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bluevaractyl · 4 months

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Courage comes in many forms

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Link followed the grateful woman inside and stepped into the hidden tunnel in the back of the house, well used to the ritual of it all by now. At the bottom of the steps, an Old Man waited, kindly eyes peeking out from his long white beard. He gestured Link forward.

The Old Man said solemnly, “I will teach you the Fairy spell. It will allow you to reach high and narrow places and evade capture by the monsters who seek you.”

He raised his rod and murmured a word in the tongue of magic. There was a bright flash and a rush of heat. Link shook off the familiar dizziness and opened his eyes. He blinked. Something seemed off. Had the Old Man’s robe been that shade of red before? He suddenly registered how tall the Old Man was. Wait a second—

Link looked down and let out a squawk of surprise. Instead of his green tunic and brown boots, he found white feathers and clawed yellow feet.

“Oh dear. It happened again,” said the Old Man, sounding mildly put out. Link tilted his head back to look up at him incredulously.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he cried, but all that came out was another squawk.

The Old Man watched him for a moment, stroking his beard, then shrugged, turned on his heel, and inexplicably disappeared.

Link spluttered a moment and shouted at the empty air, “HEY, WAIT! You can’t just—SIR, I NEED YOU TO FIX THIS!” The distressed cucco noises did not bring the Old Man back.

Link huffed, which resulted in a soft clucking sound. He wasn’t really worried, since the spells always wore off after a while, but he had really been looking forward to an easier way to get around. Unless...

He turned his head and was pleasantly surprised to find he could see his own back with little effort. Having a wider range of vision would certainly be useful for keeping monsters from sneaking up on him. He lifted his wings and gave a tentative flap. There was no way he could get off the ground with them, but perhaps he could glide?

Link gave an experimental hop. He gathered himself, broke into an awkward run, and leapt as high as his short legs could manage, flapping madly. At the last second, the air caught in his feathers and lifted his wings. Then he crashed into the ground.

Well, it seemed there was a chance this spell could be useful after all. He couldn’t fit through any keyholes as a cucco, but there were still places he could reach that he’d otherwise be too big for, and he could already think of several places in his journey when gliding would have been handy. Part of him still hoped the cucco thing was a fluke, of course—maybe the Old Man had put emphasis on the wrong syllable, or he hadn’t been focused enough—but if not, he could make this work.

Two days later, Link was a lot less sure he could make this work.

He caught his breath on the rocky ledge of the cave and gazed across at the opposite side. His target, another protrusion barely large enough to stand on, taunted him. It was too far to reach as a hylian; even with the Jump spell, he wasn’t sure he could make it, and the consequences for missing were dire. He considered himself quite good at falling safely, but there was no safe way to fall that far.

Hence, the Fairy spell. Or rather, the Cucco spell, as it had unfortunately been taught to him.

This would be so much easier if he could fly, he thought mournfully. He idly preened his chest feathers and eyed the distance again. He took a few steps backwards to give himself space for a running start. Then, he charged forward, wings pumping, and leapt into the air. There was a heart-stopping moment where he thought he hadn’t pushed off hard enough, and then he was scrabbling up onto the rock. His small heart beat fast at the near-miss.

While Link wasn’t worried about landing safely as a cucco, he really didn’t want to have to climb all the way back up. It had taken several hours to get to this point. He determinedly avoided looking down as he looked for his next perch. Spotting a promising-looking shelf, he shuffled back, jumped into the air, and easily landed on it. Suddenly, the stone under his talons gave away, sending him plummeting downward. He managed to open his wings and right himself in time to make it to the ledge he had left moments before. With a croaky groan of frustration, Link plopped himself down on the rock and tucked his head under his wing, since he currently had no hands to bury his face in.

Hopelessness rose up, threatening to drown him. He felt small and insignificant and lonely. Could he really do this? Surely there was someone stronger and braver and better suited to the task. He tried to picture walking away from it all: from Princess Zelda, from her sleeping ancestor in the palace, from the townspeople, from the monsters, from Hyrule itself...but he couldn’t. He loved the land and the people too much to abandon them. He could help, so he would.

New resolve filled Link. Perhaps there was someone out there who would be better at all of this, but Impa had asked him, and he wasn’t going to give up now. He got to his feet, sized up the distance, and continued.

Linked Universe Bonus:

Hyrule joined the others gathered at the edge, careful not to knock anyone off balance. In the darkness, he could just make out the glint of a golden key. Twilight was looking for somewhere to anchor his clawshot to swing over the chasm to it. Legend seemed to be debating whether his hookshot could pull it over to them. Wild didn't understand why they needed the key in the first place.

