#cheetowrites

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

LU Headcanon #1

In Wild’s era, it is common etiquette to leave a bite of food on your plate to signal that you’re done and satisfied with your meal—if you finish your whole plate, you obviously are still hungry, and you need another serving. With a group of travelers around a cooking pot on the road (with many of them contributing to the pot as well), it makes sense that everyone should get as much as they want, because the cook will always make an effort to ensure there will be more to go around and lots of leftovers afterwards. The people of Wild’s era pride themselves on fiercely taking care of taking care of one another, even a stranger they’ll never meet again, and to do that they can ensure they have a full belly and a happy heart for the road ahead.

Some of the other heroes (Hyrule, Twilight maybe or Warrior or Wind) instead come from a culture where not finishing one’s plate is extremely, extremely rude and ungrateful. Food is a precious commodity, nevermind hot, just prepared food—to leave a single scrap of food on your plate for any other reason that it was poisoned would be a slap in the face to the cook that has spent so much time and effort to prepare the meal. To deny any offered food would amount to a similar crime.

Anyways. This is how I imagine their first few days going, before they realize they’re having a communication issue:

Wild, tapping away at his Slate: wow, these guys really are hungry! I better up the portions, I was hoping for leftovers but they’re eating enough to feed a group three times their size! I wonder if next time I should… Twilight: (slumped over) wow that new guy sure likes to cook, huh? Wind: Ough *burp* I’m so full.... Warrior: you don’t say? I feel like a pig fattened for the slaughter Hyrule: (face down on the ground in a food coma) ……. ……. …… Time: (hesitantly) you know, you boys can just say no when he offers you another serving… The others, in panicked unison: NO Warrior: (scoffing) Hylia, Time, who raised you?

Anyways. General hilarity ensues until they figure out the miscommunication that, no, an empty plate doesn't mean Wild should silently pile it with more food. Discuss.

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Celebration: 88,978 Words in One Day!

Just yesterday, a few other LU writers and I, Hot Cheeto Hatred, hosted our first ever monthly (hopefully) Write-a-thon! This event ran on June 4 from 12 am EST to 12 am EST, with one goal in mind---write as many productive words within that day as humanly possible. Words included in the final marathon count ranged from storyboarding, fic writing, editing, answering comments, journalling and homework---basically, any words that furthered yourself, the writing community at large, or your stories. We utilized either the Discord Sprint bot or self-reporting to collect the numbers at the end. Everyone involved gave it their all, with most of them being present for most if not all of the run time as they were able, and I'm so proud of their dedication towards their craft. Anyways, here's the final breakdown of the numbers below, as well as the awards and titles earned by each participant, as decided by the discord server (and myself at random).

Now onto the awards:

I am pleased to report that @not-freyja (Freyja above) won the "Writer of All Time" Award, pulling ahead with 20,565 of our total words. What an accomplishment! Freyja participated from dawn to well, dawn, and they absolutely deserve all praise and awe.

I'm giving myself, @hotcheetohatred (Cheeto), the award "Writer of Some Time," as I fell behind our lovely Freyja by a mere few hundred words fifteen minutes before the clock struck midnight. Next time, Freyja, next time...

The "Actually A Writer" award goes to @marcusdoodlesalot (Marcus), who, despite the name, DOES actually write, not just draw! Who would have thought. Not Freyja, that's for sure.

The "Early Bird" award goes to @lerikwrites (Lerik), who solely sprinted in the wee hours of the morning (my time, at least). Terrible. Good job.

"Star Commentor" goes to @elle-rosewater (Eliot), because I stole most of her words for the count from my own comment section in the BDOR Prologues. We love you, Eliot :3 Can't wait to see you next month.

"Cheerleader" goes to @la-sera, who gave us much encouragement throughout the day. I stole your 19 words from you saying you were excited to read Estelian's work. Hope that's okay, because I really wanted to include you---you provided a lot, even if you didn't write with us this time <3.

@whumpitywhumpitywhumpity (Dowsemaxxer) earns "Spirit-ed Storyboarder" for all of his lovely, informative talk on Spirit and just what makes him so great as a rather underappreciated LU boy.

Two awards next! "Chief Editor" and "Most Student" both go to @unexpectedstormy (Stormy) for faer work on getting. stuff. done. Fae did a steady amount of work, so proud.

"Editor (of Word Count) in Chief" goes to @tashacee (Tash), who, at reporting time, was scrounging up 100 and 200 word bits like spare change while I desperately tried to do math. I love you, never change.

The title of "Specter" goes to @somer-writes (Somer), who logged in very few sprints, but participated with the rest of us and pulled up at the end with a whole 7.5K words and a bunch of fics to post at the end, with a lot of it being Ghost AU! He's amazing.

The award "Better Late than Never" goes to our resident artist and recently turned fic-writer @estelian-01 (Este), who joined only in the last half of the marathon but managed to pull a whole 4K! Pictures might be worth a thousand words, but Este wrote a couple more anyway.

@across-violet-skies (Riv) gets the title "Mover and Shaker (of Blorbos)" for managing to participate and get quite the hefty wordcount only a DAY after moving. They're a trooper, that's for sure.

@anime-obsessed (Vio/Nene) earns the award "Most Old School" for writing with pen and paper for most of the day. Please go rest your wrist after all of that.

The award "Head in the Clouds" goes to my bestie and beloved beta reader @needfantasticstories (Skip), who spent the day listening to music and writing Skyloft drabbles. I am nervous/excited to see if those drabbles turned out fluffy as a Loftwing, or perhaps into something more angsty.

