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hellsbellssinclub · 2 months ago

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Laura Kinney- Talon.

AU under the drop

An AU where Synch dies early in the Vault and there is no relationship:

Laura is left alone. For years and years after the death of her comrades and friends. She is bitter, angry and alone. She stays sane by remembering her family, her little sisters, her big brother (whom she is now older than) her father (who she too now has grown older than in ways that she did not want to think about) and those she called friends.

She hates she did not get to explore those feelings that were starting to grow in her for Synch, as absences does not make the heart fonder when she is fighting for her life alone. She hates that the world outside this place turns on and on without her.

She almost gives up hope that she would ever leave when she is finally saved. Saved and returned home. To her little sister. To their little house. To safety and peace.

Only, she finds her home empty. No little sister to greet her. No pet wolverine eating her furniture. Her brother is away. Her father awkward and avoiding her.

And a woman with her face and memories left to her explain what had happened while she was trapped alone.

The woman, her clone. Her replacement. He perfect copy.

She had been born from the Five. When she, the real (is she real? Now that there is a copy of her) Laura and her team failed to meet their check in the worst was assumed and they were brought back, the way all dead are here on this paradise island. This Laura before her has all of Laura’s memories before the Vault. All of her horrors and best qualities. Everything that has ever made her, her.

Laura cannot blame the young Laura for living her life, while she was trapped in that hell. The whole protocol was in place for a reason. She (this young Laura) was supposed to be here.

Laura herself was now an oddity in the world. Not the oddest thing to ever happen, but it does not matter in the end. She is happy to have two of herself, in the end. She has grown so, so much in her time in the vault. Having so much time on her hands have her the chance to grow past her traumas. To heal from them. Absence does not make the heart fonder but it does make it easier to forget what had been done with her.

All she really wants is her family together again.

The copy, the young Laura whose green eyes were pinched in pain, explains why the house was empty.

Gabby was dead. Murdered while is the supposed safety of their little island. She may heal, but even those who can heal like their family can die.

And that is what happened to Gabby. And unlike everyone else, Gabby was a clone. And Clones were not allowed to come back. The Five refused to create a precedent where clones are be brought back, least the likes of Jean Greys clone comes back.

Jonathan the wolverine was no longer in their home, he spent all his time at the location where Gabby died. Guarding the area as there was no body to be buried. The Five had cremated her. So that Sinister could not use her body material to do whatever evil science he does.

Her heart is hardened. It was a broken little thing that she had been slowly healing before she had gone into the vault. Gabby had been the reason she had been healing. She was a light in the darkness that was the life of Laura Kinney.

The young Laura breaks down in her arms, telling her even more bad news. Bellona was missing, presumed dead. There was a mass breakout in the shield holding cells where Bellona was being kept. The area of Bellona’s cell was had been destroyed, her blood was on the floor but no body had been recovered.

Laura had been trying ever since Bellona had been arrested to have her released. To have her sister returned to her. Tried and failed time and time again. There was always a reason as to why they could not release her. Or exonerated her. And the X-Men and Council would not allow her to risk their nation for a Clone, even her own.

She-Hulk had taken the case for her but had been road blocked time and time again. She was supposed to go and see her, after finishing this mission in the vault. So they could come up with a new plan.

And now it seems that everything she has done has failed. Her little sisters are dead or presumed dead. Her brother is in the wind, on a mission she is told, lied to. Her father will not meet her eyes.

And her little copy, her little Laura, is offering to kill herself so that she does not have to deal with having a useless clone around.

With a heavy heart and anger mixed darkly with love, Laura takes her little clones hands and vowed to protect her. Names her the real Laura. Says that the name gifted to her, to them by their mother is no longer she holds close to her heart.

She names herself Talon. And she begins to plan.

There were other ways to bring people back from the dead, than what the Five can do.

Zelda. Gabby. That girl in Paris, who Gabby would never tell her the name of.

She would bring them back.

She will find a way.

And Bellona? Well, missing and presumed dead does not mean dead.

Talon will find her sister. And if she was dead, truely dead, then she will be brought back too.

Akihiro… she will track down what had happen to him and get him on board with her plans too. He will help. Or he will keep out of her way.

