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ceesimz · 4 days ago

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despair in the departure lounge

everybody's had an airport crush at least once in their life.

You weren’t one for flying. Definitely not.

It just didn’t make sense to you how a tin can that heavy could glide through the clouds like it was nothing. And for food to be prepared on it somehow? It was enough to send shivers down your spine at the mere thought of it.

Over time, though, you found a solution that worked for you. A ritual, of sorts.

Drink just enough to take the edge off, to toe the line of sober and tipsy, but not so much that anyone would notice. Enough to smile politely and not manically, enough to walk in a straight (ish) line– otherwise known as, to you, the sweet spot between functional and thoughtless.

Hence, being posted up in the airline lounge at London Heathrow, a chilled glass of wine – hopefully the first of several – on the table in front of you. You had practically moved in; armchair claimed, bags unzipped haphazardly for no reason, phone charging desperately, and other varieties of personal debris scattered across the area around. And yet, you still had two hours to go until your flight, thanks to some biblical rain as well as a threat of more to come.

Just what you needed to ease your nerves.

So you started drinking your wine, nervous sips large enough to give you heartburn before you even begin walking to your gate when the time finally comes. Or if.

The lounge was fairly quiet, but that only added to your unease really. Nothing but the clink of steel against ceramic and the muffled murmur of countless languages. Everyone around you looked important in their formal outfits to your… tracksuit. You were the picture of nerves, entire demeanour screaming ‘I don’t know how I ended up here’, though that was the least of your concerns. No, instead, you couldn’t concentrate on anything but the looming threat of your imminent demise in that dreaded tin can you were soon to embark on. An airborne death trap, one could call it.

You finished your first glass concerningly quick, and an ever-so-polite lounge employee came along to whisk it away the moment you placed the empty glass back on the table. You offered an attempt, at least, of a smile, though it probably looked quite pained, before ducking your head in embarrassment as you reached into your bag. Your goal in mind? Trying to feign confidence along with your liquid courage, and that was with a book. Everyone with a book in their hand at an airport always seemed so effortless in their travel, so you’d brought it as some kind of keepsake of those you’d seen before, hoping it might have the same effect on you as it did them.

It was more of an obligation than a belief it would calm you, really. And besides, the destination you were heading to wasn’t exactly the sort you packed books for.

Ibiza.

Honestly. Even months on from RSVP’ing a hesitant yes to your friend’s birthday weekend, you still kicked yourself for accepting the offer. A weekend of alcohol and partying and, the part you dreaded the most, hangovers. You really weren’t sure what part of Ibiza was supposed to be fun.

Outside the low-key lounge, the airport had that same distant hum as the party towns of Ibiza, bustling like it always did as Europe’s busiest; inside, however, was a different story. It was calm, slow-moving, worlds apart from the chaos outside the glass doors. Quiet too, save for the occasional burst of foreign conversations and the battering of fingers against laptop keyboards.

All you did was watch, observe. It was the only part of airports you genuinely liked. The people, the endless stream of strangers coming and going, each with a whole life outside the terminal. It made you feel small and insignificant, in a way. Like your own life was on pause as you moved from one country to another with hundreds of other lives, also momentarily on pause.

You just didn’t expect that little bubble of people-watching to be broken by one person you hadn’t yet noticed.

“Excu-” A woman interrupted herself with an unsure clearance of her throat. “Excuse me?”

Nor were you expecting such a jaw-droppingly attractive face behind the voice either.

She spoke delicate English, an accent there you couldn’t quite identify. Internally, you challenged yourself to see how long it’d take you to figure it out.

“Hi! Can I help you?”

You looked at this woman properly, and found her to be decked head-to-toe in Nike gear, aside from the fairly extravagant sunglasses perched on the top of her head even though there was literally no reason to bring them to London. The weather, initially, was always underwhelming. And there were so many people of fame and notoriety in London that there wasn’t any reason at all for someone as similarly insignificant as you to try and blend in.

Not that she wasn’t physically insignificant (quite the opposite, really) but rather, everyone that ended up in London thought they were someone. When as a matter of fact they were just another person on the tube.

“Um, can I, uh, use your- your… ugh. No sé cómo se dice en inglés.” She muttered the last part to herself, and your challenge was abruptly over. Spanish. “Cargador de móvil?”

You stared blankly at her. Half out of misunderstanding, half out of awe.

Her eyes–

“Sorry, eh, that?”

You snapped out of your daze and followed her line of sight when she gestured to something.

“Ohh! My phone charger?”

The relieved smile she replied with was far too dazzling for the simple task of overcoming a language barrier. Then, she held her phone up, clicking the on switch a couple times before dropping her arm to her side with a sigh.

“Gone. It will not turn on.” The brunette woman declared with a disappointed shake of her head, a dramatic thing for what was merely a common mishap.

“Gone?” You teased, unplugging your phone which had a sufficient amount of charge for now, and handing it to her.

“Yes, and I need to do a call.” She explained as she plugged her phone in and the Apple logo came up a second later. “Thank you. It is important.”

“Sit, if you’d like. You don’t have to stand for it. I won’t listen in, I promise.”

You grinned at her, which she met with one of her own, if not a little sheepish on her behalf. Then, she sat down in the armchair opposite, slumping back into it and expecting at least the slightest bounce back.

It did not.

A noise, some sort of cross between a grunt and a high-pitched squeal or surprise, left her lips that had you desperately attempting to stifle your laughter.

“Not very comfortable, are they?” You commented, to which she threw you an unimpressed but light look.

“These are… really bad.”

There was a comical amount of concern in her voice, matched by the frown to her eyebrows as she shifted to try and find a bearable position in the chair. It caused the laughter to bubble out of you, a sound that halted her in her search and caught her by surprise. Her eyebrows dug themself out of their pit and shot up her forehead, one leg crossing over the other whilst you let out a breath of amusement and rubbed a hand over your face.

“You pay so much for a ticket, a little extra for the lounge, and they don't even bother putting at least a tiny bit of cushion in their cushions.” She chuckled a few times herself, though her gaze was still hung up on your face, a small sense of disbelief settling within her.

“Pero…” She began with a cheeky smirk. In her pause, the same lounge employee from earlier placed a significantly large glass of wine on the table between you. “They bring wine. Very big.”

“Don’t judge me, I’m a nervous passenger.” You grumbled, reaching desperately for it and taking a sip.

The smirk didn't leave her face as she watched you drink, eyes conveying something you couldn't quite put your finger on. Until her phone screen lit up with life again, and she reached for it instantly. Her fingers tapped away at it, a small concentrated scowl on her face, before raising the device to her ear.

You assumed, since she looked like a rather important person with her Louis Vuitton duffle bag and expensive sunglasses, that she was taking an equally important phone call, which would explain the dire need for a phone charger. The real outcome, however, was actually a pleasant surprise. And a tad funny.

“Hola, mami.”

Unfortunately, you couldn't help the humoured smirk on your face, something she noticed mid-sentence and waved you off at, with a raise of her eyebrows again for good measure.

The unknown woman slipped into something that sounded similar to Spanish but not quite, though it was far too fast for you to make an ounce of sense to it. You also said you wouldn't eavesdrop, which you were trying not to do, but the way she addressed her mother with such softness and admiration in her tone, it was hard not to concentrate on how endearing she was.

In an attempt to not do exactly that, you turned your attention back to the book on your lap. Except, you were a hundred or so pages into it and could hardly remember the title of it, nevermind the story itself. Still, you began reading it for the first time since stepping into the lounge, all whilst the woman across from you continued speaking in a quiet, gentle tone that was all too distracting.

Your eyes trailed along every letter on the page in front of you, re-reading every paragraph three times over before moving on out of boredom. You weren’t retaining a single bit of it. Not with the way she spoke across from you. Letting out shy chuckles every so often, thumb twisting the ring on her middle finger of the same hand as she spoke. Continuously addressing her mother with unparalleled levels of adoration. It was special.

You had no idea what she was saying, but it felt like an invasion of her privacy. So you tried not to do that, tried your best to remind yourself that anybody could be attractive on a second glass of wine and stressed like hell with the burden of travelling. Simple things like talking to one’s mother is something many people would find charming, and your situation of being stranded in an airport was just a case of… exceptional circumstances. Everybody gets airport crushes, and this was simply a bit of Stockholm syndrome.

But that’s the thing with airports. They’re the one place you can meet someone for five minutes and remember them forever, or not at all. It was nothing more than a waiting room, in the end. Nothing here was real.

“Sí, mami, et truco quan aterri... I t’escric abans d’enlairar-me... Sí, mami. T’estimo... T’estimo molt, molt... Fins ara... Adéu. Adéu.”

You could imagine the voice on the other side of the call, that of a mother full of love for her daughter and the endless demands that never wilt with age. The woman welcomed them with only an amused smile and more words you couldn’t make sense of but could imagine their importance all the same. She tapped away at her phone for a little while longer, and you ‘returned’ to your book.

That time, you actually managed to read a few pages, before being interrupted once more.

“I am hungry. You want… Do you want anything too?” She wondered politely.

“No, I’m fine with my very big wine, thank you.” You replied with a smile, and she grinned in amusement before walking away, grin not faltering the slightest bit as she went.

As you cast your eyes back down to your lap, you felt a sudden heat to your cheeks. A heat that you guessed probably had a red and pink tinge to it. A blush you had no business to blush. Well shit.

You stole a quick glance over to where she stood at the bar, one knuckle tapping on the wood top as she spoke to the person behind it. A bottle of beer was placed in front of her, its cap flicking off and performing a wobbling spin before settling. She took a swig and, upon the feeling of somebody watching her, turned to glance around the room.

Her eyes landed on you. The wondering stare lasted only a few seconds, but it felt so much longer. You saw the corner of her lips quirk up, and that same blush returned again, until the odd moment was broken when the person serving her placed a tray down. She lingered on you for just another second before turning away again. You did the same.

Not ten seconds later she came strolling back over like nothing had happened, bar the smugness to her body language as she sat down much more elegantly this time. Her food of choice, nachos. Along with a bottle of beer.

You don’t know what it was about her, but you couldn’t help yourself. It felt strangely natural with her, even though you didn’t even know her name.

“Nachos and beer? At 2pm?”

She paused, tortilla mid-way to her lips, mouth agape.

“You have wine. Right there.” She blinked. She got you with that one.

“I told you, I’m a nervous flyer. What’s your reason?” You retorted, reaching out to take a nacho from the tray. She watched your every movement with a glint in her eye.

