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you-know-honey · 1 year ago

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𝕯𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘

Chapter I:ℜ𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔶 𝔇𝔞𝔶

Sodo/Dewdrop x fem!reader

Summary: Copia summons a new nameless ghoul

Word Count: 1977

Note: bad english, i'm new to this whole ghost thing, correct me if i'm wrong on anything, I will use a name for the protagonist for more practicality.

Chapter II...→

The place was devoured by darkness, thunder rumbled outside the abbey like cries from heaven in response to profane acts, the wind hit the stained glass windows and lightning illuminated them with a flash of light, stained glass windows that reflected images of Baphomet and other demons. . Regarding Cardinal Copia, his face seemed extremely serious, something unusual for him but the situation warranted it. In each corner of a pentagram were each Ghoul and Ghoulette, the tools of the ritual. It would be an important night, a gift for the group, a refreshing element for the world.

Copia looked up at the sky, looking behind the glass dome above their heads at the moon obscuring the sun, the time had come, he walked down the stairs towards the group, with a light touch to the ground and the gunpowder ignited, burning powerful and bright, until completing the figure of a pentagram connecting with each Ghoul. The group placed their instruments in front of them, giving each other a supportive look.

Montain set the rhythm with the drums, Cumulus took the keyboard with Cirrus, Swiss and Aurora started the singing, Phantom activated his rhythm guitar, Rain shone with his bass and Sodo showed off his guitar. The instrumental flooded the chapel, the melody reverberated in every foundation and made the place shake. The ritual had a single motive, a single need, each Ghoul gave his best, letting some of his essence flow over the fire, calling one of his own, inviting whatever responded on the other side to come out of the darkness and join them.

"Belial, Behemoth, Beelzebub" Cardinal Copia sang, calling to the great leaders, asking for a demon from among his legions "Asmodeus, Satanas, Lucifer"

The place was filled with abysmal and intelligible murmurs, beings from the other side of the pentagram observing from the shadows without daring to cross the threshold. Copia looked proud and excited like a child to feel so many presences present with him, all interested in her vocation. Lightning fell around the Ministry with more force than before, attracted by the power, Swiss and Aurora began their prayers, in a language that only the creatures of the abyss could understand.

A murmur rose from everyone, a shiver ran through the body of all the Ghouls, something had answered the call and had crossed.

Thick black smoke emerged from the gunpowder and condensed into a humanoid figure with no fixed features other than shining fangs. He made small jumps inside the pentagram from one side to the other, looking (if you can put it that way) at each of the ghouls, analyzing them with amusement.

He danced with small childish leaps from one to another, from air to earth, from earth to quintessence, from quintessence to water. She tried to get closer to Sodo, the fire demon. He showed her fangs and the small cloud of smoke walked away scared, it was clear that she didn't want another Fire Ghoul and honestly one was more than enough. She snuck between Montain's drum set cymbals, breaking her personal space several times to check her height in amazement, the ghoul couldn't help but smile nervously.

Cirrus and Cumulus greeted the entity excitedly, letting out small laughs to get its attention. The figure floated towards them and smiled back, playing with the cloaks on their shoulders. She briefly made eye contact with Rain, but out of shyness it wasn't long before the ghoul looked away from her. The specter laughed softly and danced around Phantom a little, plucking the strings of his acoustic guitar with his ethereal hand. Swiss and Aurora laughed at the scene, enjoying seeing how the humanoid being seemed delighted with everyone present, both demons rubbing shoulders in complicity.

Cardinal Copia was excited, this was his first ritual to summon Ghouls from hell, although he somewhat regretted Sodo's bitter attitude, he counted on the others and especially the Ghoulettes to give a good welcome.

The figure took one more turn and his laughter echoed like a child. He returned to the center of the pentagram, looking at the eclipse behind the dome, and raised his hands to the sky, as if he could touch the moon. One after another drops of cold rain began to fall quickly, until they almost became a sea on the ministry, the figure smiled and turned towards Aurora, the latter tensed immediately and one shiver after another crossed her back. The air began to get cold and become salty, capable of hurting the nose when inhaling, everyone could feel it, even demons like Sodo so carried away in their element felt cold, the type that you can only find if you get lost in space or in the last circle of the hell.

Aurora took a step back. The band's instrumental was accompanied by a piano and an energetic female voice, the humanoid figure approached Swiss and extended his hand.

"Hello" the figure greeted before a group of lightning fell again, filling the entire room with absolute white, extinguishing the infernal fire and thus ending the ritual.

Everything returned to darkness after such a dramatic birth, Cardinal Copia applauded excitedly and the lights turned on showing a strange lump covered with a thin and opaque black fabric, a hand with shiny black enamelled nails peeking out of it.

The ghouls avoid the gaze of the lump on the ground, somewhat uncomfortable and extremely tired. But Cardinal Copia waited to see the slightest movement to ensure that the ritual had gone perfectly.

The lump trembled with a movement similar to a first breath.

"Okay, everyone out." announcement, the Cardinal "It's time to find out what they have sent us from hell"

The group's rib cage calmed and a huge sigh of relief escaped everyone's lips. Cirrus and Cumulus crossed their fingers, it was no secret that since Aurora's arrival no girl ghoul had arrived. The ghoul area needs more feminine energy.

"Swiss, can you wait outside?" Copia asked him.

Like owl heads, the group looked at Swiss waiting for his response. Even the disinterested Montain had turned to look.

"Yes," he responded with the firmest tone he could fake.

Aurora approached and pulled one of her sleeves, she didn't have to speak, her concern was obvious. The last time it had been Aether who had stayed at the ritual to bring Phantom. Aether never came back.

Swiss approached Aurora's ear in a hug. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, trying to calm her agitated essence.

The ghoulette didn't believe him, clearly. But I trust him, because Swiss never lied.

Inside, Swiss's soul wanted to run after them, but his duty prevented him from showing that kind of rebellion.

He turned to the Cardinal, this walk way towards Swiss handing him a shiny new helmet, accompanied by the usual uniform.

Copia crouched in front of the bundle, lifting the fabric a little to discover what it was hiding, squinting in case everything had failed, giving it more suspense. The figure trembled and both Copia and Swiss took a few steps back.

Little by little the figure stood up, showing a wild tangle of short black hair from which two small black horns with white tips protruded, its tail uncoiled from around its leg and waved behind its back, its hands holding the blanket to avoid being naked.

"She's a she," Swiss sighed with the air contained in his lungs and his lower lip slightly fallen.

"Wonderful" Copia pronounced with some pride, the girl raised her head quickly and the Cardinal was met with a gaze of coal-black pupils and eyelids that contrasted with the glaucous blue of his irises, the creature opened its mouth showing its fangs, perhaps to speak but I don't breathe out any words.

Swiss knocked after the Cardinal, a sign that he should start talking before everything became awkward.

"Do you want to get dressed?" Copia asked in a friendly tone. The girl nodded and the Cardinal nudged Swiss lightly to hand the package to the demon.

Her eyes lit up when he saw her clothes and without shame he completely dropped her blanket, amazed by everything he had before her. Swiss immediately looked at the ceiling and prayed to Satan that Copia had done the same. The lack of what they called modesty was normal in new ghouls, small details that lost importance in hell.

"It would be ideal if you could start with the pants," suggested Copia who had turned around.

They heard the fabric slide down her legs, the metal buttons clicked as she pushed them into the buttonholes of her pants, the next time she put her feet on the ground it was with the boots, giving her a few extra inches of height.

She continued dressing, tucking the Victorian-sleeved blouse into her arms and securing the vest to her body. She looked at herself for a few minutes, satisfied with her appearance.

"Already?" Copia asked, who had turned around with a hand over his eyes, he seemed somewhat uncomfortable or self-conscious about the situation.

"Yes" A feminine and friendly voice answered him.

Copia looked through his fingers to make sure before removing his hand from his face and remembering that he had a script to follow and had to start as soon as possible.

"Ahem…" He cleared his throat and began to speak. Swiss stood silently next to he, holding her helmet. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Yes" replied with a timid tone.

"You are here to be part of Ghost, to help me with your talent to bring the message of the Clergy to the whole world, do you understand that?" The young woman nodded "Do you understand that you are not indispensable and can be replaced if you become a stone in my way to fulfill my mission?" That was the part of Copia that he hated the most because he tended to get more attached to his ghouls and ghoulettes than he should, the punishment of returning to hell was too great for small delusions of fame or prominence, that is, he had forgiven Sodo several of those but He remembered that that was the reason why Papa Emeritus III had been taken out of circulation.

"I understand, sir." He pronounced as seriously as the situation warranted. "My only duty is to help you fulfill your duty to the Clergy and bring our Lord's message to the world."

The girl walked forward, face to face with Cardinal Copia. Now came the fun part, Copia took the helmet from Swiss's hands and placed it on the girl's head, thus sealing the 'contract'.

"Well…I…" Copia took a moment to remember the next step. "What's your name?"

"Aesir, sir," she responded quickly, almost over the Cardinal's question.

"Well…Aesir, the third quintessence ghoul" He raised his voice, proclaiming. "Welcome, dear" Copia lost the threatening and vehemently image that she had maintained until then, when she gave Aesir a warm welcome hug.

The girl seemed happy to have that hug but Swiss was sweating cold.

"He's one of your companions, Swiss," Copia said and the demon approached and extended his hand towards her.

"Hello," Aesir took Swiss's hand, shaking it in greeting.

"Swiss" I call Copia.

He sighed, afraid of the next words the Cardinal might say.

"Could you take Aesir with the others?" The ghoul's mouth opened a little in surprise, he was expecting farewell words "The girls will be very happy to see another female face in the pavilion."

Swiss smiled with deep relief and nodded. "Yes, Cardinal." He directed the girl to the door. "After you," he offered chivalrously.

"Oh, Aesir," Copia called. "If there is any problem, don't hesitate to tell me. In cases of emergencies or things like that." The Cardinal said goodbye.

"Bye," she said as Swiss closed the door behind them both.

I hope you like it, I'm new to the fandom and the lore is somewhat complicated, all help would be VERY welcome.

#sodo ghoul #montain #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghost #cardinal copia #aurora ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #nameless ghost #oc original character #fanfic #slow burn #per sodomizer eriksson #sodomizer ghoul #swiss ghoul #sodo x reader #dewdrop x reader #spanish writer

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syndxlla · 1 year ago

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best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward and self-indulgent Zelink fanfic. Canon-compliant, takes place between BOTW and TOTK

Chapter Two: You’re Safe

Read Chapter one here

Song: Sick of Losing Soulmates by Dodie

Summary: Link introduces Zelda to their new home in Hateno, and Zelda begins to face the reality of what her life has developed into.

Warnings: PTSD, body-image, mentioning of scars, passing out

Word Count: 4.9k words

Author’s Note: This shit is so sad I promise its going to eventually get happy haha.

It’s late afternoon when they get to Hateno, just when the sun is starting to low hang in the sky. The gate is quiet, probably because it was their day of worship. Little kids who usually play tag on the main road were praying to the Goddess in their houses, and farmers who practically work in the field studied their devotionals in their kitchen. Link hopped off of Epona when they got into town, guiding her and Zelda through the back road, past the Bolson homes, and over the old wooden bridge to his house.

He leads his horse to the old stable, and then helps Zelda off of her by lifting her at the waist and gently placing her onto the ground. Zelda looks around at her bearings while Link removes the bridle and saddle from his steed, refilling her trough with some water from the well.

“Well… this is it.” He presents the building with his arms open, as if it were a mansion. Zelda doesn’t say much, she just observes the structure with her hands held together, arms bed at the elbow. He leads her through the front door, waving his hand around the dust and coughing once or twice. “I haven’t been home in a while.” He awkwardly smiles. It’s dark and dank there, so quaint. “It’s no palace, I know. But I could afford it, and I really needed a place to store all my extra junk.” Zelda walks up to the weapon displays, seeing the weapons of their dead friends. lined up one by one.

Link drops his equipment, placing the Master Sword on the table, which had nothing on it but a few knife cuts and a dead flower. He moves to open a window, which creaks loudly as he pushes, startling Zelda. “Sorry, sorry.” He sniffles. The window allows the light to pour in, the sun getting slightly golden. He turns to see her staring at the portrait of all the champions that Link hung not six months ago—when he was here last. He moves towards her, nervous and apologetic. She’s so hard to read.

“Look, I know it isn’t perfect. But it’s got a bed, a kitchen, and a bath, and we can clean it up.” He places a tentative hand on her bicep, standing behind her. She looks around. “If you really hate it, we can get a room at the Inn downtown, or we can go up to Purah and Symin’s-“

“It’s perfect, Link.” She stops him and turns around. They’re about the same height, so their eyes meet perfectly.

“What?” He was talking it up out of embarrassment, this place is a dump.

“It’s perfect. Anywhere is better than that throne room. And I wouldn’t want a castle, I’ll be happy here.” She smiles, and if Link didn’t know any better he would pull her in for a tight hug. He doesn’t think they’re that close yet.

“Really?” He asks. She nods.

“It needs some cleaning up, and as much as I love your tributes to the Champions, I think we should return these weapons to their people. I think we should give them a proper burial. Finally put those four to rest.” She explains, sounding like her old self again. “You and I will never move on if we coexist with these.” She admits, and Link agrees.

They stand quiet for a moment. The dust settles. “I‘ll draw a bath for you, if you would like.” He says. “I can start on some dinner, too.”

“That would be lovely.” Zelda smiles.

They have to catch a frog that was sitting in the wooden tub before Link starts bringing in water from the well, and as they chase the bugger, Zelda hears Link’s laugh for the first time in a hundred years. His real laugh, not a polite chuckle or a distant giggle as she watched over him from the Sanctum, but an actual, full-body laugh as he chased the frog. Her entire demeanor softens as she hears it, her heart racing. He rarely laughed when he served as her Knight, and it would always be because of something Mipha said. His laugh now sounded joyous, safe. She needed to hear it.

She looks at the warm bath, Link taking time to heat the water with coals underneath before she gets in. He goes to yank the screen closed, leaving behind a towel, and some soap made out of goat milk from the farm up the mountain. He explains to her that he’s gonna take care of some things outside of the house while she’s getting clean. That he won’t leave, but he’ll get out of the house so she has total privacy. He rambles about taking care of Epona and then picking some endura shrooms for dinner. With a toothy grin he teases about maybe finding a truffle.

“Just yell my name if you need anything and I’ll come running.” He says as he places some folded clean clothes on a stool for her. “Tomorrow we can go to the general store and get you some new clothes. For now you can wear these. The trousers might be a little big, but the shirt is from when I first woke up and I was a skinny little thing. The ghost of your dad actually gave it to me.” Link laughs, clearly happy to have a companion. “I’ve bulked up since then.” He jokingly flexes his bicep and Zelda giggles.

“Link-“ She tilts her head, almost scolding him.

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” He leaves, and Zelda can’t stop smiling. He’s come out of his shell so much. A hundred years ago he never spoke, and mainly communicated through sign language. She wondered if he even remembered his signs. The two of them would speak frequently through them. He taught her the entire language, it took the full year they spent at each other's side, but by the time all the divine beasts were being piloted she was almost fluent. She misses that. Sometimes he would sign things to her as she stood behind her father, trying to make her laugh and get her in trouble. It worked one too many times.

And he really had bulked up, even from when she knew him first.

She shakes her head, reminding herself that she mustn't think like that. Not about her closest friend. She sighs, truly alone for the first time in a century.

She looks down at her hands, dirty and frail. She kicks her sandals off and her feet are so sensitive to every feeling. In fact, every part of her skin feels hyper-sensitive to every sensation. She takes a deep breath, she had forgotten what it was like to breathe in. She does it ten times. Zelda then touches the water with her hand, sighing at the feeling of it. She forgot what water even felt like.

The princess stretches, and then goes to take off the white goddess gown. She freezes, not being able to bring herself to do it. Her hands start to shake, and she frowns.

“Pull yourself together, Zelda.” She mumbles to herself. She then pulls the dress up over her head, dropping it to the ground and leaving herself naked. Along with the dress, she feels like she pulls off a piece of her identity. She was truly relieved and thankful the fight was over, especially because it felt like it would never end, but she’s terrified of what comes next. She wore that damned dress for one hundred and three years. And as easy as it went on, it came off. It came off along with her jewelry, the bracelets and necklace. She stands there in complete vulnerability, heart racing.

A lump forms in her throat and she pushes it down. Looking at the white rags on the ground. She carefully steps into the basin of water, gasping as she sits in it. It takes a moment for her to control her breathing. When she doesn’t, she sighs and settles into the water, her heart relaxing. She closes her eyes and then dunks her head underwater, letting all of her long hair get wet. She blows bubbles out of her nose, and runs her hands up and down her skin. She resurfaces, tilting her head back to keep the hair out of her face, and then wipes the water off of her eyes.

Baptism. She thinks. Washing away her sins, and restarting.

She cries exactly three tears. She isn’t sure if it’s because of relief or anxiety or exhaustion and excitement or all of the above.

She sits there for a long time, not moving. It feels good to be in the water, she feels comfortable and safe. She tries to bring herself to move but can’t, maybe her muscles were finally settling into exhaustion. She just sits there, not even really thinking, just existing quietly.

It was simultaneously silent and blaring loud all of the time inside of the trance-like-state she lived in while sealing away The Calamity. Her heart rate finally relaxes, and her eyes even droop for a moment. She has to repeatedly remind herself that she was safe. Maybe one day she would be able to believe that. The water started to get cool, and so she finally moved. It was nice to experience real peace for the first time maybe ever.

Zelda reaches for the bar of soap.

She scrubs away a century of dirt and grime, and it comes off with very little effort. The soap is soft, she appreciates that it came from the locals, and that Link had it at all. He isn’t half as put-together and tidy as he was when he served as her knight. His hair is longer, and it sticks out in all sorts of directions. He’s missing a chunk of cartilage from his right ear, and he’s more scarred, especially on his face. Zelda hopes that isn’t the result of carelessness, she couldn’t bear the thought of Link being put in danger even though he is the most capable person in all of Hyrule. But ever since he nearly died in her arms at Fort Hateno decades ago, she can’t stomach it. She watched in pain and disarray as he threw himself at every monster, every challenge, unfaltering and unafraid.

When she gets out of the bath, she starts to shiver, her body still not used to regulating its temperature again. Zelda quickly dries herself off and gets dressed. The clothes are even a little big on her, and more revealing in some places than she would have ever worn in her past life. She shrugs, and pulls the screen open.

Just as he had promised, he wasn’t in the house. She glanced around, taking in the surroundings even more, trying to get her bearings again. Link doesn’t have much, and what he does have looks mostly like junk. Zelda wasn’t sure how long she was going to be here, but her guess was a long time. It’s not like she has anywhere else to go anymore.

Knowing that Link won’t bother her until she goes looking for him, Zelda takes this as an opportunity to snoop. Not out of malice, but simply because she wants to know more about this new Link, and she’s too afraid to ask still. In her heart, he’s the same devoted and stoic Knight of few words, but she knows deep down that’s not who he is anymore.

In the corner of the room, there’s a work table, one with an old bow on it. She walks to it, examining the weapon. There’s a series of knots on the body of the bow, some Rito and some Gerudo. He seemed to be practicing on the bow, not using it for any combat. There’s a broken-up ruby on the desk, too. Zelda turns around, the front door is open, but she can’t see him. She continues her exploration.

The kitchen is lovely, nicer than anywhere else in the house. Clearly Link had spent some time fixing it up. There were dried herbs on the wall, and a few pieces of paper hanging up with recipes scribbled on them. His handwriting has not improved since she first knew him.

She notices all his different pairs of shoes by the door, he must store his extra clothes that he doesn’t use very often here. She’s never seen him in anything other than his Hylian boots, but here there were a pair of Shekiah sandals, Gerudo Voe slippers, and a pair of snow boots. His feet were big, she picked up one of the shoes, examining it. She noticed there was more wear and tear on the left shoes than the right, implying that he preferred his left side. She sets the shoe down and looks up the stairs to the loft. She peers out of the door again, making sure he wasn’t nearby. She didn’t want to invade his privacy, but couldn’t help her curiosity. Besides, Link has never been that private anyways.

