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bokettochild · 10 months

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Blupee Bait

Been thinking about @sraksha's blupee artworks with Legend and.... well, y'all know me at this point.

If it's cute Legend stuff, I can't say no.

“Wild, give it a rest,”

The champion scowls, but drops his bow for not the third time that day. “I swear I saw something.”

“Like what?” Legend grumbles, not bothering to glance up at his fellow hero as he follows along behind him, “a squirrel? Kid, we’re in a forest, there’s animals everywhere.”

“An’ ya don’t need to hunt ‘em all.” Twilight scolds, glancing over his shoulder at the champion.

Said champion grumbles, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have grounds to. Wild’s been known to shoot down near anything he can in preparation for any time where they have neither time or prey to hunt. It’s a fair practice, on some fronts. As someone who’s seen what the road looks like with an empty belly, empty bag, and no prospects of hunting, Legend can appreciate the champion’s incessant need to restock on his provisions. That said though, he’s not sure they can even store anything else, what with how good hunting has been as of late. Not that Twilight had liked that to begin with, but food is food, and whether or not one knows what it’s like to stand at the other end of the arrow or not, be hunted and chased, he doesn’t see any reason to back the rancher up with his attempts at dissuading the cook from his craft. They are nine men and boys with hearty appetites after all; meat will fill them far faster than anything else, and realistically speaking, takes far less time to gather a fair portion of.

Even so, Wild’s bow has hardly left his hand since they’d come to his world through the portal, and they’re supposedly coming wthin bounds of one or another of this era’s stables, where monsters aren’t such a threat that that would be needed. The teen's behaviours are setting him ill at ease, and he’s already uncommonly snappish as of late, even for himself.

He’s not sure why, but there’s some part of him screaming at him every time he isn’t actively trying to keep them all alive and together, and he’s yet to determine what it is because he’s so busy trying to block out it and all other pains and pressing annoyances in favor of focusing on IT. He can’t name what IT might be, but he’s felt the eyes on him for days now. Wild’s drawing and staring at the air only adds to his unease, but as the champion has yet to see or shoot or even strike anything, much less some stalker or enemy, he’s not sure what to make of it. Maybe his mind is really giving out on him after all these years, as Ravio worries. Maybe he really is going insane or becoming paranoid. It could just be birds, just something innocent and harmless. He’s bright red after all, rather eye catching in comparison to his brothers, saving Four, who is of course all the more so and not for the right reasons.

Heavens above, if Styla could meet the smithy, she’d faint dead away at his jesterly fashion sense.

Not that anybody in the group fits the princess’ standards, but he’ll digress; he’s not exactly blending in with everything right now.

Still, even birds look away after long enough. Yet that shiver, the creeping feeling of eyes on him has him glancing back warily despite himself, and only further encouraging Wild’s excessive staring into the trees.

There is something there, something watching.

It’s not harmful. He’s not sure how he knows that, but he does. It’s no enemy or monster, although the sense of power that radiates to him from the trees where nothing can be seen would indicate that he really should register it as far more of a threat. Most times it’s consistent, a thrum of magic seeping towards him. Other times though, mostly when Wild is too busy to stare back and draw his bow, there has been Something Else, and It’s magic, when It comes, comes in a surge that will make him stumble, will make his legs feel weak and his mind cloud for a moment that spikes panic even despite the overwhelming sense of peace that seems to call to him from the forest.

Legend has never been one to stray from the path, but there is some part of him all but demanding he do so now, and only a wavering sense of self control, mixed with an influx of anxious “what ifs” has kept him from bending to that impulse.

It can only hold so very much longer though. He’s tired. Of fighting, of pain, of the sense of wrongness he feels in his own skin; the urge to claw and tear and hiss at the way it fits over his frame, how it feels, how his clothes feel and his boots and his jewelry. It’s all too much and not enough, and mixed with the aches of battle, the aches caused by cold and the aching in his joints, his hands, his shoulders; it’s altogether exhausting. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll last before his mind crumbles, and he’ll give into whatever impulse promises some sense of relief or release from the wrongness and pain that surrounds and overwhelms him.

Not that he can express that, but...

Legend shakes his head, both in hopes of dismissing the thoughts but also to dislodge the feeling of eyes following, watching, waiting.

The small red one is not well.

They’d noticed when the flare of magic in the air had spiked, drawing the attention of all of them, and even The Lord to come and to see what had caused such an influx in an otherwise magic-drained land. Eight strangers, eight figures with burning souls had been their answer, accompanied by the all too familiar sight of the Boy that wanders this land.

