Latest Posts by flyinghighfallingfast - Page 2

one thing i find really cool about fable but i don't think i've ever seen any one talk about is the intentionality you can see when you look at who ascended when and why

we get our first glimpse at this in texts about deltavera: they were born into a time of great food insecurity, developed the idea of animals as a solution, and ascended so that they could continue putting that plan into action. the gods are responses to needs; it's the primordials' way of helping. they may be detached but they are also aware of the problems the realms are facing

of course, we get an up close and personal look at this in the back half of season 3. the worlds are all out of wack and on the verge of collapse? make a god of balance to keep everything under control until the issue is dealt with

everyone's memories are all fucked up from half a decade of resets? get a new god of memory on the ground to help

the way the worlds are structured is fundamentally flawed and needs to be dismantled and rebuilt from the ground up? make sure the heir of destruction is ready, and throw in a god of rebirth as a bonus

no one to keep the overworld anchored anymore? goddess of the world.

and all this is why i absolutely adore malitae on a conceptual level. because they ascend in the middle of the war. people are suffering horribly; their communities are ravaged, they're losing friends and family left and right, it seems that the gods who were supposed to care for them see them as cannon fodder.

and what do the primordials give these people? a god of expression, of the arts, of taking all that pain and emotion and making something beautiful out of it. because in the middle of tragedy, art is not just important, it's necessary for survival. malitae is the embodiment of that one Brecht quote; "in the dark times, will there also be singing? yes, there will also be singing. about the dark times." and i love them for it.

Athena’s Uncles

We hit a sub goal a while back for me to put out a big list of all the Sherbert’s favorite things and it’s finally done!

I present: a very long list of favorites

A bunch of the categories I got from you guys, and some I made up myself! Some answers are pretty obvious, some are surprisingly quirky! But here you go!!

Fable SMP: “the Void is welcoming. It is the origin of life and parent to all that came after. The void is gentle and kind and loving. Its embrace is soft and long awaited, and it watches over us all with supportive words and an encouraging touch.”

Bound SMP: “OH GOD OH FUCK OH FUCK THE VOID IS INFECTING THINGS OH GOD ITS EYES THERE’S SO MANY EYES OH GOD ITS GOING TO KILL US THE VOID IS RIPPING THE WORLD APART WHY ARE THERE EYES OH GOD-”

Every single time I see a take that amounts to "if you write about X happening, or like fiction where X happens, you like X" I'm reminded of this one time I was at a casual friends house as a young kid. We were in her room, pretending to "be orphans" escaping from an evil orphanage and having to take care of each other and fend for ourselves. It was all very Little Orphan Annie/All Dogs Go to Heaven and based on the 80s pop media.

And this girl's mom comes in, hears what we're playing and gets all MAD and UPSET. She says that if we play act something, it's because we want it to happen. So her daughter must WANT HER TO DIE.

First off lady, we were 6 year year olds, so take it down several notches. We barely had a concept of mortality for fucks sake. She made us feel so guilty and ashamed, because she was taking our game personally.

Now I have a 5 year old. And sometimes she looks at me and says "pretend you're dead, and I have to -" Whatever it is. Some adult task she's assigned herself.

And it's just so transparently obvious that she's practicing the idea of having to do things on her own. Which is exactly what 5 year olds are supposed to do. I actually find it very flattering that the only way she can envision me not being available to help her is to be literally deceased. Otherwise, obviously, she wouldn't have to do scary hard things alone.

It's a natural coping mechanism. She's self-soothing about what would happen if I wasn't there by play-acting independence in a perfectly safe environment. She's also practicing skills she needs, and making up excuses for practicing them on her own, without taking on the responsibility of being able to do them by herself all the time yet.

Humans mentally rehearse bad this in their brains all the time. We can do that by ruminating- going over worries over and over again, which tends to lead to anxiety and helplessness and depression. Or we can do it with a sense of play- by recognizing that the fiction is fiction and we can dip our toe into these experiences and expose ourselves to bad things without actually being injured.

My daughter does not want me dead. And I don't want bad things to happen in real life. But fiction and pretend help me face the horrors of the world and think about them without collapsing or messing myself up mentally.

They’re not the cleanest but I made the kids I work with these little cloaks for Christmas 🐌🐝💜

Is this anything

”getting thicker skin” is great in theory but I think for some people “get better at handling your thin skin” is gonna be way more helpful advice. I have strong emotional reactions to criticism and they might never go away, but i can continue to try and handle each situation maturely and that’s the important part. Sometimes irrational feelings are chronic and living with them is better than trying to beat yourself up into not having them.

the first law of tragedies: the end is already written and inevitable. the second law of tragedies: your actions are all your own and you can choose to get off this ride whenever you want. the third law of tragedies: we both know that you are never going to do that.

i dont consider myself a 'fashion guru' by any means but one thing i will say is guys you dont need to know the specific brand an item you like is - you need to know what the item is called. very rarely does a brand matter, but knowing that pair of pants is called 'cargo' vs 'boot cut' or the names of dress styles is going to help you find clothes you like WAAAYYYY faster than brand shopping

I love that Ghost has his own Extended Universe.

There are so many Ghost aus I can make every major arcana card a different version of Ghost.

I LIED I am still missing Wheel of Fortune, Star, and Chariot.

Zero is a crossover with @alicat54cwriting's Empathy is Learned au

Parry is a crossover with @alicat54cwriting's A Different Eldest Brother au

Rat AU Ghost is a crossover of @scatterbrainedbot's tmnt rat au

Banshee is the crossover from @melonpalooza's The Last Ronin Becomes a Discord Admin

Snapper Lou Nini is a crossover with @kittynomore's Snapper Lou au

TEB Nini is a crossover of @debb987's The Eldest Brother au

Gigi is a crossover of @bluesgras's Ronin au

Roadtrip AU Ghost is a crossover with @phykoha's Lone Survivor au

Dragon in the Woods Dawn is another different crossover with @alicat54cwriting's Empathy is Learned au

... I think that's all the crossovers... If I missed one I apologize I have chronic brain fog 🫡

Bracket

Part 1

A Turtle Like Me vs. 2012 Sep AU

Shadow of a Turtle vs. Give Peace a Chance

Mystic Prodigy Series vs. Dance of the Super Turtles

Magic and Masks vs. Stardust AU

Warriors Heart vs. Mama's Boys

Our Other Halves vs. What Was Lost

Joint Custody vs. Sundered by Time

Aay'han vs. Shades of Purple

Part 2

Prodigy AU vs. The Little Prince

Snapdragon AU vs. True Colors AU

Never Better vs. Same as It Never Will Be

Through Your Hollow Bones vs. Even More of a Disaster

Little Subjects vs. Little Brother AU

Leon Me Alone! vs. Ninja Club AU

Mikey Sep AU vs. Chosen Amoung Four

Code Name: Violet Skies vs. Scrap Metal

When Will You Return? vs. Lost and Found

Does anyone have Lu Four fic recommendations

90% of arguments about media could just be solved by saying “different people like different things in their stories” and leaving it at that

depression tips™

shower. not a bath, a shower. use water as hot or cold as u like. u dont even need to wash. just get in under the water and let it run over you for a while. sit on the floor if you gotta.

moisturize everything. use whatever lotion u like. unscented? dollar store lotion? fancy ass 48 hour lotion that makes u smell like a field of wildflowers? use whatever you want, and use it all over. 

put on clean, comfortable clothes. 

put on ur favorite underwear. cute black lacy panties? those ridiculous boxers u bought last christmas with candy cane hearts on the butt? put em on.

drink cold water. use ice. if u want, add some mint or lemon for an extra boost.

clean something. doesn’t have to be anything big. organize one drawer of ur desk. wash five dirty dishes. do a load of laundry. scrub the bathroom sink. 

blast music. listen to something upbeat and dancey and loud, something that’s got lots of energy. sing to it, dance to it, even if you suck at both.

make food. don’t just grab a granola bar to munch. take the time and make food. even if it’s ramen. add something special to it, like a hard boiled egg or some veggies. prepare food, it tastes way better, and you’ll feel like you accomplished something. 

make something. write a short story or a poem, draw a picture, color a picture, fold origami, crochet or knit, sculpt something out of clay, anything artistic. even if you don’t think you’re good at it.

go outside. take a walk. sit in the grass. look at the clouds. smell flowers. put your hands in the dirt and feel the soil against your skin.

call someone. call a loved one, a friend, a family member, call a chat service if you have no one else to call. talk to a stranger on the street. have a conversation and listen to someone’s voice. if you can’t, text or email or whatever, just have some social interaction with another person. even if you don’t say much, listen to them.

cuddle your pets if you have them/can cuddle them. take pictures of them. talk to them. tell them how u feel, about your favorite movie, a new game coming out.

