Linktober Day 6
Mask(s)
Soft and sweet with just a hint of melancholic because 1.I'm tired and probably need a nap father than coffee, 2.I actually managed to make a pretty good mocha and the Anchorage LOZ animatic came onto my playlist before writing this and it kind of influenced my mood, and 3. I'm saving the usual Majora's Mask flare of angst for another prompt because I was having way too much fun dissecting the tragedy of the Hero of Time before sleep deprivation snatched the idea away which is usually my sign to pass the heck out and save the second option for when I have more energy lol.
For the Warriors fans, also Warriors is a disaster of an older sibling but we adore and appreciate him for it in this household, as always can be implied romantic or platonic between him and reader.
You were all but pinned down to the ground, brought down more effectively and unable to find the strength to get up.
Well, not literally, there were no enemies nearby, the chaos at camp had long since died down and there wasn’t anything much to do now that night had fallen, the heavens deigning to put all of it’s glittering jewels on display.
Were it any other day you’d probably focus more on appreciating it in full, the fire was crackling merrily, you were safe and had a full stomach and even with the ever present threat of the Shadow possibly deciding to ambush you all while most of your guards were down, you had your boys with you and the crisp autumn petrichor was a balm on your soul, weary from the journey.
Maybe it would be fine to rest for a little while.
And then the small figure clinging to you flinched, burrowing closer and holding onto your tunic like a lifeline. And awareness came to you like a smack over the head with a log, your fingers gently carding through blond locks as you hum gently. Weighting options and just how quietly you could move without bothering the precious Sprite at your side.
You had guessed Time had been a sweet kid, and you still wanted to lodge a formal complaint with the gods for writing such cruel fate for him because the man couldn’t catch a break and you’re not the only one to take it personally. But he was killing you here, this is how you die, with an adorable but oh so heartbreakingly sad little boy having fallen asleep leaning against you after telling you all sorts of stories about his extensive mask collection.
(You don’t know wether you want to cry, scream or laugh, Mask was so, so young. It breaks your heart, just a little.
Really, the deities of Hyrule must adore tragedies. Bastards.)
Sighing, you decide to compromise, gently keeping the Kokiri boy right where he is, fast asleep and with barely any nightmares as you hum and card your fingers through the spun gold strands, you brush your fingers through the last masks he fell asleep mid through telling the story of how he’d acquired. If you were careful surely you’d be able to reach his pack on his side so he wouldn’t worry later.
A pair of brown boots invade your vision, Warriors crouches down. You think you spot a flash of surprise on his eyes as he spots Mask napping on you, and then fond amusement of a big brother you knew he directed often towards Wind, tone low, “Well would you look at that, out like a light. It’s a rare honor for him to trust anyone like this.”
You chuckle a bit, shaking your head, “I can tell, he’s a good kid. I’ve barely met him for a day and I’d already take on an army for him.”
“Welcome to my world.”, comes Warriors dry response, though you both knew he was a hundred percent serious, his own mask quickly falling away as he gently picked up the Deku Sprout Mask to put it back in the small sprite’s pouch, hiding it’s confused, fearful sadness from your gaze (and it’s an effort, not to twitch, as your rage towards Majora gained even more kindling to burn) as the soldier handled it with the due solemnity of being one of the few Mask would allow to even touch the masks without his immediate supervision, “... I never thought I’d see him again, as...”
“I know.” Your tone was quiet, as you carefully picked your choice of words.
If there’s one thing you knew about any Link, is that they’re all really good elder brother’s and that they are too hard on themselves. Warriors specially, Mask and Wind were his everything, there wouldn’t be words that could describe how gutted he was, after confirming his suspicions with you, regretting not saying anything against Mask joining the battle field back then, loathing himself for not convincing him or Lana into letting him stay in spite of his bad feeling that as soon as the young hero of time passed through that portal he was unlikely to ever meet him again.
... You settle for something simple, instead, reaching a hand to softly pat his head, taking care not to mess his hair too much, “You did good, Wars, it’s not your fault. Mask also knows you did your best.”
