to calm him down. It was something he learned from Collin. It puts the child to sleep in an instant.

Pinky came back with the first aid kit. “Oh how cute.”

Twilight almost rolls his eyes. “Cute but a gremlin.”

“You love him.” Well there was no arguing that, but he did want to correct her. He loved Wild, his brother in arms. But he loved her more. “Hold still” Pinky came behind Twilight and started to search for bumps or bruises. “It was a nasty crash.”

Twilight just hummed as her fingers through his hair was a pleasant feeling. 

His body was growing heavy as it started to relax.

Deeper.

And deeper.

Then finally he fell asleep.

Not aware that Pinky had taken photos of them two with her own mini slate, knowing that this opportunity wouldn’t come back anytime soon.

#twilight (not lu) speaks #linked universe x reader #luxreader #linkeduniverse x reader #strawberry milk

[the-ace-with-spades]

(sometimes I feel) like a monkey pilot fic background bits (heavier on hangster this time), because I wanna write it, I'm having feelings about it, but it isn't coming along

Also, it recently passed 200 bookmarks and my little trans gay heart is so happy 🥹

---- When Jake and Bradley had met for the first time (back when Bradley was pre-transition), they were the opposite of each other's types. They haven't grown into the people they are as the fic begins, personality and body-wise, either, being like 23-24 — Jake was lean but scrawny, had about half of his today's confidence and sass and Bradley was still reeling with compacted anger/sadness and fake-it-till-you-make-it attitude that carried him through college and the basketball scholarship.

---- Bradley up until that point dated only girls and although he was kinda attracted to guys, he identified as a lesbian, and gave Jake a chance on a whim — mostly he thought Jake was a big dork and wasn't making him feel less like a lot of guys did. He felt like Jake didn't categorize him by 'female' standards much and that helped enormously too. Nat might or not have taken pity on Jake and talked to Bradley to emphasize that Jake is just a big dork that grows on you...

---- Jake'd only dated the next-door neighbor type of girls, very feminine and although on the playful side, always softer and more shy girls, usually curvy and tiny in comparison to him. He always imagined himself as a more stereotypical husband, with a housewife and kids waiting at home for him (very similar to the way his own parents were — his ma helped around on the farm, but she was primarily responsible for raising children until they grew enough, and his dad although present, would follow her lead when it comes to childrearing). But there was just something about Bradley, in all the two inches taller, semi-professional basketball player body and the cheeky quips glory and the way he felt challenged whenever they spoke, the way he wanted the attention to never end. Obviously, he found out pretty soon that Bradley was a dork and a softie and just felt even more endeared.

---- The above is also something that causes some problems down the lane — Jake always thought they were each other's 'special ones', that despite being totally different from what either of them would imagine in a partner, somehow they ended just being perfect for each other. He has this whole thing in his head where they're each other's 'exception to the rule' and obviously Bradley still is his exception (because he's a guy and Jake's never been with a guy) but now he isn't Bradley's. It's hard for him to communicate this properly and since Bradley is also very in his mind about Jake wanting him despite being a guy, it causes problems.

---- Their first date (which I'll write eventually) was a stroll at the farmer's market and eating freshly made with produce they bought there breakfast in the bed of Jake's truck. It kinda won both of them on each other and they were goners since.

---- They both dated in the five years of being broken-up. Bradley dated both guys and girls, with various results (some of his dates were trans guy chasers, some were just not clicking) and Jake dated a couple of girls of his previous type (mostly matchmade by his ma...) and a couple more tomboy-ish, sporty girls (mostly on Javy's desperate attempts to get him to move on), but it had never felt the same for either of them.

---- I do also want to emphasize that Bradley's mental state when he and Jake broke up was poor, but not in a very visible way. He's really good at compartmentalizing and since the whole Mav fiasco, also hyper-independent, and given his then-current life, he really didn't see any options that would keep everyone happy — in his mind, he didn't really have a choice but to leave and try to live as a woman once again, but with a clean slate (for both him and Jake) and no expectations but those that the Navy set for him. For him, in the military, it was really easy to lose identity (and also gender as part of identity) — he was an officer, naval aviator, sailor first, woman second, and it was the last line of comfort he had.

---- Jake kinda had a feeling something was off since he proposed and got rejected, but he didn't know how to address it because it wasn't very precise and almost felt as if he was making it up from his own insecurities (because his proposal, which he thought was just a formality, got rejected and now he felt confused and unsettled about how well they really knew each other, even if he didn't doubt they loved each other). Only when Bradley told him they needed to break up and that he was leaving for the Virginia base in half an hour, packed to go, never even having mentioned planning a transfer in the past months, he realized how bad it actually had been.

---- Jake did realize back then that Bradley (still pre-transition) had a lot of insecurities regarding his perception and body, he just kinda misunderstood the assignment and thought it came from the opposite reasons than in reality — that pre-transition Bradley was the most comfortable in the tomboy-ish, cocky image but didn't feel beautiful in typical 'female' standards and such, rather that he, you know, didn't want to feel pretty by 'female' standards at all. The only thing that helped Bradley feel good about

---- Like in most of my fics, I think Mav and Bradley can cook pretty well, mostly due to the headcanoned nature of their upbringings. Mav (who is part Italian in my mind, always), had often helped his mamma cook and then when she passed away, would often be responsible for meal preps as one of the oldest kids in his group homes. He's also used cooking as a way of taking care of the people he loves - Goose would've starved to death if Mav hadn't cooked for the both of them the first year they'd known each other, Carole has a similar upbringing as Mav but doesn't like cooking much, Ice can kinda cook (he can do anything if he tries hard enough) but doesn't like it. And Bradley would often help with cooking as a kid and then had to learn fast when he went to college and didn't have the money or means to not cook. He's also learned to use it as a form of love from Mav, with time.

---- I also think that a major thing about is how being someone's support can set both Mav and Bradley into override mode against all their fears and insecurities. I think Mav overcame a lot of his doubts when he had to take care of Bradley (the idea that he's not made for family, the idea he can only ruin relationships and cause harm to his loved ones, the idea he can be loved unconditionally with reciprocation, etc.) There was a deleted scene (that maybe will come back, I feel a bit weird about it b/c it's really cliche) where Bradley is pretty early in the transition process and where for the first time, he's not afraid to be clocked as trans by a stranger, and this all happens when he's helping another trans person in an icky situation during one of the trans support group meetings.

---- Bradley doesn't come out to anyone in their family — every single time someone found he's transitioning/transitioned, it was from Ice. This is how he preferred it, it started with Slider and Ice's sister (which is also another deleted scene I might post here at some point), and then to take some of the emotional stress, Mav and Ice agreed they could do the initial explanations/coming outs for him. Thing is, Mav always doesn't know how to begin and how to explain stuff without overexplaining it, so it's usually Ice who would actually do the talking with Mav there as support in case something goes wrong (it has not gone horrible even once — with various degrees of explanations and time to process, everyone in their family came around to accept Bradley as a man)

---- the title of this fic, (sometimes I feel) like a monkey pilot, comes from the Comsat Angels' song, Monkey Pilot, and had been chosen mostly because it resonates with my trans experience (and Bradley's) and how it feels to be in the denial, 'if I don't think about it doesn't exist' stage of being trans, when you're so transfixed and not in control of your own life that it all feels like you're just going through the motion and don't know what you're doing, don't care what you're doing as long as you're still in motion (or in the air, in Bradley's case). It's the feeling of doing things out of habit and because that's what is expected of you while realizing sullen it makes you and how there's only a few things that make it better (again, mostly flying in Bradley's case). Also, it's aviation-themed and inspired by J.G. Ballard's short stories, so it seemed fitting to me.

#hangster #trans bradley rooster bradshaw #(sif) lamp tag #this fic needs some banner or something #mavdad #charlie writes #op #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin

[ikeromantic]

Tis the month where we bid farewell to a year filled with tears and laughter. A month where everything is under an expansive blaket of pristine white as if the world is cleansed into a crystal clean slate but before we say adieu to 2023 and ahoy to 2024, would the fine and most creative beloved scribe grant us a final (perhaps few) scribbles for 2023? Perhaps one of the great multi-bejeweled warlord as he sits outside with his beloved, watching a flurry dance of the heaven's crystal flakes or maybe with the rather enigmatic Vlad as he catches the first few snow on his cold hand and magically transform it into a crimson heart for his lady. Guess you can't figure out who this nony is eh.

Hehehe ^_^ I might have some ideas where this ask came from, but I won’t tell if you don’t! Thank you for your lovely compliments, and for being your sweet self. I think I’ll write something for Vlad. I haven’t had much opportunity to write for our strange vampire prince. Approx 1300 words of fluffiness.

Vlad pushed his flower cart along the icy cobblestones. Snow drifts covered the stoops and squares and hid the fountains and lampposts. The Paris streets were a winter wonderland, made softer by the blanket of snow. In a few hours, it would be reduced to piles of gray slush and chill ice-melt, but now, in these early morning hours, it was magical.

“We should enjoy it while we can,” he said softly, his breath steaming. 

The poinsettias on his cart nodded with red-leafed wisdom, bobbing silently in their colorful pots. Vlad regarded them solemnly. They were flowers of good cheer, the joy of family and friends. That was why he’d brought them today. To spread happiness despite the season’s chill. He found a good street to stop on. 

There were several other stands setting up here, selling hot cocoa or mulled wine. Hand held snacks and little bags of colorful candy. By the time Vlad settled into place, the street was bustling with the day’s traffic. Most barely noticed the man and his flower cart.

Vlad watched the crowd, his half-lidded ruby gaze searching for the right customers. The people that would most need a bit of cheer. The first was a young maid, hurrying through the shops. She wasn’t dressed for the cold, and her uniform was ill-fit, too big for her small frame. She wore a face of intense concentration as she tried to keep her hem out of the muck. 

He gave her a tiny white rose, barely more than a bud. In a day or two it would open into a beautiful rose. Her smile blossomed at the gift and she was humming as she returned to her errands.

The second was an old man in a patched coat. He wore a look of weary bitterness born of too many years alone, and expectations unmet. Vlad gifted him a poinsettia, with crimson blooms and a verdant stem. 

His third customer was a gentleman, a man with a young face but ancient eyes. He’d served as a soldier, and the horrors of that etched scars across his soul. Vlad gave him a bundle of forget-me-nots and baby’s breath. The man would never forget his lost friends and slain enemies, but life gave him a second chance. A new beginning.

The flowers in Vlad’s cart were given away one at a time, until he had only one left. A tiny white poinsettia in a glazed white pot. The plant had just one small flower, and two little green leaves and a narrow stem. There was a time when he might have cut such a plant down, but he’d come to realize that every bloom had beauty. 

He wondered who would come for this last little flower. The sun hung low in the sky, a distant glow at the edge of the city skyline. The lamplighters were already out, and many of the stalls were closing up. But Vlad didn’t want to leave until he’d found a home for his last blossom. 

The sunset came, its glory muted by the thickening clouds and the roiling mist that crept up the banks of the Seine. Candles flickered behind paned glass windows, and the lamp flames wavered in the growing darkness. It seemed the last flower would need to wait for another day to find its place, Vlad thought.

He took off his apron and tucked it into the cart with a sigh. Just as he straightened, a pair of mittens covered his eyes. Vlad froze stock still. He knew, of course, exactly who it was. 

“Guess who?”

“Hm. Charles?”

“Nope. Try again.”

Vlad chuckled. “Not Faust, of course. He only surprises me with needles or pills . . .” 

“Not Faust.” A tremulous laugh, held in.

“Some street urchin, then? Or are you a burglar? Perhaps I should struggle, hm?” He grinned, his fangs glinting in the gloom. Vlad turned, easily grabbing his hidden assailant. Her mittened hands settled on his shoulders as he brought her close for a kiss.

When he pulled back to look at her, she was smiling. “You knew it was me.”

“Of course.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Did you come to fetch me?”

She nodded. “It was getting late and I missed you.” Her eyes went to the near empty flower cart. “It looks like you had a good day.”

Vlad nodded. “The square was busy. People shopping for the holiday, or out getting things for their celebrations.” He wrapped an arm around her, pulling his lover against his side. “Did you want to have a special celebration?”

“Being with you for the day is enough for me.” She leaned into his embrace, snuggling into his side. 

“But I was here all day . . .” Vlad’s eyes opened wide. “Is that why you missed me? I shouldn’t have left you alone for the whole -”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, I knew you’d want to be here, making people smile. But now your work is done and I have you all to myself.” Her wide, beautiful eyes regarded him. 

Vlad didn’t think he would ever get used to that look. Full of love and hope and joy. He couldn’t help but smile as warmth blossomed in his chest. “Then let’s make this a special evening for just the two of us.” 

He picked up the last tiny poinsettia, the white bloom seemed to almost glow in the evening light. “I think this flower was waiting for you. See how glad it is that you are here?” 

She leaned close, her fingers almost touching the plant. “It’s so beautiful.”

Vlad tipped her chin toward him, and kissed her again. Her lips were warm and soft, and her mouth tasted of cinnamon and spice, sweet as mulled wine. She was everything to him, and he still could not believe he held her in his arms. Centuries he’d waited, wanted, ached for her. It felt like a dream, one he never wanted to wake from. A world without her was no world worth waking to.

The snow began to fall again, tiny flakes dancing on the evening mist. 

She pulled back to look up at the drifting snowflakes. “Look! It’s snowing again!” She tugged off her mitten and caught a tiny flake in the palm of her hand. “It’s like an icy bit of lace, don’t you think?” Her hand lifted to show him.

He laughed. “It is. And already starting to melt.”

“Oh no!” Her eyes widened. “I should let it go.” She waved her hand in the air to release the flake, but it held to her skin, the edges already thinning to nothing.

Only she would be worried about destroying one tiny snowflake, he thought. His silly, lovely, ridiculous girl. Vlad caught her hand and blew across it, sending the tiny snowflake skirling back into the night. Then he licked the bead of moisture from her palm, letting the tip of his tongue tickle across her skin.

She giggled and tried to pull her hand back. “Vlad! What if someone’s watching?”

“What if they are?” He kissed his way to her wrist. There he could feel the delicate tracery of her veins and vessels, the steady pulse of her kind and loving heart. “I want everyone to know how much I love you.” He nipped the spot, a promise and a tease. 

“Vlad,” she repeated, breathily this time, a heat in her gaze that could melt more than a snowflake. 

He tugged her mitten back over her hand. “Let’s go home. I want to celebrate you.” 

“Don’t you mean with me?” She picked up her flower as he began pushing the cart.

“That too.” Vlad smiled.

#Ikemen vampire #ikevamp #IkeVamp vlad #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff

[minty-mumbles]

Honor in the Braids

Summary: Everyone keeps their hair long in Wild’s Hyrule. Everyone braids their hair in Wild’s Hyrule. Everyone except Wild.

Author Notes: This fic was heavily inspired by three other fics. Check out the end notes on AO3 for links. @bunnyambushed you asked if I could tag you in this when I finally posted this fic, so here you go! :)

CW: Emotional Self Harm/Implied Self Harm

(Read on AO3)

~~~

Link, now called Wild, ran his eyes appraisingly over his new companions’ hair, and promptly shoved all his assumptions into a tiny box in his mind labeled “cultural differences.” 

He could tell that tiny box is going to get very full, very quickly.

But really. What a mess their hair is. The youngest’s was still crusted with sea salt, and the one with the pink streak in his hair was hiding a rat's nest under that hat of his. And wasn’t that pink streak interesting? Wild itched to ask how he had managed to dye his hair like you would dye clothing, but knew it wasn’t his place. He wondered if it symbolized anything.

At least the captain kept his hair sleek and well managed, but something told Wild that doing so was considered unusual.

Because surely it wasn’t possible for every single one of these heroes to be as dishonorable or disgraced as he was? Surely they had not all failed? 

It made more sense to assume that hair simply wasn’t as important in their culture, and leave it at that. 

