wrongly_amused

Title: A Clear and Perfect Surface 
Chapter: 1 - The Turning of Seasons and Earth 
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583998/chapters/41909657 
Fandom: Legend of Zelda - Ocarina of Time 
Rating: E (currently K+) 
Characters: Link/Malon, Ingo, Impa, others 
Summary: Time is a reckoning for us all. Link has known for awhile that his own is coming. Malon is just the woman who happened into his life to complicate it.

Notes: Two days late, but better than never! This one had to undergo some restructuring and is still pretty lengthy, but hopefully the next one will be out on schedule.

wrongly_amused

Characters:  Padme, Anakin

Rating: T

Summary:  He comes to her, as if in a dream.

          Here is the truth:

          The weeks and then months pass with the slipperiness of dreams, light and indistinct, and so intent is she on the rebuilding of nation and people that Anakin Skywalker falls through the cracks of her life with nary a sound. She does not think of him, not at all, not in the hours spent rebuilding cities and political trusts nor in the precious moments of solitude which she guards with silent ferocity. In a way, he becomes a specter of the past, a shining star blinking in the black depths of her subconscious, hidden behind void and time. Like all Jedi, his presence is immeasurable yet indefinite, ascetic in appearance and bearing, and swiftly extracted from awareness like the clean and gliding motion of an elegant stranger’s passing.

          His memory sleeps inside of her in years thence, a dark and sturdy thing beneath the raucous of a busy mind. Still, it lays its traps keenly, and she is inevitably snared in an unexpected way. It is his trinket, that humble child’s piece, hewed with more care than skill, years lost now in maiden’s robes until found again in the final days of her queenship. For a long moment, she observes it, turning it so to admire its dull shine and affectionate memoir; she smiles to think of it and of him, the boy who by now must be so far removed from the static youth of her recollection as to be recognizable. Anakin Skywalker, she thinks for the first time in ages, a strange and wondrous creature as any she had ever met. What he is now she cannot say, and perhaps the same can be said of her now that she is no longer queen, and that above all may be what impels her to place the necklace among her finest jewels, closing it with a fond smile as this grand chapter of her life does the same.

          But that is not the end of it.

          Weeks now, and the war stands at bay with only the thinnest of tethers, a tension that rings the whole galaxy and pulls ever tighter. Sleep covers her with dark thoughts and darker dreams, and even there is little respite until -

          it is the humid season and the earth is moist and richly black beneath her feet, the sky is smeared with cloud and star, and the air filled with birdsong, the crying of swoons and whistlebacks. the forest encloses her like a tightened fist, endless and constricting, and she knows this place and knows herself not. it is damp with rain and tears and fecund with the life it instills. how long she walks she knows not but thunder beckons in the distance, and she answers its howling with a cry of her own, carried on swift step through this thick and verdant place to where memory begins.

           the tree grows twisted and crooked, an uncertain smile against the shadows of the forest, and the boy among its stubborn roots is an uncanny things with blurred edges, more concept than creature, like a word stuttered on the edge of a tongue. she blinks, and the boy is gone, replaced by something larger, grander, in between.

          i’ve been waiting for you, padmè, he tells her, and she knows that he has, that something in her has been waiting too. it should scare her -

          and yet

          he stands now, tall against the gloom of deep forests, extending his hand. in his palm, the pear sits ripened to near rot, an elegant ruin. won’t you have some? he asks, and bites deeply, richly, his hands are stained with something dark and wet. he takes a step toward her, and the image flickers, the static of holo out of range, and he is boy then man then boy and then something dark and unseen moving toward her, his lips are parted, he is whispering her name

          and she won’t, she will not but the thunder is sounding in the distance, his eyes are so blue, and she realizes that he is the storm calling her here, it is his heartbeat thrumming beneath the backdrop of the forest, breaking beneath her hands, his name is shaped upon her lips and-

          She awakens gasping, her lungs thick with the moisture of summer air. Cordè leans over her, brow furrowed in concern. Her palm is gentle and cool, a balm against uncertain dreams.

          "A fever mayhaps, my lady,“ she murmurs, “It may be wise to delay your meeting with the chancellor.”

