#{twisted feathers alike} headcanons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mikoriin · 4 years

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No Matter the Cost

happy halloween! here’s some suspenseful, angsty rogue!syaoran content for yall! very heavily based on the headcanon i have that syaoran actually has created his own heart by this point, and hes semi conscious when he’s committing these acts of horror. he just isnt strong enough to reach through and take control of himself under fwr’s manipulation. its an angst playground really.

WARNING: blood and character death

ao3 link

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Everything was dark around the clone as he walked through the portal to another world. He had achieved getting another feather. Of course he did, he always achieved his goal, and he would continue to do so by any means necessary. He looked down at the hand that held the feather, the pure white memory stained red with the blood that was on his hands. He stared at it blankly, the memories of him slaughtering an entire village to get his prize flashing in his mind. Syaoran winced at the scene playing out in his mind; men, elderly, women, and children alike...All dead by his hand.

Light began to seep through the cracks of the nothingness that was in between worlds, taking his mind off the horrors that plagued him. He stepped toward the light, coming into a marketplace. It was raining, people running the opposite direction of him to flee from downpour. The rain washed away the blood on his arms and face, drenching his clothes. Syaoran put the feather in a bag he had picked up during his travels alone, filled with a good portion of Sakura’s memory fragments.

Sakura...The name ringing in Syaoran’s ears. Sakura, the cherry blossom. He could see her, her honey colored hair framing her soft, round face, her big green eyes staring at him, her pink lips smiling at him. He could feel his heart tear itself apart, feeling like his entire chest was caving in on itself. He wanted to take this memory and burn it, burn her from his mind and his heart. Thinking of her hurt too much. The last time he ever saw her face, her beautiful face, it was twisted into pain, tears streaming down her soft cheeks, begging him to stay. This memory angered him, he wanted to rip it to pieces, tear it away from his body and soul.

“Young man?” A voice echoed through the pouring rain.

Syaoran turned around to see a tiny old man standing in the rain with a large umbrella. He smiled, his eyes closed. “You’re soaking wet, do you have somewhere to get out of the rain?” He asked.

Syaoran looked him up and down. This man had no threatening aura about him and he seemed genuine. Syaoran shook his head. The old man continued to smile. “Well, if you’ve nowhere to go I can give you a place for the night. Included with a free bath and dinner.”

The clone looked down at himself. All the blood on his skin was washed off but his clothes were now a wet, bloody mess. His stomach began to rumble as he felt his skin itch for a warm bath. He had no reason to refuse this man, so he nodded. The old man’s smile grew, showing what little teeth he had left. He began to walk toward Syaoran, reaching out his hand with the umbrella once he reached him. “Your payment will be holding this umbrella for a tired old man.” He said, a little laugh in his voice.

The two walked through the marketplace as Syaoran held the large umbrella over the old man. He talked about the village, about the trade market, how it was what kept the village afloat, how many of the village’s residents were elderly, the weather during the seasons. But, what really caught Syaoran’s attention was the tale about the village deity. The old man talked about the shrine on the top of the hill the village sat at the bottom of, how there is a festival every year to celebrate and worship the deity, and that if you pray to her, she will heal the sick and wounded.

“How long has this deity been around?” The clone asked.

“The village was worshipping this deity long before my grandfather’s time, so I couldn’t say. I’ve heard many legends growing up here, legends of a goddess coming down to bless the ancient people with a magical feather to heal their sick and wounded during times of war.” The old man spoke over the rain.

Syaoran clenched the fist of his free hand. A feather. That’s all he needed to hear.

“A feather is kind of an odd blessing to give your people, isn’t it?” The old man asked with a chuckle.

“No.” Syaoran’s voice was monotone, “I’ve heard many stories like that.” He gripped his bag as they walked uphill, the rain only worse the further up they walked.

Eventually they reached a little section of houses. They were relatively small, smoke coming from some of the chimneys. The old man led Syaoran passed the section to a secluded little house off from the rest. The old man looked at Syaoran with that same smile, indicating they were about to go inside. The boy took that as his cue to close up the umbrella, a bright light illuminating the space before him as he did so.

“Shoes off at the door please.” The old man said, his smile never faltering.

Syaoran looked down at his shoes, full of mud. He took them off at the door, setting them aside as the old man had done with his own shoes.

“Welcome home, Husband.” A woman’s voice made its way into Syaoran’s ears.