~~~

“Your hair’s getting a bit long, even for me.” Four’s words were said in jest, nothing more than a light joking tone. Wild knew that. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. He could only hear the sting of the words, the hidden meaning of “You don’t deserve to wear your hair long. Look at what’s become of Hyrule, look at what happened to the people who were under your care. Do you think you deserve it?” 

Wild knew there was no hidden meaning. Four was just teasing him. The smithy’s hair barely brushed his shoulders, and even that seemed to be considered long for men in the other heroes' eras. Of course, they would tease him for the oddity.

He did his best not to react, deliberately not looking up from his slate. He wasn’t actually reading anything or taking stock of his inventory, but if he pretended to not be interested in the conversation, maybe they would leave him alone. “Everyone keeps their hair long in my Hyrule. It’s normal.”

Wild could see Wind tilting his head like a confused puppy out of the corner of his eye. “Eh? Everybody? But what about your Zelda? You showed us a picture of her, and hers is short!” 

Wild nodded. “Yes, Zelda keeps her hair very short. For personal reasons.” That managed to shut the conversation down quickly. 

The group was fairly comfortable with each other at this point. They had shared many secrets with each other. (Wild especially didn’t like keeping information about his journey a secret. His skin already told a good portion of it without him even having to open his mouth.) However, that didn’t mean that the group didn’t value privacy. No one ever pushed for a story that someone didn’t want to tell.

~~~

“You know, I’m surprised that you can keep your hair so neat.” 

Wild took a deep breath in, before turning to face the captain. 

Cultural differences. He breathed out deeply. Cultural differences. He means no offense. 

“What makes you say that?” If the captain saw through his thin attempts to keep his cool, he gave no indication of it.

“Your hero title is the Hero of the Wilds, and it shows. You really are quite the wild young man. I don’t think you bathe even once a week,” Here, he was met with an unamused stare from Wild. They called him Wild, but at least he was civilized enough not to comment on other people’s bathing habits. “Yet, you keep your hair so clean and you brush it every day, multiple times. Why?”

Sometimes, Wild cursed the Goddess for instilling curiosity into all her heroes, because he did not want to explain.

These heroes knew about his failures, and seemed not to judge him for them. But he did not want to explain how important hair was to him. He did not want to explain the stigma behind unbraided hair. He did not want to explain what Zelda was doing to herself by cropping her hair short. He did not want to explain how he just… didn’t want to braid his hair. Years of muscle memory from before the Calamity urged him to do so. But he just didn’t want to.

His hair was sacred, and he would honor himself, and his ancestors, and his goddess enough to keep it clean. But he didn’t want to keep it braided.

Would they understand?

Could they?

He stared at Warriors long enough that the Captain started to look uncomfortable as Wild tried to figure out what to say. He could just tell him the truth, let the words spill from his lips. But he didn’t want to do that either. Warriors wouldn’t understand. None of them would understand.

~~~

The heat of the fire made the already sweltering day even less tolerable. Sweat pricked on the back of his neck, and he wished he had pulled his hair back into a ponytail before he had started working. He was in the middle of peeling carrots, and his hands were stained orange, and were grimy from the leftover dirt on the vegetables. He wouldn’t dare touch his hair with the state his hands were in right now. 

So he would just have to deal with it.

He hunched his shoulders, trying to keep his hair from spilling over his shoulders and into his work, but with every motion he made, more strands escaped. He growled slightly.

His annoyance did not go unnoticed. 

When Wind approached him from behind, Wild wasn’t bothered. He trusted these men, and he knew Wind wasn’t going to do anything. If anything, Wind was probably going to throw himself across Wild’s back, sling his arms around his neck, dramatically ask if dinner was done yet- despite it very clearly not being done- and generally make a nuisance of himself. 

The first touch that came on the top of Wild’s head, with Wind’s fingers carding through his hair, made Wild tense. Wind continued, as if Wild was not suddenly strung tighter than a taut bow string. 

Wild forced his words out, suddenly hypervigilant of the presence at this back. “What are you doing, Wind?” The boy wouldn't go through this ruse just to prank him, right? Wild knew that. Of course Wind wouldn't do that. 

The boy liked pranks as much as the next person, but everyone in the group knew how touchy Wild was about his hair, even if they didn’t know why. Wind wouldn’t do anything to it, no matter how much the group teased him about cutting his long hair. 

Knowing that didn't let Wild to relax, though. He didn’t think anyone else had ever touched his hair. No one had dared. Not even Zelda. Should he be allowing this? It seemed too private. But, then, it was just Wind. Wind, who was all but a little brother to him.

Wind’s response was light and relaxed, no doubt deliberately so. Wild’s tense back would give away his unease to anyone looking at him. “I’m gonna braid your hair! I do it for Arryl all the time, so you don’t have to worry about me messing it up or getting it tangled!”

Wild’s breath barely left his body, and on autopilot, he heard himself responding. “Oh. I had never thought of braiding it…” Wind hummed in acknowledgement, and continued to chatter away about his sister, but Wild wasn’t listening.

He had, in fact, thought of braiding his hair. He had spent hours considering it. His fingers twitched every morning, desperate to perform the routine that he had become so familiar with before the Calamity. His fingers remembered the motions of making a knight’s braid intimately, even if his brain didn't know it. He did not doubt that if he let himself, he would be able to pull his hair back into a respectable form.

He had never let himself give in to the urge, though. 

He brushed his hair every morning and night, and allowed himself a simple ponytail for practical reasons. But that was all he allowed himself.  

His lack of embellishments marked his shame. He was nothing, no one. He had no part to speak of, no family to claim him. He had won no great battles, at least not in his eyes. 

Even the youngest child had something - a braid that symbolized that they were a child, loved and protected, or their family’s plait.  

No Wild, though. He had no family left, and certainly no family plait.

He really should have shorn himself for the shame he had brought on his family. He should have given himself the ultimate shame for the pain and suffering and destruction that he had allowed to befall the kingdom. Zelda herself had cut her hair short enough that it barely brushed her shoulders. 

No one had seen her slip a small knife into her pocket the first time she was allowed to go for a walk alone after the Calamity was defeated. Paya had shrieked in horror when Zelda had returned, her hair as short as a child’s. Wild had come running at the yell, hand already gripping the hilt of his sword. He had expected monsters to have somehow found their way into Impa’s house. What he found was almost worse than what he expected. 

Zelda had confided in him, much later. They had been sitting on the bank of a quick-moving stream, watching the remnants of Zelda’s once again freshly cut hair drift away. She cut it every few months, to keep the hair from reaching her shoulders.

She knew Impa disapproved, she said. She knew that Paya sometimes couldn’t look at her directly, hiding her horrified expression whenever Zelda returned from cutting her hair. She knew no one else understood, save Wild. She had given him a wobbly smile when she said that.  

Her position as the last royal in Hyrule demanded that she keep it long enough to braid her hair in the crown style, she said. Otherwise she would have no hair. But she allowed herself no jewelry, not ribbons, or flowers. She allowed herself no other braids speaking of her triumphs or achievements. 

The defeat of the Calamity came too late to save anyone. It was a pyrrhic victory at best. It deserved no celebration. 

Wild felt the same. So he allowed himself no braids. He kept his hair long only out of respect for his predecessors. So as to not besmirch their legacy with a hero who had to shave his head, to spare the legacy of the hero that ultimate shame.

Now he comes to find out none of them had hair much longer than Zelda’s.

How ironic.

He’s shaken out of his thoughts by his hand mechanically reaching for the next carrot, only to find the pile gone. Wind seemed to have realized he wasn’t listening, and had fallen silent, concentrating on his task.

Wild remained crouched, letting Wind finish his work before he stood to tend to the pots boiling over the fire. His knife dangled loosely in his grip as he let the oh-so-unfamiliar-familiar movements of someone tugging on his hair lull him. The motions were so familiar, and something welled up in his mind. It was a familiar mental pressure that signaled a memory trying to break through. He hesitated for a moment, uncertain on whether he should shrug it off or let himself fall into it and discover a part of his past.

After a moment more, he gave in.

“Remember, sweetheart, your hair is your pride. Wear it long, and keep it clean. Keep your braids straight and even, and we’ll always be with you.” The voice was like honey, so close to his ears as calloused hands carded through his hair. Everything was warm. The hands, the voice, the fire burning low in front of him, and Link himself. 

“Yes, Mama.”

The memory was short, and when he came back to the present, no one had even realized he had left at all. His hand shot up involuntarily to pat the top of his head. Wind made a disgruntled noise, but let him be. Wild’s fingers brushed experimentally against neat sections of hair. 

Some weak, shivering part of Wild, hidden deep within himself, made him want to curl up and cry. 

“Alright,” Wind declared after only a few more minutes. Wild wonders for a moment where Wind got the hair tie from, before remembering what the sailor had said about his sister. “It’s all done! Oh, wait-” Wild watched as the sailor scrambled over to Legend’s pack, and stole his mirror shield, lugging it back to Wild. Legend called out in protest, but his voice held no real anger and the veteran quickly turned back to his conversation with Time, so Wind paid him no mind. “Here! Look!” 

Wild took the shield as it was thrust into his arms, and held it up automatically. 

His hair was woven into a four-strand type of braid that was traditional for young preteen children. It was neatly done, for all the meaning of the braid itself didn’t serve him. None of his sideburns or front sections of his hair were let loose. All the strands of his hair were pulled back neatly. Nothing was left out of the braid for him to braid in victory braids or family plait.

It wasn’t a half-bad job, really. Wild wanted to laugh at the ill-fitting braid, but instead he smiled wobbly at Wind, handing back the shield. “Thank you.” Wind beams at him, and wanders back to return the shield to Legend. He’s pulled into a conversation with Warriors, and Wild is left alone.

Well, he’s not really alone. He has eight friends to keep him company, after all.

Would it ever make up for those he lost, he wondered?

~~~

The second time Wild tried to bring his companions to a town in his Hyrule, he ran into a bit of an issue.

The first time hadn’t been a big deal. They had been dropped at the entrance to Rito village. They had scared Muzli, the guard stationed there, half to death. Wild had apologized profusely to him for the abrupt entrance, and led the rest of the heroes to the inn for the night. 

They had been swept away through another portal before they had time to make it to another village. Wild hadn't bothered to think of the state of his companions' hair then. Not when no one in Rito Village would think about it either. Most of the Rito probably wouldn’t even notice, and those who did would just think it strange. (The Rito, of course, did not follow the same traditions as Hylians did involving hair, as they didn’t have any.) 

The second time, the portal dumped them right onto Kakariko Bridge. It was still early in the day, leaving them plenty of time to make it to Kakariko before the sunset, leaving them with no need to head to Dueling Peaks Stable for the night

They were halfway to the town before the realization struck Wild. There was absolutely no way he could take the others into the middle of the Sheikah town the way they looked.

The realization had him stopping in his tracks at the front of the group, mouth hanging open in shock at his own absentmindedness. 

Hyrule, who had been trailing after him and chatting with Sky, bumped into him before he realized the Champion had stopped moving. “Wild? Why’d you stop?”

Wild buried his face in his hands, groaning slightly. By then, the rest of the heroes had caught up to them, and had noticed his distress. “I can't believe I forgot.” He offered by way of an explanation, although it wasn’t a very good one. It was true, though. He himself had been so shocked at their appearance when they had first met, he couldn’t believe he had become adjusted to it so quickly. 

Going back to the stable wasn’t really an option either, and he really did need to speak to Impa. They would need to go to Kakariko, which meant…

“Does everyone have cloaks?“ There was a general murmur of agreement that they did, although they all sounded confused. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, there was no reason for cloaks. Despite their confusion, Wild was able to relax for a moment.

Wild always wore his cloak around both Kakariko and Hateno, and more recently, Tarry Town. People knew who he was, knew of his refusal to braid his hair. Most were willing to overlook it- he was the hero, after all. He wore the cloak nonetheless, as he found it made people more at ease when they couldn’t see his unwoven locks. 

All nine of them wearing cloaks when it wasn’t cold or raining would get them weird looks, but it would be better than not being let into the inn because they looked like a group of mercenaries, or cultists, or Yiga spies. They wouldn’t have the excuse of being the Hero for their appearance.

He was pulled out of his relieved thoughts by Wind’s voice. “Um, I don’t have a cloak. Why?” Wild stared at Wind, his mind running a mile an hour. The situation didn’t call for this much panic. He could just have the group stay put for a little bit, and run ahead to buy Wind a cloak at the store in Kakariko, but something about it made his heart stutter in his chest. 

He knew his obvious agitation was making the other heroes uneasy. But Wild didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t know how to explain why it was important that they cover their hair, why Wild himself didn’t really need to. Would cloaks even be enough to hide their hair? Probably not. The front part of their hair would still hang out of the hood, and it would draw attention. 

Wind tried again after receiving no reply. “My cloak ripped a little while ago. I was gonna buy a new one in the next town we visit. Why does it matter? It doesn’t look like it’s gonna rain.”

“You’ll need it to get into town. Here,” Wild was ushering them along the path before they could even protest. Just around the bend, there was a break in the tall cliffs alongside the path, leading to a small space that, a year ago, had belonged to a camp of bokoblins that had stolen Hetsu’s Maracas. The clearing was far enough off-road that it would keep them out of the sight of any possible travelers coming along the road. With only a few more words of explanation, he was gone, headed into town at a sprint.

~~~

“Thank you so much,” He said to the shopkeeper breathlessly. She had startled when he had come bursting into the shop, asking for a cloak several sizes too small for him, but she had complied easily. 