          But Padmè Amidala will not be deterred. A woman determined, she thinks little of dreams and lesser of portents and proceeds with her day as she would any other. It is a conceit she maintains until the world insists otherwise, and it is hours before she can face the Jedi without Cordè’s blood staining her hands, and then -

          Here is the truth:

          She does not know root from stem, dream from memory, wisdom from folly. When she calls him a boy, she means it, and she cannot know of the moment it altered, the image flicking, an unstable illusion, then reshaping into something larger and grander, something indistinct. In the light of fire and stars, his eyes are so blue, his hand is extended, he says to her -

          Without you, I can’t breath.

          And she believes it because the air is so thick, her throat is tight and airless, the words are not there. When he moves over her, hot and oppressive, she cannot speak, is never certain what to say. There are whole worlds in his eyes, but they are only for her.

          "I dreamed of you,“ he whispers, a voice full of promise and heat.

          "As did I,” she says honestly, and when he kisses her, it tastes of water and earth, honey and rot, fire and ash.

wrongly_amused

Prologue: Of What Moonlight Speaks

Fandom: Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time

Rating: E/NC-17 (K+ outside of marked explicit chapters)

Characters: Link/Malon, Ingo, Orsus

Summary: Time has a reckoning for everyone. Link knows his is coming. Malon is just the woman who showed up to complicate it.

wrongly_amused

Title: Flicker
Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Linked Universe (@ tumblr)
Rating: T
Characters: Link, Malon

Long after the flame had whittled away at the wick and turned the room dim had they lingered, pressed gently against each other in dying light. Her husband was quiet by nature and purpose, but the silence here was comfortable and full of warm regard, his body loosed of the tension that normally bound his features rigid.

Link’s thumb smoothed over hers where their fingers were interlaced.

She smiled at the gesture, then rested her face in her palm and looked at him keenly. "You are very fond of him,” she stated plainly.

“I am,” he said simply, turning slightly to glance at her sideways. "He is everything a Hero should be and more. And he is ours.“

Malon laughed, a rich sound in the velvet dark. "He’s somebody’s well down the line of what’s ours.”

“Not that far removed by my reckoning.” He grinned at her. "You should see him around the horses. Any girl trying for his heart’s gonna have as hard a time as I did wooing you away from your first love.“

"Look at you playin’ like I made it hard for you. You practically had me swoonin’ at ‘hello’ first time you rode back in here handsome as all get.”

“You talk like half the market wasn’t vying for your hand when I showed up.”

She rolled her eyes. "If they were, they were doin’ a poor job of it. Half the boys Papa hired after Ingo didn’t last a good week mucking the stalls. Other half didn’t dare come within a mile of the ranch for fear of catchin’ work. I’m fair certain he was ready to offer you my hand when you hadn’t up and gone off after the first month.“

"Wouldn’t be the first time,” he reminded her, eyes glinting.

“Should have taken the first offer,” she reasoned, “Would’a cost ya a lot less.”

“You were worth every last rupee spent.”

“Such a charmer,” she scoffed, then straightened, leaning into him. She touched the collar of his shirt fondly, tugging at the laces. "You should know it’s been a good three months you were gone. Flattery is not necessary to get your wife into bed.“

The laugh broke out of him, wonderfully startled, before he leaned in and kissed her firmly. "It is late,” he relented, then stood abruptly. "And as we all know - “ He darted forward before she could react and scooped her out of the chair. ” - a happy home starts with a happy wife.“

She expelled half a shriek before choking it off, covering her face with her hands as she ruddied nose to ears. Swinging her up bridal style, he kissed her again, starting toward the main stairwell. "You’re going to have a be a lot quieter than that, darling. We’ve got a lot of guests with sharp ears.” He dodged the swat she sent at him, then made the ascent with deliberate speed, letting the anticipation stir the air between them.

He waited until they were well within the room before setting her down, letting his hands linger on her waist as she gazed up at him brightly, beguiling. He wanted to kiss her and then some, but more than that he wanted to hold her in this moment, a thousand years preserved in the hard amber of his memory, protected from the weather of time. Everyone thought it a river, flowing through and around them, but he knew better. Time was a blade and a river both, cutting and cold. He thought of her and thought of the boy, of heroes and myth and the thread of blood and history that ran between all of them, and he could see them now unfurling before him, like the sail of a great ship carried into the deep bend of the horizon.

