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chiropteracupola · 6 months ago

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"What Grows on the Oak," 2024.

it's the time of year, once more, for an original spooky story!

The oak trees lie across the hills like low smoke, soft and near, and the road dips down into the valley, as inviting as any road has ever been, but the girl on the bench of the buggy on the hilltop makes no move to follow it.

Rose looks out down the road and over the hills, and taps her fingers beside her on the bench. It’s a quiet enough afternoon that there’s little other sound but the high thin sound of insects, and the wind in the long grass, and Rose’s fingers, tapping. The horse, still in harness, looks up and flicks its ear, as if in protest at the sound, and Rose sighs and forces her hand still.

There is a girl in the nearest tree, Rose notices — the fact of it is idly categorized, without true interest. All the same, the light is catching in her hair, dashing shadows over her face as she sits draped across the curve of a branch, and Rose cannot look away from her.

The Fosters, at whose door Rose waits, have no daughter — no children but the one still-toddling son, who Rose remembers as a colicky, twitchy boy. Besides, this girl looks nothing like Mr Foster and his wife, for her hair stands out about her head like a bundle of mistletoe, pale as sun-worn wood. She is, perhaps, their hired girl. Rose is struck by envy, suddenly, that the Fosters’ hired girl had the time to shinny up a tree in the last light of evening, and still would be paid for her work…

Rose sighs, leaning her chin on her hand. Perhaps it is enough for her to be her father’s driver, and to have bed and board in his house — perhaps some day there will be money for school again, in San Francisco or even out east. And perhaps it is not enough, and perhaps there will not ever be.

“Hello, doctor’s driver,” says a voice at Rose’s elbow. Rose yelps in surprise, then turns. It is the girl with the mistletoe hair — dry moss hair — hair like a cloudy day in August.

“No, you’re his daughter, are you not?” asks the Fosters’ hired girl, and Rose nods. “Miss del Llano, that’d make you.”

“Just Rose, please.” She’ll be Miss some other day — not now, in her too-short skirts and with her plait hanging over her shoulder.

“May I come up?” asks the girl.

“Surely,” says Rose, and the girl has swung herself into Rose’s father’s accustomed seat in a fluttering of pale skirts.

“Your father is the doctor — what does he do here? “He is a leech, then? A bloodletter?”

“Don’t be silly, he’s not medieval!”

“Hm-mm, I shall believe you when you prove it me,” says the girl, laughing, and leans her chin on her hand to make herself Rose’s mirror. Side by side they sit for a while, and the dark gathers in across the hills until oaks and grassland alike are made one mass of shadow. Somewhere in the trees beyond the road, a horned owl utters its deep, melancholy cry out into the dusk.

“If ghosts had telephones, I should think they’d sound rather like that,” says Rose, the early chill of after-sunset driving her quite easily to a morbid sort of cheer.

“How the times change,” says the girl, with an odd, but not entirely unhappy, look in her eyes. “No, my dear; ghosts use the same telephones as you and I, as you well know.” Rose does not know, well or otherwise, much at all about ghosts, so she nods, and feels a little more of the girl’s weight settle on her shoulder.

“You have very cold hands,” says Rose, and the girl from the oak tree smiles and taps at Rose’s cheek with clammy fingers.

“I always have, I’m afraid.”

“It’s no bother, really.” And so they sit and watch the sky, the falling-dusk and the distant fog that creeps over the hills, until there’s light, sharp as a door opening.

Rose turns, and it is only Dr del Llano, leaving his patient with his hat in his hand. She turns back, and the Fosters’ hired girl is gone.

“How is Mrs. Foster,” Rose asks, without any particular feeling in her voice, and her father shakes his head in reply. But the road down into the valley, where lies the town, is before them, and Rose is pleased enough at the journeying that she asks no further questions.

It’s in the hills and on the road that Rose meets, again, with the oak tree girl, the mistletoe girl, the girl with hands like marble in the shade. Once again, Rose is waiting for her father while he attends a patient, and, lazing in the sun, Rose has pushed the sleeves of her shirtwaist up to her elbows.

And then the girl is there again, with her shock of cobweb hair moving, ever so faintly, in a breeze that doesn’t seem to reach as far as the buggy-seat.

“Hello, my pretty-lovely,” says the girl, putting her hand out to the horse still in its traces. Though usually affectionate, the horse puts back its ears and pulls its head away.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” says Rose, half-laughing. “Save your sweet words for someone who wants them, all the same.”

“Has she a name, then?”

“Other than Morgan, for what she is? Not at all,” Rose replies. Neither she nor her father have ever thought of one, for all that they’re fond of the hardworking little mare. “And have you a name, then?” For she’s remembered, now, that her oak-tree girl had never told her of it.

“I’m called Saro,” says the girl, and again swings herself up beside Rose. “What does your father do here, my Rose?”

“Oh, I oughtn’t say,” and Saro looks back at her with a stare of please? and Rose laughs and says anyway. She shouldn’t gossip, but she leans in close anyway, and whispers that “Old Man Lucas has got the clap, and him a widower these ten years!” Saro’s mouth twitches at the corners — she can’t hide her laugh for long, and it bursts, bright, out from her.

“I shall tell, I shall tell!” says she, and Rose coughs on her own laugh with a still-merry “Don’t!”

“You’ll have to catch me and make me, first!” and Saro leaps down from the buggy and runs, her skirts, her hair a flash of white in the golden-dry grass. And Rose, her spirits raised beyond what a grown girl such as herself should permit, follows. She’s less fleet-footed than Saro, earthbound still, stumbling on furrows in the land, catching her heels in ground-squirrel burrows.

Saro, she’s sure, is holding back for her benefit — letting herself be caught. And Rose does catch her, knocking her off her feet and into the grass. Saro’s laughing-merry still, her hair stuck full of grass-seed and foxtails. Close-to, Rose can see the freckles that dapple her cheeks and nose, the squint of her dark eyes when she smiles. Saro flicks Rose’s cheek, the snap of her fingers like a prickle of frost, and Rose lies there in the dusty field, entirely lost.

But Saro’s on her feet again before Rose can blink, before Rose can reach out to her, and Rose is standing, blinking in the sunlight, stumbling back to the buggy as she dusts bits of dry grass from her skirt. She buttons the sleeves of her shirtwaist again, the cuffs of which don’t quite come to her wrists anymore, and laughs when her father hands her up into her seat like a lady.

“The best whip I ever had,” he says, perfectly straight-faced.

“Gee-up!” says Rose, holding the reins in one hand and imagining herself perched atop a stagecoach. But even for all her imaginings, she’s as good a driver as her father says, and draws the horse into a gentle trot to see them home. It’s hill and dale down into the valley, hill and dale again like a song, and in the inner slopes lie trees in amid the dust-golden grasses of summer. Beneath the sparse, spreading branches, it is suddenly cooler, then warmer again, as the horse steps evenly onward and back into the sun.

“That’s mistletoe, you know,” says Dr del Llano, as he’s said a thousand times before, and points up at the gray-green mass that clings among the summer-sparse branches of an oak.

“Isn’t that for Christmastime?” asks Rose.

“It’s an odd thing we bring it in for the Nativity,” muses her father, still looking back at the tree as they pass it by. “Poison, that — and it chokes the life out of the oak tree, too. Not a kindly thing, mistletoe, but we hang it up with the flor de Nochebuena all the same…”

He doesn’t speak after that, but sings instead, an out-of-season hymn of sons newborn and deaths already foretold. If the verse telling of tombs ought to be grim, Dr del Llano doesn’t make it so, and so the story of gloom and gravity is nothing but a blithe eventuality, predicted all light-hearted by a man very certain of the truth of it.

Mrs. Foster dies soon after. Rose sits in the church as the priest says the first of the masses for her, the first of seven that her widower has paid for. She waits at the door while her father makes conversation — how she wishes he would hurry up! But the doctor in his black coat and the priest in his cassock are two crows alike, and so she is there in the doorway until her father says ‘good-by, Padre’ and comes to join her. Rose hardly has the time to shut her hymnal closed over the catalog tucked inside before he bustles past her, eager now to be on his way.

“Damned quiet place now that the mine’s shut up,” he says on the walk home, and Rose nods, though she does not remember the mine-town as her father does. She knows that there is no more coal to be had here and no more sand, and that with the mine has gone much of her father’s custom. Without black-lung and burns and broken bones, there is far less for a doctor to do in these hills.

But there is no other doctor than Juan Soto del Llano, with his limping step and his rosary about his neck and his rattletrap of a horse-drawn buggy with his only daughter to drive it, so he goes on as he has, and mends up broken bones and offers fever-cures to farmers and their wives, and to the valley townsfolk nearer home.

Henry Freeman is twenty-two, the bright young son of a new-money farmer. He is sickening for something, he is grey-faced and cold and his eyes do not focus.

