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hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 6 months

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Trick or treat!!! 🍫🍭🍬🍩

Hi Rainy! I'll give you a treat! Hope you like it! I'm thinking one of the characters might remind you of someone a lil bit... :)

----

“Hello?” Hero asked, struggling in their restraints.

Hero was tied down to some kind of stone altar, the thick, coarse rope digging through their suit and into their skin. One minute, they had been patrolling the neighborhoods to make sure the trick or treaters were safe, then the next thing they knew, they were waking up here… wherever “here” was.

Several figures in hooded cloaks approached them, each one holding some mysterious artifact. One of them, the one in front of Hero’s head, held a small bottle with vibrant-colored liquid inside. They looked to be the leader.

“Hey, uh, anyone wanna tell me what’s going on?” Hero asked.

“Oh most honorable Deity,” the leader bellowed, “we offer you this enhanced individual as a sacrifice for your day.”

The hooded figures began to chant. One of them forced Hero’s mouth open, while the leader poured the contents of the bottle down their throat. Hero coughed and sputtered.

“May the kiss of sleep ease your transition into death,” the leader said.

“Transition into what!?” Hero asked, their voice going up an octave.

Hero began to thrash and struggle on the altar, but their body was quickly weakening. Their eyes became heavy as their head lolled to the side. The cloaked figures left the room as Hero drifted off.

…

When Hero woke, they felt gentle pressure all over their body.

“What have we here?” a gentle yet thunderous voice asked.

Hero opened their eyes. Looking down at their form, they saw that they were wrapped in several… tentacles!? Hero’s eyes snapped up to an enormous creature with glowing eyes.

“C-Cthulhu!?”

The creature chuckled; their laughter echoed off the cave walls.

“No,” they said, “Deity. I am called Deity.”

Hero gulped.

“A-are you going to eat me?” they asked.

Deity tilted their head, its features scrunching up in confusion.

“No? Why?”

“The- the cult!” Hero said, “they had me tied down on an altar- they poured some kind of sedative down my throat- they said I was gonna die! Wait… am I dead now?”

“I found you sleeping in my temple, tied down,” Deity said, “I assumed someone left you there to die… but my followers? They should know better! Anyone who claims to be a part of my Circle should know I don’t accept human sacrifices.”

Hero was beginning to shake, their eyes glazing over.

“Ah, my true form is overwhelming your mortal mind,” Deity said, “forgive me.”

Deity shrank down to a human size, the tentacles retracting into a pair of arms that supported Hero in a bridal carry.

“Stay right here,” Deity said, laying Hero back down on the altar, “I’ll deal with these so-called cultists, then I’ll return you to your home. Alright?”

Hero felt themselves nodding. Deity smiled, closing Hero’s eyes with their fingers.

“Rest, you’ve had quite the experience, it is normal to be exhausted after meeting me.”

Hero felt themselves drift back off, as Deity chased down the ones who had besmirched their benevolent name.

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#eldritch deity #eldritch #sacrifice #writeblr #writing #whump #creative writing #heroes and villains #hero x villain #snippet #kidnapping #drugging #as requested #restrained #cosmic horror #lovecraftian horror #lovecraftian #lovecraft #cthulu

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emptycalories-splitlip · 6 months

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1: The girl, a rabbit running from wolves, tucks herself down into the grass, heartbeat hammering into the dirt as she listens for the approaching pack. She's sure she got away and peeks out only to see one of the wolves with his ear to the ground and a grin on his face. He can hear that heart. It's giving her away. The knife in her hand yearns either for his belly or her own ribcage. She bolts and he's howling. Run, he calls, run, run, and run! That flow of blood will be his, he promises, every beat will feed the pack. "I will hold you in the end, little rabbit. You will not die alone."

2: She just laid her head down for a minute. The scrolls and books and tomes could wait, she told herself. So how is it that she wakes up in the arms of her commanding officer, his eyes not on her but on the approaching medic. Collapsed, he's saying. Exhausted, feverish, another overworked scribe. She tries to speak but his heartbeat is ringing through his armor and it is terribly distracting. She wonders if he'll notice if she presses her ear closer. Before she can, two different hands are on her skin, one tucked under her jaw and the other pressed into her heaving side. Too fast, too weak, too faint. They're worried and she feels she does not deserve it.