He still, sighing, the mask falling away as he guides your hand to his lips, quietly thankful (really, like big brother like little brother, your wonderful, silly, caring boys. You make a point to cheerfully bat away the butterflies in your stomach, ), “... Feels hard to believe that, some times. Thank you.”
You hum, after putting the Zora mask away, Warriors takes Mask’s other side, pulls you closer and breathes.
(Just in case, he lies to himself.)
You quietly listen to his stories about his little brother, and Warriors is content.
42 notes
·
View notes
YOUR MALLEUS POST IS JUST!!!!! AGDKFFLSVFL!!!! WHO KNOWS HOW MANY TIMES I RE-READ THAT THING BUT IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT!!!! 😫😭👌🖤💚
I'm so late to this but thank you so much Knight!! 🖤💚🖤💚 I'm so happy you enjoyed Blindfolded Malleus... I was so excited for you to read it, and I'm very happy it lived up to the hype and anticipation!!! Truly, I am so honored and grateful that you would re-read something so long 🥹 it amazes me how supportive you are!! I hope I can continue to write things that you enjoy! One day in the [regretfully] far future I swear to you that I will put out an Idia fic just for you hehehe. I'm so overwhelmed by the amount of things I am excited to write, but I guess that is a wonderful problem to have! I only wish I had more time in the day to write, but alas, such is life. Why the fUCk am I writing so formal right now daiohssadoi;hdSAO not me saying BUT ALAS. SUCH IS LIFE????? It is so.
I'm actually taking a TWELVE DAY vacation from work starting on the 22nd so I might actually do a little request event where people can send me like kink prompts or something. I think that'll be fun!
Okay and FINE I'll do some fluff prompts too for the fluff people but please don't judge my fluff too harshly, I'm still learning!!! For some reason smut just comes naturally dhaDSAHIDDASijdsan I'll start gathering some prompts and we will do a little ask game or something.
📣 By the way FELLOW HONEST THIGH RIDING ANON if you SEE this first of all, ONCE AGAIN: I wish to express my undying devotion to you and your exceptional thought process. I am positively frothing at the mouth over your request and I am PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE I am finally making good progress and it WILL be out soon. We WILL make him cum in his pants. We WILL make him cry, whimper, and moan.
14 notes
·
View notes
I just had a terrible day, don't mind me projecting hardcore.
What if the most trying part of getting Billy healed after everything isn't getting him to be nice? It isn't getting him to let his guard down or trust the people who are trying to care for him, or any of the obvious things they're prepared for.
What if its getting him to recognize when people are being unkind to him?
Like reasonably he knows when people are being shitty to him, feels the anger that comes with it, but after years and years of pushing it down or redirecting it, he's lost faith in his own ability to know when his anger is justified. Its always there, and he's become conscious of it, so its really hard for him to tell when its ABOUT something.
He's been treated like shit by pretty much everyone who's known him too, so he's also shaky on what constitutes someone being actually shitty to him. Sure, he knows hitting is bad, even when its him (although that also took a while), but mean words? Ignoring his needs? Not lending a hand to help him when someone easily could? Those are all just so normal to him, its like he's blind to it.
It takes the group MONTHS to get him to the point where he can assess how someone is treating him and tell if its bullshit or not. And even then its not always accurate because he often slips into justifying why they're treating him that way.
124 notes
·
View notes
(Part two)
2nd there’s Feyre’s sisters, who she loves dearly but doesn’t know if she likes all that much. Nesta HUGS her. Nesta breaks Cassian’s nose. Elain STABS Azriel. They know about the war. They know about Valeris. They hatehateHATE their father with a ferocity she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand why titled nonsense matters. They don’t like Rhys so they must still hate faeries (the problem can’t be RHYS so it must be faeries. Never mind that Elain is perfectly fine having tea and small talk with Cassian and Azriel and, you know, the whole Lucien Thing).
She doesn’t understand why they’re so angry she wrote to the queens. It’s important that they talk to the queens. Don’t her sisters understand that? The queens will meet with them. Why wouldn’t they? Feyre was human and understands humans. The queens will understand how important this meeting is. (Never mind what the laws about consorting with faeries are. Never mind that Feyre knows absolutely nothing about the political climate of the Human Lands.) Rhys will protect them from anything anyway (and there’s absolutely no reason Elain needs to MARRY LUCIEN).
