#also it smells of dog piss everywhere it’s disgusting
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I committed a little oopsie daisy and moved to a place whose climate makes my head feel squashed
#been living here for 6 months now#eugh#all the humidity creates this fog in my brain it’s horrid#and I love rain#this place just does rain wrong#also it smells of dog piss everywhere it’s disgusting
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Dining hall's bar, DIO's Mansion
Afternoon
Enyaba: *Walking down the hall* ......
Mariah: Well, isn't she such a little darling? ❤️
Enyaba: Hm?
Medea: I know right? She wanted me to be the mommy. ❤️
Enyaba: *Enters the room*
Kenny G: *Petting the kitten in Medea's arms from his crawl space*
Kitten: Mew~
Mariah: Awww~ ^3^
Enyaba: Medea!
Medea: *Turns around with a kitten hidden in her scarf* Yes, Madam?
Enyaba: What is that thing your hiding?
Medea: It's a cute little calico kitten, I found her in an alleyway, and she wants to stay with me, isn't she cute? ❤️*Shows her the kitten*
Kitten: Mew~
Enyaba: *Disgusted* Ugh, get that filthy creature out of here, you stupid girl! It doesn't belong here!
Medea: *Distraught* What!? Why!? She's just a baby!
Enyaba: I don't care! You know damn well Master DIO doesn't allow cats and dogs here, they're filthy disease riddled fleabags who piss and drool everywhere and they smell like garbage!
Medea: *Irritated* Pet Shop smells like gore and bird shit all the time, Enyaba, and DIO still kept him!
Mariah: Well, he is a falcon and Glory God, isn't he?
Kenny G: *Patting her arm* Stay out of it, stay out of it.
Enyaba: Get rid of that thing this instant!
Medea: B-but!
Enyaba: Right now! Or I'll have both of you face [Justice]! *She says this as an eerie mist starts forming two large right hands, indicating [Justice]'s manifestation*
Mariah and Kenny G: *Scared* O_O'''''
Medea: *Also scared* ............ *Looks down, sad* I'll get rid of the cat.
Enyaba: ....... *Smiling, like nothing happened* Good, I'm glad that we come to an agreement. *Walks away* Once you finished the job, I want you to tend to Master DIO's laundry, he needs to look his finest for one of his escorts tonight.
Medea: *Still sad* Yes, Madam...
Mariah: *Sticks tongue at Enyaba* That damn hag, *to Medea* I'm really sorry about the sweet baby, Medea.
Medea: It's alright, I should've known it wasn't meant to be.
Kitten: Mew~
Medea: *Determined* On the other hand, what she doesn't know can't hurt her.
Kenny G: You're going to hide the creature?
Medea: Yes, but you cannot tell her or DIO about it.
Kenny G: I don't know, DIO has a strong sense of smell, and he doesn't like people keeping secrets from him.
Medea: I can buy some air freshener to mask the smell and say that my room was too stuffy.
Kenny G: Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you. *Hides in the crawl space*
Mariah: I hate to admit it but Kenny's right, you'll be in huge trouble if Enyaba or Master DIO finds out.
Medea: True, but that doesn't mean I can't fight back if it comes down to it.
- Medea adopts the kitten despite Enyaba's orders, inspired by this drawing I did: Link
#jojo's bizarre adventure#enya the hag#mariah#mariah jojo#kenny g#kenny g jojo#jojo oc#oc#kitty#incorrect quotes
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i was thinking about last year a few days before christmas i tried to find "sun in" in my city but i couldn't find it and i was kind of sad because i really wanted to lighten my hair more but i ended up just giving up and since i was out alone i went to my aunt's house which is quite far from my house but i was already far from my house anyway so i didn't see any problem in walking further
and i also lived in the same neighborhood as my aunt in 2015/2016/2017 so i felt safe walking there alone (well,i "felt" safe before i got there)
i was quite tired so one of the reasons i went to her house was that i was thirsty and it was already "close" so i just took the risk of going instead of returning home
i hadn't visited her in years and i hadn't seen that neighborhood in a long time, so when i was getting there i started to feel strange but at the same time i felt nostalgic..but i clearly noticed that there was a lot of new stuff and that it was a little different from what i knew
and i don't know but i kind of felt like i was in a liminal space/alternative reality. the streets were deserted and there were a few cars and motorbikes that passed by as i walked there and it was so silent even though i had headphones on listening to music, i took them off for a moment and could hear nothing but silence or light noises
i even saw the house i used to live in and i started walking slowly while looking there with one of the strangest feelings i've ever felt
i lived 3 houses away from my aunt in the neighborhood when i lived there
there were some cute decorations all over the neighborhood too.
and then i arrived at my aunt's house but she didn't seem to be home so i decided to open the gate by myself (it has a big gate that doesn't let people outside see inside, it's almost like a old mansion) and when i walked in the dogs were barking but then i saw her and she seemed to have been happy to see me after years
everything there was different from what i once knew..
well..she hardly receives visitors so i believe she is happy when someone visits her..but i think this lack of interaction with other people affects her
she has many cats and dogs that she adopts because they were homeless so it's really a mess but it's really cute that she has this good heart to take care of them all
but well..when i walked in the door i felt a horrible smell that felt like something de@d (it wasn't something de@d at all ofc but it smelled like de@th) and i had heard this from my mom before because she's been there before..and this terrible smell was coming from one of the sofas in the living room and this specific sofa was stinking because the cats pissed there often and there was fur everywhere
literally disgusting..i stood up not knowing how to react but then she asked me to sit on the other sofa which was more acceptable but still had a strange appearance
i sat there and had to smell that horrible smell that made me feel sick, i wanted to vomit, i had an instant headache
but i wasn't going to talk about it ofc so i smiled and talked to her while i died inside because of that smell
she didn't even comment on that smell and that's what surprised me the most..like HOW?? she seems to have gotten used to the smell and all the mess of cats and dogs
i stayed talking to her for a moment until i started thinking of excuses to leave because i couldn't bear to stay in that horrible place
but my mom called her worried about me because i was taking a while to go home and wanted to know if I was at her there and she said yes
and my mom literally saved me because that way i could make up the excuse that i needed to go because my mom was worried
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I really would like a dog. At the moment I have two cats: Piper and Vincent.
Piper fluctuates between being a nervous wreck, pulling her own hair out and hissing at Vincent, completely chilled on a windowsill for days at a time or licking coal, or just absolutely tearing your skin off in order to kiss you. Honestly an abusive relationship. I love her and feel so bad that she’s clearly not happy with Vincent, and we’re not happy with her and always shoo her away when she tries to cuddle us, but she is so aggressive and always does it at an inconvenient time and also drools and molts on you so its kind of disgusting and makes you smell? People say that if you don’t like cats you don’t respect boundaries but Piper violates mine and has singlehandedly decreased my want for a pet when I am older. Bless her. She deserves better. Oh, but she does shit and piss literally everywhere except the litter tray and eats until she throws up. Poor thing.
Vincent is about three years younger than Piper. He loves running about outside and is very mischievous, he meows so much for everything. He also loves to attack Piper, not playfully but aggressively, and she hates that with a burning passion as she is a little older and is no longer as playful. These two don’t click whatsoever.
I feel so bad that mother is thinking about giving Piper to a new home, so much that I actually might bawl. I’m not sure if its because I’m almost on my period or if my sensitivity towards sad animals is too fucking high or what, but the thought of this stressed out girl who has been with us for four years and despite making us literally miserable and grumpy always tries to give us kisses and sit on our chests, being confused as to why she’s being taken away and going back to where she came from with a bunch of other cats makes me tear up.
Also the thought that she’s a little older and might not get adopted makes me nauseous. It was the same when we gave away our last cat Monty, and the thought of him and all his sweetness not getting adopted made me want to chuck a toaster in my bath and call it a day.
I would really love a dog though. The thought of taking it on walks seems so fun. I’m also nervous though because even though most times with our pets it starts well devolves into us working full time to even try relax with them in the vicinity, this dog might genuinely just not be for us.
Given the choice I would not have a pet at all. I’d love one in theory but realistically I am so tired of never leaving my room because the pets are going to piss me off. Its really sad on their behalf and it breaks my heart we’re not better.
Also our lives are messy and I doubt we even have the money to constantly be spending it on dog stuff.
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How would the slashers act with a s/o that came hone drunk and just wanted to ya know... have some 'fun'?
i’m sorry i wrote most of this months ago while drunk, and finishing it up just now equally as drunk ﾍ(ﾟ∇ﾟﾍ) enjoy!
Michael Myers (1978 'verse)
- When you go out without telling Michael where, he usually worries thinks you're going to rat on him. But you've just worked your way into his hear enough that he's stopped stalking you everywhere you go.
- But when you finally manage to find your way home, he doesn't expect you to fumble with your keys and slam the front door open. He was watching TV when you did, and while Michael doesn't get startled, he did whip his head a bit quicker.
- He just manages to catch sight of you stumbling in, and catching yourself before you faceplant on hardwood floor. "MIKEY~ I'M HOOOOME~" you bellow out and make your way to the couch.
- Oh boy.
- Michael doesn't react when you plop yourself down in his lap, wrap your arms around his neck, and clumsily attempt to press your lips to his mask. Normally, Michael has a rather voracious sexual appetite. But you're sloppy, and uncoordinated and smell like beer. It's disgusting, and Michael is the kind of guy who eats dog carcasses.
- So instead he pushes you down onto the couch, and pulls down the blanket from the back of the couch. Every attempt of yours to climb back on him is met with being pushed back down while he watched TV.
Jason Voorhees
- Jason is in a similar-ish boat where he has just begun trusting you to leave without flipping out and thinking you're running away. So yeah, he isn't a fan when you tell him you're going for a few drinks at the pub in town.
- Yeah, few drinks his fucking ass. You come back 2 hours later than you intended, stumbling out of some guys jeep, and trip just past the entrance of the camp. You just... lay there, in the dirt. If your back wasn't rising and falling, he'd think you were dead.
- He still panics, because he's Jason. What else is he supposed to do other than kill teens? He runs and hauls your body over his shoulder, and back to the cabin. And our boy built like a brick house, jumps when you start groping his ass.
- "Jaaaason, I need you to fuck me, like right now," you slur out when he dumps you on the bed. Yeeeaaahhh, no, not happening. Not now, not ever when you've been drinking. He can hardly tolerate anyone consuming alcohol, and mixing sex in? What would mother think of him?
- One sin at a time, as you always say.
- He still lays in bed with you, because he's tired and it's his bed too! Even if you try getting him to have sex with you, is a Stone Wall, and will not allow anything to happen until you eventually pass out from exhaustion.
NSFW bellow cut, because c'mon, theyre serial killers
Thomas Hewitt
- Drunk people? At his house? Color Thomas shocked (not). Please he lives with Holt, who drinks pretty much every hour of every day. He can scarcely think of a time when he wasn't drunk. But hey, if the two of you were going off to drink and fish (a past-time you forced Holt into liking) then whatever, he has work to do. He'll just wait until you get back to demand your attention.
- When you and Holt manage to pull up in front of the house without crashing the truck into a tree, he's content. Neither of you seem dead, and you also have a cooler full of fish. A refreshing change from human. Holt stumbles to the front door, as per usual, but you're barely hanging off his shoulder, dragging the cooler behind you.
- Oh No. Thomas Is Not Happy.
- He didn't care if you drank, at all. He didn't even care if you got drunk. Everyone, even Luda Mae drank at the house, so it wasn't a problem. But you can barely walk, and pretty wasted people and Holt don't mix. So Thomas sweeps you up to his room as soon as possible.
- Despite being drunk, you're pretty damn strong. Enough so to pull Thomas down on top of yourself when you land on the bed. You get him nice and settled between your legs and pet the back of his head. "Well heelloooo handsome," you murmur. "You here to show me a good time?"
- Thomas, and rightfully so, freezes. You two have barely just gotten to hand holding stage, and now here you are: flushed, disheveled, and practically asking him to fuck you. Thomas breathes heavily behind his mask, and can't help but grind against you. You're too irresistible.
- But he won't go any further than dry humping until both of you are satisfied. Luda Mae, after all, raised a proper southern gentleman (or her version of one at the very least), so having sex when you two aren't married, or when you haven't consented, would be awfully rude of him. But he is Horny, and you are Horny, and what's a little grinding until he cums in his pants?
Freddy Kruger
- You? Drinking? What is this, torture time featuring the hot person who is the only one who Freddy seem unable, or unwilling, to kill? You're killin him, Smalls.
- Seriously, you're hot as hell to Freddy, and since you're alive and not some demon that haunts everyone's nightmares, you can do everything Freddy can't. You can drink, you can fuck, you can eat, and it drive him mad! So when you're getting sloshed, Freddy is getting more riled up. He can only get dream wasted, which is nowhere near the same.
- So he bides his time until you pass the fuck out and end up in dreamland. But lo and behold, you just polished off an entire fifth of whisky by yourself, so you're still trashed. Even while you're asleep and dreaming of yourself getting plowed by Freddy.
- Fucking jackpot. Freddy knew there was a reason he liked you. So he doesn't really do anything at first, just kind of goes invisible and watched while your version of him has got you on your back, legs over his shoulders, and making you moan like some kind of porn star. He'd like to be all up in there, but watching you go at it is kind of hot?
Brahms Heelshire (bc he is MY BOY; also dubcon warning bc the reader is drunk and cant properly consent)
- Okay so Brahms is kind of in the same boat as Jason where he as literally just got around to trusting you to leave without worrying that you were going to abandon him. Except it took a lot longer for him. You are allowed to go out to the pub for TWO HOURS with Malcolm, but that's it.
- (If Brahms wasn't so adverse to leaving the house he would've gone with you so you would've kiss Malcolm)
- But you're an HOUR late, and he's about to start breaking shit until he sees you stumbling up the road to the manor. Singing. LOUDLY. If Brahms wasn't so wound up he'd find it endearing.
- As soon as he throws the door open to yell at you, you pretty much topple on top of him, and try getting his shirt off. "Braaahms, you're sooo hot. What did I do to deserve someone like you?"
- Oh damn.
- Oh damn.
- You hit two of his major turn ons at once. And since Brahmsy is a feral little man with no manners, he just pins you to the floor, gets your pants off, and starts finger banging you right then and then. He wastes no time before shoving himself in. He's gotta take you right here, with the cold wind blowing in.
- Boy is practically shaking from how much you got him riled up in such a short time. He really does try to savor in the sight of you sprawled underneath him, face red, and unable to hide your moans.
- For once, you cum before him, and that's what has him cumming. Your O face is one of the hottest things to him. And you both pass out, just right there in front of the open door. At least when you wake up five hours later, moderately sober and in need of a piss, you manage to herd him upstairs and into bed.
#michael myers#jason voorhees#thomas hewitt#freddy kruger#brahms heelshire#halloween#halloween 1978#friday the 13th#friday the thirteenth#leatherface#texas chainsaw massacre#nightmare on elm street#the boy#shape hc#jason hc#cannibal hc#nightmare hc#brahms hc#lemon#whiskehorange
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Can you do a headcanon where a disney villain get bitten by a werewolf and they experience their first transformation? The villains you can use are Clayton, Professor Ratigan (as a human), Sykes, Judge Claude Frollo, Gaston, and Captain hook. I wish you a lovely day.
Sure thing! Hope these are okay, I got a bit sleepy at the end. You have a wonderful day, too! ^^
~~~
Captain Hook:
· Of all the beasts trying to get a bite of me, it had to be a WEREWOLF!? (By beasts, he refers the Tic Toc, the sea monster, Peter Pan, the lost boys, and all the Darlings)
· Captain Hook is cursing is deliciousness right now.
· It’s a whole thing when he gets bitten. He is in such panic, and its all Smee can do to get him to bed all wrapped up! Never mind getting the captain to sleep in this state.
· He’s already traumatised from getting bitted by Tic Toc! The next couple of days, he’ll be shaking and extra easily frightened. Smee will be the only comforting part of his life.
· When the full moon eventually comes, our Captain has been so anxious leading up that he didn’t eat. Which makes for a very, very hungry werewolf. Which is never good.
· (The mermaids are about to learn that they should stay under water on the full moon for the foreseeable future. Especially seeing as Hook will not age and die any time soon)
· The only good thing about this situation is that Peter is able to distract him (For fun, of course.) all night by dangling himself before the hungry eyes and then zipping off in the air again so Wolf!Hook has to make chase.
· When Hook wakes up the next morning, he dry heaves. See, the uncontrollable hunger from when he was a werewolf (Since he didnt actually end up getting to eat anything because of Peter) transferred to his human form and he’s so hungry, and also so sick from fear and anxiety that he needs to vomit. The nausea is so terrible it literally leaves his stomach feeling empty but he’s too unwell to eat.
· Eventually Smee makes him eat some porridge and he starts to calm down…
· He decides his next transformation will not turn him into this nervous wreck. Not him. Not Captain James Hook.
Clayton:
· Clayton is pissed when he gets bitten- more from the outrage that an animal hurt him instead of the other way around (I mean, with all of his experience in the field you would imagine he would be able to take care of himself sufficiently). So, he’s furious and wielding his machete (Or better yet a gun) instead of being worried about the wound that is gushing out blood from his arm (He would never let a predator near his middle. He’s too practised in defence - and more notably offense, - to let that happen).
· Now, he doesn’t realise that what he came in contact with was a werewolf, of course. He just thought it was… I don’t know… just some kind of large, steroid implanted dog.
· It gets away before he can shoot it. Now he’s pale from blood loss, hair a greasy mess, his muscles are weak and the wound probably has had dirt rubbed in it from the struggle of surviving against a werewolf.
· So, for the time before his first transformation, he’s very sick and gangrene is creeping around his wound and down his arm. He’s vomiting, he’s got muscle weakness, and theirs a metallic taste stuck in his mouth all the time. A doctor sees to him and says that its expected that he would die from this, seeing as they’re in the middle of nowhere (On whatever expedition he’s on. He’s certainly nowhere near a proper hospital, not that they could have done much more to help then this field surgeon anyway. Although, they might have had anaesthetic) unless he lets them cut off his arm and cauterize it with a branding iron. Of course, he would not let that happen and continues on like a brave (Stupid) soldier.
· By the time the full moon comes around, he’s already a disgusting, struggling mess. So when he’s tossing and turning in his cot that night- no one there really does anything. He’s just left to struggle.
· Not that they could have done anything to make his first transformation any easier, or save themselves.
· Of course, when the next day breaks, Clayton wakes up sprawled on the forest floor with a killer headache, and when he gets up and wonders who the hell carried him out of his tent last night, he finds that he feels… oddly better. Healthier. Pulling up his… torn?… shirt sleeve, he tries to assess his wolf bite... just to find that it isn’t there. Perfectly clear, unscarred flesh stretched over muscle sits there instead.
· He’s so confused. Was all that about the beast and his bite, and the nightmare afterwards, just a fever dream? Did he eat something bad out of the forest?
· … But then, he finds he still tastes metal on his tongue. A deep taste of iron that Clayton cannot deny is blood.
· Then he looks around, and his heart plummets (Not because he feels remorse because 1. He doesn’t realise all this mess was him yet, and 2. Clayton? Remorse? Hahaha) to see the nearly unrecognisable bodies on the floor around him and the tents torn to shreds not half as bad.
· He’s beyond confused, alone, and has a mess to clean up. But he does feel better then he did before the transformation, at least.
Gaston:
· Gaston is similar to Clayton. He can take the injury, but he is furious that an animal, a beast, was able to get the drop on him.
· I think Gaston would have claimed this beast that bit him was a werewolf (Or something along those lines) even if it was just a fox or something. The shame! The shame, of Gaston getting beaten by an animal (Or anything or anyone)!
· He goes ahead and tells the town that he beat 2 werewolves but the last one got him when his back was turned- and he was so strong that the powers of lycanthropy didn’t work on him! A lie, of course. Because, I mean, he did end up scaring off the wolf after he had been bitten, getting some good hits on the beast as well with his knife, but did he beat the wolf? I don’t think so. And there was only one werewolf.
· So when he does turn on the next full moon, he’s mortified and furious… and that transfers into uncontrolled rage in his wolf form.
· The last thing he remembers when he awakes is the claw marks he left on the wall, through the wallpaper. With his own damn hands. Like a beast.
· And when he does wake up to his room in disrepair; Wooden chairs ripped away their legs, claw marks on the walls, antler’s ripped from the frames on the wall, scratches along the wooden floor… its just a mess. A huge, monstrous mess, and it shocks Gaston.
· He literally has nothing to say. He knows if he leaves out his front door, people will ask what the noise was last night (I mean, he’s GASTON. Everyone wants to know about him. He knows this.), and he just doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to explain away a reason, he doesn’t want to make any sort of mouth noises at all; Especially not to anyone.
· He gathers up his gun and his rucksack and he sneaks out the backdoor and into the forest to do some camping and hide out for a couple days… or a week.
Judge Frollo:
· Oof, what a thing for a ‘religious’ man like him to become… Maybe he’ll finally admit that he isn’t as pure as he thinks he is.
· He knows what he’s being hunted by the moment he sees those glowing yellow eyes. He rushes into the cathedral, for safety. As if those pillars and stain glass windows can protect him from what’s coming, as if the cross could.
· The werewolf just follows him in, and that’s where he attacks. Bites Frollo in the shoulder because he was dumb enough to turn his back on the animal, but luckily the priest of the cathedral hears his screams and comes with silver and scares off the yellow eyed devil- saving Frollo from certain death. He never would have been able to fight off the wolf himself. No one could (Well except Gaston)
· He feels absolute dread and anxiety up until the full moon. He can feel the monster growing in him, feeling it taking form and taking control of his instincts, ready to strike and take his strength and mind, too. (Whether this is his delusions or a real thing he’s able to feel because he’s so aware, you can decide).
· It makes him volatile and extra murderous in those days leading up to the full moon.
· When he wakes up the morning after the full moon, his limbs are heavy and Frollo just rests head back on the wall he was just able to drag himself to with remaining strength, and he cries. He sobs. He begs God to excuse him, he asks what he did to deserve this.
Sykes:
· Ooooh, Sykes would make a great werewolf. He’s huge on a normal day- can you imagine how big he is as a wolf? How vicious? Luckily he’s usually pretty calm. So, he’d make a large, well humoured wolf. He just wants to chew on some shoes and rest.
· Anyway- the wolf was aggravated by the smell of dog already on Sykes and that’s why he got bitten. He didn’t hunt the creature, didn’t step into his territory, didn’t do anything to purposely aggravate the creature at all like most of the others.
· Also unlike the others, this werewolf just bites and runs. It doesn't attempt to take Sykes completely down or anything. This is purely a hit and run kind of dealio. Probably because it heard Desoto and Roscoe respond to their Daddy’s pained yell and decided to leave on a high note.
�� Sykes tries to brush it off. Just applies pressure to the wound until he can properly dress it, and then ignore it. He has more important things to do then focus on that huge wolf that bit him. He doesn’t know what it was, he has no trauma’s surrounded the incident, and he’s stressed usually (Being a successful gangster and all), so how he feels leading up to this first full moon since he was bitten isn’t much different from how he usually feels. He’s driving around everywhere, putting the fear of Bill Sykes into people like Fagin, and doing paperwork. He doesn’t even notice the bite in his side unless he stretches, or he showers
· (Which, by the way, doesn’t occur as often as it should. He’s very busy).
· When the full moon finally occurs, it’s the one night in like a month that he finally gets to have a rest. So he’s just in his living room, reading a newspaper, eating his dinner, reclining, when he starts to feel an uncomfortable prickling feeling rush up his back like a hot flash. He tries to ignore it…
· But then he looks at his hand, and its furry. And then the claws start to break through his skin and he’s in horrible pain and of course terror for about a minute before his eyes change and he loses human consciousness.
· The next day, he wakes up with sore gums and an aching jaw, and as he sits up from the odd position of being half on the floor with his chin on the bed, rubbing his throbbing jaw, he sees various pairs of his shoes, chair legs detached from the chairs, and… doorknobs? On the floor around him? They all have dents and scrapes all over them as if a dog (A huuuuuge, stroooong dog) came along and had the time it its life chewing on them.
Human!Professor Ratigan:
· Ratigan is, obviously, a smart man. But he didn’t see this coming. How could he? He’s a man of science. He got himself home, disinfected and dressed his wound / s and thinks that’ll be the end of it. Apart from, possibly, some mental scarring, but luckily- he is also a trained psychological practitioner! He can handle this.
· But of course, that’s not how this goes.
· On the first full moon after the attack, he starts to feel… symptoms. He wonder’s if he’s getting sick, or if he neglected to disinfect his bite properly but- no. No way would he make a mistake like that. His wound is securely taped all the time, so even if he had missed out on disinfecting it one day after a shower or something, how could it be infected?? Its very unlikely. So, then, where is this sweating and general irritation coming from? He’s not usually an even-tempered man, but this is becoming… concerning. Even for him.
· Like I said, he’s a man of science, but when a little after he retires early for the evening, fur starts to prickle up and all over his skin, he finds he’s able to figure it out just before he loses consciousness.
· Lycanthropy.
· That was a werewolf that bit him.
· He has to do somethin-
· When he wakes up in the morning, puffing out the experience and rage of the beast inside him, he starts by standing motionless in the shower that’s so hot his skin goes pink, but he can’t feel it- he’s too lost in his thoughts. Analysing everything, trying to remember what he did, asking himself if he can weaponize this with any accuracy (Like find out how extract the venom and inject it into Basil), calculating how this can be possible... trying to just figure out how to fix it because this will absolutely not do.
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Modern Inheritance: Two for Flinching
(A/N: Some wound description and technically self harm? {wound burning for infection control}, so warnings for that. Just some Eragon and co. during the run to the Varden. This one actually has a bit more setup for Eragon’s book 1/early book 2 characterization, but I’m not sure how I did. He’s hard for me to write. There’s also quite a few mentions of tech and magic mechanics that I’ve worked into MIC, but those will be mentioned more in the tags.)
~~~
Eragon winced as Saphira landed. Per their usual travel plans since Gil'ead and Arya’s awakening he had spent the night flying with Saphira while the others traveled at a continued breakneck pace on the ground with the horses. It was wearing them all down, even Saphira, and the few hours of sleep they managed to get during the daylight hours did little to alleviate the stress travel was putting on their bodies.
Camp was already in the midst of being set as Eragon untied his legs from the saddle and slid down Saphira’s side. He landed then grimaced as he fell to his knees, muscles feeling like jelly.
“Did you see anything worth mentioning?” Brom asked as the young Rider pushed himself up. When he shook his head, not trusting himself to speak aloud, the older man grunted and turned back to unsaddling Snowfire. “There’s supposed to be some old, ruined staging points of the Varden’s around here. Must be further up ahead. We’re going slower than I thought.”
“We’re going as fast as we can.” Murtagh snapped. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. Lately Eragon had noticed that the other youth was becoming increasingly agitated, quick to anger, and it wasn’t just the lack of sleep and lingering sunburn getting to him.“If you want to warn the Varden so bad, do some of your little magic tricks and tell them about the Urgals.”
Arya spoke quickly from where she crouched coaxing the fire to life, cutting off Brom’s scathing retort and ending the argument before it began. “It doesn’t exactly work like that. Besides, the Varden has specific wards around their strongholds, preventing scrying and other magical forms of communication.”
Eragon eased himself down next to the elf, trying to warm fingers stiff from flying so high in the chill clouds. “Then how do they stay in contact with you and anyone else outside their hiding spots? It seems dangerous to be so isolated.”
The woman gently rearranged a few sticks to give the young flames more air and slipped a dark object under the growing pile of embers. “Special radios were developed, using the fingerprint technology similar to lock on my backpack. Mine was destroyed when Durza tried to operate it himself.” She cracked a slight grin, still focused on her task. “Well, actually, it blew up in his face. Brain matter, just everywhere. Huh-hoo, he was pissed when he got back.”
“The Varden rigs them to explode if the person’s fingerprint doesn’t match?!” Eragon recoiled slightly, agast. “What if someone’s kid found it and thought it was a toy?”
Off to the side, Brom snorted, muttering, “I bet it wasn’t the Varden who–”
“No, I rigged it up myself, and only for those who bore ill-will to the Varden and free races in case it fell into the wrong hands.”
