#click the link for a form | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bokettochild · 2 years

Text

The Inner Warriors

As promised, here is the Twili-form Warriors fic! There may be some confusing things about it, but once I finish housekeeping duties I'll be back to answer any questions and clarify a few points. Outside of that though, I did the best I could to have the boys explain at least the basics.

So, without further ado! Here it is!

They are all different.

Not quite Hylian, not quite mortal. There is something about each of them that eyes lit by divine fire could see when first meeting each of the heroes. There’s the faintest flicker and whisper of wings behind their traveler, the whispering ghosts following the old man, the strange power in the flicker of the sailor’s fingers and that odd presence that fills the world about them when the Chosen Hero straightens in a certain way. They are powerful, they are strong, there is something other about them that has been granted in favor or birth. Likewise, Wild with his eyes that glitter in a way no living thing is, with senses too strong and boundless energy, is different. Legend, whose moods are reflected not in his eyes but in the plants about him, is different. For Wild, there is something Wrong with him. For Legend, there is something Right. For Four it is this odd hint of something, something that makes him wonder and stare, but he cannot name. He can’t identify the thing that makes the smithy different really, but he knows it’s there.

In a direct contrast, he knows immediately what is wrong with Twilight. He can’t name it, not exactly, but the mere presence of the rancher rubs him the wrong way. There’s something in his manner that has Warriors’ very soul rising up in protest, something that makes him bite and snap at the rancher despite there being no cause for it.

And Twilight treats him the same.

There is that glare in the eyes of the rancher, the possessive way he shepherds the younger heroes away, the way his smile is just a bit too sharp when he looks at the captain, the way his ears always prick back at the man.

The feelings are mutual between them, a need to claim, to set boundaries. There’s something inside both that has them viewing the other as more a threat than an ally, and even on the field of battle there is a disconnect that leaves them bloodied and bruised when they ought to have been watching each other’s backs. They don’t though, they can’t. While he doesn’t know what drives the rancher, his very soul protests the presence of the other, rebels against it and fights to stake a claim over the other heroes despite the other man doing the same.

The dragon does not care for others claiming its own after all, and while the captain can recognize the bond between pup, cub and papa wolf, Time is his kid, the one he helped raise, and Twilight’s need to put distance between leader and captain irks him. It irks him that the rancher does the same with the younger ones, pulling Four in close without speaking, or coming between himself and Wind whenever he can. He herds them, the rancher, he acts like a mutt guarding its flock, protecting against some crouching predator as though Warriors would cause them harm.

He would never.

Still, he joined in their number, wandering in the woods and stumbling across each other after each having entered a portal to a world unknown, late. He is not the first in their group, and while he is not the last, he does not have time to stake his claims as he would like.

The dragon hisses when Time is all but ripped away from him by this strange new opponent, and when Twilight attempts to do the same with Wind, it is only the sailor’s choice to linger with the captain that stops the beast inside from speaking its mind.

And he hates it.

They are brothers, by sword, bond and blood. There are papers in Castletown that say that if Twilight is Time’s child that he should be considered the young man’s grandfather, or at the very least his family. There is the air over camp that says they ought to bond and belong, that they are all heroes and this, finally, is a group in which they will be understood and seen. So, he tries to bury it. He tries to hold back the need to snarl back at the subtle claims and snubs. He fights back the urge to fight when he can’t be with his boys. He fights back so many things, putting on the front of a snobbish yet charming noble, because that at least gives him reason to be at odds with Twilight.

And none of them notice.

He isn’t even sure Twilight notices the act he maintains, isn’t sure there’s really anything that the rancher notes beyond their first interactions that would set the other off. Still, there’s an underlying something between them that neither wishes to address in their travels.

It’s the dragon’s fault.

They say that all heroes, great and good, and even those fallen, possess the soul of a beast that will see them through the worst of things. Most, in the past, have been beings of courage and strength; survivors and adaptors. In a time of war though, the world needed a hero whose core is power, not just courage. In a time of war, there was not a need for survivors and adaptors, for beings sly or slick, there was a need for a hero with a soul strong enough to topple a mountain.

The world needed a hero with the soul of a dragon.

It wasn’t so active when he was young; little hisses and huffs and things that were easy to ignore. It was when he was an adult, fighting in a war and facing off against enemies, that it had made itself known. The battle was one he will always remember. Mask had been felled, lying injured, his greatest treasure and weapon clutched close in his hands. Warriors had used the mask once before, the results near devastating, and despite the turn of the battle, Mask refused to let him touch it again. The risk was too great, the child had told him, he didn’t know how to control the deity and he’d be lost for good if he tried.

It had angered him, watching the kid leak crimson life-blood onto the field while still shielding him from a power that could be their saving. He hadn’t pushed it though, hadn’t wanted to distress the already suffering child. Instead, he'd risen and returned to the field, sword in one hand and a fire rod in the other.

The rods were always a favorite of his. Despite being trained for the sword, there was something about flames licking over the ground, over the field and casting fearful light in the eyes of the enemy that made a savage part of the Warrior Hero sing. It was so then, the fire shooting from the staff's head, licking over the field, ravenously consuming all that came before it. Something inside of him had purred at the sight, something fierce and savage and angry, something that had just seen his kid be injured by monsters and wanted nothing more than to watch them burn for drawing precious blood from what was his.

The rage was something he tried to hold back. The anger for his home, his people, his country and his men. For child heroes and young soldiers and families who’d never get to say goodbye. He tried to keep it locked away but that blade to Mask’s side had broken not only flesh but a dam, and the beast inside had roared to life, anger building and motions becoming more frenzied, more ferocious, until it had shown itself in full.

A blue dragon, swift, dancing, leaping across the field, flowing like water or flame from the heart of the hero to fell enemies only to fade, had startled all. It had startled him, had given him pause at the sudden silence in his mind and stillness to his body, but then it returned, warmth and strength and a rumbling growl in his heart that had given him fire to finish the battle and leave not one of the enemy standing.

Mask had stared after him in confusion, Tune in awe, but neither ever spoke of it. Even now, amidst others like themselves and yet so unlike themselves, no one brings it up. They haven’t forgotten though. He knows they haven’t because Tune, now Wind, will still try and help him out, still do things that he’d leaned the captain liked during the war.