3: The holy water doesn't burn like the priest thinks it will. It is cool, refreshing, a soothing contrast to the heat of the room. Summer sunlight filters through the stained glass, bathing the room in an emerald glow. He consults with the others, eyeing her from across the room. Her breathing is tight, the silver crosses hanging from her neck and arms chime with each pull of breath. The witch's pulse is loud and painful in her ears, suddenly, and she tips forward to kiss the floorboards. No. Tips forward to die upon them. The disinterest of the priests is broken only by realization that if she dies so too does the knowledge they seek.

4: He knows someone is in the water. He feels it like he feels the breeze on his face. On the bank, he watches and is surprised to see the lily petal dress as she sinks below the surface. He steps in, stork-like, and lifts her up and out of the sunlight-dappled stream before laying her on the grass. She does not move, does not breathe, so he sets his mouth to hers and fills her over and over until the water she inhaled rushes up her throat. He coos to her as she remembers living, but he does not touch. She will be frightened of him. So it is another surprise when she reaches for him, hands outstretched and soft lips whispering gratitude into his ear as he moves to hold her.

5: He's so thirsty and the newborns are going to get to her first. She has no idea. Her boots are loud in the alley, her music uplifted and foreign to his ear. Her body, Rubenesque, is soft against his as one arm circles her waist and the other her throat. The heartbeat, oh that eternally perfect drum, races faster than he could imagine possible as his teeth plunge through skin and into a vein. He pulls, drinks deep, and is intoxicated by her grinding, her soft breaths, her slowing rhythms. Perhaps he takes too much or perhaps the fear, he isn't sure, but she slips from him far too quickly. And that will not do. His palm finds a spot between her breasts, remembers the pattern of her pulse, and forces the beat to return. He never moves his mouth away from her throat.

#cardiophile #resus #dark resus #cardiophilia #dark cardiophilia #whump #priest x witch #wolf x rabbit #vampire x prey #deity x devotee #scribe x co

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thepenultimateword · 1 year

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Prompt #148

Cw: captivity and dehumanization

“Happy anniversary my love,” the god said, shoving the thief to their knees with little more than a light tap in the center of their spine.

With their hands bound, their balance tipped them too far forward and they landed roughly on their shoulder, a hiss of pain escaping past their gag.

“A mortal?” the other god gasped. “How incredibly thoughtful!”

“It entered my temple in attempts to steal my offerings. I took it as an offering in itself. After all, no mortal would actually believe they could steal from a deity, would they?”

The god’s eyes flashed in the thief’s direction and they shrank against the floor.

It was supposed to be easy! Temples didn’t have guards, so it should have been in and out with no opposition. The gods weren’t supposed to be real!

“[Prelate]!” the second god chimed crisply, summoning a previously unseen servant from the shadows and to their side. “You know what to do. Give it whatever it is mortals need to stay alive.”

…

This is a little convoluted but that’s ok. Kinda deciding whether this other god has a mortals collection or if they are preparing to eat the thief’s soul. I also imagine this prelate as either a demigod or a minor god or just some other mortal who got intimately mixed up with deities a long time ago and now can’t live normally. In any case, I want them to fall in love with the thief 😅

#human x god #human x demigod #mortal x immortal #fantasy #deities #writblr #writeblr #prompt #short prompt #writing prompt #whump #is this whump?#maybe

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whumpwillow · 1 year

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god or immortal whumperee who get's their voice taken away as punishment

you had me at god or immortal whumpee

#whump #whump prompt #willow answers #answered asks #whump prompts #deity whump #immortal whump #immortal whumpee

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adrift-in-thyme · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 8: Outnumbered

Read on Ao3

- Time/Malon

- Summary: when Time ends up in a battle he can’t win he dons the Fierce Deity mask — a choice with grim consequences

CW for blood and injury, a character losing an eye, possession, self-harm, and vomiting

——————————-

Link stumbles for what must be the hundredth time in the last few moments. His steps are unsteady, his body weary. The room spins like the water of the Great Bay Temple. If he stops moving for even a moment he is certain he will be swept up in its nauseating current.

