#is there anything in canon that says wild burns down forests or something | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

merrysithmas · 2 years

Note

If you don’t mind be asking I have a bit of a steamy question.

Why do you think people see Anakin as a submissive? Like a guy who is characterized by his desire to possess the people he loves? A lust for power? An almost consent need for control? Slaughtered the sand people for killing his mom? Just is rather irreverent? A rebel who does things his way fuck the rules/orders? Dude who becomes DARTH VADER? I mean I know there’s that whole moment when he kneels to Palpatine but I don’t think that’s at all reflective of him in the grand scheme of things you know? My guy was at the end of his rope.

Also, Obi-Wan couldn’t dom his way out of a paper bag and I say this as somebody whose best friend is a domme. I think people see him as the older and perhaps more masculine looking (the beard) but that doesn’t actually mean anything. Like my man has an inadequacy complex 10 miles wide and is in a consent state of self criticism. Sticks to the code and Jedi teachings to the point of orthodoxy like it’s canon that he takes pleasure in not only following the rules but following them well and to a T. And I say this lovingly but Obi couldn’t control Anakin to save his life. I see fans say that Obi-Wan needed to force Ani into submission and like tame him but our dude told Anakin no like everyday of his life but Ani just wasn’t having any of it. Anakin isn’t a brat that needs to be tamed he’s a super powerful demi-god with mental health issues.

I’m sorry if this is like super random and it’s way longer than I intended but it’s just wild out here in these fanfiction streets. It blows me away how popular this specific characterization is.

i think that characterization is popular bc a lot of ppl have never watched TCW, haha. IMO you can't watch TCW and be convinced of the above dynamic. as Anakin grows he changes from a terrified brat pseudo-orphan into a wild, charismatic, headstrong young man, & Obi-wan's inexperienced bossy controlling unease in AOTC mellows to a soft, loveable refinement.

basically i have NOTHING ELSE TO ADD to what you said because I agree completely. I do not see the "daddy wan" pov personally haha. and frankly i don't like that dynamic between them. in my point of view, i don't like it at all and i don't think it does anything to express the immense and equal partnership between them. that's just my take and everyone has their own preferences.

i think a lot of people see it this way because Anakin, as a demi-god, is riddled with confusion about his place in the universe. it's why it's so obvious to people that he "badly needs a hug" that Obi-wan is too debilitatingly perfectionist to give him (or Padme for that matter - she just stares at him blankly whenever he confesses something painful or terrible LOL, thanks George).

via the nature of being borne of the Force itself (and born into slavery), he is always looking for a "master" - which is another thing that I think gets people on that track of thinking. he goes from slave, to unusual Padawan (he never had to learn with other Padawans in the temple) who understandably sometimes sees the Jedi order as a type of servitude, to dark side slave. a hallmark of anakin's character is that he NEVER has complete control over his destiny, which i'd argue is one of the main elements that drives him mad - and a fascinating and delicious literary foray into the subject of "destiny" and Star Wars at large,

he is tortured, actually tormented, by this lack of mastery over himself. he can NEVER HAVE mastery over himself as an agent of Fate/the Force which makes him so tragic. and that line of thinking seems to drive some ppl down a certain kink road LOL which is fine, but just not how i see it personally. he is always looking for direction in a mortal world that quite literally CANNOT understand him at all.

in a way he reminds of an animal starving for affection, a man dying for water, a forest fire burning its own body to ash. but in my opinion this DOES NOT lend itself into a traditionally submissive dynamic with Obi-wan "man of the cloth" Kenobi of all people. he loves pulling on Obi-wan's pigtails, causing him trouble, destroying everything he holds dear... Anakin is the classic "mean kid on the playground" to Obi-wan and adores him, loves him, and constantly bothers him.

as for Obi-wan he has a refined, gentle, self-assured, particular masculinity to him just like Anakin has an obvious "angelic" beauty. they both have masculine and feminine traits, which is awesome. but Obi-wan is harsh towards himself, judgmental towards others, insecure, perfectionist, and chained by his orthodoxy. Anakin, for all his beauty, is angry, rough, feral, unintentionally mean, brash, brave, and selfish.

Anakin is controlling, expressive, emotionally wild, untamed, and possessive. On the other hand, Obi-wan is paralyzed by his need to control himself, frequently behaviorally corsetted, unlearned in emotionality, and interpersonally anorexic.

basically, Anakin rails Obi-wan into oblivion and they both release their worst behavior on each other. they switch when they want to. they are often soft and sweet to each other because they're both saps (and in a war, and miserable, and alone, and in love). but also, consensually, Anakin chokes Obi-wan and spits in his mouth and Obi-wan slaps Anakin across the face making his ears ring lmao. Then Anakin leaves him a note the next day on his dresser when they're on leave from the warfront at the Temple:

Sorry I choked you and spit on you and called you a bitch. Liked the hair pulling thing. You look nice when you're asleep and not thinking so much. You are a bitch, though. Yours, A.

Same time tomorrow, right??

And Obi-wan does the same from Anakin.

Apologies for slapping you in the face and then calling you a psychopath in the middle of it. Seemed like you liked it. I saw the gleam in your eye. I have no further comment on that particular matter. -Obi

P.S. Yes. I'll be there early.

#ask #anon #obikin #sw asks #no hate to how anyone sees them it's space it doesn't matter to each their own!#theyre switches and they have fun and theyre in love they just do whatever theyre in the mood for

46 notes · View notes

luimagines · 3 years

Note

oooh i have an idea, how would dear reader reacts to the chain's secrets? they could be canon like wolfie being twi, or something you headcanon!

Masterlist

I procrastinated on this one admittedly because I had no idea where to take it but after writing out a list and appointing a secret to each boy. I have it done.

Some things are definitely headcanons.

Part one will include Hyrule, Sky, Warrior, Four and Wild.

Content under the cut!

Hyrule

The battle wasn’t necessarily hard to deal with- the monsters weren’t difficult to deal with and there weren’t a lot of them to begin with.

You slashed, dashed and kicked every enemy away from you and watched as they fell to your blade. Every new step revealed a new purple cloud as you danced around the battle field.

You saw Wild and Twilight fighting back to back with practiced ease and handling it as well as you were. Warrior and Sky was side by side closer to Time and Legend than the rest of the group was and Four and Wind were up in the trees striking the enemy down at a distance and no doubt scheming something while the going was easy.

The only one you had no idea where he was, was Hyrule.

And that didn’t take a lot to dive into your brain and wriggle uncomfortably until your own insecure thoughts pushed you to go look for him.

Between the monsters and the land mines of purple smoke, it was a little difficult to find him.

But when you do- he does something you don’t fully understand at first.

You manage to run into him in a clearing, but he doesn’t notice you at first. Instead, you see him take his sword and run it through his palm. His blood coats the length of his blade, and it drips down his hand onto the grass below.

He watches the monsters in front of him and dances for a minute around them before he takes a breath and kills them effortlessly.

You frown and step toward him. “Why did you do that?”

Hyrule jumps higher than should be physically possible and doesn’t catch himself on the way down. He falls flat on his butt and looks up at you with wide and startled eyes.

“Are you ok?” You kneels next to him and go to take his injured hand. “What on earth were you trying to do?

Hyrule jerks his hand back like you’ve burned him and you see the magic flow through the air around his wound- closing it like it never happened.

“Link?” You frown again and slowly place your hand in your lap. You’re confused and a little afraid for him. You know that blood magic is taboo for a reason and is typically avoided more often than not because of its’s dark nature- but you never thought Hyrule of all people would dabble in it.

“I’m fine.”

“Link.” You stress a little more. “What were you trying to do? I didn’t think you were capable of blood magic... At least you don’t usually use those kind of spells. Is that why you fight on your own for a while each time?”

“I’m not using blood magic.” Hyrule frowns and stands abruptly.

“Then why-?”

“It’s not important.”

“Hyrule, you’re hurting yourself. I’d say that that’s pretty important.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Don’t make me get Time.” You threaten. “I’ll get Legend too. I bet they’ll get some answers out of you.”

“You won’t just drop it, will you?” He sneers

“Nope.” You stand and cross your arms. “What were you trying to do?”

“I was just checking something.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like if a curse would work or something?”

Hyrule tenses and he crosses his arms- instantly looking away from you.

“WERE YOU ACTUALLY TRYING TO CAST A CURSE?!” You screech.

“THE CURSE WAS CAST ON ME!” He yells back.

You both still for a moment and wait for the forest to show any signs that others might have heard you.

The sounds of distant fighting continues and after a minute of waiting some more, no one shows up to check on either of you, so you’re safe.

You turn back to your companion and furrows your eyebrows. You lower your voice just above a whisper just in case someone might be on the way but now you need answers. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He scowls- a face you’re not used to seeing on him and throws his arms down his sides in anger. “Back home, Ganon cast a curse on me. The monsters need my blood in order to resurrect him and I can’t risk letting any monsters from my time getting to me. I need to check if the other monsters will follow suit.”

You blink, not expecting that answer but your anger flares up regardless. “So you go out on your own to check this curse because your blood is needed to resurrect hatred incarnate? What if you’re overpowered? What if they do react to it? How are we supposed to help you if you’re alone?”

“It’s my problem to deal with. I don’t need-”

“Shut up.” You scowl and grab him by the shoulders. You shake him roughly for as long as you speak. “We are your friends! We care about you! We don’t want to see you hurt! We’re going to help you! Whether you want it or not- we’re not to let you deal with this alone. Not while we’re here.”

“Stop shaking me.”

You let him go.

“I won’t tell the others because I know you wouldn’t like that.” You say. “But this stops today. You hear me? None of us are just going to let these freaks near you and this is not necessary while you have a whole team of heroes just as pissed about the situation as you are. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“How clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.”

Sky

Sky wakes up one day with a far away look in his eye which immediately puts you on edge.

Not only that but to make it worse, he doesn’t stop looking at you.

He looks scared.

Every five minutes you swear you catch him looking in your direction only to look away in haste when you look back at him.

No one is saying anything and it doesn’t help your paranoia.

With some people walking ahead you, you step back and take a spot next to Sky. You notice that he’s tense and walking robotically, and trying to match your pace. “Dude, what’s up? You’re freaking me out.”

Sky trips over himself and finally looks you in the eye. “What do you mean?”

“You woke up like you saw a ghost. You’ve been looking over to me every five minutes and even now you look like you want to sprint away from me. Did I do something?”

“I.. Ummm...” Sky stutters for a minute before swallowing whatever lump was in his throat. “I just had a dream... is all.... I’ll get over it.”

“I’m assuming it had something to do with me then.”

“No, not exactly.” Sky’s quick to speak even if you can see the beginning’s of sweat collect on his brow. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Want to talk about it?” You tilt your head. “It looks like it really shook you up.”

“Oh, um, I-”

“Maybe you died and Sky freaked out.” Legend pushes you forward and away from Sky. “He doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to.”

“Ok, my god, Legend slow down! Not everyone is as emotionally constipated as you! Talking about things is healthy and important!” You shout over your shoulder, trying to dig your heels into the dirt with little to no luck.

Legend seems a bit stronger right now that he usually is, you bet it’s his power bracelet.

If Sky actually looks a bit paler at Legend’s claim than neither of you notice.

The day passes a little calmer after that, Sky seeming to have calmed down enough to not be so weird and it something you’re quick to forget about.

By the time the afternoon hits, a bunch of dark and foreboding storm clouds roll in.

Somehow, Sky manages to find it in himself to walk next to you again and does his best to stay close.

You don’t mind it and even jokingly pull his sail cloth over your head when it begins to rain on your group. It’s not particularly strong and there’s not a lot of options to rest and take cover, so you bare with it. Sky lets you keep the sail cloth over your head surprisingly.

But then there’s thunder and you see lightning in the distance and bite your lip. “Maybe we should hunker down or something?”

The rain goes from gentle drops to a down pour within seconds and the group runs a bit to gain as much cover as you can in the nearby tree line.

Sky pushes himself in front of you and shoves you behind him with enough force that you’re fully knocked over. In one fluid motion he lifts the Master Sword skyward and charges the blade, tossing it away from the group in a glowing blue arc. It cuts through the grass and even splits the first tree it strikes in half before dissipated into the air.

You would have been struck by lightning if he didn’t do that.

“Sky?” You get up and try to wipe as much mud off of your pants as you can. “Are you ok? How did you know that would happen?”

Sky gulps and takes a deep breath as he looks at you with wide eyes and understanding. “I saw it in a dream.”

“Oh...” You gasp and reach out to him shakily, putting your hand on his shoulder. “You have dreams then?”

“Yes.” Sky looks at his sword and hesitantly puts it away. “Sometimes.”

“Ok then...” You nod and look around the group. They’re all in varying stages of shock, surprise and concern.

Everyone is looking at Sky.

“We need to get out of the storm.” You say in lieu of changing the topic. ” Who knows if there’s more lightning on the way and there’s a lot of metal within the group.“

“Right.” Time nods and does a not so subtle double take in his attempt to leave it be. “Let’s go.”

You nod back and nod once more to Sky and wrap your arm around his shoulder. you lead him forward and lean into his space to whisper into his ear. “Thanks.”

“I’m just glad I made in time.”

“We’ll talk later ok?” You smile in hopes of alleviating some of the tension. “I have some questions if you’re willing to indulge me.”

“I suppose it’s only fair.”

Warrior

“He’s a cute kid.” Warrior mentions randomly one day.

You startle and jump, nearly dropping the image. You scramble to catch it and successfully do so after playing hot potato with yourself.

“Warrior, a little warning please.” You sigh and attempt to clean your finger print smudges on the glass. “But yeah, my little brother is cute. I hope he stays that way.”

“I don’t think you have much to worry about.” Warrior shrugs. “He grows up to be a fine and upstanding young man. Good looks run in the family. ”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Thank you, I’m sure they do.”

Warrior comes to stand next to you and gently turns the glass over to see the image better.

“Warrior?”

“Hm?”

“Am I doing the right thing?” You sigh.

“What do you mean? I’d say you are. Sacrificing yourself for the good of a better tomorrow- for your family- for your loved ones- but that’s not what you’re talking about are you?” Warrior lets you take the image back.

“But he’s so young... and I’m supposed to take care of him.” You gulp. “I just want him to be safe and sound and healthy but I can’t really do that from- from... I’m here instead.“

“Well... no said it was going to be easy.” Warrior offers lamely.

“What if he grows up to hate me?” You clench the glass tighter at the thought. “I just abandoned him, didn’t I? Oh my god-”

“Hey. He loves you.” Warrior takes your shoulders in his hands and shakes you somewhat. “He admires you greatly. You’re his hero. He looks up to you even now. He’ll understand when the time comes.”

“Even now?” You sniff. “What does that mean?”

“Years have passed and he hasn’t stopped looking up to you and how you did everything you could for him, for Zelda and he’s trying to make you proud-”

“Warrior he’s five, how do you know this?”

His mouth shuts with a click of his teeth.

“Warrior.”

“Um... I... He...”

“Link.” You pocket the glass and face him head on. “When did you meet my brother?”

He stares at you for a moment and deflates. “During... during the war of my era.”

“...What?”

Warrior hisses and brings his hand to scratch the back of his neck. “He showed up around the same time that Wind did but he talked about you.... and I guess you talk to him about me because he wasn’t really surprised at what was happening.”

“How old was he?” You bite your lip, already dreading the news.

“Older than me actually.” He offers with a tight smile. “I never asked him but if I had to guess I would have put him in his mid twenties. The oldest Link to start his adventure compared to the rest of us...”

“But he still...” You deflate as well and hug your arms around yourself. “He still has to go doesn’t he? I can’t save him from it. Even now, I... I can’t- I fail him in the end then.”

“He doesn’t see it that way at all.” Warrior catches you before you fall to your knees in despair. “He admires everything you’ve done for him, everything you’re currently doing. You kept him from danger for as long as you could- until he was old enough to take on his destiny. That’s more than any of us could say.”

“I don’t want him to go through any of it though.” You sob and lean into Warrior for support. “That’s my baby brother Warrior- how am I supposed to be ok with this?”

“I don’t think there is a way.” He admits. “Nor do I think you should be.”

“I can’t keep him from it.”

“But you can and have been postponing it.” Warrior rubs circles into your shoulder as you cry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you even more.”

“I miss him.”

“You’ll see him again.” Warrior grips you tightly. “He also did very well all things considered. He became an older brother to me and to Sprite and Wind... I don’t think Wind has figured it out yet that your brother and Lucky are the same Link though.”

You sniffle and calm down slightly. “Was he awesome?”

A laugh is startled out of him and he chokes on the snort and cough that tries to leave him at the same time. “I’d say he was better than me... And he claims to have never held a sword until then.”

“Good.” You nod. “He’s the best brother in the whole world.”

“Yeah, he was.”

Four

You’re walking on a random trail as the day dies down and you’re partner is Four for the hour.

The sun rests behind you comfortably and you talk about the different weapons from each others Hyrule. You’re no smith- but you do think it’s an interesting process and try to take notes where you can.

As you trade your notes and laugh at the more ridiculous stories from one another, you look down and notice something weird with Four’s shadow.

It almost looked like it was laughing along too... in the opposite direction that Four was looking in. But you blink and it’s as if it never there.

Maybe you’re tired.

You have been walking all day and perhaps it was a trick of the light.

You don’t think on it too much and go back to talking with your friend.

Hours later-you’d think that it would be the end of it but it isn’t.

In fact, you can’t sleep. And the way it moved was different than it should have been and the more you look into the memory there more obscurities than there should be. Not to mention that Four gets weird around shadows or whenever they are mentioned.

You stare up at the star filled sky as you think about the incident.

“I’m telling you I think they saw me.” A new voice says.

You’re thrust into the moment and attune your hearing to the direction it came from.

“I think you’re thinking too much into it. How could they have seen you?” It’s Four.

You close your eyes and roll over in the same direction, pretending to still be asleep.

The voices take a minute to pick up again when you do that.

They were watching you.

“They stared at me for a solid minute- how did you miss that?” New voices hisses.

“They were laughing-”

“You were laughing, you love sick fool. They looked at me. They saw me. I’m going to blow the secret and you’re not even listening to my warning.”

Your eyes snap open and you push yourself up as quickly as you can.

You instantly spot Four sitting by the fire, but you’re not surprised by that. What really takes your attention is the new person next to him- who looks uncannily like your friend.

But with purple hair...

And red eyes...

And darker skin...

“Four what the hell?” You blurt.

Four responds quickly and as intelligently as he can manage. “Uhhhh...”

The person next to him curses and runs a hand through his hair. “I told you. I told you. I told you.”

You lock eyes with the new guy and introduce yourself.

He huffs and crosses his arms, his face darkening slightly- or again- maybe it was a trick of the light. “I’m Four’s shadow.”

“His... shadow...?”

“Yes. That’s what I said.”

You nod, wide eyed before turning to Four with a million questions in your eyes. He can see it and holds his hand up to his mouth, pressing his knuckles harshly against his teeth as he waits for them to start flowing out of your mouth.

“Love sick fool?”

“Shadow you snitch!” Four screeches and takes a swing at him.

His cry is loud enough rouse some of the others but only really wakes up two of them. You stare tensely as Time and Legend sit up fast enough to nearly throw themselves into the fire as they turn to Four.

“Sorry.” You whisper yell to save his honor.

Shadow is nowhere to be found.

Time and Legend turn to you as the only other one awake and each raise an eyebrow in tandem.

“Ni-nightmare. I yelled. I’m sorry.” You try to act like you just woke up as well and try to hunker down into your blankets.

Time sighs and wipes his eyes. “You ok?”

“I will be.” You try to smile but you’re too nervous and it comes out more forced than it should- but perhaps that helps you sell your little fib.