Dr del Llano is at his door with hat in hand — money passes from the elder Mr. Freeman’s worn hand into his, and the doctor closes the older man’s hand over the coins. Out on the bench of the buggy, Rose scoffs and shakes her head. The fog-touched night is cold even through her coat, and she shivers involuntarily.

“He oughn’t to do such things,” she says, to no one but herself. But all the same, Rose turns her head, and Saro is there beside her, smiling.

“What oughtn’t he do?” asks Saro, with the questioning merriment in her voice that Rose has come to like so well.

“He doesn’t ask for payment, when it’s hill sickness,” and, seeing Saro’s quirk of the mouth, the way the question lurks in her well-dark eyes, Rose continues. “Father doesn’t know what it is, still, and he can’t mend it. It cannot be consumption, for it doesn’t settle in the lungs, but all the same — it is as if something is drawing out the life from them, every one.”

“So your Henry Freeman shall die, then,” says Saro, blunt.

“Don’t—“ says Rose, and stops, cold. “Who are you?” she asks, and looks Saro in the eyes, the brown of them so dark that Rose can barely find her own reflection. And the girl with the mistletoe hair reaches out, and pulls her hand across the golden curve of the hill as if she is stroking the grass that lies like dry cowhide on the ground.

“You know my name, doctor’s daughter, is that not enough?”

“Saro—“ Footsteps, and Rose’s head turns without her willing it. Doctor del Llano still has his sleeves rolled up, the edges wet from scrubbing. He doesn’t let them down again as he drags on his coat, hauling himself up to the buggy-seat as if held down by a great weight.

“Father—“ says Rose, and looks to Saro beside her, but even as she turns back, Saro is gone again.

“I’ll not talk of it,” he says, and hauls his bag into the buggy. It might well weigh as much as all the world. Rose huffs, and pulls her arms against her chest, and sets them on the road again.

And so it goes, over and over again — the Misses Hayward, unmarried, a few years older than Rose herself — Martin Foster, only three — the widow Ruiz, whose husband died down the mine before Rose was born. All of them greying, cold, dying quick. There is sickness in the hills, and it is sickness that the doctor cannot cure, and Rose — Rose finds that she barely cares. She stands in the church, once more, at Lillie Hayward’s funeral, and cannot look at the coffin, but only turns her head to search for wild light hair among the townsfolk in the pews.

But Saro doesn’t come to town; that’s not the place for her, Rose knows. How could she stay anywhere else but where the wind drags the points of oak leaves down the sky, where the tall grass parts under her hands like water?

So life goes on as it did before — the spiders building their webs across the age-grey clapboards of the doctor’s house by the old mine, the oak leaves stuck by their prickling edges to the drying wash, Rose’s father singing softly in his parents’ Spanish as he stocks his black bag at his desk in the front-room.

Rose leans against the desk, chipping at the varnish with her fingernails. In concession to the afternoon heat, the eastward window is flung open, and the thinnest breeze flicks at the pages of the last Sears catalog laid idly within her reach. She has begun to resent the sun — she closes her eyes, hunting darkness for darkness’s sake, and thinks of Saro in her white skirts, standing candle-slender in the dusk between the hills, Saro’s hands that are always cold, pressed softly against Rose’s face, her neck, her chest.

Telephone, its jangling sound sharp in the late-summer quiet — her father’s soft noises of questioning and assent — the practiced movements of putting harness to the horse. But for all that the interruption is sharp, there’s a pleased rise in Rose’s heart nonetheless, for if she is lucky, she will see Saro on the road.

She reins in the horse when her father tells her so, and hands him his bag as he jumps from the buggy — once he’s gone, Rose allows herself a secret smile. It’s early in the evening now, with the light all golden, her father’s horse with its dark mane a-gleaming in the last of the sun. Rose has a flask of coffee with her, brewed black as her father’s coat. She drinks most of it, hot and bitter, never mind that it had been meant to be shared. It doesn’t keep her awake — she drowses, head on her arms, and feels a breeze like soft hands stroke along her neck.

Today she has a headache. Her face is hot, even with her collar unbuttoned and her hat laid aside in her father’s seat. The day is warm, and the air tastes of dust, hot and dry in Rose’s throat. Saro’s hand on her cheek is as sweet and cold as anything Rose has ever snuck from the ice-house. Saro’s mouth against her neck is a cool draught.

“My dear sweet Rose,” says Saro, quiet, with only the barest hint of her usual merriment. “You’ve been ever so patient, even while I took my time with others.”

“Mm,” says Rose, and lets the weight of her body press up against Saro’s cold frame. Perhaps — perhaps that cold could leach the heavy heat from her head, the feverish blur from her eyes.

Saro’s fingers are at the buttons of Rose’s shirtwaist, now, the full breadth of her hand an ice-print on Rose’s chest. Saro from the oak tree, Saro with her hair like mistletoe. The hills rise golden around them, the wind rushing in Rose’s ears without touching her skin.

“May I?”

“Please,” says Rose, at the last, and lets Saro draw away the last of her living warmth.

#em writes stuff #oc time again hehe #oak savanna vampire #AND LO! AS PROMISED! EM HALLOWEEN STORY 3!#in the tradition of the very first round of em halloween story this is written for benjhawkins and pentecostwaite's spooky season challenge #except that. this took Two Years whoops.#(this was supposed to be last year's but it wasn't Working so I finished rat piper instead)#bit of attribution for the header-image -- 3/4 are from the california academy of sciences #(and public domain as part of the uc berkeley calphotos project! yay!)#and the fourth is of some relatives of mine (my gram's cousins iirc; and to put it as she would) 'standing there like the grapes of wrath'#some of the concepts of the story itself are also based on the experiences of some relatives (not those ones though)#[lying on the floor] CALIFORNIAAAA

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speedwayy · 1 year ago

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1999 recording of noel playing the acoustic track for it's a crime, the unofficial name given to the demo that would eventually become let there be love.

the lyrics are completely different from the album version and they're pretty interesting, so i included them under the cut

Well you can say what you want But you won't get a thing from me And if you don't understand That's it's not in your hands you need

Let there be love Let there be love Let there be love Let there be love

But you can say what you feel And it might never steal from me And then you must understand That it's all in your hands what you need

Let there be love Let there be love Let there be love Let there be love

And I never knew But all the thing's that you've done Are coming right back to you But everybody know's that it's no crime

But does it make you feel ashamed? You never said what you done And there's no need to blame But everybody knows Yeah everybody knows Everybody knows that it's no crime It's no crime

So you can say what you want But you'll not get a thought from me But if you say what you mean Then you might get a thing from me

Let there be love Let there be love Let there be love Let there be love

If I ever knew That all the thing's I've thought Are coming right back to you But everybody thinks that it's a crime

It never makes you feel ashamed You sit around and you sold And then you're passing the blame But everybody knows Yeah everybody knows Everybody knows that it's a crime

It's a crime It's a crime It's a crime

#i’m sure this has been posted already but i want it on my blog #let there be love… it never makes you feel ashamed… but everybody knows… it’s a crime…#noel………#why did he do it………..#let there be love ended up so much more optimistic #oasis #it’s a bit corny a la acquiesce but it’s oasis. and still one the greatest songs and makes me cry #and liam sounds really lovely and noel’s verse makes me come completely undone #come on baby blue </3 #but this early version is really …#it took him eight years to write let there be love

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rwnjun · 22 days ago

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posted my silly (not so) little t4t andreil fic yesterday <3 enjoy!

#<3 #this took me nearly a year to write from conception to finish i hope you like her ...#t4t andreil my dearly beloved <3 #andreil #aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #aftg fic

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bloodfin · 1 month ago

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all those things that you desire

A fic for @anotherbananasong - the story of how Charon came to be, and how an unexpected source made Alpha think twice about walking away from the ones he loves the most.

Read on Ao3, or below the cut.

Words: 4.394

Warnings/Additional Tags: Set in the Banana!Verse; Everyone Needs A Hug; Hurt/Comfort; Child Neglect (IT GETS BETTER!! Not explicit, just know it's there); Angst With A Happy Ending, Self-Doubt, Anxiety, Spontaneous Summoning, The Language Of Flowers

“Test me if you like, ghoul.”

Sister sneers across her desk, arms crossed. Alpha’s voice catches in his throat, and flames begin to lick at the bond he shares with his mate -

Dewdrop’s tear-streaked face blinks into view before Alpha feels himself falling,

falling,

falling.

Alpha jolts awake in a cold sweat, scrambles to sit upright and pushes half his nest apart to get there. He wraps his arms around his knees as tears start to gather at the corners of his eyes, heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears.

“Just a dream,” he mutters to himself, wiping at his eyes. “Just a stupid -”

There’s a firm knock at Alpha’s door that has him glance at his clock, grumbling as he struggles to pull his veil into place and dry his eyes at the same time.

