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1caru · 1 year ago

Note

Please! Can you give us more LU in twilight’s hyrule?

More ancestor and descendant relationship between time and twilight! 🥹 *cries*

hehe I'm honored that you like my work so much and want more <3

unfortunately I already have a ton of other projects lined up, so I can't promise anything yet, but you did remind me that I wanted to write a bit of a second part to my Time and Skull Kid comic, so I whipped this up for you. it's not really edited or anything but hopefully you enjoy it anyway~

(here's the link to the comic that comes before this for anyone who hasn't seen it yet, please read it for context:

"Hold on, where's the old man?"

Twilight turned around sharply, drawing a surprised yelp from the sailor sitting on his shoulders. "What?"

"He was just here," said Four, "Did he just... wander off? That's not like him."

"Maybe he got grabbed by something!" Wind exclaimed, searching the dense foliage for any signs of monsters.

"We haven't seen any monsters since we arrived here, though," Hyrule said thoughtfully, “And we would have heard him put up a fight.”

Dread began to build in Twilight's chest as his wolfish senses caught the faintest sound of an ocarina. He lowered Wind from his back and approached Legend, pulling his map out and offering it to the veteran. "I'll go look for him. There's a Spirit Spring not far from here, wait for us there," he explained, tracing the path with his finger, "The tunnel up ahead is dark, so you'll need a lantern, but the tunnel after that is well lit and leads right to the spring. I'll be back soon."

"Hold your horses, rancher," Legend said, grabbing Twilight's shoulder with his free hand before the man could run off into the woods, "Shouldn't one of us come with you, just in case?"

"I... I think I know where he went," Twilight said softly, "Don't worry, I know every corner of these woods. Trust me."

Legend released Twilight's shoulder and watched as he almost immediately shifted into wolf form and darted back down the trail they had been following. He sighed and motioned to the rest of the group, glancing back at the map in his hand. "Well, come on then, guys."

Twilight raced along the scent trail, muscle memory carrying him effortlessly over tree roots and through small tunnels left by local wildlife. His ears flattened against his head in panic when he picked up Time's trail, heading in the exact direction he had predicted. Would he reach his mentor in time? Or had the man already discovered that which he should not see?

The plaintive whistle of the ocarina, which had been gradually increasing in volume, came to an abrupt halt, and Twilight's heart jumped in his chest as if to mimic it.

He was too late.

His paws slowed to a defeated trot as he approached the quiet clearing. He shifted back into his Hylian form, then silently crept through the bushes, bracing himself for what he would find.

Time knelt in the clearing with his back to Twilight, his arms wrapped around a very familiar little spirit. Just beyond them, a simple gravestone sat nestled in the mossy ground, the inscription on it as clear as the day it was chiseled:

Link, Hero and Mentor.

The spirit in Time's arms lifted his face from where it had been buried in the man's shoulder. Little yellow eyes met Twilight's pale blue ones, and the spirit gasped. “Link! Doggy Link is here too!”

Time turned in surprise, as if just remembering who he had been traveling with until ten minutes ago. He smiled at Twilight for a moment, but suddenly found it hard to make eye contact when he noticed the expression on his protege's face.

“Um, Skull Kid, would you give us a moment?” he asked softly, looking down at the spirit that was still clinging to him.

Skull Kid held on tighter, suddenly looking very scared that Time might simply vanish if he let go.

“I'm not going anywhere, I promise,” Time soothed, “I just need to talk to him. I'll stay right here, okay?”

Twilight nodded behind him.

Skull Kid studied Twilight for a moment, then looked up at Time. “...Okay,” he murmured. He picked up the ocarina he had dropped earlier and pressed it into Time's hand. “Play this when you are done, okay? You better play it!”

Time smiled. “I will.”

He watched Skull Kid hop off into the trees, then rose to his feet, cradling the little tan ocarina in his hand. His thumb ran over the polished surface, the texture so familiar yet such a distant memory. He looked back at the gravestone, suddenly regretting that time their little group had taught each other how to read their different Hylian scripts.