Legend for his part glares at you before he sits down with a solid thump and throws himself dramatically back into his bedroll.

No words are exchanged between you two.

“Everything alright Four?” Time yawns as he also begins to lie down again.

“Yeah. All good here.” Four laugh nervously and waves him away.

Time nods, no longer paying attention and slowly... nearly half an hour later, you see that the two of them have fallen asleep again. Thankfully neither of them seem to realize that it didn’t sound like your voice at all.

Shadow appears again from somewhere and takes his spot next to Four. “Nice going.”

“Shut up.”

“Four, I have questions.” You sit up and make your way over to the two of them.

Shadow raises an eyebrow. “What’s there to explain?”

“Everything?”

“Ok. Ok. Both of you, don’t start. You caught us fair and square. Sit down.” Four sighs and gestures to the other spot next to him. “It’ll take a while.”

“Done.” You grin and nearly run over a sleeping Sky in the process. “Tell me everything.”

Wild

“Has anyone seen Mr. Champion?” You glance up after doing a supply check through your bag. You’re running a little low on rations and know the resident cook usually has some to spare.

But you haven’t seen him in a while.

“Didn’t he go to get fire wood?” Wind tilts his head.

“Wasn’t that at least an hour ago?” You respond, furrowing your eyebrows as you think about it more. Where did Wild go?

“He hasn’t come back yet?” Warrior sits up straighter. Now the rest of the group is a little more aware of their missing member and each start subconsciously checking the tree line as if he were about to come back that very second.

“I can go look for him.” You offer, standing up. “Maybe he got distracted. We are in a new area.”

“Oh great, he could be miles away and we’d never know.” Legend groans and throws his head back. “Just what we needed.”

“Have a little faith Vet.” You snort. With a quick jump and skip over the supplies, you begin to leave the camp behind. “Try calling him Wind, I’ll see if I can go find our missing chef before dinner.”

“Please do.” Time nods. “We’ll start a full search party if you’re not back within the next hour though. It’s getting too dark.”

“Noted.”

“I could find him faster.” You hear Twilight say but you’re already too far away to back down now.

Truthfully, you have no idea where to start- but you imagine that to find Wild- one must think like Wild.

You pick a direction and stick with it.

At some point maybe fifteen minutes in you reach a small creek and begin to follow to stream upwards.

It’s really more like you’re taking a hike than searching for your friend and you begin to feel a little stupid even if realistically there’s no other way for this to be done.

That is- until you see him anyway.

He’s seems to be frozen in place, staring off into the distance with his hands still held mid air, gripping the canteen he appears to have been filling up.

It confuses you and you stand there staring at him to move- to blink- to do something. But he doesn’t. “Wild?”

No response.

“Champion?” You call a little louder and begin to tip toe a little closer to him. You’re afraid that even the slightest snapping of a twig would break whatever spell he’s under and you don’t fancy a violent reaction out the man who can easily blow the whole area up with little to nothing.

But still no response.

“Link!” You hiss and eventually reach his side. He hasn’t once turned in your direction or even acknowledged your presence and you begin to doubt that he’s even conscious.

His eyes are open and he’s knelt beside the creek but maybe he got hit with some magic or something- you don’t know.

You gulp and place a hand on his shoulder. You shake him lightly but when that also proves to not do anything you begin to shake him more and more until you nearly throw him over-but he does not react at all.

“Oh boy... What on earth happened to you?” You bite you lip and begin to look around. He’s too heavy for you to carry on your own and also too far away to yell for help or assistance.

You should have dragged Twilight with you.

Suddenly he takes a deep breath and blinks rapidly, shaking himself back into the present.

You freeze and tense up considerably as you watch him come back to himself.

Wild stretches and looks up at the sky before standing up. “Twilight’s not going to like this.”

“No. I don’t think so.” You reply.

He freezes as well and looks at you by only shifting his eyes. “How long were you here for?”

“A while...” You admit. “Maybe fifteen minutes. You were gone for over an hour. I got worried.”

“Oh. That’s not so bad then.”

“You ok?” You gulp and slowly drop your shoulders from your ears and unclench your fists.

“Yup. Peachy.”

You nod and continue to lower your guard- not trusting this one bit. “May I ask what that was?”

“Just a memory.” He shrugs and tries to walk past you.

“A memory?” You frown and turn on your heel to follow him. “A memory? I shook you head enough to nearly throw you into the water and you claim it was because of a flashback? I’ve heard of disassociation before but I think this is more like astral projection through dimensions. You were completely gone!”

“It happens from time to time. Nothing to worry about.”

“What if something came up behind you and killed you?” You argue. “I’d say that’s something to worry about. Does this happen often?”

“Everyone once in a while. Maybe once every other month. It depends really. It doesn’t happen as often as it did in the beginning though.” Wild admits and gestures for you to follow him.

You do- but you keep asking him questions.

“So this is normal?”

“For me? Yes.”

“For you?”

“I...” Wild hisses slightly as another thought comes to his mind. “I never told you did I?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but I’m going to assume that no, you didn’t.”

“I get memories from my old life from time to time when something triggers them. I used to have amnesia but I’ve got most of the my memories back at this point... By now it’s just filling in little blanks.” Wild shrugs. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh...” Understanding calms you somewhat. At least it’s not a magic spell or anything. “How did you get amnesia? Do you remember that?”

Wild stops in his tracks and looks at the ground momentarily before looking up again and walking forward. “I died.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“I died.”

“Huh?”

“I. Died.”

“WILD!” You tense up again and follow him without hesitation. “What do you mean you died? Did you heart just stop or were you like blow up or something- Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I’m being super insensitive right now, aren’t I? But I don’t understand! I don’t- Wild- Link- you can’t just drop a bomb like that. Are you like a ghost or something? No. Wait. You can bleed and I’ve seen you crash into more walls and rocks than I care to admit.”

“This isn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting.” Wild frowns and cuts you off.

“ArE YOu oK?!”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

“But that’s not what I mean- How can that even make sense-”

“Where did you think I got my scars from?” Wild cuts you off once more with a barely restrained snort as he bites his lip.

“Oh my god.”

“I’m fine I promise.”

“Wild nooo....” You whine and Wild thinks for a minute that the information upset you so much that you’re going to cry. “Who did it? I’ll kill them with my bare hands. Who hurt you?”

Wild comes to a full stop again and sighs. Deep and tired but he tilts his head and offers you his hand. “Do you want the short story or the long?”

“Long story please.”

For the first time since this conversation started, Wild smiles even if it’s faint and subtle. “Alright, let’s take the scenic route back. This might take a while.”

Part 2

#linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #linked universe #is my personal plot line growing #maybe #maybe not #those you have been following for a while will take Warrior's call back for what it is #can't fully break away from god given duties can you?#Link is no exception #also #Apparently Sky gets prophetic dreams #i've never played skyward sword #but I've been meaning to get it for the Switch #so soon!!#Maybe Sky will be easier to write after I play it

234 notes · View notes

serodev · 3 years

Text

𝐓𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐨, 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐤𝐮, 𝐃𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐓 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭

Warnings: K-18, MINORS DNI

Pairing: Tamayo, Rengoku and Daki x gn!reader

Note(s): Now, this is definitely something! Let's see what I have to say about these letters you picked, nonny!! [Letter: R, W, X, Y, and Z]

Original ask: R, W, X, Y and Z for Tamayo, Rengoku and Daki?

TAMAYO

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.) » When it comes to taking risks, I would say that Tamayo is one of those people who don't like to take those. There are few reasons for that, and one of them is she doesn't want to actually risk anything, whether it'll be burning up in the sun or maybe someone seeing you and her.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character) » She owns a ton of different candles to use in wax play. They may be expensive, but they're also pretty, so she can keep them out during the day, and not so many people will know what they're actually used for.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) » Oh boy, oh boy. Tamayo has A-cup breasts with somewhat perky nipples that are extremely fun to play with during your intimate moments. Her pussy is also extremely pretty and cute, and it has this small patch of pubic hair on top of it.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) » She is one of those people who have a bit lower sex drive, not only because she's busy taking care of sick people, but also because she doesn't exactly feel the need to do anything sexual with you to be intimate with you.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward) » Tamayo's a demon, thus she doesn't really need any sleep to function normally. However, if she happens to sleep for fun after a good session, it'll probably take around half an hour or an hour for her to fall asleep.

RENGOKU

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.) » Kyojuro is ready to take some risks, but they have to be done in somewhat specific setups. For example, he's ready to fuck in public, but only if you two are in a forest, where people can't walk in on you two so easily.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character) » I like to think that Kyojuro uses jockstraps in the modern AU. He loves how comfortable they feel and how they still let his downstairs breathe under his clothes. When it comes to the canon setting, he has fucked with Uzui and his wives.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) » This man is packing! He doesn't own the biggest cock between the hashers, but he still has this well-sized cock that can definitely make you feel things. He also has some pubic hair down there that's blonder with few red strands of hair.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) » Kyojuro owns a pretty high sex drive out of the 9 other hashiras. Another thing to note is that it's easy to rile him up, so if you ever want to get down to business with him, all you need to do is run your hand through his hair and look at him with half-lidded eyes, and he's ready to go into town.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward) » Kyojuro can fall asleep extremely quickly after a good session, but he loves to make sure that you're okay before he does anything else, so he stays up as long as it's needed. Otherwise, he would fall asleep in 10 minutes or less.

DAKI

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.) » This girl has lived all of her life in the Red Light District, so of course, she's more than ready to take risks! Daki doesn't care if you want to do the do in a nearby alley next to a busy street as long as she can get what she wants.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character) » I think that I've said something about this before, but Daki loves bondage. However, I failed to mention that she has a soft spot for shibari - She loves how it looks, and it's aesthetically pleasing to her eye, so she loves it when she can tie you up.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) » This girl owns a neat pussy, that doesn't have any hair on it! She loves to keep it clean, and to be quite honest, she would probably get a tattoo above it if it was possible.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) » Daki probably owns the highest sex drive out of the upper moons, and she loves to get dicked down at least once per day, maybe even more if she's feeling needy enough. You better get yourself ready for that!

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward) » I'm going to say the same thing here as I said about Tamayo. Because Daki's a demon, she doesn't necessarily need any kind of sleep to function normally. She also doesn't like to sleep that much anyway, so I'd say that most of the time she doesn't fall asleep after your session.

Author's note: Thank you so much for sending me this request - please remember to stay hydrated during this hot weather! My inbox is closed, but you can still send me a request if you buy me a hot coffee!

100 notes · View notes

notabloodmage · 3 years

Text

Even then. (DA2 fic)

doin some writing on my canon version of the Hawke family!! this is kind of messy but i needed to get some ideas down ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyway listen to me there is nothing in canon that says malcolm hawke couldn’t be an elf @ bioware let me have this

They hadn’t planned to settle in Lothering. Leandra was five months pregnant, the plan was to keep pressing towards the wilds, in hopes of finding a band of Chasind or Avvar that wouldn’t be so opposed to Malcolm’s magical abilities. The prospect frightened Leandra, but Malcolm insisted it was their best shot at a Templar-free life.

The storm had caught them off guard.

The torrential downpour was on them suddenly, and all at once. Malcolm had enough mana remaining to protect them from lightning, but there was no way for him to subtly shield them from the cold that was creeping in through the wet. Ferelden was not always an easy place to live, but it had to be better than Kirkwall.

At least that’s what Malcolm repeated to himself as he scooped his firstborn child up into his arms, trying to ignore the way his back ached from days upon days of travel. The long nights of sleeping on the cold hard ground probably weren’t helping either.

They’d passed several small settlements on the road, but they always tried to avoid contact with other people. People didn’t even need to suspect him of being a mage--being an elf was bad enough for a lot of the country folk. He couldn’t take five steps in a town without being accused of stealing, it seemed.

They always tried to sleep beneath the stars if they could, or in a tent if they thought it would be well hidden enough. Leandra had accused him of being paranoid, now that they were already so far from home but as far as Malcolm was concerned you couldn’t be too careful.

He had done so much--sacrificed all of his ideals-- just to get them this far, and Maker be damned if he was going to be caught now.

Still, in a storm like this exceptions had to be made, and Leandra had spotted an old farmhouse on the horizon. Malcolm, while hesitant, grew more and more at ease as they approached. It seemed to be abandoned.

The couple trudged through the rain hand in hand. The land surrounding the farmhouse was uneven, muddy, and completely overgrown. Malcolm prayed that the rain would cover their tracks as they made their way to the

It was a little worse for wear, looking like it had been sitting untouched for years which was a blessing in disguise because all it took was a swift kick (combined with a bit of mana, of course) to break the rusted padlock.

Malcolm guided them in cautiously, scanning the room for any threats. Abandoned didn’t mean safe. He wasted no time setting up wards to protect them-- but Malcolm was tired too.

Perhaps he’d missed a spot, perhaps he hadn’t been as thorough as he’d thought. Perhaps his wards were weak with his exhaustion as he joined his wife and daughter on a bed of stale hay. Perhaps he’d been distracted with casting a quick warming spell to ensure the most important people in his life slept soundly. Perhaps he’d given in, for a moment, to the sense of hope burning brightly in his chest as he pulled his family close. He slept far too soundly that night. Better than he had in months.

The high-pitched creak of the barn door swinging open jerked the three of them awake.

Rays of sunlight were streaming in through the rafters--had morning really come so soon?

The sight was so peaceful that Malcolm nearly didn’t register the clunk of boots on the wooden floor, and the wide figure stepped towards him, fiddling with the trigger of a small hunting crossbow. Malcolm scrambled back, drawing Leandra closer with one arm while the other fumbled for his staff--lost in the hay.

“Hold still now, friend, I’d prefer not to use this--”

“Stay away from my family!!” The stranger was interrupted by his daughter’s tiny voice.

She had leaped out of the shadows beside them, brandishing the pocket knife that Malcolm kept strapped to his belt.

How did she-- Malcolm didn’t have time to finish the thought. He rushed forward, intent on yanking her back by the shirt collar. He’d been in such a deep state of sleep that he hadn’t even registered her absence. Then again, she was always so sneaky. Malcolm hadn’t the faintest clue where she’d gotten it from, but she had a way of sinking into the shadows and completely disappearing.

She was only four, and a tiny little thing at that-- shaking in the little booties Leandra had made her. Leaping to defend her family with a .

So brave, even then.

“Minerva NO!!” Leandra was shrieking. “Don’t shoot, serah--please!! Minnie get back here--“

For a moment Malcolm thought that all was lost. He pictured himself in chains, being dragged away by Templars-- leaving his wife and daughter alone and penniless in a foreign land. He’d let them down. He’d failed.

The atmosphere of the room changed entirely, however, when the stranger began to laugh.

It wasn’t a bad laugh.

Not condescending. Not cruel.

It was light and youthful, despite the obvious late-middle-age of its owner. It rang through the morning air like a Chantry bell on the breeze. It was the kind of pure laugh that can only be created by the innocence of a child. In that moment the light in Malcolm’s chest returned, soothing his racing heart. He paused, studying the face of the stranger in the barn doorway as he raised his weapon in mock surrender, humouring the child.

“Oh my! Be careful with that, little dragonling!” The stranger smiled down at the child warmly, crouching down to her level to look her in the eyes, before his gaze rose to her fathers, noting the matching eyes that seemed to burn with something he couldn’t quite name. Malcolm saw what he hoped was understanding in the old man’s eyes. “Put that there knife away, and settle down. We can talk this out, I promise.”

Malcolm hurriedly ushered Minerva behind him-- the child kept her eyes glued to the intruder, even when she began to cling to her father’s pant leg. Malcolm could feel her trembling, so he reached down and carded a comforting hand through a mop of brown curls that matched his own, trying to be as brave as his daughter.

A tense quiet had settled over the barn as Malcolm tried to appraise the man before him, who was doing the same. They must’ve been quite the sight--all clinging to each other, covered in hay. Malcolm didn’t dare reach for his staff, he just prayed that wherever the damned thing was it was out of sight.

Finally the stranger huffed, standing and leaning back on his heels.

“Name’s Barlin,” The stranger jutted his chin at Malcolm, crossing his arms casually. “Sorry for bargin’ in on ya.”

“Malcolm…” He held his head high, meeting Barlin’s eyes as he introduced himself. “Malcolm Hawke.”

“Quite the little bodyguard you have there,” Barlin’s voice was genuine. Warm.

Malcolm’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile.

“Small but mighty,” He could feel Minerva nodding against his thigh, as well as the tears she was smearing into the fabric of his trousers.

He called her that a lot, especially when she was little. Such a simple little phrase, but it always made Minerva feel big, in a way.

“Look, I was just checkin’ to make sure you all weren’t bandits, or bears, or something.” The man shrugged disarmingly. “I didn’t come here for a fight. Lothering’s a peaceful little town, and we like to keep it that way.”

“Peaceful? What’s that like?” Malcolm’s sarcastic question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, and Leandra squeezed his shoulder tightly in warning.

Barlin merely chuckled, smiling at him wryly.

“Y’all don’t look like the type of folk who are accustomed to peaceful.” He observed. “I’m just glad you got out of the storm-- it was a good one!”

Barlin took a step inside, eyes travelling upward, surveying how the roof sagged and leaked. The old building had fallen into disrepair, but it wasn’t unsalvageable.

“Look, this place ain’t even mine. It was my brother’s before he moved to Denerim for work. Place hasn’t seen any life in aside from rats and the occasional nug in a while, as I'm sure you’ve noticed.”

The old man paused for a moment, gaze landing on the family before him. He’d later told Malcolm that he’d had a good feeling in his gut about them, and his gut was just about the only thing he trusted.

“I run the tavern in town, why don’t you all come back with me and let me fix you something to eat.”

Minerva perked up at that, and even Malcolm couldn’t stop his mouth from watering at the prospect of a hot meal. Leandra looked cautious, but when he met her gaze she nodded slowly. Barlin smiled at that.

“Come on, while we walk, why don’t you tell me what you know about farming?”

Malcolm would find out through gossip in the years to come that Barlin had been trying to get rid of that property for years, but that didn’t change the kindness. He didn’t ask anything about where they’d come from or why they were running. He asked Malcolm what he did and he’d told him he was an herbalist--which wasn’t a lie, and he suspected Barlin could tell.

“Herbalism? Farming? Sounds like the same thing to me.”

The old man let Malcolm pay him back for the land over time after they’d settled in and started earning some money. He’d also scoffed at the notion of charging interest.

The farmhouse was rotting and falling apart, but with a lot of hard work (and a bit of hidden, domestic magic) they turned it into a home. Minerva grew up toddling around the gardens and helping Malcolm till the fields. She’d climbed gnarled tree in their front yard to watch the sun rise every morning since she was six, regardless of weather, much to Leandra’s chagrin.

His eldest child had grown up far too quickly for his liking, and couldn’t help but blame himself. He knew it wasn’t fair to place her in charge of her siblings, especially with the added responsibility of protecting Bethany--but Minerva would insist that she could handle it. She’d lead the twins on adventures in the fields and forests surrounding the little town-- quests, she always called them.

They had to work hard, but Malcolm had taught her to always try to make it fun. The children would race each other home, Minerva usually in front, although Carver would occasionally shove his way past her. Bethany was a lot quicker than she looked too--and always smarter than she let on. Malcolm would never forget the looks on Minerva and Carver’s faces the time he’d taught Bethany how to freeze their feet to the ground, nor Bethany’s own wide grin as she’d crossed the finish line (their garden gate), cheering with victory as Carver swore and Minerva laughed alongside her.

His children were adventurous-- all three of them. Malcolm had lost count of the amount of times Carver and Bethany had burst through the door, shouting that Minerva was in trouble. She had a habit of getting stuck in trees, that girl... Bethany claimed to be the least so, favouring staying inside to study most days, especially as she got older, but even she couldn’t resist the call of a bright summer day.

Minerva always knew exactly what to say to coax her out of hiding, too. Be it a promise to stop by the Chantry for one song, or spinning a scheme so grand that even Bethany couldn’t resist. Bethany was more competitive than she let on, and Minerva was always too clever for her own good. The eldest sister got herself and Carver into heaps of trouble throughout their youth. They were so rambunctious, and Minerva was always pressing Carver’s buttons on purpose, but never in a way that pushed the lad too far.

Always so precise, even then.

Malcolm had had to come down hard on her only once. She’d set off a tar bomb in barracks of the local Templars, bringing the Knight Captain huffing and puffing to their doorstep, completely unaware that he was in the presence of not one, but two apostates. Leandra was beside herself, disguising her frantic panic for Bethany’s safety as being furious at the tar tracked all over their home. Andraste’s Mercy, she had given poor Minerva an earful. Malcolm knew it was mostly for show-- so the templars could believe it was just a well-meant prank by some kid. Malcolm had a reputation around town for being good around a cauldron, and he promised to supply the knight commander with a free shipment of potions, and assurance that Minerva would clean up the mess. Minerva had inherited his alchemic ability. but not his connection to the fade. He’d taught her the recipe himself, so she could help him fix the thatching on their chicken coop.

He was mostly just mad he didn’t think of this himself--he would’ve done the same at her age. He couldn’t tell her that, though, could he?What he did tell her was that she was old enough to know better, he’d said. Perhaps that was too harsh… For the Maker’s sake she was only ten...

He’d come up to her guiltily that evening, offering her a glass of her favourite tea-- a recipe they’d invented together. She was gazing up at the stars, before she mumbled an apology and he did too.

He made it up to her by telling a story about a similar prank he played on the templars back at the Gallows.

“I know they’re the worst, but provoking them won’t do us any favours, Mighty Mini,” The nickname made her giggle. “It’s not your fight.” That made her pause.

“But…” She looked up at him, eyes full of concern. “They make things just awful for you and Bethany!” She protested. “You shouldn’t have to hide your magic! Magic is good!” She said it with childlike simplicity. He’d taught her well… Maybe a little too well, if he was being honest.

“I know, Min, it isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean you should go out of your way to cause problems for the templars. You don’t want their attention. Think of Bethany.” He gave her shoulder a firm squeeze.

She stilled, gazing at her feet.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He took her up into a tight hug. “It’s just not fair...”

Always seeking justice, even then.

Malcolm was far from the perfect father, but, Maker, did he try. At the very least, he was always there when his children needed him. Even years later, he cherished every moment spent outside the walls of the Gallows.

He was able to give his kids the childhood he’d always wanted-- more or less.

On (idk what the dragon age equivalent to Sundays is but That LMAO) Minerva and Carver would spar for hours, using swords carved out of sticks they’d found exploring woods, while Malcolm, Bethany, and Leandra would go into town. Malcolm would take care of the shopping for the week and the two of them would head to the Chantry for the service. Bethany always tithed her allowance at the Chantry, even when her siblings teased her for it. She was always such a sweet, gentle girl. She wanted to help, and the cloister in Lothering was vastly different from the Kirkwall Chantry. They were a peaceful folk, down to earth.

Once their farm was in its prime the revered mother even asked to buy some of their harvested herbs for their healers on a yearly basis, and Malcolm given it to her for free--inspired by the kindness of his youngest daughter. He knew the gift of magic weighed on the poor girl, and he wished he could take the burden from her.

He would’ve preferred they not have to worry about hiding his and Bethany’s magic at all, but he figured that this was as good as it was going to get.

And it was good, indeed. For a time.

Minerva grew up with a Father who could coax her down from the trees she’d get stuck in, and catch her when she fell. Bethany had a Father who could guide her in the ways of the Fade and teach her not to fear her power, but to control it with ease. Carver had a Father who encouraged his study of the blade despite having no combat experience of his own.

Whatever made them happy, as long as they were safe, just, and kind. That was who their father was.

Malcolm Hawke died too young, and too suddenly.

The fever came when Minerva had just turned seventeen, and the twins were only twelve. The illness swept through their entire family, but it took her Father with it when it left. He was buried beneath the apple tree in their garden as a free man. Not a mage, just Malcolm Hawke. His children worked in tandem to carve a headstone themselves, nestling it with care between the roots.

Lothering wasn’t the same after Malcolm died. Minerva did her best to fill the void, standing in as her Sister’s keeper, trying to smile her way through the tears the way her Father taught her to.

Carver left to join the king’s army as soon as he turned sixteen, prying himself out of his mother’s arms with a groan. Leandra drew her daughters even closer in his absence, especially Bethany. The young mage became even more reclusive, afraid to wander too far from home by herself. She became convinced that the Templars in Lothering suspected something, no matter how many times Minerva assured her of how careful they’d been.

Then, Carver was back, and the Blight was upon them. They’d only had a few short days on the run to cherish their brother’s return before the darkspawn ripped him away from them once more, this time for good.

The farmhouse in Lothering never received a proper goodbye from the family that had inhabited it for all those years. The Blight fell upon them far too suddenly for them to grab anything more than their most precious of possessions before running for the hills.

Barlin visits it sometimes, finding the tombstone beneath the trees. The old man hasn’t died yet, even though he’s buried many of his juniors. He chats to the stone as he clears it of moss, pulling out a book with a dwarvish name on the cover.

The eldest Hawke child--the little dragonling who’d stood her ground in that old farmhouse brandishing a knife while shaking like a leaf all those years ago had done quite well for herself, it seemed. Barlin was glad of it. He hadn’t known Malcolm was a mage, but it certainly made a lot about the strange elf make sense.

Barlin wonders sometimes if the Champion of Kirkwall knows how proud those few that survived Lothering are of her.

#barlin is an icon ok i love that dude #he's just a crazy old man who like poison and i can respect that #anyway here's some Emotions #Hawke #bethany hawke #carver hawke #the hawke family #amell #leandra hawke #leandra amell #malcolm hawke #elf malcolm hawke #rogue hawke #dragon age 2 #da2 #da2 fanfic #minerva hawke #handers #if you squint

16 notes · View notes

quepasta · 3 years

Text

A Relentless Past - Chapter 1

Author: Quepasta | AO3 | Twitter

Summary: Link wakes up with no memory but discovers he has been asleep for 100 years. Now he must struggle with remembering his past, a painful past he has no memory of, and confronting his destiny in the present. Not to mention dealing with the crazy characters he meets while exploring the new world he has woken up in and the foes he runs into. Takes place during Breath of the Wild and expands on the story we know from the video game. (Part 1 of this trilogy. Also, you know I ship Zelink but this is the slowest slow burn I have ever written)

Author’s Notes: Just a quick explanation of this story. This fic started out as a writing exercise and then it got out of control, as they usually do. This will be a trilogy, the first one (this one) being Link’s story during the game. Staying somewhat canon, but adding things that will round out the story and lead to non-canon things. I will say that the story might be slow at first, but I promise I am building up to something. The first two chapters are setting up the scene and building Link’s character. My focus is on exploring his emotions during the game and how much he actually remembers, since we don’t get to see a whole lot of that. The next story will be Zelda’s story before the calamity (not following Age of Calamity’s story, for obvious reasons). Mostly because I wanted to know more about her story and so I decided to write it. I actually wrote that story first, but I wanted to experiment with story telling by starting the trilogy in the present and then going back to the past. Also, the second story will answer questions that the first story will create. The last installment will be after the game, following both Link and Zelda. The aftermath of the calamity and both of them rejoining the world after 100 years is very intriguing to me, so that is where my focus is. Also exploring some of the lore of the series. (We will see who puts their story out first, me or Nintendo lol. Please let us have an update on BOTW 2 soon) The series will be an expansion of the canon story but also adding things that I would like to explore. Each installment will have many, many chapters. This has been the biggest project I have worked on so far. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave any polite feedback or questions. Thank you - Quepasta

The fire crackling was the only noise that was made as the two strangers sat across from each other. One of them, a young man, tentatively ate the baked apple that the other stranger, an older gentleman, had given him. The young lad was starving but also felt sick to his stomach, but an apple had seemed like a good thing to try to settle himself.

The young man squinted at the sunlight poking through the clouds, his eyes still adjusting. The sun shined brightly, searing its light into his retinas. His head hurt and he was insanely thirsty, but more than anything he was confused.

He played the events that had just happened back in his head. He had seen the golden bright light and heard the voice, telling him to wake up. What had the voice called him? Link?

He had woken up alone, no one else being in...well wherever he had been. But he was sure that not only had he heard someone, but had also felt someone’s presence there with him.

Rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand, he continued working through the rest of the events that had happened since waking up. The voice had told him to pick up the sheikah slate, some sort of technology that was now hanging off the belt at his hip. The voice said the slate would guide him after his...long slumber. That’s what it had said. Whatever that meant.

The slate had opened the door to the...chamber? That word came to his mind. He found clothes to change into inside some old chests after leaving the chamber, a pair of pants and a shirt that were both a size too small. But it was better than nothing.

After going through another room and pressing the slate against another pedestal, Link found the way out. Finally he had been able to see outside, the door opening up to a tunnel that led outdoors. When the door opened, he had seen the bright light once more. And the voice spoke to him. It had called him Link again. What had it said?

He racked his brain trying to remember, but it was as if his brain protesting back. An intense amount of pressure found itself at his forehead, and the young man closed his eyes until it went away.

Then he finally remembered. The voice had said that he was the light that must shine upon Hyrule once again. The meaning behind that meant nothing to Link, finding himself lost at what the voice was trying to tell him.

Climbing out of the tunnel, Link had felt the urge to run. The air up here was much fresher than the thick air back in the chamber. He let the urge take him to the edge of a cliff, and he stared out at the land below him. He gasped at how large everything was, he suddenly felt dwarfed by the world. Huge mountains, hills, valleys, forests, and rivers took up the landscape. A large mountain stood out to him, but it didn’t look like the rest of the mountains. Volcano, the word popped in his mind. It was a volcano.

Link looked to his right, and that is when he first noticed the old man. It seemed like the old man had been watching him and when Link noticed him, he had turned around to walk away. Curiosity taking over, he walked down the slope to where he had seen the man sit down.

As he approached the stranger, the smell of food overwhelmed him and he spotted the baked apple laying on the ground by the fire. Link had grabbed it without thinking, which caused the old man to finally speak.

“I beg your pardon! I do believe that is my baked apple. You can’t just go about taking whatever you please!” The old man exclaimed.

Instantly Link felt bad, of course he knew that. Why had he done it?

Seeing Link’s expression, the old man laughed. “Oh ho! Forgive me, I could not resist pulling your leg. Please, help yourself.”

Link watched the old man, checking to see if he was serious. The old man had nodded, and that’s when Link had sat down to eat the apple.

“You know, it is a bit strange to see another soul in these parts.” The old man said, breaking the silence.

Link looked up from the almost finished apple, raising his eyebrow in a question. “Who are you?” Link asked, the words feeling unnatural to him.

“Me? I’ll spare you my life story. Ha! I’m just an old fool who has lived here, alone, for quite some time now. What brings a bright-eyed young man like yourself to a place like this?” The old man asked, leaning forward with his head slightly tilted.

The fire in front of them turned his long white beard to a shade of amber, but somehow deepened the shadows the hood around his head created on his face.

Link thought about the question for a second while chewing on the apple. He didn’t know the answer to that, which he figured he should know. It occurred to him he had no idea what this place was.

“Where are we?” Link decided to ask, finishing the apple and flinging the core behind him.

The old man laughed again. “Answering a question with a question. That is fair enough. This is the Great Plateau. According to legend, this is the birthplace of the entire kingdom of Hyrule.”

There was that word again. Hyrule . It was a familiar word to Link, though he couldn’t pin down why.

The old man got up and pointed to a building in the distance. “That temple there...long ago, it was the site of many sacred ceremonies. Though ever since the decline of the kingdom 100 years ago, it has sat abandoned, in a state of decay. Yet another forgotten entity. A mere ghost of its former self…” The old man trailed off and sat back down.

Link watched him as he did so, he could see a different emotion pass over the old man’s face that had not been there earlier. Link racked his brain for a word to describe it. Sorrow. Pain. Sadness, were the words his mind provided back. Link stared at the old man. He had said he had lived in this area for awhile. Had he witnessed the decline he talked about?

The old man looked at him, and nodded his head toward the path behind him. Link got the message, move along now.

“Wait. Do you have a name?” Link asked.

“Whatever you want to call me is fine. Do you have a name?” The old man asked in return.

He thought about it for a second. “Link.” He replied quietly.

The old man nodded, as if agreeing with him that was his name. But he said nothing more. Link gave him a nod in thanks, and walked on.

37 notes · View notes

fireheartfaery · 3 years

Text

Day 5: "Would you like to stay?"

masterlist; my links

canon-compliant

Cassian is exhausted. He can feel it in the very tendrils of his wings, like poison, or smoke. The streets of Caraverre are quiet as the people settle in for the night but he still has some ways to go before he is due for his shower and his bed.

If only the guards in the north tower would hurry up and sort out whatever problem they were having. They had warned him it would take at least two hours, but he was an impatient man, and forty minutes later the pacing had started burning holes in the grass patch.

The warehouse gates behind him rattle but when he turns to see what it is, there is nothing there but murky darkness and a swinging chain. He waves it off as the wind and goes back to pacing, feeling that time is being especially cruel as it crawls towards the lighter hours.

He just wants to go home, and lie on his bed, and forget about the world. And maybe he'll be able to avoid his friends who although he loves, he doesn't have the energy for. He doesn't have..... what? He just doesn't have.

There's a thud to his left. He doesn't have the patience to deal with this.

"Whoever you are," He sighs, "You're not fooling anyone."

A shadow slinks by, nothing but a black patch against the dim light of the warehouse walls.

"Oh just an animal," He pouts, feeling a little foolish for assuming.

Something growls in response, and before he can react he is being thrown to the ground and a cat, as black as space, and strong as most of his guards put together, lands on his chest.

Its eyes are green, bright forest green. And they hold a world of mischief in their slits.

"Didn’t like that huh?" He stares at it. He's a little afraid to look away in case it takes it as a sign to gauge his heart out or something.

He doesn't really know much about animals.

It purrs soflty, as if to say "Well I did something about it didn't I?" There is arrogance in its gaze that he cannot help but feel is entirely too human.

The cat is larger than a normal housecat, but smaller than what he'd expect you see in the wild. It seemed however, no matter it's species it was all fierce.

He is still, barely even breathing. His wings are uncomfortable as they try to support his body weight, and that of the cats without being crushed. After their extensive shredding, they had been more sensitive than ever. Fun, if he was using them for fun bedroom activities. Not so fun, when they are pinned down against his will. Still he dares not move; the claws look sharp enough to ribbon his bones.

"Apologies for offending you," He takes a split second to look at the surroundings, trying to give him leverage to escape the situation without hurting either of them. The animal is a nuisance but it is not harming him. "But please could you get off me, my wings are being crushed."

He is fully prepared for it to ignore him, hands already reaching for its body. But with one final snap of its jaw, it pounces off and lands on the ground in two feet.

He is up, and then he is falling to the ground again. Shock racing through every nerve in his body like electric wires.

"What the f—"

"Don't you know it's rude to swear in front of the lady who's land you stand on?" She raises a black brow, sculpted with as much care as their temples.

"My Lady," He scrambles to his knee, bowing his head, "I uh, apologize for...uh everything." She does not usually appear as a cat but he should have known when he saw those emerald green eyes, ever unchanging no matter her form.

"I haven't known you to be so penitent Cassian," She grins.

He can't help his face from twisting into a look of disapproval. "I'm on the job Your Grace and I'd like to keep it that way."

"So very proper all of a sudden."

He chooses to brush past her little smirk, no matter how much it makes his heart pound. "Is there anything I can help you with My Lady?"

"I'm just taking a tour, making sure everything and everyone is well."

"With someone like you as leader it's impossible not to be."

"Ah there's the charmer," Her laugh is like temple bells. Musical. Holy.

He can hear the guards making their way back, clattering into everything they possibly can by the sounds of it. He's grateful he supposes, because at least it warns him.

"My Lady," He bows his head again, "My guards are coming back, I must—" He gestures behind him trailing off.

She nods, but there is something like disappointment flashing in her eyes. It crashes into him like a tidal wave. Drowns his logic.

"Unless..." His voice is softer now, more gentle. "Would you like to stay?"

"Are you suggesting a workplace sneak off?" Her face is the portrait of outrage. "Oh Cassian darling you do know in the grand scheme of things I’m your boss?"

"In the grand scheme of things you're also my—"

"Cassian who are you talking to?" One of the guards pushes past the gate, frowning at him.

He glances to the side to see a cat slinking into the darkness. "Oh uh, just myself. Gets a little lonely waiting outside."

They laugh, slapping him on the back. "Alright mate."

"Everything run smoothly in there?"

"Yea it was just a....." They fade out as he peers into the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of the sleek coat of a midnight feline. He sees nothing but the spurting trees and the fading moonlight.

"That's great man," He smiles distractedly, "Listen i’m going to head home for the night, if that's cool?"

"Yea, yea go ahead you old man. We'll see you in the morning."

Before they can change their minds, or another problem can crop up he is unfurling his wings and racing through the skies.

He lands on the roof of his apartment building with a soft thud, and there sitting on the edge, licking her paw with the air of royalty is the cat.

"My Lady," He bows again.

She transforms into her human body, one he know doesn't alter form but he finds more beautiful with every passing day, minute, second.

"Snuck away from work?"

"Excused myself," He smirks.

"Someone should tell your boss you're slacking."

"Write a letter, Your Grace,"

Her eyes twinkle with cheek, "I'll stamp it with my favourite lipstick."

"Can I get a matching stamp?"

"Where?"

Every nerve in his body lights itself on fire. "Everywhere."

She giggles, wraps her arms around his neck, let's her fingers brush his veined wings. He shudders out of existence.

"How about I start here?" Soft lips press to the sensitive skin behind his ear.

He holds in a groan that swallows his politeness. Hands wrap around her waist, pressing their bodies together like they can become one.

He walks them backwards, stumbles into the rooftop door, pushes it open with an awkward hand. "Would you like to stay, my lady?"

"Forever." Lysandra whispers.

He can't help but agree. He let's his girlfriend in.

----------------------------------------------

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know. all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01, @simping4bookboisngrls

#Cassian x lysandra #Lysandra x cassian #FDS series #FDS fanfic #Crackships keep fandom alive #Valentines day crackship challenge #Day 5

12 notes · View notes

relishredshoes · 3 years

Photo

Interview given to The Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/199718373383293/

Hello CorvusDraconis and welcome to Behind the Quill, thank-you so much for sitting down with us to chat.

You’re a well known and beloved figure in the SS/HG community for your many stories - including a personal favourite of mine, A chance for happiness.

Okay, let’s jump right in. What's the story behind your pen name?

I have always had a fascination for the shiny things and the Northwest Coast depictions of Raven the Trickster/Creator, and, I tend to hoard (and get super protective) of my art supplies. Corvids have always been a positive sign in my life. They tend to show up when I’m feeling down and engage in funny antics in the yard. As for dragons, I’ve always had a love for them and think the Western depiction of them as dangerous beasts with no mind but for hoarding treasure and killing people only to be slain by a knight quite despicable.

Which Harry Potter character do you identify with the most?

Severus, actually. I see a lot of my life in his. Hardships, challenges, bullying— trying to be something better and later wondering about unwise decisions. I have a very similar dislike for dunderheads, but I do not share his inclination to denude rosebushes of their petals. Do you have a favourite genre to read? (not in fic, just in general) I have always preferred fantasy and sci-fi.

Do you have a favourite "classic" novel?

I am not sure if you would call it a classic novel, but grew up on all things Tolkien (and even puzzled through the Silmarillion at the grand age of seven), and have a special place in my heart for Watership Down. While I’ve read pieces like War and Peace, Iliad, Ulysses, Pride and Prejudice, Grapes of Wrath, Moby Dick, Great Gatsby, Little Women, Catcher in the Rye, Tom Sawyer/Huckleberry Finn, Scarlet Letter, Don Quixote, To Kill a Mockingbird, Animal Farm, Jane Eyre, Lord of the Flies, Tale of Two Cities, Heart of Darkness, Robinson Crusoe, Alice in Wonderland, Great Expectations, Odyssey, Frankenstein, Dracula, Crime and Punishment, Heart of Darkness, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, The Secret Garden, Treasure Island, Anne of Green Gables, Les Misérables, Peter Pan, Gulliver’s Travels, all things Jack London, 20000 Leagues, etc.— they never captured me as aptly as Anne McCaffery’s Dragonriders of Pern or Mercedes Lackley’s the Last Herald Mage. Though, if I were to pick classic stories I read more than once (litmus test for things I like) it would be things such as The Secret Garden, Call of the Wild, Wild Fang, The Hobbit, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and The Last Unicorn. At what age did you start writing? The moment I could pick up pencil and paper, I was writing. I had notepads full of stories I wrote as a kid. Alas, my dad found them one day when I was off to college, made fun of them, and I came home and burned every single one in mortification.

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

The moment TV shows did “stupid things” to their characters. I used to write things about Beauty and the Beast (the old CBS show) when they killed off the main character, Knight Rider, Robocop, Transformers— there are probably far more that I just don’t remember now. I was writing it long before there was a fanfiction dot net or a term to even call it. What's the best theme you've ever come across in a fic? Is it a theme represented in your own works? I am a shameless romantic for the beauty within and sometimes the quite literal love for a monster (not just some person who acts like a monster and changes into a better person.) The misunderstood monster is perhaps my most favourite theme, and it shows up in my stories often if not always. What fandoms are you involved in other than Harry Potter? I ship SessKag from Inuyasha, Lucard/Sophie from Dracula: The Series, and Loki/Hermione when I’m feeling crossover-y. If you could make one change to canon, what would it be? Do you have a favourite piece of fanon? Other than my favourite fanon that Severus lives/survives/finds a better life free of two masters and his guilt, I would say I would want Harry to wise the heck up and realise his father was a swine, his godfather was an almost successful murderer that used his own best mate to try and kill off another student, and his mother wasn’t all that hot either. I would want him to find value in himself without having to make stuff up about his “perfect” parents. Then again, I would want Vernon/Petunia to be arrested for child abuse and put in gaol, but— then the story would have been very different XD Do you listen to music when you write or do you prefer quiet? Sometimes quiet, sometimes music. But usually, I am best mates with Spotify.

What are your favourite fanfictions of all time?

In the HP universe: I honestly don’t read many of them because I’m always writing my own stuff XD, but when I really feel like I need a good Ron bashing SSHG HEA, I read just about anything by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse. However, that being said, I often return to “The Sun is Often Out” by Hannah-1888 for just the right amount of angst and HEA to make me happy.

In the Inuyasha universe: A Trick of Fate by PristinelyUngifted

In the Marvel universe: Mutual Respect Sends His Regrets by moor

In the Star Trek universe: Gratified By Your Company by starfleetdream

Are you a plotter or a pantser? How does that affect your writing process?

I go by the seat of my feathered rump, to be honest. Inspiration is a fickle, unpredictable beast, and I usually don’t know what is going to happen until it does.

What is your writing genre of choice?

Fantasy

Which of your stories are you most proud of? Why?

Chance of Happiness because it was my very first publication. It may not have been my best, but it was my first, and it very well could have been my last yet somehow wasn’t.

Looks Can Be Deceiving and One Step Forward, Two Decades Back are two epic tales that seemed to demand being written. The fact I finished them was something I think deserves a little pride.

Did it unfold as you imagined it or did you find the unexpected cropped up as you wrote? What did you learn from writing it?

Looks started off with me attempted to write Dramione just once. It failed. Draco demanded to be her brother of the heart, Viktor came in and said “nope she’s mine,” and no one was more surprised at the outcome of that story than me. The characters did what THEY wanted.

I learned that trying to plan a story from start to finish is useless when the characters decide what they want. The story demanded more, and I was just a conduit that typed it down. For me, at least, attempting to outline and plan is utterly useless

How personal is the story to you, and do you think that made it harder or easier to write?

I think every story I write is personal in some way. The inspiration comes from somewhere inside, and I often have no idea what it is until I go back and read it later. I think the story wrote itself in a lot of ways, which made it easier in a way, but there are a lot of things I can’t say were from personal experience because as a high fantasy of talking gryphons and such I can only imagine it. There is no basis in real life on how any of that would go down. There is a freedom in that but also many challenges in making it real enough to identify with despite how alien and fantastic the idea is.

What books or authors have influenced you? How do you think that shows in your writing?

Dragonriders of Pern introduced sentient dragons and the idea that despite a vast difference in species there could be teamwork and love between the two as they teamed up against a greater threat.

The herald-mage books by Mercedes Lackley were also important staples in my childhood because it impressed the values of responsibility despite having powers others did not, and that people were fallible despite greatness and potential.

Gandalara Cycle by Randall Garrett and Vicki Ann Heydron: I cannot tell you how often I read this story. I had dog ears on these novels because there was so much I loved about them. It was a search for humanity when displaced in a seemingly alien world, societal clashes, and the great sha’um (the giant rideable cats) that were the main characters’ partners for life.

The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C Wrede: A princess rebels against her arranged marriage by running away to be a dragon princess.

All of these books had creatures in it that chose to partner with a human and be with them for life, not as lovers that you find in the more modern supernatural romance blender out there, but the ultimate friend for life— the family you choose.

Do people in your everyday life know you write fanfiction?

Oh heck no. Hah. They have their secrets, and I have mine. Personally, I think mine are more healthy than theirs.

How true for you is the notion of "writing for yourself"?

Very.

I write for myself. Sometimes I’ll write a story for one of my betas or a sshg friend, but for the most part, I write for my own entertainment because nothing like what I write is out there. There is a lot of SSHG out there, but mine is almost always a creature feature story. I blame X-Files growing up. It tickles me that others enjoy my stories, but in the end I write to get things down and out of my head. They just so happen to entertain others as they do me.

How important is it for you to interact with your audience? How do you engage with them? Just at the point of publishing? Through social media?

I will often engage in A/N talk at the end of chapters, but I really don’t engage in the fandom. I loathe social media. That being said, I read every review, and while I don’t reply to everything because FF dot net is a horrible platform for messaging anymore (or ever was really)-- I appreciate every single one. Sometimes it helps to know people are enjoying the story for the story’s sake.

What is the best advice you've received about writing?

Get a beta, even if you are pretty good at writing. Get one because a second pair of eyes will catch things you don’t. Read your own stuff out loud. If you trip over it, your audience will too. If you stumble, so will they.

Get a beta who isn’t afraid to tell you that your shite stinks in places and you make no sense. You may want a cheerleader, but what you need is a beta. If you are super lucky, you can have both at once.

What do you do when you hit writer's block?

I play computer games and sew things. I’ve sewn a lot of things lately. Scrub caps and masks for work—

There has been a lot of writer’s block lately due to the times, and I will not write when I’m uninspired. I will not force inspiration. That’s not fair to me or those unfortunate enough to share in the reading. I want to be able to go back on a story I wrote and enjoy it and not curse at myself. XD

Has anything in real life trickled down into your writing?

Sometimes certain catch phrases and things from real life friends have trickled in as a sort of Easter egg (unbeknownst to them since I don’t tell them I write fanfic). Sometimes random news stories or whatnot find their way in. Lessons of the day. Random events. Things that are too odd not to stick in my brain somehow. I can’t say I always do it on purpose, though.

Do you have any stories in the works? Can you give us a teaser?

No, I have a goal this year to finish off the unfinished stories. This is made harder because Dragon and the Rose keeps adding more and more bunnies into the idea bin, and my brain wants to run with them, but I’m like NO DANGIT, I HAVE STUFF TO FINISH STILL! It’s a hard thing trying to finish what you start when so much interesting stuff pops up and waves at you like “heeeeeyyyyy I’m cool too!”

Any words of encouragement to other writers?

Keep writing but remember you can always be better. You can always improve. Writing isn’t a popularity contest. It isn’t about how many reviews you get or how many fans you may or may not have. Write because you want to write. Write what you like not what other people like. Write for you because in the end, you are the one who goes back to read it and say “I wrote this story, and I still love it” instead of forcing yourself to write something just because the topic is “popular” and gets a lot of visitors. Write something you’ll be proud to go back and read and enjoy. You’ll find when you write something genuinely, readers will come. And if only one person leaves you a paragraph review on how much your story meant to them out of someone else’s hundreds of “great!” (with nothing else)-- think of what you value more.

If my story helped someone through a dark time.

Just one person—

Then it was a good effort.

Maybe that person didn’t have the bravery to leave a message. Maybe they are ashamed. Maybe they send you a PM instead of a review.

That is, to me, the ultimate reason why I realised that despite writing stories for myself that there are people out there that needed to hear my story at just the right time in their life. If my story can bring a little joy to someone else, then it doesn’t matter how many reviews I have. It doesn’t matter that I don’t have thousands of reviews like “that other author.” What matters is that I told my story; someone out there read it and it spoke to them.

I love hearing from people and what they liked about my stories, but I also am glad that there are some people out there who secretly like my stories but do not feel safe enough to review.

So, I would say to the aspiring author: write for yourself but share it. You never know whose day you will make with your story. They may never tell you. They may tell you years later (happened to me!). There is a good chance that someone out there needs your story as much as you need to write it. That being said, find yourself a beta to share your journey with you. You may find a few friend in the process.

Thanks so much for giving us your time.

You are quite welcome.

#fanfiction #fanfic #ss/hg #snamione #writing

11 notes · View notes

blackevermore · 3 years

Text

x Secrets of The Lake: The Company of Misery and Pain

{ Chapter 3 }

Summary: Vladimir Masters' family tree has always been tainted by secrets swept under the rug. From generation to generation there have been countless reasons the Masters' family had seemed to keep private from the public. Even to this day, Vladimir was no exception. But what was one to do when a restless spirit from the settlement years finally breaks free from restraints and demands you answer for your ancestor's crimes? Vladimir doesn't know. However, Clockworks does.

Notes: We just having fun, rewriting some of the canon, new adventure new characters. I will apologize now for any grammar, spelling, weird sentence structuring in advance. My brain writes faster than my fingers and even when I go back through to reread it I still miss things. Sorry about that!

Word Count: 3730

P.s: Is this chapter good? Ughhhh could be debatable :x

@ataristars

Danny looked at the radar in his hands with concern as he made his way closer and closer to the pits. Skulker had wired him the information as he left and Danny was grateful he wouldn’t be flying blind. But as he got closer the radar kept changing directions like a scatter plot. It was starting to get darker the farther he went down and he hoped where he needed to be wasn’t somewhere he wouldn’t be able to use his powers. The last thing he needed was to walk into the face of danger defenseless.

“Oh come on!” Danny groaned, tapping the screen to refresh the signal to see if that helped at all. As he floated idly for a moment to figure out what was going on with his tech, he felt the same rumbling as he did yesterday. Danny quickly threw up a force field to shield himself not only from the sound but in case something came flying his way. Just as the rumbling started it stopped and everything was once again quite like before. Danny dropped his field and hesitated to do anything waiting for the next sign of the scream. When nothing came he looked back to the radar and finally it settled on a location.

Right next to him.

“You’ve found it?” Danny quickly turned around straddled by the sudden new voice. Danny placed a hand over his chest and shot Vlad a glare, which the older halfa shrugged off with a chuckle.

“Not yet but it says I’m right on it.” Danny looked around for a moment then back to Vlad. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve been informed to help you.” Vlad didn’t want to go into detail and he hoped Danny wouldn’t push it. But this was Danny we were talking about. As soon as curiosity peaked he had to know or he would die. Double homicide. Danny was about to open his mouth to ask who sent him but the rumbling started again. Unlike last time it seemed that it wasn’t going to stop and Danny threw up his force field again. Vlad followed suit and just as they were safe the core shaking scream came. The fields helped in softening the plow just enough for both halfas to not topple over.

Danny kept an eye out for any sign of whatever he was looking for and he finally found it. As the screaming sent off ripples an area towards the left looked like a reflection on water. He could also feel the overbearing negative feeling that was echoing over the main ghost zone. Uncomfortable sadness started to puddle inside him and Danny had to fight it off. Thoughts of his friends flashed inside his mind and he felt himself starting to feel guilty for not telling them...something. What? Danny shook his head to try and break himself out of unreasonable thoughts.

“Over there!” Danny yelled towards Vlad and raised a finger. When Danny’s ears picked up the screaming was coming to an end he dropped his force field and flew straight towards the waterfall. Without a second thought, Danny flew right through the false wall and found himself in an unknown space. It was dark but illuminated by a faint white light swirling in and out. There were twinkles of light that mimicked the stars on Earth and Danny was amazed at how different this part of the Ghost Zone was to the others. In the middle of the vast open space was a floating island forest. Danny inched closer until he could hear the soft whimpers of someone crying. When he was on the edge of the island he hid behind one of the tall trees. Through the dense trees was a clearing and Danny could see a ghost hunched over near a giant pond grabbing her chest. Danny told himself to be as stealthy as possible as he came closer to the ghost.

When he made it to the first two rows of trees he could get a much better view of the other. Danny had only ever seen one ghost that illuminated purple and that was Fright Knight. And if he knew anything about how rare purple ghosts were that meant this ghost was full of vengeance. By the way she was dressed he could tell she was not a new ghost but a fairly old one. Oh great another crazy historical ghost, just what he needed. Danny rounded around the trees so he could get to the other side of the pond and be right beside her. He slid a hand towards his thermos and readied himself as he stepped out into the clearing. As soon as he did that, dark eyes with burning green orbs shot open and stared him down.

Danny felt his breath hitch and he held out a hand, “I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

“Who are you? How did you get here?” The ghost stood up and gripped her wrist as she stumbled back. She looked around anxiously trying to find how Danny got in.

“My name is Danny Phantom and I’m only here to help you. You’ve been scaring the other ghost with your screaming. And as much as we all love self-expression, the screaming is messing with everyone.” Danny tried to sound reasonable but he wasn’t too sure he was getting through to her. The girl only shook her head and started panting as she stumbled forward again.

“It hurts so much,” the ghost fell to the ground once again and clenched her chest. Danny was about to walk closer to help her but a red mist started to rise from her. For a moment Danny thought he saw it form into a silhouette of a person. It stood towards him then stuck out a hand and touched the other ghost’s back, causing her to let out another scream. Danny wasn’t quick enough to cover his ears and fell to the ground letting out his own scream. The wail was so bad Danny almost felt his powers give out and his transforming rings phase in and out. When it was over the ghost was desperately crawling towards the pond trying to touch the water. Danny groaned and pushed himself on his elbows than to his knees. Being this close to the wail was a lot different than what he heard out there. Tears flooded his eyes and he quickly wiped them away so he could see.

“What the hell?” Danny finally stumbled to his feet and held his head as it rang back and forth. He turned and watched the ghost finally make it to the water and fall into it. The red mist that hung over her didn’t follow but instead floated in a cloud near the bank. Danny told himself that it was safe to stay away from the water and maybe even find a place to hide. As he stepped back he tripped over a rock and once again found himself on his ass. All he could do was watch as the water started to ripple violently and purple ecto energy started to spark like lightning on top of the waves. Slowly the ghost rose from the water dripping wet and panting heavily. Her eyes were completely purple and the lighting on top of the water formed into dangerous quick striking icicles. Danny had to roll out the way as one nearly hit him where he sat.

“Get away from me, you have done enough!” The ghost rose a hand towards the air then quickly brought it down towards the red mist to stick it. The lighting was quick as it struck the ground and shot up through the mist in tiny bolts. The mist started to shake then quickly dissipated. Danny thought that must have been the end of it, but nope, the lighting only grew bigger and the ghost in the middle of the lake started to shake violently in place. The scream she let out wasn’t like the one before and Danny finally pulled it together as enough was enough. He grabbed the thermos ready to unclasp it and point it towards her, but then she stopped. Everything stopped, the lighting vanished and the ghost stood hauntingly still staring straight ahead.

“What?” Danny whispered to himself, still ready to suck her up. That’s when he saw the red mist start to form around the ghost again, this time it was denser than before and took up more of a form. Arms reached around her and pulled her back in what looked like a hug. The ghost then snapped around raising her palm and letting out a long range ectoblast cutting down half the trees across the pond. The red mist didn’t disappear this time but instead dodged her attack.

“Ugh!” Vlad let out a cry as he was hit in the shoulder by the blast. He lowered himself to the ground and walked out into the clearing.

“After all these years you’re finally here.” The ghost lowered herself just above the water and stalked towards Vlad. Vlad wasted no time firing back at her but she vanished down into the water and back up again with an attack. Vlad managed to sidestep it but another shot was fired beside his face, cutting his cheek. Vlad multiplied himself to distract her so he could get an advantage and it seemed to work. As his clones flew around she tried to knock each one out of the sky. Right as she had her back turned Vlad shot her and she gasped before falling back into the water.

Danny hurried over to Vlad and thumbed towards the water with a wild expression, “You know her?! This is a you problem?!” Vlad rolled his shoulder as the pain started to lessen the more his healing factor worked itself. He whipped his cheek on his glove and sighed.

“I don’t know her personally but Clockwork told me-”

“Clockwork?!” Danny yelled then smacked his forehead.

“As I was saying,” Vlad narrowed his eyes at Danny then continued. “Clockwork called upon me and informed me that this problem was linked to me. Though I don’t quite understand it myself, I would prefer if we handled her now before anything else happens.” Vlad walked past Danny towards the water and looked down to see if there was any trace of the ghost.

“Okay yeah, this is...this is GREAT, just when I thought you were doing less of whatever fruit loops do. You go and stir up trouble.” Danny said, frustratingly and flew up behind Vlad.

“I have you know, Daniel, this problem is not my own personal doing. She is from a time I wasn’t even alive for.” Vlad angrily hissed at Danny and pointed towards the water. “If I wanted to come up with some over the top plan for chaos, do you really think I would pick some girl?”

“Yes, you’ve done it before, or do you not remember Valarie?” Danny said mockingly and rolled his eyes. Vlad slapped his forehead in defeat, Danny was right, he hated when Danny was right. However, this time Vlad hadn’t thought up any schemes nor ringed along a girl to help. Vlad could only sigh and turn back towards the water, it was too quiet and he began to become unnerved. Where had she gone? It wasn’t that easy, was it?

“Her name is Tayonna and from what Clockwork told me she is from the settlement years. She was a servant of my family.” Vlad spoke aloud. Danny looked between Vlad and the lake and hummed.

“So you're telling me this ghost is an angry spirit from like the 1600s or something?” Danny asked.

“Yes,” Vlad replied and kneeled to get a better look into the water. It was murky but he could see small bubbles forming and popping.

“I knew you were problematic, your ancestors had slaves and now she's back to get you.” Danny tsked and threw his hands up in an ‘I ain’t touching that’ gesture.

“I’ll have you know I know extensively for a fact my family has never owned slaves. My family stayed in Europe and eventually settled in Russia.” Vlad knew it was stupid to overshare. But his pride told him he had to defend his honor and his family. He did have all his family records after all.

“Then please, Vlad, explain why this ghost, who is dressed like a pilgrim, is trying to kill you? Hmm?” Danny crossed his arms and stuck out his neck. Vlad was speechless and could only try to ignore the boy’s question. After a moment of watching the water once more, Vlad finally stood up and dusted off his suit. If all it took to take her down was a single shot in the back then he would have come a lot sooner.

“So that’s like it?” Danny asked, taking a quick look over the water then towards Vlad.

“It seems so, no more screaming and no more problems.”

“Vlad, it’s never that easy, trust me, dude.” Danny’s brows knotted and he took in a deep breath. He didn’t want to risk jumping into the water and peaking around for himself. Nor would Danny ask Vlad to get in knowing the man was too prideful.

“Sometimes it i-” Vlad was unable to finish his sentence as the sound of the water surface breaking caught his attention. It was almost like slow motion as a pair of arms hooked themselves around his head and neck and pulled him backwards. Danny wasn’t able to say anything as Vlad was already falling deep into the murky water and out of sight. Danny knew he had to go in and help, maybe...maybe...or he could say the problem fixed itself since Vlad was the target.

‘I mean there were those times he tried to kill my dad’ Danny thought to himself. ‘And let's not forget the countless years fighting him’ Danny was putting up really good points for himself to walk away. But the hero side of him told him that no matter who or what he had to help them.

“Ugh! You owe me!” Danny shouted before taking a step back then taking off to dive into the water.

A few meters down Vlad was struggling to breathe as he was pulled farther down. Every time he opened his mouth water filled his mouth and his lungs were beginning to burn. Just like in his nightmares, hands clawed at him but the person they belonged to he couldn’t see. He tried to shoot off a couple of ectoblasts to light the area around him but every time he brought his hand up his wrist was caught and dragged back down to his side. Just then Vlad’s vision was covered and he fought to get away but couldn’t. His restraints only grew stronger the more he thrashed around, his arms were pulled back and his legs tied together. One of the hands that clawed at him rested gently on his chest then started to dig its nails downward. Never had he felt so weak in the presence of a ghost he hadn’t known about. Vlad could feel the fire in his core starting to overlap itself in desperation to break free.

“You left me to die.” A voice whispered in his ear and Vlad flinched away. “You didn’t even look back and left.” The voice rang through his other ear then echoed away. Vlad let out a yell as he tried to pull his arms away from whatever was holding him back but water silenced him and for once he felt a feeling he only ever felt as a child. Complete and utter fear. It only grew stronger in the bit of his stomach when he heard the voice again in his ear. In rustic old German, the voice told him, “Now you will stay here with me.”

The hand on his chest pushed through his being and began to crush his core threatening to pull it out. Vlad had never felt pain like this as his soul and core shook erratically trying to free itself. Licks of fire shot from his chest trying to burn the hand away but the damage being dealt did nothing to stop it. Like embers being touched by slow droplets of water the fire inside him started to dwindle. The energy inside him drained with each painful pull through his chest. If this was what it felt like to die again as a ghost then this was hell. Vlad could feel himself about to pass out as he still tried to fight a losing battle and within seconds he lost.

The hand on his chest had nearly been successful pulling Vlad apart until it was blasted away. Another shot was fired and all the bonds on Vlad were broken allowing the older halfa to float away. Danny used his powers to make himself as bright as possible to see what was happening, the sight in front of him made his core uneasy for a moment before he was able to assist. To pull the core out of a ghost was ripping it apart to nothing but its basics. He didn’t need to see the faces Vlad made to know the man was on the brink of death. Danny didn’t know where to attack as the ghost he was looking for was nowhere in sight. So with quick thinking, he swam over to Vlad’s unconscious body and took hold of it. Somehow Vlad was still able to stay in his ghost form but Danny knew that wouldn’t be for long. They had to get out of here before they both ended up stuck at the bottom of a pond.

When Danny broke through the water with Vlad on his back he took the biggest breath his lungs could handle. He brought them both to the bank of the pond and flung Vlad over before crawling out himself.

“G-god you fucking owe me,” Danny coughed out as he tried his hardest to clear the water from his lungs. He pushed himself over to sit on his butt to catch the last bit of his breath as he watched the water. He knew she was still down there, he could feel her looking back at him with anger for stopping her. Whatever Vlad had done to her Danny was now in the way and she would be coming after him as well. The young phantom could only hope when she attacked again it wouldn’t be in the advantage of any bodies of water. Maybe he should have taken the underwater meditation classes with Sam.

“Come on, fruit loop, we have to get out of here.” Danny slowly got to his feet and reached down to pick up Vlad. After a few minutes of readjusting the other Danny was able to safely fly them away from the island. The whole time Danny could feel that Vlad was cold. Normally the man was annoyingly warm and had a constant fireplace in his chest that didn’t shut up. The fire inside was still there but it was so small and as much as Danny told himself he didn’t care. He would rather not carry a dead man back home. When Danny made it back through the water wall and into the ghost zone he thought of the quickest way back to either his portal or Vlad’s. Of course, the Fenton portal would be a lot closer but that meant having to fly past others and them seeing what was going on. That also meant having to explain why Vlad was knocked out on the basement floor to anyone still home. With a sigh and a huff from the heavy load, Danny decided on Vlad’s portal being the best option for privacy.

When they finally made it to Vlad’s home Danny quickly shut the portal doors. He then drug the man up through the house and to any nearby bedroom whether it was his or not. As soon as he plopped him down Vlad turned back to his human form and let out a ragged breath. Danny felt his shoulders drop as the tension of whether or not Vlad would make it lifted. Danny plopped himself in the nearest chair drained, today...oh wow today was a lot. Danny tried to rethink everything that just happened but his brain quickly shut itself down. He could feel a headache starting to pick up and Danny rubbed his temple. He looked back over to Vlad who was now curled up on his side. Of course, if there wasn’t too much damage Vlad’s healing factor would kick in, however, that meant Vlad would be asleep for a day or two. Danny knew what it was like to have himself split in two but never to have his core crushed and ripped out while whole.

Danny has stuck around for two hours to make sure Vlad was safe in his own house before deciding he had to get back home. He knew Dani would have a laundry list of questions ready for him as well as Jazz. Then on top of that, he had to tell Tucker and Sam before they found out from someone else- likely Dani. Danny slipped through the floor and opened the portal, he set the timer to close in ten seconds then slipped through. Danny could only hope that as soon as Vlad was able to wake up they both could sit down and figure out who and why this ghost was here. But for the rest of this flight, Danny cleared his mind and enjoyed the nothingness.

Back at Vlad’s the portal began to close as instructed to with a red light indicating it. As the last few seconds rolled by, the portal stalled as purple sparks shot through its system, shutting it down. A wet foot stepped through then a hand pulling the ghost the rest of the way through. Screens flashed with the words intruder trying to tell the owner of the house but they were quickly dealt with. Slowly the ghost walked further into the basement bewildered by what she saw. She then saw a faint string of red mist floating above her and looked up towards the ceiling.

She had finally found him.

#📖Ghost Stories👻#my writing #vlad masters #Danny Phantom #stupid fucking fight scenes #stupid fucking ghost lore #stupid me for writing this asdfghj #self ship #Secrets of The Lake #dp fanfic

3 notes · View notes

stariousfalls · 4 years

Link

A/N: Had a conversation with a friend (@fallen-gravity) over different canon divergence situations in Gravity Falls, and felt determined to write something angsty. I miss Gravity Falls a lot, haha.

Characters: Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Ford Pines, Bill Cipher

Word Count: ~2500

Summary: Canon Divergence of DAMVTF where Mabel decides to not give the rift to Bill and runs off. And Bill angrily goes after her, not wanting to miss the chance of taking over the dimension.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A choked sob escaped through her trembling hands as she tried to keep herself quiet.

Would he find her? What would happen when he found her?

She didn’t want to find out the answer to either question. Mabel wished she were back at the shack, talking it out with Dipper and making up with him. She didn’t care if her twin would continue to explain to her why he’d decided to take on an apprenticeship with Ford – she just desperately wanted out of this stressful game of cat and mouse.

She wondered why Bill had gone delirious over some strange ‘makeshift snow globe’ in her brother’s backpack, but whatever the reason was she ran like a bat out of hell. Ran as far as her legs could take her, until they trembled out of control from both fear and fatigue.

Whatever sick intention it was all for, Mabel knew it wasn’t good. The fact that Bill had literally possessed her brother’s body to try and get what he wanted made her question all the more. Something linked to Ford, she assumed. It was difficult for her to come up with an exact reason, as her brother and grunkle never shared any information with her and kept to themselves. So, she was left to fend for herself over an item she didn’t even know the purpose of – other than it being important to Bill.

Mabel continued sitting in place to recollect herself. She wished she could’ve been a part of the loop with Dipper, then maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way; being hunted down by a literal demon.

She had no idea how much time had passed before she heard soft static coming from the backpack.

“Mabel?”

Mabel’s heart fluttered sporadically in her chest.

“D-Dipper?” She choked out softly.

“Mabel, where are you? Mabel!”

She immediately rummaged through the bag and pulled out a walkie talkie – the source of the noise.

“Dipper…” Mabel repeated hoarsely into the device, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“Mabel! Where – “

She heard something snap nearby and panicked, quickly pressing the speak button to silence his rambling. In any other situation Mabel would be floored to hear Dipper’s voice, but under these circumstances she didn’t want to be found. Her body shook uncontrollably at the thought of Bill finding her.

She took a deep, shaky breath before responding. “D-Dipper…I can’t talk right now, I-I – “

“Mabel, I’m so sorry about what I said earlier! Please come back to the shack! We can work things out, I – “

The young girl released a quivering sob at the sound of his frantic pleas over the intercom. She inwardly pleaded with her brother that he’d get the hint and stop his attempts of trying to reach her.

“Dipper, please!” Mabel softly cried, heartrate spiking at the thought of Bill picking up on her location. “I-I can’t come back to the shack right now.”

“Mabel, where are you? If you refuse to come back, I’m coming to get you!”

The sound of footsteps trekked close. Mabel’s breath hitched in her throat as she fumbled with the talking device, trying to desperately turn it off. She continued to tremble in fear.

Was Bill nearby? Had she given away her whereabouts? Or was she just imagining things?

“Mabel!”

She whimpered.

“W-What do I do?” She asked herself, tears streaming down her face.

The only thing her instincts manage to scream at her was; keep running.

Mabel tightened her grip on the walkie talkie and bolted out of her hiding spot, unintentionally leaving the backpack behind. She didn’t dare to look back when she heard something picking up speed behind her like some wild animal chasing its prey.

She hoped she still had enough energy left to outrun him.

“Mabel, you need to tell us where you are, please.”

Her eyes widened. “Grunkle Ford?” She whispered in reply, briefly glancing down to the device.

“I-I don’t…I don’t know where I am!” She wailed out between breaths, finally glancing back to see a pair of wild, glowing yellow eyes staring her down. “Help me!! Dipper! Grunkle Stan!! Grunkle Ford – “

Mabel yelped like a kicked puppy when she tripped over a root, plummeting to the cold ground.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ford picked up on Mabel’s erratic behavior when Dipper tried to communicate with her. She sounded quiet, shaky, and in a way…desperate? She refused to come back to shack, which he at first understood with her being upset. However, a part of him told him – something was wrong. Normally a child would be more vocal when being stubborn and distressed. This didn’t appear to be the case with Mabel. A bad feeling pooled in the pit of his stomach.

He eventually pried the walkie talkie out of his grand-nephew’s hands to try and speak with her.

“Mabel, you need to tell us where you are, please.” He pleaded into the intercom.

“Grunkle Ford?”

Her hoarse voice pulled at Ford’s heartstrings. Something was definitely wrong.

“I-I don’t…I don’t know where I am! Help me!! Dipper! Grunkle Stan!! Grunkle Ford – ”

Frantic thoughts flooded Ford’s mind at the sound of his grand-niece’s screaming and sobbing. She sounded like she was in immense pain. His grip tightened on the walkie talkie. What happened to her?

A familiar maniacal laugh rung out of the device’s speaker.

“You’re too late, Sixer!”

Ford instantly felt his blood run cold. It’s like he knew he was there on the other line.

“Leave her alone, Cipher!” He spat out, anger boiling over the fear at the thought of Bill tormenting his grand-niece.

Ford hears a mix between sobs of agony and irritable growls spewing out of the walkie talkie. What was going on? He waited for Bill to bite back, gloating over the fact that the fate of the universe was now within his grasp. However, what he wasn’t expecting was a threat.

“The clocks ticking, Ford. Be here in an hour or Shooting Star won’t live to see another day. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Ford hightailed it into the woods without a second thought, with Dipper not far behind him. He sure as hell didn’t know where Mabel was being held at Bill’s mercy, but that wasn’t going to stop him from finding her in time. He was a man of science, but that didn’t deter him from desperately pleading to any godly entity out there to spare his grand-niece’s life while he rushed through the underbrush of the forest.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mabel screamed when Bill roughly yanked her body off the ground by her hair.

“No! Let me go!!” Mabel shrieked in horror, trying to wriggle herself out of his grasp.

Maniacal laughter bubbled out of the mouth of the body he possessed, eyes gleaming with glee. He picked up the walkie talkie off the ground with a snicker.

“You’re too late, Sixer!” He mocked into device, grin widening at the thought of Ford’s horror-struck face.

“Leave her alone, Cipher!”

Before he had the chance to rub his victory further into Ford’s face, he realized (upon further inspection) that the rift was nowhere to be found. His grip tightened around the child’s hair, knuckles turning white.

Mabel cried out in pain when she felt a violent tug at her hair.

“Where’s the rift, Shooting Star?!” He snarled angrily at her.

She could only begin to tremble and sob in response to the yelling and the rough treatment.

Bill let out an irritable growl into the walkie talkie. “The clocks ticking, Ford. Be here in an hour or Shooting Star won’t live to see another day. Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Dipper...” she choked out before succumbing to the pain, body going limp.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How long had they been running for? Ford had no idea, but the burning in his legs told him he’d probably been doing so for a while now. His mind screamed at him to keep going, but his body told him otherwise – giving out on him, causing him to stagger down to the ground briefly to catch his breath. All the injuries and strain he endured from earlier were catching up to him.

Damn this accursed old body, he thought to himself.

Dipper in the meantime paced back and forth in front of Ford, distressing over the thought of never finding his sister and assuming the worst. A wave of overwhelming guilt washed over him and his breaths came out short and frantic.

“This is all my fault! I should’ve talked to Mabel about everything before making any decisions. I didn’t even consider Mabel’s feelings, I – “

“No, Dipper,” Ford’s voice is soft, almost childlike. “The blame should all be on me. I’m the one who was the initial cause of all this mess. If it wasn’t for me making the mistake of trusting Bill decades ago, none of this would be happening.”

He noticed the forest around them getting darker. The sun was going down. They were running out of time.

“We need to keep going in order to find Mabel.”

They continue on in a jog, the fastest speed that Ford was capable of at the moment. The paranoia and adrenaline fueled him, pushing him forward.

That was until he heard a piercing cry echo through the woods.

“Time’s almost up, Ford!” Bill’s cutthroat voice rang.

Thank God they were nearby. Before Ford had the chance to say anything else Dipper bolted in the direction of his sister’s scream.

“Dipper!”

Ford followed his grand-nephew.

When they finally catch up to Mabel, they find her trying to wriggle free from her captor – eyes flashing menacingly down at her. Ford felt a cold shiver run down his spine when he made eye contact with the man that Bill currently possessed.

Bill let go of Mabel with a poised shrug. “Took you long enough, Sixer. You’re lucky I’m in such a good mood today – with me being on the brink of taking over your dimension!” He sneered, taking immense satisfaction in the looks of shock on Ford’s and Pine Tree’s faces. “I can’t thank you enough for holding onto your resentment towards your brother and tearing your family apart!”

Before Mabel had the chance to get away, Bill took hold of her hair once more and forcefully yanked her like a rag doll down onto the ground. She squeaked in agony when he rammed his foot onto her back, anchoring her body against the earth.

“Now that we’re all comfortable – where’s the rift?”

“What?” Dipper asked.

The boy twin flinched at the sound of a metal click. Dipper watched Bill aim a loaded gun right at his sister’s head in horror. That surely got his full attention.

“Let me ask again. Now that I have your attention,” Bill growled, slightly pulling back on the trigger. “Where’s the rift?”

Dipper must’ve hesitated too long for Bill’s sanity. His patience grew thinner and thinner by every second and began to count down. He’d gotten this far, and he wasn’t going to throw away the golden opportunity at taking over this dimension.

“Five!”

“We can’t!”

“Four!”

“We don’t have it!”

“LIARS! THREE!”

“Bill! Leave her out of this!!” Ford bellowed.

“TWO!”

“We’re not lying!” Dipper cried out desperately, tears streaming down his face. “I swear we don’t have it! Don’t hurt my sister! Please, I’m begging you!”

“ONE – “

“I-I left it behind! I didn’t do it on purpose, but I-I must’ve left it where I was hiding nearby – “

Mabel went silent when she heard the abrupt gunshot and watched her life flash before her eyes. Without breaking eye contact with Ford, Bill gestured out in the direction he chased Mabel in earlier before pointing the gun back to her head.

“Find it.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moments later the two come rushing back, rift in tow and willing to hand over. They weren’t going to take any chances trying to reason with a maniacal demon that held Mabel at gunpoint. As much as Ford didn’t want Bill taking over their dimension, the lives of the kids were more important.

“Hand over the rift, Ford – or say goodbye to your niece.”

Ford didn’t hesitate. Even if the world came to an end, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he were the one to cause his grand-niece’s early demise. Despite becoming the bringer of the apocalypse, he’d do anything to keep the kids safe. Whether he had the kids go into hiding with Stan for the rest of their lives or figure out a way to fix the problems he inadvertently caused. He’d do whatever it takes.

The guilt will reside in him for the rest of his life over every mistake he made that led up to this moment.

“Under one condition.” Ford narrowed his eyes. “You let Mabel go and leave the kids alone.”

Bill’s grin returned. “Fine.”

Ford shamefully handed over the rift without a second thought. The demon’s grin widened in glee, reveling in the feel of victory as his fingers drummed over the cracked glass of the containment unit.

“Now let her go, Cipher.” He growled.

Mabel immediately bolted towards her family the moment Bill lifted his weight off of her, desperate to get away from danger. Ford watched her run in his direction and kneeled down to catch her in his arms.

His hold on her tightened when he heard Mabel start to sob into his chest. Out of all the mistakes he made, he deeply regretted keeping his secrets away from Mabel. He only wanted to keep her and Stan safe (even though he wouldn’t admit it to him personally), assuming they didn’t have any interest in his past or what he was caught up in. He was a fool. Stan may not have been aware of Bill Cipher but looking back he remembered; Mabel already had history with him just like Dipper.

Man, he was such an utter fool.

The sentimental moment was interrupted at the sound of something shattering and distorted laughter. Ford’s breath hitched in fear. This was it. The end of the world, and his family had a front row seat to witness it.

Ford flinched when he felt something tug at his coat, and saw Dipper gravitating over to him. All they could do was hopelessly watch Bill bring forth the apocalypse.

“At last! At long, long last! The gateway between worlds has opened! The event one billion years prophesized has finally come to pass! The day has come! The world is finally mine!” Bill laughed maniacally as the unconfined rift teared reality into the Nightmare Realm.

With a gesture of his hand Bill used his powers to forcefully rip Mabel out of her grunkle’s grasp. Ford watched her body glow pink and float away from him in horror.

“No!”

“Dipper! Grunkle Ford!”

With a snap of a finger Mabel went unconscious, continuing to be whisked away. In an instant her body was surrounded by some strange pink bubble etched with a shooting star symbol and chains, and with another snap of the demon’s fingers she was gone.

Trying to process what just happened and witnessing his sister’s disappearance right before his eyes, he could only cry out in despair and frustration.

“Mabel!”

#gravity falls #mabel pines #dipper pines #ford pines #bill cipher #gf fanfiction #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fanfic #gf fanfic #my fanfics #grunkle ford #great uncle ford #stanford pines

38 notes · View notes

he-is-mine-i-am-his-blog · 3 years

Text

Wild geese 5/18

Fandom: Painter of the Night

Pairing: Baek Nakyum/Yoon Seungho

Ratings: M

Word count: ~1900 words

Story summary: When Nakyum enters an arranged marriage with Lord Seungho, he does expect to find himself in a situation where he does, fighting for his life. ***An arranged marriage AU, set in the Joseon period like the canon.

Warnings: This story contains graphic depictions of violence. These scenes are not terribly gory, excessive, pointless, and violence is not glorified in anyway. I will not give warnings with specific chapters as not to spoil the plot.

Read below or on AO3.

***

Nakyum is sitting behind Seungho on top of his horse. They ride silently. Not a single word has been exchanged between them since they set on their journey.

With a light hand on Seungho’s shoulder, he holds onto him to keep himself steady. He does not dare to sit closer to his husband, to lean against him, even if he craves for the comfort of closeness more than ever. It is not his to have now.

There are tears streaming down Nakyum’s cheeks. They do not ease the further they get in their journey. They continue to fall because they can do so now as his face is hidden from all. He cries in complete silence if only to hide his sorrow too.

His accident had put the hunt to a halt. After they had determined that Nakyum survived it largely unharmed, despite the dangerous situation, their attention turned on his mare.

She was not as fortunate.

More tears well into his eyes at the memory of his horse, and he can’t quite keep quiet. A sob escapes his lips before he can swallow it down.

When it became clear that she had severely damaged one of her legs, that she could no longer walk, that she could no longer even get up from the muddy bank, the decision was made. It rushed in with blinding clarity. There was only one humane option. They could only end her suffering, as there was no way for her to walk, there was no way for her to heal from an injury as serious as hers.

The mood at the hunt was dampened by what took place, as this was not a death any of them were keen to witness.

The elder master Yoon had ridden to see what happened. He looked at his son silently, as the horse was freed from its misery. It was Seungho, who then decided to bring Nakyum back, so that the rest of them could finish the hunt. Nakyum was clearly too shaken to continue, even if they could get him another horse. Seungho’s father had just nodded at his son, and so, they left the forest, the two of them on the road back.

Nakyum’s tears only cease when they must, when they near the Yoon residence.

As they arrive at the stables, Seungho swings his leg over and hops off the horse. He turns back to Nakyum and helps him off the horse too, his hands wide and firm on his waist.

His hands stay on Nakyum, even after his feet find the solid ground. One hand lingers at his side, another comes to hold his shoulder.

For a moment, they stay so close to each other there, when neither of them steps back. They remain silent. Nakyum has his eyes lowered, his head bowed down, although Seungho must be watching him now. He must see the red eyes and the tear-stained cheeks.

Nakyum cannot meet his gaze.

The pain of what happened is still too fresh and vivid, too heavy on his mind.

Seungho then turns away, and he hands over the reins to a servant who had come to greet them. He grabs Nakyum’s hand blindly, and Nakyum winces as a sharp ache lances his wrist, but he bites down the pained yelp.

Stalking towards the house, Seungho begins to drag him behind. It isn’t until they are in the middle of the courtyard that Nakyum tugs against the hold.

Seungho stops and spins around to look at him.

There is still that fire in his eyes, even if it has morphed into something that Nakyum can’t quite understand.

“Stupid,” Seungho spits out as if he can no longer keep the words in, “So horribly irresponsible.”

Nakyum has to lower his head again only to avert his eyes. He feels like crying, but he will not allow himself to break down in front of his husband. He refuses to do so.

“A horse died because of your actions,” Seungho says, “You should have not participated in the hunt if you can’t even ride!”

Nakyum flinches at the words.

He is not as skilled of a rider as the others are, he knows.

He had not grown up like Seungho – or any of the other noblemen had – with the freedom to go gallivanting in the forest on horseback whenever he wanted. He had learned to ride, only because they were one of the few commoners in their village to even afford a horse. He had learned!

He was not as good as a nobleman would be, he knows, but he could ride.

Still, the words bring tears to his eyes. They do because they rush at him with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

He thinks of his mare, of the way that she had looked lying on the bank. Her mouth was foaming, her eyes rolled up, her voice so pained when she tried to rise from where she had fallen. He thinks of how she had acted before and during the hunt, how she had seemed agitated, how she had not seemed herself.

Nakyum shouldn’t have gone. He shouldn’t have pushed her as he did.

“I hope you are proud of yourself.”

The words hurt, even if Seungho’s tone has lost its heat.

Nakyum can’t stay, he can’t listen anymore.

He turns on his heels and scurries off the courtyard.

He goes directly to his private sleeping quarters. The door has barely had time to close behind him before he tumbles down on the floor and cries. He lifts a hand to his chest, clutching at the jacket, because it hurts. It hurts too much.

***

Nakyum cries hard, slumped down on the floor of his sleeping quarters. The stormy waves of his sobs rack his body. The violence of his sorrow is quick to pass though, burned out by the intensity of it.

The last of the tears are falling down his cheeks when he hears the careful knock.

He hesitates for a moment, until he gets on his feet. He wipes with the edge of his sleeve. It is in vain, he knows, given that anyone could tell he had cried just looking at him.

When he opens the door, he finds Seungho’s personal servant at the doorstep. His eyes are cast down, the look on his face solemn.

“I heard what happened,” he says quietly, “I have come to see how you are doing.”

When the older man lifts his eyes, Nakyum has to look away. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he can speak at all, so he doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t even invite him in. He just leaves the door open, as he walks over to sit down on the mat in the middle of the room.

He lowers his eyes, he hangs his head in shame. It’s enough that the nobles knew, but now the servants did too.

Mr Kim hesitates, but he then approaches Nakyum and asks, “Are you okay?”

The question is only met by silence.

The older man looks at him for a moment, until he places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it lightly. When he is given no further reaction, he sighs.

With tender touches, he examines Nakyum again to confirm that he is not physically hurt. His careful attention has tears welling in Nakyum’s eyes.

When the older man reaches down the right forearm to examine it too, Nakyum flinches and tries to pull away. He had felt the pain blooming in the wrist before, in the forest, and again at the stables when Seungho had gripped it. It felt nothing compared to the heartbreak inside his chest though.

“I will call for a doctor to come and see your wrist, Sir.”

“No,” Nakyum says determinately, looking down at the hand lying limp in his lap.

He doesn’t want it to be looked at, to be treated either. This can serve as a punishment for what he has done, what he has caused with his carelessness.

Mr Kim sighs again, sitting back on his legs, where he has kneeled in front of Nakyum.

“Sir, it really would be best if this is seen by a doctor. It could be injured wor-“

“No!” Nakyum says again louder this time.

His eyes snap up to meet the servants. He means his words to be heard, to be listened and respected.

The older man looks at him for a moment, before he nods. He gets up silently and leaves the room. The door left ajar in his wake.

Nakyum is alone again.

He looks to his side.

The silence of the room is oppressing, heavy. It only adds to the heaviness in his heart. He can’t help but feel guilty, to feel hurt, to feel so much more than that.

Staring towards the closed windows, he can’t help but think of what happened.

He thinks of how it was not right, how none of it was right. He thinks of how she had not acted like herself even when they were just leaving the residence.

She was a mature mare, well trained, that did not get easily agitated or spooked, except today she had.

It is not his fault. It should not have been his fault.

And then, Nakyum’s eyes fall on the pillow on the floor by the windows.

He remembers the snake that they had discovered in his room, the snake that was not supposed to be there. Just as the horse that was not supposed to get agitated and try to throw him off, without much of reason – with no reason at all.

The air is stolen from his lungs by the sudden realization.

None of it was an accident, none of it was a coincidence.

Someone wants him hurt, someone wants him dead.

It is then that he hears the quiet exchange outside his door. He doesn’t see, he doesn’t hear much at all. He can only make out the words spoken by the familiar voice of Mr Kim.

“… best if I do, Master,” he says, “He’ll be okay, I assure you.”

When the man returns to the room, he has a small basket with him. He closes the door behind him before he rejoins Nakyum, placing the basket on the floor beside him.

He is gentle as he removes Nakyum’s outer clothes. He then takes the injured wrist in his hands. Nakyum doesn’t stop him this time. He only watches him silently, as he sets on his work.

He binds the wrist carefully, using a few smooth pieces of wood for support, adding padding and binding it tightly with long strips of cotton.

“It was probably scary what happened to you,” the older man finally says, his voice soft and kind, “It’s okay to feel fear. It must’ve been scary for others, too, seeing you get in such a terrible accident.”

Nakyum looks at the servant silently. He knows he shouldn’t tell anyone, he knows he shouldn’t trust anyone, but after a moment of silence between them, he speaks the words.

“Not an accident,” he says, so quietly that it can barely be heard.

Mr Kim’s hands still. He lifts his eyes to meet Nakyum’s, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Nakyum knows he shouldn’t tell anyone, but he can’t help but confide in this older man who reminds him of his own father.

“It was not an accident.”

#potn #painter of the night #potn fic #potn fic: wild geese

11 notes · View notes

phanlight · 3 years

Text

Imagine Living Like a King Someday

prompt: Southview Boarding School isn’t a castle and Phil Lester isn’t royalty, but he has everything. His father owns the school, he’s popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – there are very few things that aren’t handed to him on a platter. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Everyone seems to take an aversion to the outsider, including Phil (at first).

[CHAPTER MASTERPOST]

me thinkin i’d cleared this fic up w the last chapter til i re-read a bunch of it and HOOOOO BOI why was i so obsessed with plot twists without the fkin plot

I am determined to make this all add up and work together but it may take a few chapters also I still have no idea how this is going to end LOL

[ao3 link]

Southview owns a lot of land.

It spreads out in blanketed acres of green, field upon forest upon meadow; miles of emerald patchwork. The building itself, founded somewhere in the fourteenth century apparently, makes up only a fraction of the private greenery Phil has been calling home for the past decade.

Habitatually speaking, it’s impressive. To be able to call such rich halls, such polished corridors and winding mahogany stairs, ever spiraling further and further below his house, his own dwelling; is something he struggles to grasp. He supposes every other student currently residing here may find some relation to a certain degree – but to look at a winding cobbled path and every single brick completing every wall, to name the clock tower chiming every high-clouded noon into existence anything remotely of an heirloom – isn’t anything his soul will allow him to process. He doesn’t see it changing anytime soon.

He stares at the wall-to-wall bookshelves lining every corridor brimming with ancient knowledge, medieval tales and just about every participle of the literary canon. There are strict rules against removing any books from their respective shelves with dire consequences if unobliged (absolutely ridiculous, Phil thinks – who in their right mind would consider reading a punishable offence? They’re there to be read.) He and Dan had taken it upon themselves to create a discreet enough rule-breaking method; choosing the dead of night to tiptoe through long, hallowed corridors devoid of light and sound and people and life, all whispers and giggles and cold interlocked fingers, sleepy eyes scanning fraying ladders of spines, whispered-yet-echoey assessments over which would be least missed for however many hours.

The candles up above, though only illuminated during the seasonal months, drip hardened wax onto the stone walls covering every inch of interior; something he otherwise never would have seen anywhere else in this time, let alone place. The beams hang dark and gnarled, curving across every roof with chapel-like grace.

He’s lucky, and he knows it.

Why, then, does he feel like a bird in a cage? Why can he sense the wings, feathered promises of freedom, hit against iron bars whenever he outstretches? This place is becoming too small, he decides. Seven years walking the same grounds, with the same windows and the same views no matter how creative he gets with his detours. The same faces, same conversations with all the same values; with only sporadic weeks of the outside world in between.

He wonders what he would have done had Dan not entered the scene. Wherever the place in his mind, he knows madness would reside. He only feels a breath away from it now.

He blames it on his surroundings, pushing down the rise of unease that jumps through his stomach. It’s got to be that.

It doesn’t subside.

“Are you okay?” he hears a voice soften beside him.

He can’t lie. Not to Dan.

He shuts his eyes and realizes he’s been staring at that Oscar Wilde painting for way too long. The afterimage burns his retina in every shade of negative. His hair deep black on canvas now chalk white behind the eyelids. His eyes look like caves.

“I don’t know,” is the closest to the truth he can get. “I feel weird.”

Dan’s entire stance changes. Concern floods his eyes and he’s suddenly upright

“Why? What’s up?”

“I don’t-…” he shakes his head in defeat. “I really don’t know. That’s why I’m so-…” his racing mind interrupts him. So what? So comfortable, yet so ill at ease? It makes no sense.

This should be bliss. Curled up on a beanbag with his favourite person somewhere on the third floor of the library behind a wooden disguise of bookshelves and tall tables. Their ‘spot’ lies in a convenient nook no other soul seems to have yet discovered – a definite perk of being the son of the owner is having premium, extensive knowledge of every single crack and avenue this place has to offer; surveillance included.

That’s how the undercroft became a meeting point in the first place, Phil suddenly remembers as his stomach falls through three stone library floors.

It was him.

He had come up with the idea. He had planned the safest night-time route, locating every surveillance camera and possible risky window. And he, funnily enough, was the one who had spent an hour talking the three of them into it to begin with – if he strains his mind far back enough he can recall even Liam having doubts. Many of them, actually.

“Come on,” a harsher, younger and definitely more obnoxious version of himself had urged.

“No way,” Liam was the first to say. Freddie and Violet hadn’t been overly keen, but it was Liam who was adamant.

He feels sicker.

“What’s bothering you?” Dan closes the book they were giggling at no longer than forty seconds ago and turns his attention completely to him.

His heart is thudding now. He hasn’t given any of that any thought whatsoever since it happened; all anxiety surrounding the situation having been newly dissipated by evenings of laughter and love and-

Had it been dissipated? Or merely masked? Ignorance by will or by proxy?

“Phil?”

Had he spent all these passing months pointing fingers, dodging the blame, deflecting everything like a house of mirrors when this whole thing, this entire time, had actually been his fault?

He snaps out of himself and realizes it’s Emily Dickinson now burning behind the eyelids.

It’s too much. Even the oil portraits, beautiful as they are (and original too, allegedly), are all the same faces. It’s all the fucking same.

“We need to get out of here.”

Dan frowns. “Huh?”

“We need to get out of here,” he repeats, and stands up immediately. The book that was on his lap catapults to the floor, landing outstretched in a papery mess.

“Wait-“ Dan scrabbles around behind him, rescuing the book and smoothing out the newly crumpled pages. His own expression creases a little with the paper.

Phil doesn’t. He can’t. His vision is a tunnel and it’s only blind panic propelling him forward, past shelves and students and voices he can only barely decipher. Every cell in his body, every single drop of blood and beat of his heart is drilling the same message into his mind.

Get out.

It’s only until he feels the slap of winter air against his damp forehead he realizes he’s outside. He stops sweating and starts shivering, clutching the corner of the stone wall as if gravity be seconds away from disappearing and flinging him into the night sky.

His chest feels like lead. Each breath comes heavy, deep; never quite enough despite each gasp filling up his lungs like he’s drowning on air alone. His stomach feels like someone has clawed it out with blunt, bare fingers.

The huge door flaps open and a tiny figure runs out.

He can barely see. His vision still exists in blobs and grains, like someone turned up the contrast too much but also turned it right down completely. What’s happening to him?

“I’m sorr-“ he gasps, but Dan hushes him.

“Focus on your breath,” his voice is calm but firm. He’s unaware of the soft grip on either shoulder until he sees two arms outstretched in front of him.

Phil tries to, but each gasp gets stuck in his throat.

“In through the nose, out through the mouth,” Dan guides him, demonstrating. Each breath seems so smooth, so calculated. Phil doesn’t want to think how often he’s had to do this.

His heart is still hammering, but he manages to comply.

“Imagine you’re blowing on a candle,” Dan continues. “But don’t blow it out.”

It’s a challenge to focus when his mind is running one million mines a minute, but Phil shuts his eyes and eventually the swirling grain begins to subside. He’s still breathing way too hard and it’s probably enough to blow out a ninety-seventh birthday cake, but Dan’s encouragement doesn’t waver.

“You’re getting there,” he says, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze before dropping his grip completely. “Are you okay with that, by the way?” he gestures toward his hands. “Fuck, sorry- I should have asked- but when I’m having a panic attack it usually helps to keep me like-… centred.”

“No, it’s-…” Phil releases a shaky breath. “It helps. Thank you,” his eyes flutter shut when he feels two warm hands on his shoulder. He’s already feeling a fraction calmer.

“No need to thank me,” Dan says, his voice like velvet.

His eyes fly open. “Panic attack?”

Dan’s own are soft. “I think that’s what you’re having.”

His heart is still thudding, but at a marginally dropped pace. He’s never experienced anything like that before. Shit, is that what it’s like?

His vision has almost completely cleared; certainly enough to make out Dan’s silhouetted form in the amber glow of the lamp post.

“Is this really what you go through?” his voice is reedy, hoarse. All he can focus on is the boy inches away from his face.

Dan nods quietly. “Can be up to five times a day. Once it was twenty.”

He feels like crying. However much adrenaline there had been ripping through his veins had melted away; albeit only slightly, but the thought alone of this being a daily endeavor makes him want to physically remove his central nervous system himself. The thought of enduring such pain not only on a daily basis but multiple, only to emerge with a smile and with enough capacity to help others with the same issue-

Dan is an angel.

He doesn’t deserve him, his mind cries. He really doesn’t. He doesn’t.

“Deep breaths,” he reminds him, and it’s only then he realizes he’s hyperventilating again.

“Fuck,” he curses, slowing his chest down. He remembers the candle and closes his eyes again.

“You’re doing great,” Dan whispers when his breathing softens. “You’ve only blown out about seven this time. You’re on your eighth.”

He huffs out a shaky laugh, his heart melting into a puddle. As if he’d been counting.

“Ah,” Dan grins. “Maybe ninth, now.”

“Thank you,” he sighs, still trembling. He can’t tell if it’s temperature or panic-related anymore, but he doesn’t think he cares. He doesn’t have the capacity to right now.

“Come on,” Dan pulls him into a hug, arms wound tight around the waist as if there be no intention, no need to let go. “You’re okay.”

“How can you deal with that?” he says, not bothering to mask the crack in his voice.

“I have my ways,” he says as smoothly as his voice can allow, but Phil feels him gulp. Feels the quick jump of his throat against his shoulder.

The nausea returns.

“Ow, fuck-“ Dan snaps his fingers up from the drawer. “Bastard thing.”

“It wants your fingers more than I do,” Phil mumbles, then coughs on a mouthful of Mountain Dew.

Droplets fly everywhere.

"Phil!” Dan’s jaw drops when a few darken his trousers. He’s more than used to the other boy’s frequent laughter at his own jokes, but that one wasn’t even funny. “For fuck’s sake. So not only am I in pain, I’m wet too?”

“In pain and wet?” A voice pops up from around the corner, sending a jolt through the pair of them. “Phil, you naughty bastard, what have you been doing to the poor guy?”

“Oh, you f-“ Phil clutches his chest, his heart hammering. “Are you ever going to stop doing that? I had my first panic attack today. I don’t want another.”

“You’re saying that like it isn’t my plan,” Noah raises an eyebrow and slides past.

