#and fury was decimated beyond repair

[adrixivy]

So I saw a comment in this post. Someone wanted to know what attitude Peter is giving after the mission. You ask and I shall deliver‼️

So I said he went loco after waking up. He really did. He knows he can’t skip the debrief because Fury is gonna be a little bitch about it and he doesn’t want to go through that hassle so he walks straight to the meeting table, ignoring everyone’s look or question of concern. Maybe a little nod to Natasha’s look of concern is the most he will acknowledge. Anyone else? Attitude is served with small witty remarks leaving them stunned.

For example!

Tony asking if he’s okay and whether he wants to skip the briefing as he walks by the scowling spider’s side: You okay bud? Why don’t you go rest?

Tony simply backs away quietly when Peter glares at him, not wanting to say anything since Tony purely asked out of care and concern. The least he can do is keep quiet and silently tell the older man he doesn’t want to talk right now. (Spoiler alert, Tony does NOT get the same kindness he has spared to him now)

Sam was walking close behind and scoffs at Peter’s behavior, thinking he’s being more of a brat than he usually is and he actually says it to Bucky who doesn’t comment anything because he knows Peter’s enhanced hearing can hear him so he backs away from Sam. Sam, confused and looks back at Bucky while walking bumps into Peter who doesn’t even move when bumped into yet Sam falls on his butt. The Avengers snickers seeing the scene and when Sam looks back at Peter, he’s met with a small satisfied smirk as the teen walks away. Sam is being held back by Bucky AND Steve.

Then Clint, thinking he can lighten up the mood by wrapping his arm around the teenager’s shoulder alongside with his jokes was flabbergasted when he was thrown to a nearby wall and web covering his mouth in a blink of an eye. The Avengers stare dumbfounded (Thor is the one person going “OHHHH”) at Clint on the floor, barely able to get up and the teenager resting on the ceiling, sitting upside down. He finds it more comfortable than the chairs Shield provides. Clint’s mouth remained webbed shut for two hours because Peter is the only one with the solution.

Fury is obviously displeased with how Peter is acting, not understanding the STRUGGLES a superhero teenager who has school the next day alongside homework like him has. So when Fury is firmly telling him to come down, he simply lizard blinks before dropping a Mbaku on the man. (He spent some time with Shuri in Wakanda and whenever Mbaku was with Okoye, he overheard him always calling her it)

Peter in the most calm but you can tell he’s terribly tired voice: You bald-headed demon, who do nothing of the hard work, should keep your big ass mouth which have nothing useful to say, shut. And what the hell is the point of this?(the debrief) Telling us how we did our job and how much better we can do it next time. There won’t be a next time if you keep this up, because remember, you can never do the things you tell us to do without us.

Fury is silenced. Tony and Thor is cackling, Clint muffled laughter can be heard, Natasha is chuckling, Steve is trying his best to keep his giggles quiet, Sam(reluctantly) and Bucky is clapping and Bruce doesn’t even dare to smile as he nervously eyes the fuming pirate.

Peter huffs and simply gets down and walks away. The Avengers decided that the debrief is basically over within those five minutes and walks out too. Tony goes over to Peter and wrapping his arm around Peter and saying he’s proud but he mentions the glare Peter gave him earlier and Peter pauses and pushes Tony’s arm off

Peter: Being petty about that? As if you didn’t do worse. Taking my suit because you didn’t like it when I basically did the same stupid things you did before you started becoming a little mature as an adult.

Tony’s mouth is wide open, jaw dropped in shock and the Avengers are laughing at him, particularly Sam and Bucky’s being the loudest as Peter walks away and into his room. His own son destroyed him!

The next day, Peter is apologising to everyone profusely, especially to Tony for being so mean. He may gave a little insincere apology to Clint and Sam but it still was an apology. Fury didn’t get one.

[dirwael]

Hands Off

Solomon x GN Reader | 447 Words | Rated T | Warnings: Mentions of violence

A/N: Takes place at the beginning of Lesson 11 (Nightbringer)

Also on my Ao3!

- - -

Solomon had never felt an anger as great as this before.

He can recall bouts that have made him yell, storm out of rooms with balled up fists and a scowl on his face. He can remember times that made him laugh like a maniac, eyes crazed, forbidden spells at his fingertips. He can never forget the moments of white-hot fury, ones that left cities decimated, relationships broken beyond repair, and blood on his hands.

But none of those instances could hold a candle to this.

This anger, a new one— one fueled by fear, hatred, and love.

Solomon could hardly believe his eyes at the scene before him. You, his adorable apprentice, backed against a wall, as one of those damn demons tried to put his claws on you. Whatever caused this to happen didn't matter. All Solomon knew was to put up a barrier, and immediately rush to your side.

Belphegor. The one that attacked you. The youngest of the brothers. The weakest. A fallen angel, still assimilating to his new demonic life and powers. Solomon, while still just a human, was more in tune with his magic. There was a chance that he could-

No, no.

Belphegor's brothers were there, as was the prince. Even with his spells, Barbatos, and now Asmodeus, Solomon knew he would lose that battle. Plus, his most powerful spells require two hands, and he refused to move the arm he wrapped around you, keeping you at his side and away from those fiends.

Solomon wanted that perpetrator gone. And if wanting him dead meant wanting the whole family dead as well, then so be it. That demon and his defenders needed to suffer and rot for the crime of even just trying to harm you.

But while holding you, Solomon could feel you tremble.

He could hear you sniffle. He looked and saw you raise your hand to wipe at your eye.

And that's when Solomon realized it— his racing heart and swirling mind... they betrayed his outward look, one of even breaths and a calm smile. One hand was ready to unleash millennia after millennia of sorcery, while the other carefully held you.

Solomon had never felt so furious before, but he'd also never felt so afraid. The knowledge that he was the only one that could protect you, the knowledge that if he arrived just a second too late, you would be-

He needed to get you out of here, for both of your sakes.

Solomon looked back to the demons. His smile grew and his grip on you tightened as he readied a teleportation spell.

He wanted those monsters dead.

But he needed you safe first.

[benevolentcalamity]

By the Ruinous Sea [Susabi x GN!Reader]

It's been a while since I did a fic for Onmyoji, so what better way to return to it than with my first SSR. Heheeee~

CURTAINS!

"Susabi-Kamisama."

With a flick of your fingers, the incense lights, the distant tide calming in a blink.

"Hear me..."

A village by the sea, once proud with bounties of fish and joy. Legends speak of a boy who lived in it that could predict the coming storms, and thusly the people were blessed with his fortunes and visions. Over time, though, his predictions would be more wrong by the day, until the village turned against him. In their fury, they deemed him a perfect sacrifice to their god.

What followed was perfect ruin. Be it because the god rejected their offering, or simply that they had disgraced a gift, the village was decimated beyond repair. Very few managed to escape all this trauma, and whoever did could only speak that fear in hushed tongues.

Your mother, for example, and her mother before and even her mother before, passed this tale down. It took you a long time to track down this village, moreso because the wreckage is unrecognizable from many others like it. But now you're here, and you can finally unload this burden.

"I am not a child of this village, therefore I've no right to speak or pray on its behalf - of this you know yourself." You swallow. "But all the same, I ask your forgiveness of those who once lived here. Their grave sin of spurning your gift cost them dearly, the punishment swift and absolute." For a moment there's a flicker, and you pause, opening your ears, before clearing your throat. "They hadn't a clue the weight of their decisions. Even so, it was too cruel an action, sacrificing a dear child that had brought no evil."

Outside, the tide roars a moment, slapping against the rotted wood door. At first you're shaken to the core; could it be Susabi himself responding to you? Or perhaps it's something else. All the same, you must finish your prayer. Tightening your palms together, the prayer beads sway on your wrists with the growing breeze.

"... Susabi-kamisama, forgive them, I beg." You swallow. "That regret haunted them, and it haunts us, their distant children. Their souls cry with each homage, and the scent of the ocean brings naught but tears. The time for that pain has passed, has it not? For that poor boy rests now among the stars... My only wish is for him and you to know, truly, how deeply we seek atonement."

The ocean goes quiet, unbearably. At the same time, the wind does as well.

"Susabi-kamisama..."

Shame weighs down your heart, not in an insincere prayer, but a notion it will never be heard. Perhaps it is deserved - what god would listen to a lineage like yours that cursed a gift? - and yet you can't help but despair. Swallowing harshly, you lower your folded hands onto the ground, adjusting so you can rest your forehead on them. You'll remain for a while... Maybe get some sleep before you begin the journey home.

You hardly have enough in your purse to buy more meat buns, and traveling merchants are more... lascivious when it comes to someone like you so pious and gentle. But you're hardly a fool, so the berating is not new.

A soft light on the sand draws your eye, and slowly you rise up. With the incense halfway burned, and the offerings still fresh, you blink. Something passes through your heart, and you unevenly gasp, standing and whirling around.

Standing there at the door, arms crossed, is a man. Deep indigo, almost black hair near-obscures the one eye, his ornate clothes signifying deep importance. Displeasure, annoyance even, curls his lip and furrows his brows, sharp eyes looking down at you. Not from his nose, no, but simply from his standing. Even with a momentary onceover you realize, this is not a man to be trifled with.

"Foolish humans... They reject the gifts from the gods they so wanted, and take so long to show even a hint of remorse for their callousness." His derision isn't directed at you, and yet it stings. "... Their god is not here. Your prayers shall be heard by no one. Even if it were, what good would it do now? If your distant ancestors were complicit in the child's suffering, then it would be their duty to apologize, not you."