“Seems I've wandered somewhere I should not have gone, haven't I?” he sighed.

Twilight walked into the clearing and stood by Time's side, somberly following his mentor's gaze. “Did Skull Kid tell you anything?”

“No,” Time replied, “But actions often say more than words can.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, unsure how to approach the subject at hand.

Twilight opened his mouth to speak, but Time quickly raised a hand to stop him. “Pup, I will not ask for an explanation if you do not want to give it. The flow of time is all too easily altered after all, one little word can completely change the course of history. However,” he continued, turning towards the young man, “I've seen the way you look at me, especially when our journey began. Someone your age should not have to look so sad. If telling me about this will ease some of the burden you carry, then I am more than happy to listen.”

Twilight looked up at him, his thoughts tripping over themselves in an effort to reach a decision. He desperately wanted to tell Time everything, how he had met him, what he knew of his mentor's fate. He wanted to tell him that changing the flow of time was his greatest desire, that he wished every day for a way to save Time from a death filled with regret and sorrow. And yet, his mind always wandered to that moment, when he had dealt the final blow to Ganondorf. The blow that Time's spirit had taught him. Would he had been able to defeat the Demon King if his ancestor had not been there to guide him? Would “saving” Time ultimately mean dooming Hyrule? Would it mean dooming more young heroes after him to take up the sword and attempt what he could not accomplish?

The rancher closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead on Time's breastplate as his shoulders sagged and tears threatened to form. Time held him close, rubbing gentle circles on his arm with one hand and wrapping the other around his upper back, still clutching the ocarina.

“It's more of a memorial than a grave,” Twilight eventually spoke, "I met your spirit during my journey. You taught me your sword techniques. I suppose I just wanted to thank you by honoring your memory."

Time hummed in response. “I must have been a good teacher then. Your skills are amazing to watch in action.”

Twilight let out a watery chuckle. “They saved my life more times than I can count.” He rested in Time's arms for a moment more, then pulled away with a small smile. “I think that's all I can say for now. Go ahead and spend some time with Skull Kid, I'll tell the others you'll catch up later. Ask Skull Kid to lead you to Ordon Village when you're done.”

“Thank you,” Time said gratefully.

Twilight nodded and headed back out of the clearing.

“...You know,” Time continued, looking at the ocarina thoughtfully, “That song he was playing, it's not from Hyrule.”

Twilight paused.

“It holds a very powerful magic, one said to put the sorrows of the departed who hear it to rest and allow them to pass on peacefully.”

Pale blue eyes widened as another memory floated to the surface. A stone sitting on a mountain path, howling a song that he had mimicked without wondering what it meant. A song that had been answered by a golden wolf with a single eye. A Shade, uttering words that Twilight had almost forgotten in his worry over Time.

At last, I have eased my regrets.

Perhaps things would turn out all right in the end after all.

#lu time #lu twilight #linked universe #linkeduniverse #my writing #icaru's asks #thanks again for all the love #im glad that comic resonated with yall and i hope you enjoy this too

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rotworld · 2 months ago

Text

7: Night Shift

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you work in one of the tourist traps along a popular beach pier known for its party scene. it's a night like any other. you have no idea about the unusual party crashers who are about to show up and ruin everything.

->original work. explicit; contains non-con, graphic descriptions of violence, feral behavior, hard vore, mind control, terato, non-human genitalia.

Last week, it was “Greek Gods of the Sea.” Togas and tridents, mostly, some seashell bikinis, a few fake beards stuffed with plastic starfish. They drank too much and cranked the music too loud, but that’s nothing new. Everyone knows what to expect from the Lucky Rock Pier Party People Association (“Lurpppa” to the local news, “Trouble at Ten O’Clock” to your fellow boardwalk employees, “Those Fucking Kids” to beachfront property owners).

You wear headphones most nights anyway, desperate to keep the shrill, repetitive carnival songs of the pier funhouse from being seared into your brain. They don’t bother you much because the sign at the front says there’s no bathroom and all the hot dogs and funnel cakes are further down the boardwalk, but a few will trickle in just for something to do. If they spot the freezer, they’ll huddle around the glass and stare like the Mona Lisa’s in there, agonizing over a choice between an ice cream sandwich or fruit pops.

