#to be continued…

[leakyweep]

rosinante knight au where he’s sworn to protect you.

he kneels down before you, head bowed, blade shining as he promises both his allegiance to your family as well as the safety and wellbeing of their prized royalty; you.

he’s quiet at first, bound to his duties. he follows you, makes sure everything is in order. when it isn’t, he quickly swoops in to fix it.

like that one time, you and him were walking through the market in town square, yourself busy with citizens flocking to meet you. you hadn’t noticed the man waiting to take you around a dark corner—

rosinante had already hung the man by his britches from the flag pole.

he slowly warms up to you, gazing at you when you weren’t looking from beneath his blonde locks. his mocha eyes betrayed him, as they sparkled when they met your own hopeful eyes. he always filled you with a sense of warmth, of compassion, of deep respect.

not only was he a protector, but a bringer of joy, wonder, and love. always bound to protect you, to aid you in times of need.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 8: "Why won't it stop?" (Wild)

Ao3

CW for blood and injury, vomiting, and a character acting possessive

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Wild is pretty sure the ground isn’t supposed to move beneath your feet. Well, maybe it should have the illusion of movement. But to actually blur and dip and streak backward as though it actively has it out for him…that’s something he doesn’t have much experience with.

Except for those times when he’d suffered such severe blood loss he had passed out on the side of the road. Yeah…except for those times.

He’s…mostly sure that blood loss isn’t the culprit this time. Mostly. Okay, fine, he’s pretty sure. 

To be honest, he hardly remembers how he got into this situation in the first place. Walking and walking down an eternal maze of twisting hallways, under an expanse of thick darkness, punctuated solely by a stray lantern here and there.

The ropes constricting his wrists burn. The delicate skin there is all but rubbed away at this point, and the area is raw and bloodied. His feet falter, catching on the sweeping woven threads bound tightly about his ankles. 

Around him, monsters cluster, chattering away. Their voices collide with his skull like thunderclaps shaking the ground. Incoherent, yet oh so painful.

He winces as a stray piece of stone nearly trips him up. It sends pain shooting through his body. A shudder follows in its aftermath, followed by another and another. They assault him like pelting raindrops, making his aching bones scream and his muscles turn to stone. 

His teeth have begun chattering now, he realizes, only after he succeeds in nearly biting off his own tongue. 

Wild lifts his hands, trying dazedly to wrap his arms around himself. But they fall back to rest upon his stomach, leaden and useless. 

How much longer? He wonders, with the clouded despair of someone who knows there will be no answer to their question. How much farther will he have to walk before they reach their destination?

What they’ll do to him there is another unpleasant mystery, one he doesn’t really care to puzzle out. Beat him up, more than likely. Or maybe eat him.

Wild frowns and his eyes tear up. 

Do these sorts of monsters even eat people? Kill them in horrible, agonizing ways, sure. But eat them? He isn’t so certain. He’ll have to test that at some point. 

Something sharp and hard connects with the backs of his knees and he jolts out of his feverish thoughts. He trips, tries to catch himself, and hits the hard stone floor. His chin connects with it and the taste of iron explodes in his mouth.

The pounding in his head picks up until his entire body is screaming with it. His vision goes a striking shade of star-speckled white, then crackling gray. A squealing whine fills his ears, set against a backdrop of static. Distantly, he registers himself gagging.

His captors hardly allow him time to collect himself before they drag him back to his feet. He sways and stumbles in their grip. Pain buffets him in the place of the wind that fails to blow. Cold bites at his insides, freezing muscle and bone. 

Wild coughs. A splatter of crimson brightens his gray vision. He stares down at it, uncomprehending. Until, failing limbs finally give way and then he is lying in it, though he can’t remember how he got there. Eagerly, his tunic soaks it up, turning wet and clammy beneath his blood and sweat. 

He shudders, curling in on himself. Feet and fists rain down upon him. The telltale grunts and squeals of his assailants seem so far away. Much farther than the shards of agony that puncture through his flesh.

