#by something beyond even your vast comprehension!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skyloftian-nutcase · 1 month

Text

Breath of the Sky Ch 14 (SS meets BotW)

Summary: When Princess Zelda goes to the Spring of Courage to pray, accompanied by her appointed knight, a giant magical cog spitting out a goddess is the last thing she expects, but it is what she gets. Meanwhile, the Spirit Maiden Zelda is trying to figure out what the heck is happening and where her missing chosen hero is.

AO3 link

Chapter 14: A Set Path

The sunlight was being hidden away by the clouds, reminding him strikingly of his days on the Surface a few months ago. It was still warm, almost too warm, but he shivered nonetheless.

Link and Zelda had been given some privacy as they’d walked away from the picnic site, instead standing on a hill overlooking a good portion of the field. In the distance there were many structures, some stone and some wood, some with people and some with strange animals.

“I didn’t think we’d be stuck doing this again,” Link finally commented, feeling Zelda’s fingers interlace with his own.

Zelda sighed solemnly, staring out at the vastness of the land alongside him. “I… didn’t either.”

There was no going home at this point. They both knew it.

“You sure this wasn’t part of your plan?” he asked, glancing at her. Given his earlier accusation, he felt like dirt even asking, but he had to at least have something to cling to.

“I wish it was,” Zelda muttered bitterly. “At least then I’d know what to do.”

Link felt… hopelessly lost. The words of assurance from the captain echoed in his mind, but what good were those assurances when Hylia’s own plan fell through?

Well. It wasn’t like Hylia had been perfect, he thought with maybe a touch too much resentment. He squeezed Zelda’s hand all the more, trying to push that out of his mind. As much as he tried to separate the two, there was no separating them. As much as Zelda insisted she was still the person he knew, that didn’t change the fact that her past was intermingled with something far beyond his comprehension.

That didn’t mean she still hadn’t used him.

What difference does that make? It was for a good reason.

A reason which had failed. But he knew that was his own doing, not Hylia’s.

Link’s gaze drifted back towards the stone pillars, towards the area in the center of the field where the other two sat. His successor and his descendant. The pair were eating quietly, one more eagerly than the other, but both seemed to occasionally remember Link and Zelda were there and would glance in their direction.

He supposed there was no avoiding them now. Not that he minded being near Zellie all that much, but goddesses above sometimes it was just too much hearing about all of it. As for his successor…

“Link, I…” Zelda started to say, her words lost in the wind for a moment. Link looked back at her, heart clenching at the torn look on her face. “I’m sorry. For all of this.”

“Don’t apologize,” he immediately replied. “This isn’t your fault, it’s mine.”

“But it all started with me,” Zelda noted quietly. “It all started with Hylia.”

Link bit his lip. He’d be a hypocrite to argue against her at this point, at least after all he’d said earlier. Goddesses he wished he’d kept silent. He tried a different tactic. “Whoever started it, I’m the one who—”

“Oh, just stop,” Zelda cut in tiredly, releasing his hand and hugging herself. “Please, just—I just—”

“I just wish it wasn’t like this,” Link finished for her, slowly wrapping his arms around her and letting her melt into the reassuring embrace.

They were in the future. The future. They were beholding the fruits of their efforts. Why couldn’t this just be a happy occasion? At least for Zelda – for Link it would’ve been beyond his comprehension, really, overwhelming and amazing and wild and wonderful, but… anything would’ve been better than this sinking realization.

It’s over. It’s finally over.

Zelda’s words, mixed with tears and choking on relief and joy, echoed in his mind. They’d thought it was over.

“What are we going to do?” he asked her.

Zelda shuddered in his hold, burying her face in his chest. “I don’t know. They… they don’t even know if the Triforce still exists.”

Link blanched, pulling away. “What? That was the entire crux of our plan!”

“I know,” Zelda cried. “I know! I don’t understand how—what—they said something about beasts, about those guardian things and the sword—”

“Fi? How’s Fi going to fix this?” Link asked. “Can she—is she even awake? Can she talk?”

He didn’t think she could, honestly – not based on her reaction when he’d held her at the festival. She’d sung, yes, but he should’ve heard her voice. Fi had said she’d go into an eternal slumber for the sole purpose of keeping Demise sealed away.

Maybe that was where they could start, then. Maybe something had happened to Fi.

“We need to talk to them,” Link said firmly, looking back at the pair again. His resolve faltered at the thought of speaking to his successor, as he didn’t really even deserve to, but Zelda’s tears motivated him well enough. If his beloved was floundering, he’d find a solution, because he would never leave her in such a helpless state.

Link’s resolve faded the closer they got to the pair, but it was too late by then. Zellie and the new Hero noticed their approach, watching them. As Link’s steps faltered from shame over his failure, Zelda took the lead, guiding him forward with a gentle hand. When the pair sat across from the other two, the Hero carefully pushed food towards Link.

Everyone stared at each other awkwardly.

“So,” Zelda said, finally taking the lead. “You mentioned guardians and divine beasts would help you fight De—Calamity Ganon. And then… you two would fight him? Right?”

Zellie looked at her Hero and then back at Zelda before nodding.

Link opened his mouth to ask about Fi and then found his voice not cooperating. He looked down, hands balling up his tunic and releasing it in anxious movements.

“And you need help with your powers,” Zelda continued.

The princess visibly wilted, looking down.

Link blinked. “What powers?”

Zellie and the new Hero’s eyes immediately went to him, widened as if he’d spoken some kind of heresy.

“I think she’s supposed to have the magic to seal him away,” Zelda answered hesitantly. “That’s what I’ve gathered, at least?”

The pair switched their horrified gazes to Zelda now. Well… at least Link wasn’t melting under their stares anymore. But why the faces?

“You—you think?” Zellie repeated. “But I—my prayers—”

“Look,” Zelda interrupted. “Let’s get this straight. Whatever prayers you’re saying, or anyone is saying—I’m not hearing them. I’m not—I don’t have that kind of power, to read people’s minds and stuff. And—and whoever you’re praying to, you’re doing it in this era, you know? I’m—we’re from the past.”

“W-well, yes,” Zellie acknowledged a little uncomfortably. But it seemed curiosity got the better of her, her eyes shining. “But—how—what is it like, where you are? Can you sense—I mean, you got here somehow, and—”

“I got here because of Link,” Zelda interrupted before hastily adding, “B-but obviously we were destined to be here, too. I mean—what else are the odds that we learn of the demon king’s survival just as you’re preparing for him? But I—this wasn’t my planning. I don’t know what’s happening. We’re trying to piece it together.”

Link’s gaze drifted towards the Master Sword, and he found himself making eye contact with the Hero wielding it. He quickly looked back at Zellie, who seemed simultaneously worried and fascinated.

“All my life, I’ve… I’ve had to try and teach myself this power,” Zellie said softly, her expression growing despairing, frustrated, before she looked hopefully at Zelda. “If you can… if Your Grace would be so kind as to help me… I…”

“I already promised you I would,” Zelda assured her with a smile. “Knight’s honor.”

Zellie blinked. “Knight’s… honor?”

“Oh. Sorry. Expression,” Zelda chuckled nervously, rubbing her hands together.

“Zelda’s a knight,” Link immediately said. “Not a goddess.”

Well. She was his goddess, but that was beside the point. The point was he knew how much this Your Grace nonsense was bothering her. He’d seen her tolerate it fine with Impa, but that was during her rediscovery of her past. She’d been trying to reconcile it since then, and Farore knew this wasn’t helping.

Zelda sighed at the bemused expressions they were receiving. “I… I am the goddess Hylia reborn. But I… look. I’m just… I was born a human like everyone else. I can barely remember my life as Hylia. I…”

“Why?” the princess asked before catching herself.

Zelda quickly waved off her apology that she was about to splutter. “Because I—Hylia, I mean—was killed. I—Hylia sacrificed herself to seal the calamity away until I could come back to defeat him with Link.”

Here she paused, looking at Link, eyes alight with love, face glowing with pride. Despite his own guilt and shame, Link couldn’t help melting a little at the gaze, smiling at her in return.

“Fascinating,” Zellie whispered.

Zelda and Link lost the girl’s wonder in their own attention to each other before his beloved finally smiled back at the other two. “If we’re going to figure out how to stop the demon king, we’ll need to see everything involved in this plan of yours. And as for your powers… my memories were awakened at the sacred springs. Maybe we could start there?”

It was interesting watching the princess’ reactions to Zelda’s words. She was delighted at first, and ashamed at the end. Clearly, her powers were a point of contention for her.

Link could sympathize. Goddess… he hoped she didn’t feel as he did, but he had a sinking suspicion that was indeed the case. How could she possibly feel such a way? It wasn’t as if her lack of abilities had caused harm yet, right? It couldn’t be any more catastrophic than his own failures – despite the obvious one, he’d also nearly let Zelda die at the hands of Ghirahim. Were it not for Impa in the Earth Temple, all would have been lost due to Link’s ineptitude.

And in the end, what difference did it make?

Link shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Stop. This isn’t helping.

He looked ahead again and saw the knight staring at him. Abruptly, he felt his cheeks flush and he looked down at his uneaten food. He hesitantly pushed it back towards the knight.

The pair stared at each other again before their gaze drifted to the plate. The knight hesitantly took the food back, eating it.

“Well, if you want to see guardians, I can show you some at the castle,” Zellie said eagerly, rising to her feet. “But the divine beasts reside in their champions’ domains. I can arrange for all of us to travel across Hyrule! It will—we can stop at the springs as well, but—you’ll see all that we have built, all we have prepared for the coming calamity.”

Link and Zelda looked at each other, surprised, before looking back at the princess. “There’s… more to Hyrule?”

Zellie practically glowed with pride. “Why yes, of course! Come, we must hurry, I’ll prepare everything!”

Well… at least they had a plan. Link rose at the same time as the knight, and the two nearly bumped shoulders, making Link stumbled towards Zelda. He was pretty certain he’d fumbled enough conversations today, so perhaps he’d save asking about Fi for later. But as the four walked, it was immediately apparent he was stuck lingering with his successor while Zellie babbled excitedly in the front of the group, nearly holding Zelda hostage with her conversation. Link found that he couldn’t help but stare at the blade, aching for its warmth, for Fi’s voice to echo in his mind and heart.

He felt so incredibly alone seeing her on someone else’s back.

Zelda stopped abruptly. “Oh! I almost forgot. We have to have nicknames, or this is going to get way too confusing. We have a few already – Dove, you’ll go by Cloud, and he’ll go by Champion. Now we just need to figure out me and the princess.”

Cloud? Link tilted his head to the side, raising an eyebrow at his wife, curious where that nickname had come from. He’d accept it, of course… did this have to do with the cloud barrier? Skyloft? Or was it a joke based on that story at the festival?

He felt a smile pull at his lips. As much as he’d shot down the ideas the princess had brought up about his existence, it was beginning to grow on him. He could at least garner some entertainment from the absolute ignorance surrounding his identity. Besides, he’d promised himself he’d buy into it the next time someone brought it up. It was too funny not to.

Helpfully, he added, “The princess said she’s okay with going by Zellie.”

The knight, Champion, stared at the princess a moment, and though his face was placid as ever, Link could sense some kind of underlying question hidden in it.

“I guess that just leaves me,” Zelda muttered thoughtfully.

“Your Grace… wants a nickname?” Zellie questioned.

“Of course I do!” Zelda answered sincerely. “I mean… we’re going to be friends! I don’t want you addressing me like some distant deity and the like. I may be the spirit maiden, but… I want us to be friends. This isn’t… this isn’t my…”

Zelda faltered, stumbling on words and thoughts, and Link watched her reluctantly. He wasn’t exactly eager to back her up in this instance – she’d spent their entire venture discovering her identity as someone else, and she had been struggling to retain her own self as Zelda since then. He wasn’t going to encourage her taking on a new persona, even if it was just a nickname.

“We’ll figure it out,” he finally cut in quietly just to move the conversation away from it.

Zelda sighed, shrugging, and the princess continued to lead them back to the castle. Link kept up this time, though, so as to avoid looking at Fi any longer. It seemed Champion always remained two steps behind his princess, anyway.

Noticing how the Champion lagged behind, Zelda smiled welcomingly and fell back so she could be in step with him, leaving Zellie and Link in the front. As Link looked around, he found other things to focus on. Like how distinctly open and alive this place felt while simultaneously… lacking something. The more he stared at the world around him, the strangely more apparent it became, and he wasn’t sure why he’d only just noticed it now, or what it meant.

This land of Hyrule was beautiful and vast, stunning beyond all comprehension. But the Surface that Link knew was brimming with something else in the air, the very fabric of the life woven through the land was teeming with magic and energy. Here, it simply… wasn’t. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. It felt like something had been lost while so much had been gained, and it suddenly made him pause. Perhaps this was what was lost when there was no trace of the Triforce, no guidance from Fi, with magic steadily draining from this land.

Link felt all the lonelier for it.

“Hero? Um… C-Cloud?”

Cloud? Oh, yes. That was him. Link looked somewhat reluctantly at the princess, waiting for her to continue. They’d talked so easily earlier, but he’d left that conversation rather abruptly. He hoped he hadn’t seemed too rude. Not that his conversation with Zelda had gone any better, though at least…

Wait. Wait. Had those two… had they been there? If that captain had heard his argument…

Oh goddess.

Despite his own feelings on the matter, the princess’ eyes showed only pity. That solidified his dreaded suspicion, though it simultaneously confused him – given how horribly he’d talked to Zelda, he’d expect disgust or disdain, not whatever it was Zellie was currently conveying.

Despite seeming to be practically overflowing with words to say, the princess faltered in her approach. Instead, she looked down at her clasped hands, wringing them nervously. Link wished he could say something instead, wished that he could maybe figure out if she truly did feel like she was failing because of whatever issue she was having with her powers, but… he could hardly hold on to any kind of assurances for himself; there was little way he could find a way to comfort her.

But Link hated to see her like this. He hated to see anyone he cared about hurting. And by the goddesses, he could see Zelda in every feature of this girl, in her blonde hair, in her intelligent eyes, in her love and pride in her people.

And he could see himself. He could see his sensitivity in her, he could see how the responsibility on her shoulders was crushing her just as his journey had crushed him.

Instinctively, Link reached out, letting his hand rest on her shoulder. Zellie jumped a little, startled, and looked back at him as he smiled at her. Perhaps he didn’t have the words to cheer her up at the moment, but he could at least offer support in other ways.

Zellie let out a soft sigh and smiled. “I can’t wait for you to see Hyrule.”

The words settled in Link’s heart, and he smiled in return. Despite his catastrophic failure, this land had not only survived but grown far beyond his ability to even fathom. And that… that had to mean something, didn’t it? If time and time again Demise had tried to destroy the land, and it had still somehow managed to turn into this, then…

Then maybe it wasn’t such a failure, after all.