Tonight, it’s a glow party. Neon beach balls and glow stick arches. You can’t hear the noise they’re making through your headphones but you can feel the bass throbbing through your feet. Someone’s probably going to call the cops again. The tourist family population retreats this time of night so it’s just you, the handful of shops still open this late, and Trouble at Ten O’Clock. This one’s more fun to watch, at least, bright and colorful like the spill of noctiluca. They’re vivid in glow-in-the-dark body paint, covered in luminescent stripes, swirls and splatters.

A few of them come stumbling up the pier earlier than usual. Three women in different halter tops, painted with matching curly cues and butterflies on their faces. One of them wanders off to look at the tote bags. Another, much more inebriated, leans heavily against her friend. The designated driver, you assume, who drags her to the freezer to pick out something to eat. You glance down at the beach and see one of them sitting on Lucky Rock, the jagged chunk of stone sticking out of the water not far from shore. You’re not sure how he climbed up the slippery, steep sides but he’s definitely not supposed to be up there. The people on the beach are way too excited about it, gathered around cheering and hollering.

Three ice cream sandwiches are dropped on the counter in front of you. You lift one side of your headphones and shrieking noise rushes in, the glow party just as raucous as you expected. “Will that be all?” you ask. The woman nods. Her friend starts to fall over and she has to support her weight against her shoulder. You ring up the total and she groans. Everything on the boardwalk is three times the price it should be, but she adds a tote bag when the other woman wanders back with one and tosses their ice cream inside. “Thanks, come again,” you call, sliding your headphones back on.

Ten minutes until closing time. Not much to do but sweep out the sand gathered in the doorway and tidy up the disaster zone a horde of children made of the stuffed animal section. Sharks and dolphins on the top shelf, turtles on the second, fish and starfish on the third—

Something moves in the corner of your eye. Startled, you turn and find a man ambling slowly through the store. A stray from the glow party, you think at first. Then you look again, paying attention this time. He looks like all the partygoers down on the beach, a silhouette with luminescent edges, but he shouldn’t. Not under the store lights. He’s midnight blue from head to toe beneath intricate glowing patterns, chest and shoulders speckled with small dots like cyan freckles with larger spots along his sides. Thin stripes trace the outlines of muscle beneath the skin, turning into a spiral pattern at his hips.

Which you can see, you realize, because he’s naked. No swim trunks. No speedo. He’s wet and dripping all over the floor like he just crawled out of the water, a puddle slowly growing beneath his feet, and you can follow the course of every droplet as they roll slowly down curves and valleys of lithe swimmer’s muscles. Some of the lines on his torso are moving, you realize. Horizontal squiggles on either side of his abdomen flinch and pulsate.

Gills, you realize. The pieces come together all at once in your mind. Despite working the boardwalk as long as you have, you’ve never seen a sea muse before. Most people haven’t. They’re skittish, you’ve heard. They prefer quiet coves and grottos, places humans have a harder time reaching. Safer that way if they decide to shed their tail and sun themselves for a while. This one certainly doesn’t seem bothered by the commotion down at the beach, poking through the t-shirt rack with long, clawed fingers. He doesn’t look much like the pictures you’ve seen, either, but all the pictures are of muses lurking in tropical reefs, big-finned and colorful like bettas. Beautiful like him, but not bioluminescent and not quite so large. He must come from deeper, colder waters.

You set down a stuffed octopus as gently as you can but he hears it, turning swiftly to face you. Your heart races. He has the large, eerie eyes of an abyssal creature, glowing half-moons gleaming underneath wide silver irises and black sclera. Nobody prepared you for what to do in this situation. Do you play dead? Raise your arms and make noise to scare him off? What you mistook for slicked back hair is some kind of shimmery membrane. It flares out like the neck flap of a cobra in a threat display, but it starts to sag and flatten the longer you stare at each other. His eyes move slightly in their wide sockets, looking you over head to toe.