“I do not have a lot of free time this summer, I have to make… make the most of my free time. Airports are made for beer.” She reached for her bottle as she spoke, taking a swig from it in a way that was far too alluring in such an un-alluring scenario. Delayed flights. Bad weather. 2pm. London Heathrow, for heaven’s sake.

“I’ll let you off then.” You stated, to which you were met with a raised eyebrow in response.

The silence between you lasted all of a few minutes. You read your book, and she let her eyes wander around the room, foot bouncing restlessly, as she ate and drank. Every so often, she would let out a hum, whether it was contentment or curiosity, you weren’t sure. But it was a habit of hers that had you fighting back a smile and distracted from your book, again.

So when she asked about that very thing, you were a little… hopeless.

“What are you reading?”

You glanced at her, then away, like you’d been caught out. The woman laughed quietly.

“I am not much of a reader, actually. This is the first time I’ve brought a book to travel, or just picked up a book in a while. I literally couldn’t tell you anything about it.” You admitted with a sheepish shake of your head, and she laughed more.

“You, you need to go back to school again, I think.”

You laughed with her then, your reaction only humouring her further, and before you knew it, the pair of you were in fits of it in the middle of the lounge. A few unimpressed stares were directed your way, but you were completely oblivious. It was a delirious moment, one where, for a minute or two, you weren’t worried about your flight or dreading the days ahead of you. You were just… present. Something that was rare for you, and once the dust had settled and she went back to her beer, it left a feeling of warmth in your chest. Just an echo, but it was there. And god, was it welcomed.

In that lull, your phone buzzed with a text. It was from a friend you were meeting in Ibiza– a single screenshot of a page that was… entirely in Spanish. You couldn’t gauge a single word of it. There was a pretty picture of some cliffs and ocean waves crashing against them above the words, but that didn’t help a thing. Perhaps you did need to go back to school.

“Hey, you’re Spanish, right?”

Again, she just stared at you. You swore, that time when she blinked, her eyes weren’t even in sync as they did it, she was that perplexed by your question.

“Sí.” She answered with a mischievous lilt to her tone that had you rolling your eyes.

“Can you help me with this? I don’t understand a word of it.”

She leaned forward in her seat, as did you, when you turned your phone screen so that she could see it. She let out a noise of approval, nodding her head twice like she was impressed.

“It is a booking form for a boat trip. You are going to Ibiza?” You nodded, and she hummed once more. “I like Ibiza.”

“Ugh, you’re one of those people.”

Her nose scrunched in confusion, and it was so distracting you almost missed her next words.

“What do you mean by that?” She said, almost defensively, and you realised how terrible it came across.

“One of those people that act like Ibiza is heaven on earth. It’s hell. It’s full of drunk British people, I can just go to a pub to experience that.”

“No, no no no. You have been to the wrong places, heard bad things. Ibiza is better than that.” She responded, like she was single-handedly in charge of the island’s PR. “They have good boat trips, good food, quiet towns. Not just drunk British people. The beach clubs are good, but it is more than that. Your boat trip will be good, I have been on that one before.”

Not that you paid an ounce of attention to what she was saying about Ibiza’s advantages, that was. There were much more interesting things to concentrate on, like the expressive hand gestures and facial expressions that went along with her rambling. You still didn’t know her name.

“Okay, Miss Ibiza. Do I get to know your name or shall I just call you that?” With another shake of her head, she chuckled under her breath again.

“Alexia.”

You replied with your own name, and Alexia paused, as if weighing something up. Then, she smiled coyly, grabbed her bottle of beer, and shuffled forward to the edge of her seat so she could reach forward. You met her halfway, picking up your wine glass and raising it to hers.

“To… delayed flights and departure lounges.” She hummed, again.

“Y… es un placer conocerte.” Her smile turned into a smirk before your very eyes, and it was a quick development that nearly stole your breath from right under you.

If you lingered on it for too long, you feared you might have blushed again. So you moved on.

“Where are you flying to, Alexia?”

Just the mere sound of you saying her name flustered her slightly. Nevermind the way you looked at her over the rim of your glass and felt it land somewhere low in her stomach, having to remind herself to stay composed after it.

“Home.” Nothing more than that. She was a little infuriating, you were beginning to learn.

“And where is home?” She inhaled deeply and tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Guess.”

Really?

“Umm… Madrid?”

Her face fell.

You’d never seen such despair on someone’s face before. Your heart stopped for a second– not from anything romantic and exciting, but from utter fear.

“Ay. No. Never.” Alexia answered dramatically, and you couldn’t help but laugh. When you did, it sounded like she started mumbling a prayer under her breath, and it just amused you more. “Barcelona is my home. Not Madrid.”

“You told me to guess, so I just went for the capital. How was I supposed to know?” You argued your case, though she was still deep in her anguish.

“Do I look like I am from Madrid?” She asked with genuine worry. You weren’t to know for sure, but you don’t think yet more laughter was the answer she was looking for. “I am serious!”

The quiver of her lips as she fought off a smile said the opposite, but you were none the wiser to the cause of it being the soft spot she had for hearing you laugh.

She couldn’t recall a more refreshing encounter than this one with you for quite some time in her life. You didn’t know her, didn’t expect anything of her. Didn’t ask for any favours in return like a signed shirt or a video message or something of the sort. You just… welcomed a stranger with open arms and let her be. Made her laugh too. Even if you did unknowingly mistake her for a Madrilena.

For her, nowadays, the smallest gestures meant the world to her. Even if they were given in an airport lounge where, in less than an hour, she’d have to say goodbye to you. The idea that that might be for good was gut-wrenching in ways she didn’t understand.

Something her mother had taught her though, was that things that made her happy didn’t have to make sense to her or anyone else at all. She learnt that the hard way during her injury; having to find joy in learning to walk again as an adult felt like an impossible task, until she had to do it for the second time after the second surgery. Since then, the little things, what others might deem unimportant and simple, were everything. And her mother had never been wrong before with her advice, so perhaps there was something that could be done with her current situation.

How strange it was to feel something so deep and infinite in a place built around departures.

“Well, what on earth pulled you away from the beautiful weather there to the rain here?”

It was easy talking to you, and that might have been the thing she adored most about the random encounter. Thank god for the terrible battery life longevity on Apple phones.

“A concert. My favourite artist. I came with a friend but she changed her decision last night for…” Her eyebrows pressed down into a frown again. “Eh, what is that word? People say it now, uh… not a relationship, but-”

“A situationship.” You supplied with a teasing glance.

“Sí, that.” She grimaced. “I don’t know what is happening between them two. Not my business.”

Thankfully for Alexia, you moved the conversation on from situationships, and instead started talking about just… anything and everything. From the concert she attended – she was a huge Beyoncé fan, apparently – to your favourite kind of wine and her favourite kind of beer, where to find the best paella in Ibiza, and even to the deepest topics like favourite colours and whether you believed in fate or destiny. Either of the two would do for you both, you found.

You didn’t make a dent in your second glass of wine– it stayed right where it was when you put it down after toasting with Alexia. You didn’t need it. Something about her company was calming, and grounding. You didn’t people-watch, you could hardly tear your attention away from her. And that felt like something quite important in its subtlety. You stopped watching the people around you the second she caught your eye.

Her phone still sat on charge between you, her empty tray of nachos was collected, though nothing changed for an hour straight. You both stayed, you chatted, you laughed. You shared quiet moments, stealing glances when one checked their phone or simply looked around the room. Never before had you had a run-in like it with a stranger, but as time went on, that description didn’t fit for her. Or for you.

Neither of you knew what it was or what it would be. Whether it would be anything at all, and that was terrifying, for some reason. More terrifying than your flight or a weekend in Ibiza. Her smile, one of solitude that conveyed a life full of motion and noise but not always company, was so inviting. Yet left you with too many questions than you had the time to ask.

There was no handbook on situations like this, just the daunting task of figuring things out for yourselves. So many possibilities and roads to take, such little chance for success in a place full of fleeting moments.

Alexia couldn’t bear it, perhaps more than you. Not just the leaving, even though that was a terrible thought. It was the acknowledgment that it had been something special between you both, something sacred, even if it had no name, and that it might never happen to her again. She had no idea how you’d unravelled her so softly in such a silent, unlikely way. Somehow, you had reached a part of her most people never did. Not unless they’d known her for years, or had known exactly what points to strike because of rumours and secrets passed between people unworthy of those parts of her. In an airport, of all places. Just her luck really.

She tried not to let it show, but you rattled her in a particular way that she knew would haunt her later. Unless she did something about it.

You weren’t supposed to mean anything, as per the stupid underlying societal rules set for scenarios like this. They were described as fleeting for a reason. She wanted more time, she wanted to stay and talk, she wanted to sit in that godforsaken chair forever. Not to make sense of it, she wasn’t sure if she ever could, but just to sit with you.

To stay in that little pocket of time where nothing was expected of her and everything felt oddly possible. But flights don’t wait, not like in the movies, and she had a summer of football calling her name.

Her gate was called whilst you were in the bathroom. And she wasn’t one for being late, even in one-in-a-billion situations like this.

She put on her backpack, slung her duffle bag over her shoulder. Then paused. Reached into the front pocket of her bag to search for two things, only coming up with one. Her eyes glanced over the table and had to settle for her next best bet. So she grabbed it, clicked her pen to life, and scribbled as well as she could on the thin tissue. Fortunately enough for her, her handwriting didn’t come out half as bad as she worried it would.

The second you rounded the corner of the bathroom corridor and saw her with her bags in hand, your heart stopped for a second. Your breath hitched, knees went weak, all those terribly cliche things. You rushed over like she could disappear at any moment.

“Your gate got called?” You asked, slightly breathless, as soon as you got close enough. She nodded solemnly, a tight, pursed lip smile on her face as she did so. “Oh. Well, I guess… you have to go then.”

Your shoulders were tense again, carrying twice the weight then they did the whole time Alexia had been with you, and your hands fidgeted where they were clasped in front of you like you were anxious again. Alexia assumed it was your flying nerves coming back to bite you again now that your distraction was leaving.

But as she spoke, a single sentence of advice, it was like her subconscious knew the real reason you were acting like that.

“The worst part is always before you leave.”

You had no reply for that. It sat there between you for a couple quiet moments, before you were winded with the double meaning of it. Alexia must have realised too, judging by the sudden, sharp exhale she let out a second after.

You weren’t sure what to do then, so Alexia decided for you once more. Her arms lifted and opened for you to walk into, which was exactly what you did. It was a hug that lasted far too long for a first meeting, but it was an embrace that suffocated you wholly in a way you weren’t sure was possible. Though, with her, it didn’t surprise you. There was something about her, and it killed you that you didn’t have enough time to figure out what it was.

