#(Fire gave warmth before it learned to burn. Ten Ten is young and pure and unbidden—his fire is life before life grows cruel.)

[demaparbat-hp]

Progression (and digressions).

The first post of the year belongs to the one, the only, the boy you've had for less than a month but if anything happens to him you'll murder me slowly and painfully: Lu Ten II.

His travels through the Earth Kingdom with Zuko are some of my favorite moments in the Spitfire AU! We get to see their dynamic truly flourish and deepen before they're reunited with the rest of their family.

But then the Gaang is forced to take care of Ten Ten as they move through the Fire Nation.

Spitfire grows a lot during the course of the story—and not just in height! He's the hope for a better future and the kindness needed to go through the present. I love him dearly, and I hope so do you.

[jupiterdrabbles]

The Oracle

Chapter One

Word Count: 4.7k~

Rating: Teen

Pronouns for Reader: They/Them/Theirs

Warnings: Vivid details of violence, blood and death.

Parings: Prince Sidon/Reader, Link/Reader

Even after the defeat of Calamity Ganon, the world remained paranoid. So many times had they defeated the evil, and so many times had it come back. The legends melted away after the fall of the champions one hundred years ago, and the citizens of Hyrule could no longer turn to them for guidance.

 So, they turned to you. 

From a very young age, you always knew something was different. You could never quite place or understand the feeling, but sometimes when making important decisions or choosing what to say, a gentle prodding made its way up your skull. ‘This one! This is right, this is the way.’ Echos of affirmation in an oddly familiar voice that no one else could hear. But, it always seemed to help those in need, so you were keen to listen. 

 One day, when you were no older than ten years old, your parents had a stranger come into the house. She wore all white, with a thin veil covering her eyes. She met your gaze, and you knew. 

 You were the same. On some level deep down you resonated with each other. You had something in common that was so engrossed in who you were that it sent shivers through your body. The voice reverberated louder, calling her to you and you to her. She stretched out her hand, palm up, and you put yours in hers. A bright light swallowed you, and everything became clear. You finally knew.

 You were an Oracle. 

—————

You sat in Hyrule castle, at the left hand of the Queen. Your robes were loose and light, that same white color as the woman who gave you your answer nearly a decade ago. You kept your head bowed as Queen Zelda addressed her court, Link at her right. They were currently discussing the reconstruction of Hyrule, what with a century of abandonment to many of its cities and people. Ever since this meeting had begun, there had been a buzzing in the back of your skull. It spread around your scalp and pulsed at your temples, but you fought back the urge to put your head into your hands. You were currently surrounded by the ambassadors of the different domains and remaining civilizations, you had to remain proper. Besides, it was most likely just a headache from staying awake long into the morning hours with Zelda, reading and studying about the years that had transpired while she was trapped with Ganon, and before you were born. 

 Zelda often keeps you and Link by her side. While you had known the Queen for a significantly less amount of time than the champion had, you had bonded over the shared burden of having a divine power bestowed upon you from a young age. In your time with Link, he had taught you simple defense maneuvers. As the Oracle, almost all of your concentration had to be in the present, focusing on harnessing any sign or signal you could grab onto to help decipher the coming days or even years. He fretted enough about Zelda not being able to fight on her own, but now that he had two incredibly important people to guard, he felt he was going to have a heart attack. You weren’t given a weapon- many were too heavy or didn’t sit right in your hands, with the added fact that you really weren’t supposed to wield anything that could hurt you in return (keeping your body whole was apparently a big part of the job). Link taught you pressure points and how a two-fingered jab to the right place could bring even Lizalfols to the ground. He promised he’d be at your back in an instance, but it made him and you more confident with some experience under your belt.

 The buzzing grew louder and stronger with every passing minute, and you shifted to tuck your feet in on the seat of your chair to ball yourself in tighter. The haze that normally accompanied oncoming migraines wasn’t present, so you shoved it aside and blamed it on exhaustion. You tried to listen past the incessant noise, and to Zelda’s words. 

 “Even with Ganon defeated, some of the Malice it left behind continues to scorch the land. It isn’t hard to combat, but we will need a large group to cover all of the domains.” Zelda spoke, fingers interlaced atop the table. “Link recommended a force of five for each pool, as some of them can build and expel monsters out of nowhere.” Link nodded at her side, arms folded across his chest. He brought his hands forward to speak, fingers fluttering. 

 “They aren’t difficult and won’t do much damage to your person- but they are quiet. It’s always helpful to have someone watching your back.” He signed, an interpreter relaying his words towards the other end of the table. The ambassadors nodded, and a Zora woman raised her hand to speak. 

 “We have stationed guards along different trade routes to ease the journey of the travelers coming to our domain, and there have been reports of Malice pools growing from the ground. I believed they were isolated to the Divine Beasts and to the different shrines and towers. Do you know why they are coming about?”

 You looked up to her, and a lump caught in your throat. The way herred scales glimmered in the remaining sunlight was painstakingly familiar, and the more you looked the more the lump grew. It had been the only time you’d raised your gaze the entire meeting, and she- as well as some other ambassadors- took notice. She met your gaze and offered a small smile. 

 And that’s what did it. 

 You let out a sharp gasp and clutched at the fabric in front of your chest, all the pain in your head suddenly shooting down to your heart. It felt like something was strangling the organ, a tight grip that squeezed and pulled and hurt. Your vision began to black out as you heard voices all around you. Someone put their hand on your shoulder and another barked at them to stop, leave them be! 

 The pain in your chest spread through your shoulders and back, down your spine and arms and back up to your skull. Your throat burned like you had been swallowing saltwater and nausea crept into your belly. You saw red, a bright crimson in your peripheral vision fading into blue, into brown. You heard the roar of a Divine Beast and felt it’s anguish. The ground shook with it’s fury and your vision cleared. You looked up and found yourself in the Zora domain, soaked through and surrounded by fleeting citizens. You stayed still, watching in awe as Vah Ruta rampaged through the domain, the marble and stone cracking beneath its feet. It stomped over the throne and it crumbled beneath its weight like a mushroom. The water at your bare feet turned red and sticky with blood, and Vah Ruta turned its massive head to you. 

 You met its eyes as its trunk lifted high into the air, a ball of energy building between its tusks. You were frozen in place, fear rooting you in your spot as you stared down a machine that easily aided in the defeat of Calamity Ganon. It whirred menacingly and fired at you. The screams and cries silenced, there was nothing left but the beam. Blue and white flooded your vision, then red again. So much red that it faded into black, only two glowing eyes remained. Ganon’s eyes. It gurgled in the silence and unhinged its mouth, pure Malice dripping onto the floor and onto you. You cried out as it burned your hands, and you watched in horror as it spread up your arms and chest. You were covered in Malice- no, the entire world was covered, infected, and dying slowly beneath the surface. And all it took was one pool near the far terminal in Vah Ruta. You blinked the pain away as you traveled with the Malice, one with it now. You saw it tearing apart wires and cogs beneath the surface, reworking the machine to how it saw fit. All it took was one beast, and the world would decay. 

 Something grabbed your wrist and pulled you from the Malice, and when you crumpled with exhaustion they caught you. They held you and rubbed your back as you sobbed into their shoulder. A hand pressed between your shoulder blades and warmth followed. 

 Look at your hands, they said into your ear. A girl’s voice, a slight lilt underneath her tone. It’s going to be okay, you can go home. 

 You brought your hands into your vision, and saw the Malice fading away along with a soft blue light. You peeled away from her shoulder and looked into the eyes of Mipha. Her expression was tense and filled with worry. 

 If Vah Ruta loses control, then the world will crumble. She spoke softly, taking your hands into hers. I am afraid I won’t be able to calm her, please- tears pricked at her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. 

 Find my brother.

You open your eyes to find yourself on the floor. The light burned your eyes, and the shape of Zelda above you was blurred and fuzzy. She called out your name in relief, helping you sit up. 

 “Are you alright- what happened? Do you need a medic!?” She fretted, and you shook your head. Your hands were also shaking, and you would guess your entire body was trembling by the way the ambassadors were looking at you. They stood at a distance, and you learned why as you looked up at Link. He was stood up with his back to you and Zelda, sword drawn and in a slight crouch. You guessed when you collapsed the ambassadors and guards rushed to your aid, only to be stopped when the Champion took your guard. You would have to thank him later, but there were more important matters.

 Ignoring Zelda’s questions and worries, you leaned up and grabbed Link’s hand. He spun around immediately, eyes wide. He knelt to your level, hand never leaving his sword. 

 “We- we need to-“ Your voice shook as you stuttered, and groaned in frustration as the words almost refused to come out of your mouth. Link’s eyes were patient, but you looked down to break his gaze. “Vah Ruta, the Domain- we need to go there, immediately.” You sucked in a breath as you tried not to hyperventilate, panic seeping into your skin as you remembered the blood-slick floors. “Vah Ruta is going to loose control and- and attack the Domain.” 

 Gasps of shock rang throughout the room, and tension quickly began to build. The ambassadors rushed to speak to each other.

 “Vah Ruta? But didn’t the Queen fix it after the Calamity!?”

“My home- my domain! What are we going to do?”

“How is this happening? Is it an omen?”

 A Rito ambassador knelt beside Link, who gave him a side eye and clutched the sword tighter. The bird took no notice, all of his attention on you.

 “Will the remaining Beasts also rampage? Do we need to be prepared as well?” He demanded, panic thick in his voice. Before you could answer, his panic was well shared.

 “The rest of the Divine Beasts?! Oh, Goddess!”

“If Vah Naboris rampages again, Gerudo Town will crumble!”

“Oracle, what did you hear- what did you see!?”

“Please, what is going to happen?”

“Are we doomed again? Is Ganon coming back-“

 “Enough!” Zelda cried, standing sharply as her voice cut through the room. They all turned to face her, wide eyed and scared. She took a breath and smoothed out her dress before addressing them again. 

 “The gift of Foresight is an exhausting one, please allow them to collect themselves before answering your onslaught of questions! Clearly it was a traumatic experience, as they were shaking and sobbing not minutes ago!” She declared, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks. Shaking and sobbing? Oh, what a first impression on some of the most important people in the four domains. Zelda held out her hand to you, snapping you out of your embarrassment and helped you stand. Her hand then came to your shoulder and turned you away from them and across the room. She waved for Link to follow. She held both of your arms as she walked to face you directly, Link at her shoulder. 

 “Alright,” She said, sighing. “Honestly, they had no right swarming you like they did.”

 “It’s alright, your Highness. I’m sure I would do the same in their position, hearing something as startling as a Divine Beast losing control and running through a domain.” You folded your hands and held them near your stomach, trying to ground yourself. “I should go and explain my vision, they need to-“

 “No,” Link signed, his first two fingers and thumb pinching together. “They will only stress you out more, you’re already unwell.”

 “But they need to know! We need to travel to the Domain as soon as possible!” You furrowed your brow as you spoke. “It’s going to happen soon, and the Zora need to-“

 “That’s why I will tell them, and you go rest as much as you can.” Zelda said calmly, rubbing your arm in a soothing motion. “Tell me what you saw, and I’ll relay the information so you and Link can start getting ready. You’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

 “You won’t be coming?” Link asked, and Zelda shook her head. 

 “Hyrule still needs a leader. I can talk to you both through the Slate, and offer any assistance you may need.” 

 You bit at the corner of your lip. The air felt heavy and your chest was still tight from the lingering effects of your vision. Zelda was right though, as she always was. You needed to prepare. 

 “...alright,” You whispered, and they turned back to you. “If you’re sure.” 

 “Of course. Now sit down and give me just a moment.” Zelda led you back to where you were sitting before and you eased yourself onto the cushion. You tucked into yourself as the ambassadors looked at you, feeling like a luminous stone at midnight under their gaze. Zelda gathered their attention and began to explain what would happen, that they should return to their rooms until called down to hear the explanation, and Link stood in front of you. 

 “You have no reason to be nervous, it will just be me and Zelda.”

 “I’m not nervous.” You countered, looking up at him. “I’m just-“

 “You are, and it’s okay.” He interrupted, and your mouth clipped shut. “There’s nothing wrong with it, but I want you to know you’ll be safe. I’d never let anything near you that wasn’t welcome.”

 “I saw that earlier,” You chuckled, and a soft smile spread across Link’s face as well. “You had your sword out and everything, it’s like you were staring down a hoard of Bokoblins.” You playfully jabbed at his stomach, which he sidestepped with ease. 

 “It almost was, you should’ve seen the Gerudo. She almost grabbed you herself.” You giggled a little, covering your mouth. When your laughter subsided, you looked at him seriously. 

 “Thank you. For- for always protecting me. I’m sorry if I put any more stress on you, you deserve a break after fighting the calamity.” He waved you off, scoffing slightly. 

 “Believe me, this is a vacation. I can’t stand still for the life of me, much less take a vacation. Can you imagine me, relaxing? It doesn’t fit right.” He made a face of disgust and stuck his tongue out. You smiled fondly. 

 “You’re right, it doesn’t. But any moment you need to take a break or even just sleep in a little longer, do so. I don’t want you burning yourself out on my account.”

 “I think I took enough of a nap when I was in the Shrine of Resurrection, don't you think?”

 You shrugged, not knowing exactly what to say in response. Link was stubborn, and getting him to budge on anything was hard, but especially hard when it came to his health. You have had small blips of visions where Link was bleeding profusely or otherwise severely wounded but he kept going. You knew he would get nightmares of the calamity as you would get them too. Part of the glamorous life of an Oracle was near magical empathy, you could see and hear what someone was going through and live in that struggle. It wasn’t something you loved, in fact sometimes it felt like an invasion of privacy, but sometimes it led to you helping those you cared for. You had talked to Link about his dreams and he opened up to you a little. The burden was worth it in the end, but you wished you could do more. Link and you continued to chat softly, and soon enough Zelda came back. Her smile was strained, and you swallowed hard. 

 “So,” She began, clearing her throat. “They aren’t exactly thrilled with the fact that it won’t be coming from you directly, but they will live on” She looked back to where the door was swinging shut, the ambassadors now being escorted to their respective chambers. Hyrule Castle was one of the first things to be rebuilt, and more rooms and space was added for Hylian citizens to seek shelter in while the Kingdom was being rebuilt. It truly was a beautiful building, now that it was reformed to its proper glory. 

 “Are you ready? We can take this slow.” She asked, and you nodded. She brought out her Sheikah Slate and opened a feature that allowed her to take notes, and looked to you to begin. 

 “I- I was in the Zora domain. They were all fleeing rapidly, and shoving past me. Normally, when I have these visions, I can phase through what I need to in order to find what I need, but-“ Your hands shook again, and you squeezed them together. “I was really there, I felt them knock into me. It’s never been like that before.

 “Many were injured, some were dead, but no one was stopping. I looked up and Vah Ruta was in the domain, thrashing about and destroying many of the pillars and making its way to the throne room, where I was.”

 “It wasn’t in the dam anymore? How could that happen?” Link asked, bewildered. You shook your head. 

 “I don’t know. I only saw it coming towards me, and then it-“ You held onto your neck, pressing into your muscles to ease the tension. “It fired it’s laser- the one it shot at Ganon. I think I- I might’ve died, there.”

 Zelda clapped a hand over her mouth. The scalding hot feeling faded back into your chest where Vah Ruta had aimed, and you cleared your throat. 

 “Then, when the world went dark, I was a part of the malice. I saw it corrupting the inside of Vah Ruta before Mipha pulled me out and healed me. She said she could no longer rein in the Beast, I think she’s been struggling for a while. Then-“ You looked up at Link, who met your gaze with an intense expression. 

 “Then she told me to find her brother. I don’t know why, but when the Zora ambassador talked about Malice pools growing, that’s what shot me into the vision. I think- I think she’s right. I was a part of the Malice after Vah Ruta shot me, so that means-“

 “Others might be too.” Zelda finished. “Those who were slain might have gotten sucked into the Malice and developed with it, that’s why it’s getting stronger.” She faced away for a moment, lost in thought. “This is… worrying, to say the least.” You nodded, and rubbed your face. 

 “I’m so sorry, I wish I knew more.”

 “No, you’ve done so much.” Zelda reassured, taking your hands away from your face. “Without you, we wouldn’t know this was even happening. Now,” She pressed a kiss to your forehead and helped you stand. “Go and rest, I’ll talk with the captain of the guard and the ambassadors. Link,” She turned to him. “Don’t let anyone stop you on your way. Make sure they get to their room safe.” Link nodded in return and took your arm. Zelda waved, and turned to a guardsman not too far off. 

 Link walked with you, slower than his usual pace to match yours. He brought his arm away from yours for a moment to sign something to you. 

 “We can’t both use the travel gates at once, so we’ll be going on horseback. It won’t be an incredibly long journey, but I would bring clothes you would be comfortable riding in.” He explained.

 “Shouldn’t we leave now? We would get there by noon tomorrow if we went straight there.” You spoke softly, and Link thought for a moment. 

 “I’m not sure about that. We’ll have to go through a lot of diplomacy as soon as we arrive, you need to be well rested and recovered after what happened.” He said, a frown creasing in his face. “What if you have another vision at the Domain? You’d be exhausted.”

 “Link, please.” You took his hand, and moved your veil to look at him directly. Your hair fell from under your hood, and a slight flush moved it’s way up to Link’s ears. You never took off the veil and hood, it was a sign of protection from false guidance or spirits. He’s never seen your face without it. “I won’t be able to sleep even if we wait, let alone rest. I’ll go mad knowing we waited any longer than needed- people are going to die, Link.” You pleaded, and you felt his resolve begin to crumble. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 “...fine. Fine, alright. But we’ll be taking one horse so you can sleep on the way, pack only what you truly need. We can get food there during the journey.” You smile up at him, full of gratitude. You lift your hood back up and your face and rush forward to hug him tightly. The feeling is foreign to both you and him, Link not being incredibly touchy and you really weren’t supposed to touch people at all- keeping yourself pure and without too deep attachments that could risk severing your connection to the goddess and spirits. 

 “Thank you.” You murmur into his chest, and let go afterwards. You adjust your robes, unable to meet his eye. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes, where should I meet you?”

 “I’ll come gather you. I don’t think you know where the stables are.” He said, a bit of snark on his face. He was right, you didn’t, but he didn’t have to be smart about it. You shove him off and race to your quarters as well as one can when wearing floor length robes that draped and flowed nearly everywhere. 

 As soon as you closed your door, you went to your wardrobe. You pulled a pair of trousers that weren’t so loose on you and set them on your mattress, as well as a warm tunic and a pair of gloves. You grabbed a pair of opal earrings Link had given to you a while back, he said they had some sort of magical property hidden within that made it easier to swim and climb in the rain. All of your clothes were some form of white or cream color to symbolize your purity and power, but in instances like this it made it more difficult to have proper outdoors attire. Well, you guess that many people when thinking of an Oracle don’t think of horseback riding and trudging through rough terrain. 