Ha a lélek vándorlásában hiszünk, el kell fogadnunk hogy ha zenészek voltunk, zenészek maradunk akkor is, ha négy lábbal újraszületünk..

“i am a monument to all your sins” is such a fucking raw line for a villain it’s amazing that it came from halo, a modernish video game, and not some classical text or mythos

2 unicorns per play!

How many turtles can you recognise? Answers down below!

Masterpost || Commisions Open

Tags and credits under the cut, wish me luck

Dolls:

True Colors AU by Me

Gemini AU by @tangledinink

2AL Sprout and Poptart by @intotheelliwoods

SLAU One by @dianagj-art

Vermin by @meggahamicide

Omega by @kathaynesart

EW Three by @cupcakeslushie

FH Leo by @sad-leon

NB Red by @less-depresso-more-espresso

TLP Donnie by @beannary

Fairy Mikey by @lara-cairncross

Kraangified Donnie by @abbeyofcyn

Golden Child AU Ronin by @bluesgras

LB Spot by @sharkfiinn

TN Green by @goopcatz

TD Trainee by @s0fti3w1tch

V!PbnJ duo by @onionninjasstuff

RR Red by @red-rover-au

EMD 1D and 2D by @evenmoreofadisaster

Marco by @karonkar

HW Raph by @thegunnsara

Raph by @pasteilian

Posters:

Kid Leo by @angelpuns

August by @star-sparkler

Runt by @reagi-df

SAINWB by @heckitall

Covert Raf by @chessman-protocol

Suiko by @beebopurr

TTMN Raph by @idiot-mushroom

Deity AU by @xinrouska

BMC by @hitokshellart

Ammi by @sha-biest

Fish AU by @cokoweee

Shreddy or Not by @manga-toons

Cards Au by @shmokeymoe

Tmnt Spitfire by @hitwiththetmnt

Tiz Sep AU by @tizeline

Tmnt Aberration by @probably-not-a-rutabaga

Battle Scars AU by @kaysdenofchaos

Leopatra by @sariphantom

HEA Mikey by @phykoha

Hopefully i got everyone OTL

the concept and idea of “you can always start trying to be a better person” is extremely important to me both in media and irl and i continue to be deeply deeply disturbed by the trend on this site pushing that these ideas in media are bad writing or even morally reprehensible

because theyd rather someone stay terrible or just straight up die than become a better person 

from a compassionate point of view it’s deeply distressing and from a pragmatic point of view it’s outright frustrating

it’s fucked up. 

I understand the "I will die for you" ship dynamic, but what about the "I will not let you die, I will not let myself die- we will, at any cost, survive" kind of couple?

i think that killing a dragon should have catastrophic nuclear-fallout level environmental consequences tbh. their blood should scorch and wither the earth with fire and poison, the toxic fumes released as they decay should choke the land and all nearby living creatures, and the entire landscape where they fell should be transformed into a blighted wasteland where bleached leviathan bones loom upwards out of the ground as a warning that can be seen from miles away, the boundary markers of an exclusion zone.

How about All Downhill from Here?

All Downhill from Here-

Four centric~ He experiences fun(damentally miserable) times with snowy hills

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

“-ur! Four you have to move-”

Wild’s voice pierced louder than all the rest, a scream shrill enough to slice through the snowstorm and jab the words like knives into Four’s throbbing skull. “SHIELD! GET ON A SHIELD!” 

Four -GreenRedamuddyblurofthemall- gasped, tumbling helplessly, every weakening grab for the shield knocked askew as the ringing in his ears grew louder. Something struck his head, sending the world whiting out, and his body jolted, tugged about, a senseless cacophony of roaring snow and metallic buzzing and his own panting breaths, echoing oddly. His skin tingled in the freezing air, head lolling as the roar quietened and the ambient sounds became slowly clearer, a soft keen escaping his lips as everything tipped and the dizziness returned. 

Then, through the loud, jumbled confusion of the Colors, a voice came into focus, speaking quickly and quietly. “-okay, I got you, Four. We’re going to be alright.” That was… Twilight, he slowly parsed, groaning as they lurched and his head lolled where it was drooped bonelessly over… an arm, the hands clutching him to Twi’s chest tightening.

“Don’t move, Four, I’m not- holy shit that was close- as ahaha-” and that sounded a little unhinged Blue-Vio-urk noted blearily “-good at this as Wild is,” Twilight rambled, something very nervous and very strained in his voice, the sound of grinding continuing. Four’s ear flicked at the annoying sound, the motion lost in the cold shuddering of his frame, wind nipping relentlessly through his thin clothes. 

“Cn’t st-stop shivering,” Four managed quietly, all too happy not to move otherwise as everything spun and spun and spun-

‘-our? Four?” Twilight sounded distinctly panicked now, and the taller hero shook him slightly, drawing a weak moan as the jostling kept him from the quiet, dark stillness. “Sorry, sorry, but no, no Four open your eyes, tell me what you see,” Twilight coaxed, as if Four couldn’t, even in his current state, pick out the rampant worry in his voice. 

‘S dark,” he murmured wearily, head lolling back and forth as they… swerved?. “Colors… bleeding ‘tghtr.” 

“You’re bleeding?” Twi’s voice sharpened, commanding now. “Four, no, open your eyes!” 

He- oh, yes, hm. Four slitted his eyes open, giving a soft hum at the just… whiteness there. A slow blink did nothing but add further pale shades. “S white,” he slurred, unimpressed. Twilight spoke again, too quickly this time for Four to understand the words as anything more than a lilting rise and fall of tonality, and he continued to stare as their surroundings became clearer, exposing a strange, alien landscape. Great icy pillars held aloft a sheet of frozen snow far above, the pale sky and growing blizzard visible through holes in the roof, openings marked by the thick fall of snowflakes whirling wildly beneath them. There was visibility down here, even if everything was white on pale on ice glazed stone. 

They were moving fast, and Twi wasn’t running-

“What- wait, what?” Four twitched, head twisting, only for Twilight to clutch him tighter as they both wobbled on the shield he was surfing down with Four in his arms holy shit-

He immediately grasped Twi’s shirt, curling in tighter, adrenaline spiking as pillars flashed past that would very much kill or maim them if they crashed, and then the word avalanche filtered through the panic and color-ridden whirl of his thoughts and that was even worse-

It had a very different feel to it then when Wild had first shown them down a gentle grassy slope, Four thought hysterically. Between the hiss of the shield on the ice and his own wavering hearing it was impossible to tell if the rumbling roar was only echoing off the snowy bilayer or if it was right behind them or if it was only his body trying to pass out once more. He was too afraid to crane around for fear he’d unbalance Twilight, who thankfully seemed to be better at out-shield surfing an avalanche down an icy obstacle ridden slope than Four certainly would have been. 

He’s pretty sure he’d be hylian mush somewhere back under the avalanche, actually. 

But Four was very used to ignoring reminders of his own mortality, and it was all too easy to let the fear slip away into the gentle fog permeating his mind, the Colors still a water-whorled blur within him even after a few faints, thoughts slippery and sluggish as molasses. “Okay,” he whispered shakily, lifting his heavy-weighted head and tucking it into Twi’s chest, light-headed and sick. He could trust the Ranchhand to keep them both alive, no matter how it itched that he was so useless. 

“I’ve got you, Smithy. I think we’re good, but I’m gonna keep going just to be safe-”

Four listened to Twi’s rambling assurances, shivering viciously with no way to get anything warmer on. Then all at once they passed under open sky once more, blinded by the snowstorm as the icy cover was left behind, any trace of the avalanche’s thundering lost all at once to the screaming wind. Four couldn’t see anything but white before he shielded his face in Twi’s shirt but the shield was still zipping along, spinning them once more as the ground dipped, his head going light as the inertia sent his equilibrium wobbling. 

The shield rocked violently beneath them, Twilight tensing up and leaning hard to stay atop it but next moment there was a slight jolt and a yelped curse. 

A distinct sense of being airborne, Twi curling around him. 

They hit rock hard ice and skidded along it, rolling and being ripped apart from one another, and then- free fall once more, Four’s lungs too frozen for a proper scream, and-

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

It was cold. Four’s body was all but convulsing as shudders wracked its freezing form, pulling him back to consciousness. He let out a soft sound of pain, so cold it hurt, trying to draw up the memory of what had happened- a portal, then… a landslide? No, Vio pushed, Blue-muddled and blearily pissed, an avalanche, and Twi had managed to shield surf them down the mountain and then… 

And then crashed? Gone over a ledge? Something sudden, Four knew that much, but the whole unbelievable scene was almost dreamlike, all a pale, confused blur. 