“Knew it.” Brom scoffed. Arya looked over her shoulder to the old Rider and rolled her eyes. “You just like seeing things explode.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard in years than when that thing went off. I think I even cracked a rib.”
Brom shook his head, but let the matter go.
It wasn’t long before the fire was high and the day’s meal heated. They sat around the burning logs, Saphira even laying her head down to occupy a third of the circle, and planned the next few legs of travel. When the food was eaten, the talk dwindled away as they all sat staring into the flames, tired but not willing to sleep just yet.
Then Saphira flicked out her tongue, as if tasting the air, and projected her thoughts to the group.
‘Whoever has the infected wound should care for it soon.’ Everyone looked up, mildly startled out of their inner musings. 'It will turn into a deep-rot in another day or so. Just thought they should know.’
“You can smell things like that?” Eragon asked, surprised. “Are you like one of those dogs that can smell cancer?”
The dragon cut her eyes at him and her lip lifted slightly. 'I am nothing like a dog.’
The boy smiled apologetically, realizing his mistake. “I know. Sorry. But it’s pretty cool being able to smell things like that.”
Murtagh raised an eyebrow. “Aye, it’s cool. But shouldn’t we be more focused on who the hell was hiding a possibly necrotic wound? Things like that need to be addressed. It would only slow us down more.”
Then a ringing SMACK! broke through the air as Brom suddenly slapped Arya upside the head. Hard.
“What the hell were you thinking, girl?” He growled, expression dark.
“Ow! Hey, why the fuck do you think it’s me?!” The elf retorted sharply, rubbing the back of her head and glaring back at him.
Everyone, even Saphira, gave the woman a deadpan look that clearly asked 'really?’
She put her hands up. “Alright, alright, so yeah, maybe a cut or two got infected, but I’m already fixing them, okay?” Arya snarled, pointing at the handle of a knife sticking out of the dying fire’s thick pile of coals.
Silence fell.
“Are you sure that is the best idea?” Brom asked slowly. He seemed to have calmed down a bit now that Arya had revealed having an actual plan and wasn’t just ignoring her injuries. His change in tone made Eragon wonder if the latter was a common occurrence. “There’s always magic. You don’t have to–”
“And who, exactly, would cast it, hm? Eragon? Can you instruct him in the intricacies of infection cleansing within the next few minutes? I’ve still got enough drug in me to complicate healing spells, so that’s out of the question. And I’ll not have you working spells on me, not when the Varden will need you at your best.” Arya shook her head. “No, it will have to be burned.”
Murtagh stood at the mention of burning. “Oh, bloody hell. Not right after we ate!” He retreated to where he had tossed his saddlebags and began unrolling his sleeping bag. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again– you’re bloody insane, Arya. I don’t want to see this. I’m going to sleep.”
“Sweet dreams, Murtagh.” The elf called after him in a singsong voice. “Don’t let the sizzling wake you up!” The young man let out a noise of disgust and threw himself on the blankets. “Wuss.”
'She can’t be serious about this!’ Eragon exclaimed to Saphira, worried about the elf who was unlacing her boots as calmly as a praying monk. 'She’s already hurt enough! We should offer to heal it. I know she shot Brom down, but–’
Saphira cut him off. 'Little one, do you honestly think that we know enough about healing to cleanse even a scratch of infection without making it worse? Brom has explained before that waíse heill has its limitations, one of the most dangerous being that if it closes an infected injury the infection will survive beneath the skin.’ Eragon grimaced, cursing himself for nearly forgetting one of the nuances of the spell. 'Once the infected flesh is burned away, thenwe can attempt to heal it for Arya.’
Her logic was sound. 'I still don’t like it. But you’re right.’
The dragon sniffed, a short puff of smoke dissipating into the air above her nostrils. 'Of course I am.’
Eragon grinned, then turned his attention back to where Brom and Arya still sat by the fire as the older Rider grunted, “That looks like it hurt. You’re lucky it didn’t break.” The boy approached them as Arya finished rolling her pant leg up to her knee.
“Perks of elvish bones, I guess.” Arya muttered, gently testing the skin around the injury. On the outside of her left calf was a nasty, scraping gash, most likely left by the sharp edge of a hobnailed boot if the bruising pattern was anything to go by. The skin around the ragged edges was pink and red, and cracks ran through the roughly palm sized scab covering the cut and revealing damp, yellowish flesh beneath. Pinkish, yellow tinged fluid leaked from the cracks. “Damn. At least it isn’t necrotic. You were right, Saphira. This one is about to turn.” The elf flashed a thankful smile to the dragon. “Hell, you might have just saved my leg.”
'You’re quite welcome.’
Eragon winced when he saw the wound. “After you, uh…burn it, I can close it for you. A burn isn’t too hard to heal, and it would keep it from getting infected again and slowing you down.”
For a for a split second the memory of healing the elf’s back jumped to the forefront of his mind. Not images of the horrifying wounds, but of warm skin, lean muscle and an unmistakably feminine body. Eragon felt the tips of his tapering ears turn bright red, and he quickly stuck his hands in his pockets, pinching himself hard through the fabric. It was definitely not the time for those kinds of thoughts.
He was thankful, then, that Arya looked over to Brom after giving him only a quick glance. “What do you think, old man? I can keep up well enough. Wouldn’t mind a little less risk of that changing though.”
Brom crossed his arms. “It’s up to the boy and Saphira. Do you two think you can handle it?”
Eragon nodded firmly. “I’m sure I can. Definitely if Saphira helps. I really don’t mind it, and it’s the least I can do after being unable to heal the rest of your wounds properly.”
“Hey, you and Saphira don’t owe me anything. You saved my life in probably three different ways so far, so I’m the one that owes you all.” Arya pulled a field medkit from her bag and tore off two short wads of gauze from a roll. “If you both want to heal it and it won’t put either of you in danger, I won’t complain. It won’t be the last time I say it, but thank you. Really.”
Eragon smiled, a strange warmth bubbling in his heart at the elf’s expression of gratitude. In the back of his mind he sensed Saphira examining his emotions, and was a little confused when the dragon mentally chuckled at them. “You’re welcome. I like to help where I can.”
“Mm. Let’s get this over with then.” Without further ado Arya pulled the knife from the coals.
It was an old blade of human make, and by the seal stamped on the handle Eragon recognized it as one of the combat knives he had grabbed from a soldier during their mad escape from Gil'ead. In the light of the midmorning sun it was difficult to judge if the metal was glowing fiercely, but the blade had acquired a unmistakeable, faint orange color at the sides and an inch down the tip. At the thicker sections it seemed to be lit on the inside by a deep, dark cherry red glow.
Arya took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and went to stick the wad of gauze in her mouth as she lowered the hot blade towards her leg. Brom’s hand suddenly settled on her shoulder, and she looked up at him, startled out of her grim task.
“Do you want me to do it?” The old Rider’s voice was surprisingly gentle, soft even. In the months he had traveled with him, Eragon had heard him speak in such a tone only a handful of times, mostly murmured under his breath to himself or to Jeod when talking about the Varden and times past. Despite their rough banter, Eragon realized the Brom and Arya were undoubtedly good friends, to the point that he wondered if the two had fought together on the battlefield.
Arya looked between Brom and the knife for a moment, then sighed, “You might have to if I flinch and can’t keep up the pressure. I want to try it myself first, but thanks for having my back.” Brom nodded and pulled his hand back as the elf bit down on the gauze.
Then, without any other warning, she tore her nails across the gash in her leg, ripping away the disintegrating scab, and shoved the flat of the glowing knife into the now open wound.
Eragon jerked back, flinching as his self preservation instinct screamed at the indecency of blatant self-destruction. It wasn’t the visual that disturbed him, but the sound of the metal burning away first the blood and fluids, and then the infected flesh beneath. It hissed and sizzled, and occasionally sounded like the powerful magnet toys he used to buy at the fair and toss in the air hear their buzzing song.
For a moment Arya’s muscles snapped rigid, then she seemed to recover and her face fell into a blank, emotionless mask. After letting the blade rest in its original spot for several long seconds she lifted it and exposed the two remaining sections of the gash to the heat, quickly wiping the knife on the other piece of gauze between each burning. Eragon’s stomach did a sickening maneuver similar to a double full flip he had witnessed Katrina do at one of her gymnastics presentations with Roran when he realized that she was wiping seared flesh off the blade.
Then it was over. The entire procedure couldn’t have taken more than a minute, but the scent of burned meat hung in the air. Where infection had once turned tissue yellow and white, there was now only bright red muscle shot through with soot and darkened epidermis.
“That…wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” Arya hissed and spat the gauze out. Her teeth were clenched and voice tight, but her movements were controlled, smooth, and betrayed no other indications that she was in pain. “I’m not looking forward to it if I need to do it again, though.”
Brom rubbed his face, a little paler than usual. “There’s something just…so much more disturbing about seeing you do it to yourself.”
“Dear Gods above, I HEARD IT ALL THE WAY OVER HERE!” Came a distraught groan from Murtagh’s sleeping bag. Arya snatched a stick from the pile next to the fire, abandoning the still-hot knife, and whipped it at the tucked form huddled in the bag. It pegged the young man exactly where his head should have been, and muffled swearing drifted through the camp before it dwindled off as he rolled over and tried his best to sleep.
Eragon scooted closer, forcing himself to swallow back his queasiness. “Here, can we….” Arya leaned her head back and nodded, eyes shut tight as heat lingered in the wound.
Reaching out a thicker tendril of his consciousness to Saphira, the young Rider met the mind of his dragon halfway. Their thoughts, consciousnesses, and minds twisted around each other, binding together more strongly than they usually did. Saphira’s energy flowed into Eragon, and he in turn shared some of his until the stream equaled out and they were one.
Together they moved Eragon’s hand out, the Gedwëy Ignasia shining bright, and uttered the words needed to heal the now cleansed burn. The icy magic rushed through their joined minds, knitting the skin back together with the ease of water flowing from one side of a creak to the next.
As they completed their task, Saphira pulled back from the increased contact, again leaving their minds connected by the usual tendrils of thought. Once separated, Saphira mentioned to Eragon, 'Your magic tickles.’ and rubbed her snout on the side of her foreleg.
'Does it? It always feels cold to me.’ Eragon sat back on his heels, checking the wound to make sure he had not left any scarring this time. Like the other times he and Saphira had worked magic while bound together, he only felt a slight drain on their combined strength. 'I know when something is healed on me it itches like crazy though. Is that what you’re feeling?’
'Being a conduit is different from both casting and being casted on. Acting as the in-between must be giving me the sensation of both the cold and the itching. It makes my scales tickle.’ As if to demonstrate her point, the scales at Saphira’s neck lifted slightly with a sound similar to dry leaves being whisked away by a strong wind. The scales rose and lowered in a ripple along her entire body, giving the distinct impression that she had shivered. 'So, how did we do?’
“Very well for such a simply worded spell.” Eragon realized that Saphira had projected her last thought to Arya and Brom as well when the elf answered. She tested the new skin, not at all bothered that they had not healed the bruising, and seemed happy with the results of their casting. “You’re quite adept at magic for knowing so few words in the Ancient Language, Eragon. From what I’ve seen, you have an uncanny ability to influence your spells more with your intentions than the words you use.”
Brom grunted, nodding in Eragon’s direction. The older man’s chest seemed to swell with pride at the praise directed at his pupil. “Aye, he’s got a gift. And Saphira carries it as well. I’ve never heard of a dragon acting as such a strong conduit before. You both are learning well.”
Touched, Eragon dipped his head as both he and Saphira answered the compliments. Any praise coming from Brom was few and far between, and now he was practically bragging to Arya about their progress.
A comfortable silence fell once again. Brom laid out his sleeping bag, surrendering his usual first watch to Arya at her insistence that 'old men need their rest,’ and Saphira lifted her head from where it rested to tuck it under the tip of her tail, settling in to sleep. Arya tugged her boots back on and reloaded her pistol. Eragon stayed by the fire with her for a few more minutes, content to be close to the elf for a little longer before he too retired for sleep.
“Oh! Right.” Arya suddenly looked over at him, a gleam in her dark eyes. He met her gaze, puzzled, then let out a yelp as her fist shot out and punched him in the arm twice. He knew it was probably a love tap for someone of elvish strength, but it still stung.
“Hey!” Eragon leaned away from her, rubbing his sore arm. It would definitely be bruised by the time he woke that night. “What was that for?”
The elf grinned, rising to her feet to stretch and take her place for the first watch. She slung her sword and its harness over one shoulder, and Eragon felt a hot blush blossom on his cheeks when she casually roughed up his hair as she stepped by him. “Two for flinching.”
#Modern Inheritance#inheritance cycle#eragon#modern inheritance stories#the cyclists#modern inheritance lore#Ket's Modern Inheritance Cycle#brom#arya#murtagh#saphira#two for flinching#some info on how magic works in MIC#'conduit casting' plays a big part in several as of yet unwritten stories#but it can be done between dragons and riders or between people#but its super dangerous when done between people#brom being a proud dad#murtagh being squeamish#arya being her usual whack self#check out that radio tech which may or may not ever be used again lmao#magic and science fuck yeah
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Well This is Strange and Unexpected [Toshinori x Reader] [Part 2]
<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->
Summary: Toshinori struggles with your unfavorable opinion of his heroic alter-ego, but tries his hardest to impress you on a second date! Now… how do people date again?
4,537 words | SFW
“Wh-wh-what are you saying? You don’t like All Might?”
“I am just so tired of how everybody loves him! ‘I got the All Might special-edition action figure.’ ‘Well I got his autograph,’” you parrot in a mocking tone. “Whoop-de-friggen-doo. And he’s such an annoying showboat—like, I appreciate the crime he stops, but half the time he’s just striking a pose in front of news cameras shouting some dumb catchphrase. Go catch a bag guy and quit bragging about it! But you know what pisses me off most of all—all the swooning and fangirling. Why are so many women even into him?! All those beefy muscles are so ugly, he’s like an upside-down stack of potatoes! Who likes that?”
Toshinori is just staring, slack jawed, at you. Like you kicked his puppy.
“Sorry for going off like that, I shouldn’t tear apart something you obviously like.”
Is what you should have said.
Instead, you inhale, and, “Another thing! He’s not even edgy, or interesting—there’s no depth there, he’s just… all powerful and perfect? It’s so boring! All flash and no substance. If I was going to root for a hero, it’d be someone like Eraserhead. So dark and gruff, never putting himself in the spotlight, letting the work speak for itself.”
“I… I’ve gotta go.” He stands robotically and walks toward the door. Oh, shit. Your heart sinks.
“Wait!” you run after him and grab his arm. “I’m sorry. I was being mean. It’s just, All Might stuff is everywhere and it feels like I can’t escape it,” you laugh. “But if you’re a fan, that’s OK. I won’t make fun of him. I really am sorry.” He finally turns around to face you.
“I meant the phone call. I gotta go. Emergency.” He holds up the glowing screen.
“Oh.”
He smiles and pats you on the head. But he’s more subdued than he was a minute ago, and there’s a pain in his eyes when he looks at you that wasn’t there before. He probably did take it really personally when you insulted his hero. Idiot.
“Do you really think All Might is ugly?” he asks quietly, gathering his things by the door. “There’s nothing appealing about him at all?”
“Like I said, you’re my type.”
He lets out a quiet, almost melancholy breath of a laugh. He turns to you, and wraps his long arms around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. It’s not a particularly passionate hug—his touch is so light, he’s barely making contact at all—but he’s tall enough to rest his chin on top of your head.
“You’re a strange one,” he whispers.
You close your eyes and breathe him in. He smells a lot like iron and convenience-store floor, actually, could be a lot more romantic. But you feel content so close to this scarecrow, with his soft bangs hanging down and brushing your skin. You almost let out a whine when he finally pulls away.
“So, will I see you again?” You ask, nervous about the answer. He couldn’t have been that serious about that All Might stuff, right? But if you chased him off, at this point, it might break your heart.
“Definitely.” A wide grin splits his whole face as he strikes a heroic pose. “My debating skills cannot be defeated! Next time, I’ll convince you All Might is the greatest hero!”
“Oh my god, get out of my house.”
****
Toshinori couldn’t believe it. Today of all days. First he wore himself out doing hero work in the morning. Then USJ was attacked and he pushed past his limit to rescue his students, nearly died, and once again reduced the amount of time he can remain in his muscle form. On top of all that, now, today of all days is when a couple of everyday bullies decide to hassle him.
He just had to go for a walk instead of getting a cab straight home. Had to stop to pick up medicine, even though it was already getting dark. Were such simple things really so hard for the number-one hero now?
He would laugh if it weren’t so pathetic.
It wasn’t like this had never happened before. Every once in awhile some delinquent singles him out, expecting a weak target, but even in his weak form, on a normal day, he would easily dodge and evade them, quickly diffusing the situation.
But today. Today he was done. He had already gone beyond what he had to give, and gone beyond that again, and he was out.
There were plenty of witnesses in the store, but nobody was going to stop to help, just pretending they couldn’t see. He was practically invisible in this form. Nobody cares what happens to some creepy, worn-down old man. It’s better this way, anyway. What kind of hero would he be if someone got hurt rescuing him?
This was really going to happen. He was really going to have his ass kicked by some random jerks. How had he fallen so low?
Then you appeared.
There was nothing he could do to stop you from putting yourself in danger: he could barely move. That kick caught him right in his weak spot, the old wound Nomu had already agitated earlier that day. A sickening, warm gurgling of fluids squished in his lungs, making each breath a battle against the encroaching darkness.
Run away. Just run away!
You obviously weren’t a hero, you didn’t have any training, that was clear in the way you carried yourself. But you were brave. Brave enough to piss those guys off. You just kept telling them off like you had no sense of self-preservation, until—he saw one of them about to throw a punch at you, and his nostrils flared in anger. He would have to—have to force himself to transform, no matter how it would hurt him, no matter how many people would see. He couldn’t let this happen—
Then you did something his pride would never have let him consider: you just started shrieking.
It worked. You saved yourself, and him, though it was even more humiliating than letting himself get beat up. There he was, suffocating on his own blood where anyone walking by could see what a helpless weakling he was… and now there was a girl bawling loudly on that same floor, drawing everyone’s attention to the intensely embarrassing scene.
Time to crawl into a hole and never show his face again?
He had to hand it to you though, you knew what you were doing. You forced all the silent spectators to admit they were paying attention—forced them to get involved. You had the heart of a hero, all right.
Everything after that seemed to happen so fast. Losing consciousness, learning that you had risked your well-being once again for him with your quirk. The shame he felt, seeing you suffering the same symptoms he was. Then suddenly, you were asking him out?
He was used to getting attention all the time in his muscle form, but in his true form, he was so invisible he could transform into All Might in public and nobody ever noticed. Like there was nobody standing there before All Might magically showed up.
His head swam dizzily when you said that he was your type. How could you be serious? But it seemed you were, even though he had been nothing but helpless. Even though you were coughing up blood because of him. What in the world were you seeing?
You were so boldly affectionate with him—though every time you did something unreserved, you started turning red and shaking, like you were acting with your heart before your head could talk you out of it. Even his hideous scar, and the frustrating health issues he doesn’t like to burden others with, you accepted without even a moment of disgust or fear. You reached out and touched it without thinking, and then blushed. It was so cute.
Being adored and praised as All Might was easy to brush off, but this? He had never had someone pressed against his body so affectionately as this drained husk. As the thing he was slowly becoming, permanently. There was at least one person who still saw him. He could get used to that feeling—that warmth in his chest.
Then his phone rang—that custom ringtone he recorded himself! For a moment, he thought you were putting it together: the blond hair, two long bangs, the eyes, the voice.
But no, instead he got an even bigger shock. You don’t like All Might?!
How can he go out with someone who doesn’t like All Might? He is All Might!
Obnoxious? Ugly?? SHE PREFERS AIZAWA?!?!
Nope. That’s it. That is more than he can take.
But then there you were, pulling at his arm with those puppy-dog eyes, apologizing. You didn’t mean anything against him. You just didn’t know. You couldn’t know. He can’t blame you for having an opinion about a public figure. Even he had to admit his public persona could be a little… much.
He checked the caller before dismissing it. It was Nezu, so it probably was important. Not exactly a lie. It’s a shame to leave early, but he didn’t want you to know how shaken he was.
To be honest, he’s been starting to resent All Might a little, himself. He used to be that brawny, handsome hero, but now… now it’s just a mask he puts on. A flashy act for the crowds, and they eat it up, while his real self is overlooked and treated like a punching bag. Of course he resents it, just a little.
It’s actually kind of tickling that you prefer him this way. Pretty soon, it’s all he’ll be.
But he is All Might, too! If you only knew him better, you would realize how awesome he is! After all, All Might is the same person you had a wonderful evening with, laughing and watching movies—the same person you wanted a second date with. Yes, he’s sure you would like all of him if you got to know him! He’ll win you over!
****
“Next time, I’ll convince you,” he said. Next time.
After 15 minutes, you get a text from Toshinori’s number. “Oh good, did he make it home safely?” you wonder.
It’s a short essay about All Might.
Ping!
Another text from Toshi. Also about All Might.
Ping!
Did you know crime rates fell by over 20 percent since All Might debuted?
Ping!
His confident demeanor isn’t just showboating, it’s about instilling confidence in—
Ping!
Look at this video of All Might rescuing puppies! PUPPIES!!
You shake your head and laugh, a warm smile on your face. Hero fanatics may be annoying, but Toshi is kind of adorable. It’s so wide-eyed and innocent how much he loves—
Ping! Ping! Ping!
Yeah, never mind, it’s annoying. You text back a single message:
lol.
You can practically hear his internal screaming from across town. You snicker. He was right, you are a little devious.
*********************************************
Toshinori was as busy as he said he’d be. After the flurry of texts, it was over a week before you heard from him again. You thought he might want to watch the U.A. Sports Festival together, since he was such a fan of hero stuff (and All Might would be involved this year—eye roll), but he said he had too much to do.
You wondered if that was true, or if he could hear your eyes rolling through the text message. Maybe your snarky response to his hero obsession had spoiled things, and he’d keep on making excuses until you took the hint.
But a day later, he called back (yes, called—who does that?) and apologized so vehemently, you knew he meant what he’d said all along. He was just busy. But he was going to have some free time over the next week, and wants to see you again!
He shows up at your door with a bouquet of pink, white, and periwinkle flowers in his hands, wearing an oversized blazer and tie. It’s like he’d watched an old Fred Astaire movie to figure out what people on dates are supposed to look like.
“Aww, Toshinori!” you clasp your hands under your chin. “What did I say about marriage? You’re not here to propose, are you?”
He looks down at himself, then at your casual attire. “I overdid it, huh?”
“You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
“I’ve been told it’s a problem of mine,” he scratches the back of his head, giving a lopsided grin.
“No, it’s adorable!” You take the flowers, brushing your fingers against his, and bury your nose in the fragrant petals. You look up at him with a sultry, playful gaze. “Though… I might need to change into something more formal now, or it’ll look like I hired you.” A fountain of blood shoots from his mouth.
You drop the bouquet and throw your arm under his shoulder in case he falls, the other hand instinctively placing itself over his scar, the source of his affliction. He jumps back with surprising agility, as if evading an attack.
“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t use your quirk on me again. I’m much better today—the bleeding is always going to happen, so don’t push yourself.”
You hold your hands up in surrender. “OK. I wasn’t going to. Probably. I definitely won’t now. It’s really a regular issue?”
He nods. “I’m sorry if it bothers you.”
“No, no, I was just curious.” You take his hand and lead him inside. He explains his condition, while you find a vase for the flowers. He takes off his jacket and tie, folding them over the arm of the couch. With just a white button-up, he immediately comes down to a more casual level, better matching your outfit. He throws his arms wide to ask, “What do you think?”
You think he looks slender and gorgeous, and just disheveled enough that you want to comb your fingers through his hair, and just dapper enough that you want to undo one more button.
“Perfect!” You throw finger guns at him, “Just a couple of slobs out for a date!”
****
Unfortunately, he has a reservation at a fancy restaurant. Very fancy. One of those places where the floors are marble and everyone wears black. Now you feel way under-dressed, and wish he’d warned you that’s why he was dressed so nice. You don’t even want to look at the prices on the menu.
You had hoped this date would be more exciting, considering the first one started with a brawl. That was a real ice-breaker. Here, the atmosphere is so quiet and formal, you’re almost afraid to speak, and a tense silence builds between you. Toshinori doesn’t seem to be having a great time either.
“You’re barely eating anything,” you note him lethargically picking at his plate. “Do you not like the food?”
“No, I just can’t eat much at once, so…”
“But the portions here are really big! Why would you want to come here?”
“It… seemed like the kind of place you’re supposed to go for a date!”
“Are you kidding?” you shout, half standing up from your seat, too loudly for the restaurant, whose more dignified customers glare and scoff. You sit back down and cover your face with your hand. And you just start laughing. A quiet chuckle at first, but soon you can’t even contain it, your shoulders wracking, and your head tossed back.
“Wh-what’s so funny?” Toshi looks scared.
“I hate it here!” you spurt out, still laughing. “This is the worst! It’s way too stuffy, and you can’t even eat the food.”
“I hate this place too! I just thought women like this sort of thing.”
You sputter and howl, slapping the table. “What are we even doing here?”
“We’re getting the bill!” He calls the waiter over, who is happy to shoo you ruffians out of the fine establishment.
****
Out in the fresh air and sunlight, you feel like you can finally talk to each other. He apologizes for being too old-fashioned, and, frankly, having no idea what he’s doing. You link arms, and decide to go for a stroll around the city, stopping at a street vendor for pork buns, which Toshi can eat one at a time at his own pace.
However, out in the city, All Might’s unsettling grin was inescapable, watching from every billboard and gift shop. It’s not long before Toshi starts on his favorite subject: prying into why you are the one person on earth who doesn’t adore him. You would be just as happy to let it go, but since he insists, you wind up in a heated back-and-forth.
“…and he’s always like ‘Detroit smash!’ ‘Texas smash!’ but it’s just a bunch of punches.”
“Th-that’s not true at all! Detroit Smash is when he punches downward to create a shockwave, and Texas Smash is when he punches so hard it blows villains away, and—”
“Yeah, that’s just a bunch of punches.”
Choking noises escape his throat. His entire world has been destroyed. Good job.
He hangs his head with a defeated sigh. “So, you really hate All Might.”
You squeeze his arm. It hurts to see him so down, even though it’s silly that he cares so much. “It’s not that I hate him. At the end of the day, I’m glad he’s running around saving lives. The problem is hero culture in general. There’s so much focus on their ‘brand,’ on their market value. I guess I can’t even blame individual heroes for grandstanding, considering their income depends on their popularity, but honestly—they’re public servants, the same as the police. Did you know the police are still responsible for stopping more crimes than heroes, when you take into account all the non-quirk-related crimes they handle, and the detective work used to locate villains in the first place? But you don’t see their faces all over posters, and commercials, and t-shirts!” You point your finger in a random direction, and it lands on a perfume ad in a store window with Uwabami’s face. Amazing, not All Might this time.
“And your hero All Might is the worst one, with that dumb flashy smile, and big inspiring speeches, like he’s gotta make sure everyone knows he’s the greatest.”
Toshinori has been listening silently this whole time, deep in thought. From the solemn frown he was wearing, it seemed some of what you said hit home. But at that last part, he raises his piercing blue eyes to yours.
“You’re wrong… All Might’s smile isn’t about his own ego. He smiles so that people in trouble know everything will be OK. So they don’t feel scared. As long as the hero is still smiling, you know he’s going to win in the end. Being the symbol of peace isn’t about him, it’s about giving the world hope!”
Your heart flutters. It’s not so much the words he said—you’d heard the same line a million times—but the fire in his voice as he said it. Naive as they may be, you can’t help but admire his convictions.
He catches the smile in your eyes, and gives you the biggest, doofiest, triumphant grin. You try to think of something cynical to say to burst that bubble of optimism. You can think of a few: People shouldn’t be symbols, they should be people. That smile is so forced; it’s obvious he’s hiding pain, and you’d rather face the honest truth, no matter how hard, than have hope that’s a lie.
Eh. Maybe you’d tell him later. Right now, you just want him to keep smiling.
“I know!” He rubs his hands together. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you—this way.”