 You removed your hood and veil once more, stripping off your robe and shirt underneath before your boots and pants. You pulled on the outfit you laid out, replacing your silk gloves with the leather ones and putting the earrings through. Your hood and veil were returned and you got on your knees to reach under your bed. 

 You honestly had no reason to hide this anymore, you knew only Zelda, Link and the only maid you’ve spoken to were allowed in your room and they wouldn’t judge or criticize you for it, but old habits die hard. You pull the small wooden box into your lap and unlatch it, smiling fondly at what laid inside. 

 It was a simple necklace on a thin chain and didn’t have much design. You didn’t wear much jewelry, and if you did it wasn’t often, but you almost never wear this for a completely different reason. You’d probably keel over and die on the spot if you lost it, or it was broken. The pendant that lay on the chain was in the shape of a star, four points that thinned out as they went with a small quartz stone in the center. The back of the pendant had your name engraved, followed by “Forever in our sky”. It had been a gift from your mother before you left to begin your training and honing your ability. The teachers and guides had tried to take it from you, saying that you must leave everything behind to serve your greater purpose, but you hid it. You figured your family wouldn’t keep you from serving the goddess and you were right. You clipped it on and slid it beneath your tunic before standing and grabbing your satchel that you came here with. 

 In it you slid a pouch of rupees, two Hasty Elixirs (Link insisted on you taking them, in case you ever needed to run away from a battle.) and your spare set of prayer robes in case you would need them. You walked over to where your altar table was laid out and gathered the few gemstones that laid out in the corners, as well as the small crystal sphere you would roll between your palms to aid with smaller visions. You looked out over your room to confirm you weren’t missing anything, and slid your boots back onto your feet. You opened the door and was met with Link reaching to knock. You sniggered, and stepped aside. He sat on the bed and you shut the door. 

 “Got everything?” He asked, and you nodded. He had changed out of his Champion’s tunic and into a red and black one you haven't seen before. A full quiver of arrows and a black bow rested above the darkness-sealing sword. He had a satchel as well, presumably for more arrows or weapons. He always liked to be prepared. 

 “I left a note for Zelda for when she comes looking for us in the morning. Hopefully she won’t be too angry.”

 “She will live on.” You said, mimicking her words from earlier which got a smirk out of Link. He turned and pointed to a trapdoor on your ceiling that you hadn’t noticed until this moment. 

 “We’ll go through the attic and jump down onto the walkway beneath. There’s an old railroad system beneath the castle that will take us to the main gate and out.” He signed, hands moving almost quicker than you can read. “It won’t be easy.”

 “Then let’s get going.” Your voice was full of determination, and you moved a bedside table underneath the trapdoor. “You go up first and then help me, you’re taller.”

 “Man, I knew I liked you.”

You clung onto Link’s waist as he urged his horse on over the bridge and into the woods. You looked over the night sky and the dwindling candlelight through the castle windows. “I’m sorry, Zelda,” You whispered, “But I can’t wait any longer.” You put your head on Link’s shoulder and closed your eyes, hoping to catch some sleep before hell broke loose.

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[wilbursvienna]

this is me practicing writing with some c!fundy angst :D

The Blissful Melody of Heartache

Upon a lifetime of tragedy, grief and pain becomes the only constant in one’s life. The inner void consuming one’s heart slowly but steadily becomes the norm, as if it was natural for one to ache like this.

Life wasn’t always like this, though. Life had been beautiful at once, life, at one point, meant love, light, it meant warmth. Life was an unforgettable amalgamation of beauty seen through the eyes of a mother. Life was the warmth of holding the hands of the person you loved as you bid them goodbye, knowing that they would come back safe and sound. Life was hearing one’s mother sing tenderly, telling the stories of warriors and shepherds who would protect their towns with their lives.

At least that was what life meant for Fundy when he was born. Born to a revolutionary and a gentle woman who knew no violence, with vibrant orange hair, and a smile that would captivate thousands-- no, millions.

His father, Wilbur, had been born from a stern and serious father, a man once called the Angel of Death. His mother was the opposite, however, contrasting his father’s sternness with love and compassion. Despite living like royalty, Wilbur had looked for a path for himself, far away from his father and mother. An only child with hopes of becoming a hero. Through his travels he met Sally.

Sally was a warm summer afternoon. She was gentle in her touch and in her words, but fierce and strong on the battlefield. Wilbur had fallen in love with her because her hair reminded him of the sunsets he had witnessed when he was young, with his mother by his side. Her voice reminded him of the herding calls he listened to early in the morning. And there was nothing but love between the two. Nothing more pure than their mutual adoration.

So, when Fundy was born, with that familiar shade of orange hair like a sunset, and eyes laced with stardust and love, Wilbur was overwhelmed with happiness. Fundy was like a reminder of where home truly was. As he cradled him in his arms, gently singing the herding call that once awoke him early in the morning, he could see nothing but a wonderful future ahead of them.

His childhood was as happy as any others, rather peaceful for the first few years. They were ordinary, the only thing standing out were the odd fox ears that fundy had been born with, and even then, their life was not short of ordinariness. His mother used to carry him around the house while she cooked and cleaned and shopped and sang.

When Fundy was old enough to walk, he followed his father around as he prepared something he couldn’t truly understand. Keywords like revolution, whispers, and secrets were the things he learnt little by little by sneaking under the meeting table as they discussed state secrets.

As tensions grew with Wilbur’s secret plans, his mother began to lose strength. It became increasingly harder for her to get up from bed, and Fundy had to learn how to put on his own clothes, and how to cook broth early in the morning, before she even woke up.

Wilbur would play airplane with Fundy, he would chase him around their garden with his arms open, mimicking the sound of the planes he heard fly high above in the sky early in the morning, the king’s army. Fundy couldn’t help but giggle as he felt his tummy jump with adrenaline from running from his father’s loving arms. Sometimes they would rest underneath an old willow tree where Wilbur told him stories of the brave battles his father had fought before him.

On the days where Sally couldn’t wake up for more than a few hours before being exhausted by life itself, Wilbur would help her get up, and they would dance classic ballads from a record Wilbur had bought, together in their bedroom, occasionally allowing his son to join them. Music showered their household on those afternoons, with a yellow-ish afternoon light that bathed them in warmth and comfort.

Fundy would turn 14 the night his mother no longer could get up without his father’s help. Bedridden and exhausted from the weight of a life of light, she fell to her eternal slumber on the night of Fundy’s fifteenth birthday. A loud cry was heard across the town as Fundy grasped her mother’s hand firmly, holding on to any small traces of her once brilliant presence. He swore he would exchange his life for hers, he deemed himself unworthy of living in a world without her mother’s brightness. As he was dragged away from her body, he ripped off her gold bracelet from her hand, running into his bedroom, looking for comfort.

A comfort which would never be found.

In that very same year, war broke out. His father was at the head of the revolution. It was only then that he had begun to grasp the whispers and secrets he used to hear his father say while he hid underneath the table.

His father called for independence of the land where he grew up. In place of the prairies he used to run around as a small child, strong black walls were placed, with yellow banners hanging from them. Promising protection, and a bright future, away from someone he had only heard been called a tyrant, who deserved nothing in their land.

-------

When Fundy was born, his father noticed that in his hair there were small strands of pure white hair, at first it was only a strand or two, but as he grew older, his hair grew bigger patches of white. Never hiding the vibrant orange he got from his mother, however.

-------

Wilbur noticed he began to get similar white hairs in his head, for different reasons. Stress and age didn’t mix well, and it could be seen. Nonetheless, the few revolutionaries gathered in the street, ready to fight this tyrant whose real name had never been spoken in the cabinet.

The people in the cabinet became like older siblings to Fundy, as he began to prepare to participate in the fight himself. Tommy, Tubbo, Niki, Eret. They all represented a new image of what home could be, beyond the fighting and the pained screaming in the middle of the night. Beyond war itself, there was a window to a new reality, where he was happy, where he was at ease with himself, and with those who surrounded him.

He would go from 15 to 20 in the span of the next months, from learning how to hold a bow from his own father, to learning how to hold a sword from Tommy. He became a little soldier boy in the span of a few weeks, growing only a bit taller.

Changing from his classic bowtie and striped pants to a uniform that united the revolutionaries as one. A light blue jacket sown by his own father, with a small fox embroidered on the inside of the jacket, so he would never lose his jacket.

A boy changed into a man.

Even as his house was blown up by TNT planted by his own family, Eret, the traitor, he upheld faith for one day getting a normal life, a normal family. Peace. But the war took no rest, and the unnamed tyrant After burning down their houses, and their important belongings, he would only be satisfied when there were honorifics in his bloodshed.

So, Tommy, his father’s brother, stepped up to the challenge. If Tommy won, their country would have independence, if he lost, there would be nothing. Ten paces, and then they would fire.

Time felt like it was going slow.

Fundy remembered the first time he met Tommy, he was only a few years older than him, yet he had the eyes of a man that had lived thousands of lives before this one. His cheery personality could light up any room, yet underneath that loud laughter there was sorrow, and heartache.

Tommy continued to take steps back, as well as his opponent. His life didn’t flash before his eyes. There was an unfamiliar silence weighing on his shoulder, there wasn’t peace, but it was the only moment he had met such a profound void of sound.

The sound of the arrows breaking the wind barrier was enough to take Fundy’s breath away. Seeing Tommy fall to his back, with an arrow stuck into his shoulder, his enemy left untouched. For a moment, for a split millisecond, everything stopped, as the masked tyrant turned around and a boy who signified newborn hope fell.

Tommy would later on sacrifice his most valued possession for the sake of the country. For the sake of Fundy, and Niki, and Wilbur and Tubbo. He gave up a music disc, which was so incredibly important to him for reasons unknown, and only then did the masked tyrant give up the violence. Only then did he feel powerful enough to leave them alone.

Was it worth it though?

[fragileizywriting]

princess and the knight

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The storm is starting to die down.

Not a lot, it’s not enough. Instead of the onslaught on the tiles of their roof, and the wind hitting up against their door and windows, there is simply just rain. The wind has disappeared, for now, leaving the pittering and pattering on their rooftop— it’s relaxing, and calming, to know that there aren’t any holes in their roof and there is no water getting in. The rain makes her all the more thankful for the green fire that burns and swelters at the fireplace, licking at the sides of the logs with small cracks and snaps. The house is quiet, sans for the fireplace, and their quiet chatter.

They are tired. It’s quite easy to forget that they’re exhausted whenever they have a conversation, but the moment Chat’s mouth clicks shut, she’s all the more aware of it.

She is lonely. It’s easier to forget that she can’t reach out to him and hold him the way she wants to when they’re bantering or conversing. The moment she opens up her eyes and sees the slight distance on the couch between them, it tells her all she needs to know.

No matter how much she wants, Chat Noir doesn’t like her that way. Maybe it’s for the best.

“Adrien loved honeycomb.” She finds herself blinking long sweeps with her lashes.

“Did he?” Chat is in the process of licking his claws clean. His tail flicks slightly, unreadable, and his furry ears twitch at her words— but nothing else gives any indication of emotion.

“He loved all sorts of sweets,” It’s only fair that she breeches the topic. She knows he didn’t have to tell her anything about his past— even though they’re friends, there’s no need for him to tell her about his migraines. She’s thankful he has— she’s so, so thankful to have learned more about the demon who sits across from her with stars in his diamond-shaped eyes. She wants to know everything about him. But that is a selfish wish. “I used to bring him food all the time. Sneak him all sorts of sweets whenever I would go see him.”

“I don’t want to pry,” He tilts his head. This sweet, soft, gentile giant of a demon who speaks softly, just in case he’s worried of hurting her. “Can you tell me more about him?”

“You want to know more?” This surprises her.

“Of course I do,” He licks his last claw clean, showing her the most friendliest of grins he can make. It doesn’t always work out in his favor, given that his teeth are sharp and deadly— far too large to be considered normal teeth, with his canines poking out sometimes when he lets them out at their full length— but it’s endearing all the same to her. “Of course I want to know more about the guy you’re selling your soul for. Must be some guy.”

Where does she start? What does she even say?

How does she condense an entire friendship into only one conversation?

She struggles to find a proper starting point, one that will explain exactly why or how her friendship with Adrien came to be.

She starts with: “Adrien loved someone.”

Chat pauses with his arm trying to place the cleaned plate on the low table behind him. He doesn’t have to stretch far, given that his arms are long, but he’s completely unfocused on the action in favor of looking at her in the eye. “Did he?”

“I don’t know who it was,” She amends her words, for some inexplicable reason. It seems to calm down the demon anyway, and she doesn’t know how to react to it as she watches his ears unflatten from his head. “I never found out who it was. Honestly, I shouldn’t have even found out. I was ten years old when I learned my first spell, and I had been so excited to show Adrien that I grabbed the first basket of cookies I could find in the bakery and headed over to his house.”

Chat listens quietly, like he usually does when she talks about him. There are so many words trying to spill out of her.

“He’d been confined to his bed for a couple of days already— oh, it was horrible. I had no idea just how long he’d actually spend there— I had begun with the assumption that it would be a week or a bit more before he was back to health.” She sighs. “Imagine seeing the incarnate of the Sun, a golden child with laughter so sweet it could nurse a crying baby to rest, confined and wrapped in countless sheets and put under custody just because he’d fainted half a week before.”

They were young, yes, but something about the sight of her best friend laying in that giant bed with no one there with him always made her uncomfortable. For a boy so small, even at a young age, and a bed so huge, she was disturbed by it. The bed was almost as big as her room. Her friend was the smallest speck of gold in a purely grey room.

At first, she’d pulled up a chair to the bed, had helped him move closer to one of the edges, and kept him company that way. Then came the days where she was too tired to try sneaking in a chair from another room, she’d sit on the massive bed with him. She’d slip off her slippers, tuck her feet under her petticoats, and have quiet conversations with him so that it wouldn’t alert any passing maids.

She suspects, however, that the maids already knew. After all, there were cookie crumbs everywhere. They did a bad job hiding it.

By the end of it all, she’d be laying with him on occasions. Multiple times she’d found herself fallen asleep next to him— how he shivered from the cold and how she’d tried warming him up while they were both asleep.

“He’d missed my birthday and he was so upset about it, so I decided to go visit him instead. The cookies I’d brought with me were magical,” She can feel her lips twitching into a smile. “It was my mother’s recipe. You take a bite of the cookie and you’d be filled with warmth and affection if you were in love with someone, and it was even sweeter if they were in love with you back. It was a winter delicacy we crafted in the bakery to keep customers from feeling too lonely during the cold season— everyone loved the batches. Very few people thought we were selling plain biscuits.”

Chat listens to every word, resting a hand against his cheek up against the sofa. “You gave him one.”

“I did,” She laughs, thinking about how her friend’s face had transformed the moment he bit into one. “I had no idea that the cookies were magical. I think you’ll get a kick out of this one, Chat— the cookies are made with clover honey, magically transformed to just be lover honey.”

“Oh, how wonderful! Wordplay is such a good way to make a joke— I’m sad I wasn’t the one to think of it.” But he grins anyway. Two perfectly sharp and perfectly deadly rows of teeth completely visible to her via the fireplace and the green Chat Noir flames. “Would you be able to make some? Do they really taste like honey?”

“They’re very sweet— of course, I can make some,” She agrees easily, giving him a smile of her own. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had this recipe, too, but they taste just as good as honeycomb. It would be nice to eat it with you.”

She wonders if he’ll feel anything when he bites into it. How will he react when he finds out that the cookie is sweet from a mysterious someone being in love with him?

She wonders if she’ll be able to hide the affection when she bites into it. After all, she— she loves him. It’s hard to hide something like that.

“Would you seriously come in through the window?”

“Yes. It was big enough for me to climb through— he lived on the second story, but the apple tree just outside his window was old enough and I was young enough that the branches wouldn’t sway too hard when I climbed them.” She can’t stop her quiet laughter, thinking of how her boots would sometimes snag against an apple or two and knock to the grass below. She always made sure to collect whatever fruit had fallen when she left, making sure that there was no indication that she’d been there to begin with. “His father prohibited visitors. Adrien was there alone for days if no one showed up to greet him. There were maids that took care of him and fed him— bathed him— but no one to stay with him. His father had turned our friends away when we’d tried to see him, and none of our friends were brave enough to try sneaking in except me. Besides, I was the smallest one who could climb the tree without breaking the limbs, so I don’t blame our friends.”

“A ladder? A flying spell?” Chat tilts his head, bewildered. “Surely you tried?”

“Of course we had,” She tries not to shutter at the memory of them being caught by the groundkeeper, a giant ladder in their hands as they tried marching towards Adrien’s window with something so heavy, and how the old man had attempted to console them with an apologetic no. “But we were too young for any of the more elaborate plans.”

Chat’s ears flatten in sympathy. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard on you all.”

“It was a little bit. I would sneak in anything I could through that window, too, bringing him food and gifts from our friends.” She shoulders into the couch pillow, trying to get comfortable. “Nino would write him so many letters that my bag was swollen with them, they all would burst out of my bag the moment I tried to pull one out. Adrien cherished every single one with such care. I would read the letters to him when his hands were too weak to break the seal, and I’d add little bits of stories here and there to give it more of a flare.”

“What would you add?”

“Nino didn’t always write down the whole story, simply because he thinks we live in his head. You’ve noticed it when he’ll try to mention there’s something happening at his house, but completely forget to actually invite us?” She smiles when Chat Noir nods with exasperation to her words. “My point exactly. Even as a young boy he’d do it too. So I’d try to fill in the gaps when he didn’t explain something correctly, assuming that I’d been there for the story he was telling.”

Chat Noir’s laughter is a friendly one as he thinks about his best friend.

“You know, Nino told us a bit about Adrien, when he’d tried to get drunk with me and Luka that one night,” Chat rolls his eyes when Marinette groans at the memory.

“Tikki, don’t remind me. What a mistake that was.”

“Nino just wanted to try something new.”

Boy did he.

A drunk naga she could handle— even as she’d been squeezed by the man’s thick tail as he’d drunkenly sang to her, claiming that she was the stars and the moon that guides his ocean currents, all of it was fine. Habitable, even. Luka had rather kept her listening to his songs the whole night— and if had been just drunk Nino and drunk Luka she’d been with, she’s certain she would’ve been listening to the two of them howling into the night, drunk off their minds, singing their hearts out.

But she hadn’t been prepared to deal with a drunk Chat Noir.

There was fire everywhere.

Even with Luka’s— albeit drunk— flooding spells to quench the charred earth, and her containment spells to keep the fire from spreading, Nino had somehow gotten caught in the crossfire between the two other beings by mentioning a wrestling competition— she would’ve laughed at the memory if it hadn’t been so dangerous.