“Frater would like to see you at two o’clock this afternoon,” a little quintessence ghoul says with a tilt of their head. Alpha feels like he should know their name, but he can’t quite find it in his groggy brain. He nods, and with a purple flash the ghoul has disappeared, leaving him alone.

‘Alone.’

Alpha sighs, looking back at his room. His empty nest, where he should be. He starts to pick at his nails, trying to figure out how to pass the next three hours.

He thinks of trying Air, but his face throbs at the memory of the last beating he got from Earth. And he’s trying to be more respectful, really. With a heavy sigh he slumps into his nest, trying, and failing (‘like you do at everything else,’ his mind helpfully supplies), to not think about the last time he stood before Frater.

Frater had called out his cruelty, and he panicked, thinking he would be sent back to the pits. That Dewdrop would be sent back. They’d never be safe, they’d never have the life Alpha wanted. Despite the changes Frater made, the raised doorways and larger rooms and the whole addition Frater organized, Alpha still felt Sister’s cold fingers wrapped around his heart. He couldn’t help but be jealous of Earth and Air, doting on sweet Astra in their rooms above the catacombs.

Alpha is the only one left, roaming the empty halls. He could go up the stairs. Sit and braid Dewdrop’s hair, hold his hand, maybe even kiss him -

No.

Alpha could feel his imagination running away from him again, that irritating spark of hope starting to light deep in his prefrontal cortex. He can’t let himself hope, he has to protect Dew. At all costs.

‘It’s always going to be the same.’

And so Alpha paces, back and forth, the same path he always took while everyone else slept. Counting down the seconds until his summons.

With a deep breath, Alpha straightens his veil, and raises his fist to knock on Frater’s door. He hears that heavily accented enter and slowly walks in, gently closing the door behind him.

Copia gestures to the seats in front of his desk, but Alpha simply shakes his head once, unable to lift his eyes from the floor. Copia hums and stands, rounding his desk to lean against the back of a chair.

“My ghoul,” he says softly, “I wanted to apologize.”

Alpha is sure his ears aren’t working properly.

“What?”

“The last time you were here, you left upset,” Copia explains, gently speaking with his hands. “I understand that I truly know nothing of the things that happened under Sister, but I want to make it clear that she and I are not the same.”

Copia takes a deep breath and a step closer to Alpha, who looks so small despite towering over the man.

“I want you to know that you are safe here, but I also must protect each ghoul in my care, and that includes my Dewdrop. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Frater.”

“You need not be afraid of me. I only asked if you would be happier in the pits because I want my ghouls to want to be here, and if you’d rather go home, it can be arranged at your request.”

Alpha feels his lip tremble, traitorous water filling his eyes.

“No, papa, I wish to stay.”

‘What are you even staying for, you're weak.’

“Then I am glad you will be here,” Copia says gently, taking another step forward before putting a cautious hand on Alpha’s elbow. “But, please, be kind to my Dewdrop. And the others.” He pauses, gives Alpha a gentle squeeze. “And yourself.”

‘Look at you, about to cry, little bi-’

Alpha knows better than to make empty promises, so instead he slips out the door with a nod of his head, racing back to his room.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he gets there, surprised to see Dew in the middle of his room.

“Mm, hi,” Dew waves shyly, before shoving his hand back into his pocket. “Been a while, since I've seen you and,”

‘Since you used him last’

Alpha blinks the thoughts away, listening to Dewdrop ramble for a moment longer.

“Anyway, I wanted to see if you might want to go up to the garden for a walk? With… me?”

“Yes,” Alpha agrees quickly.

Dew blinks at him a few times before beaming, excitedly pulling at his hand to guide him up and out of the catacombs, wholly unaware of the conversation that just took place in Frater's office.

‘He deserves better.’

Alpha can't help his smiling, watching Dew point out Mountain’s new additions to the garden.

“See look! There's the uh. The. Mm. Tatcha? Tacca.”

Dewdrop taps his finger to his lips, thinking hard before snapping in recognition.

“Tacca chantrieri! They're also called the black bat flower, which is fitting, considering who Phantom is.”

“Ah, yes, the little quint,” Alpha hums, filing the name away again for the next time he sees them.

“And over here are the red hot poker plants he planted for Rory,” Dew continues, showing Alpha the vibrant orange-to-yellow ombre blooms.

Alpha stops, taking in an interesting planters box, filled with white gladiolus and delicate Lily of the valley. He also spots bells of Ireland and some green, round, fuzzy things.

“Ah,” Dewdrop returns to his side, hands stuffed back in his pockets. “Earth made it, for him and Air. Pretty, right?”

Alpha blinks, registering some movement off to the side. He sees Rain a few feet away, adding some yellow flower to a little pool of water poppies and foxfires, and bites the inside of his cheek.

‘Even coral for brains can show he cares more than you.’

“Why don't we head back inside, Dew.”

Dew nods, stepping over a weed filled planter. It looks like it was blue at one point, the sheen cracking through a mix of goldenrod yellow and a deep red. Painted recently enough, a small firecracker plant peeking through the dried grasses.

He doesn't try to take Alpha's hand this time.

Dew sits up in Alpha's nest, a thin blanket thrown over his lap.

“I should probably get going,” he sighs, and Alpha stares at the ceiling.

His veil is on the floor and a red bruise is blooming under his collarbone. He thinks if he pushed into it with all his might it would hurt less than watching Dewdrop walk away again.

‘You don't deserve him.’

“You,” Alpha clears his throat, slides his hand over to rest on top of Dew's.

‘You'll never be able to protect him.’

“You don't have to go.”

He opens his arm then, a warm space for Dew to curl into. He takes the invitation without much hesitation, settling into Alpha's side with a rusty purr. He smiles, Dew’s scent filling his nose, and he finally lets himself drift into a peaceful sleep.

Rain leans in Dew’s door frame, watching him flit about. Tosses a piece of trash here, shelves another book there, stops by the top of his dresser to dust the garnet Aether had given him last Yule.

“New sheets?” Rain nods in the direction of Dewdrop’s nest, draped in deep red.

“Yeah,” he smiles, barely pausing.

The corner of Rain’s mouth lifts and he slides across the room, peering over the edge.

“Looks soft.”

“Mm.”

“Wanna take a break? I’ll do the wash.”

Dew finally looks over at him, hair tossed over his shoulder. His smile flattens for a moment before he goes to stand next to Rain, leans his head on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he murmurs, curling his pinky over Rain’s. “Rainy, I…”

“Did Alpha hurt you again?”

Rain feels anger bloom warm in his cheeks, torn between leaving Dew’s side and staying to hold him. He thinks perhaps he should voice his intentions, a challenge, because Dew doesn’t deserve to be treated like that all the time. He should be with someone that holds him close, whispers his name in the darkness, someone that -

“Alpha’s moving in.”

“He’s what.”

“He loves me,” Dew smiles, squeezing Rain’s hand. “Made that candle over there, the one that matches my eyes. And said he loves me. So many times.”

“He… loves. You.”

Rain can feel his pulse quicken, something like dismay and anger and jealousy all mixed together as he pushes down the bile rising at the back of his throat. “And you’re sure? About that?”

Dewdrop looks up to face him, eyes shining with pure joy.

“He wants to be exclusive for a bit. Strengthen our bond, you know?”

Rain clears his throat.

“Ah. Hence the uh, the cleaning. And soft red sheets and all.”

“Mm.”

“I’ll let you,” Rain clears his throat, growing steadily more uncomfortable. “I’ll let you finish up in here, then... I’m. I’m happy for you, droplet.”

Dew wraps Rain in a tight hug, nuzzles into his chest for one more indulgent moment.

“Thanks, Rainy, I know it’s tough but this is important to me. To us.”

Rain pecks the top of Dew’s head, humming his acquiescence.

“Just don’t forget about me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dew nods, pulling away. “I could never.”

Rain smiles tightly before exiting the room, stomping down the hallway to find Aether. An outrage, he thinks. Maybe it’s regret, he’s feeling, not making his intentions known sooner. Trying to be romantic with his floating garden, trying to find the right time.

When he can’t find Aether in any of his usual places he huffs, remembering he was on call for the infirmary. He grumbles a bit before heading to the new ghoul wing, poking his head into different rooms.

“Looking for someone?”

Rain stands up straight, a chill running down his back when he feels a large presence looming in the shadows behind him. If Aether is on call and in the infirmary, then that must mean…

“They’re with Mountain.”

Rain snaps his head around, fangs dropping a fraction. “Again? I told him that’s mine -”

Omega hums, a haunting sound. “Delta is not a thing to be owned. Come with me, little one, we have much to discuss.”

Rain gulps, finally putting a name to the feeling he had all along.

Fear.

