#thank you for using my silly little prompts
I can feel my heart pumping blood through my body like a well oiled machine. But machines can break. Machines can fail.
Hopefully, I don’t fail today. Yes, today’s the day that I break other machines, not break myself.
I don’t understand why I’m so scared. I’m hidden, as are my crew. The enemies can’t see us unless we strike first. We can’t die, not for a while. Come on, man, deep breaths. You don’t want your crew to think you’re scared.
It’s no point hiding it. We’re all scared. Everything’s come to this. It’s us or them.
Cycles of the Sun
AN: This was inspired by a prompt from @honey-writes (the bolded part in the summary)
Summary:There’s someone in the mirror, someone Reynard doesn’t recognize. Intellectually he knows that it’s still him- same brown hair, same brown eyes, same fading freckles- but there’s something different that nags at him. Maybe it’s the slowly fading tan he’d had since the first week their mother moved them to Arizona; or maybe it was that he smiled less here, found less and less to be joyful about even as Isabella finally seemed to settle into herself little by little everyday.
Reynard wasn’t sure what the difference really was, but he was absolutely positive that Forks, Washington was killing him slowly- a little bit every day and he didn’t know why.
“Hey, it’s me. Do you remember me? Do I still have a place in your memories?”
When I was young, about sixteen or so, I met the nameless ghost of a knight. He lost his name after committing a grave crime against the king; he tried to assassinate him, and he encouraged his sister to use forbidden magic to destroy the king’s spirit when he failed to kill him. The knight was damned and stripped of his name, so nobody would remember him as a person, only as a crime.
When I met him, it had been many years if not centuries after the crime. The ghost had grown bitter but mellow. He held onto darkness, but also sought to be a better person. I didn’t understand all these dimensions to him, but I was young and naive and always wanted to help people, so I gave his goodness the benefit of the doubt.
The nameless knight asked me to see if anyone remembered him as more than his crime, if anyone was loyal to his memory and name. One such person did exist, a dryad who could live across the ages. She remembered his crime, as all the people who had been around when he did so, but she also remembered the time he saved her mother. “For that alone, I’ll always remember his name,” she told me.
Many years later, and I’ve fallen down a similar path as he. I became nameless, a Nothing, the Wizard, a hero and a villain. I saved the world, I tried to destroy the world. I hid away, I returned to fix my mistakes, and I’m as good as dead now. I cannot call my friends or family or peers or former partners, my magic Whispers are too quiet, it seems. I am cut off by depth and distance. I shout from the abyss, hoping I’m loud enough that someone can hear, “I am not dead! I am not forgotten! I am alive! I am here! I am still Something! Do you remember me?! Do I still have a place in your memories?!”
“The world is so much quieter now. It seemed so much more alive when they were in it.”
https://archiveofourown.org/works/32904763
I wrote a BBC The Musketeers one shot all about this prompt. Link included above. Rated: General Audience. No warnings needed.
Characters:
Athos | Comte de la Fère. D'Artagnan. Aramis | René d'Herblay. Porthos du Vallon
Additional Tags:
Post-Canon. Prompt Fill. Post-Season/Series 03. Happy Ending. Fluff. One-Shot.
Sorrowful Silence in Quieter World - Cai0Hua - The Musketeers (2014) [Archive of Our Own]
“We could be something, you know.”
I look over at him, confusion written all over my face.
“What?”
He looks straight at the tv and shrugs.
“I’m just saying.”
A pause. Is he being serious right now?
“Do you…want us to be something?”
“Do you?”
“Well, you’re the one who brought it up in the first place.”
Another pause.
“All I know is that I wouldn’t want to be something with anyone else.”
We’re looking at each other again.
“Really?”
“Really.”
inspo:@honey-writes
“Not everyone who disappears wants to be found.”
She said, her outline vanishing in the morning haze. The more I tried to fall back asleep, to call her back into the dream, touch her, kiss her, bask in the sound of her laughter, the more she slipped away, till she was nothing but dust speckles dancing under drowsy sun’s gaze.
The ceiling looked back at me in the same shade of grey as yesterday when I let the tears flow freely for once - early mornings only ever embraced me in silent compassion after all. We were not that different, me and mornings - to wake up and face the desolate shell of our efforts, ruined by the period of darkness, only to fall right back in it in the evening. My only solace, only hope was she would come back in another heart shattering dream. The bed next to me, made and ready for her to occupy again, felt emptier than ever.