He’s an odd one, that Boy. The tree folk care for him, fawn over him and welcome him. The Great Tree speaks of him with fondness and warmth. He is blessed by the hands of the fairies whose blossoms lay throughout the land. Magic seeps from him as water from a cracked vessel, yet never does he employ it’s power. He is blessed and beloved by the Wilds and the all that they include, saving of course themselves.

Despite the Great Tree's assurance that he is harmless, Their Lord bids them be wary, and the arrows that fly at them from the Boy are a reminder to obey such a command.

Now though, despite the drawing of the bow and the flying of arrows, they follow close by, regardless of orders given.

They cannot help it; there is a Kit with the Boy.

He is, by sight, a hylian like the Boy and the others whose souls sing with goddess blessed fire, but his soul, like the Boy, whispers of some Otherness that is not found in the hylian people who wander and live throughout this land. Where in others there is an emptiness, in these nine there is an Other-ness, a sense of something beneath, hiding claws and teeth and snapping jaws, which exists in these that travel through roads, bramble and plains.

There are wolves here. A dragon. There are teeth and sharpness, danger and power. Yet, in the midst of it all, a kit wanders behind, soul flickering, weak, magic pulsing and screaming for aid, for relief. Where they burn, he flickers, magic burning out, flame low, ready to burn it’s last.

They cannot have that.

The Boy and his companions do not see it, must not, for if they could, no doubt they ought to be about fixing it and offering aid, but they do not. No, they are blind and stupid as most of their kind are, seeing only what is before their eyes and not reaching out with their burning souls to sense that about them for what it is beneath its pretty form and face. They do not sense, and will not try, and as such the kit’s soul flickers further.

It cannot stand.

So, since the strange ones do not see, will not act, and stand about blind, they will follow. They follow, watching, waiting. There must come a time, they reason, that the Boy will lower his guard, will stop shooting and watching and looking long enough that they can catch the kit’s eye and draw him away. It should only take the smallest effort; him being young, his curiosity will take him before he knows what he does, and they can lead away and to safety. The Lord has no knowledge of their plan, despite his coming the once to see what it is that keeps them from returning to him, but they have little doubt that he will accept the kit.

Kits are very rare, after all, and such a curious one as this is most uncommon. He is neither their kind nor not. He is magic, but not in the same strain. He is almost kin, but not quite; a distortion of themselves like light caught between a dozen dewdrops to scatter brilliant in colors that otherwise will not make themselves known.

He is beautiful.

The Lord will love him, they are sure. They only need make him look and see, rather than turn his many wondrous eyes to these strange anomalies and simply bid them be wary and away.

Yes, they are disobeying his order, but if this sick and troubled kit is brought to him, he will understand why. He would want them to help, if he knew, and so they will do their all to offer aid.

They just need the Boy to stop lingering so close and shooting at them.

It takes days before he does.

They’re watching when the gathering of strangers settles in the shelter made in Malanya’s image. The Boy’s first actions are to turn his attentions to the pot of fire and start working. The two wolves stray away towards Malanya’s children, the dragon helping the smaller ones settle within the shelter. The kit goes with but strays out not long after.

His eyes are glassy, weariness seeping from him. The shield of magic that has held in defense around those in his gathering is now dropped, and the flickering flame within seems to burn ever lower now that it is no longer forced to burn at all. His steps are slow, eyes dragging over the land, cute, pointed little ears turning towards them, as though he knows that they are there, but still his eyes and ears do not catch on them.

Kits are like that; their sense of magic is always stronger than any other they hold.

They spring out and towards him.

It takes only a moment to catch his eye. He watches so keenly, startled and staring. His eyes are like a twilight sky, fixed on blue light and glittering gaze as he is leveled with their stare.

“Holy...”

Not quite, they muse, but nearly there.

They step towards him, an action mirrored by the kit, unthinking and impulsive. Amusement darts through them as they stare, cocking their head on one side, waiting for the next straying step (out of bounds, out of watch from the Boy and the wolves). It only takes a second or two before he is straying closer, and when he does, they turn, darting off and away from the shelter of the hylians, and back towards where they belong.

He calls out, surprised, no doubt, feet stumbling after. When they glance back, stopping, he looks confused, blinking and starting as though unsure why he follows, why he’d called out. They can’t help but thrum with fondness. He’s cute, so clueless and lost.

He’s also unwell though, magic too weak. Had they the skill, they’d settle beside him now and offer their own to strengthen, but pure as they may be, they will not be enough to offer him what he needs. He will be needing others to aid, and The Lord’s blessing would be most helpful as well. They just need to bring him along, tempt him just far enough to be granted what he needs.