Her little Laura looked like she could use a mission to keep her mind focused. She was happy that her little copy had found a friend in Jublee, like she had once upon a time. But she knew herself, a mission, one that meant something would make her feel better.

(She would ignore her father for now. There was much she needed to speak to him about but those she has sent years thinking of it she does not know if she is ready to say it)

Talon was a hunter. She will hunt down a way to bring back her sisters.

She did not paradise. She just wanted her family.

And Talon had vowed to herself, while in the loneliness of the vault, that she will never deny herself what she wants.

Art made with pencil, fine liner on paper

#laura kinney #talon #wolverine #art with fic #hellsbells wrote something!!!#hellsbells art #my art #the two wolves represent the younger Laura and Gabby and the moon is Bellona #I wish they did more with Talons character #the whole arch could have been cool and awesome #but instead she was just synchs girlfriend #maybe I will write this fic myself #if I can between my other fics 😂

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adrift-in-thyme · 2 years ago

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The Ghost in the Lost Woods

While trying to navigate the Lost Woods Link meets a strangely familiar figure

Ao3 | Fic beneath the cut

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When he ends up at the entrance to the Lost Woods for the twentieth time Link is forced to finally admit it. He’s lost, hopelessly so.

With a sigh, he ignites his torch once more. This is the only part of the woods he’s been to so far where he can actually see two feet in front of him. Everything else is bathed in thick fog that he can make neither heads nor tails of.

Supposedly, the wind is meant to guide his steps and bring him to the place where the Master Sword awaits.

Supposedly.

It certainly hasn’t helped him yet.

Maybe he should turn back. He casts a glance over his shoulder to where he knows the path lies, hopelessly obscured by the fog. He could set up camp right outside the forest, cook something warm and hearty, get some sleep. Then, when morning dawned he’d be up bright and early, ready to try again.

But he doesn’t want to give up, not yet, not now when he’s already wasted half of a day trying to navigate these blasted woods.

He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and heads forward once more.

He makes it five steps before the mist closes in, the telltale giggles of Koroks fill his ears, and the forest spits him out…right back at the entrance.

Link lets out a growl of frustration. How’s he supposed to pull the sword when he can’t even find it? He stumbled upon it before, a mere chance encounter when he was a child playing amongst the trees. Why is it so very difficult now?

Does the Goddess not want him to find it? Has she deemed him unworthy after his miserable failure?

It wouldn’t surprise him.

He extinguishes his torch and walks over to the nearest tree. Flopping down, he leans against it and closes his eyes. The sounds of the forest drift to his ears, carried on the wings of the wind that failed him. Usually, they’re calming, a balm on his frayed nerves, grounding him when the weight of everything becomes too much. But today they only serve to remind him that even nature itself rejects him.

He lets out a bitter laugh. He’s unworthy of a forest now. Fancy that.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?”

A voice slices through the quiet, pushing aside his dismal thoughts. Link opens his eyes.

“Huh?”

A tall man dressed in a full plate of armor gazes down at him, his one eye twinkling with something like amusement.

“I asked if you were lost.”

Link blinks once, twice. He has the oddest feeling he’s met this man before, maybe even known him well. But that can’t be. He makes a point of remembering everyone he comes across on his travels and he’s never even seen this man, much less gotten to know him.

Then again, he doesn’t even remember the faces of his parents. If this man is from his past, there is little chance he would recall him now.

“Umm.”

Eyes narrowing, he looks from the man to the woods and back again. He could be a Yiga, of course. That would explain his unexpected appearance. He has never seen Yiga in these parts though. No doubt they’re afraid to venture too close to the mysterious Lost Woods. And, then, there’s also the fact that he isn’t wearing one of their trademark suits, nor offering to sell him overpriced bananas.

Besides, this man has a strange sort of aura about him, almost like the feeling Link gets when he uses one of the Champion’s powers. He must possess strong magic–maybe even dark magic if the odd markings on his face are any indication. Yet, he dresses like a knight.

And to make matters even stranger, he wavers slightly out of focus if Link stares at him for too long, skin turning just the tiniest bit bluish and translucent. With him standing with his back to the woods, Link has the distinct impression of a phantom emerging from the hazy darkness of the trees.

