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yanderes-stuff · 4 years

Note

5; 8 and 9 please and nsfw is optional.

Yes, the feral trio I never did a poly yandere before, and sorry for being so late school was holding me at gunpoint

P.s it's 1:43 am where im at and I got zoom at 7:10 I'll edit the grammar mistakes later but I didn't want you to have to wait any longer

Characters: Skully, Masky, Hoodie

Words 5k

TW: yandere thoughts, cussing, kidnapping, drugging

You met Jay during college when the teacher put you both together for a school project, you got to have a good read on his personality with Jay, being a curious goofy character with a charming atmosphere surrounding him.

After a while, you decided to start the project filming causal nature. you both shared a passion for nature being calmed by the forest, and the woodland creatures which made you closer. After a while, you noticed that he would rarely talk to any of his other friends in favor of talking to you.

This led to many intervals where you caught him staring at you during class and followed you around like a puppy which although made you irritated you brushed it off thinking nothing of it, after all, it's just goofy Jay being Jay.

But alas he fell victim to your charm the conversations he had with you stuck with him and the moments where you were in his presence kept him going till the next day, you reached his heart unlike anybody else he met, and he lived for you alone perhaps it was the way you carried yourself through the gloomy days or the way you were more kind-hearted than anyone he ever met.

He longed to catch your eye and make you laugh but certain feelings were starting to stew inside him whenever he caught your friends talking to you especially if they were putting their hands on your beautiful body and even if they did so casually it made him infuriated he believed that he should be the only one that should be graced by your presence not them

After all, you never knew their intentions but he had a gut feeling they weren't good they didn't love you they only loved you for your looks and looks alone but he loved everything about you and he didn't know why but alas he had friends who were close to you those friends being Brian and Tim his colleague's since high school

However, he had to obtain your affection and warmth to protect you so he wormed his way into your dating life because he had known your crush had his dark secrets that he cheated on his exes and he just couldn't let this snake wrap his suffocating coil and sink his poisonous fangs into you for his esteem

So to resolve this fear of his he followed him home in the dark and threatened to shoot him if he didn't avoid you like a plague but without his knowledge, he didn't know that he was being watched by none other than Tim who mentally noted with haste that he's not the only one who took a liking to you and strolled out of Jay's sight before he could notice him

Relief washed over as he went back to his secret home surrounded by woods away from his lonely college dorm comforted by the fact that the guy that tried to use you had been put in his rightful place now thanks to him all he had to worry about now was the fact that his other friends also shared a connection with you that was too close for his liking

You were his everything now and while he still cherished his friends he wasn't going to let either of them have you even if it put him in danger of course you only saw the good in people and that would include Tim and Brian which he would grow to admire but it would also make him nervous but despite that he knows you love him and he had to make a move quickly to prove he's the only right one for you

Oh how he longed to be anything that would make you happy and today being Valentine's day he promised himself this was going to be the day he asks you out and you'll say yes or at least he certainly hoped you would he grabbed a few things from the store some gifts he hoped would win your appreciation but he had a thought cropped in his mind what if you rejected him and if you did do such a thing how distraught he would be

He waved away those thoughts in his mind trying to convince himself he played his cards right after all he frightened any competition away from you while making sure to be by your side at every moment you needed him the thought of your gentle voice accepting his confession of love made his uneasy mind now calm and focused

Once he reached the school province he took the bag of gifts consisting of chocolates of your favorite brand and bouquets of lovely crimson flowers that are a symbol of his love for you he was finally ready to be your lover and he sure as hell hoped you were too as that thought passed his mind he peeked his head around the corner to your dorm

What he saw made his blood boil and felt a violent sensation he couldn't understand at the time and what he witnessed was Tim brushing his lips against your while caressing your cheek with his rough hand you weren't flinching away but rather leaning in into the troublesome kiss he didn't know Tim could do this he thought he made it clear that she belonged to him

Tim look so entranced by the way your chest raised and fell in sync with his own as he leaned closer with his arm bending above your head caging you against your dorm door

While Jay was peaking he noticed that Tim had a card with a heart placed on in front of it in one of his hands

He quickly pieced together that he had gotten to you first before him as he felt despair overwhelm him why did you have to love Tim of all people he quickly grabbed the gifts and descended the stairs as quickly and quietly as possible at the same time he felt hot tears stain his bitter cheeks that day he drove back to his home weeping

But as he stepped inside an environment of misery following behind him as he sat down on the sofa he didn't think he'd have the guts to kill Tim but little did he know that someone else was in the room with him that individual being Tim and although he didn't want to admit it

Tim planned to kill Jay ever since he witnessed him threaten to kill his old crush since you confessed about liking him which was a big mistake on your part but Tim was glad Jay took care of him but now he had to kill Jay but he acknowledges he didn't want to at all but Tim was afraid of what Jay was capable of when it comes to his unstableness

He knew Jay was infatuated with you and that he's been getting more and more unusual as you continued to spend time with him and he started to dissociate with Brian and Tim which was starting to get concerning because Jay was starting to become extra dependent on your affection to distract him from all the chaos going on in his life

But Jay himself was starting to take drastic measures to prove himself to you and Tim never thought Jay could be capable of violence but he's seen firsthand that he the man that he thought wouldn't harm an insect was contemplating murder out of love

So with guilt, he grabbed his firearm and stared as Jay slowly was lured into a deep slumber he slowly opened the oak closet door so that it was vastly ajar and he tiptoed quietly towards Jays sleeping form beads of sweat was beginning to form on his forehead

Once he loomed over the trembling man's resting figure his silhouette casting a shadow over him his hands shook as he raised the revolver to Jay's temple and his finger was on the trigger there was a small click followed by a thunderous bang

The gory sight of Jay would be etched into his mind for the rest of his life but it would be worth it to protect you but he had to admit it he for some reason felt relief in his mind and another feeling that was off it was a euphoric adrenaline rush he noticed that he was still shaking and realized that he should evade the scene as quickly as possible back to you

You were sleeping so soundly in Tims dorm and Hoodie thought your sleeping form was so beautiful so vulnerable he's been watching you for a while through Brian and he thought this would be the perfect moment to steal you away after he saw the note Tim wrote a letter to you inviting you to come to his place for valentines day

How romantic of him too bad Hoodies going to whisk you away now he recalls seeing you and Tim go on a dinner date in Tim's kitchen he prepared your favorite dish the reason he knows this was because he placed cameras in more secretive places to check on Tim and his episodes when he would become Masky and go out to do God knows what

Hoodie knew Tim was trying to keep he alter personality a secret from you as well as hide his more obsessive side when he would become Masky he would stalk you and take pictures of you going about your day and attach it to his wall later to look at when Tims feeling emotional which Tim had to compile in a box the day previously so you wouldn't freak out at him

Which Hoodie would probably have to steal along with you was a thought that came across his mind as he prepared a syringe with an unknown liquid inside of it from underneath Tims mattress he watched the scruffy brunette man got up and picked up a revolver from the drawer with his pale hands and walked out making sure to keep the gun hidden from anyone's view

Once he was out of sight propped up upon his shoulders he began crawling out from under the bed as quietly as possible as not to disturb your sleep as he stood up gazing upon your softly snoring form as he was searching for the perfect spot to prick your neck with the fluid once he found it he punctured the soft flesh injecting the liquid in your bloodstream you awoke for a second not long enough to examine him but only to be held down by the powerful man as he clasped his rough fingers around your both your wrist

"Shhhhhhh [Name.] baby just relax" he mumbled somewhat gently with a smug smile etched on his face, his thoughts instantly twisting into ideas of what he was going to do to you when you finally got back to where you truly belonged. "Everything is going to be just fine."

As soon as the drug invaded your mind and your world faded once again at the same time he hastily took you into his arms and started his journey back to his abandoned cabin into the darkness of the night and when he reached his own home he settled you in the bed in his room with ropes gripping your hands attached to the old oak foundation of the bed as he snuggled into your warm body once he was feeling bold as the night proceeded

"I've been wanting to do this for a fucking real long time." He mutters under his breath into the crook of the cozy soft flesh of your neck "Best part is that he doesn't know where I live so he can't take you away."

Tim didn't know what the hell could've happened while he visited Jay but all he knew was that something was wrong and now you were missing with no signs clues of to where you might be it was only when he found a note under the blankets with just three words that made his blood run cold

She's mine now

Now he knew has an idea of who could've done it Brian has been strange as well lately by giving death glares to him when Tim tries to flirt with you not only that but he seemed to be more encouraging of Jay's stalkerish behavior Tim now realized the mistake he made earlier by leaving you alone to murder Jay before he could murder him Tim believed the only reason Brian was nudging Jay to stalk you was to get Jay to stop bothering him and let him live in peace but now that Jay was dead there was no other suspect left but Brian

As he was piecing together what could've transpired he heard a buzzing coming from his cell phone he took the phone in his hand while the faint glow of light was still emanating when the device as he saw the message from none other than Brian with a string of numbers possibly coordinates to his location where he kidnapped you from him while he was busy

His breath started to get more uneven with his eyes dilating out of fear while thoughts flew past his mind about your safety he was started to hold himself with his hands gripping diagonally at his upper arms while the fabric of his flannel creased as a reaction to his strength he started to tremble not out of distress but resentment his knuckles started transforming into a snowy white from how hard he was clenching his fist

His mind was beginning to feel fuzzy as his own thoughts were starting to get quiet but the static in his mind was getting only louder followed by a loud booming voice that was starting to overtake him again but this time he welcomed it as he didn't know what other actions he could take

Once it finally overtook him a sinister simile was plastered upon his parched slips he was going to get you back and slaughter Brian as atonement for stealing you and maybe keep you in the cabin away from the violence and then he would fix everything thus you would belong to him

"Fuck Brian you know I'd do anything to protect [Name.] anything for her to be mine." He growled under his breath, eyes now focused on the porcelain mask with dark circles around its eyes with eyes knitted up in what appears to be suprise and pitch jet lips on the wall he told you was just for decoration "You're about to regret what you've just done." He remarks followed by a deep huskier chuckle

He clutches his handgun yet again and sets off on a search to locate the coordinates stepping into his vehicle and sliding in the keys before turning it to start the engine and pulling out of the college campus parking lot now focusing on the road in front of him and driving into the nightfall as to not be discerned by anybody

When he finally reached the trail to the cabin he started sprinting his way to whatever location Brian had sent him he had no time to waste following a trail of footprints of crunched leaves and snapped twigs on the surface of the ground floor when he finally reached the window of the cabin he stood and pressed an ear to listen for activity in case Brian was preparing an ambush for him in one of the rooms

He heard the sound of a struggle and the sounds of thuds something else that he couldn't quite make out but it was still extremely worrying

Bam...bam...bam! "AARGH!" followed by a thunderous crackling of somebody he couldn't make out the voices clearly but he could at least assume what's occurring...what if it was Brian hurting you because you did something that made him extremely furious if that were the case he'd have to come and rescue you but at the same time he'd have to keep his alter ego a secret to avoid your concern for him

He quickly wrapped his fingers around a nearby rock and launched it directly at the cabin glass window instantly shattering it to sharp pieces and stepping through it carefully and at that moment he could make out masculine yells coming from the room in front of him now he is certain the voice wasn't actually you much to his relief

As he more steps towards the door intertwining his fingers against the knob of the old wooden door and twisting while at the same time putting his strength against the ancient oak entryway he could still make out another familiar yet unknown voice furiously screaming along with Brian shouting among all the commotion which fueled his yearning to harm Brian for bringing both you and him into his annoying scheme even moree

Then as he walked inside the miserable room with the white paint heavily chipping away following that sight he witnessed Brian in a vibrant orange yellowish hoody stained in certain places with what appears to be blood along with a pitch-black fabric mask covering the entirety of his head beside the hood that was pulled over his head another thing he noticed on the material placed on Brian's face was a red frown along with crimson pinpoint dots for eyes additionally just plain worn out jeans that looked to be somewhat dirty he realized that this wasn't actually Brian but his alter ego whose name was unmistakably known to him as hoodie but he was still going to execute him nonetheless for possibly harming you

But the other figure straddling Brian clutching a cell phone above him looked somewhat familiar with a coffee brown leather jacket with a black hood that was also above his head he noticed the man's jacket happens to also be tinted in particular spots with that easily recognizable red liquid in addition to this he wore a mask that resembled that of a skeleton with two rows of square teeth and dark circles on both of the holes where his eyes would be with eyebrows that looked to be expressing with curiosity

"Give me back my phone right now you fucker!" Brian hissed eyes glaring up at the man on above of him trying to get to pry the man off him "And get the fuck off of me!" He added with a hint of irritation

"SHE'S MINE SHE'S MINE YOU CAN'T HAVE HER SHE'S MINE!" The man snarled in an outrage his tone obviously hysterical as he raised his other fist preparing to hit Hoodie with a flurry of punches aimed at his already bloody face

As Masky stepped closer to the scene there was a painfully audible creak and both men stopped for a second before their head began tilting over to Masky's direction than the mysterious man spoke his words flowing out of his mouth like fluid

"Well...well...well remember me?" He implored Masky swiftly changing his tone from outrage to relaxed while staring at him intently still with that emotionless mask whilst Hoodie kept swatting for the man to get off of him

"No who the hell are you and did you send me that text." He questions feeling himself getting more disgruntled with this confusing situation he opens his mouth to speak once again "And where is [Name.] What did you do to her!?" His eyes gaze directly at the unusual man

"Oh, you don't recall me, your friend? that you shot dead in my own home!" The man glares and scowls at Masky the unpleasant memory started to rise in his mind again "You took my love then you took my life and now I'm back for vengeance"

"Jay?" Masky grumbled, "there's no way I killed you, why aren't you dead?!" He shouted his mind racing with questions maybe he was just hallucinating this whole predicament

"Close im Skully, but about your little question I'd rather not answer that." Skully answered back Hoodie now was panting under him from a combination of him being crushed under his weight and his failed attempts to injure Skully with his sore bloody knuckles

Hoodie was beginning to feel lightheaded from only getting to inhale so much oxygen just when he thought he was about to black out Skully stood up with his eyes boring into Maskys then Skully spoke

"I'm going to...kill you then I'll kill hoodie then she'll be mine all mine." Skully's breathing started to hitch and become heavier like a bear's breathing as he slowly took a step towards Masky "it's going to be all okay everything's going to be fine it's about to be the way it should be."

You started to thrash around in your bounds fortunately to you it was becoming looser you tried to observe the darkness of the environment around you to tried to find a way to escape back to safety there were windows but they were boarded up but there was an old door which caught your eye as you limped over to it still sore from the burns of the rope that felt like a harsh heat

As you wrapped your hand around the knob and pushed you heard the conversation of people in the next room so then out of curiosity you put your ear to the door you could make out a thickly deep voice and some the sounds of some light coughing along with Tims's voice which filled you with both relief and fear

Because on one hand, Tim is here to save you from this place but on the other what if he got wounded by that other man after thinking about what to do in this situation for a minute that felt like an eternity you decided it would be best to step into the room help Tim beat that man and escape with his help and call the authorities

As you stepped into the room everybody peered in your direction you caught a good look at them one being Tim with his dark brown hair and yellow jacket and worn jeans and a white mask covering his face with what looks to have dark lips and circles encasing the holes meant for the eyes the man in front him looked a bit similar

He has a tan leather jacket with a raven black hood and the same worn pants and a white mask white rectangular teeth and the same dark circles around the eyes as Tims but this time with the same eyebrows settled in a surprised manner in your direction as if they were startled by you waltzing in the room

And then finally there was that easily recognizable sound of Brian's roughly breathing you heard in your sleep but right now he was on the floor laid flat with blood with a yellow orangish cloth hood along with ordinary jeans and a black cover mask with crimson red frown and two dots for eyes above it

"What's going on! who are you?" You questioned loudly, eyes flickering around the room. you were wondering why they were in costumes was Tim in on this sick circumstance?

"I'm here for you my beloved and im Jay but...in a different form," he announced casually as he made a fist and pointed his thumb to his face "My names now Skully"

You were confused because Skully didn't look like Jay whatsoever he was taller and his voice was a lot deeper almost in a chilling way and his figure looked to be more stronger than Jay with his broad shoulders but the only thing that was the same about him was the way he spoke

"[Name.] Give me a minute to deal with him. I won't be needing your help." Masky sighs casually trying to weave away in his mind to distract Skully so your as least scared as possible

"That's quite a rude way to talk." Skully quickly brought out his hand and grabbed his pocket knife from out of his jean pocket while using his other hand to clench Masky's throat blocking his airways while Masky started making choking sounds trying to struggle out of his grasp

"If you kill him I won't ever love you!" You blurted out of desperation trying to save your lover from getting his throat slashed from Skully's blade your eyes now are being focused on Tims trembling body

Skully faltered at this his breathing now became even more intense then he dropped Tim with a dull thud then he started to clutch his arms and rocked himself ever so slightly back and forth in an attempt to comfort himself from your words

While Skully was distracted Hoodie who was now back to full willpower hastily got up as quick as possible and clenched Skullys knife from behind and had it now hovering over Skullys throat Hoodie didn't say a word and just when he was about to make the slit you perked up

"No, don't kill him either for the love of God!" You cried out you didn't believe that what Skully possibly done was right but that doesn't mean you want him to perish you took a quick breather before continuing "Don't or else I be able to love you either"

Instead of trying to comfort himself in an attempt to forget your words he just gave a disappointed sigh and slowly backed away from Skully while he raised his hands in surrender secretly smirking under his mask now comforted that you saved him

Masky was now staring at Hoodie already reaching in his pocket for his handgun but before he could you interrupted "That goes the same for you too Tim."

And with that, he stopped in his tracks and looked from Hoodie to you with a blank stare so you couldn't be able to get a read with how upset he was that you would say such a thing especially when it was Hoodie that did this to you and dragged him into it

"Actually I got an idea," Hoodie speaks enthusiastically eyeing everyone in the room chuckling as ideas resurfacing in his head then smirking to himself "If [Name.] Hates it when we're at each other's throats then let's just share her"

Skully had a thousand-yard expression yard stare then he uttered "Actually as much as I hate sharing I'd rather share than be genuinely despised by my sweetheart."

"I'm going to be honest I'm tired of me and [Name.] Getting stressed by college and...I would rather spend more time with her" Masky spoke softly yet reluctantly while his eyes glanced at yours lovingly "And I'd prefer not to kill my friends despite what they've done"

your lips started to depart to talk attempting to sound stern but your voice came out meek "I'm not sure about this." Your stare now focused on the floor and not any of the men in front of you who on the other hand were staring right into your eyes

Now your mind was frantic on one side how are you supposed to split your affection between three of the closest people in your life all the time and also you loved Jay and Brian as a friend and maybe Tim as a lover but you didn't want them to be at each other's throats especially Skully since he appeared to be tougher than the other two men another thing to note is that all three of them could easily hurt you although you can sense that they didn't want to

But what if they forced you into this scenario if you resisted would they punish you or your family so with that last thought in mind you decided it would be best to accept their offer after all it would be selfish to have somebody dying just because you resisted their demented obsession with you and after all…maybe you'll learn to love them over time

So trying to hide the anxiety in your voice and the heat on your cheeks you spoke loudly enough for them to hear "I've decided that your offer is for the best so I'll accept." their face lit up at your words

Skully was the first one to step towards you at a slow pace as he wrapped his arms under your own in a warm tight embrace whilst he put his chin atop your soft hair

Then Hoodie came trapping you in a side hug nestling into your shoulder while you could feel him against your skin grinning ear to ear through the mask

Then there was Masky who came up from behind and settled his rough hands down on your shoulders then he bent down to kiss the back of your neck which made you jolt in surprise in response to this he just chuckled then he bent down and put his arms under your legs and swept you off your feet while the other two men backed off now carrying you bridal style

Then he started to head back into the bedroom where you woke up in taking the lead while the other two followed then setting you down gently atop the soft oak bed while Hoodie reached for something underneath the bed much to your dismay while you were caged in the middle of the bed between Skully and Masky then Hoodie stood up with a syringe in hand while Masky snaked his arms over yours so that your arms were to your side and you were pulled flush against him feeling him purring against your neck while Skully began to stroke your hair with one hand in an attempt to calm you while his other hand was tracing patterns on your thigh

Hoodie slowly came on top of the mattress putting a finger to his lips while silently shushing you not to struggle as you felt the familiar prick of your skin as your sight began to fade and turn black

"Shhhh love you made the right choice we're so glad but now is the time you get your rest." Was the last thing you heard from Masky's lips before you fell into a deep sleep.

#yandere #yandere slenderverse #yandere masky #yandere brian #yandere hoodie #yandere jay #yandere skully #yandere tim #fanfic #fanfiction #anon ask #creepypasta #slenderverse #marble hornets #yandere x reader

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alemoncakelife · 4 years

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AU: Jon Snow Meets Alayne Stone

“Remember my sweet, he cannot recognise you.”

“Of course, father, for we have never met.”

Petyr smirked at her as the pair approached the party of Northerners. Sansa gripped her reins and held her breath. She had always thought of how sweet it would be to see Jon Snow again. Yet the notion of this reunion taking place among so many people, particularly Littlefinger, simply filled her with dread. Lord Baelish had laid such a careful collection of plots. He intended to have her win the heart of Harry the Heir, along with the whole of the Eyrie and most importantly Winterfell. Home. It was a delicate and treacherous game, as it always was with him. They could not have her half brother reveal her true name before its time. Otherwise more things may be lost than a game.

But all she had to do was remind herself that Sansa was not here. It was only Alayne. And all Alayne had heard of Jon Snow was the whispers from the other lords and ladies of the Vale. And as she drew her horse to a halt, there he stood before her. The awkward boy who sparred with Robb and Theon had gone. Now in his place was a stranger. A man, with hair as black as the midnight sky and eyes that shone like dragonglass. He wore the furs of a lord that reminded her so much of her father. Her heart twinged. Winterfell was so far from here.

“Lord Snow,” Petyr Baelish declared as he dismounted, “I trust your journey was a safe one.” Lord Jon bowed his head before replying that it was, although the bitter winds indicated that winter truly was coming.

“It may be coming sooner than any man can tell.” Baelish continued. When he and Jon were face to face, he gave the lad a smile that barely spread past his cheeks. Lord Snow couldn’t seem to return the expression and his mouth twitched briefly instead.

He never was confident in courtesies, Sansa thought fondly. Then she prayed to the gods that she’d look as much a stranger to him as he did to her, before she slid from her saddle and joined her father.

“My lord may I introduce you to my daughter. Although her name is not all that dissimilar to your own.”