He looked up to see a woman, just as tiny and old as the man who had led him to that little secluded house. She had the same gentle smile plastered on her face, her long grey hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Her eyes seemed far away, however that smile never left her small face. “I see we have a guest. Should I ready the bath for you two?” She asked.

The old man nodded as he stepped deeper into the home, giving his wife a kiss on her forehead as he passed her. She looked in the general direction of Syaoran, her hazy eyes somewhere far away. Syaoran knew that hazy look, that gleam that no one else seemed to have. She was blind. He felt something, something he couldn’t quite name. However, it vanished as soon as it came.

The old woman reached out her hands. “May I take anything?” She asked.

Syaoran said nothing, only gripping his bag tighter. The woman’s hands fell back to her side, a chuckle escaping her lips. “I understand. Please, come this way, I shall lead you to the dinner room.”

Syaoran felt hesitant at first, but he followed. She navigated her house perfectly, bringing her hand to touch the wall every now and then, possibly for her to check where exactly she was. Her steps were light, and she was swift. The dinner room was a little ways off the entrance of the house, a large room with a low table in the middle, cushions on all four sides. It had a few light fixtures hung on the walls, brightening the room.

“Please wait here while I draw the bath.” She said with that smile still on her face, and walked away.

Syaoran stared at her as she left, thinking that this old couple was a bit odd to be trusting a stranger standing in the rain, covered in blood. Nevertheless, he sat on one of the cushions at the low table.

“My wife is very good to me.” The old man’s voice came from behind Syaoran.

Syaoran turned to him, expressionless. The old man sat down in the spot opposite to the boy, that same smile he’d worn all night still draped over his face. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but she is blind. I’m not in very good shape these days, my knees are getting weak and my back is giving out. But my wife, she continues to take care of me despite her disability.”

Syaoran looked at the old man, his hands folded and his smile bright. He continued, “My wife has always been sickly. Every winter she falls ill, and it scares me to death each time. We’ve never had children of our own, her body was much too weak to bear a child. So, it brings me great joy to house a young man like you.”

The old man’s entire aura brightened as he spoke, his smile growing bigger. Syaoran stared at him. The way he spoke about his wife reminded him so much of someone he would rather forget. It pained him to remember. He turned away from the old man, refusing to allow this stranger to see him weak.

“Husband, the bath is ready.” The old woman appeared around the corner.

Syaoran stood from the floor with ease, noticing that the old man did not have the same experience. His wife held onto his arm, but even she was delicate and frail, so the entire process seemed like a struggle to them both. Feeling a tug on his heart, Syaoran decided to grab the old man’s skinny arm and pulled him up gently. The old man chuckled at how swiftly he seemed to get onto his feet, turning to the boy with a wide smile. “Thank you, you made that easier on both of us.”

Syaoran looked at the elderly couple who were smiling wide at him. Something in the back of his mind begged to be brought forward, a feeling he wasn’t sure he knew how to express. Even so, he smiled softly at the two.

“What a gentle aura.” The woman whispered.

Syaoran’s eyes widened at this. His mind flashed through the crimes he had committed in so many previous worlds, the horrors of what he had done replaying like a broken record. He turned his head away, no longer facing the kind old woman. He couldn’t bear to lie to her face. His aura couldn’t be gentle with the things he had done. He was a monster…

The old man began to walk toward the bath, his hands behind his back. “Come young man, we shall bathe the sky’s tears off our bodies as dinner is being prepped.”

Syaoran’s stomach began to growl as soon as he said that. “Dinner?” He asked sheepishly.

“Stew.” The old woman said happily. “Husband’s favorite.”

The old man led Syaoran to the bath, the two stripping their clothes and getting into the large tub with steaming hot water. Syaoran practically moaned at the feeling of warm water on his skin. When was the last time he had a proper bath? When was the last time he had a proper meal? He couldn’t remember...He could only remember the feeling of blood on his hands.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the old man, sighing loudly and sinking his body into the bath all the way up to his chin. “A good bath at the end of the day is perfect for these old bones.”

Syaoran looked at him. His face was full of wrinkles and age spots, most of his teeth were missing, and he had no hair on his head. “How old are you?” He decided to ask.

The old man chuckled. “I couldn’t tell you anymore, I stopped counting a long time ago. I just know I’ve been alive much too long.”

The last comment took Syaoran by surprise. “Do you not want to live?” He asked another question, letting his curiosity and comfort get the better of him.

“It’s not that. I am content with my life, it’s quiet, it’s peaceful, and I have my wife. But a life of hardships weighs you down after a while.” He spoke, his smile no longer on his face.