Keeping warm is one thing, eating meat is another. Once the beast took form the first time it made it clear it had needs that he had to meet. In a way, it was himself, a part of himself, by Zelda’s telling a part of his soul, but it helped, in a way, to distance himself from it. The serpent and the hero were not the same. Certainly, there was holy fire in sapphire eyes and his teeth shone just a bit too bright, showed themselves far too sharp. Certainly, there were the frustrating urges to catch his brothers in his arms and hold them, tucked beneath him where he could keep them safe, especially the smaller ones. There were the needs to destroy anything that touched what was His and there was of course the joke Impa had made of him collecting a hoard of small children rather than gold, but those were just things.

At his core, he was still Hylian, he could still keep the dragon under control.

Most of the time.

It is a battle, a rough one. There are no extraordinary monsters, no hinoxes or lynels or even darknuts. It is just normal monsters. Slews of them. There are hundreds, maybe even a thousand or so, and while his brothers are all capable, all strong and fierce and skilled, it was only inevitable that someone would fall.

It’s Four who falls first. Four who isn’t quite part of Twilight’s little pack, despite the rancher’s attempts. He’d been fine through most of the battle, using his lack of height to his advantage and ducking under blows and monsters and between them so that the enemy found themselves fighting each other. He’d been fine, been doing perhaps the best out of all of them, only to lose his mobility when a moblin fell back on top of him, freshly killed, and toppled the smithy over. A lucky blow from one of the more intelligent monsters had struck home, landing hard, heavy and painful to one of the smithy’s legs and taking him out of the game. Fight though he might, Four isn’t stronger than the infected monsters, and without the ability to dart and duck away, he is left at a great disadvantage, one that the monsters do their all to press.

The smithy’s shout, pained and desperate, a call for help, makes him snap up. It’s the scent of copper blood and not a monsters black ichor that greets his senses, mind honing in on the gash leaking crimson over flickering eyes, as Four strives to push back against a moblin twice his height while still weaving as best he can to avoid the attacks of a stalfoes that’s making its way behind him.

Twilight growls something, shouts an ‘I’m coming’ or some such promise, but the dragon hardly cares. He’s flying across the field as though he had wings, blade out and hacking down monsters as though they were but dried grass. Their corpses dissolve in his wake, leaving a cloud of black smoke to mark the passage of the warrior hero.

He’s at Four’s side in minutes, dispatching the skeleton warrior first (not flinching at the haunted spirit that looks at him with crazed eyes as the heap of bones falls) and then turning his attentions on the moblin. His soul hisses in a twisted sort of pleasure at the look of fear in the beast’s eyes before silver leaves it nothing but a smoking heap of ash.

Monsters dispatched for the moment and none closing in just yet, he lets his gaze fall to Four, bleeding and leaning heavily on one leg as blood pours from injuries to pool on the ground beneath them. The dragon hisses its displeasure at the sight, driving him to reach over and pull the other into his grasp, tucking Four onto his hip, shield at the smithy’s back as he returns his mind to the battle.

“Here!” Wind calls to him, standing, as ordered, near the edges of the field, ready to offer aid as Warriors has taught him and also making sure not to let one bit of filth pass him by to begin infected the woods again.

He makes his way to the sailor’s side, depositing Four with brief orders for treatment. He doesn’t have to yell to the group to cover the duo, Legend already darting over, ice blasting from a rod and light flickering off a blade as the vet covers their two shortest, leaving the captain himself free to return to battle.

And return he does. Silver flashes over the field, holy blue light in the eyes of the Hero of War. The monsters fall to his blade as he goes, dissolving before they hit the ground, screams and cries sounding. He fights towards the others, herds the monsters towards where Twilight and Time stand at the center of the field, dispatching the beasts with bladework that is very nearly the same, faces drawn in snarls as the beasts come at them.

And then there’s another cry. There’s Wind reeling forwards with an arrow in his back, body falling over Four’s as the smithy screams the sailor’s name in panic. There’s Sky stumbling on one edge of the field, overrun with monsters. Only a moment later, he can hear Legend shriek in pain, catches sight of blood pouring from an open wound as the vet kicks an enemy off of himself, downed but not beaten.

Time grunts in pain as a blade slips past the plates of his armor.

Twilight’s teeth saw together as he swings his sword, the set of his jaw pained as he favors one arm over the other- not his good one.

Hyrule is holding his own but barely.

Wild can’t even be seen for all the monsters surging about them.

And the dragon doesn’t like it. The dragon lashes at the walls of his mind, anger stirring, fueled further by the smell of Hylian blood cloying his senses as crimson seeps into his clothes and down his fingers from where he’d been holding Four. He lets it loose.

The screams on the field change their tune. Suddenly they are the rough and ragged screams of beastly voices, fear flashing for mere moments before bodies fall. Holy fire dances over the field, silver flashing, sharp teeth snapping as a battle roar sounds in the air, ringing off of cliffs and singing a song of destruction and death.

The field is clear within the hour, only ash and ichor left, leaving nine heroes standing, panting, soaked in blood both theirs and not, but alive. Alive and victorious.

“Wind!” It’s Twilight’s voice that calls, but Time’s feet that move first.

There’s an answering groan, a whimper and Four’s voice answering “he’s alive! He’s breathing!”

Warriors turns, vision flickering, watches their leader falls to his big brother’s side, watches Hyrule follow after, already digging into a bag. He sees Twilight already fussing over Four’s extensive injuries, sees Sky helping him. He sees Legend lurch the other way, face white and breathing irregular as the vet lifts a hand to his mouth, gagging slightly.

When he takes a step towards, he’s met with midnight eyes with brows pulled low and harsh. Twilight’s hands tighten over the sailor’s shoulders, teeth bared ever so slightly, defensive, claiming. The rancher recognizes the wild thing that is a threat to what is his and he bids it begone. But he can’t leave, he can’t stand back, not when he’s been trained to fight and to heal. He knows to tear a man asunder, but he can also pull them together again. Perhaps that doesn’t matter though, not when fairies are already flickering about, Time’s rich voice begging their aid and their own bell-like ones responding in favor.

He holds his ground, dripping with blood, sword still in hand, until the arrow has been dug free and Wind’s face has regained its rich color. Lingers until Four is pulling himself up and leaning against Sky’s side with only exhaustion in his eyes. Waits until Twilight has gathered Wild under one arm and Wind under the other, letting Hyrule and Time wipe the two of blood while he holds them.