In that moment she knew she had to speak. But what if Jon recognised her voice? Sansa willed herself to meet his gaze and it was then that she was almost certain he knew. His hands had dropped by his sides and his lips were softly parted. It was as if her real name danced upon those very lips and longed to slip free. But she couldn’t allow it. She wouldn’t allow it! Sansa’s Tully eyes fluttered into a stonier stare. Her mouth curled into a smirk her Lord Father would be proud of. Her false one at least...

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Snow. My name is Alayne Stone.”

She curtsied. (Not as gracefully as Sansa would have.)

“Stone?” he said, piecing it together. His voice was lower and gruffer than she remembered. The longer she lingered on his face she realised just how many scars he bore. Sansa’s scars never reached her face. Each mark sparked a new question in her mind. It had been so long since he left. There was so much she wanted to know. What had he seen? What had he survived? In a way he was the only person of her past that remained to her. A part of her was desperate to know how big Ghost had gotten, but Alayne would have to firstly learn that Jon Snow even had a direwolf before finding that out. Yet all these thoughts vanished when she realised he was smiling at her. Smiling, truly. She knew it was true because his eyes shone brighter while the skin around them creased. He used to smile that way with Arya and her brothers.

“Alayne Stone. That’s a pretty name.”

What? Did she hear him correctly? Sansa had told him to say that. In another life when she was small and full of songs. She told him to give that exact praise to the ladies he’d meet. He remembered! After all this time he remembered! Half her head told her it was a foolish coincidence, but the other half screamed that Jon Snow remembered her lesson even after all this time! It was practically nothing and yet it felt like everything.She wanted so much to throw herself into his arms and weep and laugh and never let him go. Don’t be silly. Be Alayne. Instead she clasped her gloved hands together and tilted her head cooly.

“You are too kind, my lord. Perhaps once my father has shown you and your men to your rooms, you might tell me some tales of your time in the North. I hear it can be quite beautiful”

Jon’s expression darkened a little.

“It is, my lady. But sadly it is now in great danger. We all are. That is what’s brought us to you.”

The bluntness threw her a bit, but Alayne was not so swayed. She glanced at Petyr who was looking at her with what some might see to be pride or admiration, but she knew him better than that. He loved to watch her play.

“The world is indeed a dangerous place. But there is no need for such formalities with me. You may call me Alayne. Everyone does.”

“Thank you. You can call me Jon.”

“Jon.” It felt so nice to say his name. She wanted to say it again. But she really shouldn’t have.

First he blinked. As if he had misheard her. Then he opened his mouth as if to speak but nothing came out. It was a silence that felt longer than it likely was, and suddenly Sansa was all too aware of the Northern men and knights of the Vale that had been watching the three of them this whole time. What a stupid thing to do. She had no different voice. Saying his name must have done something. A wrong move on her part. If Sansa gave him enough time she was sure he’d find her in the woman before him. He made her feel like her brunette wash was fading from her hair with every second. Her cheeks burned. The little girl in her wanted Littlefinger to say something. To intervene. Surely he could see this unravelling like she did?

I must not be a Stark. Not now. Not yet.

What would Sansa Stark not do in this moment? Because whatever that was, Alayne Stone had to do it, and quickly. Then it came to her.

“Jon...Jon, Jon.” She played with his name before licking her lips and raising an eyebrow. This was confusing him. Good. Throw him off the scent. “I think not.”

With that she sauntered back to her horse and climbed up. She prayed nobody could see how her legs were shaking. Once she was mounted Alayne smiled triumphantly. “If it please my lord, I should like to call you Snow. I know so many Jons you see, but no Snows.”

“A-aye. You can call me that.” He tried to hide his fidgeting finger beneath his cloak. That red-haired girl from his childhood was falling out of his thoughts now. Let her disappear.

“Well then, dear father. Perhaps we should all head back to the Eyrie now. As you said yourself winter is approaching and these winds grow less forgiving.”

Petyr was beaming at her. Sansa couldn’t tell if it was that or the breeze that was causing the gooseflesh around her neck. Had there not been so many spectators, Lord Baelish might have tried to steal a fatherly kiss had his bastard daughter not retreated to her steed.

“Very wise, my sweet.” He turned to Jon. “You must forgive my girl. Her manners are not always what they ought.”

“It’s alright. We bastards are not known for our courtesies.” Littlefinger allowed himself a small chuckle. He’d never looked slimier to Sansa than now.

“Indeed. We shall show you and your men to your rooms. Then we may discuss the matters you conveyed to me in your raven. I am most keen to be of service in any way I can.”

Jon Snow thanked him with a nod and they both got onto their horses. Sansa watched him. He moved with such strength. He must be a magnificent fighter now. Petyr never told her why he invited Jon all this way or how he might fit into his plans. Perhaps he didn’t. There was danger in that.

“You did well.” He whispered, ensuring no-one else was listening to them. “When we return I will explain why he’s here, and of what value he may be to us.”

You will not make a pawn of him. Not if I can help it.

“Do you know what Jon meant, when he talked of us being in danger?”

“Yes, but do not fret my love. You and I both thrive in perils. Others may fall but we keep on climbing.” With that, Littlefinger galloped ahead, probably expecting her to follow like a good little bird.

But what does a mockingbird know of the winter? Be it wolves or bastards, Jon and I are a pack. If winter is coming, then I will protect him.

Sansa turned to look back at Jon Snow. They were the last of the Starks. She allowed herself to give him a small smile. Alayne Stone would be his friend. She would protect him in any way she could. And when the time came, she would tell Jon Snow the truth.

#jonsa #sansa stark #jon snow #alayne stone #got au #game of thrones #my writing #one shot #gotsansastark #jon x sansa #jon x alayne

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dadsbongos · 3 years

Text

Reges Sumus

Movie/Game/Show: Danganronpa (which game/anime? who tf knows) Dynamic: Izuru Kamukura/Reader (heavily mentioned Hajime Hinata/Reader) Warnings: despair arc tings, i tried to put more into izuru’s character so i’m sorry if he comes out ooc :( Summary: Izuru knows he’s miserable, but he can never find himself pulling away. ~~~

“The world has fallen into despair. A despair so deep the entirety of humanity has cascaded into bloodlust. Anger. Fear. Hatred. Those outside our walls feel it all. Those outside our walls are jealous of us. Of our hope. Of our unity. Of our home. We cannot let them take us. We cannot let them take anything that is rightfully ours. Protect this place with your lives, for if you fall - so does our hope. So do I. So go out and fight, fight with all you have, fight with all you are. For your spouses, for your parents, for your children - for me. As long as you do so, we can save this world. We will save this world using my Ultimate as a weapon.”

“Praise be, oh Dominus.”

“Praise be, Reges Sumus.”

(Y/n) outstretched her arms to the crowd, “Now go, my children, my loves, save this world!”

In near perfect synchronist, the people pulled down their masks and turned to the large front door of the ransacked mansion, picking up their guns, bats, and knives as they left. Just in case, of course, it wasn’t their fault if someone wasn’t willing to give their rations to the leader. Same as it wasn’t their fault if their bat slipped over someone’s head, hard enough to crack open the skull like a nut, or if their fingers slipped over the trigger long enough to kill a small family over a can of beans. It wasn’t their fault. It was despair’s. It was Junko Enoshima’s.

“Dominus, aye?”

Looking to the source of the voice, (Y/n) gave the boy a close-eyed smile, she turned completely and waved off the guards that escorted the pair, “Fuyuhiko, Peko, my dears!” she let her hands fall on the blond’s cheeks, pressing a holy kiss to his forehead, leaving a lipstick stain in her wake before moving onto Peko and doing the same, “It’s lovely to have you visit.”

They both knew better than to wipe off the lipstick stains on their skin, anything even close to slander aimed at (Y/n) could be met with merciless death at her follower’s vengeful hands.

Fuyuhiko looked about the lavish room, decorated with stolen jewels and furniture, before nodding, “Not fuckin’ shabby.”

“Thank you,” (Y/n) clasped her hands together, bringing them to her chest in delight, “As much as I adore having you here, I must ask why drop by so suddenly?”

Peko piped up, “We got chased out of a hideout. Kazuichi thought it’d be funny to send us some Monokumas.”

“Oh, my! That’s not good at all,” the girl shook her head before turning and beginning to walk up a set of stairs, “Come.”

Following close after, Fuyuhiko watched as his fellow Despair trailed her fingertips gently over the paintings of herself hung in the hall. (L/n), (Y/n), Ultimate Charisma, had truly built herself a cult of lies. The belief that somehow her followers could rebuild the world and rid it of despair, somehow she could save the world with the power of her ultimate status.

She had no intention of doing so, but it gave the people something to believe in and fight for - and that was good enough.

“Here we are,” (Y/n) opened a bedroom door, a queen-sized mattress laying on the floor with no bed frame, “It’s the best I can do at the moment, my dearest apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fuyuhiko brushed off - he knew better than to complain.

Peko nodded, “This is enough.”

“I’m glad,” she gestured the pair inside, taking each of their hands and pressing a kiss to their knuckles, “Anything for my comrades.”

As she left, she shut the door. What despair would become of the poor soul whose room that was, a shiver went down (Y/n)’s spine at the mere thought.

Minor, of course, but only in the moment. It was one of many things that would slowly build up into a cacophony - and she was reveling in it.

Entering her own room, (Y/n) jumped slightly at the dark silhouette standing by her king-sized mattress, completed with the fanciest bed frame she could steal, before recognizing the long, flowing hair. She smiled at the boy, hands already reaching out for him, “Oh, Izuru, my darling,” she took his cheeks, lovingly brushing her thumbs over the bones and bringing his forehead to her lips in a staining kiss, “Did you get in with Fuyuhiko and Peko?”

He made no gesture of nodding but the agreement was there, or perhaps he simply ignored her question and she was projecting upon a blank canvas, “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to start a cult, but won’t they tear you apart when they realize what you’ve done?”

The lies she’s told. The things she’s stolen. The people she’s killed. The sins living in her veins thrived on every weeping babe and execution splattering across these walls of hers.

“Isn’t that the point? The despair. Having everything I’ve worked for crumble when the worms revolt,” she answered, sitting upon her bed and patting the space beside her for Izuru, “Sit, my dear, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” he corrected.

“No, but I missed your face,” she leaned over, not particularly caring of any personal boundaries he may have, and brushed back his hair, slicking it away from his face and tying it back, “Well, it’s not truly your face, is it?”

Izuru didn’t respond, simply watching as the woman took a finger down the bridge of his nose.

“It’s Hajime Hinata’s,” her smile faded for the first time in a long time, a soft frown taking its place, “We were close, you know?”

“So I’ve heard,” Izuru grabbed (Y/n)’s wrist as her fingertip brushed his cupid’s bow, “I have no memory of that, you know.”

“I do.”

“So don’t force me to.”

“I’m not,” denying his claim, (Y/n) knew he didn’t believe her - though to be fair, she didn’t believe herself either, “I just like the despair of being so close, yet so far, from my beloved Hajime.”

Silence festered within the room once again.

A smile slowly teased back onto (Y/n)’s face, “You must be tired, but there’s something I simply have to show you.”

He knew where she was going with this, an attempt at recruitment as usual, but something deep, deep, deep down told him to go along with it. Perhaps it was a rare pity.

Perhaps it was the part of him enamored with the one called Dominus.

Perhaps it was the part of him that mourned the Ultimate Gamer.

Perhaps it was both.

Perhaps it was him.

Any which way, he stood and followed after the woman, the red of the sky drenching the walls through cracked, dusty windows as they traversed down the hallway.

Passing Fuyuhiko and Peko’s room, passing the guard’s posts, passing the main room - (Y/n) led Izuru to a room at the very end of the grand corridor. Cardboard had been hastily tacked onto the wood with messy, uneven letters spelling out ‘nursery’ in bold. She pushed the door open easily enough, despite the clear indication it should’ve been locked, and gestured the long-haired man through.

It was dark save for the faint light emanating from a baby monitor hooked onto a stained crib in the corner with ‘K.S’ etched into the corner. From what Izuru could see, there were about four cribs in the room and all of them filled with a sleeping baby.

“I feel no sympathy for babies in despair.”

“I never wanted kids,” (Y/n) brushed past the man and his words, her voice quiet to avoid waking the children, “I always thought they were snotty, whiny, loud, annoying little money-suckers who took and took and took until they were of age to take care of themselves and then they leave you forever…” she ran a finger over the sticky wood, “and I still do. But Hajime,” she hesitantly took a glance at Izuru, knowing she’d never find what she wanted in his gaze, “Hajime liked kids. He wasn’t sure he wanted any but I think he might’ve.”

Izuru watched the woman slowly revert back to his side to watch the babies as they slept, “So?”

“Do you want kids, Izuru?”

“I’m a war criminal.”

“War criminals can want kids, can’t they?” she huffed at his difficulty, previously cheery attitude slipping into her real feelings, “Someone being unfit to be a parent doesn’t stop them. I don’t know of any restrictions preventing someone from having a child, do you?” when he didn’t respond, she continued, “Hajime’s parents were unfit and still, they had him. I’m glad he was born but I wish it was to better people.”

“He didn’t seem to resent them. From what little I can feel of him.”

“He doesn’t seem to resent a lot of people he should. But it’s his life, who am I to interject?” she sarcastically mumbled, patience for Izuru Kamukura growing thinner, “I told him the procedure was an awful idea and look who’s standing next to me…”

“You seem to hate me and yet you strangely desire me at your side.”

“I told you already, it’s the despair.”

“I’m not stupid, (Y/n), I can see through you.”

Her shoulders tensed.

“Your request is impossible and you know that.”

She just wants her boyfriend back, is that really so much to ask for?

“My request is…” she paused, pursing her lips and furrowing her brows, “My request is…”

“I’ll be taking a room for the night,” he coldly informed.

“Stay with me,” (Y/n) took Izuru by his sleeve, fingers grasping at the clothes she’d never seen on her lover before - and she still hasn’t, technically. Because it wasn’t him, no matter how much she wished for him to magically wake up and be Hajime again - deep down, she knew better.

Izuru looked at the woman, her eyes slowly wetting and bottom lip quivering. She didn’t want him. She may have thought he was attractive, but that was only because he had stolen a man’s face.

She’d never want him.

It… stung. To know a woman so enamored with a lesser version of yourself, or who you had taken over, wasn’t similarly enamored with you. And she never could be. He didn’t like feeling so hurt over her rejection. He didn’t like knowing why it hurt.

Because he always wanted her.

He shook off her hand before wordlessly leaving the room and beginning his trek towards their shared abode for the night.

He wasn’t Hajime Hinata, he was Izuru Kamukura and he knew that no matter how much he wanted the sting to die, he would still be Izuru Kamukura when he woke up in (Y/n)’s arms the next morning.

It was Junko’s curse.

It was despair.

#sdr2 x reader #hajime hinata x reader #izuru kamakura x reader #izuru x reader #kamukura x reader

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

It’s Been . . . a DAY 1/3

Yeah, I've got WIPs, but yeah, this came to me. My oldest, years ago, had to pee really bad and NO ONE would let me use their bathroom. An insurance office, of all places, took pity on me, and my kid proceeded to pee on their bathroom floor. I burst into tears, and the woman there hugged me and told me how her kids peed in all kinds of places when they were potty training. The people were so nice, they refused to let me clean it up. I've never forgotten that act of kindness, and I likely never will. So that's the inspiration for this story which will have three parts.

Summary: Emma Swan bursts into Killian's life in spectacular fashion - when her three year old pees on his office floor. Nevertheless, Killian is mesmerized by this tenacious woman. Perhaps fate will let them cross paths again . . .

Rated: G

Words: Just shy of 2k

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @teamhook @let-it-raines @winterbythesea @spartanguard @shireness-says @superchocovian @thesschesthair @resident-of-storybrooke @vvbooklady1256 @hookedonapirate @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @bethacaciakay @optomisticgirl @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @ekr032-blog-blog @itsfabianadocarmo @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite (sorry if I forgot anyone - I am really tired right now!)

Chapter One:

“Can we use your bathroom, please?”

Jones & Jones Accounting Firm isn’t your stereotypical lifeless, silent establishment, just as the Jones brothers don’t look like your stereotypical accountants. Nevertheless, the frazzled blonde bursts in upon a moment of intense concentration. It’s tax season, after all. Killian takes in said blonde, her hair a wild disarray and tension in her shoulders. She’s clearly not having the best day. A squirming three year old grips her hand, doing what Liam and Elsa always call “the potty dance.”

All four employees of Jones & Jones (it technically should be Jones, Jones, & Jones, but Elsa said that was far too pretentious) hurriedly assure the woman, “yes, yes, of course,” leaping to their feet, hovering, oozing politeness, and pointing to the end of the hall to the facilities. The woman practically weeps in relief.

“Pee pee now, Mama!” the child cries, and his mother scoops him up, holding him out in front of her as she races for the toilet. It’s another maneuver Killian is familiar with thanks to Liam and Elsa - or his nephew, to be more specific.

The blonde - he really wants to know her name - sets the boy down in front of the toilet. In her haste she doesn’t even bother to shut the door.

It’s too late.

Before she can even get the child’s pants down, a yellow puddle is spreading at his feet.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasps to the adults still unhelpfully hovering.

Then she starts ugly crying. Somehow, Killian knows this is out of character for her.

The boy begins to cry in earnest too. Liam and Elsa race off, most likely to take care of this, as the only two adults at Jones & Jones with kids. Ariel, who knows nothing about personal space and has never met a stranger, puts a comforting arm around the blonde.

“It’s okay, lass,” Killian assures, “really.”

“How can it be okay? We burst in here and peed on your floor!”

Killian bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling or pointing out that only the lad did the actual peeing.

Liam appears with a roll of paper towels and a mop. “Accidents happen,” he tells the young mother cheerfully. “Potty training?”

“Yes!” the woman practically wails. “He’s three, so I know we should be done -“

“Ours is three too,” Elsa interrupts as she pushes a stack of clothes into her arms, “and he still has accidents. Which is why I have a spare set of clothes in my desk drawer.”

“Oh, spare clothes,” the woman mutters, shuffling through the massive bag slung over one shoulder. “Shit, he peed on those yesterday.”

He continues to sob as Liam lifts him out of his yellow puddle.

“So take these,” Elsa insists once again. “My name is Elsa, by the way.”

“Emma,” the blonde answers with a trembling chin as she takes the clothes, “and I never fall apart like this with strangers.” She chuckles sardonically. “Hell, I don’t do it with people I do know, but we’ve just had the worst time. Henry said he had to go, but every shop on this street said no when I begged for a bathroom. I was trying to buy him a pair of shoes. I mean, who the hell opens a kids’ thrift store and doesn’t put in a public bathroom?”

Killian once again bites his lip at the heat in her voice. He believes her when she insists that she rarely falls apart. She’s feisty and tough as nails - no question.

“Well,” Liam says, stuffing the wastebasket with sodden paper towels, “I’ve gotten most of it so you can change your lad out of his wet things. I’ll mop up when you’re done.”

Emma looks at each of them in turn, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. “Why are you all being so nice?”

It’s clear from the way she says it that kindness has been rare in her life. It makes Killian wonder about the boy’s father. She isn’t wearing a ring, but that doesn’t mean the man isn’t around. Whoever he is, he’s done nothing to ease that look of mistrust in her eyes.

“Because it’s clear you’re having a rough day,” Killian tells her gently, “and we’ve all been there.”

“Some of us literally,” quips Liam, and Elsa laughs.

“Your office was the sixth place I tried,” Emma whispers. “I never would have asked to use a bathroom in a business office if I wasn’t desperate.”

The boy - Henry - is still sniffling. “Was I a bad boy, Mama?”

“Oh baby, no,” Emma croons, falling to her knees before her son. “Even a big person might have had an accident holding it as long as you had to.”

Her soft voice melts the little boy, and he collapses wearily into his mother’s arms for comfort. Emma obliges, heedless of the child’s smelly dampness. She’s a good mother, that’s clear. The businesses on this street however? Killian clenches his jaw as he mentally ticks them off: the thrift store Emma had mentioned, a sporting goods store, a ladies boutique, a children’s book store, a jewelry store, and then Jones & Jones. Every single one had no reason to deny the desperate mother and child an exception to their “employees only” restrooms.

“Next time, love,” Killian says to the resilient mother before him, “you just stride right back to the bathroom no matter what they say.”

“Yeah,” Ariel agrees, anger flashing in her eyes, “I understand why they might not want a public bathroom, but surely they could see it was an emergency.”

“You just tell them it’s either let you use their bathroom or your kid’s gonna pee right on their floor,” Elsa grumbles. She’s clearly pissed - pun completely intended - or she wouldn’t have spoken with such poor diction.

Emma laughs, her face more at ease than it has been since she arrived. “I’ll remember that next time. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“And potty training is definitely a desperate time,” Liam commiserates.

They leave Emma and Henry alone then so she can change his clothes. When mother and son exit the bathroom, they both look much calmer.

“I can’t say thank you enough,” Emma tells them. “I’ll come back by tomorrow to return the clothes.”

Elsa waves away her offer. “No worries. Those are pretty worse for wear. Ian won’t miss them, I promise.”

“Ian Jones, I’m guessing?” Emma asks. “That’s a nice name.”

“It’s a nickname, actually,” Liam tells her from where he’s mopping the bathroom. “He’s named after this git of a brother, over here.”

“Oi, but you did name him after me, didn’t you?” Killian shoots back.

“Nickname, huh?” Emma asks with a tilt of her head and a teasing smile. “Short for . . . ?”

“Killian.” Is it just his imagination, or is she flirting with him? “Killian Jones.”

He extends his hand, and she takes it.

“Emma Swan.”

A last name! His heart soars. “It suits you.”

Emma’s smile brightens even as she rolls her eyes. No, it isn’t his imagination - she is flirting. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the ones with kids who pee in my office.”

She tilts her head back and lets out a full-throated laugh. It does something to his heart - makes it expand or something equally cheesy. Her cheeks are pink as she looks at him while tugging at the ends of her hair.

“So . . . um, I still feel kind of bad about that.” Her nose wrinkles, and he notices the light dusting of freckles there.

“Well, you could make it up to us by staying and having dinner. It will be here any minute: sub sandwiches and practically a whole salad bar. Ariel always orders way too much.”

“It’s better than running low!” the redhead snaps indignantly.

His smile wavers as he watches a shadow pass over Emma’s face, dimming her eyes. It’s as if he’s watched a wall fall back into place. She shuffles her feet, and ducks her head. Henry meets her gaze, popping a thumb into his mouth.

“I . . . um, think this is a Happy Meal kinda night - right kid?”

“Yay!” Henry cheers, bounding up and down in that jerky way toddlers always have. “Ticken nuggets!”

“Chicken nuggets,” Emma corrects.

“Dat’s what I say,” Henry retorts with a frown.

Killian catches the boys gaze and winks at him. The boy giggles before popping his thumb back in his mouth. Then Killian regards Emma again, weighing the risk of his next question, but he has to know.