“You cannot take me to a hero museum for a date!” you grimace.
He laughs, grabbing your hand and leading you, “Don’t worry, it’ll be good!”
****
The sun is orange in the sky over the ocean, painting the clouds with striking purple and yellow streaks reflected in the waves below. A warm breeze blows your hair back, ruffling Toshinori’s long bangs, and swaying the spiky parts like a field of barley.
“Wow,” you breathe, leaning over the railing of the boardwalk. He leans next to you.
“Better than the restaurant, huh?” he nudges you with his elbow.
“You could’ve at least chosen one of those fancy restaurants where the dishes are tiny, instead of a place you couldn’t eat!”
“Yeah, I really bungled this date thing,” he laughs, hand on his forehead.
How soft would his hair would feel if you twined your fingers through it right now, you wonder? The urge to grab him, and smash your lips against his coils inside you like a spring. But… you’re not sure if he would want that. He’s just so cute!
He offers his arm in a gentlemanly fashion, tipping his head at you. You take it, and stroll together down the steps into the sand and along the beach, the sounds of crashing waves and sea birds like music around you.
“You know, this whole beach used to be covered with trash until about three months ago.
“You know, this whole beach used to be covered with trash until about three months ago. This was never publicized, but it was cleaned up by an aspiring hero who was inspired by All Might. Not everything heroes do is for fame and glory. Sometimes it’s just about helping the community.”
“Then how did you find out about it?”
He blanches. “Huh?”
“If it was never publicized, then how do you know who did it?”
A bright red river ejects from his lips, and he doubles over, hacking. That’s one way to change the subject. You rub his back as he recovers, but instead of helping him relax, he grows rigid and more on-edge.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t do it, if that’s what you’re thinking. You have no idea how much it hurts to see you in pain because of me. Promise me you won’t do it again.”
“I…” You almost swear you weren’t going to. That you won’t, ever again. But… “No. I wish I could tell you that, so you can relax around me and not worry, but I’m not going to make a promise I can’t keep. If you passed out again, or if you were suffering in unbearable agony, if… if you were dying… I would use my power, with or without your permission. There’s no way I could let you die, not if I can do something about it.”
“Young lady…” he purrs, stepping in closer, “I like your spirit, but… I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for me. I don’t want anybody else putting themselves through hell trying to be a hero for me.”
There’s a tug on your heart, and before you can stop yourself, you’re up on your toes, hands around his neck, your lips on his. He breathes in, frozen for an agonizing moment. You pull away, bright red, stammering apologies. Then his palm is cupping your jawline, thumb tracing tender circles over your hot cheek. He lowers his forehead, knocking it gently against yours, the side of your nose rubbing against his. His breath, so close, catching. Your eyes close. He angles his head, and kisses you back.
Eventually, you pull away, breathless. Your hands grip his narrow shoulders. “Listen. I appreciate you not wanting me to hurt myself for you. But you can trust me. If I decide to take some of your pain away, it’s because I decided to—get it?”
His face says he doesn’t. You pick up a seashell and toss it into the waves.
“Let me explain. The person this quirk is most dangerous to is its user. The hardest lesson to learn about it is how to say no.
“I was young when All Might debuted, and I loved him back then. His whole noble hero thing—always putting others first, always answering a cry for help, no matter how much danger he was in—I admired it. I wanted to be like that. And when other kids learned that my quirk could take away their scraped knees and bruised elbows, I was in high demand. I don’t think they meant to be selfish—they probably thought I was more resilient to pain as part of my quirk, but I just wanted to smile through it like that dumb bastard on TV. So I just kept taking, and smiling, until I was hooked up to machinery in a hospital bed for two weeks, barely hanging on.”
He grabs onto your hand and squeezes, almost so hard that it hurts. A pained look etches his face. “I’m sorry, I never meant for…”
“Calm down, it’s not like it’s your fault,” you laugh.
He flinches.
“I don’t blame All Might, either. It was my own stupid mistake. That’s how I learned you don’t emulate heroes! Noble sacrifice isn’t. That. Noble.” You poke his chest with your index finger to punctuate each word. “When you have something to offer the world, it’s important to know your limits, and to set boundaries. Because once people learn you’re willing to sacrifice yourself, they’ll take, and take until there’s nothing left.”
Toshinori touches his scar reflexively, fingers spreading protectively, pensively over the destroyed flesh. Then his hand clenches into a fist. “I understand… but still… if someone’s life is at risk, I can’t sit around and do nothing. Someone has to stand up and help, even if it’s dangerous. Someone has to be a hero, so everyone else can live happy lives!”
A smile spreads slowly across your lips. Partly a smile of admiration, from the vestiges of your youthful heart that still loves heroes… and partly the sly smile of a villain just before they dive into a victorious monologue.
“You’re right. That’s why I can’t do nothing if I see you in real trouble. If I decide to use my quirk to ease your pain, it’s not because you asked me to, or because I feel obligated. It’s because I want to. It’s because I weighed the risks, and decided. It hurts me to see you in pain, too, you know.”
His lower lip trembles. Before you know what’s happening, his hand is circling your waist, pulling your hips against his narrow ones, his mouth on yours. His lips are thin and chapped, but warm, making up for their lack of substance by softly giving way as you press against them, parting against yours. You let out a muffled moan. Your hands run over his back, exploring every jagged vertebrae and defined shoulder muscle hidden under his baggy dress shirt, finally coming to rest at the base of his neck, stroking the edge of that soft yellow hair you had longed to feel.
“Are you… using your quirk?” he pants.
“No.”
“Ah. Then this just feels really good.” He holds you tighter.
#Toshinori Yagi#toshinori x reader#all might x reader#bnha#all might#angst and fluff#toshi and reader are both huge dorks#my writing
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Demon Au
Okay, so like listen, back in the Summer...or maybe not even in the summer, I can’t remember when I watched Inuyasha again, but anyways! I watched Inuyasha and these demon dogs and stuff got to me, so I wrote little drabbles for it, but it’ll never see the light or day, so this it in bullet point form!! Also it’s incomplete.
Part 1! Part 2
Bakugou follows his nose to large, dying wolf. Black fur, matted at his belly because of the wound the caused blood to gush out. The creature was beautiful, if the sun shined on it’s shiny coat there was a hint of red not from the blood.
He looked at peace like the wolf knew he would die there and here. That he would not escape death this time around, and seemed to have agreed it was time for him to go.
His wound is large, as if a man tried to slice the creature open, the poor predator became the prey, yet the wolf still won, since it will not be a prize for another man.
Bakugou’s own kitsune, red-tipped ear twitch at a noise, turning his head toward the bushes not too far from them both shake. The wolf himself has not yet heard the shaking of the shrub, meaning he’s letting go of life by the second.
A small demon appears, a troll looking thing, it inspects the black wolf, looking hungry, another comes out after the other. Soon the wolf notices them both, growling out a warning. Bakugou doesn’t believe the wolf has the energy to snap at the demons, but he won’t wait to see it.
As soon as he’s about to reach down and help the dying wolf, a demon who does not heed the wolfs warning, has it’s neck inbetween the demon’s jaws. It scares off the other demon, the demon is shaken in the wolf’s jaw, ripping out black blood before it’s thrown away to the side.
Bakugou is like whoa that’s cool that the wolf is still fighting. And if the wolf still wishes to live, then Bakugou, a kitsune cannot refuse him.
Though, that wasn’t the only reason Bakugou wants to save the wolf, but something else brought him here but the scent, it was like a bond pulling him towards the creature.
The wolf startles when the blond gets closer, but he doesn’t growl sensing that the fox deity was good.
The fox asks the wolf if he wants to live, but the deity doesn’t speak dog, but is extremely surprised when the wolf does indeed speak back. “It doesn’t matter what I want, for I already feel death upon me.”
Bakugou is like, fam if you don’t wanna live, then sure okay, byeee. But before he turns around to leave the dying wolf something pulls him back, screaming at him to heal the wolf.
So Bakugou turns around again, and gives the wolf an opportunity but the wolf says back, “To accept something from a Kitsune is like to be trapped in your class for the remaining time of my life.”
The fox snares, saying “I won’t hold you to it, I wouldn’t want a demon like you as my vassal.” because you know the wolf talks right? so of course it’s a demon, not a real actual wolf.
“Do I smell that bad? Am I not worthy enough to be your pet?” The demon laughs, shutting his eyes one last time before he lays on the ground.
Bakugou only glares, raising his hand and slashing it down once, he heals the wolf and that tug deep inside him stops bothering him. He did his deed and walks back to the shrine.
Years later, a man Bakugou is unfamiliar with comes to him to give thanks, but he reeks of dog and Bakugou is sure he isn’t human. Not to forget the man’s eyes are as red as Bakugou’s.
The man laughs when Bakugou simply calls him a dog, introducing himself as Kirishima Eijirou. Bakugou is annoyed, not only because this demon probably wants something from him, but also because he acts cocky, like he’s untouchable.
Bakugou asks the dog demon why he was there, Kirishima shrugs and tells him the truth, “I wanted to see you, we havent seen one another in a long time.” Bakugou searches his head for any recollection of the man or even the scent before him, but comes up with nothing.
“It’s okay if you don’t remember me.” Kirishima says, He takes a seat on the stairs that lead up to Bakugou’s home not at all caring how Bakugou might feel about a demon like the dog putting his scent everywhere.
Bakugou starts to guess what type of demon dog he is, but he’s wrong each time, or so Kirishima tell him.
One last villager comes by to pay his respect, but he looks frighten and scared, which makes Bakugou curious. Turns out the demon dog had his own intense stare on the man, aura thick with readiness. The stupid dog was guarding him.
Kirishima becomes part of Bakugou’s routine, he follows him in dog form, a redish brown kelpie with a busy tail and large erect ears. He’s small about reaches just below Bakugou’s knees.
Every morning the dog is looking out the torii, sitting and sitting straight looking for danger. Every night, when all chores and prayers are done with he’s still there, watching Bakugou enter his home. But Bakugou watches the dog run off into the forest when Bakugou is safe inside his shrine.
A year goes by and Kirishima is still there, Bakugou wonders if he should make the dog start working here too, fixing up old shit, and pull weeds. Keep him busy, but asking the dog for any help would be like offering a place for him at the shine.
So he stays quiet, and lets the dog sniff the air and look out into the forest or down the hill.
The demon feels too much like an actual dog than an actual demon, tail wagging and tongue out, he would sometimes stretch him out on Bakugou’s wooden floor, belly up as if he was asking for belly rubs.
To Bakugou, it would have been humiliating, but the demon dog was a lowly being, so it didn’t matter to him. Kirishima starts to get closer and closer as the days go by, and Bakugou even goes as far as whistling for him when he doesnt see him for an hour too long.
One day Bakugou asks the dog, “Why do you guard me.” The dog’s fur fluffs yp, before disappearing and leaving behind a human. Kirishima tells him it’s to repay him back. Bakugou doesn’t answer back or say anything else. Kirishima decides to turn back to his dog form and runs off into the forest.
He doesn’t ask the dog demon where he goes, he doesn’t care for him anyways. Kirishima comes back with a boar in his jaws, although his small size makes him drag the poor dead creature causing the food to be dirted up more.
The demon somewhat looks more happy and he’s more explicit in his actions. He rarely shows his human form, and Bakugou misses it. Kirishima acts clueless, like he’s hiding something but Bakugou thinks he’s too much of an idiot to be hiding something.
Bakugou too, can shape shift into a fox, but he feels more vulnerable that way and thinks of something else besides the tales of those that say foxes are tricksters and pranksters.
One day Kirishima actually asks him if he’s ever shape shifted into his animal, eating from a fruit basket and shakes and makes looks of disgust each time he eats a berry, causing Bakugou to tell him to stop eating them, but Kirishima ignores him and continues to probe for an answer.
“Rarely.” bakugou says and he doesn’t know how to explain to Kirishima on why. He feels more comfortable in this form than of that, but then Bakugou asks Kirishima if he’s ever turned into his true form. Not one of a dog, and not one of a person, but a demon.
Bakugou thinks Kirishima is going to dodge the question, but he answers truthfuly to his surprise. “I haven’t for a while, not that I don’t want to, just that I never needed to.”
Something inside Bakugou feels sort of happy that Kirishima is sharing instead of avoiding the questions, and even gives a request to see Kirishima’s dog form which he’s happy to do.
He obviously so cute, and incredibly soft. His fur is thick and Bakugou sinks his fingers into his neck, with the way Kirishima stares up at him, Bakugou is pissed that a demon can look this cute.
He takes a leap and asks if he could see his demon form, but Kirishima only whines in his dog self, and the fox doesn’t push. Then Bakugou does the unspeakable and asks Kirishima if he would like to see his animal form, which Kirishima is super excited for.
Bakugou shuts his eyes once, before opening them up again looking at the larger world around him. He’s a small yellow pale fox, large ears with marking on his face that cannot be hidden because of the immense power he holds as a deity.
“Are you happy now?” Bakugou can speak in any form, since he is a deity, and the dog before him twirls and jumps happily, climbing up the steps before nuzzling into the fox’s thick fur, just below his chin.
It’s a sign of friend, acceptance and trust.
I then wrote a part where Bakugou, in his fox form, was running in the forest, dodging rock and fallen logs, then stepping near a river. He stops to look into the shallow river and then he perks up at a sudden noise. Soon he’s jumps to another spot near the river, careful not to slip as a dog comes crashing down, falling into the river.
They were playing chase, Kirishima the chaser, and Bakugou the chasee in their animal forms. Kirishima shakes himself from the shallow water and sees Bakugou. He tenses up which causes Bakugou to tense up. Both don’t look away from one another, as Kirishima jumps back to the land, and Bakugou dashes off, resuming their game.
Soon, Kirishima finally catches Bakugou, wrapping his larger canines around Bakugou’s neck. The deity drops limp, he trusts Kirishima now, more than anyone before, and even if he feels the pinpoint of the dog’s fangs, he feels more safe there, than anywhere else.
Kirishima drops him and waits for Bakugou to start running again, since it was the fox that teased Kirishima to run and chase him, but the blond is tired and shifts back, staring into the sky. Kirishima follows him. They talk and laugh, pointing at clouds and telling one another what each cloud reminded them off.
So this was much longer than I thought, so I’ll type the other half into a different post.
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kinktober day one: food play
kinktober day one: food play
alternative title: like ketchup on a hot dog what the fuck is wrong with me
pairing: hwang hyunjin/lee felix
rating: explicit | 18+
warnings: WOW AM I GOING TO HELL FOR THIS but trashy smut, food play, ketchup as lube (yes you read that correctly), oral, profanity, hyunjin is a little aggressive with french fries, alcohol, degrading words, praise kink, hint of dacryphilia, bottom!felix, top!hyunjin, some feelings at the end. this is really gross and i hate that i wrote it.
word count: idk like 2,800 or some shit
on AO3 too.
sorry in advance to the anons that wanted individual hyunjin and felix things but i am stupid and cannot figure out how food kinks work so i smooshed them together (literally i guess lol) and i am now going to hell goodbye. also i was eating fries with barbecue sauce last night when i got drunk and this idea hit me. also nsfw twitter is something entirely different.
recommended tracks: beware by stray kids, sexual healing (kygo remix) by marvin gaye and kygo, kerosene! by yves tumor
disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.
note: for the love of minho’s cats, do not consume alcohol. you’ll write stuff like this.
For some reason, Hyunjin always got really bad ideas when he had a couple of drinks in his system. Tonight’s bad idea, for instance, was getting his roommate to lick some ketchup off of his shirt, a big, thick glob of it resting on his sternum.
“Hey,” Hyunjin says with a bit of a slur, poking his head to the side to look into Felix’s room. “C’mere a sec, yeah?”
The younger man grumbles as he sulks his way out of his room. “What do you want now?” Felix always found Hyunjin kind of annoying, but even more so when he was drinking. He only put up with the older man because he let Felix live in his apartment for free while he was finishing up his culinary programme and needed to save money.
The two of them had a really strange relationship. They met a couple years ago when Felix had started working at Hyunjin’s parents’ restaurant. It started off polite and innocent, up until one night where all of the waitstaff decided to get drunk and play some games. The lead waiter, Minho, was a jerk who liked to watch people squirm, so when he dared Hyunjin to kiss Felix, nobody was really surprised.
What was surprising, however, is that Hyunjin actually did it. He had slammed his hands down on the table, crawling over the empty bottles of soju and cans of beer and dragged his way across the table and into Felix’s lap. The way that Hyunjin pressed his hips against the man beneath him as he grabbed Felix’s face and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss drove Felix mad for days. He didn’t want to stop kissing Hyunjin, not one bit.
“I need you to do something for me,” Hyunjin smirks, pulling Felix out of his memory. The brunette points down to his shirt and scoffs. “Clean me up.”
This was going to be one of those nights.
God, he hated how much of a snotty brat Hyunjin was. It was obvious that he had a nice, plush lifestyle growing up, being catered to hand-and-foot by all of the staff that helped raise him. Felix rolls his eyes and starts to walk to the kitchen, until Hyunjin interrupts him with a devilish grin creeping up on his face.
“Nah, wait,” he leans back against the couch, placing his arm on the back of the furniture, arrogantly smiling at the younger man. “Come clean it up. Hands-free.”
Felix grits his teeth and clenches his fist a bit. If Hyunjin didn’t fuck him so well, he wouldn’t put up with this; he would tell him off and tell him to get bent. But there he was, making his way over to the man on the couch, because he was already half-hard thinking about kissing Hyunjin’s stupid lips.
The men stared at each other for a second, before Felix huffed and straddled Hyunjin’s lap. The briny scent of the ketchup on Hyunjin’s shirt overwhelmed Felix’s sense of smell for a moment, getting worse as he bent down and brought himself closer to the viscous glob. Vinegar, sugar, and salt was all he could think about as he nervously stuck his tongue out, not really sure if this was a good idea.
“C’mon,” Hyunjin grumbles, “I wanna watch you lick it up, let’s go.”
Hyunjin was infuriating to Felix. He wanted nothing more than to punch that smirk off of his face, but he didn’t. He never would. Instead, he lets out a frustrated sigh and presses his tongue up against the older man’s shirt, the overwhelming flavour of sugary vinegar overtaking his mouth.
Felix swallowed it down, then did a couple more licks for good measure, just to piss off Hyunjin a little more. It likely worked, because the extra swipes caused the brunette to groan in irritation and grind his pelvis up in response.
“That’s a good boy,” Hyunjin moans out, reaching a hand up to grab a fistful of Felix’s hair. “Hyungie wants to play tonight and hyungie isn’t gonna be very nice to his fucktoy. You still good with using ‘red’ as your word?”
Felix scrunches his nose up in disgust as the unbearable scent of ketchup was quickly replaced by the gross stench of stale beer floating from Hyunjin’s breath. This was going to be a long night. He hesitates, thinking about how stupid the dynamic between them was, for how stupid he was for being Hyunjin’s personal cumrag, how stupid it was that he loved every second of it. He gets lost in his confused regret for a moment, then nods his head a couple times.
“Use your words,” Hyunjin commands, tugging the blond’s hair a little harder.
Fuck. Felix really loved this and it was beyond stupid.
“Yes, hyung,” he breathes out, his voice creaking a bit from the fingers in his hair.
“Good boy.” Hyunjin tugs at Felix’s hair again, taking his free hand and gripping the younger man’s hip. A devious smile comes up on Hyunjin’s face and his eyes darken before he digs his fingers into Felix’s hair and hip harder, and pushes him down, practically throwing him into the couch.
It happened so fast, Felix couldn’t really wrap his head around it, blinking his eyes rapidly as he stared into the couch cushion. He turned his head, looking up to Hyunjin towering over him with that cocky fucking smirk on his face. Normally, he hated that smirk, but right now, all Felix wanted to do was shove his dick in it.
Hyunjin reaches down to Felix’s hair again, grabbing it to roll him over. “Look at me.”
As requested, Felix timidly looks up at Hyunjin. His stomach drops a bit when Hyunjin swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and bites it.
“Open.”
Felix timidly drops his jaw, sticking his tongue out as he watches Hyunjin reach down to the plate on the table behind them, grabbing a fistful of the limp, cold fried potatoes, and his eyes instantly widened. That was a lot of fries. Was he seriously gonna shove all of them in his face?
Yes, he absolutely was. Of course he was. Hyunjin was an asshole and Felix stupidly ate it up.
Salt and grease fill Felix’s mouth as Hyunjin jams every single one of those damn fries into his face, making sure to poke the stragglers in a little harder, just for good measure. Tears started burning at the corner of Felix’s eyes, surprised and shocked at how full his mouth was, at how much discomfort coursed through his jaw.
“Cry for me, you pathetic baby,” Hyunjin laughs. “You know hyungie loves it when you cry for him.”
And so, he did. Felix didn’t really feel like crying, but he knew that Hyunjin loved it when the tears would spill down his face. He would be rewarded later with a mind-blowing orgasm, but he had to be patient. So, he let the insincere tears roll down his face, bleeding into the fries sticking out of his mouth.
“You’re so pretty when you cry.” The brunette smiles, wiping a tear off of the cheek of the man beneath him. “You’re so pretty all the time, baby. My pretty baby.”
Felix’s eyebrow twitched as he thought over what Hyunjin just said. Was he being nice and sincerely complimenting him for once, or was it just the rush of alcohol and oxytocin rushing through his veins?
Drool started spilling from both corners of Felix’s mouth as he pondered the words echoing in his mind. A strange fluttering filled his stomach as he just could not stop thinking about it. Did Felix actually enjoy this weird dynamic between them?
“C’mon,” Hyunjin whines, poking at the fries hanging from Felix’s mouth. “I wanna fill that hole with something else now. Eat them right now, please. I’m really hard and wanna come all over you.”
It was awkward to even think about how in the hell he was going to get all of those fries down his throat. They were gross and slimy and covered in saliva, which wasn’t appetizing at all to Felix. The way they disintegrated as he tried to chew them, failing miserably as squishy blobs of potato and saliva fell from his lips, it felt strange and uncomfortable. Felix never understood why Hyunjin liked forcing him to eat things, but he also just didn’t understand Hyunjin at all.
A bit of a triumphant feeling washes over Felix as he finally has an empty mouth again, like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders and he could breathe again. He didn’t have much time to appreciate the sensation, however, as Hyunjin pulls his cock out from his joggers, rubbing it up against Felix’s cheek.
Hyunjin smirks, then reaches behind him and grabs the bottle of ketchup off of the table, giving it a couple shakes as he looks down to Felix. Mentally, Felix swore he would never eat ketchup ever again after all of this was over. He knew that every time he saw it, he would think about Hyunjin squirting it all over his dick, some of the liquid splashing up against Felix’s face as it collided against their skin with force, splattering everywhere and making an absolute mess.
He would think about Hyunjin every time he thought of ketchup now, and he knew he would instantaneously get hard at the memory, and he hated how stupid that was.
Felix hated the smell of ketchup right against his nose, but the musky smell of Hyunjin’s sweaty skin mixed with it somehow made it more palatable. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Hyunjin’s face, losing himself in just how fucked-out he looked.
“Thought this would taste better than the lube, go with the flavour of the fries, yeah?” The corner of Hyunjin’s lips tilted upright as he slipped his sticky, dripping cock against Felix’s mouth. “Open up and take me, baby.”
He knew he was going to roll his eyes at the thought of this later, but he did as requested, as Hyunjin slowly pressed his cock into Felix’s mouth. The ketchup burned his nose because there was just so much of it. It bubbled up around his lips and started spilling down his chin, his throat, until it landed on his pants and the carpet, dripping down in big, thick globs. He shouldn’t enjoy this, but Felix was getting into it. Every fibre in his being said that this was stupid, their dynamic was terrible, that no sane person would enjoy taking a dick in their mouth with ketchup smeared all over it like it was a fucking hot dog.
God, he really did love how fucked up this was.
“Good boy, baby,” Hyunjin coos as his cock hits the back of Felix’s throat. “I’m gonna move now, so lemme know if it’s too much.”
Felix moans against Hyunjin’s dick, knowing that the sensation would drive his senior absolutely mad. He rolls his tongue around the top of Hyunjin’s head, then moves his hands up to grab on to Hyunjin’s hips. He wanted to palm himself through his pants, his very hard and very obvious erection painfully throbbing against the fabric of his briefs.
He just had to be patient for a little longer.
Hyunjin gives no warning before he pulls his cock back, almost completely taking it out, then he slams it back in, lightly grazing against Felix’s teeth and getting residual bits of ketchup all over them both. It was messy, it was dirty, it was filthy, but both of them were loving it too much to stop. There was something about how taboo this all was that Hyunjin loved. He loved everything about topping his roommate, about how they’d experiment with stupid kinks they found on the internet, about how much they hated each other sometimes.
There would never be another friend quite like Felix to Hyunjin, and he loved every second of their bizarre codependency on each other. They didn’t bother masturbating anymore, they just haphazardly fucked whenever and wherever they felt like it: sometimes in the kitchen, where Hyunjin took some of Felix’s brownie batter and smeared it all over his face; sometimes in the shower, right up against the glass door; sometimes they would have lazy midnight sex where one of them would groggily intrude their way into the other’s room and just push their mouth against the other’s lips, desperate for skinship.
Felix loved to pester Hyunjin, pushing his buttons just so he could get a good dicking every so often. Hyunjin loved to watch Felix inanely bite at his lips every time he came up with some masterful dish in the kitchen and just how proud he would be when it was completed.
Hyunjin also really loved it when Felix would bob his head up and down his cock because he was just so good at it. He had been with a few different people before, but the sexual chemistry between the two of them was just so good, he wasn’t sure he could ever fuck another human being on the entire planet again.
“Good boy, Felix,” Hyunjin moans, throwing his head back as he grips Felix’s blond hair. “God, you’re so good, baby. I want you on my cock forever.”
The fucking was always good, sure, but Felix loved the way that Hyunjin praised him during sex. It was so unabashedly unrestricted, and sometimes he would say really stupid shit that made it sound like they were dating each other, but he swore he could come just from the way that Hyunjin would call him a good boy. He was Hyunjin’s good boy, and he loved it.
Felix rolls his eyes back as Hyunjin’s thrusting gets a little more reckless and uneven. He was getting close, which meant that he was going to get to come soon, too. “Fuck, baby,” Hyunjin whines, starting to twitch and roll his head around erratically. “I’m gonna come, gonna come all over that pretty face of yours.”
The older man pulls back, furiously fisting his cock as he looks down at Felix, his eyes half-open and his mouth wide, ready to take all of his cum. Fuck, he looked so pretty. He was a sweaty, filthy mess with dried tears under his eyes, drying ketchup splattered all over his face, and drool dripping down his chin.
Hyunjin lets out a strained cry as he spills his seed all over Felix’s face, just adding to the absolute mess they both were. He pants rapidly as he comes down from his high. His hands drop to his sides and he groans. “That was so good,” he whimpered, then looked down to Felix, bringing a hand up to wipe some of the cum and ketchup off his cheek. “You did so well. You okay, babe?”
Felix nods a couple of times, swallowing the weird mixture of fluids in his mouth down, and he looks up to Hyunjin. “I’ll feel a lot better after you get me off and we shower.” The two men awkwardly chuckle, blatantly ignoring the mess that was all around them. “I’m never gonna look at ketchup the same way again, though.”
They both may have had some weird dynamic between the two of them, and it may have been a little stupid, but it was them. As much as he hated to admit it, Felix loved it, and Hyunjin really did, too.
tags: @datura-inoxia and @huidawntrash
#tw: food#tw: degradation#tw: gross#tw: weird#tw: ketchup as lube lol#i cannot believe this#kinktober
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Modern Inheritance: Two for Flinching
(A/N: Some wound description and technically self harm? {wound burning for infection control}, so warnings for that. Just some Eragon and co. during the run to the Varden. This one actually has a bit more setup for Eragon’s book 1/early book 2 characterization, but I’m not sure how I did. He’s hard for me to write. There’s also quite a few mentions of tech and magic mechanics that I’ve worked into MIC, but those will be mentioned more in the tags.)
~~~
Eragon winced as Saphira landed. Per their usual travel plans since Gil'ead and Arya's awakening he had spent the night flying with Saphira while the others traveled at a continued breakneck pace on the ground with the horses. It was wearing them all down, even Saphira, and the few hours of sleep they managed to get during the daylight hours did little to alleviate the stress travel was putting on their bodies.