There was a whirl of panic in his mind, a sluggish consensus that he should really, really change into something warmer now. He unfurled in the snow slowly, getting a general bruised feedback from his body but too bitterly cold for anything more specific. He dragged his bag open with his teeth, layering the winter clothes over his tunic and leggings, pulling on a hat and gritting his teeth as he tugged off the pegasus boots to replace them with another layer of woolen socks and proper winter boots- gloves topped off the whole set, precautionary gear they’d all taken to carrying considering how seasons swapped between worlds. 

He couldn’t remember whose idea that had been, but he owed them a hug after all this was over with. 

Feeling warmer already, Four huddled into his knees once more, still shivering and sick from the portal, head spinning and thoughts a mess as the Colors tried to settle back in from the blender that was cross-dimensional travel. Then all at once the background wrongness finally focused in on the reason his sluggish mind had been grasping after since he’d woken up still in his light clothes, alone. 

Where was Twilight?

He dragged his head up to scope around, trying to force his fogged brain to work properly. All Four could currently make out was some rocks nearby and what looked to be a tundra, going by the plants poking through the snow and how flat it was past view. Still, he patted and kicked around him, just in case, heart sticking worriedly in his throat as no Twilight showed up in the heavy, wet snow nearby. Four squinted around, trying to gauge where he’d come from and where Twilight could have landed, getting up and wading determinedly through the deep snow at the foot of the cliff he’d fallen off towards what he thought to be farther uphill where they’d been separated while falling. He was a hair wobbly, the path behind him marked with multiplied body prints in the snow where he’d toppled over, and… 

Oh, damn.

Four looked around, hugging himself for warmth, absolutely lost for where he was in relation to where he’d woken in the snow and with no idea when he’d managed to get onto the tundra. He thought, maybe, those were boulders through the pale wreath of whirling snow, and was staggering his way over in hopes of finding the foothills again when he heard it-a howl, barely discernible from the wind, lilting through the air. It must be close, with how clear it was despite the snowfall was muffling things, and Four tried to call back, heart leaping at the thought of Twilight, of help when he so needed it, of Wolfie and any additional warmth. His voice broke in the cold, though, and he whistled instead, shrill and tremulous. There was another call, longer, and Four answered back, waiting. A few minutes passed before Twilight called out again for a pinpointing whistle, then-

Nothing. Four whistled again, gasping desperately as he stood uselessly watching the snow whirl around him, leaning on the rock to remain upright. His head was spinning again from overexerting himself while still suffering from the damned portal, balance completely shot, grappling for Red’s optimism instead of Vio’s knowledge of hypothermia and only running himself in whirling circles as he tried and failed to struggle through the baseless confusion miring his thoughts. A plan, he needed a plan, but trying to look at the facts was useless when they were meaningless to him right now, and Four was left standing helplessly, knowing he was rather screwed and utterly unable to wrangle himself together enough to figure out what to do about it but stand there, lost enough to feel tears burning behind his eyes. 

He had to find Twilight, who must have been injured to not have come to him right away, who could be passed out right now by his silence. He had to… do something, anything but get more lost or just sit and wait when Twi could need help. There was nothing wrong with him but his own brain being stupid and slow and useless, and he couldn’t wait for it to clear on its own like he usually did after the accursed portals messed badly with him. 

It… wasn’t the first time Four had been helplessly furious at his unlucky incompatibility with their only means of moving between worlds. 

He hauled himself up, driving forwards and whistling again desperately, determined to push his body until it gave out rather than sit and wait. He could rest when he passed out.   

But then, not too long before it would have come to that, a familiar silhouette blurred into view against all the white, head low and searching, trotting through the snow. Four shouted, waving his arms as he fell forward, scrambling for Wolfie. “Twilight! Over here!” Ears perked his way, the snow clumped figure running for him, a bark just legible through the storm. Four laughed, falling to his knees and then forward onto his hands, all but sobbing with relief, feeling about ready to faint now that the panic that had been all that was keeping his portal-wracked body up and moving was draining all at once for weak-limbed relief. 

There was an unhappy growl, and Four tried and failed to drag his head up, just this close to collapsing. “I’ll be alright, I jusneedamomen’-”

A too tight grip on his shoulder, padded by his coat, hauling him forward and onto his knees in a harsh tug that snapped him back to dizzying awareness. “Hey,” he protested weakly, flailing his arms out to shove Twi away, vision refusing to focus past a blur. “‘M not doing so hot, gimme a min…”

He blinked heavily, not quite putting together why Wolfie’s eyes were gold or where the markings had gone on fur that was a washed out gray, not the mossy slate he’d expected- 

The biting grip on his shoulder suddenly clamped down, teeth piercing skin and bones sending warning signs as the pressure grew to crushing levels, Four shrieking and flailing blindly in startled agony, still not understanding why Twi would- 

Wolfie shook him viciously, and at some point between the first and third head rattling snap of his body Four lost his tenuous grip on consciousness, still grasping for an answer.

Congratulations on your milestone! Very exciting!❤️

For requests, maybe write about a Link with verbal issues?

Like, maybe one is selectively mute/apraxia of speech, one stutters, or one has like echolalia?

Thanks on the congrats!

I hope you like it!

This one fought me start to end, but it was cool to research and fun to write!! Thanks for the request!

Wind, Sky, Wars, and Four are the main focus, though everyone is there and participating!