“His father is expecting dinner too, perhaps?”

Emma’s eyes narrow, and it’s clear he’s made a serious tactical error. “He certainly isn’t expecting it from me, wherever the hell he is.”

Killian ducks his head. “Apologies, lass.”

Emma sucks in a breath, then lets it out slowly. When she speaks again, it’s with measured calm.

“I thank all of you again, but we really need to go.”

They all talk over one another assuring Emma that it was no trouble at all, but she practically dashes out the door. When it closes, sadness sweeps over Killian at the thought that he’ll probably never see her again.

“Well, you sure mucked that up, little brother.”

Killian glowers at Liam. “Shut it.”

“Leave him alone, babe,” Elsa admonishes gently. “He had to find some way to make sure he wasn’t flirting with a woman who was already taken.”

“You think she was flirting?” Killian asks.

Ariel snorts. “Please. For a minute there, she was practically melting at your feet.”

Killian groans as he runs a hand over his face. “You’re right Liam. I mucked it up.”

“I don’t think so,” Elsa muses, her gaze drifting to the door Emma Swan had just exited. “I think her walls flew back up before you probed about Henry’s dad.”

Killian sinks dejectedly into his desk chair. “And now I’ll probably never see her again.”

“So what?” Liam shoves the mop back into the broom closet before heading back to his own desk. “You only talked to her for like ten minutes.”

“There was an instant connection, though.” Ariel clasps her hands together and practically swoons.

“And you never know,” adds Elsa, “the two of you may cross paths again.”

Killian frowns as he stares at the spreadsheets on his computer screen. He hasn’t been immediately affected by a woman in this manner since Milah. Liam’s right - it’s foolish to read much into their brief meeting.

Yet he can’t help hoping that he’ll see Emma Swan again.

#cs #cs ff #captain swan #modern au #first meeting #mommy!emma #single mom emma #little henry #fluff #humor

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starculler · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021: Day 6

Word Count: 2271 || Read on AO3

Tags/Warnings: Star Wars, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Emotional Hurt

No violence. Only ✨emotions✨

Obi-Wan woke in a room not his own with the smell of blaster-fire and charred flesh in his nose, tasting it on his tongue so clearly that it nearly made him sick. He exhaled one long, slow breath that did nothing to purge the lingering traces of his nightmares, and opened his eyes to thick, black darkness. His brows furrowed, frowning as he struggled to clear the sleep-haze from his mind, a task that had grown considerably harder over the years. He spared a brief, token effort on remembering what he might have done, or where he’d gone, the day before to find himself in a stranger’s home, but only shrugged it off when nothing came to mind.

Perhaps, he mused with only a touch of sardonic humor, the suns’ heat had finally gotten to him and he’d broken into some poor farmer’s home. Whose, he hadn’t the faintest idea considering he only really visited one and this was, most certainly, not the Lars’ farmstead. He would know, he’d been inside once after all — a week spent in a guest room as he’d delivered little Luke to his aunt and uncle. Any subsequent visits had been … difficult.

Luke looked so much like his father sometimes.

He sighed, shoving the thought forcefully away, and focused once more on the room, straining see a little better. The walls, he noticed first, were bare except for a few occupied shelves whose contents he couldn’t even begin to guess at. A single window peered out into the world, tinted black by a light-blocking feature he remembered using … Before. The floor was much the same: spartan, with only a low table in one corner with a cushion to sit on and the bland bed roll he’d woken on. A bitter tang of nostalgia crawled up his throat, lodging there like a bottle’s stopper, and he struggled to swallow around it.

Shoving that away too, he clambered inelegantly to his feet — noticed he still wore the rattier robe and tunics he hadn’t been able to bring himself to eschew along with everything else — and made his way to the room’s singular exit. The door opened with barely a brush of his palm over the panel next to it. He made to move out into the home proper with a steadying hand laid on the frame’s cool metal. And froze.

“Anakin?”

His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, almost too soft to carry across the larger living space to the spitting image of the little boy he’d raised, failed, and left behind, burning on a bank of churning magma on Mustafar. He couldn’t breathe, lungs seizing and stuttering as they refused to work. He gripped the door’s frame harder, knuckles white and fingers little more than pricks of insignificant pain where they dug into the sharper edges. Anakin’s screaming roared in his ears, violent hatred and pain alike with faint echoes of the single plea he’d let slip from his lips somewhere in between before Obi-Wan had turned his back and waled away.

Anakin — oh Force it was Anakin — twisted around on his cushion, one hand braced on the long, low table in front oh him while the other lay flat on the floor, when he heard his name called. Obi-Wan’s gaze caught on his Padawan-braid, so short still that it barely brushed the boy’s — a boy. He was just a boy now, younger than twelve and a picture-perfect replica of the child who lived only in Obi-Wan’s memories and Luke’s shadow — shoulder.

“Master!” Anakin flashed him a bright grin, his blue eyes practically glittering with the strength of his joy. “You’re awake! Finally,” he said, excitement turning to a familiar teasing tone that tore Obi-Wan’s heart to shreds. “I almost thought you’d sleep for forever, and then who’d help with my lessons?”

The boy’s nose scrunched, his distaste for his lessons made clear in the way the word dropped from his mouth like a particularly foul piece of rotted food. Obi-Wan swayed where he stood, mouth suddenly drier than Tatooine’s desert as he stared. Then, faintly and feeling all too much like the very words he spoke had stolen free from him without permission, he said:

“Master Windu would, he’s told me so many times himself. He does so enjoy your company.”

It was a joke, one of several he’d indulged in often after having noticed Anakin’s distrust of the Council. A reassurance as much as something to make the boy laugh. Mace Windu had never told him he’d help with any of Anakin’s lessons, but Obi-Wan had never once seen the Master turn a youngling down when they asked him for help. Oh, he thought with a painful pang in his chest, Mace had loved the younglings, from the tiniest initiates in the Crèches all the way to the padawans, no matter what his severe countenance might have portrayed. He’d tried so hard to show that to Anakin, to teach him that Jedi — even and especially the Council — were, at their core, kind and compassionate. Had his Padawan ever truly known that, or was it another failure to be laid at Obi-Wan’s feet?

Anakin scoffed and rolled his eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, and I’m a heard of Bantha,” he said with a snicker. Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched despite how he wanted to be sick.

“You certainly smell like one,” Obi-Wan replied by rote, more of a murmur than the steady sarcasm he’d once thrown at his Padawan. Anakin squawked regardless, all faux-offense as he puffed himself up for a comeback, but deflated suddenly to squint at him instead.

“Are you feeling alright? You look…” Anakin floudered for a moment and settled on a bland, hesitant, “not good.”

“I,” Obi-Wan started. Stopped. Swallowed. “No,” He admitted, slow. Reluctant. “No, Padawan, I don’t think I am.”

The trembling in his hands hadn’t stopped and his chest still hurt and his stomach had managed to twist itself into nauseating knots as he stood there, still in the open doorway to the room, he realized, that had once been his at the Temple. Anakin’s eyes widened and he shot to his feet, anxiety flowing off him in sharp, erratic waves that only further soured the bitter, ashen taste in Obi-Wan’s mouth.

“Do you need a healer? Are you hurt? Kriff, uh, should I— I mean— I’ll go grab someone, Master, I’ll be right back, okay? Real quick, I—”

“No!” Obi-Wan winced. He hadn’t meant to shout. Hadn’t meant to put that hurt, wide-eyed look on his Padawan’s face. He’d just —

Obi-Wan watched Anakin’s familiar, blue lightsaber cut through another Jedi, horror curdling in his stomach. It was all he could do not to be sick, but he forced himself to continue looking at the security feed Master Yoda had found. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t be blind to this any more than he could turn back time and undo it. So he watched, ill, as his former Padawan, his friend, his brother, cut down Jedi after Padawan after Initiate until none at all remained in the place they had both called home.

“No,” he croaked, softer, blinking back the stinging heat in his eyes. He lifted the hand not helping keep him upright, clammy and shaking much more obviously than before, and made as if to reach out but stopped short. “No,” he said again, so low he barely heard himself, pulling his hand back to clutch at the fabric over his chest and wondered if he’d suffocate on his feet.

“Master?”

Anakin sounded so scared even as he took a tentative step forward, his hands fisted into the hem of his tunic. Obi-Wan wanted to rush to his side, to comfort him as he’d once done so many years ago. He wanted to run, to flee from the face of this apparition — the ghost of a boy who’d chosen to become a monster because he’d failed as a Master. He wanted to fall to his knees and weep: for this boy, for himself, for the scores of Jedi massacred to mark the end of an unjust war. For the galaxy being crushed under a Sith’s oppressive thumb. For the children of his former student, who would be called upon one day. Who would lose friends and family alike as they worked to dismantle the bloody legacy left to them.

He almost didn’t notice when his legs gave out, choking on his own ragged, wet breaths as Anakin cried out, alarmed, and ran to his side. Obi-Wan flinched away from those small, calloused hands when they reached for him, curling into himself as he struggled to breathe, but his Padawan was nothing if not determined.

He gasped when Anakin’s fingers brushed his arm, searing his skin through three layers of worn fabric. Whined when they traveled up to his shoulder, and hissed, a pained and wounded sound torn from him when Anakin pressed the palm of his hand to the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck. Slowly, with a care he’d rarely seen in his Padawan, Anakin maneuvered himself in front of him, hunched and twisting as the hand on Obi-Wan’s neck pulled until he’d knocked their foreheads together.

How long had it been since he’d sat so near another sentient being he trusted? Since he’d been touched so familiarly? Kindly? Luke, perhaps. Little more than a toddler, freely affectionate with the man who’d carried him across the stars and sands to the home he’d remain in.

Obi-Wan didn’t settle. Didn’t calm. His breathing hitched and every inch of him shook so hard he thought his bones might rattle right out of his skin. The stinging bite of fresh tears lingered in his eyes and every limb was weighed down with the same deep exhaustion that had dogged him since he’d left Luke with the Lars’ and lost the only source of immediate responsibility he might have distracted himself with. He did, however, reach forward. Brushed his fingers over the front of Anakin’s tunic and felt the rough material, caustic and abrasive against the suddenly sensitive digits.

“Are you—” Obi-Wan swallowed painfully, his own saliva turning to grains of coarse sand. “Is this real?” he asked, whisper soft and broken. “Are you real, Anakin?” His padawan pressed harder against him in response, puffing out an incredulous breath.

Obi-Wan wondered if he’d melt from the heat of his brother-friend-Padawan’s touch, as skin-crawling as it was a burning, aching comfort for all it seemed to set him further on edge.

“I’m real,” Anakin said, voice strangled. Obi-Wan could taste his fear. Felt it soak into his skin and curl around his heart. “I’m real, Master, I promise. I’m here. I’m real.”

“Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s voice cracked on the name as a sudden desperation washed over him, urging him to reach out further. To pull and clutch and hold his Padawan as close as he could, breathing raggedly against his short, brown hair as Anakin hid his own face against his neck, letting a few tears soak into the collar of Obi-Wan’s tunic. He rocked them both, letting Anakin hold on to him as to him as fiercely as he did his Padawan.

An eternity might have passed there between them as Anakin cried and Obi-Wan babbled — apologies and reassurance and a half dozen other words he’d meant to tell his Padawan over the years tumbling clumsily from his tongue — until the intensity eased, leaving them tired and tangled up together against the room’s cool wall. Obi-Wan let his eyes slip closed, just for a moment. Let himself soak in his brother’s presence, young and bright and much too old to be held like this, half asleep and slumped over him. But he didn’t let go.

He brushed his fingers over Anakin’s hair, short and bristly except for the bundle tied back into a short nerftail, and breathed in the citrus scent of the hair products his Padawan had favored those first few years in the Temple. Leaning his head back against the wall, he let himself drift into his thoughts. Into the Force. Out past the confines of the room, through the halls, and across the Temple, jaw clenching as he felt the bright, living presence of hundreds of Jedi. Thousands. So many his head spun.

His breathing hitched, and he wrapped his arms a fraction tighter around his Padawan. Strained to squeeze his eyes closed harder until he saw blurry, red shapes dance across the darkness behind his lids.

It felt so real.

This. His Padawan. The sights, smells, sounds, even the taste of the Temple’s chill air. Anakin had said he was real. Obi-Wan had squeezed him, had him currently in his arms safe and close and whole. He shuddered, exhaling a wavering, wet breath.

Perhaps, he let himself hope as he drew back to himself, it had been a vision. A warning from the Force — a life lived in the span of a few hours’ sleep. He let the thought comfort him, burying his nose in his Padawan’s hair as sleep slowly claimed him.

Obi-Wan woke in a room he recognized, the sweet, tangy scent of citrus thick in his nose, so vivid he could practically taste it. He exhaled one long, slow breath, letting himself savor it for a moment longer, and opened his eyes to bright light, sandy-colored walls, and the sweltering, suffocating heat of Tatooine’s long, dry days. His fingers curled into the rough, thin, ragged bedroll he’d all but tossed himself into the night before. Alone. Utterly and completely alone.

For the first time since his family were slaughtered at the hands of his student,

Obi-Wan wept.

#whumptober2021 #no.6 #touch starved #star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #fic #emotional distress #my fanfic

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salt-warrior · 4 years

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Alright folks... it’s time for me to forever shame myself, because I’m publishing a crack fic. I’ve NEVER done that before because I usually just write crack fics for my own enjoyment, but this crack fic was inspired by a post that @impossiblesuitcase wrote. So thank you for that, lovely. Also thank you @cosmicnovaflare for pushing me to write this, I love you always.

This crack fic is a crossover of three of my own fanfictions. So if you have not red Unsinkable, The Echo of Silence, and The Time it Takes to Fall, then literally none of this will make any sense. All three play vital roles in this story. Seriously, you’ll be in the dark so don’t read it unless you’ve read all of them.

Again, this is a crack fic so it’s even more wildly unrealistic than my other writing. And I am also going to pretend I never wrote it because I am ashamed. The original endings are the real endings in my mind. You have been warned.

So without further ado, I present you with 6,249 words of crack fic that I wrote in one sitting yesterday instead of doing my homework. Enjoy.

Tags: @shellyseashell @cindersassasin @gingerale2017 @healing-winston-pratt @winterrhayle @just2bubbly @f-r-o-p @idkchatie (I’m only tagging the people who were really angry with Unsinkable because I think a lot of you have read all three of those stories? If not, then sorry for the tag, I love you guys<333)

Until Forever Ends

Before Kai’s father had passed away, he’d told Kai to pursue what he needed to find peace. He’d probably meant something along the lines of falling in love with another girl or switching up his career. Surely he hadn’t intended for his son to look into the mythical sisters of life and death.

It had been a long day, with him first going to his father's funeral, then to see Cinder's gravesite one last time. He hated leaving her there, but he had hope that when they would meet again, he would speak to her and not a marble headstone.

He'd mailed notes to all his friends that morning. To Scarlet and Wolf, Jacin and Winter, and Cress. He'd detailed an adventure across the world that he would be having. After all, his father had left everything he owned to Kai, and he wanted to make the most of living. Of course it was all a fantastic lie; he was traveling the world, and perhaps it would be an adventure, but it was more of a journey than anything else. And he didn't plan on ever coming home.

Because even if he found what he was looking for, he couldn't return to his friends. They wouldn't understand—they couldn't understand.

So he would travel to the ends of the Earth, and he would find her.

***

Kai sat on a sandy beach, the waves lapping up over his legs, his nostrils filling with the scent of salt. The sky was gray and the air cold, but he could not feel its bitter sting. His clothes were torn ragged and his hair grown long and shaggy. If one were to gaze upon him, they would believe him to be insane. But he did not care. He was on the hunt for the sisters of life and death— and he was close.

It had been months since his father’s funeral; months since he’d left Cinder’s grave back in Arizona. He’d flown across the sea and traveled to lands he hadn’t even known existed. He’d slept under the stars and beneath the blanket of darkness. He’d listened to stories of people who lived their lives over and over in search of love and those who had been played for fools. He’d seen much and learned even more.

He’d heard tales of the two sisters: one life and the other death. They began as whispered fairy tales, told to him by drunkards and fools. But as he investigated further, he discovered that the sisters were real.

They existed throughout all the lands of the world, always under different names. In some lands they were simply Life and Death, while in others they were Angel and Demon or creatures of the Earth. He simply knew them as Light and Darkness. He only hoped to call out to the sister of light and life, not the one of darkness and death.

Throughout all his travels, no one had ever been able to tell him how to call each sister, only that they came to the cries of the brokenhearted who claimed, and fervently meant, that they would do anything to bring their love back to them. It had to be a plea for love that consumed one’s entire soul— but his soul was filled with Cinder, and Cinder alone.

He watched the black sea as it foamed about him. There had been conflicting views as to where one had to be when summoning either of the sisters. Some claimed that the person had to be in the place of their lover’s birth, while others explained that you had to be in the exact place of their final breath. One woman had even claimed that without the body of his dead lover still warm in his arms, he could not bring her back. Kai had shivered at that proclamation, with Cinder dead and in the ground for well over a year.

But there had been one account that had remained etched in his mind. A scholar somewhere in Europe, who had quoted the lines of Edgar Allen Poe’s last poem to Kai.

“And neither the angels of Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.”

“The sea would be the best place to call one of the sisters to you,” the scholar had said. “For that is their home. With the Angel above and the Demon below, they will hear your cries.”

So Kai went to the sea.

Slowly the gray sky melded into black, allowing for the stars to dot the emptiness and the moon to shine across the waves with hints of white light. He knew he should have been cold, and perhaps he was, but there was nothing left in him but the aching wish to be with Cinder once more.

“Cinder,” he whispered her name through chapped lips. “My love. I would do anything–” his voice broke off with a sob, tears falling like the spray of the ocean. “Anything,” he reiterated. “To be with you again.”

The waves of the sea began to swirl about him, pulling him off the beach and out into the waves. He screamed as his head dipped below the water, but a bubble of air had formed around him, preventing any wetness from glancing across his skin.

Everything seemed to grow lighter, despite the darkness he had remembered seeing. The waves danced about him in hues of deep purple and foam green. Fish swam around him in a flurry, and even the stars in the sky appeared to stand in closer proximity to himself.

Then everything slowed, and Kai found himself thrown back upon the sandy beach shore. He laid upon the ground, staring at the moon in the sky, which seemed within arms reach. He lifted a hand as if to touch it.

A hand reached out to brush against his fingers, and Kai pulled back. Silhouetted against the moon was the most glorious woman that Kai had ever beheld. There was no beauty comparable to her own. Her skin was dark and lined with gold tracings that resembled the very waves of the sea. She wore a dress of crimson that covered her figure elegantly, and jewelry of gold lined her ears and neck.

“Oh my stars,” she gasped, jumping back from him as she gazed upon his face. “It’s you.”

Kai was too shocked to speak. He dropped his hand back upon his chest as he looked up at her. His eyes mapped the kindness in her face and the confusion in her eyes as she gawked at him. All that he could register was that he was in the presence of an otherworldly being.

At long last her words caught up to his thoughts and puzzlement of his own registered in his mind. “Do we know one another?”

The woman’s face softened, and she shook her head slowly. “No, I suppose we do not. Or at the very least, not in this lifetime; not in this world. I am Light, the sister of life and all things which make life beautiful. For what reason do you weep so?”

Kai’s heart skipped a beat at her words. He pushed himself up so he rested upon his knees before her, looking up at her glorious face. She glowed, as if she were the moon itself, rather than just having it shine behind her.

“My wife,” Kai explained, “Cinder, died. She is gone from this life, and I wish to be with her again. I… I just wish to be with her again.”

“You are a fool to call down a deity on purpose. You could have just as easily received my sister,” Light exclaimed, though there was a certain sorrow hidden behind her gaze. “But you have been shadowed with luck upon this day. I can sense your pain, and the both of us know that you could call upon me only if your very soul screamed for your love and your love alone.

“I do not often grant requests of such a sort, unlike my sister, who joys in tricking lovers to be her slaves for all eternity. I find that traveling into the next world is the best option— that waiting for Darkness to collect you and transfer your soul fresh and new into another world is the best way to go.” She stopped speaking, then fell to her knees so she and Kai were at eye-level with one another. “But I have met your soul in another world— one where it knew only pain. I have met many creatures of the Earth through my eons of serving them. I aid those in all the universes known alongside my sister. But in all that time I have never stumbled upon the same man twice.

“And it is for that reason that I shall grant you your request,” Light said, touching her fingers against Kai’s cheek. She winced as she wiped the tears from his face.

Kai couldn’t breath, unable to process the words she was speaking to him. He would be with Cinder once more— she would be returned to him. All would be right in the world once more.

“However, I cannot reunite you with the girl you knew in this world,” Light explained with a sigh. “With your love gone for over a year, that piece of her soul has already passed into a new universe— it has been wiped of all her joy and all her sorrows. That piece of Cinder now abides somewhere else.”

Within an instant, Kai felt his world crumble into a thousand pieces. He hated himself for believing that it had been possible— that he could be with Cinder once more. But he was too late; he had waited too long. Now he would have to live the rest of this wretched life without her and hope to meet her in another universe.

“Do not fret, dear child,” Light chided, smoothing the hair back from his face in a motherly fashion. “For there is hope yet.”

“There is?” Kai asked.

“Yes; for while that fraction of Cinder that you know has vanished into another world, her soul still resides in other universes. You see, the soul lives thousands of lives, all in different realities. For it is not one solid being, it is an entity that never ceases to exist, and can exist in more than one place at once. The only problem being that the more time it spends in one universe, the more corrupt and destroyed it becomes. If your soul could recall other realities, you would understand of what I speak, for this was the exact circumstance under which we last met.”

Kai nodded along, pretending that he had even the faintest idea of what she was speaking of. She let out a great exasperated sigh, shaking her head. Light dropped her hand from his face and got to her feet.

“Your mortal mind cannot begin to comprehend the meaning of eternity. For while you shall live forever, you will not know it. There is a block upon your soul to cause you to forget; that is why it pains man so much to try and imagine living for forever.

“But that does not matter now. For when you are dead, your soul shall endure cleansing once more and be whisked off into another life in which you shall live and love and die again. Exhausting, isn’t it?”

Kai stared blankly, completely at a loss for words.

Light looked down upon him, stars shining in her eyes. “Dear child, there is another world in which your dearest love lived with you, but you were taken from her. Her soul aches for you in the way that yours aches for hers. I have never before transferred a soul to a different reality without death occurring first, but I have also never stumbled upon the same soul twice. Yours is a soul filled with more love and loss than any other I have come to know. So upon this night I shall reunite you with your love.”