Hyrule ignored them all in favor of carefully judging the distance and height between the platforms. With a sigh, he drew up his magic and spoke the magic word. He settled into the familiar feathered form and launched himself off the ledge. Bewildered shouts sounded behind him, but he focused on gliding straight. Backwinging to slow down, he landed lightly and grasped the key in his beak. Then he flew back, wobbling a bit from the extra weight, and inelegantly landed before the astonished heroes.

Concentrating, Hyrule let go of the spell and returned to hylian. Everyone started shouting questions, but Time looked him in the eye and clasped his shoulder firmly. As the din died down, he said seriously, “Good thinking, Traveler. Nothing ruffles your feathers.”

@zolanort @ladye-zelda

#this feels out of character but that was kind of inevitable #please enjoy the most ridiculous thing I've ever written #blue writes #Zelda II: The Adventure of Link #legend of zelda #adventure of link #linked universe

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metrcnome · 3 years

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WARNINGS FOR: Tooth rotting fluff and sweetness, that’s it, that’s the tag. Never thought I’d see the day...

@petrexian happy v-day to our boys!

Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness, And you fill my head with you

They don’t observe valentines day, not on cybertron--but Jazz thinks they should. Maybe its the war, maybe it’s his age, but he finds that sometimes they need a bit of sweetness in their life. Taking a deep breath he thinks back to the first time Prowl found his electro bass perked in his quarters. He’d been innocently curious when he’d asked if the other played and oh if that hadn’t brought back memories. He didn’t just play he lived the music back in those days, but then he supposed he’d only thought he had. He’d written a few songs back then, some poems, but they all seemed pathetic in comparison to what he could compose now. There was no doubt in his mind that Prowl was his muse; that he was a better musician now for the presence of his lover than when he’d been a free mech back before the war. He strokes his fingers over the strings of the instrument, feeling it hum under his hand and wincing as the note comes out sour. He spends a good few minutes tuning it, enjoying the quiet of his room and knowing that Prowl is busy cleaning up a mess he’d set the twins up to. It isn’t nice to give the other extra work, but he’s determined for this to be a surprise.

Jazz had, after all, promised to play for him and well--tonight was special. He’d written the song himself. It wasn’t the best, he knew that, but it was special and he was determined to get it out. As he tuned the electro base he could only think of Prowl; of the way his optics shone a sky blue and how he made him dizzy when he smiled. The temptation to burst into song right there was overwhelming but he swallowed it down, saving his voice for when he was graced with the presence of his lover and could truly surprise him. He didn’t have all the time in the world, the twins could only lead the enforcer on a chase for so long--even with his expert help. He preened at that; his lover was far too clever for games. With the most important part of his plan now resting back on its stand, he set about to work. It was a cheesy set-up but never let it be said he didn’t go all out for the ones he adored. And oh how he adored his lover. With one final once-over he deemed his efforts passable and then slipped from the room and into the chaos.

It wasn’t hard to find Prowl. He was in his office, door wings high and taught in agitation and a little bit of guilt pinged through his spark. He hadn’t meant to work his lover up so. With a confidence he suddenly wasn’t feeling he reached out, carefully taking a balled hand in his own. “Sweetspark...” an irritated twitch, oh dear. “Prowler...” he tried again, voice low and meant to be soothing. He should have known that it would come back to him. “Look I know you’re upset.” he quickly puts a finger to those lips, silencing any lecture that might have come out. “I probably deserve it but I promise I had my reasons...please let me make it up to ya?” That doesn’t convince the stubborn petrexian, but he’s not giving up so easily. He even slips into that lap at one point, touching their helms and softening his face into the most apologetic expression he can manage. “Please?” he whispers, raw with the building despair that maybe he went too far this time and he’s going to fail. At last that seems to reach his stubborn lover and he’s rising, the smaller slipping from his lap. With relief he grabs the others hands, leading him towards his room.

“Turn your optics off.” a soft command, one met with a disgruntled snort, but that is obeyed all the same. Beautiful blue turns off and darkens to the world and he’s led, blindly, into Jazz’s quarters. He lets go, leaving Prowl in the doorway and then picks up his instrument. He situates himself in the middle of candles, rose petals strewn about his room like a second skin. It’s the cheesiest set up but the glow accents his white quite nicely and creates an atmosphere of peace in the darkness. “Ok and turn them back on...” he says softly, anxiety bubbling up inside him. Once he’s met with an ocean he begins. The sound echoes softly in the room, a soothing sound before it’s joined by the sound of his own voice.

I’ve been a fool Lost my home Lost my land Marched to a drum When I could barely stand Saw a war we couldn’t win Took up a sword Committed many a sin Got blood on my hands Oh mistakes I’ve made a few Got a long list But not one of them is you

Will you marry me? Take my hand Take my spark Will you marry me?

Saw the heavens in your eyes Forget I’m meant to breathe Just need one thing To have you by my side

Took an oath to myself The moment I saw you smile That I’d see that look again Baby that I’d be the cause

Oh mistakes I’ve made a few Got a long list But not one of them is you

Will you marry me? Take my hand Take my spark Will you marry me?