Zelda creeps up the stairs, and when she gets to the top she nearly collapses. She does not have the strength for stairs yet. All there was in the loft was a single bed, it was a double size, though, and a dresser. On top of the dresser was a vase. It was full of flowers that Link had surely picked. All of them were beautiful still, and most importantly, all of them were silent princesses.

Zelda’s favorite flower. She swallows back a tear, walking to them. A few had wilted already, she wondered when he picked them. If he hadn’t been here in nearly a half a year, they couldn't have lasted that long. Or could they? She wasn’t sure. In her youth she never dared pick any because of how rare they were. Are they still so rare? Do they have prolonged longevity? Her mind started rising with questions, and her heart started racing out of excitement, the way science and asking questions used to make her feel. She picks them out of the vase, examining them in between her hands and even smelling one. The scent was diving, and she sighed as she exhaled.

She freezes after processing what the flowers were, what they could have stood for. Did he really collect all of these for her? She shakes the ridiculous idea out of her head. What a silly, schoolgirl thought to have. She sets the flowers back.

Zelda wastes no more time snooping, and instead decides to step outside. It was golden hour now, and the warm sun felt incredible on her skin. She took it in for a moment, savoring every single human moment she experiences because she never thought she would get them again.

She savors the feeling of the grass against her bare feet, wiggling her toes with joy. She can’t help the smile that grins across her face. Her skin tickles with it, the feeling still incredibly sensitive. She giggles a few times, and then turns around the house where the stable was, in search for her friend.

A shirtless, toned and sweaty Link tosses a bale of hay into a pile, lifting it high over his head with ease. His biceps flex as he tosses it, his skin slightly sun kissed from the work, and his hair somehow even more disheveled than before. He discarded his shirt on the fence, letting it hang out next to the undershirt he wore, and some chainmail. His chest glistens in the sun, sparkling from the light peppering of sweat over his pectorals. He’s scarred to high-heaven, old cuts and gashes healed with scar-tissue that stretched along his muscles.

Zelda’s face goes bright red when she sees him, immediately turning around to go back inside, but that’s when Link sees her.

“You’re finished!” He chimes cheerily, jogging over to her. She turns around slowly and painfully, her entire body tense because of the sight. Of course she had seen him shirtless, he was practically naked as the day he was born when he woke up in the Shrine of Resurrection, but she was watching him through lense that made it feel more detached, less real. And before the two of them were sealed away from the outside world, she had never even dreamed of seeing him in such a state. They were both too uptight with their titles. Oh how the times have changed. Even if she had seen him partially-nude, it was never this close, never this…detailed. She could smell him, the scent of hard work and horse-hair displayed in the most appealing aroma of a man she could think of. She makes a special effort to look at him directly in the eye, not daring to look anywhere else. The cherry on top? Link had no idea what he was doing to her.

“I-It was lovely,” She stutters over her words like a fool, She takes a shaken breath and then chooses to sign “Thank you.” She forces a smile, was he going to remember.

Link smiles wide and immediately signs back “You’re welcome, I’m happy you know how to sign, too!” And then he dropped it as fast as he picked it up, he used to rely on it so heavily but he doesn’t need it like he used to. He continues speaking verbally: “I’m glad! I’ll go drain the bath! Hudson and Bolson made this fancy contraption that dumps the gray water into a big ole bowl under the house!” He articulates with his hands, showing just how big the bowl really was. Zelda’s heart dropped a little, she was sad he didn’t remember that he was who taught her their special language. But at least he remembered.

She looks at him, pulled into his elaborate explanation of the water invention…his skin looked so soft, so inviting. “And then it drains into a monster camp down the hill! They drink it or something and everyone’s happy! It’s really quite clever, you know.” He smiles a wide, toothy grin. Zelda had never seen him get so excited about anything before the calamity. She was struggling not to fall apart out of embarrassment as he talked, though.

“Fascinating… I would like t-to see it.” She smiled politely, hoping she doesn’t look as foolish as she feels. “D-do you have a comb?” She asks.

He smiles and nods.

Inside of the house, it started to get dark. Link lit the few oil lamps and candles inside, but it was still dim.

Upstairs, Zelda groans frustratedly as she attempts to braid her hair. She looks at her reflection in the old mirror sitting on the dresser. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t seem to get the plaits to lay the way they’re supposed to. For whatever reason, she is incapable of being able to braid her hair in any way. She can’t seem to remember, and no matter how hard she tries, the hair just won’t knot correctly. Link heard her frustration, and out of both curiosity and a desire to protect her, he steps away from the dinner he prepares, and treads up the stairs carefully.

“Zel? Is everything okay?” He asks gently.

“I’m fine!” She sighs exasperatedly. Link stops in his tracks, not wanting to bother her, but still being concerned. She was clearly not fine. He observes the situation, and sees the problem. He walks towards her, not wanting to upset her further, but wanting to be helpful.

“May I?” He asks, gesturing to the comb he let her borrow (that he “borrowed” from Riju… she still doesn’t know he has it).

She sighs, “No.”

Link is a little taken back by that.

“I don’t need your help.” She swallows, looking at herself in the reflection, a frown plastered across her face.

“Okay.” He nods and turns to go. Accepting her wish. “Dinner is ready, come down whenever you feel like it.” He says over his shoulder before continuing. She watches him, frustrated with herself and embarrassed that she can’t do something so simple anymore. When he walks down the stairs and is out of sight, she lets go and silently drops a few tears. Only a few, and she quickly wipes them away. How pathetic she thinks to herself.

She stands up, taking the comb and walking downstairs.

He plates the food he made, whistling a distantly-familiar song as he did so. Zelda sits with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders at the table, watching him, now he has a shirt on, finally. It wasn’t his blue tunic, however, it was a soft, emerald green tunic. She didn’t recognize it. It was big on him, like it was supposed to have chainmail and an undershirt, too. Either that or Link was just too small for it.

“What is that song?” She asks.

“Hm?” Link turns around with the bowls in his hand, “Oh, I’m not sure. It came to me in a dream once.” He whistles it again, down middle up, down middle up. It was the song of forests, and fairy children, but neither of them knew that. “Here, it's vegetable cream soup. I know it’s not the most glamorous mela but I was able to get the ingredients in town while you bathed, and it's filling.” He sets it down in front of her and she looks down at it. He then sets his serving across from her, and sits. The two looked at each other, neither knowing what to say.

How do you save the world and rid it from the most demonic and ancient of evils one day, and then the very next you’re sitting across from another eating a vegetable soup?

Link digs in first, purposefully eating it with one of his two spoons instead of swallowing it down like a shot. Zelda was a princess, after all.

Zelda stirs it around a bit, but brings some up to her lips, sipping it. She hums, “That is incredible, Link.” She says, and takes a bigger bite. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“Your dad taught me a lot, actually.” He says, “Back when I first woke up and he wasn’t really your dad.” Link takes a few more bites, trying to satiate his hunger but not pig out in front of her. “And then I just picked skills and recipes up from stable to stable. I really enjoyed it, actually. It gave me a hobby that didn’t have to do with strategy and how to kill the most bokoblins with the fewest arrows.” He shrugs, “By the wayLin, I can kill six bokoblins with two arrows and an acorn. I’ll show you sometime.” He speaks nonchalantly.

Zelda laughs at it and he looks at her with a puzzled look.

“I’m serious!” He defends himself.

“I believe you!” She smiles, “That’s what makes it so funny! No one would stand a chance against you.”

“Awe was that a compliment?” He teases and she laughs more. He succeeds at his attempt of cheering her up. “Don’t start giving me compliments, Zel, you know how my ego handles them. That has not changed in the last hundred years.” He jokes with a lighthearted air. She smiles, the two feel warm, and comfortable inside.

Could you really truly feel happy after an event like what they went through yesterday?

They both believed so.

They believed it because of the other.

Link finishes and stands up, “If you don’t want my help, I understand. But I would be happy to braid your hair for you. It’s not a problem.” Link says in a voice so gentle fairies would come to him. “And if you don’t want me to, that’s okay too. My feelings aren’t hurt.” He turns to the kitchen, leaving the choice up to her.

She sits in contemplation for a moment.

“I’m so embarrassed that I can’t do it.” She sighs. “I used to before the calamity,” the word feels like cotton in her mouth. “But I tried and I just… can’t. My fingers don’t remember how to.” She pushes the emotion down.

“Hey that’s okay!” Link places his bowl in the basin, “I had to remember how to jump when I woke up.”

She smiles, “you’ve recovered so much. I’m glad.”

He turns, “You will, too.”

She wanted to believe that.

“You taught me how to sign”. She signs to him, “Do you not remember?”

Link frowns, “I don’t, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Zelda sighs, “It was our special thing, none of the other champions could sign. Not even-“ She catches herself and doesn’t finish the sign.

“Mipha?” Link spells out her name, there wasn’t a sign for it.

“Yes…” Zelda responds verbally, a little ashamed.

They look at each other, youthful eyes who have seen horrors connect with each other.

Zelda picks up the comb and holds it out for him. He smiles and moves behind her.

He takes the comb and runs it through her long, golden hair. “Your hair grew while you were sealed away.” He says as he holds the soft hair in his calloused hands.

“What?” She asks. “No it did not!”

“Whatever you say, but I think it did.” He hums, parting it and then setting the comb down before beginning the plaits. “What do you want?” He assumes her classic hairstyle of the braided crown, but she lifts her hand to stop him when he starts braiding by her ear.

“Just one braid, all of my hair in it, please.” She asks.

Link nods and lets go of the strands he had in his hands, moving to a different part of her head to restart. He’s always been a very talented braider, even before the calamity. He does it fast, and he is very gentle with her scalp as he does it. When he gets to the bottom, the hair tapering, he realizes he doesn’t have a hair tie to secure it with. Instead of making her hold it while he looks for one, or having to restart, he pulls the blue one out of his hair, and ties Zelda's hair with it. He drapes it over her shoulder and walks away to close the window by the kitchen, his back towards her.

Zelda notices the blue, and looks up to see his hair loose and messy.

Her heart does something because of that.

“I would like to go to bed, I think.” She says. “Would you like me to sleep down here?” She asks.

Link turns around, puzzled, “No?” He furrowed his eyebrows, “I want you to sleep upstairs.”

“I thought that’s where you slept?”

“Nope, I mean I do. But not now, not when you’re here.” He shakes his head. “I can sleep outside with Epona, I sleep better that way anyways.” He shrugs. She looks at him with a blank stare, “What! The bed is clean I assure you.” He chuckles, so charming it’s stupid.

“No that’s not it.” She sighs, “You would sleep with an animal instead of inside?”

“Yeah… Do you not want to sleep in the bed?” He cannot comprehend what she was implying.

“No! I mean yes! I mean no!” She drops her head into her hands, “I would like to sleep in the bed, yes.”

“Great! I’ll sleep outside.”

“Link!”

“What?”

“Just… sleep inside, it's safer.” She suggests.

“But-“ He pauses to think about her words, folding his arms. “I do not understand? I am happy to sleep outside.”

Zelda chuckles, exhausted with his thought process. At least that didn’t change. “Fine. But really, I do not want to take your bed from you.”

“Please do! I don’t need it.” He pushes.

“Okay, okay.” She goes to stand up, but when she does, she completely collapses to the ground, hitting the wood floor hard.

Link wastes not a single second before running to her, calling her name. He kneels on the ground next to her, rolling her onto her back, and supporting her head under his hand.

“Gods, are you alright?” He asks, but she isn’t answering. “Zelda!” He calls her name, and she doesn’t answer, so he calls louder and louder, placing both of his hands on her face to try and wake her.

Link swears, and he grabs her hand to check her pulse but he’s so shaken up that he can’t feel anything. He leans his malformed ear against her lips to see if she is breathing, but that was the ear that he lost his hearing in a year and a half ago when fighting Windblight Ganon. He places his hand on her chest to feel, not caring that he was touching her in a place that he never should, just thinking about her safety. It’s rising and falling but shallow, and he quickly must consider mouth-to-mouth, grabbing an elixir that was too far away, or yelling her name one more time.

He chooses the latter.

He yells at her again, the loudest this time, at a volume that he never used, not even in battle. With a gasp for air, She finally comes to, her eyes opening but hazy and confused.

“Oh my goddess, you’re awake.” He gasps, pulling her against his body, cradling her against his chest. It felt like she was out for an eternity. “Thank Hylia.” He holds her tight.

“Link?” She asks, her voice weak. He squeezes his eyes shut, keeping her close.

“Shit please don’t scare me like that again.” He says, his voice quivering. He pulls away from her and she looks up at him, her eyes welling with tears. “It’s okay, it’s okay I got you.” He holds her again, “You’re safe.”

You’re safe.

—

Chapter three

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voraciousvore · 4 months ago

Text

Giganterra (Chapter 43)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (42) | Next (44)

Content Warning: Injury/ blood

Word Count: 2.9k

------ Chapter 43: Race to Escape ------

When Millie saw Ajax’s boots shift from under the door, she knew Candy was done for. A squeal of terror flying up into the air, which was quickly muffled, confirmed her worst fears. The doorknob squeaked as it rotated, and Millie only had a second to react before the gigantic door creaked open and the monstrous behemoth clomped inside.

She resisted the urge to flee in the opposite direction and instead dove forward, concealing herself under the base of the door as it opened. She kept pace with it as it moved above her, her heart hammering hard against the cold, rough stone floor. The giant’s footsteps caused earthquakes that thudded through her flesh. When the footsteps faded, she clambered out so she was no longer in the king’s chambers and careened towards the staircase.

She halted at the top step, her guts clenching with a disorganized flurry of violent emotions. She was loath to leave poor Candy behind, but she feared there was nothing she could do to help her, with her diminutive stature. No subterfuge would work, and physical force was of course impossible. Candy’s words echoed in her mind, urging her forward: If I get caught, I want you to promise me that you’ll keep going, and strive with every fiber of your being to escape unscathed. She had promised Candy to continue; she couldn’t allow her selfless sacrifice to be in vain.

Moving forward, however, seemed just as difficult. The stairs descended from a dizzying height in an infinite spiral that seemed to twist miles down. Each individual stair exceeded her height several times over: If her predicament had required climbing up stairs, she’d be doomed—doomed like Candy. Millie grimaced at the painful reminder. To stop now would spit on her promise and disrespect the bravery of her confidant. She had to go on.

She didn’t know when the giant would come searching for her, so she needed to act swiftly. Millie lowered herself down the first ledge, as far down as she could, before releasing her hold in a controlled fall to the next step. The distance was more than she was comfortable with, and she could feel the impact in her legs, but she remained unharmed. Encouraged by her initial success, she dashed over to the next step.

The giant stairs seemed to stretch on forever as Millie hopped from step to step. She expected, at any moment, for the ground to start rumbling from giant footfalls, or for King Richard’s sleazy voice to chase her down the stairwell in a chilling echo. Her hands grew slick with sweat from the tension and the exertion. However, to her surprise, nobody came looking for her. No massive shifts in the ground or air disrupted the serenity of the evening, with the quiet stillness of the pale moonlight filtering through the windows high above her head.

She couldn’t allow herself a moment of rest, though, with the dangers she faced and the catastrophic consequences of failure. She was racing against the clock. She thought about Candy obsessively, worrying over her undecided fate. Would the king slaughter her in cold blood? Torture her? Take out his anger on her, or the other humans in captivity? She forced down her nausea at the horrific imagery that flashed through her head and focused on the task at hand. One step at a time.

She felt like she’d never reach the end. After a while, she lost count of how many stairs she’d conquered. Her legs began to hurt with the constant shock absorption, particularly her knees and ankles. Landing on hard stone over and over pounded her legs into mush. Her hands turned raw from scraping on the gritty rock. She was increasingly unsteady as she walked.

The end of the stairs was finally in sight. Millie was heartened, yet anxious as she observed the velvety black of the night sky lighten with tints of blue and gray heralding an impending sunrise. Her arms and legs rattled from exhaustion, yet she persevered. Just a few more stairs to go… she only had to endure so many more falls…

One final stair. She dragged herself over to the edge, the ache in her legs sharpening to an acute pain. With fatigue shaking her limbs, she got on her knees, gripped the edge, and eased herself over the side. Her tired muscles failed her and she clumsily toppled over, cutting her knee on the unforgiving rock. Her arms jerked hard and she lost her hold on the top of the stair, collapsing to the ground.

Crack.

Pure agony rocketed up her leg as she crumbled to the floor, unable to sustain her footing. She cried out as she kneeled in a smear of blood from her sliced knee. With a laborious effort, she gingerly rolled over on her back, not placing any weight on her injured leg, and sat up to examine the wounds.

Her stomach dropped in horror. Her knee would be okay, despite being all banged up, bruised, and bloody. But her ankle... it was livid and swollen, and twisted at an unnatural angle. Broken, without a doubt. Tears welled up in her eyes. There was no way she’d be able to escape the castle now, much less survive on her own once she was outside. She wouldn’t be able to even put her weight on her ankle or walk properly. Her situation had been grim before, but now it was completely hopeless. She’d failed Candy and failed herself.

With the reminder of Candy, Millie realized she had to try, even if her senseless striving was futile. She hauled herself up on her good leg, with the mangled knee, and hopped forward, hugging the wall for support. A drop of blood trickled down her leg to her foot. Her anxiety spiked as the light from the windows waxed brighter, muted by a veil of gloomy clouds, and the morning approached. Soon, the king would be brought his breakfast, along with Chester. There was no way for her to hide her scent from him, if she was in his path of travel.

Yet, she crawled forward at a snail’s pace, unable to move any faster with her broken ankle. The corridor, built for giants, was as boundless and infinite as the stairs. Millie started to panic. She struggled to move faster, muscling through the biting pain. Whenever she tripped or collapsed, she strained to get back to her feet and keep moving. The pain she was experiencing now was trivial compared to the tortures that awaited her at the hands of King Richard if she was caught. He loomed over her in her imagination, leering down at her with perverse hunger. She couldn’t go back, at any cost. She’d rather die.

Millie had a vague idea of the castle’s layout, but she was accustomed to riding inside the king’s shirt where she couldn’t see much, so she wasn’t sure where she was going. Everything looked warped and distorted from the ground, when the walls rose miles above her and the floor stretched out like an endless desert of stone bricks and rugs. She hastened forward blindly, seeking to get as far away from the king’s quarters as possible.

The quiet castle began to awaken as morning arrived, echoing with the sounds of the servants preparing for another day. Millie’s fear reached a fever pitch as she wandered, lost, in the endless halls. She was more helpless than ever, unable to run and hide if a giant spotted her. She couldn’t go on much longer, as her whole body convulsed from suffering and exhaustion. She knew her leg would fail beneath her at any moment.

She experienced a jolt when she saw a maid clomping towards her at the end of a long hall. She ducked into the nearest room and hid as the giantess passed. She recognized her surroundings as the classroom where Ronny and Bianca received instruction from Milton. Her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest as her leg spasmed and she slid down the wall, unable to stand any longer. She was done.

Millie didn’t know what to do. Her body, despite her petite stature, felt like it weighed a million pounds. Her head was spinning; her weakness was inhibiting her faculties to the point where she might pass out. She recognized the horrible danger, of course. She needed to conceal herself and pray for a miracle. As she surveyed the giant room around her, her eyes landed on the tutor’s satchel, propped up against his desk on the floor.

She stared at it. She wasn’t getting out of the castle on her own. An opportunity had just presented itself, but the risk was incalculable. She could stash herself inside the bag. If everything worked in her favor, the giant teacher would carry her out of the castle unaware, before Chester could track her down. She could sneak out when he wasn‘t looking and escape. On the other hand, if Milton found her in his bag, she had no way of knowing how he would respond. He might return her to the king, or keep her for himself and torture her in even worse ways. Or, he might just exterminate her like a pest. Millie didn’t trust any giants to have her best interests at heart.