The ocean began to swirl about them once more, pulling Kai into its great depths, but this time he did not scream. Light began to rise into the air, her arms spread wide as if to cup the moon above her hair. The wind howled, twisting the coils of her black hair about her face and the crimson swathes of fabric about her body. She was a glorious arrayment of red and gold and shining light.

Above the wind, Light shouted in a tongue lost to mortals, for it was the language of the first of mankind, and it had been forgotten. The sea continued to spin around Kai, fish of every color swimming about him. He was in the eye of an oceanic tornado.

Still Light rose higher into the air, pulling her crashing waves about her as she ascended toward the moon. All that Kai could see were the many sea creatures and the luminous goddess above him, growing brighter every moment.

A high-pitched scream filled his ears, though it was not a human one. It blocked out the sound of the waves and the echoing chants of Light above him. It filled his very being as the blinding light penetrated his soul.

And just as he wondered if this would be the destruction of his very soul, everything went black.

***

Kai awoke to the roar of the ocean, and felt an instant rush of cold tear through his body. His mind flashed with the memories of calling Light to him and begging her to send him to a life in which Cinder lived. He could recall the overwhelming light that had surrounded him, and the screaming that blocked out all other thoughts as the goddess rose above him in a tornado of the sea.

He pushed himself up and stared out at the waves. It was bright— the middle of the day by his reckoning— and warm. People stood in the ocean waves wearing an odd assortment of clothes rather than bathing suits. Or at least, they weren’t the kind of bathing suits that Kai knew.

A few people stared at him with quizzical looks, though Kai couldn’t deny that he probably deserved them. He wasn’t sure how long he had been laying upon the beach, though he was almost certain it had been some time.

“Are you alright, mister?” A kid asked, looking down at Kai. His cheeks were pink from sunburn, though it wasn’t particularly hot out.

“Yeah,” Kai said, getting to his feet and dusting off his jeans. The boy watched him warily. “Hey kid, what day is it?”

“December second,” the boy replied.

“And,” Kai scratched behind his ear. "What’s the year?”

The boy gawked at him for a moment, as if he thought Kai were either very dumb or very strange. “1912,” he said the year slowly, his slightly syrupy accent not helping. “What year did you reckon it to be?”

“I don’t know.” Kai glanced around, trying to gauge the situation. He didn’t know much about 1912. Actually, he knew nothing about it other than it was a couple years before World War I broke out. “Hey kid, where are we?”

The child, who couldn’t have been older than ten gave him an incredulous stare, then glanced over his shoulder, as if to check for his mother. “Savannah, sir,” he said.

“Savannah…”

“Georgia, sir,” the kid said, taking a couple steps back from Kai.

“Okay.” Kai sucked in a breath between his teeth, trying to think of what to do next. He was beginning to panic, for he did not know where to find Cinder in this different time and place. He didn’t even know if her name was Cinder, or even Selene.

“Hey kid?” Kai asked, glancing back down to talk to the boy, but he was running toward a woman glaring daggers at Kai.

Releasing a sigh, Kai walked away from the beach and toward the bustling town. People shot glares at him as he walked down the streets. He wasn’t exactly dressed in the way a normal twenty-first century guy would be, but his jeans and shredded red t-shirt didn’t fit in with the people surrounding him either. But there wasn’t a thing he could do about it; he had no money and no connections. He was alone in a world that did not belong to him. He couldn’t even be certain that Georgia meant the same thing to these people as it did him.

He was beginning to wonder if perhaps this was all some ridiculous dream, and whether or not he would wake up soon. But he’d thought that a lot over the past year, praying to whatever being that saw over mankind that Cinder wasn’t dead— that he wasn’t alone. That he could be with his wife once more.

And then he saw her.

Her hair was longer than she’d ever worn it in his reality, nearly reaching her waist, and she wore a pale pink dress that fell well past her knees. But if those details were strange, it was nothing in comparison to the buggy she was pushing in front of her. Kai felt his stomach drop. Was she married to another man? Had she chosen Thorne in this reality instead of him?

Panic gripped him, but before he could run and hide in an alleyway, she glanced up and right at his face. Her eyes widened with shock, then joy, then fear. It was that last look that made his heart ache. He had known Cinder for seven years, but never had she looked at him in such a way.

She sunk to her knees, hands gripping the front of the stroller. “Kai,” she breathed, staring at him now with absolute horror. A tear traced down her cheek and fell to the concrete like a single drop of rain. The pain on her face ripped through his body— he could not stand to watch her suffer so.

He rushed to her side, kneeling down upon the ground beside her, much like Light had done with him the night before, or whenever it was that he had spoken with the goddess. She shook as he brushed her hair from her face and cupped her cheek with his hand. “Cinder,” he whispered, voice low. “I know that this is confusing and frightening, but I need to talk with you. I have things to explain.”

“But you’re dead,” she sobbed, turning her face away from his and shutting her eyes tight. “You didn’t make it off the ship alive. They told me you drowned. They told me you were dead. You’re dead. You’re just a figment of my imagination. You can’t be real.”

“Cinder,” Kai hushed, glancing around them. There were people walking past them, staring with curious eyes, but none of them looked nervous for Cinder’s sake. “Cinder, I know that I’m dead here. And I know that my explanation for my being here might not make any sense, but I need to speak with you in private. I can explain everything. I will explain everything. I just need for us to go somewhere where we can’t be overheard.”

She opened her eyes and the look of absolute shame in her eyes caused his heart to stop. Tears traced down her cheeks in abundance; Kai had never known Cinder to cry in such a way. He worried that she would say no— that she had moved on. That his coming here was a burden upon her. But slowly, she nodded her head.

***

They went to a park just down the street from the beach. It was run-down, with a sad swing set of splintering seats and an abandoned jungle gym. There were no children around, or even any people for that matter, a fact that Kai found almost strange. Though at his inquisitive look, Cinder simply looked away from him.

She led him to a park table that sat somewhat lopsided but was sturdy all the same. She parked the buggy beside her, drawing the cover up so it shielded whatever was inside.

Kai took a seat across from her, bouncing his legs with nerves as he watched her and she looked away. He didn’t understand why she was acting in such a way. He hadn’t had much time to think of how he expected her to react to him appearing to her out of nowhere, but it definitely hadn’t been this. Confusion, yes. But this show of shame was frightening.

“Cinder,” Kai said, tilting his head in an attempt to get her to look at him. “Cinder, what’s the matter?”

She inhaled deeply, a great shuddering breath. Then finally, she looked at him. Her eyes were red and her cheeks puffy. But despite the remorse coloring her features, she was still his Cinder. She was the girl that he had met at ASU his Junior year in college. She was the girl he had fallen in love with.

“They told me that you died,” she whispered. “I-I–”

“Alright,” Kai cut in, not wanting her to believe that she had insulted his memory in any way. After all, he was dead in this reality. He did not wish for her to believe that anything she had done after his death was wrong. “Sorry, love, I really don’t mean to cause you any harm. I just– I don’t know how to explain what I’m about to tell you.” Somehow his words came out slow and calm, though he felt rather as if he were about to explode. “But I need to tell you something, and I only ask that you listen to the entirety of my story because it might sound somewhat preposterous.”

She nodded her head slowly, tears wiping at her eyes.

Kai told their story, starting from the day he had met her back when she still lived with her step-sister. He explained that he had loved her for five years in silence before finally proclaiming his love for her when she’d explained that she’d never been in love before. He told her how they had gotten married only three months later and lived two years together happily before she’d died in a dreadful car accident.

She listened silently, her tears drying and her eyes hardening and he explained how Thorne had been in love with her and how Kai had gotten into a fight with both him and her father. She never once interrupted him, even as he explained his months of mourning, then his months of searching for a way to conjure one of the sisters of life and death.

It was only when he told her of how Light had appeared to him on the beach and brought him to her world through an oceanic tornado filled with moonlight that she chose to interrupt.

“What?” She hissed, tilting her head at him in that I-don’t-believe-a-single-word-coming-out-of-your-mouth sort of a way. If she had been the Cinder of his universe, he knew that she would have asked him how high he was.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” Kai said, “but you have to believe me. I know that I don’t belong here— that I’m not meant to live in this world. But before you died you told me that you believe in soulmates. That you thought that every person had another half. You told me when we got together that you could feel that it was right— that it was a whisper in your ear that it was me. And I didn’t believe in soulmates then, but I do now. My soul loves your soul. It has loved it in universes that I don’t even know of, but it adored you all the same. My love for you will never die, no matter how many times I die myself. You are the only one that I will ever love. I cannot help it. My soul cannot think to love another so long as it knows you.”

“But this doesn’t make any sense,” Cinder whispered, her guards coming down. “Even if you were from another universe and you loved me there, I assure you that you would not care for me in this one. Not after what I’ve done to you.”

“Did you kill me?” Kai asked, half curious and half terrified.

Cinder let out a slight, hiccupping laugh. Kai did not feel at ease.

“Cinder,” Kai said, growing serious once more. “I don’t know what happened here— what happened to me— but I know that no matter where we are in the space-time continuum, my soul will always love yours. But if you wish me to leave you, I will.” His mouth went dry with the words, but he meant them. No matter how much it hurt to be parted from her, he would do what she asked of him.

“I’m married,” Cinder blurted out. “After you died, I married Carswell. We were engaged to be married before I eloped with you in London, but when I came back and you were dead, Kingsley thought that it would be the best option. That it would be better for everyone, especially the–”

She buried her face in her hands, but all Kai could think of was that she had married Carswell Thorne— her best friend in his world. The one who had told her that he was in love with her the day that she died. The Carswell that had fought with him at Scarlet and Wolf’s house. His blood boiled with rage, though not with Cinder. She had done what she had to to survive. But Thorne— he would have gladly hit him again.

Kai sucked in a breath and returned his thoughts to the more pressing matters. He had no clue what had happened to him in this life. For all he knew, Carswell Thorne had killed him and forced Cinder to be his bride. Maybe that’s how things had worked back then. Kai was no history major, but he knew that honor was often important to people. Perhaps there had even been a duel.

“What happened to me?” Kai asked, his voice soft. “How did I die in this life?”

Cinder drew her hands down from her face, but kept her eyes averted from him as she said, “You drowned. We were on the Titanic–”

“The Titanic?” Kai interjected, with a gasp. “Like Jack and Rose?”

“I– I don’t know,” Cinder said, furrowing her brow. “But we were sailing home and the ship– the ship sank. You forced me onto a lifeboat even though I said I wanted to stay with you.” She glared at him. “And you went down with the ship. You drowned. Or froze. I do not know, I wasn’t there with you when you passed from this life and onto the next. But you left me.”

“Oh,” Kai whispered. His body deflated. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be sorry,” Cinder sneered, then she shook her head. “No. No, you were just doing what you thought was the right thing. You saved me. And you saved–” She shut her eyes again, then finally reached out toward the buggy and pulled back the top to uncover what lay inside.

Oh course Kai knew what strollers were for, but before that moment he hadn’t really considered that there would be a child inside— at the very least, not her child. His child.

But it was his child. He could tell just by looking at the small infant that he was both Cinder and Kai mixed together. He was still young, but no longer a newborn. Great black tufts of hair rested on his head, and when he opened his eyes— Kai let out a gasp. They were exactly his own.

Cinder rocked the child back and forth, running his finger over its face in a soft, motherly way that made Kai’s very soul ache. They’d had a child together, and Kai hadn’t gotten to be there. It didn’t even particularly matter to him that it wasn’t exactly his child. He should have been there, but he wasn’t. He hadn’t been there for Cinder or their baby. He had abandoned them.

“I’m so sorry,” Kai blurted, devastation seeming to carve his heart out of his body. “Cinder,” Kai sobbed, his eyes stinging with tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I– I did abandon you. I’m so terribly sorry.”

“Shhh,” Cinder hushed, reaching a hand across the table and laying it over Kai’s. She looked startled. “Kai–” she started, then shook her head. “Kai, I’m mad at you, or him, or– I don’t even know. I’m mad that you saved me when you didn’t save yourself. But I will never be mad that you saved him.”

Kai stared down at her hand on his and saw the tracery of an old burn. It wasn’t as severe as the one she had had in his universe, but it was still there.

Cinder seemed to realize herself and pulled back. She bit her lip and stared down at the baby, brow furrowed.

“I named him after you,” she whispered after a time.

Kai opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.

“Kaito Rikan Prince,” Cinder continued, not looking at him. “I just– I saw him, and I knew who he was. It didn’t matter that my mother thought that he should have my grandfather’s name or that Kingsley thought he should be named after himself.” She made a face at that. “I knew that he should have the name of his father and his grandfather because they had helped to save his life.

“But now that you’re here, I– I don’t really know if that fits. It would be confusing to have two Kai’s around. But Rikan— I don’t know. I think that perhaps he could be a Rikan.”

“Uh-huh,” Kai breathed, still reeling.

Cinder looked up at him, her eyes softening. “I still don’t understand everything that happened, and in all honesty, I don’t believe you understand it all either.”

“But,” Cinder continued, closing one eye as if she were cringing at herself. “I know that every night for the past eight months I have cried for the pain of missing you so. I know that you have never left my thoughts for even an instant, both in waking and in sleep. I know that my soul loves yours, and while I do not know how long it has cared for you, I know that it always will.

“I know you’re not the you that I knew, but you also are. You’re my Kai, and not just because you look and sound like him. You watch me with that same careful way, and your laugh is the same. And strangest of all, you calm my very soul. It’s as if it knows that it’s you.

“I don’t know if you still want me,” Cinder swallowed, “after all that I’ve done. But please believe me when I say that I do not love Carswell— he is my dear friend and nothing more— and he does not love me in return. Not in this life.” She looked down at her child— their child— and smiled wistfully. “But if you do still wish to be with me, if your heart can still love me in spite of my most grievous offenses, then I will run away with you once more.” She grinned at this, the way one did when a happy memory was stirred in their conscience.

“You… You want me?” Kai asked, breathless.

Cinder looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I will always want you, Kai. No matter the time or place, I will always desire you to be by my side. Always.”

Kai watched her, his eyes searching hers for any falsities; he found none. Slowly, a smile spread across his face.

They were staring at one another, eyes that had not gazed upon the other in far too long. They were poisoned souls standing before their long sought-after cure. But now that they had found one another, neither knew what to do.

Hesitantly, Kai stood and walked over to the other side of the table. He sat close enough to touch her, though he did not. He simply stared at her, wordlessly, and she stared back.

“Kai,” Cinder whispered, breathless. She still held the infant in her arms, but he had fallen fast asleep. “Kai, I–”

“I know,” he chuckled, leaning in close to her. They were both inclining toward the other, as if through a magnetic pull. He could feel her breath as their faces rested inches apart. Neither moved in, both too scared of what would happen next.

Then Cinder muttered his name, and Kai closed the gap between them.

She let out a little gasp, as if surprised. But she kissed him back, and it was as if she had never left him— as if the past year had not happened, and they had been together all the while. He brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his fingers brushing back stray strands of hair.

They broke apart, both flushed but smiling all the same. Kai couldn’t stop staring at her, and reveling in the fact that he had found her. They were together once more. She wanted him.

After a time of shared smiles and conversations about the other’s universe, Cinder asked Kai if he wanted to hold the child, and he accepted happily. And when the baby rested in his arms, tears slipped from his eyes as love overtook his soul. He’d thought about him and Cinder having kids many times during their marriage, though they’d never quite been ready for it. It didn’t even matter that this child belonged to the Kai of this world and not to him— he loved him all the same.

They made plans for what they would do— how they would leave this place and start a new life together. Cinder would pack her belongings and they would take a train to the west. She had all her money from her dowry, and the Prince estates had been left in her name after the deaths of both Prince men.

When they parted, it was a sweet farewell, filled with promises to see the other soon, for they would never abandon the other again.

***

Kai leaned back into the couch, careful not to disturb baby Rikan as he slept. He adored the feeling of holding the small child in his arms and his small stirrings in his sleep. Even the little sounds he made caused for his heart to melt.

“Hey Kai,” Cinder called, walking into the room. He shushed her, nodding his head down toward the sleeping baby, though there wasn’t much worry. Rikan was a heavy sleeper. “Oh, sorry, Ri,” she whispered, tip-toeing over to the pair of them and settling herself down beside Kai.

She grabbed a quilt from beside the couch and laid it over hers and Kai’s laps. Then she settled her head on Kai’s shoulder. She reached her hand up to rest under Kai’s, smiling as she looked down at their baby.

They had left Georgia the same day that they had met one another there, randomly deciding to take the train to Colorado. It had been a somewhat frightening journey, with both of them worrying whether or not someone would come after them, but so far, no one had. They’d been settled into their apartment for over three weeks, happy and together at last.

There were still many things that they both didn’t understand, about one another and the situation. But at the end of the day, they were Cinder and Kai— even if Cinder was still confused about the fact that Kai’s last name was Crown and not Prince, though she did claim it was growing on her.

“I love this,” Cinder said, brushing the black tufts of Rikan’s hair. “It feels right, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“For so long I felt a dreadful emptiness within me, and while there’s still a sadness for what I’ve lost, it's not as great. It’s manageable.”

“I know what you mean.” Kai kissed the top of her head. “We’re different, but the same at the same time. It’s different, but it’s also… just us. We’re still us.”

“We’re still us,” Cinder echoed, letting out a sigh.

There were so many things in Kai’s life that didn’t make sense, but it had been that way even before he’d entered into an alternate universe. He hadn’t understood why Thorne had proclaimed his love for Cinder, or why Chandler Blackburn hadn’t been able to love his daughter. Even his own crushing grief had been confusing at times. And while this world was different in customs and manners and the ways in which society functioned, none of that mattered. For so long as he was with Cinder, all of it was okay.

“I love you,” Kai whispered.

“And I love you,” Cinder said. “And I’ll love you so long as my soul survives, for you’re the only one, Kai. You’re the only one I shall ever truly love.”

“And you are the only one for me as well.” Kai grinned. “And I will love you for forever and ever. No," Kai said, his eyes searching hers and seeing only Cinder. "I will love you until forever ends.”

#crack fic #unsinkable au #unsinkable #the echo of silence #the time it takes to fall #salt warrior stories

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the-gay-prometheus · 3 years

Text

Same Scars, Same Stitches

Back at it again with another Trans Victor AU segment. This one goes long before the first one I posted, and occurs just when Victor and his creation are beginning to reconcile with one another. CW: Mentions of Transphobia that Victor has experienced (not nearly as severe as the last one, but it’s still there)

Somewhere further up the mountain came the rhythmic tapping of a stone pounding wood into place, growing louder as Victor trudged his way back up from his thinking place in the woods not too far from the secluded ledge that he would now have to call home. Gripping his notebook in one hand and the small wooden box that contained his pen and ink in the other, he came upon the flat-topped cliff with a look of disdain well evident in his eyes. There, working on the walls of what would eventually become a small cottage, was the creature he so despised. The monster lifted his head and paused his working as Victor approached, looking over to him - which earned him a sudden gag (which he was sure was fake) from his creator. Realizing it might be best to stay out of sight at the moment, he gently set down his stone tools and rushed off past Victor down the same trail, his raggedy patch-work cloak drifting in the breeze his swift gait created.

Victor sighed heavily, walking over to the wooden structure and setting his things by one corner. He took a minute to inspect the handiwork of the one who had been building the frame, running his fingers along the smooth timber and marvelling at just how well it had been constructed thus far. For a moment he might have even been proud, but then he remembered those eyes - those dreaded, disgusting yellow eyes that pierced through his very soul and appeared to him like windows into hell itself. He shuddered at the thought and quickly retracted his hand. “Oh, why would I ever agree to help such a miserable thing,” he grumbled to himself, clenching his fists and walking toward the edge of the cliff. Beyond him, he beheld vast swaths of forest cut by lakes and rivers, rising and falling in mountains and valleys, speckled by distant dwellings and towns. His tailcoat billowed behind him, his short, wild-looking brown hair waving in a gust of western wind as he contemplated even further all of his decisions thus far. So far as he could see, the only wrong one he had made was suggesting that he indulge this wretched creation of his.

He stayed there for quite some time, only leaving his brooding spot to pace in deep thought, until he became aware of the sun as it dipped ever lower in the sky. He whipped around, fully expecting to see the creature somewhere nearby and to realize that perhaps the beast had not made his reappearance known for some reason - but there was no one there. For a moment he was relieved that the monster had left him forever, until his thoughts switched to the monster’s story. This beast was a danger to the world if not kept in check, and now that he had taken the responsibility of it even in the slightest sense, he couldn’t let this demon out of his sight past sunset. He checked within the unfinished walls of the cottage, behind the tall pines that encircled the clearing of the ledge, but the creature was nowhere to be found. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he clutched his coat around him and ran into the forest.

As he ran, he searched the slowly darkening woods for any sight of the immense creature, seeking both high and low, until he heard a sound he recognized all too well. The weeping of the one he despised, echoing through the trees. Though so often his heart had been hardened to the sound, for some strange reason, this time he felt a slight pang of sadness. Here he had been fully expecting the creature to have gone off and wreaked more havoc somewhere, but here instead it was alone and in tears. Victor followed the source of the sound, and felt his breath steal away from him as he beheld the sight before him. It was a small clearing surrounded by a circle of conifers, bedded by soft mosses and centered with a clear, reflective pool. Standing at the pool’s edge was a small roe buck, his antlers no more than spikes, calmly lapping at the water - while just beyond on the other side, dwarfing the buck in size, was the one Victor was searching for, his head nestled atop his arms which rested on his knees as he cried.

As Victor approached, the buck lifted his head and let out a sonorous cry of alarm, at which the trees above became alive with the frantic fluttering of birds. As the buck leapt off into the forest beyond, the aspiring scientist felt himself boil with rage. “So you would take up the company of a monster but not that of a man?!” he cried after the buck and the birds. His exclamation was met by the sound of a sudden sob, and he turned to see the creature gripping at his ears. Though his heart pounded in his chest with anger, Victor inhaled sharply and let out a long, slow exhale as he approached behind the creature. “Stop your sobbing, demon,” he demanded, his voice strict. That only earned him even more loud and agonized sobbing, which outraged him even more. “I said, STOP!” Victor shouted, his hands clenched into fists. The creature made a sound almost like a yelp and clammored away, backing himself against a tree and refusing to look at his angered creator. He shook like a frightened dog, hiding his face between his scarred, stitched up arms. Victor grimaced, crossing his arms. “Better,” he retorted, though all at once he felt some small sense of sympathy for the creature who all at once appeared so helpless and afraid. He took a moment to breathe, and in as calm a voice as he could muster, he asked, “What’s wrong? Why did you come here just to wallow in your own misery?”

The creature tensed. “Because I am miserable,” he muttered, his voice quiet and still scratchy from crying. Victor frowned, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“I’m glad you can recognize that,” he replied. “But why is it that you’re miserable?”

