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justpoliteconversations · 1 year ago

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Graveyard Waltz [Deity!Reader + Fallen!Time]

One deity's failure is another's champion, or something like that.

Reveling in the new smell of uncommon trash.

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.

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Hylia's destined hero was small, even by the standards of his species. His hands were smooth with youth and a life of peace among the Kokiri, face still plush with baby fat, shoulders thin below a delicate neck.

Red. All the softness of childhood was bathed in the red of his lifeblood, still warm against his pale skin. His eyes open wide and frozen in childish horror, the realization of death's inevitability settled upon his features like the masks he so loves.

Hylia has always been cold to her champions, but never had she been so callous. To send a child so young is not new to her, but to cast him aside so readily. Your own divine sensibilities bristled, displeased at the thought.

It was your nature. To love and cherish that which has been discarded. You are the Deity of Passing after all, the one to comfort those who have been torn from the world of the living. Be them saint, child or sinner, you accept them all.

The power of Hylia's favor has long gone stale on this one's young body, her grace long left him even before Death had laid its hands upon him.

In the distance, 6 sages cast their power over the entity known as Ganon (an unnatural creature, far removed from the cycle of death and passing), sealing him away in the Sacred Realm. It is sacrilegious, to cast such a creature into the Goddess' cradle. But what else can they do.

A dead hero, an unawoken princess, an abandoned world. What else can mortals do against the might of a being whom even the Goddess herself had failed to strike down.

You pay the happenings of the living world no mind, for that is not your duty. It lies instead in this fallen hero, this child of the forest, still clinging to his mortal body with childish determination. Still so desperate to live, despite the fear festering within his heart.

The strength of mortal spirits. How you adore the bright spark of firelight in the vast stretch of eternity, fluttering like ambers in the night.

"Little one." You call to him, sweetly, as you have always called to the ones taken too young. "You need not fear, for pain will not find you here. You are safe."

"No!" A young voice raises in defiance, a single blue eye peeking out from within the still body bathed in the cooling red of blood. It is a small spirit, barely big enough to fill the body it once resided in. Nothing like his predecessors, who possessed souls so strong and unyielding you'd had to call upon your divine might to take them across the dead realms.

The sight of him, so small but possessing a spirit so potent, was enough to pull at the reigns of your instincts. The will to take this young soul as your own, to call upon your right to choose a champion.

"Link, child of the forest. It is your time to pass on from this plain of existence. I will guide you, and across the realms of the dead, you will find peace." You coaxed, maintaining careful distance from the young, belligerent soul.

The small soul glares at you, still hiding from your gentle, patient gaze. You are tempted to step closer, to take the lost being in your arms and comfort him, but you hold back. Faded though it may be, the remnants of Hylia's power still lingers on the boy, ready to lash out at the insult.

She has ever been a jealous goddess. That she would withdraw her favor from her own chosen, before even the inevitability of death, is incomprehensible to you.

She had clung to the Hero of Skies for years after he'd passed, until Death itself had come to reap him from her arms. She'd latched with divine fiery to the Hero of Man and Minish with steadfast defiance, until the influence of Death's touch had severed the bond between them.

Yet she would leave this one to perish, deprived of her favor and the Sword of Legend that was her gift to those who possessed it. To not even fight for his life as she had for those before, leaving him to face the burdens of passing alone.

Abandoned. Forgotten. Even by the sages who spared not a glance for the broken body laying at thier feet. Still clinging futilely to life, staring down a messenger of death with the will to live pulsing through his diminutive spiritual form.

It was too pathetic. Not even the weeping hearts of poets could capture the pain that seared through you at this tragety.

You kneeled down beside the frightened soul, quietly waiting.

Your decision was made. Hylia be damned for her callousness, but you were willing to fight for this one's soul if she chose to return to this place.

Hours passed, days. The sages had long left, taking the young body with them. The soul it once housed had been left behind, bound to the place in which he'd died.

He'd cried and raged as they'd taken his body, small hands grasping at the limp flesh with desperate strength. Though it had meant nothing against the influence of the living. The dead were not meant to transverse the realms of flesh and blood, after all.

He'd stared to you with fear then, a bone deep grief at the inevitability of death. Not much different to his final expression, faced against forces he did not understand nor could he defeat. Helplessness brought to his feet by a destiny that'd long abandoned him.

You'd waited. Until his fear turned to confusion. Till confusion turned to apprehension. Until apprehension turned to boredom. And in that boredom, the child came forth.

"I'm not going to die yet!" He proclaimed quite suddenly many weeks later, standing before you with feet apart and hands on his hips. You merely nodded at that, and he faulted, not expecting such easy acceptance.

"Good!" He pushed on regardless, though his voice was shaken. "So you should return me to my body!"

You shook your head, and for the first time in weeks, spoke. "It is not within my power to return souls to departed flesh."

His lips pulled downwards, looking annoyed. You knew though, by the wavering of his soul, that he was scared of what that meant. That he understood to some extent, even if he did not.

"Then, what do we do?" He asked, and you ached at the unsaid admission. A lost child, torn from everything he'd ever known and seeking guidance in a world that was suddenly so big and so unknown.

Guidance he'd been denied once before. The absence of which had brought him here, at your side, seeking that guidance from a messenger of the dead.

You gave it to him, because you had already decided.

"I will bestow upon you my favor. Should you accept, you will become my champion and I will grant you a body of my own divine essence."

He blinked, unnecessarily, then frowned. "But I'm Hylia's champion." He said simply, not quite denying, but bordering on incredulous.