He hesitates before he leaves, thinking of something else that he might need. Then he leaned back over the counter, voice dropping to be a little quieter for his next request.

~~~

The others had dispersed through the clearing while Wild was away. Hyrule and Time looked up from where they were sitting at the base of a tree when he passed, but Wild didn’t pay attention to them, slowing to a stop in front of where Legend and Wind were talking, brandishing the cloak he had bought. The one he had gotten was a lovely dark blue. It was made more for rain than to keep out the cold, but Wild had figured that would be more useful to the sailor in the long run. 

“Here, put it on.” 

Wind opened his mouth to protest or to question him, but must have seen something in Wild’s eyes that made him hesitate. He took the cloak, slinging it over his shoulder and fastening the clasp. Wild ran an inspecting eye over him. He had purposefully gotten one that would be a little too big for the sailor, making the hood fall in front of his face a bit. The cloak would probably need to be hemmed. Wind could grow into it and let down the hem as he needed to. 

“Where’s your hair ties?” Wild questioned after he had satisfied himself. 

“My pack,” Wind answered, already digging through his bag, “Why? Do you need some?”

“No, you do.” Wild replied, taking the hair ties from Wind, then gesturing for him to turn his head so Wild could get at his hair.

Wind frowned at him, as squiggly as always, and didn’t move. “Why would I need to use my hair ties? I only keep them for Arryl! My hair isn’t that long, and I’m not a girl, anyways!”

“Yeah,” Legend interjected from where he stood, arms crossed and frowning at Wild. His face was pinched, like he was staring at a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “What's all this about?” 

Wild rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. He had gotten so caught up in his own head that he had sort of forgotten that the others would have no frame of reference to his actions. His actions would look strange to the others, especially when he’s been less than forthcoming with information about this, in the past and today. It made sense the others would be getting concerned. He had to tell them. 

“Remember when I said it was normal for people in my Hyrule to keep their hair long?” Receiving nods, he continued. “Well, it’s more like everyone does. Everyone. All the time. People only cut their hair in extreme circumstances. Usually bad ones. Or you might get your hair cut as punishment for a crime. You guys really can’t go walking into a town like that, especially if you want to get into the inn or speak to Impa.” 

“There's not a lot we can do about that,” Time interjected, having stood up from where he was sitting with Hyrule. “And besides that, it’s not our custom to keep our hair long, or braided.” 

“I know,” Wild said, mentally pleading for them to understand. “I’m not saying you have to grow it out, but I mean it when I say you can’t walk into town like that. Especially a Sheikah town. You literally won’t be let in anywhere. The cloaks are to hide your hair length.”

“It’s that serious?” Wild heard Warriors quietly mutter to Twilight from where they had gravitated toward the conversation. Most of the others had joined now, and Wild tried not to shrink inwards at all the eyes on him. 

Wild gestured again for Wind to turn, and the sailor finally complied, twisting his head to the side so Wild could get at the hair framing his face more easily. Wild went to work. He didn't even have to think about what braid to give him. A sailor’s braid was the obvious choice. As far as Wild remembered, he had never woven this braid himself, but he had seen it plenty of times in Lurelin, and it wasn’t that hard to recreate. 

As he worked, Wind stared at him curiously out of the corner of his eye. “Okay, so the cloaks are to hide our hair, but what about these braids? Why do I have to have one?”

“You all do,” Wild plowed ahead, interrupting any protests. “Listen, it’s just for a little bit. The length of the hair isn’t the only important thing? They don’t mean anything bad, okay? The one I’m giving Wind means that he’s a sailor.” He drew away from, having finished and tied off Wind’s braid.

Wind reached up, feeling at his hair. “Wow, really? They have different meanings? That’s cool!”

Wild left him to his exploration and turned towards Legend, raising an eyebrow. Besides Wild and Four, Legend probably had the longest hair out of the group. Legend scowled, but nodded. Wild took hold of one of Legend’s sideburns- the one that was stained pink- and started his work. (Wild still wondered what caused the odd color, but refrained himself from asking at the moment.)

For Legend, Wild decided to give him a braid that signified magical powers. Zelda had worn it before the Calamity, Wild remembered. (She had always felt guilty for it, as she had never exhibited any magical power.) Wild himself had even worn it on occasion, before. His ability to slow time was not the most flashy power, but he still had it, so he had worn the braid occasionally. Legend was much more dedicated to channeling his magic through items and weapons, but he was still incredibly powerful. That was something to be celebrated.

“Why, though?” Legend asked “Why is it so important that we do this?”

The constant questions prickled at Wild’s skin. He didn't begrudge them for being curious. Wild was asking them to do something that was very out of the ordinary, at least to them. He understood they had questions. But it felt like the questions were making him tiptoe around a topic he really had no desire to speak with anyone about, much less the other heroes. He didn’t want them to know what he was doing.

Not that he was really doing anything. The opposite, really. That was kind of the point.

His hands stalled halfway through making Legend’s braid, as he tried to think of how to explain to someone who had no context to the practice of hair braiding. ”Is it sort of a religious thing? I think, at least…” 

Wild sighed, frustrated. He figured he could just start from the beginning. “Not everyone keeps their hair as long as they possibly can. Some keep it a little shorter for practical reasons. Fighters, farmers, and other physical laborers. But everyone keeps it long enough to braid it. The braids tell others who you are. It’s your identity being shown for the world to see, a way to celebrate and be proud of who you are. Your family plait, braids for different professions, different ages, different roles that people play in society.’

“It’s not just your identity, also. There are braids for winning great victories in battle, or personal victories, for marriages, pretty much anything. People who don’t wear braids make others wary, because it’s a sign you don’t really belong anywhere. Having your hair cut as punishment is a sign that society has deemed you unfit to participate in the tradition.”

“But your Zelda cuts her hair short, doesn’t she?” Hyrule seemed to regret the question the moment he finished speaking, realizing it may be a sensitive topic.

Wild shook his head, frowning. “That’s none of your business.” No one protested how abruptly he shut down that line of questioning.  

“So that’s why you have to keep the length of your hair hidden while you're in the village. Not only could they think you're criminals, but criminals aren’t the only people who have short hair. The Yiga, for one example, cut their hair short as a sign that they’ve severed ties with the goddess, and worship the Calamity.” The others stay silent at that explanation. They were all aware of the Yiga; Wild had told them as a precautionary measure the first time they had landed in his Hyrule. Needless to say it had not gone over well. It was still a bit of a touchy subject. Wild could understand. If any of the others were hunted by a cult of assassins, he wouldn’t be happy either. 

“I’m weaving your hair because most people have their family plaits, at least, framing their faces. It’ll seem strange if you don’t and I don’t want people to have any reason to look closer.” Wild continued when no one said anything, finally realizing he had been staring at the half-done braid in his hand the whole time he had been speaking, and continued with that too. “You probably wouldn’t be kicked out if people saw- I wasn't the first time I wandered in, and my hair was atrocious,” Wild took a moment to grimace in embarrassment, before moving on, “But you won’t be able to speak to Impa, or go into any of the shops or the inn.”

Time spoke up, voice heavy with interest. “And you can't vouch for us?”

Wild shook his head vehemently. “No. The only reason people allow me to get away with it is because everyone knows I’m the hero. I sort of get a pass, and even then people treat me… differently.” (He definitely should not have said that. Several of the other heroes did not look happy about that.) “I really don’t want to explain that you have different cultural ideals about hair because you’ve time traveled, and I doubt anyone would believe me anyways.” Time nodded his assent, looking disappointed, but not surprised. 

The next to speak was Legend. “You said it was religious practice, though. What’s that about?” 

Wild considered for a moment. “Well, the practice itself isn’t really religious, but taking out your braids is seen as a very intimate thing. People do it when they’re at home, but also when they’re praying. It's a way to bare yourself in front of the gods. Hair in general is… sacred, in a way. It’s a very personal thing to let someone touch your hair, and unless you are unable to do so, the only person who should be cutting it is yourself.” 

When no one else asked another question, Wild let himself relax for a moment, glad the interrogation was over. “So, that’s kind of the gist of it.” He let out a gusty sigh. 

Well, no one, until- “What about you? Why don’t you wear braids?” It was Legend who asked, although WiId had no doubt the rest of them were thinking it. Of course Legend was the one to ask. He’d never been one to shy away from difficult topics

“I haven’t needed any until now. I’ll do mine after I do all of yours.” It was the truth, just not the whole truth. He still didn't technically need to. The Sheikah had grown used to his unbraided hair, but he knew he had to give himself one to appease the others. It wasn’t fair to ask them to adhere to his culture if he wasn’t even participating.

The other heroes weren’t stupid. They all knew there was more to it than that, more that he wasn’t telling them. But the excuse would get them off his back and give him a chance to think of what braid he would give himself to appease them. The rest of them dispersed slowly after that, sitting against the trunks of nearby trees, or going to admire the view from the seer drop-off nearby. 

He allowed himself to become lost in thought. 

Who even was he? Who could he claim to be? A knight? No, definitely not. He wasn’t a knight anymore. He served no one, much less any non-existent military or monarchy. 

Could he claim to be a hero? Wild didn’t like to think so, but these venerated heroes of the past seem to have accepted him as one of them, and seemed to have absorbed him into their ranks. 

Could he claim to be his parents’ child? Not anymore. He couldn’t even remember them, besides snippets. He didn’t know if he wanted to remember them. They were too far away for him to reach, trapped in the past he couldn’t ever go back to. It would only bring him pain. It would only bring him heartbreak.

What was he? 

What was notable about himself that was solely his own, and not something gifted to him by his parents, by the king, by Hylia herself? 

Anything that he used before the Calamity wasn’t applicable anymore. He had forgotten everything, everyone. He had rebuilt himself from the ground up, dragging himself up from a stumbling child to a sure-footed traveler.

He was no longer the skilled swordsman he was before. He had instead turned towards the bow, leaning into the long-range weapon that was more useful for keeping a single traveler alive in his Hyrule. 

That was something he was. He was an archer. He had picked up a bow with only a vague idea of what it was, and taught himself how to use it. Missed shot after missed shot, bokoblin after bokoblin, he had perfected his craft, a symbol of his determination to reshape himself- not as a hero, but as Link.

He couldn’t call himself a hero, but he could call himself an archer.

By the time he had made his decision, he had worked through most of the others. He’s glad for the hair ties he asked the shopkeeper for. Wind’s couple of ties wouldn’t have been enough for all of them. 

He had given Warriors and Sky a knight’s braid, of course. Time was given a farmer’s braid. He had seemed to appreciate it over something that represented his fighting skills, when Wild had told him what it represented. Twilight got the same. 

Before Wild couldn’t move onto Hyrule, Twilight grasped him gently by the wrist. “Wild, we’re okay with doing this to blend into your Hyrule, but I just wanted to ask if you were alright with doing this. If this is a Sheikah custom, they shouldn’t be forcing it on you too. I think we’ve all noticed you're very particular about your hair. You never braid it, but now…” Twilight trailed off when he saw the look his words created on Wild’s face. 

“No,” The denial was automatic, but as he fruitlessly tried to find the words. He finally settled on. “It’s a Hylian thing too.” 

Twilight released his grip on Wilds wrist, seemingly assured he wouldn’t move away. His brows furrowed. “Then you…”

“I just don’t.” Wild settled on the simplest answer. The easiest one. It was true. He just didn’t. Did they really need to know why? 

Twilight nodded slowly, “Alright. You’ve just been acting very…” His scowl deepened for a moment, although Wild knew his frustration probably wasn’t directed at him. The rancher ran his hand through his hair, sweeping back his bangs. “You can talk to any of us about this, you know that, right?” Wild could read between the lines of Twilight’s words. I’m gonna leave this alone for now, but I don’t believe you when you say you’re fine.

He nodded mutely, and Twilight moved away from him, quickly being replaced by Hyrule. Wild’s hands started moving through the traveler’s hair automatically, not paying attention to Hyrule's worried gaze on him. 

~~~

“Oh, Link…” Paya’s voice was soft. It wasn’t quite pity; it was the opposite, really. There was a sort of awe in her voice that Wild couldn’t place. Paya reached a hand out towards his hair- towards the archer’s braid he had put in his hair- and Wild couldn’t stop himself from twitching away from her. Paya gave him that familiar nervous smile of hers, and let her hand drop. 

“I think… um, I’m glad that- that you found- some people to travel with.” She nodded firmly at him, her own braid swayed with her movements. As far as Wild could remember, that particular braid meant that she was the heir to a noble family, which would demark her position as Impa’s heir. After a moment’s pause, she moved to continue past him to her grandmother’s house, tossing a significant look over her shoulder as she did. 

~~~

Wild drew his fingers through his hair, carding out the single braid until his hair was straight again. His movements were slow and contemplative.

He knew one or more of the other heroes were probably watching him from where they sat by the fire, but he also knew that prayer was considered a private thing in most, if not all of their Hyrules, and they would turn away when they realized what he was doing. 

He picked up the hair tie from where he had set it in his lap when he took it out, and placed it on the long, low table between the statue and him. The single tie looked pathetic on the table. It was big enough to have room for more adornments than Wild could imagine using. Even before- before the calamity, before his death- he had never had enough ornaments in his hair to fill a table like this.

For a moment, he wondered how he knew that, before a memory began to nudge at the back of his conciseness. This time he doesn't hesitate to allow it to overtake his mind. 

His hands are practiced and steady as they swiftly remove his braids. One by one, the beads and ties holding them in place are removed and set on the gilded table in front of him. 

First comes the main braid falling down his back that marks him as a knight. The blue ribbon and golden bead that declares him as a member of the royal guard are carefully removed and laid in front of him. Then the smaller braid that frames the left side of his face that marks him as a master swordsman.

He leaves that braid on the right side of his face that declares him to be his parent’s son to last, but when he has nothing else to do, he reluctantly unravels that one too, and carefully sets his family bead down on the table.

When he’s finished, he takes a moment to look at his beads and ties laid out on the table he kneels in front of. He’s never used a prayer table as ostentatious as this one before. It’s made of a dark ebony that looks even darker next to the bright golden inlays in the wood. The entire thing is intricately carved. The table is probably worth more than a month of his salary.

It’s nothing to the glamor of the rest of the cathedral, though. Gold glimmers everywhere, glinting in the midday sun that finds its way through the large stained glass windows behind the altar. The ceiling arches high over his head, gloriously painted with the story of Hylia descending to live among mortals during the time of the first chosen hero.

His breath sounds too loud in the large space. His heart beat rushing in his ears drowns out the sounds of shuffling and coughs from the nobles who sit in the pews behind where he and Zelda kneel. The King sits there too, and Link feels himself straighten up subconsciously at the thought of the King watching him.

Zelda takes much longer than him to finish unbraiding and brushing out her hair.

Her hair is longer than his. She is a princess, with more time in her day to spend on formalities such as brushing it and braiding it, and he is a knight who needs to keep his hair a slightly shorter length than most people. To do otherwise was simply asking for trouble on the battlefield. Not only that, but she has many more ornaments than he would ever need. 

He knows the meaning of some of them, while others are a mystery to him. The one braid she’s working on right now has four beads woven into it. Each of the beads were gifted to her by the different tribes of Hyrule. One from the Gerudo, one from the Gorons, one from the Zora, and one from the Rito. They showed their support of the young princess, and symbolized their loyalty to her future reign. 

Link feels slightly awkward waiting for her to finish. He’s not sure what to do while he waits, or where to look. It feels wrong to look at her while she unbraids her hair. It’s too vulnerable and intimate. Things like this should be kept for the privacy of your own home, or at the very least, your own bunk in the barracks, where the other recruits have the decency to look away. Not here in a cathedral with scores of people looking on. But then again, Zelda is a princess. She's been doing ceremonies like this her entire life. She’s probably more than used to it by now. 

He lets his eye fall on the stony visage of Hylia that stares back down at him while he waits- it seems like the safest place to look- and tries to forget the many other stares burning into his back.

He shivered slightly when he snapped back to the present. It had cooled down significantly since he went under, and a brisk breeze was blowing against his chilled skin. This memory seemed to have lasted a bit longer than the first, for the air to have cooled off this much, but the sun had not yet set, so it couldn’t have been too long.

It was an odd feeling. He was once more in Hylia’s sight, bare and unlabeled. He was no longer Link, the warrior, the knight, the hero. He is no longer Link, his mother’s son. He is no longer Link, lover of the Zora princess. He is just Link, himself. 

Somehow, he felt ten times as bare and open and vulnerable before the goddess here, in a small shrine within a small village, with a small audience- if anyone was watching him at all- then he did in that great cathedral, with seemingly half the world looking on.

This was not the first time he had prayed to Hylia, but it was the first time he had ever had use of the table in front of her shrine.

He does not know how spiritual he had been before he died. He doesn’t even know if he had ever prayed to the goddess of his own accord, and not as part of some ceremony.  But then he had woken up in that tomb, somehow stumbled into the Temple on the Great Plateau, and found that statue of Hylia. 

It was smaller than the one in his memory, less imposing, but somehow it seemed all the more holy for it. There had been a presence there that he had never felt before, but which seemed overwhelmingly familiar regardless. The face of the statue had been weathered away by a hundred years of rain and wind that seeped into the temple through the ruined walls and roof, but its hazy features had made him straighten up and run a self-conscious hand through his hair. 

He hadn’t known why he had felt the urge at the time. 

He hadn’t known why the ghost king had looked upon him with such surprise when he first laid eyes on the newly awakened hero.

Now, when he thinks back to his tangled hair, messy from a hundred years of sleep, and wet with the slippery liquid that had filled the Shrine, he cringes. 

The ghost king had been kind enough to instruct him to bathe in one of the many shallow ponds on the Plateau. That had at least gotten rid of the clear goo from the shrine, which had still clung to him hours after he crawled his way out of his tomb. He had owned no comb to untangle and straighten his hair, and his fingers were of little use, not with all the knots, but his hair had at least been clean.

The cleanliness had not lasted long after he had gotten off the plateau. Wild didn’t even want to think about what he must have looked like when he wandered into Kakariko. 

At the time, he hadn’t understood why Dorian had refused to let him up the stairs to Impa’s house. 

Paya had been the one to get Dorain to let him up the stairs, insisting that he did in fact, need to speak to Impa, quite urgently, and she would be more than enough to protect her grandmother if need be. 

He didn't doubt she would have been able to protect Impa. Paya was a shy girl,  and remained flustered around him to this day, but she was the granddaughter to the leader of the last remnants of the Sheikah. The Sheikah were a warrior people, and Paya was not an exception. She was more than a match for him, most days. Back then, when he was still weak from the shrine, all skinny, and learning to provide for himself, and skittish of people in general, Wild had no doubt she would have been able to protect Impa had he had tried anything

Regardless, it was a miracle they had let him talk to Impa in the state he had been in.

Since then, he’d learned. Partly from his memories, and partly from the kindness of Dorain, Paya, Bolson, and others, he had learned why it was important to keep himself presentable, to brush his hair, and keep it clean, even if he refused to braid it.  

He knew they disapproved of him wearing it unbraided.They thought he had done nothing to strip him of that right.

It didn’t matter what they thought. It was his hair. It was his choice.

He bowed his head over his single hair tie, and started his prayers.