Camp was already in the midst of being set as Eragon untied his legs from the saddle and slid down Saphira's side. He landed then grimaced as he fell to his knees, muscles feeling like jelly.
"Did you see anything worth mentioning?" Brom asked as the young Rider pushed himself up. When he shook his head, not trusting himself to speak aloud, the older man grunted and turned back to unsaddling Snowfire. "There's supposed to be some old, ruined staging points of the Varden's around here. Must be further up ahead. We're going slower than I thought."
"We're going as fast as we can." Murtagh snapped. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. Lately Eragon had noticed that the other youth was becoming increasingly agitated, quick to anger, and it wasn't just the lack of sleep and lingering sunburn getting to him."If you want to warn the Varden so bad, do some of your little magic tricks and tell them about the Urgals."
Arya spoke quickly from where she crouched coaxing the fire to life, cutting off Brom's scathing retort and ending the argument before it began. "It doesn't exactly work like that. Besides, the Varden has specific wards around their strongholds, preventing scrying and other magical forms of communication."
Eragon eased himself down next to the elf, trying to warm fingers stiff from flying so high in the chill clouds. "Then how do they stay in contact with you and anyone else outside their hiding spots? It seems dangerous to be so isolated."
The woman gently rearranged a few sticks to give the young flames more air and slipped a dark object under the growing pile of embers. "Special radios were developed, using the fingerprint technology similar to lock on my backpack. Mine was destroyed when Durza tried to operate it himself." She cracked a slight grin, still focused on her task. "Well, actually, it blew up in his face. Brain matter, just everywhere. Huh-hoo, he was pissed when he got back."
"The Varden rigs them to explode if the person's fingerprint doesn't match?!" Eragon recoiled slightly, agast. "What if someone's kid found it and thought it was a toy?"
Off to the side, Brom snorted, muttering, "I bet it wasn't the Varden who–"
"No, I rigged it up myself, and only for those who bore ill-will to the Varden and free races in case it fell into the wrong hands."
"Knew it." Brom scoffed. Arya looked over her shoulder to the old Rider and rolled her eyes. "You just like seeing things explode."
"Yeah, well, I don't think I've laughed so hard in years than when that thing went off. I think I even cracked a rib."
Brom shook his head, but let the matter go.
It wasn't long before the fire was high and the day's meal heated. They sat around the burning logs, Saphira even laying her head down to occupy a third of the circle, and planned the next few legs of travel. When the food was eaten, the talk dwindled away as they all sat staring into the flames, tired but not willing to sleep just yet.
Then Saphira flicked out her tongue, as if tasting the air, and projected her thoughts to the group.
'Whoever has the infected wound should care for it soon.' Everyone looked up, mildly startled out of their inner musings. 'It will turn into a deep-rot in another day or so. Just thought they should know.'
"You can smell things like that?" Eragon asked, surprised. "Are you like one of those dogs that can smell cancer?"
The dragon cut her eyes at him and her lip lifted slightly. 'I am nothing like a dog.'
The boy smiled apologetically, realizing his mistake. "I know. Sorry. But it's pretty cool being able to smell things like that."
Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "Aye, it's cool. But shouldn't we be more focused on who the hell was hiding a possibly necrotic wound? Things like that need to be addressed. It would only slow us down more."
Then a ringing SMACK! broke through the air as Brom suddenly slapped Arya upside the head. Hard.
"What the hell were you thinking, girl?" He growled, expression dark.
"Ow! Hey, why the fuck do you think it's me?!" The elf retorted sharply, rubbing the back of her head and glaring back at him.
Everyone, even Saphira, gave the woman a deadpan look that clearly asked 'really?'
She put her hands up. "Alright, alright, so yeah, maybe a cut or two got infected, but I'm already fixing them, okay?" Arya snarled, pointing at the handle of a knife sticking out of the dying fire's thick pile of coals.
Silence fell.
"Are you sure that is the best idea?" Brom asked slowly. He seemed to have calmed down a bit now that Arya had revealed having an actual plan and wasn't just ignoring her injuries. His change in tone made Eragon wonder if the latter was a common occurrence. "There's always magic. You don't have to–"
"And who, exactly, would cast it, hm? Eragon? Can you instruct him in the intricacies of infection cleansing within the next few minutes? I've still got enough drug in me to complicate healing spells, so that's out of the question. And I'll not have you working spells on me, not when the Varden will need you at your best." Arya shook her head. "No, it will have to be burned."
Murtagh stood at the mention of burning. "Oh, bloody hell. Not right after we ate!" He retreated to where he had tossed his saddlebags and began unrolling his sleeping bag. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again– you're bloody insane, Arya. I don't want to see this. I'm going to sleep."
"Sweet dreams, Murtagh." The elf called after him in a singsong voice. "Don't let the sizzling wake you up!" The young man let out a noise of disgust and threw himself on the blankets. "Wuss."
'She can't be serious about this!' Eragon exclaimed to Saphira, worried about the elf who was unlacing her boots as calmly as a praying monk. 'She's already hurt enough! We should offer to heal it. I know she shot Brom down, but–'
Saphira cut him off. 'Little one, do you honestly think that we know enough about healing to cleanse even a scratch of infection without making it worse? Brom has explained before that waíse heill has its limitations, one of the most dangerous being that if it closes an infected injury the infection will survive beneath the skin.' Eragon grimaced, cursing himself for nearly forgetting one of the nuances of the spell. 'Once the infected flesh is burned away, thenwe can attempt to heal it for Arya.'
Her logic was sound. 'I still don't like it. But you're right.'
The dragon sniffed, a short puff of smoke dissipating into the air above her nostrils. 'Of course I am.'
Eragon grinned, then turned his attention back to where Brom and Arya still sat by the fire as the older Rider grunted, "That looks like it hurt. You're lucky it didn't break." The boy approached them as Arya finished rolling her pant leg up to her knee.
"Perks of elvish bones, I guess." Arya muttered, gently testing the skin around the injury. On the outside of her left calf was a nasty, scraping gash, most likely left by the sharp edge of a hobnailed boot if the bruising pattern was anything to go by. The skin around the ragged edges was pink and red, and cracks ran through the roughly palm sized scab covering the cut and revealing damp, yellowish flesh beneath. Pinkish, yellow tinged fluid leaked from the cracks. "Damn. At least it isn't necrotic. You were right, Saphira. This one is about to turn." The elf flashed a thankful smile to the dragon. "Hell, you might have just saved my leg."
'You're quite welcome.'
Eragon winced when he saw the wound. "After you, uh…burn it, I can close it for you. A burn isn't too hard to heal, and it would keep it from getting infected again and slowing you down."
For a for a split second the memory of healing the elf's back jumped to the forefront of his mind. Not images of the horrifying wounds, but of warm skin, lean muscle and an unmistakably feminine body. Eragon felt the tips of his tapering ears turn bright red, and he quickly stuck his hands in his pockets, pinching himself hard through the fabric. It was definitely not the time for those kinds of thoughts.
He was thankful, then, that Arya looked over to Brom after giving him only a quick glance. "What do you think, old man? I can keep up well enough. Wouldn't mind a little less risk of that changing though."
Brom crossed his arms. "It's up to the boy and Saphira. Do you two think you can handle it?"
Eragon nodded firmly. "I'm sure I can. Definitely if Saphira helps. I really don't mind it, and it's the least I can do after being unable to heal the rest of your wounds properly."
"Hey, you and Saphira don't owe me anything. You saved my life in probably three different ways so far, so I'm the one that owes you all." Arya pulled a field medkit from her bag and tore off two short wads of gauze from a roll. "If you both want to heal it and it won't put either of you in danger, I won't complain. It won't be the last time I say it, but thank you. Really."
Eragon smiled, a strange warmth bubbling in his heart at the elf's expression of gratitude. In the back of his mind he sensed Saphira examining his emotions, and was a little confused when the dragon mentally chuckled at them. "You're welcome. I like to help where I can."
"Mm. Let's get this over with then." Without further ado Arya pulled the knife from the coals.
It was an old blade of human make, and by the seal stamped on the handle Eragon recognized it as one of the combat knives he had grabbed from a soldier during their mad escape from Gil'ead. In the light of the midmorning sun it was difficult to judge if the metal was glowing fiercely, but the blade had acquired a unmistakeable, faint orange color at the sides and an inch down the tip. At the thicker sections it seemed to be lit on the inside by a deep, dark cherry red glow.
Arya took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and went to stick the wad of gauze in her mouth as she lowered the hot blade towards her leg. Brom's hand suddenly settled on her shoulder, and she looked up at him, startled out of her grim task.
"Do you want me to do it?" The old Rider's voice was surprisingly gentle, soft even. In the months he had traveled with him, Eragon had heard him speak in such a tone only a handful of times, mostly murmured under his breath to himself or to Jeod when talking about the Varden and times past. Despite their rough banter, Eragon realized the Brom and Arya were undoubtedly good friends, to the point that he wondered if the two had fought together on the battlefield.
Arya looked between Brom and the knife for a moment, then sighed, "You might have to if I flinch and can't keep up the pressure. I want to try it myself first, but thanks for having my back." Brom nodded and pulled his hand back as the elf bit down on the gauze.
Then, without any other warning, she tore her nails across the gash in her leg, ripping away the disintegrating scab, and shoved the flat of the glowing knife into the now open wound.
Eragon jerked back, flinching as his self preservation instinct screamed at the indecency of blatant self-destruction. It wasn't the visual that disturbed him, but the sound of the metal burning away first the blood and fluids, and then the infected flesh beneath. It hissed and sizzled, and occasionally sounded like the powerful magnet toys he used to buy at the fair and toss in the air hear their buzzing song.
For a moment Arya's muscles snapped rigid, then she seemed to recover and her face fell into a blank, emotionless mask. After letting the blade rest in its original spot for several long seconds she lifted it and exposed the two remaining sections of the gash to the heat, quickly wiping the knife on the other piece of gauze between each burning. Eragon's stomach did a sickening maneuver similar to a double full flip he had witnessed Katrina do at one of her gymnastics presentations with Roran when he realized that she was wiping seared flesh off the blade.
Then it was over. The entire procedure couldn't have taken more than a minute, but the scent of burned meat hung in the air. Where infection had once turned tissue yellow and white, there was now only bright red muscle shot through with soot and darkened epidermis.
"That...wasn't as bad as I thought it would be." Arya hissed and spat the gauze out. Her teeth were clenched and voice tight, but her movements were controlled, smooth, and betrayed no other indications that she was in pain. "I'm not looking forward to it if I need to do it again, though."
Brom rubbed his face, a little paler than usual. "There's something just…so much more disturbing about seeing you do it to yourself."
"Dear Gods above, I HEARD IT ALL THE WAY OVER HERE!" Came a distraught groan from Murtagh's sleeping bag. Arya snatched a stick from the pile next to the fire, abandoning the still-hot knife, and whipped it at the tucked form huddled in the bag. It pegged the young man exactly where his head should have been, and muffled swearing drifted through the camp before it dwindled off as he rolled over and tried his best to sleep.
Eragon scooted closer, forcing himself to swallow back his queasiness. "Here, can we…." Arya leaned her head back and nodded, eyes shut tight as heat lingered in the wound.
Reaching out a thicker tendril of his consciousness to Saphira, the young Rider met the mind of his dragon halfway. Their thoughts, consciousnesses, and minds twisted around each other, binding together more strongly than they usually did. Saphira's energy flowed into Eragon, and he in turn shared some of his until the stream equaled out and they were one.
Together they moved Eragon's hand out, the Gedwëy Ignasia shining bright, and uttered the words needed to heal the now cleansed burn. The icy magic rushed through their joined minds, knitting the skin back together with the ease of water flowing from one side of a creak to the next.
As they completed their task, Saphira pulled back from the increased contact, again leaving their minds connected by the usual tendrils of thought. Once separated, Saphira mentioned to Eragon, 'Your magic tickles.' and rubbed her snout on the side of her foreleg.
'Does it? It always feels cold to me.' Eragon sat back on his heels, checking the wound to make sure he had not left any scarring this time. Like the other times he and Saphira had worked magic while bound together, he only felt a slight drain on their combined strength. 'I know when something is healed on me it itches like crazy though. Is that what you're feeling?'
'Being a conduit is different from both casting and being casted on. Acting as the in-between must be giving me the sensation of both the cold and the itching. It makes my scales tickle.' As if to demonstrate her point, the scales at Saphira's neck lifted slightly with a sound similar to dry leaves being whisked away by a strong wind. The scales rose and lowered in a ripple along her entire body, giving the distinct impression that she had shivered. 'So, how did we do?'
"Very well for such a simply worded spell." Eragon realized that Saphira had projected her last thought to Arya and Brom as well when the elf answered. She tested the new skin, not at all bothered that they had not healed the bruising, and seemed happy with the results of their casting. "You're quite adept at magic for knowing so few words in the Ancient Language, Eragon. From what I've seen, you have an uncanny ability to influence your spells more with your intentions than the words you use."
Brom grunted, nodding in Eragon's direction. The older man's chest seemed to swell with pride at the praise directed at his pupil. "Aye, he's got a gift. And Saphira carries it as well. I've never heard of a dragon acting as such a strong conduit before. You both are learning well."
Touched, Eragon dipped his head as both he and Saphira answered the compliments. Any praise coming from Brom was few and far between, and now he was practically bragging to Arya about their progress.
A comfortable silence fell once again. Brom laid out his sleeping bag, surrendering his usual first watch to Arya at her insistence that 'old men need their rest,' and Saphira lifted her head from where it rested to tuck it under the tip of her tail, settling in to sleep. Arya tugged her boots back on and reloaded her pistol. Eragon stayed by the fire with her for a few more minutes, content to be close to the elf for a little longer before he too retired for sleep.
"Oh! Right." Arya suddenly looked over at him, a gleam in her dark eyes. He met her gaze, puzzled, then let out a yelp as her fist shot out and punched him in the arm twice. He knew it was probably a love tap for someone of elvish strength, but it still stung.
"Hey!" Eragon leaned away from her, rubbing his sore arm. It would definitely be bruised by the time he woke that night. "What was that for?"
The elf grinned, rising to her feet to stretch and take her place for the first watch. She slung her sword and its harness over one shoulder, and Eragon felt a hot blush blossom on his cheeks when she casually roughed up his hair as she stepped by him. "Two for flinching."
#modern inheritance#modern inheritance cycle#modern inheritance story#inheritance cycle#eragon#murtagh#arya#brom#saphira#two for flinching#some introduction stuff on how magic works in MIC#i'm still fleshing it out#but 'conduit' casting is something that's stayed with MIC since this story#mmm wound burning#do not recommend#at all#tw: wounds#tw: infection#brom being proud dad#murtagh being squeamish#hey check it out the fingerprint radio tech is introduced!#yes arya's blew up in durza's face#yes it was fantastic#no it was not fantastic after he regenerated
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Treasure Ch. 1 (Penntin)
(Ao3)
Pairing: “Penny” Adiyodi/Quentin Coldwater, past Penny/Pearl Sunderland, past Quentin/Alice Quinn, background Margo & Eliot
Fandom: The Magicians (TV)
Length of series: who knows
Warnings/tags: magic (like duh), universe alterations, canon divergence (obviously), spells gone wrong, magic rituals, slow build, enemies to friends to lovers, first kiss, first time, snuggling and cuddling, Penny is very physically affectionate believe it or not, attempted humor, fluff, angst, smut, happy ending
Summary:
Quentin fucks up a spell (Penny may or may not have also helped/hindered).
Quentin is the reason Penny can’t see unless he’s hugging him and also why everything smells like the Bog of Eternal Stench.
Quentin’s run-amuck brain brings all sorts of problems to the table.
Quentin is starting to make Penny feel funny in his chest (and his pants).
Fuck Quentin, man.
Author’s Notes: I’m nearly through season one and am also not willing to put in hours of research on this universe’s magical rituals, so -- keep that in mind, I guess. That being said, I am in LOVE with this show and also this pairing. 78 stories on ao3?!? Fair, but sad…. I am falling hard and fast for Penntin (idk the ship name). So I had to write out everything in my brain. So here. Plays off of some the other fics on here, particularly “Practical applications of falling in love” -- kudos to you, @echomoon, that was amazing and I can’t stop thinking on the concept!!
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The smell was everywhere. It burned through Penny’s nose like it had a personal vendetta against every single one of his nostril hairs (which, it had been kindly pointed out a few years ago by a bitch who will remain unnamed, numbered quite a few. Especially visible when underneath him, which almost everyone was in this apparent plane of Hobbits. Right, moving on. Bitch.)
He covered his nose with his hands, then the scarf wrapped loosely around his neck - purple silk, today - but the smell just kept coming and coming until he was nearly choking.
In the back of his mind, Penny could feel the waves of panic, frustration, and disgust coming off of Quentin fucking Coldwater in a mixture much similar to what he was feeling. More panic, or course, cause the guy was a walking circus accident, and some various streams of babbling mind diarrhea lamenting about the awful smell. Surprisingly, the guy had a vocabulary Penny could almost be impressed by. But he was much more focused on himself and his dying nose, no matter how insistent Quentin’s feelings were.
And Penny would like to point out that he never willingly associated with that geek. It was always outside forces convening to push them together, whether in a study group or room assignments or the weird-ass plot against their lives that somehow connected Mothman and cursed daggers and creepy pedaphilic authors (that he would have liked to punch in the face).
Of course, that ever-present, invisible asshole (fate, god, the Dean; what did he care?) pushed them together yet again with more disastrous results.
Like them being together in the same room at all.
Like them being paired up to do spell work.
Like them fucking it up.
The disastrous fucking results he just knew were going to happen were, apparently, this smell. He had scented some pretty bad (literal) shit in his lifetime, but nothing compared to the absolute atrocity that was Quentin bungling a simple ass locator spell.
“Oh, my god!”
And that was the fucking idiot, desperately clutching his ever-present baggy shirt over his face like it would do some good against it. Magical stenches did not, as it appeared, let themselves be blocked out so easily.
Penny rolled his eyes - watering like a baby’s, he might add - and made his way over to a window on the backside of the class, pounding at the frame with his fist when it wouldn’t fucking budge.
Stupid Quentin, going and burning his nose because he couldn’t fucking concentrate on anything other than Alice’s tits. Bet he had something to do with the stuck window, too.
“Come ON, fucking open!” Penny muttered.
He was desperate for fresh air. He would beg and cry if he had to - his eyes were already crying, and also did he mention fuck this? - but he just needed this goddamn window to open up, so if he could just get the latch to jiggle a little more to the left-
Aha! Fresh air!
Penny stuck his head out of the window and breathed in deeply, opening his mouth as wide as it would go like a dog on a car ride. He gulped and drank in the life-giving oxygen -- but, but it was-
“-ON’T PENNY! GET AWAY FROM THERE!”
Ugh, Quentin. Trust him to fuck up not only the air inside the classroom but the whole fucking campus as well. He would have to be funding the entire infirmary at this point.
Sighing (and then retching), Penny pulled back to shut the window and noticed something real fucking peculiar. And creepy.
Either he had been blinded by the horrible smell - and it was that bad, he wasn’t immediately discounting the theory - or a thick fucking fog had rolled in while Penny wasn’t paying attention. Cause he couldn't see anything. All across his field of vision was grey -- actually, it was more of a murky blue than grey, and it was moving at a surprising speed for having no conceivable end to it. And it was so thick (like Quentin, god Penny was going to fucking kill him).
“Penny! Please get away from the window!”
Quentin was pleading with him now, and Penny almost felt bad about how scared he sounded -- not entirely, though; that voice crack was hilarious. Idiot fucking deserved to be scared. Look what he had done!
He turned around to tell him just that, except for, uh, he couldn’t see him. The fog was in the room.
The podium near Penny’s left side was a vaguely visible outline, and the front lab table even less so -- man, don’t even get him started on the desks and chairs. There was nothing. He could be in Fillory for all he knew- oh. Hell to the fucking no.
“Quentin!” He roared, “Where the fuck are we?!”
“Wh- what do you mea-- here! We’re in class! Where the hell are you?”
So that was a relief, if a disappointing one (those were called oxymorons, right? Fits. Quentin was a moron who was causing him to run out of fucking oxygen.)
“I’m by the window, dumbass! Trying to get some fresh fucking air, cause you fucking destroyed it all and replaced it with dog shit!”
This is worse than dog shit.
Oh god-fucking-damn. He did not need Quentin’s thoughts right now. Penny carefully moved forward, sweeping one foot in an arch across his path before he stepped down.
He figured Quentin was doing the same, because he heard the rambling oh fuck what was that where am I where’s Penny I’m such an idiot oh my god was that a rat streaming through his head as Coldwater, clearly, let all his wards down in an effort to fully concentrate on navigation and breathing.
This once, Penny couldn’t quite blame him for devoting all of his energy to the task at hand instead of blocking him off -- but it was still annoying. He was so good at concentrating and yet Quentin managed to get into his brain clear as glass. And he was so fucking annoying.
“Fuck, Coldwater! Shut the hell up!” Penny sighed and paused, running a hand over his hair. The waves of panic were increasing. “Just stay where you are and I’ll come to you. But stop thinking, please.”
“Yeah, okay- oh! Ow, fuck…”
There was a loud crash and then Quentin's pained noises as he clearly ran into some sort of furniture. Penny sighed again. What idiot had let this guy anywhere near a spellbook? (Nevermind how powerful he occasionally was -- that didn’t make up for stupidity.)
Penny breathed deeply - the one meditation practice he admitted could help, if only to calm him down - and kept making his slow way across the room. He was pretty sure that he was in the center of the room now, but he also knew that not being able to see made distances seem much longer than they were.
He took another step and ended up tripping over the same goddamn chair Quentin had apparently ran into, because his body landed on another guy’s that made a pathetic “ow” noise again.
“Jesus Christ, Quent, you could of at least picked yourself back up off of… the…. floor,” he slowly trailed off, looking around.
There was no more fog. There was no more burning smell. The classroom was exactly like it was before they had started the chant -- empty desks and chairs left behind by all the people who didn’t have slow idiot’s for lab partners, wood paneling that tried and failed to look classy, and the front lab table covered in various magical instruments.
“What the hell?”
Quentin sat up underneath him - as much as he could - rubbing his nose and sniffing deeply. Penny agreed. The air felt amazing, like a soothing balm on his poor, abused air canals.
He quickly realized that there was still a geek that was responsible for all this mess half-lying on the floor underneath his body, and that someone could walk in at any moment. So that was un-fucking-desirable, in multiple ways (ugh, Quentin. Just thinking about him made Penny shudder.)
With a quick brace of his arms, Penny bolted upright and took several steps away from the nerd -- back into the fog and the awful smell.
“Ah!”
He looked around, confused and pissed off. Was this some kind of joke the kid was trying to pull on him?
Penny tried to do a simple fire spell, then again, and again; each time more desperately than the last. Nothing. It was like the fog was muting his magic -- it was curling in scarily tentacle-like clouds around his hands, engulfing them in dense smoke and snuffing out any sparks he could have produced.
Now Penny was panicking a little.
He was still mostly pissed off, mostly- extremely pissed at Quentin, possibly more than he ever had been before, and frustrated with just a twinge of panic at the absence of his magic; the opposite of the nervous nellie probably still huddled around a chair leg on the floor.
Something grabbed at his foot, and, suddenly, the smell and fog had gone away again. He could breathe and see and there was a rather large flame coming from his hands, a culmination of the previously snuffed flames all working together to express his rage through fire.
When he looked down, Quentin was actually clinging to his foot, not a chair, and looking very nervous. What was new. Penny tried to kick him off and succeeded after a moment, the blueness invading so suddenly he didn’t even notice the smell for a second.
Then it was gone, again - he was gonna get whiplash from this shit - and Quentin was hugging his leg, again. This time he looked more sheepish than nervous, and it made Penny want to kick him in the face.
(Ch. 2 on Tumblr)
“I, uh- I think that the fog and the smell only happens when we’re not touching each other.”
What.
Well, it made sense considering the last three minutes of god dicking with the light switch - not to mention Quentin’s history of idiocracy and miss-castings, but-. Come on.
“Coldwater, I. Am. Going. To. Fucking. Kill. You.”
-----
(Ch. 2 on Tumblr)
#penntin#penny x quentin#penny adiyodi#quentin coldwater#the magicians#fic#fanfic#fanfiction#my writing#lulucrowproductions#slow burn#magic#spells#messed up spells#humor#fluff#enemies to friends to lovers#enemies to friends#friends to lovers
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Alone Together Ch 3
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22311754/chapters/54522319
Chapter summary:
“The Eyes…” Hyrule’s voice whispers from between clasped arms.
Suddenly, Hyrule throws his head up and away from his knees, eyes large and faraway. His eyes flick left right left right, somewhere or some when else. He reaches out a hand to no one but the rain. Then, slowly, far too slowly to be natural, he turns too bright eyes first to Legend and then Four.
“The Eyes of Ganon are everywhere.”
Somehow, the rain gets colder.
Or: A series of fics focused on Four and his interactions, inside and out.
Four usually enjoys the rain.
Most would probably assume he wouldn't. Rain meant high humidity, which often meant having to crank his fires even higher in order to fight off the cursed moisture that affects the melting point of metals. Rain also meant less people wandering the dirt roads beyond Hyrule Town, ergo, less people coming in to buy or commission weapons.
Some might also assume he hated rain due to his– uhhhm– reduced stature and its apparent susceptibility to the cold.
But the people who assumed that would be wrong. Every single part of Four finds joy in the rain.
Part of him loves it for its practicality; the way he can easily open a window in the forge to let out the hot air, making it easier to breath. A breath of fresh air to cool his lungs from the smoldering heat.
Another loves it on principle, an excuse to get out of the forge and spruce up around the house while they have less people bursting in and messing everything up holy Hylia why are customers the worst? why can't they put shit back? it's all organized by species! they KNOW this sword doesnt go here! why the FUCK would they put it here???
A third likes its soft presence, a gentle staccato heard peripherally as he reads. The way it patters unobtrusively yet universally throughout the house as they go about their separate work. Something unifying even while apart.
The last loves the results; warm, creamy tea by the fire with the others maybe followed by a run through the puddles outside if he’s good enough at guilt tripping them with puppy dog eyes.
All of him loves its smell and the cool, refreshing feeling it leaves in the air, battling away the overly warm winds common to his Hyrule.
So yes, Four usually enjoys the rain.
But not right now.
Right now it sucks.
It is absolutely pouring and has been since they had set off from their cave that morning.
They’re in Hyrule’s Hyrule– Goddesses, that sounds stupid C’mon thats not nice– headed toward what the traveling hero had called a nearby town.
A nearby town that is apparently more than a three hour walk away.
To be fair, he did say ‘relatively nearby.’ Stated plainly. Flat but at least diplomatic.
A fat lot of good that does us now. Sniped back, pissed for the sake of being pissed at this point.
Four sighs, making sure not to let his annoyance pull his face into a scowl. He knows it's no use getting angry at anyone. It was either walk through the rain, or stay in the cave until the inclement weather let up.
One entailed a cold but ultimately painless three hour walk. The other, being in an enclosed space with 8 other versions of himself for an unknown period of time.
He knows which one he would choose any day. No one needs a bored Wind and Wild with access to unlimited bombs. Or Warriors and Legend forced to share close quarters with no end in sight. Or Twilight and Time animatedly discussing farming techniques for hours with no escape.
Not even the Triforce of Courage would make him brave enough to face that.
Doesn't mean I have to like it… Agitated but calmer, the ocean’s surface settling after a storm.
Now if only this storm would let up.
Four swipes a hand across his face for what feels like the millionth time that day, brushing away the droplets of water threatening to drip into his eyes from the ridge of his eyebrows. Pin pricks of not-quite-pain flare across his cheeks as more freezing rain whips against his already cold skin.
There is a dull ache in his head courtesy of the ponytail he has pulled his hair into. It sits at the back of his head, soggy and drooping, pulling at his scalp. However, the smithy makes no move to remove it from its tie. He had gotten tired of tucking away the sopping wet curtains of hair at around the one hour mark of their walk.
He’ll take the slight headache over wet hair perpetually in his eyes and mouth, thank you very much.
