#something about the Desperation to escape the monster inside. to escape having done some Unforgivable Things

[braintapes]

I'm not much of a time loop kinda guy necessarily, but I am a huge sucker for self loops. I love when a character wipes their own memories, either deliberately on purpose or due to their circumstances (magic immortal etc) in an effort to escape themselves, escape the fundamental flaw of being them. To rid themselves of the weight, the burden and pain of all they've experienced. Or to destroy the monster they feel they're doomed to be.

Without their memories, they have the opportunity to be someone new. But they inevitably go on a quest to find out who they are. The journey goes on and they learn more and more. More disturbing knowledge. As the picture fills in so too are they full of despair. The burden of what they were trying so hard to escape falls suddenly and they collapse under its weight. This time was a failure - it's time to try again.

Just one more try. Just one more loop. Just one more new 'me' and everything will be fixed and I'll never have to look back again.

And they go again and again and again, accumulating all kinds of experiences and knowledge and selves but never fully reaching satisfaction or happiness. Until the one final loop. The one where this time, something has changed. They steel their resolve. They look hard, but with purpose and certainty, at who they were. They witness and accept all of the ways they hurt others. They know, now, they can't change the past. But they can't escape being them. The only thing they can do is step forward into the future with the determination to become a better them. To grow and become the person they want to be.

And then, with that satisfaction (or at least, resolution), the never-ending cycle can stop being so never-ending and a cycle. It can just be...a life lived to its fullest until its end.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Scandal Ch. 1 - Loki x Reader

Summary: After your child is born a Frost Giant, your husband accuses you of infidelitiy, unaware about his own heritage...

Warnings: Pregnancy, Childbirth, Angst, Mild Cussing

Noteable: Takes place before Thor 1, Asgardian Fem! Reader

Words: ~1800

I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I

It was as if your anchestors wanted to deliver a warning, for Asgard had never faced a storm matching this fateful afternoon.

The thunder swallowed all of your screams and cries, every curse you spoke with each contraction as the baby made it’s way into this world. All this time, your precious husband would never leave your side, letting you squeeze his hand as much as you needed.

“Only a little bit more, my Lady!” the midwife shoutet from between your legs, her tone calm yet cheerful. “I can already see the head!”

“I’m right here. You’re doing wonderful, my petal.” Loki was softly petting your hair, pressing a wet kiss into your forehead. “You are incredibly strong, Y/N. And I love you so much!”

Remaining collected was using up all of his energy at that very moment, you knew that much. Yet not even the God of Lies could hide all the helplessness and excitement stirring in his head at that very moment.

Being with the Prince of Asgard was just like in a dream.

Once you get to know him, that troublesome arrogant lone wolf turned into a smart, caring - and especially charming - prince. And hel, Loki treated you like a Queen.

All this pain you were experiencing right now would ultimately lead to the greatest bliss imagineable - just like it was with Loki.

Oh, how dearly you had fought, suffered, yearned for him, only to be rewarded with heartbreak and frustration. In between his feverishly chase for the throne and his rivalry with Thor, there was just no room for a loving relationship to grow.

The crushing weight of thinking himself unworthy for affection had made him cold and bitter over the millenias, telling himself the comforting lie that he was above all, born for a glorious purpose.

For the God of Mischief, whose kinsmen had always made him feel out of place or under-appreciated, the process of trusting had always been one step forward, three steps back.

But through your compassion, and with a great deal of patience and understanding, you slowly but steadily melted the ice around the prince’s heart.

Because deep inside, you always knew that it was worth it.

And today would be the peak of your romance: Your child would forever remind the Odinson that he belonged somewhere - right here, with you.

“It’s a boy!”

“A heir?!” Loki exclaimed, smothering your face in kisses. “Well done!”

You smiled weakly at his excitement, in between choked sobs. All that your exhausted self was able to process was the fact that your child is born - and you already loved him beyond reason.

“Where is he?!” you whimpered, unable to realize how the air in the room had shifted - for when the midwife touched the infant, she began to scream in agony.

“What’s wrong?!” Loki’s eyes were narrowing at the midwife that almost dropped his newborn, detecting some sort of burn wound on her palm. Quickly, she had covered the boy in a towel, aware that if any harm came over that baby, she was to die at the God of Mischief’s hands.

A flash of lightning was brightening the whole room, which had only been flooded by dim candle light until now.

Another one of the midwife’s screeched in terror, almost stumbling as she frantically erscaped your bedchamber. The adrenaline from birth and worry about your child sharpened your senses, yet concentration was almost impossible.

Still, the words she was yelling as she ran down the hall send a shiver down your spine:

“It’s a monster.”

Your head was spinning as you rushed into an upright position, with two nurses pressing you onto the bed again. “Milady, you need to rest! It’s still too early!”

“What is wrong with my child?!?” you desperately screamed, kicking with your legs to free yourself from their hold. “Give it to me!”

Their expressions were too much to bear. Your head was spinning, seeing pity mixing up with disgust and anger in their eyes.

“Enough!” Loki finally broke his own silence, his mind having been occupied with all the horror scenarios one could think about.

Walking up to the midwife carrying the infant, he demanded seeing it. “Your highness, don’t-” yet the midwife’s beg was for naught.

Yes, everything will be alright. Loki will take care of it, like he always does. After all, he’s your savior, your hero, the love of your life...

Gently and insecure, your husband cradled the newborn in his arms - a sight to behold. And the baby’s strong cries assured you that it was at least alive.

However, as soon as he dared to unwrap the towel, revealing it’s face, Loki’s heartbeat completely stopped for a second. His trembling lip began to shake, mouth widely agape as he took in the child’s form.

For a brief moment, his mind was completely blank. All emotion dropped from his face before taking in a complete different demeanour.

“Wha-” you wouldn’t dare ending that sentence when your husband’s furious eyes met yours.

The air was so thick, you thought not even Thor’s hammer could break it. Clearly ritten on Loki’s usual unreadable face were so many emotions at once:

Aversion, fury, incredible sorrow...all directed towards you? The child?

Impossible.

Loki Odinson loved you more than anything in this world, this was the only thing you had always been sure he wasn’t lying about.

“From all the people I expected to betray me...” His voice was hoarse, as if the ache in his heart was wrapping around his throat. “Why did it have to be you?”

You could feel the horrendous aura, a wave of sadness and despair coming from your husband. Seeing him like this was like torture.

“What- what do you mean, darling-”

“Don’t fucking call me that, you harlot!” That was surely not the first time your lover had raised your voice against you - he could be a bit difficult at times, obviously.

But this time was different somehow. It sounded so...ultimate.

And the Loki you knew would never use such harsh words against you!

“Please, I beg of you...just let me see my baby!” Everything was just too much for you, almost to the point of passing out. 

And the man did as you pleaded, almost shoving the child into your arms. “There, have your bastard! And make sure to never show your filthy faces to me ever again!”

With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving you with those strange nurses looking at you like you’ve just commited an unforgiveable crime.

There was no use in overthinking this. He’ll come back like he always did. You can work this out, whatever it is - even if you are gonna be mad for a very long time, making such a fuss and then disappearing instead of taking care of you, the mother of his child.

Out of a whim, you decided to finally observe the little being you’ve been waiting for all those months.

A loud gasp escaped your mouth as you realized just why everyone was so worked up about that little boy. Yet the sound you made was solely surprised - not a hint of fear or rejection laced your voice.

It was a beautiful baby boy, little fists balled to the air as if he was searching for the warmth of his parents - though his skin was in the shade of a dark blue. When you dared running your hand over the deep lines and ridges on his body, the stinging pain of frostbite immediately stung your fingertips. His eyes snapped open, looking at you with black irises through red scleras.

You knew the meaning of this, even though you didn’t understand how this was possible: This child was a biological Frost Giant. A small one, but nonetheless.

A curse? Was someone trying to play your family dirty? No. If that was the case, the child wouldn’t also have actual powers together with the appearance.

Just how long have those tears been running down your cheeks in thick streams already? You wouldn’t know.

Only one thing came as clear as daylight to you: You loved this baby, more than anything in this world. And no matter the hardships that came along with it - you would protect him, no matter what!

“He’s magnificent...” you sniffled, pecking some quick kisses onto his small body before the cold could hurt you. “I love you so, so much...!”

Not minding the judging looks of the nurses, let alone wondering about the consequences, resolve was starting to give you new strenght.

The boy got a grasp on your finger, and instead of your skin freezing off as expected, your magic allowed him to the boy to finally disguise itself as one of you. How was this even possible? Well, this is probably the first time something like this ever happened, so no one could prepare you for what to expect with this child.

They all say that birth was an impactful event - but nothing could’ve prepared you for everything that you had to endure on this day.

Yet nothing could’ve stopped you from believing that this child was the greatest blessing that ever came over you.

Now you only had to convince your husband of that very fact...

“Y/N Y/L/N!” the guard wouldn’t even bother adressing you with your full title as his harsh voice woke you up. When had you drifted away into slumber anyway? You were probably way more worn out than you wanted to admit...

Your eyes immediately snapped open, heart skipping a beat until you saw that your son was still sleeping soundly right next to you. Stroking his cheek as he smiled up to you, it almost made you forget about that burdensome situation.

“Hey!” Protectingly, you were holding onto your child for dear life as the guard approached both of you. “I have an important message to deliver!”

You scowled, almost like an animal mother protecting their offsprings with baring teeth, even though you knew in that state you would be completely and utterly helpless. “Why now? What could be more important than the well-being of my child?”

The answer let your blood run cold:

“I am here to announce that Lady Y/N Y/L/N has to face a trial in front of the Allfather. The following crimes she is being accused of: Infidelity, collaboration with the enemy and trying to sneak one of them into our glorious kingdom.”

[birdwonder]

Genos and Saitama | Your Heroes

|| whoo, another amazing request from @tishimaaa! honestly people, feel free to request stuff from me, it makes me so happy! i really hope you all enjoy this lil’ fic - the main plot was a struggle to come up with, but the request for a reader who liked taking photos was so cute and perfect. <3

[F/N] [L/N]. Full time journalist and sadly, only part time blogger.

As generic as your occupation sounded, your life could be the furthest thing from that. You were a young adult, living in Japan in an apartment with decent rent but little to no neighbours, which made perfect sense seeing as your surrounding area was a honeypot for swarms of monsters that were ready to kill and slaughter.

Now, as horrible as that sounded, it wasn’t all that bad! As a journalist, it gave you an easy and early access to juicy scoops that you could impress your boss and editor with; and it gave you a heap ton to talk about for your hero fan blog online. Not to forget - you weren’t living alone. To be specific, you had two other roommates living in the cramped apartment that had a generous amount of space for one person, but no room at all for three.

Well, you say roommates but more officially they were your boyfriends. Emphasis on the plural. It may be unconventional to have not one but two lovers, but after staying with the both of them for such a long time and all three of you developing mutual feelings, why just settle for one when everyone could be happy? Genos, or more popularly known as Demon Cyborg by the masses, and Saitama who was doomed with the title Caped Baldly, were the two that had captured your heart. Your perfect heroes. Which worked well considering the fact that you were a hero fanatic, and they were always out doing something incredible that you could add to your page. Well, Saitama did a lot less than Genos but when he did fight oooh boy. Was it amazing. 

It was seriously painful to know that Saitama got absolutely zero recognition for his heroic efforts, especially when he hasn’t lost a single battle to your knowledge! It’s the same routine really; a villain approaches, one hit and it’s over. ‘Caped Baldy’ really didn’t do him justice. He deserved a better name like ... The Punching Man! Or Single Punch. 

You should really just stick to writing about heroes instead of creating them.

Sometimes when you felt like your blog had gotten dry or you were in desperate need of material for your work, you would wait close by Genos so that you could be there when he was alerted of any ‘approaching life forms’ as he occasionally put it or monsters that were attacking the cities. 

Right now, your head was rested on his shoulder while you were sitting on the floor in front of a small TV, neither of you really paying attention to what was being said on the screen but it made for great white noise as the two of you simply enjoyed each other’s company. It would be even greater if Saitama was there too, arms wrapped around your waist or his head on your lap as he usually liked to laze about with you, unfortunately he was out buying groceries.

You sighed contently as Genos reached over to take a strand or two of your hair between his fingers, trying to get his sensors in his finger tips to pick up on the texture as he’s done so many times before. “It’s so soft...” He noted, focused so intently on your hair that it might as well been what was on TV instead of the weather report. 

“Thanks Genos,” you laughed, winking as you joked, “I make sure to keep it brushed and conditioned just for you.” As appreciated as his praise was, you were certain that no matter if your hair was straight, curly, long or short, he would probably have something nice to say about it.

“Don’t do it for me! You should be taking care of yourself on your own accord. I read somewhere that treating your body well and taking care of yourself can help keep your mood up by a large scale.” The cyborg began to ramble, listing off a number of ways that you could pamper yourself as though he was a walking self-care beauty kit ad. At least you knew that next time you went shopping, you had the OK to buy a face mask.

 As informative as it was, you lifted a finger to his lips to hush him, something you usually did when you wanted to keep him quiet. Or kiss him. That usually worked but then he wouldn’t speak for a good ten minutes. 

From there the two of you continue to sit in comfortable silence until you heard the sound of a door unlocking and opening, causing you to lift your head from Genos’ shoulder to see Saitama had returned, hands filled with bags which had increased since the time you and Genos officially moved it. Thankfully being a journalist and S-ranked hero helped cover the expenses.

“Sai, welcome back!” You greeted with a sweet voice that instantly put a small smile on the C-ranked hero’s face.

“Hey. See you two are comfortable.” Saitama then proceeded to start putting the products he had bought away, careful to not put something cold in the cabinet or rice in the fridge since he was trying to do it all quickly to join your cuddling session. How dare you two be lazy and snuggle up when he had to sort out 50 coupons at the check out to find at least one that wasn’t expired? Unforgivable. “Totally not like I was outside freezing my ass off or anything”

You snickered at his sarcastic comment and made a ‘come here’ gesture. “Well if you hurry up, you can join us, dummy.”

“Or you could help out? Better yet. I sit down and chill and you do all of this, and cook lunch. And make some dessert while you’re at it maybe.” Saitama retorted, huffing at his lack of assistance while you cheekily grinned and tapped your chin, as if deep in thought. 

“Hoooow about ... no.~”

Throwing his head back a little, Saitama groaned with annoyance even though he knew he wasn’t going to stay mad at you. “Maybe you want to help out, Genos?” He queried, raising a brow at the cyborg who had suddenly stood up, startling you from his unexpected move. Was he that excited to help sort out groceries?

“There’s something outside. No. Two beings are nearby.” 

Finally, some action! Your eyes sparkled with excitement, looking back and forth from Genos and Saitama with an expecting look, knowing that they'd have no choice but to go check it out. After all, no one came round here except for monsters, and they wouldn’t dare let you sleep in a dangerous environment. What sweethearts.

