I've had a story in my drafts for a really long time.
I have so many things to do for university, projects, exams and so on, and I don't have time to do anything else, but once the session has ended, I'll surely complete it! Do you remember this post?
First of all, the Link and Zelda from Skyward Sword are named Sky (Link) and Sun (Zelda) to distinguish them from Link and Zelda (botw/totk)
The story I have is going to be the full plot of this concept! I have the first part ready, here's a snippet!
Link and Zelda had just found some ruins under the castle. Zelda suggested to investigate, as always. She really loved doing researches, being a scholar, and now that she was a teacher too, for all those kids, she was really, and seriously, happy. He often found himself thinking about their own possible future kids, but didn't tell her, they had just gotten together.
When she asked him if they could share the house, he couldn't and of course wouldn't ever want to say no. Maybe it was a bit small for them, Zela needed a study room for all her stuff, and he surely needed more space for his weapons and shields. He should find a better one. Maybe he could ask Hudson and Rhodson. He had to have a trip to Tarrey once this research under the castle was finished!
The walls were covered in murals, depicting various eras. People descending from the sky, people during what looked like a ceremony, a mural depicting a festivity and tiny beings, the first appearance of Ganondorf, the era of the shadows, and the era of the huge war. Where the walls didn't have murals, statues almost as tall as the ceiling decorated the rooms and corridors. They depicted a man with mustaches and a long tunic, and a woman with a dress and tattoos. They also found one different statue, too damaged to be recognizable, but it surely wasn't that man or that woman. Both Link and Zelda guessed it must have been destroyed on purpose by their ancestors. Maybe, it was the menace of their time, like Calamity Ganon for them.
A set of stairs and a really narrow corridor made them go even further down. They found themselves on a balcony thing in a room with a huge green light the shape of a hand, gripped in what looked like a really old dead body, skin and bones, but with long hair. Zelda wanted to take some photos, get a sample of hair from the body maybe to know how old it really was, and mostly she wanted to know if the hand was pure light magic or maybe it was physical too.
Link told her it was dangerous, she didn't listen.
He, while reaching for her, shouted the phrase again.
"I SENSE DANGER! DON'T GO!"
It was too late. The dead body was somehow revived, the light hand disappeared and... she was falling.
He hadn't saved her, he had jumped off to the void in which his princess, scholar, other half, fell, and the hand appeared right behind him and brought him back to the surface. The Master Sword was broken, and he had lost an arm in the process thanks to what looked like an enhanced malice Zelda had called "gloom".
Link woke up and found himself in what looked like a temple. It was just a room, a huge round room with tall walls. There was a pedestal there, that looked pretty much like the one for the Master Sword, but older. Though, there was nothing there, other than some torches around the pedestal. Feeling lost, he impulsively tried to wield the broken sword, but as soon as he looked at himself for the first time, he noticed he had only his underwear on, and his right arm was gone. Instead, he had what looked like a prosthesis, but filled with the same light magic of the hand. He tried to move it and it worked. It looked like an old sheikah tech but it wasn't even a bit rusty, and he could sense it was made to contain more power than what it actually had. What was that? Who did that? Who saved him and literally replaced his injured and hopeless arm with an old but new sheikah tech?
Suddenly, a voice sounding like an old man got his attention. He had seen spirits before, but this... he couldn't see anyone. The voice presented itself as Rauru, and Link knew he had read about someone named Rauru somewhere... right! Zelda said he was the first king of Hyrule!
Rauru informed Link that place was once adored and praised by every population. There, the first hero, chosen by the goddess Hylia, had wielded the Goddess Sword for the first time, and forged her into the Master Sword, the sword that banishes evil. During the eras, the original temple, as well as another huge one, the Sealed Temple, got buried and later the temple of Time was built over them. Now, Link was in the Depths, under the Great Plateau.
Rauru invited him to go out and look at the magnificence of the temple. A huge statue of the goddess, that, while not having any power source, emanated a celestial light, enough to see the building perfectly, and even clear a portion of ground around it. The Sealed Temple was in front of it, the light of the goddess temple illuminated it too. There was grass, there were flowers around both the temples, but where the light didn't reach, there were only cold stones and dirt. All around, in the distance, he could see gloom encrusted to tall stone and dirt walls that seemed to reach the top, the "ceiling". And probably monsters, but he wasn't in shape to fight. He wasn't still acquainted with the hand, and arm of course, and his only weapon was the decayed sword.