When he smiled down again, her eyes had softened, and she reached out to touch his shoulders. "What are you thinking of in there?“

Swallowing hard, he moved his hands to her arms, pulling her close. He kissed her forehead tenderly. "I was thinking…we could a name a girl after your mother. Or a boy for your uncle, the one you said died in the war.”

“Maybe,” she agreed amiably. She took the hand on her arm and gently pulled on it until it was level with her face, then kissed the callouses there fondly. "Or,“ she murmured, "We could name her Saria.” He started, stunned, and she took advantage of his surprise to ease his hand open, kissing each finger delicately. "Or Navi. A boy named Grog. Or a boy named - “

He jerked away, turning from her. A shiver ran the length of him, the barest flinch, and she made her move, pressing her advantage and encircling him with her arms. She could be relentless, too, she thought; she had learned well enough from him how to quarter something wounded. Especially here, now, when he was finally beginning to understand. That legacies were more than swords and blood, more than the glorious dead buried beneath the dirt of history. It was alive around them, in them, always had been.

She pressed her face into his back, letting her lips brush his neck. "A boy named Grog,” she continued softly, “Or Mikau. Or even Mido,” she added mischievously.

He was shaking lightly when he turned back to her, eyes bright in the gentle light of the room. Fitfully, he grabbed her hands, kissed them, then pushed her gently but steadily back to sit on the bed. He knelt before her with no less fealty than knights before queens. His mouth moved, as if to speak, but quivered shut before he simply pressed his face against her knee. She stroked his hair, letting him have this moment. She waited for the words that she knew were coming, that could only be coaxed out with patience and care, as if he were afraid that the world would swallow them whole and steal them away the moment he gave them breath.

Finally, he rose slightly, fisting her skirts. "I love you,“ he said fiercely, "You are the greatest thing in my life. Without you, I would…”

Die, maybe. Let his sword carry him to an early grave. Or drive himself hopelessly, endlessly against a wall of misery he could not breach.

She didn’t care. It was his to have, the weakness in his guard she would not exploit. Cupping his face, she smiled down at him sweetly. "I love you, too, more than anything else in my life. More than horses, even,“ she teased.

His laugh was rough and thick, but it was his. "Even I wouldn’t dare ask you to rate me higher than horses.”

She tugged on his arms, urging him to rise level with her. Leaning forward, she let her lips brush his nose, his cheek, before settling firmly on his. “I already told you flattery wasn’t necessary,” she whispered against his mouth, “You’re already getting lucky.”

She heard the rumbling of a laugh, and he pulled back. For a long moment he held her countenance, his gaze intense, before moving with such alacrity it startled her backwards, and he pursued ferociously, all wet kisses and frantic love.

Afterwards, she laid in his arms, wrapped up and bound to him as closely as bone and flesh. In the night, they carved out a space like a dark echo, the dream of a moment impressed in time, lifted away and outside its reach.

wrongly_amused

Title: Erratum

Fandom: Star Wars

Theme: errata

Characters: Darth Vader

Rating: T

Extensive muscle and tendon deterioration consistent with fourth degree burn. Full thickness injury prevalent in ninety percent of patient’s dermis reduces grafting options -

The boy looks at him, paltry for his age, a ruin of callous and bone. His eyes are as hollow as the dark.

When he opens his hands, they are empty.

- exposure of pulmonary cortex and proximal interstitia to extreme temperature and volcanic microparticulate matter, resulting in functional respiratory loss -

He looks at her with eyes like liquid stars. In them, she imagines there is a universe of wonders.

“Without you,” he mumurs, “I can’t breathe -”

- spinal fracture compounded with quadrupal amputation reduces nervous function restoration. Autonomic components of medulla subsequently damaged by repeated cardiac arrest -

The boy is merciless. Offers nothing. Takes everything. His silence speaks where he cannot.

- cascade organ failure caused by hypovolemic shock following repeated respiratory and cardiac failure -

She is weeping. Her heart is full and heavy and so easy to break.

- intensive surgical intervention required immediately, patient prognosis for survival is unlikely -

“I can’t live without her,” he pleads.

(But he does.)