They gave each other a nod, both knowing what they had to do, before looking over at you. “Stay here, [F/N]. We’ll be back in a short bit, just put the food away for me, yeah?” Saitama asked, only needing to take a few steps to be standing in front of you and place a hand on your head. In return, you leant up to peck his cheek as a good luck charm, a thing you usually did when they were about to head out.

“Do your best out there, guys!” 

“We will do even better than that,” Genos corrected, mimicking Saitama by also patting your head. Guess he was trying to learn more from his sensei than just how to become a strong hero.

With that they were both gone and you were left in the apartment, standing in the middle of the square living room by your lonesome, but not for long! Turning on your heel, you rushed over to a corner of the room where you usually dumped your bag after work and rummaged inside looking for your camera. 

You cheered a small ‘yes’ once you grabbed it, rushing to the door to slip your shoes on and dash out the house and down the building’s stairs. It took a lot of frantic looking around to find out where they went but luckily they had moved to one street over, already battling it out.

Well, Saitama was just standing there talking or maybe debating with one of the monsters who looked like a mix of porcupine and a mole rat while Genos was going head to head with an identical looking being but slightly taller and stockier. Already a few seconds in and you had snapped a few shots of Genos landing hits on the monster.

 From the safety of just blatantly standing behind a brick wall’s corner, you continued to take more photos while the excitement of going home to upload them to your laptop was bubbling inside you. Obviously a few of the more up close and handsome would be saved for yourself . You may love sharing the amazing abilities of your lovers to the world but even you got a little jealous over fans looking at Genos too much. 

‘It’s not fair, why is he so perfect?’ You mentally complained, cursing the fact the cyborg looked so good while also being a badass fighter. Sadly for you, you got way too wrapped up in your thoughts and failed to noticed the looming figure behind you.

With no warning or even an idea with what’s to come, a large hand wrapped around your throat from behind, forcing a gasp and sickly choking sound to escape your throat.

“Lookie, lookie. A little lamb fresh for the slaughter house,” a gruff yet arrogant voice cooed, sending all the worst kinds of shivers down your spines. With a grip tight on your throat, it was hard to move your head, especially when the stranger’s hand seemed to cover the whole surface area of your neck. Yet you managed to tilt it just enough to see the face of your attacker.

A deep blue mole like muzzle sniffled disgustingly near your face, as if to take in your scent. Small, black squinting eyes seemed to be heavily focused on you and it was clear by his much larger porcupine quills and stature, that this guy was the superior of the two other beasts fighting Saitama and Genos. Damn, he must have been too far away at first for Genos to have detected him.

“Let...go!” It was hard to choke out the command and all of your energy was going into swinging your legs back and forth, and scratching at the hand holding you in hopes it hurt enough to make him release his grip on you. To no avail, his hand didn’t so much as loosen.

In the most mocking manner ever, the mole creature barked out in laughter and seemed to even tear up a little at your feeble attempt of escaping. “Don’t be stupid, little thing! As the Rodent King, I’m making it my mission to expand my empire by killing off every single one of you miserable humans,” he boasted, chest puffed out as though he was announcing the world’s greatest news. If you had the energy to, you’d roll your eyes. “From a burrow in the woods to the whole of the miserable planet, and then the world, I will claim all of this land and  my people and I will live long and fruitfully!”

Despite it being loud and obnoxious, the monologging rodent’s speech didn’t take your mind off the serious lack of oxygen you weren’t getting and your limbs began to go limp. The camera that was once in your hand clattered to the ground and shattered, the majority of it still being connected together with all the inner components sprung out and the lens had to have shattered; not that it mattered to a dead person. 

The loud clatter of the camera caught the Rodent King’s attention, and his looked down to spot what had fallen and yet he asked, “huh? What was that?” His nose sniffed a couple of times, trying to find the scent of what had fallen and then it struck you. He’s as blind as mole. This guy relied on scent to see! 

“No matter, it doesn’t matter now.” He shrugged, letting go of your neck, causing you to fall onto your knees and gasp for a desperate amount of air. ‘Oh sweet oxygen, don’t ever let me lose you again. I promise to walk more to work, I really do.’ 

Meekly, you looked up to see that your nightmare wasn’t over. The monster was now knelt down on one leg in front of you, one arm resting on his propped up knee and another was raised above your head, a large, clenched fist ready to crash down on your skull. “Like I said, you humans are destined to die by my hand! Now, any last words?”

Shit, shit. What to do? You weren’t ready to die, not like this. You hadn’t regained enough air to cry out for help, so all you had right now was yourself to save you. You and a ... busted camera! Patting around, you knew that the Rodent King wouldn’t notice your fidgeting so you quickly tried to search for it while still keeping eye contact with him, just so he didn’t grow suspicious.

“Yeah actually... Just three.” 

Got it!

You grabbed ahold of the largest chunk of the camera you could find, and pulled back your arm, smashing the once treasured device onto the villain’s face while simultaneously quickly standing up. “Eat shit, bitch!”

A pained cry came from the Rodent King, who slapped his previously raised hand over his face to cover where the camera had hit him. Just like you, he had quickly gotten up though you were already taking two steps away from him. Now, if you could just run away, you could head for the other two! Oh God, how you wanted to hold them. To feel safe and warm in their arms.

That desire crashed down like a burning plane however when you felt your arm be grabbed. The mole clearly was strong enough to recover quickly from the minor attack, and he looked furious, quills sticking up much higher than before. “You bitch! How dare you! Do you know who you are dealing with?!”

Before you could even make a clever comeback, or a pathetic cry for mercy, the hold on you suddenly became non existent when a blast had hit the head of the Rodent King, sending him flying back a couple of feet away. 

‘Huh? Wait, that could only mean,’ you cut off your own thoughts by swiftly turning around to see two figures standing in front of you, your boys. Oh, and did they look pissed. 

“I believe it is you who doesn’t know who they’re dealing with.” Genos harshly stated, a now closing canon whirring from within his hand as he glared at the now writhing in pain monster. Saitama looked just as deadly, his expression darkened and already he was stepping closer to the villain. 

“I’ll take this one Genos, just make sure that [F/N] isn’t hurt.”

With an accepting nod, Genos gently put an arm around you and pulled you close to his side, guiding you further away from the street for the sake of your wellbeing and your eyes not seeing what bloodshed would probably ensue. 

“[F/N], what were you doing there? Do you know how dangerous it is to follow us into battle?!” 

The scolding stung a little emotionally though his concerned expression and gentle hands lifting your chin to brush over any potential bruising on your neck made up for it, letting you know that it was just the stress of losing you that had gotten him so riled up. 

“I’m sorry, Genos. Really. I just,” you choked a little, tears threatening to spill but you wouldn’t let them, “I just love seeing you and Saitama fight, and I’m just so proud to have such incredible boyfriends- I guess I just wasn’t careful enough.”

The robotic hero sighed. He couldn’t understand why you would risk yourself for a couple of candid photos of him and his sensei, especially when you weren’t even close to being evenly matched against any hero or villain. Though it didn’t mean he wasn’t flattered, plus he also knew that heroes were a passion of your’s, something he wouldn’t dream of trying to change.

Brushing some of your hair from your face that had gotten loose and messy from the scuffle you had, he rested his forehead against your’s and let a beat of silence pass before speaking. “It’s fine, please do not let yourself cry over this. Just next time, give us a warning? We will maybe try and work something out if you are so insistent on getting photos of our fights.”

That made you smile a little. As stoic and harsh as Genos may seem, his heart was usually in the best of places, especially when it came to those he cared about. It’s one of the reasons why you love him so much. 

“Sure hon, though I doubt I’ll be taking any photos any time soon. I may have smashed my camera back here while I was being, y’know.” A weak chuckle left your lips, and Genos was about to say a few more words of comfort for your loss of a prized possession when a much calmer than before voice spoke up.

“No biggie, we can just buy you a new one, right?”

Turning around and smiling softly, the usual nonchalant expression of Saitama was as welcoming as a warm hug on a winter’s day. In his hand was a brown wallet, a few yen notes poking out of the pocket which gave the idea that a lot was inside. “Turns out even rat things carry about cash on them, and if I’m right this should cover for a new camera.”

Saitama placed a hand on your head like earlier, his eyes soft while glancing at you, something you responded to by pulling him into a tight hug and burying your face into the soft fabric of his hoodie. A much better thing to soak a few tears in than his flashy hero outfit, in your opinion. 

“Oh thank you so, so much. You guys really are my heroes.” You sniffled, pulling your face away from Saitama’s chest. “I love you boys so much!”

Of course, the two had to smile at that, both leaning down to plant a small kiss on a temple either side of your head. “We love you more,” Saitama chimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder while Genos opted for holding your hand loosely, which was usually out of his comfort zone in public areas. Luckily, it was only you three. 

“Now, I believe Sensei brought some food home, yes? Shall we go prepare some lunch?”

“Oh yeah! If you two could make some soba that’d be great.”

“Oh Sai...”

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 6

<- Chapter 5 | Chapter 7 ->

Summary:  First your mom’s a jerk. Then the Creature’s a jerk. You always try to be supportive and strong, because you know he was created in a lab 2 years ago and has never had any human contact except for physical beatings, but… You have your own emotional insecurities, too, and there’s only so much you can take.

The rooster crows, and you spring out of bed, rushing downstairs to do your chores with a vigor that alarmed, but pleased, your parents. Pulling on your coat in the frosty grey air, you hurry out to the barn before dawn breaks.

The dilapidated old structure looms like a ghost at the end of the pasture in the dark morning fog. The wooden door creaks as you push it open and slip inside. You discover the terrifying, ghoulish monster sleeping peacefully in the cow pen, curled up on the hay with Edelweiss and her newborn calf. A handful of barn cats have joined them, sharing the warmth.

A feeling builds up inside you like air filling a balloon, and escapes your mouth as a high-pitched squeal.

He jerks awake in an uncoordinated flailing of startled limbs, putting himself protectively between the calf and the noise. “S-sorry! You’re just so cute,” you gush, lowering your voice to a whisper. His eyes meet yours, the confusion leaves them, and he smiles.

As the previous night, he watches intently as you set about your chores. This time he asks you questions, and follows along with what you’re doing. You show him how to collect eggs, milk cows, distribute feed, and pull up water from the well—the latter he watches from a window, so he won’t be seen.

When finally you are done, you turn your attention to the creature. Your early start means there should be some extra time before you’ll be expected for breakfast, so you tend to his wound, and lay down in the hay with him. The animals graze peacefully outside in the purple-orange sunrise. He puts his arms around you, and you rest your head on his broad chest, watching them through the barn door, safe in the shadows.

“You are a gentle creature,” you yawn lazily, running your fingers through his hair, and tracing them over the uneven skin of his chest. For all he may look like a monster, he has the gentlest soul. But the comment makes his jaw clench, and shift uncomfortably.

“You don't know that,” he growls. “I am not. The power of death is in these hands.” He holds them out and turns them over. Each pale knuckle protrudes like the pommel of a dagger, attached to long, skeletal fingers. Like everything about him, they are macabre in appearance, but looking past that to the person they belong to, you can’t imagine them capable of any wrongdoing.

“No it's not—” you begin to protest, snatching his hands out of the air and clutching them to your chest. But then, you don’t really know anything about his past, and begin to wonder. “Have you...? Killed?”

He shakes his head, to your relief. “To take a life is to waste the most precious gift. But I have contemplated it, and I believe myself capable. Before we met, I was determined to wreak misery upon he who made me. Humanity hated and scorned me, and so I decided…” He trails off, breathing deeply. “I am certain, had you not found me, I would have committed unforgivable evils; such was the state I was in. I have already committed acts of destruction: I set fire to a cottage where my friends once lived. I destroyed out of spite that place where they abandoned me.”

“There’s no point worrying about what could have happened. You haven’t done anything wrong, that’s what matters. All you’ve done is... burn an empty cottage?” Wait, what? “I didn’t realize you had friends before. You always spoke as if you had been alone until now...” A dagger of jealousy pierces your heart. You push the feeling away, a pit of shame knotting your stomach—how dare you be upset you’re not his first and only friend?

His chest heaves a sharp laugh, but his eyes are sad. “I called them thus… In truth, I was their friend, but they were never mine” He tells you a story of how he took shelter in a low hovel attached to a cottage, from whence he could observe the lives of its occupants through the year, undetected. He learned to speak and read from watching them, and in return he secretly aided them however he could. They called him a good spirit, and he called them his protectors. The patriarch was a blind man, and after he had mastered speech, he sought to introduce himself when he was alone, that he might supplicate himself before him for aid, and earn his sympathy. “My plan nearly succeeded, but his family returned and drove me away. Despite all my efforts to help them, they could not stomach a ‘good spirit’ as hideous as I, and they fled in horror, never to return. Such is the fate of one wretched as I. In my life, only you have been able to tolerate me—I must assume by some anomaly in the shape of your skull which makes you immune to horror.”

His tale is just as sorrowful as you had expected, and you spent its telling squeezing and nuzzling him comfortingly. But there was one little thing that kept bothering you about it.

“Hang on—so you were spying on them for a whole year?! That’s kind of creepy, mon coeur.”

“What do you mean? I would be delighted to discover a secret friend had been watching over me this whole time.”

Your head hangs, shaking side to side. “Oh, my sweet innocent daemon.” You swivel around and squeeze both his cheeks between your hands. “Of course you would. All you’ve ever wanted is to not be alone. How could you understand what stalking means?”

“Stalking?”

“Most people find it disturbing—threatening—to be watched by a stranger without their knowledge. And for an entire year! They must have realized the mysterious spirit doing them favors was you the whole time! I’d have been creeped out too if that was how we met! They would have run away even if you were handsome as a prince!”

His face is a mask of confusion, frozen with mouth agape. After a moment of shocked silence, it falls in despair. “Then there is more than my appearance that drives my fellow-beings from me? I always believed, if not for my twisted form, I might be accepted—but there is more? My sensibilities, my utter ignorance of the simplest conventions of social existence will keep me from ever experiencing it!”

“Oh, no! Please don’t… I didn’t mean…!” Good job, you broke him. “That isn’t what I meant,” you plead, desperately stroking the side of his face, but his eyes are frozen in a faraway look, sinking under the weight of a new failure. “What I mean is, maybe it’s not as hopeless as you think! Maybe people aren’t afraid of you because of your immutable physical traits, but because of how you present yourself. And you can change that. I can teach you!”

His unfocused eyes refocus on you, silently curious about what you’re saying.

“So much of how we perceive others is based on presentation. Dress a man in rags and he will be suspected as a criminal, or in the finest silks and he is trusted as a gentleman, though he is the same man with the same soul.” You play with his hair, combing the tangles out of it with your fingers. “Perhaps if we can obtain clothing tailored to your size, if we can groom your hair to a gentlemanly fashion, and most importantly, find some way to introduce you which explains your odd figure… perhaps then, you would not arouse fear in those who see you.”

