#But it's happening

[mroddmod]

old man disease has me by the neck rn

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 5: Human Weapon (Hyrule)

Ao3

CW for vomiting, blood and injury, and references to captivity

-----------------------------------------------

Hyrule runs.

The ground is slick and slippery beneath his feet. Mud splashes up, sullying his boots and trousers. Rain pelts his head, burning his eyes, blurring his vision, sticking his clothing to his skin. It draws at the blood that seeps from his wounds, diluting it, trying to wash it away.

But no sooner has it managed, more bubbles up. It oozes out of him, constant, traitorous. A danger to everyone and everything he has fought so hard to protect.

He slips and falls, sprawling in the chilled mud with a grunt of pain and surprise. He only allows himself a moment to lie there, panting, trying to ignore the scream of his aching body. And then he’s up again, tearing past trees and through shrubbery, ears ringing with the eerie laughter that echoes around him. 

“Come here, little hero. We won’t hurt you.” 

“Where’s that cursed brat? Doesn’t he know how vital he is to the plan?”

“Hurry! He can’t have gotten far!”

Another burst of paper and magic. They are growing closer. Hyrule pushes his legs to go faster. 

His breath comes in ragged half-sobs that scream through his throat. Panic slices at his very soul. The ground itself seems to rise and roll beneath his feet. The sight of it reminds him of the Wind’s Great Sea during a thunderstorm — all furious, churning foam and gray-green waves that leap up to the sky. 

The sky still weeps and the trees bend beneath the weight of its grief. It courses into his eyes, turns his hair sopping, runs into his mouth and nose. Even the river is overwhelmed by it. It begins to breach its banks, belching filthy water into Hyrule’s boots.

He stumbles once more, feet flying out behind him, carried by the treacherous tides of the forest. His knees hit the ground and agony streaks up his thigh. He bites down hard on his lip to keep from screaming. 

They can’t hear him, they can’t catch him again.  

Desperately, Hyrule reaches for his magic, dragging it through his veins. It screeches in agony as it follows his call. There is so much within him, waiting to be let loose, begging to be. It has been building these past days, caged behind a wall he cannot tear down. But all that comes is a strained trickle, hardly enough to heal his wounds.

If anything, the attempt makes matters worse. The cuff on his left wrist sears into his skin, fiery and fierce. Even the rain cannot wash away the scene of burnt flesh. 

With a choked cry, he retreats. His power slides from his grasp, as slippery as a serpent and as helpless as a mouse caught in a trap.  Pitching sideways, he retches. Blood and bile splatter into the puddles that he has collapsed into. 

More laughter. The sound of it turns his stomach more than any pain.

“I hear you, little hero. You can’t hide forever.”

Come on. Hyrule grits his teeth, rising on trembling limbs. He is so, so tired. But now is not the time to stop.

If his brothers were here, perhaps, he could afford to rest for a moment. They are halfway across Hyrule, however. He cannot even be certain that they’ve noticed his absence yet.

He coughs up another mouthful of blood. Crimson-tinged fingertips slip in the mud. The very environment battles against him. The greenery surrounding him swims and swirls sickeningly. Cackles echo from all sides.

Get up. Fight. Don’t ever let them catch you.

He manages to get his legs beneath him, groaning at the exertion it takes to do so. And then he’s up again, stumbling forward as the soil moves in reverse. He struggles to remain conscious; struggles to stay alert to his surroundings even as they blur into blobs of subdued color.  

A sudden burst of red erupts before his eyes. The deadly shink of unsheathed metal pierces his ears. 

“Going somewhere?” A Yiga assassin croons.

Hyrule scrambles backward, terror turning his extremities numb. But several more assassins explode into existence. They surround him and close in, windcleavers and vicious sickles gleaming in the eerie grayish-green light.

