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babyscottoncandy · 17 days ago

Text

Fortnight

Mattheo Riddle,, Harry Potter

Summary: Mattheo Riddle x Fem¡Reader,, (Y/n) is stuck with a deadbeat boyfriend, nothing could save her. At least that's what she thought until Mattheo Riddle stumbled upon her.

TW: Mentions of DV/Abuse/Emotional Neglect,, Cheating,, Death,, VERY angsty,, English isn't my first language excuse any errors!

Based off of the song "Fortnight" by Taylor Swift

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The thing about pain is that you learn to live with it.

At first, it burns—raw and searing, like an open wound. Then, it settles into something quieter, something dull. A constant ache you stop noticing after a while.

(Y/N) had learned to live with it. The cold shoulder, the possessive grip, the way he made her feel so utterly replaceable.

Her deadbeat boyfriend had never been the kind of man to love her properly. Not the way she dreamed of. But she had stayed. She always stayed.

At least, until he showed up.

Mattheo Riddle had never been the hero in anyone’s story. He was reckless, dangerous, the kind of boy mothers warned their daughters about.

But when his sharp brown eyes locked onto hers across the dimly lit corridor, something inside (Y/N) shifted.

He saw her.

Really saw her.

“You’re still with him?” Mattheo’s voice was low, edged with something she couldn’t quite place.

She stiffened. “It’s not that simple.”

Mattheo huffed a dry laugh, running a hand through his dark curls. “It is, actually. You just walk away.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

His gaze darkened. “I understand more than you think.”

(Y/N) swallowed, her fingers tightening around the sleeves of her sweater. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be listening to him.

And yet, when Mattheo reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away.

“Two weeks,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Give me two weeks to show you what it’s supposed to feel like. And if you still want to go back to him after that…” He trailed off, his jaw clenching. “Then I won’t stop you.”

Her heart pounded. It was reckless. Stupid. But when had she ever made the right choice?

For the first time in years, she decided to be selfish.

“Two weeks,” she whispered back.

Mattheo smirked. “That’s all I need.” And just like that, she let him pull her away from everything she’d ever known.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” (Y/N) whispered, but she was already following Mattheo through the castle’s hidden corridors, her fingers tangled with his.

He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “That’s the best part.”

Her heart pounded as they slipped outside, the cool night air biting at her skin. It was reckless. Dangerous. If anyone saw them—

But the second Mattheo pulled her into the shadow of the Forbidden Forest, the worry melted away.

A small picnic was laid out beneath the trees, charmed lanterns floating lazily above a blanket. Her lips parted in surprise. “You did this?”

Mattheo shrugged, sitting down and pulling her with him. “Thought you deserved a proper date.”

A date.

She had never been on one before. Not a real one. Not one where someone actually wanted to be there.

“You’re staring,” Mattheo teased, handing her a chocolate frog.

She blinked. “I just… didn’t expect this from you.”

His smirk softened. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

They sat in the quiet, the hum of the forest surrounding them. Mattheo leaned back on his elbows, watching her. “What’s the best part so far?”

(Y/N) bit her lip, thinking.

The sneaking around? The whispered confessions? The way his touch made her feel alive?

No.

“This,” she admitted. “Right now.” Mattheo’s smirk faded. He reached for her, his fingers brushing her cheek. “Then let’s stay here forever.”

She let out a breathless laugh. “We can’t.”

He leaned in, his lips hovering over hers. “No,” he agreed, his voice low. “But we can pretend.”

And so, for just one night, she let herself believe it was real.

Mattheo led her through the dark corridors of the castle, his grip warm around her wrist.

(Y/N) didn’t ask where they were going. She didn’t have to.

By now, she knew him well enough to understand—Mattheo never did anything without purpose. And when it came to her, he always had a plan.

When they reached the Astronomy Tower, she didn’t blink at the sight of the blanket already laid out, the small enchanted fire flickering beside it.

She smiled. “You’re getting predictable, Riddle.”

Mattheo scoffed, dropping onto the blanket and tugging her down beside him. “I’d be offended if I didn’t know you love it.”

She settled against the blanket, stretching out beside him. “I do.”

His smirk faltered, something softer replacing it. “I know.”

The night air was crisp, the stars endless above them. She let herself relax, listening to the quiet crackle of the fire, to the steady rhythm of Mattheo’s breathing beside her.

After a moment, she turned to him. “What are you thinking about?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, finally, he said, “I’m thinking about how I wish this wasn’t temporary.”

(Y/N) didn’t let herself flinch. Instead, she laced their fingers together, squeezing lightly. “It doesn’t feel temporary right now.”

Mattheo exhaled, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “No. It doesn’t.”

And that was enough for tonight.

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The castle was quiet at this hour, the rest of the world lost to sleep. But here, hidden away in the Room of Requirement, time felt irrelevant. It was just them, tangled in warm blankets on the worn-out couch, the fireplace casting flickering shadows against the walls.

Mattheo lay beside her, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lightly against her waist. His fingers traced absentminded circles over the fabric of her sweater, but his mind was somewhere else.

“Tell me something real,” (Y/N) murmured, turning to face him.

Mattheo exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling. “Like what?”

“Something you don’t tell people.”

A dry chuckle left his lips. “You don’t ask for small things, do you?”

She smiled softly, shaking her head. “No, I don’t.”

Silence stretched between them, comfortable but heavy. She didn’t push, didn’t demand—just waited.

After a moment, Mattheo let out a quiet breath. “People think they know me,” he said. “They see the name, the attitude, the fights, and they assume that’s all there is.”

(Y/N) stayed quiet, watching him.

Mattheo’s fingers stilled against her waist. “But no one ever really asks about the rest of it.” He turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze. “Except you.”

Her heart clenched. “Then tell me.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t look away. “I grew up knowing exactly who I was supposed to be. What I was supposed to become.” His voice was quiet, edged with something bitter. “They never asked if I wanted it.”

(Y/N) reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “And do you?”

Mattheo let out a humorless laugh. “No.” He squeezed her hand, his voice rough when he said, “But I don’t know how to be anything else.”

She shifted closer, resting her forehead against his. “You don’t have to be.”

Mattheo swallowed, his eyes flickering over her face like he was searching for something—doubt, hesitation, a reason to pull away. But he didn’t find it.

Instead, he exhaled shakily. “You make it feel possible.”

(Y/N) cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb over the scar along his jaw. “It is possible.”

Mattheo closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting himself believe it.

And then, so softly she almost didn’t hear it, he whispered, “Don’t leave me.”

Her chest ached. “I won’t.”

Mattheo kissed her then—slow, deep, like he was memorizing the feeling of her, the taste of something real. And for the first time, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be something more.

It wasn’t real.

She had always known that.

Mattheo had never promised her forever. He had only promised her two weeks—two weeks to show her what love was supposed to feel like.

But what was she supposed to do when this started feeling like love?

They were in an empty classroom, bathed in candlelight, his hands tracing patterns on her arms as she sat between his legs, leaning back against his chest.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple.

(Y/N) swallowed, staring at the flickering flames. “I don’t know how this ends.”

Mattheo stiffened slightly, his fingers pausing. “Does it have to?”

She turned to look at him, her throat tight. “You said two weeks.”

His jaw clenched. “I know what I said.”

She reached up, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Mattheo—”

“Don’t.” His voice was hoarse. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to leave.”

(Y/N) exhaled shakily. “I don’t want to.”

Mattheo studied her, something dark flashing in his eyes. “Then don’t.”

She wished it were that simple.

She wished she didn’t have a life waiting for her outside these stolen moments. A boyfriend who barely noticed her but still owned a piece of her. A reputation to uphold. A heart that had been so thoroughly twisted and confused that she didn’t even know who it belonged to anymore.

“You still haven’t told him,” Mattheo said, his voice eerily calm.

She flinched. “Mattheo—” His grip on her arms tightened—not rough, just desperate. “Do you love him?”

(Y/N) hesitated.

That was enough of an answer. Mattheo’s breath came sharp, his body tensing behind her. “You love me.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes. “I don’t know what love is.”

Mattheo’s expression twisted into something heartbreaking. “I think you do.”

She did. It was this. It was him.

But love had never been enough to save her before. So why did she think it would be different now?

The weight of the decision felt heavier than it ever had before.

She had known it was coming—knew that eventually, the fantasy would shatter. But she hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

(Y/N) stood facing Mattheo in the dark, abandoned classroom where they had spent so many stolen moments together. But tonight, there was no warmth in the air between them. Only coldness. The coldness of inevitable goodbye.

His eyes burned into hers, something darker flickering beneath the surface. “You’re really going to walk away?” His voice was low, sharp, the words slicing through the silence.

Her throat tightened, but she refused to back down. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You do!” Mattheo shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his frustration palpable. “You always have a choice!”

She took a step back, her breath shaky. “You don’t understand, Mattheo.”

“Don’t I?” His voice dripped with bitterness. “You think I don’t understand what it’s like to feel trapped? To feel like there’s no way out?” He took a step toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. “But you are choosing this life, (Y/N). You’re choosing him.”

Tears stung the back of her eyes, but she held them back. “I don’t have a future with you, Mattheo. You know that.”

His face twisted with frustration and pain. “You could! You could have a future with me if you’d just let yourself—”

“I can’t!” she snapped, cutting him off. “You don’t know what it’s like to have someone else depend on you, to have your entire life tied up in someone who—who doesn’t even know who you are anymore!”

Mattheo took another step closer, his eyes flashing with anger. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re stuck in a life you didn’t choose?” He grabbed her arm, his grip tight. “I’ve been fighting for something real, something that matters, and you—you’re going to throw it all away for the same damn thing that’s been holding you down for years?!”

(Y/N) flinched, her pulse racing as his words sank in. His touch felt like a burn against her skin, and she wanted to push him away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t.

“Mattheo, please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You don’t know what this would cost me. I’m not like you. I can’t just run away.”

“You’re scared,” he spat, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re too scared to make a choice, to live.” His eyes were filled with fury now, the hurt so raw it was suffocating. “And I’m tired of waiting for you to wake up.”

Her heart cracked at the look in his eyes. He was right. She was scared. Scared to lose everything she had ever known, scared of the consequences, scared of the freedom he promised her that she couldn’t bring herself to take.

“I’m not like you,” she repeated softly, the words tasting like defeat. “I can’t just throw everything away and expect it to work out. I have a life, Mattheo. And I can’t—”

“You don’t have a life!” he cut in, his voice breaking. “You have a cage, (Y/N). You have a cage, and you’re choosing to stay inside it!”

She jerked her arm out of his grip, stepping away from him, the tears finally falling freely. “Stop it!” she cried, her voice cracking with the weight of everything she was trying to hold back. “Just stop making this harder!”

Mattheo’s breath came in ragged gasps, and for a moment, there was silence between them. He looked like he was fighting himself, fighting the urge to lash out, to reach for her and pull her back into his arms. But he didn’t.

And she couldn’t move.

“I love you,” he whispered through clenched teeth, his voice hoarse with the emotion he was barely containing. “I’ve never said it before, but I do.”

(Y/N)’s heart broke, shattered into a thousand pieces. “Mattheo, please… I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t love you the way you want me to.”

He stared at her, his eyes raw, like he couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. “You’re choosing him over me. You’re choosing the life that’s never going to make you happy.”

And with a final, tortured look, Mattheo turned and walked away.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

And when she finally collapsed against the wall, her tears falling freely, she realized, with a hollow ache in her chest, that she had made the choice.

She had chosen the life she knew.

Even if it meant walking away from the only thing that had ever felt like it could be real.

It had been months since the last time they truly spoke.

Since that night in the dark classroom, where everything shattered between them, (Y/N) had thrown herself into her life, into her responsibilities. She had stayed with her boyfriend, buried herself in the routines she’d always known. There had been no other choice.

But there was always the quiet ache that followed her—always the feeling of something left unfinished, hanging in the air between her and Mattheo.

The hallways of Hogwarts were filled with students hustling from class to class, yet for (Y/N), the spaces between those crowds had never felt emptier. Every time she passed a corner, every time she turned a corridor, her gaze would inevitably find his.

But they never spoke.

Mattheo’s eyes would catch hers for the briefest of moments—barely a second—before he would look away, his jaw tight, his gaze cold and unreadable. And that was it. No words. No acknowledgment. Just the raw tension that pulsed in the air between them like a secret neither could keep anymore.

It was on a random Tuesday that it happened again.

She was walking down a quiet hallway, the sound of footsteps echoing off the stone walls when she saw him.

Mattheo stood near the window, his back to her, hands shoved into his pockets. His posture was stiff, like a wall she couldn’t break through. He hadn’t seen her yet, but she knew. She always knew.

Her heart fluttered, unbidden, and for a moment, she considered turning away—walking in the opposite direction to avoid the inevitable. But it was too late.

His eyes flickered to hers before quickly darting away.

She froze. He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Nothing. Just cold, distant silence.

(Y/N) felt her chest tighten, that all-too-familiar ache creeping up again. For a split second, she almost reached out to him, but she stopped herself just as quickly. There was nothing to say.

She forced herself to keep walking, to keep moving, her eyes trained forward, heart heavy, but unwilling to look back.

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The grand hall was filled with the soft hum of laughter and clinking glasses. The chandelier above her sparkled like stars in the dark sky, casting a soft glow over the white, satin-clad figures of guests who whispered and smiled. Everyone was here to celebrate her.

Her wedding.

But as (Y/N) stood at the front of the room, her hand in her boyfriend-turned-husband’s, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

The vows were being read, but her mind was elsewhere.

She smiled, nodded, and repeated the words, but they tasted hollow, like a script she had long since memorized but never quite believed in.

Her fiancé, his hand holding hers tightly, smiled down at her, but there was no spark in his eyes. There hadn’t been for years. Yet, he was the one who had stayed. The one who had promised to take care of her, to be the one to give her the stability she thought she needed. He was safe. He was… comfortable.

But the truth was that (Y/N) had never stopped thinking about Mattheo.

It wasn’t that she had wanted him to be a part of her life again. No. She had moved on. She had done the right thing. She had chosen. And yet, every now and then, a fleeting thought would pass through her mind. A lingering memory that would sneak up on her when she least expected it.

Like the times when she would catch herself staring at the quiet corridors of her home, wishing she could feel something more than the weight of routine. Or when she would wake in the middle of the night, only to find that she was reaching out, as if seeking someone who wasn’t there.

Mattheo Riddle.

His face was still fresh in her mind, despite the years that had passed. She could still recall the way his eyes would hold hers, the way the world seemed to fade away when they were alone. There was something about him—something so dark, so raw—that had left an indelible mark on her heart.

The truth was, she had never stopped loving him.

The thought was suffocating.

She had buried it, locked it away, and pretended that it didn’t exist. But it did. It was still there, like a secret she couldn’t erase, a longing she couldn’t shake.

The priest’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Do you take this man to be your husband?”

Her fiancé’s eyes were filled with anticipation, his gaze loving, even if it didn’t quite reach her heart.

Her lips parted, and she took a shallow breath, her hand tightening around his. But in that moment, her mind wasn’t on him. It wasn’t on the life she had built, or the future she was about to step into. It was on the memory of Mattheo—his words, his touch, the things left unsaid.

“I do,” she said, though it felt like a lie.

But it wasn’t a lie for him. He believed it. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he smiled at her as if she were his entire world.

And for him, she tried. She really did.

But there, in that moment, as the final words of the ceremony echoed through the hall, she couldn’t help but think of Mattheo once more.

What if she had said yes to him all those years ago? What if, instead of turning away, she had walked toward him, let herself fall into whatever it was they could have had?

Could they have built something? Would it have been real?

But it was too late for that now. The doors had already closed.

Her husband kissed her forehead, the crowd clapped, and the room erupted into cheers. But all (Y/N) could feel was the emptiness that lingered behind her smile.

As the night wore on, she danced with her new husband, smiled with family and friends, and posed for photos. She played the part she was meant to play. But every time the music played, every time she felt a hand on her waist, her mind drifted to the one person who had never truly left her.

Mattheo Riddle.

The man who had shown her something real, something unfiltered. The man who had made her feel more alive than anyone ever had.

She could still feel him in the air, could still hear his voice echoing in the quiet of her memories. But it was all she would have now—memories.

And as she danced with her husband, a part of her wondered if Mattheo would ever be just a shadow in her past, or if he would haunt her forever.

The music swirled around her, a soft melody that was both cheerful and distant in her ears. The wedding party was in full swing, guests laughing and chatting in tight-knit groups, the buzz of excitement reverberating in the air. (Y/N) tried to keep up the facade, laughing at the jokes, nodding when needed, but the truth lingered beneath it all—the quiet ache she couldn’t ignore.