“Do you think so?” he asks, hopefully.

“We can try.”

He smiles, shaking off his melancholy. Two massive hands pull you firmly onto his lap. “You are all I want, anyway. I don’t care about anyone else.” His hand runs down the small of your back, and lower, teasing you. A heat rises in your core. Something in the way his eyes smile when they look at you… suddenly, you need him. You lean up to kiss him, pulling on his neck for support, and his lips lower to meet yours, merging with sudden fury. He pulls the back of your head toward him, deepening the kiss, while his other hand takes advantage of your hips lifting off his lap to slide between your thighs. He moans, muffled against your mouth. The sound of his arousal ignites your own, and you writhe your hips into the fingers exploring you there, directing them over your clothes to your heat. You could get lost in him.

Your mother’s shrill voice carries down to the barn, calling your name. The hens cluck a greeting, rushing to the fence to beg for food. She’s not just calling you in to breakfast, she’s coming to the barn!

You fall off him with a yelp, frantically righting your clothing and hair, while he scrambles to get out of sight, massive erection outlined clearly even through his thick cloak.

“What is taking you so long?” your mother scolds, charging into the barn. She’s in a foul mood, but at least is too wrapped up in her anger to notice anything amiss. She snatches up the milk pail by the door. “I’ve been waiting on this for breakfast!”

“Sorry. I got an early start so I could take my time this morning—it’s no later than user!”

“Don’t talk back to me, child,” she huffs. “I worried about you. I keep expecting you to disappear again.”

“Oh, mom…” you feel sorry for all you’ve put her through for a moment, but she doesn’t let you complete your thought.

“Do you know how this has been on me? Our family is the gossip of the town. But at least we had that nice service for you. How did you like the service?”

It wasn’t a real question. You open your mouth to answer, and she is already delivering a lengthy sermon on how lovely the hymns were, and how she had the best voice, because she wanted to be an opera singer when she was your age, you know.

“Anyway, I came to fetch you for breakfast, and after breakfast, I want you to go into town and apologize to that boy Ferdinand right away and get him to take you back.”

“What? I told you, I broke things off with him!”

“You can explain that the accident made you hysterical, and you weren’t thinking straight.”

“But I was thinking straight. I don’t love him!”

“You fool!” she raises her voice. “Can’t you see he’s your best prospect? Who else will have you? Do you want to grow old alone, a spinster?”

“Maybe I do!” You’ve had about enough of this. “There’s good money in textiles, and then I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone! You think I want to end up like you and dad?”

“HOW DARE YOU?” She slaps you across the face. It wasn’t a hard blow, but it stings like needles under your skin. An angry snarl emanates from where the creature is hiding. Your mother stands bolt upright. “What was that?”

“That was you hitting me,” you hiss between clenched teeth, playing dumb.

“Let us return to the house. Something unholy has fallen on this place.”

“No, I still have chores to finish.”

“Now! I will not leave my daughter alone to be preyed upon by a demonic spirit. Dear lord, what if the devil is following you? When you had your accident, you came too close to the gates of death, and now some devil has its claws in your soul… Come!”

“It was only a cow, you’re imagining things,” you plead, but she grabs you hard around the wrist and drags you back to the house.

*****

Something is wrong. You can tell the moment you enter the barn. After spending a long, miserable day under your mother’s supervision, you long for the comfort of your macabre companion’s arms, but he does not greet you at the door. It is silent. He could be asleep again, but it is not the warm, comfortable silence of rest. It is a cold feeling, as if something had sucked all sound from the air.

You climb up to the hay loft, a knot of dread rising in your stomach, and find him stewing in a shadowed corner facing the wall.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Who is Ferdinand?” he growls, not turning around.

The knot tightens.

He whips around and repeats his demand, this time a roar. “Who is Ferdinand?!” His eyes are dark. He may have been crying.

“The boy I was with when I tripped and fell in the river... the one who shot you.”

“And who is he to you, exactly?” He asks, attempting to seem indifferent to the answer, though his voice is strained and constricted in his throat.

“He was... we were courting. He comes from a wealthy family, and my parents pushed the match. Of course I ended all preludes the moment I awoke from the accident to learn what he had done to you. Then I went to find you.”

This explanation does nothing to satisfy him, or to relieve the tension in his shoulders and the heaving of his breath. He paces.

“You never told me.”

“I… I’m sorry; he’s in the past, it didn’t seem important…” But not even mentioning it was a deliberate oversight. It was to protect his feelings, you tell yourself. Or was it to protect yourself from your own shame? Girls in your town are taught to be faithful, to never rush between men. One must wait at least a year between suitors, to be proper. To do otherwise is to be called a whore. Not that you care about what is proper. Not that he ought to care.

“Did you lay with him?” he cringes. “And how many others before him?!”

“Th-that’s none of your business!”

“But you’re mine!” he roars. “I thought you were mine… I should have known you belonged to another!”

“I belong to nobody!” you cry indignantly, trying to convince yourself as much as him. The anger rising within you is overshadowed by a stronger feeling—guilt. You never lied exactly, but you omitted the truth to let him think you were better than you are. “I may have been with another in the past, but I chose to be with you now. Please...” Your appeal falls on unhearing ears as he continues to pace in a jerky, agitated manner.

“And you… you debase yourself with me! What madness would cause you to break with your own kind and seek companionship with a wretched fiend? You could be wife to a normal, handsome fellow-being, yet you debauch in the sordid embrace of monsters? You are a greater freak than I! Given the choice, I would take a normal life! You make an outcast of yourself willingly. What in the world could drive you to such self-destruction? I forbid it! Be not an adulteress to a corpse. Take my leave and rejoin your own!”

There are a million things you could tell him. You could shout at him for being cruel. For pushing you away again. You could calmly comfort him, explain to him why it’s all okay… Except you’re struggling to see how it can be okay. Your lip quivers. He’s right. A voice like a knife dipped in honey whispers in your ear, draining all your strength to fight back. You’re too much of a freak even for him. You’re an unfaithful whore jumping from man to man. Your knees go weak. You could never do the proper things a lady is supposed to do. You didn’t think he would notice? Everyone notices. Your mother is right—there’s a devil in you.

You turn to run, to escape the voice. Legs like lead, barn blurry with tears, you trip and stumble and feel your way to the ladder.

“Why are you crying?” he asks as you go, at first with cold curiosity, then softer, in a shaking voice. “Why are you crying?”

  *****

You run into the woods, to your secret place to think and get away. It’s not far from home—a place you’ve come since you were a child—but hidden from view behind a few large boulders, standing out on the otherwise flat forest floor as if dropped from the sky. They are covered with moss, set in a tiny clearing where an old tree blew down years ago, letting just enough light in for a soft circle of grass to grow.

You scramble between the rocks, falling to your knees on the snow still hiding, like you, in the solace of shadows. Tears fall down hot against your cheeks, but you shiver, skin clammy with goosebumps.

It doesn’t take him long to find you.

“No, oh no…” he gasps, “what have I done?” He kneels beside you, and wraps himself around your shaking form. “No, no, no... Please no, don't cry,” he begins to sob. “I am sorry... I am a fiend! A wicked, villainous fiend to hurt you... Forgive me, please forgive me, I am sorry…”

It feels good to cry with him, the way a funeral feels good. Miserable, yet not alone. But you should be alone. When he knows the truth, he won’t want to stay. He’ll leave you alone with your lies.

“You’re right. You’re right about everything,” you sniff. “I didn’t tell you so many things I should have, because… this magical creature wandered out of the woods and thought the world of me. I didn’t want you to know. I’m a freak. I’m rotten. A disappointment. And I'm poor. I'm just a poor farmer. You think I am sacrificing my social standing by affiliating with you, yet in truth, I have no such standing. No merit. I am nothing. Even among the poor farmers of this town, I have never been accepted. Ha—and I said I could help you fit in! Who am I to teach anyone about social etiquette? Ferdinand was my only prospect; that's why mother is so worried that if he won't have me, no one will. But I thought I could at least seem normal in your eyes… but even a monster can see I am worthless.”

He flinches when you call him a monster, but it is only a blip against the look of horror and sadness in his eyes as you speak of yourself that way. “No. No, please forget those jealous words I spoke,” he croaks, voice breaking. He’s clinging to you like a drowning man, his weight against you crushing, but warm. He rubs heat back into your arms. “They were spoken in a fit of madness—vitriolic raving, fueled by envy, deprived of all logic or reason. Do not forgive me: hate me and curse my being, but do not allow my reckless malice to tarnish your own estimation of your worth. Here I speak the truth: You are everything. You are all I could ever want, and more than I dare ever hope for. You are kind, and wonderful, and strong. You are perfect, and I do not deserve to bask in your radiance. Destroy my wretched life now, if it will undo the harm I have done, and I shall submit myself to your revenge.”

It’s too late. The voice isn’t satisfied, and you can only helplessly parrot what it whispers to you. “I’m not any of those things. If you only looked normal, you would fit in better than I ever could. I wish I could trade bodies with you, so that you could be happy, and I could be the one hiding in the wilderness all alone.”

“I COULD NEVER BE HAPPY LIKE THAT!” he shouts, holding your gaze with such intensity it snaps you out of your fog. “Not without you beside me! I will never be content while you are miserable.”

“But you held me in such high esteem. I let you believe you were getting more than you were—that I was a prize of high station, with powers to lift you up in society. Aren't you disappointed?”

“I never overestimated your position. Though I am kept apart from it, I am not so ignorant of human society as to be blind to your place in its cruel hierarchy.”

“But you always say things like, I’m an angel, I’m noble, the barn is heaven, our food is lavish...”

“Compared against my own experiences, these are true. I have nothing, not even humanity. My life has been spent in wilderness, and you have been gracious in sharing what little you have. You are the noblest being I have encountered, yet it is plain in your residence, dress, and occupation that you are you are of the lower class. And to seek me out, unafraid… I easily inferred you were unusual amongst your peers. Your mere willingness to tolerate me is proof.”

“Oh.” You shake your head, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

He takes your hand, kneeling in front of you. “Did you believe I would think less of you? How could one so wonderful as you ever put value on the opinion of a wretch such as I? Could it truly be that you feel wretched, too, at times?” His eyes widen with realization. “That is why my words hurt you. You have borne the pain of rejection; you share, to an extent, my feeling of isolation. From my vantage, you seem so grand, like the walls of a castle that I am merely the wind howling against. I could not imagine myself capable of damaging you.”

“Do you really think I don’t care? I am not a castle. I’m not above you, or your reprobations. You really hurt me this time...”

“I know,” he says, voice cracking with agonizing understanding. He is certain you are leaving him. “I know.”

You breathe out a long sigh. Brushing a strand of loose hair from his despairing face, you give a lopsided smile. “You know... You're cute when you're sad.”

“I am never cute,” he says, staring severely at the ground. “I am hideous.”

“Stop it, you're even cuter when you're self-pitying!”

He looks up from his stupor, and sees the teasing glimmer in your eyes. “You... are forgiving me?”

“Do you forgive me about Ferdinand? You don’t think I’m a harlot?”

“I don’t care about that anymore. It is far worse to see you in pain because of my foolish jealousy. You may bed a different man each night, and I will count myself fortunate to have you return home to me. Just return to me. I cannot bear the thought of losing you.”

Your lips crash against his, catching him off balance. You pull him down into you, practically hanging on the back of his neck.

“Well,” you break the kiss, breathless, “I’m not going to abandon you. But I… hope this gets easier. I don’t want us to fight all the time. You lash out at me like you can’t trust me. But you're only two years old, I suppose, so tantrums must be expected; and you’ve never had anyone else to talk to.”

He buries you in his chest with a sob, protectively scooping you off the frozen ground. He feels so warm, with his cloak draped over you, rocking back and forth. Everything is okay now.

“I am so sorry. I swear to you, I will never hurt you again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you whisper. “Just keep getting better. We’ll both just keep getting better, together.”

His mess of hair nods against your cheek, still gripping you tight.

  *****

At length, you rise, finally ready to return. He takes off his wool cloak and wraps it around your shoulders. The storm between you is over.

You walk back to the barn to do the evening chores. Though it’s an unheated barn, it’s amazing how much warmer it feels compared to the chilling wind outside. The creature helps you with a few of the tasks you showed him earlier. He is slow and unsure, and must rest frequently for his shoulder, but he tries hard to be useful, pushing past the pain, as if helping with this will make up for everything earlier.

He sets a milk pail by the door, ready for you to bring back to the house for the dinner. His eyes linger over the spot balefully, where you had argued with your mother that morning.

“I should have protected you when you returned, after the way that woman struck you, I should have been there to lessen your strife…”

“You growled so loud, you nearly gave us away!” you laugh, throwing grains into the mule’s trough, eager to change the subject. “It’s a lucky thing father makes sport of dismissing mother’s fears as feeble-minded superstition.”

“How awful.”

“She’s awful.”

“But they are married. Do they not love each other, as my dear Felix and Safie?”

You snort at his naivete. “Marriage has nothing to do with love. It didn’t for my parents, and it wouldn’t if I had married Ferdinand.” You secure the lid back on the store of feed. “I have no money in my own name. The only way out of this farm is to wait until my parents die, or take a husband. That’s the choice all women here must make.”

“I never understood these laws of men, which seem contrived to force those under them to live in misery. One should not have to spend their life with another they do not love. It seems better to break with civilization entirely, if only it were not so bitterly lonely…”

“Well… I agree with you there. If it were possible, I’d run away into the forest and never look back. Except I would starve to death, or freeze. If I was like you… we could just disappear together.”

He smiles at you, wiping your hands off on your dress now that chores are finished, a strange look on his face. “I dreamed of that once. Having a companion who was like me, and spending our lives in the remote jungles of South America.”

“That sounds nice.”

You sit down with him against the barn wall. A small calico pads over and rubs her head against the both of you with a purr, before rushing off to hunt mice.

“It was my greatest hope… but then I met you. Now all of my dreams are of you. I would live anywhere, do anything, to be with you. I am so eager to devote my life to you… I am ashamed that I am equally eager to believe you would betray me…”

He’s never going to forgive himself for that. You sigh, and shake your head. “It's funny... Others look at you and see a monster. They run away or hurt you thinking you’ll attack them, or eat their skin, or steal the souls from their goats or something!” You laugh quietly. He stares at you a little horrified. When did you get so morbid? “What I mean is—If only they knew your most monstrous quality is a mundane, human thing like jealousy.”

He breathes out a single, silent laugh, and hangs his head.

“You know, thanks for saying you don’t care who else I’m with, but… The moment I laid eyes on you, it was over with Ferdinand. From that moment, you were all I could think about. You were all I wanted, even before we met.”

He picks his head up. “You really chose me? You could have had that handsome boy, but you chose me?” This time, his voice is full of wonder, not fear. A victorious smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

“I did.”