He, unfortunately, can't do anything about his tunic. The patchwork cloth hangs sodden and heavy from his frame, slapping against his forearms and thighs as he trudges behind the others. His boots are likewise sopping wet, water squishing up between his toes with each step. It feels like he's walking barefoot through a freezing swamp. Uncomfortable and vaguely disgusting.
To put it shortly– Oh, fuck off– he’s having a terrible time.
But at least he’s not alone in that department.
From his vantage point near the back, Four can see Hyrule as he leads the group, normally fluffy brunette hair slicked back and stuck to his skull as he treads onward determinedly. Even from behind, Four can tell that his arms are crossed tightly over his chest. Whether it’s from concern, habit, or to ward off the cold, he can’t tell.
Legend and Sky walk behind the traveling hero, almost shoulder to shoulder with one another as they plod onwards. An unusual pair to be sure. Well, at least it would be, if Sky hadn’t divulged to Four earlier that morning that he was taking it upon himself to keep Legend in line for the day. The already snappish Link could blow his gasket at the drop of a hat on a good day, let alone their current circumstances.
But even Legend would think twice about losing his cool with Sky, and the chosen hero knew it. Not enough people give Sky credit for his machinations, the short hero muses as he watches Sky throw a disarming smile and an unheard comment to the pink haired hero, who looks like he's grinding his teeth to stumps with the effort of keeping his snark in check.
Weaponized kindness is not something to be underestimated. Four should know; part of him wields it just as effectively against the others– a hot knife through butter.
Come on guys, I’m not that bad. The words themselves indignant, but undercut with a warm tinge of self-satisfaction.
Easy for you to say. You’ve never been on the receiving end of one of your disappointed looks. Breezes back, flashes of the exact face blinking into existence behind Four’s eyes. Warm amber eyes clouded over and brows furrowed. Freckled cheeks drawn in and lips pouted.
Four feels himself shutter and not from the cold. Yeesh, just the thought of it makes him feel bad.
I just don't like hearing him cry is all. Words grumbled.
Oh, you don’t have to convince us. Tone that of pointed indifference. A verbal nudge in the ribs.
For once in your life, shut up! Voice rising quickly like the tide. More embarrassed than actually annoyed.
Softy. Comes the definitive response, three different tones shaping the thought.
Four shakes his head, a slight smile finding its way onto his face despite the circumstances. Sometimes it paid to have four distinctive thought processes running at once, if only to derive enjoyment from three of them ripping the fourth to shreds.
A wet slapping noise draws Four’s attention away from the teasing massacre currently occupying his mind.
Next to him, Four can see Warriors trudging with a weary expression on his face. His normally majestic scarf hangs heavily from his neck, sopping wet. With each step, the cloth smacks into the back of his legs, the source of the noise that had alerted the smithy.
Warriors seems to have had enough of it, because he takes ahold of the part of the scarf wrapped around his neck and swings the cloth around to secure it more tightly against his throat. In his annoyance, Four can see that the older hero has used more force than he had probably intended.
Oh no It’s his own fault There’s no time to warn him This is gonna be good.
Four watches with mounting– excitement? apprehension?– anticipation as the water logged cloth sweeps around and around Warriors’ neck before the end of the fabric reaches the Captain’s unsuspecting face, slapping him with a resounding wet clap.
The older hero freezes in shock, the sodden scarf remaining stuck in place for a moment before slowly sloughing off his face, leaving an absolutely shocked and sputtering expression in its wake.
The Pretty Boy glances around to make sure no one saw that and catches Four’s gaze locked on him. Blue eyes widen into a pleading look.
Four lets the corners of his lips raise minutely.
Oh yes. He did, in fact, see that.
The captain lets out a quiet groan and speeds up his steps, head ducking lower as the tips of his ears turn a faint pink.
Four forces down the laughter threatening to escape his lips. Better to let the Captain stew in embarrassment for the moment and bring it up later, when he’s not expecting it. Preferably with Legend present.
Karma for all the ‘kiddo’ jabs and short jokes.
What goes around, comes around.
Like a wet scarf? Four’s left eye twitches, a wink almost slipping from his brain into real life.
I hate that I’m associated with you.
You aren’t just associated with me. You are m– Shit!
Though his toes are numb from the cold, Four can feel as his left foot slips too far forward, gliding across the rain slicked grass like it’s ice. His right foot sweeps forward automatically, trying to stabilize him, but only succeeding in sliding forward as well.
A jolt of sick anticipation wells up in his stomach.
So much for having dirt on Warriors.
But before gravity has its way with him , a warm hand reaches out and pushes between his shoulder blades. After a moment, Four’s boots finally find purchase back on the ground, stabilizing the short hero before he falls flat on his ass and slides down the small hill they are on.
“Careful,” Time says as he steps past the now steadied smith, words flat with an odd mix of weariness, irony, and humor. “It’s slippery.”
Before Four can thank the older hero for the save, there is a shout of “wait!” and two blue blurs of movement rush past Four’s other side, close enough for him to feel the splatter of water and displaced air brush against him as they do.
A trail of boisterous laughter follows behind the blurs. As the two descend down the hill, the shapes resolve themselves into Wild and Wind, one standing upright on a shield while the other rides sitting down on his like a sled.
“Yeah, Four!” Wind’s voice shouts, giggly and growing fainter as he speeds away. “It’s slippery!”
Wind and Wild’s laughs mingle and fade as they reach the foot of the hill, both boys splashing into more runoff waiting for them at the bottom. Sky and Legend, standing too close, jump back a shade too late and end up with water sprayed up onto their pants.
Well, pants and bare legs respectively.
Thats what he gets for not fucking wearing pants.
Four watches as the pink haired hero lets out a hiss, furiously (and futilely) wiping at his legs while Sky simply leans down and helps Wind up from the puddle with a fondly exasperated shake of his head.
With a roll of his eyes and a grumble, Legend steps up to Wild with a hand outstretched to ostensibly help him up as well. But, as the scarred teen reaches out to take it, Legend’s face scrunches, a smile with too many teeth splitting his face and he stomps down, throwing water into the younger hero’s face.
For a second, the smithy thinks Wild will lash out with a splash in retaliation, but the scarred teen simply wipes a hand down his face and then grins up at Legend.
Quick as a whip, Wild grabs the veteran hero’s hand with two of his own and yanks.
Legend lets out a squawk and goes face first into the water.
Wild scrambles out of the puddle and out of the danger zone of Legend’s flailing arms, laughing as he does. Wind greets him with a high five while Sky watches on with a small smile.
Hyrule steps forward to help his predecessor out while trying to quell the smile on his lips as he does. No need to piss off the pink haired hero more.
As Four watches this all unfold, Twilight finally comes to stand next to him. The man sighs and Four glances at him as they begin to trudge down the hill together. The farmhand’s shoulders slump under the weight of his sodden pelt. He looks exhausted. And he smells like wet dog.
His face is tired but as he looks at the others– Warriors, Wind, and Wild laughing, Legend glaring from over Hyrule’s shoulder, Sky and Time looking on, not offering to help in the slightest– as he looks at them, something about the elder seems to soften and the bags under his eyes seem to lighten, if only a little.
“I swear,” he says, voice airy with an exhale as he shakes his head. “Those kids are going to kill me.”
“Ah, youth,” Four agrees with a sage nod.
Twilight glances down, giving Four a dry look despite the wet hair hanging in front of his eyes.
“Don’t push it.”
…
It only takes a few moments for Four and Twilight to reach where the rest of the group waits for them.
Now that Four is paying more attention to his surroundings instead of keeping his head bowed against the rain, he can see that they are walking down into a small valley between two hill ranges.
What Four had thought was just a large puddle that Wind and Wild (and Legend) had fallen into is actually a small stream that cuts in and out around the mounds of dirt. It babbles lightly, slightly swollen with the newly added run off from the surrounding hills.
Twilight clears it in a single stride.
Show off.
Four follows, but needs a small hop to avoid the water.
Hyrule smiles as they finally draw near.
“We’re close now!” the traveling hero says. He points over the crest of the hill they stand at the foot of. “It’s just at the bottom of that hill.”
“Finally,” Legend spits, futilely wringing out his hat. He slaps the wet cloth over the back of his head with a scowl directed at Wild. The teen smiles back.
Time nods in approval. “Good. That should give us enough time to find a place to stay and gather supplies.” A single eye flicks back to Hyrule. “You said there was a hotel of some kind?”
“Yeah,” An emphatic nod from Hyrule. “There’s an abandoned house at the edge of town. The shopkeeper rents it out to travelers. There should be enough room for all of us.”
“Then let’s get a move on,” Time says, getting a nod from in response.
With the thought of a warm and dry place to stay so close, the group sets off up the hill in brighter spirits. Hyrule in particular, Four notes, strides forward with quickened steps, taking up the lead once again as he practically jogs up the hill.
Before long, they crest the hill top, giving the group the chance to finally see the town that had necessitated four hours of walking in misery.
Thats it What did you expect So small Well you heard how he talked about his Hyrule
… Town was probably too generous a word for it.
Sitting down in a nest of hills at the base of a mountain in the distance, sits fifteen or twenty buildings. They are divided by a thin river, a single arched bridge stitching the two sides of the village back together.
Surrounding the hamlet is a short and crumbling wall, mossy and coming apart at the seams. More for show than actual protection. A semblance of control, a dream of safety.
Running beside the river are small plots of land, measured out and carved into neat rows. Farms. Important for survival, but apparently not worth building houses next to. Better to stay behind the shattered cobblestone than out in the open. Safety in numbers. Not worth dying over a potato.
It’s quiet, no movement of people running to get into shelter from the rain. No children jumping in puddles or parents calling them back in from the cold.
No.
Rather, only a few lanterns are lit at all. Everything else is dark and silent.
Hyrule steps forward, a sheepish, self-deprecating smile on his face. His eyes are downcast. Embarrassed. He sweeps a hand out to the buildings, ducking low as if trying to sink out of their eye line.
“Welcome to Saria Town,” he says. His eyes flick up for a moment before returning to the ground. His painted smile drips a little in the rain. “I know it’s not much… but it’s safe.”
Next to him, out of the corner of his eye, Four can see Time tense, though at what, he can not say. Then the Old Man steps forward. “It looks perfect.”
Hyrule’s head snaps up, hazel eyes wide first in shock, before he relaxes into a grin. Time gives him a nod.
“Lead the way.”
The traveling hero nods, stepping down the hill, head held a little higher as he does. Time follows closely with Legend, Warriors, and Sky not far behind.
Four is about to join them when a voice from behind stops him.
“Don’t,” Twilight groans. Four turns back in confusion, only to see that the exasperated word wasn't directed at him but rather, the two blondes just behind him.
Four glances at the two boys, and instantly sees why.
The two are gazing intently down the hill, sizing it up. They apparently like what they see because the two grin widely at each other. The blue clad heroes hold out their shields to one another, tapping them together in a mock ‘shield high-five’.
“Race you there?” Wind asks, eyes fire bright and face pulled into a grin of challenge
“You even need to ask, Sailor?” Wild replies cockily, already tossing his shield to the ground.
“On the count of three…” Wind says. Wild steps one foot on his shield– not his Hylian shield, Four notes with some relief, but rather a long, steel gray one– and braces the other behind him, ready to throw himself forward.
“One,” Wild says. Wind places his hands on his shield, ready to jump.
“Two.” They tense.
“Don’t,” Twilight interrupts again swiping wet hair from his face as he gives them a hard look. “Someone could get–”
“THREE!”
Wild pushes off. Wind vaults forward. The two fly , twin whoops echoing through the quiet air as they descend. For a second, the two boys are lost in the joy of the moment, voices caught in that youthful inbetween of yell and laughter.
And then that second ends.
The two sober, all business. Wild leans forward on his shield, tucking his arms in to become more aerodynamic. Wind catches on to the others plot and quickly mirrors the older hero, hunkering down and shifting his weight forward to match Wild.
They’re neck and neck.
And then–
“Shit!”
The harsh crack of snapping leather echoes clear and brutal through the air. Wild’s front foot slides forward on the wet metal, no longer anchored down by the arm strap. The scarred teen throws his weight backward, trying to keep himself from falling forward while simultaneously slowing down his now out of control descent.
The metal wobbles precariously beneath Wild’s feet and then jerks sharply to the left, throwing it’s rider. With a cut off shout, he slams into the side of an helpless Wind, knocking the other boy from his shield as well. Tangled together, the two careen down the water slicked hill at a break-neck pace, headed straight for…
“Look out!” Bursts its way past Four’s lips without him even knowing.
Sky and Warriors jolt out of the way, their reaction times impeccable as always. Legend and Time reach out to grab the person in front of them…
Too late.
The two blondes slam into Hyrule’s unsuspecting back, the traveling hero only able to get out a shocked gasp before his legs are swiped out from beneath him and the three tumble in a mass of limbs, wet tunics, and pained shouts the rest of the way down the hill.
Four doesn't even need to consult his disparate thought processes. They’re already in agreement.
His feet carry him down the hill almost at a dead sprint, only the barest of thoughts spared to worry about slipping himself.
Vaguely, he can hear Twilight’s steps pounding behind him. In front of him, he can see the others sprint downward as well, Warrior’s feet even sliding beneath him before he rights himself and continues.
By the time Four slides to a stop, the others are already helping the three groaning boys.
Warriors sits up a groaning Wind. At just a glance, Four can see that the teen looks scratched, bruised, and grass stained but overall fine. Sky hands the boy a red potion that the sailor sips at, unwilling to drink more than he needs.
Wild looks much the same, though, the smithy notes that the champion is clutching at a rapidly purpling ankle. He looks more embarrassed than hurt though, his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck as Twilight chews him out and Time examines his leg.
Hyrule though…
As Legend helps the traveling hero up, Four’s eyes are immediately drawn to the thin scarlet line streaming from the brunette’s temple, the blood mixing and thinning with the rain, snaking across his cheek before dripping down his chin. A cruel mirror of the rain.
“Is he okay?” Four asks as he kneels down, unable to help himself. He reaches a hand out, the need to help and comfort slightly overwhelming, but with no clear outlet, his arm simply hovers without use.
Legend shoots Four a poisonous look that screams ‘What a dumb fucking question’ but otherwise ignores him in favor of brushing a few strands of Hyrule’s hair back so he can examine the wound closer.
Hyrule’s eyes flutter open at the gentle touch.
“M’ fine, I’m fine,” he says dizzily, swatting weakly at Legend’s prodding hand.
The veteran hero huffs out a breath, taking Hyrule’s hand and carefully pulling it out of the way as he leans in for a closer look. “Stop moving. I think you hit your head on a rock. You’re bleeding.”
Hyrule’s eyes snap open, the haziness in his hazel depths igniting with a fever bright glow. Now that his eyes are wide open, Four can see that the teen’s pupils are dilated, one a pinprick while the other gapes wide, a dark hole in a green field.
Well that can’t be good Concussion maybe even a severe one We have to help him He needs a potion now
Four takes ahold of Hyrule’s shoulder to steady the other teen and then turns to dig through his satchel for a potion.
Hyrule, apparently, has other plans.
The traveling hero jerks up and away, throwing Four’s hand off him and almost headbutting Legend in his haste to sit up more fully. He slams a hand up to his forehead, swiping directly over the wound. Pain doesn't even register on his rapidly paling face. He pulls his hand back and inspects it, mismatched pupils tracing the blood that drips from the tips of his fingers.
He stares at the red for a moment.
And then Hyrule collapses in on himself.
Both arms reach other the top of his head, wrists crossing over the back of his skull. His hands run between wet curls once gently before gripping and pulling. Knees snap upward, allowing Hyrule to curl up fully, hiding himself from their gazes.
“No, no, no no no no nonononono!” he whispers, voice and shoulders shaking.
Four’s heart breaks.
“Calm down,” Legend cuts in, voice hard as stone but eyes as soft as the dark clouds hanging over them. His hand hovers over Hyrule’s back, like he’s afraid that a single touch would shatter the boy to pieces. “It’s just a scratch,” he insists.
“No!” the traveler cries, arms dropping from their position above his head. Instead of clutching desperately at his hair, Hyrule’s hands fist into the fabric of his wet undershirt sleeves, using them to frantically scrub at the skin of his face.
With one more vicious wipe, Hyrule pulls his sleeves from his face.
Four sighs sadly at the sight.
Rather than cleaning his skin, the frantic hero has only succeeded in spreading the diluted blood all over his face. The only part of his face that could be considered ‘cleaner’ would be the tear tracks slowly drawing clear lines beneath his eyes.
The injured teen seems satisfied for a moment. But then he looks down at his now bloodied sleeves. With another distressed noise, he tucks his arms under his armpits and throws his head back against his knees, once again curling back up.
Four feels his heart pulled in so many directions. He feels warm, hot, too hot concern churn his stomach. Cool, cold, too cold anger shoves icicles into his lungs. Wind and Wild’s fault. Rain’s fault. His fault. No where to put the anger and so it grows, piercing. The need for action whistles in his mind, a whirlwind of frantic thoughts. A mountain of unfamiliar uncertainty lodges in his heart, dividing it further.
He wants to pull Hyrule into him and crush him with a hug but knows it will only frighten the boy more. He wants to clean the other’s face and hand him a potion and punch his shoulder for freaking him out and laugh about something stupid and not be here right now in the rain with a desperately injured friend feeling so fucking usless We have to do something Please Please Please We have to help!
No, what we need to do is calm down.
calmdowncalmdown Calm down Calm down, Calm down.
Calm down.
Beside him, Four can hear Legend curse under his breath and begin to shuffle through his bag, though what exactly he is looking for, the smithy isn't sure. His hands become more and more hurried as he searches, fingers flicking through his pockets aggressively.
“Calm down.”
Legend’s eyes flick up, hands stilling as he seems to see Four for the first time since this whole debacle started.
“What?” he hisses, keeping his voice low so as not to cause Hyrule more distress with his angry tone.
“Calm down,” Four says simply. “I know you want to help him. So do I. But right now he’s scared and confused. Getting upset will only make things worse.”
The veteran hero glares at Four, and Four stares right back, not challenging but not exactly sympathetic either. He knows what he’s talking about, even if it pisses off the pink haired hero. Right now, there is no room for negative emotion. Only action.
They hold eye contact for only a moment more before Legend looks away, deflating.The veteran takes a deep breath. In… out. Something, the fight, goes out of him, leaving Legend looking to all the world like a tired young man, soaked to the bone, cold, and worried.
“Hey ‘Rule,” Legend begins, voice low as he inches closer to the curled up boy. Four follows his lead, slowly shuffling his way to the injured teen’s other side. Hyrule doesn't react. A good sign.
Or a really really bad sign.
Legend carefully places his arm around the traveling hero’s shoulders. “Hyrule, can I see your head? I need to-”
But the teen shakes his head and tenses up further, looking more akin to a Goron getting ready to roll.
“The Eyes…” Hyrule’s voice whispers from between clasped arms.
Suddenly, Hyrule throws his head up and away from his knees, eyes large and faraway. His eyes flick left right left right, somewhere or some when else. He reaches out a hand to no one but the rain. Then, slowly, far too slowly to be natural, he turns too bright eyes first to Legend and then Four.
“The Eyes of Ganon are everywhere.”
Somehow, the rain gets colder.
“It’s okay,” Legend says, voice the most comforting Four thinks he’s ever heard it. The pink haired man places an open bottle of red potion into the other’s outstretched hand and then helps the injured teen to curl his fingers around the glass. Legend guides Hyrule’s hand up until the bottle reaches his lips, all the while, blank hazel eyes stare forward, unshifting.
Hyrule drinks from the bottle reflexively.
Four feels the other boy’s muscles uncoil little by little as his throat bobs to swallow. Wide eyes blink once, twice, three times and then finally refocus, dizziness replaced with slightly pained confusion.
The cut on his forehead scabs over and before he can stop himself, Four reaches up and brushes the blood from the side of Hyrule’s face with his own sleeve.
“Better?” Legend asks.
“Yeah. Better,” Hyrule replies. And then, with a wince, “Sorry.”
“Don’t,” Legend cuts him off. “Not your fault.”
“Still,” Hyrule says. His eyebrows furrow, confusion easily written on his face. “I… I don't know what came over me.”
“You were injured and confused,” Four says diplomatically, giving his friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Part of him still wants to hug the other hero. He valiantly holds himself back. But only just. “It could have happened to any of us.”
“But it was more than that! I felt… It felt like…” Hyrule sighs, shaking his head and then stops, closing his eyes at the surge of pain that comes with the movement. “I guess it doesn't matter anymore.”
The traveling hero gingerly runs a finger along the edge of his scab, displeasure pulling at his lips.
“Do we have any bandages? Or something to cover this up?”
“Sorry, we just used the last of them to wrap Wild's ankle.”
The three heroes start and look up, surprised to see Twilight approaching them. As he walks closer, Four notices that the others are looking at them as well, and though concerned, none of them make any moves to get closer.
Good. The last thing Hyrule needs right now is a crowd.
Four had honestly forgotten that they had an audience. Albeit a captive audience but an audience all the same.
Judging by the slightly embarrassed tint to Legend’s face, so did he.
“It doesn't look like it's bleeding anymore,” Twilight continues, leaning down to get a better look at the now mostly closed wound. “You should be fine without anything, I think.”
“I know. I just don’t like going into town injured is all.”
That seems counterintuitive. Drops like a stone in water in the back of his mind, stirring up a few responses.
Maybe he just doesn't like freaking out the locals. Suggests one.
Based on this place, they’ve probably seen worse. Mutters a second.
Oh hey, guys, I think I’ve got something! Says the last, brightly.
An image flashes in Four’s mind. He nods.
Four reaches back and pulls at one of the loose ends of his makeshift hair tie. Sopping wet curtains of hair fall back around his face, the headband that he usually wears now sitting limp in his hand.
He takes both ends of the green ribbon and pulls it taut. Then he turns and lays it flat against Hyrule’s forehead. Leaning forward a bit more, he ties it gently but securely around the other’s head, mindful of the pain the other must be in.
When he sits back on his heels to examine his work, he realises that the others had fallen silent. Legend and Twilight stare at him while Hyrule sits, a small, shell shocked expression on his face. Four’s eyes jump back and forth between the three. Eventually he settles on a shrug and a neutral face.
“What? He needs it more than me.”
While sweet, I do believe that is wildly unsanitary.
Oh no! I’m sorry!
Don't worry about it! We all agreed.
A spike of annoyance.
Well, most of us agreed and the fourth didn't put up a fight. We’re not that far out of town anyway. We can get him clean bandages there.
Way to ruin the moment, asshole.
Despite the conversation in his head, outside it remains quiet. After another beat, Hyrule slowly runs a finger across the wet cloth now ties to his forehead.
When he brings his hand back to eye level, his fingertips come back wet but clean. No blood.
A small smile lights up Hyrule’s face, some color finally returning to his face.
“Thank you.”
…
After making sure everyone is okay, the group of heroes finally, finally makes it into town.
As they stumble through the gates, Four muses that if anyone were outside to witness them, they would be getting quite a few looks. Because… Well...
We look like shit.
Leading the group is Time, probably looking the least worn for wear when compared to the rest of them. However, Four notes that even the Old Man didnt get out of their absolutely joy filled trek unscathed.
As he strides further into town, head on a swivel for the store Hyrule had described to him, the Hero of Time walks with an odd gait, shifting his hips slightly to the left as he steps forward. Water must have penetrated the underlayer of his armor Four thinks with a wince. Poor Old Man must be chafing like there is no tomorrow under there.
Behind Time stumbles the procession of the wounded.
Or something like that.
Wind and Warriors walk together, the older hero keeping an eye on the younger as they enter the heart of the seemingly deserted town. The sailor keeps tugging on his makeshift sling: Warriors’ scarf looped twice around the young boy’s neck cradling his arm. Though not broken, Warriors had not accepted anything less than making sure it was wrapped and immoble, something that had Wind groaning and whining about being babied.
Twilight and Wild shuffle behind them, the champion’s left arm thrown over Twilight’s shoulders so the farmhand can help keep weight off the younger boy’s ankle. Though no longer swelling after a potion, the joint was still sore. Wild had assured them that after a good meal and some sleep he’d be fine, but Twilight insisted on helping him walk until they found a place to rest.
(“So you can't trip and drown yourself in the river,” Twilight had said derisively as he helped the teen stand up earlier. Said teen stuck his tongue out in response, but Four could see the affectionate smile tugging at the champion’s lips.)
Bringing up the rear is the triad of Sky, Legend, and Hyrule. The latter is not supported between the other two, but both older heroes damn near frog march the poor kid between them, each with a guiding hand on his upper arm.
The still slightly dazed teen walks slowly. He is wearing one of Wild’s hoods– the teen had felt so sorry about the whole incident, he jumped at the chance to make the traveling hero more comfortable, even if only for a moment– making it difficult to tell where exactly he was looking, but he turned his head slowly, searching.
“There!” he said, pointing to a building on the left.
Four follows his arm. The building in question is one of the few with a lantern out front. On a whole, the place looks worn down, like too stiff of a breeze would knock it down. It has a small overhang, probably for shade in the summer. From the rafters of the awning, hangs an old wooden sign suspended on rusted chains. A simple bottle design is painted on the molding planks in what was probably white paint at some point, but now looks chipped and faded into a shade Four would call ‘dirty snow.’
Light streams from the singular window out front, advertising warmth within.
“Do all of the houses have these?” Time asks, finger pointed up at the overhang. Hyrule nods in response.
“Okay.” The Old Man falls silent for just a moment. “Okay, here’s the plan. Hyrule, I want you to lead everyone to the house we will be staying in for the night. We don't want to alarm anyone with our wounded and I’m assuming there won't be enough room in the storefront for everyone.” He directs his last statement to Hyrule, who nods.
“Four, Wind,” Four feels his head tilt to the side at the mention of his name and thinks he sees the sailor do the same on the other side. “You’ll be with me. Everyone else, try to stay warm under the awning if at all possible.”
“Why do the brats get to go inside?” Legend asks sourly, causing Four’s metaphorical hackles to rise. Wind opens his mouth to spit something probably filled with expletives, at the other hero, but Time beats him to it.
“What kind of father would I be if I left my poor, injured sons outside in the rain?” He says, with what Four would call a mischievous smile on his face. If his bad eye wasn’t perpetually closed, Four would assume the Old Man would be winking at them too.
Maybe he is winking and we just can’t see it.
How does that work?
Aww, he called us his son!
Wait a minute…
“Now, hold on,” Four says, drowned out by six distinct laughs.
“I did NOT agree to be used as a prop!” Wind hisses above the din in agreement with Four’s sentiment, eyebrows pulled low and a glower plastered over his face. Yeesh, Four forgot how expressive Wind’s face was. Kid looks pissed.
Time raises his hands in surrender, his smile turning from mischief to frank in a second.
"Look, these people are scared. It’s a harsh world out there. If you were a shopkeep in a small town and nine heavily armed people entered demanding a place to stay, wouldn't that frighten you a little?” He doesn't wait for a response before continuing. “A father with his sons and a small band of injured travelers is a much easier story to swallow.”
“If you want to play the father, why don’t you take Twilight then?” Four asks, his voice somehow coming out both huffy and genuinely questioning. “You two at least look like you have a little bit of family resemblance.”
Time and Twilight share a look.
The oldest hero throws a hand behind his head, rubbing at his neck. Eyebrows up, smile sheepish. “Bringing in a soaking wet, pissed off farmhand wont make for quite as sympathetic a image.”
“You’re a manipulative bastard, you know that, right?” Legend says flatly.
“What? What do you mean?” Wind asks.
“He wants to bring the two of you in because you,” he points at Four, “look like a drowned rat. And you,” he turns to Wind, “look like a drowned rat with a broken arm.”
"Why don’t I break your arm? Then we’ll match!” Wind spits, marching over to Legend, who sports an unimpressed look on his face. Warriors grabs the back of the smaller hero’s sling, holding him back.
Four blows out a breath from between his lips, pinching at the bridge of his nose.
They, unfortunately, have a point.
You would be okay with lying.
If it’s to help everyone else, then yes, I am.
It’s demeaning!
It’s useful.
Four pinches harder. His head pounds.
Guys. Stop.
Please!
A blessed moment of internal silence.