She had done everything right. She had married the man she was supposed to be with. She had built a life she was supposed to want.

And yet, as the night dragged on, she found herself standing at the edge of the room, watching the people around her, feeling disconnected. The champagne in her glass was warm now, forgotten in her hand, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Mattheo.

The thought crossed her mind again, unexpected but inevitable. She glanced toward the door of the hall, her breath catching for a moment. For just a split second, she wondered if he would be there—if he would show up, even though he hadn’t been part of her life for years.

Her heart skipped when the door to the venue creaked open. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she saw him.

Mattheo Riddle.

He stood in the doorway, his figure framed by the light outside. His dark eyes scanned the room as though he were looking for someone, his presence cutting through the crowd like a blade through silk. He looked exactly the same, but somehow… different. There was an edge to him now—something colder, harder, like he had been chiseled from stone.

She felt the weight of his gaze, even from across the room. It was like he had always known where to find her.

Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, the noise of the room faded into the background. It was just her and him, their eyes meeting briefly before she quickly looked away, heart racing in her chest.

What is he doing here?

The thought barely had time to form before he was walking into the room, his steps slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world but was still in no hurry to confront her.

Her husband, standing beside her, didn’t notice, too caught up in a conversation with a friend. But (Y/N) couldn’t take her eyes off Mattheo, even though she knew she should. She shouldn’t have let him get to her like this, shouldn’t have let the emotions bubble up in her chest again.

But they did.

Mattheo approached the bar first, ordering a drink without even glancing at anyone, his jaw tight as he kept to himself. His eyes flickered across the room once more, his gaze landing briefly on (Y/N) again before he quickly shifted away.

Her chest tightened. Why was he here?

She felt a pull, an inexplicable force urging her to move toward him, but she stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move. Her husband was still busy talking, oblivious to everything happening around him. The moment was slipping through her fingers, and yet, all she could focus on was Mattheo.

The man she had left behind.

The man who was now standing there, in the same room, within reach but entirely out of her grasp.

After a few moments, Mattheo took his drink and began walking through the crowd, avoiding conversation, like he was a ghost moving unnoticed through the celebrations. His eyes were searching, but there was nothing warm about his gaze. It was sharp, calculating.

When his eyes locked with hers again, it was for just a second.

But that second was all it took. The world spun on its axis, and for a brief moment, it was like time had stopped.

There was no wedding, no party. There was just the rawness of the silence between them, the distance that had grown over time, yet never truly broken.

Her heart thudded in her chest. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this—not today.

She forced herself to look away, but it didn’t matter. The ache in her chest only grew as she caught herself stealing another glance in his direction.

Mattheo wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even looking at her anymore. He was lost in the crowd, standing off to the side, nursing his drink, his face impassive. But she knew him. She could still see the storm brewing in his eyes.

It was maddening.

Her husband finally noticed her distraction and leaned closer, wrapping his arm around her waist. “You okay?” he asked, oblivious to the turmoil swirling inside her.

“Yeah,” she replied, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. She wasn’t fine at all.

Mattheo began walking toward her, every step heavy, deliberate. She was rooted to the spot, her body frozen as if she couldn’t move. It was a stupid reaction—she shouldn’t feel this way. She was married, and it had been years since they’d been together. But there he was, closer now, and everything about the way he moved, the way he looked at her, brought the flood of old feelings rushing back in an overwhelming torrent.

As he reached her, the space between them felt like a chasm. Mattheo was standing right in front of her, yet it felt like an eternity since they had truly connected.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. He just stood there, his eyes dark, but there was something—something softer than the anger she had seen in his eyes all those months ago. Something broken. Something she could never have imagined.

Finally, he broke the silence. His voice was low, husky, barely above a whisper, but it sliced through the noise around them like a blade.

“You look… beautiful,” Mattheo said, his words thick with something she couldn’t place.

She blinked, heart in her throat. Beautiful. She hadn’t expected him to say that. She hadn’t expected him to say anything at all.

“Mattheo,” she whispered, taking a shaky breath. She hadn’t expected to see him here, hadn’t expected this moment, this confrontation. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might break through her chest.

He ignored her unspoken question, his eyes flickering to her husband for a moment, his jaw tightening. Then, without warning, he stepped closer to her, until there was barely any space between them. He was so close, she could feel his presence like an electric current running through her.

The wedding party seemed to disappear in the background as Mattheo’s gaze locked onto hers. His eyes were filled with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. There was no anger there anymore, not like before. But there was pain. And it hit her like a wave, pulling her under, drowning her in everything they had been.

“You don’t belong here,” he murmured, and the words hit her like a slap.

She didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t know what to say. Was he angry? Was he still holding onto that past, to the things they had left unsaid?

“I… I’m married,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper, even though the words felt foreign on her tongue.

Mattheo’s expression hardened for a moment, but it quickly melted away into something darker—something more resigned. He didn’t speak for a few moments, just staring at her, as if trying to memorize her face, the way she looked now, the way she was so far from who she used to be.

Finally, his lips curled into a small, bitter smile. “Yeah. I can see that.” His eyes flickered to the wedding ring on her finger, and his jaw clenched.

(Y/N) felt her heart shatter all over again. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t thought that seeing him again would be so painful.

“You were right,” he said quietly, his voice almost too soft to hear. “I… I didn’t have anything to offer you. But you—” He glanced at her husband, and there was a flicker of something deep in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite place. “You deserved more than me, didn’t you?”

She shook her head quickly, wanting to tell him that she didn’t deserve this—this emptiness, this weight. That she hadn’t ever wanted to lose him. But the words wouldn’t come. Her chest felt too tight to speak.

“You made your choice,” Mattheo continued, his eyes cold now, a wall slamming down between them. “And I have to live with it.” He turned, as though the conversation was over, but before he could walk away, he paused, looking back at her one last time.

“If you ever… if you ever regret it, I’ll be gone.”

The finality in his words stung, like salt in a wound she hadn’t known still bled.

With that, he was gone.

For a moment, (Y/N) stood there, staring at the spot where he had been, her heart racing, her breath shallow. Every part of her wanted to run after him, wanted to undo everything that had happened, but she knew she couldn’t. It was too late.

But as the music played on, and her husband’s hand wrapped around her waist once more, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering—just for a second—what would have happened if she had said yes to Mattheo, if she had made a different choice all those years ago.

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(Y/N) sat alone in the living room, her hand gently resting on the curve of her belly. The house was eerily quiet. The only sounds were the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards. She was months pregnant now, the life inside her growing, kicking lightly every so often, reminding her that she wasn’t truly alone. Yet, in the quiet of her home, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was.

Danny, her husband, was always working. Always gone. It wasn’t unusual anymore for him to leave early in the morning, barely speaking a word to her, and return late at night, too exhausted to do more than mutter a greeting. Sometimes, he didn’t come home at all, staying at the office or going out with “clients” or “colleagues,” though she had stopped asking what he really did. The answers were never satisfactory.

(Y/N) had grown used to the silence, to the absence. At first, it had been easier to pretend that everything was fine, that this was just a phase, that work was simply demanding. But now, the weight of the months of distance had begun to settle in. She didn’t know how to feel about her husband anymore. She had tried—tried to understand, tried to reach out—but he had withdrawn so completely that it was hard to remember the man she had married.

She was sitting on the couch, her fingers tracing the edge of her wedding ring, lost in thought, when she heard the front door creak open. She didn’t look up immediately, knowing it would be him. The sound of his footsteps, slow and heavy, drifted into the room, but still, she didn’t look.

“Hey,” Danny’s voice called from the doorway, rough, tired.

“Hi,” she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the silence.

He stepped into the room, rubbing his eyes, his face unshaven, his suit slightly disheveled from the long day. He looked tired—so tired—and yet, she didn’t feel the connection that once existed between them. He was there, physically, but emotionally, he was somewhere far away.

“Long day?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” Danny muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. It’s just… a lot right now.”

She nodded, trying not to show how heavy his words felt. She had heard it all before.

He sat down beside her, his body stiff, as if he wasn’t sure how to be close to her anymore. There was a time when they would sit like this, hands intertwined, talking about their day, making plans for the future. But now, there was only this distance. Only silence.

“How are you feeling?” he asked after a pause, his voice softening just a little.

(Y/N) shifted slightly, feeling the weight of her pregnant belly press against the fabric of her dress. She hadn’t been sleeping well—her body felt heavy, uncomfortable, and the loneliness gnawed at her.

“Fine,” she said quietly, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

Danny didn’t respond immediately. He glanced at her belly, his eyes flickering with something—guilt, maybe? But then it was gone, replaced by the familiar blank expression.

“Good,” he said absently, standing up again. “I’m going to hit the shower. I’ll be back down in a bit.”

She nodded, watching him walk away, feeling the same hollow ache in her chest she had felt for so long.

He didn’t even seem to notice the shift in their relationship, the growing gap between them. He was too consumed by his work, by his obligations. He didn’t see that she needed him, that the baby needed him.

A part of her wondered if he even wanted to be there. But she didn’t ask. She didn’t have the energy anymore to fight for something that didn’t seem to matter to him.

(Y/N) sat at the kitchen table, the soft glow of the evening light spilling in through the window, but it did nothing to warm the cold emptiness that had settled in her chest. The letter from Mattheo sat in front of her, its weight heavier than she anticipated. She hadn’t realized how much it would affect her.

Her fingers traced the edge of the envelope, the familiar handwriting staring back at her, reminding her of all the things she had buried deep inside. His words were just a few pieces of paper, just ink and feelings that had been carefully put together. But they carried more than just memories. They carried the possibility of something she had long since convinced herself she would never allow to come to light again.

She wasn’t ready for this.

Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced at the envelope one last time before shoving it under the stack of bills on the table. Her stomach twisted with anxiety, her heart hammering in her chest.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

The letter from Mattheo represented everything she had tried to leave behind, everything that had been a fleeting dream, a forbidden memory. She had chosen a path—a life with Danny, despite everything, despite the way it made her feel like a ghost in her own marriage. She had convinced herself that it was enough, that she could make it work. But now, Mattheo’s words were like a whisper in the back of her mind, calling her back to a version of herself she wasn’t sure she could handle facing again.

I’ll be here.

She could barely bring herself to finish reading it, but that part—that part stuck with her. And now, more than ever, it terrified her.

The baby shifted inside her, a gentle reminder of the life she was carrying. The life that was supposed to be her focus, her future. She couldn’t afford to open that door, not now, not when so much was on the line.

Two Years Later

The soft chatter of the market surrounded (Y/N) as she pushed her stroller down the cobbled street, her daughter giggling softly in the seat, kicking her feet playfully. It was a sunny afternoon, the kind where everything felt almost perfect, but there was always an undercurrent of something else—something unspoken, something left behind.

Her daughter, Ella, was two now, her wide blue eyes full of wonder and curiosity. (Y/N) could hardly believe how quickly the time had passed. Two years since she’d made the decision to stay with Danny, two years since she’d hidden that letter from Mattheo away, telling herself she was doing what was best for Ella.

But her marriage had only become more strained. Danny’s work had become all-consuming. He was hardly ever home, and when he was, he was distant and detached. (Y/N) had learned to live with it, to ignore the ache in her chest every time she found herself alone, missing something she couldn’t quite name. But Ella… Ella was her focus now. She was everything.

As they walked through the market, (Y/N) tried not to think about the past. But life had a way of bringing the past back when you least expected it.

She paused by a stall, admiring the vibrant flowers, when she heard a familiar voice.

“(Y/N)?”

Her heart stopped.

She slowly turned around, her breath catching in her throat. There, standing a few feet away, was Mattheo. He hadn’t changed much. His dark hair was a little longer, his posture still sharp, the same intense look in his eyes—but there was something softer in his expression now. Something… different.

Her body froze, as if all the air had been knocked out of her lungs. Her heart pounded, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak.

“Mattheo,” she whispered, almost in disbelief. She hadn’t seen him in two years. She hadn’t thought about him in months—at least, she hadn’t allowed herself to.

His eyes flickered down to the stroller, and then back up to her, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of Ella.

“She’s beautiful,” he said quietly, a small, almost wistful smile on his lips.

(Y/N) swallowed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “This is Ella,” she said, her voice shaky. “My daughter.”

Mattheo nodded, his gaze lingering on Ella for a moment before looking back at her. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s been a lot,” (Y/N) said, her hand tightening on the stroller’s handle as she tried to steady her emotions. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected to run into him, not like this, not after everything.

Mattheo took a tentative step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. “How have you been?” he asked, his voice low, almost too careful.

(Y/N) hesitated, glancing down at Ella before looking back at Mattheo. She wasn’t sure how to answer. Had she been happy? Had she been okay? The truth was, she had been numb. She had tried to fill the silence of her life with her daughter, with the mundane routines of everyday life, but something inside her had always felt missing. And now, standing in front of him again, that missing piece seemed to ache more than ever.

“I’m… managing,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mattheo nodded again, but the tension in the air was palpable. He seemed to want to say something, but he hesitated. For a moment, it was just the sound of Ella’s soft cooing and the distant chatter of the market.

And then, as if unsure whether to cross the invisible line that had always separated them, Mattheo spoke again, his voice raw with something (Y/N) couldn’t quite place.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he admitted quietly, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before returning to meet her eyes.

(Y/N)’s heart skipped a beat, and she couldn’t stop the rush of emotions that flooded her. She wasn’t sure what to say, what to feel. She had never stopped thinking about him either, but she had buried that part of herself so deeply that it almost didn’t feel real anymore. The pain, the love, the loss—it had all been buried beneath the weight of her life with Danny. But now, with Mattheo standing before her, it all came rushing back.

“I—I don’t know what to say,” she murmured, her voice shaking as she glanced at Ella, as if to remind herself of the reality she had built.

Mattheo took a slow breath, his eyes darkening with an emotion she couldn’t read. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice tight. “I just… I needed you to know.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to pause as they stood there, locked in a moment that felt like the past crashing into the present.

Finally, Mattheo took a step back, his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression unreadable. “I should go,” he said, his voice softer now. “I just… I just wanted to see you, to make sure you were okay.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to say something—anything—but the words didn’t come. She wanted to ask him so many things, to tell him what had happened, how she had chosen a life that felt incomplete, how she had lived with the ghost of him for so long. But she couldn’t. Not here, not like this.

“Take care of yourself,” he added, his voice thick, and before she could respond, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

(Y/N) stood there, frozen, her heart beating loudly in her chest. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion, emotions she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for so long rushing back with a force that made her head spin.

She looked down at Ella, the tiny life that had been her focus, her reason for pushing forward. But now, as she stood alone on the crowded street, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the past had just caught up to her.

And there was no telling what it would mean for her future.

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Ten Years Later

The sun was just beginning to rise over the bustling platform of King’s Cross Station, casting a warm, golden hue over the sea of excited students, parents, and the occasional tearful goodbye. It was a momentous day—Ella’s first year at Hogwarts.

(Y/N) stood beside Danny, trying to smile as her daughter bounced on the spot, practically bursting with energy and nervous excitement. Ella’s owl, perched on her shoulder, hooted softly, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride mixed with sadness. Her baby girl was all grown up.

She had to remind herself, again, to breathe.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Danny asked, his voice low as he adjusted his tie, looking at Ella as she waved excitedly at some of her new friends.

(Y/N) looked at him, her lips pressed together in a tight smile. He had been distant for years—always caught up in his work, leaving her to handle everything. Even now, standing beside her at the station, his attention was elsewhere.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” (Y/N) replied softly, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. Ella was about to start a new chapter of her life, and (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she was ready for it to be this moment.

Just as Ella’s excited chatter filled the air, (Y/N) caught a glimpse of someone—someone she hadn’t expected to see, not here, not now.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Across the platform, standing with his son beside him, was Mattheo.

For a second, (Y/N) was frozen. She hadn’t seen him in over ten years. His dark hair was a little longer, his posture still confident but more relaxed. He was wearing a dark coat, his usual intensity softened by the warmth of the moment. But the one thing that struck her was the child standing beside him—a young boy, maybe around Ella’s age, with strikingly similar features to Mattheo—his son.

But there was no wife. No woman at his side, not even an ex. Just Mattheo and his son.

(Y/N) felt a strange, familiar pull in her chest as she watched them interact. He was leaning down, speaking to his son in low tones, his voice gentle as he adjusted the boy’s robes. He looked so… so different. Kinder, perhaps. The years had shaped him, but in the ways (Y/N) hadn’t expected.

Danny, oblivious to her gaze, continued fussing with Ella’s things. But (Y/N) felt her heart pounding harder in her chest. The last time she had seen Mattheo, it had been a fleeting moment at the market, and now here he was—right in front of her, a part of her past she had buried long ago, reappearing in the most unexpected way.