~~~

Zelda found him later. 

She approached only after he had finished praying, and had sat himself on the edge of the small island the goddess statue rested on. He had no doubt that she had already introduced herself to the other heroes in the meantime. Or rather, interrogated them. No doubt she was bursting with questions. He had tried to preemptively answer as many as he could them in the letter he had sent to her when the group had visited Rito Village, but he had no doubt she had come up with more. 

When she sat down though, she didn’t interrogate him, instead sitting silently next to him. When he finally looked up from the water, he saw she wore a single pearl strung on a thin silver chain. 

She was not wearing it as a necklace.

The chain was woven into her crown of hair, the pearl coming to rest in the middle of her forehead. 

It wasn't a crown. Not really. But it was close enough. Everyone would know what it meant. 

“Sidon gave it to me,” She admitted. “He asked me… if I would wear it. I said yes,” She rushed on with her words, as if she thought Wild was going to interrupt her. “He doesn't understand the true importance of wearing braids, but he understands a little about wearing crowns… about the weight of the kingdom resting on you. And he didn’t even ask me to grow my hair out, he only asked me to wear one pearl. Just one.” 

She was breathless by the time she finished, and refused to look at Wild, like she was afraid he would tell her she wasn’t worthy of this. As if he would be angry with her for healing, when he himself didn’t know if he could bring himself to. 

She was right. Sidon did not share the same traditions as the Hylians and the Sheikah. None of the Zora did. (How could they? None of them had hair. The Gorons, and the Rito were the same. The Gerudo as well. Although they did have hair, they didn’t share very many traditions and practices with Hylians.) Sidon did not understand the tradition. But he did understand the pressure of ruling, the seemingly insurmountable task that Zelda was facing alone. Sidon knew that part of Zelda’s struggles far more intimately than Wild could ever hope to.

Not knowing what he could say. Wild said nothing. He leaned against her, tucking his head into the crook of her neck. Soft strands of her hair tickled his nose. She didn’t push him away, allowing him to stay. Her eyes remained fixed on the ripping water in front of them, which gleamed in the very last rays of the settling sun. She didn’t even seem to be paying attention when her hand automatically lifted and settled itself in his thick locks. 

Her hand carded through his hair slowly, working out non-existent tangles. She leaned away from him, and he let her, but instead of standing, or continuing to stare at the water, she turned to him, and motioned for him to face away from her.

He does. 

Her fingers were practiced and sure as she worked with his hair. She’s had the duty of braiding her own hair since she was released from the calamity, and her fingers have grown much steadier since she began.

He knows what braid she gives him. He does not ask, and she does not say, but he knows. It is one he has never won before, even before the Calamity, when he had done nothing to earn it yet except draw a sacred sword. 

He remains quiet, passive- which he realizes is very unlike himself- when Zelda reaches behind them, takes his hair tie from the prayer table. There's a moment of stillness between them, and neither of them break it, except to settle back together to ward off the evening chill. Wild’s sure they make an odd pair pressed together: a crownless princess with a pearl woven into her hair, and a disgraced knight with the hero’s braid in his hair.

#i know most of them don't actually have hair long enough to braid but shhhh i'm ignoring canon #one of your favs in botw has short hair??? not anymore #Wild and Flora are in a QPR #mint's fanfiction #linked universe #Lu fanfiction #Lu wild #Lu wind #Lu twilight #Lu hyrule #Lu time #Lu four #Lu sky #Lu warriors #Lu legend #self harm #implied self harm #emotional self harm #metaphorical self harm #hair braiding #hair cuts #lu flora

[sunflowerandstrawberryspice]

More Song the Ninjago Fandom is missing out on

Alright folks guess who's back with more songs for you AND a playlist with them!

I've been having fun with this and I love talking about why I associate certain songs with certain characters I love doing it and I really do wish I was able to do animatics myself. But any who here are more songs! (Song-artist)

AS ALWAYS MAJOR SPOILERS

Violet- Marianne Ross: This song is SOOOOO Lloyd thinking about Harumi (I will in fact ignore Crystalized existence again), like it's all about thinking about someone who hurt you deeply and still thinking of them even though they treated you poorly. Lyrics: "When I think of violet I think of you I see you tryin got make is cool" Harumi trying to justify herself to Lloyd. "My mind reminds me of a purple hue, matched the sight of another bruise" Do I have to say more? Like Lloyd clearly cared about Harumi and she emotionally and physically beat the shit outta him

Like a Villain- Bad Omens: This song could totally be used for Morro or Garmadon in my opinion, the song is about someone talking to a person who unknowingly or not pushed them past the edge of no return. Lyrics: "Look into my face then look again we're not the same we're different" For Garmadon this could be a representation of the Great Devourer taking over his mind and transforming him and for Morro this could his transformation from a starry eyes kid to a depressed and evil ghost. "You need a new clean slate with out the dents" This could be either of them addressing Wu cause lets be honest neither of them have an all to peachy relationship with him, Morro especially who saw Wu with this new set of Ninja who are happier than he ever was who Wu treated like family while pretending Morro never existed. "I know that you tried your hardest I know that you meant well but you pushed me to the edge and I slipped and then I fell" For Morro this could totally be Wu's intense training and the way he made Morro believe he'd be the green ninja only for that to be false which kinda drove him crazy, or it could be used for Garmadon on him and Wu's journey in Spinjitzu Brothers to find the tea to heal Garmadon while the journey was supposed to get something to heal Garmadon it ended up just making him feel worse about himself and his place in the world. There's a bunch more awesome lyrics but we'd be here all day if I explained all of them.

Fourth of July- Sufjan Stevens: This one is a teny tiny bit of a reach but hear me out. Zane and his father. So we know that Dr. Julien passes away sometime I believe before season three takes place and it's said he died of natural causes and I'm just saying this could make a pretty decent song since I feel like Zane and Dr. Julien's really sweet father son relationship gets over looked a bit probably since he died so early on and we didn't get to see Zane mourn much afterwards. Lyrics: "And I'm sorry I left but it was for the best" Could totally be used for when Dr. Julien turned off his memory switch and everything. I don't have many particular phrases since the song is almost like a back and forth, but there are a lot of bird references which also works well for Zane.

Icarus-Luvbug: Now this could work for a couple different Ninjago parents since it's mostly about losing a child but I think it would work best with either the FSM feeling bad for what happened to Garmadon (if you want to make him less awful that is cause in cannon his feels about Garmadon are... slightly concerning like sir you're not supposed to hate your own child) Garmadon feeling bad about how Lloyd had to "kill" the child part of himself to lead the ninja, or Maya after Nya merged with the sea and how she wanted to badly to be there for her only for her to end up gone.

Little Lion Man- Mumford & sons: Misako and Lloyd, just trust me okay? Like it's all about someone blaming themselves how someone turned out and in a better world we would have gotten Misako canonically feeling awful for how Lloyd's childhood went due to the fact she decided to dump him gods know where (Darkly's is a boarding school and Lloyd doesn't remember his mother when he meets her so I'm assuming he was probably somewhere else before there?) but instead I'll settle for fan interpretation and I feel like this song would make a great Misako animatic. "But it was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line" and "Now learn from your mother or else spend you days biting your own neck" and "Tremble for yourself, my man, you know that you have seen this all before"

Sorry the list is a little shorter this time but honestly sometimes I don't have full explanations for songs I just have like general vibes, like my excuse is literally just: trust, with little to no explanation. Like:

The Archer- Taylor Swift: Lloyd, Cole or Sora

Don't meet your idols- Everybody's worried about Owen: Jay (cause his bio father was his idol ig?) or Nya (I have no clue man)

Your sister was right- Wilbur Soot: Jay

Punching Bag- The Front Bottoms: Kai

Runs in the Family-Amanda Palmer: Lloyd, Garmadon, Wu, Cole, Sora and honestly just most of them tbh

Friends- Sonic Sea Turtles: Cole, Lloyd, Jay and Garmadon

Idk y'all my brain is actually just one big Lego brick.

#ninjago #ninjutsu #spinjitzu #ninjago secrets of the forbidden spinjitzu #zane ninjago #cole ninjago #lloyd garmadon #nya ninjago #garmadon ninjago #ninjago kai #jay ninjago #wu ninjago #ninjago misako #maya ninjago #ninjago fsm #princess harumi #ninjago Dr. Julien #sora ninjago #dragons rising ninjago #Spotify

[sailoryooons]

Vicious Girl | One Shot | myg (m)

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Celebrating Agust D is your new favorite pastime

❀ Word Count: 6,119

❀ Genre: Older brothers best friend, f2l, a lil' angst

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Recreational drinking (sipping some champagne at a party) explicit language, implied sexual references, a TINY bit of self-doubt from OC (literally maybe a 2-second thought), sexually explicit content including unprotected vaginal sex, nipple worship, oral (m. receiving), dirty talk, cowgirl, emotional sex, spit play tbh this is super tame

❀ Published: June 13, 2022

❀ A/N: This one shot is a part of the Mixtape mini-series that I did. This can absolutely be read as a standalone, but it might be a teeny more rewarding to read Mixtape first.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Series Masterlist | Extra Chapter | Extra Chapter 2

Velvet does the body good, you think as you look in the full-length mirror. The hemline comes mid-thigh and you’ve swapped your boots for heels for the night. You begrudgingly admit that heels do accentuate your legs, despite the fact that they’re going to hurt your feet eventually. Perhaps if you complain enough, your dotting boyfriend will give you a foot massage.

You toss the idea out the window. The weekend is about him – you’ve scraped out a tiny amount of time to fly back home to support him – and you want to make sure that your focus is on him entirely. Yoongi always has a way of making it about you and though you love that about him, you feel like you never quite do for him what he does for you.

It's a good thing he has a full mirror. In fact, there are so many things about Yoongi’s apartment that you appreciate. For starters, he has more than a single pillow and his sheets are a soft, slate grey – not navy. He also has décor - not movie posters or boxes of beer flattened to look like wall ornamentation. There are plants in his minimalist apartment, muted greens among the greys, whites and blacks. Yoongi even has multiple towels for his face, body and for drying hands.

Yoongi has his shit together – almost always has – but you like that about him.

“Holy fuck, hurry up!” You heard Seokjin yell from the kitchen.

You sigh. Grabbing the small clutch on a gold chain, you rush out of Yoongi’s room. Every room in his two-bedroom apartment smells different. The bedroom warm with sandalwood and mint, the living room like vanilla and a little bit of spice, the kitchen clean citrus.

Seokjin leans against the marble, island countertop. He's looking down at his cellphone, scrolling away. He's dressed in black slacks, a white shirt, and an unbuttoned suit jacket. His hair is styed back, opening up his handsome face. Seokjin looks good like this. Mature.

Yoongi's apartment is dark and warm. You love the muted tones, the way he balances how it looks lived in while being clean. Your eyes dart to the boots near the couch, laces pulled like he was in a hurry. You move without thinking about it, picking them up by the ankles and walking to the door, heels clicking. Seokjin finally looks up at you as you place Yoongi’s shoes carefully on the rack by the door.

“You’re wearing that?” Seokjin demands, making you look at him with wide eyes. “That dress is way too short!”

“Please don’t start,” you sigh, holding a hand up. “Your brotherly instincts are not needed.”

The velvet, black dress hugs you generously. The straps are thin but secure, and your hair is in a whispy bun, a few curled pieces loose. There is a mysterious splotch on your neck covered with concealer and a light layer of powder, but it’s not super obvious.

Seokjin scoffs and jingles his keys. He arrived fifteen minutes prior to pick you up and drive you to the hotel, where Yoongi is already at for his media time. The release party is a few minutes away and you’re runny a tad behind.

Down the elevator and across a luxurious lobby, Seokjin rushes you onward as you slid into the sleek interior of his car. It smells just like it always does – leather cleaner, a hint of cologne, and the god-awful scent in the shape of Christmas tree that hang from the mirror.

You snap the scent hanger off, earning a yell from him. “Please,” you beg. “You are a grown man. Get rid of the black ice scent.”

You toss it to the back as Seokjin launches into a lecture about how you should behave in his car. You tune him out for the most part, content to be in a city familiar to you with Seokjin giving you a tough time. It wouldn’t be home without bickering with your brother.

It wouldn’t be home without the lingering presence of Yoongi.

But it’s the first time that you’re home since you’ve started dating. The massive home that holds all those pre-relationship memories sits empty. Your parents are out of town – somewhere like the Maldives, you think. Yoongi’s parents are also vacationing, though it’s off the coast of China somewhere.

You chew your lip. You try not to be annoyed that your parents booked a trip even after you said you were visiting. Your visits home were few and far between – this particular trip was specifically driven by your desire to support Yoongi’s album release.

The label had wanted to give him blowout event somewhere glitzy and filled with socialites and media. Yoongi, ever the fan of lowkey functions, nixed that idea. He wanted his celebration to be at home, with his closest friends, the people from the label who mattered, media outlets who gave him the time of day when he was getting his start, and a few partners and important people in the industry.

Still, the hotel is beautiful. The valet bows his head lightly when he takes the car, and the label floors are so polished they show your reflection. You smile when you see the sign that mentions the Sky Terrace is closed for a private event.

Chewing your lip and fishing your phone out, you snap a picture of it. It feels cheesy, but you don’t care. You grin one last time at the sign.

Sky Terraced Closed for Private Event

Agust D Release Party on floor seventeen

Seokjin rolls his eyes, calling you over. You rush again, holding your purse against your hip as it bounces wildly.

An elevator attendant requests an invitation. You flash yours and he hits the seventeenth floor on the elevator. You have it to yourself, the jazz music playing as Seokjin adjusts his suit jacket in the mirrored wall.