“I never usually talk to strangers like this, you know.” She murmured into your ear before pulling away.

She stepped back the slightest bit and readjusted the bag that hung off her shoulder. It took a while for your brain to kick into gear again, but when it did, Alexia could see in your eyes that you were about to tease her once more. How she had come to recognise the signs so quickly, after just one meeting, she had no idea.

“Well, you only spoke to me for my phone charger, so that still applies.” She chuckled that same sweet sound you liked, her heart too sore to make it anything more than that. You softened. “Thank you for talking to this stranger though. You took my mind off my flight rather than me sitting here, rocking back and forth anxiously for two hours. It’s been… nice getting to know you.”

Alexia swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. She wasn’t about to cry, not quite that, but there were enough emotions swirling inside her for her to have to force them down.

“You are nice to know.” She landed on, internally grimacing at how odd it sounded.

Until you blushed again, like you had so many times since she first came over to you. It struck her heart once more, but it was something she was rather smug about. She grinned, and it made you blush harder, so you ducked your head to try and hide it. She laughed. Freely and carelessly, and it was the most delightful sound you’d ever heard. Naturally, that meant it had to be ruined when her gate was called once more.

There was a brief (because it had to be) period of silence between you after that, where you just gazed at one another. Trying to memorise the other’s face for the daydreams that would follow you both everywhere once Alexia eventually left. You weren’t sure what could be said to make things easier, yet she tried anyway.

“This is just an airport thing, right?”

It might have sounded harsh, like the exact reminder you didn’t want. But she said it sarcastically, as if to try and make light of a moment that was so dark for you both. You laughed, because there was nothing else you could do. Alexia gave a sad smile that you mirrored when your laughter died down. She held your gaze for a bit longer, before stepping around you and leaving your sight.

The ink-dotted napkin she slipped into your bag without your knowledge said otherwise to her last words for you. All departures lead somewhere, after all.

—

just a lil something i came up with whilst listening to this song and dissociating on the drive home from the gym a week back😋 hope you enjoyed it, do let me know your thoughts if you have any <3

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso fic #alexia putellas #woso #woso community

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veldenmire · 3 months ago

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Apparently in times of crisis I turn to my most badly behaved of little guys, so here's me letting you know about First Blood upon this Pale Altar, the follow up to Last Light that takes place a number of months after the events of Book 1.

🩸With Bertie by his side, Father Ambresario is no longer the head-down shrinking violet of the Church of the Holy Protector. While he now acts with a new boldness, the change hasn't gone unnoticed, especially as a string of odd demises befalling the church's leaders has the clergy nervous for their future. As the bells are tolled to call for a conclave, Ambresario may soon find out that the scrutiny of the ritual brings an unwelcomed focus from some, and a draw on Bertie's attention that shakes Ambresario's newfound confidence. Cutting through the tangle of secrets and power struggles, and unexpected front runner emerges in the form of the notorious Father Rasmus, stepping back into the citadel for the first time in twenty years. Seemingly unburdened by any doubts, the man Ambresario once knew as a mere sickly boy knows far more than is comfortable. Worse still, Rasmus has stirred quite the fascination in Bertie. ✨

I've had to forfeit making Wayward for PCAF due to having to move at short notice (which has unfortunately also delayed my ability to open the Last Light reprint), so I thought I might as well just work on something bigger instead. Compared to Last Light, First Blood will be much longer, bloodier and steamier. I'll be posting a lot more on Patreon, including the very steamy stuff! 👀

P. S. I didn't expect to be announcing that the next instalment of my evil religious gays comics will center around a conclave at the same time as the preparations for an ACTUAL CONCLAVE

#ocs #oc art #last light #first blood #father ambresario

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expanding-hyrule · 7 months ago

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Story Spotlights Hub Post

Reference post for links and details on the Expanding Hyrule Story Spotlights community project.

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Original Post - Review Form - Reviews - Fic Archive - Art Archive

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Works In Need of Reviews

Looking to help support a creator in Expanding Hyrule? All of these works in our collection have yet to get enough reviews for a spotlight. Works need a minimum of 3 reviews to be featured, and will include up to 5 in their post, but you are welcome to submit more, the link to the responses is available on this post for creators to read the whole list.

You can find all these works linked in the archives listed above!

Short Projects (Concept boards, under 10 chapter fics, etc)

The Prince of Hyrule by @batrogers (2/3)

Shadows of History by @palmolli (1/3)

The Tale of the Realm Walker by @tnc-n3cl (1/3)

Ancestral Links by @/pagankeith (2/3)

Way of Courage by @/beepboprobotsnot (2/3)

Day After Destiny by @amelias-calamity-quintet (1/3)

A Taste for Adventure by @amelias-calamity-quintet (2/3)

Restoration of Faith by @omegaalpha01

What Dreams May Come by @pocketseizure

Moderate Projects (Started comics, <75k fics, etc)

Princess Link: Engaged to my sister's kidnapper??? by @sparkspsps (2/3)

The Legend of Three by @fablesfables (1/3)

petrichor and bones by @pastelsandpining (1/3)

Into the Dark by @deiliamedlini

The Hand That Holds the Sword by @zarvasace

Fighting Fate by @/Allendra

Desert Blight by @/jclbs

Blooming in Adversity by @botwriter (1/3)

The inconsistencies of fate by @stinkyguar (1/3)

Restoration Age by @amelias-calamity-quintet

Cinders of Life by @amelias-calamity-quintet

What It Means To Be Chosen by @raginghummingbird (1/3)

Large Projects (Ongoing comics, <150k fics, etc)

Path of the Infinite by @shadow-djinni (2/3)

A Conviction to Save by @advocaado (1/3)

Inspiration, Illusions, and other Inconveniences by @zeldaelmo (2/3)

A Crossing of Stars by @ixtaek (1/3)

The Wondrous Adventures of the Righteous Maximus by @/Split Infinitive

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#original legends #loz: original legends #legend of zelda #zelda fandom #zelda fanfiction #loz art #legend of zelda fanart #zelda #loz #zelda fancomic #Story Spotlights

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spnbabe67 · 9 months ago

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I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

Kinktober Day 29: Cockwarming

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, PiV, Feels

Summary: Post-hunt cuddles turn into something more

Word Count: 1486

Authors Note: Title based on the song (I Just) Died In Your Arms by Cutting Crew

I've alluded to this 'ritual' before in a couple of my Dean x Tori fics. I've always wondered how, exactly, the aftermath of a hunt would go. A lot of adrenaline and endorphins are probably running through the body after literally fighting for your life against horrific creatures. It's a fictional scenario, but I wanted to try my hand at writing what it would be like (with a smutty twist because it is kinktober after all)

Tag List: @zepskies @king-of-milf-lovers @nightxcreature

One of Tori’s favorite places to be is in Dean’s arms. Wrapped up in them she felt safe, a feeling that was fleeting when you live a life of constant danger running from things most people only thought existed in their darkest nightmares. She’d lacked a home for years, and it had taken a long time to get to this point, to where Dean, and by extension Sam and the Bunker, had become that home for her. That her room she shared with Dean was hers and that there was no check out time she had to adhere to, no key to return at the end of the stay. Permanency, it was a weird thing, but one she didn’t often take for granted.

Even when the hunts went so smoothly, all three of them moving in sync, the after was a tender moment, the adrenaline dropping off sharply from their systems. After the showers, after the change of clothes, Tori always gravitated to Dean, both of them tangled up in a Gordian knot of limbs in their bed.

Tonight was no different. Tori and Dean both had trudged to the showers immediately after arriving back at the Bunker. All three of them were covered head to toe in blood, dirt, sweat and Tori didn’t even want to think about what else coated her skin. The eldritch horror they’d managed to gank had spewed some death spray upon its demise, and she’d been right in its path of destruction. No matter how hard she scrubbed, she couldn’t seem to get the putrid smell out of her nose, convinced some of its guts must be shoved up there.

Tori had heard Dean’s shower go off long before hers, knowing her lover would just meet her back in their room. She toweled off dry, doing her best to wring out most of the moisture from her mane before tossing the towel in the hamper, wrapping a fuzzy robe around her body for the walk from the bathroom. Dean was sitting propped up against the headboard when Tori finally shuffled back into the room.

“I feel so much better it’s not even funny.” Tori sighed, hanging her robe on the back of the closed bedroom door.

“I bet.” Dean cracked his eyes open, watching her toy with her hair, a nervous tic he’d picked up on.

Tori tugged on a dark strand she’d coiled around her index finger before letting it go. She needed a trim, the fraying ends falling just above her hips.

“That stuff smelled so awful. I felt bad for you and Sam havin’ to ride back with me.” Tori chuckled.

But the momentary jest faded and she took a deep breath, feeling the rush of the hunt, the adrenaline that had been coursing through her quickly evaporating, leaving her feeling almost empty.

Dean, ever the observant one, opened his arms as she turned back around to face him. “Hey, c’mere.” His voice was warm and placating, an invitation as much as it was an attempt at reassurance.

She quickly plaited her hair, securing it with an elastic before walking over to Dean’s side of the bed. His warm hands fell to her hips as she straddled his waist, their bodies pressed together as much as physically possible. Tori buried her face in his neck as Dean wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her close, breathing her in. The ritual of it, this getting so close but feeling so far, wasn’t new. It was a way of collectively dealing with the loss of adrenaline, working through the near-death experiences, remembering that despite the spattered blood and gore behind their eyes when they fell asleep that the other was still here.

Tori giggled into Dean’s neck as she felt something poke against her inner thigh. Dean’s hands grasped her hips in a mock scolding way.

“You’re sitting naked on my lap, what else do you expect, Tor?” Dean stammered, smoothing his palms up and down the tops of her thighs.

“It’s fine, Babe.” Tori couldn’t help but smile at the blush painting his neck and face a pretty shade of pink.

“Tor, where-” Dean started as Tori lifted herself up, but quickly shut up as she reached behind her, grasping his length, holding it steady as she sheathed him inside her. “Fuuuck.”

“There,” Tori breathed, wrapping her arms back around his waist, resting her head back on his shoulder. “That’s better.”

In its own way this served its own role in the ritual. Neither one of them could ever get close enough to truly fill that dip in adrenaline and cortisol, and it wasn’t the first time this need for closeness ended with Dean inside her. It was about as close as they could get without physically crawling under the others' skin to find a place to call home, even when that was all Tori’s body was screaming at her to do.