He takes your hand and holds it to his thin lips, each word a kiss against your knuckles. “It is incomprehensible that any rational being would make such a selection, but… it makes me unimaginably happy.”

[cassandra-acton]

RUSSIANS REVISITED [2 of 2]:

Monkey puppet meme. This is not what I intended, but I’m going to roll with it.

Date: November 10th, 2019. Warnings: My usual bullshit.

“Is the kid yours?”

The metal was like ice. Radiating through her body.

Numbing her from the inside out.

Cassie found herself wanting to look downward; to see the knife, or the calloused hand holding it against her throat so forcefully she could’ve choked. Anything was better than the steely eyes boring into her soul. That smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as though he was enjoying every moment. But she couldn’t look down. She dared not move. Each outward breath came as a staccato of fear and panic until he forced her back into her living room wall with enough power to wind her.

She was sure she wasn’t breathing at all after that.

“It’s a simple question,” the man repeated coolly, adjusting his grip on the handle of the blade like he was fucking testing her. “Answer it.”

The little boy was cowering under the hand of a shadowy figure across the room; familiar features marred with enough fear and confusion that her heart hurt. It was only when he whimpered that she finally tore her watery eyes away from the attacker. To see him that way was all hurt and dread and regret. What she wouldn’t have given to reach out to him. To tell him it would be okay, even if a part of her was assuring her that it definitely wasn’t.

“No. No, it’s—”

If they were asking, then they didn’t know.

Maybe it was better for the both of them if it stayed that way.

“I’m just babysitting for a neighbor,” she said, voice cracking. “Please. I’m just babysitting. He has nothing to do with this. With me.”

---

“Looking forward to the fireworks, kiddo?”

The way his face lit up, grinning from ear-to-ear, suggested yes.

“Okay good, because same…”

Luckily for Cassandra, spending time with Arno had never been a rare occurrence. Where the fuck her sister had found the time to birth four sons—let alone look after them when she was done—was absolutely beyond her, but damn, she was glad. Things might not have always been easy with Elizabeth, but no matter where they stood, or what kind of petty argument had arisen between them, they never let it affect her relationship with the boys.

Of course, Cassie loved them all, but she definitely had a soft spot for the youngest.

“How come you didn’t want to go with your dad?”

The six-year-old wrinkled his nose up as though repulsed by the question.

He might’ve been young, but he already had his mother’s attitude toward Alistair, apparently.

“Because he doesn’t like me or William or Andrew, he just likes Laughton.”

When she’d been expecting a childish rant about pocket money, or his mum and dad fighting again, or the man being away with work too much, to hear those words struck a little close to home. Enough that her smile faltered. Enough that her grip on his tiny hand tightened just a little in an attempt to reassure him. It would have been easy to brush the comments aside as the dramatic ranting of a child if she hadn’t once felt exactly the same way about her mother and Elizabeth.

“That’s not true,” she said sternly. “I promise it’s not.”

The boy huffed out a sigh as they reached her front gate, blissfully unaware that it wasn’t askew when Cassie had departed that morning. Arno didn’t say anything after that. Instead, he simply let go of her hand and held up an open palm for her keys.

---

Her heart started pounding as though it’d only just remembered she was alive.

There.

Staring back at a man who seemed far too suspicious to have believed her words.

Cassie swallowed hard.

Was it strange that faced with a man who seemed, at the very least, intent on hurting her, she was more concerned with whether or not her sister would blame her for this?

“Lock him in the room with the dog.” The hand that he’d been using to pin her to the wall moved upward slowly; creeping against her skin. Lingering as it reached her neck. He didn’t speak again until it replaced the blade with an unforgiving hold on her throat. “Make sure he stays quiet until we’re done here.”

Done here.

The finality of the words was a slap in the face.

“Keep nice and quiet, kiddo,” she said gently, her eyes following her nephew as the lackey dragged him to her bedroom. “It’s going to be okay.”

Arno nodded silently, rubbing at his eyes.

And then he was gone and she once again faced a monster.

The way his grip tightened around her neck—eliciting a strangled choke as she fought to breathe—suggested he hadn’t much appreciated her attempt at comfort.

“Not for you it isn’t.”

The blonde didn’t have time to react to the threat before the knife was in her face.

“I should cut out your fucking tongue,” he hissed, the point digging into her cheek. There was a fire in his eyes; as though he wanted to hurt her, badly, but for some reason was forcing restraint. “How hard is it to keep your damn mouth shut? You were warned.”

It took a second for the penny to drop, but when it did, her heart fell right along with it.

This had been too organized for a robbery from the start. The man on the balcony had threatened that if she didn’t stop pushing forward with her crusade against the Russian mob—drawing to light their connections with the Korshunov administration and the HCA in the process—she would face the repercussions. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t taken him seriously. The exchange had haunted her ever since. But whilst Cassie knew that when these people threatened you, it meant something, there was no way that she could, in good conscience, give up on the only meaningful thing she’d done since taking office. There was no way that she could give up on punishing the people who had armed and funded those responsible for taking Harrison away.

They could bring their words and they could bring their fucking knives.

If they wanted her to stop, they’d have to make her.

And maybe that’s exactly what this was.

Maybe they knew it, too.

“You’ve pissed off a lot of the wrong people,” he continued, dragging the knife slowly down to her jawbone. It was then he leaned forward to whisper: “If you knew how high up this conversation went, your empty head would fucking spin.”

Reflexively she reached up to the hand on her throat, still desperate to loosen his grip.

She couldn’t even swallow.

“If you hurt me,” she spluttered, sinking her nails into his skin with a burning desire to make him bleed, “you’ll be starting a war with my sister.”

This seemed to amuse him, and that was almost as unsettling as the fucking knife.

He was grinning as he continued: “Sweetheart, if we could get to her instead, we would.”

Wait.

What?

Was the Vorshevsky family suicidal?

Whilst she didn’t know nearly enough about them to be able to judge whether or not behavior like this was out of character, it seemed fucking moronic to be picking a fight with the government when they had hardly even set down their roots yet.

They would be finished before they even began.

“If you think she can’t deal with a bunch of mobsters, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Elizabeth would eat them alive.

To see him shaking his head had her frowning. Irrationally and bizarrely defensive. These people were fucking brain dead. They were—

His laugh was so cold that she was sure it was the stuff of nightmares.

“We’re not mobsters,” he corrected, face so close to hers now she could feel his breath against her skin. “They just told us where to find you.”

And that was all it took to send her brain into shutdown.

For her breath to catch somewhere in the back of her throat.

For her hands to still, and her eyes to lose focus so swiftly she couldn’t even see him anymore.

We’re not mobsters.

“You’re—“

But words escaped her.

The Russian’s hand let go of her throat in a final act of mercy. For a moment, he simply stared at her in silent contemplation; dark eyes skimming her face as though he was waiting for something. Slowly, his hand crept up to the side of her head. His fingers threaded into her hair and the act alone made her feel as nauseous as the realization that’d come before it. Even though he wasn’t holding her against the wall anymore she couldn’t move. Didn’t know how.

“You don’t remember me, but I remember you.”

Oh she remembered.

That hand in her hair, dragging her through the screaming crowds.

His knife at her throat.

“I remember you.”

The laugh wasn’t just stuff of nightmares. It had haunted hers.

“It’s a real shame. You would have been a prize back in Belgravia, but things have changed.”

All she could do was stare back at him.

“I’m not here to start a war with your sister. I’m here to punish her.”

The words landed so heavily, all she could do to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes was to close them. How was this happening? After everything, how was this what she deserved?

“I was going to come here right after your panel on Friday evening. We were all watching,” he continued, and even though she couldn’t see him anymore, Cassie could tell that he was still grinning like a fucking maniac. “But I decided to wait. There’s one good thing about you guys and your fucking fireworks.”

If she made it out the other side, Cassie would regret forever opening her eyes.

To see what had replaced the knife.

To see the twisted look on his face as he reveled in her fear.

“They do a damn good job at masking gunshots.”

All one, two, three, four of them…

[luckydicekirby]

Hello yes I would like a dvd commentary on a history of partings thanks

Well first of all obviously this story was mainly written to cause you specifically pain, so jot THAT down. Mostly I really wanted like, a good long Alyosha/Arrell backstory and like…no one else was gonna write it…not even Austin…so alas this burden fell to me. I have toyed with the idea of writing Arrell’s version of this but god, it would be so depressing. 

Anyway! Here’s the mind meld scene, you’re welcome.

Story here!

Later–a few hours or days, I was not sure–I awoke, feverish, to see you bent over me, your hands clasped tight around one of mine. I thought for a moment that you were casting a spell, but I quickly realized that in fact you were murmuring the words of a prayer, so quiet I could barely make them out.

Arrell PRAYING as the obvious Oh Geez Things Are Bad marker, of course.

I still don’t know whether that moment was a dream, a conjured fantasy of mine: the idea that I could be the only thing you would dare to have faith for. But, figment or not, your prayer worked, and the next time I awoke my mind was clear once again. You weren’t there. I spared a moment to be upset before I heard you speak, clear as if you were standing in front of me: I went out to get food. I’ll be back soon, Alyosha. And underneath your words I could hear a heartbeat, running much quicker than my own. My mouth tasted acrid. I stood up shakily to drink some water, but the bitterness on my tongue remained. I realized, as my breathing began to pick up, that it was your fear.

This was a scene I really wanted to get into this fic because I do really love the idea that Arrell is just….Deeply Afraid, all the time. And like it does not excuse what an unforgivable jerk he is! But it does make me really sad. My capacity to be sad about jerks truly is boundless. 

You had used this spell on me once or twice before, although never for long. Once so that I could run an errand for you, to choose the right book from a large stock that a merchant carried. Another time so that I could give you directions to a particular bakery I wanted you to buy my favorite rolls from. A third time on a rare occasion when we travelled together, to ensure that neither of us became lost. Simple and frivolous things like that. But it did not work the way that it should. You had explained it to me: this spell was meant for simple communication between minds. And any other time you used it, that was how it worked. But between us, our thoughts bled together like cheap ink on paper, and nothing you did could stop it.

Dungeon World: Yeah so telepathy is just like, a normal telepathy spell that works to send messages, nothing weird here!

Me: Okay but what if it was a fucked up involuntary mind meld thing in this specific instance? You know just for fun?

Anyway, I think them using telepathy so Alyosha could give him directions to a bakery is really cute. Nothing is more romantic than bread! Just ask Hella.

The mystery and intimacy of it bothered you and delighted me. But you never agreed to test it further, to discover precisely why this spell worked differently when you used it on me, rather than anyone else.

Arrell obviously being like. Can’t let my boyfriend read my mind he might find out about the oncoming heat death of the universe, and actually try to help me with that! God I hate him. 

I let the subject drop. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and clearly to share your thoughts so closely with me did. I tried not to blame you for that. It was a normal thing, to dislike such claustrophobic intimacy, even with me.

And I knew why it was different. I could feel it, in the press of your heart against mine.

Aside from it being this way for Narrative Purposes, I do think being in love making your telepathy spell too intimate by default IS romantic.

But you hated that closeness, and I could not blame you for it–you, who believed so fervently in the separateness of humanity from one another. I have never agreed with you in that, but I could only respect the belief you held so tightly.

WE’RE MOSAICS MISSING EMBELLISHMENTS, ARRELL!! BITCH!!

I sat back down on my bed and closed my eyes, and I thought about what you had done. You had not wanted me to wake up alone, and so you opened a connection between us, something you hated desperately.

I let that knowledge settle into my gut over your anxiety, and I waited for you to return, content that for just a small moment, we were closer to one person than two.

Oh yeah I forgot I put the Plato soulmates story earlier in this fic…Alyosha is really into the idea of two people being so connected they’re one person, which sure means he should’ve picked a different boyfriend. Or maybe he is that way because he has such a standoffish on again-off- again boyfriend! fun to contemplate.

You returned with two covered dishes, and set them down with a clatter on the table before you came to me. You fell to your knees before me, hands on my thighs, your head bowed. You said my name, ragged.

“I’m all right. I promise you I’m all right.” I ran my hand through the short bristly hair at the back of your neck. I could see your back shaking. I could feel inside my head the sobs you were not letting escape. “Tutor, please, look at me.”

You did. I’d never seen you look so scared, not in the years and years we had known each other. And I could feel it, too. Fear for my well-being, fear that you would be left alone, fear that soon enough we would all be gone–

“Tutor,” I said, fear clawing at my throat, tears stinging at my eyes. I bent over you, pressed my lips to the crown of your head, my loose hair falling around us, sealing us off from the rest of the world. If I could just protect you from the dark–

The tail end of these paragraphs being Arrell’s thoughts bleeding into Alyosha’s, and getting really close to letting Alyosha know about the H&D. I do really love coming up with situations where characters thoughts can bleed together–this happens in the aly/arr/hadrian fic too (thanks, dungeon world spell Cage, which does explicitly allow mind-reading) and the vanven fic. I just think it’s neat!

I felt you raise your hand and wave it in the air, a dismissive gesture, ending the spell. All at once the fear ebbed, a tide returning to sea, and I could breathe again. I gasped and sat back.

And of course the moment Alyosha starts to get a sense of what exactly Arrell is scared of, Arrell is like oh shit, let’s NOT do that. I mean also because he was low-key giving Alyosha a panic attack.

“What–Tutor, I don’t understand–”

Your hands gripped my knees tightly, hard enough that I could feel your nails biting into my skin. “I thought that I would come back and find you gone. That something I had done would be wrong, or something I didn’t do–”

“It was just a fever. I didn’t meant to scare you.” I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Do you always feel like that?”

“It’s nothing,” you said. Head bowed once again. Hiding your eyes.

Yes, he always feels like that. ugh Arrell SAY WHAT YOU MEAN

I couldn’t bear to force you to speak, though maybe then would have been the only time I could–you were already so cracked open before me. But I wanted to see you smile again. I wanted to take the fear from your eyes. I wanted to convince you I was alive. And this was the problem I could see, so I pulled you up by your forearms and folded you into my arms, my mouth pressed against your ear. “I’m here,” I said, over and over, and you clung to me, your tears hot against my neck.

Alyosha is such a good boyfriend and Arrell does NOT deserve him. Anyway, for Arrell to actually be crying you KNOW he must’ve been really fucked up. One supposes that dealing with the impending death of the universe is fine, but when you add ‘my boyfriend is really sick’ into the mix then it just becomes unmanageable. 

Eventually you stood and dusted yourself off. The food you brought had gone cold, but we ate it together on the bed. Your eyes followed me as if magnetized, as if you couldn’t let me out of your sight. In time you returned to your duties, and I to mine, but for that long day we were simply together, not speaking much, basking in the surety of one another’s presence. I thought whatever darkness you so feared, we could act as one another’s lights. I thought we could stand against it, together. The sort of solutions children think of, that I have yet to grow out of. What creeping monster under a bed cannot be defeated by a light?