This man is no ordinary traveler, that much is terribly obvious.

Link frowns up at him, hand drifting ever so slowly to his slate. “Who are you?”

The man smiles, kind and a bit sad. “You can call me Time.”

Time.

Link’s frown deepens. There it is again, the feeling of unexplainable familiarity, as though he’s heard that name before.

“And you’re…traveling through these woods too?”

“You could say that.”

Slowly, Link stands, careful to keep his hand by his slate. He hasn’t tested Stasis on magical beings or ghosts, but it’s worth a try. At the very least, he might be able to take advantage of the element of surprise. His efforts to be nonchalant must not be too effective, though, because Time’s gaze flits to his hip.

“You don’t have to worry,” he says, evenly. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Then, why are you here?”

He regards him calmly, arms crossed over his chest. “To guide the hero to his birthright. That is what you’re after, isn’t it?”

Link’s blood runs cold. Usually, he has no qualms about strangers knowing who and what he is. But usually, they’re random civilians more interested in meeting their crush or seeing a mythical weapon than anything else. And they certainly don’t possess any magical abilities. For this man, however, this strange knight who practically emanates power to know who he is, feels…well it doesn’t feel wrong at all. In fact, it feels as right as following Zelda’s voice or setting the Divine Beasts free. It feels like destiny.

And that is what terrifies him.

“What,” he chokes, “what makes you think I’m the hero?”

Time smirks. “To attempt to pass through these woods you must either be incredibly foolish or incredibly courageous. And you don’t strike me as a fool.”

Link swallows down the fear lodged in his throat. He isn’t entirely sure what to say to that. He’s never been a good liar, that much is for certain, but sometimes he really, really wishes he was.

“Besides,” Time continues, reaching down to pull off one of his gauntlets, “it’s not all that difficult to recognize someone else who possesses the unbreakable spirit.”

He holds up his hand and Link’s eyes go wide. There on his skin is the mark of the Triforce, its far right corner bolded in gold.

Link stares at it, almost not believing what he’s seeing. Slowly, he drags his gaze back up to meet Time’s.

“You—you’re a hero too?”

“I was.” Time replaces his gauntlet, that sorrowful smile lifting his lips once more. “But that was a very long time ago.”

“And now you’re a ghost.”

He chuckles. “Yes, and now I’m a ghost.”

Link runs a hand through his bangs and blows out a breath.

“Okay, wow.”

“Is it really that strange to you?” Time lifts an eyebrow, quizzically. “You’re over a hundred years old, and you often travel with the spirit of your predecessor.”

Link tilts his head questioningly. “Wolfie? How do you know about him?”

“I have my ways.”

Link lets out an exasperated huff. Of course, he’d get the most cryptic ghost in all of Hyrule to guide him. Even Wolfie gives straighter answers than that and he’s incapable of speech.

But Time is gesturing toward the forest now, and Link can tell that particular question isn’t one he’ll get an answer to.

“So, shall we go?”

Link takes one last look at the path and then nods. If he can’t trust the ghost of a past hero, who can he trust?

“Lead on, old man.”

Emotion surges across Time’s face, then is gone faster than Link has time to identify it. He turns away.

“These woods are treacherous,” he says, tone suspiciously level. “Stay close.”

He plunges into the mist, and Link jogs after him.

“Treacherous?”

The only dangers he’s found here are wolves and stalfos. And given that he encounters those practically everywhere he goes, he’s more inclined to label them as incredibly annoying.

Time skewers him with a somber glance. “Those who don’t know how to navigate these woods are swallowed by them. They become stalfos, cursed to wander forever. The forest children have kept you safe from this fate.”

“Oh.”

Well, that certainly brings up more than a few questions and a good bit of discomfort. Suddenly, the fog crowding him on either side seems infinitely more threatening, and Link finds himself gravitating closer to his guide.

“So, how come you know how to get through here when no one else does?” he asks, pivoting on his heel as Time makes an unexpected turn.

The old man’s expression grows nostalgic. “I grew up here. Well, not here exactly, but the Lost Woods in my Hyrule aren’t so different from these.”