Cause you’re the meaning The reason for my song Oh and now I know I didn’t truly sing til you

Don’t own the world but if I did I’d give it to you All I’ve got is this simple song And a spark that pulses to your beat

Oh mistakes I’ve made a few Got a long list But not one of them is you

Will you marry me? Take my hand Take my spark Will you marry me? “Prowl, will you bond with me?” he whispers the last part, the music tapering away as the song ends. Panic swells within him that maybe he’s moving too fast and he’s scared away the best thing that’s ever happened to him. There’s silence, a deathly quiet, then the enforcer is standing and crosses the room. Jazz is ready for many things, but the soul-piercing kiss is not one of them. He melts into it, turning his visor off and losing himself in the sensation. “Guess that’s a yes then...” he laughs softly into his future conjunx’s lips. And oh he couldn’t be happier.

#( I gave up making the song rhyme halfway through sorry )#( jazz is probably a better songwriter than this )#( but here it is )#( thought it would be fun to explore jazz being the one to propose )#( and then I made it extra )#greek tragedy ;; drabble #( no angst tags just fluff )

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tcrmommabear · 4 years

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Merry Christmas Wolfie!

Oh, my dear @wolfiethewriter, I had a lot of fun writing this!

It’s funny how ideas and connections will hit suddenly. And then you wonder where they’ve been hiding for you to not have noticed before!

I hope you enjoy this short story about Toto, and his life before the Bureau (and a brief snippet of his life with them!)

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

-E

There was a tapping at his window.

The two things in question- his window and tapping sounds- weren’t typically a cause for concern. But the two coming together, at the dead of night, on a second story window, was reason enough to be concerned. Maybe a touch frightened.

It was storming terribly outside. Snow buffeting against the walls and windows, the old home creaking slightly under the stress. Perhaps a tree branch, or a stone? Yes, surely he could reason away the tapping that had awoken him from his dreamless sleep.

Except there were no trees and stones near his window, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it… There was the shape of a raven pecking at his window. Was the creature seeking sanctuary? He’d seen them be clever creatures, in odd ways. Never often enough to prove a thinking mind behind the eyes, but enough to be curious.

He arose from his warm bed, crept to the window, and threw back the latch. Within a moment, the window roared open, grasping fingers of wind and cold caressing his cheek. The bird flew in, racing to the shelf above his bed, and he shut the window soon after, locking the panes back into place.

“An unfortunate time to be compassionate,” he muttered, eyeing the wet floor and strewn about (thankfully blank) papers. He glanced at the bird, who sat preening at the moment, nudging wayward feathers back into place. He shook his head, stepping around the mess to the chair and fire, tossing another log.

With the bird in his room, he’d rather hold off on sleep, so neither were trapped with the other. His leg bounced, hands clasped in his lap. It was fascinating to see such a creature up close, some sort of haunting feeling lingering in the air. Like the bird was all too aware of everything around it.

“I don’t suppose,” he asked lightly of the bird, “you could spare an apology for waking me from sleep? Or for the mess left upon my floor?”

It stopped its preening, turning instead to focus remarkably intelligent, black eyes upon him. He felt exposed for a moment, like staring down at the dizzying height of his home, the ground unreachable.

The bird gave a smile.

“One is due, in any circumstance. Along with my thanks,” a deep voice spilled from the beak.

He scrambled, limbs frantically working to get him up and away. He crammed himself into the corner behind the chair, never breaking eye contact with the bird. He grabbed the fire poker, held it up with shaking hands. As intimidating as a mouse to a lion.

The bird watched him. Waited. Cocked its head as the two stood there together, opposite corners of the room and battling for the space. At least, he felt he was in battle. An outright war between his logical, insistent mind that none of this was real, and the morbidly curious side of his mind. The one that watched crows peck at the leftover corpse of a squirrel.

“Surely,”- he licked his lips-“surely those words were not spoken by you, bird? Otherwise, I may have to admit that I’ve gone completely mad.”

“But I did speak. Specifically to apologize and to thank you. I thought I might frighten you, but you’re taking this all really well,” the crow laughed, slightly. The sound, though disagreeing with his understanding of the world, was warm, kind. He didn’t quite know what he had to be afraid of. It’s a crow.

A talking crow.

“If I may, sir,” the crow began, flapping wings and jerking his head towards the fire, “might I take a perch by the fire? I’ve flown all day and night in this snow, and I’d like to get warmth back into my bones.”

He used the fire poker to loosely gesture over towards the fireplace, dropping it when the bird took flight and landed near the flames. He slowly worked his way around his chair, dropping into it without breaking contact with the bird. Surely, there must be some reasoning or idea behind this madness.