As Link could see, there was no exit from there. The entrances to the depths, as he had had time to see before the research, were huge chasms covered in gloom, too high to be reached by anyone, and even if he did manage to reach them, the gloom would have killed him in few seconds. One of the chasms was about in the centre of the enclosed area.
Right there, standing on the floor, was a strange-looking smaller statue. This one, unlike the temples, was rusty and some pieces were clearly missing. The bottom of the statue looked kind of like a stand for something, but the subject was missing, and Rauru instructed Link to go find a stone bird. After finding the stone bird, he had to put it back on the stand. Link couldn't do anything but accept. The bird statue was restored, but still old and without any sign of power.
Rauru's voice instructed him to find 3 stone tablets. they were once used by the very first hero to create beams of light, capable of breaking the cloud barrier and activate the statues. Now, their power had surely faded out, but maybe the power of the 3 of them combined could at least make him go back to the surface.
Link finally had to fight some monsters with the broken sword and with what he could find around the area. It felt like the beginning of his first adventure, like if he was still unexperienced, goofy, and so damn tired. He had to do it. It was an enclosed space, but big enough to host one huge Goddes Statue Temple and the Sealed Temple, and a vast space around. Some enemies had decayed but still functional weapons, he stole them. The 3 tablets were found in different spots.
When he found them all, Rauru told him to go put them in the Goddess Temple. A stone panel with a missing rectangular piece emerged from the ground. The tablets were put together and they fitted. Outside, a blue light beam had appeared right in the middle of the chasm, bathing the bird statue with holy light, it was now as good as new and ready to be used. A treasure chest appeared there, with his paraglider, sewed and taped with white and sky blue pieces of cloth and sewing threads. That style was surely from another culture.
Link couldn't imagine the power of that light beam was still strong enough to launch him right to the sky. With the help of his paraglider, he landed safely on a floating island. There, he saw the source of Rauru's voice. The first king's ghost was exactly like one of the statues he and Zelda had seen under the castle. The white mustache, the long orange vest, the wise face. He was now standing before him.
He could see a huge palace on another island. Somehow, he knew he had to go there. Rauru nodded. That palace was once the home of a sky tribe that refused to go to the surface when Hylia told them to, and now it was a temple, to remember those who gave their life to protect the land and what's good, from the depths to the sky. Link had to go there, in that temple as old as the kingdom itself. Someone was waiting for him in there.
Though, the sky islands weren't reachable with a simple jump, he had to build devices. Rauru informed him that the construct hand was in fact able to hold more power, and increase its abilities. It wasn't just a hand. The sheikah, with the help of the Hylians and some familiar robots, the scrappers or, as they renamed them, the constructs, had built devices infused with Hylia's holy power. They had no equals, because Hylia herself had given them her power time ago, in her mortal form. Only the sages could restore his new hand, as Hylia had transferred each facet of her powers to them, chosen by herself and the 3 goddesses. Rauru told Link he could restore one power, being the original sage of light, and moreover, her son.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
The time was come. We're right on the edge of another Nutcracker season! And instead of happy times and cute designs, I bring you PAIN to celebrate. A little bit of Halloween sneaking back in here.
The third chapter of The Bindings of Monsters for @shinyzango's The Last Nutcracker is now available for your pleasure. From here on out, things are gonna get a bit . . . bloody, Chapter 4 especially once all the details are in order, so be on the lookout!
Enjoy!
NOTE: The first two chapters have also been revised to make them a bit more reader-friendly. The main events within these chapters have not changed, however. Re-read at your leisure.
And special shout-out to @ahjones94 for a special bit of this chapter! Find it here!