@noorahqar (Qar), my lovely fragile Victorian wife, earns the title "Chatty." You know why. But you were there nearly all of the run time, and so engaging and encouraging throughout---a blessing to us all. And even then, you managed to pull so many words. I'm impressed.

And finally, @rosehipandroots / @rosetintedtears (Rose) receives the titles "ndskanefnre" (self chosen) and "Birthday Santa." The first was borne of panic of being asked to choose a title---the second of her relentless effort to get her birthday fics done. Great job.

I'd like to thank everyone that I tagged for participating in the write-a-thon, and thank all of you for helping me draft this post as well. If I messed up any word counts or details or pronouns, you want to request a title/award change, or I missed someone, please DM and let me know! The next Write-a-thon will be held on July 1 from 12am to 12am GMT, and we'll be trying to beat our record. Can't wait to see all of you then!

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Cheeto, do you think Wild is chaotic enough to try getting a bokoblin into people clothes? If so, what do you think he would try putting them in?

Hi, taddy <3. this was not a writing prompt. My brain took it as one. By Hylia this WILL be a oneshot. I... ya'll can check it out on Ao3 if you want here. No warnings for this fic other than my own stupidity.

“Wild.”

“Twilight.”

“Wild.” Twilight pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did you manage this? Why would you even...” He let out a frustrated sound, unable to put the situation in front of them into words. He said at last, defeated, “Why?”

“Be-cause, Twi-light,” Wild sang back happily. A huge grin split his face. “It wasn't hard. Bokoblins aren't that vicious, you just gotta be fast. And look, now it's harmless as a puppy.”

The unlucky bokoblin that had become Wild's latest victim stood, stiff and startled, in the center of the abandoned monster camp. Like a shivering dog wearing oversized shoes, it very, very carefully raised a knobby leg to inspect the colorful fabric that poofed out around its waist. When the stiff fabric flared up with the movement, fluttering at the edges, the bokoblin yelped and skittered away. The fabric, of course, followed, and the monster screamed out a horrible, frightened shriek that rang in Twilight's ears. Wild cackled. Behind them, the heroes chuckled and murmured at the sight. They’d planned to take out the straggler as they passed through the monster camp before they settled a little way away for the night. Wild, however, had motioned for them to stay back with his signature “I am up to trouble” expression plastered across his face, and he'd even managed to argue Time down with the assurance that this idea was “super tame, just a little fun, I promise no one gets hurt, and I'll deal with the bokoblin myself.” Twilight just wanted to know why his “tame” ideas somehow included a pink tutu shoved over an unsuspecting monster's head. He didn't even know where Wild could have gotten the article of clothing. “Wild...” Twilight began. “Wild, I don't think that no—”

At that moment, the bokoblin tripped over itself and sprawled into the grass. It paid the heroes and their renewed roaring laughter no mind as it crawled away frantically, beating at the puffed tutu around its waist with its fists. With every hit, the fabric sprung back up into its former shape, frightening the monster further. Finally, the bokoblin went limp on the ground, resigned to its fate. Twilight felt something in his heart twist at the sight of its big, wet pleading eyes turned his way. Even if those eyes belonged to a monster. “Wild,” Twilight said more firmly, over the rest of the heroes' laughter. “This’s cruel. Either kill the poor thing, or let it go. You know better than to torment your enemies. You're a hero—behave like one.”

Some of the heroes stifled their laughter or hid it behind their hands, but Wild didn't even try to act ashamed. He delightedly cackled in Twilight's face and flung his hands out in challenge. “You're welcome to try to take it off yourself, Mr. Hero.”

Twilight stared Wild down, willing him with all of his being to back off before they got into a fight in front of the whole Chain. Wild's smirk didn't waver, nor would it, not now that Wind was whispering excitedly to Warrior, and Legend was murmuring in displeasure to Four and Sky, and money was exchanging hands in the group. Even Twilight's glance to Time for aid was met with an amused shrug and a tip of the head that meant your kid, your problem. From the ground, the bokoblin let out a warbling, miserable little plea.

Twilight, gritting his teeth, was the first to blink. “We are going to talk about this later,” he promised Wild. That finally got a reaction out of Wild—his face paled, and his smile dropped just a little—but Twilight ignored it as he turned to the bokoblin on the ground. It was kicking lamely in an attempt to dislodge the tutu, which was muddy and torn now, no longer a bright fluffy pink, from its legs. At Twilight's approach, however, it turned its attention to him, baring its fanged teeth.

“Alla’ya’ll stand back,” Twilight ordered. He rolled up his sleeves. “Wild, we will be having that talk ‘bout your behavior later. I am very disappointed in you.”

The heroes shouted and the bokoblin squalled as Twilight pounced upon it. When he came away a few minutes later with the tutu clutched in his fist—torn directly in half, since the bokoblin wouldn't cooperate with his efforts to pull the offending piece of clothing over its head—the heroes all hooted and hollered triumphantly. The bokoblin, back in its customary loincloth, scrambled away without a backwards glance into the undergrowth.

Twilight was in no mood to celebrate. Wild, at least, now had the decency to wince at the sight of the sluggishly bleeding scratches on Twilight's arms, even as the rest of the heroes cheered. Twilight flung the ruined tutu into Wild's face, then grumpily stomped off towards the nearest river to clean up. 

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

What are some head canons you've been wanting to share, but haven't had the chance to? (Yes, I AM asking you to ramble about the blorbos)

Here’s my head canon (as I told you earlier): Legend and Sky are related. Not only in blood, but in unique ability to relate to the Goddess through dreams.