However, as bad as the option appeared, Millie couldn’t see any other way out. She couldn’t stay and hide in the castle, because Chester would sniff her out. Even if she was caught by Milton, any fate was preferable to being returned to Hardon, even death. With the determination of a survivor with nothing left to lose, she crawled across the long distance from the wall to the desk, puffing hard for breath. She climbed up, wincing at the gruesome agony, until she finally slipped into the darkness of the satchel’s interior. She tumbled down the hard cover of a giant book until she settled into the bottom of the bag. Despite her discomfort, and her all-consuming fear, exhaustion overcame her. She promptly passed out, unable to stay conscious any longer.

She lost awareness of the outer world for several hours. Milton returned to the classroom to tutor the royal siblings. He’d stayed in the library overnight to do research, losing track of time as he became absorbed in all the fascinating lore. He dug into the historical documents to learn more about Minimaterra. He read all about magic, about the lineages of giants capable of practicing magic, disappointed that he would never be able to cast spells himself. He knew he was playing with fire, after Leon warned him to tread carefully, but he couldn’t resist the allure of secret knowledge. He thirsted for more.

Once the daily lesson was done, Milton picked up his bag to collect his stuff and leave, since he was tired after his unintentional all-nighter. Millie was jostled back into lucidity as the fabric container around her shifted and flew into the air. She didn’t have any time to think or prepare herself before the bag was opened, exposing her to the bright light. She froze, eyes wide, unable to process anything as her field of vision was filled with the giant tutor’s face.

Milton opened his bag to stick in a book and stopped. At first, he thought he was gazing upon a toy, or a doll, a thing that certainly didn’t belong among his possessions. As he stared at the mysterious object, confused, he saw the blue marble eyes blink, and he realized the perfectly proportioned person was a human—a live human! And not just any human: the king’s favorite! He recalled seeing her chained around Hardon’s neck like a trinket, kissed and fawned over and threatened by his malevolent streak. Milton dropped his book to the side, spellbound by the unearthing of a priceless treasure.

His jaw slackened with amazement as he drank in all the intricate details of her delicate form. He couldn’t fathom how she somehow made it into his bag. He frowned, though, when he noticed how pale and frightened she looked. Her leg was smothered in blood and something was wrong with her foot, although with how diminutive she was Milton had difficulty telling exactly what. Either way, she wasn’t in good shape. She must be desperate—desperate to escape.

Milton started to sweat as the full implications of his discovery sank in. She wasn’t merely the property of the king: She was one of his prized possessions. He would be furious if he found her missing, and caught Milton with her. As the compassionate giant contemplated his options, however, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he must help her. He couldn’t cast her back into the hands of that monster of a man, who inspired fear even in giants his own size. He couldn’t imagine the horrors she had been subjected to, and he couldn’t in good conscience abandon her. He must save her.

He didn’t dawdle any longer. Without speaking to her, so as not to draw any unwanted attention, he closed his bag and hurried out. He didn’t want to raise any suspicions by walking too fast, so he marched at a brisk pace, making a beeline for the exit. The ominous rumble of distant thunder indicated a storm was approaching. As was his regular habit when he became nervous, Milton fiddled with the wedding ring on his finger, trying not to be too conspicuous. He just had to act casual, despite his racing heart; nobody would know.

The door to the courtyard materialized in front of him, beckoning him forward with a halo of glorious light like a beacon to heaven. Milton nearly teared up with how relieved he was—that is, until a big hand slammed down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Hot breath hit the back of his neck, accompanied by loud, heavy respiration in his ear. He snapped his head around to behold Chester, who was fixated on his bag and snuffling excitedly.

“Whatcha got in your bag, friend?” the giant inquired, slobbering hungrily. He reached for it, causing Milton to clamp his hand over the top flap. He hugged the satchel to his side defensively.

“Nothing, why?” he responded, laboring to keep his voice calm.

Chester lunged for the bag like a tiger tackling a boar. Milton, caught off guard by his sudden aggression, lost his hold on the satchel. Chester snapped it up with his hands and pulled it open, revealing the prize inside. Millie screamed as his colossal hand reached in and blocked out the light above, poised to snatch her up.

“No!” Milton protested. He grabbed Chester’s wrist and forced him back, pushing him away. He clutched the bag to his chest with both arms. “Don’t you dare!”

Chester raised a brow. “You can’t fight me, Milton,” he proclaimed. “I’m carrying out the will of the king.”

Milton blanched. He glanced down at Millie, so small and scared and powerless as she huddled at the base of his bag. He glared back up at Chester, eyes blazing. “I don’t care if you’re an emissary of God himself, you’re not getting her.” His fingernails dug into the fabric. He took a step back, towards the exit, not turning away from his opponent.

Chester prowled forward, closing the gap between them. His hungry eyes roved over the tutor like a predator salivating over a fresh cut of meat. Milton bristled as the other man’s hands raised, prepared for violence. Even so, Chester hesitated. He glanced around to ensure their scuffle wasn’t being observed. Providentially, they seemed to be alone.

“What would you give me? To let her go?” Chester murmured.

“Huh?” Milton didn’t anticipate the negotiation of a bribe. He had nothing of value.

Chester stared down at the teacher’s hand, clenched so hard that his knuckles whitened. “How about that ring?”

“My wedding ring?” Milton paused. He rotated the ring around his finger, weighing the options in his mind. The object had tremendous sentimental value to him, as a cherished memento of his late wife. Losing it would sadden him greatly, but he understood that it would be worth it to save Millie. “Deal.”

Chester gleefully received the treasure once Milton reluctantly removed it from his finger and handed it over. As heavy as his heart felt, relinquishing the special ring, he was relieved that he was able to come to an agreement with Chester. He left the castle in a rush, his heart beating hard as he held his satchel like his life depended on it.

Chester grinned as he twirled the ring in his fingers, assessing the value of the precious metal. His mouth started to water as he thought of Jackie again. If he threw in some other baubles, perhaps Bucky would let him spend more time with his beloved. His stomach grumbled eagerly at the thought.

He looked out the window at the thick, brooding mass of storm clouds brewing overhead. His smile widened as the clouds wept, pouring their sorrows over the courtyard. What a shame. He couldn’t track an escaped human with his nose, after all, if the rain washed away the scent.

Chapter 44

Tag List: @maybeiamdownbad @yummynomms @tinycoded360

#giant #g/t writing #g/t #tiny #giant/tiny #giant tiny #size difference #g/t story #gt writing #gt story #giant men

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blackhairedjjun · 2 years ago

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flowers of every color | 4. pink roses

overall summary: when your father is assigned as the new head gardener to the royal family, you are also tasked with helping him maintain the castle's many gardens and extensive floral arrangements. by chance you find yourself crossing paths with the "ice-cold" crown prince, choi yeonjun... who turns out to be not as ice-cold as everyone says he is.

chapter summary: the welcome ball is in full swing, but all you can do is stay outside and be on standby -- that is, until yeonjun decides to bring the ball to you.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: alcohol mentions

author’s note: it's time for a pure fluff chapter!! this one was fun to write 💖 chapters 3 and 4 were supposed to be one chapter, but there was just so much going on that i felt like i should split it into two (i generally prefer shorter chapters).

also, recommended music for this: gregory alan isakov & the colorado symphony orchestra - amsterdam

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night falls on the castle grounds and the ball is in full swing. even from outside, you can tell that the festivities have reached their heights just from the sounds: the clinking of glasses and plates, the raucous laughter from the lords and ladies, and the string quartet playing lively waltzes seemingly non-stop.

just moments ago you entered the ballroom yourself, not to celebrate but to replace a flower vase in the hallway that a drunken guest knocked over. as soon as you entered, your senses were bombarded; you remember seeing a parade of men in trimmed suits and women in rustling ballgowns, servants carrying trays full of wines and cocktails, and even someone’s dog jumping onto a couch to sniff a pastry that another guest was eating. everywhere you went was noisy, whether from chatter or music or the scraping of dinnerware. it was too much all at once, and you felt relieved when you spotted the broken flower vase and then made your exit soon after.

now that you are out of the ruckus, you make your refuge for the night in one of the gazebos in the front gardens. you aren’t too far from the ballroom window, and you prefer to enjoy the ball this way. from the outside, you can observe the festivities and imagine yourself in them, but avoid all the messy sensations that come with them.

you wonder if yeonjun, soobin, and beomgyu are enjoying themselves, or if they too have become overwhelmed by the constant activity of the ball. then again, you muse, they are princes. meeting all sorts of people from far and wide is a duty that comes with their title, and perhaps at this point they have simply gotten used to it.

still, it would be nice if you could enjoy the ball with them…

the quartet starts to play a jaunty arrangement of an old folk song from your hometown, interrupting your train of thought. memories flood you as you hear the opening melody and your mind is transported back to the small market square where your father would bring you as a child. you remember your tiny hands pushing the cart containing all sorts of flowers and herbs that you would sell (your father did most of the actual pushing), and in your mind’s eye you see the merchants’ displays of everything from cured meats to leather gloves to silver jewelry. the merchants sing a song to pass the time, filling the market with a joyous rhythm, and your father too joins the chorus. once you’ve accompanied him to the market square enough times, your voice also chimes in, and even now you sing every word by heart as if you were with the merchants again.

you don’t notice yeonjun’s voice singing along with you until the last verse.

“i knew i’d find you from that pretty voice of yours.”

you turn in the direction of his voice, but any reply you had in mind evaporates at the sight of him. yeonjun is standing at the gazebo entrance and your jaw goes slack from just how beautiful he looks. the dark emerald green jacket he wears hangs well on his shoulders, and the gold embroidered details on the front shine in the moonlight. his hair has been slicked back, with a few strands left in front of his forehead, framing his face. even in the evening dimness you can make out his features: his shining eyes, his plush lips.

“you look…” stunning. wonderful. beautiful. “…good.”

it’s not the compliment you wanted to give, but yeonjun gets the message anyway. he lets out an awkward laugh and he turns his head away, covering his mouth with one hand. when he recovers, he turns to you with a small smirk. “and you look amazing too.”

you look down at your uniform, the same one that every servant in the castle is wearing, and frown. “sure, i do.”

“no, i mean it,” he says, stepping fully inside the gazebo to stand in front of you. “when i saw you here singing to yourself, smiling and thinking of something happy, i thought it was a beautiful thing to see.”

“come on, don’t say things like that! that’s so…” your face and ears grow warm, and you aren’t sure how to deal with the sensation.

“why not? i can say it if i want to.”

“i suppose,” you stammer. your entire face feels like it’s glowing and you can barely look yeonjun in the eye. he’s watching you so fondly and it’s adorable, but it also makes you feel something you can’t explain.

“anyway,” you clear your throat and stare at the ballroom window, “what are you doing here? aren’t you supposed to be entertaining guests?”

“not for now. my parents are the ones talking to the diplomats. and everyone else… soobin and beomgyu are showing them some neat football tricks.”

“the same football trick that led them to meet me?”

he bursts out laughing and so do you.

“it’s boring in there without you, y/n,” he says.

“boring? i went in there for one minute and it was too much going on.”

“it only looks like a lot. most of them don’t really talk about anything, they just show off a lot and get drunk.” he sighs. “i missed you.”

you turn back to meet yeonjun’s gaze and nod. “i missed you, too. i was just wondering if you were okay.”

in between your words you hear the opening notes of a waltz. yeonjun perks up and stands straighter, then extends a hand to you. “i’d feel okay if i had a little waltz,” he says. “may i have this dance?”

“out here?”

“there’s nowhere else i’d rather dance with you in.”

you chuckle. he sounds so cheesy yet so earnest, and despite the elegant air he tries to pull off, you can see his eyes pleading with you to say yes. it only adds to his charm; how could you so cruel as to turn him down? you bow at him and take his hand, and he pulls you into position.

the music fills the air and you realize just what on earth you agreed to: you, a mere gardener who cannot dance to save their life, are waltzing with the crown prince. you have one hand clasped in his and another resting on his shoulder, and they both feel clammy. you barely keep up; you try to move your feet in time with the music but they drag rather than glide along. more than once do you step on yeonjun’s toes, and when it happens for the fourth time you nearly let go of him. you don’t want to think of what sorry state his once-polished dress shoes are now in.

“oh no 一 yeonjun, i’m so sorry 一”

yet he doesn’t let go; instead his hand on your waist rubs you reassuringly, then grips you a bit more firmly. with his other hand holding yours, he rubs circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. “it’s okay,” he says. “just follow me.”

you relax in his hold and try to follow him. he moves in slower, more careful steps to match you, and that makes it easier not to drag your feet so much. yet he never breaks time with the music, even swaying his body to the melody, and you allow yourself to be carried away by him. in his arms you sway too, letting your tension be replaced by your natural rhythm, and bit by bit the self-consciousness holding your body back begins to disappear.

the violins begin their crescendo and he bends you into a slight dip, and to your surprise you have no trouble following him. when he guides your upper body back up you start laughing from sheer joy, and the laughter spreads to him too, his hold relaxing but not fully letting go. you shuffle a bit closer to him, fully embracing the moment, the music and his presence overtaking your senses.

only when the sounds of the quartet die down and the waltz comes to an end do you realize just how close you are to yeonjun. he keeps his hold on you even after the music has faded, and locks his eyes with yours. you can’t look away — you don’t want to look away — and you find yourself admiring the beauty mark near his right eye, then up at his shining eyes. again you notice just how fondly he gazes at you, as if you really are his favorite person in the world.

again you feel that something that you can’t explain. it isn’t unpleasant, quite the opposite in fact, and the feeling draws you even closer to yeonjun.

he leans in towards you and you do too until your foreheads touch. your gaze falls on his lips. the inexplicable feeling fills your senses with a strange burst of warmth. the world comes to a stop as his arms wrap around you and something in you pulls you closer still...

clink! clink!

yeonjun lets go of you and pulls away, blinking as if he just woke up from a dream. you see the blush creeping up on his cheeks even as he covers his face with his hand. “uh, sorry,” he says, grinning from nervousness. “i, uh... i have to go now. they’re doing the toast.”

you stare at him, unable to comprehend the trance you were in mere moments ago. “yeah, it’s fine, i... i understand.”

you bow at him once more, and he does the same.

“good night, y/n.”

“good night, yeonjun.”

he turns and nearly runs back to ballroom to catch the toast, and only then do you release the breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

一

the next day is a busy one for all the staff of the castle, including you; there is plenty to clean up in the aftermath of a ball. at first you are assigned just to clear out the floral arrangements left behind in the ballroom, but the sheer amount of cleanup means that you are dragged by the servants into mopping up any spills, washing the dinnerware, and folding up the linens. you feel guilty seeing just how much of a mess the guests have made (you recall finding wine poured into one of the flower vases and wince), so you roll up your sleeves and get to work.

with all the cleanup to take care of, yeonjun assumes that you are once again too busy to personally deliver flowers to his room. yet when he returns there after a long afternoon of talks and tours with the remaining guests, he notices that the flower vase on the ledge has been replaced. gone are the extra lilies of the valley that a servant previously placed there, and in their place is a bouquet of pink roses. he rifles through their stems until he finds a piece of folded paper lodged in between them, takes it out, and finds your now-familiar handwriting:

pink roses are for gratitude. thank you for last night, let’s dance together again.

he smiles and bites his lip at the note, then places it in his pocket. for the rest of the day, in between lessons and more talks and dinners with diplomats, he finds himself taking it out and rereading it. he thinks of the pink roses in his room and of the dance he shared with you, and he regains just enough strength to keep going.

end notes: don't worry about soogyu, they'll be back in the next chapter (esp soobin)! the next ch will also start to introduce the angsty bits so i hope y'all are ready

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt angst #txt fluff #yeonjun angst #yeonjun fluff #tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together imagines #fic:flowers of every color #bhj: violet's works

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shift-shaping · 4 months ago

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the rats

solas follows lady volant on her tour of wycome with duke antoine. something is very, very wrong.

rating: t

pairing: solavellan

warnings: blood, canon-typical racism

previous fics | 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

map of wycome below the cut, with districts explained here

Solas met the Duke of Wycome in humble servant clothes, hands held behind his back, comfortable in his role as an invisible aid to the Inquisition’s ambassador, Lady Guinevere Volant. He didn’t quite have the look of an elven servant, what with his height and broad build, but Enaste’s friend had been right: no one paid much attention to elves regardless of their size.

The Duke of Wycome looked for all intents and purposes like the Duke of revelry that he claimed to be. He was older, and short, with a rotund body and much more hair in his beard than on his head. His clothing was expensive, extravagant and tailored, the colors rich in the mid-morning sun. He had a booming voice and an even louder laugh, like the master of ceremonies at a grand carnival. He had an odd way of walking, something between a limp and a shuffle, perhaps the result of some prior injury.

He introduced himself to Lady Volant even though she had told Solas they met before, and his small eyes showed no hint of recognition. Looking at them carefully, his eyes showed little emotion whatsoever: they were unfocused and distant, possibly due to vision loss. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, as if he was used to holding something that was no longer there. It gave Solas the impression of a man pretending to be younger and sharper than he was, to the point of foregoing aids like glasses and a cane, presumably to seem more capable in front of his Inquisition allies.

Six armed guards accompanied him, a decidedly large retinue for a city tour, and like Lady Volant, an elven servant hovered behind him. The servant was a short young man, almost unnaturally thin, and wearing what was obviously a wig. The black locks were so long they covered the servant’s neck and shoulders, and the heaviness of the wig made Solas uncomfortably warm looking at it. The day before, with Enaste's clan, Blackwall had suggested Solas wear a wig as well, but Enaste’s very pregnant friend –Harea?– had vetoed the idea when they brought out the only wig the clan apparently had: a literally dirty blonde thing with an uneven cut that Enaste had been fairly sure was actually a dead marmot.

That the servant saw fit to obscure his appearance was extremely suspicious. Was he someone the Duke thought the Inquisition could recognize? Why bring him along at all if that was the case?

The guards seemed bored, even more so than guards usually were, and thoroughly distracted. They wandered, kicked at random rocks on the ground, and shot each other irritated looks whenever the Duke spoke. They paid no mind to Solas, and only barely registered Lady Volant.

An odd smell danced in the air: metallic, damp, and sweet. Like blood, but brighter.

"It is so wonderful to finally show you the most lively city in Thedas!" The Duke said, gesturing towards the city. His arm fell to his side, harder than was natural. "We start here, in Castle Magnolia, which you've hopefully had the opportunity to observe over your time here, my Lady."

"Of course," the ambassador responded with an easy smile. "The apartment you've so graciously lent me has such a wonderful view of your estate." In fact, the estate was the only view the apartment had; from every window, from the balcony, from the front steps, the only sights were of the carefully maintained Castle Magnolia, the sprawling home of the ruler of Wycome. "I’m eager to learn more about what else the city has to offer. Do you spend much time in the other districts, my lord?"

"Oh, well, naturally I visit the Old Orchard from time to time. The Conservatory is always so lively."

Except it wasn't. Lady Volant had told Solas of the city's history and culture the night before, and he and Wisdom had explored it in the Fade. Just months earlier, the music of Old Orchard Lane would have been so loud it easily reached the apartment they stayed in. It ought to have been full of young people playing music and enjoying their youth late into the night. In fact, the location of their apartments meant it had historically been the guest residence of visiting musicians and dignitaries who could appreciate the late night noise.

"Will there be students there, at this time of day?" Lady Volant asked.

The Duke gave her an odd smile, like it was carved out of wax, and Solas felt a chill. "They should be in class. It's nearing finals, I believe."

"Oh!" Lady Volant put her hands together in front of her chest, as if in prayer. "How wonderful that you are aware of their schedule. It’s so rare to find a leader in touch with the youth nowadays."

"Mhm," the Duke replied, still wearing that wax smile. "We should get started, my lady. There is only so much time in the day, after all." The elf behind him twitched. For a moment Solas thought he and the servant made eye contact, but the thin man was looking past him. His eyes were cold and unfocused, narrowed slightly, staring into nothing.

