The evening brought a chill as Abel held Link closer. Tilieth was working on cooking dinner for the family, and they were in an area he had just cleared of monsters, so he knew they would be safe for now. It left him time to just hold his son, to look him over and be content in the moment.
Considering such moments came so rarely, he would take what he could of it.
It hadn't even been a hard day. Aside from the skirmish with the beasts, they'd found nearly half a dozen shrines, and they'd all been simple puzzles. No strenuous climbing, no catapults, no endless pits... and at the end of it all, Link's wounds had improved greatly with each spirit orb they found.
And now, Tilieth hummed off tune as usual, bringing a smile to Abel's lips as he gazed at his boy. Link looked serene, resting comfortably on his father's lap, and he turned his head slightly to snuggle in closer. Abel felt his heart speed up a little at the sight of it, considering the boy was usually not reactive at all. Were the spirit orbs really helping that much?
Link sighed steadily through his nose, and then his eyes fluttered open.
Abel jumped a little, reaching for some broth they had set aside for the next time the boy woke. He sat Link up a little, whispering, "Hey, little knight. Time for some food, okay? Can you stay awake?"
Link kept his eyes open, drinking the offered broth as Abel tipped the bottle back for him. The boy had been far more interactive lately, though still clearly not really lucid. At least the fear of him dying of dehydration or starvation was greatly lessened than it used to be.
Link hummed when he was finished, leaning against his father's shoulder and smiling. Abel stared at him, blinking, completely caught off guard. Slowly, he put the bottle down and poked the boy's chest. Link scrunched his nose in response.
Could he be...? "...Link?"
He looked at him.
His boy was looking at him.
Abel stared into the teenager's blue eyes, breathless, his own eyes blown wide. Link blinked blearily, tired, but smiled a little more. "Hi, Papa."
Tilieth's humming stopped immediately, and the sound of a ladel clattering to the ground came next as she rushed over. "Link?!"
Their son turned his head to look at his mother as she fell to her knees beside him.
"Link!" she sobbed, holding him as Abel continued to stare in shock. He--he was--
"Oh, honey," Tilieth cooed, rocking him and holding and probably never ever letting go again. "Honey, you're okay, you're awake!"
"Mama," Link muttered into her collarbone. "You're squishing me."
Tilieth laughed. "That's all you have to say at a time like this?! You silly little goose, do you--"
His wife sobered for a moment, and continued hesitantly, "D-do you remember anything?"
Link watched her curiously, face still bright and open, as if he had no recollection of the Calamity whatsoever.
He doesn't remember it.
Abel came back to life, eyes stinging, hiccups tearing out of him. Link immediately looked at him, wiggling out of his mother's grip. "Papa?"
Abel's lip wobbled, and Link scooted back to his lap, letting his father practically collapse on him. "I missed you, son."
Link stiffened a little before returning the hug in full. "It wasn't your fault, Papa."
Abel jolted. "I--what--"
"It wasn't your fault," his son repeated, emphasizing his words and holding him tighter. "I love you, Papa. I love you so much."
Try as he might, Abel couldn't stop the tears. Something about the boy's words and tone, the fact that he was awake--everything poured out of him at once, sorrowful and joyful and beautiful, and he held his boy so tightly.
"I love you too, little knight."
Link held tighter. And tighter. And tighter until it felt like he was squeezing the life out of him, like he was trapped, and--
Abel opened his eyes, tangled in blankets, hearing Tilieth snoring beside him. Breath tickled his neck, and he looked down to see Link, pale, frail, and injured, sleeping between the parents.
The former knight poked the boy. He didn't stir.
Sighing, Abel wiped away the tears that had somehow managed to fall despite just dreaming, and went back to sleep.
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Hello there! May we have a villain obsessed over not just hero, but her girlfriend as well? I find the concept of a villain obsessed with both parts of a pair really interesting. Thank you!
“Isn’t she such a darling little thing?”