And then he pulls back. Then he lurches away without his usual grace, has to all but tear himself back so that Twilight will calm. He must look a sight, eyes slitted and shining, teeth sharp, blood dripping from every inch of him and blade still held tight in his hands. When he lifts the end of his scarf to his face to wipe it, it comes away black and when he steps back, the beast within screaming at him to go, to help his boys, his boots squelch, sodden, against the earth.

The scent of blood clings to him, following after as he backs away, pushes himself far enough away as to no longer be perceived as a threat to Twilight’s Pack. The smell does him no favors though, or rather, does only ill for the vet, who stands back at a similar distance, one hand to his chest as forced breathes sound about them.

Legend doesn’t handle blood well. Injuries are common, standard in their line of work, but all the same the vet can’t stand them. It’s something related to his first adventure, he’s told them, likely the result of watching blood pour from some helpless soul and being unable to stop it. He’d whispered once of an uncle, but since then nothing has been said on it, all they know is that when injuries are great, the best thing to do is send their vet away and either ask him to gather supplies, or to scout the land about them to ensure all monsters are fled.

“Vet?”

One hand is held up, a signal, a request for a pause as the other masters his mind and pulls himself and his panic together.

The dragon doesn’t listen, instead pushing him to step closer, laying an arm around thin shoulders as they stutter and humming lowly to assure the other.

He’s still drenched in blood, still smells of malice and death, like the poison that flows in enemy veins, and Legend knows that. He starts at it, head whipping aside and ears flickering with a pained noise. Still though, the vet doesn’t step away, and when he tries to pull the other close, Legend lets him. It’s the dragon, he blames it entirely for his need to hold and protect and comfort once the battle is over. Twilight’s reach extends over the others at the moment, but Legend is free from it so he latches on, pulling the vet in and all but clinging as the other adjusts against him.

There's no complaint, and for that he’s surprised. In fact, despite the smell about them, Legend stills a bit from the shivers and gasps, and when he has the presence of mind to think why it is, he realizes nearly at once that there’s a nose pressed beneath his collar, where blood doesn’t touch, where all Legend will be able to smell is him.

It makes him smile just a bit, holding a bit tighter and staying there until he deems it safe to return.

Legend is not Twilight’s, that he finds to be clear. The two have nearly always been at odds, although not in the manner that the captain and rancher are. There is tension born by arguments and hurts and not by senses gone mad. Or rather, instincts and senses gone mad do not dictate it entirely. The vet isn’t like himself and the rancher, nor like Sky with his nearly oppressing presence and light. Legend is bright and fierce, but his soul isn’t something sharp and harsh that threatens the protective instincts of the two older heroes. No, the vet is quiet, his spirit seeking, wary, and he’s startled to find that when he’s pulling the other close after a battle, it’s not just he who settles.

“You’re big.” Legend hums distractedly one time when he asks. The two of them sit together, a battle past and Twilight busy scolding Wild again for another frankly impressive, but also highly risky, maneuver. The vet is currently mending his tunic for him, sewing shut an awful rent caused when the beast took over his mind and he’d stopped being as careful about blocking blows in favor of dealing them.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m small.” Legend answers, face twisted up into a frown as he tries threading his needle. Violet eyes squint, trying to focus on the tiny hole, and while Warriors would typically offer his help, his hands shake far too much at most times to be able to do more than offer moral support.

“I’ve noticed.”

It says something that the vet doesn’t look up from his work to glare at him in response, and Legend doesn’t even sound overly annoyed as he speaks, as though he hasn’t yet registered what weas said to him. “It’s this thing that lots of smaller people do, Four included. When there’s a big person we trust around it makes us feel a bit safer.” The thread slips through the desired hole and is pulled through, hissing softly as cotton glides over steel. “Don’t ask me how it works, it just helps to know someone’s watching out for you.”

And it helps to have someone to watch out for, someone Twilight can’t snatch from him.

It helps when, after a battle, he can grab ahold of Legend and Legend can hide his eyes, bury his nose in something that smells of something other than death and ignore the blood-bath around them. It helps to be able to pull somebody close as he can, to hunch over them and hold them and feel something breathing against him. It helps to have someone who is his, or who the dragon counts as his, who he can stay near without Twilight trying to make him back away. It helps to have someone to help him ground himself, to help urge the dragon to stillness.

And urge their vet does. Maybe he doesn’t know it, can’t see it, hasn’t been told, but the veteran hero seems to sense all the same that it’s not simply desire that has him dragging those he can close, gaze flashing to any not in his hold but body warm and grounding to those who are. Maybe the vet’s inner beast, whatever it may be, can see a glimpse of him, as Twilight does, and recognizes just what’s pushing him along.

It seems that way anyway.

It seems that way when their next great battle comes. Time is injured, a blade slipping between the plates of his armor, a heavy blow sending him flying. For a moment all he sees on the field is a small child, his child, his Mask, lying there clutching his side while monsters run rampant about him.

The dragon roars.

The fury of the beast is something he can feel in his heart, in his soul, in his very being. It pours off of him as flames pour from his fire-rod, licking over friend and foe alike in a threat that has all cowering so that when the battle is won, the monsters slain or fled, the other heroes stand well away, watching. He’s still breathing hard, still moving, still chasing after the last of the enemy and plunging his blade into them, tearing them apart, keeping them down, watching them fade. They fall, they dissolve, he catches another.

There are steps behind him to tell him he’s followed, the beast within growling and snapping at the sound. His eyes keep to the front though, keep to the last of the enemy, keep to the targets that are swiftly struck, are swiftly eliminated.

Then he turns to what dares follow after.

Wind’s eyes are wide when his meet them, the sailor stumbling back a pace, foot catching and body hitting the ground, face still pale and eyes blank.

His mind is caught in the throes of battle, trapped in a cycle of seeking a threat, whatever threat comes to his family, and destroying it. His first motion is to snap aside, to send his gaze over the forest around him, back into the field of their fight, seeking. The dragon lashes its tail, wings flaring, head held high, and he follows it as best he can. His teeth are grinding, ready to snap back at any who touch what is his, hands tight on the sword, eyes flashing with holy light.

“Warriors.” It’s Legend who speaks, who catches his mind with his voice and makes him turn. The vet flinches, ever so slightly and easily missed, but there. He flinches, but he doesn’t stop. Feathered boots breach the distance between, one hand outheld in a motion meant to sooth, body hunched and prepared to run if he needs.

Vulnerable.

At risk.