“You’re just a dream, yes?” he asked hopefully, pressing his clasped hands against his mouth.

“That’s a question with an answer only we can decide for ourselves,” the bird answered, simply, “but I like to think of myself as quite real.”

“Right, of course.”

They lapsed into silence, the wind’s howls and the fire’s crackles more than eager to fill the space. The bird seemed as content as could be just to watch the flames, quiet company and all that. He felt like a bomb ready to go off, examining ever feather and piece of skin he could find.

“You speak well,” he blurted out once the fuse lit the dynamite, “taught by your master? Did he give you a name?”

The bird blinked in surprise, if he had to guess. He felt foolish at the idea of asking for a name, expecting much of the creature that (he was beginning to reason to himself) could only speak what little its master had taught.

“I’ve had many names over the years,” the bird told him, staring into the flames, “none have really stayed. Call me what you like.”

He shifted, fraught with nerves. He glanced about the room, searching for a bolt of lightning to strike him. A small bust caught his eye briefly, the features sculpted delicately, the war helmet upright and sure.

“Would “Pallas” be a suitable name?” he asked after a moment of thought.

The bird gave a bark (caw?) of laughter, fluffing its feathers while it turned to catch his eye.

“After Pallas Athena, I see? I’d be honored to take her name,” he chortled out.

He gave a relieved smile, still flicking between the two, looking for some sort of riddle to be solved. Hardly noticing the final, mournful howls of winter’s snow. But the crow- Pallas- took off towards the window ledge, pausing to glance about what survived of his desk.

“I thank you for your kindness and warmth,” Pallas called out, reading his works that he’d tried and scrapped. “Could I have your name to thank you properly?”

He hesitated a moment, before responding, “Allan. You can call me Allan.”

“Sir Allan,” Pallas said, puffing their chest, “I thank you for the fire and the company.”

“Will I see you again?” he blurted, crossing halfway to the window with a hand raised. He had questions, needed answers, wanted to discover how far reality and dream came to be. How mad he really, truly was, to seek after a bird.

Pallas cocked his head, left then right, then read his papers one more time.

“Morning nears, and the storm has finally stopped. But perhaps I can stay in town a few more days, just to be sure the snow will leave us.”

Pallas grinned at him, jerking his head at the window, and he realized the crow lacked what was needed to get outside. Cold air burst against his cheek, the wind tugging stubbornly at the pane to fly open.

Pallas took off into the night, gone with the inky black sky, and he quickly closed the window after. He stumbled into his bed, pulled the covers up to his chin, then to his eyes, hiding under the blankets as he counted down from ten. Twas just a dream. A dream within a dream, and one so curious and frightful.

“Never again,” he whispered to his heart, “never again. Nevermore shall that crow visit me.”

***

“Baron, who’s this a bust of?” Haru called, standing before the stone torso of a Greek woman, dressed in robes but bearing a helmet upon her head.

The plaque saying her name was Greek (literally) to Haru, having travelled to said country for a Bureau investigation that she wasn’t entirely sure was going well. But hey, a day spent at public places that don’t care if you’re suddenly calling out for a person who’s not nearby was a day she could enjoy.

Toto flew in, landing a foot or two on the ground, trying to look as casual as a crow talking to a human girl could be.

“Baron’s over trying to stop Muta from attacking the gelato cart,” he told her when she gave a confused look, “which bust are you talking about?”

“This one,” Haru said, flapping a hand at the woman and nearly smacking her hand on the stone.

“Pallas Athena,” Toto replied, “or plain Athena for those who don’t know epithets. Famously known as the Greek Goddess of wisdom and strategy.”

“Huh,” was Haru’s response, tilting her head, “that explains a lot about that poem.”

“Poem?” Toto asked.

“Yeah, the one by Edgar Allan Poe. He mentioned a bust named “Pallas” and I was always really confused on who that was.”

Toto narrowed his eyes at the bust, echos of memories just barely coming through.

“Haru, what was this poem called?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, “The Raven”, I think.”

Toto cawed out a laugh, catching Haru by surprised.

“I always thought he lied about his first name. Truly scared you, didn’t I, Sir Allan?”

Haru blinked, turned towards Toto, and ignored a surprised audience when she yelled-

“Wait you knew Edgar Allan Poe?!”

#tcr #the cat returns #tcr secret santa #tcr secret santa 2019 #allan and pallas had an odd relationship #short lived but interesting #tcrmommabear writes #tcrmommabear posts #wolfiethewriter #i was sitting there one day thinking about toto origin stories #and then i remembered there was a poem #that was about a raven #huh #now who could have inspired that in his youth #toto was such a troublemaker #it wasnt until he joined the bureau that he took possession of the sole brain cell among them #the mom friend that arose from the chaos of chaotic neutrals #i hope you liked it!

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