Syaoran sunk deeper into the water, letting it touch his chin. He stared at the old man, who had been smiling the entire time up until now. He must have really seen his own hardships.

“I can see you’ve experienced your own horrors, young man.” He started again. “Those aren’t the eyes of someone who hasn’t seen death.”

Syaoran’s eyes widened. The flashbacks began again, the replay of him taking the lives of innocent people, of the blood that stained his clothes, his sword, his hands no matter how many times he cleaned them. The image of Sakura’s face as she held him, begged him not to leave her. There it was. The memory he wanted to lock away and forget. The one that, even though he had done worse, made him feel like he was going to die every second he thought about it. He had hurt many people, but the fact that he had hurt her , the one he swore to protect from harm, plagued his mind more than anything else.

Syaoran curled into himself and faced away from the old man. He was peeling him away layer by layer, exposing his raw skin, his blood and bones. He wanted to run away and never come back, to go to Sakura and hold her and be with her, tell her how he really felt, give her all the feathers he collected, hoping she would be a little more alive with these pieces of her soul. But he could never, even if he wanted to. He had no real control over his body, his mind, or his choices. Even if he didn’t want to end so many lives, he had no choice. It was his duty to get the feathers, and he would do so at any cost.

He looked back at the old man who was looking directly at him. “Why did you take me in?” The clone asked. “You can clearly see I was covered in blood and I was standing suspiciously in the rain. So, why?”

The old man closed his eyes and leaned back against the tub.”Hmmm. You have a point, I noticed those things. However, when I look at you, I don’t see anyone suspicious. Even now, I just see a lost child, crying for someone to save him.”

Syaoran looked at the old man. He felt something in the crevices of his chest, something, like most of his emotions, he couldn’t quite name. He turned away again, not looking at the other man in the bath with him. “I’m not lost. I know what I have to do.” He said firmly.

The old man chuckled from beside him. “You just do what you feel is right.” He said, bringing that same smile back to his face.

Syaoran glanced at him, taking in his words. The two finished up their bath, put on a pair of clean clothes each, and went back to the dinner room where the old woman was setting the table.

“Oh, you’re both done! Perfect, dinner is ready.” She clapped her hands together and turned to the general direction of Syaoran. “Young man, would you mind bringing the pot to the table? I made extra since we have a guest and I’m afraid I can’t lift it.”

Syaoran blinked, unsure what to do about being asked to do a task for this woman, but he nodded. The stew pot was indeed heavy, there was no way such a frail woman like her could carry it from the kitchen to the dinner room. Setting it down gently on the table, the old woman tapped Syaoran’s back in support. “Such a strong boy we have with us tonight!” She sang.

Syaoran blushed a bit, being complimented was something he was never used to, even now it felt out of place and awkward considering the things he had done.

“Come now, sit and eat.” She said, taking a seat beside her husband.

Syaoran sat down across from them, watching as the old woman scooped stew into their bowls. He looked down and noticed that there were various little dishes with cut up vegetables and sauces scattered around the table, along with three cups of tea. He only looked up when he was being handed a bowl. He took it, saying his thanks. He examined the stew; meat, potatoes, carrots, and onions in a creamy white broth. Taking a spoonful, Syaoran blew on the hot stew and took a bite, tasting the various seasonings put in to make it delicious.

He surprised himself with how much he enjoyed it, and how hungry he was. He ate many of the side vegetables and had two bowls worth of stew. The couple talked the most throughout dinner, letting Syaoran take his fill. After all was done and cleaned up, the woman decided it was time for her to sleep. She kissed her husband goodnight, leaving Syaoran once again alone with the old man. They listened to the rain pour outside, drinking hot tea in the dinner room.

Syaoran’s thoughts drifted to his bag that he had left in the corner of the room. He was keeping a close eye on it, almost obsessing over whether the feathers were untouched. He stared into his teacup as he thought of the feathers, and if there was one in this world. He had a pretty good lead, the old man he was sitting right across from told him himself that there are legends of a feather. He looked up, remembering a mention of a festival.

“You said there is a festival once a year to celebrate the village’s deity. When is that?” He asked straightforwardly.

The old man hummed, his content smile turning into one of excitement. “Actually, you came into town at just the right time. It is in a week from now. I’m greatly looking forward to it.” He said as he took a sip of his tea.