“My ghouls! Thank you for joining me for this meeting. It is my understanding that some of the spaces in the ministry are still not easily accessible to our erm… taller counterparts, is that correct?”

The meeting room is filled with a handful of ghouls from all eras, whoever could come by at the last moment. Frater had heard that some spaces, like the kitchen and hall baths, were a bit, well, small.

“I smacked my head trying to get into the east wing bathing chambers, the pools are deepest there,” Lake grumbles, rubbing his hand over his brow. Aether pats his hand and gives him a soft look.

“Yes, I see. Well, perhaps if we expanded the doorways first then - uhm?”

Copia blinks a few times at the sound of fizzing, and looks up to find a portal spinning into existence.

“I didn't… did I?”

He quickly checks the ground, makes sure he's not standing in a summoning circle somehow. Makes eyes at the ghouls scattered around the room, all of them shrugging and looking just as confused.

Last time this happened was when Swiss came through and -

There's the tail. The horns. Small, sharp little things.

A chubby cheek, and he's tumbling right into Copia's outstretched arms.

“Well. Heh. Hello, I suppose.”

The tot quirks his head to the side, blinks at him with wide owl eyes.

“What am I to do with you?”

“We'll take him.”

Every set of eyes lands on the typically brash fire ghoul, his mate looking between him and the child with eyes of his own growing bigger by the second.

“Are you. Alpha, are you sure? This is. This is a big deal, love.”

Alpha nods, taking a few short steps to collect the boy from Copia, who is still terribly confused.

“I've always wanted to name my son Charon.”

Dew squeals, bunches his fists under his chin and runs in place for a moment before throwing himself around Alpha and their new son.

“We need to go find Air! Astra has a friend!”

Alpha nods curtly before glancing at Copia, bowing his head in brief thanks.

“Erm. I guess we should build a full size nursery, then?”

Aether and Lake share a glance at each other before looking back to an astounded Copia.

“Someone should tell Rain about this.”

“Look at this little guy,” Alpha smiles, settling into the nest with Dew tucked into his side.

“Yeah, sweet baby,” Dew coos, pinching his little foot. “Charon, huh?”

“Yeah,” Alpha says, blushing across the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have kits, but I always loved that name. Just… felt right. You know?”

“I know,” Dew says, kissing Alpha’s nose and then the top of Charon’s head. “I know.”

Days of domestic bliss pass, and then Dew and Alpha decide it’s time for Charon to meet the other kit, Astra. As cautious new parents they wanted to make sure he didn’t have any illness from the pit that could be passed to the other baby, neither wanting to face Earth if his precious girl became ill.

They meet in the commons, sitting on a long couch, feeling about as awkward as they all look. Alpha and Earth at opposite ends, their respective mates sandwiched between with the kits. It’s all smiles, though, when the babies catch sight of each other and begin to interact. Charon laughs as Astra sucks on her toes, Astra points to Charon’s long tail as he flicks it back and forth. His eyes are bright as he watches her follow the movements.

Dew and Air pass the time talking, neither seeing the other much lately. Air’s heart is so full, with his mate, his baby, and his friend at his side. He even extends a greeting to Alpha, nudging Earth’s knee when he hears the low growl start to rumble in his chest. Earth crosses his arms and sinks further into the couch, keeping his eyes on the babies, patently ignoring the impulsive fire ghoul.

When the time comes to part ways, Dew gives Air a quick hug and ruffles Astra’s hair. He and Alpha link tails before leaving, not quite making it out of the room before Earth speaks.

“Charon’s cute,” Alpha hears, and he can’t help but smile. “Feel bad for him though.”

Earth pauses, turning his head slightly to make sure he is heard. “Having Alpha as a father will ruin him.”

“Earth,” Air admonishes, scolding him for saying such a thing. The door slams and Alpha’s smile drops as he slowly follows behind Dew, thoughts he hadn’t heard for days suddenly filling his brain.

‘You don’t deserve to have a kit.’

‘You’re cruel, and the kit deserves better.’

‘Selfish.’

“Alpha, why don’t you want to hold him anymore?”

‘Don’t deserve it.’

Alpha shrugs, grunts as he bends to pick up a toy and places it back on the shelf.

“It’s been days,” Dew laments, fighting back tears as he silently begs his mate to just turn around and look at him. “He misses you. I miss you.”

“We need more charcoal,” Alpha grumbles, walking out the door as Charon starts to wail. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Dew tries not to let the tears fall, doesn’t want to let Charon see. Somehow, he thinks it would’ve hurt less if Alpha had just slammed the door instead of closing it softly.

Alpha trudges down to the kitchen, feet dragging against the polished stone of the ministry floor. All he hears is Charon crying, and it pulls at his heart. But his head doesn’t agree, flying down the road of self doubt at hypersonic speed.

‘You’re not good enough.’

‘Not strong enough.’

‘Not enough.’

He sighs as he opens the door to the kitchen, finding it quiet at the late hour.

Quiet, except for a lone, curly haired water ghoul sitting hunched over a cup of hot tea.

Rain lifts his head, and Alpha swears he sees some of Dew’s fire flash in his eyes.

“What are you doing down here?” Rain is trying, and failing, to keep his upper lip from curling.

“Could ask you the same.”

“Shouldn’t you be with your family?” Rain is hissing now, fighting to keep his fangs from dropping any lower.

“Need more charcoal.”

“Sure,” Rain huffs.

Alpha is about to open the side of the large wood burning stove but stops, turning to face Rain with a dark expression.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” Rain counters, rising to his full height, even though the top of his head barely reaches Alpha’s chin. “You do know my room is next to Dew’s, don’t you? I can hear every time Charon cries for you. Every time Dew cries for you. Every time you walk out the door and go wherever it is you go, to do whatever it is you do, leaving the people you claim to love so much to suffer.”

Alpha feels a growl building in his chest, flexes his fingers into a fist as he approaches the surprisingly brash little ghoul.

“This your challenge, then? Are you gonna run and go get him, show him what a big strong ghoul you are?”

‘Unlike you.’

Rain holds up a flat hand, and Alpha feels fire build in his fingertips.

“You can call it a challenge if you like, a challenge for you to do better.”

“Like you’d know anything about treating a mate right -”

Rain sighs, bites his lip, and drops his hand. He wraps an arm around himself and shrugs.

“I know,” he agrees. “But you need to do better. Dew and Charon need you. They chose you. Shouldn’t you choose them too? And if you aren’t going to choose the two of them, you need to let them go, so they can be with someone that does.”

Alpha has trouble picking his jaw off the floor.

“You sound a lot like Omega.”

Rain just shrugs, the fight burning out of him as quick as it started, and he turns to place his mug gently in the sink.

“Where are you going, I’m not done with you -”

“Please,” Rain scoffs, hand on the doorframe as he looks over his shoulder at the simmering ghoul. “Not that it’s any of your business but I’m going to meet Delta, to apologize. The Ministry has had enough shitty mates, don’t you think?”

“But you’re not -”

Alpha’s voice dies in his throat as Rain’s tail swishes out the door, leaving him to sit in uncomfortable silence with the first intelligent words he has ever heard come out of Rain’s mouth.

‘Even coral for brains can stand up for you. So weak you can’t stand up to yourself.’

Dew and Charon did choose him. They choose to love him, to keep coming home to him, even when he acts like a complete and total ass. Alpha can’t even begin to believe it, but maybe… maybe Rain is… right?

He runs back to the stove and gathers as much charcoal as he can carry, mind racing.

If Dew and Charon can choose him, can believe in him, can love him… maybe he can love himself, too.

When Alpha makes it back to Dew’s room, his room, he finds Dew fast asleep in their nest, Charon tucked under his chin and pressed tight to his chest. Their purrs are sweet, calling him to come and lay down.

He sets the charcoal in the basket and toes off his shoes, undoes his habit. He gets to the edge and adjusts the blanket over Dew’s feet - he hates sleeping with his toes out.

And he wants, so badly, to crawl into the nest, to pull Dew to his chest and kiss the back of his head and ruffle Charon’s hair. But he stops, steps back. Chooses the rocking chair instead, because the chair won’t push him away.

It’s hard to accept that Dew wouldn’t either, but just the possibility that he might makes him afraid. He pushes his palms to his eyes, refuses to cry, Rain’s words echoing in his head.

‘Shouldn’t you choose them too?’

He wants his family, he wants to be the ghoul they deserve.

But how?

Dewdrop rises with the sun, as he always does. He blinks a few times, pets at the back of Charon’s head before pressing a kiss to his soft hair. He sees Alpha sitting in the rocking chair, awake with dark circles under his eyes.

“You’re back.”

“Of course.”

Dew doesn’t have a cruel bone in his body, and lifts his hand in invitation. Alpha feels his heart accelerate.

He thinks you’re weak.

“You look tired, come lay with us?”