Going Home For Christmas: A Sylvia Montgomery/Margaret Ross fanfic
So. Important note. This is as of writing, a fanfic. It's canon-adjacent, meaning it could happen, but it might not. It's 100% inspired by a friend mentioning that Sylvia and Margaret are a And They Were Roommates trope, which spurred me to say, "someone stop me or i might try my hand at a tiny bit of "and there was only one bed" fanfic)". Not one of my friends decided to stop me, so here we are. Enjoy a solid bit of And There Was Only One Bed fanfic of my own story. I guess appropriate tags would be: And There Was Only One Bed, Holiday Travel, Slight Angst, Pining, An Oh Moment, Particularly Self-Indulgent Writing. It's around 4000 words. You can read it on AO3 here, but you could also stick around and use the Read More.
October 18, 1885, in the morning
Sylvia opened the letter next to her plate. It was full of Aunt Moira’s happy chatter, talking about Sylvia’s new job, and the start of the school year, and how proud they both were of her, and asking questions about her lessons, before moving on to telling her about the parish news, and then about the difficulty in finding just the right raisins for the Christmas pudding, and that is where Sylvia spluttered with laughter. Thankfully she had finished her toast already. Margaret looked up from her own breakfast, a question in her eyes. Sylvia dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.
“I must apologise. Aunt Moira has a … a certain way of describing things, and she has apparently been having great trouble locating raisins that meet her exacting standards.”
“… Raisins,” Margaret’s eyebrow rose.
“For her Christmas pudding. One year she apparently only found inferior ones, and Uncle Roger teases her about it every year.”
Margaret giggled, which drained all seriousness from her face and made Sylvia melt inside, just a little bit.
“And every year, she threatens that he won’t be allowed to stir it – although she does let him in the end.”
“Your parents sound lovely.”
Sylvia smiled warmly. “They are.”
“I suppose you will go to visit them over the holidays?”
“Yes! I do hope that it will not be inconveniencing for you? I thought you might visit family as well.”
Margaret sighed, and looked down at the table. “I might have considered it, even with the long journey, but Papa will not have leave, and I have seen Nanny and Aunt Helen recently still. I suppose Mrs. Jones will be willing to leave me a nice meal before she leaves on Christmas Eve.”
Sylvia looked around the comfortable dining room and bit her lip. Would it be too forward if –
“You could come with me?”
Silence.
Blast.
Margaret lifted her napkin and dabbed at her eyes.
Blast, blast, blast.
“Truly? Will your family not mind?” Margaret’s voice was a slight bit unsteady, as if she had not expected anything like an invitation.
“They won’t, I promise. Aunt Moira loves feeding people, and Uncle Roger is so very kind. I mean, we do spend a lot of time around the church, what with Uncle Roger being the vicar, but- “
“I would love to come, if you are sure they will not mind. I must admit, I was sad at the prospect of spending Christmas alone.”
Sylvia drank a bit more of her tea as her heart rate settled down again. She hoped her inconvenient crush on her roommate would settle down soon.
“I will write to them immediately, though I know they will not mind in the slightest.”
-----
December 19, 1885
Maggie was glad Sylvia had chosen to cut the journey into two days. Travel was always wearying, and the seats in the train, even in a first-class compartment, were uncomfortable to say the least. Thankfully, Sylvia knew the railway hotel in Bedford well enough, and was sure they would have rooms available, even at this time of year. They were standing in the lobby, which was comfortable but a bit sparse. Maggie leaned against the wall, only half-listening to the conversation at the reception. Her thoughts had grown all fuzzy and it was only with effort that she could even listen to as much of the conversation as she did.
“Ah, Miss Montgomery, it has been a while indeed. You look well, if I may be so bold.” The speaker was a young man, and if Maggie had been inclined to look, she would have seen him grin in a way that spoke of a long history.
“Good evening, Jack. It has been quite a while indeed. I have finished my studies, so I have had less need of the Railway in the past months.”
“And what can I do for the learned professor on this fine night?”
Sylvia laughed, and the sound cut through the haze around Maggie and made her smile, too.
“Not a professor, I am afraid. They would never let a woman hold that position. But Miss Ross and I are on our way home for Christmas, and we need rooms for the night.”
“Well, you’re in luck then. There are still plenty of fine rooms available.”
“On the ground floor?” Sylvia’s voice was hopeful, and Maggie was so very grateful that her wonderful friend thought to ask that for her.