XXX

The beauty of the castle gardens was terrifyingly diminished with the howls of anguish and anger coming from the royal horticulturalist as Mipha awkwardly sidled away from the newly tainted silent princess flower bed. She had escorted the Hero of Myth to the others before excusing herself, as she was not at all capable or important enough to be near a goddess, and had sought peace near the fountains in the castle grounds. Given the drama unfolding with other royal attendants trying to calm the woman, Mipha decided it was best to patrol the area.

Seeing Hyrule Castle was always an incredible sight, but the longer she lingered here, the more she ached for home. She missed her baby brother Sidon, she missed her father, she missed the flowing rivers and waterfalls, the diving places and beautiful scenery and mountains. Zora’s Domain was a sprawling city in its own right, but it somehow was far more homely than Castle Town, and it was less stifling than the royal halls. Perhaps it was the open architecture of her home, or perhaps it was the looming responsibility that hung heavily in the air here, a constant reminder of an evil that was coming.

It was no wonder Link had grown to be so quiet and stressed. Mipha would too if she were constantly living here.

The Zora princess leaned against a stone wall, hiding in the shade so she could enjoy the cool a little bit. She would be returning to the Domain tomorrow with her entourage, which was a relief. She would miss Link, but… well… duty came first. For all of them.

Her heart a little heavier, she tried to cheer herself up by finding her guards and attendants, when she instead nearly walked into the path of the goddess Hylia herself, and Mipha bit back a startled yelp as she dove for the nearest bush to hide in. She landed highly unceremoniously, feet in the air as she was caught in branches, hissing as twigs rubbed against her scales, though thankfully they could not cut through them. Mipha wiggled helplessly, at least tucking her feet in as best she could, before she heard gravel crunch and footsteps stop in front of her newfound prison.

When silence prevailed, Mipha turned her gaze as best she could, catching sight of familiar boots. She hesitantly whispered, “L-Link?”

Hands rested around her waist, making her heart speed up far more than it really should have (and oh why did that have to be the case, when they used to be able to laugh and play and push each other and fight as children and never was it so strange or awkward or different), and she was gently lifted out of the bush and placed on the ground. Link’s hold stayed on her as he stared at her, face calm but eyes soft, one cheek sucked in like he was trying desperately not to laugh. Mipha’s eyes looked frantically around them, and she was relieved to see that the rest of the party must have moved forward without him.

“O-oh, I’m—that was so incredibly—I’m very sorry, Link,” Mipha stammered, growing ever more frantic the longer the two of them stood so close to each other. Link’s hands slid off her waist at that, and he took a step back. Mipha cleared her throat and also mirrored the move, giving both of them more breathing room. “W-well. I. Yes. Thank you.”

Link watched her for a while longer, all earlier frazzled energy long gone. He was back to the stoic knight he always seemed to be, or at least most of the time. His eyes caught sight of something, and he reached forward to pluck a leaf out of her jewelry on her head.

Mipha felt herself blush in embarrassment at the reminder of her silly maneuver and even sillier predicament, and she ran her fingers across all her jewelry to ensure she was presentable. Trying to push the matter aside, she asked, “D-did… did everything go well with the goddess?”

Her friend nodded.

“Well, that’s good,” Mipha said with a smile. Then she shifted a little, heart growing heavy once more. “Link, I… I’m going to be leaving tomorrow. I… it was truly wonderful to see you again. I hope, perhaps, we can see each other again soon.”

Another nod was the acknowledgement. Mipha bit back a sigh. She understood, truly. But… well…

There was a way for him to ease up a little. But he had to agree to it.

“I was wondering… before I left… if—if, well…” oh goodness, this shouldn’t be so hard to ask! They used to swim together all the time! “I was going to go for a swim in the moat tonight. Would… would you like to join me?”

Link watched her a moment, and Mipha felt like she could melt into a puddle as he deliberated it. But then he nodded again, and her heart fluttered as a genuine smile pulled at her lips. She gave him a place where they could meet up, and he nodded, continuing along the path where the others had gone.

XXX

To say that he felt sure of anything in his life anymore was little more than a joke. Ever since his wife’s death and the prophecy, King Rhoam had felt like his life had spiraled entirely out of control. He had been an outsider to the royals, marrying into the family, purely there for support of his wife as she ruled the kingdom and served as a religious symbol and leader to their people. Yet her untimely death left him in charge, a man who had not been raised for such a rule, a man who had to do everything in his power to be the steady leader the people looked up to him to be, and to somehow raise his daughter to be just as wise and powerful as her mother.

He was failing, of course. As was Zelda. But Rhoam had continued to persevere, and if pushing his daughter to the breaking point was the way to protect her and help her grow, he’d be the subject of her ire. Despite it all, she had to prevail, even if he was failing.

But by the ancient goddesses, he had never in his life felt so utterly useless and lost. The franticness and demands that Her Grace Hylia had spouted during their conversation rang in his mind like a bell. Words of a mystical Triforce, something that was only remembered through symbolism and threadbare stories, made him feel far more incapable than he thought possible. How could he have failed Hyrule so? The prophecy had spoken of the solution to the Calamity being found under the ground, and the ancient Sheikah tech had been discovered buried in the earth. It had seemed heaven-sent solution, alongside the appearance of the Hero. Rhoam had just needed to get Zelda ready and it would have been fine. But what of the Triforce, then? The goddess seemed downright frantic at his lack of knowledge on the matter, and though she had promised to help Zelda, giving him hope, he still felt like he’d failed catastrophically.

He had to figure this out. A trip to the royal library was in order. To his surprise, the king found his daughter there as well. “Zelda?”

His dearest yelped as she whirled around. “Father! I was just doing some research and preparation. Her Grace, the goddess Hylia, and her Sacred Hero will be accompanying me as I show them the Divine Beasts and—”

The Divine Beasts?! What did that have to do with her training? Feeling his cheeks grow hot, the king interrupted, “You should be focusing on your duty, Zelda, not that of the Champions. Do not waste such prestigious guests’ time. I prayed to Her Grace for your sake.”

Zelda stiffened. “Y-yes, I—I know, Father, I just—they wanted to see them too.”

Oh. Well, then. The king found himself incapable of backtracking after snapping at her, and he felt all the worse for it. “When will you leave?”

“The sooner the better,” his daughter answered, regaining some of her excitement, though it was far more muted. Rhoam truly prayed that Hylia could help his child – the sooner she could discover her powers, the sooner she could be safe, the kingdom could be safe, and maybe… maybe he could attempt to rebuild his relationship with her. “I was thinking tomorrow, perhaps? But I wanted to plan the trip a little first.”

Rhoam agreed that the sooner his daughter could embark on her training the better, but he also felt his heart beat a little faster at the thought of such a quick departure. It wasn’t just his daughter with her appointed knight, a pair who could travel fairly indiscriminately and not attract too much attention outside of towns and villages. The two were safe together. But to include the goddess and her Hero… it felt nearly inappropriate to rush such a journey with them involved. Perhaps he should get the captain of the royal guard and arrange for some kind of escort?

The king left his daughter in peace to prepare, catching movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked there was no one there. Filling with anxious energy, he set out to summon the captain and then he could return to his own studies. Perhaps he should save researching about the Triforce for tomorrow… but no. He had to focus on his own duties as much as he pushed Zelda to focus on hers.

The captain of the royal guard came promptly when called for, and he knelt immediately upon entering the sanctum.

“Rise,” Rhoam ordered. “My daughter will be setting out with her knight tomorrow, and Her Grace, the Goddess Hylia, will be accompanying them alongside the Hero of Myth. I want to ensure their security is of paramount importance.”

Captain Abel watched the king a moment, stoic demeanor the spitting image of his son. The boy had come from a fine lineage of knights, and his father was no different. The captain was reliable, and Rhoam waited patiently as the man thought through the process.

“Your Majesty,” he started. “With all due respect, Princess Zelda and Her Grace Hylia are protected by the best Hylian knight in the land and the Hero of Myth and Legend, a warrior created by the goddess for the sole purpose of defeating Ganon. It would be a misuse of resources to send the royal guard, or even a battalion of knights, to go with them. We must stay here and protect you and the royal scientists, as well as their important work on the guardians.”

Ah, and this was where father differed from son. Link was a silent knight, obeying every command given to him. While his father’s loyalty was unquestionable, the man did what he believed was best for Hyrule, and though he would also inevitably follow any command ordered of him, he might offer a rebuttal first. Rhoam appreciated it, as his advice was usually sound.

Such as now. But the king couldn’t help but worry. “Surely we can afford to send at least a few knights, Captain.”

“I will do as Your Majesty commands if you wish it so,” the captain answered with a bow. “Where will they be going?”

“They will be visiting the Divine Beasts, as well as the sacred springs,” Rhoam replied.

Captain Abel remained quiet a moment, considering, and then suggested, “Perhaps we could request the Champions to accompany them? I can think of no finer protection.”

Ah, yes, of course! Although Rhoam had little authority to command certain Champions to act as guards for his daughter, they would be obliged to accompany Hylia, particularly if going to their own domains. Rhoam smiled at the captain. “That is a perfect idea, Captain. Please, summon the Champions to the sanctum. I will make my request to them.”

The royal knight bowed deeply before exiting the sanctum, leaving Rhoam to his thoughts. With the added protection of the Champions, the goddess would be both safe and honored properly. Perhaps it would help his daughter focus a little better too, as she often lost her way when left in charge of an expedition. Nevertheless, Zelda was the commander of the Champions, and it was good for her to travel a bit more with them anyway. Rhoam prayed it was enough. He would research tirelessly on other ways to help, however minimal it might be.

It would be enough. It had to be.

XXX

The sun hung heavily on the horizon as Link and Zelda sat side by side on stone that helped support the highest tower in the castle. After the fairly awkward picnic lunch, the group had gone their separate ways, Champion disappearing entirely upon reentering the castle grounds while Zellie eagerly said she’d plan out their trip and vanished around a corner. Link and Zelda had remained quiet for most of the afternoon, piecing together their resolve while still drawing strength from each other. They had silently grown tired of the confinement of the stone walls and climbed to the highest point of the castle. The air was a touch chillier here, though not nearly clear and relieving enough, but it was still better than being trapped inside.

And Zelda would be lying if she said it wasn’t beautiful.

The scale of the castle was all the more apparent up here, rivaling Skyloft in size, and Castle Town was nearly as large. Beyond the large protective walls of the town was the sprawling green beauty of greater Hyrule, and settlements speckled the area, promising of more to see and more to explore. Zelda could hardly believe it.

Link’s fingers settled over hers as he shifted his hand closer. Zelda glanced over at him, seeing the sunlight sparkle in his eyes as he gazed out in wonder.

This felt like all the times they’d sit together at the edge of Skyloft, having played themselves into exhaustion and silence. Link had always been a quiet one, and Zelda had never had an issue with it, sometimes enjoying the tenderness such silence could bring. She especially appreciated it on days that Groose was particularly loud and annoying.

But looking at her beloved husband right now reminded her of their earlier fight, of his words and the princess’ fears and the king’s request and her own anxieties. She again found herself wondering how she was going to juggle all this, how she could help the princess fight Demise, how they could even defeat him this time. At least with a trip to look at these divine beast things, there was a plan in place. Zelda could work with a plan.

Besides… maybe the springs could hold something for her as well. Maybe… maybe in the past… when she’d been Hylia… surely she’d seen this coming, right?

Right?

Zelda didn’t know what to do. She had no guide. She missed Impa so much it hurt.

At least I have Link with me this time, she thought, though there was a touch of bitterness to it. Of course he was with her this time – it wasn’t like he could escape this wretched fate, either. But honestly… she couldn’t imagine dealing with this with anyone else. As much as she wished Impa was here, she was forever grateful that Link was. If only both of them could accompany her. If only things could make sense.

But never mind that. There was a whole new world to explore. The Surface had been amazingly new and beautiful, and her restored memories had not lessened that. She couldn’t wait to see what the Surface had become now.

She tried to focus on that, tried to reorient her mind to recognizing that this wasn’t just a terrifying preparation for the war to begin anew. It was an adventure, and she would make sure it ended well.

But wait. Someone else had been on their adventure.

Zelda found herself thinking of her own people, of her friends and her father and the other settlers. She hoped and prayed they were alright.

And that they wouldn’t get near the Gate. Surely… surely they wouldn’t. There was no way they could. Groose was injured (Golden Three, she hoped he was doing okay), and no one else dared enter the Sealed Temple.

She hoped the guards she asked for would keep the place safe.

Zelda leaned over, letting her head rest on Link’s shoulder, and her husband settled his head atop hers. Tomorrow was going to be the start of something entirely new, and she was glad they would face it together.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Link turned his head to nuzzle into her hair a little more, and his arm moved to wrap around her. “I love you too.”

XXX

Hyrule Castle hummed with anticipation as the last rays of sunlight seeped out of the sky. Champions genuflected to the king, spoke with their guards and servants, and prepared themselves for the honor of accompanying a deity. The princess of Hyrule sprawled out on her bed, maps and books all over the covers, though they did little benefit as the girl’s head slowly plopped directly on to a book about the history of the Temple of Time, soft snores escaping her. The royal guards protecting the goddess’ quarters grew anxious as no goddess appeared, while two teenagers snuggled high up above the castle, enjoying the clear night sky. The captain of the guard prayed quietly in his quarters, dinner forgotten, as he thought about the trip the next day. The king moved restlessly through the royal library as he tried to find any clues of the Triforce.

Meanwhile, the princess’ appointed knight snuck around the castle walls, looking around the docks before finding a suitable place to strip off his shirt as the Zora princess waved at him.

The water was cold, and Link felt himself involuntarily gasp as he dipped his bare feet into it. Grabbing hold of his resolve, he leapt into the water, knowing the best way to adjust to the temperature was to just take the plunge. He let it invigorate him, startling all the worries of the day out of his mind as he just focused on swimming. Somehow, just floating in the water helped carry his worries away. He always enjoyed it.

Mipha giggled, catching his attention, and he swam over to her, smiling. They hadn’t done this in what felt like years—maybe it actually had been that long. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until just now.

“Oh Link,” Mipha said happily. “I’m so glad you could join me!”

Link’s smile grew, and the princess took that as a cue to continue.

“King Rhoam asked for me,” she noted, catching his attention. “Alongside all the other Champions. He asked us to accompany you and the princess as she took the goddess Hylia around Hyrule. I could hardly say no to such a request, but—oh, Link, how can I even get near such a being? Surely I’m not worthy of that. Do you think she’ll go in a carriage or something? At least that way she’ll never see me.”

Link stared at her a moment, letting the words flow through him like the water. The king wished the Champions to go with them? That wasn’t unreasonable, but it certainly changed things a little. Mostly for the better, honestly.

Except for Revali. Ugh. Great.

But having Mipha around would be nice. And Princess Zelda would appreciate Chief Urbosa’s company. Not to mention Daruk’s company would be nice. Though… Link wasn’t sure how Hylia or her Hero would take it.