The dragon hisses.

Legend doesn’t pause. He flinches, ears flicking back, nose twitching slightly, fingers shaking just a bit, but he steps closer. “Cap, hey, need you to calm down now. Monsters are all gone now, you got ‘em all.”

But they are still wary, they are still flinching back, there is still fear in the eyes of his brothers, so there must still be a threat, there must be something wrong because it is making them tremble, making Four finger his blade, making Twilight tuck Wild behind himself. There is still danger as long as those of courage fear, and it’s his job to eliminate it.

“Wars, hey, snap outta it!” Legend snaps, taking another step, pushing towards him, only feet away. He takes another step, boot squishing into the remains of a corpse, nose wrinkling and face paling. Blood spatters up from the weight of the steps the other takes, the smell is drifting all throughout the air and while it doesn’t bother some, Legend’s face flickers.

Warriors grabs ahold of him.

There’s startled shouts and sounds from the others, but the vet comes willingly, lets himself be pulled in, hunched over. Finds a place to hide his face and sigh something that sounds exhausted and fond as the sword falls and strong arms wrap around the smaller hero.

“Give him a moment,” he hears the vet call, to the others more likely than not.

When he glances up at them, he sees Twilight shifting, uneasy. He sees Time standing, now healed, a red potion or fairy having settled to worst, leaving only blood spatters on shimmering armor. Swords and shields are still in hands, although falling.

It’s in a shield, Time’s shield, that he catches sight of the monster that has them all so wary. Wild eyes, silver and blue, slitted and sharp, flashing with light, stare back at him through the mirror shield. There’s blood-soaked blonde hair hanging wild over them, long teeth, too sharp, too bright, too long, bared, not in a snarl or roar, but bared all the same, ready to flash and snap, ready to tear asunder. Long limbs, bony joints, a lithe body soaked in blood not its own, armor like scales and the blue tail of a scarf hanging behind. It makes him startle. He almost doesn’t know the figure, almost can’t see himself in its face, but there Legend is, blue cap rested against its chest, smaller form tucked against his own, violet eyes flickering up to him as pink hair brushes the underside of his throat.

“You back with us?”

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer. He's never seen the beast before, only known it took form, only heard word of a wild thing taking over, of too sharp eyes and piercing, mind numbing stares. He doesn’t want to face it, doesn’t want to see himself so, doesn’t want to look into the eyes of his brothers and see the fear and wariness, see the stare that looks like a condemnation as Twilight pulls them all closer, herds them away, midnight eyes harsh and distasteful as they look at him.

Because he deserves it. Twilight has every right to pull smaller, weaker, younger, sweeter, all things good and pure away from the monster that leveled their enemies.

But Twilight doesn’t take Legend, because the vet’s hands are catching hold of him, holding himself in place. And when Warriors can no longer bare the faces of his brothers, face falling to rest on thin shoulders, buried in green and maroon fabric drenched in the scent of apples and sweet grass, the vet doesn’t stir, doesn’t flinch back. In fact, one hand raises to card through blood soaked blonde. It draws a shiver, the feeling of now cooling blood on thin fingers, but Legend doesn’t stop, doesn’t let go until he first pushes away, and doesn’t step back until silver and blue meet violet and something is seen that assures the other that all is well.

Wind comes to him later, apologetic and bright. The sailor ignores his dismissals of apologies, climbing up into his space and leaning against him, assuring softly that he isn’t afraid.

“I was startled,” Wind whispers, body pressed to his side, head leaning against his shoulder as the younger pulls the scarf over himself. “You looked-”

“Like a monster?”

“Like a deity.” Wind corrects softly. “It was you under it all, but a you I’ve never seen. It startled me, you always look so put together and proper, seeing you bring out the inner wolf surprised me.”

And he doesn’t correct, he simply leans his head against the curly one beside him, resting back against the one who rests against him. He doesn’t say anything, hands drifting to the end of his scarf, mind flickering back to a blue dragon flying over a field and felling enemy after enemy. Wind doesn’t have to know, doesn’t seem to care overmuch as he breaks into easy chatter that soothes the dragon’s hisses and whines.

The ease is shattered though when he looks up to see midnight eyes boring into him.

The rancher looks his role, perched across the camp, hunching forwards, arms settled against his knees, hands hanging. He’s crouched, shoulders raised like the wolfs hackles, eyes sharp and judgmental, knowing. There’s the stare, the heavy one, the dark one, that one that sits over barely bared teeth and shaded by flickering shadows as the firelight casts strange light over sharp features.

He brings an arm around, pulling Wind closer, gaze catching and holding that of the other, defiant where he rarely dares be, holding tight and refusing to let the unspoken take what little he still has. He continues to do so too, continues to rebel against the warnings in midnight eyes, keeping what he can and not letting Twilight take, because take the rancher will.

They all know Wind to be of his own mind, know their brothers all to be independent in their own ways, but while Wind exercises that independence by crossing lines the others won’t and preventing himself being fenced to one or the other side of their camp, most of the others allow, whether conscious or not, for themselves to be guided by the wolf that sits amidst them.

After all, a wolf is safer than a dragon, whether they recognize so or not.

And Twilight does recognize it. He’d wondered before if the rancher knew at all, but after his most recent display it would be pretty hard to miss it. Twilight knows, and the wolf won’t rest now until all are safe from the threat. He doesn’t. The rancher prowls about the camp, subtly directing and guiding, gathering, herding, now without regards to whether Warriors sees it or not.

And he does.

The others don’t. Wind may or may not follow the subtle cues, but most of the others always do, even Time. He blames the smile, the honest, charming, warm smile Twilight directs at the others, the one that sets them at ease, that earns a similar one from Time and which is wielded with the same deftness as the rancher wields his blade.

He doesn’t stop it, he doesn’t prevent them choosing, lets them be herded because they let themselves. But then Twilight tried herding Legend into his flock.

The rancher approaches their vet one day after a long battle and enough walking that they’re all dead on their feet. He’s smiling that smile, body language open, ears pricked forwards as he catches the attention of the other, motions Legend close and speaks, voice low enough that the captain’s ears can’t catch it. He turns away, he walks into the woods with Wind to gather firewood, pointedly ignoring it, promising himself it’s nothing.

He’s wrong. When he comes back Twilight and Legend are both frowning, voices harsh and low, whispering as ears flick back, as Twilight insists some point and Legend considers, foot tapping agitatedly. They’re both tense, Legend curling in and Twilight hunching over, the vet thinking, the rancher pushing.