You stared at him, taking the measure of his soul. He knew, but he needed it said. Even if he'd known for some time, the mortal heart is stubborn and defiant.

Sometimes you have to break it honestly for it to heal.

"She abandoned you. Long before you passed from the living world." You didn't bother to soften your words, wouldn't give him the chance to hide from the truth any longer. No now. Not ever again.

Lies are for the living. Neither of you have that luxury anymore. Not you, and now, not him either.

Your champion.

He didn't fight as you moved closer, he didn't fight as you reached down to cup his small face in your hands. He didn't shed a single tear, just met your gaze with steely determination. That fighter's spirit shining though, hardened by the harshness of a spoken truth.

"Okay." He said, and it echoed within the furthest reaches of his heart, like fire burning away the stagnant rot. "I will be your hero."

You smiled. The fires of divinity burst forth from your hands and cast him aflame, burning away the golden light of Hylia and pouring forth the somber gray of your essence. Like the dim light of an overcast day, like fog rolling over the land.

He didn't shy away, didn't avert his eyes. Just stared up at you with acceptance. Then the flames reached his eyes, cast away the veil of mortality upon them, and the light of divine clarity entered them. He beheld you for the first time as you were, and his spirit burned too with understanding.

'Do you see me, my Champion.' You spoke, not with your lips, but with the pulsing of your essence running through his veins.

He nodded, entranced by your soft, divine light. So different from Hylia's wrathful gold, gentle like shade upon the eyes. Sweet and cool. Accepting of all. Rejecting none.

'Then go forth, my Champion.' You whispered into his heart, your hands upon his narrow shoulders. 'Carry my will with you, always. Bring back the lost souls tainted by Ganon's wrathful malice. Slay them with righteous fiery.'

You placed you forehead to his, and he reached out, grabbed your face with devoted care.

'Bring them home to me.'

"I will not fail you." He vowed, never breaking your gaze as he gave his first solemn promise. "I will liberate my brothers and sisters from the bondage of hatred. I will bring them back to your grace."

'Then go. Fear not the inevitability of Death's touch. For I shall be there beside it, to guide you across the realms one final time.'

He nodded, and you kissed his forehead. Sealing the promise between you, the black symbol of deliverance blooming upon his brow.

'Now live free of divine burden. For you are not alone.'

He closed his eyes. The world disappears around him. Your touch turning inward, settling like warm coals into his heart.

You were gone, but you were not. You'd spoken truth. He would never be alone again.

Suddenly, the warmth of sun is upon his face, the soft give of grass and wet soil beneath his feet the sweetest of homecomings. Fresh, cool air enters his lungs, heavy with the promise of early spring.

He opens his eyes, and below him lies a grassland as far as the eye can see. And within it, trailing great lines within the tall grass, 9 men.

'Your brothers.' He felt your whisper, pushing him forward. 'Go to them. For they are yours still, even if they are not yet mine.'

And he did. Walking into an uncertain future, with you in his heart and his brothers by his side.

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Back to the shadows to rest.

#linked universe x reader #fallen!time #linked universe #no baby left behind

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noxcheshire · 7 months ago

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I am sick, dizzy, and can barely think but you know what would be WILD?

If the DC universe was an echo of Danny’s world. What if the continents of their planet shifted enough where Amity is now in New Jersey and had then become Gotham.

And when Danny died underneath the portal a part of his death fractured and imprinted itself into those various worlds. One of them being Gotham, where Danny’s home ironically used to be where Wayne Manor used to be.

So just imagine it, you’re coming back from patrol, grimy, sweaty, and with questionable intentions by dressing as an overgrown bat when suddenly the lights dim. It dims and brings darkness, only enough light to catch the beady marble eyes of the bats you fear.

And then electricity jumps in the middle of the room, flinging itself around like an agitated snake in wide open circles.

Everyone is backing away, some weary, some cursing, some just half way out of their own suit.

And then a child — barely as old as your youngest now, flickers to life before you, screaming and screaming, wailing in pain as the scent of burning flesh mingles into the air. You can see the boy, black hair and blue eyes that underneath the bright light that burns them is causing black to turn white, and blue to turn green.

The electricity crackles and when the boy is about the drop, limp, certainly lifeless, he vanishes as if nothing had ever been there.

But he comes back, he always comes back, in the moment of calm and in the moment of despair, echoing that painful wailing of death.

It’s so wrong.

It’s very, very wrong.

It didn’t even matter anymore why the boy showed up, only that this moment of pain continues to haunt the cave of heroes.

Continuously haunting, even as some whispered apologizes when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as some provided songs of comfort when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as stories of Gotham are told and promises (though uncertain and flimsy at best) are spoken to the wailing boy who always drops fast and disappears just as quickly.

Always, it was the same.

Until one day it wasn’t.

The electricity crackled like it always did. A spark, and then a calamity of light. And the boy would be there, uncurling himself into a tense position as he would wail.

But not this time.

Instead the boy curled himself in the air, calm as can be, almost as if he were sleeping. Even the electricity that they have learned to dance away from was calm, gentle, like ocean waves.

And when the electricity vanished, the boy did not, instead dropping to the floor where Dick was quick to catch him, grunting in preparation of weight only to show alarm at how thin the boy truly was.

On that face that has haunted them all for months is just a boy, sleeping, and scarred. A boy breathing very slow, slower than what they would like, but here in the physical realm with them.

Dick brushed back bangs of black hair, and slowly, ever so slowly, glazed blue eyes stared back.

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