Jack paused, presumably to look at where she leaned against the wall.
“Ah, I see. Yes, I think I can arrange something there. When will you travel back, miss Montgomery? That way I can make a note that you will wish to stay on the ground floor again.”
“That would be wonderful, Jack, thank you. We will travel back on January 4th.”
Maggie barely remembered the rest of the evening. They had shared dinner, and then she could blessedly lie down, and forget about her tired, aching body.
----
From the diary of Margaret Ross
“December 23
It is wonderful to see Sylvia with her family, all so content together. And the way they have included me in their festivities is so very warm and kind. They have all taken my word for my limitations, and Mr. Montgomery does not at all seem to think that I did something to make God punish me, as other vicars have done. I understand why Papa wrote to him for help when we were looking for someone I could live with. Furthermore, the longer we are here, the more I understand how Sylvia has become the wonderful and kind human she is.
[…]
December 28
It has snowed. Although it has made the vicarage look magnificent, and like something out of a child’s picture book, it does mean I cannot really go out. Sylvia and her mother went skating, but Mr. Montgomery stayed behind to keep me company, even though he clearly would have liked to join his wife and daughter. We talked about many things – his and Papa’s past, the Incident, and even – very briefly – about my mother, but not for long, as those last two are not pleasant topics of conversation. He also told me more about Sylvia’s childhood, and told several stories that made me laugh.
After a while, I asked Mr. Montgomery if he could help me get to the bench outside, so that I might sketch the vicarage, and he could join his family. I also sketched the skaters, as they would add a touch of life to the painting I am now planning.
When they came back in, Sylvia had snow stuck in her hair, and the way her cheeks glowed made me very sorry that I had been unable to bring my oil paints. I do not know why I have not yet dared to ask if I can paint her; normally I do not have any problems asking even the most recent of acquaintances, but for some reason, I get nervous about asking Sylvia. I suppose I am worried what she will think of me for asking? Or maybe I am not confident about capturing the way her face comes together, or the luminosity of her skin.
[…]
January 1, 1886
It is the New Year! I wonder what 1886 will bring. I hope Papa will have leave in Britain this summer – I do miss not being able to see him and Nanny and Aunt Helen, but it really was too far, especially traveling alone. I am very grateful for the warm welcome the Montgomerys have shown me, and for not being alone this time of year. It was also wonderful to see this side of Sylvia, relaxed and with her family.
-----
January 4, 1886, late afternoon turning into early evening
They left late in the afternoon, catching the train back to Bedford, so they could take the early train up to St-Dunstan’s the next day. Sylvia kept an eye on Margaret, as she clearly struggled with the snow.
“Thankfully it hasn’t yet become an icy sheet,” Margaret remarked.
Sylvia hovered close by her – her roommate? Her friend? Spending Christmas with her had blurred the boundaries, it seemed – ready to catch her if it should be necessary, and holding the door open for her.
She went up to the reception desk.
“Good evening, Jack.”
Jack, who had grown up next to the vicarage, grinned down at her, mischief almost-hidden from his face. Oh no. Tell me he didn’t.
“Good evening, Miss Montgomery. I have reserved the ground-floor suite for you, as promised.”
A suite. Well, that is a relief. I was worried that –
“Just as well you placed the reservation when you came through,” he continued, casually turning around for the key. “One of the colleges has a big to-do tomorrow, and we’re otherwise full-up.” He winked at her as he held out the key, filling Sylvia with foreboding once again.
“Your suite is number 4. I can show you to it, but it is rather easy to find. Turn right at the end of that corridor, and it will be the first door on the left.”
Sylvia snatched the key from his hand. “I’m sure we will manage. We will need a table for dinner, and to be woken in time for the early train up north. Two hours before departure will do.”
Jack’s eyes danced with mischief now. “I will make the arrangements at once, Miss Montgomery.”
Margaret stepped up to the desk, taking the key from Sylvia’s hand.
“Thank you, Mr – Jack? You may have the bill made out to Margaret Ross, Lime Tree Cottage, St-Dunstan-Upon-Stream.”