Alpha swallows hard, focuses on keeping his claws retracted, to not damage the furniture.

“I - uh.”

Dew sighs, and Alpha swears he sees his light dim. The gentle golden glow that seems to follow Dewdrop wherever he goes, that same light he swore to protect the moment he mated him.

And now it’s fading, because of him.

Dew rolls to his other side, facing away from Alpha, keeping Charon protectively against his chest. And as Dew, his love, whispers sweet nothings to the next greatest gift Hell has ever given, he can’t find the strength to stand.

Instead he lets hot tears burn track marks into the skin of his cheeks.

Alpha’s throat is tight with anxiety, though his tone could probably be confused for anger.

“He won’t stop crying,” he says to Dew, watching him place Charon into his crib.

“He needs you, Alpha, can’t you hear him?”

Of course, he can. His cries constantly fill his head, mixed with his own anxiety, his own self-inflicted cruelty. His fear, that he wouldn’t be able to protect the little family he always wanted, but never thought he’d get to have.

The same family Sister threatened to tear apart.

The same family he’s tearing apart himself, right now. Some sick, self-fulfilling prophecy.

“Dada,” Charon yells, tears streaming down his little face. “Dada, uppies, Dada, p’eas!”

Dew’s chin quivers as he tries to hush Charon, kneeling at the side of his crib.

“I can hold you, baby.”

Alpha has his hand on the door handle, ready to walk out. Part of him feeling, knowing, that if he walks out the door this time, it won’t open so easily again. He takes a deep breath to steel himself. He’ll never have what he wants.

‘You don’t deserve it.’

“Dada!”

He can’t keep his family safe, and if he can’t keep them safe -

‘You don’t deserve it.’

“Dada, p’eas!”

“I’m here,” Dew whispers, fingers through the bars of the crib, trying to break Charon’s line of sight, a distraction. But he’s a determined little thing - he crawled out of the Pits, after all.

“Dada!”

Alpha’s resolve to not look breaks, and he turns his head over his shoulder. He doesn’t deserve the love this baby is trying to give. He can’t give him the love he deserves, because of the way he is. His mate deserves better. His son, deserves better.

But still, Charon calls for him. Chooses him, of all ghouls.

Dew’s light fades a bit more, and Alpha bites at his tongue.

‘He needs me.’

He takes a step towards Charon and sees the corner of his mouth turn up in a smile. One more step, and Charon stills, arms reaching out towards him.

When he steps closer again Dew turns too, tears matching Charon’s. Holds his arm out as well, another invitation. He thinks of the way Air talks about Earth catching their kit, Astra tumbling from the portal straight into his arms, accepted and loved.

Despite every time Alpha turned him down, turned him away, used him, and walked out, Dew is there waiting to catch him, with open arms. Accepted, and loved.

Accepted and loved.

The pure love that can only come from a child, untainted by anything the world could offer. The joyful sounds of his baby’s laugh, his soft feet and kissable cheeks. The way Charon’s little nose crinkles when Alpha used to make silly faces at him. The way he clung to Alpha’s habit the first time he saw Dew in his uniform.

Accepted and loved.

It doesn’t take Alpha long to cross the room then, to pick Charon up with one arm and pull Dew from the ground with the other, crushing them both to his chest.

He cries now, too, openly. Accepted and loved.

He knows it won’t happen overnight, but he can try. Try to be worthy of both of them, to be the best father he can. To hold Charon close, and make up for every time he walked away. Someday, Charon may not remember this. But Alpha always will.

Charon curls against his broad chest, rumbling with purrs as he starts to drift to sleep.

“It’s all he wanted,” Dew smiles, resting his forehead on Alpha while he rubs small circles into Charon’s back.

“Never again,” Alpha promises, and Dew squeezes him a little tighter. “I’m sorry -”

“You’re here now,” Dew smiles, his rusty purr joining Charon’s. “And you still look tired. How about that nap?”

Alpha’s mouth quirks up in a smile.

“Alright,” he agrees. “But I’m keeping the baby.”

#the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost #banana!verse #dewdrop ghoul #alpha ghoul #earth ghoul #air ghoul #omega ghoul #rain ghoul #many others mentioned!#sorry this took 100000 years to write life just kept beating me down but we are here and i am so glad this is ready to give you <3 #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending

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lavendermaelk · 15 days ago

Note

hi! How's your day going?

if you still have open requests, do you think a henry winter x reader where the other characters kind of "meet" the reader after seeing her a lot with Henry and then Henry introducing her would be a good idea?

or maybe Henry and the reader meet at the library and start talking about homer and such?

anyway, man do I love your fanfics

Meeting the Greek Class

Henry Winter x Reader, The Secret History

Content Warnings: Perhaps a bit of projecting w [Y/N]'s interests hehe, flashbacks, my babies are alcoholics

Request: from Anonymous

hi! How's your day going?

or maybe Henry and the reader meet at the library and start talking about homer and such?

anyway, man do I love your fanfics

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the kind words darling! And thank you for being my first request I tried writing this out as a fic but my ideas weren’t flowing right so I’m making it into a half fic, half list. Hope that’s okay <3

It was an odd site, seeing someone from that estranged Ancient Greek class willingly spend time with someone who wasn’t. Of course, Richard and Edmund could be considered exceptions but with their personalities and vices, it was never much of a surprise to see them out and away from their usual group. But this was enough to spark up some chatter.

Henry Winter, pedantic and pretentious as he was, had been spotted numerous times with a student from the English department. The large, shadow-like figure was haunted by another figure decorated in brown tones and a smile that encroached on Henry's seemingly perpetual disinterest. The pair could be seen sitting together in the library, having hushed yet heated discussions over philosophers or perhaps editing and revising each other's essays. Other times, they could be seen cruising in Henry's car or walking to and from Julian's office. It seemed the professor was the only one of their little group who'd met her and yet Julian never brought up her existence to the rest of the small class. Henry wasn't one to talk of her either, no matter how much Bunny would ask or how often he'd try to catch them together and force an introduction, Henry would skillfully skirt around the topic and keep her hidden. It was a strange talent he had, keeping identities secret and redirecting conversations with such ease.

[Y/N] seemed to be a rather simple girl. She went to her classes, participated in discussions she took interest in and didn't care to affiliate herself with any clubs. She had learned of Julian Morrow and his unorthodox teaching methods when she had first come to Hampden College but having to fully commit to one teacher, one track of education when all she wanted was an elective, wasn't something she could throw away her dream for. She was an aspiring writer who had a profound interest in classics but instead of delving herself into Ancient Greece like her dear Henry had, she stayed on with her plan of majoring in English Literature while frequently making trips to Julian's in hopes that he would at least give her a tutorial or two and spending her free time in the library to constantly soak in what she could.

Henry had known who she was before they had met. In fact, Julian was the one to mention her to him during one of their first one on one meetings.

"Have you met a student named [Y/N] [L/N]?" asked Julian, looking at a nineteen-year-old Henry Winter. He was similar to how he was when Richard had met him. Tall, broad and uptight except with Julian, there was a certain gleam in his eye. There was a softness that was almost never there on a normal day.

"I don't think so, sir. Why, is she causing trouble for you?"

"No, no. I just think she’s rather curious is all. She claims to be interested in the classics and yet won't accept my offer to be a part of this class. Says she has 'ambitions aside from learning of the Ancients.'" The older man chuckled some and shook his head. "If you see her, do be kind. And perhaps, if you think she is deserving, I suppose I should give her a tutorial.”

Now, it seemed as if the two students were magnets. Just waiting to get within each other's vicinity to stick together until they are driven apart.

[Y/N] had been invited out to Henry’s apartment on yet another Thursday night. She always found it a little funny that he’d picked Thursdays to be the night of their almost-weekly dinners. It helped that she didn’t have classes on Fridays so she could stay at Henry’s for as long as he’d let her. She tended to stay late and sometimes overnight, it was rare for her to leave him alone when he opened himself up to her so easily now. It was more or less a normal Thursday evening, consisting of the two spending a good hour or so in the kitchen to whip up a simple yet comforting meal before they moved to the front room and did whatever seemed appropriate. This time, they had settled to reading in near silence with the taste of whiskey on their lips and the faint smell of tobacco in the air. It went on like that for a while, a quiet calm blanketing over their bodies as they sat on opposite sides of Henry’s couch, before the tall man cleared his throat a bit.

“[Y/N]?” He called her name after seeing her so engrossed in her novel that she hadn’t looked up when he cleared his throat. She held her hand up for a moment as she finished reading the sentence, not in a commanding way. Her hand was not straightened and ordering to stop, rather her fingers were bent and they highlighted the softness of her as a whole. How her movements flowed into each other and how the lines her body created were akin to fabric flowing in the wind. Henry paused, letting her finish reading her passage and look up at him before speaking again. “I was wondering if you’d like to meet the rest of my class. They’ve been asking about you and I’m finding it more and more difficult to hide you from them.”