The screams of monsters ring in his ears, deafening, skull-splitting. It has been a long time since he battled so many.

…if there ever was a time when he had.

A lizalfo swings its dagger dangerously close to his head. Gritting his teeth, Link fells it with a thrust of his gilded sword. But ten more replace it, all crowding around him, battering his body with weapons and claws and teeth. His armor feels about as effective as his regular tunic now. Each blow beats upon him like those of an iron knuckle’s ax.

A particularly wide swing of a dodongo tail trips him up. He nearly falls, catches himself, retreats a bit.

Another step backward, another step closer to the wall.

His heart pounds so loudly he can hear it over the ruckus surrounding him. Sweat runs down his face in rivulets. It has long since soaked his hair and tunic.

He spares a glance toward the ceiling, vaguely wishing he could see the sky through it.

How long has he been in here?

Easy. Simple. That was what Zelda had dubbed this mission. What they had both believed it would be. After all, monsters seldom flood Dodongo Cavern like they did in the days of Ganondorf. And though the Gorons are normally averse to asking for help, they make an exception when it comes to him. They hadn’t warned him of any great threat either.

There had been no reason for suspicion, no need to suspect something dreadful awaited him in here.

All of these monsters…it is as though they appeared out of the air solely to face him.

Link pulls a spin attack, sending some of his assailants flying. He weaves Din’s fire into the tail end of it and the screeches reach a fever pitch before promptly dying out. But the powerful spell hardly makes a dent. If anything, it makes things worse.

He straightens, breathing hard, and squints into the gloom before him. There, standing atop the charred remains of the monsters he has just vanquished stands an iron knuckle.

Desperation cleaves through him at the same time the beast breaks into a run. It shoves aside the monsters crowding around it as though they are weightless. The sound of its clanking armor echoes in his ears and seems to shake the cavern.

With a grunt of exertion, he forces himself forward to meet it. Exhaustion drags at him, his limbs are heavy and numb, his breath comes in haggard gasps. But he keeps going anyway, slicing at the monsters that leap at him.

He has to make it out of here alive. He has to. Malon is waiting for him. She had made him promise to return. And the Hero of Time has never broken a promise.

Especially not to someone he loves.

The iron knuckle brings its ax down in a sweeping motion, cleaving through the air and sending monsters flying. With shaking hands, Link brings up his shield to block.

…it goes flying.

The sound of it hitting the cave wall reverberates in his aching head. His breath catches in his throat.

He throws himself sideways just as the ax comes back around. He can feel the wind as it rushes past him. But he hardly has time to celebrate his victory. Though his quick maneuver keeps his head on his shoulders, it also sends him right into the midst of the other monsters. And before he can react, one leaps for him, weapon held high.

Pain explodes across his face with nauseating force. He stumbles, back hitting the wall with a resounding thud, sword clattering to the ground. Pressing a hand to his eye, he screams.

They close in on him with sadistic eagerness, sensing weakness. But their forms are hazy and indistinct. His fear of them seems very far away now, replaced by a terror of another sort.

Blood streams hot and fast down his face. A throbbing burn grips his eye.

…or the place where his eye once was.

Another blow sends him to his knees (though he can’t help but think he would have ended up there anyway). He falls, choking on blood and bile. The room tilts and he slumps against the wall, trying to breathe.

The pain is endless, pounding behind his eye sockets, streaking through every part of him. And he knows, even through the agonizing haze, he knows he is not going to make it out of here. Not now, wounded as he is.

Link grits his teeth and plunges his bloodied fingers into his pouch. The item he needs is not difficult to locate. After all, he would know the feel of this mask anywhere. It is impossible to forget.

Even so, he pauses for a moment to gaze down at it. The vision in his remaining eye is hopelessly blurred by pain and blood and sweat, but he can still make out the familiar crimson markings. They stir up an all too familiar dread.

He closes his eye, grip tightening on the worn wood.

The iron knuckle is charging again. He can hear its footsteps echoing, even over the screams of the monsters that surround him.