As if sensing her presence, Mattheo’s eyes flicked over to where she stood, and for a brief moment, their gazes locked. His expression faltered just for an instant before he gave her a small nod—almost as if he was acknowledging everything that had passed between them without needing to say a word.

He looked… conflicted.

(Y/N) swallowed hard, her eyes darting between Mattheo and his son. She hadn’t even realized how much time had passed since their last encounter. She hadn’t thought about him as often over the years—at least, not consciously—but standing there now, watching him, it felt as if all those feelings, all that unresolved tension, came rushing back to the surface.

Her daughter tugged at her sleeve. “Mom! I’m going to miss the train!”

(Y/N) blinked, shaking herself from her thoughts. She turned to her daughter, forcing a smile. “Go ahead, honey. I’ll be right behind you.”

Ella grinned and rushed off, eager to board the train, leaving (Y/N) standing with Danny, her chest tight. She could feel Mattheo’s presence like a pull—magnetic, undeniable.

Danny glanced at her, following her gaze to Mattheo. His face stiffened. “You know him?” he asked, his tone sharper than (Y/N) had anticipated.

“Not really,” she said quickly, turning away from the sight of Mattheo and his son. “We used to know each other. A long time ago.”

She wanted to leave it at that, to avoid any more questions, but Danny’s frown deepened as he looked at her, his gaze lingering on her face.

“Well,” Danny muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s for the best. That’s a lot of history you don’t need, especially now.”

(Y/N) nodded silently, but she felt something in her stir—a reminder that the life she had built with Danny was not the only one she could have had. She had sacrificed so much, convinced herself that she was doing what was best for everyone. But standing there, in that moment, watching Mattheo with his son, she couldn’t help but wonder about all the “what-ifs” she had shoved aside over the years.

Mattheo caught her eye again, his gaze lingering this time, a mixture of sadness and something else—regret, perhaps. Then, he turned, leading his son toward the train.

(Y/N) watched them for a moment longer, and for the first time in a long time, she wondered what it would have been like if she had chosen differently.

But there was no going back. Ella was about to board the train to Hogwarts, and (Y/N) had a family to look after. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by what might have been.

Yet, as the train began to move, a part of her felt like the door she had closed on Mattheo had cracked open just a fraction. She couldn’t help but feel the pull again—the one she had ignored for so long.

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Three Years Later

The bar was dimly lit, and the air was thick with smoke and the low hum of conversation. (Y/N) sat at a corner booth, nursing a glass of wine that had long since lost its chill. Her fingers traced the rim absentmindedly, eyes distant. Tonight, she wasn’t a wife. She wasn’t a mother. She wasn’t someone’s caretaker. Tonight, she was just… her.

It had been a week since she’d discovered her husband’s affair. The lies had cut deep, a wound that refused to heal, no matter how much she tried to ignore it. Danny was still the same distant man he had been for years, but now, knowing about the betrayal, everything felt hollow. Her marriage had already been on its last thread, but this was the final blow.

She had been staying in a different room for days, the tension at home unbearable. Ella had sensed something was wrong, but (Y/N) didn’t know how to explain it to her—how to explain that sometimes, love just… wasn’t enough.

But tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight, she was going to forget. Even if it was only for a few hours.

She had come to the bar to lose herself, to drown the pain in something stronger than her thoughts. As she took another sip, her gaze wandered around the room, settling on a few familiar faces—some from her past, some strangers—but none of them felt like the right company. She just wanted the noise, the numbness.

And then, her heart skipped.

Standing near the bar, dressed in a well-tailored suit, was Mattheo.

His dark eyes met hers from across the room, and for a second, it felt as though the entire world slowed down. It had been years since she had seen him, since the train station when their paths had briefly crossed. He was the last person she expected to see tonight, but there he was—seemingly as familiar as he had been when they were younger, but with something different about him.

She quickly looked away, trying to push down the old feelings that surged up in her chest. She wasn’t ready to face him, not after everything. But Mattheo didn’t let her retreat.

He was suddenly at her side, his presence looming close, the scent of cologne mixing with the alcohol in the air.

“(Y/N),” Mattheo’s voice was low, a mixture of surprise and something else she couldn’t quite place.

She took a deep breath, resisting the pull to turn toward him. “What are you doing here?” she asked, the question coming out harsher than she intended.

He leaned against the booth, his gaze unwavering. “I could ask you the same thing.” There was a hint of something playful in his voice, but it was quickly replaced with a more serious edge. “You look… different.”

(Y/N) let out a dry laugh, glancing at him, unable to avoid the pull of his presence. “Yeah, I’m sure I do.” She was trying to sound indifferent, but she couldn’t deny the way his words made something stir inside her.

Mattheo’s expression softened. “I didn’t think I’d see you here, not like this.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer, unsure of what to say. She didn’t want to talk about her life, about Danny, about her failed marriage. She didn’t want to explain why she was here, why she felt so hollow inside.

The silence stretched between them for a moment, before Mattheo broke it again, his voice softer now. “What are you running from, (Y/N)?”

Her throat tightened, her eyes dropping to her glass. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to answer that. How could she? What was she supposed to say?

She didn’t even know if she was running. Maybe she was just trying to forget.

“I’m not running,” she finally replied, her voice cold, but the tremble in her tone betrayed her.

There was a brief silence, and then Mattheo leaned in slightly, his eyes intense. “You deserve more than this,” he said quietly, his words sinking into her like a weight.

(Y/N) wanted to argue, to push him away. But she didn’t. She didn’t have the energy for it anymore. And suddenly, she didn’t want to fight.

He was right. She did deserve more. But the thought of what more might look like—of what she could have had—was too much to bear.

Without thinking, she stood up, her hand gripping her purse tightly. “I think I should go,” she said, trying to pull herself together.

Mattheo’s hand shot out to stop her, his grip warm around her wrist. “Stay,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Just stay for a little longer.”

The pull between them was undeniable. (Y/N) knew what he was suggesting, what he was offering—a way to forget, even if it was only for a night. She had felt the ache in her chest for so long, a longing she had tried to bury, but here it was, raw and exposed.

She could feel the heat of his touch on her wrist, his proximity drawing her in. He was dangerous in a way she couldn’t resist, and maybe that was why she let herself be pulled back into his orbit.

Without a word, (Y/N) leaned in, her lips meeting his in a desperate kiss. It wasn’t gentle, nor was it kind. It was hungry, born of unspoken frustrations, loneliness, and the overwhelming need to escape the suffocating reality of her life.

For a moment, everything else faded. There was only the sensation of Mattheo’s lips on hers, the way his hands found her waist, pulling her closer. She could feel her heart racing, her pulse quickening as the intensity of the kiss deepened.

The world didn’t matter. Not now.

They broke apart for a moment, breathless, and Mattheo’s eyes locked onto hers, searching, his voice barely a whisper. “You don’t have to do this, (Y/N). But I’m not going to stop you.”

(Y/N) didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if this was the right choice, but she was past the point of caring.

She nodded, her lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but wasn’t a frown either.

And that was all it took.

The night unfolded around them in a blur, and when morning came, (Y/N) wasn’t sure who she was anymore. But for the first time in so long, she had felt alive. Even if only for one fleeting night, she had felt seen.

And as the sun began to rise, she realized that sometimes, forgetting meant you had to lose yourself first.

The car ride home was long, too long. The dark, empty streetlights flickered as (Y/N) drove, her hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary, her thoughts racing, heart pounding in her chest. It felt as though the weight of the world was pressing down on her, suffocating her.

She hadn’t been able to shake Mattheo’s presence since they parted ways. His touch, his kiss—it was all so raw, so urgent, so full of things unsaid. She had wanted to forget everything, to just let herself feel something for once, to escape the prison of her own thoughts.

But guilt clawed at her now, gnawing at her insides.

What had she done? What did this mean?

She wasn’t proud of what happened. The one-night stand—if that’s even what it was—had been a desperate escape, a fleeting indulgence in something she hadn’t allowed herself to crave in so long. She hadn’t been thinking of Danny, or Ella, or the life she had carefully built, the one that was supposed to keep her safe and secure.

Now she was left with a hollow feeling. Like she had betrayed something much deeper than just her marriage.

Her heart twisted at the thought of Danny. The very man who had been absent, emotionally distant, yet the one she had promised herself to. The one she had given so much to, who had never truly been there.

But it didn’t change the fact that she was still married. And now, she was going home to face him.

(Y/N) pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine, sitting there for a moment, collecting her breath. The house loomed before her, quiet, dark, and uninviting.

The door creaked open as she stepped out, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat she felt inside.

Danny was probably asleep—he usually was at this hour. He hadn’t been paying attention to her for months now, and the thought of him being oblivious to the storm that raged inside her only made her feel worse.

She closed the door quietly behind her, slipping off her shoes and walking toward the living room. The house was still, too still.

When she found Danny, he was sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed, snoring lightly, his hand hanging off the edge. He didn’t look up as she entered the room, his face slack, relaxed in the way he had always been when he was too tired to care.

For a moment, she watched him. This was the man she had promised to love, the man who had stood beside her when she thought he would be the one to build her world. And yet, here she was, standing on the edge of a precipice, caught between two lives.

She sat down on the edge of the couch, her fingers nervously twisting a strand of hair as she debated what to do, how to feel.

Danny stirred and opened one eye, giving her a half-hearted glance. “You’re back late,” he muttered, his voice rough with sleep.

(Y/N) swallowed hard. “I… I just needed some time,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

There was nothing left to say, not really. He hadn’t been the man she needed for years. She had lived in the quiet pain of that reality, pushing it aside, convincing herself that it was enough.

But tonight, with Mattheo, it felt different. She had felt alive, seen in a way that Danny had never truly managed to do.

Guilt settled in her stomach like a stone.

“I’m going to bed,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her chest tight. She stood up from the couch, her legs feeling like they might give out from under her.

“Yeah, sure,” Danny replied absently, closing his eyes again.

(Y/N) turned, her heart breaking at the emptiness of it all. This was her life. This was what she had chosen.

But she couldn’t deny the truth anymore.

As she climbed into bed, she buried her face in the pillow, her thoughts a mess. What had she done? What was she supposed to do now?

And somewhere deep down, there was a part of her that wanted to believe she could still fix things with Danny—fix herself—but it felt like it was slipping away.

The warmth of Mattheo’s touch still lingered on her skin, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if she could ever forget the way he had made her feel, if she could ever truly go back to the life she had with Danny.

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The air was cold, but (Y/N) barely felt it as she stood at the edge of Mattheo’s grave. Time had worn her body thin—her once-youthful features now etched with the lines of years lived, the weight of regret and loss settling deep in her bones. Her hair had grayed, her hands had trembled with age, but the pain that pulsed through her chest was as raw as the day she had lost him.

It felt like she had just seen him, just felt his touch. But here she was, decades later, standing at his funeral.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there. The ceremony had ended, the mourners had trickled away, but she remained, rooted to the spot. The grave before her was quiet, a final resting place for the man who had shaped her life in ways she had never truly acknowledged. The man who had once made her feel like she was something more than just the sum of her responsibilities, more than a woman bound by the confines of her own choices.

But now he was gone.

He had died of old age, quietly, with none of the grand drama she had always imagined in their stolen moments together. It was a life he had lived fully, despite everything, despite their lost chances, their moments of fleeting happiness. He had lived.

And she had never gotten the chance to tell him how much she regretted walking away.

(Y/N) gripped the headstone with trembling hands, her eyes blurring as she looked down at the name engraved in the cold stone. Mattheo Riddle.

The years had blurred everything together. She had built a life after him—married, had children, lived through the motions. But it had never been enough. She had never stopped wondering what might’ve been, what could’ve happened if she had chosen him when she had the chance.

She could still remember his eyes, the way they had looked at her when they had been together—the way he made her feel alive in a way no one else could. The moments they shared were a treasure, a secret she had buried deep inside her heart, but now, as the years wore on, they began to weigh on her in ways she couldn’t escape.

“I never said goodbye,” she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of everything unsaid.

Her heart squeezed painfully, and she sank to her knees before the grave, the cold earth seeping through her clothes, grounding her in the present. She should have done more, should have made a different choice. But life had a way of moving forward, and she had been swept along with it.

She closed her eyes, and the memories of Mattheo flooded her mind. His smirk, his laugh, the way he had challenged her, made her feel like she wasn’t just another woman, another face in the crowd.

It was funny, in a way. She had spent so many years trying to forget him, trying to make peace with the life she had built. But now, with him gone, she realized that he was the one thing that had always been real.

Her life with Danny had been empty, hollow, a quiet compromise. But Mattheo, with all his flaws, had given her something that no one else ever could.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, the weight of the words breaking something inside her. “I’m so sorry I never chose you.”

But the truth was, it wasn’t just about choosing him. It was about her fear of the unknown, her fear of letting go of the life she had built, the life that was supposed to keep her safe. She had chosen security over love, and now all she had were memories, fading and distant.

A soft wind brushed against her face, the trees swaying above her, and for a moment, she imagined that Mattheo was still there—standing behind her, his presence just beyond her reach.

It felt like the smallest part of him still remained, even if it was only in her heart.

As the rain began to fall gently around her, (Y/N) stood up slowly, wiping the tears from her eyes. She wasn’t sure if the tears were for him, or for the years that had passed, or for the love that was lost.

“I loved you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

And with that, she turned and walked away, her heart heavy, her footsteps slow, knowing that the ghost of Mattheo Riddle would haunt her for the rest of her days, even in the quiet moments of old age, when all she had left were memories and regret.

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AUTHORS NOTE: hiii i hope you all liked this! 💞

#harry potter #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #angst #harry potter fanfiction #benjamin wadsworth #fanfiction

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chlobliviate · 9 months ago

Text

Wolfstar Microfics - Fix it fic

Words: 803

@wolfstarmicrofic

***

“It’s not you, is it?” The words stopped Remus in his tracks. He turned to face Sirius, who had appeared in the doorway of his room. “It’s Pete.” He whispered.

Remus blinked at him, “It’s Pete?”

“I gave everyone different information about where James and Lily would be last night. I told you they’d be at Hogwarts, I told Marlene they’d be staying in Hogsmeade, I told Pete they’d be at home.” He paused, “He went there last night. Voldemort. Blew the place up.”

“No.” Remus shook his head. “Are they—”

“They’re fine. They were at The Burrow with Molly and Arthur.” Sirius looked at his friend. “Why did you let us think it was you?” Remus shook his head. “Why did you let me think it was you?”

“I thought it might be you if that’s any consolation.” Remus sounded pained. “I didn’t want to believe it, though. And, I suppose, with what Dumbledore’s had me doing, I thought you all might as well think me the traitor. It would be less painful for you all when I inevitably didn't come back.”

“Please tell me.” Sirius’ fingers gripped the edge of the doorframe. “Fuck what Dumbledore says. Tell me, Remus.”

Remus sighed, “I’ve been trying to convert werewolves to our side. Greyback and his pack, mostly.” He shrugged, “Fairly unsuccessfully.”

“You’ve been with Greyback?” Sirius’ knuckles were white. “Why would he ask you to do that? That’s fucking awful.”

“He couldn’t exactly send anyone else, could he?”

“But still!” Sirius looked devastated and Remus wanted to wrap his arms around him and never let go, but he took a step back and leant against the wall opposite Sirius’ door.

“Do James and Lily know? Dumbledore?”

“Yeah, Aurors picked up Pete and a few others this morning.” A tear escaped from the corner of Sirius’ eye. “I’m so sorry, Moons. I’m so sorry.”

“I would never,” Remus said quietly. “I owe the world to you, James, and Lily. I would never put any of you, or Harry, at risk on purpose.”

“I know.” Sirius bit the edge of his lip to stop it from trembling. “I don’t know how we got here. This fucking war is destroying everything and I’m destroying everything.”

“Sirius,” Remus looked so tired, “I’ve forgiven you for worse.” He tried to smile, “We’ll get through this.”

“Will we?” Sirius took a shaky breath. “All this time Pete has been feeding us lies about you, and we just believed them. ‘Isn’t it strange that Moony never tells us about his missions?’, ‘Remus missed another meeting? Weird.’ And…” He shook his head, “He said that he saw you kissing Barty Crouch from school.”

“I see.” Remus said slowly, “Well, for what it’s worth, I have never kissed Crouch.”

“Good, he’s a fucking state.” Sirius half laughed, half sobbed. “He made it sound so believable, Moons.”

“I’m sure he did.” Remus said, “I wish you’d all had more faith in me, but I understand what it must have looked like.”

“Can you not be so fucking understanding just this once?” Sirius shouted, “We thought you were a traitor, that you’d give up James and Lily. How can you be so calm about this?”