[Y/N] let out a soft chuckle at that, giving Henry a little nod. “I’d love to. You know, I thought you were hellbent on not letting them know who I was.” She teased a little bit, nudging his thigh with her foot.

“I was, but now it’s getting tedious. And I suppose you deserve to meet who I spend most of my time with, other than yourself and Julian.” Henry gave her one of his little smiles. “So how does a weekend in the countryside sound? I’ll take you back to Hampden whenever you want.”

“It sounds nice. But I thought you liked doing tedious things.”

“I suppose that’s why I like you so much.”

“Hey!”

That Friday night, Henry picked [Y/N] up from her apartment with her little overnight bag and they made their way to Francis’ aunt’s countryside property. There was already a car parked in the front when they arrived and with the joyous laughter that came from the large home, it seemed like the rest of the group hadn’t waited to start the weekly festivities. Henry led [Y/N] into the home and when Henry entered, there were drunken cheers to celebrate his entrance.

“It’s her! She’s here!” gasped Francis, sitting up from the armchair he was lounging in. The other’s perked up along with the red head, standing or sitting up straighter to try and look at who Henry had brought with him.

“Well if it isn’t Henry’s new shadow! Pleasure to meet ya, Bunny Corcoran. Pretty soon, you’ll be takin’ my place!” Bunny joked as he excitedly pushed his way forward and extended a hand to greet [Y/N]. The rest of the boys lined up to meet her before she was face to face with another woman. A beautiful woman with icy grey eyes and straw blonde hair that seemed to fall perfectly around her head despite it being cut so short.

“I’m Camilla, Charles’ twin. It’s nice to have another girl here. Are you going to be joining the Greek class?”Camilla asked as she smiled softly at [Y/N]. [Y/N] smiled back and shook her head.

“No, I’m rather comfortable in English Literature. I have an interest in the classics but I don’t want to devote my life to them. Not yet, at least” Henry cracked a small smile at that, his large hand lingering on the small of her back.

Their thoughts on you

Richard

Richard thinks you're phenomenal.

He’s glad to have another person who isn’t wholly consumed by it all (pfft, as if he isn’t)

He’s surprised that Henry would even look kindly in the direction of someone outside of the Greek class but he can so easily see the adoration in Henry’s eyes, reserved just for you.

Francis

God, he loves you.

It’s fun to hang out with you, he’s always happy to yap your ear off or just to sweep you away from Bunny and Charles’ crazy antics when they get drunk at the country house

He’s almost like a second boyfriend with how sweet and chivalrous he is with you. Henry does get a little jealous now and then that Francis will beat him to pulling out your chair or offering you a hand to stand up.

Charles

You’re not his type but he can see why Henry likes you so much.

He likes to mess around with you, very much like a little brother kind of way

Sometimes if you and Camilla are just having some girl time, he’s around the corner ready to scare the both of you

Camilla

She is so relieved to have another girl to hang out with. Marion is much too disturbed by the other boys to hang out. (Its ok, Camilla doesn’t like her much anyway)

You love to tell her all about the drama that happens outside of the Greek class.

“Guess who broke up?” “I caught so-and-so kissing so-and-so in the English bathroom today” etc.

Sometimes, she’ll come over to your place to get away from Charles for a while and you guys end up having a fun little at home spa day

If you work out, you definitely manage to get her to join you a little. Hot girl walks around campus, pilates in your apartment.

Bunny

He’s jealous that you're taking up Henry’s free time (and spare cash) but he gets it.

He thinks the same of you that he thinks of Camilla. Sure, you’re pretty but you’re too intelligent for your own good. He’ll stick to someone like Marion

But! He does think it’s nice that you can make Henry smile when he can’t. He knows him well enough to see that Henry is genuinely happy with your relationship

#i’m so sorry this took me 3 years #lavender writes~🖋️#lavender chats~💬#the secret history #henry winter #dark academia #camilla macaulay #henry winter drabble #henry winter imagine #henry winter x reader #the secret history drabble #tsh drabble #tsh ask #tsh fanfic #donna tartt #fanfic #the secret history fanfic #the secret history ask #the secret history x reader

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smilesrobotlover · 8 months ago

Text

Chapter 2- The Upheaval

First|| -> next

AO3

Summary: it’s been three years since Calamity Ganon attacked Hyrule, and everyone was recovering well from it. Until the strange substance gloom appeared, making people sick when they touched it. Wanting to find answers, Zelda and the champions went beneath the castle against her father’s wishes to try to solve the problem. Meanwhile, the King of Hyrule is desperately trying to figure out more about the gloom, though no one knows the true danger lurking beneath Hyrule…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world was bathed in golden sunlight, with bright green trees scattered across the town and the castle courtyards. It was warm, with a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves and grass, making a quiet shh sound through the air. The birds were chirping cheerily as they flew through the wind, and it overall was a beautiful day. Yet none of it calmed the unease Rhoam had lurking in his heart. He felt nauseous as he walked through the halls of the castle, his chest feeling as if it were constricted which made his breathing shallow. Sweat dripped down his forehead as a lump remained in his throat, but he made an effort in hiding his true feelings from everyone that saw him as they passed down the halls. Fortunately there weren’t a lot of maids or guards in the hallways, and he was mostly alone with his two bodyguards: a Hylian from Hateno named Ammon and a Hylian from Lurelin named Orman. But even then he didn’t let his true emotions out. He needed to be strong right now, to be an anchor and a sign of hope for his people. Especially now more than ever.

Three years. Three years have passed since the calamity, yet Hyrule was already showing signs of danger. A strange substance called gloom had appeared in the castle; it stuck to the walls, the floors, and poisoned the trees that were nearby. The gloom was only there for a month, yet it spread all the way to Castle town, wreaking havoc on the people. Zelda made an effort to research the gloom, sending out researchers to make sure it wasn’t malice. To their relief, it wasn’t, yet to their despair it was far worse than malice. Anyone who came into contact with malice would get severe burns from the substance—it was painful, but easily treatable. Gloom, however, fatigued those who touched it. It sucked all hope and life out of them, and all they could do was to lay there until the terrible feelings went away. It took weeks for the first person infected to feel well, and the hospitals were being filled quickly with patients who remained stagnant in their recovery. Many researchers, Zelda included, had theories that the substance was a strange fungi or mold, but none of its characteristics matched such things. It was becoming overwhelming, and a dreadful thought of another disaster striking their fragile and recovering kingdom was becoming too much for Rhoam. The calamity took its toll on him, and he’s surprised he didn’t suffer a heart attack during it.

He took over every responsibility he was able to during the calamity in an attempt to get Zelda to focus on awakening her power. It was the only piece they needed, therefore it was top priority. Everyday being met with scorn, stress, criticism, and fear over what would befall his kingdom.

Her kingdom.

His wife’s responsibility, soon to be his daughter’s. He’d done everything he could to make sure she still had a kingdom to inherit. But now he feared it was going to crumble at their feet with this new threat. They couldn’t handle another calamity.

And Rhoam could feel himself growing ill from the fear.

A desire to take over everything again so his daughter wouldn’t have to endure any of the stress almost overtook him, but he knew he couldn’t do it this time. Zelda was twenty now—she was capable, strong, and despite still being timid, she was a remarkable leader. He didn’t trust her back then and it nearly cost him his life. He couldn’t make that same mistake now. He couldn’t hurt her again.

Rhoam made it to his room and he nodded at his bodyguards, who understood that he wished to be left alone. They remained outside his door as he entered, ignoring the strong desire to fall onto his soft bed. Instead, he walked across the large room, opened the door to his balcony, and looked out across his kingdom, soon to be Zelda’s. He allowed his mind to go blank as he stared, Castle town almost looking like a ghost town as most of its inhabitants were either inside or moved out.

It was far too similar to the calamity.

A gentle knock came at his door, and he turned as it opened slowly. To his surprise, his daughter peeked her head through, her brows drawn together as she nervously eyed Rhoam. She rarely came into his room.

“Zelda,” he greeted, forcing a smile as he went to greet her. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Zelda also forced a small smile back and stepped inside. She stopped right in front of him and stood up straight as if she were a soldier awaiting orders. It hurt Rhoam’s heart to see his own daughter acting in such a way around him, but he couldn’t blame her. It was his own fault for such a dynamic happening.

“Father, I came to ask you something,” she started, her voice soft and nervous. She was going to ask him something he didn’t approve of. It was all too familiar to him. “This gloom is growing dangerous, and we need to find a way to deal with it.” she shifted slightly, her hands fidgeting with each other. “But the only way we can do that is to find out where it’s coming from.”

Rhoam let out an exasperated sigh. He knew it. “Zelda, going beneath the castle is forbidden. It has been for thousands of years.”