Solas exhaled and closed his eyes, feeling first the salty sea air on his skin, then the warm sunlight, then the brush of the Veil as it shivered and shifted. He recalled how it first felt to wake beneath its weight, to breathe and see and move as his own vast web smothered him. Since then he had come to some miserable symbiosis with it, using its voids and densities to sense when another mage was willing substance through it.

He felt it now. The Veil was pulled taut, stretched thin so that magic could slip past its fibers.

The servant was a mage, and whatever spell he was using, it required more magic than he could provide on his own.

At the servant's hip was a noticeably large flask, ringing softly into the Fade. The metallic smell he’d caught earlier wasn’t blood: it was lyrium, and the servant had enough to scaffold something heavy. If Solas was quick enough he might be able to swipe the flask, but then what? The consequences of disturbing the spell now could be worse than letting it continue.

Instead, he watched, and he waited.

From the Duke's residence they passed through the first of several gates Lady Volant had pointed out to him on her map. It lay at a junction of walls separating Castle Magnolia from the lower elevation fish market and the hills of Old Orchard Lane, where the Wycome Conservatory had taught musically-gifted sons and daughters of wealthy Marcher families for over a century. As he and Lady Volant had observed, the Conservatory and its accompanying grounds were noticeably quiet. It was a green campus, aptly named in reference to a number of very old pear trees. Wisdom had been smitten with them the night before, and taken the opportunity to tell Solas about the many varieties of pears grown in the Free Marches. According to the spirit, this district was home to one of the oldest continuous orchards in Thedas, even if now it was mostly for show. The heirloom variety from Wycome was the Violini Tan, and its visage graced the entryways of the Conservatory buildings.

It surprised him that the Duke relayed none of this information, as it was exactly the type of trivia one would expect from a tour like this. Instead they walked in awkward silence through the oppressively quiet campus. Lady Volant attempted small talk with the Duke, but he offered little for her to work with. She tried asking him more specific questions --about the buildings, the trees, the alumni she'd read about-- but he gave only friendly, polite responses of little substance.

Solas caught something in one of the windows: a face, gaunt and pale, staring out from a darkened room. Then it was gone.

They reached the end of the street. Before them was one of the city's tall stone walls, and a staircase up its side to the walkways above. To their left was a narrower street that circled an ornate well of carved stone and colored glass. "I would like to--" the Duke began, and then stopped suddenly, as if choking on his words. Lady Volant tensed, moving closer to him, but the servant intercepted gracefully. He put his hand on the Duke's sleeve and whispered something in his ear, then retreated, leaving a confused Lady Volant. The guards gave no reaction to the Duke's sudden outburst.

Lady Volant glanced at Solas, making eye contact for the first time since they'd left the apartment. She quickly redirected her attention to the Duke, but Solas understood the signal, and their host's behavior was not the only cause for concern. The well had a sickly aura to it: a corrupted, pulsing magic. Solas was tempted to go to it, to see what festered within, but he knew he couldn’t approach without the servant noticing.

"My-- my apologies," the Duke said, tired but jovial. Sweat gleamed on his face, and he dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. "How unbecoming of me." He smiled at Lady Volant. "Never let yourself get old, my lady."

“Are you certain you're alright? We could rest a moment, there are some lovely benches over there." She gestured towards the well and the stone benches it shared its clearing with.

"No, no, I'm quite alright. Here," he waved his hands to the staircase in front of them. "Our city walls provide an excellent view of the Beacon Hills."

As they headed up the stairs, Solas caught the servant taking a drink from his flask. He hung back, waited until they were the last two to enter the staircase, then spoke in what he intended to be a friendly and unassuming voice. "It was smart of you to bring something to drink, lethallin--"

"I do not speak your tongue," the servant cut him off coldly, paying him no mind as he followed the rest of their group up the stairs. There was something strange about the elf's voice: his words were clipped with annoyance, yes, but also strangely controlled and stiff, and slow.

Hiding an accent?

From atop the walls they could see much of the city. Whatever the servant's spell did to the Duke, it loosened enough to let him point out the different districts. To the south and west lay the noble estates of Beacon Hills, and further west still was Fort Garahel, named for the hero of the Fourth Blight. The Duke, Solas noted, made no mention that Garahel had been an elf. By some half-forgotten accounts twisted in the Fade, he was not.

Due west of them was Parade Street, and then the city sloped into the lower districts: Dockside, the Alienage, and Gadus Market. Dockside was a large collection of wooden homes and warehouses leading to the titular docks where most of the city's human population made their homes. Adjacent to it was the small, densely-populated Alienage. Even from a distance it was unique from the other districts, with tall, crumbling walls and towering roughshod buildings packed tightly together. To its east was Gadus Market, the city's largest fish market and home to a handful of restaurants and permanent storefronts.

It was difficult to gauge the impact of the so-called plague from this vantage point, but the silence of the Orchard was telling. The lower-elevation, lower-class districts to the north had some activity, especially compared to the much quieter noble estates to the south. That could be a factor of population, but where were the servants? Where were the guards? In the Fade he'd seen a much livelier district, slower-paced than its neighbors but certainly not empty, not like this.

They continued their tour along the city's walls, tracing the border between Beacon Hills and Parade Street. The cool, salty sea air stirred the servant's wig, and he adjusted the hair around his neck. Solas felt the thinning of the Veil that surrounded the servant. Perhaps he didn't need to break the spell entirely to determine its effects; it should be enough just to make it harder to maintain.

They descended another flight of stairs, nearing Fort Garahel and the western edge of the noble district. Solas shed magic into the Veil, thickening it around the servant, reinforcing the barrier between worlds. Immediately the servant took another drink from his flask. In front of them, the Duke spoke stiffly of the city guard, his voice tight. Lady Volant went along politely, asking him questions that went essentially unanswered.

The pressure of the Veil increased, smothering now in its thickness. It was frustrating that this required so much effort, that Solas couldn't manage such a simple effect without sweat beading on the back of his neck. He kept his focus on the Veil around the servant and clenched his fist behind his back.

The servant paused and took another drink. Sunlight gleamed on his forehead. That wig had to feel hot now, just another pressure on the servant's body. Solas willed warmth into the suffocating magic weighing on the servant. In response, he reached up and lifted the hair from his neck.

In the bright sunlight, nearly-hidden even when the servant held up the wig for a heartbeat of relief, Solas saw a ring of bruised, pale skin around his neck. For one sickening moment he recalled the bruises on Enaste's neck, the pain in her eyes, the shame in her voice. It still stung, still stirred a nauseous mixture of guilt and rage and impotence in him.

He couldn't let it distract him. He had seen the imprint of fingers on her skin, each one distinct and dark, the blood close to the surface and already turning purple. These markings looked different; an even ring, like a collar worn far too tight for far too long.

Like a slave collar.

The servant's eyes met his. Why are you here? Who are you? He recalled the servant's strange manner of speaking earlier, the accent he was trying to hide.

Solas wrenched the Veil tight around the servant's body. All at once his spell came undone. The servant doubled over in shock, choking, sputtering.

"I..." The Duke mumbled. They stood at the bottom of the stairs. The guards looked concerned, glanced at the servant, but Solas kept the pressure on. His own magic shivered with the effort and a tight pain burst behind his eyes.

"You should... you should see," the Duke managed. He was still smiling, and his eyes were unnaturally wide. Lady Volant stayed calm and kindly asked him what he meant. "There." He pointed down the road. "In the well. My advisor, he... insisted it stay a secret." He cleared his throat. He wobbled on his feet. Lady Volant offered him her arm and he gripped it so tight she flinched. "But it's so good, Ambassador. The water is so much clearer now. With the --with the red crystal."

"Shall we go together, my lord?" Lady Volant asked, her voice strained. She tried to pry his fingers from her arm.

The guards looked to the servant, who was struggling with his flask. The stopper fell to the ground and the servant hissed: "kaffas!"

"Yes," the Duke nodded quickly, stiffly, and limped with Lady Volant to the well. Solas backed towards them, staying focused on the servant. He felt the same sick magic emanating from this well that he'd sensed at the previous one. The flask shook in the servant's hands. His will pushed violently against the Veil, struggling against the full force Solas buried on top of him.

Lady Volant gasped. Solas's back hit the well. For just a moment he turned, already knowing what awaited him.

Down, at the bottom of the well, creeping and reaching up the walls, was a mass of red lyrium crystals. They glowed sick and hot and bright, bathing the stone walls of the well in pulsing, twisting light. "Don't you see?" The Duke asked. His knuckles were white spikes around the ambassador’s sleeve.

"M-my lord, I am happy to help you but your grip is too strong," she replied, and her voice was so even and polite that Solas was impressed even through the spear of pain in his skull.

"Don't you see?" The Duke asked again. He pointed down the well. "It --it purifies the water. It makes them stronger. We don't give it to the elves, of course, just the people, they can... they can be so much stronger." He shook her arm. "It makes them stronger, my lady."

The Veil snapped. Solas inhaled sharply, leaned against the well, and forced his own magic not to release the full force of its pressure all at once. He grasped at it, pushed it back, squeezed his eyes shut with the effort of forcing the Veil carefully into place.

But it wouldn't return to its former shape. Something had sliced along its surface, like a knife gliding over skin. Solas looked at the servant, breathing hard, pain firing behind his eyes.

The servant panted, sweat coating his forehead. Blood dripped from his clenched fist.

"Wh-what were we..." The Duke let go of Lady Volant's arm and shook his head suddenly. "A-as I was saying, um..."

Lady Volant stepped back from him, straightened her dress, and cleared her throat. "You were telling me about the new water purification methods you installed in the wells." She rubbed her arm and winced.

"Of course, I was... yes." He nodded slowly.

"If I may ask, my lord, there have been rumors about some sort of sickness in Wycome..."

"Oh, that's just-- that's all rumors!" He said quickly, redundantly. Solas watched the blood from the servant's hand fall to the ground. "Very overblown, it's hardly a cold."

Lady Volant smiled. She ran her hand over her hair, easing a few stray strands back into place. "I figured as much. But surely, if there were a disease of some sort, these new installations would be most beneficial."

"I --well --perhaps." The Duke sputtered. The servant's shoulders rose and fell rapidly. Even the guards noticed the blood now, and made no move to apprehend what was obviously a blood mage. "But the water in our city is very, very clean. It has always been so clean. Especially now though, now it's especially clean." He nodded quickly, unevenly. "If anything is causing a problem in my city, it's --it's the rats."

"Really?" Lady Volant replied, a bit nervously. "I daresay I've not seen a single rat since my arrival."

"You have," the Duke said, steadier now, eyes boring into hers. She took a half step back. His voice dropped. "You've seen plenty. And we'll be rid of them soon, my lady."

"Oh... well, I must not be very observant then," she tried.

"You've seen them. They're everywhere. You have seen them. We'll be rid of them soon. We'll be rid of them all soon." He kept nodding. "My advisor swears it, Lady Volant." His words fell, so low Solas could barely hear over the ringing in his ears. "You should meet him, you know."

"That sounds lovely!" Lady Volant glanced past the Duke, and for only the second time that day her eyes met Solas's. "Who might this be, your new advisor?"

"A man from Minrathous." The Duke smiled that hideous wax smile. "He has so many wonderful tales to tell. I think you would get along just grand."

Solas stared at the servant. His blood dripped into a puddle on the cobblestones.

Lady Volant's voice was tight, and Solas felt her eyes on him. "Yes, I imagine we would."

<- prev fic | next fic ->

follow on ao3 here!

#solas #solavellan #dragon age #clan lavellan #glimpses #fic: raven #enaste lavellan #this is when shit gets crazy #this was a tricky chapter to write #look i know solas seems like he's in pain here but i promise he's actually having the time of his life #solas (with a blistering migraine) you don't understand. i am having fun. this is enrichment for me.

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thefatedmeeting · 6 months ago

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Hey guys, I'll start to post an autobio webcomic here. Wasn't feeling up to it because of the floods in Rio Grande do Sul, but I'm already behind schedule so… let's go.

Image descriptions/alt text will be available here for now, which is where I can put a larger text size.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION – MIDNIGHT TRUTH TIME. This comic’s art style is simple, scribbled, doodle-like, without realistic details. It’s black and white, with few colors painted in watercolor style. In a living room, a black and white cat sits to the right, next to a plant. A person to the left peeks at the reader, breaking out in a cold sweat. This person, then, goes to the center of the panel, while their cat observes them. It’s Hyamara, a caricature of the comic’s author. Hyamara has average height, short and black hair, piercings in their ears. They’re using a white shirt with a colored strawberry, and blue pants. They wave at the reader, still sweating, and holding a small paper in their hand. Then, They say: “Uh. Hello.” Hyamara picks up their cat with one hand while they read the paper with the Other, still sweating. In the background, there are arrows pointing at Hyamara: one of them points at their cat, saying “cat”, another to their head, saying “anxious”, and another to their body, saying: “pronouns: she/he/them”. Hyamara continues: “This is Hyamara. I’m a nonbinary Brazilian lesbian, I’m a comic artist and 2d game artist. I uuh.” “You know what, whatever lol”, Hyamara says, throwing away the paper to the side, and smiling, no longer sweating. “I’m Hyamara, and this is my autobio comic! I’m gonna talk about daily life in a funny way (I think. I hope)”. “I’m also gonna talk homophobia, lesbianism, gender, whiteness and its toxicity (as I’m white),”Hyamara puts their free hand on their jaw, thinking, and continues. “And also in that context, german colonization in southern Brazil (as I’m from there). This comic is funded by Secretaria Municipal da Cultura de Novo Hamburgo, with resources from Lei Paulo Gustavo (Complementary Law n.195/2022)”. Meanwhile, the cat in their arms tries to take the paper, which is floating down to the ground. Hyamara lets their cat jump down to the ground. The cat takes the paper with its mouth with a proud expression, and to their side there is a shine. Hyamara keeps talking. “This comic will have alt-text and image description wherever it’s possible to put them! Also, when I finish all pages, I’ll make audio description for them - so hopefully, visually impaired people can read this! It’s about 41 episodes!” “Hope you enjoy the ride!!”, Hyamara says. This speech bubble has hearts and stars around it. Hyamara gets extremely close to the reader, with their eyes bulging – just their face is in the shot. Their cat peeks behind their shoulder. “(I’m going to climb your window if you don’t \j)”, says a text under the panel. Below, the footer of the comic starts, with the logo of Midnight Truth Time: Hyamara’s head, smiling and looking towards the left, with a hand making the peace and love sign (a closed fist with the index and middle fingers up). Around their head is the color blue. “Midnight Truth Time!” encircles their head, in black, and around the logo is the color red. Below the logo, it says: “[heart emoji] and subscribe! [smiling face with tears emoji].” Below that, is a list of logos with Hyamara’s social media: Twitter/X logo (with an X in the middle and a tear on the bird’s eye): @hyacspen Instagram logo: @hyacspen Tumblr logo: @thefatedmeeting Patreon logo: patreon.com/hyamara Itch.io logo: hyamara.itch.io Gumroad logo: hyamara.gumroad.com Between star emojis: hyamara.com Below, there is a black footer. Inside, in white text, it’s written: CARRIED OUT BY, and the logos of Secretaria de Cultura de Novo Hamburgo, of Lei Paulo Gustavo, and of Federal Govermnent of Brazil’s Ministério da Cultura – União. END OF IMAGE DESCRIPTION.]

#midnight truth time #art #mine #comic #comics #webcomic #indie comics #doesnt look like it but ive been working real hard at this lol

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pilesofpillows · 2 years ago

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Stars Aglow Ch. 3 || Okoye x Attuma

A Sea of Stars ~ Part 3 of 3

Ch. 1 • Ch. 2

Summary: Babies.

Warnings: Semi-Graphic Depictions of Childbirth, An Excessive Amount of Fluff, Seriously... I Hope Y'all Got Good Dental Insurance, And Tissues

Tags: @mamajankyy @theeblackmedusa @theemfingmenace @xenokattz @tvreadsandsleep @ariyannah @iccedays @xblackreader @blissdoutbyattuma @karimk2 @umber-cinders @mickimomo @dontruinmymorning @princess-of-gondor

A/N 1: Pinky swears are very serious things that I take very seriously. This chapter is a behemoth of nearly 5k words... ridiculous.

A/N 2: Massive, huge, ridiculous, enormous thank you to @xenokattz for all your help!! Love you forever 💕💕💕

The Amnio was brilliant.

When she’d first told them about it, Shuri had made it out to be a simple birthing chamber, but it was far more than that. She had converted an entire floor on the lower level of the Citadel’s residential tower into a birthing suite of dreams, complete with an operating room, a miniature neonatal ICU, and a near-exact replica of Okoye’s upstairs apartment with an added nursery for their post-delivery stay.

The main space was wide and cavernous, with a wall of windows that allowed the sun to illuminate the room and provided an incomparable view of the night sky. At its center was a circular in-ground pool with a series of wide ledges that helped accommodate varying depths within the water. Four holographic displays lined half of the pool, one for each baby and the last for her, their vitals being monitored by the patches affixed to her stomach.

Okoye kneeled on the second step below the outer ledge of the pool, her forearms folded across her mother’s knees as she breathed heavily, panting through the latest contraction. She’d been in the water for hours now, the night dragging on as her body prepared to deliver her children into the world. Her head was bowed, resting on her arms, her face twisted in a grimace as the labor pains reached a new height. Attuma kneeled behind her, massaging her submerged lower back and stomach while her mother cradled her head, murmuring words of comfort. Nakia and Ayo bracketed her mother, both coaxing her through breathing exercises in soft voices.

Nakia’s fingers entangled with hers. “You’re almost there, usisi. So close now.”

Okoye did not feel close. Each contraction felt like an hours-long battle, challenging everything she thought she knew about pain. What started as a dull ache in her lower back rose to a roaring fire as her muscles constricted tightly, stealing the breath from her lungs. She fought to regulate her breathing, exhaling forcefully in a loud groan.

“Good, intombi,” Her mother praised, dabbing the sweat from her brow. “You’re doing so good. It won’t be much longer.”

She heard Ixtli and the nurses who’d accompanied her singing beneath the water, a wordless melody of highs and lows in time with the waves of pain crashing over her. Attuma and Namora joined them, and she sighed gratefully as each note eased the sharp bite of the cramping across her lower body. Thank Chaac and Bast for Talokanil siren singers.

An early point of contention in her pregnancy had revolved around whether they would observe Wakandan or Talokanil traditions when the time for her delivery came. She and Attuma had argued relentlessly about it until Namora suggested a merger of the two traditions; Okoye would deliver their children on the surface, in the water, with a Talokanil midwife and a Wakandan obstetrician. That Namora's mother happened to be an iyom k'exelom was a happy coincidence, and Okoye couldn’t be more grateful to the woman and her melodious analgesic.

As the contraction passed, Okoye whimpered as she felt Attuma move to her left, missing his presence immediately. She pulled her fingers from Nakia’s and unfolded her arms, reaching for him desperately. Attuma leaned in close, holding her hand in his, and pressed his nose to her cheek, muttering a string of reassurances and praises in both their mother tongues.

She wanted him closer.

Ixtli surfaced, rebreathers firmly affixed to her face and gills, informing them that her body was ready. It was time to push.

She needed Attuma.

Using what little strength she had, Okoye used the stair above her and her beloved’s shoulder to support herself as she sat back on her knees.

“K’iino’?” Attuma’s voice was wary, trying to gauge her intent as he sat up with her.

“Behind me, please? I just… I need…” Okoye didn’t know how to adequately verbalize what she was feeling.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to; Attuma wrapped his arms around her, shifting them gingerly until his back was flush with the outer ledge of the pool, only their legs remaining beneath the water. Her back rested on his chest, skin-to-skin; their hearts beat in tandem, soul-to-soul.