Remus pressed his lips together, “I’m so tired, Pads. I don’t have it in me to fight anymore. Pete was making comments to me about you, too. I started to believe them. So, I get it. He was our friend, why wouldn’t we believe him?”

“But you’re our friend. Why wouldn’t we trust you?” Sirius rubbed his eyes, “I don’t know how to make this right.”

“Pads,” Remus said softly, taking a step towards him. “Please, listen to me. I’m upset about it, but that doesn’t change the fact that I love you. Uh, all of you. All of you.” Sirius’ eyes flicked up to meet Remus’, who instantly looked away.

“Love you too, Moons. Oh!” Sirius pulled a chocolate frog out of his pocket, “It might be a bit melted now, but…”

“Thank you.” Remus took the frog and held it against his chest.

“For the endolphins.”

“Endorphins.” Remus corrected.

“Yeah, same thing.”

“It’s not the—” Remus smiled cautiously. “I would be so lost without you. It’s important to me that you know that, alright?”

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” He asked quietly. They’d shared a bed fairly often at school, staying up late and talking. Even since living together, there were nights when Sirius would crawl into Remus’ bed after a bad dream. “It’s fine if you want to be alone, obviously.”

“Of course you can.” Remus looked towards his room, “I really don’t want to be alone.”

“I missed you so much, Moony.” Remus could tell that he didn’t just mean from the week he’d been away with Greyback’s pack.

“I missed you too.”

#fanfic #ao3 #wolfstar #fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar microfic #remus x sirius #marauders #remus loves sirius #sirius loves remus #first wizarding war #peter pettigrew #little rat #sirius x remus #angst with a hopeful ending #wagatha christie au

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mediocreanomaly · 2 years ago

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Uncanny Vash HC’s (SFW)

Authors Note: I’m sweating I have so many drafts to get out so I'm going in order, I promise all your ask shall be answered let me feed the creature lovers rq tho-

Uncanny Vash is funny and I like to think about weird creature boyfriend, some repeats from the cuddling HC’s because this was already in the works but suck it up buttercup

• I’ll start easy with my “Vash purr’s” propaganda because Vash 100% purrs

•Only thing is he’s not a small animal, he’s a full grown man (plant?) so his purring is a bit different, it’s pretty loud and sounds like a rumbling motor rather than a soft rattle, and often sounds like it comes from every direction. It’s a bit unnerving if you don’t know it’s him making the noise

•It’s still soothing, though, especially if you're lying on his chest or if he’s lying on you? Let those vibrations sooth you to sleep, Vash happy purring naps are the best

• Staying on the topic of noises, Vash can do that chattering thing cats do. He doesn’t do it unless he’s with people he’s close with but if he’s interested in something you’ll just hear “ack ack ack ack” and turn to see him laser-focused on something chittering away

•Vash’s eyes do that animal reflection thing, and it’s honestly terrifying to wake up to at night although he knows they do this he somehow never comprehends how scary it is to see him looking at you in the dark

•I see it like that one South Park audio:

*Everyone in the dark*

Meryl: “Y/N I’m starting to think this is a really bad idea”

Milly: “Oh I’m not Y/N, I’m Milly! I thought you were Y/N?”

Meryl: “No I’m Meryl”

Wolfwood: “You’re Meryl? Where’s Y/N?”

Meryl: “Who are you?”

Wolfwood: “I’m Wolfwood!”

Vash who’s eyes are currently glowing in the dark: “ha ha guess who I am you guys!”

•All of Vash’s proportions are just ever so slightly off, it’s a plant thing, you’ve seen his sisters. This is one that freaks people out because sometimes they notice it but can’t figure out what they are seeing

•Basically: his arms and legs are just a little too long, his fingers stretch a bit too far, his eyes are a little too big, he’s a bit too tall, and all stuff that once added up are kind of hard to pick out when you're looking at him as a whole, so you know something is off about this man but you just don’t know what...

•Teeth? Teeth. Vash has fangs, in fact most his back teeth starting from his canines are pretty sharp. You don’t really notice unless he yawns and you watch as all his sharp back teeth are flashed in his gaping mouth and- oh he stopped yawning don’t worry about it

•Vash can drink water with his skin. His sisters have to live in the tanks and take in water through their skin and while Vash prefers to drink like a normal human he can totally dip his hand in anybody of water and it’ll hydrate him. It’s a party trick he does for the group and it freaks Wolfwood out when he drains a cup with his hand

•Vash frog blinks lmao. If he stares at something for too long or is really focused he’ll blink one eye and then the other, he can’t help it

•Speaking of which, Vashes eyes are triple eyelided like a crocodiles, which means he can be asleep and his eyes are wide open. It also means when he frog blinks you can see the other eyelid if you stare hard enough, scares a lot of bargoers who happen to look a bit too closely

•One time Milly had a whole conversation with Vash thinking he was awake but he was not. He was asleep. It’s that damn extra eyelid...if he’s really tired he falls asleep with his eyes open like that. It’s weird.

•He doesn’t keep body heat very well. Maybe it’s due to the fact his sisters live in water, but he likes being in the sun to soak up its warmth (why else do you think he can wear that coat in the heat?)

•Vash...if he’s distressed will make this noise. You’ve only heard it once when a city was destroyed and he thought you were dead but...it’s like a howl or animal in pain? It echoed through the entire desert and your body had a visceral reaction to it like it was warning you of a feral animal not to be messed with. When you had stumbled out of the rumble the noise had ended as Vash quickly scooped you up into his arms sobbing telling you never to do that again, it still keeps you up sometimes when you think about it

•Vash...somehow? Blends in with his surroundings very well. It’s kind of weird, if he stands still its like...hard to see him? But it shouldn’t be, logically this man in a bright red coat should not be able to be missed but sometimes it’s like your brain forces you not to see him. He knows it freaks people out so he talks with his hands and moves a lot so it doesn't happen

•Feathers! Vash sprouts feathers. Usually it’s when he’s very content or happy although it can happen in extreme distress too. They look like normal bird feathers but they shimmer slightly and they feel weird like they’re made of hair, fern or something softer, Vash is pretty embarrassed about them but it’s super pretty

•Vash sometimes gets places he shouldn’t be able to get to. Your motel room will be fully locked with no key and you’ll open it to see the blonde on the bed and he’ll just wave like it’s no issue. Trust me don’t ask how he got there

#vash x reader #vash x you #uncanny vash #trigun x reader

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robingoetia12 · 5 months ago

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I Love You, I’m Sorry

Despite the fact their communication had improved, Blitzø still had his walls up and Stolas didn’t know how to get his boyfriend to open up. But god damn it, he had to try.

Or where Stolas has no idea of the pain Blitzø is hiding and tries to get him to open up, but aren’t drunk words sober thoughts?

Tags: Stolas and Blitzø have made up, Stolas is a worried boyfriend, Blitzø is traumatised, no smut, angst with fluff, mentions of alcohol problems, Blitzø misses his mum, Cash Buckzo is a prick, mentions of abuse

Chapter 1

After Stolas had finally pulled his head out of his cloaca, he and Blitzø had a long talk and finally sorted the shit out in their relationship. Now things were absolutely amazing between them.

Blitzø spent most nights at Stolas’ palace and he even brought Loona with him so she and Via could spend time together. Everything was perfect… Almost.

Despite the fact their communication had improved, Blitzø still had his walls up and Stolas didn’t know how to get his boyfriend to open up. But god damn it he had to try.

Blitzø was never late back to Stolas’. Ever. Every passing minute of the clock and every coffee refill only caused the prince’s mind to increasingly fester with worry. His thoughts kept flashing to every worst possible scenario of what could’ve happened to Blitzø. As his thoughts travelled to the possibility of Striker kidnapping him, the door swung open.

In stumbled Blitzø, clearly drunk. Stolas sighed in relief and walked towards him then crouched to the imp’s level to meet his yellow eyes that were fixed on the floor. “Darling. Where were you? Are you okay?”

Blitzø, unusually silent, wrapped his arms around Stolas’ waist. Stolas hugged him back but then felt him shaking in his grip and then heard quiet sobs coming out of Blitzø’s mouth, the tears soaking the owl’s feathers. And then the frantic mumbling started.

“I’m sorry…”

Stolas tried to pull Blitzø back so he could look at him properly but Blitzø clung to him tighter, his voice rising and cracking more.

“No momma! Please I’m sorry.”

Stolas froze up. Blitzø had never mentioned his mother or any of his family before. “Darling-”

“Mom please! I love you, I’m sorry.”

Stolas knew he wasn’t listening and was too drunk to focus so he scooped his boyfriend up and tucked him into their bed. He headed out to get him a glass of water to sober him up. What he heard next nearly made him drop the glass.

“Dad please don’t! It hurts!”

Stolas nearly let out a hysterical sob but covered his mouth to stop himself so it came out as a quiet, strained cry. He could see that Blitzø had fallen asleep but then heard one more murmur from him.

“Please, I’ll be better… I just want to see Fizz…”

Stolas got into bed next to him and reached out for Blitzø’s spikes on his back and could still feel the shaking from his body and Stolas noticed how he wrapped his tail around himself. He rubbed his back gently to try and soothe him. “I love you darling…”

He couldn’t sleep after that. He kept tossing and turning, desperately trying to figure out what Blitzø went through and how he could help him but thinking about what it could possibly be made his stomach churn.

How did he not notice?

How did he not realise how affected he clearly was by whatever happened to him?

How could he help him open up?

Blitzø woke up the next morning, head pounding. He fell back onto the bed dramatically. “Ugh… I drank way too much last night, fuck…” He turned his head and saw Stolas clinging to him, still asleep. He smiled softly and stroked his feathers and went to check the time and saw it was 9am.

Shit.

He needed to be in the office in 15 minutes. He gently extracted himself out of Stolas’ arms, being careful not to wake him and jumped off the bed seeing his jacket hung on the back of Stolas’ door and pulled it on. Stolas sat up and blinked like a frog, groggily observing Blitzø rush around. “Darling? Everything okay?”

“Yeah… I need to go like now. We have a client who wants us to kill their target in some bullshit way so I gotta go.” He explained whilst opening the door.

Stolas followed him, red dressing gown on and holding the glass of water. “Do you want something to eat before you leave?”

Blitzø turned around. Despite the fact he and Stolas were a couple he still wasn’t used to being cared for. He was used to people leaving him…

“What? Uh no thanks it’s fine I’ll pick something up on the way.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket as he got to the front door. Stolas gently pulled him back.

“Will you at least drink this before you leave? You came home very intoxicated last night. It’ll do you some good.”

Blitzø rolled his eyes and took the glass. “Fine…” He downed the entire thing and then placed on the nearby table. Stolas was still frazzled from last night. He desperately wanted to hold Blitzø and protect him from anything that might hurt him again.

Stolas quickly spoke up before Blitzø left. “You’re coming home tonight aren’t you?” Blitzø looks up at him, holding his keys. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout last night, can’t have been fun to put up with me shit faced.” Stolas bent down and hugged him, mumbling about how he didn’t have to apologise. Blitzø snorted slightly, hugging him back. “Christ on a stick, someone’s all lovey dovey this morning.”

Stolas pulled away and kissed the imp softly on his lips and pressed his forehead against his. “I love you darling…” Blitzø smiled and opened the door. “Love you too, ya dork.” He left and sped away in his van. Stolas sighed heavily as the van disappeared. His heart was in his chest, he didn’t know how to help Blitzø.

But he would do whatever he could to keep him safe and happy.

No matter what.

A/N: Proof read by my sister @charliewalkersgf (she doesn’t even like Helluva Boss so she’s been forced into it lmao 🤣) and thanks for the people who replied to a post I made about the dialogue!! You all were very helpful and creative!!! Hope you enjoyed the fic!!! More chapters to come!!

#Spotify #stolitz fanfic #stolas x blitz #stolitz #helluva boss #helluva boss fanfiction #angst fanfic

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peachesvault · 2 months ago

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Dancing Nights 00 | You were a child, making mama so proud

Rewind | Playlist | Skip this song?

What songs playing in the studio tonight? - Kids

Synopsis: The sounds of people hugging their loved ones, calling out, waving goodbye or waiting at the gate with signs were all drowned out. Life as you knew it was going to change, and for a 9-year-old that meant everything.

You were nervous, your small hand in your ma’s, your other in your twins, Mina. But they wouldn’t be coming with you. No, you were going to fly solo halfway across the world to the land down under; and you didn’t even know when you’d be back. You had already said bye to your friends and brought little frog cakes to school as a parting gift.

“You’re going to be okay. No matter what happens we’re so proud of you” You hadn’t even noticed your father crouching down to be face to face with you. The five simple words broke the floodgates as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He held you.

When did he get six hands?

You had been- you were excited, but you couldn’t help the fear crawling up your throat. You were at the entrance of the airport. You blinked. You were at security, with some lady; when had you left your parents behind? You blinked. You were at the gate, waiting to board. You relucted at the airplanes door, but the lady ushered you in and helped you buckle into the fancy big seats, before taking the seat next to you.

“Are you coming with me?” You asked shyly, to which she smiled kindly and responded “I’m Liv, your agent sweetheart, think of me like a second mum for now okay?”

You didn’t want another mum, another ma. What was she on about? You didn’t question it as you slowly drifted asleep; if your parents sent you with her, surely, she was trustworthy, even if a bit weird.

★★★★

Your ears hurt. You tried to hold your tears back but why was it so painful? Through your teary vision you saw Liv silently place a gummy on the tray in front of you.

That was better, now you could think again, you calmed; but not for long. You were whisked away again. Why was it so hot? The people looked different. You were buckled into a sleek fancy car. What? No you weren’t meant to get in strangers' cars. But Liv was with you?

What was happening?

Do not plagiarise/copy/post on other platforms.

Taglist (open): @pretty-sparkle-bomb

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samo64 · 2 months ago

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Red Baldloon headcanons because i love that glitchy goober

Since they are just a glitchy monster, i feel like they would have cat/dog tendencies when meeting someone they haven't seen before. like if someone in the school house aside from the player ever found them Red would have either a fight or flight response to being found.

They rarely smile and only do that if they are close to someone that they really like.

They never blink. ever.

Their appetite consists of the walls, floors, ceiling, chalk sometimes, that cake from birthday bash or just sweet stuff in general, school paper.

if someone had a laser pointer it will and won't stop chasing it.

the reason why Red has sharp red nails is because Purple/56 had painted them with nail polish.

Red can't phase through walls like the other Baldloons.

Red does not even know why they scare Null/Filename2 so much.

If Red were to wear clothes i would cut holes around it's torso area so it's other heads can breathe.

The only other character they can only disguise as is Baldi himself.

They are not really a villian they're just misunderstood.

They can replicate voices but when they do it it ends up stuttering and glitchy.

Red really enjoys pats on it's back, it's multiple heads it just likes physical affection. it even purrs.

If someone were to give them a lil smooch, all the heads would fluster up and it would cover it's face.

If Red were to ever meet Bink (Null's crab) they would protect it at all costs.

Red has the same large appetite as baldi.

Red is scared of Playtime, NINENINE, Principal of the thing.

they can loaf.

they often rub their faces on people to test if the person is friendly or not.

If Red ever met Bladder or Badsum, Badsum would scream and cry while Bladder would reach his arms out wanting to pet Red.

They wont hesitate to bite a threat. and lemme tell ya it hurts like getting stabbed with a tazer.

When Red wants to taste something, it sticks out a thin long black tongue like a snake or frog to taste test it.

if one of Red's Heads were to bite a lemon, all of the other heads would taste the sourness and hiss in pain.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

#baldis basics #bbieal #baldloon #red baldloon #me yapping

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penumbra-mayhem · 4 months ago

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Barely Breathing at All - Sam/Darlin' Fic

"Their heart was pounding so hard their chest ached. The car wasn't moving. Why weren't they moving?"

This is partly inspired by Hozier's song "Abstract (Psychopomp)". It takes place a few months after Sam teaches Darlin' to heal that little sapling. Also, I hc that Darlin' has a stutter, more on that here.

TW: car crash, light gore, PTSD/flashback

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

“Let’s take the long way home, yeah?” Sam asked, gripping his mate’s hand as they walked to his car after a long-winded pack meeting.

Darlin’ glanced up at him with heavy lids and gave a small hum in agreement. Over the past week, they had been struggling to sleep more than usual. Sam hoped a car ride would help.

He was right. With the windows down and old folk songs playing quietly, Darlin’ was slumped in their seat within ten minutes. Sam didn’t even need to glance over; he could tell they were asleep just by listening to their breathing. The balmy summer night saturated Sam's senses with a chorus of frogs and the scent of pine. It was a leisurely winding drive on the outskirts of Dahlia. Sam's core thrummed with satisfaction as he drove.