1335 words, no warnings!

~~~~

The weakest link in a chain of command is always communication. 

Wars complains about it every time they get mail- reports and letters from his Zelda and Impa will get him so riled up he has to take a walk to calm down. 

Then comes back to complain to whoever will listen about how no one can communicate and listen to orders for an hour. 

“I mean, I know I’m not there to give direct orders but for the love of the goddess I wasn’t for half of the war, either!” The captain signs furiously. “It’s like just because I’m away ‘on holiday’ it’s like they don’t have to do what I say!” 

“Your Z- Zelda t- t- told them you’re on holid- day?” Four says, looking somewhat amused. 

“Y E S!” The captain signs letter by letter for emphasis. “That was her first mistake!” 

“Some holiday this is.” Legend mutters, getting a snort from the sailor. 

“Holiday.” Wind repeats. 

“Why a holiday?” Wild asks curiously. 

“I don’t know!” Wars sighs, gesturing with his hands after the sentence. 

“Easier than explaining to them that you got sucked through an evil-looking purple portal that sent you through time and space?” The traveler asks with a frown. 

“Well, maybe, if it hadn’t already happened before!” The captain signs grumpily, poking at his letter. 

Sky chokes. “Hmm?” The Skyloftian hums, coughing over his water. 

Legend pats the knight on the back. 

“He said it happened before.” Wind clarifies, clarifying absolutely nothing to most of the crew. 

Sky makes a confused face. 

“During the war, Cia created a hole in time and space. I visited Skyloft myself and fought there. Zelda, though disguised at the time…” 

The captain’s hands slowly stop in response to Sky frantically gesturing for him to stop, finding his journal and scribbling in it frantically. 

Shoves it frantically at Four, who translates. 

“What d- d- did it look lik- ke? I didn’t- t know th- that. W- was it in my fut- fut- fut- after my t- time?”

Four sighs over the word he’d failed to pronounce, mouthing it slowly until Wind nudges him. 

Wars is halfway through his reply, Sky hanging on desperately to every word. 

“- don’t know anything about times, there wasn’t time to talk to anyone and after the battle, it was hurry rush go.” Wars signs, emphasizing the rush.

Wild glances up from the cooking pot, where he’s making individual pizzas for everyone. 

“Wind?” Wild gets the sailor’s attention. “Mushrooms on your pizza?” 

“Mushrooms.” Wind agrees, eyes still on Wars with a small, mostly amused smile. 

“Mushrooms s- s- suck.” Four mumbles, and the champion grins at him. 

“Peppers in yours, Smithy?” 

“No!” Four yelps, grey eyes narrowing when Wild laughs. 

Wars is still complaining about his letter, setting a new record with two and a half hours of complaining. 

Hyrule gestures their new record to them over the captain’s head, so only they can see. 

Though the captain falters at Legend’s snort, glancing up at the traveler. 

Rulie smiles innocently, really turning up his large hazel eyes. 

Like a puppy. 

Wars tries to look serious, but alas, no one is immune to the traveler’s eyes. 

“I don’t believe it is as big of a deal as you believe it to be, Captain.” Time says ever so formally. 

Wars sighs, slumping dramatically over the log he’d been leaning on. 

“It isn’t,” the captain agrees with a sigh. “But I still have to deal with it when I get back.” 

“Mm. Maybe we’ll all die and none of us get to go back.” Legend says way too casually. Then- “Joking. I was joking.” When every eye in the group finds him. 

“Bad one.” Sky mutters, the rare sound of his voice making them all jolt and burst into laughter. 

Legend’s cheeks flush, but he’s failing to hide his own laughter. 

Sky is almost completely nonverbal- the sound of his voice is incredibly rare. The knight must be having a good day. 

Four, on the other hand, is not. The smithy is the type of person who’s always on the move and hates being held back. His stutter- which they’re slowly realizing is a recent development for him- frustrates him at times. 

It’s a bad clash when Sky writes and Four… is their sole translator. 

Sky’s written language is too different for any of them to be able to read, and sometimes even Four struggles a bit. After centuries, writing just doesn’t stay the same. 

On top of that, they’ve… mostly figured out how to effectively communicate with each other. 

Battles were definitely still a challenge, communication being an outright struggle with them before they found a way to make it… effective. 

Fighting in predesignated pairs, if possible, people who can communicate at a moment's notice with… someone who isn’t able to. 

That one helped a lot after Sky got hurt and couldn’t tell anyone. 

They’d found him later, passed out against a tree. But no one had known what had happened, if he’d been abducted or worse. 

So they do regular check-ins with each other- Wars, Wind, and Wild. Time, Twi, and Sky. And Four, Hyrule, and Legend. 

“Four, beating yourself up over your stutter won’t help it.” Time says quietly, the smith sighing over at their oldest member. 

Nods slightly, fidgeting slightly before picking up a book. 

Wind grins and zips next to him, always enjoying looking at the pictures in Four’s smithing texts, or maps in the history ones. 

On his good days, the smithy will read or explain the context to the sailor. 

Time helps Four a lot with his stutter- apparently, the old man had a stutter when he was younger. 

They often take walks together and work on speaking. Four is really self-conscious about his speech. 

Wars, too, struggles with his disability, though it seems to be more frustration than self-consciousness. In a position of leadership, it’s understandable. 

They all silently wonder how the captain was… well, able to command soldiers on the battlefield. 

But then again, none of them are war veterans. They’re not exactly sure how it works, and they’re sure Wars’ leadership was able to make accommodations. 

Sky is the most comfortable with his speech, though he gets frustrated with his lack of ability to communicate with them. With centuries between him and his closest descendant, Hylian Sign has just changed too much for them to understand it, and Sky has a hard time understanding Wars. 

The best they’ve currently figured out, with Four knowing Sky’s written language because of what Legend dubbed ‘nerdiness,’ is Sky writing on spare parchment and Four translating. 

Wind… they’re not quite sure what Wind thinks. The sailor seems so unbothered by everything. Absolutely no embarrassment at his self-proclaimed ‘outbursts.’ 

Which is just him repeating a phrase or a few words of what someone’s said. Wind has said that yes, it’s technically a speech disorder though it’s rare. 

There’s not even a name in his Hyrule for what he has, though Wild’s called it Echolalia. The champion mentioned, very offhandedly, that he’d been diagnosed with it. 

Wild… was an odd one. Some days he was mostly nonverbal, though others he was entirely verbal. It depends on how he’s doing day by day, though a trigger could easily turn a verbal day into a nonverbal day. 

Usually, they can tell if a switch is coming, unless it’s in battle or another chaotic situation that they can’t seem to avoid. 

They all prefer the softer, more peaceful moments of sitting around a fire, or in a room of an inn. 

Some talking softly, others communicating in their own way, playing cards, reading, carving, anything they want. 

Communicating however they want, in the way that works for them, with people who accept their differences without judgment. 

With all their shared experiences, they're able to understand each other more than other people who haven't been through the same thing are able to.

And they work constantly with each other to continue that understanding.

~~~~

Are you still doing fic requests? I've always had this weird headcanon that Four eats four times as much as a normal person (cuz he's four people lol). What if he was too shy to tell the others that he eats the equivalent of half the team's food so he's starving himself? What if he and Wild were buffet buddies? The possibilities are endless! Feel free to go angst or fluff or humour, or to ignore my ask altogether! Love your work~

Hey fun fact this was supposed to be fluff 😂

I’m always doing requests! I love doing them, so if anyone has any I’d be thrilled to write it!

Thank you, lovely anon! I hope you like it!

1695 words, warnings for malnutrition? Kinda? Accidental but not really starving yourself? Eating issues? And one (1) very brief, undescribed mention of vomiting. Let me know if anyone wants me to add something!

~~~~

Four hides it well, in the beginning.

When they’re still fresh in supplies, coming across towns on a regular basis, they’re in the woods where he can sneak off and find some berries or fruit if he’s lucky.

The others catch him snacking, and he shrugs it off as a personal preference to snack during the day instead of having full meals.

And it works.

For a while.

Until they stop coming across towns, they leave the safety of the woods, and they’re running low on supplies.

At first, he tries saving the food Wild makes from breakfast, stretching it and eating on the road until lunch, doing the same with his lunch, and then stretching out dinner until he goes to bed.

But then he’s aching with hunger all day.

So he tries eating the full meal, which… well, helps for a little bit. Then he’s starving again.

Either way, he’s practically starving himself.

He didn’t think the effects would be… this bad.

But he gets lightheaded, dizzy, any time he moves quickly he’s convinced he’s going to either pass out or throw up for a second.

Once, in the middle of the night, he woke up shaking uncontrollably. Blankets did nothing- he was shaking until his muscles ached and he was so nauseous.

Somehow, he’d managed to crawl out of his bedroll, stagger far enough away from camp to throw up his dinner, swear Hyrule to secrecy, and go back to sleep.

The others notice, of course. He must look terrible, he feels terrible, he’s so hungry, all the time, and the lack of proper nutrients to his body makes him exhausted.

They’re convinced he's sick- which… maybe he is. Technically. He’s not… healthy.

Wars always looks at him with an understanding glance when it comes up, never arguing with him.

Just always finds a way to sneak him an apple, or even an orange if they find a tree across the massive plains of Wild’s Hyrule.

So he’s not surprised, that when the awful shakiness comes back again, this time in the evening as they’re getting ready for bed, Wars knows what’s going on.

He’s leaning against a tree, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach, fighting to focus on the book in front of him.

His head keeps drooping, though, eyes falling shut, until he dips too much and jolts right back awake.

“Goddess, Smithy, just go to sleep. You’re clearly exhausted.” Legend jokes softly, sitting next to him.

His stomach growls. Loudly.

He doesn’t feel well.

“Hey, you hungry? Four?” Legend feels his forehead, arm wrapping around him when he groans softly.

Wars glances up at them, standing.

The veteran digs in his bag for a moment before sighing. “I’ve got nothing to eat.

Wars produces an orange from out of nowhere, peeling it and handing him a slice. “You alright? Just hungry?”

He accepts the orange, popping into his mouth with a shrug. “I… just feel… weird.”

Wars nods, handing him another couple slices. “I get that too. Low blood sugar- your body isn’t able to release enough glucose into your bloodstream, causing all sorts of adverse effects.”

He nods, finishing up the orange.

“Sugary foods help. Pretty much any fruit, juices, honey. Oranges are my go to.” The captain smiles gently, handing him a cup of water.

“Thank you.” He says quietly, already feeling a ton better.

Wars nods, patting his shoulder before moving away again. “I’m off to sleep, need anything else?”

He shakes his head, getting another smile.

“Alrighty, if you need anything, you can wake me up. I got another orange or two in my bag, too, if you need.”

“Thank you.” He says again, and gets a salute from his friend, making him smile.

~~~~

He’s a nauseous, shaking mess the entire next day.

He manages a few bites of breakfast, giving up when he feels like puking and gives the rest to Legend.

When the shaking starts right before lunch is served, his heart sinks.

But he hands Wind his lunch with hopefully unnoticed shaking hands, the sailor accepting it without too much questioning.

They continue walking, after their lunch break, and he’s shaking so much he keeps stumbling.

The sun bears down on them, the day warm though there’s a nice breeze.

“Wild?” He manages, drawing unwanted attention to himself. Wars is already making his way toward him. “How long until we reach that stable?”

“If we go fast, we can make it tonight.” The champion says confidently.

“Are you alright?” Time asks, voice ever so steady.

“Just a bit lightheaded. I’m alright. We can keep going.”

Everyone just stares at him.

“Four-”

“I’m alright. I’m fine- not even dizzy. I swear. Wild said we needed to get going, let’s go.”

Though they’re concerned, the thought of a real bed and maybe a warm meal pushes them to accept his request and continue down the road.