But Mipha’s concerns registered in his mind, and he shook his head. In the solitude of the castle waters, he didn’t have to hide himself, though the paranoia persisted despite being with his friend. He pushed himself to speak freely. “She’s… not what I expected. I don’t think she’ll dislike you, Mipha.”

“Perhaps,” his friend agreed uncertainly, eyes looking at the moonlight dancing on the water.

“Nobody could dislike you,” Link reassured her, swimming a little closer and sinking into the water so he ended up in her line of sight. Mipha giggled at him as the only part of him that was visible above water was from his nose to the top of his head. She dove abruptly, and Link followed suit, the pair smiling at each other as they swam in circles. It almost felt like they were kids again, playing in Zora’s Domain while Link’s father was assigned there. It almost made him forget everything that was happening.

Almost.

Though, now that he had stepped away from the others, now that he was allowed to just have some simple fun and be with a friend, his mind felt much clearer. The usual immense weight on his shoulders felt a little less heavy, even just momentarily. While Hylia herself was still quite the mystery, her Hero was less so. And while Link still felt a little intimidated approaching him or Her Grace, he could at least draw courage from the fact that neither of them hated him.

He hoped the trip would be fruitful for Zelda. He truly did. The poor princess deserved it.

But what else would this trip bring? What could Link possibly contribute to it? Nothing, he supposed, except for his protection, as always. He supposed that was enough.

As Link and Mipha breached the water’s surface, he glanced back at the castle, wondering what this journey would bring. The playful moment was gone, Mipha stilled beside him, and then she said quietly, “The Calamity draws ever nearer… but Link… we have so much going for us. It must all end well, right?”

I don’t know. He truly didn’t. But… he nodded nonetheless. Because Mipha didn’t need to worry, and honestly, Link would do everything in his power to ensure that Calamity Ganon would be defeated. That had always been enough.

“I pray it will,” Mipha continued, before smiling gently at him. “I will strive to improve my fighting abilities in the meantime. I hope Her Grace and the Hero enjoy seeing the Domain—oh! Oh, I must send word to my father! We can’t be unprepared over such a visit!”

And just like that, his friend was in a frenzy, fretting about divine visitors and speaking about how Zora’s Domain should be ready. Link followed her back to the shore, somewhat amused—he was pretty certain there was nothing she could do to alert her father at the moment, but he was no stranger to worrying over everything and nothing in the middle of the night—and the pair snuck back into the castle. Link tried to hide his shivers as he crept along, listening to water drip off them both on the cobblestone.

“Oh, you’re freezing!” Mipha fretted, immediately grabbing him and holding him close. Link felt his heart skip a beat and by the goddesses he wished he didn’t—they’d done this as children; all the Zora had huddled together for warmth when exiting frigid waters. As children they weren’t quite adept and regulating their temperature, and they knew that Link himself was not capable. But it felt—now it was—

Link swallowed, feeling his cheeks warm up far faster than the rest of him, and Mipha froze. The two locked eyes for a moment, and the Zora princess immediately spluttered and stumbled back so quickly she nearly fell into yet another plant. Link reached out automatically, catching her by the wrist, and she hastily said, “I m-must go, I’m so very sorry, Link, good night!”

The young knight watched his friend practically flee indoors, and he felt… he didn’t know. Guilty? Sad? Embarrassed? All three?

He sighed as his gaze drifted upward along the castle. The worries from a moment ago bled out of him easily as anxieties over tomorrow filled the void. He didn’t think he would be sleeping much tonight. But the focus was back on Princess Zelda, where it belonged. He was there to fulfill a duty as well, but it didn’t require attention or scrutiny. He could guard and watch. He could do that.

He found himself wondering if the Hero of Legend would do that as well. He found himself wondering what he was even supposed to do with that Hero.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do anymore, honestly. And while he no longer held any worry that his predecessor hated him, he certainly had little idea of how to help him. Assuming he even needed help.

It was all just… confusing. If this trip was fruitful in any way, he hoped it would at least make things less confusing.

I suppose I’ll find out, he thought as he followed Mipha’s wet footprints inside the castle, slipping back into the façade of the perfect soldier.

#writing #breath of the wild #skyward sword #legend of zelda #breath of the wild link #botw link #breath of the wild zelda #botw zelda #skyward sword link #ss link #skyward sword zelda #ss zelda #zelink #miphlink #mipha and link are anxious little beans in love #and too dumb to figure it out #everyone needs an adult and a hug #even the adults lol #Abel deserves a pay raise #Rhoam needs some counseling on how to be a good dad #he's got the right spirit but DUDE #the royal guards assigned to protect Hylia and the Mythical Hero when they realize they're missing again: YOU GOT TO BE KIDDING ME #nobody knows the lovebirds are sitting on the top of the castle #Abel is gonna get a frantic messenger again and sigh heavily #Zellie is planning a great National Geographic Tour of Hyrule and is super excited about it #WHO'S READY FOR A ROAD TRIP #breath of the sky #skye time travels through the queue

36 notes · View notes

crookedgrifter · 2 months

Text

in a parallel universe where i believe in davekat

You watch in sheer, abject horror as Dave reaches up to cup Karkat’s cheek, eyes obscured by those damned sunglasses of his. He leans in to plant an oh-so-tender kiss upon the other’s waiting lips.

You cannot even begin to comprehend what you are seeing. In fiction, you might describe this as cosmic horror - when one witnesses something so vast and unknowable beyond all comprehension, they lose their sense of reality. Nothing makes sense after that.

You’d just assumed that he was straight, had incorporated it into your worldview. The sky is blue, the sun will rise, Dave is straight. But here you are, having just walked into the room, witnessing the collapse of reality as you know it. You stand stock still, frozen in the doorway. The actors in this strange play have not noticed you there, watching like a creep. In fact, they have deepened their kiss, to the point where you wonder if they’re ever going to come up for air. Finally, you get your own mouth to work.

JOHN: dave.

JOHN: you is does gay?

#john egbert #dave strider #karkat vantas #homestuck #davekat #my writing #yes im maintagging i think eveyrbody should see this #LISTEN #THIS SPAWNED FROM A LIKE #CRACK CONVO WITH MY MOIRAIL #anyway im not a davekat guy as the title suggests (im a davejade enthusiast what can i say)#however this was too funny not to write

24 notes · View notes

kazbiter · 10 months

Text

chapter 46 of greywaren is so fucking insane because you know that ronan is an ancient and basically all powerful being like, objectively. but when you're reading he's also your silly little guy. u feel his pain and confusion and see demonstrations of his love and devotion and u laugh at his little antics. like that's bestie fr. and while the ability to dream and skill he possesses with it are awe-inspiring to consider, they also feel like a familiar part of ronan. so then it just really puts you flat out on your back when you're confronted with the fact that he is genuinely extremely dangerous and in possession of unfathomable power. ronan truly is at his most terrifying of all time when nathan is holding adam captive. you see that his eyes "simmered and burned" and you know. we know what ronan would do for adam. we know what ronan would do to anyone who hurts adam. he doesn't take his eyes off him once. his entire posture is leaning towards him. and when he finally looks up, there is an "anger bubbling in his eyes that would make anyone other than nathan step back". combined with what we already knew about ronan's ferocity and loyalty and destructive capabilities, we have this new information that he is something that is so old and vast and powerful that it is beyond our comprehension. and that's all on display alongside how much he wants to absolutely destroy nathan. it's practically radiating off the page and you know he can, that he could destroy anything that he wants and that there is nothing that could stop him. it's staggering to see that amount of danger truly showcased in him. and then!!! you get briefly reminded of the first book, when you didn't even know ronan could dream, when every display of the supernatural was shocking and somewhat frightening to the characters. suddenly reminded of what a massive deal it was for them to bargain with something capable of waking the ley line. you think about what an indecipherable force adam dealt with. and it all comes home on the fact that ronan is not going to talk to one of those forces, he is one of them. it just hits you like a freight train what exactly he is and what exactly he is capable of. truly a phenomenal display of power.

#it's ronan time #calling a meeting of the ronan lynch council to order #it's so hard for me to describe the level of power in ronan and I feel like that chapter is where u really truly understand #like I used a lot of words but I still don't think I did justice to the oh holy shit feeling u get inside #ronan lynch #the dreamer trilogy #tdt #greywaren #trc

67 notes · View notes

ninjassawthroughmyassasination · 10 months

Text

Fragments of eternity

Tw:angst, death, implied suicide

It had been a year since you first met Zhongli, and your life had taken a surreal turn. From a simple wanderer, you found yourself entangled in the mysteries of Liyue and the ancient history surrounding the Geo Archon. In Zhongli, you discovered a serene and wise companion, someone who had witnessed countless eras come and go, yet remained as enigmatic as the stars above.

Your bond with Zhongli grew stronger with every passing day, but there was a persistent ache in your heart. You knew his true identity, the Rex Lapis of old, and the heavy burden he bore as the Geo Archon. Despite his calm demeanor, you sensed a profound sorrow hidden behind those amber eyes. He would often withdraw into his thoughts, leaving you feeling like an outsider gazing into a world you could never truly understand.

One night, under the shimmering moonlight, you found Zhongli standing alone on the Jade Chamber's balcony. The sight of him, an immortal figure surveying a world he could never truly be a part of, tugged at your heartstrings. You approached him cautiously, as if afraid to shatter the fragile silence enveloping him.

"Zhongli," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rustling of the wind.

He turned to face you, his features composed but distant. "Is something troubling you, my dear?"

You hesitated, feeling the weight of your emotions threatening to overflow. "It's... it's you, Zhongli. You seem so distant sometimes, as if there's a part of you that you keep locked away from me."

He sighed softly, his eyes shifting towards the horizon. "I cannot escape my past, nor the responsibilities that come with it. I have lived for thousands of years, witnessing the rise and fall of nations, only to watch them fade like sand in the wind. It is a burden I must carry, for I am the Geo Archon, and my duty lies with Liyue."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you clenched your fists to steady yourself. "But what about us? What about me?" you choked out, the pain of your heartache consuming you.

Zhongli's expression softened, and he stepped closer, reaching out to wipe away a tear that escaped your eye. "You are dear to me, more than you can imagine," he murmured, his voice filled with melancholy. "But my life is a tapestry of fragments, woven through time. The threads of eternity are beyond mortal comprehension, and it is not something I can easily share."

You felt the gulf between your mortal existence and his timeless being widening, and the ache in your heart intensified. "I don't want to lose you," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pulled you into a tender embrace, holding you tightly against his chest. "And you won't," he reassured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you must understand that my path is not an easy one. I have seen countless companions pass through my life, and each one leaves a mark on my heart."

You clung to him, your tears staining his robes as you tried to hold onto the fleeting moments. "Then promise me you won't forget me," you pleaded, afraid that your memories would become mere echoes in the vastness of time.

"I could never forget you," Zhongli replied, his voice gentle and sincere. "You are a treasured fragment in the mosaic of my existence, and I will cherish every moment we share."

But as the days passed, the distance between you and Zhongli only seemed to grow. The weight of his eternity and the responsibility he bore became more apparent, and you found yourself feeling increasingly lost in a world where you were merely a transient presence.

In the end, you realized that loving an immortal being was a bittersweet curse, for while you cherished the moments you spent together, you could not help but wonder if your love was destined to be just another fragment in his endless tapestry of memories.

And so, you held onto the memories of him, like stars shining in the night sky, a reminder of the love you once shared, even if it felt like he was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

In your quest to understand Zhongli better, you turned to the history books, the ancient texts, and the legends of Liyue. You searched for clues about his past, hoping to find a way to bridge the gap between your mortal life and his immortal existence. But the more you delved into the past, the more you realized that some things were meant to remain shrouded in mystery.

Despite your love for Zhongli, the pain of feeling like an outsider in his world was too much to bear. There were days when he would be distant, lost in the weight of his memories, leaving you feeling like an afterthought in the grand tapestry of his existence.

One particularly difficult evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself wandering aimlessly through the streets of Liyue Harbor. Your heart was heavy with unspoken words, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were slowly losing him.

As you reached the harbor's edge, you looked out at the vast sea, its waves crashing against the rocks below. The world around you seemed to blur, mirroring the tumultuous emotions within. And then, without warning, a strong gust of wind tugged at your clothes, pulling you towards the water's edge.

For a moment, you entertained the thought of letting go, of surrendering to the unyielding sea, as if hoping that such an act would make Zhongli realize how much you were hurting. But just as you were about to take that fateful step, a pair of warm, steady hands grasped your own, pulling you back from the precipice.

Zhongli stood there, his eyes filled with worry and a pain you had not seen before. "Do not leave me," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I cannot bear to see you hurt, but my nature is not one that can be easily changed. My existence spans millennia, and I cannot escape the burden it brings."

You looked at him, tears streaming down your cheeks, your heart torn between love and the ache of feeling like a mere fragment in his life. "I love you, Zhongli," you confessed, your voice trembling. "But I don't know if I can continue like this, feeling like I'm always on the periphery of your world."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I never wanted to cause you pain," he murmured, his voice laced with regret. "But I cannot give up my eternity, just as you cannot give up your mortality."

In that moment, you realized the truth in his words. Your paths were destined to be intertwined, but not fully merged. You were two souls, bound by a love that transcended time, but ultimately confined by the limitations of your existence.

With a heavy heart, you made a difficult decision. "I need time, Zhongli," you said softly, pulling away from his embrace. "Time to figure out what I want, and time to heal."

He nodded, understanding the weight of your words. "I will give you all the time you need."

And you were given time, but it was in vain. The wounds were already deep, and it seems with time the world allowed you to let go. And so you did.

☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•

#genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli #angst #shitty writing

59 notes · View notes

chernabogs · 6 months

Text

This was originally meant to be put out in October for Halloween but what is time management anyway?

SORTIGER

Inc: The Dark Mirror, Crowley, The Fairest Queen, some Draconia's sneaking in there (can't escape them) WC: 1.9k Warnings: Some depiction of violence Summary: He was as he had always been, and he knew no other way—for the concept of anything other was quite beyond his comprehension. (or: eldritch horrors your dark mirror <3)

He recalls the time before.

In the vast expanse of black in which he dwelled, corporeal but conscious of such, only the dim glow of suns thousands of years away guided him forth. The hum of the void was his calling, and his presence was a mere brush of stardust in the night. He was as he had always been, and he knew no other way—for the concept of anything other was quite beyond his comprehension.

It was within this vast expanse of black that he first witnessed the event that is the unexpected, and frankly quite messy, act of creation. The world of Twisted Wonderland was not crafted by hands in a slow, harmonious fashion; it was shoved into being with a flash, a bang, and a disruption of the peace until suddenly it was there in its spherical form. It startled everyone who was capable of being startled, as it was something that happened in a realm where nothing ever really changed at all.