—

Darlin's eyes shot open as their body lurched forward, their seatbelt locking up to prevent them from crashing into the dashboard.

Their head whipped back, slamming into their headrest.

They blinked rapidly.

Their heart was pounding so hard their chest ached.

The car wasn't moving.

Why weren't they moving?

Darlin' looked frantically through the windshield to see what they'd hit.

Nothing. Just empty road.

They looked to their left.

Sam was frozen in his seat, his hands locked around the steering wheel. His breathing was fast—too fast. And shallow, like he was barely breathing at all.

"S-S-Sam," Darlin' croaked as they tried to push through their own disorientation, "Wh-wh-wh...h-h-h-h.....y-y-y-y-you h-h-h-hurt?"

"I uh.....I'm...." Sam mumbled.

With fumbling hands, Darlin' unlocked their seatbelt and clambered over to Sam. They started scanning his body, checking for any signs of blood or broken bones.

"I'm fine," Sam whispered, but his eyes weren't really seeing Darlin' and his chest was still moving too quickly.

"Wh-wh-wh-wh-what h-h-h-h-happened?" Darlin' asked, holding Sam's tense shoulders. When he didn't reply, they tried again, "Sam?"

"...deer...I tried...tried not to..."

Darlin' turned to look back out the window, just in time to see something jerk up and then fall back down out of view. They slid back into their seat, opened their door, and stepped out. Just a foot or two in front of the car was a deer, bleating weakly in distress as it moved to stand and then fell again.

Darlin' crept forward, trying to keep their own breathing under control. Once the deer was in full view, they could see that its right hind leg was broken, the bone jutting through the skin in two places.

"S-Sam," Darlin' called out. The deer grew louder as they approached and knelt next to it. They tried again, a bit louder, "Sam!"

Nothing.

Darlin' looked up. He was still frozen, his gaze distant and panicked.

"Sam I-I-I c-c-can't.......I d-don't kn-kn-kn-know how...."

They looked down at the deer. It stared back in abject fear.

"Fuck," they whispered.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

"Okay..." Darlin' muttered, ".....okay....I c-c-c-can d-d-do this."

First the deer. Then Sam.

Touch does make it easier.

They placed their hands gently on the deer's mangled leg, wincing when it bleated in pain and tried to pull away.

Close your eyes. It helps.

They squeezed their eyes shut.

Now we just breathe for a bit.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Take a little bit to tune into the rhythm of your magic.

Darlin' focused on their core—felt it tremble. They tried to steady it, tried to strengthen it with each breath.

...reach just that little bit outside of you...it's just a little stretch...you just have to guide it...

Darlin' could hear something. The sound of movement. A car door opening. But they couldn't focus on that now. They were so close.

It doesn't need shape. It doesn't need form. It just needs to flow....it just needs your intention.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale...

Darlin' felt their magic rush from their hands into the deer. They felt the bone meld and the skin knit itself back together. Their eyes shot open. They quickly moved back, just in time as the deer scrambled up and raced off. Nausea washed over Darlin' as they sat there for one breathless moment, staring into the dark woods.

"Darlin'?"

They jumped, causing their head to spin. Sam was standing outside of the car, gazing at them. Darlin' rose on shaky legs before heading towards their mate.

"Sam, are y-y-y-you..." they trailed off as they scanned him again, worried they missed something in their initial search.

"...I'm alright...just...just..." he mumbled, body trembling.

Touch does make it easier.

Darlin' held his hands. "Y-you're safe. I-I-I'm r-right here."

Close your eyes. It helps.

"C-close y-your eyes. F-f-focus on m-my voice, y-yeah?"

Sam's eyes shut. His breathing was still too quick, too shallow.

Now we just breathe for a bit.

"C-c-c-can y-you m-match my-my b-breathing?"

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

"G-good. Y-y-you're d-d-doing s-so good, l-love."

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale...

The frogs started their chorus again. The scent of pine flooded Sam's lungs with each inhale. Everything began to settle, the spinning and trembling dying down like embers. Darlin' wasn't sure how long they were standing there. They would have stood there forever if they needed to.

Eventually, Sam pressed his forehead against Darlin's.

"You healed the deer."

"I....I d-did."

"Thank you."

#i stayed up too late writing this again #i really need to stop using so much repetition #anyway hope yall like this #redacted darlin #redacted asmr #redacted fandom #redacted fanfic #redactedverse #redacted audio #redacted sam #mayhem is brewing

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gintrinsic-writing · 1 year ago

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A Flicker in a Distant Timeline

CW: references to violence, loss of a limb, blood.

Like this, the King of Evil didn’t look like much—sweating through his robes, hair in disarray, panting through pain and exhaustion alike. He was too weakened to transform, and his baser form—his simple Gerudo body, absent of Demise’s visibly corroding influence—lacked the same petrifying, untouchable presence. Link figured he should tell him so.

“You reek.”

Ganondorf’s glare was half-ruined by the tears rolling down his face; courtesy of some well-aimed dirt, Link thought smugly. “And you,” Ganondorf managed between breaths, “sound like a dying frog.”

Link barely had enough energy to muster up the indignation that deserved, but he managed. “A frog? That’s the worst you could come up with?” He scoffed, ignoring how much it stung to do so. “Were you even trying?”

“Croak, croak, croak,” Ganondorf griped, waving a hand back and forth. The Triforce of Power shimmered like a kaleidoscope against the back of his hand. “Annoying little wheezes.”

“Oh, forgive me. Some asshole punched me in the throat.”

“Only after another asshole pulled my hair!”

“So what?” Link croaked—ah, dammit, Ganondorf was right. What a miserable day.

“So, hair’s off-limits.”

“Off…” Link paused to stare. He blinked several times for good measure. Only a little blood managed to dribble into his eyes. “It was a fight! To the death!”

“Fated by the deities themselves,” Ganondorf agreed darkly.

“And you think hair is off-limits?”

“Well, yes.” Ganondorf sneered at Link as if the hero was particularly dense. “We’re not animals.”

“You literally are, you dumb pig,” Link groaned.

Ganondorf made some weird growling sound, then coughed. “Just you wait,” he grumbled. “As soon as I catch my breath, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Link mocked. “You’ll kill me? With what weapon? You couldn’t summon a speck of dust right now.”

Ganondorf curled his lip disdainfully. “As if you’re one to talk. You can’t even get up, can you?”

Link chose that moment to finally admit to himself that he’d been managing his half of the conversation while lying prone on the ground. He was sure the Master Sword was within grasp if he needed it. Probably. “I can move,” he answered loftily, only croaking a little, “whenever I want to.”

“Sure,” Ganondorf agreed.

“I can.”

“Like I said, sure.”

Link groaned again. Dirt stuck to his lips in a very unheroic way.

Seconds passed, then Ganondorf heaved another breath. It sounded more significant than the previous ones in some strange and foreboding way. He pushed off his knees with both hands and stood up straight. His spine popped immediately. “Damn the goddesses,” Ganondorf spat, bracing a clawed hand against the small of his back as he resumed his slouch. Link couldn’t help but nod in tired agreement. “And damn Demise!”

That sounded particularly vicious. Link nodded again for solidarity. “Is Demise the reason you’re so fucked up?”

“Yes,” Ganondorf hissed.

“Ah.” What was he supposed to say to that? Something meaningful, probably. “Sucks.”

“Indeed.”

Something wet fell on Link’s face. Then it happened again. Rain, he thought bitterly. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to drown. “I don’t suppose you’re dying? Spare me the trouble of having to finish this?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Ganondorf grumbled. “You?”

“Also unfortunately no.”

Ganondorf eyed him skeptically. “I thought you’d bleed more when I cut off your hand.”

Ah yeah, that. His right wrist really hurt. “To be honest, me too.” A wave of dizziness washed over Link, which he promptly ignored like he had the last four times. “How did you survive that light magic bomb?”

Ganondorf shook his head. “No fucking idea. Luck, perhaps. I felt my heart stop for a moment.”

“Really? Cool.”

Ganondorf shrugged.

“So… now what?” Link asked quietly, licking at the raindrops gathering on his upper lip. They tasted like dirt. “You gonna kill me?” Because in all honesty, he couldn’t get up. Trying left his pulse racing and his limbs trembling. He was pretty much useless.

“I should,” Ganondorf answered just as quietly.

When nothing else was said, Link grunted. “But…?”

“I’m tired.” Simple, honest, absolute.

“Yeah,” Link muttered. “Me too.”

With a pained little oof, Ganondorf sat down beside Link, crossing his legs at the ankles and keeping his weight off of his left hip. He fiddled with his many bracelets. Link struggled to read his expression. “Perhaps I’ll feel up to it in a minute,” the King of Evil finally said.

There was something awkward about that. Something sad. Link decided to do what he did best and make a nuisance of himself. “Did you have to sit so close? I wasn’t lying earlier. You stink. Does deodorant not apply to demon kings?”

“Shut up, worm.” Ganondorf flicked a pebble at him. Somehow, it landed right between Link’s eyes.

“Ow! Fuck you.”

“In your dreams.”

Link gagged, loudly. The effect was ruined when it started to rain in earnest. Before he could think of the best way to complain, Ganondorf threw out a hand, and tendrils of dark magic formed a barrier above them.

“Oh,” Link said lamely. “Guess you’re not out of juice after all.”

Ganondorf frowned up at the barrier. “It’ll last a minute if we’re lucky.”

“Then what?”

“Then we’ll get wet. Maybe you’ll be able to walk by then, assuming you don’t bleed out in the meantime.”

A pretty bold assumption, all things considered, but Link wasn’t going to say so. He’d take what he could get. “And then?” he pressed.

Ganondorf clearly held back the first answer that came to mind. He pursed his lips before saying, “Your choice. I got us this far.”

Link couldn’t help it—he laughed. It sounded pretty terrible. “Yeah,” he wheezed after several seconds. “Yeah, I guess so. Okay.”

Ganondorf shook his head in apparent resignation. The barrier began to flicker.

#this idea hit me over the head and i had to sit down and write it immediately #but now i'm about to start ffvii rebirth so So Long Farewell it's been nice knowing you guys #honestly it'd be fun to write more for this idea #ganondorf #link #legend of zelda #loz fic #loz #gintrinsic writing

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malicedragoness · 2 years ago

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Ok, but what if Syzoth can transform into an actual lizard? Not a Zaterran (is this what they’re being called now?), but like a monitor lizard or an iguana. And he can accidentally change back when he’s caught off guard.

(Not proof read. We die like men. And if you can guess the 80s movie reference you get a cookie 🍪)

@bihansthot Syzoth fluff 🤗

Imagine it:

Syzoth only turns into an iguana when he’s extremely weak and is trying to hide from whoever is pursuing him.

He’s got gashes on him, he’s cold, and has been starving. He can’t hold his form anymore. He transforms and climbs into a tree to hide and make himself small. He tries to stay invisible until they’re gone, but it’s getting too difficult.

Once his pursuers are gone, he decides to rest there and falls asleep. Hours later, he wakes up when he hears a noise.

That’s when Syzoth meets you. You climbed a ladder to pick apples from the tree he’s hiding in. He continues to watch you, ready to transform and jolt if he has to. He’s still not sure if he’s able to. Everything hurts and he feels weak to his bones.

But the longer he watches you pick apples and sing to yourself, he realizes you’re not a threat. Your voice is lovely to his ears. Your hair is so pretty he wants to touch it. Everything about you, your body language and scent, seems so soft and gentle.

When you climb further up and get to his branch, you let out a surprise yelp when you see him.

“Oh my god! Are you ok, little guy?”

Syzoth couldn’t help but laugh internally. He must look horrible being surrounded in green blood. But your wide eyes and sweet voice was so cute.

“Are you alive?” He blinks when you reach to touch his nose.

You look at him and then down to the ground for a few minutes, contemplating your next move. You turn back and pet his nose again. “I’m going to pick you up and take you home, ok? Please let me help you. And please don’t bite me!”

Syzoth closed his eyes shut, pain searing through his body as you carefully pick him up. You settled him against your chest, his claws hooked onto your shirt, little tears already forming, and blood staining your shirt. He did his best to not sink his claws into your flesh, but the pain was making it hard to concentrate.

You climbed down the ladder, as slowly as you can, repeating “Please don’t bite me. Please don’t bite me. Please don’t bite me.” Once you were down the tree, you put him in your basket and took him home.

You spent the next few hours researching everything an iguana needs to survive. You bought a heat lamp, some fruits and greens, giant fake rocks. You’re not sure if you just throw the greens at him or cut them up to make it easier for him to eat. But you’re trying your best.

Syzoth watches you put a bowl of greens and fruits in front of his face and stare at him. If only he could tell you that he would be fine in a few days and all of this wasn’t necessary. Although, he did appreciate all the kind gestures.

After seeing you cry about him not eating the food and worrying about him dying, Syzoth decides to eat the food you prepared for him. His gentle heart couldn’t handle your tears, and it made him happy to see your face light up.

As the days go by, Syzoth lounged on his fake rocks, ate all the food you gave him, and watched you go about your daily routine. You kept calling him ‘Zammis’, and he had no idea what that meant.

He’s healed, but he’s had such a lovely time being with you that he doesn’t wish to go. He knows it’s wrong, keeping this secret from you. But you’re so happy with him there, he couldn’t bear the thought of you crying again.

You fed him his greens while watching a movie. (Another favorite thing of his to do, watching the moving pictures in the giant screen). A princess on the screen kissed a frog and he turned into a prince. You sighed and complained about how unrealistic that is.

Then your face filled Syzoth’s vision.

“Are you a prince, Zammis?”

Syzoth blinked. Then you leaned in further and kissed his nose.

Syzoth’s heart leapt in his throat. And suddenly he’s back in his human form, sitting in front of you on floor. Your hand still holding his bowl of greens and eyes wide as saucers.

“Z-Zammis?”

“Actually, it’s Syzoth, princess.” He said shyly.

#mk fangirling #syzoth x reader #syzoth fluff #mk reptile x reader

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goodolddumbbanana · 8 months ago

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(Molten/Sun platonic) A little nightmare [TW: Violence, blood, maybe bugs]

Summary: I like angsty and fluff. i have problem man.

The Thing Creator install still inside Sun's head. It still totured Sun but it made him forget everything after he woke up.

They say there are three things that separate machines from humans.

The first is that humans feel pain, machines don't.

The second is that humans can dream, machines don't.

And the last is that humans have emotions, machines can only fake them.

So when all three conditions are met, can machines call themselves human?

***

Someone's heavy breathing. The hallway is dyed red with blood, seeing the fleeing figure struggling in the swamp of flesh and bone that is dragging them down. They are like trapped in the stomach of a monster, with the walls vibrating in a steady rhythm as if breathing and the flickering eyes that watch their misery like something to behold.

Sun tries to pull himself out of the swamp. His limbs thrash in panic, as his mouth opens, hoping to get some oxygen. A sweet, fishy taste rushed into Sun’s mouth, making him make pitiful gurgling noises as he was about to choke.

‘It’s not real.’

‘It’s all in your head, Sun.’

‘Be patient, Moon will come to save you.’

But no matter how many times he repeated the mantra, Sun himself couldn’t believe it.

Every night. Every damn freaking night. Sun would be stuck here, reliving the endless pain his dear old father had left him the day that wretched old hag hacked into his head.

First was the broken leg .

Pain that made him hard to breathe. Pain that felt like his lungs were being squeezed and submerged in water. Pain worse than anything Eclipse and Moon had ever put him through before, pain that left him unable to scream. His nails dug into the metal, bending it and creating ugly scratches and dents as an unhealthy defense mechanism to ease the pain.

If Sun had a tongue, he would have bitten it off by now.

Then came the loss of vision .

The mist was so thick it was hard to breathe, surrounding Sun like a heavy, wet blanket. It clung to Sun’s throat, sharp as if it contained tiny metal fragments, invading Sun’s circuit boards and fans like termites, feasting on the wires inside Sun’s body. It felt like thousands of worms were eating him from the inside out, with buzzing sounds mixed with screams that almost reached the limits of Sun’s madness.

‘Tear it out… Tear it out… Take it all out! PLEASE!!!’

Sun cried out for help, but nobody came. His pearly eyes were still red, the smell of burning flesh lingering in his nose like sap on the hottest day. The electric explosions were whistling inside him, the system kept popping out golden triangles, even now, it was replaced by plump white legless creatures crawling across his inner screen.

Hearing was the last thing.

In that eerie silence, Sun's screams were swallowed into nothingness. He had a mouth, but he couldn't scream.

***

"Frog dissection experiments are really inhumane, right Mr.Sun?"