Go on, comes the familiar voice, soft but strong. You know you have no other choice. Put on the mask, little one. Allow me to save you.

Link drags in a haggard breath, fighting to remain afloat on an ocean of agony. Slowly, he lifts the mask to his face.

Forgive me, Malon.

It latches onto him in a searing blur of red-hot light and breath-taking pain. He screams, shrill and panicked and anguished, as control over his own body and mind are snatched away. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t feel anything beyond pain, so much pain…

Then, abruptly, something shifts, and there is only darkness.

Be calm, little one. I will protect you.

Something cold and stifling, familiar and oddly calming blankets him. Link’s grip begins to slip. But he doesn’t plummet. Not yet. By some blessing he holds on.

Even through the drifting haze he can feel his body moving. He knows when a monster is felled by the Deity’s mighty blade, or when his failing limbs take another step. Though the agony and horror are distant, he knows that they are there. And he grasps onto them like a lifeline.

Because that is what they are. Without them, he will fall completely. The Deity’s embrace, though painful at first, is too comfortable, too placid and mindless not to draw him in.

Rest little one, he murmurs, against a backdrop of screaming monsters. You are safe.

Link would believe him if he didn’t know better. If he hadn’t nearly lost himself so many times before.

When the last monster falls he fights to surface from the deep.

Release me, he orders, even as the cold and dark begin to tighten around him like bonds of iron. You have done your job.

I cannot release you now.

Link tries to inhale but his chest feels heavy, his throat tight, and he comes up short. Fear begins working its way in through the numbness.

I want to go home. Let go, Deity. Now.

Why? You are safe with me. You are strong.

Link’s grip slips further. All he can see, all he can feel is black — smothering and frigid. It numbs the agony, chips away at the terror. He could, given time, become comfortable in it. He could grow accustomed to being nothing more than a shadow in his own body, without feeling or thought, without control.

Without pain.

No.

If he gives in now he will be here forever, caged in an inescapable prison. He will never work beside Zelda again to protect the land they love. He will never ride Epona across the rolling hills of Hyrule Field, or play his ocarina with the Skull Kid and his friends. If Navi ever chooses to return, he will not be there to greet her.

And Malon. Beautiful, sweet, fiery Malon. He will never see her again.

Slowly, he begins to lift his hand. It trembles with exertion and exhaustion. And despite his desperate need to escape, it is heavy, reluctant. Some treacherous part of him yearns to stay, as it always does. It yearns to be free. But what freedom is there in a cage?

NO.

It is not his voice that utters the word this time. No, though it is his mouth that forms it. The voice is firm like a father’s, but icy as the winds of Snowhead.

The invisible bonds tighten. He chokes. His fingers freeze, mere inches from his chin.

Little one, you are not thinking correctly. Your pain blinds you to the truth.

You think that you can go on without using me. Do not think that I did not hear what you swore to Malon. But how can you protect her without donning my mask? Look upon yourself.

For a split second, Link sees his reflection as though staring in the mirror – ashen skin and an eye bright with feverish light; blonde hair streaked with crimson and plastered to his cheeks and forehead with sweat; right eyelid sealed closed with drying blood and marred by an angry gash.

You cannot even protect yourself.

You are weak without me. Powerless.

The words propel past his defenses to pierce his very soul. For a moment, and only a moment, Link hesitates.

Listen to me, little one, the Deity rumbles, his voice encompassing Link and pulling him downward. You know you need me.

No, I don’t, he grits out, even as his eye begins to slide closed, his body to go limp. He feels oddly lightheaded, yet heavy. Perhaps, if he surrenders he will be able to breathe again. Perhaps, if he releases his grip now he can rest.

No? Why then, have you worn my mask for seven days?

If he could still draw in air, it would catch in his throat.

Seven days. Seven–

He had thought it had only been one.

How far had he truly fallen to be so unaware? How close had he come – is he even now – to being the Deity’s prisoner? As trapped as the Skull Kid was in Majora’s clutches.

Horror grips him tighter than the Deity ever could, forcing him out of the unfeeling oblivion and toward the dazzling light of day. Link forces himself to grasp the edge of the mask.