Four can vaguely hear Wind telling Warriors to let him go. Wild eggs the younger boy on while Twilight threatens to drop the teen if he continues. Legend merely huffs, probably daring the kid to make good on his words. Time sternly tells them to keep it down, probably thinking of the townsfolk or Hyrule’s delicate head.
They ignores it all.
They take stock of how they feel. Angry. Loved. Embarrassed. Annoyed. Regretful. Tired. Hungry. Cold. Bruises on their knee, grass stains on their leggings. A friend’s blood on their sleeve. A splitting headache, but thankfully not a Splitting headache.
They’re not in a good place. Fighting will only make it worse.
Fine… I see your point…
Four’s hand pulls at the leather strap securing his sword to his back, pulling it over his head and off his shoulder. He wraps the worn leather around and around the sword, making sure the strap doesn't come loose and then he holds the blade out to a now silent and very confused looking Wild.
“Uhhhhh,” the champions says, “What are you doing?”
“If we are going to pretend to be normal kids, I figured we probably shouldn’t be armed.”
Four holds out the sword more insistently. Wild takes it gingerly, like it will bite him if he handles it too roughly. Or like it’ll break if he looks at it wrong. With his track record, that could actually be an issue.
“If you break it, I’ll break you,” Four hears pour out of his mouth with a hiss, and he wonders if his eyes are flashing cobalt at the moment.
Based on the way Wild’s eyes widen, Four guesses they are. Whatever. If it keeps the champion’s mitts off his sword, it's worth the weirdness. He knows the other teen can’t actually break the Four Sword– he’s too good a smith to make the magic sword that defined his era anything less than perfect– but he sure as hell doesn't want the teen touching it more than necessary either.
What a nightmare that would be.
Wind huffs, seeming to calm a bit. Warriors lets the teen go and the sailor strides up next to Four, roughly unstrapping his own sword and shoving it at Wild as well. It disappears with Four’s own, into the slate.
There is something about seeing his sword disappear, the ever present option suddenly taken away, that makes Four’s skin feel too tight. It’s like when you never realise you’re thirsty until suddenly you're out and about with nothing to drink. He feels itchy and too small. He wants to scratch at his head. No, the seams of his brain.
He stays his hand.
Legend rolls his eyes and turns away from the group, apparently done with the scene they’re making. He places a gentle hand back on Hyrule’s shoulder. The pressure seems to jolt the other hero, who until that moment had been spacing out.
“Lead the way. The sooner we can get everyone out of the rain the better.”
Hyrule nods. Sky takes up his old position at the traveler’s other side, and together the three start heading toward the bridge.
Wild throws his arm back over Twilights shoulder.
“I’ll take care of your stuff,” he says sincerely and then the two turn to follow the others at a slightly slower pace.
“Watch out for them?” Time asks Warriors as the other man turns to leave.
“Will do!” The captain shoots back with a smile and a salute then he’s gone, around the corner and out of sight.
With the others taken care of, Time turns back to look at them. Four keeps his face as stony as possible. Next to him, Wind scowls, tapping one foot on the ground repeatedly, a soft splat splat splat in the mud.
Time moves past them until he stands just in front of the door before he throws a look over his shoulder and beckons them forward.
“Oh, he so owes us,” Wind mutters as he and Four come to stand at the oldest hero’s side. Four nods in agreement.
“I’ll do most of the talking,” Time says. He glances down at Four. “You’re much too mature sounding for your own good.”
Before Four can ask what, exactly, that’s supposed to mean, Time has moved on to Wind. “And you keep your hands–hmm– hand to yourself. I know you have sticky fingers, little pirate.”
With that, the man pushes the door open and walks in.
“Don’t throw out your back opening the door, Dad,” Wind grumbles, sarcasm dripping from the final word.
“You’ll have to speak up, dear brother of mine. You know our father’s hearing is going.” Four mutters back.
They share a sour look for a moment, before small smiles break over their faces. Then quickly, before the door closes, they follow Time inside.
Inside, it is warm. While Four isn't exactly thrilled with the part he is playing, the warmth of the room is definitely an upside to the deal. Inside, it is also cramped. Like Time had predicted, the front room is small, with little room between the door and the counter, very much unlike his own shop.
Behind the counter, a woman’s humming is suddenly cut short at the sound of the door opening and closing. A head of mousy brown hair perks up and glances over the desk. There is a soft gasp and a smack as she drops what she was doing behind the desk and straightens up with wide and curious, amber eyes.
Interesting color.
Please, like we’re one to talk.
“Hello!” She greets cheerfully, though Four thinks he sees her eyeing Time’s sword. Huh. Though he misses it like a phantom limb, maybe it was for the best he left the Four Sword with Wild.
“I haven’t seen you all around here before. What can I do you for?”
Time smiles, charming but not too charming. Less flirty, more the rustic hospitality of a rancher. A real man of the people and all that nonsense.
“We’re just passing through. My sons and I were traveling with a group of merchants when we got caught in the storm. We ran into some problems,” Time says, gesturing to Wind and his slinged arm, “and now we’re just hoping to find somewhere to get us out of the rain.”
The woman gasps, a hand coming up to cup around her mouth.
“Oh you poor dears!” The woman exclaims. She leans over the desk–practically falling over it– to get a better look at Wind, who leans backward in response. “What happened?”
“I, uhhhhh, slipped and fell down a hill,” Wind says, taking a small step back.
The woman’s head snaps toward Four next, and suddenly, the smithy understands the other’s reaction. Her amber eyes are intense, burning with something unidentifiable. Maternal instinct? Maybe? Four wouldn’t know. Never really knew his mother.
“And what about you, dear?”
Four’s eyebrows furrow. He didn't think he looked all that bad. Definitely not visibly injured like the others. He glances down at himself to make sure nothing is out of place and– oh. The blood on his sleeve. Hyrule’s blood. Right.
“I cut myself on a bush,” Four lies smoothly.
“Hmmm, you have a couple of clumsy boys then,” the shopkeep says, eyes still locked on Four.
Okay, she’s freaky, right? Oh yeah Maybe she’s just bad at first impressions I wouldn't say we’re the best judge of normal anyway
Time laughs. Four thinks the Old Man is trying to sound agreeable, but it sounds more nervous. No. That’s not quite right. Uneasy. Ready to be done with the interaction and back with the others.
“They get it from me, unfortunately,” he says, making an aborted motion toward his face, his eye.
There is a beat of silence.
“So,” Time continues, “A place to stay…?”
The woman blinks, finally tearing her gaze from Four and leaning back onto her side of the counter. A kind smile slides its way back onto her face, like it’s her default expression.
“Yes. Yes of course. Just a moment.” She turns away, shifting through a drawer on the back counter. While she’s not looking, Wind shoots Four a look, face scrunched in question and good hand drawing small circles next to the side of his head.
Four shrugs in response.
Time smacks both of them on the back of their heads as the woman turns back around.
“Here we are,” the woman holds out a key, old and rusty. Time reaches into his wallet but the shopkeep shakes her head. “No, no. This one’s on the house. For your troubles.”
“We couldn’t possibly-”
“It’s no trouble at all,” She insists. “Old place could use some life in it after so long.”
“Well, if you’re sure…” Time says uncertainly. “Can I at least buy a few of those in thanks?” he asks gesturing to the shelf of red potions.
The woman smiles. “Seems fair to me.”
Time finally pulls out some rupees, exchanging them for five bottles filled with scarlet, viscous liquid and the key.
With their business seemingly concluded, Wind and Four turn to see themselves out, but Time grabs them, holding them in place.
Four restrains a groan. Though he had enjoyed the warmth when they had first entered, now it felt heavy and oppressive in a way that even the heat of the forge never did. There was something about this place that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his head feel fuzzy. Like he was being watched; watched by something other than the shopkeeper’s piercing amber gaze.
He wants to leave. Now.
“One more question if you wouldn’t mind,” the Old Man starts to Four’s chagrin. “While we plan to stay a few days to rest, we will be heading out at some point. We heard that there were increased monster sightings.”
The shopkeeper's head tilts at this, as though this is news to her.
“We were wondering if there was anyone we could talk to who might have some more information. Locations of sightings and the like so we can avoid those areas.”
She brings a hand to her chin and her eyes angle up and to the left in thought.
“Hmmm, well, you could go ask old Norman. He runs the bar in town. Gets lots of travelers through there. He might have heard of something.”
A smile suddenly stretches her lips. “Though he doesn't often talk for free. He might loosen up if you have a few drinks with him.”
Time nods at the information, sending her a smile in return.
“Thank you for all the help.”
The woman waves him off.
“My pleasure.”
They turn to leave and Four feels some tension leave his shoulders as Time grabs the doorknob and turns it, opening the door wide. Cold air rushes in and the smithy feels like he can breathe again.
“And kid.”
Both Four and Wind tense, look at each other and then turn. Her eyes are pinned firmly on the shortest hero’s sleeve; right over the dark stain of slowly blackening crimson. That odd, default smile still on her lips.
“Bandage that up soon, deary.”
Four nods his head rapidly and then quickly walks out the door to follow Time with Wind hot on his heels.
Though out of the room, Four still feels eyes on his back. He doesn't dare look around. Instead the smithy walks faster until he draws side by side with the older hero. Wind soon catches up, walking on Time’s other side.
As soon as they are far enough from the shop, Wind opens his mouth.
“Soooo, she was freaky right?” Time shoots him a look. “Nice, but like, in a freaky kinda way?”
Four nods, wordlessly.
“She was kind to us. That’s all that matters,” Time says sternly. “Now, let's find the others and get inside.”
…
Thankfully, it is not difficult to find the others. It is, afterall, a very small town.
After a quick debate over who gets the old, musty beds and who gets the floor– all of the injured heroes get beds and sips of Red Potion along with their dinner of Hearty Mushroom and Pumpkin Stew– the heroes quickly turn in for the night, tired from their long day.
By the time Four wakes up, light is streaming through the windows. Huh. It must have stopped raining sometime during the night. Based on the color of the rays, it’s past sunrise. Way past sunrise if their warm, yellow glow is anything to go by.
The smithy sits up from his bed roll, blanket pooling around his waist as he looks around.
Beside him, Sky sleeps peacefully, under his blanket but with limbs sprawled out. His mouth is open and he snores softly, deep, even breaths murmuring through the air.
In the small kitchen, Time, Legend, Twilight, and Warriors sit at the table, mugs of something warm and steaming in their hands as they talk. Their conversation doesn’t appear to be serious or even really a conversation at all. One hero will contribute something every so often, but as Four watches them, more often than not, the older heroes seem content to lapse in companionable silence.
Four disentangles himself from Sky. He's glad he doesn have to worry about waking the elder– the chosen hero sleeps like the dead– so he separates himself quickly and then pads quietly over to the kitchen.
“You let us sleep in,” he says in lieu of a greeting, taking the final seat at the table. Legend pours him a mug of the drink, which he discovers to be tea, and passes it into Four’s hands. Four takes a sip.
Ah perfect Too bitter Needs some milk Maybe a little honey
He breathes in the steam, letting it fill his lungs with herbal smelling air as warmth seeps into his stomach.
“The only thing on the schedule for today is going down to the bar and that won’t open until sometime after noon,” Time replies. “Besides, I thought everyone could use a rest after yesterday.”
“Hear hear,” Warriors agrees with a raised mug. Everyone takes a sip.
After that, the group falls back into a relaxed silence that Four has no trouble maintaining. Instead he sits and sips his tea, drinking in the rare moment of peace he finds himself experiencing.
Eventually, slowly but surely, the other trickle in: first Wild, then Hyrule, and then ending with a yawning Wind who trips over and wakes the still sleeping Sky.
After a quick breakfast, Time sets them loose for a bit of leisure time.
Warriors quickly demands a rematch in BS from Legend, who acquiesces with an easy, confident grin. The two rope in Twilight and Wind and sit around the now empty kitchen table with Legend quickly distributing cards. Looking at the makeup of the group, Four would say that Warriors has approximately a 5% chance of winning. Maybe 6% if he’s lucky.
Time and Wild take opposite corners of the living room, with the Old Man sitting down to polish his armor while the champion taps away at his slate, reorganizing his inventory.
(Wild had told him the night before that taking his and Wind’s swords had made the older hero realise how unorganized everything was. Pumpkins with shields, fish with monster parts…. Four really hadn't been listening, too preoccupied with the familiar, comforting weight being returned to his back)
Sky leans against the back wall whittling… something. Four wasn't sure what it was yet but based on what he saw of the chosen hero’s talent with a carving knife, he was sure it would be great by the end.
Four curls up next to the fire, book in hand to read.He opens the book and leafs through the pages to his desired chapter, settling in. After a few moments and a few pages, a green ribbon flutters and settles itself inside the crease of the book. His headband. The smithy looks up just in time to catch Hyrule as the other hero sits next to him, needle, thread and a tunic in hand to do some mending.
"You kept tucking your hair behind your ear," he says in lieu of an explanation. "You need it more than me."
"Besides," the traveler continues, with a smile. "Now it doesn't have my blood on it anymore!"
Four smiles back, tying the cloth around his forehead, his hair finally tamed once more.
"Thank you."
"No problem."
The small hero leans back over his book. Hyrule holds the needle up to his eye, trying to thread it.
They sit together, chatting every so often but mostly just sitting in each other's company, warmed by the fire.
It's nice. The room is quiet but full of murmuring, laughter from the card table, and the rhythmic sound of scrubbing.
To Four, it seems all too soon that Time calls them back around the table to discuss their plan.
And their plan, unfortunately, is complete bullshit.
“This is complete bullshit!” Wind hisses, voicing Four’s thoughts perfectly. Well, at least one of his thoughts.
“Wind,” Time says, voice that of a tired man who already knows his patience is going to be tried at least twelve more times over the course of this conversation. “You’re thirteen. They’re not going to let you into the bar anyway.”
“That just means I can’t be caught! I can still go on the mission!” he replies vehemently, pounding a fist on the table.
Time rubs at a spot between his eyebrows, just underneath the blue tattoo on his forehead. “First of all, what you are describing is breaking and entering. Secondly, this isn't a mission. We’re just going to get some information.”
“Oh, and I suppose you need four people to gather information?” Wild cuts in, face just as sour as Wind’s.
“Well, we sure as Hylia don't need nine,” Warriors replies in a similar state of exasperation as Time.
“Look, the four of us,” and here Time gestures to himself, Warriors, Twilight, and Sky, “Are the only ones who can get in without any questions asked.”
Wild and Legend let even heavier glowers darken their faces.
“We want to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible,” Time continues, ignoring the dirty looks being thrown his way. “Coming in with a big group or trying to argue with anyone will not help our case.”
“If it makes you feel better, I don't plan on drinking anything,” Sky puts in with a genuine expression of concern. Twilight slaps a hand to his tattoo, shaking his head.
“That’s not the point!” Wind huffs.
Time and Warriors share a look, which is then passed over to Twilight. The farmhand just shakes his head and the other two sigh.
“You were fine with splitting up before,” Warriors tries. “If this was just a run to the shop you wouldn’t fight so hard to come. What’s going on?”
“I’m tired of being treated like a kid. You all laughed at me and Four earlier!” The sailor says, chest puffed out. Four isn't sure if he should feel touched or offended that the younger hero feels the need to stick up for him. Whatever. He’ll figure it out later.
“And! And...” Wind looks lost for a second, like the air just went out of his sails. “I… Something just feels off. I don’t know.”
“I feel it too,” Four puts in, remembering the feeling of eyes on his back and prickling at his neck. Watching. Waiting. “I would feel better if we accompanied you as well.”
“And how do you suppose you do that?” Time asks, not exactly unkindly but with little sympathy in his words.
Well, the smallest hero can think of a way he could sneak in unnoticed. He had felt the presence of a portal near the center of town when they walked in. The others…
Silence reigns over the kitchen for a moment.
“Then that’s settled then,” Time says with finality. No room for argument.
Wind slumps a little, eyes going to the floor.
Without anything more to say, Time and Twilight head toward the door. As he passes by the sailor, Warriors gives the teen a soft punch on the shoulder and a quick smile.
“We’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll tell you all about it when we get back,” Sky reassures.
And then, with a swing of the door, they’re gone.
It is quiet for a moment, Wind staring at the now closed door.
Then he turns to face them, the disappointment dropping off his face like water off the back of a Zora. All business.
“So we’re going after them, right?” He asks.
Four feels a slow smile grow on his face and sees it mirrored by the others. Legend nods approvingly.
“Took the words right out of my mouth, kid.”
…
They wait a few minutes inside the house to let the others reach their destination before they sneak out. Hyrule, still feeling sensitive to the light– though Four also senses that the teen is probably feeling a small flare for the dramatic– leads them with Wild’s hood pulled over his head.
Once they cross the bridge into the other side of town where the bar is, the traveling hero pulls them behind one of the houses where there is a large break in the cobblestone wall protecting the town.
One by one, they slip through the crack. It leads them to a small, thin walkway in the space between the edge of a cliff leading up to Death mountain and the cobblestone. They have to sidle, backs against the crumbling stone, to move at all. It’s a little slowgoing, and more than a little uncomfortable, but it lets them move through town unseen.
Eventually, they come to another break and they shove their way through, coming out behind two buildings.
“How did you even know about this way?” Legend asks with a gasp as he squeezes through the gap in the stone.
“Oh you know,” Hyrule says, his smile peeking out from the shade of Wild’s hood, “When you get lost easily, sometimes you gotta find your own way.”
Legend shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the younger’s antics but doesn't comment.
The highest compliment he can give. Dry like the desert and so correct that Four almost nods at the comment.
“Okay, what exactly is the plan here?” Wild asks.
“Wow. I never thought I’d see the day you actually think before you act,” Legend replies with a single raised eyebrow.
Aaaaand he’s back.
Before Wild can grumble out a response, Legend continues. “I’m assuming the plan is sneak in, keep an eye out, and then get out in time to beat them back to the house.”
“Now,” Legend says, sweeping a critical eye over all of them. “How are you all getting in?”
“What about you?” Four asks, picking up on Legend’s odd word choice.
“Me?” he says in response, a cocky smirk on his face. “Well, I’ve got this.”
The veteran hero places his left hand on the wall of the building. Suddenly the golden bracelet on his wrist flares to life, the purple eye engraved on the band flashing brightly. Swirls of green and yellow magic twine around Legend’s body, gently shifting his red tunic. On the wall, green lines draw themselves into what looks like a painting frame.
The vines of magic tighten themselves around Legend pulling him closer, closer, into the wall and in a flash of light, Legend is gone.
Behind where he was standing, on the wall, sits a bold lined, chalk-like drawing of the hero.
The drawing’s oval shaped eyes snap open and a single line cuts across the bottom half of its face, curling up at its edges. A smile.
In a flash of purple, Legend exits the wall. He leans back against it, smug grin still in place as he observes their shocked expressions.
“So back to my question: how are you all getting in?”
Four’s eyes glance around their small group. Hyrule seems to be looking away, hood pointed downward toward the ground. Wild pulls out his slate and holds it up in front of his eyes, head sweeping back and forth, up and down as he searches for something. Wind meanwhile, scans around, eyes squinted.
The sailor’s eyes widen at the same time Wild makes a small noise of excitement.
“There!” They exclaim, both pointing at a spot higher up on the wall.
Sure enough, when Four follows their hands, he can see a metal grate cover what looks to be a small air vent. He has a few built into the back of his own house to help release steam and smoke from the forge without it entering the rest of the home, but can't help wondering what exactly its utility is here.
The two teens share a quick high five and then Wild begins swiping away at the screen. In the blink of an eye, the champion’s sky blue tunic and tan pants are replaced with navy blue leggings and a tight and lightly armored shirt with a red eye in the middle. A slim, white scarf wraps itself around the teens neck, leading up to his face which is partially covered with another piece of navy blue fabric clinging over the champion’s nose and mouth.
Wind, meanwhile, rummages around inside his Spoils Bag for a moment– with an alarming amount of dangerous sounding clanging, Four notices with some worry– before pulling out a grappling hook.
Using one hand to hold onto the slack and the other to spin the metal end, Wind winds up and with a final definitive swing, releases the hook end, launching it upward toward the roof. The hook skitters across the wooden shingles of the roof, a few of the more rotten tiles coming loose before the metal catches and holds.
Wind tests it a few times, pulling on the rope hard before he is satisfied.
“Okay,” Legend says as Wild finishes pulling the metal grate from the wall with his Magnesis Rune. “Three down. Two to go.”
Four glances at Hyrule who stares right back at him, as though waiting for the smithy to make the next move. Though the hood is obscuring part of his face, Four swears the other looks… nervous.
Maybe we aren’t the only one with something to hide.
Either way, this isn’t going to work.
Hey! We’re losing time here people!
You might be onto something there...
Four sighs. “Look, we’re already losing time. You three go in, Hyrule and I will figure it out.”
Legend looks like he wants to argue but with a flash of hazel from underneath a hood, he drops it.
“Fine. If we need to leave, I’ll give this signal,” The veteran says as he holds up two fingers and then flicks them downward twice.
“And if we have to fight?” Wind asks, face serious once more.
“You’ll know that signal when you see it,” Legend says.
With a final nod, the pink haired hero sinks into the wall, becoming a drawing once more. Large, circular eyes, flick over the group one more time before he’s off, walking along the wall until he disappears through a crack between the backdoor and its frame.
Using the rope, the two blond teens quickly make their way up to the vent. Wind delves inside first, crawling easily through the opening in the wall. Wild follows closely behind, throwing a hand out to give a wave to Four and Hyrule before he too disappears from sight.
“So, I’m going to just, uh,” Hyrule starts once everyone is out of sight, pointing to the left of the building.
Four cuts him off. “No need to explain. I’ll meet you in there.”
Hyrule flashes him a thankful smile and then jogs around the corner of the building and away from Four’s eyeline.
“Oh yeah,” Four’s voice says to no one in particular as he turns around the opposite corner of the bar. “Definitely hiding something.”
“Pot meet kettle,” His voice replies in the darkness of the alley way.
…
Four isn't sure whether he should feel grateful or concerned about the fact that the bar seems to have a rat problem.
On the one hand, he muses as he pulls himself up onto a ledge containing a few decorative pots, it had made it very easy to get into the building; simply enter the rat hole and follow the tunnel to an opening out into the main room.
On the other hand, his friends are patrons of said establishment. And even though Four knows rats are relatively hygienic– And cute!– he can't help but shutter as he watches Warriors eat a piece of bread.
Regardless, it had been very easy to enter the bar once he was the size of a minish.
Easy to enter, easy to find his friends.
From his vantage point on a relatively high shelf situated near the front of the room, Four can see almost the entire layout of the bar.
Quietly playing cards near the door are two older men, regulars Four would guess by their relaxed nature and easy smiles. Near the left corner in a small alcove sits an ancient looking woman, slumped over and nursing a half-full bottle of something red.
The people that Four is actually interested in, however, seem to have split themselves up. To cover more metaphorical ground or to appear less intimidating, Four would assume.
Sky and Warriors have taken a small table for themselves, a loaf of bread and some butter between them. There is a half full tankard in Warriors’ hand and a completely full one in Sky’s, with the former jeering on the latter to drink. The chosen hero gives a sheepish smile and takes a sip, foam sticking to his upper lip causing Warriors to break out in laughter.
Though jovial and loud, Four can see that the captain’s eyes are clear and bright. Not buzzed, then, simply acting. Making himself seem like an easy target. Someone to underestimate. Smart.
Twilight and Time, meanwhile, sit at the bar talking. Four can see that they too seem to have drinks in their hands, but neither man appears to have had any yet. Polite purchases then.
From his position on the front wall, Four can also make out the exit of the vent that Wind and Wild were using. Though dark, the smithy thinks he might see some movement behind the grate, but other than that, the two don't give themselves away.
Legend is being similarly sneaky.
While Four had been too late to see the other move into position, after quite a bit of searching, he can just make out a singular outlined eye peeking from behind a stack of crates in the other corner of the bar.
Figures. Four should have known that Legend would be good at this sort of thing.
A soft scuffling sound in the rafters draw’s Four’s eyes upward. At first, the smithy wonders if perhaps there were some Minish up there that he had somehow missed on his first pass through the building. But then, a ball of pink light flashes from between the wooden support beams, moving frantically up, down, and around the rafters.
A fairy huh How did one get lost in here Oh poor thing must be so confused
Eventually, however, the fairy seems to settle down, the pink light landing on one of the beams and simply resting there.
Four leaves it be.
Besides, he has more important things to worry about instead of a wayward magical entity. Notably, Hyrule’s absence.
He should be here by now, right? Crashes into his brain like an errant wave.
Maybe he’s already here and we just can't see him? Flares back, the statement tilting upward into a concerned question by the end
He is the most magically adept. Who knows what he has up his sleeve. A steady breeze. Comforting.
“What? Not good enough for you?” A gruff voice breaks through Four’s mind, bringing him back to the present.
He follows the voice until his eyes land back at the bar. There, the bartender is eyeing Time and Twilight, top lip pulled up in a distasteful snarl. The man is middle aged, pot-bellied and balding, with a thin semi-circle of salt and pepper hair at the crown of his head. Bushy brows are aimed downward as he levels a purposeful look to their still filled cups.
Twilight takes a big sip and then nods his head approvingly. Time merely smiles at the man.
“Sorry, we got a bit caught up in our conversation.”
The bartender grunts in response, and then turns to begin organising the multicolored bottles lined against the back wall. Twilight shoots Time a look and shrugs. The older hero sighs and nods.
Then, the two heroes clink their cups together and throw their heads back while chugging, both polishing off their drinks in a matter of seconds. Twilight's nose wrinkles at the taste and Time’s good eye twitches minutely.
Four winces in sympathy. His grandfather had let him steal sips of beer before. He knows what it tastes like.
Seriously. The things they do to protect Hyrule.
Time knocks lightly but politely on the bar. The man turns back, with first a surprised and then a considering look on his face as he sees the now empty cups.
“Another round, please,” Time says.
“And one here too, if you would!” Warriors calls out, slapping Sky on the back for a job well done. Two empty cups sit at their small table.
The bartender nods, his lips minutely twitching upward as he sets about gathering their cups and refilling them. As the man passes out from behind the bar to grab the mugs from the other two’s table, Time sends the captain a look, which is returned with a wink.
Four settles in against one of the pots, the cool ceramic sinking through his tunic and cooling his back.
This is gonna get interesting.
…
And interesting it was. After the second round of drinks, Sky taps out. Well, he taps out in so much as he slumps over the table, face down and breathing deeply.
After his drinking buddy conks out, Warriors moves to the bar, taking the stool on Twilight’s other side, sandwiching the farmhand in the middle of the two oldest heroes.
It is after the three finish their third round that the bartender seems to warm up to them. Well, at least Four thinks the bartender has warmed up to them. He had gone from outright glaring at the heroes to only offering the occasional huff of irritation combined with polite if stilted conversation.
It’s progress. Kind of.
“So, you four are from out of town then?” he asks, nodding toward the sleeping Sky to indicate him in the group as well.
Time nods, taking another sip from his cup. “My sons and I were traveling the roads when we came across their merchant group.” He says as he shoves an elbow lightly into Twilight’s side, causing the foaming head of the younger man’s drink to spill over onto the pelted hero’s fingers.
Twilight simply glares at the old man, but the action leaves Four staring at the group intently. Only three drinks in and already losing spatial awareness…?
“We thought it would be safer to travel together, what with all the monster sightings,” Warriors picks up, sending a quick look to Time.
“Wise,” the man says with a nod. Then his face darkens and he all but slams the cup he had been cleaning back onto the bar. “Especially now that that damn brat of a hero up and vanished,” he says with a hiss, eye bright and lips pulled back in distaste. “Fucking coward.”
Four feels his blood go cold at the comment. Anger rises in him, an unstoppable tide of emotion roiling in his chest and begging to slam upward and out of his throat with a nasty comment. He beats down the instinct, pressing himself more fully against the pot behind him. Grounding.
Time’s face goes hard and cold. Twilight’s hand tightens minutely on the handle of his cup. The jovial light leaves Warriors eyes for a moment, before the captain plasters an understanding smile back on his face.