It’s not long, or far, Little Kit, just follow after.

He does not, however. He stops, watching them and blinking slowly in confusion, and so they turn back. He starts as they stop before him, stumbles back when they hop close enough to touch, eyes wide and lips parted, gaping down at them as though unsure what it is that he witnesses. Unlike the Boy though, he draws no weapon. Rather, they can feel his magic, weak but curious, reaching out in a question they can’t yet answer, not yet, but if he will follow, he will see.

They nuzzle gently, rub against booted feet, and then, before hands can reach to touch, they dart back the way they came from, pausing at the top of a knoll, turning back and watching.

The kit blinks at them.

Legend has absolutely no clue what is happening. He’d stepped out of the stable to avoid the chatter of the strange merchant that half the group seems to recognize, the man’s voice grating on his nerves, and the incessant chattering about insects only further worsening the problem. His intent had been to settle beneath a tree for a moment’s rest, out of sight, out of mind, and away from judgement from the other heroes.

He did not expect to find himself staring as a blue rabbit appeared out of thin air.

Naturally, his first thoughts had been one of shock, but in seconds a thousand questions were racing about in his head, curiosity pushing him to cautiously make his way towards the creature. Strangely, the thing made its way towards him as well.

It didn’t seem to be scared of him, whatever it was. In fact, the magic that poured off of it, strong and other and... strangely familiar, seemed almost welcoming, in a way he’d never quite encountered.

He couldn’t put a reason to why he’d darted after it when it had started away, or even to why the thing had turned back and hopped along towards him again, brushing gently against his legs before springing back and away, only to pause and look back to him, almost as though waiting. Just the same, he couldn’t put a reason to why he had followed.

It’s the most curious looking thing he’s seen in a while; the face of an owl, but a body not unlike that his own will become when touched with darkness. Stranger still though: it glows. He’s met precious few things that glow, at least by their own power, and most tend to be something to be avoided, but this... this thing, seems to be harmless in nature.

Not that that prevents him wondering after where it’s leading him, or even why. That, however, does not stop him following, despite a very weary voice in his mind warning to not, that he doesn’t know this place or this world, that there is no path to follow and he’s alone now, without the others.

He should at least tell them where he is, right?

But if he turns back now, he’ll lose the strange creature, and if there’s one thing six adventures have taught him, it’s that finding and following the thing all over again will only wear further on what precious little patience he still has left in him. Not only that, but he can’t even guarantee that he will find such a thing again, or that it will approach him so openly. He’s certainly never seen one before, in this world or any other, and for it to appear now...

It’s just got to be something important, and he can’t lose it, can’t let whatever this is slip through his fingers, not if it could offer some further step in their newest quest, some promise or item or guidance they may need! So, he follows, darting and running after the little creature that pauses every so often to turn back and make sure he’s still following. He follows it away from the stable and towards what, he doesn’t know, curiosity flooding through him.

The others will understand why he left, right?

The kit is slow.

It’s a long process, darting along only to have to stop every few steps and let him catch up. He’s not stumbling over much, but the poor thing lacks their usual speed, and likely as not lacks the magic to simply fade to The Lord’s side.

Not that they have any intent of forcing the poor thing to try and cross a river and a field, climb a mountain and only then rest. No, they only need regroup with the others, enough that their combined strength will be enough to take him with when they themselves follow the call of their Lord back to where they belong. He will come with, if their magic is shared, as all kits do, and then at last they can show their Lord what they have found and maybe then provide that light that this weakling kit so desperately needs.

The poor thing starts when another of their kind appears beside them, stumbles when yet another darts up from the ground to spring alongside. He slows altogether when at last there are enough of them, eyes wide and staring as they stand at his feet.

He’s so cute and clueless, they can’t help but chirp at him, watching those odd little ears flicker about and his strange little nose wiggle with confusion.

He will understand soon.

The stop, the others following suit, and thus, so too does the kit. He stands amidst them and stares as they gather around, starts as they turn to him and watch, and only after moments of him standing does he seem to find it in himself to settle down among them, crouching low and reaching out, so curious and clueless and lost.

He’s too cute, honestly.