Sylvia picked up their overnight bags – their cases had been left at the station in the care of the porters – and followed Margaret down the corridor. Out of the snow, Margaret’s steps were sure again on the slightly-threadbare carpet.
“You and Jack know each other well, then?”
“We grew up together. His family – the Summers – live next to the vicarage,” Sylvia said, before grumbling under her breath, “and he thinks that that allows him to take liberties.” Louder again, she added, “People thought we might get married, but neither of us feel that way inclined. And then I went off to university, and he started at the hotel. I think he dreams of owning a hotel of his own someday. Can you imagine, me running a hotel?”
Margaret laughed as she turned the key in the lock and opened the door. She gestured Sylvia in. Sylvia took two steps inside and froze.
Blast. I’ll kill that blasted goblin, shared past be -
---
January 4, still early evening
Maggie saw her friend stiffen, and followed her gaze to the bed. The singular bed. The room – suite? – was comfortably appointed with a desk, two chairs next to a blazing fire, a wash stand, and two gas lamps, but only the singular bed. It was a large bed, but still. This is fine. Friends share beds sometimes, and this one really is quite large.
She vaguely heard Sylvia mutter threats to strangle the young man at the reception.
Maggie hung up her traveling cloak and put her gloves on a table, stretching her fingers to get rid of the feeling of slightly-damp fabric. She sat down on one of the fireside chairs and stretched her legs.
“Are you all right, Sylvia?” That seemed to snap Sylvia out of her daze.
“Yes, thank you Margaret.” Why won’t she call me Maggie? I must have asked a dozen times by now.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Maggie said, gesturing at the bed. “No need to murder your friend at the reception. We can just pick a side each and stay there, can’t we? It looks plenty big.”
Maggie couldn’t read the expressions chasing across Sylvia’s face. Relief? Disappointment? Hurt? All of them? But why? What did I say?
Maggie’s hands itched to hold Sylvia’s face, to steady those dark eyes and see the thoughts behind them, but Sylvia was standing far away, and the chair was actually rather low, and some part of Maggie felt like it would be crossing some sort of threshold, although she didn’t quite know why.
Sylvia cleared her throat, drawing Maggie out of her reverie.
“That- that sounds like a fine plan. The bed looks plenty big indeed.” Sylvia bit her lip, and Maggie’s hand moved subconsciously, starting to reach out before Maggie dropped it back down into her lap.
“Anyway, I will go and ask Jack about dinner.” The brightness in Sylvia’s voice seemed to have the slightest edge of brittleness, and Maggie wondered how her friend had gone from annoyance to this.
“I will come with you. Could you maybe help me up? This chair is lower than I was expecting.”
It wasn't until she felt the warmth of Sylvia's hand on hers that Maggie realised both of them had taken off their gloves. Sylvia's hands were strong, and warm, and gentle, and - and surely, they must have touched like this before, over the past five months? But all those thoughts had fled Maggie's mind, and only the feeling of skin on skin remained.
They remained standing like that for several moments after Maggie was steady on her feet, until Sylvia suddenly drew back her hands, blushing furiously. Maggie tried to distract herself from the blush she felt on her own face. I wonder how I'd paint that colour. It's such a gorgeous rich dark, and the contrast- That line of thinking wasn't helping. At all. Maggie felt the blush deepen and spread all the way down to her ankles.
Her cane was cold against her hand, as Sylvia pressed it into her grip.
“Shall we-“ Sylvia cleared her throat several times. “Shall we go to the dining room then?”
During dinner, both of them studiously steered the conversation to small talk, the stay at the vicarage, their plans for the coming term, fashion – everywhere but their room, or what had just happened. When they returned to the room, the bed – the whole room, even – seemed to have shrunk during dinner. Maggie sat down at the desk this time, avoiding a repeat of the Chair Incident, and letting her write in her diary. She was, however, distinctly aware of Sylvia, who had sat down near the fire with a book. She’d sat down in her usual way, not at all daintily but with her legs drawn up onto the chair, and it suddenly struck Maggie how endearing that habit was. Why had she never realised that before?
Eventually, they both got ready for bed, and Maggie made sure her cane was within reach of the bed, and then they both crawled under the covers, carefully staying near the edges of the bed.