“Stop,” he croaks, “p-please…”

They don’t listen to his plea. Claws fist in his hair and drag him up by it. Wild chokes on a cry, fumbling desperately to get his feet under him. But no sooner has he managed it than he collapses again, gritting his teeth against a scream.

Everything hurts. 

“Stop,” he begs again, voice catching in his throat. “L-let me go.”

He wishes this were all just another dream. Then, at least, he could awaken, safe in his brothers’ company, warm and content in Twilight’s embrace. 

But the pain, the panic as the monsters grab hold of his bindings and drag his arms up over his head — it is all so very real.

The beasts begin to pull him along, oblivious to the way his body scrapes against the worn ground. Every bump and jagged edge shreds his clothes and skin alike, drawing blood and sowing fire. 

He thinks that he tries to get up. He might scream too, as incessant, endless pain overtakes any other thought. Or perhaps, he is too weak for either action. Perhaps, he is already losing himself to the darkness.

Either way, when it comes, roaring in his ears and in his mind, he doesn’t try to fight it. And when it overtakes him, all he feels is relief.

….

He awakens to the sound of voices. Or rather, one voice, sneering and sharp.

“I gave you the task of providing me with a living hero. A living one!”

Heels beat harshly upon the floor. Wild bites back a wince. 

Would it kill them to be quiet?

But then fingers fist in his hair, yanking on his scalp as they hold him aloft, and he thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have complained. The pain the noise had caused was nothing compared to this.

A feeble, wheezed groan splits his broken lips. His eyelids flutter, the need to see what is happening around him struggling against the near-irresistible draw of unconscious oblivion. The only thing he can make out, however, are the beady eyes of monsters. They flicker fearfully between him and the person holding him up like a piece of meat at the market. 

“This hero,” the voice continues, hissing like an angry lizalfos, “is hardly even breathing! The venom in his veins runs so thick his blood is green with it. How can I draw the life force from something speckled with wounds and drowning in bestial poison?”

The claws release him and Wild collapses back to the ground with a low whine. Through barely-open slits, he can make out the blurry outline of a gaudy high-heeled boot. 

“I need power! I need magic!” Every word is punctuated by a step and every step by an explosion of violet-red magic. “I need him! And I cannot get him if I am still in this paltry state! If that cursed Shadow had only granted me my full power instead of hoarding it for himself. And all so he could murder those precious heroes of his.”

The figure stills, suddenly, and turns back to him. At this distance, Wild can finally get a clearer view of them. White hair cut short, clothes that leave very little to the imagination, violet eyes and tanned skin, crackling power, and crimson markings. 

A frown dips his brows. He has never seen this woman before and yet, he has the faintest remembrance of a mention of her. 

The captain, sitting beside the fire, easy laughter spilling from his mouth as he drapes an arm over Wind.

“I never mentioned who started the war? Oh, that was Cia. Yeah, she was a sight, let me tell you.”

More laughter, but not quite as easy this time. 

“Why she attacked us? Well, she craved the same thing that they all do. Power.” The ghost of something dark and haunted speeds across his face like a breeze across Hyrule’s plains.

“...Control over things that weren’t meant to be hers.”

“Cia,” he chokes. 

She quirks one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You know who I am? Link has spoken of me, then.” She stalks toward him, a ravenous grin splitting blood-red lips. “How he must miss me. How he must crave my presence by his side.”

Wild feels bile rise in his throat, and for once it has nothing to do with the wounds competing to do him in. 

“He doesn’t want an-anything like that,” he spits. The words burn his throat like molten lava, but stubbornly, he pushes on. “He doesn’t miss you at all. The only time…the only time he talked about you was to tell us you st-started a w-war.”

Cia’s expression darkens. She lowers herself down before him. Skewering his chin with one talon-like nail, she forces his head up. For a moment, she remains there, motionless, eyes searing into his skull. He meets her gaze with as fierce of a glare as he can manage. 

(Which, given his condition, is likely more like a miserable pout than anything else. But Wild decides to go with it. For Warriors’ sake.)

Then, right when he has begun to wonder if maybe she has decided to engage him in an excruciating staring contest, a slow smirk spreads across her face. She pulls back, dragging her nail against his skin as she does so.