He did not approach it first. That was one of the other hidden ones. They slithered forth in their serpentine form to taste this new offering, to feel what would become known as soil and inhale what would become known as air. In the beginning, Twisted Wonderland was a time of opportunity—a time of new growth that those who had existed so long now had forgotten. After the serpent, another crept down, and then another, until only he was left alone in the darkness. His form turned, and writhed, and debated what would be best to appear as until he finally descended in the shape of a figure like the denizens of the land, with a porcelain mask upon his face.

In the time that it took for him to settle, the others who had come prior had already left their marks upon the land. ‘Age of the Gods’ did the occupants so accurately coin it in their fables and tales. He bore witness to the ones he had never seen before now parade themselves as superiors, claiming that the gift of magic they had bestowed upon a few now let them hold a debt over their bodies. Considering this, he avoided direct involvement with either party, choosing to be more of a vagabond than anything else. The only time he interacted with anyone was when he told them truths.

Sortiger, he was called. Deliverer of prophecies to the masses—so long as one knew the right words to use.

He didn’t consider himself a prophet, but rather just a being that knows truths. He wandered area to area, devouring experiences he was deprived of for so long, and which this land was now giving to him in abundance. It was a liberating experience that he would not trade for any luxury that the others so hounded for.

Sortiger, as odd as it was, also served to be the chains that bound him in the end. Magic was a gift granted to a few to provide them the tools for easier living. Unfortunately, man is as cunning as he is ambitious. If one were to hear tales of a travelling prophet, what else would there be to do then try and bind them to you somehow? There is power in knowledge, and infinite knowledge means infinite control.

___________________________________________

It was a tailor’s apprentice who tricked him, in the end. A young woman with her needle and her thread who clothed him in a false sense of security. He was unaware that she was one of few blessed with the gift of magic. Or perhaps he was aware, and he simply chose to ignore that intuition in place of emotions, instead. It mattered little in the end—she had lured him into her trap like a spider in wait, and then paralyzed him when the moment was exactly right.

There’s magic in mirrors.

There always has been, even before the idea of Twisted Wonderland was born. He recalls vaguely the shimmering reflections of dust in the stars; it was one of the few times he was able to see his form—a writhing, black mass, dripping ichor with a burning heart that pulsated with each bit of life that crept through his veins. The sight always unsettled him because there is no hiding who you are before an item that is meant to show you in full.

He had fought.

Naturally, he had fought. He was a being of unmeasurable power that was not meant to be confined to a singular realm. He had screamed unholy screams and tore at the glass with nails until they broke, and split, and bled that ichor that so dripped from his body when he was unbound, and he was free. He had spewed curses and words with a blackened tongue, his porcelain face warped in rage and, worst of all, heartbreak.

This ire and this power are why, in her cunning, the tailor’s apprentice did not confine him to one place. There is a concept that humans share known as a panopticon; a circular platform meant to serve in prisons so one guard can keep an eye on everyone at once.

He was not trapped in a singular realm. He was instead trapped in multiple at once. He was held stagnant with thousands of mirrors surrounding him, showing the thousands of lands that he could have walked had he listened to his instincts instead of falling into the honeyed trap of gentle words and gentler touches. There was no ceiling, there was no floor—it was as though he had been returned to that void from whence he came.

So it goes that even gods fall prey to the whims of love.

He considered it a mercy, then, that he did not remain in her possession for too long. After all, if one were to hear tales of a prophetic mirror, what else would there be to do then try and steal it somehow?

But it was not a mercy to bear witness to the destruction that followed henceforth. Villages consumed by flames, steel finding more familiarity in the bellies of innocents than a blacksmith's forge. The tailor's apprentice had been slaughtered to gain access to his mounted form; if he had been free, he would have saved her, he would have wrapped her in his power and carried her to the stars above. Instead, all he could do was look in the mottled face of her killer as bloated lips tried to coax a story out of him.

It went like that.

From soldier, to merchant, to captain, to priests. He found himself meeting the most privileged in one moment and the most deprived the next. At one point, the term mirror, mirror, became synonymous with his existence and the prophecies he was meant to give. It may have been initiated by the woman that held onto him the longest. He met her when she was still a young girl, the crown on her head not as grand as the one yet to come. The fairest of them all—until her heart became warped with a combination of both paranoia and hate. She was as stunning as a portrait right up to the moment she met her end.

___________________________________________

This all has little relevance.

If one see’s enough faces, they begin to lose the ability to discern them. He has been bound in this panopticon for so long that he no longer has a comprehension of time, or of the worlds he examines. At one point, his mask begins to change—from smooth porcelain to one with a lace patterning upon his brow.

There was a princess he had met once who had a similar pattern on her face, though hers was of scales and not lace. He had not received her name, nor had she asked him any questions. She had stared into his reflection, her crown wrapped around the proud horns on her head and her eyes reflecting a sense of exhaustion that ran deeper than surface level, before she had simply turned away.

No mirror, mirror. No demands. Only a glance, and then she was gone into the night.

He considers that encounter the reason he ended up at Night Raven College. He sees that woman once more in the form of a boy who approaches him, a pair of proud horns on his head and his eyes reflecting a sense of anxiety that runs deeper than surface level. He considers it fate to be here once more—even though fate is but a vague manipulator to a being of his stature.

He considers it fate, too, when he encounters the human.

“Are you certain there’s no way home?” Crowley murmurs when the students all depart to their dorms. He studies the equally masked face when asked this question. Eons of existing has allowed him to recognize one who deceives without much effort—not that it’s his place to call the man out. He must be asked the right question to do that.

“Again.” He responds, voice lower and colder than the one used for the students. A small mercy. Crowley’s golden eyes narrow with their own darkness, which so often hovers just inches from the surface.

“Mirror, mirror, born from the unknown—is there a way to send the student home?” Crowley then drawls out, his voice dripping with contempt at each word he utters—such a stark contrast from the usual upbeat man he presents himself as. He must keep a smile from touching those porcelain lips as he affixes a blank gaze.

“We are not the ones who have the ability to do such an act.” He replies, the answer as blunt as ever.

What many do not know is that a mirror is not only a means of accessing a different location. Although he has serviced hundreds before to travel from one place to another, many remain unaware of his ability to let them travel from one world to another. He can never leave himself—the tailor’s apprentice made sure of that—but that doesn’t mean he can’t guide others.

She knew that—the woman who looked like the boy with the proud horns on his head. Not the princess, but instead someone older—someone who knew him when he was still with the fairest queen.

Queens are cunning—he has come to learn this over time.

Crowley clicks his tongue in disagreement. It’s a sharp, jarring sound that echoes in the empty chamber as he turns away to march back to the door. This inconveniences him. He has a plan that he’s attempting to follow, and the presence of an unknown variable is throwing that all off.

Is it pitiful? The mirror considers it quietly as the chamber door slams shut. The bubbling of the green fountain at his base remains the only source of noise left. The unknown variable may construe Crowley’s plans, but he knows that it would benefit him in the end. The woman had known that too. It was why he had let her do what she had asked.

He pulls his face back from this mirror and turns his attention towards the thousands of others that surround him. All of these lives, all existing with the freedom of movement, of choice.

He will join them soon. The lace on his face feels more prominent then ever, and he knows, he will join them soon.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfiction #no seriously what do u even tag this LMAO #anyway can u imagine being like eons old trapped in a janky mirror man #doesnt even get paid... doesnt get cleaned #not the life :///

37 notes · View notes

silent-sanctum · 1 year

Text

And I'm Here - Jotaro x Reader

Word count: 1.5k+

When the universe ends and time stands still for a moment, what happens then?

cw: Stone Ocean ending spoilers

The blinding light was the first guest to greet him when he woke.

The gentle lull of the waves, accompanied by the comforting cool of the ocean surrounding his ankles, was the next.

He wasn’t sure if it was from whiplash from the void of the dark to the tranquil scene of the light, but a couple seconds was needed for his mind to come back and for the last moments of his life to flash before his eyes.

The chaos of accelerated time. His team in a flustered mess around him. The priest responsible for all of this. The world of his stopped time. The knives directed at his daughter. His scream of terror. His desperation.

His death.

It was too sudden for his body to register the pain, though he felt it resonate in his soul. His failure to keep fighting the second it happened. A phantom whisper of his wounds continued to linger- the cut on his throat and the vertical scar that ran down the right of his face.

Reminders of his shortcomings of how he should have done something better. A few seconds more and he could have ended it then.

But-

He clenched his fist, his head hung low in shame and his teeth gritted in anger. You should’ve been better. So much for proving yourself.

What now? What should he do while the world continued crumble? Where would he even go from here?

Past the shade of his visor, nothing but the vastness and of the ocean awaited him here. No signs of his daughter nor her friends in sight. A punishment deserving of his neglect and wrong decisions. Figured. I don’t deserve to find my closure when I chose this for myself.

Just like that, his hands fell slack and welcomed the numbness growing from within.

Absent-minded with no purpose, he kept his head low and walked. And walked… And walked. He greeted the isolation and the quiet swoosh of the water like an old friend taunting at him for his mistakes.

He didn’t know how far he went but with one more step forward, he heard it.

“Love?”

His breath hitched, his body paralyzed in complete shock, but deep down in him, his chest caved in on itself. His hands turned to fists and he quivered. That voice. That sweet voice. There was no chance of it being- it couldn’t…

The water waded and the voice drew near. “Love please look at me.” Oh god. Please not like this. It was. He could recognize that voice from anywhere. And he couldn’t bear to look. Not after everything he’d done.

And just then, someone stood behind him. A comforting aura with an air of warmth that he didn’t deserve to feel. He wanted to run. Run like he did when he was much younger. To flee and spare the trouble. But when it came to this.. he couldn’t. So he stood there, unmoving.

“I know everything hurts…,” a shaky exhale. “Everything’s falling apart but I need you to face me so I know I’m not dreaming. Please.”

Fractures continued to crack in his solitary heart, every syllable of those words desperate and filled with familiarity. He didn’t want to- but… he never won when it came to moments like this.

He turned ever so slowly, his head still hung low with the brim of his hat aiding in his cover and his body rigid with uncertainty.

He didn’t say anything. Nor did the person. And he waited. For a yell, a slap to the face, words of blame, anything.

He didn’t know what hurt more. The anger that never came but should have, or the complete gentleness of a smaller pair of hands grasping his, thumb circling the warmth of his skin as a meek gesture of comfort.

What did he do to deserve this?

“Does it still hurt?” A hand came to cup his cheek and he flinched. Please leave. But it didn’t. He felt its soft palm caress his face, and with no more will to fight back, gently tilted his head to look.

And there you were.

In all the beauty that made you who you were. One that captivated the likes of him beyond his comprehension. His heart throbbed at the sight of your tearful eyes, the slight tint to your cheeks, and the quiver of your lips. He looked away, unable to hold your gaze.

Never in his life has been this hard in suppressing back his emotions, not when his source of happiness stood before a broken man who failed his family and the universe. He could feel them swelling in his eyes as your fingers traced his scar with featherlight ease.

I can’t- “What are you doing?” He jerked his head away from your touch, doing his best to keep his voice stable as one last attempt in putting up a brave façade. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you should?” Your voice was even despite the subtle wobble in your speech with not a trace of malice in it. “I wouldn’t know where else to go other than here. With you.”

Why? “Why is the world so cruel?” He mumbled under his breath, one that you caught just as you always did then. “Why does it allow me to have this only to rip it away from me at the last second?”

You didn’t say anything. He hated being vulnerable like this but when nothing else exists for him to divert himself into, what else was there to do? He turned his head away, sparing you the sight of him starting to break.

“I shouldn’t- Why… Why am I feeling like this…”

“Because you’ve loved.” He glanced at you, breath stilling at the gentleness of your voice. “You loved and cared for everyone you held dear and did what you could to show that. And you’re hurt because it feels like the world doesn’t return that to you.”

“Am I right?”

As much as he wanted to deny, he knew it was true. Without realizing, his lips tightened trying to stop them from trembling but he couldn’t prevent the single tear that shed from his scarred eye. His breaths started to shake but still… he tried to keep himself together.

Your hand returned to cup his cheek, once again nudging him to look at you. You’ve gazed at him with shining eyes and an understanding smile, your cheeks stained with fresh tears. “You’re hurting because you blame yourself for not being enough for them. For us.”

His breath hitched as he took one second to return your gaze, only to shut them before any more tears start to drop. You were always perceptive. Always knew him deep down despite the many walls he put up to hide it.

He couldn’t say anything but overlap his hands on yours that rested on his cheek, nuzzling your palm as a silent response, allowing another tear to fall.

You stood on your toes and gently directed him to lean down for you to press a soft kiss on his lips. At your touch, he trembled and reciprocated. As if it’s second nature, his hands came to hold your waist, keeping you close to him as if you’d disappear once he lets go.

With hesitancy you pulled back, leaning your forehead against his. For a brief moment, you both stood in silence, relishing in each other’s presence, allowing all his unspoken grief and regrets out through his uneven breaths.

Through your own tears, you let out a watery giggle as you thumbed the tears away from his eyes. “I know it’s hard to believe after what you’ve been through, but do know that there were people who were grateful for your existence. Our friends who went with us in our journeys, your family who never stopped caring for you, your daughter who looked up to you and waited for you all her life…”

You stifled a sob of your own. “Your wife who continued to love her husband unconditionally even after death.”

Right then and there, the walls that held firm for years shattered and he broke into tears.

He wrapped his arms around your waist as he buried his face on your shoulders, his body shaking from the force of his strangled sobs. You huffed and encircled your arms around him. “You’ve done more than enough love.”

You held him for as long as he needed. In the dawn of a new life, he whispered a quiet confession. “I… I want to go home.”

“And we will,” you said in return, caressing his cheeks. “All you have to do is close your eyes and when you wake, we’ll be there waiting for you.”

He shook his head. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be.” You hushed him with another kiss, keeping your forehead against his. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You both fell to your knees as the universe began to crumble, ready to start anew. And you whispered one last sentence…

“You’ve done well love. You may rest now.”

#jotaro x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jotaro kujo #stone ocean #i made myself cry ahhhhhh

131 notes · View notes

gentrychild · 2 years

Note

Hi! I'm not exactly a fan of BNHA and most of my knowledge about it came from fics and your blog. Curiosity about Bakugo's "death" led me to read the last 3 chapters, and the newest one confused me. I'm hoping you could shed some light on it?

Why is it important to the heroes that Bakugo lives? To the point an older, more experienced hero is prepared to sacrifice himself to revive Bakugo? Does he have some kind of secret weapon the heroes can use? What makes him /that/ important and vital to the current crisis?

Thanks for the help. I hope you have a fabulous day! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

I think you already know the answer to your question.

More seriously, I have waited quite a while before answering this ask because I wanted to see what the next chapters would deliver and also so I was sure not to be instantly proven wrong after unleashing a vast quantity of salt. But I don't want to wait longer so here are the usual warnings: this is going to be a salt post, this is my opinion and not some absolute truth, and I accept the risk of being disproved.