Sun blinked, and suddenly, he was in the daycare. The room music was whispering in his ears, and the brilliant colors of light kissed Sun's skin.

'Wha–?!'

A small hand grabbed Sun's ribbon and shook it. The little boy with the superhero cape had eyes shining like stars, looking at him with anticipation and excitement.

"What did you say? I don't understand..." Sun stuttered. "Well... It's educational to some extent... I guess?"

"Sunny!!..." The kid huffed. The other kids looked at each other with amusement.

"See, Huey, you're wrong!" Another kid, wearing big glasses and blond hair, shouted.

"Shut up Jackie! My mom says it's not nice to hurt animals!" Huey waved his arms wildly, for some reason the red of the cape wrapped around this kid reminded him of blood.

"Pfft!! You are chicken!! Chicken Huey!" Jackie stuck out his tongue.

The twins behind him squealed with laughter, matching the rhyme: "Huey's a chicken! Huey's a chicken!"

"Come on James, Jamie. You can't tease Huey like that." Sun cut off the teasing when he noticed Huey was starting to tear up. “That’s not good, okay?”

“I’m not a chicken.” Huey’s eyes were red, his voice starting to crack. Sun pulled Huey into his arms, patting the child’s back. A sick feeling came over him as the child lay snugly in his arms.

“No one said Huey was a chicken. You’re the bravest person I know. Those kids were just teasing…”

“But what do you think, Sunny?”

A whisper rang out in Sun’s heart. The music had stopped at some point, and something was dripping behind Sun.

“What–!?”

“Do you think that because a frog’s life is worth less than a human’s, it deserves to be tortured like that, Sun?”

Something slipped out of Sun’s arms, falling to the ground. A human body, the body of a child. In Sun’s arms was only Huey’s head. Two empty eye sockets stared at him, the boy’s mouth still open, smiling at him.

In the blink of an eye, what had once been the daycare was gone. Bodies were strewn everywhere, and blood was in Sun's hands. But right now, Sun was too small, too weak. A laugh rang out, a laugh that Sun was sure was his own, but it didn’t escape his mouth.

His clone, another Sun, stood before Sun with a look of satisfaction. There was blood on the other’s sunbeam, and his intestines and brains were still neatly placed on the monster’s shoulders.

“Brother, look. We have a winner~~~”

“Oh~~~Why don’t we give the winner a prize?”

Sun didn’t even have time to react.‌ The other’s claws shot out, grabbed Sun’s head, and slammed it hard against the ground. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything but watch as his brains were splattered and his limbs were torn to pieces like rag dolls.

***

“Doctor, look at this specimen.” Sun suddenly found himself trapped in some kind of operating room, with his real body. Surrounded by anatomical images of fish, frogs, and even worms. Opposite his sight was a fish tank. The goldfish swam silently inside, circling around a moon doll whose head was torn off by someone. “Even though it’s dead, it can still move~~~”

Bloodmoon appeared before Sun’s eyes, the red moon model grinning at him with delight, the monster wearing a pure white nurse’s uniform, not a single blemish in contrast to their bloody hands.

The other person was also Bloodmoon, but it was the one who had been destroyed by Puppet. Over their red and blue coats was a surgical gown that specialized doctors often wore.

Sun felt the inside of his chest split open, these two gremlins's hands rudely stirring up the wires and circuit boards inside.

“ Hmm, you’re right, my nurse. Let’s say, I think if we increase the current, I feel like we can make some progress .” Blood nodded, as they ruthlessly tore the fan off Sun’s body.

“ Aren’t you afraid it will die again? ” The other chuckled, but his hand was already ready to plug the power cord into Sun’s charger.

“ Isn't It just a useless thing, my nurse? We can easily replace it with something else .”

And the pain tore everything white, accompanied by Bloodmoon’s cruel chuckle.

***

Sun felt like he was going crazy.

Maybe he was already crazy.

In a blink of an eye, he was back in hell. His whole body was shaking, choking on the air filled with mist and smoke, with a heavy feeling like someone’s hand was dragging him down into the mud. Sun could only limp to the ground, even moving an inch was enough to hurt him so much that he couldn’t breathe.

A black figure stood staring at him, an almost octopus-like body with tendrils shooting out all around, pitch black with irises staring back at him.

“What more do you want!!?” Sun spat. He glared at the person in front of him. His torturer. His prisoner. His newest roommate for over a dozen days.

The Thing.

And as always, the bastard said nothing. A virus, whose sole purpose was to torture him, that didn’t even have a sentient yet.

It moved closer to Sun, the seemingly delicate yet sturdy metal wires pulling Sun up despite Sun’s feeble struggles. The wires clung to the joints and shafts of the frame, tight enough to make him walk like a puppet.

“What?!‌! Say something!!!”

There was only silence in response. There was the sound of dripping water, and the rattling of plastic balls in Sun’s ears. The pain suddenly disappeared, as did the unreadable look on ‘The Thing ’s’ face, always shrouded in red mist.

Sun felt no pain. He felt nothing. He felt empty, so empty and peaceful that it was scary.

Suddenly, a loud, harsh noise, the sound of metal breaking.

What could it be? Sun wondered absentmindedly, suddenly finding his vision lowered.

Oh… The thing that broke turned out to be him.

Piece by piece… Piece by piece the metal that had once shaped Sun fell, crumbling to dust. His face fell off, sinking into the water.

The darkness was cold and too suffocating.

Sun prayed that this would be his final destination.

***

“Sun? Sun, wake up.”

A strange, monotonous, mechanical sound rang out in Sun’s ears.‌ The saffron-colored animatronic jerked awake in confusion, its mouth opening in a jumble of questions.

A soft icy blue light caught Sun’s eyes. A Freddy model with white fur and orange spots, looked at him curiously.

“Oh? Molten? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, no. I saw you fall asleep. Are you tired, Sun?”

Sun looked around in confusion. He was sitting in front of the movie screen. It was strange, when did he fall asleep? He and Molten were watching a movie. Something from Marvel… Then maybe he fell asleep because he was bored? Sun checked his internal system, and found that his battery was only below 30%.

“Oh… It’s okay Molten, I just forgot to plug it in. I guess practicing magic somehow drained my energy more than usual.”

“Can I help? I want to help.” Molten’s ears twitched as if he was excited. It was strange because Sun had never seen Freddy or any Freddy model like Molten.

It was… quite cute to some extent.

“Oh, no need.” Sun stood up and stretched. His whole body was sore, probably from lying in the wrong position. Right now, all he wanted to do was lie in bed, but the thought of going back to sleep or standing up to charge somehow made him feel discouraged .

Never mind, he could charge himself standing up with the solar power anyway.

“Are you used to everything here, Molten?”

“Yes! Everyone here is really nice!!” Sun could feel stars twinkling in Molten's eye as they rambled on about Moon, about Solar, about Daycare…

“And you haven’t met Jack and Dazzle yet. They’re all pretty cool, trust me.” Sun chuckled, his eyes wandering to the chair where the popcorn crumbs were scattered. It was dirty , bugs, bugs, he hated bugs… Why does he feel like he wants to hit something right now?

“Oh, new friends? I like having new friends. We can play games, and watch movies…” Molten nodded. Their hands were bent, but the sharp, smooth wire still made a rustling sound along the way. Something made Sun feel uneasy, but Sun didn't know what it was.

Maybe he should ask Moon to run the system again, it had been a long time since he had upgraded anyway.

But maybe later. Moon was quite busy, and Solar too. The Computer got broke, which caused them a lot of trouble. Too much work to do and too little time to spend.

"But you're fine, Sun." The words sounded so gentle in Sun's ears that he was startled. Sun looked up, Motlen's face still looked the same, a look of innocent joy that made Sun a mixture of guilt and relaxation.

Why are you so nice to me? I don't deserve it, I really don't deserve it at all. I'm not as smart as Moon or as reliable as Solar. Even Monty is more responsible than me.

I will destroy you.

I will be the venom that will burn you from the inside.

I will turn the best part of you into something ugly, like Rocksan, like Nexus, all because I dare to think about caring.

Eclipse is right, I'm an ungrateful idiot who only knows how to cling to others.

As if reading his mind, Molten smiled. "I love to hang out with you because I know you are a good and caring person. But I know it is hard for you to believe it. So I will keep saying these words until you believe the words I say are true."

Something stirred in Sun's chest, so quickly that he immediately suppressed the feeling.

Can he really have a friend? Someone wouldn't suddenly break like Rocksan, someone wouldn’t be so spiral like Nexus.

Is it okay for him to have someone other than Moon?

“Hahahaha… yeah sure, Molten.”

Sun laughed, but inside he had no answer to that confusion.

Please leave me.Please stay with me.

***

“Hope is a terrible thing, Sun. It keeps you from giving up no matter how hard things get, but it can also make your situation worse without you even knowing it. Why is the sinner clings to a spider’s thread, even though he knows it will break, he still tries to climb up countless times?

That is because of hope, or desperation?

A song that is danced to many times will become boring too, don’t you think it is true, son? Are you ready to give up?”

Creator asked his creation affectionately, who was forcefully sitting on a throne that was stacked high with human bones.

Exhausted, bloody, bruised, and stained with a clean brown and yellow, the son of the most self-absorbed bastard on the planet, who could only move his head right now, gritting out the words.

“Go to hell, old man.”

“Oh well, and I thought I am making some progress. It's a shame this talk didn’t work out. Let's try again, my boy. See you next time, Sun.”

The brain chuckled, and once again the hands grabbed Sun and pulled him into the water, making gurgling, gurgling sounds.

“Maybe I should switch the target to Molten.”

#sun and moon show #tsams #sams #the sun and moon show #sams sun #tsams sun #tsams molten #molten x sun #haha i am crused #molten/sun

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edupunkn00b · 5 months ago

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Ribbit

In the aftermath of frogging out after the Lee and Mary Lee's wedding, Patton feels like he owes everyone an apology. Mostly because he does. But before that, he and Thomas still have some things to work out. Rated G - WC: 2728 - Written for @tsspromptmonth's Sleepy Bean Fanfic Café for the great @dndeceit.

It's okay, Patton. I know you'll do anything you can to make things right.

Patton blinked away the sight of 8-bit Thomas sprawled unconscious on the floor, Janus shielding him with his own body. He swallowed back a quiet ribbit and tried to smile. Thomas was shaken but standing. Unharmed.

Well, physically, at least. "Thanks for trusting me still, Kiddo. I'm…" Unnaturally quiet, the room screamed with the Princely Side's absence and though he'd sought out the solace of his own room, Roman's pain remained, pulling at Patton's chest with icy claws. If anything, the privacy of his own room allowed him to let slip his hero's mask and his cries reached out to him through the Mindscape. "I'm gonna go check on Roman." And try to tell him how sorry he was.

He tugged the sleeves of his catigan, eyes darting automatically to the floor where Logan's spot was currently filled with Janus' carefully polished shoes. How was he ever going to apologize to Logan?

"Before you go..." Thomas' voice pulled him back and Patton looked up. Did he want him to stay? "I think I understand now what it means... Deceit being here as a part of me.

"Oh." Glancing at Janus, Patton fought to keep his smile. "Yeah?"

Janus' hurt crackled through the air, seizing Patton's heart. "Oh, yeah, that's cool…" he muttered flippantly, adjusting his gloves. Despite the thick layer of sarcasm, Janus' pain stole his breath and the Protective Side avoided both his and Thomas' eyes. "Talk about me like I'm not here."

Thomas didn't seem to notice. "...It's not that I'm an evil liar or even a fractionally fiendish fibber. Everyone has a capacity for deceit, including me. And all that means is... I'm not perfect. Just like anyone else."

Patton nodded. "And those imperfections..." He started to reach him but the back of his hand was covered in bright green splotches and he yanked it back before Thomas could spot them. Janus, however, did. "Those imperfections don't make us any less worthy of love." Throat tight with panic, Patton managed to croak out, "Janus?"

He had to get out of there before he got worse.

"I'll take care of him," Janus murmured, tilting his face to show more of his scales. If anyone would understand, it was him.

Nodding his thanks, Patton sank out and stood in the Mindscape hallway. All the doors were closed, with only a thin light spilling up onto the floor from the stairwell nightlight. The gap under his own door was dark, its usual honeyed glow dimmed. He reached for the doorknob, the cold metal impossibly small in his grip. Patton flipped both hands over. The skin between his fingers had stretched up to his middle knuckles, thin and growing a near-transluscent green. He touched his door and it warmed against his skin, the light beneath growing, inviting him in to huddle under the covers with a mug of hot cocoa and his stuffies and just forget this awful day.

"Oh, Roman, thank god you don't have a mustache." Janus' pain sizzled, scalding Patton's skin and he took a half step back, nearly bumping into Thomas' blinds. "Otherwise, between you and Remus, I wouldn't know who the evil twin is." Patton didn't know where to look. When neither of them leapt to his defense, Roman's heart screamed for him, begging Morality to banish Deceit back to the shadows. But Thomas… Thomas shared Janus' hurt. He stared at Roman, shocked that his Princely Side would stoop so low as to insult another of his Side's name. Again. Roman's hurt turned to outrage. "Are you guys seriously going to take his side?" "N-No, I—" "Over me?" "Wh- he-" Patton drowned on Roman's tears. "Thomas... I thought I was your hero..." "Y-" His eyes flicked over to Janus. "You are!" The Protective Side had long ago given up hope of becoming Thomas' hero and even he couldn't hide how much that hurt. Not from Patton, at least. But this was no time for sarcasm and both he and Patton knew it. Eyes downcast, he nodded at Roman, confirming Thomas spoke no lies. "Huh." So ready to believe the worst from him, he couldn't hear Janus' honesty. "Wow. I can't believe this. Did you forget that he's evil?!—" 'If I'm evil, then so is Thomas…'

Patton really needed check on him first. Tugging at his too-tight collar, he turned to Roman's room.

The ache in his chest deepened the closer he got to the gilded red door and he heard Roman's crying before he could even knock. "Ro? Kiddo? Can I come in?" Patton called through the door.

Virgil answered and stood in the doorway. Patton peered past him, just making out Roman's boots tossed haphazardly on the floor, the Princely Side curled on the bed, back to him. Frowning up at Patton, Virgil shook his head and wordlessly closed the door.

"Yeah, um…" Patton said to the red lacquered wood. "Maybe later?" he added, hope cracking in his voice. Just in case Roman changed his mind, he stood shivering in the hall an unreasonably long time. Eventually, the Prince's tears quieted and the flickering glow of the television flitted under the door. Nodding, Patton stepped back. Virgil had him.

Logan's door stood a few steps away. Rubbing the back of his neck, he made his way over. The silver constellations carved and painted into the dark navy wood had lost a bit of their sheen but the splintered edges had recently begun to stitch themselves back together and the heavy pewter door knocker had been recently polished.

Hand outstretched to knock, Patton noticed the blooming green splotches all over the back of his hand and arms and he yanked his catigan from his shoulders. He squeezed into it, the material stretching to its limit to fit around his suddenly broader shoulders, thumbs tucked into their little holes the only thing keeping the sleeves from riding up and revealing his now completely green arms. He pulled the hood up, tugging at it to try to cover where his hair had dissolved into smooth green flesh.

It didn't quite fit, but it was better. Maybe. He hoped.

Patton knocked and the door quickly opened.

Remus glared up at him, one hand on the door, the other still clutching a roll of gauze. Neck half-bandaged, Logan sat on the edge of his bed. He turned away when he saw who was at the door.

"I thought…" Patton stepped closer, reaching for Logan without thinking but Remus held his ground, jaw tight. Patton stepped back, fingers twisting together. "Sorry," he mumbled. "But I thought we couldn't be harmed by things with no real-world impact. I… Janus' crook is…"

"A metaphor?" Logan finished from his spot on the bed. He still wouldn't look in Patton's direction.

"Well…" Patton shrugged, his catigan growing tighter as Logan's room got just that much smaller. "Yeah."

Rolling his eyes, Remus returned to Logan's side. "Skipping Thomas' logical contributions happened in real-life, Daddy Frog Legs." He moved to reveal the bright red and blue bruising along Logan's jaw. "There's your impact."

"Oh," Patton whispered, stumbling backwards over too-large feet. He ended up in the hallway, once again facing Remus. He tugged his catigan hem down over his belly, hearing the stitches stretch and pop.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Remus turned and closed the door. As it clicked shut, Patton's clothes grew, once again falling comfortably over his cartoonishly large frame. "Um, thank you," he called back and tucked both hands into the big front pocket, shivering in the empty hallway.

Moving further down the hall, Patton hurried past Lucas' room, the rusty orange paint cracked and peeling. The door rattled but he ignored it. He couldn't even hear it. Nope, couldn't hear any—

"Isn't denial my job, Morality?" Janus murmured from the top of the stairs.