Chat Noir’s teeth aren’t the only dangerous ones— Luka had drunkenly admitted to having venomous fangs, claiming that a human would drop on a dime if he bit them. She’s still not sure if he had been bluffing or telling the truth, but hadn’t been able to consider the validity of his claims when Chat had already agreed to wrestle him to the ground.

The two of them were monsters. Literally and figuratively. Even with a tail that spans an entire side of a house, with a weight that is likely to crush standard carriages, Chat Noir had been able to wrestle a whole coil and a half off of his own body like he’d been fighting his equal.

There was so much drunken snarling. So much biting. So much demonic howling— so much naga hissing— so much of Nino laughing at the sight of two creatures fighting. She had to tend to so, so many bites at the end of that night.

She counts her blessings every day that Alix hadn’t been put into the mix, because she’d been out of town.

If a drunk naga and a drunk demon had been difficult, she can’t begin to imagine the damage that would’ve been created if a drunk witch with a tendency to literally fan flames with her wind magic had joined the party.

Every blessing. Marinette is thankful for every blessing.

“It wasn’t all that bad.” Chat’s laughter fills the living room.

“You’re not the one who had to tend to a wounded— and drunk— demon.” She laughs with him, despite rolling her eyes. “And then had to keep that drunk demon from throwing another fight when also trying to heal a wounded— and also drunk— naga. Was it necessary to bite him on the tail?”

“Yes. If he had been truly concerned of not being bitten, maybe he’d have legs like the rest of us.” Chat’s diamond eyes glitter wide and wonderful as she giggles. “Only the weak have a huge tail instead of legs.”

“Please don’t say that to him in front of his face,” She can’t stop laughing, holding onto her sides from humor. “At least when you two are drunk, you two don’t have enough coordination to actually kill each other.”

“I can’t die,” He shrugs, a wicked look on his face. His look isn’t sinister, but it’s certainly an excited one. “At least, as far as I’m aware. Luka’s the only one who’s in danger. If he picks a fight with me, he knows that I won’t be able to lose.”

“You’re horrible,” She swats at him, trying not to feel so upset at the thought of Chat Noir being an unkillable demon. Idiot, idiot, of course he wouldn’t age like her. And of course he wouldn’t live such a short life just like her. Even if she’d wanted him to be with her like a normal relationship, something that they can’t have— Chat Noir is practically ageless compared to the creatures that live on Earth. “He’s a good guy. Don’t you dare hurt him irreparably.”

“Oh, no, you’re absolutely right— Luka’s great. I love the guy. If I didn’t consider Nino to be my best friend, I’d absolutely consider Luka being my best mate.” He crosses his arms over his chest. She tries not to snort and laugh at him refusing to call Luka a friend. “I’ve never met someone who can take a hit from me as well as him. And then proceed to get back up and hit just as hard. I can still feel that punch he’d landed on my jaw.”

“Is it not because you didn’t let me heal you that time, claiming you wanted to keep it as a souvenir of the day you got your butt kicked by a non-demon?” Her face goes a bit flat with sarcasm. When he doesn’t reply, just giving her a little quirk of his mouth, she falls into giggles. “You two are going to end up hurting each other really badly one day. More than just face punches. Why can’t you just hang out together without throwing fists?”

“Please. I’m a demon of honor— I am not going to lose to a noodle in anything.”

“A noodle?” She hides her mouth behind her hands, trying her hardest not to burst out laughing again.

“Fine, a buff noodle.”

“A noodle,” She parrots, wheezing behind her hands.

“I won’t lose to him in any of our competitions. And that includes fishing, thank you.” He grins.

“Trust in my familiar to try to win in a fishing competition against a sea serpent.” She rolls her eyes. She rolls them extra hard when his tail twitches at the word familiar. He always finds the word a bit insulting to his demon status, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s a little black cat on her shoulder while she walks through town. “You know he has a literal advantage against you? The same way you have the advantage of hunting in forests? He doesn’t blend in very well against trees, given that he’s from the sea, but at least he can still hunt on land. You’re just useless hunting in water.”

He shakes his head. “Hey! I can hunt in water! Just because I don’t like doing it doesn’t mean I can’t. Besides, don’t buy into his lies, Princess. He’s just a snake, not a dragon. Sea serpents are dragons, and no matter what Luka says, I don’t see any dragon scales on him. Just snake scales. Dragons don’t produce snake oil for spells.”

“I’m well aware. I studied lots of spells, you know,” She snickers. “Even after Adrien passed away, all I did was read and read. All I could think about was reading more spells and mastering them. I’m not considered Ladybug for no reason, Chat. Handpicked by your own supposed ‘mother’. Surely you would’ve known the process, assuming she really is your mother?”

She didn’t mean to switch the conversation back to her, but Chat at least looks relaxed on his side of the couch, so she can’t feel too bad. “Oh, don’t worry. I remember it. My mom spent days reading over your ‘resume’. Went through your entire record. Every spell you’d performed, every spell you would perform in the future— she read all of it. Guess you were a good fit after all. I’m glad she picked you.”

Something in her slows down. Maybe she can entertain the idea that Chat Noir is telling the truth about his parents for a little while. “She really read all of it?”

“Extensively.” There’s a little twitch at the sides of his mouth, but he’s still playing for humor. “She leaves hell for months at a time and comes back with a scroll the size of the dining table. Reading it, pouring over it, practically ignoring me— her favorite son— for a piece of paper. Obviously she has work to do, I’m not actually blaming her. It was just a little funny to try to get my mom’s attention and she was distracted for the first time ever.”

“So she knows,” She frowns a little bit. “She knows about the miraculous cure that I’m— we— are going to attempt.”

“I’m sure she does.” Chat’s ears twitch as if he’s picking up on what she’s saying in between the lines. “I mean, she knows every spell you’ll ever cast, since you’re her prodigy. Just as my dad knows every spell I’ll ever cast, since I’m his. Although something tells me he’s never read any of it and just lets me go like a loose canon.”

The thought of literally taking a leash off of Chat Noir and him hopping through a portal funny enough that the frown on her face flickers. “Is Plagg really like that?”

“Sometimes. Hard to believe he’s my father figure, from the way he acts.” He snickers, but keeps his face as even as possible, trying to match her. “But he’s the one I spent most of my time with, and I know that he loves me. I couldn’t imagine being without a dad like that.”

The great Chat Noir. Friend, familiar, demon who owns her heart and soul, bonding with a god as old as time and calling him dad. It’s strange— most of it is, whenever he talks about his life away from the contract on his chest that binds him to the Earth for a little while longer. Does he miss home? His family? He’ll live for a long, long time— and gods don’t die— so it won’t be like he’s potentially missing out on seeing them again— but it’s the principle, isn’t it? Does he miss his home?

“What about Adrien? Was Adrien’s dad like that?”

She falters. “No. Gabriel was never kind to Adrien, even before the illness.”

“Oh.” There’s pain in Chat Noir’s diamond eyes. “I’m sorry for him.”

Adrien deserved to have a loving family, too.

“Adrien always chalked it up to grief. They’d lost his mother a year prior from me meeting him for the first time— it always sounded like that his mother passing away was the reason for the abuse. I don’t think his father visited Adrien once in the time that he’d been bedridden.”

“His father really did that to him?”

“It was horrible, but— yes. Like I said, Adrien would’ve been alone for most of that time if it weren’t for me. He told me that he never had the strength to eat anything anymore, he was so weak, but always made the exception to eat the lover-honey cookies I brought him. It helped that they were soft— there wasn’t a crunch to them. It was good on his decaying strength— I couldn’t show up without at least one. He deserved to feel love, if he couldn’t feel it from his own father.”

“He must’ve loved someone a lot.” Chat adds privately.

“I think he did,” She looks down to her hands. She smooths out her shift, just for something to do. “I think he really did.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The face he would make when eating it, my goodness— I wish I could’ve seen that face on him forever. We would play Princess and the Knight a lot— I was the knight, of course, who had to climb up Rapunzel’s tower via a tree outside his window in order to get to him— or to awaken the Sleeping Beauty from his sleep after slaying the dragon.”

“Of course,” He smiles.

“I’d use magic to create illusions of a beastly animal that I would slay— my illusions spells have never been as good as yours, but I think they did the job. In the end, I’d give him a piece of the lover-honey cookie in order to wake Sleeping Beauty up, and his face would just brighten so much.”

“Isn’t the legend that Sleeping Beauty is awoken by a kiss?” Chat’s face scrunches in quiet humor. “Or were you afraid of making it awkward?”

“We were children,” She muses, but a blush stains her cheeks. “I— I didn’t— we were friends. I loved him, I did— but I wasn’t going to push him to make a decision he couldn’t make while sick. He never said anything about it, either. Besides, the cookie was more than enough to get him to smile and be happy, even if it was for a little while— that was enough for me.”

“Was it?” There’s something painful in his eyes when she looks back up to him.

She fists her shift between her fingers.

“I prayed to Tikki every night. Begging her, pleading that she’d give me more time with him— I also begged her to let him have enough time to be able to tell the truth to the person he loved. Goodness, I even started to pray to Plagg, hoping for a miracle of some kind that he’d hear me. Imagine that, a little Ladybug praying to a different god, just in hopes for a miracle.”

“I don’t think he minded it.” Chat’s voice is soft. “He loves Tikki, after all. I don’t think he minded hearing a prayer from a Ladybug.”

“I— I knew that his sickness was incurable, I knew that— but— maybe he could find just a bit of happiness— if a god had just heard— maybe—”

“You did okay.” She glances back up to Chat with wide, watering eyes. She can’t see him from the amount of tears she’s producing— his fist and claws are so gentle around her wrists as he gently tries to pull her hands off her shift. “You did all you could, Marinette.”

“But it wasn’t enough—”

“Marinette—”

“Adrien— he— he never got the chance to tell them. Whoever it was— they never got to hear it. That’s why I want him back, Chat— I want him to get the chance to tell the person he loves the truth.” Her breath turns ragged, hard, aching in her chest. “This has never been about me wanting to tell him— that isn’t why I want him back. I want him to have the choice— I want Adrien to be able to live and breathe and be happy and never be in pain ever again. My friend didn’t deserve what happened to him. I never even got to say goodbye to him, Chat.”

“You did everything you could— and everything you did helped him.” At what point in the night had he gotten closer to her? Or had she moved on the couch closer to him without realizing? “Adrien knew that. He knew that you were doing your best. Spending time with you must’ve been the only thing he cared about, you know.”

Her cries break her voice. “I— I showed up one day. My bag was so full of Nino’s letters. So full of cookies.”

Why does he look at her with such sad eyes? “Princess. It’s okay.”

“He wasn’t there.” She squeezes her eyes shut to the point it hurts. “He’d— he’d passed away the night before, I think. Sunshine in a boy. Gone. His room was completely— completely empty.”

“Marinette,”

“He was— he— he was totally gone. His father never mentioned anything to any of us. There was nothing. No— no funeral— not even a word.”

The demonic seals on her earlobes burn bright and painful as she continues to cry, and she can’t help herself as she presses her face where she can see the same seal glowing on Chat Noir’s chest, bright enough to light up under his night shirt.

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” His claws go through her unbound hair. “He’s going to be able to tell the person he loves. We’re going to get him to, I promise you. And you, my dearest little witch, are going to be able to tell him, too. I promise.”

His heartbeat is loud— gentle— soothing as she presses her ear onto his chest and listens, curling into his arms, tucking herself close as she cries.

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

bless us with your thoughts on Helena and "I thought you didn't want me" from the Super Sappy Lines prompt?

Written by @evoedbd

Her lips trembled as they framed the scar, tip of her tongue tracing the line of a shooting star across infinity. Smooth. Warm. Alive beneath her touch. Tamed only by the desire to be seen, for a goddess to gift herself to her directionless devotee. Kya’s lips lifted, leaving the damp imprint of her kiss to echo across Helena’s senses. Gods, it hurt. To part even that little bit pierced Kya’s heart so suddenly she whimpered. Only Helena’s calm breath guided her pace, allowing Kya to remain gentle as she dipped down to the Mage’s shoulder blade. A slice, the line stars had travelled, a new mark across the constellation, one which birthed a love story to echo for the ages. A story that bypassed the borders of reality, which overcame the challenges of the Universe and defied the very concepts of reality. Their story.

Kya’s lips lingered, drawn by Helena’s very soul to pay homage. The concept of a kiss or the flick of a tongue faded. Kya’s lips framed the old wound, caressing it between focused pecks. She knew there were so many scars to tend to, old wounds to soothe, yet that required her to break contact. The thought had her fists clenching, gathering the white sheets between snowy knuckles. Never had she felt so torn, even during the war. She craved the feeling of Helena’s muscles twitching beneath her touch, the sounds of contentment she could draw from her Mage… yet to do so meant she had to stop touching momentarily.

Her lip curled upwards, leaving her teeth grazing across Helena’s flesh. Her lip left a trail of delightful warmth, dragging down to the next scar before Kya’s bottom lip joined to deliver the next kiss. No longer could she let her mouth break away, not even to move to the next scar. With her eyes peacefully closed, she drifted on the tides of her memory, dragging her lips and tongue across the space between until she was positive Helena’s back would have been turned into a pool of residual saliva, if not for how swiftly each kiss dried.

“Mhhhmm…” Helena practically purred, the sound of her contented moan rumbling in her chest. A shiver worked its way down her limber body like wave, causing her to arch up into Kya’s loving attentions. The Sorceress felt her lover’s smile against the small of her back, just as she felt the heat of Kya’s breath turn her last kiss chilly for just a moment. Temperature. It was so… Helena was quite aware of it, even when she had no need to be. For so long, the feeling of a subtle chill on the air was enough to warn her to silence herself. To shrink from the Queen’s abuse, or beg for her attentions to avoid something less predictable. Now, Kya used that knowledge in such small ways. Ways most wouldn’t think about. Like how a kiss could become cold, then warm, then cold again within a single tick of the clock. How Helena could feel the patterns of scattered kisses or licks to paint a tapestry. Sometimes, it was the beauty of the scars across her back, the unique constellation Kya had begged to lay claim to like a deity of legend. Other nights it was messages, words of encouragement driven into her flesh in ways that would never mark. Never hurt. A quick peck could dot an i, whilst a slow, sensual curl of the tongue might carve hearts over the wounds of old.

“Enjoying yourself?” Kya questioned; tone laced with a smugness that Helena couldn’t help smile at. It was THEIR smugness. Kya’s inability to hide her own pride in what she could do to the tortured soul beneath her. And why should it be hidden? None had ever given Helena a reason to feel valued as even a human being, yet Kya made her feel all powerful. Helena knew her magic could destroy worlds, yet that was so insufficient when held to Kya’s love. Kya’s giving was more power than Helena knew how to handle. It burned and consumed her, until she had to touch lest the fire destroy her mind.

“As always, my Gentle Heart, you touch my soul.” Helena’s gentle, earnest praise drew heat to the tips of Kya’s ears, flooding from the deepest regions of her racing heart. Lord, Helena wasn’t even trying, and she took the wind from Kya’s sails. She locked the poor American in a place between fantasy and reality, where a blink could be a thousand years of the most romantic of memories, or the most heated of encounters. Where possibilities and everything Kya wanted to do were laid out, paved roads for her to speed down if only she dared pick her route. Instead, she froze, gaping, jaw flapping like a fish at the view before her.

Helena’s bare back almost glowed in the moonlight filtering through the window. Pale skin, scarred beyond reason, held such unspeakable vulnerability. Her body swelled with each deep breath she claimed, each a defiance against a lifetime of abuse. Her muscles shivered and twitched, reminding Kya of the waves of the ocean at night, crested by the gleam of lingering kisses and smoothed scars. Hair of winter gold was gathered to the side, spilling across the pillow in a glimmering pearlescent stream. The darkness of shadows embraced every curve of Helena’s body, delicately shading the swell of her partially obscured breast, the dips of definition in impossibly powerful arms, the exposed line of a once ravaged throat.

Kya felt hers constrict.

Trust. This is what trust truly was. A back exposed freely, a sleepy body offered, laid prone, without any trace of tension despite a tapestry of reasons to be fearful. Here, with a Siren lounging so comfortably in her bed, a vision of realistic perfection and dreamlike seduction, Kya was elevated to the clouds by the simplest of truths. Helena trusted her completely. Every image of lust Kya could summon to her mind felt pale in comparison, like the ghosts of true and lingering emotions. Here, she had every chance to take, to sate whatever desire could come to mind. Helena’s silent offering was not merely a chance to indulge, it was an offering of her entire self. She did not shy from Kya’s gaze, did not conceal a single weakness. To hide had been beaten into Helena, yet she so boldly defied every harsh lesson when it came to Kya. The realisation made Kya cling even tighter to the sheets bunched around Helena’s plentiful hips. Her fingers itched to reach out, to trace the lines she had just soothed and once more learn the constellations of her galaxy. From the dotting stabs and grazes, down to the savagely delivered whip lashes, and lower. The wounds she knew existed only because Helena had given her those stories, had let Kya see beyond the walls of General Klein. A gash down the inside of her thigh, delivered twice. Once with a knife, once with a curse. The thousands upon thousands of burns down Helena’s ankles from where she had fought, or where the Queen had bound her too harshly. Alchemy and magic had preserved the image of flawless skin, yet Kya could not help but question the purity of such things. The scars no longer existed, yet all that did was erase the crime from the world. The deed only existed in murky depths. Tangles of traumatic flashes across Helena’s memory. Had they ever happened at all? Were they just a night terror? Their only acknowledgement was the words Helena gave when her shoulders caved beneath the pressure of horrific memory. Worlds might forget, yet for Helena the deed still stood so stark, still drove her mind to the depths of conceivable hell. To places where communication was screams and pleading for mercy, and mercy was merely a more violating touch.

Never. Again. Kya’s body thrummed with the silent declaration, as it did a hundred times a day. Never again would Helena’s trust, body and soul be violated. God, she had somehow earned this beautiful woman’s trust, and she vowed to protect it until her dying breath. Never would she stop striving to earn the blessings Helena gave, or stop appreciating everything that Helena was. How two worlds could miss it, she had no clue. Helena was a goddess, and Kya was all too happy to offer her soul in devotion.

“You’re… I don’t have the words, Helena.”