Little one, do not be unwise. Remember. All actions have consequences.

He grits his teeth, steels himself, and pulls. It feels as though he is tearing off his own skin. A strangled cry erupts from him, only growing louder and more shrill as the right side of his face begins to burn. The sheer intensity of it nearly makes him black out and for a terrifying second his fingers slip. But through pure desperation, he holds on.

“Come back to me fairy boy,” Malon murmurs, calloused hands cupping his face. “You hear? Be the hero you’ve gotta be, but come back.” A teasing smile lifts her lips. “After all, I need someone to help me manage the cuccos.”

He chuckles. “Is that all you need me for?”

Laughing, she gives him a quick kiss. “Of course not. I need you to feed the horses too.”

The mask comes off in a screaming streak of molten agony. Link crumples.

The right side of his face is all burning, aching pain. Stars dot his vision on the left, broken only by the grayish-red of the blood that coats every part of him. Shoving himself to his knees, he pitches forward and vomits bile.

He dropped his sword at some point, he realizes dimly as he holds himself up on shaking arms. It lies before him, mighty blade reflecting the rocky walls. And when his vision clears for a moment, he can just make out his own reflection wavering upon it.

He looks much the same as he did when the Deity had shown him his state – bloodied and wounded and much too pale. But…there is something there that wasn’t before.

Link inhales sharply, hand flying up to touch the right side of his face. Markings have seared themselves into the flesh there – stripes of crimson, a crown of royal blue. And the eye he had thought he had lost is open despite the gash he knows is still there. It glows in the darkness — white, pupiless, and demonic.

A cry breaks free before he can stop it. Viciously, he digs his fingernails into his face, tearing and scratching. New blood runs down in rivulets and furious red marks mar his flesh. Yet, still he rips himself apart.

Maybe this is a mask too. Maybe if he pulls hard enough, it will slide off revealing his true face underneath.

But his efforts are for nought. The markings remain. And at last, he stops, dropping his hand to his side.

For a long, terrible moment, he gazes at himself. Then, he leans forward and vomits once more.

——————

He doesn’t truly know how he makes it back to the ranch. Likely by the same desperate stubbornness that made him fight the Deity and has guided him through all the hardships of his long life. But however he makes the agonizing journey, it no longer matters once he reaches that familiar path.

He can see their home through his fading vision and make out the familiar form of Malon. She stands on the porch, hair waving softly like a flame dancing with the wind, hands clasped before her chest. Beneath the serene glow of a new moon, she looks almost ethereal.

His aching limbs scream as he breaks into a run.

She meets him halfway through.

“Link!” she cries, tears welling in her eyes, horror on her face. She cups his face, gently, paying no heed to the blood, sweat, and vomit. “Oh, Link, what happened?”

He drags in a breath. “I fought the Deity.”

Terrible comprehension enters her expression.

“Fairy boy,” she breathes. And something about the way she says it goes straight to his heart.

With an anguished sob, he collapses into her waiting arms.

#whumptober 2023 #no.8 #outnumbered #self-harm tw #blood tw #injury tw #possession #vomiting tw #linkeduniverse #fic #trin writes #lu time #fierce deity #lu malon #angst #whump

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knights-in-whumperland · 1 year

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Kokdu: Season of Deity (2023): Episode 6

#kokdu: season of deity #korean drama #asian whump #kim jung hyun #whump #collapse #faint #pass out #unconscious #worry #blurred vision #groggy #episode 6

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skyward-floored · 2 years

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Whumptober day 21 — “you’re safe now”

Continuation to day 10!

*clears throat nervously* Fierce Dadity anyone..?

The whole Fierce Dadity thing is such a fun concept, and trying to write it at least somewhat well was a bit of a challenge for me I’ll admit. I’m usually more for the “angsty possession” view rather than “all powerful deity who is actually a dad”, so I really hope I did it justice...

@skyloftian-nutcase you wanted to be tagged for this :)

Warnings: non-graphic descriptions of injuries, blood and a small bit of vomiting

Ao3 link

Day 10

————————————————————

The Yiga didn’t stand a chance.