If we begin with the assumption that Legend and Fable are indeed twins, or at least brother and sister—this is still heavily debated, so take of it what you will, but that is how I read that bit of lore—then obviously, Legend is in the Royal family. And the Royal family was founded by whom? Sky and Sun. So, they’re related. By blood. YAY.

I love this for a lot of reasons. Their opposite temperaments. Their opposing views of the Goddess, of their adventures, of their teammates now that they have them. Add in the fact that they’re blood (like Twilight and Time) and you can get a fun dynamic, especially when that mentor-protege relationship just isn’t there like it is for those two. Sky isn’t a leader or a teacher, at least not amongst the Chain, and Legend isn’t exactly a student or a follower (though I will note he’s very good at stepping up when need be). Anyways, juicy, juicy dynamic, imo.

Anyways, now more into real head canon territory. Next, we can notice that both Sky and Legend experience dreams in their adventures. Sky has multiple warning dreams about his Zelda, Sun, throughout Skyward Sword; Legend starts at least? one of his adventures with a dream, not to mention his whole deal with Koholint dream island. And, someone can correct me if I’m wrong, but some of the Zelda’s have had forewarning dreams, too, or just general dreams of Hylia. Therefore, I think it isn’t too much of a stretch to imagine that the ability to perceive prophetic dreams has been passed down through the Royal family, not through Sun, but through Sky. So, since Legend is a part of the Royal Family, he has it too.

Anyways, I think this could also play out into their sleeping habits. In canon LU, Sky is noted to sleep a lot. And (in fanon, mostly, but I HC it) Legend is a night owl that barely sleeps. I think it very possible that they could still have prophetic dreams, probably about the Chain or their goals or enemies. And their different ways of dealing with those prophetic dreams tie into their characters, too. Perhaps the prophecies exhaust Sky, or he instead wants to make sure that he doesn’t miss a warning from Hylia—so, he sleeps. A lot. Legend, on the other hand, doesn’t want any more of that nonsense after Koholint—so perhaps he wakes himself up from those dreams before he gets trapped, or avoids sleeping entirely, to escape them. This makes him the grouchy, sleep deprived veteran that we know and love.

Anyways, head cannon presented. I love the idea of Prophecy!Sky and Prophecy!Legend who are also related by blood through the Royal line. That is all.

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Hey. Hey Google Docs. I assure you that I know which of the LU boys I want to write in this scenario. Thank you :D

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Local writer bullied into drawing, it is now 11 so you get the full story.

Anyways the prompt was draw your blorbo looking in a mirror before and after trauma. I drew fanart of my own fic in the hopes that it would motivate me to write (it did not). Anyways, in BDOR, Wild already had trauma, but he gets more trauma by the end of the story. So uh, spoilers? He smiling now he eventually becomes happy. Probably.

Anyways, here it is. Might color it one day if I figure how to color digitally. I don’t draw XD I was told to scan it, and I did, but I don’t know how to upload the scan itself so I took a screenshot of the scan, sorry for the bad quality. Wow, that is blurry fr XD. If anyone knows how to upload a scan to tumblr, tips are appreciated

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

BDOR Prologue: The Sword that Learned to Speak (Febuwhump Alt Prompt: Human Weapon)

TW: none

A little hum that Wild almost didn’t seem aware of danced upon the afternoon air as he stirred at the pot propped over the fire. His wooden spoon clack clacked against the metal edges of the cooking pot, and the fragrant scent of the herbal soup with mushrooms mingled with the impromptu music to create a comforting atmosphere that evening. Twilight stared at the kid over the campfire, chewing at a cuticle in thought as he listened. Ever since he’d met him about a month ago, he’d always been… quiet, for lack of a better word. No, there was a better word. That word was eerily, frighteningly, completely and utterly silent.

He didn’t make a sound around Twilight, if he could help it. He spoke solely in gestures that Twilight was only just beginning to learn how to translate, his body language guarded and his face near expressionless except for an annoyed scowl. Unflinchingly mute and stoic, he didn’t seem to voice a single verbal sound if he could help it—he didn’t laugh or cry or shout, didn’t even let out more than a few whimpers that one time a few weeks back that he’d gotten a monster’s arrow in his thigh and Twilight had been forced to dig out with no more equipment than a rusty dagger, a scrappy tourniquet, and a cheap bottle of alcohol. As time went on, Wild started to become more inclined to show that emotion on his face and through his posture—often in amusing mimicry of Twilight himself—but even then he was careful to walk and eat and even fight in near complete silence besides the clashing of blades in battle. Hell, Twilight wasn’t even sure if the kid farted. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

It had been a little better when he was only known to the boy as Wolf, but not by a lot. Wild still hadn’t spoken or laughed often , but at least when he moved he had a sound to him, rustling leaves as he walked past, humming or whistling songs that he seemed to have made up to himself. That was, until he’d discovered that Twilight and Wolf were the same, at which point he’d retreated into that stoic, almost unearthly silence around the both of them. One thing that Twilight had missed the most was the humming that Wild didn’t seem to realize he was doing now.

“Say, why’re you so quiet all the time ‘round me?”

The words were out before Twilight could reconsider their effect. And indeed, that hum in the air fizzled out abruptly, and the wooden spoon froze in its continuous circular path in Wild’s hand. The resulting look the kid shot Twilight over the cooking pot was guarded and icy, almost. His shoulders raised up to his ears defensively.

“I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked ya that. None of my business.” Twilight backtracked mentally, cursing his stupid mouth. Uli had always told him to think before he spoke, but he never seemed to be able to catch up with his stupidest thoughts before they were already past his lips. Maybe he could just pretend he hadn’t said it? Twilight rubbed at the back of his neck as he averted his eyes, pretending to find something interesting in the line of the treetops at the edge of camp, as he asked as casually as he could manage, “Say, how long until the food’s done, ya reckon?”