“Do you need to eat something?” Wars asks softly, hand reaching out.

He bats it away, stomach growling as if on cue.

He feels his cheeks flush up to his ears, not meeting Wars’ eyes.

“He didn’t eat lunch.” Wind rats him out, frowning at him. He throws the sailor a scowl.

“Why not?” The captain asks immediately,

“He’s been shaking all day, too.” Hyrule points out softly.

“I’m fine. Really. Just-”

“Smithy, I need you to be honest.”

“Hungry. I’m hungry.” He sighs, fidgeting with his hands.

“Well… yeah, you skipped lunch, Four. Why’d you do that?”

“We don’t have enough to feed us all.” He mumbles, not looking at the captain. “I wanted Wind to eat.”

“And breakfast?” Legend asks with a raised eyebrow.

He doesn’t answer that one.

Wars gives him an oddly gentle look, reaching into his bag and sighing slowly. “I’m out of oranges.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Four, you’re really pale. You sure you’re just lightheaded?”

His feet drag, Legend gently wrapping an arm around him. “Easy, Smithy, you need to sit?”

“No- no, I’m fine-”

“I think your blood sugar is low again, buddy.” Wars says gently, taking his hand.

Feeling his pulse, he realizes.

He frowns up at the captain, pulling his hand back. “I’m fine.” He repeats for what feels like the hundredth time.

He gently pushes away from Legend, stumbling immediately, both the veteran and the captain jumping to steady him, and he sees the twin looks of concern before he hits the ground and passes out.

~~~~

“Four, time to wake up, bud.”

Pain. Throbbing behind his eyes, skull pounding.

“You need to eat something, or the medic is gonna shove a tube up your nose to feed you. That’s going to be very unpleasant, Four.”

“Speaking from personal experience, yes. Very uncomfortable.”

Even with his eyes closed, he can tell it’s bright.

Painfully bright.

“Link, kiddo, we need you to open your eyes.”

A gentle hand in his hair.

He squints in the harsh light, eyes watering immediately.

“Hey… there ya are, you scared us pretty good, kid.”

He blinks, still squinting.

Eyes finally finding the rancher, who looks worried.

“ ‘m’nota kid.” He slurs out, hearing a small laugh.

“Yeah, he’s alright.”

“We’re gonna prop you up, can you drink some water for me? Wild’s making some food, we managed to find a deer to hunt for some stew.”

He obediently sips the cool water, the light slowly turning less painful.

“Small sips.” Wars reminds him gently, taking the cup away for a moment. “Eyes on me? Good.”

The captain eyes him, looking for something that he doesn’t care enough about to find it odd. He’s hungry and he’d like the water back.

“Four. Where are we, do you know?”

He blinks, wondering if this is a trick. “Wild’s world?”

A nod. “Remember what happened?”

“I… erm. Passed out.” He does remember that. Oops.

He tries to reach for the water Wars is still denying him, though the limb feels much too heavy to lift.

“Water?” He asks weakly, getting awarded another drink.

“Four, don’t chug it, you’re gonna make yourself sick.” Wars chastises him softly, taking the water again.

He makes a protesting noise that makes him sound like a child.

“Food’s almost ready, bud, can you wait a minute?”

His eyes flick to Twi, nodding.

Which makes his headache worse, slowly rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“How you feeling, Smithy?”

“Tired.” He mumbles honestly, leaning back against Twi’s chest. “Head hurts.”

“Hungry?” Wars asks gently. “When’s the last time you’ve eaten enough food to be sufficient?”

His eyes flick away despite himself.

“I need… more food to… suffice.”

Wars frowns.

“That’s why I had snacks all the time.” He explains, still looking at his knees. “Then… I ran out. And we got low on… everything, so-”

“You haven’t had enough food to suffice you in weeks?” Wars interrupts, giving him the water back when he reaches for it. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He sighs slowly as the group all glances up at him.

“I didn’t… want to cause problems. We’re all hungry, making sacrifices.”

Wars nods understandingly, patting his knee awkwardly. “I understand.”

“He does.” Time agrees, shooting a glance at the captain with a small smile. “And you’re a hypocrite, Captain. You’ve skipped more meals than he has.”

“That was different!” Wars defends himself. “We were feeding an army, not nine people!”

Time raises an eyebrow.

Wars looks away, ears flushing.

“Ignore him. He’s lying.” The captain mutters, and he manages a shaky laugh.

“He’s not!” Wind calls, making the group laugh.

“Here, this is ready.” Wild says gently, approaching him with a bowl of stew. The look he gives is all too understanding.

“I had to eat a lot more than your average person after I woke up. Guess it was a side effect of not eating for a hundred years.” The champion says, though, pressing a bowl into his hands.

He nods, looking down at the food. “Thanks, Champion.”

“Anytime, Smithy. Now eat- you need it, man.”

“Goddess knows that right- there’s no way you weigh any more than forty five kilograms.” Wars chimes back in with a grin.

He has to smile, rolling his eyes as he takes a bite.

~~~~

Thanks for reading! Any interaction is appreciated :)

Alright, @undertheopensky

This one’s all for you 😂

Your long awaited sequel to this fic!

Hope you enjoy!

4849 words, slight warnings for one (1) instance of assault, and ngl its angsty and doesn’t really have a happy ending? But it’s not a bad ending either.

Summary: Four hates towns. Or, well… Four hates his town. The one he protected with his blood, sweat, and tears. Sky asks the right questions.

~~~~

It had been a long couple of days when they arrive in Four’s era.

Right outside the smithy’s house, Four scrambling right through the door and tumbling in. “Papa!” The kid shouts, and they take a minute to glance at each other before following him inside.

Finally met the smithy’s grandfather, got settled in, got to rest for an afternoon, and a home cooked meal.

Now they’ve been tasked with trying to get Four to take them around town for a bit so they can get needed supplies.

And they’re rather unsuccessful.

The kid beams up at him unapologetically. “Sorry, Sky. I can’t. I have chores to do.”

“Four-” Time sighs, but there’s no getting the kid to come. Four’s sweeping out the floor of the forge, eyes sparkling, just happy to be home.

“I’ll find you a map if you give me a minute.” Four hums, turning away.

Time sighs, staring at the back of Four’s head.

Sure enough, Four finishes sweeping and leads them to a small office with a strong looking desk and lots of shelves and drawers.

The kid rustles around in one of the drawers for a moment, pulling out a sheet of parchment and studying it for a moment before offering it to them.

“I can’t read this.” Time reminds him, and Four hums again.

“Don’t need to. Red circle is the apothecary, the center of the town is the market. You’ll find anything there- and it’s just a straight shot past the gates.”

“If it’s so easy-”

“I have chores to do.” Four repeats with a poorly hidden grin, already leaving the room.

“Should we find an inn or are we able to stay here?” He asks, and that gets Four to pause for a minute.

“We have room on the floors. Definitely not enough beds- it might be best for you guys to find the inn and sleep in some beds for a night or two. I dunno. Think about it.” Four shrugs, and then he’s gone.

Time sighs yet again, rolling his eye.

“Time, let him be with his grandpa again.” He says quietly.

“It’s not that.” Time says.” “He knows the town, he knows it well. He can take one hour to make sure we find everything we need. We need potions and medical supplies, we need to restock on rations and food. If we don’t find those-”

He smiles gently at the old man.

“We have more pressing things-”

“Time.” He pushes, slightly less gently. “He’s a child.”

All the fight deflates out of the old man at the reminder.

Seems to remember this, looking away.

“You’re right. I’ve… I’ve been too harsh on him.”

He shrugs, accepting the map from Time. “Let’s get this done- he made it sound like an easy trip. We can be back before supper.”

“Sounds good.” Time agrees, and they leave the room to gather up the others to make the trip to the little town.

~~~~

It's an easy, quick trip to town, and they find Four making supper with his grandfather upon their return.

“Supper should be ready in about fifteen minutes.” Four smiles at them, a little smudge of some sort of seasoning on his cheek.

So they get all their supplies packed up and put away, and enjoy their meal.

He sits next to Four, managing to be lucky enough to sit at the table, meaningless chatter filling the house.

It’s the evening when they really speak again, Time sighing and relenting as he, Twi, and Wars ask to spend some time at a tavern.

“Four, we’re going to find the pub, will you come get us before you settle for the night?” The old man asks.

Four’s expression remains the same for a long second, giving absolutely no indication that he heard Time, then nods. “Yeah. The only one is on the side of town- once you enter go to the right as much as you can and then up towards the castle. Can’t miss it. I’ll get you guys around… eleven and a half bells?”