This is a sideway reference to one of the letters, where Alyosha talks about the prelate: “the sort of questions children ask.”

I talk about Alyosha/his beliefs in terms of light a lot, both in this fic and others–I mean obviously it’s a good set up in opposition to the Heat and the Dark, and a Samothes thing, but also I think because it reflects like, a kind of simplicity of faith that he has. How do you defeat great evil? Well, with light. Alyosha loves Kingdom Hearts, is what I’m saying. Or he did before he got stuck in the forge!!

I think, even now, that there are still embers within you, Tutor, waiting to be stoked. I remember the way you held onto me so tightly, the naked fear in your eyes. You care so much. You always have, reluctant as you are to show it. I know you want to save us. To save me. But I wish you would give some thought to what will be left of yourself. You, too, deserve saving. Yes, Tutor; even now.

Ugh this shit is sad. Like I know I wrote it but it’s sad? I think I find Arrell so tragic because I truly do think he cares, for the world and for Alyosha. He’s just really bad at it.

anyway, the only other important part of this fic is the time Arrell falls off a horse, which he deserves.

[gremlinboykevin]

Okay, there's something I gotta know since it's been confirmed that the curtain has closed on askgaster-wd... (Which I am disheartened to hear but so grateful that it happened and for your dedication to it!) It was revealed in the [RESCUE] arc that Goops experimented on his sons. In the early stirrings of the blog, there was a glimpse of Sans shown as Goops fell... So, I guess it boils down to: How and why did Goops fall into the Void? (Don't know if you wanna take this ask OOC or IC?)

I was gonna ask this IC, but... I couldn’t word it the right way, since my muse is... still missing ._. 

BUT HERE WE GO! 

During the war on Goopster’s timeline, monsters did not have magic like they do now. The only magic they had was simple, weak attacks, and missing with the majority of monsters. Only “boss” monsters possessed battle magic, and it was very powerful. But seeing as monsters could be easily killed by humans, and had no real way to fight back, well...  

After losing the war, and being locked away, the king, who was Asgore’s father, led them to re-construction of civilization in the underground. He hired many scientists, workers, ect. to become the leaders of several different divisions, and try their hardest to make their New Home something pleasant. 

Being a boss monster, however, when Asgore became an old enough adult, his father passed away. He appointed Gaster, a long time friend of his, as the Royal Scientist, who went on to create The Core and help the entire underground. Knowing how smart Gaster was, when the events of Chara and Asriel’s deaths happened, Asgore gave Gaster a task: Help them break the barrier and take revenge on humans. Gaster, not knowing how to do this without the human souls, began to... try some things.

First, Gaster tried to break the barrier with Asgore’s magic. He trained Asgore, making his magic stronger and stronger, hoping that would break the barrier... It failed. Second, he tried to re-create human souls. He tried to make something that would have magic as strong as the soul of a human, and use it as replacement for human souls. It didn’t work. 

However, this is when humans started to fall down. 

Gaster used the souls of the fallen humans to begin the extraction of Determination. First, he determined what made humans powerful, but never named said magic. All his research notes said about it was “Humans seem to possess a lot of determination.” 

However, Gaster knew that if he messed with the souls too much, and damage or break them, their way to freedom would be even further away... So instead, Gaster decided to try something else...

When monsters became desperate that freedom didn’t come, and that the people working for the king weren’t showing much progress, Gaster promised he was going to find a way to free everyone once and for all. He was going to do this for monster kind, for his lover: the king, and for his sons. 

And so, hee tried to make monster souls as strong as human souls. That way, they could break the barrier, fight back against humans, and win the war. If he could make monsters stronger, then he would. 

His experiments here succeeded. With a lot of volunteers and research from his team, they managed to create ways to amplify monster magic. Now, even regular monsters who underwent a special treatment could fight. Not only that, but they managed to kill every human who came into the underground with ease. They were finally becoming strong... But not strong enough to break the barrier. 

And so, Gaster eventually got the idea to extract magic from human souls and implant it into a monster soul... Only Gaster and his “followers” knew about these experiments, They kept it secret, hidden away from the king and the rest of monster-kind. They created the amalgamates, and after much struggle, after so many atrocious failures... They succeeded with one monster. It was a young girl who had fallen, and they had managed to implant the determination on her, and she was alive. She was alive, and stronger than any of her kind. Her name is Undyne. 

However, after this successful experiments, another human fell into the underground. This human reached snowdin, and was not intending to spare the monsters. One of his sons, Sans, was attacked, and while he wasn’t dusted... He had fallen. In desperation to save his son, Gaster did the only thing he thought he could do... Recreate the experiments done on Undyne on Sans. 

However, this time he was alone. That same night, he brought Sans to his laboratory, and re-created everything as best he could. However, in the desperation and agony of being so close to losing him, he butchered the procedure. Sans was brought back to life, but he was weak. His HP was stuck on 1, and he was barely alive... But he was alive.

Gaster had done this completely unauthorized, however, and he and his followers had to do something. If they couldn’t show at least two successes, they could never face Asgore or monster kind with these results. And so, the process to make Sans as powerful as Undyne began. 

Rigorous training, experiments, one after the other, nights on end where Sans would stay inside the lab, being put through experiments left and right... Eventually, Sans became as strong as Undyne, maybe even stronger... but his will to live was destroyed. 

Gaster and his followers had done this with the best of intentions, but the way they went on about it was beyond unforgivable. He had put Sans through a nightmare, not only with the experiments performed on him, but as he was forced to stay hidden inside the lab, surrounded by the pained amalgamates, who he and his followers experimented on again and again to try to recover them, to bring them back to normal... only for it to result in more pain, more suffering, and their wails of pain and anguish filling the laboratory day in and day out... 

In the eyes of Sans, his father was nothing more than a monster. He was terrified of him, and wanted to escape, or stop all of this. He had seen his father grow from a gentle man with a heart of gold, to a monster who brought nothing but torture and misery beyond what death could stop.

So one day, when Sans heard that they were planning on implanting the human’s magic into the souls of every monster... Sans lost it. He began to fight Gaster, trying to make him snap out of it, but Gaster didn’t listen. All this time he had locked his own morals, his own feelings, his own “humanity” away so he could perform these experiments. He believed it was the only way he could help everyone. Everyone was looking to him for help. Monster kind’s freedom depended on him, and he couldn’t back out now. He couldn’t stop now...

And in a moment of rage, Sans did something he would regret the rest of his life:

Sans shoved Gaster off, and into the Core. 

[echoinglight]

A Moment of Weakness

I can’t believe my first Sidon and Link writing is this awful angst. I promise I started off with another one that was very sweet and simple but I haven’t finished it because this monster took over ajhfgjf it rolled around my head for weeks and one night recently while talking with Squishy I just poured it all out at once. title is a reference to some of Sidon’s dialogue. 

media: Breath of the Wild pairing: sidlink words: 2,124 warnings: mildly graphic depictions of violence/pain, mentions of family death

He’d really done it this time.

Clearing the camps of monsters scattered everywhere had become routine, something Link could do as he passed by. This particular one looked fairly packed; running right in would be way more than he could handle. So he was in the midst of a daring plan that involved climbing a tree and aiming for the barrel of explosives nearby - and somewhere amidst the climb and readying his bow is when it went wrong.

A watchman that Link had missed spotted him, immediately screeching a warning. The same barrel that Link planned to ignite was picked up and tossed at him, the plume of flaming smoke billowing just under his toes as he held onto the tip of the tree for dear life. For a second he marveled at his good luck, ready to let out an adrenaline-filed whoop - when a splintering crack abruptly replaced his glee with fear. The base of the tree crumbled and broke, sending the timber swooping toward the ground with a thundering crash.

Link just barely managed to brace his feet on the clear side, kicking off and rolling away from the heavy log as it settled. He leapt to his feet and whipped around, reaching for his sword, but a heavy club slammed into him and he was sent flying toward the ground a second time - in considerably more pain.

The monsters squealed and hollered as they circled around the injured Hylian, jabbing blunt spears and jagged blades that he just barely managed to parry as he dazedly got to his feet and readied his weapon.

It was no use. Every attack that he evaded was instantly replaced by another, an infinite loop of pricks and scratches and blows that steadily wore down his energy and started to dig through his tunic.

He could have thought something profound about how “this is the way the hero of Hyrule dies - bludgeoned by little more than scavengers” if he had the time to make such coherent connections. Instead, he pressed through the pain, trying to see an opening, getting desperate to find his way out of this nightmare. A cliffside, a hill, a traveler - surely something had to open an escape to him.

All at once it came to him, but it would take a risk that he didn’t know if he could afford. Then he saw the circle closing in and he knew that it was only a matter of uncertain death versus certain death. He tapped the screen on his hip, a glowing orb appearing then growing to the full bomb size in his palm. The monsters only got a second to yelp anxiously before the blast hit them all.

Link was thrown far off, same as his assailants, the magical force of the rune bomb stinging his skin until the unforgiving hardness of the ground replaced that pain completely. He wanted to just lie there in his half-blind with agony state and never move again, but the shuffle of the monsters rapidly recovering and searching for their prey brought him to his senses. He just barely managed to raise the Sheikah Slate, opening the map and tapping a familiar zone quickly, hoping he’d chosen the right one. Safety, he thought with such force he could have sworn the slate vibrated in response.

The last he saw was the monsters scrambling toward him until the blue light engulfed him entirely, deconstructing him into nothingness and whisking him away.

◈

Night had fallen over Hyrule; morning was just hesitating to break. Zora’s Domain glittered and glowed, chasing away the darkness with graceful beauty. Many of the Zora were still asleep, while the ever-loyal guards rotated their shifts. Bazz moved to the the lower level of the courtyard, his spear held strongly at his side as he scanned his eyes over the area. All seemed to be well, so he turned and stared curiously at that strange monument housed at the very heart of the Domain, one that he’d seen for so many, many years, but only a few months ago had taken on an orange glow that changed to blue once that brave Hylian had visited it.

He stared at that blue light intently for a long while, as though studying it for the thousandth time would give him further answers. All at once, another form of blue light formed before his very eyes, beautiful tendrils that waved toward the ground before dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. Bazz stood stunned for a short moment, but shook himself out of it and peered over the stairs to see what such a display could mean.

The crumpled, scuffed, and bloody form of the Hylian registered at the same time he recognized the face. “Link!”

Bazz dropped his spear and ran down the stairs, dropping to his knees at Link’s side and cautiously reaching to check for signs of life. He feared moving the boy until he knew the extent of the injuries… should he still be alive. A rush of relief washed over the Zora as he found a faint heartbeat, and he immediately rushed back up the stairs and toward the inn where the nearest Zora was just heading inside. “Kodah! Kodah!”

Kodah startled at the wild-eyed look of the usually so composed guard as he spoke quickly. “It’s Link- he’s hurt.” She gasped, but he continued before she could ask the questions on her lips. “I’ll be with him- at the shrine. Please, fetch Prince Sidon immediately!”

“Of- of course!” She hurried off, running toward the stairs while Bazz returned to Link’s side. His expression drew into a grimace of empathy pains as he gingerly inspected the injuries. Having no fabric of his own, he tore a shred from Link’s battered tunic to wrap around a heavily bleeding gash on his arm. “Link, can you hear me? You’re at Zora’s Domain now. You’re going to be okay.” It was unclear if Link was conscious enough to hear him, but he hoped with all his might that he could.

A nearby thud got Bazz’s attention, and he looked up to see the Prince had bypassed the rounded stairs and simply leapt down the level in his haste. “Bazz, what’s- Link!” Sidon’s eyes went wide.

A crippling pain dulled Sidon’s usually so cheerful eyes, and Bazz immediately felt his own heart clench even tighter. “He’s alive, but very badly hurt…” he moved aside to let Sidon kneel over the boy, touching him so gently, as though he might break. “I don’t know how he got here it was just… a sudden light brought him. I’m not sure he can be moved, he’s been beaten and stabbed a great deal and I fear broken bones.”

Sidon listened carefully, but poured equal attention into looking over the wounds and softly caressing the cheek of his treasured one. With each cut and bruise he saw he felt as though his own heart was being given the same wound. Link stirred at last, just barely fluttering his eyes and giving a pained exhale. “It doesn’t matter, because he cannot stay here. I can carry him to the healer.”

With the most cautious of movements, Sidon managed to slide his hands underneath Link’s limp body and lifted him with little jostling. He ascended the stairs, keeping a close eye on his charge as he began the somber walk across the domain.

◈

Sidon found no solace after he left Link to the hands of the Zora healer. He paced, he prayed, he wrung his hands. He found the ache of his passed sister split open again as he prayed to her spirit to please- save him, if you can hear me. Hero of the people be damned, Sidon didn’t want to lose another piece of his heart to mourning. Help me save him, as I could not save you.

The image of the bright, sparkling boy he’d spent so many afternoons with, watching the stories he wove with his hands, feeling the ease in his spirit as they floated down the river together, seeing the determination in his eyes when he used the break to practice his way with the sword- to know him as Sidon did, and to see him in a state so torn down- it was agony.

The healer finally opened the door, and Sidon rushed over, tears pooling in his eyes.

“Let your heart find peace, my Prince. He lives.”

◈

Everything was so… dark. And blue. Link could tell this much from behind his eyelids. The Shrine of Resurrection… I’ve been born again. He thought simply, seeing the small stone room in his mind’s eye. No… I wouldn’t know anything about that, if that’s what happened. I wouldn’t remember.

“Link? Are you awake?”

His wandering attention came back to what was, not what could be. He slowly managed to blink his eyes partway open, noticing he was propped up on a bed of some sort, a blanket draped over him.

“Sidon…?”

The Zora’s face went from apprehension to a smile that scrunched his whole face, tears falling freely as he ducked his head over Link’s body. Link realized Sidon’s hand was over his and he tried to turn his hand to weakly clasp it.

Link gently stroked the top of Sidon’s head, watching him with a drowsy fondness, but also concern. “Why are you so sad?” He whispered.

Sidon took a deep breath, laughing lightly. “No, I… I’m not sad. Not anymore.” He composed himself enough to lift his head, allowing Link to hold his cheek. “I’m so happy you’re alive- I don’t know how you found your way to me in the state you were in… but thank the goddesses you did.”

Link smiled a little bit, tilting his head, his thumb rubbing Sidon’s smooth Zora skin. After a moment the lingering pain set in, and his face fell. “I was… outnumbered. Yeah… I got overwhelmed. The only way out was… the slate-“ he looked around with sudden concern until Sidon clasped his hands.

“All of your things are just beside you. However… your armor was damaged, and even so had to be removed quickly to treat you. The healer found another set of clothes amongst your supplies, I hope you don’t mind.” He plucked at the worn blanket with his fingers. “And this was the only extra blanket we had on hand. It seems we should begin to make preparations for the return of Hylian travelers.”