Six foot soldiers and a blademaster were nothing to the might of the Fierce Deity, who let out a roar as soon as he took Sky’s place. Time was only barely lucid, but even he flinched a bit at the war cry. The Yiga holding him seemed to have similar reactions, and they fled mere seconds later.

Time fell to the ground after they dropped him, too dazed to catch himself, and drew in a sharp gasp as the raw skin on his chest and back was jarred. He felt like one big scrape, his skin like fire, and he focused intently on not passing out despite how tempting it was.

Sky needed him.

He heard more sounds of fighting, but focused on trying to breath through the pain he was in so he could actually move, and managed to get a shaking hand under himself. Bracing himself, he pushed up, then cried out as the motion jarred his back.

He fell back to the ground with a hiss, and took several quick, steadying breaths, desperately clinging to awareness. He needed to stay awake, the Yiga were still here, they could attack him again, and he was the only one who knew what the deity was capable of, what he inflicted on his wielder—

Heavy footsteps sounded in the grass, and Time suddenly realized it had gone very quiet.

He managed to raise his head, and met the glowing white gaze of the Fierce Deity, staring down at him in silence.

He flinched in spite of himself.

“I have eliminated the threat.” the Deity spoke, threads of Sky’s voice overlaid in his deep, powerful voice. Time swallowed and tried to speak, but let out a pained cough instead.

He sucked in a sharp breath at the pain the action caused, and heard armor clink as the Deity kneeled next to him. A hand ghosted along his back, and Time flinched again, but as he did so, the Deity let out a... concerned murmur?

“You’re safe now,” the deity gently rumbled, and Time coughed again.

“R-release Sky,” he managed to get out, and the Deity cocked his head, not unlike one of the dogs that frequented the stables in Wild’s era.

“He is perfectly safe. And you are in need of attention he cannot give at this time,” the Deity spoke, and carefully peered at the injuries on Time’s chest. “This shirt has to go.”

“Wha—“

The Deity abruptly drew his impressive blade, and Time startled, gritting his teeth as pain sliced up his back.

“Calm yourself little one.”

Time swallowed, then watched in utter bafflement as the Fierce Deity very carefully used the tip of his huge double-helix blade to cut what was left of Time’s shirt off and away from his injuries.

The torn fabric stuck to him a bit, blood making it cling to his skin, but the Fierce Deity was oddly gentle in peeling it away, gloves hands barely even touching him. Once his shirt was off, the Deity ran another hand over Time’s back, not touching him anywhere the whip had ripped open his skin.

“They were thorough...” he rumbled, anger rising in his voice. “This needs immediate attention.”

Everything was moving a bit too fast for Time, who’s pain-addled brain was just very, very confused at all of this.

“Why..?” he breathed, “what a-are... ngh...”

Time pressed his forehead to the grass below him, trying to breath steadily. He’d been in pain countless times before, but this was definitely some of the worst he’d experienced, streaks of agony lashed all over him.

The Deity next to him shifted slightly, and Time didn’t have the energy to look up at him again.

“You need to rest. I apologize for the discomfort.”

And before Time could do anything, the Fierce Deity had swept him up into his arms.

He would have resisted the motion, but even with how carefully the deity was, the act of being picked up sent agony across Time’s back and chest, and he breathed in a choked breath as searing flames seemed to lick up his skin.

“I’m sorry little one, please stay awake.”

A hand comfortingly carded through his hair, and Time was in too much pain and confusion to try to resist the motion. It was oddly soothing, despite knowing a literal unfathomably powerful deity was doing it, and Time felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease.

But just a little.

“P-Put me down,” he rasped, weakly pushing at the deity’s arms.

“I am taking you back to your bedroll where you can rest,” the Deity said smoothly, not moved in the least. “Struggling will only increase your pain. Please desist.”

Time frowned. He did not appreciate being spoken to like a child, he’d already had plenty enough of that in his life, thank you.

“Do you have any potions?” the Fierce Deity asked before he could voice his annoyance, and Time sighed again.

“In my... bag,” he managed to get out, and the Deity nodded as he kneeled down again, gently sliding Time out of his arms and depositing him onto his bedroll.