Wild let out a little long-suffering sigh—still more than Twilight had heard from him in the last few weeks—and set down his wooden spoon. He stood, then moved to sit opposite of Twilight, his face set into a concentrated frown. Twilight cringed, and apologies began to spill from his mouth.

“Listen, I’m sorry, I’m real sorry. I shouldn’t’ve asked nothing ‘bout it, I didn’t mean no…” 

Oh. Twilight trailed off when he realized that Wild was moving his hands in that odd, focused way he did when he wanted to say something. Sign Language, the gestures were apparently called. Most people of Wild’s world seemed to know it, which hurt Twilight all the more that he himself did not. When Wild did deign to speak to him, their communication was rarely true sign, and more a bizarre game of charades to get across what he wanted to say, but Twilight would be damned if he didn’t try his hardest to understand.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Twilight sat back, eyeing him carefully. “Start over. And just a little bit slower please.”

A twist of Wild’s lips. His hand moved through the first gesture again: a sign that looked similar to no , then a flick of his wrist out from it into… a pointing motion?

“Uh no…. not…” Twilight fumbled, repeating the sign to himself. “Not… not… not going? Like your voice doesn’t work? I’ve heard you before, that ain’t true.”

Wild shook his head vehemently, then signed a combination of two simpler words, both of which Twilight recognized.

“No… good? Not good?” Twilight said to himself as he mimicked the sign. That received a nod of the head from Wild, and Twilight’s brow furrowed. “No good? Wait, what’s not good?”

Wild tapped his voice box, raising an eyebrow in emphasis. 

“Your speech isn’t any good? Like it hurts to speak? Or it sounds bad? Ah, I get what you’re saying!” Twilight said triumphantly. But when he only received another shake of the head, he melted in sullen disappointment, crossing his arms. “Well nevermind then. I’m sorry, Wild, I ain’t understanding you.”

Wild wrung out his hands and abruptly shot to his feet, apparently deeming it all nothing more than an exercise in futility. 

“No, no, no, don't leave!” Twilight yelped, scrambling up after him. “Wait, please just say it again, I’m doin’ my best to understand ya, I swear. Come back, please, gimme one more try.”

Wild, as requested, sat back down with another long-suffering sigh of his. He signed through a completely different phrase, his fingers moving far too quickly for Twilight to follow.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on!” Twilight sat up taller, waving at him to stop . “I wasn’t ready, I’m sorry. Slowly, please, I’m trying to understand. One word at a time, please.”

Wild’s frustration was nearly tangible in the air. Very pointedly, he tapped his own throat.

“Voice?”

A nod. Wild motioned pulling a sword from its scabbard.

“A sword… a—a weapon?"

This one also received Wild’s approval. The next word was a bit harder to understand. Wild signed no , then made a grasping motion towards himself, like taking something in both of his hands.

“Has?” A frown of disapproval and a shrug. Close, then. “Needs…. wants? Okay, so…” Twilight ran back through the words in his head, piecing them together. “A voice, a weapon… does not need? A sword does not need a voice?” Twilight furrowed his brow, thoroughly confused by now. “What weapon, Wild? We don’t even know where the Master Sword is yet. Do you mean that one?”

Wild shook his head, then placed a hand on his own chest.

“You the weapon? Wild, you’re not a sword, you’re…” Twilight’s tone was joking, but he trailed off as Wild’s face flashed to ugly frustration . He very emphatically pointed at his own chest again, then turned away pointedly, signing something that Twilight clearly caught as You don’t understand.

“Okay, Wild…” The kid was upset, now, no need to make it worse. “I, ah… I understand.” He did not understand at all, but at the same time, he was starting to think that he did. Maybe this silence was to do with something to do with his past that he couldn’t seem to remember. “Is… is food done, do you think?”

Wild scoffed, clearly not falling for that lie, and stalked back over to the pot. He stirred its contents, nodded to himself, and began to distribute the servings into bowls. Twilight stared at the top of his head, lost in thought.

A sword needs no voice? Who in his past had taught him he was nothing more than a voiceless weapon to be pointed towards an enemy?

Whoever it was, Twilight was going to have words with them, whether it be in this life or the next.

Visit this fic on ao3 here BDOR Prologue: The Sword that Learned to Speak or the Febuwhump series here HotCheetoHatred's Febuwhump 2024

Or, for any of you interested in the BDOR series itself, you can read the main fic here Blood Drops on Roses: Linked Universe and also check out other completed Prologue works here! BDOR Prologue: A Haircut ; BDOR Prologue: Ballgowns and Buffoonery ; BDOR Prologue: The Yiga and The Sheikah.

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Wild's Wolf: Febuwhump Day 6 -- "You (They) Lied to Me."

Tw: Implied child abuse, medical whump, human experimentation.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

Wild knew what was coming by now, when he heard the metallic chime that preceded the opening of that metal door. The hazy memory of rough hands and voices, fear and violation, and above all pain, pain, pain sent his heart racing.

Beeeeep! The door swung inwards with a slow fwoosh! 

Wild backed himself into the furthest corner of his hiding spot underneath the bed, nearly sick with anxiety, as he eyed the man that stepped inside. That in and of itself was odd—these strangers usually dealt with him in overwhelming groups, so that any defense he tried to mount against them was easily crushed. The man even looked different—he wore not the universal white coats common to all of his tormentors, but instead a beige turtleneck sweater and black leather jacket. He was a lot taller than his regular tormentors, too, and broader, though he still had those rounded ears that Wild was learning to hate. The door hissed shut behind him.