They dart forwards, letting clever fingers touch and thrumming with pride at the little gasp that stutters from the kit at first contact with downy fluff. Doubt seems to fade, worries abate, as the poor thing reaches out, gently lifting them, which thy only welcome as their companions gather closer. Some climb up, darting and flickering, settling on shoulders and legs and all about, covering the little one in their magic, spreading it one to another until, at last, it is strong enough, and then-

The poor kit starts badly when the world flickers pink, when overhead are blossoms and beneath is water and the dusk that has settled over them in their chase grants light that only pales in comparison to their own. He drops them in his shock, but they hold none of it to him. He is unlikely to know what it is to travel as they do, to flicker from one place to where they ought to be, and it is nothing to them to fall that distance when they are at home and in their own place.

“Where on earth-” the kit Is blinking again, staring, turning about and looking altogether confused. That is alright though; answers will come shortly.

They can feel The Lord. He is not with them, not yet, but his power surges about them, and the water trembles all so subtly as they gather at its edges.

Mayhaps it is that, or maybe the fact that they gather, that has drawn the attention of the kit from his confusion to their pool, but he turns with them, stalking slowly over, cautious but still just as curious as a moment before. No temptation is needed to bring him up alongside of the water only seconds before the Lord emerges.

It’s clear in a moment their Lord knows there is something changed, some presence not their own, yet also not that of the Boy who likes to come here to try and catch them, or the hylians who come to hunt. The Lord turns in moments to seek, to find, and golden eyes meet with twilight as the kit starts and stares, jaw gaped, eyes wide, soul sparking in wonder not expressed, but felt by them all and earning a surge of delight.

They can’t help it; the kit’s wonder is a pleasure to witness.

The Lord like ways seems to think so, cautious in his motion but welcoming as he makes for the kit at the edge of his pool, lowering a great head to stare at eyes that stare back, unblinking. They have done well, he deems, to bring the little one here, and greetings are given as he lets crooked hands rise to touch, solemn and reverent, to bury in his mane.

Pink head-fur is tousled by their Lord, soft little sounds of surprise erupting from the kit, but the greeting of their lord is all that is needed for them and the others to gather.

Magic surges, their lord settling, the kit staring and then....

He stills.

To say that this moment feels like a dream would be to put it lightly.

One moment, he’s chasing the strange blue bunny, the next, he’s standing under a cherry tree, water before him and sky all around. The air is cold here, thick too with some oppressive magic, the same as he’s sensed in the woods, following after him; that of the watching thing.

He has all of a moment to wonder if maybe these strange rabbits were doing the watching, but then his mind is drawn to how they gather at the water’s edge, and so he follows. He’s not expecting the beast that appears in a flicker of light, somehow stranger still than the rabbits; a blue stallion with a mane like a lion and two faces, both that of owls. It glows with ethereal light, magic pouring from it in thick waves that have his legs giving out beneath him. If they hadn’t though, the overwhelming urge to kneel in reverence to this great beast would have brought him to his knees regardless.

It’s eyes, all four of them, are fixed on him, it's hooves turning his way, gaze fixed, eyes heavy. It’s hard to do anything save meet the gaze, even as warmth floods over him as the thing bows its head to be level with his own, eyes meeting and holding for a precious second before closing.

Some treacherous part of him dares lift his hand to touch, to feel. His curiosity wins over common sense, but the thing does not stir as he grips its mane. In fact, it holds perfectly still, and it is instead he who is shaken. Magic pours over him like wave, overwhelming yet also...

Peace.

Pain, exhaustion, weariness and worry all fade into something drowsy and subdued. The thoughts that spin without end in his mind slow to something quiet, controlled, relaxed even. He finds himself lifting his hands to drag again through long, impossibly soft hair, the great eyes of the thing opening once more as it leans closer, face touching his own in a gesture he feels ought to mean something, ought to be important, ought to strike something in his mind, some familiarity or feeling, but all he can register is peace, eyes fluttering shut as small bodies press close to his own, climbing over him.

It’s like being drugged, in a peaceful, gentle sort of way. A floating sort of feeling that takes over him and leaves him settling on the shore, unsure when he finds himself lying amidst the odd little creatures, but thoroughly delighted as their furry pelts press to sensitive skin, soothing every sensation with delightful fur he only just resists burying his face in, rubbing against and breathing in. He need not even try though, for they gather around eagerly, and though the great beast, their leader (or perhaps parent? creator?) stands aside, watching, it is a benevolent thing; its presence and magic still settled over, safe and warm and overwhelming to the point of tears.

The little rabbit creatures chirp and fuss at the dampness, but the relief, sweet, precious, much longed for and now all so tangible, only makes them flow more freely, a smile touching his face as that incessant voice within at last stills, relief in a way he can’t name granting itself to him and leaving him lying on the earth, at peace for what feels like the first time since his adventures started.