Bakugou's death and everything that happened afterwards was pointless and cheap.

I personally found Bakugou's "death" very underwhelming because, especially for such a popular character, there are far better ways to bring one incredible death scene. The manga tried to show us that he went Plus Ultra and how much he had changed but the way it was brought made it underwhelming. His death could have brought more damage to Shigaraki. Or, one could have gone in the opposite direction and shown that yes, he didn't stand a chance against ShigarAFO but put more emotion into it to show that he fought for every additional second. Or he could have "died" protecting someone, which would nicely tie-in with his character arc of learning to be a hero who saves people.

Instead, the result was lukewarm. And the fact that pretty much everyone knows he isn't really dead doesn't bother me. But the last chapters did, especially when Bakugou already got seemingly killed by ShigarAFO during the war arc (and got away with only a couple of cool scars).

But what was a "Ah! That happened! Pretty cool quirk application moment and I like the change we see in Bakugou once he is waiting in purgatory with Flame Might!" moment because a clusterfuck of epic proportion with what is done to try to bring Bakugou back.

The asspulls of all asspulls. The most "WTF" moment of the entire manga and I am saying that while fully aware that Mirio twerked in front of Shigaraki one chapter later.

Edgeshot decides to kill himself on the off chance of bringing Bakugou back to life. He intends to fold himself à la Plus Ultra to become Bakugou's new heart, performing one of the most WTF open-heart surgeries ever on the middle of the battlefield while ShigarAFO is stomping on the remaining members of the Dream team.

How does he know how to do that? Is that how one of his parents die? Why is he doing that? Because his generation failed Bakugou's so he must atone and as an adult, he must save the kid.

The sheer troll logic one must attain to decide something like that is beyond my comprehension.

Edgeshot isn't dying at the time. It's not a "At least, my death might save him" moment. No, this is a top hero, who decided that he had to die to save one kid while the Big Three are fighting for their lives. In the time it took him to pull that not-so-life-saving procedure, Miruko has now lost all of her limbs, now channeling the Dark Knight of Monthy Python but hey, at least, she is certainly doing a better job than Edgeshot at trying to stop Shigaraki from killing them all and destroying UA, which is, in case I need to remind someone, FULL OF PEOPLE WORKING TO KEEP THAT THING IN THE AIR.

To answer your question, not only was "saving" (because, again, Edgeshot doesn't even know if it will work) Bakugou detrimental to the whole operation because they sacrificed a top hero during a situation where all hands on deck were required but it might have been for absolutely nothing.

Even if Bakugou, now part jeans and part ninja, starts breathing again, no one sane of mind would expect to get back to his feet and to fight again.

Now, I will hazard a guess as to why this so-called death was necessary. I could be wrong. But I feel that this was a desperate attempt for Bakugou’s character to have an excuse not to do anything while Izuku is fighting Shigaraki.

Because there has been kind of an elephant in the room for several arcs now.

The manga doesn’t want to outright say that by now, Izuku is stronger than Bakugou. Not just stronger, as in “in a fight, Deku would win”. I am talking about Izuku being in a league on his own by now.

Because here is the thing: you have Bakugou who is a really popular character, who rose to the rank of deuteragonist, and who is defined by two things: he never stops fighting and he never loses. And now that he is fighting the big bad (well, one of them), it’s a problem because if Bakugou wins, that means the entire hero society is incompetent, so is the villain (since he got beaten by a first year) and the MC and OFA is useless. But if he loses or just shown not to be able to keep up with ShigarAFO and Deku and has to stay on the sideline, it’s almost out of character for him because one of the things he keeps repeating to Izuku is “Don’t try to do things alone.” (The Jakku battle and the solo arc, in case you’re wondering.)

I disgress but that’s another thing the solo arc could have been useful for. Really setting up the fact that Izuku can fight with Shigaraki on his own and that he was now in a different power category than his classmates. Instead, we got the “This is the story of how we all become heroes” and the plot must now bend over backwards to justify it.

Also, there is a 75% chance that Bakugou wakes up at some point, with Edgeshot’s quirk, and helps finish ShigarAFO.

So, to answer your question, no, there was no reason for Edgeshot to kill himself over the possibility of reviving Bakugou. Bakugou and Edgeshot had no prior interaction that could justify this. And if Izuku arrived ten seconds later, this sacrifice would have been for nothing.

#Sorry for unleashing the salt on you but you caught me in a moment of weakness #bnha salt #bnha manga spoilers

221 notes · View notes

nach0 · 1 year

Text

You are the princess of Dawn, and you know two things.

The first is that the night is dangerous and must be avoided. Only the brave and the foolish dare tread when the stars shine bright, and you’d like to think yourself smarter than that.

The second is that there is a person in the moon.

In the moon? On it? You’re not exactly sure. Ever since you were young and looked out your window at night, you’ve heard her calling to you in a voice so gentle and fond. Your mother had pulled you away that evening, warning you of the danger and forbidding you from ever doing it again.

Time passed. You forget her words.

Your plan had only been to stay awake for one night, get the zombie you needed and retreat back to the comfort of your bed. You tried to tell yourself the trembling of your hands was because of the mobs, gaze cast firmly to the ground. You’re just focused on your surroundings, no need to look up.

But then you do.

It could have been an arrow flying over your head, the skeleton barely missing. It could have been the cry of a bird, making you check for morning. It could have been a thousand tiny things, all lost in the wake of the vast expanse above you.

You stare at the stars and the stars stare back. Time has frozen around you, leaving you and the endless void that calls to you, welcomes you, makes you part of it and it part of you.

Then a slight nudge turns you to the side, and oh your legs nearly give out below you.

The moon fills your vision, bright and encompassing as it swallows the sky around it.

You’ve had nightmares about this, you think distantly. The moon growing bigger and bigger, closer and closer, with no way out and no way to stop the destruction-

A whisp of a hand brushes over your cheek, quelling your thoughts. The action is so full of love you almost cry.

There’s no need to be afraid, the girl in the moon whispers softly to you. It is not time for you to remember that yet.

You have questions. At least, you think you do. It’s still so hard to think, to do anything other than try and stumble closer. She laughs, the note tinted with fondness so strong it echoes in your heart.

It is not time for that either. You won’t be joining me for many years, I would hope.

You pout. If it were anytime else, you would insist it was something more dignified, but the moon’s love is so strong there’s barely room for thought.

Suddenly you remember to breathe, taking a breath in. You can almost feel her there with you as you do, running a hand down your hair, laughing as she flicks your antenna playfully.

The moment you lean into it her touch disappears, though you don’t dare to pull your gaze away and look.

A hole in your chest that you never knew you had is full, spilling through the rest of you and turning you into a being of pure love and moonlight. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, but why would you ever want to?

The girl in the moon laughs, a slightly guilty sound.

Might have overdone it for the first time.

You stay like that for the entire night. No monsters get close, though you don’t know how any would dare to spawn under the moon’s all-encompassing glow.

Every so often your wings twitch and flutter, as if getting ready to carry you closer, but the ghost of a hand always smooths them down again.

She scolds you gently, not understanding how that only makes the desire, the need, all the more stronger.

Morning comes all too soon.

The stars fade and your friend in the moon presses a final kiss to your forehead before vanishing over the horizon.

You’re left soul crushingly empty, the strongest love you’ve ever felt being ripped out of you with the rising sun.

A mournful wail escapes your throat, echoing around the mountains and into the sky itself.

You get messages from your friends throughout the day, checking up on you and ensuring you’re alright. Even the farthest empires had heard.

How do you explain what happened to them? How could you possibly describe what is beyond the limits of comprehension?

Eventually, you’re pulled away from your spot. Pix is asking you something but it all just sounds like noise, and he soon stops expecting an answer. He just dries the tears and brings you inside, concerned glances impossible for even you to miss.

You don’t think you’ll go outside at night again.

It might just break you.

#geminitay #pearlescentmoon #empires smp #empires smp season two #empires smp s2 #got possessed by The Vast TMA while writing this #also on ao3 #writing #my writing #nach0 writing

71 notes · View notes

ritsu-hime · 4 months

Text

Voices

I hear voices when she speaks.

When people speak of ancient gods and goddesses of old, the true horrors of the world that are made of some primordial essence beyond the comprehension of man, they describe the madness that comes with their perception. Something so vast and so powerful clearly must be beyond mortal understanding if as little as the mere sight of them might sunder the mind so thoroughly. And yet, how could tale spread and image render of such a being if their visage was truly so devastating?

Some say they walk among us. Don mortal form and enshroud their true natures from lowly eyes. Speak in muted hushed voices so as to not break the fragile things they wish to grace with their presence. Imagine the sadness you would feel if every creation burnt to ash in your hand just from your desire to hold it. Wouldn't you give anything so they could feel even a portion of your love for them?

So they shatter themselves, sprinkling grains of sand into forms that can scarcely hold back the light that shines through the cracks in paper thin shells, trying to spread their joy with us. And usually we notice. We see the alien nature, the abnormalities that flavor every word or action. We dismiss it as something flawed, broken, still so far beyond recognition that people refuse to see its beauty. And perhaps they're right, fragments of infinity can never convey a perfect whole to so small a mind.

Still, small few see more, bask in the starlight that shines through and threatens to consume every other sight. Hear the echoed voices layered over one another, each clamoring to share the love and kindness and compassion that their minute pieces were made to give. They fall into the embrace of that incomprehension and give themselves over to it in ways man can't fathom words for. Are the old gods real? Who can truly say, when the only evidence of such a thing is a madness that can't be spoken? And yet…

I hear voices when she speaks.

#empty spaces #microfiction

11 notes · View notes

necromaniackat · 11 months

Text

Cruel Summer

Chapter 3: Blood Sport.

Word count: 2.1k.

Image above is Evelyn’s dad Haydn

Dearest Evelyn,

Oh Evie, how wonderful it was to love you. Loving you was like loving an old God for the first time in millennia. It brought me so much faith and filled me with so much joy, if I had to write it out it’d be a full length novel. But it’s time this story comes to an end. Not because I don’t love you, but because you’ve outgrown me. Since Sixth Year, I’ve loved you and you showed me beauties beyond comprehension. I’ve watched you flourish into this Goddess of compassion and faith. I feel like a mouse compared to you. Recently I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m hindering your growth; you’re always coming back for me when I fall. You can’t move forward if you’re always moving backward to help me. I prey you find someone who is as Godlike and passionate and bursting with life as you. Unfortunately that’s not me at this time. You deserve someone who matches your energy.

Xoxo Charlie

It’s been less than a month since you got that text from Charlie. He’s currently away in Ibiza for holiday with his friends. It boggled your mind that someone could send that text and then go on a boy’s holiday two weeks later. You were wrecked when you received that text at three in the morning. You didn’t bother calling your mum, you just showed up at her door at four in the morning a sobbing mess. Adam answered the door initially, holding a baseball bat by his side; probably seeing if there was danger. When he saw it was you, he was more confused. But when your mum saw you, she immediately knew something was wrong and brought you inside for a cuppa.

You and Charlie have been together since you were eleven. You devoted seven years to him and this is how he breaks up with you? You two were each others’ first for pretty much all milestones teens achieve. The worst part is you saw him earlier that day and everything seemed fine, so that text at three in the morning was a complete blindside.

Luckily you had your family to help get you through the worst of it. Unfortunately, even though your family was understanding, you job wasn’t. You still had to show up for your early morning shifts. Your mum doesn’t know this but a few days ago you quit your job. You were so tired of being overworked and underpaid and undervalued that you just quit mid shift. Your work mum was proud of you for standing up for yourself. You work bestie was on the till so she didn’t get to see you throw your apron at your manager and walk out of there like a boss.

You grinned to yourself as the residual feeling coursed through you. You followed behind Felix as he drove down the back roads just outside town, realizing the turn you missed initially was on the opposite side of the road and that’s why you missed it.

The last time you were at Heelshire mansion you were eight but when you saw the mansion for the first time in a decade, your memory didn’t do it service. The vast building sat in a clearing, surrounded by woodland. The mansion itself looked well taken care of, windows were clean, the garden was taken care of and the place, despite it’s gloomy presentation, looked inviting. It looked like home to you. It felt weird to you; ever since your dad died nowhere has felt quite like home. Although, for some reason, you felt like you just got home after a day of school.

You frowned to yourself, not understanding the emotions you’re feeling. Felix parked in front of the house, you parked behind him. By now the sun was shining and the almost unbearable summer heat made you roll down your windows as you drove.

You turned off the car and grabbed your bag off the passenger side floor and got out of the warm car. Felix had already wandered up to the steps leading into the mansion.As you went to meet him you were digging through your keys to find the house key Gary had given you. But something made you stop just before the steps. You paused for a moment, trying to figure out what this new feeling was. You felt it before, it felt very familiar. Like you were being watched from a distance. Maybe it’s just the uneasy feeling of this new adventure. The moment you step foot in the house, your life will change forever.

“Evelyn?” Felix’s voice brought you back to reality. You blinked a few times before settling your attention on him.You deeply inhaled before going up to the large front door, unlocking it was a loud ‘clunk.The door creaked open, revealing the dark insides of the mansion. You remember as a little girl being afraid of this place. You 100% believed in was haunted and after a very eventful but long overnight visit here, you swore to never have a sleepover at your grandparents’ again. The eeriness of the mansion hasn’t changed, but it’s about to.

You took a brave deep breath then broke the threshold between worlds. The inside of the mansion was cooler than the outside, not by much but it was noticeable when you walked in. Warily, you looked around. The place hasn’t a bit since you were a little girl. Same wallpaper, same furniture, same rugs, same everything. It was like you stepped back in time.

“Has it changed at all?” Felix asked from somewhere behind you, you heard the front door shut and latch. You pursed your lips together and turns to look at him. A cheeky smirk crossed your lips when your brain came up with a comeback.

“Oh yeah, there’s a lovely layer of dust on everything that wasn’t there before,” you twanged back at him. Felix couldn’t help but smile and chuckle, shaking his head at your observation.

“I’m going to take that as a no then,” he commented. You sniggered to yourself as you wandered the main floor, taking in the few memories you have of this place.

“So what are you going to do with the place?” Felix inquired from the other room. I longingly stared at the paintings and the antiques classily littering the walls. A lot of this stuff has been in my family for generations. And now it was yours to do with as you pleased.

“My dad’s dream was to turn this place into a bed and breakfast, so I guess I’m doing that,” you replied honestly. The main floor was made up of five main rooms; the foyer, the study, the dinning room, the kitchen and the living room. Those rooms all lead into each other to form a circle around the house, or you can take the shortcut from the foyer straight into the kitchen. Or you can be a weirdo and just do laps around the house, like what you’re doing.