“On second thought, I believe this hero will do nicely. He has life force left in him, yet.”

Wild hardly has time to comprehend her words. Turning away, Cia flicks a finger. 

And darkness swallows everything.

[becausebuckley]

🛏️ 🛏️ 🛏️ 🛏️

PLEASE! You can’t just interrupt there if it’s going to be soooo fucking exciting!🥺🥺

hehe alright alright, here’s some more!! i ended up not stopping at 12 sentences, but tried to find a somewhat nicer ending point <3

“You’re familiar with our firstborn son, Prince Daniel,” King Phillip says. It’s a statement, not a question.

Eddie nods. He only knows the basics, honestly. This was well before his time, when he still lived abroad. Now doesn’t seem like the time to press for details, though. He’ll ask his friends about it later. They’ll fill in the gaps. Between Athena’s endless knowledge of royal history and Chim’s love of gossip, they’re bound to know everything Eddie needs to hear and more.

For now, all Eddie knows was that Prince Daniel was born a year after Princess Maddie — Duchess Maddie? He’s not sure which title takes precedence, actually — and that he was a sickly child, who died at a young age.

“Daniel’s illness could not be cured by ordinary means,” the King continues. “The Queen and I found ourselves forced to entertain, ah, less common methods.”

“Witchcraft.” The Queen’s face is grave. “She claimed she could save Daniel if we had another child.”

Her face distorts. Suddenly, she looks overcome by grief. It’s the most emotional Eddie has ever seen her.

“But she couldn’t,” Queen Anne chokes out. King Phillip reaches out and takes her hand. “We still lost our little boy.”

“My condolences for your loss.”

Eddie means it, he really does. He’s just fighting off feelings of nausea at the same time. He can’t be entirely sure, not knowing all the details, but it sounds like the King and Queen only had Buck as, what, a saviour baby?

There’s a stark difference in their reactions to Eddie’s news about Buck and their grief for Prince Daniel. Eddie doesn’t try to think about it too hard, knowing he won’t like what he’ll conclude.

“When we met with her, the witch left us a warning,” King Phillip continues, taking over from his wife again. “She said something about a long, dreamless sleep, and that only true love’s kiss could wake him.”

“But it didn’t wake him.” Queen Anne lifts her head and looks at Eddie, her eyes wide and cold as glass. Only years and years of training allow Eddie to hold back his flinch when the force of her anger is turned to him. “Our love for Daniel didn’t wake him. She was a liar, and a fraud, and we lost everything.”

“Or so we thought.” The King glances at his wife.

“You think she was talking about Prince Evan,” Eddie says.

[evenlyevi]

Goodnight.

[mearchy]

my favorite genre of fictional character is like "i am terrifying to almost everyone, i'm very good at killing, i can endure anything, i've become exceptionally good at playing into my reputation, and if you try to give me positive social interaction i will react with confusion and cower in a corner like an abused animal. and i may try to shoot you. but there is also a chance i may imprint on you like a feral dog receiving its first loving touch! good luck."

[bookwyrminspiration]

god I would be UNSTOPPABLE if I was capable of consistently initiating tasks. just you wait. you'll be waiting a while but just you wait

[wormspoodle]

compiled some things

[44boora]

The Resurrection of Stanley Pines 🪦🩸

[schistcity]

ohhh… you guys are like… STUPID stupid

[silverview]

psa

[pakchoys]

our secret

[onebadnoodle]

the sidekicks

[scootdoesart]

I finished dungeon meshi and I just need to doodle the sillies being silly to cope

[steveharrington]

redownloaded instagram and got sucked into reels and it’s truly like an alternate reality happening over there. video of a girl being like “looking back on my cringe 2021 taste….” and it’s a pic of her wearing like. jeans and a top. the top has a checkerboard pattern. she’s like screaming in agony. the comments are all like “omg not the microtrend 😭 i can’t believe i ever wore that” like woah. i think you guys are crazy

[catwouthats]

THEY MAKE ME INSANE

Proof below:

Also, I’m fucking crying, I think his arm is like that bc he fell asleep holding the photo.

EDIT: more proof: