#look at that sickly green shade of mildew on the stone

[lost4pandora]

Posting another fic, same concept with the Lucario but a human and they're gonna rescue First because I said so. This is kinda more of an oc insert type of deal because writing X Readers is much harder than it looks. Either way, I hope you all enjoy!

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See This Link Right Here? Yeah This Is Mine Now

Frail. Weak. Despondent.

An energy unbefitting of one who should be free.

That's what you thought.

You were chased by the enemy into yet another portal, confused by sudden screams and shouts, the blur of different auras zooming across your vision. Before you knew it, you had been launched to a different place via the mystic swirl of crimson and ebony. And now you stand before a castle, so tall did its walls of stone loom over you, casting a long and dark shadow as the sun moves slowly across the sky.

You never truly liked castles, you didn't like how cold they felt. How it restrained the free, repressed the wild, ridiculed the wayward. It was just a prison, to you. Harsh and unforgiving.

So when you felt such a helpless aura from beneath the icy stone, you couldn't help but follow it. The closer you drew towards it, the more familiar it felt. It was as if you knew this soul yet didn't, a sense of deja vu in some sense. Buried underneath the despair and weakness, this soul burned with courage, armed with a mettle not seen in many.

That's when it registered in your mind. It felt like your friends, the heroes that have guarded Hyrule for centuries to millennia. Knowing this, it only fueled you to want to find the hero faster. You must.

So quietly did you sneak through the cracks in the castle's walls, so swiftly did you pass the guards who were none the wiser to the intruder that slipped past their defenses. Silent and agile, hiding in the shades of the privileged and the foolish. It didn't take long to find what you were looking for.

A thin and fragile body, wrists held up by shackles of steel as the man hung limp. One would think him dead if not for the shallow and slow breaths he took. His ankles were shackled as well, bare feet standing amongst a cobblestone floor soaked in water and mildew. He wore a green tunic that had seen better days, the fabric ripped in various places, exposing parts of his belly and ribs, skin a sickly pale as his bones showed through thin flesh. His pants fared no better, one leg half torn and the other ripped partially at the hem.

The poor soul had been here a while, the scent of emaciation becoming abundantly clear. You didn't hesitate to pull the hairpin out of your hair, placing the end of it into the cell door lock and twisting it. The mechanism clicked, and you pushed the door open, the hinges nearly screeching in outrage as metal scraped against metal.

The man didn't look up, but did seem noticeably more exhausted, if that were even possible. You slowly approached, equally bare feet stepping across the damp floor. A set of feathers and charms adorned your left ankle, held by a string of leather, the edges dragging across the ground where you walked. You peered below the man's downcast face, blonde bangs obscuring his face from your sight.

You raised your hand up, placing it on the man's cheek. He raised his head, feeling a warmth he hasn't experienced before and the coolness of the silver rings on your fingers. Cold blue eyes met a mask of white, depicting a jackal with lavender and rose gold.

Your mouth hung open slightly in shock, and you wasted no time moving your hands down to the shackles around his ankles and channeled a substantial amount of power into the metal. The metal gleamed with blue cracks before it burst in a flash of light and fell away, the shards ringing as they hit the ground. You did this to the ones around his wrists as well, preparing for when he inevitably fell forward and into your awaiting arms.

You readjusted his body so that his back leaned against one of your arms, moving down to hook your other arm underneath his knees and lifted him up into your embrace. You could feel his bones through his tattered clothing, finding you were both furious and alarmed at how light the man was. You were quick to leave the moldy cell, quietly padding through the hallowed halls of the dungeon as you secure your escape route.

Nobody knew you had taken the prisoner, and they wouldn't until the next guard rotation to feed him. You internally smiled at how outraged they would be when they would find their prisoner gone. But right now you were focused on something else. You were focused on him.

The man hadn't moved much since you took him out of the cell, though that was to be expected. You had no idea how long they kept him locked up, but he was very weak, hence why you needed to carry him.

But once did you notice him blearily open his eyes to look up at the sky, the passing trees, and then you. An assuring smile found its way on your lips, as you looked down at him through the white jackal mask you had on.

"It's okay, you're safe now. I'll take care of you."

And his eyes closed once more, leaning his head on your chest as he was lulled into a dreamless sleep.

__________________________________

Link woke up to fresh air and soft bedding.

He could hardly move without feeling some sort of pain, his body was too sore to do so. It didn't stop him however, from sitting up to try and examine his surroundings. That's when he felt it, the bandages wrapped around his limbs and body, the subtle scent of a medicinal salve rubbed into his wounds and the tender scarring around his wrists and ankles.

When he finally got the chance to look around, he could see that the sun had begun its descent below the horizon, painting the sky in beautiful shades of tangerine and heliotrope. He was hidden in a small grotto of sorts, if the stone hanging over his head was anything to go by. The ground was covered in moss and grass alike, though he himself sat among a soft fur pelt. Draped over his shoulders was a large coat, white in color whilst the inside was lined with velvety fur.

A fire crackled and burned some feet away from him, close enough to keep him warm but far enough so the embers wouldn't sear his already fragile skin. In a wooden bowl before him was a small loaf of bread and warm food, the scent of cooked beef and potatoes flooding his nose and making his mouth water. He wanted to reach out to take it, but hesitated.

No, this was another dream again, wasn't it? Link would get those every once in a while. He'd dream that he was finally out of that dingy cell below the castle and could wander the world once more.

Link shook his head, and gingerly wrapped his trembling hands around the bowl, savoring the warmth that emanated from the wood. He plucked out the loaf and took a slow bite, tearing a chunk off and started chewing. Sweet, the bread was sweet. It's been so long since he's tasted anything even remotely sweet.

He bit into the beef next, soaking his tongue in the flavor it had. The potatoes had the same amount of taste to it, and Link swore he could almost cry. If this was truly a dream, then he wanted it to last for as long as he could manage it. The feeling was too nice to let go of so quickly.

"Sweet astrals, if I didn't make that myself I would've thought that you were eating Wild's cooking."

Link's head snapped toward the origin of the mysterious, smooth voice. He was met with bicolored eyes of silver and umber, gazing at him in amusement. Snowy curls bellowed around the newcomer's head, spilling over their shoulders and back like clouds rolling across the sky. A few braids here, some feathers and charms there, but what caught Link's eye was the white jackal mask that hung from the side of the belt on their hip.

"It's you…!"

He flinched at the sound of his own voice, hoarse from years without use. The stranger's smile never faltered though, they tilted their head at him.

"Hello there, my name is Compass," they introduced, before adding. "Well, it's not actually, but it's what my friends of the minute have taken to calling me."

They continued to speak. "And if you hadn't already guessed, I'm the one who got you out of that moonblasted cell they had you in."

So you were the one who rescued him. The soothing voice assuring him he was safe, the tranquil energy that made him feel so very warm. You saved him.

"Your name is Link, right?"

He slowly nodded his head, not really questioning how this stranger knew his name. He moved to sit up more as the coat over his shoulders shifted forward and covered his thin frame.

Compass hummed and pressed their forefinger and thumb against their chin thoughtfully, propping their elbow against their other arm tucked underneath their chest. They looked like they were trying to decide something, their eyes closed in contemplation. They seemed somewhat troubled, over what he didn't know.

"Well, I know we just met and all, but I don't really like the idea of leaving you alone, especially in your current state," Compass said. "It also doesn't help that the situation I'm about to explain to you is going to make me sound like I've gone off the deep end. So, please, if I'm ever going to ask something of you, it's going to be that you bear with me?"

And he didn't see any reason why he shouldn't.

[theislesunfamily]

Your Fear Was Always Crimson

The following story is a response to the “Nightmare” prompt set up by @stormandozone. 

The nightmare begins, and it is unlike any other Ithanar has experienced before but it’s a place he’s familiar with at least.

A landscape of sickly red confronts him, fallen branches and twigs littering a twisting and windy path that seems to go on and on for eternity. Trees, most dead but others slowly dying to the sound of morose brown and black shades, stand on either side of him, a wild forest that stretches and stretches for as far as he can see.

He takes a step, bare feet crackling against dead leaves and fallen branches, and then another, cautious. Nightmares are not new to the old elf, but this one… this place… it is.

There’s a breeze, something slight, that picks up and moves through a crescendo before hitting the climax as a pile of leaves comes to rest not too far down the path. Ithanar stops, watching, waiting for something… and then notices the leaves shifting and shambling, moving to form. He reaches for a sword at his hip that isn’t there, but otherwise takes a rather casual stance.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

Whatever has come to meet him doesn't make him wait.

No, it rises from the rust-colored dirt, a shambling form of skin and bones; dead leaves for eyes and twigs for fingers and toes, a smile of scorched grass. He sways in the wind, breeze nearly toppling his form over.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  

Another Ithanar continues to sway, but the original Ithanar stands still as stone.

He almost looks unimpressed, but there is a bit of curiosity in his gaze. His arms cross his chest, and his lips curl in a snarl. The copy merely smiles in return.

There’s the sounds of a crackling fire, which causes Ithanar’s gaze to swing left and right, back and forth. It takes a moment for him to realize there is no fire.

No, that sound… is the copy’s voice, words forming slowly and deliberately much like the original.

“Well, well… we meet.”

Ithanar sighs.

“Probably not the first time.”

“I do intend on visiting when I can.”

“Oh, fantastic. Well, let me see if I can find some wine and we can sit down to have a-”

A roar to match a beast’s own, like something from the Nightmare. The thing’s rage and anger is even more palpable now.

“I do NOT need your mortal sustenance.”

“You’re missing out. Fine, what do you want?”

“Blunt as always.”

“You would know. You are probably me, or at least some reflection.”  

“You hide behind a sneer and a shrug.

“Well damn... I’m scared now.”

He isn’t.

“Did I not mention your penchant for sarcasm earlier? A rather well known veil to hide pain behind, though perhaps that word is an understatement.”

“Just get to it already.”

“You lack power.”

“And you are wasting my time.”

“You do not seek it. Why?”

“My life isn’t defined by that.”

There’s a rush of wind, and now the copy of leaves and twigs, of scorched grass and crackling fire, stands to his left. It leans in, watching him as best a thing with-eyes-but-without-them can. A smell of mildew permeates Ithanar’s senses.

“You have access to it though. It is within your grasp. Again, I ask why?”

Ithanar cranes his gaze, looking right at the thing. His lips are still curled in a snarl.

“Not all power is good. If you are a reflection of me, then it makes sense you don’t understand this.”

“You are weak.”

“And what? You’re strong? If you’re supposed to be my opposite. If so, then run me through.”

The copy growls, grass-for-teeth bared which makes Ithanar smile.

“I have other ways to make you hurt, make you remember your failures.”

“I don’t need you to remind me of that. I already do that to myself.”

No fear.

“She can take that power, you know. Doesn’t that scare you?”

There is one fear. Now the copy smiles, as it has made a bit of a mark.

Ithanar rolls his eyes, brows furrowing, as a frown etches itself over his lips. He watches as his copy slithers and shambles to stand on his right now, almost leaning in.

What other dark whispers does it have for him?

“Then she can take it.”

He’s reluctant to say it. Fel, Ithanar doesn’t believe in what he says.

“But you and I both know that you don’t want that.”

The copy knows it too.

“Fuck off.”

The copy lets out something akin to hellacious laughter, though it sounds more like the beasts of the forests again. It’s a taunting thing that makes Ithanar ball up his hands, forming fists as fingers dig into skin.

“You lack the conviction to grasp at that. You lack the conviction to even tell your new companions the truth about how hampered you really are.”

“We’re onto that now?”

“Do not hide behind that elaborately constructed veil. I have already found you.”

“You found me when you forced yourself into the rather pleasant dream I was having.”

“Another lie. How long do you truly have until what you did finally does you in? You can fix it.”

The thing slithers and moves again, shambling to stand in front of Ithanar before leaning in. It’s so close that the elf can feel the thing’s lack of breathing, but that stench remains, of mildew and corruptible stink.

“When my time comes, it comes.”

“You would give up that easily?”

“I don’t fear it.”

Ithanar isn’t wrong.

“No, no, of course not. You’re weak. You expect it.”

“No, I’ve just realized that I will make do with the things I have. I am still highly capable.”

“Now that is the true issue, isn’t it, Ithanar?”

Silence. The elf has nothing to say, but that’s because he knows the copy will say it for him.

“You’ve lost your family, your name, your standing, the powers that made you one of the best, the brightest…”

“Get on with it.”

“... And in the absence of all that power… you realized there was no surprise waiting for you, no great secret that eluded you while your being, our being, was shattered down to its core…”

Ithanar continues to stay quiet, for he knows what’s coming.

“There was no great revelation.”

A pause, for dramatic effect of course. The copy smiles wide with a Cheshire grin, scorched grass wavering again.

“There was only you… and that was unacceptable.”

There it is.

“You aren’t wrong.”

The thing outstretches one of its hands, twigs-for-fingers shuffling back and forth, and holds it for Ithanar to take hold of, waiting.

“Let me help you. You are an old and foolish wretch of a man on his last legs, but you have some hope. Power is within reach.”

Silence.

The copy’s words echo in Ithanar’s ears again, but.. he hears them in his own voice. He knows all of what it’s said already. The old elf watched his world burn, he’s watched the figurative castle crumble, every which way in the book a dozen times over.

However, he’s accepted it. That’s where the copy is wrong, where it will always be wrong, where those dark whispers are wrong.

“No, I think I’ll pass.”

A roar to match the beasts of the Nightmare. The copy shifts and shambles again in a whirlwind of fury and rage before returning to stand in front of Ithanar, poised to strike, arms raised high… but it doesn’t move.

“YOU HAVE NOT LEARNED. YOU WILL WITHER AND DIE JUST LIKE YOUR PATHETIC FAMILY.”

Any advantage the copy had before? It has now returned right to Ithanar, who just smiles.

The whirlwind of fury begins anew as the nightmarish copy rages and screams, a literal temper tantrum that threatens to engulf the dreamscape.

Ithanar makes the obvious choice. He just walks away.

As he does, that dreamscape of a forest tainted by the Nightmare begins to fade and unravel, falling away to reveal blank, black space. Each step forces the forest away into the background, trees drawing away into the darkness as fallen leaves and branches evaporate into dreamlike clouds.

The whirlwind follows, its form shambling and shifting with a roar that continues to match the beasts. It darts to the elf’s left, and then his right, and then his back… but it still does not strike.

It can’t. It has made the fatal error that cost it any further power over the old elf.

However, it can hinder and so it shambles once again to Ithanar’s front, trying to stop him from moving.

Another error.

His response is furious and swift in its own way, a hand snatching at the thing’s arm to pull it in close. There’s a low hum, a shift of power in one way and then the other.  In a moment’s notice, the form of the nightmarish copy shudders and then changes. Those dead leaves become fel-green eyes, and twigs begin to take on the color of flesh before turning into fingers, callused and hard.

It isn’t long before Ithanar is actually staring at himself, a flesh-and-blood copy devoid of those roots, those branches and twigs, those dead leaves.

The fear on his mirror image’s face is something Ithanar finds rather familiar. It’s the same look each mage he has broken before has given him, teeth bared and eyes wide, so wide that the white of their cornea threatens to overtake the black within their pupils.

He may not be able to break spells in reality, but here in the dreamscape he can.

“You don’t speak for me.”

Ithanar’s tone is barely above a whisper, a dangerous growl.

“Y-Y-Y-Y-YOU!”

“You tell me things I already know. I am weak, I do not grasp at power that I should, but I have my own reasons and you will not be privy to all of them.”

“HOW ARE YOU NOT SCARED OF WHAT WILL COME?” 

Ithanar just smiles.

“Because there is only me in the absence of power… and that is acceptable.”

The nightmare ends, and it is like all the others Ithanar has experienced before.