Syaoran clenched his fist. He didn’t want to stay in one place too long, but if there was a feather in this world, he was going to get it. He looked the old man dead in the eyes, serious and determined. “There’s something I’m looking for, and I believe this village has the answers to what I’m trying to find.” He said, his voice firm yet calm. “Would you house me until the night of the festival?”

Syaoran put his hands forward and bowed deeply, his forehead touching the floor. The old man looked at Syaoran for a moment, then, his lips curled back into his signature smile. “You may stay here as long as you like, young man.” His creaky voice was soft.

Syaoran lifted his head and smiled at the man. “I will do housework and help you whenever you need it. I’m used to living on my own so-” He stopped mid sentence.

Everything seemed to stop as his old self peeked through the cracks he had let open. His mind flashed with snippets of a life in a desert country, feeling love all around him, the thrill of adventure, his interest in history and archeology. They were all so vague, a far off place he couldn’t seem to access in his mind. Syaoran swallowed hard, unable to speak. The old man just pat his shoulder. “There is no need for you to explain, my son. I understand.” He said kindly.

Syaoran wanted to break hearing this man’s comfortable words. He knew he didn’t deserve it, he knew he had killed too many people to deserve it. But he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. All he could do was stare at the floor, feeling the old man’s steady hand on his shoulder. He wanted to burst into flames, to burn away all of his mortal emotions, wanted to toss away his heart so he could do what needed to be done.

Syaoran steadied his heart and locked it back up. He took a deep breath and looked the old man in the eye, the glimmer of who he once was now gone. “Thank you sir. I think it’s time I head to bed.” He said flatly.

The old man’s brow wrinkled a bit but whatever thoughts he had he kept to himself. He began to struggle to stand, Syaoran not offering to help him this time, as he was lost in himself. “We don’t have an extra room, but there’s plenty of space in here for you to sleep. I will get the extra bedding.” He said as he went to a small closet and retrieved the bedding. “I hope this will keep you comfortable.”

Syaoran thanked the old man, setting himself up to sleep. The old man blew out the candles in the light fixtures, the room now pitch dark. He said goodnight to the young man, though Syaoran did not answer back.

Over the course of the next week, Syaoran stayed with the elderly couple, cleaning up the house, helping the old man in his shop in the market, taking care of the garden, and assisting in the cooking. He watched the other villagers as they set up for the festival, getting more information on the local legends among the elders. He could feel close eyes on him, as if the old man was analyzing him. Syaoran brushed it off though, he felt no threat from the old man, but knew that if there was sabotage, he would do as he did before, and force his way to the feather if necessary.

There were nights when the thought of Sakura’s feather would be pushed to the back of his mind, Syaoran spending his time socializing with the villagers and helping out at the residence where he stayed. He spent nights talking to the elderly couple, cooking with them, bathing with them, eating with them. Those nights were spent in contentment, feeling no weight on his shoulders, letting a bit of his old self peer through the curtain of his heart, the chains coming off little by little.

The day of the festival came. Syaoran spent most of the day hours helping the villagers set up the final touches to the venues and décor. The hours passed quickly, welcoming a night of tradition and fun. Lamps lit up the marketplace, the different smells of various foods wafting in Syaoran’s nose. His mouth watered, waiting to taste all of the different flavors on his tongue. The elderly couple that had taken him in were beside him, dressed in traditional garb for their culture. The old woman clung to her husband, her lack of sight hindering her in the crowd.

“My, so many people this year!” She said with excitement in her voice.

Syaoran looked around. He’d seen festivals a lot more crowded than this, however for the tiny little village he was in, this many people was probably a record.

“Well, let’s not just stand here. Let the festival begin!” The old man cheered, throwing his frail fist in the air.

The three of them went around various stalls, trying the many different foods offered to them, then onto little games around the festival. The night went on, Syaoran feeling things he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt a sort of joy bubbling within his chest, forgetting all about his duty to gather Sakura’s feathers. Soon, many stars were out and there was a chill in the air.

“Young man, come, we’re going to the temple at the top of the hill to pray for good health.” The old man called Syaoran over.

Syaoran nodded, following the two up the hill to the tiny temple that sat atop it. Once they reached it, he looked to the sky, feeling a gust of wind on his back. The clouds were moving fast and the air smelled of rain. Something in Syaoran’s gut told him something was coming, but he wasn’t sure what. The old couple called him over into the temple, Syaoran following.