---
January 5, 1886, awfully early in the morning
“Miss Montgomery, Miss Ross! It is two hours until the Northbound express departs!” The words were accompanied by several loud knocks. Sylvia sleepily brought an arm up over her face, attempting to block out the world, grumbling at the early hour, and realised several things. First, she was no longer near the edge of the bed. Second, there was a distinct heat against her back and across her waist. Third, Margaret’s small noises of complaint at being woken up were adorable and entirely too close to her ear. She froze. This seemed to make Margaret aware of the situation, as she suddenly felt the cold of another body moving away. Sylvia groaned again, this time in mortification. She threw off the covers and turned the light up low, before making her way to the wash stand. There, Sylvia splashed her face with the cold water, before slowly navigating to the door and picking up the hot water that had been left outside. She peered back into the room and cursed herself for not grabbing her spectacles. She carefully navigated to the wash stand again. Margaret made her way over to her, holding out the spectacles, ready to put on.
“I figure you have as much trouble as me navigating strange environments.”
“Thanks,” Sylvia mumbled, mashing her spectacles at her face with one hand and balancing the pitcher with the other. She could now easily put the pitcher on the wash stand, but as she turned, she realised everything else she could clearly see, and she could feel her blush starting again. She idly wondered if that pink blush at the neckline of Margaret's chemise extended all the way down to- No. Not going there.
Looking away from that oh-so-tempting neckline, she suddenly noticed Margaret was leaning against the wash stand.
“Are you all right?”
“Mmmm.” Margaret’s tone was carefully noncommittal. She seemed to gather herself. “Yes, it’s fine. Everything is just a bit stiff first thing in the morning. I will be okay with some time.”
Both of them washed and dressed, careful to only touch the other’s corset and not the warmth of the chemise on her back while helping with the lacing. Breakfast was simple, but filling, as Sylvia expected of a railway hotel this early in the day. On the way to the station, she had planned several murderous glares in Jack’s direction, but it seemed not to be his shift yet, as there was a bleary-eyed woman at the desk instead, who wished them a good journey.
----
January 5, 1886, less awfully early, in the train
Maggie felt strange. She had been all morning, and, if she was honest, most of the evening. Her hand had been all tingly, and now her stomach and chest had joined in. She hoped it wasn't a sign of illness. It would be terribly inconvenient to come down with something right before the start of term. She took her sketchpad out of her overnight bag, with the idea of planning her lessons for the week at least. Once the sun came out, she might attempt to draw the landscape outside the window.
Maggie zoned out, lost in her own head, until the train gave a particularly violent jolt, pulling her back into the present. She looked down at what she would have sworn to be a lesson plan, only to discover a careful study of Sylvia’s hand holding her book, and another one of Sylvia’s face, lost in concentration. Of her lesson plan, not a trace.
Maggie blinked. I wonder what came over me?
She turned to the next page and refocused on her lesson plan, using the noises of the train to keep on track. When she looked up next, Sylvia had closed her book, and taken off her spectacles, and Maggie was taken aback by the surge of protectiveness that came over her from seeing her friend in such a vulnerable state. She smiled quietly, almost without noticing, and was suddenly taken back three years.
They were sitting in the carriage, ready to go out and sweep into the ballroom.
“But Aunt Helen, how will I know who the right man is?”
“You’ll just know, Maggie dear,” her aunt had said.
“But how?”
Her aunt smiled. “He’ll be the one whose touch makes your skin tingle gently. Whose voice sends soft shivers down your back. Whose smile makes you feel warm inside. The one you sense enter the room, because suddenly all is well with the world. And when you do find him, I pray to God that he will be free to love you as you deserve.”
Even anxious as Maggie had been, she had seen the sadness in her aunt’s eyes.
Maggie shook her head. I wonder where that came from.
She looked at Sylvia again, and saw her friend was waking up, and suddenly the world stood still around her, as if she had just run into a brick wall at full speed.
Oh.
---
Still January 5, 1886, late in the day
Sylvia was glad she had been able to convince Thomas to take both the luggage and the two of them. She could see Margaret’s tense body, and knew that every bump must hurt her friend more, but the walk would have been worse.