Something within twists, ugly and sharp and hurt. He’s not jealous, not really, but there is something nasty inside that has him dropping his load and moving towards them, has him sidling alongside Legend, one arm about thin shoulders as he catches midnight eyes in a silent question.

Twilight’s gaze darkens, mouth clicking shut and posture strengthening, focus shifting from the vet to the captain. Blue lock on blue, flashing and challenging, neither backing and neither giving. He shifts to pull Legend closer, to wrap over and around and protect, to guard his friend, the only one Twilight hasn’t yet snatched, but he’s rebuffed. Legend's hands catch his own, pushing him off as violet eyes flash. There's nothing said, but the sharp gaze of the other and the wilting of the grass beneath them is all it takes to tell both men that they’ve done wrong in some way. Legend’s face is twisted and sharp, and while his feet are silent as he marches away, every step feels heavier on the captain’s shoulders.

Midnight and sapphire clash once more, but this time turning, both peeling away, both removing themselves silently and returning to camp.

Legend doesn’t join the group again until an hour or so later, and when he does, he’s cold faced and stern, shooting looks at the both of them, disapproving, cowing both back and away so they don’t approach. Twilight doesn’t even hint at where Legend should be, not with signals or motions, not even words. Warriors keeps to himself, keeps his distance.

They messed up. He’s not sure how exactly, but he gets the impression that Legend finally caught wind of the blood between them. He’s not sure what it was, but the vet apposes both, won’t bow to either’s urging. Legend looks to them in disapproval and irritation, his soul quiet, not a rampaging beast as their own, but bold despite. He’s firm with them, not letting either close, not speaking overmuch save what’s needed. He’s lashing back in his own way, telling them to stop. Ordering them, without ever speaking, to cease their posturing and fuss, to stop trying to grab what can only be gained with open arms and patience. He’s not letting himself be had, be claimed, be gathered and herded, and he’s making it clear to them they can’t get away with trying.

He has a right to.

It’s nonsense, they really are just being stupid, but in the same stroke he’s not all wrong either. He was trying to keep at least one person, one person who matters dearly, one person Twilight couldn’t take. And Twilight tried, and he resisted. That doesn’t change the fact that Legend is frustrated by them though, and he takes it on himself to soothe that anger, to try and right things.

Naturally, the dragon reasons, the best way to do that is to make it up to the veteran hero somehow, and how better than finding something that his brother would like? Something shiny or eye-catching, as that seems to be in the vet’s preferences. Something unique he wouldn’t be likely to have already.

He keeps his eyes open, keeps his wits about him. When Time calls a pause on travel because Twilight has lost some item though, his chances are lessened.

“Is it what I think it is?” Legend asks, terse and tired.

Twilight nods glumly, teeth working the lining of his cheek in a motion they all know to be a cue of discomfort or frustration.

“Great.” Violet eyes flicker about the camp. “You lost a flaming boomerang that could set the whole forest on fire. Great job, rancher.”

To his surprise, Twilight starts at the words, brows creasing, but a look, pointed, meaningful, from the vet has him nodding slowly. It’s funny to see Legend directing Twilight, to see him prompting something, some lie, some cover up as whatever secret sits between them is shared in the open, yet left unseen by the rest.

“We’ll find it.” Sky promises, eyes glinting in that same way as the veteran’s own. “We can’t let anyone accidentally burn the forest down after all.”

The others all echo their agreement, and while he doesn’t speak, they don’t notice.

Ah well, the day’s pause on their travels isn’t too bad. He’s able to get out and away from camp, away from the others and their stares, and wander about the woods. He makes a passive effort at finding the lost weapon, glancing over the path they’ve traveled and down into little crevices, but he’s more than a little put out with the other, and while his reasonable mind hisses that leaving a weapon where it can be found and misused would be foolish, a risk, both to themselves and others, a darker part of him wants Twilight to just get over it and deal. The two war, making any effort a chore, but he tries regardless. He tries because Time and Wind and Legend had all promised to try, and he really does look.

His attention shifts though when he sees something glint in the fallen leaves covering the path. His first thought is that it’s some sort of weapon, or armor, something from their latest foes, but when he comes closer he finds the thing to be smaller, something dark and pointed, something rich black and glittering gold. It’s strange, curious, makes him tilt his head on one side, staring, hands drifting over hesitantly as he crouches on the path. A chord hangs off the thing, long, slender and broken on one end. It’s a solid thing though, and he doesn’t doubt that Four could mend the little chain with ease. The necklace, for that’s what he supposes it is, is unlike anything he’s really ever seen. The energy of it is dark, but not the twisted sort of bitter kind that follows their quarry. No, it reminds rather of an imp with flaming hair who’d perched on his shoulders after battles were over and mocked his skill and technique.

He’s not seen Midna in some time, but he knows her power, and this thing feels of it, feels like her. She was sharp, bitter, brash and bold, but with a softness beneath that he only saw once or twice, usually when injury or illness fell on the younger members of their camp. In a strange way, she reminds him of Legend, or Legend of her, and that, combined with the unique shape and style of the charm, are what convince him that this should be the offering to try and make right what he’d soiled between them.

The moment his hand lowers over the thing though he’s struck with the sudden thought that perhaps, maybe, this wasn’t the best of ideas. It comes too late though, comes after darkness fills his vision and he can feel his form shift, feels something break, something shatter. There’s pulling, stretching, something harsh and foul and not at all what Midna’s power felt like. The dragon roars, his scream of pain echoing beside. It’s clawing, tearing, the walls of his mind falling, his soul bleeding out, he can feel the wings of the thing, the tail lashing behind it. It's not as it is in his heart or mind; a vague sensation, a thurm of feeling, a ghostly distant thing. No, it’s there, he can feel the tail, can feel the wings, feel how the air hits them, feel how they stretch out, how the muscles sing and scream. He can feel the weight of the horns and the curve of the claws, and when he looks down towards the earth and the cursed charm he’d foolishly touched, rather than his own two hands on the leaf shrouded path, he sees great talons, blue, with wicked claws and shimmering scales.

Well shit.

He shifts, hoping it’s a glamour or something. It would be a curious one, but useful. Legend likes powerful items and has mentioned many times have glamour items he can use when needs must. Appearing as a dragon might be something their vet would favor, but somehow he knows that that isn’t the case. Somehow, when he feels how quiet his mind is, no longer lashing and roaring, no longer hissing frustrations at the rancher, he knows that this isn’t a glamour.