Link hums, thoughtfully. He hadn’t thought anyone inhabited this forest save for monsters, animals, and Koroks. But it’s not too hard to imagine that long ago in a different Hyrule this man called the Lost Woods his home. He navigates them with confidence and skill, almost as though the trees themselves are guiding him with silent, invisible hands. And if he were wearing green, Link suspects he would look like he truly belonged here.

“Is this your responsibility, then?” he asks. “To guide people through these woods?”

“No,” Time answers, calmly. “I am only here to guide you.”

Link goes quiet once more, mulling over that in his head. It’s one thing for the Champions, and Zelda, and even Wolfie to guide and protect him. It’s quite another for this man, only connected to him through shared destiny, to show up to aid him, and after all this time too.

It makes so little sense. Then again, he’s found that to be a sort of trend lately.

A blupee darts past them, and he watches it, almost idly wondering if he should take a shot at it. But then it comes an abrupt stop right in front of Time, looking up at him almost expectantly. Time pauses and reaches down to run a gentle hand over it’s head. The animal leans closer, emitting a small, happy sounding noise, and Link shakes his head in disbelief.

“They always run from me.”

As if on cue, the blupee stiffens, bright eyes locking onto him, then disappears in a puff of blue. Time turns to him, something almost accusatory in his gaze.

“Perhaps, if you stopped shooting at them they would be more inclined to stay.” He straightens and makes a beckoning motion with his hand. “Now, come, we’re almost there.”

Link follows him, feeling strangely chastised and a bit annoyed.

It isn’t enough to just be cryptic, apparently, Time has to be judgmental too.

“I don’t wanna hurt them,” he says after a few moments drift by and the need to defend himself still hasn’t gone away. “I’m just always light on rupees.”

“There are other ways of earning rupees, you know,” Time says, tone still infuriatingly level.

With a petulant scowl, Link goes back to plodding along in silence.

It’s not long, though, before the fog begins to dissipate, and Link can see the beginnings of a tunnel looming up ahead. Time comes to a halt a short distance before it and gestures toward it.

“We’re here.”

Link steps forward, almost hesitantly. After trying so hard to get here, he isn’t sure what to do now. The Master Sword awaits him just past these trees – “his birthright,” as Time put it.

But after his miserable failure, can he possibly pull it? Or will it deem him unworthy of another chance to save his kingdom?

He doesn’t even realize that he’s standing frozen, rooted to the spot, until a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Jumping slightly in surprise, he raises his head to meet Time’s gaze. All judgment is gone now, replaced by something kind and understanding. He might, Link realizes with a jolt of surprise, even call it fatherly.

“You are equipped to rise to this challenge,” he says, firmly. “You have worked diligently to prepare for this moment. Now, it is time to claim what is rightfully yours.”

He gives Link the slightest nudge and he steps forward, heart in his throat.

He’s right, it’s time. But…

“And if I’m not–if I’m not ready for this…”

“The sword holds a strict standard, I know. But I have no doubt you will measure up to it.”

His hands are trembling, his stomach churning, but Link takes another step and another. The tunnel is like a gaping maw, ready to devour him, and spit him out bruised and battered by the expectations he can never meet. There is a pull too though, an indescribable feeling that draws him forth, as though he belongs here, as though taking these very steps was written in his history from the start.

As though his failure and all the consequences of it has all led to this, pivotal moment.

His feet carry him, his body moves for him, and it feels right.

“Go, my son,” Time says, voice fading into the mist, “and do not falter.”

Link steps into the sun.

It’s only when it’s all said and done, when the sword is in his hands, and the Deku Tree’s words are ringing in his ears, and the forest children are crowding around him, eager to meet his every need that he sees them. A gray wolf and a golden one sit a short distance away, cloaked by the mist, unnoticed by anyone save for him. And when his eyes meet theirs, there is pride in their gazes.

#I’ve seen some awesome artworks on here depicting the hero of time leading botw link through the lost woods #and just had to write something similar #also #I’m obsessed with the headcanon that wild is twilight’s descendant and so time’s too #wouldn’t it be cool if they both watched out for him?#two guardian grandpa wolves just following him around and judging him for his crazy antics lol #and of course protecting him #…and also taking part in those crazy antics cause we all know they’re gremlins too XD #anyway #might have to write something longer along those lines someday #loz #botw #linkeduniverse #lu time #lu wild #trin writes #hero’s shade #kinda

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dearestaeneas · 11 months ago

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Bite

You’re hungry.