He must be worse than all of the others combined, Wild determined, if he was willing to step into the room alone. And he was already coming towards him. Wild raised his shoulders, bracing himself for another fight for his life, a fight he already knew he’d lose like all the ones before it.

The man’s tall boots stopped at the edge of the bed. Then he crouched, stooping down to peek under the bed, and his single eye met Wild’s two. His singular eye. His other had been gouged out, signified clearly by the neat scar that ran over the closed eyelid. Vibrant, blocky tattoos streaked harsh angles across his face, and more climbed the column of his neck and poked out from the hem of his long sleeves. He was obviously strong and battle-worn, and he was coming for Wild.

A shiver of fear ran through the kid. A feral growl left him, and he scrambled back further into the little cranny made by the bed, ready to kick for all that he was worth as he bared his teeth. Oh Hylia, he wasn’t escaping this, he thought faintly.

The man blinked his singular eye owlishly at the response, then bared his teeth back in a wolfish smile. “Hey there, kid,” he said lowly, maintaining an intentionally jovial tone. “What are you doing under there?”

The professor’s voice crackled through the speakers. Behind the one-way glass, the researchers turned up the sound, tuning in through their earpieces.

The kid, of course, gave no response. Those odd long ears of his pinned themselves back against his head similarly to those of a wary cat. Time could see, now, the stark bruises left by cruel hands blossoming underneath the pale skin of his wrists and arms, the deep bags hanging underneath his terrified eyes. The hospital gown he wore hung loosely over his skinny, shivering frame. They hadn’t been kind to him.

If that was true, they’d be here for a while. He might as well make himself comfortable while he tried to earn a bit of the boy’s trust. Time lowered himself to the tile floor and sat against the wall with a groan, which prompted the boy to growl, louder that time. “Oh don’t be dramatic, I’m not threatening you, I’m just old,” Time said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m sure you’ll be making all these sounds too, one day.”

Those long ears flicked forwards curiously. A bit of the defensiveness left the boy’s coiled up posture at his tone, and the snarl on his face faded into something softer. Then his shoulders raised as he seemed to remember himself, and he shifted back again, hugging his knees to his chest as he looked away. He warbled something that Time couldn’t even begin to decipher, though it sounded familiar—and those researchers were right, that was not a human language—but given the fearful edge to his young voice, he could translate with mild confidence all the same. Who are you? What are you going to do to me?

“I’m not going to hurt you, kid, don’t you worry,” Time said soothingly. He reached into his pocket. “In fact, I’ve got a little treat for you.”

Time withdrew the crinkly aluminum packet in his pocket, and out of that a jabber nut. They were disguised as regular candy—chocolate covered walnuts would be a good comparison—so believably so that they’d been okayed by the researchers without a second glance. He offered one to the kid.

The boy gazed at the candy sitting in the center of Time’s palm, reaching hesitantly out to take it, then flicked his eyes back up to Time’s face. Whatever he saw there made him go pale, and he moved back, resolutely turning away. Still, he snuck childish glances at the piece of candy, like the refusal hurt him. His stomach audibly rumbled in the cold, silent room.

“Oh come on, drama queen, it’s not poison or anything. I know you want it,” Time said with fond amusement. He popped the jabber nut into his mouth, and he made a show of chewing and swallowing in demonstration before he fished out another for the kid. “There, I ate one. Not poisonous, see?”

The kid frowned up at him, looking between the jabber nut and Time himself like he was trying to figure out whatever trick was hiding there. He put his hand forwards as if to take it, then drew it back to his chest, his face clouded with indecision.

“Go on, it’s okay, kid.” It was like feeding an untamed, flighty cat—like one of the ones Malon kept out in the barn, who even after months of progress could be sent scrambling with any sudden move—but Time was nothing if not patient. He kept an easy grin fixed to his face and the lines of his body intentionally open and non-threatening as he scooted a little closer, shoving the offered piece of candy forwards with a little inviting thrust. “It’s for you, you can take it.”

The boy seemed to have a sort of debate with himself as he eyed the candy in Time’s hand, his hands twitching at his sides. Finally, the boy's face screwed up, and he snatched the candy out of Time’s palm. He shoved himself back into the corner of the crawlspace just as quickly—knocking his head against the bedframe in the process, which made Time wince in sympathy—and hunched over the jabber nut, turning it over and over between his fingers. Time only just held back a laugh as he took a long deep sniffffffff of the treat, then darted his tongue out to sneak a taste of the chocolate coating. He jerked back from it with a delighted sound, his long ears waggling similarly to an excited puppy’s tail.

This… was odd, Time thought, eyeing those too-familiar ears, the ones he hadn’t seen in decades, maybe even lifetimes. The researchers had contacted him on the basis of getting his help in establishing communication with some feral child they’d discovered living in the forest. They’d spun a tale of a child raised completely divorced from any other human civilization before now, a golden opportunity for linguistic advancement in the study of him that Time just couldn’t pass up. But they’d mentioned nothing of the obvious otherworldliness about the kid, though the picture they’d sent him had spoken magnitudes, and once he arrived, they were talking about differences in species.

Details were being withheld from him intentionally, it seemed.

Finally, the kid put the chocolate in his mouth, biting down on the jabber nut inside with an obnoxiously exaggerated crunch! Time smiled to himself and tapped at his watch, timing out exactly minute.

Time didn’t even have to wait for that long for the boy to grow bolder. He edged forwards until he was nearly at the edge of the bed, holding his hand out in clear request.