“Sounds good. Thanks, kiddo.”

“Not a kid.” Four hums, and he has to smile.

“It’s what your grandfather calls you.”

“Yes. My grandfather is sixty two- everyone is a kid to him. He’s called grown adults kiddo.”

He laughs at that, and Four’s eyes flick to him.

“Be safe.” Four says softly, oddly… serious in his warning.

“It’s just a town. Little town,” he says, confused. And it is- a small, peaceful little town. Rather reminds him of Skyloft, actually.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

Four shrugs, already turning away. “There’s a festival or something coming up soon. Just… it may be busy, people may be territorial. They’re not all so open to outsiders.

“They seemed fine when we went to the market.” Wars frowns, though Four merely shrugs before vanishing into a room.

They take a minute to shrug at each other before heading out the door.

~~~~

It was Twi’s idea to… mess around a bit and try to dig up some information on Four.

He definitely didn’t mean for… all this.

But the situation had spiraled well out of their control, and he’s a little too tipsy to defuse it.

So he clutches his sailcloth in his fist to avoid punching someone.

“Oh… he’s… crazy.” One woman sighs softly. “He… he didn’t come back quite the same. A shame, he was such a good boy.”

The bartender glances up, eyes narrowing. “That’s a rather kind way of saying he had a screaming match with himself in the middle of my shop.”

They all freeze. This has gone way too far, they need to end this, this-

“Oh, your anger towards him is unjustified, Mr. Elson. He’s a boy- he’s a boy, and he’s alone and traumatized. He was so young… how is he supposed-”

“Are you kidding me?” The man laughs incredulously. “The kid is absolutely insane. Didn’t come back right in the head. Being twelve at the time don't change that.”

Rage flies through him, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. Time’s eyes narrow dangerously. Wars looks ready to go full war captain mode.

Seemingly oblivious to their reactions, the man continues.

“I mean, sure. I get it. The poor kid is traumatized. But isn’t that his responsibility? He doesn’t need to come around town and make it the rest of our problem.”

Time’s hands shake with rage, and he feels the blood pounding in his ears. War’s hands clench into fists, but it doesn’t hide their shaking at all.

“It’s been almost three years? I think the kid’s almost sixteen. Used to hang around with the princess, was around her age. He should just be better by now.”

“Guys. Let’s go.” A voice says quietly. The last voice they want to hear right now.

The three men turn around tensely and freeze when they see the smith himself standing behind them.

“You’re not welcome here.” The bartender says, and he whips around, barely leashing his anger when Time places a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, Mr. Elson, I apologize. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

“You’ll be leaving now or I’ll contact the authorities.”

“Yes, sir.” Four says softly.

“Yes, sir.” The man mocks. “Get out of here, you freak. If I catch you around here again-”

They leave the man still angrily ranting about what exactly he’ll do if she catches Four around here again, exiting the shop. The words ‘crazy lunatic’ are heard before the door slams behind them.

“Four-” Time starts quietly, but the smith shakes his head, cutting him off.

“Don’t.” Four’s eyes are trained on the ground, ignoring the glares and whispers thrown his way. “Just… don’t.”

“Four…” He says softly, trailing off when Four stops.

Four looks up for a second, meeting his eyes. Something passes between them- he’s not quite sure what- and then Four looks down at the ground again.

Leads them around a block before pausing. It’s busy for so late at night, he notices finally, glancing down at Four. He had mentioned a festival or something.

The kid gulps visibly, expression flickering into an anxiousness he doesn’t understand.

But slowly steps forward, taking a deep breath.

He and Wars share a glance but follow.

People stare and fall silent as they pass, eyes lingering on Four.

Expressions from anger to curiosity to distrust on their faces. One man looks at Four with such hatred he pauses.

"Move.” Four mumbles to him, and he forces his feet to obey.

But the man stops them, stepping into their path and forcing Four to stop.

“You’re not welcome here.” The man says firmly, crossing his arms.

Four doesn’t even look up from the ground. “I’m just passing through.”

“You’re going to take another way. You’re not welcome here.”

Four chews his lip, finally looking up.

“Going around takes an hour, please just this one time-”

“Don’t make me call the guards, freak. Get out of here.”

“Please- one time, just one time, you can watch me all the way through-”

Quicker than he or even Wars can react, the man lashes out and strikes Four across the face.

Four stumbles back, clutching his face, ignoring or not hearing their yelps.

“I said get out of here. We want nothing to do with you. Now scram.”

Four turns without another word and starts back down the path. He glares at the man for a long moment until Wars gently taps his arm- their signal to keep going.

The ranch hand refuses.

“You have no right.” Twi scowls, and the man looks to the rancher. “He sacrificed everything for you.”

“Twi.” Wars mutters under his breath.

The man laughs. Loudly. “It would’ve been better if he’d never stuck his nose in that shady shit to begin with- and then came back all jumbled, talking to himself and having screaming matches with nobody in the middle of the road. You keep that freak away from me, you hear me?! He’s a freak!” The man yells the last part at Four’s retreating back.

Four’s shoulders hunch down, the kid shrinking into himself.

Twi grabs the man by his tunic, shaking the man rather ungently. “He sacrificed everything for you! You don’t even understand what he’s been through!”

“Twilight.” Wars says softly, seriously, grabbing his arm.

The rancher shoves the man away, sending him to the ground. “A freak?! That’s a child you’re assaulting!”

Twi glowers down at the now cowering man, disgust on his face. “You’re not even with his time.” The rancher mutters, turning his back and finally letting Wars drag him down to where Four’s waiting down the street.

Not quite meeting their eyes, cheek pink where he’d been hit.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Four mumbles, taking the turn to leave town.

“Four-”

“They’ll know you’re with me. You guys won’t be able to come back- they won’t want you here either.”

Silence.

Four leads them all the way around- for such a little town it sure does take a lot of time to get around- back to the forge.

Inside the front door, down the hall to his room, vanishing from sight.

~~~~

There’s a long silence where everyone stares up at where the smith had disappeared, then Time shakes his head.

“Leave him be.”

It’s a quiet night, the others taking in their tenseness.

Twi hesitates, looking down the hall where Four had vanished, fidgeting-

“Twi. Leave it.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I know. Just leave him be.” Time says gently.

“But-” the rancher cuts off, sighing slowly.

“Is he ok?” Wind mumbles groggily, having been woken up as they came in.

“Yeah.” Wars says gently, making his way over to the sailor. “Go back to sleep, you could stand to grow a little more.”

The sailor squawks in protest, but the captain only snickers and affectionately ruffles Wind’s hair.

Gets his bedroll set up next to the sailor’s, settling down. Time and Twi slowly do the same, Twi’s gaze still lingering down the hall.

“I’ll go check-”

“Twi.” He interrupts gently. “He doesn’t want to talk to us. Try it in the morning.”

Another long sigh, but the rancher finally settles.

He stretches out himself, missing the bit of warmth Four usually provided during the night.

~~~~

He wakes up early- very early, the rest are still sleeping and the moon hasn’t even set yet.

He’s suspecting around two chimes, but he can’t tell for sure. Time feels different in Four’s era- it has a strong flow.

Or maybe the surface is making him crazy.

He stands, though, stretching softly and goes in search of the smith. Down the hall, rubbing his eyes.

The room Four had shown him and labeled it ‘his’ is empty when he glances into it.

So he wanders down the hall into the other room, peeking carefully into the room-

Four’s slumped next to a table, surrounded by books.

The room is packed with book after book- on shelves that line the room.

It is a small room- the size of a large closet, really- but it’s still an impressive amount of books.

A small table is shoved into the corner, two cushions on the available sides.

That’s where Four is, curled up on one of the cushions, a blanket over him, book still open in his hands.

He slowly walks the rest of the way inside, stepping carefully over books on the floor to get to his friend and sitting next to him.

Carefully takes the book in his hands, putting a folded slip of parchment in it to mark the page, closing it and setting it aside.

Slowly, carefully, taking hold of the teenager and getting him carefully into his arms-

Four shifts and mumbles sleepily, nestling closer to him with a soft noise of contentment.

“Shh… I’ve got you, kiddo.” He whispers.

Four’s eyes flutter, but don’t open.

He carefully carries the smith back down the hall, tucking him gently into the bed in the corner, the teenager mumbling again and curling into the soft bed.

“Better than that little cushion on the floor, yeah?” He whispers, getting the blankets around the kiddo.

Four’s hand slowly grabs at the blanket, other one finding his hand and clinging to it.

“Shh…” he hums softly, trying to ease Four’s hand off of him… Four’s eyes flutter open, and he freezes.

“Stay with me.” The smith murmurs groggily, slowly releasing the grip on his hand when he nods in shock.

Four manages to scoot to the side of the bed so he can lay next to him, the smithy curling right back into his arms when gets settled.

“G’night, Sky.” Four mumbles drowsily, and he has to smile.

“Sleep well, buddy.”