“I-I know, but the further we go under the castle, the more gloom that shows up.” She straightened herself again, clearly trying to appear confident. “It’s not just on the walls, but it’s in the air.”

“Then it is no place for you, my daughter,” Rhoam said simply. Even if the gloom originated from beneath the castle, he wasn’t going to let his daughter of all people explore it. She frowned slightly and sighed.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why we’re not allowed down there? Nothing from my studies answered why, none of the kings and queens before us answered why. Why must we follow their directions blindly when clearly the answer to the gloom is where it’s forbidden?”

Rhoam thought for a moment. He couldn’t blame Zelda for wanting answers; he remembered he was the same way when he first married into the family. But his wife made it very clear to not travel below the castle. He found it silly, but he knew better than to question the royal family. After a moment of thinking, he finally shook his head.

“We must look into it more before we break the most ancient rule,” he finally said, and Zelda’s frown deepened.

“We won’t have time. I have a feeling that something is going to happen. Don’t you feel it too? The air isn’t right today.”

Rhoam closed his eyes and nodded. He was too tired to argue this further. “I fear disaster will strike if we were to go down there. My decision is final, Zelda. Give it more time.”

Zelda’s glare melted away, and instead of her usual upset response to rejection, it was a resigned acceptance.

“Very well, father,” she muttered, turning away to leave the room.

“I’m sorry,” Rhoam quickly called out, wanting to ease the tension slightly, but Zelda only forced another smile. She left the room quickly and Rhoam let out a sigh, allowing himself to finally lay on the bed. The tension in his head cleared slightly as he rubbed his temples and he groaned. He hated it, he hated being king, he hated seeing Zelda look at him the way she did, he hated feeling like every action he took was a mistake, he just hated it all.

Rhoam laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling blankly. He almost couldn’t wait for Zelda to become queen so he didn’t have to tell her “no” anymore, but he knew he needed to wait. She needed to feel ready for taking on such a tremendous responsibility unlike him when his wife died. But he felt years of his life being stripped away from the stress of it all, and he didn’t know how much longer he could take it.

A beeping sound broke him from his thoughts, and he sat up, looking for where the sound came from. He heard it again and he looked down at himself, spotting his Sheikah slate that was glowing. Since the three years, Purah and Robbie wasted no time in developing more of the slates for those of importance. They only made a few; one for Zelda, Impa, the champions, the first knight, and of course, himself. They were developing more slates for the leaders of the different towns and villages, that way they could have quick contact in case disaster struck, but production was paused to find a cure for gloom. Rhoam admittedly used to find the bits of technology that weren’t the guardians or divine beasts rather childish, but since the calamity, he grew to have a greater appreciation of all of it. Quick communication (though it was rather finicky depending on where they were) was remarkably convenient, and teleporting to the different towers across Hyrule saved days of time. The things technology was capable of doing were incredible.

He only wished it wasn’t so confusing.

Rhoam frowned at the screen as he tapped several buttons, opening the map at least twelve times before finally getting to what beeped at him in the first place. To his surprise and dread, it was a message from Impa. Her message read:

I found something at the Great Plateau. Come quickly.

He reread the short message, rubbing his head tiredly. It was a concerning message to receive from Impa. Why did she need him of all people? What did she find that required the king’s attention? He was also frustrated at how vague it was—Impa normally gave very detailed explanations in her messages, so what did she find that caused her to be so vague? He hopped off his bed, not wanting to waste anymore time. Rhoam trusted Impa, and he knew that she needed him if she requested him personally.

He left his room, giving his guards a nod and pulling out his Sheikah slate. It took a long moment until Rhoam figured out how to teleport both him and his guards to the Great Plateau, but soon they disappeared in a blue light. The feeling of his body dissipating then materializing in a new area made him far more nauseous than before, and he stumbled slightly on the tower. Orman rested his hand on his shoulder to steady him, which helped.

“I’m alright,” he muttered after his vision cleared, and he straightened his back despite the slight vertigo. He faced the Great Plateau, a place he grew all too familiar with during the calamity. Glancing down at his Sheikah slate, Rhoam opened Impa’s message again, using his pointer finger to type his own message to her.

Where are you?

His bodyguards watched amused as he fumbled with the thing, finally sending the message before letting out a sigh. The air was calm here, but he did feel the unease in the world that Zelda had mentioned. Nausea built up in him again, and he decided to sit down on the tower while he waited for Impa to respond. His guards stared for a moment, standing in front of him with their weapons in their hands as if an attack were to happen at any moment. Eventually, Orman stepped closer to the king, his spear put away.

“Are you alright, my King?” He asked, and Rhoam only waved his concern away. He was always so compassionate.

“I’m alright… I’m just tired.”

“Is it the gloom?”

Rhoam didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. The gloom was worrying everyone after all. But still, he didn’t want to seem… vulnerable to his own guards. He was always a hardened soldier, being the first knight of Hyrule before becoming the prince consort. Yet here he was, on the verge of a breakdown.

Orman didn’t press further to Rhoam’s relief, and his Sheikah slate finally beeped in his hands. The king scrambled to open the message, excitedly reading what Impa said.

At the cabin by Owa Daim Shrine.

He let out a sigh and stood up, facing the direction to the shrine. If he recalled correctly, the shrine was on a cliff side, which then led to the cabin across the cliff. He supposed it’d be quicker to teleport there, but…

No, figuring out how to teleport would take too long, as would trying to get down from the cliffside safely. Rhoam had a paraglider on him at all times, but his guards didn’t. It would be better to walk.

“Let’s go,” he said, walking to the opening in the ground on the tower. It took a long moment to get down since they had to climb to different platforms surrounding the tower, and Rhoam made a note to have his guards carry around paragliders to make traveling easier (though Rhoam rarely traveled out of the castle). He finally landed on the ground, stretching out his sore arms with Ammon close behind. Orman took the longest, losing his patience when he finally reached the platform and opting to jump off instead of climbing. Rhoam felt his heart stop when he landed from such a height, but the tall man was perfectly fine, simply brushing himself off. He let out a relieved sigh and faced south, marching towards the cabin with his guards behind him.

The Great Plateau was a place Rhoam and his guards grew familiar with since it was where they escaped to during the calamity. Many soldiers were wounded and left behind in battles throughout the kingdom, and Rhoam, having just escaped the castle, made an effort to gather them to the Temple of Time where they could get help. The healers in the sacred place helped his soldiers, meanwhile the king traveled around the plateau, killing all monsters and guardians that threatened his men. He remembered the days staring at the castle that was overflowing with malice, with red glowing lights of guardians surrounding what was once his home, praying to Hylia that Zelda was somewhere safe. The memories from the plateau weren’t entirely pleasant since Rhoam was filled with anxiety over his kingdom and daughter, but he couldn’t help but feel strangely nostalgic as he passed by Eastern Abbey. During the hardest moment of his life, it was the first time his world was quiet, and he was alone. Sometimes he missed the quiet nights he spent in the Forest of Spirits, or the peaceful mornings on Mount Hylia, but he supposed it was the price for being King.

He only hoped Zelda would at least get those quiet moments when she became queen.

Almost on instinct, he sent a prayer to Hylia, something he did so often during the calamity. He prayed that Zelda would not have to suffer the same way he did, that she would be safe, and that she would be a powerful queen to her people. The prayer was quick, but it filled him with some peace. The goddesses did well watching over her after all.

It didn’t take long for the group to reach the cabin, and Rhoam quickly refocused his attention on the task at hand. It was silent save for the rustle of leaves on the trees, and the cabin seemed strangely empty. He walked up to the door and let out a sigh, knocking on it three times.

“Impa,” he called out, opening the door, “it’s King Rhoam, I—”

Rhoam stopped when he peeked inside the room. It was messy in the cabin, with some papers scattered about and random decorations on the table and dressers. But at the end of the table, he found a large man clad in red, with a mask covering his face.

“Kohga?” Rhoam blurted out, stepping into the room fully. Ammon quickly squeezed past Rhoam, putting himself in front of the king protectively.

“That’s Master Kohga to you, thank you very much,” the Yiga clan leader corrected, leaning against the chair casually. “About time you’d get here, you sure kept me waiting.”

Rhoam stared for a moment, blinking at him in disbelief. “You—did you send the message?”

Kohga took out a Sheikah slate, waving it around. “Yes.”

Fury bubbled within Rhoam. Of course. Goddesses of course this would happen to him. Amongst the catastrophe that is the gloom, of course something would happen that would waste his time.

“I don’t believe this,” he muttered, spinning around and leaving the cabin abruptly.

“W-wait! Your Highness–” Kohga suddenly appeared right in front of Rhoam, smoke and talismans fluttering in the king’s face. “You came all this way and now you’re gonna leave—”

“I don’t have time for your pranks, Kohga,” Rhoam snapped, “I’m going back to the castle.”