“You look fine,” you chastise.

“I have a hot FaceTime date after this. I’m nervous.”

“Suri is already your girlfriend.”

“Still nervous.”

You smirk at the red tips of his ears as he clears his throat and stands still. “Cute.”

Music thumps as you reach the top floor. Before the doors an open, you can hear the voices and the music.

The elevator doors peel away to a view of the rooftop bar area. There are string lights zig-zagging across the space, casting a warm glow on the deck. A stone bar lit with soft lighting along the wall takes up the right side of the rooftop. Lounge chairs and high-tops are placed strategically on the deck. A DJ is in the corner with a large posterboard of Yoongi’s album cover.

People mill about the space, conversation humming above the music. Servers walk around with finger foods and flutes of champagne. You nick a glass of champagne for you and your brother, siping on the sweet bubbles as you scan the crowd.

Finding Yoongi is an instinctual talent. You could find him in any space, like a magnetic pull humming here here here any time you share a room with him. He’s over by the bar, elbow leaning on the top of a high-back chair as he nods, listening to what the man in front of him is saying.

Yoongi looks breathtaking. You do where rose-colored glasses any time you look at him, but you know that even without the bias and attraction that comes from being in a relationship with him, that he is absolutely stunning.

Dressed in a black button up that’s tucked into black slacks, he foregoes the suit jacket. His shoulders look particularly broad, buttons straining as he laughs at something. His dark hair has grown long, curling at the back of his neck, sands silky soft. You’d spent most of the evening after your plane flight running your hands through his hair, tugging them to pull moans from him most of the night.

You never wanted him to cut his hair again.

Earrings caught the string lighting as you walked toward him. You were envious of how narrow his waist looked, wrapped neatly in the designer belt and black slacks. How he could look so impossibly model-like was beyond you. Because it was Yoongi – the guy who was usually in ripped jeans, a t-shirt and a hat pulled so low on his head you could barely see the cat-eyes.

Said cat-eyes look up at you over the shoulder of the man he is talking to. You will never get used to the way Yoongi’s eyes glitter when they notice you in a room. It's an obvious shift, his eyes narrowing slightly every time he sets his sights on you. You can see the way the rest of the room melts away – eyes only for you.

Yoongi excuses himself gently with a firm hand on the shoulder, a gummy smile and a bow of his head. Sandalwood envelops you as his grin spreads further, your heart beating faster as his hands find home on your waist, pulling you in immediately.

“Hi,” he breaths, sweet breath fanning your face. You’re tucked against hist chest, his heartbeat matching yours, fingers firm on your hips. His eyes flicker all over your face, dark gaze endless. “You look beautiful.”

“You’re one to talk. You look incredible.”

“Well I think I look great,” Seokjin huffs from behind you.

You grimace but Yoongi takes your brother’s interruption in slide. He always does. Yoongi finds it so easy to accept Seokjin’s jesting, complaints and interruptions to your relationship. Because Yoongi knows that there could have been an alternative where Seokjin never forgave him for sleeping with his baby siter. Where Seokjin would never let you exist like this, without guilt and in Yoongi’s arms.

The thought makes you surge forward, catching Yoongi’s lips for a quick, soft kiss. Your eyes flutter open to reveal a gummy smile and unfiltered affection. You burn under that gaze, stomach flipping as you pull away from him. Yoongi doesn’t let you get far, hand wrapped around your waist.

“Seokjin, you are always the epitome of beauty in any room,” Yoongi assures your brother, though his eyes are downcast at you. He squeezes your waist and you hide your smile by sipping the champagne. “Come on, I want to introduce you both to some people.”

Names are not your forte. You try to remember them anyway, relating names and relations and jobs to faces. It's an hour in and you hate that you’ve forgotten so many already. There are familiar faces to you, of course. Taehyung and Jimin show up late, but they blow kisses at you while Yoongi introduces you to one of the senior producers at his label.

Warmth spreads from your fingers to your toes at how everyone treats Yoongi. They boy their heads, their words are respectful. They tell you how he’s helped them, how he always volunteers to assist on projects that have nothing to do with him or won’t bring him notoriety. How he has a fascinating mind for music, how he can turn an unfinished melody into something greater.

These people love him. They respect him. And the blush as he ducks his head and shrugs off another compliment as he laughs only spurs you further, smile growing. You're so stupidly proud of him, especially when they start giving toasts and listing his accomplishments.

Yoongi hates being the center of attention, but you see the way his eyes glimmer. He's proud of himself too. He accepts them with grace, a smile and polite words. He knows that the praise isn’t coming from nowhere. He is humble, but he isn’t stupid.

A glass of champagne appears in front of you as Yoongi materializes from between a group. You're leaning on the balcony overseeing the city, Taehyung and Jimin at your side as they argue over something with Hoseok. Namjoon and Lydia have stopped by for a moment before rushing off to her mother’s birthday dinner, but you’re happy they stopped by at all.

You accept the glass of champagne just as your phone begins to ring. You fish it out, grinning when you see the name on the phone. You swipe, opening up the FaceTime and turn it to Yoongi who glances in confusion until Jungkook appears on the screen, grinning.

“Congrats, bro!” Jungkook hollers. There are wireless headphones around his neck RBG lights circling around and around. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I signed this stupid contract before I knew the date for your party.”

“I hope you’re not live,” Yoongi notes with an eyebrow raise. Jungkook makes a face and double checks before confirming he’s not. “That’s okay, Jungkookie. You know I love seeing you make your own money.”

Jungkook is shy at that. Tonight, he’s debuting a new sponsor that he partnered with, and you have blessedly been able to give him the apartment to himself while he streams the new game. Even though he no longer streams exclusively content for your studio, you’re so stupidly happy for Jungkook’s success as a streamer.

And so is Yoongi, if his smile is anything to tell.

Congratulations and well wishes shoot back and forth. You rest your head on Yoongi’s chest, sipping the champagne as he holds your phone so you can both see Jungkook. When the phone call ends, you’re still like that, back pressed against his chest and your head tucked into his neck.

You’ve drifted away from your friends, and Yoongi’s coworkers and colleagues leave the two of you alone in your little corner of the event space.

“They did an amazing job decorating,” you hum, watching as people pose at the photobooth. The photos from the professional photographer are promised to be delivered to you soon. Snapshots of you smiling with his arm around your waist, him crushing his lips to your cheek as you screeched. A cheesy one of him dipping you. “It’s beautiful.”

He hums. “Hardly the most beautiful thing here tonight.” Yoongi’s fingers trace the hem of your dress on your thigh, making you shiver. You make a small sound, fueled by the glasses of champagne and being close to him. He smirks. “I like your dress.”

“Seokjin hates it.”

“Because Seokjin knows how much my mouth waters seeing you in it.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmmm.” He noses your forehead. “Wanna head out?”

“You can’t leave! It's your party.”

“Exactly, which means I can do whatever I want. I’ve done all the press, kissed all the babies and knighted all the loyal men. I’m allowed to leave.”

“You sure you don’t have any more babies to kiss?”

“Just one,” he mutters against the skin of your temple, mouth damp from the champagne. “But she’s arguing with me.”

You purse your lips as he laughs, sound deep. Your toes curl. “Okay, let’s leave.”

The goodbye rounds are quick. Yoongi thanks everyone for coming out – doesn't miss a single person. He thanks the staff, heading to the bar and leaving a massive tip. Personally thanking the photographer, the DJ, the event host, the people in the lobby.

There's not a single person he misses, clapping the shoulder of a server and making sure he kept Yoongi’s card to send his work to. You stare at him as he leads you to valet, who is already swinging the door to his car open.

“What?” he asks as he helps you in, callused hands gentle in your own.

You don’t answer until he rounds the car and gets in the other side. “You’re just...” You trail off and gesture to him. “You’re so good at this.”

“Yeah,” he notes. He pulls out of the drive and onto the road. He switches driving hands, left hand on the top of the wheel as he navigates the city confidently while the right finds home on your thigh. Immediately your skin sparks at the contact. “But it’s exhausting.”

“I know.”

Your eyes are on him, searching. He notices, glancing at you from the corner of his vision. His hand squeezes your thigh playfully ask he repeats himself. “What?”

“I’m really happy for you.”

The words are too simple for how you feel. They don't’ really convey what you mean. You struggle to form the right sentences, to explain what you really mean. “Not just because your success – that is obviously – I am beyond proud about that. You're incredibly talented and I’m so happy that it’s paying off. You're being rewarded for hard work.”

“You’re being weird.”

“Sorry,” you laugh, breathless. “What I’m getting at is that I’m also proud at the way you handle everyone. You're so incredibly kind and you listen to what people are saying to you. You accept the compliments with grace and you make an effort to make sure that people feel important to your success. I just... I'm proud of you.”

“I couldn’t do it without you.” You roll your eyes but he laughs and says, “I’m serious. You have no idea how much easier it is to be that person – one that can talk and smile and shake hands – when you’re at my side. It's comforting and you help me not get nervous.”

“So do I get a paycheck from you now or later?”

His laughter is throaty, voice deep when he says, “How do you accept payment?”

A shiver dances its way up your spine. You squirm in the seat and his grip on your thigh increases momentarily before his thumb starts brushing in lazy circles. Oh you hate when he does that. He knows how much it sends tingling up your leg to your core, and how hard it is for you to think straight when he traces patterns on your skin.

“A variety of ways,” you manage. He heads downtown toward his apartment. Only a moment away as the tension in the car mounts. “For example, I enjoy donuts.”

“You do enjoy those.”

“And I also really enjoy your cooking.”

“Yes, that is true.”

His hand moves up your thigh, closer to your center and for a moment, your head blanks out. Your eyes are half-lidded as his fingers tease underneath your dress, only to trace back down to your knee and squeeze. “You were saying?”

“Huh?”

He grins like the Cheshire Cat. “You were listing forms of payment.”

“Oh - um – I really enjoy boba tea as well.”

“Do you accept payment in orgasms?” The apartment appears as he heads for the parking garage. Again, his hand brushes backup smooth, warm skin to the top of your thigh, his pointer finger tracing the soft flesh of your inner thigh. “So?”

“Uh - yes. Yes I do.”

Yoongi is parked and opening your door before you can form another sentence or realize that the car is not moving. Your brain is firing in all sorts of directions, trying to snap together anything beyond screaming excitement and arousal.

He holds his hand out to you. “I can pay you inside,” Yoongi says with mock seriousness. “I don’t enjoy outstanding bills.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” He pushes you against the closed door of the car, molding his mouth to yours. The kiss catches you by surprise, his mouth warm and sweet from champagne. Kissing Yoongi is everything – and one of his favorite things – and you’re breathless when he pulls away. “Sweet girl,” he murmurs, fingers brushed one of your loose strands back into place. You look up at him and he grins. “Come on.”

Yoongi's hands are warm. You look down at where your fingers are linked as he leads you through the lobby to the elevator. Hands that created so many memories on the piano for you. That handed you CDs. That touched you and made you feel loved. Hands that made so much success, all celebrated tonight.

You chew your bottom lip as you look up at him in the elevator. His gaze his heated as he looks at you, back pressed against the elevator as it goes up, hands linked between you. His eyes are hunger as they look you up and down, his hair still perfect, save for a few locks that now hang over his eyebrow.

“Hmm?” he tilts his head in a question, lips quirked in a smirk.

“You’re just so talented,” you murmur. “It blows me away sometimes.”

He smirks, raising an eyebrow. Confident, cocky Yoongi takes over. He tugs you sharply, pulling you into his chest harshly. You gasp as his hands drop yours to wrap around you, palming your ass generously over the velvet of your dress, squeezing. You hum a sound that sounds suspiciously like a moan.

“I have other ways to blow your mind.” His voice is deep, soft. You curl your fingers in the collar of his shirt, wrinkling it slightly. You look up at him through your lashes and he groans. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you have stars in your eyes.”

“There are,” you whisper. “I’m looking at you.”

The elevator dings and you walk backward, pulling him along. You smile as he follows you, hypnotized by your eyes and your smile. Yoongi barely seems to register that you’re at his apartment door until you kiss his chin and tap the door. He fumbles and turns red.

You love Yoongi like this. Distracted by you. Enchanted. It makes you giddy, still thrilled every time. The fact that you can make Min Yoongi look like this. The fact that you made him blush. And that he does nothing to hide it. He tells you that you make him nervous, that you’re the one person he has to impress.

The apartment is dark as you enter the door near the kitchen – you smell the citrus but you smell Yoongi’s sandalwood more. You push into him when he closes the door, hands around his waist, hands looking up at him with his chin pressed against his chest.

“Hi,” you breathe.

Yoongi doesn’t answer. He presses his lips to yours in a hungry kiss, content to leave his hands resting on the curves of your hips. The kiss is slow and languid, taking his time with your mouth. He licks into your mouth and you open up to him – you always open up to him. Always will open up to him.

Minutes, hours, days, months or years could pass as you kiss him. Warmth like melted honey seeps through you. Your bones turn pliant and you lean into him, pressing against his chest. Closer. Closer. Closer. If you could bind yourself to him forever, you would.

Forever.

The word is terrifying in your mind, distracting you. You've only been an item for a few months, but already the idea of more, of permanence, of the future is something that lingers on the edge of desire. You don’t voice that desire, don’t ask for more than you already have. Because how can you? The idea of ruining what you have now keeping it at bay.

Yoongi senses your distraction because of course he does. He pulls away, nipping at your bottom lip as he does until it pops out of from his bite and into place. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and pupils blown out.

“Hmm?” he asks, not needing to voice the words. You know what he wants but you press toward him again to kiss him instead. He laughs as you do, tugging you away a little. “Sweet girl,” he warns. “Wanna talk now or later? I feel those little wheels turning.”

“Later.” He squeezes your hips, raising his brows. If you tell him later you have to mean it. You know it’s a promise. Yoongi never forgets – always makes it a point to make sure you talk. “I promise. It’s nothing serious, nothing important.”

“Everything about you is important.”

“What’s important is I want you.”

“Okay.” He kisses you once. Twice. “Okay.”

Settled, Yoongi leads you in a dance of careful feet and smacking lips. He laughs when you stumble and his teeth bump against yours. Your fingers slide in his long hair, silky smooth between hungry fingers. You tug at the ends, scratching close to his scalp. He moans into your mouth.

Legs hit the bed and you go backward, Yoongi’s hands guiding you gently. Always soft, always careful as he hovers over you, teeth going to your neck. You tilt your head to the side, letting him suck marks onto your neck, fingers tangled at the nape of his neck.

“You covered your hicky,” he chuckles, tongue lapping back and forth over the covered, bruised flesh. “I guess I’ll just leave more.”

“I didn’t want people to think I was trashy,” you gasp as he bites down on your sensitive spot, tongue soothing the sting immediately after.

“Not trashy.” He sucks your earlobe into his mouth, nibbling. “Mine.”

You feel the unsaid words. That he can leave them on you without being found out. That a simple mark that was once forbidden is only a small eyesore now. Yoongi rolls his hips into yours, showing you how effective your touch on him is. You let out a breathy sound and he hums, biting down your collarbones to the unmarked flesh.

“So beautiful.”

Pressing a knee against his hip and hands on his shoulders, you push and roll. It's not as smooth as you want it to be; you land on him a little hard and you bump noses, but it doesn’t matter. He's laughing as he brushes the loose strands from your face to look at you.

Eager fingers work the buttons of his shirt. He runs his hands up and down the sides of your thighs. Your dress has risen above the swell of your ass, underwear on full display.