~~~~

He sits in his bed, gazing out the window thoughtlessly. Sky snores softly next to him. 

Watches the sun slowly rise, the light peek through the window in beautiful shades of gold, pink, and orange. 

Trying not to think back to the weeks after his adventure, but… after a day like yesterday how could he not?

“It’s going to be ok.” Zelda had said softly once, his first time seeing her after everything. “But it’s going to be different.” 

If only she knew how right she was. 

“Four?” 

Sky. 

He glances down, forcing a little smile. 

“Hey, Sky.” He manages, the knight rubbing his eyes and flopping so he’s on his back. 

He’s reminded heavily of a golden retriever asking for belly rubs, and has to resist the urge to smile. 

Silence. Sky looks nervously at him, matching his smile with one that’s equally as fake. 

“You can ask.” He says finally, laying back again to curl into Sky’s warmth. “I… I owe you an explanation.” 

Sky finally does. 

“This is why? Why you hate towns? Why you prefer to stay at the inn, or do research, or… anything other than the market.” 

He nods into Sky’s steady heartbeat. 

I don’t understand, Sky would say, shaking his head as left for the market, leaving him at the inn at his insistence and sometimes begging. 

I don't expect you to. All I ask is that you respect it, he’d shoot back rather sharply. Uncharacteristically sharply. He’d ignore the other’s surprised looks, and they wouldn’t press the issue further. 

He stares out the window some more, then sighs slowly. So much for fighting off the bad memories. 

“After I came back from my… after… after I returned the sword to the palace, something… it changed me. The magic I used had… consequences.” 

He curls into a ball, turning to look at the wall. 

Keeping Sky out of his gaze. 

“I came back weird. Jumbled. I… I…” 

He lets out a broken laugh. “I was crazy. Maybe I still am. I don’t know anymore, Sky.” He whispers. 

Four bodies fuse back into one, but… four minds clash and fight in that one body. 

For a moment, Link is fine. 

And then he’s on the ground, clutching his head, screaming. 

Cursing, sobbing, giggling, yelling in pain, fear, anger, embarrassment, any emotion he can think of flashing through him in waves and waves. 

Zelda ends up running to get his grandfather, bawling uncontrollably herself. 

She’s terrified out of her mind, understandably. 

Papa carries him home- he can’t walk. He can’t speak. He can’t form a coherent, clear thought. 

He can’t do anything for a week. 

Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t think, just lays in bed and stares at the ceiling, his mind quite literally at war with itself. 

Sometimes he manages to scream when the pain gets too bad. 

Papa sits next to him the entire time, holding him close when he manages to cry, scream, anything. 

Tries to coax some soup into him so he can eat, but…

He can barely swallow. He can't function in the slightest. 

After that week he… can somewhat do the very basics again. Sleep, manage some food, drink water… 

He slowly gets back around to talking- which he immediately stops doing again. 

It’s garbled, stuttered, staccato sentences that make no sense, barely stringing two words together before changing topics completely, and it hurts. 

It hurts real bad. 

The ache behind his eyes the first time he tried… 

“Papa!” He’d screamed, the first comprehensible thing he’d probably said in a month, then spent the rest of the day screaming and sobbing into his papa’s chest. 

He stops trying to speak. 

Moving is difficult and often painful- his movements are jerky, uncoordinated, and slow. 

As if four bodies are fighting for the ‘correct’ way to move. 

After a while, he gives up on moving, too. 

He spends as much of his time as possible sleeping.  

It’s the only way to escape the constant pain, the horrible loudness in his head. 

He… becomes a bitch. 

To his grandpa, to Zelda… to anyone who encourages him. 

Just starts ignoring everyone, doing everything and anything in his power to fight whenever someone tries to force him. 

Spits, scratches, screams, one time he manages a well placed knee into his father’s groin. He’s still pretty proud of that one. 

That attitude, however, changes with a visit from the minish. 

He wakes up one night to little footsteps on his chest, and he finds himself covered in minish. 

On his stomach, his chest, his arms and legs, a few curled up in his hair, chittering happily to see him awake. 

His mind is still too jumbled to understand them fully, but their love and encouragement seeps through to him. Their kindness and affection touching him, making him feel… remarkably less lonely. 

He hadn’t even realized how lonely he’d been- Papa is, as always, moving around and doing work, Dot is doing her princess duties, Father… well, was never around anyway… 

And even though Papa spends as much time with him as possible it’s different now. 

He can’t do the things he could do anymore- he can’t talk. Walk. Anything. 

He’s stuck just… laying there. 

His good arm slowly reaches to gently stroke a dozing minish on his chest, and he realizes he has to get better. 

For Papa, for Dot, maybe for Father, but… most importantly, for himself. 

So when Papa walks into his room the next morning, he gathers everything inside of him and sits up. 

“M- Morning.” 

He’s seen Papa cry one time in his lifetime- when Mama died. 

But now, Papa holds him and cries for a while. 

“I love you, kiddo, I love you so much.” Papa manages, wiping his eyes carefully. “Let’s get you some breakfast. Let’s get you to the table?” 

And with Papa’s support, a stupidly long time, and several instances of nearly eating the floor, they do manage to get to the table from his room. 

Though after that, Papa makes him a wheelchair. 

Walking is still too much- his legs don’t move right, barely support his weight, and wobble whenever he stands. But wheeling himself around… well, it works. 

Not quite easier. Not quite… better. But it works for him. 

He- for the first time in months- can get around by himself. 

Around the house, around the forge, even outside. 

Never to the town- but to the woods nearby, down the trail, just able to spend time outside. 

When he makes the decision he wants to walk again, Papa reaches out to a man from a whole different town to come and see him. 

They spend a week together, the man assessing his movement, what he's able to do, what he’s not able to do, how well he can move different parts of his body, and so on. 

By the second day he has what the man calls a mobility support, that straps onto his arms and has a big, sturdy stick that leans on the ground. 

His movements are still jerky, odd, and unnaturally slow. But he’s walking. He’s walking. 

The man teaches him exercises, stretches, and different techniques for him to do until he’s completely able to walk again. 

The man is completely certain he’ll be able to. 

It takes a lot of work, a lot of pain, a lot of nasty spills, one broken wrist, and another couple months for him to be able to walk without the supports. 

And though his physical strength is returning, or… on the mend, as Papa liked to say, he still struggles with the mental aspects of it. 

The voices. 

His grandfather finds him zoned out all the time- in between bites of food, walking down the hall, reading a book, just standing there with a blank gaze, staring at nothing, lips moving slowly. 

Talking to himself- he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Papa asks him what he’s talking about. 

His speech is still… stuttered, so he doesn’t do it a whole lot. 

But he can’t. Stop. Talking. To himself. 

Voices in his head all the time- not nearly as loud as when he first put the sword back, but still ever present. 

Telling him what to do, telling each other what to do, arguing with each other, arguing with him, arguing with Papa, conversing with each other, conversing with him, ever present, ever noisy. Driving him crazy. 

He cries one night, unable to sleep, the voices screaming at each other. 

It hurts. 

“Stop it!” He begs, Papa talking softly, helplessly, trying to calm him. “Make them stop, Papa!” 

Papa, of course, can’t do anything for him. 

He screams until he passes out. 

Several times the man who’d helped him walk had to go get Papa because he’d lose focus, start mumbling to himself, and… would stare off at nothing. For hours. 

Sometimes Papa’s able to coax him back to reality, but often times he isn’t. 

He often finds himself… ‘waking up’ to a throbbing headache, his throat burning, sitting on the floor, holding Papa’s hand. 

“Hey, Kiddo.” Papa always said softly, and then held him close while he slept off the nasty headaches. 

Oh… and the headaches. 

Always there, lingering in his head, waiting to stab. 

Sending him to bed for days, nauseating and he can’t tolerate any light or sound or movement. 

“Migraines.” Papa explains softly, massaging his temples as he fights the urge to sob. 

“Hurts.” He manages, knowing it’s only gonna hurt worse if he cries but unable to stop the tears. 

That’s about the time people start asking about him. 

It’s been months- they knew he was hurt, they knew… he wasn’t quite right anymore, but… they expected him to get better. 

He’s not getting better. 

Some days… some days are good days. 

But some are like he had just put that sword back and he can’t think he can’t talk he can’t walk he can only lay there and scream. 

“Want to come to town with me, Kiddo?” Papa asks one day, on one of his good days. 