An uncannily human smile spreads across his face. He makes some odd gestures towards you. His mouth moves. He’s talking, you realize, trying to communicate. You almost lift your headphones off but your brain catches up at the last second. You don’t know a lot about sea muses but you know enough to keep your ears covered.

He blinks, staring at you in almost comical wide-eyed confusion. Then he smirks, his gills fluttering with laughter. He starts pacing back and forth, slowly inching closer like a shark circling prey in the water. He’s between you and the door so you inch towards the register counter instead. Maybe you can slip out the back?

He stops suddenly, leaving some distance between you. He speaks again, tapping the side of his head and pointing at you. You shake your head and he frowns, but he doesn’t give up. You watch, morbid curiosity overpowering your fear, as he starts to move in a slow, seductive manner. It’s some kind of dance, you think, arching his back and extending the membrane on his head again, bioluminescence glittering on thin, translucent flesh. He holds your gaze as he runs a hand down the center of his chest, over his stomach, down to his pelvis and—

You’re not entirely sure what you expected to see between his legs, but it’s still a bit of a shock. The thick, jutting member is deep indigo at the base and a lighter aquamarine down the length. It barely resembles a human cock except in its vaguely phallic silhouette, oozing from an engorged sheath that dribbles cloudy slime. The shaft is smooth with a gentle upward curve, thick and shuddering with unnatural flexibility. It narrows to a soft triangular tip. Two additional appendages unfold from his hips. They remind you of crustacean legs, rigid and insectoid. They bend along two joints, pawing at the air with their sharp claw tips.

The sea muse makes a thrusting motion. The tentacle-cock wraps around his hand, drooling like a tongue. His bioluminescent patches flash and dim like a flickering candle. You’re no marine biologist but it feels safe to assume this is a mating display.

“Uh. No? No thanks,” you say.

He grins. You see a row of daggers for teeth. He speaks slowly and your heart skips a beat when you clearly read the words, Are you sure? on his lips.

“I’m sure. Thanks anyway.” Maybe you should be flattered. You’ve never heard of anyone getting hit on by a sea muse. He lets out a big, disappointed sigh, extra dramatic so you can’t miss it, and gives himself one last stroke before he moves on. You half-expect the cock to slither back into its sheath, but it stays obscenely hard and straining upright between his legs.

To your dismay, he doesn’t leave but instead pokes around the shop some more. He wanders to the left, examining surfboard keychains and hibiscus shot glasses. He wanders to the right, squinting at the postcards. Eventually, he makes his way to the freezer and slides it open with some difficulty. His head membrane flares out wider than you’ve ever seen it the first time he sticks his hand inside. You wonder if he hissed. He tries again, pinching a fruit pop in its colorful package between his claws. He rips the plastic open.

“Hey!” you say. “You can’t just—”

He looks back over his shoulder at you, eyes narrowed and membrane spread in warning. You turn away and continue to mind your own business.

The glow party seems to be winding down. The beach balls are all sitting in a pile. Some of the glow stick arches have toppled over. The pounding bass isn’t shaking the pier anymore. You see a lot of people lounging in the sand, rolling around, stretched out together, a bunch of them writhing—

Oh, you think. That’s bold, even for Trouble at Ten O’Clock. There’s no mistaking those thrusting, grinding, back and forth movements for anything else. There are a few couples scattered around but most of them have settled into a spot worryingly close to the water, seafoam rushing around them whenever the waves come surging up the beach. They tangle together in passionate motion, kissing and caressing and fucking like it’s the last night of their lives.

Something about it unsettles you. They’re being so rough with each other. This isn’t a slow, sensual orgy but a frenzy. Mindless, animalistic rutting and forceful movements. You see mouths open in silent screams. Some of them aren’t moving. Some of them are trying to crawl away but they’re being dragged back by the ankle, the hair, the arm, pulled through the dark sand. Why is the sand so dark? And wet, glistening where the tide hasn’t risen yet.