“Wanna reward you,” you mumble, hands a little clumsy under his watchful eyes and heated palms. “For being so talented, and hardworking and absolutely thoughtful. You thanked every single person there, made them feel special.”

“I thought I was supposed to blow your mind tonight.”

“Okay maybe after I blow you first.”

Yoongi’s laugh reverberates through you as you rid him of his shirt. His skin is smooth and beautiful, firmer since he’s started working out. You don’t care what the canvas looks like, as long as it belongs to Yoongi.

Your mouth explores his chest, sucking marks into his skin, bruising him so eagerly. He lets you nipple and lick, his hands, exploring your sides and squeezing the flesh he can get his hands on. He’s a vision beneath you, especially when he leans on his elbows, lifting himself to watch you unbutton the belt and dress pants.

A moan falls from your mouth as Yoongi lifts his hips to lead you pull the pants and boxers down in one, swift tug. His heavy cock bounces against his stomach, tip leaking precum and swollen read, ready for you.

You never stop being impressed by him. You settle between his spread legs, face down and ass up as you gather spit on your mouth, opening to let it dribble on his tip as you grasp his cock. He jerks at the sensation, moaning deep in his throat as he watches the spit wet the head. You’re quick to follow, licking the crown of his cock before running your tongue down his shaft, carful to spread spit as much as possible.

The sounds Yoongi makes are heaven as you begin to pump his cock in earnest, spreading his cum and your spit up and down his shaft while you tentatively suckle his tip. He throws his head back, eyes closed to the ceiling as you run your tongue around the tip again.

Carefully, you take him back in your mouth, the slide glorious as you take him as far as you can in one go. You set a steady pace, sucking vigorously and letting spit dribble from the side of your mouth to lubricate what you can’t fit, hand pumping him into your lips.

A tattooed arm comes up and fists the back of your hair, fingers tangled in the clip. Yoongi’s eyes are on you now – his hand is firm, but he doesn’t push or pull. “Fuck you look so good sucking my cock like that.”

You moan around him, wiggling your ass at the praise. His eyes shoot to where your ass is up in the air, framed by dainty lace. “Fuck you’re so hot,” he moans. You hum, making him moan again as you take him deeper, fucking him into your mouth. “just like that sweet girl.”

The sounds he makes spurs you on. He’s laid out for you, naked and flushed. You look up at him through your lashes, watching the way he grits his teeth, a soft snarl on his mouth. One hand is fisted in the sheets, the other nudging you a little fasters, his hips twitching upward occasionally.

Your eyes meat as you sink all the way down and pause, swallowing around him.

“Fuck,” Yoongi growls. He pulls you off his cock by the hair, and toward him. You protest but he presses messy, wet open mouth kisses against you. “I know you wanna suck me off all night, but I wanna fuck you. Now.”

“Yoongi,” you whine between spit and teeth.

“Sorry baby.” He doesn’t sound sorry.

He grabs the hem of your dress and pulls it over your head. He groans when he sees you’re not wearing a bra, leaning up to catch a nipple in his mouth. He shifts so that he has you cradled in his lap, his hands pressing against your back to hold you against his mouth. Your fingers tangle in his hair against as his tongue runs from one pert bud to the other.

Yoongi’s teeth pull at your nipple and you moan loudly, yanking his hair to pull him back. He looks up at you, lips glossy with spit. “I wanted to reward you.”

He slaps your ass, making you squeak and he grins. “Ride me then,” he offers, voice scratchy. “Wanna suck these perfect fucking tits while you fuck yourself on my cock.”

A huff of air escapes you. What comes out of his mouth is always surprising, it doesn’t matter how many times you’ve heard it.

You lift yourself over him as he grabs the base of his cock, running it back and forth up your slit. You moan as he pays close attention to your clit, making you buck your hips. He smiles into your chest.

“Always so fucking wet,” he notes, breathless. His top prods your entrance and you skin down slowly on him, gasping and casting your head back as his girth stretches you perfectly.

Your wet enough that the slide is bearable, but Yoongi’s cock still stretches you. He’s buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around him as you adjust, panting. He carefully leans back against the headboard, hands tracing up your sides to cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

He smiles, leaning forward. “Take your time,” the tip of his tongue flicks over your right nipple, giving you goosebumps. “I’m content right where I am.”

A moan escapes your mouth as he wraps his lips around a nipple. Your eyes flutter shut and you toss your head back, content to let his mouth suckle on your bud, his finger brushing back and forth on the other. Sparks shoot down your spine, his hot mouth sending you into overdrive as your cunt adjusts around him.

Slowly, you roll your hips. He moans, detaching his mouth to trail to the other nipple, giving it the same attention. There are no parts of you that Yoongi does love – breasts, thighs, stomach, ass – he worships it all. Will bite any part of you, kiss every inch of your skin.

Yoongi drives you wild as you slowly roll your hips back and forth, in no hurry to fuck yourself on him wildly. It feels amazing. Heat throbs between your legs and you feel the sweat slick on your spine and neck, your eyes shut as you let your hips follow a natural pace.

Beneath you, Yoongi makes sounds of appreciation. He takes breaks from lavishing your breasts to suck on your neck as you ride him slowly, rolling your hips back enough to make the slide deep. At this angle, Yoongi’s cock brushes against your g-spot without much maneuvering, making you shake in his lap.

Every part of you is trembling. You lose yourself in the way Yoongi holds you to him, mouth paying penance to everywhere he can reach. Your orgasm creeps, but neither of you rush the pace. You’re in no hurry to fuck each other to the end of the line, content to just feel.

A deep sound escapes Yoongi’s throat as he leans his head on the headboard, looking up at you. You feel his heated gaze, drawing your attention the same way he does anytime you enter the same room. Your hands go to the back of his neck, twisting your fingers there. His hands go to your hips, helping you with a new pattern of lifting and slamming back down on him.

Wet smacks fuel you further. You’re not fucking him fast but you’re fucking him deep and his eyes are burning so much it doesn’t feel like fucking anymore.

You can barely catch your breath. His skin is burning against yours, sound like whines leaving his mouth. You press your face close, noses bumping as his fingers dig into your hips. You’re shooting toward the sky, a star going going going, ready to fucking explode.

Yoongi tilts his head, his mouth brushing yours. “I love you.”

Everything shatters. You scream into his mouth, body going rigid as you cum around him hard. You’re gasping through it, white blinding you behind squeezed eyelids. Yoongi lets out a loud sound between a gasp and groan, cumming immediately from how worked up you got him with your mouth and how hard you’ve cum on his cock.

Panting, you sit there for a moment. You feel cum dripping down your thighs, but you don’t care. Your mind is spinning after your orgasm and replaying what he said.

I love you.

Min Yoongi is telling you he loves you. The man of your dreams as a child. The childhood crush you could never have. The man that you had, and then almost lost. The man that coaxed truths out of you, even when you were embarrassed of them.

He says it so easily. So freely. He’s not tense under you, his hands rubbing up and down your back, lips soft and pliant against your jaw as he helps you recover after an intense orgasm. There is nothing in his posture that suggest anxiety or regret.

Slowly, you pull away from him, looking down. His brow is sweaty, ebony hair pressed against his skin. Delicately, you brush it out of his eyes, drawing that pinpoint stare to you. You lick your lips. “You love me?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, smiling at you. Settles further into the bed with you still in his lap, making no move to pull out of you. “Course I do. You’re amazing. I’ve loved you for a very long time.”

“Really?”

“You should be more confident in your abilities to woo men.” You smack his chest. He laughs for a moment before turning serious, looking up at you with stars in his eyes. “Of course I love you. I’ve always loved you – it just took a little bit of time for me to unlock it.” You nodded, a little lost in his gaze. “You okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m sorry. I just have always wanted to hear you say that and I’m really happy.” You pause. “And a little scared. Because I have everything I’ve ever wanted, and I don’t want it to go away.”  

He kisses you softly. “Is that why you looked a little lost at the doorway earlier?” You nod. “I’ve been here for most of your life,” he reminds you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’m here for good. I’m not saying let’s get married tomorrow, but I have no intention of ever letting you walk down the aisle for anyone else. Ever.”

A smile curls your lips. “I’ll never let you marry someone else,” you promise him. “I can fight.”

Yoongi grins. “Sure you can.”

“I am very vicious.”

He hums and shifts, lifting you off his soft cock. You whine but he shuts you up with a kiss. “Come on my vicious girl,” he teases. “Let’s shower.”

“Okay.”

“And hey,” he says, making you pause. “I love you.” He kisses your temple. “Vicious girl.”

Extra Chapter | Extra Chapter 2

#min yoongi smut #min yoongi fanfic #suga bts #suga smut #bts suga #min yoongi #bangtan boys #bts smut #bts fanfic #suga fanfic #yoongi x reader #non idol au #haliiimedemasterlist #fic: mixtape #minors dni #minors do not interact

[tbcanary]

Hiii, I love ur edits so so much!! Was just wondering, how did you edit the last gif for the lucius fox edit? The way the glasses reflected was so cool to me

hello! this is a very good question, and i'm happy to answer it for you. but i feel like I should say to start that this is a pretty convoluted thing, the way i do it. i am almost positive someone else out there does it in a simpler and more straightforward way than i do. that being said, I can show you my process!

the main tools for this particular trick are layer masks and the animation timeline tool. i’ll also be using the movement/selection tools, but those are pretty straightforward I think? we’ll see, i guess!

i’m going to use this catwoman panel as an example.

let's start out by cropping it in and removing all the text bubbles/extra things, just to get a blank slate. i have a tutorial on how I edit panels here, and how I size them here, if that’s something you need. It’s not really necessary for this trick, but I like a clean visual.

i end up with something like this:

now you’ll want to make a new blank layer on top of this one. this will be the one you work on. this part comes down to kind of personal preference/artistic decision making, but you want to fill this blank layer with the sliding effect you want to have. this would be the reflection in lucius’ glasses, or the arrows in this ga/gl gifset.

(it looks very silly, I know. trust the process on this one.)

then, on the layer where I’ve just drawn the white lines, I am going to create a layer mask. select “layer” in the toolbar, find “layer mask,” and select “reveal all.” this won’t change anything about the visual at this point, but it’s necessary for creating this effect.

two things to do right away: unlink the lines from the mask by clicking the little “chain” between the two, and select the layer mask itself to work on.

wrong:

right:

(ignore groups one and two, by the way. those are just old versions of the panel/lines in case i screw up and need to go back to a previous one for some reason. you don’t have to do that; i’m allergic to the delete button.)

use the selection tool to pick the area where you want the affect to appear. for me, that’s all the yellow facets of the diamond, so i’ve outlined it like so:

on the layer mask, fill those sections with black. then hit either ctrl+i or command+i to invert the layer mask, so the white portions become black and the black portions become white. in my case, this makes the white lines… disappear! magic.

basically, what the layer mask is doing is choosing when the pixels on a layer show up. by coloring something in, you’re saying, ‘I don’t want the white lines to show up when they live in this space.’ so because you’ve inverted it, you’ve turned everything outside of the area you want to animate into a no-show zone, and only the area you want to work on is left.

this is probably not a very good explanation. sorry about that. mess around with it on your own and I guarantee it’ll make sense.

we are now done creating the layer mask! click on the layer itself to make sure you’re working on that for this next bit, like so:

this next part is like. actually really hard to explain. but i’ll try my best.

i’ve done a tutorial on how I animate gifs before. some of that might help here, but it does function a little differently. first, you’ll want to go to the timeline at the bottom of your screen.

create a new frame in the timeline with a 0-second delay. then go back up to the image itself, and select the lighting effect you made (my white lines, in this case). move it just a little bit. i’m opting to go just until I can see the first line or two on the diamond.

it won’t look like much. here’s the difference:

you can see (I hope) the tiny bit of “shine” on the upper left corner, where the mask is white and the pixels are visible.

now i’m going to make another new frame in the timeline, and nudge those lines a little more. let’s say six pixels to the right, and two pixels down. now it looks like this:

you will notice the change is almost imperceptible. that’s fine. the resulting animation will be smoother if you do smaller movements, as opposed to bigger ones.

basically… just repeat that. new frame, nudge a little. new frame, nudge a little. over and over, until the lighting effect has moved fully off the area you’re animating on the other side. These edits can get a little long/the number of frames can get huge, so if you catch that happening, wait until you get to the end and then select either all the even or all the odd frames and delete them.

this will double the speed of your animation, but given the very small increments in which we are moving things, it still won’t look too choppy. you could certainly start with bigger movements to cut this off at the pass, but it’s a LOT easier to cut these frames out than to add new ones in if it ends up looking too rough, so I opt for more frames and then remove them later.

once you’ve moved the lighting effect all the way across the image and over the other side, make sure you play it through at least once or twice to get a feel for it. this is what I have:

this is way, way too fast to me. that’s okay! we can mess around with the timeline settings to increase the delay to pretty much anything. I’m going to set it to 0.2 seconds per frame, with a longer setting for the first and last frame to give people a breather between the start and end of the effect. now my timeline looks like this:

and my gif looks like this!

that works better, i think. the more I’ve made gifs, the more I’ve allowed for pauses and slower animations; when I look back at some of the first ones I did, they feel way too fast. but it’s all up to personal preference, really, so mess around with the settings all you want until you get the vibe that you want.

you can also mess around with opacity. if you want something to fade into the background as it moves, use a white-to-black gradient instead of just stark black or white spaces. if you want the shine to be less prominent (not at all necessary here with such a small effect), change the opacity of the entire layer until it's subtle enough for you.

basically, the world is your oyster, and you can mess around with this as much as you want. this is my method; it does not have to be yours.

I hope this helps! happy making <3

#tbanimation #how to #ask.tb #anonymous #sorry for the delay answering this one #i had to sit and think about the best way to walk through it lol and i am still not. entirely sure i got there? #i tried though!!

[soufcakmistress]

Charleston Blues

Part II

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick Black OC

“What you done did to me?” Chantilly examined her naked body with bugged eyes and every question in the world.

(I’ve molded you in my image. There are in fact still a few things that you need.)

Ursilene pointed her way and three separate lengths of waistbeads appeared on Tilly’s body, matching the color of her gown. A gold anklet was magically fastened on her ankle, and Tilly kneeled to rave over the detailing.

(Rise, girl.)

Ursilene was so tall, her head grazed the ceiling. One blink and she decreased in size to look Chantilly right in her eye. Her voice still unnerved Tilly. The way that it vibrated through her chest and resounded through her body; the new connection was powerful and terrifying. Ursilene smiled wide showing her smoke stained teeth and pulled out a tiny gold ring from behind her back.

(Stand still. This will hurt a bit.)

All of Tilly’s limbs were frozen in time as she stood. Her back stood straight as an arrow, with her arms out to her sides. She tried not to whimper but she had no idea what was going on. This being was capable of things that nobody would ever believe. The gold ring unfurled into a straight line, floating about Ursilene’s palm. Lightning fast, the gold ring aimed right for Tilly’s left nipple, piercing her flesh and curled in on itself, securing the perfect circle. Tilly screamed bloody murder, and there was plenty of blood that fell.

“Bitch!!! You couldn’t count or something???? Fuck!!!!!” Blood cascaded down her belly and her mound, and Ursilene released her. Tilly curled into a ball immediately.

(The world you once knew is gone. The woman you once were is dead. You have been burdened with tremendous power. Every sense you invoke, every thought you think, every feeling you experience…..will be heightened. Your physical strength will become overwhelming. Your mental capacity will expand to new depths. Your ability to carry out unthinkable acts in the name of justice will have no limit. Your compassion and patience for women and children will grow and evolve more than you thought possible. Is it starting to make sense?)

