So, I read some of LittleBlueNayru's new stories, which mainly involve crack pairings. Link's hat X Link's hair, et cetera. So I figured, "Eh. What the hell. Might as well make an attempt." So I reached down into the deepest, twisted, perverted depths of my mind to come up with the weirdest pairing ever. And here it is.
The red arrow knocked back in forth inside the hero's quiver, bouncing off the other arrows stored there. It shrank away from the contact, retreating against the rigid leather case. The other arrows pressed forward, crowding the red arrow against the side of the quiver.
For a moment, panic flooded the red arrow's mind. The other arrows had never liked it. Not since the day when, driven by monotony and boredom, the Malo Mart proprietor had painted that one arrow red. The red arrow still didn't know why it had been chosen to be different, but it was, and still hadn't heard the end of it. Not even now, when the newly purchased arrows were stuffed into a quiver and taken Goddesses-knew-where.
But after a moment, the arrow straightened. They were just jealous. Jealous of everything about it. While they possessed only small hunting arrowheads, the red arrow sported a full armor-punching bodkin. Its fletching was pure white goose feather in comparison to the other's duck feathers.
Then the hero dropped the quiver on the ground. The other arrows, seeing their chance, banded together and pushed the red arrow out of the quiver, where it lay on the ground, casting wary glances at the new and unfamiliar surroundings. Then the hero dropped something else; something the red arrow never thought to see.
A bow.
But not just any bow. The most beautiful, well-crafted, perfect bow ever placed on the earth. The black yew it was made of sparkled darkly in the sunlight as the hero gently lay it down on the ground. A full three feet long, the wood made a perfect curve before sweeping out slightly in a suggestive manner.
Almost against its will, the red arrow's gaze was dragged to the bowstring. A perfect, lightly waxed cord stretched the length of the bow, a single drop of dew sliding down its length.
The red arrow grew slightly redder as it stared. It had never seen a bow's string before, and to see one now, in so suggestive a manner...
The red arrow shifted uncomfortably, feeling the gaze of the bow fall on it. The bow's appreciative gaze passed down the arrow's length, lingering on the large bodkin it was so proud of, passing over the perfectly straight shaft, and finally, just hidden underneath the white goose feathers, the red arrow's nock: the shallow slit they both knew the string was meant to slide into.
The red arrow blushed furiously, shifting so that its nock was no longer visible. And yet...it still couldn't tear its gaze from the bowstring.
Shouldn't that string be covered? It was indecent to leave a bow lying there, with its string on display for all to see...
As the arrow watched, the string tensed slightly, increasing the tension in the bow. The red arrow hastily averted its gaze, ashamed, as the bowstring grew tenser and tenser, stretching back as far as it would go...
A muffled twang drifted across the red arrow as the bow released. Because of it. Was it really that attractive? That a bow as perfect as the one in front of it would stretch itself back for all to see just because it was there?
Hesitantly, the red arrow rolled over to where the bow lay in the grass, the formerly taut string now limp and loose. It brushed its fletching against the bow's side, and the yew trembled with excitement.
Link climbed out of the river, glad to have finally rid himself of a journey's worth of accumulated dirt. His stomach growled, and he looked around for something to make for dinner.
A rabbit hopped past. Perfect. Moving slowly, he reached for his bow…
The red arrow jumped back as the hero's hand closed around the bow. What was happening? Had they been seen?
Crying out in despair, the red arrow wedged itself into the crook of the bow just as the hero lifted it off the ground. The bow creaked gently against the red arrow's head. The red arrow snuggled close. It didn't matter that they'd just met moments ago. Their love transcended time and space. They were meant for each other; that much was obvious from the first sight.
Then the hero's hand wrapped around the red arrow's shaft, and all those thoughts vanished. The bow trembled in anguish in the hero's hand as the two were separated, the shine fading from the polished wood. But now the hero's hand was forcing them back together in a different way.
The red arrow stared down, shocked, as the hero slowly moved it toward the bow's string. Had he seen them, and now wished to indulge some perverted fantasy?
The red arrow struggled in vain. Despite its immediate love for the bow, it didn't want to do this. Not yet, at least. Given another couple minutes, the red arrow would have been so overcome with nervous lust that it wouldn't be able to hold itself back.
Closer and closer. The bowstring was mere inches away from the red arrow's nock, that secret, private place that no one else had ever gone.
Beneath it, the red arrow saw the bow's string begin to tighten again. And the red arrow had to admit that a part of it was enjoying it, this total domination by a third party. And then the bowstring slotted firmly into the red arrow's nock, and all rational thought was swept away.
Bliss. Absolute bliss. Physical pleasure like nothing the red arrow had ever known now coursed through it like an unstoppable flood. It could feel every individual cord in the bowstring pressing up against the nock, the hero's hand drawing the string back, the pressure building, building until…
The bowstring released, slamming deep into the red arrow's nock with that beautiful twang. And what followed was the most glorious feeling…The red arrow felt like it was flying.
It came to a halt with a jarring stop, but the remnants of the feeling remained. And the arrow knew that it had found the one thing it was truly meant for.
The red arrow became the only thing the bow would ever fire. Those other skanky arrows would try to fit their nocks onto the bow's string, but they would always slip off, much to the frustration of the hero.
Eventually, he figured out that only the red arrow would work. And just learned to retrieve it each time he fired it. Sure, it was inconvenient, but it was his only solution.
And every time he went to sleep, bow laid out beside him, the red arrow would climb onto the bow's string and repeat that glorious act. Their love would never stop.
And as the years passed, even as the red arrow's bodkin blunted and the finish faded from the bow, they still stayed by each other.
Because they were meant for each other. And nothing could tear them apart.