Above him, Four notices that the scuffling from the fairy has resumed but the smithy doesn't pay it any mind. Instead, the small Link takes another quick glance around the bar. Same men in front. Same lady in the alcove. Same Sky dozing peacefully at the table. Still no sign of Hyrule.
Maybe it’s better that way.
“He probably has a lot to do, taking care of the other villages and such. I’m sure he’s trying his best,” Warriors grits out with a smile, trying to strike the delicate balance between defending their friend and trying not to appear too contradictory to the man they were trying to get information out of.
The man just rolls his eyes and grunts back.
“Anyway,” Time cuts in, obviously trying to get the conversation back on track , “Have you heard much about these monster sightings? We wanted to make sure to avoid anywhere too dangerous on our way out.”
“Leaving so soon?” The bartender asks.
“Unfortunately yes. My sons and I were hoping to get home as soon as possible.”
“And we were hoping to be headed to our destination tomorrow, providing the weather holds,” Twilight says.
Four watches as a smile pulls at the bartender’s lips. It looks more like a grimace and Four wonders if the man even knows how to express any form of emotion other than irritation.
“Well then,” he says, gathering up the heroes’ cups. He turns to the back wall and pulls out the small barrel he had been using to fill their drinks and pours, filling the cups back up to the brim.
“We really shouldn’t–” Time tries to get out, but the man ignores him, instead sliding the glasses back in front of the three. Then, he quickly turns back to the bottles on the back wall and selects one for himself, pouring the red liquid into a cup and holding it out.
“To safe travels,” he announces.
“To safe travels,” the three heroes chorus back, with less enthusiasm, holding up their own glasses.
And then the four drink.
And as they drink, Four watches as the bartender’s eyes remain locked on the heroes, watching to see them finish their drinks.
Four feels his blood go as cold as the pot behind him.
Shit.
Time and Twilight almost throw the cups from their lips, disgusted expressions on their faces as they do.
Warriors, having stood up to take the biggest swig of the three, slams his glass down and coughs. As he tries to get a handle on his breathing his knees begin to shake. The captain sits back heavily onto his stool, a dizzy expression pulling at his handsome features.
“That one…” Warriors starts before his tongue seems to get tied. His eyebrows furrow and he blinks his eyes a few times, trying to clear them. “That one tasted different,” he finishes, sounding like he was speaking through numb lips.
“Oh it would,” the bartender admits easily, turning his back on the heroes to push the barrel back into place. “A higher dosage will do that to a drink.”
Time and Twilight slam themselves away from the bar, mirroring each other as they clumsily pull their swords from their scabbards. Warriors trips over his stool as he follows them, but instead of pulling out his own weapon, stumbles toward a table. His old table.
“S-Sky!” he slurs urgently, shoving at the chosen heroes shoulder. “Wake up!”
Sky’s face doesn't even twitch. His breathing remains deep and even. Unnaturally so.
In the front of the bar, the two men playing cards have stopped their game, once relaxed smiles going sharp and wide. They stand, cards forgotten as they slowly approach the heroes, hands turning to claws as they close in.
The woman from the alcove straightens and for the first time Four can clearly see her face. Her nose is large and flat against her face, nostrils flared. Her eyes are wide apart and yellow, without pupils. Where her mouth should be is instead a muzzle, full of sharp teeth and dripping the red substance she had been drinking earlier.
Blood. One part of his mind supplies helpfully.
Her once hylian looking ears grow and grow and grow until they are massive, pointing upward and ridged on the inside. She stands on thin, spindly limbs and two wings pull themselves from her back, the membrane between the– fingers? They appear to be keese people so technically wouldn’t those be fingers? But they're on her back? I don't think that's important right now!– the membrane between the ridges of her wings are thin and clearly veined in the firelight of the bar.
The man behind the bar turns back to the heroes, having undergone a similar transformation, a gleeful smile showing off fangs.
Warriors, unable to rouse Sky, instead pulls the young man from the stool and drags his body to Twilight and Time’s side. That accomplished, the captain tries to pull himself to his feet, but his knees fail him, leaving him slumped on the floor with his back against the bar and an unconscious Sky next to him. He grabs the Master Sword from Sky’s back and holds it in front of himself defensively.
Time and Twilight flank themselves on either side of the incapacitated heroes, though Four notes with mounting horror that they are not uneffected by the drink either. Twilight keeps shaking his head,trying to clear his vision and Time’s grip on his sword looks weak, like the blade is too heavy for his arm.
We have to get in there! A tsunami of anger and fear sending his heart jumping from his chest to his brain to his stomach to his ribs.
We need a plan first! Blisters back, a whirlwind of thoughts tearing at Four’s brain as he tries to run through options. He needs a portal. Now.
He focuses on the old magic he knows so well, letting the bubbling feeling of its energy settle in his chest. It crackles under his ribs, a fire sparking at fresh wood, filling him with warmth. Slowly, the sparks pull inward, filling his lungs with popping energy. He breathes out, the sparks flying up and out and leading him forward. And… there!
Down in the alcove the old keese-woman had been occupying, a lone blue and white pot sits, tipped on its side.
Go Go Go Go Gogogogogogogo!
Wait! Screeches a third, a bolt of lightning splitting a tree, the thought spreading through his mind like a forest fire. The others! What about the signal?
Four’s eyes flash down toward the corner Legend was occupying.
The hero turned drawing has pulled himself out from behind the boxes, now his entire head and one arm visible. His hand moves frantically, palm facing out. He cycles through four positions over and over and over again, hand shaking slightly back and forth, as though making sure he catches only the attention of those who might be looking at him.
He holds up three fingers. Then he curls his hand into a fist, thumb resting outside the fist against the pointer finger. His pinky then sticks out, the thumb coming to rest over his other three fingers. Finally, his hand clenches back into a fist, thumb tucked under the pointer finger, it’s tip sticking out from the knuckles of his hand.
W-A-I-T
Screw that! We need to help them now!
No, Legend is right. If we jump in now, we could compromise the situation. Make them angrier. More likely to fight. If they think they have the upper hand, they may let something slip.
And if we wait for the signal, at least we know one other person is jumping in with us. A more coordinated assault.
Four’s hand twitches over the pommel of the Four Sword, a finger tracing the gem there. He draws the blade but just holds it at the ready. A compromise.
“What did you put in our drinks?” demands Time as he levels the Biggoron sword at the bartender. The man? Keese? laughs with a squeaky voice, the sound grating on Four’s ears.
“Just something to help you relax,” he says, amber eyes alight with satisfaction. “It seemed to have worked just fine on your friend there, but you three needed a larger dose. I’m honestly impressed.”
Using two clawed fingers, he pushes the sword away from his face, grin widening as Time’s grip on the pommel falters.
“Stop playing with your food and cut to the chase,” hisses a new voice impatiently.
Across from him, the grate over Wind and Wild’s hiding place rattles. Four clamps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from shouting out.
I knew it Just as I suspected Well shit But she seemed so nice!
And low and behold, the woman from the shop emerges from the back room, nose flat and flared, massive ears back in anger and amber eyes lacking pupils.
“You.” Time says, words coming from between gritted teeth. He brings his other hand up, now using both arms to hold up the sword. Beside him, Twilight’s blinks are getting longer and slower as he faces down the three monsters approaching them from the back.
The Master Sword clatters to the ground as Warriors slumps over completely, practically laying on top of Sky.
The shopkeep narrows her eyes at Time.
“Where is the hero?” She demands, flexing a hand to display her claws.
“I don't know what you mean.” Time replies coldy.
The woman hisses, air slicing between her fangs. “Don’t bother lying! That kid of yours had his blood on his sleeve. I could smell it!”
Our fault...
Without pausing, the woman fishes around in the pocket of her dress for a second before she pulls out another key, the bronze flashing in the dim light of the bar.
“I went to the house,” Four’s stomach drops to his feet. “Your brats weren't there. Are they in on it? Where are you hiding him?”
Time’s eyes widen at her words, the drugs probably muddling his head enough to make it difficult for the man to try to hide any of his feelings.
She tilts her head at his expression and then sneers at him.
“You thought they were still there,” she says voice disbelieving and flat. A sardonic laugh pushes it’s way past thin lips. “Man, you must be a real shit father if you can’t keep track of two injured kids.”
The shopkeep stalks forward, closer to Time. Meanwhile, the bartender loops around the otherside, closing in on the old man’s blind side. The three others staring down Twilight move forward, snarling.
Despite everything telling him to watch his friends, Four keeps his eyes glued to Legend.
Wait. C’mon, c’mon! Stay calm! Ughhh!
“They smell like him,” The bartender says conversationally. “And not just that they’ve been around him. Something about them smells… familiar.”
“If we can’t find the brat, maybe we could just use their blood instead,” Pipes up one of the card playing men as he eyes Twilight, not daring to step any closer with a blade still held pointed at his chest.
“No!” the shopkeeper spits, amber eyes ablaze and lips pulled into a snarl. “It has to be him! For the power he stole from our master! For stealing this world from us! A drop of blood for every monster he ever killed.”
Wait for it…
“I want to see the light leave his fucking eyes as the world comes down around him.”
An eruption of purple and an arm pulling itself from the wall sets several things in motion at once.
A sharp slam echos through the room as a metal grate strikes stone. The skittering from above resolves into a heavy clunk as something heavier drops from the rafters. Four takes a running leap and dives off the shelf, Roc’s cape billowing behind him as he slices through the air, a tiny arrow aimed straight toward the pot.
He slams into the back of the ceramic, and the bubbling, popping, geyser of magic erupts inside him. It jumps from his chest, condensing into blue runes that jump and jive and dance around his head, circling circling circling. The energy still in his chest breathes in, breathes out, and then expands, pushing at his bones, pushing at his skin. Four feels the magic push past his physical boundaries, and the smithy throws himself out of the pot as he grows.
Four brandishes the Four Sword in front of him.
Across from him, Legend stands in the fading purple light of his own magic, flame rod in one hand and a shield in the other. He looks angry. Angrier than Four thinks he’s ever seen the veteran hero look, canines bared in the cruelest smile the smithy has ever witnessed.
Wind stands triumphant in front of the unconscious Warriors and Sky, Phantom Sword held out in challenge for anyone to get near.
Wild, meanwhile, kneels on the bar, strightbacked as he aims his bow at the three monsters who had been approaching Twilight. Three electrical arrows sit knocked against the champion’s string, barely restrained by his knuckles.
And behind those surprised monsters, stands Hyrule.
For the barest of seconds, hazel eyes cloud over with regret. Guilt. But then that second ends. A pink, golden glow seems to blossom in Hyrule’s eyes, a beautiful dahlia growing in his pupils. The smell of ozone fills the air. Sparks of electricity hiss and sputter between the brunets fingers, dancing to an unseen beat.
The traveling hero extends his hand to the shopkeeper.
“You want me? Come and get me.”
And then everything explodes.
The shopkeeper lets out a scream of fury, her wings flapping thunderously to propel her toward Hyrule. Four lunges forward, slashing into the keese person closest to him; the old woman. She lets out a hiss as the blade bites into her shoulder and then a scream as her body seizes up. Her wings twitch and convulse unnaturally, arcs of greenish, yellow energy crawling over her skin.
Wild must have released his barrage, Four thinks, if the two matching screams are anything to go by.
Time dives forward, stabbing one of the card players while Twilight takes a large step forward, letting the momentum of the movement throw him into a spin attack, his sword scoring deep lacerations into the monsters’ stomachs.
Almost makes this too easy. Part of him thinks viciously as Four takes the moment of vulnerability to drive the Four Sword through the hag’s chest. Her scream cuts off as the pain causes her lungs to freeze in their tracks. A claw rakes across the smithy’s arm but he ignores it, pressing the blade in deeper.
She coughs, and blood– her own or perhaps others– splatters into Four’s face and hair. The glow behind her yellow eyes fades and then in a plume of noxious black smoke, she is gone.
A blast of heated air pushes into Four’s face, almost causing him to close his eyes against the warmth. In front of him, a tower of swirling flame erupts from the wooden floor, engulfing the bartender. His screams rise, too high to be human as the smell of burnt hair and skin clogs the air. The light of the flames dances in Legend’s eyes as the screeches slowly fade away, no sympathy in poisonous blue eyes.
Seeing the last two monsters staggered from Twilight’s hit and frozen with fear from Legend’s display, Four rolls to the floor behind them, dragging his sword across the back of their knees as he moves past.
One falls forward with a cry, soon silenced as Wind slashes into his neck with the Phantom Sword. The other falls backward, another arrow sticking from his eye courtesy of Wild.
Legend strides through their fading smoke, fire rod glowing and held at the ready to help Hyrule.
The traveling hero thrusts his shield forward, blocking a wide arching slash from the woman’s claws. The nails hit the metal with a clang. She changes tactics, gripping the sides of the sheild with both hands, pulling Hyrule closer to her gnashing teeth.
While she goes for the face, Hyrule aims low, slashing into her legs with his sword. With a cry, she lets go of the shield and turns quickly, slamming one of her wings into the unsuspecting hero, knocking him back a few steps.
Legend takes advantage of the brief moment of separation, swinging his fire rod in a downward arc. A wall of fire flares between the two combatants, separating the snarling woman from the panting hero.
By the time the flames die down, Hyrule is flanked by both Legend and Four, weapons and shields raised. To the side, Wild raises his bow once more and Wind readies a boomerang.
“Last words?” Legend asks.
The woman doesn't even look at the veteran, amber eyes locked on Hyrule. Her eyes trace a single bead of blood that rolls from the teens bottom lip where the skin has split from the force of her wing attack.
“We’ll never stop, hero,” she says, spitting the last word with all the venom in the world. “You will never know a moment of peace! Not until that cowardly little heart of yours beats its last.”
Her face suddenly lights up with glee, eyes flicking between Hyrule and Legend and then back to all the others, landing on each one of them in turn.
“They don’t know, do they?” She asks, voice squeaky with her giggles, fear mingling with the laughs, making them sound desperate and breathy. Her amber eyes sweep over them. “If you knew what power lies in his blood, you’d be tripping over yourselves to kill him too.”
A sharp, bark of laughter cuts through the air. Legend steps more fully in front of the woman, shoving the fire rod in her face as he cuts off her line of sight from Hyrule.
“Okay, listen here you overgrown piece of guano, ‘cause I’m feeling generous. I’m not gonna repeat myself,” he says.
“Ever heard of the Hero of Legend?” Her flat nose scrunches and her ears flick in confusion. At her tentative nod, the veteran hero pulls at one end of his tunic, as he gives a small mocking curtsey. “A pleasure, I’m sure,” he says with a nasty smile.
"So if you’ve heard of me, then you know what I did?” he asks, staring at her intently.
“You supposedly killed Ganon,” she says, eyes wide. Legend clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
“Partially right.”
The spherical red orb on the end of the fire rod glows brighter and Four sees the air around it grow shimmery, heat radiating off it as Legend holds it closer to the keese woman. She shrinks away from it, her back hitting the wall.
“See, I’ve killed Ganon three times.” He presses the fire rod closer, the outer edge of the orb now licked with small flames. Blue eyes are locked with amber, an ocean pulling the sun into its depths at the end of the day, drowning it. “I’ve traveled through time, fixing the past to change the future. I’ve changed the seasons with the flick of a wand. I’ve walked through the cracks of the universe and came out fine on the other end.”
“I’ve woken sleeping gods,” he grits out. Legend finally seems to come back to himself pulls and himself back away from the monstrous woman. Four watches as she relaxes minutely as the hero steps away, standing at Hyrule’s side once more.
“I’ve seen enough power. Not interested.” With a small circle of the rod, embers erupt around the woman, a tight circle of small fires pinning her in place. She lets out a sharp gasp as the flames slink in closer and grow like terrifying bright poppies.
“I don’t know where you all go where you die but tell your friend this: if I find even a hair out of place on his head, he won't be the one who has to worry about being hunted, got it?”
Before she can get out a response, the fires converge, twining together first into a cage and then a singular pillar. It flares up up up toward the ceiling, the heat so great that Four finds himself stumbling backward from it, wishing he had his protective gear and goggles on.
And then, just as fast as it had flashed upward, the fire extinguishes itself, only a blackened spot on the ground and a swirl of purple smoke a sign that it had ever existed.
“Good.”
SIlence reigns over the now empty bar, all eyes locked on Legend.
Holy shit. Rises like a bubble to the surface of Four’s mind.
“Holy shit,” says Wind. Four nods at the sentiment. Because really, there isn’t anything else to say.
…
Getting everyone back to the house is a production.
Wind, using his power bracelets, bridal carries the unconscious Warriors the whole way back, a smug smile on the sailor’s face as the captain’s scarf drags behind him in the mud. Legend takes up a similar job, but instead carries the still snoring Sky slumped over on his back in a very awkward looking piggyback ride.
Wild supports a dizzy looking Twilight, in an ironic reversion of the day before. Time, whose legs seem to have failed him completely, is hunched over Hyrule and Four’s own shoulders as the two younger heroes all but drag the older man through the streets of Saria Town.
Once again, Four has to thank the goddesses for making sure not too many citizens witness their procession. Not for the first time since they’ve arrived here, the smithy is glad that this isnt his Hyrule. He won't have to be the one to explain this.
Thankfully, they’re able to get back to the house without incident.
“They’ll be fine,” Hyrule says with a weary smile as he and Legend leave the room they had designated as the infirmary. Four lets a breath of air out through his lips. Beside him, Wild and Wind visibly relax as well.
“They’ll just have some pretty nasty hangovers tomorrow,” Legend puts in, with an exasperated roll of his eyes.
“So, you’re saying I can’t scream ‘Told you so’ as soon as they wake up?” Wind asks, head tilted and face innocent.
Legend shrugs his shoulders. “It would be a real dick move. But we deserve payback so, go nuts, kid.”
“On the topic of what just happened,” Hyrule cuts in, eyes cast down to the floor, “I wanted to apologize to everyone.”
The traveling hero clutches at his chest, hand fisted in his green tunic.
“I told you all it was safe here. And I-I was wrong about that,” the teen’s voice catches in his throat. He swallows thickly a few times and then finally raises his head, looking at each of them in turn with sorrowful hazel eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Wild shakes his head vigorously. “There was no way you could have known this was going to happen.” Hyrule opens his mouth to argue, but the champion barrels forward, voice powerful. “It’s never your fault that people want to kill you for being you. That's not something you can control and definitely not something to apologise about,” he says. Empathy burns in the champion’s eyes, and for a second, Four wonders if Wild is reciting someone else’s words.
Words that he has heard himself a million times and internalized. Words that are etched into his brain.
Hyrule looks like he wants to argue further, but Legend places a hand on the younger hero’s shoulder, capturing his attention. He shakes his head once, eyes intent. The traveling hero slumps under the other’s gaze.
“Thanks,” he manages, a weak smile pointed at them
WIld brightens. “No problem. Now,” he says, changing the subject and trying to lighten the mood. “Dinner.”
Wind immediately perks up. “Soup! Soup! Soup!” He chants, following behind Wild as the older heads toward the kitchen.
“We had soup last night.”
“Not seafood soup! That’ll make everyone better in no time!”
Their voices fade as they turn out of the hallway and into the living room.
Hyrule and Legend make no move to follow them. Neither does Four.
The tentative smile that had fallen onto Hyrule’s face crumbles, leaving him somber. Resigned. There are bags under his eyes, Four notes suddenly with a hint of worry. He wonders how much magic the other hero had just used to make sure their friends were stable. He wonders how tired the other must be.
“I’m assuming you want answers,” Hyrule says, looking more exhausted and sad with each word. “What she said about me–”
“I don't care about that,” Four says, causing Hyrule’s head to pop up and eyes widen in slight surprise. “It wasn’t her secret to tell.”
All of the events from the past two days: The injuries, the anger, fear, regret, all of it adds fuel to the fire burning through Four’s chest and searing into his brain. The fire that tells him to comfort and protect.
We can hug him now, right? The fire asks, bright and hopeful and maybe just a little bit desperate for physical affection.
Yes. Comes a reply, easy as a summer breeze.
Ughhh do we have to? Ever the rain cloud on a sunny day.
Don’t play coy. Says the last.
Four’s arms slowly encircle Hyrule’s middle, allowing the other time to pull away if he wanted to. When he doesn't, the smithy leans into the embrace and squeezes. The traveling hero doesn't respond at first, muscle tensed and breath caught in his throat. However, slowly but surely, warm arms fold themselves around Four’s back and Hyrule’s chin comes to rest on the top of the smithy’s head.
“What information you choose to share with us is yours to decide,” Four says against the other’s chest, the words almost sounding too formal for the situation at hand, but heartfelt nonetheless. “I won’t think any less of you if you want to keep this to yourself.”
Four feels Hyrule nod, the older’s chin leaving the top of his head for only the barest of moments.
They stand like this for a moment. Eventually, Hyrule’s grip on him lessens, indicating to Four that he should let go. Part of him doesn't want to. Hell, actually, all of him doesn't want to. He does anyway.
Legend lets out an awkward cough, that almost has Four rolling his eyes as he and Hyrule fully pull apart.
Really, the vetreran hero had the emotional range of a Deku Scrub. No, less than that. A Leever.
“Maybe a smaller secret would be easier to start with?” Legend suggests, with a raised eyebrow and and a smile. “Namely, how the holy Hylia both of you got into the bar? Both of you seemed to appear out of thin air when I gave the signal.”
Four and Hyrule look at each other and then back at Legend.
“Trade secret.” Four says with a smile as he walks past the older hero and into the living room. Behind him, Hyrule lets out a sharp snort of laughter while Legend makes a mock offended noise at being brushed off so easily.
There was a sound from the rafters and then Hyrule appeared, right?
Hmmmm
Four lets a laugh bubble up from his throat.
Yes. A smaller secret indeed.
#lu alone together#lu four#lu legend#lu wind#lu hyrule#lu wild#everyone has a part tho so like yeahhhhhhhh#this shit is so long holy fuck#I would maybe recommend just reading it on ao3 like thats how long it is#anyway hope y'all like!!!#tw blood#linked universe#train writes
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Fanfic Game
This is a game the dorks played because they were bored.
Here is how it works: We choose a prompt and write something in five minutes, but only say what the last sentence of what we wrote was. Then, this happens.
Dork 2: This is extremely crack. We are both terrible.
Janus goes to therapy
Warnings: Alcohol, depression, swearing
D1 (Dork 1):
He watched helpless as the door closed behind her. Janus was pushed to put it simply. He decided to try therapy, yet it definitely was not what he expected. Now he sat in his therapists room after he had caused her to leave. This was fantastic. Sighing, he stood up from the somewhat comfortable couch, and walked out of the therapy office. He was glad he hadn't booked those extra appointments he thought about. He opened his car door and sat in the front seat. Taking a long sigh, he slammed his head into the steering wheel, causing a large honk. He was the only person that would end up in this situation. He had ended arguing with his therapist. "Fuck my life" he murmured to himself. It was a solid four minutes before he ended up, actually starting his car.
D2 (Dork 2):
The car started and he moved out of the mental asylum parking lot. The streets were empty and he could only hear his car on the road. He ended up seeing a liquor store and decided to get himself some nice fresh alcohol for the ride. His car, shitty as hell takes a few minutes for the car door to finally get open. Other people from the sidelines watch him like he is crazy trying to open his car door. He goes into the store and remembers he forgot his id and decides to just steal alcohol from the store. Glass bottles break and the cashier tries to stop him. Janus runs out of the store, getting back into the car. The car door flies away and Janus drives and drives. He doesn’t care anymore, and he can’t help but love being such a daredevil. He just wishes one day miss Crofter’s would love his sexy smile.
D1:
He just wishes one day Ms.Crofters would love his sexy smile. Maybe that would keep her from leaving his therapy appointment. Besides being extremely pissed, he was also sad. Sad that he, out of all people, caused his therapist, the person that was supposed to help him, leave. Maybe this proved that all his insecurities were correct, maybe putting on a facade was the right thing to do. Maybe acting stronger would be better than acting like he actually is under that shell. He wishes he could show the world that person. The person who just wants to make the world better and brighter for him and his friends. He laughed to himself, a small, hollow, sad laugh. It was ironic that he seemed to have two faces, just like his name. Wow he was pathetic, just like he thought. No one wants to be around him, not his friends, not his therapist, not himself.
D2:
He sits on the edge of the road, questioning his humanity. Was it really the right thing to do? Getting to please everyone around him isn’t helping him. He may be tough and strong, but it isn’t enough. He just wants someone to care for him but nothing ever works. He sips the last drop of his whisky and throws it to the road watching as glass shatters everywhere in the black night. He starts to wander around more, thinking about kites and kittens until he walks back up to miss crofters office. He doesn’t know why he is here, but he is. Janus sees her face again, and miss crofters can obviously tell he isn’t doing too good. Miss crofters can’t help but give him a hug to make the pain go away.
The server Virgil needs
Warnings: swearing, mentioned death, anxiety, food
D2:
It was just for one night. Virgil was not ready to go to this party, but Logan insisted since he needed his daily dose of socialization every once in a while, or all the time. He looks at the front door, preparing himself for what to come and opens the door. Music blasts in his ears, the floor literally vibrating. Virgil does his classic “put hood over head to avoid talking to people”. Then, he decided to go into the next room he saw, where there might not be too many people. The door creaks open to even more noise than before and to shock he actually sees people he knows. Roman, the big boy is hanging from the chandelier, acting like he is flying like a crazy person. He turns over to see Remus the crackhead, trying to shoot him like he is bird. What the fuck is going on???
D1:
Virgil just wanted to go to his friend's house, not have this. Staring at his friends house, Virgil felt his breathing hitch. Why was their loud music and speakers? Why the fuck were there decorations? And why the fuck did he honestly have to be here. Virgil thought about a few way to get out of this situation. He could leave, like honestly just walk back to his house, his mom would be confused but it would be a way out. He die, just curl right there in the grass and suffocate. He could stand in the road in wait for impeanding doom. Maybe find Patton and get hugged to death. Anything but go inside. Wasn't there a neighborhood lake, he could drown in.
D2:
Wasn’t there a neighborhood lake he could drown in? He leans back in one of the folding chairs and looks up at the stars. Why did he have to be here right now? The smell of fire from the grill fills the outside, and Virgil really wants a taste but he doesn’t feel like talking to anyone else to get it. Logan appears before him and gives him a plate of an assortment of different barbecue type foods, burgers, hot dogs, etc. Virgil, forced to take the plate from Logan decides to start taking bites off his food.
“I can’t let you sit here and starve Virgil,” Logan says, staring to eat off his own plate as well. Virgil thanks the heavens that Logan is able to be his server tonight.
D1:
Virgil thanks the heavens Logan was able to be his server tonight. Logan sat next Virgil on the grass. The sun was just starting to set. The Ray's washing over both of them. Virgil really wasn't interested in the food. He was just enjoying the sunset, and his friends presence. It was a weird day, not normal really at all, but hey it ended alright. That's all that mattered, right?
S’mores prank
Warnings: food, fire, briefly mentioned bugs, swearing
D1:
The fire was getting closer. Virgil hissed at the large orange flames in the fire pit, not enjoying how warm they made him while he was already wearing a hoodie. "Virge, that's not gonna make them go away," Patton said before shoving another marshmallow in his mouth. "Patton, we conquered those marshmallows for s'mores. If you eat all of them we won't be able to make s’mores." Logan said from his seat on a log next to Roman. "Come on Lo stop being a sorry sport, we can always conquer more!" Roman said, throwing a marshmallow into the flames. The sides had decided to go camping in the mind palace, well Roman decided he wanted to go camping and dragged them along. And Virgil was hating every second of it. He had to sleep on the ground, in a clostraphoic tent, and was surrounded by bugs. This was a shit situation for the emo side, and he was gonna make it hell for Roman.
D2:
Virgil started to work on his new deviant plan, ready to get at Roman. Roman has been pranking him for all these years and this time he is going to pay for it with good old sweet karma. He goes over and starts messing with the s’mores, putting his own ‘special’ ingredients to the mix. Some nice laxatives, and oh boy was this gonna be fun watching Roman suffer. Roman is laughing as the fire grew bigger, asking for a nice treat to have with the fire. Virgil couldn’t help but smile at what was about to happen next.