That was true. What words could ever sum up everything Kya could see painted across a single body? Ten thousand words may compose the weight of Helena’s crimes, yet a million could not begin to grace the essence of her. What words could explain a young girl growing from an abused daughter to an abused possession? What words could bare the weight of how Helena had been tortured, twisted into an image so terrifying that nations whispered in fear? Could anything explain the gravity of Helena’s fight? Of every defiance torn from her humanity? Of how she had continued, spent over thirty years fighting just to be seen as a human? What words could sum up her gentleness? How tenderly she touched despite the power of pure destruction running through her veins? Kya knew no way to express the simplest of things any more than a traumatic story. The mischief twinkling in sapphire blue eyes. How she possessed both the grace of a dancer and the power of a stallion whilst also withholding the gentleness of flower petals. How, even holding Kya’s hands down, Helena’s grip never became too tight. How her thumb would always seek out Kya’s pulse, as if reminding herself that the war was over. That Kya was alive in her grasp. The relief Kya often saw flood Helena’s eyes when their gazes met. Admiration for Helena’s struggles continued to claim Kya’s breath, even as she watched the Sorceress lift her head.

“You’re crying. Hav-“

“No!” Kya interfered, refusing to let the words of self-blame escape Helena’s lips.

“Helena, Christ, no. It’s just, sometimes everything you’ve been through just hits me. Its… I am so fucking furious for you, like I could go and bomb the Queen’s castle. But I’m also so insanely proud of you! How you fought, how you managed to face everything you’d endured.” Kya confessed, letting her forehead fall back to the small of Helena’s back for a moment. She couldn’t resist leaving another loving kiss to the bump of Helena’s spine, followed by another, and another, all as her tears fell.

“You are so beautiful, Helena. I love you so much my body can’t always contain it.”

“To think,” Helena began, pushing up onto one of her hands so she could turn enough to gaze down at Kya. All at once, the Sorceress’ breath caught in her throat, stolen by the sincerity in Kya’s otherworldly eyes. Grey, but not the type of grey that mimicked storm tainted clouds, nor the type of greys reminiscent of steel. No, Kya’s eyes were the grey of of stone, flecked with little slithers of blue which reminded Helena of diamonds before they were cleaned. Always, the images were of Earth. Grounding. Afterall, Kya was the grounding force in her life, the bedrock she had rebuilt herself upon. Kya had moved her to defy the Witch Queen, to embrace her own fears and rediscover who she was as an individual. Kya had moved an entire world, shown them one of the most horrific figures in their history, the fearsome General Klein, then made them see a hero. The Curse breaker. The slayer of the Witch Queen. Made them see Helena Klein in lights none dared dream.

“there was a time I had been convinced you could never truly want me. That it was my obedience you truly craved.” Helena’s confession earned a quiet yet sharp hiss from Kya, along with a literal flinch. Kya understood, boy did she ever, yet her body rebelled against the notion. She attempted to press closer, scattering more patient kisses up Helena’s back. How? How could any power that be, any god which may exist allow such a beautiful soul to be tormented to the point of worthlessness? The injustice of it all was a fire in her heart, causing her to tremble with the effort of keeping those flames contained.

“I hate that you ever felt I did not want you. I never wanted to force my wants onto you, but, Helena… have you seen yourself? Before I even knew your name, I was imagining things.”

“Things?” Helena enquired; brow arched playfully.

“You. Me. A bed. Alone and safe. How your arms around me would feel on cold nights, holding me close. How comfortable your chest was to lay my head on when you first hugged me. How that would feel to sleep on every night.” Kya’s response drew a rare flush to Helena’s cheeks.

“Then, I got to know you. The more I got to see, the more I wanted. I got to see a woman who is the best artist I have ever met. A woman built for peace, not war. A woman who has the element of destruction in her veins, but the power of endless growth and love in her heart. Not to mention the things just looking at you does to me. I could watch you draw for decades and never get tired of it. You make me appreciate the little things in life, even when I miss them because I am too busy watching you enjoy them. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you, I doubt I even could.” Kya spoke clearly, leaving no room for misinterpretation. God, she already knew she would never stop wanting Helena. It was carved into her soul by carpenters of universal renown. Yet, it was only a shallow mind who would associate Kya’s desires to something carinal. Lust was simple, easy. What Kya wanted was so much more; a mountain compared to a pebble made from the droppings of a rabbit. After all, lust could be so fleeting, an experience of touch and taste to drive someone to the brink, then watch them drown and plummet beneath waves of momentary bliss. Sensations which would fade before a turn of the sun. Kya’s desires were so much more than that. Already, she welcomed the pain of overworked hands, even as she moulded each brick from the clay of understanding and sincerity. Her own blood played the mortar she offered as she tried to help Helena piece herself back together. The tower of Babylon, possibly, yet Kya was committed to continuing to build. To rebuild and repair, each time sturdier and aiming higher. Did Helena even have limits? If so, Kya wanted to help her find them, to reach the stars she’d always looked towards. Then, to shatter the ceilings of what ancient civilisations considered Heaven. The moon. The sun. Blackholes galaxies away. All challenges Kya believed Helena could conquer.

“Kya…” Helena couldn’t force more than the most reverent whisper past the lump in her throat. She felt the truth of Kya’s words, just as she felt everything Kya never voiced. Sheets tickled the swell of her hip, prickling along erased wounds and violations. Helena couldn’t help but feel how Kya trembled, only allowing her dark hair to brush Helena’s skin. A dry brush whispering across a plain canvas, held by an artist who was pleading to birth delights for the world. Even driven by such powerful emotions, Kya held herself back, silently waiting for invitation. Such power brought a smile to Helena’s lips. If she were water, she knew Kya would die of thirst before claiming a single droplet… And oh, she felt Kya’s thirst. It shouldn’t amuse her as it did, to feel how desperate Kya was to touch. To love. Even now, it was mystifying how Kya could love her. She was a murderer, a general of a genocide, something more dangerous than any creature within any world of fantasy or reality. No dragon could destroy the world on a whim, not as Helena could, yet Kya approached her as if she were a lost kitten. Where the Queen’s hands had tortured Helena into a weapon, had tried to erase her imperfections, Kya longed only to feel them. To understand.

“I would not mind… more…” The Sorceress finally admitted, her mind clawing for the words she so desperately wished to say. A small smile dawned at the small whimper which escaped Kya. It was a sound Helena now understood meant Kya was holding back her tears, drowning in emotions too pure for Helena to touch. Yet, touch she would. Again, and again, until the concept of individuals faded. If magic could not combine them, then Helena was greedy enough to claim every other closeness… and Kya was too.

“Helena… please. Can I touch your back?” The level of desire in such an innocent request punched the breath from Helena’s lungs, tore the concept from her body, just as it would tear her heart to refuse.

“Touch as you desire, Gentle Heart. I surrender myself to you, for tonight.” She granted her permission with a soft sigh. Her head sunk to the pillow once more, eyes closed. She waited, searching for the feeling of dread that often swelled beneath her breast when she invited such things, gave such power to another, yet it did not come. Worlds did not collide within her head, nor did her heartbeat begin to wage war against her veins. Instead, there was unity. The way her breath picked up fell in gentle pace with her heart, with Kya’s heart. She felt Kya’s body trembling above hers, skin whispering across her own as Kya audibly swallowed. Then, fingers, the lightest touch against her shoulders. A soft sigh of wind over fields of peaceful wheat. Loving rains over meadows green. Kya’s fingers were so careful, so gentle, so… reverent.

“I’m just going to touch your shoulders, maybe lay over you, ok? You have complete control, even with my weight on you, I promise, if you don’t like this, I’ll stop.” Kya whispered; voice thicker than molasses. Helena only hummed in response. Kya’s promises were branded into her soul, then upon the world as Kya birthed them to reality. The Sorceress trembled, allowing herself to feel every touch. Lips had branded every scar, time and time again. Every disgusting moment she could recall, and many she could not, had thrown themselves against Kya’s reassurances; foot soldiers laying siege to a temple. If pain acted the aggressors, then Kya’s words played the role of Goddess.

“I want you to enjoy how I love you.” Kya’s words were the fires she cast upon shame. Helena sighed softly, feeling that unique, unspeakable fire beginning at her core. It was an ember, a brief spark, nothing as shocking or frightening as the Queen made it. This was so very different. Kya was different. With the Queen, if Helena did not offer flame, she was punished. She was trapped, burning too brightly, too painfully for her soul to endure unscathed. She was made to destroy in order to survive. The Queen had tried to take that ember and destroy the world with unholy fire. Kya held that ember within her cupped hands. She spoke gently, sacrificing her body to shield that little ember from a world of storms and rain. Kya fed that flame with gentle words, coaxing and praising with nothing but the purest of intentions and utter patience. The Queen had set that flame across the world, only to punish it for burning. Kya sought only to see that flame grow as it would, to revel in it’s beauty without turning it to her own whims.

Above the Sorceress, Kya flushed brilliantly, the goofiest of grins forming across her lips as she slowly moved to lay herself across Helena. The way her hand touched Helena was nothing short of worship, tracing the lines of her muscles with delicate fingertips and gentle palms. The weight of Kya’s body over hers did not intimidate, even when Helena felt Kya’s hand push that little bit harder. Instead of fear, she was flooded with a sense of contentment. This was warm. Safe even, despite being so unknown. Her brows furrowed in curiosity for what Kya had planned. She had been taken like this before, punished by strap and spell, or a third party to entertain. She had accepted this position in exchange for food when she had been weak and starving. But this wasn’t them, this wasn’t a violation from her hideous past nor torture for her crimes. This was Kya. Gentle, caring Kya who had nothing but smooth skin pressed to Helena; hips rocking slightly against Helena’s rump. No, not rocking. Fidgeting. Wiggling. Trembling.

Kya was trying not to apply pressure, even at the sacrifice of her own comfort. That made the warmth in Helena’s heart intensify. It radiated through her muscles, soothing her until she allowed herself to give in. On a soft breath, the Sorceress released the tension in her body and finally allowed herself to melt into the mattress.

Kya waited, watching the pinch in Helena’s brows, searching for anything beyond curiosity. Helena remained calm, her cheek pressed into the pillow, lips parted to take small gulps of air. Beautiful blue eyes were closed, relaxed, save the occasional flutter of eyelids. Unable to resist, Kya allowed herself to fall forwards, only to catch herself on an outstretched hand lingering beside Helena’s. Kya’s free hand came to Helena’s brow, light fingers tracing each delicate line of Helena’s expression. Her curiosity. Her contentment. Her smile. Oh, how that gentle curve of lips could undo Kya a thousand times over. It was strange, feeling such pillowy softness beneath her thumb when she knew lips had a thousand grooves, each leaving a unique print behind to mark a kiss. It was a gentle kiss to the pad of her thumb which drew a soft gasp from Kya, even as the Sorceress beneath her let out a soft yet playful hum.

“You seem relaxed. Is this ok?” Kya questioned; her tone filled with tender concern as she let a little more of her weight rest across Helena’s scarred back. She watched, trying to decipher the slow blinks and twitch of Helena’s brow.

“I am completely at ease, Kya.” The realisation that her words were entirely true was enough to make Helena’s heart swell. She reached into herself, scouring the further most regions of her conscious in search of her fear, only to find nothing save contentment and passive curiosity. Not only did she not fear Kya’s touch, she welcomed it. Helena longed for such gentle contact across her wounded body, across every foul memory. Kya could wash away the shame Helena had carried for her entire life. Kya could wash away the ugliness of abuse. Kya. Kya was everything Helena wanted, every salacious desire and tender comfort she could comprehend. Acts which she knew brought her shame and agony suddenly intrigued her when paired with Kya. Situations that had left her scarred were now potentially enjoyable and safe, if Kya was there. If Kya was the one leading. Surely, if it was Kya behind her, she was safe.

“I can feel that.” Kya breathed; voice strained. Thick, like molasses and honey dripping through a sieve.

“I can… gods, Helena.” Kya’s voice broke, hitching on an all-encompassing sob that rocked her entire being. It was true, she could feel the honesty in Helena’s words. Helena was just so soft. So warm, so close and so relaxed. The Sorceress was liquid muscle beneath her, as if lacking a skeletal structure. It was enough to have Kya’s eyes stinging, for tears of pride and joy to flow down her cheeks and onto Helena’s skin. The raven-haired woman rested her forehead between Helena’s shoulder blades, sobbing softly as she wrapped an arm underneath Helena’s torso. Kya squeezed gently, cuddling Helena as close as she could. She lost herself in Helena’s scent, earthy and magical. Parchment, herbs and a unique smell no human could categorise. Nobody was ever allowed close enough to Helena to notice that little underlying note.

“I’m so proud of you. I love you so, so much. I wish you could feel how full my heart is.”

“Show me.” Helena found herself whispering. Pleading, even. It shocked her. How her body reacted to Kya’s mere presence, the weight and warmth plastered across her back. Lust had always been stoked, something brewed with intention. It was Kya who’d shown her spontaneous, yet even those situations had a logical formula Helena could follow. This… this was something entirely different. It was not the roaring inferno, or even the trickle she was used to. It was a sudden yet gentle warmth. Something spilling from her overflowing heart that slowly warmed her veins. A radiant glow peaceful bliss.

“I surrender myself to your guidance, my love.”

“In that case…” Kya began, voice wavering beneath the weight of Helena’s words. Thunder echoed in her chest, rocking her overflowing heart to the very last molecule. Suddenly, there were immense possibilities, many of them mistakes. What if her touch inspired fear? What if she scared the Sorceress with her eagerness to please? Or worse, if she tempered her desire, would it seem as if she did not appreciate the gift so lovingly offered? A gentle kiss placed to the curve of Helena’s shoulder bought Kya a few moments to collect herself, to remind herself that this was her Helena. Helena was not her destination, not a goal to reach or an objective to meet. Helena was not a journey to take, nor was she an adventure to best. Helena was the path. Even when there was no clear trial to follow, Helena was the direction Kya took. She was the golden pavement and gravel both. She was oceans and forests, storms and sunshine. Helena was everything. The fact Helena trusted Kya with her physical self was just a sweetener to the fact Helena existed at all. Kya could do no wrong, not if she followed as she always had. If she was honest, if she loved as she wished to be loved in return. Whether the night unfolded into seduction or laughter, it was with Helena. That was all that truly mattered.

Reassured by her realisation, Kya leaned closer, allowing her lips to skim the shell of her Sorceress’ ear as she whispered the first of many less wholesome requests for the night.

[panda-noosh]

No Longer the Same {Sokka x Reader}

Words: 9k

Summary: For years, Sokka thought you and him were the same. He was wrong. 

Genre: angst

Warning: nooooothing 

Notes: hello you lovely lil humans. if you didn’t have a good day, i’m going to be upset :):):) 

----

Children could be so innocent sometimes.

    Of course, you were a perfect example of this. Young and naïve, trying to make things happen that could never happen in a million years; it was the hope within you. It burned bright when you weren't aware of the corruption yet.

   There was plenty of said corruption, especially within the water tribes. Growing up, it was almost an everyday occurrence for you and your friends to stand by the edge of the ocean, waving off boats as they drifted off to sea. You couldn't talk to anyone who didn't have a relative fighting somewhere else, or died in the battles that were being fought just so you and your people could have basic rights, basic freedom.

    Back then, it was all you knew. You thought it was normal. You would wave and smile and run around like nothing was happening, when in reality, everything was happening. People were dying. People were getting injured, losing limbs, losing their abilities to a force that could have been settled if other people could just see equality for what it was – necessary.

    You grew up eventually, though. Not too fast, not slow enough that you were left blind to the truth until it was too late; your parents tried their hardest to keep you away from it all, but they knew the point where the line was drawn. They could see you gaining more and more interest in the world around you, and they weren't selfish enough to keep you out of that for long.

   It was at this point you realised you were different, though nobody told you that. You figured that out on your own, and it didn't take long. Growing up, you saw it. Sensed it, but not the hostility that came with it, the implications, the burning feeling of worthlessness that could have easily taken you hostage if you let it.

  Your mother bent down, pulled you into her chest. The sofa furs of her cloak pressed into your cheek, and you remembered that feeling more than anything else. Her voice was a whisper when it grazed your ear. “You don't need bending abilities to be special. You're perfect just the way you are.”

   At the time, you hadn't even understood what she was telling you.

  Sure, you had seen it. Everyone in your class at school could make cool things happen – water sprouting from holes in the floor, shapes appearing in the air that they could control with their hands. You were never been able to do that, but you'd never tried. At some point, you were even scared of it, wondering what kind of brain power it took to be able to do such a thing.

  You didn't worry about it until your mother was telling you not to worry.

  “But Sokka can't do any of that stuff either,” you said to your grandmother one day, following her around the kitchen with a plate of fish in your hands.

  She barely even looked at you. She never really did. Her eyes lost their warmth a long time ago, almost immediately after Granda hadn't returned. “Sokka might learn,” she told you. “His sister and his grandmother are very strong water benders.”

   You had frowned at the time, because the idea of Sokka having powers was beyond your imagination. That was one of the things you two bonded over – the fact that neither of you could really do anything. If he suddenly learned how to water bend, that would destroy everything.

  You told him this the following day. The two of you were sat against one of the igloos, sharing an ice pop. You only managed to steal one from your grandmothers home that afternoon, so you were forced to share it with him. You didn't mind, despite the argument you put up.

  Sokka screwed his chubby face up in confusion, licking a stripe up the side of the ice lolly before handing it back to you and wiping his sticky little fingers on his coat. His mother wasn't going to be very happy about that. “I don't think I'll learn.”

   “Why?” A common question for a ten year old; whywhywhy?

   Sokka shrugged. “Katara got the powers. I missed out.”

  “But you're older than her,” you pointed out, handing the ice lolly back to him. “Surely that means you should get first pick?”

  “Katara didn't pick. She was chosen.”

  He said it so whimsically, reminding you of some creepy mage in a forest, ushering little kids into their shrine.

    Sokka caught your confused expression and shrugged again; that was something he did often. Whilst you were constantly asking why, he was constantly shrugging. An answer to a question. Maybe that's why you were best friends.

    “Well,” you started, “if you ever feel yourself getting water bending powers, tell me. I want to be the first to know.”

  “Nosy.”

  ---

   That was when you were ten.

  The world had changed since then. Your thoughts had changed since then. Nothing was the same.

  Sokka's mother died.

   Correction, was killed. Right in front of Katara.

  Your parents fled the water tribe, heading for the Fire Nation in a battle they refused to give you any details on. You were left with your grandmother. You loved her, hated the life she provided. She was sad. Losing her husband and her daughter was too much for her, and she left you to raise yourself.

  Raise yourself you did.

  Your seventeenth birthday was just round the corner, and as per usual, Sokka was more enthusiastic about the date than you were. You enjoyed the celebrations that came with a birthday, but there was a certain responsibility to it that stressed you out more than excited you. Sokka, on the other hand, shouldered that rationed excitement and took it for himself.

  He jumped at you when he saw you, the day before your birthday. He had turned seventeen only a few months prior. His training for the army had started, and it was clear in the fresh build of his shoulders, the way he carried himself, the way he walked as if he was constantly stuck in a line of soldiers. You had laughed about it multiple times, and he had waved you off with a, “You won't be saying that when I'm avenging our tribe.”