Dean’s hands explored her body in smooth, sweeping lines. Up her thighs from her knees, across her hips, up her back and down again. They sat like that for longer than Tori cared to keep track, letting their bodies reregulate to the rhythm of the other; their breaths were nearly in sync, his heartbeat thudding under her ear. Slowly Tori could that jittery and on-edge feeling subside, her body exiting fight or flight mode, leaving exhaustion in its wake

Tori could feel her eyelids start to grow heavy, but the not-so-small fact that Dean’s cock was nestled inside her kept the sleepy feeling just far enough away. She knew the same subtle restless feeling was tugging at Dean by the way he kept shifting under her. Granted, Dean wasn’t exactly good at sitting still, the untreated ADHD prohibited her lover from sitting for long periods of time without something to keep that racing mind occupied. Maybe his legs were starting to go numb, her own had fallen asleep long before.

She gave an experimental roll of her hips, the movement subtle and testing, unable to conjure up enough energy to truly move atop him. Still, her movement had Dean’s wandering hands still on her waist, fingers curling into her skin as he let out a surprised sound from the back of his throat. Dean caught on quick enough as Tori ground against him, simply shifting her hips back and forth enough to create friction against her clit, sliding just enough on his cock to have both of their breathing start to go ragged. Tori dragged her lips up the side of his neck and along his jaw, stubble scraping against them, until she found his mouth.

The kiss was just as lazy as their hips, Dean’s tongue sweeping into her mouth with languid strokes in the same breath as his hand coming up to cup her face. He always touched her with such conviction. He cherished her in a way that made Tori feel so damn special, so complete. He was never greedy, taking only as much as she gave him with not so much as a whisper of discontent. Even now, when both of them were bone tired, he let her set the pace. Tori was half convinced he’d kneel before her and worship at her feet if she asked, not that she ever would, nor would she want him too; they’d both been on their knees for too long and for the wrong reasons, never again, not even for her, would Tori want him needlessly down on his knees again.

Slowly, that pit in her belly grew, her movements becoming incrementally more animated as she felt the sensations building. Her hand came up to cup his face, her other resting on his chest, palm pressed skin to skin over his heart as she rolled her hips against his. Tori panted into Dean’s mouth feeling that tug grow tighter and tighter. His hand on her hip gave her an encouraging squeeze, the reassurance pushing her over the edge. Dean tugged her close, supplementing her climax by tilting his hips up into her, chasing his own high which came not long after.

Dean carefully maneuvered them back down the bed, sliding himself out of her. His arms wrapped around her middle kept her lounged on top of him, continuing the lazy lines up and down her back.

“I love it when we do this.” Tori muttered into his chest.

“Have sex.” Dean joked, earning him a swat to his arm.

“No, jackass.” Tori crinkled her nose at him. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Dean chuckled, the deep sound resounding through her body.

Tori smiled softly at him, leaning up to peck a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

Dean’s hand slid up her back, cupping the nape of her neck. “I know.”

“My God you’re a dork.”

“You love it.” Dean grinned at Tori.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Tori.”

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfic #spn fanfic #supernatural dean #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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spiderooos · 1 month ago

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cleanse me of my sins (God, i swear i’ll try) ﾒ matt murdock

syn. matt murdock atones for his sins in a place he should’ve stopped a long time ago.

includes. matt murdock x ex!reader, angst, suggestive content, implied smut (i can’t write it outright soz), biblical/religious imagery and catholic guilt.

notes. another cross post lol. i will write more for him if you’d like though!

masterlist

Night had befallen the Kitchen eons ago, its soothing lullabies singing everyone to sleep, while he found himself fighting a losing game. He'd always wondered (see: admonished) how Adam found it so hard to resist Eve's temptation as a child, but he understood now, clearly. He shouldn't have even been there, every reason to had left when she did, after so many tries. The rain thrummed outside the window, shut tight against its fighting winds as she eyed the man in front of her, worrying her lower lip as she saw him hunch over on to his side after he shut her window.

"Oh, Matt," she sighed, helping him stand as stumbled to reach her. Leaning his weight on her, she led him to the bed she'd been occupying barely a while back, and Matt could still smell her fragrant shampoo that had wafted away from his sheets, right there. She hadn't changed it.

The soft pattering of feet stopped in front of him, and she set down a kit, the stinging smells of rubbing alcohol and any and all ointments he'd ever need inside, seeping through the opened first aid kit she still kept stocked up. "I'm sorry. I know I said—"

"Don't."

She sounded tired, and although the sleep was still woven in her voice, it was almost like she was still his. He'd heard the same voice a month back, when she couldn't take any more of him pushing her away. "Shirt off."

The soft spoken demand was followed quickly. Matt had no energy to argue as a hiss left his lips, smacking away her hand that was pressing a cloth wet with sanguine liquids and rubbing alcohol that she’d poured onto it to his bleeding wound, and even though he couldn't see her, he felt the glare she sent his way. Her voice was quiet, tired, worried as she asked him what had happened. His own Holy Grail asking him what had happened, like it hadn't been the reason for her to leave, but nevertheless, he answered. He'd fought his own Goliath, but he hadn't been David. No, he couldn't be David, the shepherd boy would've been someone like Karen. Someone like her. Someone so unassuming yet kind, gentle yet vicious when provoked. He wasn't any of those things, he was a danger, he was the serpent who only lured in people to their demise in his coiling web. He lured them in until they repented, and he knew it was better like that. Because he knew, Heknew and would be there for them. But Matthew couldn't, not when they didn't ask for it.

She couldn't tear her eyes away, staring at the array of cuts and bruises as she pressed the flesh together, tenderly yet skilfully stitching sutures along the torn skin, closing up the gaping wound on his abdomen, before tending to the lesser worrying wounds, eyes slowly blurring. Gentle hands caressed her face as he wiped away the saltwater tracks as they fled slowly. "Matthew. . ." she whispered, holding onto his hands but not taking it off her face. She couldn't— not yet. She ran a hand on his bruised knuckles, kissing them out of gentle and tender ritual as she looked up at him from where she was kneeling between his legs.

His breath shuddered, hand moving to cradle her jaw and cupping the back of her neck as he pulled her closer, pressing his lips to hers, tasting the salt on her lips. She moved back and he could taste the saline water that felt pungent in the air as it still flowed slowly down her cheeks. "I'm sorry." "I know." She didn't. She wasn't sure what it was for this time, but she knew he was. He was always sorry he couldn't be there, instead of actually being there. "I'm sorry too."

She moved her head again, pressing her lips to his, slotting against the other. She felt herself move off of the floor, and being guided into his embrace as she carded her hands through his hair, settling into his lap.

"Forgive me," he murmured, lips pressing against her jaw and moving lower to the column of her throat, still soft and shaky. He shouldn't be doing this, not to her. They shouldn't be here again.

"Okay."

She moved her head back, hands trailing down his chest as she ground her hips down, slow and steady unlike her shaky exhales of his name like a steady prayer when he moved lower, hands under her (his) shirt. She never gave it back.

He called her name, soft. She helped him take off her shirt. They'd promised to never go here again. He directed her back to his lips, kissing her like she was his lifeline, all heavy and yet soft, like she was an angel he was too scared to hurt, the returned fervour bruising as she nudged him back on the bed.

Matt laid her down on the soft silk sheets, ones she'd gotten back when it made sense to have them in her flat. The pressure she used on him, something that felt almost secondary and movement from memory had him keening in her touch as he groaned, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. She'd known him inside and out, always had, and Matt feared that she always would. She been there every time, for every wound, every half-assed excuse for being late and not being there, until she excused herself completely.

Her name was like calling onto his sweetest haven. "Sweetheart, I need. . . I—"

She shushed him, hands helping him take off his trousers while his hands followed the saccharine scent in between her legs. She'd been his own angel when they'd met, understanding his every plea and word, even if he hadn't said it out loud. "Matthew."

Her voice was soft, and he'd coax out every single sound from her right then. They sounded like the singing of hymns unknown to anyone except those who knew her. Every whimper, every ragged breath of air, every sweet sound felt like the nectar of the sweetest ambrosia, his forbidden fruit. Forgive me, Lord, the one part of his mind that had tried fighting to remind him of what was right said, forgive me for my sins. He'd given into temptation. The child who'd said he could be much better than Adam was now the one to give into temptation. If this was sin, he'd be a sinner for the rest of his life, praying, worshipping and confessing. It felt like he'd done something right, rain pouring down on them like the heavens hated him for coming here to her, someone he knew He adored. No human was like her, and he knew then this would be the last time he'd be here (liar, the Devil whispered).

"Matt, I need. . ." "I know, sweetheart. I know."

She felt the pressure turn almost euphoric, that blissful edge she so craved reaching closer as he devoured her like a man starved, like this was his last supper before he was lost to the world and she let him. He'd been her saving grace, and in a way would always be. He'd been the one to show her what it truly felt like to be someone's, she'd been his, he'd been hers (She'd always be his). She dragged him back up, tasting her on his lips, the feeling pushing her back a month to where she'd been in a different time, the memory of what could've been almost suffocating, like she hadn't been there to watch it all fall down, taking swings at her exterior until she couldn’t hold up her fight.

"I'm sorry." "It's alright."

It was so easy to understand the other, like the words to a prayer in a tongue of their own, one neither stopped uttering even as she'd left, her hands pushing him back down against the headboards, savouring in the sight. Her memory was the only place she could see it after this as she led him through till they were joined, unable to tell where one began and the other ended.

The pouring against the window turned harsh as they were wrapped in each other, just each other and only each other. Always the other. Every sense could only see her, and his head and mind felt like he could fall from the highest cliff and she'd be there, waiting at the bottom, (he hoped she would. . . She alwayswould). She smelled like her vanilla lotion, the fresh scent of her perfume that he'd said didn't clog his senses, the bitter sheen of perspiration mixing with the saccharine scent of her creating his own sweet delight. His didn't smell her at his house anymore (it used to be home, now he’s not so sure). He could hear her quick thrumming of her heartbeat, his own heart chasing to follow hers.

She stuttered when her hands pressed into the wound in his abdomen, stopping. "Sorry."

Matt groaned, shaking his head as he began helping her move once again, chasing after that high. "It's alright."

They repeated the same when he pushed her down on her back, taking over as his pace began quickening, his hand moving up to wrap around her neck. "It's okay." She moved her head up the slightest bit, letting him press onto the sides of her throat as he pressed his lips to hers, sloppy and clashing, as they explored a familiar safe place. He'd been her safe place since college, but she'd had enough. Even Foggy couldn't convince her this time. She couldn't watch him kill himself again. She couldn't watch him lose himself again.