He considers, blinking at his grandfather. 

“People have been asking ‘bout you. I think it’d do you some good to get out and see some people.” Papa offers gently. 

He considers further, then slowly nods. Carefully moves to get his mobility aids- walking for a while still aches and makes him wobbly- pulling his hair back into a little ponytail. 

And he slowly follows Papa to town for the first time in… five and a half months. 

That’s the first time people really stare. 

He’s winded by the simple walk to town from the forge, he looks ill- he’s pale and trembling. Papa keeps a gentle grip on his arm, steadying him when he falters at the staring. 

“Let them stare, Kiddo.” Papa murmurs, and they keep going. “Just make it worth their time.” 

He hates it. He despises it- the pitying looks, the sympathetic glances at his grandfather, the softness of their voices when anyone actually talks to him. 

Mostly, they talk to grandpa and just stare at him. 

“How’s he doing these days?” The shopkeeper asks softly to Papa, literally staring right at him. 

“Good.” He answers bluntly. Shortly. 

Papa chokes, but not before he catches the proud smile on his grandfather’s face. 

The shopkeeper flushes bright red and doesn’t talk again. 

It’s the same with all of them- no one has the guts to talk to him. Only about him. As if he’s not in front of them, too. 

“I’m sorry your boy is a crip, now.” The mill owner says softly, staring at his crutches. 

He resists the urge to whack the man over the head with one, though it’s difficult. 

Papa ushers him out of the shop without replying. 

“Does his father know?” The bar owner whispers loudly to Papa as they talk for a moment. 

He’s sitting at a table, reminding himself how to breathe. He’s pushed himself too hard. 

In… smoothly… out… out… out- 

“Papa.” He says calmly, and the man flinches and whips to stare at him. 

Papa rushes over to him, hand on his forehead in a flash, asking what’s wrong, what can he do? 

“Home.” He whimpers, struggling to get air in, he can’t remember how, all the voices are screaming loudly at him trying to get him to breathe just breathe in he can’t remember he can’t remember- 

His hands rip the straps of his crutches off, slamming his hands over his ears, sinking into Papa’s hug and letting himself be pulled slowly to the floor. 

He’s choking air down in frantic gasps, hands grasping desperately at Papa’s tunic. 

“Home!” He bawls, and Papa’s much to shocked to say anything- 

Pull yourself together and calm down! We- 

We’re not a we! 

He! He is a him! 

We’re not going home! It’s nice to be outside around people and the sun- 

This sucks! This sucks! Everyone’s staring and no one will talk to us- 

Me! 

Us! 

Me! 

Us! 

Stop freakin stuttering and spit down words back out then! Talk to them first! 

Don’t you even go there- that’s terrible. We can’t- 

He! 

He can’t control that! It’s a stutter! 

It’s a weakness. 

Don’t be a jack-

Knock it off! 

It hurts! 

Stop it! Stop yelling! 

Guys we’re hurting Link. 

I want to go home! 

Well I want to stay out! It’s the first time being out of the house in nearly half a year! 

“Link, son, breathe- slow down for me, kiddo.” 

He crawls into his grandfather’s arms and screams until he passes out. 

Wakes up later with the worst migraine he’s ever had to date- leaving him bedridden for a week. 

He doesn’t realize until later- much, much later- that he’d screamed all of that, out loud, with half the town watching. 

By time he realizes… it’s months later, the town… has spread rumors out of control about him and his little breakdown, and they no longer want anything to do with him. 

He doesn’t tell Sky any of this, of course. 

“You’re not crazy, Four.” Sky says gently, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. 

“Even you guys think it.” He says flatly. He’s noticed the lingering glances when he slips and mumbles to himself, the staring when he jolts back from staring off into space, the way he can’t quite control his movements on his bad days. 

He’s gotten himself injured in a fight more than once because he couldn’t get his arm to move, or his feet to move quick enough. 

“No- no, Four - we don’t. We just worry.” 

“Yeah.” He mutters instead of arguing about it. 

Silence. 

“Has it gotten… I mean… the bartender mentioned it’s been two years…” 

Slowly turning on his back, he looks up at the Skyloftian, sighing. 

“It was different. I knew it was going to be after… after everything. But it didn’t make it any easier.” 

~~~~

I haven’t posted in a hot minute so accept this little ficlet I wrote back in January.

Part two is in the works guys I swear I just got crushed with finals 😭

Anyway- Four and Sky go to a market together. Sky has a good time and Four doesn’t.

788 words, no warnings!

~~~~

Sky loves the markets in other times. Seeing what the surface becomes… seeing the way people interact with one another and help each other survive.

Four despises markets.

He’s not sure why, he’s not sure what happened, if the smith is just shy, how he manages his job with his hatred of smithing… but the teenager does.

Will make excuse after excuse to not go with them into a market, lagging behind and avoiding attention at all costs whenever he’s forced.

So when he’s paired up with Four to get information from townspeople in the market…

“Let me do something else.” Four begs Time immediately, something like fear in the smithy’s eyes.

Time gives him a soft look. Says something softly that he can’t quite hear, but Four goes tense.

“Please. Something- anything else. Anything. Please.”

Time must refuse, because Four looks… defeated.

Stalks back to his side, where he’s sitting at the table, pulling his stuff towards him and aggressively attaching knifes to his body.

“Remember you’re not killing anyone. You’re getting information.” Wild chuckles, but Four shoots him a harsh glare that stops the champion and anyone else from commenting.

He swallows nervously as Wild gives him a look that screams ‘good luck.’

But he waits for the smith, and the teen follows him out the door to the market square when he leaves the inn.

“I’m not talking to anyone.” Four says aggressively, leaving no room for disagreement.

“Alright. I’ll do the talking, you want to gather supplies?” He asks gently.

Four blinks at him, then seems to remember he’s angry. Nods curtly, glaring at a rock in the path.

So that’s how they make it work.

He walks up to a vendor, talking and making conversation as Four looks around.

All day.

It gets hot, the sun bearing down on them.

Four seems determined to maintain his grumpy demeanor, hood pulled and arms crossed despite the heat.

“Let’s take a break. Get something to drink, maybe a snack.” He offers, out of breath.

“I would rather get this over with.” Four says quietly, nearly in a whisper.

“Fifteen minutes.” He pleads, sweat trickling down his temple. “It’s hotter than Din’s mother out here.”

Four does not laugh or even smile. He does, however, relent reluctantly.

They find a vendor making fresh juice, buy two cups, and find a shady orchard and buy some apples and rest under the trees.

Four remains grumpy and quiet, glaring in the direction of the town tensely.

“What did Time tell you?” He asks finally, trying to break the mood.

A straight up nasty scowl. “I need to ‘work on my social skills.’” Four says with little air quotes.

He can’t help it- he laughs.

Four’s cheeks turn bright red, glare turning to him.

“Sorry!” He pleads immediately, still smiling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Really. It’s just… well… you’re not social. At all. This whole time you’ve been hostile and… scary. We were all terrified of you when we met you, man. We were so relieved when you finally started warming up to us. You’re straight up scary.” He smiles again.

Four’s glare makes way for a soft, confused frown.

“I’m not scary.”

But it’s said like a question.

“I don’t have good experiences with people.” Four elaborates quietly. “I just… protect myself, I think.”

He nods slowly. “I understand that. But… aren’t you lonely?” He asks quietly, thinking of how desperately alone he felt… when he was like that.

“No.” Four says shortly, and he believes him. “No. I have everything I need. The friends I want, my grandfather… some small friends. It’s not lonely.”

“There’s a difference between not being alone and not being lonely, kiddo.” He says softly, and Four pauses.

Looks up at him with eyes that look… almost red in the harsh sunlight. “I know. I’m not. Really. I’m happy. With how everything is for me. I like the people I have around me, and I kick out the ones I don’t.”

He laughs at that, grinning at his friend.

Four blinks again.

“Never change, Four. Never change.” He grins, offering an arm.

Despite the heat, Four leans into his chest with a soft sigh. Let’s him wrap him in a hug, staying like that until the juice and snacks are long gone and the sun is nearly setting.

“Ready to head back to the inn?” He asks, glancing down at the smithy and pausing.

“Oh. I guess so.” He says aloud, smiling softly.

Four’s fallen asleep at some point, head resting on his shoulder. Probably heat exhaustion, despite their break to combat it.

Well. No big deal.

He stands, carefully, gathers their things, carrying the smithy back to the inn with the others.

~~~~

“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and it was the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

“I can work with that,” said the witch.

animation of jimmy getting owned in real life

bonus gif of him celebrating i made for funsies :] oh the oblivious bliss...