  Now, though, he was all floppy hands and goofy grins. He grabbed you by the shoulders, whirled you around and yelled, “Happy birthday!”

   “It's not my birthday until tomorrow,” you replied.

  Sokka rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Details, details.” He let his hands drop to his sides, and you didn't fail to notice the small blush that crept up his face when he stuffed them in his pockets. “Are you still coming over for your birthday dinner?”

  You nodded. “As I do every year. I can't believe your grandmother still cooks for me.”

   “She loves you.” Sokka wrapped an arm around your shoulders and the two of you started towards the Ice Market. “Your grandma is welcome to come if she wants. The invitation is still on the table.”

  You were barely able to hide your wince. It wasn't as if Sokka was oblivious to the state your grandmother was in – he was just too polite to take any notice of it. He gave you pitying glances every now and then, asked you how she was, even asked her how she was, even if she only replied with a faint grunt of acknowledgement. Not an answer, but typically more than she gave you.

  But Sokka was a firm believer in letting things run their course. In his mind, your grandmother would snap back to reality soon enough.

   Soon enough had dragged out through the last seven years. He still had hope, bless his soul.

  “I'll tell her,” you lied. “How's Katara's training going?”

   Sokka grumbled, his grip tightening on your shoulders. “It's all she talks about. All she complains about.”

  “It's not going well?”

   Sokka shrugged. “She doesn't let me watch. It's just her and Grandma, but she's always in a bad mood when she gets home. I don't think she's finding it as easy as Mum or Grandma did back in the day.”

  You frowned, remembering your mothers words all them years ago: she said Katara was a natural, just like her Mum, just like her grandmother.

    “Odd,” you hummed. “I thought she was pretty good back when we were kids.”

   Sokka nodded. “She was. Mum was teaching her.”

   You looked away at that, heat creeping up your neck. This happened all too often – your tongue would get too loose and you'd make some irresponsible comment about childhood and growing up, forcing Sokka to think about the mother he had lost to the Fire Nation when he was only ten years old. To you, talking about your childhood was nothing, a quick get-away, even, but Sokka didn't have that luxury. He had ten years of memories that he wanted to block out purely because his mother was no longer present to share them with him.

     “I don't know if Grandma's just getting old,” Sokka continued, his voice a sigh. “I don't think she's teaching Katara the moves right.” He raised a hand in defence, even though you hadn't spoken. “Don't get me wrong, I haven't seen them training. Katara could just be being dramatic – but I don't know. She's never in a good mood any more, and Grandma's always tired. I think the two of them need a break.”

   “So why don't they? Surely if it's that much hassle-”

   “Grandma thinks Katara needs to learn so she can be like Mum.”

   Sokka's words startled you. Your head whipped round, but his profile revealed very little. This happened when he mentioned his mother; he shut down. He tried to hide how much it really hurt to talk about her. The only sign he gave you that he was feeling anything at all was the twitch in his jaw and tensing of his arm slung over your shoulders.

     “She hasn't said that to Katara, has she?” you asked. “Your Mum was an incredible water bender. Even the suggestion that Katara can-”

   But Sokka was nodding before you'd even finished your sentence. “I know. I know. That's what I told her but she's old and I'm pretty sure she's going deaf, so she won't listen.” He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. His arms tensed again; he seemed to realise that his muscles were a direct give away to how he was feeling, as he uncurled his arm from your shoulders and dropped it back to his side. “Katara already compares herself to Mum. She thinks she needs to fill in the gap she left.”

   “That's impossible. She's fifteen. It took your mother years to master what she's trying to do.”

  “I know.” Sokka hollowed out his cheeks. “I know.”

  The conversation died when the two of you entered the gates of the market. As per usual, it was full – as full as it could be when it was located in a water tribe. The population was fairly small, but so was the market. The cramped space helped you believe that perhaps not everyone had gone off to war.

  “Do you even want to buy anything?” Sokka asked. His voice was grim now, that twinkle leaving his eyes and his mouth turned down only slightly – just enough for him to be assured that you didn't notice, even though you did.

    “I'm gonna get something for my dinner tonight, I think,” you replied before nudging him. “And you, mister, need to get me something for my birthday.”

  Sokka raised a brow, glancing down at you. “What makes you think I haven't gotten you something already?”

  “I don't know. Maybe it's the years of watching you be an unorganized mess.”

  He hummed. “Fair point.” He nudged your arm, took a step forward as if to start sprinting, but his track was blocked when a small, chubby kid appeared in front of him. The two of you froze, looking down at him because he was looking up at you and for some reason, his angry face wasn't as cute as it should have been.

  It actually startled you a little bit.

  Sokka straightened up, taking a single step back so he was beside you again. “Hello.”

    The boy sneered. His black hair was sticking up in all directions and he wasn't even wearing a coat – he was what the world would often describe as a mini thug, because clearly he had some nerve walking round without a coat on.

    You and Sokka shared a confused glance before Sokka repeated himself: “Hello.”

  The kid raised his hands and water exploded in your faces.

  You spluttered, stumbling back into the crowd before Sokka managed to reach out and grab you, pulling you into his side. Water dripped from your nose, the ends of your hair, soaking into the thick material of your coat. Sokka was even worse, his jaw already clanking up and down with his new found jitters. His hair stuck to his temples, his eyelashes dripping.

  You would have laughed if you weren't also soaked.

  The kid, on the other hand, had no such qualms as he immediately let out a bellow that was far too deep for someone his age. He kicked ice up at the both of you before saying – in a kid-like sneer - “What are you gonna do about it? You can't even water bend!” His voice rose at the end of his sentence before he turned on his heel and barrelled down the length of the market.

  You wrapped your arm around Sokka's upper arm before he could even think of chasing after him. “Let him go. He's about seven.”

   “I don't c-”

  “Sokka,” you said, sterner this time. “It's not worth it. Let him go.”

  Sokka's eyes fluttered closed. He inhaled deeply, exhaled in the way you had taught him to when the two of you were only seven years old – you used to get scared when he got angry, so you taught him how to not be angry. At the time, you thought you were some kind of scientist.

  The fact that he still used them same exercises almost made you jittery. Almost.

  “Are you alright?”

  Flicking your gaze up, you saw he now had his eyes open. Your fingers were still curled around his upper arm. Now that he looked calmer, you let your hand fall back to your side.

   You nodded, running a hand through your hair. “I'm fine. It was just water. Nothing I haven't dealt with before.”

  “That's not what I meant.” He reached forward, plucked at your soaked hair. “What he said. That didn't bother you, did it?”

  It did. Kind of. It was a subtle kind of bother, settling in your stomach rather than your head, or your chest. If you concentrated hard enough on something else, you could ignore it.

  You shrugged. “He was just a kid, Sokka. He probably thought he was being clever.” You tugged on the fluffy lapels of his coat. “Besides, we're not the ones that are gonna die of hypothermia.”

  ---

  The morning of your seventeenth birthday, and nothing felt different.

  Seventeen wasn't a special age. This was made clearer and clearer as you walked around your home, opening cupboards in search of something to eat – your grandmother hadn't gone shopping again.

  Damn, you thought. That's seven years in a row now.

  Your stomach growled, but you ignored it. You got dressed. You brushed out your hair. You kissed your grandmother goodbye and walked out the door. It was a daily routine, and the fact that you were another year older didn't change that. It was almost sad.

  Sokka was waiting for you in your usual hideout, back leaned against Old Man Partridge's igloo. The elderly man was a myth amongst this place; the igloo itself had been abandoned ages ago, with Sokka's grandmother throwing a story onto it for the kids to enjoy; that was how Old Man Partridge came to be, and why this igloo was the place you and Sokka met up at every morning.

  His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his lower lip juttering out. It was colder than usual these days, and even you had to pull your fluffy hood on over your head to keep the chill from clipping at your ears.

  “Took you long enough,” he called over when you finally emerged over the hill into view. “I've been here for a good ten minutes.”

   “As long as they were a good ten minutes.” You grabbed his hand before he could retort with some stupid comeback. “Let's go to the river. I'm starving, and Grandma didn't get anything from the market.”

   Sokka raised a brow. “Again?”

  You shrugged as if it was no big deal, as if your stomach wasn't growling, as if you weren't starting to get a headache from early morning hunger pains.

  You and Sokka arrived at the rivers edge and sat down on the ice mounds. The water tickled your toes through your sandals, and you smiled down at it, as if somebody was smiling back up at you beneath the waves. You had half a mind to dip your hand in, but you didn't get the chance to before Sokka was suddenly sliding a fishing rod into your palm.

  You looked up, startled. You didn't own a fishing rod of your own, couldn't afford one nowadays. Fishing was always just something you admired from afar, watching Sokka and Katara play about in the water until they finally collapsed and took their wooden fishing rods out of their bags and started fishing; you often craved to join them, but sticking to the sidelines was all you knew how to do. It was all you thought you could do.

  But this was a brand new fishing rod. The wood was freshly carved, sparkling with a fresh layer of sealer. It was slightly rounded, but there was edges to it that fit against your fingers perfectly – and in the handle, your name was carved into the wood.

  Your eyes snapped up, jaw dropping open, words evading you. You were a jumble of thoughts and emotions and words, but your mouth wasn't cooperating and you were fairly certain the sentence you wanted to say would come out as nothing more than a babble if you were to even try and communicate what you were feeling.

  But Sokka was Sokka. You didn't need to talk for him to understand exactly what you were feeling.

  He smiled sheepishly and looked down at his lap, pulling at a loose thread on his brown trousers. “Happy birthday.”

   You don't remember moving. You don't remember squealing, don't remember dropping the fishing rod and wrapping your arms around Sokka's shoulders. You remember the impact, though, of your elbows slapping against the ice, the sound of Sokka's amused and startled laughter echoing right beside your ear. You wanted to bottle the noise up and pocket it, a little birthday gift to yourself.

  You squeezed your eyes closed, hugging Sokka closer. He wrapped one arm around your waist, the other struggling to keep his back away from the ice. Eventually, he gave up and flopped backwards, you resting on top of him with your head nuzzled in the crook of his neck. The threat of tears was much too fierce for you to even think about looking up right now.

  “Happy birthday,” he repeated through laughter. “That's from Katara, Grandma and me.” He paused. “It was mostly me, though.”

  You pressed a kiss to the space just above his ear. Maybe it was a little too intimate. Maybe you should have aimed for his cheek, but you didn't care. You got up, dragging him up with you by the lapel of his coat. He was grinning from ear to ear, cheeks bright red, hands working into the fabric of his coat.

  “You like it?” he asked.

  You picked the fishing rod up, running your thumb over your name. “I love it.” You looked at him. “How did you know I wanted one of these?”

   “I see you standing by the edge every time me and Katara come down here,” he replied. “You think you can hide, but I notice you everywhere.”

  You pursed your lips. “I don't really know how to use it, though...”

   Sokka's face lit up. He scooted over to you, grabbed the fishing rod from your hands and said, “Well, this is where I come in handy,” and the lessons began.

  Sokka's excitement dribbled through each of his words. His smile illuminated the waters surface, distracted you for moments at a time until strict, stern Teacher Sokka would snap his fingers in your face to bring you back to the present. You would only smile, watching him close as he explained the basics of fishing, lost himself in his own teachings.

  You knew why he was so enthusiastic, even if the reason was sad. You didn't like thinking about it, but when the opposite side of the spectrum was so giddy and excited, it was difficult to ignore; he had never been useful.

  Of course, to you, he was everything. Your best friend. Your rock. The person you could turn to when the world was grey and it felt like nothing was going to get better. To you, he was the world and maybe more than that.

  But to others, he was Sokka. He was the boy with the dead mother, the cheeky little sister, the boy who wanted to follow his father to the ends of the earth just to prove himself. He was the boy who joked around to the point where nobody believed in him; his training was a joke to most people, a way to keep him busy, to keep his hopes up. You heard the whispers, and they angered you.

  And yet here he was, finally teaching something rather than being taught. He was good at it. He explained things clearly. He made sure you understood until the two of you were sitting side-by-side, feet dangling over the edge, toes barely grazing the ice cold water, fishing rods dipped into the cool waves.

  “Who needs water bending?”

  The statement startled you. “What?”

   “We certainly don't,” he continued, more-so talking to himself at this point. “We don't have an ounce of power in our system, and it's working out pretty well for us, don't you think?”

   “Where is this coming from?”

   Sokka shrugged. He didn't seem upset, just reminiscent. “What that kid said to us yesterday...”

  “Sokka...”

  He shook his head, waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss the idea that was lingering in your tone. “I'm not upset. He just got me thinking. People really do think we're useless sometimes, don't they?”

   You stared at the side of his face, willing him to look at you so you could see just what it was that was bouncing around in his head. You were good at that, catching his emotions, trapping them in little bottles like they were fireflies and you were in darkness.

   But he didn't turn to look at you. He kept his hard gaze on the swaying ocean in front of him, messing idly with the handle of his fishing rod.

   “I'm sorry,” he grumbled. “It's your birthday. I shouldn't be saying this stuff.”

  “It's okay.” Your voice is hoarse, quieter than you planned. Maybe it's because it wasn't okay. Maybe it's because you want him to be quiet, want him to stop putting so much attention upon something a seven year old boy had said the day before.

  It almost made you angry, though you didn't want it to. You turned back to the ocean and fiddled with the engraving on the end of your fishing rod, willing yourself to calm down before the storm erupted and you were unable to stop it.

   You came to Sokka to stop the nightmares. You came to Sokka to get a break. You came to Sokka because he was your best friend, your light at the end of the tunnel. Having his words corrupt that safe place made you want to stand up and run as far from this as possible, because if Sokka has let society get to him, then there's no way in hell any of the other tribe members are making it out alive.

  The two of you sat in silence after that. Sokka knew he had said the wrong thing. He didn't apologise. You didn't ask him to. They were his feelings, whether you wanted them to be or not.

  ---

  The pain was unbearable.

  It pulled you from your sleep. It dragged you into consciousness and didn't let go of you until you were arching your back off the mattress and gasping for air which was too cold to inhale and too important to ignore.

  It started in your stomach, the right side of your upper abdomen. Like needles. Needles, needles, needles, prickling your skin, puncturing organs. You tried to stand up, but your knees were weak and your palms were slick with sweat. You reached for your lamp, ended up knocking it off the bedside table; all you could do was watch it smash. The pieces of glass were piercing your stomach – that's what it felt like. Your insides were a mess of feeling and jumbled pain and your brain was a mess of feeling and jumbled emotions.

  You tried calling out for your grandmother, but the words came out as a scrambled groan instead. You pulled yourself to your knees, balanced on the end of your bed, doubled over in the hopes that some pressure would help – it didn't.

  It really, really didn't.

  The world tilted and you fell with it. You tumbled to your side and screamed into the mattress as tiny fire ants ambushed your stomach, crawled into your throat, lit your skin up with invisible flames that engulfed your entire body. Your legs kicked out against your will. Your bare foot slammed into your bedside table and the wood splintered, but you were twitching and you couldn't stop it and it was painful and you had no idea what was happening.

  It lasted only minutes before the big finale. You felt it building, and for a minute you thought the rising pressure in your throat was a scream hauling its way to the surface. When you opened your mouth, nothing came out.

  When you opened your mouth, the world exploded.

  The wall, made entirely of ice, shattered into a million pieces. Water burst from the floor. The darkness outside illuminated with thunder as it ripped across the night sky, and it was then that the pain started to fade. It was gradual, allowing you to sink back into your mattress even as you stared up at the damage in shock; your mouth was agape, your heart beating to the point where you thought it was going to beat straight out of your ribcage and take off across the ocean.

  The wall was gone. Entirely gone, nothing more than a few ice shards digging into the ground. The floorboards were also ripped up, tiny spurts of water shooting up from beneath them.

  Your fingers trailed over your stomach. Your mouth formed words – a cry for help, maybe – but nothing came out. The stars blinked back at you, the sound of the ocean louder than ever before. Your skin was sweltering, sweat sticking your pyjamas to your flesh.

  Your grandmother stumbled into your room, took one glance at the wall and grunted in what you could only assume was displeasure.

  You gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

  ---

  It was still dark when you stumbled into Sokka's house with your arm wrapped around your shivering grandmothers form.

  Sokka's grandmother wasn't going to let you sleep in a house that had no wall. As soon as she heard about what happened, she insisted you both come over and spend the night at her house, spend as long as you needed in her house until things were sorted.

  Sokka wrapped a blanket round your shoulders. You snuggled into its warmth, even though your skin was burning and your eyes were burning and your stomach was still reeling from the abuse it had taken moments before.

  Sokka sat down beside you. His knee brushed your own. The touch was too much, and you flinched away even though you couldn't pinpoint why.

  He was fresh out of bed. You could tell by the haze in his blue eyes, the slouch of his shoulders, the mess of his black hair. He tried to hide it, because he knew you would feel bad for dragging him out of bed at this time, but you saw right through it.

  “You should go back to sleep.”

  Sokka grunted. “How did I know that was the first thing you were gonna say?”

  “I'm fine.”

  “Grandma told me what happened.” He pursed his lips, looking away. Your heart clenched. Even though you told him to go to bed, you needed him to be there for you right now. You needed him to not be weirded out by whatever description of events his grandmother had given him.

  You nudged him. He turned back to you, caught your eyes and looked down at the place where your knees met.

  “So you were a water bender this entire time, huh?”

  The words don't compute for a second. They were true. There was no other explanation. Even your grandmother in her deluded, unresponsive state was able to acknowledge that something had happened – something explainable, something that made sense but something you didn't want to admit to because it was terrifying to think that the self-loathing you had relied on for all these years was going to be ripped away.

  “M-my Grandma can help you, you know,” Sokka continued. “If you want to learn how to control it, she knows how.”

  You shook your head. “I don't want to use it.”

  “It's a part of you.”

  “It hasn't been a part of me for seventeen years. I've never needed it. I've never wanted it. I especially don't want it now.”

  “You sound awfully ungrateful.”

  Your head whipped round. Sokka raised his hands in mock defence.

  “I'm just saying. I would do anything to wake up one morning and be able to bend. Do you know what this means?”

   There was genuine excitement in his eyes. It broke your heart.

  He shook his head dumbly, gazing out at the living room – his living room. The living room you had infiltrated because you had lost control of yourself and destroyed the only home you ever had.

  “I'm happy for you, Y/N,” he said. “This is gonna be the start of something awesome for you – I can tell.”

  “It won't be.”

  He frowned, forehead creasing. “Stop being so negative-”

  “I don't want it.” Your tone was harsh, but you didn't reign it in. “I liked what we had before. I liked that we didn't have bending powers. I liked that we didn't have the responsibility.”

    Sokka was silent for a little while. “If it's me you're worried about, don't. I'll be fine.”