Link smiled again at that, resting back again. “It looks like I’ll be here for a little while, so I guess you gotta start now,” he joked, putting a smile on Sidon’s face in return.

“This is one of the few times I’ve heard your voice,” Sidon noted after a moment, peering curiously at Link.

“Me too,” Link replied, opening one eye to peer right back at Sidon, who became sheepish. He drew back, mulling over something until finally he gently pulled Link forward to embrace him. Link automatically snuggled into Sidon’s chest, the comforting and familiar softness of the slick skin relaxing him.

The hug became a little tighter, and Link rubbed soothing circles wherever his hand could reach. “I’m okay, Sidon. I’ve got two against zero on death now. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you are always so reckless… I just couldn’t bear it if…” he sighed, a puff of air far over Link’s head. “You are wild and wandering, and I fear the day your bravery makes you foolish. You may have lost your memories, but you are whole as you are now, Link. You are loved.”

Link buried himself deeper into Sidon’s chest in response.

“…I would like to tear apart the beasts who did this to you… to me. And should the blood moon rise, I’ll do it over again.” Sidon’s voice was soft, but it now trembled lightly with his pain.

Link nudged Sidon with the palm of his hand. “Now who’s reckless?” He murmured. “No hunting monsters. That’s my job. You stay as far away from… from all this as you can. Because when all this is gone- you still gotta be here for me to come back to. That’s- that’s your job.” He struggled over the words, ending up muttering down toward his lap as he hugged Sidon’s chest. “You are the brightest thing I’ve seen in Hyrule yet. Please- stay… stay that way. You are loved, too.”

Sidon looked down at Link in surprise, and gently held him at the shoulders as Link stared down at his hands. “Then so I shall.”

Link let Sidon scoop him up, and he stayed nestled safe in his arms for a long time, knowing he was alive and home.

[botwriter]

Rewritten, Chapter 25: The Final Battle

Read this on FF.net or Ao3  ➜

Link had been in Hyrule Castle once before, however briefly, and was not excited to revisit. But with the sword and some newfound faith in himself, he had no choice but to continue with the momentum he'd gained in the last few days. There was no stopping now. He could feel time running out, and he had to get to Zelda… had to bring everything, as much as could be done, back to normal.

♪

The wind pushed and played with his hair as he glided down from the edge of the Lost Woods towards the castle. It whipped at his parasail dangerously, threatening to toss him away and down into the moat if he lost control, but the blond only held tighter to the wooden handles of the sail and continued on his course. Skywatchers dotted the air ahead of him, and sentry guardians on the walls… alongside other monsters lurking inside, he was sure. But Link found himself smiling. He had surpassed all of his struggles, was stronger than he had ever been, more ready than before, prepared and skilled beyond belief. He would fight Ganon with everything he had. He would fight Ganon to the death. There was no other way he would let it end.

When he reached the castle, the stone walls approached him at an incredibly fast speed and Link tucked his parasail away and clung to the edge, sliding down only a little bit before regaining his grip. As he climbed, the skywatchers noticed him - or maybe a sentry - but Link couldn't have bothered. He continued moving, ducking behind other walls and rocks as he went, finally finding a tunnel inside where the autonomous machines wouldn't be able to locate him. The dungeons of the Castle, however, held other surprises. That is, it was stock full of monsters… but monsters were easy fare by this point, or at least the moblins and lizalfos that filled the prison cells were. The Stone Talus he found on his way proved a little tougher, as it was clearly an elder and put up more of a fight than the others. The Stalnox was a brand new enemy for Link, and finding it old him that outside the castle, night had come. He had to spend less time worrying himself with cleaning out the beasts and more time getting to Ganon.

Equipped with a shiny new shield that seemed to match his sword, Link found his way up and through the library, then the dining hall. It didn't look like it used to. Everything was covered in dust and soot, clawed apart, and skeletons rested here and there amongst the rubble. He tried not to look, too afraid of seeing people he recognized… maybe members of the royal guard, soldiers, other nobility or servants. It was hard, but Link pushed on, finally ending up outside. His first real challenge came in the form of a Lynel. A silver Lynel. He had seen one in the distance once before - in Hebra, maybe? - and opted not to fight it. Lynels were strong on their own, but Link knew by now that silver anything meant trouble. The gates closed behind him, and ahead of him. It was obviously a fight he couldn't avoid.

The sword glinted as he pulled it out of his bag, and Link parried and flurried his way throughout the fight. But he wasn't perfect. He had never been a perfect fighter, only experienced, and made a missed call, jumping the wrong way as the monster swung his massive greatsword. Link was tossed to the side like a ragdoll, but counted himself lucky that his torso was still attached to his legs… still, the amount of blood pouring out of him was ridiculous. The beast was readying itself for another attack, and Link stammered to his feet, wondering why he hadn't prepared more food before coming. Was I too cocky?

He tried to fall out of the way of the incoming attack, but these Lynels were clearly smarter, and it caught his body before he hit the ground. The always-unfamiliar sensation of Mipha's Grace awashed him with relief then, bringing him back to some health, alongside with a grim reminder that his second chances were over. The wound on his stomach stopped bleeding, and faded away until only a gruesome and deep scar remained. Link didn't have time to gawk at it before the Lynel had resumed trying to kill him.

When he finally destroyed the beast, it fell apart into a cloud of soot and left behind its weapons, which Link took gratefully and continued on his way. The Sanctum was up ahead, well-guarded by Skywatchers and Guardians. With his chest feeling like it was, Link knew there was no point in fighting them now; if he had to deal with them while fighting Ganon, so be it, but when he was this close there was no way he was getting distracted. It was time.

Link ran straight past, firing off two arrows to stun the sentries, and found himself at the doorway of the sanctum almost immediately. Inside and attached to the ceiling was some sort of massive life form… Ganon's life form, he assumed, attached to everything it could get to, a dormant Guardian even stuck among the body. He drew his sword and tried to control his emotions in the moment.

"Zelda!"

"Link!"

Zelda's voice came back at him then, rays of light escaping from the gelatinous glob attached to the ceiling of the Sanctum.

"Link! I'm sorry-" she was cut off by a screech that erupted from within the beast, louder and deeper than all of the blights, but similar in nature - "but my power isn't strong enough… I can't hold him…"

♪

A blue light erupted from Ganon, piercing through and slicing into the castle floor around Link. It swept across the room, erupt in explosions with everything it touched. Stone crumbled, pieces of pillars fell to the floor, and not a moment later the form clutching to the ceiling steamed as if a valve - a hundred year old valve, probably - had released. The bloody skin holding Ganon in place burst open, allowing the bull-like beast to drop and slam into the floor directly in front of Link. He held his arms up to his face, protecting it from the bits of rubble and stone that rocketed past him, and tried to get a look at the monster he would have to face - but then the floor gave in.

It was a long drop to the ballroom below, and Link pulled out his parasail about halfway down, letting Ganon get a headstart. At first glance he'd thought the beast to be a bull, but looking at it now it had clearly become something completely different. There was nothing human about Ganon, it was a mindless mess of legs and weapons, and something about that gave Link confidence for the battle ahead. In one hundred years, Ganon had no chance to prepare - it had been trapped. But Link had healed, grown, and appeased the four divine beasts… and now as he stood ahead of it, the incredible white light that began to burst down from the sanctum could only have come from one source.

Daruk. Urbosa. Revali. Mipha. Link thanked the four of them with all his heart as the blinding power of the beasts rained down upon Ganon with unforgivable force. The beast shrieked, cowering but having no shelter or refuge from the barrage, and instead turned upon Link with newfound anger. He could hear the Champions. Your turn, Link.

The master sword glowed a heavenly blue as he held it in front of him, the Hylian shield sitting heavily on his left arm. He could see elements of all the blights, and knew that he already had an advantage - he'd fought them all before. All of his hard work, all of his struggling until now, even from a hundred years ago, was coming down to this. The knight's blue eyes shone as brightly as the sword he lifted towards Ganon. He was angry. How dare Ganon try and take everything away from him? He had nearly succeeded, if it wasn't for Zelda. And that's exactly who he was doing this for.

The monster didn't wait before going right for Link. His right arm - well, one of them, anyways - held a massive flaming sword akin to that of Fireblight Ganon's. It swung at him with immense speed, and Link hardly backflipped in time to avoid it; quickly, he shot forwards, flurrying at the beast with the master sword. He grimaced as he did so, as Ganon's form was horrifying, bloody and massive, and the sword released smoking calamity and malice into the air with each hit.

Ganon's other arms came at Link then, but they were so akin to the sentry guardians from the shrines that avoiding their attacks and flurrying at Ganon came like second nature. The beast was obviously upset at this, and recoiled, climbing up onto the wall. Link pulled out Revali's bow, but even a few shots from it didn't seem to phase Ganon as he readied a powerful-looking ball of flame. Link watched it carefully as it flew at him, slow at first but then picking up speed, and he tried to run away - but far too late.

The ball erupted into a massive explosion that swallowed Link up, singing his clothes and burning at his skin. With gritted teeth, he tried to stand up, only to be blindsided by a blue spear that Ganon threw at him, not waiting for the hero to regain himself.

It drew a wound on his shoulder and pinned his hood down onto the ground, and as Link pulled away from the barrage of blue beams Ganon had begun to fire, it tore away from his head. Shit. He pulled out the Hyrule shield immediately, feet skidding back on the stone floor as each beam hit, and finally with a yell, parried one of the shots back at Ganon. It hit hard, and the monster fell to the floor, allowing Link to sprint forwards and hack away at him once more with the master sword. Ganon's health was clearly depleting, but it only meant that he had become more desperate; Link was flung backwards as Ganon shrieked again, covering himself with some sort of molten armor. Even from twenty feet away, Link could feel the intensity of the heat coming off of Ganon, and frowned a bit. He was already burned, blood seeping through his shirt on his left arm... He would have to wait for Ganon to show a moment of weakness.

Ganon swung at him again, and Link missed his flurry, instead charging up Urbosa's fury and firing it off with a deafening crack. The lightning broke down the monster's defenses, and Link's eyes widened as he saw his opportunity to hit away at the beast once more; but after only a few hits, Ganon was back up again, and with a shriek and a slam of his sword into the ground, flung Link away into the room. He skidded on his back away into the room, and stood up fast, already beginning to feel a bit dizzy - but he was close. He knew it.

Ganon swung with his sword again and all Link could do was lift his shield; as the sword hit, Daruk's protection kicked in, parrying it back at Ganon and giving Link another chance to swing at him. He was beginning to tire, but there was no stopping now, no chance for a break, nothing but to keep a tight grip on the master sword and pray to Hylia that he could get through this. He had to get through this.

He gasped as Ganon's molten armor came back, falling backwards and then being shoved back once more. His back was torn up by the stone floor as he slid along it, and he stood shakily to face Ganon once more, wishing it would end. The beast was climbing back up on the wall, focusing on Link again with his cannon; the first two beams hit Link square on, and he was tossed backwards with each one, eyes shut tight as he gripped his stomach. Century old scars were beginning to scream at him in pain. I can't fail again.

He swung his shield out and hit back with a yell, watching as the fateful beam collided with Ganon head on. It was all it took to knock him off the wall again, and Link stumbled forwards, barely holding his shield up as he focused all of his energy into hitting the monster as hard as he possibly could with his sword, yelling as he did so. Finally, something seemed to snap. Ganon collapsed, and Link kept hitting him a few times over before he realised what had happened. As the beast tried to regain its footing, calamity, malice, and what Link assumed was a fair amount of blood, poured out and escaped into the room. Link staggered backwards. Better to give the thing some space. One thing was for sure: it wasn't dead… yet.

Link had to resist the urge to puke. A ridiculous amount of liquid was pouring out of Ganon as his body fell apart at the seams, gushing out onto the floor. It shrieked, a dying, desperate, horrifying sound, and tried to reach for Link, who stood his ground - Ganon's claws came inches from his face as light begin to shine through from his body, facets of violet that burst outwards and finally filled the room in a surreal light. Link shielded his face from the wind and ashes that flew past him, and then looked up as it calmed; a cloud of malice had formed, and it lifted up out of the room. Link knew he had to follow somehow, and jogged forwards - as he got there, like a helping hand, he could feel Zelda's spirit lifting him, teleporting him just as he did at the shrines.

The golden plains of Hyrule were painted around him. The sky was a sunny, but cloudy yellow, morning stars twinkling above as they slowly began to fade, and a breeze awoke to wash over the grass. Link was surprised to see that Horse stood next to him, eyes pitch black and steely as it stared forwards. He followed the steed's gaze to the beast that now stood before him, a behemoth that seemed the size of Hyrule Castle itself.

The real form of Calamity Ganon. A monstrous, glowing, convulsing bull that snorted and pawed at the ground, but seemed otherwise incapable of moving. It was building strength, Link could tell, and he would have to take it down fast. But… how? For once, he felt unprepared. The body of the beast looked impenetrable.

Zelda's voice seeped into his mind then, speaking as the bull reared its ugly head.

Ganon… Ganon was born of a dark past. He is a pure embodiment of the ancient evil that is reborn time and time again…

Violet flames burst from the bull's shoulders, licking at his skin and stretching out into the evening sky.

He has given up on reincarnation and assumed his pure, enraged form. If set free upon our world, the destruction will be unlike anything ever seen before. I entrust you with the Bow of Light, a powerful weapon in the face of evil.

Link looked up in surprise to see a glowing, shining bow that began to float down from the heavens.

Link… even if you would have come to me without your power, or without your memories… courage need not be remembered, she said, as Link took it upon himself to hop on his horse and prepare for battle.

For it is never forgotten.

The black stallion reared and Link cracked at the reins to get them moving forward to the bow. He caught it deftly, and immediately could feel the divine power that rested within it. Yes, with something like this, he could do it, but… how powerful was this form of Ganon?

Immediately, the beast began to prepare an attack from it's maw, a glowing purple flame that shot forwards and decimated the grass in its path. Link and his horse dodged out of the way, circling around the side of the beast, and Link let fly a couple arrows. They sparkled in their path and seemed to not be affected by gravity or the wind, but did nothing against the body of Ganon.

That energy covering Ganon's body is called Malice. None of your attacks will get through as he now is. I will hold the malice back as much as I can, but my power is waning. Attack any glowing points you see!

Glowing points. Link had something to look for. He continued riding down along the side of the beast, getting a feel for just how massive it was, when he could see some glowing circles appearing on the side of his body. Immediately, he fired - one, two, three - and the bull roared in agony. As he rode around the monster time and time again, letting loose a barrage of light arrows at the weak spots Zelda provided, he could feel that the beast was weakening. Finally, as he circled around once more, he could see a glowing light appear in the bull's forehead, split open.

That is the very core of Ganon's being. Do what you must, Link!