D1:
Virgil couldn't help but smile at what was about to happen next. Everything was about to fall in place, a perfect picture plan, Roman would never cross Virgil like this again. "Ahh, I'm gonna turn in for the night guys." Patton exclaimed with a yawn. "Padre, you're gonna go to sleep this early? Come on you should stay," Roman said. Logan stood up, "actually Patton is right, we can continue this 'bonding exercise' tomorrow, we should all go to sleep so Thomas can be in top conditions tomorrow." Logan and Patton then started walking to their tents. "Well Emo nightmare, we should go to sleep then, God knows you won't get it though," Roman said standing. "Wait!" Virgil yelled, the other sides turning to see why he just screamed.
D2:
He didn’t want Patton or anyone else to get hurt, only Roman because Roman is a piece of shit.
“Don’t eat those.” Virgil tells Logan and Patton.
Patton looks gloomy, wanting a satisfying taste of s’mores.
Patton looks back at Virgil, upset. “Why can’t we? Roman is shoving those into his face right now.”
Virgil knows they won’t listen if he tells them what is really going on.
“I may have... uh...” Virgil can’t help but feel guilty, but his plan has already worked. Roman is shoving the s’mores into his face right now.
“I put laxatives into the s’mores...”
Guns and sushi
Warnings: Guns, food, Remus, knives, dead bodies, people tied up, blood, fist fighting, theft
D2:
Under normal circumstances, he would speak his mind, but with a gun against his head. “Buttt whyyyy???? I just want to play with some of the dead bodies out in the back!!!” Remus says with a bratty tone. He seems really upset, and Patton can’t help but feel disgusted. How the heck did he get here, with Janus and Remus?! He tries to get his way through the ropes but nothing works. This is Janus’ and Remus’ specialty. He may know Janus a little bit more now, but this is really the only way to get Remus to stop acting like a lunatic. Remus breaks open from his own handcuffs after being at gunpoint from yours truly, Janus. Janus puts the gun down and turns over to look at Patton, and Remus can’t help but giggle from the sidelines.
D1:
"What are we gonna do now?" Patton sighed. "I honestly don't have a clue." Janus looked at Remus for a second before looking back at Patton, "we could leave him here and just leave, get some food, oh maybe Chinese?" Patton thought about it for a second, "fine, but make it Sushi. It could care less for Chinese right now." Janus nodded and the two walked out the door of the grimy warehouse. Just before they both got in the car though, Patton tugged open a window. "Come one we can't leave him locked in there!" Janus sighed, "fine, but get in, I'm hungry."
D2:
Remus slips a certain something from under his shoe and in such a way Janus would never notice. It was a pocket knife. Janus and Remus walk away from the large cage, leaving Patton alone, in complete darkness and he could barely see anything. Guess they weren’t going to stay after all. Patton gets the knife in his hands tied around his back and starts cutting. They are very thick ropes, but at this point he just wants to get home and see everyone again. He manages to cut and he is released. Patton is happy that Remus left the cage door open, but what are really his intentions? Remus doesn’t do these types of favors without any motive behind it.
D1:
Remus invaded the kitchen like a warrior on a battlefield. He was here to make sure Patton got the noodles he wanted, and Remus might treat himself as well. The chefs and servers were all confused, telling him to leave and get out of the kitchen. Remus smiled, Patton was gonna get his noodles. It's safe to say no one left that kitchen without a bloody nose. Remus had really taken a beating to everyone there. Once everyone was out cold though, Remus snooped around the kitchen before seeing it. On top of the stove, was a large pot of noodles, exactly what Patton wanted. Grabbing the pot, and something else Remus ran back to the main restaurant, and to the side of a disappointed Remus and Patton. "So you robbed the place of there noodles and ice cream?" Janus asked. "Yup!" Remus exclaimed, licking a popsicle.
“Do you love me?”
Warnings: sexual intentions, kissing
D1:
The footsteps were moving away. Roman let out a heavy sigh. They couldn't be caught, not now. They had been doing this for weeks but still every sound made them pause, every foot step made them step away from each other, and every word that wasn't one of there’s ruined the mood. It was upsetting but the safest thing to do, if they were caught...it would never happen again. It was a strange idea, logic and creativity being together. Wanting each other. Not feeling complete without one another. But they did. So when the lights turned off, and the others went to sleep, Roman sneaked in,to Logan's room to feel complete. To have his other half. "We can't keep doing this," Logan said. Roman sighed, it was true. It was painful every time a kiss was broken by footsteps. "Than what do we do?" He asked. "Tell them," Logan said. "Lo, we can't, they won't" Logan brought up a hand to cup Roman's cheek.
D2:
“Ooh? Wow Logan I didn’t know you liked this type of thing.” Roman places his hands around Logan’s waist.
“Well, passionate kissing can burn between 2 and 26 calories a minute, and also can reduce stress. This can be extremely beneficial to both of our health.”
Roman looks at Logan almost like his face is trying to make a sigh but he can’t.
“Ugh please don’t start Logan.”
To get Logan to not talk anymore, he pushes him up against the wall, Roman presses his lips against Logan’s. Logan, wanting to talk more about health benefits finally decides to give in, letting the kisses get more passionate than before. Eventually, Roman decides to slip his hand between Logan’s thighs.
D1:
"Roman we can't-" "Logan you love me." Logan looked at Roman wide eyed. Logan wasn't good with emotions, but he knew love was strong. It wasn't a word you threw around, you had to be certain. And Logan didn't know how to Express what he had with Roman. It was strong, yet fragile. It made him feel confident. And he wanted more moments with Roman. Hell, he wanted every moment to be with Roman. Log a finally broke the silence, "do you love me?" Roman paused for the smallest of seconds, "yes." Logan pushed Roman away from him "Then tell them, about us. I can't handle keeping this a secret Roman, we need to tell them."
D2:
Roman looks down at the ground, trying to find an excuse but can’t manage to make one.
“Why do relationships need to be so hard???” Roman more upset than ever, holds Logan close.
“All we need to do is tell them. I mean think about it, we all know Patton and Virgil are a thing.” Logan says.
“Wait, what?! How couldn’t you tell me this info sooner?!”
Logan, realizing his clothes are a lot more of a mess than before.
“Roman, do you have some missing brain cells or are you just clueless?” Roman totally offended snaps back.
“I’m not oblivious! At least I’m not the one reciting lines from the last article you read about kissing! Don’t tell me that isn’t odd!”
Logan can’t help but feel embarrassed.
A soulmate AU?
Warnings: Food, condoms
D1:
He couldn't believe it. Was it really him? Roman stared across the small library at the man behind the counter. He was tall, with brown hair and glasses, along with wearing a tie and dress shirt. On his neck was a simple tattoo, taking the form of a dragon sitting atop a pile of books. The same tattoo that Roman had on his left hip. He couldn't believe, Roman was staring at his soulmate. All his life he had dreamed of meeting his soulmate. Someone who was perfect for him in every way, someone to love him every second. And now he was a few isles away from them. What was he supposed to do? Run up and randomly kiss them? No that would be weird.
D2:
Logan walked over to one of the bookshelves and grabbed a book. Roman couldn’t get the courage to do it. On his way to one of the tables to get a close look at Logan, he sees something under the table.
“What the...” Roman mumbles.
A lady behind him notices as well, and screeches.
“IS THAT A USED CONDOM?!” The lady runs away and Roman looks at it in horror. Logan turns over and walks over to Roman, startled when he looks under the table like everyone else in the room. People start discussing what to do with it while Roman and Logan stare intensely at the used condom.
“Disgusting... in a public library...” Logan says.
D1:
"That's… gross," Roman said, before his eyes trailed back to Logan. "Um, I actually came over here to ask you something." Logan looked at Roman curious, "and what would that be?" Roman took a second to try to form a response, just screaming out 'I'm your soulmate' would probably confuse him, and he honestly wanted this first meeting to go well. "Here, showing you would be better," with that Roman took his shirt off, turning so that Logan could see his left side. Logan, who at first was very confused, stared at the large dragon tattoo on Roman's side. Roman turned back around to look at Logan. "Seems we might be soulmates."
D2:
“Roman. Let’s go somewhere together.” Logan takes Romans’ hand and leaves the library. Roman can’t help but blush when Logan holds his hand like this. Then, Logan stops suddenly. They both look up to see the most beautiful thing in the world, the greatest ice cream shop that sells beans with ice cream and other things. Logan and Roman run towards the ice cream shop, skipping along the way there.
“Let’s get some ice cream with beans,” Logan says, “they help oxygen flow through your body.” Logan keeps pulling Roman towards the ice cream shop and they enter.
“You look like two happy donkays if I do say so myself,” the cashier says. “What would you donkays like to get today?”
“Oooh oooh can I get some BEANS?!” Roman yells.
“Sure thing donkay! All the donkays get bean ice cream today!”
The donkays scream yay at getting the taste of some nice bean ice cream.
Patton’s secret
Warnings: Alcohol, implied sexual content, swearing, Remus, first fighting, injuries
D2:
He sat him down and held him close before telling him the horrible news.
“Patton, I—“ Virgil is shushed.
“Shh, I’m enjoying this moment between us together.” Patton holds Virgil tighter.
“I feel like there is something I don’t know about...” Virgil stops looking at Patton, extremely angstily. “Patton, please tell me what is going on, I need to know.”
“I don’t know if I should tell you, it is really bad...” Patton whispers.
“It’s okay, I’ll help you in any way I can.” Virgil shows a smile, and the only smile he has given all night.
“I—“ Patton stops himself from speaking, he can’t bring himself to say it.
“Please, I love you so much Patton and I care about you.”
Patton sighs. “I’m pregnant.”
“W-what?! How the heck are you pregnant?” Virgil yells.
D1:
"Wha- what how the heck are you pregnant?" Virgil yells. Patton winced at the sound, no this isn't what he wanted he really didn't want Virgil angry. "I-I'm sorry Virge, I was drunk and not thinking, please I love you I promise!" Virgil was shocked how the fuck was he suppose to deal with this?! He was very aware Patton was trans, but they weren't at a comfortable point in their relationship to do anything. They had only been together for a month or two. "Pat, I-I…" Virgil didn't know what to say. Was he ready to be a father? We Patton ready to be a father? He could feel his breathing quicken, the world seemed to blur. "Virge? Virge, breathe for me please." "Y-you cheated on me and got pregnant?!"
D2:
“How could you just have a one night stand with some random person?! Do you even care?!” Virgil stands his ground, flaming with rage.
“I’m done and we are OVER. There is no excuse!” Virgil leaves the room to find a way to release the steam. Why did Patton do this to him? He runs outside and sits against the wall, and he can’t help but cry.
He hears footsteps expecting Patton, but it turns out to be a familiar face.
“Remus...”
Virgil gets up and backs slightly away.
“Hey there Vergy! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Must say that was quite a show in there.” Remus giggles at the drama and entertainment.
“You have something to do with this, don’t you Remus?” Virgil says.
D1:
"You have something to do with, don't you Remus." Virgil said. Remus looked offended "Virgil, drawing random conclusions-" "BULLSHIT!" Virgil yelled. "You can fucking stop the act, you fucked Patton, without protection and this kid is yours!" Remus smirked, sickly sweet, "you say it like he didn't consent." Virgil stared at him, pissed. "You fucking knew me and Patton were in a relationship you sick fuck!" With that the first punch was thrown. Remus looked startled, holding his now very bruised jaw. "It's not all my fucking fault!" Remus said hitting back.
The fight didn't last long, though it ended with both of them majorly bruised. Remus had left, bruised and hurt, leaving a very confused Virgil standing alone on the sidewalk.
#sander sides#sandersides#remus sanders#deceit sanders#janus sanders#virgil sanders#patton sanders#roman sanders#logan sanders#logince#moxiety#intrucality#soulmate au#human au#roman x logan#logan x roman#remus x patton#patton x remus#patton x virgil#virgil x patton#fanfiction#fanfic#sandersides fanfiction#sandersides fanfic#sander sides fanfiction#sander sides fanfic#crack fic#crack post#ts roman#ts patton
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Vows | Chapter Four
Summary: A faithful dog or a broken man… Whatever the case, Sandor has taken vows he does not intend on breaking.
Like the beautiful bodies of those who died before growing old,
sadly shut away in sumptuous mausoleum,
roses by the head, jasmine at the feet -
so appear the longings that have passed
without being satisfied, not one of the granted
a single night of pleasure, or one of its radiant mornings.
Longings ~ Constantine P. Cavafy
◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇
Series Masterlist.
When he wakes, the room is dimly lit, a couple of flickering candles almost burnt down to the wick. Everything seems to be covered in smoke and the foul, acrid odor of tallow.
There are stains of dried ale all over his tunic, the watery kind he’s been downing for days, and the straw bed barely beats the comfort of hardwood floors, but he got what he paid for and he’s not planning on wasting every last coin so that the Stark girl will enjoy her privacy.
There’s heavy pounding at the door, the voices outside rising to a crescendo of rage before a man barges inside the room, short and drunk as any, followed by the stocky woman who robs Sandor blind every night for a pint of ale and broth you wouldn’t feed a pig.
“You got the money yet? We gave ya two days, s’time to pay up.”
His head is pounding as he rises from the bed, body aching in every way imaginable and hand twitching at the thought of silencing the scum before him.
The man’s hands get a hold of Sandor’s shirt, and the woman gasps. when he reaches for his sword, heavy metal pulling at his muscles.
“Listen here, pest, you ever let yer filthy hands near me again, you’ll be searching for them outside the city walls. Have I made myself clear?”
“Aye, ser.”
Sandor grunts, half satisfaction, half pain when the rage inside him fades.
“Don’t let me see you again.”
They both scurry away like frightened mice, filthy insects running from his boot.
The entire place stinks of wine and piss, dirt everywhere around him, and suddenly he longs for the comfort of his own chambers. Dark curtains that spare him from painful sunlight, fine selections of wine and peaceful silence, all things that made it his personal heaven until a certain northern girl invaded his life.
Now everything in it smells of rosewater.
They are no longer his quarters. The she-wolf took over with her many braids, silken dresses, and glassy Stark eyes that he would kill for, without knowing why. In her new lair, she takes the time to heal and lick her wounds. As wolves do, away from the eyes of others in fear of proving weak and falling prey to bigger predators.
Sandor allows it.
Within the hour, he’s ready to leave.
A little girl helps him dress, meekly passing him pieces of his armor despite him telling her there’s no need. She’s small and bruised all over, an abstract sculpture of bones that has seen and felt too much. He only lets her help when he sees the fear in her eyes and suspects that should he send her back, she might receive a beating.
When he’s strapping up, she takes the chance to shove her tiny hands into his pockets, quick and smooth as if she’s been trained for this. She walks away with two copper pennies.
He allows it.
◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇
When he reaches the room, the door is ajar and he’s almost angry at how you never fail to make yourself vulnerable. There are threats left and right and you might as well be welcoming them. He moves to knock, he really does, but the wind beats him to it, pushing the door enough so that he might get a glimpse at you.
Suddenly, making his presence known doesn’t seem as appealing.
Your hair lies long and loose, obscuring the lightness of your dress, yet allowing glimpses of skin on your arms in a southern fashion. For once no plaits adorn it and it hangs in all its northern glory – a sharp contrast.
The handmaiden floats around you, hands curling in your locks as she runs a brush through them, tugging a little too painfully at every knot. He supposes a Stark girl’s hair is not made for this.
‘Any word from your brother, my lady?”
You hum and for a moment he deems it the most peaceful sound he’s ever heard from your lips, but it’s sorrowful. You accepted your fate long ago.
“Is there ever? I’m afraid the king is much too occupied with the newest impending threat. I suppose my brother is too small an enemy to consider when Stannis Baratheon is approaching the city.”
Nira gasps, almost dropping the brush and Sandor laughs to himself from where he stands behind the door. The maiden is older than you, yet you outsmart her in so many ways, you might not be quite the little bird he thought you were.
“Do you truly believe it, my lady, that Stannis will reach the capital?”
“Has the world ever known a Baratheon who failed to succeed in their quest? He will reach the city, Nira, for that rest assured. What happens after that, remains to be seen.”
She moves to face you, resting on her knees to grab your hands with a familiarity that surprises Sandor.
His lady wife is good at making friends.
“Even so, the King’s army will hold. The Lannister troops are already flooding the city, Lord Tywin made sure of it. No harm will come to you, my lady.”
Your own hand raises to her face, a gentle cradle of her cheek – a mother’s touch, the kind he’s long forgotten.
“I have no fear of Stannis. My greatest enemies surround me every day.”
“And yet, it seems that your lord husband’s presence has discouraged them.”
“All lions quiet before attacking their prey.”
The door slams then, the force of wind meets the force of man. Nira rushes to check, always mindful of her lady’s safety, but there’s no one there.
Still, the following days pass in relative silence, mindful of curious ears that creep behind closed doors. Nira has seen enough to know the crown has eyes and ears in every corner. Instead, there’s quiet singing when handling your hair and hushed whispers about childhood stories. Everything blurs with your drinking, honey mead, and berries melting on your tongue.
Sandor Clegane is nowadays quite literally, your shadow.
For a man who’s meant to guard the King, he seems to prefer keeping an eye on you. In the gardens, buried amongst roses and greenery, you can sense his presence. In the quarters you’re supposed to share, no one dares enter but Nira and yet, every now and then, you can hear heavy steps in the hallway.
He never addresses you and you feign ignorance in fear of him stopping.
Nira’s words keep coming back to you; he’s your best chance at safety in this city.
◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇
Footsteps follow on your trail, the same sound of armor clinking with every step, albeit more graceful, less weighty. You’re awfully used to your loyal guard stomping around court, he makes no effort to conceal his presence.
A smile tugs at your lips, you’re starting to understand Sandor Clegane.
“You can always talk to me, you know.”
A hand appears from nowhere and tightens on your wrist, white-knuckled, strong. You turn to fight it but find your feet dragging along the marble as you lose your balance. He pins you to the wall so effortlessly.
“I’m well aware, Lady Stark.”
His breath stinks and he makes a point of shoving his face as close to yours as possible, all in a way that makes your legs go weak and your stomach churn. No fear, you remind yourself. He’s no big predator, he’s but a snake, lucky enough to find a mouse on the ground. Others would crush him.
“Ser Meryn, I would ask that you remove your hands.”
Gloved fingers grasp your chin, bound to leave bruises.
“I must admit, my Lady, that for a woman broken in by the Hound himself, you seem entirely too merry. Tell me, how is your dog treating you?”
Your body recoils, almost melting to the wall in an effort to avoid the proximity.
“I would also ask that you refer to my husband by his title.”
He laughs, such a disgusting sound.
“You’re in no position to ask for things, little lady.”
“And if you don’t let her go, you’ll be in no position to walk when I’m done with you. Your head will be hanging in the throne room if I have it my way.”
Your gaze turns to Sandor, familiar heavy footsteps approaching the scene. His sword is drawn, his eyes are murderous and for the first time, you realize the day might not end with your blood on the floor.
Trant laughs again and it’s a death wish.
“Now, now, Hound, it’s always good to share.”
“I don’t share, especially not with cunts like you. What’s wrong, Trant? I thought you liked them younger.”
His nose moves to graze against your skin, so close to your lips, tears gather in your eyes.
A friend of Robb’s had stolen your first kiss, pinned you against a stack of hey and touched places you would never have allowed him to. Your brothers beat him to the ground the next day.
Sandor Clegane won’t avenge your honor. He’ll chop off anyone’s hands the moment they touch you.
“I like them broken first and foremost. I’m sure you’ve taken care of that.”
White knuckles from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from the effort to keep his composure, Sandor’s large form exudes a burning animosity. His face is red with suppressed rage, and when Trant’s fingers make their way towards your chest, everything snaps inside him.
His sword never meets the hideous flesh of your attacker, but his fist does. A blow to the jaw, powerful enough to make the cracking sound echo in the hallway. Then Sandor’s hands are pressing his face into the wall, a great force overpowered by one greater. It gives you the chance to escape.
Your attacker seems light-headed, gripping his shattered nose where blood runs plenty. There’s stillness on both sides. If hatred was visible, the air would be all shades of red, scarlet and ruby, like the stains on Sandor’s glove. Then suddenly movement, so much force in every hit.
Sandor rains blows onto the man as if he means to smash him into the very earth and there’s barely any resistance. He doesn’t want him dead, he wants him smashed, obliterated, nothing left to bury.
The bloodied rat on the ground manages a hit on Sandor’s face and it only works to enrage him further.
You’ve seen him fight before in the tournament, moves sudden but precise when in duel, you’ve heard stories of men who’ve faced his sword, but this is different. It’s raw violence and force, uncharacteristic rage fueling him.
And then he stops.
He looks at you, always with his good side.
“Go back to yer room.”
You don’t move an inch. You know what this means, you know he’s not stopping and suddenly you’re but a youngling again, running around the training ground with Robb and Jon on your heels. Your father calls for them, forbids you from following.
At night you learn about the man whose head your father took before their eyes, a sight he sheltered you from.
You won’t let Sandor do the same.
Trant’s blood will be in your hands, whether you witness it or not. And so will your lord husband’s when word gets out that he pummeled a fellow Kingsguard member to death. You won’t allow it.
“I said, go back to yer room and lock the door. Don’t let anyone in until I tell ye.”
“I will if you come with me.”
The man scoffs, blood dripping from his fingers.
“Don’t question me, girl. I’ve got to finish some business.”
“If you stay, we both know it will be the end of you, one way or another. The things that Joffrey will do-“
“I’m not the one who needs protecting.”
“You will be if you don’t walk away. Just walk away, Sandor.”
It’s the first time he’s heard his name in a while, first time ever from your lips. Of course, he notices.
“I walk away now, he’ll do it again. I stay here and finish what I started, there’s one less cunt in this fuckin’ city.”
“And is that worth your head?”
He stares at you, so openly, his eyes still screaming murder, yet you refuse to relent.
All it takes a swing of his sword, a single move to push it in Trant’s heart while he’s gasping for air.
He turns to him, spitting on that mess of a face he’s created, branding his work, and then walks right past you, grabbing your arm right where the other man had. It hurts but you don’t dare tell him.
You let him drag you all the way to your chambers, smaller feet catching up with his strides.
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He latches the door and sheds his gloves, then as many pieces of his armor as he can. He looks like he’s struggling to breathe and you worry. His face is flushed, angry scars growing paler every moment.
He reaches for the pitcher of mead on your table, a mistake. It’s awfully sweet, disgustingly so, and he spits it out the moment it meets his tongue, knocking the whole thing over in an effort to push it away.
“That’s not fucking wine.”
You move across the room, his hunched form still in the corner of your eye. His face is buried in his hands and he rubs desperately, most likely because the rush of blood in his head feels impossibly warm. That’s when you notice his bare knuckles, cut and bruised and bloodied all over.
You reach for the bottle of wine under the table, one he put there himself, and place it across him where you sit.
“You’re hurt.”
“Just shut up for a while, alright?”
You do as he asks, but your hands still reach for his. Of course, he pulls away.
“Are you fucking deaf?”
You smile, “I’m not talking.”
Sandor’s lips quirk at that. He watches you wipe away the blood, as gently as if tending to a child.
“It’s nothing.”
You only hum in response, following his previous order. The rug is wet and cold against the skin, relieving pain he has not felt yet. For once he doesn’t fight it.
“You should have let me kill ‘im.”
“I told you, the King would have your head.”
He snorts and it’s a sound you’re getting used to, “What it’s to you?”
“I have no wish for blood to be spilled in my name. Especially not yours.”
“You think of it so nobly, little bird. The blood is only in the hands of those who spill it. Guilt will get you killed, sooner or later.”
“So I’m not to hold myself accountable if you’re accused of attacking a fellow member of Kingsguard?”
The quirk falls from his lips.
“I’m not fucking Kingsguard.”
“You guard the King, do you not?”
You make him laugh and a sense of pride fills you. You gather it’s not something many can do.
Silence washes over you as you tend to his cuts, taking the bottle from his hands to pour wine on them plentiful.
“What the fuck are ye doing?
“I’ll get you more wine, but first I need to dress these.”
“They’re fine as they are.”
The look on your face gives away that you’re not backing down. Damn northern stubbornness.
You wrap his knuckles gently, a torn piece of fabric drenched in wine to prevent infections, the way your father taught you. You suppose it stings but Sandor makes no move to suggest so. When it’s done, you consider it, making sure there’s still blood flow. Your lips fall gently on the makeshift bandage in an almost kiss.
He pulls away like it burns.
“I want to thank you.”
“There’s no need, stupid girl.”
“Must you always interrupt me, my lord?”
“’m not your lord.”
“You’re my lord husband and I must address you some way. If not by title, then by name, but if you please, let me finish.”
He grows quiet.
“I want to thank you, Sandor, for everything, but I beg you, don’t fight for me. With what you did to Ser Meryn, all that Joffrey could do to you… I’m good as dead without you.”
There it is, your cards all on the table.
“I won’t turn into some cunt-proper lord just so your noble heart won’t be plagued with guilt, girl.”
“I never asked you to, I only ask that you don’t endanger yourself, certainly not for me.”
The man grunts and turns his gaze from you, which you take as a sign of agreement.
The table shakes when he moves to stand.
You grab his hand again, this time holding it in place.
“One more thing.”
“Spit it out.”
“I would be forever grateful if you could move back in. It’s my understanding that you’ve established a stay elsewhere, perhaps somewhere far more convenient…” He wants to laugh, the rat-filled room where he stays coming to mind, “…but I would feel much safer if you stayed here from now on.”
You can’t help but observe him, the deepest in thought you’ve ever seen him - good hand rubbing his beard.
“I can arrange for a second bed, or I can take the floor, it’s no issue. I only ask that you don’t leave.”
“Is fear worth your reputation, little bird? People will talk.”
“We are wed before the gods, let them talk. There are few things left for them to say about me anyway.”
At morning Nira arrives to find her lady awake, drinking at sunlight. A snoring lord continues his sleep undisturbed, boots half perched on the table while he rests, long and wide, on the uncomfortable armchair.
The stench of wine and sweat mixes with rosewater.
Her lady smiles.
“We are going to need another mattress.”
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Tags: @love-and-marij @blackwires @captainbuckyboobear@shxrrybomb @well-aint-that-strange @sunflowersandstringlights @bckybrnesrp @thatcutewerewolf @fallatyourfeet @immortalmurphy @iicelland @dorned @modblink @awolfhasnoname @maxinikins @raindancemaggi3 @rainyforrest @evelynfreakinaddams @cleganegirl @wildmaelstrom @ciccithedreamer @simplybrandielaine @captainmarvelfuckedmeup @the-anchored-sailor-girl @tessimagines @valhalla-ally @cha0tic-neutral @slytherh0e @sister-beehive @doitliketennant @anita-e-taylor @emithefangirl @fandomsfanman @iceinhermind @67impalagirl13 @imalittlebean @podthesquiz @scarstrashywritings @missespiruette @homesoutofhuman @simplybrandielaine @ixybirdflower @0midnightheart @jordancollier133 @footballiskillingme @podthesquiz @queendemonfangirl @my-bitch-loki @moviemaniac888 @mythical-clegane @sugasheart @thehoundsraven @imaginecrushes @all-cool-usernames-taken @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @paradoxical--intentions @pokengirl2 @always-hid @lavieenrosetta @treblebeth @just-dreaming-for-now @lokimysunandstars
Once again, I’m sorry for the names Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag.
Let me know if you want in or out the taglist!
#sandor clegane x reader#sandor clegane#sandor clegane series#sandor clegane imagine#sandor clegane reader insert#series#new series#vows#vows series#the hound x reader#the hound series#the hound imagine#the hound reader insert#game of thrones#game of thrones series#game of thrones x reader#multi-chapter
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The foxes and doggo drying. The foxes are finally starting to let go of the grease, as is Hobo. Monty wasn't really greasy to begin with but he was a stinky fuck boy so he's taking a stink boy bath to leech out the cat piss smell
#I've worked on a handful of cats who haven't smelled nearly as cat pissy as dogs I've worked on have#Monty and Faust are the work examples#Faust was the fucking worst he made my entire house smell like fuckin cat piss#not to mention he LEAKED EVERYWHERE when I sent him to jackal#I love that boy but Holy shit was he a stinky fuck#Lilith was also fucking disgusting#and she hated me so every time I moved her degrease tub she would spill everywhere#vulture culture#dog skulls#fox skulls#q
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