“An entrepreneur, I like it,” he chirped as he wandered behind you. You visibly cringed at his attempt at flirting, and hoped he didn’t see any of that.

“Yeah, sure,” you groaned as you stopped in the kitchen, opening cupboards to see what food your grandparents left you. Which was a whole lot of nothing.

“I can go into town and pick up some shopping for you,” Felix suggested. You pursed your lips and shook your head.

“I can do my own shopping thank you very much,” you shot back.

“It’s just, your grandparents always have their shopping done every Thursday and Malcom’s delivers it but he’s gone and they’re gone…” he trailed off once he realized what he had just said to you. “–I’m sorry.” Were the next words out of his mouth. You shook your head and waved your hand at him.

“I wasn’t really close to them anyways,” you twanged back at him. Felix stared at you in disbelief, unsure of how to navigate this conversation. “–Besides, I’m not my grandparents,” you reminded casually. Felix’s eyebrows fell together and he tilted his head with a smirk of disbelief.

“You’re not really close to your grandparents, yet they leave you everything. Can we swap grandparents?” Felix joked. You had to admit, his proposal made you grin. You cocked an eyebrow and crossed your arms over your chest.

“You wanna be the owner of a creepy doll your grandparents got to replace their dead son, and then made up strict rules to live by including never leaving the house for anything?” You proposed honestly. Felix’s face dropped as he stared at you.

“You have Brahms?” He asked sheepishly. Your stomach began to twist and turn into tight knots. His reaction wasn’t what you expected, it was far from it.

“Yeah I do,” you replied in a soft, hesitant voice.

“Cool,” he said with a slight smile. You chuckled at his statement, brushing your hair behind your ear. You found his deep dark chocolatey brown eyes, in a single second they mesmerized you. Felix and you stared at each other for the longest moment you’ve ever experienced. There was tension building; that was undeniable. His dark gaze wasn’t focused on your eyes, they were aimed slightly lower. You felt a light blush warm your cheeks and a weak smile curled the corners of your mouth.

The moment was absolutely ruined when Felix’s mobile phone started ringing. You were snapped out of the trance like state. You blinked a few times and gave your head a slight shake. Felix fished his mobile phone out of his pocket and answered it.

You gave him some privacy by leaving the kitchen and going back into the foyer. Your eyebrows furrowed when you saw the front door wide open. You stopped in your tracks and looked around, knowing Felix closed that door when you guys went inside.

‘Maybe it didn’t latch properly,’ you thought of an easy explanation that was probably the correct answer before walking over to the door, shutting it and putting your weight into it so it’ll latch this time. You sighed, resting your body against the door. You gaze fell to the ground only to be caught by muddy footprints. Bare footprints. These prints didn’t belong to either you or Felix, seeing as you both were wearing shoes and these are bare footprints. They were leading from the front door. Your gaze followed the large prints into the study. You damn near jumped out of your own skin when your eye got caught by the well dressed doll sitting on the leather love seat in the study; knowing you left that doll in your car. You stared at the doll as your mind raced through all the possibilities.

“Nope,” you said when the idea of the doll being haunted popped up in your mind. You grabbed the doll from the love seat and went to take it to the attic where you knew there was a closet with a lock on it.

“Hey, I gotta go. I left my mobile number on the counter. Y’know, in case you need a delivery boy,” Felix told you as he came marching back through the house in a hurry. He didn’t even look over at you as he hurried out of the house.

“Okay…” Was all you could say. A moment ago he appeared to not want to leave and now all of a sudden he’s hightailing it out of here like a bat out of Hell. You could only stand in the doorway with Brahms in tow and watch as he fled the mansion grounds. You looked down at the doll and pursed your lips.

“Oh so now that you’re back home you wanna act a fool, is that it?” You asked the doll, only half convinced the doll was actually haunted. The entire time it was at your flat nothing spooky happened but now that the doll is back in its enclosure it wants to not act right.

“Don’t make me bring a priest here, ‘cause I’ll do it,” you warned as you took the doll upstairs. You felt absolutely silly for talking to a doll at this age, but the doll may be haunted so you wanna commune with the ghosts. It’s only polite. Your mind raced as you thought of all the possibilities; having a haunted doll as an attraction to bring business to this small town was the greatest idea you’ve ever had. Bring in ghost hunters, let them make their little videos and watch the money roll in.

You made your way up to the cluttered attic and shimmied through the stacks of boxes to the back corner where there was a closet that had a deadbolt on it. You set the doll down on the floor of the closet and closed the door, locking it.

“Stay,” you scorned the doll through the door. You tiptoed back to the entrance and down the steps. You had a lot to do today, so there was no time to be pussyfooting around.

Tagged: @hao-ming-8

#writing #horror #wattpad #fanfiction #writer #fanfic #writers #my writing #brahms the boy #brahms x you #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #writeblr #writerscommunity #writblr #writers on tumblr #fan fiction #original child character

20 notes · View notes

xticklemeemox · 5 months

Text

First ever Sleep Token fanfiction. Will be apart of a series detailing each Vessel's change to a vessel of Sleep. Eventual poly vessels. Vessel is not having a good time for a lot of this series. Also I'm not religious so Sleep has been a struggle to write.

This is about the characters, NEVER the real people. All appearance details are hc's of mine.

Tags for this part: hurt/no comfort, graphic depictions of self-harm, gore, suicide, suicidal ideation, religious themes. lemme know if I should tag anything else.

Word count: 9,047

Masterlist

The Love You Want: II

Link to ao3:

Fic under the cut.

The Love You Want: I

They came to him in a dream as he was teetering on the edge of life and death.

He had killed himself. Finally succeeded after various other attempts. It was everything he wanted, to finally end the torment of his everyday life and yet he regretted. Regretted that he never made anything of himself, never truly pursued music like he wished. Regretted letting his past lovers, his family, his peers, destroy him so completely that when he died, it was merely his body finally succumbing to the very darkness his mind had long since lived in.

Yet, broken as he was, They came to him. Asked him to be born anew as he floated in a vast expanse of stars, weightless as Their voice echoed around him, an amalgamation of every voice he had ever heard. "Will you be my vessel through which my message, my existence will be spread? I can give you everything you've ever wanted, if only you will accept me into your mind, your body, your very soul."

"I do not even know your name and you come to me and desire to give me everything. I am not deserving of anything."

"You are deserving of everything. I have watched you for your entire life. Witnessed your struggles and the few joys you managed to attain. I have seen others, witnessed their lives as I have yours, and there is no one better suited to be my First than you."

"But I am no one. If you've truly seen everything, you know how broken I am. Everyone I've ever loved has thought so, they've beaten it into me and made sure I would never forget it. I am broken beyond fixing."

"Your potentional, even as broken as you claim to be, is unlike any others' I have seen in millenium. As you are, you do not need fixed. As my vessel, you will be perfect no matter your state."

He wants. He wants more than he should, more than he deserves. He's always been so desperate for any sort of affection he let himself be used in so many ways, broken beyond repair but someone- something wants him. This God, a god, wants him to be their vessel. How many people could claim the same? This has to mean something. It has to.

He might bend, break, shatter beneath his desire to be loved. He is breaking beneath it. Resolve crumbling like the dust of the stars around him.

"I- I still don't understand why you want me but-"

With a blink of his eyes, everything changed. Above him, a moon shone brightly, larger than any he had ever seen before. Lain on his back, bright candlelight flickered around him in a circle, dimmer still than the stars he had been floating amongst what seemed like hours- seconds- minutes before. Time is dilated here, stretching out beyond his comprehension.

Sitting up, he noticed his skin had turned blacker than midnight. Sleep was all around him, every breath inhaled and exhaled a whisper of their name, a prayer echoed in his very soul.

"Be mine, my vessel, and I will give you what you most desire."

"And what is it I most desire, my God?"

"Love. I will give you love. My love, as my First Vessel, the love of your world, its inhabitants. You will be admired and sought after, revered, and in turn you will help spread my word."

"I will finally be loved...? But- Humans, my people are cruel. I have not been loved for even a moment my entire life. I have loved, but not loved in return. There is something about me that makes me unlovable. I will not make a good vessel for your message. Humans will see me and be deterred, as they have been all my life."

"A mask then."

"What?"

"A mask. To hide yourself behind, if you so wish it."

"Yes, yes, if I have a mask, then I, as myself, cannot deter them. A mask will allow them to connect to your message, to place their own experiences on your word without seeing me and guessing at my own experiences. I do not matter in this, it is your message and your message alone they need to receive."

"Yes, my vessel." Sleep agrees, but even they sound hesitant, despite offering up the mask as an option in the first place. "But I would not ask you to spread only my word. I will ask that you spread your experiences, your hardships. Humans dream so avidly of their hopes and desires, they do not process their pain as they should. Let them live their lives in the waking world, and as they dream, let them heal."

"If I can hide behind a mask, hide my true self and still share who I am, my pain, and still be loved as broken as I am then- I accept. I will become your vessel. I will bring you followers by baring my heart and soul. Humans love nothing more than to witness the pain of others, be it as a way to feel better about themselves or a way to feel not so alone."

"My first, my beautiful vessel." Sleep coos, "You will not regret this, I promise you. There is no one better to be my first than you."

The candles flicker out briefly, and when their light shines once again, a plate lay before him. Beside it, a knife whose golden blade gleams in the flames.

"Offer your heart to me, my vessel. Cut it out of your chest as your first act of worship."

Apprehension fills him, fear festering in the back of his mind. Pupils shrinking to pinpoints, he reaches for the knife with trembling fingers. He can barely hold its smooth wooden handle, his whole body shaking now. Bile rises in the back of his throat, but he swallows it down with disgust.

"Your heart, my vessel." His God urges, voices bouncing around in his skull painfully, "It will hurt. I will not lie to you about pain, not ever. It will hurt so badly and you will beg for it to be over, but you cannot stop until your heart is carved from your warm flesh and laid before me as an offering."

Steeling himself with his Gods words, he turns the knife's blade to face his body and without letting himself overthink it, plunges it into his upper chest. It hurts. It hurts like nothing else had before. Each suicide attempt was never without pain, but he thinks this most recent attempt- success may come close after he slit his wrists from wrist to elbow. That had burned like fire searing his flesh even as he bled out on his bathroom floor until finally, welcome cold as numbness settled over him like a final comforting embrace.

"Open up your chest for me, my vessel. Your ribs will not allow your heart to leave so easily."

Sobbing, he rips the blade from his skin, blood spilling out, and plunges it back in again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again-

He should be dead by now, with the mottled mass of muscle and veins and viscera that makes up his chest, but he supposes he really did die and this God is keeping his soul present enough for whatever this dream is to occur.

Dropping the knife at his side, he brings both hands up to grip a rib each on either side of his chest. They're slippery and wet, and his hands shake and struggle to hold onto the bone beneath whatever meat is still attached. A deep breath in that expands lungs that he just realized don't even need air, and he pulls with all his might. Screaming, screaming, screaming as his bones crack and every nerve in his body is aflame and all he wants is to die, to really die like he had planned, no matter what this God offers him-

"Good, my vessel. Your heart can be plucked now with far more ease. You just have to reach in and grab it. I know it hurts, I know. But you're almost done."

Sobbing still, tears streaming down his cheeks and snot dripping over his chin, hoarse moans and whimpers fall from parted lips as he reaches once more inside himself with one hand. Hunched over into himself, one arm trembles with the weight of his actions, struggling to hold himself up as the others hand grips the beating heart in his chest.

A sick squelching sound follows as he wraps his hand tighter and pulls, squeezing his own heart as it lets out weakening thumpthumpthumps upon its exit from his chest. He drops it on the plate, mind overloaded with nothing but pain as it feels like the heart he just offered up is still aching in his chest. His body screams that something is wrong, so wrong and he can feel himself devolving into a panic attack as his breaths come shorter and his heart- there is no heart in his chest- races like a stallion. His vision narrows and all he can hear is his own short breathing and static, such annoying, overwhelming static. Sand chafes his skin, fistfulls of it clumped in his hands as they claw at the ground in his panic.

Above him, the moon splinters, darkness hidden beneath revealed as the bottom shatters into pieces. Inky black tendrils claw their way out of the gaping hole at the bottom of the moon, seeming to reach out towards him. The heart is picked up with one of the tendrils, some caressing his face as others lap at the blood gushing down his front.

His body calms. The candles still flicker serenely, and in the distance, he can hear the ocean. He couldn't hear it before.

He forces himself to look, look at his deity that he tore his own heart out for. He can't look away, not even as six eyes blink open on the surface of the moon. He has to look away, he knows if he doesn't his mind will fracture and he will be lost to the void for eternity and there will be no first vessel of Sleep.

He looks down at the plate, desperately tearing his eyes away from one of what is likely many forms of his deity. Boneless, he sags, his deities touch having shoved the panic attack away at the mere sight and he knows it shouldn't be possible for something to look like that. This is real. He ripped out his heart, a God is going to love him, as long as he worships. In some corner of his mind, maybe he thought all of this was some dream, some last ditch desperate attempt from his brain so that he wouldn't regret anything when he passed. This is real.

An apple sits where his heart used to lay.

"Eat. Eat the apple of Eden, my vessel, and taste the divine."

With slow, pained breaths, he moves a shaking hand to grip the apple tightly. It's bright red, glowing brighter than the candles around him. Blood and drool drip down his chin, but he still brings the apple to his lips.

When he takes a bite, blood fills his mouth and spills over his lips at the corners. He knows it is his. The apple is chewy, like biting into an overcooked steak and he almost spits out his first bite at the nausea it causes in his stomach. He wonders if its his own heart turned into an apple, probably a small feat for a God. Then he tastes it, truly tastes it. The flavor is like nothing he could have ever imagined, so sweet he knows he could eat just this for the rest of his life and never tire of it. With every bite, every swallow, he feels more of his sense of being slip away. His past is slipping into the infinite; his pain, his self-hate, his capacity to love, to create, to feel, they are all that remains. Divinity is a bitter thing but Vessel never wishes to stop tasting it.

"Your mask, my vessel." His God speaks once more, as he is licking the blood from his fingers.

Before him sits a white mask, porcelain, with two eyes holes and cracks, and a sigil he couldn't name carved into it running down the middle. There was no mouth opening, but he finds he doesn't mind.

Picking it up, blood stains it in smears as he places it over his face. The mask, it feels right to have on. Like something had been missing his entire life, and he has finally found it.

"Rest now, my precious Vessel. Rest, and when you wake, you will be at the edge of my realm in your human lands."

His eyes slip closed to the gentle, soothing voice of his God. He can almost delude himself that there was a blatant 'I love you' in that nickname, and as his body gives out, succumbs to sleep, one of his deities words get caught in his brain in a loop.

Vessel. Vessel. Vessel.

When Vessel awoke, who he was before ceased to be. He couldn't remember his name. He didn't know how old he was. But he did know pain, could remember every moment something or someone hurt him emotionally or physically, like a scar upon his mind to match the ones he could remember carving into his own skin. He wonders if they still remain.