Villain ran her finger along a picture of Civilian at the animal shelter, cradling and feeding a kitten. One of many, many photos tacked onto Villain’s board with a heart-shaped push pin, a bloody red color as violent as Villain’s desire for poor, sweet Civilian.
She ran her finger along a photo of Hero next to it, smiling.
Unlike other villains, who would have been vengeful if they discovered their enemy had a girlfriend—maybe even going so far as to harm said person—when Villain discovered Hero’s girlfriend, she was struck by Cupid’s arrow and knew in her heart that wanted both of them. Hero, with her intensity and passion, with years of fights, jagged scars and tender bruises. Civilian, with her soft gaze and sweet nature. Surely Civilian could learn to look at Villain with kindness and love, as she did with those kittens and puppies in the shelter. Surely Hero would learn to love her, too—learn to see her scars, her faults, and love her for it instead of condemn her.
“Villain, I think you’re taking it just a little too far.” Henchman said, as he looked at the board. “Why do you need so many photos of them?”
“It’s called manifesting, Henchman.” Villain pouted, glaring back at her subordinate.
He didn’t understand love.
Not how she did.
It seemed nobody understood love how she did. Nobody was as passionate as her about love.
“It’s stalkerish.”
“We’re villains, do you put it past me?” She sighed. Of course, count on Henchman to throw a wrench in her fun.
He’d been that way since they were kids. Henchman was a shepherd trying to tame a wolf. Yet he stayed, and as much as Villain tried to find out why he hadn’t left, he never gave her a definitive answer—nothing deep, nothing meaningful, nothing Villain could scour for meaning. None of the fluff and flowery words that Villain loved, like in the fairytale books she’s pored over as a kid.
“…no, not really.” He sighed stepped closer to the board, his brown eyes taking in all the photos of Hero and Civilian. “So, what’s your grand plan? Kidnap the both of them?”
“Exactly.” Villain smiled, clapping her hands together at the idea.
Hero and Civilian would still love each other, then they’d love Villain too, and they’d all be in love together.
It would be a bumpy road, but it would be worth it. Hero would fight. She would struggle and claw and kick, and that’s because she was passionate—she had passion, as Villain had passion for love and all things romantic, and all Villain had to do was harness that passion…turn the fighting spirit into affection.
After all their battles, all their scars, Villain could hold Hero close without hurting her.
That’s all she wanted.
Hero just didn’t ever let it happen, because she was stubborn, because she didn’t trust Villain. However, she would fix that. The bruises would turn into something more romantic and symbolic than mere wounds—they’d be a testament of their love, they’d be a violent delight.
Oh, and sweet, precious Civilian…a normal girl who worked at an animal shelter, tending to animals in need. Villain wanted to be cared for that way, looked at with kindness, instead of given judgmental looks from others who deemed her insane…she would show Civilian her vulnerabilities, and surely Civilian would make a space, even a tiny nook, for her in that beautiful heart.
Civilian could make her feel normal, make her feel loved.
Was it wrong for Villain to merely want to spread love? The plan was all laid out. The tactics, the words she’d say to them…all of it was planned and orchestrated so that she could win them over.
Henchman looked at Villain, his eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t like that look on your face. That means you’re planning something bad, and it’s going to blow up in your face, and I’ll have to comfort you while you cry into my shoulder, even though I warned you.”
“Why are you being so unsupportive today?” Villain glared, her smile fading. “I don’t force you to be here. You could leave if you wanted to. I know you think I’m crazy, so why bother with me?”
Henchman’s look was as cold and pointed as a knife. “Villain, this isn’t going to fix the past. This obsession isn’t going to help you get better, it isn’t going to erase what happened, it won’t fill that hole inside of you.”
“You don’t know that.” Villain stared at Henchman.
He was wrong. Everybody was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Nobody understood her, her love, her heart.
Hero’s and Civilian’s love couldn’t erase the past, but it could prove something—it could prove that despite what everyone said, she could be loved.
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