Patton hopped in surprise and whipped around. Janus stood, relaxed, leaning with one elbow resting on the railing. A feigned casualness belied by eyes that never left his. "Shouldn't someone be with Thomas?" he asked, eyes swiveling to Roman and Logan's doors.

Janus nodded slowly. "Yes. He's asked for you. Besides…" Golden eyes darted over to Logan's door. "I have some apologies of my own to make."

"You mean for impersonating Logan again?"

Face a stiff mask, Janus waved his hand in a failed distraction from the guilt sizzling between them. "That, and…"

The Sides' hurt from Janus' dig about the 'evil twin' clawed at Patton's throat. Roman's outrage. Janus' pained contrition. And, softer, but just as caustic, the sharp stab from Remus when he heard. By the time Patton caught his breath, Janus had already slipped into Logan's room, the lock clicking quietly into place. Alone again, Patton felt Thomas' call and he sank down, emerging in Thomas' bedroom.

Well, the hall just outside Thomas' bedroom. Door open wide, soft warm light spilled out into the hallway. Patton tapped the door frame. "Knock, knock," he asked more than said. "Can I come in, Tomathy?"

Wrapped in a plush flannel blanket, Thomas sat curled in the big armchair next to the window. A steaming mug of hot chocolate, a tall glass of fizzy water, and a Switch paused on the Splatoon loading screen crowded his nightstand. His phone was turned off and set on the charger, along with his watch. "Janus has really been taking good care of you, huh, Kiddo?"

Guilt washed over Thomas' features and he eyed his phone. He started to rise, the blanket falling to the floor. "I should turn it back on, shouldn't I? Quil was working on their portfolio and they might need help. I haven't heard from Joan in a while either—"

Patton led him back to his seat and pressed the mug of hot chocolate into his hands. "No, Kiddo, no! That's not what I meant. It's… It's good." He pressed a smile onto his face and hid his green fingers back into his catigan pocket. "It's good he's taking care of you—that you're taking care of you. I… I'm glad." Stepping back, he swallowed against the lump in his throat, lips pressed hard against the weird little clicking ribbit pushing up. "I'm glad he could take care of you when I couldn't. To… to protect you. Y'know…" His tongue felt too large for his mouth. "Protect you from me."

Thomas set down the mug and really looked up at him. His eyes fell over his hulking shoulders and the way his knees bounced even as he stood still. "Pat?" he asked and scooted over in his seat. "C'mere, buddy."

Eyeing the cozy spot next to him, Patton shook his head and perched on the side of Thomas' bed instead. He pretended he couldn't see the hurt in Thomas' big puppy dog eyes. Fingers curled under his palms, he folded his hands in his lap. "Dee—Janus said you asked for me," he said after a while.

Thomas nodded and folded his legs up in the chair, knees hugged close to his body. "Yeah, Pat… We… we should talk."

Lips pressed together, Patton nodded. When he noticed Thomas watching him, he painted on a bright grin. "Sure thing, Kiddo."

"Pat?" Thomas reached for his hand, smiling when Patton tentatively reached back and folded his sleeve-covered hand over his. "Pat, I think we're past pretending nothing happened back there."

Patton started to shrink back but Thomas held tight to his hand. "You… You're right." Mouthing opening and closing, faint wordless popping sounds the only noise he could make. Patton nodded again and sucked in a deep breath.

"Take your time, Buddy," Thomas finally said. "I'm not really sure where to start apologizing, either." He hung his head, shoulders hunched and tight as he avoided Patton's gaze.

Patton shifted, scrunching his socks with long, webbed toes. He drew in another shaky breath, watching Thomas do the same. Guilt churned in his guts and he let go of Thomas' hand to wrap both arms over his belly, hugging himself.

Thomas copied his action.

"Hey, Kiddo…" Patton began and Thomas' head jerked up, eyes wide. Scared.

"Yeah, Pat?"

"Ki—Thomas," Patton tried again, inhaling slowly, Virgil's voice counting their breaths echoing through his memory. "I'm feeling really guilty for what I did to you." He spoke as plainly as he could, Janus' cryptic nod and Romain's despairing sink out of the living room playing on a loop through his mind. "You don't need to feel guilty."

"It's kinda hard not to, Pat," Thomas shrugged, still not quite meeting his gaze. "You're at the core of a lot of my feelings, right?"

Nodding, Patton silently counted to four as he inhaled.

"I think it goes both ways for us."

Recalling all the nights he'd spent comforting Virgil or Thomas after a nightmare—or after a real-life disaster—Patton slowly nodded again. "Maybe it would help if…" Patton had no clue if his idea would even work or if it would just make Thomas feel even worse. Logan would know. Eyes flicking over to the corner spot next to Logan's bedroom spot in front of Thomas' framed degree, he shuddered. How many more times would Logan forgive him? How many more times would he need Logan to forgive him?

Sour guilt flooded his chest, rising up into a very clear, very loud "Riiiiib—bit!"

Thomas had curled into himself, eyes faraway. "Kiddo, let's try something different."

The hand that reached for him was a little less green than it had been when he'd first arrived at Thomas' door and he threaded their fingers together. With a gentle tug, he pulled Thomas up to his feet and wrapped both arms around him. After a long moment, Thomas hugged him back, face buried in the thick fleece catigan. He'd gotten closer to his regular size but still the top of Thomas' head barely grazed his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Thomas," he whispered, voice catching in his throat. "I'm sorry for everything."

"It's okay, I—" Muffled by his shoulder, Thomas' sob broke free and he gripped Patton tighter. "I just want—I want…" Patton rubbed his back as he shook with another sob. "I want to make you proud."

Pushing down another awful ribbet, Patton whispered. "Oh, Kiddo, you do!"

Shaking with relief—and exhaustion—Thomas leaned against him and Patton stood tall, lips pressed tightly together. But then Thomas hugged him tighter and the words spilled out. "It's all I want, too."

To his own ears, Patton's voice burst out in a croak but Thomas didn't seem to mind. He only hugged him closer and nodded. "You do, Pat, all the time."

With that, the dam broke and his own tears rushed out, wetting Thomas' hair and his own arms and hands. His green splotches faded under each drop, and the guilt clawing up his throat softened, spilling out with his tears. Soon, both their tears had soaked through the catigan, turning the light grey a mottled charcoal. Patton pulled back, letting out a choked laugh when he realized he once again stood eye-to-eye with Thomas.

"Maybe I don't need this right now?" Swimming in the soggy fleece, Patton needed Thomas' help to disentangle himself. Working carefully, they peeled away the heavy fleece and gently laid it at the foot of the bed to dry. Back in short sleeves, Patton shivered, but not a speck of green was to be seen.

"C'mon, Pat." Thomas smiled and pulled him over to the arm chair before covering both of them with his blanket. "Let's warm up," he said, lifting his hot chocolate. A similar mug this one in bright green on a red saucer, sat behind it. "Hey, look—" Thomas passed him the steaming mug. "I think this one's for you."

Wordlessly accepting the cup, Patton marveled at the twins' colors, the buzz of their creative magic familiar and welcome against his fingers, comfortably warm in his hands. He peered into the cup, a smile tugging at his lips when the ripples in the cup briefly spelled out, Please sleep soon. Nodding his assent, he sniffed the steam. Rich and chocolatey, he picked up a bit of peppermint and vanilla. It smelled good. It smelled right.

"Cheers?" Thomas asked, raising his cup.

Smiling back at him, Patton clinked their cups together. "Cheers."

#sanders sides #the sleepy bean fanfic cafe #c!thomas #ts patton #patton sanders #ts janus #janus sanders #other sides briefly #ts roman #ts remus #ts logan #ts virgil #sanders sides fanfiction

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silvercap · 9 months ago

Note

Blindfold and buried for the drabbles? (Chris w/chreon or if you don't feel it, Leon instead :3)

Oooooh for sure! (Prompts)

Blindfold/Buried

Chris can't see anything around the blindfold tied securely over his eyes, a second length of fabric pulling awkwardly on his jaw where they've tied it far too tightly into a makeshift gag, his wrists bound similarly in front of him. He stumbles, bare foot landing on the sharpness of what must be a rock or stick with a flare of bright pain that makes him stifle a groan. The wind is cool on his bare arms and calves, grimy underwear and muscle tank the only things still defending him from the elements, a shiver running through him as it brushes past bruises and wounds they've done nothing to treat. Chris grunts as muscled arms shove him forward again, dizzied by the lack of visuals to balance him.

"Move it, soldier, I don't have all fucking day," a voice sneers behind him, the man who's been overseeing his imprisonment every so often. Chris still doesn't know who he's associated with, the people who'd captured him an unfamiliar group who'd had access to BOWs that weren't included in the mission briefing. All he knows is that they've been less than welcoming. Anxiety twists in Chris's gut as he's frog marched forward, the vague sloping of the ground beneath him making him think they're leading him up a hill. He can't help but imagine it dropping off into a cliff or steep ravine, hoping against hope that they're not taking him up here just to break him with a fall. He hopes they'll just execute him quickly, if it comes to that.

It's not long before they slam him to a halt, yanking him backwards before he can take another step.

"Right here, Captain," a second voice drawls sardonically, and then Chris finds himself being forced to step down onto what feels like a wooden platform. They force him to his knees and then make him lie down, wooden edges scraping his shoulders and feet that tell him he's in some sort of box barely big enough to accommodate his bulk. Distress twists in his stomach. Whatever this is, it can't be good, but he's not sure what---

The blindfold is ripped away with brutal speed, the bright gray sky above blinding Chris for a moment. He blinks. Two faces loom over him, both of whom he recognizes from the compound they'd been keeping him in. He shivers, watching them grin.

"Don't worry, now, you were going to end up in the ground anyways," the scarred one says cryptically, and it's then that Chris notices with icy epiphany the dirt piled up around the edges of the coffin they've laid him in. He whimpers involuntarily, starting to sit up---but the other man steps on his shoulder with a boot and Chris is too weak from days of starvation to resist. His eyes widen. He works the gag in his mouth, trying to plead, bargain, anything at all, but the men just exchange smirks. "Might wanna hold your breath."

The scarred man lifts what looks like a long, rectangular board, and Chris can only watch in horror as he lowers the end towards the boards by Chris's feet. The second man lifts his boot, and the first drops the rest of the board into place, sealing Chris in tight darkness that steals the breath from his lungs. He shudders, fighting not to hyperventilate as nails pound into the mildew-scented wood from above, eyes squeezing shut when dirt begins to thunder onto the surface.

God, he never thought it'd end this way. Chris's heart aches at the thought of Claire, of Jill, of Leon, the panicked realization that he'll never be found four feet underground in a random forest in a foreign country bringing tears to his eyes. One falls as the last muted shovelful scoops dirt over his grave, and then there's only silence.

Locked in the dark, chest barely an inch away from the roof of his prison, Chris screams.

#hehe #my fics #whump #ask game #resident evil #drabbles #thanks for the ask!!

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linksthoughtbrambles · 14 days ago

Text

Rock-Wrapping-Bokoblin-Acolyte-Knight

Chapter 2 of The Horizon Cannot Come to Me. Also on ao3. (BotW Pre-Calamity deserted island AU, will be rated E eventually).

-------

The moonlit waves were not alone in their possession of silver linings.

Her ankle had one of its own: The more it swelled, the more easily it kept her awake, and sleeplessness came with yet another benefit—the unprecedented opportunity to examine her sleeping knight.

She’d not intended to, of course. She’d accepted a lookout’s responsibilities. Yet her gaze kept grazing his sleeping form as it swept over the beach, and as the area grew less shadowy, his stark lines became more difficult to miss.

He was quite slim—odd, for a knight. He seemed more so without his customary attire. She couldn’t see his ribs. Muscle played over them, rising and falling even breaths.

On her next visual sweep, she found the Moon had cut the divots beside his kneecaps and the edges of each leg muscle in sharp relief.

You need a good source of protein, Princess.

So did he—more so, if he was to maintain that strength.

Ferns swayed in the calm breeze, black with a flickering sheen like wet ink. A nocturnal frog blurted a carefree call. Others warbled their answer, and they soon seemed to be talking among themselves. Link’s face remained slack and peaceful.

One side of Zelda’s mouth pulled in a lackluster grimace. Would that he were so relaxed in wakefulness. He might allow her to relieve herself without scaring her halfway to Hylia’s skies.

Cold sweat arrived on her skin. How would she relieve herself in her current condition? The last thing she wanted was Link’s help with that.

Perhaps she could crawl?

Her face twisted in imagined mortification. Link would have a superb view of her rear until she disappeared among the bushes.

Her eyes shot to the stretchy fabric at his hip as though compelled to even the score. She began to follow the prevalent line of his hipone—then she jerked her head up. That would be decidedly unprincessely of her. She studied his feet, instead. His pinky-toes were angled a bit inward, and Zelda found herself ruminating on her unaccountable surprise upon noticing it.

He shifted in his sleep with a snuffle, his cheek coming to rest on his palm and his back angling more groundward, his other hand coming to rest at his navel.

It didn’t look particularly comfortable.

Zelda fiddled with the spare paraglider cloths at her side, considering whether she could slip a paraglider pillow beneath his head as he’d done for her. Then she considered the potential consequences of startling a knight of the realm awake in the dark. Granted, he’d lost his sword, but if he could haul that rock down the beach, he could likely dispatch her with ease bare-handed. He clearly had no such reservations regarding her, but Zelda wasn’t a soldier.

Zelda took to staring at the starry sky, only a little disgusted with herself.

Link slept right through the birds’ spectacular racket at sunrise. As the day settled into blue skies and white sands at the ocean’s edge, the redness on Link’s skin shot vicarious pain down Zelda’s haunches. She winced with each glance at his chest and shoulders, but most especially his cheekbones.

The Slate read 9:26 am when he jolted, jerked his head up, and flew into a lunge, as one awaiting the start of a race.

“Be at ease, Sir Link. All is well,” Zelda said.

He hovered, blinking at her as though trying to erase some lingering dream-vision.

Zelda set the Slate aside in favor of the carefully rolled pink-spotted-egg cloth. “Here,” she said.

He stared at it.

“I hesitated to disturb your sleep. If you find this adequate, please use it next time.” She held it out to him.

He stared at it, expression oddly flat even for him. By the time he reached out to accept it, the muscle in Zelda’s forearm was burning.

“Thank you, Princess,” he said, extremely quiet. He placed the makeshift pillow where his head had recently been. “You- should have…”

She waited.

He didn’t look at her. His hand rose to press loose-fisted to his upper lip and nose. The slight wrinkle between his eyebrows betrayed his frown.

One of Zelda’s eyebrows arched. “I also highly recommend the chuchu jelly. For your- face. And shoulders. …And chest.” She cleared her throat.

He rose, dusting himself off. Zelda assured her eyes remained politely elsewhere as he reached for the jelly-bowl, though by the sound of it, he was slathering himself liberally.

She ought to return his clothing soon. Surely her own things were dry by now, though her current state would make changing a challenge.

“I’ll find us breakfast,” he said.

As he walked off, Zelda’s need for sleep closed her eyes for her. A painful throb reopened them. She reached for the remaining chuchu jelly. She could no longer consider it cold, but slightly cool was better than nothing.

She should have asked him to store the rest of it in that fantastical pouch of his.

The thought paused her. She shrunk, leaning back on the palms of her hands til her shoulders neared her earlobes. She would not ask him to do anything unecessary for her. She was fine. Uncomfortable? Yes—but fine.

She settled down to nap until Link’s return.

She awoke to shortened palm-shadows, two bananas, and a cracked palm nut near her head. She gulped its water gratefully, apparently parched.

He was at his flat rock again, his champion’s tunic protecting his torso from the sun (a small, relieved sigh left her). He was fiddling with a befuddling selection of rocks, placing one, then another strategically atop the flat one in size-order. She shook her head.

What in Hyrule (or outside of it) was he doing?

He backed up and stood with his knees bent and arms outstretched, peering at his creation from various angles. It gave her the impression of a curious bokoblin, and she huffed a laugh. It shifted her legs just enough to make her wince.

She lifted her once-more-distracting foot gingerly from its resting place atop her other ankle. The release of pressure beside the thickest tendon sent a flood of pain to the tips of her two smallest toes. She hissed and tried to rectify her error, but returning it groundward sent a shaft of pain behind her knee instead. Her littlest toe felt like a fat octorok balloon as she hovered, her calf in both hands, searching for some other item to prop her leg with. After far too long with her foot dangling painfully, she settled for resting the knee of the bad leg atop the other. It still hurt, but at least it was different.