Zelda sounded desperate, but strangely optimistic. Link knew that a light arrow there would finish it, would finish everything, and he could feel pins and needles in his finger tips. He still had to fire off a shot directly at the beast without being destroyed, and as more flames and malice collected at the maw of the bull, he knew it would be easier said than done. Horse brought him around to the front; he fired off an arrow, but the angle was wrong. He had to get higher up.

Another plume of flame left Ganon's mouth, searing out in a line towards Link and his steed, which reared up in shock as it cut them off. Link hung to the reins desperately, flakes of fire and grass flying past his cheeks as Horse finally settled and fell back onto his hooves. Ganon was preparing for another attack, and Link dug his heel into the side of the stallion, urging him to move. Updrafts had formed from the fire, and horse and knight galloped at full speed towards Ganon, until finally he felt like he was close enough. He bucked off of his horse, flying into the air and pulling out his parasail all at once. Hot air carried him upwards, and he could hear Zelda's voice urging him: Now, Link!

Using the light bow, one arrow was all it took. It shot into the giant eye that had opened on Ganon's head, and when it hit, the impact released malice and blood into the air with such intensity that Link was thrown backwards and down. He hit the earth with a painful thud and flipped backwards, rolling once or twice before finally coming to a stop, and that was when the pain filled him. His right shoulder was still bleeding, made worse by how he had been tossed around like a ragdoll, he was bruised like nothing else, and his scars were searing from pain awakened after a hundred years of healing.

But in one moment, everything stopped. The fields of Hyrule were silent except for a ringing that brought Link's attention to one thing - Zelda.

In twinkling golden light, she had shot up from the inside of Ganon, hands clasped together, white prayer dress still stained and unmistakeably the same one Link remembered from his past with her. She floated down to the field, landing softly in the grass not far from Link, and all he could do was stare. There she was. After so long, he finally saw her again, and although he was unsure of what exactly she was doing in the moment, there was no doubt that she was in control. Ganon fell before her, bright eyes not flaming like they were but instead looking positively vulnerable.

Zelda began glowing brighter. Link shielded his eyes as he watched, still laying in the grass nearby, and a wave of energy washed past him like warm water. Ganon flinched back from it, and the beast clearly was trying to escape; it lifted into the sky, spiraling in desperation to get away, but was engulfed in the divine light. The princess's hand lifted, and a vision of three triangles appeared before her, pushing the light outwards and up until finally sucking back into a ball no larger than a marble. It shrunk until it disappeared completely.

♪

Link felt relief shiver through his body.

It was done.

The sky began to clear as Link struggled to his feet. Horse's head lifted up under his arm, helping him stand, and Link gave the steed a grateful pat on the head in response. When he finally stood properly, he looked to Zelda, who had her back to him a little ways away. His heart in his throat, Link walked slowly towards her.

"I've been keeping watch over you all this time," she spoke, but Link continued moving, even though he couldn't go too fast. "I've witnessed your struggles to return to us as well as your trials in battles. I always thought - no, I always believed - that you would find a way to defeat Ganon. I never lost faith in you over these many years."

She turned to face him, and Link stopped in his tracks, finally seeing her face to face again. Her.

Zelda held her hands together, up close to her heart, and smiled at him. Seeing her green eyes rest on him again, seeing her smile, created a light within him that Link felt spread and seep throughout every inch of his soul. All was right.

"Thank you, Link… the Hero of Hyrule. May I ask… do you really remember me?"

He thought it would be obvious, but clearly she was worried. Link let his shoulders drop, and walked to her until he had closed the distance between them. Looking down at her - just slightly, apparently he had grown during his adventures - he finally smiled to her and nodded. He wanted to hug her, but he stopped; he had heard Kass's songs, but had not heard that Zelda loved him back, not from her lips. He couldn't make any assumptions.

"Yes - my Princess, Zelda."

He knelt to her. It wasn't the hug he wanted, but he couldn't expect anything like that, couldn't set himself up for possible disappointment, not now. And without her, he would not have been able to rid of Ganon. He had to show how grateful he was, so he dipped his head towards the grass and stayed still with his resolve, despite the searing pain in his shoulders, despite the bruises, despite the tiredness that whispered sweet nothings about soft beds into his ear.

♪

He was shocked to see Zelda fall to her knees in front of him. Link's head jerked upwards, only to be taken in in an embrace; Zelda was hugging him, tighter, tighter, her hands grabbing at his clothes and pulling him close. His own emotions assaulted him, and he gave in completely, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other up around her shoulder, his hand resting on the back of her head, keeping her close. Link held her strong in the embrace, trying to ignore the feeling of his own body shaking with dry sobs.

When they finally pulled away, still holding each other's arms as they knelt in the grasses of Hyrule field, Link could see the dried streaks of tears on Zelda's cheeks, but there was a new light in her eyes, one of determination.

"A hundred years ago you told me you loved me," she started, and Link felt his cheeks flush with heat, but he kept his eyes on hers, not daring to look away. "And you didn't - you didn't give me a chance to respond," she choked, biting her lip and lifting one hand to rest on the side of his face. He leaned in to her touch, unable to do anything, or say anything, until she had finished.

"It took me too long to realise that what I felt for you was real love," she explained, and Link felt the butterflies in his stomach jump to life, but she wasn't done; "it was all new to me, and I thought I loved you like a friend, then maybe like a mentor, until I realised it was more than that. I would die for you, Link. I loved you, and I didn't stop loving you over a century, and I love you now and forever," she stammered, tears welling up in her eyes again.

"You nearly did die for me," Link said with a laugh, wiping away a tear of his own. "I was terrified when you pushed me out of the way."

"I was terrified when you literally died," Zelda replied, Link's smile disappeared as he saw the look on her face. "You don't - you don't understand, you mean so much to me, I thought you were gone. I thought everything was gone. You mean the world to me, Link."

"You mean the world to me," he replied, and Zelda pulled him closer once more. He gasped this time, clutching his stomach instinctively, and Zelda looked surprised to see a red stain growing in his shirt. She looked at him worriedly as he faltered, gripping her shoulder for balance.

"I'm alright," he grimaced, but his vision was blurring.

He barely remembered Zelda hoisting him up onto Horse's saddle, jumping on it herself, and telling the steed to take them somewhere safe. Somewhere between the pain, the exhaustion, and the lulling feeling of galloping away over Hyrule fields, he fell asleep, knowing that this time, everything was okay. This time, he wasn't alone.

[rubies-and-moonbeams]

My Tarnished King.

I had a dream about you last night.

A dream when we were younger, so full of light and laughter…spinning around in the entanglement of love. We were in the field of flowers we used to sneak into when our chores were through, I remember you’d always smell like the stables and had dirt covering your smiling face from minding and riding your father’s fine horses. I remember my tattered apron and checkered dress stained with flour and berry stains from helping my mother at the bakery she ran. We looked like such a mess, but as I sat there hand in hand with you, the comfort of the warm sunny rays on my skin shooed away the thoughts of our parents missing us. It didn’t matter, any of it. The punishment knowing the trouble we’d be in for sneaking away for just a moment alone together. After all, I was low class…and you were the King’s only son. It was forbidden. But not to us. To us, it was supposed to be like this.

It had always been this way, we were young…“only babes with our heads in the clouds” as my mother would recall in her thick Irish accent while shaking her head at me every time I waltzed into our small home with flowers in my hair and a hummed love song on my breath. She knew of us unlike your father, but kept hushed. If the secret was out, we’d be exiled for sure. I don’t doubt that your father always wondered where you were off to during these warm afternoon hours, but as King, he had more important matter to attend to than to babysit you.

We knew our parents wouldn’t want us together….But it felt so right, so meant to be like we had been in love for longer than our mere 17 years. We used to speak about how you and I were probably together since the universe formed, first as dancing stardust turning into planets and stars, then always finding each other ever since from life to life. That we would always find each other even after this one. I remember staring into your bright, forest green eyes, dark lashes making them almost glow as they stared into my own dark orbs. I always felt jealous, you always looked like Spring. With your golden hair and tan complexion, the freckles that littered your face, the forest that lived in your gaze. I always felt so plain compared to you. My dark hair and pale skin, my almost black eyes resembling muddy pools of water. I never knew why you picked me from the crowds….yet you always compared me to the beauty of the Winter-that Spring and Winter needed each other to help the world keep going. That we needed each other in the same way the seasons did. I felt so lucky to have you.

We’d always lay in the soft grass, our fingers entangled as we stared up at the clouds and speaking of the unknowns of the world and what may lie beyond our village and it’s confined walls, sometimes even daring each other to elope and run away. Yet it never happened. You’d always be called home by the castle horns, and would kiss me with your pink, soft lips for just too short of a second and shoot me a crooked smile every time you ran back home. It seemed we never had any time together, just enough for a conversation and a sweet embrace. Then I was left alone in that field as I watched you dash through the trees, standing in our special hiding spot feeling like I was watching a piece of me being torn away. I clutched the necklace you gave me, the golden locket with our jagged looking initials engraved into the inside which we did with your prized dagger…and almost in an instant, I smelled something burning.

The skies above me suddenly turned into shades of black and grey, and soon our lovely field was set ablaze in a forest of hell fire flames. Looking around, I felt the agonizing heat burn my skin, the black smoke fill my lungs, the terror that filled my mind. How did this happen? It was so perfect, yet now I watched as the only place that made me happy burned to the ground. I collapsed, gasping for air, my eyes burning from the ash and billows of smoke clouding my vision. This was the end wasn’t it? I’d never see you again, I’d never see my love again, I’d die here alone… then a hand reached out to me. I looked up with hot tears in my eyes and reached desperately to grasp it, but it turned into ashes that blew away in the fiery winds.

Then I remembered.

I awoke with a frightened gasp, clutching at my nightgown. There was a knock on the door and followed by a gruff male voice screaming at myself and the other women to wake up for our work. I heard groans from the other women as the stirred in our servant chambers, and I realized as I sat in my sweat soaked gown the harsh truth. I wasn’t in that field anymore. I was now a young maiden, one of many who had been ripped away from their homes after the King had died, my love’s father. The new King now who has succeeded his father, called for more female servants, because he needed to be adorned and waited on. We didn’t have a choice, and as I sat there I knew I’d never have a choice again, that I wouldn’t be able to live my life that I had planned. That the love of my life was no longer that young spirited, kind prince. He was now a ruthless and cold hearted King, ruling over the land that I once called my home before I called it my prison. My prince now ruled with an iron fist and a undying taste for blood. One who had no problem destroying anything or anyone in his path, who got everything he wanted, who could have anything at his fingertips…including myself. Yet this man, this beast, he wasn’t my love anymore….

He was a monster.

I let out a heavy sigh, mentally preparing for the day and letting my dream escape me, letting its sweet taste linger in the back of my mind, as they always did on these rare occasions to help me escape from my reality. I had always done this for the past few years I had been here so I wouldn’t go mad myself. When we all were dressed and ready, us women went onto or daily duties. Although I wished to be with my love forever, I would be but not in the sense I’d like. I was his main servant, dressing him, washing him, doing his bidding. He knew who I was, yet it was almost as if he now saw me as some toy or possession that he could use to his liking. I wasn’t his first love anymore, merely a disposable servant he favored more than anyone else.

The King was now married to his ever so faithful wife, when he himself was far from it. He had affairs with many other women in the castle, yet when it came to me I was almost like touching fire to him. I didn’t understand it, how we were once in love and now I despised to look at him. How he barely reacted at the sight of me, so blazè about it all. How my heart broke when he stopped meeting me in the field, only for him to return to take me from my home years later to serve him. He’d never look at me in the eyes, he’d never touch me, he never said my name…I was forbidden once more, not by his father’s command this time but his own. I never knew what had happened in those years we were away, that turned him so cold and ruthless. I never would know.

The boy I knew and loved was gone, and every time I looked into those green eyes, they were now dull and cold. You were gone, you were never going to be you again. You were just He from now on, because you were not the love I remembered anymore.

He would keep me around to do this and that, spending more time with me than his own wife and mistresses. He would tell me about his thoughts, how proud he was of his accomplishments, his money, how much land he had taken over…and I would listen as I scrubbed his skin, the very skin I had touched and had met with my own long ago. Yet it was now cold and pale with no sign of spring, because unless it was to declare war the King never left his castle. He was always where he felt comfortable and safe, afraid of vulnerability. He was a coward though, the King would never fight in his own battles-yet brag that he did. He’d brag about everything to hide his burning self hatred that ate away at him inside.

“You know, if I had run away with you darling…” He began as he sat in the hot waters of the deep bathtub as we sat in his chambers, staring at the burning flames that danced around in the fireplace which cast an orange hue through out the room. His hand gently pressed onto mine as I washed his shoulder, stopping me completely and my breath as well. He had never touched me while I had been here…I didn’t know what to do, I just froze. He hadn’t touched me since those years back, but now his grip was cold and unforgiving. He took a sip of his third glass of red wine, and let out a drunken chuckle. “I never would have gotten to see how much of a profound leader that I am now, how great I could be. I was dumb and stupid, thinking I loved you that love was the answer to it all.” He turned around to look at me, our eyes meeting steadily for the first time in what seemed like eternity, a coy grin at the corner of his full lips. His other hand reached up to tuck a lock of my messy, dark hair behind my ear, and rested it upon my frightened face. I wanted to run, yet all I could do was stare.

“We were children, children with impossible ideas. I knew we’d tear each other apart, you’d hold me back….and with some wise words told to me by my father, I realized my foolish behavior and left.” He spoke softly, his words dripping with honey. His thumb brushed against my cheek and I looked away immediately, a tear falling from my pained eyes. “It wasn’t meant to be love, we were too different. Our worlds would never be able to connect, I was meant for higher and…” He sighed heavily. “Well, clearly you were meant for lower.”

“But, I knew you’d always want me. I knew you’d always be so loyal to me, you’re so sweet…so pure. So idealistic of love and all it contains.” He mocked. More tears fell from my eyes and a muffled sob came from my mouth as he continued to stroke my tear stained cheek. I felt my heart breaking in two, but as always I remained sitting there with my eyes closed shut, trying to go back to my dreams of the field. He sighed once more, and I felt my face being pulled forward, soft lips press against my own for just a moment before breaking away. They felt like stone. “So I decided that you’d be such a good servant to me, and I could have you forever. That you’d do anything for me, be devoted like no other. But you clearly had no place to be a Queen. So here we are.”

My eyes shot open and I stared in shock at the King, getting up and almost falling backwards as I took in the entirety of what the King had said. I regained my footing and stared at him with a look of betrayal.

“All of those days we spent together…all of those nights, you told me you loved me…” I managed to stutter out, my voice shaking. Anger started to fuel me and I threw the wet towel down harshly onto the elaborate carpet beneath me. “You PROMISED me we’d always be together, we wanted a life, a family, a…..” I started to weep, falling to my knees upon realizing what my prince had become, how he had made a fool out of me. “Was it all.. a lie?”