"Children pay for the sins of their parents," You reply. "... That's what I've always known."

An exasperated huff is the response, and your brow furrows.

"... Even if it isn't my responsibility to apologize for what was done that day, it has never felt right to me to brush it away as simple folklore or a wives' tale. If I can do this much, then the guilt that has haunted us for so long will be lifted, someday." You swallow. "Be it by their own admission, or on behalf of the dead, is it not unfair that a past sin be ignored?"

"And is it fair, then, that a babe be punished for a father's cruelty?"

Your hands tremble. "... No."

"The guilt you speak of is a bodiless heirloom of no value. The sin committed in this place has been punished, and there is no more to say or do. The gods will hear no prayer that is unneeded to say." He takes a few steps closer to you, towering over you. "... Leave this village, and do not return - you have no business bearing sins uncommitted."

Somehow, someway, you maintain to meet his eyes. "... Who are you, exactly?"

He doesn't answer.

"You know of this village as well, don't you? What is your family name?"

He remains silent, his gaze drawing to the side as the ocean regains its vigor.

You gulp. "... Wait a moment..."

That's when you have his attention. "The tides will recede tonight, another wave to follow. Before long it'll sweep away what remains of this place." Then his eyes snap back to you. "... Go home, [Name]. And don't come back."

A cold whir in your ears, and your one hand rises. "... Susabi-kamisama...?"

His hand sweeps, and the incense burns out, the ocean beginning to roar. "Leave."

Defeat draws a soft breath from your chest, and you decide to simply do as he says. Pushing open the rotted door, you notice the ominous calm of the sea. Biting your lip, you note how it shrinks away, little by little, like a critter not wanting to be seen by a fox. Seems it is readying itself for another tsunami...

Your innate demeanor guides you to turn back to thank him for the warning, but strangely, the man is gone. All that remains is the soft glimmer that only slightly resembles the divine starlight that twinkled even in his eyes.

A soft nod, and you turn to begin the journey, clutching your beads tight as you ascend into the lonely paths of the highlands.

"Susabi-kamisama... I thank you, for your mercy."

A shooting star above, straight forward over your path, is the sole reply.

[incinxrate]

❝ A great......burden......? ❞

Yet even as he spoke, he had an inkling of it's meaning already....

If there was no other option , if Kyojuro actually looked and gazed straight into abyss of Akaza's demon side, rather than his human self that the demon slayer had been trying so hard since day one to nurture. For Hakuji's sake.

If all Kyojuro could see was a demon. If he started to regret his choice of trying to aide the upper moon, to teach him, about the weight of human lives and their complex emotions..

If Kyojuro finally ran into a wall that he found he could not overcome..

Then, without fight, without fury, Akaza would offer his neck to him...

If any slayer was to rend the upper's head from his throat then it should be him.

Honestly, a part of him had expected, as he had stumbled though the Rengoku manor in shock, dripping upon tatami mats, staining crimson handprints on shoji doors, for Kyojuro to take one look upon him and grab his sword instantly. Yet instead, he had gently grabbed him, leading him by the elbow to the bath. Diligently scrubbing pink talons. Cautiously washing the blood and gore from that lithe frame, pink locks, even his face and rubied fangs....

❝ My life? ❞

A rhetorical question uttered softly, more to himself than to Kyojuro....

And while Akaza had been a demon for so long he had utterly forgotten, save for his name, all his memories of those days he was still a human, this cloying sensation of frustration was suddenly so tangibly familiar. This feeling of brokenness. Of decimating a wholly important promise..

Of painted, oh so thickly painted with blood. That made him want to tear apart his own skin. The desolate sensation of only loss like no other. Suffocating...

As he had thundered down heavily upon his knees upon a dojo floor. Hallowly gaping.

Gazing in shock upon....

Upon who....?

The well....? What about the well??

Something bad. Something wrong-!!

It was just another cherished promise fractured beyond repair at his hands. Another precious person gone-dead. And it was all his fault. Again.....!!

As golden fragmented hues peered dully dead ahead...

Staring at the a strangely familiar pink kimono, stained in grief stricken notes of rubies...

❝ .......Ko...... ❞

There was nothing that he could do, because he knew what it was like. He felt it many times, when he was a slayer, when he had to walk into that land on his own, knowing that each time he did such a thing, he might not ever come back, risks and no rewards, the choices made for such a life.

He knew what it was like, what it felt like to hold someone in your arms as they perish, as the life fades from their eyes when you had not been the person they needed you to be.

The term hero was not one he enjoyed, because no slayer was a hero. You can only act after a demon has taken life, you can only do something when a demon has killed, and that was hard. Human life was thrown to the side and crushed as well, to know that people had to die for you to be able to move into the land and through it to seek out the demon and even then.

It was another challenge to take on your shoulders.

For most of the time, the demon, it was just a human. Turned against there will, or tricked into becoming such a thing, with lies and empty promises, to become nothing more than a monster that needed to feast upon others in order for it to survive and live. Once more, there was no victory, people died, all the time with this and it was a horrid thing and it was why he was able to understand what he was going through here and now.

So he knew what he was going through and he would help him.

To him nothing has changed, nothing.

What had happened was not his fault, he was the blade and nothing more, the one who used him as the weapon, that swung him and made him do it, was the one who was at fault.

So he held him for the moment, letting him bury his face into his shoulder. Letting him just lean into him, trust him enough, he did not have all the answers for him, nor could he tell him that everything would be fine as well, because someone has died, someone has perished.

Someone had been killed.

He was thinking as a slayer, he was thinking as the flame pillar he could never be anymore, a slayer that he was no longer able to be, the flame pillar that had ended the night of that train and all that had come with it, and that .. was painful for him to know that as much as he wanted to do something, it was something that would be done with words and not actions.

Everything was ruined, it was broken and it was damaged.

Yet it did not mean that all was lost, what was done was done.

So they had to be able to try and fix it and try and repair it.

“Then we have to do something about it, the sooner the better.”

As he would nod his head for the moment, he knew of stories, handed down, from the golden generation from the first ever Rengoku who learned of sun breathing and stood before not merely the greatest slayer that ever lived, but the greatest man as well, who taught them all sun breathing and helped them make there own and taught them the value of life and strength, the balance needed and what their purpose was.

To help those around you that need help and to be there for them.

“We will find a way to break you free from his hold onto you and if not, then I will ask a great burden from you.”

To do the right thing, to do what he should have done that first night and end his life, if it would stop others from dying, then it would be a worthy price, for what did he have other than this, he was broken, he was dying, he would never truly recover to be anything of worth to anyone at all.

“We will figure it out.” As he nodded, they will figure it out and make sense of it, down the line, together as always.

He just had to have a little bit of faith that they could unite and be stronger working together.

[weeping-gospels]

[ Cont. ]

This one has a temper. Eesh, and she thought she had a temper.

More and more the rat spoke, more degradation and ridicule, more insults, more show of dominance she could care less for. The lesser her patience became, the more the veil between humanity and the demented deceased grew all the more thinner. Deep breaths were drawn in through her nostrils as the shaman slowly rose to her feet upon watching his display of a threat — to herself, the Keep, and everyone around her. And that wasn’t going to fucking fly. At all.

SHOW THIS REPLACEABLE PIECE OF CHARRED METAL WHO’S IN CHARGE. THIS IS O U R KEEP. THIS IS A S A N C T U A R Y FOR THE DAMNED. AND WE’LL BE D A M N E D IF SOME PATHETIC MOUSE TARNISHES IT.

Fangs poked out from her snarled lips, shaking her head vigorously to rid of the beast’s inner monologue. No, there’s no point in going haywire and destroying our own Keep. Remember how long it took to repair everything the last time? We had to ask Clan Moulder for help because we took down an entire wall. Deep breaths, Betty. Don’t waste your time on insignificant words.

“ Just so you know, mutt…I’m part of the undead. Killing me isn’t as easy as zapping me with warp lightning when I’ve already died before and came back better than before. And I will find you. “

But it wasn’t aimed toward her anymore. Gasping sharply as the blast decimated the nearest clan rat, Betty froze. The screaming, writhing, the black blood, the terror, the musk of fear, the ashes…no chance of revival. It reminded her of Ethali’s Moon. Another has died in front of her, leaving her powerless and pitiful. How vulnerable. She should have known. Tears bloomed in her eyes before she could halt that as well, pouring down her face out of fury and depression. Hands balled into white - knuckled fists and blood vessels erupted in her eyes from the wailing within, the ashy green clouded by nothing but crimson RAGE.

CARNAGE. TYRANNY. RID OF THE MORSEL AND LEAVE NO REMAINS.

All at once, the transformation process occurred and sped up far beyond her control. With a blackened mind, Betty’s rational conscience was shoved into the beast’s open cage and slammed shut, the monster within tearing through all barriers to expose itself to the world. Her spine arched painfully, bones cracking and thinning to give way to a grotesque, snake - like body that slithered out a few extra feet. Vampiric ears shot forth and twitched with life, digits elongated and swollen into talon - like claws that slammed into the floorboards below. Her jaw unhinged to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth concluded with twin fangs, bloodshot eyes wide with MADNESS, targeting the mech of a rat in front of her.