Vessel served Sleep. Sleep saved him from death and promised him his deepest desire in exchange for devotion and attaining more worshippers. And he agreed.

He remembered voices, faint echoes of thoughts and emotions, heartache and loneliness and self-loathing a constant. As he slept, he dreamt, feasted on the memories of his life leading up to spilling his lifeblood over his bathroom floor. Then they slipped away into the ether, yet the memory of his feast remained.

Opening his eyes, Vessel sits up. He lays at the edge of a dark forest, tall trees all he can see for miles as he gazes into the endless expanse. The moon shines above him, and he stands, something within him pulling his body further into the forest. The mask, his mask, sits securely on his face, and its presence is very quickly becoming comforting. He can hide himself away easier this way.

He cannot see much, stumbling over roots and falling into trees. His knees and hands ache with the scrapes and bruises he is sure he's gathered. Sleep lurks in the back of his mind, soft encouragement floating around his brain in a gentle murmur. Vessel trips on his own feet once, or perhaps twice if he were to admit it, but it doesn't deter him from his goal, not any more than tripping over the underbrush has. He walks for hours, never requiring water, or food. But he is slow, feet dragging as his body lags behind his mind. Accepting his God was an exhausting affair, and his body didn't rest like it should have, not like his mind had.

Soon enough, every step begins to feel like a leaden weight is attached at his ankles. His legs give out, and his masked face slams into a tree, nose beginning to smart. He forces himself to keep going as the pull in his chest has only grown stronger with every step further into the forest. Resting a forearm against a tree, Vessel pauses, finally taking notice of the long robe keeping his bare torso warm. It's open-fronted, black, with half-sleeves and a large hood that he pulls over his hair so that it covers the top of the mask.

"Faster, my vessel. Faster. You must make it to the manor before your transformation begins."

The voices of his God seemed to echo through the forest, trees shuddering with the power behind it. A migraine begins to pound behind his eyes like a battering ram, his vision whiting out at the sudden force. He stumbles, and when next he tries to get to his feet, he finds his knees aching and his arms barely able to push himself back up. Vessel finally stands, and in the distance he can make out a flickering light.

Hope blooms in his chest and spurs him to go faster. The light grows stronger alongside the pull in his chest and Vessel would be grateful if not for the migraine continuing to grow worse with every moment. His body begins to ache, every muscle burning, hands shaking where he grips his forearms tightly.

"Almost there, my vessel."

A gothic manor comes into view, a dilapidated thing covered in dark vines that seem to writhe on the outer walls- or maybe thats just his swimming vision. Vessel stumbles on the step up to the small rotting porch, fingers digging into the grey wood with the effort it takes to keep his body moving. Opening the door, he all but falls in, kicking it shut behind him before his body collapses. Everything goes dark before he can catch even a glimpse of anything around him.

Vessel is awake, and yet, he is also not. His body sleeps, or rests would be a better word but this could not be considered resting, not this agony that makes it feel like his entire being, body and soul, are on fire and all he wants is for his God to give up on him, to kill him so this torment will end and he'll finally know peace-

Vessel's mind is awake, but he cannot move his body. It lays on the floor, collecting dust as rats skitter over his splayed out hand. That simple touch sets his skin alight with agony as a headache pounds incessantly into his skull, never ceasing its attack. His heart would be racing as terror and confusion consumes his every waking thought, but he has no heart in his chest. Vessel's eyes are closed, but he can feel. Feel everything, hear everything. He wants to sleep, but his God will not let him.

Black sludge drips out of his open mouth, his skin itches and when it doesn't itch it burns. He can feel the changes being made to his body, how the skin of his hands and legs darken to pitch black, feel his ears begin to gain a point. Something is crawling up his spine and weaving over the skin of his ribs, over his shoulders and resting at his collarbone. He feels his nails grow out of his fingers and fall off, feels every single inch of new nails growing instead. He wonders fleetingly what they look like, in some shattered piece of his mind.

The transformation hurts, it hurts like nothing he has ever felt before. Not even ripping out his own heart felt like this. He is just a broken mess of skin and bones and meat, a puppet for his God to shape at their will. His God cares naught for how it pains their first Vessel, pouring more and more of their godly essence into his soul.

It could have been minutes, days, weeks, months, and he would never know. All he knows is pain. His whole body runs on it, its all he's known his entire life and now he fears that it is all his God will let him feel as long as he serves them. Did he make a mistake, pledging himself to a God he knows nothing about, just for the hope that someone will love him?

Transformation into a vessel of Sleep is not an easy thing. It is weeks trapped in Sleep's arms, aware of every change being made to Vessel's body as he slept, every atom that makes up his body screaming in agony.

Three weeks after arriving at the manor, Vessel awakens.

Getting up is a slow thing, rising on stiff limbs and noticing how uncomfortable it was to lay face down on his mask like that. His body still aches, but Vessel knows there is little else that could compare to the pain of his transformation. The first thing he notices is that his canines ache in his gums, feeling loose when he runs his tongue over them. When he reaches up to poke at them, the teeth fall out of his mouth. It startles Vessel so badly he stumbles back into the front door. Immediately the ache worsens and he feels two new teeth growing in at an alarming rate. Prodding at them with a finger, the tips are far sharper than any humans teeth and he realizes his God gave him fangs. For what purpose they serve, he doesn't know. Blood spills past his lips, mixing with the black sludge that he wipes away, spits out, desperate to rid himself of the taste. It's foul, rotten almost, but with a strangely sweet undertone, and the conflicting flavors cause nausea to roil in his gut.

Then he sees his palms, or rather, his entire arm. The skin until just above his elbow is pitch black and what looks to be tendrils of darkness crawl up about halfway up his bicep. His scars remain, a shade of grey instead of black that stand out against his inner arms. The nails he felt grow in are longer than his old ones, sharper, and pitch black like his skin. Idly, he wonders if its sanitary to use them on his own flesh, to dig in deep enough to draw blood.

He wonders if his legs look the same, or his back. Deciding to wait and see that later, Vessel looks around him. The inside of the manor is covered in vines just like the outside. The ceiling looks mostly intact, but there are a few missing floorboards, and cracks along the walls of the small entrance parlor. As he moves through the house, taking in the mostly furnished living room, the empty kitchen, and a large empty room, Vessel continues to find more vines and a decently sized bathroom. Most of the walls contain the same wallpaper, a lighter red with damask print that goes down about halfway from the ceiling where the print suddenly transitions to a dark wood that matches the flooring.

Moving on to the second floor, the wooden stairs creak under his steps and Vessel cringes, trying to make as little noise as possible even now, alone as he is. The staircase itself is a beautifully carved piece with swirling designs etched into the dark wood. A second, smaller living room sits at the top of the stairs, with two hallways branching off to the left and right. Heading left, Vessel finds three bedrooms and a bathroom, in the same state as the below rooms. Empty but not in terrible shape. Going back through the upstairs sitting room, he makes his way to the right hallway. Down this hall, there are two more rooms, but upon closer inspection, only one bedroom. The last room is empty except for a small coffee table placed against the middle of the back wall, and absolutely covered in vines. They seem to writhe under his gaze as he stares at them, moving further into the room.

The first thing he notices is his God, their presence is considerably stronger here, but he can tell they aren't truly in the room with him. A single red candle sits upon the coffee table, behind an offering plate, the same he placed his heart upon when accepting his God. It's a sad thing, burned down to about an inch of candle left, the wax having spread and dripped onto the floor. A large red sigil is painted into the wall above the coffee table, glowing gently and dripping deep red paint that seems to vanish before it can reach the floor. A strange thumping sounds seems to be coming from the walls, and when he leaves the room to see where the sound is coming from, he can no longer hear it. Entering again, the thumping can be heard once more. Listening closer, it almost sounds like... like a heart.

"Is that... my heartbeat?" He wonders aloud quietly to himself, feeling ridiculous for even suggesting it.

The small surge of approval from his God confirms his question and Vessel can't seem to make himself feel much of anything over the revelation. His heartbeat echoes in what looks to be an altar room. It must have something do with offering it up to his God.

Making a decision, Vessel makes his way back downstairs while he checks his pockets. He finds a wallet, pulling it out to check for money. Five dollars and three pennies is all he has. Shit. Not to mention he doesn't actually know where he is, or if there's even a town nearby. Deciding to save the idea for later, Vessel moves to begin cleaning the house. His body still aches, but he has the vague notion that it is a familiar pain and he can't quite place how he knows that. He finds a broom and dustpan in the closet which he sets aside in the living room to use once he's cleared out the larger bits of debris. Vessel makes no move to remove any of the vines, preferring to leave them as their presence is almost comforting somehow. He knows, as long as the vines are in the house, that he is safe here. He feels it in his soul, like he knows that sigil painted on the wall holds his heart, a symbol of his worship.

Its hard to move past the aching in his bones, the tiredness of his muscles, but Vessel manages. Time is far away from him as he works. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks he should have slept by now, or eaten, but there is nothing to eat or sleep on whether his body tells him it needs rest or not. It doesn't, his mind does, but Vessel feels he has rested enough. That stretch of time under his transformation process makes it so that Vessel doesn't want to sleep, even if he could.

After clearing out the living room of dust and debris and whatever else, he moves to the kitchen to see if there is running water or electricity. The thought of electricity causes him to pause, though, as he's reaching for the faucet attached to the sink. Vessel doesnt know how long he's been awake, but at no point did he need to light a candle or open the drapes in the living room. Quickly, Vessel opens the curtain on the small window above the sink, and upon looking outside, finds the moon shining dimly above the copy of trees surrounding the house. When he closes that same curtain, his vision doesn't change despite being able to visibly see the rays of light disappear.

Vessel can see in the dark.

Taking this change in stride, Vessel continues working into the morning (after finding out that there is running water and electricity) where he can see the sun rising through the curtains. Deciding to take a break, Vessel heads outside to watch the new day begin. Sitting on the top step of the tiny porch, Vessel watches through the canopy of leaves how the sun inches its way over the horizon, noting how his vision spans a further distance and is far clearer than his human eyes could ever see. Though, when the first sunray peeks over the trees, barely hitting his face, Vessel recoils. The light is blinding, sending pain shooting through his temples and behind his eyes.

Reaching up to cover the eyeholes of his mask, Vessel quickly makes his way back inside, a little sad that he couldn't continue to watch the beautiful sky above him. A small headache begins to pound at his temple, but Vessel ignores it with ease, giving up on his break and heading upstairs to clean there. He makes quick work of the altar room, sweeping, dusting, and mopping everything within a couple hours since the room was so bare. The vines move out of his way when he needs it, and Vessel assumes it is Sleep's doing, or perhaps the vines are sentient.

He is gentle when he wipes down the wall bearing the sigil, but even rubbing the old rag in his hand over one of the lines causes and uncomfortable feeling to burst into life in his chest. Gasping, he drops the rag and backs away. Okay, no touching the sigil on the wall no matter what. Vessel practically runs out of the room in his haste to get away from that feeling in his chest.

In the bedroom by the altar room, a leather-bound journal lays lit by a sunray that conveniently shines upon it. Still catching his breath, Vessel walks over to it, picking it up from the desk and opening its worn pages, warm to the touch. A name is inked onto the first page, but Vessel cannot read it, his mind unable to process the sprawling script. He knows it is a name. It is his, from before. Turning the pages with care, realization settles in slowly that this journal is filled to the brim with music. Lyrics, notes, chords, so many songs, and as he reads, the memories attached to the lyrics come back to him but still, he cannot remember who he was. He doesn't want to, if mere memories have shattered the heart he doesn't possess anymore.

He finds one titled 'Atlantic', and as he reads, tears well up in his eyes. He wrote this, Before, when he got home from his first suicide attempt. He'd tried to drown himself in the ocean after a fight with his boyfriend, fresh out of high school and in love with a man who couldn't love him in return. He'd failed, washed up on the shore unconscious and paramedics were called by some kind passerby. His boyfriend came to the hospital, saw his scars and fresh cuts and simply stood there. His face stone cold, unfeeling, uncaring as Vessel sobbed and sobbed and apologized and wished it had worked. The doctor talked him through his treatment and the healing process going forward, talked to him as though he was a child who knew nothing about the world and how he knows he could never understand the pain Vessel was going through to do this. When he went home, nothing changed and Vessel didn't know whether to be glad or devastated. His boyfriend didn't begin to love him, didn't even act like he was there at all. He became something less than before, in that small apartment, something less than human. Every attempt at affection was brushed off or met with yelling in his face. So he stopped trying, let his boyfriend take what he wanted and never receive anything in return until the man eventually got bored of him and left him sobbing in their doorframe.

Something splashes on the pages held carefully in his hands. It shimmers like liquid gold, staining the pages and blotting out a few words in the chorus. When he reaches trembling fingers up to the underside of his jaw to see why his face is wet, they come back dripping gold. He's crying golden tears. Another of Sleep's changes.

Vessel closes the notebook and places it back down gently, deciding this is to be his room. And so, he gets to cleaning it. Throwing out what little furniture there was that was unsalvagable, sweeping up the floors with the broom he found. Upon closer inspection, like the rest of the house, most of the furniture is completely trashed. A hint of apology pokes at the edges of his mind, and realizing now that it is Sleep, Vessel sends back a wave of reassurance, once he figures out how.

Asking aloud, Vessel hopes Sleep can hear him, "Do I need sleep, as your vessel?"

Sleep's voices echo around him again, "As my First, you do not require it unless it is related to your duties. The others, when they come, will need it, but far less than a human seems to need."

Anxiety fills his chest at his Gods words. Others? There were going to be others? Vessel doesnt know if he can handle others. How is he supposed to perform his duties if whoever these people are don't like him?

"Others? I thought it was going to be just us?"

Vessel should have known he would never be enough. Of course his God would need others, Vessel could never be enough by himself to appease the needs of a God. It is only right they take on more vessels to help worship and attain followers. Despite knowing this, the sting in Vessel's chest doesn't ease at the notion that even now, he still isn't good enough.

"Yes, I have my eye on four others at the moment. They're still alive right now, and I'm not quite sure if they'll be fit for what I require."

"Four others?" Vessel laughs bitterly to himself, a silent thing that barely shakes his shoulders, "Of course. Should I ready the other rooms? I'm not sure we'll have enough."

"No, my vessel. I will let you know when the time is right. I do not yet have the power to bring more vessels under my wing, but soon enough my decision will be made and an offering will be needed."

"Yes, my God. I await your word." Vessel replies quietly, wiping the last of his tears away that linger under his mask, careful of his new claws sharp points.

Cleaning this room is more work than the altar room, and Vessel's body tires easily, finding he still hasn't regained the strength needed to move the larger pieces of furniture. Giving up for now, he moves on to the rooms in the other hall, cleaning those as thoroughly as he is able. A day or two passes like that, small breaks being taken in between and Vessel finds he doesn't need to sleep, though his body grows weary from the work but slower than a humans would. He doesn't need to work by day to see, as his eyesight remains clear and bright.