He looked at me, his gaze cold and steady.

“I wouldn’t say a lie, but more of a misunderstanding on your part. You were such an idealist. A hopeless romantic. So needy.” He stated, although I knew he was forcing himself to spout out contradictions, he could never admit he loved me. Even though I knew in my core he did in some altered way, just would never let his pride express it. “It was all in your head love, but oh, how devoted you were.”

The room was silent, and I just realized how the last years were a lie, how I clung onto such hope that we could be together someday, that he’d say he loved me…all to realize that I had been wasting my time because he’s never allow himself to. I looked up now, anger in my cold eyes. I wanted to burn him, to push him into the fire. This evil King, he was nothing to me now. That prince, or facade of one was nothing but a lie, and I had fallen for it. It made no sense, but how could you make sense out of senselessness?

“But isn’t this what you wanted my Darling?” He asked coolly , sipping from his gold cup once more. “To be with me forever? I’d say we both win, don’t you?”

I felt my breath hitch in my throat, a fire burn inside of me. Thoughts raced through my head wildly, I could have drowned him in that water. I could have killed him with my bare hands…but instead I reached for the locket I had always kept around my neck ever since my prince gave it to me and ripped the chain off from around it. Holding the once precious locket tightly in my shaking hands and staring at this King, I scowled and held it so he could see, his eyes going wide at the sight.

“You’ve been my captor for years, my King.” I expressed wickedly, grasping onto the locket as he stared at it with amazement, a pained expression soon forming after. I saw tears well up in his eyes, and for just that moment I saw my Prince come back to me. “I’ve never let this leave me.”

“Y-You…..“He stated blankly, tears falling from his eyes as he looked at me as he did so many times before in our hideaway, then back to the locket. It seemed as if his mind was shutting down, he was flipping from one persona to the next. He didn’t know what to think. He reached for his robe but I shouted at him to stay where he was. "You kept it…? I surely thought….”

“I did.” I stated coldly, hate filling my eyes. I tried to ignore the tears falling from them, our pain seemed to be matching one another…for once I felt that my broken heart was validated. “I did, remembering the promise that you’d always be with me…but no my prince, not like this. You don’t own me anymore….you never did. I realize that I’ve been holding onto this for the wrong reasons.”

With that I threw the locket into the fire and felt the satisfying cracks as the flames ate the remnants of what we were. The wanted years. The King stared at me in awe, his true colors showing to me now. A definite shift emerged within him. Yet I saw all of his colors mixing into each other into an ugly hue, all of the hypocrisy breaking his mind.

“Send your guards after me, kill me, do whatever.” I spat fearlessly, regaining my voice. “But I will die peacefully knowing that you will forever regret what you did and slowly die in your empty palace with nothing but a withering soul to comfort you in your frigid loneliness.” I shook my head. “That I am free now. That you will never have his hold on me again, now that I see the truth. You’ll be your own demise, and you have no one to blame but yourself…my Prince.”

He sat there silent for a moment, tears still staining his face while the only sounds filling the room was the crackling of the fire. He looked as if I had just stabbed him. I stared back with a cold gaze, and soon turned my back to him to walk out of the door without another thought. I heard him weakly calling my name as the realization hit him, desperately calling it….but as painful as it was, I ignored his cries. It was too late for him, and he knew he had no power anymore. I knew I’d be killed, his guards would come after me as I walked down the empty corridors, he’d find me….but as I got to the entrance, I was surprised to see that I never was approached. No one ended up coming after me. As I got to the palace doors, I slowly opened them, the creaking of the hinges echoing through out the empty hallways. I took a breath of the cool night air, and held it in my lungs as I took my first step into freedom. The stars illuminating the sky greeted me, and I looked back to hear soft, muffled sobs off into the distance. I was free, and so I ran. I ran back home. I ran back to where I belonged. To my family and friends whom I hadn’t seen. I ran back to happiness and never looked back.

Years have gone by now my prince, and I have traveled outside of the palace walls like we always had wanted to. I did it without you. I live in a new and wonderful place, living the life I had always wished I could have had with you. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for you…as I have only heard rumors of your slow and isolating demise. The fate I always knew you’d have, even when I was that young, love stricken girl with stars in her eyes. The fate that I knew that you'd destroy yourself slowly. But as I faced my reality, I realize you have to, and your taxing consequences that you have brought upon yourself.

But now I am a woman. A woman without you, who doesn't need you. I am a free woman, and you will never have your curse like hold over me again. You were never my curse, you were always your own.

[mrmichaelchadler]

Bright Wall/Dark Room August 2018: Women, Aliens, and Dangerous Things: Female Bodies in Alien 3 by Sarah Welch

We are pleased to offer an excerpt from the latest edition of the online magazine, Bright Wall/Dark Room. The theme for their August issue is BODY, and in addition to Sarah Welch's essay below on "Alien 3," they''ll also be featuring essays on "Body Double," "Safe," "The Virgin Suicides," "Nosferatu," "Weekend at Bernie's II," "George Washington," "Pet Sematary," "Goon," "Alice," "The Wizard of Oz," and "Videodrome" throughout the month.

You can read our previous excerpts from the magazine by clicking here. To subscribe to Bright Wall/Dark Room, or look at their most recent essays, click here. 

Alien 3 explores the worst form of body horror: discovering that you’ve been reduced by the people around you to the body you live in, that you will be judged for your body, and that there is no way to change this perception of you. The result cuts deeper than any ravenous monster ever could; it hurts the heart and wounds the soul.

The Alien movies perfected body horror. The alien will kill you on sight, if you’re lucky. If you’re unlucky—and you’re unlucky by default if you find yourself in an Alien film—the creature that serves as the reproductive portion of the alien’s life cycle will catch you and lay its offspring in your chest via your throat. It will nest inside your ribcage as you walk around, using you as an incubator until it’s time for the creature to be suddenly and violently born, a process that will kill you painfully. Having used your body, it will go on to inflict more pain and terror on those around you. The alien is shorthand for fear of rape.

Each of the Alien movies explore this concept in a different setting and flavor, each with their own director’s signature stamped in bold letters across its face. Alien (Ridley Scott) is cold, analytical horror, slow-moving at first until all hell breaks loose. Aliens (James Cameron) is hot-blooded action, all heart and pumping adrenaline. Alien 3 (David Fincher) rotates back to the horror of Scott’s original film, but this time it is grimy and confused, more callous and nihilistic than the original. There’s no hope to be had when you’ve crash-landed on a penal colony with an unwelcome passenger in tow.

It gets worse. The Alien universe has always been cold and unforgiving, but the maximum-security prison world of Fury 161 presents the bleakest setting yet. The atmosphere is tinted yellow; it’s easy to imagine that breathing Fury 161’s air is like breathing fumes and sweat. The planet is a leadworks, home to a skeleton crew of 25 convicts, a medic, and two wardens. Almost none of the technology works anymore. The prisoners have turned to religion, of the apocalyptic Christian fundamentalist variety. They haven’t seen a woman in years.

The subtext from the previous movies becomes text in Alien 3. The film telegraphs its intent from the very beginning, cutting rapidly back and forth between the opening credits and the demise of the survivors of the Sulaco, flying home from their mission in Aliens. A fire breaks in the cryogenic compartment where Ripley (Sigourney Weaver), Newt (Danielle Edmond), Hicks (Michael Biehn), and the android Bishop (Lance Henricksen) sleep; alarms wail as the jointed legs of a facehugger unfold. An escape pod is jettisoned, tumbling toward the dark, rocky planet Fury 161. Hicks and Newt are killed on impact. Bishop is scattered into pieces, too damaged to be considered salvageable. Ripley is doomed from the beginning. She’s a dead woman walking among convicted murderers and rapists.

The prisoners have taken vows of celibacy as part of their religion, although some are more devout than others. Their leader, Dillon (Charles S. Dutton), is upset about Ripley’s arrival, since she’s the first real “temptation”—his words—he’s encountered in years. He wants nothing to do with her. He’d elected to stay on Fury 161 after the prison was to be closed, because he wants to live out his sentence in penitence and prayer among the soaring columns of the mostly defunct machinery and the cells of his fellow prisoners. It’s a twisted interpretation of the call to be a monk, in a twisted analogue of a monastery. Dillon’s prayers emphasize his bleak worldview. In his religion, there is no grace to be had, only punishment for past crimes. To his mind, Ripley’s appearance is an unjust temptation, when he’s already done so much penitent work. His reaction to her is a mix of fear and hostility.

The prison superintendent, Andrews (Brian Glover), has an even stronger reaction. Dillon speaks to Ripley as if she’s a threat, but at least he treats her as an equal. Andrews has a tenuous hold on the top of the power structure on Fury 161, and Ripley’s arrival has cracked everything. Andrews speaks with the authority of a man who has to defend his position, and not one who has earned it. His distaste for Ripley bubbles over into outright condescension every time they talk. He calls her a “good girl” when she agrees to his demand that she stay in the sickbay away from the prisoners. The request is under the pretense of Ripley’s “personal safety”—a valid concern—but the superintendent also makes it clear that he doesn’t want “ripples in the water, and… a woman walking about giving them [the convicts] ideas.” 

Ripley acknowledges Andrews’ orders to his face, but doesn’t while away her time in sickbay. She explores her environment behind Andrews’ back, digging through the trash heap for Bishop’s pieces and eating meals in the cafeteria with the prisoners. She, like the audience, knows that everyone else on the planet considers her to be the dangerous one. When Ripley and Andrews do interact, their scenes echo the interrogations from The Passion of Joan of Arc; Ripley with her head shaved, Andrews shot from a low angle. The religious imagery that pervades the film is especially obvious here: Andrews’ office looks like a cleric’s room, with oblong windows barred like stained glass framing his head. 

Andrews does not want to hear anything from Ripley; nothing she can say or do is of service to him, ostensibly because she’s a woman who shouldn’t be where she is. He just wants her off the planet. At first, this suits Ripley just fine. The less she has to talk about the horrors she’s survived up to this point, the better. But even after it’s clear that there’s an alien stalking the prison, and after convicts turn up mauled in the basement passageways, Andrews still refuses to listen. “She doesn’t have all the facts,” he snaps; it never occurs to him that the danger comes not from the woman who crash-landed here, nor from the men inside his walls, but from something far worse.

The men consider her dangerous because she’s a woman, and therefore a temptation: a poor judgment on the prisoners’ worldview, because they blame her for the sudden tension in their lives. They’re unable or unwilling to question their own homicidal impulses toward her. Andrews is worse. To him, Ripley is a threat because she’s assertive, taking action without stopping to ask permission or to consult with him. She tells him to cremate the bodies from her crash landing, not to keep them on ice; she convinces Clemens to perform the autopsy without obtaining Andrews’ approval. Andrews sees her actions as a challenge to his authority. Because he has no weapons, his only power over the prisoners he oversees is information: he holds “rumor control” meetings, and is the only person who can access the outside world by sending messages to the company. As someone else from the outside, Ripley threatens to topple his hold on power because she has her own information. 

Whether Andrews is conscious of this or not is left ambiguous, but his reaction is anything but. His only defense is outright sexism: sequestering Ripley away from the others, belittling her as a “good girl” and claiming that she “doesn’t have all the facts,” and therefore cannot contribute anything to their little microcosm of society—ironic cruelty, as his second in command, nicknamed “85” for his IQ, does nothing of import but parrot Andrews’ orders. Ripley is made a second class citizen on a prison world. She is just as intelligent and capable as the men around her. She even looks like them: her head is shaved to prevent the spread of lice, and the baggy, shapeless clothes she wears obscure her body. But still, she’s an outcast among outcasts, feared and hated only because of her gender.

The only sympathetic person on Fury 161 is Clemens (Charles Dance), the medic. He’s initially skeptical of Ripley’s story—the crash is suspicious, and she’s sparing with the facts of her life, at least at first—but he comes around quickly when she asks to see Newt’s body.

The autopsy stands out as one of the best scenes in the film. It’s cold and unpleasant, but spare, stripped down to shots of the child’s frozen eyelashes, a morgue slab, a bone saw in the hands of a sympathetic but skeptical doctor. There’s a splash of blood, then a cracked chest, and nothing more. Ripley confirms for herself that Newt did not die as host to an alien. She’s desperate for closure, but unwilling to answer Clemens’ questions herself; others have disbelieved her before when she’s told them about the alien. The only people who have believed her story have underestimated the dangers that the alien presents, or have tried to use her as an expendable asset to acquire the alien for their own purposes. It never ends well. She’s left a trail of death in her wake, followed across space by a ravenous monster. The alien has insinuated itself into her life so fully that she “can’t remember anything else.” In the face of this new, raw, young death, Ripley doesn’t care to make herself any more vulnerable than she already is.

And she is vulnerable, perhaps more than she’s ever been. She’s been questioned before, but that was by the corporate wing of the company, eager to close the book on a failed mission and happy to have a scapegoat for a destroyed refinery. She’s been scoffed at, but that was by the contingent of marines sent to investigate the sudden radio silence of a human colony, convinced that there’s no danger to them and their massive guns until it’s too late. Here, Ripley is questioned and scoffed at by men simply because she is a woman, and because her existence in a female body is a far more believable danger to all of them than the “possible contagion” she warns them about. They treat her as a temptation and as an alien figure, something that isn’t quite human, just because she’s female. Until the body count mounts and their leaders are gone, the prisoners on Fury 161 act as though Ripley is a greater threat than the alien itself. 

It turns out Ripley is more dangerous than the convicts around her can ever know or fear. After being menaced, but not killed, by the alien that’s been stalking the basement passageways, Ripley discovers that she carries an alien queen inside her chest. She’s spent half the film up to this point trying to fly under the radar of the men who think her the greatest possible threat to their existence. She spends the second half of the film trying to convince them that the alien she carries is worse than anything else they could have imagined, and that to hand her over to the company coming to collect her would spell destruction for countless other lives. To the convicts, she’s a threat. To the company, she’s an incubator, a pulsing body that exists only to sustain the creature that they want for their bioweapons division, no person at all.

Unfortunately for Ripley, there’s no happy ending here. She sacrifices herself to keep the alien from falling into the company’s hands, gaining a respite for the universe: the alien threat is gone, at least for now. Ripley is dead. The Fury 161 prison is closed, its machinery sold for scrap, reduced to the parts that once made it function. The world continues to spin.

And yet Ripley lives on. The first two Alien movies are remembered because they are the best in the series. But Alien 3 endures, in spite of its thorny reputation and imperfect execution, just as Ripley endures in spite of her continued run-ins with the alien. The men around Ripley define her only by her gender, by the shape of her body. The film never makes that mistake. Ripley is vulnerable and strong, tough and temperamental, intelligent and brave, and none of those aspects of her character cancel each other out. Alien 3, more than any other Alien movie, is aware of Ripley’s existence as a woman, and the unique and universal horrors that come with the territory of inhabiting a woman’s body.

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