The coil snapped and tipped over the broken edge of the precipice as the dam broke, her breath hiccupping as she tried to calm the growing ache in her heart. She'd been waiting for the feeling to end so she could distance herself, she owed herself that much, but now. . . now she'd rather do it all again. He pulled her up and into his arms, humming her favourite song as he ran his hands through her hair, praying to Him that she wasn't crying over him. She didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve her tears.

"I'm here. . . I'm right here."

He was swaying the two back and forth and she gripped onto his warm shoulders as tightly as she could, folding herself into him as she calmed her breathing to the steady drum of his heart. It was still a song she could sing on her worst times, and she hated she knew it would sooth her pain.

She looked up at the sound of his voice calling her name. It still made her feel that sweet warmth, the enveloping heat scorching her body as he ran his arm soothingly on her bare skin, burning his touch until she washed it away. She didn't know if she would, the lingering ache much more silent with his presence than without him.

"I'm sorry." "So am I."

He'd smiled when she'd said that the last time, right before she left his apartment. She truly was unearthly, apologising for not being strong enough to stay (—"I love you, but I. . . I can't— I won't watch you kill yourself any longer, Matt." She had tears in her eyes but he couldn't find it in himself to wipe them for her like he'd promised he would. It was raining as she left—) and him apologising for not being enough for her to want to stay. Although, with every night he stayed awake, clinging onto her side of the bed, her pillow cradled in his arms that now smelled like him, he realised he was sorry that he never made her feel enough to stay.

"Forgive me."

She smiled at him, a soft echo of his name falling from her lips because she didn't know if she could ever stop. She should. It had been his commitment to being Daredevil and everything that had come along with it, it had been how he tended to forget about Matthew Michael Murdock and everything that he had as a person, not as a persona that broke them apart— quick and unnerving and unpredictable and messy like everything else about them. Maybe she would, but it wouldn't be then that she would. Maybe she never would, but that was her own fatal sin. God never told her what to do when a good man hurt her by staying back, like she hurt him by walking away. A good man who still held her heart in his hands. She couldn't ask it back, not yet. Maybe in the future. It wasn't today.

"I do."

#spiderooos writes #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matthew murdock #daredevil x reader #marvel x reader #marvel mcu #marvel reader insert

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hanafubukki · 3 months ago

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Sorry to drag this one but can you imagine Lilia, Jade and Rook being live rivals? Constantly throwing shade in conversation and being at eachother's throats in the sneakiest ways possible but then something suddenly happens. Like the princess starts recieving push back from other nobles or there's an assassination attempt and suddenly those three become best buddies. They're holding hands and making a ritual circle for the demise of their common enemy. Suddenly anyone shit talking their dearest starts having many misfortunate accidents (Lilia) or they regularly become sick but only have scrapes on their bodies and no other injuries (Rook) or their businesses and investments start to plummet (Jade)

The guys find that while they would prefer to have the princess' attention on them alone individually, they've come to enjoy their other companions and in case of pregnancy and children those companions will hold no animosity towards their kids. Whoever offended them has somehow managed to unite the household in ways never seen before.

[Related to this post]

Hello Anonie 💞💙🌷

No need to be sorry at all Anonie, no worries. 💞💙 considering the recent coral sea event and how both Rook and Jade had been acting, I thought this would be the perfect time to answer this lol. 😂

Watching Lilia, Rook, and Jade be at each other’s throats is like watching those political romance dramas. They are clearly insulting each other but unless you are in the know, anyone outside the circle would think they are having pleasantries. Makes you wonder really…because their eyes reflect the opposite of their words…

Oh I love a good assassination attempt in a royalty au 🫶🤌 imagine you end up getting poisoned? You had taken one of their glasses because you didn’t want to drink yours. Moments later you are gasping for breath as you clutch onto your suitor, in this case let’s say it’s Rook.

Rook, in all his time of hunting, keeps a panacea of sort to administer to you while Lilia uses his UM magic to find out who poisoned you and Jade will be the one who uses his connections to find out everything there is to know about the culprit.

The culprits downfalls will be slow and steady. They’ll suffer every day until they meet their end. Their mind at the brink of breaking. Shouldn’t have gone after their princess.

They would all spoil the children you chose to have with them and I can also see them compete to have the next child with their traits if a kid looks like one of them. Have to even the playing field. Lolol but the children are always loved.

#answered #Anonie ask #Anonies dream #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge #rook hunt #jade leech

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neigepomme · 4 months ago

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thinking about caleb as the main protagonist in a horror game..

this is just me rambling, so it might be mega incoherent! also it's 4am (5am when i post this) and i can only think of him oops.. mentions of major character death, horror game anon this one goes out to u

the song playing when i wrote this was have a nice life's "a quick one before the eternal worm devours connecticut" (it's a good song guys trust me)

the game would be a silent hill adjacent one — specifically silent hill 2. following your death, he's left to aimlessly work, as an attempt to dull the pain. he knows you would never forgive him if he brought an end to his own life, so as an act of selflessness towards you, he lives. painfully, with the weight of your loss on his shoulders, but he lives.

therapy doesn't work, days off do not work and and socializing is a pain, especially when you're not by his side. he misses the playful banter, and the sight of apples that he once loved reminds him of you. he doesn't find them as sweet as he used to, and the apple soda you used to make him always ends up having a bitter aftertaste, but he figures that it's because you're no longer there to sprinkle love within his drink.

eventually, caleb ends up straying away from things that remind him of you. the door to your room has been closed ever since your passing, and the only piece of you he carries with him is the necklace you gifted him. some days, it feels as if you've shackled him to you, and he gets this need to take it off — only to stop his actions when he touches the clasp.

he's still busy as the farspace fleet's colonel, and even though it won't bring you back, he still finds solace in his work. secretly, he's hoping that when he comes home, you'll come out of your room, but deep down, caleb's well aware that won't happen. he still kisses his necklace before every flight — before, he'd do it as a ritual, but now? it's done in the form of a prayer. he prays to whomever will listen, praying for your happiness wherever you are. he finds comfort in the knowledge that you no longer have to worry about ever and that your heart won't ever bring you pain again.

one day, though, he's assigned to a solo mission in the deepspace tunnel, but everything seems to be going wrong. he was getting sabotaged. the traitors finally got to him. caleb feels as if he was transported back to the DAA, to that day where everything derailed. this time around, though, he had no home to fight for, to go back to.

because you weren't there.

so as he lost control of the aircraft he was sitting in, caleb came to terms with it. with his inevitable demise. he was upset that he couldn't fulfill the promise, but he no longer wanted to fight to live. he just wanted to return to you, to see your smile again, to hold you tightly against him and to inhale the familiar scent of your shampoo. slowly, everything around him comes to a halt, and with a serene expression on his face and one last kiss to his pendant, he blacks out.

imagine his surprise when he comes to, lying on the ground of an oddly familiar planet, of an oddly familiar park. this was the place you remembered him for the first time. and what does he do? he scoffs. the gods must have forsaken him, he thinks. but he can't stop himself from walking around, picking up a metal bar he found lying next to him. just in case.

but that's when he hears it. your laughter.

and not just any laughter, but your childhood one. the giggles of a child, unmistakably you. a sense of panic takes over all of his senses, and he runs in the direction of the sound — any sense of self-preservation long forgotten. through the fog, he calls out your name, and your voice responds, calling out his name from all sides. he's going crazy. caleb's hallucinating, surely. he keeps on looking, though, and that's when he encounters it.

the disfigured, grotesque body of a researcher from the facilities you grew up in. he remembers that watch, that aggravating tick-tock sound that used to grow louder and louder in his ears every time he was experimented on and brought to new pain levels in the laboratory — when the creature leaps in his direction, and he only narrowly misses the hit, he remembers your laughter and curses under his breath. even if your voice is just an illusion, he is determined to hear more of it.

caleb takes a deep breath, the metal bar between his hands feeling heavy. he swings and hits his childhood executioner — only for it to stand back up, more murderous than it had originally been. his evol isn't working here, and all he has is that damn metal bar, so he steadies himself for another hit.

shit.

it just won't die.

he needs to run, but where even?

that's when your laughter resounds again, only this time accompanied by a shout of his name, and he runs. he runs, escaping from the creature and entering a shelter, finally away from the researcher.

something something ghost of his past something something anyways i'm tired if anyone's interested i might elaborate on this.. this is very self-indulgent and just feeding my love for psychological horror games...

#⋆ pomme rambles #man i really just love caleb and horror games #i go to bed now yayyyyy

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arofishskull · 3 months ago

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Didn't listen to Malevolent today but I remembered that a new weird character such as Kayne being added to the cast means that I'm legally obligated to throw things at a wall and see what sticks. I haven't had many theory-based posts since the ending of season 1 since season 2 was very much about survival in the dreamlands without the subplot of finding out what the fuck John is and what his intentions. (I used to use "it" to refer to John and the king but because of how human John became and his desire to continue to grow into that direction as a person I feel like "he" is now a more accurate description than "it") Anyway, Kayne: I'm gonna swing and say that he could be related to Shub-Niggurath in some way. I might be remembering something completely wrong but I think Shub-Niggurath was described as a purveyor of chaos, destruction, and decay, as well as that its summoning to Arthur's world would end up in its destruction. Now, dear reader, you might be asking what straws I am grasping on in order for me to consider that possibility. Well! Kayne is incredibly powerful, easily able to fuck with the King. Kayne described itself as a god while the King is just a king. King's are appointed by the gods so the implication here could very much be that the King can rule over whatever it likes because the gods will let it. The King already has strong impact on people and Kayne just casually slaughtered an entire city for entertainment. Kayne could easily destroy worlds. The reason it doesn't if it was Shub-Niggurath? Well, that would be the exact same reason it's observing Arthur and John; Entertainment. Sure, slaughter and demise is a way to kill time for Kayne but that's temporary. And seemingly also only a temporary past time for Kayne. It must get boring if you get too much of it. Do I think this theory is true? Probably not. Kayne can traverse through the worlds, Shub-Niggurath apparently needed a ritual for it. Though one can argue that this source is unreliable and made up by mortals. It would be interesting if Kayne purposefully let the King wander through the portal to Arthur's world simply to see what happens, or to watch destined events unfold. Still, Shub-Niggurath was more described as a force of nature rather than a bored god. Surely the dark dimension would have infinitely different things to busy Kayne with since it's the dumping ground of an infinite amount of different worlds. I wonder if Kayne could go to the dark dimension? According to John, nothing leaves from there. Then again, John and the King are probably less than a drop in the ocean next to Kayne. I have one more wild theory though: Kayne also mentioned someone named lilith! I know she will have a speaking role because she's prominent enough to show up in the suggested hashtags when I tag my malevolent posts. So, what do the names of Kayne/Cain and Lilith have in common? Abrahamic(specifically jewish, in Lilith's case) creation myth! Kayne might literally be Cain From The Bible, murderous instincts and possible insanity after an unfathomably long life filled with guilt included. Maybe God cursed him to an eternal life? Alternatively, he could just be God From The Bible. Seemingly all powerful? Check. (seemingly) All knowing? Check. Existence of fate that he can see? Also check. The naming convention of having a Kayne/Cain and a Lilith drop in the same conversation seems too obvious to be nothing. Or maybe it is. But it feels like it shouldn't be. All creatures from myth have the possibility to be real in the worlds of Malevolent so it just seems likely that the most famous myth of modern times would be brought up eventually.