  You wanted to believe that. In every sense he had showed that he didn't care what others thought. He was perfectly happy being himself, with or without bending abilities, and yet when you looked at him now, you couldn't miss the twitch in his jaw, the way he clenched his hands, the way he refused to look back at you.

  He was more hurt about this revelation than he let on. He was realising that maybe he was more on his own than he originally thought.

  ---

  You knew word would get around fast. That didn't make you want it any more.

  The onslaught of curious eyes and questions was nauseating. People popped up from nowhere, asking you howhowhowhow and you wanted to answer them, but there was no answer to give; you didn't know. You didn't want to know, because coming to the conclusion that you had gone from one end of the Weird Spectrum to the other was too much for your mangled brain to take right now.

  Sokka glanced over at you, biting his bottom lip. He had been oddly quiet since the two of you woke up, though he tried to hide his emotions through smiles and hand-waving and pretending everything was alright when you knew it wasn't. Both of you knew it wasn't. Something was going on with you, and you didn't want to admit it.

  “We can go back to my house,” Sokka said after yet another person had come up to bombard you with questions. “We don't have to stay out here. Grandma and Katara have gone to train-”

  “It's okay.” Your words were abrupt, leaving no room for argument. “I'm fine.”   Sokka nodded. He had the decency not to push you any further than you were comfortable with, but the thrill of confusion buzzed off him just as much as it buzzed from everyone else; the thing with Sokka, though, was that he knew you better than anyone in the entire world. He could take one look at your expression and just know then and there that talking about last nights mishap was the last thing you wanted to do.

  So he let the subject drop.

  He let the subject drop, and silence consumed you, and you were engulfed in the feeling of your fingers fizzing up, bubbling over with the need to do something.

  It had been like that all morning. From the moment you opened your eyes, you felt different; in the beginning, you blamed it on the exhaustion. You had been woken up in the middle of the night with an indescribable pain, hadn't managed to go back to sleep until Sokka had crawled into bed behind you. But it was more than exhaustion that was clawing to the centre right now – it was power. Pure power that had waited seventeen years to finally be unleashed; it wasn't waiting.

  His hand covered your own. The feel of his fingers dragged you back to reality, forcing you to release a breath you hadn't even realised you'd been holding. Slowly you shifted your gaze until you were looking at him, and he looked right back. There was a tilt to his head, a small smile on his lips that just said Sokka.

  You flipped your hand around until your fingers were intertwining with his. “Maybe we should go and see Katara and your grandmother.”

  ---

  “Oh, Y/N, sweetie, it's so good to see you out of the house.”

   Sokka's grandmother slapped a kiss to your face, wrapping you in her arms before she had even glanced at her grandson. He rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out as if to say gross before she pulled away from you and he forced a smile.

  “And you,” she said, pointing a knobbly finger in his direction. “You shouldn't have kept them hidden away in your room all day. The poor thing probably has no idea what to do with their new abilities.”

   You winced. “Actually, I don't plan on doing much with my abilities.”

  His grandmother froze, her lips inches away from Sokka's cheek. Her grey eyes snapped round to look at you, and never before had you felt so under the scope. Sokka often wore his emotions on his face, but his grandmother's expression was made of steel.

  That made it even worse.

  You shifted awkwardly, glancing to the floor. “I just came here to ask if there was anything I could do to make this feeling go away.”

   She slowly peeled herself away from Sokka, raising a brow. “Feeling?”    “You know.” You showed her your palms as if that would explain it all. “The feeling. Like there's fire ants crawling up my skin or something.”

    His grandmother stared at you. She wasn't looking at your fingers, wasn't interested in the awkward shift of your demeanour as you tried – and failed – to make yourself seem comfortable in her presence. Once upon a time, Sokka's grandmother had been almost like a second grandmother to you, but things had changed. She looked at you with a glint of appreciation in her eyes that wasn't there before – to anyone else, this would have been a good thing, but to you, it was different. It was strange and you didn't want to deal with the unfamiliarity of it all.

  “It's normal, right?” Sokka stepped up beside you, grabbed your hand and inspected your fingers for himself. “Y/N isn't going to combust all of a sudden, are they?”

   “The power wants released,” his grandmother replied. Her eyes were still burning holes into your own. “You can live with this feeling forever by not giving in, or you can learn to control your abilities.”

   Bile rose in your throat. You squeezed Sokka's fingers, even though you didn't want to, even though he could already tell exactly what those words did to you. “I don't want to.”

    “I can help you,” she said. “This isn't a journey you have to take on your own.”

   “Yeah, Y/N!” Katara exclaimed. Throughout the conversation, she had been busy practising her own water bending abilities. “You and I can train together.”

   You shook your head. “I don't want to.”

  “Y/N, don't get-” Sokka began, but his grandmother cut him off.

  “You're afraid of who you are, Y/N. That in itself is going to rip you apart from the inside out.”

   Your breath was ragged. Your hands were trembling. You balled them into fists, tried to breathe, tried to remind yourself that none of this was a big deal. Water bending wasn't extinct. It wasn't going to kill you. Just because you were unfamiliar with it, didn't make it dangerous.

  And yet you couldn't stop the images of dead bodies flashing through your mind. Battle fields. Faces of people you knew twisted into screams of agony as water burst from their insides and the world collapsed around them; having bending powers wasn't a blessing, and it certainly wasn't something you wished for.

  Sokka leaned in. His lips were inches from your ear, his breath making your hair whisp around your face when he spoke. “Do you want to get out of here?”

   You swallowed, brought yourself together before you squeezed his fingers again and turned back to the friendly old woman. “So there's nothing I can do about this feeling? I'll just have to put up with it?”

   Her wrinkled face fell. It was disappointment, and it made your heart squeeze, but you couldn't take her offer.

  “If that's what you choose to do, then yes,” she said. “It will only get worse.”

  “Okay, that's enough now,” Sokka exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and turning you towards the exit. “This was a lovely little chat, but I'm afraid Y/N and I have places to be, people to impress, a failed birthday to celebrate! See you at dinner!”

  You stumbled after him, hissed his name no matter how grateful you were for his distraction. He sent you a cheeky, knowing grin before the two of you disappeared. You pushed all thoughts out of your head, deciding then and there to just enjoy your time with Sokka.

  ---

  You were going to die.

  Fire ants. Fire ants. Fire ants, living in your skin, burrowing in your veins, sinking their teeth into your flesh. Fire. Fire. Fire. It burned. It ran up your arms. It sprinted through your system, snapping open your sweat ducts until your mattress was damp and your hair was glued to your forehead.

  You tried to keep it in, tried to bottle up the scream that was fighting its way to the surface, but it was impossible. It ripped from your throat, sounded out through Sokka's bedroom, bounced off the walls and echoed back to you. It taunted you. It teased you, called you cowardly, made fun of you-

  Sokka's fingers splayed across your stomach, pushing you back into the mattress even as you writhed and arched away from it.

  “Y/N? Y/N, oh god, what's happening? What's going on?” His voice was distressed but distorted in your ears.

  You shook your head ravenously, unable to form words that could answer his question. There was an answer there, playing on the tip of your tongue because you knew what the problem was – you felt it intuitively, scratching at your insides, refusing to let you think it was anything other than exactly what it was.

  Sokka scooped you up in his arms. He ran. Your head bounced against his chest. Your fingers prickled. The fire ants were loose. They were loose and hungry and refusing to show you any mercy – you didn't deserve mercy. You knew you didn't. You made this choice, the choice to ignore what was building up inside of you, and it was finally coming back to bite you.

  “Sokka,” you choked out, gripping his shirt. He didn't stop running, but his blue eyes flicked down. “Sokka, you need to let me down. This is dangerous. I need – I need to – I need to-” Your words were blocked by a scream.

  Sokka winced, but did exactly as you told him. He set you down on the sofa, immediately ran his hands through your sweat soaked hair, pushing it away from your forehead. His hands were cold – they always were – but it did little to soothe the all-consuming burn that engulfed your body.

  “What's going on?” he whispered, voice trembling. “Tell me what to do. Please tell me what to do.”

  “I don't – I don't know what to d-do,” you choked out. “I think it's the – the w-water bending.”

  His eyes lit up. “You ignored them. You said you didn't want to-”

  “I know.” You winced, curling a hand around your stomach. “I know w-what I said, b-but I d-don't t-think ignoring th-them is an o-option any more.”

  “Then you won't. I'll go get Grandma. She can help you.”

  He stood up, darted towards the door before turning to look at you over his shoulder. He opened his mouth. There were words there, but he did not speak them. He didn't really need to. His blue eyes softened. He offered you a smile, and then he started back down the hall in search of his grandmother.

  ---

  Training was difficult and tiring, and far from what you wanted to do, but it was the only option, and you were slowly learning to get used to it being part of your daily routine.

  You trained alongside Katara, her grandmother yelling orders and directions from the corner of the river. Katara was good, but you were getting better and better everyday – Sokka's grandmother claimed it was because your powers had been waiting for the moment they could release themselves, whereas Katara had been gradually building throughout her entire life.

  It was a relief. You no longer went to bed feeling one hundred pounds heavier, no longer woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Your grandmother was no longer scared of you. Everything was working out exactly how it should have.

  But Sokka was a different story.

  He tried to hide it, but you knew him too well. He was a sensitive man, whether he showed that to the world or he didn't. You could read him like an open book, and the fact that he was doing everything in his power to avoid the topic of your new-found water bending abilities spoke volumes.

  He was feeling more worthless than ever before, and it broke your heart to see.

  You invited him to watch you train that afternoon, purely because you knew he had nothing else to do. The idea of him walking around on his own, waiting for you to finish up with that sad expression on his face made your heart clench; having him beside you would be refreshing, would maybe open his eyes to what it was you were actually doing.

  He stood by the waters edge, hands stuffed in his pockets and head tilted back. His eyes were closed, the sun beaming down on his already golden skin, illuminating it even more. His throat bobbed every time he swallowed. It was mesmerizing.

  Water crashed into the side of your face.

  You stumbled, just barely managing to grab on to a branch and tug yourself back onto the rock you were balancing on. A single look at Katara told you she found her surprise attack very funny.

  “I wasn't ready,” you grumbled, waving your hand and tossing water back in her direction. It didn't hit her face; you didn't want it to. It soaked the bottom of her dress, made her frown, and that was good enough for you.

  “He looks like a lost puppy over there, you know,” Katara said. “Why did you invite him here in the first place?”

  You raised a brow. “He has every right to be here.”

   “I never said he didn't. He just looks like he doesn't actually want to be here.”    You frowned and glanced over your shoulder; there he stood, still as a statue, eyes darting to and fro. He did look incredibly awkward. As soon as he saw you looking at him, he forced that fake smile onto his face and waved. You waved back slowly before turning back to Katara.

  “I don't know what's wrong with him. He's been like this since-”

   “Since he woke up to see you dying at the side of him.”

   You winced. “I didn't think it scared him that much...”

   “He was terrified.” There was disbelief in her tone, as if she couldn't believe you would think any differently. “Like, terrified. I've never seen Sokka like that – trembling, crying, barely able to talk kind of terrified.”

    Your heart clenched. “It was a crazy night.”

  “Plus, it can't be very nice to be in your shadow now.” She said this casually. However, your heart jumped.

  Your head whipped round, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean? Sokka isn't in my shadow – he's never been in my shadow.”

   “He is now,” said Katara. “You're all anyone talks about nowadays. People don't even care that Sokka went up a rank in his training. They don't even care that he now knows how to tie fourteen different types of knots in five seconds flat, and then undo them in ten seconds flat. He was really proud of himself, and nobody else was.”

  Your mouth was running dry, mind reeling at a thousand miles per hour. Of course you had listened when he was talking about these achievements. You were the first person he told, and you had given him the exact same enthusiasm back – that didn't mean everyone else had, though.

  You swallowed down the golf ball sized lump in your throat, flicked some water up before you mumbled, “I think I need to go and talk to him.”

    Katara's eyes lit up. “Now? We're still training!”

   But you were already jumping from rock-to-rock, back towards the waters edge. “I'll make it up to you. I promise!” For now, you had more important things to worry about.

  Once you made it back to land, you headed directly for Sokka. He raised a brow, opened his mouth to say something but you gave him no chance; you looped your arm through his and dragged him back into the trees.

   “Woah, woah, woah!” he exclaimed, stumbling to catch himself. “Is your training over already?”

   “I can tell when you don't actually care, you know,” you said.

  He frowned. “Alright then... what's wrong?”

  “You know I love you, right?” It was the first thing you could think to say, the first message you needed to make exceptionally, exceptionally clear.

  Sokka blushed, stuffed his hands back into his pockets. It made your heart ache with fondness. “I know that.”

  “And you know I'll keep loving you no matter what happens, right?”

  “Y/N, what is this about?”

 “Right?”

  Sokka looked up and nodded. “Right.”

    “The fact that I've got water bending abilities doesn't change anything between us. And it doesn't make you any less of a person.”

    His face fell. It was the moment he realised what this conversation was really about, the moment he understood that these emotional mood swings he had been dealing with weren't as subtle as he thought – at least not to you.

  “Y/N...,” he mumbled, flicking his eyes over your shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

  “You're incredible,” you said. Even you were startled by your own words, but pushed on because you were telling the truth. “You're brave, and talented, and you have every bit of potential to do whatever you want to do, whether you do it with water bending or not.”

   He blushed again. Your heart beat raced. “It would be better if I could do it with water bending-”

  “Sokka, no. Get that out of your head right now.”

   “Don't be so bossy.”

  You closed your eyes, inhaled slowly. “I just – I hate the thought of you thinking you're less than amazing just because you can't water bend.”

  For the first time in a long time, Sokka's breath caught in his throat. You heard it, the sharp little gasp that he tried to cover with a cough, failing miserably in the process. His eyes burned holes into the side of your head until you were all but forced to look at him, get a glimpse of what was going on behind the false emotions he put on show.

   He stepped forward and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Why do you care about me so much?”

   The question startled you, because the answer was obvious. It was a light constantly flashing in every word you said, a little kid yelling for attention – that was what you always set it up to be.

  “Because I love you,” you whispered, and maybe the words meant more than you let on, and maybe he knew, but he said nothing and you were okay with that.

  Sokka's eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. He was quiet. His hand drifted up, gently cupped your jaw, his thumb trailing beneath your eye and it was only then did you realise you were getting emotional. The tears were dotting your water line; you blinked to get rid of them, but they were already seen.

  Sokka smiled lightly. It wasn't much, barely a hint of what you knew he could show you, but you didn't complain. It looked real. It was real. You hadn't realised just how much you craved to see a genuine look of happiness on his face these past few days.

  “I'm sorry.”

  Your eyes snapped up. “What?”

  “I'm sorry,” he repeated, voice still soft, hand still pressed to your cheek. “I should be happy for you. You're a water bender – that's such a big deal, and all I could think about was the fact that I'm on my own now.”

  “You're not on your own.” The words were ripped from your chest, desperate.

  He chuckled breathily. “I know. I know that. Of course I know that, god, but I already felt so useless before – at least I could feel useless with you by my side.” He looked away, smile fading. “I can't do that any more.”

  “You're not useless. You've never been useless.” You reached up and pressed your hand over his own. His palm was firm against your cheek now, but his touch was still soft, still full of care. “Remember when we were younger, the night your mother died and your father went away?”

   Sokka stiffened. You gripped his fingers a little tighter, urging him not to let the memories whisk him away, urging him to stay with you.

  “Do you remember?” you whispered.

  Sokka bit his bottom lip, nodded anyway.

  “Katara was distraught. She was paralysed, Sokka, and you can't tell me she wasn't, because I saw her that night. I saw her curled up in the corner, rocking back and forth – and I saw you gathering up all of her stuff, grabbing the canned goods and the good fish. I saw you doing everything you could to make sure she was okay.” Your other hand came up and rested on his heart. “I see you nowadays, training and doing what you love, and I know you're gonna make this world a better place. You're gonna be part of the reason we finally find peace in the long-run. I know you are.”

  Sokka's heart raced beneath your fingers. His eyes never left your own. He didn't once step away from you; it was weirdly perfect. The weight of words could sometimes be crushing, but Sokka stood up straighter now, pulled up by the reassurance that he was enough, always would be enough, always had been enough.

  “Do you think Mum would be proud of me?” His voice cracked. Your heart shattered.

  “More proud than I will ever be able to tell you,” you whispered.

  “Are you proud of me?”

  Your breath hitched. “God, yes.”

     And he kissed you.

  Unexpectedly and unpractised but perfect in every sense of the word. His lips fit over yours, his nose brushing your own, his eyes fluttering closed once he realised that you wanted this just as much as him; it was a risk. Years upon years worth of friendship could be destroyed in a matter of seconds, but as soon as his lips met your own, as soon as his hands were curling over your waist and dragging you into him, you knew that couldn't happen because you and Sokka were different, and the world was just going to have to put up with that.

  Water exploded from the river, tiny droplets spilling over the trees and dousing you and Sokka, but neither of you pulled away. Sokka merely grinned against your mouth, water dripping from the point of his hair which had now fallen loose from the bun he always had it in. You giggled, breaking the kiss – Sokka had the nerve to groan at the disconnect.

  “That was you, wasn't it?” he whispered.

  You nodded, still grinning brighter than you ever had before. “I think so.”

   He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “My talented little water bender.”

[chnat0wn]

Black Irises

Relationship: Alfie Solomons/Original Female Character

Summary: Deborah meets her sweet, jewish boy she used to know. He is different now. He is a man. He changed when she left him. War changed him.

Alfie Solomons has a few rules. One of them says that no one is allowed to touch or even get near to his woman. Even though Deborah isn't his anymore, he still considers her his own property. 

tags: [young love, meeting after years, aggressive partner, angst and comfort]

AO3 LINK

00. The Beach

Deborah entered the building, which from the very beginning was the purpose of her journey. She caught Polly and Ada's attention. They were inside when she decided to disturb their peace in an extremely rapid way. She was breathing heavily and deeply, feeling the familiar, inevitable burning in her chest. The women watched her - they knew exactly why she came.

“Where is he?” she asked without hesitation. She only needed a few deeper breaths. Without waiting for any answer, she moved quickly to Tommy's office. She opened the door, using a little more force than she intended. The room was empty. “Where the fuck is he?”

Ada stood in the entrance to her older brother's office. She looked at Deborah and took a deep breath. She didn't say a word, instead she pursed her lips and followed Deborah, who was looking for one of the books in the desk. She counted on getting any information about the current location of Thomas Shelby as if she expected him to record the exact date and place of the planned revenge.

“Where are they, Ada?” she wailed desperately. She ran her fingers through her hair in a purely nervous gesture, and once again looked around the room. She hoped that Tommy would be at her side any minute, that she would be able to talk to him. “I know what Alfie did. I also know that he should be punished for this. But not this way, Ada. Not this way...” she spoke uncontrollably, having more and more problems with breathing. “He is a good man. Each of us has moments of weakness, don’t we? He just wanted... he had to find a way to...”