The horrific realization grips you slowly. You’re in denial. You must be having a nightmare. A man tries to claw his way up the beach but someone else pins him down, straddles his back. You don’t see what happens, can’t make it out in the dark, but the paint on his body stretches and splits, and the sand darkens in a liquid motion under him. A woman arches her back in the throes of ecstasy, surrounded on all sides by eager, thrusting bodies. They’re biting her, you realize. Their heads lower and blood splashes the sand. Through all of it, she squirms and rakes her fingers through the sound as though she’s never felt pleasure like this before. Someone crawls between her legs and she opens them eagerly, loops them around the waist of something that is not human, you realize. None of the ones surrounding her are. They glow more brightly in more precise patterns, membranes pulsating, gills fluttering.

Your headphones are ripped away, clattering uselessly to the floor. You hear an awful cacophony of moaning, screaming, begging, and weeping. You think, for just a second, about running. Your muscles tense and your heart races. Where? For how long? You don’t know but you’re willing to try.

“Where are you going?” says the sea muse and you can’t move a muscle. His voice is low and melodic. You hear the ocean when he speaks; the hiss and splash of the shallows, the heavy drone of the deep. “Hm? Do you want to join them?” You hear the wet slap of his footsteps for the first time as he comes closer. His hand grasps your chin lightly, barely applying any pressure, but you feel compelled to turn around. To look up at his sharp-toothed smile and the gentle pulse of his bioluminescence. “My shiver is down there. Frenzying,” he says. He turns your head to the side, just far enough to glimpse the gruesome scene on the beach, then returns your gaze to him.

“Please don’t,” you say hoarsely, your throat constricted. “Don’t make me, don’t—”

“It’s been so long,” he says, and your mouth snaps shut. “Since I last came ashore.” He walks backwards, his fingers still ghosting against your chin, and you follow. You don’t want to but your legs move on their own. His voice is addictive. You hang on every word and you hope he never stops talking. The silence between makes you tremble. “Even longer since I last mated. You can see it. You can tell how long I’ve waited, if you look.”

You don’t want to look but your eyes betray you, gaze lowering to the slithering thing between his legs. It curls around itself impatiently like a snake. Another glob of slime slides slowly from its sheath and dribbles on the floor. The way it moves frightens you, the base twitching and undulating, slug-like.

“You want this,” he says. He takes another step back and you rush forward. He strokes beneath your chin.

You shake your head desperately. Your mouth is trying to shape the word “yes.”

“You do. You want this.” His back hits the register counter and he leans against it, spreading his legs wide. “You want to taste me,” he says, his voice dipping lower.

You drop to your knees so fast it hurts, feeling the blooming sting of new bruises. It doesn’t matter that you’re terrified. It doesn’t matter that the thing bobbing in your face is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. You open your mouth and suck the strange, pointed head without hesitation. The sea muse moans and your thighs quiver, inner muscles clenching on nothing. You have to hear it again.

“You need it,” he purrs, thrusting shallowly. You bob your head, taking him deeper every time. He hits the back of your throat quickly, his cock eager and probing at the inside of your mouth. “You need me to spill inside you. You need everything I have to give.” You moan and choke around his length. His hand rests on the back of your head, forcing you down further. His thrusts get harder and faster, crushing your nose against his slick abdomen.

Some part of you is screaming at the alien movements of his cock, how it nudges and prods and tries to snake down your throat, but you can’t focus on that. He doesn’t let you. Every grunt and moan, every hiss of praise, makes the fear even more distant.

“You need—oh, yes,” he groans, clutching your head with both hands as he pounds into your mouth. “You need to mate with me. You need—mm, suck on me, suck on the tip—fuck, you need my milt. I have so much and you need all of it.”

You make a humiliating, needy sound when he suddenly pulls you off of his cock. It slips out of your mouth reluctantly, the tip sliding back and forth against your lips. He drags you to your feet by the forearm, shoving you against the register counter. He bends you over it, tearing at your clothes with his claws. You cum when he blows softly against your ear. You’re still shivering, clawing mindlessly at the counter when he kisses and licks the shell, sliding his tongue into every little dip and groove.