Mrs. Jones had left low fires in each of their rooms, and Sylvia could smell the pie left out in the kitchen, bless her. As soon as the trunks were inside, Sylvia ushered Margaret to bed, knowing that was the best place for her right now. She got ready to leave and bring a tray of food, but Margaret stopped her.
“Wait – please. I- I need to ask you something.”
Sylvia’s heart skipped a beat. No, she told it. Don’t get your hopes up, it will only hurt more.
She turned around and sat next to Margaret’s bed. Margaret looked flushed. It was probably nothing but the warm fire and the comforter, but-
“I. The book- the poetry you were reading.” Margaret definitely was flustered. Sylvia couldn’t suppress a tiny spark. “Not today- earlier. Weeks ago. Sappho. I. You. Were you- were you maybe trying to- was that for me?” Margaret’s hands toyed with the comforter, turning this way and that. Sylvia couldn’t breathe. She looked away, not daring to look at Margaret’s face, and gave the tiniest of nods, unable to form words. She barely noticed her own hands fidgeting with the comforter, rubbing her fingers with the comforter between them. The rusty-red patterns moved around in wild ways on the comforter. Margaret’s hand gently touched hers – without gloves, again, and so warm, so gentle. Sylvia looked up.
“I’m sorry, I- I didn’t realise-,”Margaret began, and worried at her lip. Sylvia wanted to touch that lip, to stop her from biting it so. She wanted to so badly, but – but what if it was all a misunderstanding and Margaret didn’t mean what she thought she meant, or Sylvia was reading into things or- Margaret cleared her throat.
“I didn’t realise- I- I only realised today- me too.”
Sylvia’s heart stopped beating. No. It can’t- I misheard- Margaret looked away and started worrying at her lip again and Sylvia couldn’t resist anymore. She reached out and gently touched Margaret’s lip. Margaret turned and Sylvia lost herself in those green eyes. They stayed like that for what felt like forever and only a heartbeat and then Margaret reached up and drew Sylvia’s head closer. Sylvia thought she might explode with happiness.
They kissed until Maggie’s hiss of pain brought reality back. She could feel a silly smile on her face, and saw it mirrored on Maggie’s.
“Did you want to take a powder for that? I could fetch Mrs. Jones’ pie and we could eat here and-“
“Would you? Oh, bless you, that would be perfect.”
The pie was cold, but Sylvia couldn’t bring herself to warm it up. Her hands shook as she gathered cutlery and plates, and it was all she could do to load it all on a tray and carefully make her way back.
---
From a letter from Sylvia Montgomery to Jack Summers
“January 10, 1886, Lime Tree Cottage, St-Dunstan-Upon-Stream
Dear Jack,
I wanted to write you to ask what on earth you thought you were playing at, with that suite – you know what I mean – and to make sure you received my threats to strangle you next time we meet. But, as it happens, it would seem I owe you my thanks instead, you goblin. Anyway, since I am sure you want to crow about this – yes, your plot worked. Though please tell me you don’t normally do this – I doubt it would be good for business.
Maggie – that would be Miss Ross to you – wants me to add that she is also grateful for, and I quote, “walloping me upside the head and making me realise my own feelings,” and says that you will always be welcome to visit. And to let her know if you need help with your hotel. I’m adding that any potential gentleman friend would be just as welcome – of course.
I decided to take my characters from my Nutcracker adaptation and a few characters of other Nutcracker fanatics like myself, and turned them into gargoyles, designed after Disney’s Gargoyles!
Initially, this was a writing prompt for my two characters, Daemon and Althea, with the prompt being putting them in the world of a TV Show. I chose Gargoyles, and ended up drawing these character profiles too along with the story.
New watermark too, woo!
You can find my written story behind these designs here, if you’d like to read!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Hi everyone! Thanks for waiting!
The second chapter of The Bindings of Monsters is up and running! I have the link here to the first chapter in case you need to get started or need a refresher after the long hiatus.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: The characters of Hans and Clara belong to @shinyzango and this story is a tribute/spin-off to her version of the The Nutcracker tale. All other characters (besides mentions of the Mouse King and the fox guardian) belong to me.