Tilly’s whole chest throbbed from the piercing pain. But she sighed sullenly and nodded. The shift had been almost immediate. Her vision was sharper. Each breath radiated through her body differently, almost as if her lung capacity grew. The pain from the piercing began to die down and Tilly dressed herself in a robe. “I would like to be alone. If I have your permission.”

(Take a few days. Feel your way through it. The others did the same. I’m orchestrating some things in the meantime. You will receive a call in two days time that will add to the many changes in your life. The prosperity I promised will be yours. But…..when I call for you….and by now you should know when I’m near…I need all of you.)

Tilly gulped and walked to the window, gazing at the newly manicured yard, with Pepper’s old self sleeping under the Spanish moss tree. No more termite riddled porch. No more cracked windows and raggedy shutters. No more chicken shit littered everywhere. A total turn around from 12 hours ago. “Yes, Ursilene. Understood.”

She disappeared in a cloud of grey smoke leaving the room smelling of incense. Tilly stood starstruck at the idea of a clean slate. Nothing would be the same from here on out. The vanity that used to be ruined now showed a perfect reflection of Tilly’s new appearance. She shed her robe, and looked at herself. Tilly had always been plump and adorable; now she looked like a beautiful subject of a renaissance portrait. Tilly felt more feminine than ever with her long kinky hair flowing as such. The gold jewelry made her feel juicy and luscious and she became aware of the wetness between her legs. Ursilene did say that everything was heightened for her now…

Looking at herself turned her on now. That never happened before. She touched her new nipple ring and circled it, causing the ache to grow in her womb. Tilly covered the soft curl covered mound with her hand and rubbed back and forth. Her face heated up dramatically, and she put her other hand in her hair. These weren’t things that good wholesome young women in 1958 should be doing. Her mother always said her body belonged to God and that masturbation was frowned upon. Is that why it felt so good?

Tilly had never felt such overwhelming pleasure before. She stumbled onto her bed, spreading her legs. Rubbing her clit around in the perfect circle, she pinched her nipple ring, and ascended to a bliss not known to this plane. As she made her way back to Earth, her body was covered in sweat, and her hand was covered in her womanly fluids. “I could get used to this hea’..”

~

“Back it up, back it up. Keep going! Okay, now stop. Perfect.” Erik directed the truck driver into the loading dock behind the store. This heat reminded him of old times and he pulled a bandana from his pocket to swipe his face. Erik Stevens was a Korean War vet who had seen death up close and lived to see another day. His ambitions led him to become one of the first Black commissioned officers for the United States Navy.

Erik knew suffering and pain, and he worked exponentially hard to ensure he didn’t feel that ever again. Orphaned from an early age, he set out on his own in Oakland as a second generation child of the Great Migration.

His father wasn’t American, but his mother was and they worked tirelessly in tandem to give him love and guidance while they were still here. Life had other plans for Erik however.

Erik had always been too smart for his own good. Slick and sly. Cunning and quick. He was 19 when he graduated from MIT, and working as a graduate assistant for the engineering department. It wasn’t enough money for him. Every night after erasing chalk boards and grading exams, he would use every penny he had in the gambling dens of Cambridge.

Italians and Irish in that part of Massachusetts had an alliance to split up the racket. Erik had been making waves amongst certain tables. He loved Blackjack. His math was perfect; he could feel out anything by the odds and win all of his bets. On more than one occasion, Erik would have to fight his way out due to some hating ass white boys that couldn’t stand to be embarrassed. His knuckles were permanently hardened and scarred like his heart and he preferred it that way.

Then the war happened. He was shortly drafted after news of conscription came to Massachusetts. Seven months after basic and specialist training, he would hunt, torture and kill for his country. He started to make a name for himself. Erik rose in the ranks and became a lieutenant for courage and bravery and attained a moniker that’ll follow him to the grave. Killmonger.

The blockade of Wonsan allowed him to garner medal after medal. Due to his vigorous show of enthusiasm, he had been selected for a ghost unit to infiltrate the Korean shores against the North Korean army. For every kill, he would slash his flesh as a reminder of the life taken and maybe also for the life that seeped out of him.

After the armistice, the Americans went home. But not all of them. Erik was able to receive the Medal of Honor and an honorable discharge with excellent service after the war and stayed overseas. America could be useful in the future but Korea had sights and wonders foreign to him that magnetized him to the peninsula.

Erik had several ins with artillery specialists from his navy days that he kept in touch with. He had a pristine system in place. Decommissioned weapons that “fell” off military utility vehicles made their ways to three separate warehouses he owned in Seoul, Busan and Kwangyang. The American was making money hand over fist selling black market arms to the highest bidder. He encountered all types and drowned in Korean pussy to ease his long days.

One auspicious day, Erik got caught fuckin with the wrong pussy, slaying some South Korean big shot’s mistress in his Busan office. How could he not resist? She looked innocent and yet had an endless throat that he couldn’t resist. By the time the goons infiltrated the warehouse, his cum was in her stomach. She turned around and pushed her panties to the side to take all of what Erik had to give, until a bullet whizzed past her.

Erik was able to get some shots off before he got his pants up his legs. But there were too many of them. He had already sent his team home for the night to have some alone time and someone had the jump on him. They swarmed the office with machine guns at the ready. The Korean boss stepped into Erik’s office, stoic and calm. In a last ditch effort, Erik pointed the gun at the mistress, threatening to end it all. “Take another step and you’re gonna be dry cleaning her fucking brain matter off your suit.”

He did Erik the favor of blowing her head off himself. Another two quick shots in Erik’s shoulder made his legs fall out from underneath him. There was a trap door under his desk and he immediately began to crawl to it in agonizing pain. He didn’t make it. The boss stood over Erik, and cracked a smile. Then, from his sleeve he pulled out an impossibly sharp and slender knife, gleaming under the fluorescent lighting.

Quicker than Erik could blink, the knife pierced his stomach seven times. Blood bubbled up his esophagus and coated his teeth instantly. The boss cursed Erik as he bled out and left him to die.

Erik managed to pull himself up against the wall, wheezing a bit harder, holding his side. He started to laugh at his circumstances. He had it coming. If it wasn’t him, it was the next boss whose wife he was fucking or finessed the deal on.

It seemed that at every point of his life, he courted death. It was the only constant thing in his life. So he wasn’t scared. He actually felt a bit of relief. His resignation truly set in when he began to gasp for air, and he could hardly hold his arm up to compress his wound.

The lights began to flicker. The file cabinets in his office rattled. Erik’s ears began to ring and what appeared to be falling through the ceiling looked to be a man. Their forearms and biceps were massive and rippled with muscle. He wore a caftan draped over one of his shoulders unlike any pattern Erik had ever seen. His skin was dark grey, with three vertical slashes along his forehead and golden irises.

(Your lack of discernment has led you here. Your lack of foresight has led you here. I have never seen a man act with such willful disregard for their life. Or others for that matter. In 120 seconds, your body will shut down from the lack of blood. Do you want to live?)

His life was flashed before his eyes immediately like a picture show. Before he dedicated his life to the underworld, Erik was a stand up guy, who had brief walks on the wild side. Erik cared about people. And then his heart was ripped out and he didn’t care to regain it. He cried softly. The being waited patiently until he was done. Their presence comforted Erik. “Maybe I don’t deserve to.”

(I am called Badoru. I have roamed this plane for millennia working to cleanse this planet of all evil that inhibit it. I will save your life. If you serve me, and promise not to lay a hand on anyone who did not harm or threaten you or your charges first.)

“My charges? What do I—“ Erik coughed up more blood and slid further down the wall. Tears of exhaustion flowed from his bloodshot eyes.

(I am a god of many things. Virility, strength, war, and death. I am also the watcher of new life. Any child born on this plane is covered by my protection and any harm is dealt without mercy. Which is how I found you. Erik Stevens, you may have substantial material wealth but you revel in an impoverished mind state. Accept my will and your days shall be long with joy.)

That was five years ago when Erik submitted to the will of his new god. Badoru showed him that Charleston was where his work was needed next. Still able to charm the best of them, Erik was able to get his hands on a heap of military surplus. Badoru blessed him with a business right on the low end of King Street, where the colored folks usually shopped.

At his behest, Erik took those weapons and brought them back to the states. Jim Crow was alive and well. Violence was rampant in segregated Charleston, and he wanted to make sure his community was armed. Erik would sell military surplus by day and sell weapons in the back by night.

~

“Well that’s just wonderful news. Thank you, thank you!”

This was it. The call that Ursilene told Tilly would come. The grain mill where her father worked on Edisto Island for all them years called to let Tilly know that there was a sizable pension check waiting for her to claim. $50,000. She damn near fainted when they said the number. Tilly had been skeptical these two days that passed but she sure shut up quick after this.

After the check was procured, as soon as she stepped off the boat back to Johns Island, Ursilene summoned her immediately. Tilly was a bit more adept at handling the visceral symptoms now.

(Return to your home at once. I will instruct you further once you promptly arrive.)

Tilly raced home from the docks and situated herself in front of the vanity. Sea foam green smoke blew in from a cracked window and Ursilene sat right next to her on the vanity chaise.

(Did I deliver like I said I would?)

“Yes yes yes Ursilene. I thank you. I thank you so much. I can hardly believe it!” Tilly blabbered like a kid who got the last piece of candy.

(Now, your bakery is in within your grasp. You shall have the finest for your space, I will see to it. Furthermore……I hope you are prepared.)

Tilly stiffened up and shook her head positively like a puppy. She wasn’t sure what to expect. But she made a blood oath that she couldn’t take back; she had to see this through.

One wave of Ursilene’s hand, and the mirror whirled counterclockwise into a viewing bubble of some sort.

(Little Marla. 13 years old. An 8th grader whose parents died tragically and is now living among several other girls at the Jenkins Institute. She loves music and listening to the radio. Her best friend, Sheila, loves to do hair and they practice on each other. They both have taken a liking to biology. Sweet girl.)

Tilly watches the young Black girl smooth out her poodle skirt and straighten up her white socks. The orphanage had a uniform, and Marla liked to look her best. She pulled her sleeve down and hissed at the bruise. The girl only looked for a second more before her friend realized her pain and continued to get ready for class. Tilly’s blood quickened at the very sight of her pain. Who hurt this beautiful child?

Ursilene snapped and what appeared to be a church’s pulpit showed up in the mirror. The pastor—tall, lanky, salt and pepper hair, and ruddy red skin—was named Dunne. Theodore Dunne had been pastor at Second Presbyterian Church for almost seven years now. A devoted husband and father, he dedicated his life to outreach, especially to children.

(Pastor Dunne. He has a ministry at his church specifically tailored to minister for Children’s outreach. They frequent the Jenkins Institute three times a month to bring donations and food drive items raised by the congregation. However, Pastor Dunne has an affliction even his word can’t heal.)

Ursilene flashed several scenes of ghastly scenes of Pastor Dunne inappropriately groping and grasping Marla, her face full of tears. Tilly’s ire grew so. She began to grip the vanity chaise, ripping the cushion from the legs of the chair. When Marla would fight back, he would get violent with her. Her shoulder had been dislocated before.

(Theodore’s day of reckoning is overdue. Hand her justice, Chantilly. Eviscerate him. Remove him from this plane of existence. And restore balance.)

No sooner had she said that, did Tilly have a plan. It’s never too late to gain some religion, right?

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@crowngold​

@darkangelchronicles​

#soufcakmistress #black panther #black southern gothic #Southern Gothic #erik stevens #erik killmonger #erik stevens x oc #erik killmonger smut #Killmonger #killmonger smut

[fatefulfaerie]

Could I have a tiny little sequel to Written in the Stars? It's my fav fic of yours! 🥰

Thank you!!

Sequel to Written In The Stars

This was not the knight he had assigned to his daughter a hundred years prior.

In a purely physical and technical sense, of course it was. The same hair, the same build, the same steadfast courage and resolve. Yet, this Link seemed to be a slate wiped clean, blue eyes emoting curiosity and intrigue as the King detailed Hyrule's past. Nothing seemed to ring a bell, and the innocent blue stare couldn't help but make the King feel for his daughter. A hundred years and all her father could give her was another soldier, another weapon. And even worse, this young man bared painful resemblance to the one she once fell in love with. Hylia, it was the young man she once fell in love with. Yet her name inspired nothing special in his blue eyes.

Link would break her heart, the King feared as he dissipated to allow the amnesia-ridden hero to continue on his journey.

The next time he saw Link was once all had been set right, him and Zelda at the base of Hyrule Castle walking away from all they had ever known, and into a future Zelda only seemed sad about. The King had never felt more powerless.

The silence between two people he knew were once lovers eroded at his not-beating heart. He found he could not move on like the champions until this was resolved, this guilt, this knowledge. Yet was there too much damage done? Was Zelda's happiness lost?

Zelda stopped in her tracks, and Link noticed after only a couple steps that she was no longer matching his stride. Rising petals and soft gales lifted his hair gently as he quietly looked at her with concern.

"Your Highness?" Link asked. "Is there something wrong?"

Zelda hesitated, her eyes tremulous and uncertain as she silently begged Link to know without her saying.

"I asked the wrong question before," she clarified. "I asked if you remember me."

Link nodded.

"And I do," he said, far more forward with his words than he ever was.

Zelda clutched her elbow and looked down in shame. Obviously he didn't, at least not to the extent she wanted, the moment in the Library, the dance at the ball, their kiss at the spring, their confessions of love, the note Link wrote Zelda about there one day being a time for them.

"Do you remember us?" Zelda braved, and indeed her heart broke when she looked up to see Link not say an immediate response in the affirmative. He noticeably flushed, and looked absolutely bewildered.

"There..." Link tried to breathe. "There was an us?"

Zelda closed and opened her eyes with a sharp sigh, wishing to go back just a few minutes and tell herself not to bring it up. She should have known better. If he felt anything, he would have made it clear from the first moments of Hyrule being free from Calamity Ganon. Zelda's smile was soft and yet pained. She nodded.

"It is a different circumstance now, it seems," she said, summoning every last bit of formality she had left in her blood and walking forward and past Link as if the entire conversation had never happened.

"Onto Kakariko, correct?" she asked, but Link grabbed her wrist as she passed.

"What are you doing?" She asked with a furrowed brow and a judgemental look at their connection. She tried to break free until she was enthralled by the sincerity in Link's eyes.

"Zelda," he said timidly, as if he wasn't sure he could. "Zelda," he said again with a smile, as if he loved saying it. Her eyes locked into his and she listened.

"I don't remember anything between us," he started, "but Zelda you have no idea how much I wanted to read it in between the lines."

Zelda tried to breathe. Did she just hear that right?

"I can't put a finger on the love I feel for you," Link continued. "I can't pinpoint when it started to a certain moment, a certain century, or even a certain millennium. All I know is that right here, right now, I love you. And I don't want you mistaking my uncertainty over the past as a lack of regard for you."

Zelda found herself stunned as Link let her wrist go, her arm drifting down to her side. Link thought she might object to his forwardness when she took his cheeks hostage and hurled her lips into his. Link closed his eyes to relish in the moment, and his smile made the exchange appropriately imperfect. She smiled too, and her laugh interrupted the kiss. She didn't care. They had what seemed like an eternity of freedom to express their love.

Link spun her around and let her collapse into a hug. He held the back of her head gently and cried tears of relief as the last of the turquoise flames disappeared from the highest spire of Hyrule Castle.