“ I’VE BEEN NOTHING BUT PATIENT WITH YOU, YOU SLIMY TICK. YOU DISRUPT MY INNER PEACE, DISRESPECT ME IN MY OWN KEEP, THEN K I L L AN INNOCENT LIFE. YOU WANT TO TANGO? LET’S FUCKING T A N G O IN H E L L ! “

The deep, gravely voice shrieked, her body lurching forwards — not at him, but in a protective stance over the remaining skaven. With eyes still locked into Xeenq’s every move, the Dhampir’s head sharply cocked to the side with a nauseating CRUNCH, a language in tongues whisking out from drooling lips. Her magic sparked, swallowing the skaven and herself whole with a forcefield of green. With that in place, Betty twisted her head around to face the cowering rats,

“ IF YOU WANT A BETTER CHANCE AT SURVIVAL I SUGGEST YOU EXIT THROUGH THE DOOR BEHIND US. THE BARRIER WILL HOLD OFF ANY ROUNDS FOR NOW. IF YOU WANT TO LIVE, G O . N O W . “

@tinkering-skaven

[dinfeanoriel]

Scarf

Just a little something while I work on the last part of Missing Legend! Linked Universe belongs to Jojo56830 and Linked Universe!  6k+ words! 

~~~~~~~ Warrior couldn’t believe it. His mind couldn’t wrap itself around it. It couldn’t be true, but there it was! All of the evidence clutched tightly in his trembling hands.

“My- my scarf!” Warrior whispered in dread and disbelief, tightening his hold on the remnants of his most treasured possession. His fathomless blue eyes swam with a multitude of emotions, a storm building up deep within and threatening to burst forth as his brows drew together in horror and dismay.

His entire being radiated utmost devastation, his features twisting in anguish. The wind caressed his now bare neck almost mockingly, the cool air brushing the skin and disturbing his golden-blonde hair.

Battle raged around him, but the sounds of metal striking metal, battle cries, and monster shrieks were drowned out by the pulsing in his ears and the thundering of his heart.

He couldn’t believe it.

Couldn’t accept it. 

His scarf…

His most beloved scarf had been mercilessly sheared completely in two and now lay in tatters between his fingers. He’d cherished it, cared for it, and wore it with pride for all these years! He’d washed it, stitched it, and kept it close. He was never without it! It was wrong not to have its comforting warmth wrapped reassuringly around his neck. 

Some Links would call him overly obsessed and could not understand why he was so dearly attached to it. They didn’t understand that this scarf wasn’t just any scarf. Neither of them had ever asked.They merely thought he wore it because it made him look good, but that was not it at all. 

The scarf’s worth was invaluable to him.

“Do you have to be so vain, Warrior?” Legend growled, deflecting yet another blow from a moblin, “It’s only a scarf! A tear in your precious scarf isn’t going to kill you, but these creatures will!”

Warrior’s heart cracked at the harshly spoken words, his eyes growing wide with despair. The cracks spread forming a multitude of webs until everything shattered and all Warrior saw was red.

His teeth clenched together, flashing in the moonlight. His blue eyes blazed, a fire raging within them. An undying thirst for revenge claimed him and Warrior could no longer suppress it.

How dare this creature ruin his scarf! How dare it destroy the only thing he had left of him!

He shook with rage, bowing his head and clinging to the remains of his scarf. He couldn’t fix it…

And that’s what hurt him the most.

He didn’t have the skills necessary to sew it back together. His sewing was meager at best, only used to stitch up small rips and tears here and there.

His scarf was ruined forever. He couldn’t accept this! He couldn’t lose his scarf! Not when it meant. so. much! 

Agonized grief mingled with wrath. Fury boiled and churned, rising up and up until Warrior could no longer contain it. 

He exploded- 

“You wretched BEASTS!”

Warrior’s enraged and strangled cry split the night sky, taking the Links and monsters all by surprise by the suddenness of it, along with the fierce anger, pain, and sorrow coating his voice. The very air shuddered from the emotionally packed words.

Four and Sky were nearly bowled over when Warrior blew past them and crossed the field to viciously attack the very monster that had torn his scarf.

He was brutal and unforgiving. Quick and lethally precise in his strikes. 

The pathetic Moblin was dead in a matter of seconds.

If Wild hadn’t jumped back when Warrior dashed by him, he was sure he would have been thrown halfway across the field! The Hero could only stare after the green blur as Warrior annihilated every Bokoblin and Lizalfos surrounding him. 

Warrior took out another two Moblins with hardly any effort. Wind gaped, wide-eyed and shocked, as Warrior practically dominated the battlefield, tearing here and there and eradicating any and all enemies littering the area. 

Legend was slack-jawed. None could deny the sheer skill and ardor Warrior possessed as he flew past the stunned Heroes, slicing through a couple terrified Bokoblins before completely decimating the band of Lizalfos Time and Twilight had been dealing with.

“What..?” Time found himself muttering, blinking slowly as he replayed exactly what he had been witness to. The six Lizalfos that had been ganging up on him and Twilight were nothing more than mangled remains he knew Wild would later enthusiastically peruse through. 

Twilight had lowered his blade midway, trying to comprehend what had become of their opponents. One moment, he’d been locked in an intense battle against a Lizalfos, and the next, the scaly creature was reduced to a twitching corpse. 

Time and Twilight glanced at one another then to the green blur zipping here and there. Warrior moved with incredible grace and speed, and before they knew it, all monsters were defeated.

The battle was won. 

Warrior breathed heavily as he stood in the center of the field, his back turned towards them and hand gripping his sword until his knuckles turned white. How his hair stayed perfectly intact and the Knight’s stamina and strength remained undepleted, they would never know. They were willing to bet it was experience. Based from what they had just been witness to, Warrior had been holding back the entire time he had been with them!

They hadn’t known what he was capable of. Clearly, he was adept to fighting multiple monsters at once without breaking a sweat. Perhaps his stories weren’t as exaggerated as they had previously believed? 

But now, Warrior wasn’t as calm nor as triumphant as he typically was after a good, hard, battle.

They watched as Warrior sheathed his blade and walked to where his shredded scarf lay, face devoid of any emotion. He knelt and reverently lifted the pieces of fabric from the ground, bowing his head and clenching his fists.

Wind was the first to cautiously approach. He took a couple of steps towards the Hero he looked up to, softly calling,

“Warrior?”

Warrior’s ears twitched and the Knight raised his head to spare Wind a look.

Wind’s breath caught at the shimmering eyes that met his own. At the despair and heartbreak he could see in them. Warrior looked away, standing slowly.

“What does it matter..?” They heard him shakily whisper, huffing out a short, humorless laugh, “It was just a scarf anyway…”

And with that, he went away.

~~~~~~~

Later, when the moon had reached her highest point in the sky, luminescent rays kissing the earth below, the Heroes gathered around a small campfire. They had set up their bedrolls and eaten in complete silence. 

No one dared to speak a word. 

Warrior had yet to return, and none of them had gone to find him. He wouldn’t want to be disturbed, they knew. He needed time to himself. 

Hyrule stared into the bowl he held in his lap, sorrow in his dark eyes. His heart ached fiercely for Warrior. 

“That scarf meant a lot to him…” He quietly whispered. The silence hanging o’er the camp made it possible for everyone to hear his words.

Sky gently touched his fingers to his sailcloth. Warrior’s scarf meant as much to him as his sailcloth did to him. Sky couldn’t imagine how he would feel if Zelda’s gift to him had been ripped and ruined beyond repair.

“I can’t stop seeing the look in his eyes,” Wind softly admitted, head bowed and fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. He’d never seen Warrior so…

So broken…

Legend didn’t want to admit it, but he would be lying if he claimed he weren’t shaken by Warrior’s loss of composure. The anguish he had displayed...the tears in his eyes…

The words he had so callously spoken before echoed in his ears and Legend hated himself for ever uttering them. What he had witnessed today proved to him that the scarf wasn’t something Warrior wore because he thought it helped him with his looks. He wore it because it meant something to him.

It held great significance to Warrior. 

Wild was quieter than usual. He couldn’t help but wonder what sentimental thoughts, feelings, and memories were attached to Warrior’s scarf. What made it so exceptionally special to him? Wild equated it to him losing his few, precious, memories again and having to regain them. He wished there was something he could do, but Wild couldn’t put the scarf back together. He didn’t possess that skill. He could cook, fight, brew, and glide but he couldn’t sew.

Perhaps he should learn? Wild paused when the suggestion crossed his mind and spent a minute contemplating it. He slowly nodded to himself, tapping the end of the ladle against his chin. 

Perhaps he should. 

Four ate at a slow pace. His eyes often flickered, and sometimes, Sky thought they would change colours. It happened so fast, however, and would vanish the next second that he brushed it aside. Perhaps he’d imagined it, but he wasn’t imagining the quiet murmurings.

Nothing we can do?

We can’t sew.

I wish we could.

He was absolutely devastated…

Maybe I can..?

I don’t know, Red...

If Sky’s thoughts weren’t so preoccupied by Warrior, he would have wondered at the strangeness of Four’s mumblings. He was practically holding a conversation with himself! 

~~~~~~~

Within the confines of the forest, hidden from any prying eyes, Warrior sat atop a rock, his hands loosely embracing what was left of his scarf. His back was bent and his head was bowed as he stared at the torn fabric with great sorrow clutching at his heart. 

This scarf had meant more to him than anyone would ever know. Never could he bring himself to discard it- even if it was ruined beyond repair. It meant too much. 

In his mind’s eye, he could see another wearing an identical scarf...Only this one was red instead of blue and belonged to the Hero before him...

~~~~~~

“Papa! Papa!” An elated toddler came racing down the stairs of the returning Knight’s humble abode, his tiny legs eating up the distance separating himself from his father. 