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #kayne malevolent #john doe #john malevolent #arthur lester #liveblogging

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nanabansama · 1 month ago

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Hi!

I love your posts!!

I recently started reading Toilet-Bound Hanako-kun and your posts and I’ve become completely obsessed. But there’s a specific part between the Manga chapters 64 and 71 that left me really confused, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.

💭 What happens:

In Chapter 64, when Hanako, Akane, and Yashiro meet up with Aoi (or more accurately, when Aoi finds them), Hanako says that using the same elevator as before isn’t a good idea.

So they look for another way out. Aoi suggests a place, which eventually leads Yashiro and Hanako to the boundary where Sumire is.

So far, it seems like Hanako didn’t have access to the elevator at that moment.

🤔 But then in Chapter 68:

When Hanako, Yashiro, and Aoi are trying to leave, Hanako suddenly summons the elevator with no problem.

That made me wonder:

Was he able to use it all along?

And if so, why didn’t he use it earlier instead of following Aoi’s suggestion?

😮 Then in Chapter 71:

Hanako admits that he used Aoi as the sacrifice.

This raises even more questions:

Did he plan this from the beginning?

Or did he realize after Aoi had been taken by No. 6 and then decide, "I can use this to my advantage"?

Because it didn’t seem like No. 6 originally planned to use Aoi as the sacrifice either. He only seemed to decide that after seeing her.

❓ One more thing:

Even though Hanako is sealed, he’s still able to perform the life exchange between Yashiro and Aoi.

How is that possible if his powers are supposed to be restricted?

---

✅ To sum it all up:

1. Could Hanako actually use the elevator the whole time?

2. Did he plan to use Aoi as the sacrifice from the beginning, or was it a last-minute decision?

3. How is he able to perform such a powerful ability (the life exchange) while being sealed?

Sorry for the many questions 😅 I hope it’s not too confusing — I’m just really curious about this part of the story!

hello!! ☺️ im glad youre enjoying hanako-kun!

Yes, so as you say, i do think it's likely that Hanako avoided using the elevator because he wanted to exchange Aoi's lifespan for Nene's. Everyone in the story blames Hanako for Aoi's demise and he takes full accountability for it. He is guilty, and more importantly he feels guilty, despite his hands never directly harming her.

And yes, I don't think Hanako realized she had kannagi blood until after Hakubo sniffed her out. Then he just rid on Hakubo's coat tails and took advantage of the situation to benefit Nene, whilst also letting the Severance happen to solve the Urabon issue like Hakubo intended. Two birds, one stone.

As for the life exchange I'm not entirely sure how it worked! It's possible it wasn't really Hanako's powers that let it happpen? Just that it was some kind of ritual anyone could perform or take advantage of.

Anyway, Hanako may be sealed, but he still has abilities. We don't know how strong he is unsealed and how that compares to him sealed! For one, he can summon an entire elevator. He also has his tsueshiro, which gives him a cape that repels lightning. I've gotta say, that's pretty strong to me!

#Asks

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thechangeling · 1 month ago

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The Seasons Change Part 3: Winter

Well... this was supposed to be finished and posted during the winter but obviously that didn't happen. Sorry. I had the worst writer's block and life got crazy lol. But here we are!

Cw: Mentions of trauma, abuse, and death

Ash was born during heavy snowfall. That much he knew. It was difficult to track Seasons in faerie, as the weather was often unpredictable and arbitrary and things were very rarely as they seemed.

Unless you knew where to look.

However, his mother had told him when he was young, before he was taken away by the Unseelie king, how he was born during a heavy snowfall in the mortal world. All of the leaves had fallen from their trees and shriveled up dead and the ground was covered in thick sheets of white, and patches of ice leaving no signs of flora to be found.

Ash thought it sounded horrible.

However, that was before he had seen real horror. As much as he tried to forget, to block it out. Thule showed up in his dreams.

Sebastian.

His so-called father. Just another person who didn't want him. Only as a potential weapon perhaps. Something to control. However, even that proved unsatisfactory for Sebastian Morgenstern.

Ash shivered as he drew his arms closer around himself in a huddle. It was snowing again, they had reached what Dru referred to as the post Christmas lull in the mortal world, and they were spending it in Cairnsworth with Kit, Ty, and the rest of Kit's family.

Which Tessa had firmly insisted Ash could be a part of, with a warm smile. If he wanted, that is. Kit didn't say anything, but one thing Ash had learned about his dear friend over the past two years was that he spoke volumes with his eyes.

No matter how desperately he tried to conceal his emotions, he often couldn't hide that look in his eye. The one that betrayed longing. Or devastation.

Or love.

They were still figuring out how to talk to each other, but Ash wanted to tell Kit that he wanted it too.

Family.

It was still painful to think about Janus’ demise. He had loved Ash in ways he had never been loved before, not even by his mother. There was something Intoxicating about his loyalty. It came freely, without the effects of Ash's perfect loyalty spell. It was powerful, all consuming. Knowing someone was willing to kill for him without hesitation.

But it wasn't right.

Ash knew that, even if the broken dark corners of his soul didn't.

“Hey.” A soft feminine voice, groggy with sleep, broke him out of his musings.

“How long have you been awake? Have you been sitting out here this whole time?”

Dru.

Even in the crisp early winter morning, freshly out of bed and bundled in whatever blanket she could find, she was ethereal. Ash couldn't help but offer a slight smile as she sat down beside him on the porch.

“It hasn't been long. I just couldn't sleep,” Ash confessed. Pained recognition flashed through Du's eyes. She knew all too well how turbulent his sleep often was. Hers was the same.

“It's beautiful this early,” he changed the subject before she could offer words of concern. He saw her press her lips in a thin line for a brief moment before she let it go.

“Yeah. Like a real winter wonderland huh? We rarely get this shit back in LA.” She turned towards the sunrise, snuggling Into him, head resting on his shoulder.

Ash let the familiar weight of Dru's body comfort him, banishing his earlier troublesome mood. “I hear the mundanes have rituals for this sort of weather.”

Dru lifted her head. “Rituals? What do you mean?”

Ash reached for her hand, linking their fingers. Ever since they had met in person and began to grow close, he was always reaching for her. Her touch grounded him, letting him know that she was actually there, that she wasn't an illusion or a dream.

She was real.

It took a long time to trust that their connection was genuine, that her love for him wasn't just the result of the perfect loyalty spell. But as Drusilla pointed out to him, loyalty wasn't the same thing as love or even fondness. Still, he was wary of having any power over her and was still looking for ways to break the spell.

“I've been informed that sometimes the mundanes “play in the snow,” he explained. “I was uncertain if shadowhunters had the same tradition.”

Dru giggled and Ash's heart raced at the sight. “Sometimes, maybe. I guess I wouldn't really know, I've never visited other shadowhunters in the winter before.”

Ash placed a light kiss on her nose. “Do you want to?”

Dru gave him one of her playful smiles. “Well, I should probably put some actual clothes on first, and you know gloves, a hat, standard snow getup? Kind of essential. Unless you want me to freeze to death?”

Ash shook his head fervently before realizing that was most likely a rhetorical question.

“Nah, didn’t think so,” Dru teased, rising to her feet and pulling on his hands. “Come on. Let's grab breakfast first. Maybe ask Kit and Ty if they wanna join.

Ash allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, marveling at her strength, not for the first time since they had met. With a little guilt, he realized that he would prefer to just spend this time with Drusilla, but decided against mentioning it. He carefully re-adjusted the blanket that had begun to slip off her shoulders, pulling it tighter around her.

“Oh that reminds me,” Dru exclaimed. “I was talking to Ty about figuring out what we’re doing for Helen’s birthday in few months, and then we have Kit’s so we should maybe start asking him about what he wants, although Kit’s practically incapable of admitting he wants things unless he’s on his deathbed, so we might have to ask Nessie..”

Ash tried unsuccessfully to stifle a smirk.

“Anyways it made me realize. This is really embarrassing, but Ash, I don’t know when your birthday is.” Dru let out a nervous chuckle. “I guess I forgot to ask.”

Ash shook his head. “No, it’s not your fault Dru. I never told you.” A pang of guilt echoed through his chest. Drusilla loved birthdays. She loved celebrating them, whether it was her own, or her loved ones. She would probably be quite disappointed to hear that Ash didn’t know his own.

“Is there a reason you didn’t want to tell me?” Dru didn’t sound angry or accusatory. Just curious.

Ash’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t actually know when it is. “We don’t really celebrate birthdays in Faerie the way mortals do. My mother only informed me once that I was born during winter.”

Dru frowned slightly. “Oh. Well that sucks.”

“Sorry.”

“No! No no Ash you don’t need to apologize,” she exclaimed hurriedly. “It’s not your fault.” Dru gently held his face with one of her hands, keeping a tight grip on her blanket with the other. “I don’t want you to think you have to apologize for telling me anything that might make me sad or disappointed. I want you to tell me things ok?”

Ash fought the urge to hide from her gaze. “Ok.”

“Hmmm.” Dru scrunched up her face in exaggerated concentration. “You know I have an idea.”

“Oh no.” He replied with a straight face.

“Shut up,” Dru said with a smile, swatting at him gently. “Ok so my idea is, if you were never told when your birthday is, then why not just pick one?”

Ash raised his eyebrows at her. “Pick one?”

“Yeah! I mean, Why not?”

“I don’t think you can just decide when your birthday is Dru,” Ash lamented. “That isn’t how these things work.”