#zelink #breath of the wild

[factorialsfandoms]

"You will never be one of us" would be so painful for literally any of the LU boys to say to another of them, but my brain specifically latched onto Time saying this ^u^ Please and thank you

Sorry for the delay my brain fought hard on this one. Ended up having to throw some hallucination-inducing poison around. Please enjoy Sky having a shitty time!

Warnings for non-specific poison, inter-Link violence, at least one dislocated jaw, a tiny bit of blood, and a fair does of Sky angst.

AO3 Link as I'm semi organised for one

They had, at least, managed to get back to camp before the danger had become apparent. The battle had been short, without more than a few scratches being obtained by anyone - and the brambles had caused more injuries than any weapon. Sky, having even fewer nicks than the others, was helping Legend clean out the bramble scratches on his legs. The veteran continued insisting that he could manage, but taking no action to actually stop him.

The mood was relaxed and the Links were chatting amongst themselves.

And then, a thud echoed. Legend's eyes widened, and Sky's head turned quickly.

Twilight was on the floor, sporting a new black eye, whilst Time was sprawled on the floor, seething and trying to get up. From his knees he went to lash out at Wind, blind panic in every one of his features; Twilight tackled him back down, and the Links swarmed about.

Seeing his companions struggle, Sky rushed reached out, pressing down on Time's feet to keep them still. Twilight gave him a grateful look, adjusting position to restrain his arms, while Hyrule held his head still. Beside him, Legend knelt down, scowling but without any way to help.

After a few moments Time relaxed, looking around with an almost feverish confusion - almost, because there was no red on his face, and Hyrule's own confusion implies he was not warm to touch.

"... Pup?" Time's eyes focused on Twilight's black eye.

"Right here," he assured. "No harm done."

Sky would object, harm was definitely done, except for how Warriors leant over, frowning.

"Time?" he asked. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Time's brows furrowed sharply, before shaking his head. When he spoke again, his words were slurred, "its... blurry. scrape on my neck feels wrong."

The frown became a scowl as Warriors turned his head slightly, looking at his neck. Sky did not see what he saw, but he did hear the "shit" followed by "Wild, did you collect up the weapons?"

"Yes. Why?"

Despite his question, Wild was already grabbing his slate and flicking to the correct screen.

"One of the blades was poisoned," Warriors turned back to the rest. "Time? Stay still and relaxed, it will be fine. The rest of you? Keep him still while we work it out."

None of them knew a great deal about poisons at all, but this was Warriors' world, and Wild knew the most about strange concoctions. Together they stood the best chance of finding an antidote, or simply some sort of treatment until the body managed to handle it on its own.

For a few minutes things were fine, right until the confused, delirious haze took over Time's eyes once again, and he began to thrash. Having relaxed as Time did, Sky threw his weight onto the legs once more, letting Twilight handle yelling a report over to where Warriors and Wild were working.

Then, suddenly, Time went deathly still. Sky did not think; he leant forwards, desperate to check on the man, as worried as everyone about the sudden change.

A knee smashed into Sky's chin, sending his head spinning as his neck cracked from the force. He fell backwards, slamming hard into the grass with full force.

Legend and Four quickly stepped in, pinning a leg each as Sky regained his bearings. Wind moved a little closer, watching the mess before him.

"Link!" Warriors turned back over his shoulder. "Stop that."

Time did pause for a moment, before struggling harder.

"Get away!" He screamed, twisting again. "Get away from him!"

"Time?" Wind was maybe the most nervous that Sky has ever seen him, yet still he could keep the leg that had slammed into Sky's chin pinned. "Stop, it's just Sky. He won't hurt you."

Time's lips peeled in a snarl, looking sharply at Sky.

On instinct, Sky tumbled back a little further, still checking for if his jaw was broken. Probably not, thankfully, but the joint on the right was swollen and felt wrong, and somehow hurt worse than the spreading bruise where the knee had connected - dislocated, probably. And… He would need one of the others to help set it.

"Good," Time snarled in Sky's direction. "And stay away. I don't know your game, but I won't let you hurt them. Not again."

"Hurt us?" Wind was the only one still talking. "What do you mean? Sky never hurt us."

But he had, hadn't he? The curse, the cycle, it should never have been any of theirs to bear - it was his own failure, the fact that even after everything he was still /too slow/ to stop a curse being laid on everyone. On everything, everyone, locking them into an eternal cycle of hatred and despair.

Time was quiet for a moment, allowing Sky to catch himself. The spiral would not help; he had messed that up, yes, but he had been fighting a god. It was unreasonable to assume -

Hyrule yelped, moving back. Quick as a flash Sky turned to look at him, just catching the bleeding shape of human teeth deep in his palm before magic sealed it away. His expression was determined as he grabbed their leader's face once more, but he was too late to stop more words from coming.

"I don't know what you are," Time continued to snarl. "But you will /never/ be one of /us/."

Sky did not wait to hear what else might be said, nor the angered voices raised in his defense. He did not even wait to process any of the emotions those words bought to mind.

All he felt was pain sharper and more intense than his dislocated chin before he turned on his heel, and fled into the night.

---

Hours later, Sky's mind was numb. The only sensations he could quite feel, sat out under a frozen moon as he was, were the throbbing of pain in his still dislocated jaw, and an empty hollow beneath his heart. Not even the shuffling footsteps behind him drew his attention, not until someone sat down beside him.

He turned, and say the traveller sat right there.

A memory of blood managed to flitter through; he tried to open his mouth, to ask if Hyrule was alright now, only to find his jaw impossible to move.

Right. He'd… It was injured.

"Sky?" Hyrule's whisper was nervous as his determination had not let him be before. "Are you alright?"

Not wanting to bother the younger hero, Sky nodded regardless of spiking pain and hollow chest. Hyrule's eyes flittered over to his jaw, then up to the joint. With hesitation he poked at the injury.

Sky whimpered; Hyrule's eyes took on a sharper glint as he wrapped an arm around Sky's neck, keeping his head still, and pressed hard with the other.

Sky was certain that he screamed as the joint cracked, stifling a second as Hyrule's fingers traced over the joint to check his own work.

"Don't try talk," he instructed. "I… Warriors should check it's stable before you use it."

That left Sky with… He shouldn't return, should he? The pain had jolted something in his brain, and Time's words rattled in his head once again. He had been right, hadn't he? Sky had never been one of the heroes, not really; they were shared by a common foe, while he…

He was merely the one who had released that enemy into the world.

A finger pressed against his unswollen cheek, gently forcing him to turn. His neck seized up as it was asked to move, and yet somehow Hyrule's finger worked it free.

"He shouldn't have said that," the teenager said. "It was wrong, and it was cruel."

"He was poisoned," Sky stepped in to defend Time even as his mind twisted with the thought of 'bur was he /wrong/'.

"It was still cruel. And I said no talking." "And he shouldn't have bitten you, either." This time, Sky signed the words with just as much emotion.

Sky saw the flinch, and the way Hyrule curled his hand. There was no mark there, not any more, but still the palm formed a fist and was bought protectively over his chest.

"That's healed," Hyrule's voice was a little more determined. "He… They finished the antidote, and he's sleeping off the last of it now. Everyone was worried about you, so I said I'd come look."

And how many others had been injured, that Hyrule had been sent out alone.

"You…" Sky hesitated a moment. "No, he was right. I'm not one of you. You should just… Leave me here, alright? It's better this way." Hyrule shrugged, "do you remember the way back to camp at least? I got lost but found you!"

Sky was about to comment that of course he did not, not when he'd run off in a panic, but… No, he did remember. He always remembered.

… Sending Hyrule out alone after him had been entirely on purpose, hadn't it?

Still, he could not leave the teenager out alone. Huffing through his nose he pulled himself to his feet, body stuff and cold and needing Hryule's help to get up.

"Just as far as camp," he signed again.

Hyrule's grin was as mischievous as it was nervous, "that's fine I can make it once I can see it. Will you… Be okay out here alone?" Despite knowing the night would only get colder and his blankets were at camp, Sky nodded; he would be as fine as he deserved, that much was to be sure.

The walk was not long, but the trees were all very similar. Just inside the treeline, where the fire and bustle of camp could be seen, but not able to be spotted themselves, Sky stopped.

There were a few moments hesitation and one fast, desperate hug and a whispered insistence for Sky to be okay and be sure and known he was welcome back to camp /any time/ before Hyrule let go, and walked into camp.

The hollow feeling in Sky's chest grew sharper, curling outwards and cutting into flesh as he watched the teen leave him so easily. Clearly, clearly, he was not actually wanted here. Just a heroic duty to someone injured and distressed, nothing more.

He was not one of them, and unlike Wind never could make himself so. Just as Time had said it was merely another fact.

Sky turned to leave, fully prepared to run again, when a hand grabbed each of his shoulders, and another pair each of his hands.

The surprise drew a startled yelp; his jaw crackled dangerously, and he quickly shut it back up.

On one side, Legend had grabbed him. On the other side, Twilight. From the leaves in their hair, they must have come from the bushes.

"Camp's this way, Sky. You're nearly as bad as 'Rulie." Twilight's tone was teasing, but his eyes were terrified.

"Please, Sky," Legend's voice was trying very hard to crack, and being stamped on at every turn. "It's warm, I promise."

Faced with two pleading voices and no hands available to sign, Sky could only let himself be dragged back to camp. Quickly he was swarmed, Legend curling into one of his sides and Four in the other, someone draping a thick blanket around all three of them even as Wild handed him warm, vaguely medicinal smelling tea, and Warriors knelt in front of him. Practiced hands turned his face, and gentle fingers examined his jaw. After a moment, Warriors asked someone to get him a straw so he could drink without opening his mouth too far, then turned back to him.

"The tea should take the edge off the pain," he explained. "So long as you rest it, everything should heal fine. But you /must/ rest it, understand?"

Still under orders not to use it, Sky nodded.

"Good," Warriors face softened. "We're glad to have you back."

"But-"

Warriors placed a hand under Sky's chin, forcing his mouth closed again. "No moving it, remember? Time was probably hallucinating. Even if not, he can't change the fact you're my brother. No matter what he thinks."

That…

Sky glanced around. The six other conscious Links gave him various nods, squeezes, and words of agreement as they cluttered close again. Hyrule in particular gave him a knowing grin alongside his nod.

Definitely planned, then. And tricked.

Still, surrounded by seven of his brothers… Sky's heart still felt hollow and Time's words still bit deep, but the hollowness was being soothed by an old, comfortable warmth.

#fanfic #lu fanfic #lu sky #lu time #not sure who else to tag #field medic wars #poison

[thegeminisage]

ok, i got about an hour and a half to play some zelda!!! i'm in rito village cuz i got my frog armor. my map says there's a chasm here so i'm gonna get some korok seeds and see if i can find it

god i miss kass.

i havent ben back here since i did the wind temple, so there's a lot of sidequests lol

ok, i NEVER would have found that chasm without help. the opening into the cave is SO tiny

off to a fantastic start. landed by a yiga hideout AND a lightroot!!

oh! it's isolated! i guess that makes sense cuz in the overworld it's surrounded by water. i was gearing up to do some Depths Exploring though, i kinda miss it??

i notice mineru didn't meet me. so she really is only in one little section until i do the dungeon. blegh

oh, it's not a proper yiga hideout, there's just a diary. something about a weapon with blue stone. PLEEEEASE be a timeshift stone please please please (guy who knows it wont actually be a timeshift stone)

CRYSTALLIZED ZONAI SHOP LETS FUCKING GOOO

aw and a schema stone

siren call of the depths: i kinda wanna explore more. i was gonna go back up to rito village and knock out some of those sidequests but fuck it

as with the overworld i have a lot of the eastern section knocked out and have barely touched the western half. so i guess i'll go clean up in the east. unfortunately i have not been marking ANY of my boss encounters bc i didnt want to look at this map too closely so i'll probably wind up doing them all again lol

i don't know, am i taking some of the joy of exploration out of the depths by looking at this map early? i guess so, but i don't want to forge on without it, and the internet has spoiled me for the whole thing anyway. besides, they're not detailed enough that you can really tell what it'll look like once you get there. i think some surprises will still remain

i am going to turn on hands i think lol. that's one surprise i DON'T want, not down here

i guess if things get too hairy or tedious i always have my bike...it's been so long since i learned about them, yet since then i've barely set foot down here at all. i was doing koroks. so it's been a REALLY long time since i've properly explored down here.

tiny dark spot by hateno so im starting there. warped to a nearby root and found the two new ones i need pretty much instantly without even using the spoiler map - they were just hidden behind a wall

i read somewehre that the weapons the ghost soldiers hold for you, the unrotted ones, will only be weapons you've already broken above. which is stupid cool but then WHYYY do i never get royal broadswords...they're my favorites...

another mine...i guess that's to be expected. why do they all have the names of the cities above though? like, hateno didn't exist throughout the ages, it wasnt in oot or whatever. you can't tell me every city in hyrule is 10,000 years old. i guess lin's sheikah slate is naming the mines and using the names of the villages it knows? but IT'S 10,000 years old too. i love totk but the way it breaks the lore is so fucking frustrating, especially since i was finally excited about the lore actually being COHESIVE for the first time after skyward sword.

ooh, this diary mentions a hidden yiga academy behind a waterfall in gerudo...i've been spoiled a bit for that questline too but i feel better that i found the tip organically

oh. i found a "researcher" lol

LMAOOOO she's asking me to pick my own demise. incred

good GOD what is that...i shouldn't have answered...i picked burny bc i actually hate freezy more but what in the name of god

i mean i killed her basically instantly but that was a little alarming! i wish i got a schema stone for one of THOSE

MORE refinery shopping. i already have enough for one battery upgrade and i'm close to getting a second

oop yeah there's upgrade #2

and another schema stone!

ok, doubling back to check and old map mark i missed...

GLOOM TREES BAD

oh it's cap of the sky! i actually already have one of those lol but i can sell this one

ok, let's see...there's a tiny dark spot under gut check rock, so i'll get that next...

i have like. 630 arrows lol and it's a good thing too bc i got spotted by a monster camp and just took them out from a tree

zonaite really isnt hard to collect...like, at first having to get 4000+ to max your battery seemed impossible. but the hard part is that the refineries don't sell a lot at once so you either have to warp around or wait to turn it all in lol

i like how weather attack makes food useful again? like i stopped making food to help me with heat or cold bc i had armor...BUT i can't have armor to defend me from the elements AND the attack up from the elements at the same time. if i want both, i need food for one or the other! it's very clever. now i need to be more mindful when cooking instead of just doing the same health and stamina refills over and over

i really hate how hard the lava air effect makes it to fucking SEE down here. jesus

killed a flux construct. sick nice etc

found a proper yiga hideout >:)

minecart tracks??? i want a cart too... :(

sadly lacking in cart to cart combat. 0/10 stars

ok, working my way down towards the spring of power. i want those bargainer statues lol

i like exploring the depth a lot better when shit is lit up. i didn't realize until now but it's exhausting not to be able to see ANYTHING. i think that's why i got so tired of it so quickly before, even though i was also having fun poking around. finding one light point after another is fun and that requires darkness but it's also really difficult to navigate the terrain when you can't see AND there's gloom

found my mf statue. i cant believe i walked right past these before...you wouldn't know they're there unless you're looking :/

YESSSSS HOOD OF THE DEPTHS...finally.................

i had almost 700 poes so i had plenty to buy with lol

ANOTHER yiga hideout!! have i done this one?? it looks familiar...

oh yep lmao i sure have. bummer. at least i can mark it off my map :/

ok, thats all i have time for!!!

#personal #loz blogging #totk lb #totk spoilers