“Because I am a hateful, loathsome, disgusting being, so horrid that even my own creator rarely dares to look upon my wretched scarred, stitched skin.” At first, Victor smirked.

“And I’m glad you can recognize that too,” he answered. The creature’s full words slowly settled on him, and his frown slowly turned to a look of realization. “Wait… why do you say you are disgusting?” The creature threw his arms from his face and Victor averted his eyes as he jolted upright.

“These scars! These stitches! Anyone who sees them knows I am only half a man!” he cried, his voice filled with pain and despair. Victor’s eyes widened.

“You… you think my handiwork is what makes you ugly?” he inquired, his voice hushed. The creature cringed at those words.

“I- They must be…” he muttered, pulling his patchy cloak around himself tighter. Victor swallowed hard, his mind racing, until he came to a realization.

“Creature, I’m going to show you something only one other man has seen,” he explained. “You must promise to compose yourself.” The creature looked up at him woefully, and gave a single nod. Victor stared at him, nervously clutching at the arm of his coat.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he grumbled. With another deep breath, he began to remove his coat, then unbuttoned his vest, and began unbuttoning his shirt. The monster looked to him, watching carefully. As Victor removed his shirt, the creature gasped. There upon Victor’s chest were a line of messy scars and stitches, far less well crafted than those that covered the creature’s body. The creature gazed at him in wonder, his watery yellow eyes beginning to fill with fresh tears. Victor averted his eyes for the sight of them, then jumped back with a sound somewhere between fear and disgust when he glanced forward only to see the creature now reaching out toward him. The creature retracted his hand and curled into himself, looking away.

“I am sorry,” he whimpered. “I did not mean to frighten you.” Though he still was filled with loathing at the sight of him, Victor felt his heart soften. Could it be that this creature really was so gentle and kind as he claimed to be? There was only one way to know.

“No, no. Don’t be - I’m the one who should be sorry. Go on, you can touch them. I don’t mind, they don’t hurt. In fact… they’re quite numb. I think I may have cut a nerve while I was working on the operation. That’s the kind of thing that happens when one tries to perform surgery on himself,” Victor rambled, looking back away. Slowly, the creature reached his hand back out, but hesitated for fear of hurting his creator. Looking back upon him with pity, Victor took his hand. He was surprised by how it felt, cool and papery yet warm with life. He pressed the creature’s hand against his chest and the creature’s eyes widened as tears fell upon his gaunt cheeks.

As the beast slowly traced the lines on his chest, Victor couldn’t help but smile a little. Here was this massive freak of nature - one that he had created, one that he had looked upon with such malice - full not of hatred or of rage, but instead of innocent, childlike curiosity. He exhaled softly. “You know, if they make you ugly,” he began as the creature retracted his hand and began tracing over his own chest scars. “Then they make me ugly too.” The creature looked up at him in amazement. He had never expected such words to come from the mouth of his creator. Victor’s own eyes began to water as he gazed upon the face of his creation. For a moment, those eyes he once abhorred, he saw a beauty in. No longer did he see the sickly yellow of jaundice, but more so the brilliant yellow of sunshine on the first day of spring, full of life and light and wonder. He caught his emotion, and smirked. “And we both know I’m beautiful.” His creation’s dark lips turned upward in a smile, which at first disturbed Victor, but when he began to laugh - a full, deep, jovial laugh - he couldn’t help but to chuckle as well, which then turned to a cackle, and then to a laugh until both of them had tears not of pain but of joy in their eyes. As their laughter began to subside, both of their grins slowly turned back to blank yet sorrowful expressions as they consumed themselves in their own thinking.

“Are you… are you like me?” the creature asked suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts. Victor shook his head, running his fingers through his messy brown hair before beginning to pick up his clothing and reassembling the top half of his outfit.

“What? No - no not at all,” he replied somewhat harshly as he began buttoning his shirt and vest back up. “No, I did that to myself.”

“Why?” Victor glanced up at him.

“Because I wasn’t born quite right.”

“Neither was I,” the creature responded, his voice full of sincerity though at first Victor thought it might have been sarcastic.

“You weren’t really born at all.” Victor paused. “Well… I mean at one point all the parts of you came from people who were, but… that’s not the point.” The creature winced at the reminder that he was made from so many broken parts. “See - I wasn’t… I wasn’t born- I was,” Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking about how to word it. “When I was born, I was born into the wrong body.” His creation looked at him with curiosity. “Internally, by all I felt and all I knew, I was a man, but my body didn’t match that. And so… once I left my parents after my mother passed, I dedicated myself to discovering how I could turn my body into what I knew I should be. Part of that included removing the excess tissue here-” He gestured to his chest. “And the reproductive organs that were here.” He gestured toward his lower abdomen. “It was a difficult process, made even more difficult since I had to do it to myself and had no professional help except for some moral support and an extra set of hands from my… dear friend, Henry. I nearly died multiple times, some due to a few mistakes and once due to infection, but I survived, and I can say with certainty that it was worth it.”

Victor had never told his story to anyone before, except for Henry, of course. He knew what the world outside was like - if anyone else knew who he was or what he had done, they’d have him killed. And here was his creation, this demon that he had hated for so long, listening intently with a gaze not of judgement, but of curiosity and contemplation. For a moment, he even saw this thing, this wretch, as a trusted friend. “What did your parents think?” the creature asked. Victor took little time to reply.

“Well, mother never knew, but I would imagine that she would have accepted me if she hadn’t died. As for father… he doesn’t know either, but he knows I was never quite ‘lady-like’ as he expected me to be. He always talked about how beautiful I was when I was born but… when I didn’t turn out the way he wanted, he-” Victor stopped mid-sentence. The creature stared at him, oblivious.

“He?” Victor began to tremble.

“He… became bitter with me… angry. It was almost like he… he hated my entire existence.” Victor felt as though his heart had leapt into his throat as he came to the sudden realization. “Oh good God,” he managed to utter as he crumpled to the ground, staring down at his hands. His creation continued to stare, still seemingly oblivious, until the realization hit him as well. He sat back, looking up at the reddening sky as the orange clouds passed over the treetops.

“So we are the same, then.” He spoke clearly and calmly. “Except I never had the chance to know the kind of love you knew from your mother.” Victor covered his mouth with both hands as his eyes flooded with tears and he choked back a sob. They sat in silence, though the air around them was slowly becoming filled with the sound of the dusk chorus of mountain birds. As dusk turned to twilight, Victor’s teary, reddened eyes lifted to look to his creation.

“I am so, so sorry,” he managed to croak. The creature turned his gaze to him, but said nothing. Victor dropped his head toward the ground, grappling his hair in his fingers and gritting his teeth. His mind raced with every horrible thing he had said and done to his creation, and as salty tears began to drip down to the ground below, he came to the realization, perhaps it was him - not his creation - that was the monster after all.

#frankenstein #victor frankenstein #frankenstein's creature #frankenstiensmonster #frankenstein au #frankenstein fanfiction #fanfiction #alternate universe

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Text

WIP Whenever

Thank you @dungeons-and-dragon-age for the tag! You got me at a good time because I got goodies~! >:D

Taking a break and playing Inquisition got the inspiration flowing again! So, I have some Solas and Mhairi bonding time! :D

I encountered the Dalish clan in the Exalted Plains, and this is what was born of it:

---

“Da’len,” Solas approached where Mhairi was sitting on the log by the fire, arms at his sides and brow furrowed with subconscious concern. “...have you seen Fane by chance?”

He was beginning to get worried. For the more he searched the Dalish encampment, as small as it was here, along the creek of Halin’sulahn, the less he saw any hide or hair of Fane. His dragon was by no means hard to spot, hair like new fallen snow upon black cliff side and very presence dominating, even if the man sought to make himself unnoticeable. Although, in this instance, Solas knew why Fane was possibly making himself scarce; memories. Painful, painful memories. However, that was why it was imperative that he find the dual being, to stop a spiral before it became a vortex.

The young woman had seemingly been repairing the segment of her robes that had unfortunately met the edge of a Freeman’s blade when Solas spotted her. He himself was giving the other clan’s members distance, so it had taken him a bit to locate the young woman, but it was for the best. He, too, had difficult memories of the Dalish, blades brandished for naught but truth, words hurled in every direction that sounded home to his folly, that spread the guilt like he did plaster and paint. So, it was best for everyone, Inner Circle and Dalish, if he kept his ‘delusional stories’ and ‘maddened opinions’ to himself. He was busy at present, anyway. His own discomfort meant little when he knew there was someone suffering worse than he.

Mhairi blinked, the movements of her hands pausing from where they were delicately weaving twine and thread. Icy blue eyes and a youthful face marked with the maroon of June turned upwards to him, abandoning repairs to regard him easily.

“Fane?”, Mhairi said his sought after’s name, her slightly darker brows drawing together as she tilted her head a bit. “He was with you, wasn’t he?”

Solas shook his head, dread growing within his heart. “No.”, he said simply, doing his to keep tone calm, professional as he kept the connection of eyes that began to melt, concern beginning to show in them. “I have not seen him since before sunset. I presumed he had been with you. Evidently, I was mistaken.”

Mhairi’s delicate features turned downwards, petites hands curling within pure white samite bordered with pink vestment. “...You haven’t seen him at all? Maybe with Cole? Sera?”, she asked, lilting voice shaking a bit with a panic born of the past and all it harmfully bore for the two soulful siblings.

Solas shook his head at each question, letting his expression soften a bit. He had not wished to alarm the young woman, but he saw now that he had been foolish to think his inquiry would have done anything but. Fane had spoken of Mhairi’s anxiety concerning abandonment, and Solas himself had seen such an acute episode when the man had been thought lost in the Fade during Adamant. He should have been more delicate in his delivery, more aware of his words and the effect they had.

Ill-suited as ever, Solas berated within the safety of his mind, releasing a quiet sigh through his nose as he gazed down as the now fidgeting woman. Nails were picking apart sewn thread, undoing work redone without thought, and a deeper frown etched itself upon normally bubbly features. Ice-colored orbs were staring pointedly at the article, but were hazy, distant, lost to the flow of putrid memories. Solas matched the deep frown with a small one of his own, taking a tentative step towards where Mhairi was seated to kneel down in front of her.

He had to fix what he had wrought--in many ways, but for now, he would focus on a light that echoed as much of the past as his unaccounted for dragon did.

“Mhairi,”, Solas called out to the slightly trembling woman, keeping his tone soft, guiding. “Ir abelas. My words were poorly chosen. I didn't mean to alarm you, to cause you to fear.” He managed a tiny smile when long locks of platinum shifted with the rising of a head, reconnection. “I am sure your brother is close by. I merely have not been able to deduce where he may have gone when in concern to the Dalish. That is all.”

Solas watched as the slight tremors in pale hands and lithe shoulders lessened. There was still a concerned frown upon pink lips and the tell-tale signs of dampness upon ice-blue, but he had succeeded in drawing a bright mind back from the edge. At least, he hoped he had. It was hard to tell with his dragon’s sister, even if she was far more open than her sibling. Perhaps her inherent bubbliness blinded him at times, made him believe there were no troubles to ponder, nightmares to banish. Everyone had a mask they used to protect themselves, and he was truly foolish to forget that simple truth.

“N-no, I’m--”, Mhairi tried to say, but released only a shuddering sigh. Fingers begin to pluck and pull at thread once more, but with more care, more awareness this time.

Solas kept a watchful eye on the Dalish woman, noting her breathing was shaky, but not quickening with encroaching panic. The tremors had not returned, but neither had full light to her eyes. The spiral was still swirling, then. He would have to choose his words carefully, and carefully he shall.

“Take your time, da’len.”, Solas encouraged, gingerly reaching out with his own hands to still the ones curling and clenching into purity. His skin flinched a tad when Mhairi’s did, but relaxed when she did so in turn. “Everything will be right where you left it. It will not disappear, vanish as if but a dream.”

A sharp, but quiet intake of breath had Solas freezing up a bit, fear gripping his heart like an owl's talons snatched up a mouse. Had he spoken out of turn again? He had not meant to--!

“Ma serannas, lethallan.”

Solas blinked, the guilt and dread of his mind stilling as he refocused on the woman in front of him. Ice and turquoise regarded him kindly, serenity in their deepest depths and a watery, but grateful smile played with plushness of flesh, curving like the softest of a halla’s horns. Maroon ink was lax, further serenity carved into the heart shaped visage before him. There was no ridicule, no scorn, no retribution in any of those features, and that weighty revelation had Solas sucking in a steadying breath of his own, quiet, but deep.

How many people would he continue to witness staring at him with such...forgiveness before his own mask cracked from the blow? He did not deserve that release, that depth of understanding and emotion from Mhairi, from Fane, from anyone, and yet, it was there--pure as the snow white hair of his beloved, gold as the spirit that cascaded down...down…

...one of his people.

Solas let his eyelids droop, gingerly taking one of Mhairi’s hands into both of his own. That echoing appendage was joined by its counterpart, squeezing with both as they joined to soothe in tandem. That silent gesture of understanding had Solas closing his eyes fully, heart tight, soul weeping for him to speak, to divulge. Why was he suddenly so overcome with the want to do such?

She would not understand, Solas chided himself, attempting to ward away how his whole being yearned to greet another soul like his dragon’s, like his. She would react adversely. For myself, and for her, I must keep the truth hidden. Now is not the time nor place for such things. There will be much to tell her when the time is right, from myself and Fane. She does not need that burden, that crisis of faith, now. Even if--no.

Solas let out a soft sigh, carefully slipping his hands from the warmth of Mhairi’s own to place them back within his lap. He registered the look of gentle confusion in both delicate features and twinkling eyes, but he once again shoved away the inherent urge to explain. He had let himself falter, allowed his mind to splinter, and now he would repair it, shore up the foundation so it may weather any other storm that would come to pass.

He must find the one who would hold his bloodied hand with one of their own, but even that laced his heart with guilt-filled poison. How much more would he touch and destroy before he perished? Two lights, and they would find themselves extinguished if he continued to be selfish, but...he couldn’t help it, couldn’t fight the want to belong, to be accepted.

To coexist. How pitiful he was. How pitiful.

---

...You have no idea how hard I am resisting on making a female Fane to fully romance this wolf right now. I need to finish canon Fane first, but...HNNNNGH. I just want to analyze the hell out of how Solas changes with romanced Lavellan. *puts face on screen* He called Fane ‘lethallan’ the other day while I was playing, and I DIED AND SCREECHED. ...I always do. *slinks away*

Fun fact: At the beginning of my writing hobby, Solas and Mhairi were supposed to be romantically together! :D

Tagging (if you wanna, you beautiful people! <3): @oxygenforthewicked @noire-pandora @little-lightning-lavellan @the-dreadful-canine @blueheaded

#wip whenever #my writing #dragon age #oc: mhairi lavellan #solas #look at these two. *sniffles*#mhairi and solas are a whole other layer of feels XD #it reasserts 'canon' amidst the 'non-canon'#fane: dragons :3 #mhairi: elves :3 #DUALITY BABY >:D #thank you for the tag again! X3

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aurathian · 4 years

Text

Aftermath: Of Love

AO3

Word count: 7.9k

Rating: T

Fandoms: The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Pairings: Link/Zelda, Link/Midna, Link/Ilia

Summary: Link mourns his loves and his losses.

The mirror shattered.

Completely and utterly destroyed, Midna had left him breathless for the last time. The lonely mirror frame, now without a mirror to hold, left the Princess and her Hero standing there like fools.

Until he dropped to his knees and cried. His sobbing filled the otherwise empty air, hot and dry, and he couldn’t bring himself to even say her name.

The Hero, brought to his knees, not by the enemy but by love.

His hands roamed the dirty floor beneath him, searching for something, anything, of hers to hold and cradle in his arms, but the shards of the mirror had faded and there was nothing left of her.

He felt a hand graze his shoulder, doubtful and tentative. “Hero,” the Princess murmured, and she said nothing more.

He did not think that she could understand his agony.

When he finally ran out of tears to shed, night was encompassing the desert and a chill hung in the wind. The Princess of Hyrule had beckoned him to stand up from the floor and so he did. He met her gaze and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him, “but look upon your forehead.”

“I can’t.” Was she mocking him? Telling him to look at something with which he needed a mirror?

“Of course,” she muttered, and her hand brushed his hair back so she could look. “I think you will be pleased at what you find crowning your head when you get the chance.”

“I… we…”

“We should go,” she finished for him.

They turned their backs on where the mirror once glimmered in the sunlight and didn’t look back.

The Princess insisted that he spend a night in the ruined castle, and he was puzzled as to why because he had expressed to her multiple times his desire to return home. He wanted nothing more than to sit beside the Ordon Spring and mourn until he rotted into the earth.

As he undressed that night, down to nothing but his simple white shirt and pants, a knock came at the doors of the chamber. He opened it a crack and peered through the small opening only to be greeted with the shadowy face of Princess Zelda, lit by the soft light of the candle she held close.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No.”

He stared at her. Then why was she here?

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Sure.” He opened the door more and stepped to the side. When she entered the room, she pushed the door shut and faced him.

“Hero… I do not know how to ask this of you.”

“I am… I am here to serve, Princess.” The only thing he wanted to serve were the goats back in Ordon. She set her candle down on a nearby table and approached him.

“I would like you to take up residence with me in the castle here,” she told him, “and we could lead Hyrule together.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. He was a simple farm boy, raised on the outskirts of Hyrule, skilled in only herding goats and shooting slingshots with children. When she noticed his expression, she chuckled lightly.

“Before you were given the role of the hero, you were to deliver me a sword, or so I was told,” she looked at him through thick eyelashes and ran her hand up his arm. “So I believe that we were destined to meet anyway, and perhaps destined to be together.”

“No,” he said, and the firmness in his voice shocked even himself. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have to go home.” He didn’t know what he had to do, but he knew what he wanted to do.

“You don’t have to,” she replied. “You could stay here with me. You and I… we’re alike in many ways, I think. We have made countless sacrifices, and we both lost a dear friend.”

“A friend,” Link muttered. “She wasn’t just a friend to me.”

“Oh?”

“I…” his face contorted into something of anguish and his hands balled into fists until his nails dug into the skin of his palms. “I loved her.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this!” His breathing became erratic, tears resurfacing when he thought he lost them all, and his chest rose and fell dramatically. “I want to go home.” His voice was broken, cracked.

Silence.

Then, “I see.” Said so lowly he barely heard it, but the hurt that etched her voice was evident. He watched her fade out of the candlelight, her silhouette reaching for the doorknob. “Goodnight, Hero.”

“No, wait.” His hand shot out to grab the sleeve of her nightgown and he tugged lightly, eliciting a small gasp from her. “Stay.”

“Why should I stay with you when you will not stay with me?” she bit.

“Because… because I need you. Please. Just for the night.”

Her heart fluttered when he spoke those words, but she knew he didn’t need her because he loved her. He needed her because he didn’t know how to cope.

She couldn’t understand why she was so taken by the Hero Link. He was dashing, yes, but she was more smitten with how he was—how he carried himself, spoke, how he felt. When they rode Epona to victory on the battlefield, she felt something ignite in her chest, and when he struck Ganondorf down, it blossomed into a flame.

“I will stay,” she said, and took a seat on the chair next to his bed.

“No, no. You lay in the bed.”

“What?”

“You’re the princess.”

“That means nothing, not when I can’t execute my role properly.”

“I will sit. It’s fine.”

She sighed and crawled into the bed while he replaced her in the chair.

They spoke until one of them fell asleep about their lives, their journeys, and how they ended up sleeping in the same room.

Deep into the night, when even the castle itself no longer creaked, she woke to the sound of him crying, fussing in his chair and mumbling nonsense.

“Link?” she called, leaning carefully over the bed. He tossed his head and let out a choked sob.

“Midna—”

She tapped him quickly, trying to release him from his nightmare, and when it didn’t work she shook his shoulders. When that proved futile, she shouted, asking him to please wake up.

He did.

His eyes shot open and his body lurched forward. His face was covered in sweat and his hands shakily gripped the chair. He whipped his head to face the Princess and his eyes darted around her face, nervously scanning, but he didn’t know what for. He sputtered words, asking who, what, when, where, finally groaning and gripping his head with a hand.

“You’re okay,” she cooed, voice smooth as silk. “It was just a nightmare.”

“No… no, it wasn’t just… it’ll never be just a nightmare.”

“Hero—”

“It was so real.”

He woke her once more with his thrashings that night, but he settled himself until he was only weeping in his sleep.

In the morning, he noticed Princess Zelda was no longer in his chambers, and she took her candle with her. White sunlight drifted through the singular window in the chamber and cast itself on a part of the cold floor where he chose to stand and stretch. His fingers drifted over his cheeks, whereupon he felt a dryness reminiscent of old tears. He glanced down at his green tunic, thrown haphazardly on the floor, almost a little too carelessly for a holy garment granted to him by the Goddesses.

He wanted to step on it. He wanted to burn it until there was nothing left.

He leaned down and scooped it off the floor. He held it up to the window, blocking the morning sun.

Link was not a hero. He didn’t want to be. He wanted to be a simple goat herder from the village of Ordon, where he played with the children and helped the local pregnant woman with her household duties. He wanted to clean his horse in the spring just outside the village and go on walks with his mentor Rusl. Without Midna, he had no purpose.

He slid the tunic on over his head and fastened it around his waist with a belt. After putting his boots on, he scoured the room for his hat. He felt almost naked without it, and it was the one thing he wanted to keep of his goddessforsaken outfit.

He searched for his beloved hat until a guard came knocking at his door, telling him Zelda requested him in the throne room.

So he went, and as he went, he caught himself covering the back of his head with his hand or scratching and patting it. He missed his green stocking cap.

Walking through the castle where he once battled many a fearsome foe was peculiar now, because it didn’t seem as foreboding and dangerous anymore—now, it was just a partially destroyed castle bustling with guards, servants, and construction crews. The Princess certainly wasted no time in reclaiming her kingdom.

When he finally reached the throne room, situated grandly at one of the castle’s highest points, he was surprised to find it void of any people except for her. The only sound in the air was the light breeze and his breathing as he walked the stretch of the room to where she sat, a tiny figure on a large throne.

He knew it was there that she gave up her kingdom, and now here she was taking it back.

“Hero,” she greeted when he finally drew close. “I trust that you found your way to me without problem?”

“Yes.”

The hero was a man of few words.

“Hero—Link, do you see what I have regained?”

“Hyrule.”

“No,” she said. “I have regained a broken shell of what once was Hyrule, and now I’m expected to piece it back together by myself.” She let go of any sort of regal manners she had and tore her crown off her head. The hero watched in silent shock as she threw it to the ground and it broke into dozens of shards just like the mirror did only a day ago. Gripping her hair in her fist and groaning, she refocused her gaze on him and he saw bloodshot eyes.