“Out of the pan and into the fire.” Ada interjected. “First, you believed that this fucking Italian-tyrant could change. That he'll stop beating the shit out of you.” she folded her arms and shook her head in disbelief. “Now you hope you can change Solomons. You justify everything he did. At least you try to justify that he agreed to kill Tommy.”

“He had no choice.” she protested, dropping her hands. They fell involuntarily. She knew that if she would stay here and have a senseless conversation with Ada, she wouldn't be able to do anything, she would lose her precious time.

“Sure, he had not.” she snorted. “I have helped you many times. Because you are my friend and I love you like my own sister. But I don't know if I can put my real family above your happiness. Which, by the way, you probably won't get. Not with someone like Solomons.”

Deborah's eyes welled up with tears. It happened often when she was falling into pieces, which was not a sign of weakness. Most often she cried when the pain was unbearable. Never out of helplessness, but now - completely involuntarily - she made an exception. At the thought of Tommy getting rid of Alfie at any moment, a mixture of negative feelings filled her to the brim. A mixture of negative feelings that she couldn't take with calmness.

Ada noticed a change on Deborah's face. At first she saw the uneasiness in her eyes. Now she could see the pain that distorted her smooth, pale visage.

“Listen, Debby. I don't know where he is. He rarely tells me about his destinations.” she said reproachfully. She could no longer look at how Deborah was falling apart from the overwhelming feeling, under the pressure from Ada.

“Formby Beach.” Polly interjected. The woman appeared out of nowhere. Although Deborah was aware that Polly is nearby, she was surprised by her sudden presence. She glanced at the smoldering cigarette, then at Polly's face. An expression of worry pierced her face. “You better be hurry. Tommy set off about ten minutes ago. And I don't think that anything will stop him from what he intends.” she said and brought the cigarette back to her mouth.

“Oh, God. Thank you so much, Pol.” Deborah approached the woman quickly, wrapped her arms around her neck, then laid a quick kiss on her cheek. Then, she left the building and bumped into Arthur. She looked at him, frowning.

“Good day, Debby girl!” he shouted.

“Not now, Arthur.”

 * 

“Ishmael” Deborah touched the man's forearm and pointed to a distant point. The view of the beach caused a piercing heat have through her body. She also saw three silhouettes – Tommy, Alfie and Cyril. “Stop the car.” she asked, and before Ishmael extinguished the engine, she opened the door. She fell out of the car and rushed roughly towards the beach. The weather seemed perfect – a light breeze blew the neck and cheeks of Deborah, and the high placed sun cast pleasantly warm rays. The sky was extremely blue and the sea exceptionally calm. She would stop, give more attention to everything that was around her if it was not for the task she gave herself. Tommy has chosen a beautiful day undoubtedly. Or that day favored his intentions. 

Tommy was aiming for Alfie. The weapon outlet was at the height of Alfie's face. Tommy was hesitating, which the casual person would not be able to see. Because Tommy didn't hesitate like other people; he didn't show uncertainty, he didn't consider the pros and cons. He was appeared determined, as someone who had already made the decision. But he delayed carrying out the task assigned to him by himself. Seeing all this, Deborah almost made a pitiful moan. At first she couldn't bring herself to make any sound, no matter how much she wanted to prevent Alfie from upcoming judgment. She heard that they were talking – if the conversation consisted of Alfie's one–sided monologue – but she couldn't catch specific words, the meaning of the speech. She was too far away, the blood was too loud in her ears.

“Stop it!” she screamed, realizing that it would be all over before she gets to the right place. “Put down the gun, Tommy. Please!” she added in one breath. She was in the habit of asking instead of ordering. Alfie often admonished her that she should be a bit tougher if she wants to survive. That she should treat men a bit harder.

They both looked at her. Alfie's face expressed surprise and horror Deborah had never seen before. Tommy looked indifferent, though she was able to see the movement of his jaw as he pursed his lips in dissatisfaction. She stood at the point between Alfie and Tommy. She brushed individual strands of hair from her face, breathing heavily. She stared at Tommy – she expected that he could use the moment of inattention and settle the matter as it should. She looked at Alfie, however.

“You shouldn't fucking be 'ere, right? You shouldn't get involved in 'his.” Alfie drawled. He was clearly offended by the fact that someone interrupted him with such an intimate experience as his own death.

“Shush!” she turned to him, raising her finger.

Deborah looked at Tommy again. She came to him slowly. The sand made it difficult to move, not to mention stepping up – she was shaking on her feet as the shoes were sinking in the soft, golden surface. She was like a child who was just learning how to walk. Besides, she felt unimaginably tired. She stepped up in front of Tommy, never taking her eyes off his face.

“Don’t do it.” she whispered pleadingly. “He deserved it after all he did. Except that I don't have a goddamn idea why he did it...” she glanced at Alfie with reproach, then returned to Tommy. “Let him live. Not for himself, but for me. For Benjamin.” she smiled crookedly, though her eyes filled with tears. After a moment, one of them ran down her cheek. “Otherwise, shoot me too.” she nodded decisively. 

Tommy looked away from Alfie and slowly moved it to Deborah. He hadn't been making exceptions, even if a woman asked him to do otherwise. If he had to avenge a family member or other important case, he was unstoppable. He didn't accept arguments or prayers. Still, something in Deborah's face meant that he would be able to consider it all again.

“Mphm... We can be together forever.” Alfie interjected. He was strangely calm, unmoved by the whole situation. “Somewhere else. In a better place. In Olam ha–ba.”

Deborah turned slowly and looked at him with a pain that didn't accompany her even when she was with her previous husband. She didn't understand his attitude. She didn't accept the words he said. She didn't believe he could talk to her that way. She didn't believe that he thought he could convince her this way. She looked at him with a distinct grief, as if she was angry with him. Alfie was close to looking away. But then he would show his weakness.

“You, sweetie” Alfie pointed at her. “you have yer fucking, perfect ending, eh?” he said. “Let me have mine. This 's exactly as I wanted it to be. You can leave, right. No need to watch.”

“You can't be serious.” she shook her head. She pursed her lips and looked away only for a moment. She looked at the sky over her head, closed her eyes and let the warm rays fall on her face, drowning in the golden light of the sun to gain strength. She looked at Alfie again. She sniffed and walked over to him, traveling twice as long as to Tommy. She stepped in front of a silhouette emitting extraordinary power, in front of the silhouette which she always felt safe with. Familiar warmth beat out of Alfie's body. The warmth she wanted to remember. That's why she approached him a few extra inches and placed her hands on his stomach, sliding them under the flap of his thick coat. Alfie raised his hand to her face. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and then he wiped another tear that fell down her face.

“Don’t say that. Don't do such a thing to me.” she whispered. Alfie looked at her with complete understanding. However, Deborah wasn't able to understand how he could be so calm. She knew why, since he chose such an end for himself. But she didn't know how he was managing it. “Don't do this to us.”

“Yeah. Our Benji.” he gasped expressionlessly. “He'll understand it.” he answered in the same tone as before. Deborah frowned with disbelief. “He's a big boy. And you acting like a little girl, aren't you?”

Alfie looked away and thrust his gaze into Tommy's face. As if he expected he would do what he came for. Deborah followed his glance, then raised her hands to his face and forced him to look at her. Only now did she notice the difficulty with which he looked into her eyes. He never had that big problem with it. He was usually self–confident, crushing her with his power, a hard, dominant gaze. It came naturally, he never wanted her to feel worse than him. But she felt that she should worship him. Go to her knees and pray to her own Lord and Savior, who Alfie was to her.

“Maybe he'll understand.” she replied, taking the same indifferent calm. She looked down just to gather her thoughts. She had to wonder if she should reveal a theory that had been bouncing off the walls of her mind for a long time. It was like a biting insect reminding her of its presence. “You can't take a father away from the children. Do you understand me, Alfie?” she asked, looking him in the eye again.

Alfie opened his eyes wider, frowned and raised his chin a bit, looking at Deborah from a different angle. He had never thought that he would be able to feel so many conflicting emotions. He wasn't stupid and he thought he knew what Deborah was talking about. Out of fear, he didn't allow himself this thought. If he was not mistaken, and Deborah's words were quite obvious, he was not ready for what was waiting for him.

“Fuck me...” he took a deep breath through his slightly parted lips. He raised his hands and covered Deborah's hands with them. He has always admired her beauty. For him, she was a rare masterpiece, the most precious gemstone. He was grateful that he had met her again, that he could be with her. But now he couldn't tell if he felt any happiness. He pursed his mouth, making one of the lip disappear somewhere under his mustache. He squeezed his eyelids as if some unidentified, exceptionally loud and troublesome noise disturbed his thoughts. Deborah saw a single, wet trail run through Alfie's cheek. He took an uneven breath and dropped to his knees, sliding his hands down Deborah's body. He buried his face in her stomach and embraced her, clinging her like a last resort. Deborah slipped her fingers into his hair and breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s all right, Alfie. It's over now.” she said quietly. “Everything will be fine.”

Alfie didn't believe her words. He knew that it has been better back then. And they probably never will be happier than they used to be. Their best times have passed, and attempts to come to terms with this thought have ended in failure. He couldn't see the future. And he didn't feel convinced about the positives of life, even when Deborah was with him. He felt even worse with the thought that once again he must bring her into the world that surrounded him. Such delicate, seemingly weak woman in his dangerous reality. He didn't want to think about raising children in this conditions. He knew what happened to Grace Shelby.

“We'll move to Margate. Just like in your visions.” she smiled slightly. She leaned over and kissed the top of Alfie's head. She glanced at Tommy, who was watching them. “You'll never see him again. He will never hurt your family. You have my word. Just let us go.”

It was said that Thomas Shelby had softened. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was less brutal, but he never lost his cunning and skill to solve problems. And this time he could see another way out of the situation.

“If he dares to threaten my family again, I will kill him. Without blinking. Understood?” he said, not even trying conviction. He just looked at Deborah, and he gave her no choice but to believe his words.

[sparkleywonderful]

The Prince of Deliverance  [Ch.15]

Part 15 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view.

Other chapters: The Prince of Ice

AO3

A/N: When reading this remember that Rowan is lost. He was already having a hard time with his newly found feelings, to the point that he snapped. He does not know what he feels for the girl and that scares the rutting hell out of him. Remember sometimes in life, not feeling is easier and the climb out of that pit is hell. At this point he is battling the choice to climb.

- - - - - - -

For weeks his emotions had been a jumbled mess. He was on a pendulum, from tearing her to shreds and then rescuing her. At one point he bit the girl and then smiled a true smile for the first time in centuries.

That damn girl.

However the past weeks were nothing in comparison to the past twelve hours. Significant words had been said both to him and by him and each one shook him to his very core. The lion and the old man had seen something in the girl. Everyone seemed to have seen something past the spoiled cowardly princess he saw.

He did not seek out the girl, maybe he was a coward, but he needed time and all they would do was scream. He paced the fortress grounds. He could not filter the cacophony of words racing through his mind.

Hope. You just left me. let go. Ashryver. Discredit her. Love. There is nothing that I can give you. Abandoned. Thank you for saving me. Coward. Nothing I want to give you. Carranam. Destroyed. Because I made a promise. A promise to my friend that I would see her kingdom freed. Princess. You are nothing to me. Perhaps Deanna and Mala weren’t always rivals. Prince. I do not care. Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life! Oh, you’d better run now. Know exactly how it’s done. Assassin. Lyria. Aelin. Just live. A better world.

His body brought him to the ruins of the temple. He felt a warmth that he had not felt since the skinwalkers. He kneeled towards the sun and before he could even utter a prayer, his mind started to focus as the wind whispered, Let go.

He was so sure he knew the message Gavriel was trying to give him during the early hours of the morning, but now he questioned what Gavriel meant. Did he mean to let go of his past or his need for control? Maybe both, as they were now intertwined.

He could let go of the pain, for himself, for Lyria, for the girl, he could let go.

She's the first person to reach you, let her.

The lion was right, she had somehow reached him. If he let go, if he released the control he had, would she pull him out of the darkness? Did he deserve it? Could he live outside the darkness?

He almost laughed, the prince of ice and wind prayed to the goddess of sunlight and fire. Even in his prayers he turned to a source of light.

He would learn to let go.

If I sit in the darkness of my loss, I discredit her memory, I reject the love she gave me.

Was he disgracing the love Lyria had for him? He knew she would hate what he had become. Even with his failure, she would have never wanted this life for him. This was not even a life, this was survival.

He had spent years focused on his shame. Wanting to shoulder the pain and the scars as proof that he was paying for the sins he'd committed. In his payment he was discrediting her love of him.

No expectations, no titles, no assumptions.

All of these ideals were getting in the way. He had expectations and was disappointed every single time she failed to meet them. So he pushed her harder, pushed her down.

He grew frustrated with the princess. He expected her to behave like a princess. In the end it was only a title, not who she was. She stopped being a princess ten years ago when her kingdom fell on its knees to a bastard king.

He held back because he was bloodsworn, a commander, a prince.

The other title he feared for what it meant. His magic was attracted to that wildfire, danced in his veins every time she used it. He knew the bond they shared, but for now they didn't need it. He needed to train her before they reached that point. They needed to trust each other.

He had made assumptions about the girl, never asking her. He assumed he knew what her life had been. Never questioning what in her past inhibited her growth and fed her fears. Never questioning the scars or what hell she survived to get them.

He also needed to let go of the expectations, titles, and assumptions.

She has no hope left in her heart.

Hope. How could the girl have lost all hope? The girl was hope. For two centuries he had survived in darkness. He wandered day by day alone filling his Queen’s wishes, spinning her webs. In that time he had come across countless mortals and immortals, none had cracked through the darkness that surrounded him.

Then she came and started to cracked through his walls in a day. That was half the reason he hated her.

The little people had known, had blessed her. The old man had known and supported her. The lion had seen something as well.

Mala had guided him to her, for him to save her from a death at the hands of the skinwalkers.

And Maeve. She wanted something from the girl, needed something. Anyone aside from Lorcan could have trained the girl, why him?

Carranam. His aunt knew that they were Carranam.

If he and Lorcan could level a city, what could they do when they were magically bound?

The winds whispered, A better world.

He silently dreamed of a better world. A place where innocents did not suffer, a world where warriors like himself were not needed. He prayed to the gods that had forsaken them for a world that was not dark and cruel.

They could forge a better world. She could wield the fire of that forging. He could give her the skills necessary to forge that world.

A warmth he had never felt before flooded his body. He silently thanked the goddess, he had no doubt that the goddess had guided the words whispered to the winds.

He needed to find Luca. It was a crazy idea, but it could work. They were beyond the normal master-disciple training saga, crazy was all he had left.

The boy’s sad eyes told him enough, “Do you think she doesn't really care?”

She had saved them from the skinwalkers. She made a friend a promise and she would go to her death if it meant fulfilling it. She ensured that they burned the body of a nameless Demi-fae. She glowed at the healers compound. She broke through a barrier that scared her in the hope to learn more about the creature killing others.

“No, I think she cares too much.”

He looked at the young Demi-fae, broken and rejected because he was not what his kind viewed as pure. Rejected by his mother and her peoples because he was part monster.

Help her. If not for her sake, then at least for what she represents – what she could offer all of us, you included.

A better world, for not only him, but those like Luca. Demi-fae that bore scars, their sole sin was being conceived.

He needed to know what happened in that kitchen, what caused an old man to speak out and a boy to grieve, “What happened?”

Luca told him everything in great detail. Did he always talk this much?

You are nothing to me. I do not care.

And there it was, those words. It was then that he knew, they were of the same damaged ilk. He did this, he caused her to snap.

“How do we help her?”

“I have an idea, and you will not like it.”

He explained his idea to Luca. She had control, at least some when another life was at risk. If Luca said no, he would need another plan.

“So let me get this right, freezing me to a lake in chains is going to help her?”

“She'll need to use her powers to free you from the lake.”

“I'll help.”

He internally smiled as they gathered supplies and the boy followed him to the cave.

He no longer needed to walk the world alone. He knew he would always belong to Maeve, but he could be that catalyst the world needed. He could help the source that would light the world for a better one. He could help rebuild the world with hope instead of covering killing fields in blood. And maybe, just maybe he could be proud of the role he would play.

And if in answer, the winds around him whispered a name. Fireheart.

Other chapters: The Prince of Ice

[jupiterdrabbles]

The Oracle

Even after the defeat of Calamity Gannon, the world remained paranoid. So many times had they defeated the evil, and so many times had it come back. The legends melted away after the fall of the champions one hundred years ago, and the citizens of Hyrule could no longer turn to them for guidance.

So, they turned to you.

Or: Gender-neutral reader is an Oracle. The power has been passed down for generations and it lays upon them. They can feel something dark laying over Hyrule, but Calamity Gannon is long since defeated. Can they find it in time?

You can also read this on my ao3, here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/27370954/chapters/66885385#main

Reblogs are always insanely appreciated.

Chapter One.

Even after the defeat of Calamity Ganon, the world remained paranoid. So many times had they defeated the evil, and so many times had it come back. The legends melted away after the fall of the champions one hundred years ago, and the citizens of Hyrule could no longer turn to them for guidance.

So, they turned to you.

From a very young age, you always knew something was different. You could never quite place or understand the feeling, but sometimes when making important decisions or choosing what to say, a gentle prodding made its way up your skull. ‘This one! This is right, this is the way.’ Echos of affirmation in an oddly familiar voice that no one else could hear. But, it always seemed to help those in need, so you were keen to listen.

One day, when you were no older than ten years old, your parents had a stranger come into the house. She wore all white, with a thin veil covering her eyes. She met your gaze, and you knew.

You were the same. On some level deep down you resonated with each other. You had something in common that was so engrossed in who you were that it sent shivers through your body. The voice reverberated louder, calling her to you and you to her. She stretched out her hand, palm up, and you put yours in hers. A bright light swallowed you, and everything became clear. You finally knew.

You were an Oracle.

—————

You sat in Hyrule castle, at the left hand of the Queen. Your robes were loose and light, that same white color as the woman who gave you your answer nearly a decade ago. You kept your head bowed as Queen Zelda addressed her court, Link at her right. They were currently discussing the reconstruction of Hyrule, what with a century of abandonment to many of its cities and people. Ever since this meeting had begun, there had been a buzzing in the back of your skull. It spread around your scalp and pulsed at your temples, but you fought back the urge to put your head into your hands. You were currently surrounded by the ambassadors of the different domains and remaining civilizations, you had to remain proper. Besides, it was most likely just a headache from staying awake long into the morning hours with Zelda, reading and studying about the years that had transpired while she was trapped with Ganon, and before you were born.