He’s seen the dragon before, flowing off of him, emerging from his very heart to wreak havoc on the field. He’s seen the spirit, his own spirit, through the eyes of a Hylian body, but it’s another thing altogether to feel himself in another form, to look to his hands and see claws. Not the sharp nails he files down to keep ‘normal’; real claws. Real, curving, dark things that catch in the leaves and make him sigh in irritation. His breath is warm, warmer than he’s accustomed to feeling against his own skin, and the fire that usually only pulses low and soft in his soul can be felt in his body now too.

He’s a dragon, now not only in spirit but in body, and he’s not entirely sure what he’s supposed to do with that.

He could go back to the others, but the likelihood of them recognizing him as himself is unlikely. Still, he doesn’t exactly have much else he can do. They know he’d gone off in to this part of the woods, know he’s been gone some time now, and no doubt one or another of them will come wandering about to call him back to camp sooner or later. If they see a dragon in the place of their brother, they may think the worst, but if he’s gone altogether, they’ll go looking. Even if Twilight’s eyes burn into his soul and his brother stares at him with sharpness, Twilight still counts him in their group. Not one of the rancher’s own, but he knows they wouldn’t leave him behind, they’d go looking, they’d try and find him, and with Wolfie’s nose to aid them they’d find him regardless of where he went. After all, he’s hardly a size to hide in the forest at the moment.

Which leaves him with limited choices, does he go to them, or let them find him? Risk being seen as an invading threat, or let them think he’d already killed one of their own where Warriors’ tracks end and the dragon’s begin?

It’s a difficult choice, but in the end, he settles for finding them himself. Even if he can’t convince them of who he is, he can at least save them the panic of thinking their brother has been eaten. Walking is a bit of an adventure, the four feet being quite different from his usual two, but at the least it’s not entirely foreign. Sneaking under barriers and messing around with Linkle when they were small has given him a bit of a clue, and while the new joints are something to adapt to, it doesn’t take him over long to quite literally hit his stride and get going.

Finding camp is easier than he’d thought it would be after wandering about so much. Then again, the smell of ash and life is more noticeable in a beastly form, and it doesn’t take long to pick up the smells of pine, sea-salt and apples. There’s still a few of the others missing, but it’s been hours and most of his brothers have gathered again, only Hyrule, Sky and Wild still absent, the younger two likely wandering and dragging the Chosen Hero about while the others settle down again.

They’re a mess, and he has to repress a snort that would now be much louder than normal when he sees the variety of leaves and twigs in Twilight’s hair. There’s dirt over the bridge of Legend’s nose and covering his and Wind’s hands, Time is scratched and has leaves stuck to the bottom of his boots and caught between plates of steel armor. Four, somehow, has remained impeccably tidy save a single leaf that even now he’s plucked from his long hair.

It takes them a moment to register he’s there, they’re still busy fussing between each other. Twilight is trading laden looks with the older ones and the younger ones are lying still and looking exhausted. It’s Legend first, the vet freezing mid-sentance, ears flickering back and body stiffening. The motion catches the rancher’s attention and has him perking up, looking about, and when midnight eyes fall on him it’s only seconds before Twilight is standing, not sudden, not stiff, but with a fluid sort of strength as he reaches for his sword, motioning the others to gather their weapons in kind.

He takes a single, cautious step forward.

The rancher’s blade hisses in its sheath, emerging in sparking silver as his brother steps in front of the others, Time at his side, biggoron sword in hand and single eye set. The others follow, reaching for weapons all while Legend’s voice breaks the stillness. “Don’t charge it, dragons won’t always attack first, not if they come across you.”

“And if it’s infected?” Twilight growls lowly, likely not intending to, but communicating his distrust clearly.

The vet’s hand strays to his bag, fingers gliding over contents in search of one item or another. “It’s not. The eyes are too focused and it’s not on a rampage. However it came to be here, it’s not infected.”

“However it came to be here?”

“Dragons aren’t native to forests like this one.” Legend replies. “They usually linger in places closer to the mountains or valleys. Unless we’ve read the terrain wrong...”

“We didn’t.” Four affirms.

“Then this big guy is probably as lost as we are.”

Which is true. He’s as lost as they are because he doesn’t know this world any better than any of them seem to. Not that he could tell them that, he’s rather certain he can’t speak like this, and he doesn’t want to try and risk accidentally growling or snarling at the five heroes with their blades drawn. Not that it matters, because Time steps forwards regardless, his single eyes harsh with lights never turned the captain’s way. “No matter, it’s still a threat. There’s villages not far from here, and we can’t risk letting it attack those, or worse getting infected by the shadow.”

The others nod and a surge of panic shoots through him. He’s not a normal dragon! He’s not! He’s not here to cause trouble or attack anything, his intent isn’t to cause harm at all, only to find what caused the strange stone to do this to him and find a way to reverse it, find a way to return to the others as he normally is. He doesn’t have that choice though, they attack in moments, and for the sake of not wanting to harm them he has to pull back, has to dart back into the trees as best he can with his new bulk, has to turn tail and run like he’s never done in the face of any foe ever. Has to back away and away as they follow after, has to spread his wings for the first time, letting the beast within take charge and send him upwards, out of reach and out of sight.

Flight should be a wonder and pleasure, but it’s soured by its cause, and he lands as soon as possible, scrabbing over his own feet and stumbling as he tries to pull awkward wings in closer.

He tries again, tries peeking into the camp later once they’ve all returned and are sitting about and eating, but Legend’s sharp ears and Wild’s sense of presence catch him before he can get too close, sending him shrinking back lest the two try and alert the rancher or old man of some danger in the woods. He can listen though. He can hear better in this form than in his other, and he catches whispers of worry, hears Legend berating himself for allowing the captain to go off alone. Hears Wind and Time try to offer assurance, sees Sky wrap an arm around the other as a comfort, a motion Legend throws off at first, but falls back into later with a sigh. He doesn’t miss the pinch of concern in Twilight’s brows, the flickering and flapping of Time’s ears and the nervous tapping of feet and fingers as Wind fusses in his mind.