Dru shrugged, using both hands to readjust her blanket when the gesture caused it to slide backwards. “I mean, sure you can. If you can choose your name or your gender then why not your birthday right?”

Well, she had a point.

Ash let a smile spread across his face. He adored this girl. More than anything.

“Alright then. I choose today.” He stepped into her space, brushing against her fluffy blanket.

“Today?” She brushed his nose with hers. “Why today?”

Honestly he had no particular reason. The only thing he could think of was-

“Because I’m happy,” he confessed with a whisper. You make me happy, Dru.”

She leaned forward to press her lips to his in a tender kiss. Ash brought his arms around her and clutched her tightly to his body, smiling against her lips.

After a moment Dru broke the kiss and met his gaze with a fond smile. It was then he realized light snow had begun to fall, decorating her long brown lashes with little wet droplets.

“Happy birthday Ash.”

Ash Morgenstern

Born in Faerie.

Sun Sign: Capricorn

Rising Sign: Honestly who knows since Faerie is a separate dimension. There’s really no way to calculate this.

Moon Sign: “

Tagging: @littlx-songbxrd @petalsofaflower-shutupthomas @amchara @wagner-felll @sandersgrey @the-bee-graveyard @spooky-drusilla @arangiajoan Lmk if you want me to add you or remove you from this list

AN: I confess I haven’t re-read Ash’s short story in awhile so apologies if he’s ooc. Also I should mention that we actually don’t know the TWP characters' birthdays. I’m just making them up for this series lol.

#ash morgenstern #drusilla blackthorn #twp #the wicked powers #tda #the dark artifices #tsc

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occasionallyprosie · 6 months ago

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Devotion - Chapter 11: "Courage in Abundance"

A portal snatches three sword spirits, a portal that Dev recognizes extremely well. He, Fi, and Spectrum, also recognize the abundance of courages spirits on the other side. Or just one spirit?

Read On AO3

First

<<Previous | Next>>

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“Dev. They are here.”

The portal dropped them right to the ground, and as Dev first threw out his senses to form an image of their surroundings, Fi reached much farther. The first thing he noticed was the world felt younger, the forests sang as if Farore was still around. The second thing he noticed, and it was in part due to Fi alerting him to it, was the immense amount of souls filled with divine Courage nearby. Several were painfully familiar.

Spectrum got to his feet quickly, his sword vanishing his as it appeared. The sunlight glanced off his prismatic hair, Dev wondered how long it had been since they had seen sunlight. Ever since Demise's return, dark clouds blocked out the sky. It had been... a little over a year now.

“Whoo, that was weird,” Spectrum said, looking around. "Where are we? Err--When are we?"

“It’s a gathering,” Dev breathed. “It’s…”

Spectrum shot him a confused look. “Huh? A gathering? Of what?”

Dev wanted to cry. He wanted to go to his Sprite and wrap him in a hug, protect him. He could feel him…

He swallowed past the bubbling, centuries-old grief, guilt, and regret. “A gathering of heroes.”

Spectrum stared at him. “Oh… Wait, you were a hero?”

Thoughts screeching to a halt, Dev turned to just look at the other spirit. He ran through every moment, every bit of information he’d relayed to Spectrum, the stories and… “Yes? I—Kid, I have told you about my adventures!”

“No you haven’t?!” Spectrum gaped at him. "Since when?!"

“I have?!" Dev insisted. "The-The—Island! Koholint? Uh—Ravio from Lorule was my doppelgänger? Labrynna and the time travel to meet my ancestor?! Holodrum and manipulating the actual seasons themselves! Or-Or—Cadence and how she dimension-traveled here because of an idiot musician?! My sister was Zelda?!”

Spectrum spluttered. “I thought those were other hero’s adventures and they wielded you during them!”

“Oh golden three.” Dev threw his hands up. “You literally recognized me as the kid who killed you!”

“Hey! We’ve stepped in and replaced the hero before!” Spectrum argued. “I thought that’s what you did!”

“I—No?!”

“Well sorry for assuming!”

A beat of silence passed before Spectrum realized something.

“Wait, if you were a hero… How did you become a sword spirit?”

Dev shrugged. “Ritual. How did you?”

“I don’t know, I was killed by some psychos, and next thing I knew I was in the Sacred Realm. I know I was there for a while, and I remember… I… I remember Ganondorf.”

“Ganondorf?”

“Yeah, definitely.” The kid’s entire being became distant and faded, reflective features turning matte and muted. He crossed his arms and closed into himself. “He… In every timeline, he came into power at some point. The earliest in yours and… and then really quickly after in another. But the third, it had been a long time before he came into power enough. That one wasn’t as bad, it wasn’t as painful, but I still…” His brows knit together, the distress clearly etched onto his face. “I still remember being corrupted, every time. It hurt, malice and darkness all around me, dragging me into it, I only… I only remember coming out of it once, and that’s when I saw you--When I met you."

Dev wondered who out there used the spirit of the hero and bound it to the Four Sword, what psychopath did that? The amount of power it had to of taken to do something like that to a person, especially post-mortem…

“But yeah,” Spec shook his head and came back to the present, “I don’t remember how I became a sword spirit. Did… Did the same happen to you?”

Dev shook his head. “No… No, I…” He sensed the heroes all around them, none were nearby, none would come closer to interrupt. They had time. “I chose this path, kid. Fi was with me on my first adventure, without her, I probably would join those who fell.”

Link, the little boy who Demise killed. The Fallen Hero, a young Mask who never had the sages.

“But, well, she was decayed when I found her, she died shortly after I killed Ganondorf the first time. I had restored the Master Sword itself, but her spirit was destroyed.”

Spectrum looked horrified. “Oh. That’s what you meant.”

Dev nodded. “After all my adventures were over, I wanted to find a way to help the heroes who came after me. I found a book that theorized how to make a sword spirit, involving a necrotic ritual that binds a freshly-freed spirit to a physical item. Zelda—My sister, she helped me do it.”

“Oh,” Spectrum breathed. “That’s… Huh.”

Dev laughed. “Yeah.”

“You were hylian then.”

“As hylian as they come, Hylia was my ancestor.”

“What… What did you look like?”

“Well, it’s a gathering of heroes,” Dev said, looking over at Spectrum, “shall we look the part?”

Changing appearances was easy. He changed the violet hair--once to share features with the Tempered Sword, now to remember his brother/doppelgänger--back to the golden blond he once shared with his sister, and let his eyes regain the golden flecks that acted as the physical representation of his innate magic. His skin faded from the bright, vivid bronze-orange he sometimes adopted, usually when he didn't care to blend in. Orange tunic and purple cloak and boots became the red mail he struggled to remember, it wasn't exactly right, so he took creative liberties. Red, gold detailing, and black underclothes. And his Pegasus Boots, obviously. Fi chose to materialize on his back, as the Golden Sword.

Spectrum gaped. "That's... a change."

Dev laughed. He fixed his hair, brushing a finger through the bangs and watching those strands turn pink. "I didn't want to be recognized as the hero I was, and after so long, it felt wrong to go back."

Spectrum hesitated, then he snorted. "They're going to have no clue, even the ones we've met before."

As he spoke, white-reflective hair dulled to a natural shade of blond, styled with a middle part and held back by a green headband rather than the side part he usually sported. His bronzen-yellow and white clothes, which like his hair changed colors frequently, became a tunic split into quadrants of color. His eyes no longer had that prismatic look to them, and instead appeared a calm, cool gray.

"Sometimes I wonder why you decided to walk around like a literal rainbow," Dev mused.

“Hey, the Four Sword literally glows rainbows, how else what I supposed to embody the blade I inhabit?" He huffed. "I guess we should probably act like we aren’t centuries old too if we want to sell it."

Dev sighed. “Probably. Right, let me just channel my teenaged self.”

“Uggghhh,” Spectrum groaned. “I don’t want to be a teen again.”

“Great, you’re already in character. How about we split up? Herd everyone together. Can you sense them?”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. I’ll go… for that one. This is going to be hilarious."

Spectrum wandered off one way, toward probably the only hero here that Dev didn’t recognize in the least.

Well… he knew which way he was going.

He was there. Right there. Right down the path was his Sprite, seventeen, a kid... alive.

““You’re predictable," mused Fi. "…So this is the Hero of Hyrule… I see you in him. He’s something else entirely.”

Dev stared down the path at his Sprite. To Fi, he explained, “The child of a sword spirit and a fairy, even if you want to say he’s the son of my living self, that would make him a descendant of Hylia as well as the child of a fairy.”

“It makes an interesting combination…" Fi agreed. "He seems distrustful.”

Practically one cue, his Sprite’s eyes narrowed and Dev realized quickly what was most likely to happen. Then he searched his memories for how he would’ve acted all those eons ago, how Link, the Hero of Legend, would have acted.

He stepped forward, Sprite matched his movements, then swords were drawn and locked.

“We want it to be realistic, right?” Fi sounded almost amused, then heat and pain shot through Dev from where he held Fi.

Dev quickly dropped the Master Sword, reeling back at the actual pain he felt. He shot Fi a betrayed look.

Sprite didn’t hesitate to drop his own sword and throw a fist.

Dev jerked backward, dodging away and searching his memories rapidly for fist-to-fist combat. It was messy and their fight turned dirty fast. Sprite knew how to fight with his surroundings in a way Dev never re-learned, only ever taught. At some point, they ended up semi-standing, Dev faking pants as Sprite gave his own real ones.

“Why’d you drop your sword?” He had to ask.

“I don’t need a sword to beat some bandit,” Sprite spat.

Dev blinked. “Bandit? I’m not a bandit.”

“Don’t lie—Huh. You’re not?” He lowered his fists. “Then why…”

“You’re one to talk! With a sword like that, you look like a thief!”

“I calculate a 93% chance that you are awful at acting like a teenager.”

“Shut up.”

“I do not! What are you even doing in a deserted forest like this?” Sprite demanded, blatantly offended.

Dev scoffed, teens do that right? “Dropped by a portal.”

His Sprite did a double-take, jaw dropping as he pointed at himself. “Hey, me too! Who are you?”

Dev picked up both their swords and held out the Magical Sword to its owner. “I’m… I’m Link, you’re a hero, aren’t you?”

Sprite frowned, eyes narrowing as he took the Magical Sword. “Excuse me?”

“My sword—She… was protective, I guess it lingered. It burned me when I raised it against you.” Dev lied, somewhat, there was enough truth to his statement.

Enough truth that it didn’t flag as a lie to the fae child before him.