Zelda often keeps you and Link by her side. While you had known the Queen for a significantly less amount of time than the champion had, you had bonded over the shared burden of having a divine power bestowed upon you from a young age. In your time with Link, he had taught you simple defense maneuvers. As the Oracle, almost all of your concentration had to be in the present, focusing on harnessing any sign or signal you could grab onto to help decipher the coming days or even years. He fretted enough about Zelda not being able to fight on her own, but now that he had two incredibly important people to guard, he felt he was going to have a heart attack. You weren’t given a weapon- many were too heavy or didn’t sit right in your hands, with the added fact that you really weren’t supposed to wield anything that could hurt you in return (keeping your body whole was apparently a big part of the job). Link taught you pressure points and how a two-fingered jab to the right place could bring even Lizalfols to the ground. He promised he’d be at your back in an instance, but it made him and you more confident with some experience under your belt.

The buzzing grew louder and stronger with every passing minute, and you shifted to tuck your feet in on the seat of your chair to ball yourself in tighter. The haze that normally accompanied oncoming migraines wasn’t present, so you shoved it aside and blamed it on exhaustion. You tried to listen past the incessant noise, and to Zelda’s words.

“Even with Ganon defeated, some of the Malice it left behind continues to scorch the land. It isn’t hard to combat, but we will need a large group to cover all of the domains.” Zelda spoke, fingers interlaced atop the table. “Link recommended a force of five for each pool, as some of them can build and expel monsters out of nowhere.” Link nodded at her side, arms folded across his chest. He brought his hands forward to speak, fingers fluttering.

“They aren’t difficult and won’t do much damage to your person- but they are quiet. It’s always helpful to have someone watching your back.” He signed, an interpreter relaying his words towards the other end of the table. The ambassadors nodded, and a Zora woman raised her hand to speak.

“We have stationed guards along different trade routes to ease the journey of the travelers coming to our domain, and there have been reports of Malice pools growing from the ground. I believed they were isolated to the Divine Beasts and to the different shrines and towers. Do you know why they are coming about?”

You looked up to her, and a lump caught in your throat. The way herred scales glimmered in the remaining sunlight was painstakingly familiar, and the more you looked the more the lump grew. It had been the only time you’d raised your gaze the entire meeting, and she- as well as some other ambassadors- took notice. She met your gaze and offered a small smile.

And that’s what did it.

You let out a sharp gasp and clutched at the fabric in front of your chest, all the pain in your head suddenly shooting down to your heart. It felt like something was strangling the organ, a tight grip that squeezed and pulled and hurt. Your vision began to black out as you heard voices all around you. Someone put their hand on your shoulder and another barked at them to stop, leave them be!

The pain in your chest spread through your shoulders and back, down your spine and arms and back up to your skull. Your throat burned like you had been swallowing saltwater and nausea crept into your belly. You saw red, a bright crimson in your peripheral vision fading into blue, into brown. You heard the roar of a Divine Beast and felt it’s anguish. The ground shook with it’s fury and your vision cleared. You looked up and found yourself in the Zora domain, soaked through and surrounded by fleeting citizens. You stayed still, watching in awe as Vah Ruta rampaged through the domain, the marble and stone cracking beneath its feet. It stomped over the throne and it crumbled beneath its weight like a mushroom. The water at your bare feet turned red and sticky with blood, and Vah Ruta turned its massive head to you.

You met its eyes as its trunk lifted high into the air, a ball of energy building between its tusks. You were frozen in place, fear rooting you in your spot as you stared down a machine that easily aided in the defeat of Calamity Ganon. It whirred menacingly and fired at you. The screams and cries silenced, there was nothing left but the beam. Blue and white flooded your vision, then red again. So much red that it faded into black, only two glowing eyes remained. Ganon’s eyes. It gurgled in the silence and unhinged its mouth, pure Malice dripping onto the floor and onto you. You cried out as it burned your hands, and you watched in horror as it spread up your arms and chest. You were covered in Malice- no, the entire world was covered, infected, and dying slowly beneath the surface. And all it took was one pool near the far terminal in Vah Ruta. You blinked the pain away as you traveled with the Malice, one with it now. You saw it tearing apart wires and cogs beneath the surface, reworking the machine to how it saw fit. All it took was one beast, and the world would decay.

Something grabbed your wrist and pulled you from the Malice, and when you crumpled with exhaustion they caught you. They held you and rubbed your back as you sobbed into their shoulder. A hand pressed between your shoulder blades and warmth followed.

Look at your hands, they said into your ear. A girl’s voice, a slight lilt underneath her tone. It’s going to be okay, you can go home.

You brought your hands into your vision, and saw the Malice fading away along with a soft blue light. You peeled away from her shoulder and looked into the eyes of Mipha. Her expression was tense and filled with worry.

If Vah Ruta loses control, then the world will crumble. She spoke softly, taking your hands into hers. I am afraid I won’t be able to calm her, please- tears pricked at her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.

Find my brother.

You open your eyes to find yourself on the floor. The light burned your eyes, and the shape of Zelda above you was blurred and fuzzy. She called out your name in relief, helping you sit up.

“Are you alright- what happened? Do you need a medic!?” She fretted, and you shook your head. Your hands were also shaking, and you would guess your entire body was trembling by the way the ambassadors were looking at you. They stood at a distance, and you learned why as you looked up at Link. He was stood up with his back to you and Zelda, sword drawn and in a slight crouch. You guessed when you collapsed the ambassadors and guards rushed to your aid, only to be stopped when the Champion took your guard. You would have to thank him later, but there were more important matters.

Ignoring Zelda’s questions and worries, you leaned up and grabbed Link’s hand. He spun around immediately, eyes wide. He knelt to your level, hand never leaving his sword.

“We- we need to-“ Your voice shook as you stuttered, and groaned in frustration as the words almost refused to come out of your mouth. Link’s eyes were patient, but you looked down to break his gaze. “Vah Ruta, the Domain- we need to go there, immediately.” You sucked in a breath as you tried not to hyperventilate, panic seeping into your skin as you remembered the blood-slick floors. “Vah Ruta is going to loose control and- and attack the Domain.”

Gasps of shock rang throughout the room, and tension quickly began to build. The ambassadors rushed to speak to each other.

“Vah Ruta? But didn’t the Queen fix it after the Calamity!?”

“My home- my domain! What are we going to do?”

“How is this happening? Is it an omen?”

A Rito ambassador knelt beside Link, who gave him a side eye and clutched the sword tighter. The bird took no notice, all of his attention on you.

“Will the remaining Beasts also rampage? Do we need to be prepared as well?” He demanded, panic thick in his voice. Before you could answer, his panic was well shared.

“The rest of the Divine Beasts?! Oh, Goddess!”

“If Vah Naboris rampages again, Gerudo Town will crumble!”

“Oracle, what did you hear- what did you see!?”

“Please, what is going to happen?”

“Are we doomed again? Is Ganon coming back-“

“Enough!” Zelda cried, standing sharply as her voice cut through the room. They all turned to face her, wide eyed and scared. She took a breath and smoothed out her dress before addressing them again.

“The gift of Foresight is an exhausting one, please allow them to collect themselves before answering your onslaught of questions! Clearly it was a traumatic experience, as they were shaking and sobbing not minutes ago!” She declared, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks. Shaking and sobbing? Oh, what a first impression on some of the most important people in the four domains. Zelda held out her hand to you, snapping you out of your embarrassment and helped you stand. Her hand then came to your shoulder and turned you away from them and across the room. She waved for Link to follow. She held both of your arms as she walked to face you directly, Link at her shoulder.

“Alright,” She said, sighing. “Honestly, they had no right swarming you like they did.”

“It’s alright, your Highness. I’m sure I would do the same in their position, hearing something as startling as a Divine Beast losing control and running through a domain.” You folded your hands and held them near your stomach, trying to ground yourself. “I should go and explain my vision, they need to-“

“No,” Link signed, his first two fingers and thumb pinching together. “They will only stress you out more, you’re already unwell.”

“But they need to know! We need to travel to the Domain as soon as possible!” You furrowed your brow as you spoke. “It’s going to happen soon, and the Zora need to-“

“That’s why I will tell them, and you go rest as much as you can.” Zelda said calmly, rubbing your arm in a soothing motion. “Tell me what you saw, and I’ll relay the information so you and Link can start getting ready. You’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“You won’t be coming?” Link asked, and Zelda shook her head.

“Hyrule still needs a leader. I can talk to you both through the Slate, and offer any assistance you may need.”

You bit at the corner of your lip. The air felt heavy and your chest was still tight from the lingering effects of your vision. Zelda was right though, as she always was. You needed to prepare.

“...alright,” You whispered, and they turned back to you. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course. Now sit down and give me just a moment.” Zelda led you back to where you were sitting before and you eased yourself onto the cushion. You tucked into yourself as the ambassadors looked at you, feeling like a luminous stone at midnight under their gaze. Zelda gathered their attention and began to explain what would happen, that they should return to their rooms until called down to hear the explanation, and Link stood in front of you.

“You have no reason to be nervous, it will just be me and Zelda.”

“I’m not nervous.” You countered, looking up at him. “I’m just-“

“You are, and it’s okay.” He interrupted, and your mouth clipped shut. “There’s nothing wrong with it, but I want you to know you’ll be safe. I’d never let anything near you that wasn’t welcome.”

“I saw that earlier,” You chuckled, and a soft smile spread across Link’s face as well. “You had your sword out and everything, it’s like you were staring down a hoard of Bokoblins.” You playfully jabbed at his stomach, which he sidestepped with ease.

“It almost was, you should’ve seen the Gerudo. She almost grabbed you herself.” You giggled a little, covering your mouth. When your laughter subsided, you looked at him seriously.

“Thank you. For- for always protecting me. I’m sorry if I put any more stress on you, you deserve a break after fighting the calamity.” He waved you off, scoffing slightly.

“Believe me, this is a vacation. I can’t stand still for the life of me, much less take a vacation. Can you imagine me, relaxing? It doesn’t fit right.” He made a face of disgust and stuck his tongue out. You smiled fondly.

“You’re right, it doesn’t. But any moment you need to take a break or even just sleep in a little longer, do so. I don’t want you burning yourself out on my account.”

“I think I took enough of a nap when I was in the Shrine of Resurrection, don't you think?”

You shrugged, not knowing exactly what to say in response. Link was stubborn, and getting him to budge on anything was hard, but especially hard when it came to his health. You have had small blips of visions where Link was bleeding profusely or otherwise severely wounded but he kept going. You knew he would get nightmares of the calamity as you would get them too. Part of the glamorous life of an Oracle was near magical empathy, you could see and hear what someone was going through and live in that struggle. It wasn’t something you loved, in fact sometimes it felt like an invasion of privacy, but sometimes it led to you helping those you cared for. You had talked to Link about his dreams and he opened up to you a little. The burden was worth it in the end, but you wished you could do more. Link and you continued to chat softly, and soon enough Zelda came back. Her smile was strained, and you swallowed hard.

“So,” She began, clearing her throat. “They aren’t exactly thrilled with the fact that it won’t be coming from you directly, but they will live on” She looked back to where the door was swinging shut, the ambassadors now being escorted to their respective chambers. Hyrule Castle was one of the first things to be rebuilt, and more rooms and space was added for Hylian citizens to seek shelter in while the Kingdom was being rebuilt. It truly was a beautiful building, now that it was reformed to its proper glory.

“Are you ready? We can take this slow.” She asked, and you nodded. She brought out her Sheikah Slate and opened a feature that allowed her to take notes, and looked to you to begin.

“I- I was in the Zora domain. They were all fleeing rapidly, and shoving past me. Normally, when I have these visions, I can phase through what I need to in order to find what I need, but-“ Your hands shook again, and you squeezed them together. “I was really there, I felt them knock into me. It’s never been like that before.

“Many were injured, some were dead, but no one was stopping. I looked up and Vah Ruta was in the domain, thrashing about and destroying many of the pillars and making its way to the throne room, where I was.”

“It wasn’t in the dam anymore? How could that happen?” Link asked, bewildered. You shook your head.

“I don’t know. I only saw it coming towards me, and then it-“ You held onto your neck, pressing into your muscles to ease the tension. “It fired it’s laser- the one it shot at Ganon. I think I- I might’ve died, there.”

Zelda clapped a hand over her mouth. The scalding hot feeling faded back into your chest where Vah Ruta had aimed, and you cleared your throat.

“Then, when the world went dark, I was a part of the malice. I saw it corrupting the inside of Vah Ruta before Mipha pulled me out and healed me. She said she could no longer rein in the Beast, I think she’s been struggling for a while. Then-“ You looked up at Link, who met your gaze with an intense expression.

“Then she told me to find her brother. I don’t know why, but when the Zora ambassador talked about Malice pools growing, that’s what shot me into the vision. I think- I think she’s right. I was a part of the Malice after Vah Ruta shot me, so that means-“

“Others might be too.” Zelda finished. “Those who were slain might have gotten sucked into the Malice and developed with it, that’s why it’s getting stronger.” She faced away for a moment, lost in thought. “This is… worrying, to say the least.” You nodded, and rubbed your face.

“I’m so sorry, I wish I knew more.”

“No, you’ve done so much.” Zelda reassured, taking your hands away from your face. “Without you, we wouldn’t know this was even happening. Now,” She pressed a kiss to your forehead and helped you stand. “Go and rest, I’ll talk with the captain of the guard and the ambassadors. Link,” She turned to him. “Don’t let anyone stop you on your way. Make sure they get to their room safe.” Link nodded in return and took your arm. Zelda waved, and turned to a guardsman not too far off.

Link walked with you, slower than his usual pace to match yours. He brought his arm away from yours for a moment to sign something to you.

“We can’t both use the travel gates at once, so we’ll be going on horseback. It won’t be an incredibly long journey, but I would bring clothes you would be comfortable riding in.” He explained.

“Shouldn’t we leave now? We would get there by noon tomorrow if we went straight there.” You spoke softly, and Link thought for a moment.

“I’m not sure about that. We’ll have to go through a lot of diplomacy as soon as we arrive, you need to be well rested and recovered after what happened.” He said, a frown creasing in his face. “What if you have another vision at the Domain? You’d be exhausted.”

“Link, please.” You took his hand, and moved your veil to look at him directly. Your hair fell from under your hood, and a slight flush moved it’s way up to Link’s ears. You never took off the veil and hood, it was a sign of protection from false guidance or spirits. He’s never seen your face without it. “I won’t be able to sleep even if we wait, let alone rest. I’ll go mad knowing we waited any longer than needed- people are going to die, Link.” You pleaded, and you felt his resolve begin to crumble. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“...fine. Fine, alright. But we’ll be taking one horse so you can sleep on the way, pack only what you truly need. We can get food there during the journey.” You smile up at him, full of gratitude. You lift your hood back up and your face and rush forward to hug him tightly. The feeling is foreign to both you and him, Link not being incredibly touchy and you really weren’t supposed to touch people at all- keeping yourself pure and without too deep attachments that could risk severing your connection to the goddess and spirits.

“Thank you.” You murmur into his chest, and let go afterwards. You adjust your robes, unable to meet his eye. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes, where should I meet you?”

“I’ll come gather you. I don’t think you know where the stables are.” He said, a bit of snark on his face. He was right, you didn’t, but he didn’t have to be smart about it. You shove him off and race to your quarters as well as one can when wearing floor length robes that draped and flowed nearly everywhere.

As soon as you closed your door, you went to your wardrobe. You pulled a pair of trousers that weren’t so loose on you and set them on your mattress, as well as a warm tunic and a pair of gloves. You grabbed a pair of opal earrings Link had given to you a while back, he said they had some sort of magical property hidden within that made it easier to swim and climb in the rain. All of your clothes were some form of white or cream color to symbolize your purity and power, but in instances like this it made it more difficult to have proper outdoors attire. Well, you guess that many people when thinking of an Oracle don’t think of horseback riding and trudging through rough terrain.

You removed your hood and veil once more, stripping off your robe and shirt underneath before your boots and pants. You pulled on the outfit you laid out, replacing your silk gloves with the leather ones and putting the earrings through. Your hood and veil were returned and you got on your knees to reach under your bed.

You honestly had no reason to hide this anymore, you knew only Zelda, Link and the only maid you’ve spoken to were allowed in your room and they wouldn’t judge or criticize you for it, but old habits die hard. You pull the small wooden box into your lap and unlatch it, smiling fondly at what laid inside.

It was a simple necklace on a thin chain and didn’t have much design. You didn’t wear much jewelry, and if you did it wasn’t often, but you almost never wear this for a completely different reason. You’d probably keel over and die on the spot if you lost it, or it was broken. The pendant that lay on the chain was in the shape of a star, four points that thinned out as they went with a small quartz stone in the center. The back of the pendant had your name engraved, followed by “Forever in our sky”. It had been a gift from your mother before you left to begin your training and honing your ability. The teachers and guides had tried to take it from you, saying that you must leave everything behind to serve your greater purpose, but you hid it. You figured your family wouldn’t keep you from serving the goddess and you were right. You clipped it on and slid it beneath your tunic before standing and grabbing your satchel that you came here with.

In it you slid a pouch of rupees, two Hasty Elixirs (Link insisted on you taking them, in case you ever needed to run away from a battle.) and your spare set of prayer robes in case you would need them. You walked over to where your altar table was laid out and gathered the few gemstones that laid out in the corners, as well as the small crystal sphere you would roll between your palms to aid with smaller visions. You looked out over your room to confirm you weren’t missing anything, and slid your boots back onto your feet. You opened the door and was met with Link reaching to knock. You sniggered, and stepped aside. He sat on the bed and you shut the door.

“Got everything?” He asked, and you nodded. He had changed out of his Champion’s tunic and into a red and black one you haven't seen before. A full quiver of arrows and a black bow rested above the darkness-sealing sword. He had a satchel as well, presumably for more arrows or weapons. He always liked to be prepared.

“I left a note for Zelda for when she comes looking for us in the morning. Hopefully she won’t be too angry.”

“She will live on.” You said, mimicking her words from earlier which got a smirk out of Link. He turned and pointed to a trapdoor on your ceiling that you hadn’t noticed until this moment.

“We’ll go through the attic and jump down onto the walkway beneath. There’s an old railroad system beneath the castle that will take us to the main gate and out.” He signed, hands moving almost quicker than you can read. “It won’t be easy.”

“Then let’s get going.” Your voice was full of determination, and you moved a bedside table underneath the trapdoor. “You go up first and then help me, you’re taller.”

“Man, I knew I liked you.”

You clung onto Link’s waist as he urged his horse on over the bridge and into the woods. You looked over the night sky and the dwindling candlelight through the castle windows. “I’m sorry, Zelda,” You whispered, “But I can’t wait any longer.” You put your head on Link’s shoulder and closed your eyes, hoping to catch some sleep before hell broke loose.