It’s okay. You’ve been hungry before.

You’ll be hungry again.

It won’t last long. You know that much.

It’s cool today. There’s a breeze that doesn’t bite so much as nibble. That won’t last long, either. In just a few short hours, that coolness will turn to something not too unlike frost. There’s rain coming tonight.

There’s rain coming tonight, and you’re hungry.

All in all, not the worst situation to be in.

So you prowl. The underbrush doesn’t so much as crunch under the pads of your feet. You move as a mountain, the muscles in your shoulders flexing with each step. You hear the distant sound of hooves: twigs snap, leaves rustle, branches bend. They’d be scared of you, if they knew what that shape so far from them really was.

You don’t know why, though. You’re of no threat to them. Sure, sometimes you’re desperate. Who isn’t? That’s not your fault. To an outsider, this distinction wouldn’t be large enough to matter, but you know, and the deer know. It’s different.

Your stomach growls, a rumble that your throat replicates. You cannot mask your hunger, but you can at least remind the world that your hunger is a threat. It is too bright out, despite the canopy of trees above your head and the gray sky above that.

Leaves brush against your back. If you’re moving, they’ll see you. Best to lay for a while. They fear you in a way the deer do not. Perhaps it has to do with the deer sharing your home. They’re family, in a way.

This is close enough, you think to yourself. The earth bends here for you, under your weight. Your nose runs parallel to your legs, and you let out a humph! of a sigh as you wait.

As you sleep, the world begins to darken. It is not customary to sleep so in the open, but who will challenge you? Who will attempt to teach you a lesson for this deviancy?

You snored, although you did not know it. It was a deep and rumbling tone, more a feeling than a sound. They heard it for miles. You shook the world. As far as anyone could tell, you were the world.

The rain woke you, and how dare it. Droplets spattered on your nose. You yawned then, great jaws extending wider and wider. The sneeze that follows after you lick your lips surprises even you as you stand suddenly against unseen predators. There are no predators, of course. There never are.

There never will be.

Your tail wags as you lay down, and it thumps against the ground, reverberating through the trees. If there were any birds left in the trees after your sneeze, they were gone now.

You don’t mind the waiting. Even with the pain in your stomach, you’re still home. You’re comfortable and safe and soon, will be fed.

You hear them before you see them, obviously. Their feet stomp along the trail, which had been pounded into the earth by so many before them. Of course, some simply had to make it through, otherwise the trail wouldn’t be such a viable source. They’re bickering, as they often are at this hour. You smile. Your great tongue hangs from your mouth. Your breathing is louder then, but beneath the rain and the other sounds of the forest, who would really notice it?

“I told you the rain was going to start sooner than you thought,” one of them says.

“It’s not coming down too hard yet,” the other replies sheepishly. “And we’re too far to turn back now.”

You don’t understand what these words mean. You’ve heard conversations that sounded similar enough before, and all of those had been just as inconsequential as this one.

They do not see your massive form for what it is, and how could they? You tower, creating a hill of your own. The canopy will always protect you, but few will ever come as close to you when they stand and look to the heavens.

“It’s not even dark yet,” the sheep says.

“The trees are getting thicker,” comes the uneasy reply.

You stretch. Your paws snap a sapling some feet away with their weight.

Frozen silence.

Minutes pass. This moment alone is so delicious it nearly fills your stomach.

Then, one set of quick steps. “I want to go home,” the voice says. It already sounds a little farther away.

“You’re being dramatic,” is the annoyed response.

“You said we had about a mile and a half, right? I’m not taking this at a leisurely pace anymore.”

“I’m not going any faster.”

“Then get home alone.”

It is a rare joy when they separate. You don’t mind chasing after one, you don’t even mind losing one.

You study the movement of the bodies before you. The gap between them extends wider and wider.

You sniff. By now you have stopped smiling, eyes keenly following the furthest body. Its pace has accelerated greatly, and it periodically calls back: “Hurry up!”

The other body is slow, strolling as a tourist. “You’re afraid of everything!”

If they were to run, as the first body now is, they would cover the nearly two mile trek in about 20 minutes. It would not take you even a fraction of that. But the second body does not follow the first’s example.

The first body is now too far for the second to hear its calls, but you can hear them. They are more of the same. The feet never stop pounding.

You stand then. The landscape shifts with your form, and the lowest branches of the trees above you shift at the touch of your back. The body hesitates at this sound. Although the sapling had sounded much like a distant shot from a hunter’s gun, this disturbance resembled something creaking, something ancient.

“Hello?” They sound so small. Why have they stopped moving? The rain is still somewhat light, pattering gently. They are mostly protected from the elements, though the remaining light is fading fast. If they were to look, they would only see a shadow’s shadow, although there would likely be an acute awareness that the hill that had been beside their path for so long was now gone.

It wasn’t fun when it was too easy.

Your stomach grumbles as if in response. You had debated how best to remind the body before you that they were not home, and your own body had answered. The sheep gasped, and there was a panting that followed as their gait increased. They were slow. Their breathing sounded pained, their anxiety rising at a disproportionate rate and slowing the rest of their body.

You watch with curiosity. They move as if injured. You pad along beside them in silence. Eventually their breathing evens. Their pace remains somewhat faster, although it appears something in them has calmed. They are humming, quietly.

Several moments pass before you step closer to the trail. You inch your way toward them, some paces behind, until only a thin layer of forest separates you from the body.

Their eyes are forward, and as alert as they could be in the darkness. Eventually you will break the wall of greenery that separates you. The body is visibly on edge, aware of you without admitting it to itself.

Until it stops.

“Please make it quick,” the body says. Its voice is even, although quiet.

You stop. A puff of an exhale escapes your nostrils. The body had heard.

This is better than you could have imagined. You sit then, almost expectant. Your eyes are bright and intelligent, yellow in the darkness.

The body steps closer to the woods.

Your tail begins to wag, and it swishes in the forest behind you. Twigs and fallen leaves swirl. The wagging increases in intensity until the body freezes. The delight coursing through your massive body is unparalleled.

The body steps away from the forest. You can no longer contain yourself.

You step slowly onto the trail behind the body. Your massive paws straddle it. The body stares up at you, eyes wide and face pale. You slowly tilt your head down, nose only a foot or two away. They do not move.

You begin to sniff them, taking in the sweat and fear their body releases. Perhaps they are comforted by this. They slowly reach a shaking hand up, and you lower further to meet the distance. The tiny palm touches your cold, wet nose.

The body lets out something like a laugh, lets out something like relief and something not too far from hesitant joy.

You bite.

The body screams, clutching at its mangled arm with its only full one. The blood drips onto the soil. It begins to run, and you sit.

You are patient. You chew thoughtfully, though you barely chew at all. All the while your tail wags.

The body stumbles away in a sprint, emitting a hoarse screaming sob.

By now the second body is nearly gone from the wood, if not completely free. You follow, trying to appear as if you were giving chase. The body looks over the shoulder of its injured arm and sees you follow, sees the way your tongue hangs from your open mouth, hears your tail slam against trunk after trunk.

If you had been smaller, they might have had more appreciation for how beautiful the scene they witnessed was.

There is beauty in everything. There is beauty in your teeth, in your fur, in the way blood drips like rubies from your jaws.

There is beauty in the body’s eyes, the way the little brown dots appear so small in a sea of white. There is beauty in the way the body twists to cradle itself.

Your jaws snap at the body a second time, failing to tear the meat once more. This is on purpose. A wetness blossoms from the shoulder, accompanied by another cry.

The meat is stumbling now, feet catching on one another until finally it falls. There is a sticky trail behind it that your paws have passed through. The fur between your paw pads is matted with it.

It cries. It twists to face you. You are confused by this: so often does meat turn from you, so often does it refuse to face the beauty of nature.

Like the deer, perhaps this meat understands that the act itself is not borne of malice or hatred.

Do you feel a pang of regret for taunting it so?

No. Nature plays games. To play is to live is to eat.

You are quick with your meal. That, at least, is a conscious decision.

You have taken it back into the depths of the woods, and once finished, you lick your paws.

It is fully dark now.

The pain in your stomach has finally subsided.

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