The Knight couldn’t help the broad smile that split his lips as he crouched down and swept the young, golden-blonde, boy into his arms. His majestic steed stood proudly behind him, snorting and digging his front left hoof into the dirt. 

The boy threw his small arms around the Knight’s neck, squeezing to the point that the Hylian’s air was very nearly cut off. His little boy would grow to become a fine young warrior, he already knew. 

“You’re back!” The toddler happily cried, pulling back to fix his Father with the most radiant smile possible. 

The Knight mirrored him, “That I am, Little Warrior!” He then leaned close to whisper in a conspiratorial manner, gaze darting towards where his eldest daughter stood in the doorway of their home, “And guess what?” 

The boy excitedly drew near, wanting to hear whatever secret his Papa was about to unveil to him, 

“What?” 

The Knight grinned and lifted his son high into the air, reveling in the peals of pure laughter this earned him, 

“Papa is here to stay for a month!” He announced. 

The toddler’s eyes grew wide in sheer disbelief and elation, 

“Really?!” He all but shrieked. 

“Yes, really!” The Knight laughed as he lowered his son and received an enthusiastic embrace. He returned the embrace just as tightly, crushing his little boy to his chest. 

The child buried his face contentedly into the red scarf his Father always wore, inhaling the earthy scent of the woods and rain that clung to it. It was his favorite smell, for it constantly reminded him of his Father. It was for this reason he’d stolen his Father’s pillow from his parents’ bed. 

He missed his Father greatly when he was gone and his Mother had quickly discovered that her son fell into a restful and easy sleep whenever his head would hit his Father’s pillow. Because of this, she’d allowed him to keep it. 

~~~~~~

The hint of a smile appeared on Warrior’s grieved face, bearing a tinge of nostalgia and sorrow. Every time his Father came home, he would be the first to greet him. Unless it was late in the night. Even then, Warrior was always awoken by his Father coming into his room and bidding him a fond goodnight. He’d run his hand lovingly through his hair then press a kiss to his brow, promising to see him first thing in the morning. 

His Father always kept that promise. As a child, Warrior would wake up at the crack of dawn, race into his parents’ bedroom, and jump on his Father to wake him and they would spend the morning cooking breakfast together. 

The kitchen always ended up in a disastrous state afterwards. 

How he missed those days...

Another thing he’d constantly done as a child was steal his Father’s scarf and keep it for himself. He’d loved that scarf so very much. 

~~~~~~ “Where is my scarf?” 

“Do you really have to ask?” A young girl’s voice deadpanned.  An indulgent chuckle resounded through the house as the Knight shook his head with a smile,“No, I suppose not.” 

The flicker of a grin appeared on his daughter’s all-too-serious face before it faded and she returned back to her reading. The Knight rolled his eyes at his eldest and strolled past her towards the Living Room. 

A golden head peered around the door frame and cerulean blue eyes softened at the sight of a toddler wrapped snugly in his red scarf sitting on the floor before the hearth. The fire within crackled, the flames dancing and casting an ambient glow that encompassed the homely room. 

The toddler was hardly visible. Puffs of golden-blonde hair, the same shade as his own, poked out from within the folds. He’d never realized his scarf was so long or wide until he gazed down upon his swaddled-up son now seated at his booted feet. 

“Little Warrior?” 

The bundle shifted and a head tipped back to bump against his knee, large blue eyes sparkling up at him from the fountain of red. The Knight quirked an eyebrow at the endearing sight and crouched down to ruffle his son’s hair. 

“What is with you and stealing my scarf, my son?” 

A yawn was his only answer as the blue-eyed boy sleepily rubbed at his drooping eyes. 

The Father’s adoring smile grew and he slipped beside his son, folding his legs and curling a strong arm around the toddler. He pulled the little boy to him and tucked him against his side. The toddler nestled closer, curling up against his leg and pillowing his head on his arms. 

The Father leaned back against the couch, knowing he would not be moving anytime soon. He fixed his scarf around his precious boy, ensuring he was protected from the stealthy winter’s chill that still managed to seep into the house. Satisfied that his son would be warm during the night, his eyes drifted shut and both Father and son drifted into a sleep filled with wondrous and peaceful dreams. 

~~~~~~

His Mother often accused his Father of spoiling him. His Father would profusely deny it. His Mother would then roll her evergreen eyes and hopelessly cast her arms into the air. She knew her husband was wrapped around their son’s finger. 

Warrior had known also, but he never used it to his advantage. He was content with spending time with his Father before he would leave to return back to the Castle and take up his duties as Captain of the Guard once more. 

His Father had once decided to have Warrior accompany him and Link had begged and begged his Mother to let him go. After great hesitation and much convincing on both his Father and his’ part, she gave in. She made them swear to be careful. 

If there was one lesson the both of them had learned during their journey to the Castle, it was to never doubt or cast aside a Mother’s Intuition. 

~~~~~~

“Link!” The Knight stumbled through the downpour, fear clawing its way up his chest and wrapping its cold tendrils mercilessly around his heart. “LINK!” 

There was no response. The Knight had never known such fear before now. He valiantly pressed forward, mud staining his clothing as he trudged forcefully through it. Rips and tears adorned his tunic and leggings, mingling with blood stains, but he could care less about his disheveled appearance. The wounds he’d been inflicted with flared and screamed with every jostling movement, but he ignored them. The pain was drowned out by the sheer worry he felt. 

He cupped his hands around his mouth, his powerful voice crying out, 

“Little Warrior!”

He listened vainly, straining his ears to catch even the littlest of sounds over the anguished howling of the wind. 

There was nothing. 

The crack of thunder rang in his ears and the Knight flinched at the penetrating sound. Lightning lit up the darkness momentarily, bolts striking at the earth. 

His hair stabbed relentlessly at his eyes and lashed at his face as the Father tried to locate his missing child. 

Where was his little boy? The forest was so thick, the darkness nearly impenetrable as he raced through, but he would not give up!

With every second that passed, the Father agonized over the unknown fate of his only son. He’d ordered Link to run after being confronted by four suspicious and skulking men. 

His son had. He’d turned tail and bolted after having recognized the men’s malicious intentions. 

The Father had gone mad with worry and his calm, level-headed, mind was overridden by paternal protectiveness when one of the men slipped away after his child. 

He’d fought like he’d never fought before! The three keeping him from going after his son and protecting him were disposed of within the blink of an eye. He would allow no one to lay a finger on his precious child! 

He’d then disappeared into the forest, heart pounding and adrenaline racing through his veins. Scenarios of what could have become of his son continued to crawl forward from the deepest and darkest trenches of his mind, each worse than the last. He earnestly pleaded and prayed to the Goddesses on high that nothing ill had befallen his beloved child. 

“LINK!” He tried again, voice faltering as it cracked. His foot caught on a crooked root and the weary Knight crumpled into an undignified heap on the ground, clenching his teeth together when white-hot agony shot up his leg. He immediately scrambled upright and kept going. He had to find his son! Had to see for himself that Link was safe and sound. That he was unhurt and had escaped his pursuer! “Link, please!” 

Where was he? The Father spun around in a circle, searching every-which-way in the hopes that he would find him. 

There was no little boy who looked so much like him to be seen. 

What direction to go? What if he went the wrong way? What if this entire time he’d been increasing the distance between himself and Link? 

His expression crumpled, torn. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where to go. His son could be anywhere! 

He ran on, passing by a red house hidden within the depths of the woods. He was about to sprint on further when something urged him to stop. It was such a powerful and instinctual feeling that it nearly overpowered him. 

He paused and turned to look back upon the red house in bemusement. Something was telling him to go there. A gentle push from behind nudged him closer. 

And so he moved. He allowed his feet to walk on their own accord, bringing him closer and closer until he was almost to the stairs leading to the door. 

Was he to go inside? From its run-down appearance, it was safe to say it was abandoned and the door was partially opened. 

He was about to ascend the stairs when he saw it. 

An odd malformation tucked in the corner of the stairs, hidden within the shadows where the moonlight did not touch and camouflaged in red. He rounded the stone steps and peered closer. 

“What..?” He wondered quietly and the deformity shifted upon hearing his voice. Cerulean blue eyes appeared and locked with his own and the Father nearly slumped in relief. 

“Papa..?” A timid voice questioned. The Knight rushed to the bundle, crashing to his knees and throwing his arms around his little boy. He drew him close, trapping him in a vice-like hold. 

“You are safe!” He breathed into his son’s hair, eyes drifting shut. “My Little Warrior...I was so worried!” He pulled away and started to search his son for any hurts. Finding none, he framed his child’s face, swiping at the mud smeared on his cheeks and beneath his eye. 

His frantically beating heart could finally rest, content in knowing Link was safe and sound in his arms. 

His little boy shivered and tugged the red scarf tighter around himself. The Knight tucked him against his chest, resting his chin on the crown of Link’s head. 

He’d found him. His little boy was unharmed. 

“Your scarf protecteded me, Papa,” His Little Warrior told him, voice muffled. He raised an arm and pointed to the red house behind him, “It hid me!” 

The Father couldn’t help but smile at the innocent words and marvel at his son’s ingenuity and quick-thinking. It was true. His red scarf was the same shade as the painting on the house. His son had wrapped himself in the scarf and blended in with the small home. He’d hidden himself from his pursuer, and the Father couldn’t be more thankful for his Little Warrior’s cleverness and the Goddesses protecting him. 

~~~~~~~

Warrior held the tattered scarf close to him, running his thumb over the name sewn beneath the Triforce in golden letters. One of his friends had been kind enough to sew it for him. 

His Father had done the same. It was the reason why he always adorned his scarf. Not because of what it symbolized, but because of the names it bore. 