“Come in,” Phil gestures sarcastically.

“Leave your door open,’ he retaliates with equal sarcasm, blowing him a kiss. He plops himself down on the revolving chair and takes a token spin. He’s frowning on the other end of the 360 degrees, the other half of the sentence only just registering. “Shit, are you okay? What brought it on?”

“I am now,” Phil’s eyes flicker to the other company, mopping his trousers with a clump of tissue. “Dan got me through.”

He doesn’t deliberately avoid the latter question, but it’s certainly no accident.

“Candle trick works wonders, I’m telling you,” Dan says without turning around, still dabbing at the stain.

“It does,” Noah agrees, picking up Phil’s empty pen holder. He usually lasts a record of ten whole seconds in his room before finding something nearby to fiddle with. “It got me through the Death of a Salesman production, that’s for sure. Christ, I was a mess,” he shudders. “The four-seven-eight trick is good, too,” he adds.

“Four seconds in, hold for seven, exhale for eight,” the other boy echoes. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. You press your tongue on the roof of your mouth just behind your teeth, too.”

“Really?” Phil’s eyes dart between the pair of them. Is this something he’s going to have to get used to?

“It’s meant to recalibrate the nervous system. Apparently Leonardo DiCaprio uses it,” Noah adds.

“Wonder if it would have helped on the Titanic,” Phil raises an eyebrow.

“The fucking boat would have sank anyway,” Noah cackles. “The four-seven-eight is good, but it can’t demolish icebergs, babe.”

“It has its limits,” Dan adds, plopping the tissue in the bin and heading for the bed. A quick "you okay now?" is mouthed as soon as Noah takes another spin on the chair.

Phil nods and gives his hand a little squeeze, praying he hasn’t noticed the sweat.

“So,” Noah spins again, eyes to the ceiling, before muttering a “fuck that” and leaping up off the chair. He stumbles around for a handful of seconds, clutching the desk. “What have you boys been up to, then?”

“What, since this afternoon?” Phil says. He’d only seen him about five hours ago.

“Yeah. Anything could have happened,” Noah replies, dizzily plonking himself down on the bed next to Dan with such force the shorter boy bobs upward. Phil splutters.

“That was- oh my god, that was adorable,” he gasps delightedly. “Do it again.”

Dan glares at him, fighting a smirk. “Shut up. No, don’t do it again.”

“Do what again?” Noah glances between them. “I don’t even know what I did.”

“Did you not see that?” Phil widens his eyes. “Oh my god. When you bounce down like that,“ he giggles, ignoring Dan’s “no, shall we not” – “Dan’s like a feather, so he literally defies gravity.”

“Hah,” Noah springs upward and launches himself down with about three times the force as before. Dan catapults up, starfished in the air for about a second before hurtling down on the mattress.

Noah and Phil hoot with laughter. Dan’s doubled over in stitches, clutching his abdomen. He can feel tears of laughter brimming at his eyelashes and he probably looks in pain right now but really he’s anything but.

He’s so happy it hurts.

“Shit, he really does!” Noah shrieks. “Oh my god, that’s quality. You okay?”

Dan manages to breathe out an ‘I’m fine’, still clutching his stomach. “Holy shit,” he sighs when he gathers enough composure to speak. “’Memory foam’ my arse. The springs under that thing are giant.”

“Or you’re just tiny,” Phil gushes affectionately, combing a hand through Dan’s hair. The feeling of silky waves between every finger are enough to chase away any remaining claws of anxiety, any pegs to his stomach, if just for a moment.

Maybe it is okay. Maybe it is just a product of an overactive mind. He’s been so wound up recently, what with looming examinations and deadlines and just about everything he could really do without so close to Christmas, that maybe it’s manifesting itself oddly.

Maybe.

He doesn’t want to think about it right now. He swallows the feeling down with another mouthful of beer, the bubbles foaming up like lather in his mouth.

“Shut up,” Dan glares at him, rearranging his fringe. “I’m not that short.”

“He’s mini,” Phil jumps back into conversation, as if Noah he can’t see for himself

“Short people deserve compensation for the amount of shit they go through,” Dan mutters, feigning grumpiness, but the shine in his eyes tell Phil it’s difficult to feel anything other than utter bliss.

“Ah, so you admit it!” Phil’s eyes match the light. “You are short.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dan blushes, realizing what he’d insinuated.

“Don’t worry, Dan,” Noah chips in. “Phil’s been the same height since he was about twelve. I remember him in year seven,” he glances at the other boy. “You were terrifyingly tall. But then everyone else caught up.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “Yeah, there I was thinking I was some sort of superhuman. Twelve years of age and almost as tall as my dad. They used to call me Slenderman.”

“He looked like Mike TeeVee at the end of the film,” a giggle ripples through Noah.

“I can’t even imagine what he-” Dan frowns. “Mike who?”

Two jaws drop. Silence.

“You’ve never seen Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?!” Noah spits as if it be as outrageous an exclamation as never visiting Sainsbury’s.

Dan’s eyes dart to Phil, blue eyes wide.

“Not even the original?”

“No, I-…” his eyes flick between the two mirroring expressions. He huffs out a chuckle. “Is this really a big thing? Okay, well I’ve never seen Shrek, while we’re at it.”

A collective groan echoes through the walls.

“You’ve got to be fucking-“

“But it’s a-“

“Please tell me you’ve seen Star-“

“Not Wars, or Trek,” Dan cuts him off. “I don’t even know the difference between the two.”

“Dan, I-…” Noah cuts himself off with a sigh, staring at Phil. “What are we gonna do with him?”

“This is a crime,” Phil shakes his head. “This is actually outrageous.”

“If the most offensive thing I’ve done since arriving here has been not sitting through three hours of an ogre’s life, I’ll definitely take that.”

“Oh don’t you worry,” Noah leaps up off the mattress, grabbing his laptop from the revolving chair. “It’s about six hour’s worth in total.”

“Seven-and-a-half if we count the spin-off,” Phil chips in.

“Do we have to?” Dan whines. “I’m sure I’ll love it, but with all due respect I can’t even sit through films I like sometimes.”

“Are you implying you’ll dislike this?” Phil puts a hand on his chest in mock-offence.

“I said I’m sure I’ll lov-“

“Could watch Star Trek,” a voice pipes up from under the bed. Noah’s folded over to one side, the rustling of a carrier bag apparent. He adds, “not Wars, I can’t stand- Phil stop giving me evils you shit, it’s just not as good.”

Phil’s glare toward his turned back turns into a grin. He knows him too well.

He re-emerges clutching a six-pack of bottled beer, tearing one out of the cardboard and dropping it into Phil’s lap.

“He’s talking shit,” Phil mutters.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Dan smirks. “Star Trek is just Shrek with extra letters.”

“We’re gonna have to culture you up, Dan,” Noah shakes his head, thrusting a bag of popcorn almost the size of his torso in his general direction.

“God, you came prepared,” Phil notes. “It’s almost as if you knew we were both here.”

“I could hear you both from down the corridor,” Noah fires back, before adding “Plus you two are inseparable anyway. If I needed to find you, I’ll find you,” he points at Dan, then at Phil. “And vice-versa.”

Phil and Dan exchange glances. Do they really spend that much time together?

It’s difficult to calculate. They spend time apart, obviously. It’s not as if he’s sat in Maths with Dan pirouetting all over the place with a feather duster, but once are done and the final document has been closed; once the day’s duties are behind him, he can’t say he wouldn’t be found tearing from East wing to West; desperate to drop his workload and swap computer chairs for soft mattresses and lamplight.

They’re melting into each-other, and he can feel it.

Noah smirks, and only says, “We’re performing Alice in Wonderland next week,” his eyes flicker to Dan. “Have you seen that?”

Feedback is always appreciated literally HOW IS THIS pls let me know i haven't posted anything in years i love u all for reading thank u so much

i spent a good 15 minutes attempting to calculate the total running time of the shrek franchise im crying the things i DO i hope its accurate

#phan #phanfic #dnp #dan and phil #phan au #illaks #i posted this to ao3 ages ago but never did here apparently

4 notes · View notes

squidbatts · 4 years

Text

i'm not just a boy (i'm a-)

Your name is Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill and Hallariel Seacaster, grandson of Telemien Lomenelda, co-leader of the Bad Kids, captain of the Aguefort Owlbears, Master of the Hangman, conqueror of Kalvaxis.

or: of fear, duskmoss, and the forest of the nightmare king

((happy fh day, i wrote this while i was crying watching the episode so it Is canon divergent, but i related to fabian’s fears a bit too much to Not write about it))

{ao3}

Your name is Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill and Hallariel Seacaster, grandson of Telemien Lomenelda, co-leader of the Bad Kids, captain of the Aguefort Owlbears, master of the Hangman, conqueror of Kalvaxis.

You take a deep breath as Gorgug lights up the duskmoss, burying your want to chase after Riz because you think that this is the point of the forest, that this is what’s supposed to happen; it scares you, one of your crew running into the forest alone, even more than it scared you when Ragh disappeared. You think that worrying about Riz or Gorgug or Fig or Adaine or Kristen more than your other friends, the hirelings that you dragged on this quest with you, might make you a bad person. You can’t particularly find it in yourself to care.

You feel the smoke settle in your lungs, the fullness of it filling your chest. You hold it in, closing your eyes almost reflexively as it burns in your throat. Something inside you, base and afraid, remembers dragon fire on prom night, the feel of Adaine shaking against your back as you try to outrun Him on the Hangman. You shake the thoughts out of your head and breathe out.

Your name is Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill and Hallariel Seacaster, grandson of Telemien Lomenelda, co-leader of the Bad Kids, captain of the Aguefort Owlbears, Master of the Hangman.

You take another breath in, looking at your friends around you. Their presence is comforting, even though you can nearly feel the air between you all thrumming with nerves.

This summer, when Fig and Gorgug were on tour and Riz was doing detective stuff with the Elmville police and Adaine was working through things with Jawbone, you spent a lot of time alone, and then, a lot of time with the Hangman. You rode around on him to get information about Aelwen and to set up a crew, obviously, but even besides that, there was a lot of free time that led to you jumping on him and going. Going to half-pipes and highways, to bank around sharp corners and through narrow alleyways, to feel the wind on your face as you let your motorcycle run wild; going fast enough that your loneliness and your stress and your worries about your papa couldn’t catch you.

It was a summer of only you, escaping with the Hangman every second that you weren’t training with your mama. Just a fighter and his demonic mount.

You think, as you breathe out, that it suited you, honestly. You still would rather not be alone.

Your name is Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill and Hallariel Seacaster, grandson of Telemien Lomenelda, co-leader of the Bad Kids, captain of the Augefort Owlbears.

Ragh calls you “his QB” sometimes.

You know that’s what he called Dayne, you heard him yell it in the halls often enough to recognize it. You also know that it should unsettle you, that you should ask Ragh to stop or remind him that Dayne fucking Blayde was a douchebag and that you deserve your own moniker, unsullied by having belonged to him as well. You hope that you’re not becoming like Dayne, apathetic and cruel in turns, making people around you hide themselves in order to avoid your ire. It’s a terrifying idea, to become a nightmare creature with blank scarecrow eyes and a cold, shriveled heart.

Still, there’s something about Ragh being so excited that makes you keep all these worries deep inside.

You take a deep breath, feeling your ribs move as your lungs expand. You know that you’ll let Ragh keep calling you his.

Your name is Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill and Hallariel Seacaster, grandson of Telemien Lomenelda, co-leader of the Bad Kids.

You’re not the boss of the Bad Kids. You're all "co-leaders," really, and you make decisions together, for the best of the group. It works best this way, you think. The Bad Kids, your friends, aren’t afraid of you like your papa’s crew was afraid of him, not even a bit. You inhale and remember toddling around the original Hangman, a tiny half-elf with a too-big sword and a sharp need to be great enough for his papa’s legend. The crew smiled after you, but none of them ever got too close for fear of your papa’s mercurial moods.

It was a weird childhood, being the only kid on a ship of pirates, surrounded only by potential playmates that were decades older than you and the unforgiving sea.

In retrospect, you decide that you don’t like to think about it, actually. The past is best left in the past, isn't it?

Fig looks at all of you with dilated pupils and says that she’s going to cast a spell, a third-level Fear to help you all reach the center of the forest just a bit faster. Your hand shakes as you take off your father’s eyepatch and purposefully fail your saving throw. You exhale. You trust the rest of the Bad Kids implicitly.

Your name is Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill and Hallariel Seacaster, grandson of Telemien Lomenelda.

William Seacaster didn’t have any parents.

Or, well, that’s not true, you know that’s not true, because surely he had someone once upon a time, but your father never talked about his own parents.

In the distance, what feels like miles away, Gorgug says something about being afraid and coming for Kristen. You chant along, barely registering the words that you’re saying as you think about how your mama didn’t ever talk about her family either, really, besides one day when she looked at you, eyes strangely clear even as she took a deep gulp of her wine, and said “My father would love to meet you.”

She never introduced you to him back then, landlocked as the forests of the Lomenelda are; the Hangman went many places in your youth, but the Seacaster family wandered only the seas of Spyre, your ship going where the tide and the whispers of riches took you. Once, you thought you saw your mama twisting and twirling on the deck, spinning herself into a tornado under the pale light of the moon. Her hands opened and closed, clutching for something beyond the reach of even a woman as well connected as the beloved wife of the feared pirate Bill Seacaster. You feel like you were never meant to see her like that, but you still can’t keep the image out of your head in quiet, dark moments.

Your name is Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill and Hallariel Seacaster.

Your parents love you.

You’re certain of that, you know that they’ve said it, that you’re their darling boy, that your mama is trying and your papa is dead and your mom is-

Wait. That’s not right.

Your mama is trying, your papa is dead, and Cathilda has always been there for you. Cathilda will always be there for you. You have a father and a mother and a Maid, that’s more than enough, as long as you have them. None of them are in this forest, confusing and dark, with you, though.

You take a deep breath in, the woodsy air filling your body. You look down at yourself, how you fade in and out of visibility. You watch as Adaine disappears between one blink and the next, as Fig tells Gorgug, “We need to find Adaine and Riz and Kristen” and doesn’t mention you at all.

When your hand goes through Gorgug’s shoulder, it’s almost a relief.

Your name is Fabian Aramais Seacaster.

You- You have a family. You have friends. You’re pretty sure that both of these statements are true.

You go to school, probably, unless… unless you live in this forest, in this grim place. You can’t imagine that there’s a school in here and, if you live here, then you must not go to school. Something, in the back of your mind, says that you don’t belong here, but you can’t remember anything before this, so you’re fairly certain that this is your world: you and the grass and the trees, you and the forest, you and nothing.

You take a seat on the cold ground as the world spins around you. You don’t think that the grass even bends against your weight.

Your name is…

Uh.

You know this. This is an easy one. Your name is...

It’s-

Fuck.

You’re-

You're... scared. It comes on you, suddenly, between one breath and the next, and you are so, so scared, more afraid than you ever have been. You don’t really remember being afraid, before, but you know this fear that holds tight to something in your chest is worse than anything you’ve ever felt before, and you hate it. You don’t know why and you don’t know how to stop it. You only know that it’s awful, terrible, and that you must feel it.

You are in a forest. The light is dim and the edges of the path are blurred by overgrown plants. You do not know your own name. You think you must have a name; everyone does, you know that at least.

You are sure you have a name.

You’re also sure, as you look at the blurred and pale outline of your own form, it probably doesn’t matter much anymore, to anyone.

#fantasy high #fantasy high live #fabian seacaster #fabian aramais seacaster #fantasy high spoilers #one shot

38 notes · View notes

alltheworldsinmyhead · 5 years

Photo

MAKE MY MESSES MATTER (MAKE MY CHAOS COUNT)

THE 100 / BELLARKE/ CANON DIVERGENCE SINCE S2 FINALE

AO3

{First letters come when frost finally lets go of the river. / a.k.a. clarke leaves to heal herself; it doesn't mean she abandons anyone }

This fic is dedicated to the best reviewer, best beta and best friend in the entire world - Lana, darling, I don't deserve you <3 <3.

**********************************************************************

I‘ll see you in the future when we’re older

And we are full of stories to be told

Cross my heart and hope to die

I’ll see you with your laughter lines

- Laughter Lines, Bastille

First letters come when frost finally lets go of the river.

It’s not spring yet, and Echo told him not to let anyone get their hopes too high- weather is unpredictable and cold can come back quickly and violently, but – fuck, winter was so hard and now there are flowers blooming in-between ponds of mud and still-remaining snow. People are laughing again, letting yellow light of spring sun kiss their pale, frostbitten faces and Bellamy slowly, very slowly lets himself take a breath. It feels as if he was holding it ever since first snows hit them, when they were so epically unprepared and if it wasn’t for Lincoln, they’d probably all be dead by Winter Solstice (what an irony- Bellamy thinks sometimes, looking at Lincoln wrestling with kids, helping Abby, kissing Octavia- what an irony indeed).

And even with Lincoln, there was nothing easy about those last few months and Bellamy’s hands are calloused and rough from digging too many graves in the frozen ground. And then flu hit them and there were too many bodies to bury, so they burned them instead. He can still almost smell it; this strangely sweet smoke smelling like meat, which was making their empty stomachs growl, which in turn would make them sick.

There was nothing easy from the beginning till the end and the hardest part was that there was a huge hole with jagged edges where Clarke was supposed to be and where she wasn’t, his ‘together’ haunting his dreams and hers ‘you won’t be by yourself’ mocking him over and over again.

But now spring is finally truly coming, days become longer and he manages to sleep more than an hour or two during most nights, so he decides to focus on positives.

Letters come when Bellamy’s on a hunting trip deep in the forests; they are waiting for him in Arkadia along with Echo. She was a frequent visitor during the winter; serving as their link to the situation between clans, telling them all about Lexa’s trial, about the fall of the treaty, about wars coming and ending and beginning ( because all this world is war, war and war, constantly. Never stopping, not even to take a breath). The only thing she wasn’t telling them about is, well.

Clarke.

Bellamy knows Echo knows where Clarke is. Or at least, has a general idea. She slipped it, once or twice, mentioning some ‘Wanheda’ in a tone living legends are spoken about, but the person she described didn’t seem like his Clarke at all. His Clarke was soft eyes and steel turned skin and blood under her fingernails because she was saving somebody, not because she strangled someone with them. His Clarke was hummed lullabies and her father’s worn-out watch and grace with every movement… but his Clarke is gone and he doesn’t know if she’s ever coming back and hearing about new Clarke is too painful, so he’d rather not know anything at all.

Echo is sitting in front of his cabin, eyes closed, facing the sun and well, it turns out that not only Sky People are done with winter. She greets him with a simple nod and tells him that she has something for him. He expects everything, but a small package haphazardly wrapped in some kind of green cloth, smooth under his fingers and tied with a piece of string.

“This went through a long journey”- Echo informs while handing him the bundle. “One of the traveling clans from North brought it to my village, asking if anyone still keeps any kind of contact with Sky People. They really didn’t want to bring it in here themselves. “

Echo draws abstract lines on the fabric of her pants with her index finger, looking down and apparently thinking how to tell him something, while Bellamy fights with an urge to smile grimly. Apart from Echo and Lincoln, they haven’t spotted a single Grounder during winter. Not that Bellamy complained about it- they certainly had enough trouble even without them- but he had found it strange, until he realized that the legend of Clarke is not only a legend of Clarke but also the legend of Sky People- Those Who Burn, he heard Echo saying one time, Those Who Burn everything standing in their way.

(what an irony)

“Just- just open it.”- says Echo eventually, raising her head to look into his eyes. “ And if you want to send anything back, let me know.”