Time winced at the motion, but the deity had been careful, and he wasn’t jarred too much as he was laid down. The position of the injuries he’d received made finding a comfortable position a bit of a task, but he managed to lay on his side, and that didn’t hurt him too much.

The Fierce Deity wandered over to Time’s bag, carefully rifling through the contents before pulling out a red potion bottle. He made his way back to Time, and the man looked up at him in disbelief.

“Why are... you d-doing this?” he asked, and the Deity raised an eyebrow.

“It is not often I get to speak to you from the other side of the mask,” he began, sitting down and pulling the cork out of the bottle. ”Is it so wrong of me to want to help my wielder in a different manner than just in battle?”

“I thought you were a war god,” Time rasped, and the Deity chuckled. Chuckled.

“Some have called me that. Is it really so surprising that a “war god” would care for the one who chose not to merely use him as a tool for personal gain?” the Fierce Deity asked. “Who actually treated him as a person rather than an object?”

Time stared at him, and the Deity let out a small sigh.

“Drink. You are in need of healing.”

Time felt an arm on his side that eased him upwards, and the bottle of red potion was pressed into his hands. He slowly sipped at it, and felt the fire in his back immediately go down, and he quickly drained the rest with a relieved sigh.

His injuries still hurt, but he could think much straighter now, and actually move without nearly screaming. Time looked up at the Deity again, still silently watching him as Sky’s bangs brushed over his forehead.

Time closed his eyes.

“Sky isn’t used to your power,” he said quietly. “I fear for his health the longer you hold him.”

The Deity sighed.

“This is true,” he rumbled, and rested his hands on his legs. “The Chosen will not fare well once I release him.”

He leveled Time with a searching look.

“Are you healed enough to assist him?”

Time experimentally rolled his shoulder, a sort of aching pain rolling through it instead of the agony that had plagued him earlier. The red potion hadn’t fully healed him, but he could now sit up without almost passing out.

“Yes,” he said firmly, meeting the deity’s gaze. “Release him.”

The Fierce Deity nodded, and gave Time an expression that was almost a smile.

“It was good to see you in person, Link.”

Then he raised his hand to his chin, and gently pulled his face off, Sky falling forwards in his place.

Time had to lunge to catch him, and Sky collapsed in his arms, pale with half-lidded eyes. He shivered as Time studied him, and the older man startled a bit at the streak of white in his hair. He stared at it blankly before Sky let out a low moan.

“Sky?” he asked, and the skyloftian grimaced, his face scrunching up.

“N-need to—“

Sky made a choking noise, and Time quickly turned him over, carefully holding his hair out of his face as he abruptly vomited into the grass. Once he was finished he fell limp in Time’s arms, and the older man sighed, wiping his face.

“That... was a lot,” Sky croaked, and Time shook his head.

“You shouldn’t have put it on,” he said quietly, and Sky hummed.

“Don’t care. Was... only way out,” he whispered. “And besides... he care... cares for you...”

“He’s unpredictable,” Time said sternly. “And his power is not to be used lightly. He could have completely overwhelmed you Sky, and I... I don’t want anyone else to have to burden themselves with the mask’s power.”

He sighed again.

“...but I’m glad you did it,” he said quietly. “All things considered, you prevented a much more severe outcome, for the both of us. Thank you,” he finished, and Sky smiled just a bit.

“Sorry for ri... rifling in your... bag,” he murmured, and Time huffed out a small laugh.

“You’re forgiven,” he said with a small smile, and Sky closed his eyes. His breathing fell even, and Time leaned back, watching him sleep. He yawned, feeling a wave of exhaustion go over himself, but someone had to stay awake in case of trouble.

He carefully leaned over and picked up the Deity mask from where it had fallen to the ground, and before placing it inside his bag, gave it a thoughtful look.

“...thank you,” he said quietly.

The mask almost seemed to warm in response.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu time #lu Sky #lu fierce deity #fierce dadity #lu fic #whumptober2022 #day 21 #you’re safe now #writing from the floor #sort of rushed but I am sick!#good endings take brainpower I do not currently possess #yeah two continuations in a row I know #tomorrow is something new don’t worry #wars whump heheh

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