Actions

Work Header

Accidents

Summary:

I asked myself "Which character would be the funniest to drop into their past self with future knowledge?"
This is the result.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

The day of Story and Song has been and gone. Life hasn’t been perfect, but it’s been good for most people involved. And up in the Celestial Plane, the realm of the deities, surrounded by the clicking of needles is a figure. Her eyes are running over the work she’s already completed, a knitted tapestry that winds around her and fades off far away into the distance. None but she knows its intricacies.

“Oh – oh dear…”


 

Lydia slams back into her phantasmal body, reflexively gasping for air into lungs that haven’t really existed for centuries.

Shit. That was – not an experience she wanted to go through again. The Eternal Stockade was… unpleasant, to say the least. Death crime punishment? Not something she’d call herself a fan of.

She finally takes in her surroundings and – oh? Edward is here too. And here seems to be…

Wonderland.

It definitely feels real, none of the dark, treacle-like stickiness of the Raven Queen’s domain. She doesn’t know what happened, but she’s not about to complain after years of torment in there.

She catches sight of one of their fantasy-CCTV screens and oh. Now there’s a familiar face. No, if what’s going on now is anything close to how she remembers it, she’s got to take some drastic action.


 

The infamous three have entered the first chamber of Wonderland. There are no neon panels. There are no flashing lights. No Voguing lich siblings.

Just one figure floating ominously in a dark robe.

Magnus fails on his dexterity check and gets beaned in the forehead with a little bell.

“Here! You have it! Now get the fuck out!”

They’re collectively hit with a slight variation of Mage Hand up their backsides and they stumble back out into the Wilds, rubbing various bruises and wondering what exactly had just happened. The door slams shut behind them.

Losing the bell is gonna suck, yeah, but what would suck even worse is turning into dust and being met by someone with a very dark dress sense, a scythe, and ‘you done fucked up’ all over their face.


“Dropped a stitch!”

She’s had to rip out a good few hundred rows, and there's a few minor changes to the finished pattern, but surely nobody's going to notice, right…?

Notes:

As a knitter, dropped stitches are the bane of my existence.