She waves to him goodbye before he can get a chance to say anything and turns around quickly, her boots making soft, cracking noises on wet snow and mud. He is left standing in front of the hut with the package still in his hands, frozen in time and space, a good few minutes before he manages to move again.

He leaves the bundle by the doors and just - goes. To do things that don’t really need to be done, supervise people who are doing just fine without him hovering, piss off O ( ‘’What the fuck is wrong with you, Bell’’ ) and have yet another unnecessary shouting match with Abby before he’s able to come back and dare to unwrap it.

The string lets go easily, the cloth parts and Bellamy can see pile of – paper? Is it really paper?- few dried flowers, which slip from his knees and land on the ground and a greenish, nice smelling thing, which appears to be some kind of bark.

Half of the sheets of paper- which is also gray-green and there are tiny plant veins visible on their surface – turn out to be empty. The other half is full of words- words spilling on the margins, words on words, words chaotic and wild and crazy and-

II.

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been twenty –two days and I think I’m losing my mind. I bumped into a Grounder hunting party today; they just dropped their weapons and things and ran away from me, so I took their things I guess I’m a thief now, why not, actually so they had this paper and a pen, it must be from before the Apocalypse and it still works, can you believe? And I started to write this, I heard people used to write letters to their loved ones when they were away-

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been thirty –seven days, I wonder how Monty’s doing, how you are doing, how are you all doing, it’s so cold, I fell asleep on a tree branch and now I can’t feel my fingers, it hurts, Bellamy, it hurts to even-

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been fifty days, I found a bark which works miracles on frostbites you should give it to my mother or Lincoln, or I should’ve given it to them, but I’m not with you, I’m alone here, I think I’ve lost my mind-

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been exactly fifty-eight days-

I miss you

Dear Bellamy,

I’m haunted by myself.

III.

First, she catches a terrible cold. Then she slips on a thin layer of ice while hunting and injures her head and she doesn’t even remember how she manages to crawl into the cave she has been living in for some time and collapse on the fur. Her head is spinning, burning red and she sees Wells and Finn and her dad and Bellamy-

“Are you dead?”- she asks, confused and then he looks at her and she sees his body drained out blood, his eyes desperate, his hands stretched out, reaching for her:

“You told me to go.”- he says and his voice makes her shiver.” You told me to go and I went, was it worth it?”

Was it worth it was it worth it was it worth it Clarke was it worth it tell us Clarke tell us weren’t we worth it was it worth us – dead men of her life repeat and repeat and Clarke screams and screams and screams until her voice dies out and she drifts into a blackness and there’s nothing and nobody around her anymore.

IV.

Dear Bellamy,

I’m on the coast now, in Luna’s clan village. Their language is like a song on a wind; you’d love it. Luna sends her love to Lincoln. I had- rough time during winter, you can probably tell from the other letters. But those people helped me and –

Bell, they don’t seem to be afraid of me. I don’t remember them being involved in Mount Weather war, but they must’ve heard of it, heard of me. Still, nobody here treats me like other Grounders. Travelers stopped in a village and they agreed to bring my letters to Camp Jaha, even if they didn’t seem completely comfortable with it. I hope you’ll get it. It’s not much –and I don’t expect to get anything back – but that’s the best I can do now.

I just want you to know I think about you every day. All the time. And I’m so, so sorry, Bell.

Out of all the terrible things I’ve done, I’m most sorry for the ones I did to you.

I miss you,

Clarke

“She doesn’t get to do this shit!”

Octavia’s all flaming anger, standing in the middle of his hut and waving her hands.

“Not after she left. She left us, she left you; she doesn’t get to write you things like that!’’

But Bellamy’s angry too, anger to match Octavia’s, slowly burning his insides.

“Who the fuck allowed you to read it? How do you even know I get this, huh? You’re going through my stuff now, O?”

“Yes, because apparently you’re not capable of making rational decisions like burning this shit without reading! You’re probably already writing her a reply, aren’t you?”

“It’s not your damn business, Octavia!”

They circle each other like wild dogs thrown into the pit, ready to fight with their fangs and claws. Octavia’s still holding Clarke’s letters and she throws them into his face, bares her teeth and fucking hisses.

“You know it’s all her fault. Everything that went wrong, is because of her. She killed all those people- TonDC, Month Weather, it was all her. “

Bellamy sees red and he could never, ever hurt his sister, but he feels his hands fisting, muscles clenching, bloodthirst swallowing him whole and he’s just so angry.

“I killed all those people along with her, Octavia.” – he says lowly, breath heavy and head low, facing her like a charging bull. “If Clarke’s a murderer, then so am I.”

“Because she made you this way!”- Octavia shouts so loudly, that her voice breaks in half and his fists drop to his sides and he just looks at her. He feels his lungs collapsing, his heart-stopping, entire freaking world freezing for a moment.

His sister is shivering like a leaf on a wind, hands outstretched towards him and shining eyes.

“She sent you away.-“ she whispers, stuttering like a little child and then she turns around so he won’t see her crying. “She sent you away and you went for her and I could- I thought I- I could lose you.”

Her shoulders are shaking and she wraps her arms around herself, sobbing and Bellamy’s standing still, hearing white noise in his ears and suddenly coming back to the times, when Octavia had bangs and curious eyes and clean hands and he was her only lifeline, the only thing connecting her with the whole wide world bigger than two chairs, two bunk beds and endless darkness under the floor.

“Octavia..”- he wants it to sounds like an apology, but instead it comes out like a plea.

Understand. Please. I can only forgive myself, if Clarke’s forgiven too.

He hesitantly takes two steps and raises one hand to touch her back, to comfort her, but something stops him halfway. His hand’s frozen in its track, frozen in the air, hanging between him and Octavia like a blown-up bridge between two worlds which will never be connected anymore.

She hiccups, wipes the tears with the palm of her hand and turns around. Her braids are coming undone and the dark make-up around her red eyes is smudged, but she stands straight, with chin up high and says, clearly and calmly:

“She doesn’t deserve you.”

O marches out of the hut and he doesn’t stop her.

Instead, he kneels down to pick up the letters and puts them in order.

And then he takes the pen he asked Lincoln to bring him from the last trade and presses the tip of it to the clean sheet of paper.

Dear Clarke,

Winter was fucking awful and spring’s not much better, but at least it’s warmer now.

VI.

Clarke decides she likes the ocean most.

It’s big and wide and endless; silver-gray waves with white manes, cool sand under her bare feet, wild wind and the smell of salt, smoked fish and crown made of finger-cutting sharp seagrass - it’s everything she dreamed it would be, long, long time ago, and so much more and nothing less.

She wasn’t planning to stay, truth to be told. For the first few weeks she was constantly waiting for this sharp tug of ache inside just go, just go, far and far and never come back but it never came and Luna’s people are more gentle and kinder than anyone who she has ever met and they’re the only ones who seem not to be afraid of her. So she stays.

She patches up hunters and delivers children along with the old, nearly blind healer; she kisses scraped knees of kids and learns how to knot fishing nets and breathes in, breathes out, washes her face in icy, salty water.

One time, girl from the village brings her charcoals and she spends hours on playing with them, morbidly fascinated with how different they feel, when her hands are no longer soft and white, but callused and cut and scarred and short on one finger and red, so, so red.

Clarke draws sea and people and a little, chubby boy chewing his fist and before she can even notice, she draws constellations of freckles and messy hair and soft, sad eyes; brown ponytails and sharp elbows and braids; goggles and gentle smiles and she wants to weep, she misses them all so much.

She wonders about her package, she wonders if it ever reached Bellamy, she wonders if it even matters at all.

She –well, she’s healing. But she’s still aching, something is still tearing her apart from the inside and she still can’t seem to let go of so many things, so she can’t go back.

She hasn’t had any hallucinations ever since she’s been around humans again, but her nightmares still have brown eyes and are holding a little football ball in their clawed hands.

VII.

“Bellamy, Bellamy tell us a story!”

Bellamy stares at the fire as kids are chirping loudly in his ears; he keeps his hands on his knees, palms out, fingers outstretched as if he was holding something.

“Once upon a time, there was a princess-”

“Clarke! Clarke!”

“Okay, okay!” – she laughs, with her head thrown back, but her eyes sad when she says-

“Once upon a time, there was a rebel – “

“-turned queen-“

Octavia’s bright eyes, narrowed lips, sharp pain in his chest.

“-turned king.”

Flames dancing on a pile of sea wood, her voice full of nostalgia.

VIII.

By the next spring, Clarke has a baby inside of her.

She doesn’t know whose it is; she doesn’t really want to know, to be honest. There were few, men, women, nothing to grow attached to, just a tension relief, fuck and forget. She needs to get rid of it, but she spends too much time thinking about what she needs and what she wants and about Ark and Octavia Blake and then she can feel it move and everything in her screams mine mine mine.

So she lets it stay.

She lets it grow.

She lets herself grow bigger; soon enough her spine starts to hurt like a bitch and her eyes water when she sees little kids, little birds, little dogs and apparently every single damn little thing in the world. Her feet swell and her breasts ache and she suddenly craves wild mushrooms and tuna and apples.

She goes through twenty- hours- long labor, clutching Lila’s hand all through it and crying for her mom and Bellamy, delirious with pain, sweat and tears and blood and then-

A pair of very brown eyes, strangely calm; a cloud of delicate blonde hair. They look at each other and it’s like the world stops turning and for a moment there are just Clarke and this tiny alien thing covered in her blood, small starfishes of her hands fisted, small feet kicking the air.

Clarke’s daughter has long lashes, pink, wrinkled skin and a nose like a tiny button and Clarke can’t stop looking at her, won’t stop looking at her. She feels some kind of –oblivion. Everything that was messed up before, everything she couldn’t deal with, now perfectly in order and she can’t remember being in such peace ever in her entire life.

IX.

Dear Bellamy,

Her name is Julia.

Bellamy clenches the paper in his hand, head thrown back and just- breathes out.

When Julia’s eight months old, Clarke slowly starts packing.

It’s unintentional, at first; cleaning her hut, throwing some things away or giving them as a gift to those who needed it more than her anyway, packing the rest in sacks, trading with travelers for material for a travelling carrier for an infant– she does all those things before even realizing what she’s doing, until one day Aidan walks on her while she’s asking Rhea where she could get a horse, or maybe even two and how can she pay for them.

“So you’re really leaving, huh?”- he doesn’t sound accusing, but a bit sad and like he has been expecting it for some time now.

And Clarke… Clarke takes a deep breath and nods.

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been three years now. I think it’s time to go home. Would you like to meet my daughter?

The reply comes fast as the wind, two lines written on a piece of paper apparently torn from the bigger one, letter bold and honest.

Dear Clarke,

Can’t wait.

XI.

They leave at dawn, moon and stars still visible on the golden-pink sky, Julia napping in her sling. Luna hugs her tightly and then Lila and Mara and Devon and Rhea and then the whole village kissing her cheeks and touching her hair and saying thank you and Clarke has such a lump in her throat that she can barely breathe, because she’s the one that owes them everything she has now.

Aiden helps her up on the saddle and pats her thigh.

“You’re always welcomed here, you two. And I have a feeling we’ll see each other again.”- he winks, a wide grin spread on her face and she suddenly remembers why she even let this man, those people, get closer to her in the first place. “Also, I want to meet this man of yours and remind him how lucky he is. Being loved by a woman like you, Clarke- tragedy, but what a privilege at the same time.”

And to that, she can only blush.

XII.

She comes back at sunrise; appears like a ghost from between trees on the white horse, baby strapped to her chest, sacks hanging from both sides of her saddle.

He abandons his post near the gate and runs and runs and runs and she jumps off the horse and runs too, but when they’re ten feet apart from each other, they slow down.

It’s been three years -

( but when Bellamy looks at her beaming, all golden hair and blue eyes and pink-cheeked baby glancing at him curiously half-hiding his face in the crook of her neck, he feels like not a day has passed since dropship)

“Hi.”- she says, breathless, taking one tiny step closer.

“Hello.”- he responds, taking another.

She looks him in the eyes, smiling, and she has damn laughter lines on her face. God, he wants nothing else but to spend the rest of his life giving her more. He raises his hand and traces them delicately and she shivers under his touch, leaning into his hand.

“Bell.”- her voice is hoarse with emotions and low, just above a whisper. “ I missed you, Bell.”

Sun is setting, casting reds and goldens on her hair as he wraps his arms around her and her daughter and she presses her face to his shoulder and the forest is so wonderfully, wonderfully green.

And in this one moment, they are everything and nothing and Bellamy knows there are storms in the future and broken hearts and bloody hands; but right now, when he can feel her lips on his skin and her baby’s little hand fisting his shirt, all they are is right and real and exactly, where they are supposed to be.

#bellarke #bellarke fic #bellarke fanfiction #bellamy x clarke #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction

122 notes · View notes

callunavulgari · 4 years

Text

Yuletide Letter | 2020 edition

Dear Yuletide author,

Hi there! First, I’d like to apologize for the fact that parts of this is almost entirely copy/pasted from last year’s yuletide letter. I’m aware you probably had no idea, but I’m gonna feel weird about it unless I say something. Secondly, thanks so much for telling me a story! My most sincere wish is that you have fun writing this. I trust that I’ll love whatever you come up with. :)

Fandoms:

The Locked Tomb trilogy, Wolf 359, Rolling in the Deep, Stormlight Archive, Spirited Away, Modao Zushi.

Over all, I’m pretty sure I’ll be pretty happy with whatever you decide to throw at me. I’m not particularly picky, and enjoy a variety of ratings, themes, and genres. I have a list of over 2000 bookmarks on Ao3, which I would like to say might help you find the things that I like, but odds are you’d just get stuck in it.

General flavors on things: I really love atmospheric settings, stories that you can really feel. A great example of this is A Cornstalk Fiddle. Or wild peaches. I enjoy alternate universes in almost every variation, from soulmates to daemons to canon divergence (I really like canon divergence). I’m super fond of slow burns, though it’ll be hard to convey that in a yuletide fic unless you’re REALLY inspired and/or bored and decide to make it 20k+.

Other things I like:

sun/moon trope

enemies to lovers

poly

YEARNING

AUs that are almost entirely canon except one of the characters is secretly some kind of creature (vampire, demon, selkie, etc)

magical realism

post-canon fic

found families

I do tend to prefer a fic to have some kind of ship to it, but that’s definitely not required. I am fully on board with explicit fics, but do ask that if there is smut, it’s not just smut. I like how introducing sex to a story changes various character dynamics, and I really, really like the sexually/emotionally charged lead up, but when it really comes down to it, I’m reading the story for the characters.

Dislikes:

Non-con

Dubious consent is usually okay, but varies based on the circumstances and the pairing. My anon box will be on for the duration of the holiday season, so if you feel the urge, just ask me.

Most hard kinks. Again, it varies, and you can ask me, but I’m not particularly interested in any hard smut for the above fandoms.

Mpreg and/or omegaverse

And then more specific info on the fandoms below the cut because this is already long.

The Locked Tomb trilogy

This series has basically wedged itself right up under my ribcage and made itself at home. I’m okay with a variety of the characters in the tag set, but I mostly would love to see a story centering around either Harrow and Gideon or Augustine, John, and Mercymorn. I am super, super weak for enemies to lovers AND all things yearning and tragic it’s really no surprise I seized onto both of these. I would love a fic exploring the relationship between the above three (the more pining and tragic, the better). But like, that fic would also probably delve into some dubious consent, which again. Is fine to a point. But I mean? Two characters who are torn between loving the third and hating him (and at least slightly torn between two different feelings with each other? Poetic cinema.

If you go the Harrow & Gideon route, I’m actually kind of interested in the idea of an AU that still keeps the necromancy? I mean, necromancers in space is a great concept and I LOVE it, but I also love the idea of necromancers who work in a flower shop! Or a morgue! Or who have a shitty kiosk job at the mall and keeps raising rabid undead squirrels and setting them loose in the food court for fun.

Wolf 359

This podcast. Haunts me. It has basically ruined me for all other podcasts. I adore all of the characters, so you can feel free to write about whoever you want. Favorites are Eiffel, Jacobi, and Hera, so if you throw something at me that has the three of them interacting I could probably die happy. I’m good with gen fic, but I’m also a fan of Jacobi/Kepler, Eiffel/Jacobi, Hera/Eiffel, and would honestly probably fully embrace any other ship you could possibly throw at me.

I like the idea of Hera getting a body after the series. I like the idea of Eiffel finding himself again. I like the idea of Jacobi finding a new family (cough, Hera and Eiffel). I like the idea of Jacobi and Hera becoming best buds. I like the idea of Jacobi working through his grief over Maxwell and Kepler. I like the idea of Hera learning how to be herself in a big wide world that isn’t entirely on her side. I like the idea of every single member of the crew who touches back down on earth learning how to be people afterwards. I like the idea of Minkowski and Lovelace getting closer, especially if Minkowski’s husband is a part of that dynamic.

I just really like found family and people holding each other up when the going gets tough, and this podcast has that in spades. Also? Have you listened to Zero Hours? Because if you want to introduce some of that dynamic I would be forever in love.

Rolling in the Deep

I honestly wasn’t sure whether to include this one in my list of wants or not, but ultimately decided on it because I think that anything you wrote for it I would be happy about. I’ve left the character section blank because I’d be okay with whoever you wrote about. This is one of those books where I don’t have many shippy feelings, but love the concept. Though, if you want to write about the mermaid they brought back with them and ANY of the characters, I would be particularly cool with that.

I just really liked this book a lot, so yeah. Anything. Bonus points for post canon. Bonus bonus points for mermaids.

Stormlight Archive

Kaladin/Shallan/Adolin. I know Sanderson said that thing about how Adolin and Shallan would be down for it, but Kaladin would balk and just - listen to me: forget all that. My default reaction to love triangles is usually to happily ship them in a poly setting and these three are no exception.

You want to write me an AU? Sure! Throw it at me! Canon and/or canon-divergence? Even better! Daemons? Yes, please.

Alternatively, if you’re not really crazy about poly, I would be okay with something exploring the relationship between Shallan and Jasnah. I really adore Jasnah’s character and wish we had more of her headspace.

Spirited Away

Spirited Away is my ultimate comfort movie. It is my go-to when I’m sad or sick or upset, and let’s be real here. It’s been a particularly upsetting year. And I would really love post-canon content with either Chihiru, Haku, or both.

I would love fic where they find each other again. Where they keep finding each other. Where Chihiru walks from her new house down through the forest and just, stares at the entrance for a while. Where Chihiru is haunted by that place through the years, where she both yearns for it and marvels at how like a dream it felt. Where it’s changed her fundamentally, like walking into the fae realm. Where she meets spirits in strange places and speaks to them, only to realize no one else can see them. A fic where Chihiru is twelve, and then fifteen, and then twenty-three, and then even older, and is still just so taken by that place she disappeared to when she was a child and the people she found there.

Above I mentioned wild peaches as an example of a story that I really like, which is a fic of Sarah in the aftermath of the Labyrinth. That is almost precisely the feeling I’ve been craving from a Spirited Away fic, basically since I first watched the movie.

Modao Zushi

I’m weak for Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. That is basically all it comes down to. The yearning. The rivals (kind of?) to friends to enemies to friends to lovers concept in this had me really messed up, let me tell you. I am particularly weak for Wei Wuxian as the Yiling Patriarch. That could tread close to the dubious consent line if you want it to, or it could not. Don’t worry about it. As long as it’s not non-con, I will happily accept whatever you have to offer.

I am also pretty okay with basically any AU for this. Not really picky. I will say though that I am particularly enamored with the idea of a dancer and/or composer/musician AU for this one. I’ve written about it twice and it still hasn’t scratched the itch. I just really want them to dance with each other.

#heather says what #yuletide letter #yuletide #yuletide 2020

2 notes · View notes