“Good?” he whispered against her ear, and Okoye nodded, a stray tear slipping down her cheek. This was everything she wanted, everything she needed.

“Don’t leave me?” she pleaded.

“Never, in K’iino’,” came his fierce response.

Her family corralled around them. Ayo, Namora, and Shuri stood on the outer edge of the pool, each holding a different colored blanket for their corresponding godchild, ready to carry them from the water after they were born. Her mother and Nakia stood on either side of her and Attuma, grabbing her hands and helping her into a low squat.

Namora’s mother crouched between her legs, gently cradling her belly. “Are you ready, Nacom?”

Okoye gave a hoarse hum of approval and steeled herself. She was tired and terrified, but they were at the end now; the battle was almost won.

“When the pain comes again, listen to your body and bear down,” she instructed. The Talokanil midwife looked contemplative for a moment and pressed on the lower right side of her distended abdomen. “This one first, hm? He’s ready.”

Okoye wanted to question her, but the force of her contraction punched the air out of her, and she clamped her jaw shut. The urge to push came, and she did as she was told, a long groan escaping her gritted teeth as she bore down. Long agonizing seconds passed before Ixtli stopped her, letting Okoye catch her breath before commanding her to push again.

Her mother and Nakia spoke quiet words of encouragement as she labored, and she squeezed their hands as they continued on in the arduous cycle of pushing and breathing. Attuma blew softly on her head between each push, extolling her strength and courage as he urged her to keep fighting.

Ixtli ducked her head under the water quickly and resurfaced with a chuckle. “Uts ka a k'iino' yanak ti' juntúul paal il le eek'o'obo'. [It is fitting that your Sun would have one who looks to the stars.]” she said to Attuma in rapid Mayan, GRIOT translating for the room to hear.

“What- what does that mean?” Okoye asked, leaning back on Attuma’s shoulder, breathless. “Are they okay?”

“The baby is fine, General. He’s just facing the wrong way,” Dr. Langeni waded over from the fetal monitors, placing a reassuring hand on her knee as she explained. “It’ll make things a bit harder, but we’re watching carefully, and if we need to intervene, we will.” She nodded over to the wall of glass partitions on the right side of the room, behind which lay the operating room and NICU. “For now, just focus on letting your body do what it was meant to.”

Ixtli nodded, confirming her counterpart’s words, and when the next contraction struck, Okoye bore down again, her groan ending in a sharp cry as she felt the burning stretch of her son crowning.

“Dudula, Okoye!” “Yiza, emnandi, tyhala.” Nakia and her mother spoke words of encouragement, urging her to push, and squeezing her hands back as she tightened her grip on theirs.

The Talokanil nurses had resumed their song, and their voices grew in pitch as Okoye pushed again, a low scream erupting from her throat. The feeling of something giving way was followed by a rush of relief flooding her, and she collapsed against Attuma’s body. He peppered kisses onto her forehead, praising her strength and wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. Gasps of awe and resounding echoes of praise came from everyone around them, but Okoye only had eyes for the tiny, screaming baby in Ixtli’s arms. The midwife stood and laid her son on her chest, and she instinctively cradled his small body even as the elder woman used a soft towel to wipe him down.

Her son.

Wriggling and squalling and hers.

Theirs.

Attuma’s hand rested over hers, his chin over her shoulder as they took in the new life they’d made together.

They had a son.

“Molo, mntanandini. [Hi, sweet baby.]” she whispered as his cries softened.

He was magnificent.

Ixtli wrapped her firstborn in a towel, plucking him from her chest, and passed him to Shuri, who stood ready, having swapped places with Nakia to receive her godson. Okoye smiled weakly as the princess beamed at the baby.

“Molo, mncinane,” she murmured, gathering the small boy in a yellow woven blanket, “I’m your Aunt Shuri.”

Okoye craned her neck, watching closely as her sister carried him out of the water to the designated team of nurses and doctors ready to check him over. She winced as the smarting ache washed over her, despite her rush of joy. She felt the urge to push again, and it seemed her son’s twin was more than ready to join the world.

“He will come easier; his brother has made the path clear.” Ixtli said, once again pressing on her abdomen. “Now push, child.”

Attuma sat them both up, and Nakia rejoined her, grasping her hand fiercely as her mother did the same on the opposite side, the three of them helping to support her body as she bore down yet again, and they re-entered the cyclical pattern of pushing and breathing. The singing resumed with her efforts, but the song was different this time. Through the haze, Okoye made out the words to a familiar chant from the River Tribe, sung in perfect harmony by the nurses and Namora. Even Attuma sang with them, his voice a gentle rumble against her back. Her eyes darted to Nakia, who grinned at her as they sang the steady, cadenced tune.

Letting the song strengthen her, Okoye braced herself for the next wave.

She pushed.

And groaned.

And pushed again.

A burning flash drew a harsh cry from her lips, and her second child entered the world, as quiet as his brother was loud.

She held him to her chest, marveling at his scrunched face and soft cries. He was smaller than his brother but no less wriggly.

Another son.

Perhaps Attuma was right, she thought with a tearful laugh.

Her second son settled quickly, gazing back at her with Attuma’s dark, wide eyes.

He was beautiful.

Like they did with their first, Okoye and Attuma cradled their secondborn son together. “Okoye… in yakunaj… two...” His voice was choked with emotion, but she understood perfectly what he meant.

They had children.

Two children.

Two sons.

She cooed down at him, welcoming him to the world in a hushed whisper as Ixtli wiped him down before gingerly passing her son to Namora. The Talokanil general wrapped her secondborn in a blue blanket Okoye’s mother had woven, whispering sweet words to him in Mayan. Okoye settled back against Attuma, watching as her friend carried her baby out of the water, passing him to the team of nurses and doctors waiting to ensure he was hale and healthy.

“Rest now. The next will not be so easy,” Ixtli said, drawing their attention back to her. “The youngest rarely is.” She shot a pointed look toward Namora, who scoffed from the medical bay, making Okoye laugh weakly. “Let your body work to expel the afterbirth while I consult the stars for your first two children. I will return when it is time.” She cupped Okoye’s cheeks, touching their foreheads together. “You have done well, Nacom Okoye. Chaac and Ix Chel have blessed you with the strength of a thousand warriors.”

She smiled tiredly and thanked her. The Talokanil midwife exited the pool, and Dr. Langeni followed, promising to bring an update on the children when she returned.

Okoye looked at her mother. She was crying, tears of joy, Okoye presumed, and she blinked, a few tears slipping down her own cheeks. “Don’t cry, mama.”

She reached out a hand, and her mother took it, squeezing her fingers gently. “I can’t help it, emnandi. It’s not every day a woman becomes a grandmother; I should think I’m entitled to a few tears,” her mother sniped jokingly, and they shared a quiet laugh. She leaned forward to kiss Okoye’s cheek. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, intombi. You did wonderfully.” She kissed Attuma’s cheek as well. “You both did.”

Okoye grinned, then winced slightly as her body continued laboring. The contractions were far milder than her earlier ones, and one of the Talokanil nurses rubbed her ankle in encouragement, speaking words she couldn’t understand. Attuma murmured the translated instructions and a steady stream of compliments between light kisses to her head and hair, and the afterbirth passed easily, requiring little effort on her part.

She lay in the cradle of Attuma’s arms, glancing intermittently at the medical bay where her children rested. Okoye itched to hold them, to study their faces and catalog the pieces of her and Attuma in every feature. Nakia passed her a cup of ice chips, and she shot her sister a grateful smile, chewing them carefully between her contractions. She was slightly relieved for the short rest before their third child was born. She chose not to ask how Ixtli knew there would be time between the twins and their thirdborn or how she knew her children would be boys before their birth; the woman had forgotten more about childbirth than Okoye would likely ever know.

Dr. Langeni returned and had a quick GRIOT-assisted conversation with one of the Talokanil nurses before wading over to Okoye. “Molo, umama, baba,” she said with a soft smile. “Everything is looking good; both boys are hale, healthy, and quite possibly the cutest newborns above or below the surface. You did very good,” the doctor chuckled with a wink. She pressed a button on her kimoyo beads, activating a holographic display of her womb. Her lips twisted in a frown, and she sighed. “It looks like Baby C is still transverse. Which means we have two options: we can attempt to maneuver them in hopes that they turn on their own, or we go in for a C-section now. Should they prove reticent despite the maneuvers,” she paused, arching a pointed brow at them, “we’ll have to go in surgically.”

Okoye narrowed her eyes at the implication but couldn’t argue. Be it a maternal or paternal trait, headstrong children were a given between her and Attuma, and she was already praying for the strength and patience to match wits with whichever aspects of herself would be reflected in her children.

“How long would we try the maneuvers for?” she asked, shifting against her beloved and placing a hand over the monitoring patch of her youngest.

Dr. Langeni turned to the displays outside the pool, studying the remaining monitor. “Should Baby’s heart rate remain within acceptable parameters and the placenta intact? We’ll say 20 minutes.”

Okoye nodded and glanced at Attuma, silently asking him to weigh in.

He tilted his head, looking contemplative. “It is up to you, in K’iino’. I will be by your side no matter what you choose.”

Her heart fluttered, warmth flooding through her at his words, knowing he meant them wholly. She pressed her head into his chin and considered each option before taking a fortifying breath. “Let’s try the maneuvers.”

~~~

In the darkest hours of the morning, Okoye’s youngest child finally decided to cooperate with the efforts of the medical team. They’d guided the baby downward between her contractions, firm hands pushing hard through her abdomen. She grit her teeth through every attempt and nearly regretted her choice on a particularly hard press. The Talokanil surrounding her had resumed singing the euphoric analgesic of earlier, dulling the sharp pain, and Okoye groaned, breathing heavily. Attuma blew cool breaths along her head again, providing an anchor of solace in the sea of pain, but her relief proved temporary as her muscles tightened in a fierce contraction.

Ixtli had returned shortly before they began; she and Dr. Langeni worked in tandem, the Wakandan doctor maneuvering the baby while the Talokanil midwife swam beneath her, singing a soft siren call to draw the child down. Ixtli resurfaced, a visible smile showing through her rebreather, and she proclaimed it was finally time to push. Okoye sighed gratefully, thanking the gods. Dr. Langeni gave her an encouraging smile and waded to the side of the pool with her mother, Nakia, and Ayo. Okoye slid forward, squatting low on the step below Attuma, her chest and head remaining above water. He slid his arms under hers, helping her to brace her elbows on his knees.

“One last battle, Nacom,” her iyom k’exelom said, giving her knees a reassuring squeeze, “Let us see what the dawn brings.”

The woman sank beneath the water, and Okoye sucked in a deep breath as she felt the next contraction roll into her.

She pushed hard, biting back a scream, until Ixtli squeezed her calf, commanding her to stop. She leaned against Attuma, who spoke words of comfort and praise between blowing cool breaths of air on the crown of her head, each breath meant to hasten the delivery of their child. She rested for a moment before the Talokanil midwife’s head surfaced, coaxing her to push again, and they fell into a steady rhythm: Okoye pushed, Attuma blew, and Ixtli coaxed.

Again and again, until she felt like she couldn’t anymore.

She sagged between Attuma’s legs, her head thrown back as tears ran down her face.

“Ko'ox, Bah’te. K'a'abéet a ba'ate'el! [Come on, Warrior. You must fight!]” Ixtli urged in a stern voice. “We’re nearing the end, Okoye; Yaantal a to'on jolkanil.”

Find your courage.

Bast help her; Okoye didn’t know how much she had left.

She screwed her eyes shut before opening them to meet the deep umber of Attuma’s. They shone with love and pride, and he bent to kiss her forehead. “Ngakumbi kancinci [Just a little more], in yakunaj,” he whispered against her sweat-slicked skin. “Ungayenza. [You can do it.]”

She looked into the eyes she loved beyond all measure and found her courage.

The next contraction ripped through her, and Okoye tucked her head into her chest and bore down, crying out at the searing flash of white-hot pain.

Ixtli dipped back into the water, coaxing her through a final round of pushing, their youngest child slipping free of her body as the sun broke over the horizon.

Okoye cried in relief, her body slumping from exhaustion, and Attuma hauled her into his arms. Ixtli emerged from the water, holding a small baby who began wailing seconds after tasting the air.

“A son?” she asked, a weak smile on her lips.

Ixtli grinned, a fierce, proud thing.

“The Dawn has brought you a daughter,” she proclaimed, laying the baby on her chest.

Okoye clutched the small body, her daughter, to her, blinking in shock. Faintly, she heard the excited exclamations of her family, but her focus was solely on the tiny, wailing infant on her breast. She let out a shaky breath, staring at her daughter in awe.

She had a daughter.

Okoye held her close as she screamed, wondering how one so small could make so much noise.

She put her brothers to shame.

Okoye laughed as hot tears ran down her face, gently attempting to shush the squalling infant while Ixtli cleaned her.

She was perfect.

Attuma laid a large hand on her back, nearly covering her entire body, humming the lullaby he sang throughout her pregnancy, and they marveled as she quieted almost immediately, her robust cries softening to hushed whimpers.

“K Eek'e' asab chichanen. [Our littlest star.]” Her beloved murmured, smoothing his finger over her furrowed brow.

Their youngest grizzled, nose crinkling.

“Welcome to the world, ntomba ethandekayo.”

Ixtli swaddled their daughter in a towel and placed her in Ayo’s arms, her sister-in-arms greeting the child warmly, wrapping her in the soft green blanket Okoye’s mother had woven for their third child. “Good morning, little one. Today is your birthday.”

She exited the water gracefully, speaking to the baby in full sentences, making Okoye chuckle despite her exhaustion. She watched through half-lidded eyes as the final team of nurses and doctors engulfed their baby girl. As their daughter was tended to, Attuma pressed long, tender kisses to her head, muttering an incomprehensible jumble of praise and thanks between each one.

“Óoxtúul paalal [Three children], in yakunaj,” he said into her hair. “Ts'o'ok a taasik to'on óoxp'éel… [You have brought us three…]”

“Three stars,” Okoye replied softly. “Our own little sea."

~~~

They moved her from the water to a large bed once she passed the afterbirth, and she lay reclined against Attuma, clean, changed, and content. They talked quietly with her mother and Dr. Langeni about what to expect these next few days as they waited for Ixtli, the trio, and their godmothers. Okoye’s exhaustion was bone deep, but she wouldn’t sleep a wink until she had held each of her babies. Nakia slipped into the room, having ducked out earlier to retrieve the rest of their family. She led M’Baku, Yoltzin, and Aneka in, Junior still sleeping in the early morning hours. They stood at the end of the bed, smiles abounding.

Attuma’s mother came to their bedside, pressing her forehead against Okoye’s, then Attuma’s. “Ki'imak óolal, waal. [Congratulations, daughter],” Yoltzin said, grinning brightly. These weren’t her first grandchildren, but they were her eldest son’s, and she’d been giddy with joy the moment Attuma had informed her of Okoye’s pregnancy. She rounded the bed to stand beside Okoye’s mother, the new grandmothers embracing each other.

“Three babies in one night! You truly are Wakanda’s greatest warrior,” M’Baku smiled proudly, gently squeezing her ankle through the bedding. “Where are the little shark pups?”

His question was answered by the sliding door, and Ixtli entered the room on quiet feet with Shuri, Namora, and Ayo trailing behind her. Each woman held a brightly swaddled bundle in their arms, and they formed a line by her right bedside.

Shuri passed the baby in her arms to Ixtli, who unwrapped him slightly and placed him on the far right side of Okoye’s exposed chest. “This is your firstborn. A son who looked upon the stars as he entered the world, a war cry on his tongue. What name will you give to him?”

Okoye looked at her eldest son, whose eyes were closed as he slept peacefully, tiny brown fingers curling into her skin. The small yellow cap on his head hid most of his hair, but Okoye could see the gentle wisps that curled along his forehead. She lifted his small hand with her finger, an awed breath leaving her as he gripped it firmly.

He looked like Attuma.

Her beloved carefully traced the soft fuzzy hair of his son’s brow and answered Ixtli. “T’Khwezi Cadmael.”

The Star Chief.

Okoye heard Shuri and Yoltzin gasp quietly, and she glanced between her little sister and Attuma’s mother. Both women’s eyes were watery, and Okoye reached out, entangling her fingers with Shuri’s. She squeezed, providing a gentle reassurance, and nodded to Yoltzin. Neither T’Challa nor Cadmael would ever be forgotten; their spirits lived on through them. Shuri smiled tearfully, muttering a wet thanks before releasing her fingers, and Yoltzin hugged Attuma briefly. The princess slid from her place in line, crossing behind Namora and Ayo to stand with the rest of their family at the foot of the bed.

“This is your secondborn. A son born beneath the Great Weaver, swift and sure of his path.” Ixtli lifted their son from Namora’s arms and placed him on the right side of Okoye’s chest. “What name will you give to him?”

Okoye gazed down at her son, watching him nuzzle into her skin. His skin was warm, and his body was heavier than she expected. He looked nearly identical to his brother; the deeper cleft of his chin was the only difference she could see between them. Like his siblings, their son had thin, dark lines along his collarbones, alluding to the presence of gills. Dr. Langeni had already confirmed that the organs were vestigial and had no function. Her children were blessed with the ability to respirate air through their lungs and water through their skin, much like the King of Talokan.

The first to be born between the land and sea, her children represented the cementing of the Wakandan/Talokanil alliance. The two nations were connected by blood, woven together by love. Her son required a name that fit their future.

“Chii’kaan B’atz’,” Okoye said after a moment.

The Feathered Serpent Weaver.

Attuma cupped her face gently, looking deep into her eyes. “K’iino, are you certain?”

Her beloved knew there was no love lost between her and his king. It had taken time for her to tolerate his presence in Birnin Zana, never mind their home. Okoye hadn’t even called him K’uk’ulkan until she reached her second trimester of pregnancy. To honor him in this way was a step beyond, but in order for their nations to grow strong together, grace was necessary. She would never forget, and likely never forgive, but the past was immovable and unchangeable. They could only go forward.

“I’m sure” Okoye nodded. “We are bound by blood, my love. Our children are equal parts, Wakandan and Talokanil. We must honor both as we move forward.”

Attuma’s eyes melted with her declaration, and he kissed her forehead, her nose, then her lips softly. “Ndiyakuthandana, Okoye.”

Okoye smiled and returned his kiss, just as soft. “In yaakunech, Attuma.”

“The mother of your children is a wise woman, Nacom. K'a'abet a sutk'esiko'ob le ti' a watan,” Ixtli said with a sharp grin.

Okoye didn’t understand everything the iyom k’exelom said, but she did know watan. Wife.

She and Attuma shared a knowing smile.

We will be married when in K’iino’ is ready to have a husband again. That’s what he’d told her mother.

She never thought she would have another husband, not after the bitter betrayal she’d faced. She hadn’t thought she could tie her soul to another man before Attuma. She hadn’t thought she could love someone so wholly, so thoroughly that she felt incomplete without them as she did with Attuma. He held her heart; married or not, their souls were irrevocably bound.

“Tu k'iinili' [In time],” her beloved responded with a sly smirk.

Ixtli nodded and turned to Ayo, lifting their youngest from her arms. Like she’d done with the other two, the Talokanil midwife unwrapped the baby and laid her on Okoye’s chest, right between her brothers.

“This is your thirdborn. A daughter born at the dawn's breaking, ushering in victorious joy. What name will you give to her?”

Okoye craned her neck down to stare at the smallest of the three curled against her chest and felt her heart sing. She was their unexpected gift, a joyful surprise after the birth of two boys.

She looked at Attuma, who’d been so certain they would have three sons, they hadn’t bothered to discuss what they might name a girl. He looked just as baffled as she felt. Carefully considering Ixtli’s words, Okoye smiled down at her daughter, who grizzled and grunted even while she slept.

“Ixazaluoh.”

Yoltzin’s water-distorted voice spoke from the other side of the bed, offering up the name.

Attuma hummed and placed his hand on their daughter’s head. “It means ‘dawn,’” he explained lowly.