“I don’t know why you’re running,” one of them hisses, cocking his head. The white of his mask is almost translucent from the torrential downpour. If Hyrule squints, he can see the outline of his features – a large nose, wide eyes, and a mouth framed by thin lips. Human. Natural. But in this moment, they hardly look so. 

“Don’t you want to help us?”

Another throws back her head as she laughs. “It’s such a noble thing, isn’t it? To give your life for the Demon King.”

Hyrule sends them all the most severe glare he can muster.

“I won’t,” he grits out and his voice is hardly audible over the thundering rain and his pounding heart. “I won’t let you use me. I won’t…won’t let you bring him back.”

More cackling, cruel and harsh. He hates the sound of it with every bone in his body. 

“Oh, little hero – ”

One of the assassins steps closer. Through his mask, Hyrule can see that he is grinning.

“ –  what made you think you have a choice?”

His weapon howls like the wind it commands, as he raises it high above his head. The other Yiga back away, giving room for the blow that will incapacitate the hero once more.

They’ll drag him back once he’s unconscious, no doubt. He won’t even need to wake up for the ritual. All they need, after all, is his blood. 

He tries to evade, slipping and sliding in the slop. But the sword comes down faster than he can run. A blast of wind hits him, sharp as a dagger in his ribs. And the world goes upside down.

He hits the ground with a splash, lungs heaving for the breath that has been stolen from them, limbs spread-eagled and oddly shaped. There is a fire in his chest, flames in his veins. His muscles feel as though claws of iron have clamped around them, turning them tight and leaden.

But he tries anyway, to move, to fight. Desperate, he reaches inside and draws at his magic once more.

Please, he begs as it screeches and screams, held back by his bonds, help me.

He only needs one spell to take them all out. Just one.

And still, his magic struggles against him. Still, the cuff sears into him, branding its raised edges into his pale skin.  

Cackles swell around him. Shapes bob around, harsh crimson against a blurred backdrop of green. Hands pull him up, as he chokes, blood bubbling from limp lips.

He’s slipping, he realizes, dully, in the part of his mind still capable of thought, and with him, his magic. 

They’re going to win. They’re going to bring Ganondorf back from the dead so he can raze Hyrule, so he can bathe the world to darkness.

Hyrule blinks, slowly, lazily. 

They can’t win. He won’t…

The world explodes. His eyes drag closed. His magic cries out, gives one last buck, and breaks free from his clawing fingers. Someone screams his name. 

And darkness claims him.

[mxxnlightwriting]

Just sent 'A Spark of Magic' to my copy editor and I am both excited and terrified about it 😱

[somethingtofightfor-shares]

Posting today @ 5:30 pm

part 1.

[elliedafish]

This might sound really weird... but Joe Alwyn might be my new celebrity crush.

[snooze-mode]

Still in drafts, buuuttttttt... Sneak peak

[purenonsens]

Turns out I’m doing the zine after all~ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )

[marigoidz]

NEED to trans his gender

[genocidalfetus]

Brain Rot Thot

Lads and lasses, I'm writing one of the chapters that begins to bring The Three Of Strings into existence. It starts pretty heavy and angsty, but it will end on a fluffy note...with a wee bit of smut in between. So an angsty-smutty-fluffy sammich so to speak.

[d3m0l1t10n-lvrs]

I have PLANS

[inthegardensofourminds]

I have joined the bromide-collecting cult. I have an album with photos of my blorbos now.

[theredtours]

Just wanted to come on here and say that I am actively working on putting together a pdf of the Red Photobook since it's like nowhere online and that's such a tragedy because the photos are phenomenal.

[theinternetisfulloftrash]

Give me a good horny dylan thought!

Dylan wraps those pretty fingers around his dick several times a day....

[frystikista]

Going to be sending an email tomorrow to start my transitioning process, I'm so excited

[flannelepicurean]

More Redneck Raditz Headcanons

~Romance style~...