But her sisters give her the cold shoulder for a few days. Elain eventually forgives her enough to take her on a tour of their new house. Feyre tries to be interested in the life her sisters have built (even if she doesn’t understand it) and ask about tapestries and things. Then Elain opens a set of doors to some of the most beautiful perfect rooms she’s ever imagined and the ART STUDIO and the paints and the windows and then Elain says it’s all hers. The sisters she loves but doesn’t know if she likes built a place in their new home for her even knowing she might never be coming back (like they were hoping she’d come back). And they still say it’s hers, even though she’s a faerie now and they hate faeries (never mind how easily Elain talks about wards and blood magic and the Lucien Thing).
Then there’s a wardrobe full of dead birds on the front lawn and Nesta and Elain are even more furious. Then Nesta is shouting and Rhys is telling her to back off and then all of a sudden Elain IS HOLDING CASSIN’S KNIFE TO RHYS’S THROAT, like he’s a threat and she tries reassure her that Rhys would never hurt Nesta and he would protect them from whatever was happening, they can trust him. Everything is happening so fast and Cassian says he called a legion.
She doesn’t really understand what’s happening but she knows Rhys will make it better. Right?
(End babble)
Right EXACTLY
So, when writing Feyre I always end thinking about how...SJM really doesn't know how to write believable siblings, actually? Feyre has a lot of that youngest sister brattiness hiding in her, but she's also possessive of people in a way that feels...like she maybe never had siblings at all? She doesn't really like her sisters, even if she mostly loves them, but they matter because they're HERS
(please picture here Feyre wrecking peoples lives like a toddler stomping on sandcastles)
And that carries through! She's so surprised when they show any sign of their personalities!
To Feyre, I think, having money again was just supposed to wipe away any pre-existing issues within the family. Obviously, this does remove the biggest stressor in their lives. But in comfort (if not necessarily safety, Feyre, bringing FAERIES TO THEIR HOUSE, FEYRE), all those festering things still exist.
Their dad? Still the worst. Their childhoods? Still fucking trash. The entirety of sexist society? Still, in fact, an issue.
And like the money, Feyre applies the same minimizing logic to magic. To transformation. To the Night Court.
Her death? Doesn't matter because she lived, never mind that she never bothered to tell her sisters that until she needed something. Fae historically kill and own humans? No, NOT HER FAE. The war? Won't touch her sisters because Rhys won't let it. The Queens? Will just talk to her...because she was a human?
She doesn't understand what's happening but she mostly thinks she does.
She also wholly believes Rhys will fix things, Morrigan will lighten up the situation and get along with Nesta (lol), the Queens of multiple countries will just...believe some random letter in the post and show up to a provincial manor to meet a High Lord of Prythian everyone says is a monster, and oh yeah, trust him.
I don't think it's even a spoiler to reveal that the Archeron sisters relationship is complicated, and frankly, about to get a lot worse.
13 notes
·
View notes
There are two paths before me.
One is overgrown, full of thorns and bristles and broken branches. The other is sunny and clear.
Surely, the first will lead to nothing but risk, danger, and pain, while the second will be a blissful, joyful walk.
But there's nothing for me on that clear path. No food, no life, no person out there besides myself. I know that the overgrown path can grant me all those things and more, if only it weren't such a wretched way to go.
So I spend some time on the clear path, walking forward until I can't take the loneliness and discontent anymore, and I turn back. But when I arrive where I started, the first path is still overgrown, worse still than before. Frustrated and feeling helpless, I start down the clear path again. When I decide to take care of myself and survive instead of starving to death on the barren trail, I turn back again. And again, the other is overgrown and terrifying.
I go back and forth, until I fall to my knees, crying and begging for someone, anyone, to help me. To remove the thorns and bristles and branches.
And then I realize, this entire time, I've been running from the pain. I've been waiting for the trail to clear up on its own, to grant me safe and easy passage.
It wasn't my fault I was never taught wilderness survival - I don't know how to make it through such an area, bandage the scrapes and wear functional gear and step over the branches. But I can learn, even if I'll experience some hurt along the way.
9 notes
·
View notes