Okoye echoed his hum. “Very fitting, Na’,” she grinned. “Ixazaluoh, then. Ixazaluoh Kenura. The dawn of our joy.”

Her beloved’s smile was wide and bright. “Perfect.”

Attuma kissed her head, running gentle hands over each of their children. “They’re beautiful, in K’iino’.”

Staring down at them, Okoye couldn’t help but agree.

They would grow in time, surrounded by love and supported by their family. But for now, it was enough that they were here.

Small and sleeping and theirs.

Beautiful, indeed.

A/N 3:

I tried not to be too graphic with the L&D, but she did have 3 babies naturally so... it wasn't ever gonna be short.

There's a fourth part to this somewhere in my brain... it might take a lil longer cuz I gotta work on that OT3 thing 👀👀

#attoye #attuma x okoye #okoye x attuma #okoye x attuma fanfiction #okoye #attuma #bpwf #fluffy fluff #floofy floof #the talokandan trio has arrived #attoye has babies #pilesofpillows #a sea of stars

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moonlitxmermaid · 11 days ago

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I'm writing this because I have to get it out.

I saw you in my sleep, again.

This time, you took me back to the mountain at night. You were driving your car, I was in the passenger seat. You barely kept your eyes on the road and kept glancing at me. You had different expressions that got more intense every time. I saw joy, I saw worry, I saw sadness, I saw fear, I saw anger. I called your name, asked what was wrong, and I saw your eyes glaze over. You stared straight ahead and acted like I wasn't there. It felt like you weren't there either, but your body was. Your eyes that were previously glowing dimmed to grey. I started to panic slightly, and I asked you what's wrong, and you said you couldn't tell me. You just kept saying, "I can't," "I'm okay," "It's okay," and "I'm fine." I stared in confusion and looked out the passenger window at the view and just said, "Oh... okay?"

We got to the parking lot, you parked, and just stared ahead at the trees. You left the headlights on. I sat with you...and without looking, you grabbed my hand. It took me by surprise, but you gently interlocked your fingers with mine. Your touch felt so warm. My heart dropped, I felt my cheeks blush, and my eyes glistened as bittersweet tears filled my lids as I was looking at our hands. You had your aquamarine ring on, and I had a moonstone ring. They weren't there before. We were wearing our bracelets, which were also not there before. I looked up at you, and you were looking at me. You were smiling just as warm as my cheeks. The color came back to your eyes, and they glowed again as you excitedly asked if I was ready to go, I smiled back at you and nodded my head, wiping away tears. You asked what was wrong, I told you it was nothing. You asked if I was sure, and I reassured you with a smile.

As we unbuckled, I felt the worry melt away. We walked together, and you took my hand again. You warned me to be careful and not to trip. It made me giggle because even in my dreams, it seems as if I'm clumsy. We kept walking, we went past the rocks, and we walked to the observation tower. You asked if I wanted to go up, and I looked at the full moon. As nervous as I was, I still wanted to go see the moon with you. So naturally, I said yes. You held my hand, and we walked up the steps... you said to me, "I hope you like the view tonight!", and I said to you, "It's the perfect night to go, the moon is bright!" We didn't even need our flashlights to walk up the stairs this time.

We got to the top, and it was just us and the moon. You held me close as we gazed at the night sky and the city. The moon illuminated everything, and the stars were so beautiful. I remember feeling so warm and safe in your arms. You checked in and asked if I was okay because you knew about my fear of heights. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed in relief. You were here, so was I. Everything felt right. I miss that feeling. I answered, smiling, "I feel like I'm on top of a mountain." I heard you laugh and call me a goof. I giggled with you and opened my eyes as I felt something wet hit my face... it was snowing.

You let go of me and started suddenly bolting down the stairs. I panicked. I followed you and had to be careful not to slip because there was ice on the stairs. I asked why you were running, and you didn't answer me. I heard you start to cry. I asked for you to wait up, and you stopped abruptly looking at me with tears in your eyes. You called my name, you sounded sad and scared. You started running back up to me, but then you disappeared as I reached for your hand reaching for mine, and so did the tower. I fell from mid-air and hit the ground hard. So hard, I couldn't get up. I felt paralyzed as I cried on the ground. I called out for you, I called out for help, and no one was around. Just me, the moon, and the snow. I felt hopeless and gave up. Eventually, the snow buried me, and I woke up.

#dream journal #personal #💔#might delete later #apparently you still haunt me and I bet you don't even think of me anymore #last tag could and should be a Fall Out Boy song #i really miss you and i hope you come back one day and stay

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blackbat05 · 1 year ago

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Don't be scared

Frank Castle x Female Reader

Plot: Escaping from the memories of you proves to be especially difficult when a core memory is forged on a vehicle that transcends international waters.

Genre: PG-13, Angst

A/N: Finally got down to binge-watching <The Punisher> on my break and got inspiration from being literally on a plane ride that was one of the most bumpy ones that I ever had. Hope you enjoy it! Reblogs appreciated💜

Frank Castle picks up his bag, towering over most passengers. But he keeps his head down not wanting to attract any unwanted attention.

Stuffing his passport back into the bag, he slings it over his shoulder, searching for his seat. Frank sees a young woman sitting at the window seat, staring absentmindedly at the ground staff moving luggage into the plane. Good. She doesn't seem to be the nosy type.

He takes his seat, allowing other passengers to get settled in. The boarding process goes smoothly and the plane starts to prepare for takeoff. The safety briefing that no one pays attention to finishes swiftly and the engines begin to whir to life. Frank finally relaxes and he decides to try and catch some shut eye.

Even if it may be riddled with nightmares.

Frank doesn't know how long the plane had been in the air until he's rudely awake by a harsh jerk. Turbulence.

He's about to go back to his fueled nightmares when he sees the woman holding the armrest in a death grip. She's trying to regulate her breathing and her left ring finger taps irregularly.

He has religiously followed his rules of not engaging with any civilians but curse his need to help others. Frank's about to decide against breaking his rules when the woman addresses him first.

"I'm sorry but do you think I could take that paper bag if you don't need it?"

Frank realizes that you're talking about the barf bag that is slotted into the pocket of every seat. It hits him how the woman remains polite despite looking on the verge of a breakdown. Ah, screw this.

"Be my guest. But do you mind if I help you? You seem a little sick." He hopes he hasn't offended her. The woman gives a weak smile. "You're an observant one. I have a fear of flying."

Frank notices that the woman looks at him for a while as if waiting for him to mock her. "Don't worry about it. It's perfectly normal. I've seen plenty of guys struggling with heights let alone jumping out of a plane."

She takes some time to process this. "You're military."

"Marines." Frank should have had the alarm ringing in his head but he sees the woman visibly relaxing. "We all have different ways to take control of that fear. You want to know what I do?"

Frank leans in, directing her to face the magnificent view of the clouds, the wing of the plane in sight. "Tell me five things that you see. You name one thing and you take a deep breath right after."

She bravely nods and her eyes roam around.

"All I see is just clouds but... that one looks like it has wings."

Frank nods his head, silently encouraging her to continue.

"The sky is so blue... pastel blue. They look like the paint that they sell at the local bookstore. It looks like another plane just flew past not too long ago judging by the straight line that looks out of place if you ask me-ah!"

The plane shakes as it passes through another cloud.

"Hey, don't give up on me. You still have two more." Frank urges. She slowly opens her eyes and takes a deep breath like he instructed.

"I think I can see an island but it's blocked by the clouds. Come to think of it... I never noticed how they look so much like cotton candy."

The plane starts to make its descent and the Captain announces that they are almost at the end of the journey.

"Feeling better?"

The woman smiles and she turns around, nose almost brushing against Frank who had yet to move back into his seat. "Much. Thank you. I'll definitely remember what you've taught me. Control the fear and don't let it control you."

"Glad I could help."

Frank is about to settle in to prepare for landing when she asks the dreaded question.

"I'm not usually the nosy type but I would love to know the name of the stranger who helped me with my decade-long fear of flying." The look on her face was almost pleading. It was difficult to fight against. So he does.

"Pete."

But you see, it never ends there.

***

"Safe travels Frank." Curtis brings him in for a hug. "Call me if you need anything."

Frank returns the hug and heads for the departure gate. He tunes out the thousands of passengers fighting to get to their assigned gate and in no time he finds his own.

He checks his ticket again, 29F. The very same. Frank sits down and he doesn’t bother to make space for the incoming passenger who would be sitting beside him because it would be empty. Frank made sure of it with the help of David.

The plane races on the runway and it ascends into the clouds. The light for the seatbelts turns off and passengers start to unbuckle their seatbelts. Frank moves too but to the window seat.

"I have to do this Frank. Remember? Not to let my fear rule me."

"Breaking news, a UN plane delivering supplies to the Western region of Qurac exploded yesterday evening. The situation is developing but it is presumed that all personnel are dead."

Frank takes a heavy breath.

"I could come with you. We always did work well as a team."

Frank chuckles, looking at the Liberman family standing behind David. "Nah, I'm good. Besides, Sarah will cut your balls off if you pull another stunt again."

David breaks into a snort. "Very funny." He pauses, looking visibly uncomfortable. "Don't do anything stupid."

"No promises."

The plane shakes and Frank sees a little girl in the other aisle squeezing her eyes shut as her mother holds her hand. He turns away, facing the clouds once more.

He wonders if the plane goes any higher, would he be able to see her? He can't imagine how the fear had gripped her at the last moment, leaving her trapped like a rat in a cage.

No, she wouldn't have. She would have been brave up till the very end. Atta girl. He wants to hug her so badly. He's so close but yet he can never close the gap.

The plane starts to descend, announcing its arrival. Frank takes a look at the photo of his last moment with her - a simple ice cream date at a park. Bringing it to his lips, he makes a promise that he'll come for you soon.

But first, he'll make a trip to hell.

For they will pay.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle angst #frank castle #the punisher angst #the punisher x reader #netflix the punisher #frank castle x female reader

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astrowhump · 2 years ago

Text

Ash & Dorian #3: Dinner Time

TW: force feeding, burning, broken nose, humiliation, dehumanization, mentioned memory loss, creepy whumper

[previous chapter]

It’s been days. His arms cry out to be stretched and both his legs have lost all sensation. How he’s chained to the wall is barely painful, but simply tiring. The rumbling of his stomach reminds him of how deprived of food he is.

The only way he can tell how much time has passed is by counting every time the smell of cooking food leaks into the room and classical music plays in the house behind the locked door in a ritual-like manner; That’s how he knows it’s dinner time now. So far, 8 dinner-times have passed, but no dinner for him, he’s being starved like snails in a fancy restaurant.

'Is that what it is? am I being detoxified to be eaten at a later time? Is my captor...a cannibal? It wouldn’t make sense to have me lose weight if I'm going to be ‘food’ though—'

The metal door opens with a creak; unusual. The music sounds much clearer now. Dorian is by the door, standing tall to his terrifying height. He isn’t in a suit unlike the last few times he’s seen him. Tonight he wears black wide-leg trousers and a white stretchy t-shirt; The same loafers as the last time, or something very similar, Ash couldn’t tell the difference if he tried. His hair looks damp, like he just got out of the shower; the sweet smell of shampoo that accompanies him is a pleasant change.

They haven’t exchanged a word since that tantrum he threw; he only saw Dorian the next morning when he came to install shields on that tiny window, dooming his prisoner to complete darkness.

Finally, he walks in with a bowl of steaming soup…or stew? Ash can’t quite make it out from that distance. The smell is divine. It’s well-seasoned and it looks mouthwateringly delicious.

As much as he hates to admit it, he would do anything for that soup right now. His empty stomach growls as soon as the smell hits his nostrils.

“You must be hungry.”

“…You think?” His voice comes out weaker than he intended to, but that’s to be expected when you haven’t spoken for days.

“Teaching you manners is gonna be a long journey.” he sighs, but it's not like he didn't already know that when he picked this one to be his new plaything.

Ash opens his mouth to spit a bitter response, like a bratty teenager, but instead, he whines as his stomach rumbles again and decides to keep his hateful comments to himself for now. All that matters at this moment in time is food. The lack of energy has made him constantly exhausted, he’s lost a considerable amount of weight since he came here due to his body breaking down its own fat and muscle tissue to make up for the malnourishment.

His captor sets the bowl of soup in front of the chained-up boy.

“Eat up then.”

He looks at the steaming orange liquid, it’s too hot, and there’s not even a spoon in sight. Even if there was, how the fuck is he supposed to eat with his hands tied behind his back.

He looks up at the taller man, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“Well, won’t you uncuff my hands…please?” He says spitefully, playing it nice for the sake of the black-hole forming inside his stomach.

“You don’t need your hands to eat, pet.”

Ash cringes at the sound of that pet name.

“Of course I do, how in hell could I-“ his expression turns vexed as realization dawns on him “…you expect me to put my head in the bowl like some kind of fucking animal!”

“That is what you are, my dear, and soon you’ll get used it.” he says calmly as he crouches down in front of the boy to observe his eyes closely.

“Ha! Dream on, bastard-”

“Your choice.” In an instant, the bowl is snatched from the ground and the dark-haired man is back on his feet, walking towards the exit.

Ash didn’t expect him to give up so soon. What if I die this way? What if that psychopath keeps mehere until all that’s left is a skeleton? I bet he wouldn't even notice I'm dead until my body starts to smell.'

He decides that ego is of no use to a dying man, besides, he craves that food too much.

“W- wait” he shouts, a bit louder than he expected. The man stops, but doesn’t turn around.

“Fine! I want that soup, I…I’ll eat it, w- without my hands…if I have to.” he says as shame burns his face flushed.

There’s a long tormenting silence before another word is exchanged.

“Too late for that.” He starts moving away again.

“No! Wait…Master!”

That word rings in Dorian’s head like music to his ears. That is exactly how he wants his pet to be, desperate and respectful. And if he has to play rough all the time to achieve that, he will. He turns on his heels. The fair-haired boy’s eyes light up with hope.

“Open your mouth.”

He looks back in confusion, but hesitantly does as he’s told.

Dorian walks over to the boy, until he’s standing right above his slim body and tilts the porcelain bowl. Hot soup pours into the pet’s mouth with no prior warning.

Ash shrieks and pulls his face away from the stream of flaming hot liquid, panting rapidly to cool his burning mouth. This is even worse than not feeding him, at least he could feel his mouth then. As if on cue, his stomach grumbles and it feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

“Either you eat this right now, or I’ll come visit you in another week to see if you’ve changed your mind.”

They both know that isn’t just an empty threat. Ash feels his tastebuds numbing and the tender tissue of his mouth burning. At last, he decides to open his mouth once again and get it over with.

Pouring the last portion of the soup takes only about half a minute in reality, but to the gradually burning throat of the boy seems more like half an hour. As much as he tries to keep his head still, his body twitches and dodges the agonizing waterfall of food, but he can’t control the natural reflexes of his body. As a result, the tomato soup gets all over his lips and chin, burning every inch of skin it touches until it trickles down his jaw onto the tiles.

Dorian smiles at how the boy gulps down what he’s given, not even taking a second to breathe in between, while his surface tissues are being destroyed. It’s fascinating what deprivation of primal needs does to a human.

Ash starts gasping for air the second that bowl is empty, not only to breathe, but most importantly, to cool off his inflamed insides. He can feel the exact path that scorching liquid took, all the way down to his stomach, and it burns like hellfire.

He wheezes, for as long as he can keep it up, until he cools down just enough to look up and find his captor’s amused expression and that smug fucking smile plastered over that disgusting face.

“I don’t appreciate your ungrateful attitude, pet.” He finally breaks the silence.

“You set my insides on fire!” He hisses with a hurting throat.

“I didn’t force you into anything, dear…Trust me, I could have, if I wanted to…no,I simply gave you a choice, and you happened to pick the smarter option.” He shrugs.

Ash frowns and stares at him like an angry hound. He knows Dorian is indeed right, but he would never admit it.

“I see you’ve spilled some of that precious food. I expected you to be more careful with it, more grateful…after a week of not having any-“

“…eight.” the smaller voice whispers, cutting the other man off mid-sentence.

“What was that?”

“Eight days. It’s been eight days.”

“Oh pardon my ignorance. After eight days, you must’ve learned that every drop counts.”

He slides his right foot forward, pointing at the spillage on the floor with the tip of his shoe, and some drops on the black leather of his shoes.

“Clean it up.”

Ash looks up at him, perplexed…he understands what that order meant, he just doesn’t get how that stupid fucker thinks he would ever do that.

“Sure!” He says mockingly.

Dorian does not like that tone.

He doesn’t even realize when the standing figure squats down next to him, but the next thing he feels is atrocious blinding pain in his face as it’s slammed onto the ground. He hears his nose crack, along with his voice, as he grunts and then screams, his head is lifted up and pushed towards the ground a second time and this time blood oozes out of him, both his nose and mouth are bleeding now. He keeps screaming, sobbing, and stars shoot up in his vision, the only thing he can’t do is move, not even as much as the restraints allow him. His brain feels numb and it hurts, like all the headaches he had experienced in his entire life are coming at him at the same time.

“No-“ he groans as he feels the grip on his hair tighten again, preparing to send him face-first into the tiles one more painful time.

“Hn-no…”

The next blow doesn’t come, but the grip stays where it is, signaling that it’s still not over.

“P- Please“ he chokes out in between sobs.

“Clean it up.” Dorian repeats, in that exact same tone as the last time.

This time, however, his pet lowers his head and starts licking up every drop he spots on the ground, reluctantly, but it’s much less painful than having his nose broken, Dorian assumes.

Satisfied with the result, his fingers let up and he stands above him again.

“This too.” He draws the stained shoe forward.

Ash doesn’t look up at him, but Dorian knows his cheeks are flashing red.

He hesitates for a moment. A thick drop of blood drips down his nose, which must remind him of the other option in play, because in less than a second his mouth is on his master’s shoe, licking away all that he spilled, even less reluctant and disgusted than he was when cleaning the floor.

He feels humiliated, to say the fucking least. He doesn’t want to think about the state he’s in, but Dorian’s occasional prideful chuckles don’t give him a chance at that. He raises and tilts his loafer to give the pet better access; well, truth is, he wants to watch his pitiful face as he’s humbled.

What has Ash become, kneeling at another man’s feet and licking his shoes clean? Degraded down to an animal - less than, even. His blood boils in his guts, he wants to cry for his own misery, but he doesn’t want to demean himself even further to this psychopath.

Is it worth it though? Wouldn’t it be easier to just submit? Physically, probably; but he could never live with himself if he stopped fighting, if he stopped trying and just accepted his doomed fate.

He pulls himself up with the help of the chains connecting his hands to the wall and sits on his knees, waiting to be left alone now that he’s fed and tormented. He couldn’t - wouldn’t - stand another moment with that guy, he’ll puke all over his fresh-smelling outfit.

“Attaboy.” He sounds patronizing. It makes Ash sick to his stomach.

“I knew you were smart the second I laid eyes on you at that convention.”

“Wh- what convention?” He sounds surprised.

“The NY law convention a few months ago. You spoke so elegantly there. In fact, that’s when I decided I had to have you.”

“Y- you- you fuck- who are you?“ he wants to punch that gut-wrenching smirk off his face, but all he can do is pull at the restraints and make himself look more dismal, if that was even possible.

“We actually had a short encounter a while ago, but I doubt you remember any of it.”

Ash’s puzzled expression further confirms his point.

“You’ll understand soon enough.”

Dorian doesn’t wait to explain any longer; he grabs the bowl and leaves as his prisoner sits there stunned, trying to make sense of everything, with a dizzy head and a bleeding nose.

#whump #pet whump #creepy whumper #whump writing #defiant whumpee #intimate whumper #my writing #whump drabble #whump prompt #obedient whumpee #conditioned whumpee #whump community

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sanctuary-kingdomhearts · 2 years ago

Text

꧁𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐼𝐼𝐼꧂

𝐷𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔

He was an older male, with long, white hair that flowed down his body’s natural curves and framed his face, rolling under his mouth and adding flare to his eyes with the bushiness of his eyebrows. He was dressed oddly but in line with his aesthetic of stars and magic. A large-cap sat comfortably on his head, covered in stars behind its blue background, with plain blue robes covering him to match. His very appearance gave meaning to the word ‘wizard.’