“What am I to do, Link?”

It wasn’t rhetorical.

“I don’t know, Princess.”

“You don’t know… Goddesses above, of course you don’t know.” She rose from her seat and strode up to him, hands behind her back. “But you could.”

“No, I couldn’t.” He backed away.

“You saved Hyrule once already,” she remarked, “so why can’t you do it again?”

“I have to go home.”

“Why?” she pressed. “Why do you have to? Link, please, I can’t do this by myself. I need someone. I need you.”

He knew why, but he lied anway.

“The children in the village… they—they need me.”

“I need you.”

Link sucked in a breath. Then, “No, you don’t.”

She stared at him, shocked at his defiance. Slowly, she moved her hands from behind her back and his breath caught in his throat.

“I have what you want,” she said mockingly. It lay limp in her hands, ever so tantalizing, a deep forest green, torn and dirty.

He reached out for it, but she pulled back.

“Give it to me,” he demanded, barely above a whisper.

She began to cry. “Link, Hero, please. I can’t do this by myself and you—you’re the most capable person I know.”

“You don’t know me.”

The next thing he knew, she was kneeling before him, grasping his legs in her hands and rocking back and forth. She cried.

It was all so wrong. The most powerful woman in Hyrule, the Princess Zelda, was on her knees before him, an insignificant farmhand, and she was begging him. Tangled locks, red eyes, on her knees, she had let go of any dignity simply because of him. He decided he didn’t need his hat anymore.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he murmured beneath her sobs. “Goodbye.”

He backed away out of the throne room, covering his face with his hand and taking one last glance back. He left her there, on the floor, where her tears stained his stocking cap.

The forest smelled like home. It smelled like fresh pine and subtly of a past rainfall and to his animalistic instincts, it smelled like prey. Squirrels and mice, tiny forest creatures; he could smell them, even from atop Epona, where sometimes the branches scratched his face and leaves tangled in his dirty blond hair. He had passed the lantern oil salesman Coro, still seated in his little log chair with his back hunched, fire still crackling under his pot. It made Link wonder if all that much had really changed.

He trotted past the entrance to the cave through which he had chased Talo and into the small, overgrown tunnel that led to Faron Spring. Clear, sparkling water fed by a small waterfall, topped with large trees through which the sunlight filtered, casting its rays upon the small white flowers among the grass.

It was peaceful.

He stopped Epona by the water’s edge and hopped down. He stroked her mane and patted her side. He knew even after everything he’d been through and would go through, his trusted steed would never leave his side.

He rolled his pants up to his knees and waded into the shallow spring, his eyes closed and arms outstretched. The forest breeze, one he missed, felt so good on his skin and he wished he could melt into it. With his eyes still closed, he submerged his cupped hands into the water and splashed his face and wetted his hair.

Then he remembered.

He pulled his hair back from his forehead and opened his eyes to stare at his reflection in the sacred water and besides the bags under his eyes, he noticed something else.

There, on his forehead, was a dark scar shaped like the Shadow Crystal used to imprison Link in his wolf form.

He was crying again, but he was crying because now he had a piece of her, and he didn’t care how malicious that piece was because it was her.

He cried until the sun set and the waters he laid in no longer glowed with its light.

For most of the ride home from the spring, he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching his forehead. It was right there—she was right. There. And he couldn’t touch her, see her, hear her. She was gone.

He almost rode past Ordon Spring, but he was lucky enough to be paying attention because now she was there.

Wading in its waters, splashing her face and wetting her hair, muttering to herself was Ilia. He halted Epona suddenly and roughly, almost diving off his saddle and tripping over himself to run to her.

She turned around, eyes wide in surprise and mouth dropped in shock.

He stopped just short of hugging her and his mouth hung open because he couldn’t find the words.

“Link,” she breathed. Tentatively, she walked up to him and pressed her hands on the sides of his face. “Am I dreaming?”

Bringing his hand to cover one of hers, he smiled. “No.”

When he arrived home—

Home. Did he have a home? Because nothing felt quite like it did before, like a detail was always off and something was always missing. His strongest desire was to return to Ordon so why did it feel so very wrong? He wondered if he really belonged.

“The children really miss you, Link.” Ilia broke the silence with her soft, reserved voice, twiddling her thumbs and nervously glancing around.

“I visited them whenever I could in Kakariko,” he said, “and Malo had his shop in Castle Town—”

“No, Link,” she interrupted. “They miss you.”

“Oh.”

It was silent again.

Why did he feel like an intruder in his own home? The pictures on the wall, the layered rugs, the ladders—they all felt foreign.

“Y’know, the goats really miss you too. They don’t really… behave…” her voice trailed off. She didn’t know what to say either. “Ugh, Link. Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah,” he replied in a whisper. He laid his sword, still sheathed, against a wall by the door and abandoned his shield on the floor next to it.

“Tell me,” she demanded. “You can always tell me.”

“Ilia…” he stared at her with sad, broken eyes, eyes that were once as bright as the sky, that once glimmered with happiness and content. “I don’t know if I can.” Now, his eyes were dull.

“...Fine,” she muttered. “I won’t pressure you.”

He took off his forest green tunic and held it out in front of him. He stared.

“Hey,” she flicked his arm. “You good?”

He blinked. “Yeah… I’m fine.” He threw it on the floor and looked at her. “I’m going to go to bed, Ilia.”

“Oh.”

Nervously, she rubbed her arm, bit her lip. “Link, um…”

“What?”

“Could I… spend the night here? With you?”

They weren’t strangers, so why did they speak to each other so awkwardly?

“I only have one bed,” he said in a confused tone.

“That’s what I mean,” she replied, stepping closer to him. “I have a hard time sleeping alone. It’s embarrassing, because I’m strong enough and I’m independent so I know I can, but lately I’ve had these awful dreams—nightmares, I suppose—and I can barely get a good night’s rest, so I was just wondering if—”

He gently grabbed her hand. “Yes. Yes, Ilia. It’s fine.”

They laid in his bed together, and she wondered if it would really be beneficial to her sleep when she could barely calm her racing heart. He laid on his side facing away from her, but the bed was so tiny that they were still almost cuddling, but she knew it wasn’t supposed to be romantic, yet when he had grabbed her hand to comfort her she wondered if they could be more.

She was about to drift off to sleep at last when she heard a soft thud. Cracking one eye open, she watched Link smack his pillow with a tense, closed fist. He made small sounds, like he was crying, and when she leaned over to see his face she saw the tear streaks illuminated by the moon.

He had nightmares too.

He was mumbling something through his tears so she leaned down to listen.

“Midna…”

She rolled back onto her side and wondered who Midna must have been to him that he could dream so vividly of her.

She made him pumpkin soup in the morning.

Ilia figured that after all his arduous traveling it was best to let him sleep, even if his snoring was obnoxiously loud and she had to leave the house a few times to escape it.

When Link finally did wake up, it was almost noon and the aroma of the soup had filled his nose and summoned him to his little kitchen. From her spot in the tiny treehouse, she watched him sluggishly trudge to the bubbling pot and pick up the ladle. He looked so exhausted, his eyes dark and the bags intense. His mouth was curved in a frown and his hair was disheveled.

It was so shockingly unlike him.

He spooned some of the soup into a wooden bowl and turned around.

“You made this?” he asked, and his voice was coarse and textured like tree bark.

“Yes.”

And her voice was such a contrast to his; soft, smooth, light. Untouched by war.

He sat down at the table and swirled the soup with a spoon, staring at it with dead eyes. When he finally lifted some of the thick liquid to his lips, he felt bliss.

He felt at home.

“It’s good,” he said after a while. “I missed it.”

He turned around in his chair and said to her, “I missed you.”

She absently picked at her fingernail. “I missed you too,” she replied in a whisper.

He smiled and went back to devouring his soup.

“Um, this morning Fado from the ranch came by. He wants to know if you can help herd goats tomorrow.”

Goat herding.

He’d just saved Hyrule, and now they wanted him to herd goats.

Why did it seem so ridiculous to him? Why did it seem so insulting when it was all he wanted?

“Sure, not a problem,” he said through a mouthful of hot soup.

The village children had begged him to tell them stories of his travels. Despite what they’d been through, they remained mostly the same. Loud, annoying, but lovable.

Why couldn’t he be as strong as them?

“Don’t hold back, either!” Talo said, faking some punches. “I want to hear about all the gross stuff.”

“I don’t know if I can tell you any of the gross stuff,” he told them. “It might be too much.”

Yet, when Colin tugged on his arm and said that they could handle it because they were brave like him, he couldn’t help but recount his journey.

So he told them.

He told them about the poisonous monsters of the Forest Temple in Faron Woods and the blistering magma of the Goron Mines and how he had to sumo wrestle to gain access.

When Talo asked Link to teach him how to wrestle like that, he firmly told him no.

Link took a deep breath, looked at his surroundings. A small bridge arching over a stream, bright sunlight making it shimmer, people tending to their pumpkins.

Ordon was so small. So fragile. He hoped it would never know the stain of loss.

He told them about his imp companion, how they travelled around Hyrule together and unraveled its mysteries and solved its puzzles. He told them about the biting cold of Snowpeak and the arid heat of the Gerudo Desert, where he fought the dead. He told them about how he infiltrated Hyrule Castle and saved the Princess.

“Oh, that’s so romantic!” Beth chirped. “The hero saving the princess. It’s straight out of a storybook.”

Talo made a gagging sound and stuck a finger in his mouth.

Link only smiled and nodded.

It was the furthest thing from romantic.

“What happened to your friend?” Colin quietly asked.

“My friend?”

“The imp.”

Link ran his fingers over his forehead, searching for the right words.

“She went home.”

“Oh.”

His mind was scrambling. He just wanted Midna.

“I want to hear more about the princess!” Beth begged. “Pleeeeeease.”

“Of course… the princess,” Link mumbled. His thoughts were becoming messy, each one colliding with the next, and he became lightheaded. “She was…”

He fainted.

He felt something cold and damp touch his face, something prod his arm. There was talking, but it was muffled and indistinct. He saw nothing but blackness.

“...be fine.”

“But what if…”

He blinked open his eyes. It was blurry, so he blinked again, and the face of a woman staring down at him became clearer. Her face was clouded with worry and her brows were furrowed in concern.

He groaned, brought his hand to his forehead.

“Oh, Link,” the woman above him said, “you’ve finally come to.”

Uli. Her name was Uli.

“I… huh?”

“You fainted. The children came and got me. You’re in my house now.”

“Oh.” He sat up, looked at her. Her belly was swollen, but nowhere near as big as it had been when he’d left Ordon. “You…”

She laughed lightly and rubbed a hand over her belly. “Yes, Link.” She gestured to a cradle in the center of the room. “Do you want to meet her?”

He nodded and she helped him out of bed and to the little cradle. She placed a finger over her mouth and looked at him with happy eyes, so excited to show off her pride and joy, napping cutely in the cradle he’d retrieved for her so long ago.

As he stared at the baby, eyes wide, he was fascinated with how life continued even when he wasn’t around.

He knew Midna wasn’t dead or gone. He knew she was still out there, milling about her realm and serving as its ruler, but in his world, she was dead. Yet her life still went on without him.

She brought Link to a table where she served him some bread and water before sitting down across from him. “You’ve got something on your forehead,” she told him, “and I tried to wipe it off but it was very stubborn.”

“Don’t wipe it off,” he said. “I like it.”

“What is it?” she asked. “It must mean something if you like it so much.”

“I can’t tell you.” Her face fell. “I’m sorry. I think I need to go. Thank you for taking care of me.”

As he stood and walked to the door, Uli held her head in her hands and sighed. “You and Rusl. Always so secretive.”

He was surprised to walk into the darkness of the night, illuminated only by the moon and its stars in the sky. Ordon was dead quiet except for the sound of the grass being shaken by the breeze and owls hooting in the night. He tiptoed through the village, still worried a skeletal beast might pop up and maul him like so many tried to do in Hyrule Field.

He was thankful to have been unconscious during the hours of twilight.

He climbed the ladder into his humble treehouse, shutting the door softly behind him only to be startled by Ilia knitting in front of the fireplace.

“Oh, you’re home,” she said.

Spoken so familiarly, like they were married.

“Yes, I am,” he replied dumbly.

“I heard you fainted when you were with the children.”

“I did, unfortunately.”

“But Uli took care of you?”

“Yes. Fed me bread and all.”

Ilia smiled and set her knitting on the floor. She wandered to the small kitchenette where she picked up a stack of letters.

“The postman came by,” she stated. “I don’t think he’s ever delivered anything all the way out here before, but he must’ve made an exception for someone as important as you.” She handed the letters to him and he accepted them into his own calloused hands.

“Thank you.”

She went back to her knitting and he thumbed through the letters, most of them promotions from Malo Mart, until he came upon one sealed with a red wax stamped with the Triforce. His heart fell to his stomach.

He just wanted to be left alone.

Dear Link,

I hope you are doing well in Ordon. I would like to apologize for the display you saw in the throne room the other day. That is not who I am.

I can’t do this without you. You took on what I could not, and it proves that you are the only one fit to rule beside me. You saved my kingdom so why should I, an incompetent princess, rule what I could not save? If you were by my side, Hyrule could rebuild itself to what it was before.

I know you may not believe me when I say it, Hero of Twilight, but I love you. I plead that you accept my offer to be Hyrule’s king.

I will be waiting for you at the castle.

Signed,

Princess Zelda

King. What a silly idea. He was not fit for any role such as that, any role that included leadership and confidence. For her to say that she loved him when they barely knew each other convinced him she was using him as a publicity stunt.

He crumpled the letter up and tossed it in his crude wooden waste bin.

“What were they?” Ilia asked, not looking up from her knitting.

“Just Malo Mart advertisements,” he said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie.

He knew Ilia could never lay an eye on that letter. It would crush her to see a woman declaring her love for him, especially when she didn’t know that he despised the woman so carelessly writing those words.

He loved Ilia.

But he also loved Midna.

He sighed and dragged himself over to Ilia, plopping down behind her and resting his head on her shoulder.

He fell asleep to the sensation of her fingers in his hair.

The next morning, when he washed himself in the Ordon Spring, he made sure to stop for a few moments and gaze at his forehead. It was his way of saying good morning to her.

He snapped out of it when Ilia stopped by with Epona to bathe her.

Blushing, she said, “Geez, Link. Put on a shirt.”

“No,” he huffed. “I’m herding goats today. It gets too hot with one on.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled and began attending to Epona. “Y’know, you should wash your own horse.”

“You beat me to it,” was all he said before dunking his head under the water.

He forgot how relaxing goat herding was, because once he’d finished the day’s work he got to lounge around the ranch and stare at the sky while Epona grazed nearby. He refocused his attention on the present when he saw Fado walking up to him.

“Thanks for yer help,” he said. He also forgot how dirty ranch work was, because Fado was positively caked in dirt and other brown substances. “You can go on home now if ya’d like.”

Link smiled, nodded, and let his back hit the ground so he could stare at the sky some more.

When he did finally leave, the sun was setting, and he chose to walk Epona out instead of ride her. The pair leisurely walked on the path back to the village, and Link spoke to her and wondered if she could still understand him outside of his wolf form.

He was greeted by Ilia lazing on the ground near her father, Mayor Bo’s, house.

“You didn’t scratch her this time, did you?” she asked, half genuine and half joking.

It felt like he suddenly got slapped in the face, being forced to recall a time that felt like it was eons ago, when everything was quiet and normal.

“You remember?” he asked.

She laughed and nodded. “Of course I do. No point in regaining my memory if I can’t regain it all, right?”

His chuckle was colored with nervousness. “Right.”

“Don’t you miss it?” Ilia questioned. “When everything was how it used to be. Normal is the word, I guess.”

“I do.”

“Do you miss what we had?”

She spoke as though they lost the spark they once had.

“We still have it,” he replied quietly.

She got up from the ground and walked over to him, taking his hands in her own. Without looking up at him, she asked, “You really think so?��

He nodded.

She kissed him.

His shock quickly dissipated as he melted into it and cupped her face with his dirty hands.

He missed her.

They had a fire that night in front of his treehouse, a pathetic blaze fueled by a few tree branches. Into the fire he cast his green tunic, and neither of them said anything.

Then she spoke. “Why?”

“I hate it.”

He burned away his past.

They laid together once more, staring at the stars through the window. They were content.

“There’s something you need to know,” Link said suddenly.

“What?” she murmured, almost a low hum.

“I… on my journey… I met a woman.”

She stiffened in his arms.

“Her name was Midna.”

And she recalled the night where she watched him smack his pillow and cry and whimper her name.

“She was with me for my whole journey,” he explained, “and at the end of it she just… left. And I—”

“You loved her,” Ilia interrupted quietly.

“Yes.” His voice was just as quiet, if not quieter.

“I understand, I think,” she said, and he was surprised because usually she jumped to her own conclusions and ran with them. “I would probably fall in love if I had an adventure with someone, too.”

He kissed the top of her head.

“But I love you,” he reassured her.

“I love you too.”

Time and the challenges it brought with it changed both of them. Ilia gained understanding and patience while Link had only felt loss. He didn’t know who he was anymore or what he wanted.

He decided it was okay to float through life for a little while.

Yet, even as he slept and despite his reassurances, Ilia couldn’t help but think about Midna. She didn’t know who Midna was or if the woman reciprocated his feelings. Behind her facade was a jealousy she didn’t know how to cope with because deep in the back of her mind she wondered if he was lying to her.

Link and Ilia spent many hot, sunny days cooking for the other and bathing together in the spring, splashing each other with water and exchanging kisses before Link went to wrangle the goats.

She wished none of it had ever happened—none of his journey, none of her amnesia, none of Midna, because then she could love him without doubt. She could love him as the simple man she knew him to be, someone who played with the village children and helped the local pregnant woman with her household duties. She could love him as the man that needed a wake-up call every morning because he was such a heavy sleeper, as the man that was so carefree he couldn’t even notice when his horse was injured.

As the man who cared for her so much that he helped her recover her lost memories.

She threw away her doubts one day when they were sitting in the spring together, holding hands and kissing and she asked him:

“Will you marry me?”

He loved her.

And because he loved her, he crumpled Zelda’s letters to him and hid them in the little nooks and crannies around his house, because he didn’t want to throw them away. Something inside him wanted to keep them and read them over every now and then, anytime his mind might stray to the idea of being the king, so that he could remind himself of his distaste for the now queen.

Each new letter he received became more and more riddled with desperation and confusion, loss and anger. It was clear to him that Queen Zelda was overwhelmed with her duties and didn’t know how to handle it, and so she begged in more undignified ways each time. And, every time without fail, she professed her love to him and begged him to come home to her. Yes, she used the word home so carelessly, so recklessly, because he finally understood where his home was and it was not with her.

He made it a point to rise earlier than Ilia so that he could greet the postman who didn’t care who he handed the letters off to even though he knew the importance they carried. Sometimes, Link wondered if the Malo Mart promotions were only in the mix to hide the fact that one specific letter always carried the royal seal.

Maybe the postman was a little considerate after all.

Or maybe Malo didn’t understand the concept of spam.

Whatever the reason, he was grateful that Malo chose to advertise his shop so aggressively.

Ordonian weddings, despite the modesty of the town on the surface, were a big deal. The entire village was decorated with white banners and flower garlands. The aroma of various pumpkin dishes filled the air and the ranch, with its wide open field, was the perfect venue for the ceremony.

Dozens of chairs and a humble wooden arch were situated in the green expanse with a makeshift rug laid down as the aisle. Link had already herded the goats into the stable that day and now he was cleaning himself in the Ordon Spring, where he and his spouse would later be taken to receive a blessing.

But, for now, they stood in the spring and splashed each other.

It was what he always thought he was destined for—a simple life, free of any worries, married to his childhood friend in his hometown.

Needless to say he was disappointed when Uli and Sera came and took Ilia away to prepare her for the ceremony, and he was left alone in the spring.

With nothing else to do, he stared at his scar and said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, because he was alone and the air was empty and the woods were stagnant, and because she wasn’t there.

He stood there in front of the entire village, clad in a nice white tunic cinched at his waist with a brown belt, watching her glide down the aisle.

She was like an angel. It was a bright and sunny day, and she shined even brighter than the very sun that made her figure glow.

She wore the simplest white dress; no lace, no gems, just white fabric and a simple necklace, green like her eyes.

He tried his best to ignore Mayor Bo’s ugly crying in the front row.

When she finally stood across from him, they exchanged vows and Link told her that she was his only love.

They listened to Fado drone on about the usual wedding stuff, which were things neither of them cared about.

Yet as he spoke, Link couldn’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if it was Midna standing across from him. Perhaps she wouldn’t be dressed in white but a dark blue, and her hair would be up instead of clasped together below her chin.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

So he did.

“I’m so tired,” Ilia groaned back at his—no, their—house. She kicked off her painful shoes and flopped on the bed.

“Too much food?” he asked, following her.

“Too much everything,” she answered.

He lightly kissed her, then more, then more, and more and more and more until she pressed a hand to his naked chest.

“Are we going to…?”

“Do you want to?”

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She hummed in thought.

Her answer was a strong grip on his head and another kiss.

“Good morning,” she yawned, rolling over in his arms. She held a hand to his face. “Husband.”

She sighed, and her contentment made him swell with love.

“I can finally call you that after so long,” she said with a smile. Her eyes sparkled in the rising sun and he kissed her cheek without saying anything in response.

He got out of bed and peered out the window, panic setting in when he saw the postman.

“Oh, I can go get the mail today,” she said. “You must be tired after last night.”

“No. No, it’s fine, really,” he said in a rush, and he slid down the ladders and went outside to retrieve the mail.

Promotions and a royal letter once again.

When he came back inside, Ilia stood there with an eyebrow cocked and her hands on her hips.

“Why can’t I get the mail sometimes?”

“Because… I like to. The postman and I—we—we talk. Sometimes.”

“Okay.” She frowned and squinted at him skeptically.

When he came back from herding goats that afternoon, Ilia was sat on the floor with the Master Sword in her lap, still sheathed much to his relief, but in her lap nonetheless.

“Don’t touch that,” he told her. He swiped it from her lap and set it back against the wall.

“Don’t you have to put that back sometime?” she asked.

“Yes… I will, eventually. But not—not today.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think I’m ready to let go yet.”

That night, he had another nightmare, and she rocked him back and forth until he stopped weeping and saying her name.

Midna.

Over dinner one evening, Ilia asked him something.

“Can you tell me more about Midna?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Please.”

She set her hand atop his and fiddled with his ring.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

He swallowed, prepared himself, touched his forehead.

He told her. He told her about who Midna really was and the things she could do and see, how in the twilight he would abandon his humanity and become a wolf at her command, how Midna wasn’t actually a strange imp but rather a beautiful princess with otherworldly powers, and he told her about the Mirror of Twilight and its absence in their realm. He told her about how, as far as the world of light was concerned, Midna was dead.