The girl he eventually starts spending hella time with (mostly in the sack, at first) has curly hair. The kind you'd expect with a skintone like hers. She always keeps it curly, and even when she showers at his place, she covers it and doesn't wash it there.

He asks her about it eventually, and she doesn't get into a real long conversation about it, but does explain that it's a whole daggone process, and she's not lugging all her stuff over to his trailer, and they don't always bone on wash day anyway.

He asks her if she wants to just use some of his stuff? She makes an absolutely comedic noise and asks what in the hell makes him think he's got the right products for her hair??? He gets a light of vulpine glee in his eyes and drops a magnolia-blossom perfect, "Oh, hoooooney..." and takes her to his FULLY STOCKED SALON SELECTION of a dazzling array of hair products, which he keeps where something infinitely more sensible should go.

He does have some stuff that will work for her. Her mind is a little bit boggled, but also not, and she teases him a little bit, and he does something playful and sassy with his hair, pushing the point that of COURSE he has a professional salon's worth of hair products and she ought to have known damn well, because she's seen how good he looks. So she teases him for being vain on top of everything else, and they both laugh about it.

He asks her a few times if she'd ever let him wash her hair for her. She's a little hesitant on that one, because products are one thing, but routine is entirely another. At some point he offers or suggests, very suggestively, that she can do his first, if she wants. She tells him that sounds like a whole lotta work, and asks how he's gonna make it worth her while? He doesn't go quite as suggestive when he shrugs and says it's possible she'll make him purr. She thinks he's joking.

He is not.

Turns out, if you give him a really good shampooing and luxuriate some hair care on him and brush him just right, your Saiyan will turn into a high-as-balls limp noodle and purr like a drunk tiger. Especially if you lay him on the couch and sit on his ass and rake the big brush down his back a little while you work your way down all 1800 feet of his glorious mane. 😂

That is, incidentally, how they actually have the conversation about exactly how "not from 'round here" he is. She sorta believes him already, on account of the whole purring thing. And he tells her about the couple of...feats of strength...that have happened when he's been with the guys. Minor shit, for him, honestly; lifting a truck by hand when you really gotta move it is impressive to the guys, sure. But it's...nothing.

She says he's....kinda like Superman? And he grumbles a little bit, because the guys say that, too, and it's kinda...y'know. And she asks if he can do other stuff, but it's not in an intrusive way; it doesn't make him feel alien, she just seems curious, like she's asking how they make their potato salad where he's from. He doesn't tell her about the more combat-oriented stuff. But he does share that he can fly. She asks if she can see? And it doesn't feel weird. It doesn't feel gawky. So he tells her they'll have to go outside. And he doesn't want to spook the neighbors.

There are enough woodsy areas around that it's not hard to find a spot. So they stand in a clearing for a minute, looking at each other. And he's not in his armor, and he's not exactly fighting fit anymore. He's in his jeans and his boots and his flannel and his Carhartt jacket, surrounded by trees and crunchy leaves, in a weird place that feels weirder because it doesn't feel as weird these days. But he just looks up at the sky, and takes a bit of a breath, and stops holding onto gravity.

He doesn't go far. Maybe 10 or 12 feet up. Just enough to let her see. And when he looks down, he sees a tiny glint of moonlight in her eyes, looking up at him with awe, but not astonishment, while she hugs her own jacket close in the chilly air. And her breath trails a cloud ahead into the dark when she says, "You're so damn beautiful."

He comes back down. Not all the way. Still hovering maybe a foot above the ground. Offers his hand and says gently, "C'mere." And wraps her in his arms and takes her up. Not too high. But just to the tops of the trees, high enough to get a look around.

And she holds onto him, unafraid, and peers around at the world, her world, in the moonlight, from the treetops, with him. And she marvels, "It look so different!" And he doesn't say it, can't say it at the time, but he thinks so, too.

[hazelmaines]

Chapter 11 preview for just what i needed 😊

Chapter title is "how will I know" - sing it with me!