His very figure, right down to how he carried it, told anyone how composed he was. And, standing before him, I felt smaller than my below-average height usually made me. I averted my eyes, finding that to be a mistake when I realized the candle on his desk was shaped like a skull. Books floated about the room and organized themselves on shelves only to move again, or push other books out of the way. Always in a constant state of disarray.

Behind him were windows that allowed someone to look out into the starry night sky, and trees in the distance covered up the fact there was no ground past them. The sky was closer than it had been on the islands, and we’d had to take a rocket made out of candy to get to this fantastical place. It was just like one of the fairy tales that inspired Sora and Riku’s adventure games.

I stepped back as another stepped forward, hitting my shoe on the chalkboard behind me. I sucked in a breath and put my foot down, trying not to seem as small as I felt. Diverting my attention back to the two adults I was in the room with.

The male that stepped up was quite odd as well. Weirdly shaped with a snout and large, circular ears. His beady eyes reminded me of an animal with their look, but inside them was undeniably someone who cared, at least, from when I had met him. He’d gently taken my hand and told me it’d be alright, as he and mom talked.

His outfit was practical and easy to move in. Indicating that he exercised a lot, or needed to be more mobile than most. It was equipped with armor and soft, red fabric, a light jacket, and sweatpants. He had large, yellow shoes with belts on him too. He had a lot of belts.

I rolled back on my heels, bothered that Sora wasn’t here, and Mom had to wait outside.

“Master,” The male with the high-pitched voice spoke softly, “it’s her, she has the keyblade.”

Right, not only had Mom been worried about the strange key, but this person too, Mickey. I stepped closer to him, looking for assurance in front of his intimidating master.

The older man stroked his beard and closed his eyes in thought, “a keyblade wielder so young? It has never happened before,” He opened his striking black eyes, “perhaps it’s a warning, about what is to come.” He sighed, and I couldn’t help but observe how strained it sounded.

“What is to come, master?” The mouse-man stressed. “You won’t tell me anything.”

The wizard, Yen Sid– I believe that’s what Mickey told me before we arrived– shook his head slowly, “it is not our concern yet,” he turned and locked eyes with me.

“Could you show me, your keyblade?” He asked, pausing in the middle of his sentence as if contemplating whether I even knew what that meant.

I don’t. But with Mickey’s help, taking my hand in his larger gloved one, the light came back. The old and worn silver and gold key appeared in my hand, I couldn’t support it, so Mickey held up the oversized key for me. It was scratched and there were signs of it being worn beyond relief. It was definitely old, battle-tested.

He hummed, taking his hand off his beard. “So, it’s time for that as well.”

When he closed his eyes this time, he kept them shut for so long I’d thought he’d fallen asleep. But then he opened them, and along with that, came to a decision. “Then, it’s far too dangerous for her to return to the islands.”

I froze, clutching the clothes over my chest to try and steady myself. What did he just say? I think I must’ve misheard.

“But what do we do..? She’s too young to start training, and we can’t just give her to master Eraqus, can we? He has his own pupils to train.” Mickey looked at me, sympathy in his eyes.

I didn’t want sympathy. What did they mean I couldn’t go back home to Mom and Sora? That was ridiculous! It was just a key!

“I wanna go home,” I stated, walking closer to the desk. I didn’t even measure up enough to peek my head over without using my tiptoes. “To Sora, my mom’s waiting outside. I’m not going anywhere but there.”

“(Y/n)...” Mickey reached out to grab my shoulder, but I kept my gaze on Yen Sid.

“I don’t understand why everyone’s so concerned with it, but– does it matter? I’ll be careful with it.” I tried to convince them, pleading with them. But neither would meet my eye as I turned to each of them.

“(Y/n),” Mickey started, “it’s not you we’re worried about. It’s the heartless.” The mouse specified.

“The, what?” I asked, breathless. It felt like the world had turned on its head, and in a way, I suppose it had. But I felt like I was drowning in things I didn’t understand, didn’t hope to understand. Beside me, a black creature appeared with a puff of pink smoke that trailed into the air. It stayed still, but looked exactly like the Scary from two days ago!

I backed up, running into Mickey as I tried to avoid it. Yen Sid set his hand down, robes shifting with it, creating the sound of meshing fabric.

“This is a heartless,” he explained to me. “They are creatures created from the darkness in people's hearts, they seek to snuff out the light.”

“Your keyblade attracts them to you, (Y/n).” Mickey chimed in, I turned to him, clutching my chest.

“So they come from people's sadness and stuff? And then what do they do, snuff out? Like a candle?” I muttered before thinking of Sora, “and I can, help them?”

Mickey’s eyebrows dropped, behind us, the heartless burst into a puff of pink smoke. “Something like that.”

“By repairing their hearts, you would help those who’ve lost their way and have become consumed by darkness,” Yen Sid explained, his natural inflection highlighting the word consumed and elongating darkness.

“So, if they snuff out the light, that's bad?”

“Yes.”

“But I can just turn it back on again though, so there's nothing to worry about.”

Mickey looked at me, his black eyes became glossy with a sort of sadness. I wondered what could make a person that sad. “Eventually, yes, you will be able to do that.”

The older male cleared his throat, rubbing his beard. “It means, child, that returning to your family will put their hearts in danger.”

I turned to him, tilting my head, our hearts? He was going on about hearts too? Curious, I wanted to know just what exactly the hearts they were talking about went.

“They will try to take your heart, along with your mother and Sora’s.”

My grip on the fabric tightened. “But that would hurt…”

“Exactly. So we have to make sure that won’t happen.”

“But we’d be fine, right? Even if they snuff out the lights, we can just turn more on.” I spoke, determined. I could keep my family safe. I could handle responsibility. Anything for mom, anything for Sora.

Mickey sighed, averting his gaze from me. “That's not how it works, (Y/n).”

Confused, I turned to him, mumbling out my question as I deflated. “Why not?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with yet, child.” The magician dismissed me and I frowned.

“If it’s important to my family,” I turned to him and stared into his eyes, “I should know. Right?”

He closed his eyes, breathing in slowly. I balanced my weight on one foot, suddenly antsy. An ache in my chest wasn’t going away, even as I scratched at it. “It’s not important for a child to know.”

Heat made its way into my cheeks and I frowned, “I wanna go home, I wanna see Sora.”

I turned around, intending to walk out the door and get mom, hoping she’d help end this conversation and let me go home. But Mickey placed a hand on my shoulder.

“If you go back home, untrained and with that keyblade, your brother will get hurt, (Y/n).” There was so much pain in the mouse's voice that I turned around to meet his almost teary eyes. I bit my lip and stilled in my movement. The look in his eye was too personal for me not to listen.

“But I love them, I want to be with them,” My chest ached again, a dull ache that persisted even as I rubbed against the rainbow fabric.

Mickey nodded, pulling me into a hug, “I know, I know, but, if you love them, you have to make sure they're safe, right?” Reluctantly, I nodded.

He bent down, crouching on his knees, “You wanna keep them safe, don’tcha?”

“I do.”

We turned to his master, and I gazed up at his wisdom-worn face. He peered down at me, and I resigned myself to listening to the rest of their conversation.

“She’s too young to start training.” He decided, his decision as firm as his voice, “Once she is of proper age, I will undergo her training myself, but until then, we must house her in a place that is best suited to protecting both her and those around her.”

Alarmed, my body shot up on its own. “You mean I have to go somewhere else?!”

Mickey protested as well, “master, she’s way too young to wait for the proper age. If we did that…” He looked at me, “We– I can monitor the islands, make it part of my daily patrol!”

I turned to him, then back to the master, “yes. We can do that, can’t we?”

The old man sighed, rubbing his beard, “Mickey.” He stated with closed eyes, “Do you really think you can handle that? As the only current active duty keyblade master, you have a duty to the denizens of every world. It's far too much for you to handle the protection of the child on her own.”

“Well, we can’t give her to master Eraqus. Like I said before, he has far too much with Aqua, Terra, and Ven.” Mickey argued, suddenly taking my previous stance.

Confused by this change, I tilted my head. “What’s the proper age?”

The older man stared down at me, unwavering in his composure, his cold stare made me straighten up before I even noticed it was happening.

“Thirteen is the usual beginning for a keyblade wielder in training nowadays. But long, long ago, it was decided at ten, who would be able to take up the path of a protector of worlds.”

My mouth was agape, and my eyes expanded at his answer. “Ten?” I asked, breathless and flabbergasted. I was only four. That was at least six years before I could even start training. And then, even after that..?

Sora, Mom. No, I can’t.

“I can’t accept that. There has to be another way, can’t I start earlier? I can do it, I’m,” I looked for the right words, something that would convince him, “mom says I’m smarter than most kids my age, I’m sure I can handle it.”

Amused, the old wizard cracked a smile, “But you are so young, you cannot even hold your blade. How do you hope to conquer the darkness without a steady hand?”

Wordless, I scrambled for an answer. “I’ll, I’ll… I– can’t I do the learning part now? And then practice every day to hold it, and then we can work on the practical part when I’m ready! Can’t that work?”

Mickey placed a hand on my shoulder, “we don’t want you to have to wait that long either, (Y/n). But I don’t think that's a good idea, and I’m sure master…”

“Five.”

Both our attentions’ turned to the mage, “huh?”

Stroking his beard, he closed his eyes. “If you can manage to hold your blade in the half a year it takes for you to turn five, then I shall oversee your accelerated training myself.”

Before Mickey could think to say anything more, I agreed as quickly as I could. “Deal.”

When I got no reaction, I repeated myself again, “deal, please.”

“Very well, then, child. Let your heart be your guiding key during this time. I am truly sorry for the grief you’ve been inflicted with.” We didn’t make any eye contact, his black eyes closed and body stilled. I believed him.

As Mickey took my hand and led me toward the entrance of the room. Towards mom’s arms. I couldn’t help but turn back to the man as we left.

“Let your heart be your guiding key too, mister.”

___________

The house was nice, a brick-based structure painted to match the nice town that it inhabited. The walkways were concrete with intricate designs, and the place was littered with flowers to the point it smelled more like incense than anything else.

The building was the same color as those walkways where the brick pattern was visible, but changed into a smooth white after a hard cutoff. The house was connected to the one next to it, and the one next to that. It seemed to be the style of this place.

I felt a little claustrophobic here, in Destiny Islands, the houses were separated and everyone had big yards where you’d need to walk a few minutes to meet a neighbor or go to school. I didn’t like the lack of a breeze or ocean air, I couldn’t hear the waves– I wasn’t with my family. I didn’t like that one bit, it was the part of this I hated the most.

I turned to Mickey and made my displeasure clear, crossing my arms. “I still don’t see why I can’t stay with Sora and mom.”

When Mickey gazed at me, it seemed to go right through me. And I caught myself unraveling and playing with my chain necklace. The heart-shaped metal felt nice on my chest. Mom had given one to me, and one to Sora, before I’d left. His was a crown, mine a heart. She said that no matter what, these would connect us, and lead us back to each other. She said they’d always and forever be ours.

It was wishful thinking. But for now, I’ll accept it. Because I was wishing. After days of goodbyes and packing, it had finally been time to say goodbye. And there was no one more than me who didn’t want to. But I went willingly because it means getting back to Sora quicker. It meant keeping them safe.

“The keyblade can give blessings to other weapons, for a short time this allows them to defeat heartless and claim hearts.” Mickey started to say as he led me to the front door, grasping my hand gently and softly leading me along.

“But there's no one on Destiny Islands that can fight them. So you’ll stay here, in Radiant Garden. I promise you’ll be safe,” Mickey tried to smile, but to me, it felt forced. “The people here are used to combating the darkness, and I bless their weapons often. So the heartless will stay away long enough for you to start training and finish it.”

I nodded along, that made sense. It didn’t mean I liked it, however.

“The people you're staying with are some of the kindest I know, you’ll be in good hands, (Y/n).”

“I believe you, Mr. Mouse.” I’m not worried about them, though.

He chuckled, his voice going up an octave, “Just Mickey, is fine.”

“Okay, Mr. Mickey.”

His smile morphed into a happy one at that, and he turned away from me, knocking on the front door. It made me wonder, what kind of people could hunt down the Scaries, and live here?

Would they be like the knights or the barbarians? What if they were like fairies? Or like the wizard Yen Sid, or a nymph or a cyclops? What if a dragon opens the door, what then?

I was disappointed only slightly when no dragon answered the door, but instead a very tall man.

The man had short brown hair that draped across his face, with a pointed tendril covering his sharp nose. He had bright blue eyes, and a distinct scar slashed across his face. His clothes were a spectacle on their own though, dozens of belts and leather littered his body.

As we locked eyes, a smile graced his lips. Something supposed to be a comfort, I think.

“You’re here,” His voice was gruff and low but with his inflection, it was light and airy like he was happy to see us. At least someone was.

“Yup!” Mickey greeted him, holding out his hand and standing on his tiptoes so the taller man could shake it without having to bend down too much.

“Please, come in.”

I waited for Mickey to enter first before the brown-haired person motioned for me to also come inside. I swallowed the saliva building up in my mouth, watching the man smile down at me softly.

The inside of the house was nothing like home, where we had picture frames and small projects of moms littering the walls. This place was relatively sparse, with only a couple of frames with the family that lived here scattered about. There was a calendar, table lamps, and some drawings hung up, but that was the extent of any decoration.

A boy, much older than me but he probably wouldn’t be far off from Riku’s age, hopped up from the couch. He smiled much brighter than the man I assume is his father, considering they live together and both have brown hair, albeit different shades.

“Hi! I’m Denzel.” The boy came over and introduced himself, extending his hand for me to take. Slowly, I took it.

“(Y/n).”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/n). I hope we can get along.” His light blue eyes sparkled and I saw genuine enthusiasm layered beneath. He reminded me of Sora.

“Me too.” At least, if I was going to stay here I should be able to get along with the people I’m living with, right? It’ll be a few months before I’m five, and then after that, I’ll have to train, so it’ll be at least a year before I go home and see Sora and mom again.

The shifting of clothes and the clanking of belts met my ears as I turned around, the older male had crouched down to me and held out his hand as well.

“I’m Squall, (Y/n). I hope you’ll be comfortable during your stay here, if you need anything at all, just ask.” His hand was gloved in more leather, in a weird style that barely covered his palm, when I took it, I noted the weird texture it gave our handshake.

“Thank you,” mom always said we should be polite to others, even if we don’t particularly like the circumstance, so I tried to suck it up. Like it or not, I was stuck here for quite some time.

The falling of heavy footsteps entered from down a hallway at the end of the living room, where a figure had stilled upon seeing us, I suppose.

Squall stood up and Denzel looked back, grabbing my hand. I gasped, not expecting it, nor the rough pull from the boy as he brought me closer to the man. “Dad, she’s here! Isn’t this so exciting?”

The blond was wearing a turtleneck and heavy, work-comfortable clothing. A giant sword lay on his back, something that made me gulp upon seeing it. His arms were crossed as he peered down at me, discovering he had light blue eyes with something strong behind them, a green that shimmered every second or so.

The thing I noticed before any of that, however, was the spiky hair on the top of his head, the puffy platinum blond formation that resembled a…

“Chocobo.” It left my lips before I had time to register what I was saying. But at the realization of what it reminded me of, I suddenly wasn’t so disappointed that there weren’t any fairies or cyclops anymore.

He grunted and turned his gaze elsewhere, muttering a phoned-in, “yeah” in response to Denzel’s question. It was a few stilled seconds later before he moved, stiffly shifting around us and toward the front door. Only to be stopped by Squall, whose expression had turned serious. Denzel started talking again as his Dad announced to his partner that he needed to leave.

“Dad’s like that. You get used to it,” he shrugged, it didn’t look like he’d even gotten used to it, which wasn’t helping the growing concern he didn’t like me. I shouldn’t have said that. Name-calling wasn’t the nice, or polite thing to do.

The brown-haired boy placed a hand on my shoulder, “Pa tries, but it takes some time for him to warm up to people, is all.”

“Pa?” I asked, confused. Isn’t the blond man his dad? Why was he calling him dad and pa? That was confusing.

Denzel turned to me, tilting his head, “yeah, Cloud is dad, Squall is pa, usually,” he paused before adding, “you can call them whatever you want though.”

I nodded, connecting the dots that the blond male trying to leave was probably Cloud. So Denzel had two dads? I didn’t even have one, how lucky.

“Do you wanna go see your room?” Denzel asked, tilting his head like a puppy. “It’s right next to mine, so if anything happens you can come to me.�� he placed a hand on his chest proudly.

I nodded, now that I knew their names there wasn’t much to do. “Sure.”

Denzel took my hand again and started to lead me down the hall when a loud sigh filled the room along with an utterance of my name.

I turned to look at the person who’d said it and locked eyes with the shimmering blue and green-eyed man, he looked away from me as shortly.

“‘Name’s Cloud.” With that introduction he passed by Squall and made his way to the front door, exiting the building before anyone took another breath. Great, he hates me.

What a wonderful start to my time here.

#kingdom hearts #sanctuary #kingdom hearts x reader #child!reader #heart #keyblade #light #cloud strife #darkness #fanfic #squall leonhart #kh sora #yen sid #mickey mouse #denzel ff7 #reader insert #if you squint the mystery is already revealed

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terristarstrike · 1 year ago

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Space Monster or Space Angel?

Well, this is unusual. This is a prompt from the POV of a random Westshore civilian and their first encounter with the 50-foot Terrina Ave-Lo.

You were only taking a walk in the forest outside of Westshore. Sure, you wanted to get some fresh air, spend a bit of time away from the bustling civilization downtown, but you were very cautious. You've been hearing stories of a giant space monster in these once-peaceful woods. At first, you didn't care much for aliens, but this was all too real to ignore.

As you scrolled your fingers through your smartphone, your train of thought was thrown off track by a distant earthquake. In your mind, earthquakes were quite common in California, so it shouldn't be a big deal, right? Not quite. Another tiny earthquake followed nearly a second after the first one, and another, and another. Each other getting worse and closer to your direction, almost like a booming four-on-four beat, causing the trees to rustle and shake. Oh dear lord, you were in hot water. Those were footsteps of the mysterious giant alien!

You cautiously ran to the car, and opened the door. But before you got inside, a beautiful, youthful voice begin to hum a lovely tune from afar. Its voice was echoing all over the woods, while the thunderous footsteps approached closer. You'd expect something hideous, something that would've looked like an eldritch abomination or a monster from a old sci-fi pulp magazine, but maybe it could be something more.. human. Even so, you wouldn't take any chances, so you proceeded to hide inside your car to see whatever this giant creature looked like. As you peeked out the window, the source of these footsteps stomped forward to reveal its true form. To your surprise, the giant creature that everyone was panicking over was no space monster, this creature was a giant girl!

She looked like a slim 17-year-old with brown, sparkly skin and blue hair with neon blue and purple highlights, and her gigantic blue eyes were glancing at your car with curiosity. Surely, she's never seen a human vehicle before. The giant carefully stepped forward, trying not to shake the ground around her, and she crouched down to slowly pick up the car, with you in it. She observed the design of the vehicle and you were tossed all over the place like gravity never existed. Then, she saw you. Her giant eye was fixed on your tiny figure inside the vehicle, and she began to beam with amazement. "Wow! There really IS someone inside there!" the giant whispered.

You started to feel your heart beat out of your chest, you were terrified out of your wits, terrified and unable to speak, but the giant began to speak again. "It's okay, it's okay! I won't hurt you. My name's Terri. I'm just here to get a look of this world and just.. learn about your kind." She giggled. "You don't have to be scared of me, I'm not gonna hurt you in any way possible! I promise. I got you." You slowly nodded your head in agreement with the alien, albeit a little shaken, and Terri smiled back.

She slowly sets your car near the road and stands to her full fifty-foot-tall height. "I'll.. give you some time to process what you just saw." The giant softly said as she stomped off into the forest, humming her angelic melody once again. After a couple seconds, you began to take in Terri's words, and now you've moved onto the road with nothing to fear. This wasn't a giant space monster, this was a giant space angel!

#terri starstrike #character: terrina ave lo #g/t #giant/tiny #wholesome giantess #prompt

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im-akira · 2 years ago

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𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 - « 𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝐷𝑎𝑦 »

Stephen Strange / Christine Palmer / Hope Strange

Summary : It was only a few hours before Christmas. Hope proposed as a gift the return of her father tonight, and she wished it with all her heart. Christine could not promise him anything, Stephen had been away for a while. Will he be back tonight with his family ?

Warnings : Fluff, Reunions, Hugs...

Do not : Claim, Repost, Copy, or Translate my stories anywhere else. I apologize in advance but English is not my mother tongue. 💙

Today was a pretty special day, there were only a few hours left before Christmas. Of course, this isn't the first time for the Strange Family, but seeing snow was a whole other discovery for Hope.

Stephen had been on a mission with Wong for a good week now. Neither of the two men has called since their departure day. Hope was still very young and did not pay more attention to this. Nevertheless she asked her mother every morning when he will return, she had the right answer as silence. Hope did not hold it against her mother, she understood perfectly this silence as an answer. He could come back at any time, no one could know.

To avoid thinking too much about her absence, Hope and Christine prepared the house together for the Christmas celebrations. The decorations, like the tree, the stockings by the fireplace, the dining table and a whole bunch of other things. His activities allowed them to think about being focused on one thing, the present moment. Like every year, Tony invited Stephen's family to join the Avengers meal. Christine saw this meal as something good for her and Hope

The little girl one spent most of her time asking a lot of questions about the equipment, the powers of each Avengers. Of course, this made more than one laugh, Hope at this point and the perfect copy of her father, the thirst for knowledge. After spending half of his energy on it, the rest is there for him to enjoy the time he has left as a child.

Fortunately for the small family, the snow has decided to show the tip of its nose. It was going to give many children another day on the streets of New York. Hope, who had never seen this in her life before, does not miss the opportunity to observe it with attention and great curiosity

- « Mom there’s something strange out there ! » Hope had her face leaning against the living room window. The young Strange had never seen the snow before.

- « What’s the matter, honey ? » Christine was making tonight’s dinner. Something hearty despite a meal with all the Avengers tomorrow morning.

- « What exactly is this white texture on the outside ? It stays on the ground and at the same time it comes from the sky. » His gaze rose and stooped without removing his face from the glass. She still had much to learn from the world around her and her special little things.

- Christine takes a break to join her daughter. Wiping her hands on her kitchen apron, she crouches down at Hope’s height and looks at the window in turn. « You have snow in front of you to make sure it’s harmless to our lives. Just say it’s a winter gift. »

- « Snow ? It looks soft and cold at the same time ! Can I go and see with my own eyes what it’s like, Mom ? » Hope dropped the window and turned to her mother, staring at her eyes. Nothing could bring her back, she was determined and excited.

- « Of course my dear . But on one condition. I want to see you in a warm outfit before throwing you into this freezing cold, okay ? » Christine sits up and then comes to rub the top of Hope's head. - « Yes, I promise ! » After her mother's validation, she ran to her room to equip herself with a good outfit to go outside.

A few hours later...

Hope had gone up to her room, packing up her things and going back to the drawing she had started last night. Despite the hour, she wasn't particularly tired, but rather looking forward to Christmas. A sound of a familiar portal was heard at the entrance to his room, a tall figure emerges from the portal. This takes Hope out of her deep focus.

- « Dad ! Cloak ! » Hope puts the drawing tools on her bed and quickly gets out of it. She then throws herself on her father to hold him as hard as she can.

- « Hey hey, take it easy darling. » Stephen smiling slightly, hurried to continue the embrace with Hope against him. He lifts her up to look her in the eye with more ease. Cloak leaves Stephen's shoulders to come and greet the young Strange.

- « You got scratches on your face and you smell bad, Dad, did you fight monsters ? » The young Strange and her curiosity come to test Stephen. His fingers touch gently the substance still present on his clothes and his scratches on his face.

- Stephen smiled at his daughter's curiosity. Sometimes he regrets that she is the heiress and sometimes not. He leaves his room with her to go down the hall. « Yes, I fought some monsters. They were tougher than I expected, luckily Wong was there to help me. »

- « Could I one day fight with you too ? » Hope is young, full of energy and does not yet know the true dangers of life and what it means to be a wizard.

- « Of course, one day, perhaps. But not before learning and understanding the real consequences of being a wizard. » With a gesture of the hand, Stephen’s outfit was completely clean, Cloak had also received a small cleaning. He only had a few scratches on his face.

Christine finished putting things in the living room. Her attention turned to two familiar voices. Was he back after this little absence ?

- « I also found out what snow was ! » Hope was slightly agitated in her father's arms. Despite Stephen holding her tightly, Hope clung to her costume.

- « Oh, that's a nice discovery I tell you. I can't wait to hear all the details. » Stephen watched his daughter with wide eyes during his explanation. She was growing up so fast, too fast even.

- « Look what Christmas brings me as a present. My two loves. » Christine breaks the silence and approaches them. She felt an indescribable happiness, seeing her daughter and her husband together, happy.

Stephen always keeps Hope close to him and, without a word, he stepped forward to put a kiss on Christine’s lips. The young mother smiles after receiving this sweet and adorable gesture from her husband.

- « Yuck! » Hope's words make Stephen and Christine laugh. « You're going to get this kind of time you too, when you're older. »

- « But don’t worry, you still have time. » Once Hope heard her father’s words, her response was immediate. « I don’t want to be with anyone because later I’ll be busy being a great witch as strong as Dad ! »

- « Everything in its own time, darling. » Christine goes to lightly rub her daughter's cheek, which makes her smile and laugh at the same time.

- Once this short moment is over, Stephen gently puts his daughter down, straightening up to meet her gaze. « Hope, can you grant us a few minutes, to me and to your mother ? »

It was without a word and shaking her head that the young Strange headed towards the living room and more precisely towards the Christmas tree. She understood what her father was asking without even ask questions.

- Stephen will smile as he watches Hope do, he was proud of her. His eyes will rest on his wife again. His hands will rest on either end of her face. « Forgive me for not giving my news, I- »

- Christine is going to come and interrupt him and put her face to his hands. « Stephen, you don't have to apologize for that. » She raises her hand, showing him the ring on her finger. « This ring is proof of my trust in you, in our love and... » His hand then landed on one of hers, the one who also had the ring. « She will always be there to remind you. »

- With the help of his thumb, Stephen will caress the bottom of his cheek. Letting slip a little laughter of the situation. « And I will always be there to protect you. This is one of many promises I made to you that day. »

- Christine closes her eyes for a moment to enjoy this sweet moment. Leaving her thoughts to return to the world of reality. « Now, what do you say we enjoy this night by the fire and wait in the heat for Christmas ? »

- « Yes, that's a good proposal. Also, I think a little girl is waiting impatiently for us to join her. » Stephen runs his thumb over the top of his cheek one last time.

A few hours later...

Christine was lying quietly on Stephen's chest, who lay on the sofa in the living room. Her ear was placed just above her heart, her beat echoed softly, Stephen's shaking hands rested and stroked his wife's back, she reacted slightly to the touch with a small laugh of satisfaction. Through the silence, they listen to each other's breathing. Christine pulls the blanket she had on them a little more and then releases a little sigh.

- « Is everything all right, darling ? » He asked in a calm and calm tone, and he noticed that something was wrong with the silence.

- The strong voice of her husband brings the young mother back to reality. Christine brings her gaze to Stephen's. « I'm perfectly fine , my family is reunited for Christmas. What more could you ask for ? »

- « The truth ? I sense you are concerned about something. » Stephen raises his hand to rest it just above her head leaving small caresses.

- Christine looks at her daughter lying on the other couch right in front of her, Cloak had landed on her to be her cover. « You would have seen her this morning, it was the first time she found out what snow was. I’m sorry you couldn’t see her, so happy. I may exaggerate a bit, but… it’s like I saw him take his first steps. »

- « Watching her grow up so fast scares you more and more, doesn't it ? » Stephen turns his gaze to his daughter He fully understood her behavior and her concerns, as a parent it's normal to be afraid for your child.

Christine nods her head slightly against his chest. She was worried, worried about her child. She realized that 'one day she'll go the way of Stephen.

- « I know you already know what I'm going to tell you but we cannot decide Hope's future for her. Whether she becomes a wizard, a nurse, whatever other profession, we will be there for her. » Stephen continues his caresses against Christine's back, trying somehow to reassure her about the future.

- « Yes, you are right. Let's forget about it and enjoy this Christmas evening, as a family, just the three of us. » Christine climbs a little higher on Stephen's chest, lying just below his chin.

- « Relax now, honey. » That’s kind of ironic coming from Stephen, but he was right. Concerns and fears are a subject to be postponed. For the moment, he wanted only one thing, to enjoy not thinking about anything.

A few minutes later…

- « If this continues, I I'm going to start getting jealous that Hope is becoming Cloak's favorite. » Despite his words, Stephen was happy that Cloak had become such an important mystical object to his family.

It is in silence that the clock in the living room rings and comes to end, Christmas has just arrived in the Strange house.

Hope moves slightly after her sleep has been disturbed by the living room clock. Cape also reacts, withdrawing gently so as not to rush it. The girl rubs her eyes and straightens slightly from her lying position, her gaze is turned towards her parents. Hope had not yet realized what time it was and why the clock had rung, the sleep was still present on it.

- « Hope, come lie down with us. » Christine patting Stephen’s chest slightly to make him understand to join them.

- « Yes… » The poor thing was still half awake, she got up with difficulty from the sofa where she had been recently, Cloak following her closely.

Christine has a big smile on her lips and moves to the side to make room for her daughter. Opening her arms wide, she waited to welcome Hope against her and Stephen.

- « Can I say a word ? It's not that I'm against it, but I may not be able to stay in this position with you two all night or I'll leave my body there. » Stephen didn't want to reject this offer in any way, or even seem disagreeable.

- « Mmh.. No. Consider it your punishment for being away for so long without giving your family any news. » Christine looks at Stephen, she has a smile on her face, satisfied with her answer.

- « Noted, honey. » Stephen stopped talking, observing Hope without her walk to join them.

Hope had her eyes half closed, she was completely exhausted from that day, which is quite normal for a child her age. She then puts herself in her mother’s arms and settles gently on her father’s chest so as not to hurt him during the movement. Once well placed, Hope gradually enters her mother’s arms and through her warmth.

- Christine settles back on her husband's chest to properly hug her daughter. Letting the heat and sleep do its job, the young mother said a few words before falling asleep. « Merry Christmas.. my loves. » She said through a low and soft tone.

Stephen hugged Christine and Hope to strengthen his hold on them. He was happy and at peace. Stephen had managed to get the best Christmas present, to reunite his family by the fire without any problems in sight.

Tag : @hellorachelmarianamorgan @lordofthundersstuff @nv00

@il-0-v-3-youuuu @atoz26 @liliwandamoff @gleek-diaries-of-90210

@pinkthick @michxlle7

If you want to be marked on my future stories, let me know in the comments. Thank you again for reading ! ☺️

#stephenstrange #stephen strange x reader #doctorstrange #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange x daughter!reader #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange fluff #doctor strange imagine #doctor stephen strange #benedict cumberbatch #rachel mcadams #christinepalmer #palmerstrange #palmerstrange fanfic #christine palmer

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neonwizardheehee · 2 years ago

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MCYTBLR Holiday exchange

@ghastspidergwen your Secret Santa is bringing you a little superhero AU !!

I am no writer but an AU hardly works without some explanation so I had to sit down and think of something for my playlist to make sense XD If it reads like a Wikipedia article then yeah that's why XD

Big thanks to @mcytblrholidayexchange for organizing and managing this! It was a pleasure taking part and seeing the gifts now <3

But first let me introduce you to our hero and main gift: Grien the mysterious moustachied superhero!

Yes we're going for 100 Hours Hardcore crew so here is what I envisioned for the story:

MCYTBLR Holiday Exchange

The story of Grien the mysterious superhero

SMP: 100 hours hardcore After a long day of observing Scar trying to do an MLG water bucket trick and ultimately having to make a fort out of all the beds he and Joel managed to carry, Grian flops himself down onto one of the mattresses when the sun begins to set. There he lies with Scar and Joel still jumping down from various heights around him. He falls asleep and dreams of a time where he truly had the powers to protect Scar…

It’s the Christmas Eve of 2001, an 8-year-old boy named Grian wakes up from his sleep due to his cold and rummaging in front of his window. With a cough, he gets up from his bed to check out the disturbance. Outside he finds a bearded figure dangling outside the window of his family’s apartment and helps them come into his bedroom. The mysterious person is wearing a long red coat that matches along brown beard, magnificent hair paired with fiery red eyes. He introduces himself as Wizard Joel but in Grian minds, he is Santa; albeit wilder than he imagined him to be. The little boy gives him milk anyways which the Wizard gladly drinks and afterwards his eyes seem to not be on fire anymore and he smiles at the boy. Joel reveals that he accidentally set off a trap for a device he was building and enlists Grian to help complete it. While they walk to the rooftop Grian asks “Santa” a lot of questions about his powers and compares them to his knowledge of superheroes. Joel gladly shows off and talks about his travels far and wide and the wonders of magic he can conduct. On the rooftop Grian finds a huge and complicated machine whose intention he cannot fathom but wanders after the Wizard who seems to be set on finishing his build. The Wizard talks about a lot of technical things and explains them to Grian who solemnly nods along. He coughs more often now exposed to the uncozy weather and the Wizard gives him a glowing piece of jelly which he swallows. Several minutes of shivering and complicated explanations later Joel asks Grian to hand him the glowstone. The boy looks at him with surprise, for he has taken this glowstone to be medicine for his cold. In that moment Grian’s body begins to shine and wings form on his back. He excitedly flaps them and starts to levitate above ground. Joel is shocked and makes Grian come down to explain to him that the glowstone is a wishing jelly. Grian’s mind subconsciously chooses his superheroes and now little Grian has their powers. Nevertheless, Wizard Joel makes him promise to not use his new superpowers before he leaves.

The Wizard returns to London in 2022 with Lizzie, his murderous wither killer and wife, to investigate Area 77, a multinational research company. Upon spying on the company, they encounter a quirky owner of a mystery-podcast, Scar, who is conducting a similar investigation for a new episode. Scar marvels at Joel for bringing snacks to a takeout to which according to Joel is a sign of a professional at work. The group discovers that Area 77 is being secretly run by robot brains that transplant themselves into any living creature they need for their plans. They witness the conversion of the company owner called Jimmy from a human brain to a robot brain by the hand of an already converted member, Scott. With his now heightened senses the robot brain inside Jimmy discovers the spies and threatens to convert them too. Scott and Jimmy chase Joel, Scar and Lizzie around until they have them at gunpoint. Suddenly the walls break and a figure flies inside not bothered by bullets or shattering materials around them. Scar screams with delight as he recognizes the figure as the town’s very own superhero called Grien. The superhero with colourful wings and a moustache fights Jimmy and Scott until they hide away. Scar retells story after story about the mysterious Grien, fighting evil by moonlight and his secret double life by daylight. He’s very much a topic in Scar’s mystery-podcast for he is curious about Grien’s secret identity. Soon after Grien joins the group and Scar starts to fire questions at him to secure him for an interview for his podcast. To everyone’s surprise the moustached man accepts the interview and even offers to fly Scar home, who jumps in delight at being lifted into the night sky. He gets transported very close to his home which impresses Scar and fuels his imagination about the powers of Grien. The superhero says his goodbye as he must attend another emergency and Scar wishes him luck and sends him off.

Instead of another emergency Grien flies through the window on the back wall of Scar’s house and transforms back into Grian, a 29-year-old boy without a moustache, only to find himself in front of the angry faces of Wizard Joel and Lizzie. They tracked him down via the glowstone in his body and are angry at him for using his accidental superpowers. Grian tries to explain the situation but gets interrupted by the door being opened and a familiar voice asking about his whereabouts. He rushes out of the room and Joel’s and Lizzie’s jaws fall on the floor as Scar enters the flat and rushes to pet his cat Jellie. Grian mentions that he is cat-sitting Jellie for Scar and Joel rolls his eyes so hard even Lizzie is concerned. After an initial cuddling session with Jellie, Scar notices the two new people in his apartment and recognizes them from earlier this evening. Scar motions the Wizard to come over and sit in a dusty corner with him where he pulls out a squeaky toy figurine of a creeper that he calls “Bob, the Building Inspector”. He interrogates Joel about his intentions and uses Bob as a stress toy to get the Wizard to answer. Joel reveals to him that the robot brains colonise planets by taking control of their prominent leaders, with Earth being their next target.

Leaving Scar to prepare for his interview with Grian’s alter ego, Joel and Lizzie track down the robot’s ship in a low orbit and board it via their magic. Scott senses them there and they discover that the ship's reactor is in a critical state and realise from Scott that he intends to drop it on London. Remembering an observation made by Lizzie, Joel realises the city would be vaporised except for the Area 77 building. World leaders would then take shelter in the company's other buildings within each capital city, believing Earth was under attack, effectively allowing the robot brains to take them over.

Meanwhile Scar is led by Grien to the rooftop that is decorated nicely with candles, flowers and a basket with food and drinks. They sit down and Scar starts to ask Grien about how he copes with his double life, his powers and intentions. Suddenly they are interrupted by Jimmy and two other robot brains called Oli and Fwhip who threaten Scar so they can convert Grien’s brain into a robot one too. Luckily Grien activates his superpowers and manages to free himself from Jimmy’s grip. Having only one hostage left, Jimmy sends Oli and Fwhip downstairs to grab Jellie as a second hostage. Before they reach the door Grian chimes in to protect Jellie from any harm. Scar is very impressed until Grian gets captured as well.

At the same time onboard the ship where Joel and Lizzie are currently trying to save the earth, they can only manage to get in contact with Scott for some questions. After Scott let it slip that the ship is to be dropped at a designated time, Joel uses this piece of information for a change of plans. Lizzie is not amused and scared when Joel forces its descent ahead of schedule and crashes towards London. He manages to contact Grian due to his superhearing abilities and warn him about the ship that’s going to destroy his beloved town. Jimmy screams in fear that it’s too soon and they all prepare for impact. But the impact never comes. When Scar opens his eyes he sees Grian holding the ship up with his bare hands and finally connects the dots that the mysterious Grien he’s so interested in is in fact his cat-sitter Grian. Said person only shrugs his shoulders and turns around upon hearing the Wizard arrive. Joel congratulates him and takes Jimmy, Oli and Fwhip captive not without reminding Grian to throw the ship into a nearby sun so it can’t do any harm. Grian follows suit but not before Scar gives him a long hug and says that he always preferred his cat-hero.

With a smile on his face Grian wakes up to find Scar and Joel sleeping. With so many beds around them as cushions to prevent Scar from dying they easily found a place to sleep as well. Knowing he did his best and promising himself he’ll keep an eye out for Scar, Grian smiles to himself and carries on with his day.

And with that I hope it makes you smile a bit and lets you have a good day!!! Merry Christmas it was a joy talking to you the past weeks and get to know you!

(yes, the story is from the Doctor Who Christmas Special "The Return of Doctor Mysterio" - if you haven't seen it I highly recommend it (it's watchable without any Doctor Who knowledge) to have a bit more banter, feels, laughs and visuals for this AU)

#writing def destroyed me bc I'm used to academic writing so I once again apologise for the wikipedia-writing style ksksks #mcytblrholidayexchange #mcytblrholidayexchange2022 #100 hours hardcore #100 hours smp #Spotify

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