The only thing she could say at the end was “Oh.”

Then one night, in the comfort of their bed, she asked him, “Do you still love her?”

And he hesitated to answer because he didn’t want to lie, but he knew the truth would sting, and he knew she was asking if he loved Midna and not her, but still he responded with a quiet “Yes.”

She didn’t move or show any acknowledgement to his answer. Eventually, her body was dead weight in his arms, her chest rising and falling with each light snore. When he ran the back of his hand over her cheek, it was wet.

“Sorry.”

The next morning, when he woke, she was not in bed with him, which was odd because he was usually the early riser. He nudged the covers, which had been thrown over him, to the side and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He climbed down the ladders and hit the ground floor with a soft thump. He stretched, flexing his body and his toned arms high above his head. When he turned around, she was standing next to the door with a carefully sealed envelope in her hand.

“Good mor—”

“What is this?” she hissed. She held the letter out and shook it in front of him. Slowly, carefully, like he was approaching a bloodthirsty wolf (but wasn’t that him?), he went up to her and took the letter out of her tight grip. He broke the seal and pulled the parchment out.

“I do not love her,” Link answered before she could ask.

“Two women?” Her voice was defeated. In her mind, she would never be enough, and the letter only confirmed that notion that settled now in the front of her mind.

“No.”

“Is this what you’ve been hiding from me? Is this why you always insist on accepting the mail?”

“I…”

“Yes or no, Link,” she whispered. She wiped furiously at her eyes.

Dejectedly, “Yes.” He let the letter fall to the floor as he took her hands in his. “I do not love her.”

“Then why does she send you letters almost every week?”

“Because she loves me.”

No, she didn’t. He knew Princess Zelda was desperate for someone to help her regain the trust of her citizens, and who better to do it than the Hero that saved her realm? She framed it under the pretense of love in the hopes of roping him back to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Are you really?”

Her words bit. Hard.

“You could tell me so easily about how much you loved one princess, but you couldn’t tell me about the other one that is actively sending you love letters? Begging you to come home?”

“That’s not—”

“I am not stupid, Link. I can understand more than you know, but you seem to think I’m not ready to handle your trauma.”

“No, you’re not.”

“We are married. Husband and wife. For better or for worse. I’m supposed to be here for you, so why can’t you let me do what I’m supposed to?”

“Because I’m scared.”

“Scared of what? Me discovering your emotional affair with Princess Zelda?”

He wanted to tell her she was queen now and not just princess.

“Scared of losing you, too.”

She stared at him. Then, she walked up to him, and hugged him.

Together they cried.

The next time he received a letter from Queen Zelda, he was going to let Ilia read it with him. Instead, the paper was wordless, and inside the parcel that came with it was his hat, clean and neatly folded. It amazed him how Queen Zelda seemed to know when he gave up because she gave up at the same time. The hat was her surrender.

He cried alone but into Ilia’s arms.

“Darling,” he said to her, “I’m going to return the sword.”

“Really?” she asked from against his chest. They looked at it, sheathed and clean, just sitting against the wall.

“It’s time for me to let go of it.”

“When will you be back?”

“By sundown. I promise.”

Somehow, she knew he wasn’t telling the truth, but which part was a lie she didn’t know.

He ran his hand through her hair, kissed the top of her head. She strapped the sheath to him and ran her hand over it.

She kissed him goodbye and he, in turn, kissed her belly.

He never stopped wondering what it could’ve been like if it was Midna instead of Ilia.

He took Epona into the village to get Rusl’s trusty golden cucco and when questioned as to why he needed it, Link only gestured at the sword on his back and Rusl understood.

When Link rode back through his clearing, he said goodbye to Ilia once more, and she stood there and watched him leave without saying anything. She wondered if she would ever stop waiting for his return.

Epona carried the Hero through Faron Woods, where he stopped at the spring to stare at himself one last time and subsequently her. He washed his face, asked for a blessing from the spirits, and moved on.

He left Epona outside the cave leading deep into the Woods and it was there that he rid her of her saddle. He gave her a kiss on the nose, patted her mane, and said goodbye.

He navigated the poisonous fog of Faron Woods, coughing and hacking, but eventually made his way to the Forest Temple where he finally employed the cucco and flew down to the Sacred Grove.

It was odd wandering the Grove when he couldn’t hear the mocking laughter of Skull Kid or his blaring horn. However, it was peaceful, almost ethereal, like he’d entered another world disconnected from his own, much like the Twilight Realm.

He made it to the pedestal where he was to lay the Master Sword to rest and when he unsheathed and poised it over the pedestal, its glow faintly surged. Once, then twice, then it stopped, like it wanted to say something to him but it couldn’t.

Slowly, hesitantly, he dropped it into the slot. Its home. It had served its purpose and it was therefore no longer necessary.

Much like him.

Even after it was all said and done, he didn’t know what he wanted. Midna forever held his heart, and he stared at the Master Sword in its pedestal and weeped for her.

He left the pedestal and wandered the Sacred Grove, and some say you can still hear the quiet murmurings of her name.

Time passed, Ilia’s belly swelled, Zelda’s letters ceased, and Ordon Village faded into obscurity. Yet on its quiet, surviving breath, you can still hear the hushed rumors about a man who mourned until he rotted into the earth.

#zelink #zelda x link #loz #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #twilight princess #the legend of zelda twilight princess #tloz #zelda #link #midlink #illink #midna x link #ilia x link #angst #fanfiction #nintendo #oneshot #longshot

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hostess-of-horror · 3 years

Text

Phantom X Peach

Just a little something I wanted to dabble on! I needed my OTP fix, so I made a little thing! For @salamifuposey, @kindpopstar, @strawbunniiee, and everyone else who wants to read it!

[Content Includes: Themes of Depression and Anxiety, Implied Suggestive Topics, and Flirting (no smut!)]

It's another night at the Mushroom Kingdom. Every citizen within the kingdom were all fast asleep. Families tucking their children into bed and loved ones snuggling up for the night. All were asleep, except for Princess Peach. Princess Peach is in the balcony, gazing at the beautiful night sky above. She could not sleep, no matter how hard she tries. Peach is troubled with thoughts - terrible, endless thoughts. They came through like a tsunami, flooding her mind with nothing to drain it all down. She thought maybe some fresh air would clear her thoughts, but to no avail. Giving up, Peach sighs, returning to her chamber. She lays onto her bed, tossing and turning. If only she could sleep.... If only her thoughts would just stop....

Then, a gentle knock on the balcony door is heard.

---

[Princess Peach sits up and looks at the balcony door. She gasps. Outside the door was none other than Phantom, peering through the glass. She gets up from her bed and opens the door.]

Peach: "Phantom!"

Phantom: "Good evening, your highness. I could not help but notice you out on the balcony earlier ago. I figured you would be asleep by now, it's almost midnight. Is... everything alright?"

Peach: "Oh! Um... well... I just couldn't sleep, that's all."

Phantom: "Are you sure? You look rather exhausted. Sad even."

[Peach looks down. She rubs her tired eyes; her hands become a little wet with tears. Phantom notices.]

Phantom: "Ah, your eyes-!" *reaches out to wipe her tears*

Peach: "Oh no, everything's fine. My eyes just get watery when I'm tired."

[Peach gives Phantom a weak smile, her eyes straining to look up at him. Phantom frowns, and his eyebrows furrow with concern. He places a gentle mitten-like paw on her cheek, caressing her with his thumb. She relaxes in his touch, her smile disappearing.]

Phantom: "What troubles you, my love?"

Peach: "I've been having these dreadful thoughts recently. They just keep coming in waves throughout the day, and they're even worse at night. I can't seem to shake them off."

Phantom: "... May I come in?"

Peach: "But how? The door is too small."

Phantom: "Heh... no need."

[Letting go of Peach, Phantom floats over her and phases through the wall with ease. Peach had forgotten that Phantom has the ability to go through floors and walls. Within seconds, both Phantom and Peach were inside.]

Phantom: *adjusts his coat and scarf* "Now then, tell me, Princess, about these thoughts."

Peach: "Well... they seem to hold the worst things imaginable. Most of them were about your masquerade performance the other night."

Phantom: "Did I... frighten you somehow?"

Peach: "Oh, no! It wasn't your fault at all! You and your theater troupe were amazing! It's just... when we kissed..."

[Phantom patiently waits as Peach struggles to find her words. Her body chest trembles a little, making her breathing shaky.]

Peach: "I don't know... I... I never had such a feeling before. I've read it in books and heard wonderful stories about it, but it's nothing like what the poets say."

Phantom: "A feeling?"

Peach: "I didn't know what came over me. I'm sure it was love... but it didn't feel like what I imagined it would be."

Phantom: "What did it feel like?"

Peach: "Like a dagger through my heart."

[A moment of silence. Phantom tilts his head, trying to understand what Peach is saying.]

Peach: "Every thought would make my heart pound to the point of aching. It's as if my heart would burst!" *places her hand over her chest* "But... the pain... felt so good afterwards. It's euphoric in the way. Addictive, even. But then I become so conflicted - not because of us, of course! I... I feel impure afterwards... as if I've done something unspeakable."

[Peach swallows. She rubs her arms and fidgets. Her expression becomes intense.]

Peach: "I never had such an experience before. I know it's normal. But why am I feeling this way? Why can't I calm down? I feel like I'm losing my mind! I feel like some higher force is going to punish me for having such feelings! For expressing such feelings! And then I have to be amongst my people... and they speak of Mario..." *clutching her nightgown* "It's like some day I'm going to let them down. All because I..."

[Worried, Phantom listens on as he watches Peach become close to tears.]

Peach: "Because I finally got what I wanted..." *takes a deep breath* "Not only that, it's like I'm a criminal hiding in the crowd. Like I have to put up an innocent facade to hide my sins. Sometimes... my thoughts... they would tell me that I'm... a burden. Unworthy. That my people would be better off with someone else..."

[After all that, Peach finally breaks down crying. Phantom lowers himself, taking her up into his arms, and embraces her. Her sobs muffle into his chest. He gently hugs her tightly.]

Peach: "Please..." *sniffs* "Please don't think... I regret loving you."

Phantom: "Shhhhh... there, there... it's alright. It's going to be okay. I am so sorry you've been feeling that way." *sighs* "It seems to me that you are overthinking things. I don't mean that as in what you're feeling is invalid. I mean as in things are not as intense as they may seem. I should know, I've had these moments before. You are not alone, your highness."

Peach: "...."

Phantom: "Is... there anything I can do to help?"

[Peach's weeping begin to stop, and she begins to calm down. After taking in a few deep breaths, she gently tugs on his coat, as if she's trying to pull him closer to her.]

Peach: "Please stay here... for a little while? Until I fall asleep?"

Phantom: *smiles* "Of course, my dear."

[Phantom softly adjusts his embrace, allowing Peach to lie down. As he cradles her bridal style, he floats down and sits on the edge of her bed. He cannot help but feel the warmth of happiness as he looks upon his little lover, now tucked inside his arms. Peach then proceeds to rest her eyes.]

Phantom: *whispering* "Have I ever told you how lovely you look tonight? Of course, you've always been beautiful, but right now... you look divine. Perhaps it's the nightgown." *chuckles softly* "Oh, how it suits you... it suits you very well. I could just worship you for all eternity."

[Phantom leans over and plants a soft kiss on her forehead. He could feel the warmth rising from Peach's face. He giggles once he notices a big smile across her face, her rosy cheeks deepening in color.]

Phantom: "Ah, there she is! There's my precious rose..."

[Peach opens her tired eyes, looking up at Phantom. She continues to smile as she reaches out and caresses his cheek. Her eyes then close again. Phantom lays his hand on top of hers and presses his lips against her palm. He then floats up and over, placing himself on top of the bed. As Peach cuddles up against his chest, Phantom hums a little lullaby. His melodic voice soothes her and, in a matter of minutes, she finally falls asleep. Once his lullaby was over, Phantom softly lays her down, tucking her in. Before he leaves, he decides to plant more kisses, tracing his lips along hers, across her cheek, and a little bit down her neck.]

Phantom: *whispering in her ear* "Until we meet again, my love~"

#oh boy...#I needed to write this down #I was in need of some good shit #and here it is #you're welcome #phantom of the bwahpera #tom phan #phantom #princess peach #phantom x peach #OTP #fanfiction #shipping

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ask-october-fox · 4 years

Text

A Gift

I hope that this gets to you before you leave for the year. I’m not an artist, but I am a writer, and I wanted to take some time to make something as a thank you for the great comfort you give everyone around you. Thank you for everything you do. Lots of love, -Pennington Inkwell ————————————————-

There was a chill in the air, one that pushed just on the border between crisp and biting. Autumn was still far from over, but October could feel that her time was nearing its end for this year. She was always sad to say farewell to the many spirits who came to visit her year after year for her short month in the world of the living, but it was always accompanied by a sense of overwhelming relief. This year had been trying for the entire world, and she was no different. There were many more than she had been expecting needing her guidance to the other side, and she had performed her duties with all due diligence for each one. Now, though, she was going to be able to rest. She’d sleep away her exhaustion for another eleven months and return again as the spirit of the season next year. She had returned to her favorite resting spot, a wide tree stump that seemed to refuse to rot. She often wondered if the resting place for her lantern had somehow been enchanted by her presence, but it was of little consequence. It was her spot and she enjoyed it, and that was all that mattered. She curled her three perfectly-groomed tails around herself, resting her chin on them as she let out a yawn. She was ready. Or so she thought. Her ears perked up involuntarily as she heard the crackling of leaves and snapping of twigs approaching. She could tell by the pace and the gait that it was a human, a fact that momentarily confused her. She could count on one paw the number of humans who would venture this deep into her forest and still know their way, and none of them had been able to visit this year with the state of the world being what it was. She considered hiding, but decided to wait it out. If worst came to worst, she was more than capable of defending herself. The human was indeed a stranger to her, but she could tell that they weren’t a threat. They were caught in that perilous position of being too old to be a child and too young to be an adult, but they moved as if they had the weight of the world on their shoulders. Curiously, October could see a wandering spirit traveling alongside them, watching just over their shoulder as a small wisp of light. She watched them as they caught sight of her, their breath catching in their throat. For a moment their eyes met, and silence fell as they each stared at one another, one curious and the other fearful. They held up their hands in a placating motion. “I don’t want to hurt you.” October chuckled internally. “I never believed you did.” She smiled and rested her chin back on her tails. “You’ve come a very long way to be here, young one, this forest is full of perilous creatures. Why?” The human squirmed somewhat. “Y-You’re the Fall Fox, right?” October felt a small flare in the embers of her rage for her predecessor, but she didn’t let it show beyond an annoyed flick of her third tail. “You’re 300 years too late, I’m afraid. I am October, his… successor.” “But… you still guide spirits to the other side?” the human spoke almost in a whisper, what little confidence they had quickly dissolving. “Indeed.” October glanced again at the spirit floating alongside them. They clearly weren’t capable of seeing it, themselves, but it wasn’t out of the question for humans to be able to sense a spirit’s presence. “Did you come all this way to ask me to take someone beyond the veil?” The human nodded again, slowly walking up to the tree stump in as non-threatening a way as possible. Once they’d come close enough, they fell to their knees. They took one long, shuddering breath and bowed their head. “I-I think I’m ready to go…” October recoiled, the last vestiges of sleepiness vanishing in a moment of unadulterated shock. She blinked several times, trying to process the request. “I don’t- Are you certain that you understand what I do?” she asked. “My work is for the spirits of the dead, child! I don’t have any domain over-” “I know.” The human sniffled, and October could see tears dripping from their face. “Like I said, I’m ready.” They were walking the knife’s edge of despair, and needed to be brought back to safety. October knew that, even if they weren’t dead, this was another lost spirit, a VERY lost one. Perhaps, even if it wasn’t necessarily her place, she could bend her rules enough to help guide them to safety. She rose to her feet and hopped down from the stump. She seated herself directly in front of them, fixing her piercing orange gaze on their eyes. “Why?” As much as she wanted to give them nothing but comfort and softness, she forced a terse edge into her voice. She expected an answer, a truthful one, on the first try. “Why not?” They couldn’t hold her gaze, turning away. “Look around. Everything’s gone to hell. The planet’s dying, no one can really advance their station if they want to, people are dying in throngs, it feels like half the world’s on fire, and every day we hear more bad news…” they buried their face in their hands, as if it could hide their weeping growing stronger. “The ones who have power are the ones who are selfish enough to take it for themselves, and the ones who need help-” their breath hitched in their throat, and October could see the spirit that had accompanied them move closer, as if trying to comfort them. She could feel the strength of the bond and the love between them, and she understood why and how they’d found their way here: the spirit couldn’t save them, so it had come to her. She stepped forward, putting a paw on their chest and resting her chin on their shoulder. Her tails shut out the cold night as they were both enclosed in her gleaming fur. “Young one… There are many who question the meaning and purpose of life. It is an immutable rite for every living creature to question why they live at all. In good times, they wonder why it has to end and what the pleasure amounts to. In bad times…” She tightened her tails slightly, pulling them closer. “In bad, they question why the pain must exist, and themselves along with it. Sometimes, they are at fault for their own suffering, but much more often it is something beyond their control that inflicts such a cursed doubt on them.” She felt tears of her own brimming up as painful memories resurfaced, stories told to her by the many spirits that had passed through her care mingled with pangs from her own long life’s memories. "I wouldn’t aspire to the lofty title of ‘Oracle,’ but would you like to know the answer that I’ve found over my years?“ She felt them nod, unable to speak through the tears any more. "It is true that the world can feel uncaring or cruel. It may fall to pieces and lose parts of what we think are the very heart of it all… But that doesn’t mean it cannot be pieced back together… together.” She leaned back slightly to move and press her forehead to theirs. “When the summer sun dims and winter’s winds blow across our hearts, we gather together around an autumn campfire and warm ourselves with fables. We remember heroes that never existed so that we can, through the whole of the world, make them real. When we are fearful and trodden upon, we look to others to help us rise, and then look to lift up others. And when we find ourselves with… a hole in our hearts, one that feels as if it could never be replaced, we mend it with memories and love, both old and new. The hole remains, of course, but it is no longer the doorway through which despair can enter our souls.” She sighed, feeling the pangs in her heart soothed by the memories of the countless spirits who came back to her every year, always more enthusiastic than ever. Some were joyful, some would seek to help her or please her, and some would need guidance or comfort. It never meant that what she had lost was replaced or returned, but… “I’ve found that the heart is boundless. We can always fill it, piece it together, and make it grow anew if we throw ourselves into others. Helping them, laughing with them,” she smiled in spite of herself, “or even crying with them, when need be.” The human’s sobbing had slowed to a stop, and their tears had become a tiny trickle dripping off their chin, now. “S-So what should I do?” they whispered, their voice still wavering. “If you find that humankind feels beyond help, involve yourself in humankind. You’ll find that you’re never so alone as you feel in your beliefs. If you feel the world is beyond saving, save the part of the world you can, in what little ways you can. It can be helping someone across the street or a spirit across the veil. The more you help others, the more you’ll find your ability to help grows, and the joy you bring will be twofold: for them and for yourself.” She had to stop for a moment as another yawn forced its way past. “In my experience, THAT is the balm of a broken heart.” It couldn’t have been more than a minute that they sat in silence, but it felt like an eternity. For a moment, October worried that her words had fallen on deaf ears. When the human reached out and pulled her into and awkward hug, however, she smiled and knew that she had been heard. “Thank you.” “You are always welcome, child…” She did her best to reciprocate the hug with a squeeze of her tails before the two of them were separated again. She hopped back up onto her stump, seeing that the human was wiping away their tears and wearing a melancholy smile. They seemed unsure of what to say, but October knew just how to fill the silence. “I expect to see you again next year, child. Do you understand?” They seemed surprised at the assignment, but soon smiled wider, with a little more joy to their expression than grief. “I promise!” As they departed back into the trees, the spirit hung back, floating up to her and hovering just over her muzzle. October could already tell that they weren’t prepared to go, but she could feel the gratitude washing over her in waves. She only gave an understanding nod before the wisp flew away again, hurrying along to catch up to their beloved companion. With that last odd pair of spirits accounted for, October once again curled herself around the warmth of her lantern and settled into a comfortable position. As she felt herself dozing off into that deep sleep, she wondered what kind of world she would awaken to next year. If this year had truly been so painful, then there was no telling how much love would blossom as humanity sought to heal. Even if only that one soul would take her words to heart, she knew it would be a world deeply changed for the better.

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gingerreggg · 3 years

Text

Written in Stone (Jonawagon AU)

(hey gingerreggg it’s desiree237, i found your tumblr! i commented on your post on AO3 about a jonawagon fic that your Hands of Life AU reminded me of, but as i don’t have a working AO3 as of the moment i searched for your account so you can see it as i found it. enjoy :D )

**resending this cause i think tumblr ate it the first time T_T**

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“Isn’t he magnificent?” said Speedwagon with a sigh, as he overlooked the plot of land that was once the Joestar Mansion. This old, hallowed ground had seen greater days, long since forgotten, as times had changed in the fifty years that had passed, and, formerly the site of a desperate struggle of good against evil, was now but an unassuming public park– a park where children played blissfully unaware of the drama that had played out here many decades ago.

Speedwagon’s tired old eyes, however, focused on the park’s centerpiece: a towering monument of none other than the truest friend and noblest soul Speedwagon had ever known: Jonathan Joestar. Carved of polished white marble by Speedwagon himself and standing over eight feet in height– far taller than Jonathan had been in life– the monument was sculpted in his perfect likeness, his noble, handsome face gazing bravely into the distance as he brandished a sword, a chrome-tinted replica of the one Jonathan bore, silently posed in a stance of fearless combat.

It took years, many years, of hard labor from Speedwagon’s part. But he felt it was all worth it. Carefully, lovingly, he had chipped away at the marble block bit by miniscule bit, slowly but surely recreating the figure, the face, of a man so worthy of admiration.

Of a man who, by his own selflessness, was gone forever– but deserved to be remembered by those who were not fortunate enough to have known him as closely as Speedwagon had.

A tear streamed from Speedwagon’s eye as eight-year old Joseph, Jonathan’s grandson, tugged at Speedwagon’s sleeve. “Uncle Speedy? Who is that statue, anyway?”

His query broke Speedwagon’s heart a little. Poor Joseph never knew his grandfather. And Jonathan…he perished on the day of his honeymoon: never to hear his child’s voice, see his face, or partake in the joy of his son becoming a father himself. A family who had to grow in his absence.

So much had been lost that day.