~~~~~~~

“Lydia...” 

Link’s face lit up with jubilation and immense relief upon hearing the most welcome voice as he poked his head into his Father’s room to find the Hylian seated on the edge of his bed, rifling through his pack. 

“Link...” 

That was his name. 

“Aria...” 

His little sister’s name. 

“Piper...”

His baby sister’s name. 

He smiled widely and entered the room without announcing his presence, racing to his Father’s side and throwing his arms around his waist. 

The Knight started and looked down to see the familiar golden-blonde hair of Link’s. A warm smile grew on his lips, 

“Link!” He tried to stand in order to reciprocate the embrace, and immediately regretted doing so as his leg protested greatly against the movement. He flinched, stumbling when his knee gave out. His son tried to steady him and the Knight snatched the baseboard of the bed to catch himself. 

Link waved his hands in the air, pointing towards the bed meaningfully. He was chiding him, the Knight realized. A pang of grief briefly overshadowed his amusement when his son didn’t use his voice. 

He hadn’t for a few years now. When he did, it was nothing more than a handful of words. 

He missed hearing his son speak. Why he spoke less now was a mystery to him. He’d tried to ask him once, but his son wouldn’t tell him anything. 

“Alright, alright,” He chuckled when Link tugged at his arm and motioned for him to sit. He plopped back down with a shake of his head. His ten year old boy fixed him with a stern look, planting his fists on his hips. The Knight refrained from rolling his eyes. 

He certainly had his Mother’s temperament. 

“I know, I know, Doctor’s orders,” He sighed in defeat. 

His son gave him a glare then turned his back on him with a huff. 

The Knight’s expression fell slightly and he reached out to grasp his Little Warrior’s shoulder, 

“Link,” 

The boy wouldn’t turn around to face him. The Knight knew he’d scared him badly when he’d been brought into the house, bleeding and on the verge of death. 

“Link, please...” The Knight tried coaxing his son to look at him, but Link refused. “Little Warrior?” 

The child’s ears twitched at the endearing nickname and his shoulders slumped. His body shuddered and the ten year old spun on his heel and threw himself at his Father. His small arms wrapped around his back, fingers digging into his tunic and the boy buried his face into his Father’s strong shoulder, muffling his sobs. 

The Knight held him close, sorrow gripping him. He hadn’t meant to scare him so badly. 

“There, there, my Little Warrior,” He softly whispered, rocking his child soothingly. His heart ached at the sounds of Link’s quiet cries.“There is no need for these tears, now, are there? I’m awake now.” 

Yes, he’d been casually informed by the Doctor that he’d been unconscious for thirteen days. Thirteen days he knew were undoubtedly full of agony, anguish, and despair for his beloved children. None knew whether or not he would wake and the Doctor, the Knight could tell, hadn’t been confident that he would. 

A thought then struck him and he tugged his son back, brushing his bangs from his face, 

“Who cared for you four?” He inquired worriedly, cupping his son’s cheek and clearing it of the rivulets of silver rain that had formed. 

Link dragged his sleeve across his glistening eyes and sniffed. He tapped his chest then made an ‘L’ shape with his hand, bringing his thumb beneath his chin and tapping his hand on top of his right. 

“You and your big sis, hm?” The Knight translated. A faint trace of anger laced his tone but he carefully hid it from Link. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat infuriated that the Kingdom had done nothing for his children. After all his years of service and this was how they repaid him? By leaving his children to fend for themselves? “No one came to check in on you?” 

Someone had to have known he was incapacitated and unable to look after his kids. But apparently, no one had had the heart to look after them in his stead. 

Link rubbed at his eye in confusion then shook his head. 

The Knight pursed his lips tightly together but skillfully hid his displeasure from his son. He would definitely be confronting a few choice people concerning this. His eldest daughter, Lydia, was only fourteen and Link was ten. Aria was not even two and his youngest a mere four months. 

He couldn’t believe no one had gone to check in on them at least once! 

His gaze drifted to his son and caught sight of the ring of shadows beneath those expressive eyes. Link didn’t appear to have gotten much sleep during the last two weeks. He looked bone-tired and exhausted but the child was pushing himself past his breaking point for his siblings. 

The Father was incensed. If Link looked this bad, what of Lydia? How were Aria and Piper? His dearest little girls...

He then spotted the red fabric draped across Link’s shoulders and his ire faded somewhat. 

“You are wearing my scarf, Little Warrior,” He murmured fondly, an indulgent expression gracing his features. 

Link averted his eyes to the floor, tapping the wood with the tip of his boot. His hands drifted up to clutch at the scarf. He’d been wearing it the entire time his Father was unconscious. It had given him hope and comfort during those dark and miserable days. 

A large hand settled on his head and Link shyly met his Father’s kind and understanding eyes. 

“You know that I do love you, correct, Little Warrior? And that I always will?” The Knight asked him and Link nodded immediately. His Father never allowed him to forget. He constantly reminded him and his sisters of the endless love he held for them. 

He fingered the ends of the scarf then lifted the end up and presented it to his Father. The Knight glanced down in mild confusion. 

“What is it?”  Link gripped the corners of the scarf and stretched them apart, revealing the Triforce and-

“Ah,” Understanding dawned on the Father and he lifted his son into his lap. Although Link felt he was too big for this, he didn’t dare move away. Instead, he nestled closer, reveling in the warmth and safety provided by his Father’s presence. Strong arms wove around his waist as the Father toyed with the end of the scarf. 

His chest rumbled as he spoke, “I see you have found your names.” 

Link nodded, brushing his fingers along the golden letters. He mouthed the names as his Father spoke them aloud, 

Lydia Link Aria Piper “I sewed them on my scarf so that I might have the four of you with me at all times.” His Father told him, giving him a gentle squeeze, “No matter where I go or for how long I am gone, I will never be without my dearest children.” 

His Little Warrior would never forget those words. 

~~~~~~~

Warrior had done the same as his Father had. He’d asked a friend to sew the names of his siblings, his Mother, and his Father onto his scarf so that he might always have them with him at all times. He never wanted to be without them. 

But now...

He couldn’t wear his scarf anymore. 

He’d have to tuck the fabric away into the safety of his pack, where it would be hidden from his view and it hurt Warrior. He didn’t want to put it away. He didn’t want it to be obscured from his sight. 

He released a shuddery sigh, furiously blinking back the tears that sprang to his eyes. 

Soft footsteps drew the mournful Knight to glance to his right to see who was approaching. 

Four emerged from the shadows of the forest and paused at the edge of the clearing when the smallest Hero saw Warrior looking his way. Warrior stared at him for what felt to be an eternity before he looked away. Four hadn’t failed to recognize the heart-wrenching sadness in those eyes. 

He moved closer, crossing the clearing until he stood but a few feet away. He clasped his hands together in front of him and worried his lower lip until he set his shoulders and quietly spoke, 

“Warrior?” 

Warrior made no indication of having heard him. Four knew he had. 

“I...I wanted to know if...” The Hero began, almost hesitantly, “I wanted to know if you would allow me to see to your scarf.” 

Warrior blinked slowly, as if Four’s words hadn’t quite registered in his mind. When he’d processed them, he turned to face Four with an unreadable look. 

Four almost wilted in uncertainty. 

If Warrior had paid enough attention, he would have noted the coloring of Four’s eyes. They weren’t clear blue anymore, but a blue of a deeper shade. His timid demeanor should have told Warrior that this wasn’t Four addressing him, but the Knight was too grieved to truly notice the change that had overcome the Link. 

Warrior glanced down at the ruined scarf in his hands, almost contemplating. He didn’t want to part with his scarf but... 

A part of him hoped that maybe Four would be able to salvage it. That he might be able to do something to save it. 

The other, more reasonable, side of him said it was an impossible feat and to not get his hopes up. 

He decided it hardly mattered anymore. The older teen presented it to Four, and the Hero reverently took the ripped and torn scarf from him. 

Would he be able to fix it? He didn’t know...

~~~~~~

He was eleven when his world came crashing down. Lydia was fifteen when her life along with her siblings’ were drastically and tragically changed. A great and terrible war had broken out between Hyrule and a neighboring Kingdom. No one knew exactly what had provoked it, but the declaration of war had been given and Hyrule was plunged into one of her darkest times in history. 

The small family had known their Father would be called away to fight. He would be the one leading the Kingdom’s armies to what the people hoped to be victory. 

He was, after all, their Hero. 

Link vividly remembered the many tears that had been shed on that dreadful day their Father had gravelly informed them that he would be leaving. Aria had been too young to truly understand what was happening, but she knew the meaning of the words ‘Papa is going away for a while.’ 

Her cries and pleas for him not to leave pained everyone to hear, and Link knew it had struck his Father hard. Piper had recently turned one, and so, would have no memories of any of this. 

For this, Link was grateful. 

They’d bid him farewell, and remained in the yard watching him go. Link had known then, that this might be the last he saw his Father alive. 

He’d seen it reflected in his Father’s eyes also. Their Father hadn’t wanted to leave and they hadn’t wanted to let him go. 

But they had to. 

And it was the hardest thing they had ever had to do. 

Lydia held a sobbing Aria and Link clutched his baby sister tightly in his arms as they bid their Father what might be their final goodbye. They continued watching long after their Father had disappeared from view. 