They’re all worried, despite him being only meters away. They’re all wondering and fussing, offering to track and trail, and it warms his heart further than the fire within has done already. It makes him smile as best he can to himself, lying low and watching, knowing he’s wanted, or at least cared for, knowing he’s not detested as much as he’d thought by those who’d lingered away or kept distance.

It hurts to see Legend blaming himself, to hear the vet whispering to Sky as the others settle down for restless slumber.

“I was just mad at them for going all possessive on me,” Legend confides as Sky settles beside him for first watch. “I’m not a thing, I won’t be owned,...not again.”

“Again?” Sky presses gently, and the vet nods, shifting closer, letting the sailcloth be cast around him by gentle hands, edging closer to someone larger and safer, someone he trusts.

“Spent a brief stint doing forced labor for this one queen Ganon’s mothers were using. Folks try tying me down all the time and... I hate it. I’m not a pet, not some thing. I may just be ‘an average nobody’” -he speaks it in jest, a repeat of his own words only a month or so before- “but that doesn’t give anyone a right to claim me.”

And Sky nods, humming softly and settling back, listening as the vet continues.

“They were getting all up over each other and trying to pull me into it and- look, I don’t care if they wanna compete and compare or whatever nonsense, but I refuse to be made a toy in their game!” Pink hair, still bright as when first he’d walked into camp worth it, drifts over violet eyes as the vet hunches forwards, drawing his legs up before him with a sigh. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh about it with them though. Should’ve said something instead of pushing him away and stompin’ off.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sky assures gently. “You were in your rights, and they had no business treating you that way. If Warriors wandered off on his own, that’s on him.” A heavy hand falls to slim shoulders, squeezing gently. “Besides, this is the captain, he’s a capable man and I seriously doubt a few trees and monsters could keep him from us for long.”

The smile offered in return is something he almost misses from his place in the trees, but he catches a glimpse all the same before the vet turns back to the fire in silence.

He lingers, following as best he can while the others move on. It pains him to watch them looking, makes him want to approach again and show himself, show he’s alright, but he knows it will do nothing more than frighten, just as he’d done last time, and the time before that. Could he slam his head into his hands and groan with frustration at it, he would, but he has to be silent as he trails them, has to be still when he can.

Perhaps it’s fate that the next chance he gets to be near them is a battle. It would suit the humors of the goddesses at least, exposing his beastliness not once but twice through a battle gone wrong. This time it’s something he can’t choose though. This time he wakes to the sound of shouts, creeps through the woods, follows the sound until the smell of blood assaults his senses, sends him running, sends him darting. This time he’s just in time to see Legend fall, just in time to see and axe headed downwards as the vet scrabbles to grab the weapon he’d been using, fingers only barely brushing it as he tries pulling away.

Steel flashes, glimmering and silver, rising up and catching the sun, shining in the light of violet eyes blown wide with panic.

Claws dig into the earth before lifting, leaping, darting, jumping, moving to cover, to stand over. He only flinches briefly as the steel strikes scales, only huffs lightly as he turns to the offending creature who dealt the blow. He has no sword on him, nor hands to wield it, but somehow it doesn’t disgust him to snap and tear and rip apart with his very teeth, shredding the thing before he even knows what it is.

Beneath him, bloodied and panicked, the vet’s motions stutter, he can feel it, which surprises him, but when he looks down he catches sight of violet eyes turned upwards, catching his own and staring in shock and awe, in confusion as the they flicker over the dragon’s face, so unlike his own. Still, there’s something that flickers in that gaze, something dangerously close to recognition as pinched brows furrow further. “Wars?”

He huffs something in reply, already certain he can’t actually speak but hoping the sound is enough. It's all he has time for anyways, attention drifting back to the battle and the bloodied weapons and brothers scattered hither and yon.

He needs to help them, he can’t leave them fighting, can’t leave them struggling alone, not when this form can take more blows than his normal one can deal, not when power sits in his claws to end the battle in less time than ever before.

But he also can’t leave Legend vulnerable, can’t leave him injured.

It doesn’t take a genius to know what he must do, and Legend, clever Legend who seems to know almost everything, doesn’t take long to catch on when he nudges against the other, pushing at his side, pushing him up and guiding him until feathered boots scrape against his side and pale hands catch hold of the crook of his wing.

“I’m moving, you big idiot, I‘m moving.” He’s moving and he’s climbing up and he’s catching tight hold of scales, lying close against them, an assuring warmth that sets Warriors at ease as he turns his attentions to the field.

In a battle with the captain at their sides, fighting madly under the force of the dragon, with wings and tail lashing in his mind, roars sounding in his heart, the enemy will fall in little time at all. They’re bloodied and torn after, and many times he’s been too shredded apart to be of any comfort at all to the others until a fairy or potion can set him to rights and he can set out to find the vet in order to assure them both. Now though, with scales for armor and fire in his throat and claws that aren’t filed down, teeth that aren’t hidden and wings that take form in more than rippling blue fabric, he tears over the field with speeds he’s never known.

The faces of the others turn to him in shock and fear, there’s that glimmer of recognition in some of them, knowing the dragon from days ago in the woods. There’s no attack on him from them though, not when his fangs and claws and fire are turned on the enemy. It's strange, terrifyingly satisfying to feel the flames on his tongue, to watch them emerge in great plumes and leave nothing but ash where fighting monsters once were. It's strange to tear into them with no weapon other than himself, but it’s familiar as well, familiar in a way it has no right to be.

On his back, clinging tight, Legend manages to pluck off a few arrows, things he can hear whizz and hiss past him, and briefly, he can see their effects. He hears Wild shout in surprise when he looks to the source to see their brother perched on the back of a rampaging dragon, sees blue scales flying over the field, sees fire in similar shades lick over the ground and leave nothing but earth behind.

In this form, the battle ends in less time than ever before, the last of the small beasts taken down by his brothers as he returns to their camp, to the place he’d left them last night thinking they’d be safe. He oughtn’t have done so, had he stayed they’d likely not have faced such a battle, but he can’t linger on it, having already done what he had and there being no way to return to change it.

Legend slides from his back with a bit of difficulty, skirts catching on scales and feet touching the earth again with more force than they do of their own accord. The vet stumbles, and its instinct that has him moving a wing to catch the other. It earns a snort, a soft sound as Legend stumbles around him, murmuring something indistinct in a language he doesn’t know before settling between his forelegs, back pressed up against to him, prompting him to likewise settle, body hunched over the other’s frame in their usual post battle pattern. He settles in place with ease at that, at Legend taking the lead, letting him follow. He curls in close, forelegs curling inwards around the other, too big to hug him but not too much to shield him. Legend is still small against him, seemingly even smaller with his change in size, but he doesn’t really mind.