The temple was one, relatively empty, dimly lit room made of wood. It had partition screens on each side of the walls with various paintings on them. Then, at the far end of the room was an altar. Syaoran stepped deeper inside the temple, closer to where the couple were kneeling down. He walked closer, attempting to get a view of what they were going to pray to, only regretting what he saw as soon as he saw it.

Sakura’s feather.

Syaoran clenched his fists hard, he could feel his blood boil and his eyes grow larger in size. His breathing began to pick up in pace, his heart thumping inside his chest, adrenaline flowing through his veins. It was her feather, an object of which he absolutely must obtain. The old couple lowered their heads and prayed, the old woman coughing into the silence. Syaoran’s eyes widened further as he realized why exactly they were praying, recalling the old man’s words that she was always sickly.

“The feather heals the sick and wounded.” He remembered the old man telling him. Of course it was real, and he should’ve expected this. This was what he was coming for. But part of him hoped, deep down, that there would be no feather. Maybe, just once, he wouldn’t have to hurt anyone else.

Syaoran took a step forward, the wood floors creaking under his foot. Quickly, the old man put an arm in front of his wife and the feather. Syaoran was taken aback. The old man looked at him, though now there was no smile. “You mentioned you were looking for something.” He said, a certain sadness in his voice.

The old man’s wife looked in their direction with a puzzled face. Syaoran felt his heart stop.

“You were so curious about the legends surrounding this feather that I figured it was what you were after. I have no idea where you come from, young man, but it’s clear you’re on a mission of some sort.” The old man spoke firmly.

Syaoran stayed put, his hands still balled into fists. He listened to the old man. “You must know by now, this feather is seen as a patron deity for this village. It has magical properties, heals our sick and wounded, and keeps this village alive another day.

Son, you’ve been so good to my wife and I.” His voice began to crack now. “I told you we never had children of our own. You came in and filled that void for us, having a young one around really gave us such joy...But, if you’re here to take the feather…”

Syaoran closed his eyes, not wanting to hear the words that would come next.

“I cannot allow that.” The old man said, determination in his voice.

Syaoran stood there for a moment, absorbing the old man’s words. He could feel his emotions pouring over, feelings of sadness, regret, and anger. He wished he could let this go, just leave the feather for these poor people to rely on. But his programming would not allow that. He opened his eyes, dark brown and cold blue shining in the dim light. Without a word he began to summon his sword with the magic he had stolen from his dear companion. He took hold of it, his hands trembling as he pointed the tip of the blade to the elderly couple.

“Dear...What’s going on?” The old woman asked, fear in her voice.

The old man looked at Syaoran’s trembling hands, then to his eyes. His eyes were full of emotion, emotion that the old man knew Syaoran would try to hide. “You don’t have to do this.” He said calmly, as if to try and reassure the clone.

“I do!” Syaoran suddenly barked, his voice plagued with pain. “Just...Give me the feather...Please…” He began to sob.

The old man looked deep into Syaoran’s eyes, the boy fearing he could see his soul that he had tried so hard to lock up inside. “You don’t have to be the monster you think you are.” The old man spoke gently.

Syaoran looked at him now, his eyes full of tears. “Then give me the feather.” He demanded, his voice broken.

It was silent for a moment, but to the three of them it seemed to last a lifetime. The old man finally shook his head and spoke. “I cannot.”

Syaoran hung his head, and then, like the turning of a switch, he was still and all emotions left him. He turned to look up at the old man, his hand no longer trembling, and his eyes now devoid of any life. He took a step forward to the old man and his wife, sword at his side. Closing in the space between them, Syaoran lifted his sword above his head, watching as the old man held his trembling wife in his arms, sitting in front of the feather to guard it. A single tear ran down Syaoran’s cheek as he brought his sword down.

A faint scream echoed outside the temple, rain droplets beginning to pour down onto the earth. Inside the temple, blood painted the walls and floor. Syaoran stood in front of the feather placed on the altar, covered in blood, the bodies of the elderly couple at his feet. Kneeling down, he grabbed it, staining the pure white object with blood. He looked up to see a portal had been opened, letting him know his job was done.

Stuffing the feather into his bag, Syaoran used magic to conceal his sword, and then stepped into the portal. Just before it closed behind him, he took one last look back. He stared at the bodies of the man and woman who housed him for a week, who showed him kindness and love. Then, the portal closed, and he was encased in darkness once again.

#tsubasa reservoir chronicle #tsubasa chronicle #trc #clamp #syaoran li #c!syaoran #clone syaoran #syaoran (tsubasa)#fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hope yall like it!!!

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