She tested the chuchu jelly. Her fingertip came away covered in warm ooze. Zelda loosed a small, though unsurprised “uch” and searched for a suitable place to wipe it, settling on the side of the small boulder weighing down the rear of the lean-to.

She looked for the walking-stick-spear, thinking to test whether she could walk with its assistance, but it was nowhere in sight. He’d likely returned it to his pouch—which meant, once again, she’d have to ask for it. A many-tendrilled feeling sunk from her chest deep into the pit of her stomach. She didn’t feel up to sorting it out.

She peeled a banana and took up the Slate instead.

The mapping feature. She ought to have thought of it earlier!

Zelda swiped to the ever-frustrating blue grid, but for once, its lack of geographical information didn’t perturb her. She didn’t need topographics.

As always, a yellow arrow lay directly in the center of the screen. It faced roughly northward. Zelda eyed the trees’ shadows, cast over her toward Link, and nodded—direction established. Hemisphere also generally established. They’d left Hyrule, but they hadn’t gone so far as to flip the direction of sunlight.

And her father had believed her astronomical studies pointless!

Zelda’s face fell.

It’s not as though he would listen, were she to explain it to him.

She placed her thumb and index finger apart on the screen and slid them toward each other. The grid shrunk, more tiny squares appearing to fill in the edges. Aside from the arrow, it was still blank. She repeated the motion with the same result.

Thought lines appeared on her forehead.

She tried once more. Still, the screen remained blank but for the grid and arrow.

She’d little sense for how wide an area it currently showed, though she’d hoped to see the only other mark always present on the map: Purah’s guidance stone. The Slate had never forgotten its first interaction with the stone’s pedestal. She’d shown this to her father with wonder, that it could always be used to find the direction of the Royal Lab. He’d been underwhelmed.

At the very least, it had to be northward. Zelda swiped to pull the grid downward on screen. The little yellow arrow flew down, then bounced back up.

A deep crease appeared at her brow.

She tried swiping left—then right—then up and down again. In no direction would it move. She tried increasing the scale of the map again, and it allowed that—so she continued, expanding and expanding as though seeking to contain the entire world on the Slate’s shining screen. It did so each time without resistance. Yet her attempts to scroll east, west, north, or south of the grid kept bouncing the arrow stubbornly to the center.

She changed tactics, instead zooming in, her fingernails tapping the screen in rhythm. It stopped at some minimum size, and while the screen contained no further information, at least she knew there was area around her which she could scroll to.

She swiped her index finger rightward.

The arrow bounced back.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Link’s footsteps drew her eyes to his approaching feet. As she endeavored to concentrate, he deposited yet another rock beside the firepit: a long, thin, nearly-black one. His bare feet remained still, sand squished between those toes pointed toward her, and the skin on the back of Zelda’s neck began to prickle.

“Yes, Sir Link?” she asked, succumbing to distraction and raising her eyes to his. The tunic completely covered his shorts from the front. Her mouth attempted to twitch in amusement, but she tamped it, grateful his comedic attire negated the possibility of inappropriate eyelines.

He appeared to be examining her forehead.

Searching for signs of weakness, perhaps?

Zelda’s eyes lowered along with the Slate. When had she become so uncharitable?

‘It seems I’m the only one with a mind of my own!’

It was the first time his knight-face had cracked.

In her peripheral vision, his hands twitched toward her poorly-propped foot, then returned to dangle limp at his sides. She glanced at her injury. As usual, her focus had prevented her from feeling it so keenly, yet the swelling was perfectly obvious, as was the dried, translucent-white jelly she’d slathered it with repeatedly.

Zelda swallowed with a little difficulty. Her mouth was dry.

She wished he would say something.

A rustle and the sound of soft air from his nostrils signaled one of his curt nods. Then he trotted away to Zelda’s left. As she turned her head, he gripped the trunk of a tall palm tree, and much to her astonishment he began to shake it. Zelda became reluctantly fascinated with two sights: her knight’s unimposing body somehow forcing this far larger object to move, and the very top of the palm tree’s swaying trunk, where three fat palm fruits remained attached to their parent.

He tried fist-pounding next. His methods spun inquisitive thoughts (as most things did in Zelda); in the absence of sufficient data, she suspected the shaking’s low-frequency vibration was likely more effective than high-frequency shocks from his fists, but perhaps if he used a club—a lever arm would increase the force of his impact. She opened her mouth to say so.

She closed it.

Link puffed a little, squinting up at his unassuming quarry, and sprang at least four feet straight up to grasp the trunk. Zelda balked as he proceeded to scale the tree with very little apparent effort. The tree, however, continued to resist. As the trunk thinned toward the top, it bent under his weight and with one particular shift of his right arm, it swayed like the head of a spooked horse. Zelda gasped.

“Please!” she yelled.

He stopped, looking at her.

“Do not hurt yourself! There are other palms!”

He hung still another moment.

Then he wrapped both legs firm around the trunk and shook the thinner part near his head. Several wild motions like an unnaturally slow whip sent all three fruits popping off in succession. One fell straight downward, landing with a thump in the sand. The second flew somewhere away and down the beach. The third shot up, bounced off the tree and rolled conveniently toward Zelda. She didn’t even need to lean to catch it.

Link scurried down and dropped at least the last ten feet to the sand, his head snapping up at Zelda’s gasp.

Did he believe himself indestructible?

As she’d essentially just told him to be careful, she avoided a condescending repetition—but she watched him closely as he retrieved the other fruits. His jog seemed normal, but was he more able to fool her than she was him?

He returned to her side and began the disturbing process of ripping one of the fruits open. He tore off a solid half of the green husk first, then pulled out the nut. She resolved not to yelp at the now-expected crack, though she still winced. Link managed to catch almost all of the inevitably spilled water in the fruit’s outer peel.

“Here,” he said, offering her the mostly-unspilled half of the nut itself.

She stared, not at it, but at him.

He glanced at his offering, his blank face cracking a little.

It was his eyes, she decided. They widened just enough to let something other than efficiency through. What it was, exactly, she wasn’t sure.

She accepted the fruit. She’d become quite thirsty again, but she sipped slowly. Link gulped his portion from the green husk. He examined it when he’d finished, turning it over every which way. Then he set it down on his paraglider-mat.

His eyes resumed an unabashed study of her reddened ankle’s swollen outline. Zelda stopped sipping; the world seemed suddenly too quiet, as though the island had decided to eavesdrop. A shift of Zelda’s fingers rubbed palm-nut-fibers together. It might as well have been nails on slate.

Link’s eyes fell sandward, then flickered toward hers, just for a moment. Something about it seemed sheepish despite his schooled features. “I know you don’t- want…”

Zelda rested her laden hand at her chest.

The drop in his shoulders was bare milimeters. “Princess, can I look at that for you, please?”

She stared at him. Look at what?

For some reason, she didn’t say it.

For some reason, her eyes also stung. She shut them, rubbing one with the heel of her free palm.

It’s not as though she hadn’t known he knew.

“Please?” he repeated.

She took a calm sip of palm water, less and less willing to look up. Her chin had nearly met her collarbone when she nodded.

A soft hiss of shifting sand preceded the light brush of fingertips catching in an unfamiliar way on the stretched skin over her ankle. She gasped.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She opened her eyes to the sight of him intent, his nose mere inches from her foot and his fingers sliding along her skin, testing pressure. She gritted her teeth and set her water aside.

He placed the tips of two fingers just on either side of the joint’s apex and tapped. Zelda winced, but more from surprise than pain.

His palm slid to the center of her calf, and she gasped again.

“Is this alright?” he asked, suddenly hesitant. She found his eyes wider and somehow brighter blue, his head rearing just far enough back for her to notice.

The flutter behind her navel paralyzed her.

“If-“ he glanced at her shin- “if not-“

“It’s- fine, Knight.” She flinched.

He blinked at her, one side of his face pinching. It was the most expression she’d seen on him since those first few moments ashore. He moved slowly, sitting on his heels, then resting her foot in his lap. He adjusted his calf-grip, then palmed the bottom of her foot—and pushed.

“AaAah!” Zelda’s back arched, heels of her hands dug into the sand beneath the mat behind her.

“Sorry,” he said again, very softly. “It- doesn’t want to bend at all.”

“I’m aware,” she said, all air, but the fluttering returned when his hand slid up to support her calf again. If she could have slapped herself internally, she would have. What was wrong with her?

He lifted her leg, bending her knee so her foot was well over a foot above the ground. “How does this feel?”

She found his eyes.

It was a mistake.

She didn’t know what her own would betray, but embarassment was certainly in the mix. Her cheeks had grown hot, and worse yet—he noticed. His lips pressed together just enough for her to recognize it as sympathy.

The sympathy of He-Who-Seals-The-Darkness would be a poor substitute for Hylia’s blessing should the Calamity arrive.

“I’m- sorry, Princess. I thought-“ he put her leg down very gently, with her makeshift blanket jumbled beneath her knee. “I thought it would hurt less, up like that.”

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the fog. “Hurt- less?”

He nodded. “More elevation. For swelling.”

She allowed a flicker of hope that perhaps he merely thought he’d hurt her. “Perhaps- with time. It might.”

He studied the bend of her knee and nodded.

When he jogged off again, she wiped the backs of her wrists against both eyes. The palm-nut-half still waited, unspilled a few feet away. She drank it.

Within ten minutes, Link had begun packing the area beneath her knee, calf, and foot with vegetation: ferns, banana leaves, and palm leaves, mostly, with her blanket between her and them. Even so, they prickled at her skin. When he deemed the pile high enough, he shook out the jelly-leftovers and burst a second white chuchu blob. He applied it liberally and gently. Zelda suffered. Once finished, Link popped the open bowl into his pouch.

Zelda huffed out her nose. She supposed if time did not pass within, it could not spill.

“Later- once the jelly’s dry- it might be good to wrap it,” he said.

Zelda didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded.

All of the fuss made her feel especially foolish when she did, finally, have no choice but to relieve herself. She decided to preempt Link’s overreaction. He’d continued his mysterious endeavor, fiddling with an even smaller set of rocks and yet another cloth.

“I SHALL BE BACK SHORTLY!” she yelled down the beach.

“PRINCESS?”

“I’LL BE BACK!”

To her frustration, he began jogging toward her.

“Oh- for Hylia’s- I REQUIRE PRIVACY!”

He stopped in his tracks.

He was still looking at her.

“TURN AROUND!!” she yelled, miming a spinning motion with her entire right arm.

He did. Then he turned back.

“No- NO, STAY THAT WAY!” She waggled her index finger in the direction of the ocean.

His hands spread at hip-height again.

This was clearly Link-speak. Shrug-but-not-shrug. Perhaps this entire situation was, in fact, encased in a silver lining. Her knight had little choice but to communicate with her here. This was her chance to learn what his plethora of previous silences meant.

He faced the ocean and craned his neck over his shoulder at her.

“DO. NOT. LOOK!” she tried.

His head jerked higher. Then he faced the ocean.

Another silver lining: she could indulge in a sour face as she rolled from her mat and leaf-pile and crawled into the tree line. A quick check over her shoulder showed him still standing, perfectly straight, still, and facing outward just as he would on guard at her chamber door.

He hadn’t moved an inch when she returned.

She sifted appropriate restroom-guard-dismissal words, finally shouting, “THANK YOU, SIR LINK!”

He nodded and jogged toward his rocks.

Zelda tapped the blue grid on the screen yet again directly over her location. She set the pin again—and it again failed to appear with a descending chime like an overlarge disappointed mockingbird.

She thought she’d had it!

She knew approximately the smallest area ever shown on the map grid thanks to her frequent Royal Lab visits. At the very least, setting two pins would therefore have given her a sense of scale. Yet the slate would not even allow her to set one!

She allowed a frustrated growl to escape, setting the Slate aside. She rubbed at her forehead, then her temples. Her eyes—and mind—needed a rest.

Link, it seemed, had draped his dark cloth atop the squat tower of rocks he’d stacked on the large, flat one. It had piqued her curiosity more as it became more reminiscent of some manner of ritual. Perhaps it was, indeed, an altar. He might intend to pray for their rescue.

He proceeded to poke the section of cloth stretched between the top and middle rocks. It made her nearly-smile again. Rock-Wrapping-Bokoblin-Acolyte-Knight could be imagined to be quite different from Statue-Standing-In-Her-Hallway-Knight.

She tore her eyes from the scene before it could delude her further, instead beginning the onerous task of examining the mysterious code governing the Slate’s map and its elusive pins.

It was difficult to concentrate. She finally unpeeled the second banana.

Link had apparently caught a decently-sized bass with his bare hands, gutted it, and cleaned it while she’d been too absorbed to notice. Her stomach squealed as it roasted. It turned out flaky and delicious. He’d even seasoned it with rock salt.

It made her lack of progress all the more disheartening, though she thanked Link for his efforts. Her body certainly approved of the sustenance.

Link had long since finished his portion. He sat watching the fire quietly. It struck Zelda that other than rest far into the previous night, he’d barely been still for three days. It drew her gaze to his myserious creation down the slope. “What are you making?” she asked.

He turned toward her, his hands raising a little as though to ward her off.

Zelda’s brow pinched.

“I-“ Link said.

She took another small bite of skewered fish-meat.

“I don’t know what to call it.”

She stopped mid-chew. “Oh?”

His hands were now suspended at his midriff, fingers spread and palms down. “It’s… for making water.”

Her skewer-hand fell into her lap. Her chin dropped with it. “…Making… water?”

He nodded.

She peered around him again, examining his cloth-contraption with this new illumination. Stacks of rocks. What shape were they? She hadn’t looked carefully enough.

A wide, flat, dark rock, to get hot in the sun?

She slid a wrinkled part of her paraglider mat between her thumb and fingerpads. What kind of material was it? It wasn’t absorbant. Was it coated, perhaps?

A cover, to collect condensation?

She gaped at her knight.

Then she shut her jaw with a skeptical squint at him. She was getting ahead of herself.

“I know,” he said.

Her eyes widened. Hylia forbid he could see her thoughts that clearly-

“It seems silly,” he said. “This place probably gets plenty of rain, and there’s the little pool and waterfall back there.” He swallowed. Zelda opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t notice (his eyes were on his lap). “But we can’t boil that water without some kind of cookpot, and I haven’t found anything good for that yet, and I don’t have one, and there’s no guarantee about the rain- though a rain catcher’s next on my list- and if the palms run out, without water we’re dead in three days, so it was the highest priority. I have a lot of milk, though.”

Zelda’s mouth was still open. He’d never interrupted her before.

He’d clasped his hands firmly between his knees.

“You… have milk?”

He nodded. “And some… apple cider.”

Zelda stared at the press of his lips, set as though he once more expected to be in some manner of trouble, and the world seemed to take a sudden tip. It realigned into some unfamiliar orientation, conforming to her more-strange-than-expected knight’s rock-piles, emergency jelly, meat pies, and nervous rambling entirely at odds with- him.

Apple cider?

The hand holding her mostly-eaten fish-skewer pressed to her belly as it insisted on spasming with silent laughter. She couldn’t even look at him. Sand shifted, and she felt his knees hit the mat nearer to her.

“Princess?!I Are you alright?”

She managed to open bleary eyes enough to see his hands hovering with uncertainty before her.

“Bokoblin, indeed!” She blurted, then burst into full-on belly laughter. Tears followed, but while she’d never intended even to smile at Sir-Knight-Who-Seals-The-Darkness, tears of laughter, she felt, were entirely justified in the presence of He-Who-Hoards-Various-Liquids.

She struggled to form words through the throes of laughter. “W- when- did you find- the time- to collect all of it?”

His face spawned a new slew of uncontrollable spasms.

“I- can buy milk.”

“Indeed, Knight? Do you make secret deals on our travels? Perhaps accept clandestine delivery of- of-“ she shook- “milk bottles- by night, while I sleep? Do you sneak from my chamber door to pilfer cider from the castle kitchens- or, Hylia forbid, the unsuspecting citizens of Castle Town?”

His hands were still outstretched, but palm-up now, in yet another Link-style-shrug—but this time, he was almost smiling.

Almost.

It was almost a real smile. Whatever it was reached his eyes, this time, though she’d never seen an actual smile on him.

The thought finally tamped her laughter. She balanced on her haunches (tricky with her elevated leg) to use her fish-free hand to knuckle away the wetness on her eyelids. “Forgive me, Sir Link.” One more short huff escaped her. “You’d said you had more than you should.”

He seemed sheepish.

“I approve of your water-making idea,” she said.

This time, his face visibly brightened.

Zelda almost smiled at that.

------

(Chapter 3 in hopefully not too long).

Follow this link for my masterlist.

#botw #fanfiction #pre-calamity #deserted island AU #legend of zelda #romance #humor #slow burn

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