The others return by the time they are settled, some are limping and all are spattered with blood, but the injuries are minimal compared to some battles previous.

“Vet?”

Legend lifts a hand, waving slightly at the others. They start at the sight of him, curled against the dragon, head resting against its chest, and Warriors can see their eyes flicker to him, to the vet, back and forth and wondering. It's Four who eases first, stepping in close and looking up at him, curiosity rather than fear in his eyes.

“Made a friend?”

“Found an old one more like,” Legend drawls, smile off kilter as it tends to be, buck teeth showing just barely.

The smithy nods, extending his hand as though to brush it over the dragon’s nose, only to pause. Hazel eyes catch his own and hold, staring oddly, frowning. “Do I know you?”

“Do you know any dragons?” Wind asks, peeking around Time where the older man has made to shield him.

The smithy nods. “One or two. I had a friend who got along pretty well with them, so I’ve been riding a couple times and sat with them.” Those hazel eyes flicker violet like the veteran’s own a moment, only to shift away again with a frown. “None of them were blue though.”

He snorts, the best he can do by ways of a non-aggressive noise, lowering his head to meet the eyes of the other, catching him off guard, but careful not to startle.

Legend speaks for him. “It’s Warriors.”

“What?”

“How can you be sure?”

“Vet-”

“Look into his eyes,” the vet tells them, leaning back, his own eyes fluttering tiredly, “tell me that’s not him.”

And they do. It take a moment for him to meet all the stares, to look and hope they see. It’s Twilight he pauses on last, Twilight who stares and then sighs, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

Between his claws, Legend chuckles. “I think he found some sort of curse, wouldn’t you say rancher?”

There’s a nod, Twilight sighing and running a hand through his hair. No one asks, but the motion seems a cue for Sky to step in, face equally as exhausted as those of the others, if not more so, but smile in place all the same. Thin, drawn, tired, but still Sky’s bright smile. “Maybe we can break that curse.” The Master Sword is drawn, held low, Sky’s eyes gentle as they look to him. “Fi’s had some practice with this sort of thing.”

He doesn’t get a chance to ask what the other means before the blade is being set against him, the flat cool against his claws, and then-

Tearing, bending, twisting. It’s less a pain than when first it happened, but that doesn’t change the agony of his muscles and bones rearranging, body shifting against his will, straining and shifting until at last it stills. His vision is different when he opens his eyes, less clear, less detailed, less colored than that of the beast. The dragon hums in his chest, weary, but there again. It’s no longer all around him, instead returned to its place within his soul.

He hunches forwards, exhausted, his body as a whole protesting the shift and the loss of strength. His head meets something firm, the smell of apples overcoming that of the battle. He doesn’t have to think before his arms are wrapping around Legend’s waist, face burying deeper into the veteran’s shoulder.

The dragon trills joyfully when Legend laughs at him.

It’s quite the story to explain to the others, all done with Legend sitting in his lap, held tight and unable, but not trying, to escape. Wind sits at his left, pressed close and warm, and Time lingers at his right. The scarf is wrapped over the four of them, and Twilight makes no move to make them shift. The rancher doesn’t signal, doesn’t herd, doesn’t do anything more than sit back, Wild at his side, and listen.

There’s laughter when he explains some things, guilt at others. In time though, he settles them all, pulls those who are his close and settles until they’re ready for the road. When they’re walking though, Twilight makes his move. The rancher falls back from walking with his mentor, falls back to his side and looks to Legend with something laden that has the veteran stepping forwards to join his own successor. It leaves him alone with the other man, soul stirring oddly at the presence.

“I’m sorry.” Twilight says at last, and the words are nothing of what he expects, catching him so off guard he stumbles. Midnight blue eyes turn to him in worry, but it eases when he finds his feet again, when he lifts his eyes and stares, confused, at the other. “I’m sorry,” Twilight repeats, “for the last few months.” Dark fingers trail over the chain about the others neck, not touching the charm at the end thereof, but ghosting past it. “I sensed something was the matter, that you were....”

“You could feel the dragon?” He asks.

There’s a nod. “Yeah.”

He chuckles, breathy, forced. It’s not humor, it’s more rueful than anything else. “I get it. The wolf set me ill at ease too.” Still does, but he won’t say it.

“It feels like a threat,” Twilight tries, face twisting in thought, teeth baring in frustration. “All I knew was there was a threat and I could feel it from you, I just-” midnight turn away, pained, “I just wanted to keep them safe.”

And it’s an apology. It’s an explanation and he’s thankful for it. It doesn’t mend all, but it helps.

All heroes are different. At their centers, a beast resides, placed by the goddesses to provide a core and strength beyond that of the average Hylian. In the soul of the Hero of Warriors, there is a dragon. In the soul of the Hero of Twilight, there is a wolf. He doesn’t know what lives behind the hylian masks of the rest of their number, but whatever it is, it shows itself in odd ways that make him wonder and ask.

There’s the thought of course of what they may be, Twilight laughs when he observes that Legend’s form must be something impressive, something strong to be so gentle within while still so firm. He doesn’t get told why, but maybe one day he’ll know.

It’s not the fixing of all things between rancher and captain when forms are known and souls are laid bare, but it’s a start.

He’s odd, in his own way. He seeks warmth and needs to gather his close to guard them when danger is passed. He has his more savage moments and his form doesn’t follow the rules that Hylians do, but it’s alright. It’s alright because once they know why, once those who hadn’t yet seen have, he’s able to settle better.

Twilight eases his guard, still cautious, but manifesting the defensive attitudes in drawn out spars and wrestling matches that help both release inner tensions. He eases his guard over the others, although his possessive behaviors in regards to Time and Wild do not fade.

He can’t blame the other, he can’t make himself let go of his two boys either. Now three if his mind reads matters right. Wind and Time; Tune and Mask, are his boys and his responsibilities, but he can share. He can share because Legend, who doesn’t let himself be claimed, but will linger and stay, is his in a way that suits them both. He is his brother and he is content to fill the space needed, to be the one to be held when the dragon needs, and in return he’s held when his soul sings for a guardian.

They’re messy, they’re struggling, but they’re trying.

And that makes being strange worth it.

117 notes · View notes