“Do you want me?” he whispers. You hear a slick sound, a grunt, and then his hand is at your entrance. He uses the pads of his fingers but he’s not very careful. His claws prick your thighs as ass while he smears thick, warm globs between your legs. “Hm? Do you want me?”

“Yes,” you sob. You arch your back and try to press your hips back against him. He makes a growling sound against your ear that makes your knees buckle, nipping the lobe playfully.

“You want to be fucked?” One hand reaches around and roughly works your sex, spreading a warm, tingling sensation. “Want to be filled with milt?”

“Yes!”

His cock slides along the curve of your ass, teasing you. Then it slithers down, sliding into just the right angle with the tip pushed against your entrance. “Good human,” he purrs, and your eyes roll back in your head. His tip presses inside and then he’s thrusting hard and fast without warning. More slime drips from his sheath and slides down his length, the tingling slickness easing his punishing rhythm. It wouldn’t matter if the lubrication wasn’t there. You can’t do anything but lay there and gasp and meet his thrusts, needing his cock inside you more than you need to breathe.

Those sharp, grasping appendages hook around your thighs. You feel them lock into place, their grip tightening until you’re right up against the sea muse’s body. His thrusts don’t slow at all. If anything, he’s even rougher and faster, deep humping thrusts that make you tremble and scream. He keeps talking through all of it no matter how winded and breathless he gets, keeping you right on the precipice of orgasm after orgasm with filthy whispers and wet, open-mouthed kisses against your ear.

“So tight,” he hisses. “You feel so good, squeezing me like that. You want it so much. I’m going to give you everything. You’re going to be so fucking full.” His hips stutter, losing rhythm. You cum again just as a rush of warm wetness pulses inside you, spurting every time the sea muse thrusts. Thick, creamy liquid churns and foams at your entrance, a trickle dribbling down your thigh. You hear a few drops hit the floor under you. The sea muse rides out his orgasm with long, loud moans that send you over the edge again and again. He crushes you against the counter, hips rolling. One last, slow thrust fills you with another hot gush of his strange cum.

He breathes heavily. His hips sway while he’s still sheathed inside you and his cock curls just the right way to make you sob for mercy. “Hm? You think we’re done?” he murmurs. “I told you. It’s been a long time. I still have so much more to give you. And you want it, don’t you? You need it?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice quivering and broken. The sea muse starts to fuck you again and all you can do is let him.

You don’t know when it ends. It could be minutes, or hours, or days. The passage of time is measured in breaths and heartbeats and orgasm after orgasm. The floor is slick and sticky under you, a white puddle of milt steadily growing. You think he bites you but you don’t know. It all feels good, especially when he tells you how perfect you are, how sweet and submissive, how well you’re milking his cock of everything he’s saved for this moment. He makes you ride him once, seated on the counter while he bounces you in his lap. He digs his claws into the meat of your ass and leaves marks.

You don’t know who finds you. Someone else who works the pier, probably, too horrified and embarrassed for both of you to stick around. The Coast Guard sweeps the water but the sea muses are long gone, leaving nothing behind but the mangled leftovers of their frenzy. The bodies glisten in the sand, torn to shreds like a burst whale carcass. By sunrise, the flies and the seagulls are swarming. You’re escorted to an ambulance with a blanket over your shoulders. The first person to look you in the eyes tells you, very quietly, that you might want to quit your job and consider moving inland.

“Those are mating marks,” he says. You don’t know how he can possibly tell, given that they’re everywhere. Jagged, oozing circles dot your shoulders, arms, thighs and back. “Because they’re at a very precise depth. Meant to scar, not to kill. That means it’s going to come back.” They tell you not to look at the water but you do, one last time, before you leave. You don’t see anything. That doesn’t mean anything. The water’s deep and it seems to go on forever.

That night, in a hospital bed, you have a dream of someone singing to you. It sounds like the ocean filling your ears.

#rotpeach writes #goretober #original #slooooowly working my way through asks lol im just gonna do a couple at a time #thank you for all the kind words and comments im so glad other people are enjoying these as much as i am!

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