“I’m sorry, you can’t have another one. It's not good to eat more than one at a time.” Time shook his head pointedly, then shot a glance back at the one-way window at the opposite side of the room. The researchers had said that he’d eaten nothing since they’d “gotten” him what seemed to be days ago, poor kid. “Maybe we can request some food for you, huh?”

The kid muttered something back darkly, his disappointment clear in his pout. Time glanced down at his watch. 15 seconds.

“Y’know, I wasn’t always a language professor. If you know what a professor is, I don’t know if you have ‘em where you’re from,” Time began conversationally. “Before that I was certified as a child speech therapist. Turned out to be a good thing when it came to my dissertation, because they’re really the best when it comes to the model of language learning. Y’know, one of my favorite projects, they have this dialect of ancient Mayan out in the really rural parts of Central America, way down south from here, and anyways my youngest went out with me that trip, his mother was a nervous wreck, but I told her that we just had to go, especially since they put us up in one of the nicest hotels down there…”

It was always funny to watch a jabber nut kick into effect. The boy uncrossed his arms, furrowing his brow and frowning as Time continued to prattle on—talking at length was one of his strengths, he knew, whether or not there was something worthy of being discussed. The boy scrubbed at his eyes and pressed his hands over his ears before lowering them again, his expression a perfect picture of bewilderment.

“Wha…?” the boy managed to get out, his eyes wide. “...you can…?”

“Magic,” Time whispered with a conspiratory wink—a blink, really—and a grin. The researchers watching would see nor hear any of their conversation—to their ears Time would continue to speak English, and the boy Hylian. He tapped away at his watch again, setting another timer for 10 minutes. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy bit his lip until it blanched between his teeth, studying Time’s face as if trying to determine his trustworthiness from sight alone. “...I’m… I’m not supposed to tell my name to strangers,” he said at last, dragging his fingers along the grout lines of the tile floor. 

“My name’s Time Forrester. I have a wife, Malon, and a couple of kids of my own about your age,” Time answered. “We’re not strangers now, are we?”

The boy shrugged, shifting uncomfortably, but he finally offered up with a touch of shyness in return: “My… my name’s Wild.”

“Well, Wild, would you mind coming out here so that we can hold a real conversation?” Time said smoothly. “I don’t know about you, but my back’s getting all cramped, and there are two perfectly good chairs over there."

Wild shook his head, murmuring something about how they’d come back and hurt him that Time clearly wasn’t supposed to hear.

Time paused, chewing over that phrase. Then he spoke. “I know this is all confusing for you,” he said as diplomatically as he could manage. If he kept talking, he could almost pretend that his voice didn’t tremble. “I don’t know a lot, but I’ll do my best to answer any questions that you have, if you’ll answer mine in return, I promise. Is that all right?”

Wild nodded. And when Time stood, stretching out his aching back, then extended his hand down to him, Wild only hesitated for a second before he took it.

First Chapter >> Previous Chapter >> Next Chapter Coming Soon!

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Hey guys it’s 3:30 am for me :D

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Hello dear mutuals and followers! I've been told I'm filthy nerd for asking having one of these, so now I'm asking all of you: do you have a favorite sentence structure?

(anyways, mine is "Character, description, verbed, verbing, verbing, and verbing, with a metaphor that describes the verbing)

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Ayo mutuals, are there any LU writing events (or writing events in general) going on in September?

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Here’s Four for my version of the LC LU AU, created by @across-violet-skies!! For those unaware of the horror game, in Lethal Company a team of employees search abandoned facilities and sell scrap to meet an ever rising quota until they’re eventually fired by the Company for failing to meet the impossible deadline.

In my story (which you can find HERE!), Four is usually the ship guy who takes care of things like teleportation and leading the team towards loot and enemies. He doesn’t like danger or getting dirty, so the ship is the place for him. He’ll pitch in as needed, though, but he’ll make sure to complain all the way. He’s great with tech and repairs.

Click and zoom for better quality! (Why did Tumblr do this to me, oh why.) Props to whoever has played the game and can tell how Time is about to die on the monitor behind Red/Four.

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Blood Drops on Roses: A Stressful Night (21/80)

Wild learns some more info about timelines, group dynamics, and Wind. He might just learn something about himself, too. Tw: none. Amnesia, maybe?

“Alright, Wild, so here’s Sky—” Four pointed to a spot at the top of the line. “—who’s the first reincarnation. He says that he thinks there was a guy before him, but we haven’t seen him yet. That tracking so far?”

Wild nodded. The Hero of Skyloft, the first chosen bearer of the Triforce that tempered the Master Sword, the progenitor of the Royal Line. Soup pants, now. Wild avoided eye contact.

“Then.” Four slid the point of his stick down the line. “We’ve got myself, nice to meet you by the way.” He reached out across the diagram to shake his hand. “We didn’t get a proper introduction earlier.”

Read the rest here! Blood Drops on Roses: Linked Universe

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Ya'll, for me the brain rot is real, even within the LU fandom.

I'm trying to write a fic with Warrior and Sky. For the last four-five years of writing BDOR, my only protagonists have ever been Wild, or occasionally Twilight.

You'll never guess what names I keep writing instead of Wild or Warrior or Sky.

Yup. You guessed it.

Someone save me, actually.

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Introduction Post (Updated 5/26/2024)

Hello strangers and acquaintances, friends and enemies, welcome to the blog! I'm HotCheetoHatred (or just Cheeto, if you prefer) she/her, fanfic writer, broke college student, and mayonnaise hater! I mainly engage with Linked Universe, but I may occasionally reblog other things. My ask box is open!

For more information, including common tags and a planned chapter list for my fic Blood Drops on Roses, and links (heh) to some of my other works, see below the cut.