Speedwagon wiped away a tear with a sniffle. “That, Joseph, is your grandpa, Jonathan. He was the strongest, bravest, gentlest man I ever knew. He would have loved to have met you,” he said to Joseph, lovingly ruffling the little boy’s messy brown hair.

“I wish I’d met him too,” little Joseph piped up.

“I wish…” Speedwagon sighed, gazing at the gorgeous, but lifeless, face that stared blankly into nothingness. “I wish he was still here.”

The sun was setting, and Speedwagon knew Joseph had to go home soon, as at his age he was still going to school, and thus needed to go to bed early.

“Jorge?” Speedwagon called out to his companion at the park. “Would you mind taking Joseph home with you? I just…need to stay a little longer,” he sighed, sadly.

“Sure thing, Uncle Robbie,” grinned Jorge. “Joseph? Jojo! It’s time for us to come home!” he hollered, calling his son back to return home for the night, after a long day at the park.

And soon, Speedwagon was all alone, as night began to fall.

Fifty years. It had been fifty years since he had lost Jonathan. He had left that fateful day, on what had been meant to be the happiest day of his life, with Erina, and Speedwagon couldn’t have been more proud to see him off. But then came the tragic news: that the ship had gone down in flames– and that Jonathan was dead. Speedwagon felt a heavy guilt in his heart. That he had been absent when Jonathan needed him. And now, he would never see his face again, only in stone, and in his memories.

It was so long ago, but his heart still hurt. He loved Jonathan more than anyone else. Perhaps as a true friend. And perhaps…even more.

Sitting sadly by the statue’s pedestal, he gazed up at his marble creation. He marveled at its perfection, and reveled in Jonathan’s memory, so fresh and bright in his mind, that had allowed him to shape such a facsimile of his fallen friend. How could someone forget somebody like Jonathan? So beautiful in both body and heart, forever etched as a tantalizing, bittersweet memory in Speedwagon’s soul.

“If only you could see us now, Jojo,” he whispered to the statue, running his hand mournfully over its smooth, marble fingers. “If only you could talk, and tell me how you feel about all I’d done in your honor.” He began to weep, his tears landing on the statue’s polished feet. “I miss you, old chap.”

“I wish you were still with us.”

Unknown to Speedwagon, a brilliant streak of light arced across the heavens above, flashing for a moment and vanishing in the darkness. Some called them meteors. But to others, they were known by a more hopeful moniker: wishing stars.

“I wish I had you back, Jojo.”

Suddenly, to Speedwagon’s surprise, the ground began to shake, rumbling beneath him and rustling the trees of the park, which swayed ominously as the terrified old man glanced around in a panic.

“An earthquake…” Speedwagon gasped. He had to get to safety, somehow. Seeking shelter beneath a sturdy bench, Speedwagon dashed for cover, crouching down in terror under the bench as the entire park was rocked by tremors of the earth itself. He hoped Jorge and Joseph were somewhere safe.

And then, he heard a loud cracking noise, and his heart sank like a stone at sea.

Before his horrified eyes, the feet of Jonathan’s statue broke loose from the pedestal. For a moment the statue remained upright, as defiant and proud as Jonathan had been– and then slowly, it began to tilt and fall, and Speedwagon could only watch in grief and horror as his magnum opus, his tribute to a lost beloved, came crashing down to the ground with a colossal thud.

“No,” Speedwagon tried to say, but no sound came out of his lips.

As the shaking came to a halt Speedwagon scrambled out of his hiding spot and rushed to the pedestal, his heart pounding, his chest heaving. Years of work, destroyed in moments. Just like Jonathan had been. Gone in an instant.

But as he bent over to assess the damage, he saw something that he couldn’t have forseen. The statue was intact, save for the sword that had fallen from its grasp, but it seemed to have changed its position. He had carved his figure in noble repose, but now it lay sprawled pitifully upon the ground. Speedwagon blinked. Perhaps he was just imagining things. Perhaps he was hallucinating from his emotional pain.

And right at that moment, he heard a voice– a voice he never thought he would ever hear again.

“W-where…am I?” came a deep, rich voice that seemed to emanate from the statue itself.

Jonathan’s voice.

And before his eyes, as his jaw dropped in a mixture of fear and amazement, he beheld something that should have been impossible, by all rational means: the statue began to move on its own.

Massive marble hands gripped onto the ground while powerful stony arms heaved his bulk upward. His feet, once fixed to the pedestal, had come off clean at the soles, and with two stumbling strides the statue found its footing and rose to its full height: towering above Speedwagon as its head turned to face Speedwagon, a magical, ethereal blue glow illuminating the figure’s eyes.

Speedwagon froze in fright as the stony colossus towered over him. Was the statue possessed by some dark magic, strange wizardry, a demon perhaps? Speedwagon knew, after having witnessed things like a mask that transformed men into vampires, that supernatural happenings were certainly not out of the question. This could be something bad.

And yet, as the statue spoke again, with a familiar, oddly comforting voice, he began to doubt that to be the case.

“S-Speedwagon?” came the voice, as tender and soothing as he’d always remembered it. “Is that…you?” it, or rather, he, asked with hesitant confusion. “Why are you…so small? And…old?”

The statue gazed at his own hands in bewilderment. “What…am I?” he cried out with a note of concern.

Speedwagon glanced up at the towering stony giant, tears welling up in his eyes. “J-Jonathan? Is that you? Is that really you? Please, tell me! Say something only Jonathan would say. Only something he would know! Prove it!” Speedwagon yelled with imcreasing desperation choking up his voice.

“Ogre Street…the mansion…the ship…” mumbled the statue incoherently. “Erina…Dio…the fire…”

Speedwagon began to heave heavy sobs of grief and joy as he listened to the statue listing in confusion, who had sat down onto the pedestal in a state of shock.

“Jonathan…” he wept. “It…it is you…”

He rushed to the statue at once without hesitation and embraced him tightly. His body was hard, and cold, unlike the soft, warm flesh that he knew from Jonathan’s loving embrace, and yet, deep within his heart, in his soul, in the reassuring warmth that rushed through his body upon feeling its touch, that this ponderous being that was before him truly was Jonathan all the same.

“Jojo…Jojo…”, Speedwagon gasped between uncontrollable sobs. “It’s you. You’re back. I don’t know why, or how this is even happening…but you’re back, Jonathan. You’re here.”

Jonathan, still seated on his marble pedestal, shifted one massive marble arm and held Speedwagon close by. His stone grip was hard and strong, and yet Speedwagon felt the same gentle tenderness that he had yearned for for many long decades.

“Where am I?” Jonathan asked again. “My body…it feels like stone. And I am…alive? But…but I died…”

Speedwagon looked up at the living stone figure and met his gaze. His eyes burned bright like a dull azure flame, but even in their ethereal otherworldiness, there was no mistaking the same noble spirit behind the flickering glow.

“I don’t know how to explain this to you, Jonathan, but you indeed are…dead. And it has been fifty years hence since that day. Things have changed, times have passed. I know it’s a lot to take in, Jojo. It surely is for me. Perhaps I can explain later.”

“I…I remember nothing after the fire,” Jonathan replied. “But Erina is safe? And Dio…gone?”

“Yes, Jonathan. Everything is well and good. And we have you to thank.”

As Jonathan sat in silence in the middle of the nighttime park, trying to process his sudden, unusual newfound existence, Speedwagon tightly gripped his hard marble hand and rested his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes in a strange relief.

“Welcome back to this world, Jonathan,” he sighed with a dreamy smile.

“Welcome home.”

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#OH MY GOD OH MY GOD #THIS IS AMAZING #I LOVE THIS #MY HEART #THANK YOU #BIG MARBLE BOI JONATHAN #I love your writing big insp #jjba #submission

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tanoraqui · 4 years

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I am a huge sucker for one character being chill about a situation while everyone else is freaking out, so if you’re up to it would you tell us about This Is Normal?

@tolrais asked: Sizhui genii locorum!

okay so i must disappoint bc that wasn’t actually a jesting “This Is Normal” - let’s talk genii locorum, known more commonly in the singular: genius loci, the “intellects of [the] place”. In this case: what if it was perfectly common that if cultivation was practiced in roughly the same way in roughly the exact same place, by roughly the same bloodline, for long enough, power built up in the land itself? Power and something resembling thought, in the slow way of geography? (That’s why it tends to attach to a bloodline - individual humans, even cultivators, disappear so fast on a geological scale.)

Say that each generation, the land picks a favorite to bestow its power to - one person, one generation, at a time, only. Others of the blood may access it, but to a far lesser degree. Petty effects. More if the land is partial to them. The true wielder of the land is, of course, traditionally the sect leader - and if they’re not at first, they’re probably gonna be appointed as such.

Say the powers are elemental, roughly, Say their personalities are shaped by the land itself - lakes or mountains, hills or plains - and the continuous philosophy of those who cultivate (upon) them. They choose their favorites based on who most matches what they are, and the strongest sect leaders are those with the greatest affinity for their land.

Or, lemme put it like this:

Lan Wangji was always GusuLan’s favorite, unwavering and fastidious, aloof and righteous and eternal as the cool mountain peaks. Its cool shrouded him; its ice turned Bichen’s edge even sharper. Even though he was far away in a land of fire, it flowed to him like a high-speed glacier when his father died - and he, panicking and desperate, denied it.

It wasn’t the refusal that turned it away - though it’s true, one must actively accept a land’s power; it cannot be forced upon a person. But usually, in such a dispute, the wouldn’t-be recipient dies - in a fight between one human and an entire countryside over that human’s soul, it is acceptance or destruction. Instead, it was...well, the fact of refusal. The fact that he broke, that his gut instinct - resolute as ever - was the shirking of responsibility. That, GusuLan could not tolerate. It didn’t press the issue to destruction, because Lan Wangji wasn’t its chosen after all.

There was nothing, to be clear, wrong with Lan Xichen. He was a little warmer, but still beautiful and distant. He would bend, but his core was upright and unfaltering. He followed the rules to the letter. He was even closer, physically - and in that little cabin in which he was sleeping, hidden, he woke sharply from a restless sleep as the air around him turned to welcome ice.

Or like this:

Jiang Cheng was never YunmengJiang’s first choice. He wasn’t even its second choice. The lakes of YunmengJiang - bright and warm with sunlight, loud with the chatter of market crowds, sweet and beautiful with lotus seeds and petals, all over drowning-dark depths...how could they not fall in love with the boy their Jiang Fengmian bought home? How could the water not leap to follow his every gesture, whenever he went out upon it?

(Except that when he first felt it pressing at him with not just curiosity but love, he thought of Madam Yu’s clenched fist and Jiang Cheng’s yearning gaze, and he shoved it away as hard and fast as he could.)

Failing that, how could they not adore their eldest daughter, sweet and kind and welcoming to all, and protective enough to wield words like deadly blades? Once the land is cultivated to its own sentience, it doesn’t need to be a cultivator who bears its power...

(Except it does still need to be someone whose heart the doctors don’t worry over every time she does something more spiritually strenuous than meditate. And she cannot stay, she’ll explain one day, weeping, on a boat she’s rowed out to the middle of the lake herself. If it was just a matter of love - but they also need the alliance, or Lotus Pier, Yunmeng, YunmengJiang itself might be lost - )

So. Jiang Cheng wears all his deadliness on the surface and all his joy and welcome deep beneath, and YunmengJiang is the opposite. But at least he stays. Land moves on a geological time, and YunmengJiang more than most loves all its people, not just a select family. It can leap readily to the will of someone who stays and looks after them.

Or:

Agreement was universal that Nie Mingjue was a perfect bearer of QingheNie, mighty and stern and stubborn as the mountain granite. As tall, too, some would joke. It’s traditional for a Sect Leader to wear at all times a symbol of their land’s blessing - Lan Xichen’s headdresses always sparkle with a thin coating of ice; a lightly jeweled hip flask has been passed from Jiang to Jiang in which to hold lakewater. Upon taking title and land from his father, Nie Mingjue wears a circlet of rock on his brow, hard stone crafted with his own hands as though molding clay.

Agreement was equally universal that Nie Huaisang was possibly the worst bearer of QingheNie in the clan’s entire history. Flighty where he should be staunch and stern, barely able (much less willing) to lift a blade, as flappable as one of his fans...as Sect Leader, he set a chunk of granite into the base of each one of those silly fans, but it was a public secret that the stone had been carved and smoothed by a stoneworker, not the Headshaker.

The mountains of Qinghe shook with grief on the day Nie Mingjue died, as they had for his father; grief and rage. The Unclean Realm itself shifted and nearly collapsed in several places - some of its famous defensibility came from being set into the mountainside itself, the back halls giving way to twisting tunnels running through the rock. Can you imagine how long one fighter with a saber can hold a single slim tunnel? Hidden ways, their secrets known only to the inhabitants; the deeper an enemy goes, the less likely they are to come out...

A single chip of granite launched across the room with fury can drive through a man’s eye and into his brain, killing him instantly, even with a fan trailing behind. Fortunately, it never needed to come to anything that gauche.

(It would have preferred Nie Mingjue, it really would, but even more than GusuLan, the last thing QingheNie has ever done is falter.)

So...

If the Burial Mounds had once been cultivated to a benevolent sentience and their power then corrupted, it’s been forgotten. But resentful and spiritual energy are two sides of the same coin, and the Burial Mounds yearn for company, for lives to call their own, just like any other land...but what sort of person has enough rage, vengeance, heartache, and loss to match them? Who could have enough strength of spirit to bear the touch of a land whose elemental power is death itself?

Trick question, we all know the answer to that.

Good thing we got him, too, because defeating Wen Ruohan at the heart of the volcano he commands is a bitch and a half. (He wears a jagged crown of obsidian glass and Nie Mingjue will walk away with a burn on his face from the man’s touch.)

LanlingJin’s power is invested in light. Their Sect Leaders - or in Jin Ling’s case, Sect Heirs - carry a lantern at one hip, representative more than anything (one cannot cage light.) Or, you know, they just lowkey glow all the time - but that’s not convenient on a night hunt; you need something coverable. Jin Ling would have inherited it from his father, but instead it came directly from - you know, I so, so want to say his grandmother? But I don’t think Meng Yao, Jin Guangyao, would turn out quite the same were Jin Guangshan not exactly as Sect Leader as he in canon, and I’m loath to say Jin Sect is, like, particularly sexist or something to let both be true. So, grandfather it is, unfortunately.

Jin Guangyao is jealous, but Jin Guangyao has too many secrets for bright LanlingJin. Maybe it would twist to suit him, with another couple generations dark and poisoned beneath the pretty lights, but not yet. Not even with how easily it’s gift can flow into illusions. Fortunately, LanlingJin is also the most gentle of the Great Sect Lands - perhaps weak, with how its family has been failing it, recently, in their stated intent. So Jin Ling can withstand its sudden flood even at the ripe age of two and a half.

It makes up for a little, for Jin Ling to have no memory of a time when he didn’t have the fierce, warm, bright affection of a coastal tower, busy city, and sun-drenched skies curled possessively around his soul. YunmengJiang bristles at the intrusion and mourns another loss (oh, YunmengJiang...at least it’s in accord with Jiang Cheng); and LanlingJin doesn’t like that its favorite so often strays so far. But family is important, both lands can reluctantly agree (in the manner of circling tigers, wary and territorial, thoughts not quite human.) They both want him loved.

...oh yeah, I was supposed to talk about Lan Sizhui, wasn’t I.

GusuLan would love that boy. It does love him, in its cold, discreet way. But it’s...complicated. It’s not Lan Sizhui’s fault. (Of the three, this is very much the AU least about Lan Sizhui.)

It’s the second battle of the Burial Mounds, as the second horde of corpses approaches. Wei Wuxian paces, mutters to Lan Wangji, "If I still had the land...but I don't know where it is. I can't hear it at all. I don't understand it."

This is not how Lan Wangji wanted to do this - though in fairness, he had no idea what would be a non-awkward way. He still doesn’t. Just a little louder than to be an answer to Wei Wuxian, he says, "Lan Sizhui."

"Yes, Huangang-jun?" The boy is at his elbow in an instant

Lan Wangji turns a little to include him in the conversation. He'd be gesturing if he was a man who made unnecessary motions. "Lan Yuan."

"Yes?" he repeats.

Wei Wuxian stares at the both blankly.

"A-Yuan," Lan Wangji clarifies. He draws his guqin but he can't quite make eye contact with either of them.

Wei Wuxian gasps. He cups Lan Sizhui's very baffled cheeks (except something is a little familiar...) and peers at his face, turning it this way and that to check for familiar features. He peers deeper in a way that would be stunningly rude in anyone else (it’s still stunningly rude; they’ve all just come to expect that of Wei Wuxian) and likely impossible if there wasn't a shared affinity for what he seeks - but the bond is distant, so distant. Buried, smothered, bound.

(Lan Yuan, now Sizhui, has always felt like there was something he was missing, something he couldn't remember that was just out of reach. He thought it was the concept of parents or something like that, or maybe just a natural ennui that everyone had and didn’t speak of for propriety’s sake. He discarded it, because of course he had everything he could ever want.)

"A-Yuan..." Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Wangji, wondering, smoldering with love - and just the tiniest bit of reproach.

Lan Wangji looks away. It's a terrible thing to block someone off from their spiritual power, and it's a worse thing yet to block them off from the any power of a land they may bear. One is an insult to an individual, the other to the earth itself, almost as heretical as demonic cultivation. Su She, of course, has done both today, but only temporarily...and that’s a low bar to which to be compared.

But there was too much roiling in Wen Yuan when Lan Wangji found him, death and -

(You know what, I can’t decide: Did QishanWen’s smoldering lava pass to Wen Qing when no one closer was available, ceaseless fire matching ceaseless fire? Or were the Dafan Wens sufficiently distinct for long enough, far enough, that she was already taken? Is there DafanWen in its own right, high hills with the power of growth, from dainty flowers to ancient trees, twisting vines to healing herbs?

...yes, I think so.

But I also think they were close enough in blood, had spent enough time in the heart of the Nightless City, for some inheritance. So the reason no one stepped forward, at the Yiling Patriarch’s demand, to admit to killing Wen Ning was that...Wen Ning knew he was too weak, insufficiently greedy/ambitious for things to burn and build anew; he knew QishanWen was too quenched and dormant after its defeat to the Sunshot Alliance, and he was too far away and it was literally raining. He knew that to fight back would only bring pain down on more of their people. But even so, there was no one to step forward, because the man who dealt the killing blow burned screaming to ashes.

There were sparks left in the souls of each member of the blood left alive, but not enough to burst to flame. With that last death, QishanWen lay...dormant.)

(Until, maybe, almost all the rest of them were killed in the space of about 10 minutes. That must’ve sent a couple sparks flying.,,)

- so there was too much roiling in Wen Yuan when Lan Wangji found him. Verdant DafanWen was barely settled, still reeling from the loss of its favored daughter, the best healer in three generations. QishanWen sparked with new loss and ire, driving a fever. And the Burial Mounds, whose touch was death...

It is possible, for two lands to share a host. Boundaries are a human invention; the Earth is all one thing. Pride and territorialism are taught. And even if those have set in, they can certainly fight, in the infinite space of a human soul.

And the Burial Mounds loved that child. He wasn’t raging, he wasn’t mourning (except he was just starting to, now); but he wasn’t scared of them. Why would be be? The dead things that roamed it belonged to his Xian-gege; the living were his family; this land was his home.

But the Burial Mounds’ was the power of death itself, and A-Yuan wasn’t a teenager filled with enough determination to burn down the sun, he was three years old and scared. The extremely forbidden hasty ritual to (not cut it off, to late for that) hide it, bind it, bury it - this wasn't just for concealment. It saved his life.

Back in the present day, Lan Wangji says this with reluctantly raised eyes, and Wei Wuxian nods. Because oh boy does he know about that roiling spirit of death.

There's a horde of corpses approaching; they don't have time to be tender.

"A-Yuan," says Wei Wuxian, swiping a thumb over his cheek as though to clear away a tear, and then dropping his hand. "Lan Sizhui, you trust us, right?"

"Of course?" Lan Sizhui glances uncertainly at Lan Wangji, head aching with memories about to surface.

Lan Wangji nods imperceptibly and starts to play - and it only takes a few strong chords, precisely chosen. It's always easier to break a wall than build it.

It's in QishanWen's nature to erupt but it's weak, dormant; it hasn't been home in over a decade and this boy has been trained to ice, not fire. It’s in DafanWen’s nature to flourish but it, too, is far from the earth of its body, and this is a place of death, not life.

They are in the Burial Mounds, fifty steps from the blood pool that may as well be its heart. So the volcano stays dormant the grassy hills are quiet as ever, and the raging, too-long-stifled spirit of the Burial Mounds pours forth in whirling shadows that double Lan Sizhui's height. He gasps a scream at the weight of the sudden flood, at the tearing sensation in his soul (tearing open in a way that is right - last child of a dead clan remembering; lost child of a dead land coming home.) Several other people scream and point at the family meeting that had previously gone mostly unnoticed, in a corner of a Demon Suppression Cave. What is the Yiling Patriarch doing to that Lan disciple?!

The Burial Mounds are starting to turn on their only-just-realized child, whether they mean it or not, because their nature is death to all they touch. The Yiling Patriarch is standing forth, spreading his arms, and shouting, "Hey, jackass! Get back in here, we have more vengeance to wreak!"

The cultivation world watches (Lan Wangji catches a staggering Lan Sizhui) as with a sound like the rushing wind, shifting earth, screaming dead, it pours back into Wei Wuxian.

It’s just like before. It’s rage and pain and loss and vengeance and heartache. It’s Madam Yu’s hard eyes and the way Jiang Fengmian’s face shuttered when he heard the Core-Melting Hand was in Lotus Pier, before he even shoved them back in the boat; it’s Wen Ning’s broken form and Jin Zixuan’s, not fifty feet and ten months apart; it’s Wen Qing’s soft, I’m sorry, and thank you, and Jiang Yanli’s blood dripping down his arm. It’s the crack as the Tiger Seal shattered in his hand, or was that his own neck...

Wei Wuxian might be laughing, as he greets death like an old friend. But when he opens his eyes, it’s to a soft, “Wei Ying,” on the lips of his...Lan Zhan. Mourning whites sullied with the Burial Mounds’ (Wei Wuxian’s) dirt and blood. He’s holding up Lan Sizhui - A-Yuan, their son - and maybe Wei Wuxian is closer to a land spirit than human right now, or maybe he’s just hallucinating, but he swears he can see leaves uncurling behind the boy’s wide eyes. Wen Qing would be proud - if they get out of here alive, he’ll grow the most amazing things.

#15strawberri3s #mdzs #the untamed #ficlet #man idk i just think they're neat #my fic #i'll probably collect these on ao3 later #@tumblr I DIDN'T USE BULLET POINTS ARE YOU HAPPY YOU ASSHOLE

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