“There’s probably others like us around here,” Dev continued before anything else could be said, sheathing Fi at his side. He looked around. “Whatever brought us here wouldn’t leave it at just two, I know of two other heroes before me, a third who died in battle. A—You the Hero of the Skies? Or of the Four Sword?”

Sprite shook his head. “No, I don’t have any fancy name, not like the heroes before me. I’m just… just a traveler, really.”

He was the Hero of Hyrule, the Hero, the Hero who came and fought not for his land, but because it was the right thing to do. He was not just a traveler… but... Link, the Legendary Hero, wouldn’t know that, would he? “Fair enough. Well, Traveler, shall we see what other heroes were dragged here?”

Dev managed to lead Sprite to run into his Cub and Wolfie without drawing any suspicion.

“Someone’s coming,” Sprite hissed. Dev gestured upward, and Sprite didn’t hesitate to scale a nearby tree.

They moved up quickly, vanishing behind lush leaves. Dev watched as Cub followed the hero who must be Wolfie below them. Cub looked the same as he did when he first vanished, scarred but not missing any limbs. Wolfie turned out to be a buff, young man, wearing a green tunic not completely different but still distinctly unlike Sprite’s green tunic, though he also had a fur pelt over his shoulders. Behind them trailed a familiar auburn horse, Epona, though it wasn’t one that Dev knew.

“—So… Have you ever time traveled before?” Cub asked, leaning around to try and engage with Wolfie.

“No?” He made a face. "Who do I look like? The Hero of Time?”

“I don’t know! You’re some ancient hero, who am I supposed to guess? The Hero of Wolves?”

“Ordona help me.”

“Hero of Wolves?” Sprite mouthed to him. He shrugged.

“Do you feel that?”

Both of the heroes on the ground stopped in their tracks, hands rested on their weapons. Dev snorted a bit, Sprite rolled his eyes. He didn't need to speak telepathically with him to know that they were both amused and unimpressed with their observation skills.

“Someone’s watching us,” Wolfie hissed to Cub. “Be on your guard.”

Dev sighed. He raised an eyebrow at Sprite, who seemed amused though reluctant. He tried to tacitly convey—we were looking for other heroes…— and seemed to succeed as Sprite’s shoulders slumped.

“You know, if we wanted you dead, it’d been harder if you weren’t yelling your way through a silent forest,” Dev called down.

Both jumped, Wolfie pushing Cub back and both looking up.

“What—“

“We were not yelling—“

“Yeah, you were,” Sprite interrupted.

Dev jumped from the tree, remembering partway through his fall that oh, he’s supposed to be pretending to be hylian. How do you soften a fall?

Thankfully, he’d only been about a single story up and it was well within a hylian’s capabilities to jump from that height and land unharmed.

He did, however, receive a sword to his face as he stood back up.

“Oh calm down.” He rolled his eyes. “I heard that hero comment. You guys get snatched by a portal too?”

“How did you… We did.”

“Fun. So did we.” Sprite landed on the ground just behind Dev, and when the swords were shifted toward him, Dev adjusted to body-block him.

“So, why don’t we put the swords down and talk?” Dev suggested, glaring sharply at Wolfie.

Slowly, they lowered their weapons.

“Uhhh, hi? My name’s Link?” Cub offered.

“Another one?”

Dev really struggled not to laugh at Sprite’s surprise.

He could sense Spectrum having gathered the others together, a group of five, three of which were close together and the other two being Spectrum and the one hero Dev didn’t recognize.

Leading the two groups together was hard, as it seemed Kit was leading Spectrum’s group south, while Cub was insistent they head east, and Sprite thought north was the better option.

How they managed to get the groups together, Dev really didn’t know, but they did and the meeting was extremely chaotic. Many threats were made, Dev had to search his memories for reactions and ended up throwing a few insults at his Kit.

Mask was much older, older than Kit who kept shooting him unsure, hesitant glances. As if… As if they didn’t know that they knew each other yet. Tune was a little older, still young though, and for how he was at Kit’s side, both were fully aware.

Fi’s first wielder was there, he was who Spectrum found. Fi had hummed quietly when he entered their senses. Dev wanted to get to know him, someone he knew secondhand from the spirit who practically raised him.

Eventually, things mellowed out and someone tiredly—Mask—suggested they find nicknames for one another.

“What would we even call each other?” Sprite made a face. “What we’re the hero of? I don’t want to be called Hyrule.”

Dev snorted. “Well, according to you, you’re just a Traveler, Rulie’s cute though.”

“I don’t think that’s a good option,” Fi’s first wielder said, frowning. “I mean, what if we share these… titles? If I get what you mean, I’m the Chosen Hero of the Goddess, but wouldn’t everyone be?”

“Maybe we should stick to things like Traveler,” Spectrum suggested. “I’m a blacksmith when I’m not doing—“ he waved his hand vaguely.

“Wouldn’t we probably have overlap then? Likelihood of us all have different occupations is not that high,” Kit pointed out. “From the looks of you all, I doubt I’m the only knight amongst us.”

“I was a knight too,” Cub said. “But I got promoted to the princess’ personal guard, and then the Champion of Hyrule.”

“I’m a knight,” Fi’s first wielder spoke up. “But I don’t know this ‘hyrule’ place you guys have mentioned. I’m a knight of Skyloft.”

“I guess I am a captain,” Kit sighed.

“I’m a rancher,” Wolfie said, patting Epona. “From Ordon.”

“I’m a sailor! I man ships across the Great Sea,” Tune declared, grinning. “How about you, old man?”

Dev recognized that. He was fishing for information, Tune knew it was Mask, but he was seeking confirmation.

Mask didn’t give it. Instead he hummed. “Considering how young you all look, I suppose that works just fine.”

“What? Old Man?” Dev snorted. “Don’t judge age on appearances.”

“What about you?” Sprite asked.

“Eh, I’m just an average nobody. I’ve been doing hero-related stuff my entire life,” he shrugged.

Spectrum hummed. “So you’d be kind of a veteran at it?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

“I’m not calling a teenager a veteran,” Kit denied immediately. Wolfie nodded his agreement.

“Rude. Fine—I… know things? I have a lot of items? Look—“

“Scholar,” Spectrum offered. Thank the golden three for him. Dev had no idea what else he could say, he was not using his heritage, no, he never would’ve admitted that when he was alive, not to heroes, not to anyone.

“Okay,” Kit agreed. "Scholar's fine."

“So…" Dev prompted. "Where are we? Anybody recognize this place or are we just lost?”

“I do.” Heads turned to the Old Man, who was looking around distantly. He moved over to one side, brushing low-hanging branches aside. “I grew up in these woods. We’re not lost but—Something isn’t right.”

“The forest is too quiet,” the Traveler said.

“We’re lost in ways other than a direction,” the Captain pointed out. “It seems like—“

Something appeared.

The Scholar whirled, there was a rip in the world, a barrier his senses couldn’t cross, and from it came something dark.

A huge, dog-beast charged into the path they stood on. The Old Man was thrown back as the beast stabbed him in the side with a huge spear. The Rancher reacted quickly, a chain grabbing the beast’s arm and preventing it from immediately killing the Old Man.

The Traveler dove in first, striking its legs as the Sky Knight ran to the Old Man. The Captain went in close to aid with the Traveler, but when he struck the beast deeply, it didn’t fall. It spun and backhanded the Captain aside, his sword left inside the beast and laid unmoving across the area.

He was fine. Only injured, and not lethally. Focus, Dev. The Scholar formed the Titan Mitts over his hands. He grabbed the chain to help the Rancher restrain the beast.

The Sailor swung low and slashed upward. He took the beast’s hand with him as he jumped back. An arrow flew past him from behind, hitting true.

“He’s not backing down!” The Smithy cried, drawing back another arrow.

The Scholar felt his grip loosen. “This chain is gonna break!”

The Champion ran around the beast, and using the Captain’s sword as a stepping stone, leapt onto the beast’s back to attempt and drive his sword through its neck. The beast grabbed his arm and threw him. The Smithy dropped to check on him— The Traveler leaped into the air higher than what should be possible, and with his foot against the hilt of his sword, drove his blade into the beast’s nape.

The beast fell, the Traveler stood, and the Sailor ran to cheer for him.

The Scholar forced a calm feeling over himself, the Captain was fine and wiping his face clean of blood. He walked over to retrieve his sword…

It was a sword that the Scholar had reforged from a soldier’s sword, one he forced the hero to keep on him at all times in case he wasn’t nearby for one reason or another.

The Rancher had rushed to help the Old Man, who waved him off.

“Don’t fuss over me.” He got to his feet, seemingly unhurt. “So much effort to take a single one down…”

The Rancher looked slightly hurt by that.

“Is that how you thank us?” The Scholar teased. “You’re as bad as I am”

“You were all quick to act,” he conceded. “Nothing less than commendable to be sure. But this one. This kind of beast… A single one of you should have been able to take it down. This is not normal. Stranger still, these kind are only found deep lost in the woods.”

“You think this has to do with—“

“The Shadow,” The Smithy finished, also cutting the Scholar off.

“The what?”

“We ran into some shadow thing after meeting up,” the Sky Knight said. “Didn’t you guys?”

“No?”

“A shadow thing?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It was a shadow,” the Smithy deadpanned. “Shaped almost like a person, it was hiding and watching us, only reason I saw it was because of the red eyes. They glowed. It was creepy. I’d bet my best blade that it is behind this.”

“I’d believe it,” the Captain said, he held out the cloth he used to clean his sword. It was stained black. “Look, this creature’s blood.”

The Scholar almost froze… were those monsters connected to this? The monsters he'd been killing for the past... however many centuries? The only things out there that gave him--and Spectrum--a challenge anymore?

“It was sick?” The Sailor questioned.

“From what we saw, more like empowered,” the Traveler corrected.

The Rancher cut in sharply. “This can wait, we have wounded.”

“Not necessarily,” the Old Man said, a fairy emerging from the trees to fly up to him. “We are far too fortunate to be in these woods. It’s safe now, the beast is dead.”

The Scholar watched fairies flock from all angles, healing the Captain, Champion, and the Sailor quickly opening a bottle to catch one that fluttered up to him. The Traveler greeted the fairies warmly.

“This forest is full of life now, strange that they hid from it,” the Traveler said.

“Something to be feared I guess,” the Smithy pointed out. “Even they knew something wasn’t right.”

“If it’s not the shadow we’re looking for—“

“It’s at least a lead,” the Captain interrupted the Scholar. “Seems we are on the right path to understand the cause of our meeting.”

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