Common Tags:

My general tags:

#cheetoasks #cheetotalks #cheetoanswers

Tags for my writing:

#bdor #blooddropsonroses #cheetowrites #wild's wolf #lu lc au #linked universe lethal company au

Other common tags:

#not mine #cheetoficrec #pretty art #miracle whip propaganda #cursed consumables with cheeto #blessed consumables with cheeto

Chapter Lists (Subject to Change):

Blood Drops on Roses (Arc 1):

The Beginning 

A Quiet Morning 

Chasing Cuccos 

An Oddity 

Negotiations Pt 1 

Negotiations Pt 2 

Broken Pt 1 

Broken Pt 2

Little White Lies

Reunion

The Matriarch

Doubts Pt 1 

Doubts Pt 2 

Failure

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 1

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 2

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 3 

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 4

Settling In

Bargaining: The Third Stage of Grief

A Stressful Night (D:<)

Noble's Warning

The Wolf

Differences

A Friendly Spar

Rito

A Monster Fight (D:<)

Stitches

Guardians

Hateno Fort (D:<)

An Unfriendly Spar

A Covert Meeting (D:<)

Bows and Beetles; Stars

Too Quiet

A Frantic Search

A Call for Help

Heal

[Redacted]

Blood Drops on Roses (Arc 2):

A Midnight Snack

Little Talks Pt 1

Little Talks Pt 2

A Conspiracy

Rusting on the Forest Floor

Omissions

Sink or Swim

[Redacted]

Cooking Pt 1

Cooking Pt 2

Lunch and Dinner

The Heavy Mantle of a Hero

Ruse

Ancestry

Onto the Next Adventure

Centenarians

A Question of History

A Golden Rupee

Home

An Esteemed Guest Pt 1

An Esteemed Guest Pt 2

An Alley Fight

Fireworks Pt 1

Fireworks Pt 2

A Soft Night

Trust

Resolutions (D:<)

[Redacted] (D:<)

An Interesting Request

Returning

Scolding Pt 1

Scolding Pt 2

Interrogation

Lies

The Last Straw

[Redacted]

Storm

A Last Stand

Settling In

Warnings

A Sweet Memory

The Haircut (?)

Exchange

Blood Drops on Roses (Arc 3): Coming Soon!

:D

Prologue (Really Subject to Change):

The Yiga and The Sheikah (7/7)

A Haircut (5/5)

Ballrooms and Buffoonery (1/1)

The Sword that Learned to Speak (3/?)

The Wolf that Learned to Sign

The Trap (1/3)

The "Prank"

Shadows (2/2)

Memories

Horseshoes and Storm-y Tempers

Runaway

The Wolf in the City

ABC's and Black Eyes

Alla'yall'd've

Revali's Gale

Daruk's Protection

Urbosa's Fury

Mipha's Grace

After the Calamity

No Air to Breathe

FebuWhump 2024 (Unfinished):

Day 1 — Helplessness (Time POV & Legend)

Day 9 — Bees (Wild POV & Wind)

Day 10 — Killing In Self Defense (Sky POV & Warrior)

Day 12 — Semiconscious (Four POV)

Who Heals the Healer? (3/3)

The Captain’s Sacrifice (4/4)

Cracks In the Ice (2/2)

The Yiga (1/3)

The Dangers of Dungeon Diving (1/2)

Ongoing AU's:

Wild’s Wolf (4/20?) (Started as part of Febuwhump)

Linked Universe AU: Lethal Company (2/18)

Congrats on making it this far, go drink some water. The list above will update alongside new releases.

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Day 2 -- Solitary Confinement

Modern AU where young Wild is a feral forest child, raised by Wolf Twilight. He is captured, separated from Twilight, and put under observation. Confusion, claustrophobia, loneliness.

Wild missed the Wolf.

Well, he missed a lot of things. He missed his own clothes—his cloak, soft blue tunic and khaki trousers, even his shoes—which had been taken from him and replaced with a scratchy, backless gown that seemed to slip off his shoulders every time he dared to move. Even his hair tie was gone, and his long blond hair hung loose around his face. He missed the forest he’d lived in ever since that portal had snatched him up and dropped him in a world he didn’t recognize. He missed his cave that he called home and shared with the Wolf, and he missed the little trinkets the Wolf had brought to him he kept on the shelf next to his bed—his sketchbook, his few pencils, his stuffed replica of Wolf that he slept with every night that Wolf was away. He missed the sounds of the wind blowing through the trees and the birds singing from their branches and leaves rustling beneath his feet on the forest floor. He missed the sky, bright and blue above him.

It was all replaced with silence and this dim white room. Eerily steady lights hummed and flickered overhead, making his ears ring; the cold tile floor nipped at his toes anytime he ventured from the low bed in the corner of the room; the white walls burned themselves into his vision; the air itself, stale and heavy, weighed heavily against his chest with each inhale and exhale; and the one-way mirror on the opposite side of the room antagonized him worse than anything else, taunting him with his own bedraggled reflection.

Wild glared at that mirror, loathing it with all of his being. He imagined driving his fist through it and shattering it to pieces. He focused on a section of the glass, and he hoped that he was managing to stare down whoever was behind it, though he couldn’t tell. Those people hiding behind its shield—people with rounded ears and blinding lights in their hands and rough voices, that talked in a language that he didn’t understand—had been the ones that brought him here. That kidnapped him.

Wild hugged his knees close, curling smaller into himself where he sat on this unfamiliar bed, wedged in the corner of the white, sterile room. Even the bed itself was an odd thing, with dark blue covers covered in cartoonish shapes and the walls around it surrounded by faded, peeling stickers of stars and rainbows as far as one could reach. He thought it might have been meant to brighten up the atmosphere of the room, but the odd splashes of color clashed horribly with the white of the rest of the room, and it only made him all the more anxious. 

Guilt and fear waged a battle in Wild’s chest. It was all of his fault that he’d been kidnapped by these strangers, he knew. The Wolf had warned him, with sharp nudges and low growls, from getting too close to the people of this world. People with rounded ears and language and machines outside of his comprehension, similar to the Divine Beasts, but also so different. They’d had a few close encounters—each time, Wolf had signaled for Wild to hide and driven the interlopers away with his fierce stature and glowing blue eyes—and afterwards, Wolf would move them deeper into the forest. He would drive it in, with his expressive glances and exasperated huffs, that these people were to be avoided, at all costs.

In his curiosity, Wild hadn’t listened to the warning. Last night—had it been last night? There was no sun by which to tell the time within here—he’d snuck away from the Wolf to explore one of those nearby villages, with its bright lights and tall buildings and roaring machines. 

He’d only meant to have a little expedition, not even crossing the hard roads that crisscrossed the thinner parts of the forest. He’d only wanted a glimpse. But they spotted him, and before he could get his wits about him, he was surrounded. A group of them—all older than him, stronger than him—had run him down through the forest, cornered him against a natural cliff, caught him and wrestled him inside of one of their roaring beasts even as he kicked and screamed, crying out for the Wolf to save him all the while. He’d been too far from home by then, and the Wolf hadn’t heard. 

Something had stabbed into his neck, an unnatural sleepiness had overcome him, and he’d woken up here, under the thin covers of that bed in the corner of the room.

Completely alone.

Wild wondered if the Wolf knew where he was. If he knew that he’d even been taken. Perhaps the Wolf was sitting at home, his head on his paws, as he wondered when Wild would get home to cook dinner from whatever he’d hunted during the day. Maybe it hadn’t been long enough, and he didn’t even know that anything was wrong. Wild’s heart clenched at the idea, and he turned his mind away from it, towards action.

Wild knew, rationally, that he had to escape and get back to the Wolf on his own, somehow. But he’d run through the scenarios a thousand times, and there was nothing in the room to help him get out. The door that trapped him here was thick and windowless, its handle stiff and guarded by some glowing square that the strangers hit little buttons on to open and close. He’d already crept over to it, and despite how much he fiddled with the contraption, it only flashed red and beeped at him unrelentingly. Both chairs in the room, as well as the metal table around which they sat, were bolted firmly to the floor, so he couldn’t use their edges to break that cursed window. The flap in the door through which they delivered food—which he had ignored earlier that day—was too small for Wolf to fit his muzzle through, nevermind for Wild himself to shimmy his way out. 

And besides, those strangers were still watching him through that window. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there, observing his every move. It made his hair stand on end, to know that they could see him while he couldn’t see them in return.

And suddenly, frustration and anger seized Wild so fiercely that he was shooting to his feet and crossing to the one-way mirror before he even realized he’d moved. 

“Let me out! Let me out of here!” he demanded in a yell. His reflection shouted back at him, wild-eyed and pale, its shoulders drawn up in defensive anger. He banged his fist against the glass, and it bowed slightly underneath the weight of his blow, but it didn’t break. “What do you want? Who are you people? Where am I? Where’s Wolf? What’s going on? I want to go home!” 

There was a cup on the table, it had been there since he arrived. It was filled with some syrupy, sweet smelling liquid that Wild was sure was poison. In an instant, Wild had snatched up the cup and thrown it at the mirror. It bounced off of the glass with a brilliant spatter, then rolled along the floor, emptying the rest of its contents in a wide arc across the sterile white tiles.

“What’s going on? Where’s Wolf! I want to go home!” Wild’s voice rose to a hysterical shriek. “Let me out! I want to go home!”

Wild’s chest heaved with fury as he glared down the mirror, his ears pinned back and his teeth bared in animalistic anger. The mirror, as always, gave him no response. 

And suddenly, the room seemed to be growing smaller, and the air thinner. This was it, the walls would close in and the ceiling would lower until he was crushed into a little tiny box. The room would run out of air, and he would suffocate. He’d be trapped here forever until he died, and he’d never escape those eyes that he couldn’t see, and he’d never find Wolf again.

Wild stumbled away from that cursed mirror, choking on air. He had to get away from those eyes, to get away from the white walls so that he could breathe . But how could he hide, when there was no way to escape this room? Somehow, he found his way back to that bed in the corner of the room, and a semblance of an idea managed to rise from the panic consuming his mind. 

Wild threw himself underneath the bed, dragging down the covers of the bed to the floor like a curtain to hide himself, and wedged himself into the far corner of the small space. With the eyes finally off of him, his breathing eased, but not by a lot. He hugged his arms around himself, breathing in and out with a count of eight just like Wolf had taught him.

He longed for Wolf so much that it brought tears to his eyes. Wolf would have curled up next to him underneath this bed, poking him with his cold, wet nose until Wild uncurled and buried his face in his thick fur instead. He would’ve walked him out of here and taken him home, where his surroundings had color and sound and natural light, where he wasn’t watched and where things made sense. Instead, he was here all alone, and it was all his fault.

Hylia, he missed Wolf.

Visit me on ao3! Day 2 -- Solitary Confinement

Yeah so basically this is an AU i've been sitting on for a few years that's like Pete's Dragon but instead it's Wild's Wolf and also he gets taken to freaking Area 61 because he's from another world and got those long elf ears. Listen, I don't really have this thing fleshed out. Anyways let me know what you think :D

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