It's on the second day, cleaning the kitchen as his final task, that Vessel asks a question that had been burning on the tip of his tongue for days. As he asks, he nicks his lip on a fang for the umpteenth time, reopening a cut he'd gotten the first day he woke up, wiping the blood from his lip absent-mindedly. He's so tired, and his body is telling him to sleep but his God said he did not need it, so he will stay awake.

"As a God, could you not just keep the house clean? Or magic away the mess yourself?"

"This house holds your heart, you will keep it clean. It is not a difficult task, my vessel. Do not complain about something so easy."

There's a bite to their words that Vessel has never heard before. He cowers back instinctively, as though struck, the tone reigniting some forgotten part of his brain, the same that demands he move through this house as though it isn't his own heart beating in the walls, quietly as if he would die if not silent. Fear rises up in him, all because his God took an unfriendly tone and his hands start to shake.

"Right, of course." Vessel hunches into himself, quieting his breathing as tears well up in his eyes, "I'm sorry, my God. I will keep the house clean as you've instructed. I won't ask again."

The vines and the walls shudder, wilting around him but Vessel pays them no mind, focused on making himself as small as possible, less of a threat. Sleep would be frowning if they had a physical body present, but instead allow their essence to gently brush against their First's mind. They find fear and sadness, regret and acceptance. Self-loathing is prominent as well.

Humans really are strange creatures. Devoted to worshipping their gods but so unwilling to really work for their own benefits, relying on murdering each other and toppling religions and cultures that don't fit their preferences.

"Keep the house clean, my vessel, I am soon to make a decision on my second vessel. Perhaps you should get to fixing up one of the upstairs bedrooms."

Vessel realizes this is why Sleep needs more vessels than just him. If he can't even do this simple task of cleaning the manor himself then how is he supposed to gather followers for his God? Fingers scratch at his arms in his distress, sharper nails digging in unknowingly despite the familiar action, though Vessel can't quite remember why its familiar until a wet sensation meets his fingertips.

Ignoring it, closing a palm over the open wound, Vessel says quietly, so quiet its a whisper, "I, um, I need to get furniture, Sleep, for the second vessel. I know you said I do not need sleep but they would, and the furniture here is too rotted and destroyed to use. And we have no food."

"Oh, yes, the vessel will need that won't they. A bed to sleep on, and clothes to eat. Very well then, go on into one of your human towns and obtain these things. I have other things to attend to, I cannot babysit you, my vessel."

Flinching, Vessel nod, but forces himself to speak up again, "I don't have any money, or know where a town is."

The voices of his God rattle in his skull as they sigh frustratedly, "Must I do everything for you? Here, take this thing for money. You will not run out of your human currency with it. Creating money is such a simple task for me, its almost laughable."

Vessel cringes as a card appears in his unoccupied hand, but Sleep continues speaking, "As for transportation and location, the forest will lead you out if you ask. Your car from before you were my vessel is there at the edge of my lands. I have erased all forms of identification from it and used a bit of my magic to make it seem less interesting to your human authorities. Do not drive like a fool. Oh, and a map with the manors location as well as the closest human town will be inside. Now, do not bother me again. I am busy searching for more vessels, it is important work. If you disrupt me, there will be consequences, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sleep." Vessel confirms, gaze downcast as blood dribbles down his arm and splash-splash-splashes on the floor he spent so long cleaning.

When Sleep is gone, Vessel sinks to his knees. Bone-deep tiredness has sunken into his marrow, and he wants to sleep, wants to never wake up. He digs his nails in a bit harder and his eyes shutter at the relief the pain, the blood spilling brings. Vessel is grateful his God was so lenient with him after he fucked up and asked a stupid question. He'll have to remember to think over what he's going to ask before he does it, if he asks anything ever again at all.

When the haze of his Gods disappointment in him lifts, terror strikes again immediately. Sleep, their presence, he can't feel it anymore. At all. This entire time its been a constant in the back of his mind, even when he could tell they were busy with something else, but for them to be just gone entirely?

Vessel fucked up. He didn't mean to, he really didn't. Now Sleep's left him alone. Vessel is not good at being alone. He's not sure how he knows but he thinks, in some locked away part of his mind, that his mental health takes a nosedive from bad to fucking detrimental. Maybe thats why he always had a lover, to keep the detrimental away. He couldn't remember- can't think- no, he does remember. Just this.

Vessel has tried to kill himself every time a partner leaves him, broken and beaten and at his lowest. None of his breakups have ever been amicable. If his God has left him, maybe he should just end it all for good. He wonders what would happen if he just took a sledgehammer to the sigil on the altar room wall. Its his heart, isn't it? Wouldn't deadly damage to it kill him? No, no, Sleep gave him a task. A task! For the second vessel. Vessel has to complete his task, and if his God doesn't return within the week, then- then Vessel can finally know peace and not have to live in this body of his alongside its fucked up mind. They have more vessels to pick from. He doesn't matter.

Ah, wait-

He's not sure he can die, like this, changed to the whims of Sleep. Not sure what it would do to his God. There's a reason his heart is beating in the walls of this manor, a reason even now that the vines around him shudder and writhe in response to his emotions. Vessel doesn't want to hurt his God, would rather chew off his own arm. His God saved him, promised him love, the love of the world.

Quietly, as tears run down his face, silent sobs shaking his shoulders only just, Vessel, in a desperate sort of plea perhaps, whispers, "They didn't notice when I ripped into my arm with my nails. Didn't notice or didn't care. I can- just do that. I'll feel better afterwards, I'll go into town and complete my task from Sleep."

Yes, that's what he'll do.

There is no other thoughts in his head as Vessel brings up his hand to his already bloody arm and digs too sharp nails into his forearm and pulls. A slice follows the action, blood beading up immediately, and Vessel sighs at the way his brain fogs up again but in a way that drowns out his thoughts. There is only this moment, the blood welling up and spilling over, and the silence of his brain. He does another, a little further up alongside an old scar. Vessel is making another before blood can even surface, then another, and another, and another-

He's not quite sure how he got to this many cuts, but finds he doesn't mind. Finished slicing up his arm, basking at the relief flooding his system, Vessel stares as blood drips steadily onto the floor he worked so hard to clean. There is a numbness that comes with this fog, and Vessel can't bring himself to care, no matter how his body aches from the constant work to clean up this manor.

He searches for anything to help slow the bleeding, finally calm enough to make rational thoughts despite the empty void where his Gods presence should be. Finding nothing, Vessel sighs in exasperation. He'll have to get a medkit from that town nearby, not just for his habit but Sleep did mention the other vessels would be more human. They'll need things to stay healthy, like medicine and bandages.

Taking another look at his arm, Vesssl finds he didn't cut too deep and that the bleeding is already slowing. By the time the bleeding stops entirely, he can barely see the marks on his arm except for the faint dark red stabbing. Looking down at his outfit, Vessel begins to make his way out of the house, wiping the blood off on his robe as he goes. Ah, he'll need clothing. And a washer and dryer but Vessel isn't sure he can do that part himself. Those machines are quite heavy and he'd rather die (that- is not saying much) than have something like that delivered to his doorstep. Glancing at the trees around him as he walks, Vessel isn't sure the forest would take kindly to unexpected visitors.

As for furniture, maybe he should just buy a mattress for the second vessel for now and then give them the card to go buy their own things. As it is, the thought of going to a brand new town, to brand new stores, with completely new people he's never met or seen in his life is causing anxiety to stir in his chest and panic to rise in the back of his mind. Taking a deep breath, Vessel focuses on the trees around him to try and calm down. Dark wood, deep green leaves that block out most of the sun hanging in the sky above him, sparing his eyes the pain of the light.

Soon enough, he comes to where he woke up and continues on past it. About five minutes more and he finally sees the car his God was talking about. The keys sit in the front seat, and Vessel opens the door with ease. Climbing in, he finds he barely fits his long legs in well enough to drive. The car starts but as Vessel moves to put it in reverse, his gaze catches on a black something-or-other in the back seat. Picking it up is easy, and Vessel finds it to be a hoodie with 'Alpha Wolf' written on the front.

He used to wear this all the time, Before. Vessel can't remember his name, or his parents, or the faces of any of his past partners, but he can remember music. The music he enjoyed, snippets of the music he made, could play. Without music, Vessel would be nothing.

Slipping off the robe, Vessel shimmies it out from under his ass and places it gently in the passenger seat. Removing his mask feels wrong, like a part of him is missing and he's quick to slip it back on once the hoodie is over his head, before his arms are in the sleeves even. The hoodie is loose, sleeves too long, but Vessel adores it immediately as the hood fits over his head nicely even with the mask. He's glad his love for it didn't fade with his name.

It'll cover his new cuts and old scars too, as well as his arms entirely. If he's lucky, no one will ask about the mask, or his hands. As his God said, a map is in the glove box marking where the town is and his current location. The drive is filled with the sounds of a cd he found in the middle compartment from a band called 'Evanescence'. The woman's voice is beautiful and Vessel finds he knows all the words, singing along quietly, memories of discovering them surfacing.

Not knowing his name, or anyone from his past is becoming less and less distressing. He remembers his pain, and these things that gave him some form of happiness and that's all that matters. Vessel doesn't need anyone but Sleep now, for as long as the God will have him.

Pulling up to a furniture store, Vessel tries to resolve himself to just walking in, buying a mattress and getting out. If he drives slow enough after getting the thing on top of his car, Vessel is sure he can make it back to the manor. Probably. He fucking hopes so. His God did not make this task easy for him. He wonders if They even knew what getting a bed for the second vessel entailed.

If he gets a mattress, thats one task done, as best as he's able. His God will be disappointed when they come back, if they come back after Vessel fucked up so thoroughly, but he thinks that would be better than not completing any part of the task at all. Groceries would be pointless without knowing what the second vessel likes to eat, or when they will arrive. Vessel wonders if Sleep thought of that, too.

Tears well up in his eyes and Vessel rubs at them through his mask, eventually just lifting up enough to get his hand under so he can wipe them off his face. Fuck. Fuck. He can't do this. He can't go in there and talk to a stranger, it was bad enough when it was his own face but the mask makes it worse.

Ripping it off, unease fills him, made worse when he catches sight of his eyes in the rearview mirror.

Black has crawled over the sclera to replace the white, pupils shrinking to nothingness and the blue of his eyes have turned into a blood red.

Vessel really can't do this. How is he supposed to go into any store like this? He could possibly say its tattoos, or contacts, but fuck, Vessel doesnt have the social capability. As it is, his anxiety is through the roof and he's shaking so badly its vibrating the entire car.

No, no. His breaths come out in shorter and shorter pants, lungs constricting in his chest. Shit. Shit. Not right now.

Vessel puts his mask back on, even as it makes oxygen even harder to bring in. Its soothing weight helps him get ahold of himself.

He'll simply punish himself for disappointing his God when he gets back to the manor. What are a few more cuts for being such a fuck up? His ankles should be open if there isn't any more space on his thighs, or maybe he'll do his hips instead. Taking in a shaky breath, Vessel pulls back out of the parking lot and heads back to the house.

He does as he said he would, bleeding all of the bathroom floor but feeling much better about himself. He hopes his God won't be too upset if they come back. He didn't complete his given task, not even a bit of it. Vessel thinks it would be better to have the second vessel help him pick their own furniture and food anyway. Not to mention Vessel wants to stop by and get some things for Sleep's altar. He hates how barren it is, devoid of anything truly worthy of his God.

As Vessel waits for word from his God, letting his wounds heal much quicker than he expected they would, and adding on more when the despair was too much, or if he simply felt like it, a week and a half passes before his God comes to him again. By that point, he had gotten rid of all of the old furniture that could be reused and cleaned up all of the rooms in the upstairs hallway opposite if his and the altar room.

Cleared of dust and debris now, the manor could almost be called an actual house if it weren't for the lack of furniture and the occasional missing floorboards. Or the vines covering most parts of the walls and along the baseboards and weaving between the balusters of the ornate staircase.

"My vessel, the second has been chosen and accepted me in turn. He will awaken within the hour. Be ready for him to arrive here." Sleep's voice booms in every corner of the house, startling Vessel at the sudden presence.

The stair he stepped on creaks under his uncalculated weight and he cringes, dropping his pen. "Of course, my God. I will be prepared."

It bounces down each step, clattering thr whole while and Vessel watches it go with reluctant acceptance. The new vessel will be here soon. He hopes they don't mind his presence too much. Vessel supposes he'll just stay out of their way unless duty requires it.

"My vessel," Sleep begins, and Vessel pauses as he picks up his pen. "How is your worship coming along?"

Gaze downcast, Vessel replies, "I have a couple songs written, but nothing to play them with except my voice."

"I will gift you an instrument soon, then. I recall you were quite adept at a, what was it... piano. Yes, that's it." Sleep's voices are kind, and there is the sensation of a gentle touch against his masked cheek.

Vessel leans into the affection though he cannot see his God. Elation fills him, happy to be acknowledged so kindly, and Sleep will even be gifting him a piano.

"Thank you, my God. It will greatly improve my pace and quality of worship. I appreciate it." Vessel says quietly, truly grateful.

"Of course, my Vessel. Now, I must make sure that the beginnings of the transformation aren't interrupted after they wake."

Gathering his courage, Vessel stops his God. "Sleep, can I actually make a request?"

"What is it, my Vessel?"

The vines closest to him wriggle and writhe, leaves leaning towards him and brushing against his ankles by the bottom of the staircase.

"Can you give me some time to help him pick out furniture and food? I couldn't get the furniture here myself," at his Gods scoff, Vessel cringes, bunching into himself, but he continues resolutely, "and he would be able to pick out his food himself. I don't want him to be uncomfortable here before his transformation."

"You did perfectly well on your own, my Vessel."

Vessel thinks back to his weeks-long agony, laying in the entrance hall for so long, as bugs and rats skittered over his prone form and dust gathered on his clothes. He could still feel the phantom of that black sludge that dripped out of his mouth, and shudders.

"Well, yes, but you said this vessel will need sleep and food unlike myself. There is nowhere to sleep but the floor, and no food to eat."

"Very well. You have twenty-four hours from now. Tomorrow, at midnight, his transformation will begin. Be prepared."

Sighin in relief, Vessel scratches purposefully at a fresh cut. "Yes, my God. Thank you."

Sleep doesn't reply, presence fading but not going away entirely. Vessel is glad he's not left entirely on his own, finding comfort in that small tickle of his Gods presence that still fills the house. Holding his journal to himself, Vessel smiles. Its a small thing, hesitant but hopeful.

The second vessel will be awake soon.

#sleep token fic #sleep token #vessel sleep token #poly sleep token #ii sleep token #sleep token iii #sleep token iv

9 notes · View notes