Lydia, his strong and proud sister, had tears in her eyes that day. Link would never forget. Nor would he forget the foreboding feeling that had gripped him then. 

Link had been the first to be informed of their Father’s demise. Link couldn’t fathom it at first. He couldn’t accept it. And those traitorous soldiers who’d left his Father for dead..! 

Lydia had broken down upon learning of their beloved Father’s death. She’d crumpled to the ground, wretched and strangled sobs tearing from her lips. Her body shook so violently and she’d pressed a hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle the heartbreaking sounds. In her other hand, she clutched their Father’s scarf to her heart. 

Link couldn’t bring himself to cry. The reality was only just now sinking into his mind and deep into his heart. 

Their Father was gone. 

He slept with his Father’s scarf wrapped securely around him that night. 

Aria was now four. And she knew what the words ‘Papa won’t be coming back,’ meant. 

She never truly recovered. 

It had taken years to bring a true smile to her face again. 

The funeral held in their Father’s honor had been a grand and sorrowful event. There was not one soul that attended that did not shed a tear as the Hero of War was laid to rest within the Tombs of the Kings. 

Link wore his Father’s scarf but before he left, he’d had Lydia return it back to their Father. 

“Don’t you want to keep it, Link?” Lydia quietly asked, accepting the scarf from her little brother. 

Link firmly shook his head. 

“You don’t?” Lydia knew her brother’s attachment to their Father’s scarf. It meant so much to him. She’d believed Link would keep it and wear it at all times. There was no prying it from him. For him to so freely give it up...

“Father would want you to have it.” 

Link blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and reached up to grasp his sister’s hand. Lydia gently squeezed his in return, patiently waiting for an answer. 

“I know he would,” Link whispered, fighting the urge not to break down, “But...I can’t take it from him.” 

“Why ever not?” 

Link expelled a shaky breath and whispered in a solemn voice, 

“He always wanted to have us with him,” 

He didn’t need to say more. Lydia understood. 

She cried again that day. 

Link cried with her. 

But he felt an odd, gentle reassurance whenever Lydia returned the scarf to their Father before the tomb was sealed. 

He would always have his children with him. 

~~~~~~~

Warrior never forgot his Father. Everything he had done and everything he had taught him. He followed in his Father’s footsteps and fought to honor and remember him. He’d become Captain of the Guard and saved Hyrule in his stead. 

The scarf Impa had given him along with the Hero’s Tunic had become Warrior’s most important and meaningful possessions. It was styled exactly like his Father’s had been. The only thing that differed was the coloring, but Warrior didn’t mind. 

His Father’s scarf had been his Father’s scarf, and this scarf was his scarf. 

But he no longer had his scarf and he didn’t have his Father’s. 

He couldn’t wear his anymore and Warrior felt he had lost the only connection he had to his Father. 

With a sigh, Warrior stood and tilted his head up to stare at the moon. It had grown late and he knew he had to return to the others. 

He steeled himself and turned to begin making his way back to the encampment where he knew someone would be awake and waiting for him. 

As he left, Warrior could have sworn he felt the gentle breeze caress his form and a warm voice whisper his name, 

“Little Warrior,” 

~~~~~~~

Warrior couldn’t believe it. His mind couldn’t fathom it.  It was too good to be true! But there it was! All of the evidence clutched tightly in his disbelieving hands! His scarf, in all its glory, sewn and perfectly intact!

Four stood before him, almost bashfully. He’d asked Warrior if he could look at it the night before, and Warrior let him have it. He didn’t bring himself to hope, however, knowing his hopes would be dashed. His scarf, he’d believed, was gone. Ruined beyond repair.

But he couldn’t bear being parted from it. It meant too much.

When Four had approached him just seconds earlier and presented his scarf, Warrior was in shock. It was....whole again! No sign of any rips or tears, no sign of the destruction it had faced, or the complete and utter ruined state it had been in when last Warrior had seen it.

The Heroes looked on, noting how choked up Warrior appeared to be as his stunned eyes flickered from Four to his scarf then back to Four again.

How was this possible..?

He’d known Four had a knack for smithing, but for sewing?

Warrior traced where the tear had been. If he looked hard enough, he could faintly see where Four had fixed it, but it was barely noticeable and Warrior could care less.

His scarf was fixed and held more meaning to him than ever before!

“I saw the name,” Four quietly told him. The stillness of the camp enabled everyone to hear him. “The one stitched underneath the Triforce along with the others.”

Warrior swallowed thickly and nodded with a wobbly smile. He knew what name Four meant. He knew this scarf better than he knew anything else.

“It’s…” Four momentarily hesitated, as if afraid he was treading on some sort of sacred ground, “It’s...not your name...is it?”

All Warrior was capable of was shaking his head. He reverently wrapped his scarf around his neck, the weight and warmth most welcome. The light silken fabric draped over his shoulders and fluttered in the breeze as he worked at it to make it more presentable.

“My Father’s name,” Warrior found himself answering a few moments after, voice stronger than he thought it would be.

Then the Links understood.

Everything made sense now.

And Legend felt more wretched and guilty than ever before.

“He was the Hero of War before me.” Warrior touched the scarf with his fingers as if assuring himself that it was there. That he still had it with him and he would never lose it again. “He always wore a scarf.” 

In every painting, portrait, and sculpture Warrior had seen of his Father, the Hero before him was never without his scarf. It wasn’t blue, red, and orange like his own, but red, blue, and gold. In nearly every memory Warrior had of him, his Father’s scarf was rarely absent. He remembered his Father wrapping it around him when he was younger, laughing along with him. Some of his fondest memories revolved around that precious scarf. 

And so, when Warrior had been given the scarf by General Impa, and found it to be an exact replica of his Father’s, he had immediately donned it on, and never took it off since.

The Knight grasped Four’s shoulder, a smile on his lips. It was different from his other smiles. Much brighter, more meaningful, and grateful.

It was a true smile.

“Thank you,”

Four gave him a nod and watched Warrior go to accept a bowl from Wild. The small Hero grinned to himself, whispering,

“You’re a Hero, Red.”

And Four’s eyes shone. 

[archivestoriescrafted]

me:  *clears my throat,  and straightens up my papers so i look like a professional*  

i’m watching ‘the war without, the war within’,  and uh,  sit tight,  kids,  i have a lot of feelings.

first off,  we’ll start with headcanons revolving around kat’s recovery following being rescued from the ship of the dead.  sO,  for starters,  she definitely has to relearn how to walk  &&  is confined to a bio-bed for weeks.  since she’d been captured,  all of her codes  &&  logins are disabled bc.....  that’s definitely standard procedure during a war as high-stakes as the klingon war,  &&  with someone with clearance levels that generally exceed top-secret   (   since she’s practically the head of the front-lines fight   ).   in addition to that,  she undergoes rigorous psycho-therapy   (   despite the fact that she only takes it seriously to the most minor degree that would get her back to the front lines,  as i’ve stated before   ).   anyway,  there’s all this going on,  but all she really cares about at all is getting lorca removed from his command.  she is so entirely shaken by the whole ~pinned down with a phaser in her face~ debacle,  on tOP of the fact that by then she’s well aware that lorca had set her up with that summit with the klingons,  because he was so desperate that she not stop him he was willing to go to such extreme measures.

so,  flash forward a week or two,  where she’s doing some minimal walking   (   but spends most of her time confined to bed or a hoverchair   ),   &&  is finally cleared by her therapist to start receiving intel reports regarding the war   (   there’s a chance there’s coercion involved,  but she’ll never admit to it   ).   it’s clear to her almost immediately that the information she wants isn’t being included in the reports she’s getting,  so ofc she’s furious at that,   &&  calls up another admiral to just yell at them bc her top priority is finding out if her campaign to remove lorca from command was successful.  she’s hung up on,  which only further fans the flames of her fury,  but before long sarek shows up in person.  so she knows that’s a bad sign,  &&  he tells her about   (   the supposed   )   destruction of discovery,  because of course they’d send a vulcan so they’d be less affected by the predicted emotional outburst that definitely came.  

because it was her fault.  she’d suspected something was wrong from early on,  when a recklessness she hadn’t before seen in him began appearing in his reports,   &&  in the reports of his officers.  she should’ve done something then,  &&  now they’d lost their only real fighting chance against the klingons  ---  due to her own personal feelings and sentimentality.  and suddenly the klingons have the upper hand.  &&  she fights like hell to complete her physical therapy,  &&  be cleared for duty.  it takes only another week,  though she’s warned about pushing too hard   (   this is where my headcanon about lasting damage comes in,  because some of the repairs to her brain  &&  nerve receptors following being paralyzed by the power relay on the klingon ship just didn’t fully take due to her pushing beyond her own limits,  &&  not reporting the returning effects  &&  complications to her doctors because she didn’t want to be pulled from the front lines again,  not when she was so sorely needed following the loss of discovery   ).

