#yay :) /s

[mitamicah]

Today's morning mood is 'everbody secretly hates you and why shouldnt they bc you are a selfish prat'

...My favourite flavor, thank you brain /s

[midrosel]

the last piece of this little shit evaded me for more than three years but today i managed to get it !!!

[adrift-in-thyme]

Day 15: Self Sacrifice (Warriors & Mask)

Ao3 link

Cw for blood and injury

———————

It happens too fast for him to stop it.

Cia’s forces attacked at dawn and haven’t let up since. He’s exhausted beyond belief, every bone within him aching, eyes so dry they feel like sandpaper. There are blisters on his feet and hands in the small places where the skin is still soft enough to rub off, blood on his uniform from countless tiny mistakes. Link can’t remember a time when he felt so close to collapsing.

So, maybe that’s why he doesn’t see it when a bokoblin raises its sword. He’s too preoccupied with the monsters in front of him and on the sides, line upon line of screaming, squealing beasts. And when the bokoblin leaps forward, he doesn’t hear its feet leave the ground, doesn’t turn to see it heading straight for him.

Until another scream joins the rest. A terribly human one.

Link whirls around, terror spiking nauseatingly. He knows what he’s going to see, somewhere deep within he knows it. Still, when his eyes come to rest upon the sight, he doesn’t want to believe it's a reality.

A bokoblin lies dead a short way away and not far from it a familiar green-clad figure wavers, blanching as he stares down at the gash streaking across his middle. He collapses as Link reaches his side, arms already out to cushion his fall. His breath comes in short, little gasps and when he meets Link’s gaze, his eyes are abnormally bright with pain.

“C-captain,” he murmurs, blood dribbling down his mouth, and Link grasps his small hand, squeezing reassuringly.

“I’m here Sprite.” His voice cracks despite his best efforts and he swallows, trying to shove down the terrible whirlwind of emotion rising within him.

He glances around, taking in the sword and shield–always just a bit too big for him–fallen uselessly by the young hero’s side, the bunny hood that has slipped off his head. Link’s chest grows so tight he can’t breathe.

A child lies dying in his arms, a child. This should never have happened.

“Why?” He asks, though there are a million other things he should be doing, questions he should be asking, orders he should be giving. But it comes out because it needs to, because in this moment it feels like he can’t possibly live without knowing the answer.

Mask smiles, the tiniest lift of the lips, and it seems to make him look even younger.

Too young, much too young to be bleeding out on a battlefield.

“Cause I care about you, y-you idiot.”

A lump rises in Link’s throat, bringing tears with it.

“We’re gonna get you a fairy,” he forces himself to say, through the guilt and rage, through the sorrow and disbelief. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Mask blinks slowly, as though even that is a laborious task. He coughs into his hand, splattering blood upon pale skin.

“You can’t lie to me, Captain. I-I know you too well for that.”

But Link is already searching in his pouch, scrambling to find something, anything that can save him. Battle tools, weapons, maps, and compasses and—there! He drags it out, the last occupied bottle he has, still half full of deep, red potion.

He supports Mask’s head with one hand, presses the bottle to his lips with the other.

“Drink.”

Mask gives him a halfhearted glare, but he opens his mouth obediently and lets Link pour the liquid in. He slumps back when it's done, wincing as the movement jostles his wound.

“That’ll help the pain a little,” Link says. His mind is a swirling mess now, of thoughts rushing past too fast. And when he sets the bottle back in his pouch, he realizes his hands are shaking.

Usually, he’s quite good at operating under pressure. But usually, his little brother isn’t the one who’s injured. It’s easier when it’s a soldier whose name he doesn’t even know. It’s easier when it’s himself.

Why couldn’t it have been me?

He grits his teeth, closing his pouch with more force than is necessary. Mask watches him through half-lidded eyes. His breathing is slower, exhaustion dragging at his features. The ground is turning a dark reddish brown, tinged by his blood.

The potion has given them a bit of time, but that’s all.

Link tears off his scarf and wraps it around him. He’s followed this same action so many times in the dark of the night when ghosts of the past came to haunt, and the moon threatened to fall. Never, however, has he had to watch as the blue fabric turns navy with blood that is not his own.

Why couldn’t it have been me?

It’s running on a loop now, a desperate, angry, guilt-ridden chant that keeps his limbs moving, keeps his brain from clouding, keeps him from collapsing.

He can’t fall. He doesn’t deserve to. Not when Mask fell for him.

“You’re b-blaming yourself aren’t you,” Mask slurs, as Link tightens his makeshift bandage and scoops him into his arms.

He’s so light, so small, and when Link looks down at him, he looks back, his expression more open than he’s ever seen it in the light of day. Then, his eyebrows scrunch in a little frown.

“Don’t.”

Link chuckles, wetly. “I wish it were that easy, Sprite.”

And really, truly he does. Because even as he rushes through the battlefield, dodging arrows and bombs, leaping over fallen bodies of both friend and foe, heart pounding as Mask fades in his arms, it eats him alive. And when he reaches the healer’s tent and lays Mask in their care, watches over him as they stitch him back together, it consumes him.

He's too numb to cry, even in the night when the camp is dark and silent, the monsters fought back (for now at least), and Mask is curled up beside him, still too pale, a giant bandage wound around his abdomen. But he can’t help bringing the hero a little closer to him, tucking him in a little tighter, and whispering a promise he intends to keep.

This will never happen again. Next time he’ll be more alert, next time he’ll be prepared. He’ll protect his little brother, no matter the cost. Even if it’s him that bleeds out on the battlefield in the end.

[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

Right I have ocd.

[blu3bl00d3d]

It happened....

(our alter counter just casually going up by 1)

-🟣+🟨

[spacedustmantis]

having more #girlfailure feelings

[lenreli]

If I'd have known that defeating the Walker of Illusions would result in the whole 'can't teleport anywhere' I'd have procrastinated even more.

[secretsocietyxmen]

I've been getting nearly 1000 notes on my "let someone else kill the joker" post, don't like that. It's the fact it's literally the only post that's getting more than 10 notes. A Batman post.

*Sigh* At least it can't get any wors-

"That's because Joker is his boytoy..."

...SON OF A-

[misscloudiedays]

I really need to get some ideas I’m so close to just sleeping

[pyrogearheartsociety]

You ever catch yourself doing something and just- scold yourself like a cat? Like

"NO bad, don’t you dare- do not! Not again you little shit"

Y’know?

[videonoises]

hahaha

[sailor-moon39]

Guess all I needed was a good cry, i'm feeling much better afterwards.

[rennybu]

something unknown but very powerful came over me. retro spirk kyaa❣️❣️❣️

[jupitercl0uds]

ok maybe i actually am ill because i can feel vomit in my throat. speaking of which, i hate this. youre just making my throat all acidic and annoying. come out and fight me like a thing

[pavementworm]

I'm aching so much and can't sleep :(

[iamcrapatusernames]

i just fucking went on the wrong bus and now i’m in some town i’ve never been to before and i’m just about to cry. i fucking hate this