That’s how Wild finds him later. It’s morning by the time that the champion arrives, huffing and frowning, face awash with worry as he rounds some bend in some path that Legend has missed before. It’s all gone though, when the other hero lays eyes on him.

He’d slept well, although he can’t say when he slept and when he woke. The last hours since coming here are simply a blur of warmth, soft fur, and overwhelming feelings of security and peace. It must show, because Wild’s concern flickers into amusement as the other draws near.

The beast, whatever it had been, in now gone. Before leaving, it had come to him again, brushing his face with its own in what felt like some semblance of a farewell, or maybe a blessing. There’s a part of him that feels maybe there was something said, probably was, but he can’t name the language or manner, only that there had been something conveyed, and something which he can only explain as having been warmth and compassion and kindness spoken. Despite the beast’s departure, however, the strange glowing rabbits have remained, and still settle over him, warm and impossibly soft, although often shifting and moving, springing about and playing over and about him, but never straying far, and he’s been content to similarly stay amongst them, simply enjoying their presence.

“There you are,” Wild murmurs, crouching down beside him and smiling a crooked smile, worry fleeing from his gaze to instead be replaced with amusement. “Have a good night?”

He can only hum his agreement.

Wild chuckles, eyes creasing with laugher as they glitter, the same unnatural blue as the other-worldly rabbits. “What, did you get kidnapped by the blupees or something? You usually don’t stray from the path, vet.”

“Blupees?” Somehow, it’s the only thing to make it off his tongue.

The champion huffs another little laugh, brows raising, “your cuddle partners?”

“Oh.”

The smile he’s sent really has no right to be that teasing, but somehow he doesn’t care, only remaining as he is until the champion’s attentions turn to the beasts (blupees) around them. Blue eyes dart over, confusion and wonder in them as he looks from furry critter to dazed hero and back again. There’s a strange sort of hesitation in the way he reaches out, a thing Wild rarely displays, especially towards animals, but the surprise and delight as scarred hands make contact with fur feels important.

“Huh...”

He doesn’t have it in him to really ask, save turning and staring until blue eyes turn to him and a half-smile touches the face of his brother. “They never let me touch them normally, never mind get close.”

“They lured me away and dragged me here.”

Blond hair blows freely as the champion throws his head back, laughter startling the blupees around them. “Really?” his smile is strangely disbelieving as it falls on the creatures, “who would have thought.” And then, drawing back to himself, those blue eyes turn to Legend, smile playful. “Well, the others are pretty worried. You ready to go?”

Bliss still settles into his very bones, peace and a fullness he can’t describe setting every sensation at ease. “No.”

Wild laughs, standing and offering a hand. ”Come on, vet, the others freaked out when we couldn’t find you last night, and they won’t calm down until I bring you back safe.”

It’s in a begrudging manner that he pushes himself off the ground; not set with moss or anything particularly soft, but somehow better than any bed he’s ever had, and accepts the hand offered to him. The blupees scatter as Wild pulls him to his feet, and that unnamed part of him sighs wistfully, mourning the loss of contact.

He’s not sure why, but he can’t help but stare after the creatures as the champion guides him down the mountain.

They do not want to see him go.

He is better now; magic restored, core recharged. The Lord has said his magic was weak from overuse, his soul crying for aid and support they are only too happy to have offered. A night's sleep and their company will have aided him considerably, and his need is no longer great, nor likely existent, now that the day as come, but that does not change that they do not wish for him to go. Still though, the Lord has also warned them, this kit- though it pleased him to have the little one brought to him- cannot stay. He is already belonging with others, and although their kind may be able to meet needs unseen by the anomalies, this kit cannot be taken from what is already his own.

Watching the Boy come for him stirs up upset within them. Unease makes itself known, worry that he will shoot and strike, but instead all he does is smile, sinking down beneath their kit and offering smiles and laughter in the way of hylians, his teeth not a threat but a kindness as hands not yet clawed offer aid to their kit. It is taken, but they can feel the reluctance, and it makes them preen ever so slightly. They have done well, bringing the kit here. They have done well, bringing him aid.

He will depart, and does, wandering off and away, the Boy talking at him and murmuring strange things, even as violet eyes linger, twilight skies lit with stars that last night were absent, watching gold as gold in turn watch twilight.

He will go, but now they know him.

He will be easy to find again, when they want to.

And they will most certainly want to!

#lu legend #lu wild #linked universe #linkeduniverse #blupees #ketto writes

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