&&  she’s right.  the fatalities skyrocket.  within months,  1/3 of the fleet’s been destroyed.  hundreds of thousands of lives,  both starfleet and civilian,  are lost.  &&  she can’t stop blaming herself,  irrational as it might sound.  so she fights harder.  works longer.  pushes herself far beyond her own limits,  despite the protests of those around her.  of course,  none of them know how bad it is.  most of the time,  she’s able to hide it well.  she’s spent decades in the mental health field,  and knows just what to do to hide things from people.  it’s,  perhaps,  a skill she’d never truly appreciated before she needed it so desperately.

truly,  she’s nearly at the end of what she can take when a report comes through.  she’s resigned to the fact that it’s likely to report the loss of another starbase,  or the decimation of another colony  ---  but it’s not.  discovery’s back on their sensors,  &&  the intel nearly knocks her off her feet.  now maybe,  finally,  she can get some justice.  it’ll be too late,  but it’ll be something.  she’ll get lorca stripped of his rank,  and charged with whatever crimes she can make stick.  that is  ---  if discovery’s crew are still alive.  if she hasn’t been coopted by klingons,  as she’s been warned it may have.

she’s lucky it’s a relatively good day,  &&  that the crew of the ship she’s taken command of are so quick on their feet.  it’s only a matter of hours until they’re at discovery’s location,  &&  it feels dreamlike for a moment,�� until she realizes that it can’t.  she has to be at the top of her game in this moment,  even if she has to endure some meltdown later   (   whether out of relief or the guilt she’s been in such a heated race with for nine months now finally catching up with her   ).   sarek’s sure it’s an overreaction,  her insistence that she have her phaser primed  &&  ready despite the security team clearing the bridge for their arrival.  she disagrees,  &&  there’s something about the look in her eye that makes him back off.  

katrina’s so caught up in the fact that she’ll finally get closure that she doesn’t stop to consider the fact that he may not even be there.  of course,  there’s always the option lingering that the ship may be full of klingons,  but it never occurs to her that gabriel lorca may just.....  be gone.  adrenaline’s coursing through her veins as the transporter lands them on discovery’s bridge,  &&  she’s immediately demanding someone disclose gabriel’s location.  but they’re more concerned with knowing what’s happening   (   &&  if she weren’t feeling so single-minded,  she might understand that   ).   instead,  she initiates a command-level override of all ship’s functions,  feeling some security in the fact that she’s in charge now.  no matter what,  lorca’s not getting this ship back.  she’ll fight tooth and nail to make sure of that   (   it’s possible nine months,  in addition to her time as a prisoner of war,  have only fueled her vendetta  ---  but she’ll buck up and seek therapy after the war’s done   ).   

then she learns he’s dead.

then she learns her gabriel’s likely been dead for well over a year now.

&&  suddenly she doesn’t know what to feel.  does she let the guilt come crashing down?  does she allow relief to flood over her,  despite the fact that it doesn’t feel like she’s earned it?  does she,  somehow,  let it go?

frankly,  she’s not sure she knows how to do any of those things.  not anymore.

[blueikeproductions]

Transformers Cyberverse Life on Earth Profile

Primacron

An eccentric alien scientist from a bygone era in the galaxy. Older than dirt, but still as sharp and spry as ever, Primacron travels the multiverse, amassing various exotic technologies to use in his various experiments. He enjoys playing God, having no shame in it whatsoever, seeing it little more than a sort of Chess game where he can move pieces as he pleases. It is through Primacron that mechanical life exists in several universes including the Quintessons and Transformers, though he wishes he could take credit in universes where Primus and/or the Allspark did the deed.

This playful abuse of delicate organic and mechanical life balance caught the attention of a breed of trans dimensional Quintessons who appointed themselves as multiverse overseers, and were threatened by Primacron. Not so much as practical but personal, if Primacron created THEM, then what does that mean for the Quintessons’ hold over trans dimensional affairs among various races? It just wasn’t good for business, y’see, and so they captured Primacron to put him on trial for crimes against creation. The verdict naturally being DEATH. Primacron, seeing through his creations’ sham, merely took control of several Primitive Transformers in their employ, in particular the stalwart Thunderhowl, the gluttonous Skullcruncher, and the dutiful Hammerbyte, along with some Sharkticons. After throwing the court into disarray, Primacron built a Warp Gate to escape to the next universe over, but in his haste, he accidentally created Tornedron, a being made out of unstable Warp Gate energy and a spattering of Unspace, which would go on to cause the devastating energy crisis in the galaxy called The Shattering.

Not seeing it as his problem right now, Primacron and his Primitives took refuge on Planet Croaton, a Transformer Colony planet founded by the MetroTitan Croaton. While initially only staying for his own self serving reasons, Primacron quickly grew to legitimately care for the Croatonians, watching them grow and prosper first hand and seeing what life was like for his mechanical creations. As the doting grandpa of the colony and one of its chief elders, he helped these Transformers grow into an advanced civilization way beyond what was capable on Cybertron or Master. This didn’t last, as energy deprived Decepticons led by Soundblaster on an energy scrounging mission from Megatron, decimated Croaton. While Primacron managed to save several Croatonians by sending them to another dimension to another Croaton not expected to have problems, his Warp Gate was damaged in the scuffle, trapping the rest. In righteous fury, Primacron’s Primitives utterly destroyed Soundblaster’s unit, but the damage was already done and Croaton had to be abandoned, with Primacron taking survivors as part of his crew.

After an attempt at a nomadic lifestyle, Primacron’s crew settled on Earth, piggybacking on a Black Block Consortia refugee ship. They laid low for awhile, with Thunderhowl and Hammerbyte’s units patrolling for anything of interest and possible threats. While lacking proper resources after the attack on Croaton, luck struck in the form of the brief Regent invasion and their use of the Mega Decepticon Tidal Wave. Scrounging the remains of the battle, Primacron built a self sustaining colony while he plotted his next move.

With increasing Decepticon activity and Tornedron coming closer to Earth, Primacron decided it was time to leave and had his followers start to steal approximate tech from Southside to finally repair his Warp Gate. This inevitably caught the attention of the Autobots and their human allies as one of the parts required was the Allspark to generate energy strong enough to punch a hole in dimensions. While Primacron initially had control of the situation to explain himself, taking control of Cheetor, Grimlock and Repugnus to overwhelm the investigating Bee Team, it created a domino effect that attracted Tornedron and the Quintessons to his base when he activated his Warp Gate. Humbled, when Grahm went out of his way to protect him, after Tornedron and the Quintessons were defeated, Primacron’s crew agreed to help the Autobots back to Cybertron. After a hiccup occurred with Guiltar the ExPrime, the Autobots successfully returned to Cybertron while Primacron and his Croatonians stayed on Earth to start new lives. During the final battle on Cybertron, Primacron lended Skullcruncher to help the Autobots push back against the Decepticons.

[mcuntainbcrn]

@aquxtic-hxrbingcr​

It had all been such a blur, what had happened - unable to truly piece together any of it beyond flashes of red and a heavy familiar stench, while any further efforts to feel or see past this veil resulted in mind shattering pain; a loud roar rushing in her ears, thundering pulse further blocking out any sound beyond that terrible rhythm and white hot fury.

...why was she so angry?

It didn’t appear to matter now, the weight of her body seeming to evaporate, anything solid beneath her feet vanishing as she was overcome with the sense of floating, the acrid, pervasive odor of the asylum and her holding cell giving way sharply to something far more...fresh...pleasant...something she couldn’t see with eyes blinded by rage.

The sensation of falling faded to nothingness as she lost consciousness as she reached new velocities, tiny form rocketing to earth at speeds no normal person could survive...pity she wasn’t normal...not anymore.

She would never know how hard she touched ground, the resulting crater spanning at least a quarter mile, her broken body laying in the middle of it, partially hidden by the decimated landscape, concealing her partially as that which so thoroughly infested her immediately set to work repairing the damage from the inside out, her mind, for once, blissfully silent.

[lovepersists2]

i’m watching ‘the war without, the war within’,  and uh, sit tight, kids,  i have a lot of feelings.

first off,  we’ll start with headcanons revolving around kat’s recovery following being rescued from the ship of the dead.  sO,  for starters,  she definitely has to relearn how to walk  &&  is confined to a bio-bed for about a week.  since she’d been captured,  all of her codes && logins are disabled bc…..  that’s definitely standard procedure during a war as high-stakes as the klingon war,  &&  with someone with clearance levels that generally exceed top-secret   (  since as far as my portrayal goes,  this entire goddamn dumbass was put in charge of just about every aspect of the war effort   ).   in addition to that,  she undergoes rigorous psycho-therapy   (   despite the fact that she only takes it seriously to the most minor degree that would get her back to the front lines,  since she’s a dumbass and all   ).   anyway,  there’s all this going on,  but all she really cares about at all is getting lorca removed from his command.  she is so entirely shaken by the whole ~pinned down with a phaser in her face~ debacle,  on tOP of the fact that by then she’s well aware that lorca had set her up with that summit with the klingons,  because he was so desperate that she not stop him he was willing to go to such extreme measures.

so,  flash forward a week or two,  where she’s doing some minimal walking   (  but spends most of her time confined to bed or a hoverchair   ),  &&  is finally cleared by her therapist to start receiving intel reports regarding the war   (   there’s a chance there’s coercion involved,  but she’ll never admit to it   ).    it’s clear to her almost immediately that the information she wants isn’t being included in the reports she’s getting,  so ofc she’s furious at that,   &&  calls up another admiral to just yell at them bc her top priority is finding out if her campaign to remove lorca from command was successful.  she’s hung up on,  which only further fans the flames of her fury,  but before long sarek shows up in person.  so she knows that’s a bad sign, &&  he tells her about   (   the supposed   )   destruction of discovery,  because of course they’d send a vulcan so they’d be less affected by the predicted emotional outburst that definitely came.  