“Hold on!” Kogha put his hands on Rhoam’s shoulders to stop him from walking, but a smack from Orman’s spear made them draw back. Ammon once again put himself between the two despite being half their size, and Kohga finally backed away with an annoyed huff.

“What do you want, Kohga?” Rhoam finally asked, fury apparent in his voice. “How did you get Impa’s Sheikah slate? Did you steal it from her?”

“No no no!” Kohga denied. “I would never steal from Impa! Maybe if it was Link or someone else, yes I would, but I would never steal from Impa—”

“Then why do you have her Sheikah slate? Where is she?”

“She’s fine. She’s with her sister right now, calm down. I just needed her slate so I could message you,” Kogha poked Rhoam in the chest harshly, and the king’s glare deepened. “Y’see, I found something on this plateau that requires the king’s attention. Obviously.”

“Why didn’t you just request an audience with me?” Rhoam asked, watching as Kohga began pacing in front of him.

“Oh come on, that would’ve taken weeks! You’re a popular guy, you know that? And besides, why would anyone let me, the master of the Yiga, into the castle? Think about it,” Kohga glanced down at Ammon. “Short-stack right here would’ve gutted me alive.”

Rhoam sighed and put his hand on Ammon’s shoulder to calm him, and he stepped closer to Kohga. “Alright. What is so important that you took a classified piece of technology from my daughter’s advisor to contact me?”

Kohga was suddenly at his side, his arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder. “Well I’m glad you asked, ‘ol Rhoam-y boy.”

Rhoam pulled away and glared at him. “Don’t call me that. And stop touching me.”

Kohga ignored him and pointed back to the north. “The Forest of Spirits! That’s where I need to show you!”

Rhoam groaned, rubbing his aching head. “ And why didn’t you just ask me to meet you there?”

“Because I need to exercise my legs. Now come on, Rhoam-y boy!”

Rhoam only watched as Kohga ran ahead, who was already losing his breath.

“Are you seriously going to humor this guy?” Orman asked as he walked up next to Rhoam. The king only sighed. He knew better than to trust the Yiga; they helped save the kingdom, which couldn’t be ignored, but it didn’t erase the things they did in the past. Admittedly, he didn’t know if he could trust Kohga, but his daughter trusted him… so…

“Maybe he does have something important to show me,” Rhoam simply answered, not wanting to argue further, and he began to walk to Kohga who was panting for air. He heard his guards’ footsteps behind him, but they sounded reluctant as they crunched the dead leaves beneath them.

Rhoam made sure to keep his distance from Kohga as they walked, which wasn’t very easy seeing how the man could barely run. Though Rhoam couldn’t judge him too much, since he found himself out of breath as they walked up a few slopes.

It felt like hours until the group finally reached the Forest of Spirits, time feeling like it was being thrown away the longer they took. The more he walked, the more anxious he felt, and he couldn’t help but eye the trees around him. Kohga was rambling ahead of them, talking about walking trees, cave monsters, and Talus’s with bokoblins making camp on them. Absurd things no doubt, and Rhoam couldn’t tell if it had anything to do with what he was going to show him, but he chose to ignore him anyways. After a few minutes of walking through the woods, Rhoam finally stopped, his patience growing thin.

“Kohga, where in these woods are we headed to?”

Kohga stopped and turned around, his hand on his chest as if he were offended. “Patience Rhoam-y boy, goddesses.”

“I told you to stop calling me that—”

“A-HA!” Over there!” Kohga suddenly shouted, sprinting to the north of the plateau. Rhoam only glanced back at his guards, who gave him uncomfortable looks. The group jogged to keep up with Kohga, who went back to rambling.

“You see, I was walking around these woods… where I found a strange structure built by nature,” he panted in between breaths, turning his head back occasionally. “It’s not actually in the woods, but it’s closeby. A strange structure that may mean something important!”

It was clear that Kohga was amping up the dramatics, but Rhoam couldn’t tell if it was because the Yiga leader was just a dramatic person, or if he was being genuine. He just prayed that this wasn’t a waste of time. Kohga suddenly sprinted ahead and ran out of the trees, continuing to ramble as Rhoam pumped his legs to keep up.

“Personally I think it’s truly a piece of art, but I had to see what the king would say if he were to see it—”

Kohga abruptly stopped, and Rhoam rammed right into his back. He peeled himself away from the man, huffing as he straightened his beard. Kohga only shuffled his feet as if nothing happened, growing noticeably uncomfortable.

“Uh-oh.”

Rhoam frowned at the strange behavior Kohga was now exhibiting, and he moved to his side.

“What are you—” Rhoam began to ask, but he turned his head to see what Kohga was staring at, and dread sank into his stomach.

Gloom. Gloom that covered the cobblestones and grass in large puddles, gloom that covered the shrine, turning the ethereal blue light into a sick red, gloom that was a mist coming out of the ground around the shrine.

No.

It was spreading.

The silence was heavy as Rhoam stepped ahead, staring at the puddles of gloom that was scattered across the ground. He felt his throat close up as he got closer to one, nausea assaulting his stomach. Goddesses, it was spreading. It was no longer in Castle town, it was on the Great Plateau.

Where else had it spread? How far would it go?

“Well, this is not what I wanted to show you,” Kohga suddenly spoke up, staring at the ground around him. “This uh… wasn’t here an hour ago.”

Rhoam turned to stare at Kohga, his brows pinched together. It was spreading fast, it seemed. Goddesses…. What could he do? There wasn’t a cure from gloom poisoning, there wasn’t a way to remove the gloom, he felt… helpless.

Except…

Beneath the Castle…

Of course—of course, how could he be so foolish?

Zelda was right. It seemed the only way to deal with the gloom was to explore where it was forbidden. They needed to get down there, to find answers…. Maybe there was a way to remove the horrid gloom. Maybe there was a way to save the kingdom once again. The king found himself by the shrine, the panel flickering as gloom covered most of it. He still felt a strong sense of dread, but he had to push it away, they needed to act now.

“King Rhoam?” Orman called out. He was across the pond where Rhoam stood, with Ammon and Kohga further back. Rhoam took a deep breath and nodded at his guard, pushing the ill feelings back to make way for the motivation.

“We’re going back to the castle, and we’re going to explore deep into its depths,” he explained simply. “Zelda is right, the answer to this gloom may be down there. We cannot dawdle any longer.” He turned back to the shrine, staring at the gloom infecting it. “This gloom will spread further throughout the kingdom. We must stop it before it gets to that point.”

“Well it’s a good thing I did call for you then, huh?” Kohga called out, but Rhoam glared at him. He truthfully didn’t want to admit that whatever Kohga had planned was actually useful, and he simply turned to look at his guards.

“Let’s head back to the castle so we can—”

A sudden heave of the earth cut him off, and he fell back onto the panel of the shrine. His vision went white for a moment as his head smacked the panel, and his hand planted itself onto a gloom puddle. The strange sensation of the gloom beginning to worm its way into him caused him to flinch back, and he sat up away from the horrid substance. His head was aching worse than before, his hands felt numb, but from what he felt he wasn’t actually poisoned with gloom to his relief. When he glanced to see if the others were alright, he saw that Kohga was still standing, though looking confused, while his guards were on the ground. Rhoam attempted to scramble to his feet, but the earth heaved again, this time shaking violently. Dust flew into his eyes, immediately blinding him, and he covered his face with his sleeve. The earth roared around him, the sound of shaking trees, rocks, and the shrine flooding his ears, so much so he could barely hear his guards shouting for him. The king grabbed onto the shrine behind him, pulling himself up, but his hand once again touched the gloom covering the shrine. Dread clenched his heart, and he pulled away, only to fall back to the ground. He looked up again to see his guards sprawled out on the ground, Kohga missing, and rocks falling out of the sky.

“Oh goddesses,” he prayed, watching in horror as he spotted figures of islands in the clouds appearing as rocks fell from them, being trailed by a mysterious green light. Many of the rocks fell around them, which made the shaking worse for them. They were unsafe here and they needed to get away. Somehow.

“A-Ammon! Orman!” He called out, scrambling to his feet so he could meet with his guards. “We need to get out of h—”

Before he could finish, a loud crack from the ground interrupted him, and the ground suddenly gave way. Rhoam could only gasp as he fell backwards, plunging into darkness, with the light of the world growing smaller and smaller.

#king of the Gerudo #smiles writes #tears of the kingdom #totk #age of calamity #AOC #IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE TEN BILLION YEARS IM DONE WRITING IT THO #hopefully chapter 3 won’t last long cuz I wrote a LOT of it while fighting for my life on this one #rip Rhoam he’s fine #had to remove Impa I’m sorry :(((#Ammon and Orman cameo #and Kohga #and stuff

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