Big thanks to all the miscreants in Nutcracker Hell for the love and support, as always!
For those who are still waiting around for any new fictions from me, I'm glad to announce that the next chapter to "The Bindings of Monsters" will finally be released sometime tomorrow or Sunday, depending on when I get my final editing done and if my mountain cabin has suitable wifi (vacation time!).
Just keep a look out for the post and thanks for hanging in there for me!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The Many Lives of the Ghost Nutcracker and the Lady of the Willows
Ey, guys! It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything. Been busy and lost all my motivation and creativity for a while. Luckily, I think I’m back up to speed.
However, over the last few months, I have been able to make progress with a few projects. This was one of my “writing projects for taking a break from the main projects.” I’ve been wanting to do a bit of writing for my own characters, Daemon and Althea, and decided to do so through some romance prompts.
It may not be the adventures of shinyzango’s Hans and Clara, but I hope you still enjoy! And I promise, I’m still working on those.
It’s been a while since I have posted one of these, so here you go!
These are the works for @shinyzango’s characters and my own currently on the “to-do” shelf.
These are the writing projects still in my line of sight. I have no idea when any will be done, even the ones currently being written. It’s impossible for me to set a due date and finish accordingly, so fair warning.
CURRENTLY IN DEVELOPMENT (Partially Written):
The Bindings of Monsters – (Inspired by El Matador Del Mar from Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales. Previously known as El Monstruo De Sus Corazones.) A curse made in hate can turn a man into a lifeless doll. So what turns a living doll, the purest of hearts . . . into the truest of monsters? There have always been monsters in the world, both within and without, both hidden and in plain sight. But all are bound, tethered by the bonds that create them, by the bonds that enslave them, and by the bonds that undo them. Hark, little nutcracker. You shall know all three. FIRST CHAPTER CURRENTLY AVAILABLE HERE.
Cat and Mouse – A written version of the fan art of the same name that I did for ShinyZango. This would be the before, during, and after events of the mentioned image. (Image is on my Tumblr and Deviantart)
Remote-Controlled Soldier – Hans and Clara run into something terrible and Clara suddenly finds herself at the end of Hans’ blade. Now the question is: Fight or flight?
COMING SOON-ISH (Outlined/Story-boarded Only):
Don’t Bleed Out for Me – (Inspired by the SVRCINA cover of Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons, as well as I See Fire by Ed Sheeran) A Collab with the-vampire-inside-me. Hans and Clara are once again under attack, but this time … Clara might not make it out alive.
If a Tower Hits the Doorframe, Does it Fall? – A cute, little tale about Daemon’s trouble with anti-nutcracker doorways (aka, nearly every doorway in existence) and Althea’s immense enjoyment of it.
A Different Path, A Similar End – Alternate ending to Daemon’s and Althea’s story mentioned in Night of the Nutcrackers’ Requiem; What if Daemon was lost before he disappeared, while protecting the one he loved the most?
Come Away, Little Lass - (Inspired by Come Away to the Water by Maroon 5) Clara hasn’t been sleeping well. She hasn’t told Hans . . . but within her dreams, she is being hunted.
Who Knew … – (Inspired by and written with Who Knew by P!nk) After months of searching, Althea comes home for an honoring ceremony that her village had decided to hold … because they had given up. It’s a funeral without a body … and Althea … can barely hold herself together.
Earth & Sky - A collection of random, romantic prompts featuring Daemon and Althea. May also feature some for ShinyZango’s Hans and Clara.
Straight For The Castle – (Inspired by Castle by Halsey and Zira’s Lullaby from The Lion King II) With the Nutcrackers gone, the Mouse Queen can finally take what is rightfully hers; a kingdom fit for a rat’s nest.
The King’s New Crown – (Inspired by and written with Emperor’s New Clothes (w/ sound effects) by Panic! At the Disco) His mother is dead. Her crown is now his, but it is not good enough. He’s going to take an even bigger crown … and a whole kingdom to pillage with it.
I am open to any further ideas, but I have the right the refuse them. If accepted, I hold no guarantee on if and when the fiction will be done, but will give credit where it is due if completed.