&&  she,  of course,  had to see it first-hand.  demanded to be taken to the site where the debris was found  ---  she had to see it with her own eyes to believe it.  and that only made it worse,  because it was her fault.  she’d suspected something was wrong from early on,  when a recklessness she hadn’t before seen in him began appearing in his reports,   &&  in the reports of his officers.  she should’ve done something then,  &&  now they’d lost their only real fighting chance against the klingons  —  due to her own personal feelings and sentimentality.  and suddenly the klingons have the upper hand.  && she fights like hell to complete her physical therapy,  &&  be cleared for duty.  it takes only another week,  though she’s warned about pushing too hard   (   this is where my headcanon about lasting damage comes in,  because some of the repairs to her brain &&  nerve receptors following being paralyzed by the power relay on the klingon ship just didn’t fully take due to her pushing beyond her own limits,  &&  not reporting the returning effects  &&  complications to her doctors because she didn’t want to be pulled from the front lines again,  not when she was so sorely needed following the loss of discovery   ).

&&  she’s right.  the fatalities skyrocket.  within months,  one-third of the fleet’s been destroyed.  hundreds of thousands of lives,  both starfleet and civilian,  are lost.  &&  she can’t stop blaming herself,  irrational as it might sound.  so she fights harder.  works longer.  pushes herself far beyond limits that are already being pushed to the max,  despite the protests of those around her.  of course,  none of them know how bad it is.  most of the time,  she’s able to hide it well.  she’s spent decades in the mental health field,  and knows just what to do to hide things from people.  it’s,  perhaps,  a skill she’d never truly appreciated before she needed it so desperately.

truly,  she’s nearly at the end of what she can take when a report comes through.  she’s resigned to the fact that it’s likely to report the loss of another starbase,  or the decimation of another colony  —  but it’s not.  discovery’s back on their sensors,  && the intel nearly knocks her off her feet.  now maybe,  finally,  she can get some justice.  it’ll be too late,  but it’ll be something.  she’ll get lorca stripped of his rank,  and charged with whatever crimes she can make stick.  that is  —  if discovery’s crew are still alive.  if she hasn’t been taken by klingons,  as she’s been warned it may have.

she’s lucky it’s a relatively good day,  &&  that her crew of are so quick on their feet.  it’s only a matter of hours until they’re at discovery’s location,  && it feels dreamlike for a moment,  until she realizes that it can’t.  she has to be at the top of her game in this moment,  even if she has to endure some meltdown later   (   whether out of relief or the guilt she’s been in such a heated race with for nine months now finally catching up with her   ).   sarek’s sure it’s an overreaction,  her insistence that she have her phaser primed  && ready despite the security team clearing the bridge for their arrival.  she disagrees,  &&  there’s something about the look in her eye that makes him back off.  

katrina’s so caught up in the fact that she’ll finally get closure that she doesn’t stop to consider the fact that he may not even be there.  of course,  there’s always the option lingering that the ship may be full of klingons,  but it never occurs to her that gabriel lorca may just…..  be gone.  adrenaline’s coursing through her veins as the transporter lands them on discovery’s bridge,  &&  she’s immediately demanding someone disclose gabriel’s location.  but they’re more concerned with knowing what’s happening   (   &&  if she weren’t feeling so single-minded,  she might understand that   ).   instead,  she initiates a command-level override of all ship’s functions,  feeling some security in the fact that she’s in charge now.  no matter what,  lorca’s not getting this ship back.  she’ll fight tooth and nail to make sure of that   (  it’s possible nine months,  in addition to her time as a prisoner of war,  &&  the grueling  &&  half-assed recovery from her injuries have only fueled her vendetta  —  but she’ll buck up and seek therapy after the war’s done   ).  

then she learns he’s dead.

then she learns her gabriel’s likely been dead for well over a year now.

&&  suddenly she doesn’t know what to feel.  does she let the guilt come crashing down?  does she allow relief to flood over her,  despite the fact that it doesn’t feel like she’s earned it?  does she,  somehow,  let it go?

frankly,  she’s not sure she knows how to do any of those things.  not anymore.

[citarix]

005. God of War

Inspired by various mythos. 1281 words.  ♂

All around you, the world is burning. Everything is wrong, so wrong beyond any repair.

But it is not your duty to stand idly around, crying for the loss of innocence. For you were never pure, never naive, never battle shy. You were none of these things, so you could protect her.

Her. Your pure, innocent Light. Your life purpose is to protect her, any destroy anything that stands in the way of your purpose.

Destroy. Decimate. Burn. Kill.

You let lose an arrow, sending it into the heart of a soldier. As the arrow pierces the armor, the soldier turns, connecting eyes with you. You, who has ended their life so callously. You are the last thing they see as they drop to their knees, coughing up blood.

Ever life you take, you tip further. For while you are a warrior, a weapon, you are mortal. But scattered around you are the corpses of your victims, arrows sticking out of their chest.

You never miss. For you are war, for you are blood. You have killed before, killed in the name of protection and Light. But God, never to this scale.

Another arrow loosed, another lost life. A pity, you think. A pity that they choose the wrong side of war.

You tip further. The colors of war blend together; you are struggling, struggling to keep friend from foe. Are there even friends in war? Are there even enemies in war?

Another arrow, another tipping. You walk forward, wrenching an arrow out of a corpse. You nock it instantly, aiming towards your next victim. A man you have known all too well. As he finishes his victim, he turns his head, and locks eye contact with you. Eyes that have seen you when you were most vulnerable, most alone.

You hesitate. The arrow sprints past his head, slicing open his cheek. He instantly is dashing at you, his sword grasped tightly in his hand. He is screaming at you, but you hear nothing. You pull back your bow, an arrow of cosmic fire forming at the tips of your fingers.

You do not hesitate again.

The arrow pierces through his body, flying straight through it. The man instantly falls forward, skidding across the ground towards your feet. And he looks at you, this man who you have loved so dearly and now hate with all your being. And he keeps saying something, despite the pain and agony. You stare down at him, feeling nothing. For you are numb.

And then you hear. Oh God, you hear. You hear your name, your name drawn out in pained gasps of air.

And then you see. You see your guardian, your crow, your Terror. The image of that hated man melts away, revealing your true victim.

You have just executed your brother.

You drop to your knees, feeling despair. You try desperately to mend the wounds, but it is already far too late. For by the time you realize your deed, by the time you have regained sanity, he is already on his last breath. And he looks at you, looks with sadness and betrayal in his eyes. And he speaks, speaks so softly that you can barely hear him over the roars of war. "I needed to find you... to protect you..." His eyes widen, and he desperately gasps for more air.

You know he wanted to protect you. Protect you from yourself. For you are a god of war, and you must be controlled. For when war erupts, you reap in the blood and pain and agony and death. And you love it.

You stand, turning towards the battle field. He is gone. He, your only barrier against the blood lust. He, your only path to sanity.

You rip the sword from his dead hands, breathing in.

The scale has tipped. You are too far gone.

You stand motionless, not noticing the group forming around you. The group, of your soldiers-in-arms. A group you helped lead.

You turn, looking at them. They are forming a strategy, a line of attack. For you are the elites, the greatest defense for the Light. Wisdom looks at you, a question asked that fell on your deaf ears. Might turns to you, confusion and concerned plastered on their face. Your hand tightens around the sword. It is Beauty who realizes what is happening, but she realizes too late.

Fire erupts from your hands, from your body. From your very being. In a single movement, you have killed Beauty, as she collapses to the ground. You drop the sword, covered in her blood, as her inners leak out into the ground.

She always told you what to do. Always told you. What. To do.

Might lunges at you, tackling you to the ground. She screams at Wisdom to run, to protect your Light. You feel nothing as you reach for an arrow, stabbing it through her throat. As you push her body off of you, you feel invigorated.

She always held back. Always went easy on you.

You are blood-soaked as you climb the steps of the Palace. Wisdom stands in front of you, the last line of defense. You might have felt pity for her, once upon a moon. Now you laugh, and laugh, as fire engulfs her body. Fire that can not be put out. As you step over her charred corpse, you push open the doors to your Light's chamber.

She always thought you were too reckless. Always thought you were too wild to listen to.

You feel nothing but fury when you see the chamber does not host your Light. Anger pours up into you, for you are a volcano ready to erupt. Then you hear a voice, his voice. That dammed man, who tipped you over. He stands in the doorway, his eyes narrowed. You feel rage as you pull your bow, aiming at his head.

You let loose your final arrow. And collapse to the ground when he plunges a sword through your stomach.

He holds you, dropping the blood-stained sword to the crystal ground. He holds you as you choke. You can say nothing, nothing when he apologizes for the deed. You can only think how pathetic he is, how pathetic you are for being killed by him.

"You needed to be stopped."

Your world becomes dark, as the face shifts from the man to another's. To a young girl's face, one of sadness.

For you see once more. You see your Fear, your crow, your ally.

You have just been executed by your sister.

Shadows tug at the edge of your vision, the air around you feeling like ice. You are dying.

Your mind clears, as you close your eyes. The scale tips back. But it is too late.

For you are war. For there are no second chances in war. For there is no mercy in war. For there is no justice in war.

But you are ending. And with your end, will come peace. Happiness. Joy. The rebuilding.

You can only selfishly hope that the next life will never call upon your expertise. Call upon your rage. Call upon your never-ending blood lust.

For war tips you, tips you into the darkest recesses of sanity. Tips you to do the most cruel thing. For you are a curse that must be sedated. For wherever you step, you know that every good thing will come to an end. For it is a life you hate, despise.

For you are a parasite, sucking away happiness. A chained monster that must never be released.

And all the Light in the world will have no shelter once you break free.